Part 7

When Geoffrey awoke the next morning, it was to find a single, long beam of sunlight streaming down into his prison, by which he knew it must be already late. Both boys felt refreshed, and more prepared for the unknown trials of the day. The younger having climbed on the shoulders of the elder, peeped out of their high window, and described the prospect to his brother.

"Only a little, square, stone court, Geoffrey, with some steps, four of them leading up to a door in the house and another door opposite, in a low wall. The wall seems to join the tower close here by the window. I guess it must be a garden on the other side; I see some branches hanging over the wall. The window is not more than two feet above the ground, but it is too narrow for me to get my head through, even if it were not for the iron bars."

"Come down, now," said Geoffrey, "I cannot hold you any longer, and besides I want to show and tell you something."

From the position of the little room which Geoffrey had discovered the preceding day, he concluded that its window must open on the space beyond the wall; and after explaining to his brother the hiding-place of the parchments, and charging him to watch the outer door and alarm him if he heard footsteps approaching, he went to see what prospect of escape that opening afforded.

Hubert's conjecture proved right. The wall bounded the convent-garden, which was laid out in the stiff fashion of the time--long winding walks, bordered with box, beds of various kinds of herbs, an oval grass-plat with a sun-dial in the centre, some fruit-trees and flowering shrubs scattered about, peach-trees fastened to the sunny side of the wall, and a bower.

All this was sufficiently new and pretty to have interested Geoffrey; but he scarcely noticed it now, for his attention was immediately attracted by a figure approaching down a long wall that ended directly in front of the window. It was that of a young girl apparently near his own age, neither very tall nor remarkably graceful in her movements; but there was nothing plebeian in the delicate hand and foot, or in the carriage of the small, well-shaped head. She was well-dressed, according to the fashion of the time, in fine dark green cloth, with a cloak of brown camlet, and hood of the same; but the latter was now thrown back, exposing a goodly quantity of chestnut-brown hair, partly escaping from the crimson snood which confined it; for the same sharp wind which had given her cheeks their glowing color, had been mischief-making with her morning toilet. There was good-natured firmness in the lines about her mouth, and mirth mingled with thoughtfulness in her large blue eyes. Her voice, as she tried to coax a little robin to approach her, had that musical sweetness which is so very attractive, to some even more fascinating than decided personal beauty.

"Come hither, little frightened thing," she said, as the bird, alarmed at her advance, hopped behind a bush, and seemed about to take flight for a still safer place of refuge. "Dost thou think _I_ would make thee a prisoner, pretty creature, I who know so well what it is to pant and sigh for liberty--I, who would give all I possess to be able to fly over these high walls as thou canst, and be away to dear old Estly Court? I would but touch thee, and smooth that soft breast of thine; nay, do not go away, even if I may not come closer, for I must talk to thee awhile. Oh! but this is such a dreary place; and, birdie, thou art the only living thing that I can talk to as I please: and talk I must, for I am wearied to death with this stillness. Nearer now, a little nearer, and here is some of my breakfast for thee; I venture to say thou wilt find but scanty fare here even for thy small appetite." The bird hopped closer to her as she scattered the crumbs of bread, growing bolder at every mouthful, and its benefactress continued:

"O birdie! I wonder if that Father above, who, they say, sees even a sparrow that falls, has forgotten the lonely prisoner in Our Lady's Convent, and never means to take her back to home and Guy, and mamma; and I wonder if He is ever coming to set all of us free through all dear England again?"

"The Lord tarrieth, but He is surely coming," said Geoffrey from his window.

The girl started with a half-suppressed scream, and frightened her little companion so that he made use of his graceful wings to mount into a pear-tree at some distance. She looked above, and behind her, and on every side for the source of the voice; and it was some time before she spied the opening so near her feet.

"Do not be afraid, lady," said the boy, when she at last caught his eye; "I am only a poor prisoner like yourself, and cannot harm you."

