Woodstock; or, the Cavalier - Вальтер Скотт

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A clumsy fellow like thee would have been so long thinking what was to be done, that he must needs have followed it before he could make up his mind; but I, Mark, I hopped like a squirrel to an ivy twig, and stood fast – was wellnigh shot, though, for the noise alarmed them both. They looked to the oriel, and saw me on the outside; the fanatic fellow took out a pistol – as they have always such texts in readiness hanging beside the little clasped Bible, thou know'st – the keeper seized his hunting-pole – I treated them both to a roar and a grin – thou must know I can grimace like a baboon – I learned the trick from a French player, who could twist his jaws into a pair of nut-crackers – and therewithal I dropped myself sweetly on the grass, and ran off so trippingly, keeping the dark side of the wall as long as I could, that I am wellnigh persuaded they thought I was their kinsman, the devil, come among them uncalled. They were abominably startled."

      "Thou art most fearfully rash, Wildrake," said his companion; "we are now bound for the house – what if they should remember thee?"

      "Why, it is no treason, is it? No one has paid for peeping since Tom of Coventry's days; and if he came in for a reckoning, belike it was for a better treat than mine. But trust me, they will no more know me, than a man who had only seen your friend Noll at a conventicle of saints, would know the same Oliver on horseback, and charging with his lobster-tailed squadron; or the same Noll cracking a jest and a bottle with wicked Waller the poet."

      "Hush! not a word of Oliver, as thou dost value thyself and me. It is ill jesting with the rock you may split on. – But here is the gate – we will disturb these honest gentlemen's recreations."

      As he spoke, he applied the large and ponderous knocker to the hall-door. "Rat-tat-tat-too!" said Wildrake; "there is a fine alarm to you cuckolds and round-heads." He then half-mimicked, half-sung the march so called: —

      "Cuckolds, come dig, cuckolds, come dig;

        Round about cuckolds, come dance to my jig!"

      "By Heaven! this passes Midsummer frenzy," said Everard, turning angrily to him.

      "Not a bit, not a bit," replied Wildrake; "it is but a slight expectoration, just like what one makes before beginning a long speech. I will be grave for an hour together, now I have got that point of war out of my head."

      As he spoke, steps were heard in the hall, and the wicket of the great door was partly opened, but secured with a chain in case of accidents. The visage of Tomkins, and that of Joceline beneath it, appeared at the chink, illuminated by the lamp which the latter held in his hand, and Tomkins demanded the meaning of this alarm.

      "I demand instant admittance!" said Everard. "Joliffe, you know me well?"

      "I do, sir," replied Joceline, "and could admit you with all my heart; but, alas! sir, you see I am not key-keeper – Here is the gentleman whose warrant I must walk by – The Lord help me, seeing times are such as they be!"

      "And when that gentleman, who I think may be Master Desborough's valet" —

      "His honour's unworthy secretary, an it please you," interposed Tomkins; while Wildrake whispered in Everard's ear; "I will be no longer secretary. Mark, thou wert quite right – the clerk must be the more gentlemanly calling."

      "And if you are Master Desborough's secretary, I presume you know me and my condition well enough," said Everard, addressing the Independent, "not to hesitate to admit me and my attendant to a night's quarters in the Lodge?"

      "Surely not, surely not," said the Independent – "that is, if your worship thinks you would be better accommodated here than up at the house of entertainment in the town, which men unprofitably call Saint George's Inn. There is but confined accommodation here, your honour – and we have been frayed out of our lives already by the visitation of Satan – albeit his fiery dart is now quenched."

      "This may be all well in its place, Sir Secretary," said Everard; "and you may find a corner for it when you are next tempted to play the preacher. But I will take it for no apology for keeping me here in the cold harvest wind; and if not presently received, and suitably too, I will report you to your master for insolence in your office."

      The secretary of Desborough did not dare offer farther opposition; for it is well known that Desborough himself only held his consequence as a kinsman of Cromwell; and the Lord-General, who was well nigh paramount already, was known to be strongly favourable both to the elder and younger Everard. It is true, they were Presbyterians and he an Independent; and that though sharing those feelings of correct morality and more devoted religious feeling, by which, with few exceptions, the Parliamentarian party were distinguished, the Everards were not disposed to carry these attributes to the extreme of enthusiasm, practised by so many others at the time. Yet it was well known that whatever might be Cromwell's own religious creed, he was not uniformly bounded by it in the choice of his favourites, but extended his countenance to those who could serve him, even, although, according to the phrase of the time, they came out of the darkness of Egypt. The character of the elder Everard stood very high for wisdom and sagacity; besides, being of a good family and competent fortune, his adherence would lend a dignity to any side he might espouse. Then his son had been a distinguished and successful soldier, remarkable for the discipline he maintained among his men, the bravery which he showed in the time of action, and the humanity with which he was always ready to qualify the consequences of victory. Such men were not to be neglected, when many signs combined to show that the parties in the state, who had successfully accomplished the deposition and death of the King, were speedily to quarrel among themselves about the division of the spoils. The two Everards were therefore much courted by Cromwell, and their influence with him was supposed to be so great, that trusty Master Secretary Tomkins cared not to expose himself to risk, by contending with Colonel Everard for such a trifle as a night's lodging.

      Joceline was active on his side – more lights were obtained – more wood thrown on the fire – and the two newly-arrived strangers were introduced into Victor Lee's parlour, as it was called, from the picture over the chimney-piece, which we have already described. It was several minutes ere Colonel Everard could recover his general stoicism of deportment, so strongly was he impressed by finding himself in the apartment, under whose roof he had passed so many of the happiest hours of his life. There was the cabinet, which he had seen opened with such feelings of delight when Sir Henry Lee deigned to give him instructions in fishing, and to exhibit hooks and lines, together with all the materials for making the artificial fly, then little known. There hung the ancient family picture, which, from some odd mysterious expressions of his uncle relating to it, had become to his boyhood, nay, his early youth, a subject of curiosity and of fear. He remembered how, when left alone in the apartment, the searching eye of the old warrior seemed always bent upon his, in whatever part of the room he placed himself, and how his childish imagination was perturbed at a phenomenon, for which he could not account.

      With these came a thousand dearer and warmer recollections of his early attachment to his pretty cousin Alice, when he assisted her at her lessons, brought water for her flowers, or accompanied her while she sung; and he remembered that while her father looked at them with a good-humoured and careless smile, he had once heard him mutter, "And if it should turn out so – why, it might be best for both," and the theories of happiness he had reared on these words. All these visions had been dispelled by the trumpet of war, which called Sir Henry Lee and himself to opposite sides; and the transactions of this very day had shown, that even Everard's success as a soldier and a statesman seemed absolutely to prohibit the chance of their being revived.

      He was waked out of this unpleasing reverie by the approach of Joceline, who, being possibly a seasoned toper, had made the additional arrangements with more expedition and accuracy, than could have been expected from a person engaged as he had been since night-fall.

      He now wished to know the Colonel's directions for the night.

      "Would he eat anything?"

      "No."

      "Did his honour choose to accept Sir Henry Lee's bed, which was ready prepared?"

      "Yes."

      "That of Mistress Alice Lee should be prepared for the Secretary."

      "On pain of thine ears – No," replied Everard.

      "Where

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