Ralph still sat silent, his head aside, looking into the fire.

"That's many and many a year agone; leastways, so it seems. My wife was living then. We were married in Gaskarth, but work was bad, and we packed up and went to live for a while in a great city, leagues and leagues to the south. And there my poor girl, Josephine--I called her Josie for short, and because it was more kind and close like--there my poor girl fell ill and died. Her face got paler day by day, but she kept a brave heart--she was just such like as Rotha that way--and she tended the house till the last, she did."

A louder burst of merriment than usual came from the distant room. The fellows were singing a s.n.a.t.c.h together.

"Do you know, Rotha called her mother, Josie, too. I checked her, I did; but my poor girl she said, said she, 'Never mind; the little one has been hearkening to yourself.' You'd have cried, I think, if you'd been with us the day she died. I was sitting at work, and she called out that she felt faint; so I jumped up and held her in my arms and sent our little Rotha for a neighbor. But it was too late. My poor darling was gone in a minute, and when the wee thing came running back to us, with red cheeks, she looked frightened, and cried, 'Josie!

Josie!' 'My poor Rotie, my poor little lost Rotie,' I said, 'our dear Josie, she is in heaven!' Then the little one cried, 'No, no, no'; and wept, and wept till--till--_I_ wept with her."

The door of the distant apartment must have been again thrown open, for a robustious fellow could be heard to sing a stave of a drinking song. The words came clearly in the silence that preceded a general outburst of chorus:--

"Then to the Duke fill, Fill up the gla.s.s; The son of our martyr, beloved of the King."

"We buried her there," continued Sim; "ay, we buried her in the town; and, with the crowds and the noise above her, there sleeps my brave Josie, and I shall see her face no more."

Ralph rose up, and walked to the door by which he and Sim had entered from the yard of the inn. He opened it and stood for a moment on the threshold. The snow was falling in thick flakes. Already it covered the ground and lay heavy on the roofs of the outhouses and on the boughs of the leafless trees. A great calm was on the earth and in the air.

Robbie speed on! Lose not an hour now, for an hour lost may be a life's loss.

Ralph was turning back into the room, and bolting the outer door, when the landlord entered hurriedly from the pa.s.sage. He was excited.

"Is it not--captain, tell me--is it not Wy'bern--your father's home--Wy'bern, on Bracken Mere?"

"It _was_ my father's home--why?"

"Then the bloodhounds _are_ on your trail!"

The perspiration was standing in beads on Brown's forehead.

"They talk of nothing to each other but of a game that's coming on at Wy'bern, and what they'll do for some one that they never name. If they'd but let wit who he is I'd--I'd know them."

"Landlord, landlord!" cried a man whose uncertain footsteps could be heard in the pa.s.sage,--"landlord, bring your two guests to us--bring them for a gla.s.s."

The fellow was making his way to the room into which Ralph and Sim had been hustled. The landlord slid out of it through the smallest aperture between the door and its frame that could discharge a man of his st.u.r.dy physique. When the door closed behind him he could be heard to protest against any intention of disturbing his visitors. The two gentlemen had made a long journey, travelling two nights and two days at a stretch; so they'd gone off to bed and were snoring hard by this time; the landlord could stake his solemn honor upon it.

The tipsy Royalist seemed content with the apology for non-appearance, and returned to his companions bellowing,--

"Let Tories guard the King; Let Whigs in halters swing."

Ralph walked uneasily across the room. Could it be that these men were already on their way to Wythburn to carry out the processes of the law with respect to himself and his family?

In another minute the landlord returned.

"It's as certain as the Lord's above us," he whispered. "They wanted to get to you to have you drink the King's health with them, and when I swore you were asleep they ax't if you had no horses with you. I said you had one horse. 'One horse among two,' they said, with a great goasteren laugh; 'why, then, they're Jock and his mither.' 'One horse,' I said, 'or maybe two.' 'We must have 'em,' they said; 'we take possession on 'em in the King's service. We've got to cross the fells to Wy'bern in the morning.'"

"What are they, Brown?"

"Musketeers, three of 'em, and ya sour fellow that limps of a leg; they call him Constable David."

"Let them have the horses. It will save trouble to you."

Then turning to Sim, Ralph added, "We must be stirring betimes to-morrow, old friend; the daybreak must see us on the road. The snow will be thick in the morning, and perhaps the horses would have hindered us. Everything is for the best."

The landlord lifted his curly-headed son (now fast asleep) from Sim's knee, and left the room.

Sim's excitement was plainly visible, and even Ralph could not conceal his own agitation. Was he to be too late to do what it had been in his mind to do?

"Did you say Sat.u.r.day week next? It is Tuesday to-day," said Ralph.

"A week come Sat.u.r.day--that was what Rotha told me."

"It's strange--very strange!"

Ralph satisfied himself at length that the men in the adjoining, room were but going off to Wythburn nine days in advance in order to be ready to carry into effect the intended confiscation immediately their instructions should reach them. The real evils by which Ralph was surrounded were too numerous to allow of his wasting much apprehension on possible ones.

The din of the drinkers subsided at length, and toper after toper was helped to his bed.

Then blankets were brought into Ralph and Sim, and rough shakedowns were made for them on the broad settles. Sim lay down and fell asleep.

Ralph walked to and fro for hours.

The quiet night was far worn towards morning when Brown, the landlord, tapped at the door and entered.

"Not a wink will come to me," he said, and sat down before the smouldering fire.

Ralph continued his perambulation to and fro, to and fro. He thought again of what had occurred, and of what must soon occur to him and his--of Wilson's death--his father's death--the flight of the horse on the fells--all, all, centring somehow in himself. There must be sin involved, though he knew not how--sin and its penalty. It was more and more clear that G.o.d's hand was on him--on _him_. Every act of his own hand turned to evil, and those whom he would bless were cursed. And this cruel scheme of evil--this fate--could it not be broken? Was there no propitiation? Yes, there was; there must be. That thing which he was minded to do would be expiation in the sight of Heaven. G.o.d would accept it for an atonement--yes; and there was soft balm like a river of morning air in the thought.

Sim slept on, and Brown crouched over the fire, with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. There was not a motion within the house or without; the world lay still and white like death.

Yes, it must be so; it must be that his life was to be the ransom.

And it should be paid! Then the clouds would rise and the sun appear.

"Fate that impedes, make way, make way! Mother, Rotha, w.i.l.l.y, wait, wait! I come, I come."

Ralph's face brightened with the ecstasy of reflection. Was it frenzy in which his morbid idea had ended? If so, it was the frenzy of a self-sacrifice that was sublimity itself.

At one moment Brown stirred in his seat and held his head aside, as though listening for some sound in the far distance.

"Did you hear it?" he asked, in a whisper that had an accent of fear.

"Hear what?" asked Ralph.

"The neigh of the horse," said Brown. "I heard nothing" replied Ralph, and walked to the window, and listened. "What horse?" he asked, turning about.