Part 5

The first thing that their captain did, after he had stretched his stiffened limbs, was to discharge a volley of oaths at them, the Lollards, and the world generally. He had determined not to relate the whole of his midnight adventure to his men for two reasons: one was, that he was afraid of rousing their superstitious fears, and making them insist upon leaving instantly a place which they would surely believe to be haunted by malignant spirits; and the other was, that he was a little ashamed of being thus caught napping by his enemies, and did not wish the story to be told against him to his superior officer. He was, however, fully determined to ransack the castle before the time fixed upon by the Lollards for their departure, at the same time guarding all the places of exit.

He met with no better success than the day before; but soon a bright thought struck him, and his face glowed with malignant pleasure. He ordered his men into the woods to gather brushwood, and this, together with some straw and grain, he piled up in the apartments of the castle and set on fire. When it was fairly blazing, he mounted his whole troop, carefully removing all the horses from the stables, and placed his men in such positions that they might be able to watch all the roads, and be ready for instant pursuit should the Lollards attempt to flee.

He himself sat grimly on his war-horse, surveying the work of destruction; waiting till the noble men, smoked like rats from their holes, should be seized and brought triumphantly before him. He already imagined how he would dispose of the reward when he presented the three heads to the archbishop.

If this gallant soldier had been able to look downward a little way through the ground under his feet, his vision would not have been quite so rose-colored. Let us go back to the three men whom we left sleeping so quietly in the little turret-chamber.

They were not aroused from their slumber till the fire had begun to rage, for they were so embedded in the stone that the heat and smell took a long time to penetrate to them; but at last the ivy on the outside caught, and the flames were roaring "from turret to foundation stone." The smoke which then poured in through the narrow slits aroused Bertrand, who soon understood the plot. It was with great difficulty that he and De Forest could get Lord Cobham through the narrow passages, for they were all almost suffocated with smoke, and the heat in some places was nearly unbearable. In more than one spot the walls had fallen in and choked the way with rubbish, but fortunately the soldiers were all outside, guarding the blazing ruins, so that they could pass easily through some of the more open rooms, and so into the vaults. Here they rested awhile, but not long, for they feared lest some arch should give way and cut off their retreat. They therefore passed along the subterranean passage mentioned in the first part of the story, which opened in the direction of the road they intended to take.

They were in doubt where they should procure horses for their journey, but their trusty friend and servant, Charles Bertrand, had a plan in his head which he did not at first communicate to his master; but leaving them sitting on a block of stone in the passage, he crept through the little door concealed by brushwood, and closing it carefully behind him, stole along the bed of the stream, and then up the bank on his hands and knees. All this was done without noise, and he crouched down in the bushes not ten feet from the spot where the captain sat on his horse indulging in his day-dreams.

Presently the soldier dismounted, and began to examine the animal. "Not a bad brute!" was his muttered comment, as he noticed the fine muscular development of his chest and the fire of his eye; "not a bad brute, nor an ugly one, and far too good for an heretic to ride. I have not had a better mount for years; and as for you," he added, bestowing a kick on his own abandoned charger, which had been degraded to the office of carrying some of the plunder from the castle, "you shall henceforth carry my wife, Ivan, to market, when she wears the new red cloak which I shall buy her in London; she is a good dame, and a handsome one too, and----"

What further plans were in his head for the benefit of himself and wife can never be known; for just at that moment there was a shout in the direction of the burning building, and he, thinking that the rats had at last been smoked out of their hiding-places, did not stop to ride round by the road, but, hooking the horses' bridles on a branch, he flung himself down the steep bank in the direction of the castle, shouting to his men to "save them alive."

Charles Bertrand chuckled with glee at the turn things had taken. It took but a moment to loosen the beasts, cut the pack from the one, and lead them both down into the wood. He then gave a whistle, and in a shorter time than it takes to relate it, Sir John was mounted on his own horse, Cobham on the captain's discarded steed, with Bertrand behind him, and all were spurring forward toward the blue mountains, whose snow-capped peaks invited them to a safe and happy asylum.

The chances were much against Ivan's ever riding to market on the old gray war-horse, decked in the scarlet cloak purchased by the price of the three Lollard heads!

For a mile or so both horses went at full speed, Sir John's steed urged on by his master's voice, and the trooper's abused charger showing itself not much the worse for wear, by carrying double almost as fast as the other bore single weight. They had need of all their exertions, for they had not been off more than fifteen minutes before the whole band was in pursuit of them. They gained a little time, however, by their pursuers taking a wrong road, and it was not long before the November twilight closed suddenly upon them, aiding still more their concealment in the gloom of the forest.

