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EVA ST. CLAIR; 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHEB COLLECTED TALES, 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE ANCIENT REGIME," « THE JACQUERIE,' 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 ■ 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1843. 
 
London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square. 
 

 I/. 2- 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 
 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS - - 1 
 
 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE : a Tale - 107 
 
 MARY OF MANTUA : a True History - 137 
 
 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE - - 165 
 
 THE FIRE 205 
 
 AN ADVENTURE IN THE MOUNTAINS - 229 
 
THE 
 
 FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS, 
 
 VOL. II, 
 
THE 
 
 FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 PART L 
 
 It was a merry time in the town of Ches- 
 ter, a merry time as eye could see or ear 
 could hear; the whole place was ringing 
 with harps, and fiddles, and songs, bagpipes, 
 rotes, and rebecks. It seemed as if Nebu- 
 chadnezzar himself was about to worship 
 his golden image, for certainly there was 
 the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sack- 
 but, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of 
 music ; besides a good deal of bellowing 
 and shouting, roaring of laughter, and 
 every other kind of noise that the human 
 voice can be called upon to produce. 
 
 In short, it was the fair-time in Chester, 
 a little before the end of the loose reign of 
 King John. In one place might be seen 
 B 2 
 
4 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 the juggler performing all manner of tricks; 
 in another place the saltimbank leaping 
 through a ring, dancing upon a rope, or 
 casting somersets to the delight of the 
 people ; in another place the fool or merry- 
 andrew throwing his witticisms abroad right 
 and left. 
 
 But these were only accessories and 
 adjuncts of the fair, which was, in truth, 
 a great commercial mart, where goods and 
 chattels of almost every kind were sold, 
 from complete hauberks to gimnel rings, 
 pieces of cloth, velvet and silk, furs of all 
 sorts, hoods made up and ready to be tried 
 on by any one who might covet them, with 
 clasps in a neighbouring stall to fasten them 
 under the chin of the buyer. Then there 
 were clothiers for all classes ; and men who 
 sold boxes of curious wood for containing the 
 rare manuscript books, one or two of which 
 formed a library, while close by were the 
 books to be so contained, the missal, accord- 
 ing to the rule of Salisbury, or Hereford, 
 or Lincoln, in its magnificent velvet cover, 
 lying cheek by jowl with a book of ribald 
 songs, such as might issue from the Parisian 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 5 
 
 press even in the present days of prurient 
 literature. Near, was the vender of rich 
 shoes and boots, with toes that varied from 
 each other in every respect but one ; for 
 they were all enormously long. Some were 
 twisted into the shape of serpents, some were 
 curled up so as to resemble a ram's horn, 
 some imitated the peaked cap of a professed 
 fool, and one pair had double points, with a 
 hook at the end of each. Here, too, were 
 booths displaying drinking cups of all sorts, 
 sizes, and descriptions, and even glass, then 
 rare and valuable ; in another place were 
 gums and spices, and all the stores of the 
 apothecary ; in another were delicate per- 
 fumes and cosmetics, palm oil and ambergris, 
 frankincense and attar of roses, brought by 
 the wandering merchant from the far East. 
 In short, almost every thing that the four 
 quarters of the world could produce, with 
 the exception of the one quarter which was 
 waiting to be found out, was displayed in 
 one corner or the other in the fair ; while the 
 Pied-poudre Court held its sittings hard 
 by, for the purpose of protecting all these 
 b 3 
 
6 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 various wares by its stern sentences, exe- 
 cuted without respite or delay. 
 
 In several parts of the great space de- 
 voted to the purposes of the fair, were 
 booths for entertainment, where revelry, 
 ribaldry, mirth, drunkenness, feasting, and 
 debauchery were indulged with a degree of 
 licence unknown at other times and seasons; 
 whilst in other places, again, the more 
 sober merchants, and the large households 
 that they sometimes brought with them, 
 could provide themselves with food of all 
 sorts at a reasonable price, and in a decent 
 manner. 
 
 Through the manifold streets, turnings, 
 and alleys of the fair, floated a mixed 
 multitude of all kinds ; buyers, sellers, 
 minstrels, musicians, old women, beautiful 
 girls, young children, knights, sailors, 
 soldiers, friars, priests, nuns, franklins, 
 yeomen, clowns; all jostling, hustling, 
 talking, laughing, singing, and playing, in 
 the most varied dresses that it is possible 
 to conceive. Bright and brilliant was the 
 scene ; a sort of maddening merriment was 
 in every sound ; it was intoxicating, it was 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 7 
 
 infectious ; nobody could help imbibing the 
 miasma of hilarity that spread around ; and 
 you would see grave merchants with long 
 beards joking and jesting with the aged 
 prioress of some very respectable order, or 
 with the severe confessor, who suffered not 
 one little sin, of all man's multitude, to 
 escape without penance and repentance. 
 
 It was about the hour of four in the 
 evening, when down the principal alley of 
 the fair, with rich dresses, but hoods so far 
 drawn over their faces that they served the 
 purpose of masks, came down a gay party 
 of both sexes, walking at a rapid pace, 
 jesting with those around them, and indeed 
 with every one that they passed, full of the 
 frolic of the hour, and enjoying the merry 
 scene to the utmost. The front rank was 
 occupied by three persons, a lady being in 
 the middle, with a gentleman on either side. 
 The one on the right hand was a stout, 
 broad-shouldered, somewhat heavy man, 
 who, to guess from the general contour of 
 his figure, might be fifty, or nearly fifty 
 years of age. The one on the other side 
 was somewhat taller, but more slightly 
 b 4 
 
8 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 formed — at least more youthfully, for 
 never was there a stronger or better pro- 
 portioned leg than appeared from under 
 the loose gown of blue cendal, trimmed 
 with fur, in which he was clothed. His 
 walk was free and careless, but graceful and 
 dignified at the same time; and many a one 
 from the neighbouring country instantly 
 recognised him by his gait and carriage, 
 and laughing, said, " Ay, there goes gay 
 Roger, the best-hearted young lord in the 
 land." 
 
 " Hallo, fool, what art thou doing?" 
 exclaimed he of the blue cassock. " Why 
 art thou peering into the woman's empty 
 hand?" 
 
 " Telling fortunes, noble sir," replied a 
 man dressed in a merry-andrew's coat, who 
 with a sage look was enacting a fortune- 
 teller for the amusement of the people, 
 and dealing with the destinies of an old lady 
 of about sixty. 
 
 "Ay!" cried the gentleman, stopping 
 with his party, " and what good luck is in 
 store for her ? " 
 
 " Three husbands and a large family of 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 9 
 
 children," said the fool, amidst a shout of 
 laughter from the people. 
 
 "By St. Cyprian, she must make haste, 
 then/' said the young gentleman. " Come, 
 tell me my fortune, too, wise man," he 
 continued, drawing off his glove, and hold- 
 ing up his bare palm to the stage on which 
 the mountebank was placed. 
 
 The man turned his eye curiously down 
 towards it, taking it by the tip of the finger, 
 and shutting one eye with a knowing look, 
 while he examined it with the other. 
 " Thou shalt fight a duel for a dancing 
 girl," said the man of motley, somewhat to 
 the consternation of the young cavalier, 
 while the lady who walked between him 
 and his companion laughed low but mer- 
 rily. 
 
 "Stay, stay!" cried the diviner, seeing 
 that he had nettled him ; " there is 
 more toward. Thou shalt defeat an army, 
 with rags and tatters, and wed the lady 
 that you love, though she may be somewhat 
 jealous." 
 
 The young gentleman turned a gay look 
 towards his fair companion, and then asked, 
 b 5 
 
10 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 in a mocking tone, " Is there any thing 
 more, Sir Fortune-teller ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man ; "'tis but 
 that 
 
 " i You soon shall reign here, 
 Over fiddles and beer; 
 And every Dutton 
 Shall have his mutton.' " 
 
 Another loud shout of laughter burst 
 from the whole crowd, who understood the 
 allusion well, notwithstanding the semi- 
 disguise which the young gentleman wore. 
 The whole of his companions joined in the 
 merriment ; and he, to say sooth, was not 
 behind the rest. 
 
 " There is a sterling for thee," he said, 
 giving the man a piece of silver. " By my 
 halidame, I will jest with thee no longer!" 
 and he and his friends pursued their path 
 laughing with each other ; till suddenly a 
 scene of struggling and confusion, as if 
 either some accident had taken place, or 
 some misdemeanour had been committed, 
 presented itself a little lower down the same 
 alley. Loud and angry voices then rose, 
 imprecations were heard, and it seemed 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 11 
 
 that the gaiety of the fair was about to end 
 in blows. 
 
 " Let us go, Roger, let us go ! " cried 
 the elder of the gentlemen ; " here is going 
 to be a riot, and we must not have Mary 
 in the midst of it." 
 
 " I will just see what is the matter, 
 and follow you in a minute, " said Roger 
 Dutton. 
 
 " Do not fight a duel for a dancing girl, 
 Roger," whispered the lady ; and replying, 
 laughingly, " No, no ! " he advanced to- 
 wards the crowd, while the rest of the party 
 retrod their steps, and were soon seen 
 taking their way towards the castle. 
 
 The place to which Roger Dutton of 
 Dutton now bent his steps presented a 
 wider opening than any other part of the 
 fair for the exercise of that pushing and 
 pressing which is the peculiar characteristic 
 of an English mob, especially where any 
 thing which excites public curiosity is to 
 be seen in the midst of it. The two great 
 alleys of the fair there crossed each other, 
 and the whole space in the middle was now 
 filled up with a motley assembly, who made 
 b 6 
 
12 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 but little way for the young lord, though 
 no man was better calculated to clear a path 
 for himself, by dint of broad shoulders and 
 strong; arms. But there were all manner 
 of things in the way, — rotes, and trumpets, 
 and bagpipes, viols, swords, staves, bucklers, 
 packages of goods, hoods, caps, trays, and 
 boxes upon men's shoulders. The com- 
 manding height of the young gentleman, 
 however, enabled him in some degree to 
 see what was passing in the midst ; and he 
 could evidently perceive that some offence, 
 either real or imaginary, had taken place 
 against the dignity of the Pied-poudre 
 Court ; for two of its officers were to be 
 seen very busily engaged in the middle of 
 the crowd, endeavouring to force along an 
 extremely pretty girl of about seventeen 
 years of age, in spite of the remonstrances, 
 tending almost to resistance, of a number of 
 the minstrels of the fair, comprising all ranks 
 and all classes of that honourable profession. 
 One of the officers was tall and strong, 
 the other fat and heavy ; but both seemed 
 determined to keep possession of the 
 girl, and drag her on to the place where 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 13 
 
 their court was sitting. The poor girl 
 herself was in tears ; and her gay dress 
 bespoke her to be one of the wandering 
 class which seemed now so universally eager 
 in her defence. Amongst the most strenu- 
 ous and vehement of these was a young 
 man of very good mien, with a small harp 
 on his shoulder, and Dutton heard him 
 more than once exclaim, ** She is not a 
 dancing girl, I tell thee. Thou liest in 
 thy teeth, ribald ! She did but sing one song 
 along with me, and that not for hire, as 
 thou sayest." 
 
 " Seize him, too, Rouse ! seize him, 
 too ! " cried the fattest of the two officers, 
 who seemed choleric in proportion to his 
 size. " He called thee ribald ; he insulted 
 the reverend Pied-poudre Court ; he ought 
 to be decapitated." 
 
 " What's that ?" cried a voice from the 
 crowd ; but the young harper continued to 
 repeat vehemently, without noticing the 
 wrath of either officer, " She is not a dan- 
 cing girl, I tell thee." 
 
 Dutton could not help smiling, as he 
 heard the words, at being so soon placed in 
 
14 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 a situation to exercise his chivalry in favour 
 of one bearing the name of a " dancing 
 girl ; " but he muttered very confidently to 
 himself, as he forced his way on, " No, no ! 
 I wont make the fool's words good by 
 fighting a duel in her behalf, though I 
 must see how the matter passes. By my 
 fay, she is a pretty creature, and looks 
 modest withal." 
 
 He was just within two or three persons 
 of the constables, when the tall man, be- 
 ginning to share in the wrath of his com- 
 panion, and finding that the poor girl held 
 somewhat back as they were endeavouring 
 to drag her on, suddenly seized her with 
 his other hand also, and gave her a most 
 tremendous shake, crying, " Come along, 
 minion ! " 
 
 This violence drew a short cry of pain 
 from the girl, and at the same time caused 
 her high cap to fall off, and an immense 
 quantity of beautiful shining brown hair to 
 fail far down over her neck and shoulders. 
 
 An involuntary exclamation of indigna- 
 tion burst from Roger Dutton's lips ; and 
 seeing that he was interested, an old fiddler, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 15 
 
 who stood beside him, plucked him by the 
 sleeve, saying, " 'Tis a shame, sir — 'tis a 
 shame ! The old judge saw her at the inn 
 three days ago, and wants her for his para- 
 mour. But she's a good girl, and going 
 to marry blithe Allan, the gentle harper ; 
 though they say his father, who is of good 
 blood, will not consent to his wedding the 
 miller's daughter." 
 
 " Methinks I have seen Allan before, if 
 that be him," said Roger. " But what has 
 the girl done, that they treat her so ? " 
 
 " They say she is a dancing girl, and 
 has not a licence for the fair from the Earl 
 of Chester." 
 
 " That's the constable of the castle's 
 business," said Dutton, " and not that of 
 old Granville, the judge." 
 
 " Ay," replied the fiddler, " but the 
 judge wants her for his leman, I tell you. 
 He's a sad old mountain goat." 
 
 " I know him," said Dutton, signifi- 
 cantly ; but the fiddler at that moment 
 cried, " If Allan draws his sword upon 
 them, he will lose his hand ;" and looking 
 round again, he perceived that the harper 
 
16 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 was grasping his sheathed weapon in rather 
 a menacing manner. 
 
 Dutton could not resist his inclination 
 to interfere, though promising himself all 
 the while to fight no duel for a dancing 
 girl. 
 
 " Lend me thy cloak," he said to the 
 fiddler ; " thou shalt have it again in a 
 minute." 
 
 " Take it, noble sir, take it," replied the 
 man of music ; and throwing it over his 
 shoulders so as to conceal in part his richer 
 apparel, Dutton strode forward till he 
 nearly reached the spot where the officers 
 and their prisoner were slowly advancing, 
 determined to follow them into the court, 
 and see that justice was done. But at that 
 moment, burly Master Rouse gave the poor 
 girl another violent pull of the arm, and 
 Dutton's hot spirit could bear no more in 
 silence. 
 
 " Hallo, my men ! " he cried, the hood 
 still covering his face, " you seem some- 
 what rough with the lady. Draw not your 
 sword — draw not your sword, young man; 
 no one has a right to draw a sword here 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 17 
 
 but the Lord Constable or the Steward 
 of Chester. Treat the poor girl gently, 
 officers." 
 
 " And who art thou, that takest upon 
 thee ?" cried the fat man. 
 
 " Who, indeed?" said Rouse, in a furi- 
 ous tone. " Stand back, or I will knock 
 thy head ! " and he raised his hand, as if to 
 suit the action to the word. 
 
 The blood of Roger Dutton was up 
 in a moment ; and, with one blow of his 
 clenched fist, he struck his tall anta- 
 gonist headlong backwards amongst the 
 crowd. 
 
 The people were all rushing upon him, 
 and he would have been torn to pieces in a 
 moment ; but Roger Dutton strode across 
 him, waving them back, and exclaiming, 
 " Stand off, my masters, stand off! I will 
 serve the first man the same that touches a 
 hair of his head. Get up," he continued, 
 stirring the fallen officer with his foot, " get 
 up, and march on, — but touch not the 
 girl again with your finger. She shall go 
 with you quietly. Unhand her, thou tub 
 of butter ! Go quietly, fair lady, between 
 
18 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 them ; justice shall be done you. Allan, 
 come hither;" and he whispered a word in 
 the young harper's ear. 
 
 That word seemed to allay the youth's 
 fears ; for he, too, instantly cried, " Go, 
 Marian ; go — you will be safe." 
 
 In the mean while Master Rouse had 
 raised himself, grumbling and muttering, 
 from the ground, and looked round with a 
 face contorted by passion, and bearing very 
 significant marks of the blow he had re- 
 ceived. 
 
 •' Ha, ha! look at his eye !" cried one of 
 the crowd. 
 
 " He always was a beauty!" shouted 
 another. 
 
 " His nose will never get straight again!" 
 said a third. 
 
 " Unless he gets such a blow on t' other 
 side," replied a fourth. 
 
 " Those are not every day whacks ! " vo- 
 ciferated a new voice ; and under a torrent 
 of such jests, Master Rouse and his com 
 panion were fain to take their way on, pro- 
 mising themselves ample vengeance when 
 they got within the walls of the court, upon 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 19 
 
 him who had ventured to interrupt them in 
 pursuit of their gentle avocations. 
 
 The poor girl Marian, still trembling 
 and agitated, walked on between them; 
 while an elderly woman, dressed like an in- 
 ferior servant, followed close, whispering 
 words of comfort in her ear. Near the two 
 constables, and watching well their pro- 
 ceedings, came Dutton and the young 
 harper; while the fiddler, whom the young 
 gentleman had stripped of his cloak, seeing 
 that the group assumed somewhat of the 
 form of a procession, jumped into the front, 
 with a droll antic, and began playing a 
 rude but merry march upon his instru- 
 ment. 
 
 The boys laughed, the crowd shouted, 
 and in this guise the whole party, proceeding 
 through one of the long arcades of Chester, 
 reached the door of the Pied-poudre Court, 
 and began to enter more calmly and orderly 
 than might have been expected. It was a 
 •f ge hall, in one of the houses of the city, 
 situated within the limits of the fair; and, 
 at the further end, sat, before a huge table, 
 Glanville, the judge, with a number of 
 
20 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 clerks and people round him, amongst 
 whom were five or six tipstaves of his court. 
 On the right and left hand of the judge 
 were doorways, through which he himself 
 and his officers came in and went out, with- 
 out passing through the ordinary entrance 
 appropriated to the people. Glanville him- 
 self was a stout elderly man, with features 
 which had been handsome in the days of. 
 his youth, but with a twinkling eye some- 
 what wrinkled at the corner, and a large- 
 lipped sensual mouth, which spoke not well 
 for the propensities of the worthy judge. 
 
 " What is all this — what is all this ?" 
 he cried. " Stop that fiddler instantly. 
 How dare you disturb the court ? " 
 
 " I was trying my powers," replied the 
 fiddler, in whom the spirit of mirth was 
 wakened irrepressibly — " I was trying my 
 powers, like him of old, to see whether I 
 could not melt the stones and make the 
 beasts dance." 
 
 It is possible that this reply would have 
 subjected him to some severe treatment, 
 but that the judge's eye fell upon poor 
 Marian, the miller's daughter, and his face 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 21 
 
 lighted up with a look of unholy satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 "Ho, ho, maiden !" he exclaimed, "come 
 at last, are you ? How is it that you ven- 
 ture to dance and sing, and play the Tom- 
 blestere in Chester fair without a licence ? 
 Do you not know that you may be publicly 
 whipped for that ; or set upon a ram, with 
 your face to the tail, and exposed three 
 days through the fair to all the people ?" 
 
 " It must first be proved," said the young 
 harper, standing forward ; " it must first 
 be proved that she has done any thing of 
 the kind, which we all here deny." 
 
 Ha, Sir Malapert !" cried the judge ; 
 " is that you again ? 'We shall catch you 
 tripping some of these days. Where is the 
 man that saw the woman dancing?" 
 
 " I heard her sing," said a small sallow 
 man, with bluish tips to his countenance, 
 who stood at the judge's left hand, a some- 
 what exaggerated representation of Master 
 Slender. " I heard her sing as she and the 
 harper went through the fair." 
 
 " And what then, thou risen corpse of a 
 dead cobbler ! " cried Allan. " She sang; 
 
22 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 not for money. Thou canst not prove that 
 she or I took a sol of the people ; and who 
 shall stop us from singing any pleasant 
 geste we please, as well as any other persons 
 in the realm ? " 
 
 " Not in Chester fair — not in Chester 
 fair," cried the judge, " without licence of 
 the Earl, or Constable of the Castle. But 
 we will be merciful : she is too pretty to be 
 whipped, so let her be committed to our 
 prison for three days, or till she make hum- 
 ble suit and show penitence." 
 
 " Nay, but this is unjust," said Dutton, 
 advancing. 
 
 •"Who is that man?" exclaimed the 
 judge. " Pull off his hood, and let us 
 see his face." 
 
 " He struck me, your worship — he 
 struck me ! " vociferated Rouse. " He felled 
 me to the ground while bringing her hither." 
 
 " Ha !" cried the judge. " Seize him,- 
 officers ! we will have his hand struck off." 
 
 " Mighty good ! " answered Dutton. 
 " But, most worshipful sir, I would have 
 you hear me first. These good officers were 
 misusing the poor girl, and then, when I re- 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 23 
 
 monstrated sweetly with them, would have 
 laid hands on me. Now, I am no clerk 
 ecclesiastic to bear the imposition of hands 
 discreetly. I am one that would always 
 rather knock than be knocked ; so all men 
 — especially those good gentlemen coming 
 round towards me with their staves — had 
 better be somewhat reverent in the touch- 
 ing me; I pray your worship, listen for a 
 moment. This good youth has, as I take 
 it, bedecked himself as a harper, for the 
 purpose of courting and stealing away this 
 pretty maiden, with the sad and sober pur- 
 pose of matrimony — a great offence truly, 
 but not one within the cognizance of this 
 court." 
 
 Loud laughter and a shout of applause 
 broke in upon their grave deliberations for 
 a moment ; and the judge turned round 
 and whispered something to one of those 
 who stood near, which caused him instantly 
 to quit the court by the side door. 
 
 " As to the singing within the fair," 
 continued Dutton, " it must be proved 
 that the girl sang for hire or wages." 
 
 " Nay, master lawyer," cried Glanville, 
 
24 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEES. 
 
 with a look of sneering mockery, " you are 
 very learned; but we have power to commit 
 all lewd and disorderly persons, and as such 
 we commit her. Take her away, consta- 
 bles ! We will deal with the lawyer anon. 
 We have power to commit, I say, all lewd 
 and disorderly persons." 
 
 " And we have power to appeal," re- 
 plied Dutton, "to the court of the Earl of 
 Chester, and, failing justice therein, to the 
 King's court, at Westminster." 
 
 u But bail ! — we must have bail ! " cried 
 the judge. " And for your own offence," 
 he continued, " he who draws a sword in 
 strife within the limits of Chester fair, or 
 strikes an officer of the Pied-poudre Court, 
 forfeits his hand without appeal. Now, 
 officers, seize him too ! " 
 
 The latter words were addressed, not 
 only to the persons who had surrounded 
 him at first, but to a number of stout men 
 also, who — apparently sent for in haste — 
 had just entered the court from the side. 
 
 " Stay, stay," cried Dutton, in a tone or 
 some affected alarm. " Let me hear that 
 again! — Is there no appeal ?" 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 25 
 
 " None, none !" thundered the judge. 
 
 " Is there no exemption ?" demanded 
 Dutton. " Are there none can plead ex- 
 ception to the law ?" 
 
 " None but clerks ecclesiastic !" cried 
 Glanville, " which you declared yourself 
 not to be. None but clerks ecclesiastic, 
 I say." 
 
 " And the High Steward of Chester !" 
 cried Dutton, throwing off the fiddler's 
 cloak and casting back his hood at the 
 same time ; while a loud shout that made 
 the whole hall ring, as if the roof would 
 fall, burst from the people. 
 
 " A Dutton ! A Dutton ! Long live 
 gay Roger Dutton ! God's blessing on 
 the noble Steward ! Foul fall the judge, 
 and a Dutton for ever ! " burst from a hun- 
 dred lips, while the clerks and constables 
 of the Pied-poudre Court looked extremely 
 blank and chapfallen. Not so, however, 
 the judge, who, trembling with rage and 
 anger, fixed his eyes fiercely upon Dutton, 
 tearing a roll of paper which he held in 
 his hands in two, in the mad excitement 
 of passion. 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
26 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 " John Glanville, thou art a luxurious 
 knave ! " said Roger Dutton, " and 
 shrewd lawyer as thou art, thou hast over- 
 shot thy mark. This poor girl shall not 
 be given up to thee. I will be her bail." 
 
 " Ah, Roger Dutton, Roger Dutton!" 
 cried the judge ; " what ! one leman more ? 
 But I will not take thy bail ; thou art a 
 party to the cause. I must have three 
 sufficient sureties. Take her away, con- 
 stables ! I charge you, by my authority, 
 take her away ; and if he hinders you by 
 wagging a finger in this court, I will com- 
 mit him, though I dare not touch him in 
 life or members." 
 
 A slight shade of doubt and hesitation 
 passed over Dutton's face ; for he knew 
 that the judge had now law, though not 
 justice on his side, and there was but one 
 resource — to make might support right, 
 whatever the law might say. 
 
 He whispered a word then to Allan, the 
 harper, who instantly seemed to pass it to 
 the people near, and then moved himself 
 towards the door, while Dutton exclaimed 
 in a loud voice, " Take notice, every one, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 27 
 
 that he refuses the bail of the High Steward, 
 upon a false pretence! If justice be not 
 done, we must do justice to ourselves. 
 Stand back, my men — stand back ! Once 
 more, Glanville, I offer you my bail. Lay 
 finger on her, if you dare, Nicholas Rouse. 
 You know Roger Dutton ! " 
 
 " He contemns the court," shouted 
 Glanville, in a voice not less loud than his 
 opponent ; " he stands committed. Of- 
 ficers, do your duty, at every risk. Seize 
 on them both, and away with them to the 
 common gaol ! " 
 
 " Oh, then, if that be so," cried Dutton, 
 " mark ye, that he drives me to resist with 
 the armed hand ! Out of the way, fiddler 
 — out of the way ! Clear the road to the 
 door, Allan, I will take care of the girl ; " 
 and throwing back the edge of his cloak, he 
 drew his heavy sword with his right hand, 
 the bright blade flashing in the eyes of the 
 officers, and making them stagger back in 
 no light alarm. 
 
 In the mean time, Allan, the harper, 
 drew on his fair Marian towards the door, 
 the crowd separating on each side to let 
 c 2 
 
28 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 them pass ; while Roger Dutton followed 
 close behind, with his naked sword in his 
 hand, striking no one, but keeping a wary- 
 watch around, and the judge, half mad 
 with rage, nearly leaped over the table in 
 the vehemence of his denunciations, crying 
 out, " Let him not pass ! let him not pass! 
 Strike him down with your partisans ! he 
 is a rebel to justice ! a committed criminal! 
 a traitor ! Strike him down, I say ! I will 
 put you in the stocks if you let him pass." 
 
 None of the court keepers who were 
 armed with partisans ventured to use them in 
 the violent manner that the judge desired ; 
 but one of them, a stout, burly, determined 
 fellow, pushed through the crowd just as 
 the young nobleman and the rest were ap- 
 proaching the door, and thrusting the staff 
 of the long heavy weapon that he carried 
 between Marian and her lover, as he was 
 hurrying her along, suddenly separated 
 them from each other, and cast himself in 
 the way. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " cried the judge, with a tri- 
 umphant shout ; and all the officers of the 
 court instantly made a rush to capture the 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 29 
 
 Steward of Chester and the object of his 
 generous rashness. 
 
 But the crowd of those who took part 
 with the opponents of the court, though 
 they dared not offer open resistance, were 
 not altogether inactive. The fiddler, making 
 a wilful false step in the way of the tipstaff 
 Rouse, just as he was rushing on, came 
 suddenly upon his knees, and the long- 
 shanked officer fell over him with most dis- 
 astrous effect ; for his heels in the tumble 
 hit the stomach of his stout companion, 
 who was knocked backwards against the 
 table, and drove the large inkhorn into the 
 lap of the judge. Numbers of others, harp- 
 ers, rote-players, trumpeters, ballad-sing- 
 ers, and conjurers, cast themselves between 
 the officers and the objects of their pur- 
 suit, with an affected eagerness to get out 
 of the hall where this scene of confusion 
 was taking place, and in a moment all was 
 scramble and disarray. 
 
 Blows were given by the constables with 
 very little ceremony ; objurgations and re- 
 monstrances were shouted forth by the 
 mob, and the voice of the judge was heard 
 c 3 
 
30 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 above all, roaring forth orders, directions, 
 and reproaches, part of which could not be 
 heard, and none of which were attended to. 
 In the mean while, Roger Dutton drew a 
 step back, whirled his blade round his head, 
 as if about to cleave the burly court-keeper 
 to the waist, and then, with one blow, 
 severed the staff of his raised partisan in 
 two, the heavy iron axe that formed the 
 head falling to the ground with a loud 
 ringing sound, amidst the merriment of the 
 beholders. The man, however, who was 
 determined as well as bold, still kept his 
 place ; and seeing no other resource, Dutton 
 knocked him down with the pommel of his 
 sword, caught up the light form of Marian 
 as if she had been a feather, and the people 
 making a lane, he bore her at once out of 
 the court into the open air. 
 
 " Away ! away!" he cried to Allan the 
 harper, who had been struggling to make 
 his way back to the side of his love. " Away 
 to the castle ! This is no time for delay." 
 And, still carrying Marian in his arms, he 
 proceeded with a hasty step through the 
 narrow streets, followed by a number of 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 31 
 
 those who had crowded the court-house, 
 and were all anxious to cover his retreat. 
 
 Speed and precaution, indeed, were not 
 a little needed, for in vomiting forth the 
 crowd, the Pied-poudre Court poured out 
 all its force of constables too. They were 
 furious with anger and disappointment; and 
 on they rushed in the pursuit, gaining 
 something on Roger Dutton and his fair 
 burden, though interrupted at every step 
 by the manoeuvres of the rabble, who took 
 a pleasure in impeding and annoying them. 
 At length they seemed resolved to observe 
 no mean, but indiscriminately knocked down 
 every body who came in their way, and by 
 this proceeding had cleared the path to some 
 ten or twelve yards of the young steward, 
 while he was yet at least a hundred from 
 the gates of the castle. 
 
 Under the archway of the gate itself, 
 however, were standing at that moment 
 the whole party whom we have shown tak- 
 ing their merry walk through the fair. 
 The crowd, the confusion, the young lord 
 in flight, the constables pursuing, were all 
 clearly perceivable by those above. Some 
 c 4 
 
32 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEES. 
 
 twelve or fourteen armed men ran down at 
 full speed ; and just as Roger Dutton saw 
 that he would be obliged to turn and face 
 his pursuers, his friends came up, giving 
 him the assistance of a force that the adver- 
 sary dared not attack. 
 
 Setting; down his fair burden, whose 
 hand was instantly caught by Allan, the 
 harper, Dutton exclaimed, " Up with her 
 to the castle, Allan — quick ! " and then 
 turning towards the obnoxious officers of 
 the Pied-poudre Court, he cried, " Back, 
 hounds — back to your kennel, and tell 
 John Glanville that he shall be punished 
 for his insolence. Ay, by those who have 
 a right to punish him ; and moreover, that 
 if I catch him out of the walls of Chester, 
 I will cut his ears like a bobtailed cur, 
 that all men may know who it is, when they . 
 meet with the liquorish and unjust judge." 
 
 " Long live Roger Dutton, gay Roger 
 Dutton ! Long live the minstrel's friend ! 
 A Dutton for ever ! a Dutton for ever ! " 
 cried the crowd ; and while the object of 
 their gratulations bent his steps onward to 
 the castle, little knowing the unpleasant 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 33 
 
 reception that was prepared for him, the 
 constables retreated, grumbling and abu- 
 sive, and the mob dispersed to bear the 
 news of Roger Dutton's exploit through 
 the whole fair, and to celebrate his name 
 that night with songs and merriment.* 
 
 * By some persons the hero of this tale is called 
 Hugh Dutton, and it is stated that he was steward 
 to Roger, or John de Lacy, constable of Chester 
 Castle. But it is proved by other records, that 
 Dutton was nearly allied to the Lord de Lacy, and 
 not merely his steward, but High Steward of Ches- 
 ter. 
 
 c 5 
 
34 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE MUSTER. 
 
 " What now ? what now ?" cried the con- 
 stable of Chester castle. " What is all this 
 about ? What has mad Roger Dutton been 
 doing now ? — My son-in-law ! By the 
 Lord, I believe, if ever he becomes my 
 son-in-law, he'll set Chester a-fire, and make 
 all the fiddlers in the country come to play 
 to the flames ! " 
 
 Such were the words that Roger Dutton 
 heard as he approached the gate of the 
 castle, but, nevertheless, he came on laugh- 
 ing ; for he knew good old Hellfire de Lacy 
 well, and that, notwithstanding the very 
 fierce and savage nickname which he had 
 acquired by some of the rash and daring, 
 but chivalrous enterprises of his youth, he 
 was a good-hearted but quick-spirited knight 
 as any at the court of England. His hopes, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 35 
 
 his fears, his anger, his passions of every 
 kind, in short, were in a blaze in a moment, 
 but were extinguished as quickly; and there 
 was one quality, at least, which was lasting 
 and unchangeable — his devotion to those 
 he loved. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha! my noble lord," cried 
 Dutton, as he came up, " we have had a 
 rare encounter with old Glanville. The 
 villain has been so insolent that, had he not 
 been in his court, where one must show 
 some respect for the law, I would have 
 made the people take him and put him in 
 the horse-pond, up to his chin, to quench 
 the unholy fire that burns in the veins of 
 the old satyr." 
 
