CHAPTER XIII.
For England's war revered the claim Of every unprotected name; And spared, amidst its fiercest rage, Childhood, and womanhood, and age.
So sung a great poet and excellent man, but begging the master'spardon, if War herself spared them, the consequences of war reachedthem sadly. It never has been, and never will be, that in times ofcivil contention, when anarchy has dissolved the bonds of law, thefierce passions, which in the breasts of too many are only fettered byfear, will not break forth to ravage and destroy. There never was yetstrife without crime, and never will be. Certainly, such was not thecase in the civil wars of the great rebellion, and many an act wascommitted with impunity under cover of the disorders of the time, ofthe most black and horrible character. True, the justice still heldhis seat upon the bench, to take cognizance of all crimes butrebellion; true, mayors and corporations existed in cities, andexercised municipal authority; but the power thus possessed was notunfrequently used for the gratification of the person who held it onthe side of the parliament, and if not held by one of that party, wasutterly disregarded by those who were.
Of this fact, Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was very well aware; and aftermaking his escape from the carriages during the skirmish at thebridge, he had, with the assistance of his companion, dragged poorArrah Neil along with him, assuring the parliamentary committee-manwho accompanied him, that he did it solely to deliver the poor girlfrom the men of Belial with whom she was consorting, and to place herin the hands of a chosen vessel, a devout woman of his neighbourhood,whom he likened, in an irreverent strain, to Anna the prophetess.
Whether his companion put full faith in his sincerity and singlenessof purpose or not, does not much matter. Captain Batten was not one toquarrel with any one's hypocrisy; and indeed it seemed that a sort ofagreement had been made amongst the Roundheads--like that by which mentake paper money instead of gold and silver--to let each man'sreligious pretences pass current as genuine coin, however flimsy mightbe the materials of which they were made. The real purpose of Mr. Drywas, to take poor Arrah Neil back to Bishop's Merton for his ownviews; and his motives were, as the reader will learn hereafter, of avery mixed character. But, after having wandered about with Batten andDr. Bastwick for two days, during the course of which he was more thanonce seen studying a packet of old letters, he expressed a strongdesire to go under the escort of some body of parliamentary troopsinto Yorkshire, where he declared he had just recollected having somebusiness of importance to transact.
No opportunity occurred for several days, during which time the wholeparty who had escaped from the Cavaliers, at the invitation of theworthy common councilmen of Coventry, took up their abode for a timein that ancient city, Mr. Dry watching poor Arrah Neil with theclosest care, and giving out to the landlady of the inn at which helodged that she was a poor ward of his, of weak understanding, overwhom it was necessary to keep a strict guard.
The pious landlady of Coventry believed every word that Mr. Drythought fit to tell her. How could she do otherwise, indeed, with sovery devout a person? and to say the truth, the demeanour andappearance of Arrah Neil did not serve to belie the assertions of theold hypocrite who had her in his power. She remained the greater partof each day plunged in deep and melancholy musings; and though shemore than once attempted to escape, and said she was wrongfullydetained, yet she entered into no long explanations, notwithstandingsundry opportunities afforded her by the hostess, who was not withouther share of curiosity. The fit, or, as she called it, the cloud ofgloom, had come upon her again. It had passed away, indeed, during theactive and bustling time of the march from Bishop's Merton, and soindeed it always did, either in moments when all went clear andsmoothly, or in times of great difficulty and danger; but still itreturned when any of the bitter sorrows and pangs of which every lifehas some, and hers had too many, crossed her way, and darkened theprospect of the future.
It was not sullenness, reader; it was no gloomy bitterness of spirit;it was no impatience of the ills that are the lot of all; it was norebellions murmuring against the will of God: neither was it madness,nor anything like it, though she acted sometimes strangely, andsometimes wildly, as it seemed to the common eyes of the world, from astrong and energetic determination of accomplishing her object at thetime, joined with the utter want of that experience of the world whichwould have taught her how to accomplish it by ordinary means. What wasit then? you will ask, and may think it strange when I say--_memory_.But so it was: memory, confused and vague, of things long gone before,which formed so strong a contrast with the present, that wheneversorrow or disappointment fell upon her, some former time, some distantscenes of which she knew not the when nor the where, rose up beforeher eyes, and made even herself believe that she was mad. Sherecollected bright looks and kind words, and days of happiness andnights of peace and repose, to which she could not give "a localhabitation and a name." Were they visions? she asked herself; werethey dreams? where could they have occurred? what could they havebeen? Was it from some book which she had read, she often inquired,that such fanciful pictures had been gleaned, and had then fixedthemselves as realities in her mind?
