After the business of the day was concluded General Forster and the officers sat down to dinner, but Lord Derwentwater excused himself from joining the party as he wished to ride over to Dilston. He did not take a servant with him, and said he should return by midnight.
It was growing dusk as he rode through the woods that skirted his domains, but it was quite light enough to enable him to distinguish the castle. His heart was sad as he gazed at it for he felt he could not remain there. The place seemed his own no longer.
However, he strove to stifle these painful feelings, and they soon gave way to other emotions.
Still, he could not banish the notion that the place was changed, though in what respect he could scarcely tell, for a groom came to take his horse, and Newbiggin welcomed him at the entrance, and with a manifestation of delight that could not fail to touch his master.
“I hope your lordship is coming to remain with us—at least, for a few days?” said the butler.
“Alas! no,” replied the earl. “I must return to Hexham to-night, and to-morrow morning we march to Rothbury.”
The butler looked quite cast down.
“I fear Dilston will never again be what it was, my lord,” he said. “How I wish your lordship could give up this perilous expedition and return to us.”
“That is impossible, Newbiggin,” said the earl, scarcely able to repress a sigh. “I must go on now. But where is the countess?”
“She is here,” cried a well-known voice.
And next moment she flew towards him, and was clasped in his arms.
It is very questionable whether Lord Denventwater's brief visit to his mansion was not productive of more pain to him than pleasure.
So many fresh anxieties were aroused that they marred his happiness, and the moments flew by so quickly that they seemed gone ere they could be numbered. How much had he to say to the countess! And yet how little was said. Half the time they sat together they were silent, but it was a silence more eloquent than words. And when the countess spoke it was ever to incite him to brave deeds.
After awhile they were joined by Dorothy Forster and Father Norham, and then the conversation turned chiefly on the incidents of the march. The countess and Dorothy still believed that the insurrection would be successful, but the priest was less hopeful.
“But where and when will the battle be fought that is to give the crown to King James?” inquired Dorothy.
“That I cannot tell you,” replied the earl. “But I do not think it will be fought in Scotland, though we shall probably march there to meet our allies. However, a few days may decide. General Carpenter is now at Newcastle, with four regiments of dragoons, and we have yet to learn his plans. Should he not find out we have flown, he may march to attack us at Hexham, and then you will see him here.”
Never did the devout Earl of Derwentwater neglect his religious duties. Mass was therefore performed at the little chapel before his departure, and at the conclusion of the service he did not re-enter the mansion, but tenderly embracing the countess, bade farewell to her and Dorothy, and mounting his dapple-grey steed took his way alone through the wood to Hexham.
XV—HOW THE EARL WAS RESCUED BY NATHAN THE WOODCUTTER.
The moon was shining brightly, but her beams could not penetrate the depths of the narrow forest road along which he had proceeded for nearly a mile when he heard the sound of horses' feet behind him.
Not for a moment imagining it could be an enemy, but thinking it highly probable a messenger might have been sent after him by the countess, he halted.
“Is your lordship there?” cried a voice.
“Ay,” he replied. “What would you with me?”
“You must be pleased to come back with us,” rejoined the speaker. “You are wanted at the castle.”
“What has happened,” cried the earl uneasily.
No immediate answer being returned, his suspicions were aroused—especially as he could hear the two horsemen, who had now come up, talking together in a low tone—and he was just about to gallop off, when one of the men dashed suddenly forward, seized his bridle, and presenting a pistol at his head, told him he was a prisoner.
“Ah! I now know who and what you are, villains,” cried the earl.
“We are loyal subjects of King George, my lord,” replied the man who held his bridle, “and as such are bound to capture all those who appear in arms against him. We have been very lucky to-night in arresting a rebel leader. Your lordship will not be surprised to learn that we intend to take you as a prisoner to Newcastle.” The earl repressed the wrathful exclamation that rose to his lips, and said:
“Have any of my household turned traitors?”
“No, my lord,” replied the man. “You may set your mind at ease on that score. All your servants are true to you. We are Sir William Lorraine's officers, and have been employed by him to watch Dilston. We were therefore aware of your visit this evening, and followed you on your return to Hexham, being resolved on your arrest.”
“If your lordship is content to go with us quietly,” said the other man, “we will shew you every attention. But if you attempt to escape, we will shoot you through the head, without hesitation. And now be pleased to deliver up your arms.”
“I have no arms except my sword,” replied the earl, “and I will part with life rather than with it.”
While the man, whose hands were disengaged, was striving to take the weapon from him, the fierce barking of a dog was heard, accompanied by shouts, and the earl at once comprehending from the sounds that Nathan the woodcutter was at hand with Cheviot, called out loudly:
“To the rescue, Nathan; to the rescue!”
“Here I am, my lord,” responded the sturdy woodcutter, as he and his hound burst through the trees.
A bullet whistled past his head, as he appeared on the scene, but luckily did him no injury.
Next moment, however, the stout cudgel he grasped was falling heavily upon the earl's captors, while Cheviot's fierce barking terrified their horses so much, that the animals broke away in spite of their riders' efforts to restrain them, and being allowed no rest by the hound who continued to attack their heels, were soon driven off altogether.
“I shall not forget the great service you have just rendered me, Nathan,” said Lord Derwentwater. “But for you these villains would have carried me off as a prisoner.”
“I am right glad I arrived in time,” replied the woodcutter. “Cheviot warned me of your lordship's danger.”
“Ah! did he so?” cried the earl.
And when the faithful animal came back from the chase, he warmly praised him and caressed him.
“Now, hie thee to the castle, Nathan,” said the earl. “See her ladyship, and tell her from what a peril you have rescued me. She will know how to recompense you.”
“I want no recompense, my lord,” replied the honest woodcutter. “I only wish I could always be at hand to succour your lordship when in need.”
“I wish you could,” said the earl.
With this, he galloped off and arrived without further molestation at Hexham; while Nathan proceeded, as bidden, to the castle, and related the earl's adventure in the forest to the countess.
A good supper for each of them was the immediate reward of himself and his hound.