Gregory must be making the noises, in some way or other? But how? What should _he_ be groaning about? Or for what were those exclamations of anger?

Holtspur had barely time to shape these interrogatories, before the sound became changed--not so much in tone as in intensity. It was still uttered in moanings and angry e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns; but the former, instead of appearing distant and long-drawn as before, were now heard more distinctly; while the latter, becoming sharper and of more angry intonation, were not p.r.o.nounced as before in monologue, but in two distinct voices--as if at least two individuals were taking part in the indignant duetto!

What it was that was thus waking up the nocturnal echoes of Wapsey's Wood was a puzzle to Henry Holtspur; nor did it a.s.sist him in the elucidation, to hear one of the voices--that which gave out the melancholy moanings--at intervals interrupted by the other in peals of loud laughter! On the contrary it only rendered the fearful _fracas_ more difficult of explanation.

Holtspur now recognised the laughing voice to be that of Gregory Garth; though why the ex-footpad was giving utterance to such jovial cachinnations, he could not even conjecture.

Lonely as was the road, on which he had been so unceremoniously forsaken, he was not the only one traversing it at that hour. His pursuers were also upon it--not _behind_ but _before_ him--like himself listening with mystified understandings to those strange sounds.

Absorbed in seeking a solution of them, Holtspur failed to perceive the half-dozen figures that, disengaging themselves from the tree-trunks, behind which they had been concealed, were closing stealthily and silently around him.

It was too late when he did perceive them--too late, either for flight or defence.

He sprang to one side; but only to be caught in the grasp of the stalwart corporal of the guard.

The latter might have been shaken off; but the sentry Withers-- compromised by the prisoner's escape, and therefore deeply interested in his detention--had closed upon him from the opposite side; and in quick succession, the others of the cuira.s.sier guard had flung themselves around him.

Holtspur was altogether unarmed. Resistance could only end in his being thrust through by their swords, or impaled upon their halberts; and once more the gallant cavalier, who could not have been vanquished by a single antagonist, was forced to yield to that fate which may befall the bravest. He had to succ.u.mb to the strength of superior numbers.

Marched afoot between a double file of his captors, he was conducted back along the road, towards the prison from which he had so recently escaped.

The mingled groans and laughter, still continued to wake up the echoes of Wapsey's Wood.

To Holtspur they were only intelligible, so far as that the laughing part in the duet was being performed by the ex-footpad--Gregory Garth.

The soldiers, intent upon retaining their prisoner, gave no further heed to them, than to remark upon their strangeness. But for the merry peals at intervals interrupting the more lugubrious utterance, they might have supposed that a foul murder was being committed. But the laughter forbade this supposition; and Holtspur's guard pa.s.sed out of hearing of the strange noises, under the impression that they came from a camp of gipsies, who, in their nocturnal orgies, were celebrating some ceremony of their vagrant ritual.

She who had been the instrument of Holtspur's delivery, had also played the chief part in his recapture. Following his captors under the shadow of the trees, unseen by him and them, she had continued a spectator to all that pa.s.sed; for a time giving way to the joy of her jealous vengeance.

Soon, however, on seeing the rude treatment to which her victim was subjected--when she witnessed the jostling, and heard the jeers of his triumphant captors, her spirit recoiled from the act she had committed; and, when, at length, the courtyard gate was closed upon the betrayed patriot, the daughter of d.i.c.k Dancey fell prostrate upon the sward, and bedewed the gra.s.s with tears of bitter repentance!

Volume Three, Chapter VII.

About an hour after the recapture of Henry Holtspur, two men might have been seen descending the long slope of Red Hill, in the direction of Uxbridge.

They were both men of large stature--one of them almost gigantic. They were on horseback: the younger of the two bestriding a good steed, while his older and more colossal companion was mounted upon as sorry a jade as ever set hoof upon a road.

The first, booted and spurred, with a plumed hat upon his head, and gauntlets upon his wrists, in the obscure light might have been mistaken for a cavalier. When the moon made its appearance from behind the clouds--which happened at intervals--a certain _bizarrerie_ about his costume forbade the supposition; and the stalwart form and swarth visage of Gregory Garth were then too conspicuous to escape recognition, by any acquaintance he might have encountered upon the road.

The more rustic garb of his travelling companion--as well as the figure it enveloped--could with equal facility be identified as belonging to d.i.c.k Dancey, the deer-stealer.

The presence of these two worthies on horseback, and riding towards Uxbridge, was not without a purpose, presently to be explained.

The cuira.s.siers had been astray in conjecturing that the noises heard in Wapsey's Wood proceeded from a gang of gipsies. It was nothing of the kind. What they heard was simply Gregory Garth engaged in the performance of that promise he had made in the morning. Although he did not carry out his threat to the exact letter, he executed it in the spirit; taking his departure from the bedside of Will Walford, only after every bone in the woodman's body had been made to taste the quality of the cudgel expressly cut for the occasion.

It is possible that Will Walford's punishment might have been still more severe, but that his castigator was pressed for time--so much so, that he left the wretch without releasing him, with a set of suffering bones, and a skin that exhibited all the colours of the rainbow.

After thus settling accounts with the "_tree_-tur," as he called him, Garth had thrown away his holly stick, and hastened back to the road.

Under the supposition that Holtspur was by that time advanced some distance towards Beaconsfield, he hurried on to overtake him.

The moon was shining full upon the track; and in the dust, which the rain had recently converted into mud, the ex-footpad did not fail to perceive a number of footprints. In the exercise of his peculiar calling, he had been accustomed to note such signs, and had acquired a skill in their interpretation equal to that of a backwoods hunter.

