"There, indeed, you mistake me," I protested. "I am no lover of brawls, and would go far to avoid one."

"But not so far as to the house of a justice of the peace--eh?"

answered John, with his low, pleasant laugh. "I have been wondering why you hate Lord Sheffield so cordially."

"Oh! that is a very old story. His younger brother--younger by nine or ten years--and I were playmates. He was a tender little chap, and I was a big, hulking boy; but I was his squire, ready almost to be his dog, partly because he was as delicate as a girl, and partly because he was of so fine a spirit. Child as he was, he could make me laugh or cry by the music he drew out of his fiddle. What was the driest taskwork to me was play to him, and while I slowly spelled out a story of Greece or Rome, he was somehow rapt away, and seeing it all enacted before his eyes. And he told tales of his own making such as I never heard or read. But I cannot describe him. His elder brother used to torment him with the devil's own cunning. Edmund was feeble in body and timid, but he scorned to be a coward. His chief pride he took in that his father had received the Garter for his courageous exploits against the Spanish Armada, and he would not own to fear, even when he was ready to die of it. Sheffield practised on the child's pride and terror, endlessly. An old mastiff, chained in the courtyard, was so savage (with some kind of pain, poor beast, I doubt not) that the kennel-man feared to deal with it. One day Sheffield dared his little brother to go up to the dog, swearing him a coward if he did not.

Edmund went within the reach of the mastiff, and fell down in a faint.

The dog was n.o.bler than the brother, and did not touch the child. At another time, Sheffield tied a rope round Edmund's body and lowered him far down the deepest well, threatening to let go the rope, and paying it so fast as to terrify the boy into thinking he had done so."

"But why, in Heaven's name, didn't the little one appeal to his father?"

"He would have died sooner. He was drawn up from the well more dead than alive, and was ill for days after, but he never breathed a word about the torture he had been put to, except to me."

"But why didn't you acquaint his lordship with what went on? You couldn't be afraid of the big brother."

"I was afraid of my hero's contempt. He would have thought me dastardly, traitorous, I know not what, if I had told tales of the cruelty he was too proud to complain of himself. But there came an end to the business, and I made it. Looking for Edmund one day, I went into an outhouse, where Sheffield had the little fellow across his knee, held fast as in a vice, and the demon was pinching his tender body with slow, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g pinches. Edmund was writhing and moaning. I didn't stop to think, but struck the tormentor's cheek as hard as I could with my fist, and the next instant we were going at each other with all our might. I was only a lad of fourteen and he a man of twenty-four, but I was tall and strong for my age. He knocked me down pretty often, but I was up like a cat and flew at him again, until, either in fear lest he should kill me, or in fear for himself, he opened the door and ran. Shortly afterward, as Edmund led me across the courtyard--for both my eyes were puffed up so that I could not see--it chanced that the earl met us, and would have an account of what I had been doing. Nothing loth, I answered his questions, and he heard enough to make him careful Edmund suffered no more at the hands of his brother. The dear little fellow died a year later. I could tell you more, but do you wonder I hate my Lord Sheffield?"

"No," answered John. "I don't wonder at that. I am inclined to wonder that he is still alive."

"I have had very little to do with him since Edmund's death. The earl, who used to have a kindness for me, seemed to shun the sight of me from that time forward."

In the afternoon Luke appeared, grinning as he entered the room.

"What tickles you so much?" I asked.

"That Dutchman," answered Luke, laughing outright. "Was as scart as if 'a'd seen a bogle, when 'a oppened t' letter, and said sommat in 's own lingo, swearing like. Asked me when you gev it me. So I says, 'This morning, when 'a came down to breakfa.s.s.' Then 'a stared at me with his mouth as wide as a church door, and I stared at him as simple as a sheep."

We laughed, and I opened Vliet's letter. He had written in Dutch for some unimaginable reason, perhaps because he was puzzled and shaken out of his wits.

Drury reached out his hand. "I have some acquaintance with the tongue," he said.

Vliet accepted my challenge, and would meet me the next evening at six o'clock at a spot about three-quarters of a mile from my present lodging, where we might be free from interruption. He would come alone. He chose the sword as his weapon, and sent me its length.

From time to time between the coming of Vliet's letter and the hour appointed, Drury expressed apprehension of some treachery on the part of the Dutchman, begging me not to go alone, and to have some other weapon besides my sword, but I smiled at his fears. As I said again and again, Vliet could not bring accomplices with him without my seeing them on the fen, and I meant to keep a good look-out. I would not take Luke with me, for I had other occasion for his service, namely, to go with a letter to Anna, in which I asked her to meet me on the following day. John shook his head over what he deemed reckless folly, and I laughed the more, though I felt sorry his long confinement to his couch had made him so timorous.

About five o'clock on Sunday evening, I ascended the rising ground behind the tavern, and watched for Vliet's coming, which was not long delayed. He came alone in a punt, and as far as I could see without other arms than his sword. I had pistols in my belt. I met him at the little wharf, and after salutations, we walked in silence to the ground, he making no remark on my firearms.

