The man signified a.s.sent.

"I promise you I will do so. I will take him into my own family, and he shall share with us."

The man raised his hand again, and a gleam of joy pa.s.sed over his features, as he took the hand of the lad and put it into that of Edward. His eyes were then fixed upon Edward as if to scrutinize into his character by his features, while the former bathed his temples and washed the blood from his mouth with the water brought by the boy, who appeared in a state of grief so violent as to paralyze his senses. After a minute or two, another effusion of blood choked the wounded man, who, after a short struggle, fell back dead.

"He is gone!" thought Edward, "and now what is to be done? I must first ascertain whether the two villains are dead or not. Edward took a light and examined the body of Ben, lying over the threshold of the door; the man was quite dead, the ball having entered his brain. He was proceeding round the outside of the cottage to examine the state of the other man, whom he had shot himself; but the wind nearly blew out the light, and he therefore returned to the chamber and placed it on the floor, near to where the boy lay insensible over the corpse of the man who had died in the arms of Edward; and then went out without a light, and with his gun, to the other side of the cottage, where the other robber had fallen. As he approached the man, a faint voice was heard to say-

"Ben, Ben! some water, for the love of G.o.d! Ben, I'm done for!"

Edward, without giving an answer, went back to the room for the water, which he took round to the man, and put it to his lips; he felt that he was bound by humanity so to do to a dying man, scoundrel though he might be. It was still dark, but not so dark as it had previously been, for the late moon was just rising.

The man drank the water eagerly, and said, "Ben, I can speak now, but I shan't long." He then pulled the basin toward him again, and after he had drank, ho said, in broken sentences, "I feel-that I'm bleeding-to death-inside." Then he paused. "You know the oak-struck by lightning-a mile north-of this. Oh! I'm going fast. Three yards from it south-I buried all my-money; it's yours. Oh! another drink!" The man again attempted to drink out of the basin proffered by Edward, but as he made the attempt, he fell back with a groan.

Edward perceiving that he was dead, returned to the cottage to look after the lad, who still remained prostrate and embracing the corpse in the chamber. Edward then reflected upon what had best be done. After a time, he decided upon dragging away the body of the robber named Ben outside of the threshold, and then securing the door. This, with some trouble, he effected, and he then made fast the window that had been forced open behind. Before he removed the boy, who lay with his face buried on the corpse, and appeared to be in a state of insensibility, Edward examined the corpse as it lay. Although plainly dressed, yet it was evident that it was not the body of a rustic; the features were fair, and the beard was carefully cut; the hands were white, and the fingers long, and evidently had never been employed in labor. That the body was that of some superior person disguised as a rustic, was evident, and this was corroborated by the conversation which took place between the two robbers. "Alas!" thought Edward, "the family of Arnwood appear not to be the only people who are in disguise in this forest. That poor boy! he must not remain there." Edward looked round, and perceived that there was a bed in the adjoining room, the door of which was open; he lifted up the boy, and carried him, still insensible, into the room, and laid him on the bed. He then went for some more water, which he found and threw into his face, and poured a little into his mouth. Gradually the boy stirred, and recovered from his stupor, and then Edward held the water to his mouth, and made him drink some, which he did; and then, suddenly aroused to a recollection of what had pa.s.sed, the boy gave a shriek of woe, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. This ended in convulsive sobbings and low moanings. Edward felt that he could do no more at present, and that it would be better if he was left for a time to give vent to his grief. Edward sat down on a stool by the side of the orphan, and remained for some time in deep and melancholy thought. "How strange," thought he at last, "it is, that I should feel so little as I do now, surrounded by death, compared to what I did when good old Jacob Armitage died! Then I felt it deeply, and there was an awe in death. Now I no longer dread it. Is it because I loved the good old man, and felt that I had lost a friend? No, that can not be the cause; I may have felt more grief, but not awe or dread. Or is it because that was the first time that I had seen death, and it is the first sight of death which occasions awe? or is it because that every day I have fancied myself on the battle-field, with hundreds lying dead and wounded around me, in my dreamings? I know not. Poor old Jacob died peaceably in his bed, like a good Christian and trusting, after a blameless life, to find mercy through his Savior. Two of these who are now dead, out of the three, have been, summoned away in the height of their wickedness, and in the very commission of crime; the third has been foully murdered, and out of three lying dead, one has fallen by my own hand, and yet I feel not so much as when I attended the couch, and listened to the parting words of a dying Christian! I cannot account for it, or reason why; I only know that it is so, and I now look upon death unconcerned. Well, this is a kind of preparation for the wholesale murder and horrors of the battlefield, which I have so long sighed for: G.o.d forgive me if I am wrong! And this poor boy! I have promised to protect him, and I will. Could I fail my promise, I should imaging the spirit of his father (as I presume he was) looking down and upbraiding me. No, no, I will protect him. I and my brother and sisters have been preserved and protected, and I were indeed vile if I did not do to others as I have been done by. And now let me reflect what is to be done. I must not take the boy away, and bury the bodies; this person has friends at Lymington, and they will come here. The murder has taken place in the forest: then I must let the intendant know what has occurred. I will send over to Oswald; Humphrey shall go. Poor fellow! what a state of anxiety must he and my little sisters be in, at my not returning home! I had quite forgotten that, but it can not be helped. I will wait till sunrise, and then see if the boy will be more himself, and probably from him I shall be able to find out what part of the forest I am in."

