“If I am to be deprived of Dulcia’s society, I will not remain here,” Clavering exclaimed, springing from the couch.
“I told your honour how it would be,” John cried, chuckling.
“Thou art in league against me, rascal,” the colonel ejaculated, shaking his hand at him. “And as to thee, Clavering, thou art a wilful and undutiful boy. A soldier should have a soldier’s attendance merely. But since thou art so weak and womanish that none save Dulcia will serve thy turn to watch over thee and tend thee, even be it as thou wilt.”
“My father!—”
“Get well as quickly as thou canst, that is all I ask.”
“Your honour hath ta’en the best way to ensure that object,” John observed.
“Hold thy peace!” the colonel cried. “Within yon closet thou wilt find all thou needest to perfect his cure: unguents of great virtue, sovran balsams, cordials, and an elixir prepared for me by my worthy friend Sir Kenelm Digby, which ought to call back the vital spark if it were on the eve of departure. Use what thou wilt; but mark me! if thy patient gets not well speedily, I’ll send for Master Ingram.”
“Nay, I shall be myself again in less than a week,” Clavering cried. “I am stronger already, and with the prospect of such attendance—”
“Peace, I say!” his father cried. “I have heard reasons enow, and have yielded against my better judgment. Aid me to attire myself,” he added to John, “and then I will leave my son master of the room. Thou wilt have to be groom of the chamber, as well as head-nurse, John, for none of the household will come nigh ye, except old Martin Geere. And now, give me my hose and doublet.”
At a somewhat later hour in the morning, though still comparatively early, Colonel Maunsel was joined in the library, whither he had repaired on going down stairs, by Mr. Beard and Dulcia, both of whom were under the impression that Clavering was gone; and one of them, at least, was much relieved by finding that such was not the case.
A bell having been rung for prayers, the greater part of the household assembled at the summons, and the clergyman read a portion of the Holy Scriptures to them; after which he knelt down, and the rest following his example, he offered up an extempore prayer for the preservation from all danger of the lord of the mansion and his son. All joined fervently in this supplication, but none more so than Dulcia.
Their devotions ended, the old Cavalier and his guests proceeded to the hall and partook of breakfast. Martin Geere was in attendance at the meal, which was of a substantial character, according to the habits of the period, and the colonel, when he could do so without observation, privily despatched him upstairs with a supply of eatables for his son. No mystery was made about John Habergeon, since his return was known to the household, and the old trooper could take care of himself in the buttery.
Breakfast over, Dulcia and her father rose to depart, when the colonel, calling the latter to him, said, in a low tone, “Go upstairs, child, to Clavering. Your society will cheer him, and help to while away the tedious hours of his captivity. You will find him in my chamber with John Habergeon. Be cautious, and, above all, arouse not Patty Whinchat’s suspicions.”
Dulcia blushingly withdrew, and Colonel Maunsel soon afterwards got up and repaired to the library.
Meanwhile, Dulcia having retired to her own room, was awaiting a favourable opportunity to visit the captive, when she was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Patty.
“Oh! I’ve seen him — I’ve seen him!” gasped the handmaiden, who looked pale and terrified.
“Seen whom?” Dulcia exclaimed, thinking naturally of Clavering.
“Why, Increase Micklegift, to be sure, madam. Who else could frighten me so much? I happened to be in the corridor just now, when he came up to me — how he got there I can’t tell! — and seizing me rudely by the arm, uttered these words in my ear: ‘Bid thy young mistress come to me without delay. I would speak to her on a matter which concerns her nearly. I will tarry for her during the space of one hour, within the churchyard. If she comes not within that time, she will ever hereafter rue her negligence. Convey my message to her at once.’ And with this he disappeared. I am sure, from his looks, he has some evil design. You won’t go, of course, madam?”
“Yes, I will, Patty,” Dulcia replied, after a moment’s reflection. “I have no fear of him. I will go at once, and you shall attend me. It may be important to others to ascertain his purpose. Give me my hood, child.”