It was nearly midnight before they dismounted, and then, though wearied with their journey, and chilled by the sleet which had fallen during the last few hours, the place at which they stopped did not seem at all likely to afford them any one of the traveller's three requirements--bed, food and fire. All seemed to be well acquainted with the spot. It was an old ruin of what had probably been a fine house in the days of Henry the First, but which had been destroyed, like many another, and its owner's name blotted from existence during the wars of Stephen. Bertrand dismounted, and led the horses carefully among the stones, into what had been the courtyard of the castle. There he sheltered them under some broken arches, while their riders entered a low room, still left almost entire, but so situated that a careless person passing by, would fail to distinguish it from the masses of rubbish by which it was surrounded.

The air within was damp and chilly; but De Forest pulled aside a loose stone in the wall, and from the recess behind it drew out some fagots of dry wood, a pitcher of common wine, a loaf of bread, and some hard Welsh cheese. A cheerful fire was soon blazing on the stone floor, after De Forest had hung his cloak over the opening by which they entered, for the double purpose of keeping the cold air from blowing on the backs of those within, and the firelight from revealing itself to those who might be without. Then, after warming their benumbed limbs, they were quite ready to do justice to the simple fare.

This ruin was one of the meeting-places of the Lollards. Wales being their great asylum, it was convenient to have some spot a little beyond the foot of the mountains, where they might come, and find out whether it was safe to proceed any farther. There was always a small stock of provisions and firewood kept there, so that in case any preachers were obliged to spend the night there, they might not have to endanger themselves or others by venturing to any of the neighboring cottages. There was also a set of signals here, conducted on the same system, and connected with those at the foot of the oak near Forest Castle, and Bertrand carefully deciphered them and arranged them anew. He learned that the road was clear as far as the mountains for those going thither, but that no one from the mountains had better venture down. He then placed such marks as would indicate to those who should read them the number of the archbishop's soldiers, the burning of the Tower, and the escape of De Forest and Cobham. So perfectly had this system of signals been arranged, and so well was their secret kept, that he knew in a few days the news of the escape of the two reformers would be known and rejoiced over by all the Lollards for many miles around, while their enemies would wonder how the intelligence was spread, and lay it all to the account of that diabolical assistance and knowledge of sorcery which they firmly believed was possessed by these outlaws.

Before they retired to their rest, Cobham stood up and recited the ninety-first Psalm: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." How true and precious did these promises appear to those homeless fugitives! Each took to his own heart such passages as seemed most appropriate to his own particular case; but each found in them the same great comfort--the blessed fact of God's guardianship over those he loves, and their absolute and eternal safety, however earthly cares may oppress, dangers threaten, or sorrows impend. The soldier, Cobham, realized in the God whom he had learned to worship untrammeled by priestcraft and juggling tricks, a shield and buckler far stronger than he had ever borne in the wars under king Harry. The gray-haired knight, who had that day seen the home where his ancestors had lived and died, the birth-place of himself and his two sons, the inheritance which he had thought to leave to a long line of posterity, razed to the very ground by his enemies, and who now felt that he had no home in the wide world in which to shelter his gray hairs, crept up, as it were, to the promise, "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, in him will I trust," and with child-like faith, taking his Heavenly Father at his word, cast away his sorrows and cares.

Bertrand, the peasant, who had abandoned the old faith and followed his feudal lord into the new, but who had never imbibed the spirituality of the reform; who had cast aside the bondage of Rome, but who had not yet bowed his head to the yoke of the gentle Jesus; felt that night as he had never done before, and his aroused feelings were never quieted until he came, with no priestly mediator between, to the feet of his Saviour, and found peace in believing.

Nor was the impression lessened when Sir John poured forth a simple, earnest prayer to their great Protector. There was no word of complaint in it, still less of anger toward their persecutors. He besought, with earnest pleadings, that as they were now Sauls in persecuting, they might become Pauls in defending the faith. And when the thought of his ruined home and desolate possessions came across his mind, he prayed that those mansions might be bestowed upon his enemies as well as himself, which are not made with hands, and whose treasures no moth nor rust can corrupt, no foe break through and steal.

Then they laid them down and slept, calmly and peacefully, for so did they realize God's presence, that the rough stone walls seemed to them like the fingers of his almighty hand, stretched around them to guard them from their foes.

