CHAPTER XIII.

A VISIONARY.

"Wenn der Lenzerwacht, und wenn Liebesmacht Dich gefesselt hält mit Leide, Wandle nicht allein, Nachts im Mondenschein, Durch die grüne, grüne Haide." M. NATHUSIUS.

Mrs. Joyce ushered her guest up the wide staircase with due ceremony and volubility. He was aware that faces peered from half-open doors and whispered remarks went round as he came out into the hall with the landlady, and when he began to ascend the stairs in her wake, the household ventured forth and watched his progress with admiration and awe.

The maid, who carried in the sumptuous feast Mrs. Joyce provided, glanced nervously around as she deposited her dishes clattering on the table, and fled as quickly as she could, and Mrs. Joyce herself, who followed to superintend, was evidently ill at ease, and her hands trembled as she re-ordered the maid's hasty arrangements. But, in spite of her alarms, it was with considerable difficulty that Mr. Rogers cut short her scoldings and apologies, and induced her to leave him to himself.

When the good woman had at last been persuaded to depart, Mr. Rogers took a careful survey of the room, and then he softly bolted the door and drew a heavy tapestry curtain across it. Then he walked over to the great fireplace and stood at one side of it, close to the panelled wall.

"Mistress Perrient," he said, in a low but clear voice; "Miss Perrient, I pray you let me speak with you. I am John Rogers, and I promise you, on my faith as a minister of the gospel, I will betray you neither to your enemies not yet to your friends. I have come hither to pray you to let me be instrumental in your escape, and seeing that I also have often times been both fugitive and a prisoner, I pray you to trust me as a friend."

He stood and waited, and all was silent. Then he spoke again--

"Mistress Perrient, I take God to witness I am a true man. I pray you trust me and be not afraid. There is no one here but I; if you will but speak with me, no one shall be told. Your secret is indeed safe."

There was a sound of a bolt shot back, and then a panel swung slowly forward. There, in a doorway, stood Audrey Perrient, a very deplorable sight, with her tear-stained face and disordered dress.

"My poor child!" cried the minister, stepping hastily forward and taking her hand. "You are indeed in a sorry plight! Madam, it goes to my heart to see you thus! I pray you come forth and sit by the fire--the door is safely fastened. Why, you look well-nigh as white as did my wife when she lay sick in Carisbrook Castle. Before I say aught further, you must eat and drink." And he poured out a cup of wine and carried to her.

"How did you know I was here?" demanded Audrey, with a scared face, disregarding his hospitable care.

"It was but a guess; but a guess I am right thankful to have made, and that no one knows of but myself. Why, madam, you would have perished of cold and hunger had you stayed long in that hiding-place."

"Oh no," she answered, with a wan smile. "I have a great cloak, and an old man will bring me provisions as soon as 'tis dark to-night."

Mr. Rogers remembered the description Harrison had given him of Audrey Perrient's fertility of devices; but he was too wise to make any comment, and contented himself with establishing her in the great chair, and pressing all Mrs. Joyce's dainties upon her.

"But, sir," said Audrey, a faint colour creeping back into her white face; "I know not why I should let you so trouble yourself in serving me. You have doubtless travelled far and are weary enough."

"Yes, by your leave I will willingly share your dinner, Mistress Perrient. They say 'tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting, and when we have dined I hope you will let me unfold the proposals I have for your escape."

"I thank you, sir," said Audrey, drawing herself up, "I have made my own plans for my journey. I care not to join company again with strangers."

"Nay, madam, I do entreat you not to count me as a stranger, for not only am I a minister of the gospel, so that it is mine office to seek out any of Christ's flock whom I may serve and tend. And further, it is now many years that I have known your name and even exchanged letters with your learned father. And so much as five years agone, when I was snatched from my congregation and thrown into prison by the late tyrant, who did rage and devour in England, in the same chains did lie my precious friend Major-General Harrison. And as we lay in bondage and comforted our souls with savoury discourse concerning holy things, so did we also speak of worldly concerns as casting our care concerning them on Him who careth for us. And then did General Harrison tell me of his excellent friend, Sir Gyles Perrient of Hunstanton, and also of his granddaughter Mistress Audrey----"

"Oh!" interrupted Audrey, a flash of angry comprehension coming across her face. "Then it was you who told that uncivil old gentleman at Lynn of the talk of my marriage?"

