The White Gauntlet

It was in truth Sir Marmaduke Wade, who was addressing the assembly. But his speech was a very short one: for the worthy knight was no orator; and it was nearly finished by the time Scarthe and the cornet had succeeded in placing themselves in a position to have heard him.

Enough reached the ears of the former to give him all that he required for a fell purpose; which even at that moment had commenced taking shape in his diabolical brain.

In the few words that dropped from the lips of his host, Scarthe could discover sufficient evidence of disloyalty. Indeed, the presence of Sir Marmaduke in that place – coupled with, perhaps, something more than suspicion which the king already entertained towards him – would be proof enough to satisfy the Star Chamber.

“We may go now,” whispered Scarthe, stealing towards the door, and drawing his subaltern gently after him. “Softly, cornet!” continued he, as hand-in-hand they retraced the dark passage. “Those boots of yours creak like a ship in a swell! Fancy you are treading on eggs!”

As he made this facetious remark, they emerged into the open air; and, whispering mutual congratulations, went skulking onward, like a brace of felons making their escape from the confinement of a prison.

“If this fellow,” said Scarthe, “can only succeed in extricating our horses, I think we may flatter ourselves, that we have made a successful job of it. Come on.”

And Scarthe led the way along the wall, towards the front of the dwelling.

They proceeded with as much caution as ever. Though outside, they were not yet safe from having their presence discovered, and their purpose suspected. The sky was clearer than when they had last looked upon it: for the thunderstorm, now over, had scattered the clouds, and deluged the earth with rain.

At the angle of the building they could make out the figure of a man, standing under the shadow of a tree. It was Walford. On seeing them, he stepped forth, and advanced to meet them.

“Theer be nobody by the front door,” he muttered, when near enough to be heard. “Stay by the steps, but don’t show yer faces. I’ll ha’ the horses round in a twinkle.”

Saying this, the traitor left them, and disappeared in the direction of the stables.

Obedient to his instructions, they took their stand; and, still conversing in whispers, awaited his return.

True to his promise almost in an instant the two horses were brought round – one led by himself, the other by Dancey.

The latter was too much occupied by the gold piece, glistening within his palm, to think of scrutinising the countenance of the giver.

“Odds luck, Wull!” said he, turning to his comrade, after the two horsemen had ridden off; “stable keepin’ appear to be a better bisness than windin’ the woodaxe! If they be all as liberal as these ’uns we shall ha’ a profitable night o’t.”

Walford assented with a shrug of his shoulders, and a significant grin – which in the darkness was not noticed by the unsuspicious deer-stealer.

Just then, Gregory Garth coming up armed with a tankard of ale – perhaps surreptitiously drawn from the cellar – interrupted the conversation, or rather changed it into a different channel: for it was still carried on to the accompaniment of a copious imbibing of the homebrew.

Volume Two – Chapter Eleven

The two spies moved silently away – neither speaking above his breath, till they had regained the road, outside the gates of Stone Dean, then, no longer fearing to be overheard, they talked in louder tone.

“What a grand coup it would be!” observed Scarthe, partly in soliloquy, and partly addressing himself to his companion.

“What, captain?” inquired Stubbs.

“To capture this whole nest of conspirators.”

“It would, by Ged!”

“It would get me that colonelcy – true as a trivet; and you, my worthy cornet, would become Captain Stubbs!”

“Zounds! why not try to take ’em then?”

“Simply because we can’t. By the time we should get our vagabonds in their saddles, and ride back, every knave of them would be gone. I saw they were about to break up; and that’s why I came so quickly away. Yes – yes!” continued he, reflectingly, “they’d be scattered to the four winds, before we could get back. Besides – besides —he might slip off through the darkness, and give trouble to find him afterwards! What matters to me about the others? I must make sure of him; and that will be best done in the daylight. To-morrow he shall be mine; the day after, the lieutenant of the Tower shall have him; and then the Star Chamber; and then —the scaffold!”

“But, captain,” said Stubbs, in answer to the soliloquised speech, only a portion of which he had heard. “What about our worthy host, Sir Marmaduke? Can’t you take him?”