 " No more brawling — no more brawl- 
 ing, Roger ! " said the good Lord de Lacy. 
 " On my life, I never see thee go forth but 
 I expect to hear that thou art stocked or 
 put in the pillory. But thou hast done 
 worse for thyself, I can tell thee, good 
 Roger," he continued, " than if thou hadst 
 been in the stocks for an hour." 
 
 " Why, what now?" cried Roger Dutton 
 — " what have 4 1 done but protected a poor 
 c 6 
 
36 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 innocent girl from being shut up in a prison 
 at the will and discretion of this corrupt 
 judge till the fair be over? — there is no 
 great harm in that, my lord, I trow." 
 
 " Faith, I know nothing about it," re- 
 plied De Lacy, shrugging his shoulders ; 
 "but when my girl Mary saw thee with 
 the wench in thy arms, she turned as white 
 as a Flemish sheet, the tears came up in her 
 eyes, and away she went to her chamber 
 like a startled rabbit to its burrow, without 
 ever looking behind her. Hie thee away 
 to her, Roger Dutton, and make thy peace. 
 Body of Judas ! what a hot house you two 
 will make of it when you are married, if 
 you go on thus with one flame or another 
 during courtship ! First it is love, then it 
 is jealousy — then it is anger, then it comes 
 round to love again. If one had but a 
 turnspit dog ready, one could roast a 
 haunch of venison at your fire any day of 
 the week." 
 
 " She shall never have any cause for 
 jealousy, my good lord," replied Roger 
 Dutton, " either before or after marriage." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! make no rash vow, Roger!" 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 37 
 
 cried the old lord. " If thou keepest 
 that, thou art the first Dutton that ever 
 lived of the kidney, and sieves will carry- 
 water ever after. — Well, hie thee to her, 
 boy, and soothe her down ! I will talk to 
 these good folks thou hast brought, and 
 hear the tale from them. Night is drawing 
 on, and we must soon to the table." 
 
 " I beseech you, my good lord, deal with 
 Allan and his young love kindly," said 
 Roger Dutton. " I've seen him with 
 Prince Henry's band, and, if I remember 
 right, he was reputed a good soldier. As 
 for the girl, too, though she be a truant, 
 she's no light-o'-love, I will warrant her." 
 
 " Warrant her, Roger Dutton!" cried 
 the old knight, laughing till the tears ran 
 down his cheeks ; " think of Roger war- 
 ranting a maid's honesty ! Get thee gone 
 — get thee gone to thy jealous-pated lady- 
 love, and make the pretty little linnet be- 
 lieve thee as innocent as an Easter lamb, if 
 thou canst, Roger Dutton. Bring her 
 down to supper at all events, and we will 
 patch up your peace again somehow." 
 
 Roger Dutton waited not for more bid- 
 
38 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 ding, but entered the castle, and strode 
 away to fair Mary de Lacy's chamber. As 
 in duty and propriety bound, he knocked 
 at the door three several times : — first, 
 softly and humbly, like a sparrow picking 
 up seeds of grain — next, with a tap some- 
 what more loud and firm, and then sharply 
 and impatiently ; but neither way produced 
 he any reply ; and, as Roger Dutton's was 
 certainly not a faint heart, but one well 
 calculated to win a fair lady, he opened 
 the door and walked straight in. 
 
 Mary de Lacy was sitting by the window, 
 weeping, with one of her maids standing 
 near, and giving that sort of consolation 
 which makes people inclined to weep more ; 
 but Roger went up to his promised bride, 
 at once inquiring, " What ails you, dearest 
 Mary?" 
 
 " Ails me!" she cried, looking up at 
 him, with her pretty eyes full of reproaches ; 
 " do you ask me that question, when I've 
 seen you with my own eyes holding an idle 
 dancing girl clasped in your arms ? " 
 
 " Good faith, sweet love! " replied Roger, 
 " 'tis well that I have arms left to clasp any 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 39 
 
 one in ; for sour old Glanville would fain 
 have struck off a part of one, and that the 
 most useful part too, for but defending this 
 poor girl and her lover from his minions 
 and himself; — but come, Mary dear, wipe 
 away those needless tears, and go down 
 with me, to promise comfort and protection 
 to this wandering maiden. She needs it 
 much ; and Mary's heart's a kind one, 
 though, as the fool said to-day, a little 
 jealous." 
 
 " Marry come up!" cried the maid, in 
 a loud aside. 
 
 " Ay, that fool you talk of, Roger Dut- 
 ton," replied the fair lady, rising, and 
 turning towards the window, " was a good 
 prophet. — Fight a duel for a dancing 
 girl, indeed ! Who would have thought 
 it ? — and yet it has come true, it 
 seems." 
 
 " Ay, and he told me, too," said Dutton, 
 " that, though she be somewhat jealous, I 
 shall have my fair lady's hand." 
 
 " In that I will take care he be mistaken," 
 rejoined the lady, who, though naturally 
 as kindly as a warm day in spring, was, to 
 
40 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEES. 
 
 say sooth, somewhat of a spoiled child. 
 " Am I to have it said," she continued — 
 "am I to have it said that I wedded the 
 man who was famous for fighting in behalf 
 of the dancing girls and tomblesteres of the 
 fair? and that, as a fitting sight for his 
 bride, he brought up one of them in his 
 arms to Chester castle? No, no, Roger 
 Dutton. I have sent away to my cousin 
 Edith, at Rothelan, to say that I will join 
 her to-morrow early, rather than stay two 
 sunsets in a castle where we have such 
 guests." 
 
 " You have not sent yet?" said Roger 
 Dutton. " Let me go and stop the mes- 
 senger." 
 
 " Nay, but I have," replied the lady. 
 " Stop him if you can, Roger Dutton — 
 there he goes ! " 
 
 Roger Dutton started to the window, 
 and, sure enough, there he saw a man on 
 horseback riding away from the gates at full 
 speed. 
 
 " This is unkind, Mary," he exclaimed 
 
 " this is most unkind, when I came hither 
 
 on purpose from Dutton, to spend but 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 41 
 
 three short days with you, to turn it all to 
 bitterness in this manner." 
 
 " Nay, it is you that are unkind, Roger," 
 replied the lady, who, to say sooth, now that 
 the act was done, was somewhat sorry for 
 her rashness — " 'tis you that are unkind. 
 Why did you do this, then ?" 
 
 " Why did I do it ? " asked Roger, re- 
 proachfully. " Because 1 am a gentleman 
 and a knight, lady — because I am bound 
 by my knightly oath to aid a woman when 
 I see her injured and oppressed — that's 
 why I did it. Where is the gentleman 
 who would not do the same ? I found a 
 poor girl dragged along by those two ruf- 
 fian tipstaves of the Pied-poudre Court ; I 
 learned that she was not a dancing girl, 
 but an innocent maiden, upon whom wanton 
 John Glanville had cast his foul eye ; I saw 
 that her lover was a good young soldier, 
 whom I had known in " 
 
 " Her lover ! " cried the lady, in a changed 
 tone. " Had she a lover with her ? " 
 
 " Ay, lady," replied Roger Dutton, "a 
 lover as true as your own." 
 
 " No great reputation, Roger," replied 
 
42 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Mary de Lacy, half laughing, half crying ; 
 " but I knew not she had a lover at all." 
 
 " And, if she had not," answered Roger 
 Dutton, who was in truth somewhat angry, 
 " I would have done just the same. Do 
 you think, Mary, that I would see a woman, 
 an innocent, inoffensive woman, dragged on 
 by the arm, through a crowd of people, 
 with pain, and shame, and ignominy, to be 
 delivered up in the end to a wanton judge 
 like that, and then cast in the common 
 prison, to be treated at his will, and not 
 step forward to defend and protect her ? " 
 
 Mary cast down her eyes, and Roger 
 Dutton continued. " Do you think that 
 I would see her condemned, against all 
 justice and honesty? Do you think that 
 I would leave her in the power of that 
 wicked man ? Do you think I would my- 
 self remain insulted and ill-treated — my 
 bail refused — my honesty assailed — myself 
 committed to a prison, and not make way 
 for her and myself too with my right 
 hand?" 
 
 "God forbid! Roger," cried Mary, 
 frankly, while the tears poured from her 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 43 
 
 eyes. " I have been wrong, I have been 
 hasty — but you should have told me — 
 that is to say, I did not know all this." 
 
 " That is my own Mary, now," cried 
 Roger Dutton, casting his arms round her 
 — " always frank and generous, though 
 somewhat rash and jealous." 
 
 " But where is this lover?" asked Mary 
 de Lacy, with a little drop of the poison 
 still lingering in her cup. 
 
 " He is here in the castle," replied 
 Dutton ; " come and see them both, dear 
 girl — you must befriend them. 'Twas 
 but that they were separated by the people 
 of the court, and then hard pressed, that 
 caused me to catch her up and bear her 
 hither. We had no time for much arrange- 
 ment, sweet one ! But thou art a naughty 
 girl, Mary. — What's to be done about this 
 messenger to Rothelan ? — You have pu- 
 nished me for nothing, Mary." 
 
 " I have punished myself too, Roger," 
 said the lady, looking in his face, with her 
 bright blue eyes still tearful. " Margaret, 
 you are a wicked woman to name such a 
 scheme ! " 
 
44 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 " Lord, lady !" replied the waiting- woman, 
 " 'tis easily amended. Mother of the an- 
 gels ! 'tis much ado about nothing ! Why 
 not send another messenger to-morrow, 
 and say you cannot come ?" 
 
 " Edith will think me mad," replied her 
 lady, " and my good uncle Ranulph will 
 say there is no end to my caprices. Well, 
 be it so ! — it matters not. They shall say 
 what they will, and that shall be my pu- 
 nishment. I'll send, and tell Edith the 
 truth, Roger. I'll say that 'twas a fit of 
 rash and needless jealousy. My good 
 father will be pleased to see me hum- 
 bled ; for he told me I would repent, when 
 I asked him to send the messenger so 
 quickly." 
 
 " Well, come, dear Mary," said Roger 
 Dutton — "come! you shall be kind to 
 this poor girl ; and you will soon see she 
 has a lover who need not even fear a Dut- 
 ton, though we are an all-captivating race, 
 dear Mary." 
 
 He spoke laughing, and took her hand 
 to lead her down, while she replied, with 
 all her smiles restored, " You are a con- 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 45 
 
 ceited race, at all events, and we women 
 help to spoil you." 
 
 Thus saying, she suffered him to draw 
 her arm through his ; and they left the 
 chamber, loitering, perhaps, for a moment 
 on the stairs to speak sweet words, with 
 which the reader shall have nought to do. 
 In the hall below they found the stout Lord 
 Constable, with one or two of his good 
 men-at-arms, talking frankly with the young 
 minstrel Allan and his bride, and listening 
 to all that Roger Dutton had done — now 
 calling him a rash, foolish boy — now 
 swearing that he would crop John of Glan- 
 ville's ears, for offering such indignity to 
 the Steward of Chester. 
 
 " Ha! Mary, ha! have you come ?" he 
 cried, as he saw his daughter enter. "What, 
 how now ! Your eyes are red ! So the 
 storm passed off in rain, eh, pretty mistress ? 
 Here's the fair cause of all the mischief." 
 
 " I grieve to be so much, lady," said 
 the poor girl whom Roger had rescued. 
 " I was sure you would be terrified for this 
 noble lord." 
 
 " 'Twasnot that — 'twas not that," replied 
 
46 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Mary de Lacy, with her cheek glowing like 
 a rose. " I have been a very silly girl, 
 but I will make up for it in kindness to 
 you. Come with me ; you shall first tell 
 me all your story, and J will give you into 
 the hands of those who will treat you well. 
 You do not look like one that would do a 
 bad act." 
 
 " Not for the world, I will answer for 
 her, lady," replied the minstrel, stepping 
 forward. " I have given her my whole hap- 
 piness to keep, and I am sure she will guard 
 the treasure, and increase it too. But I 
 must back to the fair, my noble lord. 
 There is an old faithful servant of Ma- 
 rian s mother, who would come with us 
 when we ran away — she's left behind, my 
 lord." 
 
 " No, no, she's here without," cried one 
 of De Lacy's gentlemen who had just come 
 in. "I found her miauling like a cat after 
 her nine kittens, and made her come into 
 the court." 
 
 "Send for her — send for her," said 
 Mary de Lacy — " they shall sleep together 
 in the little room out of my bower, dear 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 47 
 
 father. I will be back again ere supper is 
 served." 
 
 She was turning to go away, when her 
 father stopped her for a moment, with a 
 grave smile, saying, " You know the mes- 
 senger is gone to Rothelan, my hasty 
 daughter ? " 
 
 u Ay, I know," replied Mary, laughing 
 and blushing at the same time — " but 
 Roger has explained." 
 
 " Better have heard his explanation ere 
 you sent the messenger," said De Lacy ; 
 " I told you you would repent." 
 
 " Nay, nay, but we will send again to- 
 morrow," said his daughter ; u we will send 
 to Edith, and say " 
 
 " No, on my life ! " cried the Lord Con- 
 stable. " No, Mary — what's done shall not 
 be undone. First, I have no men to spare 
 upon such errands — those I despatched 
 the other day will not return this week, 
 and I have but enough to guard the castle 
 properly ; next, my dear child, you must 
 learn a lesson. Such hasty passion brings 
 its own punishment ; and to prevent its 
 bringing a heavier one hereafter, when no 
 
48 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 one can remedy it, I will make this little 
 act irrevocable too. You go to Rothelan 
 to-morrow, or my name's not De Lacy." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my dear lord," cried Roger 
 Dutton ; " remember, you punish me too." 
 
 "Not a word, Roger — not a word ! " 
 said the old soldier. " I will adhere to my 
 story. As for punishing you, when is the 
 day you do not need it, you quarrelsome 
 rogue ? So you shall do penance, by your 
 lady's absence ; and if it be any punishment 
 for her to be away from you, 'tis her own 
 act . — she has none to thank for it but 
 herself." 
 
 Mary de Lacy burst into tears, and, taking 
 the girl Marian's hand, led her quickly away 
 out of the hall. 
 
 " Well, I will go with her, then," said 
 Dutton ; " the Earl will give me welcome, 
 I will warrant." 
 
 " Not so, Sir Roger," cried the old 
 man ; " I want you here. You shall ac- 
 company her to the boundary of the county, 
 if you please. I must send men to guard 
 her, but, on the border of Flintshire, 
 Ranulph of Chester sends men to meet her ; 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 49 
 
 for I must have my own men back again, 
 and you must come with them." 
 
 Roger Button looked as if he had not 
 the slightest intention of doing any thing 
 of the kind ; but the old lord laid his hand 
 upon his arm, saying, " Hark ye, my dear 
 boy, this must be as I will — the day will 
 come when you will thank me for it. My 
 poor good lady, who is gone, and I, too — 
 for I will not shirk my share — have done 
 what we could to spoil as sweet and kind a 
 girl as ever lived, and she must have some 
 little check, not only to teach her she is 
 rash, for that she knows already, but to 
 make her own high spirit gall her. I will 
 have it so, Roger — I will have it so ; and 
 you must promise to come back from the 
 border, or I will not let you go with her." 
 
 " Well, my good lord," replied Roger 
 Dutton, "if it must be so, it must; but I 
 grieve to see Mary pained." 
 
 " All the more reason I should pain her, 
 then," answered her father ; " for if her 
 husband spoils her as a wife, after her parents 
 have spoiled her as a girl — body of St. 
 
 vol. n. D 
 
50 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 Barnabas ! what a shrew the old woman 
 will be!" 
 
 Roger Dutton could scarcely refrain from 
 a smile ; and, to say truth, he was not quite 
 sure, in his heart, that the old Lord Con- 
 stable was in the wrong. 
 
 " Well, I must go and soothe her," he 
 said, " my lord ; but I must say, it is some- 
 what hard upon me, when I am here but 
 for a few days." 
 
 "Pooh ! " cried De Lacy, bluffly. "You'll 
 soon have enough of her — perhaps too 
 much — though that's a lie, too, for she's 
 a dear, kind girl, and I know not how the 
 castle hall will look without her when she 
 is your wife, Dutton. But go to her — 
 go to her, and try to stop her from crying ; 
 I do not love to see her tears ; but yet, in 
 this matter, I will have my way." 
 
 Roger Dutton left him without reply. 
 The supper was served and the good Lord 
 de Lacy impatient, before the two lovers 
 made their appearance again ; for as they 
 found they were to have so little of each 
 other's society they thought they might as 
 well have it undiluted, and therefore sat in 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEES. 51 
 
 Mary's chamber till the last moment, with 
 good Mrs. Margaret talking to the miller's 
 daughter and her poor follower at a very- 
 respectful distance. 
 
 What Roger Dutton had said to Mary 
 de Lacy, or what Mary de Lacy had said 
 to Roger Dutton, does not appear upon 
 the face of the authentic records of the 
 house of De Lacy, but there is good reason 
 to suspect that he promised her to find an 
 excuse for visiting Chester Castle again 
 ere ten days were over, and that she pro- 
 mised him to receive him without any 
 jealousy when he did come. They both 
 agreed, too, as there were so many un- 
 pleasant things daily happening in court- 
 ship, that it would be better to get that pro- 
 bationary season over as soon as possible, 
 and be married whenever the good old lord 
 would let them. Thus, when they appeared 
 at the supper- table, both were much more 
 calm and tranquil than when they had left 
 the hall — a little grave, perhaps, but Mary 
 soon recovered all her cheerfulness ; Roger 
 Dutton was never long without his full 
 share of that sunshiny quality ; and Allan, 
 d 2 
 
 "• -? ILL LIB, 
 
52 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 the harper, played them many an inspiring 
 air upon his instrument, while Marian va- 
 ried the hours with a sweet wild song of 
 Lancashire, from which county the poor 
 girl came. Thus the time flew almost 
 quicker than either Roger Button or Mary 
 de Lacy liked, and good night was said be- 
 fore either of them thought they had been 
 half happy enough to make up for the pass- 
 ing sorrow which had come and gone. 
 
 Early in the morning the horses were 
 saddled in the court-yard — for although 
 ladies were not in those days quite such 
 fragile creatures as at present, yet they were 
 still subject to fatigue and other ills of the 
 kind ; and the journey, on horseback, from 
 Chester to Rothelan was, as the reader 
 knows, a long one. Roger Dutton lifted 
 his lady-love into the saddle, after she had 
 been duly embraced and admonished by her 
 father, and sprang upon his own horse's 
 back, but not before the Lord Constable had 
 made him repeat a promise to leave Mary 
 on the border of Flint, as soon as she was 
 safe under the escort of the men of her uncle 
 Ranulph, and to return to Chester Castle. 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 53 
 
 The journey passed away happily — the 
 summer clouds chased each other lightly 
 over their heads — the varying thoughts of 
 love floated not unlike them through their 
 bosoms — their conversation swept, like the 
 shadows of those vapours, over all the 
 things on earth, brightening every thing 
 with changing light and shade — and, in 
 short, the sweet young season of the heart 
 was upon them, above them, around them, 
 metamorphosing every thing by its magic 
 power into its own image. The moments 
 will fly, however, dear reader,- and the 
 brighter ones have still the swallow's wings, 
 flitting near us and passing away from us 
 with equal rapidity. The borders of Flint- 
 shire were reached at length : some half- 
 dozen spearmen were waiting for Mary's 
 escort ; and, though Mistress Margaret 
 vowed that she was tired and her mistress 
 like to drop, they would not consent to 
 pause above a quarter of an hour to allow 
 the lady time for repose, alleging that their 
 lord had ordered their instant return, for 
 reasons best known to himself. 
 
 There was no help for it, and they parted : 
 D 3 
 
54 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Roger Dutton taking his way back, gloomy 
 enough, to Chester Castle, and Mary wend- 
 ing on, still more sadly, to Rothelan, think- 
 ing what a silly girl she had been, and 
 sometimes asking herself how long Marian, 
 the miller's daughter, would remain at 
 Chester. 
 
 It was evening, though not dark, when 
 the party which escorted the lady came in 
 sight of Rothelan ; and Mary remarked 
 that the soldiers of her escort urged on 
 the horses more quickly towards the end of 
 the journey, which she thought strange, 
 considering that both beasts and riders were 
 by that time tired. Often, too, did they look 
 up to the neighbouring hills, and Mary at 
 length asked whether they expected a storm? 
 The reply was briefly, " No, lady, the sky 
 looks fair ; " but still they gazed up, and 
 once or twice spoke together in a low tone. 
 
 At Rothelan, however, a warm welcome 
 waited her from her mother's brother and 
 her fair cousin, Edith ; and so glad were 
 they to see her, so much did they thank 
 her for coming, that she could not help re- 
 proaching herself for feeling so little plea- 
 sure in being with those who loved her 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 55 
 
 much. There let us leave her, however, 
 and return to the good town of Chester 
 and its old castle. 
 
 Roger Dutton reached the gates an hour 
 before sunset, and found the good De Lacy 
 playing at quoits with some of the house- 
 hold in the castle- yard. Allan, the harper, 
 was with the rest, and much did his strength 
 and skill seem to surprise the old lord. Allan 
 had just delivered a quoit, when gay Roger 
 Dutton rode through the gate, and at that 
 very moment De Lacy was exclaiming — 
 " Do that three times, and thou shalt wed 
 her to-morrow in the castle chapel, let who 
 will say nay. By the bones of St. Luke ! 
 thou shalt have a farm in soccage with her 
 which shall make thy father leap to see her. 
 — Do that three times, I say !" 
 
 "Your word is pledged, my lord!" 
 cried Allan. " Wish me good luck, Ma- 
 rian ! — Now, then, to win ! " and stretch- 
 ing forth his arm, poising well the iron 
 round, while Marian blushed like a rose, he 
 pitched it, with strong and unerring aim, 
 to the desired spot, amidst a shout of gra- 
 tulation from the frank soldiery. Again, 
 d 4 
 
56 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 and again, he did it without the variation 
 of a dagger's breadth ; and the old lord, 
 full of his bluff enthusiasm, took him in his 
 arms and hugged him, exclaiming — " Thou 
 shalt have her! thou shalt have her, and 
 the farm too ! A bridal ! a bridal, Roger 
 Dutton ! " 
 
 " Would it were mine ! " said Dutton, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " Well, boy," cried the Constable, " thine 
 shall be soon enough. What is it stops 
 thee ? I make no objection. She may be 
 thine this day week, if thou and she can 
 agree about it." 
 
 Let not the reader think that this is an 
 exaggerated picture of those times. Many 
 more serious things than a wedding have 
 been concluded even more quickly in the 
 days we speak of ; and countries have been 
 plunged in war for half a century for less 
 matters than a game at quoits. Well satis- 
 fied, however, was Roger Dutton — well 
 satisfied, too, were Allan and his bride ; 
 and, when noon of the next day approached, 
 the old Lord Constable appeared, at the 
 altar in the chapel, as father to fair Marian, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 57 
 
 while Roger Dutton stood beside the young 
 harper, and a priest with a book between 
 them. 
 
 The irrevocable words were spoken, the 
 ring was on the finger, and Allan and Ma- 
 rian were man and wife — with no fear of 
 courts of chancery before their eyes, no 
 chances of nullification for want of due 
 formalities. The will of the Constable of 
 Chester was quite sufficient licence for the 
 priest ; and the Roman-catholic faith had, 
 at all events, the advantage of rendering all 
 things that it meddled with more stable 
 than most matters are in times of constant 
 change. Allan looked at his bride with 
 eyes of love, the good Lord de Lacy took 
 toll of her lips, Roger Dutton kissed her 
 cheek, as Mary was not by, and many a 
 jesting congratulation saluted the fair couple 
 from the little congregation of the castle 
 chapel. 
 
 But, alas ! if rites and ceremonies were 
 stable in those days, and the law rendered 
 inviolable the church's doings, human fate 
 was then as changeable as it is now, and 
 no arm was strong enough, any more than 
 d 5 
 
58 THE EIGHT OE THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 at present, to shelter joy from fortune's 
 will, even for an hour. The bridal party- 
 were walking down the aisle towards the 
 door — the dinner was already smoking in 
 the hall— laughter and merriment shook 
 the old oaken roof of the chapel, when, sud- 
 denly, the blast of a trumpet was heard at 
 the castle gate, and the moment after, as De 
 Lacy and the rest issued forth into the court, 
 a heated, dusty horseman rode in and sprang 
 to the ground, with letters in his hand. 
 
 " What news, Walter? What news from 
 Rothelan ? " demanded De Lacy eagerly, 
 for there was that in the man's look which 
 bespoke danger as well as haste. 
 
 " What news ? " asked Roger Dutton, 
 not less anxiously. 
 
 " Cold tidings, my good lords," replied 
 the messenger. " My comrade has not 
 reached you, then ? — He's gone, poor fel- 
 low ! Me they chased four miles." 
 
 " Who ? who ? " exclaimed the Consta- 
 ble. " Light of my eyes ! the man thinks 
 we are conjurors, to read his meaning with- 
 out words. Who, I say ? — Give me the 
 letters ! " 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 59 
 
 " There, my lord," replied the messen- 
 ger, giving the packet that he carried. 
 " Rothelan is invested by the Welshmen — 
 full ten thousand." 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed De Lacy. 
 " There's not ten thousand Welshmen in 
 the world ! Read, Roger ! read ! I never 
 could make much of it, and now my eyes 
 are somewhat blind with age. What says 
 our good brother-in-law ? " 
 
 " Sad tidings, noble lord," replied Roger 
 Dutton. " He is, indeed, besieged in Ro- 
 thelan by a large force of Welsh. Scanty 
 provision has he, and small store of arms. 
 He does beseech you, send him instant help 
 — they pour against his battlements like 
 hail ; and he has scarce force enough to 
 guard the walls by day, with few to spare 
 for needful rest." 
 
 " Mary, Mother ! this is an evil chance !" 
 cried the old lord ; u and I have not a score 
 of men to spare. How many are there, 
 Roger?" 
 
 " He does not say, my lord," replied 
 Dutton. "Yes, stay — he does! Some 
 d 6 
 
60 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 six or seven thousand angry Welshmen he 
 calls them — six or seven thousand ! " 
 " This for our sins ! " exclaimed De Lacy. 
 " Shall I say a mass, my lord ? " asked 
 the priest. 
 
 " Masses to hell ! " cried the Constable. 
 " 'Tis men we want ! What can be done ? 
 Where can we turn ? You must ride out 
 to all the neighbouring lands, and see what 
 you can raise ere night. I may not quit 
 the castle, for my oath, till this cursed fair 
 be over. To horse, Roger ! — to horse ! 
 You can gather a hundred men ere night." 
 "Night! my lord," cried Roger Dut- 
 ton — " 'twill be too late. A hundred 
 men ! — what can they do ? " 
 
 " Hark, my good lords!" exclaimed 
 
 Allan, the harper. " I have a plan. Down 
 in the fair there is many a thousand sturdy 
 fellows, made for strong blows — active, 
 
 though idle — brave, though wild enough. 
 
 Methinks, at Roger Dutton's name alone, 
 
 one half, at least, would follow to the 
 
 gates of death. Let us go down, and see. 
 
 Here, in the castle, you must have arms 
 
 to spare." 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 61 
 
 " Plenty, plenty of their kind ! " replied 
 the old lord. 
 
 (( 'Tis our best chance," said Roger 
 Dutton. " Now, Mary, you shall see what 
 comes of winning minstrel's love ! Me- 
 thinks they'll follow me." 
 
 " Ay will they, my good lord," answered 
 Allan— " and I the first ! " 
 
 "If they will," cried Dutton, "not all 
 the naked Welshmen in the world shall stop 
 me from delivering her I love and my good 
 lord, the Earl. — Come, Allan, come ! 
 Give us some half-dozen stout companions, 
 noble Lacy, to guard us against Glanville 
 and his crew. Let us have a trumpet, too, 
 to call the men about us." 
 
 " The man's a magician — a diviner ! " 
 exclaimed Lacy. " I declare I shall soon 
 believe in geomancy, chiromancy, and all 
 the ancies ! " 
 
 Young Allan, the harper, looked at De 
 Lacy, and began to think that something 
 had turned the old knight's brain. 
 
 "'Pon my life!" cried Roger Dutton, 
 " 'tis somewhat singular. I have fought 
 the duel that he talked of for one miscalled 
 
62 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 a dancing girl ; I have found my fair lady 
 somewhat jealous ; and now nothing re- 
 mains but to defeat an army with rags and 
 tatters, which we propose to do directly ; 
 and then, that « Every Dutton may have 
 his mutton.' " 
 
 " Rags and tatters you will find enough 
 in the fair, my lord," cried Allan ; " but 
 stout arms under them." 
 
 " 'Tis that we want — 'tis that we want ! " 
 answered Roger Dutton. " By Heaven ! 
 I am grown superstitious ; and with that 
 man's prophecy to back us, I would rather 
 have my men in rags and tatters than 
 hauberks and gambesons. Come, Allan, 
 come ! Now, my lord, call out ten men- 
 at-arms and a trumpet — 'tis all we'll take 
 of thee. We scorn your steel-clad fellows, 
 whom no blow can reach. By my life, I'll 
 ride in my cloak and jerkin ! Ho ! bring me 
 out a horse there -— ten men are all we 
 want ! " 
 
 "You shall have them — you shall have 
 them," cried De Lacy. " God speed you, 
 gay Roger ! You are just the man to run 
 through life with a lance in your hand, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 63 
 
 and to conquer with small means. Call me 
 out the first ten ready there, who wish to 
 go with Roger Dutton ! " 
 
 Every man in the court started forward; 
 and as it was needful to make a choice, Roger 
 Dutton fixed upon every second, and then 
 exclaimed, " Now let us forward ! the 
 horses and arms can come after to the edge 
 of the fair. Heaven's benison on thee, 
 pretty Marian ! I take thy husband from 
 thee even in the bridal hour ; but we'll 
 bring him back with honour, never fear ! " 
 
 Marian, it must be owned, looked some- 
 what rueful ; but old De Lacy chucked her 
 under the chin, crying, "Come, girl, come; 
 don't be sad, I'll console thee." 
 
 Allan gave her one warm embrace and 
 one hearty kiss ; and the whole castle, 
 seeming to be infected with the light, 
 daring spirit of gay Roger Dutton, assem- 
 bled round the gate as he and his compa- 
 nions passed out, and gave them a loud 
 long cheer that echoed down into the fair. 
 
 It was just the hour of dinner when 
 Dutton and his companions approached the 
 outer booths, and most of the merry folks 
 
64 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 there collected, were revelling and singing 
 within. A number of boys, however, were 
 on the outside, to watch the stalls and see 
 that no one stole the merchandise; and, 
 when their eyes fell upon the young noble- 
 man, they instantly began to shout with 
 the true eagerness and strong lungs of 
 youth, " Roger Dutton ! Roger Dutton ! 
 Long live gay Roger Dutton, the minstrel's 
 friend ! » 
 
 The sound reached the interior of the 
 various booths and wooden houses where 
 some were enjoying their solitary meal 
 and their hour of repose ; and some were 
 drinking, talking, and singing, in company. 
 Several persons heard the sounds distinctly, 
 and made out what they were ; but others 
 only caught a shout, and fancied that some 
 accident had happened. All ran out, how- 
 ever, who were within earshot, and a long 
 line of curious faces, in every sort of strange 
 head-dress that it is possible to conceive, 
 from the Armenian high cap to the Flem- 
 ish skimming-dish, were protruded along 
 the line of the street up which Roger 
 Dutton was gazing. 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 65 
 
 The first man who came near him was a 
 cobbler, and he approached with the usual 
 benediction of " God bless thee, gay 
 Roger Dutton ! What moves thy light 
 heart now ? " 
 
 " Hark ye, my merry men — hark ye !" 
 cried Roger Dutton, raising his voice to a 
 loud tone j " Ranulph, good Earl of Ches- 
 ter, is besieged in Rothelan castle by a 
 rabble of Welshmen, the scum of the moun- 
 tains, and Roger Dutton is a-foot in his 
 hose and jerkin, to help the good Earl, 
 and to beat back the Welsh. Who will 
 come with Roger Dutton at his need ? " 
 
 «' I will ! " cried the cobbler, putting back 
 into his shop the wooden platter which he 
 had brought out in his hand ; " I have got 
 a sheaf of arrows and a bow." 
 
 " What's the matter? what's the matter?" 
 cried the fiddler, Roger Dutton's first 
 friend in the fair, who now came running 
 down at full speed ; "I heard Roger 
 Dutton's name." 
 
 " Here he is! here he is!" shouted the 
 boys. " Here's gay Roger Dutton ! Long 
 live Roger Dutton ! " 
 
66 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 " Come, fiddler," cried Roger ; i( thou 
 shalt fight for us, likewise." 
 
