Chapter Fifteen.

JACK AGAIN VISITS HARWOOD GRANGE.

The next morning when the old couple and Burdale made their appearance, they did not in any way allude to what had taken place during the night, as if they had been totally ignorant of it. Breakfast was got ready by the aged dame; and afterwards Jack stole about the building, and found his way without difficulty into the vault below. Not a trace of any of the occupants of the previous evening was to be seen, but how they had gone he could not discover. Certainly they had not come up by the steps by which he had descended, and passed through the hall.

As the afternoon approached, Jack became more impatient than ever to pay his proposed visit to Harwood Grange. Mr Harwood had spoken so kindly to him, that he could not help hoping he would not reject him as a son-in-law. At length the hour fixed by Burdale for starting arrived, and Jack eagerly threw himself into the saddle.

"Why, your horse partakes of your spirit," observed his companion, as, clapping his spurs in the horse's side, Jack galloped over the greensward at a rate which put his guide's steed on his mettle.

He would willingly have gone by himself, but unacquainted with that part of the forest, he would scarcely alone have found his way in the dark. A couple of hours' hard riding, sometimes across cultivated ground, and at others over what remained in a state of nature, brought him to the neighbourhood of the Grange. Leaving the horses with Burdale, who promised to remain concealed with them under a thick clump of trees, he went towards the house on foot. Jack found the Squire waiting for him in a sheltered walk at a short distance from the house, and having delivered the messages and letters he had received from the various persons he had visited, gave him a full account of his adventures.

"You have indeed managed admirably, my young friend," said Mr Harwood. "You would make a first-rate diplomatist, and I shall have very great satisfaction in recommending you to a good appointment for which your talents peculiarly fit you. You will find Pearson thoroughly trustworthy, and as he advises you to stay for a short time with him in his farm in the fens, I would advise you to accept his invitation. You will meet persons there who will be able to forward your interests, and you will besides find ample amusement of various sorts during your stay. You will come in now, and take some refreshment," he observed; "and my daughter Alethea will be happy to welcome you. We may possibly have some visitors at supper, who are engaged in a certain important undertaking, but do not mention to them, and especially to my daughter, having met me last night. I know that I can trust you, but I am unwilling to implicate others in the matter I have in hand."

As Jack, in company with the Squire, was about to enter the house, he saw a horseman ride out of the courtyard, and kissing his hand to Alethea, who stood at a window overlooking the avenue, take the way towards Nottingham. A second glance at the horseman, though already at some distance, convinced Jack that he was his brother Jasper. He loved his brother. His first impulse was to shout out to him, and to call him back, that he might make inquiries about home, but then, recollecting the accusations brought against him, he dreaded Jasper's rebukes in the presence of the Squire; and next, for the first time in his life, a feeling of jealousy stole over him. Had Jasper--the quiet, studious unassuming Jasper--been paying court to the fair heiress of Harwood Grange? And how had Alethea received him?

The Squire having stepped on in front to open a door, prevented him from asking any questions, and he presently found himself ushered into the hall. A shout from Mr Harwood brought Alethea into the open gallery at one end of it; and seeing Jack, she at once came down-stairs. She greeted him in a friendly way, and then, not without some embarrassment, told him that he had narrowly missed seeing his brother.

"Had I known of your coming, I would have begged him to stop and meet you," she said, looking, however, down on the floor as she spoke. "You will, however, probably overtake him if you go on to Nottingham to-night, or you will see him with the rest of your family to-morrow."

Jack replied that circumstances would prevent him returning home. He naturally felt disinclined to tell Alethea more of the truth than was necessary. They had little time for conversation before the servant announced that supper was ready, when two other persons were seen crossing the hall in the direction of the supper-room.

"Some friends I told you that you might possibly meet," observed the Squire to Jack, as they took their seats at the table.

From the dress of the strangers, Jack at once came to the conclusion that they were ecclesiastics or ministers of some denomination. When he glanced at the countenance of the man opposite to him, he had little doubt that he at least was a priest of the Church of Rome. The person had a somewhat pale face and hollow cheeks, with bright intelligent eyes, and thin, undemonstrative lips. His was one of those countenances formed rather to conceal than express the thoughts of the mind. The first words uttered by the other man, who sat by his side, made Jack turn round to examine his features, for in the tones of his voice he recognised those of the Reverend Simon Stirthesoul. He looked at him again and again. The form of the features was the same, but their expression was now very different. Once Jack caught him eyeing him, as he was bending down over his plate, and he felt sure, by the cunning expression of the man's face, that he was not mistaken. Still Master Simon gave no other sign of recognition. His dress, though different from that which he had before worn, did not stamp him positively as a priest of Rome, though its cut and colour were such as were generally worn by clericals in those days. Each time the man spoke Jack was more and more convinced that he was Master Simon Stirthesoul. At the same time, so earnest was his application to the viands placed before him, that he did not indulge himself much in entering into conversation. That was chiefly kept up by Alethea and Jack's opposite neighbour, who devoted himself to her. His conversation indeed was agreeable, for he had visited many countries, and had shrewd remarks to make on all he had seen. Jack at length heard him describing Rome, and picturing the glories of the Eternal City.

"Ah, Miss Harwood," he exclaimed, "there we have the blessing of pure religion, sanctioned by the authority of the ancient Fathers, by the great Apostle Peter, and by Councils, and by the infallible head of the Church--the Pope himself! What a blessing to have no dissent, no difference of opinion; all united in one brotherhood, under one loving father, and to be relieved of all care and responsibility, and to know that whatever the Church decides is a right thing for us to believe!"

From what the person said, Jack had now no longer any doubt that he was a priest of Rome; but the more he listened the less inclined he became to acknowledge the correctness of his assertion. Jack watched Alethea's countenance, and he could not help hoping that neither did she altogether agree with him. They seemed, however, to have more effect upon Mr Harwood, for whom, in all probability, they were equally intended. His fathers had been Romanists, and he himself, though belonging to the Church of England, had never very perfectly imbibed Protestant truth. Master Stirthesoul made no remark, which surprised Jack, as the doctrines put forth by the priest were diametrically opposed to those which that worthy had himself been a short time ago enunciating to the public. There was a twinkle occasionally in his eye, but that might have arisen from the pleasure with which he was discussing the viands placed before him, and Jack could not discover whether he approved or not of the doctrines which were being laid down. Still it was curious to find two persons of apparently different opinions so closely associated with each other, as it was evident was the case.

Jack all the time was longing to have some private conversation with Alethea; but the other guests showed no inclination to take their departure; and he felt that he could not remain much longer, as his companion, Burdale, would naturally be becoming impatient. He himself could not agree with the priest's remarks, plausible as they were. Though he had not seen much of Romanists, he had heard a good deal of what took place at Rome, and believed truly that the union spoken of was very far from being real. He had heard, too, of a Spanish army of Roman Catholics attacking Rome, and of its being given up to them to pillage, they having treated the dignitaries of the Church and the Pope himself with even less respect than did their Protestant brothers-in-arms. He had heard, too, that it was not proved that Peter had ever been at Rome, much less that he was a Bishop of that city; and he was not altogether ignorant of the existence of the Inquisition, and of the mode by which that institution endeavoured to support the Church of Rome and the dogmas it inculcated.

The more the priest praised Rome and its system, the more anxious Jack became to speak to Alethea on the subject, and to do away with any impression he might have made. He had a clear, straightforward way of looking at things, the characteristic of the best type of Englishmen. He had been led into scrapes, he had done things for which he was sorry, and he was even now suffering the consequences of doing what was wrong, but instead of attempting to get out of the difficulty by twisting and turning and prevarication and falsehood, he always endeavoured to escape by going straightforward, boldly telling the truth, and, if needs be, doubling his fist, or drawing his sword and fighting his way out. Thus the sophistries and arguments which he heard brought forward by the Romish priest, far from having any effect upon him, made him more than ever inclined to oppose the system which Rome endeavours to spread over the world. He still waited on in the hope that the two guests would take their departure, but they seemed in no way disposed to do so, and at length Mr Harwood remarked that the shades of evening were approaching, and that he would have some difficulty in finding his way through the forest, if he delayed much longer. This hint was too clear not to be taken, and, very reluctantly, he at length rose to pay his adieus to Alethea. She wished him good-bye, expressing a hope to see him on his return to Nottingham, in a friendly tone, but gave him no opportunity of saying any thing to her alone. He bowed to the two other guests, and Mr Harwood accompanied him to the door, pointing out to him the way he was to take to reach the spot where he had left his horse.