"To my sorrow I did. And for that indiscretion of my tongue I do heartily ask your pardon. But, indeed, I spoke of the matter in the simplicity of my heart with Dick Harrison, nor did either of us know that brother Marshman noted what we said. But I am all the more bound to amend that evil I did ignorantly. And, therefore, have I sought you, madam, to pray you to honour me with your company on my journey to Rotterdam, for I go there, God willing, by the next ship that sails from Lynn, to meet my wife, who waits for me there with our little lads."

Audrey cast an eager look at him. "Oh!" she cried, with a wild burst of weeping, "have I one friend in the world, can I trust any one?"

"Take comfort, my child," answered the minister. "I do verily believe I have been led hither, that I should be an instrument for your deliverance. Therefore I bid you take no further thought concerning your journey, seeing I will bring you to my wife, and you shall abide with her till we hear of honest folks undertaking the New England voyage, with whom you may cross the ocean. 'Tis but a small matter, you see," he added, jestingly. "We poor ministers are so well used to fleeing from one place to another, that we take little thought how to compass our ends, and yet doth the Lord bring us in safety to the haven where we would be."

Audrey gave a sob, and then suddenly springing up, she threw herself on her knees before him.

"I do believe you have been sent direct from heaven to succour me in my extremity of body and soul," she cried.

"Nay, nay," answered the good man, raising her and placing her in her chair. "Take not the matter with such passion. I partly guess it is the precious balm of Brother Marshman that has been like to break your head, for the true wisdom of his counsel is often times lost by reason of the bitter husk in which he doth enfold it. But the fear of man worketh a snare, therefore be of good courage and, by God's help, you shall come safe to your father."

Audrey sat silent awhile, passively enjoying the relief from terror and fatigue. The physical warmth and food that had refreshed her, seemed a sort of outward sign of the comfort that flowed into her soul from the good man's simple words of encouragement. Mr. Rogers saw she was almost at an end of her strength, and drawing his bible from his pocket, he proceeded to read and write notes without seeming to pay any attention to her. So they sat in silence for some time. At last Audrey spoke, hesitatingly, her eyes fixed on the fire--

"I am afraid I have been very fantastic and perverse."

"Nay, nay," said Mr. Rogers, laying down his pen and drawing nearer to the hearth. "There must be no more hard words, whether from ministers or yourself. You do well to defend your liberty, even with your life. If you feared that any man should arrogate a sovereignty over you, for which none hath any warrant, or to hinder your liberty of choice and force you by star-chamber admonitions into the bonds of a marriage you like not, you did well to flee. Hold fast your liberty, keep your ground that Christ hath got and won for you, and maintain your lawful rights."

"I do believe my grandfather gave me more liberty than many women enjoy," said Audrey, thoughtfully. "But I fear his goodness hath encouraged my natural pride and self-will most mightily."

"Then take the greater heed," said Mr. Rogers. "While I desire that men despise not women, neither wrong them of their liberty in voting and speaking in common affairs, yet I do also desire women to be cautious in the use of their liberty. Festina lente. First be swift to hear, slow to speak; your silence may sometimes be the best advocate of your orderly liberty, and the sweetest evidence of your prudence and modesty. And yet you ought not by your silence to trouble your conscience nor lose your privileges. But be not too hasty, nor too high, for"--he concluded with a smile, pointing to the writing that filled every blank corner on the pages of his Bible--"as the notes that come too nigh the margin are in danger of running into the text, so spirits that run too high at first, may soon fall into disorder and irregularity."

Audrey smiled. "I will lay your words to heart, sir," she said. "It would not be in nature, methinks, that I should forget anything that has happened this day, and the remembrance of my miseries, and of your goodness, should be a beacon to point me to the thought of your counsels."

