Part 2

"But how and where, then, shall I fight?" I asked. "Since Monmouth cut the Covenanters up at Bothwell Brig there hath been naught worth the name of fighting; and although 'tis said the Duke of Argyle is in Scotland with some followers, that will not touch us: he will soon be done for. Nay, sir, I see no chance of fighting here in England. All is peace."

"Yes, but methinks it will not be so long, Michael," rejoined my father with a knowing look.

"What mean you, sir?" I asked.

"I mean," he answered, leaning forward with his arms upon the table and speaking in a whisper, "I mean that I have certain knowledge that at any moment bloody civil war may again break out among us."

"How, sir, and what proof?" I cried, springing to my feet.

"Sit down," replied my father quietly. Then, opening a drawer, he drew therefrom a letter. "Here is my proof," he said, unfolding it, "though certes it was not for me; I found it wedged inside a larger document which came by post last night. Thus it had been overlooked. I opened it unthinkingly, and, when I saw the nature of its contents, kept it; and that rightly, as it seems to me. Read it," he added, holding the paper out across the table.

'Twas addressed to a man well known to us; one who had fought with Blake when he held Lyme so stoutly against Prince Maurice in the Civil Wars.

The writing was a poor scrawl enough, and hard to read in parts, but this is how it ran:--

"Dated from London, 8th June, 1685.

"FRIEND,

"These are to advise thee that honest Protestants forthwith prepare and make themselves very ready, for they have notice here at Court that a Certain Person will forthwith appear in the West, which puts them here at Court into a most dreadful fear and confusion; 'tis hoped, therefore, that all honest men who are true Protestants will stick together and make ready for the trumpet call of Freedom. Argyle have had great success in Scotland, and have already destroyed great part of the King's forces there; and we hear from good hands that he hath sure an army that doth increase so mightily daily that nothing can oppose them; and if they be once up in the West they would suddenly be up in all parts of England, all Protestants being certainly prepared and resolved rather to die than to live Slaves and Papists. Therefore make good use hereof, and impart it to such as you can trust, that you may all be prepared and ready against the appearance of a Certain Person, which will be forthwith if not already.

"From your friend, "F.R."

"This is a pretty riddle, sir," said I, laying down the letter.

"Nay," quoth the old man, smiling at my puzzled look; "'tis plain as any horn-book. Who, think you, is the Certain Person named herein?" He touched the letter.

"Nay, sir, I cannot tell," I answered.

"Guess! The name begins with M."

But as I knew several names beginning with that letter this information did not greatly help me; and though I was soon astonished that it had not done so, I could only shake my head and say:

"I cannot guess."

"Well, then, I will tell thee," said my father. "The Certain Person is none other than James, Duke of Monmouth."

This time I sprang up so vehemently that over went my chair and I came near to following it.

"What!" I cried. "Monmouth! That pretty fellow whom I saw five years ago at Colyton when he rode through the West so proudly, with thousands of fine gentlemen behind him?"

"The very same," replied my father gravely.

"But is he not an exile in the Netherlands?" I asked, amazed.

"That is his portion," said my father, looking mighty stern. "Or, rather, was."

"Then, what comes he here for?"

"To stir up rank rebellion; to play the fine Pretender; in a word, to try and wrest the crown from him who rightly wears it, to wit, his uncle, our King James."

"That being so," said I, drawing myself up very straight and feeling mightily important, "I fight for Monmouth."

'Twas now my father's turn to show amazement, the which he did by springing to his feet with such suddenness and anger that I fell back a step or two.

"Stop!" he hissed across the table. "You know not what you say. Such words as those would hang a man if they were overheard. Wouldst fight for a usurper?"

"They say he is the rightful heir," said I.

"'They say'! Who say?" returned my father hotly.

"Why, those who have a right to know," I answered glumly, for my pride was hurt.

"Then know that 'they' say wrong," he scornfully rejoined. "This Monmouth hath no more title to the crown than you or I have."

"But, sir, is he not the eldest son of Charles the Second?"

"They have no proof who say so. Therefore I say again, he hath no claim, no title to the throne of England."

