St. George and St. Michael

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE APPARITION.

  The voice of her lost Marquis, which even in her dreams she couldattribute to none but him, roused Dorothy at once. She sprang from herbed, flew to the window, and flung it wide. That same moment, from theshadows about the hall-door, came forth a man on horseback, and rodealong the tiled path to the fountain, where never had hoof of horsebefore trod. Stranger still, the tramp sounded far away, and woke noecho in the echo-haunted place. A phantom surely--horse and man! As theydrew nearer where she stared with wide eyes, the head of the rider roseout of the shadow into the moonlight, and she recognised the face ofRichard--very white and still, though not, as she supposed, with thewhiteness and stillness of a spectre, but with the concentration ofeagerness and watchful resolution. The same moment she recognised Lady.She trembled from head to foot. What could it mean but that beyond adoubt they were both dead, slain in battle, and that Richard had come topay her a last visit ere he left the world. On they came. Her heartswelled up into her throat, and the effort to queen it over herself, andneither shriek nor drop on the floor, was like struggling to support afalling wall. When the spectre reached the marble fountain, he gave alittle start, drew bridle, and seemed to become aware that he had takena wrong path, looked keenly around him, and instead of continuing hisadvance towards her window, turned in the direction of the gate. Onething was clear, that whether ghostly or mortal, whether already dead oronly on the way to death, the apparition was regardless of her presence.A pang of disappointment shot through her bosom, and for the momentquenched her sense of relief from terror. With it sank the typhoon ofher emotion, and she became able to note how draggled and soiled hisgarments were, how his hair clung about his temples, and that for allaccoutrement his mare had but a halter. Yet Richard sat erect and proud,and Lady stepped like a mare full of life and vigour. And there wasMarquis, not cowering or howling as dogs do in spectral presence, butmadly bounding and barking as if in uncontrollable jubilation!

  The acme of her bewilderment was reached when the phantom came under themarquis's study-window, and she heard it call aloud, in a voice whichundoubtedly came from corporeal throat, and that throat Richard's,ringing of the morning and the sunrise and the wind that shakes thewheat--anything rather than of the tomb:

  'Ho, master Eccles!' it cried; 'when? when? Must my lord's business coolwhile thou rubbest thy sleepy eyes awake? What, I say! When?--Yes, mylord, I will punctually attend to your lordship's orders. Expect me backwithin the hour.'

  The last words were uttered in a much lower tone, with the respect dueto him he seemed addressing, but quite loud enough to be distinctlyheard by Eccles or any one else in the court.

  Dorothy leaned from her window, and looked sideways to the gate,expecting to see the marquis bending over his window-sill, and talkingto Richard. But his window was close shut, nor was there any lightbehind it.

  A minute or two passed, during which she heard the combined discords ofthe rising portcullis. Then out came Eccles, slow and sleepy.

  'By St. George and St. Patrick!' cried Richard, 'why keep'st thou sixlegs here standing idle? Is thy master's business nothing to thee?'

  Eccles looked up at him. He was coming to his senses.

  'Thou rides in strange graith on my lord's business,' he said, as he putthe key in the lock.

  'What is that to thee? Open the gate. And make haste. If it please mylord that I ride thus to escape eyes that else might see further thanthine, keen as they are, master Eccles, it is nothing to thee.'

  The lock clanged, the gate swung open, and Richard rode through.

  By this time a process of doubt and reasoning, rapid as only thought canbe, had produced in the mind of Dorothy the conviction that there wassomething wrong. By what authority was Richard riding from Raglan withmuffled hoofs between midnight and morning? His speech to the marquiswas plainly a pretence, and doubtless that to Eccles was equally false.To allow him to pass unchallenged would be treason against both her hostand her king.

  'Eccles! Eccles!' she cried, her voice ringing clear through the court,'let not that man pass.'

  'He gave the word, mistress,' said Eccles, in dull response.

  'Stop him, I say,' cried Dorothy again, with energy almost frantic, asshe heard the gate swing to heavily. 'Thou shalt be held to account.'

  'He gave the word.'

  'He's a true man, mistress,' returned Eccles, in tone ofself-justification. 'Heard you not my lord marquis give him his lastorders from his window?'

  'There was no marquis at the window. Stop him, I say.'

  'He's gone,' said Eccles quietly, but with waking uneasiness.

  'Run after him,' Dorothy almost screamed.

  'Stop him at the gate. It is young Heywood of Redware, one of thebusiest of the roundheads.'

  Eccles was already running and shouting and whistling. She heard hisfeet resounding from the bridge. With trembling hands she flung a cloakabout her, and sped bare-footed down the grand staircase and along thenorth side of the court to the bell-tower, where she seized the rope ofthe alarm-bell, and pulled with all her strength. A horrid clangour torethe stillness of the night, re-echoed with yelping response from themultitudinous buildings around. Window after window flew open, headafter head was popped out--amongst the first that of the marquis,shouting to know what was amiss. But the question found no answer. Thecourts began to fill. Some said the castle was on fire; others, that thewild beasts were all out; others, that Waller and Cromwell had scaledthe rampart, and were now storming the gates; others, that Eccles hadturned traitor and admitted the enemy. In a few moments all was outcryand confusion. Both courts and the great hall were swarming with men andwomen and children, in every possible stage of attire. The main entrancewas crowded with a tumult of soldiery, and scouts were rushing todifferent stations of outlook, when the cry reached them that thewestern gate was open, the portcullis up, and the guard gone.

  The moment Richard was clear of the portcullis, he set off at a sharptrot for the brick gate, and had almost reached it when he became awarethat he was pursued. He had heard the voice of Dorothy as he rode out,and knew to whom he owed it. But yet there was a chance. Rousing theporter with such a noisy reveillee as drowned in his sleepy ears thecries of the warder and those that followed him, he gave the watchword,and the huge key was just turning in the wards when the clang of thealarm-bell suddenly racked the air. The porter stayed his hand, andstood listening.

  'Open the gate,' said Richard in authoritative tone.

  'I will know first, master,--' began the man.

  'Dost not hear the bell?' cried Richard. 'How long wilt thou endangerthe castle by thy dulness?'

  'I shall know first,' repeated the man deliberately, 'what that bell--'

  Ere he could finish the sentence, the butt of Richard's whip had laidhim along the threshold of the gate. Richard flung himself from hishorse, and turned the key. But his enemies were now close athand--Eccles and the men of his guard. If the porter had but fallen theother way! Ere he could drag aside his senseless body and open the gate,they were upon him with blows and curses. But the puritan's blood wasup, and with the heavy handle of his whip he had felled one and woundedanother ere he was himself stretched on the ground with a sword-cut inthe head.