Part 3

This answer encouraged me a little, and I managed, I flatter myself, to look thoroughly unconcerned. We had each of us thick sticks: not that there was anything to fight with; for even wild hogs don't attack people who let them alone; but I know that I clutched mine very tightly as the rest of the party disappeared among the trees of the forest, and Jack and I were left on guard. As to looking on the dead man, that was more than I dared do; so I walked about, flourishing my stick and talking to Jack, as far as I could get from the spot where the dead man lay, consistently with my undertaking to keep guard over it. Jack did not seem to care very much about the matter. Now he walked close up to the spot; then he joined me and talked on indifferent subjects, though I don't think that even he cared to look directly at the dead man. We began at last to become very tired of our guard, and to wish that our friends would return and relieve us. I had no watch. Jack had forgotten to wind up his, so we could not tell how time sped.

Not far off was a dark clump of hollies, to which I had extended my walk. As I was turning round, I heard a slight rustling of the leaves, and, to my inexpressible horror, I caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes gleaming out at me through an opening in the boughs. I instantly connected them somehow with the man supposed to be dead, and, when I hurried back to Jack, I half expected to find that the body had got up, and, by some means or other, gone round into the holly-bush. No; there it lay, quiet enough, never more to move of its own accord. But to what could those eyes belong?

"Jack! Jack!" I stammered out, feeling that I must look very pale and frightened, "I have seen a pair of eyes!"

"Whereabouts?" asked Jack. "I suppose that they are in somebody's head, then?"

"That's the question," said I; "I am not quite so sure of it."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Jack; "let's have a look at the place. Where did you see them?"

I pointed to the spot, and plucking up courage as he walked up to it, followed him, clutching my stick tightly. The holly-bushes formed a tolerably large screen, so that we should have to make a wide circuit to get to the rear. Nothing was to be seen in front. No eyes were visible where I had caught the glimpse of them. Jack said it was fancy, but still he had an inclination to examine further. I would rather have waited till the arrival of our friends, but he, telling me to go round one end, ran round the other, that we might catch anybody who might be there. I didn't like it, but still I went, feeling that I was performing a deed of mighty heroism. I was resolved not to allow Jack to call me a coward; indeed, he very seldom did so, because anything that he dared do, I did; the only difference was that he liked it, and I didn't. I got round therefore as fast as he did, and just behind the spot where I had seen the eyes, there they were again, but this time I discerned a head and face into which they were fixed--a face I had seen before.

"There, there!" I cried, pointing to the face as Jack came up.

It was that of the poor idiot lad, Dicky Green. He was crouching down, evidently trying to conceal himself from us.

"Why, Dicky, what are you doing here?" cried Jack. "We won't hurt you."

"I was a looking to see what'd happen next. He's a sleeping, bean't he?" answered the idiot, pointing in the direction of the dead man.

"It's a sleep from which he will never awake, lad," said Jack. "He is dead, lad."

"Lor', be he? Then you won't go for to tell of I?" exclaimed Dicky, whimpering. "Mother sent I to look for the little one's shoe, when I told her how I'd got hold of him and gi'en the man as was a trying to take him from me a pretty hard clout on the head. I thought I'd made him quiet, but I ne'er meaned to kill him, that I didn't."

"The little one!" cried Jack, a new light bursting on us. "What do you know of him? Where is he?"

"Oh, he's all right, and happy as he can be, I wot," said Dicky, with a grin, which made us doubt the truth of his assertion.

Our fear now, however, was that the idiot would escape from us before we could ascertain whether or not he really did know where little Hugh was. Still, we could not help hoping that the child was safe. Jack therefore did his best to keep him talking till our friends should come from the Hull. Happily, the poor creature was very fond of keeping his tongue moving, as other people with a limited supply of brains are apt to do. Though he talked on, we could not make out more than we had already. To our great relief, we heard at length the sound of voices approaching us. Soon Sir Hugh, with Cousin Peter, Mr Strafford, and several other gentlemen on horseback, with Sam Barnby and a whole posse of men, appeared in the distance. We shouted to them to come to us. No sooner did Dicky Green see them, than he began to tremble violently; then, looking to the right and left, he bolted off through the forest. Fortunately, Cousin Peter saw him, and gave chase on horseback; Sam Barnby also followed in the direction we pointed. Still Dicky ran very fast, dodging in and out among the trees. Meantime, Sir Hugh and Mr Strafford rode up to where the dead body lay on the grass. As soon as Sir Hugh saw the features of the corpse, he said in a sad voice:

"It is that unhappy man, cut off in the middle of his career; but my boy, my boy, where can he be?"