This seemed a crushing answer right enough, and so for a moment I was silent. But I had read and heard--as no doubt you have also--of some mysterious written proof of Charles's marriage to one Lucy Walters, Monmouth's mother. 'Twas said to have been hidden in a black box somewhere, which, when the needful time arrived, was nowhere to be found; and even they who had professed to having seen the very document in question, roundly denied all knowledge of it when brought before the Council. To be quite honest, I had but small belief in it myself, but now, in my fallen pride, it served my purpose; so----

"What of the Black Box?" I said, looking as wise as any parrot.

I had expected that my father's answer to this question would be short and sharp--indeed, perhaps nothing save a scornful laugh; but, to my great astonishment, he dropped back straight into his chair and stared at me like one possessed, while his breath came thick and fast, as though he had suffered some great shock.

"What do you know of that?" he gasped at last.

"Nothing, father," I answered carelessly by way of calming him, for knowing that he suffered from a weakness of the heart I was afraid lest harm should come to him. "Nothing, that is, beyond what others know. Indeed, I thought 'twas common knowledge."

"Common knowledge!" echoed my father with a fearful start. "What do you mean?"

"Why, the report that there is somewhere written proof of Charles's marriage. Is it not common knowledge? I remember hearing of it when I was a boy at school."

"Yes, yes; but the box in which 'twas said to have been hidden! What do you know of that?"

He put this question with a feverish eagerness and then gazed at me searchingly, if indeed not suspiciously.

"Nothing," I answered firmly; "absolutely nothing."

On hearing this my father heaved a sigh of deep relief, and for a space stared at me in a far-off, wondering manner, as though he were scarce certain of my presence; then, leaning slowly forward on the table, he said:

"Michael, 'tis passing strange that you should be the first to mention that which I have brought you here to speak of, but, having done so, the need for a preamble is at least removed. Know, then, that the tale of the Black Box, albeit so bedecked and garnished with absurdities by the tongue of busy gossip, is not entirely fabulous. For, verily, that box exists. I have it here."

When I heard this I was as one struck dumb. To think that in that quiet, book-lined chamber there lay a hidden secret which, as it seemed to me, might have the power to turn a kingdom upside down! I was aghast, and as I gazed in blank bewilderment about the room it was as though black boxes had usurped the very shelves and lurked in every corner. Thus for a moment I was speechless, then my eyes went slowly back to him from whom this most astounding news had come, and who now sat watching me intently.

"You have it, sir!" I said in a voice that sounded strange and distant to my ears. "Where? How?"

"That you shall know presently. All in good time," replied my father with a curious little smile, which I can see again distinctly as I write these words. "But, first of all, I ask your promise as a man and son that not a word of what I show and tell you shall pass your lips so long as I am living. When I am gone you may do as you choose, but until then this matter must be treated as a bounden secret sacred to us two, and to us alone. Have I your oath that this shall be so, Michael?"

"You have," I answered. "Here is my hand upon it."

Our hands met firm and solemnly across the table. Then my father rose, and taking down a picture of my mother which hung upon the wall, pressed with his fingers on the wainscoting beneath. Instantly a panelled door flew open, revealing a secret cupboard big enough to hold two men.

After some groping in a bottom corner of this chamber, he discovered what he sought, and, returning to the table, laid thereon a little box of ebony, about eight inches square.

*CHAPTER II*

*The Secret of the Black Box*

Sitting with his hands upon the box as though 'twere something which might jump away, my father tapped it gently, saying:

"That which I am about to show you, Michael, is what no eye save mine hath seen except one other. Yours will make a third; which goes to prove how thoroughly I trust you."

Unbuttoning his vest, he brought forth a curious-looking key, which hung by a narrow ribbon from his neck. With this he solemnly unlocked the box, and having thrown the lid back, laid it again upon the table. 'Twas lined with purple velvet, and, so far as I could see, contained two separate papers neatly tied with silk. The undermost of these he took out first and laid it on the table.

"Read that," he said, "and tell me what you think of it."

Greatly wondering, I undid the cord and scanned the contents of the paper. Then my hand shook, for this is what I read:

"Know all men, that our eldest and well-beloved child, James, Duke of Monmouth, is our rightful heir, in proof whereof we herewith give the marriage contract made between his mother, Lucy Walters, and ourselves.

