"Very likely," replied Constance; "and I think you have decided wiselyto remain. It's a long ride at this time of night."
Mr. Fowden, as we have shown, was very good-tempered, and disposed totake things easily.
He was secretly not sorry that Atherton had eluded him, though hewould rather the escape had been managed differently.
However it was quite clear it could not have been accomplished by hisconnivance. That was something.
Consoled by this reflection, he finished his supper as quietly as ifnothing had occurred to interrupt it.
Immediately after supper Constance and her cousin retired, and lefthim to enjoy a bottle of claret with the priest.
They were still discussing it when a great bustle in the court-yardannounced that the constables had come back.
"Here they are!" cried the magistrate, springing to his feet. "I mustgo and see what has happened."
And he hurried out of the room, followed by Father Jerome.
By the time they reached the court-yard the constables had dismounted,and were talking to Markland and the gate-porter. Two othermen-servants were standing by, bearing torches.
No sooner did Mr. Fowden make his appearance than one of theconstables came up.
"Here's a pretty business, sir," said the man in an apologetic tone."We've been nicely taken in. We thought we had you with us, and neversuspected anything wrong till we got out of the park, when thegentleman at our head suddenly dashed off at full speed, anddisappeared in the darkness. We were so confounded at first that wedidn't know what to do, but the truth soon flashed upon us, and wegalloped after him as hard as we could. Though we could see nothing ofhim, the clatter of his horse's hoofs guided us for a time, butby-and-by this ceased, and we fancied he must have quitted the roadand taken to the open. We were quite certain he hadn't forded theMersey, or we must have heard him."
"No--no--he wouldn't do that, Glossop," remarked the magistrate.
"Well, we rode on till we got to a lane," pursued the constable, "andtwo of our party went down it, while the rest kept to the high road.About a mile further we encountered a waggon, and questioned thedriver, but no one had passed him; so we turned back, and were soonafterwards joined by our mates, who had been equally unsuccessful.Feeling now quite nonplussed, we deemed it best to return to thehall--and here we are, ready to attend to your honour's orders."
"'Twould be useless to attempt further pursuit to-night, Glossop,"rejoined the magistrate. "Captain Legh has got off by a very cleverstratagem, and will take good care you don't come near him. By thistime, he's far enough off, you may depend upon it."
"Exactly my opinion, sir," observed Glossop. "We've lost him for thepresent, that's quite certain."
"Well, we'll consider what is best to be done in the morning," saidMr. Fowden. "Meantime you can take up your quarters here for thenight. Stable your horses, and then go to bed."
"Not without supper, your honour," pleaded Glossop. "We're desperatelyhungry."
"Why you're never satisfied," cried the magistrate. "But perhaps Mr.Markland will find something for you."
Leaving the constables to shift for themselves, which he knew theywere very well able to do, Mr. Fowden then returned to thedining-room, and finished the bottle of claret with the priest. Thoughhis plans had been frustrated, and he had lost both his horse and hisexpected prisoner, he could not help laughing very heartily at theoccurrence of the evening.
Later on, he was conducted to a comfortable bed-chamber by the butler.
CHAPTER XI.
ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN.
Having distanced his pursuers as related, Atherton speeded across thecountry till he reached Bucklow Hill, where a solitary roadside innwas then to be found, and thinking he should be safe there, heresolved to stop at the house for the night.
Accordingly, he roused up the host and soon procured accommodation forhimself and his steed.
The chamber in which he was lodged was small, with a low ceiling,encumbered by a large rafter, but it was scrupulously clean and tidy,and the bed-linen was white as snow, and smelt of lavender.
Next morning, he was up betimes, and his first business was to hire aman to take back Mr. Fowden's horse. The ostler readily undertook thejob, and set out for Manchester, charged with a letter of explanation,while Atherton, having breakfasted and paid his score, proceeded onfoot along the road to Knutsford.
