Deeds are done on earth

Which have their punishment ere the earth closes

Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working

Of the remorse-stirr’d fancy, or the vision,

Distinct and real, of unearthly being,

All ages witness, that beside the couch

Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost

Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound.

OLD PLAY.

Everard had come to Joceline’s hut as fast as horse could bear him, and with the same impetuosity of purpose as of speed. He saw no choice in the course to be pursued, and felt in his own imagination the strongest right to direct, and even reprove, his cousin, beloved as she was, on account of the dangerous machinations with which she appeared to have connected herself. He returned slowly, and in a very different mood.

Not only had Alice, prudent as beautiful, appeared completely free from the weakness of conduct which seemed to give him some authority over her, but her views of policy, if less practicable, were so much more direct and noble than his own, as led him to question whether he had not compromised himself too rashly with Cromwell, even although the state of the country was so greatly divided and torn by faction, that the promotion of the General to the possession of the executive government seemed the only chance of escaping a renewal of the Civil War. The more exalted and purer sentiments of Alice lowered him in his own eyes; and though unshaken in his opinion, that it were better the vessel should be steered by a pilot having no good title to the office, than that she should run upon the breakers, he felt that he was not espousing the most direct, manly, and disinterested side of the question.

As he rode on, immersed in these unpleasant contemplations, and considerably lessened in his own esteem by what had happened, Wildrake, who rode by his side, and was no friend to long silence, began to enter into conversation. “I have been thinking, Mark,” said he, “that if you and I had been called to the bar — as, by the by, has been in danger of happening to me in more senses than one — I say, had we become barristers, I would have had the better oiled tongue of the two — the fairer art of persuasion.”

“Perhaps so,” replied Everard, “though I never heard thee use any, save to induce an usurer to lend thee money, or a taverner to abate a reckoning.”

“And yet this day, or rather night, I could have, as I think, made a conquest which baffled you.”

“Indeed?” said the Colonel, becoming attentive.

“Why, look you,” said Wildrake, “it was a main object with you to induce Mistress Alice Lee — By Heaven, she is an exquisite creature — I approve of your taste, Mark — I say, you desire to persuade her, and the stout old Trojan her father, to consent to return to the Lodge, and live there quietly, and under connivance, like gentlefolk, instead of lodging in a hut hardly fit to harbour a Tom of Bedlam.”

“Thou art right; such, indeed, was a great part of my object in this visit,” answered Everard.

“But perhaps you also expected to visit there yourself, and so keep watch over pretty Mistress Lee — eh?”

“I never entertained so selfish a thought,” said Everard; “and if this nocturnal disturbance at the mansion were explained and ended, I would instantly take my departure.”

“Your friend Noll would expect something more from you,” said Wildrake; “he would expect, in case the knight’s reputation for loyalty should draw any of our poor exiles and wanderers about the Lodge, that you should be on the watch and ready to snap them. In a word, as far as I can understand his long-winded speeches, he would have Woodstock a trap, your uncle and his pretty daughter the bait of toasted-cheese — craving your Chloe’s pardon for the comparison — you the spring-fall which should bar their escape, his Lordship himself being the great grimalkin to whom they are to be given over to be devoured.”

“Dared Cromwell mention this to thee in express terms?” said Everard, pulling up his horse, and stopping in the midst of the road.

“Nay, not in express terms, which I do not believe he ever used in his life; you might as well expect a drunken man to go straight forward; but he insinuated as much to me, and indicated that you might deserve well of him — Gadzo, the damnable proposal sticks in my throat — by betraying our noble and rightful King, (here he pulled off his hat,) whom God grant in health and wealth long to reign, as the worthy clergyman says, though I fear just now his Majesty is both sick and sorry, and never a penny in his pouch to boot.”

“This tallies with what Alice hinted,” said Everard; “but how could she know it? didst thou give her any hint of such a thing?”

“I!” replied the cavalier, “I, who never saw Mistress Alice in my life till to-night, and then only for an instant — zooks, man, how is that possible?”

“True,” replied Everard, and seemed lost in thought. At length he spoke —“I should call Cromwell to account for his bad opinion of me; for, even though not seriously expressed, but, as I am convinced it was, with the sole view of proving you, and perhaps myself, it was, nevertheless, a misconstruction to be resented.”

“I’ll carry a cartel for you, with all my heart and soul,” said Wildrake; “and turn out with his godliness’s second, with as good will as I ever drank a glass of sack.”

“Pshaw,” replied Everard, “those in his high place fight no single combats. But tell me, Roger Wildrake, didst thou thyself think me capable of the falsehood and treachery implied in such a message?”

“I!” exclaimed Wildrake. “Markham Everard, you have been my early friend, my constant benefactor. When Colchester was reduced, you saved me from the gallows, and since that thou hast twenty times saved me from starving. But, by Heaven, if I thought you capable of such villany as your General recommended — by yonder blue sky, and all the works of creation which it bends over, I would stab you with my own hand!”