"Given at our Palace of Whitehall, this sixteenth day of August, in the Year of Grace 1679.

"CHARLES R."

"Well, what think you of it?" asked my father, as our eyes met.

"Why," I answered eagerly, "it proves exactly what I said: that Monmouth is the rightful King of England."

"Ah! you say so," quoth my father grimly. "Now read this."

This was none other than the marriage contract mentioned in the foregoing letter. 'Twas dated from Cologne, set forth every detail of the matter, and was also signed by Charles.

"Well, and what now?" asked my father gloatingly, as I laid the parchment on the table.

"Well, 'tis clear as any pikestaff," I replied. "Monmouth should be King without a question."

"Ah! you think so," said my father shrewdly. "Small wonder either; but be not too hasty in your judgments, Michael. Now read that," he added, handing me the final paper with a glowing look of triumph.

This writing was my father's well-known hand, and 'tis small wonder that I read it with amazement; for this is how it ran:

"I, Gilbert Fane, of The Havering, by Lyme, in the County of Dorset, writing with full knowledge of the matter, do hereby solemnly declare the documents inside this Box to be rank forgeries.

"GILBERT FANE."

When, dumbfounded and bewildered, I raised my eyes from this amazing statement 'twas to find my father's fixed upon me with a hungry look.

"Ah! and what now?" he asked, drumming the table with his fingers.

For a moment I could find no words, then:

"Forgeries!" I fairly gasped.

"Yes, rank forgeries," replied the old man grimly.

"But--sir--" I stammered, "'tis the King's own writing."

"You are sure of that, eh?"

"Yes, sure as death."

"And why?"

"Because I saw a letter from King Charles at Sir John Berkeley's house but a week ago. 'Tis framed and hangs upon the wall; and the writing is the same as that," I added, pointing to the documents.

"You have good cause for saying that; yet 'tis not so."

"Well, at any rate two peas were never more alike. I remember thinking that the 'Charles' looked more like Charley--just as this one does. Yes, 'tis wonderfully like it."

"Ah! I am with you there," rejoined my father grimly. "As you say, 'tis wonderfully like indeed--and why? Because 'twas written by a wonderfully clever man."

"And who was that?" I asked point-blank.

"One Robert Ferguson," replied my father slowly.

"What! the great Ferguson?" I cried, astonished.

"Great if you choose to call him so," came the answer, in the same deep, measured tones. "But wicked, I should say. Ferguson the plotter!"--(here he raised his voice)--"Ferguson the traitor, liar, thief, and hypocrite! As black a scoundrel as e'er set foot upon God's earth!"

As, with blazing eyes and ever-rising voice, my father poured forth this fierce denunciation, my amazement broke all bounds. I knew this man, this wicked rogue, by cold repute--as who did not? for his name and deeds were blazoned everywhere. How he had been Churchman, Presbyterian, Independent, Writer, and Preceptor--everything by turn. How he had used religion as a cloak for vilest ends; how he had played false with every party; and how, in the end, when the Rye House plot leaked out (of which he was prime mover), he had, with a mocking laugh, abandoned his accomplices to their fate, while he, disguised, escaped abroad.

Yes, I knew this brazen, barefaced rogue right well; but that these documents--these fresh examples of his falsity and cunning--should have come into our house, was what so amazed me; and this perplexity was swiftly noted by my father, for while I yet sat there in blank bewilderment he smiled and said:

"This matter sorely puzzles you, I see."

"Puzzles me!" I cried. "Aye, sir, that it does and more. What can you have had to do with Ferguson, and how came you by those papers?"

"That is a natural question," he said, "and I will answer it as briefly as may be. About six years ago I met this man, this rogue, this Ferguson, in London; though I did not then know that 'twas he, for, as you know, he went by divers names, and had a separate lodging for each name. With me he passed as one Elijah Annabat, a scrivener, in the city; and, oh! shame on me for my blindness, Michael, but his words and ways were such that I counted him a right good fellow cursed with an ugly face. Nay, worse, I even trusted him with money. But I overrun my tale.

