"Stand!" cried a voice.

And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they
beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly
drew an arrow to the head and covered them.  Matcham stopped with a cry;
but Dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his
dagger as he went.  The other, whether he was startled by the daring of
the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot;
he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, Dick
bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf.  The
arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang.  The
disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and
descended twice.  Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to his
feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart.

"On!" said Dick; and he once more pelted forward, Matcham trailing in the
rear.  To say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring
dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish.  Matcham
had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for Dick, his knees were
like lead.  But they kept up the form of running with undiminished
courage.

Presently they came to the end of the grove.  It stopped abruptly; and
there, a few yards before them, was the high road from Risingham to
Shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest.

At the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became
aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder.  It was at first
like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more
definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in
a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner,
swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant.  They rode
as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded;
riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles.  They were
plainly fugitives from the great battle.

The noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards Shoreby,
before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter
clattered down the road; this time a single rider and, by his splendid
armour, a man of high degree.  Close after him there followed several
baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at
the horses as if for life.  These must have run early in the day; but
their cowardice was not to save them.  For just before they came abreast
of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly
beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of
a sword, began to cut the drivers down.  Some leaped from their places
and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them
the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human.

All this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the
rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great,
confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the
rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road.

Dick stood sombre.  He had meant to follow the highway till the turn for
Holywood, and now he had to change his plan.  But above all, he had
recognised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the battle had
gone finally against the rose of Lancaster.  Had Sir Daniel joined, and
was he now a fugitive and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of York,
and was he forfeit to honour?  It was an ugly choice.

"Come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk
forward through the grove, with Matcham limping in his rear.

For some time they continued to thread the forest in silence.  It was now
growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the
tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow
darker and the chill of the night to fall.

"If there were anything to eat!" cried Dick, suddenly, pausing as he
spoke.

Matcham sat down and began to weep.

"Ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives,
your heart was hard enough," said Dick, contemptuously.  "Y' 'ave seven
deaths upon your conscience, Master John; I'll ne'er forgive you that."

"Conscience!" cried Matcham, looking fiercely up.  "Mine!  And ye have
the man's red blood upon your dagger!  And wherefore did ye slay him, the
poor soul?  He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his
hand, and spared you!  'Tis as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not
defends himself."

Dick was struck dumb.

"I slew him fair.  I ran me in upon his bow," he cried.

"It was a coward blow," returned Matcham.  "Y' are but a lout and bully,
Master Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will
see you truckle at his boot!  Ye care not for vengeance, neither--for
your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth
for justice.  But if there come but a poor creature in your hands that
lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!"

Dick was too furious to observe that "she."

"Marry!" he cried, "and here is news!  Of any two the one will still be
stronger.  The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well
served.  Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill-guidance and
unthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have."

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the
appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.

"Here shall be your supper," he said, grimly.  Matcham had stopped his
tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the
face, and never moved.  Dick took a step, swinging the belt.  Then he
paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his
companion.  His courage began to subside.

"Say ye were in the wrong, then," he said, lamely.

"Nay," said Matcham, "I was in the right.  Come, cruel!  I be lame; I be
weary; I resist not; I ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me--coward!"

Dick raised the belt at this last provocation, but Matcham winced and
drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart
failed him yet again.  The strap fell by his side, and he stood
irresolute, feeling like a fool.

"A plague upon thee, shrew!" he said.  "An ye be so feeble of hand, ye
should keep the closer guard upon your tongue.  But I'll be hanged before
I beat you!" and he put on his belt again.  "Beat you I will not," he
continued; "but forgive you?--never.  I knew ye not; ye were my master's
enemy; I lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y' 'ave called me a
man o' wood, a coward, and a bully.  Nay, by the mass! the measure is
filled, and runneth over.  'Tis a great thing to be weak, I trow: ye can
do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons in
the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y' are weak,
forsooth!  Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and
crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through!  Tut! fool
words!"

"And yet ye beat me not," returned Matcham.

