"Ha!" said the baron, gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the
passage of my soul! Sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy,
than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabor,
and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes!  Howbeit, I have
that upon my mind that must not be delayed.  We have no priest aboard?"

"None," replied Dick.

"Here, then, to my secular interests," resumed Lord Foxham: "ye must be
as good a friend to me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy when I was
living.  I fall in an evil hour for me, for England, and for them that
trusted me.  My men are being brought by Hamley--he that was your rival;
they will rendezvous in the long holm at Holywood; this ring from off my
finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and I shall write,
besides, two words upon this paper, bidding Hamley yield to you the
damsel.  Will he obey?  I know not."

"But, my lord, what orders?" inquired Dick.

"Ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders;" and he looked upon Dick with
hesitation.  "Are ye Lancaster or York?" he asked, at length.

"I shame to say it," answered Dick, "I can scarce clearly answer.  But so
much I think is certain: since I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve the
house of York.  Well, if that be so, I declare for York."

"It is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well.  For, truly, had
ye said Lancaster, I wot not for the world what I had done.  But sith ye
are for York, follow me.  I came hither but to watch these lords at
Shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, Richard of Gloucester, {1}
prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them.  I have made
me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and
these I was to deliver to my young lord on Sunday, an hour before noon,
at St. Bride's Cross beside the forest.  This tryst I am not like to
keep, but I pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that
not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from
the hour and place, for the welfare of England lieth upon this cast."

"I do soberly take this up on me," said Dick.  "In so far as in me lieth,
your purpose shall be done."

"It is good," said the wounded man. "My lord duke shall order you
farther, and if ye obey him with spirit and good will, then is your
fortune made.  Give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that I
write these words for you."

He wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, Sir John Hamley;" and then a
second, which he-left without external superscripture.

"This is for the duke," he said.  "The word is 'England and Edward,' and
the counter, 'England and York.'"

"And Joanna, my lord?" asked Dick.

"Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can," replied the baron.  "I have named
you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for
yourself, boy.  I have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my
life.  More could no man do."

By this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and Dick, putting
the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him
to repose.

The day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of
snow.  Close under the lee of the Good Hope, the coast lay in alternate
rocky headlands and sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops
of Tunstall showed along the sky.  Both the wind and the sea had gone
down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves.

Lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the
men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the
inhospitable coast.

"Are we going ashore?" asked Dick.

"Ay," said Lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom."

And just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water
weltered so loudly in her hold, that Dick involuntarily seized the
steersman by the arm.

"By the mass!" cried Dick, as the bows of the Good Hope reappeared above
the foam, "I thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my
throat."

In the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the better men of both companies
were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these Dick joined
himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament.  But,
even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of
her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him
with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death.

Presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below
a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea
broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that,
again, a house appeared, crowning a down.

Inside the bay the seas ran gayly, raised the Good Hope upon their
foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman,
and in a moment dropped her, with a great concussion, on the sand, and
began to break over her half-mast high, and roll her to and fro.  Another
great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in;
and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more
dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank.

"Now, boys," cried Lawless, "the saints have had a care of us, indeed.
The tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before
half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge."

A barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from
the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around,
and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits.

Dick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, who lay in great perplexity and
fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp,
which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of
the blow.

"My lord," said young Shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly
for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide
hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet."

It was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the
ebbing sea; and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly
before them through a veil of driving snow.

Upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled
together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals.

"They might draw near and offer us some comfort," Dick remarked.

"Well, an' they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said
Hawksley.  "The sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed the better
for my poor lord."

But they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock, before the
men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight
of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company.

"Back! back!" cried his lordship.  "Beware, in Heaven's name, that ye
reply not."

"Nay," cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack.  "We are
in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary,
and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old England, what aileth
them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?"

"They take us to be French pirates," answered Lord Foxham.  "In these
most troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of
England; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now
range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning.  It is the pity
and reproach of this poor land."

The men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed
upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for a
mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign,
to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was
only when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, Dick began to call
his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the
coast of England silently disappeared among the snow.  They had done what
they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own
families and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it
mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the
Frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm
of England.




BOOK IV--THE DISGUISE


CHAPTER I--THE DEN


The place where Dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from
Holywood, and within nine or ten miles of Shoreby-on-the-Till; and here,
after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies
separated.  Lord Foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded
master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and Dick, as
he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling
snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder
of his troop of volunteers.

