Baffled again, but in nowise disheartened, he began to thunder at the door, and with the a.s.sistance of Sir George Vernon he soon made noise enough to attract attention.

The first to hear them was the chambermaid, and she, very naturally suspecting that thieves were in the room, ran out into the yard and intimated as much, at the top of her voice, to all the neighbours.

Meanwhile the knocking continued, and was, if anything, more vigorous than before. Startled by such an unusual din, the worthy Boniface awoke from his slumbers, and, in no very enviable frame of mind, set off, poker in hand, to summon aid. Help soon came, and, armed with pokers, brooms, and pitchforks, the door was quickly broken open and the gallant company rushed in, knocking Sir George over as they entered.

In the pause that followed the first rush the mistake was discovered, and the situation was explained. The landlord was profuse in his apologies, the more so as he caught the look of anger in the baron's eye, but peace being quickly made, he rewarded his followers and sallied out to discover the whereabouts of his delinquent servant, breathing out dire threatenings against him. He searched in vain, and after a thorough examination, returned in ill mood to partake of the first meal of the day, and to discover the extent of his losses ere he proceeded to appear against the unfortunate Edmund Wynne.

As the baron and Sir Thomas rode together to Westminster a few hours later, it was with spirits considerably higher than they could have expected four-and-twenty hours earlier. Sir George had resumed his haughty bearing, but he was, in truth, though he would never have confessed it, more than a trifle nervous. At last the great Justice Hall was reached, and, with a parting injunction not to answer to the challenge, Sir Thomas separated from him, pa.s.sing in by one door while the baron entered by another.

Sir George's nervous temperament was severely tried upon this occasion, for he had a considerable time to wait, and he found no better plan of whiling it away than that of impatiently pacing up and down in the little room allotted to him; and he imagined himself suffering all sorts of horrible tortures.

At last his turn came. The door opened; his name was called; and composing himself as well as he was able, he stepped into the crowded hall with considerable dignity, accompanied by a pompous member of the Court, and at once became the cynosure of all eyes.

He stood impa.s.sively, casting his eyes around in search of Sir Thomas Stanley, and curious to recognise as many as he could among the motley crowd which had come to see him tried. During the time the charge was being read, and just as he had discovered his companion in the throng straight before him, he was challenged by the Clerk of the Crown to plead.

"King of the Peak," cried the officer of the law, "hold up thine hand.

Thou art accused of the murder of Mary Durden, spinster. Art thou guilty or art thou not guilty?"

Instinctively he held up his hand as directed, and in a bold and fearless voice which echoed along the pa.s.sages answered, "_Not guilty_."

As soon as he had uttered the words he remembered that he had done wrong, but it was too late to recall it now, and filled with no pleasant forebodings by learning that the one who had just stepped out of the place in which he had stood had been committed to the Tower, he watched the swearing-in of the jury with stolid indifference.

It was soon evident that something was wrong somewhere. The minions of the court rushed hither and thither in the utmost haste; messages pa.s.sed from the Judge to the clerks who sat at the table below; and by-and-bye the fact leaked out that neither the prosecutor nor the witnesses were in attendance.

"Nathan Grene," called the clerk, "stand forth." There was no answer.

"Nathan Grene," he repeated in a louder voice, "come forward and accuse this man."

The cry was taken up both inside the hall and without; but still no Nathan Grene appeared, nor was he likely to, for at that time he was sitting securely in the stocks; the sport of every pa.s.ser-by, and the delight of some little mischievous urchins, who were amusing themselves by pulling his hair and sprinkling him with dirty water, while he was powerless to defend himself in any way.

"Nathan Grene," exclaimed the Judge in tones of awful dignity, "you are called upon to support the charge of murder against the King of the Peak; a charge made by yourself. This is the last time thou wilt be summoned to answer, and unless you now appear, or afterwards show good, full, and sufficient cause for thine absence, the law shall turn its course on thee."