She could not tell; but when such memories rose up, they tookpossession of her wholly--bewildered, confused, overpowered her. For atime she was a creature of the past; she scarcely believed in thepresent; she knew not which was the reality--the things gone by, orthe things that surrounded her.
During the whole time that she remained at Coventry, this cloud wasupon her, and she paid little attention to anything but the continualquestioning of her own heart and mind. She attempted, as we have said,to escape--indeed, more than once; but it was by impulse rather thanby thought; and when frustrated, she fell at once back again intomeditation. She did not remark that Dry treated her in a verydifferent manner from that which he had ever displayed towards herbefore; that he called her "Mistress Arrah;" that he tried to sootheand to amuse her. She noticed, but without much attention, thatdifferent clothing had been provided for her from that which she hadbeen accustomed to wear; but whenever her mind turned from the pasttowards the present again, her thoughts busied themselves with CharlesWalton and his sister, and she would have given worlds to know how itfared with those she loved.
That the victory had been won by the Cavaliers she was aware, but atwhat price it had been bought she could not tell, and she trembled tothink of it. No one, indeed, spoke to her upon the subject; for Drywas silent, and for reasons of his own, he took care that she shouldbe visited by none but the landlady of the inn.
At length two pieces of intelligence reached him on the third dayafter their arrival in Coventry, which made him resolute to pursue hisjourney into Yorkshire immediately.
The first of these was communicated to him by one of his own servants,to whom he had sent shortly after the skirmish, and was to the effectthat the great majority of the people of Bishop's Merton had espousedthe royalist cause, and that messengers had arrived from Lord Walton,ordering him to be apprehended immediately, if he made his appearancein the place. With this news, however, came the money he had sent for;and on the evening of the same day, Dr. Bastwick brought him thesecond piece of information, which was merely that a troop of theparliamentary horse would pass through Coventry the following day, ontheir road to Hull, where Sir John Hotham was in command for theparliament. It was added that Master Dry might march safely undertheir escort, and he accordingly spent the rest of the evening inbuying horses and equipage for himself and Arrah Neil, and set out thefollowing day on his journey.
The tedious march towards Hull need not be related; during the wholeof the way the old man rode beside his charge, plying her with softand somewhat amorous words, mingled strangely and horribly with textsfrom Scripture, perverted and misapplied, and graced with airs ofpiety and devotion, which those who knew him well were quite aware hadno share in his dealings or in his heart.
Arrah Neil paid little attention t
o him, answered seldom, and then butby monosyllables. To escape was impossible, for he had now too manyabettors with him, and she was never left alone for a moment, exceptwhen locked into a room during a halt. Yet she looked anxiously forthe opportunity; and whenever any objects were seen moving through thecountry as they passed, her heart beat with the hope of some party ofCavaliers being nigh, and giving her relief. Such, however, did notprove the case, and about noon of an autumnal day, they entered thetown of Hull.
Here Mr. Ezekiel Dry separated himself from the troop, with thanks fortheir escort, and made his way towards the centre of the town, wherestood the house of a friend with whom he had often transacted businessof different kinds. The friend, however, had since he saw him marrieda wife, and was absent from the town; and though Mr. Dry assured ademure-looking maid-servant, who opened the door, that his friendJeremiah had always told him he might use his house as his own, themaid knew Jeremiah better than Mr. Dry, and demurred to receiving anyguest during her master's absence.
When the worthy gentleman had finished his conversation, and made uphis mind that he must seek an inn, he turned round to remount hishorse, and was somewhat surprised to see Arrah Neil gazing round herwith a degree of light and even wonder in her look, for which heperceived no apparent cause. The street was a dull and dingy one; mostof the houses were of wood, with the gables turned towards the road;and from the opposite side projected a long pole, from which swung asquare piece of wood representing, in very rough and rude style, thefigure of a swan the size of life. Yet over the dark and time-stainedface of the buildings, up the line of narrow street, round the windowsand doors carved with quaint figures, ran the beautiful eyes of ArrahNeil, with a look of eager satisfaction which Ezekiel Dry could in nodegree account for. They rested principally upon the figure of theswan, however, and as that emblem showed that it was a house of publicentertainment, thither Mr. Dry turned the horses' heads, and bade heralight at the door.
Arrah sprang to the ground in a moment, and entered the house with analacrity which Mr. Dry had never seen her before display. Somethingappeared to have enchanted her, for she almost outran the hostess, wholed the way, saying, "This way, pretty lady--this way, sir." But whenshe stopped at a door in a long open corridor, Arrah Neil actuallypassed her, exclaiming--
"No, not that room; I should prefer this;" and, without waiting for ananswer, she opened the door and went in.
"Dear lady, you seem to know the house quite well," said the hostess;"but yet I do not recollect having seen your pretty face before."
