The captain, as the reader may suppose, proved to be no other than the hated John Luff. The old shepherd was released by young Catchpole, and from cramp and pain from his long doubled-up position he could scarcely stand. The two wounded men were placed upon his bed, presenting such a contrast of feature, expression, and character, as the ablest artist in the world could not have justly delineated. Luff, with his dark brow, haggard eye, and hairy face, looking like a dying hyena, looked up and saw before him, Barry, Catchpole, and the shepherd; and with the scowl of revenge (a strong pa.s.sion to exhibit in such agony), he muttered a dreadful curse upon them all. The poor coastguard man, with his pale but placid countenance, though suffering severely from his wounds, extended his hands to his commander, and implored him to let him be carried to another bed, to let him lie on the floor in the other room, or anywhere but head to head beside the demon who lay shuddering and cursing by his side.

The bed of the shepherd's daughter, who was at that time staying at Orford, was brought down and laid in the keeping-room beside the fireplace, and the poor fellow was laid upon it. Luff's death-hour was evidently at hand. It was a fearful thing to see him in his horrible tortures, and to hear him, in his groans and moans, proclaiming himself the murderer of Will Laud. Whenever he opened his eyes he saw nothing but the evidences of guilt before him, as he raved in wild frenzy,-- "There! there! there! I see him! He is not dead!--no! no! no! There's Laud and Margaret Catchpole! Look! they laugh at me!"

At last, with one wild scream, his spirit, like an affrighted bird, fled away. Never did those who stood near him witness such a death. A cold shudder crept over their flesh, and they owned one to another that they should never forget that awful sight.

When it became known that the notorious smuggler, John Luff, was killed, numbers came to see him; and few that saw his body but owned that he was a fearful fellow when living. Government paid the reward over into the hands of the coastguard, who all subscribed liberally towards the comfort of their wounded messmate. Edward Catchpole was included among those who shared the reward, and this enabled him to pay all his expenses without any recurrence to his sister's purse.

When young Catchpole returned to Nacton with the eventful tidings of his journey, and related all the particulars to Margaret, stating his full belief of Laud's death, she pondered for a while over his statement, and then expressed her dissent from her brother's conclusions.

"I see no certain proof of Laud's death," said she. "The old shepherd and the wretch Luff, may both have supposed him dead; but there is a mystery not yet cleared up which fills me with strange hopes--I mean the sudden disappearance of the two sailors with the boat that very night. Luff made no mention of them in his dying moments. I really think these two men are somehow connected with the safety of Laud; and I yet have hope."

She rejoiced, however, that Laud was not found in company with his former band, and especially with that bad man Luff; and drew conclusions, in her own mind, favourable to his character and conduct. She was very grateful to her brother; and not long afterwards she proposed to return to her place. She had certainly been very remiss in not communicating with her mistress once since she left her. So taken up was she with her thoughts of Laud, that she forgot her situation; and, until her brother's return, had never spoken of going back to Ipswich. Her mistress not hearing of or from her, sent over to Brandiston, and there learned that she had never been to see her uncle and aunt, nor had they heard anything of her. A man was sent to Nacton, and, unfortunately, the cottage was locked up, as Margaret had been that day to spend a few hours with her first mistress, at the Priory Farm. These strange circ.u.mstances made her mistress at Ipswich conclude that she was gone in search of Laud; and consequently she engaged another servant. When Margaret returned to St. Margaret's Green she found her place filled up; and her mistress reproached her for her neglect in not having had some communication with her. Margaret felt hurt and disappointed. She stayed a short time at one or two places, but was extremely unsettled and dissatisfied. She was in the habit of frequently visiting St. Margaret's Green, and of being asked to go and see the children. About eight months after a vacancy unexpectedly occurred in Mrs. Cobbold's establishment, and Margaret entered a second time into the service of her former mistress, in the capacity of cook; but her stay this time was short. She was now as unlike as possible to the Margaret of former days. She was not happy. Her temper had been soured by disappointment, and her spirit made restless by rumours of Laud being alive. She became impatient towards her fellow-servants, careless in her dress and manner, and negligent in her work--a complete contrast to her former self, who had been a pattern of order, decency, and regularity. At the end of one year, it became her mistress's painful duty to give her a final warning. It was a real heartfelt sorrow to that benevolent lady to be compelled, for the sake of example to her other servants, to discharge Margaret. But she could not do otherwise.

