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NOBLE LOVE

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CHAPTER I

WHICH TREATS ESPECIALLY OF THE HERO AND HEROINE

            HIS most gracious Majesty of England, King Charles the Second, had come home at last after much tribulation, to take to himself the enjoyment of his father’s crown, and the charge of his father’s people. And the bells had rung themselves out, and the roasted beeves were all eaten to the last shreds, and the flags that had floated over the head of the “merry monarch,” from lady’s casement and from attic window, were rolled up and put back into dark closets and dust and oblivion.

            But the Puritans of Cromwell’s planting lived and flourished still by hundreds, in all the villages and hamlets of the kingdom, as many of the restored royalists discovered with no small disgust, when they returned to the halls and estates whence they had been ousted by the Rebellion.

            Baron Rowan Maxwell Rowan, an old man at the time of the first Charles’s impeachment, was a staunch adherent of his ill-fated lord, and hated republicans and Puritanism as heartily as bad wine. And when Cromwell and his clique had got the ascendancy, and the king was dead, and his heir an exile abroad, Sir Rowan resolved to go also, rather than remain at Rowan Court to be bullied and persecuted by democratic tyrants. So they went forth into the world together, – old Sir Rowan and Lady Maxwell, with their two children, Edith and Marvel. They left behind them streets full of weeping tenants, among whom Puritanism had made but few converts, and to whose loyal hearts the restoration of the monarchy seemed the one earthly thing most to be hoped and prayed for. Great, therefore, was the surprise of Marvel Maxwell, when at last he returned to the old place with his widowed mother and his sister, to find the village creed reversed, the Sunday bells silent, and a white-washed tavern-room and close-cropped tinker supplying the place of church and priest! So fickle and so unsteady are human hearts and human affections!

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            If Marvel Maxwell had been more of a grown man than he happened to be at the time of the Restoration, it is likely his influence with his tenantry might have been much more powerful than in fact it has; for despite his endeavours, the re-opened church did not fill, and the recalled parson preached in vain. Poor Marvel! He was scarcely more than two-and-twenty, for his mother had borne no children until long after her marriage, and Edith was his elder by some five years. As for Dowager Lady Maxwell herself, she was little help to him in his labours, for her health was broken with travel and misfortune, and she cared for nothing but to sit all day on some high-backed chair by the fireside, and dream indolently of her dead husband, and of the days of her youth, and the things that had happened long ago.

            It was not till late in the winter of 1661 that the Maxwells arrived at Rowan Court, for private matters had detained them abroad after most of the king’s adherents had returned to their homes in old England. So the white February snow was yet thick upon the broad roofs of the great house, and the wind was bleak and keen enough for Christmas, when young Lord Marvel was installed, or rather installed himself into the new dignity and responsibility of Baron and Lord of Rowan Court.

            Some few of the peasants he recognised and greeted for old friends, and their voices sounded familiarly as they wished him “God-den,” but most of them by far bore the aspect of strangers, or of children grown beyond his remembrance. It was getting late one Sunday evening as Marvel walked home over the crisp crackling snow, meditating over these and many other things. He had been holding a long chat with the poor priest of the village church, who was sadly disheartened at the ill-success of his ministry, being one of those feeble, impatient, despondent people who are given to faint at the least discouragement and to shrink from all sorts of energetic labour. He was a good man in himself, but he never turned himself out for the good of others, and was therefore the most unfit of all men to be pastor at such a time to such a flock as the Rowan tenantry. Beyond the saying of daily prayer, and the preaching of weekly sermons, on which occasions the family at the Court and their immediate followers formed the only congregation, this timid priest did scarcely any work in the service of his Church. Once or twice during the first week of his return to the place, he had attempted a few visits among the cottages, but the harsh words he met from their inmates, and the general horror and indignation with which he found himself and his office regarded, drove him back to the solitude of his fireside, to pray and wish idly for better times by-and-by.

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            And on this particular evening of which I speak, he was as down-hearted as usual, for the assembly at church had not increased that day, and he began to believe, he said, that it never would, despite all his prayers and his longings. And Marvel was greatly saddened by his melancholy talk, and no wonder, for they had spent some hours together, and an old man has large influence over a young one, especially if a priest’s cassock be added to the weight of years and experience. So as he walked home, the baron’s meditations were not cheering, and he said to himself that the Rowan villagers were an ill set altogether, and that there was no good of any sort to be found among them, no love, no charity, no teachableness. Just as he came to this unsatisfactory conclusion, there sounded behind him a light brisk step over the hard snow, and Marvel turned hastily to see whose it could be, for he knew it was a woman’s. She came up with him the next moment, – a little shapely village damsel, with a covered basket on her arm, and a dark woollen cloak drawn tightly about her head and shoulders. When she saw the young lord she paused an instant to drop him a reverence, and then sped swiftly on, as though she were apprehensive of some pursuing danger, and were pressed for time to escape it. Marvel was naturally of an inquisitive turn, and he had seen in the moment that the girl’s face met his with such a gentle pair of soft brown eyes, and such a sweet expression of patience and tenderness, that he longed to know more both of herself and of her errand. So he went out of his way after her, and followed her noiselessly, down a dark narrow lane, fenced in on one side by yew-trees and bending chestnuts, and on the other by a high dead wall. It was a dreary walk even at noontide, but now in the gathering blackness of a February night it was ghostly and gloomy enough to chill stouter hearts than Marvel Maxwell’s. Overhead the skeleton branches rattled and quaked like the dry bones in the vision of the prophet, and the wind moaned around and through them as dolefully as any wailing banshee. What could induce this trim little maiden to take such a desolate path all alone at nightfall! Marvel felt quite glad as he pondered over this, that the fancy had occurred to him to follow her, for in case any untoward accident should happen in that lonely place, she would not now be without a protector and a helping hand.

            But nothing happened, and no nightly marauder, natural or supernatural, appeared on the scene, so that the young lord’s chivalry was not, for that time at least, put to trial, and the little Puritan emerged from the gloomy lane, unhurt and unappalled. The lane opened upon a wide gorse common, whereon stood a single solitary hut, – one could hardly

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call it a cottage, so miserable and homeless a place it was, – and here under the wooden-roofed doorway the bearer of the basket paused and knocked. Marvel paused too, and leant against a corner of the building, in the shadow of a tall oak-tree, dreading discovery much less on his own account than on that of the little wayfarer, whom he greatly feared to alarm by his presence. So that it was no little relief to him when an old woman within the hovel unfastened the rickety door and admitted her visitor, with a croaking, husky word of welcome, like the voice of a marsh-frog.

            “Ah, Dorothy! God bless you, child; what a bitter night it is, isn’t it?”

            Then the door was closed again, and Marvel heard the latch drawn within, and crept out of his corner on tiptoe and round to the front of the house. There was a light burning inside, a pitiful light enough, for it was only one rush candle, but it served to shew him dimly the neat little figure of the Puritan damsel, uncloaked and unhooded, in a sober-coloured gown and big white collar, with her plentiful brown hair stowed away under a cap of snowy texture. She was busy, too it seemed, for her hands flitted to and fro before the light as though she were unpacking something, and in l strained his eyes in vain to see what it could be.

            Presently she moved away fro in the window, and the candle-light went with her; – had she put it out, he wondered, or only taken it somewhere else?

            But by-and-by a red warm glare lit up the whole of the little hut, and flickered and danced on the white snow outside. Dorothy had lighted a fire.

            There was a tall black tub for holding rainwater in a recess beside the window, and the moonlight being behind it, its long dense shadow offered an inviting’ hiding-place to young Maxwell, whose interest in the adventure was now thoroughly awakened. So into the recess he crept, warily and stealthily as a thief, and peered with eager eyes round as much of the one ill-furnished room as came within the scope of his observation.

            Opposite the fire, on a broken-backed chair, that was patched and mended clumsily enough, reclined an old palsied woman with white hair and shrunken sallow features, that looked weird and uncanny in the fitful flame-light. Dorothy stood beside a deal table, to which the solitary candle was now restored, spreading about her various good things from her basket – bread-cakes, sugar, a can of milk, and a dish of cold broken meals. When she had arranged all these articles to her satisfaction, she passed for a moment out of the range of Marvel’s focus, and reappeared bearing a cup, a trencher, a wooden spoon, and a knife. Then she stepped

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across to the old dame’s side, and bending tenderly over her, said something which Marvel strained his cars in vain to hear, for the wind howled and groaned so persistently and so loudly, that a dozen voices would scarcely have been audible through its tumult. But that Dorothy’s address was an invitation to supper was apparent enough from the sequel. For the rickety arm-chair was pushed to the table, the old dame re-seated thereat, the milk poured into the cup, and the bread sliced on the trencher in the shortest possible time, by the deft fingers of the youthful Puritan. Very pleasant it was to see that smiling little personage passing and re-passing before the window as she waited on her ancient pensioner, now with the bread, now with the drink, cut-ting and halving, and coaxing and persuading, with a grace that was irresistibly charming. And when the meal was ended, and the remnants of food stowed away on a shelf for the morrow’s breakfast, Dorothy turned her attention to the old woman’s pct black cat, who had been watching the proceedings throughout, hungrily and patiently enough, from his nook in the chimney-corner. On him she now bestowed a full platter of milk and soaked bread, and afterwards a great deal of caressing and encouragement, which he received after the manner of cats, with evident nasal acknowledgments and gratefully lifted tail.

            Then a certain Urge book with a worn cover was taken from its shelf, and Dorothy sitting at the feet of the old woman, found a place in the soiled pages and read aloud for some minutes, during which Marvel had to content himself with watching from behind his tub, the sweet lovable face of the little damsel and the reverent tenderness with which her aged companion regarded her.

            “Surely,” he said to himself, “unless appearances are strangely different from truth here are two real Christians in our domain! I will not believe, after this, that everybody is bad in Rowan village. But why doesn’t Dorothy come to church? I will walk home with her and ask her.”

            There was a hand on the latch that instant, and then the door turned slowly with a rusty creak, and a flood of warm ruddy light streamed out over the threshold and fell upon the snow beyond it Marvel took the warming, and with-drew himself hastily from the window corner to the shadow of the oak trunk.

            “Good-night, mother Forbes,” said a sweet soft voice, which Marvel thought matched exactly with the gentle brown eyes and the patient face; “your firewood will last till I come again, and tomorrow after my day’s work I am going to gather a faggot for you in Rowan Brown Wood. So you mustn’t wonder it I am somewhat late.”

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            “God bless thee, Dorothy! What should I do if He did not send thee to take care of me? But it is such a dark, cold night! Art thou not afraid to go alone down the Ghost-walk, my child?”

            “Oh no, indeed!” laughed the little Puritan; “there’s nothing to be afraid of except the cold. And with this warm cloak of mine – see! – I don’t think even the cold can hurt me!”

            And she tripped away merrily, with her empty basket on her arm, laughing and nodding back at the old crone under the porch.

            Then the rusty hinges creaked again, the red glow disappeared from the doorway, and the latch fell within. And there was nothing to be seen but the cold white snow all over the bare gorse moor, and the colder moonlight all over the bleak sky, and a little dark figure moving swiftly along towards the entrance of the Ghost-walk.

CHAPTER II

CHIEFLY CONCERNING DOROTHY AND DOROTHY’S DIFFICULTIES

            NOT alone though, for Marvel Maxwell followed her closely, plucking up heart and words wherewith to accost her, and finding both items sadly inadequate to the occasion. At last he made a bold stroke, just as they passed into the gloom of that desolate lane, and quickening his pace, he brought himself to the girl’s side with a courteous salute and a soft-spoken, – “Mistress, this is a lone walk and a late hour; may I be your escort to the village?” But over the top of the high wall the moonlight fell full on his face as he raised his hat, and Dorothy gave a little start and a little cry, but the next instant recognising the baron, she blushed beneath her hood from chin to forehead, like a full-blown peony.

            Marvel perceived her embarrassment and ventured a gentle remonstrance.

            “What, my fair mistress, are you afraid of me? On my word as a gentleman, I have no intention towards you save to bear you good company down this dismal road. But if you don’t like my fellowship I will walk behind and be content, so long as I see you safe and unmolested.”

            “Forgive my seeming rudeness, noble sir,” stammered Dorothy; “it was not yourself that startled me, but a

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foolish fancy, for which I suppose the moon and the shadows of the branches overhead are to blame.”

            “How now?” returned Marvel, laughing, “did you then take me for a goblin?”

            “Not for a goblin exactly, my Lord, but for something, I own, quite as disagreeable to my taste.”

            Marvel’s curiosity, already wide awake for all that concerned Dorothy, was piqued exceedingly by this mysterious reply.

            “Prithee, damsel,” said he, “forbear riddling, for I am slow at guesswork, and tell me, without more ado, what made you cry out at the sight of me, if it was not I myself who startled you?”

            But Dorothy’s answer was long in coming, and the words faltered and staggered on her lips, – “It was only a resemblance, my Lord, – the sound of your voice, – a sudden likeness which struck me as I looked in your face. But no doubt I mistook: I have only seen your lordship once or twice, and then not closely nor unbonneted. Besides, I have never heard you speak until now.”

            “So ho, that is all, is it? Well, I’m glad you did not take me for a Ghost! But may I ask, mistress, for whom or for what you did take me, and why the resemblance was so unwelcome to you?”

            Dorothy hesitated more painfully than before, but Marvel scarcely noticed her reluctance to reply, being as thoroughly in earnest about the matter as it was his nature to be about everything which was not a subject of absolute indifference to him. But perhaps if he could have caught a glimpse of the confusion that crept over the little face under the Puritan’s hood, he would have desisted from such strict catechizing. However, as Dorothy did not raise her head, and as they were now walking through the darkest part of the road, he can hardly be blamed for a breach of good manners, if he waited somewhat pitilessly for his companion’s answer. When at length it came, it was spoken. in a low voice, but withal was firm and explicit enough to satisfy even inquisitive young Maxwell.

            “My Lord, I fancied your voice and your face bore a likeness to Nicholas Webb’s, – your Grace’s lodge-keeper, – and I hate him more than anything upon earth, although he is my father’s friend.”

            Despite himself, Marvel’s brow lowered, and his lips tightened, for this resemblance between master and dependant was not accidental. Baron Rowan Maxwell had grievously sinned once in his life, and this Nicholas Webb was half-brother to Marvel, though none but Lady Maxwell and her son knew the fact. Webb’s poor mother had died in giving

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him birth, and Lord Rowan by way of partial atonement for his guilt, had confessed the whole matter to his chaplain and to his wife, like an honest man and a Christian. And then to do his best by his peasant-born son, he brought him, with Lady Maxwell’s consent, to his own estate, and gave him into the care of an old maid who then kept the lodge at the gates of the home-park.

            She christened her nursling Nicholas, after the patron saint of boys, in hopes, doubtless, that he might do honour to so reverend and catholic a name. But when she died, and the young waif succeeded her in the post of lodge-keeper, he did not grow up in the way he was taught, but became instead more selfish and hypocritical and sensual every year; and when Baron Rowan and his family Left the Court, and Puritanism came down like a flood upon the country, Nicholas was one of the first in the place to adopt the new morality, for he recognised in it an easy cloak for his particular sins.

