"My father still gave me instruction in fencing, wrestling, the use of the broad-sword; but he gave them and I received them languidly. At length, one day, he said to me, 'Edward, you are sad, my boy; and it is time you should resume your studies. I shall be very lonely without you; but I think it will be better for you to go over to good Dr.

Winthorne's, whom you love so well, and who, I am sure, will receive you as a pupil. We shall only be fifteen miles apart, and I can see you often.'

"I made no objection, for Buckley had grown odious to me: every thing there revived regrets: and in about a week I was quietly installed in the neat and roomy parsonage, the glebe and garden of which were bounded by the same stream which ran past the old house in which I was born. It had been there a brawling stream; but here, some ten miles farther down upon its winding course, it had become a slow and somewhat wide river.

"I wish I had time to tell you how I learned, and what I learned, under the good clergyman's instruction. He had his own notions--and very peculiar notions--in every thing. Latin and Greek he taught me; but he taught me French and Italian too,--and taught them all at once. His lessons were very short, for it was his maxim never to weary attention; but he took especial care that my bodily faculties should not lose any thing for want of exercise. He would say that he had known very clever hunchbacks and very learned and ingenious lame men, but that each of them had some peculiarity of judgment which showed that a straight intellect seldom inhabited a crooked body, or a strong mind a feeble one. He would make me wrestle and play at quoits and cudgels with plough-boys, shoot with the gamekeepers of neighboring estates, ride my pony over a rough country and dangerous leaps, and himself lead the way.

He was a devout man, notwithstanding, and was highly esteemed by his parishioners, and by a small circle of n.o.ble gentlemen, to some of whom he was allied and who were not unfrequent guests at the parsonage. All this went on for about nine months, a considerable part of which time my father was absent from Buckley, travelling, as they said, for his health, in Italy, where he had spent some years when quite a young man.

At length, when he returned, I went home to pa.s.s some time with him; but I found him not alone."

"Had he married again so early?" asked Clement Tournon, with a look of consternation.

"Oh, no!" replied Master Ned: "he never married again; but there was a young gentleman with him, some twenty-one or twenty-two years of age, tall, very handsome, but with a dark and heavy brow, which almost spoiled his beauty. He spoke English with a strong foreign accent, and had altogether the appearance of a foreigner. I naturally presumed he was a guest, and treated him as such; but it was evident that he was an exceedingly favored guest, and all the servants seemed to pay him the most profound attention. I know not why, but I speedily began to dislike him: perhaps it was a certain sort of patronizing air he a.s.sumed toward me,--not exactly that of an elder to a younger person, but that of a superior to an inferior. My father's conduct, too, was very strange. He did not introduce the visitor to me by name, but presented me to him, saying, 'My son Edward,' and during the rest of the day called him simply Richard. On the following morning I detected--or fancied I detected--the servants looking at me, watching me with an appearance of interest that almost amounted to compa.s.sion. They were all very fond of me, and each seemed to regard Master Ned--the only name I went by--as his own child; but when they now gazed upon me there was an air of vexation--almost of pity--on their faces, and once or twice I thought the old steward was about to tell me something of importance in private; but he broke off, and turned his conversation to common subjects.

"All this, however, was so disagreeable to me, that, after having stayed two days at Buckley, I returned to my old preceptor's house at Applethorpe, feeling more wretched than I had felt since the first sad shock of my mother's death.