Some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long
exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they
grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders.  Dick emptied his
purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage
they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his
heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the
effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way,
either severally or in pairs, to Shoreby and the Goat and Bagpipes.

For his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the Good
Hope, he chose Lawless to be his companion on the walk.  The snow was
falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the
wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was
blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation.  There was
great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and
Lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his
head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every
tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among
dangers.

About a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met,
under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks.  Even in the narrow horizon of
the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and
Lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight.

"Now, Master Richard," said he, "an y' are not too proud to be the guest
of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good
Christian, I can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the
marrow in your frozen bones."

"Lead on, Will," answered Dick.  "A cup of wine and a good fire!  Nay, I
would go a far way round to see them."

Lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking
resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that
had now drifted a quarter full of snow.  On the verge, a great beech-tree
hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some
bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth.

The beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up
a considerable stretch of turf and it was under this that old Lawless had
dug out his forest hiding-place.  The roots served him for rafters, the
turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth.
Rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the
presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron,
showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a
digging beast.

Though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of
this earth cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when
Lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze
and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of
comfort and of home.

With a sigh of great contentment, Lawless spread his broad hands before
the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke.

"Here, then," he said, "is this old Lawless's rabbit-hole; pray Heaven
there come no terrier!  Far I have rolled hither and thither, and here
and about, since that I was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away
from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that I
sold for four marks.  I have been in England and France and Burgundy, and
in Spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which
is no man's country.  But here is my place, Master Shelton.  This is my
native land, this burrow in the earth!  Come rain or wind--and whether
it's April, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my
bed--or whether it's winter, and I sit alone with my good gossip the
fire, and robin red breast twitters in the woods--here, is my church and
market, and my wife and child.  It's here I come back to, and it's here,
so please the saints, that I would like to die."

"'Tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied Dick, "and a pleasant, and a
well hid."

"It had need to be," returned Lawless, "for an they found it, Master
Shelton, it would break my heart.  But here," he added, burrowing with
his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine cellar; and ye
shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo."

Sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern
bottle of about a gallon, nearly three-parts full of a very heady and
sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire
had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length,
thawing and steaming, and divinely warm.

"Master Shelton," observed the outlaw, "y' 'ave had two mischances this
last while, and y' are like to lose the maid--do I take it aright?"

"Aright!" returned Dick, nodding his head.

"Well, now," continued Lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been
nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all!  Ye go too much on other
people's errands, Master Dick.  Ye go on Ellis's; but he desireth rather
the death of Sir Daniel.  Ye go on Lord Foxham's; well--the saints
preserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well.  But go ye upon your own, good
Dick.  Come right to the maid's side.  Court her, lest that she forget
you.  Be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the
saddle-bow."

"Ay, but, Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in Sir Daniel's own mansion."
answered Dick.

"Thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw.

Dick stared at him.

"Nay, I mean it," nodded Lawless.  "And if y' are of so little faith, and
stumble at a word, see here!"

And the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest,
and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar's
robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy
enough to be counted as a weapon.

"Here," he said, "is for you.  On with them!"

And then, when Dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise,
Lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the
greatest cunning, to disguise his face.  The eyebrows he thickened and
produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a
like service; while, by a few lines around the eye, he changed the
expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk.

"Now," he resumed, "when I have done the like, we shall make as bonny a
pair of friars as the eye could wish.  Boldly to Sir Daniel's we shall
go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of Mother Church."

"And how, dear Lawless," cried the lad, "shall I repay you?"

"Tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "I do naught but for my pleasure.
Mind not for me.  I am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself.  When
that I lack, I have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--I
do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, I do most usually take."

The old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although Dick was displeased
to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet
unable to restrain his mirth.

With that, Lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly
disguised; but, below his gown, Dick wondered to observe him conceal a
sheaf of black arrows.

"Wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad.  "Wherefore arrows, when ye take
no bow?"

"Nay," replied Lawless, lightly, "'tis like there will be heads
broke--not to say backs--ere you and I win sound from where we're going
to; and if any fall, I would our fellowship should come by the credit
on't.  A black arrow, Master Dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth
you who writ the bill."

"An ye prepare so carefully," said Dick, "I have here some papers that,
for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better
left behind than found upon my body.  Where shall I conceal them, Will?"

