The White Gauntlet

“Cry quarter, or die!” shouted the cavalier, flinging himself from his saddle, and with his left hand grasping the cuirassier by the gorget, while in his right he held the threatening blade. “Cry quarter, or die!”

“Hold!” exclaimed Scarthe. “Hold!” he repeated, with the addition of a bitter oath. “This time the chance has been yours. I take quarter.”

“Enough,” said Holtspur, as he restored his sword to its sheath. Then turning his back upon his vanquished antagonist, he walked silently away.

The spectators descended from their elevated position; and, clustering around the conqueror, vociferated their cheers and congratulations. A girl in a crimson cloak ran up, and kneeling in front, presented him with a bunch of flowers. It was the insulted maiden, who thus gracefully acknowledged her gratitude.

There were two pairs of eyes that witnessed this last episode, with an expression that spoke of pain: the blue eyes of Marion Wade, and the green ones of Will Walford – the representative of England’s outlaw. The original Robin could never have been more jealous of the original Maid Marian.

Marion Wade witnessed the presentation of the flowers, and their reception. She saw that the gift was acknowledged by a bow and a smile – both apparently gracious. It never occurred to her to ask herself the question: whether the recipient, under the circumstances, could have acted otherwise?

She stayed not to witness more; but, with brain distraught, and bosom filled with fell fancies, she glided across the glacis of the old encampment, and in hurried steps sought the sacred shelter of her father’s roof.

Though hors de combat, Scarthe was not fatally hurt. He had received only the one thrust – which, passing through his right arm, had disabled him for the time; but was not likely to do him any permanent injury.

He was worse damaged in spirit than in person; and the purple gloom that overshadowed his countenance, told his followers, and others who had gathered around him, that no expression either of sympathy, or congratulation, would be welcome.

In silence, therefore, assistance was extended to him, and in silence was it received.

As soon as the braces had been stripped from his wounded arm, and the semi-surgeon of his troop having stemmed its bleeding, had placed it in a sling, he forsook the spot where he had fallen; and walked direct towards the place occupied by Sir Marmaduke and his friends.

The ladies had already taken their departure – the sanguinary incident having robbed them of all zest for the enjoyment of any further sports.

The knight had remained upon the ground – chiefly for the purpose of discovering the object of Captain Scarthe’s presence in his park.

He was determined no longer to remain in ignorance as to the cause of the intrusion; and was about starting out to question the intruder himself, when the approach of the latter admonished him to keep his place.

From Scarthe’s looks, as he came forward, it was evident that an éclaircissement was at hand.

Sir Marmaduke remained silent – leaving the stranger to commence the colloquy, which was now inevitable.

As soon as Scarthe had got within speaking distance, he demanded, in an authoritative tone, whether Sir Marmaduke Wade was present upon the ground.

The interrogatory was addressed to the rustics standing upon the sward below.

They, perceiving that Sir Marmaduke had himself heard it, kept silence – not knowing whether their host might desire an affirmative answer to be given.

The tone of impertinence prevented Sir Marmaduke from replying; and the interrogatory was repeated.

Sir Marmaduke could no longer preserve silence.

“He is present,” said he, without qualifying his answer by any title, or salutation. “I am Sir Marmaduke Wade.”

“I am glad of it, good sir. I want to speak a word with you. Shall it be private? I perceive you are in company.”

“I can hold no private conversation with strangers,” replied the knight, drawing himself proudly up. “Whatever you have to say, sir, may be spoken aloud.”

“As you wish, Sir Marmaduke,” acquiesced Scarthe, in a tone of mock courtesy. “But if, to my misfortune, you and I have been hitherto strangers to each other, I live in hope that this unpleasant condition of things will soon come to an end; and that henceforth we shall be better acquainted.”

“What mean you, sir? Why are you here?”

“I am here, Sir Marmaduke, to claim the hospitality of your house. By the way, a very handsome park, and apparently a commodious mansion. Room enough for all my people, I should think? It would scarce be courtesy between us, if eating, drinking, and sleeping under the same roof, we should remain strangers to one another?”

“Eating, drinking, and sleeping under the the same roof! You are merry, sir!”

“With the prospect of such pleasant quarters, could you expect me to be otherwise, Sir Marmaduke?”