"Can she be aware of the character of those people," thought Jack to himself, as he walked on through the wood, "or the plots which, it seems, are hatching? I wish Mr Harwood had nothing to do with them! I wonder how that he, a Protestant gentleman, can engage in such a matter. I hope that I shall hear nothing of them where I am going; and I heartily wish I had not helped the enemies of our good Protestant king by conveying those letters! Still, what has been done cannot be undone; and having been trusted by Mr Harwood, I cannot attempt to give information of what, I fear, is taking place, even though I might enable him to escape. I suspect those two men I met just now are engaged in it. I like neither of them, least of all that hypocritical-looking Master Stirthesoul, as he called himself. I wish Pearson had nothing to do with him. Indeed, Master Pearson evidently knows a good deal about the plot; and I should be thankful if I was free of him also. But what can I now do? I am in his power; and if I were to go back to Nottingham, I should be in difficulty about that poaching affair; while, if I offend him, he can at any moment inform against me for delivering those letters. Well, I must go through with it, and wait patiently for the result."

Such thoughts occupied his mind till he reached the clump of trees within which he expected to find Burdale and the horses. The shades of evening were already approaching, and a thick mass of brushwood, which grew outside, prevented him from seeing into the interior of the wood. He had to walk round some distance indeed before he could find an entrance. More than once he gave a whistle, the sign agreed on, without receiving any answer. The idea occurred to him that Burdale had turned traitor, or, weary of waiting for him, had gone back with the horses. At length he shouted, "Master Burdale! Master Burdale! where are you?"

He was at last relieved by seeing the man leading the horses towards him.

"Why, Mr Deane, you shouted loud enough to wake up Robin Hood and his merry men from their graves!" said his guide, as he came up. "It's to be hoped no strangers were passing whom we should not like to meet! You forgot the side of the wood where you left me. However, let us mount now and be off, for the night promises to be dark, and I should like to get into a part of the forest I know better than this while we have a little twilight to guide us."

A ride through a forest in the dusk is a difficult matter, and dangerous withal, from the outstretched boughs overhead, and slippery roots, and holes beneath. Fully three hours were occupied in reaching the Hagg.

"Go in!" said Burdale to Jack, as they came in front of the old building. "I will take the horses round to the stables; and you will be welcome there."

"I hope I may not see any more of the ghosts!" said Jack: "I had enough of them last night."

"As to that, I don't know," answered Burdale; "but do you follow the old people's example, and let them alone, and they will let you alone, depend upon that!"

Some loud groans were heard above Jack's head as he spoke, and he could not help starting, so melancholy and deep sounding were they. The next instant, however, he recollected the old woman's description of the haunted oak, and, looking round at the venerable tree, he had little doubt that the noise was produced by some branches moved by the wind, or else the passage of air through its hollow trunk.

Jack slept too soundly during the night to hear the conversation of the ghosts; but, on the following morning at his early breakfast, ere he and his guide took their departure, the old woman assured him that they had been talking as usual, making, if possible, even more uproar than she had ever before heard.

"But what was it all about?" asked Jack; "could not you hear that?"

"No, no," she answered; "maybe they spoke in a tongue I cannot understand, for, though often and often I've listened, not one word could I ever make out!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

RESIDENCE IN THE FENS OF LINCOLNSHIRE.

The raw wind from the fens was driving the mist before it, and bending masses of willows, bulrushes, and tall sedges all one way--and that way right against the faces of Deane and his guide, when they commenced their devious course across the marshes, within which Master Pearson's farm was situated. A dead level was before them, broken here and there only by a group of willows, or occasionally a few small trees which had taken root on patches of firmer ground than that with which they were surrounded, otherwise the horizon was as clear as that of the ocean. The whole country had a raw, cold, damp, and agueish look about it. It was any thing but tempting.

"Where is the farm?" asked Jack, as he pulled up for an instant to survey the unpromising country before him.

"Some miles on," answered Burdale. "It's lucky you have a man with you who knows the country, or you would have a bad job to get over it. If you were to ride straight on now, you would be up to your horse's ears in slush, with very little chance of ever getting out again alive. Come, I'll show you the way; follow me. Don't turn either to the right hand or to the left, or you will get into trouble!"

Saying this, Burdale spurred on his somewhat unwilling horse, who seemed to understand the difficulties of the way before him. Here and there, and scattered thickly on every side, were large patches of water, sometimes expanding into the size of lakes, while others were mere pools and puddles. Now a patch of reeds was to be seen. In some places soft velvety grass, growing over, however, the most treacherous spots; now a group of low willows, scarcely six feet high; now a bed of osiers, barely three feet above the surface. There was scarcely a spot which offered any promise of ground sufficiently hard to enable the travellers to move out of the snail's pace at which they had hitherto been obliged to proceed.

"Well, this is about the worst country I ever rode over!" Jack could not help exclaiming.

"Now, don't be grumbling, Mr Deane; if it affords you shelter, you may be grateful for it: and the country's not so bad after all. You should just see the pike which are caught in the rivers! they are larger than any you will see in the Trent, I have a notion. There are sheep too here: larger and bigger animals, though somewhat awkward in their gait, than you will see throughout England; but they yield very lusty wool, let me tell you. And though, perhaps, you don't think much of the willows, of which you have passed a goodly number, they're very useful to the people who live here. There is an old proverb they have got--`A willow will buy a horse before an oak will buy a saddle.'"

Burdale, indeed, seemed to have a good deal of information to give about the fens; and Jack could not help thinking that he must belong to the country, or, at all events, have lived a considerable time in it. Indeed, no one but a person thoroughly acquainted with the nature of the ground could have managed to find his way across it. The water was soon over the horses' fetlocks, and here and there up to their knees. More than once Jack could not help fearing that his guide had made a mistake, and that he was leading him into dangerous country; but he did not wish to show any suspicion of his judgment, and made no remark. Again the horses rose up out of the slough across which they had been wading and enjoyed for a short time some hard ground; but they soon had to leave it, to wade on as before. On every side was heard the loud croaking of frogs; their heads poked up in all the shallower marshes, with the object, it seemed, of observing the travellers, and then their croaking became louder than ever, as if they were amusing themselves by talking about them.

"We call those animals `Holland-waits,'" observed Burdale. "Their king must look upon himself as fortunate, for he has got a large number of subjects; but they're not so bad as the midges. If you were to cross where we are on a hot day, with the sun broiling down on your head, you would wish you had a thick net over your face, for they do bite mortal hard!"

Burdale's horse seemed better accustomed to the country than was Jack's. After having gone a considerable distance, he left Jack some way behind. The marks of the horse's feet had immediately been lost, by the spongy ground returning to its former state. Jack, however, thought there could be no difficulty in pushing on directly behind him. He had not, however, gone far before he found that, instead of following Burdale's direction to turn neither to the right nor left, he had by some means got off the track. His horse began to flounder, and the more he floundered the more difficult it was to extricate himself. Deeper and deeper he sank into the mire, till Jack, fearing that he might lose him altogether, shouted out to Burdale. Burdale heard his voice at length, and hurried back to his assistance. Jack had already got off his horse into the mud, hoping in that way to relieve the poor animal, but it did but little good, and he himself was also sticking fast!

"Here, catch hold of the end of this rope!" exclaimed Burdale, as he threw one which was secured to his saddlebow. "I will haul you out; and then, maybe, we will get the horse free. You could not have followed my advice, or this would never have happened."

Happily, Jack soon reached firm ground, and then he and Burdale together managed to get out the unfortunate horse.

"I must not in future let you get a foot behind me, Master Deane," said Burdale. "You see that a man can as easily be lost in this fen-country as he could in a big forest, and now we must make the best of our way onward; the evening is advancing, and the night is growing desperately cold. It will require some good liquor to warm up our veins again."

As soon as they got on dry ground, Burdale, with a whisp of dry hay and grass, wiped down the horse's legs, and made him look in a more respectable condition than the mud of the marsh had left him in. Burdale, standing up in his stirrups, looked round in every direction to ascertain that no one was approaching.

"We're getting near Master Pearson's country," he observed, "and, as there are some sharp eyes on the look-out for him, we must take care not to betray his abode."

Hour after hour passed by, and still they seemed to have made but little progress across this inhospitable-looking country. Now again a few mounds were seen just rising above the ground, which, Burdale told his companion, were the huts of the inhabitants.

"Well, what sort of people can live here?" asked Jack.

"An odd sort, I must own; something between fish and geese. They must be waders, at all events. In some places they have boats in which they can get about: however, every place has its uses, and so has this, you will find out, before you have been here long!"