 " Fight for thee ?" cried the fiddler — 
 " that I will, and fiddle for thee, too. All 
 the fiddlers will fight for thee. I am ready ! 
 who shall we fight against ? — John Glan- 
 ville ? " 
 
 " No, no," cried Allan, the harper ; 
 " the Dutton is going out to fight the 
 Welsh in his jerkin and hose, and to 
 deliver the good Earl Ranulph, besieged 
 in Rothelan. Let such men come with 
 us as will — we want none but the will- 
 ing." 
 
 " We'll all come ! — we'll all come ! " 
 shouted the fiddler. " Boy, lug me the 
 drummer out of yon hovel by the ear. 
 Bring his drum with him — you, Allan, 
 get up a song. We'll march through the 
 town and beat the drum, and I'll play the 
 fiddle, and you shall sing ; — and, my life 
 for it, we have thousands ere an hour be 
 over ! The good Earl besieged in Rothe- 
 lan ?" —Roger Dutton to lead us ?— We'll 
 beat the devil and all his legions !" 
 
 " I've got a sword ! " cried one. 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 67 
 
 " My knife will do as well as another," 
 exclaimed a second. 
 
 " I'll borrow Matthew Gamble's pike," 
 said a third. 
 
 " Pikes and swords are coming from the 
 castle," said Roger Dutton ; " all men shall 
 have arms that will use them." 
 
 "What shall be the measure, Allan?" 
 said the fiddler. 
 
 " < Joan ap Rice ?' " asked Allan. 
 
 " Fie ! no ; that's a Welsh howl." 
 
 "'Lancaster town,' or 'Hop Winikin?'" 
 
 " The first — the first P said the fiddler. 
 " Now, drummer, wilt thou beat thy drum 
 for Roger Dutton going to fight the Welsh ? " 
 
 " Will I ? " cried the drummer — and 
 swinging his instrument of noise round 
 before him, he beat a row dow dow that 
 made the whole place echo. 
 
 " That will do, that will do !" cried the 
 fiddler ; " beat so whenever we stop. — 
 Now, my lord, we will begin our march. 
 Let all the recruits fall in behind, and swell 
 the train of Roger Dutton — gay Roger 
 Dutton ! — Here we go to the tune of 
 * Lancaster town.' — Allan, are you ready?" 
 
68 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Allan nodded his head; the drummer 
 went first, the fiddler and the harper came 
 next, Dutton and his soldiers followed with 
 a train of men and boys who were now 
 gathering thick in the rear, and who seized 
 upon every pause for a loud shout, which 
 insured that nobody should be ignorant 
 that something exciting was going on in 
 the fair. But in the mean while the fiddler 
 played upon his viol a light and inspiriting 
 air ; and Allan, the harper, in a fine, boM, 
 manly voice, sang as they went the follow- 
 ing verses, which he had struck off on the 
 spur of the occasion : — 
 
 BATTLE SONG OF ROGER DUTTON. 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who is wrong and who is right 
 
 No one cares, and no one knows. 
 
 " Follow us, my merry men all ! 
 
 We are going to do great things ; 
 If we meet the devil and all 
 
 We will make him find his wings. 
 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who is wrong and who is right 
 No one cares, and no one knows." 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 69 
 
 Thus singing, on they went, every street 
 and' alley of the fair pouring forth multi- 
 tudes upon them, every voice taking up the 
 cry, " Roger Dutton's going to fight the 
 Welsh ! Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 the Welsh ! All the men are going with 
 him ! Come along ! Come along ! " 
 
 " Get me my sword !" 
 
 "Fetch me my staff!" 
 
 " Where's my buckler ? " 
 
 u Have you seen my steel cap, boy ? " 
 
 " Reach me down that guisarme." 
 
 " The tent-pole for me !" 
 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who is wrong and who is right 
 No one cares, and no one knows." 
 
 " Row de dow, dow ! Row de dow, 
 dow ! Row de dow, dow !" 
 
 " Roger Dutton — gay Roger Dutton ! 
 Long live Roger Dutton !" 
 
 Such were the sounds, or at least a few 
 of them, that soon accompanied the young 
 nobleman on his march through the fair. 
 Never was such a hullabaloo heard — never 
 
70 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 was such a scene of confusion — never were 
 so many heads thrust out of the windows — 
 never did so many men run out of the 
 doors ; the wild enthusiasm seized upon 
 every body — it was like the frenzy of the 
 Bacchantes ; every body was ready to go, 
 and to tear to pieces any one who hesitated ; 
 so that at length by the time that he had 
 made the complete round of the fair, and 
 reached the place to which the horses and 
 arms from the castle had been brought, 
 full seventeen hundred men were ready 
 to follow him to death ; and Allan, the 
 harper, changing his verse, sang in a louder 
 and a gayer voice than ever — 
 
 " Roger Dutton leads to fight 
 
 The bold fiddlers and their crew ; 
 If he meets the Welsh to-night 
 He will give the devil his due." 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 71 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 " Cheer up, cheer up, Edith ! cheer up, 
 cheer up, Mary ! " cried Ranulph, Earl of 
 Chester, rushing in, fully armed, to rest 
 for a moment or two in the ladies' bower 
 of Rothelan. " What ! faint hearts — faint 
 hearts and white faces ? No fear ! no fear ! 
 It is these blubbering girls of yours who 
 keep round you, like a flock of sheep, that 
 sink your hearts down, and make you think 
 the castle's lost before it's well beleaguered. 
 Whip me such whimperers ! Why, there's 
 that great gaping girl, Margery, with her 
 eyes as red as the inside of a baron of beef, 
 and her mouth wide open, as if all her 
 courage had just jumped out of it ; — why, 
 girl, if there was a hole as big as that in 
 the castle wall, we should have all the 
 Welshmen in. Come, get thee gone ! fetch 
 
72 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 me a cup of sack and a nuncheon of bread ; 
 this exercise makes one hungry: — one 
 should have a siege, or a battle, or a tour- 
 nament, or something of that kind, at 
 least every month, to keep one's spirits up 
 and one's limbs active. I am growing old 
 now and creaky, Edith, and must be roused 
 every now and then. What a pity you 
 wer'n't a boy, now ! You'd fight in my 
 stead!" 
 
 " Would to Heaven I were ! " cried 
 Edith, a gay, light-hearted, pretty girl, 
 fit to make a capital soldier's bride of; 
 " but, my dear father, it's hopeless now ! 
 I have prayed to St. Hilda, the last three 
 years, to make a boy of me ; but it's all in 
 vain : — girl I am, and girl I must remain. 
 But I can fight for you, for all that, if you 
 will give me a bow and arrow ; I can wing 
 a shaft as well as any archer on the walls !" 
 
 The good Earl laughed, and kissed her 
 cheek, saying, " Get thee gone for a saucy 
 hussy ! I don't love thee a bit. What a 
 life thy husband will have of it. But we 
 don't want such baby archers ; it would but 
 encourage these insolent Welshmen, to see 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 73 
 
 that we brought out our women to fight 
 
 them The vagabond scum ! to dare to 
 
 wag their beards before my castle ! Oh ! 
 when my ratcatchers come, I will soon 
 rid the country of the vermin. Come, 
 come, Mary, look up, look up! What, are 
 you thinking of Roger Dutton ? — I dare 
 say we shall soon have gay Roger amongst 
 us, with his lance in the rest, and your 
 good father, too. It won't be told half an 
 hour that Rothelan is besieged by the 
 Welshmen, before old Hellfire de Lacy has 
 his foot in the stirrup." 
 
 " But you forget, my dear uncle," said 
 Mary, " that you and the king made him 
 swear he would not be one night out of 
 Chester Castle during the fair-time." 
 
 " An unlucky oath, by St. James and St. 
 Jude !" cried the Earl, with a grave look. 
 " But, tut ! never mind : he will send 
 Roger Dutton, at the head of all his men ; 
 and that will do as well, for gay Roger is a 
 good soldier. — Ha ! the sack. — Come, 
 Margery, taste the cup. You must shut 
 your mouth, then ; — but what makes you 
 shake your head so sadly, Mary ? Yours 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
74 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 used to be a merry heart as ever beat under 
 a silk bodice, and you must have seen strife 
 in your day with your good father ; he 
 was always in the heat of it. What makes 
 you shake your head, I say ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear uncle," replied Mary, 
 in a sad tone, " when my father sent me 
 here, he could but spare twelve spears to 
 escort me, and I know there were very few 
 men in the castle ! " 
 
 " Tush ! " cried the Earl, " they were 
 out, playing the fool in the fair. He had 
 five hundred men with him, not a month 
 ago, with thirty knights' fees round about, 
 from which he could get three hundred 
 more, at a pinch, besides all the soccage- 
 men, who would rise at a whistle from old 
 De Lacy's lips ! " 
 
 " But, alas ! my dear uncle," replied 
 Mary, " the truth may as well be told you. 
 It is but little more than a fortnight since 
 he sent away four hundred men from the 
 castle, and a number more of the tenants 
 round about, to help the Earl of Glou- 
 cester, somewhere between Worcester and 
 Hereford." 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 75 
 
 The Earl swore aloud a very blasphe- 
 mous oath, which, though common in those 
 days in the mouths both of kings and 
 courtiers, must not be repeated here. 
 The news that he had received was evi- 
 dently a terrible blow to his hopes, and 
 for a minute or two he stood gazing into 
 the large silver cup, filled with wine, which 
 he held in his hand, with a heavy brow 
 and thoughtful air. Gradually, however, 
 the cup got nearer to his lips, and when 
 within a certain distance, he raised it sud- 
 denly, drained it to the last drop, and then 
 exclaimed, u Well, it's no use calculating 
 how soon rats will get into a sack of corn : 
 — we must keep them out, if we can ; 
 that's the only thing to be done. — Where's 
 Roger Dutton, girl ? " 
 
 " He is with my father," said Mary, 
 " and I am sure " 
 
 " Ay, so am I ! " cried the old Earl. 
 " He won't leave me here, like a pard in a 
 cage, with all those Welshmen grinning 
 at me through the bars, and not come to 
 help me. My life to the grinders of a 
 E 2 
 
76 THE EIGHT OE THE EIDDLEES. 
 
 dead horse, if we do not see Roger Dutton 
 here to-morrow before night fall !" 
 
 " But does he know that you need him?" 
 demanded Mary. " A thousand to one 
 these men, who hem us in so closely, will 
 prevent any news from reaching Chester." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the Earl ; " I have taken 
 care of that. At the hour of nine, this 
 morning, I sent off two messengers on 
 horseback and. one on foot. The one on 
 foot was caught, and had his throat cut 
 with a long knife in a minute, for I watched 
 them from the turret ; one of the fellows 
 on horseback, too, though he got well 
 nigh through them all, was tumbled off his 
 horse at last by an arrow in the shoulder ; 
 but the other — I could not well see, but 
 I think it was the lad Gregory — made his 
 way in spite of them ; and though they gave 
 chase on the beastly little lizards that 
 they ride, he was full two hundred yards 
 before them, when they passed over the 
 hill." 
 
 « A lad !" cried Edith ; « why, he's full 
 forty, my dear father." 
 
 " Tut !" replied the Earl, "that's a lad 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 77 
 
 to me, you saucy wench. I'm right glad 
 your mother is not here, Madam Edith 
 — she would be in a fine fright. But you 
 have a stout heart." 
 
 " Not so stout but you may have to cut 
 the string of my bodice," said Edith, "if 
 you make sueh a terrible noise as there 
 was upon the walls just now." 
 
 "Well, well, go to!" cried the Earl; 
 " I have not time to gossip more with 
 you ; I must go and see what they are 
 about. But take heart, take heart ! there 
 is no danger — they never can get in — 
 they have no ladders or machines of any 
 kind. Out upon it ! we will throw the 
 walls down upon them first ! 'Tis but by 
 starvation they can take us. — Ho, Bar- 
 naby ! without there ! look to the pro- 
 visions, and see there be no waste ! What 
 have ye got, man ? " 
 
 " There are two cows and a bullock," 
 said the man, " three pigs and an old sow, 
 besides the fowls that the Lady Edith feeds 
 in the morning : then we have bread 
 enough for one day, and corn enough for 
 another. The beer-cellar is half full, and 
 e 3 
 
78 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 there are three barrels of sack, and a pipe 
 of malvoisie. We can last well nigh for 
 a week, my lord, without touching the 
 horses." 
 
 « That'll — that'll do ! " cried the Earl ; 
 " long ere that we shall have help 5" and 
 away he went to the battlements, where, 
 somewhat to his surprise, he found no far- 
 ther show of immediate attack, the Welsh- 
 men still surrounding the castle on every 
 side, but keeping carefully beyond the 
 ordinary flight of an arrow. 
 
 << Why, what are they about ?" said the 
 Earl to one of his old knights. 
 
 " 'Pon my life, I don't know, my lord," 
 replied the other ; " they seem tired of it, 
 and are drawing off for the night." 
 
 "Pooh! nonsense!" cried the Earl, 
 " it is not near nightfall." 
 
 " Within an hour, my lord," replied one 
 of those who stood near ; " 'tis well nigh 
 eight." 
 
 " How quick the time goes when one's 
 busy," observed the Earl ; " but who has 
 got the sharpest eyes here ? Let him run 
 up to the top of the tower, and see what 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 79 
 
 they're doing there — those men, I mean, 
 far up the hill." 
 
 " The Lady Edith has the sharpest 
 eyes," said a young gentleman near, who 
 was never sorry to put himself in any 
 sort of communication with his lord's 
 daughter ; — « don't you recollect she 
 saw the heron when none of us could see 
 it?" 
 
 " Well, call her! call her!" cried the 
 Earl ; " as they are not shooting any 
 longer, there is no danger." 
 
 Away ran the youth, and in a few mi- 
 nutes more Edith and Mary and the whole 
 host of maids crept out upon the battle- 
 ments, with faces somewhat pale and wan, 
 indeed, notwithstanding all the assurances 
 of the young gentleman, who had been 
 sent to fetch them, that there was no risk 
 of any kind. 
 
 " Come hither, Edith, come hither ! " 
 exclaimed Earl Ranulph : " run up to the 
 top of the tower, and look what your sharp 
 eyes can discover. Do you see those white- 
 shirted Welshmen on the hill just under 
 the wood — five or six hundred of them, 
 e 4 
 
80 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 all gathered together ? Go and try if 
 you can find out what they are about ; 
 — make your eyes of use to some one." 
 
 Edith turned to obey, while the young 
 gentleman who stood nigh said something 
 about compassion, and eyes, and piercing 
 hearts, and other things of the same kind, 
 which made the lady give him a scornful 
 look, and made the old Earl himself laugh 
 heartily. 
 
 " These young fools ! " he cried — " well- 
 a-day ! — get thee gone, Edith ! get thee 
 gone ! Why how now, young Cholmon- 
 deley, you are not going too ? Stay here, 
 every one but Edith ! Mary, you may go, 
 if you will ; but that is enough." 
 
 Ladies are always fond of hunting in 
 couples, and Mary accompanied her cousin 
 up the numerous steps of the watch-tower, 
 taking that opportunity of reading her 
 own heart a sad homily upon all the con- 
 sequences of her jealous passion, and ask- 
 ing herself how far the punishment would 
 be carried. It was indeed an edifying 
 and instructive lesson which she gave her- 
 self, and one which might also be not with- 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 81 
 
 out its effect upon the reader, if we could 
 relate all the reproaches which she ad- 
 dressed to herself, step by step as she went 
 up the stairs. But, dear reader, we have 
 not time ; and as those stairs were long, we 
 must lift her and Edith to the top of the 
 tower at once, and let them stand, for a 
 while, gazing around them over the wide- 
 spread hills and shady forests which at that 
 time formed the principal feature of the 
 fair principality. 
 
 While Edith, however, fixed her eyes 
 upon the spot to which her father had 
 directed her attention, and easily dis- 
 covered, though with no slight terror it 
 must be owned, what the assailants were 
 about, Mary's heart turned towards Ches- 
 ter, and her safe and happy home ; and, as 
 is so frequently the case, her eyes followed 
 the direction of her thoughts. There she 
 stood, then, leaning over the battlements, 
 and, like sister Anne in the fairy tale, 
 looking out to see if any one was coming. 
 
 The road to Chester was clear enough 
 before her eyes, and she could see it rise 
 up over the neighbouring hill — lose itself 
 e 5 
 
82 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 in the wood upon the top — issue forth 
 again in the valley beyond — and once 
 more ascend the side of a steep but naked 
 mountain. 
 
 Her eyes were little less good than those 
 of her cousin ; and after gazing forth for 
 about two minutes, she first gave a start, 
 and then felt a strong inclination to clap 
 her hands : but smothering her emotions, 
 whatsoever they were, she demurely turned 
 to her cousin, saying, " Well, Edith, have 
 you found out what they are doing ?" 
 
 " Making ladders, I think," said Edith, 
 in a sad tone. 
 
 " Poor thing!" said Mary, with a 
 saucy smile: "many a one will get a 
 broken neck from those ladders, if they 
 make them." 
 
 " How can you talk in such a way, 
 Mary ?" cried her cousin ; " we are more 
 likely to get our throats cut than they 
 their necks broke. Why if they make 
 enough of them they will soon be within 
 the walls." 
 
 " We must keep them out, Edith," re- 
 plied Mary; "but come, let us tell your 
 
THE EIGHT OE THE EIDDLERS. 83 
 
 father. You go down first, Edith ; I 
 won't lead the way down that narrow black 
 staircase." 
 
 Edith accordingly began to descend, 
 but Mary lingered for another moment, to 
 look once more in the direction of Chester. 
 But this time she could not restrain her- 
 self, and clasped her hands together, with 
 a look of joy, ere she followed her cousin 
 down to the walls. 
 
 "Why how now — how now, girls?" 
 cried the old Earl, w 7 ho w 7 as standing be- 
 low with his young friend — " what differ- 
 ent faces you bear. Here comes mirth 
 and melancholy, God wot ! and Mary, who 
 was looking as sad and as silly as a kitten 
 of eight days old, is now as merry as a 
 garland girl. Come, speak ! speak ! what 
 have you seen, Edith ? What are the 
 Welshmen about?" 
 
 " Making ladders, I am afraid," replied 
 Edith. 
 
 "A dry curse blast them!" cried the 
 
 Earl ; "we shall now have to fight for it 
 
 indeed. But what makes you so saucy, 
 
 Madam Mary? Do you want to be a 
 
 e 6 
 
84 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 concubine of Rice ap Griffith or Jorworth 
 ap Jones ? " 
 
 " Here, listen to me, Earl of Chester, 
 and uncle mine," replied his niece, pulling 
 his arm; "bend your head, bend your 
 head ! It is for your ear alone ;" and as the 
 good old lord bowed down his head, she 
 whispered something that soon produced a 
 marvellous change. 
 
 " By the toe-bone of St. Ursula, which 
 was sent me by the Abbot of Clairvaux ! " 
 exclaimed the Earl ; "but it can't be true, 
 girl ! it can't be true ! — the messenger only 
 went at nine this morning — it can't be 
 true, I say!" 
 
 " But it is," replied Mary ; " three hours 
 for him to go, and six hours for them to 
 come, and two or three hours to get ready; 
 — there's plenty of time, Earl of Chester." 
 
 Without more ado the old man ran up 
 the stairs of the watch-tower, followed by 
 the young gentleman whom he had stopped 
 from going with his daughter and her cou- 
 sin on the former occasion. Shading his 
 eyes with his hands, the Earl gazed forth, 
 exclaiming, before he had time to judge at 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 85 
 
 all, "I can see nothing — it's all nonsense — 
 the slut's deceived herself ! — Ha ! — What ! 
 — There does seem something like the 
 glance of a spear-head ! " 
 
 " Yes, my lord — yes," cried the young 
 man ; " I see them as plain as possible. 
 They are coming down in force. Why, 
 don't you see ? It's an army — there 
 are four or five thousand men — enough 
 to drive all the Welsh into the sea." 
 
 The old Earl waved his hand, and gave 
 a shout of joy, and then running down, he 
 caught Mary in his arms, and kissed her 
 half a dozen times. After which, he per- 
 formed the same ceremony in regard to his 
 daughter ; his young companion being very 
 well disposed to go through the same pro- 
 cess, but not exactly venturing to do so. 
 
 The Earl was too old a soldier, however, 
 to allow joy, and the prospect of relief, to 
 put him off his guard ; and though he suf- 
 fered the news to spread amongst his sol- 
 diers, in order to give them encouragement 
 and support, yet he cautioned them to 
 watch with redoubled vigilance during the 
 night. Nor did he alone hold out their 
 
86 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 own safety as a motive for activity and care, 
 but he showed them that they must be 
 ready at a moment's notice to co-operate 
 with their allies without, immediately the 
 attack upon the enemy had commenced. 
 
 A man was also sent up to watch the 
 advance of the relieving force ; but the 
 hopes and expectations of the little garri- 
 son of Rothelan were sadly diminished, 
 just before nightfall, by a report that the 
 troops which had been seen coming had 
 marched away up a valley to the right, from 
 which there was no possible means of reach- 
 ing the castle without retreading their 
 steps. Apprehension rose, as joy and satis- 
 faction diminished ; and it became a ques- 
 tion, eagerly argued within the walls, 
 whether the multitude which had been seen 
 approaching consisted of friends or of fresh 
 enemies. Balancing between hope and 
 fear, deep anxiety hung over the besieged 
 household of the Earl of Chester for se- 
 veral hours after nightfall. The Earl him- 
 self visited every part of the walls, en- 
 couraged the soldiers, and assured them 
 that there could be no doubt help was at 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 87 
 
 hand, and that, at all events, the Welsh 
 would not attempt to scale the battlements 
 for many hours. All was quiet in the dis- 
 tance ; the enemy lay tranquilly at about a 
 couple of bow-shots from the castle on 
 every side ; and, after some wild singing 
 and harping, seemed to give themselves up 
 to the arms of slumber. As the sturdy old 
 noble made his solitary round, the moon 
 was shining brightly, throwing his long 
 shadow upon the planks of the drawbridge, 
 when he walked across, to show himself at 
 the barbican. 
 
 " Well, Walter," he said to a veteran 
 soldier, who was placed as warder to keep 
 that important post, with about a dozen of 
 younger and more active men, one half of 
 whom were sleeping, and the other in the 
 tower above — " Well, Walter, how goes 
 your watch ? " 
 
 The bluff Englishman, without any want 
 of real respect, sat still on the bench behind 
 the closed gates, polishing away at a lance's 
 head, without thinking fit to rise even at 
 his lord's approach. 
 
 " All goes well, my lord," he replied, 
 
88 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 looking up : "the thieves will not win the 
 barbican easily — they know it, and will 
 take two or three thoughts ere they begin 
 the attack." 
 
 " Hark !" cried the Earl — " there was 
 a step." 
 
 " Some of the fellows above," replied 
 the warder. 
 
 But just as he spoke, a hard, but dull 
 sounding blow, was struck upon the gate, 
 and, springing upon his feet, the soldier 
 took a step towards a small slit in the 
 heavy wooden door, formed as a sort of loop- 
 hole to see through, but guarded by two 
 strong iron bars. The old lord was there 
 before him, however ; and the moment 
 after he exclaimed, " Here, Walter, open 
 the wicket ! here is a single man without." 
 
 "Let me see, my lord — let me see 
 first," cried the sturdy soldier ; " you're 
 old, and your eyes are dim ; there may be 
 more behind him." 
 
 Thus saying, he put his face to the aper- 
 ture, and asked, " Who are you, my man, 
 and where do you come from ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the Earl, pulling him 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 89 
 
 back by the arm ; " he may bring secret 
 tidings. Open the wicket, I say ; there is 
 no one but himself." 
 
 At the same moment, the word " Ches- 
 ter," pronounced from without, satisfied 
 the warder; and taking down the large key, 
 he turned it in the lock, removed bolt, and 
 bar, and chain ; and while the Earl called 
 for a light from above, opened the door 
 just wide enough for one man to pass 
 through. 
 
 As he did so, with a swinging air and 
 unsteady step, in rolled a strange-looking 
 being, in habiliments not of the newest or 
 most harmonious kind, with a cloak in 
 tatters, a hood displaying a large hole on 
 the top, heavy shoes, and loose linen stock- 
 ings bound round his legs with thongs of 
 leather, a long staff with a leaden head in 
 his hand, a viol and bow upon his back, 
 two long Welsh knives stuck in his girdle, 
 and a large black leathern bottle under 
 his arm. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ? " cried the 
 Earl, holding a torch, which his people 
 had just brought him, to his strange visiter's 
 
90 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 face. The expression which it bore was 
 that curious mixture of fun, enthusiasm, 
 folly, and sadness, which can only be pro- 
 duced by a very near approach to complete 
 
 intoxication " Who the devil are you, 
 
 and what do you want ? " exclaimed the 
 Earl. 
 
 " Tell ye in a minute, old cock !" cried 
 the man, clutching his viol from his back 
 and putting it to his shoulder, while at the 
 same time he began to sing — 
 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who is wrong and who is right 
 No one cares, and no one knows. 
 
 I'm one of Roger Dutton's soldiers, Lord 
 bless ye ! come to save St. Ranulph, the 
 good Earl of Chester, you jolly dog ! only 
 you see, we found two whole cart-loads of 
 mead, as we came through the village, and 
 what between that and the stuff we had in 
 our bottles, we all got so drunk, that 
 Roger couldn't make us fight to-night, but 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 91 
 
 penned us up all in the valley, like a flock 
 of sheep. 
 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 
 With the fiddlers and their crew ; 
 If he meets the Welsh to-night 
 He will beat them black and blue. 
 
 Long live Roger Dutton ! gay Roger 
 Dutton ! — He's the lad, old corny !" 
 
 "How did you come here, then?" ex- 
 claimed the Earl. "Take him, Walter and 
 Fitzhugh, and pump upon him till he's 
 sober ; then bring him to me in the hall. 
 We must find out what all this means." 
 
 The Earl's orders were soon obeyed ; 
 and a considerable portion of cold water, 
 poured in a continuous stream upon the 
 unfortunate fiddler's head and face, so far 
 restored him to sense and discretion, that 
 when brought into the presence of the Earl 
 again, he was enabled to give something 
 like a coherent account of Roger Dutton's 
 proceedings. 
 
 " By the Lord ! " cried the Earl, when 
 he had heard the whole story — "the boy's 
 mad j but it's a gallant sort of madness, 
 after all. Seventeen hundred fiddlers and 
 
92 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 harpers and mountebanks and tum- 
 blers " 
 
 "And cobblers — my lord, and cob- 
 blers ! " interrupted the man ; "we have a 
 great show of cobblers amongst us, and 
 every cobbler brings his awl." 
 
 " And this is all he's got to fight an 
 army of Welshmen with," said the Earl, 
 thoughtfully. "Well, great things are 
 often done with small means, and clean 
 work comes out of dirty hands, they say. 
 But how came you to stray away from the 
 rest, my man ? " 
 
 " Why, I was sent," replied the fiddler. 
 " I was the soberest and most discreet of 
 the whole host ; so gay Roger sent me to 
 find my way here, and tell you that you 
 would be delivered to-morrow, or he'd be 
 food for the ravens." 
 
 " He's a fine fellow, by Saint James — 
 he's a fine fellow ! " was the reply. 
 
 " You see, I can speak some Welsh, my 
 lord," continued the man, " and so I 
 feigned, when I got in amongst the Welsh- 
 men, to have come in from the country, 
 just to see what they were about ; and I 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 93 
 
 sat down in one of their rings, and played 
 them a tune, and sung them a song. It 
 wasn't ' Roger Dutton's going to fight ; ' 
 but then they would make me take some 
 more mead, and I got fuddled, and fell 
 fast asleep. I woke, by knocking my nose 
 against the strings of my viol, and finding 
 them all sleeping around me, I filched a 
 knife or two, just for the sake of com- 
 panionship, and then came on here the best 
 way I could." 
 
 The fiddler's story was quite true. 
 Roger Dutton had commenced his march 
 a little after two o'clock ; and about six, 
 they fell in with some cart-loads of mead, 
 which were going to the camp of the be- 
 siegers. Neither the mead nor the drivers 
 were suffered to escape, and this fresh sup- 
 ply of liquor, in addition to a quantity of 
 strong drink which they had brought with 
 them in bottles, so completely intoxicated 
 the greater part of his host, that gay Roger 
 Dutton dared not risk an encounter with 
 the enemy that night. Happily for him- 
 self, the thick forest that lay between him 
 and Rothelan sheltered him from the 
 
94 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Welshmen ; and, aided by the sober part 
 of his force and his men-at-arms, he herded 
 the rest in the valley, though it was not 
 without great trouble that he prevented 
 them from straggling about in such a man- 
 ner as to give intimation of their proximity 
 to the enemy's forces. Night, however, 
 came on, just as he was struggling with 
 these difficulties ; and after some brawling, 
 and some singing, and finishing the rest of 
 the strong liquors which they brought with 
 them, man after man fell under the influ- 
 ence of the drowsy god, leaving Roger 
 Dutton, and a hundred and fifty of his 
 more temperate or stronger-headed com- 
 panions, to keep a careful watch during 
 the hours of darkness. 
 
 Anxiety to relieve the mind of Mary de 
 Lacy, however, certainly induced Roger 
 Dutton to commit a very imprudent act, in 
 choosing out of the few who could speak 
 Welsh, a messenger to bear the news of his 
 approach to his friends in the castle. The 
 result was better, as we have seen, than 
 might have been anticipated ; and it cer- 
 tainly is a fact, that we very often see the 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 95 
 
 most rash and heedless proceedings, which 
 any one might be tempted to prophesy 
 would produce the most disastrous conse- 
 quences, succeed perfectly, while prudence 
 and wisdom are baffled and disappointed. 
 
 Happily for Roger Dutton, at that 
 season of the year, night tucks up the tail 
 of her gloomy mantle, so that it is not 
 allowed to sweep the face of the earth for 
 any great length of time ; and his weary 
 watch was ere long relieved, by seeing the 
 grey dawn begin to peep over the hills. 
 Allan, the harper, soon woke the fiddler 
 and the drummer, who had been their great 
 allies from the first, and running through 
 the multitudes, who lay stretched amongst 
 the fern and heath, they contrived to rouse 
 a great number of the slumberers by sun- 
 dry cuffs and pushes, kicks and shouts, 
 none of the most tender or delicate descrip- 
 tion. Up started the motley group, at 
 length, rubbing their eyes, stretching their 
 limbs, yawning till their jaws cracked, and 
 gazing around them with a somewhat sur- 
 prised and wondering air. As few, how- 
 ever, of the men there present ever slept 
 
96 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 above one or two nights together in the 
 same bed, their surprise was very soon 
 overcome, especially as one or two mellow 
 voices began to take up the song with 
 which they had marched along, of — 
 
 " Roger Dutton's going to fight 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who is wrong and who is right 
 , No one cares, and no one knows ; " 
 
 bringing back again immedi?tely to their 
 recollection the business in which they en- 
 gaged. 
 
 " Hurra, hurra, for gay Roger Dutton ! " 
 cried several voices, but many of the host 
 continued to stretch and yawn ; and one 
 man, who had an awful headache from the 
 quantity, quality, and variety of his pota- 
 tions, thought fit to declare that he should 
 like something to eat. 
 
 " By the back-bone of Judas, you must 
 fight for it, then," exclaimed Allan, the 
 harper; "but you will very soon have an 
 opportunity of roasting a whole Welshman, 
 if you like, and eating him, too — nobody 
 will stop you." 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 97 
 
 " Ah, we shall find plenty of provisions 
 in Rothelan," cried Roger Dutton, " of a 
 better quality than that. Never fear, 
 never fear! Let us drub the Welshmen 
 but for the sake of an appetite, and then 
 we'll have breakfast, and set the wine-tap 
 running." 
 
 " Hurra for Roger Dutton ! " exclaimed 
 a dozen voices. 
 
 "Roger Dutton's going to fight !" sung 
 forth another. 
 
 " Beat your drum, Hal ! " cried a third. 
 
 u Some one has stolen my hood ! " 
 said a fourth. 
 
 " It has crept away by itself! " answered 
 a companion. 
 
 " The wind has blown it to pieces," re- 
 joined another, with a laugh. 
 
 "No, no — there it is!" cried one of 
 the fiddlers; " don't you see Tom has got 
 it on a pole, and made a banner of it." 
 
 "It's the fiddler's banner — it's the fid- 
 dler's banner ! " shouted a number of voices. 
 
 " The barber's, more like," was the re- 
 ply ; " for it's mounted on a pole." 
 
 " Let each trade have its banner!" cried 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
98 THE EIGHT OE THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 a cobbler ; " here goes my apron upon 
 Timothy's pike! The cobblers for ever! 
 — we'll be the first in the fray ! " 
 
 " Not before the tumblers ! " answered 
 another. " Martin, lend me your spear — 
 my cloak shall serve our turn, and our 
 banner shall be up first ! " and running the 
 sharp point of the spear through and 
 through the cloak, he raised it high in the 
 air. 
 
 Up went the cobbler's the moment 
 after, and a number of similar ensigns were 
 displayed in various parts of the ground. 
 The drums beat, the fiddles sounded ; 
 Allan, the harper, took up his song ; and 
 once more the wild and ludicrous proces- 
 sion, headed by Roger Dutton, with his 
 ten men-at-arms, regained the high road, 
 and marched on into the wood. 
 
