"When you get me there," rejoined Rob, in defiant tone, as he spoke pulling from under the breast of his doublet a long-bladed knife, and setting himself firm for defence.

This was unexpected by the King's officer, who had not thought or dreamt of resistance. It was there, however, in sure, stern shape, and he felt himself committed to overcoming it. With a p.r.i.c.k of his spur he sprang his horse forward, and straight at Rob, as though he would ride over him, his sword held ready for either cut or thrust.

But neither gave he, nor could. As the horse's head came close to him, the Colossus lunged out with long arm, and sent the point of his knife into the animal's nostrils, which caused it to rear up and round, squealing with pain. This brought its rider's back towards the man who had p.r.i.c.ked it; and before he could wheel again, Reginald Trevor was in the embrace of him he had jokingly called giant--realising that he had the strength of one, as he was himself dragged out of his saddle.

But they were not the only combatants in the quarry. For, following his master, the servant had made to a.s.sist him in his a.s.sault against the big man, taking no note of the big woman, or fancying she would not interfere. In which fancy he was sadly mistaken. For in scrimmage his back becoming turned upon her, as if taking pattern by Rob, she sprang up, caught hold of the lightweight groom, and jerked him to the ground, easily as she would have pulled a bantam c.o.c.k from out one of the Jink.u.m's panniers.

In less than threescore seconds after the affair began, Reginald Trevor and his attendant were unhorsed, disarmed, and held as in the hug of a couple of bears.

"I'll let ye go," said Rob to his prisoner, after some rough handling, "when ye say you won't take advantage o' my gen'rosity by renewin' the attack. Bah!" he added, without waiting for response, "I'll put that out o' yer power."

Saying which, he caught up the officer's sword, and broke it across his knee, at the same time releasing him. The blade of the attendant was treated likewise, and both master and man were permitted to rise to their feet, feeling vanquished as weaponless.

"You can take yourselves off," sneeringly said the deer-stealer; "an' as ye talked 'bout bein' in Ross 'fore nightfall, you'll do well to make quick time."

Not a word spoke Reginald Trevor in reply, nor thanks for the mercy shown him. Too angry was he for that; his anger holding him speechless because of its very impotence. In sullen silence he regained the bridle of his horse--like himself having lost spirit by copious bleeding of the nose--climbed back into the saddle, and continued on down Cat's Hill, his varlet behind him, both swordless, and yet more crestfallen than when they rode out through the gate of Hollymead Park.

"We're in for it now, Win," said Rob, to the cadger's sister, after seeing them depart. "An' we've got to look out for danger. I'm sorry 'bout you havin' to share it; but maybe 'twon't be so much, after all.

Once Sir Richard gets here, an' the fightin' begins, as it surely must soon, trust me for takin' care o' ye."

"I will--I do, Rob!"

And again the great arms were thrown around his neck, while upon his lips were showered a very avalanche of kisses.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

LOOKING FORWARD TO A FIGHT.

Some truth was there in the report that had reached Rob Wilde, of the King being chased out of London. Though not literally chased, after his display in the House of Commons, ludicrous as unconst.i.tutional, he found the metropolis too hot for him. Moreover, there was a whisper about impeaching the Queen; and this arch _intrigante_, notwithstanding her high notions of Royal right, was now in a fit of Royal trembles.

Strafford had lost his head, Laud was in prison, likely to lose his; how knew she but that those bloodthirsty islanders might bring her own under the axe? They had done as much for a Queen more beautiful than she.

Mobs daily paraded the streets, pa.s.sing the Palace; the cry, "No bishops!" came in through its windows, and Charles trembled as he thought of his father's significant epigram, "No bishop, no king." So out of Whitehall they slipped--first to Windsor to pack up; the Queen, in fine, clearing out of the country, by Dover, to Holland.

It was a backstairs "skedaddle" with her; carrying off as much plunder as she could in the scramble--chests of jewels of unknown but fabulous value, as that represented as having been found in the isle of Monte Cristo. Enough, at all events, to hold Court abroad; maintain regal surroundings; even raise an army for the reconquest and re-enslavement of the people she had plundered.