"Let be," said Dick--"let be.  I will instruct you.  Y' 'ave been
ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and,
beyond all question, saved me from the river.  Nay, I had forgotten it; I
am as thankless as thyself.  But, come, let us on.  An we be for Holywood
this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily."

But though Dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour,
Matcham had forgiven him nothing.  His violence, the recollection of the
forester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt,
were things not easily to be forgotten.

"I will thank you, for the form's sake," said Matcham.  "But, in sooth,
good Master Shelton, I had liever find my way alone.  Here is a wide
wood; prithee, let each choose his path; I owe you a dinner and a lesson.
Fare ye well!"

"Nay," cried Dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with
you!"

Each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought
of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel.  But Dick had not gone
ten paces ere his name was called, and Matcham came running after.

"Dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly.  Here is my hand,
and my heart with it.  For all that wherein you have so excellently
served and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, I thank you.
Fare ye right well."

"Well, lad," returned Dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good
speed to you, if speed you may.  But I misdoubt it shrewdly.  Y' are too
disputatious."  So then they separated for the second time; and presently
it was Dick who was running after Matcham.

"Here," he said, "take my cross-bow; shalt not go unarmed."

"A cross-bow!" said Matcham.  "Nay, boy, I have neither the strength to
bend nor yet the skill to aim with it.  It were no help to me, good boy.
But yet I thank you."

The night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read
each other's face.

"I will go some little way with you," said Dick.  "The night is dark.  I
would fain leave you on a path, at least.  My mind misgiveth me, y' are
likely to be lost."

Without any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more
followed him.  The blackness grew thicker and thicker.  Only here and
there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars.  In the
distance, the noise of the rout of the Lancastrian army still continued
to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the
rear.

At the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a
broad patch of heathy open.  It glimmered in the light of the stars,
shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew.  And here they paused
and looked upon each other.

"Y' are weary?" Dick said.

"Nay, I am so weary," answered Matcham, "that methinks I could lie down
and die."

"I hear the chiding of a river," returned Dick.  "Let us go so far forth,
for I am sore athirst."

The ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they
found a little murmuring river, running among willows.  Here they threw
themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the
level of a starry pool, they drank their fill.

"Dick," said Matcham, "it may not be.  I can no more."

"I saw a pit as we came down," said Dick.  "Let us lie down therein and
sleep."

"Nay, but with all my heart!" cried Matcham.

The pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and
made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close
together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten.  And soon
sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they
rested peacefully.



CHAPTER VII--THE HOODED FACE


They awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full
song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet
up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours.  Half starved and
over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful
lassitude.  And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon
their ears.

"A bell!" said Dick, sitting up.  "Can we be, then, so near to Holywood?"

A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer
hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it
continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning.

"Nay, what should this betoken?" said Dick, who was now broad awake.

"It is some one walking," returned Matcham, and "the bell tolleth ever as
he moves."

"I see that well," said Dick.  "But wherefore?  What maketh he in
Tunstall Woods?  Jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but I like not
the hollow sound of it."

"Nay," said Matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note.  An the day
were not come"--

But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and
hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a
space.

"It is as though the bearer had run for a pater-noster while, and then
leaped the river," Dick observed.

"And now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added Matcham.

"Nay," returned Dick--"nay, not so soberly, Jack.  'Tis a man that
walketh you right speedily.  'Tis a man in some fear of his life, or
about some hurried business.  See ye not how swift the beating draweth
near?"

"It is now close by," said Matcham.

They were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a
certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of
the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in.

The daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of
white footpath wandering among the gorse.  It passed some hundred yards
from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west.
By the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less
directly to the Moat House.

Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white
figure now appeared.  It paused a little, and seemed to look about; and
then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near
across the heath.  At every step the bell clanked.  Face, it had none; a
white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the
creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick.
Fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death.

"A leper!" said Dick, hoarsely.

"His touch is death," said Matcham.  "Let us run."

