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TALES 
 
 OF 
 
 FOIE NATIONS. 
 
 Nature on all her bounteous s:ifts bestows. 
 O'er land and ooeaiu All her deeds disclose 
 The Master Spirit, who, with varied art. 
 Constructed man and formd the human heart! 
 Taught een the meanest insect where to dwell. 
 Above the mount, beneath the shady dell. 
 On every creature shed a living light. 
 Too vast, too infinite, tor human might. 
 
 Ed, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 WHITTAKER. TREACHER, AND ARNOT. 
 
 AVK-MARIA LANE, 
 
 1S31. 
 

 i» 
 
 
 ^^3 
 
 T/4A 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 vi TO MISS JANE PORTER, AND MISS ANNA MARIA 
 
 PORTER. 
 
 Long ere the Author of the following' Tales had the 
 nn honour of an introduction to these Sisters, he had read their 
 
 admirable works. The " Scottish Chiefs," " Don Sebastian, 
 "K " Thaddeus of Warsaw" and " The Hungarian Brothers," 
 
 I V 
 
 ^=^ once perused, cannot easily fade from the memory ; and he 
 
 .^ believes he is not overrating- the estimation in which they 
 
 are held by the Public, when he declares, that as standard 
 
 P works, they maintain the very highest rank in that class of 
 
 ^. Literature, to which they exclusively belong. 
 
 we are told, ought never to be -withheld : however, in 
 
 •rfe' Eulog'y beyond a certain point is offensive 3 vet truth, 
 
 i 
 
VI DEDICATION. 
 
 the very extensive circle of these Sisters' acquaintance which 
 few persons less talented could command, the original and 
 elegant writers, who have forcibly depicted so many varie- 
 ties of characters and passions, are correctly appreciated ! 
 
 When the hand of death shall remove from a troubled and 
 anxious existence those who have endeavoured to render 
 some few of its passing moments less irksome, the loss must 
 and will be irreparable ! That such a bereavement may, 
 under the wise dispensations of a merciful Providence, long be 
 withheld, is the sincere hope, not alone of the Author, but of 
 one near and deai' to him, who also is capable of admiring, 
 and at the same time pursuing the path of female excellence, 
 
 Twickenham, 
 
 1829. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The Author of the following Tales has 
 endeavoured to delineate human characters 
 and passions. The great book of nature has 
 been deeply read ; and we lack not proof, in 
 the numerous specimens of extraordinary talent 
 which are continually issuing from the press. 
 It is, however, an inexhaustible volume, and, 
 like the mighty ebbing of the tide, can never 
 cease to offer additional sources, until the 
 world itself be no more ! 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 Fiction can claim unbounded rule, and 
 the first tale, the '* Hunter's Oak," has, under 
 such license, made Clifford appear on the 
 side of the Yorkists in opposition to the hero, 
 who happens to be a Lancastrian. Hume 
 mentions the obscurity of history regarding 
 the period which the story embraces, and, 
 should any circumstances appear extraordi- 
 nary, the Author must shelter himself under 
 the protecting privilege of that talented his- 
 torian. 
 
 With respect to the other Tales the Author 
 has only to state, that they possess, in a great 
 measure, the stamp of truth ; and thence they 
 may probably bring to the mind of the reader 
 occurrences that may have befallen himself 
 during the sojourn of his own earthly pil- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 grimag-e, and thus render the fidelity of the 
 pictures more apparently true to nature. 
 
 The success they may meet with, must be 
 left for time to decide — that certain leveller 
 of all human hopes and fears. 
 
THE HUNTER'S OAK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a noble sight, what pageant, 
 
 Neighbour, hast thou seen like this? 
 
 See, how he passes greetings with the crowd : 
 
 Say what thou wilt, good friend. 
 
 No base born churl could answer 
 
 Courtesies with so much ease. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a noble sight ! 
 
 It was during* that stormy period of Eng*- 
 lish history — the wars of the Houses of York 
 and Lancaster, and in which the White and 
 Red Rose were alternately triumphant, that 
 my tale commences. The blood of the best 
 families on both sides had been shed in this 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
THi: hunter's oak. 
 
 unnatural warfare ; and, as must inevitably 
 be the case during svicli fierce contests, had 
 stirred up some of those bold spirits, who 
 seek all such occasions of raising- themselves 
 upon the destruction of their fellow-creatures, 
 and without feeling" one single pang at the de- 
 solation of their wretched country. 
 
 To those of more ardent and generous 
 feelings it gave an energy to character ; and 
 where we find the page of history blotted by 
 the blood-stained annals, we alike find her 
 pen acknowledging more virtuous actions and 
 generous deeds. The spirit of faction is how- 
 ever lamentable, and when we reflect upon 
 the present quiet and repose, into which this 
 land of our forefathers has fallen, we ought 
 to thank our Creator for having placed our 
 existence in an age, where mankind is more 
 sociable, and the home of domestic peace is 
 free from the intrusion which rapine and vio- 
 lence create. 
 
 The contest which had terminated so un- 
 fortunately for the Lancastrians, had been 
 decided at Towton, so that the unfortunate 
 
THE hunter's oak. 3 
 
 Henry once more fell into the hands of his ad- 
 versaries, and was precipitated from a throne. 
 Edward, the eldest son of the deceased Duke 
 of York, who was slain at the battle of Wake- 
 field, had nearly attained the age of maturity, 
 and was the hope and stay of the York fac- 
 tion. He had now an easy game to play, for 
 the decisive victory he had recently gained 
 had so entirely overthrown any immediate ef- 
 fects to be dreaded from the Red Rose partv, 
 that the throne appeared already his own. 
 Edward, at this period of his life, was about 
 twenty years of age, eminently handsome, and 
 well versed in all warlike accomplishments. 
 With the most insinuating address, he was at 
 the same time crafty and cruel, and in every 
 way sought to destroy the favours which na- 
 ture had so lavishly bestowed on him, by 
 ingratitude and voluptuousness. 
 
 The march of the Yorkists had now assumed 
 a triumphal character, and was swelled in its 
 progress towards the capital, by^all those who 
 had been withheld from shewing any open 
 feeling, until some decisive blow had been 
 
 b2 
 
4 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 again struck. On Edward's arrival at the me- 
 tropolis, his first attempt was to conciliate the 
 Londoners, by treating their city and privi- 
 leges with respect, feeling well satisfied that 
 their changeling spirits wanted merely sooth- 
 ing, to gain them over to his party. The de- 
 cided victory he had gained, in which so manv 
 of the adverse party were slain, gave an ap- 
 pearance of splendour to his enterprise, and 
 little else is wantino- to ofain the favour of the 
 populace, than the chance of sudden eleva- 
 tion to some powerful station. The great mass 
 of people has always been for the strongest 
 side, and on this occasion the citizens were not 
 an atom behind hand with their progenitors, 
 in throwing up their caps, and shouting out, 
 " God save our noble sovereign, Edward the 
 Fourth ! God save the valiant Earl of War- 
 wick!" In fact, if acclamation could be taken 
 as a fair estimate of affection, Edward was, to 
 the full, happy in this loyalty. 
 
 He was however admirably calculated for 
 such transient popularity (and what popu- 
 larity is 'not transient?) by his personal ap- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 5 
 
 pearance alone. He wore on tliis occasion a 
 most splendid mantle of scarlet velvet, lined 
 with white satin, richly embroidered with gold, 
 above the edging" of ermine which surrounded 
 it. His doublet and sleeves were of the same 
 fabric, and fastened in front by golden tas- 
 sels. Hose of white silk, fitting tight to the 
 limbs, by which means a full display of his 
 exquisite shape became evident, were joined 
 near the middle of the thighs, by trunks of the 
 same colour, slashed and edged with gold, 
 and the interstices of which were filled by 
 puffings of white satin. Shoes of white cha- 
 mois leather, with toes of enormous length, 
 were fastened to the girdle by means of 
 golden chains, finely wrought, and of the most 
 costly workmanship. He carried in his right 
 hand a black velvet hat, turned up in front 
 with a diamond button and loop of exquisite 
 lustre, round which was a ducal coronet, (for 
 he had not as yet assumed the badge of higher 
 rank,) dependant from which hung a plume 
 of white ostrich feathers. A small sword, the 
 scabbard and hilt of which assorted well with 
 
6 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 the rest of his decorations, hung" suspended 
 from his side : it was a weapon evidently more 
 for ornament than use ; and indeed Edward 
 in his own person looked like a cavalier 
 dressed for some state occasion: havino- care- 
 fully avoided any warlike shew himself, re- 
 serving that for the formidable and well-dis- 
 ciplined force both of horse and foot, which 
 accompanied him. He full well knew the 
 power of his personal appearance, and had 
 taken especial care to render it as striking as 
 he possibly could ; and as his barbed jennet 
 curvetted gracefully yet gently down the 
 streets, the extraordinary ease with which he 
 managed the fiery little animal, and the ele- 
 gance of his deportment, were the theme of 
 general admiration ! The windows of the 
 principal houses were hung- with tapestry, and, 
 as the emblems of the York faction, white 
 roses were the principal ornaments worn by 
 the ladies in their hair and bosoms. As 
 they waived their handkerchiefs in token of 
 approbation and welcome, Edward grace- 
 fully acknowledged the courtesies, by bend- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 7 
 
 ing a head, the beauty of which had been too 
 well acknowledged by the fair sex for him 
 not to be aware that it lost any of its in- 
 fluence by the splendid and triumphal entry 
 he now made into the city. 
 
 The warrior, who rode completely armed on 
 the right hand side of Edward, was no less a 
 personage than Richard Nevill, Earl of War- 
 wick, by whose assistance and enterprising 
 - valour he had been enabled to appear in so 
 flourishing a condition. The earl rode on a 
 noble animal, of a dark sorrel colour, well 
 calculated to bear the weight of such a rider, 
 and whose vigorous arm controlled his noble 
 ardour w ith the utmost ease. The armour he 
 wore was of the richest Milan fabric, evidently 
 made for strength as well as beauty. His arms 
 were the usual accompaniments of such potent 
 warriors, the double-handed sword, poniard, 
 and a mace of prodigious weight and size, 
 which hung at the saddle-bow; it spoke 
 plainly the prowess of him who could wield a 
 weapon of such deadly power. His vizor was 
 open, giving view to a bold yet haughty coun- 
 
8 THE hunter's OAI^. 
 
 tenance, decidedly handsome. The eyes were 
 peculiarly piercing, and the air of triumph 
 which occasionally shot from hasty glances 
 with which he acknowledged the greetings of 
 the crowd, gave pretty decisive evidence that 
 pride was his most predominant passion. 
 
 Edward had taken sufficient precaution to 
 insure a good reception by the formidable 
 force he commanded, flushed with recent vic- 
 tory, and in all the panoply of war. A large 
 body of men at arms had preceded him, dis- 
 mounted, and immediately following the ca- 
 valcade of nobles, knights, pennons and lances 
 surrounding his person, came the pride and 
 strength of merry England, her bowmen good, 
 and her billmen and spearmen strong. The 
 rear was closed by a large array of cavaliers 
 and mounted men at arms, to which were 
 attached a vast train of lookers on, who had 
 gradually swelled the amount of numbers, un- 
 til it became prodigious and overwhelming. 
 At the entrance of the city the Mayor and 
 Corporation tendered the keys, and thus, 
 without another blow being struck, Edward 
 
THE hunter's oak. 9 
 
 possessed himself of the capital of the king- 
 dom. 
 
 The coronation which quickly followed, se- 
 cured to the Yorkists all the consequences of 
 victory, and the young king, by the splendour 
 of his court, suavity of his manner, and re- 
 cent decisive successes, fixed himself at once 
 in their good opinion. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick was one of the most 
 potent barons of the time, and had been a 
 resolute upholder of the York faction. The 
 harangue which he had made to the populace 
 of London, previous to the victory of Towton, 
 had mainly contributed to smooth the way for 
 Edward's reception, and it was owing to his 
 prodigious influence that it had been so 
 decisive. He was one of the last of those 
 powerful nobles, whose vast estates, numerous 
 vassals, and enormous wealth, made so for- 
 midable to the crown, and (if report be well 
 founded,) had influence almost equal to the 
 sovereign. No man of the period had greater 
 capacity than Warwick, and into which ever 
 scale he chose to throw the weight of his 
 
 B 3 
 
10 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 power, was sure to be the one that bore the 
 authority and held the vantage. His own 
 retainers alone were numerous enough to 
 form an army, and the discipline to which he 
 had subjected them, and the excellent equip- 
 ments they possessed, both for offensive and 
 defensive warfare, made them formidable. 
 
 Warwick Castle, the ancient residence of 
 his faniily, was built on a rocky eminence, at 
 the extremity of the town of that name, and 
 was supposed to be the most venerable fabric 
 of the time. It had lost none of its splendour 
 in the present Earl's possession, having been 
 strengthened, and repaired to its whole ex- 
 tent, considerably enlarged, and well fitted on 
 every point for the niagnificent hospitality 
 for which he was celebrated, as well as to 
 contain the numerous garrison. 
 
 It was built in the castellated style; and it 
 difficulty of access, strength of fortifications, 
 and active defenders, might well bid defiance 
 to the most strenuous efforts of an enemy. In 
 such turbulent times, when titles were for- 
 feited, and families attainted for attachments 
 to whichever side became depressed, it was 
 
THE HUNTER'S OAK. 
 
 11 
 
 indispensably necessary to have some strong- 
 hold as refuge, and Warwick Castle, in every 
 particular, was admirably calculated for defen- 
 sive warfare. The garrison consisted of eight 
 hundred men at arms, double the number of 
 archers, and of billmen and crossbow-men 
 upwards of two thousand. They were vete- 
 rans, and had seen many rough encounters, 
 nor was their skill allowed to lie dormant, for 
 continual skirmishes with blunted weapons 
 were continually taking place. The battle- 
 ments and outer defences were at this period 
 of prodigious extent, and required a consi- 
 derable body of men to keep them in a 
 requisite state of defence. The acclivity on 
 which it stood also added to its security ; nor 
 were artificial resources wanting (where art 
 became necessary,) to render its natural de- 
 fences more powerful. The moat was of pro- 
 digious depth and breadth, and the walls were 
 buttressed well up, enabling them to bear with 
 ease small elevated watch stations or turrets 
 which overlooked in all directions the sur- 
 rounding country. In these, small bodies of 
 
12 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 men at arms and archers were continually 
 stationed, and were at proper periods re- 
 lieved. By such means, were any sudden 
 attacli made, immediate and effective aid 
 could be instantly afforded to the sentinels on 
 the ramparts, and the alarm bells placed in 
 every fourth station, instantly set in motion, 
 to hasten the garrison. The effective state of 
 discipline into which the soldiers were brought 
 by repeated and severe exercise, enabled 
 them readily to assemble, so that before any 
 impression could possibly be made, the outer 
 walls were so speedily manned, that further 
 advance became almost impossible. 
 
 In order also to render any siege less irk- 
 some, this powerful Earl kept such large 
 supplies of wlieat, barley, and other neces- 
 saries in his granaries, that, if necessity re- 
 quired, were enough to yield support, with- 
 out other resources, for six months. Sufficient 
 room was provided and provender kept 
 hoarded for two hundred head of oxen and 
 a thousand sheep ; and upon the sound of 
 danger, the extensive park, which afforded 
 
THE hunter's oak. 13 
 
 noble pasturage, could be cleared very 
 quickly of these animals, as they were penned 
 up in allotted portions daily to prevent their 
 straggling. • Added to all these artificial and 
 natural obstacles, supplies of offensive wea- 
 pons and other warlike instruments were kept 
 in large quantities, and the armoury of War- 
 wick Castle, at the period now spoken of, was 
 one of the most extensive and well assorted 
 collections in the kingdom. These being vv^ield- 
 ed by men well accustomed to their deadly 
 energies, may readily be imagined as afford- 
 ing such efficient resources as to bid defiance 
 to the storm, provided the defenders con- 
 tinued staunch adherents to their master's inte- 
 rests. Cannon had but recently been brought 
 into battle, but they were so ill constructed, 
 and consequently dangerous to use, that little 
 advantage was taken of their effects. Indeed 
 had assault been made with the formidable 
 engines of the present day, such was the so- 
 lidity and strength of the mason-work, that it 
 would have caused some time and trouble to 
 have effected a breach. 
 
14 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Amidst the splendid scene rm lost, 
 I feel like bark by tempest tost ; 
 For me these pageants only seem 
 Like recollections of a dream. 
 
 In a room of this castle, liung round with 
 the richest crimson cloth, the edges of which 
 were fringed with gold of great depth and 
 massiveness, were two females, both bearing 
 the impress of considerable rank. The de- 
 corations of the apartment w'ere of the most 
 costly description and well assorted with the 
 elegance and richness of the ladies' dresses. 
 It was of an octangular shape with a roof of 
 a pointed form and of gothic architecture. 
 The ceiling, of a delicate light blue, was ela- 
 borately worked with dead gold tracery, and 
 
THE hunter's oak. 15 
 
 where it came down to join the crimson cloth, 
 a rich cornice of the same metal (of course 
 not solid,) highly burnished, divided the roof 
 from the walls. The arms of the illustrious 
 House of Warwick, fully emblazoned, formed 
 a centre piece, and in which a star with rays, 
 the well known cognizance of his family, was 
 very conspicuous. The elder lady might have 
 been about twenty years of age ; her person 
 was tall and commanding, and her features 
 rather handsome than beautiful ; the occa- 
 sional glances of her brilliant dark eye in- 
 dicating* the noble origin from whence she 
 sprung. A clear yet dark complexion was 
 accompanied by a colour more fresh upon 
 the cheek than some have considered con- 
 sistent with real beauty, though the charms of 
 her person made ample amends. The form was 
 faultless, and the dress manifestly heightened 
 the loveliness of nature by the elegant and 
 tasteful manner in which it was arranged. It 
 consisted of a robe of dark velvet coming 
 close up to the throat, where it was clasped by 
 a diamond brooch of infinite lustre, setting 
 
16 THE hunter's oak.' 
 
 off a neck of unrivalled beauty; from the 
 waist it fell down towards a slope at the bot- 
 tom, where it gradually widened and ter- 
 minated in a train of ample sweep. It was 
 looped down the centre by jewelled clasps, dis- 
 playing an under-garment of light blue silk. 
 The zone which encircled the waist was one 
 gorgeous display of matchless brilliance. Her 
 hair was tastefully arranged and gave full 
 scope to its dark luxuriant tresses, the beauty 
 of which was considerably heightened by cir- 
 clets of pearls most judiciously interwoven. 
 She was leaning over the chair occupied by 
 a younger lady, evidently pointing out some 
 defect in the workmanship of the tapestry to 
 her notice, and whose look appeared but lit- 
 tle occupied by the task she was executing or 
 the observations made. The more youthful 
 female was lovely indeed, and though she 
 preserved a likeness to the elder, (for they 
 were evidently sisters,) yet her countenance 
 was infinitely more feminine and beautiful. 
 From the sitting position, it was difficult to 
 note her exact height, but it appeared about 
 
THE hunter's oak. 17 
 
 the middle size. Slie wore a satin robe of a 
 delicate rose colour, covering a garment of 
 white silk, and made nearly after the same 
 fashion as that worn by her sister. It came 
 not however quite so high upon the throat, 
 and by that means, added to the lighter 
 colour of her costume, gave a more ex- 
 panded view of a neck and bust, formed 
 after nature's fairest and choicest model. In- 
 stead of the more brilliant jewels, she wore 
 pearls, and the robe was fastened down its 
 middle by some of the most rare specimens of 
 those simple yet most elegant of ail ornaments. 
 Her hair was some shades lighter than her sis- 
 ter's, and her complexion brighter and clearer. 
 A large window of stained and ground glass 
 occupied the greater part of one of the angles, 
 throwing a quiet, subdued, yet most peculiar 
 light upon her face. A single tear was gra- 
 dually stealing down a cheek of such surpass- 
 ing loveliness, that, from a deep shade of me- 
 lancholy which overcast the countenance, and 
 the uplifted look towards Heaven, might have 
 been worthy of an inhabitant of that world 
 
18 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 towards which all our supplications are ad- 
 dressed. There is something peculiarly touch- 
 inoc in the grief of a lovely and innocent wo- 
 man, and more particularly when the coun- 
 tenance is elevated by the expression which 
 hope so wonderfully mingles with our fears. 
 The tears which fall at such times are deli- 
 cious mementos of some loved object ; and as 
 Constance brushed away the pleasing recol- 
 lection which had unobtrusively fallen, she 
 rose from her chair and spoke to Isabel. 
 
 " Isabel, my love, the task hangs heavy on 
 my hands to-day — indeed my heart is sad, and 
 the pure air might help to give me comfort — 
 shall we to the park?" 
 
 " If it so please you, dearest Constance — I 
 saw your mind was occupied by thoughts not 
 at all akin to that poor tapestry, and indeed 
 your sadness has communicated itself to me." 
 The sisters having made some little addition 
 to their dress, descended to the garden of the 
 castle, and from thence to the extensive do- 
 main which surrounded its walls. The park 
 at that period was of prodigious extent, in 
 
THE hunter's oak. 1.9 
 
 some places so thickly planted with under- 
 wood and trees of all kinds, as to be almost 
 impervious. In other parts open spaces of 
 considerable extent and beauty, were delight- 
 fully undulated by hill and dale, and plen- 
 tifully chequered with every kind of foliag-e 
 in all its luxuriant verdure. 
 
 To a reflecting* mind, and one capable of 
 enjoying" the real beauties of nature, what can 
 be a more magnificent sight than a venerable 
 forest of trees, some of which might have been 
 the quiet witnesses of many a scene of happi- 
 ness or misery, in which our ancestors had 
 been engaged ? Few such scenes now exist in 
 all the variety of forest scenery, and none so 
 venerable or majestic as those so thickly scat- 
 tered over this extensive domain. The herds 
 of deer gambolled and frisked in all the de- 
 lightful and innocent freedom of nature, and 
 as some stood gazing at the sisters, seemed 
 fully aware of their friendly intention. One, 
 however, the most beautifid of the herd, came 
 near enough to be touched by the fair hands 
 of the ladies, who were evidently accustomed 
 
20 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 to such confidence. As Constance gazed at 
 the noble animal in all the pride of conscious 
 security, she could not avoid reflecting* how 
 soon he might fall a victim to mankind, as 
 she knew that preparations for the chace were 
 now commenced. Calling to her sister, she 
 exclaimed, " Look, dear Isabel, does not the 
 beautiful creature seem conscious of mj pity ? 
 Alas! how must I ever regret so noble an 
 animal should fall a victim to such cruelty." 
 
 " Hark ! Constance, even now the chace 
 seems gathering — this is quite childish — what 
 would that gallant train, who now look for- 
 ward to their keen enjoyment, imagine, 
 were they told, that Warwick's noble daughter 
 loved not the gallant sport so long the bold 
 pastime of our cavaliers?'' 
 
 " My dear Isabel," said Constance, " I have 
 no pleasure in these boisterous scenes. You 
 have our noble father's spirit, and the pageant 
 of the tilt or tented field affords you more joy 
 than all the loveliness of nature. I like to 
 roam amidst the calm and quiet shades — to 
 walk upon the mossy bank and hear the ripple 
 
THE hunter's oak. 21 
 
 of the running stream. These tranquil de- 
 lights yield me more true pleasure than all 
 the gorgeous pageants of the world." The 
 conversation was now checked by the inter- 
 ruption of the horses, the baying of the 
 hounds, and the advance of a numerous caval- 
 cade which now approached the spot they 
 stood upon. The wild echoing tones of the 
 bugle were mixed with the manly and more 
 musical voices of some of the huntsmen, 
 who sang the following stanzas with excellent 
 effect : — 
 
 Dance upon the woodland glade. 
 
 Near mossy bank and leafy shade ; 
 
 Join the jocund lay, nor fear 
 
 The strain will rouse the timid deer. 
 
 Hark ! to the bugle's echoing sound, 
 
 And see how high the creatures bound ; 
 
 Full well their natural instincts tell, 
 
 The hunting horn sounds their death knell, 
 
 (Echo) Sounds their kneli. 
 
 Too surely now his race is run, 
 He'll die before the set of sun ; 
 What tho' he runs so fleet and strong, 
 Leading us on from right to wrong, 
 
22 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 The gallant bound will turn his prey, 
 He'll die before the set of day ; 
 And, hark ! the horn sounds clear and well, 
 Look, look, he seeks the woody dell ! 
 
 (Echo) The woody dell. 
 
 Nothing" could be more delightful to the ear 
 than the echo which seemed to repeat the con- 
 cluding words, as if sung bj some distant 
 voice ; and it was so prolonged, yet correct, 
 that Constance could scarcely persuade her- 
 self but that such was not the case. The 
 leashes of the hounds were now undone, and 
 giving full cry and following the scent, Con- 
 stance saw with extreme regret, that thoy pur- 
 sued the track of the beautiful animal she had 
 so recently admired. Isabel's sensations were 
 of a different character ; she admired the 
 g-allant beariner of the huntsmen, the activitv 
 of the exercise, and would have liked full 
 well to have formed one of the party. 
 
 As they turned towards the castle, they saw 
 a horseman approaching, and could, on his 
 nearer advance, observe he wore the badge 
 of the Earl, and had a white rose placed in 
 
THE hunter's oak. 23 
 
 his cap. That he must be the bearer of im- 
 portant news, was evident, for the noble animal 
 he bestrode appeared blown, and had alone 
 been able to bear its rider home by its gallant 
 spirit and good breed. The rider dismounted, 
 and coming up to the ladies, most respect- 
 fully delivered a packet into the hands of 
 Isabel. Constance noticed the white emblem 
 in his cap, and dreaded, yet, at the same 
 time, felt the utmost impatience and anxiety 
 to learn the meaning of the paper which Isa- 
 bel began to unfold. 
 
 The information forwarded from the Earl, 
 was to announce the victory of Towton, and 
 the elevation of Edward to the throne of 
 England, That directly after the coronation, 
 which would immediately be solemnized, he 
 intended coming down to the castle, and the 
 King would accompany him. He gave strict 
 directions that all fitting preparation should 
 be made for so noble a guest, in whose honour 
 he intended holding a tournament shortly after 
 the arrival, and to which all knights of iionour- 
 able birth would be invited. 
 
24 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Isabel's eye sparkled with joy as she read 
 this communication from her noble father. 
 The certaint}^ of his safety, the brilliant suc- 
 cess it communicated, and the vast honour 
 which a visit from so mao^nificent a monarch 
 would yield, danced before her eyes in one 
 continued succession of pageants, feasts, tilts 
 and rejoicing's, which such a visit could not 
 fail to create. 
 
 Far different, however, were the sensations 
 of Constance, who heard, in the destruction 
 of hope to the House of Lancaster, news 
 which fell heavy on her heart. One object 
 she well knew, dear to her, would be in that 
 fatal fighl, and the sudden communication so 
 alarmed her, that she had almost sunk to the 
 ground. By a strong effort, however, she 
 managed to control her feelings, not wish- 
 ing that Isabel should be a witness to her 
 emotion. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " What slight trust," the knight said, " thou placest above, 
 Behold ! dearest Bertha, thine own true love ; 
 He comes from the East with ev'ry sin shriven, 
 And will rescue thee, dearest : so help him heaven !" 
 
 About the latter period of this contest, and 
 whenthe White Rose had more mastery, a stran- 
 ger rode up to an hostel at Knovvle, a village 
 about ten miles from Warwick. Both horse and 
 rider tacitlj' acknowledged want of repose ; 
 and as the horseman dismounted from his jaded 
 steed, neverwas animal more gladtobe relieved 
 from a burthen. The knight, (for such his ap- 
 pearance bespoke him,) raised the vizor of 
 his barred helmet, presenting a noble counte- 
 nance flushed bv hurried exercise ; and by the 
 brightness of his dark eye, which glanced 
 VOL. I. c 
 
20 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 hastily around the spot, gave token of gentle 
 birth. He appeared about twenty or twenty- 
 four years of age, above the middle height, 
 and of a firm and vigorous form, well calculat- 
 ed apparently, from the agility with which he 
 dismounted from his war-horse, for knightly 
 and athletic exercises. His face was eminently 
 handsome, but clouded by an air of the deep- 
 est dejection and anxiety ; and though the 
 features were not formed upon the decided 
 model handed down by the ancients, yet they 
 were so well adapted for expression and sweet- 
 ness, that the single outlines were lost in ad- 
 miration of the whole. Some individuals have 
 been more favoured by the hand of nature 
 than others ; and the general expression of the 
 countenance, form, and motions of the body 
 have more immediate effect on the beholder. 
 The noblest birth, and the most exalted sta- 
 tions in society, must inevitably yield advan- 
 tages to those who possess them ; but not- 
 withstanding all the efforts of art to give 
 elasticity to the frame, yet must it yield the 
 palm to the more finished work of nature, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 27 
 
 bearing incontestable evidence of power, 
 against which human means avail not. 
 
 Throwing the bridle to an attendant in wait- 
 ing, he slowly entered the inn. He was habited 
 in a complete suit of polished steel armour, 
 inlaid and highly embossed with gold, which 
 was in part covered by a splendid surcoat. 
 He wore at his girdle the misericorde, or 
 poniard of mercy, and by his side hung sus- 
 pended one of those weapons of offence, which 
 none but men of athletic and superior strength 
 could wield — a double-handed sword. The 
 individual here described was Edmund Beau- 
 fort, Duke of Somerset, a son of that unfortu- 
 nate nobleman who had fallen at Saint Alban's. 
 He was fully empowered by Henry to bear 
 the arms and title, but on the recent successes 
 of the Yorkists he was now attainted and a 
 wanderer. Although a young man, he had 
 given such decisive marks of bravery and ta- 
 lent, as to excite the most intense hatred of 
 the York faction. He was modest, yet tfold, 
 proud of his high ancestry, (for his father was 
 great grandson to John of Gaunt,) so that the 
 
 c 2 
 
28 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 noble blood which flowed in his veins, was from 
 the same stream which nourished the head of 
 the House of Lancaster. Having seen Con- 
 stance at one of the masked revels which were 
 so frequently held at Warwick Castle, he bad 
 become enamoured of her charms ; and find- 
 ino- the beauties of her mind accord with all 
 he had ever expected or anticipated, he made 
 an offer of his hand, which Warwick had ac- 
 cepted. For some time they fondly indulged 
 the hope of a speedy union, for Beaufort had 
 to that time abstained from openly seeking the 
 field ; but from the efforts which Edward made 
 to overthrow the Red Rose, he had felt bound, 
 both by the ties of interest and gratitude, to 
 espouse the cause of Lancaster. Upon this 
 step of Beaufort's, v/hich Warwick considered 
 hostile, he insisted that all future intercourse 
 should be avoided, as he could only look on 
 him as an enemy, and as such he must expect 
 to be treated. With feelings of anger and re- 
 crimination they parted ; and Beaufort had 
 not for some time seen his adored Constance, 
 to whom he considered himself bound, andfrom 
 
THE hunter's oak. 29 
 
 which tie no earthly means should sever him. 
 Constance, also, was equally resolved. — The 
 gallant deportment, gentle manners, and insi- 
 nuating address of Beaufort had made a deep 
 impression, and she looked back with regret, 
 not unmingled with pleasure, at the happy 
 moments they had enjoyed in each other's com- 
 pany, when vows of mutual faithfulness had been 
 exchano-ed. This will account for the unea- 
 siness of Constance, on the Earl's communi- 
 cation, for she had heard too much talk of his 
 gallantry and military prowess, not to be aware 
 that he would be foremost in the fray, and 
 mio-ht have fallen in the contest. 
 
 Beaufort having been disarmed, from which 
 he felt considerable relief, sat down to indite 
 a note, which he intended to dispatch to the 
 Castle, informing Constance of his safety. He 
 was actuated to remain for a time near War- 
 wick, to frustrate, if possible, a plan which he 
 well knew was in agitation. 
 
 The constant stirring of the times, and the 
 frequent changes which were continually tak- 
 ing place, caused all parties to seek news in 
 
30 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 the hostel ; and on this particular evening it 
 was well filled by divers news-hunting persons, 
 many of whom had little else to do, when the 
 day had closed in, except to boose and scan- 
 dalize their more well inclined neighbours; 
 for in these matters, the lieges of olden time 
 were not a whit behind hand with the present 
 ale-house frequenters, in possessing these ami- 
 able accomplishments. The kitchen of the 
 inn was of considerable magnitude, excel- 
 lently well filled with live and dead stock, for 
 the chimney corner was amply provided with 
 guests ; and hams, sides of bacon, and various 
 other substantial and immediate viands, gar- 
 nished the ceiling and walls in goodly profu- 
 sion. 
 
 " Aye, aye," said an athletic son of Vulcan, 
 an armourer almost as huge as a Cyclop, and 
 in some respects similar, for he had an eye 
 only, yet not in the centre, — " Don't tell me, 
 1 know better ; it was but now, on entering this 
 place, that the news came, saying the Red Rose 
 had been again beaten down, and the white 
 emblem hoisted. I am for the strongest side, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 31 
 
 SO here's to King Edward the Fourth, and 
 God bless him!" 
 
 This toast, which appeared to give general 
 satisfaction, was followed by a loud shout ; 
 caps were thrown in the air, and all the drun- 
 ken evidences of loyalty and valour, which 
 ale-house courage yields, were amply evinced 
 on this occasion. It might have been doubt- 
 ful, however, whether these were genuine feel- 
 ings, or had arisen from alarm at the gigantic 
 person, and well known ferocity of Hugh Tall- 
 boy, for the look which he glanced around, on 
 giving the toast, was not unaccompanied by 
 
 certain indications of hastv veno-eance, were it 
 denied. 
 
 One dissentient voice dared to dispute the 
 point, and was heard issuing from the inner- 
 most recess of the vast space around the fire, 
 which a huge mass of wood caused to yield a 
 genial warmth on all sides. The individual 
 who so daringly opposed the last speaker was 
 precisely his opposite. A face of the most 
 cadaverous hue surmounted a frame of spindle 
 make, the features of which expressed shrewd- 
 
32 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 ness and cowardice, the former, however, be- 
 ing" most predominant. A rusty suit of dark 
 grey cloth decorated his person, fashioned 
 after the period ; and was interlaced here and 
 there with shreds of various colours, to fill up 
 the gaps which time had made on its original 
 fabric. A small hat, turned up in front with 
 a button and black feather, placed upon the 
 head askew, added materially to the knowing 
 cast of the visage : in fact, the whole appear- 
 ance was calculated to give the idea of a man 
 of broken fortunes ; yet one, whose abject 
 condition was more contrasted by the very ex- 
 traordinary garments he wore, the grotesque 
 appearance of which, and the natural ugliness 
 of the wearer, making the general effect irre- 
 sistibly ludicrous. After two or three slight 
 hems, evidently dealt out for the purpose of 
 attention on the part of his audience, and 
 some most extraordinary contortions of coun- 
 tenance, he thus commenced. — " Hem ! Mr. 
 Hugh Tallboy. Hem ! Allow me, with ali due 
 respect for the opinion and health you have 
 offered, and to the — hem ! — useful trade vou 
 
THE hunter's oak. 33 
 
 follow, to differ in some few essential points up- 
 on this momentous question. Edward, — hem ! 
 — 1 allow to be an accomplished and cou- 
 rageous knight — hem ! — well befitting these 
 clamorous times ; but has not our poor King 
 Henry more lenient feelings to the learned 
 professions, of which I am an unworthy mem- 
 ber? — Hem! — Does he not, I say, seek to reign 
 free from this turmoil and bloodshed?" 
 
 Tallboy, who had evidently listened during 
 this harangue (which though concise, had from 
 a shortness of breath been much lengthened,) 
 with impatience, now roared out — " Unworthy 
 indeed, and useless to boot, for who has not 
 heard, but that one of the greedy sons of 
 the law is either more or less than an imp of 
 Satan. No, no. Master Graspall, his sway you 
 silently bow down to, and though by paltry 
 means you seek to hide your knavery under 
 lambskin covers, yet your fraternity prey on 
 the vitals of the state, even as the hungry wolf 
 feeds on the innocent kid ! These times are 
 made for us, who forge the steel and weld it, 
 
 c3 
 
34 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 so I say aofain, here is to Kino- Edvvard of 
 merry England, the fourth of that name !" 
 
 This was followed by another shout, in 
 which the occasional falterinof of the voice 
 and hiccup of one or two, who had silently 
 drank a decent quantum of good stout ale, 
 gave as their acquiescence to Tallboy, for 
 speech was for that sitting at any rate denied 
 them. Graspall looked crest-fallen, and si- 
 lently hedged himself into the obscurity from 
 which the heat of argument had drawn him. 
 
 The conversation now became more gene- 
 ral, and gave every appearance of boisterous 
 mirth; for as the ale cup, and other drinks 
 equally potent, went round, the various indi- 
 viduals of the mixed company felt their cou- 
 rage advance more towards the tongue, and 
 spoke their opinions openly and freely. 
 
 A sudden burst of the kitchen door, how- 
 ever, gave a new impulse to the scene, and 
 each instantly looked to see who the intruder 
 was. He was a tall bony-looking man, of 
 middle age, apparently well set and calcu- 
 lated for fatigue, with a good open counte- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 35 
 
 nance considerably bronzed by hard service 
 and exposure to the weather. His suit of 
 mail was plain but serviceable, and looked as 
 if it would withstand a weighty blow: it was 
 the kind of armour befitting the esquires of 
 knights of condition, and in fact he was such 
 to the stranger; but had been outridden by 
 the fleeter and more mettled animal of his 
 master. Advancing into the kitchen with a 
 free jovial air, he exclaimed in a bold and 
 not unpleasing voice — 
 
 " How now, ye noisy varlets — what ! cannot 
 you enjoy your cups without all this roaring 
 and shouting? By St. George, I thought 
 from all this boisterous mirth, a den of wild 
 beasts was a more likely greeting, than to 
 find men met for good cheer, though for what 
 I know, ye may be as uncouth and dange- 
 rous?" 
 
 " And pray, my good esquire," said Tallboy, 
 " what business is it to thee, if we should enjoy 
 ourselves as best pleases us? Marry come up, 
 these are pretty times, when such good fel- 
 lows as are here assembled are to be rated 
 
36 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 by one of your condition. Avaunt ! abscond ! 
 else thy harness and my weapon may clink 
 some unpleasant music tog-ether, making- it far 
 too hot to hold thee. Are we to be baited by 
 such a monsrel cur as thou art ?" 
 
 *' Why thou son of impudence," retorted the 
 esquire, " do you think to frighten me by all 
 this hectoring-, or is it that I am taken for some 
 untutored cub, belong-iiio' to this brood of 
 filth and drunkenness? Pish, man, do not 
 again repeat those words, for, rest assured, I 
 am not one who puts good face upon affront 
 so insolent!" 
 
 " Aha ! is that thy game ? — then take the 
 action as it suits thee better." Thus saying, 
 Tallboy elevated his huge person, and, seizing 
 a weighty partizan which stood near, he aim- 
 ed so well meant a salute at the sconce of 
 the esquire, that, had he not been used to 
 avoid more active encounters, had silenced 
 his voice for ever. Ere the smith could re- 
 cover his weapon, he received from the gaunt- 
 letted hand of his antagonist, such an unex- 
 pected and immediate return on the mazzard. 
 
