University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The road, by which the cavaliers were
proceeding, through well-made and passable
at all times, was no considerable
thoroughfare; no large or important towns
lay on its route; nay, no large villages
were situated on its margin. It was a devious
winding way, leading to many a
homely farm-house, many a sequestered
hamlet, and affording to the good rustics a
means of carrying their wheat and eggs
and butter, or driving their fat cattle and
black-face moorland sheep to market; but
it was not the direct line between any two
points, or places, worthy even of a passing
notice. It is true, that some twelve or
fifteen miles down the valley there was a
house or two tenanted by gentry—one
that might by a liberal courtesy have been
designated a castle; but above Ingleborough
Hall, to northwestward, there was
no manor-house or dwelling of the aristocracy
at all, until the road left the ghylls—
as those wild glens are designated—and
joined the line of the great northern turnpike.

It was extremely singular then, to say
the least, that a gay troop of riders should
appear suddenly in that wild spot, so far
from anything that would be likely to attract
them; and Annabel sat some time
longer by the window, wondering, and at
the same time fearing, although in truth
she scarce knew what; until at a mile's
distance she saw them halt, and after a
few moments' conversation with a farming-man
on the wayside, as if to inquire
their route, turn suddenly down a narrow
by-road leading to the high narrow bridge
of many arches, which crossed the noble
river and gave the only access to the secluded
site of Ingleborough. When she
saw this, however, her perturbation became
very great; for well she knew that
there lay nothing in that direction except
one little market-town, far distant, and a
few scattered farm-houses on the verge of
the moors, so that there could be but little
doubt that Ingleborough was indeed their
destination.

The very moment that she arrived at
this conclusion, Annabel called a serving-man,
and bade him run quick to the vicarage,
and pray good Doctor Summers to
come up to her instantly, as she was in
great strait, and fain would speak with him;
and at the same time, with an energy of
character that hardly could have been expected
from one so young and delicate,
ordered the men of the household—including
in those days the fowler and falconer,
and half a dozen grooms and many
a supernumerary more, whom we in these
degenerate times have long discarded as
incumbrances, to have their arms in readiness—for
every manor-house then had
its regular armory—and to prepare the
great bell of the Hall, to summon all the
tenants on the instant in case such proceedings
should be needful.

In a few moments the good grey-haired
vicar came, almost breathless from the
haste with which he had crossed the little
space between the vicarage and the manor
and a little while afterwards his wife followed
him, anxious to learn as soon as
possible what could have so disturbed the
quiet tenor of a mind so regulated by
high principles, and garrisoned by holy

thoughts, as Annabel's. Their humble
dwelling, though searce a stone's throw
from the Hall, was screened by a projecting
knoll feathered with dense and shadowy
coppice, hiding from it entirely the
road by which the horsemen were advancing;
so that the worthy couple had
not perceived, or suspected, anything, to
justify the fears of Annabel, until they
were both standing in her presence. Then,
while the worthy doctor was proffering his
assistance, and his good wife inquiring
eagerly what was amiss, they caught sight
of that gay company of cavaliers, with
feathers waving and scarfs fluttering in
the wind, and gold embroideries glancing
to the sun; as, having left the dusty road,
they wheeled through the green meadows
and flashed suddenly upon their eyes—a
spectacle as unexpected as it was gorgeous
and exciting!

“Who can they be? What possibly can
bring them hither?” exclaimed Annabel,
pointing with evident trepidation towards
the rapidly approaching horsemen. “I
fear—oh! I greatly fear some heavy ill is
coming—but I have ordered all the men
to take their arms, and the great bell will
bring us twenty tenants in half as many
minutes! What can it be, good doctor?”

“Indeed I know not, Annabel,” replied
the good man, smiling cheerfully as he
spoke; “in truth I know not, nor can at
all conjecture; but be quite sure of this,
dear girl, that they will do, to us at least,
no evil!—they are King Charles's men,
without doubt, churchmen and cavaliers,
all of them!—any one can see that! and,
though I know not that we have much to
fear from either party, from them at least
we have no earthly cause for apprehension.
I will go forth, however, to meet
them; and to learn their errand—meantime,
fear nothing.”

“Oh! you mistake me,” she answered
at once; “oh! you mistake me very
much; for I did not even for a moment
fear personally anything; it was for my
poor mother I was first alarmed; and all
our good neighbors; and indeed all the
country around, that shows so beautiful
and happy this fair evening!—oh! but
this civil war is a dread thing; and dread
I fear will be the reckoning of those who
make it.”

“Who make it without cause, my daughter!
A dreadful thing it is at all times, but
it may be a necessary, aye! and a holy
thing—when freedom or religion are at
stake! but we will talk of this at another
time; for see, they have already reached
the furthest gate, and I must speak with
them before they enter here, let them be
who they may.”

And, with the words, pressing her hand
with fatherly affection, “Farewell,” he
said, “be of good cheer. I purpose to return
forthwith.” And then he left the
room, and hurrying down the steps of the
porch, walked far more rapidly than
seemed to suit his advanced years and sedentary
habits, across the park to meet
the gallant company.

A gallant company, indeed, it was and
such as was but rarely seen in that wild
region—being the train of a young gentleman,
of some eight or nine and twenty
years, splendidly mounted, and dressed in
the magnificent fashion of those days, in
a half military costume; for his buff coat
was lined throughout with rich white satin,
and fringed and looped with silver, a falling
collar of rich Flanders lace flowing
down over his steel gorget, and a broad
scarf of blue silk supporting his long silver-hilted
rapier. By his side, rode another
person, not certainly a menial servant, and
yet clearly not a gentleman of birth and
lineage; and after these, a dozen or more
armed attendants followed, all wearing
the blue searf and black feathers of the
royalists, all nobly mounted, and accounted,
like regular troopers, with sword and
dagger, pistols and musquetoons, although
they wore no breastplates, nor any sort of
defensive annor.

A brace of jet-black greyhounds, without
a speck of white upon their sleek and
glistening hides, ran bounding merrily beside
their master's stirrup, and a magnificent
goshawk sat hooded on his wrist,
with silver bells and richly decorated
jesses. So much had the ladies observed,
even before the old man reached the party;
but when he did so, and paused for a moment
to address the leader, that gentleman
immediately dismounted from his
horse; and after shaking hands, cordially,
the two advanced together, apparently
engaged in eager conversation, toward
the entrance of the hall.

This went far, on the instant, to restore
confidence to Annabel; but when they
came so near that their faces could be
seen distinctly from the windows, and she
could mark a well-pleased smile upon the
venerable features of her friend, she was
completely reassured. A single glance-moreover,
at the face of the stranger-showed
her that the most timid maiden
need hardly feel a moment's apprehension,
even if he were her country's or her faction's
foe; for it was not merely handsome,
striking, and distinguished, but such

as indicates, or is supposed to indicate,
the presence of a kindly disposition and
good heart. Annabel had not much time,
indeed, for making observations at that
time; for it was scarce a minute before
they had ascended the short flight of steps,
which led to the stone porch, and entered
the door of the vestibule. A moment louger,
and they came into the parlor, the
worthy vicar leading the young man by
the hand, as if he were a friend of ten
years' standing.

“Annabel,” he exclaimed, in a joyous
voice, as he crossed the threshold of the
room, “this is the young Lord de Vaux,
son of your honored father's warmest and
oldest friends, and in years long gone by
but unforgotten, my kindest patron. He
has come hither, bearing letters from his
father—knowing not until now, that you,
my child, were so long since bereaved—
letters of commendation, praying the hospitality
of Ingleborough, and the best influence
of the name of Hawkwood, to
levy men to serve King Charles, in the
approaching war. I have already told
him—”

“How glad, how welcome, doubtless,
would have been his coming”—answered
Annabel, advancing easily to meet the
youthful nobleman, although a deep blush
covered all her pale features, as she performed
her unaccustomed duty—“had my
dear father been alive, or my poor mother”—casting
a rapid glance towards the
invalid—“been in health to greet him.
As it is”—she continued, “the Lord de
Vaux, I doubt not in the least, will pardon
any imperfections in our hospitality,
and believe if in aught we err, it will be
error not of friendliness, or of feeling, but
of experience only; seeing I am but a
young mistress of a household. You, my
kind friend, and Mistress Summers, will
doubtless tarry with us, while my Lord de
Vaux gives us the favor of his presence.”

“Loath should I be, indeed, dear lady,
thus to intrude upon your sorrows, could
I at all avoid it,” replied the cavalier—
“and charming, as it must needs be, to
enjoy the hospitalities tendered by such
an one as you, I do assure you, were I
myself concerned alone, I would remount
my horse at once, and ride away, rather
than force myself upon your courtesy.
But, when I tell you that my father's
strong opinion holds it a matter of importance—importance
almost vital—to the
King, and to the cause of Church and
State in England, that I should levy some
force here of cavaliers—where there be so
few heads of noble houses living—to act
in union with Sir Philip Musgrave, in the
north, and with Sir Marmaduke Langdale,
I both trust and believe, that you will
overlook the trouble and intrusion, in fair
consideration of the motives which impel
me.”