It is unpleasant to reflect on such things, far more having to speak of them. Sad to think that though England is two centuries and a half older since Charles Stuart and Henrietta de Medici did all in their power to outrage her people and rob them of their rights, this same people is to-day not a wit the wiser. The late Liberal victory, as it is called, may be urged as contradicting this allegation; but against that is to be set the behaviour of England's people, as represented by their Parliament for the last six years, sanctioning and endorsing deeds that have brought a blight on the nation's name, and a cloud over its character, it will take centuries to clear off. And against that, too, the spirit which seems likely will pervade in this new Legislative a.s.sembly, and the action it will take. When the Long Parliament commenced its sittings, the patriots composing it never dreamt of letting crime go unpunished. Instead, their first thoughts and acts were to bring the betrayers of their country to account. "Off with his head--so much for Strafford!"

"To the Tower with Laud and the twelve recalcitrant bishops!"

"Clear out the Star Chamber and High Commission Court!" "Abolish monopolies, Loans of Privy Seal, Ship-tax, Coal and Conduit money, with the other iniquitous imposts!" And, _presto_! all this was done as by the wand of a magician, though it was the good genius then guiding the destinies of England. Off went Strafford's head; to the Tower was taken Laud; and the infamous royal edicts of a decade preceding were swept from the statute-book, as by a wet sponge pa.s.sed over the score of a tapster's slate.

What do we see now? What hear? A new Parliament entering on power under circ.u.mstances so like those that ushered in the "Long" as to seem almost the same. And a Ministry gone out who have outraged the nation as much as did the Straffords, Digbys, and Lauds. But how different the action taken towards them! No Bill of Attainder talked of, no word of impeachment, not even a whisper about voting want of confidence.

Instead of being sent to a prison, as the culprits of 1640, they of 1880 walk out of office and away, with a free, jaunty step and air of bold effrontery, blazoned with decorations and brand new t.i.tles bestowed on them--a very shower, as the sparks from a Catherine wheel!

Verily was the lot of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, laid in unlucky times. Had he lived in these days, so far from losing his head, it would have been surmounted by a ducal coronet. And Laud, already at the top of the ecclesiastical tree, with no possibility of hoisting him to higher earthly honours, would have had heavenly ones bestowed on him by being enrolled among the saints.

Though merely writing a romance, who will say that in this matter I am romancing? The man that does must be what Sir Richard Walwyn p.r.o.nounced him who is not a Republican; and back to Sir Richard's _dictum_ I refer him.

Soon as Charles had got his Queen safe out of harm's way, he betook himself to York, there to enter upon more energetic action. For there he felt safer himself, surrounded by a host of hot partisans. In political sentiment, what a curious reversion has taken place since then between the capitals of the North and South--almost an exchange! Then York was all Royalist, and as a consequence filled with the foes of Liberty; London full of its friends. Now the former has mounted to the very hill-top of Liberal aspiration; the latter sunk into the slough of a shameful retrogression!

But the thing is easily explained. Those who dwell in the kingdom's capital are nearer to the source of contamination. There Bung and Beadledom, with their vested rights, hold sway; there the scribblers who wear plush find encouragement and promotion; while the corrupting influence of modern finance has nursed into life and strength a swarm of gamblers in stocks, promoters of bubble companies, tricksters in trade, and music-hall cads--a sorry replacement of the honest mercers and trusty apprentices of the Parliamentary times.

Once separated from his Parliament, the King had an instinct that all friendly intercourse between it and himself would soon be at an end; this nursed into conviction by the Hertfords, Digbys, and other like "chicks" who formed his _entourage_. Active became he now in adopting precautions, and taking measures to sustain himself in the struggle that was imminent. And now more industrious than ever in the way of money raising; anew granting monopolies, and sending letters of Privy Seal all over the land, wherever there seemed a chance of enforcing their demands--for demands were they, as we have seen. To Sir John Wintour had been entrusted some scores of these precious epistles, with authority to deliver them, collect the proceeds, and send them on to replenish the royal exchequer; and it was one such Reginald Trevor saw torn into sc.r.a.ps on the porch of Hollymead House.

This same Sir John was what Scotchmen would call a "canny chiel."

