Part 18 (2/2)

There is no reason if things be as we fear that he should not marry your daughter?”

”Nay, she could not wish for better.”

”It is well. And first I would question this Hannekin; but it shall be done in such a fas.h.i.+on that none shall know, for indeed it is not a matter for the gossip of servants. But if you will show me the man, Mistress Mary, I will take him out to tend my own horse, and so I shall learn all that he has to tell.”

Nigel was absent for some time, and when he returned the shadow upon his face brought little hope to the anxious hearts at the high table.

”I have locked him in the stable loft, lest he talk too much,” said he, ”for my questions must have shown him whence the wind blew. It was indeed from this man that the note came, and he had brought with him a spare horse for the lady.”

The old Knight groaned, and his face sank upon his hands.

”Nay, father, they watch you!” whispered Mary. ”For the honor of our house let us keep a bold face to all.” Then, raising her young clear voice, so that it sounded through the room: ”If you ride eastward, Nigel, I would fain go with you, that my sister may not come back alone.”

”We will ride together, Mary,” said Nigel, rising; then in a lower voice: ”But we cannot go alone, and if we take a servant all is known. I pray you to stay at home and leave the matter with me.”

”Nay, Nigel, she may sorely need a woman's aid, and what woman should it be save her own sister? I can take my tire-woman with us.”

”Nay, I shall ride with you myself if your impatience can keep within the powers of my mule,” said the old priest.

”But it is not your road, father?”

”The only road of a true priest is that which leads to the good of others. Come, my children, and we will go together.”

And so it was that stout Sir John b.u.t.testhorn, the aged Knight of Duplin, was left alone at his own high table, pretending to eat, pretending to drink, fidgeting in his seat, trying hard to seem unconcerned with his mind and body in a fever, while below him his varlets and handmaids laughed and jested, clattering their cups and clearing their trenchers, all unconscious of the dark shadow which threw its gloom over the lonely man upon the dais above.

Meantime the Lady Mary upon the white jennet which her sister had ridden on the same evening, Nigel on his war-horse, and the priest on the mule, clattered down the rude winding road which led to London. The country on either side was a wilderness of heather moors and of mora.s.ses from which came the strange crying of night-fowl. A half-moon shone in the sky between the rifts of hurrying clouds. The lady rode in silence, absorbed in the thought of the task before them, the danger and the shame.

Nigel chatted in a low tone with the priest. From him he learned more of the evil name of this man whom they followed. His house at Shalford was a den of profligacy and vice. No woman could cross that threshold and depart unstained. In some strange fas.h.i.+on, inexplicable and yet common, the man, with all his evil soul and his twisted body, had yet some strange fascination for women, some mastery over them which compelled them to his will. Again and again he had brought ruin to a household, again and again his adroit tongue and his cunning wit had in some fas.h.i.+on saved him from the punishment of his deeds. His family was great in the county, and his kinsmen held favor with the King, so that his neighbors feared to push things too far against him. Such was the man, malignant and ravenous, who had stooped like some foul night-hawk and borne away to his evil nest the golden beauty of Cosford. Nigel said little as he listened, but he raised his hunting-dagger to his tightened lips, and thrice he kissed the cross of its handle.

They had pa.s.sed over the moors and through the village of Milford and the little towns.h.i.+p of G.o.dalming, until their path turned southward over the Pease marsh and crossed the meadows of Shalford. There on the dark hillside glowed the red points of light which marked the windows of the house which they sought. A somber arched avenue of oak-trees led up to it, and then they were in the moon-silvered clearing in front.

From the shadow of the arched door there sprang two rough serving-men, bearded and gruff, great cudgels in their hands, to ask them who they were and what their errand. The Lady Mary had slipped from her horse and was advancing to the door, but they rudely barred her way.

”Nay, nay, our master needs no more!” cried one, with a hoa.r.s.e laugh.

”Stand back, mistress, whoever you be! The house is shut, and our lord sees no guests to-night.”

”Fellow,” said Nigel, speaking low and clear, ”stand back from us! Our errand is with your master.”

”Bethink you, my children,” cried the old priest, ”would it not be best perchance, that I go in to him and see whether the voice of the Church may not soften this hard heart? I fear bloodshed if you enter.”

”Nay, father, I pray you to stay here for the nonce,” said Nigel. ”And you, Mary, do you bide with the good priest, for we know not what may be within.”

Again he turned to the door, and again the two men barred his pa.s.sage.

”Stand back, I say, back for your lives!” said Nigel. ”By Saint Paul! I should think it shame to soil my sword with such as you, but my soul is set, and no man shall bar my path this night.”

The men shrank from the deadly menace of that gentle voice.

”Hold!” said one of them, peering through the darkness, ”is it not Squire Loring of Tilford?”

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