At length, as the sun was about to sink beneath the long straight line behind their backs, Jack saw before them what looked like a clump or two of trees which stood on a piece of ground a few feet above the dead level which surrounded it. Objects, too, seemed to be moving about it, which he at length discovered to be horses and cattle. A more perfect Rosamond's labyrinth could scarcely have been contrived than that to which the path they now followed led. Before, however, they came in sight of the bower, they heard the lowing of cows and the barking of watch-dogs, and Jack, who by this time was very hungry, even thought that he sniffed a savoury odour of cooking in the damp air, that mightily urged him forward. At length, they saw before them a large rambling cottage, with dairy-buildings adjoining it, standing on a firm piece of pasture-land that formed a green peninsula rising above the black fens they had just been traversing. A row of poplars behind it, and a plantation on either side, shut it in from any one passing at a short distance. There was also a kitchen and flower-garden in front, and considerable care had evidently been taken to keep the ground around clean and fit for walking.

"You go in, and give your letter to Dame Pearson, while I take the horses to the stables," said Burdale. "You will find it all right, for she will know well that no one could find his way here without a trustworthy guide."

Jack had expected to find a somewhat rough, and perhaps ill-favoured, dame the wife of Master Pearson. Greatly surprised was he, therefore, when, on opening the door, he was received by a remarkably attractive, neatly-dressed woman, with a pleasant smile on her countenance, and agreeable manners, superior even to those of many ladies he had met.

"You are welcome here, Mr Deane, as a friend of my husband!" she said. "We live a secluded life, but shall be glad to see you as long as you can remain. And perhaps you will find some amusement in the sports of our fen-country. Ned Burdale will be able to show them to you as well as most people; but we are not likely to be alone, for my husband tells me that several persons are coming here, and I have been making the best preparation in my power to receive them. My little girl Elizabeth and I will soon get supper ready for you, and make you as welcome as we can. After your hard day's ride you will then be glad to go to bed, for it is a trying country to a stranger. We came here most of the way by water, but it was bad enough even then; and I am told that coming across from inland it's still worse."

On entering the sitting-room, Jack found a fair, pretty-looking little girl, of about fourteen or fifteen years of age, busily employed in spinning, so busy indeed that she did not stop even when she rose from her seat to make him a courtesy as he entered.

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth is always at work," said Dame Pearson; "it is one of the secrets of her happiness, never to be idle from morning till night. To be sure we have plenty to do, and not many people to do it out in this place, and so a good deal falls to our lot--but come, Elizabeth, we will go and prepare the supper for Mr Deane and Ned Burdale, who has come with him; and, perhaps before it is ready, others may make their appearance."

Saying this, she, followed by the little girl, glided from the room, leaving Jack to his own reflections. He had not been left alone long before a knock was heard at the door, and Dame Pearson hurried through the room to open it. As she did so, a tall dark man, in a rough riding-suit, with pistols in his belt and a sword by his side, entered the house with the air of a person accustomed to consider himself at home wherever he might be. After exchanging a few words with the dame, while she returned to the kitchen he entered the room, and, seating himself in a large arm-chair, stretched out his legs, without taking any notice of Jack, who sat before him, while he commenced tapping his boot with the end of his sword, as if lost in thought. At length he condescended to take a glance at his companion.

"Not long arrived in this part of the world, lad, I suppose?" he said, in a tone which showed he was very indifferent as to what answer he might receive. "It is possible that you may pass your time pleasantly enough here, if you are not troubled with the ague, and are fond of the music of frogs and wild-ducks. From what part of the world do you come, I ask?"

"I last came from the borders of Scotland; a pretty long ride too!"

"Ah!" exclaimed the stranger; "what matter brought you south?"

"My own good pleasure," answered Jack, not liking the tone of voice of the speaker. "You will excuse me if I do not explain the reason for my movements until we are further acquainted."

"Spoken like a sensible youth!" remarked the stranger. "I will ask no further questions then, though I suspect you have no cause to be ashamed of whatever you are about."

The conversation, if so it could be called, was cut short by the entrance of Dame Pearson and her young attendant, bearing the dishes for supper, which they placed on a table on which the cloth had already been spread. The tall stranger took his seat at it with the same self-confident air with which he had entered the room. At that moment Ned Burdale came in, and was about to take his seat at the board, when, seeing the stranger, he stopped short.

"I beg your pardon, sir! I did not know--"

"Never mind!" said the stranger; "sit down, Ned; say not a word about it, man!" and he gave him at the same time a significant glance.

Burdale obeyed; but he evidently stood greatly in awe of the person who had spoken to him. Very little conversation took place during the meal; and Jack had time to examine the countenance of the young girl who had assisted Dame Pearson in preparing the supper, and who now took her seat by her side at the head of the table. There was a bright, intelligent look about her, and a refinement of expression which Jack scarcely expected to find in a dwelling so remote from the civilised world. Her education also had evidently not been neglected, for she had apparently read a good deal, and her mind was well stored with information on various subjects. Jack did not find all this out at first; but he very soon began to suspect it. He discovered also that she had derived a good deal of her information from the dame herself, who, though apparently a mere farmer's wife, was evidently a person of superior education, equalled, indeed, by very few ladies in Nottingham or elsewhere at that period. The stranger also treated her with considerable respect; and though he spoke in a rough way to Jack and Burdale, whenever he deigned to address them, his manner was greatly softened as he turned to the dame or the young girl. She was acquainted with most of Jack's favourite authors; could recite many of the ballads about Robin Hood; and she was also especially well versed in Foxe's "Book of Martyrs," a copy of which she exhibited with no little satisfaction to him. He observed, when she brought it out, that the tall stranger looked at it askance.

"Ah," she observed, "what fearful accounts Master Foxe gives us of the persecutions which Protestants have suffered in all lands since the Reformation which Luther was the means of bringing about! In Germany, in Italy, in Spain, and France, and, oh, I tremble with horror when I read of the sufferings of the poor Protestants in the Netherlands, under that cruel Alva! In France also, how barbarously have the Reformed been treated! I have reason to know something about it; and I'll tell you some day, Mr Deane."

This was said after supper, as Jack was seated at a little distance from the rest of the party, while the fair Elizabeth was nimbly plying her distaff.

"Fictions or gross exaggerations!" muttered the stranger, who overheard some of the remarks uttered by the little damsel.

At length the dame, who had observed the rising anger of her guest, came over to Elizabeth, and whispered a few words in her ear; after which she did not again allude to the subject of which she had been speaking.

"When do you expect your good man?" asked the tall stranger. "I fancied that I should have met him here to-day."

"He has sent me word that he will be with us in two or three days, sir," answered the dame. "He has been longer absent than usual; but he has been busy buying cattle to send over to our farm; and we expect to have a considerable increase this year."

"Ah, yes! they thrive well on the rich grasses about here," observed the stranger. "Well, I must wait his arrival; though how to pass away the time till he comes I scarcely know."

"We can give you some sporting, sir," said Burdale. "We lack not a variety--as wild-duck shooting, and fishing; and we have a new decoy establishment not far off. You may be interested in seeing that work, for we sometimes catch a great number of wild-fowl in it."

Jack was not sorry to hear arrangements made for the sport next day, hoping that he might be allowed to join in it, though he thought to himself he would rather have gone in the company of any body else than in that of the tall stranger. That he was a person of some consequence he felt sure, from the way in which he was treated; and when the family prepared to retire to rest, he observed that the dame herself showed him up-stairs to what was called the best guest-chamber in the house. A shake-down was prepared for Jack in a corner of the hall; and Burdale made off to a room in one of the out-houses.

"We treat you now as we shall have to do while you stay here," said the dame, apologising for the homely entertainment she had given Jack. "Before long we are expecting several guests, who come here to transact business with my good man, either to buy cattle or horses, or about certain affairs abroad. He was a seaman in his younger days, and visited many strange countries, and even now is often hankering after the ocean. However, I hope he will settle down quietly soon, for I think he must be weary of riding about the country in the way he does; but he's a good, kind husband to me, and I have reason to be grateful. He saved my life in the time of the Civil War, and protected me from fearful dangers when all my family were killed, and I was left penniless; so I have reason, you see, to be grateful to him and love him. I should be glad if we could move back to the part of the country we came from, for this fen-district is trying to the health, though Elizabeth and I keep ours indeed wonderfully, considering the fogs which so often hang about us. But the inhabitants of Holland retain their health often to a green old age, and the country is very similar to this, only there drains have been cut in all directions, and it is only of late years that attempts have been made to drain our Lincolnshire fens. It would seem impossible to carry the water off from around us, and yet, looking to what has been done in Holland, perhaps too some day we shall see corn-fields and orchards where now we have only marshes and ponds."

Jack, taking courage from the disposition to talk the good dame exhibited, asked her the name of the tall stranger who had just arrived.