"Nay," replied Lawless, "I will go forth into the wood and whistle me
three verses of a song; meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and
smooth the sand upon the place."

"Never!" cried Richard.  "I trust you, man.  I were base indeed if I not
trusted you."

"Brother, y' are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and
turning his face upon Dick from the threshold of the den.  "I am a kind
old Christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own
in a friend's jeopardy.  But, fool, child, I am a thief by trade and
birth and habit.  If my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, I would rob
you, dear child, as sure as I love, honour, and admire your parts and
person!  Can it be clearer spoken?  No."

And he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers.

Dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies
of his companion's character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his
papers.  One only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise
compromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against Sir
Daniel.  That was the knight's own letter to Lord Wensleydale, sent by
Throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at Risingham, and found next day
by Dick upon the body of the messenger.

Then, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick left the den, and
rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks,
and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow.  Each
looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the
disguise.

"Yet I would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw,
"that I might see myself in the mirror of a pool.  There be many of Sir
Daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might
be two words for you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, I
should be kicking in a rope's-end."

Thus they set forth together along the road to Shoreby, which, in this
part of its course, kept near along the margin or the forest, coming
forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor
folks' houses and small farms.

Presently at sight of one of these, Lawless pulled up.

"Brother Martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to
his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners.
_Pax vobiscum_!  Ay," he added, in his own voice, "'tis as I feared; I
have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good Master
Shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before
that I risk my fat neck by entering Sir Daniel's.  But look ye a little,
what an excellent thing it is to be a Jack-of-all-trades!  An I had not
been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the Good Hope; an I had
not been a thief, I could not have painted me your face; and but that I
had been a Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the
board, I could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would
have spied us out and barked at us for shams."

He was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his
tip-toes and peeped in.

"Nay," he cried, "better and better.  We shall here try our false faces
with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on Brother Capper to boot."

And so saying, he opened the door and led the way into the house.

Three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating.  Their
daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks
which they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that
they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour.  On the two
monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the
farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one--it was
John Capper in person--who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and
rudely ordered them away.

"We want no beggars here!" he cried.

But another--although he was as far from recognising Dick and
Lawless--inclined to more moderate counsels.

"Not so," he cried.  "We be strong men, and take; these be weak, and
crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below.  Mind
him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a
benediction."

"Y' are men of a light mind, carnal, and accursed," said the monk.  "Now,
may the saints forbid that ever I should drink with such companions!  But
here, for the pity I bear to sinners, here I do leave you a blessed
relic, the which, for your soul's interest, I bid you kiss and cherish."

So far Lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these
words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board
in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and,
taking Dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among
the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger.

"So," he said, "we have proved our false faces, Master Shelton.  I will
now adventure my poor carcase where ye please."

"Good!" returned Richard.  "It irks me to be doing.  Set we on for
Shoreby!"



CHAPTER II--"IN MINE ENEMIES' HOUSE"


Sir Daniel's residence in Shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered
mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of
thatch.  To the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees,
alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower
of the abbey church.

The house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person
than Sir Daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub.  The court rang
with arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens roared with cookery like a
bees'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of
tumblers, sounded from the hall.  Sir Daniel, in his profusion, in the
gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with Lord Shoreby,
and eclipsed Lord Risingham.

All guests were made welcome.  Minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the
sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with
these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the
lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards
of the long dining-hall.

On the afternoon following the wreck of the Good Hope, the buttery, the
kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of
the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to Sir
Daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue,
partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received
by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time.

The snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the
air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter.
Wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the
straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal.  To
the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the
eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a
festive season.

Two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming
themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed.  A mixed crowd
surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the
elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged
so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily
increased in number.

The younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised Dick
Shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself
away.  He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by
the grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of
his companion's pleasantries.

At last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard
upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession
entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction.
Two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a
pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms.  The next moment they
had disappeared within the house; and Dick, slipping through the crowd of
loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit.

"The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley," he thought; "and where
Lady Brackley is, Joan will not be far."

At the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and
the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no
better escort than that of the two waiting-women.  Dick followed close
behind.  It was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the
darkness of the night had almost come.  On the stair-landings, torches
flared in iron holders; down the long, tapestried corridors, a lamp
burned by every door.  And where the door stood open, Dick could look in
upon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the
light of the wood fires.

