CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.
AT HOME AGAIN.
There was rejoicing at Ruardean. After two years of forced absence, themaster of Hollymead had returned to his ancestral home, and the faces ofhis beautiful daughters once more gladdened the eyes of the villagers.
Out of the world's way as was this quaint little place, it too hadsuffered the severities of the war. More than one visit had been paidto it by patrols and scouting parties of the Royalist soldiery; whichmeant very much the same as if the visitors had been very bandits. Theymade free with everything they could lay hands on worth the trouble oftaking--goods, apparel, furniture, even to the most cherished householdgoods; invading the family sanctuary, and at each re-appearancestripping it cleaner and cleaner.
Ruardean had, indeed, become an impoverished place, as all the ruraldistrict around. The "chimney tapestry" had disappeared from thefarmer's kitchen, neither flitch nor ham to be seen in it; empty hispigsties, unstocked his pastures; and if a horse remained in his stableit was one no Cavalier would care to bestride. The King's Commissionersof Array had requisitioned all, calling it a purchase, and paying withbits of stamped paper, which the reluctant vendor knew to be worth justnothing. But, _nolens volens_, he must accept it, or take thealternative, sure of being made severe for him.
So afflicted ever since the surrender of Bristol to Rupert, no wonderthe Forest people had grown a-weary of the war, and were glad when theyheard of Wintour's defeat at Beachley, and soon after of Monmouth beingtaken by the Parliamentarians. It seemed earnest of a coming peace;while to the people of the Ruardean district Ambrose Powell once moreappearing among them was like the confirmation of it.
Something besides gave them security, for the time at least. A squadronof horse had taken up quarters in their village; not the freebootingCavaliers, bullying and fleecing them; but soldiers who treated themkindly, paid full price for everything, in short, behaved to them asfriends and protectors. For many of them were their friends their ownrelatives, the body of horse being that commanded by Colonel Walwyn,with Rob Wilde as its head sergeant.
Alike secure felt the ladies in Hollymead House, safe as withinGloucester. How could it be otherwise, with Sir Richard having hisheadquarters there and Eustace Trevor under the same roof?
The happy times seemed to have returned; and the sisters, after theirlong irksome residence in walled towns, more than ever enjoyed thatcountry life, to which from earliest years they had been accustomed.
And once again went they out hawking, with the same cast of peregrinesand the same little merlin. For Van Dorn, living in a sequestered spot,and unaffected by the events of the war, had kept the falcons up totheir training.
Once more to the marsh at the base of Ruardean Hill, the party almostidentical with that which had repaired thither two years before. And asbefore rang out the falconer's _hooha-ha-ha-ha_! and shrill whistle, asa heron rose up from the sedge; again a _white_ heron, the great egret!Singular coincidence, and strangely gratifying to the fair owner of theperegrines, for she especially wanted an egret. How she watched as itmade for upper air, with the falcons doing their best to mount above it;watched with eager, anxious eyes, fearing it might get away. Not thatshe was cruel, only just then she so desired to have a _white_ heron;would give anything for one.
She did not need to have a fear. Van Dorn had done his duty by thehawks, and, the chased bird had no chance of escaping. Soon itspursuers were seen above it, with spread trains and quivering sails;then one _stooped, raked_, and rose over again; while the other stoopedto _bind_; both ere long becoming bound; when all three birds camefluttering back to earth.
With triumphant "whoop?" the falconer pronounced it a kill; but thistime, seemingly without being told, he plucked out the tail coverts, andhanded them to his young mistress. Days before, however, Van Dorn hadreceived injunctions to procure such if possible. There was a hat thatwanted a plume.
"To replace that you lost, dear Eustace," she said, passing them over tohim.
"'Tis so good of you to think of it, darling?"
How different their mode of addressing one another from the time whenthey were last upon that spot! No painstaking coyness now; but heartknowing heart, troth plighted, and loves mutually reliant.
"I shall take better care of this one," he added, adjusting the feathersinto a _panache_. "Never man sadder than I when the other was takenfrom me. For I feared it would be the loss of what I far more valued."
"Your life. Ah! so feared I when I heard you were wounded--"
"No, not my life," he said, interrupting. "Something besides."
"What besides?"
"Your love, Vaga; at least your esteem."
"Eustace! How could you think that?"
"From having lost my own, along with my character as a soldier. To betaken as in a trap."
"Never that, dearest! All knew there was treason. If you were taken somight a lion, with such numbers against you. And how you deliveredyourself!"
She had learnt all the particulars of his escape--a deed of daring to beproud of. And proud was she of it.