Instantly he stopped, and commenced scrutinising the sign.

He was upon the spot where the capture had been accomplished. The footmarks of six or seven men--who had been springing violently from side to side--had left long slides and scratches in the damp dust. The tracks of the troopers were easily distinguished; and in their midst the more elegant imprint of a cavalier's boot.

Garth needed no further evidence of the misfortune that had befallen.

Beyond doubt his master had been once more made prisoner; and, cursing himself for being the cause, he mechanically traced the backward tracks--his despondent air proclaiming that he had but little hope of being able to effect a rescue.

Returning upon the traces of the cuira.s.sier guards, he re-entered the park, and advanced towards the mansion--which the darkness enabled him to do with safety. There he had discovered Bet Dancey--a sorrowing penitent--prostrate upon the ground--where, in her distraction, she had thrown herself.

From the girl he had obtained confirmation of the recapture--though not the true cause either of that, or her own grief.

Her statement was simple. The guards had followed Master Holtspur; they had overtaken, overpowered, and brought him back; he was once more locked up within the store-room.

The hope, of again delivering him out of the hands of his enemies, might have appeared too slender to be entertained by any one; and for a time it did so--even to the unflinching spirit of his old retainer.

But the ex-footpad, when contemplating the chances of getting out of a prison, was not the man to remain the slave of despair--at least for any great length of time; and no sooner had he satisfied himself, that his master was once more encaged, than he set his wits freshly to work, to contrive some new scheme for his deliverance.

From the store-room, in which Holtspur was again confined, it would be no longer possible to extricate him. The trick, already tried, could not succeed a second time. Withers was the only one of the guards who might have been tempted; but after his affright, it was not likely that either the promise of kisses, or the proffer of gold pieces, would again seduce the sentry from the strict line of his duty.

But Garth did not contemplate any such repet.i.tion. An idea that promised a better chance of success had offered itself to his mind. To set free his master by _strategy_ was henceforth plainly impracticable.

Perhaps it might be done by _strength_?

Not in Bulstrode mansion--where the prisoner was surrounded by fourscore cuira.s.siers? No--clearly not. There could be no possibility of accomplishing a rescue there; nor did Gregory Garth give it a moment's thought. His ideas became directed to the road that lay between the two prisons--the store-room and the Tower. He already knew that Holtspur was to be transferred from one to the other, and on the following day.

During the transit, might there not be some chance of effecting a rescue?

Garth knew the London Road--every inch of it--and, in one way or other, was acquainted with most of the people who dwelt near it. Although upon an odd individual, here and there, he had practised his peculiar vocation, there were few with whom he was upon hostile terms. With many he held relations of friendship; and with a goodly number certain other relations, that should ent.i.tle him to an act of service at their hands.

With a plan--but still only half developed--he had once more hurried back along the Hedgerley Road, towards the rendezvous, where Dancey and the Indian had already arrived with the horses.

He found them waiting, and apprehensive;--almost expecting the sad tidings he had to communicate--the failure of their enterprise.

As Garth, during the backward tramp, had more definitely arranged his programme of action, there was no time wasted in consultation. Dancey readily consented to the proposal, to become his confederate in the scheme he had so promptly conceived.

Oriole having been directed to return to Stone Dean, the ex-footpad sprang upon his stolen steed; and, followed by the deer-stealer on his scraggy cob, at once started off along upon a bridle path, which winding around the southern boundary of Bulstrode Park, would bring them to the king's highway, where the latter crossed over the elevated plain of Jarret's Heath.

It is in pursuance of the scheme conceived by Garth, that he and his companion were descending Red Hill at that early hour of the morning.

Whithersoever bent, they were evidently in haste to reach their destination--more especially Garth, who was constantly urging his companion to keep up with him. The quadruped bestridden by the deer-stealer was the chief obstruction to their speed; and despite the frequent application of a stout stick, which his rider carried in hand, and the p.r.i.c.king of a rusty spur fastened upon his heel, the sorry hack could not be urged beyond a slow shuffling trot--discontinued the instant the stimulus of stick and spur were suspended.

"The devil burn your beest, Dancey!" cried the ex-footpad, losing all patience at the slow pace of the animal. "We'll not ha' nigh time enough to see them all. From what your daughter learnt yesterday, the sogers 'll bring their prisoner down the road, the first thing in the mornin'. They'll do that, so's to make the journey to Lonnon afore night. No doubt about their gettin' to Uxbridge by ten o' the clock; an' just see what we've got to do afore then. Stick the spur into him-- up to the shank, Dancey! The lazy brute! I'd make 'im go, if I war astride o' him."

"The poor creetur!" compa.s.sionately rejoined Dancey, by way of an apology for his nag, "he han't had a bite o' any thin' to eat for a week--'ceptin' what he ha' grubbed off o' the roadside. No wonder he bean't much for a fast journey."

"Lucky it isn't a longish one. If we had Lonnon afore us we'd niver get there! As it is--ha! now I think on't, I've got a idea as'll save time.

There be no use for us to keep thegither. You go round Denham way, an'

warn your friends there. You can cross the Colne higher up, an' scud on to the Harefield fellows. I'll take Uxbridge an' Hillindon, and along in the Drayton direction. That'll be our best plan. We can meet at the Rose and Crown, as soon as we've got through. I'll go there first, so as to gi'e old Brownie a hint 'bout gettin' his tap ready. Lucky I ha'

been able to borrow some money upon a watch I chanced upon--a tydish bit--else we mightn't find these patriots so free to lend us a hand. I shall spend it all--every stiver o't--for the rescue o' Master Henry."