Approving of her young mistress’s spirit, Patty made no further remonstrance, and Dulcia having quickly attired herself for the walk, the two young women left the room, crossed the entrance-hall without stoppage, passed out at the front porch, and proceeded towards the church.
As they advanced, they saw the dark figure of the Independent divine within the churchyard. Increase Micklegift had an austere and somewhat ill-favoured countenance, but his features, though large and harsh, were by no means devoid of intelligence. His eyes were dark and restless, and his singularly pale complexion contrasted forcibly with his coal-black hair, which was cropped close as the skin of a mole. He was attired in the garb of a Puritan preacher, and wore the tall sugar-loaf hat which Patty had remarked at the window on the previous night. In age Micklegift might be about thirty, and his person was tall and thin, but extremely muscular. On seeing the two damsels approach, he advanced slowly to meet them, and making a grave salutation to Dulcia, said to Patty, “Tarry by the gate, maiden, until thy mistress shall return to thee.”
He then signed to Dulcia to follow him, and walked on in silence until they turned the angle of the church, and drew near the entrance-porch, when he stood still. Patty’s inquisitive disposition might have led her to creep stealthily after them, if she had not observed a man suddenly spring over the wall on the north of the churchyard, and make his way cautiously round the tower of the sacred edifice. Patty suppressed the scream that rose to her lips on discovering that this individual was John Habergeon.
Having come to a halt, as related, Micklegift said, in a supplicatory tone, while a flush overspread his pale features, “Hearken unto me, maiden. Ever since I set eyes upon thee, my heart hath yearned towards thee. Thy charms have been a snare unto me, in which I have fallen. Yet though I have burnt with love for thee, I have not ventured to declare my passion, for I have perceived that I am an object of aversion in thy sight.”
“Forbear this discourse, sir,” Dulcia cried, “or you will drive me away from you instantly.”
“Despise me not, but pity me, maiden,” implored the preacher. “My love for thee is as a tormenting fire which consumes my very vitals. It disorders my brain, and drives me to the verge of madness. Have compassion upon me! I will be thy slave — anything thou wilt have me be — if thou wilt but love me.”
“I will hear no more,” Dulcia said, turning to depart.
“You shall hear me out,” Micklegift cried, changing his tone to one of menace, and seizing her arm. “Love, like mine, unrequited, makes a man desperate. Another has possession of your heart; but he shall not be an obstacle in my path. The malignant Clavering Maunsel is concealed in his father’s house. I know it. It is vain to attempt denial with me. The life of this traitor to the Commonwealth is in my power. I can denounce him at any moment, and I will denounce him, if you continue inflexible.” After a moment’s pause, during which he watched the impression he had made upon her, he went on: “Not only is Clavering Maunsel’s life in my power, but a word from me will consign your father to a prison, where he may rot unheeded.”
“And have you the heart to act thus against those who have never offended you, inhuman man? Have some pity for them.”
“You have no pity for me, damsel. You care not how much I suffer. Now hear my fixed determination. Either consent to become my wife, or I will use the means of vengeance placed in my hands.”
“Give me till to-morrow for consideration,” Dulcia replied.
“I will grant the time you require, on your solemn promise that you will neither give warn
ing to Clavering, nor mention aught that has passed between us to your father, or to any other person.”
“I give the promise you exact,” she rejoined.
“Enough. To-morrow I shall expect your answer — here, at the same hour. Till then, farewell!”
Released from his gripe, the terrified damsel instantly made her escape.
“I am bound by no promise, villain,” muttered John Habergeon, who was ensconced behind the angle of the church tower, and had heard all that had passed, “and I will take means to defeat thy black design.”
CHAPTER III.
Some Of The Vexations Experienced By A Royalist.
Gentleman At The Time Of The Commonwealth
A TROUBLESOME day was in store for Colonel Maunsel. He was in the library, seated in an easy-chair, meditating upon the “Eikon Basilike,” when Martin Geere entered, and, with a perturbed countenance, informed him that a state- messenger was without, and desired instant speech with him. The visit boded the colonel no good, but he ordered the man to be admitted. The messenger, however, did not wait for permission to present himself, but followed close upon Martin. He was a tall, stern-looking man, having the appearance of a soldier, and carried a long sword by his side and a pair of large pistols in his belt. He made no salutation to the colonel, neither did he attempt to remove his broad- leaved hat from off his close-cropped head.