Before leaving the inn he informed the landlord that he was going toNorthwich, and thence to Chester; but, in reality, he had no fixedplan, and meant to be guided by circumstances. If the risk had notbeen so great, he would gladly have availed himself of Dr. Byrom'soffer, conveyed by Beppy to Constance, of a temporary asylum in thedoctor's house at Manchester--but he did not dare to venture thither.
After revolving several plans, all of which were fraught withdifficulties and dangers, he came to the conclusion that it would bebest to proceed to London, where he would be safer than elsewhere, andmight possibly find an opportunity of embarking for Flanders orHolland. Moreover, he might be able to render some assistance to hisunfortunate friends. But, as we have said, he had no decided plans;and it is quite certain that nothing but the apprehension of furthertreachery on the part of Father Jerome prevented him from secretlyreturning to Rawcliffe Hall.
He walked on briskly for about a mile, and then struck into a path onthe left, which he thought would lead him through the fields to TattonPark, but it brought him to a height from which he obtained a charmingview of Rosthern Mere--the whole expanse of this lovely lake beingspread out before him. On the summit of a high bank, at the southernextremity of the mere, stood the ancient church, embosomed in trees,and near it were the few scattered farm-houses and cottages thatconstituted the village.
The morning being very bright and clear, the prospect was seen to thegreatest advantage, and, after contemplating it for a few minutes, hedescended the woody slopes, and on reaching the valley shaped hiscourse along the margin of the lake towards the village, which was notvery far distant.
As he proceeded fresh beauties were disclosed, and he more than oncestopped to gaze at them. Presently he drew near a delightful spot,where a babbling brook, issuing from the mere, crossed the road, anddisappeared amid an adjoining grove. Leaning against the rail of alittle wooden bridge, and listening to the murmuring brooklet, stoodan elderly personage. His features were stamped with melancholy, andhis general appearance seemed much changed, but Atherton at oncerecognised Dr. Deacon.
Surprised at seeing him there, the young man hastened on, and as headvanced the doctor raised his head and looked at him.
After a moment's scrutiny, he exclaimed:
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is it Atherton Legh?" And when the otherreplied in the affirmative, he said: "What are you doing here? Are youaware that a reward has been offered for your apprehension? You arerunning into danger."
"I have just had a very narrow escape of arrest," replied Atherton;"and am in search of a place of concealment. If I could be safeanywhere, I should think it must be in this secluded village."
"I will give you temporary shelter," said the doctor. "I have been sopersecuted in Manchester since the prince's retreat, and the surrenderof Carlisle, that I have been compelled to retire to this quiet place.Come with me to my cottage--but I cannot answer for your safety."
"I would willingly accept the offer if I did not fear I shouldendanger you," replied Atherton.
"Let not that consideration deter you," said Dr. Deacon. "It matterslittle what happens to me now that I have lost my sons."
"You need not despair about them, sir," rejoined Atherton. "They willbe allowed the cartel."
"No--no--no," cried the doctor. "They will be put to death. I ought tobe resigned to their cruel fate, since they have done their duty, butI have not the fortitude I deemed I had."
And he groaned aloud.
"Better and braver young men never lived," said Atherton, in accentsof deep commiseration. "And if they must die, they will
perish in anoble cause. But I still hope they may be spared."
"They would not ask or accept a pardon from the usurper," said Dr.Deacon. "No, they are doomed--unless they can escape as you havedone."
"Have you heard of your second son, Robert, whom we were obliged toleave at Kendal, owing to an attack of fever?" inquired Atherton.
"Yes--he is better. He will do well if he has not a relapse," repliedthe doctor. "He wrote to me, begging me not to go to him, or I shouldhave set off to Kendal at once. But do not let us stand talking here.My cottage is close by."
So saying, he led Atherton to a pretty little tenement, situated nearthe lake. A garden ran down to the water's edge, where was alanding-place with wooden steps, beside which a boat was moored.
The cottage, which was more roomy and convenient than it looked,belonged to an old couple named Brereton, who were devoted to Dr.Deacon; and he had strong claims to their gratitude, as he had curedDame Brereton of a disorder, pronounced fatal by other medical men.
