Volume I Part 22 (1/2)
were said to occupy these midnight vigils. Often, as that lonely watch-tower caught the eye of the benighted peasant, did he cross himself, and fancy that shadows were flitting to and fro on the trembling and distant beam.
”There it is,” said the hindmost person, who was none other than the parson of Slaidburn. ”That lantern, I think, is unquenchable. Does thy master never quit yon burning pinnacle?”
”May be,” replied the servant, ”he careth not to be oft abroad; and who dare thwart his will? 'Troth he had need be of a tough temper that should give him speech unquestioned.”
”They who hold a higher communion reck but little of this frail and pitiful dust,” returned the clergyman, after a solemn pause. ”It is enough that he hath sent for me. I would fain warn him ere he depart, else yon walls had not again echoed my footstep.”
This confidential domestic spoke not; he was either too much attached to his master, or implicated with him, to hazard a remark.
The path was now wider and less difficult of access, leading over a pretty knoll, glittering like lode-stars in the dew, beyond which arose the huge and c.u.mbrous pile then distinguished as the castle of Hornby.
The barking of some half-dozen hoa.r.s.e-mouthed dogs announced their approach. Pa.s.sing over the drawbridge, they entered the court-yard, from whence a side postern at that time opened a communication to the turret-chamber without pa.s.sing through the main building. A winding staircase led them directly to the summit. Soft gleams of moonlight came at intervals through the narrow loopholes, being the only help or direction whereby to accomplish their ascent. After a tedious gyration, which more than once made the hindmost party pause to obtain a respite, the guide opened a low door. It swung heavily aside, disclosing a small ante-room, dest.i.tute of all furniture save a large oaken chest, that seemed to be the depository, or ”ark,” as it was usually called, for the safe keeping of the family archives.
The conductor approaching an opposite door gave a private signal. It flew open as if by its own impulse, displaying a chamber of no mean dimensions, in which, by the light from a gigantic lamp, was seen a figure seated before a table absolutely groaning with piles of books, and various apparatus of unknown and wondrous import. Instruments of unimaginable shape lay in heaps round the apartment; their use it were impossible to conjecture. Furnaces, alembics, jars, gla.s.s urinals, and bottles of all sizes, rendered the chamber perilous of access, save to those who were acquainted with the intricacies of this labyrinth. ”Sir Edward,” as he was yet generally styled, looked full at his visitors as they entered. His eye was large and dark, the expression fierce and commanding. He was clad in a gown of black silk, covering an inner vest of sables. From a broad belt, glittering with costly stones, hung a short sword and a pair of pistols richly embossed.
The upper portion of his head was bald; the hair on its sides short and frizzly. His beard was of a reddish tinge, trimmed square and bushy, beneath which his white ruff seemed to glisten from the sudden contrast.
His forehead was high and retreating; his face pale, and-his cheek hollow and slightly wrinkled. His nose was small, looking ill suited to the other features, which were large and strongly-marked. His mouth was full, but compressed; and his teeth beautifully white and well shaped.
When he spoke, they were much exposed, projecting slightly, and tending to give an air of ferocity to his countenance.
In stature he was tall and well formed. Proudly upright in his gait and att.i.tude, he appeared like one born to be obeyed,--to rule in whatsoever station he occupied.
”Sir Hugh Parker. The parson of Slaidburn is welcome to Hornby,” said Lord Monteagle, rising. ”It is long since we have met. I claim the privilege of old fellows.h.i.+p: give me thy hand.”
”My lord, I am here at your request. Your wishes are commands with my poor endeavours.”
”Thou mayest retire, Maudsley,” said the baron to his servant, motioning him to depart. The minister was accommodated with a low stool, made vacant for the occasion. Lord Monteagle, closing the book, abruptly addressed his visitor.
”I knew thou wast in the neighbourhood, and I would unravel a few arguments with thee; a few quiddities about thy profession. I know thou art skilful at thy trade, which, though a vocation having its basis in fraud, finding countenance through the weakness and credulity of mankind, doth yet hold the commonalty in thrall and terror--a restraint which none other scheme might peradventure impose.”
”You are too harsh, my lord. I minister not to aught that, my conscience disapproves. Being of the Reformed Church, I do not mightily affect creeds and opinions. The Bible is the fountain, pure and undefiled; its waters fertilise and invigorate the seed of the faith, but choke and rot the rampant weeds of error and superst.i.tion.”
”The Bible! A forgery: the invention of a cunning priesthood to mask and perpetuate their delusions. Prove its falsehoods to be the truth.
Distinguish me thy revelation from the impostures of Mahomet, the dreams of the Sibyls, and the lying oracles of Heathenrie. Oblige me either to renounce my reason and the common principles which distinguish truth from error, or to admit the proof thou shalt allege, which proof, look thee, must be such as no imposture can lay claim to, otherwise it proves thy doctrine to be an imposture. If thy religion be true, there _must_ be such a proof. For if the Being who gave this revelation which He requires all men to receive, have left His own truth dest.i.tute of the only proof which can distinguish it from an imposture, this will be an impeaching of His wisdom, an error in the very outset of the case, proving Him not the Allwise, but liable to infirmity and error. This, thou seest, will bring our debate within a narrow compa.s.s.”
”Nevertheless, I must own the task is hard,” replied the clergyman, ”because of the blindness and impotency of that same reason of which thou vauntest, and the feebleness of our mental sight; for we cannot come at any abstract truth whatsoever but by many inferences hanging together as by a chain, one link of which, not fully apprehended or made fast, loosens the whole, and the argument falls to the ground.”
”Does the reformed doctrine, too, require a belief in what the hearer may not comprehend?” said the baron, scornfully.
”Nay, there is a sufficiency in the evidence, and a fulness in this testimony, of which none other history can boast. What book is that, my lord?”
”The Anabasis.”
”By whom?”
”Surely thou art in j'est. 'Tis Xenophon's.”
”How? Xenophon!” said the divine; ”methinks thou speakest unadvisedly.
My reason or apprehension knoweth not of such a man, or that he writ this book, and yet thou boldly affirmest the history to be true!”