THE IIUxNTEll's OAK. 37 
 
 that he measured his length to a nicety on the 
 oaken floor of the kitchen. This being ac- 
 complished, the esquire left the place. 
 
 The feat seemed to stao-o-er the other rio- 
 ters as it had Tallboy. They were absolutely 
 petrified to see one, whom they had looked 
 upon hitherto as invincible, struck to the 
 earth with as much apparent ease and time 
 as would have occupied an ordinary man in 
 knocking down an infant. They slunk away 
 like curs, who, upon receiving* good sound 
 buffets, retire to some corner to growl away 
 their impotent anger. 
 
 Graspall was delighted — he grinned — he 
 capered, and absolutely groaned at last with 
 pleasure, and the tears trickled down his- 
 cheeks; for, having found one willing and able 
 to take away the brunt of any personal en- 
 counter, he enjoyed to his heart's content 
 the smith's discomfiture. 
 
 Tfie prostration of the smith took [)Iace so 
 instantaneously, that the whole party were 
 astonished, indeed their faculties had for some 
 time been under the influence of drink, and 
 
38 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 they gazed upon the scene, looking" like so 
 many idiots. Tallboy was the first to recover 
 himself, and shaking his huge person like a 
 dog disencumbering himself from the super- 
 fluous drops hanging from his coat after being 
 immersed in water, exclaimed, '* Had I ex- 
 pected such a rough return, my blow had 
 been more certain; but they who hive the 
 bees must sometimes expect a sting." Seizing 
 a mug which stood near, filled with spiced ale, 
 he took a draught so long and deep as would 
 have sufficed four common men in these de- 
 generate days. " Ha ! now again I feel re- 
 vived — dost know, mine host, who is that same 
 squire? By Vulcan's forge I swear, oven now 
 the weighty whistling of his fist seems close 
 to mine ear, as if hankering after a second 
 stroke ; but time may come when he may find 
 his vantage ground not so soon forgot." 
 
 " I know him not," said Alestoup, "'tis no 
 business of mine what guests frequent my hos- 
 tel; so long as coin comes to the coffers of the 
 White Rose — or Red," (this was said aside,) 
 " I quarrel not with customers. In perilous 
 
THE hunter's oak. 39 
 
 times like these, the host of such an inn as 
 mine has but a sorry game to play ; for in one 
 short day the White Rose holds the sway, and 
 before the morning's dawn, splash comes a 
 messeno-er, crvins: huzza for the Red Rose, and 
 God save King Henry ! 'Ti^ a difficult task, my 
 masters, to say who will win the game ; but so 
 long as the dice are thrown, Giles Alestoup 
 shews, like the double-sided picture of the 
 kniofhts, two roses on his bush, so that one can 
 be replaced for the other, as necessity re- 
 quires." 
 
 " There you speak my sentiments," said 
 Graspall, elevating his eye-brows and casting 
 a knowing expression into his most extraordi- 
 nary visage. " That is the true policy for men 
 of sense — to hold the hand and wait the issue 
 of the struggle, for it is but yet undecided. 
 During the encounter, none save the goodly 
 keeper of an hostel, or armourer, like Tall- 
 boy, gain by the contest. Drink and meat 
 must be had, nor can the forge get cold for 
 want of implements. Sad times — hem ! — how- 
 
40 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 ever for the law, for that must sink — hem! — 
 sink, when justice leaves the country." 
 
 " Justice !" roared out the man of steel, 
 chuckling" with delight at having an opportu- 
 nity of retorting" upon the miserable object, 
 who stood with mouth expanded and staring 
 eve-balls, looking as if he expected instant 
 annihilation — "Justice ! didst say? — why, thou 
 miserable looking son of parchment and 
 roguery, dost think that justice ever sides 
 with law? — Psha — tut, man. No, no, indeed, 
 thou mightest as well expect the tiger nur- 
 turing with the lamb — the eagle with the owl, 
 as have law and justice holding equal ba- 
 lance ! If thy most wretched state and person 
 were worthy to retort on harder, I would serve 
 thy carcase as a last resource for hungry 
 crows to feed on, and they ma3diap would 
 sicken on their bargain." The hiccups and 
 shouts so delightfully interfered with each 
 other, and were so equally divided, that it 
 was a matter of some difficulty to know the 
 genuine feelings of the party. It appeared 
 
THE hunter's oak. 41 
 
 however, to tickle the fancy of most of them, 
 with the exception of Graspall, who again, 
 like a dog* with his tail betwixt his leg-s, crept 
 to his corner. This discussion however was 
 speedily checked by mine host, who had just 
 entered the room. " Come, come, my mas- 
 ters, the night grows old, and goodly subjects 
 must to bed." The guests seemed tolerably 
 well acquainted with this method of dismissal, 
 and some of them retired as steadily and 
 speedily as deep potations of good strong 
 drink permitted. 
 
42 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Tis said, six hundred knights, and more 
 Sat down to feast, in days of yore. 
 In one vast hall — so goes the tale — 
 Arm'd all in proof, with polish'd mail. 
 
 The vast space occupied by the hall, in 
 which the men at arms and other retainers of 
 the House of Warwick were wont to assemble, 
 was on this particular evening* more than 
 usually filled, and more than usually delight- 
 ed were the various individuals who composed 
 the company. Tables of solid oak extended 
 the whole length of its expanse, and were so 
 admirably adjusted as to contain with ease 
 six hundred men. At the head of the princi- 
 pal table sat Jaspar Amaury, the Seneschal of 
 the castle, and commander of its garrison. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 43 
 
 He was a marvellous proper and right jovial 
 man at arms, one who had seen good service, 
 and one too who understood the manoeuvring 
 of a feast as well as he did of a fray. The 
 evening' meal at this period was taken earh% 
 and consisted of more solid food than is 
 placed upon the tables of the present degene- 
 rate dav. 
 
 Huge barons of beef, venison in all its forms 
 of cookery, from the noble ha,unch to the 
 pasty of raised but solid crust, were amply 
 scattered in goodly profusion. Several wild 
 boars' heads also occupied conspicuous places, 
 nor were the more solid parts of the animal 
 omitted, and which sent forth their savoury 
 odours around. Tame and wild fowl of all 
 kinds, both hot and cold, were placed between 
 the interstices left by the more ample joints; 
 in fact, pastry of all descriptions, preserves, 
 and other delicacies, formed a feast worthy 
 the noble occasion upon which it had been 
 served. Of course, potent liquors were not 
 forgotten; and on the summons to the ban- 
 quet there was no lack of appetite wanting 
 
44 THE hUxNter's oak. 
 
 on the part of the guests to enjoj the good 
 cheer so hospitably and splendidly afforded. 
 
 The important news which had been re- 
 ceived by the Lady Isabel had determined 
 her to Q-'ive full directions to the cooks and 
 other domestic caterers of this extensive 
 household to yield sufficient and ample 
 viands for the feast ; and her commands, 
 as may be seen, were observed to the very 
 letter. It was, therefore, not precisely the 
 meal they usually encountered, yet was it not 
 much beneath the general provender 5 for the 
 vast resources and prodigious wealth of the 
 Earl of Warwick enabled him to maintain in 
 his household almost princely state. 
 
 It became a matter of necessity also, when 
 such a vast assembly met, to sound a horn 
 upon the issuing of a toast; for the continued 
 clattering of armour and arms (the garrison 
 being continually kept on the alert to prevent 
 surprise) and the hum of voices, when each 
 talked to his neighbour, passing and enjoying 
 the jest of the hour was so great, that nothing 
 singly could be heard except such means were 
 
THE hunter's oak. 46 
 
 resorted to. This having- been thrice done, and 
 a proper degree of attention drawn, Jaspar 
 Amaurv arose. His face had assumed a more 
 florid hue than it presented before he did the 
 honours of the feast; for, as it had been before 
 mentioned, no man of the party enjoyed good 
 living more, though he never exceeded the 
 bounds of discretion. Had he been found 
 wanting in all the requisites indispensably ne- 
 cessary for so important a trust, he never 
 would have had the entire confidence of so 
 able and wary a soldier as Warwick. Look- 
 ing round the meeting with a good-humoured 
 smile, his countenance and manner had as- 
 sumed a little more consequence, being the 
 only one as yet acquainted with the glad 
 tidino's which had been communicated to him 
 by his noble mistresses. 
 
 " Pledge me the toast, most valiant men at 
 arms, and ye, most doubty comrades ! Archers 
 bold and billmen strong, fill up the brimming 
 cup, for I have news to tell ye — stirring, noble 
 news!" After waiting a reasonable time, in 
 order to allow the duties to be performed, 
 
4H THE hunter's oak. 
 
 he exclaimed, — " To the health and pros- 
 perity of our rightful sovereign Edward the 
 Fourth, King of England, and to the hap- 
 piness of him by whom these bounties are 
 bestowed, (pointing to the well-filled table,) 
 our noble, well-beloved, and honoured mas- 
 ter, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick!" This 
 toast was received with prodigious acclama- 
 tion; and, after the ebullition had somewhat 
 subsided, he explained the important news, 
 and also stated the intention of Edward coming 
 down to the castle with the Earl, to whose 
 good services he had been chiefly indebted for 
 the possession of the elevated station he now 
 filled. 
 
 This was stirring news indeed ; and the de- 
 light with which the retainers of the Earl heard 
 the facts more amply stated by the messenger, 
 exhibited pretty strongly the estimation in 
 which he was held by the warlike men who 
 surrounded his hospitable board. 
 
 Amaury for some little time had been look- 
 ing round as if in view of some one, but appa- 
 rently without success : at last he found the 
 
THE hunter's oak. 47 
 
 object of his search, to whom he spoke, — 
 " Come, Edmund, strike us a lay upon some 
 deed of knightly valour— that song which 
 speaks so aptly the warrior's faith to his own 
 fair lady. Why, man, what makes you look 
 so dull when all are full of revelry?" The in- 
 dividual here spoken to was a youth upon 
 whose fair countenance nature had barely 
 placed the stamp of manhood. He appeared 
 scarcely nineteen years of age, and had most 
 decidedly a feminine appearance. Bred up 
 under the protection of this powerful house, 
 (being an orphan child of a dependant,) he 
 had been allowed to follow the bent of a taste 
 decidedly musical, avoiding as much as pos- 
 sible associating with the more boisterous and 
 not very refined men at arms. From his quiet 
 deportment and superior address he had been 
 selected as an attendant upon the Ladies Con- 
 stance and Isabel in their occasional excur- 
 sions, and frequently whiled away many a dull 
 moment by the sound of his voice and the me- 
 lody of his lute. In truth, Edmund was a fa- 
 voured servant, whose will and power (though 
 
48 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 little of the latter was apparent in his person) 
 were known and felt; indeed, his superior 
 talents and the extraordinary skill with which 
 he managed a voice of most peculiar tone and 
 sweetness, made him a vast favourite with the 
 whole garrison. 
 
 His dress was simple, yet admirably well 
 adjusted, and consisted of a doublet and vest 
 of grey cloth, edged with crimson velvet, the 
 former descending to the knee, and fiistened 
 with silver clasps. A collar of the finest lawn, 
 scolloped with lace, fell low down upon the 
 shoulders, being tied in front with tassels and 
 loops of silver. Hose of a fawn colour, fitting 
 close to the figure, the sides of which were 
 ornamented with velvet, and russet boots, 
 edo-ed with fur, reaching just above the ankle, 
 completed the costume : not forgetting how- 
 ever a small sword, or couteau de chasse, 
 which hung suspended from a silver chain 
 
 baldric. 
 
 The youth, rising from his seat, motioned to 
 an attendant, from whom he received a lute, 
 which he commenced putting into tune, and 
 
THE hunter's oak. 49 
 
 having done so satisfactorily, struck off a pre- 
 lude of a wild, yet melancholy character : on 
 a sudden he changed his lay, checked an ap- 
 parent irresolution which had been evident in 
 his countenance, and sang the following lines 
 to a pleasing air : — 
 
 SONG. 
 " Oh ! haste to the meeting, nor urge me too long 
 
 To remain from the convent cell, 
 Even now the vespers are chaunting strong. 
 And loud tolls the evening bell. 
 
 Oh ! haste, my love ! for, hark ! the chime 
 Of convent bell speaks evening time. 
 
 He hears not, he comes not, ah ! sad is my fate ; 
 
 How could I e'er trust his false tale ? 
 For shut will soon be the wicket gate, 
 This hour I shall sorely bewail. 
 
 Oh ! come, my love, or yonder bell 
 Will ring thy Bertha's fun'ral knell." 
 
 A manly voice^near spoke loudly and strong, 
 
 " Never think 'twill be Bertha's hard fate 
 To suffer more harm from the convent cell. 
 Or fear the shut wicket gate. 
 
 Trust me, my love, from yonder bell, 
 Thy rescue rings, not fun'ral knell." 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Thus saying, he loudly thrice sounded his horn. 
 
 And the echo was heard shrill and clear — 
 " Before the rise of the coming morn. 
 My Bertha need have no fear. 
 
 We'll haste, my love, o'er hill and deli, 
 Far from the sound of vesper bell." 
 
 The bold knight now sat on his mettlesome steed 
 
 The maiden he loved so true, 
 And they f]ew o'er the green sward with reckless speed. 
 And were soon lost to convent view. 
 
 '* Could you think a knight, who lov'd so we!! 
 Would leave a fair maid in a convent cell ?" 
 
 The last stanzas were given with more en- 
 ergy, and the character of the air was also 
 more martial, for Edmund well knew how to 
 please the ears and feelings of those he sang 
 to. Indeed he could adroitly changfe his stvle 
 of playing to all subjects, and had selected 
 this song, because he was aware it was one 
 that could be comprehended by his auditors. 
 Having risen from the seat, commendation 
 poured upon him from all sides, which he re- 
 ceived as one evidently accustomed to ap- 
 plause would do. Making a slight inclina- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 51 
 
 tion of the head to Jaspar Amaury, he re- 
 turned the lute to the attendant, and left the 
 hall. 
 
 His manners were so well known that it ap- 
 peared to be little noticed except by Amaury, 
 who exclaimed, " By St. George, that is a gal- 
 lant youngster, and has a marvellous taste for 
 music ! He seems more out of spirits than is 
 his usual custom, and that too when all the in- 
 habitants are intoxicated with delight. Well, 
 well, he is a good lad, and must even have 
 his humour. Talking of intoxication, my 
 comrades, methinks we had better separate 
 for the evening, nor let our happiness make 
 such inroad upon our health as to muddle 
 our brains. That must not be, for such feast- 
 ing, jousting, and revelling will take place 
 on the noble Earl's arrival, that we must have 
 a care lest our wits are too lively for our 
 heads." After a health being proposed by 
 Jaspar, to the happiness of the ladies of the 
 castle, and drank with a hearty good wish, 
 they separated for the night. 
 
 Constance was seated alone in the apart- 
 
 d2 
 
 II . 
 
 « •"-) 
 
52 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 ment which we have described, and had been 
 reflecting upon the various events which had 
 so sadly occurred to render a remote chance 
 of Beaufort's having escaped from the fight 
 possible. And yet the thought, that, if he had 
 saved himself from the indiscriminate slaugh- 
 ter which had taken place, she well knew he 
 would have apprized her of his safety. With 
 such restless and wretched feelings, an hour 
 and more had passed away, for time carries 
 us onward through the pilgrimage of this mor- 
 tal existence, whether our hopes are vived or 
 our fears distressing. Time that crushes all 
 things, overwhelming in its progress pleasure 
 and pain (for the happy and the miserable are 
 equally its victims) ; and though every crea- 
 ture of human kind full well knows its fatal 
 and unerring passage, how few there are 
 who reflect upon that inevitable hour, when 
 all created beings will sink into the oblivion 
 from whence there may be for myriads no re- 
 turn ! 
 
 A gentle tap at the door however roused 
 her to some knowledge of its progress, for 
 
THE hunter's oak. 53 
 
 Isabel had left for her apartment at least an 
 hour. The page now entered, and Constance 
 was not more surprised at his intruding at so 
 late a moment without commands, than she 
 was at his pallid and ghastly countenance. 
 " How now, Edmund ! what brings you here 
 at this late hour '^ Have we no privacy, sir, 
 but you must needs intrude upon it? This 
 is not well, nor shall it be unnoticed." Ed- 
 mund, without answering, advanced towards 
 the chair on which she sat, and, bending his 
 knee, delivered into her hand a slip of paper, 
 with an address on the cover for herself; it 
 was simply marked — " For Constance." " If, 
 madam, the contents of that small paper excuse 
 not my boldness, then am I willing to incur your 
 anger." He then stated to her his meeting with 
 the esquire of Beaufort at Warwick, which 
 Constance eagerly listened to and devoured. 
 She begged him to be secret, and wishing him 
 good night, seized upon a taper, and flew 
 swiftly to her chamber. Her first object was 
 to secure the door, which having done, and 
 placed the light upon the dressing-table, 
 
54 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 she opened the paper, and read the con- 
 tents : — 
 
 " My own and best-loved Constance, 
 " Ere this reaches, you must have heard of the sad 
 mischance which has fallen on all our party ; I dare not 
 commit to paper what I would tell thee, lest it should bring 
 destruction on my hopes. Edmund alone can aid us; trust 
 him, love, for my sake, and tell him when, and where we 
 may have some conference. Though depressed by fortune, 
 
 yet am I still thine own 
 
 ** Beaufort." 
 
 None but those who have experienced an 
 affection for a noble object, and yet one whom 
 an unfortunate circumstance may prevent us 
 from speedily acknowledging, can imagine 
 the delio-ht which Constance felt on reading 
 thfe paper. She had a gentle spirit, which 
 kindness could easily kindle into the fondest 
 affection, and it was with sensations of un- 
 mixed delight that she heard the intelligence 
 of Beaufort's safety. Tears fell fast down her 
 cheek — tears which yield such soothing in- 
 fluence to the overcharged heart, aflbrding 
 comfort and consolation* Having in a great 
 
THE hunter's oak. 55 
 
 degree recovered her emotion, she sat down 
 and wrote to Beaufort, stating her willingness 
 to grant him an interview, and appointing the 
 following evening at. twilight; the place — near 
 the Hunter's Oak — a spot celebrated by manv 
 a wild legend, but which the more cultivated 
 mind of Constance had placed to little ac- 
 count. She imagined that its reported terrors 
 would deter any one from coming near the 
 spot after day-light had ceased, so that their 
 meeting would be not intruded on by any from 
 the castle. Having performed this pleasing 
 task, and feeling fatigued, she retired to rest. 
 
56 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Hast never heard the import of the tale ? 
 
 If so, I will narrate it. Some years gone by 
 A near and close connexion of our house 
 Fell near this spot — most foully murder'd ! 
 How the chance happened, none can tell. 
 No human eye saw trace of the assassin, 
 Though many followed close. 
 
 'Tis a sad tale 5 and now methinks I've heard 
 
 That music floats i'the air, and sounds. 
 Even more than mortal, rise from the earth. 
 'Tis a sad tale. 
 
 The Hunter's Oak, appointed by Constance 
 as the place of meeting, had been celebrated 
 as the resort of evil spirits, which at periods 
 (so it was stated) were visible to human eves. 
 Indeed, many inhabitants of the castle, since 
 deceased, averred that they had actually seen 
 forms assuming" human shape at twilight, whom 
 on approaching had vanished instantaneously, 
 
THE hunter's OA.K. 57 
 
 as if into the oak itself! A relative, a near 
 connexion of the present Earl, had been rob- 
 bed and murdered near the spot, on a return 
 from the chace, and no trace of his assassins 
 had been discovered. His wounds were nu- 
 merous, evidently having been inflicted by 
 human hands and weapons, for a dreadful 
 blow was found on the skull at the back, 
 which it was supposed had been struck whilst 
 he defended himself from the front ; and his 
 boar-spear was shattered to pieces as if from 
 battle-axe blows. From the extraordinary 
 number of retainers who accompanied him, it 
 was wonderful that none should have heard, 
 or even seen the murderers: however, such 
 were the facts narrated, and in the eyes of the 
 vulofar were looked on as decisive evidences 
 of super-human power. 
 
 As the night approached, Constance felt 
 considerable uneasiness : she well knew the 
 difficulty of access to the castle after the 
 evening-, for the watch was kept with all the 
 vigilance of war. No part of the ramparts 
 
 were undefended by sentinels, and the changes 
 
 d3 
 
58 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 every third hour prevented fatigue from ren- 
 dering them otlierwise than vigilant. Ed- 
 mund, and Bertha, (her immediate altendant,) 
 also had promised to accompany her; and in 
 order to avoid attending the evening meal in 
 the hall, the page gave out that he felt in- 
 disposed, and should remain in his owji apart- 
 ment. This was received in some dudgeon 
 by the men at arms, who always looked for 
 his company, finding the evenings pass away 
 more pleasantly when aided by his songs, and 
 which, without the quiet his melodies created, 
 were somewhat tedious, and occasionally 
 quarrelsome. Amaury took especial care to 
 keep up sobriety, being assured that a man at 
 arms, however bold when sober, was in his 
 cups neither more nor less useful than a land 
 tortoise was active. Constance having made 
 the necessary arrangements for her meeting, 
 left the apartment just before the uncertain 
 light of twilight had subsided. Passing the 
 outworks, she soon reached the verge of the 
 park, where in a few moments she was joined 
 by Edmund and Bertha. However coura- 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 '— •" 59 
 
 geous we may be under the effects of sunlight, 
 yet there are certain little indications not so 
 akin to valour, which will arise on its disap- 
 pearance, particularly if engaged upon any 
 uncertain undertaking. There is most de- 
 cidedly an indescribable sensation attached 
 to the idea of darkness, and though men of 
 strong nerve may vaunt of their achievements 
 bv daylight, their valour grows less ardent 
 towards the approach of night. It is moving 
 upon uncertainty, and the human heart is so 
 anxious for a fellow feeling on most occasions, 
 that, upon an expedition undertaken towards 
 evening, it always finds relief in the company 
 of one having a corresponding sensation. 
 Such were the feelings of Constance, who was 
 glad upon the approach of Edmund. The 
 men at arms at the castle had a natural aver- 
 sion to going out near this spot at night, and 
 thouo-h bolder spirits in the fray never be- 
 longed to human beings, yet were they cowed 
 at the bare chance of encountering ghostly 
 enemies. 
 
 " Well, Edmund, I am much rejoiced to see 
 
60 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 you ; I beg-an to suspect some impediment had 
 arisen to check your intention. It is owino- 
 to the fierce and deadly feuds which now ra- 
 vage this fair yet unhappy country, that I am 
 compelled to take this step. It may be rash, 
 and yet my heart so strongly urged the un- 
 dertaking that it was impossible to deny its 
 wishes. Oh ! Beaufort, Beaufort ! had but our 
 existence placed us in more peaceful times, 
 this might have been avoided!" 
 
 " Cheer up, dear lady, happier hours must 
 come, when peace will shed its influence over 
 the councils of this wretched land. Edward 
 of York, they say, has noble spirit, and when 
 he finds firm seat upon this island throne, his 
 policy will urge his yielding gentle means 
 with all those potent leaders, by whose firm 
 valour he has so long been kept at bay." 
 
 " Edmund, you speak as one who has little 
 knowledg-e of the world. If there be one dark 
 feelino- of the human heart even more ac- 
 cursed than another, it is ambition ! This sin 
 pervades the soil, and Edward, though a gal- 
 lant knight as fair report gives out, has this 
 
THE hunter's oak. 61 
 
 foul evil rankling in his mind. My gallant 
 father bears him nobly in the world's opinion, 
 but, to my feelings, sinks beneath the level of 
 the poorest peasant, when he allows this cry- 
 ing" evil to overmaster all his better feeling's." 
 Edmund could give but a silent assent to these 
 remarks, for they had reached the place of 
 meeting. 
 
 The Hunter's Oak was placed alone on a 
 gentle acclivity, and was one of the most ve- 
 nerable remnants of forest scenery. It had 
 stood perhaps for ages, for it was in full pos- 
 session of its ample growth, being one of the 
 most enormous trees of its kind. Its gigantic 
 arms stretched themselves around in all the 
 power and freshness of leaf and verdure, and 
 its vast and solitary position made it infinitely 
 more remarkable. There was just sufficient 
 light remaining for them to ascertain that 
 Beaufort had not yet arrived. The evenino- 
 was particularly fine and tranquil ; not a 
 breath of air stirred the leaves, and nought, 
 save the occasional hooting of the owl and 
 flappings of the bat broke the stern silence. 
 
6*2 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Constance now became uneasy lest Beaufort 
 should be kept away, for she now feared this 
 meeting", and all the tales and legends which 
 she had heard from infancy began to render 
 the place more than usually ominous. A rust- 
 ling* near made her start from her position, 
 and, before she could recover from her ap- 
 prehension, Beaufort was at her feet. He 
 was still armed from head to foot, for, in these 
 perilous times, any one who valued his own 
 safety took special care not to be without de- 
 fence. The suit of mail he now w-ore was of 
 plain workmanship, and all external marks of 
 splendour had been laid aside in order to 
 render himself less conspicuous. In fact, his 
 external appearance coincided with that of 
 his esquire, (who now accompanied him) but 
 his eleo-antbearinof could never be mistaken for 
 any one of common rank. " Constance, dear- 
 est Constance, this is a joy 1 had not so soon 
 expected ; for, though I knew your noble na- 
 ture prompted so much kindness, yet I had 
 fears the task was insurmountable." — " Hush ! 
 speak not so loudly, Beaufort, for every thing" 
 
THE hunter's oak. 63 
 
 alarms me, fearing' that this one interview may 
 be our last. 'Tis requisite that we are speedy 
 in our communication, else will the castle 
 gates be closed, and much suspicion be en- 
 gendered. — Think me not harsh, I mean it 
 not, indeed 1 do not ; yet, such firm watch is 
 placed on all my actions, that I have nothing 
 but strict caution to depend on ; and when our 
 only chance of meeting rests on this slight 
 ground, you, Beaufort, must see the cruel, 
 stern necessity wliich urges me to haste." 
 Constance had but little to communicate. 
 She mentioned that King Edward was about 
 to visit the castle, and that the Earl intended 
 keeping up his rank and state with the utmost 
 magnificence and hospitality during the King's 
 stay, and that on the third day a solemn tour- 
 nament was to be held. Beaufort listened 
 attentively to this recital, and started at the 
 name of King being applied to one whom he 
 did not acknowledge ; and his heart bled 
 when he recollected that the monarch of 
 the throne, to whom he had taken the oaths 
 of allegiance, was a desolate and unhappy 
 
64 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 wanderer ! When lie recollected that the 
 father of Constance was the sole and powerful 
 individual who had raised Edward so hio^h, 
 he soothed his agitation, and sought not to 
 hurt her feeling's by his own wretched thoughts. 
 He then explained to Constance what had oc- 
 curred since their last meeting, mentioning 
 the fatal issue of the battle of Towton, the loss 
 of which he could only ascribe to one of those 
 extraordinary panics, which sometimes decide 
 the most important victories ; and that it was 
 his intention of remaining concealed in his 
 present form, at Knowle, that he might the 
 more easily come to the tilt^ it being his most 
 decided intention so to do. He was particular- 
 ly urged to this by some circumstances which 
 had reached his ear, but which were unknown 
 to Constance. This intimation alarmed Con- 
 stance, and she most earnestly besought him 
 not to come. — " Forbear, dear Beaufort, urge 
 not such desperate action. You had better 
 seek the battle-field once more, or dare the 
 fierceness of the rudest storm, even in the 
 slightest vessel of the sea, than thus run head- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 65 
 
 long" on my father's anger ! He might con- 
 strue such coming- to some deadly insult to- 
 wards his honour. Dare not, I beg, implore 
 thee, tempt such desperate service — it would 
 be fatal to our hopes. Remember, Beaufort, 
 that, in times like these, even knightly oaths 
 are not so strictly kept, and I would wish my 
 father's honour still unsullied. You know too 
 well the hatred of the house of York to all of 
 Lancaster, and the fierce recklessness of party 
 rage might cost thee life, and then what would 
 Constance have to live for?" 
 
 " Look not so darkly, Constance, on my 
 wish. — Have I not often perilled danger even 
 ten times fiercer than thy fancies strive to fix 
 upon this little tilt — a mere encounter for bold 
 exercise? Would'st thou that I should yield up 
 all my martial fame, and thus sink deeper in 
 bold Warwick's estimation ; for such must be 
 the case were I to fail attendance on his gal- 
 lant invitation. ' Free for all comers, whether 
 friend or foe,' thus said the herald of your 
 house; nor can I think he would endanger 
 all his reputation, the prize for which he long 
 
66 THE HUNTER^S OAK. 
 
 contended, bv foully stainino- knio-hthood's 
 claim. It cannot be !" " Can Beaufort's ho- 
 nour fail to be dear to one who places this 
 confidence in it, or can he ever think au^ht 
 but a sense of danger makes her speech so 
 sad? Alas! If the best wishes of a heart, 
 which feels thy noble nature's kindness, can 
 avail thee, then, noble Beaufort, thou hast mv 
 constant prayers. Farewell ! one other mo- 
 ment must be fatal ; for this has stretched 
 beyond its proper limits. We soon, I hope, 
 may meet again ; but it must be with caution : 
 for, should suspicion even be raised, destruc- 
 tion would overtake me. Once more, good 
 night." '' Farewell ! dear Constance ! and 
 when next we meet, may heaven forget me, 
 if 1 prove unworthy of thy love.'* Beaufort 
 knelt down, and having kissed her hand in 
 the most respectful and affectionate manner, 
 bade her good night. He would have walked 
 onward towards the castle, but forbore on her 
 earnest entreaty, lest he mioht be observed 
 from the walls. As he watched the gradual 
 receding of her beautiful figure, which be- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 67 
 
 came shrouded by the uncertain light, he 
 addressed one prayer to Heaven for blessings 
 on her head ; and never was supplication for 
 a beloved object more fervent or sincere, 
 than that which passed the lips of Beaufort. 
 Beaufort and his esquire (Ralph Leving- 
 stone) had some distance to walk before they 
 could reach their horses, having secured the 
 noble animals without the precincts of the 
 park, to prevent discovery ; and they were 
 most particularly cautious to avoid the beaten 
 track for the same reason. As they were gra- 
 dually emerging from a deep thicket of un- 
 ♦ derwood which had been untrodden, save by 
 some wild animal, perhaps for centuries, they 
 both fancied they heard the tread of armed 
 feet, nor were their suspicions long before 
 they became embodied. Crouching down as 
 quickly as possible in the copse, the persons 
 who caused this noise, stopped as if waiting 
 for some other joining them — presently a shrill 
 whistle was heard close to them, which was 
 answered quickly and apparently from the 
 
68 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 same point where Beaufort had just had the 
 meetino" with Constance — " I find he hears 
 the sig-nal, thoug-h he mio*ht well imao-ine we 
 were lost. Curse on that idiot, who so long- 
 has delayed our provender. Does he think 
 me child or moon-calf that I am thus to be 
 trifled with*? Here, Denoir, keep close to this 
 spot whilst I advance ; it holds a terror for all 
 comers from the castle. Were daj-light near 
 we durst not shew our heads above the level 
 of the ground ; but when the evening shrouds 
 from view, we carry all before us. The Hun- 
 ter's Oak has terrors for those dogged men 
 at arms, stronger than if King Henry with a 
 legion of Lancastrian power were fixed against 
 the gates of yonder castle." Denoir growled 
 out a reluctant acquiescence, and was left 
 alone. He appeared rather uneasy in his 
 situation, for he walked backwards and for- 
 ward hastily — stopped — and then again ad- 
 vanced. Beaufort hardly knew how to act, 
 whether to shew liimself or remain in con- 
 cealment; the former appeared the better 
 
THE hunter's oak. 69 
 
 plan, for it was evident the parties formed 
 no parcel of the garrison, and must have 
 some ill motives perhaps on its inmates. The 
 thought of Constance darted athwart his mind, 
 and he determined to watch their proceedings 
 warily yet silently. The moon had now risen, 
 and the eveninof, which had been hitherto 
 serene, became more boisterous. The wind 
 blew occasionally sharply, and in the teeth 
 of any one advancing towards the castle, so 
 that the forward party could not hear any 
 one in pursuit ; this was decidedly an ad- 
 vantage to Beaufort, who had risen a little 
 from his uneasy posture, to look around, and 
 the strong light falling on the figure of the 
 man left, (whilst his was in shadow,) en- 
 abled him to observe his motions unnoticed. 
 Another shrill whistle now sounded, when 
 he started hastily from a tree against which 
 he had been leaning, and made a rapid 
 movement towards the oak. Beaufort direct- 
 ly ordered Levingstone to follow, and to pur- 
 sue with him the footsteps of the retreating 
 object, yet with circumspection. This they 
 
70 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 were enabled easily to accomplish by keeping 
 close shrouded by the copse. They had not 
 far to advance before a second object joined 
 the first, starting up as if out of the tree itself, 
 for nothing less could account for its instant 
 appearance. Beaufort and his esquire now 
 checked themselves, contriving to get near 
 enouo-h to overhear and see the parties with- 
 out being observed. A dark cloud had passed 
 over, and remained obscuring the moon ; it 
 had been shaded until the instant the villains 
 met, when a broad glare of light streamed 
 so full on them, as to yield the most distinct 
 view of their features. They both were men 
 of large stature, and evidently the refuse of 
 those mercenary soldiers, whom the disturbed 
 nature of the land made so common, and 
 whose military habiliments were too frequently 
 the excuse for pillage and unlicensed plunder. 
 They were collected in various parts of the 
 country, and only existed upon the wretched- 
 ness of others, whom the warlike times had al- 
 ready injured. The whole island swarmed with 
 these desperate and reckless men, and Beau- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 71 
 
 fort's experienced eye readily detected, that 
 they only wore harness for the sole purpose of 
 plunder and violence. The one who last ap- 
 peared, had the most hideous and diabolical 
 expression of countenance. His blood-shot 
 eyes gave earnest, that the head in which they 
 were placed was fully capable of executing* any 
 scheme, however nefarious. His shoulders 
 had great squareness and breadth, indicating 
 extraordinary power, and the other propor- 
 tions of his frame were well adapted for his 
 undertaking any thing which mere brute 
 force, man against man, could achieve. De- 
 noir was equally tall, yet not so strongly set, 
 though his was a figure which would stand the 
 brunt of many a rough encounter. His fea- 
 tures were well-formed and expressive, but 
 had lost a considerable degree of vivacity, 
 which they otherwise would have possessed, 
 by bearing the impress of habitual intoxica- 
 tion. They were both well-armed, and evi- 
 dently used to these nocturnal meetings, by 
 the expressions which had been uttered. 
 ** Have they returned ?" said Denoir. — 
 
72 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 " No soul, save Philip, keeps the cave, and 
 should they loiter longer on the road, detec- 
 tion will be sure, for the keepers of the park 
 are stirring at this hour. Curse on the fellow, 
 if I repay him not when next we meet with some 
 cold inches of my dagger, never trust Cuth- 
 bert Chillingham more. He promised our 
 supplies should be at the usual spot, but when 
 1 called to see if he was punctual, none were 
 visible. Our friends had notice of the call, 
 and have, no doubt, been kept impatient by 
 this lying slave." — " Aye," said Denoir, "the 
 solids keep thy growling spirit quiet, but I 
 love wine to cheer the heart and prompt the 
 daring deed. Wine that enkindles valour 
 when occasion serves — wine that exhilarates 
 the soul, and makes even this den, most vil- 
 lanous as it is, appear at times like Paradise. 
 If the fool's hampers yield not wine as well 
 as meat, or if he fail in both, should thv re- 
 venge but prove uncertain, mine shall be more 
 secure." The whistle again sounded, and 
 the worthy couple were speedily joined by at 
 least a score more of the same villanous brood 
 
THE hunter's oak. 73 
 
 who carried several hampers, apparently of 
 weight, which no doubt contained the articles 
 about which the rascals had been grumbling. 
 Denoir now approached the Hunter's Oak, 
 struck with a heavy mace he held in his hand 
 a firm blow or two near its base, when a trap- 
 door, which appeared to be most admirably 
 adjusted, swung back without the least noise, 
 and presented an opening from whence a light 
 was visible. The hampers having been care- 
 fully lowered, under the inspection of De- 
 noir, he descended, and was speedily followed 
 by his companions. The door again silently 
 swung on its hinges and closed up the space. 
 
 Beaufort and his esquire now rose from 
 their irksome posture, but they were both too 
 much astonished to say much. The first im- 
 pulse was to see where the door was situated, 
 but the tree was so thickly embraced with ivy, 
 and rugged from age, and the light was so 
 uncertain, that it was impossible to discover 
 it. " This is most wonderful — even in the 
 very centre of the domain of one whose power 
 is so resistless, do these villains dare to lurk. 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 What motive can they have but plunder?'^ 
 This was said as if Beaufort had forgotten 
 Levingston was near, who had in the mean- 
 while placed his ear close to the oak. " Hush I 
 my lord, I think T hear the voices now, and, 
 hark! some of the villains sing*. By Hea- 
 vens, I wish I had the scouting of this vil- 
 lanous brood, for little else than mischief 
 brino-s them here." The conversation was 
 checked by the voices of the villains, which, 
 ascending from the cavern, had an unearthly 
 sound, yet they were distinctly to be heard in 
 all the boisterous revelry which drink in- 
 spires, singing the following. 
 
 1st llohber. 
 Come, strike up a stave, let us set aside care, 
 And drown in the bowl every thought of night- mare ; 
 For when we drink deeply, we sink down to rest. 
 And sleep on our couches, with monks, at the best. 
 Chorus. Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 Ha! Ha ! Ha ! we all love a joke, 
 And enjoy it so free in the Hunter's Oak. 
 
 2«fi? Robber. 
 I like to hear "Ralph, who of courage has none. 
 Who shrinks at the sight of the setting-sun ; 
 
THE hunter's oak. 75 
 
 "'TIS only for spirits like ours to dare. 
 Who strive by bold action to scare the night-mare. 
 Chorus. Ha J Ha! Ha! 
 
 Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! we all love a joke. 
 
 And enj oy it secure, 'neath the Hunter's Oak. 
 
 dd Robber. 
 
 Ne'er think of the deeds that are done — ^"tis not well- 
 Drown thoughts of the past, as Hob was in the well ; 
 In these times of peril, we all freely share. 
 And we drink and are merry to scare the night-mare. 
 Chorus. Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! we all love a joke, 
 And no place secure, like the Hunter's 
 Oak. 
 
 This' chorus was roared out vociferously, 
 and could have been heard at some distance ; 
 indeed, had they not known who were the 
 singers, they would have been staggered to 
 have accounted for the cause. To the igno- 
 rant, who might have been, at some period, 
 astonished witnesses of the noise, thus rising 
 from the very bowels of the earth, it must have 
 been appalling, and would decidedly be put 
 down as emanating from the infernal spirits, 
 for the noise and shouting were alone worthy 
 
 e2 
 
76 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 of such inference being drawn. Beaufort and 
 Ralph now left the spot, the former thinking- 
 with horror what Constance must have felt, if 
 she had heard the noise without having an 
 idea of its cause, and the chance she ran of 
 falling in with them — the latter alone occu- 
 pied by a fervent wish to extirpate the whole 
 brood as vermin infesting the soil on which 
 they fattened. Having found their horses, 
 they made the best of their way to Knowie, 
 where Beaufort intended to remain until after 
 the tournament. 
 