Edward took up the candle and went into the room in which he had laid the boy on the bed. He found him in a sound sleep. "Poor fellow," said Edward, "he has for a time forgotten his misery. What a beautiful boy he is! I long to know his history. Sleep on, my poor fellow! it will do you service."

Edward then returned to the other room, and recollected, or, rather, was reminded, that he had had no supper, and it was now nearly dawn of day. He looked into a cupboard and found plenty of provisions, and some flasks of wine. "I have earned my supper," thought he, "and I will not, therefore, deny myself." So ho brought out the viands and a flask of wine, and made a hearty meal. "It is long since I have tasted wine," thought he, "and it maybe long ere I drink it again. I have little relish for it now: it is too fiery to the palate. I recollect, when a child, how my father used to have me at the table, and give me a stoup of claret, which I could hardly lift to my lips, to drink to the health of the king." The memory of the king raised other thoughts in Edward's mind, and he again sunk into one of his reveries, which lasted till he fell into a slumber. When he woke up, it was at the voice of the boy, who in his sleep had cried out "Father!" Edward started up, and found that the sun was an hour high, and that he must have slept some time. He gently opened the cottage door, looked at the bodies of the two men, and then walked out to survey the locality of the cottage, which he had but faintly made out during the night. He found that it was surrounded by a thicket of trees and underwood, so close and thick that there appeared to him no outlet in any direction. "What a place for concealment!" thought Edward, "but still these prowling thieves discovered it. Why, troops of horse might scour the forest for months, and never discover such a hiding-place." Edward walked round by the side of the thicket, to find out the track by which the robbers had entered when he followed them, and at last succeeded in doing so. He followed the path through the thicket until he was clear of it, and again in the forest; but the scenery outside was unknown to him, and he had not an idea as to what part of the forest it was in. "I must question the boy," thought Edward. "I will go back and wake him up, for it is time that I was moving." As he was again turning into the thicket, he heard a dog giving tongue, as if on a scent. It came nearer and nearer to him, and Edward remained to see what it might be. In a moment more, he perceived his own dog, Smoker, come bounding out of a neighboring copse, followed by Humphrey and Pablo. Edward hallooed. Smoker sprung toward him, leaping up, and loading him with caresses, and in another moment he was in Humphrey's arms.