"Not so," returned Dick.  "See ye not?--he is stone blind.  He guideth
him with a staff.  Let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path,
and he will go by and hurt us not.  Alas, poor soul, and we should rather
pity him!"

"I will pity him when he is by," replied Matcham.

The blind leper was now about halfway towards them, and just then the sun
rose and shone full on his veiled face.  He had been a tall man before he
was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a
vigorous step.  The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the
stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that
he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from
the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay; and at
every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to
desert them.

As he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full
upon the lads.

"Mary be my shield!  He sees us!" said Matcham, faintly.

"Hush!" whispered Dick.  "He doth but hearken.  He is blind, fool!"

The leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some
seconds.  Then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more,
and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads.  Even Dick became
dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become
infected.  But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any farther
hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and
disappeared into the covert of the woods.

"He saw us," said Matcham.  "I could swear it!"

"Tut!" returned Dick, recovering some sparks of courage.  "He but heard
us.  He was in fear, poor soul!  An ye were blind, and walked in a
perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a
bird cried 'Peep.'"

"Dick, good Dick, he saw us," repeated Matcham.  "When a man hearkeneth,
he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick.  This was seeing; it
was not hearing.  He means foully.  Hark, else, if his bell be not
stopped!"

Such was the case.  The bell rang no longer.

"Nay," said Dick, "I like not that.  Nay," he cried again, "I like that
little.  What may this betoken?  Let us go, by the mass!"

"He hath gone east," added Matcham.  "Good Dick, let us go westward
straight; I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that
leper."

"Jack, y' are too cowardly," replied Dick.  "We shall go fair for
Holywood, or as fair, at least, as I can guide you, and that will be due
north."

They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and
began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin
of the wood.  The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows;
trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path,
and the lads somewhat wandered.  They were weary, besides, with
yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily
and dragged their feet among the sand.

Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper,
some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a
hollow.  His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and
he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who
sees.  Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket.

The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse;
there they lay, horror-struck.

"Certain, he pursueth us," said Dick--"certain!  He held the clapper of
his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound.  Now may the
saints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence!"

"What maketh he?" cried Matcham.  "What doth he want?  Who ever heard the
like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates?  Hath
he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him?  Dick, there
is below this something deeper."

"Nay, I care not," moaned Dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs
are like water.  The saints be mine assistance!"

"Would ye lie there idle?" cried Matcham.  "Let us back into the open.
We have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares."

"Not I," said Dick.  "My time is come, and peradventure he may pass us
by."

"Bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other.  "What! will ye be a man?"

Dick crossed himself.  "Would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried.
"The hand would fail me.  Nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be!  With
sound men I will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers.  Which this is, I
wot not.  One or other, Heaven be our protection!"

"Now," said Matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man!
But sith ye will do naught, let us lie close."

Then came a single, broken jangle on the bell.

"He hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered Matcham.  "Saints!
how near he is!"

But Dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering.

Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the
leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly
to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew.  To their
stretched senses, the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the
creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart.

Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran
straight upon the lads.  They, shrieking aloud, separated and began to
run different ways.  But their horrible enemy fastened upon Matcham, ran
him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner.  The lad gave
one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of
struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his
captor's arms.

Dick heard the cry and turned.  He saw Matcham fall; and on the instant
his spirit and his strength revived; With a cry of pity and anger, he
unslung and bent his arblast.  But ere he had time to shoot, the leper
held up his hand.

"Hold your shot, Dickon!" cried a familiar voice.  "Hold your shot, mad
wag!  Know ye not a friend?"

And then laying down Matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his
face, and disclosed the features of Sir Daniel Brackley.

"Sir Daniel!" cried Dick.

"Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel!" returned the knight.  "Would ye shoot upon
your guardian, rogue?  But here is this"--And there he broke off, and
pointing to Matcham, asked: "How call ye him, Dick?"

"Nay," said Dick, "I call him Master Matcham.  Know ye him not?  He said
ye knew him!"