THE huntcr's oak. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 If Nature yields to man one nobler claim, 
 'Tis sure the charge of lovely woman's fame : 
 "Who wins, who holds a virtuous woman's heart, 
 Should ease her woes, not make her feel their smart. 
 
 Constance, on her parting" from Beaufort, 
 made the best of her way to the castle, and 
 felt considerable uneasiness lest her length- 
 ened absence should have been discovered. 
 The natural feelings of Constance were sensi- 
 tive and delicate in the highest degree, and she 
 could not help thinking, that in yielding this 
 meeting with Beaufort she had acted rashly, 
 if not indiscreetly. The affection which, she 
 felt for the gallant knight was such as angels 
 might have envied, nor was there one single 
 idea but the fondest and most devoted occu- 
 
78 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 pying her virtuous mind. To deny such 
 a trifling request, when she knew that he was 
 prevented from openly acknowledging his pas- 
 sion and boldly claiming her hand, was cer- 
 tainly hard ; yet when she reflected upon the 
 danger which their interviews must be at- 
 tended with, she shrunk with horror at the 
 bare supposition of his falling a victim to his 
 temerity. Edmund observed her distress, and 
 endeavoured to calm it, in the most respectful 
 and affectionate manner, for the anxiety de- 
 picted on her lovely countenance touched him 
 to the very heart. He had been from infancy 
 nurtured at the same fountain which had atFord- 
 ed sustenance to Constance ; for the Countess 
 of Warwick died soon after her birth, and the 
 mother of Edmund was selected to nurse the 
 unfortunate innocent. She was the wife of 
 the seneschal of the castle previous to Jaspar 
 Amaury, who had been slain in a casual en- 
 counter, when Edmund was scarce four years 
 old. This early intimacy had made him look 
 upon his noble mistress ahiiost as a sister ; and 
 indeed, if the most devoted fondness for her 
 
THE hunter's oak. 70 
 
 liappiness and comfort could be increased, 
 nothing but that natural tie could knit the 
 bonds closer. He had somewhat succeeded 
 in allaying her fears just as they reached the 
 castle : here unfortunately the sentinels had 
 been changed, and the pass-word no longer 
 useful, for it v/as altered upon every relief, in 
 order to make its access difficult. The cer- 
 tainty, that to gain entrance, she must mak^ 
 herself known, was in the highest degree dis- 
 tressing—it must excite suspicion — that would 
 cause inquiry, and future egress become ha- 
 zardous, if not impracticable. The sentinel ap- 
 peared to feel no inclination, except they stated 
 their name and business, to keep his cross-bolt 
 in a state of quietude ; for he had placed one 
 in the bow ready for use, bent the string, and 
 in another instant would have discharged the 
 weapon. Fortunately, however, before such 
 a disastrous circumstance had happened, Jas- 
 par Amaury most critically came up, having 
 been round to the various posts to see if all 
 were at their duty. Observing the soldier's 
 bent crossbow, he readily inquired the cause 
 
80 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 of such hostile measures, exclaiming* at the 
 same time, "Put back your weapon, that I 
 may parley with those claiming admittance." 
 
 " Who goes there ! — Your business, name, 
 and wants ; for this is an unseasonable hour to 
 call on trifling errand. I warn ye well — short 
 time is here allowed for silent tongues, and 
 if some speedy answer be not given, cross-bolt 
 and cloth-yard shaft may silence future talk- 
 ing." 
 
 Edmund knew too well the danger they 
 were in to hesitate longer, and instantly 
 called out, " Hold your hand on the instant, 
 unless you wish to slay your noble master's 
 daughter, the Lady Constance, who having 
 rambled beyond her usual hour, found the 
 guard changed, and every entrance guarded !" 
 
 " By the mass," said Amaury, " 'tis well 
 I chanced to light upon this spot, or speedy 
 mischief had been done, wlien all would 
 curse the moment that it happened. Please 
 you, my noble Lady, it may be dangerous 
 to try this chance again; for such strict and 
 powerful charge is given to all upon the watch, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 81 
 
 that had not my arrival been so well timed, 
 no human power had saved thy valued life." 
 
 " I feel most grateful, Jaspar, for this service? 
 and shall not fail some time, to find thee good 
 requital ; henceforward it shall be my care to 
 be more cautious at the hour." 
 
 " Indeed, good madam, it would be most 
 prudent, for such firm confidence is placed 
 upon my holding this castle safe, that I must 
 be strict, even to the appearance of harshness, 
 to render my duty secure ; the times are dan- 
 gerous, and will not hold with negligence." 
 
 Amaury having said thus much, undid the 
 portal, and admitted them. Constance, attend- 
 ed by Bertha, made a hasty movement to her 
 own room, not wishing to be seen by Isabel 
 until she was more composed. Amaury 
 placed his hand upon the page's shoulder, 
 and prevented his further progress. " This 
 then accounts, my youngster, for your wish 
 to avoid the meeting in the hall, and well 
 explains your plea of sickness. Has the 
 evening breeze peculiar qualities for thy 
 
 complaint, or aims thy flight at higher game ? 
 
 E 3 
 
82 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Look ye, my master, our noble ladies are 
 of precious lineage, high in the world's 
 opinion and esteem, and even now 'tis said the 
 Earl seeks fitting husbands for their choice. 
 Think ye then it has a good appearance for 
 such beardless loiterers as thou art, to dance 
 attendance on the Lady Constance, taking 
 the courtesies of her noble nature as any 
 meaning for thy presumption'?" 
 
 Edmund had listened to this soliloquy of 
 Amaury's with decent attention, well knowing 
 it was only given from the best motives, but 
 he could not allow his opinion to remain un- 
 contradicted. — " Do you suppose, Amaury,the 
 Lady Constance could so far forget her ancient 
 name as even to imagine Edmund sought a 
 recompence, the proudest in the land might 
 ask in vain for, or have you so bad an opinion 
 of my prudence, as to suppose 1 dared aspire so 
 high, were even hopes held out? Of this be 
 well assured, I have too great a liking for my 
 neck ever to wish it stretched beyond the 
 easement of my doublet." As they advanced 
 towards the hall, Amaury told Edmund that 
 
THE hunter's oak. 83 
 
 the Earl was expected on the following day, 
 in order that he might see every thing pre- 
 pared for the King's visit, and to do the ho- 
 nours of the reception. He was to be accom- 
 panied by the Lord Clifford, to whom report 
 said he intended to give Constance, Jas- 
 par described him as a fierce and dangerous 
 man, possessing great power and influence, 
 which be used for the worst purposes. This 
 was news indeed to Edmund, but he knew too 
 well that she had fixed her affection irrevoc- 
 ably on one who would not lightly yield up 
 his pretensions. Although the present aspect 
 of the Lancastrians was dark and gloomy, yet 
 the same chance which had so suddenly ele- 
 vated the Yorkists, might happen in their fa- 
 vour and thus change the fortune of the day. 
 That such fortune might offer he fervently 
 wished, and having determined on warning 
 Constance of her father's intention, he retired 
 to his chamber. 
 
 Constance descended to the apartment set 
 asida for the morning meal with a heavy 
 heart, for she knew not how to account for 
 
84 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 her absence to Isabel. Scorninof a falsehood, 
 yet dreading to tell the truth, she scarcely 
 had courage for the interview. After some 
 considerable emotion, she resolved to make 
 her sister acquainted with her interview with 
 Beaufort, thinking it better to trust her with 
 the intelligence openly and freely, than leave 
 some unlucky chance to yield discovery. As 
 she paced the corridor leading to the various 
 rooms, she had framed her spirit to some bet- 
 ter feeling, and, brushing away a tear which 
 had risen involuntarily, entered the room. 
 
 Isabel received her with the sincerest wel- 
 come, and this at once decided her in what 
 steps to pursue. " Why, Constance, love, 
 your walk last night has made you look but 
 sadly. Why was it so protracted ? I could 
 not refrain from thinking, that something more 
 than common must have happened to cause 
 such long delay. Edmund and Bertha, I find, 
 accompanied your walk, and surely they must 
 know the castle habits grant not such licence 
 often." " Indeed, dear Isabel, a cause there 
 was of great importance to my happiness, else 
 
THE hunter's oak. 86 
 
 had I not forgotten that it was dangerous to 
 linger out beyond the accustomed hour. Did 
 I but think you would not chide me for the 
 confidence, the secret should be placed with- 
 in your breast. Look not surprised, or else 
 my heart will fail me." Isabel appeared 
 much astonished, and hardly knew what answer 
 to make ; however, she soon recovered her- 
 self, and replied — " And when did Constance 
 ever find her sister otherwise than anxious for 
 her happiness. Speak to me, love ; think thy 
 griefs mine.'' 
 
 Upon this kind assurance, Constance told 
 Isabel of her havinof met Beaufort at the Hun- 
 ter's Oak, of his residence at Knowle, and in- 
 tention of coming to the tilt. Avowed the 
 impossibility of forgetting one whom her 
 young heart had been taught to love, and 
 whose gallant demeanour she always should 
 hold next her heart. This bavins: been com- 
 municated with sobs and tears, Constance in 
 conclusion flung herself at her sister's feet, 
 and in the most earnest and affectionate man- 
 ner besought her to conceal the secret. To 
 
86 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 such solicitations what could be expected but 
 compliance ? Yet Isabel well knew, that in 
 yielding such a promise, she was only encou- 
 raging" hopes which never could be realized. 
 Stooping down, however, with much agitation, 
 she exclaimed — " Constance, my own and 
 best-beloved sister, this is a dangerous attach- 
 ment. Do you not know with what relentless 
 hate our father is pursued by all who hold the 
 cause of Lancaster ? Oh ! Constance ! Con- 
 stance ! poor unhappy girl ! I know not what 
 to say, to think, advise. I would assist thee 
 by a sister's counsel, yet scarce dare hope 
 aught but the greatest misery will follow. 
 Were there none else existing on this earth, 
 T feel assured the Earl would never listen to 
 the tale. Nay, more, would spurn me from 
 his feet if I but mentioned it." " Bear with 
 me yet a little while, dear Isabel, and then, 
 perchance, some change may happen making 
 my present hopes more fair, and that it may — 
 oh ! Heaven, now hear my prayer ! Grant that 
 the hatred which now inflames this wretched 
 land may soon be buried — that the fierce ven- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 87 
 
 geance of stern faction be assuaged — and that 
 once more the hearth of friendship, cour- 
 tesy, and honour, be free and sacred from the 
 foeman's steel !" Constance, upon uttering- 
 this prayer, had fallen on her knees again, 
 and the energy of her expression, beauty of 
 person, and extreme youth, made Isabel the 
 more bitterly regret the unforAinate attach- 
 ment was so rooted, and from which she ex- 
 pected little else than agony and despair. 
 Raising her sister, she begged her to be com- 
 forted, nor let this passion move her so 
 strangely. She entreated vigilance and cau- 
 tion before the Earl, and to place no conii- 
 dence in any retainer of the household, for 
 she explained most decidedly, that if Beaufort 
 were found on the demesne of Warwick, the 
 most immediate vengeance would be taken, 
 for he would only be looked on as a spy, and 
 thus sacrificed unjustly to party hatred and 
 revenge. The truth of this appeared to flash 
 like liffhtnino^ throuo^h the brain of Constance, 
 who sprung up with the gestures of one un- 
 der the strongest intellectual excitement, and 
 
88 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 exclaimed — " Oh ! yield him not, I charge 
 you ! — He never was untrue — Save him — • 
 Oh! righteous Heaven, look down with pity on 
 an innocent soul, nor let a cruel, base, and most 
 unmanly hatred be thus so basely pandered to. 
 Save him — restore him — cruel men, he never 
 injured you ! Oh ! God, he sinks beneath 
 their blows. Look ! even now he falls. Oh ! 
 Beaufort, dear, I haste to succour thee : we 
 never will be disunited. I come, for I am 
 strong; very, very strong." Nature could 
 sustain no more : worked up almost to 
 frenzy by the imagination of his being thus 
 cruelly treated, she sunk back listless and ex- 
 hausted, and undoubtedly would have re- 
 ceived severe injury, had not Edmund, who 
 was advancing to the room, heard her piteous 
 exclamations, and just entered time enough 
 to save her in his arms. Isabel was absolutely 
 petrified at this dreadful scene. Should it 
 reach her father's ear, who was immediately 
 expected, the consequences might be alarm- 
 ing. The moments, however, were precious, 
 and required decision. Pity for her unfor- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 89 
 
 tunate sister now was uppermost, and striking 
 upon a silver bell, which was immediately at- 
 tended to, and having: by assistance led Con- 
 stance to her chamber, she used every exer- 
 tion to bring her to a more quiet state of 
 mind. Nothing could exceed the distress and 
 uneasiness into which this unfortunate indis- 
 position had plunged Isabel, for she had re- 
 ceived such decided commands from her father 
 that they both should be prepared to greet 
 his arrival by a second messenger, as to make 
 her alarmed at the meeting. He had men- 
 tioned his being accompanied by Lord Clif- 
 ford, with whom he was on the most intimate 
 footing, and one which he wished to be drawn 
 closer by nearer ties. Had Constance been 
 ill from any other cause she might have made 
 some better excuse, but what was she now to 
 say? — what was to be done? The agitation 
 and present nervous state in which she re- 
 mained were alarming, and if, upon any 
 harsh expression being used, the same in- 
 coherent strain was pursued, some suspi- 
 
90 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 cion of the interview at any rate would be 
 surmised. 
 
 To prevent this fatal knowledge from being" 
 circulated, was the only plan Isabel could 
 suggest on the instant, for she well knew the 
 implacable hatred of party feeling, not to 
 dread its violence. Having with some diffi- 
 culty administered some soothing medicine, 
 she flattered herself it might have a beneficial 
 effect before the Earl's arrival ; when, point- 
 ing out in the strongest manner she could, the 
 certain danger which must accrue if suspi- 
 cion were in the slightest degree excited, she 
 might calm the agitation of Constance by firm 
 and deliberate reasonino-. This to a woman 
 of such strong understanding as Isabel pos- 
 sessed, appeared an easy task to succeed in, 
 but those who have loved fondly, devotedly, 
 and remain under the apprehension of losing 
 the beloved object on whom their heart-strings 
 seem entwined, may readily imagine it was 
 a task more easily conceived than executed. 
 That love is stronger by opposition none, I 
 think, can deny, and in this instance it had 
 
THE HUNTER^S OAK. 91 
 
 taken such firm hold of Constance, that, in the 
 object of her affection she saw alone the noble, 
 generous, and gallant Beaufort, blinding her- 
 self to the knowledge that he was by birth and 
 education the most determined and hereditary 
 enemy of that faction, which her father so re- 
 solutely upheld. Isabel watched her sister's 
 slumbers with terrible anxiety, and could 
 plainly perceive that her mind was still under 
 the influence of her waking recollections. She 
 moaned pitifully, tossed her arms backwards 
 and forwards, and appeared evidently sufter- 
 ing under great mental distress. Having look- 
 ed upon her for some time in this painful man- 
 ner, she felt happy in perceiving that the 
 drug had taken a favourable effect. The 
 cheek, which was not pressing the pillow, had 
 before a high and excited colour; it now as- 
 sumed a more natural appearance, and her 
 sleep, instead of being restless and uneasy, 
 became calm and refreshing. If innocence 
 has another appropriate emblem besides in- 
 fancy, I think it might be personified in the 
 tranquil repose of a young and innocent fe- 
 
92 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 male. Before the troubles of life become 
 known, every thing throughout the face of 
 nature presents one uniform green and ever- 
 lasting verdure. The mind's eye paints on 
 the imagination happiness and repose — it 
 stretches its view towards the pleasing antici- 
 pations of the future, beholding hope forming 
 its most extreme boundary. Alas! how must 
 we ever regret that the prospect should so 
 soon be destroyed and blighted ! That our 
 pleasure should be turned into pain, and our 
 hopes into fears. Such however is the pro- 
 gress of mankind, and the countenance never 
 has a more satisfied and lovely expression 
 than when it beams with the expectations of 
 blessino^s, which so soon are to be annihilated 
 for ever ! 
 
 The sudden and shrill sound of a trumpet 
 caused Constance to start up, and appeared 
 to alarm her dreadfully ; she seemed uncon- 
 scious in what situation she was, but Isabel 
 having instantly flown to her aid, brought re- 
 collection to her assistance. Throwinsr her- 
 self on her sister's neck, she sobbed loudly and 
 
THE hunter's oak. 93 
 
 deeply, and a plentiful flood of tears coming- 
 to her relief restored her in some measure to 
 sense. 
 
 " For the sake of heaven, dearest Con- 
 stance, rouse yourself! Let not the fancy 
 which has seized on your imagination move 
 you so strongly, as to overpower all your bet- 
 ter feelings. Recollect that the safety, the 
 happiness of him to whom you have given the 
 dearest pledge that man can have, a virtuous 
 woman's love, depends on your discretion. 
 Remember, dearest, too, that happier hours 
 may come to lighten this distress ; that by 
 some chance, which is at the disposal of a Pro- 
 vidence, wise yet inscrutable, (here Isabel 
 devoutly crossed herself,) our noble father 
 may be brought to bear the mention of this 
 union with more discretion. On you, and 
 you alone, depends this sole remaining hope.'' 
 
 Isabel had now adroitly touched the string 
 which moved the very life-blood of Constance. 
 In one instant, more speedily than it is now 
 described, she became as calm and restored 
 to self-possession as ever. Casting on her 
 
94 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 sister a look of the most devoted affection, 
 she promised to be more guarded, nor let her 
 feelings so soon overcome her. Isabel had 
 now gained the point at which she had been 
 aiming, and felt infinite relief at this bene- 
 ficial resolution, which was the only chance 
 remaining for her to depend on. She per- 
 suaded Constance to take some refreshment, 
 for neither had tasted food, the distress of one 
 and the anxiety of the other preventing their 
 ever feeling to want sustenance, and the morn- 
 ing's meal had remained untouched. 
 
THE HUNTER'S OAK. 05 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I've seen that glance which withering- fell, 
 It look'd as if it bore a spell ; 
 For none who once receiv'd it's stare, 
 Could dare again the livid glare ! 
 
 On the following" morning every thing about 
 the castle bespoke bustle and activity. The 
 domestic servants were all on the alert, and 
 the seneschal had called out the men at arms, 
 archers, and billmen, to hold themselves in 
 readiness to receive their noble master, who 
 soon obeyed the summons. They were all 
 assembled in the enormous court-yard of 
 the castle, and had a very imposing appear- 
 ance. Few of the personal retainers of the 
 House of Warwick were less than respectable 
 yeomen, and they had been selected by the 
 
96 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 seneschal from their personal strength, valour, 
 and good behaviour. They had all seen ex- 
 cellent service, and were well esteemed from 
 holding" tenure under the banner of so cele- 
 brated a warrior as Warwick. The warder at 
 last gave his signal, intimating the approach of 
 the Earl and his retinue, having first spied a 
 messenger riding considerably in the advance, 
 well mounted, and with a white rose in his 
 helmet. The trumpets now sounded shrilly, 
 and, with the most evident marks of delight, 
 the whole assemblage received their noble 
 master. He was unaccompanied by any one 
 holding very high rank, except Lord CliiFord ; 
 and his retinue was not splendid, as he had 
 rather chosen despatch in his journey from 
 London, than making a display of wealth by 
 his large train of attendants. Shouts rent the 
 very walls, and the wind was filled by the 
 echoing sounds of delight and gratulation. 
 Warwick, on dismounting from his steed, ac- 
 knowledged their good-will, and most parti- 
 cularly complimented Jaspar Amaury upon 
 the noble appearance of the troops, and the 
 
THE hunter's oak. 97 
 
 care which he had taken of the castle and its 
 inmates. Turning to Clifford, who had also 
 alighted, he said — 
 
 " What think ye, my lord, of our appear- 
 ance, are not the servants of our house right 
 glad of our return V^ 
 
 " They seem so, indeed," said Clifford, 
 " and their warlike appearance speaks well in 
 their favour. Such friends as these are noble 
 backers in a fray, and well might bid defiance 
 to defeat. With some score thousand of these 
 spirits the world would scarce contain my 
 wishes, for victory must follow such gallant 
 hearts : I like them well, and look upon them 
 with a soldier's eye. Thy seneschal has brought 
 such discipline into their ranks, as never yet has 
 been surpassed. Trust me, most noble War- 
 wick, they stand thee in good stead, no doubt, 
 in perilous hour, and must be dangerous foes." 
 
 This approbation was well received by War- 
 wick, who delighted in nothing more than the 
 bold and warlike demeanour of his vassals, and 
 felt much pride at hearing them praised by so 
 redoubted a soldier as Clifford. They now en- 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
THE hunter's oak. 
 
 tered the castle, and partook of some refresh- 
 ment after the fatigue of the journey. Few ex- 
 peditions at this period, undertaken by men of 
 rank, were performed otherwise than on horse- 
 back, for carriages were little known, and those 
 in use were so ill-contrived and cumbersome 
 as to impede rather than expedite a journey. 
 No man was looked upon who was not an ex- 
 pert horseman, and the martial spirit of the 
 age rendered it necessary for him, not only to 
 be a good equestrian, but well accomplished 
 in the use of weapons of offence and defence. 
 Lord Clifford, about the time he was first in- 
 troduced to the castle, was above the middle 
 age. His appearance was by no means calcu- 
 lated to please in a room, for his bold and 
 warlike freedom of manner had been gained 
 by being early inured to the camp, so that he 
 had in a considerable degree acquired all its 
 wild and licentious habits. Women, in the eye 
 of such a man, had none of the charms of the 
 sex by which their society imparts civilization 
 to the company of men. He thought of them 
 merely as slaves, or as advancing some end of 
 
THE hunter's oak. 99 
 
 ambition. They were calculated to pass the 
 hour, and looked upon with contempt, except 
 as contributors to his gratification. 
 
 He was a man of large frame, sinewy and 
 muscular, and was a proper soldier for the age 
 in which he lived, when military science was 
 pretty nearly comprised in feats of valour, and 
 in which personal strength bore a conspicuous 
 part. His forehead was well formed, but, from 
 the constant pressure of the head-piece, nearly 
 bald ; the few hairs which were left were crisp 
 and dark, except where the hand of time, or, 
 more probably, the reckless life he led, had 
 contributed to whiten them. The most re- 
 markable features of the face were the eyes; 
 they were of a dark hazel, and glared with a 
 lustre almost intolerable ; in other respects 
 the countenance had nothing remarkable, ex- 
 pressing energy and firmness. He was com- 
 pletely armed, and, except on the most par- 
 ticular occasions, rarely doffed his harness, 
 for few days elapsed in succession, without 
 his being in the saddle and the fray, so 
 that he kept himself in constant readiness for 
 
 f2 
 
100 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 immediate service. To one capable of read- 
 ing" the human heart, taking* his general ap- 
 pearance at a glance, he gave the idea of a 
 man of desperate and reckless courage, well 
 befitting- the stormy period in which he lived ; 
 indeed few barons of the agfe were more re- 
 nowned for valour than Lord Clifford. The 
 various battles in which he had been eno-an-ed, 
 g-ave evident proofs of his resolute character, 
 there being" but few things which headlong" 
 and rash courage could perform, that would 
 deter Clifford from attempting. If we say that 
 he was a knight without fear, the truth may be 
 nearly told, for it was impossible not to know 
 that he was without reproach. Many desperate 
 deeds are on record bearing heavy testimony 
 against the fierce baron, and though living in 
 an ao-e of crueltv.rapine, and destruction, there 
 were few men more revengeful or remorseless. 
 This then was the man whom Warwick had 
 selected as the husband of Constance. This 
 bold and licentious warrior was to be united to 
 the loveliest and softest of her sex! Well 
 mJo'ht Constance have dreaded ambition, for 
 
THE hunter's oak. ' 101 
 
 it was to serve the ends of that fiend to human 
 happiness, that she was to be immolated on its 
 altar. The g-races of her person, the noble- 
 ness of heart, and simple yet unpretending- 
 innocence, were entirely forgotten by her fa- 
 ther, who was so intoxicated at the g-iddy 
 height to which he had arrived, that he saw 
 alone in a daug-hter, of whom he should have 
 felt proud, the object by which he might ad- 
 vance that darling' aim of his life. War- 
 wick too well knew the necessity of retaining- 
 so able a friend on the side he maintained, 
 not to wish to secure him by the strongest ties 
 to his interest, and on the approaching tour- 
 nament, he had resolved to make the victor's 
 reward the promise of his daughter's hand. 
 Of one thinff he had made tolerablv certain — 
 which was, that Clifford would most decidedly 
 be the victor at the jousts, there being but few 
 (if any) knights of the age, who were so well 
 acquainted with warlike accomplishments as 
 Clifford. The dexterity and strength which 
 nature had given him, were much assisted by 
 constant and severe exercise, so that his plan, 
 to a certain extent, was in a great degree 
 
102 THE hunter's oak, 
 
 accomplished. Constance he looked upon as a 
 child, who would immediately yield to the com- 
 mands and wishes of a parent. It was some 
 time since he had seen her, and the innocent 
 and playful girl had now matured into the 
 loveliness and splendour of womanhood. 
 
 On his daughters entering the apartment, 
 he appeared surprised at the improvement a 
 little time had yielded; and on presenting them 
 to Clifford, the demon of his heart and idol of 
 his soul quailed before the still charms of 
 youth and innocence ; for it is too surely the 
 case that simple and confiding truth ever 
 causes guilt and dissimulation to look abash- 
 ed. Indeed, the fierce and bold Clifford was 
 so confused from the evident admiration which 
 he could not conceal, particularly when look- 
 ing on Constance — and his gaze was so ardent 
 and rude that she shrunk before the expres- 
 sion of his countenance. Recovering, how- 
 ever, his self-confidence, (which he possessed 
 in a remarkable degree,) he apologized for not 
 making his compliments more readilv, but 
 confessed that his admiration was so much and 
 so suddenly excited, that he scarcely knew what 
 
THE hunter's oak. 103 
 
 he was about. To this flattery Isabel leant no 
 unwilling ear, for her weakness was the love 
 of admiration; and to be thus complimented 
 bv one of the most renowned warriors of the 
 ag-e, was indeed gratifying in the highest de- 
 gree. Constance, however, felt disgusted; the 
 bold bearing and self-confident demeanour of 
 Clifford were so totally at variance with the 
 elegant and respectful address of Beaufort, 
 that the very recollection of that noble and 
 accomplished knight made the expression of 
 her dislike more evident than it otherwise 
 would have been. Clifford was no mean mas- 
 ter of the human heart, so far as it expressed 
 aversion and other passions of a similar na- 
 ture ; but of its nobler, softer feelings he knew 
 nothing. In the averted look and cold man- 
 ner of Constance he saw too plainly that he 
 had failed in his mark, and that his compli- 
 ment had not the effect he intended. This 
 made him the more resolute in conquering 
 the repugnance, for he felt her to be a prize 
 so high and worthy to aim at, that nothing 
 which fair means could offer should be left 
 
104 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 untried to overcome it. If other efforts, 
 however, were necessary, Clifford had a hand 
 and heart ready to carry the most diabo- 
 lical plans into execution, if they appeared 
 likely to forward his schemes. Here, however, 
 was a careful game to be played: Warwick, 
 he too well knew, would not allow of any open 
 means being" taken to force her to his arms, 
 and that his resources were too powerful for 
 him openly to attempt any violence. Dissi- 
 mulation, therefore, was to be the plan adopt- 
 ed,though it was no easy matter for him to con- 
 fine histurbulent and fiery passion, so little used 
 to be controlled, to the quiet and respectful 
 demeanour of a devoted admirer. No other 
 plan at present was so eligible, and necessity 
 not choice made him adopt it until some better 
 means became within his grasp. As he looked 
 upon the Lady Constance he endeavoured to 
 smile ; but it was so grim, so unearthly, so unlike 
 any thing human, that her heart sunk before its 
 bitterness and malignity. Nature had mould- 
 ed his features so firmly and rigidly, that when 
 attempting to look kind and conciliating, his 
 
THE hunter's oak. 105 
 
 expression was totally the reverse : indeed, it 
 was as impossible to impart the softer feelings 
 of mankind into Clifford's look as it was to 
 make age youthful and deformity loveliness. 
 He had them not — he knew them not — he felt 
 them not ! Warwick witnessed the emotions 
 of Clifford towards Constance with peculiar 
 pleasure, thoug-h he felt uneasy at observing 
 her coolness and evident dislike of them. It is 
 impossible that the human mind, if under the 
 impulse of well regulated feelings, can help 
 being displeased upon the approaches of any 
 one with a bold and self-confident manner, 
 and the face which so instantaneously shews 
 the workings of that master spirit, evidently 
 demonstrates the fact. The heart of Constance 
 was solely occupied by one object, so diame- 
 trically opposed to the one before her, as to 
 make the contrast too powerful; consequently, 
 her disgust was more marked. She looked 
 really lovely; and, though she had dressed 
 herself more hastily than usual, and her hair 
 was more negligently arranged, yet the ao-ita- 
 tion of the interview had imparted a glow to 
 
 F 3 ..j^.^, 
 
106 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 the countenance which materially heig-htened 
 its natural beauties. In fact, as is frequently 
 the case when we have a wish to make our- 
 selves less pleasing", Constance at this inter- 
 view had appeared to greater advantage than 
 if under the most happy state of mind; and 
 Warwick had never imagined she was so lovely, 
 interesting, and exquisitely beautiful ! 
 
 Both the ladies withdrew towards an open 
 window, and were, or seemed to be, amused 
 by the archers of the castle, who were exer- 
 cising themselves by shooting at the target. 
 Warwick and Clifford in the meantime had some 
 conversation, in which the latter was expressing 
 the love and admiration he felt for Constance, 
 
 " By my holidame, noble Warwick, she is a 
 lovely damsel, and adds more lustre to your 
 house than all the splendour of its vast estate. 
 Never has Clifford seen a maid so lovely or of 
 such vast perfections ; for though his sight has 
 frequently been gratified amidst the blaze of 
 beauty round the court, yet has he never wit- 
 nessed a flower so sweet and modest, as is the 
 rose of tliis fair castle." 
 
THE hunter's oak. 107 
 
 " You do me honour, valiant Clifford — trust 
 me the beauties of her mind will far outstrip 
 the wonders of her form ; for though they are 
 transcendent, yet are they far outshone by 
 those perfections. A beauty lacking brains 
 and wit, is but a painted gew-gaw, and cloys 
 upon our farther knowledge. She dances 
 well, has excellent skill upon the lute, and 
 none can match her in the madrigal, for she 
 has a voice which would enchant your senses." 
 
 " I shall not, cannot doubt it, for looking 
 only at the face of yon fair damsel, nature so 
 far outstrips the aid of art, that every look and 
 gesture speak to the heart and tell their own 
 tale there." 
 
 " Now, by Saint George," said Warwick, 
 ** thou hast on the sudden grown most cour- 
 teous. Thou wert not wont to be so easily 
 enchained, or yield thy rougher nature to such 
 trifles. Something there must be in this air 
 of Warwick, or thou hadst never been struck 
 as deep as any stag is pierced by hunter's 
 spear ; for though the wound may be as deep, 
 it may not be so deadly. What sayest thou 
 
108 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 now, thou man of stern resolve ? Why it was 
 but some days back that thou wast railing at 
 the sex, and nothing else would serve thy hu- 
 mour : now thou speakest as loudly in their 
 praise." 
 
 " Chide me as pleases thee, most noble 
 Warwick, thy daughter's charms have struck 
 indeed a weighty blow. 1 have never yet 
 felt the full force of female loveliness, and 
 coming on the sudden, it has made more ha- 
 voc than deadlier weapons could have done. 
 I yield myself a willing captive to such golden 
 chains." 
 
 " I shall use my vantage ground as best 
 becomes a knight," replied Warwick, " and 
 have some news to tell thy stirring spirit. 
 The tournament to which all comers are in- 
 vited, takes place the day after Edward's 
 arrival, and will no doubt be stoutly held. 
 Wishing to keep thee near my heart, most 
 noble Clifford, I have essayed this game, 
 thinking thy valour must yield thee fair reward. 
 Thus has the herald of our house delivered 
 speech : — 
 
THE hunter's oak. 109 
 
 «* The knight who nobly keeps the field. 
 Making all other suitors yield, 
 Has this reward — to boldly claim 
 A daughter's hand, of Warwick's name. 
 Yet not, unless she freely yield 
 Her love, to victor of the field." 
 
 " Ha ! by our Lady, say'st thou so, then rest 
 assured that Clifford claims the prize. This 
 is a noble courtesy, and makes me burn impa- 
 tient for the time to claim requital. Sa}'? 
 noble Warwick, when comes the royal Ed- 
 ward, for I am on the rack to learn the hour 
 for enterprize so high ?" 
 
 " He is expected by to-morrow's noon, and 
 I have entered on my journey first, to make 
 his welcome seem more gracious. Come, Clif- 
 ford, let me shew thee all the strong defences 
 of our castle, for though we have endea- 
 voured to make the bulwarks firm, thy soldier 
 glance may pounce upon some point that 
 misrht be better defended. Come, for I am 
 impatient to have thy opinion." 
 
110 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER Vlll. 
 
 One yet survives, to check his fell career 
 And make it crouch, beneath the conqu'ring spear j 
 One (gallant soul remains, who seeks the fray, 
 And yet may change the fortune of the day. 
 
 In a small apartment of the castle, Ed- 
 mund, Amaury, and the old steward, were 
 discussing their morning's meal, and if one of 
 the partj was somewhat deficient in appetite, 
 the other twain performed their duties to ad- 
 miration. They were so intent on their avo- 
 cations, as to waste no breath in talking, 
 thinking time ill bestowed on conversation dur- 
 ing such important duties. Jaspar Amaury, 
 who had somewhat supplied the vacuum in 
 his stomach, exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, well, Edmund, it is absolutely fixed 
 
THE hunter's oak. Ill 
 
 — determined on, and when our lord has once 
 set his heart upon a thing, it is no easy matter 
 to make him change his mind. Lord Clifford 
 is to be the husband of the Lady Constance, 
 provided she approves her father's choice ; 
 yet should she not wed him, a cloister most 
 likely will be her future abode." 
 
 " Thou must be jesting, Amaury," said Ed- 
 mund, " how can the Earl possibly think so 
 lovely, innocent, and sweet a lady, can match 
 with so fierce a man as Clifford? his very 
 name is used by nurses, as a terror to alarm a 
 wayward child. Besides his age is equal to 
 the Earl's, and his bold, reckless freedom of 
 demeanour can only fit the camp, 'twould 
 shame a lady's chamber ! thou must be jest- 
 in o- — it can never be !" 
 
 " No jesting matter 1 can warrant, good 
 master Edmund," said Gerald, the old stew- 
 ard, '^ for even now the herald is gone forth, 
 proclaiming the tilt which will be held soon 
 after Kins: Edward's arrival. It is free for 
 all comers, knights of gentle birth, and the 
 winner of the field has privilege to claim the 
 
112 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 hand of Lady Constance. The minstrels too 
 are commanded to attend the King-'s train 
 with a goodly company of mummers, and 
 jousting, feasting, and revelling will be the 
 order of the day. Thou knowest, good sene- 
 schal, the King is fond of pageants, feasts, and 
 revels, and the Ear! is fully bent on keeping up 
 the well known hospitality for which he has 
 been so celebrated. The hearts of all the neiofh- 
 bourhood are turned, and nothing but glad 
 faces meet me when I go into the town of 
 Warwick. First, a young lass accosts me 
 — ' Well, good master steward, when comes 
 the King V Before I can answer her, a pull of 
 the skirt by some urchins prevents my speech, 
 and on turning to give the little villains a cutf 
 for their insolence, a huge fellow bawls in 
 my ear, sufficient to crack its very strings — 
 * Where are the mummers, when is the tilt to 
 be, and where will it be held?' 1 declare it is 
 enousfh to muddle one's brain. I shall be 
 right glad when the noise has ceased." 
 
 " It would be no difficult task to muddle thy 
 brains, good steward," said Amaury, " for they 
 
THE hunter's oak. 113 
 
 are almost addled by age. That is a master- 
 stroke of the Earl's ! — few men are gifted with 
 such powers for the encounter, as Clifford, so 
 that my lord feels certain of his success. This 
 will be a good opportunity for gaining his 
 point, so that he need not absolutely appear to 
 force her wishes, though 1 am sorely afraid his 
 anger will fall heavy, should he find her un- 
 willing to yield compliance." 
 
 " That she will never yield," said Edmund, 
 with energy ; " few are so mild in manner as 
 our kind good mistress, but yet she has a spirit 
 that will never stoop to such foul treachery, 
 and heaven forbid it should ! What, trap an 
 innocent and unprotected woman into a match 
 with such deformity as Clifford? Never! I 
 know her noble nature far too well, it will not 
 bear oppression long, and this, if persisted in, 
 will surely sink her to the grave. There is, 
 however, better chance, some gallant knight 
 may snatch the laurel even from Clifford's 
 brow, changing this mockery against nature 
 into more fitting game." 
 
 " Psha ! talk not so flippant, master page," 
 
114 THE hunter's oak, 
 
 said Jaspar, " where wilt thou find a knight 
 able to cope singly against Clifford ? Two 
 only in mv time have had chance to match 
 his might, one my noble master, and tlie other, 
 a son of that Duke of Somerset who was slain 
 fighting for the cause of Lancaster. By 
 my life, he was a marvellous knight, and 
 could alone stand brunt in this encounter. 
 Once, I had reason to find his was no infant 
 arm, for in a melee, he struck me to the earth, 
 and several more, (and thou knowest I am no 
 easy game,) with as much ease as a fowler 
 would take to knock down a pheasant. I saw 
 him fall at last, overborne by numbers, but 
 not before he had done such execution, as 
 stamped him in my estimation a proper man 
 at arms. He then being slain, and the Earl 
 not doing battle on this noble occasion, where, 
 I say again, wilt thou match the prowess of 
 Clifford? Be assured of this, good master 
 page, that the Earl is too wary and politic a 
 soldier not to choose his ground upon good 
 vantage." 
 
 Although Amaury thought his arguments 
 
THE HUNTERS OAK. 115 
 
 were decisive, yet Edmund was not con- 
 vinced by them ; for he well knew Beaufort 
 was living, and would prove himself at the 
 tournament. Having finished their meal, the 
 seneschal and the steward went to their avo- 
 cations in the castle, and Edmund mounted 
 his palfrey, and rode towards Knowle, 
 
 As he quietly pursued his ride, he could not 
 help admiring the loveliness of nature. The 
 summer was just on the decline, giving to the 
 various trees of the park and surrounding 
 country, the golden tinge to their leaves. The 
 sun shed its flood of warmth and light on every 
 thing of living kind, though the heart of Ed- 
 mund felt desolate and sad, when he reflected 
 that the violence of man, for his own base 
 and cruel purposes, mocked the silent yet cer- 
 tain progress of nature. The Castle of War- 
 wick standing on an eminence, was a most con- 
 spicuous object, and as he turned his head and 
 gazed on the noble and venerable fabric, he 
 could reckon upon one heart alone amidst the 
 mass of living souls which dwelt within its walls, 
 that felt and sympathized with her calmness 
 
116 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 and repose. What a sad fate might befall his 
 noble mistress ? The thoug-ht of her sufferings 
 almost overcame him, and, as he struck the 
 spurs into the gallant little palfrey, who sprung 
 forward on the instant, his agitation was in 
 some measure checked by knowing that the 
 generous Beaufort would never let her sink 
 without a desperate attempt at rescue. Riding 
 up to the inn, he dismounted, and was shewn 
 to the apartment where that valiant knight was 
 sitting, expecting his arrival. 
 