Here was a painful duty discharged conscientiously. Let not the reader think that it made no impression. It fell with full force upon Margaret's mind. Margaret wept most bitterly when she found that she must now break off all connexion with that family in which she had once been so happy. She merely asked permission to remain till the end of the week, and that in such a subdued tone and supplicating manner, as touched her mistress's heart. It is needless to say that her request was granted.

The morning of departure arrived, and not a servant, no, nor a child in that house, could say "Good-bye" without tears. Her mistress, when handing over to her the money directed to her by Laud, made Margaret sit down, and conversed with her upon her future prospects. She also gave her some good books for a remembrance, expressed a hope that she would read them, and told her she should forget all but her good deeds, and be ever ready to serve her.

Then, with tears rolling down her cheeks, Margaret tottered to the cart which had been provided to take her to Brandiston, and left that house never to enter it again, and never to look upon it without terror.

The author cannot help introducing at the close of this chapter an authenticated doc.u.ment, which has been sent to him from Reading, in Berkshire. It is the testimony of a man still living, who has never forgotten Margaret Catchpole: and the reader will say he had good reason to remember her. This man now lives in the service of Mr. John Snare, No. 16 Minster Street, Reading; and, since the publication of the former edition of this work, has made known to his master a providential escape which he had in his infancy, through the intrepidity of this extraordinary woman. Poor Margaret! it is with inexpressible pleasure that the author transcribes this tribute to her memory; for it proves to him, that whatever was the cause of her unsettled state of mind, her n.o.ble spirit was still as prompt to hear the cry of the helpless as in her days of confidence and comfort with her beloved mistress. The author is indebted to the Rev. John Connop, Bradfield Hall, Reading, for the original doc.u.ment, which he now gives to the public; and which he is happy to add, is fully confirmed by persons now living at Ipswich.

The Declaration of William White, of Reading, in Berkshire.

"My parents lived on St. Margaret's Green, St. Margaret's parish, Ipswich, about five doors from the house of John Cobbold, Esq. Margaret Catchpole was then living in Mr. Cobbold's service as cook. About the middle of the spring of 1797, I, being then a child about six years of age, was playing on the Green with many of the neighbours' children; and in the midst of our sport, a mad bull rushed most furiously towards us, directing his attack upon our little group to the precise spot where I stood. Paralysed by fear and surprise, I saw no hope of safety in flight, and must have fallen a victim to the a.s.sault of the infuriated beast, had not my companions set up a cry of alarm. At this critical moment, Margaret Catchpole rushed out of Mr. Cobbold's house, to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and had the courage to fly in the face of the bull, just as he was in the act of tossing me. Indeed I was slightly gored by him, and must inevitably have been severely injured, had not this courageous woman s.n.a.t.c.hed me up, and carried me into Mr. Cobbold's kitchen, taking every care of me until my parents arrived.

"I was not seriously hurt, but I have been told that my bruises and scars did not disappear for several weeks; and during this time I was visited by Margaret Catchpole and Mrs. Cobbold, who both took great notice of me, and evinced great anxiety for my recovery.

"I remember that this courageous act of Margaret Catchpole's was much talked of at the time, and the Rev. Mr. Fonnereau, the rector of St. Margaret's, took much interest in the affair; so much, indeed, did he think of it, that on my marriage in 1817, he, being still the rector, and performing the ceremony, reminded me of the extraordinary circ.u.mstance which had occurred in my childhood, and of my providential escape from an early grave.

"My uncle, Samuel Bayley (my mother's brother), was cooper and brewer to J. Cobbold, Esq., being in his employment at the Cliff Brewery, near Ipswich, at the time the above occurred.

"William White.

"Reading, February 18th, 1847."

CHAPTER XXI.

GUILT AND CRIME.