“After the lesson you have just received,” replied the knight, returning irony for irony, “one might expect to find you in a more serious frame of spirit.”

“Captain Scarthe can show too many scars to trouble himself about such a trifle as that you allude to. But we are wasting time, Sir Marmaduke. I am hungry: so are my troopers; and thirsty. We feel inclined to eat and drink.”

“You are welcome to do both one and the other. You will find an inn three miles farther up the road.”

“Nearer than that,” rejoined Scarthe, with an insulting laugh, “that’s our inn.”

And as he said this, he pointed to the mansion of Sir Marmaduke, standing proud and conspicuous on the crest of the opposite hill.

“Come, sir!” said the knight, losing patience, “speak no longer in enigmas. Declare openly, and at once, what you are driving at!”

“I am only too desirous to oblige you, Sir Marmaduke. Standing in need of refreshments as I do, I can assure you I have no wish to procrastinate this unseemly interview. Cornet Stubbs!” he continued, turning to his subaltern; “if I’m not mistaken, you carry a piece of royal parchment in your pocket. Please draw it forth; and do this worthy gentleman the favour to make him acquainted with its contents.”

The cornet, who had re-encased himself in his suit of steel, inserted his fingers under the breast-piece of his cuirass; and presently produced a folded parchment, upon which a large red seal was conspicuous. Unfolding it, he read aloud: —

“The King to Sir Marmaduke Wade.

“His Majesty hearing by good report, of ye loyalty of Sir Marmaduke Wade, of Bulstrode Park, in ye shire of Buckingham, doth hereby entrust to him ye keep and maintenance of ye Captain Scarthe and his troop of horse till such time as his Majesty may need ye same for ye service of his kingdom; and, furthermore, his Majestie do recommend ye said Captain Scarthe to ye hospitality of Sir Marmaduke as a worthy and gallant officer and gentleman, who has done good service to his country and king.

“Given under ye great seal of his Majestie, at Whitehall Palace, this 15th day of October, Anno Domini, 1640.

“Carolus Rex.”

Volume One – Chapter Twenty One

The traveller, journeying among the Chiltern Hills, will often find himself on the summit of a ridge, that sweeping round upon itself, encloses a deep basin-like valley, of circular shape.

Many of these natural concavities are of considerable size – having a superficial extent of several hundreds of acres. Often a farm homestead may be seen nestling within their sheltered limits; and not unfrequently a noble mansion, surrounded by green pastures – these again bordered by a belt of forest trees, cresting the summit of the surrounding ridge, – the whole appearing like some landscape picture, set in a circular frame.

Such a picture was presented in the valley of Stone Dean: a fair mansion in the centre of a smiling park, with a rustic framework of beechen forest, coping the hills that encircled it.

The day was when the park and mansion of Stone Dean may have been kept in better repair. At the period of which we write, about both was visible an air of neglect – like a painting that has hung unheeded against the wall, till tarnished by dust and time.

Both dwelling and outbuildings exhibited evidence of decay, and but little sign of occupation. But for the smoke rising out of one of its tottering chimneys – and this not always to be seen – one viewing the house from the ridge above, would have come to the conclusion that it was uninhabited. The shrubbery had become transformed into a thicket; the pastures, overgrown with gorse, genista, and bramble, more resembled a waste than a park enclosure; while the horned cattle wandering over them, appeared as wild as the deer browsing by their side; and, when startled by the step of the intruder, were equally alert in seeking the concealment of the surrounding forest.

Neither domesticated quadruped, nor bird appeared about the walls or within the enclosures; where a human voice was rarely heard to interrupt the shrill screech of the jay from the bordering woods, the clear piping of the blackbird amid the neglected shrubbery, and the monotonous cawing of the rooks upon the tops of the tall elm trees, that, holding hundreds of their nests, darkly overshadowed the dwelling.

In truth, Stone Dean had been a long time untenanted, except by one of those peculiar creatures termed “caretakers;” a grey-headed old veteran, who appeared less an occupant than a fixture of the place. He, his dog – old like himself – and a cat equally venerable, had for many years been the sole denizens of the “Dean.”

No one in the neighbourhood knew exactly to whom the estate belonged. Even its last occupier had been only a tenant at will; and the real owner was supposed to reside somewhere abroad – in the plantations of Virginia, it was believed.