 " Well, good Edmund, what tidings of the 
 Lady Constance — is she well, and sends she 
 any token V '' My lord, she dares not for her 
 life ; the Earl has now arrived with fierce Lord 
 Clifford, and she is close beset. The tourna- 
 ment is held upon the following day of Ed- 
 ward's coming, and unless your arm should 
 vanquish Clifford in the field, the Lady Con- 
 stance falls a victim to that cruel man." 
 
 " Forbear, I beg you, Edmund; if heaven 
 and this good sword be not suflScient to pre- 
 vent such sad mischance, then am I willing 
 to yield up the prize. Clifford has fallen before 
 
THE hunter's oak. 117 
 
 my charge ere now, and, in such a cause as 
 this, my power will be resistless! — say to thy 
 mistress, gentle page, to be of cheerful heart, 
 for I will not fail to rescue her from this foul 
 traitor! I intend to appear without device, 
 and harnessed simply ; for I would wish she 
 may not know me in the encounter, fearing- 
 her gentle spirit might sink beneath its terrors 
 for my safety. My gallant steedshall have good 
 rest, and, riding to the tilt, I shall not urge 
 his mettle, for it ismy intent to forward Levino-- 
 stone, at the morning's dawn, to Warwick, 
 where I can mount the noble animal, using 
 his slower beast to carry me so far. It is a 
 perilous risk, and urges me to use all precau- 
 tions, lest I should fail in rescuing Constance 
 from the foul gripe of that most desperate 
 man. Cheer her, good Edmund, and thy 
 guerdon shall be ample." The page pro- 
 mised to use his best exertions, and left for the 
 castle. 
 
 Constance and Isabel were occupied in 
 their apartment — the one copying some 
 flowers, and the other embroidering tapestry. 
 
118 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 The work, however, of the latter kind was ill 
 attended to, for the mind of Constance was 
 too much occupied about her unfortunate 
 situation to give much reflection upon so 
 trifling" a subject. Something, however, she 
 must seem about, or the Earl would remark 
 her absence. What a wretched task it is, when 
 the heart is almost burstins" with gfrief. to en- 
 deavour to make it bear up against the load 
 which presses it, in order that the world may 
 not observe the misery of the mind. How 
 many there are, who sinking with the intoler- 
 able burthen of woe, are compelled to yield up 
 a smile — whose very existence is unhappiness, 
 yet kept alive by that expectant blessing which 
 Pandora in discretion left in the box — ^Hope ! 
 Without her aid human life would be unbear- 
 able ; for let the grief be ever so heavy, it is 
 still possible for time and hope to mitigate 
 its severity. Although Constance dreaded 
 Beaufort's encounter with ClilFord, yet she 
 was cheered up by the idea that he would be 
 successful, and thus prevent her from becom- 
 ing a victim to cruelty and ambition. Whilst 
 
THE HUNTER'S OAK, 119 
 
 reflecting' upon the precarious state of her 
 present situation, the cause of her misery, 
 Clifford stalked into the apartment. — He ad- 
 vanced towards her, and said, as softly as his 
 rough nature would allow, " Will not the 
 lovely Constance grant a boon to one who 
 never yet has bent the knee to womankind ? 
 Would she but condescend to grant him per- 
 mission to become her champion in the tilt, 
 all wrongs that may press heavy on her mind^^ 
 should be redressed, for none dare injure 
 those who shelter under Clifford's wing." 
 
 Constance was dreadfully agitated at this 
 request, but soon recovered herself, and look- 
 ing at Clifford with a firm yet tranquil coun- 
 tenance, she replied — " I cannot do less, my 
 lord, than thank you for such courtesy ; the 
 intent, no doubt, is kind, but I have nothing 
 on my mind that needs redressing ; and if I 
 had, 1 certainly should seek such favoured 
 knight myself." This contemptuous answer 
 stung Clifford to the quick ; his nature was 
 nowise of a soft or tranquil character, and, 
 when affronted, his countenance, which was 
 
120 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 always stern and forbidding, assumed a dead- 
 lier expression. He turned pale with rage, 
 and could scarcely preserve his temper on the 
 instant from venting" its spleen ; but the re- 
 flection that Warwick would decidedly resent 
 any insult offered to his daughter, he more 
 prudently kept his dire passions pent up, 
 where they raged and boiled with prodigious 
 fury. Making a strong effort at composure, 
 he exclaimed, " Well, well, madam, some 
 other knight perchance you may have chosen, 
 but let him beware of Clifford, for should he 
 cross my path, he must reckon only upon a 
 moment's existence." Coming up closer to 
 Constance, he whispered in a firm yet sub- 
 dued voice, almost choaked with rage — " If 
 the poor worm would not be crushed to death, 
 he had better keep from hence : Clifford will 
 never brook an insult when opportunity offers 
 to resent it. Let the poor minion stand from 
 out my grasp, or he might sink beneath its 
 gripe !" Constance turned deadly pale, and 
 would have fallen to the earth, had not Isabel 
 quickly whispered in her ear, *' Remember 
 
THE hunter's oak. 121 
 
 Beaufort," which instantly aroused her. With 
 an eye of fire and proud defiance, she replied, 
 " My Lord Clifford, if I have said ought to 
 cause your anger, I pray you to forgive me ; 
 it was not so intentioned. Let me, however, 
 beg that further questions on this subject be 
 avoided, for if it should be urged again, ab- 
 sence shall save me, as it now will do, from 
 such unpleasing conversation." Making a 
 slight bend to Clifford, and drawing Isabel 
 by the arm, the sisters left the room. 
 
 Love, anger, and ambition, now struggled 
 in the breast of this fierce baron, and he 
 strode up and down the apartment in order 
 to check the violence of his passions. The 
 love of such a man for Constance was a mere 
 mockery. His were no genuine feelings, 
 being in a great measure goaded by the 
 knowledo'e that she was the dauo-hter of the 
 most potent and wealthy baron of the period. 
 That she had decidedly scorned his admira- 
 tion was evident, and when he considered that 
 he had never before demeaned himself, it 
 added fresh stings to his wild and impetuous 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 recollection. Such a game, however, was 
 not to be yielded up lightly by one who had 
 faced dangers of the most terrific kind, and 
 he vowed internally that he would either win 
 her to his love, or seek some surer, deadlier 
 mode of making compliance necessary for her 
 safety and honour. We must recollect that 
 the bloody and continued carnao^e in which 
 Clifford had been engaged had made him 
 more stern and relentless than he might have 
 been in more peaceful times. It must be con- 
 fessed, however, that he had a marble heart; 
 and the diso-ust with which Constance had re- 
 ceived his addresses could not easily be forofot- 
 ten, and never forgiven. He felt some little 
 consolation in the idea that the minion on whom 
 she had placed her affection would certainly 
 venture to the lists. This fancy g-ave him con- 
 solation, and a smile of the most ruthless ma- 
 lice passed over his dark countenance; for in 
 the destruction of that beins" he stood a better 
 chance of eventual success. But how was he 
 to know amidst the numerous champions, who 
 would undoubtedly appear, which was the fa- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 123 
 
 voured knight, so that his blow mig-ht fall 
 more certain ? This was a matter of difficulty, 
 and required deliberation. Some thought ap- 
 peared to strike him on the instant, and with a 
 gleam of the most triumphant rage he went to 
 seek the Earl. 
 
 G 2 
 
124 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The splendid train advance in firm array. 
 Midst trumpet sounding and with minstrel's lay. 
 The dancing plumes, the pennons, armour bright, 
 Appear reflected in a flood of light ! 
 And one more noble, with a gallant mien, 
 Mix'd with the crowii, is yet distinctly seen. 
 
 About noon of the following day the ad- 
 vanced guard of King Edward came in sight 
 of Warwick Castle, and soon afterwards the 
 main body became visible. The Earl had 
 early in the morning set out with Lord Clitford 
 and a handsome and well appointed body of 
 mounted men at arms to Kineton, where he 
 knew Edward would pass the night. The 
 lourney from London to Warwick embraced 
 more than one object ; for King Edward in his 
 
THE HUNTER^S OAK. 125 
 
 progress stopped at the mansions of those no- 
 bles and gentlemen who were staunch in his fa- 
 vour, and occasionally visited others who were 
 not so well inclined to the House of York. It 
 became necessary, to render the way secure, 
 that he should be accompanied by sufficient 
 troops to guard against surprise, and a chosen 
 body of horsemen had been selected for the 
 purpose. It was, however, scarcely necessary; 
 for the decisive blow which the Lancastrian 
 forces had received at Towton had so broken 
 their spirits and annihilated their hopes, that it 
 became impossible to rally a sufficient num- 
 ber to render them formidable. As the caval- 
 cade approached the castle nothing could ex- 
 ceed the splendour of its appearance, for the 
 sun shone brightly, and the armour of the 
 troops, pennons of the knights, and caparisons 
 of the horses were reflected in a thousand va- 
 rious ways. The shrill trumpets opened their 
 brazen throats as they approached the draw- 
 bridge, and were answered from the walls by 
 the acclamations and shouts of the soldiers of 
 the garrison. Edward was completely armed, 
 
126 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 deeming it perilous to advance through the 
 country without this precaution. The only dif- 
 ference which appeared in his decoration from 
 the train of nobles which accompanied him, 
 was the circling" coronet around his helmet. 
 The elegance of his deportment and gallant 
 appearance, however, wanted not this mark 
 of grandeur to distinguish him from the mass 
 near his person ; for he was too striking to be 
 mistaken for any thing less than a king. War- 
 wick was unhelmed as the host, and rode close 
 to Edward, who conversed and smiled with him 
 as they passed the drawbridge with the most 
 condescending kindness. Upon gaining the 
 court-yard of the castle, Warwick dismounted, 
 and assisted the King to alight. At this mo- 
 ment the flourish of the trumpets, shouts and 
 acclamations of the spectators became as- 
 toundino"; and it was not a little increased bv 
 the report of a few cannon, which had been 
 mounted and fired to celebrate this joyful 
 event. In g-aininof the crown Edward had not 
 forgotten that courtesy of manner which had 
 made him so great a favourite with the multi- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 127 
 
 tude; and, as he acknowledged their greet- 
 ings, the attendants of the Earl scattered mo- 
 ney amidst the crowd, and he enjoyed the 
 struggling and scrambling to obtain the coin 
 vastly. Turning to the Earl, he exclaimed, 
 *' Now, by our crown, most valiant Warwick, 
 thou art a right noble host, and do the ho- 
 nours of thy house with most becoming cour- 
 tesy. We were not led to expect this kind 
 reception, and it makes deeper impression on 
 our heart. We always thoug^ht thee partial 
 to our house, and this convinces us we are not 
 in error." 
 
 ** So please your majesty, this kingly con- 
 descension makes us all right glad; and whilst 
 you sojourn in our poor abode we and our 
 vassals are but the slaves of thy most royal 
 will." 
 
 " Say not so, say not so, good Warwick ; it 
 must not be : we come as friends, and hope to 
 meet a friendly welcome — nothing more." 
 
 As they entered the vast hall, and proceed- 
 ed to the banquetting-room, Edward was as- 
 tonished at the magnificence and splendour 
 
128 THE HUNTER^S OAK. 
 
 which on every side surrounded him. The 
 hall of the castle was literally lined with do- 
 mestics in the most costly liveries, and wear- 
 ing* the badge of the Earl ; and the men at 
 arms, archers, and other soldiers appeared so 
 numerous in the court-yard as to stagger him, 
 as to the vast resources, power, and influence 
 which Warwick must possess. It certainly was 
 pleasing to his feelings to have so much and 
 so great a respect paid to his visit; yet, at the 
 same time, he could not help viewing the for- 
 midable power of this nobleman with some- 
 thing" like jealousy, if not terror, 
 
 Warwick had watched the effect the splen- 
 dour of his household had created with de- 
 lio-ht; for his vanity was in no small degree 
 roused by this visit, and he had not been 
 in error when he contemplated the result. 
 Thoupfh he was a resolute adherent of the 
 York faction, yet he was desirous of impressing 
 the head of that house with a strong idea of 
 his power and influence, so that his aid might 
 appear impossible to be set aside. Although, 
 to a certain point, his notions had not been 
 
THE hunter's oak. 129 
 
 erroneous, the King* had been more struck 
 with alarm at his prodigious and overwhelm- 
 ing* means, approaching, as he conceived, too 
 near the sovereign power for any subject to 
 wield with safety. He, however, concealed his 
 feeling's under the mask of gratification, and 
 expressed, over and over again, to the Earl how 
 pleased he felt at his princely reception. 
 Warwick proceeded with the King* to his pri- 
 vate apartment, and there assisted in disarm- 
 ing him, and having*, by the aid of his cham- 
 berlains, put on a more courtly garb, descend- 
 ed again to partake of some viands, which had 
 been magnificently displayed in plate of solid 
 chased gold of the most rare and costly pat- 
 terns. Every thing that could conduce to the 
 appetite was here placed, and the King, and 
 the nobles who accompanied him, did ample 
 justice to the noble hospitality of Warwick ; 
 for the morning air and ride had given them 
 a fair relish, even for more homely diet. 
 
 Nothing very substantial had been afforded, 
 for Warwick had arranged with his household 
 a surprise which he well knew would please 
 
 G 3 
 
130 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Edward's fancy; so that he beg-ged permis- 
 sion to escort the King through his park and 
 castle. 
 
 Whilst they are thus occupied we shall turn 
 to Constance, who with the page had witness- 
 ed the approach of the cavalcade with anv 
 thing but emotions of pleasure. Edmund had 
 assured her of Beaufort's determined inten- 
 tion of coming to the tournament, and this had 
 in some degree calmed her wretched thoughts; 
 for, had he not communicated this, she could 
 only have seen in the courtly and splendid 
 train attending upon Edward's person the pro- 
 logue to her own destruction. What would 
 have been her fate had he followed the advice 
 she so strenuously forced upon him during 
 the meetinof at the Oak ? Isabel now came 
 into the sitting apartment with a joyful air, 
 and warned her that it was time to appear 
 dressed for the part which Warwick had as- 
 signed her. It had entirely slipped the recol- 
 lection of Constance ; and, with a heavy heart, 
 she followed Isabel to decorate her person as 
 her father desired. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 131 
 
 King* Edward had been more and more 
 astonished at the enormous resources of War- 
 wick as he went through the various parts 
 of the castle. He was well acquainted with 
 the fortification of such strong places, but had 
 never witnessed any thing equal to the very 
 powerful defences of this place. Nothing" 
 seemed left to chance, and the points of weak- 
 ness, though they scarce deserved such a 
 name, were stronger b far than many bul- 
 warks intended for more potent resistance. 
 He expressed his surprise to Clifford, who 
 had attended on him with Warwick. " Well, 
 my Lord ClitFord, what is thy opinion of this 
 formidable castle ? Beshrew me, but 1 think 
 it would be no easy g-ame to make an entry, 
 did the defenders hold firm alleofiance to 
 their master." Warwick had just left the 
 presence to see if his wishes were attended 
 to, and Edward whispered to Clifford — " This 
 valiant Earl would prove as dang-erous foe 
 as he is fast friend. We must abide the con- 
 sequences of affronting him, it would be no 
 child's play." The Earl now came up, and 
 
132 THE huntkr's oak. 
 
 Edward looked to Clifford and placed his 
 finger on his lip, as if denoting silence. The 
 sign was not unobserved and of course at- 
 tended to. " So please you, my liege," said 
 Warwick, " we have planned some little pas- 
 time in the park, which now a\vaits your com- 
 ing: Ihe intent and meaning is to afford diver- 
 sion, and we hope it may do so." Edward re- 
 plied, " I am right willing to enjoy the sport, 
 my noble host, and wait thy pleasure to escort 
 us. It seems we are not to feel time hano" heavy 
 on our hands for want of recreation." The Earl 
 now led the way, and was followed by King Ed- 
 ward, Clifford, and a train of hangers on, who 
 ever attend the person of royalty. As they 
 passed into the park, horns and other rustic 
 music were heard resounding from the various 
 dells of the domain, for nothino- could be more 
 beautiful than the echoinof sounds which is- 
 sued from different points at once. On en- 
 tering a more secluded spot of the park a 
 sudden turn brought them in view of a num- 
 ber of men, who were dressed in Lincoln- 
 green with black hats and feathers, and a 
 
THE hunter's oak. 133 
 
 bugle suspended from the baldric which held 
 their swords. They each had a bow and 
 sheaf of arrows, and had been executins^ their 
 skill upon a target which was placed on the 
 ground. On the approach of the King, the 
 leader of the band doffed his hat and bending 
 his knee, welcomed King Edward to the land 
 of Robin Hood, who now could no longer 
 bear the sway, holding allegiance to a more 
 rightful monarch, to whom he tendered the 
 land and good services of his merry men all. 
 This part of the pastime Jaspar Amaury acted 
 to perfection, and the King was much pleased 
 at the sport, giving such solid proofs of it 
 in the form of gold coin into Amaury's hat, 
 that he could not misunderstand but that his 
 homage had been right well received. Ere 
 this game had ceased, he saw a troop of 
 fairies and satyrs advancing, bearing bundles 
 of flowers and sheaves of corn, havino* their 
 heads surrounded with circlets of sweet herbs 
 and wild flowers. They came merrily for- 
 ward, surrounding a car, in which two ladies 
 were standing, one dressed as Flora, and the 
 
134 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 other as Ceres. They advanced slowly to 
 the wild melody of pipes and horns and the 
 songs of the fairies and satyrs. These had 
 been represented by the mummers which at- 
 tended Edward's train from London, and the 
 minstrels also were the sing-ers on this occa- 
 sion. 
 
 " Welcome, welcome, we bend the knee. 
 
 Amidst the woods at the trysting tree ; 
 
 Welcome, welcome, let all rejoice, 
 
 'Tis the monarch of England's choice. 
 
 Ceres yields her choicest treasure, 
 
 Fill the cup and sound a measure ; 
 
 And Flora, goddess of summer flowers. 
 
 Invites thee to her fragrant bowers. 
 
 Let all respond, while each shall sing, 
 Joy to the life of England's King." 
 
 Ceres was represented by Isabel, who was 
 seated in the rustic car drawn by satyrs ami 
 woodmen. The various implements of hus- 
 bandry were placed upon it, and some were 
 carried by those attending- on her. She wore a 
 crown of corn and wild flowers tastefully ar- 
 ranged, and her dress corresponded well with 
 
THE hunter's oar. 135 
 
 the character she assumed. The goddess Flora 
 had a beautiful representative in Constance, 
 whose modest and retiring" appearance and 
 lovely countenance, over which a melancholy 
 smile played, was much heightened by the 
 simple yet unpretending arrangement of her 
 dress. She also w^ore a coronet of flowers, 
 and they were interwoven so judiciously with 
 each other, as to rival the more splendid 
 jewels which adorn rank and power. Her 
 robe was green, relieved by pink ornaments, 
 and a wreath of posies was thrown negli- 
 gently across the shoulder ; in her hand she 
 bore a wand, also wreathed with flowers. 
 Edward's gallantry made him readily ad- 
 vance to assist them to descend from the 
 car, and at the same time, with the most 
 graceful ease, he accepted the invitation. The 
 different spots which varied the scenery of 
 this extensive park had not been forgotten, 
 as to the selection of a fitting place, and 
 the one chosen was in the highest degree 
 sylvan and retired. A small amphitheatre 
 of trees extended for some distance about, 
 
136 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 the plot of level ground on which an ar- 
 bour of considerable size had been erect- 
 ed. It was roofed with flowers, boughs of 
 trees, and sweet scented herbs, and the sides 
 were also decorated in the same manner. 
 The floor was uncarpeted, except by the 
 hand of nature, and she had not been nesfli- 
 gent in her work, for it was green and soft 
 as velvet, and on the foot pressing the grass, 
 it rose on its removal with renovated beauty. 
 The sino^inof of the birds, the murmurinof of 
 an artificial cascade which fell into a natural 
 stream, and the occasional melody of musical 
 aid, which was yielded from unseen per- 
 formers, as well as the brilliance of the King's 
 dress and those in attendance, gave the whole 
 scene an illusory appearance, which had de- 
 cidedly the effect of enchantment. A table 
 covered with venison in its various modes of 
 cookery, and other viands, was placed in the 
 centre of the arbour, at the end of which a 
 seat was more elevated for the Kinof. No 
 one could be more partial to such amuse- 
 ments than Edward, and on taking his place 
 
THE hunter's oak. 137 
 
 at the table, he could not help expressing 
 himself in the stronof^st terms to Warwick 
 upon the elegance of his daughters' appear- 
 ance, and the tasteful and sylvan style in 
 which Robin Hood and the other inhabitants 
 of the wood were decorated. The meal was 
 enjoyed heartily by all, Constance excepted, 
 whose sole and only thoughts were occupied 
 by the unfortunate situation in which she was 
 placed. After sitting some little time in the 
 calm and keen enjoyment of this rural repast, 
 the party proceeded to the castle, where the 
 evening concluded with a scene of festivity 
 and splendour rarely equalled and never 
 excelled. 
 
138 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Before a shower, the rose uprears its head 
 In silent pride ; yet when the summer drops 
 Sink in her scented cells, she droops and falls ! 
 Such then is hopeless love — the wretched maid 
 Pines in the quiet of her silent chamber, 
 And pearly drops course down her pallid cheek. 
 Nor lasts it long-, for canker'd grief 
 Lies at the heart, and eats its very core ! 
 
 It has been frequently observed, that the 
 noble domain extending" round the castle of 
 Warwick was of vast extent, and most favour- 
 able for the purposes of sylvan sports. As 
 far as the eye could stretch, was one con- 
 tinued scene of hill and dale, except near 
 the approaches to the castle. Here the green- 
 sward was completely level, and a place was 
 selected and marked out for the lists. Suffi- 
 cient space had been allowed for the knio:hts 
 
THE hunter's oak. 139 
 
 to take an ample course, by which means 
 they possessed the full power of coming 
 upon each other with resistless force. When 
 we consider that both horse and rider were 
 sheathed in complete steel, and urged for- 
 ward by the desperate valour with which 
 each champion endeavoured to make himself 
 conspicuous, it may be readily imagined that 
 the shock which must have occurred when 
 they met in full career, was one of no slight 
 force io bear. The most accomplished rider, 
 where he possessed strength nearly upon an 
 equality with his antagonist, had decidedly 
 the best chance of success ; for he could, by 
 adroitly swerving his noble steed, by the 
 slightest check of the hand, make his own 
 lance bear upon the point he aimed at, whilst 
 he could the more readily avoid the thrust 
 of his opponent, or at any rate prevent it 
 from being so resistless. Encompassing the 
 lists, elevated seats were placed for the pur- 
 pose of rendering the view of the champions 
 distinct, and they were principally occupied 
 by the inhabitants of Warwick and other per- 
 
140 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 sons, whom the splendour of the sight had 
 brought together. The platform erected for 
 the more noble guests, occupied a conspicu- 
 ous place, and was completely covered in 
 with the finest crimson cloth ; in the centre 
 was a raised seat for Kino* Edward, above 
 which the royal arms were fully emblazoned, 
 and a star with rays, the well known cogni- 
 zance of the House of Warwick, placed be- 
 neath. 
 
 Amidst the blaze of splendour, variety of 
 costume, and the vast assemblage of persons, 
 who had congregated together, one object 
 was most decidedly conspicuous. Not so 
 much from a greater splendour of personal 
 decoration, for the individual was rather 
 plainly dressed in white satin, and the sole 
 ornament was a simple white rose placed in 
 the hair. Yet the beautiful expression of the 
 face and the quiet and unobtrusive manner 
 in which she sat, made her more remarkable 
 than many of more forward pretensions. A 
 shade of inquietude was cast over the coun- 
 tenance, and every time the trumpets sounded, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 141 
 
 a look of terror, agitation and dismay was 
 turned towards the barriers. Here the cham- 
 pions entered and were admitted, provided 
 thev satisfied the herald of their privilege 
 of knighthood, which was deemed sufficient 
 to authorize them to contend for the prize. 
 Such honour was then paid to this high sta- 
 tion, as it was only yielded to men of noble 
 and lofty pretensions, whose achievements in 
 the field had made them worthy to aspire to, 
 and receive so distinguished a rank in society. 
 It had been decidedly mentioned, that none 
 but blunted lances should be used, for the 
 weapons of actual encounter, where the ques- 
 tion was a matter of challenge for rio-ht or 
 wrong, had sharpened points, and in which 
 mortal arbitrement one or both the cham- 
 pions sometimes were slain. Those who were 
 forced from their horses by the skill of the 
 adverse party, were to be considered van- 
 quished, and yield up all pretensions to claim 
 the prize. 
 
 Constance viewed the whole preparation 
 with considerable emotion. Should Beaufort 
 
142 THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 sink beneath the encounter, what a lot was 
 her's? To be the object of another's passion 
 was what she could not avoid, yet she re- 
 solved never to submit to the odious union 
 with Clifford, even if her refusal was fatal. 
 
 King" Edward had been conversing with 
 Warwick, when suddenly turning" round, he 
 witnessed the traces of anxiety too visible on 
 the countenance of Constance, not to inquire 
 into its cause. " How now, my gentle lady, 
 methinks you take this much to heart. Cheer 
 up, I beg, for should the conqueror of the 
 jousts be one not pleasing to your sight, our- 
 self will peril thee from thraldom.'* 
 
 " My noble liege, I should be false indeed, 
 were I to say 1 feel not much distress at 
 being thus the object of contention. I never 
 thought my noble father could ever seek 
 such means of making" me so wretched ! The 
 humblest maiden of this wide domain may 
 choose her own true love, yet I, a daughter 
 of the noblest Earl of England's throne, and 
 one whose valour fame reports so great, am 
 forced to yield to him who keeps this field, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 143 
 
 some token of my favour. This must I do, or 
 bear my father's anger." 
 
 " Now, by Saint George, he meant not so, 
 or we had never given consent to this en- 
 counter. What say'st thou, noble Warwick, 
 surely thou never canst yield up all claim 
 upon thy daughter's love to him who keeps 
 this field. If I thought so, by heaven I soon 
 should check the sport. It has not yet been 
 said, it never shall be said, that Edward's 
 presence became the prelude to a lady's 
 trouble ! I like it not, my lord, nor shall it 
 now proceed!" 
 
 " So please your majesty, such was not 
 my intention. If the bold knight who wins 
 the field, stands free from blemish and is of 
 gentle birth, he has my frank good will to 
 claim my daughter's hand, but not without 
 the maiden's own consent." 
 
 " Now, by our royal crown, this sounds 
 more likelv. Hast thou now aug-ht to offer, 
 lovely damsel, why this should not be, see- 
 ing thou standest free from vieldinof to the 
 conqueror of the jousts thy hand, unless it 
 
144 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 goes even with thj heart. I love the noble 
 game myself, and am no mean performer 
 in the tilt, yet would I never suffer such base 
 wrong. The noble Warwick has too strong 
 a feeling for his knightly oath, ever to stain 
 his scutcheon by this foul blemish." 
 
 Constance could say but little in answer, 
 indeed she had already too much upon her 
 mind. Her sole and only hope was, that Beau- 
 fort would be the victor of the lists, and thus 
 have a chance of boldly claiming her hand. 
 Clifford was the only one whose prowess she 
 dreaded : for his character for strength and 
 skill were so well known that she trembled for 
 the result. The bustle which now pervaded 
 the lists, gave token that the jousts were about 
 to commence, and the multitude flocked and 
 struggled to view the sports. The trumpets 
 had thrice sounded, and the herald of the 
 House of Warwick, wearing his dress of of- 
 fice with appropriate emblazonings, appeared 
 within the enclosure. He then set forth the 
 stvle and title of his noble master, stating' the 
 reasons why this festival was held, and the prize 
 
THE hunter's oak. 145 
 
 for which the knights were to contend. Having- 
 delivered this with a loud voice, he called upon 
 the champions to do their devoirs manfully and 
 according to the strict rules of chivalry; by 
 which they could alone add to the fame which 
 they might otherwise have gained. In con- 
 clusion, he called also upon the people to re- 
 spond with him — God save King Edward the 
 Fourth, and the noble Earl of Warwick ! This 
 was answered loudly and sincerely; when the 
 lists were cleared for the combat. 
 
 Of all the champions who stood so boldly 
 forward to claim the prize, none were more 
 formidable either byname or appearance than 
 Lord Clifford ; he had on, this day, a complete 
 suit of tilting mail, which varied from the 
 armour worn in battle by being lighter and 
 having a sort of projecting shield just above 
 where the lance-rest was placed. The deco- 
 rations of his noble charger, an iron grey, were 
 splendid, having the arms of his house fullv 
 emblazoned on its accoutrements, which were 
 highly ornamented and embossed with bur- 
 nished gold; the animal he bestrode was well 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 calculated to bear so powerful and heavy 
 a man as Clifford, whose armour was plain and 
 the helmet topped bj a plume of sable fea- 
 thers. King- Edward could not help observing 
 to Warwick that he thought Clifford looked 
 like the champion who would win the field, for 
 he well knew his great personal strength and 
 skill in such encounters. " By our Lady, noble 
 Earl, but that same rough yet proper knig*ht 
 would scarce be mate so fitting- for a lady's 
 love, as one of softer nature. Thou never 
 canst expect a flower so sweet and modest as 
 thy lovely daughter can bloom amidst the chill 
 of yonder bear garden. Clifford has skill for 
 warlike times like ours, but lacks the grace 
 for woman's love." Here Edward cast a down- 
 ward glance upon his own elegant person, 
 which Warwick well knew he was proud of, 
 and not without reason, for he was decidedly not 
 only the handsomest man of his time, but also 
 the most perfectly formed, and well acquainted 
 with nil those accomplishments which add so 
 much to the splendid achievements of knight- 
 hood. None were so graceful in a room as the 
 
THE hunter's oak. 147 
 
 Kino*, and the fascination of his conversation 
 was so great, that few women could resist look- 
 ing on their youthful monarch otherwise than 
 with favourable eyes. 
 
 The tilt had now commenced, and as War- 
 wick confidentlv expected, and King Edward 
 predicted, Clifford remained master of the 
 field ; the ease and address with which he un- 
 horsed each of his antagonists was really sur- 
 prising, and Constance fully expected that all 
 her hopes were about to be annihilated. For 
 some considerable lapse of time no fresh com- 
 petitor appeared, and Clifford was about to 
 claim the reward of victory. If there is one 
 thing more agonizing to the human mind than 
 another, it is suspense. Apprehensions of the 
 most dire character assail us when we are in 
 doubt and expectation — the darker side of the 
 picture is sure to be the one most dwelt upon, 
 and though hope scarcely deserts us in any 
 emergency, yet it is at times so clouded by an- 
 xiety and restlessness as to be almost over- 
 borne. Such were the feelings of Constance, 
 nor were the effects less agonizing on the sound 
 
 h2 
 
148 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 of vociferation and applause at the arrival of 
 a fresh champion. Clifford had been intently 
 watching- the expression of her countenance, 
 and from the scrutiny, he felt assured that the 
 antagonist just arrived was the rival whom he 
 dreaded. The thouo-ht of this added addition- 
 al stings to his strong passions, and he prepared 
 to execute so fierce an encounter on the stran- 
 ger, who dared thus attempt to wrest the prize 
 away when just within his grasp, as would pro- 
 bably check his career for ever. 
 
 All eyes were instantly turned upon the 
 champion who had just entered the barriers. 
 Having" satisfied the herald of his fitness for 
 the encounter, he put rowels to his war-horse 
 and galloped gallantly into the enclosure. If 
 any judgment could be placed on his external 
 appearance, it was decidedly favourable, for he 
 managed the fiery and noble animal on which 
 he was mounted with singular ease and ele- 
 gance. Indeed to such perfection did he en- 
 courage and check the mettle of his steed, that 
 he curvetted and gambolled round the lists, 
 guided and restrained by his rider as if he was 
 
THE hunter's oak. 149 
 
 under the control of silken strings. The suit of 
 mail which he wore was of the finest polished 
 steel, chased and ornamented with deadened 
 silver, which relieved the brightness and gave 
 it a light and elegant appearance. His helmet, 
 the vizor of which was closed, was surmounted 
 by a snow-white plume of. feathers, and his 
 shield was without device, as were the trap- 
 pings of his horse. 
 
 The kniofht was not so largfe-boned a man as 
 Clifford, yet he was so well proportioned, as 
 to yield sufficient likelihood of his being an 
 antagonist more capable of coping with this 
 formidable baron, than any he had hitherto 
 vanquished, and his bold, confident demeanor 
 was the theme of universal admiration. 
 
 Edward could not help admiring the extra- 
 ordinary agility and ease with which the un- 
 known knight appeared to manage his war- 
 horse, and was pleased to observe the coolness 
 with which, on taking his station, he viewed the 
 preparations for the engagement. Being him- 
 self a knight of most exquisite address, he was 
 the more able and willing to yield his meed of 
 
150 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 approbation: turning to Warwick, who had also 
 been compelled to do justice to this fresh an- 
 tao'onist, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Now bj our royal crown, there sits a cham- 
 pion who gives fair hopes of making this poor 
 lady more gentle recompence. Yonder grim 
 knight knows not the softer passion, and seeks 
 alone a wealthy dowry from thy vast patrimo- 
 nies. Art now so certain of black Clifford's 
 prize, or does thy mind misgive thee? He 
 shews no badge of arms upon his shield, so that 
 he comes as strange amongst us, but should his 
 deeds this day yield such fair recompence as 
 his outward form bespeaks they will, he is a 
 marvellous proper Vvarrior." 
 
 The trumpets had now sounded for the 
 knights to take their stations, and the most in- 
 tense and breathless silence prevailed. On the 
 third summons they prepared to meet. Setting- 
 spurs to their steeds, who hardly needed such 
 active means for exertion, they encountered 
 each other with the most tremendous violence, 
 yet both remained unhorsed. Clifford bent 
 with the concussion almost to the crupper of 
 
THE HUNTER*S OAK. 151 
 
 his steed, and the lance of the unknown knight 
 shivered into a thousand pieces, the splinters 
 flying- in the air. This extraordinary feat of 
 knightly skill excited g-eneral admiration, and 
 Clifford found that his antag-onist was not so 
 easily disposed of, as he had anticipated. On 
 again taking his station, his eye encountered 
 that of Constance ; and from its expression of 
 terror and anxiety, he immediately knew with 
 whom he had just engaged. This alone made 
 him anxious to give his rival on the next 
 meeting such a terrific fall, as would extin- 
 guish life. The rage which now animated his 
 exertions, most probably caused his downfall, 
 for he aimed his lance at the head-piece of his 
 adversary, on which, had it taken effect, it 
 would most decidedly have unhorsed and per- 
 haps slain on the spot. However, he had to 
 encounter with one who was almost his equal 
 in strength, and infinitely his superior in ad- 
 dress, skill, and coolness; for as they met, the 
 spear of Clifford, instead of taking effect as he 
 had intended, was, by the dexterity of his rival, 
 avoided by an adroit turn of the head. Un- 
 
152 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 fortunately for Clifford's fame, he received the 
 lance of his antagonist right against the centre 
 of his body, and it had so well been aimed, so 
 firmly and admirably held, that it lifted him 
 entirely out of the saddle and prostrated him 
 upon the earth with terrific violence. 
 
 The shouts of the multitude were deafening, 
 and even Warwick himself, as well as King 
 Edward, could not help admiring the extraor- 
 dinary prowess which the unknown knight had 
 manifested in thus unhorsing so redoubted a 
 warrior as Clifford. Beaufort, (for it must be 
 conjectured it could be no one else) as speedily 
 as possible checked the impetus of his steed, 
 and, with the velocity of lightning, he sprang 
 from the animal, and before any one could 
 imagfine what his intentions were, he had at one 
 bound cleared the palisades which parted the 
 platform from the lists, and in another moment 
 was at the feet of Constance. The delight 
 which she experienced at Beaufort's success 
 had been too much for her to bear. The sudden 
 transition from despair to joy had so strong an 
 effect upon her delicate state of mind, that she 
 
THE hunter's oak. 153 
 
 fell from her seat in a state of insensibility 
 Edmund had seen her droop — then fall— and, 
 with an impulse which nothing could resist, 
 had flown to her assistance ; taking" her gently 
 from the arms of those who held her, he called 
 upon her in the most piteous tones to recognise 
 him. — " Look up, dear Constance — come, my 
 love, let not this sudden terror check my fond 
 hopes, even at the brightest. — It is indeed thy 
 love — 'tis Beaufort claims his lovely prize and 
 high reward ! Oh ! God, she hears me not — 
 that pallid hue and sunken eye. It cannot — 
 must not be, and yet she stirs not, answers 
 not, and is so deadly cold. Oh ! Constance, 
 Constance, this is an end I had not thus ex- 
 pected. See, she moves, she lives, she lives 
 and recognises. — Oh ! righteous heaven, I 
 thank thee." 
 
 The sound of a voice so well known and 
 tenderly beloved, had recalled her in some 
 degree to recollection, but the scene which 
 had so lately passed before her eyes seemed 
 like a dream, and it was with difficulty she ap- 
 peared to comprehend her situation. Passing 
 
 H 3 
 
154 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 her hand wildly across the brow, and parting- 
 the beautiful hair which had fallen over her 
 lovely forehead, she gave a little more evi- 
 dence of returning sense ; this was more con- 
 spicuously displayed, for her face being- direct- 
 edto wards the lists, where Clifford was unhelm- 
 ed and receiving aid from his esquire, she cast 
 a look of the most piteous expression around, 
 and flung herself sobbing into Beaufort's arms. 
 
 The sudden overthrow of Clifford, the fall 
 of Constance, and the immediate action of 
 Beaufort, had so completely astonished the 
 lookers on, that they could utter no word. 
 Warwick was the first to resume his self-pos- 
 session ; and, with a look of the most withering 
 scorn, he attempted to drag Constance from 
 Beaufort's arms. This was not so easily ac- 
 complished ; for she still was partly insensible, 
 and he appeared not inclined to yield up pos- 
 session. 
 