*CHAPTER XI.*

_*The Lesson of Forgiveness.*_

When Charles Bertrand--for he it was who was their stranger guest--had further narrated how, the next day, the two Lollards had easily passed over the few miles that lay between their night's resting-place and Cobham's mountain retreat in that wild country which gave asylum to outlaws of every kind, he told them that Sir John still had his habitation in Wales, but frequently ventured down into the valleys of his own land, traversing several counties under various disguises, to attend and encourage meetings of the Reformers. Patiently they were all waiting for the time when, bursting over the land as the sunbeams after a thunder-cloud has passed, Bible truth, liberty, and toleration should make themselves to be known and acknowledged by the world. Patiently and trustingly they waited, for they had no doubt of the fulfillment of their Master's promises; but, alas! it pleased that Master, whose will must be unquestioned by human intellect, long, very long to delay the deliverance which was yet surely to come. The child that was then at its mother's breast grew up to boyhood, manhood, descended to old age, and then returned to his native dust, long ere that day came which those fond, simple hearts believed to be even then at the dawn. The nation was not yet sufficiently purged, men's faith not sufficiently tried; that precious "seed of the church," the blood of holy martyrs, had not yet finished dropping into the earth, nor had it yet been sufficiently watered by widows' and orphans' tears for the precious harvest to spring up, which now is yielding to every soul speaking the English tongue, the priceless boon of perfect liberty of conscience toward man, and toward God.

Bertrand was glad to stretch his limbs by the hut fire after his journey; and after the simple worship, which always closed the day's labor of these people, all betook themselves to rest.

All but one. Geoffrey could not sleep; so he arose softly, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, bounded up the cliffs by a path so narrow and rocky, and close to the brink of the precipice, that only so firm and steady a foot as his own would care to tread it by night. As he passed out of the shadow of the cottage, a man lifted up his head from behind some bushes, and shook himself as though wearied of a confined posture. Still, he did not stand boldly upright, but crouched again, keeping in the shade, and then throwing a look of malignant hatred at the little hut and its quiet sleepers, he muttered an oath of satisfaction, and crept stealthily upon the boy's track.

Meanwhile, what were the thoughts of the young Lollard?

Geoffrey and Hubert were both Lollards, but in a very different spirit. Geoffrey, the heir of a noble baronetcy, saw his patrimony destroyed, his father outlawed and hunted, himself dependent on the charity of the poor for a place of shelter, and his very soul went out in opposition to the oppressors and to their religion. In Lollardism he found a freedom which agreed with his notions of right, and a purity of morals suited to his taste. The younger brother embraced the reformed religion, because he found in the doctrines it taught, a way of relief for a sinning soul--because they brought to him, free, and untrammeled by superstition and the traditions of men, the Gospel of the Cross, "the sweet story of old." Geoffrey was a Lollard, because with all his strength he hated Rome, and desired to break its yoke from the necks of his countrymen; Hubert, because he loved Jesus, and longed, with all the fervor of his spirit, to convey the tidings of deliverance from a far greater power than that wielded in the Vatican, to the priest-ridden, ignorant poor of his native land.

It was natural, therefore, that the former should have many a bitter thought rising in his mind as he thought of the smouldering ruins of Forest Tower. The insult and wrong which had been heaped upon his noble race seemed more than he could bear; his whole soul revolted against the tyranny.

"It is mine!" he cried aloud, as he reached the top of the cliff, and drew his fine though boyish figure up to its full height in an attitude of defiance--"mine by every law. King Henry holds his throne by no better right! I care not how strong they be, they shall give it back, or may a curse rest on them every one--may they all, from king Henry down to his hirelings, be as homeless as I am this night! Send down, O God of Justice!--if there be such a God--fire and sword upon their houses, as they have brought them on mine; curses on their meat and drink, curses----" He paused, then sank down on the ground and groaned bitterly. Had he not been so enrapt in his fiery thoughts, he might have noticed a face peering at him with malignant satisfaction from the shadow of a rock scarce ten feet from the spot where he stood in full moonlight, with his clenched right hand raised toward heaven, calling down vengeance for his wrongs. But now, as he sank to the earth, the figure stooped and became invisible, for at that instant another footstep was heard along the path, and a still more boyish form sprang across the little open space.

"Geoffrey! dear Geoffrey!"

"What are you doing here, Hubert?" cried the elder lad, springing to his feet, like all other lads displeased at being found giving way to his emotions. "Get you back to the cottage; this is no place for you, on the mountain-top at night!"

"Do not be angry, brother!" said the younger beseechingly. "I saw you rise and go out, and I followed, it is so wild and desolate for you to be here alone, and you so miserable."

"Miserable!"--the word was spoken in a contemptuous tone--"that is for a woman to say. I am a man now, I must stand up for my lawful rights; I must pursue to the death those blood-hounds, those hirelings of the foul fiend himself, whom may Heaven----"

"Geoffrey! Geoffrey! stop; do not say such words. We may not curse, we must pray--we must bless!" And the boy clung to his brother in passionate entreaty. Geoffrey flung him off.