            Marvel was seven years younger than this promising half-brother of his, and therefore was not of an age to understand the relationship between them until some time after his father and mother had gone with him and Edith into their voluntary exile. Then Lord Rowan told him, and bade him for Christ’s sake to treat his vassal brother kindly when he should come to be master at the Court; but he left it to Marvel’s own discretion to tell the matter to his sister Edith or not. And Marvel had never told it her, for he thought it best that the secret should remain with Lady Maxwell and his own heart, since Nicholas believed himself the orphaned child of some poor cottager whom his lord had befriended, and had no more notion than the old dame who nursed him that his father was Lord Rowan Maxwell. Perhaps it was a little unfair on the part of the latter to conceal his parentage from Nicholas himself, but after all it was best in the sequel, especially with the sort of disposition which young Webb developed. And Marvel felt that it would be worse than useless now to let loose the tongues of the tenantry over his dead father’s honour and good name.

            Yet sometimes he almost made up his mind that it was expedient to remove Nicholas from the estate, upon some pretence or other, for the likeness between them had increased with years, and although in childhood it was not very remarkable, the new baron feared that now he had returned to the place a grown man, the similarity his features bore to those of his servant would be noticed by some of the villagers, and that thus the real state of the case would be discovered. But Marvel forgot that resemblance lies less

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in feature than in expression and surroundings, and that his own open, truthful face, curled love-locks, and cavalier’s moustache, could have but little fellowship with the sinister countenance, clipped crown and unkempt beard of Nicholas Webb.

            It was with no small dismay, therefore, that Marvel heard Dorothy admit her mistake, for he did not then know either what particular cause she had for her nervousness, or how useful the resemblance between him and his lodge-keeper would one day prove both to himself and to her.

            So, to divert a conversation which he could but ill sustain, Marvel began a new code of queries relative to his companion’s own personality and condition, with which he, as lord of the demesne, had a right to be acquainted.

            Dorothy, in speaking of Nicholas Webb, had mentioned him as her father’s friend, and Marvel took occasion from this admission to ask whose daughter she was.

            “Humphrey Pratt, – my father, – if it please your Grace, “answered she, dropping him another little reverence, “is a weaver of Rowan village; and I am Dorothy Pratt, his only child, bread-maker, cheese-churner, and laundress, at your lordship’s service.”

            This glibly-delivered piece of information sounded to Marvel’s ears so like an “advertisement,” that he laughed outright, and the little Puritan took heart at his merriment, and brightened up amazingly. And looking up with shy, soft eyes at his jovial face, as they came out of the dark lane together into the clear broad moonlight, Dorothy wondered in her heart how she could possibly have confused it with the face of such a churlish loon as Nicholas Webb. But Marvel talked on.

            “Humphrey Pratt is your father, is he? I have heard mine speak of a weaver named Pratt who lived once in this place, but he left it to many on another estate before I was old enough to remember anything about him. But if he has returned hither again, and you are his daughter, you should certainly be no Puritan, for the Pratt of whom I speak was a staunch Churchman, and a great favourite with my father. He used to say that Pratt the weaver was the most loyal subject of the King, and the most dutiful son of the Church, on the Rowan land.”

            “That was Philip Pratt, my Lord,” returned Dorothy. “He was my father’s only brother, and died when I was hardly four years old, so that I know little or nothing about him. But my father and I came to live at my uncle’s cottage in this place fourteen years ago, and his old signboard is over the door still, because, as father’s trade is the same as my uncle’s was, lie didn’t think it worth while to

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take it down. I think uncle Philip left him the cottage, or asked him to take it, for I know we came here directly after his death, and I can remember no other home, But father is a Nonconformist, and has brought me up in his way, though to be sure I do hate going to hear Master Nipper discourse at the tavern on Lord’s days.”

            Marvel laughed again at this concluding acknowledgment, but somewhat bitterly too, for he thought of ignorant Master Nipper’s crowded assemblies, and of the pitiful congregation in the little village church. But he said nothing, so Dorothy, true to her surname, prattled on.

            “Father is at Master Nipper’s meeting now,” she said; “or coming home by this time maybe, for I am afraid it is late. I must get indoors before he comes though, for I have to lay supper, and he doesn’t know I have been out.” Then, with a sudden little expression of alarm on her sweet face, “You won’t tell him, my Lord, will you?”

            “Oh no, not I,” answered Marvel, lightly; “set your mind at ease on that score, Dorothy, and on all others too, for,” continued he more gravely, “I’m very sure you have been doing nothing wrong.”

            He did not tell her that he had been witness of her evening’s employment, for he feared she might think him some-thing of a spy; but his opinion of Humphrey Pratt’s creed was not bettered by the inference he drew from Dorothy’s conversation, that her father would have disapproved such conduct as hers had he been made cognizant of it.

            He was reflecting upon this last point, when Dorothy again interrupted the silent tide of his meditations.

            “See, my Lord,” she said, “that is uncle Philip’s house, – the white one with the sign-board over the doorway.”

            And Marvel looked and beheld a gilded shuttle suspended above the gabled porch like a hooked fish, and read beneath it, in straggling, clumsy characters, “Philip Pratt, Weaver.”

            “You don’t speak of your mother, Dorothy,” said Marvel presently, in a gentle voice. “Is she dead?”

            “Yes, my Lord, she died long, long ago, so long ago, that I think I must have been only just born, for I don’t know anything about her.”

            “Then,” pursued he, “you don’t know, I suppose, whether she was a Churchwoman or not?”

            “No, my lord, I never heard father tell. But I should think she couldn’t have helped being what father is.”

            Marvel’s lips curled a little.

            “Dorothy, I wish you would come to church.”

            But she shook her head demurely.

            “I can’t, please your Grace; father would be so vexed, – so angry.”

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            Marvel’s good opinion of Humphrey Pratt, small as it had been at the beginning of his conversation with Dorothy, was now fast diminishing to nothing.

            “You are quite right to be dutiful to your father,” he said, in a low voice; “but remember, fair mistress, there is a higher duty still, due to another Father than he. Besides, you tell me that what you have done but now would offend him if he knew it. Why, then, did you do it?”

            But the little Puritan was either shy of controversy, or apprehensive of Humphrey’s speedy return.

            “You are very kind to me, my Lord,” she said after a little pause, “but indeed, indeed I daren’t. I run more risk just now than you can know, and I have my bread to earn, and not’ for myself only. But now I must bid your Grace good-night, – we are at the door.”

            So Marvel said no more, but he resolved on the morrow evening to be in Rowan Brown Wood, whither, he had heard Dorothy tell the old dame, she was going to gather faggots. And he bade her farewell like a courteous gentleman, and strode on his way homeward.’

CHAPTER III

HOW MARVEL ASKED SOME QUESTIONS

            THE horologe at the Court House was just upon the hour of six p.m. as young Lord Maxwell came sauntering down the broad gravel way of the park towards the lodge gate. Nicholas Webb was outside the porch, hatchet in hand, chopping sticks for fire-wood, and humming to himself a Puritanic psalm-tune withal to beguile his labour.

But when Marvel came up, Master Nicholas, who, not-withstanding his Puritanism, was always glad of an occasion to curry favour in high places, and who kept a civil tongue in his cunning head for all his betters, ceased chopping, and doffed his cap with a smooth “Good even to your Lordship; your Lordship will be in for a fresh f all of snow I’m thinking! It’s mighty black over Rowan gorse moor, and I shan’t ha’ finished my work here a piece too soon! You’d best not venture far, my Lord.”

            “Go to, man!” laughed Marvel, contemptuously, “do you think I care for a snow-storm? But, talking of the gorse moor, canst tell me who lives in the little wooden house there, just at the top of the long yew lane? I marked it

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yesterday, and wondered who kept it, for it sadly needs repair.”

            “Why, surely!” quoth Nicholas, with a sagacious leer on his disagreeable face, “I can tell your Grace of one who bides therein, but they do say there be others also, whose names I daren’t so much as spell over to your Lordship. But the house, your Lordship, belongs to old Alice Forbes, the witch, who has an evil eye over all in the place, and who fills Yew-lane with ghosts and goblins so that nobody may be able to come near her. And nobody would either, after sundown, at least, even if the ghosts were away, for Satan goes o’ nights to the cottage, and I’ve heard tell in the village that one of the neighbours coming home over the moor after eight o’clock saw a light burning in the house and the door ajar, and heard two voices talking together, and was so frightened that he ran for his life in a cold sweat and was sick of an ague for a week afterwards.”

            Marvel laughed merrily at this long-winded relation, for he thought he could guess who had been the Satan in the instance on record. But as the ‘lodge-keeper looked inclined to sulk at such a demonstration of incredulity, he controlled his sense of the ridiculous, and asked h I in with more gravity of demeanour,

            “Well, Nicholas, but why should the neighbours see any-thing diabolic in the fact that the old dame burns a candle after dark, or talks with her visitors at her own doorway?”

            “Because,” returned Nicholas, brandishing his hatchet with impressive energy, “because she can’t have got any candles unless the Evil One brought them to her, and she can’t have any visitors except they come from where they shouldn’t. Nobody has seen her at the market these six months and more, and she daren’t come, for there’s not a soul would sell her so much as a single loaf, and she’d only get her head cracked for her pains. Last time she came, all the village set on her and had her down to the horse-pond and there they clucked her well, and drove her home with a hue-and-cry at the broom-end, only as it was June weather the water was warm I suppose, and she took no hurt; but even so ‘twas enough to have made an end of any old crone over seventy, saving a witch. So you see, my lord, she don’t stir out now, because she knows what she would get by it; and there’s not a body on the land that dare cross her path, let alone speak with her, for fear of her spells and of her black cat, which they say is a demon, and takes his real form at night. And besides that, all the gossips are sworn to duck the first man or woman that holds a word of converse with her. So as things are in this case, how is it possible for her to live at all without ever a bit of mortal bread or sup to bless

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herself with since Midsummer, or how can she light a fire without a candle’s end, or have visitors when nobody dare go near her? It’s quite clear, as your Lordship sees, that some one must supply her food and her fuel, and that some one is undoubtedly the foul fiend himself, and that’s the reason none of us dare go by the house of late, for fear of even worse company than witches. If it weren’t for that, I’m thinking they’d have set fire to it long ago, and burnt the roof over the old hag and her cat together. But of course, Satan being there, no man durst attempt such a thing.”

            Herewith Nicholas brought his oration to an end, and shook his head two or three times like one who has de-livered some incontrovertible argument. And Marvel, who knew how useless it would be to attempt reasoning with such gross prejudices, contented himself with -the mental ejaculation, “Well done, Dorothy!”

            Then he took two steps towards the gate, hesitated, and turned again to his retainer.

            “Do you happen to know anything of a weaver in this town named Humphrey Pratt?” he asked, with an off-hand, careless manner, as though he wished to make a few unimportant inquiries.

            “Ay, ay!” was the prompt rejoinder, “that do I my Lord. They call him blind old Pratt, because he glues his eyes to his loom so hard and so long, that he can’t see a yard before his nose when he looks off it! He has a fair daughter, whom I hope and trust some day, so please your Lordship’s honour, to make Mistress Webb.”

            “Indeed!” said Marvel, with much greater interest; “I am surp––, I mean I am glad to hear it. May I ask, friend Nicholas, if it be not impertinent, does Mistress Dorothy love you?”

            “You know her name, then, I perceive, my Lord, “quoth the other somewhat evasively. “Ah! if you have any dealings with good Master Pratt, would your Lordship just put in a word for your humble servant, and say the match would give your Lordship much satisfaction and content?”

            “It seems, then,” persisted Marvel, “that you have some little difficulty to overcome in the matter?”

            “Not with worthy Master Humphrey, please your Lordship; he is willing enow to take me for his son-in-law, but the damsel is rather coy at times.”

            “She does not love you then, I suppose?” said Marvel, driving his hail fairly home. Nicholas winced visibly.

            “Oh yes, she loves me, your Lordship, but, as I was saying, damsels are always a little coy. So if your Lordship would condescend to –.”

            But Marvel cut him short.

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            “Well, well, Nicholas, I promise you TU inquire into the matter, and you shall have all possible justice done you; but I can’t stay now, it grows late, and the evening’s too cold for much standing.”

            And he went off on his expedition, repeating to himself, – “‘Nicholas Webb whom I hate.’ That doesn’t sound much like coyness, I fancy. But we shall see.”

            It was past seven before Marvel reached the Rowan Brown Wood, and Dorothy was there already, hard at work among the broken boughs and stubble chips.

            But she did not see him, for her eyes were intent on the ground, and there were many thick bramble bushes between them. So Marvel stooped down and applied himself diligently to the task of collecting a faggot, the presentation of which might earn him the privilege of another conversation with the sweet little Puritan.

            And since his interview with the lodge-keeper, Dorothy Pratt had risen to a high place in his good books; for in those times, when superstition and prejudice were so strong and rife among all classes, it was a certain proof of no ordinary intelligence and courage to act as this little woman had done. So Marvel knew now that she must be wise and brave as well as kind-hearted, and he longed to make a Catholic of her, and to save so much dignified sweetness from the influence of schism and false teaching. He felt sure that he had discovered a real jewel among the dust and chaff of the village, and he could not find in his heart to pass it by without one effort to dig it out of the general mire. But how should he set about the work? Certainly it was a delicate matter.

            While he pondered and collected, Dorothy had well-nigh filled her apron, and sat clown upon a felled beech-trunk to bind up her store. Marvel glanced at his bundle and saw that it was quite large enough for an ordinary-sized faggot, – as much, certainly, as the little maid could carry in addition to her own. So he broke through the brambles and advanced with his offering, to the great surprise and confusion of poor Dorothy. But the gift was presented with such kind words and with such an easy grace, that she was soon reassured, and Marvel, sitting down beside her, helped to tie up her treasures, so that by-and-by master and peasant became quite sociable, and chatted together as pleasantly as possible.

            After a little while, Marvel contrived to turn the dialogue again upon Nicholas Webb, for he wished, in spite of his dismay at the unsavoury mistake Dorothy had made between them the preceding day, to know more exactly what place the lodge-keeper held in his fair one’s estimation.

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            At first, however delicately Marvel’s questions were framed, Dorothy betrayed great uneasiness in answering them, but by degrees, as she perceived the really warm interest he took in the matter, she began to open all her heart to him. Very probably she imagined, as her lover had done before her, that the young baron might exert his influence to help her out of her difficulty with Master Nicholas, and to smooth things over between him and her father. For she told Marvel that this churlish admirer of hers pursued her everywhere with his odious attentions, and although she took every possible occasion to discourage and avoid him, and had refused his suit in her very plainest language, yet that she found herself beset by him at home and abroad all times of the day. “And,” continued Dorothy, “this is not all, for my father, by some misapprehension, takes his part; and every evening when my work is over he falls to discoursing with me upon Master Webb’s excellences, and my folly in so long delaying a marriage between us. But indeed, my lord, I cannot obey my father in this, though I have tried many times to make up my mind to it, and I have prayed with all my heart that if it really is my duty, it may be made a little pleasanter to me to do. I suppose father’s friendship for Master Webb makes him press the match upon me so greatly; but yet, until Master Webb thought of me, I don’t remember ever having seen him and father together. And even now, though I call him fathers friend, it’s very little they have to do with each other, save a word or two at the prayer-meeting and at our house when Master Webb comes to talk with father about me, which he does generally once a-week, on Saturday nights. Oh, my Lord!” cried poor Dorothy, breaking down suddenly at this point, and hiding her sweet face in her hands, “I don’t know what your honour must think of me, but I am so very very unhappy sometimes when I think of all this.”

            And she bent’ down her little hooded head and cried bitterly.’

            Marvel felt for a minute exceedingly shy, and ill at ease. He did not know quite what to do nor what to say, nor indeed whether to do or say anything. But presently his generous frank good-nature came to his aid, and he said simply,

            “Don’t cry, Dorothy; I’ll try and help you, I will indeed, and I daresay it will all come right soon. Only go on doing as you are doing now, and being kind and brave and patient, and you are sure to be happy.”