On entering the cottage, the doctor deemed it necessary to cautionMrs. Brereton in regard to Atherton, and then ushered his guest into asmall parlour, the windows of which commanded a lovely view of thelake. Had the doctor been free from anxiety he must have been happy insuch a tranquil abode. But he was well-nigh heart-broken, and everdwelling upon the sad position of his sons.
A simple breakfast, consisting of a bowl of milk and a brown loaf,awaited him, and he invited Atherton to partake of the rustic fare,offering him some cold meat and new-laid eggs in addition, but theyoung man declined, having already breakfasted.
Very little satisfied the doctor, and having quickly finished hismeal, he resumed his conversation with Atherton.
"I know not what your opinion may be," he said; "but I think the granderror committed by the prince was in avoiding an engagement. He oughtto have attacked the Duke of Cumberland at Lichfield. A battle wouldhave been decisive, and if the prince had been victorious his ultimatesuccess must have been assured. But the retreat without an engagementwas fatal to the cause. The Scottish chiefs, I know, refused to marchfurther than Derby, but if they had been forced to fight, theirconduct would have been totally different. Even if the prince had beenworsted--had he fallen--he would have left a glorious name behind him!Had my own brave sons died sword in hand, I should have beenreconciled to their loss, but to think that they have been compelledto retreat ingloriously, without striking a blow, because theirleaders lost heart, enrages me, and sharpens my affliction. Then Iconsider that the Manchester Regiment has been wantonly sacrificed. Itought never to have been left at Carlisle. That the prince thought theplace tenable, and meant to reinforce the scanty garrison, I nothingdoubt--but he lacked the means. Surrender was therefore unavoidable. Ishall always think that the regiment has been sacrificed--but I blameColonel Townley, and not the prince."
"Disastrous as the result has been, I must take up Colonel Townley'sdefence," said Atherton. "He felt certain he could hold out till hewas relieved by the prince, and all the officers shared hisopinion--none being more confident than your gallant son Theodore."
"Alas!" exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. "Of what avail is braveryagainst such engines of destruction as were brought to bear againstthe town by the Duke of Cumberland. But could not a desperate sortiehave been made? Could you not have cut your way through the enemy?Death would have been preferable to such terms of surrender as wereexacted by the duke."
"Such an attempt as you describe was made, sir," replied Atherton,"but it failed; I, myself, was engaged in it, and was captured."
"True, I now remember. Forgive me. Grief has made me oblivious. But Imust not allow my own private sorrows to engross me to the neglect ofothers. Can I assist you in any way?"
Atherton then informed him of his design to proceed to London, and thedoctor approved of the plan, though he thought the journey would beattended by considerable risk.
"Still, if you get to London you will be comparatively secure, and mayperhaps be able to negotiate a pardon. Dr. Byrom has promised to comeover to me to-day, and may perhaps bring his daughter with him. He hasconsiderable influence with several persons of importance in London,and may be able to serve you. We shall hear what he says."
"But why think of me?" cried Atherton. "Why do you not urge him to usehis influence in behalf of your sons?"
"He requires no urging," replied Dr. Deacon. "But I have told you thatI will not ask a pardon for them--nor would they accept it if cloggedwith certain conditions."
Atherton said no more, for he felt that the doctor was immovable.
Shortly afterwards Dr. Deacon arose and begged Atherton to excuse him,as he usually devoted an hour in each day to a religious work on whichhe was engaged. Before leaving the room, he placed a book on the tablenear Atherton, and on opening it the young man found it was aprayer-book published some years previously by the doctor, entitled,"_A Complete Collection of Devotions, both public and private, takenfrom the Apostolic Constitution, Liturgies, and Common Prayers of theCatholic Church_."
Atherton was familiar with the volume, as he had occasionally attendedDr. Deacon's church, but being now in a serious frame of mind, some ofthe prayers to which he turned and recited aloud produced a deepereffect upon him than heretofore.
When Dr. Deacon returned and found him thus occupied he expressedgreat satisfaction, and joined him in his devotions.