 About a mile, or a mile and a half, re- 
 mained to be traversed ; and this, to say 
 the truth, was the most dangerous part of 
 the whole affair. The Welsh, as brave as 
 lions when not taken by surprise, were 
 famous for fighting in their woods, and ly- 
 ing in ambush for their enemies j and many 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 99 
 
 a gallant army of Englishmen had thus been 
 cut to pieces by the daring and skill of the 
 native Britons. Such, however, was not 
 destined to be the fate of Roger Dutton 
 and his motley crew. The Welsh had not 
 attacked Rothelan without being well aware 
 that there were no troops to spare in Chester 
 Castle, but, with the usual improvidence of 
 barbarous armies, they had taken no pre- 
 caution of any kind against surprise. They 
 were all busy in various occupations, pre- 
 paring for their own assault upon the walls, 
 when suddenly a wild flourish of drums, 
 trumpets, and all manner of instruments, 
 burst upon their ear from the neighbouring 
 wood, and then, for the first time, appre- 
 hension seized upon them. Hurry and 
 confusion on the part of those who first 
 heard the sounds produced doubt and dis- 
 may in the rest ; and though eleven horse- 
 men were all that appeared at first, yet a 
 panic began to manifest itself, which in- 
 creased in a terrible degree, when a multi- 
 tude of men, whose arms and equipments 
 they could not at all distinguish, was vo- 
 mited forth from the wood on the hill side, 
 F 2 
 
100 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLEKS. 
 
 with almost as many banners and ensigns 
 as if it had been a royal army. 
 
 Roger Dutton's practised eye instantly 
 discovered the effects of panic, even in the 
 irregular troops of the Welsh, and shouting 
 to his followers to run as fast as they could, 
 in order to make the attack before the real 
 character of his force could be discovered, 
 he put his horse into a quick pace, and 
 charged the enemy, followed by his ten 
 men-at-arms with their levelled lances. 
 
 With wild shouts and yells of every 
 kind, with every sort of arms under the 
 sun, but all rushing forward with the fury 
 of demoniacs, the wild multitude behind 
 him spread out over the hill side, and 
 swept on in a long irregular line. Such a 
 scene was never, perhaps, beheld by the 
 eye of mortal man ; and the Welsh, taken 
 by surprise, thunderstruck, not knowing 
 what to think, began to fly in every direc- 
 tion, in spite of the cries and remonstrances 
 of their chiefs. 
 
 About two thousand men, indeed, kept 
 together, and received Roger Dutton with 
 a flight of short arrows, one of which 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 101 
 
 wounded him in the arm, and another 
 drove his horse almost mad with pain. 
 Plunging into the midst of them, however, 
 he smote down one or two with his lance, 
 and then betaking himself to his long heavy 
 sword, struck here and there around him, 
 as his charger reared and plunged amongst 
 the enemy. He and his little group of 
 companions were soon surrounded on all 
 sides, but at that moment one of the fid- 
 dlers saw his perilous situation, and shouting 
 aloud, " Look to Roger Dutton — look to 
 gay Roger Dutton ! and down with the 
 Welshmen ! " a large body of the rabble 
 poured on to his assistance, hewing their 
 way with bills and hooks and guisarmes 
 and swords, scattering the enemy to the 
 right and left. 
 
 Though broken and dispirited, the Welsh 
 might still have continued to fight against 
 a body even more irregular than themselves, 
 but at that instant the gates of Rothelan 
 were thrown open, and thundering over 
 the drawbridge came the old Earl of Ches- 
 ter, at the head of fifty men-at-arms. 
 Animated by the sight, fiddlers, tumblers, 
 f 3 
 
102 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 cobblers, mountebanks, seemed inspired 
 with almost superhuman courage : a tre- 
 mendous effort was made upon the only 
 body of enemies that still held firm, and 
 after scarcely a minute's resistance they 
 were routed and flying from the field. 
 
 About an hour after, Mary de Lacy 
 and her cousin Edith, standing under the 
 arch of the barbican, saw the wild proces- 
 sion of Roger Dutton's strange army wind- 
 ing down from the pursuit. At its head, 
 or rather nearly at its head, came the young 
 gentleman himself, on the right hand of 
 the old Earl. But before them went 
 Allan, the harper, stained with blood up to 
 the very ears, accompanied on his right 
 and left by the drummer and the fiddler, 
 and still as he came he sung — 
 
 " Roger Dutton's won the fight 
 In his doublet and his hose — 
 Who was wrong and who was right, 
 Lady Mary cares and knows." 
 
 In five minutes more Roger Dutton 
 sprang to the ground, and clasped Mary 
 de Lacy in his arms. 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 103 
 
 " But you are wounded, Roger!" she 
 cried with terror, seeing the arrow still 
 sticking in his shoulder. " You are hurt!" 
 
 " Not too much to be married on Wed- 
 nesday next, Mary dear," replied Roger 
 Dutton. " Ay, I have your father's pro- 
 mise, Mary ; and now I claim yours as my 
 guerdon." 
 
 " It must not be refused," said Mary 
 with a deep blush. 
 
 " And what guerdon shall I give you," 
 cried the old Earl of Chester, "for deliver- 
 ing me and mine in our utmost need ?" 
 
 " I have but one boon to ask, my lord," 
 replied Roger Dutton, " which is, the 
 power of protecting these poor fellows who 
 have done such good service this day. 
 What I claim from your lordship is, that 
 you give to the Duttons of Dutton, for 
 ever and a day, the rule and governance 
 of Chester fair ; for had I not, in behalf of 
 the people of that fair, violated some bad 
 laws, and set at defiance some wicked 
 judges, you, my lord, would not have had 
 so many stout hands to strike with Roger 
 f 4 
 
104 THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 
 
 Dutton for the deliverance of Ranulph, 
 Earl of Chester." 
 
 " It is yours, my dear, gay, wild, reck- 
 less, gallant friend," replied the Earl, grasp- 
 ing his hand. " It is yours, and the charter 
 shall be drawn out immediately." 
 
 That charter, reader, was still in force 
 within a few years of the present time. 
 
 Six days after that of which we have 
 just spoken, the great hall in Chester Castle 
 was in one blaze of light, and all the lords 
 and ladies and noble gentlemen of the 
 neighbouring country stood around. It 
 was approaching the hour of midnight, and 
 the Countess of Chester, who had been 
 summoned from some distance, took by the 
 hand her niece Mary, saying, "It is no 
 use lingering, my child." 
 
 Trembling and blushing, Mary, now the 
 bride of Roger Dutton, suffered her aunt 
 to lead her to her father's presence, and 
 kneeling at his feet, in her bridal attire, 
 she besought his blessing ere she retired to 
 her chamber. 
 
 " Two questions, ere I give it you, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE FIDDLERS. 105 
 
 Mary!" cried the bluff .old lord. "Will 
 you ever be jealous again ?" 
 
 Mary looked up, with one of her merry 
 glances breaking through her timidity, and 
 replied, " Not if I can help it, my dear 
 father ; but 1 got the temper from you." 
 
 "Pshaw!" exclaimed the old lord. 
 " Will you ever give way to one of your 
 violent passions again ? " 
 
 "No, never!" cried Mary, earnestly, 
 though with a smile ; " never ! For the 
 rest of my life I will be a very lamb." 
 
 " And so at last, every Dutton will have 
 his mutton," said Allan the harper. 
 
 f 5 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE, 
 
 f 6 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.* 
 
 In the reign of an ancient king of Great 
 Britain whose name was George, and who 
 consequently is supposed to have flourished 
 on this side, both of the Conquest by the 
 Norman William and the Reformation of 
 our Church under the renowned British 
 Bluebeard, Henry the Wifekiller ; and 
 about the period at which the British stage- 
 coach first sprang into existence, under 
 the form and condition of a snail, and the 
 title of a diligence, there appeared — by 
 the side of a highway, which ran along 
 the southern coast of England, and led to 
 that spot with an awful name, still called 
 the Land's End — a solitary public-house, 
 
 * The author of this tale, as it stands in these 
 volumes, has been lately informed that a story 
 founded on the same anecdote, which is historical, 
 has been written by another. He can only say that 
 he never saw that story, and does not even now know 
 its title. 
 
110 CIKCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE, 
 
 with a little circular piece of ground be- 
 fore it, and an apple orchard, thickly- 
 planted with trees behind it ; beyond which, 
 again, was a place called The Garden ; 
 though it must be acknowledged, that 
 those who did call it so were very courteous 
 and liberal in their epithets. 
 
 Every one who has seen Mount Edge- 
 cumbe knows well that the most luxuriant 
 vegetation which it is possible to imagine 
 can be produced at the very verge of old 
 ocean's reign ; but no such pains as are there 
 bestowed had been given to the vegetable 
 kingdom of the garden of which I speak, 
 and a scanty array of cabbages, turnips, 
 and carrots, was all that the spot of ground 
 could boast. Even that was looked upon 
 in those days as all but miraculous, con- 
 sidering that the garden crept to the very 
 edge of the cliff which overhung the sea ; 
 and Neptune, as if indignant at the pre- 
 sumption of the thing, would come angrily 
 up to the very bottom of the bank at high 
 water, during all seasons of the year; and 
 when he got choleric in the spring and 
 autumn, would bestow a buffet with his 
 trident upon the cliff itself, which swept 
 
CIKCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. Ill 
 
 away, from time to time, a row of cab- 
 bages, or a bed of onions, together with 
 the soil in which they were planted. The 
 house to which this garden belonged had 
 an aspect somewhat gloomy, and its gables 
 were turned towards the road, the entrance 
 being reached by a step, not up, but down. 
 
 The face of the landlord was a merry 
 face and a gay ; but with all that he was 
 a prudent man, took care that his wit 
 should go as far as it would, made one joke 
 serve many customers, had a loud laugh to 
 answer any question to which he did not 
 choose to give a more definite reply, eked 
 out his meaning by a knowing look, which 
 is not tangible to the fangs of the law, and 
 always spoke well of the justice of the 
 peace. His wife looked as if she could 
 have been a Quaker : she was an Anabap- 
 tist, however; and it is supposed, or at 
 least was supposed by the people in the 
 neighbourhood, that the beer in that house 
 turned more rapidly sour than in any other 
 in the county. 
 
 On a nasty, squally, rainy afternoon, the 
 diligence was winding slowly along upon 
 the aforesaid road, at the average pace 
 
112 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 of three miles and a half an hour ; while 
 the rain kept beating in at various points 
 of the crazy and ill-contrived vehicle, when 
 one traveller in the inside said to another 
 — " Forty miles more, Frederick, forty 
 miles more." 
 
 "Ay," said the other, "and this snail 
 of a machine goes on as if it never in- 
 tended to arrive at the end of the journey." 
 
 " While your heart flies on with the 
 wings of love," replied the first who spoke ; 
 " and yet cannot reach Fanny's feet any 
 faster than the diligence." 
 
 The two gentlemen who thus conversed 
 were the sole tenants of the machine, and 
 they were both young men of five or six 
 and twenty years of age. The one who 
 was called Frederick, and whose name was, 
 moreover, Prevot, was by far the hand- 
 somest of the two, and upon the whole a 
 very good-looking man, though there was 
 a certain grave and anxious look about his 
 countenance, which those who loved him, 
 and his friend's sister Fanny was one of 
 those who loved him most, called deeply 
 interesting ; while those who did not love 
 him pronounced it to be gloomy and sullen. 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 113 
 
 Sullen he was not, for his was, in truth, a 
 very quick and impetuous nature ; but he 
 had a strong imagination, and was by no 
 means addicted to over bright hopes. 
 After his friend had spoken, he remained 
 silent for a minute or two, and then said, 
 — " Well, Willy, when will the diligence 
 arrive, after all ? " 
 
 " Not till this time to-morrow," replied 
 his companion, laughing. 
 
 " Nonsense, William Gore," said Frede- 
 rick ; "you do not mean to say that the 
 wretched thing will take four-and-twenty 
 hours to go forty miles ?" 
 
 " Why, it stops at a little inn a mile or 
 two farther," replied William Gore, "for 
 eight hours to sleep, as it is called, and 
 you may think yourself very lucky if you 
 do the rest of the journey in sixteen hours 
 more." 
 
 Frederick Prevot bit his lip, and said, — 
 " Cannot we get a chaise ?" 
 
 " Not in such a night as this," replied 
 his companion. " Besides, there is none 
 to be had here. However, in consideration 
 of your lover-like anxiety, I'll tell you 
 
114 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE, 
 
 what we will do. We will sleep here 
 this night ; have a good bottle of Bur- 
 gundy if it can be procured ; let our things 
 follow by the diligence ; hire two horses, 
 and in five hours we shall be at home." 
 
 This was all agreed to by his com- 
 panion, although, to say the truth, Frede- 
 rick, if he had had his own will, would 
 have mounted a horse as soon as he got 
 to the inn, to ride on at full speed to- 
 wards the end of his journey. By this 
 time it was beginning to grow dusk, so 
 that he would have had a darksome ride ; 
 it was raining as hard as it could pour, so 
 that he would have had a cold one, and he 
 himself was already extremely tired ; so 
 that every thing seemed to show that, 
 though contrary to his own inclination, 
 his stay at the inn would be for his benefit. 
 
 On arriving at the place of public re- 
 ception we have described, the travellers 
 made known their purpose, both to the 
 driver of the diligence and to the land- 
 lord of the inn. The first of these two 
 personages, as he intended to charge full 
 price for the whole way, cared very little 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 115 
 
 whether they went on with him or not. 
 The landlord, on his part, vowed that he 
 could give the travellers the best of every 
 thing; but that the gentlemen must put 
 up with a large double-bedded room, as 
 every other room in the place was occupied. 
 Frederick said that he hoped that it was 
 at the back, as they should be out of the 
 way of all the noise and disturbance which 
 was even then going on in the front. This 
 the landlord declared was quite impossible; 
 there was but one room that they could have, 
 and that was in the front. It was a capital 
 room, however, he said, large and roomy ; 
 and they were consequently obliged to 
 make up their minds to their fate. 
 
 As to the food set before them, the land- 
 lord kept his word. The dinner was most 
 excellent, and though neither Claret or 
 Burgundy was a known commodity in the 
 place, yet mine host declared that he had 
 some Port of a very superior quality, some 
 Madeira which had made more voyages 
 round the world than Cook and Anson 
 together, and some brandy, which also had 
 been as much improved by travelling as any 
 peer's son in the realm. 
 
116 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 A crackling fire of dry wood, cheerful 
 lights, though they were but tallow candles, 
 some excellent fish, some game, for it was 
 now autumn, with a broiled fowl, and other 
 accompaniments of the sort, greatly cheered 
 the travellers ; and although the landlord 
 could produce no wine except the Port, 
 which proved of a very doubtful and un- 
 pleasant character, and a portion of which 
 might well be suspected of growing upon 
 English hedges rather than in Portuguese 
 vineyards, he offered to bring forth rum of 
 such a sort as they had never tasted before 
 in their days. That was an age in which 
 punch was considered as one of the most 
 urbane and polished of all beverages ; the 
 travellers willingly agreed to betake them- 
 selves to the bowl ; and the rum produced 
 by the landlord even exceeded his promise 
 in excellence, and made both the travellers 
 marvel at finding any thing so excellent in 
 a country inn. 
 
 They were deep in their potations when 
 the landlord entered with the coachman of 
 the diligence, who, knowing that the tra- 
 vellers did not intend to proceed with him, 
 
CIKCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 117 
 
 now appeared to demand his fare. Both 
 put their hands in their pockets, and 
 William Gore speedily settled his own 
 part of the charge. Frederick Prevot, 
 however, felt in his pockets in vain ; he 
 drew out a number of letters and papers, 
 and then said, with a laugh, " Lend me 
 some money, William ; I must have left 
 my pocket-book in my portmanteau." 
 
 After affecting for a moment to refuse, so 
 as to make his companion somewhat cross, 
 William Gore gave the money that was 
 w r anted, and they went on with their sup- 
 per. The lender ate and drank more than 
 the borrower, and towards ten o'clock they 
 retired to rest in the double-bedded room 
 which the landlord had mentioned. Fre- 
 derick Prevot had one quality, which is not 
 very unusual with quick and impetuous 
 men, he slept, when he was asleep, like a 
 stone, though it was often long after his 
 head touched the pillow ere slumber visited 
 his eyes. It was thus on the night which 
 I have mentioned ; for an hour or more 
 he lay awake, listening to all the noises of 
 the inn, and they were many ; but after 
 
118 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 that he fell into a sleep which seemed as 
 sound as that of death itself. 
 
 We must now take up a new personage 
 in the drama, and speak of the Boots of 
 the inn, who at an early hour of the fol- 
 lowing morning went to the door of the 
 travellers' room to wake them, as he had 
 been told. At first he modestly knocked, 
 but no answer being returned, he went in 
 and opened the window shutters. What was 
 his surprise, however, to find the bed next 
 to the windows, in which William Gore had 
 slept, — if the poor wretch, indeed, had 
 been allowed to sleep at all, — now vacant, 
 though sadly tossed and tumbled about; the 
 pillow and the bed clothes deluged in gore, 
 and all the signs, in fact, of some terrible 
 act having been committed. 
 
 The Boots looked round the room and 
 into the other bed ; and then quitting the 
 chamber in haste, told the landlord what 
 he had beheld. The landlord, the land- 
 lady, the chambermaid, and the ostler, all 
 instantly rushed towards the stairs, but the 
 landlord stopped the progress of the ostler, 
 by sending him immediately for a consta- 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 119 
 
 ble and a neighbouring justice. The rest 
 of the party then returned with the Boots 
 to the double-bedded room, where they 
 found every thing as Boots had described ; 
 and, moreover, discovered that the towel 
 and basin which Frederick Prevot had used 
 the night before were stained with blood. 
 On peeping into the bed, where he lay 
 sound asleep, his face and pillow were found 
 to be slightly bloody, while his right hand 
 and arm, which was stretched out above the 
 bed-clothes, had a good deal of blood upon 
 the fingers, and upon the shirt. The land- 
 lord wisely determined not to wake him till 
 the constable came, and in the mean time 
 further perquisitions were made. The 
 stairs were covered with drops of gore ; 
 traces of the same kind were met with all 
 the way through the garden to the top of 
 the bank above the sea ; footsteps were 
 seen deeply sunk in the plashy ground, as 
 if a man heavily laden had passed along ; 
 and in some places long trailing marks were 
 found, which might very well have been 
 produced by a person dragging along a 
 dead body to throw it into the sea below. 
 
120 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 At length the constable arrived ; Frederick 
 Prevot was awakened with difficulty, and 
 gazed round with a look of astonishment, 
 which, if feigned, was certainly very well 
 put on. That look of astonishment changed 
 to indignation on being charged with the 
 murder of his friend, and he had well nigh 
 knocked down the man who had made the 
 accusation, but he refrained ; and what 
 was his horror, when, on rising and dress- 
 ing himself, as he was told to do, the 
 pocket-book of William Gore, marked with 
 a bloody thumb and finger, was found under 
 his pillow ! 
 
 Were we to follow the fashion of the 
 day, we should dwell upon his examination 
 before the magistrates, and his trial before 
 a jury of his country ; but, for the sake of 
 being singular, or rather, perhaps, of going 
 a step even beyond our contemporaries, 
 we will pass over all the painful incidents 
 of his trial, and dwell upon the still more 
 painful incidents of his execution. Yes, 
 reader, upon his execution ; for the chain 
 of circumstantial evidence was so strong, 
 that the additional facts which came out on 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 121 
 
 the trial, namely, that he had had no money 
 on the preceding night to pay the coach- 
 man, that the pocket-book which he had 
 pretended was in his portmanteau could 
 not be discovered there, and that the cham- 
 bermaid had heard a man go out and come 
 in, were quite sufficient to convince the 
 jury of his guilt. Not a doubt indeed 
 remained on the mind of any person 
 but one, and that was the sister of the 
 murdered man — the promised bride of 
 him who was about to end his days upon 
 the scaffold. She did not believe him 
 guilty ; she knew him well, she had loved 
 him long, and it would have taken evidence 
 ten times more strong, even to have raised 
 a doubt in her mind. She openly and 
 boldly declared her conviction of his inno- 
 cence ; she visited him in prison ; she took 
 leave of him with tenderness and devotion ; 
 she consoled him with reiterated assurances 
 that she was as certain of his innocence as 
 of her own. 
 
 The fatal morning dawned at length; 
 and as it was then the custom to execute 
 persons condemned for murder in chains 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
122 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 
 
 and as near the spot where the deed had 
 been committed as possible, the sentence 
 of Frederick Prevot declared that he was 
 to be hung in chains upon the moor, about 
 half a mile from the inn where he had 
 passed that inauspicious night. The prison 
 in which he had been confined was at some 
 distance, and though the time appointed 
 for his execution was early in the day, the 
 gazing spectators, who had assembled to 
 witness the agony and death of a fellow- 
 creature, were disappointed for some hours 
 of that pleasant pastime by various acci- 
 dents and misadventures which took place, 
 and interrupted the march of the sad pro- 
 cession from the far off county town. 
 
 It seemed as if nature opposed herself 
 to the hanging of an innocent man. The 
 cart, in which, loaded with heavy irons 
 and seated upon straw, he was drawn to- 
 wards the moor, broke down at the end of 
 the first five miles, and it took a long time 
 to repair it. It was then discovered that 
 the man who had undertaken the terrible 
 office of executioner, and who — notwith- 
 standing certain savage propensities of 
 
CIKCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 123 
 
 his nature which led him that way — was 
 so much of a novice as to be nervous and 
 uneasy, had slipped off secretly; nor was 
 it till long search had been made, that he 
 was found, drinking large draughts of 
 spirits in a public-house. He was then 
 placed in the same cart with the prisoner, 
 and the march recommenced ; but some 
 way farther on, in going up a very steep 
 hill, the horse that drew the cart fell down 
 dead in the harness, and a new delay took 
 place while another horse was sent for. 
 Thus the agony of that terrible journey 
 was prolonged to poor Frederick Prevot 
 for many hours ; and his frame, worn with 
 imprisonment, with the struggle of hope 
 and fear, with indignation, anguish, and 
 despair, seemed ready to sink under the 
 protracted suffering thus inflicted on him ; 
 so that many of those who accompanied 
 the procession, seriously thought he would 
 die before he reached the foot of the gal- 
 lows. The clergyman who went with him 
 to afford him spiritual consolation was of 
 that opinion, and mentioned it to the 
 sheriff, who rode by the side of the cart 
 g 2 
 
124 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 on horseback, adding that the prisoner had 
 tasted no food that day. 
 
 The sheriff was a kind-hearted man, and 
 instantly approaching the prisoner, he said, 
 " You seem faint, sir ; will you take a little 
 wine at that public-house, or some brandy, 
 or any thing that you like ? " 
 
 " Sir," replied Frederick, " I will take 
 nothing that can prolong my misery, even 
 for a moment ;" and again he sunk into 
 silence. 
 
 During the rest of the journey, the 
 clergyman spoke to him from time to time, 
 chiefly for the purpose of giving him what 
 comfort he could ; but as they at length 
 approached the moor, and the dark line of 
 the gallows was seen rising in the evening 
 air, the good man, in a low tone, urged 
 Frederick earnestly to confess the crime. 
 The young prisoner turned slowly round 
 upon him, and said, " Would you have me 
 die with a lie in my mouth ? I am inno- 
 cent ! and my innocence will some day be 
 proved ! " 
 
 Soon after this, the fatal spot was reached ; 
 and as it was now beginning to grow twi- 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 125 
 
 light, all the rest of the terrible proceed- 
 ings were hurried as much as possible. 
 Frederick Prevot showed firmness and 
 readiness in all, and more strength than 
 people had believed he possessed. Though 
 the crowd, which had been there from the 
 morning, was somewhat diminished, the 
 numbers were still considerable, and while 
 the executioner was in the act of adjusting 
 the rope, the prisoner turned to the people, 
 and said, in a loud, clear voice, " Remember, 
 every one of you, that to the very last mo- 
 ment of my life, and with my very last 
 breath I declare that 1 am innocent ! — 
 Now," he continued, turning to the hang- 
 man, " is all ready ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man, drawing 
 the cap over his face ; and without waiting 
 for any further word, Frederick Prevot 
 threw himself violently off the ladder, and 
 remained suspended between heaven and 
 earth. 
 
 A low murmur ran through the people, 
 
 and it was a sad one too ; for there was 
 
 something in the manner of his death which 
 
 shook the conviction, even of those who 
 
 G 3 
 
126 CIKCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 had previously felt most sure of his guilt. 
 Some indeed went away, saying that he 
 died game, but the great majority of the 
 multitude separated with a feeling, that, on 
 that moor, an innocent man had just been 
 murdered. 
 
 Such was the conviction of a shepherd, 
 an elderly man, who fed the flock of a 
 neighbouring squire, the lord of the manor ; 
 and when he went home, he gave his wife 
 an account of the whole proceedings, add- 
 ing, " They may say what they like, but I 
 am very sure that poor gentleman did not 
 kill the other one, and I should not wonder 
 if the truth were found out some day." 
 
 As was usual with this old man, in the 
 very grey of the dawning on the following 
 day he led forth his sheep to pasture ; and 
 the feelings he had experienced on the pre- 
 ceding night naturally made him turn his 
 steps towards the gallows on the moor. 
 Though it was a terrible sight, to see the 
 body of a human being hanging there, 
 loaded with heavy chains, yet the old man 
 felt an interest in all that had occurred, 
 which made him pause and look up. In 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 127 
 
 the mean time, the sheep began to take a 
 wrong direction, and he called to his dog 
 to turn them back. What was his surprise, 
 however, when he heard a faint voice, which 
 seemed to come from the gibbet, inquire, 
 " Is there any body there ?" and then add, 
 " For God's sake ! take me down, or end 
 my life, for this is very dreadful." 
 
 The voice evidently came from the man 
 who had been hanged, although the cap, 
 which was still over his face, prevented the 
 shepherd from seeing his lips move. At 
 first, the old man had started with terror 
 and nearly sunk to the earth ; but now his 
 natural exclamation was, " Good heavens ! 
 are you not dead yet ? " 
 
 "No," replied the voice, "nor even 
 hurt, except by remaining so many hours 
 here. The rope does not press upon my 
 neck at all, and somehow I am hanging by 
 my legs and my arms." 
 
 " Stay, stay," cried the shepherd eagerly j 
 " I will get a ladder, and take you down ; 
 but do not speak to any one else, for fear 
 they should hang you again." 
 
 Thus saying, the old shepherd ran faster 
 g 4 
 
128 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 than he had ran for thirty years, to a detached 
 barn and rick-yard at a short distance, in 
 which were lying several thatching ladders. 
 Taking the largest of these, he was speedily 
 at the foot of the gibbet, and had soon 
 placed the feet of poor Frederick Prevot 
 firm upon one of the rounds of the ladder. 
 It was now very evident how he had escaped 
 death. The hangman, both inexperienced 
 and half drunk, had twisted the rope round 
 the chains in such a manner that the noose 
 never slipped at all, and the lateness of the 
 hour at which the sentence was executed 
 prevented the mistake from being perceived 
 by others. The very suddenness of the 
 spring which Frederick had given had en- 
 tangled the cord more strongly than ever 
 in the chains ; and as the last strong exer- 
 tion which he made had exhausted, for the 
 time, all his remaining corporeal powers, he 
 fainted before he himself perceived that the 
 anticipated death was warded off for the 
 moment. 
 
 The shepherd went skilfully though cau- 
 tiously to work to set him free. He first 
 cut the cord that pinioned his hands, and 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 129 
 
 having thus enabled him to grasp the ladder 
 firmly, he loosened the noose from round 
 his neck, and hastened to descend, leaving 
 room for Frederick to follow. The poor 
 young man, however, was so feeble, and so 
 stiff, that it was with the greatest difficulty 
 he crept down, and even then could not 
 support himself upon his feet, though the 
 shepherd was in great agitation and terror 
 lest any one should come up, as the sun 
 was now fully risen. 
 
 For Frederick to reach his cottage quickly, 
 was quite out of the question ; and as the 
 best thing he could do for him, the old 
 man supported him to a deep hollow on the 
 moor filled with tall heath, and hid from any 
 much frequented path. There he made him lie 
 down, covered him over as well as he could, 
 and hastened home to get some hot milk 
 and other restoratives, such as he thought 
 best calculated to give him strength to com- 
 plete his escape. His efforts were fully 
 successful ; Frederick recovered sufficiently 
 to reach the old man's cottage as soon as it 
 was dark, and, under cover of the subse- 
 quent night, he made his way towards the 
 G 5 
 
130 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 dwelling of her who was now weeping him 
 as dead and lost to her for ever. 
 
 The disappearance of the body from the 
 gallows excited some conversation, but small 
 surprise. Many people said that the corpse 
 had gone to the anatomists, and the chains 
 to the old iron shop ;• others again, declared 
 that the friends of the criminal had carried 
 off the body to bury him ; but no one en- 
 tertained a suspicion of the truth. In the 
 mean while, the shepherd, making some 
 reasonable excuse, gave his flock into the 
 charge of a neighbour for the time, and 
 accompanied Frederick to the house of 
 Mary Gore. 
 
 The old man undertook the task of break- 
 ing the news to her, and delicate indeed 
 was that task ; for, at the best, the tidings 
 had wellnigh killed her with joy. The 
 door of the neat small house, which she had 
 inhabited alone since her mother's death 
 about two years before, was soon open for 
 Frederick Prevot, and their meeting was 
 one on which it will not do to dwell. He 
 found her in the dress of a widow ; and 
 though he would fain have lingered, and 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 131 
 
 would almost have risked any thing rather 
 than leave her again, yet Mary's only 
 anxiety was to get him beyond the shores 
 of England as speedily as possible. 
 
 She promised, if he would go to the 
 West Indies, to follow him immediately, and 
 there to unite her fate to his. Though his 
 property was, of course, lost for ever, yet 
 hers was ample, according to all the calcu- 
 lations of love ; and she proposed to sell 
 every thing in England immediately, and 
 to purchase property beyond the jurisdic- 
 tion of the English law. The sum re- 
 quired to enable Frederick himself to pro- 
 ceed on his way was soon provided; and 
 as there was no careful Bow Street officer 
 watching the ports anxiously for a man who 
 was supposed to be dead, Frederick Prevot 
 was suffered to sail quietly away in a West 
 India trader, and arrived safely at Jamaica, 
 after the ordinary time occupied by the pas- 
 sage in those days. The captain and several 
 of the passengers, indeed, during the voyage 
 remarked about him a certain degree of 
 anxiety and reserve, which the former, 
 who was a good-humoured soul, had striven 
 g 6 
 
132 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 to overcome by various little acts of kind- 
 ness. When the vessel arrived, the cap- 
 tain took him on shore in his own boat, 
 with another passenger, and promised to 
 show them a house where they could get 
 good lodging. As they were walking 
 along, however, before a row of low stores 
 and warehouses, the captain and the other 
 passenger suddenly perceived the blood 
 rush up into their companion's face, and 
 with a leap like that of a maniac, he darted 
 forward, and seized the arm of a gentleman 
 who was sauntering slowly on before them, 
 talking to a negro. 
 
 The gentleman instantly turned round, 
 and exclaimed, " Ha! Frederick Prevot!" 
 " Frederick Prevot !" cried the captain, 
 running up and gazing upon his face, 
 " why that is the man who was hanged for 
 the murder of Mr. Gore." 
 
 " I am the man who was hanged for the 
 murder of Mr. Gore," replied Frederick, 
 turning round, but still holding the other 
 by the hand, " and this is Mr. Gore him- 
 self, for whose murder I was hanged." 
 " Well, this is the oddest story I ever 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 133 
 
 heard, " cried the captain ; " how should 
 two dead men come to meet at Kingston, 
 Jamaica ? " 
 
 "Are you all joking Frederick?" de- 
 manded William Gore, with a grave and 
 sorrowful face. "Is it possible that the 
 accident that befell me at the inn has led 
 to such misery and sorrow as your strange 
 words seem to imply ? " 
 
 "It is too true, indeed," replied Fre- 
 derick. 
 
 " Why, I have got the newspaper in my 
 pocket, myself," said the captain, " with 
 an account of the execution ; and there is 
 another in the ship containing all about 
 the murder, and a wood-cut of the bloody 
 villain cutting his friend's throat in bed." 
 