"Ay," replied Sir Daniel, "I know the lad;" and he chuckled.  "But he has
fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for!  Hey,
Dick?  Did I put the fear of death upon you?"

"Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did that," said Dick, and sighed again at the
mere recollection.  "Nay, sir, saving your respect, I had as lief 'a' met
the devil in person; and to speak truth, I am yet all a-quake.  But what
made ye, sir, in such a guise?"

Sir Daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger.

"What made I?" he said.  "Ye do well to mind me of it!  What?  I skulked
for my poor life in my own wood of Tunstall, Dick.  We were ill sped at
the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout.  Where be all my
good men-at-arms?  Dick, by the mass, I know not!  We were swept down;
the shot fell thick among us; I have not seen one man in my own colours
since I saw three fall.  For myself, I came sound to Shoreby, and being
mindful of the Black Arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by
the path for the Moat House.  There is no disguise to be compared with
it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the
forest; they would all turn pale to hear it.  At length I came by you and
Matcham.  I could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure
of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the
finding you together.  Moreover, in the open, where I had to go slowly
and tap with my staff, I feared to disclose myself.  But see," he added,
"this poor shrew begins a little to revive.  A little good canary will
comfort me the heart of it."

The knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began
to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned
gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to
another.

"What cheer, Jack!" said Dick.  "It was no leper, after all; it was Sir
Daniel!  See!"

"Swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight.  "This will give
you manhood.  Thereafter, I will give you both a meal, and we shall all
three on to Tunstall.  For, Dick," he continued, laying forth bread and
meat upon the grass, "I will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks
me sorely to be safe between four walls.  Not since I backed a horse have
I been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood,
and to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down.  But I be
not yet shent.  Some of my lads will pick me their way home.  Hatch hath
ten fellows; Selden, he had six.  Nay, we shall soon be strong again; and
if I can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving Lord of
York, why, Dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback!"

And so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged
his ward in dumb show.

"Selden," Dick faltered--"Selden"--And he paused again.

Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted.

"How!" he cried, in a changed voice.  "Selden?  Speak!  What of Selden?"

Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre.

The knight heard in silence; but as he listened, his countenance became
convulsed with rage and grief.

"Now here," he cried, "on my right hand, I swear to avenge it!  If that I
fail, if that I spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither
from my body!  I broke this Duckworth like a rush; I beggared him to his
door; I burned the thatch above his head; I drove him from this country;
and now, cometh he back to beard me?  Nay, but, Duckworth, this time it
shall go bitter hard!"

He was silent for some time, his face working.

"Eat!" he cried, suddenly.  "And you here," he added to Matcham, "swear
me an oath to follow straight to the Moat House."

"I will pledge mine honour," replied Matcham.

"What make I with your honour?" cried the knight.  "Swear me upon your
mother's welfare!"

Matcham gave the required oath; and Sir Daniel re-adjusted the hood over
his face, and prepared his bell and staff.  To see him once more in that
appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions.
But the knight was soon upon his feet.

"Eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house."

And with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the
bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their
untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up hill into the distance.

"And so ye go to Tunstall?" Dick inquired.

"Yea, verily," said Matcham, "when needs must!  I am braver behind Sir
Daniel's back than to his face."

They ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper
levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns,
and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs.  Two hours later,
they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the
tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall House.

"Here," said Matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend
Jack, whom y' are to see no more.  Come, Dick, forgive him what he did
amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you."

"And wherefore so?" asked Dick.  "An we both go to Tunstall, I shall see
you yet again, I trow, and that right often."

"Ye'll never again see poor Jack Matcham," replied the other, "that was
so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll not
see him more, Dick, by mine honour!"  He held his arms open, and the lads
embraced and kissed.  "And, Dick," continued Matcham, "my spirit bodeth
ill.  Y' are now to see a new Sir Daniel; for heretofore hath all
prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now,
methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of
his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us.  He may be brave
in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, Dick,
and fear is as cruel as the wolf!  We go down into that house, Saint Mary
guide us forth again!"

