"Then we will strike a blow at him," said Lord Walton.
The servant rubbed his hands and laughed. "That will rejoice the cockles of many a poor man's heart in Bishop's Merton," he cried. "The old sanctified sinner is hated as much as he is feared. Why he was the cause of poor old Sergeant Neil being dragged away, and killed with bad usage; and I do believe the boys would stone him on the green if they knew it, for he--the old man--used to gather the lads about him on the green and tell them stories of the old wars, when Tyrone was a rebel in Ireland and he fought under Blount, Earl of Devon, till their little eyes almost came out of their heads."
"Dry was the cause, did you say?" asked the young nobleman. "I thought the only cause was found in the words he spoke--that the king, if he were well counselled, would call William of Orange to his aid, would raise his standard at once, march to London, proclaim martial law, and hang the two ringleaders of the parliament before the door of the house."
"Ay, my lord, that was the pretence," replied the servant, "though he never said all that; and they pretended, too, he knew more of what was going on in the north, if he chose to speak. But the real reason was, that the old man, one day last year, when he was stronger than he was afterwards, heard the sneaking villain saying things to poor little Arrah that were not comely, and broke his head with his staff. Dry stomached the affront till the time came for his revenge, and then brought the men over from Devizes to take old Neil away; so I am right glad your lordship is going to punish him on that account."
"'Tis not on that account, Roger Hartup," replied his master, gravely, "for of that I know nothing; but first, the man is a rank traitor, as there is proof enough; and secondly, I am convinced that this fire last night was not kindled without help. There were men seen about the place just after dark. Dry was up here upon a false pretence in the morning; and no one was near the west tower with a light. Bring me the paper and ink, and call the lance prisade of the troop who came with the men."
He wrote a few hasty lines while the servant was gone; and on his return with a stout, broad-set soldier, the young nobleman said: "Now, sir, do you think that Major Randal will object to your executing a warrant, under my hand, for the arrest of a rank traitor in the neighbourhood?"
"I was ordered to receive your commands, my lord, and obey them," replied the soldier. "But the major told me to beg your lordship to let him know early what you intended to do, for that he did not hold it safe to remain here much after noon, for fear of being cut off."
"I will send to him directly," replied Lord Walton; "but you, in the mean time, take this warrant, and go round by the back of the town to a place called Longsoaken, where you will apprehend one Ezekiel Dry. Bring him hither without giving him time to speak with any one in private."
"But if he resists?" asked the man.
"Use force," answered Lord Walton, and then added, "but there will be no resistance. Take all your men with you but those who are guarding the committee-men, and five of my people besides. You, Roger, go with him, with Hugh, and three others. Leave Langan, for I shall want him; and now," he continued, as soon as they had retired, "to examine into the business of this fire."
Thus saying, he rose, took his hat, which lay beside him, and passing through the neighbouring hall, went out upon the terrace. Then circling round the ruins of the tower which had fallen he made his way to the end, where, black and still reeking, stood the part of the building in which the fire had commenced.
No one was near, and Lord Walton stood and gazed at the ruin for several minutes with sad and solemn feelings. It looked to him like the corpse of one untimely slain; all was grey and desolate where lately had been life and cheerfulness. The room in which he used to sit was gone, and all that marked the spot where he had passed many an hour of calm and pleasant contemplation were the charred ends of the rafters, and one stout beam, which, not quite destroyed, hung black and crumbling from side to side, bending down half broken in the midst. Part of the wall had fallen in, and part still stood, rugged and ruined, while in the chamber below some tattered fragments of rich damask furniture and old tapestry hung fluttering in the wind. The smoke still rose up from the pile of rubbish beneath; but on one of the chimneys a bird had already ventured to perch, as if claiming it thenceforth for the inheritance of the wild things of the earth.
After a few minutes' sad contemplation the young lord turned and looked around over the fair scene he was about to leave perhaps for ever, as it lay calm and smiling in the sunshine of the early morning, notwithstanding all the destruction of the preceding night, and the gloomy prospects of the future, with the same peaceful indifference wherewith some have supposed the disembodied spirit to look upon the wild passions and contentions of the world.
As he gazed, however, he saw the figure of a girl seated upon the trunk of a felled beech-tree, which lay close beneath the terrace, and instantly perceiving that it was that of Arrah Neil, he beckoned to her to come up to him. The girl did so without hesitation: and as she climbed the stone steps which led from the park he watched her countenance, to see if the moody and abstracted fit to which she was frequently subject was still upon her, or had passed away.
There was no trace of it left. Her beautiful eyes were clear and bright, and full of intelligence, though her brow was grave and even sad, and her look was raised towards him with a gentle, imploring, deprecating expression, as it she had in some way offended and sought forgiveness.
"Well, my poor Arrah," said the young nobleman, in a kind tone, "I fear you were much frightened last night."
"I was frightened, my lord," she answered, bending down her eyes, "but not much; I knew it was for the best, and hoped that it would soon be extinguished."
"All things are for the best," replied Lord Walton. "God forbid that I should doubt it, Arrah. Yet this has been a severe loss and a great grief to me; for I cannot see the house of my fathers so injured without regret. It is not that many invaluable and rare things have been destroyed, but that mementos of the past are gone with them--things the sight of which recalled the days of boyhood--places stored with a thousand memories, ay, and a thousand associations with times before my own. I can no longer sit in that room, Arrah, and think of those who tenanted it in former years, or of all the many scenes that have there taken place."
"I am very sorry for it indeed," replied Arrah Neil; "but yet----" and she paused, leaving her sentence unconcluded.
"Tell me, Arrah," continued Lord Walton, not heeding her broken reply, "when you had retired to rest last night, which they tell me was about nine, did you hear any noise in the tower, or any one going up the stairs which pass close behind the room where you slept?"
She gazed at him for a moment in silence, with her large bright eyes fixed somewhat sadly upon his countenance, then shook her head and answered, "No one."
The young lord remarked the peculiarity of her look, and added, "I am sure you would answer truly, Arrah, for your poor grandfather, who gave you an education so much above that which persons far higher in rank bestow upon their children, taught you I know always to adhere to truth. Yet hear me, Arrah; I have always tried to be kind to you and yours; I have been fond of you from your childhood. Now I suspect that this fire was not the work of accident, I cannot find that the door at the foot of the tower was closed last night. That enemies were abroad I have too good reason to know; and you, too, warned me yourself that danger was at hand----"
"Oh, but it was not that!--it was not that!" cried Arrah Neil; "the danger I feared for you was not of fire, Charles Walton. Ask me not to tell you, for they made me swear I would not before they would let me go."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the young nobleman, gazing at her thoughtfully. "Well, I will not ask you then."
"Do not! do not!" she cried, "for I could not refuse you anything; and that would be wrong after I have sworn: I would lay down my life for you, indeed I would; but you would not wish me to break my word."
"No, no!" replied Lord Walton; "but to return. I suspect,