The reader will be anxious to know what really was the fate of Will Laud, and will not be surprised to learn that Margaret's idea was quite in accordance with the fact. When Luff quitted the old shepherd upon Sudbourn Heath, in search of Laud, he was prepared to find him at the Compa.s.ses at Orford, and there he did find him, and he pretended to be glad to see him, and to be very friendly with him. All former animosities seemed to be extinct; and Luff quickly wormed out of him the secrets of his heart. He asked after Margaret with as much apparent indifference as if he had heard nothing of her.

"I have left her for ever," said Laud. "I will have nothing more to do with her. Some more powerful enemy than I have ever contended with has at last prevailed over me, and pulled down the proud flag I had hoisted in her love. I heard her say, almost to my face, that she would never see another sailor, though she must have been expecting me home, for I sent her word by an old messmate that I was coming; and what could she mean, but to let me know flatly that she preferred some lubberly landsman (perhaps some powdered footman) to one of Lord Howe's Britons? I could stand it no longer, so I just threw all my prize-money overboard; and here I am, Jack, ready to join your crew again. Have you forgotten our last rub? Come, give us your hand, Jack."

Luff put out his blood-stained palm, and pretended all the peace of a restored friendship. Grog was ordered; and the two easily struck a bargain to go on board again in the service of Captain Bargood. But Luff was too determined a villain to forgo that opportunity, which now offered itself, of fulfilling the deadly purpose he had often sworn to his crew that he would accomplish, "to bring Laud a captive, dead or alive, on board the brig." The treacherous fellow had left no stone unturned to bring about this plan. It was he who pursued such a system of fraud with regard to Margaret as led to her disgrace. He hired sailors to deceive her with false tales, and to learn what they could of Laud, that he might the more easily wreak his vengeance upon his victim. And now at last here was the object of his hatred, trusting to him as he would have done to the most tried friend. He was as loud and artful in his ridicule of Margaret as a determined monster of envy could be. He had heard, he said, many tales of her; and that she was at last going to marry one of the brewhouse men. Such were the inventions of this hollow-hearted villain, to inflame the irritable mind of Laud. There were two of the crew present, to whom Luff had given the wink, and made them to understand he had trapped his man.

"Let us take a bit of a cruise, and have a look at the port," said Luff to his pretended friend; and then turning to the others, he said, "We shall be in again presently, and go on board to-night."

"Aye, aye, master," replied one of the men, "all right!--I say, Sam," observed he, when the two captains had left the room, "what a shocking fellow our captain is! I'll wager now that he either puts a bullet through Laud's head, or a dagger in his heart, or shoves him overboard at night!"

"Aye, Jim, I don't mind a brush with the coastguard, but I don't like such cold-blooded work as this any more than you do. Don't let us wait for the captain; but, as soon as we have finished our grog, let's be off for the boat."

"With all my heart, Sam; and let us drink our young captain's health, and good luck to him."

Luff had enticed his captain to a longer walk than he expected; and no sooner had they entered the Gap Lane than he began a quarrel, and presently attacked him, sword in hand. Laud defended himself with great dexterity, until his sword was broken, and he himself disarmed. He fled towards the marshes, but was overtaken, cut down, and cast for dead into one of those deep marsh ditches which abound in the neighbourhood of Orford. After Luff had thus wreaked his vengeance, he crept stealthily towards the town; and as he went picked up Laud's watch, which had fallen from his pocket. It made his blood, already heated with exertion, grow cold with conscious horror. He was too great a villain, however, to have much thought of mercy, pity, or repentance. He entered the Compa.s.ses and called for a strong north-wester, and inquired for his men, and learned they had been gone to their boat some time. He gave them some coa.r.s.e malediction for their pains, and sat down to his strong potation.

The two men were at that time crossing a plank over the very d.y.k.e which Laud had been cast into, and were startled by his groans. On looking about them they observed a man's head just out of the water, beside the bank; they pulled him out, and found to their horror that it was Laud. Having decided on taking him to his uncle's, they lifted Laud up and carried him across the marshes, and laid him as carefully as they could upon some old sails at the bottom of the boat; and instead of going down the river to Hollesley Bay, they rowed directly up the river with the flood tide. They arrived at Aldborough just as the tide turned, and had the precaution or prudence, directly they landed, to send their boat adrift; which, getting into the channel, was carried down the river, and was cast upon a sand-bank, within a few yards of the smuggler's cutter, by which means it was supposed that the two men had perished; for at daybreak, when Luff came on board, he was the first to discover the boat, keel upwards, upon the bank.