"That is more than I can tell you, young sir," she answered. "He calls himself Long Sam, or Sam Smart, and desires to be addressed by that name alone; but whether that is his real name or not, I leave you to judge. He is evidently a man who has seen the world, and courtly society too, though he can be rough enough when he pleases, as you will find if you offend him, and let me advise you not to do so on any account."

Jack, much interested with the information he had received, at length put his head upon his straw-stuffed pillow. As he lay there he heard heavy footsteps pacing up and down the room overhead, which he concluded to be the one occupied by the gentleman who chose to call himself Long Sam.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A DECOY DESCRIBED.

The following morning, with Burdale as a guide, Long Sam and Jack set off to visit the decoy which had been spoken of, mounted on rough-looking fen horses, with broad feet which enabled them to get over the soft ground at a considerable rate, while, they kept the legs of their riders out of the water. The horses were left at a hut at a little distance from the decoy, under charge of one of the persons employed in attending it. It was situated in the midst of somewhat higher and firmer ground than any they had before passed over, and was surrounded also with willow, poplar, and other trees.

The decoy consisted of a pond of a hundred and fifty acres, or more perhaps. On the surface of it floated a number of water-lilies, the aquatic ranunculus, and the flowers of other water-plants, while at the edges for a considerable distance gulfs--or canals, they might be called--had been cut, about seven yards wide at the mouth, more or less, terminating in a sharp point. About ten or twelve yards from the entrance of each canal, an arch was formed over the water of about ten feet in height, a number of other arches succeeding it gradually, as they advanced towards the inner end decreasing in height and width, the innermost of all not being more than two feet in height, and about the same in width. Over these a strong net was thrown and pegged closely down to the ground, thus forming a complete cage, with a broad entrance opening on the pool, there being only at the inner end a small door, through which the fowler could insert his hand to draw out his captives.

"This is what we call a pipe," observed Burdale, as he exhibited the arrangement to Long Sam.

On either side of the pipe, commencing at the pond, and continuing to the farther end, was a screen formed of reeds, about five feet in height, built in a zig-zag form, and broken into lengths of about five or six feet, and at about a foot from the edge of the pipe. While the party were examining this pipe, the chief fowler, accompanied by a little dog, came up to them.

"This is our piper," he observed; "without him we could not manage to catch any fowls."

He was a little foxy-coloured animal, evidently very obedient and submissive to his master.

"You will see, sir," observed the man, "we have got ten pipes to our decoy, all branching off in different directions. The reason of this is that wild-fowl, when they get up from the water, always fly against the wind, and so, if we only had the pipes on one side, it would only be when the wind came from that quarter that we could catch any fowl; so you see we have them from all sides; and thus from whatever point the wind blows, we have the chance of catching birds. Now, you see those birds swimming out in the middle of the pond there? They're our decoy-ducks; without them we could not catch any wild ones either. I had a good job to train them. You see, the first thing I did was to shut them up by themselves, and pretty nigh starve them. I then carried them a little food; and did the same several times every day, till they knew me. At last they began to look out for me, and, instead of flying away, they were too glad to come up and take the food from my hand. Whenever also I fed them, I whistled just a faint whistle, like this. And so, at last, as soon as they heard my whistle, they knew that I was going to give them some food, and I kept on whistling all the time they were feeding in the same gentle tone. It took me, I suppose, three or four months before I could trust those birds out; and now, if I did not continue to feed them, and whistle all the time, they would soon be off with the rest. I had to train the dog, too; and that took me some time. You see, his business is to run along the edge of the pipe, show himself now and then, and then leap through those openings in the screen. Well, to make him do that, I taught him by giving him a piece of bread each time he came through; and if he would not jump, then he got no bread and no cheese, for he is fond of cheese, I can tell you.

"Now, you will understand, that if we are to catch any birds, you must not show yourself; and you, tall gentleman, if you please, will just keep stooping down all the time. No disrespect to you, master; if they caught sight of your face, not a bird would come up the pipe.

"Now there's another thing we shall have to do: we must just each of us carry a piece of lighted turf, for the birds can smell as well as see; and they don't mind the smoke, and that carries away any scent by which we might betray ourselves. Now, we will go round to the side from which the wind blows directly over the pond. Stoop down, master, if you please. I will first go and fasten the net over the end of the pipe, that the birds may fly into it, as I hope there will be many of them doing before long. Here we are, masters: just step softly over the turf, and keep bending down. That will do. Now don't speak any more, but just do as I do. You will see a sight of birds in a few minutes."

After going some little distance towards the edge of the decoy, the fowler drew aside a small shutter, it might be called, in the screen, through which he beckoned Jack and his companions to look. A number of birds, ducks, teal, widgeon, and others, were either floating lazily on the surface of the lake, or rising and circling round it, while others were bobbing their heads beneath the water, or diving in search of their prey which swam below. Again the shutter was closed, and the fowler threw a few handfuls of bruised barley into the centre of the pipe, which was soon blown down by the wind to the mouth. He now called the little piper, and sent him in, in front of the screen, at the same time whistling low--the well-known signal to the decoy-ducks. On hearing the sound, they instantly rose and flew towards the mouth of the pipe. Now the little dog ran along for a few feet in front of the screen, where the birds could see him, and then suddenly disappeared, by leaping through one of the openings. On came the wild-fowl, following the decoy-ducks and fearless of evil. Seeing the dog, the curiosity of the birds was excited, and up the pipe they began to swim. Again the dog was turned in, and again the birds followed him in his treacherous course up the pipe. The same trick was played over and over again, till the birds had been led well out of sight of the entrance of the pipe. The fowler then stepping forward in front of the screen, without making any noise which might frighten the birds still outside, waved his cap round and round. Frightened by this unexpected apparition, the birds rose from the water, and rushed at headlong speed towards the narrow end of the pipe. On they went, driven by the fowler, till they reached the very end; where, finding what they supposed to be an opening, they darted through, to discover, when too late, that they were hopeless captives within a strong net!

The scene was very exciting, especially to Jack, who had never seen it before, and full forty birds were captured together. The decoy-birds, as soon as the fowler ceased whistling, employed themselves quietly in picking up the grains of barley which floated on the water, instead of proceeding, like their brothers whom they had treacherously betrayed, up towards the end of the pipe.

"You see you have no risk of starving, Master Deane," observed Burdale, as he assisted in ringing the necks of the captive birds. "We live like princes here, as far as food is concerned; and when the weather allows it, and we can send across the fens, we could always get a good market for our game."

"We're not always so lucky as we have just been," observed the fowler; "we have a good many enemies who try to prevent our success. Sometimes I have seen a heron sit on the top of the outermost arch, just waiting to dive down and catch some fish he may see swimming below. Now as long as that heron sits there, not a bird will ever come up that pipe, not knowing what trick he will play them, and our only chance is to try another. There are some ducks, too, which nothing will tempt to come up the pipe. They are the pochard, or, as we call them here, pokers. Now they're the cunningest birds you ever saw! If ever they find themselves within the mouth, they will suddenly dive and swim out again, generally making the other birds follow them. At other times they will stop just at the mouth, where the barley is floating about, and swim backwards and forwards till they have eaten the whole of it up, and then off again they will go, laughing at the way they have deceived us. The worst of all, perhaps, is when an otter builds his house near the mouth. At first we could not find out what was the matter when no birds would ever come near, and it was not till I caught the gentleman one day, that I found out the reason why. No birds are more timid than these wild-fowl. All the work about the decoy we have to do at night, for if they hear any sounds they're not accustomed to, they will keep away from it. As few people ever come out here we are safe enough; but if strangers were to come, or any body was to fire a gun, we might not catch a bird for weeks afterwards. However, masters, the wind has shifted a little, and we will try another pipe; so come along."

The next pipe was worked in the same way as the first. The decoy-ducks performed their part to admiration; Toby, the little piper, doing his in a way to gain the applause of all who saw him. His reward was a piece of cheese at the end of his day's work, for although a number of ducks were piled up around him, not one of them would he touch.

"Oh, no, no!" said his master; "it's one of the chief things he has to be careful about. If he had a taste for duck's meat, he would never do for a piper."

With a large supply of ducks for the farm, the party returned by the way they had come, Jack promising to pay ere long another visit to the decoy.

Had it not been for Elizabeth, Jack would have found his time hang rather heavily on his hands, but as soon as her day's work was over, and she had resumed her distaff or spinning-wheel, he took his seat by her side, and either read to her, or talked to her about the books which she had read. Her quiet, gentle manner put him more in mind of his sister Kate, than of Polly or Alethea, with whom he could not help occasionally contrasting her. Not that he fancied he admired Alethea less than he had done; but, at the same time, he could scarcely help acknowledging to himself that he was greatly taken with Elizabeth's quiet and gentle manners. It is possible that the desire to be with Elizabeth induced him to offer his services to Dame Pearson as an assistant about the farm, as he assured her he was well able to perform most of the duties of a farm-servant; and he thus had ample employment in driving in the cows, assisting in milking them, leading the horses to water, churning the butter, of which the dame manufactured a considerable quantity, and performing many other similar duties. He was very glad, however, when on the third day after his arrival Master Pearson himself appeared at the farm. Jack was anxious to hear whether the arrangements regarding the purchase of cattle for Mr Strelley had been satisfactorily carried out.