 Waving his arm in a firm, yet resolute man- 
 ner, he exclaimed — " Stand back, my lord ! 
 To harm the parent stock from whence this 
 beauteous flower springs, is far from Beaufort's 
 
THE hunter's oak. 155 
 
 wish ; yet 1 would charge, entreat, conjure 
 thee for some little moment." Warwick, how- 
 ever, still advanced ; when Beaufort pressed 
 her closer to his bosom, and, turning to the 
 King, said — " To you, most noble Edward, I 
 appeal ; and heaven grant that you may not 
 permit such foul attaint upon your knighthood. 
 The noble Warwick^ by his herald's voice, 
 spoke general invitation to the jousts to all of 
 gentle birth and with unspotted honour. With 
 such undoubted pledge, I ventured to dispute 
 the prize ; that I have fairly won the field, 
 none I should presume, can now deny ; and 
 who can gainsay this requital, which even now 
 I hold against my heart?" 
 
 King Edward, upon the first dash which 
 Beaufort had made upon the platform, had 
 started from his seat, and drawn his weapon, 
 as if expecting instant assault. The termina- 
 tion had been so extraordinary, that he scarcely 
 knew what to think ; and this appeal at once 
 roused him to a better knowledge of circum- 
 stances. Dropping the point of his sword, 
 he replied — " Beshrew me now, Sir Knight, 
 
156 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 but this act of thine is but a venture in the 
 lion's den. Where is thy knee, which owes 
 alleg-iance to thy rightful King", chosen by 
 the people's voice, and crowned by their good 
 will ? — Hast thou forgot so soon the strong at- 
 taint we placed against thy house and person, 
 that you so boldly rush against our royal will 
 and presence — unasked and unexpected? This 
 is not well, and must not be allowed to passj?" 
 A shade of anger passed athwart the speak- 
 ing countenance of Beaufort, which he some- 
 what checked before he answered ; raising his 
 noble person to its full height, at the same 
 tune gently yielding up Constance to the Lady 
 Isabel, he said — " Never can Beaufort bend 
 the knee to one of equal rank ; nor does he 
 own allegiance to any mortal man, save the 
 crowned head of that most rightful house 
 which now sinks down by fortune's frown. 
 Think'st thou that I have so soon forgot the 
 noble race from whence 1 spring, as high in 
 worldly estimation as thine own, to quail and 
 thus debase my knightly oath ? Never ! So 
 long as this good arm can wield its weapon ; 
 
THE hunter's oak. 157 
 
 so long as means are found most fitting the 
 occasion, still will I boldly strike a blow to 
 raise the House of Lancaster!" 
 
 " Ha ! bj Saint George, thou art a bold 
 traitor, and soon should pay the forfeit of this 
 speech, were we not pledged to give thee safe 
 avoidance. — What! beard us to our teeth? 
 Did we not know thy deeds were bold even as 
 thy tongue is froward, we might have thought 
 thy brains were lacking wit. The solemn pledge 
 the noble Warwick gave, saves thy most wretch- 
 ed life; but if a second time thou dar'st intrude 
 upon our person, and art thus bold and inso- 
 lent, no earthly power shall save thee. Even 
 nowtliy person is displeasing, and might not be 
 so safe, if too long near our sight." 
 
 " Edward 'of York!" replied Beaufort, "I 
 owe thee some requital for these words, and 
 may yet find a day to answer them. — Here, 
 in the presence of thy nobles and thy power, 
 I once more spurn thy rights. They are 
 unjustly gained, and cannot long be held. 
 Ihou art the traitor to the good King Henrv, 
 thy rightful monarch; who even yet may make 
 
158 THE IIUNTFRS OAK. 
 
 thee answer this bod bearinof! The sun 
 which now illumes t!ie House of York, has 
 often sunk beneath the clouds, and time 
 mav come when its briofht ravs may stream 
 in splendour on the adverse side." Before 
 Edward could recover his astonishment at 
 this bold speech, and order Beaufort to be 
 detained, he had stooped down towards Con- 
 stance, kissed her pale and insensible cheek, 
 sprung from the platform, mounted his gal- 
 lant steed, which with the speed of the wind 
 had cleared the barriers, and in a few mi- 
 nutes borne its a-allant rider far from the 
 reach of dansfer. 
 
THK HUNTER'S OAK, 159 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 And, look, down her face the silent tear 
 So guiltless falls Hush ! hush ! she will hear. 
 Even now she casts out the taper's g-lare. 
 And opens the casement. Oh ! is she not fair ? 
 
 It is almost impossible to describe the sen- 
 sations of Warwick upon the issue of this most 
 extraordinary and unexpected scene. He felt 
 inclined to follow Beaufort, and insist upon 
 his yielding up all claim upon his daughter, 
 which he most decidedly possessed owing to 
 his own promise. It had been so publicly is- 
 sued, and his word stood so openly, so so- 
 lemnly pledged, that he found himself entan- 
 gled in a labyrinth of his own creation. He 
 never anticipated such a result. Clifford was 
 so expert, so powerful a knight, that his over- 
 
160 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 throw appeared almost incredible. That it was 
 no dream was too evident, for the Baron lay 
 still in the lists. All the efforts which had hi- 
 therto been used were useless, and he remain- 
 ed in a state of perfect insensibility; indeed, 
 if he recovered at all it would be a miracle, 
 for the fall had been so terrific, and the blow 
 of the lance had taken effect so immediately 
 on the stomach as to indent the armour lite- 
 rally into the flesh. By Warwick's desire he 
 was removed to the castle, with strict direc- 
 tions that every effort which art could suggest 
 or care devise should be incessantly used un- 
 til the last spark of hope expired. 
 
 Kino- Edward's indi^fnation had been kin- 
 died by the bold defiance of Beaufort, and he 
 was as much astounded as the Earl at the ter- 
 mination of the jousts. The state of Con- 
 stance, however, overcame his present feelings, 
 which otherwise might have been violent; and 
 his gallantry was intensely excited by the pal- 
 lid and ghastly expression her countenance 
 bore. Death itself was not more alarm- 
 ing than the horrible stupor into which she 
 
THE hunter's oak. 161 
 
 had fallen ; and it was deemed requisite to 
 yield instant aid, otherwise it might soon be of 
 little avail. Isabel's anxiety was dreadful; 
 to see a beloved sister in such a pitia- 
 ble state was in itself agonizing; and more 
 particularly so, when she considered that re- 
 turning sense would only add to the diffi- 
 culty. With the utmost care and tender- 
 ness she was moved to the castle, where Isabel 
 used every means to restore her to sense and 
 feeling. 
 
 The termination of the joust had been so 
 melancholy that the crowd dispersed with 
 heavy hearts; instead of joyful countenances 
 and laughing eyes, nothing was to be seen 
 but dolorous looks and tears. Constance was 
 so well known and so much beloved by the in- 
 mates of the castle, as well as the inhabitants 
 of Warwick, that her sad plight made a strong 
 impression on their feelings. 
 
 "Ah! well-a-day!" said the old steward, 
 " who could ever have expected so woful a 
 sight? My Lady Constance almost dying — 
 the Lord Clifford senseless — our noble mas- 
 
162 THE uunterVs oak. 
 
 ter frantic — and King" Edward insulted. The 
 morning was so fair, and promised such plea- 
 sure ; and how sadlj has the day closed in! 
 Really now, I had some idea upon the sub- 
 ject; and, upon second thoug-hts, 1 recollect 1 
 dreamt some such end would happen. Dear, 
 dear! what a sad pity it was that I did not tell 
 my dream, and then how I should have sur- 
 prised the folks." 
 
 '* If you had any idea," said Jaspar Amaury, 
 *' upon the subject, it is the first your brain 
 ever hatched. Dreams indeed ! Why, how 
 could'st ever imagine that any sensible person 
 could give ear to thy ravings? No one could 
 possibly think our Lady Constance had a sweet- 
 heart; and if Merlin himself had risen up be- 
 fore my face, and told me of this adventure, 
 and that Clifford would be vanquished, I should 
 have said he lied. 1 dread the Earl's displea- 
 sure : no one is so kind when seasons please 
 him, but if the wind blows foul, no forest boar 
 raffes with ofreater fury." 
 
 ** Ah ! Jaspar, Jaspar, thou art a valiant 
 man at arms, but hast no acquaintance with 
 
THE hunter's oak. 163 
 
 astrology. Thou talkcst of MoHin as if he 
 were not to be dreaded; but let me tell you, 
 good Amaury, that your speech should be 
 more reverent when speaking of so renowned 
 a maofician. Thou art unlearned in these 
 matters, and hast no knowledge of King* Ar- 
 thur and the Knights of the Round Table. 
 First, there's Sir Launcelot of the Lake — then 
 there's " 
 
 *''Pish! Psha, man !" said Amaury, placing 
 his hand before his mouth in order to put a 
 stop to the good steward's oration; for he 
 well knew that when he got upon the subject 
 of King Arthur his tales were everlasting. 
 " Haste you to the castle, and get every pre- 
 paration made for the reception of the guests, 
 or thy ears, mayhap, may stick against the wall 
 before thou knowest that they have left thy 
 head. The Earl is in no jesting humour, J 
 promise ye; and this is no time for your abo- 
 minable long stories about knights who never 
 existed, and ma^-icians who now only lodp'e 
 with Satan." 
 
 " Well, well, Jaspar Amaury, such may be 
 
164 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 thy belief; but allow me to say that Sir 
 
 Launce " Here a second application of 
 
 the hand checked further speech, and the 
 crowd parted the disputants. 
 
 The various guests who had been invited 
 by Warwick to the tournament had assembled 
 in the banquetting hall, and a feast of the 
 most splendid kind was provided for them, and 
 to which (notwithstanding the sad termination 
 of the jousts) all did ample justice. Indeed, 
 grief must lay a heavy hand upon the great 
 mass of mankind before it deprives it of appe- 
 tite to enjoy the good things of this world. 
 Faces of woe may accompany some solemn oc- 
 casions, but they clear up and fade fast away, 
 like the clouds yielding to the influence of the 
 sun, before the sight of good cheer. A few 
 more select and intimate advisers of King Ed- 
 ward were assembled in a more private apart- 
 ment of the castle, and a costly and choice ban- 
 quet awaited their enjoyment. Warwick felt so 
 exasperated at the mischance of Clifford, and 
 the defiance which Beaufort had hurled so 
 boldly in the very teeth of the King, that he 
 
THE hunter's oak. 165 
 
 could scarcely do the honours of the feast. 
 Edward's nature was of too volatile and frank 
 a character to dwell long" upon any one sub- 
 ject, particularly if unpleasing-; and he cer- 
 tainly did his devoirs as manfully at the feast 
 as he would at the fray. He could not help, 
 however, observino- the cloud which lowered 
 over Warwick's brow, nor avoid noticing it. 
 
 " Come, come, my noble host, look not so 
 woe begone. Thou couldst not wear a heavier 
 heart upon thy face, even had the power of 
 Lancaster been present threatening our very 
 lives. By my holidame, but that same spawn 
 of Somerset spoke most boldly. We almost 
 felt assured he meant to assault our person, 
 else we had never drawn a weapon so near 
 the presence of the noble dames. Black Clif- 
 ford never has sustained so bad an overthrow 
 before; and had not Beaufort insolently beard- 
 ed us, we might have claimed his right to have 
 the prize ; for it would be a shame and blot 
 upon our knighthood did we not frankly hold 
 him as a gallant spirit." 
 
 " It would be hard, so please your majesty, 
 
166 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 to yield a flat denial to your wishes; but were 
 the earth to hold no other object for my 
 daughter's hand — nay, were her death to be 
 the consequence, I cannot, will not give her 
 to that attainted traitor. He is the very head 
 and hope of the Lancastrian power, and has a 
 wary eye to take advantage of a lucky time, by 
 which a blow of most unerring force may yet 
 be aimed against thy life and crown. Cannot 
 the overthrow of Clifford speak aloud? He is 
 a serpent in the path you even now have boldly 
 climbed. Take heed, my liege; the sting, 
 though clipped, has not been drawn!" 
 
 " We fear him not, good Warwick; claims he 
 the battle field, we there will meet him. Now, 
 by our crown, we swear that nothing would 
 so please our heart as giving this redoubted 
 knight a fall. We cannot help our admiration 
 at his bold and warlike bearing, and were 
 unworthy of the rank we hold, sought we his 
 life except in open fray." 
 
 " Then rest assured your royal wish will be 
 attended to, for Edmund Beaufort is one who 
 does not lightly look on insult. lie ranks 
 
THK HUNTER'S OAK. ^ 167 
 
 liimself as high as any in the land, saving- the 
 poor weak Henry, and would most freely, 
 gladly peril life to set him once again upon 
 the throne. Your Majesty cannot fail to know 
 he is of royal blood, so the Lancastrians hold 
 him, descended in a direct line from John of 
 Gaunt. That made him spurn the homage 
 you required, deeming allegiance only due to 
 that most wretched puppet, whose life alone is 
 spared from very helplessness of injury. Mar- 
 garet it is, who even now upholds the spirit 
 of her party, nor has she one more staunch, 
 more firm, or of a bolder spirit than this same 
 Beaufort." 
 
 " Ha! say'st thou so, good Warwick ? Then, 
 indeed he must be looked upon. We cannot 
 wonder now he scorned to bend the knee ; 
 and when he cast upon us such proud look, 
 we little dreamt the eaglet soared so high. 
 He is a dano^erous, vet a noble foe, and one 
 befittino' our encounter." 
 
 " If it so please you, royal Edward," said 
 Lord Montacute, (brother to the Earl of War- 
 wick,) " 1 might advise the strictest caution 
 
168 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 should be used in tracing* this bold traitor. 
 I know his valour well, and am not shamed fo 
 say have fallen before his arm. No one so bold 
 at Towton's fight ; and, had but fortune placed 
 amidst the ranks of Lancaster some few more 
 spirits of his eager breed, thy royal crown 
 had still graced Henry's head. With all due 
 deference, my noble master, it would be pru- 
 dent deed to seek a fitting helpmate for thy 
 throne, even with some foreign power. This 
 would defeat the hopes of Margaret, as well 
 as strengthen those reins of g'overnment, the 
 which are yet but scarcely known. What 
 says my gallant brother Warwick to this 
 counsel?" 
 
 " That it is prudent, excellent, and happily 
 hit upon ! It would do more to defeat the 
 ends of Margaret than gaining twenty battles 
 such as Towton. France at this moment holds 
 a lady of most noble rank, and one whom all 
 reports speak fair and amiable — Bona of 
 Savoy, sister to Louis, of France. Where can 
 the royal Edward find a mate more noble or 
 befitting the high station he now holds? A 
 
THE hunter's oak. 169 
 
 union such as this, would place this island 
 throne upon so firm a basis, as might well bid 
 defiance to any factious storm which could 
 assail it." 
 
 " My gallant, noble councillors, I hold thy 
 firm allegiance next my heart, and cannot 
 help but look upon these means as likely to 
 be useful. Thou hast our full authority and 
 power, my gentle Warwick, to seek this mai- 
 den's hand, and that the splendour of thy 
 embassy be fitting our most royal state, we 
 yield thee proper preparation. To you, my 
 Lord Montacute, we give our thanks for this 
 most able counsel, and place a firm reliance 
 on its wisdom." 
 
 " The royal Edward claims our best exer- 
 tions, for had he timidly sought the throne, his 
 rightful, sole possession, we now were only 
 vassals to a woman's power. Margaret is one 
 who will not lightly yield her claim, and doubt 
 not soon will raise some further strengfth." 
 
 *' It must be crushed, my lord, before it 
 makes much head: she is a crafty foe, and, 
 had her spirit entered Henry's heart, no earthly 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 means had checked the power of Lancaster. 
 Fortune, however, destined otherwise, and that 
 same giddy jade has ever been fast friend to 
 York.'' 
 
 A domestic now came up to Warwick, and 
 whispered in his ear. He turned pale at the 
 intelligence which had been communicated, 
 and prepared to leave the presence. King 
 Edward started up, and exclaimed — " How 
 now, my lord, what news is here to make 
 such havoc on your looks?" Before, however, 
 he could proceed further, the Earl had ab- 
 ruptly quitted the apartment. 
 
 The messenger shortly returned, saying 
 that his master begged to be held excused for 
 the apparent rudeness in leaving the royal 
 presence, but that the import of his commu- 
 nication was such as to require instant atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Edward and Montacute then entered into 
 close conversation, in which the intended em- 
 bassy to France was fully discussed, and it 
 met with the most decided approbation from 
 the other noblemen present. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 171 
 
 The scenes which were passing in this castle 
 were like the progress of human nature — 
 various : grief in one part, sad and afflicting — 
 crafty and deep designing policy in another ; 
 and the lucubrations of the dreaming steward, 
 Gerald, were being fully indulged in. 
 
 " Dear, dear, how sadly these rejoicings are 
 likely to terminate. Weil, well, I dreamt 
 such would take place, and I put much reli- 
 ance in dreams. What a pity, now, I had not 
 told them before the mishap took place ; how 
 1 should have surprised the folks ! My ideas 
 certainly are wonderfully arranged, and 
 though Jaspar Araaury and I, never can hold 
 our heads together about astrology, yet it has 
 been the means of discovering^ wonderful 
 events, both of time and place. Yes, yes, the 
 stars are unfavourable just now to this house, 
 and upon second thoughts " 
 
 " Second thoughts are best," said Edmund, 
 who had entered the room and overheard his 
 lucubrations. He was sitting over a flagon of 
 right good liquor, for his knowledge of the 
 stars made him quite awake to the time when 
 
 I 2 
 
172 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 the best vintage was to be procured. Indeed 
 his dreams generally happened when he was 
 under the oblivious effect of strong drinks, of 
 which he was a tolerable consumer, and on 
 this occasion the malady was pretty nearly at 
 its height. 
 
 " What, Master Edmund! well, this is odd, 
 I declare I was just dreaming about you. Sit 
 ye down, and help me to unriddle my thoughts 
 about the disasters which have happened. I 
 declare my poor brains begin to be quite, 
 muddled. Well then, to commence with my 
 first dream " 
 
 " For heaven's sake!" said Edmund, " let us 
 have no more of your dreams — realities now 
 come so thick and fast upon each other, that 
 time will not suit for these phantasies of thy 
 brain. The Lady Constance is in most dange- 
 rous plight, and though the leech has rescued 
 her from instant death, yet does her malady 
 hold such firm possession as to threaten her very 
 existence. The Earl has just been summoned 
 to her bedside, for she raves so incoherently 
 and wildly — calling upon Beaufort, Isabel, 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 173 
 
 Tind her father, that her piteous moans and 
 exclamations have made my heart too heavy 
 for my body. The moments are most precious, 
 and every passing" instant may be filled with 
 death and misery." 
 
 " Alas ! poor page, thy head seems some- 
 Ivhat turned. If thou vvouldst only listen to 
 my dreams, perhaps you might interpret their 
 meaning; if I can just — just — just now recoU 
 !ect them: who knows but that my intimacy with 
 the stars may be the—the — the m^-e-a-n-s of 
 curing her mal-mal-mal-ady." 
 
 *' I have no time, master steward, to waste 
 upon thy idiot dotage; give me the keys of 
 the cellar, for the guests are waiting for wine, 
 and thou art unable to attend upon thy duty 
 — aye, wine ; for though my noble, kind, and 
 gentle mistress almost sinks beneath her trou- 
 ble, yet do the revels still go on !" 
 
 "Give you the kee-kee-kee-keys ! Well, 
 that is odd — I was just dre-dre-dreamino- 
 about the kee-kee-keys, for the flas-flask is 
 out." 
 
 Edmund could no longer waste words upon 
 
174 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 this drunken dreamer ; so, snatching the keys 
 which hung" at his girdle, he left the inter- 
 preter of the stars in the full enjoyment of his 
 delight, but who soon fell from his chair in a 
 total state of insensibility. 
 
 We must now leave the steward in the quiet 
 state of oblivion into which he had sunk, and 
 proceed to the Lady Constance. Upon being 
 placed in bed, and having some stimulating 
 cordial administered, she was in some degree 
 roused from her stupor: it was but for an 
 instant, however ; for, on starting up and wildly 
 looking round, she again became insensible. 
 
 The heaving of her chest betokened laboured 
 respiration, and Isabel expected that every 
 breath would be her last. On a sudden she 
 started up, and called on Beaufort, beo-o-ino- 
 he would have pity on her father; and in the 
 next instant wildly implored Warwick to spare 
 Beaufort. She also called on Isabel ; and, 
 blending the names of all in a most inco- 
 herent manner, she once more became utterly 
 exhausted. Though Isabel knew that the 
 Earl was with the King, yet she determined 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 175 
 
 to apprize him of the danger in which Con- 
 stance lay, and despatched a messenger ac- 
 cordingly : this was the information Warwick 
 had been told, and the effect has been de- 
 scribed. On entering the room in which his 
 daughter lay, his heart smote him for having 
 so trifled with her sensitive feelings, and the 
 blow fell heavier when he looked upon her 
 wretched state. Her beautiful hair was wildly 
 scattered over a brow which was " white as 
 monumental alabaster." The countenance 
 was calm and resigned, as if just moulded bj 
 the master hand, before life had been instilled 
 into the frame ; for no mortal sculptor could 
 have chiselled, or even imagined, anything 
 so lovely and affecting. Tears silently, yet 
 quickly coursed down her innocent cheek, 
 and the skilful leech betokened from such 
 natural effects much benefit ; nor was he de- 
 ceived. Warwick had a firm and resolute 
 spirit, and was capable of bearing much cala- 
 mity, and when once he had formed a scheme 
 of aggrandizement, (for it has been men- 
 tioned that ambition was the darlinof idol of 
 
176 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 his soul,) it was no easy task to make him 
 change his views. Here however a scene pre- 
 sented itself, so unexpected and so sudden, 
 that the spirit of the warrior quailed before 
 the feelings of the man ! He sunk down at 
 once by the bedside, and called loudly and 
 bitterly upon her to recognise him, and those 
 weapons of the weaker sex ran down his noble 
 face and fell upon the hand of Constance. 
 If there be a grief more sad to look on than 
 another, it is that of man, whose sterner and 
 more iron spirit falls down in childish help- 
 lessness upon the commands of nature — sub- 
 dued by her mastery, yet ashamed to be 
 obliged to acknowledge the sovereign power! 
 The warm drops of pity had greater effect than 
 all the aid before adopted, and Constance once 
 more became composed and sensible. She 
 turned on the Earl a look so sad, " so woe- 
 begone," and yet so grateful, that it made him 
 feel his harshness more deeply than if she had 
 reproached him bitterly. Isabel was pleased 
 to perceive that her father was touched by 
 the wretched state in which Constance lay, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 177 
 
 and augured happy results. She took the 
 opportunity of requestmg him not to press the 
 union with Clifford, as in the present state of 
 her health it might be fatal. Although War- 
 wick had been most sensibly touched by the 
 wretchedness of his child, yet his master 
 spirit could not be so immediately overborne. 
 He promised however not to urge the subject 
 at present, but to reserve the consideration 
 of it to some more fortunate moment ; indeed 
 Clifford was in no state at this time to render 
 a remote chance of his being able to demand 
 Constance probable, so that Warwick was not 
 yielding more concession, than his prudent 
 mind had well calculated on. To Beaufort 
 he made no allusion, thinking time and the 
 knowledge that it was a match decidedly 
 against his wish, might heal the wound, which 
 most likely after all was but slight. Con- 
 stance, he knew, had seen but little of the 
 world, so that if Clifford were not to survive 
 the encounter, some other and probably more 
 wealthy and potent suitor might offer. All 
 these notions passed through his active, calcu- 
 
 I 3 
 
178 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 lating" brain like lightning", and he had at 
 once made up his mind what course to pursue. 
 Rising from his position, of which he almost 
 felt ashamed, he said — " Why, Constance, girl, 
 this heart of thine is made of meltinof metal : 
 cheer up thy spirits, nor think I wish to force 
 thy liking. Come, cast away those wretched 
 looks, and sooth thy mind to some better 
 state of feeling. Thou knowest I love, and 
 never wish to harm thee ; so that thy heart 
 may now be more at ease." Constance was 
 about to speak, but with a waive of the hand 
 he imposed silence, stating as his reason, that 
 King Edward would think his absence most 
 extraordinary, and that to prevent its being 
 noticed he should at once return. Having" said 
 this, Warwick quitted the apartment. Isabel 
 found that as much had been effected, as the 
 present state of circumstances permitted, and 
 she did not offer to say a word to check the 
 Earl's intention. Constance now felt disposed 
 to sleep, so that Isabel was not anxious to force 
 conversation upon her; and feeling- assured 
 that a calm and gentle repose would do more 
 
THE hunter's oak. 179 
 
 to refresh her, than anything" she could urcre 
 upon the subjects, which had so astonishingly 
 and so rapidly passed before her view. 
 
 The state of Clifford wasdreadful — the fall 
 he had received had shaken him seriously, 
 and the lance-blow was of a severe character, 
 having" greatly injured the ribs. His state of 
 mind however was infinitely worse than the 
 bruises of his body; for the recollection of 
 his humiliatinof' overthrow had taken such firm 
 possession of his brain, that it very soon 
 brought on a fever of a most alarming kind. 
 Little pity was however afforded him, for his 
 fierce and revengeful disposition had made 
 him detestable in the eyes of the castle in- 
 mates, and it was not a little increased by the 
 knowledge they had so recently gained of the 
 Earl's intention of giving him Constance as a 
 wife. As he lay upon the bed of sickness, 
 instead of recollecting the cruelties he had 
 been guilty of, and the various scones which 
 his fierce passions had made so prominent, he 
 only brooded over his revenge, which he had 
 resolved should be worthy to expiate the 
 
180 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 insult he conceived himself to have sustained. 
 Repentance he scoffed at, looking forward 
 alone to a restoration to health and vigour, in 
 order to bring: his nefarious thouWits into 
 action. It will hardly be supposed possible 
 that human nature could be so far debased, 
 but unfortunately there are too many instances 
 on record, proving that this description is 
 not overcharged. He had learned from his 
 esquire who the knight was that had unhorsed 
 him, and this knowledge had not a little 
 exasperated him — Beaufort was an hereditary 
 enemy, the most active and valiant of the 
 adverse side, and it only wanted this spur to 
 make his anger deadly. Honour he had 
 none, and, could he have taken the gallant 
 knight at disadvantage, he would not have 
 hesitated to have done so. At present, how- 
 ever, like a chained mastiff, he could only 
 rage and snarl, being, from his wound and 
 confinement, unable to bite. Warwick having 
 attended upon King Edward to his sleeping 
 apartment, now entered his room and asked 
 him how he felt. 
 
THE hunter's oak. Ibl 
 
 " Feel, good Warwick ! trust me most ill 
 at ease ; nor shall I be relieved from mental 
 anguish until I have revenge for this defeat. 
 My bodily ailments are but slight compared 
 to this foul fever of the mind — it rages, burns, 
 and tears me, worse, aye, ten thousand times, 
 than all the wounds I ever yet have felt from 
 battle field ! Know'st thou the traitor who 
 thus foiled me?" 
 
 " 1 do," said Warwick ; " and if my anger 
 is not quite so fierce as thine, it may be still 
 as dangerous. Dost think, my friend, that 
 this wild passion ever can enable thee to have 
 requital ? Keep thyself cool and temperate, 
 or else thy vengeance will exhaust itself and 
 cheat thee of thy wish," 
 
 Clifford looked hard at Warwick, and by a 
 desperate exertion, partly raised himself on 
 his elbow — " Calm, didst thou say, and tem- 
 perate ? The wintry blast must chano-e to 
 summer wind — the whirlwind's roar appear 
 as gentle music — the raging torrent seem a 
 gliding stream, ere my fierce vengeance be ap- 
 peased ! Calm, indeed ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !" — 
 
182 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 Here the violence of his spirit became ex- 
 hausted, and he sunk back in the bed, over- 
 powered by the intemperance of his impotent 
 rage. Warwick felt shocked; for, though he 
 knew Clifford was a wild and reckless man, 
 still he had never contemplated so much ma- 
 lignity could exist, when stretched on the bed 
 of sickness. Summoning immediate assistance, 
 which having procured, he left the wretched 
 man for the night. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 She caught one glimpse of his danciag plume, 
 Which wavM 'midst the warlike train ; 
 
 But look'd with despair on the dark'ning gloom, 
 For it checkM the bright vision again ! 
 
 Warwick on the ensuino* morninof told 
 Isabel that he should depart for London with 
 the king, which would be in a few hours ; but 
 that he did not propose accompanying" the 
 royal Edward, who intended passing on his 
 way homeward through Northamptonshire, in 
 order that he might call upon the Duchess of 
 Bedford, at Grafton Hall, so that the King's 
 journey would be too protracted for his expe- 
 dition. He also explained the intention of 
 his sudden departure, and that he should pro- 
 ceed first to Calais, previous to his going to 
 the French court, to demand Bona of Savoy 
 
184 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 in marriage for his master. Clifford, he stated, 
 must be taken every care of, and would re- 
 main until he had completely recovered from 
 the effects of his severe injuries, at the castle. 
 Warwick in some respects did not regret this 
 disaster of Clifford, thinkino^ the overthrow he 
 had received would cool his fierce passions, 
 and probably make him inclined to initiate 
 himself into the good graces of Constance by 
 more conciliatory means. Little, however, 
 had he calculated on this occasion ; for no- 
 thing' on this earth could be more opposite in 
 character, feelings, and sentiment, than this 
 hot and fretful soldier and the soft and beau- 
 tiful Constance. It is most extraordinary that 
 when once our heart is set upon a plan by 
 which we imagine infinite benefit may be de- 
 rived, we cannot or will not calculate upon 
 the chances which may obtrude to prevent its 
 accomplishment; but foolishly and rashlv at- 
 tempt to control the will of providence. Such 
 however is daily attempted, nor will the means, 
 though futile be checked, until the termination 
 of existence. 
 
tHE HUNTER*S OAK. 185 
 
 "The unexpected and sudden departure of 
 the King had been accelerated by the circum- 
 stances which had just transpired, and the 
 information was not very pleasing to Isabel. 
 The attentions of the Duke of Clarence had 
 been so marked, as to excite the most lively 
 sensation towards that gallant prince, who 
 had solicited the honour of declaring him- 
 self her suitor. He was a most accomplished 
 knight, and had succeeded in making her 
 promise to become his wife, so soon as cir- 
 cumstances permitted. Indeed his suit was 
 so urgent, that, had not her sister's indis- 
 position been so alarming, she knew not 
 how to refuse it : therefore at present it was 
 impossible, nor would she quit her on any 
 account; for though the rank he held in 
 society was sufficient to inspire Isabel with 
 joyful emotions, yet they were much checked 
 by passing events. She could not however 
 hear of his departure without regret, expect- 
 ing to pass some few hours in the company of 
 Clarence when absence from Constance per- 
 jnitted, by which means she would have an 
 
186 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 opportunity of becoming" better acquainted 
 with his character. The world reported it 
 amiable, and in the eve of Isabel that had a 
 weighty effect in making her more easy at the 
 vacuum his departure would create. 
 
 The stir and movements about the castle 
 betokened the king's departure, and Isabel 
 looked from the window of the room to view 
 the cavalcade leave. Warwick had avoided 
 having any further interview with Constance, 
 not wishing to enter into any discussion about 
 the events which had transpired, and had re- 
 quested Isabel to console her as far as pos- 
 sible, and state the urgency of the case as the 
 reason for his not visiting* her. This she pro- 
 mised to do, though she could not help think- 
 inof the Earl cruel in thus leavino" her without 
 a word of consolation from himself. Isabel 
 knew it would distress her sister greatly, but 
 it was useless to dispute the point, knowing* 
 her father had decided; and nothing she 
 could say would make him alter his intention. 
 The clattering of horses' hoofs, arms, and 
 accoutrements now became very distincty 
 
THE hunter's oak. 187 
 
 proving" that the escort was about to issue 
 from the castle. 
 
 As she looked over the expanse which War- 
 wick Castle commanded, she could not help 
 admiring its beauty and extent. The face of 
 the country seemed lovely, and the brightness 
 of noonday added materially to the natural 
 beauties which were so thickly scattered. The 
 martial trumpets now sounded, and other war- 
 like music aided the impression, which the 
 splendor of soldierly array must create. The 
 magnificence of the body-guard, the flashing 
 of arms and accoutrements in the sun, the 
 flying and various coloured pennons, and the 
 gallant and firm bearing of the various nobles 
 who attended on the person of the king, de- 
 lighted the romantic and bold character of 
 Isabel. It was but transient, however, for as 
 they wound over the drawbridge Clarence 
 waved and kissed his hand to her, (for a 
 lover's eye can detect the appearance of a 
 kindred spirit,) in token of remembrance. The 
 sensations she felt now were so totallv dif- 
 ferent from those with which she beheld the 
 
188 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 advance towards the castle, that she was asto- 
 nished so short a period should have had so 
 instantaneous an effect ; and as she returned 
 the greetings of her lover, her heart sunk 
 within her. So long as the train was visible 
 she watched its progress, and at some con- 
 siderable distance fancied she perceived 
 the waving" of his arm and noble form dis- 
 tinctlj visible from the mass which inclosed 
 the King. Those who have parted with a 
 beloved object can readily imagine what 
 Isabel felt ; for thouo^h her mind was not so 
 sensitive as that of her sister's, yet she had a 
 heart formed for the best feelings of her sex, 
 and the admiration which the gallant and 
 princely Clarence had excited made her feel 
 more anxious (if it were possible) for the fate 
 of Constance. So long as the form of the 
 beloved is visible to the eye, so long does the 
 heart still fancy it near; but the instant dis- 
 tance prevents the object being seen, it sinks 
 within the bosom wretched and forlorn. The 
 path which before had appeared scattered 
 with flowers and in all the briahtness of ani- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 189 
 
 mated nature, becomes momentarily barren 
 and deserted. Such were the sensations of 
 Isabel : for as the gallant train became indis- 
 tinct, she felt the extent of her wretchedness; 
 her firm yet noble spirit having been kept 
 alive by its splendid and royal magnificence. 
 The sight had now vanished, and she fancied 
 herself forsaken. Constance had passed a 
 better night than had been anticipated, and 
 she appeared delighted at Isabel's return. 
 She was infinitely more tranquil and com- 
 posed, and inquired anxiously about the events 
 which had so recently alarmed her. Isabel 
 then, in the quietest manner she could, men- 
 tioned the safety of Beaufort, whoif^ she stated 
 had left the lists only on her removal to the 
 castle. She carefully abstained from men- 
 tioning the bold defiance he had thrown in 
 Edward's teeth, to prevent bringing on a re- 
 lapse, which would decidedly be dangerous. 
 At the same time too, she gradually stated the 
 necessity which compelled the EarFs instant 
 departure, so that he could not without dis- 
 turbing her wish her farewell, but that he had 
 
190 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 left a kind message, begging* she would keep 
 up her spirits, and trust to results. By such 
 means Warwick artfully insinuated that he 
 might possibly overcome his repugnance to a 
 union with Beaufort, though in his heart he 
 would sooner have mated her with his sene- 
 schal, and the impression had its full \veight 
 upon the confiding and affectionate heart of 
 Constance. She looked up to her father, as 
 to a being of a superior order, which had 
 been gradually increased by the reports she 
 was continually hearing of his valour, wealth, 
 and influence, so that it is not surprising 
 she should place implicit confidence in his 
 declaration. 
 
 A gentle tap upon the door made Isabel 
 rise to see who had knocked, when she found 
 Edmund pale and anxious for intelligence as 
 to his mistress's illness. He expressed much 
 deliffht on hearing she was so much recovered, 
 and begged to have speech of the Lady Isabel 
 when she could spare time to grant him a 
 hearing, which she promised to do when Con- 
 stance again fell asleep. Upon receiving this 
 
THE hunter's oak. 191 
 
 answer, he left the door, though evidently with 
 a lingering look of regret and uneasiness, as if 
 he had placed all his thoughts upon the being 
 who had so unconsciously given him cause 
 for uneasiness. The continual habit of being 
 allowed to remain in attendance on the ladies, 
 had so accustomed him to their society, that 
 without it, he felt bewildered and miserable : 
 of course the present state of Constance ren- 
 dered it impossible, and he wandered about 
 the castle and its precincts wretched and un- 
 happy, solaced only by the aid of his lute. 
 On his return to his own apartment, he en- 
 countered Jaspar Amaury and the old steward, 
 and he never felt more disinclined in his life 
 to meet them. To avoid the contact was im- 
 possible, so that he found himself compelled to 
 encounter the badgering of the one, and the 
 interminable loquacity of the other. 
 
 " Well, master," said Amaury, "your company 
 is scarce : I warrant me now that thou already 
 fanciest thyself an errant knight, or some 
 such hio'h condition, for thou hast scorned the 
 company of the men at arms, since the more 
 
102 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 swaggering and roistering blades who came 
 with the King, arrived. Now they have left, 
 majliap we may once more be honoured (this 
 was said sneer ingly) by your presence ; the 
 times are high indeed, when such a young bird 
 as thou art, flies so strono;'." 
 
 " Aye indeed," added the steward, *' I was 
 just dreaming last night that he had flown away 
 with my keys. Lord now, wasn't it strange, 
 when I awoke from a little nap, I found they 
 were gone, and nothing but a knowledge of 
 astroloo^y, which made me consult the stars, 
 could have led me to suspect he had taken 
 them-?" 
 
 " Why, thou impudent old varlet," retorted 
 Edmund, "thy dreams w^ere the effects of 
 drunkenness, and the scene which passed was 
 reality. Thou wast so overcome by liquor as 
 to be incapable of acting up to thy duty, ex- 
 cept indeed thou fanciest it consists in drink- 
 ing the Earl's w^ine, instead of giving it to his 
 guests, for in that case no one could be 
 more apt." 
 
 " How now, good master steward," roared 
 
THE hunter's oak. 193 
 
 out the seneschal, " What say'st thou to this 
 charg-e, — 'tis a home thrust, and knocks thy 
 pestering, star-gazing system on the head at 
 
 once ? Where is Merlin now, or Sir , what 
 
 do ye call him, of the pond, or the imps whom 
 thou hast so often told us waited on that re- 
 nowned magician ? Methinks thou wantest 
 some such assistance to transport thee and thy 
 lying- impudence from this spot, for thy coun- 
 tenance looks monstrously chap-fallen." 
 
 " Why I protest now," exclaimed Gerald, 
 " this is more and more surprising ! Ah ! 
 Amaury, I declare I really dreamt you would 
 jeer me on the subject of my tales, but never- 
 theless they are to the letter true, and must 
 not be disputed. I always thought you were 
 unlearned in these matters, and find I am not 
 mistaken. But how could I be mistaken when 
 I study astrology ? When you speak of the re- 
 doubted knights of the round table, g-ive them 
 their proper titles. — Sir Launcelot of the Lake, 
 not pond— one is a noble piece of water, and 
 worthy being joined to the name of so great a 
 warrior. Sir Launcelot was once in a -" 
 
 VOL, I. K 
 
194 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 " Hold, my good fellow," said Amaury, 
 " and I will finish the sentence. Sir Laun- 
 celot was once in a — quandary, and I am sure 
 if he had no more brains to get out of it, than 
 thou hast, he had better have thrown himself 
 at once into the pond — Psha, I mean lake." 
 
 " Well, well," replied Gerald, " if you both 
 are so abominably incredulous, it is not my 
 fault, I would be willing" to make ye more en- 
 lightened. Depend upon it, Amaury, thy jest- 
 ing and jeering upon this serious subject, may 
 bring aboutthe vengeance of Merlin; and who 
 knows, but that he may send down a knight of 
 the round table in the shape of an armed war- 
 rior, who might punish thee for thy ignorant 
 disbelief. What a pity it is !" 
 