"Oh, Edward, let me first thank G.o.d!" said Humphrey, as the tears started and rolled down his cheeks. "What a night we have pa.s.sed! What has happened? That dear fellow, Pablo, thought of putting Smoker on the scent; he brought out your jacket and showed it to Smoker, and gave it him to smell, and then led him along till he was on your footsteps; and the dog followed him, it seems, although it has been round and round in every direction, till at last he has brought us to you."

Edward shook hands with Pablo, and thanked him. "How far are we from the cottage, Humphrey?"

"About eight miles, I should say, Edward; not more."

"Well, I have much to tell you, and I must tell it to you in few words before I go farther, and afterward I will tell you all in detail."

Edward then gave a succinct narration of what had occurred, and, having thus prepared Humphrey and Pablo for what they were to see, led the way back through the thicket to the cottage inside of it. Humphrey and Pablo were much shocked at the scene of slaughter which presented itself to their eyes; and, after having viewed the bodies, they began to consult what had best be done.

The proposal of Edward, that Humphrey should go over and make known the circ.u.mstances to Oswald, that they might be communicated to the intendant, was readily acceded to; and Pablo, it was agreed, should go home and tell Alice and Edith that Edward was safe.

"But now, Humphrey, about this boy; we can not leave him here."

"Where is he?"

"He still sleeps, I believe. The question is, whether you should ride over with the pony, or walk, and leave Pablo to return with the pony and cart; for I will not take the boy away, or leave the house myself, without removing the property which belongs to the boy, and of which I will make inquiry when he awakes. Besides, there is money, by what the robbers stated in my hearing, which of course must be taken care of for him."

"I think it will be best for me to walk over, Edward. If I ride, I should arrive too late in the afternoon for any thing to be done till next morning, and if I walk I shall be in time enough; so that is settled. Besides, it will give you more time to remove the boy's property, which, as his father was in all probability a Malignant, and denounced man, they might think right to secure for the government."

"Very true; then be it so. Do you start for the intendant's; and, Pablo, go home and fetch the pony and cart, while I remain here with the boy, and get every thing ready."

Humphrey and Pablo both set off, and then Edward went to waken the boy, still lying on the bed.

"Come, you must get up now. You know that what's done can not be undone; and if you are a good boy, and have read the Bible, you must know that we must submit to the will of G.o.d, who is our kind father in heaven."

"Ah me!" said the boy, who was awake when Edward went to him; "I know well it is my duty, but it is a hard duty, and I am heartbroken. I have lost my father, the only friend I had in the world; who is there to love and to cherish me now? What will become of me!"

"I promised your father, before he died, that I would take care of you, my poor fellow; and a promise is sacred with me, even if it were not made to a dying man. I will do my best, depend upon it, for I have known myself what it is to want and to find a protector. You shall live with me and my brother and sisters, and you shall have all we have."

"Have you sisters, then?" replied the boy.

"Yes; I have sent for the cart to take you away from this, and to-night you shall be in our cottage; but now tell me-I do not ask who your father was, or why he was living here in secret, as I found it out by what I overheard the robbers say to one another-but how long have you lived here?"

"More than a year."

"Whose cottage is it?"

"My father bought it when he came, as he thought it safer so, that he might not be discovered or betrayed; for he had escaped from prison after having been condemned to death by the Parliament."

"Then he was a loyal man to his king?"

"Yes, he was, and that was his only crime."

"Then fear not, my good boy; we are all loyal as well as he was, and will never be otherwise. I tell you this that you may safely trust to us. Now, if the cottage was his, the furniture and property were his also?"

"Yes, all was his."

"And it is now yours, is it not?"

"I suppose so," said the boy, bursting into tears.