"The same night, after supper, Dr. Winthorne questioned me closely as to my visit, and asked what had caused me to return so soon. Whether he saw any thing in my manner, or had heard of any thing from others, I did not know; but I told him all frankly, and he fell into a fit of thought which lasted till bedtime. On the following morning my studies, my exercises, and my amus.e.m.e.nts were renewed with increased activity. There was something more I wished to forget, as well as the irreparable loss of my mother; and I left not one moment unemployed. It was now the month of May, and the season had been both cold and rainy; but I never suffered either cold or rain, either snow or sleet, to keep me within-doors; and no naked Indian could be more hardy than I was. At length, some warm skies, with flying clouds and showers, came to cheer us; and, with my rod in my hand, I sallied forth one morning early to lure the speckled tyrants of the stream out of the water. I walked on with good success for about two miles, and arrived at a shadowy reach of the river, where it lapsed into some deep pools, and then, tumbling over a shelf of rock in a miniature cascade, rushed on deep and strong toward the east. I have said I was early; but there was some one there before me. A powerful-looking man, of some four or five and twenty years of age, was wading the stream with a rod in his hand and a pair of funnel-shaped boots upon his legs. Where he stood, the water did not come much above his knees; but I knew that a little farther on it deepened, and the bed of the stream was full of holes, in which the finest trout usually lay; but the stranger seemed a skilful angler, and, I doubted not, knew the river as well as I did. Not to disturb his sport, I sat quietly down on the bank and watched him. He was not very prepossessing in appearance, for his features were large and coa.r.s.e, and though there was a certain sort of dignity about his carriage, yet his form was more that of a man accustomed to robust labor than to the more graceful sports of a gentleman. However, as I was gazing, he hooked a large fish, apparently somewhat too stout for his tackle; and, to prevent the trout from getting among the roots and stones while he played him, the fisherman kept stepping backward, with his face toward me and his back toward the deep run and the pool. 'Take care! take care!' I cried. But my warning came too late: his feet were already on the ridge of rock, and the next instant he fell over into the very deepest part of the water. He rose instantly, but whether he was seized with cramp, or that his large heavy boots filled with water, I know not; but he sank again at once with a loud cry, and I ran along the ridge of stone to give him help. The stream was much swollen with the late rains, and even there it was running very strong, so that I could hardly keep my footing; but I contrived to get to a spot near which he was just rising again, and held out the thickest end of my rod to him. It was barely within his reach; but he grasped it with one hand so sharply as almost to pull me over into the pool with him. I got my feet between two large ma.s.ses of stone, however, and pulled hard, drawing him toward me till he could get hold of the rock with his hands. His safety was then easily insured; and I only remarked two things peculiar in his demeanor: one was, that he never thanked me; and the other, that in all the struggle he had contrived to retain his fishing-rod.

"'Can you not swim?' he asked, as soon as we had both reached the bank.

I answered in the negative, and he added, 'Learn to swim. Please G.o.d, it may save your life some day. Learn to swim.' I offered to take him up to the parsonage that he might dry his clothes; but he refused, not very civilly; and then he asked my name, looking me very steadily in the face, without the slightest expression of grat.i.tude for the aid I had rendered him, and no trace of either agitation or trouble from the danger he had run. 'You have kept your rod,' I said, 'but you have broken your line.'

"'I never let go my hold,' he answered; 'but, as you say, I have broken my line and lost my fish. Are you Sir Richard Langdale's son, the man up at Buckley?' I answered that I was, and in a few minutes after we parted. I did not forget his advice, however, for a part of every day during that summer I pa.s.sed in the water, learning and practising the art of swimming, till none could swim better or longer. I have never seen that man since; but he has fully repaid my service by inducing me to learn that which has more than once been of great service to me.

"It was the month of October before I once more visited Buckley; and then my father sent for me. I found the same young man still there whom I had seen on my former visit; but now my father removed all doubt of who he was, by saying, 'Edward, it is time that you should know that this is your brother Richard,--your elder brother.'

"I need not dwell upon the mortification and annoyance which this announcement caused me. I was very young, as you may know when I tell you that this occurred about five years ago, and, though of a somewhat sensitive character, I might have thought little of the matter after the first shock, had my brother's manner pleased me, had he shown kindness or affection for me. But, with a sort of presentiment of what he was to become, I disliked him from the first; and he repaid me well, treating me with a sort of supercilious coldness I could not bear. On the morning of the fourth day, when he had gone out fowling with a number of servants and dogs, I went into my father's chamber and announced to him my intention of going back that morning to pursue my studies with good Dr. Winthorne. Perhaps my tone was somewhat too decided and imperative for one so young toward his father; but it certainly was respectful, and my father did not oppose my purpose. He merely spoke--almost in an apologetic manner--of my brother and myself, intimated that he saw my annoyance, and, attributing it to motives which had never crossed my mind, added, 'You will have fortune enough, Ned. You surely need not grudge your brother his share.' I did not reply; but his words set me musing, and, an hour after, I left Buckley and returned to Applethorpe.

