The courtier gave a doubting nod towards the steed.

"Oh!" responded the footpad, coolly continuing his task, "moat a been your horse ten minutes agone. He be myen now. I've been a-foot long enough, while you an' yours ha' been ridin'. It be my time to mount for a bit. That's only fair turn an' turn, ar'nt it?"

The dismounted messenger made no reply. Though surprise and terror had by this time well-nigh deprived him of his senses, he had enough left to admonish him, that all remonstrance would be idle. He said nothing, therefore; but stood with shivering frame and teeth chattering like castanets: for it chanced to be one of those chill autumnal nights, when the cold is felt almost as sensibly as in December.

The footpad took no further notice of him, until he had completed the binding of the bundle. Then straightening himself up, face to face with his victim, he surveyed him from head to foot with a half-quizzical, half serious look.

The latter at length predominated--as if some suspicious thought had come uppermost in his mind.

"Cowardly as ye be, ye king's minion," said he, addressing the trembling messenger in a tone of scornful bitterness, "thear mout be cunnin' an'

mischief in ye. I'll take care that ye doant go furder this night.

Come along into the house here! Ye woant object to that--seein' as ye're so starved-like outside. Come along!"

And without waiting for either the a.s.sent or refusal of the individual thus solicited, the robber seized him by the wrist; and half led, half dragged, him over the threshold of the hovel.

Once inside the ruin, he proceeded to bind his unresisting victim with cords, which he had taken in along with him. He had plenty of light for his purpose: for a portion of the roof had fallen in, and the moonlight shone brightly upon the thatch-strewn floor.

Expert in the handling of ropes, his task was soon performed; and in a few minutes the King's messenger stood with his arms bound behind his back, and his ankles lashed as tightly together, as if he had been a dangerous felon!

"Now," said the robber, after securing the last loop, apparently to his satisfaction, "you woant come loose till somebody lets ye; and that arnt goin' to be me. I ha'nt no wish to be cruel to ye--tho' ye are a king's flunkey--an' as ye'll be easier lyin' down than stannin' up, I'll put you in that position."

As he said this, he let go his hold, and permitted the unfortunate man to fall heavily upon the floor.

"Lie thear, Master Messenger, till somebody lifts ye. _I'll_ see to the deliverin' o' yer message. Good-night!"

And with a mocking laugh Gregory Garth strode back over the threshold-- leaving the astounded traveller to reflections that were neither very lucid nor very pleasant.

After pa.s.sing out of the hut, the footpad hastened to take his departure from the spot.

He led the steed of the messenger out into the middle of the road, and tied the bridle he had made to the cantle of the saddle. He then glided up to the near side of the horse; and caught hold of the withers--as if about to mount.

Something, however, caused him to hesitate; and an interval elapsed, without his making any effort to get into the saddle.

"Daangit, old partners!" cried he, at length--addressing himself to his band of dummies, whom he had been for sometime neglecting--"'twon't do for us to part this fashion. If Greg'ry Garth are promoted to be a _highwayman_, he arn't goin' to look down on his pals o' the _path_.

No! Ye shall go long wi' me, one an' all. Though the hul o' ye put thegither arnt worth this shinin' ticker I've got in my fob, for all that I can make better use o' ye, than leavin' ye here to scare the crows o' Jarret's Heath. Come along, my boys! I'se boun', this stout charger from the royal mews be able to carry the hul on us, an' not think it much o' a looad neyther. I'll find room for all o' ye--some on the crupper, and the rest on the withers. Come along then!"

Without waiting for any reply to his proposal, he glided around the edge of the opening: and, rapidly dismantling the dummies one after the other, he returned towards the horse with their ravished vestments.

Hanging the "old clo'" across both croup and withers--and there attaching them by strings--he at length climbed into the saddle lately occupied by the king's messenger, and rode gleefully away.

Just as he cleared the crossing of the roads, the clock of Chalfont Saint Peter's tolled the hour of midnight.

"Exact twelve!" exclaimed he, in a tone of congratulation. "Well! 'twur a close shave; but I've kep' my word to Master Henry! If I had broke that, I could niver a looked him in the face again. Ha! Hear them old church bells! How sweet they sound on the air o' the night! They mind me o' the time, when I wur innocent child. Ring on! ring on! ye bells o' Peter's Chaffont! Ring on, an' tell the world that _Greg'ry Garth is biddin' good-bye to the road_!"

Volume One, Chapter XIII.

Were the Chiltern Hills stripped of the timber, to this day screening a considerable portion of their surface, they would present a striking resemblance to those portions of the great North American Steppe, known in trapper-parlance as "rolling prairies." With equal truthfulness might they be likened to the Ocean, after a great storm, when the waves no longer carry their foaming crests, and the undulations of the swell have, to a certain extent, lost their parallelism. If you can fancy the liquid element then suddenly transformed into solid earth, you will have a good idea of the "shape" of the Chilterns.

From time immemorial have these hills enjoyed a peculiar reputation. In the forward march of England's agriculture, it was long ere their sterile soil tempted the touch of the plough; and even at this hour vast tracts of their surface lie unreclaimed--in "commons" covered with heath, furze, or forests of beechwood.

At various periods of our history, their fame has not been of the fairest. Their wild woods, while giving shelter to the n.o.ble stag, and other creatures of the chase, also served as a choice retreat for the outlaw and the robber; and in past times, it became necessary to appoint a "steward or warden," with a body of armed attendants, to give safe-conduct to the traveller, pa.s.sing through their limits. Hence the origin of that noted office--now happily a sinecure; though, unhappily, not the only sinecure of like obsolete utility in this grievously taxed land.