            Then he hesitated a little, and kicked the snow at his feet before he got courage to go on, but then;

            “Dorothy,” he said, “do you know I saw you last night at

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old dame Forbes’s, – and – I know all about her and why people ill-treat her so shamefully; but I want to know now if it is you who have kept her alive and clothed and fed her since Midsummer?”

            Dorothy dropped her hands suddenly and looked up at him for a moment without speaking, and with such a mixture of alarm and dismay in her brown eyes, as made Marvel add hastily;

            “There’s no reason to be frightened, Dorothy, – never mind if the villagers are fools, am only very very glad to know the poor creature has a friend in you. So please tell me all about it.”

            “Thank God!” cried the little Puritan, drawing a ‘deep breath of relief. “I thought all the world was against her! But if your Lordship is of such a mind, maybe you would speak to the neighbours and get them to hear reason. They won’t take it from me I know, and I daren’t try, for fear they should come thereby to find out how I visit at her house, and should hinder my going there, and then she would surely starve. But this reminds me that the hour is late, and I must be going on my way with my bundle.”

            “Stop, Dorothy,” said Marvel, leaping up eagerly as she rose to go, “let me walk with you! I am to blame for keeping you here so long in this desolate place! Why, you must be perished with the cold! And look, – it begins to snow now, and I can see how black the sky is through the branches above us. You must never venture along that dark gloomy lane alone tonight, for I know, Dorothy, that’s the way you’re going!” So they went, both of them together.

CHAPTER IV

WHEREIN DOROTHY GOES TO CHURCH

            TWO or three weeks had gone by, and the weather began to look less winter-like; The snow was gone from the roads and the housetops, and the rough March winds swept and roared and careered over the bleak gorse common like demons let loose for a season.

            Marvel Maxwell had learnt several things about Dorothy since his first acquaintance with her, and all he had learnt only served to raise her higher in his reverence and esteem.

            Chief among his discoveries was the fact that the Puritan damsel had been the sole succour and support of poor old dame Forbes ever since that fatal market-day of which Nicholas Webb had spoken. And when her day’s work as

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baker, churner, or sempstress was completed, and old Pratt was safely away at the tavern, attending pious Master Nip-per’s addresses, – which were punctually delivered there every evening at seven o’clock, – little Dorothy, basket on arm, had been wont to sally forth for an hour or two, to carry relief to the persecuted widow. True, there had been some cold damp foggy nights when Nipper’s discourses had failed to attract old Humphrey from his comer settle, or when Nipper himself had not been moved to assemble the elect. But these occasions were few and far between, for other things took place at the tavern besides prayer and eloquence, and Pratt was not the man to lose a stirring draught of brew and an hour’s good company for fear of five minutes’ walk through an unpleasant atmosphere. Wherefore it was not often that Dorothy missed her nightly labour of love, but even when such was the case the old crone had no need to go to bed portionless, for her kind guardian’s supplies of food and fuel were always plentiful enough to last over two days.

            So for a long eight months this good little girl’s earnings maintained and clothed and comforted the outcast of the village, who but for such timely help would most certainly have perished. Truly she was rightly named Dorothy, for to one at least she had already become in a singularly literal sense, “God’s Gift!”

            All these things came to Marvel’s knowledge little by little, for Dorothy was slow to tell her good deeds, and the young lord was obliged to help himself to information on the subject from his own surmising, and then question his little heroine as to the truth of his assumptions. But he was not so long in discovering another fact, to wit, that Humphrey Pratt’s daughter was the pet and idol of the whole village. All the young men of the place sighed and cast sheep’s eyes after her as she went by their workshops; all the young women ran to her for advice and help whenever they fancied themselves in a dilemma; and all the fathers and mothers smiled and brightened at the sound of her voice, as though it did their old ears good to listen to it. So perhaps Dorothy underrated her influence with the incorrigible Rowanites when she took it for granted that they would never hear reason from her lips. At all events, Marvel tried his arguments, and tried them in vain, – the very mention of Alice Forbes was enough to throw a gloom or a scowl over the face of the most kindly-disposed among his tenants. For of all terrible evils under the sun, prejudice is the hardest to get rid of, and when it has infected a whole town of ignorant peasants, there is little chance of overcoming it at all, unless by some sudden stroke which shall convince and convert the entire population at once. And at present there appeared to poor Marvel

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little likelihood of such an event. But all things come in their proper season, and as the all-wise God sees best and fittest.

            So Dorothy went on with her good work in secret, not doing her alms to be seen of men, but yet much lighter and gladder; of heart now that she had Marvel’s help.

            Old Alice’s store of provisions increased considerably after her little friend’s acquaintance with the; young master, and beside Dorothy’s dainty loaves and her can of milk, there often appeared a good bason full of thick soup or of jelly from the Court kitchen, or a flask of red delicious wine but of the baronial cellar.

            And now Dorothy’s walks to and fro the gorse common were seldom lonely, for Marvel Maxwell almost always found means to bear her company, carrying her basket and beguiling the journey along the desolate way with his pleasant talk.

            Never once during these expeditions did they encounter a soul, for all the peasants had taken such thorough fright at the “Ghost-walk” and the “Witches’ Moor,” that none of them, especially after sundown, would venture within half-a-mile of the place. But notwithstanding, Marvel thought it prudent to keep watch outside the cottage, while Dorothy delivered her gifts, and made supper for her charge within. Though, if truth be told, this course of conduct was pursued as much to avoid the embarrassment of the old dame’s thanks as to secure Dorothy’s safety.

            But Marvel had something better than pretty talk for the Puritan maiden during these evening excursions. For the two whole months of March and April, he laboured incessantly to bring her into the bosom of that Church which was so dear to him; and Dorothy, though horribly afraid of offending her father, began after a little to hear him gladly.

            So he taught her all that he himself had been taught, and the sweet comfortable doctrines won her love and warmed her whole heart, till they sank down into it and took root there. And she felt how blessed a thing this great broad Catholic truth is, and how much better than her father’s narrow cold-souled Puritanism, that doled itself out in lachrymose psalms and tinkers’ prayers.

            Ah, those Yew-lane walks in the evening were very sweet and pleasant to both Dorothy and Marvel, spite of the ghosts and the hobgoblins there!

            And so the windy March weather wore itself out, and April laughed and wept over the land by turns, as though she were loth, even in the midst of her kind-heartedness, to give so lavishly from her treasure-store of sweet buds and blossoms, and must needs shed a few tears over them as she dropped them one after the other into the hungry hands of the poor

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old earth. But Dorothy loved the spring-time dearly, as all pure beauty-loving hearts do, for it is the most musical poem in all the world’s great hymnal. And the grand Master-poet who wrote it so long long ago, has left in it, to those who read it rightly, a sweeter mirage of His own tender heart and eternal loveliness than in anything else we know of upon earth. And as Dorothy and Marvel passed side by side down the long lane in the soft still delicious eventide, under the bending yew-trees and the chestnuts and the lindens, now no longer bare, but laden with all their new wealth of fresh tender leaves, the little maiden said to herself in the joy of her heart, “Surely this must be like something in heaven!”

            And I do not think, for my part, that she was very wrong, for what shall we find in heaven better than the consolation of God, and pure love, and peaceful beauty? And the beginnings of these three things are here upon earth with us now, shadows though they be, vague and unsatisfying, but pictured promises nevertheless of blessed, blessed fulness hereafter! “For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face.”

            One Saturday, the last in April, as they came home together, Marvel spoke long and earnestly to his little cate-chumen about the duty of serving God in heaven before any man upon earth, whether clear friend, or father, or husband. “For remember, Dorothy,” he said, “that if father or mother should forsake us, the dear Lord will be better to us than they. And who knows but that if you only do what is right yourself, you may win others back to the old faith, and perhaps even your father too in time? You are brave, Dorothy, I know, will you not do this little thing for the holy Christ who did such great things for you, and be first of all in the village to call His Church your mother?”

            And Dorothy answered him, – “My Lord, it is not that I am afraid to go to church, or even that I dread my father’s displeasure, but only that he is my father and that he has forbidden me to hear the priest. Now, it is not at all the same thing for me to go to church as to visit Alice Forbes, for the one my father has positively commanded me to refrain from, and the other, being a secret to all except yourself, is of course unknown to him. So in what I do now I am free from disobedience, but if I should go to church I should transgress in the most direct and flagrant manner. And am I not bound to obey him, seeing I am his child, and, as such, owe him all reverence and duty? Besides, I have a new debt to him now, for of late he has been very kind to me in the matter of Master Webb, and I have heard nothing about him, nor have I so much as seen him near me these fourteen day and more. So, though I don’t quite like to ask, I begin to

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hope the match is broken off. And if it be, ought I not to be very grateful to father for it? And then, you know, St, Paul himself bids children obey their parents.”

            “Yes, Dorothy, but ‘in the Lord.’ You believe that your father’s religion is false and insincere, you know that the better road is before you, and God’s voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk ye in it, ‘yet you forget that your example might lead your father himself to follow your steps, if only you would ‘do the thing that is right.’ And whether he follow you or not, you are more bound to hear that voice of your Father in heaven than any other who pleads with you on earth. Only look upon all the golden light and brightness of large love and nearness to the dear Lord, that lies before you, and think! – can you bear to turn back again into the cold twilight and the narrow-heartedness of this wretched, barren schism? Will you live and die without once having joined in the prayers of our sweet Church liturgy, without once having sung our hymns, and saddest of all, without once having knelt at Christ’s altar to share in that glorious Feast we celebrate every Sunday? O Dorothy, Dorothy! you are a Catholic at heart, be a Catholic also in noble deed and name!”

            Dorothy looked into Marvel’s eyes. They were brimming over with anxious tears, and his whole face was flushed with the earnestness of his entreaty.

            “My Lord,” she said, in a low, unsteady voice, “be comforted, and pray that things may turn out for me and for my father as you have said, for I will surely be at church tomorrow, and you may tell the priest that I will go and speak with him afterwards.”

            So she promised, and they parted, both of them glad and hopeful, for both were young and true-hearted.

            And the next morning Dorothy kept her word, and came shyly in at the church door just as the bells began to ring, for she was terribly afraid of being late. And she sat down in the remotest little comer she could find, beneath a tall painted window of the Blessed Virgin with the holy Child upon her knee, and she looked up at it and wondered at it with awe in her brown eyes, and thought how very beautiful it was, and how rand she should like to have such a sweet picture to look at every day.

            And when Marvel came in with Lady Maxwell and his sister Edith, and saw his little catechumen sitting in her place with her big white collar and gray gown, and the bright colours of the painted window shining full on her Puritan’s hood and blushing face, he smiled a kind glad smile at her that did Dorothy’s heart a work of good. But when the service was over, and the last blessing pronounced, she rose

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up from her knees before the rest bf the congregation, and stole out alone on her way home. For she was afraid of meeting Marvel then, because the Baroness and Lady Edith were with him, and they were strangers to her, and little Dorothy was shy of such grand people.

            But at home there was great trouble in store for our heroine. For no sooner did she enter the low porch of the weaver’s cottage than old Pratt pounced upon her like a cat on a mouse, with an angry frown on his pimply face and a grasp like the pinch of iron tongs.

            “How now, Dorothy!” cried he; “where hast thou been with that best hood and clean new collar of thine? Not to the prayer meeting, I warrant me for I looked all round the room, and thou wast not to be seem there! Thou hast been gallavanting about the country, wench, with some idle young loon, or gossiping maybe in good-for-nothing Nell Tomkinson’s cottage! I’ll teach thee thy duty, girl, I promise ’ee.”

            “Indeed, father,” pleaded poor Dorothy, “I haven’t been loitering about anywhere. I know I wasn’t at Master Nip-per’s meeting, but indeed I have been doing nothing wrong.”

            “Where hast been, then, wench?”- demanded the weaver, standing over her with a grim scowl on his brow. “I’ll have it out o’ thee, so speak up at once and no badgering. What hast been doing all this morning? Come!”

            Dorothy stood silent, with her eyes cast down and her hands pressed together very tightly. The trial time had come already, and the armour had to be buckled on. Would it be proof against such a thrust as this? Poor little soldier!

            “Come, come, mistress!” thundered old Pratt, after waiting for a reply in vain a few moments. “I will be obeyed! Tell me where you have been!”

            “Father,” said the sweet, low voice, very falteringly, “don’t be angry with me; I have been to the village church.”

            There was a pause. Dorothy knew what it meant, and her heart sank within her miserably. If only Marvel were there by her side! – but she was all alone, quite alone. No, not quite alone. For just at that moment she remembered the consoling words of which Marvel had spoken the night before, – “When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord taketh me up.” But old Pratt was past indignation, – lie was past argument – he was at sarcasm point.

            ““Oh ho,” he sneered, “thou hast been to church hast ‘ee? Well, thou’lt never go again, mistress, for I’ve got a cure for that complaint all ready here in my pocket!” And as he slapped the side of his vest with a vehement hand, Dorothy heard the crunch of paper. What could it be?

            “So this is the meaning of thine unwillingness to hear good Master Nipper’s discourses, is it? Art going to set up

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stocks and stones in my house, and go to confession and eat fish o’ Fridays like a Papist? Very pretty indeed, and mighty like to be! Out on thy damnable idols and superstitions and priestcraft! ‘But there’s an end of it all for ‘ee now, for I’ve made my mind up, and I’ll have no more shilly-shallying. If thou won’t obey me, thou shalt obey another man, for I’ve promised ‘ee to wife this very day, and Master Webb has got my word on it!”

            O poor little Dorothy I Poor little white ghostly face, poor little quivering hands that clutched each other in horror as the miserable tidings were told! And poor little gasping, tremulous voice, that cried out piteously, “Father! father!”

            “It’s no sort o’ use bullying me,” returned Humphrey, doggedly. “Get about thy business, and behave as a good daughter should. Most girls ’ud be glad enough to get such a mate as Master Nicholas, well-to-do and young withal, but as for thee – there, I’m ashamed o’ thee, Dorothy, thou’rt worse than a heathen! No words with me, wench. I’ll not budge an inch if thou worry and fret till midnight!”

            So Dorothy Pratt went off in silence to her little bed-chamber, and there she knelt down by the settle in front of the open lattice, through which the warm sunlight streamed gloriously and free. And she prayed in the bitterness of her heart, and in the blindness of tears that fell like rain, “O Lord, how long? how long?”

CHAPTER V

HOW MARVEL WAS INVITED TO A “BAL MASQUE”

            MARVEL MAXWELL waited a good hour at the corner of Yew-lane that Sunday evening before Dorothy came. And when at last she appeared, how changed she was since only that morning! No smile, no light brisk step, no lifted bright brown eyes. What terrible thing could have happened in that short time, he wondered, so to whiten the poor little cheeks, and to make the drooping eyelids so red and swollen and heavy? Then a sharp spasm of remorse came into his mind, and he said to himself that perhaps it was all his doing, and that old Pratt had found out her apostasy from Puritanism, and had been angry with her in consequence. But of worse than this he did not think.

            “Why, Dorothy!” cried he, looking earnestly into her face as they met, – that face that was always so sweet to

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see, and sweeter now in its very sadness than any other face upon earth in its joy, – “Why, Dorothy! what ails you? Has your father been rating at you? Oh, don’t cry, – don’t cry, so! – tell me everything. What is it, Dorothy?”

            For at the first sound of that dear voice, the poor little maid’s grief overflowed her heart, full as it was almost to bursting: and she sat down on the daffodil-bank by the roadside and put her basket on the ground. And she covered with her two shivering hands the eyes that would weep and the tears that would fall.