There, as before, I told my worthy preceptor all that had occurred, and he somewhat censured my conduct, but at the same time condoled with and comforted me. 'This young man,' he said, 'must be the son of an Italian lady, to whom, according to a vague rumor current about the time your father married your mother, he had been previously wedded in her own country. It was said her relations had separated her from him on account of his religion and had shut her up in a convent, where she had died of grief. What he said about your fortune being sufficient, alluded of course to the Buckley estate, which, being derived from your mother, must descend to you.'

"'I never thought of fortune,' I answered, 'and should be glad to have a brother whom I could love; but I cannot like this young man.'

"I had now seen my father for the last time in life. A quarrel, it would seem, took place between him and one of the gentlemen of the neighborhood, and about six months after the period of my visit they met and fought. Both were good swordsmen; and my father killed his adversary on the spot. He was much wounded in the encounter, however, and died some four-and-twenty hours after. Sir Richard, his son, had not thought fit to send for me; but, as soon as the news reached Applethorpe, Dr.

Winthorne went over with me to Buckley. There a scene took place which I shall never think of without pain. My brother's whole thoughts were of the rich succession which had fallen to him. He had four or five lawyers with him, some from the country, others brought post-haste from London.

He claimed the whole estates,--Buckley, and all that it contained; and his lawyers showed that, the estate having fallen to my mother after her marriage, without any deed of settlement having reserved it to herself and her heirs, it had pa.s.sed in pure possession to my father, and descended to his eldest son. There was some dispute between him and Dr.

Winthorne, who, with the village attorney, advocated my cause warmly; but in the end the good clergyman took my arm, saying, 'Come away, Edward: there are too many bad feelings here already: there will be more if we stay. Your brother, who strips you of your mother's fortune because she perhaps trusted too far his father and yours, cannot deprive you of Malden farm, which was left you by your great-uncle. Indeed, I will not believe that your father did not intend to do you justice. His last words to you implied it; and probably, Mr. Sykes, Sir Richard did make a will, which we must leave you to have produced, if there be one.'

"These last words were addressed to my firm friend, the village lawyer, who, though aged and a good deal deformed, wanted no energy. He had always loved my mother, and whenever I could I had sent him game and fish. I always see him when I am in England. But no will was ever found: proofs of my father's marriage to the Signora Laura Scotti were produced, and also of her death some five years before the marriage of my mother, and my brother Richard remained possessed of all that had once seemed destined for me. He found the property greatly enc.u.mbered, it is true, paid no debt that he could by any means evade, and, being naturally of a profuse and luxurious disposition, soon found it necessary to sell much plate and jewels, many of which, beyond doubt, were my mother's own. Among the rest must have gone the cup I saw last night. As for myself, the little farm of Malden was all that was left me, the annual income of which is not quite two hundred pounds a year,--enough, perhaps, for any right ambition; but I had been educated in high expectations, and I had received a shock which changed, or seemed to change, my whole nature.

"One night, when we had been talking of these things, Dr. Winthorne laid his hand upon my shoulder, saying, 'Ned, you must make yourself a name and an estate. There are two courses before you: either pursue your studies vigorously for a few years, and then go to the university and push your fortunes in the Church or at the bar, or put yourself in the way of another sort of advancement, and mingle in the strife of courts and camps. You have talent for the one if you choose to embrace it; your animal qualities may fit you for the other. If the latter be your choice, among my n.o.ble kinsfolks I can put you on the entrance of the road; but you are not a boy who can remain idle. Think over it till to-morrow at this hour; and then tell me of your resolve.'

"My determination was soon formed. I could not make up my mind, especially with the feelings that were then busy in me, to devote myself to mere dry and thoughtful studies; and I chose the more active scenes.

The very next night Dr. Winthorne wrote to the Lord Montagu, distantly related to his mother, and in about two months after I received the appointment of gentleman-page in his household, the only path now open in England to honor and renown. In this career I have met with many vicissitudes, and have learned much in a harsher and sterner school than that of good Dr. Winthorne. I have not suffered, I trust, in mind or in body, and, if my character has been hardened, I do believe the change took place, not in the four last years of action and endeavor, but in the few months of suffering and endurance which immediately preceded and followed my father's death. Let it not be thought, my excellent friend, that in any thing I have said I wished to cast a reproach upon his memory. I am sure that he intended to secure to me what by right and equity was mine, whatever mere law may say; but probably the duel in which he fell was hasty; and it was a habit of his mind to put off both consideration and action as long as he could. Thought was a labor that troubled him, and he often would not see dangers because reflection upon the best way of meeting them would have been painful. As to my brother, I have never seen him again: I hear he has returned to Italy, there to spend what remains to him of his wealth. Thus, you see that, though that cup is mine by right, it is no more mine by law than the estate of Buckley, which has gone from me forever."