Though Dicky Green ran fast, he was ere long overtaken and brought back. He stood before the gentlemen with one of his most idiotic looks, which made it seem hopeless that anything could be got out of him.

"Come, come, Dicky, that will not do for us," said Cousin Peter; "rouse yourself up and tell us all you know about this matter. No one will do you any harm, lad."

Thus spoken to kindly, after some time, Dicky looked up and said:

"Thee wants to know about the little chap, and if I tells thee, thee won't ask how that one there came by his death?"

"If we do ask, it will not be to bring any harm on you, Dicky. You may be assured of that," said Cousin Peter.

Dicky thought for some time, and then began to move off through the forest.

"He is going towards his mother's cottage; I shouldn't be surprised if little Master Hugh be there safe enough," whispered Sam Barnby.

"Bless you, bless you, Sam Barnby, for those words, and I believe that they are true," exclaimed Sir Hugh, as we all followed the idiot, except a couple of men, who were left with the dead body.

In a short time we reached a wretched tumble-down hut of mud, with a roof of thatch, green with age, and full of holes, in which birds had built their nests. There at one end we found a bed-ridden old woman, the idiot's mother, and on a little pallet-bed in the further corner lay a blooming child fast asleep. Sir Hugh stepped forward, signing to us not to make a noise, and lifting the child in his arms, bestowed a kiss on its brow. The boy awoke, and seeing his father--for it was our dear little Hugh--threw his arms round his neck and exclaimed:

"You've come, papa, for Hugh at last; Hugh is so glad, so happy!"

It was a happy meeting we all had at the Hall that evening, and grateful were the hearts of Sir Hugh and Lady Worsley at the recovery of their darling boy. I remember that afterwards there was an inquest, and that the magistrates met, but, except from the ravings of poor Dicky Green, there was no evidence how the deceased gentleman who was found in the forest came by his death. He was accordingly buried quietly in the parish churchyard, and as little fuss as possible made about the matter, though of course it had the usual run of a nine days' wonder. I am happy to say that little Hugh grew up, and as he is the father of a number of boys, there is not much chance of the property going out of the old line for want of a male heir.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER ONE.

STORY TWO--The Rocking-Stone: A Chronicle of the Times of the Wars of the Roses.

Two of the most powerful nobles of England, the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Warwick, were one fine summer's day, in the year of our Lord 1449, walking together in the Temple Gardens, on the banks of the Thames. Their conversations were on affairs of state. Ere long they expressed decided differences of opinion. Their tempers warmed up; the dispute ran high. They appealed to the nobles and gentlemen attending on them, but all drew back. They had long been rivals, each seeking for power and influence. Warwick possessed immense popularity both with the soldiery and populace. He is since well known in history as the Kingmaker. He was not a man to brook opposition.

"It is well that we should know our foes from our friends," he exclaimed, plucking as he spoke a white rose from a bush which grew near. "Let all who claim to be my friends wear henceforth the white rose in their helms or caps."

"And I, too, wish to know who are my friends and who my foes," said the Duke of Somerset, walking on rapidly till he reached a red rose-tree which he saw in the distance. "I shall expect all those who love me, or the cause I espouse, to wear this flower of blushing hue."

Several knights and gentlemen hurried after the duke, and imitated his example in placing red roses in their caps. The earl watched the proceedings of his rival with a smile.

"My challenge is quickly accepted," he observed, turning to those who surrounded him. "But am I to stand alone? Have I no friends who wish to show that they are ready to espouse my cause?"

"Ten thousand swords would be ready to leap from their scabbards the moment you summon them," answered a sturdy knight, Sir Herbert de Beauville. "I, for one, am ready to risk castle, and lands, and jewels, and life itself, in your service; and as a pledge of my sincerity, I place this white rose in my helm, and, so help me Heaven, may I ever be true to it and to you while life remains!"