            Then Marvel sat down by her, as they had sat together in the wood more than two months ago, and begged her to tell him all that had happened to her at home. So she told him every whit, and how she knew her father’s mind was made up at last; and what a stern austere man he would be when he chose it, and how she had rather die again and again than be Nicholas Webb’s wife.

            “But indeed, my Lord,” said she, “I cannot tell what hath made father take this sudden fancy to have me wedded off-hand. For of late you know I told you he has scarce spoken at all on the matter, and Master Webb has not been near our house, nor has he held any manner of converse with me for a good three weeks. I thought it was all over and done: – and now! Oh I am so very, very, very miserable!”

            And she wept bitterly.

            But Marvel sat still and mused awhile, casting about in his mind what he could do to help her in this strait.

            Certainly, as Dorothy said, it was a sudden fancy of old Pratt’s, seeing how matters had stood of late, and a strange fancy too, for the agreement between him and Nicholas was made on Sunday morning, before Humphrey knew of his daughter’s attendance at church. Therefore it could have had nothing to do with his vexation at her conduct on that score. And Nicholas himself! Why had he maintained so cold a demeanour towards Dorothy for so long, only to burst out afresh in this fashion, just as she was persuaded of his indifference? There must be another reason, – something more behind the scenes than the weaver had thought fit to tell Dorothy. How should he get at it? Anyhow, it must be known to Nicholas. But it would be as foolish to ask the lodge-keeper of the mystery, as to expect that old Pratt would tell it him or his daughter. Then an idea, like a bright ray of sunlight, crossed his thoughts. ‘‘Thank God,” he thought, “there is no misfortune comes to men under the sun that may not be turned to some golden luck, if only there be sense in mortal minds to discern the good clearly, and to use the evil well.”

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            But the next moment he doubted whether his scheme were really fair and honest, and a shadow came over his brow again as he repeated to himself, “It is not lawful to deceive any man knowingly, nor to do evil that good may come.” Yet there was no other way, and this was so easy, so ingenious, so efficient, and withal it would be such a merry frolic.

            Marvel was a young man, and the mirthful enterprise and humour of young blood prevailed. “And besides,” he argued, “if such a saint as the ‘great Apostle himself did well to be ‘all things to all men, if by chance he might catch some; ‘shall it be blame to me if I follow his example in one instance?”

            Just then Dorothy raised her soft jacinth brown eyes and looked him in the face, wondering at his long silence: and the look went to the young man’s heart, and he debated with himself no longer. He felt that at all risks Dorothy’s life must be saved from the horrible misery that threatened to blight and overshadow it so completely. And if a certain strange accident opened to him a means for saving it, the lesser evil was surely preferable to the greater.

            “Dorothy!” he cried, springing up and standing before her, “I have it! I have found a way to help you cheer tip little one, for I can put everything straight for you I hope. So don’t cry any more at all, but only hope for the best, and wish me luck. And now let us go on our way to old dame Alice, or she will wonder what can have become of you.”

            But Marvel did not tell Dorothy what his plan for her rescue was, lest she should have something to say against it.

            So they went together on their errand, and our little heroine, whose faith in her friend’s infallibility was implicit, walked homeward afterwards with a far lighter heart and blither step than had been hers when she set out that evening.

            And when they parted at the turning of the lane, there was a sparkle of hopeful thanks in the eyes she lifted to his, and a flush of bright glad colour upon the dimpled cheeks and on the soft-parted lips that whispered Dorothy’s good-bye. And Marvel went on his way musing, and as he went a smile flitted to and fro over his face, coming and going like sunshine on a cloudy day, for he was thinking of the adventure he proposed for himself on the morrow, and of the rare entertainment it was likely to afford him.

            Just as he set foot within the great paved hall of Rowan Court, an oaken door on his right opened, and a pretty mischievous-looking face with bright flaxen curls hanging round it and over the white forehead, in royalist fashion, peeped out at him.

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            “Oh, Marvel! I’m so glad you’ve come home. Fm hungry as a hunter, but I ordered Isaac not to serve supper till your return, like a dutiful sister as I am. What has made you so late? But here,” she cried, holding up a letter in her little jewelled hand, “is an invitation from our neighbour Baron Shakeshaft for you to be present at his May-day revel tomorrow night. He gives a dance to his peasantry, and our villagers are asked to join likewise, if they be not too prudish for such impious mirth. They are to have a May-pole and a feast under the trees, and all sorts of games in the day-time: and in the evening the baron gives a dance indoors to his own guests, and you are all to go like masqueraders, in mummer costume: I mean the baron’s friends you know Marvel, not the peasants! What fine fun it will be for you, won’t it? And how shall you choose to dress? Oh, I wish I was asked too, – it’s a great shame!” And she pouted her pretty lips and shook her flaxen curls with playful indignation.

            “Why, fair mistress, how did you come to know all this? Do you open letters that do not belong to you?” laughed Marvel gaily, as he snatched at the missive Lady Edith held over his head, while she stood on tiptoe before him.

            “No,” she answered, yielding the contest and the note together; “certainly not, most suspicious Marvel! But the baron’s groom, who brought your letter this evening, told me the purport of his embassy. Is your Grace’s august displeasure allayed?”

            “By all means, madam, allow me to tender my humble apology to your sweetness for my base insinuations against your unimpeachable honesty. And now let us f all to, for I am no less hungry than you are.”

            So they entered the supper-room together.

            It was a long old-fashioned apartment, more like a hall than a parlour, and furnished rather scantily, as we should think in these luxurious days. “There were straight-backed carved oak chairs; one or two mirrors, a spinet, a large bookcase, a side-board and several great family portraits in heavy gilded frames, hung each in its particular panel, as each succeeded each in the line of Rowan ancestry.

            But the long table in the midst of the room was certainly not open to censure on the score of scant garniture. For it bore steaming soups and cold meats, and fried collops, and not least, a plentiful jug of brown ale, to all of which Marvel did full justice.

            Lady Maxwell had supped early, and retired to her room, as her general custom was on Sundays, which, to her delicate state of health, were fatiguing days. So Edith and her brother had the conversation all to themselves; and as it

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ran wholly upon a certain point of interest in our story, it is just as well that it should be recorded here. Marvel’s thoughts had been busy ever since the receipt of Baron Shakeshaft’s letter, with meditations on the strange opportuneness of the invitation. It was the very thing he wanted to complete his plot. Now everything would rim on greased wheels; and the favour he had to ask of his sister that night would not appear to her either whimsical or suspicious. True, he might almost have anticipated such an event as that of which he had just been informed; for it was always the custom for neighbouring nobles to exchange hospitalities on certain holydays and festivals; and the May-day mumming was a great occasion in those times. “But nevertheless,” he said to himself as he gulped down his last draught of ale, “ ‘a word spoken in due season, how good it is.’ ”

            “Edith,” he asked, “will you turn out some of your old charade properties, and dress me up tomorrow evening? I know you have a rare store of wigs and beards, and the like, in some old closet of yours upstairs.”

            “By all means!” she answered, laughing merrily. “My theatrical wardrobe is at your service; and I think I may promise you a goodly selection, for I have all manner of disguises and masques, which were manufactured, you remember Marvel, for our frolic on Christmas Eve.”

            “Nothing could be better then, Edith. Tomorrow night shall behold a transformation, that shall be a marvel indeed to all masqueraders. Laugh at my jest please, madam, and when you have poured out a glass of sack for yourself, pass the flagon to me. And now if you have finished your meal, bid old Isaac hither to clear the table; and let us end the evening with that beautiful Magnificat service that I love so much to sing with you.”

            So the butler was summoned and the supper dishes carried away, and Lady Edith repaired to her spinet, while Marvel took his seat beside her on a low velvet ottoman. Then the echoes of the great old hall rose and fell to the sound of two sweet young voices that sang together the glorious hymn of the ever-blessed Mary.

CHAPTER VI

CONCERNING A BATTLE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

            LATE in the afternoon of the next day, Marvel sent a servant to the park lodge to bid Nicholas Webb come up and speak with his lord in the mansion hall. And when the keeper entered the corridor, Marvel was there already, with a sealed note in his hand.

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            “Good-day, Nicholas,” said he, pleasantly, as his Puritan vassal appeared; “I have an errand for you to do this afternoon-, for I was sure one so sober-minded as you would have no part in these gay May-day revellings of our good neighbours. So I want you to saddle roan Berry at once, and ride over to Shrewsbury, to deliver this letter to Master Noakes, the timber-merchant. Get yourself a meal at the inn, and bait the mare, or if it like you better, sleep there, and ride home on the morrow. Take your own course, Nicholas, for I know you are to be trusted, and bring the reckoning to me. And a pleasant journey to you.”

            Marvel felt it expedient to add this last little piece of flattery to the directions he had given, for Webb’s brow clouded blackly, and the corners of his bearded mouth took a sullen curve, when he heard his master’s commands. By way, too, of further douceur, Marvel, who knew the Puritan’s weaknesses of appetite, produced a beaker of amber ale, and pouring a copious draught of the soothing liquor into a silver-chased goblet, he handed it graciously to his ambassador, and bade him refresh himself before his ride. And when Nicholas wiped the foam from his lips, they had recovered their normal lines, and he pocketed Marvel’s note with a far more agreeable air than might have been expected from his previous expression of physiognomy.

            “Ah,” said the young baron under his breath, as he stood at the open door and watched the man turn down the path towards the stables, “so far so good. I have got you out of the way till to morrow, my fine fellow; for even if you ride back from Shrewsbury tonight, you can’t get home till past ten, and long before then my little game will be played out. But I’ll see you safe through the gates before I begin my preparations.”

            Half-an-hour after this, as the sun began to decline in the west, Nicholas Webb was on his road out of the village. And Marvel, in a high state of glee, eyed him from the top-most window of the mansion, indulging himself the while in a selection of curious contortions and grimaces, expressive of his own intense satisfaction at the state of affairs. Then, as the tail of roan Berry whisked out of sight round the last turning of the road, Marvel closed the casement, and ran briskly downstairs into the hall, where he snatched his hat from its accustomed peg,. and hastily donning it, sped down the broad gravel to the keeper’s deserted dwelling. Shutting the door carefully, lest he should be espied from without, Marvel entered Master Webb’s bed-chamber, and selected from his closet a full suit of the keepers clothes, – hose, boots, belt, and jerkin inclusive. To these he added a large gray mantle, which served as a wrapper for the whole bundle; and refastening the closet, he issued forth

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triumphantly on his return to the mansion. At the door of his own apartment he met his sister, Lady Edith, with a merry smile about her pretty lips, and a mirthful ring in her silvery-toned voice.

            “There,” cried she, “I’ve carried them all into your room! Such an outfit, – beards and moustaches, and wigs of all shapes” and colours! pray make a becoming selection. But what in the name of all that’s astonishing have you there? Is this your costume? What is it? Oh, do let me see!”

            “No, no, not yet!” cried Marvel, running past her into his room. “Wait till I’m dressed, and then you shall stare to your heart’s content. The mysterious toilette of Proteus is about to begin.”

            So Edith tripped off along the corridor, laughing music ally, and Marvel remained a full hour and more in the seclusion of his chamber, dressing, arranging, trimming, and adapting himself and his costume before a large cheval looking-glass. So it was well-nigh eight o’clock before he presented himself at the door of his sister’s boudoir, arrayed, as she believed, for Baron Shakeshaft’s masquerade, but as Marvel himself intended, for a campaign on behalf of Dorothy Pratt.

            “Why, how’s this?” cried Lady Edith, as the sheep in wolf’s clothing appeared before her. “Nicholas! what are you doing here? I thought you were gone on an errand for your master. What is it you want? Can’t you speak, man? NlCHOLAS!”

            For Marvel suddenly put his arms about her neck, and kissed her.

            “Little simpleton,” said he in a fit of laughter, and with no small delight at such an unequivocal proof of his success, “don’t you know your own brother? But isn’t it capital, – sublime, – magnificent?”

            Edith sank down on a large satin-cushioned sofa as Marvel turned himself round and round for her inspection, imitating his keeper’s manner, and counterfeiting his puritanic twang I n a style that could not fail to place the excellence of his histrionic talent beyond dispute.

            “Well,” exclaimed she at length, her bewilderment giving gradual place to admiration, “this is the very cleverest disguise I ever beheld. But you have certainly chosen a most appropriate character, Marvel, for to tell the truth I always thought you like Nicholas, save that your hair is long, your skin fairer, and your chin beardless. However, my abundant repository I see has rectified all deficiencies, and those pimples and blotches with which you have adorned your nose and cheeks are really admirable.” And she threw herself back upon the cushions in an ecstasy of merriment, and well-nigh choked with laughter.

            “But indeed, Marvel,” she added presently in graver tones,

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rising as she spoke, and putting one little white hand upon each of her brother’s shoulders, as she gazed admiringly at him, “I seriously believe that if the true Nicholas were to stand by your side now, I should not be able to decide on the original. So this is the secret of your prodigious bundle! And you have sent the poor knave to Shrewsbury in order that you might safety plunder his wardrobe! Indeed, you evince remarkable aptitude for military tactics, brother, and if you held your proper position, ought certainly to command his gracious Majesty’s forces. But have you ordered a horse, for it is time you should depart, I think, Marvel?”

            “I have no need of a horse, Edith,” returned he, carelessly. “ ‘Tis but a little ‘way to go, and I have taken a great gray cloak out of that varlet’s closet, in which I wrapped up all his costume when I carried it from the lodge, and in which I purpose also to envelope myself. It is a lovely evening, and I shall enjoy a stroll across the park amazingly. Good-bye, sister mine.”

            Then the door closed behind him, and a minute afterwards Edith heard his quick step upon the staircase as she drew her canvas frame nearer the lamplight, and sat down to embroider, still smiling at the thought of Marvel’s merry conceit.

            As for the young noble himself, he was bent on a very different diversion from that which his sister imagined occupied his fancy. For fear, however, that she should be watching him from some impossible window, and further-more to avoid meeting any one on his way to old Pratt’s cottage, Marvel took a circuitous path that led across the park-lands in the direction of Baron Shakeshaft’s estate.

            Dusk was fast giving place to darkness, and the trees around him already looked weird and shadowy against the purple sky, when Marvel reached the borders of the wood. He turned down a narrow curving lane that led off the high road towards the village, but he had not gone very far along it before his ears were assailed by loud cries and the noise of blows, and of many scuffling feet. Marvel paused a moment and listened, to make sure from whence this hubbub proceeded. His first thought was to avoid the squabble, lest any unpleasant recognition of his identity should take place in consequence of the rough handling with which excited crowds are apt to welcome any addition to their number. But his mind changed when he heard above the angry shouts of the combatants a shrill quavering cry, almost pitched to a shriek, and entreating every moment for a little mercy. “Good people,” it cried, “what are you about? Will you pound a poor old man to death? I assure you she said herself she had no mind to dance. Help, help, some one, or I shall be beat to a jelly!”

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            Marvel did not wait to think any more. He ran hastily forward, and the next moment rounded the corner of the lane, and found himself close upon the fray. In the middle of the path was a mob of gaily-dressed young men from the neighbouring demesne, armed with stones, mud, and hedge-stakes, beating, pelting, pommelling, and abusing at the tops of their voices some unfortunate individual who had incurred their displeasure. It was too dark now to discern faces very clearly, but Marvel could tell from the feeble whimperings of the sufferer that he was an old man, and that his powers of resistance were well-nigh exhausted.

            “For shame, you bullies!” the disgusted baron burst out in a storm of indignation, “What, a dozen of you against one, and he an old man! Give place, there, or it will be worse for you!”