And so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last
before Sir Daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady,
flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied
waters of the moat.  Even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the
bridge lowered, and Sir Daniel himself, with Hatch and the parson at his
side, stood ready to receive them.




BOOK II--THE MOAT HOUSE


CHAPTER I--DICK ASKS QUESTIONS


The Moat House stood not far from the rough forest road.  Externally, it
was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round
tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top.  Within, it
enclosed a narrow court.  The moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed
by a single drawbridge.  It was supplied with water by a trench, leading
to a forest pool and commanded, through its whole length, from the
battlements of the two southern towers.  Except that one or two tall and
thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the
walls, the house was in a good posture for defence.

In the court, Dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations
for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege.  Some were
making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but
even as they worked, they shook their heads.

Twelve of Sir Daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet
through the wood, and come alive to the Moat House.  But out of this
dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at Risingham in the disorder
of the rout, one by John Amend-All's marksmen as he crossed the forest.
This raised the force of the garrison, counting Hatch, Sir Daniel, and
young Shelton, to twenty-two effective men.  And more might be
continually expected to arrive.  The danger lay not therefore in the lack
of men.

It was the terror of the Black Arrow that oppressed the spirits of the
garrison.  For their open foes of the party of York, in these most
changing times, they felt but a far-away concern.  "The world," as people
said in those days, "might change again" before harm came.  But for their
neighbours in the wood, they trembled.  It was not Sir Daniel alone who
was a mark for hatred.  His men, conscious of impunity, had carried
themselves cruelly through all the country.  Harsh commands had been
harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the
court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or
barbarity.  And now, by the fortune of war, Sir Daniel had become
powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of
battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become
punishable traitors to the State, outside the buckler of the law, a
shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed
upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims.  Nor had there
been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect.

At different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven
riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate.  Two were from
Selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir Daniel to
the field.  Lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering
to the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in,
his spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony,
he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men.

Hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallour of anxiety; and
when he had taken Dick aside and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on a
stone bench and fairly wept.  The others, from where they sat on stools
or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder
and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion.

"Nay, Master Shelton," said Hatch, at last--"nay, but what said I?  We
shall all go.  Selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to
me.  Well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow!  For what said
their knave rhyme?--'A black arrow in each black heart.'  Was it not so
it went?  Appleyard, Selden, Smith, old Humphrey gone; and there lieth
poor John Carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest."

Dick gave ear.  Out of a low window, hard by where they were talking,
groans and murmurs came to his ear.

"Lieth he there?" he asked.

"Ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered Hatch.  "We could not bear
him further, soul and body were so bitterly at odds.  At every step we
lifted him, he thought to wend.  But now, methinks, it is the soul that
suffereth.  Ever for the priest he crieth, and Sir Oliver, I wot not why,
still cometh not.  'Twill be a long shrift; but poor Appleyard and poor
Selden, they had none."

Dick stooped to the window and looked in.  The little cell was low and
dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his
pallet.

"Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked.

"Master Shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear
light of heaven, bring the priest.  Alack, I am sped; I am brought very
low down; my hurt is to the death.  Ye may do me no more service; this
shall be the last.  Now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal
gentleman, bestir you; for I have that matter on my conscience that shall
drag me deep."

He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or
terror.

Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall.  He had a
letter in one hand.

"Lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore,
then, deny it?  Rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle.  This
old Harry the Sixt has had the undermost.  Wash we, then, our hands of
him.  I have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the Lord of
Wensleydale.  Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good
lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable
surety for the future.  Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear.  A
prayer without gifts is like a song without music: I surfeit him with
promises, boys--I spare not to promise.  What, then, is lacking?  Nay, a
great thing--wherefore should I deceive you?--a great thing and a
difficult: a messenger to bear it.  The woods--y' are not ignorant of
that--lie thick with our ill-willers.  Haste is most needful; but without
sleight and caution all is naught.  Which, then, of this company will
take me this letter, bear me it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and bring me
the answer back?"