The rest of the party, following the knight's example, pledged themselves to the earl, and placed white roses in their helms or caps. It was curious to see the two parties, as they henceforth walked apart with the insignia they had so hastily assumed prominently displayed, eyeing each other with glances indicative, it might be, of that fearful struggle which was so soon to commence, and to devastate the fair land of England and deluge it with blood. Some of those present turned traitors to the cause they had espoused, and others more than once changed sides, but amply did Sir Herbert de Beauville fulfil the pledge he had given on that occasion. He was one of those men who consider that black is black, and white is white, and so, having passed his word that he would wear the white rose and support the house of York, he fought on, amid all its changing fortunes, till he had lost the larger portion of his once ample possessions. His ancestral castle of Beauville, in the north of England, in a sadly dilapidated condition, with its park and a few hundred acres of land, was at length all that remained to him. In the fatal fight on Bosworth Field, holding himself bravely, as was his wont, he was desperately wounded. He would have fallen from his horse had not he been supported by his faithful servitor, Roger Bertrand, who led him from the fight to a retired spot near a brook, where he could attend to his gaping wounds, and stanch the life-blood flowing from his veins. In vain, however, the brave squire exerted all his skill. It was too clear to him that his beloved master's hours were numbered. The knight also was well aware that his last blow had been struck for the cause he had so long espoused, and that he should soon be numbered with the dead. He committed, therefore, his wife and young son, who was named after him, to Roger's care.

"Mark you, Roger, watch over the boy as a precious jewel. Remember his noble blood and parentage, bring him up as becomes both, and above all things, when he comes to man's estate, take care that he finds a bride befitting him, and does not wed beneath him. I fear me much that I do not leave him as rich a heritage as I received, but should quiet times ever come back to this realm of England, with your careful nursing, it may once more be made as profitable as of yore. You know my wishes, good Roger; I can speak no more. Especially in that one point of marriage guide the boy aright. Lift me up. How goes the fight? Let me behold the white rose of York once more triumphant. See--see--they charge forward! No--alas! they turn and fly. Then welcome death!" The old knight, pressing Roger's hand, uttered the word, "Remember," and fell back and died.

The brave serving-man, rising to his feet, stood over the dead body of his master with drawn sword, to protect it from spoliation, and ultimately succeeded in bearing it off from the field, so as to give it honoured sepulture in the precincts of the neighbouring church. The priests were desirous to keep the knight's armour in pawn, that masses might be said for the repose of his soul.

"Thanks, reverend and worthy gentlemen," answered Roger, quietly. "But my dear master was as hearty a prayer as he was a fighter, and methinks if he's failed while he lived to make his peace with Heaven, nothing that you or any other can say will aid him now that he is gone, and knows more about the matter than you and all the world besides put together."

"What rank heresy is this you are speaking?" exclaimed the priest. "The prayers of the Church not of use to the dead, do you say? This savours strongly of the abominable tenets of Wycliffe. Why, you must belong to the abominable sect of the Lollards, Master Roger."

"Nay, but I was only speaking in the case of my good master," answered the latter, in his quiet tone. "I said that he was a hearty prayer; and what is the use of a man's praying if his prayers are not to be heard? But if my master's prayers were heard--and I am sure they were--then there is no further need of any one praying for him. I am a true son of Holy Mother Church. I know nothing of Master Wycliffe, and conclude that he has been dead no small number of years."

The priest, not accustomed in those days to controversy, had nothing to say in reply to Roger's remarks, though, still suspecting him strongly to be a Lollard, he would have liked to entrap him, and have the power to bring down punishment on his head. Honest Roger, however, not aware of the feelings of animosity he had excited, frankly wished the irate ecclesiastic farewell, and with the arms and armour of his late master, all that remained of him, took his departure for the now mourning castle of Beauville.