 "The fools!" said William Gore ; "why, 
 the whole thing was as simple as possible. 
 I ate and drank too much that night, Fre- 
 derick, and I was awoke by a violent bleed- 
 ing at the nose. I searched about for some 
 cold water and washed my face, thinking 
 that would stop it ; but finding that it did 
 not succeed in so doing, I determined to 
 go out into the air. I recollected, however, 
 
134 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 that I had not much liked the appearance 
 of the people of the house, and as it was 
 necessary to leave the door open, I tried to 
 wake you ; but you slept like a stone ; and 
 I thrust my pocket-book under your pillow. 
 I then went down stairs and out into the 
 orchard — intending to go down through the 
 garden, which I had seen on the preceding 
 night, to the top of the cliff — when, sud- 
 denly, I stumbled upon three or four men, 
 who were dragging up what I now find 
 were contraband West India goods, upon a 
 little truck. At first they seemed inclined 
 to murder me, declaring that I was a cus- 
 tom-house officer come down from London, 
 and I could only obtain mercy upon the 
 hard condition of suffering myself to be 
 carried on board the ship, which was then 
 lying off the coast. They promised to set 
 me on shore again, or to put me into the 
 first fishing-boat they met with ; but they 
 either met with none, or were determined 
 to keep their word in neither respect, for 
 they brought me straight on to St. Lucie, 
 and with difficulty have I found my way 
 hither, having nothing in my pocket but a 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 135 
 
 couple of stray guineas. I am now wait- 
 ing here for remittances from England, but 
 certainly had no idea of seeing you, Fre- 
 derick, though I took it for granted that 
 your marriage with Mary would be post- 
 poned in consequence of the uncertainty 
 attending my fate." 
 
 It was not very long after this interview 
 that Mary Gore herself arrived, and strange 
 indeed were her sensations, when a boat 
 came out to welcome her, containing the 
 brother and the lover, both of whom she 
 had for a time believed to be dead. 
 
 The events which I have just detailed 
 made a great sensation at the time ; and 
 the captain of the packet still continued to 
 declare that it was the oddest story he had 
 ever heard. It is nevertheless a true one : 
 and the gentleman from whom I heard the 
 tale had seen the original record, and gave 
 me the real names of all the persons 
 concerned ; for those herein assigned to 
 the different characters in the book are, to 
 the best of my recollection, the only ficti- 
 tious part of the narrative. 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 " The noble house of Gonzaga," says an 
 Italian writer, in the year 1627, "had 
 declined from its former splendour, and, 
 forgetful of its ancient valour and wisdom, 
 had given itself up to luxury and intem- 
 perance." Three brothers had successively 
 filled the ducal chair, Francesco, Ferdi- 
 nando, and Vincenzo, and each had dis- 
 tinguished himself not by restoring any 
 vigour to a decaying line, but by intro- 
 ducing new modes and forms of vice. 
 
 The first of these brothers, Francesco, 
 had left one child by a neglected and in- 
 jured wife ; but that child was a daughter, 
 in her mere infancy when her father died ; 
 and while the undoubted law bestowed the 
 duchy of Mantua on the brother of the 
 
140 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 deceased prince, the arm of power gave 
 him also the duchy of Montferrat, which 
 the lawyers of Italy held to belong of her 
 own right to Mary of Mantua. Under 
 the guardianship of her uncle Ferdinand 
 she rose towards womanhood, acquiring 
 new graces and accomplishments every 
 hour, but rarely suffered to appear at his 
 court, and kept carefully from the eyes 
 and tongues of all who might be capti- 
 vated by her beauty, or inform her of her 
 rights. 
 
 At length, however, in the year 1626, 
 the consequences of vices and follies car- 
 ried Ferdinand childless to the grave, and 
 the last male of the race, Vincenzo, bound 
 his brow with the ducal wreath of Mantua. 
 Scarcely had he taken possession of the 
 dukedom, when Mary received a sum- 
 mons to appear in his presence, and 
 hastened to obey. 
 
 She was at the time in the convent of 
 
 ~, a few miles from the city of 
 
 Mantua, in which she had been educated, 
 and usually resided. No state — no dis- 
 play, marked out the princess from amongst 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 141 
 
 the nuns ; and it was only a greater degree 
 of liberty, a different dress, and the prac- 
 tice of the various accomplishments which 
 formed the relief of her solitary life, that 
 distinguished the fair young Duchess of 
 Montferrat from her cloistered companions. 
 Two servants, indeed, were allowed to her ; 
 the maid who had attended upon her from 
 her youth, and the good man who had been 
 ordinary ecuyer to her mother. She had 
 mules, too, to take the fresh air, beyond 
 the limits of the convent gardens, so that 
 her life was easy if not happy ; and feeling 
 no passions, knowing no joys, beyond the 
 simple ones of her condition, she sought 
 not to change a fate so calm, for that 
 sea of troubles, the distant roaring of 
 whose waves she heard even in her tranquil 
 solitude. 
 
 It was evening when she received the 
 summons to attend upon the new duke, 
 and her heart beat somewhat quickly, for 
 many a dark tale had been told within the 
 convent walls of the crimes and faults of 
 Vincenzo of Gonzaga, the faithless priest, 
 the married cardinal. — It was evening, 
 
142 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 and in the autumn, but yet warm and 
 bright, with glowing skies and rich ver- 
 dure, and grapes swinging from tree to 
 tree, ready for the basket of the husband- 
 man ; and as Mary stood in the convent 
 garden waiting for the carriage which was 
 to convey her to Mantua, as fair and beau- 
 tiful a scene was spread out before her 
 eyes as the pencil ever borrowed from that 
 land of sunshine. Wide extended beneath 
 her view lay the fair Mantuan plains to- 
 wards Verona — plains and scenes which 
 never quitted the memory of the great 
 Roman poet, though he abandoned his 
 birthplace for more southern lands — and 
 there bathed in purple light, with every 
 blue shadow, mingled with liquid gold, ap- 
 peared the gentle sweeps and soft lines of 
 trees and manifold streams, with here and 
 there the feudal castle crowning an emi- 
 nence, or the tower of some village church 
 rising up out of the dell. The songs of 
 the vine gatherers, for they had already 
 begun, made the air tuneful ; and the sight 
 of manifold living objects in the distance, 
 trains of gay peasantry, the loaded cart, 
 
MARY. OF MANTUA. 143 
 
 the quick-driven car, and the silver grey- 
 cattle swimming in the Mincio, rendered 
 the landscape gay as well as beautiful. 
 
 Nor was Mary herself (could any eye 
 have seen her there) an object worthy of 
 but slight remark. Exquisitely lovely, with 
 an air and expression not exactly of melan- 
 choly, but of that calm pensiveness which 
 her life and situation were so well calcu- 
 lated to give, she stood by the wall of the 
 convent garden, partly leaning upon a worn 
 stone table which had much the character 
 of an ancient tomb, partly resting against 
 a high Gothic cross which rose from the 
 low wall of the garden, and marked out 
 — to the eyes of those who travelled along 
 the road that ran at the bottom of the deep 
 bank below — the abode of those who, de- 
 dicating themselves to a life of religious 
 solitude, found peace or discontent accord- 
 ing to the feelings of their own hearts. 
 Her whole person was full of loveliness, 
 her whole attitude replete with grace. Her 
 hands rested crossed on a book, which she 
 had taken to while away the time, her 
 head was slightly bent forward, and her eyes 
 
144 MAKY OF MANTUA. 
 
 gazed upon the distant prospect, while the 
 white drapery in which she was clothed, 
 and the warm loveliness of her complexion, 
 contrasted beautifully with the cold grey 
 stone and yellow lichens of the ancient 
 cross. 
 
 As she thus stood and gazed, she heard a 
 voice not far distant say, " Lady !" in a 
 low and gentle tone. Those were days, 
 however, in which danger was so frequently 
 close to the domestic hearth, that prepara- 
 tion was ever the part of manly courage, 
 apprehension a natural part of womanly 
 weakness. 
 
 Mary of Mantua started suddenly back, 
 and looked round with fear, but the same 
 voice repeated, — 
 
 " Lady, be not alarmed. It is a friend 
 who would warn you of matters touching 
 your safety." 
 
 At the same time from behind the ruined 
 column of what had once been a small chapel 
 attached to the walls came forth a stranger 
 with a slow step, as if afraid, by any sud- 
 den movement, of scaring the fair girl 
 away. The wall was still between them, it 
 
MAKY OF MANTUA. 145 
 
 is true : but the stranger held his giddy 
 footing easily on the top of the high bank, 
 and the wall was there not breast-high. 
 
 Mary of Mantua drew back : she turned 
 one timid glance towards the monastery : 
 it was in sight : the people who were 
 slowly preparing the carriage were within 
 call : the stranger was alone, too. But 
 that was not all ; there was an open can- 
 dour in his look, a nobility in his demean- 
 our, a frank free grace in his countenance, 
 that struck and won upon her. He was 
 in the prime of youth, with a warm glowing 
 cheek and bright eye. The full arching 
 lips parted in somewhat of a smile at her 
 apprehensions, and there was a cheerful 
 glance in his eye that spoke of a bright 
 free spirit. Above the ordinary height, he 
 was graceful as well as strong in frame, and 
 his features were like some that she had 
 seen before. His person and complexion 
 were any thing but Italian; and had he 
 not spoken the language without the 
 slightest accent, she might have taken 
 him for one of the followers of the house 
 
 VOL. II. h 
 
146 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 house of Austria. His whole appearance, 
 however, was extremely pleasing, and though 
 still somewhat alarmed, she at length ven- 
 tured to ask what were his wishes. 
 
 " Be not afraid, Lady !" he answered in 
 a full, sweet-toned voice ; " I come to save 
 you from danger, not to place you in it. 
 Approach a little nearer, for I must speak 
 low, and must not be seen by any but you." 
 
 She took a step nearer to the place where 
 he stood, still looking upon him as a timid 
 fawn looks at those who would draw it to 
 eat bread out of their hand. 
 
 "Listen!" he said, "listen, Mary of 
 Mantua, for what I have to say imports 
 you much to know T ; and I have short time 
 to say it. Your hand is a prize, for which 
 three princes now will strive. First, Vin- 
 cenzo, Duke of Mantua ! " 
 
 " Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mary, in 
 a tone of fear ; " can you mean my uncle ?" 
 
 " Even so ! " answered the stranger ; 
 " but hear me out, fair maid, for time is 
 short ; the next is one you know well, 
 Ferrand, Prince of Guastalla." 
 
 " I know him not," cried Mary, with a 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 147 
 
 look of horror. " Once, only once, have 
 I seen his dark and lowering face ; but I 
 have heard enough to make me abhor the 
 ground that bears him." 
 
 The stranger made no comment, but 
 went on, " the third is Charles, Duke of 
 Rhetel." 
 
 " An alien to our race, and the son of 
 my father's enemy ! " exclaimed Mary. 
 
 The stranger smiled, apparently well 
 pleased. 
 
 "These are three princes/' he said; 
 " but what say you, lady, if a simple gen- 
 tleman of noble birth, and of some renown 
 — against these three princes, fate, for- 
 tune, and all the world to boot — were to 
 enter the lists for that fair hand." 
 
 "He were a bold man!" answered 
 Mary, with a deep blush. 
 
 " Thank God ! he is a bold man," re- 
 plied the stranger, " but to my more press- 
 ing task, for I see the carriage is nearly 
 ready. The Prince of Guastalla is now 
 within the territory of Mantua ; he knows 
 that this night you enter the city. If you 
 go by the ordinary road, you will fall into 
 h 2 
 
148 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 his hands, and nothing but a miracle can 
 save you from his power. When you come 
 to the vineyard of Perrotti, just opposite 
 the castle of Frederic di Sasso, order the 
 driver to turn down the left hand road and 
 follow it to the city. Aid shall be near at 
 hand, if needful ; but it were better, far 
 better, to avoid than to encounter evil." 
 
 " Oh ! better, far better !" echoed Mary; 
 " but, oh ! gentle stranger, do not leave 
 me. If you have power, give me protection 
 against that daring man ! " 
 
 " I will not be far from thee, fairest and 
 brightest," replied the stranger ; " but have 
 I not said, that I am without power in the 
 land? What this hand can do, shall be done 
 in your defence; and if it be needful to 
 pour out the last drop of my heart's blood, 
 it shall be staked as freely as a gambler's 
 ducat. A few faithful servants, too, will 
 not flinch from their poor master in the 
 hour of need ; and if you are saved from 
 hazard, my guerdon shall be one kiss of 
 that fair hand — shall it not be so ? " 
 
 " Oh, you might claim far better boons 
 than that," cried Mary eagerly. 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 149 
 
 " Well, then, it shall be so," he said, 
 "one kiss of those sweet lips! — but now, 
 bethink you, lady, how you will meet your 
 uncle. If, as sure I am he will, he offers, 
 contrary to God's law, to make his brother's 
 child his wife, be wise, and drive not his 
 passionate mind to frenzy. He has a wife 
 still living ; but the bonds between them, 
 the pliant church is now about to sever. 
 Be cautious ; show no harsh repugnance. 
 Tell him that you can hear no such words 
 so long as he is priest, uncle, husband to 
 another ; that all those bonds must be 
 loosened by the church, ere you can even 
 let his words rest in your ear. But, lo ! 
 they seek you ; I must away ! Contrive 
 some short delay, that I may reach the 
 point of danger first. To-morrow, at this 
 hour, if you have returned, I will seek you 
 here." 
 
 Thus saying, the stranger turned and 
 left her, and in a few minutes the servants 
 sought her, saying that the carriage was 
 ready. The directions of the stranger she 
 followed implicitly, trusting with the con- 
 fidence of unchastised youth. She detained 
 h 3 
 
150 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 the carriage for a few minutes, and then 
 ordered the coachman to drive as she had 
 been instructed. The Italian looked at 
 her in sulky silence, and went on as if in- 
 tending to obey ; but when the vehicle 
 reached the turning of the road, he was 
 evidently about to pursue the way which 
 had been forbidden. Mary of Mantua, 
 however, stopped the carriage, and trying 
 to raise her gentle voice into the sharp tone 
 of displeasure, asked how he dared to dis- 
 obey. 
 
 The man replied surlily, " Because it is 
 the best road ! " and he would certainly 
 have driven on had not the old servant 
 who attended upon her interfered to en- 
 force his mistress' command. Even his 
 authority the driver was inclined to resist ; 
 but while, with true Italian carelessness of 
 time, with loud words, and exaggerated 
 gestures, the two were arguing, there came 
 a sound of horses galloping. It was what the 
 driver wished and expected, and, looking 
 up the road, he saw a body of some ten or 
 twelve mounted men coming at full speed. 
 Mary saw them too, and terror and anguish 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 151 
 
 took possession of her heart. As they 
 came on however, there suddenly ap- 
 peared other figures in the road between 
 her and them. From amongst the trees 
 and vineyards poured out a little band on 
 foot and horseback, and at their head, 
 managing his fiery horse with ease and 
 grace, he whom she had seen at the convent 
 not an hour before. Of her he now took 
 no notice ; but standing firm in the way, 
 formed with his band a barrier between her 
 and the coming horsemen. The driver 
 still paused, though she besought him to 
 go on, and she could behold swords crossed 
 and pistols fired, and one or two horsemen 
 fly up the road again. She saw not well 
 which party had the advantage, but the 
 driver judged more clearly, and, smacking 
 his whip, drove down the road he had been 
 ordered to take. 
 
 New agitation now fell upon Mary of 
 Mantua as she approached the abode of 
 her uncle ; and as drawbridge after draw- 
 bridge, gate after gate were passed, she 
 prayed to Heaven for strength and prudence 
 h 4 
 
152 MAEY OF MANTUA. 
 
 to save herself from the dark horror of his 
 love. 
 
 She had not seen the Duke Vincenzo 
 for many years, and had long forgotten 
 him, so that imagination drew her own 
 sketch from the rumours and stories of 
 the day. It was now twilight, and she was 
 ushered up the long flights of marble stairs 
 — afterwards destroyed in the cruel sack- 
 ing of the city — and then into a cabinet 
 where she remembered having played in 
 the days of her childhood, when her father 
 was living and Duke of Mantua. It now 
 seemed smaller, but more gloomy, though it 
 was well lighted, and on the opposite side sat 
 one whose appearance at once marked out 
 the Prince. He rose and advanced towards 
 her as different a being as it was possible 
 to conceive, from all that she had pre- 
 viously fancied. Tall, graceful, handsome, 
 though in his decline, and though sick- 
 ness — perhaps vice — had worn all the 
 rosy lines of youth away, and left nothing 
 but the shadow of beauty behind, his ap- 
 pearance was certainly far more prepossess- 
 ing than Mary of Mantua had expected. 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 153 
 
 Nevertheless, there was something in the 
 expression of his countenance — something 
 in the fixed and criticising gaze with which 
 he looked upon the lovely creature before 
 him, that made an involuntary shudder 
 pass over her frame ; and when he took 
 her by the hand, and, as her uncle, kissed 
 her cheek, the warm blood rose up in it, 
 and she thought of the warning she had 
 received, and of him who had given it. 
 
 The Duke was not long ere he spoke 
 upon that theme which she most dreaded 
 to hear ; but it was not in the terms 
 which might have been most painful to her. 
 He treated it but as a matter of court 
 necessity : he talked of his marriage with 
 her as a thing that would benefit the state. 
 Princes he said must be the slaves to their 
 duties, and though he doubted not that to 
 one so young and beautiful as herself it 
 must be somewhat painful to unite herself 
 to a man in the decline of life, yet he was 
 sure that she would make no opposition to 
 that which would set at rest for ever all 
 the contending claims on Mantua and 
 Montferrat. 
 
 h 5 
 
154 MAEY OF MANTUA. 
 
 So well and wisely had her unknown 
 counsellor hitherto advised her, that Mary- 
 followed his directions in this also to the 
 letter. She showed no repugnance, but 
 bending down her head with the ingenuous 
 blush of modesty upon her cheek, she re- 
 plied as had been dictated. The Duke 
 seemed pleased : perhaps it was more than 
 he expected, and he replied with sanguine 
 expectation that his divorce would not now 
 be long delayed, after which a dispensation 
 would be easily obtained. There was but 
 one thing which Mary besought him ear- 
 nestly to grant, which was, that she might 
 return on the morrow to the convent where 
 she had passed her early days. 
 
 The Duke consented ; but while he spoke, 
 the old attendant who had ever remained 
 attached to her, was admitted by a page, 
 and bending low, he related to the Duke 
 the adventure which had befallen them on 
 the way, and commented bitterly on the 
 treachery of their driver. The Duke sent 
 for his secretary and whispered a word in 
 his ear; and as he was leading Mary to the 
 hall where supper waited them, there came 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 155 
 
 through the windows the sound of a loud 
 volley and one shrill piercing cry. The 
 Duke moved gracefully on by her side 
 without a change of countenance ; but 
 Mary turned deadly pale, and on the fol- 
 lowing morning another servant drove the 
 vehicle that contained her back to the 
 convent. 
 
 It was about noon when she arrived, and 
 the busy nuns surrounded her like a swarm 
 of bees. They were all eager to hear tidings 
 from without, but they were soon satisfied ; 
 and at the same evening hour at which on 
 the day before she had watched the fair 
 prospect of the Mantuan plains, she again 
 stood by the table of stone in the convent 
 garden, and the stranger was by her side. 
 She thanked him eagerly and often, and 
 gazed upon the bright and glowing coun- 
 tenance that gazed with tender admir- 
 ation upon her again. 
 
 " Have I not won my reward ?" he said. 
 
 Mary replied not, but cast down her 
 eyes with a warm blush. The stranger 
 bent over her, and with the tenderness of 
 h 6 
 
156 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 love, chastened by respect, he pressed his 
 lips upon hers. 
 
 " Mary," he said, " Mary, I will win 
 thee or die. Three more evenings will I 
 stand by yon old shrine in the dear hope of 
 seeing you again ; and then my footsteps 
 must wander from thee far. But I leave 
 thee not unwatched, unguarded. My spirit 
 shall hover round thee though my body be 
 absent ; and I promise, I swear, in three 
 months more, even to a day, to stand again 
 in your presence and win you for my bride 
 or die." 
 
 There might have been many in Mary's 
 state and station who would have thought 
 the stranger bold to believe she might be 
 so won by an unknown, and inferior per- 
 son, and to talk as if he were born to con- 
 tend for her hand with princes. But Mary 
 thought not so : feelings which she had never 
 known before were busily possessing them- 
 selves of her heart, and though to feel 
 them there made her thrill with something 
 like apprehension, yet they were so sweet 
 she would do nothing to banish them. She 
 lingered with him long and he with her, 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 157 
 
 and for three nights more they met and 
 passed a happy hour, gilded with the dawn- 
 ing brightness of young love. 
 
 He left her on the third with a painful 
 and anxious farewell ; and Mary now felt 
 how lonely was her state of being. 
 
 The hours flew heavily, the days rolled 
 on in care and anxiety — but she forgot 
 not the absent ; and every rumour that she 
 heard of movements at the court of Rome 
 regarding her uncle's divorce made her heart 
 sick. But Vincenzo himself seemed to press 
 matters but feebly, and when at length the 
 appalling news reached her that he was free, 
 he showed no inclination to profit by that 
 freedom. She then heard that he was sick 
 — sick even to the gates of death, and there 
 were rumours of arming in Guastalla, and 
 of Austrian forces moving to take posses- 
 sion of Mantua on the Duke's decease, or 
 of France sending armies to secure it for 
 the house of Nevers. Then came tidings 
 of messengers hurrying to and fro between 
 Paris and Mantua, and between Mantua 
 and Rome, and so went by the time till 
 the three months had passed over, and 
 
158 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 then, though the air was wintry, Mary 
 eagerly hurried forth and stood by the 
 table of stone as the sun was sinking to 
 repose. She gazed over the Mantuan 
 plain ; but no one was seen : she listened ; 
 but heard not the voice whose memory had 
 cheered her solitude. The sun sunk and 
 all was darkness. 
 
 With a heart sad and depressed she was 
 taking her way back to the convent when 
 the bell at the gate rang, and an immediate 
 summons was given her to proceed to 
 Mantua in one of the Duke's carriages with 
 all speed, to hear the last injunctions of her 
 dying uncle. State now surrounded her, 
 guards were on each side of the vehicle, and 
 in the convent parlour waited a high dame 
 of the court to accompany her on the way. 
 
 The scene she had to go through Mary 
 felt would be painful ; but there was a 
 greater degree of depression at her heart 
 than even the anticipation of standing by 
 the death-bed of her uncle could account 
 for. Gloomy then and desponding, disap- 
 pointed and anxious, Mary entered the 
 carriage, asking herself what was to be her 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 159 
 
 fate when her uncle should be no more. 
 The night was dark and stormy ; the dull 
 winds blew and whistled along the road, 
 and for about half a mile not a word was 
 spoken by either Mary or her companion. 
 At length, however, the lady said, " I 
 have been commanded to inform your 
 Highness as soon as we were actually on 
 the way, that it will be necessary for you to 
 prepare your mind for a great change of 
 condition. The Duke is, as you know, at 
 the point of death. The Duke of Nevers 
 is next heir to the coronet of Mantua, and 
 as it is absolutely necessary that all claims to 
 this duchy and Montferrat should centre in 
 one race, it has been determined that your 
 Highness should give your hand to the 
 young Duke of Rhetel, son of the Duke 
 of Nevers. The Prince destined to be your 
 husband has already arrived in Mantua ; 
 and as there is the most urgent necessity 
 that your marriage should take place before 
 the death of Duke Vincenzo, he has gene- 
 rously determined, that even in his mortal 
 illness he will see the alliance completed 
 
160 MAKY OF MANTUA. 
 
 this very night, the proper dispensations 
 having already arrived from Rome." 
 
 It was with difficulty that Mary of Man- 
 tua prevented herself from sinking from the 
 seat in terror and agony, The horror, the 
 awful horror, of being called upon in a mo- 
 ment to wed one whom she had never before 
 beheld, while her heart was but too surely 
 given to another, overpowered her for a few 
 minutes ; but then she recollected all the 
 resolution and courage of her race ; she 
 protested against the cruelty and injustice 
 of the act which her uncle proposed to com- 
 mit, and solemnly declared that nothing 
 should induce her to yield her hand in 
 such indecent haste to an utter stranger. 
 The lady who accompanied her heard all 
 with that chilling coldness which is far 
 more dispiriting than actual opposition, and 
 merely said, " That she feared her High- 
 ness would find herself forced to obey." 
 
 Mary had recourse to silence ; and though 
 her heart was sad and heavy, it remained 
 firm, and she said to herself, " They can 
 but kill me — that they will not do — and 
 if they do, better so die." 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 161 
 
 Once more then she passed the manifold 
 gates and drawbridges, and entered what 
 she felt to be, for her, one vast dark pri- 
 son ; but she thought of him she loved, 
 and though she called him cruel in her 
 own heart for not having come to advise or 
 deliver her — still she felt that she loved, 
 and that she could not, dared not wed an- 
 other. 
 
 The gates of the palace were at length 
 reached ; the courts were filled with 
 soldiers ; cannon guarded the entrance ; 
 every thing told that vast preparations had 
 been made to secure tranquillity among the 
 people on the death of the reigning duke. 
 She saw lights streaming from the hall 
 above, and, led forward by her companion, 
 she advanced up the wide staircase and into 
 the antechamber. There, however, an officer 
 addressed her, saying, " All is ready, Ma- 
 dam: the Duke waits your Highness. 
 There is not a moment to spare !" 
 
 " Go forward, Madam !" said Mary to 
 the lady who accompanied her, " go for- 
 ward, and tell my uncle my unalterable re- 
 solve, as I announced it to you." 
 
162 MARY OF MANTUA. 
 
 The lady paused and looked back, but 
 she saw that Mary could not escape, and 
 advancing, she entered the hall beyond, 
 leaving the door ajar behind her. Mary 
 could only see the faded form of her uncle 
 lying on a splendid couch, and looking as 
 if death had already achieved the victory. 
 But she heard first his voice say sharply, 
 " If not by good will, by force ! " and then 
 another, but a sweeter voice, add in the 
 French tongue, " Let me speak with her 
 for a moment, my gracious lord." 
 
 An instant after the door opened, and, 
 clothed in princely apparel, a young man 
 appeared — But Mary's heart beat fast — 
 her knees trembled — the colour came and 
 went in her cheek — she stretched forth 
 her arms towards him — she fell almost 
 fainting on his bosom. 
 
 " Oh ! why came you not ? why came 
 you not ? " she cried. 
 
 " Hark, Mary!" he answered, as the 
 palace clock struck loud and clear ; " hark, 
 beloved, it is our hour of meeting ! and I 
 am here. Thine own, dear cousin, Charles 
 
MARY OF MANTUA. 163 
 
 of Gonzaga — will you refuse the Duke of 
 Rhetel still?" 
 
 The warm, warm blood, was all over 
 that bright face ; but the smile — the timid 
 yet confiding smile, spoke more than words 
 could have done, and in a moment more 
 the Duke of Rhetel led on to the altar, 
 raised in the hall beyond, a trembling, a 
 blushing, but not an unhappy bride. 
 
THE 
 
 BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
THE 
 
 BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 At the distance of about twelve miles from 
 the point at which the Necker falls into 
 the magnificent Rhine, between the small 
 and beautiful town of Neckersteinach, and 
 the famous city of Heilbron, a deep and 
 narrow gorge, lined with wood, and flanked, 
 on either hand, by rocks, carries down a 
 small and sparkling stream into the wider 
 channel of the Necker. Following the 
 course of that rivulet up towards the 
 mountains of the Odenwald, in which n 
 takes its rise, lies a small village do- 
 mineered by one of the frowning castles 
 of the ancient feudal lords of Germair. . 
 That castle now stands a grey ruin, raising 
 its proud but shattered head in the majesty 
 of desolation, twined with immemorial ivy, 
 and with its aged brow crowned by the 
 
168 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 fantastic hand of nature, with rich gar- 
 lands of wild flowers. Thus have I seen 
 it myself, catching the shadows of the 
 clouds as they flitted across the sky, whilst 
 the humbler village, that has grown up at 
 its feet, lay smiling in the calm sunshine. 
 But in the days that I speak of, though 
 the lords of that castle dwelt amidst the 
 clouds and storms of ambitious life, yet 
 the light and the sunshine of prosperity 
 was upon those castle walls, and splendour 
 and pageantry, the song, the revel, and 
 the feast, rioted, day after day, within the 
 stately halls. How the means were ob- 
 tained by which that profuse expenditure 
 was kept up, how often the groaning pea- 
 sant was forced to yield his hard-earned 
 produce to supply his lord's extravagance, 
 how often the wandering merchant was 
 despoiled of the fruits of his industry, to 
 furnish resources to the idle and the tur- 
 bulent, how often plunder, massacre, and 
 crime were the sources from which that 
 luxury was derived, may easily be divined 
 by all who know the history of those 
 times, and of that country. For the pre- 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 169 
 
 sent our story .leads us to the humbler 
 dwellings which lay below. 
 
 It was a pretty village, and a peaceful 
 spot, for the inhabitants paid highly for 
 the protection of their lords above, and, 
 in general, obtained it in due measure, so 
 that the evil days they knew were few. 
 Each cottage stood by itself, surrounded 
 by the host of apple trees, which still dis- 
 tinguishes that part of the world : each 
 had its little garden of herbs and fruit ; 
 each had its little portion of allotted wood- 
 land ; and when the lords of Erlach looked 
 out from their strong-hold, over the world 
 of forest that lay extended at their feet, 
 they could distinguish their own immediate 
 villages by the glow of the apple blossoms, 
 or the snowy flowers of the cherry, che- 
 quering the darker foliage of the beech 
 and the oak. Little variety existed amongst 
 the houses ; some were larger, and some 
 were smaller, but all were built very nearly 
 on the same plan, and the only two which 
 distinguished themselves at all from the 
 rest, were those of the pastor of the place, 
 and of the forester of Count Erlach. The 
 
 VOL. II. i 
 
170 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 latter was a wealthy man„ as the affairs of 
 the village went. He had been a great 
 favourite with his lord, who was one of the 
 best of the nobles of those days ; and under 
 him, Miiller, the forester, had accumulated 
 no insignificant wealth. On the death of the 
 old lord, some apprehensions had been en- 
 tertained by the worthy peasant, regarding 
 the duration of his favour with the young 
 count, who had been absent for many years 
 from his paternal home, gracing the Im- 
 perial court, to which the emperor was, at 
 that time, making every effort to draw the 
 young nobility of distant principalities. He 
 was reported to be a gay and gallant youth, 
 somewhat too much addicted to the plea- 
 sures of the court, more familiar with the 
 camp, the battle-field, the ball-room, and 
 the capital, than with the sports of rural 
 life, and the usual avocations of a feudal 
 noble : and old Karl Miiller shook his 
 head, when the news came that the old 
 count had died in Vienna, whither he had 
 gone to see his son, 
 
 The villagers found no difficulty in trans- 
 lating that prophetic shake of the head, 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 171 
 
 easily divining that the worthy forester 
 believed new days and less pleasant ones 
 were about to fall upon them. No im- 
 mediate change, however, was percep- 
 tible : the forester was continued in all his 
 privileges and charges ; all the old ser- 
 vants of the castle were retained and pro- 
 vided for ; every month, couriers from 
 Vienna brought the orders of the young 
 count, displaying great care and exactness 
 in maintaining every thing in the state 
 wherein his father had kept it up. The 
 feudal retainers necessary for the protection 
 of the peasantry, were always held in a due 
 state of preparation and discipline ; and so 
 prompt and well judged were all the ar- 
 rangements of the young lord, that it 
 became a proverb amongst the people of 
 the Odenwald, that Count Wilhelm had a 
 long arm, for it reached from Vienna. 
 The peasantry, however, and the old re- 
 tainers, the good seneschal of the castle, 
 the lieutenant commanding the soldiers, 
 the forester himself, and even the fool 
 whose jests or nonsense had given amuse- 
 ment to the long dinners of the old count, 
 i 2 
 
172 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 began to grumble as year after year passed 
 by, and their young lord never made his 
 appearance amongst them. 
 
 Our tale, however, refers more imme- 
 diately to the forester and his family, 
 which consisted of three persons besides 
 himself. His wife had been dead for years, 
 and he had never taken unto himself an- 
 other helpmate, alleging as a reason — 
 perhaps it was not the true one — that, 
 having noble blood in his veins, being a 
 poor relation of the count himself, he 
 could never hope to find another wife of 
 equal dignity with his last good dame, who, 
 by some very circuitous process, was linked, 
 by a long chain, to the Landschadens of 
 Neckersteinach. She had left him, how- 
 ever, enough pledges of their love to prevent 
 his home from looking desolate: two sturdy 
 lads, who soon grew up into stout and 
 powerful men; and one fair girl, who, from 
 a pretty child, rose, day by day, into fresh 
 beauties, till she ended in becoming the 
 envy of all the women's hearts, and the 
 admiration of all the men throughout the 
 country round. 
 
THE BEIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 173 
 
 The eldest son was called Karl after his 
 father ; the second was named Wilhelm 
 from the young count ; and the girl had 
 received the name of Gertrude, from the 
 late countess, who had held her at the 
 baptismal font. If the two youths showed 
 forth, in their strong and stalwart limbs, 
 the vigorous formation of their father, and 
 enabled him to say that not a knight in all 
 the emperor's court was better formed than 
 they were, whatever gentle blood the family 
 did really possess, made itself manifest in 
 Gertrude Miiller, as she grew up towards 
 womanhood. The fine and delicate features, 
 the graceful and rounded form, the easy 
 and dignified movements, the bright and 
 thoughtful expression, were all above the 
 ordinary habits and appearance of the peo- 
 ple with whom she lived : and though she 
 mingled amongst them with pleasure, and 
 neither affected nor perceived a difference, 
 yet they themselves discovered it ; and 
 while a few, who could not understand or 
 appreciate her worth, felt angry at the 
 superiority they were unwilling to admit, 
 i 3 
 
174 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 the rest of the peasantry paid her the tacit 
 tribute of admiration and respect. 
 