"At last we became so friendly that I went to visit him at his lodging in the Chepe, and there it was that I first saw him working on these forgeries. Night after night I found him bending over them, working like one possessed. He said that he was making copies for a man in high estate; but one night he chanced to leave a sheet uncovered at the bottom, and there I read 'Charles R.' 'Ah! "high estate" indeed', thought I, but of course said nothing. Well, to make few words of it, another night I chanced to catch him locking up his precious papers in this very box. This time methought he had an evil, hunted look upon his ugly face, but, though I had my doubts, I did not see my way to question him; and as my business took me home upon the morrow, I bade Elijah Annabat farewell. Now, as I said, I had been surpassing fool enough to trust him with some money, on which he did profess he could obtain great usury within a month. Well, I had been home at least two months, and yet had had no tidings of the matter, so I wrote to him. Another month passed, but no answer came. I wrote again; but still there was no answer. Then, while I was yet turning over in my mind what course to take, the Black Box tale leapt over England, and with it flashed into my memory what I had seen in London. 'Ah! I will pay a visit to Elijah Annabat,' said I: and forthwith posted up to town.

"By rare good chance I found him in, and, what was still more to my liking, there was he seated at a table with the Black Box in his hands. As I came suddenly upon him he turned a savage glance towards me; then, having quickly hid the box beneath some papers, he rose, and, holding out his hand, grinned like a cat and said:

"'Well met, good Master Fane!'

"'Well met, indeed, good Master Annabat!' quoth I, remaining stiff and frowning by the door. 'Where is my money?'

"His face changed instantly, as though a mask had fallen from it; and for a time he stood there stroking his bristly chin and shooting glances at me from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

"'Hum!' he said at last. 'Your money, eh, friend? Ah, to be sure, your money. Yes, of course. Well, friend, I fear 'tis like the sheep of which we read in Holy Scripture--lost!'"

"On hearing this, I paused a moment: then suddenly a wild idea seized me. 'That being so,' I said, 'I will have your Black Box in exchange for it.'

"Never have I seen a man so struck as he was by those words. His face went white, then red; and then, without a moment's warning, he sprang on me like a tiger.

"He was a younger and a stronger man than I, and moreover had the advantage of attack; but, as you know, I was something of a wrestler in my youth, and so by a well-proved trick I sent him flying from me. Reeling back, his head struck full upon the wall, and there he lay like one dead. Nor was this all, for, as he fell, a paper left his pocket. Picking it up I read 'To Robert Ferguson, Esquire.' That was enough for me. Taking the box I left him lying there, and started straightway on my homeward journey.

"As for Ferguson, I hoped devoutly he was killed, and still regret he was not; but, alack! within a fortnight from that time the Rye House Plot came out, and he was forced to flee the country, and, thank Heaven, hath never dared to show his wicked face in England since. So there you have the answer to your question, Michael," said my father, in conclusion. "Is all now clear to you, my son?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, "it is clear enough how you met Ferguson and got his box; but why, having such clear proof of his amazing falseness, did you not expose him to the world?"

"Because I dared not, Michael," replied the old man slowly. "Wrong breeds wrong, and violence violence. In my anger I had taken that to which I had no right; but, as you see, there is naught save my written word to prove I was not privy to these forgeries; nor would those in authority have believed it was not so. And remember that the law was even then, as ten times more so now, gathered up in one foul, cruel fellow--that bloody-minded man, Judge Jeffreys. Yea, verily, to be found with this," he added, tapping the box significantly, "would then, as now, have spelt death to any man. And although, even six years ago my days were not many, I had no wish to cut them short by dangling at a rope-end. Wherefore I kept the box, and--well, here it is."

"And Ferguson made no stir about it?"

"Nay, by the same token that he dare not, for would they not have asked how he had knowledge of it? What now? Hast any further questions, Michael?"

"Nay, sir," I answered, after thinking for a moment, "I have no more questions, but, if I may, I would make one suggestion."

"Ah, certainly; what is it?"

"Why, that in your written statement you should add unto the words 'Rank forgeries'--'by Ferguson, the Plotter.'"