"You are a child, Hubert! you do not understand these things. Go back to your bed. I choose to be alone." He strode off to the furthest extremity of the little rocky platform, close, close to the lurker in the shadow! When he had styled his enemies blood-hounds, he was not far from the truth; for dearly they loved to track silently their victim's footsteps, to spring upon him when he felt most secure.

"Geoffrey," said the little pleading voice, "it is very cold, I thought you would wrap me in your cloak."

The hard, stern look passed from the lad's face at the words; he turned, sat down by his brother, and clasped him tightly in his arms. Neither spoke for some time; at last Hubert broke the silence.

"How beautiful the moonlight is to-night!"

It was indeed a glorious sight. Sheer down two hundred feet and more below them lay the calm, mirror-like sea, reflecting the moonbeams in a pathway of silver, stretching far, far into the horizon, till it ended in a distant speck on the great North Sea. The stars were paled by the radiance, but still stood out gloriously in the clear still atmosphere, like specks of shining foam dashed up from the silvery sea below. No sound broke the stillness but the low beating of the surf and the scream of a sea-bird skimming through the air after its prey. It seemed in that lone, desolate spot as if there might be no other living creature in existence but the bird flitting across the landscape. The two lads nestled under the cloak and--the watcher!

"The moon was at the full, you know, when He died, Geoffrey, and fell upon his cross and his tomb. I wonder if it falls as brightly in that far-off land as it does here? Father Humphrey told me all about it the last time the moon was full, just before he died. How sad, and yet how glad a thing it was for Christ to die, Geoffrey! I can hardly tell where the sadness ends and the gladness begins, they seem so mingled in it all. May I talk to you about it now?"

"Yes, if you are warm," and the arm was drawn more tightly around the slender form.

"Oh! yes, I am so comfortable now;" and then he began, and in sweet, touching eloquence detailed the well-known story of the persecuted Nazarene. He drew the picture of the lowly manger, of the carpenter's workshop; he spoke of Him as homeless, hungry, thirsty, weary, desolate, despised, rejected, betrayed. He followed him to the garden, the judgment-hall, the cross. He described in burning words the gibes, the mocks, the sneers, the insults, the cruelty, the hatred that followed the meek and gentle Jesus from the cradle to the grave.

"And He forgave them, Geoffrey," said the little speaker, as he closed the account, "he forgave them every one."

"He was a God," said Geoffrey solemnly.

"Yes, but he was a man too, and out of his man's heart, as well as his God's heart, he forgave them."

The elder lad's face had softened strangely; there was a moisture on the lashes which shaded his downcast eyes.

"He taught us our 'Pater Noster.' He had a right to teach us to say: 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' It is hard to act it, but then we must, for we have so many sins to be forgiven--so very, very many, Geoffrey. I think it is an awful prayer to say, though it is so simple and short. It is like Jesus himself, so perfect, so heart-searching. I tremble often; for just think, if we should have just the least little revenge in our hearts, we are praying for condemnation."

Lower, lower on his bosom sank the proud head of the young noble.

"I said it to-night, Hubert." The words came in a trembling whisper.

"Then you must _act_ it, quickly, quickly, before God answers it against you."

The boy had roused himself, and in his eagerness had caught both his brother's hands in an earnest grasp. What Geoffrey would have replied to this appeal cannot be known, for just at that moment there was a rustling among the stones, then the rush of a falling body, accompanied by one of those horrible screams of mortal agony, which those who have once heard them can never forget.

Both boys sprang to their feet with a cry of horror. Geoffrey's clear, cool head first comprehended what was the matter. He ran as near the border of the precipice, as he dared, and then, creeping on his hands and knees to the very edge, looked down. There, far below him, but as far above the water, caught in a scrubby tree that grew out of a cleft in the rock, lay a dark object, only just discernible in the moonlight; and again came the cry for help, but feebler than before.

"It is a man over the cliff!" shouted the boy. "Run, Hubert, for Bertrand and a rope; quick, or it will be too late! He is hanging in the elf oak!"

Then, when his brother was gone, he shouted words of encouragement to the unfortunate man. "Hold hard, man! help is near, and the tree strong, but trust not to the upper branch, it is a dead one; hold fast but a little while."

The man was in too great a state of terror to hear or understand, but kept exclaiming that he was lost, and vowing candles to every saint in the calendar, and pilgrimages to a dozen shrines; but his voice grew fainter and fainter, and had ceased entirely, before Hubert returned, accompanied by Humphrey Singleton and Bertrand. It took but a moment to uncoil the rope and fasten one end around a rock; then Geoffrey hailed the stranger:

"Ho! friend, help has come; courage! We will send you down a rope; have you strength to tie it round your body?"

No reply came. All shouted together, and then waited breathlessly for an answer, but none came.

"He is dead, or he has swooned," said the old master; "may the Lord have mercy on his soul! We can do no more."