            And he laid about him so lustily with his clenched fists that in less than a minute he stood beside the victim, and had hit such a sounding blow on the face of the first who attempted to be forward, that the rest took warning and fell back a few paces.

            “Who are you?” cried one. “Who sent you here, I should like to know? Leave us alone, and let us manage our own affairs.”

            “Do you know,” shouted another, “who that old scarecrow is? He’s a Puritan miser, who won’t let his daughter dance. His own daughter, who’s the comeliest maid in all the country; and the girls wanted to make her Queen o’ the May at our merrymaking, but this old frump wouldn’t let her come.”

            “Let me get at him,” roared a third. “I’ll teach him to keep a pretty girl indoors when her mates are footing it on the greensward!”

            “Indeed, indeed,” pleaded the old man, shielding his face with his hands from the menacing fists uplifted about him, “Indeed she wouldn’t have danced, nor have been Queen either, even if I had been out of the question. She said of her own free will that she had no humour for such sports.”

            “That’s because you’ve worried her out of all spirit, then,” retorted the first speaker; “because you’ve - badgered, and crossed, and fretted her beyond bearing, till she’s lost all heart for mirth and frolic. Pah, you old toad; I’d like to have the giving o’ you your deserts! Egad, wouldn’t I lay it on sturdily!”

            “Now, now,” shouted Marvel; “stand back all of you, you’ve done mischief enough for once. Get back to your place, and tell your baron, with my respects, to keep his tenants at home for the future, for they’ve not learnt yet to behave themselves among company. Make way, I tell you, and stand back, if you don’t want to lie down instead!

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And now come along, old man. Whoever you are, these young jackanapeses should have had greater respect for your gray hairs than to use you thus.”

            So Marvel elbowed and fought his way out of the crowd with the abused Puritan clinging fast to his arm; and the resistance offered by the assailants soon weakened as they perceived the determination of their new opponent.

            “By old Noll himself, though,” said one, “this fellow knows how to use his wrists.”

            “He’s a plucky devil enough,” quoth another, who had just received a fortnight’s black eye. “Come, let’s be off. We’ve had our revenge, as he says – now let the old beast go.”

            Which sage advice apparently had its due effect, for one by one the insurgents dropped off and melted away almost imperceptibly into the darkness, leaving their victim and his new friend to pursue their own road in peace.

            For some moments the old man neither spoke aloud nor looked at Marvel. He untied from his neck a long linen scarf, with which he carefully wiped the smears of mud from his face and beard, muttering to himself the while certain angry and unscriptural imprecations against his persecutors. When this rough toilette was completed, he tucked away the scarf into his pouch pocket, and for the first time raised his eyes inquiringly to the face of his deliverer. But the result of his inspection was speedy and satisfactory enough, for a sudden start and a cry of recognition did fresh honour to Marvel’s disguise.

            “Eh, what? is it the moonlight, or do I really see beside me my dear friend Nicholas? Ah, deary, deary! I didn’t know thee, man, by thy voice, which may serve to prove to thee how those young dogs had beaten my senses out of me. And I am so blind, so blind; my poor eyes get worse and worse, Nicholas, but in such twilight as this they are no eyes at all. Furthermore it hath never been thy wont to plunge thus into the midst of a brawl. I have always known thee for a cautious man, shy of tumults and raised fists, as befits a good Christian. Well, well, I should surely have been dead without thee this time. May the Lord wipe those young serpents off the face of the earth! But what made thee take such a road, man? Wert thou not coming to see me tonight after thine agreement? I told Dorothy yesterday that matters were settled between thee and me. Thou dost not speak. What ails thee?”

            Truly poor Marvel knew not how to answer, for he feared by some inadvertence to betray his real identity to his companion, or at least to discover himself as an impostor. However, the mention of Dorothy’s name in connection with the one he himself assumed, reassured him, and he began to hope

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that he had fallen in thus accidentally with old Pratt himself. And this was really the case. With an effort Marvel regained his self-possession, and adopting the puritanic tone of his lodge-keeper, made the old man the most appropriate reply he could concoct under such embarrassing circumstances.

            “So thou didst not know me, friend? That I suppose is because thou didst not look at me, for I think thou art scarcely blind enough as yet not to know the face of Nicholas Webb, even in the twilight. But I would not have taken part with any other than thee against such contumacious rogues.”

            “Ah, Nicholas, Nicholas! it is not for me thou didst fight, man, but for thy mistress, Dorothy. Is’t not so? Thou knowest if I were slain thou wouldst stand but a poor chance of getting her to wife. Ah, ah, I have thee there, certie. Eh, Nicholas?”

            Marvel hesitated in his rejoinder.

            “Shall I see her tonight, friend?”

            “Ay, ay, thou’lt see her, Nicholas, safe enow. But I question if she frets very mightily for thine appearing. By the way, man, hast thou brought the money?”

            Old Pratt’s voice dropped to a low tone as he said these last words, and when they were said he eyed his companion so keenly and so closely that Marvel’s face blanched beneath its painted pimples.

            “The money?” he stammered, perceiving that he must answer something. “What, tonight? I thought, ––perhaps,––”

            “Come now, Nicholas; as the Lord liveth, this is no fair play of thine. I agreed with thee yester-morning at the tavern that the girl should be thy wife next week, whether she would or no, so thou on thy part shouldst give me twenty pounds today. Now I began my share of the business honestly, for I broke the news to her as soon as I came away from talking with thee, and rare work I had of it I can tell’ ee, Nicholas. And now will ye be a knave after all, and the bond signed between us?”

            But Marvel’s heart leapt into his throat, and he gasped for breath. So this vile piece of buying and selling was the cause of poor little Dorothy’s new anguish, – that young man’s sensual passion, this old man’s greed of gold.

            “Stop!” he cried hastily, laying his hand on Pratt’s shoulder, for he was afraid lest in the heat of his righteous indignation the Puritan might turn away and leave him. “Stop, man, and hear me out first. I vas going to tell thee I couldn’t bring the money tonight because, – because, – I have no bag for so large a sum, and I like not to carry

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coin loose in my pouch. But tomorrow I will take care that my debt shall be fully paid thee, to the very last farthing, and thou shalt have thy measure pressed down, shaken together, and running over.”

            And Marvel spoke earnestly, for he meant what he said in good sooth.

            “Well, well,” replied the weaver, mollified, “I see thou art an honourable man after all. I was hasty, Nicholas, but the tongue, thou knowest, is an unruly member. So by the same token is Mistress Dorothy. I hope thou mayest find her more obedient to thee as a wife than she hath been to me as a daughter. But here we are, – turn in, turn in. Supper must be almost spoiled with the waiting, for I was coming home from tavern when those young sinners of Baron Shakeshaft’s met me, – ill-luck befall them. And they must have belaboured and reviled me a full twenty minutes, I take it, to judge by the bruises and sores I fed all over my body.”

CHAPTER VII

WHEREIN HUMPHREY PRATT TELLS A SECRET

            LITTLE Dorothy Pratt stood before the window, looking up at the moon and the clear evening sky.

            “How bright and how many,” she thought, “are the eyes of God’s heaven at night, and yet the worst deeds that are done among men are done beneath the stars! And for all that, God Who is patient still, bearing all things and enduring all things, is perfect in goodness and in power. God has been patient in the midst of perpetual injury and slander for thousands of long years, and shall I, who am so far from His perfection, be impatient under the trials of a little life-time?”

            She looked so beautiful in her white Puritan cape and gray dress, standing with clasped hands in the broad moon-light, – so beautiful and so good, that Pratt’s companion, who carried Marvel’s heart under the garb of Nicholas, paused on the threshold, and watched her with a feeling akin to worship.

            But Dorothy turned and looked at him, and she took him as his sister Edith and as old Pratt had done, for her unworthy lover, the lodge-keeper. Then in a moment the hot red blood flashed over all her face from chin to fore-head, and the next she was deadly pale, and her hands

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trembled as she laid on the board another trencher and another cup for her father’s guest.

            Marvel longed to make her some sign by which she might know him, but Dorothy, after the first glance, studiously kept her eyes turned from his, and it was in vain that he coughed and signalled to attract her attention, for she neither heard nor so whim.

            Old Pratt sat down to the supper-table with a more cheerful face than that he had brought through the porch, for like his ally Nicholas he loved good ale, and the draughts he had swallowed that evening at the tavern had been considerably shaken down with subsequent rough treatment.

            “Come, man,” quoth he, emerging redder and more pimply than ever from his first pull at the tankard, “thou dost not drink!”

            But Marvel was looking at Dorothy.

            “Ah, I see,” cried Humphrey, “thou wouldst first take fit greeting of thine elected wife, eh Nicholas! Dorothy, wench, – hither, and buss thy Nicholas! Dost thou forget that he will be thine husband before the next new moon?”

            She came forward falteringly two or three steps, and then stood still, and suddenly covered her face with her hands.

            “Dost hear me, little baggage?” roared her father; “come hither, I say, and kiss Master Nicholas!”

            “No, no, let be,” pleaded Marvel, grasping the weaver by the sleeve; “thou seest, friend, she likes it not, it goes against her maid’s modesty!”

            But old Humphrey was in a passion.

            “Tut tut, man,” he shouted, “I say she shall, and I’ll be obeyed! She’s as obstinate as a mule! Dorothy, do my bidding! I tell thee, thou art already this man’s wife, – his wife, minx, as surely as thou’rt a living woman!”

            “O father, father, I CAN’T!”

            The words were spoken with a low gasping sob, so terrible in its despair and bitterness that they smote to Marvel’s heart like sword stabs.

            He sprang from his seat, but old Pratt was before him, and Marvel was too late to intercept the angry blow that fell full on Dorothy’s bosom.

            For a second the room and the warm flicker of the lamp-light reeled confusedly about the young baron, and the floor seemed to whirl under his feet. He caught Dorothy passionately in his arms, but she no sooner felt the touch of his embrace than a sudden shudder restored her self-possession, and she fled from him into her own chamber and shut the door.

            Then Marvel turned fiercely upon the old weaver, with a hot tongue and clenched fists, till a moment’s recollection

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changed his purpose, and he dropped into his chair again and kept silence.

            Old Pratt walked to the table, replenished his tankard, and drank off its contents at a single draught, before he spoke again. Then he drew his chair towards the fireplace, and judicially sat down, as if for a debate, evidently expecting his companion to begin the conversation upon some predetermined subject.

            But Marvel was mute with anger. So, after waiting for a little while, the old man cleared his husky voice once or twice from the rising beer-bubbles, and said shortly, “Thou seest, Nicholas, she cannot abide thee.”

            Marvel acquiesced with a nod of his head and a grunt, which might have been taken for either approval or disapprobation of Dorothy’s tastes. He could not bring himself to speak intelligibly yet, for the little maid’s cry still rang in his ears, and his throat ached with a strange stiff sense of oppression.

            So Humphrey Pratt went on: –

            “I’ve had more trouble with her than thou dost wot of, friend Nicholas. She hath been a stone of stumbling in my path, and a thorn in my side these eighteen years. Thou seest what I suffered on her account tonight, at the hands of those young ruffians whom Satan set on to buffet me. Well, Nicholas, I tell thee, it’s not the first time I’ve been ill-treated and abused for the like. It’s not long since the young fellows of our own town, and a parcel of idle girls who ought to have kept out of such unseemly brawls, beset me and beat me foully on my own door-step! And all for what, think you, Nicholas? Why this, just as I tell it you man. Pious Master Nipper’s lawing at the tavern that quarter was rather heavier than he himself could-pay, so we got up a subscription among us, as you must remember, Nicholas, to help him out of his difficulty. I’m a poor man, you know, friend, – a poor man, – and I didn’t quite see my way to giving my share of the money we agreed on, but I knew Dorothy earned more than she could well spend on herself. So I came home, and I said, ‘Dorothy, give me some of thy silver crowns to help pay good Master Nipper’s reckoning, and the Lord reward thee!’ Says she, ‘I’ve no money to give, father, it’s all spent.’ Well, I couldn’t believe it, so I went and turned out her box, and sure enow, there was ne’er a sixpenny-bit in it. Says I, ‘Dorothy, thou canst not ha’ spent all thy week’s wage on thyself; what hast thou done wi’ it then?’ ‘Father, ‘she says, ‘I spend it always, every week, just the same.’ So I got a piece hot then, as is my way at times, and I answered, ‘Dorothy, if ‘ee don’t tell me this minute what thou’st done with that money

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o’ thine, I’ll beat thee till I know. Dost ‘ee buy finery with it like the sinners?’ ‘No, father, ‘she says, ‘it isn’t anything for myself indeed, but I can’t tell thee more than that about it.’ ‘Can’t forsooth, ‘quoth I, ‘well, we’ll see to that!’ But she stood up there before me, as hard and as brazen as a church-bell, and I took her by the shoulders and shook her, but I couldn’t shake a single word out. So then I laid about her with my staff, roundly enough, Nicholas; and every minute I stopped beating and asked her, ‘Wilt tell me now, Dorothy, and I’ll leave drubbing thee?1 But she says each time, ‘No, father, thee may’st drub, for I can’t tell.’ So I was forced to go on beating till I was just tired out, and then I let her go. But she took on sick or stiff or something, the next day, and lay a-bed instead of going about her work as usual, which I am convinced was pure obstinacy and contumaciousness. So, close upon noon, in comes a saucy wench from the neighbour’s house where Dorothy ought to have been at her baking, and says she, ‘Dorothy, what ails thee that thou dost not come to bake today?’ Whereat the young baggage hangs her head and says nothing at all, so the other, taking her for a sluggard, hauls her half out of bed, and bids her not be lazy, but get up and dress. Well, Dorothy happened to have one or two bruises and marks about her shoulders, and this impudent hussy, as soon as she catches sight o’ them, yells out and hustles her back into her blanket, and bounces into the room where I was, like a young tigress. Says she, ‘You’ve been beating your daughter, you old knave! I’ve had her out o’ bed and seen the scars, and she can’t stand; ‘and with that she tells me all that’s been going on betwixt her and Dorothy in the next chamber, as I’ve told you, and threatens me with a cudgeling – me – in my own house, Nicholas! Then off she goes again out of the place, ranting and raging all manner of ungodliness, and leaves me in peace, as I thought. But that very evening as I crossed the porch, beshrew me, Nicholas, if a whole herd of young vixens and work-shop ‘prentices didn’t f all on me, and this girl at the head o’ the mob, shouting and egging the others on to assault me, Nicholas! How is a man to keep any just authority over his children, if such outrages are to be permitted? But, thank the Lord, I am not like Eli; I never failed in my duty of correction towards Dorothy! Ah, my dear friend, that was indeed a. comforting reflection to me in the midst of the grievous pain I endured all that night, for I could get no sleep for the wounds and the sores they had given me. Next day I went round to the neighbours, – as well as I could walk, Nicholas, which was but poorly, – and complained how their sons and their daughters had

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behaved, and they, for all answer, Nicholas, told me to my face they were sorry I was hurt, but they hoped I would keep my hands off their Dorothy in future!

            “Nicholas! Nicholas! it’s a bad world, and in the midst of so much wickedness it ought to be a cause o’ deep gratitude to you and me that we are among the remnant o’ the elect! When I look on that minister of Beelzebub, for instance, our young baron’s priest, and think, ‘Thou, O man of sin, art destined by God to eternal torment, ‘with what intense thankfulness I fed myself able to conclude, ‘But I, by the grace of the same God, am assured of obtaining heaven!’ ”

            Herewith old Pratt drew himself together and fell back in his chair with the face and manner of an ecstatic martyr. But there was in all this long rigmarole of his, so strong an element of entertainment, and the speaker’s air and countenance were so savoury to Marvel’s intellectual palate, that, in spite of the bitterness and disgust at his heart, the young noble could scarcely conceal his mirth.