"Do you know, Eustace," she continued, without waiting his rejoinder,"that you spared me a journey, and perhaps some humiliation?"
"A journey! Whither?"
"To Goodrich Castle first; and it might have been anywhere after."
"But why?"
"To throw myself at Sir Henry Lingen's feet, and crave mercy for you."
"That would have been humiliation indeed, darling. And I'm glad thatchance hindered you from it."
"Chance! No love: your courage did it, and--"
"My horses's heels, rather say. But for them I should not be here."
He was upon that horse's back then; she on a palfrey by his side.
"Noble Saladin!" she exclaimed, drawing closer, and passing her glovedhand caressingly over his arched neck. "Dear, good Saladin! If you butknew how grateful I am!"
Saladin did seem to know, as in soft, gentle neighing he turned his headround to acknowledge the caress.
A fair picture these betrothed lovers formed as they sate in theirsaddles under the greenwood tree. Some change was there in them sincethey had been there before. He handsome as ever, perhaps handsomer.His cheeks embrowned with two years' campaigning, his figure braced to aterser, firmer manhood; on Saladin's back he seemed the personificationof a young crusader just returned from the Holy Wars.
She lovelier than of erst, if that were possible. A woman now, hergirlhood's beauty had done all Major Grenville said of it, and more.Sager had she grown, made so by the vicissitudes and trials of the time;and it became her. Not now clapped she her hands, and echoed thefalconer's "whoop!" when the hawks struck their quarry down. Instead,took it all quietly; so different from former days!
But there was another cause now sobering, almost saddening, her, onewhich affected both. The war was not yet at an end. At any hour, anymoment, might come a summons which would again separate them, perchancenever more to meet! In that tranquil sylvan scene they felt as on thedeck of a storm-tossed, wreck-threatened ship, in the midst of angryocean! Cruel war, to beget such reflections--such fears!
And, alas! they were realised almost on the instant. Following the oldcourse, the hawking party had ascended to the summit of the hill to givethe merlin its turn. The game of its pursuit, more plentiful, waseasily found and flushed, so that soon the courageous creature made akill--a landrail the quarry.
But ere it could be cast-off for a second flight, just as once before,the sport was interrupted by, their seeing a horseman on the oppositehill coming down the road from the Wilderness to Drybrook.
He might not have been noticed but for the pace, which was a rapidgallop. This down the steep declivity told of some pressing purpose,while the sun's glitter upon arms and accoutrements proclaimed him asoldier.
More definite was the knowledge got of him through a telescope, whichone of the attendants carried. Glancing through it, Sir Richardrecognised the unif
orm of a Parliamentarian dragoon--one of Massey's ownregiment. Coming that way, and at such a speed, the man must be amessenger with despatches; and for whom but himself?
Separating from his party, and taking Hilbert with him, the knighttrotted off to the nearest point where the Ruardean road passed over theshoulder of the hill, there halting till the dragoon should come up.Nor had he long to wait. As conjectured, the man was a messenger,bearing a despatch that called for all haste in the delivery, andtherefore came galloping up the slope without lessening his pace. Heseemed some little disconcerted at seeing two horsemen drawn up on theroad before him, but a word from Sir Richard reassured him, as heperceived it was the knight himself.
As the despatch was for Sir Richard, this brought his gallop to an end;and, drawing up, he handed over the document, simply saying--
"From Governor Massey, Colonel."
Addressed "Colonel Walwyn," it read,--
"Gerrard has slipped through out of South Wales, by Worcester, and now _en route_ to join the King at Oxford. I've got orders from the Committee to march out and intercept him, if possible at Evesham, or before he can cross the Cotswolds. I shall want every man of my command. So draw off from the Ruardean, for Gloucester, and reinforce its garrison. Start soon as you get this--lose not a moment. Time is pressing.
"E. Massey."
When Sir Richard returned to the hawking party his hurried manner, withthe serious expression upon his features, admonished Vaga Powell thather presentiment was on the eve of being fulfilled. Sure was she of iton hearing his answer to Sabrina, who had anxiously questioned him onhis coming up.
"Yes, dearest! A courier from Massey at Gloucester. I'm commanded toproceed thither in all haste. We must home."
And home went they to Hollymead, hurriedly as once before. But not tostay there; only to leave the ladies within a few minutes in gettingready for the "route." Then back down to Ruardean to order the"Assembly" sounded; soon after "Boots and saddles"; in fine, the"Forward, march!" and before the sun had sunk over the far HatteralHills, the sequestered village had resumed its wonted tranquillity, nota soldier to be seen in its streets, nor anywhere round it.