“At any time – ha! ha! ha! And hark you, Stubbs! I’ve a word for you on that delicate subject. I’ve promised you promotion. The queen, on my recommendation, will see that you have it. But you get my endorsement, only on conditions – on conditions, do you hear?”

“I do. What conditions, captain?”

“That you say nothing – either of where you’ve been, what you’ve heard, or what you’ve seen this night – till I give you the cue to speak.”

“Not a word, by Ged! I promise that.”

“Very well. It’ll be to your interest, my worthy cornet, to keep your promise, if you ever expect me to call you captain. In time you may understand my reasons for binding you to secrecy, and in time you shall. Meanwhile, not a whisper of where we’ve been to-night – least of all to Sir Marmaduke Wade. Ah! my noble knight!” continued the captain, speaking to himself, “I’ve now got the sun shining that will thaw the ice of your aristocratic superciliousness! And you, indifferent dame! If I mistake not your sex and your sort, ere another moon has flung its mystic influence over your mind, I shall tread your indifference in the dust, make you open those loving arms, twine them around the neck of Richard Scarthe, and cry – ‘Be mine, dearest! mine for ever!’”

The speaker rose exultingly in his stirrups, as if he had already felt that thrilling embrace; but, in a moment after, sank back into his saddle, and sate in a cowed and cowering attitude.

It was but the natural revulsion of an over-triumphant feeling – the reaction that succeeds the indulgence of an unreal and selfish conceit.

His sudden start upward had roused afresh the pain in his wounded arm. It recalled a series of circumstances calculated to humiliate him; – his defeat – the finding of the glove – his suspicion of a rival – that assignation scene, that almost made it a certainty.

All these remembrances, suggested by the sting of the still unhealed sword-wound, as they came simultaneously rolling over his soul, swept it clear of every thought of triumph; and, despite the success of his strategy, he re-entered the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade, as heavy in heart, and perhaps poorer in hope, than any tramping mendicant that had ever trodden its tree-shaded avenues.

He knew the situation of Marion’s sleeping chamber. He had made it his business to ascertain that. He gazed upon the window as he rode forward. He fancied he saw a form receding behind the curtain, like some white nymph dissolving herself into the world of ether.

He checked his steed; and for a long time kept his eyes fixed upon the casement: but nothing appeared to impart consolation. There was no light in the chamber; the cold glitter of the glass was in consonance with the chill that had crept over his spirits; and he moved on, convinced that his imagination had been mocking him.

And yet it was not so. It was a real form, and no illusion, that he had seen receding from the window – the form of Marion Wade, that more than once had appeared there since his departure.

The lamp, so opportunely extinguished, had not been re-lit. The cousins, groping their way through the darkness, had betaken themselves to bed.

What else could they do? Even though what they had seen might forbode evil to some one, what power had they to avert it?

Had there been a certainty of danger, it is true, – and to him who was the chief subject of her apprehensions, – Marion Wade could not have gone tranquilly to sleep.

Neither did she: for, although the midnight excursion of the cuirassier captain and his comet might have no serious significance, coupled with the presentiment from which she was already suffering, she could not help fancying that it had.

The hour was too late for an adventure, either of gaiety or gallantry, in a rural neighbourhood, where all the world – even the wicked – should have long ago retired to rest.

For more than an hour the cousins had lain side by side – conferring on the incident that had so unexpectedly transpired. Of other confidences they had before unbosomed themselves – though much of what they intended to have said remained unspoken: on account of the distraction caused to their thoughts by this new circumstance.

Both had been perplexed, – alike unable to discover a clue to the mysterious movement of Scarthe and his comet.

After more than an hour spent in shaping conjectures, and building hypotheses, they had arrived no nearer to a rational belief, than when commencing their speculations on the subject.

Finally, Lora, less interested in the event or its consequences, laid her head complacently on the pillow, and fell off into a sleep – determined, no doubt, to dream of Walter.

For Marion there was no such solace; no rest for her that night – with the image of Henry Holtspur hovering over her heart; and her bosom filled with vague apprehensions about his safety.

She had not tried to sleep. She had not even kept to her couch; but stealing gently from the side of her unconscious cousin, she had repeatedly sought the window; and gazed forth from it.