Two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of
the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk.  He, keeping his eyes
lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had
but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention.
And now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady
continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids,
descending the corridor to the right.

Dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth
his head and followed the three women with his eyes.  Without turning or
looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor.

"It is right well," thought Dick.  "Let me but know my Lady Brackley's
chamber, and it will go hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an errand."

And just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a
choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant.

He was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly
seized, the short young lady in the furs.  She, on her part, was shocked
and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp.

"Madam," said Dick, releasing her, "I cry you a thousand pardons; but I
have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid."

The girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be
succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion.  Dick, who could read
these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that
hostile house.

"Fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand,
in token ye forgive my roughness, and I will even go."

"Y' are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him
both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment
hath somewhat passed away, I can spy the layman in each word you utter.
What do ye here?  Why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out?  Come ye in
peace or war?  And why spy ye after Lady Brackley like a thief?"

"Madam," quoth Dick, "of one thing I pray you to be very sure: I am no
thief.  And even if I come here in war, as in some degree I do, I make no
war upon fair maids, and I hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to
leave me be.  For, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your
pleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman
before you is merely a dead man.  I cannot think ye would be cruel,"
added Dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he looked
at her with courteous admiration.

"Are ye, then, a spy--a Yorkist?" asked the maid.

"Madam," he replied, "I am indeed a Yorkist, and, in some sort, a spy.
But that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for
me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of York nor
Lancaster.  I will wholly put my life in your discretion.  I am a lover,
and my name--"

But here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon Dick's mouth,
looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast
clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence,
up-stairs.

"Hush!" she said, "and come!  Shalt talk hereafter."

Somewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to be pulled up-stairs,
bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like
so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth.

"Now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there
and attend my sovereign good pleasure.  I have life and death over you,
and I will not scruple to abuse my power.  Look to yourself; y' 'ave
cruelly mauled my arm.  He knew not I was a maid, quoth he!  Had he known
I was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!"

And with these words, she whipped out of the room and left Dick gaping
with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake.

"Ta'en my belt to her!" he repeated.  "Ta'en my belt to her!"  And the
recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and
he once more saw Matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes.

And then he was recalled to the dangers of the present.  In the next room
he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which
sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet
once more began.  As he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the
wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided,
and, lamp in hand, Joanna Sedley entered the apartment.

She was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit
the winter and the snow.  Upon her head, her hair had been gathered
together and became her as a crown.  And she, who had seemed so little
and so awkward in the attire of Matcham, was now tall like a young
willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of
walking.

Without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the
young monk.

"What make ye here, good brother?" she inquired.  "Ye are doubtless
ill-directed.  Whom do ye require?  And she set her lamp upon the
bracket.

"Joanna," said Dick; and then his voice failed him.  "Joanna," he began
again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool I, but I believed it!"

"Dick!" she cried.  "Dick!"

And then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady
made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a
hundred kisses all in one.

"Oh, the fool fellow!" she cried.  "Oh, dear Dick!  Oh, if ye could see
yourself!  Alack!" she added, pausing.  "I have spoilt you, Dick!  I have
knocked some of the paint off.  But that can be mended.  What cannot be
mended, Dick--or I much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with Lord
Shoreby."

"Is it decided, then?" asked the lad.

"To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "John
Matcham and Joanna Sedley both shall come to a right miserable end.
There is no help in tears, or I could weep mine eyes out.  I have not
spared myself to pray, but Heaven frowns on my petition.  And, dear
Dick--good Dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the
morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye."

"Nay," said Dick, "not I; I will never say that word.  'Tis like despair;
but while there's life, Joanna, there is hope.  Yet will I hope.  Ay, by
the mass, and triumph!  Look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did
I not follow--did I not rouse good men--did I not stake my life upon the
quarrel?  And now that I have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid
and stateliest of England--think ye I would turn?--if the deep sea were
there, I would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, I
would scatter them like mice."

"Ay," she said, dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!"

"Nay, Joan," protested Dick, "'tis not alone the robe.  But, lass, ye
were disguised.  Here am I disguised; and, to the proof, do I not cut a
figure of fun--a right fool's figure?"

"Ay, Dick, an' that ye do!" she answered, smiling.

"Well, then!" he returned, triumphant.  "So was it with you, poor
Matcham, in the forest.  In sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at.  But
now!"

So they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and
lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have
continued all night long.  But presently there was a noise behind them;
and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips.

"Saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep!  Can ye not speak in
compass?  And now, Joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give
your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?"

Joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily.

"And you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?"

"Madam," said Dick, "I would fain offer to pay you in the same money."

"Come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you."

But Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand.

"What ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the very
ground; and then, when Dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her,
"Joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your eyes;
but I warrant you, when first we met he was more ready.  I am all black
and blue, wench; trust me never, if I be not black and blue!  And now,"
she continued, "have ye said your sayings? for I must speedily dismiss
the paladin."

But at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the
night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so
early.

"And supper?" asked the young lady.  "Must we not go down to supper?"

"Nay, to be sure!" cried Joan.  "I had forgotten."

"Hide me, then," said Dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest,
or what ye will, so that I may be here on your return.  Indeed, fair
lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bested, and may
never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we die."

At this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell
summoned Sir Daniel's household to the board, Dick was planted very
stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry
permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room.

He had not been long in this position, when he was somewhat strangely
disturbed.  The silence, in that upper storey of the house, was only
broken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in
the chimney; but presently, to Dick's strained hearing, there came the
sound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the
door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in Lord Shoreby's
colours, pushed first his head, and then his crooked body, into the
chamber.  His mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes,
which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro.  He
went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings;
but Dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice.  Then he looked below the
furniture, and examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of cruel
disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when
down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes
on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed
it in the wallet at his belt.

Dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own
girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign
delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his
master, the baron.  He was half-tempted to throw aside the arras, fall
upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the telltale
token.  And while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was
added.  A voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the
stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps
sounded without along the passage.

"What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the
voice.  "What make ye here?  Hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added,
with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more breaking into
song:

    "If ye should drink the clary wine,
    Fat Friar John, ye friend o' mine--
    If I should eat, and ye should drink,
    Who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?"

Lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a
corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations.  Dick inwardly
raged.  The spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he
had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like
rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from Richard's eyes.

What was to be done?  If he lost touch of Lawless for the night, he was
left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth Joanna's rescue.  If, on
the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might
still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue.

It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick decided.  Slipping
from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber,
with a warning hand upraised.  Lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes
injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer.  At last
he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick's
imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name.

Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.

"Beast!" he hissed--"beast and no man!  It is worse than treachery to be
so witless.  We may all be shent for thy sotting."

But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young Shelton
on the back.

And just then Dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras.  He
leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging
had been torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling together in its
folds.  Over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and
still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury.  But
Dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his
knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe.



CHAPTER III--THE DEAD SPY


Throughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless had looked on
helplessly, and even when all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to
his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant
bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still
wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly
staring on the face of the dead man.

"It is well," said Dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the
saints!  But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy?  At least, I will
take my tassel from his wallet."

So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money,
the tassel, and a letter addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with
my Lord Shoreby's seal.  The name awoke Dick's recollection; and he
instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter.  It was
short, but, to Dick's delight, it gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby
was treacherously corresponding with the House of York.

The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him,
and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able
to write these words upon a corner of the paper:

    My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is
    ded?  But let me rede you, marry not.

                                                            JON AMEND-ALL.

He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless, who had
been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns
of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and
therewith pinned the paper in its place.  The sight of this disrespect,
or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from
young Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed.

"Nay, I will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped.  "My jolly
boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother;" and then, shutting
his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to
thunder, in a formidable voice:

    "If ye should drink the clary wine"--

"Peace, sot!" cried Dick, and thrust him hard against the wall.  "In two
words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than
wit in him--in two words, and, a-Mary's name, begone out of this house,
where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me
also!  Faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may forget that
I am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor!  Go!"

The sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his
intelligence; and the ring in Dick's voice, and the glitter in Dick's
eye, stamped home the meaning of his words.

"By the mass," cried Lawless, "an I be not wanted, I can go;" and he
turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs,
lurching against the wall.

So soon as he was out of sight, Dick returned to his hiding-place,
resolutely fixed to see the matter out.  Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be
gone; but love and curiosity were stronger.

Time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras.  The
fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to
smoke.  And still there was no word of the return of any one to these
upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the
supper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of
the snow, Shoreby town lay silent upon every side.

At length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair;
and presently after several of Sir Daniel's guests arrived upon the
landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the
body of the spy.

Some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud.

At the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and,
in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from
every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult.

