University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The apartment which the lady entered, was a small room, furnished on every side
with book-cases and presses of some dark foreign wood, which, indeed, covered all the
wall, with the exception of the panel immediately above the mantelpiece, and this was
filled by a large and exquisitely-painted portrait. There needed not two glances before
pronouncing it a masterpiece of Antony Vandyke; it was a lady, in the pride and
prime of youthful beauty, and the calm melancholy features and dark glossy curls told,
beyond doubt, the place which she had occupied in that old house, and the relationship
she bore to the fair girl who stood below, younger and fresher and more gay, but still
the breathing counterpart of the old picture. The only inmate of the room, when the
girl cast the door abruptly open, was a man very far advanced in years, but yet of stately
presence—time, which had covered his fine classic head with the thin snows of nearly

fourscore winters, and ploughed deep lines of care and thought on his expansive brow,
had not curtailed his upright stature by one inch, nor dimmed at all the lustre of his
dark brilliant eye. He had been, it would seem, employed in writing; for the pen
was yet in his fingers, and paper lay before him with many books—folios, and ponderous
tomes of reference—scattered around him on the table. But the unwonted speed
of his daughter's tread had excited him—for those were days when each new hour
brought a new tale of terror, and men not naturally observant, were forced to become
so, by the immediate pressure of events. He had arisen, therefore, from his cushioned
chair which he had pushed back toward the ruddy hearth, and even taken a step or two
toward the door—when it flew open, and with cheeks paler than usual, and a slight
air of anxiety, but, nevertheless, all calm and passionless and tranquil, she stood before
him.

“Why, how now, Alice,” he exclaimed; “what has gone wrong now—what is
amise, my darling, and wherefore so late?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing is amiss, dear father,” she replied, forcing a smile, which,
nevertheless, failed to deceive his fears or calm his apprehension. “Nothing has gone
wrong, I assure you, but I have much to tell you, and brief space wherein to do so;
and, above all, I fear me much, we shall, ere long, have most unwelcome visitors.”

“Sit down, then—sit down, Alice, and tell me all about it—if there be brief space,
so much the more need for good haste;” and he pulled forward, as he spoke, a settee
from the corner of the chimney, and placed himself in his own seat in attitude of deep
attention.

“Well, father, to begin,” she said; “I took the little skiff, when you came up to
write, and crossed the moat, and walked down with old Talbot to the fishing-house by
the high road to Worcester; and there I got engaged with a book till my attention
was called from it by sounds of martial music, sounding away beyond the top of Longmire
Hill; and then I looked out in surprise, for we had heard, you know, that the
troops had all moved away southward, and saw first one, and then a second troop of
horsemen file down the slope; and, as I did not fear at all, having no cause to do
so, I waited there to see them pass, and they were men of Cromwell's own regiment
of Ironsides, with scarlet cassocks, and bright corslets, and steel caps, and large boots,
and no feathers. There were above a hundred of them, and they rode by quite leisurely,
laughing and chatting, and some smoking. And when they had passed by, I
fell into a sort of revery, which must have lasted a long time, for when I recollected
myself, it had become quite gray and dark; and there was no light in the sky except
one yellow gleam along the summit of the hill, where the road crosses it. And then I
rose to go away, and had put on my cloak, when a sound like the shot of a hand-gun or
pistolet, attracted me, and I looked out again and saw one horseman cross the ridge at a
full gallop, and half a minute after, the top was covered by a whole troop of Puritans,
for I could see the glitter of their helmets, and they halted and fired a volley, and
charged down hill after him. So then I went out on the platform by the bridge, and
waited till he came up—a tall young gentleman, with long light hair, and a slouched
hat and feather, and a steel breast-plate, with a broad blue scarf across it; and I called
out to him to stop, and told him how there was another company of horse before, and
bade him turn back, and tie up his own beast—sorely jaded it was, too, though a noble
charger—down in the heronry wood, and to join me while his pursuers were hid behind
the tall trees of the beech clump, and he went back—and was just out of sight,
when the whole party turned the corner, and drove down, shouting and brandishing
their swords at a fierce gallop. Then I ran down the steps, and hid beneath the arch
of the brick bridge, while they dashed on overhead. Not one of them saw me or Talbot,
I'm quite certain, and the dog never growled nor showed his teeth, but seemed to
know what was to do, as well as I did. When they had all gone by again, I ran up to
the top once more, and there he joined me; and I brought him home along the little
path through the dark dingle; and when we reached the boat-house I showed him the
sail-loft, and made him mount the ladder and draw it up after him; and then I crossed

the moat alone, and came directly home to tell you all that I had done. And I have
done right—have not I, my father?”

“Right! right, of course, my girl; you could not see the fair youth slain. Yet 'tis
an awkward chance. None of the serving-men nor foresters saw him with you, you
are certain?”

“Certain—most certain!”

“So far well—these troopers, as you say, will be here anon—and will search all the
house; but they know me, that I have not borne arms nor taken any part in these sad
broils, and our cousin Chaloner has drawn his sword for the commonwealth: so that
if we can hide him from this first search, I fear little but that we may preserve him.
He must stay where he is, at present, and until they be here and the search over—then
will we have him in when it's quite late, and hide him in the priest's hole. Did any
of the first party of troopers see you?”

“One did, and pointed me to his next comrade, and I heard them laugh and whisper.”

“Then this must be your tale; you saw the first two companies go by, and tarried at
the fishing-house yet longer, but when you heard the shots, you were afraid, and fled
across the park to the boat-house, and came here by the skiff.”

“Were it not better, father,” she replied, “to make no mention of the boat-house,
lest they should search and—”

“No! no!” he answered—“oh, no, no! They will interrogate the servants, and
learn where the boat lay, and so will suspect what you would conceal, even from your
own omission!”

“I see,” she replied, thoughtfully. “Yet 'tis a fearful risk.”

“It is so, Alice,” answered the old man—“it is so—yet fearful as it is, it must be
run—and now away—go to your bower, and call your tirewoman, and dress as is your
wont; and then to supper; all must go on as usual; we must leave them no hint whereon
to hang suspicion.”

She left the library, and in a little while returned with her rich hair combed back
from her fair brow, and neatly braided, and all her dress chastly arranged as for the
evening meal. The pair descended to the hall, where, as was customary in those unsophisticated
days, the household was assembled to partake, at the same board, of the
same meal which was prepared for their superiors. With easy dignity, but nought of stern
pride or of cold presumption, the aged gentleman presided with his sweet child beside
him; but ere the meal was ended, the interruption—by two at least of the party fully
expected—occurred to break it short. A trumpet was blown clamorously at the gate-house,
and before it could by any possibility have been answered, a second and a third
blast followed.

“Go, some of you, and see,” exclaimed the master of the house, with an air of the
most perfect unconcern—“go see who calls so rudely—bestir you, or the man will blow
the gate down.”

Two or three of the badged green-coated serving men, of whom the hall was full, ran
off at speed to perform his bidding; but ere they reached the gates the porter had discharged
his duty, and forty or fifty of the Ironsides dismounted, and marched in, their
long steel scabbards and huge boots clanking and clattering over the paved courtyard,
while thrice as many of their comrades were drawn up round the house on horseback,
so as to form a cordon, rendering escape impossible except by the moat, which, of course,
could not be included in the chain of sentries.

“Ten men, with sergeant Goodenough, straight to the water-gate,” shouted a loud
authoritative voice—“cut down or shoot all who attempt to pass without the word.”

“Ha! here is something more than common,” cried the old man; “nay, fear not,
gentle daughter, I will go see to it;” and he arose as if to put his words into effect, when
the doors were thrown violently open, and two officers—one a rough-looking veteran,
well seamed with scars of ancient honorable wars, the other a sleek, hypocritical-looking
youth, with a head of close-cropped foxy hair, and an evil downcast eye—both clad
in the full uniform of Cromwell's Ironsides, and with their swords drawn, entered; while

about the door clustered a group of privates, with their musketoons all unslung, and
their slow matches lighted.

“Let no one quit the room, who would not die the death;” exclaimed the first who
entered.

“What means this outrage, gentlemen; if gentlemen ye be, who violently thus intrude
upon a female's presence, with your war-weapons and rude tongues? What makes ye
in my peaceful dwelling at this untimely hour?”

“It means, Mark Selby,” replied the second, in a low nasal strain—“it means that
thou, despite our noble general's proclamation, hast traitorously harbored and secreted
one of these rakehell cavaliers, whom, yesterday, the Lord delivered into our hands, to
slay them. Wherefore, surrender him at once, so shalt thou 'scape the penalty this time
on strength of thy relationship with stout and trusty Henry Chaloner.”

“What cavalier? or of whom speak ye? I know not whom ye mean. My household,
save the porter and the scullions, are all here. Save we ourselves, there are none else
in all the house.”

“Lie not!” replied the young man, violently—“lie not, lest the Lord deal with ye, as
he dealt in old time with Ananias and Sapphira.”

“I thank thee for thy courtesy, and shall make thee no answer any more. Search
the house if ye will—ye will find no one here!”

“We will search—and search thoroughly—yea! very thoroughly! for though thou
thinkest it not, we know your secret corners, your priest's holes, and your jesuit's hidings—yea!
we shall search them, and finding what we shall find—ill will it go with
thee. Keep guard thou, lancepesade, over all here till we return:” and with the word
they left the hall into which all the household was collected, and for two hours or more
they were heard searching every room and stair, and landing-place of the large rambling
edifice—sounding the panels with their musket butts, thrusting their broadswords into
every crevice, but evidently finding nothing to justify their violent intrusion. At length
reentering, they strictly questioned the old servants, from whom, however, nothing was
elicited, except that their mistress had gone forth with the boat alone, some hour or so
after the dinner, and had returned alone by the water-gate two hours since.

Then came the lady's turn, and, though with something more of delicacy and restraint,
she, too, was very narrowly examined. The story she told, being the literal truth, except
that she omitted to say anything about the cavalier, and corresponding exactly with
the narrative of the servants, produced a very visible effect upon the hearers, who, having
searched all the out-houses and stables, and every nook and corner in the house without
finding anything, and having, in the first instance, intruded only upon a vague suspicion,
began to fear that they had got into a troublesome scrape. After a pause, however—

“The boat-house,” exclaimed one, “the boat-house—we have not searched the boat-house!
Bring all of them along—or, stay—bring Master Selby down, and his fair
daughter, to the water-gate, and we will boat it over, they guiding us. Without, there,
sergeant—move a guard round by the dam on the moat, to the boat-house.”

The words were not well uttered before they were obeyed, and in ten minutes the whole
party, consisting of the officers, with six stout troopers, were floating in the barge toward
the boat-house. The face of the old man was stern and dark, and save of anger and
resentment, showed no emotion—nor did his daughter, though inwardly her whole frame
shook with bitter and heart-rending anguish, suffer a single tremor to betray her feminine
terrors. The boat shot into the little cove, the torches threw their broad glare through
the whole building, and there was nought to see.

“Here is a platform and a landing,” cried the same youth who had proposed to search
the boat-house, and who, with a strange pertinacity, persisted still—“let us ashore, for I
doubt much we have him here:” and landing on the narrow rib whereon the little feet
of Alice had trodden but a short while before, he strode with echoing tramp to the far
end, and waving his torch round, discovered the entrance of the sail-loft.

“Ha! said I not so?” he exclaimed, exultingly—“said I not so? What have we
up this trap, sweet Master Selby?”

“A sail-loft,” answered he, very quietly—“a little place about a foot or two feet high,
with some old oars in it—best search it, sir—best search it; there may be a whole troop
of cavaliers therein for aught I know against it.”

Poor Alice set her teeth and drew her breath hard, and with a tremulous grasp clung
to her father's arm as he replied, “I will.”

“Tush, man,” his comrade interposed, “thou carriest caution to sheer folly—seest
thou, there is no ladder? how should a man have mounted—or having mounted, how in
God's name should he lie there?”

“They may have cut the ladder down, lest it should leave a clue. Be it as it may, I
will assay it. Here, jump ashore you, Martin and John Burney, hoist me into this trap,
and pass me up a torch.”

And in a moment, by their aid, he caught the edge of the trap with his hands, drawing
his head and shoulders in till he could hold himself up by his elbows; the torch was
then passed up to him, and he thrust it forward into the loft a little way up.

“Well, Despard, what see you?” cried his comrade.

“Four old oars, and a roll of canvas,” answered the disappointed soldier, tossing his
torch into the water, and leaping down.

“I thought so,” was the answer: and a loud burst of laughter from the Ironsides, who
were tired out by the fruitless search, and eager to get back to quarters, drowned the
convulsive sob which Alice could not master.

With brief and blunt excuse the troopers mounted and departed—the Hall was again
quiet, and when they were again left to themselves in the old library, Alice fell suddenly
into her father's arms, and burst into a flood of weeping.