            “Thou speakest truly, neighbour,” said he, constraining himself to reply seriously, and putting on an air of puritanic piety; “for my part, I own, and may God forgive me if I err, that it a fiord s me considerable gratification to reflect on the reckoning that awaits some people for their ill-deeds! Yet I am far from wishing that even they should be consigned to eternal punishment! But now about this affair of Dorothy, and your twenty pounds.”

            “Ay, ay,” quoth the weaver, more briskly; “about my twenty pounds!” And his gray eyes twinkled with greed, beneath their steep overhanging brows.

            “Thou seest, Nicholas, it is only fair and just that if I have had the care and the upbringing of thy wife, and all the labour of insisting on the match between you, and o’ breaking her into it, which isn’t done yet mind ‘ee, Nicholas, – besides the trouble and the dole she hath wrought me otherwise, whereof I have told thee; it is, I say, but fair and just that I should have some reckoning for my pains. And besides, sith matters are settled between us now, and we are old friends, Nicholas, – old friends, – I will tell ‘ee a piece of a secret, man, wherewith to stuff thy wedding pillow. But do as thou’lt list about telling it to thy wife, for I’ve always kept it away from her for my part, lest if she knew it, she should be more undutiful and forward than ever. And she’s wild and headstrong enow without it.”

            He paused and looked dubiously towards the door of his daughter’s chamber, and then back again to the anxious face of the pretending lodge-keeper, and cleared his throat again to make way for the news.

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            Four tankards of ale, and the anticipation of twenty pounds, had evidently opened the old man’s heart, or what-ever apology for that particular organ he may have possessed. At all events, Marvel was in luck.

            “I shouldn’t tell ’ee, mind, Nicholas,” he began, confidentially, “if I didn’t want to shew thee that I deserve some credit for the care I have taken of a wench who has no really true claim on me, and who, mark me friend, can never have any sort o’ claim on me after she is married, for she’ll be even less to me then than she is now. I want to shew thee, too, since ‘tis all settled between us, – signed and sealed, Nicholas, and the bond in my vest pocket, – that thou must not expect me to be looking after, nor maintaining, thy wife at my expense in any wise. When she leaves this house for thine, friend Nicholas, I wash my hands of her, you mark me; I wash my hands of her altogether. That’s understood between us, Nicholas; for, to make a short story of it, man, Dorothy is not my daughter, but my niece. Philip Pratt, her father, was my only brother, and he used to live in this house some twenty years ago as a bachelor, till he met by chance with a papistical milk-maid from another county, who came to Rowan on a visit to a friend. So they got married, Philip and the milk-maid, and went off together to live at her place, and she died about a year after this Dorothy was born; and my brother died the next year, for grief of her loss, as the people said. And just before he died, Nicholas, he sent for me, as I was his only relative, and his wife’s friends were all foreigners; and says he, ‘Humphrey, I’m going- after my Marie, ‘that was the woman’s name, ‘and you’re the only creature left in the world to take care o’ the little one. So I leave her to you, and I want her brought up in my faith, and in her mother’s, which is the faith of the Catholic Church of England, brother Humphrey, ‘says he. ‘Charge her by God’s love, when she comes to an age to wed, that she take for her husband none other than a man of her father’s creed, that she be not unequally yoked, and so come into perplexity and sorrow. And now quoth he, ‘take her back with you when I am dead to my old house at Rowan, for I bought it with my money, and I leave it to you and to her, and all that is within it. Only, by the brotherhood between us, be sure you teach my Dorothy to be a Churchwoman.’

            “And with that you see, Nicholas, he died; and when I’d seen about the burial I came straight away here with the baby, and none o’ the villagers knew but that she was my own child, for they’d never set eyes on me nor on her before. But as to bringing Dorothy up to Catholic ways and priest-craft, I wasn’t going to lend myself to suchlike ungodliness,

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so I taught her the Lord’s Word, and held my tongue about her father and mother.

            “So thou seest, Nicholas, that my patience and forbearance towards the wench ought in good sooth to be well repaid, for she hath been nought but a trouble to me all her life; and the money Philip left for her upbringing was not overmuch, seeing how poor I am, – how poor I am, Nicholas. Many a man in my place would have turned such a disobedient unchristian girl out o’ doors, instead of fostering and housing and spending for her as I ha’ done. But there’s an end of it now, Nicholas, – you mind me, – an end of it, I’ll have no more to do with her!”

            With this old Pratt made an end of his confessions, sublimely unconscious that they had in the least degree criminated him in the eyes of his companion. As for Marvel, his joy and triumph knew no bounds. For now Dorothy’s way was open and clear before her, her one difficulty was fully removed, and she might without any breach of filial discipline forego the religion of Humphrey Pratt! Nay more, for the commands of her dead father still waited her obedience, and Dorothy’s human duty was become one with the call of the Church!

            Silently there in the little cottage parlour, as he sat in his strange disguise opposite the old miser, Marvel gave thanks in his heart to God, who had brought so great good out of so much evil.

            From without, the ding-dong of the bell in the church tower, chiming the hour of ten, came in through the closed lattice in deep musical tones that sounded in the ears of the young lord as sweetly as though they rang overhead in heaven. Marvel rose to his feet.

            “Farewell, gossip,” said he, and saying it, his voice shook a little under its assumed twang; “I must get home now, for it grows late.”

            “Thou wilt surely come tomorrow night, Nicholas, after the wench is gone to bed, mind, and bring me those twenty pounds which are my due? Thou wilt not fail, Nicholas; I have thy bond for the amount, remember.”

            “Never fear, man,” answered Marvel, “my share in the matter shall be fully discharged. I will surely come hither tomorrow and pay out my reckoning with thee on Dorothy’s account, surely as I am a man alive tonight, and a Christian gentleman!”

            “How sayest thou, Nicholas, – a gentleman? Body o’ me, but this is rare news, and smacks withal of the speech which the ungodly use one to another!”

            Marvel flushed to the roots of his wig, for he feared he had betrayed himself through the earnestness of his protestations.

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            “Beshrew me,” cried he, “I ask pardon mine host, but that ale of thine methinks is potent, and the word slipped out unawares. I have heard it up at the Court among the baron’s friends, and I suppose it got between my teeth that way and stuck there. But now ’tis fallen out, thou needest not fear to hear it again!”

            Old Pratt laughed.

            “I see, friend Nicholas,” said he, “ ‘evil Communications corrupt good manners!’ Is’t not so? But beware of these priest-ridden swearers and drinkers, for they are given over as brands for the burning. Ah, what a world of iniquity it is, and how comfortable should we be, as I said before, to know I’ve are numbered with the elect! Good-night, neighbour! Tomorrow evening after nine, remember!”

            “Good-night,” said Marvel, “I’ll remember! And marry,” he continued, as he gathered his mantle about him and strode up the road alone; “I’ll keep my promise honestly, and pay my lawing with you tomorrow, to the very last mite! And a noble lawing it shall be, too, as you shall find to your cost, old Pharisee and hypocrite that you are, Humphrey Pratt!”

CHAPTER VIII

DOROTHY STANDS AT BAY, AND

AFFAIRS COME TO A CRISIS GENERALLY

            MARVEL’S plan for Dorothy’s rescue had not been put into execution an hour too soon. May-day night had been fixed upon by Humphrey Pratt and his supposed daughter’s worthy admirer for the final settlement of their villainous compact, and the completion of the bargain between them. Hence, therefore, Nicholas Webb’s ill-humour when his master sent him that evening to Shrewsbury, and thus arrested the progress of the transaction. And not only that, but by the hurry which Marvel affected to be necessary for the delivery of his message, Nicholas lost all opportunity of excusing his absence to old Pratt, and consequently the latter, not knowing what had passed at the Court, expected the bridegroom elect the very night on which his counterfeit presented himself.

            But little Dorothy’s heart was heavy enough that May-day night, for she had not recognised Marvel under his clever disguise, and had seen only the features and the garb of Nicholas Webb. Perhaps if she had scanned her father’s guest more closely, she might have detected his real personality, but the great dislike and loathing she felt for the man whom she believed him to be, forbade her eyes to rest upon his face for a single moment.

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            So she passed all that night in broken sleep and hideous dreams, waking with every watch to weep over her helplessness and grief, and to pray that even yet Marvel might be able to save her.

            And when at last the morning broke, and the sun began his day’s journey along the heavens, poor Dorothy rose from her bed, pale and cold and unrefreshed, and crawled out to her work with so slow a step and so sad a face, that all the neighbours wondered and speculated about her.

            “What think you,” said one old crone, leaning out of her open window, to her gossip next door, who stood broom in hand upon the doorstep as Dorothy passed: “what think you of our Dorothy? She’s got something on her mind I take it, for ‘tis now the third day she hath been moped and sickly like this. Didst mark how she scarce looked up at me as she went by? – and she mostly stays awhile to talk.”

            “Ay, indeed,” returned the other, “ ‘tis certain there’s somewhat amiss with the wench. Why she used to be the life o’the village!”

            “And yesterday was May-day,” chimed in a young girl, who was on her way with two pails to her milking, and who had paused to join in the dialogue: “and all of us were merrymaking, but Dorothy sat at home the whole day long over her spindle! And one of the young men who passed by Master Pratt’s cottage, swears he saw her weeping while she sat at the window and span.”

            “Who’s this you’re talking of, gossips?” interposed a fourth voice, just over the shoulder of the milkmaid. The speaker was a carpenter bound for his work-shop, with his bag of tools slung over his shoulder, and little, keen, black, inquisitive eyes that peered about him like rolling beads.

            “Mercy on me, cousin John!” cried the girl with the milk-pails, “how you frightened me! Why we’re talking of Dorothy Pratt, of course; hav’n’t you seen how altered she is ‘these three days past? So white and sad and silent?”

            “Well now, I tell ye what it is,” quoth the carpenter slowly, concentrating the gaze of his beady eyes with impressive awfulness on the face of the old woman at the window: “it’s my belief, Mistress Margery, that our Dorothy is bewitched. That’s it, depend on’t.”

            “Bewitched!” screamed the three females in shrill chorus, “Lord preserve us! But you’re in the right, neighbour! Alice Forbes is at the bottom of this new piece of mischief!”

            Here a fifth villager, by trade a blacksmith, and a great authority in the place, besides being a popular preacher at the tavern, joined the group and the conversation, and then another and another, till there was quite a large assemblage

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about Mistress Margery’s window, and the hum and buzz of the mingled voices could be heard all down the street. Of course everybody endorsed the sage opinion of the carpenter, for in those days people loved to believe in things that they could neither explain nor understand, and were delighted to have some pretext for discussing so mysterious and appalling a theme as witchcraft.

            So the blacksmith made a long oration on the subject, which edified and instructed all his hearers exceedingly, and which ended by impressing, upon them the exigency and importance of the Mosaical command, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.-’ - Nothing, therefore, could be clearer, as the preacher made manifest, than the two facts that old Alice Forbes had laid Dorothy under enchantment, and that it behoved the Rowanites, as good Christians, to rise like one man and burn the cottage on the gorse-common to the ground, with all its contents.

            “It is time she should die, indeed,” cried they; “for how can she have lived all these ten months, unless Satan has supported her?”

            And again: “Let us be cowards no longer; Satan dare not face a hundred pious men! We will go this evening and take vengeance on him and on this devil’s hag for bewitching our Dorothy!”

            So they fermented and worked themselves round into a mighty state of righteous indignation at the supposititious crime, and only separated at last to go and stir up others also in the same cause, and to spread from house to house the rare tidings that Dorothy Pratt was bewitched, and that Gorse Moor Cottage was to be set on fire before nightfall.

            And in some such way as this, conclusions are often drawn and “justice” is often done among men.

            Seven o’clock came, and old Humphrey went out as usual to the tavern, to hear Master Nipper pray, and another eminent saint preach, and to drink two pots of ale after the prayers and the preaching, with the divines and the elect congregation generally.

            And Dorothy, – poor little sad-hearted Dorothy, – slipped on her hood and cloak, took her basket of provisions, and s allied Out on her errand to Dame Alice.

            But, before she had gone two yard s on her way, a rough voice suddenly saluted her, and a rough hand from behind grasped her on either shoulder.

            “How now, pretty mistress? Whither goest thou, and what hast thou there beneath thy mantle?”

            It was Nicholas Webb, – the real Nicholas this time, and not the false coin!

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            But Dorothy stood still, speechless and confused. It was the first time she had ever been questioned on the purport of her evening expeditions, save by Marvel, and she knew not how to reply. What could Nicholas be doing there at such a time, – lie who always went to hear Master Nipper discourse? She asked him.

            “I came after thy father, pretty one,” he answered. “I was in hopes to have been in time to accompany him to the assembly, but I find he is already gone and the room empty. And thou, my angel, my treasure, – whither art thou bound?”

            Dorothy’s face glowed ‘and reddened with vexation and dismay. What should she say to him, and why and he persecute her” so, and where, – O where was Marvel, to help her out of her misfortunes as he had promised to do?

            So she held her peace, till Nicholas grew angry and tore aside the cloak from her grasp in a passion. And behold the basket and its cover of white cloth, and beneath it two loaves of Dorothy’s baking, and Marvel’s soup, and the butter and the vine.

            “Why, what’s all this?” he shouted. “Dost thou gad about hawking victuals, then, Dorothy; and cloth thy father know of thine errand tonight?”

            But Dorothy drew the cloth and the mantle again over her basket, and would have passed him by without an answer; only he caught her arm ruddy and held her so that she could not stir.

            “Let me go, Master Webb,” said she, with an air and voice of quiet dignity which seemed her own natural prerogative, and not the mere assumed trick of an injured woman. “You have no right to question me in this manner. Unhand me, if you please, sir.”

            But the Puritan lover did not understand courtesy. He laughed a short sharp laugh like the broken ring of false metal, and griped Dorothy’s arm the tighter.

            “No right, forsooth, my angel? Sayest thou so? Prithee tell me, then, who hath a right to question thee if not I, – I, thy husband?”

            “Not my husband yet,” answered Dorothy, determinedly; “and God forbid you ever be! If you make me wife of yours, Master Webb, it must be by force, for my voice shall never promise love and loyalty to the like of you! I have told you this twenty times, and I told it to father in your hearing last night, and now I tell it you again, that if perchance there be some grain of wisdom or of Christian kindness left in your heart, you may even now see well to withdraw from such hopeless courtship as yours!”

            She was roused at last, this little gentle Dorothy, and

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something akin to indignation burned in her throat and glowed in her brown eyes as Nicholas dropped his hand from her shoulder, and she turned about and faced him.

            “Heyday!” cried he, “my certie, these are high words, mistress! Perhaps thou mayest learn another tune before tomorrow! Thy father, worthy Master Pratt, will have somewhat to say to thee tonight on this score, and I shall have my way with thee yet, – vixen and shrew though thou art! But for the nonce, thou shalt not stir a step without me, for I warrant thou hast some mischief in thine head now. Whither goest thou, Dorothy, with that basket?”

            And again he caught her by the wrist, and glared in her face with a hideous leer that made her heart leap in her bosom for terror and loathing.

            “Whither I go,” she said., boldly, “is not for you to know, nor shall I tell you, though you stand here and hold my wrist all night. So you may get on your own way at once and leave me alone, or if not I will wait in this place till you grow tired of keeping me and be pleased to depart. But my errand this evening is not yours, and I do not desire your company.”