 " Send down a warrior indeed," roared 
 out the seneschal: " you mean most likely 
 send one up, for no doubt if all your tales 
 of that incredible Merlin be true, he is 
 by this time safely housed in a snug warm 
 birth. But a truce to your consummate lies, 
 for we only waste the time in listening to this 
 nonsense. How goes it with the poor Lady 
 
THE hunter's oak. 195 
 
 Constance, Edmund ; we heard but a sad 
 account last night of her dangerous illness? 
 By the mass, we should miss her much were 
 she to sink under the affliction !" Edmund 
 then explained that she was better, which 
 pleased the worthy seneschal greatly, and ex- 
 cused himself from further talk by stating he 
 had a commission to execute for the Lady 
 Isabel, which required despatch. This was 
 enough, and they each separated. 
 
 Edmund amused himself durinof the time 
 he was waiting the summons T)f the Lady Isabel 
 with his lute, finding that the only resource 
 for trouble and anxiety. After some conside- 
 rable period had elapsed, a female domestic, 
 who was in immediate attendance on her per- 
 son, summoned him to the octagon room. 
 
 '* Well, Edmund," said Isabel, " what is 
 thy wish in asking for this meeting? Have 
 you any thing to communicate as regards the 
 Lady Constance ?" 
 
 " So please you, my lady," replied the 
 page, " I have to request your influence may 
 be used with Jaspar Amaury, that I may have 
 
 k2 
 
196 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 free access to, and egress from the castle. His 
 orders, he says, are strict to prevent any one 
 from quitting" the place, except on urgent 
 business, or with your permission, excepted. 
 It has been my duty, from an anxious desire 
 to aid the happiness of my kind lady, to inform 
 the gallant Beaufort of her health, and by 
 my means, the meeting took place previous 
 to the tournament. I now, most noble lady, 
 avow the guilt, if any such there be ; but must 
 confess it was adventured solely from a hope 
 of making my kind good mistress happy. The 
 present state in which she now remains may 
 last some time, so that the knight can only 
 guess the worst mischance has happened; and 
 I would willingly relieve his mind, but cannot 
 do so, from this pent up state." 
 
 " I scarcely know how I should act in this 
 affair, good Edmund," answered Isabel. " I 
 feel sincerely for my sister's state, and pity 
 the bold knight who freely perilled his life to 
 risk her freedom from Lord Clifford. Yet am 
 I anxious to uphold my noble fiitlier's wishes, 
 which must be broken did I yield thy prayer. 
 What can I do in this dilemma? 'Tis one re- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 197 
 
 quiring some consideration !" Isabel here rose 
 from her seat, and paced several times up 
 and down the apartment. Some little period 
 elapsed before she had made up her mind: at 
 last she turned to Edmund, and said — 
 
 " Althoug-h my prudence dictates that the 
 intention I have formed be wrong, yet cannot 
 I suffer such devoted love to be thus cruelly 
 kept in suspense." She then sat down, and 
 wrote on a paper, which she gave to the page. 
 
 " Take this paper, Edmund; Amaury will 
 not prevent thy absence now, for 'tis to let thee 
 have free passage. Use the authority, however, 
 with discretion; for thou must know I am re- 
 ponsible for any evil use which may be made 
 of it. In yon, good page, I place implicit trust; 
 see then thou makest me not regret it. Hea- 
 ven knows my thoughts are for the best, and I 
 am using measures only to secure my sister's 
 happiness, which I hold as equal to my own !" 
 
 Edmund bent his knee on receiving the 
 paper ; when, having made the most ample 
 acknowledgments for her kindness, he arose 
 and prepared to put it into use. 
 
198 THE hunter's oak* 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 She threw herself with such resistless grace, 
 The pearly drops all streamiug' down her face, 
 Before the monarch, who, with eager stare, 
 Look'd on the lovely, supplicating fair. 
 
 King Edward and his retinue arrived at 
 Grafton about twilight, and were most hospit- 
 ably received by the Duichess of Bedford, 
 who felt much honoured by this unexpected 
 visit of the youthful monarch. Edward, how- 
 ever, was not alone guided by any particular 
 wish to see her grace, but had a more inte- 
 resting object in view. The young king was 
 a man of the most consummate address, and no 
 one of his court could equal him in gallantry 
 and attention to the fair sex ; indeed, his prin- 
 cipal delight appeared to consist in these at- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 199 
 
 tentions, and which unfortunately oftentimes 
 were too successfuL It is not, however, in- 
 tended to particularize any one instance, leav- 
 ing* such facts to be recorded by the historian ; 
 thoug'h there are too many on record, which 
 place the monarch's character in no favour- 
 able point of view. 
 
 Grafton Hall was a venerable relic of Gothic 
 magnificence, though not a perfect one; for 
 the repairs which had been necessary were 
 scarcely in complete unison with the original 
 fabric, and the general effect consequently was 
 somewhat injured. However, it still was suffi- 
 ciently splendid, making it a residence of no 
 common kind for the possessor to inhabit. Sir 
 Richard Woodville had married the widow of 
 the Duke of Bedford, Jacqueline of Luxem- 
 bourg, by which union he had several chil- 
 dren, none of whom being more lovely, inte- 
 resting, or accomplished than the Lady Eliza- 
 beth Grey. Sir John Grey, of Groby, had 
 been slain when siding with the Lancastrian 
 power, and his estates confiscated, so that 
 his widow had been compelled to return to the 
 
200 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 paternal roof with her infant children. King 
 Edward had heard of the splendour of her 
 charms, and the amorous monarch thought it 
 would be an excellent mode of obtaining* an 
 interview, making the call on the dutchess a 
 mere cloak for his intrusion on her retirement. 
 The Lady Elizabeth Grej was not more than 
 twenty years of age, and, most probably, was 
 the handsomest woman of the period. Her 
 features were regular and finely formed, hav- 
 ing an expression of the most interesting sweet- 
 ness. No one who looked upon her liquid 
 blue eye could help being charmed by its vi- 
 vacity and brilliancy. Her beauty had been 
 by no means impaired by marriage and the 
 anxiety of her mind, for the forsaken and 
 wretched condition of her infant children had, 
 so far from decreasing her personal appear- 
 ance, made it more resistless. A figure not 
 much above the usual height, fully and ele- 
 gantly formed, was well set off by the habili- 
 ments she wore for her deceased husband ; 
 the dark hue of her weeds makino- the charms 
 of nature more conspicuous, by contrasting so 
 
THE hunter's oak. 201 
 
 effectually with the pink and white of her fair 
 skin. The dutchess had thought this unex- 
 pected visit of Edward's most favourable for 
 her to petition in person, that the attainder 
 might be removed from her unfortunate fa- 
 mily, and her estates restored. Her grace was 
 no stranger to the power of female loveliness 
 over the volatile mind of Edward, and she 
 looked upon this lucky chance as the most fa- 
 vourable which could be, for the rescue of her 
 rights. She thought it, however, more pru- 
 dent to reserve the interview until the morn- 
 ing, during which interval she could sound 
 the intentions of Edward as to the impres- 
 sion such a request might make. The artful 
 monarch had somewhat suspected the inten- 
 tions of the dutchess, and declared himself 
 anxious to see the suppliant for his mercy in 
 person. By these means both had their ends 
 answered, and each thought the other had 
 fallen easily into the snare so carefully laid. 
 The King was impatient to behold the charms 
 of this renowned beauty, and would have 
 wished the presentation to have taken place 
 
 K 3 
 
202 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 on the instant ; but the more wily dutchess 
 knew, that by keeping up a degree of excite- 
 ment in his mind, the intents of the meetinof" 
 might be more fully answered. Nor were her 
 conclusions wrong ; for the fiery and impetu- 
 ous monarch was more than half inclined to 
 insist upon his wishes being attended to : yet 
 the gallantry of his spirit was too great, to per- 
 mit the violence of his passion entirely to 
 overmaster him, and he yielded a consent, 
 thou0"h it was with reluctance. 
 
 Sleep almost forsook his pillow, and his 
 dreams were filled by images of the Lady 
 Grey, whom he fancied appeared to him 
 in reality, so strong had the delusion been. 
 On the ensuing day the dutchess introduced 
 into his presence the imaginary goddess of his 
 fancied idolatry, and he absolutely started 
 from his seat as she entered the room, for the 
 image of his dream and the waking reality 
 were as one. Indeed, he was only roused from 
 his astonishment by her falling at his feet, and 
 imploring his compassion and royal grace for 
 herself and unotfending ofFsprinof, whoUi she 
 
 fspring, whoUi 
 
THE hunter's oak. 203 
 
 stated had neither by word or deed offended 
 against his rights. The rank and power to 
 which Edward had arrived, had given him vast 
 opportunities of seeing female beauty; indeed, 
 the precincts of the court absolutely abounded 
 with feminine loveliness, and he had not been 
 an idle spectator. Here, however, was a form 
 far surpassing any thing he had conceived or 
 seen, and the supplicating and tearful eye ef- 
 fected more in one instant than hours had done 
 in more distressinsf cases. Here also was one 
 of the most exquisite and lovei|^ of her sex, 
 who had cast herself at his feet for mercy and 
 forbearance. Was it probable that a monarch 
 so constituted as Edward could resist such an 
 appeal ? Impossible ! He raised the lovely 
 supplicant from the ground, and begged she 
 would be comforted, nor take her troubles so 
 much to heart, for thev should be rig-hted. 
 
 " By our royal sceptre, most noble and 
 most lovely lady, we will oarself redress thee. 
 Thou surely cannot think we war with help- 
 lessness, or that our knighthood should be 
 stained so foully as it would, by crushing thee 
 
204 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 or thy poor children. If thy gallant husband 
 took the side of Lancaster in this quarrel, he 
 fell most nobly, as a warrior should do, even 
 in the battle field, and thus has paid the for- 
 feit by his life. We cannot, must not, will not 
 make thy state more wretched, but rather 
 strive to yield thee a more gentle recompence. 
 Ha! what sayest thou now? Why do your 
 tears thus flow apace ? Have we not said we 
 would redress thee V^ 
 
 " Excuse, most royal Ed\vard, these grate- 
 ful drops, which fall alone from hearing thy 
 most generous bounty. I had not looked for 
 so much kindness, and scarcely dare now think 
 but that the scene is some kind dream. So 
 much I have suffered in this unhappy contest 
 that my poor heart sinks down with joy and 
 gratitude at this most princely condescen- 
 sion," 
 
 Here the poor lady burst into a flood of 
 tears, and was quite overpowered by her emo- 
 tions, the sudden transition being too much 
 for a mind which had supped full of sorrow. 
 
 The Dutchess of Bedford saw at a glance 
 
THE hunter's oak* 205 
 
 that the effect she had intended to produce 
 was not lost 5 for Edward himself absolutely 
 wept at the distress she seemed in, and was 
 moved strangf-ely. Finding her intentions work- 
 ino- to her heart's content, she adroitly left the 
 apartment, thinking the impression which Lady 
 Elizabeth had made on the monarch's heart 
 might as well not be witnessed by a second 
 person. Edward, on again imploring her to 
 be consoled, looked up, and was glad to find 
 the scene was without notice, and admired the 
 good discretion of her grace in thus absenting 
 herself. Having in some measure restored 
 herself to greater collection of mind, Lady 
 Elizabeth was about to express her gratitude 
 even more strongly, which Edward checked 
 by saying — 
 
 " We hold thee not a suppliant, beauteous 
 dame, but have consented to thy prayer. That 
 being done, we have ourself some boon to 
 ask, which thou canst yield without much 
 anxious thouo^ht. What wouldst thou think 
 if we disposed thee for some lofty station near 
 
206 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 our person? Ajel start not so abruptly, but 
 hear us finish what we have to say. Thy lovely 
 form and gentle ways have made impression 
 on our heart of no uncommon kind, and we 
 would lift thee far above the station which 
 thou hast so long retained, and w^hich is most 
 unworthy beauty such as thine. Thou look'st 
 as if thou didst not comprehend our meaning. 
 Shall we be more explicit ?" 
 
 The meaning of the King was not misunder- 
 stood by Elizabeth, who could read in the 
 passionate and warm glances of the monarch 
 more than she approved of. Indeed, he had 
 accompanied his last words with an attempt 
 to salute her lips, from which she shrunk as 
 became a virtuous matron. With an expres- 
 sion of firm yet respectful energy she said — 
 " I should be sorry, my most noble liege, to 
 suspect a wrong intention from so kind a 
 heart, but, if my mind misgives me not, thy 
 words imply much doubt. Elizabeth Grey 
 holds herself far beneath the royal Edward's 
 princely state; and, though her place amidst 
 
THE hunter's oak. 207 
 
 the world be one unfitting for a rank so high, 
 as she could only listen to, yet is it far above 
 a meaner, baser station/* 
 
 King Edward, if he had before admired her 
 for her surpassing loveliness, was now more 
 enamoured of the beauties of her virtuous 
 mind, which could resist solicitations many in 
 her depressed station might have listened to. 
 His passion burnt fiercer by the noble denial 
 she had given to his insinuating proposals, 
 and in the inspiration of the moment, he fpr- 
 got the embassy of Warwick, his own exalted 
 rank, and indeed every thing connected with 
 his station, being completely conquered by the 
 fascinations of a beautiful and virtuous dame. 
 He, in turn, became the suppliant, and 
 pleaded his cause so effectually as to gain a 
 consent from Elizabeth for a private marriage. 
 On the refusal of her daughter to listen to any 
 base proposition, the Dutchess of Bedford had 
 entered the room quietly, and was not an un- 
 pleased witness of the royal Edward's situation. 
 She knew Elizabeth's virtuous mind would 
 spurn with indignation any base proposals, and 
 
208 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 had calculated admirably on the passion of the 
 King being so acted on, as to produce the re- 
 sults which she triumphantly beheld. Edward 
 had but now observed her appearance, and in- 
 stantly rose from his position. 
 
 " Now, by our holidame, your grace has 
 speedily changed this scene from sadness to 
 rejoicing. Thy daughter has so ably pleaded 
 her own cause, that we have resolved to take 
 her petition into our special consideration. 
 We also have asked a boon, the which has 
 been consented, so that, with the permission of 
 your grace, we shall not waste much time 
 upon this matter. 
 
 "'Tis not for me, so please your royal ma- 
 jesty," replied the dutchess, " to gainsay what 
 my virtuous daughter has approved : indeed, 
 I were a foolish mother to thrust my speech and 
 check this princely condescension." 
 
 " Spoken most sensibly my lady dutchess, 
 when will the fair Elizabeth consent to grant 
 us power to redress her wrongs, which we could 
 do most ably, would she yield authority ? 
 Our time is precious, and we gladly hasten to 
 
THE hunter's oak. 209 
 
 our g-ood city of London, so that our absence 
 may not long* be felt. A lengthened stay were 
 not so prudent in these treacherous times — • 
 wilt answer me, sweet love ?" 
 
 Lady Elizabeth upon this request of the 
 King's, blushed deeply, but seemed aware of 
 her situation, and at once answered, " Upon 
 this statement, then, most royal Edward, I 
 grant consent ; and heaven only knows how 
 proud I feel to give my children so good a 
 friend, who has the means and will, to suc- 
 cour and support them. I bend submissively 
 unto your grace's pleasure, and am content to 
 waive all coy and foolish modes, which would 
 only check your anxious wish to reach the ca- 
 pital." 
 
 " Now, by our crown," replied King Ed- 
 ward, " thou never shalt repent this faith ; 
 for we will hold it closely to our heart, and 
 he who boldly dares to wrench the fond re- 
 membrance from its resting-place, may reckon 
 on our speediest vengeance. Thou shalt be 
 England's Queen in spite of all who would 
 oppose thy elevation ; for Edward thinks a 
 
210 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 throne can never be more nobly graced than 
 by the presence of a virtuous woman ! " 
 
 The termination of this meeting" is pretty 
 well known, the nuptials being privately ce- 
 lebrated the following night at Grafton ; and 
 Edward immediately after carried his lovely 
 and virtuous bride to the metropolis. Here, 
 however, the match was for some time kept 
 a secret, for his power was not yet suffi- 
 ciently expanded to make the circumstances 
 public* By the termination of this nieeting 
 the aid and intentions of Warwick's embassy 
 became useless, and Edward had, by an act 
 decidedly of hasty indiscretion, made his pro- 
 posal for the Lady Bona's hand appear in- 
 sulting-. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 One faithful heart, one sympathising- tear, 
 If woes assail us, what can be more dear ? 
 Then is the time to prove the g-enerous fi'iend. 
 When worldly troubles make the spirit bend j 
 Then is the struggle, and how few we find 
 Will aid the heart to cheer the wretched mind : 
 If Heaven can yield one greater worldly bliss 
 To human soul, assuredly 'tis this. 
 
 Beaufort checked not the vigour of his 
 mettled steed until he had advanced some 
 considerable distance from the place of action, 
 when, finding no pursuit, he yielded the noble 
 animal a respite, keeping up a foot pace for 
 a time. 
 
 The agony of his mind had been somewhat 
 kept in quietude whilst the impetus of his 
 flight was necessary ; but, on resuming a slow 
 motion,' it returned with ten-fold vigour. The 
 
212 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 unhappy state in which he had left his beloved 
 Constance fell onjiis heart as would a bolt of 
 ice, for the recollection chilled his very life's 
 blood, and he shuddered with horror upon a 
 reflection that he miofht never agfain behold 
 her ! Here the gallant spirit of the warrior 
 fell ; and though the insult he considered him- 
 self to have received had raised his choler far 
 above his usual state of temper, it had for the 
 moment also roused him to a full resolution 
 of upholding and publicly acknowledging the 
 authority of one whom he justly considered as 
 the sole and rig-htful King* of Eno-land. Ed- 
 ward of York, in the eye of every true hearted 
 Lancastrian, was looked upon as an usurper 
 of Henry's throne, and no act was considered 
 traitorous in endeavouring to overthrow the 
 power of that house which sought the extinc- 
 tion and debasement of the other. Beau- 
 fort had the most chivalrous spirit, which he 
 inherited from nature ; it had been nursed 
 and reared under the wing of a parent who 
 was himself a true friend to Henry, and 
 whose life fell a sacrifice in upholding his 
 
THE hunter's oak. 213 
 
 just and proper authoritj. The knowledge 
 of this added materially to the hatred which 
 had carefully been instilled into his mind 
 against the Yorkists, and he had solemnly 
 sworn to nse every fair means (for his noble 
 heart scorned other methods) of exterminating* 
 the very existence of that dangerous faction. 
 
 His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden 
 clank of horses' feet behind, and on turning 
 round he beheld his faithful esquire, Leving- 
 stone, riding with some speed towards him. 
 His abrupt movement from the lists had been 
 so instantaneous as to astonish every body, 
 and no one more so than Ralph, who, on seeing 
 his master urge forward his steed with such 
 ardour, felt assured something had happened 
 of importance, or he never would have has- 
 tened away so precipitately. It was some 
 time before he could regain his horse, which 
 was placed in with so many others, that his 
 master must have advanced considerably on 
 his journey, before he could have mounted. 
 
 " Well, Ralph," said Beaufort, " I had for- 
 gotten thy being at the lists ; thou must have 
 
214 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 been surprised at my speedy departure, but, 
 trust me, there was ample reason for haste, or 
 I had never quitted the poor Lady Constance 
 in so sad a plight. Edward of York will never 
 stomach the defiance I cast in his teeth, or the 
 truth I told him, for it is a weapon of resistless 
 energy which, unhappily, is too often neg~ 
 lected. Neither will Clifford soon forget our 
 second meeting, for the fall I gave him must 
 have been of injury. Let him, however, should 
 he get from out his present peril, look to the 
 third encounter; for, as I place firm faith upon 
 the holy cross, it shall be fatal to one or both. 
 He has thrust himself most insolently in my 
 road, and must not reckon upon my giving 
 place so easily." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord," replied Ralph, "from 
 the glance I had before I left the lists, he 
 seemed but in a perilous state, nor could the 
 utmost efforts of his "squire rouse him to sense 
 or recollection. He looked most ghastly pale, 
 and was, to my mind, in sufficient agony ; for 
 his countenance expressed internal anguish, 
 and he groaned most wofully. In good troth, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 215 
 
 it was a noble tumble, and one most unex- 
 pected ; I shall not easily forget it. What may 
 my noble master's present meaning be, or has 
 he thought of taking further place for housing; 
 ifso, noone will follow with a franker will than 
 Ralph Levingstone, aye to the very death ! " 
 
 " Ralph," said the knight, " thou art a faith- 
 ful servant, and, should the fortunes of our 
 house again become resplendent, shalt never 
 rue thy generous frankness. If 'tis my most 
 disastrous fate to sink in this unnatural con- 
 test, Heaven will reward thy honestfaith, should 
 earthly means be wanting. I should, however, 
 call thee friend ; for when adversity sets his 
 foot upon our head, we seldom find a feeling 
 heart to rescue or to bear the burthen which 
 overpowers us. Then is the time to prove the 
 genuine spirit — when trouble, poverty, and 
 fallen fortunes press upon the mind, a generous 
 sympathy endears the giver to the heart. Give 
 me thy hand, my honest friend, 'tis one a king 
 need reckon on, did he but know its worth." 
 
 As Ralph advanced towards his master he 
 scarcely knew how to accept the honour which 
 
216 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 was so generously proffered. He was perfectly 
 aware of the vast distinction between their con- 
 .ditions, nor could he ever think less of the gal- 
 lant Beaufort than he did, even when he was 
 surrounded by wealth, pretended friends, and 
 prosperity. Extending his rough and hard 
 palm, he said, " Talk not thus, my lord, talk 
 not thus, or else thy words will make an infant 
 of me. Think of more prosperous hours, when 
 York may fall, as it has often done, before the 
 charge of Lancaster." 
 
 " I place my faith in heaven," exclaimed 
 Beaufort, " where can I have a firmer or more 
 certain aid? Although we have a confidence 
 above the power of human means, yet will the 
 spirit sometimes quail before the frowns of for- 
 tune. As for my own poor state, it grieves me 
 not ; the most forlorn and piteous lot of majesty 
 is far more wretched.- I must contrive, by thy 
 o-ood help, my worthy 'squire, to gain some 
 
 to 
 
 knowledge speedily from the castle, although 
 1 feel assured it will be a matter of no easy 
 nature to o'ercome. I left the Lady Constance 
 in a state, nothing but present danger could 
 
THE hunter's oak. 217 
 
 have forced upon me, and am most anxious for 
 some information. Edmund, I know, would 
 "•ladlv vield it, but he may lack the means now 
 the Earl is at the castle. It is my present pur- 
 pose to remain at Knowle. No one can be in- 
 formed of my condition or the place of refuge ; 
 indeed, the present nature of affairs will make 
 King Edward indolent of our pursuit, for he 
 is too fond of revelry and jesting to let even 
 much more urgent business put upon his 
 pleasures. Thus we are, for a time at least, 
 secure ; so that'Some plan may yet be struck 
 upon, to hear at times, of Lady Constance." 
 
 " Depend, my lord, upon the page ; he is a 
 faithful and a worthy lad ; indeed his fondness 
 for the poor lady will make him anxious for 
 an opportunity of letting yon know her situa- 
 tion. You seem surprised at this! probably 
 mv noble master mav not know that Edmund 
 is the Lady Constance's foster-brother, and 
 that he is as fond and devoted to her interests, 
 aye, far more so than those nearer, who have 
 a strong-er natural claim." 
 
 " I am a little taken by surprise indeed, 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 THE hunter'^s oak. 
 
 good Ralph, but it is a pleasure to reflect she 
 still has one faithful heart on which she can 
 place reliance. Some further notice must be 
 taken of those villains which infest the Hunter's 
 Oak, else she miglit fall a victim to their toils. 
 I cannot think what reason they can have for 
 keeping- so near the castle — something, I 
 doubt, more than plunder, brings them to the 
 nest which they have made beneath the earth, 
 and which might bid deBance to discoverv,, 
 did not some chance, as unforeseen as that 
 which led us to the spot, lead to detection. 
 Clifford, I know, is a most dangerous man, 
 and one who does not scorn to herd with such 
 a reckless crew. — lie has a heart as hard as 
 adamant, and one as diflScult to make impres- 
 sion on. It must be looked upon ! " 
 
 " What think ye, my lord," said the esquire^ 
 *^ of enterino' the cave when the villains are 
 upon the prowl 1 You cannot fail to recollect 
 that they usually leave but one within, and it 
 w^ould be but a poor task, indeed, if we could 
 not keep him quiet whilst we foraged a little 
 upon the enemy's land." 
 
THE hunter's oak. 219 
 
 " 1 like thj project well," replied Beaufort, 
 " and will even venture on it; but how are 
 we to gain the cave, you cannot fail to re- 
 member, Ralph, that our endeavours to find 
 the door were unavailingf ?" 
 
 " Say no more, say no more, mj worthy 
 master; I have hit upon a plan to effect that 
 entrance easily, if you will only leave the exe- 
 cution of it to me. A conversation which I 
 fortunately overheard between that villain of 
 the Oak, Cuthbert Chillingham, and Master 
 Giles Alestoup, our worthy landlord, gives 
 me an excellent clue. You remember, my 
 lord, how I rescued the poor page from the 
 ruffian Tallboy, and the blow I dealt him 
 across the cheek. Twice we have encoun- 
 tered, and if the villain breathes yet, I have to 
 repay him for all his roguery. Depend upon 
 it, my lord, he is a party concerned, and is 
 earthed beneath the Oak." 
 
 Beaufort readily yielded all the manage- 
 ment of this to his esquire, whose skill and 
 courage he had proved ere now. They had 
 
 L 2 
 
220 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 reached Knowie when Beaufort yielded up 
 his horse to Ralph, glad to seek a little quiet 
 1o collect his scattered thouo^hts. 
 
 Mine host was not sorry to see the knight re- 
 turn, for his payment was regular, and he was 
 not over scrupulous in looking at the items of 
 his bill. The esquire, however, he had found,, 
 was a customer of a different stamp, and one no6 
 so easily satisfied , for thev often went to lo2-<'er-» 
 heads aboutthe charges for forage, which Ralph 
 occasionally considered rather outrageous. 
 Indeed,^ there were but few in his station who 
 had a better knowledge of its duties, which he 
 performed willingly and cheerfully, taking 
 s[)ecial care that the ostler did his devoirs to 
 the horses, for he never permitted the useful 
 animals to be neglected. Whilst the man was 
 [)erforming his functions towards the beasts, it 
 strmek him that he mifjht be in some measure 
 acquainted with the landlord's mode of busi- 
 ness, and endeavoured to sound the fellow. 
 Here, however, he found himself foiled, for 
 the knave, though evidently an accomplice in 
 the other's rou^uerv, vet was too cunninir even 
 
THE HUNTER^S OAK. ^21 
 
 for Ralph, and, consequently, lie elicited no- 
 thing" essential. 
 
 " Well, Gilbert," said Ralph, « how think 
 you the horses look after the exercise, do they 
 seem much blown, or have they entered in 
 cool order?" 
 
 *' Pretty tolerable," said Gilbert, *' pre{ty 
 tolerable — mayhap thee and thy master have 
 been to the jousts ? Have you any knowledge, 
 if so, which knig-ht gained the day ? They 
 say it was to have been a splendid sight, and 
 I had gone, only my doublet and hose were 
 not beseeming such a noble company." 
 
 " I should think, good friend," said Ralph, 
 " thy master does not lack the means of givin«* 
 thee better apparel, did it suit the appearance 
 of his house ; for it is impossible that the few 
 guests he entertains can allow him a living; 
 and yet he appears tolerably well supplied 
 with stabling and forage, nor lacks he wine and 
 other provender. That it vanishes is most true ; 
 for I have myself observed the mode in which 
 it leaves the house, very unlike the method 
 of business of an honest innkeeper. Dost 
 
222 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 know, my worthy friend, whether he has ac- 
 quaintance in these parts, who may require this 
 quiet manner of supply, for it is only when 
 the sun sinks down, that the goodly eatables 
 and other adjuncts vanish?" 
 
 The fellow here rose from the horse's heels, 
 which he had been cleaning, and, with an ex- 
 pression of shrewdness and cunning, answered, 
 evidently wishing to avoid the conversation — 
 
 " Mayhap he may — ^tis not for me to trou- 
 ble myself about my master's business. Who 
 was the conqueror at the jousts, thou hast not 
 told me that yet, and I am right anxious to 
 know?"^ 
 
 Here Ralph mimicked the drawling and 
 evasive manner in which the other spoke, and 
 said, " Indeed ! mayhap I hav'n't, mayhap I 
 can't, mayhap I won't." lie then left the 
 stable, having attended long enough to see 
 the horses in proper plight. Gilbert stared 
 after him in evident astonishment, but merely 
 uttered the monosyllable — Ila ! — 
 
 The esquire was comfortably seated with 
 mine host, over a rare flask of wine, for both 
 
THE hunter's oak. 223 
 
 had recently despatclied a fair proportion of 
 solid food, in the shape of a good fat capon, 
 and sufficient proportion of ham and other 
 etceteras to yield it a relish. After this slight 
 refreshnfient, they had both drawn themselves 
 round the fire, for the evenings began to be 
 chilly, and few things add more to the delight 
 of good eating and drinking, than the cheer- 
 ful warmth of a blazing hearth. The couple 
 had each some plan in agitation, for the land- 
 lord was anxious to suck the esquire's brains as 
 to the condition of his master, and the ether 
 had a similar intention ; though his mode of 
 action and proceeding were placed upon such 
 a foundation as he thought woidd rather stag- 
 ger mine host. Wishing to commence the 
 conversation, the landlord held up the glass, 
 a long necked vessel, to the lamp, and said, 
 *' Well, my valiant 'squire, what say'st thou to 
 this vintage, is it not of the right sort and fla- 
 vour, and does it please thy palate? — By mine 
 honour it comes from a proper quarter, and 
 is of excellent quality, so say my guests." 
 
224 THE huxNter's oak. 
 
 " As to your honour, master landlord/' re- 
 plied the esquire, " I take it, it is pretty nearly 
 on an equality with your company, by which I 
 mean to say, thou seem'st to have but little of 
 either. Why now, upon a fair calculation, I can 
 hardly reckon above six who have entered the 
 inn since our last visit, and that is a marvel- 
 lous small number to support the credit of your 
 house. I'faith there is somewhat too much 
 headiness in this liquor, for it begins already 
 to mount to my brains, and I must be cau- 
 tious in my use on't." 
 
 Mine host had been informed by Gilbert, of 
 the queries which the esquire had put to him, 
 so that he was more guarded in his answers 
 than he might have been. He did not much 
 relish the inquisitiveness of his guest, and 
 began to wish he had not returned, for he 
 felt no inclination for any one to pry into 
 the affairs of his domicilium, the only inha- 
 bitants of which, independant of the esquire 
 and his master, were himself, a daughter, 
 and the ostler. Summoning up all the cf- 
 
THE hunter's oak, 225 
 
 frontery he was master of (and our readers 
 must know he had a decent stock of it) he re- 
 plied — 
 
 *' I look not, my worthy friend, for sole sup- 
 port from the casual guests who occasionally 
 frequent my inn, but have a larger trade which 
 I carry on some distance from the spot. In- 
 deed the times are so deceitful, that I am 
 obliged, even in following an honest calling, 
 and to save my stores from being plundered, 
 to take advantage of the dusk of evening for 
 the purpose of removing them. That is the 
 reason why thou hast seen the various custo 
 mers, who merely come to fetch away any 
 stores they require, and to bring them to the 
 house to furnish more supplies." 
 
 " Indeed," said Ralph, who recollected the 
 hampers. " That is a wise precaution, master 
 landlord, and proves to me that thou art a 
 shrewd fellow ; yet there may be others on the 
 point, who have as keen a scent as thou hast. 
 I see plainly, that snuffling and drawling 
 knave who cleans our cattle, has warned thee 
 of my speech. Trust me, mine host, he is a 
 
 l3 
 
226 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 true and staunch comrade, and one whom thou 
 canst depend on ; he may not have thy open 
 impudence, but, by Saint George, he mates 
 thee well in cunning. ' Dost know,' said he, 
 (here he mimicked the ostler again) * who was 
 the conqueror at the jousts, for I am right an- 
 xious to know?' Why, in the name of heaven, 
 what could a drivelling' fool like that have to 
 do with such a question, or what possible in- 
 terest could he have in asking me whether my 
 
 noble master and I had returned from the lists'? 
 Pray, master landlord," (here Ralph fixed on 
 the other a firm and resolute look) " didst thou 
 
 ever in thy travels hear of the bless my 
 
 heart, I have almost forgotten what I was about 
 to ask thee — yes, yes, now I know — -didst thou, 
 I say, ever hear of the vast extent and wide 
 range of Warwick park, and of that wonder 
 which astonishes every one, the Hunter's Oak*?" 
 The latter part of the sentence he had pur- 
 posely lengthened, to keep the other in a 
 greater state of suspense, and to make the ques- 
 tion more decisive. 
 
 The landlord at first pricked up his ears as 
 
THE hunter's oak. 227 
 
 a dog would do, who, on being wdiistied to, had 
 been waiting in the expectation of a bone be- 
 ing given him, or a kind look or pat upon 
 the head, as a mark of approval ; but as the 
 sentence advanced more towards the end, and 
 particularly when Ralph began to talk about 
 Warwick Castle, he looked just as that animal 
 would do, upon receiving a kick, instead of a 
 piece of flesh, lop-eared and chagrined. At 
 the mention of the Hunter's Oak, he absolutely 
 started from his chair, looking upon the 
 esquire as a conjurer. However, the secret 
 he thought could never be known, so that he 
 regained a little self-possession before he 
 spoke. 
 
 ** The — the Hunter's Oak, T have certainly 
 heard of; indeed it is spoken of far and near as 
 the greatest wonder of the country, and being 
 in the habit of seeing various people, hear it 
 mentioned as such, frequently. What is thv 
 opinion of it, my good esquire, hast thou ever 
 found out the wonders which it contains, for it 
 is stated that Merlin resides there, and his 
 imps: so runs the general report?" 
 
228 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 " Then," said the 'squire, " general report 
 tells a lie ! I am not surprised, mine host, at your 
 starting up and looking so pale, but I prithee 
 keep quiet, I am not about to relate any of 
 master Merlin's wonders, for what I know con- 
 cerns mortal men ; aye, just like such honest 
 fellows as thyself. As thou art well acquainted 
 with the Hunter's Oak, perhaps thy memory 
 may wrench other recollections away. — Come, 
 take some wine, 'twill aid thy scattered 
 thoughts. Well then, to my subject — I say, 
 as thou know'st the aforesaid tree, perhaps thy 
 knowledge extends to its inhabitants, and if so 
 thou may'stbe able to yield me some informa- 
 tion on the subject." 
 
 Here the landlord began to feel vastly un- 
 easy, and made an effort to leave the room 
 upon an excuse, but Ralph seized him by the 
 arm, and put him again in the chair, with as 
 much ease as he would an infant. " What, 
 would'st thou be so rude as quit thy chair be- 
 fore thou hast heard my tale ? If thou dost not 
 know, mine host, what good breeding is, I 
 must teach thee. Dost think, when I speak 
 
THE hunter's oak. 229 
 
 of the inhabitants of the tree, I mean owls and 
 bats — no, by the mass, some such birds of 
 night and ill-omen they are, but yet they 
 roost not in the Oak itself, but rather under it. 
 I made so bold as call one evening, and had 
 a siffht of " 
 
 " What?" said the landlord. 
 
 " Cuthbert Chillingham, mine host, a firm, 
 fast friend of thine, and one who greets thee 
 at the dagger's point, as I do now." 
 
 Ralph now sprung at the landlord's throat, 
 and in an instant he was on the ground, with 
 the esquire's knee placed firm upon the sto- 
 mach, and the right arm prepared to strike. 
 
 The suddenness of the information, which had 
 been so warily and cautiously communicated, 
 had so paralysed the faculties of the landlord, 
 that he had been incapable of moving, so as 
 to avoid the grasp of the 'squire, which had 
 however, been too vigorous and effective for 
 him to escape from at any rate ; and he lay 
 beneath it, as helpless as a lamb would under 
 the talons of a vulture. 
 
 " Cower not so fearfully, mine host," ex- 
 
230 THE hunter's oak, 
 
 claimed Ralph, " I wish to harm thee not, pro- 
 vided thou wilt answer me." He then told the 
 astonished landlord the discovery that had 
 been made at the Hunter's Oak, and the 
 conversation he himself overheard in the stable 
 or out-house, which he had held with Chilling- 
 ham. To all this, the other listened with dis- 
 may and stupefaction, for the facts were so 
 effectively stated that it w^as impossible with all 
 his impudence to contradict them. 
 
 " What would'st thou have me do then," an- 
 swered Alestoup, " most w orthy 'squire, for 
 thou shalt find me docile to any reasonable 
 means, and I would wish to keep on friendlv 
 terms with thee. What would'st thou have me 
 sayr 
 
 " Hark ye, thou canting- hypocrite," said 
 Ralph, " think not to cheat me with this abo- 
 minable assurance, or else thy life may not 
 escape so cheaply as it did, when the fool 
 that last threatened it permitted. Give me 
 the instant secret of the entrance to the 
 cave, and thou may'st quit the place un- 
 harmed ; but if the least deceit or Iving- 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 
 
 'c OAK. 231 
 
 be attempted, reckon upon a quick re- 
 quital. Thy villanous comrade taught me 
 the way to use thy wretched spirit, and 1 would 
 closely follow his footsteps. What would'st 
 thou say if I disgorged the villain of thy coin, 
 which he so adroitly helped thee of, and yield 
 it back to thee?" This interrogatory had 
 more effect than all the threats which Ralph 
 had held out, for he thought he was of too 
 noble a nature to strike down upon a prostrate 
 foe, and he was not deceived. He had a wish 
 to escape from the clutches of the ruffians if 
 he could ; but Chillingham had taken the most 
 effectual means to prevent it, by easing him 
 of too considerable a sum for him to lose, and 
 his fidelity was secured. The instant, how- 
 ever, it was proposed to give him back what 
 had been withheld, he entered without the 
 slightest hesitation upon the discovery of the 
 mode of entrance in the Oak. He thus threw 
 open a knowledge which might prove the de- 
 struction of those from whom he had for some 
 time drawn his supplies, and by which he 
 gained enormous profit. However, he had 
 
232 THE HIJNTER*S OAlt. 
 
 made enough to satisfy his cupidity, and had 
 resolved, upon gaining back what had been 
 taken from him, to quit the spot for ever; 
 provided he could not make better terms by 
 betraying the esquire. 
 
 Having made up his mind how to act, he 
 said, " Give me freedom first, my good esquire, 
 for thy knee pressing upon the stomach is a 
 marvellous bad promoter of digestion, and 
 makes one hesitate in speech." This grace 
 having been shewn, he proceeded to explain 
 the process of gaining an opening to the trap- 
 door. " The bottom of the tree conceals a 
 solid bolt, which is secured by a spring, so 
 that it has the power of opening, and closing 
 the trap-door again with considerable ease. 
 In order to make it yield, it is necessary^ to 
 strike on that part of the base of the Oak, 
 which stands away from the castle, and the 
 blows must be weighty, or they will not be 
 sufficient to force back the fastenino*. The 
 door is so well contrived that it is a matter 
 of impossibility for any one, who has no 
 knowledge that such an opening exists, to 
 
THE hunter's oak. 23-^ 
 
 discover the spot; but by following the plan 
 I have stated you can secure an entrance 
 easily." 
 
