CHAPTER IX.

THE GORGE OF THE AVON.

They had now gained an eminence, at that time nothing more than a bare down, but now covered with streets, squares, and terraces, and forming the charming suburb of Clifton. From this lofty point the whole of the city could be descried, bathed in moonlight, and presenting a very striking picture.

After a few minutes' rest, Dame Gives seemed to have recovered from the fatigue of the steep ascent, and walked on briskly over the elastic turf. Though they were on a very lofty elevation, they had not as yet reached the crown of the hill, which was then surmounted by a watch-tower, but they walked to this point, and avoiding the watch-tower, entered a wide open space, partly surrounded by earthworks, which had once formed a Roman camp.

A most remarkable scene now lay before them, the picturesque effect of which was heightened by the moonlight. From the giddy height they had attained they looked down upon the Avon, flowing in its deep channel between two walls of rocks, evidently riven asunder, ages ago, by some convulsion of nature. This marvellous chasm, than which nothing can be grander, is known as the Gorge of the Avon. Bushes and small trees springing from the interstices of the lofty and shelving rocks added materially to its beauty. In appearance the uplands on either side of the gorge were totally different. The heights on which the king and his companions stood were wild, and only covered with patches of gorse, while those on the opposite side were crowned with the thickets in the midst of which Abbots Leigh was situated. Divided for long centuries, as we have said, these towering cliffs have been once more united by a light and beautiful bridge suspended over the abyss at such a height that the tallest ship can pass beneath it.

From the lofty point on which Charles stood the course of the Avon from Bristol to the rocky gorge could be distinctly traced in the moonlight, except in places where the river was obscured by a slight haze that gathered over it. The upper part of the cliffs was illumined by the moon, but her beams could not penetrate their mysterious and gloomy depths. Lower down, where the chasm widened, and the cliffs were further apart, the river could be seen rushing on to join the Severn. A strange and fascinating picture, which the king contemplated with great interest.

Meanwhile, the troopers had gained the summit of the hill, and concealed themselves behind the watch-tower.

"There is the boat!" exclaimed Pope, pointing to a dark object distinguishable in the river about three hundred yards from the entrance of the gorge.

Charles listened intently, and, in the deep stillness that prevailed, felt sure he heard the plash of oars.

"'Tis the boat, no doubt," he cried.

"Shall we go down to meet it?" inquired Pope.

Charles signified his assent.

"Your majesty will please to be careful," continued Pope. "The descent is somewhat perilous."

"You hear what he says, fair mistress," remarked Charles to Dame Gives.

Struck by her extreme paleness, he added:

"Let me help you to descend."

But she thankfully declined the gracious offer.

Pope then led them along the edge of the precipitous cliffs, till he arrived at a spot where the bank was not quite so steep, and was fringed with bushes.

"Here is the path, my liege," he exclaimed. "Follow me, and proceed cautiously, I beseech you. A false step might prove fatal."

He then plunged amid the bushes, and was followed by Charles. Close behind the king came Dame Gives.

Their movements had been watched by the troopers, who carefully marked the spot where they commenced the descent, and in another minute were cautiously following them.

The path taken by Pope brought those whom he conducted among the rocks lower down, and here Charles gave a helping hand to Dame Gives, and saved her from the consequences of more than one unlucky slip; but nothing worse occurred, and they all reached the bottom of the cliff in safety.

They were now at the entrance of the gorge, and the river, confined by the rocks, was sweeping rapidly past them through its narrow deep channel.

Charles was gazing at the darkling current and at the towering cliffs, that filled him with a sense of awe, when Pope called out that the boat was at hand.

Next moment it came up, and Captain Rooker, who had been rowing, leaped ashore and made it fast to the stump of a tree. Careless did not land, but helped Dame Gives into the boat, and Charles was about to follow, when shouts were heard, and the two troopers rushed towards them.

Jumping into the boat, Charles ordered Rooker to set her free. But the skipper paid no attention to the command.

"Thou art taken in the toils, Charles Stuart," he cried. "As an instrument in accomplishing thy capture, I shall receive my reward."

"Be this the reward of thy treachery, villain," cried Careless.

And drawing a pistol from his belt, he shot him through the head.

As the traitor fell to the ground, Pope unloosed the rope, and set the boat free, jumping into it, as he pushed it from the bank. At the same moment, Charles seized the oars, and propelling the boat into the middle of the stream it was swept down by the rapid current.

Unluckily, it had to pass near the troopers, and they shouted to the king, who was now plying the oars, to stop; but as he disregarded the order, they both discharged their carabines at him, and he must have been killed, if Dame Gives had not suddenly risen, and placing herself before him, received the shots. The devoted young woman fell back mortally wounded into the arms of Careless, who was seated near her.

"Are you much hurt?" he cried, in accents of despair.

"Hurt to death," she rejoined, faintly. "I have not many moments left of life. I knew this would be, and am prepared for it. Farewell for ever!"

Uttering these words, she breathed her last sigh, and her head declined upon Careless's shoulder.

"She has died for me!" exclaimed Charles. "'Tis a sad and sudden ending, but she anticipated her doom."

"Anticipated it, sire! How mean you?" cried Careless.

"I will explain hereafter, if we escape," said Charles.

Several more shots were fired by the troopers, but no one was hurt. The current swept the boat down so rapidly that those within it were soon out of reach of harm.

"What will you do?" said Charles to Careless.

"I know not," rejoined the other, distractedly. "But I will never rest till I have avenged her. But think not of me, my liege. Save yourself. If you go further down the river, you will most assuredly fall into some new danger."

"If I might venture to advise your majesty," said Pope, "I would recommend you to land as soon as possible, and return at once to Abbots Leigh."

"Thy advice is good," rejoined Charles. "But what is to be done with the unfortunate victim of this treacherous design? How is she to be disposed of?"

"Leave her to me, sire," replied Careless. "Again, I implore you to save yourself. Return to Abbots Leigh, as Pope suggests. If she could speak," he added, solemnly, looking at the lifeless figure, which he still held in his arms, "she would urge you to take this course!"

"If you will consent to keep Pope with you, to assist you in your mournful task, I will go--not otherwise," said Charles.

"Be it so, my liege," replied Careless.

During this colloquy, the boat was carried rapidly through the gorge, and had now reached the point where the chasm grew wider and the cliffs were further apart.

Looking out for a favourable point to land, Charles drew near the left bank of the river, and Pope, jumping ashore, quickly fastened the boat to a tree.

Charles followed, but for some time could not make up his mind to depart.

At last, however, he yielded to the entreaties of Careless, who besought him earnestly to go, urging that his stay would only endanger himself, and ascending the cliffs, he made his way alone through the woods to Abbots Leigh.

End of Book the Sixth.

Book the Seventh

TRENT.