The country had never seemed more lovely to my thinking than it did on this still August evening. Ridges and islets, purple with ling, stood out of the green and golden brown of the fen; water-lilies, yellow and white, spotted the surface of the water, and patches of the blue trumpets of the gentian brightened the edges of the marsh. Young broods of duck and moorhen were playing and splashing near the shelter of the reed-beds, which swayed gently under the evening breeze, and the sound of Belton church-bells came, now loudly, now softly, with the rising and falling of the light wind. 'Twas not a suitable time or place for killing a man, methought, as I looked at the landscape, but a glance at Vliet changed my feeling. As for being killed myself, that never came into my mind. The road wound to the right, and again to the right, out of view of Belshaw, to a sort of natural terrace, which would fit our business. Above us on one side the ground sloped gradually upward to an oak plantation, thirty yards away; below the terrace there lay a sharp incline which ended at the margin of the fen.

"Dis vill do--dis vill do!" shouted Vliet at the top of his voice; and as I began a remonstrance at the noise he made, three hors.e.m.e.n rode swiftly out of cover of the plantation, one straight toward us, and the other two in a more curving course, as if to cut off my retreat.

"Yield, or we fire," said one of them.

I answered by drawing pistol out of belt, and shooting at the villain who had laid this ambush for me, but I missed him. Then I flew up the bank to an old tree, the nearest of the plantation. If I could get my back against it, there was a bare chance I might keep them all at bay for a short time, and the sound of firing might bring me help from Belshaw. I gained the tree, my pursuers close on my heels, but not firing. As I turned to face them, my foot slipped on one of the roots, and I fell backward against the tree with some force. With a great crunch, the bark gave way, and back I went into the hollow, jammed tight from rump to knees. Before I could work myself free, the men were on me. They disarmed, bound, and gagged me in no time, and then fell into great laughter at the ease of the capture. All three wore short cloaks with high collars, and had pulled their hats down over their brows, but I saw that one was Sheffield's big negro. Vliet lay down and roared with glee, and ended by rolling over near to me and spitting in my face. One of the others gave him a kick in the ribs, calling him "dunghill c.o.c.k" in a voice I did not know. Vliet jumped to his feet, and drew his sword, but a cudgel fell like lightning on his wrist, disabling him for the present.

"No more waste of time," said he who had struck the blow. "You, Mynherr, will go north as far as Belton, and home by your new embankment. If you are questioned, you will say that you met Mr.

Vavasour here, intending to fight him, but before you could draw sword, he rushed up the hill, and disappeared in the plantation."

"Backside first," one of the others threw in, laughing.

The first speaker continued, "He disappeared, and you could find no trace of him. It is a short story, and can be remembered, even when one is muddled with strong liquor. If you don't stick to it, you will be dead meat soon. Now, stir your stumps."

When Vliet had gone out of hearing, two of the men carried me through the plantation, on the other side of which ran the high-road. Here waited a fourth man in charge of a horse and cart. They bundled me into the cart, throwing sacks over me. I heard the man who had done all the talking say, "Two within hail in front, and one behind.

Remember, you have nothing to do with me unless I whistle twice." So the director was my charioteer. By-and-by the jogging of the cart shook a piece of sacking from my face, and I could see the driver, a common labourer by his dress, with a fringe of ragged beard all round his face. He sat slouching forward, staring vacantly before him, as stupid as any lout in the Isle. As we rumbled through Epworth some one accosted him.

"Cartin' o' Sunday! What hasta getten theer?"

"n.o.bbut a half deead mon from Keadby for Doctor Hoggatt," was the reply. "Ah'd keeap ma distance, if ah wor theea, fur 'a smells loike t' plague tu meea."

The hint sufficed to make the inquirer sheer off quickly.

When we had pa.s.sed through Epworth, we rattled on faster, and in half an hour arrived at the gates opening into the grounds of Melwood Priory, a house which had had many tenants since the Carthusians were driven out of it, and all unlucky. It had stood unoccupied now for ten or a dozen years, falling into decay, and was believed to be haunted by the ghost of Matthew Meekness, the last lord prior. Few persons cared to enter its precincts alone, even by day, and fewer still would dare to enter them by night. My conductors had chosen a very safe place of concealment for whatever crime they had in view. We entered the avenue, or rather what had been one, for all the trees had been cut down long ago, and the cart b.u.mped and joggled along the unkempt road until it came to a stand at the main entrance. My captors pulled me out of the cart, carried me in, and down some steps into a large, vaulted chamber, which, as I saw by the light of a fire of logs blazing on the hearth, showed such signs of occupation as a table, a chair, several stools, a rough couch, pots and pans on a shelf, and other odds and ends. Here they laid me down on the floor and left me. I heard coming and going, slamming of doors, shouts of laughter, and supposed my captors were telling their story to comrades, but I could not think.

