"Not entirely," said Arrah Neil, looking down.
"Not entirely!" exclaimed the peer. "Then you know how it happened--you know who did it--Arrah, speak, who was it? That, at least, I may ask."
The poor girl trembled terribly, but then, in a low sad voice she answered, "It was I."
"You?--you?" cried Lord Walton, gazing at her sternly, while his lip quivered in the attempt to suppress the emotions within him. The girl answered nothing, and after a struggle with himself he waved his hand, saying, "I forgive you, my poor girl, you did it when you were not yourself. Tell no one else, Arrah--the secret is safe with me;" and he turned away, lest one harsh word should mingle with the kinder ones he had spoken.
When he had gone some ten or twelve paces, however, Arrah Neil darted after him, caught his hand, and pressed her beautiful lips upon it.
"Do not abandon me, Charles Walton," she said. "Do not cast me off and hate me. Tell me, would you rather see all those ruins, and lose all you have lost, or be tomorrow a prisoner in the dark Tower of London, perhaps never to ride the green fields again while you live?"
Lord Walton paused with a look of bewildered inquiry; but then suddenly a light rose up in his eyes, and laying his hand upon Arrah Neil's shoulder, he said, "Thank you, Arrah! thank you. 'Tis a wild way of deliverance. Yet thank you, dear child. You meant it well, and it has succeeded. But here are people coming. Go back to Annie; we must not leave you behind us."
CHAPTER VII.
The seasons of the year seemed to take their tone from the spirit of the times and the discord that was raging throughout the land. The summer was gloomy and full of storms. Instead of bright sunshine and smiling skies, heavy clouds had been gathering over the heavens from the beginning of the year; and although every now and then a warm and splendid day, such as that which we have described in the beginning of this tale, broke in upon the heavy aspect of the summer, as if to remind man of fairer and happier times, yet week after week passed in tempests, rain, and gloom; and signs and portents, such as might have alarmed nations in more superstitious days, were seen in the sky, and filled the hearts of the more timid with apprehension.
It was upon the morning of one of these sad and frowning days that a troop of horse, consisting of about a hundred and fifty men, well armed and mounted, took its way across a wide and somewhat barren plain about forty miles to the north-east of Bishop's Merton, encumbered with a good deal of baggage, and escorting two or three of the heavy carriages of the times, in which were some six or seven women. The prospect was wide and dreary, extending in a number of grey lines which afforded the eye no pleasing object to rest upon, except here and there a little mound or tumulus bearing on its top a clump of black-looking trees. In the distance was a range of low wood, apparently stunted and withered by the chilling blasts which swept over the plain; and a piece of water of some extent was seen glistening on the right, with the sandy road, along which the cavalcade took its way, winding between the mere and the wood. No hedgerows broke the wide extent, and the ground appeared to be somewhat marshy, for numerous ditches intersected it in every direction, and a large trench ran along on either side of the path, with here and there a small wooden bridge to cross from the sandy highway to the green turf of the plain.
The progress of the party was not very quick, for, as we have said, the carriages were heavy, and their wheels, as well as those of the two or three carts and waggons, sank deep in the loose and shifting soil of the road. By the side of the foremost of the carriages generally rode a cavalier, with whom the reader is already acquainted under the name of Lord Walton, and ever and anon he laid his hand upon the heavy door, and spoke in at the window to his sister or to Arrah Neil, the latter seldom replying except by a monosyllable or a look. Annie Walton, however, conversed with him gaily and lightly; not that her heart was by any means at ease, or her bosom without its apprehensions; but she was well aware that her brother was grieved for all the inconvenience that she suffered, and for the danger to which she was exposed; and, with kindly and generous feeling towards him, she made as little as possible of every annoyance on the march, concealed all the fears that she might experience, and seemed unconscious of the perils of the way. She might not, it is true, deceive her brother as to her own sensations, for he knew her well, and understood her kindness and devotion; but still it made the burden lighter to him to hear no murmur, and to witness no terror.
From time to time, during the march of the two preceding days, some of the rumours which, true and false alike, always run through a country in a state of agitation, had reached Lord Walton's party, speaking of troops marching hither and thither in the neighbourhood. Now it was a detachment from Lord Essex's army; now it was a body of men crossing the country, to reinforce Waller; now it was a body of militia called out by parliamentary commissioners from the district or the county through which they were passing. But Lord Walton paid little attention to these reports, having taken every necessary precaution, by throwing out several small parties in front, at the distance of about two or three miles, to guard against surprise, and secure his onward course towards Coventry.
When any rumour reached him, indeed, which bore more strongly the semblance of truth than the rest, and was corroborated by his own knowledge of the position and designs of the various persons to whom it referred, he would ride forward to the head of the line, and converse for a few minutes with a thin, bony, grave-looking personage in black, who bore few signs of being a military man, except his large boots of untanned leather, his heavy steel-mounted sword, and the pistols at his saddle-bow. Thus, when they had got about half way across the plain, and a horseman galloped up from the right, leaping one or two narrow ditches by which it was intersected, and then, not able to cross the wider trench which separated the road from the turf, riding along by the side of the troop, and making signs to Charles Walton that he had something to communicate, the young nobleman accordingly reined in his horse, and suffering his party to pass on, lingered behind till they were out of ear-shot.
"Well, Master Hurst," he then asked, "what is your news? I was sorry you would not join us; but I am glad to see you here."
"I told Langan I would follow you, my lord," replied the new-comer; "but I had to put my house in order, and sell some hay, for it does not do to go soldiering in these times without money in one's pocket, and I had but short notice. However, my lord, you had better be on your guard; for, as I came over the moor, I found a boy keeping sheep out there between the wood and the water, and, wishing to know whereabouts you were, for I could not see you at that time----"
"You did not mention my name, I hope," said Lord Walton.
"Oh, no, my lord," answered the horseman; "I took care not to do that: I only asked if he had seen a body of soldiers, without saying horse or foot. So the boy said, 'Oh, yes; that there were five hundred and fifty lying behind the wood,' for he had counted them, seemingly--like a flock of sheep. Then I asked him how many horse there were; to which he replied by saying, 'Two,' and that all the rest had guns and bandoliers and steel caps, except a few, who had long pikes in their hands."
"This seems serious," replied Lord Walton; "we must look to this intelligence."
"There is more serious work behind, my lord," replied Hurst; "for this news gave me the key to what I saw myself in the morning. These musketeers are not alone. They have got cavalry for their support, my lord, or I am much mistaken: not two hours ago I saw the tail of a troop going into the little village, the spire of which you can just see rising up there. I should have taken them for your men but that they were coming the contrary road; so I avoided the village for fear of worse."
"Well, Hurst, ride on to the next bridge," said Lord Walton, "and then join me on the road with Major Randal, whom I must consult on our proceedings."
Thus saying, he spurred on his horse, and galloped forward to the head of the line, where, pulling up by the side of our spare friend in black, he communicated to him all that he had