“Pray,” said she, smiling gaily, “pray,
my Lord de Vaux, let us now leave apology
and compliment—most unaffectedly
and truly, I am glad to receive you both
as the son of my father's valued friend, and
as a faithful servant of our most gracious
king—we will do our best to entertain
you; and Doctor Summers will aid you,
with his counsel and experience, in furthering
your military levies. How left
you the good earl, your father? I have
heard mine speak of him many times,
and ever in the highest terms of praise,
when I was but a little girl—and my poor
mother much more recently; before this
sad calamity affected her so fearfully.”

Her answer, as it was intended, had
the effect of putting an end to all formality,
and setting the young nobleman completely
at ease; the conversation took a
general tone, and was maintained on all
sides with sufficient spirit, until—when
Annabel retired for a little space, to conduct
her mother to her chamber—De
Vaux found himself wondering how a
mere country girl, who had lived a life so
secluded and domestic, should have acquired
graces, both of mind and manner,
such as he never had discovered in court
ladies; while she was struck, even in a
greater degree, by the frank, unaffected
bearing, the gay wit, and sparkling anecdote,
blended with many a touch of deeper
feeling, which characterized the youthful
nobleman's conversation.

After a little while she re-appeared;
and, with her, was announced the evening
meal, the pleasant, old-fashioned supper;
and, as he sat beside her, while she
presided, full of calm, modest self-possession,
at the head of her hospitable
board, with no one to encourage her, or
lend her countenance, except the good old
vicar and his homely help-mate, he could
not but draw fresh comparisons, all in her
favor, too, betwixt the quiet, graceful
confidence of the ingenuous girl before
him, and the minauderies and the meretricious
airs of the court dames, who had
been hitherto the objects of his passing admiration.

Cheerfully, then, and pleasantly the
evening passed away; and when upon
her little couch, hard by the invalid's sick
bed, Annabel thought over the events of
the past day, she felt concerning young
De Vaux, rather as if he had been an old
familiar friend, with whom she had renewed

an intercourse long interrupted;
than as of a mere acquaintance, whom
that day had first introduced, and whom
the next might possibly remove for ever.
Something there was, when they met
next, at breakfast, on the following morning,
of blushing bashfulness in Annabel,
which he had not observed, nor she before
experienced; but it passed rapidly
away, and left her self-possessed and tranquil—while
surely in the sparkling eye,
the eager haste, with which he broke
away from his conversation with Dr.
Summers, as she entered—in his hand
half extended, and then half awkwardly,
half timidly withdrawn, there was much
indication of excited feeling, widely at
variance with the polite and even formal
mannerism inculcated and practised in
the court of the unhappy Charles. It
needs not, however, to dwell on passing
conversations, to narrate every trifling incident;
the morning meal once finished,
De Vaux mounted his horse, and rode
forth in accordance with the directions of
the loyal elergyman, to visit such among
the neighboring farmers, as were most
likely to be able to assist him in levying a
horse regiment.

A few hours passed; and he returned
full of high spirits and hot confidence—he
had met every here assurances of good
will to the royal cause; had succeeded in
enlisting some ten or more stout and
hardy youths, and had no doubt of
finally accomplishing the object which he
had in view, to the full height of his aspirations.

After dinner, which, in those primitive
days, was served at noon, he was engaged
for a time in making up despatches
for his father, which having been sent
off by one of his own trusty servants to
the castle in Northumberlnd, he went
out, and joined his lovely hostess in the
sheltered garden, which I have described
above; and there they lingered until the
sun was sinking in the west, behind the
huge and purple-headed hills that screened
the horizon in that direction. The evening
circle and the social meal succeeded;
and when they parted for the night, if
Annabel and young De Vaux could not
be said to be enamored, as indeed they
could not yet, they had at least made so
much progress to that end, that each esteemed
the other the most agreeable and
charming person, it had been hitherto their
fortune to encounter; and—although this
was decidedly the furthest point to which
the thoughts of Annabel extended—when
he had lain down on his bed, with the
sweet rays of the harvest moon flooding
his room with quiet lustre, and the voice
of the murmuring rivulet, and the low
flutter of the west wind in the giant sycamores,
blending themselves into a soft
and soothing melody—the young lord
found himself considering how gracefully
that fair pale girl would fill the place
which had been long left vacant by his
mother in the grand hall of Gilsland Castle.