My head throbbed fearfully, and my limbs were cramped and cut by the ropes with which I was bound. In a while, the driver of the cart came in, attended by the Moor, carrying a lamp, which he placed on the table. The driver knelt down beside me. His fringe of beard had gone, and I knew him. It was Boswell. He took the gag out of my mouth, and said--

"Perhaps I needn't tell you where you are, Mr. Vavasour--on the lowest floor of Melwood Priory. There is only one door by which you could get out, and it is bolted and barred and well guarded. There are six men at my call, everyone well armed. Resistance is hopeless, and can only end in your being baldy mauled. I am going to cut your cords, and I hope for your own sake you won't try to play any pranks."

I made no answer, but he released me, and handed the one chair to me.

My limbs were so benumbed that I had something to do to get up and seat myself.

"Now," Boswell said, "hand me that bundle, Musty." The negro produced it from a corner. "I want your clothes, which you must take off, even to your shirt, and put on these. Leave your pockets as they are."

I obeyed, for I saw the odds were too great for me to dispute with the fellow, but contrived to hide and keep my love-token, which I wore round my neck. The clothing given to me in place of my own was clean and decent, but of the commonest homespun.

"Will you give me your word to make no attempt at escape?" asked Boswell. "If so, I will spare you these things"--picking up manacles and fetters from underneath the couch.

"I will give no promise of any kind," I answered.

"As I expected," he rejoined; and proceeded to fasten the bonds on my wrists and ankles.

Both handcuffs and fetters were connected by a short, strong chain. So bound, I was helpless against the weakest man who had the use of his limbs, and Boswell smiled a grim smile as he marked how clumsy I was in moving.

A week of my imprisonment pa.s.sed without event. Once a day, generally in the early morning, Boswell or the Moor appeared, placing food and water and fuel within my reach. When they had gone, I had the freedom of the corridor and the rooms or cells opening into it, and I shuffled about with a brand from the fire in my hand--the lamp had been carried off--rather despairingly seeking to discover some outlet, or what might be made into one; but there was not even a crack through which daylight might be perceived, and the floor everywhere was of solid stone. The door at the end of the corridor was thick and heavy, and strengthened with iron bands. I beat on it by the hour together, shouting and yelling as loud as I could, on the chance that some one might come within earshot. I searched every nook and corner for a file, or what might serve the purpose of a file, but in vain. I attempted to break my bonds by jerking and straining, but the only result was hurt to myself. When too much spent for such efforts, and weary of prowling and prying, I endeavoured to guess what were the intentions of my gaolers, and what my friends might be doing on my behalf, but got small light or comfort by this means. I thought it likely my father would give little heed to what Luke might say to him; he might even imagine I was hiding somewhere. If my man went to d.i.c.k Portington, there might be quest made for me, but it would naturally go after Vliet, and if he stuck to the tale which Boswell had put into his mouth, nothing would ensue of advantage to me. I grew frantic when I pictured to myself Anna's perplexity and distress; but in one short week I sank into a kind of lethargy, which was broken now and then by fits of rage--helpless, foolish rage. Used as I was to freedom, light, air, exercise, good food, the confinement in the dark told on my health and spirits greatly. If my gaoler had not given me fire, I think I should have lost my wits. It was, indeed, a friend to me.

On the eighth day, Boswell paid me a visit in the evening, and brought me much better fare than had been supplied during the week. He was attended by several men, who did not enter my dungeon, but made merry in the chamber adjoining mine. He spread the table with decent viands, and produced a bottle of wine, the black man coming and going all the time on one errand or another, both being weaponed. When supper was laid, Boswell removed my manacles and fetters, and invited me to eat and drink; and I drew up to table, thinking, as I took knife into my hand, now free, that the best use to which I could put it would be to cut the fellow's throat; but, as I should be all the better of meat and wine, I decided to wait until after supper. He smiled, as if he read my thoughts, and called out, "Hal, Pete, Robin, have you your tools handy?" But he did not quite understand my notion, which was that it might be a good thing to make an end of him, whatever might happen to me afterwards. When I had finished my meal, Boswell said--

"I have to make you an offer, which will not be made again, if you refuse it. If you will put yourself into my hands, I will have you conveyed out of this country, and set free with money enough in your purse to equip yourself like a gentleman."

"Is it part of your conditions that I see n.o.body--speak to n.o.body--and disappear without the knowledge of my friends?" I asked.

"a.s.suredly."

"Then I decline your offer."

"Consider well," he replied. "You will disappear, whether you accept or refuse. You have disappeared already. If you agree to my proposal, you will find yourself free, with a well-filled purse. You will be some thousands of miles away from England; but there will be nothing to hinder your return, if you desire to return."

"And what will happen to me if I refuse?"

"You will find yourself far away from home and friends, penniless, helpless, a hopeless slave."