 And now it was Gertrude Miiller's 
 bridal morning, and though amongst the 
 youths of the villages round about, there 
 might be, here or there, a sore heart, no 
 one was unwise enough to show his disap- 
 pointment. Every girl, throughout ten 
 miles of the Odenwald, was glad ; for 
 some knew Gertrude, and loved her ; and 
 many who loved her not, thought it quite 
 as well 4hat her fair face should be one 
 out of "the way, and her sweet voice sound 
 no longer in the ears of the young men of 
 the neighbourhood. In short, all the 
 youth of her native kreis wished her hap- 
 piness and the matron's coif, as soon as 
 might be ; but many of the elder part of 
 the community shook the wise head, and 
 thought that both old Karl Muller and his 
 daughter were doing an unwise thing. 
 
 In the first place, they urged that she 
 was very young, too young to take upon 
 her the serious duties of a wife. But Karl 
 said not a whit ; her mother had been his 
 wife at the same age. Besides that cogent 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 175 
 
 reason for her marrying soon, he had one 
 which was more powerful still. Three 
 weeks before, a youth, with several gallants 
 in his train, had ridden up to the castle 
 of Erlach, demanding to see its lord, 
 though all the world knew, Karl observed, 
 that the count was absent. This same gay 
 young noble, however, after reposing for a 
 time at the castle, had made an excuse to 
 go down to the forester's house, and had 
 remained there longer than old Karl liked. 
 He had since returned twice alone, and 
 sought by many a wile to speak to Ger- 
 trude in private. " And I have great rea- 
 son to believe," the forester added, " that 
 he is the young Landschaden of Necker- 
 steinach, who halts at no step which may 
 gain his own purposes. So if the girl is 
 in love, and likes to marry, why let her 
 marry at once, in God's name." 
 
 Such was the answer of old Karl Muller 
 to the first objection of those who had laid 
 their remonstrances before him in form. 
 But the second objection was more formi- 
 dable. " Why, Karl," they said, " you are 
 going to marry your daughter out of the 
 I 4 
 
176 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 Odenwald, when there are so many young 
 men who would have given their right 
 hand to have her, and would have kept 
 her with us always : you are going to give 
 her to a citizen whom she has not known 
 above a year ! " 
 
 Now to whom was Gertrude Miiller 
 about to be wedded ? the reader may be 
 inclined to ask ; and did her heart go with 
 the hand she was to give ? The answer to 
 these two questions shall be both full and 
 satisfactory. A little more than a year be- 
 fore, he to whom she was that day to bind 
 herself, by ties indissoluble, first came to 
 the village from the town of Heilbron, of 
 which, it appears, he was a burgher ; and 
 his coming, or rather the motive thereof, 
 made old Karl Miiller, as well as many 
 another old retainer of the house of Erlach, 
 very angry. He came there to buy tim- 
 ber for a mercantile house at Heilbron, and 
 of course, in the first instance, alighted at 
 the house of the forester. 
 
 Old Karl bluffly told him that the count 
 never sold his timber ; but thereupon the 
 burgher produced from his pocket the order 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 177 
 
 of the young lord himself, for the sale of so 
 many thousand trees, which the merchant 
 was to choose at will, and was likewise 
 to superintend in person the cutting down 
 and removing them. This was a treble 
 mortification to Karl M tiller. In the first 
 place, it confirmed a belief, which he had 
 long entertained, that his young lord was 
 ruining himself at. Vienna. In the next 
 place, he could not bear to see the trees cut 
 down at all ; and, in the third place, the 
 count gave the young Jackanapes, as Karl 
 did not scruple to call the citizen, authority 
 which strongly trenched upon the privileges 
 of the forester. 
 
 He was, in short, very much inclined to 
 be both refractory and uncivil ; but Wilhelm 
 Franz, for so the stranger was called, gave 
 him so little cause for wrath and indignation, 
 heard him with so much good humour, and 
 soothed him with such well-applied cour- 
 tesies, that the old man ended by assuring 
 him, that it was with the count he was 
 angry, not with him ; and then, as in duty 
 bound, asked him to take up his abode at 
 the forester's house. 
 
 i 5 
 
178 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 Wilhelm Franz accepted his invitation 
 frankly ; and now came out so many good 
 points in the young citizen's character, that 
 he conquered all prejudices, and won the 
 regard both of the old man and his two sons. 
 He was a very handsome youth, though his 
 face was rather bronzed by the sun, in tra- 
 velling hither and thither on the business of 
 the house ; and his dark black hair, though 
 cut somewhat short before, which the people 
 of Erlach did not approve of, curled in rich 
 masses over the rest of his head. His hand 
 the good folks laughed at, because it was 
 as white as a woman's, and they asserted 
 that it was fit for nothing but to hold a 
 pen behind a desk. In some of their rough 
 sports upon the green, however, he soon 
 proved that it would give a buffet which 
 would stretch the strongest of them pros- 
 trate, so that nobody laughed at the white 
 hand afterwards. Though, as a citizen 
 well might be, he was, in some respects, 
 more slightly made than the villagers, yet 
 his limbs would bear even more fatigue, 
 and occasionally displayed greater strength 
 than theirs ; and as they had at Heilbron 
 their constant trials of skill in the market- 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 179 
 
 place, he far excelled them in all manly 
 sports and pastimes. Every thing, how- 
 ever, that he did, was done with so much 
 good nature, that no one was offended, and 
 Wilhelm Franz became a general favourite. 
 At first, spending the greater part of the 
 day in the woods, with a number of work- 
 men, some of whom he brought with him 
 from Heilbron, and the rest of whom he 
 engaged in the neighbourhood, he saw but- 
 little of Gertrude ; but the timber was a 
 long time in cutting, and as the days drew 
 in, and the evenings grew long, they were 
 brought more frequently together. All 
 that passed between them, at first, was a 
 gay word from the handsome young citizen, 
 to the beautiful country girl ; but some 
 of Gertrude's mischievous young friends 
 began to jest with her about Wilhelm 
 Franz, so that, after a time, she would 
 blush a little, — a very little, — when he 
 spoke to her. Some change gradually took 
 place in his manner, also. When her eyes 
 were busy in some other direction, his 
 would turn towards her, and gaze upon 
 her, for many a minute, not with boorish 
 i 6 
 
180 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 rudeness, not with libertine scrutiny, but 
 with a calm, grave, thoughtful expression, 
 which was strange in a young man, looking 
 upon such loveliness. Sometimes his re- 
 veries would end with a sigh, but yet he 
 spoke no word of love > and even at night, 
 when he might have sat beside her, 
 over the blazing fire, saying all those little 
 gallantries wherewithal gay youths bribe 
 vanity to let them in, by a. wrong entrance, 
 into a maiden's heart, he would lean back 
 from the blaze, and amuse the forester 
 and his sons by many a tale of distant cities 
 and lands they had never seen. One day, 
 about the hour of dinner, a minstrel visited 
 the cottage, bringing his cithern with him, 
 and, in recompense for a hearty welcome, 
 he played and sang to them some of his 
 most famous airs. When he had done, 
 Wilhelm Franz, somewhat to the minstrel's 
 dismay, took up the instrument of sweet 
 sounds, and seemed to examine it curiously. 
 " Take care ! " exclaimed the singer, 
 seeing him about to apply his hand to the 
 strings ; " you will put it out of tune, good 
 youth." 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 181 
 
 Wilhelm Franz smiled, and swept the 
 strings with his hand ; but it was no dis- 
 cordant sound that he produced. Rich, 
 and full, such as that minstrel's own hand 
 had never brought forth from the instru- 
 ment, were the tones that issued from the 
 strings, and Gertrude looked up in wonder. 
 Her eyes met those of the young Heil- 
 bronner, and a mutual light seemed to pass 
 into both their souls. Suddenly adding 
 the full round tones of his musical voice to 
 the instrument, he sang : — 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " From a court, and a camp, and a lady's bovver, 
 Three pilgrims took their way, 
 And each in his cap wore a faded flower, 
 And each, I heard him say : — 
 
 " ' Where art thou, Truth, immortal Truth ? 
 We have sought thee far in vain, 
 In the brain of age, in the breast of youth, 
 In city, and tent, and plain/ 
 
 " One had sought truth in a gallant knight, 
 Gallant, and good, and gay ; 
 But he trusted that knight with his lady bright, 
 And the knight has stolen her away. 
 
182 THE BEIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 " From courtiers, and kings, and ministers wise, 
 The other returns, forlorn ; 
 He has asked for truth ! — they have given him lies! 
 And hark, how they laugh for scorn ! 
 
 " The other sought truth in a lady's heart, 
 A lady sweet and fair ; 
 He found vanity, passion, caprice and art, 
 But truth ! — no truth was there." 
 
 " He should have come to Gertrude 
 M tiller," said the forester, " for if there 
 be truth in the whole world, it is -in her 
 little heart." The colour in Gertrude's 
 cheek grew very deep ; but Willi elm Franz 
 laid down the instrument, and fell into a 
 fit of musing. The day that followed was 
 a bright and sunshiny one, and the Heil- 
 bronner, with the old forester, went forth 
 into the woods to superintend the work 
 that was going on; while Gertrude took 
 her way up the steep hill towards the 
 castle, where she was sure of a kind recep- 
 tion from many of the old servants who 
 still dwelt therein. The truth was, a ru- 
 mour had spread that the young count was 
 coming down, and her father sent her to 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 183 
 
 seek tidings. Gertrude tripped away gaily 
 enough ; but when she was half way up the 
 hilJ, she paused in the wooded path* that 
 she was pursuing, and walked slowly on, 
 falling into deep thought. 
 
 What was the subject of her meditations 
 matters not ; they were apparently sad and 
 moving, for, ere she reached the castle, she 
 sat down upon one of the fragments of grey 
 stone and wept. Remembering, however, 
 that tears would leave traces, and traces 
 would be remarked, she wiped them quickly 
 away, and wandered about in the wood till 
 she judged that the marks of her sadder em- 
 ployment must be effaced. She then climbed 
 the steep ascent without farther delay, and, 
 passing unquestioned through the gateway 
 with but a " good morrow" from one of the 
 armed men who sat in the porch, she pro- 
 ceeded to seek the old seneschal's good dame. 
 Learning in the outer hall, however, that 
 the tidings were true, and that letters, an- 
 nouncing his speedy coming, had been re- 
 ceived from the young noble, she crossed 
 the court, ascended the great staircase, and, 
 finding the door of one of the chief saloons 
 
184 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 open, she went in, for she had not seen it 
 since she was a child. 
 
 There was a wide antique casement in a 
 niche, and through it was streaming the 
 sunshine and the sweet air of spring ; and 
 Gertrude went and gazed out thought- 
 fully. High up amidst the clouds of heaven, 
 the castle, like an eagle on a rock, looked 
 over the whole scene below \ and there, be- 
 neath the fair girl's eye, lay all the brown 
 world of the Odenwald, an interminable 
 ocean of waving boughs, with the lights 
 and shades from the flitting clouds, resting 
 like the stains of gold and blue upon the 
 wings of a butterfly, on the undulating sur- 
 face of the hills. Around her hung the 
 monuments of feudal state, banners and 
 pennons, and costly arms, and rich arras, 
 and ornaments of silver and of gold ; but 
 it was not on those she looked, but upon 
 the prospect ; and as she looked, she sighed, 
 not that the sight was any thing but fair, 
 for few lovelier scenes ever met the human 
 eye than that in its particular kind ; but 
 there was about it that vague, boundless, 
 indefinite uncertainty, which has something 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 185 
 
 akin with the feelings of the youthful heart, 
 when some doubt or some fear, some new- 
 born apprehension, some warning suspicion 
 that life is not all so bright as we have 
 dreamed it, causes us to pause and gaze 
 over the misty future, and endeavour to 
 scan more accurately the true nature of the 
 objects which lie grouped together in the 
 golden indistinctness of distance. 
 
 She sighed as she stood in that deep re- 
 cess and gazed forth from the open case- 
 ment. There was a sigh near her that 
 answered hers, and, turning round with a 
 slight exclamation of surprise, she beheld 
 one who was certainly in her thoughts at 
 that moment. She blushed a good deal, 
 and then she turned pale ; but Wilhelm ad- 
 vanced towards her, and gliding his arm 
 round her waist, took her hand in his, and 
 gazed into the eyes that she raised implor- 
 ingly almost fearfully to his. " Gertrude ! " 
 he said, " Gertrude ! " 
 
 She answered not; but in that old hall, 
 and in that sunshiny hour, fair Gertrude 
 Miiller was wooed and won. 
 
 " There were tears in your eyes before I 
 
186 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 came, dear girl," he said, as he led her back 
 down the hill, his promised bride. " Why- 
 had my Gertrude been weeping ? " 
 
 " Because I thought," she replied, " that 
 if it were so difficult for a man to find truth, 
 as your song said, a woman could never 
 hope to meet with it at all." 
 
 " And dares my Gertrude then trust 
 me?" demanded Wilhelm. 
 
 " It is our nature to trust!" replied 
 Gertrude, " and I think you would not de- 
 ceive me." 
 
 ft Not for an empire ! " answered the 
 youth, and lifting his eyes towards the sky, 
 his lips moved, as if registering the promise 
 on high. 
 
 $fc w ^ 9fc v^ 
 
 And it was Gertrude M tiller's bridal day, 
 and the sun had shone upon the bride and 
 bridegroom as they went to, and came from, 
 the little village church. The blessing had 
 been spoken, the festivities had begun, and 
 modesty and love wound a sweeter garland 
 round the temples of that fair bride, than 
 the richest orange-flower that ever de- 
 corated the favourite of courts. Wilhelm 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 187 
 
 trod proudly, and as he looked up to the 
 lordly towers of the castle, rising haughtily 
 above his Gertrude's humble home, his 
 glance seemed to say, I envy not the lord 
 of those high halls ! My heart has found 
 a happier resting-place. 
 
 When they had entered the cottage, 
 however, and he was taking his seat by her 
 side, one of the stout soldiers from the 
 castle came down, and said that the old 
 seneschal had just received letters from his 
 lord at Vienna, and that Master Wilhelm 
 Franz must even leave his fair bride for 
 half an hour, and come up to speak about 
 the cutting of the wood. 
 
 " I will come by and by," said Wilhelm, 
 smiling good-humouredly. 
 
 The man hesitated, but Gertrude whis- 
 pered, " Better go at once, Wilhelm, if 
 you must go ! " and he went ; but, at the 
 end of half an hour, he returned not, and 
 the bridal party went out upon the green, 
 beneath the apple-trees, to wait for his 
 coming, ere they began the dance. Scarcely 
 were they there, and Gertrude's heart was 
 beating unquietly, when there came bursts 
 
188 THE BEIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 of laughter through the trees, and the sound 
 of cantering horses, and up rode a gay 
 party of armed cavaliers, headed by him 
 who had somewhat persecuted the sweet 
 girl already. 
 
 " Are we in time for the wedding, 
 boors?" he cried, laughing loud, " are we 
 in time for the wedding ? " 
 
 "Too late!" replied old Karl Miiller, 
 surlily. 
 
 " Too late!" answered Karl, his eldest 
 son, with his eyes flashing fire. 
 
 " Nay, then I must e'en kiss the bride and 
 depart !" said the cavalier springing to the 
 ground, and advancing, with haughty bold- 
 ness, but not without grace, he approached 
 Gertrude, who blushed and trembled. 
 " Wishing you all happiness, fair bride," 
 he said, as he bent apparently to kiss her 
 cheek. But, as he stooped, he threw his 
 right arm round ntr waist, set his foot in the 
 stirrup, sprang into the saddle, and, with 
 the ease of one performing some long prac- 
 tised feat of the manege, he placed her on 
 the horse before him, and struck his spurs 
 into the charger's sides. The old man and 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 189 
 
 his sons darted forward, and one got hold 
 for a moment of the bridle rein ; but a 
 horseman who followed the other brought 
 the youth to the ground with the blow of 
 a mace, and the whole party rode off at 
 full speed, roaring with laughter at the 
 curses and shouts of the villagers. One long 
 loud shriek was all that the lips of Ger- 
 trude uttered ; her heart refused to beat, 
 her brain grew giddy, and she fainted as 
 she lay, held on the horse by the firm 
 grasp of the cavalier's arm. 
 
 After a time consciousness came back, and 
 she opened her eyes ; but she saw the brown 
 woods, and the large branches of the trees, 
 and the young green leaves hurrying rapidly 
 before her sight : recollection was too ter- 
 rible to bear, and she once more fainted. 
 When next she recovered, she was in a 
 large hall, splendidly decorated according 
 to the fashion of that day ; and two old 
 women were bending over her, throwing 
 water in her face ; but, when she raised 
 her eyes, the detested form of him who 
 brought her thither met her sight, and 
 she closed them again with a cold shud- 
 
190 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 der. The women persuaded him to go 
 away, but when he was gone, the words of 
 praise that they bestowed upon him, and 
 the language that they held to persuade the 
 unhappy girl to his purposes, made her 
 weep bitterly. They assured her that he 
 would have gone to seek her a week before, 
 and would have prevented her marriage 
 altogether, had he not been held a prisoner 
 by the Palatine, from whose hands he had 
 only escaped two days. 
 
 " Wretch ! " she exclaimed, " wretch ! " 
 But, as she spoke, he again entered the 
 room, and waved the women away. He 
 sat down beside her ; he grasped her 
 hand in his ; he used the language oP 
 flattery and of corruption to the pure ears 
 of Gertrude Muller. We will not dwell 
 on what he said ; we will not stain this 
 page with the words he uttered, and the 
 persuasions he proffered ; but if he thought 
 to light up one unholy feeling in her 
 heart, oh! how far was he mistaken. She 
 thought of him she loved, and of the full 
 but modest joy with which she had but 
 that day bestowed her hand on him. She 
 
THE BEIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 191 
 
 thought of those dear hopes, now likely to 
 be blasted for ever, for she felt that she 
 was utterly in the power of a libertine and 
 ruthless man ; and as she did thus think, the 
 words he uttered scarcely found meaning 
 in her ear, and her eye wandered round 
 the room and to the high oriel window 
 seeking for means of escape. It found none, 
 however ; no object showed itself through 
 the open lattice, but the mountains that hem 
 in the Necker, and the green waters of that 
 beautiful stream flowing on between its 
 mighty rocks ; and the high castle of the 
 Dilsberg crowning the opposite hill. 
 
 There was no escape, she saw ; but a fearful 
 resolution presented itself to her mind. It 
 was evident, from all she beheld, that the hall 
 in which she sat was high up in some tower, 
 built upon the edge of the precipice, and 
 she thought that, at least, she could die ra- 
 ther than, even by force, wrong the faith 
 she had plighted to him she loved. As she 
 thus thought, and her eye wandered wildly 
 to the casement, she felt the villain's arm 
 seeking to glide round her small waist. 
 With a sudden scream she darted from him, 
 
192 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 sprang through the casement, and gained 
 the parapet that ran round the tower. Had 
 that parapet not been there, the sudden im- 
 pulse of fear and desperation might have 
 carried her resolution into effect at once. 
 But there it stood, a barrier, easily over- 
 stepped, indeed, but still a barrier between 
 her and that terrible act which she medi- 
 tated. 
 
 She paused to gaze ! and found that she 
 stood on the extreme verge of a tower, in 
 one out of three castles, that, stretching 
 along the craggy bank of the Necker, over- 
 hang the waters at a dizzy height of many 
 hundred feet. She gazed down below, as 
 I have often gazed, from the selfsame pin- 
 nacle. It was a sight to make the brain turn 
 round ; the blue thin air beneath, the broken 
 rocks, jagged and sharp, the diminished 
 birds skimming like specks over the surface 
 of the stream. Can we blame her if she 
 paused with a wildly beating heart, if she 
 hesitated till a strong hand grasped her arm, 
 and her power over her own destiny was 
 gone ? " Oh God, deliver me !" she cried ; 
 but the stranger answered with a laugh. 
 
THE BEIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 193 
 
 " Come, come, fair maiden ! " he said ; 
 " God never delivers from the Landscha- 
 den ; but I thank you for bringing me 
 here. That idiot wardour has left the 
 gates open, and there is no one in the 
 court. I will nail his ears to the door- 
 post. — What if the troops of the Palatine 
 were to know of such careless guard ! " 
 
 As he spoke, there came the sound of a 
 trumpet from the woods above, and it was 
 echoed from another in the forest path 
 below. A stronger passion now was roused 
 in the breast of Gertrude's persecutor; and, 
 for the moment, seeming to forget her 
 existence, he darted away, and his steps 
 clanged quickly through the hall. 
 
 " Oh God, deliver me!" cried Gertrude 
 again ; but she now so prayed with better 
 hope, and, for a single instant, she strained 
 her eyes upon the part of the wood whence 
 the sound of the first trumpet had seemed 
 to come. She caught the sight of arms 
 gleaming through the trees, and she heard 
 from the court below the shouts of many 
 voices giving loud commands for manning 
 the walls and defending the castle. She 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
194 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 could not catch the words, but she guessed 
 their import, and the next moment a loud 
 explosion from the battlements beneath her 
 feet, followed by another and another, told 
 her that the Landschaden had anticipated 
 attack by firing upon the approaching parties. 
 The tower on which she stood seemed to 
 rock with the concussion of the artillery, 
 and, in a moment after an answering flash 
 blazed through the opposite wood, and, 
 with a rushing sound, a cannon-ball passed 
 through the air, tipping an angle of the 
 tower as it went by, and scattering the 
 masonry far and near. 
 
 Running round the 'tower, she now 
 thought only of escape, and gazing into 
 every window which opened on the plat- 
 form, she at length perceived one that led to 
 a flight of stairs. It opened readily to her 
 hand, and she passed through; and then, 
 hurrying down, she only paused when her 
 head became giddy with the incessant turn- 
 ing of the narrow staircase and the deafening 
 roar of the artillery. Once, as she descended, 
 a bright flash burst through one of the nar- 
 row loop-holes, and she saw the forms and 
 fierce faces of armed men running about 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 195 
 
 upon one of the battlements hard by. She 
 feared almost to move lest they should see 
 her ; but, as the roar of the guns was again 
 heard, she hurried on with a beating heart, 
 till the staircase terminated with a door on 
 either hand. On the one side she heard a 
 multitude of voices as if in eager debate, 
 while through the keyhole of the other was 
 pouring a stream of golden sunshine. She 
 tried the latter and found it locked, but the 
 heavy key was in, and turning it cautiously 
 round, she drew the door back and took a 
 step out into the air. 
 
 She now found herself in a long paved 
 road, leading from the castle to which 
 she had been carried to another which stood 
 beyond, perched half way up a tremendous 
 rock, like the nest of a swallow against the 
 wall of an old building, from which it 
 derives its name with the peasantry to 
 this day. # The road was raised upon a high 
 causeway, partly artificial, partly natural, 
 and battlements and embrasures on each 
 side, showed it well calculated for defence. 
 
 * It is called indifferently, Schadick, the point of 
 danger, and the schwalben nest, or swallows' nest. 
 K 2 
 
196 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 But, though the cannon were still there, 
 the soldiers, all drawn to the side on which 
 the attack began, had left it vacant, and 
 Gertrude hurried on seeking for some way 
 to escape. She could find none ; the walls 
 were too high for her to attempt to drop 
 from them, and, though the low sinking 
 sun showed her that but little time yet 
 remained for her to secure her flight, she 
 found herself foiled wherever she turned. 
 She hurried on, however, towards the other 
 castle, gazing up to see if there too were any 
 of those whom she had to fear, but it seemed, 
 for the time, utterly deserted. No soldiers 
 appeared gazing from the battlements at 
 the distant fight ; no head, protruded from 
 the window, announced that any human 
 being was within. Hesitating, trembling, 
 listening, Gertrude entered through the 
 open door, and found the hall vacant, 
 though the remains of a half-finished meal 
 showed that it had not long been so. She 
 then, with better courage, searched round 
 the courts and walls for some means of 
 egress, but every gate was closed with 
 heavy locks, and all the keys were gone. 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 197 
 
 In disappointment, almost in despair, she 
 paused and looked towards the other castle. 
 The battlements were crowded, the roar of 
 war was going on ; but suddenly there came 
 upon her ear nearer shouts, and she saw 
 some groups running along the very path 
 she had just followed. Where could she fly 
 for concealment? There was a flight of 
 steps led down from one of the remote halls, 
 apparently cut through the rock on which 
 the castle stood ; and, not without a hope 
 that it might conduct her to some sally-port, 
 Gertrude took her way down, seeing her 
 way by the glimmer of an occasional loop- 
 hole, though the sun, sinking fast behind 
 the mountains, gave but scanty light. The 
 stairs led but to a vault, from which there 
 was a door indeed, but it too was locked, 
 and Gertrude sat herself down and wrung 
 her hands in the bitterness of despair. 
 
 There was a window, but it was too small 
 for a human being to pass, and was grated 
 besides with iron bars ; and all that it enabled 
 the unhappy girl to do was to gaze out in 
 the growing twilight, and watch the groups 
 hurrying to and fro upon the walls of the 
 K 3 
 
198 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 other castle. Soon that twilight became 
 more faint, and all that she could see was 
 the form of the tall towers, bursting forth 
 every now and then as the eager flash of the 
 artillery ran along the battlements ; but 
 after a short time the windows seemed to 
 shine forth with *an unusual brightness, 
 a glare was seen through the loop-holes, 
 a rolling pile of yellow smoke rose above 
 the white clouds which the artillery had 
 caused below, and on it played a flickering 
 light which was not like the flashing of the 
 cannonade. 
 
 Then came loud cries and shouts and 
 execrations, borne upon the wind, and the 
 tramp of hurrying crowds, and the sound 
 of the trumpet. Nearer, more near, 
 approached the mingled roar along the 
 causeway ; and then she heard it in the 
 the halls above. All seemed confusion and 
 disarray, till suddenly the roar of the can- 
 non was again heard, and she found that 
 the artillery on the walls above were now 
 pointed along the causeway, to drive back 
 a pursuing enemy. Trembling, almost 
 fainting, she lay in one corner of the vault, 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 199 
 
 when suddenly steps were heard descend- 
 ing, torches flashed around the walls, and, 
 in a moment after, the voice of her per- 
 secutor struck upon her ear, exclaiming, 
 " Didst thou think thou hadst escaped 
 me ? No, no, fair maiden ! you shall live 
 or die with the Landschaden, on whom you 
 have brought this curse. Throw open 
 the port, Heinrich ! " and, catching her 
 up in his arms, he was bearing her 
 forward through the door, which one of 
 those who were with him had unlocked, 
 to a rocky path leading down to the river. 
 The horror of his touch, however, drew a 
 sudden scream from the lips of Gertrude, 
 and, setting her down, he cried with a 
 blasphemous exclamation, " She will draw 
 them hither with her cries ! By Heaven 
 I will drive my dagger into her ! — Stay," 
 he continued; i( let me look out!" and, 
 loosing his hold of her light form, he 
 took two or three steps forth down the 
 hill, — " Fire and blood ! " he cried again 
 after a moment's pause, " here is Count 
 Erlach's banner ! " 
 
 Inspired with instant hope of making 
 k 4> 
 
200 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 herself heard, Gertrude uttered scream 
 after scream ; but the fierce Landschaden 
 bounded back towards her with his dagger 
 in his hand, exclaiming, " Slay her, slay 
 her ! we must fight to the last or die ; but 
 she shall not escape ! " 
 
 A step more would have brought him 
 back to the door of the vault ; but, at that 
 moment, there was a loud explosion above. 
 The voices of the cannon were unheard 
 in the roar, — the Landschaden looked up 
 towards the blazing walls ; an immense mass 
 of stone-work descended through the air, 
 and, striking on his brow and chest, rolled, 
 with his dead body, slowly down the rock. 
 
 Gertrude darted forward towards a party 
 of armed men who were advancing quickly 
 up the steep. There was a knight leading 
 them on, sword in hand, with the banner 
 of her father's lord waving above his head. 
 " Save me ! save me ! save me!" cried she ; 
 and as she reached his knees, and clasped 
 them with her extended arms, sense and 
 thought, terror, and joy, and hope, all 
 passed away at once, and she fell prostrate 
 before Count Erlach's feet. 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 201 
 
 With the terrible sensation of one waking 
 from a long swoon, Gertrude unclosed her 
 eyes, and gazed around her as some castle 
 clock was striking eleven. There was the 
 light of many tapers in the room, and rich 
 tapestry waved on every side, while hang- 
 ings of white, and crimson, and gold, sur- 
 rounded the splendid bed on which she lay. 
 The arms of the Counts of Erlach, embla- 
 zoned with rich colouring, ornamented the 
 ceilings, and the furniture ; and all around 
 her, was a dream of magnificence, such as 
 she had never seen before. Round a table, 
 in the middle of the room, stood three per- 
 sons, while several girls, in the garb of 
 waiting-women, appeared at the other side 
 of the room. The first of the nearer 
 three was an old man, in the garb of a 
 physician, pouring some fluid from a phial 
 into a Venice-glass ; and his face was turned 
 directly towards Gertrude. On one side 
 of the table stood an old man, of powerful 
 frame, clad partly in armour ; and Gertrude 
 knew her father. Those two were bare- 
 headed ; but on the side nearest to her, 
 with his back towards her, stood one, who 
 K 5 
 
202 THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 wore his crimson bonnet and high plume ; 
 beside him lay a pile of armour, cast hastily 
 down, and from his shoulders fell an easy 
 cloak, lined with rich furs, and tied with 
 tassels of gold. 
 
 " This, my lord count, will bring her 
 to herself, I will insure," said the leech, as 
 he poured out the medicine : " she does 
 but faint, though the fit is long and ter- 
 rible!" 
 
 " Where can Wilhelm be?" thought 
 Gertrude ; but she hastened to relieve her 
 father's fears, exclaiming, in a voice still 
 faint, "My father!" 
 
 All started, and turned towards her, at 
 the sound ; but it was not old Karl Mliller 
 reached her first. That gay and glittering 
 cavalier dropped at once the glass he was 
 taking from the physician, darted forward, 
 caught her in his arms, and pressed her 
 again and again unto his heart. Trembling, 
 fearful, uncertain ; yet hoping, thrilling 
 with fancies it seemed madness to believe, 
 she pushed him gently back, and gazed 
 upon his face. " It is! it is!" she cried, 
 casting her arms round his neck, " Wil- 
 
THE BRIDAL OF GERTRUDE. 203 
 
 helm ! dear Wilhelm ! " Then, sinking 
 back again, she pointed to the glittering 
 coat of arms that hung over that bridal 
 bed. 
 
 "True!" he said, " dear Gertrude, it 
 is all quite true." 
 
 " Then I know you, Wilhelm," she said, 
 almost mournfully ; "but who am I ?" 
 
 " Gertrude, Grafin of Erlach, my own 
 dear wife!" replied the count; "noble 
 both by your father's and your mother's 
 side, and with a dower of beauty and of 
 goodness worth a prince's hand ; — you 
 are mine, Gertrude, mine for ever ! To- 
 morrow I will tell you more. Now rest, 
 sweet girl, — rest, and recover from all 
 you have suffered. Your lover, your hus- 
 band, will watch by your side ; and, safe 
 in his castle, and guarded by his care, no 
 more such sad scenes shall happen, as those 
 which have chequered Gertrude's bridal- 
 day." 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 There was once a great banker in London, 
 who had a very fine house in Portland Place, 
 and a very dirty old house in the city ; and if 
 the latter looked the image of business and 
 riches, the former looked the picture of 
 luxury and display. He himself was a mild 
 man, whose ostentation was of a quiet, but 
 not the less of an active kind. His move- 
 ments were always calm and tranquil, and 
 his clothes plain ; but the former were 
 stately, the latter were in the best fashion. 
 Holditch was his coachmaker in those 
 days ; Ude's first cousin was his cook ; 
 his servants walked up stairs to announce 
 a visitor to the tune of the Dead March in 
 Saul, and opened both valves of the fold- 
 ing-doors at once with a grace that could 
 only be acquired by long practice. Every 
 thing seemed to move in his house by rule, 
 
208 THE FIRE. 
 
 and nothing was ever seen to go wrong. All 
 the lackeys wore powder, and the women- 
 servants had their caps prescribed to them. 
 
 His wife was the daughter of a country 
 gentleman of very old race, a woman of 
 good manners and a warm heart. Though 
 there were two carriages always at her spe- 
 cial command, she sometimes walked on 
 her feet, even in London, and would not 
 suffer an account of her parties to find its 
 way into the " Morning Post." 
 
 The banker and his wife had but one 
 child, a daughter, and a very pretty and 
 very sweet girl she was as ever my eyes saw. 
 She was not very tall, though very beauti- 
 fully formed, and exquisitely graceful. She 
 was the least affected person that ever was 
 seen ; for, accustomed from her earliest days 
 to perfect ease in every respect, — denied 
 nothing that was virtuous and right, — 
 taught by her mother to estimate high 
 qualities, — too much habituated to wealth 
 to regard it as an object, — and too fre- 
 quently brought in contact with rank to 
 estimate it above its value, — she had no- 
 thing to covet, and nothing to assume. 
 
