“But I am ty’d to very thee

By ev’ry thought I have;

Thy face I only care to see,

Thy heart I only crave.”

Sedley.


In an hour’s time the preparations were made, and, furnished with a pass from Waller, the two friends, with Morrison, Captain Heyworth’s servant, in attendance, rode through the sleeping city and, after a brief delay at the gate, passed out into the open country.

Gabriel forgot his fatigue in the excitement of this unexpected quest. The night was very still, and little fleecy white clouds floated in the moonlit sky; he began keenly to enjoy the prospect of thwarting Colonel Norton, whose brutal words to Major Locke had stirred up in him a resentment which was all the fiercer because he had at first been deceived by the pleasant voice and the buoyant cheerfulness of their visitor. Here was a man who might easily enough betray a young and ignorant girl. He could fancy only too well how Hilary would have been attracted by this light-hearted officer, with his ready smile and his merry-looking eyes; and the thought made him all the more eager to rescue little Helena Locke.

“Has the Major only this one child?” he asked.

“Ay,” replied Joscelyn Heyworth, “’tis a case of


‘One fair daughter and no more,

The which he loved passing well.’


She inherits the estate, and doubtless Colonel Norton has an eye to that.”

They had ridden for some two hours, when Gabriel pointed to a tower darkly outlined against the pale sky. “Yonder lies the church,” he said. “We take this turning to the right. What is that ahead? Surely I saw a light through the trees.”

“Corpse candles in the churchyard, maybe,” said Joscelyn.

“No, ’twas not near the church, but yonder. See, ’tis a light in a cottage; ’tis the gatehouse of the Manor.”

“All the better,” said Joscelyn, “they will be ready to open to us.”

Without replying, Gabriel dismounted and looked closely at the marks on the road near the gate. “A couple of horsemen have just entered, I should say by these hoof-prints,” he exclaimed. And picking up a pebble he threw it against the lighted window of the gate-house.

Immediately the door of the lodge was cautiously opened, and an old white-haired man put out his head. “Who goes there?” he cried.

“We have a message from your master, Major Locke, and have ridden in haste from Gloucester,” said Gabriel.

The old man, looking much perturbed, took up his lantern and came out to the gate. “Why, that be strange,” he said, scratching his head, as he noted the orange scarves with which their buff coats were girt, “you bring a message from master at Gloucester, and but ten minutes since I let in two gentlemen who brought a message from him at Little Dean, where they tell me he lies wounded and a prisoner.”

“Was the messenger you admitted Colonel Norton?” asked Joscelyn Heyworth.

“Ay, ’twas young Squire Norton that lives over at Crawleigh Park; known master all his life he has, and was willing to show him a kindness and take Mistress Helena to him ere he die.”

“Man,” said Gabriel, impatiently, “’tis all a pack of lies. We serve under Major Locke and have left him but now in sound health at Gloucester; he knows that Colonel Norton means to entrap his daughter, and, being unable to come, has sent us to escort her safely to Alderman Pury’s house. Here is a letter for her in your master’s own hand if you doubt me.”

The old man raised the lantern, but his eyes were fixed on Gabriel’s face, not on the letter. “I can’t read writing,” he said, “but the Almighty’s given me some skill in reading faces, and yours, sir, has truth in every line. I blame myself for trusting young Squire Norton, but the news that the master was at death’s door dithered me, and that’s a fact.”

“Let us lose no time,” said Gabriel, eagerly. “Will Colonel Norton have been long at the house?”

“Nay, sir; for it will take my son, who went with him, a bit of a time to rouse the household. Belike they may be still outside.”

“Good; then let us leave the horses without the gate in charge of Morrison,” said Joscelyn Heyworth, “and do you guide us to the house.”

“We must steal in without noise,” said Gabriel, quickly, “and, if possible, convey Mistress Helena away before Colonel Norton sees her. Where does that light come from?”

“It be in the window of the dining-hall,” said the gatekeeper, keeping up with the two young officers by means of a shambling trot, which made his words come in a series of jerks and gasps. “But as sure as my name’s Amos I don’t see how you are to get speech of Mistress Helena now that Squire Norton has the start of you.”

“I will see how the land lies,” said Gabriel, lowering his voice as they drew near to the house. “Should Colonel Norton be in the hall you can surely convey us upstairs without his knowledge?”

“I’ll do my best, sir, but ’twill be a difficult matter,” said Amos.

