"Charles would not desire it to be known," he said at length.

"Nay, that he would not," said the woman with a laugh; "but there is more than that, Master Rashcliffe."

"Ay, there is," said my father thoughtfully. "He who could be fortunate enough to possess that marriage contract would be able to make his terms not only with the king, but the king's brother."

"Ah, you begin to see."

"The man who possessed such a secret could stir up civil war in England," said my father; "such a war that might well make men forget the war between Charles I and Cromwell."

"Ay," said the woman; "but what is more to our purpose, Master Rashcliffe, he could make the king restore the Rashcliffe lands, and gain for his son a place in England worthy his name."

"And do others know of this secret, Katharine?" asked my father.

"Yes," replied the woman; "it hath been guessed at by many, but I alone know where the box containing the marriage contract is hidden. It hath cost me much trouble to find out, but at last I have done it."

I looked at the woman as she said this, and I thought there was a furtive look in her eyes.

"And how did you find it out?" asked my father presently.

"Of that more anon," replied Katharine Harcomb. "Enough to say now that this is the secret I promised to tell you, a secret which should give you the power to make your own terms with the king. All now depends on young Roland here."

"On me!" I cried, speaking for the first time, although, as may be imagined, I listened eagerly to every word which had been spoken.

"Ay, on you," replied the woman, "for that marriage contract is in hiding. It is hidden in a black box,[1] and may be obtained only with difficulty. The question is, Master Roland, will you undertake the work of bringing it hither?"

[Footnote 1: As all students of history know, the story of the black box containing the marriage contract between Charles II and Lucy Walters obtained great credence after the Restoration, indeed, it is probable that belief in its validity had much to do with the Monmouth rebellion at a later date.--J. H.]

"How old is the king's son?" I cried, for her story had excited my imagination and appealed to that love for adventure which for a long time had been struggling for expression.

"How old?" repeated the woman; "he is a lad of about eleven years. At present he is with the dowager queen."

"And do you mean that he is the next heir to the English throne?" I cried.

"Ay, that he is," replied the woman; "and the man who can find the marriage contract can go far to be one of the masters of England."

"And if it be not brought to light?" I cried, "then if Charles has no other son, the Duke of York will become king."

"That is not the thing of import," replied the woman; "the thing that is of weight is this: the man who hath the secret can make the king obey him."

But this was not the thought which fired my imagination. A great overmastering desire came into my heart to place my hand upon this marriage contract that I might be the means of doing justice to the king's disowned son, and even as she spoke I found myself making plans for going out into the world to unearth this secret. For it must be remembered that I was but a lad of twenty-three, and that up to now, in spite of my many day dreams, I had been kept mewed up in the old manor with my father, knowing but little of what was going on in the great world.

Still, I was not so young but that I saw many difficulties in the way. I reflected that we had only the word of this Katharine Harcomb, who had lived at Rashcliffe Manor many years before, and who, according to belief, had been dead for some time. Where had she been all these years?

what were her motives in seeking out this mystery? and more than all, why had she chosen my father and myself as the men to whom she could disclose this momentous secret? Not that these matters troubled me much.

I was too much excited by the story of the mystery to weigh well those things which, had I been ten years older, I should have considered carefully. Still, they came into my mind, and I was on the point of putting them to her, when she rose from her chair and placed her hand on my shoulder. I remember even then thinking how tall she was, for as I stood by the fireplace, and she came up to me, her face was level with mine, and I am not a short man.

"Roland Rashcliffe," she said, "will you undertake this thing?"

I looked at my father, who appeared to be pondering deeply.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Where is what?"

"This black box."

"Before I make known where it is I must have your promise. Nay, Master Roland, look not darkly at me, for this is no light matter. I dare not make known the hiding place until I am a.s.sured that you will undertake to go wherever it is, and then alone, and in secret, bring it hither."

The words pleased me, although they raised more questions in my mind. I liked the words "alone and in secret," even although I little understood what they portended.

"How came you to know these things?" I asked.

"I saw the woman called Lucy Walters when she was in England," replied Katharine Harcomb; "I saw her as she was taken to the Tower."

"You saw Lucy Walters!" I cried.

"Ay, I saw her. No wonder Charles Stuart loved her, for a more beautiful woman I never set my eyes on. Ay, poor thing, she was neither wise nor prudent, as she found out afterwards to her cost, but she was the fairest maid to look upon that ever I clapped my eyes on. It is true her first beauty had left her, and at that time she was in sore trouble, for she was on her way to the Tower with soldiers on either side of her; nevertheless, every man fell in love with her as she went. The verse-makers have called her the 'nut-brown maid,' and well they might, for her hair was the colour of ripe chestnuts when they are picked from the trees in early October. It shone like the dowager queen's diamonds, and hung around her head in great curling locks. Her eyes were brown too, and sparkled like stars; even then roses were upon her cheeks, and she walked like a queen."

"But she was liberated from the Tower," said my father, "and went back to France."

"But not before I saw her, Master Rashcliffe," replied Katharine Harcomb, "and not before she told me that she was Charles Stuart's wedded wife."

"She told you that?"

"Ay, she told me that."

"But did she tell you where the marriage contract was?" asked my father.

"Of that I shall say nothing until I know whether Master Roland here will undertake the work I have spoken of," and again the woman's dark bright eyes scanned my face, as though she saw there an index to the thoughts which possessed my mind.

"Roland," said my father, "I would e'en talk with Katharine Harcomb alone. Do you leave the room, and return in an hour's time."

I did not much like this, for, as may be imagined, I was much interested, and wanted to hear more of what the woman had to tell; but I obeyed my father quickly as every dutiful son should, and went out of the house into the park lands.

The sun had now gone down, but it was not dark neither did I think it would be throughout the whole night. For not only was there a moon, but the sky was clear. Indeed, the time was the middle of May, when the air was clear and the countryside was beauteous beyond words. It is true the roses had not yet appeared, but the trees were wellnigh in full leaf, for the season was early. Even the oaks and the ashes were covered with spring leaves, which I saw shining in the light of the moon. No stars appeared that night, the moon was so bright, and no sound did I hear save the babbling of the trout stream that ran through the park, and now and then the twitter of a bird which settled itself to rest.

I walked along the gra.s.s-grown drive which led to the gates, wondering about what the woman Katharine Harcomb had said, and thinking if ever the time would come when carriages would be drawn up to the house as they were in the days before the Long Parliament, and when my old home would be full of gaiety.

"This is a strange happening," I said to myself. "Ever since Richard Cromwell died my father hath spoken of possible change to our fortunes if Charles should come back, not because the king would do aught for us of his own free will, but because we should gain the power to compel him."

And then as I thought of these things, in spite of the way the woman had inspired my fancy by the story of the king's marriage, the whole thing became like old wives' fables, and I was glad that I had not been led to make any promises.

I had barely got in sight of the gate where I had seen old Adam in the earlier part of the day, when I heard the sound of footsteps. They were not the footsteps of a man: of that I was certain. They were neither firm enough nor heavy enough. Moreover, they were uncertain, and, as I thought, feeble. I stopped and looked along the road, and saw the form of a woman coming towards me.

Bright although the moonlight was, I could not at first make out her age or her station, but as she drew nearer I thought that she was old and poor.

"Whither go you, dame?" I asked as she came up.

"And what is that to you, young master?"