“Death,” replied Everard, “I should indeed deserve, but not from you, perhaps; but fortunately, I cannot, if I would, be guilty of the treachery you would punish. Know that I had this day secret notice, and from Cromwell himself, that the young Man has escaped by sea from Bristol.”

“Now, God Almighty be blessed, who protected him through so many dangers!” exclaimed Wildrake. “Huzza! — Up hearts, cavaliers! — Hey for cavaliers! — God bless King Charles! — Moon and stars, catch my hat!”— and he threw it up as high as he could into the air. The celestial bodies which he invoked did not receive the present dispatched to them; but, as in the case of Sir Henry Lee’s scabbard, an old gnarled oak became a second time the receptacle of a waif and stray of loyal enthusiasm. Wildrake looked rather foolish at the circumstance, and his friend took the opportunity of admonishing him.

“Art thou not ashamed to bear thee so like a schoolboy?”

“Why,” said Wildrake, “I have but sent a Puritan’s hat upon a loyal errand. I laugh to think how many of the schoolboys thou talk’st of will be cheated into climbing the pollard next year, expecting to find the nest of some unknown bird in yonder unmeasured margin of felt.”

“Hush now, for God’s sake, and let us speak calmly,” said Everard. “Charles has escaped, and I am glad of it. I would willingly have seen him on his father’s throne by composition, but not by the force of the Scottish army, and the incensed and vengeful royalists.”

“Master Markham Everard,” began the cavalier, interrupting him —“Nay, hush, dear Wildrake,” said Everard; “let us not dispute a point on which we cannot agree, and give me leave to go on. — I say, since the young Man has escaped, Cromwell’s offensive and injurious stipulation falls to the ground; and I see not why my uncle and his family should not again enter their own house, under the same terms of connivance as many other royalists. What may be incumbent on me is different, nor can I determine my course until I have an interview with the General, which, as I think, will end in his confessing that he threw in this offensive proposal to sound us both. It is much in his manner; for he is blunt, and never sees or feels the punctilious honour which the gallants of the day stretch to such delicacy.”

“I’ll acquit him of having any punctilio about him,” said Wildrake, “either touching honour or honesty. Now, to come back to where we started. Supposing you were not to reside in person at the Lodge, and to forbear even visiting there, unless on invitation, when such a thing can be brought about, I tell you frankly, I think your uncle and his daughter might be induced to come back to the Lodge, and reside there as usual. At least the clergyman, that worthy old cock, gave me to hope as much.”

“He had been hasty in bestowing his confidence,” said Everard.

“True,” replied Wildrake; “he confided in me at once; for he instantly saw my regard for the Church. I thank Heaven I never passed a clergyman in his canonicals without pulling my hat off —(and thou knowest, the most desperate duel I ever fought was with young Grayless of the Inner Temple, for taking the wall of the Reverend Dr. Bunce)— Ah, I can gain a chaplain’s ear instantly. Gadzooks, they know whom they have to trust to in such a one as I.”

“Dost thou think, then,” said Colonel Everard, “or rather does this clergyman think, that if they were secure of intrusion from me, the family would return to the Lodge, supposing the intruding Commissioners gone, and this nocturnal disturbance explained and ended?”

“The old Knight,” answered Wildrake, “may be wrought upon by the Doctor to return, if he is secure against intrusion. As for disturbances, the stout old boy, so far as I can learn in two minutes’ conversation, laughs at all this turmoil as the work of mere imagination, the consequence of the remorse of their own evil consciences; and says that goblin or devil was never heard of at Woodstock, until it became the residence of such men as they, who have now usurped the possession.”

“There is more than imagination in it,” said Everard. “I have personal reason to know there is some conspiracy carrying on, to render the house untenable by the Commissioners. I acquit my uncle of accession to such a silly trick; but I must see it ended ere I can agree to his and my cousin’s residing where such a confederacy exists; for they are likely to be considered as the contrivers of such pranks, be the actual agent who he may.”

“With reference to your better acquaintance with the gentleman, Everard, I should rather suspect the old father of Puritans (I beg your pardon again) has something to do with the business; and if so, Lucifer will never look near the true old Knight’s beard, nor abide a glance of yonder maiden’s innocent blue eyes. I will uphold them as safe as pure gold in a miser’s chest.”

“Sawest thou aught thyself, which makes thee think thus?”

“Not a quill of the devil’s pinion saw I,” replied Wildrake. “He supposes himself too secure of an old cavalier, who must steal, hang, or drown, in the long run, so he gives himself no trouble to look after the assured booty. But I heard the serving-fellows prate of what they had seen and heard; and though their tales were confused enough, yet if there was any truth among them at all, I should say the devil must have been in the dance. — But, holla! here comes some one upon us. — Stand, friend — who art thou?”