"A right excellent suggestion, too," rejoined my father. "It shall be done forthwith."

Taking up his pen he did it, and was replacing the papers in their small black house, when I saw him add the letter concerning "A Certain Person", which, as you know, did not belong to him.

"Stay!" I interrupted, "why that one, sir?"

"Because 'tis the safest place for it," he answered, as he closed and locked the lid. "To give it to its rightful owner would need explanations, and those would be risky and might lead to trouble. Therefore let it rest here. And now," he added, pushing back the box, "I have told you everything. I always meant to do so on your eighteenth birthday, and glad am I 'tis done, for the sharing of a secret trustily brings great relief. As to the future; well, as I said before, when I am gone--when the secret is again one man's--you will do exactly as you please, but I would counsel you, when that time comes, to burn the box and all that it contains."

"Why not burn it now," I put in eagerly, "and be done with it for ever?"

My father drew the box towards him, and, as it seemed to me, caressed it.

"Because," he said, "I could not bring myself to do it. 'Tis perchance naught save an old man's foolish fancy, Michael, but I tell you I have kept this little thing so long that I--I love it, even as I fear it."

"Then why not burn the papers only?" I suggested.

"Ah! that would leave an empty shell indeed; and what is a body when the heart is taken from it? Nor would I trust the flames. No, no! When I am dead, burn as and what you please, but until then my little friend goes back into his resting-place. Come! let me show you how the panel may be opened."

With that, he replaced the box in its dark corner, and, having closed the cupboard door, was just showing me the secret of the spring, when we were once more startled by a noise outside--this time like that of snapping twigs.

For a moment we both stood stock-still, listening, then running to the window, looked out anxiously. But again there was nothing to be seen. The ancient, broad-leaved chestnut tree which grew quite close above a neighbouring wall and threw deep shadows on the lawn beneath, gave forth no sign.

"Ah, Michael," quoth my father, smiling, though his look was most uneasy, "methinks it is a case of guilty consciences begetting fearful thoughts. A bird, an animal it surely was, or----" He stopped; for suddenly, from nowhere, as it seemed to me, a great black cat sprang into view and fled helter-skelter down the garden walk, with a goodly length of narrow cord trailing from its neck.

We started back as though it had been the Evil One himself; then, as the brute dashed out of view, turned to each other and broke out a-laughing. But verily it struck me that our mirth was far from being hearty; and, looking back, it seems a mockery that we laughed at all.

"So much for the disturber of our peace," remarked my father. "A poor beast, doubtless tortured by some cruel lad, hath saved himself from--hanging."

"'Tis a case of gallows cheating, then," said I; "and one of blackness, too--a black cat there, a black box here."

I said this lightly, but my father cast a swift, uneasy glance towards the secret panel.

"That's true enough," he answered quickly. "But now for brighter matters. This is your eighteenth birthday, Michael, and I have here for you two presents which may help you on that way of soldiering which, as I knew, would be your choice."

Going to a corner he brought therefrom two parcels, a long one and a short one, neatly wrapped in cloth, and laid them on the table. The larger one he undid first, and there, to my great delight, I saw as fine a sword as any man could wish to wear; then, while I yet stood enraptured at so grand a thing, he brought forth from the other package a brace of handsome pistols with holsters all complete.

"Take these with a father's blessing," said the old man, bowing graciously. "And may you use them well and worthily, my son!"

"Sir!" I began, and forthwith tried to thank him, but the words came stumbling awkwardly.

Then he must needs strap on the sword himself, and make me stand while he surveyed the hang of it like any captain on parade.

"Yes, 'tis well enough, 'twill do," he said at last; "but remember, Michael, that the truest blade is naught unless there be a good, true heart behind it."

"Aye, sir, I will remember that," I answered solemnly.

"Ah, I am sure of it," rejoined my father. "And now I have it in mind to write to my friend Lord Feversham concerning you. It may be that he hath an ensignship or cornetcy to offer. Would that suit you?"

"With all my heart," I answered eagerly; "and may the chance to use this sword come soon!"

My father smiled.

"Ah, never fear," he said, "'twill come quite soon enough; perhaps too soon."