They sank into silence once more. Audrey lay dozing in the great chair, and her companion was soon completely absorbed in his own thoughts. His Bible dropped on his knee, and his thin features worked with excitement, as broken vows of meditation and prayer escaped him now and again. "The Lord's muster-day is at hand--then, by the grace of God, the proudest of them shall know we are engaged on life or death, to stand or fall with the Lord our Captain-General on his red horse." "Though we may suffer hard things yet he hath a gracious end, and will make for His own glory and the good end of His people. God will give testimony unto what He hath been doing."

The early winter evening drew on, the shadows gathered in the corners of the great chamber, but still there was no sound but the crackling of the fire, and the murmured soliloquy of the minister.

At last the silence was broken by the deep note of the church clock. Audrey sprang up.

"That must be six," she said, "and old John awaits me below in the gravel pit. I must go down to him."

Mr. Rogers looked at her blankly for a moment, and then suddenly came down from the visionary regions in which he had spent the last two hours.

"And what order shall we take for your journey?" he asked, in quite a businesslike tone. "If you will honour me with your company so far, I pray you ride with me, to-night, to Lynn. I know an excellent poor woman," he hastened to add, "in whose house you may lodge till I hear when the _Good Hope_ sails."

"Thank you, sir, I will gladly embrace your counsel. When do you purpose to start? Perhaps it were safest I should meet you without the town if you will set me an hour and a rendezvous."

"I think we may begin our march as soon as the moon rises. All that troubles me is to find you a horse without awaking notice, for if I should go afoot to Lynn, I fear it will somewhat delay your flight."

"Oh," cried Audrey, "did you, indeed, think I would consent to steal your horse! No, no, my servant hath for sure ridden my pony hither, and I will bid him tramp home and let me ride into Lynn. We can tarry as we pass Inglethorpe to shift saddles; old Molly will fetch me mine out without rousing the constable. Then, sir, may I await you about a mile out on the road? There is a pond there, screened by bushes. I can keep close there till you come."

When Mr. Rogers was aroused a second time from his meditation, by the message that his horse was in readiness, the whole household was on the watch to see him come forth from the haunted chamber, and as he passed down the stairs, his large eyes still bright with the vision that had occupied his hours of meditation, whispers went round from maid to man: "I'll warrant he has seen somewhat!" "A' looks mighty ungain." "A' might be a ghost hisself, and I'll be sworn I smell sulphur!"

The landlady bustled forward, but Mr. Rogers hardly noticed her.

"Pray, pray, good sir, tell me, have you seen aught?" she urged, in a loud whisper, catching his sleeve as he passed through the hall.

He turned his eyes vaguely upon her. "Have I seen aught?" he repeated. "Surely, surely, I have seen the glory of the Lord for many a year, and the vision is not for me alone, but for all! All flesh shall see Him, and shall walk in the light of His light."

"But, dear sir," she cried in great perturbation, her voice rising from a whisper in her urgency, "have you seen aught of our young lady--of Mistress Audrey Perrient?"

"Oh, ay, I crave your pardon, good hostess. My mind was set on certain words of promise that have been borne in on me while I read the Scriptures. Your young lady? She is in safety; she will speedily be with her friends."

"But the noises, good sir?" urged Mrs. Joyce; and the maids, encouraged by her open curiosity, ventured near to listen.

"The noises? They matter not--they are nothing; you will not be further troubled, you need have no fear! Nevertheless," he said, stopping suddenly, and turning with his hands raised to face the household, "ye do well to fear, seeing that the day cometh when all shall fear, both great and small. Therefore I warn you to seek a sure refuge while it be time, and turn unto the Lord to-day; for those that be his saints dwell in safety, neither fear they any terror by night, and the pestilence that walketh in darkness shall not come nigh them."

So saying, he walked out of the door.