            There came over the face of Nicholas Webb a black, horrible scowl, and his eyes grew bright like a cat’s, with malignant passion.

            “If thou wilt not go with me,” he hissed, in a lower, huskier voice, – Nicholas never spoke up when he was angry, – “thou shalt not go at all, mistress! I have that to do tonight with thy father which perhaps may render thee more tractable in future. For the present, it is enough that thou go home with me.” And he chinked the twenty pounds in his pouch, and grinned the grin of a triumphant fiend, as he dragged Dorothy back into the weaver’s cottage.

            There she sat d own in the window-seat, and looked at him out of the clear depths of her indignant eyes, as she had never looked at him before; but she spoke no word, nor moved her steadfast lips. And Nicholas, who could not abide much watching, paced up and d own the room uneasily, till the sense of her quiet gaze grew intolerable to him.

            “Dorothy,” said he, wheeling about suddenly, and confronting her, “if ’ee dost think to bully my purpose out o’ me by thy staring, I tell thee thou’rt out of thy reckoning, I’ll not stay here to be insulted by any woman alive, much less by thee, mistress mine! If I can’t bring thee to thy right mind alone, be sure Master Pratt and I will do it together, for I’ll away to the tavern this moment, and f et c h him hither. And as for that basket, – I shall take it with me, that I may shew him and the rest of the worthy neighbours there, how ill Mistress Dorothy spends her time when

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they are engaged in prayer and pious discourse. Perchance some one of them may be better able than I to guess what pretty business is this o’ thine at night, and to what end so much deceit and iniquity are directed!”

            So he pounced upon her basket as a hawk swoops on his prey, and bore it off, soup, wine, loaves and all, bolting the door behind him to make his captive safe, and muttering under his breath like a distant storm of thunder.

            Dorothy heard his footsteps on the threshold of the house and then outside the window, but she neither lifted her head to see him pass, nor moved the open outstretched hand from which he had taken the basket. So she sat awhile absorbed in her new bitterness, and dimly wondering what misfortune would happen next, and how that miserable day would end for her. Then the thought of Marvel came into her mind, and she leant her head against the window-frame, and the tears fell so fast and thickly down her cheeks, that all her indignation and all her dignity were quite washed away in a minute, and nothing was left in her heart and in her eyes but aching sorrow, and weariness, and forlorn hope. For Nicholas had latched the chamber door without, so that she could not escape, but must sit where she was like a little caged bird, until he and her father should come to rail at her again, and to expound that fresh wretchedness at which they had both already hinted, and which she knew was in store for her that very night.

            By-and-by it grew dusk, and Dorothy could see the lights twinkling here and there in the windows of the houses all along the village street. Overhead the sky was dark and stormy, and there was no moon to be seen, only now and then a. star looked out from behind the sweeping masses of cloud, and smiled encouragement at her with its bright clear eye.

            And Dorothy took heart again as she watched the stars, and she thought that if the steadfast lustre of their faces could not be dimmed nor changed by the shadows about them, why should she be dismayed because for a little while her life was clouded and dark? So she threw open the lattice and leaned her chin on her two palms, and looked hopefully upwards to the God beyond the stars, till there came into her mind the words of an old hymn which was sung first long ago by one in great tribulation, and which has been the consolation of many a burdened soul since then.

            And she said the words aloud to herself, lingering over them reverently and trustfully, for she knew they were the words of a singer who had learnt his songs of God Himself.

            “Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within me! Hope thou in God, for I will yet give

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Him thanks, who is the help of my countenance, and my God!”

            Whose light, brisk footstep was this, coming down the sounding street towards her, with such even, sturdy tread?

            Whose shadow was this on the window-sill outside? Who was this that called to her suddenly as he stopped in front of the open casement, – “Dorothy, Dorothy! What all alone and crying?”

            Then she leapt up in mingled joy and grief and welcomed him, and said, “Come round quickly, my lord, and open the door, for Master Nicholas has been here and is gone again, and has put up the latch without, and I cannot unfasten it!”

            So the next minute the bolt flew back and Dorothy’s prison-door opened, and in strode Marvel Maxwell, no longer disguised, but in full royalist costume, plumed and curled, and sword girt, indignant and fierce as a wild bull at the sight of scarlet.

            “Where is Master Pratt?” he bellowed, “I’m come here to pay him the reckoning I promised! Isn’t he home from his tavern yet? – the coward, the miser, the whining, drivelling, paltry, hypocritical old knave!”

            Poor Dorothy rose from her place astonished, and stared at him with wide alarmed eyes and round mouth, for she had never heard Marvel declaim in this fashion before, and she was terribly scared at such an outburst. And Marvel caught sight of her face, and stopped short in his passion to laugh.

            “What, did I frighten you, Dorothy? Well, perhaps I was a little hasty, but if you only knew; – Never mind,” and he checked himself, “you must know some day, so it doesn’t matter now. But don’t be dismayed, little woman, I’ve not been to hear Master Nipper, so you may be sure ale has nothing to do with my vehemence! I suppose your – your father has not come home yet?”

            Then Dorothy told him all that had befallen that evening, and the evening before, and how she had refused to kiss Master Webb when her father had bidden her, and how he had been very angry with her for her disobedience, and had told her that resistance was of no use, for he was resolved she should marry that hateful man. But Dorothy said nothing about the blow Master Pratt had given her, though her bosom was black and sore with the bruise.

            Then she went on and told Marvel how Nicholas had met her that night, and what she had said to him, and how he had gone off in a rage to fetch her father, and had taken her basket with him; and she cried, “Oh what will poor Dame Alice do this evening without me, and without any-thing to eat? For there was not enough left last night at

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her supper to last out all today! And I promised I would come!”

            Marvel stood a moment before her, grinding his teeth in indignant silence, and gazing into the road with angry eyes, as though he were looking out for those two knaves. Then he turned again to Dorothy, and said very gently and slowly, – “Dorothy, Alice Forbes shall not go fasting tonight because Nicholas has carried away your basket and locked you up. I will go back to Rowan Court and get you some food to take her, but I dare not leave you here alone meantime, lest he and Master Pratt should come upon you while I am gone. Neither can I take you with me along the streets, for the townsfolk would see us walking together, and take note of it perchance, to speak ill of you and of me, Dorothy; for it is late now, and I have never yet been through the village with you even by day. Have you courage enough to brave the spectres in Yew-lane by yourself this dark night, and meet me at the widow’s cottage? I will be sure to be there at least as soon as you, for I can run all the way, and I rim fast too.”

            So they settled it between them, and Marvel went up the street again towards the Court-house, to fetch a supper for old mother Forbes; and Dorothy went another way to the entrance of the Ghost-walk.

            Now Marvel was a merry boy for all his indignant spirit, and when he came to the park gates and looked in at the lodge-keeper’s door, behold Nicholas Webb’s supper lay ready spread for him on the table, – ale and rye cake, and a goodly trencher full of dainties.

            And a thought came into Marvel’s head, and he said to himself; “Faith, why should I go any further for a meal, when so rare a one stands ready before my very nose? I shall save time by taking this, and do a piece of benevolence on Master Webb’s account as well. St. George! but the rogue shall be charitable for once, even against his will!” So Marvel stepped into the lodge parlour laughing; and when he had found Master Webb’s market-basket he stowed away inside it the ale-can and the comestibles, and lei t the table as bare and barren as its owners conceptions of Christianity. Then he slung his treasures over his arm, and ran off at the top of his speed in the direction of Gorse Common.

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CHAPTER IX

SHEWING HOW THE VILLAGERS “ROSE LIKE ONE MAN”

            MASTER HUMPHREY PRATT and Master Nicholas Webb sat together in a small parlour at the Rowan Inn, deeply engaged in some apparently controversial argument.

            Between them was a square deal table, and thereon two pewter tankards, half-emptied. Dorothy’s basket lay at old Pratt’s feet, and Dorothy was the theme which had started the present discussion, but in the turn it had taken, the basket itself and its contents were quite forgotten.

            And an animated discussion it was, to judge from the loud tones, round eyes, and lifted brows of the old weaver and his intending nephew. The truth was that Nicholas Webb had just proved his all bi with regard to the events of the previous evening, to which, very naturally, old Pratt had referred almost immediately they met. So both men were in a very pretty state of confusion and perplexity. Had Marvel been present to overhear the colloquy, he would doubtless have enjoyed it exceedingly, for the superstitious and gloomy proclivities of these two worthies led them, as perhaps the young baron anticipated, to ascribe the weaver’s experiences of May-day night to diabolic agency.

            “I tell thee, Nicholas,” cried the old man, bringing down his fist with an impressive thud on the hard deal table before him, – “the man was as like thee as thine image in a mirror! He wore thy dress, he spoke in thy voice, he used thy gestures, – how could I tell he was not thyself? As the Lord liveth, Nicholas, hadst thou been there in the flesh thou wouldst scarce have believed in thine own substance! Did Dorothy say nothing to thee about it?”

            “I mind me now,” answered Nicholas, greatly puzzled, “that she did indeed use certain words this evening which implied my having been present during some converse she had with thee last night, but it escaped my thoughts to inquire what she meant. This is an awful business, neighbour, – an appalling, a terrible, an unearthly business!” And he shook his cropped head slowly from side to side with each adjective, and gazed fixedly at the horrified grey-beard opposite. Humphrey shook his head also, and his hand trembled as he lifted the tankard beside him, and drained it dry in silence. Nicholas followed his example, and then. for a minute both men sat and stared at one another without speaking, each occupied in his own reflections. Any other matter than precisely the one in question, they would, by

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mutual consent, have referred to the wiser judgment of Master Nipper, but they both felt the delicate position they held respectively in the present affair, with regard to the pecuniary nature of the agreement between them, and were loth, of course, to publish their knavery even to their own shepherd. So they sat still, each in his chair, staring and meditating, but each unable to arrive at any rational solution of the mystery which bewildered them. Old Pratt was the first to announce the unsuccessful result of his cogitations.

            “It’s beyond me altogether, Nicholas,” said he; “The best we can do is to marry the girl to thee off-hand, and take no note of last night’s doings at all, Thou’st brought the money thou ‘sayest?”

            “Ye-es,” stammered the lover, turning paler than before, – “I’ve brought the money, sure enow; but ye know, friend, ‘tis an awkward thing to take a wife who’s pledged to – to – Satan, ye know!”

            He leaned across the table when he came to the last words, and delivered them straight into his companion’s ear in a hissing, ghastly whisper. Old Pratt recoiled as from a sudden blow, and fixed upon the lodge-keeper’s face a pair of the most dismayed and frightened eyes that ever looked out of mortal head.

            “By the word of truth, Nicholas Webb, thou hast surely hit the mark! Wretched man that I am, I have promised my Dorothy, – your Dorothy, Nicholas, – promised her, body and soul, to the Evil One himself! Oh, oh, oh! this is a machination of the gorse witch, I tell ’ee! What is to be done, – what is to be done!”

            But Nicholas held up his hand suddenly, and turned in his chair towards the closed door behind him.

            “Hush,” whispered he, “listen, neighbour, – what’s that?”

            There arose as he spoke a confused din as of many voices, a growing tumult, coming down the road nearer and nearer.

            Humphrey sprang from his seat in a frenzy of terror, and smote his hands together above his grey head.

            “I know, I know!” cried he. “Oh, Nicholas, fool that I am! I forgot it until now! He said he would come tonight to pay me his debt, and to claim his pledge of me! I – I pressed him to come, Nicholas; I made him promise lie would not fail! How could I tell who it was I was inviting? That’s him, – that’s them, coming now, Nicholas! It’s fiends, I tell ‘ee, FIENDS!!”

            The words rang through the chamber with a dismal shriek, that was echoed back from the long passage outside, mingled with the noise of cries and hooting and the quick tramp of approaching footsteps. Old Pratt flung himself forward into the outstretched arms of his appalled companion, who had

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risen from his seat, and held on to him like a shipwrecked man clinging to a timber-raft. But that moment the door flew open, and there rushed tumultuously into the little parlour, not a company of fiends, but of human-visaged Rowanites, armed with sticks, bludgeons, and hedge-stakes, and all yelling and whooping together in noisy chorus.

            “Master Pratt! Master Pratt! we want you, – come with us! They told us you were here, so we came on to fetch you! Come quickly, – here’s Dorothy kidnapped, and we’re going to burn the old witch and her house tonight!”

            Humphrey dropped his hands from Nicholas, and stood aghast.

            “Why, neighbour,” gasped he, catching the foremost of the rabble by his leathern jerkin, “what’s all this? Dorothy kidnapped, did they say?”

            “Aye, aye, neighbour! kidnapped in good sooth,” returned the others, gazing back at him, “for it’s not a quarter of an hour since Mistress Holmes saw her go down Ghost-lane alone, to all appearance, but running as though Satan himself was behind her, the which he may ha’ been well enough, for what pair of mortal eyes can discern a spirit? And, moreover, Mistress Holmes affirmed, that as she ran she looked behind her ever and anon, like one who is pursued, and these for dread of an enemy.”

            “It’s true, it’s all true,” roared the weaver, wringing his hands in an agony of horror. “Didn’t I tell ‘ee so, Nicholas? It’s the Evil One that’s been to fetch her while Fm away, and he’s driven her off” to Gorse Cottage, sure enow! Or, maybe, she’s been drawn there by the witch’s spells! It all comes o’ that cursed business last night! We shan’t none of us set eyes on Dorothy again, Nicholas! Satan has redeemed his pledge, and she’s gone for ever, body and soul!”

            So Humphrey Pratt, who had beaten and abused and mal-treated his little niece all her life, lamented now over her supposed abduction from him and from salvation! But the case is not an uncommon one.

            Nicholas, with greater presence of mind than the miser, recalled him to the exercise of the few senses he possessed, fearful, perhaps, lest the old man in the paroxysm of his horror should betray more than would be expedient for the gossips to hear.

            “Come, come, neighbour Pratt,” cried he, “ ’tis no sort o’ use to stand still and wring your hands in this fashion! Let’s be off with these good people at once, and see if some-thing can’t be done in the matter. Maybe Satan ‘Il take a compromise, or better still, take fright, and leave Dorothy alone! There’s enough of us, at all events, to light a crew of evil spirits; and ‘tis clear enough too, from what neighbour

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Holmes saw, that Dorothy’s been driven down Ghost-lane-to the Witches’ Moor; so we may be in time yet before Satan carries her off! We’re not going to be outdone by a parcel of witches and fiends, are we neighbours?”

            And he drew himself up bravely, and glared defiance of all Pandemonium, in the full glow of that courage which the consciousness of supporting numbers inspires in the breasts of certain human creatures. For only a few minutes since, before the arrival of the crowd, this same heroic Nicholas had been as arrant a coward as his worthy colleague, the weaver. But now his appeal was received with loud plaudits, and the whole assembly, headed by Master Grymes, the prophetical blacksmith and prayer-maker-in-ordinary to the village, rushed pell-mell out of the tavern and up the road toward Yew Walk.

            Never before had that solitary lane been filled with such tumult and confusion. Certainly the ghosts and witches who were commonly reported to infest it at nights, and to hold all manner of mad orgies and revels up and down it, would have been me re lambs at play to this howling rabble of the human species! But not a sign of witch or ghost was to be found that night, though many a Rowanites seer swore to the glint of white garments and gleaming eyes by the wayside, as the rustic army pressed on toward the common. Torches, shovels, and birch-brooms swayed to and fro above the heads of the mob, and yells and cries of excited rage rent the night air and awoke the birds on the rusting yew-branches over head. There was no moon, and the clouds which Dorothy had remarked from her lattice an hour ago, now filled the whole sky and threatened storm and hurricane from every quarter. And presently the thunder broke with a deep, broad, ominous growl in the south, and rolled up the heaven and down again, and died away on a blast of wind.