"It served them right," said the captain, "for leaving their commander behind them."

They had safely conveyed Will Laud to the Jolly Tar, which then stood close to the river's side. His uncle was sent for, who came, attended by Mr. Nursey, at that time the skilful and highly esteemed surgeon of Aldborough. He found him dreadfully wounded; but at length, by strict attention and consummate skill, succeeded in effecting a cure. That uncle had always loved his nephew, and in some measure considered himself responsible for the waywardness of his seafaring propensities; and he took him to his home, and treated him in every respect as a lost son restored.

Here, then, was an opportunity--a golden opportunity--for reformation. Laud's former character had been cancelled by his service in the British navy; and his gallant conduct on the glorious 1st of June had obtained for him a free discharge, with prize-money, and certificate of character in the service. He was now placed in a situation calculated to restore him to independence. In the years 1795 and 1796 he served his uncle faithfully; and such were the hopes entertained of his steadiness and attention to business, that at the end of that year, when his uncle died, he left him all that he possessed.

It may seem strange that Laud should never have sought for Margaret Catchpole during all this time, or that she should not have made further inquiries about him. Had they met at this period, and come to a mutual explanation, they might both have been spared from that misery and remorse attendant upon a degraded character. But it was otherwise decreed. He had always brooded over his imaginary wrongs at the hands of Margaret; had learned to think little of her; and never to have forgiven her for that unfortunate speech the night he left Ipswich. And when he became a master and a man of substance (as above related), he did not appear to be settled or happy. The news of Luff's death might have been supposed to take away from him any hankering after the illicit pursuits of his youth; but the escape of some of the crew, and their strong attachment to Laud, induced him to listen to their proposals of service, and to employ a ship in the trade; and he actually sent out smugglers, though he would not head them himself; so that, very soon after the decease of his uncle, Laud became deeply engaged again in the illicit traffic of the coast.

But what was Margaret doing all this time? She returned to her uncle and aunt Leader, and became their a.s.sistant. She undertook once more the management of the children, and was instrumental in restoring order and decency in the house. She did not feel quite so lively an interest in this employment as she had formerly done, though her aunt's manner was a complete contrast to what it had formerly been. By her uncle's advice, she put the money she never considered her own into the hands of the much-respected general shopkeeper of the parish, who placed it in the bank, and became a trustee for her. Still she resolved not to touch it, but to keep it, as the property of Laud, until she should be more sure of his death. She had great hopes still that she should one day see him again. She lived with her uncle and aunt, and made herself useful in every possible way; nor did she ever murmur at her condition, though she often sighed over past misfortunes.

In the month of May, 1797, she received a letter from old George Teager, her fellow-servant, which ran thus:-- "Margaret, "This comes hoping it may find you well, as it still leaves me, though very deaf. I have got a bit of news for you, which I know you will be glad to hear. I was going down the Wash yesterday, when who should I meet but Will Laud? He looked uncommon well, and was very civil to me. He asked me many questions about you; and I set him right about some bad splints and curbs he had got in his head. He told me he should soon manage to see you, so no more from old "George Teager.

"Margaret's Green, May 3rd, 1797."

Imagine poor Margaret's anxiety. She waited seven days in such a state of feverish suspense as only those so situated can feel. She rested neither day nor night, but became each morning more anxiously disturbed, until she determined to go herself to Ipswich.

Now Laud had been to Ipswich to purchase some timber, and to dispose of some of his smuggled goods. He had met old Teager, the coachman, and had treated him with a friendly gla.s.s, which the old man seldom refused. He had also met an old messmate accidentally; a good-for-nothing fellow, whom Luff had formerly made use of to deceive Margaret with false reports concerning him. Laud had treated this man to some grog; and in talking over old times, the man disclosed some of Luff's villainy, with which Laud had never before been acquainted; especially his conduct to Margaret on that wretched night in which Laud had sought an interview with her. This fellow, whose name was John Cook, told him that he was one of the sailors bribed to deceive her, and to go backwards and forwards with false reports to the kitchen of St. Margaret's Green.