It is not necessary to describe the grief of the Lady Beauville, nor of the young Herbert, who was of an age to feel deeply the loss he had suffered. As may have been suspected, Roger Bertram was a Lollard, as was also the mistress of the castle, though they had found it necessary to conceal their opinions. Young Herbert was accordingly brought up in the principles of Wycliffe, a copy of whose New Testament was one of the most prized possessions of his mother. It was her chief delight to instruct her son in the glorious truths it contained. Alas! however, the shock she received on hearing of the death of her beloved lord, and the complete overthrow of the cause for which he had so long striven and fought, was so great, that from that time she sank gradually, and ere long followed her husband to the grave.

Roger Bertram thoroughly carried out his promise to his master. Young Herbert de Beauville grew up into a noble-looking youth, who, though he did not possess any large amount of book-learning, was the leader in all the manly exercises of the period. He was brave and open-hearted, of a kind and generous disposition, and had ever proved himself affectionate and obedient to the guardian placed over him. He had, however, a determined will of his own, and Roger discovered that, if he wished to retain his influence over his ward, he must not pull the reins of authority too tightly.

As Herbert increased in years this became more and more evident, especially when the youth mixed in the world, and there were not wanting those who urged him to assert his own independence, and who hinted that, now he had grown nearly to man's estate, it was no longer incumbent on him to obey implicitly one who had merely been placed in authority to watch over him while he was a boy. Good Roger Bertram, though he was able conscientiously to do his duty with regard to watching over his young charge, found that it was a difficult matter to restore a fallen house, and to bring long-neglected lands again into cultivation. The old retainers and tenants who once cultivated the fields had been carried off by their feudal lord to the wars, and their bones lay bleaching on many a battle-field. The lands could not be let, and no money was therefore forthcoming to restore the dilapidated castle fast crumbling to pieces. It had never been restored since the last siege laid to it by the Lancastrians. At that time a large portion of the walls had been battered by cannon, then only recently introduced, and another part had been undermined: the enemy, indeed, were on the point of forcing an entrance, when it was relieved by the appearance of the Yorkist party. Roger's hope, therefore, was that as soon as his young lord was of age he would retrieve his fortunes by a wealthy marriage. Unfortunately there would, he knew, be much difficulty in finding a bride for him among the fallen Yorkist families, us greedy King Henry took good care to confiscate all the property he could from any excuse lay hands on. Roger was also himself much attached to the principles of the Lollards, and he wished, if possible, that the young Herbert should marry into a family which held them. There were many families at that time who read Wycliffe's Bible and Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales"--more, indeed, than are generally supposed. The English, as a nation, never bowed the neck very readily to Rome, and even in the darkest days there were some who put no faith in her assumptions and pretensions. The more enlightened had also ere this discovered what a clog to the prosperity and progress of the country existed in the many thousands of lazy and idle monks and friars, and other members of what were called religious orders. Still it may be considered that the lower classes generally, and many of the upper, were ignorant in the extreme, and believed in all those gross superstitions which have ever been the direct result of the teaching of the Church of Rome, where no counteracting influences are at work. As Roger did not himself possess much book-learning, he was compelled to leave young Herbert under the instruction of Father Mathew, the curate of the parish, to whom Sir Herbert had confided the charge of his education. Not that the knight had any great esteem for the learning of the father, but simply that he knew of no one else under whom he could place his son.

Father Mathew was not a learned man, but he had cleverness enough to conceal his ignorance, and Sir Herbert, who, though a brave soldier, was no clerk, was not likely to find it out. If the truth must be said, the curate was himself fonder of hawk and hound than of his books, and it was whispered that if a fat pullet came in his way, even on a fast day, he did not always turn aside from the temptation. He could, however, do more than many of his brethren, for he could not only read his breviary, but write a neat hand and copy manuscripts with precision--an art he had learned in the cloister, and which was still the chief mode of multiplying books; for printing had only been introduced into England about twenty years before. Such was Father Mathew; in the main, with all his faults, an honest man. Roger, who had more shrewdness than his late lord, was not altogether satisfied with him, but he consoled himself with the thought that his young charge might have had a worse preceptor when he saw him growing into a fine handsome young man, with many noble and generous qualities, though certainly more addicted to field sports and athletic exercises than to the study of any of those branches of knowledge by which he might restore the fallen fortunes of his house.