Half an hour later, the bright moon that lit up the open moorlands that bordered the sea showed two figures riding along the bridle-path that led from Hunstanton to Lynn. Audrey led the way, and guided her companion down lonely little bye-paths and sandy lanes that were seldom used, save by the few fishermen or broom-binders, who lived on the borders of the moorlands.

It was one of those rare nights that sometimes come in an English February and carry with them the promise of May. The soft air brought wafts of fragrance from the balmy fir-woods and yellow gorse-blossoms, and the full moon shed a golden haze over the lonely heath. They rode in silence, the horses' hoofs scarcely making a sound on the sandy way. Mr. Rogers was still wrapt in dreams. Eager as he was to assist any one whom he considered was the victim of tyranny or cruelty, as soon as the immediate need of action ceased to press on him, he relapsed naturally into his habitual train of thought and returned to that visionary world that was far more real to him than the material one that lay around him.

The spiritual powers of evil, and the human persecutors of the Fifth Monarchy men, rose marshalled before him in the one great host that followed the dragon, mustering for the final conflict of Armageddon; and to his vivid enthusiasm there could be but a little time to wait before that conflict must end in the crowning victory of the saints, and the establishment on earth of the visible kingdom of Christ--the last and greatest of the monarchies of the world. He rode on, his head raised, his light hair floating back from his ecstatic face, riding, as he ever hoped it might be, to join the host of angelic horsemen, who might appear to him at any moment.

To Audrey, that night-ride seemed the strangest thing she had ever known. The silent, hazy landscape, the flood of golden moonlight, her own wild fears and resentments so suddenly stilled. It seemed to her as though the words she caught from time to time, half-chanted by her companion, were less strange and dreamlike than the events that were passing around her.

Silently Audrey led the way. Mile after mile they rode, now threading a cautious way through the dark aisles of the fir-woods, and then making better time on the delicate turf that bordered the waste of sand-hills to seaward.

"We must venture a little way on the road here,", said Audrey, at length. "I fear the Babingly brook is too much swollen by the rains for safe fording, and we must cross the bridge."

They turned on to the main road and reached the bridge, when a man suddenly sprang out from the bushes by the road, and barred their way. With a stifled cry Audrey turned her horse.

"All's well," cried the stranger, "'tis only I, Dick Harrison. I have waited here for you, thank Heaven, you are safe!" He stood between them, his hand on Mr. Rogers's saddlebow, and spoke rapidly. "The hue and cry is out after Mistress Perrient, and all the ways into Lynn are beset. I could not go out of the south gate without a scuffle; she must not try to enter. But I have a boat here, and if Mistress Perrient can endure a night on the water, 'twill be easy to board the _Good Hope_ to-morrow morning, when she is safe out of Lynn harbour."

Mr. Rogers did not answer. Richard laid his hand on his knee.

"I have a boat here, good sir," he repeated. "We must not venture into Lynn for fear of the constables."

Mr. Rogers did not seem to hear. He still gazed away into the distance with the ecstatic expression that had illuminated his face during the silent ride; then, as he caught the last word, he started.

"Fear," he echoed, "what do we know of fear? is it not for the soldiers of the Most High to fear when the trumpet sounds?"

"No, sir," urged Richard, "but there is no fighting towards now; it is only that Justice Tomkins desires to hinder Mistress Perrient's journey."

The minister was too entirely absorbed in his own dreams to attend to the words of Harrison, except when they fell in with his own train of thought.

"Tomkins," he repeated, "Tomkins, ay, he doubtless hindereth. He that letteth will let, till he be taken out of the way. Nevertheless, his time is short, and the day of repentance is well-nigh at its end. I will back and warn him."

Audrey looked at him in dismay. "Dear sir," she ventured to say, "you had set to take me to Rotterdam by this ship."

"Cast not a stumbling-block in my way!" cried Mr. Rogers, more wildly. "Shall I have the blood of this man Tomkins on my head? Shall he go down into the pit suddenly without warning? The great beast Oliver is cast down, and the remembrance of him is a scoffing; so shall it be also to all them that have followed him. The Lord's muster-day is at hand; his magazines and artillery, yea, his most excellent mortar pieces and batteries are ready. We wait only for the Most High to fall on----" His voice died away in murmurs like those of a man talking in his sleep.