Laud now saw the reason for poor Margaret's exclamation, "I will have nothing more to do with any sailors!" The truth broke on him with such conviction, that he resolved to seek out his betrothed the very moment he had fulfilled his engagement at Ipswich. It is a remarkable fact, that, on the very same day on which Laud left the town with the full determination to see and have an explanation with Margaret, she determined to go to Ipswich, to explain (if she could find him) the whole of her conduct. This was on the evening of the 9th of May, 1797. She had frankly explained to her uncle the purpose of her journey; and as to the money in the hands of the trustee, she said, "If a letter comes to you, from me, about it, you can then consult with Mr. Smith about its disposal. I fully expect," she added, "to meet Laud at Ipswich, and whatever his fortunes may be, I am determined to share them with him."

She arrived at Ipswich that afternoon, and took up her abode at her former lodgings at the Widow Syers', a distant relative of her mother's, though by no means a desirable person for Margaret to abide with at such a time. She did not go, as she ought to have done, to her good mistress, who would have inst.i.tuted every inquiry for her; but she chose to pursue her own course. She saw the old coachman, and learned from him that he had seen Laud at the Salutation, in Carr Street, only the day before. She did not stay to ask any more questions, but off she went towards the public-house in question. On her way, it was her misfortune to meet with that vagabond, John Cook, the very fellow who had so often made a dupe of her before, and who was now the cause of her performing an act that is probably without precedent in female history. Intent but upon one thing, the obtaining an interview with her lover, the mainspring of all her prospects in life, and the centre to which all her hopes, wishes, thoughts, and cares were pointed, she was almost crazy with anxiety to see this worthless object of her idolatry. She had been betrayed into misfortunes by her blindness on this point; and though careful, prudent, and considerate upon almost every other thing, she had been, and was still, the easy victim of any artful machination which had for its bait the sight of her lover. Had she consulted any of her friends, Mr. Stebbing, Mr. Brooks, Mr. Notcutt, or her beloved mistress, she would not have fallen a prey to the artful villainy of a wicked man; but Margaret had forgotten at this time her mistress, and every other consideration, except the all-engrossing subject which filled her heart; and she saw neither danger nor difficulty, right nor wrong, but was ready to go anywhere, or to do anything, provided she could only have an explanation with Laud.

"Why, Margaret, is that you?" said John Cook as he met her, turning the corner of the Chaise and Pair, on the evening of the 9th of May; "why, where have you been all these livelong days? And what are you doing now in Ipswich?"

"I am in search of Laud: have you seen or heard anything of him to-day?"

"Yes, that I have; you are in luck to meet with the only person in the world who could tell you where he is! But this is not the place to be talking secrets. Come with me to the Marquis Cornwallis, where Laud and I have spent a merry time, and I will tell you all about him."

There was no difficulty in persuading her to accompany him, and on arriving at the inn, Margaret found by this fellow's conversation with the landlord, that Laud and he had spent the previous evening at that house. This confirmed her belief in his story, and enabled him to make her the easy dupe of all the vile inventions which were to follow.

They requested that they might have the parlour to themselves; and the ever-liberal Margaret ordered some refreshment, though she could, from her anxiety, partake of nothing herself.

"Well, I promised you I would tell you all about Laud; but first let me tell you that I set him right about your ugly speech that night when you got such a ducking."

"Did you? did you, indeed? What did he say to it? Did he forgive me?"

"Did he? Aye! I'll tell you what, I never saw a fellow so dumb-foundered before. He looked almost like a madman, cursed his stars, and swore they were all confederate against him. He swore you were the best creature in the world, and if he could but see you, he would make you happy."

"Oh, John! how good you were to tell him! But where is he? Is he in Ipswich? Do bring me to him?"