“What wouldst thou with me, thou unmannerly fellow?” the old Cavalier demanded, eyeing him with great displeasure.
“Thou hadst best show some respect to my order, though thou showest none to me,” the man coldly rejoined, taking a parchment from his girdle. “Be it known to thee, Wolston Maunsel, somewhile colonel in the service of the Man Charles Stuart, that by virtue of this order from the Council of State, thou art confined and restricted, on pain of imprisonment, within a limit of five miles of thine own dwelling.”
“How?” the colonel exclaimed. “Confined within a range of five miles!”
“The limit is large enough for a dangerous and plotting malignant like thee,” the messenger rejoined. “See thou exceed it not. But I have yet more to declare unto thee. Forasmuch as thy son, Clavering Maunsel—”
“Ha! what of him?” the colonel cried, unable to conceal his agitation.
“ — being charged with high treason against the Commonwealth, and a warrant having been issued for his apprehension, in order that he may be brought before a court-martial, in virtue of a commission from his Excellency General Cromwell, this is to give thee notice, that if thou shalt harbour thy said son Clavering, or lend him aid so that he escape, and the ends of justice be thereby defeated, thou thyself, and any of thy house who may act under thee, will incur the penalties of high treason. Thou art warned, and a like warning will be delivered to thy whole house.”
So saying, the man strode towards the colonel, laid down the parchment on the table before him, and, turning on his heel, departed.
Colonel Maunsel remained for some time, half stupefied, with his gaze fixed upon the warrant. At length he took it up, and after glancing at it, dashed it down with a burst of passion. His wrath, however, gave way to feelings of alarm, when he learnt from old Martin Geere that, prior to his departure, the state-messenger had collected the household together, and informed them that if they aided in concealing their young master, now or hereafter, they would be severely punished.
“But your honour need have no fear,” the faithful old fellow said. “They all believe the captain is gone; but if they knew he was hidden in the house, they would endure torture rather than betray him.”
At this juncture Mr. Beard entered the library, and learning what had occurred, besought his patron not to be cast down, but to place his reliance upon that Power which had delivered him from so many difficulties and dangers.
“It is my son’s safety that concerns me most,” the old Cavalier groaned. “So he escape, I care not what becomes of me. But, ‘sdeath!” he cried, breaking out into fresh fury. “I should never have desired to quit my own domain, if the tyrannous Council had not made me a prisoner.”
He then paced to and fro within the room for some minutes, exclaiming, with much bitterness, “By Heaven! it is intolerable to be insulted thus in one’s own house. O what a land we live in! Everything seems at sixes and sevens. All honourable usages are at an end. Respect for age and station is gone. Fanaticism and hypocrisy usurp the place of religion and virtue, and he is esteemed the godliest man who can dissemble most, and best put on a sanctimonious visage and demeanour. Out on the pestilent knaves who have thus abolished all that was good in the country, and set up all that is bad — a low- born crew who would grind down all to their own base level!”
“Yet there are some good men among them, honoured sir,” Mr. Beard observed, “who have been influenced by worthy motives, and by love of their country, in what they have done.”
“I marvel to hear you say so, sir,” the old Cavalier rejoined. “Were the motives worthy of those bloody butchers who slaughtered their virtuous king? Are their motives worthy who have overthrown our Established Church, and set up the National Covenant in its stead? Are their motives worthy who persecute and despoil, outrage and insult in every way all those who have shown loyalty and devotion to their king, and zeal for the country’s welfare? Out upon them, I say!”
“I can make every allowance for your warmth, honoured sir, for you have much to move you to indignation,” the good clergyman said; “but I would not have you blind to the truth. Faults there have been in high places beyond doubt — grievous faults — else had not those who filled them been cast down. Deeply must the princes and mighty ones of the land have sinned, or the Lord would not have visited them so severely with His displeasure.”