Audrey's heart died within her. What had befallen her half-angelic guardian? Was her confidence once more given amiss? If he had failed her, who indeed could she trust? Astonished and alarmed, she looked from one to the other. Where could she go? She was once more as helpless and unfriended as she had been before Mr. Rogers had found her. Nay, she was even in some ways in a worst plight; her self-reliance and self-confidence were shaken, for her calmer reason told her that Mr. Marshman's comments on her adventurous journey were perfectly just, that her grandfather would have said the same, though in more polished terms, and that no words at all would have been equal to expressing Madam Isham's horror at such an unconventional proceeding.

That silent night-ride had calmed her spirits, and she could judge her life with a curious sense of detachment, as though she had risen for a while to look down on it from some starry height. She read her own heart with a new clear-sightedness, and she knew now that it was not the dictatorial manner or the cruel candour of Mr. Marshman that was the true cause of the wild revolt that had filled her soul. She had discovered why the thought of such a usual thing as an arranged marriage with Richard Harrison had stung her so bitterly, why the bare thought that he might have overheard the brutal plainness of Mr. Marshman's words brought back the wild desire to fly anywhere, so that she might hide herself.

If it had not been for the strange quiet that had descended on her soul from Mr. Rogers's half-inspired words at Hunstanton, she would not have had courage to face this new discovery, for she knew now that this ache in her heart would never leave her and what its true name was. Well, this pain must be endured with the other troubles of life, and endured in silence.

Harrison turned to her, and she met his eyes without flinching. She was relieved to find there was no intimacy, no claim to familiarity, only courtesy and the cool readiness of a leader.

"Mr. Rogers is overwearied," he said, under his breath. "We must rouse him."

"Dear sir, you must come this way," he continued, laying his hand on the minister's rein.

"Stay me not, stay me not," he answered, wheeling his horse so abruptly that Harrison had to step quickly out of the way. "I must back to Hunstanton lest destruction come upon him even as a thief in the night."

Harrison caught his bridle once more. "You would not go alone to him," he said, in a cheerful voice, "Remember, it is written that two witnesses shall establish a matter. You will seek Mr. Marshman, and go together to warn this man."

"You say well, you say well," answered the minister, hurriedly. "There shall be two witnesses, and two prophets before the great day of the Lord. I will go seek Brother Marshman instantly," and setting spurs to his wearied horse he dashed forward along the road to Lynn.

Audrey looked at Harrison in dismay. "Is he mad?" she asked.

"I sometimes fear he must be near it," he answered. "But, in truth, I believe it is but that he is very high-flown concerning the Fifth Monarchy and such matters, neither do these fits last long with him, I have never seen him so near distraught. Yet Mr. Marshman knows how to handle him and will not let him run into any danger, and, I doubt not, will see him safe aboard in the morning." He noticed that Audrey was still silent. "Even if anything should befall the good man, which God forbid," he said, "we had set us a rendezvous at Mrs. Rogers's lodging at Rotterdam, so if you will do me so much grace, I will bring you thither; 'tis but a short voyage to come there."

He looked at her. Her face was white in the moonlight, and looked thin and drawn. When might he dare to ask what had happened during the last two days? When might he ask for her pardon?

"I entreat of you to come to the boat," he said. "Most like you know the old fisherman who owns it, Job Hamont? He waits below for us. I fear though the road is too bad for riding."

Audrey made no answer in words, but slid from her horse and stood waiting in the road.

"Shall I lead the pony down to Job's hut?" asked Harrison.

"Oh, no, Dapple knows how to take care of himself," answered Audrey, at last. She tied up the reins, and then with a sudden movement she laid her cheek beside the pony's. "Farewell, old friend," she murmured, "I shall scarce find one more faithful. Now home, little horse, home!" she cried, recovering herself and clapping her hands, and the docile little beast trotted off in the direction of Inglethorpe.