The girl blushed a little, and tried by a quick motion of her hands to smooth back her hair and replace her hood. By this time, Geoffrey had had time to realize that he had spoken to a stranger, and that stranger a pretty young lady, so that when she stooped down and peeped in at him, his cheeks were crimson, and his eyes cast down, so that it was now her turn to re-assure him.

"Nay, now, this is a right pleasant meeting, since we are fellow-prisoners, and it were a pity we should frighten one another. We must be friends, for all others here are our enemies. It is not often that a lady stoops to a gentleman, but even that is better than breaking one's back by leaning over; so I will sit me down here where we can talk, hoping that you will one day be as much above me on your horse as you are now beneath me in dungeon-walls." So saying, she seated herself as close as possible to the opening, and continued with the utmost frankness:

"But who are you, and how came you hither, and are you brother to the young lad I passed yesterday on my way from chapel? Is he much hurt? I saw sister Ursula strike him, and she hath a heavy hand."

Her simplicity had made the boy quite forget his bashfulness, so he replied: "Nay, lady; except you bestow on me an extra tongue, how can I answer so many questions?"

"Oh! one at a time, one at a time!" replied the girl laughing. "We shall have at least half an hour to tell each other our histories, for the nuns have gone to breakfast, and we will not be disturbed till the bell rings; so pray you begin your tale, sir captive knight."

"No captive knight am I, only plain Geoffrey, son of Sir John De Forest, an outlaw for conscience' sake, and it was my brother Hubert whom you met. We were brought here yesterday by Chichely's men, having been seized in our retreat on the coast. My father's castle is in ruins, and he himself hunted like an evil beast upon the mountains. But I think I saw you at London last summer, when there was preaching in the brickyard."

"You did; I was there with my mother. My tale is not so very unlike your own. I am Lady Katharine Hyde. My father was Lord Hyde, of Estly Court; but he has been dead a year, and my uncle, the earl of Harcourt, has taken me away from my mother and little brother Guy, and brought me here to try and cure me of the heresy my mother taught me. I have heard that his orders were to use pleasant means at first for my conversion; but if at the end of six months I still prove obstinate, I am to be given up entirely to her tender mercies. So they allow me now to walk for a while every day in the garden; but I don't suppose that favor will be granted long, and then I shall be completely caged, unless I do like my friend, the robin--when I am frightened, fly over the wall."

"That were a feat I should hardly imagine your ladyship performing," replied Geoffrey, glancing up at the massive stone-work, and then at the lady's not very sylph-like form.

"Ah!" said Katharine, shaking her head, "there are other ways of flying beside going over yon mountain of stone. I have many plans working in my brain, and what have I else to do in this weary cage, but think how I may best break the bars? They called me Kate the Quick-Witted at home, and it will be hard but that I shall deserve the name here also."

"God give you good success," sighed the young Lollard; "but when you shall be free, I pray you sometimes to give a thought to the two forest boys shut up in a gloomy dungeon, or perhaps lying in a bloody grave."

"Hush, hush! master Geoffrey," said Lady Katharine, dashing away a tear from her bright eyes, and then relapsing into her merry mood. "Lollards are hard to catch, and harder to keep, and I promise you I will not go forth alone. Since they have made us companions in captivity, we will see if we cannot be the same in freedom. And now I mind me of it, my mother told me a long tale about our being of some kin in a mingled sort of way, but I, giddy girl, paid little heed. So we are in some sort cousins, Geoffrey, and now that I have set you the good example, see that you call me Katharine, or better still, Kate, on peril of my displeasure. But how came you here in this old cell? I did not think that Mother Beatrice would put a companion for me in any place having communication with this garden, her own private one."