THE FIKE. 209 
 
 Her face was sweet and thoughtful, though 
 the thoughts were evidently cheerful ones, 
 and her voice was full of melody and gen- 
 tleness. Her name was Alice Herbert, and 
 she was soon the admired of all admirers. 
 People looked for her at the Opera and the 
 Park, declared her beautiful, adorable, di- 
 vine ; she became the wonder, the rage, 
 the fashion ; and every body added, when 
 they spoke about her, that she would have 
 half a million at the least. 
 
 Now, Mr. Herbert himself was not at 
 all anxious that his daughter should marry 
 any of the men that first presented them- 
 selves, because none of them were above 
 the rank of a baron. Nor was Mrs. Her- 
 bert anxious either, because she did not 
 wish to part with her daughter. Nor was 
 Alice herself, — I do not know well why. 
 — Perhaps she thought that a part of the 
 men who surrounded her were fops, and 
 as many were libertines, and the rest were 
 fools, and Alice did not feel more inclined 
 to choose out of those three classes than 
 her father did out of the three inferior 
 grades of our nobility. There was, indeed, 
 
210 THE FIRE. 
 
 a young man in the Guards, distantly con- 
 nected with her mother's family, who was 
 neither fop, libertine, nor fool, — a gentle- 
 man, an accomplished man, and a man 
 of good feeling — who was often at Mr. 
 Herbert's house; but father, mother, and 
 daughter, all thought him quite out of the 
 question : the father, because he was not a 
 duke ; the mother, because he was a sol- 
 dier ; the daughter, because he had never 
 given her the slightest reason to believe 
 that he either admired or loved her. As 
 he had some two thousand a year, he might 
 have been a good match for a clergyman's 
 daughter, but could not pretend to Miss 
 Herbert. Alice certainly liked him better 
 than any man she had ever seen, and once 
 she found his eyes fixed upon her from 
 the other side of a ball-room, with an ex- 
 pression that made her forget what her 
 partner was saying to her. The colour 
 came up into her cheek, too, and that 
 seemed to give Henry Ashton courage to 
 come up, and ask her to dance. She danced 
 with him on the following night, too ; and 
 Mr. Herbert, who remarked the fact, 
 
THE FIKE. 211 
 
 judged that it would be but right to give 
 Henry Ashton a hint. 
 
 Two days after, as Alice's father was 
 just about to go out, the young guardsman 
 himself was ushered into his library, and 
 the banker prepared to give his hint, and 
 give it plainly, too. He was saved the 
 trouble, however ; for Ashton's first speech 
 was, "I have come to bid you farewell, Mr. 
 Herbert. We are ordered to Canada to put 
 down the evil spirit there. I set out in an 
 hour to take leave of my mother, in Staf- 
 fordshire, and then embark with all speed." 
 
 Mr. Herbert economised his hint, and 
 wished his young friend all success. " By 
 the way," he added, " Mrs. Herbert may 
 like to write a few lines by you to her 
 brother at Montreal. You know he is 
 her only brother ; he made a sad business 
 of it, what with building and planting, and 
 farming and such things. So I got him 
 an appointment in Canada, just that he 
 might retrieve. She would like to write, I 
 know. You will find her up stairs. I must 
 go out myself. Good fortune attend you." 
 
 Good fortune did attend him, for he 
 
212 THE FIKE. 
 
 found Alice Herbert alone in the very- 
 first room he entered. There was a table 
 before her, and she was leaning over it, as 
 if very busy, but when Henry Ashton ap- 
 proached her, he found that she had been 
 carelessly drawing wild leaves on a scrap of 
 paper, while her thoughts were far away. 
 She coloured when she saw him, and was 
 evidently agitated ; but she was still more 
 so when he repeated what he had told her 
 father. She turned red, and she turned 
 pale, and she sat still, and she said nothing. 
 Henry Ashton became agitated himself. 
 " It is all in vain/' he said to himself. 
 " It is all in vain. I know her father too 
 well ;" and he rose, asking where he should 
 find her mother. 
 
 Alice answered in a faint voice, " In 
 the little room beyond the back drawing- 
 room." 
 
 Henry paused a moment longer : the 
 temptation was too great to be resisted ; 
 he took the sweet girl's hand ; he pressed it 
 to his lips, and said, " Farewell, Miss Her- 
 bert ! farewell ! I know 1 shall never see 
 any one like you again ; but at least it is 
 
THE FIRE. 213 
 
 a blessing to have known you — though it 
 be but to regret that fortune has not 
 favoured me still farther ! Farewell ! fare- 
 well!" 
 
 Henry Ashton sailed for Canada, and saw 
 some service there. He distinguished him- 
 self as an officer, and his name was in 
 several despatches. A remnant of the old 
 chivalrous spirit made him often think when 
 he was attacking a fortified village, or 
 charging a body of insurgents, " Alice 
 Herbert will hear of this ! " but often, too, 
 he would ask himself, " I wonder if she be 
 married yet?" and his companions used to 
 jest with him upon always looking first at 
 the woman's part of the newspaper — the 
 births, deaths, and marriages. 
 
 His fears, if we can venture to call them 
 such, were vain. Alice did not marry, 
 although about a year after Henry Ashton 
 had quitted England, her father descended 
 a little from his high ambition, and hinted 
 that, if she thought fit, she might listen to 
 
 the young Earl of . Alice was not 
 
 inclined to listen, and gave the earl plainly 
 to understand that she was not disposed to 
 
214 THE FIRE. 
 
 become his countess. The earl, however, 
 persevered, and Mr. Herbert now began 
 to add his influence ; but Alice was ob- 
 durate, and reminded her father of a pro- 
 mise he had made, never to press her 
 marriage with any one. Mr. Herbert 
 seemed more annoyed than Alice expected, 
 walked up and down the room in silence, 
 and, on hearing it, shut himself up with 
 Mrs. Herbert for nearly two hours. 
 
 What took place Alice did not know ; but 
 Mrs. Herbert from that moment looked 
 grave and anxious. Mr. Herbert insisted 
 that the earl should be received at the house 
 as a friend, though he urged his daughter no 
 more ; and balls and parties succeeded each 
 other so rapidly, that the quieter inhabitants 
 of Portland Place wished the banker and 
 his family where Alice herself wished to be 
 — in Canada. In the meantime, Alice 
 became alarmed for her mother, whose 
 health was evidently suffering from some 
 cause ; but Mrs. Herbert would consult no 
 physician, and her husband seemed never 
 to perceive the state of weakness and de- 
 pression into which she was sinking. 
 
THE FIRE. 215 
 
 Alice resolved to call the matter to her 
 father's notice, and as he now went out every 
 morning at an early hour, she rose one day, 
 sooner than usual, and knocked at the door 
 of his dressing-room. There was no answer, 
 and unclosing the door, she looked in to see 
 if he were already gone. The curtains were 
 still drawn, but through them some of the 
 morning beams found their way, and by 
 the dim sickly light, Alice beheld an object 
 that made her clasp her hands and tremble 
 violently. Her father's chair before the 
 dressing-table was vacant ; but beside it lay 
 upon the floor something like the figure of 
 a man asleep. 
 
 Alice approached, with her heart beat- 
 ing so violently that she could hear it ; 
 and there was no other sound in the 
 room. She knelt down beside him : it 
 was her father. She could not hear him 
 breathe, and she drew back the curtains. 
 He was as pale as marble, and his eyes 
 were open, but fixed. She uttered not a 
 sound, but with wild eyes gazed round the 
 room, thinking of what she should do. 
 Her mother was in the chamber, at the 
 side of the dressing-room ; but Alice, 
 
216 THE FIRE. 
 
 thoughtful, even in the deepest agitation, 
 feared to call her, and rang the bell for 
 her father's valet. The man came and 
 raised his master, but Mr. Herbert had 
 evidently been dead some hours. Poor 
 Alice wept terribly, but still she thought 
 of her mother, and made no noise ; and 
 the valet was silent too ; for, in lifting the 
 dead body to the sofa, he had found a 
 small vial, and was gazing on it intently. 
 
 " I had better put this away, Miss Her- 
 bert," he said at length, »in a low voice ; 
 " I had better put this away before any 
 one else comes." 
 
 Alice gazed at the vial with her tearful 
 eyes. It was marked " Prussic acid — 
 poison I" 
 
 This was but the commencement of 
 many sorrows. Though the coroner's jury 
 pronounced that Mr. Herbert had died a 
 natural death, yet every one declared he 
 had poisoned himself, especially when it 
 was found that he had died utterly insol- 
 vent ; that all his last great speculations 
 had failed, and that the news of his absolute 
 beggary had reached him on the night pre- 
 
THE FIRE. 217 
 
 ceding his decease. Then came all the 
 horrors of such circumstances to poor Alice 
 and her mother : the funeral ; the ex- 
 amination of the papers ; the sale of the 
 house and furniture; the tiger claws of 
 the law rending open the heart in all its 
 dearest associations ; the commiseration of 
 friends ; the taunts and scoffs of those who 
 had envied and hated in silence. Then 
 for poor Alice herself came the last worse 
 blow, the sickness and deathbed of a mo- 
 ther — sickness and death in poverty. 
 
 The last scene was over : the earth was 
 just laid upon the coffin of Mrs. Herbert, 
 and Alice sat with her eyes dropping fast, 
 thinking of the sad "What next ?" when a 
 letter was given to her, and she saw the hand- 
 writing of her uncle in Canada. She had 
 written to him on her father's death ; and 
 now he answered full of tenderness and 
 affection, begging his sister and niece in- 
 stantly to join him in the new land which 
 he had made his country. All the topics 
 of consolation which philosophy ever dis- 
 covered or devised to soothe man under 
 the manifold sorrows and cares of life are 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
218 THE FIRE. 
 
 not worth a blade of rye-grass in comparison 
 with one word of true affection. It was 
 the only balm that Alice Herbert's heart 
 could have received, and though it did not 
 heal the wound, it tranquillised its aching. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, though not rich, had not 
 been altogether portionless, and her small 
 fortune was all that Alice now condescended 
 to call her own. There had been, indeed, 
 a considerable jointure, but that Alice re- 
 nounced with feelings that you will under- 
 stand. Economy, however, was now a 
 necessity, and after taking a passage in one 
 of the cheapest vessels she could find bound 
 for Quebec — a vessel that all the world 
 has heard of; named the St. Lawrence — 
 she set out for the good city of Bristol, 
 where she arrived in safety on the 16th 
 day of May, 183-. 
 
 I must now, however, turn to the his- 
 tory of Henry Ashton. 
 
 It was just after the business in Canada 
 was settled that he entered a room in 
 Quebec, where several of the officers of his 
 regiment were assembled in various occu- 
 pations — one writing a letter to go by the 
 
THE FIRE. 219 
 
 packet which was just about to sail, two 
 looking out of the window at the nothing 
 which was doing in the streets, and one 
 reading the newspaper. There were three 
 or four other journals on the table, and 
 Ashton took up one of them. As usual 
 he turned to the record of the three great 
 things in life, and read, first the marriages 
 — then the deaths ; and, as he did so, he 
 saw, " Suddenly, at his house in Portland 
 Place, William Anthony Herbert, Esq." 
 The paper did not drop from his hand, al- 
 though he was much moved and surprised ; 
 but his sensations were very mixed, and 
 although, be it said truly, he gave his first 
 thoughts — and they were sorrowful — to the 
 dead, the second were given to Alice Her- 
 bert, and he asked himself, " Is it possible 
 that she can ever be mine ? She was cer- 
 tainly much agitated when I left her ! " 
 
 " Here's a bad business!" cried the 
 man who was reading the other newspaper. 
 " The Herberts are all gone to smash ; and 
 I had six hundred pounds there. You are 
 in for it too, Ashton. Look there ! They 
 talk of three shillings in the pound." 
 
 L 2 
 
220 THE FIRE. 
 
 Henry Ashton took the paper and read 
 the account of all that had occurred in 
 London, and he then took his hat and 
 walked to head-quarters. What he said or 
 did there is nobody's business but his own ; 
 but certain it is that by the beginning of 
 the very next week he was in the Gulf of 
 St. Lawrence. Fair winds wafted him 
 soon to England ; but in St. George's 
 Channel all went contrary, and the ship was 
 knocked about for three days without 
 making much way. A fit of impatience 
 had come upon Henry Ashton, and when 
 he thought of Alice Herbert, and all she 
 must have suffered, his heart beat strangely. 
 
 One of those little incidents occurred about 
 this time that make or mar men's destinies. 
 A coasting boat from Swansea to Weston 
 came within hail, and Ashton, tired of the 
 other vessel, put a portmanteau, a servant, 
 and himself into the little skimmer of the 
 seas, and was in a few hours landed safely 
 at the pleasant watering place of Weston 
 super Mare. It wanted yet an hour or two 
 of night, and therefore a post chaise was 
 soon rolling the young officer, his servant, 
 
THE FIRE. 221 
 
 and his portmanteau towards Bristol, on 
 their way to London. He arrived at a 
 reasonable hour, but yet some one of the 
 many things that fill inns had happened in 
 Bristol that day, and Henry drove to the 
 Bush, to the Falcon, and the Fountain, 
 and several others, before he could get a 
 place of rest. At length he found two 
 comfortable rooms in a small hotel near the 
 port, and had sat down to his supper by a 
 warm fire, when an Irish sailor put his 
 head into the room, and asked if he were 
 the lady that was to go down to the St. 
 Lawrence the next day? Henry Ashton 
 informed him that he was not a lady, and 
 that as he had just come from the St. Law- 
 rence, he was not going back again ; upon 
 which the man withdrew to seek further. 
 
 Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock struck, and 
 Henry Ashton pulled off his boots and 
 went to bed. At two o'clock he awoke 
 feeling heated and feverish ; and to cool 
 himself he began to think of Alice Herbert. 
 He found it by no means a good plan, for 
 he felt warmer than before ; and soon a 
 suffocating feel came over him, and he 
 L 3 
 
222 THE FIKE. 
 
 thought he smelt a strong smell of burning 
 wood. His bed-room was one of those un- 
 fortunate inn bed-rooms that are placed 
 under the immediate care and protection 
 of a sitting-room ; which, like a Spanish 
 Duenna, will let nobody in who does not 
 pass by their door. He put on his dress- 
 ing-gown therefore, and issued out into 
 the sitting-room, and there the smell was 
 stronger : there was a considerable crack- 
 ling and roaring too, which had something 
 alarming in it, and he consequently opened 
 the outer door. 
 
 All he could now see was a thick smoke 
 filling the corridor, through which came 
 a red glare from the direction of the stair- 
 case ; but he heard those sounds of burn- 
 ing wood which are not to be mistaken ; 
 and, in a minute after, loud knocking at 
 doors, ringing of bells, and shouts of 
 " Fire! fire!" showed that the calamity 
 had become apparent to the people in the 
 street. He saw all the rushing forth of 
 naked men and women, which generally 
 follows such a catastrophe ; and the open- 
 ing all the doors of the house, as if for the 
 express purpose of blowing the fire into a 
 
THE FIRE. 223 
 
 flame. There were hallooings and shout- 
 ings, there were scream ings and tears ; and 
 what between the rushing sound of the de- 
 vouring element, and the voice of human 
 suffering or fear, the noise was enough to 
 wake the dead. 
 
 Henry Ashton thought of his port- 
 manteau, and wondered where his servant 
 was ; but seeing, by a number of people 
 driven back from the great staircase by 
 flames, that there was no time to be lost, 
 he made his way down by a smaller one, 
 and in a minute or two reached the street. 
 The engines by this time had arrived ; an 
 immense crowd was gathering together, the 
 terrified tenants of the inn were rushing 
 forth, and in the midst Henry Ashton re- 
 marked one young woman wringing her 
 hands, and exclaiming, " Oh, my poor 
 young mistress ! my poor young lady !" 
 
 "Where is she, my good girl?" de- 
 manded the young soldier. 
 
 " In number eleven," cried the girl ; 
 " in number eleven ! Her bed-room is 
 within the sitting-room, and she will never 
 hear the noise." 
 
 L 4 
 
224 THE FIRE. 
 
 " There she is," cried one of the by- 
 standers, who ovreheard ; " there she is, 
 I dare say." 
 
 Ashton looked up towards the house, 
 through the lower windows of which the 
 flames were pouring forth ; and, across the 
 casement which seemed next to the very 
 room he himself had occupied, he saw the 
 figure of a woman, in her night- dress, pass 
 rapidly. 
 
 " A ladder !" he cried, " a ladder, for 
 God's sake ! There is some one there, 
 whoever it be ! " 
 
 No ladder could be got, and Henry 
 Ashton looked round in vain. 
 
 " The back staircase is of stone," he 
 cried ; " she may be saved that way !" 
 
 " Ay, but the corridor is on fire," said 
 one of the waiters ; " you'd better not 
 try, sir ; it cannot be done." 
 
 Henry Ashton darted away — into the 
 inn — up the staircase ; but the corridor 
 was on fire, as the man had said, and the 
 flames rushing up to the very door of the 
 rooms he had lately tenanted. He darted 
 on, however, recollecting that he had seen 
 
THE FIRE. 225 
 
 a side door out of his own sitting: room. 
 He dashed in, caught the handle of the 
 lock of the side door, and shook it vio- 
 lently, for it was fastened. 
 
 " I will open it," cried a voice from 
 within, that sounded strangely familiar to 
 his ear. 
 
 The lock turned — the door opened — 
 and Henry Ashton and Alice Herbert 
 stood face to face. 
 
 " God of heaven!" he exclaimed, catch- 
 ing her in his arms. But he gave no time 
 for explanation, and hurried back with her 
 towards the door of his own room. The 
 corridor, however, was impassable. 
 
 " You will be lost ! you will be lost !" 
 he exclaimed, holding her to his heart. 
 
 " And you have thrown away your own 
 life to save mine !" said Alice. 
 
 " I will die with you, at least !" replied 
 Henry Ashton ; " that is some consolation. 
 — But, no ! thank God, they have got a 
 ladder — they are raising it up — dear girl, 
 you are saved ! " 
 
 He felt Alice lie heavy on his bosom, 
 and when he looked down, whether it was 
 l 5 
 
226 THE FIRE. 
 
 fear, or the effect of the stifling heat, or 
 hearing such words from his lips, he found 
 that she had fainted. 
 
 " It is as well," he said; " it is as well !" 
 and, as soon as the ladder was raised, he 
 bore her out, holding her firmly, yet ten- 
 derly to his bosom. There was a death- 
 like stillness below. The ladder shook 
 under his feet ; the flames came forth and 
 licked the rounds on which his steps were 
 placed ; but steadily, firmly, calmly, the 
 young soldier pursued his way. He bore 
 all that he valued on earth in his arms, and 
 it was no moment to give one thought to 
 fear. 
 
 When his last footstep touched the 
 ground, an universal shout burst forth from 
 the crowd, and even reached the ear of 
 Alice herself; but, ere she could recover 
 completely, she was in the comfortable 
 drawing-room of a good merchant's house, 
 some way further down the same street. 
 
 The St. Lawrence sailed on the follow- 
 ing day for Quebec, and, as you well know, 
 went down in the terrible hurricane which 
 swept the Atlantic in the summer of that 
 
THE FIRE. 227 
 
 year, bearing with her to the depths of 
 ocean every living thing that she had car- 
 ried out from England. But on the day 
 that she weighed anchor, Alice sat in the 
 drawing-room of the merchant's house, 
 with her hand clasped in that of Henry 
 Ashton ; and, ere many months were over, 
 the tears for those dear beings she had lost 
 were chased by happier drops, as she gave 
 her hand to the man she loved with all the 
 depth of first affection, but whom she would 
 never have seen again, had it not been for 
 The Fire. 
 
 l 6 
 
AN 
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
AN 
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 In the year 1825, a traveller was wander- 
 ing through those delicious valleys which 
 are formed by the various lateral branches 
 springing from the great chain of mighty 
 mountains that separate France from 
 Spain : the beauties of nature were dear, 
 but not unfamiliar to his eyes ; and, as 
 the carriage rolled on towards Pierrefitte, 
 those feelings of joy and enthusiasm, that 
 revelling of the mind, that expansion of 
 the heart which waits upon our happier 
 days, came back, for a time, upon one who 
 had known some sorrows in life, but had 
 not lost a sympathy with all that is bright 
 and lovely, and excellent on earth. 
 
 He gazed on those grand mountains ; and 
 the innumerable lights and shades that flitted, 
 softened, but not dimmed, over their varied 
 
232 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 brows, and called up many a fanciful, but 
 not altogether unreal association, showing 
 bright poetical resemblances between the 
 hourly changes in external nature, and the 
 ever altering fate and unsteadfast condition 
 of man. He drank in, too, that atmo- 
 sphere of liquid gold, which renders the 
 Pyrenees a land peculiar and apart in its 
 transcendant beauty ; and there was a 
 balmy refreshment in that magic draught, 
 which calmed and soothed the sorrows of 
 his heart. 
 
 There is a period of misfortune when 
 grief, in its first state of irritation, shrinks 
 from all that would allay its sharpness ; 
 and when the softening and consoling as- 
 pect of nature, the musical voice of the 
 early year, the radiant smile of earth's 
 spring face, are shunned either as disso- 
 nant to the melancholy music of our own 
 hearts, or as giving but wild and broken 
 snatches of that perfect melody which we 
 can never more listen to entire. But that 
 period had passed by with the traveller of 
 whom we speak : his sorrows had been 
 bitter ; and they were neither removed nor 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 233 
 
 lessened. The weight was equally heavy, but 
 the heart had become habituated to its bur- 
 den; and, as a wise and rational man, aware 
 that, understood properly, and pursued ho- 
 nourably, "to enjoy is to obey," he sought, 
 by every worthy means, to divert his 
 thoughts from painful memories, and to 
 find new enjoyments, or revive the zest of 
 those that were deadened. 
 
 As we shall have to refer more than once 
 to the state of his mind, although the 
 events we are about to tell have little to 
 do therewith, we will briefly explain the 
 cause of sorrows, in regard to which we 
 shall make no mystery. He had been a 
 younger brother of a noble English family ; 
 and, placed as an attache to a foreign mis- 
 sion, had committed that never unpunished 
 sin of falling in love with a girl, well born, 
 but as poor as himself. He had thought 
 she was worthy of his attachment, and had 
 dreamed and decorated as all young men 
 do, when first and passionate love takes 
 possession of their hearts ; but he had been 
 wise enough to say no word of the feelings 
 that were busy in his bosom to her who 
 
234 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 had excited them, till, at length, appointed 
 secretary of legation to another court, 
 he had returned to England with better 
 hopes. 
 
 Still marriage was, for the time, impos- 
 sible ; but when, with youth, health, in- 
 terest, and hope to befriend him, he saw 
 her again in their native land, and had 
 good reason to believe that the love which 
 she could not now help seeing, was returned 
 — when the liquid lustre of the beaming 
 eye, the varying colour of the cheek, the 
 timid flickering smile upon the lips, and 
 the quick-coming breath, when the name 
 of love was mentioned — all told him, 
 that at some happy future hour, that gentle, 
 affectionate, sincere, kind being, that 
 lovely and beloved girl, might be his : it 
 was hard to shut up the words, which were 
 to bear the secret of his heart, within the 
 prison of his bosom, and only let them 
 beckon forth the tale from the unguarded 
 window of the eye. 
 
 Still he waged long warfare with himself; 
 and, as many a young man does, kept his 
 own counsel till one hour more would 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 235 
 
 have gained a complete triumph ; bat then, 
 alas ! he hastened to the house of her he 
 loved to surrender at discretion. 
 
 He found her mother in the drawing- 
 room, calmly embroidering in worsted, 
 after a fashion which the good lady had 
 learned in Germany, when her husband 
 was Envoy Extraordinary to the Court of 
 
 ; and scarcely looking up from the 
 
 stitches, the ci-devant Envoy's wife in- 
 formed her young friend that her daughter 
 Blanche, as he would be glad to hear, was 
 just engaged to the eldest son of Viscount 
 somebody, the sound of whose name was 
 so completely deadened by the cannon-ball- 
 like announcement which preceded it, that 
 poor Arthur Gray, as we shall call him, 
 neither heard, nor wished to hear, who was 
 the man so much happier than himself. 
 
 Now it may be supposed from the man- 
 ner in which we have commenced this tale, 
 that Arthur Gray, blessed with that spirit 
 of perverseness which instantly casts away 
 one good thing because it cannot get 
 another, at once resigned his secretaryship, 
 and wandered into the romantic Pyrenees, 
 
236 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 for the. purpose of increasing his grief, and 
 feeding his disappointment ; but far, very 
 far, was he from such conduct. He cer- 
 tainly looked as pale and as thunderstruck 
 as if he had heard that Blanche was dead ; 
 but, after the first moment given to bitter 
 pain, he recovered himself, said something 
 civil about nothing, and walked out of a 
 house he was never to enter again. The 
 next morning, at seven o'clock, saw him 
 rolling slowly up Shooter's-hill, with a good 
 view of Lady James's tower, and the Dover 
 road before him ; and on the eleventh or 
 twelfth morning after, he was calmly seated 
 at his official duties. 
 
 Dull and tedious those diplomatic duties 
 always are ; but they gave his mind occu- 
 pation ; and that was what he wisely 
 coveted. Did he think of her he had so 
 dearly loved ? He did, often ; he saw her 
 in his dreams, waking as well as sleeping ; 
 and he fervently prayed that he to whom 
 she had confided her fate would strive as 
 zealously, as fondly, as tenderly, to render 
 it a happy one, as Arthur Gray would have 
 done, had it fallen to his lot. 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 237 
 
 The newspapers of course followed him, 
 and in the one which issued from the press 
 immediately after his departure, he saw it 
 fully announced that the beautiful Blanche 
 Harlowe, daughter of Sir Francis Har- 
 lowe, late his Britannic Majesty's Envoy 
 at the Court of , was about to be- 
 stow her hand upon the Honourable Mr. 
 — — , whose name has nothing to do with 
 this history. Arthur Gray took great care 
 not to read the births, deaths, and mar- 
 riages in the public journals for the suc- 
 ceeding twelve months, though he bore the 
 rest of the newspaper with the fortitude of 
 a Spartan. 
 
 He heard seldom from his family ; for 
 his brother, like a great many other eldest 
 sons, made himself uncommonly disagree- 
 able to his younger fraternity, and, since he 
 had succeeded to his father, Lord Wycomb, 
 had certainly increased and prospered in 
 disagreeableness. Only one letter, then, 
 did Arthur Gray receive from him during 
 nine months ; and that was to announce 
 his approaching nuptials with a fair, but 
 
238 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 not a wealthy daughter of a very extensive 
 family. 
 
 " Heaven help the poor girl, and endue 
 her with patience ! " thought Arthur Gray, 
 as he remembered some little peculiarities 
 in his brother's temper ; when lo ! three 
 posts after brought him a letter with a 
 black seal, telling him that his brother was 
 not married, but dead. Thereupon Arthur 
 Gray, now Lord Wycomb, resigned his 
 office, and set out to travel, as we have 
 seen, through countries he had never vi- 
 sited before, feeling little inducement to 
 return to England for some time. 
 
 All this tedious episode we have told, 
 solely to show why he was melancholy ; for 
 no man in this world has any right to be 
 melancholy without a just cause. As the 
 carriage rolled on, then, he strove, as far as 
 possible, to derive pleasure from every thing 
 — to occupy his thoughts, and engage his 
 mind with pleasant images — when, had 
 Fancy been left to choose her own path, 
 she would fain have wandered back, to 
 mourn over the desolate hearth left by a 
 dream of domestic love, long past. He 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 239 
 
 was a very handsome man, as this world 
 goes, where the human face divine is some- 
 times sent forth from the great hand of 
 Nature, as if she had turned it over to an 
 apprentice ; and but too often defaced by 
 ourselves, our follies, or our passions. Never- 
 theless, as he was not a vain man, and cared 
 little for — thought little indeed of — his own 
 good looks, it could not be for the sake 
 of contrast, that he had chosen the ugliest 
 personage for a servant that ever yet sat 
 behind or before a travelling carriage. 
 
 In the present instance, the servant sat 
 before ; for, whether it were that britskas 
 had not then come in, or that Arthur Gray, 
 as we shall still call him, loved better a 
 caleche, such was the vehicle he travelled 
 in ; and, indeed, though it was a very 
 handsome equipage, it not only had the 
 box before, but, painted in small upon the 
 sides, the arms of a younger brother ; being 
 the identical carriage in which he had tra- 
 velled to exercise the functions of secretary 
 of legation. The arms, indeed, have no- 
 thing to do with our tale ; but in regard 
 to the box being before, without any appen- 
 
240 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 dage of the same kind behind, the fact is 
 most important ; for unto it was Arthur 
 Gray indebted for an acquaintance which 
 had a great influence upon the whole course 
 of his future life. 
 
 We must now pause, to tell how the ac- 
 quaintance commenced. After passing by 
 the little hamlets of Anduran and Vieu- 
 zac, in the lovely valley of Argelez, which 
 most of our readers will probably remem- 
 ber, there is a steep descent ; and as one 
 rises up the opposite slope, the road, climb- 
 ing the mountain on the right-hand side 
 of the valley, commands one of the most 
 splendid views of the gorge of Isavith 
 which the eye of man ever beheld ; where 
 the blue mountains, peeping up one over 
 the other, and each showing with more 
 resplendent hues than the last, look like 
 the future hours of life to the eyes of 
 youth — vast, interminable, lovely, and 
 clothed more and more with the magic 
 splendour of hope as they lie farther off. 
 
 Leaving his carriage, and bidding the 
 postilion drive on, but wait ere he reached 
 Argelez, Arthur Gray proceeded to climb 
 the hill on foot, pausing to gaze from time 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 241 
 
 to time, and drink in the beauties of the 
 scene ; or deviating from his way to gain 
 a better view, or see some object of interest 
 that caught his eye upon the heights. 
 Thus wandering on, he found a by-path 
 which conducted through some of the rich 
 woods and fields which clothe the lower 
 regions of the mountains ; and, as he could 
 trace it with the eye till it rejoined the 
 highway to Bareges, he followed it unhesi- 
 tatingly. We will not attempt to show 
 how much he enjoyed that walk, nor to in- 
 quire whether thoughts which had better 
 not have returned, did not visit him by the 
 way : suffice it, that when he approached 
 the public road again, as the path wound 
 through a low wood, he heard the voice of 
 his servant (it was a harsh one) speaking 
 loud and rudely. 
 
 " Get down directly ; get down, I say ! " 
 cried the man in French, which was his 
 native tongue : " Give me your whip, 
 postillion, and I will thrash her and her 
 brat soundly for her pains." 
 
 At that moment, however, his master 
 emerged from the wood ; and the man, 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
242 AN ADVENTUEE 
 
 who had, on various occasions, had an 
 opportunity of discovering that the young 
 Englishman was more charitable than him- 
 self, moderated his tone, saying, with a sort 
 of exculpatory growl, " A beggar-woman, 
 my lord, and her dirty child, who have been 
 riding behind the carriage all the way, since 
 you left it, — scratching the varnish, I dare 
 say, all the time ! " 
 
 At this unpropitious introduction, Ar- 
 thur Gray turned to look at the woman, 
 who stood, with her baby in her arms, just 
 as she had dropped from behind the car- 
 riage, at the threats of his servant. She 
 seemed care-worn, and her clothing was 
 dirty with long travelling; but Arthur 
 Gray thought he had seldom beheld more 
 lovely features, more splendid dark black 
 eyes, or the expression of a finer mind 
 shining through the whole countenance. 
 The child, too, was a bright, healthy, rus- 
 set boy, of about two years old ; and, with 
 both arms round it, she clasped it closely to 
 her breast, as if to shield it from the lash 
 with which the brute had menaced both. 
 
 " I think," said Arthur Gray, turning 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 243 
 
 to the servant, " I heard you say you would 
 strike her ? " 
 
 There was a cloud upon his lord's brow, 
 which made the man keep silence ; and the 
 other proceeded : — " Never let me hear 
 you again even dare to speak of so unmanly 
 an act as striking a woman, or I discharge 
 you at once ! " 
 
 " I did but threaten her, my lord," re- 
 plied the servant ; " I had no intention of 
 doing it." 
 
 " Happily for you, you did only 
 threaten," replied his master; ''for if I 
 had caught you in such an act, I would 
 have pitched you head foremost into the 
 Gave, as the only fit punishment for such 
 a cowardly villain. Get up again, my good 
 woman," he added ; " you seem tired. 
 Where are you going ? " 
 
 "Take a thousand thanks, your worship," 
 answered the woman, translating good 
 Spanish into bad French ; " I am weary ; 
 for I have come a long way on foot, and I 
 am going into Spain ; but I am often ob- 
 liged to take by-roads, which make the way 
 longer, for the French police here will not 
 m C Z 
 
244 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 let any Spaniard go by without a passport 
 — no, not even a woman and a baby. If I 
 could get to Gedre, however, I should be 
 safe, or even to St. Sauveur." 
 