The long silence which followed this speech was broken only by the Judge, who rose again from his seat, and turning to Sir George told him he was free; and amid the congratulations of his friends and the concealed disappointment of his enemies, he pa.s.sed triumphantly out of the hall which had proved so fatal to so many of the n.o.bility before him, as it has also done since.

CHAPTER XVI.

A NIGHT ADVENTURE.

But whatsoe'er his crime, than such a cave A worse imprisonment he could not have.

But here a roaring torrent bids you stand.

Forcing you climb a rock on the right hand, Which, hanging penthouse-like, does overlook The dreadful channel of the rapid brook.

Over this dangerous precipice you crawl, Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall.

WONDERS OF THE PEAK, 1725.

Elated by their success, the two n.o.blemen at once left London and hastened on towards Haddon, and leaving the city behind them with few regrets, they arrived at Derby late in the afternoon of the day following the trial.

It was Sir Thomas Stanley's time to be impatient now He was anxious to behold Margaret again, and leaving the baron behind him to settle a few matters of business he rode off upon a fresh horse to carry the good news to the Hall, and to herald the approach of the knight.

John Manners was keeping Dorothy company on the top of the Eagle Tower when Sir Thomas appeared in sight. A "look out" had been on the watch for the last three days, waiting to announce the approach of the expected messenger from London, and each night a beacon fire had been lighted, that in the darkness he might not pa.s.s by. But no messenger came, and anxiety was beginning to make itself apparent on more faces than one when the two lovers espied the fast-approaching rider, and proclaimed the news to the household below.

Margaret soon joined them company. She was burning with impatience to read the long-expected missive and she eagerly watched the horseman draw nearer who was bringing her tidings from her betrothed.

"See Meg," exclaimed the overjoyed Dorothy, "thither he comes!" and she pointed to a cloud of dust in the far distance, in the midst of which might be seen every now and again the indistinct form of a horse and its rider.

"Maybe he will pa.s.s by," exclaimed Manners.

"Not he!" scornfully replied Margaret, "he will none pa.s.s by. None other than a messenger to Haddon would ride like that. The steed is hard put to it; surely it is near its journey's end."

"Well, we shall soon see," interposed Doll, "he is making good speed."

It was as Dorothy said. Even while they had been talking, the rider had considerably lessened the distance which separated him from the Hall, and, had it not been for the dim twilight which was then slowly deepening, they would have been enabled to distinguish more than they had already done.

"He rides well," said Margaret, more to herself than to either of the others. "Methinks I know that ride."

"'Tis like Crowleigh's," said Manners.

"But Sir Everard is with Father Philip. It cannot be him," returned Dorothy.

"There is but one man who bestrides a saddle in such a fashion,"

exclaimed Margaret, as she carefully scanned the horseman. "But no! it cannot be so. I thought it was Sir----"

"Sir Thomas Stanley," exclaimed Dorothy, taking the words out of her sister's mouth.

"I thought it was he," she confessed; "and see," she added, raising her voice, "it is Sir Thomas; I thought it was," and she left the lovers as she had found them, and hastened down, greatly excited, to meet her own beloved, and not without some feelings of dismay at seeing him return alone.

Leaving the succeeding scene to be imagined rather than described, we will hark back to Sir George at Derby.

He accomplished his business more expeditiously than he had antic.i.p.ated, and in a very brief s.p.a.ce of time started out of the town, hoping with a hope soon to be dispelled that he might, perchance, overtake Sir Thomas.

Without a halt he arrived at Matlock at just about the same time as his companion reached Haddon, and reining up his steed at the village inn close by the churchyard, he alighted for a short rest and some refreshment ere he finished what remained of his journey.

He was well known here, and his peremptory commands were obeyed with the utmost alacrity.

His first enquiry was about Sir Thomas Stanley, and he learned to his satisfaction that he had pa.s.sed safely through there a good hour or so before.

"In good sooth, your lordship is surely going no further to-night,"

exclaimed the host, as Sir George made the preliminary preparation for resuming his journey.

"Tut, man, why not? Of course I shall."

"Your horse is stabled," responded the landlord; "surely you will not attempt to ride further to-night."