One man instantly arose.

"I will, an't like you," said he.  "I will even risk my carcase."

"Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so," returned the knight.  "It likes me not.  Y'
are sly indeed, but not speedy.  Ye were a laggard ever."

"An't be so, Sir Daniel, here am I," cried another.

"The saints forfend!" said the knight.  "Y' are speedy, but not sly.  Ye
would blunder me headforemost into John Amend-All's camp.  I thank you
both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be."

Then Hatch offered himself, and he also was refused.

"I want you here, good Bennet; y' are my right hand, indeed," returned
the knight; and then several coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at
length selected one and gave him the letter.

"Now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all
depend.  Bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks, I will have
purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces.  But mark
it well, Throgmorton: the matter is not easy.  Ye must steal forth under
night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross Till I know not,
neither by the bridge nor ferry."

"I can swim," returned Throgmorton.  "I will come soundly, fear not."

"Well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied Sir Daniel.  "Ye shall
swim first of all in nut-brown ale."  And with that he turned back into
the hall.

"Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue," said Hatch, aside, to Dick.  "See, now,
where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out
plainly to his company.  Here is a danger, 'a saith, and here difficulty;
and jesteth in the very saying.  Nay, by Saint Barbary, he is a born
captain!  Not a man but he is some deal heartened up!  See how they fall
again to work."

This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad's head.

"Bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?"

"Ask me not that," replied Hatch.  "I had no hand nor knowledge in it;
furthermore, I will even be silent, Master Dick.  For look you, in a
man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of
common talk, not so.  Ask me Sir Oliver--ay, or Carter, if ye will; not
me."

And Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving Dick in a muse.

"Wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad.  "And wherefore named
he Carter?  Carter--nay, then Carter had a hand in it, perchance."

He entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and
vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay
groaning.  At his entrance Carter started eagerly.

"Have ye brought the priest?" he cried.

"Not yet awhile," returned Dick.  "Y' 'ave a word to tell me first.  How
came my father, Harry Shelton, by his death?"

The man's face altered instantly.

"I know not," he replied, doggedly.

"Nay, ye know well," returned Dick.  "Seek not to put me by."

"I tell you I know not," repeated Carter.

"Then," said Dick, "ye shall die unshriven.  Here am I, and here shall
stay.  There shall no priest come near you, rest assured.  For of what
avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a
hand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery."

"Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick," said Carter, composedly.  "It is
ill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little.  And
for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less.  Stay, an ye
please.  Ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing!  There is my
last word to you."  And the wounded man turned upon the other side.

Now, Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his
threat.  But he made one more effort.

"Carter," he said, "mistake me not.  I know ye were but an instrument in
the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; I would not bear heavily
on such an one.  But I begin to learn upon many sides that this great
duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father.  Prithee,
then, good Carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure
goodwill and honest penitence give me a word of help."

The wounded man lay silent; nor, say what Dick pleased, could he extract
another word from him.

"Well," said Dick, "I will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for
howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, I would not be willingly in fault
to any, least of all to one upon the last change."

Again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans
he had suppressed; and as Dick turned and left the room, he was filled
with admiration for that rugged fortitude.

"And yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit?  Had his
hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the
secret louder than words.  Nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me.  Sir
Daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing."

Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart.  At that hour, in
the ebb of Sir Daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers
of the Black Arrow and proscribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick,
also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had
severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth?  The
necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel.

"Pray Heaven he be innocent!" he said.

And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir Oliver came gravely
towards the lad.

"One seeketh you earnestly," said Dick.

"I am upon the way, good Richard," said the priest.  "It is this poor
Carter.  Alack, he is beyond cure."

"And yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered Dick.

"Have ye seen him?" asked Sir Oliver, with a manifest start.

"I do but come from him," replied Dick.

"What said he? what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary
eagerness.

"He but cried for you the more piteously, Sir Oliver.  It were well done
to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad.