The boy began to tell her about the old door he had broken down, and about the parchments; but just then the convent-bell clanged, Lady Katharine sprang to her feet, and saying hurriedly that the abbess would be there in a moment, went off down the walk, while Geoffrey as instantly retreated to his own cell. He found Hubert very anxious to know what was the matter, for he had heard the voices, but, faithful to his trust, he had remained watching the door, as his brother commanded. He was of course very much interested in the history of their fellow-prisoner, and delighted to hear that they had at least one friend, however helpless, in their prison.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

_*Remorse and its Effects.*_

Mother Superior of Our Lady's Convent did not think it best to press an examination on her prisoners, or attempt any active measures for their conversion, until their hot heads had had time to cool in the damps of their dungeon, and their obstinacy had been overcome by hunger and solitude. She then hoped to find them quite willing to obtain their liberty by recantation, and to purchase her favor by the betrayal of their secrets; but she little knew the characters with which she had to deal.

Boys who are thrown wholly on their own resources, and forced to act for themselves, in stirring and dangerous times, soon grow up to manhood in mind, if not in body. Geoffrey had been bred up in habits of self-denial, and inured to every kind of hardship, and was besides possessed of a disposition of that unyielding nature which, when guided by reason and exerted in a right direction, we call firmness, but when uncontrolled and directed to merely trifling things, we denominate obstinacy. His was a spirit which is as much strengthened by persecution as fire by oil; it only roused him to a fiercer action. He could meet defiance by defiance, and taunt with taunt; and Lollardism having been once assumed, there was little danger that it would be ever thrown aside, unless it might be weakened by a long course of prosperity.

Hubert was equally invincible, but his armor was of a different kind. He had neither the power of body or mind which his brother possessed, but in his very weakness lay his greater strength. His delicate health had caused him from his earliest childhood to receive many indulgences which his brother had been taught to scorn, and he had early learned to prefer the chimney-corner and the crabbed letters of an old manuscript, to the pleasures of the chase. Had no new principle been awakened within him, he would, most probably, have become effeminate; but it was not so. The doctrines which he had learned from Lollard preaching, and the fragments he possessed of the Bible, had become a part of his very being, and endued his tender spirit with that supernatural courage which is far more difficult to conquer than mere physical bravery. His mind was so thoroughly imbued with holy thoughts and heavenly aspirations, that earth could offer him few temptations, while heaven seemed to him so near and real, that dangers were but lightly regarded.

Notwithstanding all this, their prison-life began to tell upon them both. They had been so long accustomed to out-door life and abundant exercise, that the damp and confined air of their dungeon soon banished the color from their cheeks, and made them almost loathe their coarse fare. Then Kate's quick wit showed itself to some purpose.

"It is a foul shame," she said, during one of their conversations at the window, as she noticed Hubert pressing his face to the bars as though struggling to get as near as possible to the fresh morning air; "it is a foul shame to keep two such young eaglets chained to a rock. This window is not so small; if it were not for the bars, we might pass through, and you might exercise in the garden at night. Let us see: I venture these irons are none of the strongest; see how the rust has eaten them."

This thought inspired them with renewed vigor, and they began to test each bar by a vigorous blow. One yielded almost instantly, and another, after a few efforts; but the rest were still immovable, in spite of the pushes and pulls from Kate and Geoffrey, one working on each side. At last the latter bethought him of the bolts on the broken door. He soon wrenched them from the decayed wood, and brought them to the window. One they used as a lever, and another, which was a pointed bit of metal, Hubert sharpened, by rubbing on the stones, to pick out the mortar. This furnished occupation and amusement for all three for many days, for there were only certain hours when they could work without fear of interruption, and many and merry were the conversations that took place. The boys described to their young companion Forest Tower and their retreat on the cliffs, and she in her turn told them stories of her home at Estly Court, near London, of her little brother Guy, and her sweet, loving mother. She told how delighted lady Eleanor would be to welcome them, and how tenderly she would nurse Hubert when his head ached so badly. In the account of Charles Bertrand, she appeared very much interested.