            They all heard it above the sharp clatter of their own voices, for thunder at night is too distinct and unmistakeable to be confused with any other sound. And one cried, “Let us press forward, neighbours! there is a storm in the air!”

            And another, “Back, back! the witches are abroad!”

            But their prophet, the man of iron, sturdy Master Grymes, shouted out, “Forward! before the Evil One carries off his prey! We may be in time yet, for that is the noise of his chariot-wheels approaching, the chariot of the Prince of the Power of the Air!”

            Then they clashed on, and the rising blast swept along with them, and puffed fiercely away at the flames of the torches, as though it would fain have blown them out, and served old widow Forbes a good turn. But it could not, so it rose up into the trees, and moaned and sobbed in indignation

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and disappointment among the branches, and then higher still, out and up and back into the dark open sky.

            And the villagers turned the comer of the lane and poured themselves tumultuously upon the bleak gorse moor, and behold, before them, the little hovel they had come to destroy, and the mysterious light gleaming forth from its one unshuttered window!

CHAPTER X

BESIEGERS AND BESIEGED

            MARVEL and Dorothy were both within, for Marvel had heard the hubbub of the crowd coming up the lane some minutes before, and had run in from his customary reconnoitring post to warn the little damsel. But when the noise drew nearer, and they peeped out together from the window and descried the flare of the lights and the numbers of the mob, Marvel bade Dorothy bar up the door and keep within; “for,” said he, “they are too many and too noisy to hear reason yet, – we must stand at bay for a while. I might save you by taking you out to meet them, but I could not save poor dame Forbes, and we must not think of leaving her alone to face these savages, – it would be certain murder. They would kill her outright or frighten her to death in no time, for there ca n be little doubt on what sort of errand they are come!”

            And he pointed with one hand to the torches waving to and fro in the darkness, and with the other drew Dorothy closer towards him.

            “Dear Dorothy,” he whispered, “be brave and stand firm by me; we must not desert this poor old woman, whom God has given into our charge tonight.”

            Then the crimson blood rose quickly to the little Puritan’s forehead, and she bent her face down. low to hide it; for this was the first time Marvel had called her “Dear Dorothy,” and the words were somehow wondrously sweet and strange to her ears.

            But the noise outside grew nearer and louder as he spoke, and two distinct shouts arose above the general din, clearer and fiercer than all the rest: “Burn the house! burn it down to the ground!” “To the horse-pond with the witch!”

            And Dorothy turned from Marvel to poor Alice, who was almost bed-ridden now, and very deaf and feeble and helpless.

            “Dorothy, Dorothy,” wailed the palsied old voice from

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the little couch in the corner, “what is all that noise, my darling?”

            “Nothing, mother,” said Dorothy, “nothing to be frightened at. Lie back again and drink this milk I have warmed for you. And see, here is some nice new bread and a little stew, which has been just cooked at our own fire, – only taste how soft and good it is!”

            So she sat down by the old woman, and coaxed and soothed and persuaded her, while the thunder muttered and rolled without, and the shouts grew fiercer and the smell and heat of the burning torches filled the tiny cottage from end to end. Some one flung a stone through the window. It fell at Dorothy’s feet harmlessly: enough, but the old dame saw it, and she pushed away the cup which the little nurse held to her lips, and clung round her neck in terror.

            “Dorothy, darling,” she cried, “Oh what is it all about? They are come to kill me, I know; – don’t let them kill me, Dorothy!”

            “There’s no need to be frightened, mother,” answered Marvel, from his place at the doorway, “nobody shall hurt you. Eat your supper, and be sure things will be all right presently. You needn’t be afraid, indeed.”

            “God bless you for a true, good gentleman!” cried Alice. “You and Dorothy are my ministering angels, and without you I should have surely died long ago! O Lord, I pray Thee, let Thy blessing be upon these two for ever!”

            There stole up the doorway without a red quivering blaze, and the dry old boards crackled and creaked like living things in pain. Then there came a great blow, as from a hammer, and another, and a crash; and the door rocked and hung swaying to and fro. Then a heavy iron crowbar struck it once more, and it fell inwards in a cloud of smoke and dust and flame.

            With a loud yell of triumph the” villagers rushed forward, armed tooth-and-nail for the battle with their diabolical enemies; but they stopped short as the foremost set foot on the fallen door, and stood gaping in each other’s faces.

            For within the little chamber, side by side, stood Marvel and Dorothy, close to the bed of the sick old woman, who was now sitting up against her pillows, and grasping the little maid’s outstretched hands in piteous alarm and bewilderment.

            Here indeed were Dorothy and the witch, but where was Satan?

            So there was a murmur among the crowd in the doorway, and some whispered, “ ’Tis the baron, we must go back;”

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and others, “We shall have to pay for this night’s work;” but the greater part stood still with mazed faces, and stared blankly upon the rest.

            But Marvel did not let them wait long I n that uneasy plight, for he was indignant enough at heart, despite the comical looks of astonishment they cast one on another, and their foolish, crest-fallen faces.

            “Well, neighbours,” said he, stepping forward to meet them, “what brings you hither in this unneighbourly fashion? Is it your Christian love and your tenderness to the aged and the widowed?”

            And at that they looked more foolish still, and gaped the wider; but the boldest man among them took Nicholas Webb and Humphrey Pratt by the arm, one on either side, and led them forward, loth enough.

            “Here, your Lordship,” quoth he, “is the father of that young woman beside you, whom we came to seek, – honest Master Pratt, the weaver. And here is Master Webb, your Lordship’s lodge-keeper, to whom she is betrothed, an’t please you; so now they shall speak for themselves, for, “concluded he, under his breath, as he slunk back into the crowd, “I’ll be hanged if I’ll say any more.”

            “Well, Master Pratt,” said Marvel, fixing his clear blue eyes on the face of the unhappy grey-beard, “will you be good enough to tell me why you came here tonight?”

            “They brought me, your worship,” he stammered, “because they meant to burn down the witch’s house; and Dorothy – .she being bewitched, my lord – was drawn hither by spells; so they came, didn’t you, neighbours? to fetch me, my lord; as they’ll tell you themselves, if your worship’s grace will inquire.”

            And he began to hedge himself back again into the mob, as the first speaker had d one, but Marvel stayed him in his place with a wave of the hand.

            “Stop, if you please, Master Pratt,” said he. “Do you mean to tell me that you and your fellows really came here to burn the house over this poor old woman, sick and palsied and helpless as she is? Are you men, you creatures before me with human faces, or are you not rather fiends and goblins who have no hearts in your bosoms, nor brains in your skulls? Faith! it is the first time I ever had reason to believe this moor a haunted place, for I have been here many an evening before and found it peaceful and lonely enough. But tonight I think I have at last encountered the evil things people tell about, – the malignant devil’s crew of Gorse Common! For surely so foul a crime as that you came hither to do can never be the intent of Christian

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souls and manly hands. Answer me, Nicholas Webb, and you there Master Grymes the blacksmith, hath your friend the weaver spoken truly?”

            But there was silence, for they were all afraid and some ashamed; so Marvel asked again: – “Master Grymes, how say you? Has the weaver spoken truly!”

            Grymes saw he must say something now, so he resolved to make the best of it, lest his prophetical character should be damaged with the villagers, albeit his iron soul quaked exceedingly.

            “It’s true my lord, as he says, but indeed everybody knows Alice Forbes for a witch, and a dangerous one too, your lordship’s grace. Why how has she lived these ten months without meat and drink unless she be a witch? There is not a man among us who has had any dealings with her, but Satan hath nourished his own, and now the Lord hath delivered her into the hands of His Israel!”

            And thereon several among the crowd took heart again at their leader’s boldness, and shook their heads, and repeated the usual indisputable argument, “Aye aye! how has she lived these ten months?”

            Marvel turned to Dorothy and drew her right hand into his, but Alice still clung to the other and held it tightly and trustfully to her breast, as though her little nurse were indeed her protecting angel.

            “I will tell you how she has lived, neighbours,” said Marvel. “Nearly a year ago, when all of you turned your back upon that poor old woman, and abused and ill-treated and drove her from your streets, there was yet one little Christian among you who loved her Lord with all her heart and who kept His commandments. And for love of Him and of His poor, she had compassion on the widow for whom you had none, and she gave her earnings week by week to buy food and clothing for her, and took patiently and lovingly much reviling and slandering because she would not tell others of her good deed and of her alms. And in fair weather and in foul she came hither up Yew-lane to minister to the woman you despised, never wearying nor fainting in her charity. This she has done for ten months, and for the last three I have helped her, and this evening I let her out of the room into which Nicholas Webb had locked her, and she came here on the same good errand as before of her own will, and by force of no spell, unless it be the spell of Christian love. So now you know how Alice Forbes has lived, but I have something else to tell you tonight besides that. Humphrey Pratt, – it was I who supped at your house last night, in the guise of your worthy friend there, and it was to me and not to him that you promised to sell

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Dorothy for twenty pounds. It vas in my presence that you struck her on the bosom, because she told you she could not be the wife of Nicholas Webb. And it was to me also that you confessed your real relationship to her, and the knavish manner in which you had abused your dead brother’s trust. You are worthy no longer of that trust, for she is a treasure of pure gold, and you are base metal to the back-bone, and have done your worst to make her like you. But thank God she has better blood and truer in her veins than runs in yours, and so you failed in your intent, and would have rid yourself of her to a man she hates for a bag-full of clinking coin, Get you back again to the place whence you came eighteen years ago, for the house in which you live here is not yours, but his to whom you have broken your pledge, and whose child you have shamefully betrayed.

            “And you, Nicholas Webb, who would have bought your wife for money because you could not get her by fair means, you may put your gold by again in your closet, for if Dorothy will not take you freely and for love, I swear by my hall-dome she shall let you be.” Then Marvel looked at Dorothy, and there came a strange earnest light into his eyes, and his voice faltered as lie spoke again; “Dorothy, you told me that the only thing which kept you back from the Church, was your duty of obedience to your father, who had forbidden you any worship save his own. This Humphrey Pratt is not your father, and himself disowns all claims between you and him. Your father was his brother Philip, a good Catholic and loyal servant of the King’s, and lie left behind him an earnest charge that you also should follow in the way he went and in the way of your mother Marie. But your uncle here, broke his trust and dishonoured his faith, and brought you up instead in his own outlandish fashion, and this very night he would have sold you to be the wife of another as bad and disloyal as he. Tell me, Dorothy, will you marry this man Nicholas Webb, whom your uncle designs for your husband, and sing psalms with him in his conventicle? Or will you be my wife, Dorothy, and go to church as your father and your mother did before you?”

            MY WIFE! Ah, if there had been clamour and hubbub before among the villagers at the doorway, there was silence enough now, when those words were spoken, silence so deep and still and wonder struck, that each man might almost have heard his neighbour’s heart beat in the stillness. But little Dorothy heard the words like one in a dream, a happy, mazy, misty, golden dream. He had not asked her to be “Lady Maxwell,” nor baroness of Rowan Court, – he had only said, – “Dorothy, be my wife.”

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            And she looked up and saw the sea of astounded faces before her, and the ghastly stare of Humphrey Pratt, and the livid cat-like eyes of Nicholas. Then she turned from them all to Marvel, and laid her brown head upon his neck and said, “ ‘Where thou goest I will go, thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’ ”

            The lightning shone full on her sweet face as she spoke, and on the swaying crow-bars and axes and torches of the crowd, and the thunder burst and died away in awful reverberation. But Marvel caught her to his breast as the solemn peal rolled overhead, and kissed her before them all.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH EVERYTHING ENDS HAPPILY

            SO now my story has come to its ending, and I am very glad it has such a pleasant one, for stories that end sadly are very uncomfortable things indeed. And all I have to say yet about Marvel and Dorothy will be sweet and acceptable to you, I hope, reader mine, whoever you may be, if you have had patience to hear me throughout until now.

            For the prejudice and the bigotry that Marvel and the priest had found too strong for them, fell before Dorothy’s gentle love and patience, as all bad things must f all before the good, when the right time comes. And the villagers were ashamed of themselves when they found out how simple, and mistaken, and unjust they had been, and what bad deeds were done among them, and what a false prophet their blacksmith was. And just because the conviction of their folly struck them all alike, and altogether, it struck them deeply, for prejudice must be dealt with wholesale, if it is to be really overcome. So they gave up their tavern meetings, and their Bible-talk; and the tinkers, and cobblers, and blacksmiths preached no more unless they preached at home, for all their old disciples went to church again, like good Catholics, and heard the priest, and learnt their catechisms, and carried their babies to the font to be signed with the sign of Christ’s cross.

            But Humphrey Pratt left the village of Rowan Court, and went to live somewhere else; and Nicholas Webb went, too, after a while, for he was angry and sour-grained at losing Dorothy, and he could not abide to see the old religion back again, but liked new ways and strange doctrines

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better. And, besides that, all his old companions avoided him, out of disgust at the shameful part he had played with the banished weaver, and the very children cried out at him as he came down the street, “Dorothy Pratt for twenty pounds! Who’ll buy? who’ll buy?”

            So he said, “That since every man’s hand was against him, it would be better for him to leave the place,” and as nobody contradicted his opinion on the subject, he went; and another keeper took his lodge, and his salary, and let us hope he behaved more virtuously than Master Webb had done.

            But Marvel Maxwell himself got a better wife than most young noblemen in those days, for he married not for rank, nor for money, nor for blood, nor even for beauty, but for something far above all these, – something purer, and higher, and more blessed. For he loved Dorothy with all his heart because she was wise and good, and because of the sweetness and patience that looked out of her eyes. Well, indeed, had Philip and Marie chosen the name of their only child, for God’s gift she was to them, and God’s gift she had been to Alice Forbes, and to the villagers of Rowan Court. And God’s gift she was now to her husband, loving, and gentle, and good as St. Dorothy herself; and whenever she spoke, it was as sweet church-bells, and when she smiled, it was bright as the sunshine in May.

            As for old widow Forbes, you may be sure that she was well taken care of for the rest of her days on earth. Dorothy would not hear of her staying on still in the little dilapidated cottage of Gorse Common, but gave her instead her own house in the village, – the same that had been Philip Pratt’s, and was how become his daughter’s.

            And after Mistress Forbes died, Dorothy bequeathed it for ever as an alms to the poor, and would take no rent for it; that its tenants should be none but the aged, or the sick, or the penniless, who could get no home elsewhere. But the sign-board and the gilded shuttle were not taken down, and they hung above the porch-gable for many a long year after Dorothy’s generation had passed away, to be a memorial to those that came after, of-her patient girlhood, and of her goodness, and her Christian love.

            Mothers and sisters, standing on their doorsteps, pointed the old board out to the little children about them, and taught them to read the yellow letters upon it, and told them the story of Dorothy Pratt, and how she came to be Lady of Rowan Court. And the children were never weary of hearing the story, but would ask for it again and again, until Dorothy became to them a sort of patron saint, and old Humphrey and Nicholas stood for the modern Blue-Beard

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and Red-Riding-Hood’s were-wolf, in their repertory of nursery romance.

            But the old shuttle and the sign-board swung and beat about in the rain and storm and snow and sunshine of many seasons, and nobody mended nor repainted them, so that at last the shuttle fell altogether, and the sign-board hung by one rusty hinge. And people say you may see it there still, but all that is left of the original inscription is, –

“Ph . l . P . . tt . TU . . ver.”

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