They were walking, not on the carriage road, but over the bowling-green, and Gabriel now hastened noiselessly forward, and, swinging himself up by a sturdy little hawthorn which grew close to the house, he looked anxiously into the hall. It was a great, bare place, wainscotted with black oak, and lighted only by a couple of candles. A flagon of wine stood on the long, narrow table in the centre, and the visitors were refreshing themselves after their long ride. The Prince’s messenger had his back to the window, and little was visible of him but his long dark lovelocks. Norton, at the opposite side of the table, lay back in a carved elbow-chair, a silver cup in his shapely hand, and the candle light full on his handsome, reckless face.

Gabriel saw at a glance that the hall was constructed on the usual plan of mediaeval houses, with a minstrels’ gallery at the end nearest the outer door of the mansion, and beneath the gallery two open archways leading through the wooden screen to a passage traversing the house from front to back. Across one of the archways hung a thick crimson curtain, but the archway nearest the main door was exposed to view, the curtain having evidently been half drawn back on the arrival of the midnight guests.

He dropped down noiselessly from his post of observation.

“The two of them are in there drinking,” he said, in a whisper. “Mistress Helena hath not yet come down. Is there any means of reaching her by the stairs leading to the gallery?”

“Ay, sir, the little stone stair leads up to the gallery, and on beyond to the upper rooms,” whispered Amos, his shrewd old face lighting up as he began to hope for a successful issue.

“Good; then let us off with our boots, and steal through to the gallery stairs without a sound.”

Amos stepped out of his broad low-heeled shoes easily enough, but the high riding-boots and spurs of the two young knights proved a more difficult matter, and Joscelyn Heyworth waxed so merry over their struggles that they came perilously near to an audible laugh. Their preparations made, the gatekeeper led the way up the steps to the main entrance, softly opened the door and admitted them into a flagged passage; a broad stream of light fell athwart the white stones from the archway on the right leading into the hall; they paused a moment before advancing, and to their relief heard that Norton and his companion were talking—under cover of their voices it would be easier to risk the perilous crossing to the stairs.

“This fair damsel takes a great deal of rousing,” said the Prince’s messenger. “Doth she intend to make a full toilette before coming down to hear of her father’s plight?”

“We won’t grudge her time to doff her nightcap,” said Norton, “for i’ faith, Tom, she hath the prettiest golden locks you ever saw. What shall I tell her of the old Major’s wound? Shot through the lungs, eh? Life hangs on a thread? By the Lord Harry! I only wish it did,” and he laughed boisterously.

Taking advantage of this noise, Gabriel put his hand on old Amos’ arm and walked swiftly past the archway, and on beyond to the spiral staircase which lay concealed behind a door in the wainscot.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Norton, “I thought I saw a shadow in the passage.”

“Patience, man,” said the other. “’Twas doubtless the fellow that let us in. I faith I begin to think your love for this pretty maid is hotter than most of your fancies. She will come all in good time; I drink to the success of your enterprise!”

“And I drink to fair Mistress Nell, the Queen of my heart!” said Norton.

He refilled his silver cup, and the three rescuers stole quietly up the dark staircase. Hardly, however, had they reached the level of the gallery when an exclamation from Norton crushed their hopes.

“And here in good sooth she comes!” he said, as sounds of approaching footsteps made themselves heard, and a flickering light began to play on the dark oak wainscot at the further end of the hall near the entrance to the main staircase.

Gabriel signed to his companions to pause on the spiral steps, and going down on his hands and knees crept cautiously into the gallery, which lay in deep shadow, but commanded an excellent view of the hall between the posts of the massive oak balustrade. He clenched his hands in hot anger when he saw how young and innocent and helpless was Norton’s victim.

She came into the hall bearing a silver candlestick, and the flickering light revealed a face of childlike beauty, the cheeks still flushed with the sudden awakening from sound sleep, the blue eyes wide with anxiety and alarm. She had hurriedly thrown on a pink flannel sacque, and her fair hair hung in disorder about her shoulders. Norton stood still for a moment feasting his eyes on her loveliness, then he noticed that close behind her came a certain poor relation who had lived for many years at the Manor, a worthy lady of fifty, known as Cousin Malvina.

“I grieve to be the bearer of ill news,” he said, saluting both ladies with great courtesy.

“Oh, sir, tell me all, and tell me quickly. How doth my father?” asked little Mistress Nell, her pretty eyes filling with tears.

“Nay,” said Norton, “be not so distressed. He was sorely wounded to-day in a skirmish—you may doubtless have heard that Sir William Waller cut his way right through Prince Maurice’s army in the forest; your father is now our prisoner, and lies at the Prince’s headquarters at Little Dean. If you will don your riding-gear at once I will have a pillion put on my horse and take you............