"Oh, yes, my young friend," answered Master Pearson, "the money was honestly paid, and the cattle are now on their way south, and I will warrant they arrive as safely as if Will Brinsmead himself had been driving them. They will have no black-mail to pay, either to Master Nevis or to any other cateran who is in the habit of levying it on the road. I met a friend from Nottingham, and I've heard about your family; and I sent them word that you were all safe, and would come back among them some day,--so you need not make yourself unhappy on that score."

This information greatly relieved Jack's mind, and he was now far better able than before to enjoy his visit to the farm. Soon after the return of Master Pearson, much to Jack's satisfaction, Long Sam took his departure. There was something about the man he did not at all like, for in general he was overbearing and dictatorial, though he could be courteous when he chose, as he occasionally was when speaking to Dame Pearson or Elizabeth. With that young lady, as has been said, Jack spent a considerable portion of his time, whenever he was in the house; Dame Pearson made no objection to his so doing. Indeed, so quiet and sedate was the little girl, that she seemed to treat him more in the light of a brother than an admirer. From the remarks made by Dame Pearson, Jack had been anxious to learn more of her early history, but whenever he introduced the subject to Elizabeth, she invariably tried to turn him from it.

"Dear mamma and I are very happy now, and quiet and contented: but we have gone through some very painful scenes, and we desire not to recall them; so don't, I pray you, speak to me again of my early days."

Pearson seemed to be occupying himself very busily about farm matters, and wherever he went took Jack with him. On the various pasture-lands, some partially drained, others tolerably dry by nature, a considerable number of cattle were fed. They were of all breeds, though the greater number appeared to have come from the north. There were a good many horses also--some carefully sheltered in sheds, and others roaming at large. Pearson exhibited them to Jack with considerable pride.

"I have a number of valuable animals here," he observed, "which will fetch high prices in the London market, and I purpose early in the spring sending some up. If you will undertake to accompany them, it will give you an opportunity of seeing the big city. I may or may not go myself, but I wish to place them under charge of a trusty man who knows London well, so that you need have no responsibility in the matter. In the meantime, you shall try them by turns, so that you will be able to speak of their various qualities."

This last proposal was very much to Jack's taste, and from that day forward, he was constantly employed in exercising the horses. In this way he gained considerable knowledge of the fen-country, and was able to traverse it in most directions by himself, learning by degrees to distinguish even at a distance the soft and marshy places which were impassable, and to pick out the harder ground, even though covered with water. Frequently he was thus occupied from morning till night, often being sent considerable distances from the farm with messages to the surrounding towns. Though the life was a rough one, it was much to his taste; and he was recompensed for any extra fatigue by the kindly welcome he always received on his return from the dame and her young daughter. As the winter grew on, also, various guests arrived at the farm for the purpose, so they stated, of purchasing cattle or horses; but though some of them mentioned the subject in his presence, none of the cattle, at all events, were ever driven away. Jack concluded, therefore, that they would be sent in the spring to the purchasers. Now and then a valuable horse was, however, purchased; and sometimes fresh animals were brought and left there while the owners took their departure by some means towards the sea-shore, Jack supposed for the purpose of embarking and going abroad; while others proceeded towards London. Jack could not, however, help occasionally having suspicions with regard to the proceedings of the various persons who came to the farm. He himself was not trusted with their secrets, if secrets they had; nor did he wish to be so; but most of them were evidently far above the class of cattle-dealers. Some, indeed, from their conversation and manners, were undoubtedly men of rank and position in society. As the winter drew on, the number increased; and from the remarks which they occasionally let drop, Jack felt convinced that some undertaking of importance was about to be carried out. He one day hinted the subject to Elizabeth. She shook her head.

"Don't speak of it," she answered; "I don't like to think about the matter. I know, as you do, that these men who come here are not cattle-dealers, but I cannot believe that my father would undertake any thing wrong or dangerous. I should like to learn what it all means, but I dare not speak to him on the subject, for though he is very kind, he does not choose to be questioned about any of his proceedings, and neither my mother nor I ever venture to do so."

It did not occur to Jack that he might be made a tool of in any way, but yet he suspected that he might possibly be drawn into some undertaking against his better judgment. It therefore occurred to him that his wisest course would be to wish good-bye to Master Pearson and his family, and either to return to Nottingham and risk the possibility of a trial, or to throw himself upon the kindness of his future brother-in-law, Giles Dainsforth of Norwich. "He is so calm and right-thinking, that he will advise me what to do," he thought to himself.

But then, again, when he found himself by the side of Elizabeth, he came to the conclusion that a short time longer would make but little difference, and for that time, at all events, he would enjoy her society, while he might also take a few more gallops on Master Pearson's thoroughbred horses. He had not forgotten Alethea, however, and he nattered himself that he was as true in his allegiance to her as he had been before.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

JOURNEY TO LONDON WITH LONG SAM.

The month of February, 1696, had commenced, when one evening a rider was seen coming across the marsh from the direction of the sea. He threw himself from his horse, and called out loudly for Master Pearson. Jack recognised his voice as that of the tall stranger, Long Sam, whom he had met on his first arrival. He took Pearson, who went out to him, by the arm, and walked up and down in front of the house rapidly for some time, talking earnestly to him. Meantime, the dame and Elizabeth were preparing the evening meal. The new arrival, whose appearance was very different to what it had been formerly, now entered the house, and placed himself before the table, to partake of the food provided for him. While he was thus engaged, Pearson called Jack aside.

"Our friend here has business in London of importance, and requires a trustworthy attendant. Are you disposed to accompany him?" he asked. "You will find it, as I have before promised you, a good opportunity of seeing the great city, and all your expenses will besides be paid, while you will receive a handsome gratuity to boot. Take my advice: don't throw the chance away. As I told you before, you will be as safe there as you are in the middle of the fens, and you will, besides, very likely find an opportunity of pushing your fortune, which you certainly will not out here."

Jack thanked Pearson for the offer. The temptation was strong, and whatever might have been his suspicions of the tall stranger, he determined to accept it.

"You will set off to-morrow morning by daybreak, with eight horses. Each of you will take charge of three and bestride another, and you will be able to dispose of them in London or its neighbourhood for handsome prices. They will make fine chargers, and will very likely be purchased by officers of cavalry. Long Sam knows London well, and will make all the necessary arrangements for their sale."

Elizabeth's colour changed when Jack told her that he was about to take his departure for London.

"Going away!" she exclaimed; "I thought that you would remain here always and help my mother look after the farm when Mr Pearson is away. She much requires help. Oh, I wish that you were not going!"

"I hope to come back again soon, Elizabeth," he answered, taking the young girl's hand. "You have made my stay here very pleasant, far pleasanter than I expected, and I shall always remember you."

"And I, I am very sure, shall not forget you, Master Deane," replied Elizabeth, looking up in his face. "I have never felt sad or dull as I used sometimes to do before you came--and I have been very happy! My only fear is that you will not recollect me as I shall you; and I want to give you something to make you remember me. I have very few jewels or any thing of value of my own, besides this ring. Please, then, take it and wear it for my sake."

She took his hand, and put on his finger as she spoke a massive gold ring of a peculiar make, with a chameleon and a vessel under full sail engraved on it.

"It is all I have to give, but I entreat you to accept it, that you may be reminded how grateful I am for the kindness you have shown me since you came to live here!"

Jack did not like to refuse the gift, and yet he thought that he ought not to accept it.

"I should ever remember you without it," he answered. "But it is too valuable. Give me something of less cost, which I shall prize as much for your sake as this, for I shall value whatever you give me."

"Oh, no, keep it!" she murmured. "It is the only thing I possess suited for you. I have a locket and brooch and other jewels, but they are not such as you would care for."

Jack could no longer resist the gift. He kissed her brow and thanked her again and again, and promised never to forget her. He felt honestly what he said.