“A poor day-labourer in the great work of England — Joseph Tomkins by name — Secretary to a godly and well-endowed leader in this poor Christian army of England, called General Harrison.”

“What news, Master Tomkins?” said Everard; “and why are you on the road at this late hour?”

“I speak to the worthy Colonel Everard, as I judge?” said Tomkins; “and truly I am glad of meeting your honour. Heaven knows, I need such assistance as yours. — Oh, worthy Master Everard! — Here has been a sounding of trumpets, and a breaking of vials, and a pouring forth, and”—

“Prithee, tell me in brief, what is the matter — where is thy master — and, in a word, what has happened?”

“My master is close by, parading it in the little meadow, beside the hugeous oak, which is called by the name of the late Man; ride but two steps forward, and you may see him walking swiftly to and fro, advancing all the while the naked weapon.”

Upon proceeding as directed, but with as little noise as possible, they descried a man, whom of course they concluded must be Harrison, walking to and fro beneath the King’s oak, as a sentinel under arms, but with more wildness of demeanour. The tramp of the horses did not escape his ear; and they heard him call out, as if at the head of the brigade — “Lower pikes against cavalry! — Here comes Prince Rupert — Stand fast, and you shall turn them aside, as a bull would toss a cur-dog. Lower your pikes still, my hearts, the end secured against your foot — down on your right knee, front rank — spare not for the spoiling of your blue aprons. — Ha — Zerobabel — ay, that is the word!”

“In the name of Heaven, about whom or what is he talking” said Everard; “wherefore does he go about with his weapon drawn?”

“Truly, sir, when aught disturbs my master, General Harrison, he is something rapt in the spirit, and conceives that he is commanding a reserve of pikes at the great battle of Armageddon — and for his weapon, alack, worthy sir, wherefore should he keep Sheffield steel in calves’ leather, when there are fiends to be combated — incarnate fiends on earth, and raging infernal fiends under the earth?”

“This is intolerable,” said Everard. “Listen to me, Tomkins. Thou art not now in the pulpit, and I desire none of thy preaching language. I know thou canst speak intelligibly when thou art so minded. Remember, I may serve or harm thee; and as you hope or fear any thing on my part, answer straight-forward — What has happened to drive out thy master to the wild wood at this time of night?”

“Forsooth, worthy and honoured sir, I will speak with the precision I may. True it is, and of verity, that the breath of man, which is in his nostrils, goeth forth and returneth”—

“Hark you, sir,” said Colonel Everard, “take care where you ramble in your correspondence with me. You have heard how at the great battle of Dunbar in Scotland, the General himself held a pistol to the head of Lieutenant Hewcreed, threatening to shoot him through the brain if he did not give up holding forth, and put his squadron in line to the front. Take care, sir.”

“Verily, the lieutenant then charged with an even and unbroken order,” said Tomkins, “and bore a thousand plaids and bonnets over the beach before him into the sea. Neither shall I pretermit or postpone your honour’s commands, but speedily obey them, and that without delay.”

“Go to, fellow; thou knowest what I would have,” said Everard; “speak at once; I know thou canst if thou wilt. Trusty Tomkins is better known than he thinks for.”

“Worthy sir,” said Tomkins, in a much less periphrastic style, “I will obey your worship as far as the spirit will permit. Truly, it was not an hour since, when my worshipful master being at table with Master Bibbet and myself, not to mention the worshipful Master Bletson and Colonel Desborough, and behold there was a violent knocking at the gate, as of one in haste. Now, of a certainty, so much had our household been harassed with witches and spirits, and other objects of sound and sight, that the sentinels could not be brought to abide upon their posts without doors, and it was only by a provision of beef and strong liquors that we were able to maintain a guard of three men in the hall, who nevertheless ventured not to open the door, lest they should be surprised with some of the goblins wherewith their imaginations were overwhelmed. And they heard the knocking, which increased until it seemed that the door was well-nigh about to be beaten down. Worthy Master Bibbet was a little overcome with liquor, (as is his fashion, good man, about this time of the evening,) not that he is in the least given to ebriety, but simply, that since the Scottish campaign he hath had a perpetual ague, which obliges him so to nourish his frame against the damps of the night; wherefore, as it is well known to your honour that I discharge the office of a faithful servant, as well to Major-General Harrison, and the other Commissioners, as to my just and lawful master, Colonel Desborough”—

“I know all that. — And now that thou art trusted by both, I pray to Heaven thou mayest merit the trust,” said Colonel Everard.

“And devoutly do I pray,” said Tomkins, “that your worshipful prayers may be answered with favour; for certainly to be, and to be called and entitled, Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins, is to me more than ever would be an Earl’s title, were such things to be granted anew in this regenerated government.”

“Well, go on — go on — or if thou dal............