The old merchant mused, and Lucette exclaimed, eagerly, that Sir Richard Langdale's conduct was cruel and unjust; but Master Ned answered, very mildly,--more so, indeed, than he might have done had not sickness softened him,--"There is much that is both cruel and unjust in the law; but, when I think of the contrast between my home before and after he appeared in it, and when I think of what my own heart was before and after he put his icy hand upon it, how he took from it its gentleness, and its kindness, and its confidence, I cannot but believe he has been cruel, and, though the same blood may and does flow in our veins, his is mingled with another stream, which is noway akin to mine."

"You must take that cup, Master Edward," said the syndic. "I cannot keep it in conscience. Every time I saw it in the cupboard, I should----" But his sentence was broken in upon, and all discussion stopped, by the entrance of Marton, introducing a stout man in plain travelling-attire, who was a stranger at least to Edward Langdale.

CHAPTER VIII.

The old syndic did not seem to know much more of his visitor than Edward Langdale; but he called him Master Jean Baptiste, and asked him what news from Niort.

"Nothing very good, monsieur," answered the stranger: "half a league more of the Papist lines is finished, and it is hard to get through. It was all done so quick and so quietly, no one knew any thing of it till the day before yesterday, when some troops and a large supply of flour were sent down to Ferriac."

"And where is the king himself?" demanded Clement Tournon, somewhat anxiously.

"He is still at Nantes," replied the visitor. "But I want some talk with you, Mr. Syndic, when I can have it alone; and it must be to-night, too, for I have to go on by to-morrow at daybreak, if I can get a boat."

The old man at once raised a candlestick from the table and led the stranger into another room, while Lucette and Edward remained together.

Now, the most natural thing in the world for a young lad between sixteen and seventeen, and a young girl a year or two younger, when so thrown upon their own resources, would have been to make love, or, at least, to fall into it; and there was also a strong incentive in the grat.i.tude Edward felt for all Lucette's kind nursing and all the interest which Lucette had taken in his illness and recovery. But the truth must be told. They did not make love in any of the many ways in which that article is prepared in any of the kingdoms of the earth. Moreover, they did not fall in love in the least. I am sorry for it; for of all the sweet and charming things which this world produces, that which is scornfully called calf's love is the sweetest and most charming. If it has really any thing to do with a calf at all, it is the sweetbread. Oh, that early love! that early love! how pure, and tender, and soft, and timid, and bright, and fragrant, it is! It is the opening of the rose-bud of life, which may in after-times display warmer colors, give forth more intense odor, but loses in delicacy and grace with every petal that unfolds. But, as I have said, the truth must be told. They neither talked of love nor thought of love, although Lucette was very beautiful and believed Edward Langdale to be very handsome. She merely made him describe to her the scenes in which his youth had been spent.

She talked to him of his mother, too; and he told her how sweetly that mother had sung, and said to her that Lady Langdale's voice was very like her own; and then he besought her to sing to him again; and she sang to please him; and they fell into thought, and spoke of a thousand things more, in which the reader would take no manner of interest, but which interested them so much that, when Clement Tournon returned, they fancied he had been gone but a few minutes; and he had been absent an hour and a half.

His visitor did not come back with him, for he had taken some supper and retired to rest; but the good old syndic's brow was gloomy, and the news he had received, whatever it was, did not seem to have been very favorable.

"To bed, to bed, Lucette!" said the old man: "we must not keep Master Ned up late o' night. He will soon have to go travelling again; and he must gather strength."

Lucette did not receive the intelligence that Ned must soon depart very sadly, though she would have very well liked him to stay. She laughed and kissed the old man, and ran away; but the syndic silently took hold of the youth's hand and prevented him from retiring till the bright girl was gone. "Stay a minute," he said, at length. "I have something to speak to you about. How do you feel your strength and health to-night?"

"Oh, much improved," replied Master Ned. "I shall be as strong as ever in a couple of days."

"That is well! that is well!" said Clement Tournon. "And whither do you turn your steps when you leave Roch.e.l.le?"