Courtier, and private secretary to the Queen, he had come in for a goodly share of pilferings from the public purse; among other jobs having been endowed with the stewardship of the Forest of Dean, with all its privileges and perquisites. Appointed one of the Commissioners of Array for West Gloucestershire, he had built him a large mansion in the neighbourhood of Lydney--the White House as called--though it is not there now, he with his own hand having afterwards set the torch to it.

But then, on the clearing out of the Court from London, Sir John had cleared out too, going to his country residence by Severn's side, which he at once set about placing in a state of defence. None more clearly than he foresaw the coming storm.

It seemed to him near now when Reginald Trevor returned to the White House and reported his reception at Hollymead, with the defiant message to himself and his King. But Sir John was not a man of hot pa.s.sions or hasty resolves. Long experience as a courtier had taught him to subdue his temper, or, at all events, the exhibition of it. So, instead of bursting forth into a furious display, he quietly observed,--

"Don't trouble yourself, Captain Trevor, about what Ambrose Powell has said or done. It won't help his case any. But," he added reflectingly, "there seems no particular call for haste in this business. Besides, I'm expecting an addition to the strength of our little garrison.

To-morrow, or it may be the day after, we shall have with us a man, if I mistake not, known to you."

"Who, Sir John?"

"Colonel Thomas Lunsford."

"Oh! certainly; I know Lunsford well. He was my superior officer in the northern expedition."

"Ah! yes; now I remember. Well; I have word of his being _en route_ hither with some stanch followers. When he has reported himself, allowing a day or two for rest, we'll beat up the quarters of this recusant, and make him repent his seditious speech. As for the money, he shall pay that, every pound, or I'll squeeze it out of him, if there's stock on the Hollymead estate, or chattels in his house worth so much."

There was something in the "recusant's" house Reginald Trevor thought worth far more--one of the recusant's daughters. Of that, however, he made no mention. To speak of it lay not in the line of his duties; and even thinking of it was now not near so sweet as it had been hitherto.

Little as he liked Colonel Lunsford, he would that night have been glad of him for a boon companion--in the bowl to help drown the bitter remembrance of his adventures of the preceding day.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A HAWKING PARTY.

"Hooha-ha-ha-ha!"

The cry of the falconer, followed by a whistle, as the hawks were unleashed and cast-off.

Away went they, jesses trailing, and bells tinkling, in buoyant upward flight. For the heron that had risen out of the sedge, intending retreat to its heronry, at sight of the enemy after it, suddenly changed direction, and was now making for upper air with all its might of wing.

The hawks were a _cast_ of "peregrines" of the best strain. In perfect training, it needed no repet.i.tion of the _hooha-ha-ha-ha_ to encourage them; for, as soon as their hoods were off, they had sighted the enemy, and shot like arrows after it.

At first their flight was direct--a _raking off_--but in drawing nearer the doomed bird it changed to gyrations as they essayed to mount above it. The heron, in a phrenzy of fright, uttered its harsh "craigh,"

disgorged the contents of its crop, with a view of lightening itself, and made a fresh effort to escape skyward. In vain! The falcons, with quicker stroke of wing, notwithstanding their spiral course, were soon seen soaring over it. Then the foremost--for one was ahead--having gained the proper height, with spread "train," and quivering "sails,"

poised herself for the "_stoop_." Only a second; then down swooped she at the quarry, "arm" outstretched and "pounces" set for _raking_ it.

The attempt was unsuccessful. Rarely is heron touched at the first stoop. Unwieldy, and sluggish of flight as the creature may appear, it has a wonderful capacity for quickly turning, and can long elude hawk or falcon, if there be but one. When doubly a.s.sailed, however, by a _cast_, of trained peregrines, it is at a disadvantage, not having time to recover itself from the stoop of the one till the other is upon it.

So was it with this. In an instant after, the second shot down upon it with a squeal, the heron again giving out its "craigh," and then the two, hawk and heron, were seen clinging together. For this time the bird of prey had not attempted to _rake_ but _bind_; and bound were they, the pounces of the falcon stuck fast in the flesh of its victim.

Then followed a convulsive flapping of wings, the two pairs beating against one another, soon to be joined by a third; for, meanwhile, the first falcon having soared up again, once more poised herself and stooped, she also binding to the common quarry.