"I am straight for him," was the reply.  "Well, we have all our sins.  We
must all come to our latter day, good Richard."

"Ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered Dick.

The priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried
on.

"He, too!" thought Dick--"he, that taught me in piety!  Nay, then, what a
world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's
death?  Vengeance!  Alas! what a sore fate is mine, if I must be avenged
upon my friends!"

The thought put Matcham in his head.  He smiled at the remembrance of his
strange companion, and then wondered where he was.  Ever since they had
come together to the doors of the Moat House the younger lad had
disappeared, and Dick began to weary for a word with him.

About an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by Sir
Oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner.  It was a long, low
apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a
design of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung spears
and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were
arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly
spread, awaited the arrival of the diners.  Neither Sir Daniel nor his
lady made their appearance.  Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here
again there was no word of Matcham.  Dick began to grow alarmed, to
recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself
if any foul play had befallen him in that house.

After dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was hurrying to my Lady Brackley.

"Goody," he said, "where is Master Matcham, I prithee?  I saw ye go in
with him when we arrived."

The old woman laughed aloud.

"Ah, Master Dick," she said, "y' have a famous bright eye in your head,
to be sure!" and laughed again.

"Nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted Dick.

"Ye will never see him more," she returned--"never.  It is sure."

"An I do not," returned the lad, "I will know the reason why.  He came
not hither of his full free will; such as I am, I am his best protector,
and I will see him justly used.  There be too many mysteries; I do begin
to weary of the game!"

But as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.  It was
Bennet Hatch that had come unperceived behind him.  With a jerk of his
thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife.

"Friend Dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moon-struck
natural?  An ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the
salt sea than here in Tunstall Moat House.  Y' have questioned me; y'
have baited Carter; y' have frighted the Jack-priest with hints.  Bear ye
more wisely, fool; and even now, when Sir Daniel calleth you, show me a
smooth face for the love of wisdom.  Y' are to be sharply questioned.
Look to your answers."

"Hatch," returned Dick, "in all this I smell a guilty conscience."

"An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied Bennet.  "I
do but warn you.  And here cometh one to call you."

And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to
summon Dick into the presence of Sir Daniel.



CHAPTER II--THE TWO OATHS


Sir Daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire,
awaiting Dick's arrival.  None was by except Sir Oliver, and he sat
discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary.

"Y' have sent for me, Sir Daniel?" said young Shelton.

"I have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight.  "For what cometh to
mine ears?  Have I been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to
credit ill of me?  Or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted,
do ye think to quit my party?  By the mass, your father was not so!
Those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather.  But you,
Dick, y' are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear
yourself of your allegiance."

"An't please you, Sir Daniel, not so," returned Dick, firmly.  "I am
grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due.  And before
more is said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y' have great claims
upon me both--none can have more; I were a hound if I forgot them."

"It is well," said Sir Daniel; and then, rising into anger: "Gratitude
and faith are words, Dick Shelton," he continued; "but I look to deeds.
In this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are
forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my
destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith?  I have but a little
company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts
with your insidious whisperings?  Save me from such gratitude!  But,
come, now, what is it ye wish?  Speak; we are here to answer.  If ye have
aught against me, stand forth and say it."

"Sir," replied Dick, "my father fell when I was yet a child.  It hath
come to mine ears that he was foully done by.  It hath come to mine
ears--for I will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing.  And
in all verity, I shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear
to help you, till I have certain resolution of these doubts."

Sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle.  He took his chin in his hand and
looked at Dick fixedly.

"And ye think I would be guardian to the man's son that I had murdered?"
he asked.

"Nay," said Dick, "pardon me if I answer churlishly; but indeed ye know
right well a wardship is most profitable.  All these years have ye not
enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? Have ye not still my marriage?  I
wot not what it may be worth--it is worth something.  Pardon me again;
but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps,
reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness."