 •' Can vre so, thou spawn of roguery," replied 
 Ralph, " but how are we to find a method of 
 making an exit ; for I am not quite so dull of 
 comprehension, neither is my eye-sight so far 
 deficient, not to know that they have been true 
 friends to me on this occasion ? Come, man, 
 out with the whole truth at once ; how are we, 
 I say, again to quit the cavern, when we have 
 sufficiently satisfied our minds of its garnishing 
 and inmates? Think'st thou I did not per- 
 ceive that the door closed, upon the hampers 
 being lowered, as silently and securely as a 
 shark would swallow a lump of flesh in his 
 ponderous jaws? We may, by thy descrip- 
 tion, make a way in; but let us know how we 
 are to make the way out. — No hesitating or 
 dissimulation, or thou wilt surely lose thy coin, 
 and shall be at the same timehandedovertothe 
 fangs of the law, where thou wilt be as securely 
 caged as thou hast a desire to cage me. I am 
 an old bird, mine host, and am not likely to 
 
234 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 remain for thee to put salt upon my tail. 
 Thou know'st my meaning ?" 
 
 Finding* all his villanous hesitation of no 
 avail, having a superior to contend with, he at 
 once plainly told the esquire what means to 
 use in getting out of the cavern, which were, 
 to press upon a large brass nob, which could 
 be distinctly visible internally, as it was 
 thought a matter of impossibility for any one 
 to gain an entrance, save those in the secret. 
 By pushing hard against this, egress became 
 a matter of no difficulty. Here the landlord 
 thought he had sufficiently spoken, and was 
 about to rise, but Ralph seemed not yet in- 
 clined to permit him. 
 
 " At last, it seems, thou hast spoken to some 
 purpose ; but still I am inclined to doubt 
 thee. Nothing but necessity has compelled 
 thy speech, and thou would'st, without the 
 slightest hesitation, inform the whole bevv 
 of our intentions ; by VAhich means we might 
 be well expected, and, no doubt, right well 
 received and entertained. I have, however, 
 not made up my mind to fall willingly into 
 
THE hunter's oak. 235 
 
 an ambush, and will now prevent the pos- 
 sibility of such taking place. Though thy 
 execrable heart would wish me false, yet, 
 thou shalt find, I alone depend upon the truth, 
 and thus it is spoken. It is my intention, be- 
 fore essaying this adventure, to write out a 
 full description of the secret entrance to the 
 Oak, the names of those villains whom I know, 
 and in which list, depend on it, my worthy 
 host, thine shall stand most conspicuously at 
 the head; and to place the sealed paper, di- 
 rected to Jaspar Amaury, seneschal of the 
 Castle of Warwick, in the hands of a sure and 
 trusty friend. — If my noble master and 1 are 
 not seen again within a certain time named, 
 depend upon it thy neck, and the necks of the 
 whole brood, will stand a most notable chance 
 of being stretched ; and, suspended from the 
 arms of that very tree, wherein thy infamous 
 proceedings have so long been carried on, 
 the carcases will, mid-way in the air, afford a 
 delicate repast for the crows. Thou hast seen 
 the Oak, and must have observed its branches 
 hold forth a most inviting prospect ! Now 
 
236 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 thou may'st go and do thy worst ; but bear in 
 special recollection, that thou wilt find me 
 keep my faith to the very letter." Mine host 
 slowly rose, and his departure from the room 
 was much accelerated by an impetus which 
 he received from the foot of the esquire, ad- 
 mirably applied. 
 
 Ralph immediately proceeded to his master, 
 and informed hunof the disco very which he had 
 made, and it was resolved to attempt the cave 
 at once. Beaufort, at the suggestion of the 
 'squire, made out the paper for Edmund to 
 deliver to Amaury in case any attempt were 
 made to entrap them, which, however, they 
 thought not very likely, and Ralph determined 
 on the following day to endeavour to see the 
 page. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The murderer holds his eag-er breath, 
 Knowing full well 'tis life or death. 
 
 If his retreat be found j 
 Vain is the task, impelPd by heaven. 
 From his retreat he's dragg'd and riven 
 
 By scent of the blood-hound ! 
 
 Just as Ealph had placed foot in the stirrup 
 to proceed to Warwick, he saw the page on 
 his palfrey advancing towards the inn. Of 
 course bis intention was of little use, and he 
 was rio-ht fflad that his master was likely to 
 hear some information from the castle without 
 much trouble, but his joy was suddenly damped 
 by the lugubrious expression and pale visage 
 of Edmund. Before he could dismount, and 
 hardly gain breath, Ralph exclaimed — " For 
 the sake of heaven, my most gentle dh'" 
 
238 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 what makes thy look so troubled ? Is the Lady 
 Constance dead?" 
 
 " She is not, Kalph," replied Edmund, 
 " though her condition is still bad ; 1 wish to 
 have immediate speech with thy master, for 
 I have that to tell him will make him startle, 
 as it has done me." 
 
 *' That thou canst easily have," said Ralph, 
 ** for the siof-ht of thee will be most welcome: 
 my gallant master has been much depressed in 
 spirits since the issue at the lists, where he was 
 most foully used, but the tidings of the Ladv 
 Constance's safety may make him cheer again. 
 Come, Edmund, follow me, and I will shew 
 you to him." 
 
 Beaufort, as may be readily imagined, was 
 highly gratified at the intelligence of the safety 
 of Constance ; yet he felt uneasy upon the little 
 chance there was of his seeing her for some pe- 
 riod, as from Edmund's account, she was still 
 in a precarious state. Edmund then informed 
 him of the King's departure, and the absence 
 of the Earl on a visit to his government, at 
 Calais, which had been most suddenly under- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 239 
 
 taken ; and that Clifford still remained at the 
 castle in a dangerous plight. He had been 
 led to understand that he was to remain there 
 until his bodily health was quite invigorated. 
 The suddenness of the Earl's departure sur- 
 prised Beaufort, though he conjectured the 
 visit to his post, at Calais, was merely a cloak 
 for some political purpose, and that it had 
 been settled at the moment. 
 
 " My lord," said Edmund, *' I believe you 
 have been informed of the interest I take in 
 the happiness and safety of my good lady, and 
 that we have been from infancy so much in 
 each other's society, that I have gradually 
 looked on her as a sister. This maybe thought 
 presuming, but when t^e condescension of the 
 Lady Constance be considered, joined to her 
 conciliating and unobtrusive manner, some 
 excuse may be allowed for the liberty I have 
 even now named. If my life would rescue her 
 from peril, I would gladly forfeit it for such a 
 purpose! Tliink me not bold, my noble lord, 
 for this free speech, but my heart is full. 
 Are we alone, my lord? because my tale is 
 
240 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 of some consequence, and must not be over- 
 heard." 
 
 " With the exception of my trusty 'squire, 
 Edmund, no soul can hear what thou would'st 
 say, and he has my full confidence. For hea- 
 ven's sake, use speed, for I am on the rack to 
 hear the purport of thy intelligence. It must 
 be of some moment, or thy pale looks would 
 not betray thee." 
 
 *' From the instant I observed what I am 
 now about to relate," replied the page, " my 
 looks have been sufficient to betray me, and 
 ] should have given you instant apprizal 
 had not my leaving the castle been prohibited ; 
 for since the day of the tournament, no ab- 
 sence has been permitted, as was the usual 
 custom ; and I now have only obtained such 
 favour through the command and order of the 
 Lady Isabel, who is thy most sincere and ge- 
 nerous friend." 
 
 " May heaven reward her, as no doubt it 
 will ! But to thy tale, good page, keep me 
 not in such suspense." 
 
 " You must know then, my lord, that I have 
 
THE HUNTER^S OAK. 241 
 
 been most unhappy since the illness of the Lady 
 Constance; and that it has been scarcely pos- 
 sible for me to pass the dull hours away, which 
 were wont to cheer the company of the noble 
 ladies. 1 wandered over the castle scarcely 
 knowinof what 1 did ; and had reached the ar- 
 moury, which overlooks the park towards the 
 Hunter's Oak — this has always been a favourite 
 place of mine ; and as I gazed upon the tranquil 
 scene which was gradually becoming* less and 
 less distinct, I thought I heard a clash of ar- 
 mour, though no soul except myself was near 
 the spot. On looking around and observing 
 nothing, I concluded it must have been ima- 
 gination. A minute, however, could scarcely 
 have elapsed, ere a noise proceeding from 
 the wainscot of that part of the armoury, close 
 to the window where I stood, ag-ain attracted 
 my attention, and I must confess not a little 
 surprised me. You must know, my lord, that 
 the armoury is almost at the basement story 
 of the castle, and I placed my head out of 
 the window with some difficulty ; for the walls 
 are so thick, that I had, to effect my purpose, 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 to stretch my body well forward ; — however, 
 nothing externally was visible, and my asto- 
 nishment was more excited, the noises still con- 
 tinuing*. It had, to my ear, a sound of forcing 
 back some strono^ fastening-, which had been 
 from age rusted — the sequel will prove that I 
 was not mistaken. In order that I might 
 quietly yet secretly observe what the issue 
 would be, I hid myself behind a projecting- 
 mass of arms and armour, where I could re- 
 main concealed. The difficulty, whatever it 
 had been, now appeared surmounted, and the 
 advance was most distinctly heard, for the 
 wainscot itself shook with the efforts which 
 were made to move it. In an instant, more 
 quickly than I can tell you, a panel flew 
 back, and I saw projecting from the aper- 
 ture" — here the poor page was almost over- 
 come by tlie recollection of what he had seen ; 
 but on taking a sup of wine from a flask which 
 lay on the table, he gradually recovered a little 
 energy. Nothing could exceed the surprise 
 of Beaufort, or the eager look of Ralph, who 
 were both chagrined at the stop just at this 
 
THE hunter's oak. 243 
 
 critical moment. Edmund had now recovered 
 sufficiently to resume his narrative. " I saw, 
 my lord, projecting" from the aperture, an 
 armed head, which cautiously and silently was 
 rotruded forward, to observe if any one was 
 near. Bein^" satisfied that the coast was clear, 
 the vizor of the helmet was unclosed ; and I 
 confess I almost fell to the ground, at the sight 
 of the countenance which was displayed ; for 
 nothing" I had ever seen or imagined, could 
 exceed its hideous and diabolical expres- 
 sion. From the size of the head, I con- 
 cluded the body must have been of unusual 
 bulk ; for I had not an opportunity of witness- 
 ing more than the shoulders and face, which 
 were the only parts visible. Some one w^as 
 behind, for he entered into conversation, but 
 I could not hear decidedly what was the sub- 
 ject ; for to answer the other, the head visible 
 had to turn round, by which means the voice 
 was indistinct. A few words were distinctly 
 mentioned, and 1 heard the name of Hugh 
 and Denoir, also Clitford and Constance more 
 than once repeated. Thinking the villains had 
 
 M 2 
 
244 THE HtJNTER*S OAk\ 
 
 some immediate intention of violence towards 
 my lady, I resolved to alarm them, and for that 
 ])urpose pushed forward a piece of armour; and 
 as it fell upon the g-round, I called out, making- 
 my voice as hoarse as possible — You are ob- 
 served, — beware! Like lightning the panel 
 closed; and the vile object which had filled 
 the chasm was lost to my view." 
 
 " Had the fellow a gash across his face?" 
 said Ralph. " He had," replied Edmund ; 
 " and it was that which made his naturally 
 vjglv face more distorted ; he also was defi- 
 cient of an eye, that was plainly perceptible." 
 
 " Then it was the armourer," exclaimed the 
 esquire, " I told you, my lord, he was a proper 
 earth-worm ; but the next encounter we have, 
 I will take special care he does not poison the 
 land by his breath. That panel must have 
 some communication with the cave, else the 
 villains could not have gained the castle. 
 Thev are like moles, all their work being in 
 darkness and under ground; but they must 
 be roused, and no task would give me 
 greater pleasure." 
 
tHE HtNTElVS OAK. ^^5 
 
 Beaufort, upon the termination of the tale 
 which Edmund had so clearly described, re- 
 muined for a time lost in thought. It was 
 evident that the ruffians had some object in 
 view dangerous to Constance, The name 
 of Clifford being joined with her's appeared 
 strange. Was it possible he could degrade 
 himself so low as to associate with such lawless 
 villains? It vras ! too many dark and dange- 
 rous tales had reached Beaufort's ear, to make 
 him doubt his being capable of effecting any 
 intimacy, however base, if it offered a chance 
 of forwarding his views. Yet, how could 
 this benefit him, when he had the full appro- 
 bation of Warwick to address Constance'? 
 Her detestation of him was, he knew, excessive ; 
 and she might have evinced a more marked 
 aversion, which had probably irritated his exe- 
 crable nature, as to cause him to adopt some 
 atrocious plan to carry her off, so that she 
 might be more readily made subservient to 
 his vile purposes. The bare idea caused 
 the indignant blood to mount to the face of 
 Beaufort, who solemnly vowed to watch the 
 teps of the villains with the most un- 
 
246 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 flinching* perseverance. — " Ralph !" — ^' Yes, 
 my lord." — " See that our preparations are 
 made to seek the cave this very night. We 
 will not go unprovided with arms ; and should 
 the ruffians attempt an assault, they will find 
 us no easy game» — By Saint George, 'tis time 
 we looked about us, or we might fall into the 
 snare as easily as the fox tumbles into the gin. 
 Didst thou examine the spot, Edmund V 
 
 " I did, my lord ; and though I had actu- 
 ally seen the figure as distinctly as I now do 
 you, yet I was almost staggered to account for 
 its presence ; for the panel of the wainscot 
 remained as firm and immovable as if it had 
 been part of the wall. Indeed, so little ap- 
 pearance was there of a door, that had not my 
 eyes beheld the chasm^ and the armed head so 
 distinctly visible, I should have hesitated in 
 believing the evidence of my sight. No one 
 could ever suspect such a mode of access 
 existed, for not the least difference can be 
 detected." 
 
 " Moles, my lord," said Ralph, '• burrow 
 deep ; and it requires skill to trace them. If 
 mine be held of any value, I doubt much whe- 
 
THE hunter's oak. 247 
 
 ther this Lord Clifford is not on some terms with 
 the fellows. His characterhas but a raffofed suit 
 upon it, and he is not over nice, so they say, in 
 the choice of his company ; and sure enough if 
 he assorts with such ruffians as Chilling-ham and 
 the armourer, he cannot well select more ras- 
 cally associates, even were he to scour the 
 country." 
 
 " I am of thy opinion, Ralph," said Beau- 
 fort. " They would never have made use of 
 Clifford's name, had they not known him. It 
 would almost be a prudent task for Edmund 
 to inform the seneschal of this discovery, when 
 speedy measures would be taken to unearth 
 the ruffians ; yet, upon reflection, it would 
 only prevent a step we are apprized of, and 
 which may be counteracted. A more nefari- 
 ous attempt might be made, in a form where 
 it could not be guarded ao^ainst. We must 
 see what the cavern presents, Ralph, before 
 any decided means are resorted to." 
 
 " You may rest assured, my noble master/' 
 replied the esquire, " that our intention never 
 can be suspected; and that the landlord has 
 
248 THE HtlNTER's OAK, 
 
 too great a hankering" after his coin, and the 
 danger in which I have represented his neck to 
 be, for him to hazard the chance of Ja«par 
 Amaury's vengeance, which would be as sud- 
 den as it would effective. With permission, my 
 lord, it might be a wiser course to allow these 
 fellows a little way of their own ; they want 
 hempen halters, and depend on it we shall find 
 them fall into the noose. Should any suspi- 
 cion of their neighbourhood become known, 
 the earth woidd be too hot to hold them; and 
 if they should presume too much, Edmund 
 could easily give the seneschal a hint would 
 effectuallv silence the brood.'* Havinfj said 
 thus much, Ralph left the room. 
 
 " It would be an easy matter to prevent 
 their advancing into the cnstle, by securing 
 the panel at any rate, from further attempts," 
 said the page. '* That it must lead to the 
 cavern is evident, for the villains never could 
 openly have avoided the sentinels, and their 
 advance must have been from beneath the 
 foundations of the castle. 1 cannot imagine 
 how this secret entrance could have been so 
 
THE hunter's oak. 249 
 
 long undiscovered ; for it must have existed 
 some length of time. Indeed the castle is in- 
 secure from assault, for an entry might be 
 made at that point, silently yet securely ; and 
 any scheme be carried on when its inmates are 
 
 asleep." 
 
 " It certainly is surprising," said Beau- 
 fort, " such a communication should be un- 
 known, and that it evidently is, there can 
 be no doubt of. It has been probably in 
 existence since the erection of the castle, as 
 a means of escape in case of a desperate 
 and dangerous siege, by which outlet all ar- 
 ticles of°value could be safely secreted, and 
 conveyed away through the Oak, at such times 
 as might be convenient. To you, Edmund, I 
 confide the care of informing the Lady Con- 
 stance to avoid the neighbourhood of the Hun- 
 ter's Oak at any time, for it has danger even 
 in day-light. Clifford at present rests secure 
 from immediate danger, and I place a full 
 dependance on his steps being watched." 
 
 ** Depend on me, my lord," replied the 
 page, " I will track him as silently and 
 
 M 3 
 
250 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 surely as the blood-hound tracks the mur- 
 derer's path. He shall not injure the Lady 
 Constance whilst I can prevent it ; and should 
 any force be openly attempted, by winding" 
 the bugle-horn which 1 constantly wear at- 
 tached to my baldric, Jaspar Amaury and 
 the men at arms would be as speedy as the 
 wind in hastening to the rescue. Though 
 Lord Clifford is a personal friend of the Earl's, 
 yet he is held in detestation by the whole gar- 
 rison, as they feel assured the Lady Constance 
 has no love for him ; indeed, did the seneschal 
 suspect that there v/as even suspicion of wrong 
 intended, he would not hesitate an instant in 
 taking such steps as would preclude the chance 
 of mischief. Thoug-h Amaurv is a resolute 
 friend of the Earl's, yet he has too much inte- 
 grity to be a silent witness of Clifford's vil- 
 lany." 
 
 " My kind good page,*' said Beaufort, 
 " thou hast a noble spirit, and thy communi- 
 cation has removed a weight from my mind, 
 which has much distressed it. Open force we 
 may guard against, but silent and secure vil- 
 lany it is not so easy to avoid. The boldest 
 
THE hunter's oak. 251 
 
 and bravest may sink beneath a traitorous 
 blade, comes the blow on the sudden. Such 
 marauders as those of the cavern, have but 
 little personal courage, seeking" to execute 
 their schemes of vengeance in darkness, when 
 they may be carried on with safety. Look to 
 them well, good Edmund, and heaven will not 
 forget the kind attention." 
 
 The page promised he would, and then 
 took his departure for the castle. Beaufort 
 asked Ralph, who had just returned, if he had 
 made arrangements for them to seek the ca- 
 vern, and to which question ha received an 
 affirmative, when it was resolved, in conse- 
 quence of the communication made by the 
 page, that they would set out from Knowle just 
 before dusk, and secure the horses at the same 
 point which they had done on a previous visit. 
 Levingston had taken his mace for the pur- 
 pose of striking on the Oak, as it was with such 
 a weapon Denoir had opened the trap-door, 
 and he thought there might be some particu- 
 lar advantage in having so peculiar an instru- 
 ment. It certainly was one capable, with a 
 
252 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 strong arm, of inflicting a deadly blow, and 
 the bearer on the present occasion was no- 
 wise deficient in vigour. Having prepared 
 all the implements necessary, they advanced 
 on the road with a smart pace, and in a little 
 more than an hour reached the co{)se, in which 
 the horses were firmly secured. 
 
 The night was rather dark, and the wind 
 had risen boisterously, so as to prevent any 
 noise, except its own moaning and howling 
 being heard. As they pursued the track they 
 had previously held, they roused now and 
 then a deer or some other animal which had 
 taken shelter in the fern and underwood for 
 the night ; and the sudden bound whicli it 
 made at this unusual disturbance, made them 
 at the moment start and stand on their guard ; 
 fancying the rustling to proceed from some 
 more formidable enemies, than the helpless 
 inhabitants of the park. The way being rougii 
 and difficult to pass through, caused them 
 to be lonoer in reachinsf the Hunter's Oak 
 than if the nierht had been brisrhter. \i 
 last the spot was gained, and after some 
 
THE hunter's oak. 253 
 
 little trouble, Ralph contrived to find out 
 the base of the tree which stood from the 
 castle, and struck a heavy blow against it ; 
 when the door instantly flung back on its 
 hinges and discovered the opening. Here, 
 however, no light presented itself, as it did 
 when Denoir was lowering the hampers, so 
 that it was only possible to know that an open- 
 ing existed ; but how the descent was to be 
 managed in the dark Beaufort was at a loss 
 to imagine, Ralph calculated upon this, 
 and had provided a remedy in the shape of 
 flint and torch; the former of which, being 
 struck ag-ainst the mace of steel, io-nited some 
 body of an inflammable nature sufficiently to 
 enable him to light the latter. 
 
 As the esquire waved the torch above the 
 aperture, he could plainly observe a flight of 
 steps of some depth, extending down into the 
 earth. The tree was completely hollow, and 
 had been made so by age, as well as art, for 
 internally he could plainly perceive the dif- 
 ference of the door and the rest of the tree; 
 the trap itself had been fitted into the space 
 
254 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 so well, as to escape common detection ex- 
 ternally, though not internally. Having* de- 
 scended a little, he found the nob of which 
 the landlord had spoken, and as he placed his 
 foot upon the sixth step, the door, without the 
 least noise, closed upon him. Kad he not 
 known the method by which to open it, he 
 would have been in an unpleasant predica- 
 ment. He could not help congratulating 
 himself upon the adroitness with which he had 
 alarmed the terrors of the landlord sufficient- 
 ly to make him disgorge the whole secret. 
 Pressing upon the brass elevation firmly, the 
 trap again opened. 
 
 Beaufort, upon the closing of the aperture, 
 had felt alarmed, for he did not recollect at 
 the moment the mode of opening it, and he 
 fancied his g^enerous and faithful esquire 
 might fall a victim to the villains' rage, alone 
 and unassisted. The pleasure he felt, there- 
 fore, at the sight of his good-humoured face, 
 on which the torch gleamed, was considerable, 
 and he prepared to descend with him. Here 
 again, on the foot being placed on the sixth 
 
THE hunter's oak. 255 
 
 step, the door a second time swung* to. This 
 satisfied them both as to the spring being* con- 
 nected with that spot, and on once more un- 
 fastening- the door, and avoiding this, it re- 
 mained so. — " Think ye not, my lord," said 
 Ralph, " that we had better leave the trap as 
 it is, for should our light expire, or any occa- 
 sion present itself to make an immediate 
 flight necessary, it may not impede our design ; 
 for 'twould be no easy matter to find the nob 
 in the dark, and we should most likely fall 
 into the snare we wish to avoid." 
 
 " Ralph," said Beaufort, " thou art a good 
 soldier, and dost not forget to look back to 
 the chance of the country whereon thou fight- 
 est the battle, holding a fair face for a re- 
 treat. 'Tis a prudent suggestion, for no one 
 can tell how an adventure may end, and we 
 micfht heedlesslv thrust ourselves into unpleas- 
 ing company when a backward movement 
 mio-ht be advisable. Hark! didst thou not 
 hear a noise of voices?" 
 
 " 'Tis but the wind, my lord: the birds who 
 frequent this nest are on the prowl for prey. 
 
256 THE HUNTIiR's OAK. 
 
 The ni<^ht is rough, and the music which it 
 creates is a pleasing hearing for them. The 
 owl and bat are but unwilling witnesses of 
 the light of heaven, and these villains have a 
 similar feeling." 
 
 " Ralph," said Beaufort, " thou hast a keen 
 scent, but thy ear is not so good a friend to 
 thee. I feel assured that voices are distinctly 
 to be heard during the intervals of quiet which 
 the wind yields. Hush ! again they come as 
 distinct as possible. Dost thou not hear 
 them, Kalph, for they evidently arise from be- 
 neath the spot we stand on ? Surely, the 
 landlord never can have betrayed the inten- 
 tion of our visit, and they are prepared to ex- 
 pect us?" 
 
 " Trust me for that, my lord ; the fellow has 
 a wondrous liking for his neck, and such 
 a disregard to his word would inevitably 
 stretch it. Indeed, 'twas only this morning 
 that 1 observed him groping at his throat, as 
 if he was making an experiment upon the ef- 
 fect of the cord. He saw me on the watch, 
 and that I observed how he winced at the 
 
THE hunter's oak. 257 
 
 prospect I held forth of a speedy elevation 
 amidst the boughs of this tree, were such to 
 liappen. No, no, my noble master, his be- 
 traying us is out of the question. I place no 
 dependance on his probity, but hold him 
 safely secured from the chance of this happen- 
 ing ; for he expects me to yield him back the 
 coin which Chillingham eased him of, and he 
 carped at the bait as eagerly as a hungry pike 
 would at a tempting gudgeon. Hist ! the 
 voices certainly now are distinct enough, and 
 no doubt the villains carouse in the cave. Shall 
 we venture on, my lord, or wait a better op- 
 portunity ?" 
 
 Beaufort was impatient to find some clue 
 to their intentions, and his eagerness was in no 
 manner checked by this discovery. He re- 
 plied — " Advance, Ralph, and I will closely 
 follow thee, but do so with caution. If the 
 landlord has had sense sufficient to keep his 
 tongue secure, we may have greater chance 
 of benefit from this, than if the cave had been 
 ungarnished. They never can suspect any 
 one can advance upon them, and from the in- 
 
258 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 creased noise it is not unlikely they may be 
 in their cups. Proceed, but silently." 
 
 The steps wound round an enormous pillar, 
 which was secured above to the solid part of 
 the tree, and the descent was of vast depth 
 and intricacy, for the torch burnt but feebly, 
 nor was it advisable to increase its glare, 
 fearing" the flash might betray them. After a 
 quiet and gradual descent, they came upon 
 a kind of platform which led to more steps, 
 but they were wider and straiter, and appear- 
 ed to lead to the interior of the cavern. Here 
 the voices became more distinct, and a light 
 gleamed through an aperture of the earth, 
 which gave them sufficient means of advance 
 without the aid of the torch. Beaufort now 
 desired Ralph to fix it in the ground, and to 
 advance with the utmost caution towards the 
 point where the light was visible. 
 
 After a few moments thus occupied, the 
 noise and voices were so plainly to be heard, 
 as to convince them that the whole brood 
 were at roost; and not far from the position 
 they occupied the aperture became sufficiently 
 
THE hunter's oak. 259 
 
 close to allow them a view of the interior of 
 the cavern. 
 
 At a table of some length, covered with 
 half-consumed viands and flasks of wine, 
 drinking-cups, and other necessaries for a 
 debauch, sat about thirty men, all of whom 
 evidently were the scum of society. They 
 were unhelmed, yet in other respects armed, 
 though the costume was not such as be- 
 came the usual men at arms of the period, 
 whose decorations were well known both to 
 Beaufort and Ralph. Facing the spot on 
 which they stood was Cuthbert Chillingham, 
 placed at the head of the table, over which 
 he appeared to preside as chief. On the right 
 and left he had two worthy supporters, De- 
 noir and the armourer; and if the leader's 
 face had every appearance of ugliness, it was 
 left far in the shade by that of Hugh Tallboy's. 
 The gash on his cheek, which had but just 
 healed, was of a different colour to the rest of 
 the complexion, and the wine had given it a 
 redder hue. It descended from the angle of 
 the ear close to the mouth, the upper lip of 
 
260 THH hunter's oak. 
 
 which had been divided by the sword-cut. 
 and had united irreg-ularlv, so that his natu- 
 rally-execrable features were now addition- 
 ally disfigured. His wild and dark locks 
 were matted from neoflect, and fell over his 
 face in masses, adding" to the fiery and into- 
 lerable lustre of the remaining eye. In fact, 
 his whole expression of visage was demoni- 
 acal, and Beaufort was not at all surprised at 
 the effect it had upon the page. A little 
 nearer to them, and on the same side with 
 Denoir, Ralph recognised the squalid, mi- 
 serable object who had so rejoiced at his 
 striking down the armourer upon the floor of 
 the kitchen. The very short period which 
 had elapsed since that evening, had made a 
 woeful alteration in a woeful figure, for his 
 nose was more pinched in, and the pallid and 
 cadaverous hue of his skin was much increased. 
 The decorations of his person had undergone 
 no change, for his outward frame was clothed 
 in the same threadbare suit he wore, of grey 
 cloth, additionally patched. The conversa- 
 tion was listened to impatiently by Beaufort 
 
THE hunter's oak. 261 
 
 and Ralph, as it appeared to hinge upon the 
 scene and discovery the page had told. 
 
 *' Could you see no one," said Chillingham, 
 '* for there could not be a human voice with- 
 out a human body? — Phsa, what a fool I must 
 be to ask such a question, for 1 suppose the 
 ghost had got to the blind side. Was it not 
 so, Hugh ?" This joke seemed to tickle the 
 fancy of the circle, and particularly Graspall, 
 who laughed aloud ; his grin was however 
 soon changed to a ghastly smile, for the 
 armourer fixed on him a look, which made 
 the poor wretch shiver, it was so horribly 
 savage." 
 
 " We did not stop to look," said Denoir, 
 " for the chance of the opening being dis- 
 covered was too great, and it was more pru- 
 dent to quit the spot and wait for a better 
 opportunity. Lord Clifford has received 
 more bodily injury than was at first appre*- 
 hended, and is incapable of aiding us, to put 
 his scheme in execution. The Lady Con- 
 stance is continually moaning and pining after 
 that same knight, who gave Clifford so com- 
 
26*2 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 plete an overthrow in the lists. Knows any 
 one his name?" 
 
 " That do I," said Tallboy, " 'tis Edmund 
 Beaufort, a son of the Duke of Somerset, who 
 fell at St. Albans." 
 
 " If I mistake not then," replied Chilling"- 
 ham, " 'tis the same who lives with our worthv 
 host at Knowle, under the covering* of a man 
 at arras, and the esquire is similarly accou- 
 tred. They must be attended upon, for their 
 spirits and ours are too hot to come in con- 
 tact, and they may seek to pry into our 
 secret. I have lost all faith in that drivellinff 
 idiot, and had not the means I had the pre- 
 caution to take, silenced him, our retreat 
 would have been discovered. He is a dan- 
 gerous fellow, and had better be removed 
 — I had myself slain him on the spot, but I 
 have a foolish hankering after his daughter, 
 and my dagger was unwilling to make her 
 sad." 
 
 " Leave him to me then," said Tallboy, 
 " and I'll warrant he shall not have the chance 
 of betraying us. He is the only one who 
 
THE hunter's oak. 263 
 
 knows our secret, and it is dangerous for us 
 to have a hesitating* fool to deal with." The 
 whole bevy now exclaimed, " Aye, aje, leave 
 him to Tallboy, he cannot be in abler hands." 
 
 " But ivhat is to be done about the panel," 
 asked Denoir, " when will you make the at- 
 tempt? The Lady Constance lies to the right 
 of the armoury, just along" the end of the next 
 corridor, and is only attended by the nurse, 
 whose voice can be easily stopped, should 
 she have heard our entry. I foimd out the 
 knowledge of her room from the old steward. 
 He is a rare parrot, give him drink and his 
 tongue goes like a mill-sail in a high wind. 
 He is however very fond of talking of a Sir 
 Somebody belonging to a round table, but 
 which, for the life of me, I could not com- 
 prehend the meaning of." 
 
 " Our plan for the present," said Chilling- 
 ham, " must remain unattempted ; the illness 
 of Lord Clifford may be fatal, and it would 
 not be worth wliile that we should risk the 
 chance of failure and the destruction of our 
 cave, when the reward is insecure. Should 
 
264 THE tttJNTER's OAK. 
 
 he recover, it will be certain, and the wliole 
 of the coin be equally divided, making the 
 attempt of some value. Has Graspall kept 
 " an accurate account of our o-ains and pay- 
 ments to that sneaking" villain at Knowle, 
 -Tallboy V 
 
 " So please you — hem I — good Master Chil- 
 li ngham," said Graspall, " I have not failed 
 to do this, and 1 have taken — hem! — special 
 care that the rogue has not such large items 
 as he used to have against the band. His 
 knowledo-e of writing" and summing* has been 
 marvellously — hem ! — hem ! — against your 
 profits, and no doubt he is anxious to quit 
 his bargain, finding my mode so accurate — 
 hem!" 
 
 "Aye, aye, by Vulcan's forge," said Tall- 
 boy, " I always thought thou hadst a know- 
 in"* method, and that was the reason I in- 
 veigled thee to the* cave. The devil always 
 lives below, and 'tis but rigfet Master Grasp- 
 all, th'at you, as one of his imps, should follow 
 so notable an example." Th'is rude jest was 
 well received, and as Tallboy roared at his 
 
THE hunter's oak. 265 
 
 own sally, he opened a mouth capacious 
 enough to swallow the wretched object so 
 continually the butt of his fancies, who cast on 
 him, however a glance, in which spite and 
 impotent malice struggled for the mastery. 
 
 The enormous lamp which hung suspended 
 from the centre of the roof of the cave, and 
 which had, by the aid of a blazing wood 
 fire cast a ruddy gleam of light upon the 
 speakers, now began to burn dim ; and upon 
 its throwing up a more sudden and brilliant 
 flame, indicating that it was nearly expiring, 
 Chillingham warned them that it was high 
 time to seek their nests, as it was necessary 
 they should be on the move at sunrise. 
 
 Beaufort and Ralph had now heard suffi- 
 cient to lay their schemes open, and as they 
 emerged from the cave and gained the open 
 ground, both felt glad to breathe the fresh 
 air of heaven, for the close smell of the cavern 
 and the oil smoke had nearly stifled them. 
 
 As they slowly proceeded towards the inn, 
 Beaufort said, " What we have just heard, 
 Ralph, has been of the utmost importance, 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 for it leaves no doubt as to the meaninfj of 
 these villains, or of the base intentions of 
 Clifford. He shall however be foiled, and 
 should it please heaven to place me hand 
 to hand before this traitor, both to honour 
 and courtesy, it shall go hard indeed if he 
 escapes for further mischief. He is a recreant 
 knight, and one who dishonours the sacred 
 oath he has taken. Of one thino- however I 
 am right-glad — the blow I dealt him at the 
 lists has for a time prevented his wretched 
 and infamous project, so that time is afforded 
 for some means being- taken, bv which the 
 scheme mav be frustrated. 
 
 " Is it not surprising, my lord," said Ralph, 
 " that he should be on such terms of intimacy 
 with these fellows, having been so short a 
 time at the castle ? That the cave has existed 
 for years in its present state no one can doubt, 
 and yet I am not so satisfied that it has had 
 inmates. Graspall and Tallboy are fresh ar- 
 rivals, and the former poor wretch has been 
 dragged to it in hope of employment. No 
 doubt he is an unwilling participator, for he 
 
THE hunter's oak. 267 
 
 appeared sadly haggard and forlorn, nor were 
 his looks at Tallboy of a friendly nature." 
 
 " The fact is, Ralph," replied. Beaufort, 
 " these men are part of the Yorkists, who have 
 been disbanded since the battle of Towfon, 
 and being mercenary soldiers, their sole de- 
 light is pillage and murder. Courage they 
 haye none, making a vile existence by assaults 
 upon the wretched and defenceless. The civil 
 war has too long yielded opportunities for 
 such fellows, and they take whichever side is 
 uppermost or that promises a better prospect 
 of payment; they are wild and reckless men, 
 infinitely more dangerous than open foes. 
 Clifford's acquaintance with them remains a 
 mystery, which time and patience may enable 
 us to unravel ; at any rate we have earthed the 
 ruffians, and it rests with ourselves whether 
 we choose to stop up the hole, or dig down 
 and extirpate the brood. At present however 
 we must reflect upon the best mode of pro- 
 ceeding, for in opposing knavery, it is neces- 
 sary to adopt cautious measures. Thy sense, 
 Ralph, has been of infinite service, and has 
 
 N 2 
 
268 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 added to the obligations I owe thee already, 
 for we never could have learnt the fellows' 
 secret, had you not overheard his interview 
 with Chillingham." 
 
 Their arrival at the inn prevented further 
 discussion. 
 
THE HUNTER'S OAK. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 And what is his reward ? 
 Some hand more subtle than the serpent's sting, 
 By fierce ambition cross'd, casts him to earth, 
 And heaps destruction on him. 
 
 Some months had now elapsed, and the 
 face of affairs assumed a very different ap- 
 pearance. Warwick had proceeded to Ca- 
 lais, where he had been joined by a retinue 
 becoming his high rank and the lofty preten- 
 sions he was about to make for the hand of 
 the Lady Bona. His arrival in Paris had been 
 magnificently celebrated, and his proposals 
 met with instant approval ; so that little else 
 was necessary than to hasten back to England 
 with the intelligence he imagined would de- 
 
270 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 lig"ht Edward, and secure the House of York 
 upon the throne. We have already stated 
 that Warwick's master passion was ambition. 
 To that one feeling every other was secondary ; 
 and the exultation he felt at having- achieved 
 this master-stroke of policy was at its height, 
 when he heard the rumour of the King's mar- 
 riage with Lady Elizabeth Grey. He treated 
 it at first with contempt; but, on his return to 
 Calais, the increased report became so stag- 
 gering that he resolved to hasten his depar- 
 ture, in order that he might learn the truth or 
 falsehood of the story. He could scarcely 
 think it possible that Edward would so lightly 
 use his friendship as to offer so deadly an in- 
 sult to him ; and that it was an insult, if true, 
 he could not for a moment doubt. The mar- 
 riage with the Lady Bona had been arranged, 
 and nothing remained to be done but to have 
 Edward's approval and authority, naming the 
 time and place for the ceremony to be pro- 
 ceeded with. His own honour had been 
 pledged to Louis in this affair, and had the 
 
THE hunter's oak. 271 
 
 French monarch conceived either Warwick or 
 Edward would have played him false, his anger 
 would have been indignantly excited. 
 
 The passage from France to England was 
 not so easily achieved as it is now, consuming 
 much greater space of time. During the voy- 
 ao-e, the feelinofs of Warwick were indescrib- 
 able ; for he believed at one moment the truth 
 of the reports which had been so strong, and 
 in the next instant discarded them from his 
 mind as unworthy to be thought of. With 
 such strong passions, conceiving himself per- 
 sonally insulted, he arrived in England, and 
 immediately sought an interview with the 
 King. Instead of being instantly admitted 
 to an audience, which had been invariably 
 the custom, he was kept waiting amidst a crowd 
 of hangers-on about the court; so that, instead 
 of appearing at the interview calm and col- 
 lected, he advanced towards Edward with in- 
 dignation and contempt too legibly written 
 on his countenance for the Kino- not to read 
 
 its meaning. 
 