Jack slept very little all that night, thinking of what he was to see in London, and the adventures he might meet with on his journey there. Whatever suspicions might have arisen in his mind he shut out, anxious to have nothing to interfere with the pleasure he anticipated. The light of Pearson's lamp, as it gleamed in his eyes when he came to call him in the morning, aroused him from his sleep, and he found the horses already at the door prepared for starting. The dame and Elizabeth were on foot with breakfast prepared, and they gave him a friendly farewell, as, following Long Sam's example, he stepped out to mount his horse. A thick rime covered the ground, and a cold air blew across the fens, as the two riders with their charges took their way south. Jack, who by this time was well accustomed to the devious track across the fens, led the way at as rapid a pace as the horses could move, closely followed by Long Sam, who was now dressed as an ordinary jockey or rough-rider. They stopped to bait at various places: sometimes at the private residence of some gentleman who Long Sam said wished to look at their horses; at other times at a farm-house, and occasionally at inns, but these were generally avoided. While traversing an open country, Long Sam called Jack by his side.

"You will understand, Deane," he observed, "that you have a very simple part to play when you reach London; but I must have your promise that you will do nothing without my orders, and that you will make all the inquiries I may direct, and gain all the information you can on certain points which I will explain to you. You will thus be enabled to render great service to an important cause, and run no risk or danger yourself."

"As to that," answered Jack, "I am ready enough to run all sorts of risks where there is a good object to be attained; and I would rather be trusted than asked to act in the dark, as I am now doing!" Long Sam smiled grimly.

"Others may not be so willing to trust you as you suppose," he answered. "Indeed, it is better for all parties that you should not be acquainted with what is taking place. I wish you, however, to understand, that the men with whom I am engaged are persons of honour and character, and are not likely to do any act unworthy of their position."

"Then there is some plot or scheme afoot?" said Jack. "I have long thought so, but could gain no information about the matter."

"You are right in that respect," answered Long Sam: "there is an important scheme about to be carried out; and as soon as you have given proof of your fitness to engage in it, you shall be informed as to the particulars. In the meantime, all I require is simple obedience to my directions, and then all will be well."

After riding for some distance across somewhat hilly country, on reaching the summit of a height, he pulled up his horse, exclaiming, "Why, surely that must be London!"

Before him, spread out, and extending some way both to the east and west, were numberless streets of houses, with towers and spires rising above them in all directions, Before them, glittering white in the sunlight, rose the pinnacles of the magnificent fane of Saint Paul's, with its lofty dome--just then verging towards completion, to the satisfaction of its talented architect, Sir Christopher Wren--while beyond could be seen, winding on through meadows and green fields, and then amidst the houses and stores of London and Westminster, the city and the borough, the blue stream of the Thames, covered with numerous boats and barges. Keeping to the right, Long Sam led his companion round the outside of London, at the back of the palace at Kensington, to the village of Hammersmith.

"We shall there find proper stables, and a careful groom to look after our horses," he observed; "and purchasers will not object to ride down there to inspect them--they may deem them of more value than if they were brought to their doors."

The village then consisted chiefly of a single street, with here and there a few houses on either side of branch roads. Instead of selecting the chief inn, Long Sam rode up to the door of a small house, with the sign of "The Bear" swinging on poles before it. Some good-sized stables showed that he had selected it more on account of the accommodation it could afford the horses than that which they would find within its doors for themselves.

"We're pretty full, masters," said the landlord, as he eyed the two travellers; "but I'll manage to put you up as best I can, as it's cold weather to sleep out in the lofts. I've got a room for you," he said, looking at Long Sam, "where, by adding two or three feet to the bed, you will find room to stretch yourself; and you, my lad, will be content with a little closet we have got on the stairs. There's not much air or light comes in, but it's pretty warm, considering it's near the kitchen chimney; and as for light, you will do well enough without that at night."

Jack, who had been accustomed to rough lodgings since he started with Will Brinsmead, expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the accommodation which was promised him. Long Sam, taking a valise which he had before him, followed the landlord up to his room.

Jack soon found that his companion intended to make him act the part of the careful groom, the person he spoke of, for some reason or other, not being forthcoming.

"You must keep a watchful eye on the horses, Jack," he observed, when he came down-stairs. "I have business which calls me elsewhere, and I must entrust them to you. Take care that they are well fed, and that their shoes are in good order. See that no tricks are played with them; for in this city rogues of all sorts abound. Some, for instance, on pretence of looking at them, may come in and lame them, perchance to depreciate their value; you understand me? You must watch, too, that no one, pretending to try their paces, gallops off, and leaves you to follow if you list, and to find, when you come back, that the rest have been disposed of in the same way."

"When I engaged for a ride, Master Smart, my object was to see the big city," said Jack, in a tone of expostulation.

"Have patience, lad!" answered Long Sam; "you will see the city soon enough, and perhaps have more time to spend in it than you expect I have the means of rewarding you in a way that will suit your taste. So let me hear no more grumbling, I pray thee!"

Saying this, Long Sam, turning on his heel, walked away from the stables, leaving Jack to groom the tired horses. Jack was fortunately accustomed to make the best of every thing, and, therefore, though somewhat hungry and tired, he set to work with whisp and brush to get the dust and dirt of the roads off the animals, and to put them into a condition to enjoy their food.

Several days passed by, during which Jack found himself almost a prisoner in the stable-yard. Occasionally Long Sam appeared, accompanied by various persons who took a look at the horses; but, strange to say, although they were lavish in their praises of the animals, no purchasers were found. At all events, the horses remained in their stalls. Among two or three who one day came together, Jack observed a person whose countenance he thought he recognised. The man turned a cold, unmeaning glance towards him as he caught Jack's eye fixed on his countenance.

"I am sure that is Master Stirthesoul!" Jack said to himself. "He is the same man I met at Mr Harwood's, and the same who was in Master Pearson's company at Saint Faith's. What can he have to do here?"

Jack resolved to solve the doubt by addressing him. Just as he was about to open his lips, the man, giving him a somewhat menacing look, turned round and followed Long Sam out of the stable. Jack saw him whispering a few words into Long Sam's ears.

"Oh, he's all right and faithful!" he heard the latter say. "He knows nothing, and if he did, he's not the lad to betray us!"

Jack could not tell whether these words were intended for his ears or not. However, the visitors walked away without taking any further notice of him.

In spite of Smart's promises, Jack began to feel very weary of confinement in the precincts of the inn, and determine on insisting that Long Sam should take his place.

"He pretends to be a groom, and therefore I do not see that he should not act as one," said Jack to himself.

Just, however, as he was about to insist on this arrangement with his companion, Long Sam told him that he might go into the city and take a look round London, and see what he could of the sights.

"Only take care to find your way back again here before the evening," he observed. "Keep in the broader streets, and don't tell any strangers where you come from, or what has brought you to the city."

It was Sunday morning; and Jack, putting on his best garments which he had brought with him, started on his walk. He took his way along a very bad road leading to the Strand, with the fields and cabbage-gardens to the right, and Hyde Park to the left, which then extended nearly to the Palace of Kensington. Fortunately the weather was dry for the season of the year, or he would have been splashed over from head to foot. Besides Saint Paul's, a number of beautiful churches were already raising their heads by the genius of Wren in various parts of London. Seeing a number of people collecting before a church, and having never failed at home in attending Divine Service, he took courage, and followed the crowd within the building. Although he had been accustomed occasionally to see people take their eyes off their books to watch the entrance of a stranger, or to examine the dress of their neighbours, or perhaps to exchange glances with one another, he was little prepared for the style of behaviour in which the congregation of the church where he now found himself indulged. Here were collected many of the beauties, and a few of the fine gentlemen of the day. It may have been that they lost little by not attending to the preacher. So Jack thought from what he could catch of the discourse, little of which he could understand, so full of flowers of rhetoric was it. Most of his neighbours were, at all events, flirting and ogling all through the service, and as they entered and took their seats all courtesied and bowed to their acquaintance, as if they had been at a theatre. Jack could not help feeling thankful when the service was brought to a conclusion.

"If this is the way the great people worship God in this big city, I am afraid the citizens and poorer ones can pay very little attention to Him at all," he thought.

Jack found himself looked at askance by several persons of ordinary degree, among whom he stood at the farther end of the building. At length he made his way into the open air. He much admired, however, the coaches and sedan-chairs that came to fetch away all the grand people, with little negro boys from the Sugar Islands to hold up the trains of the ladies, and pages who sat on the steps of the gaily-painted coaches, drawn, some by four, and some by six horses.

In a walk along the Mall, where, of course, no one paid the least attention to the open-mouthed country lad, Jack saw a still greater number of fashionable people. Among them was a very stout lady, carried in a sedan-chair with painted panels, and he heard the passers-by remark that she was the Princess Ann. Her chair was followed by another sedan, which, he was told, contained the Lady Churchill, whose beautiful face looked, however, in any thing but a good-humour. He saw many other sights, some of them curious enough but altogether he was disappointed with this his first day in London.

