such a student as my love will be proud of when I come back to be a great lawyer, under our Protestant Queen,—or King, as may be. Now I must be gone.”
“But O! if they are watching for you!—O! if they should catch you!—if you should not reach the coast! what would become of us?”
“Then we shall meet again very soon,” he answered cheerfully. “If I should go to prison, you will come and see me.”
He was now supporting her to the door, where Madam Lisle was looking out into the twilight. He stopped for a moment, saying:
“It grieves my soul to leave you in this woe. Shall I—? Tell me what I shall do.”
“O go! go!” and she disengaged herself from him. “Remember” (and her voice was the very cordial that he needed)—“remember that I do not pray the less because I am one of a bishop’s flock. I will pray till we meet again,—pray that I may be what you think me;—and thank God for my lot.”
“My own treasure!” he cried, joyfully. “My brave wife!”
“Yes; call me wife! I had rather have a share in your lot, Christopher, than the choice of any other destiny under God’s providence.”
Thus they were not unhappy when Elizabeth was given into her aunt’s arms. They stood listening for the last sound of his steps, and then quietly closed the garden-door, set the candles on the table, and knew that it was time to retire to their chambers. But Elizabeth was so deadly pale that her aunt dared not venture to summon any servant till the poor girl was safe in her own room.
Her own devotions were prolonged that night. She was thankful for the great mercy of the young people’s hopefulness; and yet more for their willingness to suffer.
“But they do not know what it is,” thought she. “They do not conceive that they had better be among the ravening beasts of the wilderness, than at the mercy of such enemies as ours.”
CHAPTER X. CONSPIRACY IN DESPAIR.
Whatever else Christopher did to secure his passage to the coast, he soon found that he must avoid Ringwood. First, Grey was taken; next, two strangers lurking in the forest were taken; and the popular story was that one of them must certainly be King Monmouth. Some were quick, and some slow, to believe this; but when it was reported as an odd incident that a broad blue ribbon with something of jewelry upon it had been found in the pocket of the one who had a grizzled beard, the matter became puzzling. There was no misunderstanding the blue ribbon: but it could not be Monmouth—the young, handsome, gallant Monmouth—who showed a grey beard. Besides, the man had in the same pocket some raw peas—grey peas; and it was inconceivable that King Monmouth could ever have eaten raw peas. It must have been some confidential servant, charged with the care of his jewels.
Many, however, insisted that it was Monmouth. They had seen him formerly, again and again, in his hunting-trips. He was sorely changed,—muddy from the ditch in which he was found, shrunk, grey, and scared-looking; but it was the man himself. If he denied it, there were witnesses by the score who would take their oath of it. The five thousand pounds were won; and it was surprising how much interest and time the country-people had to spare for the question how the money would be divided. Were the folk who caught Lord Grey the day before to have a share,—his presence being a sure sign that Monmouth was not far off? There were more disputes every hour, as fresh claimants insisted that they had had something to do with the capture. The one point about which no controversy arose was that Goody Lobb’s fortune was made in her old age. She had seen two men peeping through the hedge from the cover twenty times in the course of the evening before: and this made her look out at night, when she saw somebody moving about among her beans and peas. She trotted off down the Ringwood road in the morning, kept her business to herself till she saw a magistrate on horseback, and then offered to show where two men were lurking. She was hoisted on a pillion at the next farmhouse; and she led the search. There was some difficulty in keeping her quiet when the dogs were brought to the spot,—her notion being that she should lose her chance of the reward, if she did not seize the Duke with her own hands. She had no chance in the struggle, however; and she was wringing her hands over her ill-usage when Monmouth and his German comrade, an adventurer, who now saw plainly enough that he had no business here, were led forth before her face.
Monmouth, struck by her lamentations, which made him suppose her a friend to his cause, looked at her as he passed. Goody eagerly seized the opportunity of pouring out her story, and told him her fears of missing her due. He turned even paler than before, and observed, as to himself,—
“So I am betrayed by a woman at last! Many will say that I was betrayed by a woman at first. But for a woman I should not have been here. Perhaps it is what women are formed to do: yet, with the same end, how differently they work! This brutal old spy! and—O Henrietta!”
He was conveyed to a country-house of the Bishop’s at Ringwood; and while waiting for his apartment being made secure, he found himself in the same room with Lord Grey. They had parted less than forty-eight hours before; yet each was amazed at the appearance of the other.
“Your Grace will rally speedily,” said Grey, “after the refreshment of good meat and sleep.”
“And you, my Lord, look as if you had had no further fatigues of late than a sportsman’s ride through the forest. You look years younger than when we spoke together last.”
“It is from relief of mind,” Lord Grey explained. “Suspense being over, I have found repose. Since I set foot on these shores, I had not relished one meal, nor enjoyed one unbroken night. Last night I slept ten hours.”
The words were not lost. From one Puritan abode to another, Lord Grey’s words of self-pity