"Hold hard a bit; I must let you into a little bit of a secret. You must know that Laud and I are upon such intimate terms, that we communicate by a kind of expression known only to ourselves. He, as you know, went back to smuggling again after your rap, though that was not intentional on your part. He did not go to sea, but entered upon the timber trade, though he employed about twenty men under him to carry on his traffic. Now I know he would have gone in search of your hiding-place, if he had not been compelled to hide himself. The fact is, he is escaped from an arrest for five hundred pounds which he was bound to pay to the Excise, and but for a very lucky turn he would have been nabbed last night."

"Well, but where is he now?"

"I will tell you where he may be found to-morrow. All I know now is, that he took the mail last night, by the greatest good luck in the world, and went off to London. He is to write to me to-night, and I shall be able to tell you to-morrow."

That this was all a mere invention of this rascal's, to get out of Margaret all he could, the reader will easily believe. Lucky was it for her that she did not tell him what sum of money she had belonging to Laud, or every farthing of it would have gone into this fellow's hands. As it was, he managed to get out of her what little cash she could spare, under the promise of revealing to her the hiding-place of Laud. After chatting with him a long time, and hearing much of herself and her lover, all pure inventions of this fellow's brain, and easily detected by any person with less blindness upon the subject, Margaret took her leave of him, giving him half-a-crown to spend. She returned to the Widow Syers', and, as might be supposed, pa.s.sed a feverish night, restless with nervous anxiety. Poor girl! she little thought of the mischief then brooding for her ruin.

The morrow came, bringing a letter to John Cook, of a very different description to that which Margaret antic.i.p.ated. It ran thus:-- "Dog and Bone, Lambeth, "May 8th, 1797.

"Jack, "I sold the bay mare at Smithfield yesterday. I might ha' got more, but the nabs were about; so I wopt her off for ten. Old Snacks, at the Bone here, got his 'centage. I crabbed the old chap as well as I could; but he's up to snuff. You wouldn't ha' known old Peggy again. We blacked her white legs and popt a white face on to her, gave her a rat's tail, filed her teeth, and burnt her mark, and wop me if I mightent ha' sold her for a six-year old, if I hadn't been in a hurry. But she's off, they tell me, to serve in a foreign country. She's a right good un, though an old'n. All's honour bright, Jack!

"I say, old boy, we talked o' the brown nag; can ye send him up to Chelmsford? or if to the Dog and Bone, direct to your old chum, "Bob Bush, "Sam Snacks, "Dog and Bone, Lambeth.

"To John Cook, "Marquis Cornwallis, "Ipswich, Suffolk."

This letter, which was found some days later at the inn, and delivered up to the constable of the parish of St. Margaret's, may serve to show the connexion which this fellow had with a gang of horse-stealers, who, at this time, infested the counties of Ess.e.x, Norfolk, and Suffolk. The brown nag here mentioned was one which had been turned off in the pastures of St. Margaret's, belonging to John Cobbold, Esq. He was a high-spirited little horse, and aged. The eyes of this rogue had been upon him, and a most diabolical project now entered his brain, of making Margaret Catchpole, whose early feats of riding were not unknown to him, the minister of this theft.

"I shall make something out of her now," said the fellow, "if I can only play upon her feelings. How shall I do it?"

A thought struck him that he would tear off the half of the letter containing the post-mark, and paste one which he would invent, on that half, and sign it for Will Laud. Margaret knew little or nothing of Will's handwriting, so that she could easily be deceived in this respect; and if she knew that it was not his, the fellow was ready enough to swear that he had hurt his hand by the falling of a spar, and so got a friend to write it for him. He put his wits to work, and concocted an epistle as nearly pertinent to what he had made out Laud's case to be, as he could.

He dated it from the same place from whence he received his own, and intended to write to Bob Bush to take the horse off Margaret's hands, if he could get her on to it. He wrote thus:-- "Dog and Bone, Lambeth, May 9th, 1797. "Dear Jack, "Hurrah, my boy! Safely anch.o.r.ed, though I had cut my cable, and run; but I have got into a friendly port, and my pursuers shan't easily find me. Precious hard, though, Jack, after just finding out my girl, to have to tack and leave her. You might lend a hand now, just to serve an old friend. Margaret would make my present dull time a little lighter, if you could but find her up, and put her on the right road to find me. I think she would forgive me, if you could explain matters a little to her. Tell her we could get married here, and after a time all would be well. But, Jack, mum must be the order of the day. Don't you fire a volley at me until she's off to London. She must come incog, Jack; aye, in man's clothes, if she can: you know why. A thought strikes me, which if you put it into her head, will just suit her, and me too. Persuade her to borrow the old pony of her master's, from the pasture on the Woodbridge road, or to take it with French leave. It is worth nothing, and will never be inquired after; and if disposed of, will scarcely be missed. And if she was found out, it would only be treated as a good spree! So, Jack, try her; she has a spirit equal to the work, and we shall then be no more parted. Now, do this for "Your old friend, "Will Laud."