“You seem to have caught the general infection, sir,” the old Cavalier observed, sarcastically, “and speak as by the mouth of Increase Micklegift.”
“I speak according to my conviction, my honoured patron, and I speak the more boldly, because I am well assured that it is only by acknowledgment of our errors, and resolution of amendment for the future, that we can turn aside Heaven’s wrath from against us. Such men as Cromwell are instruments of divine displeasure.”
“Name him not,” cried the colonel, vehemently; “or name him as the arch- hypocrite, the regicide and parricide that he is. But you are right. We must have deeply sinned, or we could not have been yielded to the dominion of such as Cromwell. O England! when will thy days of gloom be over?”
“When her offences are expiated,” the clergyman rejoined.
“Merry England men were wont to style thee when I was younger,” the colonel said, in a mournful tone; “but merry thou art no longer. Melancholy England were nearer the mark; sour England; distracted England; the England of Noll Cromwell and the saints. Heaven defend me from such a ruler, and such saints! Hearty, joyous, laughter-loving England thou art not. Men smile no longer within thy cities. Gaiety is punished as a crime, and places of pleasant resort are forbidden to thy youth. Upon thy broad breast sits the night-hag Puritanism, scaring away thy dreams of happiness, and filling thee with terrors. It is ill with thee, England. Wrong hath become right within thee — loyalty, treason — religion, an offence. Heaven grant thee a speedy deliverance from the wretched thraldom in which thou art placed!”
“I do not despair of England, sir,” Mr. Beard remarked.
“Neither do I,” the old Cavalier rejoined— “when Noll Cromwell shall be overthrown, and the monarchy restored. But, till that consummation arrives, I am much tempted to exile myself from her shores.”
Here Martin Geere presented himself again, and with new terror imprinted upon his countenance.
“What’s the matter now?” the colonel exclaimed. “I guess from thy looks that thou bring’st fresh tidings of ill.”
“I bring no good news, in sooth,” Martin replied. “There are two men without who crave admittance to your honour — crave, did I say? — nay, they insolently demand it. One of them is Thomas Su
nne, the Brightelmstone deputy of the Committee for the Sequestration of Livings. His reverence knows him—”
“Too well,” Mr. Beard observed.
“The other I take to be a messenger, for he hath a warrant, and beareth a truncheon of office.”
“Ay, and he will use it on thy shoulders, sirrah, if he be kept longer here,” exclaimed a peremptory voice without.
And the next moment two personages stepped into the room. The foremost of them, who was he that had spoken, was of middle age, short and stout, and was somewhat showily attired in a blue doublet and scarlet cloak; the latter garment, however, was weather-stained, and had lost much of its original brilliancy. His doublet was embroidered with the badge of the Goldsmiths’ Company — a leopard’s head and a covered cup. His companion was an elderly man, with a sour, puritanical countenance, clad in sad-coloured raiments, and wearing a steeple-crowned hat. Neither of them uncovered their heads on entering the room.
“Ahem!” cried the foremost of the two, clearing his throat to enable him to speak more emphatically. “It is Wolston Maunsel, I surmise, before whom I stand?”
“Thou art in the presence of Colonel Maunsel, thou saucy knave,” the old Cavalier haughtily rejoined. “Who, and what art thou?”
“I am not bound to answer the interrogations of a known malignant like thee. Nevertheless, I will tell thee that my heathenish name was Lawrence Creek, but since I have put off the old man, I am known as Better Late than Never, a saintly designation, and one becoming an elder, like myself. I am an emissary unto thee, O Wolston Maunsel, from the Commissioners of Goldsmiths’ Hall, in Foster-lane, London, to whom, as thou knowest, thy forfeiture to the State hath been assigned, to summon thee to appear before the said commissioners within ten days to pay two hundred pounds for thy five-and-twentieth part of the fine which hath been set upon thee.”
“My fine hath been fully discharged,” the colonel said. “I have already paid the commissioners five thousand pounds.”
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