Part 2 (2/2)

”From too much keeping an evil decorum, From the manifold treason parliamentorum, From Oliver Cromwell, dux omnium malorum,

Libera nos, Libera nos.”

Whilst Dauntrees and his gossips were thus occupied in their carouse, they were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of two well known persons, who had approached by the path of the postern gate.

The elder of the two was a youth just on the verge of manhood. His person was slender, well proportioned, and rather over the common height. His face, distinguished by a decided outline of beauty, wore a thoughtful expression, which was scarcely overcome by the flash of a black and brilliant eye. A complexion pale and even feminine, betokened studious habits. His dress, remarkable for its neatness, denoted a becoming pride of appearance in the wearer. It told of the Low Countries. A well-fitted doublet and hose, of a grave colour, were partially concealed by a short camlet cloak of Vand.y.k.e brown. A black cap and feather, a profusion of dark hair hanging in curls towards the shoulders, and a falling band or collar of lace, left it unquestionable that the individual I have sketched was of gentle nurture, and a.s.sociated with persons of rank. This was further manifested in the gay and somewhat gaudy apparel of his companion,--a lad of fourteen, who walked beside him in the profusely decorated costume of a young n.o.ble of that ambitious era, when the thoughtless and merry monarch of England, instead of giving himself to the cares of government, was busy to invent extravagancies of dress. The lad was handsome, though his features wore the impress of feeble health. He now bore in his hand a bow and sheaf of arrows.

The visiters had taken our revellers at unawares, and had advanced within a few feet before they were observed. The back of the publican was turned to them, and he was now in mid career of his dance, throwing up his elbows, tossing his head, and treading daintily upon the earth, as he sang the burden,

”Libera nos, libera nos.”

”You give care a holiday, Captain Dauntrees,” said the elder youth, with a slightly perceptible foreign accent.

Dauntrees started abruptly from his seat, at this accost, smiled with a reddened brow, and made a low obeisance. The cessation of the song left Garret Weasel what a mariner would term ”high and dry,” for like a bark floated upon a beach and suddenly bereft of its element, he remained fixed in the att.i.tude at which the music deserted him,--one foot raised, an arm extended, and his face turned inquiringly over his shoulder. His amazement upon discovering the cause of this interruption, brought about a sudden and ludicrous affectation of sobriety; in an instant his port was changed into one of deference, although somewhat awkwardly overcharged with what was intended to represent gravity and decorum.

Arnold de la Grange rose from his chair and stood erect, firm and silent.

”Hail, Master Albert Verheyden, and Master Benedict Leonard: G.o.d save you both!” said Dauntrees.

”I say amen to that, and G.o.d save his lords.h.i.+p, besides!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the publican with a drunken formality of utterance.

”I would not disturb your merriment, friends,” said the secretary, ”but his lords.h.i.+p bade me summon Captain Dauntrees to the hall. You, Arnold de la Grange, will be pleased to accompany the Captain.”

Arnold bowed his head, and the visiters retired by the great gate of the fort. In a moment young Benedict Leonard came running back, and addressed the forester--

”Master Arnold, I would have a new bow-string--this is worn; and my bird-bolts want feathering: shall I leave them with you, good Arnold?”

And without waiting an answer, he thrust the bow and arrows into the smiling wood-ranger's hand, and bounded away again through the gate.

Dauntrees flung his sword-belt across his shoulder, put on his cloak, delayed a moment to secure the remaining flasks of wine, and then beckoned to the ranger to follow him.

”Stop,” cried Weasel, with an officious zeal to make himself useful; ”your belt is awry: it is not comely to be seen by his lords.h.i.+p in this slovenly array.”

The belt was set right, and the two directed their steps towards the postern, and thence to the mansion. The publican tarried only until his companions were out of sight, when, curious to know the object of the errand, and careful to avoid the appearance of intrusion, he followed upon the same path, at a respectful distance,--stepping wisely, as a drunken man is wont, and full of the opinion that his sobriety was above all suspicion.

CHAPTER IV.

Oft as the peasant wight impelled To these untrodden paths had been, As oft he, horror struck, beheld Things of unearthly shape and mien.

GLENGONAR'S Wa.s.sAIL.

The day was drawing near to a close, and the Proprietary thoughtfully paced the hall. The wainscoted walls around him were hung with costly paintings, mingled, not untastefully, with Indian war clubs, s.h.i.+elds, bows and arrows, and other trophies won from the savage. There were also the ponderous antlers of the elk and the horns of the buck sustaining draperies of the skins of beasts of prey. Musquets, cutla.s.ses and partisans were bestowed on brackets ready for use in case of sudden invasion from that race of wild men whose stealthy incursions in times past had taught this policy of preparation. The level rays of the setting sun, striking through the broad open door, flung a mellow radiance over the hall, giving a rich picture-like tone to its sylvan furniture.

Lord Baltimore, at the period when I have introduced him, might have been verging upon fifty. He was of a delicate and slender stature, with a grave and dignified countenance. His manners were sedate and graceful, and distinguished by that gentleness which is characteristic of an educated mind when chastened by affliction. He had been schooled to this gentleness both by domestic and public griefs. The loss of a favourite son, about two years before, had thrown a shadow upon his spirit, and a succession of unruly political irritations in the province served to prevent the return of that buoyancy of heart which is indifferently slow to come back at middle age, even when solicited by health, fortune, friends, and all the other incitements which, in younger men, are wont to lift up a wounded spirit out of the depths of a casual sorrow.

Charles Calvert had come to the province in 1662, and from that date, until the death of his father, thirteen years afterwards, administered the government in the capacity of Lieutenant-General. Upon his accession to the proprietary rights, he found himself compelled by the intrigues of a faction to visit London, where he was detained nearly four years,--having left Lady Baltimore, with a young family of children, behind him, under the care of his uncle Philip Calvert, the chancellor of the province. He had now, within little more than a twelvemonth, returned to his domestic roof, to mingle his sorrows with those of his wife for the death of his eldest son, Cecilius, who had sunk into the tomb during his absence.

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