"I have to traverse the whole of France, and even to approach close to Paris," answered Master Ned; "for the end of my journey, as far as I yet know, is to be at Dammartin. First, however, I must go to Mauze, where, I hear, the Duc de Rohan and Monsieur de Soubise are to be found. I have letters for each."

The reply seemed to puzzle the old man a little, for he shook his head, saying, "It will not do."

"Have they left Mauze?" asked Edward. "This illness has been very unfortunate."

"If you do not find them there, you will hear of them," answered the syndic. "What I mean is, you cannot get straight to Mauze. Things have changed since you arrived, my son. The Papist troops are between us and Mauze; and you will have to make a long deviation from your way and come upon the castle from the north."

"So be it!" said Master Ned. "If we can but have a fair wind, we can get to Marans, and, running up the Sevres, reach Mauze from the north. It is not much longer, if I recollect right. I would embark to-morrow morning, but I have still some preparations to make."

"You seem to know the country well, my son," said the old man, "and your scheme is a good one. But what preparations can you have to make?--not, indeed, that I would have you go too soon, lest your health should suffer. I should think as soon as you feel strong enough you will be all ready."

"Not quite, Monsieur Tournon," answered the lad. "I must follow my orders, and those I have are very reasonable commands. I have, as I just said, to cross three-quarters of France, which I could not do as an Englishman, since these last troubles, without a safe-conduct. One has been procured for me, however, from young Sir Peter Apsley, who obtained it in order to go to Geneva to study. He has changed his mind since, and I am to represent him; but, as there are mentioned in the paper a page and two servants, I must engage such followers of the most trusty character I can find. I have already got Pierrot la Grange, who is an adept at masquerading, and I did think of bribing Jargeau to accompany me; but I had some suspicions of him before I landed, and soon found that he is treacherous. I must therefore look for a man and a boy here to-morrow; and you must help me, my good father, for it is of much consequence that they should be trusty."

"They will soon be found," answered the syndic; "but I fear me you will be soon discovered, my son. This cardinal has eyes in every quarter, and almost, I might say, in every house. As to the page, I may have to think a little," and then he added, musingly: "Did pages wear long tunics, as in my young days, Lucette might do; but I doubt whether she would put on boys' clothes as they are worn now."

"Lucette!" exclaimed Edward Langdale, in a tone of unfeigned astonishment. "That would never do. She could not ride half through France at the pace I should have to go; and besides----But tell me, in the name of Heaven, could you part with her so easily and on such a journey?"

The old syndic smiled faintly, saying, "I could and must part with her whenever it is for her good, my son; but I did not propose she should go with you farther than Mauze, where you would have to find another page.

There she must go before Sat.u.r.day, as I will explain. Listen; for it is fit you should know all that is going on here, that you may tell it to those whom you are about to see. I will make it all clear to you, and then I will go and consult my pillow till to-morrow morning. The king and the cardinal are determined to crush out Roch.e.l.le. We have stood a siege here before, and may perhaps do so now,--though I do not think it, for Richelieu is not following the rash measures of those who went before him. He has been hovering over this devoted city like an eagle over a hare half hidden in the brushwood, and now he is ready to swoop.

They say that he and King Louis have been stayed at Nantes by some troubles in the court; but nothing is neglected: day by day the troops are gathering round, and we are now wellnigh hemmed in by land. The sea is still open to us; but I have learned from a sure hand this night that the cardinal has gathered together a navy of small armed vessels in all the neighboring ports,--Rochefort, Marennes, Royan, Bourgneuf, Painboeuf, and others. They will soon be off our harbor,--on Monday next, they say; and though, thank Heaven, we have ships and good ones, yet in point of numbers we are nothing. The foolish men of what they call the French party refused, as you know, to give entrance to the Earl of Denbigh's fleet, which would have kept the sea open to us and insured us against blockade forever. But, as things stand now, I cannot expose a girl like Lucette to the horrors of a siege with probably no escape.

Indeed, every useless mouth we can remove from Roch.e.l.le the better for us; and, besides, those who have a right have required me to send her out of the city without loss of time."

"Had you not better go with her yourself?" asked Master Ned.

"I will not run away from my post," answered the syndic. "I once could have struck a good blow in defence of my native city; and, though that is past, I can still aid her with counsel. Besides, where could I go?