"They say that the streets are paved with gold; but that is a mistake. They could only once have been gilt, and the fine gentlemen I have met must have rolled in them, and the gilding must have stuck to their clothes."

Jack had been looking out all the day in the hopes of seeing the king, of whose courage, wisdom, and remarkable clemency, he had often heard his father and cousin Nat speak. They looked upon him, indeed, as the bulwark of the Protestant faith in England, and notwithstanding all the efforts which Mr Harwood and his daughter, and Master Pearson and others had made to eradicate that notion from Jack's mind, it remained in reality as firm as ever. The very reason which the king's enemies brought forward to depreciate him, raised him more and more in his opinion. His desire was at length gratified, when, on the 8th of February, Long Sam told him, that if he would go and stand near the gates of the Palace of Kensington he would there very likely get a glimpse of the king.

"And hark you, my lad," he said, "you must observe carefully all that happens at the time, and bring me word. Take your stand, also, with your right foot before the left, and your hand in the breast of your coat. A person will then probably come and speak to you, and you will repeat to me all he says. If he does not speak, he will give you a note, which you are to bring immediately to me."

Jack, as directed, took up his post at the gates of the palace at Kensington. He had not long to wait, when the gates were thrown open, and some guards appeared, and then a coach with six horses, within which sat a gentleman with a long nose and prominent features, dressed in a rich riding-suit. On either side were more horsemen, who Jack heard were the King's Dutch guards. They were followed by several Dutch officers of the court, among whom was the faithful Duke of Portland, and others of high rank. Jack had a good view of that clear hawk's eye, and the large Roman nose and the serious countenance, which expressed little but acute penetration into the mind and motives of others, with all of which the coinage of the realm had made his subjects familiar. The sight of the great warrior and wisest statesman of the day, who knew himself to be surrounded by plots, and yet went his way with perfect coolness, had great effect upon Jack's somewhat excitable mind. He threw up his cap, and shouted, "Hurrah! long live the King!" in as good faith as any of the many bystanders; and his first impulse was to run off, following the coach, shouting, as youths and boys are used to do after any great personage. The king leaned forward over a paper which he held in his hand, so that nearly the whole of his figure was visible at the window of the coach, which took its way towards Richmond.

Suddenly Jack remembered the direction he had received from Long Sam. Going back to the place he had before occupied, he put himself in the position in which he had been standing. Looking round, he saw a person who had come out of the palace observing him narrowly. The person, who was dressed in the livery of the palace, at length passed close to him.

"Are you Long Sam's messenger?" he asked.

"At your service," answered Jack.

"Where does he lodge?" asked the stranger.

"At the Bear," was Jack's answer.

"Take this note, and deliver it quickly," said the stranger; "but do not move from where you now stand till I have re-entered the palace."

Saying this, the stranger slipped a sealed packet into Jack's hand. He immediately concealed it in his doublet, but as he did so a shade of doubt crossed his mind that all was not right. He waited, however, a few minutes till the person who had given him the packet had re-entered the gate, and then took his way back to the Bear. He could not, however, help occasionally looking round to observe whether his steps were followed. He felt that he was engaged in some secret transaction; and from some of the remarks which Long Sam had let drop, as well as the appearance of the concealed Jesuit in his society, he could not help fearing that the plot afoot was against the welfare of the king. He reached the inn, however, in safety, and described exactly to Long Sam all he had seen.

"But you must tell me honestly," he said, "whether this matter has any thing to do with any proceeding which may injure the king. As I watched him just now, I thought of the many brave actions which he has performed, and his calmness and courage at the present time, and could not help feeling that I would rather fight for him than against him."

"You are a foolish young man!" answered Long Sam, in a more angry tone than he had ever used towards Jack. "Follow my directions, and all will be right. I do not want to hurt your feelings," he added, seeing that Jack's colour came to his cheek. "And now I must leave you."

"As to that," answered Jack, "I have no wish to quarrel with you, or any other man; but it strikes me I have been made a `cat's-paw' of, and I tell you frankly I should like to know our object in coming to London."

"Then as frankly I will tell you--I cannot give it," answered Long Sam. "If you don't know your own interests, it's your own fault; but remain here a few days longer, and I have no doubt you will learn all you wish to know, and probably much more than I know now."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE CONSPIRACY.

Several days passed by after this conversation, during which Long Sam was constantly absent. Other circumstances had occurred which made Jack more suspicious than ever. He had been waiting all day for his companion, when, as Long Sam had not returned at ten o'clock at night, it being past the usual time of retiring, Jack went to his bedroom, into which, as the entrance was in rather a public position, he securely bolted himself. After he had been asleep for some time he awoke with a start, and was greatly surprised to hear voices close to him. At first, he thought himself transported back to the old house at the Hagg, and that the sounds he heard proceeded from the ghosts which were said to haunt it. However, on sitting up, and more perfectly recovering his senses, he perceived that the speakers were real personages in close proximity to him. Although a gleam or two of light came through a partition which separated him from the room where he supposed them to be, he was unable to find any chink or opening through which he could observe what the speakers were about. As he had not been placed there intentionally for the purpose of hearing the conversation, he did not feel that he was guilty of eavesdropping, or that it was his duty to refrain from listening to what was spoken. There appeared to be a number of persons collected together, two or three of whom took the lead among the others.

"My friends, I have to thank you for meeting me here to-night," were the first words Jack heard uttered. "We have an important object to carry out, and it requires all the nerve and courage we possess to ensure its success. We have a rightful cause, and that should strengthen our arms for any deed which may be necessary. Remember we are not acting for ourselves, but under the full authority and sanction of our lawful sovereign, King James. It becomes necessary for his interests, and for our own, and for that of all England, and moreover for that of the only true and pure faith, which we profess--the faith of Rome--that the Usurper should be removed. You perceive, then, that we lift the responsibility off our own shoulders upon those who give us authority to act. I should be myself ever far from advocating assassination, or any other unlawful way of getting rid of a rival, but in this instance it seems that no other mode presents itself. I hope, then, that you are prepared to go through with the plan I have to propose, by whatever way it is to be carried out, or whatever may be the consequences."

"Yes, yes, we are all prepared!" exclaimed several persons.

"Stay, friends!" cried another; "say not that all are prepared. We are all ready to draw our swords in a lawful quarrel and in an open manner, such as true soldiers may fight for, but there are other ways at which Sir George has hinted, and it may be that some of them are not such as honourable men would desire to engage in."

"What mean you, Captain?" exclaimed the first speaker. "Do you dare to affirm that I propose any scheme which is not honourable and lawful? Whatever I do, or whatever I say, I act under the authority of my true and only sovereign, King James. I acknowledge no other, and therefore I feel myself at liberty to draw my sword in opposition to any one who claims the title of my king."

"How are we to be sure that you have this authority, good sir?" asked the former speaker. "I have served under the banners of many leaders, and have always been faithful to those who trusted me; but before I draw my sword against the Prince of Orange I should like to know that it is according to the wish of James, late King of England, who by that means may recover his own."

"Here, then, incredulous men," exclaimed the person who had been addressed as `Sir George;' "listen to the commission I have received from King James himself:--

"`Our will and pleasure is, and we do hereby fully authorise, strictly require, and expressly command, our loving subjects to rise in arms and make war upon the Prince of Orange, the usurper of our throne, and all his adherents, and to seize for our use all such forts, towns, and strongholds within our dominion of England as may serve to further our interest, and to do from time to time such other acts of hostility against the Prince of Orange and his adherents as may conduce most to our service. We judge this the properest, justest, and most effectual means of procuring the Restoration and their deliverance, and we do hereby indemnify them for what they shall act in pursuance of this our royal command, given at our court of Saint Germain-en-Laye, the 27th of December, 1695.'

"This will, I hope, satisfy you, gentlemen, that we are not acting without due authority; moreover, you should be aware that the Duke of Berwick came over to England a few months ago, and visited many of the principal adherents of King James, who are all ready, on the signal which we shall make them, to rise in arms, and raise the standard of our lawful king. He is also at the present moment prepared to put himself at the head of an army of 20,000 French soldiers, who are drawn out of the different garrisons of the neighbourhood of Calais. There is also a fleet ready to bring them across as soon as they receive the signal which we are preparing to give. The French king has promised to support King James, and will follow with another army, which will be as soon as possible collected."

"That appears a well-arranged, straightforward scheme, such as soldiers and men of honour can engage in," observed another speaker.

"I am glad you think so, Captain," observed Sir George; "and I feel very sure, that as soon as the signal I have spoken of is given, we shall have hundreds like yourselves flocking to the royal standard."

"But what is to be that signal, may I ask?" inquired another, who had not before spoken. "I am willing to draw my sword at the command of the King, but I never like to take a leap in the dark, and am better pleased when all matters are explained clearly beforehand."