 Edward had dreaded this meeting, for he 
 
272 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 well knew the fiery nature of Warwick's 
 temper, the vast resources he possessed, 
 and the insult he most decidedly had receiv- 
 ed. His return had been unexpected, therefore 
 Edward had but little time allowed him, to 
 adopt a mode of conciliation which bethought 
 most probably, might check his anger, and 
 put them once more on a good footing. Here, 
 however, he had miserably calculated. War- 
 wick was not a man to be cajoled by gentle 
 words and crafty promises. He felt his power 
 and wealth ; and the vast aid he had afforded 
 the House of York had been too great for him, 
 not to expect more deference being paid. 
 
 As Warwick advanced towards the Kino-, he 
 seemed nowise inclined to offer any of the 
 usual marks of respect to royalty ; nor did it 
 escape the eye of Edward, who exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, my Lord of Warwick, this return of 
 thine is unexpected ; methinks the air of France 
 has been unmannerly, or thou would'st ne'er 
 forget we are thy crowned King, and have some 
 right to a more respectful notice. We hold 
 thee dear, good Warwick, and must regret 
 
THE hunter's oak. 273 
 
 that we have caused thy mind such vast unea- 
 siness as to make thy fealty quite forgotten." 
 
 " My liege," said Warwick, who could 
 scarcely restrain the turbulence of his pas- 
 sions within decent bounds, " if I am so 
 dear, as this most crafty speech would make 
 me fancy that I am, why should that deadly, 
 most uncalled-for insult be put upon me, 
 which I have received even now ? Had I not 
 ample powers to treat for the Lady Bona's 
 hand ; and have I not in doing so been made 
 a laughing-stock and gaze upon for all the 
 minions round the court ? Is this the method 
 that the House of York adopts in treating 
 friends who have been faithful to its interest, 
 and without whose aid it had for ever fallen 
 beneath the star of Lancaster ? Is such foul 
 treatment so befitting^ mv sfood meaning'?" 
 
 " We are not, most noble Warwick, so soon 
 forgetful of thy good and generous services, 
 and say once more we hold thee faithful in 
 our heart. Edward were most ungfentle 
 knight, did he neglect the friendship he so 
 strongly has been bound to, and which he 
 
 N 3 
 
274 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 never can forg-et. What are thy troubles and 
 complaints, g"ood Warwick ? speak them out 
 boldly ; and if vvithin the compass of our crown 
 and power, they shall not only be most freely 
 listened to, but speedily redressed — speak out, 
 I say, and let us hear what trifling* cause has 
 chang-cd the tenor of thy speech so soon." 
 
 Warwick had listened patiently to this 
 cunning address, and was the more angered 
 at its hollowness and insincerity, than if Ed- 
 ward had told him at once of the marriage 
 which he well knew had taken place. To be 
 duped was what he detested ; and that he had 
 been a mere tool in the hands of Edward, 
 when he fancied himself the main spring on 
 which the machine of government moved, 
 was too evident, and his noble and haug'hty 
 spirit consequently was more galled. 
 
 " Such trifling causes, my liege, oftentimes 
 lead to fearful results, and think not Warwick 
 will be made an empty puppet of. What I 
 are my deeds of service thus repaid, and are 
 they to be the reckoning of an hour? or does 
 the head of York think that uncalled-for, base, 
 
THE hunter's oak. 275 
 
 and most ungenerous requitals such as have 
 been baselv offered to mine honour can be 
 thus easily washed out ? Never, so help me 
 heaven ! can I forget the vile and most con- 
 temptible return these hands, scarce cleansed 
 from bold Lancastrian blood, have even now 
 received, and which has freely flown to serve 
 a most unthankful master !" 
 
 King Edward, towards the latter part of 
 the speech, had partly risen from his seat, his 
 eye flashed fire, and he was about to make so 
 fierce a reply, as Warwick had little contem- 
 plated. However, he checked his anger, and 
 ao-ain seated himself, for he could not help 
 feelino- that the noble Earl had been most 
 
 c5 
 
 slightingly treated, and had ample cause for 
 this speech. Besides, with a wary eye he 
 looked upon his counsel as beneficial, and his 
 wealth as instrumental to his own resources, 
 and which had been on all occasions most 
 froely lavished ; prudence therefore overcame 
 the more heated expression of his feelings as 
 he replied — 
 
 " My Lord of Warwick, we even now have 
 
276 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 said we hold thee near our heart, and yet 
 thy speech falls fiercer on our ear, than the 
 full war-cry of the host of Lancaster. We 
 have a feeling too, most noble Earl, and thou 
 hast no need of probing* deeper in our mind 
 the knowledge of thy wrongs. Are we to be 
 a crowned king of this fair isle, and yet an 
 empty puppet? Think'st thou the pulses of 
 our heart beat not with the same sensations 
 as thine own, or that we can withstand the 
 pleadings of a lovely woman ? The deed is 
 done, and cannot be redressed; and we shall 
 hold no friendly corner in our breast for him 
 who looks so coldly on our queen. Say to 
 the council of our brother France, we had 
 adventured in the matrimonial game ere thou 
 hadst knowledge, and that the claim upon 
 the damsel's hand was one which thou hadst 
 looked upon as likely to be pleasing in our 
 eye, and having this opinion, made the pro- 
 posal from thyself. By these excuses we may 
 readily disarm the wily Louis from much 
 anger, and at the same time heal the breach, 
 which we have heedless made, in thy good 
 
THE hunter's oak. 277 
 
 opinion. What say'st thou to this scheme, my 
 gentle Warwick ?" 
 
 *' That it is one some baser spirit than mine 
 must yield to. Should we, after having- asked 
 the Lady Bona's hand in marriage, and had 
 approval, increase our honour by this wretched 
 subterfuge, or think ye that Louis has so 
 poor a spirit, as to truckle to this baseness, 
 even were my soul so sunk in infamy as to 
 propose it? No, my liege, some one more 
 grovelling must be found to answer this poor 
 purpose. I never felt a stain upon my house 
 in nobly offering for the lovely lady's hand, 
 but, should have blot of most inveterate vil- 
 lany, were I to humble so disgracefully. If 
 thou would'st raise thyself in worldly estima- 
 tion, divorce the person whom you have so 
 raised, and save your own, and my most 
 sacred, plighted troth, by wedding this most 
 noble lady. The whim of the hour has now 
 been granted, and thou hast, ere this, yielded 
 a stronger claim upon your honour." 
 
 If Edward had kept his wild, impetuous 
 
278 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 passions under restraint, in order to soften 
 Warwick's displeasure, it had been a task of 
 some difficulty, and they now burst forth. He 
 rose indignantly from his chair, and called 
 loudly for his chamberlain; and upon his 
 appearing, he exclaimed — " My Lord Has- 
 tings, see that foul traitor moved from out of 
 the presence ; and had not early recollections 
 come athwart our mind, his life had paid the 
 forfeit of his rashness." Turning to Warwick, 
 he added — " think not thy threats can hold a 
 terror for our power — we have a higher claim 
 i' the state than thou hast ; and if needs must 
 be, to save our person from thy treaclierous 
 threat, we banish thee from England's shores. 
 If, in three days, thy person shall be found 
 within the circle of the realm, not all the 
 fondness that we once had felt, not all the 
 power of France and thine united, shall save 
 thy head from the scaffold! We could have 
 borne thy foolish fancies, but when thy thoughts 
 were levelled at our queen, we held thee in 
 abhorrence. Out from mv siirht ! and should'st 
 
THE hunter's oak. 279 
 
 thou dare adventure on this isle until our 
 anger be appeased, we still shall hold thee 
 traitor to the crown." 
 
 The feelings of Warwick hardly needed this 
 additional insult to rouse his fiery temper to 
 its full height; and if it was somewhat less 
 than might have been imagined from his 
 proud and haughty character, it proceeded 
 alone from astonishment. He never contem- 
 plated such a result, nor did he for an instant 
 imagine Edward could dare thus openly attach 
 his very person. As Hasting-s advanced with 
 other assistance to execute the King's com- 
 mand, Warwick proudly waved them back, 
 placed his hand on his sword, which he partly 
 drew from the scabbard, and said — " Stand 
 back, my lord, thine office needs not this. I 
 would refrain from offering a refusal to thy 
 noble company, but, by the living God, I 
 swear, the man who lays a fing er on my person 
 may rue the bold intrusion. To you, my 
 Lord of York, I scorn to hold a parley for my 
 safety, and shall not fail to quit this wretched 
 land but for some little moment. Thy rank 
 
280 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 and sovereig^n sway has ever been my most 
 anxious hope, and thou shalt not soon forget 
 my use and power. Warwick had strength 
 enoui>-h to crown a kinof, and has not sunk so 
 low i' the world, but that he can unmake the 
 thinff he has created !" 
 
 Before Edward had time to reflect upon 
 the purport of his speech, the Earl had dis- 
 appeared, nor was he anxious to withhold his 
 departure : he dared not openly take his life, 
 for he was too much beloved by the people 
 for so bold a step, although his existence kept 
 him in a continual state of terror and anxiety. 
 
 " What think ye, my Lord Hastings? that 
 same traitor dared to advise our throwing off 
 our virtuous queen, and take another mar- 
 riacre to our heart. We listened most patientlv 
 to all his insolent remarks upon our royal 
 person and authority, but could not tamely 
 suffer wrong or infamy against our love. 
 She is exalted by her gentle virtues, and rests 
 secure, for all my Lord of Warwick's threats." 
 
 " So please ye, my liege," replied the 
 chamberlain, " it might have been more pru- 
 
THE HUNTEH'S OAK. 281 
 
 dent to have held that potent baron on the 
 side of York— his is a deadly enmity ; for, like 
 the hydra with a hundred heads, each one that 
 falls beneath the gleaming sword, rises again 
 in fiercer passion. Know you, my lord, his 
 strength and vassals, and that the castle bids 
 defiance to a storm ? Depend on this, my liege ; 
 he throws himself amidst its massive walls, and 
 then, will laugh your power to scorn." 
 
 " And can my Lord of Hasting's be so bad 
 a courtier, as to think, Edward has not 
 some reckoning upon that point? The walls 
 and good defences of the castle may bid defi- 
 ance to the storm without, but cannot stand 
 against the foe within. Treachery, my lord, 
 often grants what open force can never hope 
 to achieve. Beneath the surface of the castle 
 walls a secret entrance is concealed, known to 
 a few alone, and those most adverse to the 
 power of Warwick. Lord Clifford still re- 
 sides within the castle, and he has knowledf^e 
 of this passage — how he learnt the same, we 
 will inform thee of at a more fitting time and 
 place. When all the inmates of this vast and 
 
282 THE HUNTER^S OAK. 
 
 solid fabric rest in sleep, a chosen body of 
 troops could easily enter by these means, and 
 effect a capture of this stronghold, without a 
 blow being struck in its defence. Ha ! my 
 lord, look not so full of wonder ; 'tis even so, 
 and Warwick sinks beneath our toils ! But, 
 come — the time is urgfent; let us to the 
 council. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " The liquid eye, the cheek all ting'd with life, 
 Sink down in death, unequal to the strife j 
 Like to the chilling^ blast on vernal flower, 
 Which bends its head beneath resistless power." 
 
 Warwick, upon the indigriity which he had 
 received from the King", hastened down to his 
 castle, and w^as accompanied by the Duke of 
 Clarence, who had likewise fallen under Ed- 
 ward's displeasure. He could scarcely refrain 
 from openly defying" his authority, yet was 
 withheld by a knowledg'e, that his present re- 
 sources were not sufficiently powerful to admit 
 of such a measure, having- determined when 
 the blow was ready to be struck, that it should 
 be decisive. On his arrival, he found Con- 
 stance still an invalid, the fever which had 
 
284 THE hunter's oak* 
 
 followed the violence of her attack, had dravvfl 
 her down sadly, and in the pale and wretched 
 creature who stretched out a hand to welcome 
 his return, he could scarcely recognise the 
 lovely and blooming girl he had seen on his 
 arrival, previous to the tournament. Sickness 
 and mental anguish play sad havoc with the 
 human frame ; bodily disease is enough to 
 alter the countenance of the most beautiful 
 of created beings, but how much, how fear- 
 fully is it aided by the malady of the mind? 
 This had taken firm possession of the unhappy 
 Constance, who fancied she saw in her own re- 
 covery, a union with one whom her very heart 
 loathed: Clifford was the pestilence which had 
 so borne down this fair flower. vShe had just re- 
 covered sufficient strength bv the aid of Isabel 
 and Edmund, to take slight exercise, and the 
 soft gales, fragrant flowers, and the cheerful 
 animation which seemed to pervade the face of 
 nature, had mainly contributed in saving a life, 
 which had been for some time in a precarious 
 state. There are but few things in this un- 
 certain and boisterous existence, more refresh- 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 285 
 
 ing to the heart, than the air of heaven, the 
 soft and brilliant sun, and the singing and joy- 
 ful fluttering of the birds. It is a return from 
 death to life, and the gloom which seclusion 
 makes necessary, from severe indisposition, for 
 us to bear, is at once chased away — we feel 
 again inhabitants of the globe, which a wise 
 providence has yielded for our earthly inheri- 
 tance; and the man is to be sincerely pitied, 
 whose spirit, however it may be broken by the 
 troubles and trials of life, is not cheered by 
 the animating prospect. It is an earnest which 
 our Creator holds out of joy and hope, and 
 the vision at its extreme verge, presents to the 
 repentant and contrite heart, a reward for all 
 the sufferings and anxieties it is his lot in this 
 life to endure. 
 
 Isabel was rejoiced at the sight of Clarence, 
 but when she found that his banishment was 
 commanded, and he intended immediately 
 joining the Earl in his visit to Calais, her 
 countenance fell ; for in that place, Warwick 
 had concentrated a very considerable body of 
 troops and vast resources. She knew not how 
 
286 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 to resist his eager importuijities for an imme- 
 diate union, and a request that she would 
 accompany them to France, when better times 
 would yield a probability of more cheering 
 prospects. In fact, he argued with all the 
 fondness and impassioned violence of love, 
 and she gradually yielded a willing consent, 
 provided her father approved the match, of 
 which there could be no doubt. Clarence 
 had informed her, that Clifford, if sufficiently 
 recovered, was commanded instantly to repair 
 to London; and this presenting the only im- 
 pediment for her absence, knowing her sister's 
 hatred of his presence, she had the more 
 readily followed the dictates of a sincere af- 
 fection. 
 
 Warwick, on the proposal of the duke, 
 yielded an instant consent, and as the time was 
 too precious for dallying, the marriage was 
 quietly celebrated in the chapel of the castle, 
 on the second morning of their arrival, and the 
 whole of its inmates were specially delighted. 
 
 None were more vociferous on this occasion, 
 than the old steward, nor did he fail to do 
 
THE hunter's oak. 287 
 
 ample justice to the juice of the grape, in 
 which he so repeatedly drank to the health and 
 happiness of the bride and bridegroonij as to 
 consign himself gradually to his usual state of 
 oblivion. How long he remained in that qui- 
 escent state, history does not state, but it men- 
 tions that his slumbers were broken into by Jas- 
 par Amaury, who came to demand a supply of 
 liquor, as the men at arms in the hall had a 
 dry board and thirsty throats. After two or 
 three good smart shakes, he contrived to rouse 
 the dormant faculties of the sleeper, who on 
 the first application, began to mutter about 
 Merlin, Sir Launceiot of the Lake, and King 
 Arthur ; on the second, he called — "Avoid me 
 — I am a true believer, most renowned magi- 
 cian, of thy wondrous power — Oh ! Lord, how 
 the imps are burning and tearing- my limbs 
 with their needles and pincers !" — And on the 
 third, which laid him sprawling on the earth, 
 chair and all, he opened his half stupified 
 optics, and gazed upon the seneschal, as if 
 thunderstruck. However, he speedily reco- 
 vered his tongue, for nothing but the ever- 
 
288 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 lasting hand of death would ever be able to 
 silence that organ, the use of which no one 
 had a better knowledge of. 
 
 " Bless me, bless me, who would have thought 
 it? No one, unless he had, like me, studied 
 astrology, could have comprehended so extra- 
 ordinary a coincidence. Why Jaspar, Jaspar, 
 I solemnly declare, I was just dreaming about 
 you ! In the third chapter of Merlin's pro- 
 phecies, you will find " 
 
 " Never mind, what we shall find in Merlin's 
 chapters — from beginning to end, he has 
 nothing so consolatory to the human frame as 
 wine ; of that we are in want, and unless you 
 make speedy movements to supply the vacuum 
 in our stomachs, I shall most assuredly lay my 
 fist upon that mazzard of thine, in spite of 
 astrology. Merlin, or the round table." 
 
 Amaury, upon holding forth this threat, ex- 
 tended a hand of such muscle, bone, and 
 sinew, as completely paralyzed the poor stew- 
 ard's benumbed faculties ; he looked at Jaspar, 
 then at the fist, next at his own meagre figure, 
 and then at Jaspar and the huge fist again. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 289 
 
 as if he scarcely knew the meaning' of what was 
 said — a speedy elevation, however, of Amau- 
 ry's hand, somewhat roused him, and he called 
 out — " Well, well, it does not signify arguing" 
 the point, for the more I see and feel of the 
 renowned magician's power, the more I am 
 satisfied of its potency. I declare by the mass, 
 Jaspar, I was just dreaming, that Merlin had 
 placed such a huge fist as thine against my 
 throat, threatening my very life, and his imps 
 were tearing* and pricking me with hot pin- 
 cers. Who could ever rail against the power 
 of dreams, for, lo and behold, on my waking" 
 up from mine, I am thus so extraordinarily 
 
 threatened ! It is a rare coincidence " 
 
 " Curse thy coincidence, and all thy stupid 
 lies," exclaimed the seneschal, " mine was the 
 hand, man, not Merlin's, that was placed against 
 thy throat ; and the red hot pincers of which 
 thou complainest, were the uneasy positions of 
 thy drunken slumbers. If however thou hast a 
 real faith in dreams, believe this, for once in thy 
 life ; for I swear most solemnly, unless thy legs 
 move as fast as that everlastinof tonoue of thine, 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
290 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 no plague that Merlin threatened, shall equal 
 the torments I will make thee endure. Hast 
 thou so soon forgot that I am seneschal of this 
 strong castle ; that my commands are law, and 
 held in special force against the vice of drunk- 
 enness ? If therefore we have not on the instant 
 an immediate supply of the best vintage — mind, 
 master steward, the best vintage," (he placed a 
 strong emphasis on best) " thou shalt be made a 
 close prisoner in the keep, and have but slight 
 supply of bread and w^ater." 
 
 Havins: said this resolutely and fiercely, he 
 left the steward to his thoughts. What were 
 his thoughts? — why, that no living animal, not 
 excepting a cat, had a greater horror of the 
 pure liquid element than himself; and the 
 knowledge of Amaury's resolute threat made 
 him hasten more speedily than he had done 
 for some time, to execute his wishes. Had he 
 told him that he should be debarred from 
 food, it could not have made half so stronof an 
 impression, for water was so much his aversion, 
 that he rarely looked upon it without shud- 
 dering. Indeed the steward, when a boy, had 
 
THE hunter's oak. 291 
 
 oncenearly been drowned; and whether the 
 recollection of his coming to, or the immer- 
 sion he then received, had taken so fast a hold 
 of his mind, as to cause his extraordinary 
 alarm, it is not possible to say. This is, how- 
 ^ever, tolerably well authenticated, that very 
 shortly after, he was appointed to assist in the 
 cellars, and from that moment he drank his 
 liquor pure. 
 
 Amidst the mass of rejoicing* which the 
 castle presented, there was one heart, stern 
 and relentless, brooding over its supposed 
 wrono's, and lookino^ forward to such revensfe 
 as a fiend of darkness only could imagine, 
 for to exceed the cruelty of Clifford was on 
 this earth an impossibility. He had just re- 
 covered sufficient strength to prevent his be- 
 ing able to delay a departure ; indeed, the 
 messenger, who had only that morning ar- 
 rived from King Edward, bore a peremptory 
 mandate, and he prepared to obey, though 
 with extreme reluctance. Like a tiger ra- 
 venous for his prey, and when just within his 
 grasp, some chance not calculated on pre- 
 
 o2 
 
292 THE HUNTER^S OAK. 
 
 vents his enjoying" the banquet he has fixed 
 his glare on, Clifford looked and felt. His 
 injuries had for a length of time prevented 
 his being- able to rise from his bed, and 
 Constance had thus escaped his noxious pre- 
 sence, though her own illness was sufficient 
 to avoid it, and which she had made a fai r 
 excuse in not attendino- the meal. He had 
 there a solitary banquet placed before him, 
 for Isabel could not of course act otherwise 
 than remain with her sister, so that he was in 
 the midst of bustle, splendour, and plenty, vet 
 alone and unnoticed. It should not however 
 be said that he was alone, for he had a kindred 
 spirit in his esquire, and one whose vile and 
 execrable passion bore a marked similarity 
 to hi^town ; the same cool and deliberate 
 ferociijV'the same relentless and unflinching" 
 pursuit of any one object on which the eye 
 was fixed, and the same bold and shameless 
 effrontery marked the one as it did the other. 
 Clifford was thus compelled to keep com- 
 panionship with one whom he otherwise des- 
 pised, (for the fellow was of low origin and 
 
THE HUNTER S OAK. 293 
 
 vulgar habits,) and such situation, though it 
 suited his vile ideas on some points, jarred 
 materially in others. His pride, on most oc- 
 casions paramount, here became subservient 
 to his necessities, yet on looking down at the 
 meanness of birth, which the man had attached 
 to him, he felt contempt for the object so 
 necessary for the assistance his atrocities re- 
 quired. There was indeed no shade of dif- 
 ference, for when a man, however high he 
 may stand in the necessary scale of society, 
 descends to the same meanness, cruelty, 
 and infamy which degrade his more humble 
 companion, he instantly quits his station, 
 standing on the same equality. Thus it was 
 with Clifford; he had permitted^ the esquire 
 to become intimate with his cruel and violent 
 temper, and he was looked upon only by the 
 man as his conduct merited; he knew Clifford 
 well, and the master was not ig-norant of this 
 knowledge on the part of his dependant. 
 
 " Have you lately," said Clifford, " had a 
 meeting at the cavern, Denoir? I hope the 
 knowledge of your intimacy with them re- 
 
294 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 mains a secret to the inmates of the castle, 
 for I would not have it known. It mior-ht, 
 it would prevent the completion of my pur- 
 pose, and for that hour of sweet and full 
 revenge, I fondly reckon on beholding." 
 Here a smile of ruthless malice shot athwart 
 his stern and pale features, which were almost 
 convulsed at the imagination of the villanous 
 fancies of his mind. 
 
 '* None, save the stevs^ard, my lord," replied 
 Denoir, " have any suspicion that I quit the 
 castle, and he is too fond of his own comfortable 
 birth to think of how" I pass my vacant time. 
 To lull his shallow intellect to some security, 
 it is my custom occasionally to invite him to 
 the hostel at Warwick, and there, over a flask 
 of right good liquor, I manage to suck his 
 brains ; he is as innocent of my intention as 
 an infant, and though he pretends to consult 
 the stars, like many other self-conceited fools, 
 always blunders upon a wrong scent. 'Twas 
 from him, my lord, I learnt the secret of 
 Lady Constance's sleeping apartment, for no 
 one else chose to give me the information ; 
 
THE hunter's oak. 295 
 
 for somehow or other they hold nie in no 
 special favour." 
 
 " That is well, Denoir; for the present, my 
 purpose must be delayed, for I am summon- 
 ed on important business to King* Edward. 
 Something" of urgency, thou mayst be sure 
 it is, or else the indolent monarch never would 
 have roused himself to write a strong request 
 himself, demanding an immediate attention. 
 Keep thou' a firm look out, and when the 
 moment offers, let me hear of thee. Has that 
 wretched imp of Satan prepared those papers 
 which I spoke about? If so, despatch them 
 to the several destinations I have apprised 
 thee of, so soon as I shall send the trusty 
 messenger for the purpose. That was a sad 
 mischance which happened concerning" the 
 panel, and may be dangerous to our in- 
 terests. Couldst thou not ferret who the in- 
 truder was, or whence the voice proceeded ? 
 Surely thy usual skill has somewhat failed 
 thee, or this had been no secret." 
 
 " I grant, my lord," said Denoir, " that for 
 once, 1 am foiled. Had not the voice been 
 
296 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 rough, the venture would have been upon the 
 page. He is continuar/ dogging my heels, 
 and when I threaten to punish him for such 
 insolence he only smiles, and reminds me of 
 Jaspar Amaury and the men at arms." 
 
 " Indeed," said Clifford, " I scarcely know 
 the youngster; his threat about the men at 
 arms is not an impotent one ; for with the force 
 Warwick commands in this castle, he may well 
 bid defiance to all attempts at violence. He 
 looks not quite well pleased with his reception 
 at the court, and something there must be 
 stirrino- to hasten me to London. Kino- Ed- 
 ward knows full well where to find a hand and 
 spirit he can consider as his own, and one 
 which never yet has failed him in the hour of 
 need. The marriage with the Duke of Cla- 
 rence exalts this haughty man, already too 
 much puffed with pride above his usual state 
 of mind. The hour may not be distant when 
 the proud ruins of this boasted fabric may 
 sink to the ground, and, like the fortunes of 
 its master, never to rise again. See that my 
 attendants be prepared on the morrow for my 
 
THE hunter's oak. 297 
 
 departure to the capital, which I can only 
 reach by easy stages. Thou, Denoir, wilt still 
 remain upon the spot, keeping a residence in 
 the Hunter's Oak. Avoid being seen, even by 
 that idiot steward ; he cannot hold the slight- 
 est counsel, and may unwittingly pounce on 
 the secret. Be wary, faithful, and vigilant, 
 and thy reward is sure." 
 
 " Depend on that, my lord — your interest 
 and mine hang too closely together to make 
 me unmindful of the benefit to be derived 
 from secrecy. 'Twas a lucky chance my fall- 
 ing in with Chillingham — he is an old com- 
 panion — one who has seen desperate service, 
 and who will not stick at slight obstacles. 
 Even the stoutest spirits of the castle quail 
 before the terrors of the Hunter's Oak." 
 
 " Let them not cool, Denoir ; fears such as 
 these hold more security than would an armed 
 host ; but, stay, I must no longer tarry here, 
 Warwick may think me negligent, and that 
 would ill befit my present purpose. See my 
 commands attended to, and so good night." 
 
 o3 
 
298 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A heart which fondly clings to thine, 
 As tendrils cling around the vine. 
 
 The parting on the morrow was most af- 
 fectinof. Isabel and Constance had, from in- 
 fancy, been in the constant association with 
 each other — they had pursued the same walks, 
 amusements and occupations — the same joys 
 and fears had been equally divided, and their 
 hearts had imperceptibly imbibed such tender 
 love, that the very name of separation was 
 sufficient to alarm them. Now, alas! came 
 the fearful reality, and the dream — the happy, 
 delio^htful fancy of the mind was about to be 
 dissolved for ever. The recollections of our 
 early life are probably the most vivid and 
 
THE hunter's oak. 299 
 
 everlasting; they cling round the heart with 
 as much fondness and purity as the tendrils 
 creep around the vine in natural and quiet 
 embrace. In after-years when the troubles 
 and knowledge of human nature, which time 
 only and an accurate acquaintance with the 
 world imprint on that organ of human passion 
 over which the mind has such master power, 
 those lovely, tranquil, and happy moments now 
 and then intrude, and the sensations they pro- 
 duce have a mixed character of happiness and 
 sorrow, which is absolutely indescribable. 
 Intrude on the heart? — no ! — they are not in- 
 truders — the remembrances they bring back 
 chace away many a dull feeling, and the 
 misery and wretchedness of the present mo- 
 ment is frequently obliterated by the recollec- 
 tions of happier times. Oh ! hours of pleasure, 
 sweet and soothing to the mind, why are thy 
 images so soon, so sadly wrecked ? 
 
 The state of Constance added much to her 
 affliction; for it certainly falls heavier when 
 sickness has left its ravages on the frame ; and 
 when the soother also of our pain, whims, and 
 
300 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 caprices, (which illness ever creates,) is about 
 to proceed to some distant land, where the lov- 
 ed object may never again be able to perform 
 the same kind offices. There is nothing equal 
 to the agony of parting — the choking,^ throb- 
 bing and dragging at the heart are dreadful, 
 and can only be known to those who have 
 fondness for domestic life, and whose spirits are 
 indelibly impressed with the delights of home 
 and a love for their native land ! She flung her- 
 self on her sister's neck in an agony of grief — 
 myriads of recollections floated over the mo- 
 ments of parting, making it almost too sad for 
 description. What pen can describe the va- 
 ried sensations of the human mind ? — so vast 
 and comprehensive — so cruel and remorseless 
 — so affectionate and tender — so idiotic and 
 maniacal ! Daily — hourly, we see various 
 shades and gradations in the scale of human 
 intellect ; and no one who reflects for an in- 
 stant can dare to depict the overwhelming and 
 magnificent machine, which a beneficent Cre- 
 ator has so wisely and wonderfully ordained, 
 should be far beyond mortal knowledge. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 301 
 
 They were gone ! — her father — sister — all 
 were gone, and she was left alone ! One con- 
 solation cheered her wretched mind, and that 
 was the absence of Clifford. That blight be- 
 ing washed awaj, the flower had some chance 
 of rearing its lovely head in all the pride of 
 innocence and beauty. Day after day fol- 
 lowed each other in rapid succession, yet 
 little news arrived from Calais. What could 
 be the reason? She could not tell. The so- 
 ciety of her attendants helped to dispel the 
 gloom which must pervade the most splendid 
 domain, if the objects on which the eye has 
 from infancy been accustomed to dwell, are 
 absent from the spot. A cottage — a desert, with 
 the beloved of the heart, appears like a fairy 
 palace, and the most magnificent of all life's 
 appurtenances look wretched and forlorn, 
 when the heart has a void, which no pagean- 
 try or splendour can supply. To Beaufort 
 she looked forward, and from his noble and 
 disinterested nature expected a release from 
 the claim which Clifford still dared to put in 
 for her hand. He had been speedily sum- 
 
302 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 moned from Knowle soon after the Earl's re- 
 turn from Calais, and Edmund had suspected 
 that Beaufort and Warwick were on better 
 terms with each other, for he felt confident 
 that an interview had taken place, in the pre- 
 sence of Clarence and others who held a fa- 
 vourable opinion of the Lancastrian interest. 
 Rumours, however, will float, and they must 
 be vaofue indeed, if there is not some truth in 
 the reports which on such occasions are pretty 
 freely circulated. Constance fondly hoped the 
 rumours were facts, and that the generous, dis- 
 interested, and gallant Beaufort might openly 
 demand her hand without interruption from 
 that man of all others she looked upon with 
 aversion and contempt. She had not forgotten 
 Clitford's vile threats previous to the tourna- 
 ment, and the impression such relentless, such 
 cowardly and base insinuations made, oifered 
 to a poor defenceless womni, were not very 
 likely soon to be effaced. It is the nature of 
 woman to look for protection at the hands of 
 man, and cursed be the wretch, who having 
 such confidence placed, would injure or insult 
 
THE hunter's oak. 303 
 
 the being" whose very existence hangs upon 
 his kindness and support. He is a very 
 Cain amidst his brethren, and should be 
 branded and abhorred by every well-meaning 
 member of society as a scourge to his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Constance had only heard of Beaufort 
 through Edmund, and rejoiced to know he 
 was well, and there was a probability of her 
 soon seeing him. The cause of his absence 
 was not known, but that it was one of some 
 importance no one could doubt, for it had 
 been instantaneous, and immediately preced- 
 ing the absence of her father to Calais. She 
 pondered over and over again upon the pro- 
 bability of the nature of their conference, but 
 never could bring her mind to any satisfactory 
 opinion on the subject. Thus time glided 
 onward, and though it somewhat assuaged the 
 sadness which she had felt for Isabel's ab- 
 sence, yet was it unable to set aside the recol- 
 lection of the enjoyment they felt in each 
 other's society. It was too strong — too imme- 
 diate to be so easily effaced. 
 
304 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 The attendant on Constance, to whom she 
 was most attached, had been for some time 
 absent on a visit to her parents, who resided 
 at some distance from Warwick. The death 
 of one, and other unfortunate circumstances, 
 had prevented her from returning-, and her 
 appearance was hailed with infinite satisfac- 
 tion. Bertha was a fine high-spirited girl, 
 with a happy and contented disposition, which 
 assisted materially in softening the regret and 
 uneasiness of her mistress. She pointed out, 
 in the most respectful manner, the loss she 
 had herself sustained, being decidedly more 
 affecting", for one was a temporary absence, 
 and Isabel mio-ht soon return ; the other was 
 such a bereavement as no earthly time could 
 replace. 
 
 Constance was not the onlv one delio-hted 
 by the return of Bertha ; another spirit in the 
 castle was buoyant and happy. She had been 
 for some years a resident in the family, and 
 was much beloved by all the inmates of the 
 castle, and more particularly — ^more aifec- 
 tionately so by Edmund. A few months in 
 
THE hunter's oak. 305 
 
 the eye of affection is an age, and as he con- 
 templated the improvement a little time had 
 effected in her appearance, he could not help 
 feeling that he never knew or thought she was 
 half so handsome. Bertha had a sweet voice, 
 and the tuition she had received from the 
 page had materially added to its effect. They 
 were frequently in the habit of solacing the 
 passing moments of the fine summer evenings 
 by music. Sometimes the page would sing 
 alone, and now and then Constance would 
 join in with Bertha and Edmund. At one of 
 these simple yet delightful recreations, they 
 had taken advantage of a very fine afternoon, 
 and had strolled to that delicious spot where 
 the rustic arbour had been erected for the 
 entertainment of King Edward. It has been 
 already stated that it formed a circle, and the 
 amphitheatre of trees which surrounded the 
 spot, placed amidst ridges and mounds of 
 velvet softness and grateful verdure, produced 
 a thrill ino' and astonishinof echo. This was 
 one of the reasons why it was a favourite re- 
 treat ; for the earl had still left the arbour 
 
306 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 standing, in remembrance of the royal v^sit, 
 and its cool and refreshing shade materially 
 heightened the rich and glowing charms of 
 summer. At the request of Constance, Ed- 
 mund and Bertha sang the following stanzas, 
 which he himself had written and com- 
 posed. The words and the music were not 
 lost by any want of feeling or animation on 
 the part of the singers. The echo materially 
 added to the effect ; for the last words were 
 re-suno* and repeated with a fidelity truly sur- 
 prising, each verse being allowed sufficient 
 time to permit the full effect being given. 
 
 Edmund. 
 That tear again, — oh ! cast away 
 All grief upon our marriage day ; 
 Let not the brightness of that eye 
 Be dimm'd— again, that sigh ! 
 
 Echo.— Again, that sigh ! 
 Bertha. 
 Ah ! Edward, do not check my grief, 
 It gives my heart some slight relief, 
 To leave at once this humble cot, 
 To seek, at best, uncertain lot. 
 
 Echo. — Uncertain lot. 
 
THE hunter's oak. 307 
 
 Ed77iuvd. 
 My dearest Agnes — trust this arm, 
 'Twill shield thee, love, from ev'ry harm; 
 And though you quit this lowly shed. 
 You'll find firm friend in him you wed. 
 Echo. — Him you wed. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Edward, I know thou lov'st me well ! 
 Even more than simple words can tell ; 
 But yet I've felt a parent's care. 
 And now another friendship dare. 
 Echo. — Friendship dare. 
 
 Edmund. 
 'Tis true, dear Agnes — yet I'll prove 
 A parent's care, and husband's love ; 
 To some such oaths are light as air. 
 But thou shalt be my constant care. 
 Echo. — My constant care. 
 
 Bertha. 
 The lovely maid look'd up and smil'd — 
 Edward, too long thou hastbeguil'd 
 A heart which fondly clings to thine, 
 As tendrils cling around the vine. 
 Echo. — Around the vine. 
 
 The taste with which these simple words 
 were sung had much addition in the singers, 
 
308 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 both of wkom had an affection for the other ; 
 consequently the verses and music had, ample 
 justice done to them. Constance felt soothed 
 by the sweet sounds, and taking the lute from 
 the hands of Edmund, she struck a few notes 
 with an air of exquisite taste, singing- the fol- 
 lowing stanzas, which were much in vogue at 
 the time with the Lancastrians. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Flower of beauty, flower of pride, 
 Though some thy bkishing sweets deride. 
 In this fond heart thou'rt ever cherish'd, 
 Even tho' thy leaves are wither'd, perish'd. 
 Oh ! modest flower of shady bower. 
 Sweet, fragrant rose — I love thee .' 
 
 Scarcely had the echo repeated the words 
 " I love thee," and the sound had subsided, 
 when the song was proceeded with, but in an- 
 other voice, evidently above the spot on which 
 they rested. It was mellow, flexible, and 
 manly, and one evidently highly cultivated, 
 and well acquainted with music. 
 
 Flower of blushing beauty red, 
 
 Thy summer sweets are not yet dead ; 
 
THE hunter's oak. 309 
 
 One heart there is which fondly clings 
 Around the sweets thy fragrance flings j 
 Oh ! modest flower of leafy bower. 
 Sweet, fragrant rose — I love thee ! 
 
 Edmund and Bertha were astonished; they 
 could not comprehend who the singer could 
 possibly be. It was evident that he was a 
 Lancastrian by the verses being so well and 
 thrillingly repeated. It was not long, how- 
 ever, before their surprise was to be ended; 
 Tor, on looking to the point from whence the 
 voice proceeded, they distinctly saw two arm- 
 ed figures descending the mounds of verdure 
 above them, and making towards the spot 
 they were standing on. Constance had like- 
 wise been astonished by the speedy manner in 
 which her song had been carried on, but it 
 quickly subsided into delight and admiration, 
 for in the tasteful and manly voice she recop*- 
 nized Beaufort's. It might have been forgot- 
 ten by Edmund ; but on the ear of love it fell 
 in accents sweet and bland never to be mis- 
 taken. As the verse gradually proceeded, 
 she had as gradually risen, and observed the 
 
310 THE hunter's oak. 
 
 descent of the object which she had never be- 
 held since the tournament. 
 
 Beaufort (for it was no other) advanced as 
 speedily as his weight of armour would per- 
 mit, and was soon in the presence of Con- 
 stance. She rushed forward with delight, and 
 was clasped firmly to the heart of as gallant 
 and noble a kniffht as EnMand could then 
 boast of possessing. He had resumed his pro- 
 per habiliments, and now stood before her in 
 all the pride and pomp of manly beauty and 
 power. As his dark and brilliant eye scanned 
 the lovely and fragile form which had been the 
 star of his earthly hope, he could not help ob- 
 serving the alteration a short time had made 
 in her appearance. Her form was more ex- 
 panded, though still slight and elegant in the 
 extreme. Her features had assumed a more 
 marked and decided character, yet had lost 
 none of the graces which had first attracted 
 his admiration. The blush of triumph and 
 modesty united had given a tint of extreme 
 brilliance to her fair cheek; for in diseniraor- 
 ing herself gently from the embrace of Beau-