"Then listen to me: your father is safe from all persecution now; he is, I trust, in heaven; and you they can not touch, as you have done nothing to offend them; but still they will take possession of your father's property as soon as they know of his death, and find out who he was. This, for your sake I wish to prevent them from doing, and have therefore sent for the cart, that I may remove to my cottage every thing that is of value, that it may be held for your benefit; some day or another you may require it. The murder having been committed in the forest, and I having been a witness and, moreover, having shot one of the robbers, I have considered it right to send to the intendant of the forest, to give him notice of what has taken place within his jurisdiction. I do not think he is so bad a man as the rest; but still, when he comes here, he may consider it his duty to take possession of every thing for the Parliament, as I have no doubt such are his orders, or will be when he communicates with the Parliament. Now this is a robbery which I wish to prevent, by carrying away your property before they come over, which they will to-morrow; and I propose that you shall accompany me, with all that you can take away, or that may be useful, this evening."

"You are very kind," replied the boy. "I will do all you wish, but I feel very weak, and very unwell."

"You must exert yourself, for your own sake, my poor fellow. Come, now, sit up and put all your own clothes together. Collect every thing in this room, while I look about the house. And tell me, had not your father some money? for the robbers said that they saw him counting it out of a sack, through the c.h.i.n.ks of the shutters, and that was why they made the attack."

"Hateful money!" cried the boy. "Yes, he had, I believe, a great deal of money; but I can not say how much."

"Now get up, and do as I request, my dear boy," said Edward, raising him up in his arms; "when your grief is lessened, you may have many happy days yet in store for you; you have a Father in heaven that you must put your trust in, and with him you will find peace."

The boy rose up, and Edward closed the door of the chamber that he might not see his father's corpse.

"I do put my trust in Heaven, good sir," replied the boy; "for it has already sent me a kind friend in my distress. You are good, I am sure; I see that in your face. Alas! how much more wretched would have been my condition if you had not fortunately come to our a.s.sistance! too late indeed to save my poor father, but not too late to succor and console his child. I will go away with you, for I can not stay here."

CHAPTER XVI.

Edward then took the counterpane off the bed, and went with it into the next room. He gently drew the body to the corner of the room, and covered it up with the counterpane, and then proceeded to examine the cupboards, etc. In one he found a good store of books, in another there was linen of all sorts, a great many curious arms, two suits of bright armor such as was worn in those times, pistols, and guns, and ammunition. On the floor of one of the cupboards was an iron chest about two feet by eighteen inches. It was locked. Edward immediately concluded that this chest held the money of the unfortunate man; but where was the key? Most likely about his person. He did not like to afflict the poor boy by putting the question to him, but he went to the body and examined the pockets of the clothes; he found a bunch of several keys, which he took, and then replaced the coverlid. He tried one of the keys, which appeared to be of the right size, to the lock of the iron chest, and found that it fitted it. Satisfied with this, he did not raise the lid of the chest, but dragged it out into the center of the room. There were many things of value about the room; the candlesticks were silver, and there were goblets of the same metal. Edward collected all these articles, and a timepiece, and put them into a basket, of which there were two large ones at the end of the room, apparently used for holding firewood. Every thing that he thought could be useful, or of value, he gathered together for the benefit of the poor orphan boy. He afterward went into another small room, where he found sundry small trunks and cases locked up. These he brought out without examining, as he presumed that they contained what was of value, or they would not be locked. When he had collected every thing, he found that he had already more than the cart could carry in one trip; and he wanted to take some bedding with him, as he had not a spare bed in the cottage to give to the boy. Edward decided in his own mind that he would take the most valuable articles away that night, and return with the cart for the remainder early on the following morning. It was now past noon, and Edward took out of the cupboard what victuals were left, and then went into the chamber where the boy was, and begged that he would eat something. The poor boy said that he had no appet.i.te; but Edward insisted and at last prevailed upon him to eat some bread and drink a gla.s.s of wine, which proved of great service to him. The poor fellow shuddered as he saw the body covered up in the corner of the room, but said nothing. Edward was trying to make him eat a little more, when Pablo made his appearance at the door.

"Have you put up all that you want in the bedchamber?" said Edward.

"Yes, I have put up every thing."

"Then we will bring them out. Come, Pablo, you must help us."