Before concluding, the doctor dropped on his knees, and offered up anearnest supplication for the restoration to health of his son Robert,and for the deliverance of his two other sons.
CHAPTER XII.
A SAD COMMUNICATION IS MADE TO DR. DEACON.
Half an hour later Dr. Byrom and his daughter arrived. They came onhorseback--one steed sufficing for both--Beppy being seated behind herfather on a pillion, as was then the pleasant custom.
Dr. Byrom put up his horse at the little village inn, and then walkedwith his daughter to the cottage. Dr. Deacon met them at the door, andwhile greeting them kindly, informed them in a whisper whom they wouldfind within.
Both were rejoiced to see Atherton, and congratulated him on hisescape from arrest.
"I saw Mr. Fowden this morning at Manchester," said Dr. Byrom. "He hadjust returned from Rawcliffe Hall. I laughed very heartily when hetold me how cleverly you had tricked him; but I really believe he hadno desire to arrest you, and was glad when you got off. The horse youappropriated for the nonce was brought back from Bucklow Hill, and isnow in its owner's possession, but I think you carried your scruplesto the extreme, as you have given him a clue to the route you havetaken, and the constables have been sent on both to Northwich andMacclesfield."
"I don't think they will look for me here," observed Atherton.
"No, Mr. Fowden's notion is that you will make for London, and Ishould have thought so too, had you not sent back the horse; but nowyou had better keep quiet for a few days."
"Why not come to us?" cried Beppy. "You will be in the very midst ofyour enemies, it is true, but no search will be made for you. No onewould think you could be there."
"But some one would be sure to discover me. No; I am infinitelyobliged, but I could not do it--I should only involve Dr. Byrom introuble."
"Don't heed my risk," said Dr. Byrom. "I will give you shelter, if yourequire it."
"I'm quite sure we could conceal you," cried Beppy; "and only thinkhow exciting it would be if the boroughreeve should call, and you hadto be shut up in a closet! Or, better still, if you were carefullydisguised, you might be presented to him without fear of detection. Asto Mr. Fowden, I shouldn't mind him, even if he came on purpose tosearch for you. I'm sure I could contrive some little plot that wouldeffectually delude him. 'Twould only be like a game at hide-and-seek."
"But if I lost the game, the penalty would be rather serious," repliedAtherton. "I have no doubt of your cleverness, Miss Byrom; but I mustnot expose myself to needless risk."
While this conversation was going on, Dr. Byrom observed to his oldfriend, "I have somethin
g to say to you in private. Can we go intoanother room?"
Struck by the gravity of his manner, Dr. Deacon took him into anadjoining apartment.
"I am afraid you have some bad news for me," he remarked.
"I have," replied Dr. Byrom, still more gravely. "Your son Robert----"
"What of him?" interrupted Dr. Deacon. "Has he had a relapse of thefever? If so, I must go to him at once."
"'Twill not be necessary, my good friend," replied Dr. Byrom,mournfully. "He does not require your attendance."
Dr. Deacon looked at him fixedly for a moment, and reading the truthin his countenance, murmured, "He is gone!"
"Yes, he has escaped the malice of his enemies," said Dr. Byrom.
"Heaven's will be done!" ejaculated Dr. Deacon, with a look ofprofound resignation. "Truly I have need of fortitude to bear theweight of affliction laid upon me. Robert!--my dear, braveson!--gone!--gone!"
"Be comforted, my good friend," said Dr. Byrom, in accents of profoundsympathy. "His troubles are over."
"True," replied the other. "But the blow has well-nigh stunned me.Give me a chair, I pray you."
As Dr. Byrom complied, he remarked:
"I ought to have broken this sad news to you with greater care--and,indeed, I hesitated to mention it."
"You have acted most kindly--most judiciously--like the friend youhave ever shown yourself," rejoined Dr. Deacon. "All is for the best,I doubt not. But when I think of my dear boy Robert, my heart is liketo burst. He was so kind, so gallant, so loyal, so true."
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