Margaret read this letter with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure, but she implicitly believed every word of it, yet she did not like Laud's plan. "Why not go and borrow the horse of old Teager," said she, "if it must be so? I know he will lend it to me."

"What, and tell him you want his stable-dress to ride to London in? Fine fun he'd make of it, would he not? No, no, Margaret, that will never do. We must take it with French leave, or let it alone."

"I wish I could see him by some other means. I do not like his plan; and yet, perhaps, he has none other to offer," said Margaret, as if pondering within herself.

"I can tell you he is not the man to offer it if he has," said Cook. "Once put him off again, and it will be long enough before you ever see or hear of him again."

Margaret felt that such would be the case, and yielded to the artful duplicity of this wicked man, and agreed to meet him the next night to put their wild plan in practice. But as heaven willed that she should have one more chance of escape from the evil which threatened her, the excitement which she suffered brought on an attack of fever that very night, and she was laid up for many days. The warning, however, was in vain; and so soon as she recovered, she agreed to put their plan in execution.

It was on the 23rd of May that Margaret met John Cook at the place before appointed, having previously bought herself a hat and a pair of boots. But now a new obstacle presented itself, which, like the one just alluded to, might have served as a warning, had any religious feelings found place in Margaret's mind and heart. They went into the meadow, and for more than an hour tried to catch the horse. But it was all in vain; he would be caught by n.o.body but old Teager.

What was to be done now?

"This is a turn I did not bargain for," said John Cook, "and I have written to Laud to say you will be, without fail, at the place I shall tell you of when you are once mounted. A horse we came for, and a horse we will have, for I would not disappoint the captain for a hundred horses; so follow me, Margaret."

The girl hesitated, and inquired what it was he proposed to do.

"Not many yards off, in yonder stable, there are two n.o.ble horses that are worth riding; you shall take one of them."

"Do you mean the carriage-horses? I dare not ride one of them."

"Nonsense, girl! If you don't come along and just do as I bid you, hang me if I don't write to Laud, and tell him you don't care anything about him. Come along! I must help you over the low wall against the end of the garden. Come along! You have fairly begun the work; don't give it up."

Margaret never wanted courage until that moment, and then she followed, trembling from head to foot.

The fellow got on to the wall and a.s.sisted her up and down. He then went across the lawn to the stable-yard with the trembling Margaret at his heels; they found the stable-door locked; but the wicket at the side, by the muck-bin, was unhanked and stood ajar. Margaret got into the stable through this place, and slipped back the bolt of the stable-door; the horses had been accustomed to her coming into the stable for straw for her fire, and she had often spoke to them and patted them, so that her voice now, as she said, "Whoho, Crop!" and "Gently, Rochford!" was familiar to them; and they did not rise up until John Cook entered and began to strike a light.

"Now, Margaret, pull the litter down toward the stable-door, whilst I just look into the harness-house."

Rochford, a fiery grey horse which Mr. Cobbold had lately purchased from Lord Rochford, at Easton, rose up and snorted, and clanked his chains so terribly, that Margaret expected every moment that old George who slept over the stable, would present himself; but the old man was deaf, and heavy in his sleep, and had only returned from Mrs. Proby's, of Stratford, late that evening, and had not been in bed above an hour, so that he was in his first sound sleep.

"Margaret, you must take this lantern, and just move the dark part round, and it will show you where the old boy's stable-dress is; go up the stairs carefully, and bring it down with you."

Margaret did so. She went with breathless step to the bedside of the coachman. His stable dress was upon the floor; she took it up gently, and as cautiously receded with it down to the stable again, closing the door without noise.