Near the eastern verge of the Chiltern country, is situated the n.o.ble park of Bulstrode. It is one of the most ancient inclosures in England--older than the invasion of the Norman; perhaps as old as the evacuation of the Roman. In the former epoch it was the scene of strife--as the remains of a Saxon encampment lying within its limits-- with a singular legend attached--will testify.

Extending over an area of a thousand acres, there is scarce a rood of Bulstrode Park that could be called level ground--the camp enclosure, already mentioned, forming the single exception. The surface exhibits a series of smooth rounded hills, and undulating ridges, separated from each other by deep valley-like ravines--the concavities of the latter so resembling the convexities of the former, as to suggest the idea that the hills have been scooped out of the valleys, and placed in an inverted position beside them. The park itself offers a fair specimen of the scenery of the Chilterns--the ocean swell suddenly brought to a stand, the waves, and the "troughs" between, having lost their parallelism. The valleys traverse in different directions, here running into each other; there shallowing upward, or ending abruptly in deep romantic dells, thickly copsed with hawthorn, holly, or hazel--the favourite haunts of the nightingale. The ridges join each other in a similar fashion; or rise into isolated hills, so smoothly coped as to seem artificial. Belts of shrubbery and clumps of gigantic trees--elm, oak, beech, and chestnut--mottle the slopes, or crown their summits; while the s.p.a.ces between exhibit a sward of that vivid verdure--only to be seen in the pastures and parks of England. Such was Bulstrode Park in the seventeenth century; such with but slight change, is it at the present day--a worthy residence for the n.o.blest family in the land.

It is the morning of the fete arranged by Sir Marmaduke Wade--to celebrate the anniversary of his son's birthday, and at the same time to commemorate his return to the paternal mansion.

The red aurora of an autumnal morning has given promise of a brilliant day; and as if to keep that promise, a golden sun, already some degrees above the horizon, is gradually mounting into a canopy of cloudless blue.

His beams striking obliquely through the foliage of the forest, fall with a subdued light upon the earth; but in the more open undulations of the park they have already kissed the dew from the gra.s.s; and the verdant turf seems to invite the footstep--like some vast carpet spread over the arena of the expected sports.

It is evident that the invitation of Sir Marmaduke had been extensively circulated, and accepted. On every road and path tending in the direction of his residence, and from a distance of many miles, groups of rustics in their gayest holiday dresses, have been seen from an early hour in the morning, proceeding towards the scene of the fete--old and young, fair and dark, comely and common-looking, all equally joyous and gleeful.

Within the lines of the old Saxon encampment a large company has a.s.sembled. There are thousands in all--some roaming over the ground, some seated under shady trees on the summit of the turf-grown moat.

Here and there may be seen large numbers forming a "ring"--the spectators of some sport that is progressing in their midst.

Of sports there are many kinds carried on at the same time. Here is played the game of "balloon:" a huge leathern ball, inflated with hot air, and bandied about amidst a circle of players--the game being to keep the ball pa.s.sing from one to the other.

There you may see another party engaged in a game of "bowls,"

fashionable as the favourite of Royalty; and further on, a crowd cl.u.s.tered around a contest of "single-stick," where two stout fellows are cudgelling one another, as if determined upon a mutual cracking of skulls--a feat, however, not so easy of accomplishment.

Not far off you may behold the gentler sport of "kiss in the ring,"

where blue-eyed Saxon girls are pursued by their rustic beaux, and easily overtaken.

At other places you may witness a wrestling match, a game of foot-ball, or quoits, with "pitching the stone," racing, leaping, and vaulting.

At a short distance off, and outside the encampment, may be seen an _al fresco_ kitchen, on an extensive scale; where the servants of Sir Marmaduke are engaged in roasting immense _barons_ of beef, and huge hogs cleft lengthwise. An hour or two later, and this spot will be the roost attractive of all.

Not alone does the peasant world appear in the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade. Cavaliers picturesquely attired, in the splendid costumes of the time, along with high-born dames, are seen standing in groups over the ground. Some are spectators of the sports, though not a few of both s.e.xes occasionally take part in them. The _fete champetre_ is a fashionable mode of amus.e.m.e.nt where rank is, for the time, surrendered to the desire for simple enjoyment; and it is not altogether _outre_ for the mistress of the mansion to mingle with her maidens in the "out-door dance," nor the squire to take a hand at "single-stick," or "bowls,"

with his rustic retainer.

Even Royalty, in those days was accustomed to such condescension!

Such was the gay spectacle exhibited in the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade, to celebrate the anniversary of that happy day that had given him a son and heir.

Volume One, Chapter XIV.

The bells of Uxbridge were tolling the hour of noon. Scarthe's Cuira.s.siers were still by the roadside inn, though in full armour, and each trooper standing by the side of his horse, ready to take saddle.

It was a late hour to begin their march; but they had been detained.

The freshly rasped hoofs of the horses might declare the cause of the detention. The forges of Uxbridge had been called into requisition, for the shoeing of the troop.

There was no special need for haste. They had not far to go; and the duty upon which they were bent, could be entered into at any hour. At twelve they were all ready for the _route_.

"To horse!" was uttered in the usual abrupt tone of command; and at the same instant, the two officers were seen issuing from the doorway of the inn.