 " I suppose you are a Constitutionalist, 
 my good girl," said the young English- 
 man, relieving her greatly by speaking her 
 own tongue with very little accent ;" but 
 as I do not think you will do the king 
 much harm, I will help you onward if I 
 can. What is your name, that I may 
 answer any questions ? " 
 
 " My name is Alicia Xenadez," replied 
 the woman ; " and I give you a thousand 
 thanks, your worship, Cavalier." 
 
 Arthur Gray thought for a moment 
 whether he should make the woman get into 
 the caleche ; and a thousand kindly feelings 
 said " yes ;" but he then felt that by doing 
 so he might do her more harm than good, 
 in case of inquiry ; and, by making the police 
 think that she was some great fugitive in 
 disguise, very likely frustrate her purpose 
 altogether. He accordingly made her take 
 her place behind again, saying to the postil- 
 lion, " I pay for another horse." 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 245 
 
 The man touched his hat, and the car- 
 riage rolled on to Pierrefitte. Entering 
 the inn, while the horses were changing, 
 Arthur Gray gave the woman a sign to 
 remain where she was ; and, after he had 
 looked out of the window for some time, 
 seeing his single servant bustling about, 
 hither and thither, he perceived a gen- 
 darme come out of the stable-yard, and 
 taking the woman rudely by the arm, pull 
 her from the back of the carriage, asking 
 some question which the young Englishman 
 did not hear. 
 
 Lest the poor girl should commit herself, 
 he went out directly, and making his way 
 through the crowd of chatterers and gapers, 
 who assemble in a moment on such occa- 
 sions, he asked the man what he meant — 
 freeing from his grasp the poor woman, 
 who stood before him trembling and as 
 pale as death. There was something about 
 Arthur Gray, though he was badly dressed, 
 which was not to be mistaken for any other 
 thing on the face of the earth than the air 
 of a gentleman, and the man was struck \ 
 m 3 
 
246 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 but he, nevertheless, resolved to carry mat- 
 ters with a high hand. 
 
 " I demand her pass !" he said haughtily, 
 " and I must have it." 
 
 " I thought women were exempt from 
 such obstructions/' replied the English- 
 man. 
 
 " Not upon the frontier, here !" answered 
 the gendarme ; "we should have pretty 
 work if we let them pass as they like." 
 
 " But why do you demand her passport 
 without demanding mine?" asked Arthur 
 Gray, with a smile. 
 
 The man laughed, but was not to be en- 
 trapped, and replied, " I do ask yours ! — 
 I saw her first." 
 
 "You have no right to demand mine 
 any more than hers," answered the young 
 Englishman ; "I am obliged to show my 
 passport to obtain post-horses ; but I have 
 only to show it again at the frontier : how- 
 ever, I will let you see it as a favour ; it 
 is in the carriage. Get up, my good 
 woman," he continued, seeing the horses 
 ready. 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 247 
 
 " Not till I am satisfied," exclaimed the 
 jack-in-office. 
 
 " You shall be satisfied on all points in a 
 moment," replied Arthur Gray. " Get up, 
 my good woman;" and seeing her follow 
 his directions, he entered the carriage, took 
 a passport out of one of the pockets, and 
 handed it to the gendarme, holding his 
 thumb fast upon a peculiar yellow seal 
 (which one of the spectators, who was 
 near, thought very like a Napoleon) till 
 the man had the paper tight in his hand. 
 
 " You will see," said Arthur Gray, 
 " that the passport is for myself and suite; 
 that woman and child are of my suite." 
 The man grinned, put something into his 
 pocket, and returned the paper, saying, 
 " Mais le ridicule , Monsieur /" 
 
 " Le ridicule!" cried Arthur Gray: 
 " Qu'est ce que cdfait a la police?" 
 
 The door was shut and the carriage drove 
 on. At Luz the vehicle stopped ; and the 
 postillion demanded if he should drive to 
 St. Sauveur or to Bareges. 
 
 " Wait here," answered Arthur Gray, 
 m 4 
 
248 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 making the servant open the carnage door ; 
 " I want to see that old tower upon the 
 hill ;" and he proceeded to ask the woman 
 several questions as to how he could facili- 
 tate her farther journey, using a careless 
 tone, but taking care to speak in Spanish. 
 The woman replied in the same tongue ; 
 while the postillion, who had dismounted, 
 stood stroking his smoking horses with the 
 double of his whip. As they were in the 
 midst of the most interesting part of the 
 discussion, however, respecting the means of 
 passing safely a station of police and doua- 
 niers, a little farther on, the postillion ceased 
 his very contemplative occupation, and, 
 taking a step forward, joined in their con- 
 versation in the same tongue. 
 
 " Sir, I understand Spanish," he said, 
 " but 1 will not betray you ; I only wished 
 to give my advice, as I know this country 
 better than either of you." 
 
 " May I trust you?" demanded Arthur 
 Gray, fixing his eyes intently upon the 
 man's face. 
 
 " On the faith of an old soldier!" re- 
 plied the postillion, touching a dirty frag- 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 249 
 
 merit of red ribbon that hung at his button- 
 hole ; " I understand this lady's position ; 
 and, if she will follow my advice, she will 
 not go any farther this afternoon, but take 
 up her lodgings there at ' The Sun.' " 
 
 "Where?" demanded Arthur Gray; 
 " I do not see any sign." 
 
 " There, at ' The Sun/ sir," answered 
 their new ally ; " there is no sign, but it is 
 a very good cabaret notwithstanding ; and, 
 what is more to the purpose, it is there all 
 the Spanish contrabandistas put up. Do 
 you see a Cretin?" he continued, remark- 
 ing that the Englishman was looking for 
 the house. 
 
 "I see a wretched green and yellow 
 creature, deformed and horrible, that seems 
 to be an idiot, lying before one of the 
 houses," replied Arthur Gray. "Is it 
 there?" 
 
 " No : look a little farther," he an- 
 swered : " four doors beyond the Cretin 
 you will see a pair of legs, in lavender silk 
 breeches and white stockings, sticking out 
 of the doorway, and swinging slowly up 
 and down : that is Garcillez Torenjo, an 
 M 5 
 
250 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 old friend of mine, smoking his cigar in 
 the shade. There this poor lady will find 
 rest and friends ; and nobody, I know, is 
 more likely to help her on her way than 
 Garcillez Torenjo himself." 
 
 " Stay here with the carriage and ser- 
 vant," said Arthur Gray, " and I will go 
 on with her, and see what can be done." 
 He accordingly advanced to the legs with 
 the lavender silk breeches and white stock- 
 ings, and found a fine-looking man of fifty- 
 eight or sixty, smoking his cigar, as had 
 been foretold, and swinging himself back- 
 wards and forwards in his seat. Arthur 
 Gray entered upon the cause of his coming 
 at once ; and though Don Garcillez smoked 
 on, and swung on too, he contrived, be- 
 tween the puffs, to give Arthur Gray full 
 assurance that his pretty protegee should 
 be safely conducted past the French frontier, 
 if all the gensdarmes and all the douaniers 
 of France combined to stop her. 
 
 The young woman herself seemed per- 
 fectly satisfied also, and therefore Arthur 
 Gray had but one thing further to do, as 
 a thorough Englishman, which was to offer 
 her some money to aid her on her way. 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 251 
 
 He did it as kindly and delicately as pos- 
 sible, for there was something in her whole 
 demeanour rather superior to the common; 
 but the woman drew .herself up, saying, " I 
 am the wife of a Spanish gentleman ! — When 
 I reach him with my child," she added in 
 a softer tone, " and I tell him that it was all 
 owing to the kindness of an English gentle- 
 man, he will bless you, and we will pray 
 together for your happiness." She added 
 a good deal more, telling Arthur Gray all 
 the names of the saints that she intended 
 to beseech a blessing from for his especial 
 use ; but as Arthur Gray, like all gentle- 
 men, had an extraordinary dislike to being 
 thanked, he took leave of her as soon as 
 possible, and resumed his journey towards 
 Bareges. 
 
 Two nights afterwards he was visited by 
 Garcillez Torenjo at his inn ; the worthy 
 Spaniard producing various vials of Spanish 
 wines from under his cloak, as samples of 
 nectars, which he wished the young English- 
 man to buy ; but, at the same time, in- 
 forming him that Alicia Xenadez was safe 
 within the pale of Spain. 
 m 6 
 
252 AN ADVENTUKE 
 
 Thus, then, having displayed all the cir- 
 cumstances connected with the first inter- 
 view of Arthur Gray and the fair Spaniard, 
 we shall pause to take breath ; and then go 
 on to record their last meeting. 
 
 It was about six weeks after the occurrence 
 of those events which we have just related, 
 when Arthur Gray — having got weary of 
 beholding the halt, the lame, and the blind 
 dance quadrilles all night at Bareges ; and 
 having seen and admired all the thousands 
 of beautiful scenes that lie scattered in 
 the valleys of Cauteretz, St. Sauveur, and 
 Ossau — turned his steps in another direc- 
 tion, and reached Bagneres de Luchon. 
 
 Each of the lateral valleys of the Pyre- 
 nees has its own characteristic beauties ; 
 and those of Bagneres de Luchon harmo- 
 nised well with the feelings of Arthur 
 Gray, whose heart was but little the lighter 
 for scenes which, at every step, seemed to 
 remind him how sweet, how doubly sweet, 
 it is to have a sympathising spirit near, to 
 share our pleasures, and double by dividing 
 them. There were few people at that little 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 253 
 
 remote watering-place when he reached it ; 
 and he proposed to pass there the remain- 
 ing weeks of the short mountain summer, 
 making from time to time a little excursion 
 into Spain j the frontier of which lies within 
 a league and a half of the village. 
 
 Towards night, on the second day after 
 his arrival, he saw two carriages drive 
 down to another inn, and, as they were 
 clearly English people who tenanted them, 
 and he sought not much society, he deter- 
 mined to make his first excursion into 
 Spain on the following morning early. 
 Horses and guides were ordered ; and, like 
 Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia, but with more 
 moderate calculations, he fixed three days 
 for his party of pleasure, hoping and trust- 
 ing that the new visitors would be gone ere 
 his return. 
 
 It is always a bad sign of the state 
 of a man's happiness when he wishes his 
 fellow-creatures, and more especially his fel- 
 low-countrymen, out of his way ; it shows 
 that several of the fountains of enjoyment 
 have been dried up utterly, either by too fierce 
 and fiery a sun, or by some of those mental 
 
254 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 earthquakes which so often rend the human 
 bosom in the season of passions; and which, 
 changing the current of some feelings, ob- 
 literate others entirely. Arthur Gray was 
 not, indeed, misanthropical in the full sense 
 of the word ; for he did not, by any means, 
 hate his fellow-creatures : he only wished 
 to see as little of them as possible, and to 
 be allowed to commune in peaceful musing 
 with the eloquent dumb things of nature, 
 which read their grand homily in the im- 
 pressive language of eternal truth. 
 
 u Those blue and golden mountains," 
 he thought, " those mighty trees, those 
 green swelling slopes, those everlasting 
 snows, those cataracts, and those gigantic 
 cliffs — they show no fickle caprice ! they 
 vary not their humour with the changing 
 hour ! He who makes friends of the bright 
 creations of the great God of nature will 
 never have to lament that his love has been 
 betrayed. Amongst them will I seek my 
 companions." 
 
 Such were his reflections as, with two 
 guides to lead him on the way, he mounted 
 his horse and rode on towards Venasque. 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 255 
 
 The immediate neighbourhood of Bagneres 
 he had explored before ; but still, the lovely- 
 scenery in the rosy light of the morning, 
 the wanderings of the river Oo, through 
 its mingled bed of turf and rock ; the gray 
 marble cliffs around the Port de Ferrasque, 
 with the white clouds drawn, like veils of 
 gossamer, across their towering heads ; oc- 
 casional glimpses of the Maladetta, with its 
 icy summits flashing back the rays of the 
 climbing sun in long prismatic lines ; the 
 bright confusion of wood and mountain, 
 and green lawns, and leaping water-falls, 
 that lay on every side, were not to be 
 passed without deep enjoyment ; and the 
 ride onward, till he had crossed the frontier 
 and entered Spain, paying as he went the 
 usual tribute of douane annoyance, was 
 one that calmed and soothed his mind, and 
 tuned his heart most harmoniously to all 
 things. 
 
 Going on from the little town of Venasque, 
 as soon as his horses were rested, he turned 
 by a different pass to the eastward, through 
 the lower ranges of the mountains, where 
 he had heard that some of the most beau- 
 
256 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 tiful scenery on the Spanish side of the 
 Pyrenees is to be found, at the foot of the 
 Maladetta. As he had been informed, he 
 found the valley, at the distance of about 
 four miles fromVenasque, full of picturesque 
 beauties ; and, by the side of a small stream 
 that wandered through it, appeared a large 
 massive stone house, secured by doors of 
 enormous thickness, and presenting more 
 the appearance of a fortress than an inn. 
 It was tenanted, however, only by a tall 
 Spaniard, his wife, and one son, who fol- 
 lowed the pastoral life of our great fore- 
 fathers, and probably dabbled a little in a 
 way of living scarcely less ancient or natural, 
 where custom-houses exist — that of smug- 
 gling. They were hearty, kindly people, 
 with, apparently, a good deal of Moorish 
 blood in their veins ; and, leading Arthur 
 Gray through the lower part of the dwell- 
 ing, the larger division of which formed the 
 general drawing-room of the goats, sheep, 
 and mules, they conducted him up a flight 
 of steps, which descended from the ceiling 
 into the midst of that large hall. The stairs 
 led thence to a large chamber above, into 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 257 
 
 which one was ushered, like a ghost at a 
 theatre, by a sort of trap-door in the floor, 
 generally kept closed, to prevent the goats, 
 whose penchant for climbing would show 
 itself, from intruding their company where 
 it was not desired. 
 
 As parties frequently visited the spot 
 from Bagneres de Luchon, the good Spa- 
 niard had found it expedient to make his 
 house serve the purpose of an inn in that 
 remote place ; and he had even learned a 
 few words of French. Arthur Gray's pure 
 Spanish, however, touched his heart ; and, 
 as it was growing late and no other guests 
 were expected, he declared that every thing 
 in the house — consisting of trout, pigeons, 
 and fowls — should be instantly cooked for 
 the dinner of a guest whose tongue was so 
 thoroughly Castilian. Though the ultimate 
 result of such kindness was easily to be an- 
 ticipated, Arthur Gray let him do as he 
 liked : it could but cost a few reals more ; 
 and therefore, while the wife and son went 
 to prepare this rich treat in a room con- 
 tiguous to that of the sheep and goats, he 
 proceeded with the father to choose his 
 
"258 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 bed-room from out of at least a dozen, 
 which communicated directly with the large 
 chamber into which he had ascended by the 
 trap-door, and which was, in fact, the only 
 salon, or sitting-room, in the posada. They 
 all seemed very tolerable, and Arthur Gray, 
 having chosen that which unto him seemed 
 best, determined to set out, and with one 
 of his guides, who had remained below 
 in the cooking neighbourhood, to ramble 
 round the valley, and ascertain the direc- 
 tion of the Maladetta and its ice-covered 
 summit. 
 
 It was a hot oppressive afternoon ; and 
 when he went forth, he observed some 
 large defined clouds rolled half-way down 
 the mountains : the guide warned him that it 
 would be dangerous to venture far, and the 
 young Englishman was too well acquainted 
 with what a storm is, in mountain countries, 
 to disregard the caution. Ere they had 
 gone a mile, the first flash broke faint and 
 feebly across the gray bosom of the cloud ; 
 and, before they had again reached the 
 house of the shepherd-innkeeper, the whole 
 heaven was one blaze of fire : the summits, 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 259 
 
 even of the nearest mountains, could not 
 be seen ; but the swarthy canopy of cloud, 
 every moment rent by the red hand of the 
 lightning, seemed almost to touch the head 
 of the wanderer as he hurried on. Fortu- 
 nately, with the lightning came no hail, 
 which the guide seemed to fear much more 
 than the electric flash itself; but the thun- 
 der kept up a roar almost incessant, — now 
 pealing around from rock to rock, and 
 peak to peak ; now pouring down with 
 sudden violence in the midst of the valley, 
 as if all the crags around were, in a mo- 
 ment, taken up and dashed upon the tra- 
 veller's head. 
 
 When Arthur Gray at length reached 
 his dwelling-place for the night, he found 
 that the flock in the lower part of the 
 house had been increased, not exactly by 
 sheep and goats, but by men and horses ; 
 and as he passed up towards the more dig- 
 nified apartments above, he heard loud 
 voices, as if in dispute with his worthy 
 host. Judging, then, that his prior appro- 
 priation of all the edible commodities which 
 the house contained might be the cause 
 
260 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 of murmurs, he sent for the landlord, and 
 expressed his willingness to abandon his 
 claim to anything but a very small portion 
 of the supper. 
 
 Manuel (for such was the host's appel- 
 lation) replied with not a very decent 
 Spanish exclamation, assuring the young 
 Englishman that eggs and onions were too 
 good for such a set as those below ; and that, 
 if they had the rest of the supper, they could 
 not pay for it. As if fearful, indeed, that 
 his good things should fall a prey to per- 
 sons who, as he said, could not pay for 
 them, Don Manuel, with zealous exer- 
 tions, hurried forward the preparations ; 
 and, before Arthur Gray was half satisfied 
 with gazing out at the awful pageantry of 
 the storm, a large table (which looked small, 
 however, in that great hall) was laid in the 
 midst, and covered with all the promised 
 good things which mine host's larder af- 
 forded. Manuel pressed his guest to sit down 
 and partake immediately ; and as a few large 
 drops of rain were beginning to fall from 
 the angry sky, like tears breaking through 
 the storm of human passion, Arthur Gray 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 261 
 
 judged that the brightest part of the grand 
 spectacle was over, and walked slowly to 
 the table. 
 
 Scarcely had he partaken of the soup, 
 however, and despatched his host for a 
 bottle of one of the many thousand wines 
 that well in streams from the fertile but 
 neglected hills of Spain, ere there came, 
 in the midst of thunder, the clatter of 
 many horses ; and, in a moment after, 
 with an air of inexpressible consternation, 
 Manuel presented himself, informing his 
 guest that a large English family had just 
 arrived, and beseeching him to let them 
 partake of the only fare that could be pro- 
 cured before the next morning. 
 
 Although Arthur Gray had calculated 
 upon enjoying in that wild spot the plea- 
 sure of his own society uninterrupted, yet 
 he was too much of a gentleman to wish the 
 strangers any where else than under the 
 same shelter which he himself had found ; 
 and he accordingly expressed his willing- 
 ness to communicate to the new-comers 
 a full share of all the good things which 
 had been thrust upon him by fate. 
 
262 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 While this negotiation was going on, 
 steps were heard ascending the stairs which 
 led from below ; and the Englishman, per- 
 ceiving a lady's head enveloped in a bear- 
 nois travelling cap, advanced with grace- 
 ful ease to offer his assistance. The first 
 of the party, however, had entered before 
 he reached that part of the room ; and, as 
 it was somewhat dark, he did not particu- 
 larly remark the lady's countenance. A 
 second, however, was making her appear- 
 ance as he came near ; and Arthur Gray 
 paused with a thrilling sensation of sur- 
 prise, which took from him all power of 
 uttering the words that were trembling on 
 his lips. There was something in that 
 form, though the spot was dark, and the 
 face was cast down, which made Arthur 
 Gray stand and gaze as if turned into 
 stone. 
 
 An exclamation from the first lady roused 
 him, and at the same time made the other 
 raise her eyes. — It was Blanche Harlowe ! 
 Her mother, who had preceded her, was 
 speedily engaged in loudly greeting Lord 
 Wycomb, and in saying how very fortunate 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 263 
 
 it was so to meet with an old friend ; while 
 he himself was endeavouring to recover 
 his self-possession sufficiently to welcome 
 and speak with Sir Francis Harlowe, and 
 his son, a raw youth of sixteen. 
 
 They all greeted him warmly and gladly, 
 except Blanche herself; but, pale as monu- 
 mental marble, she stood nearly as cold and 
 chilly also : she held out no hand ; she 
 expressed no gladness to see him ; but 
 merely bent her head to his salutation, and 
 put her hand through her brother's arm, 
 as if she were fatigued. Arthur Gray 
 paused ; for he expected to see a fifth 
 person appear ; and he had strung his 
 mind up to bear the sight of a man whom 
 he felt he must hate for ever. No one 
 came, however ; the pause became awkward ; 
 and at length he asked, " Is this all your 
 party ? " 
 
 ** Yes," replied Lady Harlowe, appa- 
 rently surprised, " whom did you expect?" 
 
 " Oh, no one ! " answered Arthur Gray, 
 looking at Blanche's dress, to ascertain if it 
 bore any sign of widowhood : " the man 
 told me there was a large party." 
 
 In a few minutes — after some looking at 
 
264 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 rooms, &c. — the family of Sir Francis Har- 
 lowe were seated at Lord Wycomb's sup- 
 per table, and there were strange sensa- 
 tions gathering round his heart. There she 
 sat, as beautiful as ever : he looked again at 
 her dress — she was certainly not a widow : 
 he looked at the fatal finger of the left hand 
 — she was not a wife She was much paler 
 than she had been a year and a half before ; 
 but she was not so pale as when she first 
 entered that room ; and though she gene- 
 rally kept her eyes bent down, with the 
 long beautiful lashes shading them entirely ; 
 yet, once or twice, she raised them with a 
 timid momentary glance to his face ; and a 
 slight blush tinged her cheek when their 
 looks met. 
 
 It is needless to describe farther the 
 passing of the evening. Arthur Gray 
 closed not an eye that night ; and it was 
 neither the stamping of the mules and 
 horses, nor the continual wrangling and 
 disputation of the Spaniards and French 
 below, that kept him awake. At five he 
 rose, dressed, and wandered out. Was it 
 to see the scenery of the valley, or to think? 
 He wanted no guide ; but ere he had gone 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 265 
 
 ten paces, the guide was by his side, with a 
 gun in his hand, which he offered to his 
 temporary master, saying that at that hour 
 they might see an izzard. Arthur Gray 
 took the gun, but sent the man back, say- 
 ing he was not going far, and on he wan- 
 dered. 
 
 He did go far, much farther than he 
 intended, till he reached a spot, where, 
 amongst a wild scene of rocks and trees, and 
 enormous blocks of fallen stone, fell a splen- 
 did cataract, catching upon its spray the rays 
 of the morning sun, and waving with rain- 
 bows of a thousand forms. There sat he 
 down among the thickest trees, to think, 
 beside the murmur of the waters, of love 
 and Blanche Harlowe, and to question 
 probability as to what could be the cause 
 of all that he had remarked. As he sat, 
 he heard the sound of voices, and looked 
 forth, fancying, — perhaps hoping, — that 
 it might be herself who approached ; but it 
 was merely a troop of some eight or nine 
 Spaniards, gay-looking in their garb, but 
 not the most prepossessing in their coun^ 
 tenances. 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 " What can they seek here?" thought 
 Arthur Gray ; but, seeing that they had 
 guns in their hands, he concluded that 
 they had come to look game ; and merely 
 drew a little back, to let them pass by, 
 without farther interruption of his own 
 thoughts : but they paused when they 
 came near; and their manoeuvres being 
 somewhat curious, the young Englishman 
 watched them without being seen himself. 
 
 A little stream, formed by the cataract, 
 flowed on through the midst of the valley, 
 and separated the shady spot where Arthur 
 Gray had pJaced himself under the trees 
 from some masses of enormous stones, 
 amidst which the Spaniards seemed, for 
 some time, playing at hide and seek. They 
 now went behind one of the detached rocks, 
 and now behind another, looking out as 
 they did so, and seeming to gaze at the 
 little amphitheatre in the midst of which 
 the waterfall descended from the moun- 
 tains. At length, two of them (one of 
 whom appeared to be their leader) crossed 
 the stream, and disappeared for a moment. 
 Their voices were still heard, however, and 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 267 
 
 a slight change of position enabled Arthur 
 Gray to see a small wooden hut under the 
 rock, into which they had apparently en- 
 tered. 
 
 They soon came forth again, and re- 
 joined their companions ; and the next 
 moment, placing themselves in a posi- 
 tion which they had evidently chosen 
 with much care, they remained completely 
 concealed from the sight. Arthur Gray 
 now resolved to wait where he was, till 
 he saw the result. At that time there were 
 many reports flying about of robberies, 
 accompanied by very fearful atrocities, 
 committed on the Spanish side of the 
 mountains ; and they had more than once 
 reached the ears of the young Englishman ; 
 but he was not of a temperament to attend 
 much to such tales, and he had never, till 
 the present moment, brought them home 
 to his imagination. He was not, indeed, 
 alarmed on his own account ; because 
 he could, if he had pleased, by retiring 
 through the trees behind him, have escaped, 
 almost to a certainty unperceived ; but he 
 evidently saw that the men he had watched 
 n 2 
 
268 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 were laying an ambush for something; and 
 he resolved, as we have said, to wait and 
 see what sort of game fell into the trap. 
 
 During full three quarters of an hour 
 there was not the slightest sound, nor the 
 slightest movement of a living thing, to 
 be perceived in all the scene around. To 
 the eye and ear there w r as nothing but 
 the mountains, and the water-fall, and the 
 stream, and the clear blue sky : but at the 
 end of that period was heard the sound of 
 voices talking; and presently afterwards, 
 advancing with a slow pace, came a party 
 of both sexes, gazing quietly about them 
 on the beauties of the scenery, and pre- 
 ceded by two guides, who turned from 
 time to time to point out the various ob- 
 jects most worthy of notice. 
 
 How did the heart of Arthur Gray beat 
 when he beheld Blanche Harlowe leaning 
 upon her brother's arm, and looking round, 
 unconscious of danger, in the presence of a 
 body of men whose object he now began 
 to suspect more strongly than ever. 
 
 " What should he do ?" he asked himself: 
 " should he spring forward at once, and, 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 269 
 
 warning them of what he had seen, endea- 
 vour to hurry them back ? " But even while 
 the thought was passing through his mind, 
 there came the report of fire-arms, and the 
 two guides fell together. One sprang up 
 again, only wounded ; but the other lay 
 quite still. A loud scream from Lady 
 Harlowe, and a loud shout from the other 
 side of the stream, instantly folio wed; while, 
 rushing from the rocks which had concealed 
 them, the Spanish plunderers sprang for- 
 ward towards their victims. 
 
 Arthur Gray now hesitated not a mo- 
 ment longer. But one thought crossed his 
 mind — "God of heaven! Blanche Har- 
 lowe in the hands of such men as those ! " 
 
 Snatching up the gun he had brought 
 with him, he darted forth, throwing him- 
 self between her and them ; and, level- 
 ling the weapon at the foremost of the 
 robbers, he exclaimed in Spanish, " Halt ! 
 or I fire ! I have the lives of two at least. 
 Standoff, or I fire!" 
 
 The man was within sixteen yards of 
 him ; and the sudden appearance of a 
 stranger where he had seen no one before 
 n 3 
 
270 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 made him pause at once. His comrades, 
 however, were coming up ; only two guns 
 had been discharged out of the nine ; and, 
 after gazing upon Arthur Gray for a mo- 
 ment, an expression of scorn curled his lip, 
 and, turning to his comrades, he exclaimed, 
 "Down with him! His chance against 
 ours for a thousand dollars ! Level your 
 guns and fire ! " 
 
 The guns were levelled. Arthur Gray 
 made one movement to shield Blanche 
 Harlowe with his own body, and his finger 
 too was upon the trigger. At that in- 
 stant, a loud ringing shriek from the left, 
 where he had seen the hut, made every one 
 pause in the bloody business they were 
 about ; and a woman, holding a child in 
 her arms, rushed forward, and, casting her- 
 self before the young Englishman, held up 
 her boy towards the levelled guns of the 
 Spaniards, exclaiming aloud, " Fire, if you 
 will, Pedro Xenadez ! fire, if you will, and 
 kill your wife and child at the same time 
 with the man who saved them at their 
 utmost need ! " 
 
 The Spaniard dropped his musket, and 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 271 
 
 waved his hand to the rest ; all was still 
 for a moment, and he at length demanded, 
 " Which is he?" 
 
 " It matters not, Xenadez," replied Ar- 
 thur Gray : "I will share the fate of all 
 who are here : if it be gold you want, stay 
 where you are, and we will throw our purses 
 across the stream ; but take not a step in 
 advance, or you and I both die." 
 
 " Gold I must have," replied the man ; 
 u my need obliges me ; but I sought re- 
 venge, too, of yon Frenchmen, and I have 
 had it! So throw me your purses and get 
 you gone : but make haste back to France, 
 and set not your foot again near Venasque, 
 or you may rue the day." 
 
 " We will remember the warning," re- 
 plied Arthur Gray ; — "but you promise 
 we shall be safe till we reach France ? " 
 
 " From me and mine, upon my honour J" 
 answered Xenadez ; and the young English- 
 man, remembering an old proverb regard- 
 ing the honour of thieves, trusted to that of 
 his present opponent. The woman whose 
 sudden appearance had saved the lives of so 
 many, looked down with an expression of 
 
272 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 pain while the purses of the English party 
 were thrown across the stream to her hus- 
 band; but the moment it was done — and 
 she evidently felt degraded by witnessing 
 such an act — she caught Arthur Gray's 
 hand, and kissed it twice, while a burning 
 tear of shame and grief fell upon it. Then, 
 turning hastily away without a word, she 
 ran back to the hut, and he never saw her 
 more. 
 
 u Let me support you, Miss Harlowe," 
 said Arthur Gray, as they moved on. She 
 lifted the dark lashes of her deep blue eyes 
 to his face, with a look of grateful im- 
 ploring earnestness, and, putting her arm 
 through his, returned by his side. 
 
 Three days afterwards, following the 
 course of the little Gave of Oo, Arthur 
 Gray was returning from a long walk with 
 Sir Francis Harlowe, and was speaking in a 
 calm and deliberate tone upon a matter 
 which may be guessed, when the baronet 
 suddenly stopped him. 
 
 " Before you say a word more, my dear 
 Lord Wycomb," he said, " I feel myself 
 bound to tell you something which I am 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 273 
 
 afraid will oppose itself to your hopes. Not 
 
 quite two years ago, Mr. the eldest 
 
 son of L , with immense property, ex- 
 cellent connexions, &c, proposed for my 
 daughter ; and, as Lady Harlowe had long 
 wished the match, she accepted him at 
 once." 
 
 " Lady Harlowe, or your daughter ?" 
 demanded Arthur Gray. 
 
 " Lady Harlowe, I mean," replied the 
 father : " Blanche made no objection, that 
 I heard of, at the time ; but I remarked 
 that, from that day forward, she became 
 melancholy, ill, moping, lonely ; and I 
 one day found that she had shut herself up 
 in her room, and refused to see even her 
 own mother. It became time to inquire 
 into the matter ; for my daughter's happi- 
 ness is more to me than any other consider- 
 ation ; and I went up myself. She let me 
 in ; but I found that she had been weeping 
 long and bitterly ; and, on inquiry, I was 
 told, that she could not love the man to 
 whom her hand had been promised. In 
 short, my lord, I must conceal nothing : 
 she said she loved another, with whom her 
 
274 AN ADVENTURE 
 
 marriage was hopeless. She entreated me 
 to ask no farther questions, but, as I loved 
 her, to break off' the match proposed. I 
 did so at once ; and we are now here, 
 wandering about, endeavouring to amuse 
 her mind, and restore her health." 
 
 For a few minutes Arthur Gray did not 
 reply ; perhaps he could not : but at 
 length he said, " If you will permit me, I 
 will plead my cause with Miss Harlowe 
 herself." 
 
 " Delighted if you succeed," replied 
 her father ; " but I will not even use 
 persuasion for any consideration. You 
 will find her very likely alone now ; for 
 you know Lady Harlowe is rather late in 
 her hours, and William has gone up the 
 mountains." 
 
 Arthur Gray quickened his pace ; it 
 grew quicker and quicker as he got near 
 Bagneres de Luchon : Sir Francis Harlowe 
 was left behind, and the low wooden stair- 
 case of the inn, leading to the salon of the 
 Harlowes, was cleared in a minute. Blanche 
 Harlowe was alone ; and to her he ad- 
 vanced at once : she was looking better, 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 275 
 
 happier than when first he had seen her in 
 the Pyrennees ; and, as she rose to meet 
 him, there was a flickering of the colour 
 in her cheeks that was very lovely. 
 
 Arthur Gray had intended to be very 
 calm, very collected, extremely considerate 
 and reasonable ; but all that he could con- 
 trive to say, of all he had laid out to be said, 
 amounted to — " Miss Harlowe, I have 
 loved you for years, — I have thought you 
 wedded to another, — I have mourned in 
 bitterness of heart and spirit — in present 
 solitude, and hopelessness of the future. — 
 But you turn pale, — you shrink from me, 
 — you cannot love me !" 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Arthur ! " she cried ; 
 " do not say that ! — If you could but tell 
 all, you would be satisfied." 
 
 And Blanche Harlowe became the wife 
 of Arthur Gray. 
 
 THE END. 
 
London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 New-Street-Square. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 084214391