"Talk not of such vanities," said Mr. Dry, with a solemn tone; "whatis beauty but the dust, and fair flesh but as a clod of clay?"
"Well, I am sure!" said the landlady, who was what Mr. Dry would havecalled a carnal and self-seeking person, but a very good womannotwithstanding. "Ah, sir! what you say is very true; we are allnothing but clods of earth; there can be no doubt of it: it's verytrue indeed."
Finding her so far docile, Mr. Dry determined to make a still greaterimpression, in order to ensure that his object of keeping Arrah Neilwithin his grasp should not be frustrated by the collusion of thelandlady. He therefore set to work, and held forth to her upongodliness, and grace, and self-denyingness, and other Christianvirtues; touching a little upon original sin, predestination,election, and other simple and easy subjects, with a degree ofclearness and perspicuity such as might be expected from his originalstation and means of information. The landlady was confounded andpuzzled; but it was utterly impossible to tell what he really meant bythe unconnected images, quotations, and dogmas which he pronounced;she was unconvinced of anything but of his being a vehement Puritan,which she herself was not.
However, as it did not do to offend a customer, she shook her head andlooked sad, and cried from time to time, "Ah, very true! God help us,poor sinners that we are!" with sundry other exclamations, which,though they did not convince Mr. Dry that she had not a stronghankering for the fleshpots of Egypt and the abominations of theAmorites, yet showed him that she was very well inclined to pleasehim, and made him believe that she would fulfil his bidding to theletter.
He accordingly called her out of the room as soon as he thought he hadproduced his effect, and explaining to her what he pleased to call thesituation of his poor ward, he warned her particularly to keep thedoor locked upon her, to suffer no one to hold communication with her,and especially to prevent her from getting out, for fear she shouldthrow herself into the water or make away with herself, which herepresented to be not at all unlikely.
The hostess assured him that she was deeply grieved to hear the younglady's case. She could not have believed it, she said, she looked sosensible and cheerful.
"Ah!" replied Mr. Dry, "you will see her dull enough soon. It comesupon her by fits: but you must attend very punctually to my orders, orsomething may take place for which you will weep in sackcloth andashes."
"Oh, sir, I will attend to them most particularly," said the landlady."What will you please to order for dinner, sir? Had not I better putthe lady down a round-pointed knife? Is she dangerous with her hands?"
"Oh, no," answered Mr. Dry. "It is to herself, not to others, she isdangerous. And as for dinner, send up anything you have got,especially if it be high-flavoured and relishing, for I have but apoor appetite. I will be back in about an hour; and, in the mean time,can you tell me where in this town lives one Hugh O'Donnell, anIrishman, I believe?"
The landlady paused and considered, and then replied that she reallycould not tell; she knew of such a person being in the place, andbelieved he lived somewhere at the west of the town, but she was notby any means sure.
The moment Mr. Dry was gone, the good woman called to the cook, andordered a very substantial dinner for the party which had justarrived; but then, putting her hand before her eyes, she stood for thespace of a minute and a half in the centre of the tap-room, as if inconsideration; then said, "I won't tell him anything about it: thereis something strange in this affair; I am not a woman if I don't findit out." She then hurried up to the room where she had left ArrahNeil, unlocked the door, and went in.
The poor girl was leaning on the sill of the open window, gazing upand down the street. Her face was clear and bright; her beautiful blueeyes were full of intellect and fire; the look of doubt and inwardthought was gone; a change had come over her, complete andextraordinary. It seemed as if she had awakened from a dream.
When the landlady entered, Arrah immediately turned from the windowand advanced towards her. Then, laying her hand upon her arm, shegazed in her face for a moment so intently that the poor woman beganto be alarmed.
"I am sure I recollect you," said Arrah Neil. "Have you not been herelong?"
"For twenty years," replied the hostess; "and for five-and-twentybefore that in the house next door, from which I married into this."
"And don't you recollect me?" asked Arrah Neil.
"No," replied the landlady, "I do not; though I think I have seen someone very like you before, but then it was a taller lady--much taller."
"So she was," cried Arrah Neil. "What was her name?"
"Nay, I can't tell, if you can't," replied the landlady.
"I know what I called her, but I know nothing more," answered ArrahNeil. "I called her mother--and perhaps she was my mother. I calledher mother as I lay in that bed, with my head aching, my eyes burning,and my lips parched; and then I fell into a long deep sleep, fromwhich I awoke forgetting all that went before, and she was gone."
"Ay!" cried the landlady; "and are you that poor little thing?" andshe gazed upon her for a moment with a look of sad, deep interest. Thenext instant she cast her arms round her and kissed her tenderly. "Ah,poor child!" she said at length, with tears in her eyes, "those weresad times--sad times, indeed! 'Twas when the fever was raging thecountry. Sad work in such days for those who lodged strangers! It costme my only one. A man came and slept in that bed; he looked ill whenhe came, and worse when he went. Then came a lady and a child, and anold man, their servant, and
the house was full, all but this room andanother; and ere they had been here long, my own dear child was takenwith the fever. She was near your own age, perhaps a year older; and Itold the lady overnight, so she said she would go on the morrow, forshe was afraid for her darling. But before the morning came, you toowere shaking like a willow in the wind, and then came on the burningfit, and the third day you began to rave, and knew no one. The fifthday my poor girl died, and for a whole day I did not see you; I sawnothing but my dead child. On the next, however, they came to tell methe lady had fallen ill, and I came to watch you, for it seemed to meas if there was something between you and my poor Lucy--I knew notwhat; you had been sisters in sickness, and I thought you might besisters in the grave. I cannot help crying when I think of it. Oh,those were terrible days!" And the poor woman wiped her eyes.
"But my mother?" cried Arrah Neil--"my mother?"
"Some day I will show you where she lies," answered the hostess; andArrah wept bitterly, for a hope was crushed out to its last spark.
"She got worse and worse," continued the landlady; "and she too losther senses; but just as you were slowly getting a little better shesuddenly regained her mind; and I was so glad, for I thought she wouldrecover too; but the first words she spoke were to ask after you. So Itold her you were much better, and all she said was, 'I should wish tosee her once more before I die, if it may be done without harmingher;' and then I knew that she was going. I and the old servantcarried you, just as you were, and laid you on her bed, and she kissedyou, and prayed God to bless and keep you; but you were weak and dozy,and she would not have you wakened, but made us take you back; andthen she spoke long with the old man in a whisper; but all I heardwas, 'You promise, Neil?--you promise on your salvation?' He didpromise--though I did not know what it was. Then she said, 'Recollect,you must never tell her unless it be recovered.' Recovered she said,or reversed, I remember not well which; but from that moment she saidnothing more but to ask for some water, and so she went on till thenext morning, just as the day was dawning, and then she departed."
A short space passed in silent tears on the part of Arrah Neil, whilethe good woman who told the tale remained gazing forth from thewindow; but at length she continued: "Before you could run across thefloor again, nay husband died, but with him it was very quick. He wasbut three days between health and death; and when I had a littlerecovered I used foolishly to wish that you could stay with me, and belike my poor Lucy; but you were a lady and I was a poor woman, so thatcould not be; and in about six weeks the old man paid all that wasowing, and took you away. It is strange to think that you should bethe same pretty child that lay there sick near ten years ago."
"It is as strange to me as to you," said Arrah Neil; "for, as I tellyou, I seemed to fall into a deep sleep, and for a time I forgot all;but since then all the things which occurred before that time havetroubled me sadly. It seemed as if I had had a dream, and I recollecta castle on a hill, and riding with a tall gentleman, who was on agreat black horse, while I had a tiny thing, milk-white; and Iremember many servants and maids--oh! and many things I have neverseen since; but I could not tell whether it was real or a mere fancy,till I came into this town and saw the street which I used to look atfrom the window, and the sign of the house that I used to watch as itswung to and fro in the wind. Then I was sure it was real; and yourface, too, brought a thousand things back to me; and when I saw theroom where I had been, I felt inclined to weep, I knew not why. Well,well may I weep!"
"But who is this old man who is with you?" asked the landlady,suddenly. "He is not the old servant, who was as aged then as he isnow; and what is this tale he tells of your being his ward, and mad?"
"Mad!" cried Arrah Neil--"mad! Oh, no! 'Tis he that is wicked, not Ithat am mad. He and another dragged me away from those who protectedme and were good to me--kind Annie Walton, and that noble lord herbrother--while they were fighting on the moors beyond Coventry. I hisward! He has no more right to keep me from my friends than the mereststranger. He is a base, bad man--a hypocrite--a cheat. What he wants,what he wishes, I know not; but he had my poor old grandfather draggedaway to prison, and he died by the road."
"Your grandfather!" said the widow; "What was his name?"
"Neil," answered the poor girl; "that was the name he always went by."
"Why, that was the old servant," said the hostess. "He had been asoldier, and fought in many battles. I have heard him tell it often.But this man--this man has some object, young lady. He knows more ofyou than perhaps you think. He told me that you were mad, and hisward; but he knew not that you had a friend so near at hand, who,though she be a poor, humble woman--Hark! there are people speaking atthe door. 'Tis he, I dare say. Say not a word to him, and we will talkmore by-and-by. Do not be afraid--he shall not take you away again soeasily, if there be yet law in the land. But he must not find me withyou;" and, thus saying, she opened the door, and lei the room.