"When I was lad of your years," returned Sir Daniel, sternly, "my mind
had not so turned upon suspicions.  And Sir Oliver here," he added, "why
should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?"

"Nay, Sir Daniel," said Dick, "but where the master biddeth there will
the dog go.  It is well known this priest is but your instrument.  I
speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies.  Even as I speak, so
would I be answered.  And answer get I none!  Ye but put more questions.
I rede ye be ware, Sir Daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and
not satisfy my doubts."

"I will answer you fairly, Master Richard," said the knight.  "Were I to
pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man.  But I will
be just even in anger.  Come to me with these words when y' are grown and
come to man's estate, and I am no longer your guardian, and so helpless
to resent them.  Come to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit, with
a buffet in the mouth.  Till then ye have two courses: either swallow me
down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for
the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the door standeth
open, the woods are full of mine enemies--go."

The spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they
were accompanied, staggered Dick; and yet he could not but observe that
he had got no answer.

"I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than to believe you," he
replied.  "Assure me ye are free from this."

"Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?" inquired the knight.

"That would I," answered the lad.

"I give it you," returned Sir Daniel.  "Upon my word of honour, upon the
eternal welfare of my spirit, and as I shall answer for my deeds
hereafter, I had no hand nor portion in your father's death."

He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly.  Neither of them observed
the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had
half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse.

"Ah," cried Dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon
me!  I was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you.  But ye have my hand upon
it; I will doubt no more."

"Nay, Dick," replied Sir Daniel, "y' are forgiven.  Ye know not the world
and its calumnious nature."

"I was the more to blame," added Dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not
directly at yourself, but at Sir Oliver."

As he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of
the last word.  This tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had
fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were
relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when Dick's eyes were fixed
upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried
his face in his hands.

Sir Daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the
shoulder.  At the same moment Dick's suspicions reawakened.

"Nay," he said, "Sir Oliver may swear also.  'Twas him they accused."

"He shall swear," said the knight.

Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms.

"Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried Sir Daniel, beside himself
with fury.  "Here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking
up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground.  "What!  Ye make me
doubt you!  Swear, I say; swear!"

But the priest was still incapable of speech.  His terror of Sir Daniel,
his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him.

And just then, through the high, stained-glass window of the hall, a
black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the
long table.

Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the
knight, followed by Dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest
corkscrew stair to the battlements.  The sentries were all on the alert.
The sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded
hills of the forest which enclosed the view.  There was no sign of a
besieger.

"Whence came that shot?" asked the knight.

"From yonder clump, Sir Daniel," returned a sentinel.

The knight stood a little, musing.  Then he turned to Dick.  "Dick," he
said, "keep me an eye upon these men; I leave you in charge here.  As for
the priest, he shall clear himself, or I will know the reason why.  I do
almost begin to share in your suspicions.  He shall swear, trust me, or
we shall prove him guilty."

Dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing
glance, hurriedly returned to the hall.  His first glance was for the
arrow.  It was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned
it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear.  Again
there was some writing: one word--"Earthed."

"Ay," he broke out, "they know I am home, then.  Earthed!  Ay, but there
is not a dog among them fit to dig me out."

Sir Oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet.

"Alack, Sir Daniel!" he moaned, "y' 'ave sworn a dread oath; y' are
doomed to the end of time."

"Ay," returned the knight, "I have sworn an oath, indeed, thou
chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater.  It shall be on the
blessed cross of Holywood.  Look to it; get the words ready.  It shall be
sworn to-night."

"Now, may Heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may Heaven incline
your heart from this iniquity!"

"Look you, my good father," said Sir Daniel, "if y' are for piety, I say
no more; ye begin late, that is all.  But if y' are in any sense bent
upon wisdom, hear me.  This lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp.  I have
a need for him, for I would sell his marriage.  But I tell you, in all
plainness, if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join his father.
I give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel.  If that
ye can swear your innocency with a good, solid oath and an assured
countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and I will
spare him.  If that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the
swearing, he will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die.  There
is for your thinking on."