"So far so good, Margaret. Now, do you dress yourself there in the empty stall, while I saddle and bridle the further horse."

This, however, was more than John Cook could do, for Rochford was of such a spirit, and sent out at him with such vengeance that he dared not go up to him; nor could he without Margaret's help put the saddle or bridle on to Crop. She dressed herself as quickly as she could in the coachman's stable-dress; he being a little fellow, and Margaret rather tall, they only hung about her a little loosely, but were not too long for her. When she came from the stall, after rolling her own things in a bundle, and putting them into the very bottom of the seed-box, under the manger, and covering them with hay, she looked exactly like a young groom. She went up to the Crop horse and patted him on the neck, whilst her companion saddled and bridled him; she then tied some straw round his feet, so that no noise should be made in the stable-yard, and out the gallant fellow was led, ready for such a journey and for such a rider as never before had mounted his back.

"Now my girl," exclaimed Cook, "screw up your courage to the start! Come into the meadow. I can let you out on to the Woodbridge road, and then off with you."

"But where am I to find him? You have not told me that," exclaimed Margaret.

"Mount! and I will tell you."

Margaret, with his aid, was soon in the saddle, and once there, she felt her own command over her steed.

"Now Margaret," he replied, "mind what I say: you must sell that horse if you can, at Chelmsford market to-morrow morning; if not, you must ride on to the Bull, in Aldgate, London; but if you regard your own and your lover's safety, you will sell the horse first, and then find your way to the Dog and Bone public-house, at Lambeth; there you will find Will Laud expecting you. Sell the horse for all you can get; say he is worth a hundred guineas, and that your master, Squire John Cook, sent you up to sell him."

The horse was a strawberry roan colour, remarkable for his action and the spirit with which he went through a journey. His ears were short enough, for, in accordance with a barbarous practice of that day, they were cropped; few that ever knew the horse could forget him; in harness he carried himself as proudly as if he had been trained to exhibit his beauty, but this was his constant habit; his spirit was such, that he was never touched with a whip, and never exhibited the least disposition to restiveness; free, easy, gentle, n.o.ble, swift, untiring, graceful, and grand--he was admired wherever he went; and the short coachman, who occasionally used to ride him, made him, a sixteen-hand horse, look at least a hand higher. What an object was Margaret Catchpole upon him! Her spirit was up as well as Crop's; her resolution to go through all she had undertaken was fixed, and in reply to John Cook's question, when they came to the paddock-gate, "Are you ready, Margaret?" she replied, "Quite ready!"

"And now, off with you," said the fellow, as he opened the gate. "Remember the 'Dog and Bone.' A hundred guineas for the horse, and you will be a happy woman;" and off started poor Margaret at a sweeping pace for the London road.

St. Margaret's clock struck one, just as she pa.s.sed the front of that house in which she had lived so much respected, and in which, unconscious of her guilt, slept the kindest master and mistress that a servant ever knew.

But Margaret rode on, reckless of all the ills that might await her, and thinking only of the lover that she was to meet at the end of her mad journey.

The guard of the mail-coach observed to the driver of the Ipswich mail, as Margaret met it, about two miles before she reached Colchester, "That's Mr. Cobbold's Crop horse! There must be something the matter in the family by the pace the groom is going. Did you see the fellow's stable-dress up to his knees? There's something amiss, or the horse is stolen."

When he came to Ipswich, the man mentioned the circ.u.mstance at the coach-office, and said he was positive something was wrong.

Mr. Bailey, the postmaster, immediately sent a messenger with a note, to inform Mr. Cobbold that the guard had met some one riding his horse very fast on the London road.

It was five o'clock when the man rang loudly at the porch-bell; the footman came down in a great hurry and carried up the note to his master's room, who quickly ordered him to go to the stable and see if George Teager and the horses were safe. He ran to the stable, and true enough, he found the Crop horse gone. He called out to George, whom, at first, he suspected of having gone off with the horse, "Hullo, George; Crop is gone!"

The old man jumped up. "What's the matter? Who calls?"

"One of the horses is stolen, George; you must come down immediately; it was met two miles this side of Colchester!"