Volume II Part 9 (1/2)

”Why d.i.c.k--Warwick,” cried the blundering knave, nigh mistaking his cue.

”Hang thee,” said the ferryman, ”what art' ganging o' this gait for?

If I'd ken'd it waur thee 'at I'd orders to lie by in sh.o.r.e for, thou might ha' waited a wee for aught 'at I'd ha' brought.”

”Hus.h.!.+” said d.i.c.k, full of importance from his newly-acquired diplomatic functions; ”I'm message to the king yonder.”

”Ill betides him that has need o' thee,” said the boatman, surlily;--”come, jump in. They'd need of a hawk, marry, to catch a buzzard.”

Just as d.i.c.k was preparing to step in, a low, slight-made figure pa.s.sed by whom the boatman immediately challenged.

”Warwick!” said he, and would have pa.s.sed on.

”Nay, nay,” said d.i.c.k; ”I'm Warwick, ma lad; there's no twa on us; they gied me that name i' the castle yon, just now. I'se b.u.t.ter'd if thou shall ha't too.” d.i.c.k was a powerful fellow, and he collared the other in a twinkling. ”Thou'rt a rogue, I tell thee, an' about no good; an' I've orders from the governor yonder to tak' thee. Bear a hand, boatie, and in wi' him. There--there.”

Spite of his struggles and imprecations, the stranger was impounded in the boat, and d.i.c.k soon forced him to be quiet. They pushed off, and in a short time gained the other sh.o.r.e. Here d.i.c.k, with that almost instinctive sagacity which sometimes accompanies a disturbed state of the intellects, would not allow his prisoner either to go back to the island or remain in the boatman's custody, but secured him to his own person, setting off at a brisk pace towards the abbey. In vain the stranger told him that he had business of great moment at the castle; that he was a page of the court, and on the eve of a secret mission from the priest, who was now waiting for him with the despatches. d.i.c.k resolved, with his usual cunning it seems, to conceal his possession of these doc.u.ments, and, at the same time, to prevent the real messenger from revealing the deception by his appearance at the castle.

It was past midnight; yet the abbot and several of the brethren were still a.s.sembled in close council. The importance of the events that were unfolding, and in which their own line of conduct was to be firmly marked out and adhered to, necessarily involving much deliberation and discussion, had kept them beyond their usual hour of retirement.

A bell rung at the outer gate, and shortly afterwards one of the brotherhood in waiting announced that two men were without, craving audience, and that one of them, when asked his name, answered ”Warwick.”

”Ah!” said the bewildered abbot, with a sudden gleam of wonder and gladness on his countenance--”does he come hither? then is our deliverance nearer than we hoped for, even from the special favour and interference of Heaven. Admit them instantly.”

But in a little while the messenger came back in great dudgeon to say that the knave who had demanded admittance with such a peremptory message was none other than d.i.c.k Empson, the errand boy to the abbey.

”What can possess him,” continued the monk, ”I greatly marvel; for he still persists in demanding audience, saying that he is 'Warwick.' He refers to some message from the castle with which he is charged, but he refuses to deliver it save into the hands of the reverend abbot himself. Furthermore, he has brought a prisoner, he sayeth, and will have him taken into safe custody.”

”Why, bring him hither,” said the abbot; ”there's little harm can come by it. He has a shrewd and quick apprehension at times, under that silly mask, which I have thought he wears but for purposes of knavery and concealment.”

The monk folded his hands and retired. Returning, he was followed by d.i.c.k, who a.s.sumed a very grave and solemn demeanour before this august and reverend a.s.sembly.

”Why art thou abroad in these evil times, and at such improper hours too? To the meanest of our servants it is not permitted. Speak. Thine errand?”

The abbot looked towards the offender with an air of displeasure; but d.i.c.k, hitching up his hosen with prodigious fervour, gave a loud and expressive grunt.

”d.i.c.k is a fool,” said he; ”but he ne'er begged benison of an abbot, a bone from a starved dog, or a t.i.the-pig from a parson.”

”What is the message wherewith thou hast presumed upon our audience?”

”If ye rear your back to a door, see to it that it be greatly tyned, or ye may get a broken head for trust.”

”And is this thy message, sirrah? Hark ye, let this fool be put i' the stocks, and well whipped.”

”And who'll be the fule body then?” said d.i.c.k, leering. ”I ken ye be readier wi' a taste o' the gyves than oatmeal bannocks; an' sae I'se gang awa' to my mither.”

”Thou shalt go to the whipping-post first.”

”Haud off,” shouted d.i.c.k, who flung aside the person that would have seized him with the most consummate ease, at the same time placing himself in the att.i.tude of defence; ”haud off, as ye are true men,”

said he; ”I'm cousin to the king, and I charge ye with high treason!”