"If he is only safe, and knew what had become of you," she observed, "he might work outside, while we arranged matters within. It would do us small good if we were this moment in yonder forest, if we had no one to help us on our journey. That was what I could not think how to manage; there was never a garrison yet that had not one traitor at least in its midst, if one only knows rightly how to influence him; and I think I know of one or two in this convent whom Mother Beatrice has not yet turned into stone and built up into the walls."

But meanwhile, what had become of the faithful Bertrand?

Remembering well his young master's orders, as soon as the soldiers had retired, he came out of his hiding place, and, having done what he could for poor old Humphrey Singleton, he set about sending information of the boys' capture to their father. He, however, found that the Lollard communications had been much interrupted lately, and that it would be necessary for him to go himself and carry the message.

He and De Forest, with other refugees, consulted together concerning the best means of escape. Sir John determined to forsake his unhappy country, and dwell, for a time at least, in Denmark or Germany. He decided that in the early spring he would go to London, in hopes that his sons might meet him there, and then all flee together. Bertrand was to try and find out where the children had been carried, to wander round in disguise, and, if possible, open communication with them. All the details were left to his own inventive powers.

He therefore returned to York, entering it one snowy winter's evening, footsore and weary, and not a little despondent. His disguise was that of a minstrel, as best calculated to give him admittance into various places where he might chance to hear somewhat of the objects of his search. He was a tolerable performer on the crwth, or Welsh violin, an accomplishment he had picked up in the course of his wanderings, and he was glad to be able to turn it to such good account.

So far he had been entirely unsuccessful, and cold, wet, and hungry, his chief desire was to find some inn or hostelry where he might obtain refreshment. He turned into one of the humblest, as befitting his station, and approached the fire, where a dozen rough-looking men were drinking beer and cracking low jokes with each other, accompanying each with a round oath and a burst of laughter. It seemed that most of their witticisms were directed toward one of their number, who either could not or would not reply, but sat in moody silence, with his back partly turned to the company, drinking an immense quantity of beer, perhaps with the hope of getting himself into a better humor.

"Now, by our Lady," said one, "I tell you Dick has cracked his pate."

"By the mass," said another, "he acts just like my dog that ran mad, last year; he refuses his victuals, can't stay still a minute, and snaps at the hand of his best friends."

"And he won't fight," said one long-legged fellow who sat cleaning his sword and patting it affectionately; "he, who used to go into a quarrel as a child goes to a show, with a hop, skip, and jump. Hola! Sir Minstrel, sing us a song of the wars of king Harry, to put a little spirit into yon lazy dog, who has grown afraid of his own cross-bow."

"By your leave, my merry masters," said Bertrand, "I will first put a little spirit into myself; I am as wet as though I had swam across the German ocean." So saying, he drew a stool up to the cheerful blaze, and raised an immense leathern flagon to his lips.

At the sound of his voice, the persecuted individual in the corner turned around suddenly; but the stranger's face was buried in his drinking-cup, and he soon relapsed into his former state.

"So, so, friend, feed first, and sing afterward; take a good pull at the liquor, and then sing us a song of Dick Redwood, the coward who trembles at his own footsteps."

Dick here turned round somewhat fiercely, and muttered: "I can fight, ye know that well enough, ye fools; there's not an arm here or in Yorkshire that can swing a battle-axe like mine. Would'st thou see if it is any weaker than it was when it tossed Gaspard, the Frenchman, over the wall, like a ball out of a culverin? Look!" and the man bared the muscular limb, and thrust it under his companion's nose.

"Ay, ay, he can fight; see that?" said one of the men, with a shout of mocking laughter.

"True, with a cat," said the tormentor coolly, laying down the sword and taking up a corselet, which he proceeded to rub with the most perfect indifference to the gathering rage of his victim, who at length burst out, his voice trembling with rage:

"Knave, thou liest! down on thy knees, or I will shake every bone from thy carrion body! Down, like a dog, as thou art!"