Soon a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came forth in person, followed by
the bridegroom of the morrow, my Lord Shoreby.

"My lord," said Sir Daniel, "have I not told you of this knave Black
Arrow?  To the proof, behold it!  There it stands, and, by the rood, my
gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!"

"In good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied Lord Shoreby, hanging
back.  "I would I had more such.  He was keen as a beagle and secret as a
mole."

"Ay, gossip, truly?" asked Sir Daniel, keenly.  "And what came he
smelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion?  But he will smell no
more."

"An't please you, Sir Daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon
with some matter, pinned upon his breast."

"Give it me, arrow and all," said the knight.  And when he had taken into
his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a
sullen musing.  "Ay," he said, addressing Lord Shoreby, "here is a hate
that followeth hard and close upon my heels.  This black stick, or its
just likeness, shall yet bring me down.  And, gossip, suffer a plain
knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee!  'Tis
like a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs.  But let us
see what they have written.  It is as I thought, my lord; y' are marked,
like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the
axe.  But what wrote ye in a letter?"

Lord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it
between his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto
withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body
and eagerly groped in the wallet.

He rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance.

"Gossip," he said, "I have indeed lost a letter here that much imported;
and could I lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should
incontinently grace a halter.  But let us, first of all, secure the
issues of the house.  Here is enough harm already, by St. George!"

Sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on
every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and
yet another about the bonfire in the shed.  Sir Daniel's followers were
supplemented by Lord Shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons
to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be
there.

Meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow
and deposited in the abbey church.

It was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned
to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew Richard Shelton from his
place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed.
He, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous
discovery, and speedy end.

Joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall.

"It will avail but little," she said.  "I shall be wed to-morrow, in the
morning, after all!"

"What!" cried her friend.  "And here is our paladin that driveth lions
like mice!  Ye have little faith, of a surety.  But come, friend
lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels."

Dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words;
but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly.

"Truly," said he, "we are in straits.  Yet, could I but win out of this
house for half an hour, I do honestly tell myself that all might still go
well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented."

"And for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven."

"I crave your excuse," said Dick.  "I speak not now in any boasting
humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if I get
not forth of this house and through these sentinels, I can do less than
naught.  Take me, I pray you, rightly."

"Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?" the girl inquired.  "I warrant he hath
a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure.
What would ye more?"

"Nay," sighed Joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend Dick,
'tis sure enough.  When I beheld him, he was rough indeed.  But it
matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and I must still be
Lady Shoreby!"

"Nay, then," said Dick, "I will even make the adventure.  A friar is not
much regarded; and if I found a good fairy to lead me up, I may find
another belike to carry me down.  How call they the name of this spy?"

"Rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him
by.  But how mean ye, lion-driver?  What is in your mind to do?"

"To offer boldly to go forth," returned Dick; "and if any stop me, to
keep an unchanged countenance, and say I go to pray for Rutter.  They
will be praying over his poor clay even now."

"The device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold."

"Nay," said young Shelton, "it is no device, but mere boldness, which
serveth often better in great straits."

"Ye say true," she said.  "Well, go, a-Mary's name, and may Heaven speed
you!  Ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that
is most heartily your friend.  Be wary, for their sakes, and make not
shipwreck of your safety."

"Ay," added Joanna, "go, Dick.  Ye run no more peril, whether ye go or
stay.  Go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!"

Dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the
fellow merely figeted and stared; but at the second landing the man
carried his spear across and bade him name his business.

"_Pax vobiscum_," answered Dick.  "I go to pray over the body of this
poor Rutter."

"Like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted
you."  He leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill.  "One
cometh!" he cried; and then motioned Dick to pass.

At the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his
arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of
the post ordered four men out to accompany him to the church.

"Let him not slip, my lads," he said.  "Bring him to Sir Oliver, on your
lives!"

The door was then opened; one of the men took Dick by either arm, another
marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on
the string, brought up the rear.  In this order they proceeded through
the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering
snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey church.

At the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they
could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with
the snow; and it was not until Dick's conductors had exchanged a word
with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of
the sacred edifice.

The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and
by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private
chapels of illustrious families.  In the midst of the choir the dead spy
lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier.

A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt
in the stalls of the choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest
in pontifical vestments celebrated mass.

Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming
down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the
nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him
to the church.  Out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke
in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up
their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles.