It was with strange sensations that Atherton looked back at thedarkling outline of the old mansion, and when it becameundistinguishable in the gloom, he felt as if he had been indulging inan idle dream.
But no! the broad domains that spread around him on either side werehis own. All he could discern belonged to him.
His meditations were not disturbed by either of his attendants, forthe sergeant was a short distance behind him, and the groom abouttwenty or thirty yards in advance. As they trotted on quickly theywere soon out of the park, and were now making their way somewhat moreslowly along the road leading to Warrington. Presently they turned offon the right, in order to reach the ford, and were skirting the banksof the Mersey, when Holden came back and said that he perceived somemen armed with muskets guarding the ford.
A brief consultation was then held. As the groom declared that theriver was only fordable at this point, Atherton resolved to go on atall hazards.
As they drew near the ford they found it guarded--as Holden hadstated--by half a dozen armed militia-men, who were evidentlydetermined to dispute their passage.
"Stand! in the king's name!" cried the leader of the party in anauthoritative voice. "We can discern that one of you is a Highlander,and we believe you are all rebels and traitors. Stand! I say!"
"Rebels and traitors yourselves!" thundered the sergeant in reply. "Weown no sovereign but King James the Third."
"Out of our way, fellows!" cried Atherton. "We mean to pass the ford!"
Drawing his sword as he spoke, he struck spurs into his steed, anddashed down the bank, followed closely by the sergeant and Holden--theformer having likewise drawn his claymore.
The militia-men drew back, but fired at them as they were crossing theriver, though without doing them any harm.
Having escaped this danger, they proceeded at the same rapid pace asbefore, and in the same order, the groom riding about twenty yards inadvance. The few travellers they met with got out of their way.
By the time they reached Chat Moss the moon had risen, and her beamsillumined the dreary swamp.
The scene looked far more striking than it did by daylight, butAtherton gazed at it with a different eye. Other thoughts now occupiedhis breast, and he seemed changed even to himself. When he trackedthat road, a few hours ago, he was a mere adventurer--withoutname--without fortune--now he had a title and large estates.Reflections on this sudden and extraordinary change in his positionnow completely engrossed him, and he fell into a reverie which lastedtill he reached Pendleton, and then waking up, as if from a dream, hewas astonished to find he had got so far.
From this elevation the town of Manchester could be descried, and asthe houses were again illuminated, and bonfires were lighted indifferent quarters, it presented a very striking appearance.
Just as Atherton crossed Salford Bridge, the clock of the collegiatechurch told forth eleven; and so crowded were the streets, owing tothe illuminations, that nearly another quarter of an hour was requiredto reach the prince's head-quarters.
Atherton was attended only by the groom, the sergeant having gone toreport himself on his return to the Chevalier de Johnstone.
Dismounting at the gate, he entered the mansion, and orders havingbeen given to that effect he was at once admitted to the prince, whowas alone in his private cabinet.
Charles instantly inquired if he had brought Sir Richard Rawcliffewith him.
"He is unable to obey your royal highness's summons," replied theother.
"How?" exclaimed the prince, frowning.
"He is lying dead at Rawcliffe, having perished by his own hand. Buthe has left a written confession, wherein he acknowledges that he haswrongfully deprived me of my inheritance."
"This is strange indeed!" exclaimed the prince. "His extraordinaryconduct to you is now explained, and the mystery that hung over yourbirth is solved. You are the lost son of the former baronet. Isuspected as much, and meant to force the truth from Sir Richard.However, he has spared me the trouble. Pray let me know all that hasoccurred?"
Atherton then commenced his relation, to which the prince listenedwith the greatest interest, and when the story was brought to aconclusion he said:
"I will not affect to pity your unhappy uncle. He has escaped earthlypunishment, and perhaps the deep remorse he appears to have felt mayobtain him mercy on High. Let us hope so--since he has striven at thelast to make some amends for his heavy offences. But to turn toyourself. Your position is now materially changed. You entered myservice as an unknown adventurer, and not as a wealthy baronet.Considering this, and feeling, also, that I am under great personalobligation to you, I will not wait for any solicitation on your part,but at once release you from your engagement to me."
Atherton was much moved.
"Your royal highness overwhelms me by your kindness," he said. "Butthough Rawcliffe Hall and its domains may be mine by right, I do notintend to deprive Constance of the property. Furthermore, I shall notassume my real name and title till the close of the campaign. For thepresent I shall remain Atherton Legh. I trust your highness willapprove of the course I intend to pursue?"
"I do approve of it," replied Charles, earnestly. "The resolution youhave taken does you honour. Since you are determined to join me, itshall not be as a mere officer in the Manchester Regiment, but as oneof my aides-de-camp. All needful explanation shall be given to ColonelTownley. I shall march at an early hour in the morning. But no matter.You can follow. You must see Constance before you leave, and if youare detained by any unforeseen cause, I will excuse you. Nay, nothanks. Good-night."
End of the Second Book.
BOOK III.
THE MARCH TO DERBY, AND THE RETREAT.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD JACOBITE DAME.
Next morning the prince quitted Manchester, marching on foot at thehead of two regiments of infantry which formed the advanced guard. Themain body of the army, with the cavalry and artillery, was to followat a later hour.
As the two regiments in question, which were composed of remarkablyfine men, marched up Market Street Lane, preceded by a dozen pipers,they were accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came towitness the prince's departure, and shouted lustily as he came forthfrom his head-quarters, attended by Sir Thomas Sheridan and ColonelKer.
Designing to make Macclesfield the limit of his first day's march,Charles took the road to Cheadle, and several hundred persons walked,or rather ran, by the side of the Highlanders for a mile or two, whenthey dropped off and returned, being unable to keep up with the activemountaineers.
Parties of men had been sent on previously to make a temporary bridgeacross the Mersey by felling trees; but the bridge not being completedon his arrival, the prince forded the river at the head of his troops.
On the opposite bank of the Mersey, several Cheshire gentlemen of goodfamily were waiting to greet him, and wish him success in hisenterprise.
Among them was an aged dame, Mrs. Skyring, who, being very infirm, wasled forward by a Roman Catholic priest. Kneeling before the prince,she pressed his hand to her lips.
Much impressed by her venerable looks, Charles immediately raised her,and on learning her name, told her he had often heard of her as adevoted adherent of his house.
"Give ear to me for a few moments, I pray you, most gracious prince,"she said, in faltering accents. "Eighty-five years ago, when aninfant, I was lifted up in my mother's arms to see the happy landingat Dover of your great uncle, King Charles the Second. My father was astaunch Cavalier, served in the Civil Wars, and fought at Worcester.My mother was equally attached to the House of Stuart. I inheritedtheir loyalty and devotion. When your grandsire, King James theSecond, was driven from the throne, I prayed daily for hisrestoration."
"You did more than pray, madam," said the prince. "I am quite awarethat you remitted half your income to our family; and this you havedone for more than fifty years. I thank you in my grandsire's name--inmy father's name--and in my own."
Sobs checked the old lady's
utterance for a moment, but at length shewent on:
"When I learnt that you were marching on England at the head of anarmy, determined to drive out the Hanoverian usurper, and regain yourcrown, I was filled with despair that I could not assist you; but Isold my plate, my jewels, and every trinket I possessed. They did notproduce much--not half so much as I hoped--but all they produced is inthis purse. I pray your royal highness to accept it as an earnest ofmy devotion."
While uttering these words, which greatly touched Charles, she againbent before him, and placed the purse in his hands.
"Pain me not by a refusal, I implore you, most gracious prince," shesaid. "And think not you are depriving me of aught. I cannot livelong, and I have no children. 'Tis the last assistance I shall be ableto render your royal house--for which I have lived, and for which Iwould die."
"I accept the gift, madam," replied Charles, with unaffected emotion,"with as much gratitude as if you had placed a large sum at mydisposal. You are, indeed, a noble dame; and our family may well beproud of a servant so loyal! If I succeed in my enterprise, I willrecompense you a hundred fold."
"I am fully recompensed by these gracious words, prince," sherejoined.
"Nay, madam," he cried, pressing her hand to his lips; "mere thanksare not enough. You have not confined yourself to words."
"My eyes are very dim, prince," said the old dame; "and what you sayto me will not make me see more clearly. Yet let me look upon yourface, and I will tell you what I think of you. I am too old toflatter."
"You will not offend me by plain speaking," said Charles, smiling.
"You are a true Stuart," she continued, trying to peruse his features."But there are some lines in your comely countenance that bode----"
"Not misfortune, I trust?" said Charles, finding she hesitated.
She regarded him anxiously, and made an effort to reply, but couldnot.
"What ails you, madam?" cried the prince, greatly alarmed by thedeathly hue that overspread her features.
Her strength was gone, and she would have fallen, if he had not caughther in his arms.
Her friends, who were standing near, rushed forward to her assistance.
"Alas, all is over!" exclaimed Charles, mournfully, as he consignedher inanimate frame to them.
"She is scarcely to be pitied, prince," said the Romish priest. "'Tisthus she desired to die. May the angels receive her soul, and presentit before the Lord!"
"The sum she has bestowed upon me shall buy masses for the repose ofher soul," said Charles.
"Nay, prince," rejoined the priest. "Her soul is already at rest.Employ the money, I beseech you, as she requested."
Much affected by this incident, Charles continued his march through afine champaign country, well-timbered and richly cultivated,containing numerous homesteads, and here and there an old hall of thetrue Cheshire type, and comprehending views of Bowden Downs and DunhamPark on the left, with Norbury and Lyme Park on the right.
At Headforth Hall he halted with his body-guard, and claimed thehospitality of its owner; while his troops marched on to Wilmslow, andforced the inhabitants of that pretty little village to supply theirwants.
From Wilmslow the prince's march was continued to Macclesfield, wherehe fixed his quarters at an old mansion near the Chester Gate.
CHAPTER II.
ATHERTON'S GIFT TO CONSTANCE.
The prince's departure from Manchester took place on Sunday, Decemberthe 1st; but as the main body of the army did not leave till themiddle of the day, and great confusion prevailed in the town, noservice took place in the churches.
The cavalry was drawn up in St. Ann's Square; the different regimentsof infantry collected at various points in the town; and theManchester Regiment assembled in the collegiate churchyard.
While the troops were thus getting into order, preparatory to settingout for Macclesfield, a great number of the inhabitants of the towncame forth to look at them--very much increasing the tumult andconfusion.
The Manchester Regiment got into marching order about noon, and wasone of the first to quit the town. Officers and men were in highspirits, and looked very well.
As the regiment passed up Market Street Lane, with Colonel Townleyriding at its head, the colours borne by Ensign Syddall, and the bandplaying, it was loudly cheered.
The regularity of the march was considerably interfered with by thenumber of persons who accompanied their friends as far as Didsbury,and supplied them rather too liberally with usquebaugh, ratifia, andother spirituous drinks.
The courage of the men being raised to a high pitch by thesestimulants, they expressed a strong anxiety for an early engagementwith the Duke of Cumberland's forces, feeling sure they should beatthem.
After a short halt at Didsbury, their friends left them, and theircourage was somewhat cooled by fording the river below Stockport. Theywere likewise obliged to wade through the little river Bollin, beforereaching Wilmslow, where they halted for the night.
Atherton had not yet left Manchester. He had some business to transactwhich obliged him to employ a lawyer, and he was engaged with thisgentleman for two or three hours in the morning. He had previouslywritten to Constance to say that it was necessary he should see herbefore his departure, and as soon as his affairs were arranged he rodeto Mrs. Butler's house in Salford.
Leaving his horse with Holden, by whom he was attended, he entered thegarden, and was crossing the lawn, when he encountered Jemmy Dawson,who, having just parted with Monica, looked greatly depressed.
In reply to his anxious inquiries, Jemmy informed him that Constancehad borne the shock better than might have been expected, and hadpassed the night in prayer. "I have not seen her," he said, "butMonica tells me she is now perfectly composed, and however much shemay suffer, she represses all outward manifestation of grief. In thisrespect she is very different from Monica herself, who, poor girl! hasnot her emotions under control, and I left her in a state almost ofdistraction."
Without a word more he hurried away, while Atherton entered the house,and was shown into a parlour on the ground floor. No one was in theroom at the time, and his first step was to lay a packet on the table.
Presently Constance made her appearance. Her features were excessivelypale, and bore evident traces of grief, but she was perfectlycomposed, and Atherton thought he had never seen her look sobeautiful.
She saluted him gravely, but more distantly than before.
"I cannot condole with you on the terrible event that has occurred,"he said; "but I can offer you my profound sympathy. And let me say atonce that I freely and fully forgive your unfortunate father for allthe wrong he has done me."
"I thank you for the assurance," she rejoined. "'Tis an infiniterelief to me, and proves the goodness of your heart."
"Do not dwell upon this, Constance," he said. "Hereafter we will talkover the matter--not now. Should you feel equal to the journey, I hopeyou will immediately return to Rawcliffe."
"I will return thither, with your kind permission, to see my poorfather laid in the family vault. That sad duty performed, I shall quitthe house for ever."
"No, Constance--that must not be," he rejoined. "My object in cominghither this morning is to tell you that I do not design to dispossessyou of the house and property. On the contrary, you will be as muchthe mistress of Rawcliffe Hall as ever--more so, perhaps. Nay, do notinterrupt me--I have not finished. Many things may happen. I may meeta soldier's fate. The hazardous enterprise I am bent upon may fail--Imay be captured--may die as a rebel on the scaffold. If I should notreturn, the house and all within it--all the domains attached toit--are yours. By that deed I have made them over to you."
And he pointed to the packet which he had laid upon the table.
Constance was greatly moved. Tears rushed to her eyes, and for a fewminutes she was so overpowered that she could not speak.
Atherton took her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw.
"I am profoundly touched by your generosity," she said. "But
I cannotaccept your gift."
"Nay you must accept it, dearest Constance," he said. "You well knowyou have my heart's love, and I think you will not refuse to be mine."
"'Twould be too great happiness to be yours," she rejoined. "Butno--no--I ought not to consent."
By way of reply, he pressed her to his heart, and kissed herpassionately.
"Now will you refuse?" he cried.
"How can I, since you have wrested my consent from me?" she rejoined."But how am I to address you?"
"You must still call me Atherton Legh," he replied.
"Well, then, dearest Atherton, my heart misgives me. In urging you tojoin this expedition I fear I have done wrong. Should any misfortunehappen to you I shall deem myself the cause of it. I tremble to thinkof the consequences of my folly. Must you go?" she added, lookingimploringly at him.
"Yes," he replied. "Not even you, dearest Constance, can turn me frommy purpose. The prince has relieved me from my engagement, but Icannot honourably retire. Come what may, I shall go on."
"I will not attempt to dissuade you from your purpose," she rejoined."But I find it doubly hard to part now. And your danger seemsgreater."
"Mere fancy," he said. "You love me better than you did--that is thecause of your increased apprehension."
For some moments they remained gazing at each other in silence.
At last Atherton spoke.
"'Tis with difficulty that I can tear myself away from you, dearestConstance. But I hope soon to behold you again. Meantime, you willremain at Rawcliffe Hall as I have suggested."