The man shook the other's grasp from his collar, and, stepping back a pace or two, cried: "I recant! I recant! Hear all! I take back what I said touching the most worshipful master Dick Redwood, having therein uttered a foul lie, and do positively affirm that he cannot fight with a cat, except the poor animal be somewhat weak in the legs."

Amid the roar of merriment which followed this sally, the infuriated man seized a huge cleaver, and swinging it round his head as though it were a feather, soon cleared a circle around him, and was about to spring on his tormentor, who was somewhat alarmed at the spirit his taunts had at last aroused, and all dreaded a combat with a man whose personal prowess had been undisputed before this unnatural sullen fit had come over him.

There was a death-like pause; then suddenly the eye of the soldier fell on the minstrel. The change that one look caused in him was marvellous. The color fled from his inflamed face, his eyes stared wildly, his limbs seemed scarcely able to sustain him, and the arm wielding the weapon dropped nerveless at his side. He put his hands to his brow, and muttered something of fiends pursuing him, and blood on his head, and then with one bound he cleared the circle, and dashed out of the door into the darkness.

"I told you he was mad, Tom Jennet. Why did you hunt him so? He is crazed no doubt, by a fall he had over the cliffs some weeks ago, and has been strange ever since. Come, Sir Minstrel, now for your song, to drive this crack-brained fellow from our thoughts."

But when they turned to look for the minstrel, he was gone. He had slipped out unperceived, and was making his way as rapidly as possible through the muddy streets, only intent on putting as great a distance as possible between him and the madman, whom he had instantly known as the great enemy of his master's house, and who, he found, remembered him.

He had gone, however, but a few rods when he was stopped by a heavy hand laid on his shoulder; it was the Captain's voice that sounded in his ear.

"Hold! I am a friend; be silent and follow me. God and our Lady know I mean you no harm, but may tell you that which will be to your advantage."

Bertrand was very much surprised; but resolving to see the adventure to an end, followed his strange conductor in perfect silence through many narrow and crooked streets, to another hostelry, meaner than the one they had just left. The room was quite deserted, but the soldier drew him into the darkest corner and called for liquor. For some moments he did not speak, and Bertrand's curiosity had been raised to its highest pitch before it was satisfied.

"It is all along of my wife Joan," began the Captain at last, with the air of a man forced by some dreaded power to do something much against his will. "You know who I am--everybody knows me, I think, and calls me coward. He saved me, and I sold them, and the demons are on my track. My wife Joan says it is all the wind; but can I not hear? am I not all ears for their horrible mockings? One of them will creep around my bed at night when all is still, and come up close to me, and then shriek, 'Judas! we have found our Judas again!' and then shake great bags of gold before me, and laugh so devilishly. 'Ay, Dick,' they say, 'thou art one of us now; thou makest a famous Judas! He sold the One who died for him, for only thirty pieces, but thou hast an hundred.' Then they yell, and dance, and shout again and again: 'Hail, Judas! King of the Ingrates!'"

The soldier paused to wipe his damp brow, then continued, his voice lower and hoarser than before:

"Yestermorn I was wandering by the shore--the demons make me wander far and wide; as I was thinking, I picked up something at my feet--_it was an oak branch_! I tossed it into the sea, for it burnt my hand. But, look you, comrade! the waves mocked me, and threw it back at my feet, and then they laughed and shrieked: 'We know thee, Judas!' Even as I went back, I met two innocent-faced boys, but they kept the other side of the way, and methinks they shouted 'Judas!' also, but I ran on.

"So then I told Joan, for I could no longer contain, and she bade me seek you out, and without delay try to free the lads, and then, mayhap, the fiends will leave me."

"In truth, man, I marvel not at the demons," said Bertrand; "but now, if thou really wishest to undo thy devil's work, we are well met. I am fully purposed to bring my master's sons out of their dungeon, or be put in one myself."

"Come on then, for the love of heaven," said Dick, rising, and pulling his companion by the mantle. "Come on to my wife Joan; she is as quick with her mind as with her body; she will tell us what to do, and we will cheat the devils yet."