"It is not usual for a general to give a sketch of his campaign to his subordinates," answered Sir George, in a haughty tone. "There are certain matters of which it is better that as few as possible should be informed. I trust that this reply will satisfy you."

"It must, by my faith!" mattered the old officer; "but, for my part, I have no taste for these secret plots; I would rather a band of brave fellows had been collected together, and that King James's standard had been raised, and that then we had marched through the country, gathering strength in our progress."

"To be cut to pieces by Dutch William's soldiers, or to be surrounded and strung up like foot-pads!" observed another speaker.

"There are difficulties in our way, but they are such as brave men will gladly encounter."

Such was the strain in which the conversation continued. As yet nothing was said which might lead Jack to suppose that any immediate outbreak was likely to occur. Yet his suspicions were aroused, and he could not help fancying that the voice of the speaker who was addressed as "Sir George" was very like that of Long Sam. If so, he felt that he himself would be in some way implicated in the plot.

At length the party appeared to be breaking up, and most of the persons who had formed it took their departure. Still some remained; and at length he heard the door bolted and barred behind those who had gone out. Those who remained poked up the fire and drew their chairs round it.

"All will go well!" exclaimed the person who had been addressed as "Sir George."

"And now let us see to the more important part of our work. While Dutch William lives, or at all events is at liberty, King James will not move from his present position, and even the King of France cannot beard the lion in his den. As long as the Protestants have a leader they will be united, and a rising of the adherents of King James will be hopeless; but once let the head of William be laid low, and before they have time to make arrangements to secure another Protestant sovereign, King James can be brought over, and the Catholic religion again be established in the land. The end sanctifies the means, as my excellent father-confessor assures me, and I therefore have no compunction as to that matter. King James has sent over a number of his `gentlemen of the guard' and others, who have come as it were on their private concerns, but who are all prepared to unite, as soon as they receive directions from me, to carry out any scheme I may propose. To those who are squeamish I have suggested merely that we seize and bring away the Prince of Orange, carry him on board ship, and thence convey him over to France: but that will never do; before he could be got to the Thames he would be rescued, and our necks would have to answer for our folly. There is but one safe plan, and that is to set upon him armed with pistols and strong pushing-swords, and thus at once to put him to death. As soon as he is dead his own adherents even will be afraid to assault us, not knowing who may next be at the head of affairs, What say you, gentlemen?--I have spoken plainly to you."

"I have been advised on this matter before," was the answer. "With you, I feel that which you propose is the only way of proceeding, especially if by that means we can establish again our religion in the land. If once we can gain the upper hand, we may without difficulty so oppress and keep down these Protestant heretics that we may compel them to come over to the true faith, or drive them from the country."

"We are all agreed, then, my friends?" said the leader of the plot. "Listen, then, to the plan which I have arranged. The king, as you know, frequently drives out from his palace at Kensington for the purpose of hunting in Richmond Park, and takes boat near Turnham Green to cross the Thames to the Surrey side. I have arranged several leaders, each of whom has five men well mounted to act under him. They will be well-armed with blunderbusses, musketoons, pistols, and well-sharpened swords. There is a spot at Turnham Green where the road is narrow, with high hedges and ditches on each side, so that a coach and six horses cannot easily turn on a sudden. Just about there, also, there are some shrubs and bushes which will afford shelter to our men. We have spies in the palace who will give us exact information of the hours and days when the king goes forth in his coach; and as he has but a small body of guards with him, there will be little risk of a miscarriage. All we have now to do, is to fix the day for the carrying out of the scheme. It is well conceived, and cannot fail; and, moreover, if any of those engaged in it have qualms of conscience, I am able to promise them full absolution, should the king fall by their hands."

Jack was horrified at what he heard. What course was he to pursue? Should he at once make his way to the palace and give information of the atrocious plot? It was not at all likely, should he do so, that he would be believed. He lay on his bed in deep distress of mind. That his companion who had brought him to London was engaged in the plot, he had no doubt whatever; indeed, he fully believed that he was one of the leaders.

While he lay thus, considering what course to pursue, he heard some of those who had been in the room take their departure. One, however, remained, and he thought he recognised the heavy footsteps of the principal speaker. He kept walking up and down the room, occasionally muttering to himself. Jack was on the point of dropping off to sleep when again the door opened gently, and another person entered hurriedly.

"Ah, Ellis, what news do you bring?" asked the occupier of the room.

"Bad news indeed, Sir George," answered the other. "I was in the neighbourhood of the residence of the Earl of Portland two days back, when I saw Captain Fisher passing by. Although he was disguised I knew him, and, aware that he was acquainted with all our secrets, I followed him closely. I watched him till he entered the Earl's house, and, though Lord Portland himself was out, he remained there till the return of his lordship. This made me dread that his purpose was to denounce us. I was made sure of this, when, after waiting a considerable time, Lord Portland himself came forth, and drove at full speed to the palace. Still I had no certain information of what Fisher had been about, and I therefore kept the matter secret; watching only carefully the proceedings of all those who are acquainted with our plot. I kept a watch also at the Earl's door, and at length received notice that Captain Pendergrast had also visited the Earl; and only this very night I have obtained information that he and La Rue have both been at the palace. As you know, also, this morning the king gave orders that his coaches and guards should be made ready to go out hunting as usual, but suddenly, just at the moment they were to set forth, notice was sent to them that the king was unwell, and could not go abroad that day. Putting these things together, I am sure that the king has been warned of our plot, and that those who are in it will ere long be seized. He probably now only waits till he has learned the names of our party, and ascertained where each of us are to be found."

"Ellis, you deserve my gratitude!" exclaimed Long Sam. "It is time then that each of us should seek his safety in flight. I shall be off this moment; and I will leave the raw youth I have brought with me from the north to pay the score as best he can. He knows nothing; and if he is taken up and clapped into prison, he can do me no harm. Will you come with me? Here's a horse at your service."

"Thank you, Sir George," answered the other man, "I have business to do which must be done this night, in London, and I hope to get on board ship before daybreak and be off for France. I will not delay longer here."

Saying this, Ellis took a hurried departure, uttering but a short farewell to his companion. Long Sam immediately followed him out of the room. Jack sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes to be sure that he had not been dreaming.

"This, then, is the plot in which Mr Harwood has been engaged," he thought to himself. "I can serve him best by giving him information that it has been discovered. If I remain long here, I shall probably, as Long Sam observes is likely, be seized and sent to prison. Instead of paying the score, I will leave the horses to do that, and take the one which will most quickly carry me along the road to Sherwood Forest."

Jack, on this, quickly dressed himself in a rough riding-habit, and packed his other garments into his valise. Having loaded his pistols and seen to their priming, he stuck them in his belt, and, carrying his valise under his arm, with his boots in his hand, he silently stole down-stairs. Without difficulty he found his way into the room where the conspirators had met; then, putting on his boots, he made his way to the stables. He dared not strike a light, but, knowing well the positions of the horses, and the place where the saddles were hung up, he hoped to find no difficulty in getting off. He quickly opened the stable-door, and was about to enter, when a deep voice exclaimed, "Stand, or you're a dead man!"

He felt sure the person who spoke was Long Sam.

"Don't fire," he answered, calmly, "you will gain nothing by so doing!"

"Then tell me what you are about to do, youngster," exclaimed Long Sam, stepping forth, leading a horse by the bridle.

"I have as much right to take a midnight ride as you have," answered Jack. "I don't wish to stop you, but if you go your way, I claim a right to go mine."

"You are crowing loudly, my lad!" said Long Sam, with a curse.

"I have no wish to crow," answered Jack, "but if you have to ride to save your life, I wish to do the same to save my liberty. If you attempt to stop me I will give the alarm, and you well know what the consequences will be. You wish to make a tool of me--you will find that if you still attempt to do so, you will cut your own fingers."

"You are a sharp lad," answered Long Sam, or Sir George Barclay, for Jack before long had reason to know that such was the real name of his late companion. "You have found out a great deal more than I supposed. However, I believe you honest: and now make the best of your way out of this city. If you can give notice to any of our friends that they are in danger, you will be rendering them an important service, which, perhaps, some day or other they will be able to repay; and if not, you may rest satisfied that you have performed a kind action."

Saying this, Sir George led his horse through the gateway of the inn, which was left ajar, probably by pre-arrangement, and disappeared in the darkness. Jack quickly saddled the steed which had been bestowed on him by Master Pearson, and took his way northward by the road along which he had come to Hammersmith. As soon as he was at a distance from any houses, he clapped spurs to his horse and galloped over the ground at as fast a rate as the bad state of the roads would allow.