The White Gauntlet

Inside his silent cell, Holtspur had heard the clock striking the hour of twelve, in solemn lugubrious tones – too consonant with his thoughts.

It was the twelve of midnight.

“I wish it were twelve of to-morrow’s noon,” soliloquised he, when the tolling had ceased. “If I have correctly interpreted the conversation I overheard this morning, ere that hour I shall be far from this place. So – the Tower is my destination. After that – ay, what after that? Perhaps – the block? Why fear I to pronounce the word? I may as well look it boldly in the face: for I know that the vengeance of that vile woman – that has pursued me all through life, since she could not have my heart, will be satisfied with nothing less than my head. It is her hand I recognise in this – her hand that penned the postscript to that despatch; or, at all events, was it she who dictated it.

“I wish it were the hour to depart hence. There can be no dungeon in the Tower so terrible as this – on one side of the wall Hell, on the other Paradise. I can think only of Paradise, where Marion is present. She so dear to me – so near to me – almost breathing the same atmosphere; and yet oblivious of my existence! Perhaps —

“Ha! footsteps stirring outside? The sentry talking to some one! ’Tis the voice of a woman!

“One of the domestics of the mansion, I suppose, who has stolen forth to exchange the day’s gossip with the guard? ’Tis a late hour for the girl to be gadding; but perhaps ’tis the hour of her choice? I can envy this wench and her soldier sweetheart their easy opportunities. Perhaps equally to be envied is the free and easy fashion, with which they enter upon a love affair, and escape out of it? With them there is no such terrible contingency as a broken heart. To-morrow he may be gone; and the day after she will be as gay as ever!

“How different with a passion like mine! Absence can have no effect upon it. Not even the terrors of the Tower can bring it to a termination. It will end only under the axe of the executioner – if that is to be my fate.

“These gossips are getting nearer the door. Though they are talking in a low tone, I might hear what they say, by placing my ear to the keyhole. I have no inclination to make myself the depository of their coarse love secrets; but perhaps I may hear something of myself, or of her! That may make it worth my while to play eavesdropper.”

The prisoner rose from his seat; and succeeded in getting himself into an erect attitude. But all at once he sank back upon the bench; and only by adroitly balancing his body did he save himself from falling upon the floor.

“By the good Saint Vitus!” he exclaimed, rather amused at his misadventure, “I had forgotten that my feet were not free. After all, what I should hear might not be worth the effort. I’ll leave them to keep their secrets – whatever they be – to themselves.”

So resolving, he resumed his sedentary attitude upon the bench, and remained silent, but as before, listening.

By this, the speakers had approached nearer to the door; and their words could now be distinctly heard inside the store-room.

“So!” resumed Holtspur, after listening for a short while; “lovers, as I suspected. He talks of kissing her! I can hear that word above all the others. Ho! they are pressing against the door! What! Surely the key turns in the lock? Can they be coming in?”

The question was answered by the unlocking of the door; which upon the next instant swung silently upon its hinges, until it stood half open. Against the glimmer of the lamp outside, Holtspur could dimly distinguish two forms – one of them a woman.

The male figure was the nearer one; though the woman was close behind.

On opening the door, the sentry had thrust his head inside the room – but evidently without any design of introducing his body.

“Are you sleepin’, Master?” interrogated he, speaking in a tone that did not seem unkindly, and only a little louder than a whisper.

“No,” replied the prisoner, answering the man frankly, while imitating his cautious tone.

“All right, then!” said the sentry: “for there be a lady here as wants to have a word with ye; and as I suppose ye don’t care to do your talkin’ i’ the dark, I’ll lend you my lamp for a bit. But don’t make your dialogue a long ’un: there be danger in what I’m doin’.”

So saying, the trooper walked back into the archway, for the purpose of fetching his lamp; while the woman, pushing past him, stepped inside the room.

As the phrase, “there be a lady,” fell from the lips of the sentinel, the heart of Henry Holtspur, throbbed quick within his bosom. Sweet thoughts welled up at the words.

Could he have been mistaken in believing his midnight visitor a domestic of the mansion? Might it not be its mistress?

In the dim light he saw a female form closely wrapped in hood and cloak. In that guise, she might be either a peasant or a princess. The figure was tall, upright, commanding. Such was that of Marion Wade!

Holtspur’s fond fancy was destined to a short indulgence. The lamp was passed through the half-opened door; and placed upon a stool that stood near. Its glare fell upon the form of his visitor – lighting up a crimson cloak – lighting up features of a gipsy type, with dark, flashing eyes – beautiful features, it is true, but altogether unlike the angelic countenance he had been conjuring up – the countenance of Marion Wade.

“It is not she – only Maid Marian!”

Holtspur’s hopeful glance suddenly changed to one of disappointment, as he identified the daughter of the deer-stealer. Perhaps it was well for him – for both – that Betsey did not observe the transformation. The obscure light of the lamp hindered the girl from having a chagrin, equal, if not greater, than his.

“Mistress Betsey!” he exclaimed, on recovering from the first flutter of his surprise. “You here! What has brought you to my prison?”

“Hush!” ejaculated the girl, moving rapidly forward from the door – which the sentry had taken the precaution to shut behind him – “Speak only in whispers! I’ve come to save you – to get you out of this ugly place.”

“But how? ’Tis not possible, I fear? The door is guarded – the sentry is outside? I could not go forth without being seen?”

“You will be seen – that’s true. But it won’t matter a bit. If you’ll follow my directions, you’ll get out without being hindered. That’s sufficient. Father and Master Garth planned it all, before we left home. They are waiting for you on the edge of the wood – up the hill, just behind the house.”

“Ah! a plan for me to escape? What is it, my brave Betsey?”

“You’re to take my cloak. It’s a long one; and will reach nigh down to your feet. But, for fear it wouldn’t, I brought an extra skirt along with me. Here it is.”

Saying this, the girl whipped the cloak from her shoulders – disclosing at the same time a skirt of some kind of coarse stuff, which she had been carrying under her arm.

“Now, sir!” she continued, in a tone of urgency, “on with them as quick as you can: for he may get impatient, and want to come in.”

“What!” exclaimed Holtspur, whose surprise at the proposal was only equalled by admiration of her who had made it. “And do you mean that I am to pass out – disguised in your garments – and leave you here?”

“Of course I do. What other way is there? We can’t both go out. He’d stop you for a certainty; and me too, may be, for trying to get you away. You must go out alone.”

“And leave you behind – to be punished for aiding me to escape? No, generous girl! I had rather die, than do that.”

“Oh, sir! don’t talk in that foolish way. Pray go as I tell you to. Have no fear for me! They can’t do much to a girl that’s got nothing to lose. Besides, I don’t feel much afeerd of getting him to pass me out afterwards. It’ll be no good his keeping me in. That won’t save him, from whatever they may do to him.”

The him thus pointedly alluded to, was the amorous sentry; who was just then heard passing to and fro upon his round, with a step that denoted impatience.

“O, sir, go! I beg of you go – or – I – we may never see you again.”

There was a tone of sadness in the entreaty, which Holtspur could hardly have failed to notice. But the appeal had shaken his resolution to remain. From what she had said, he saw that in all probability the girl would get clear, or with some slight punishment. Perhaps she might succeed in deceiving the sentry still further, and escape without difficulty. Holtspur knew she was clever and quick-witted.

“Never fear for me, sir!” said she, as if interpreting his thoughts. “I can manage him. He’ll do what I want him to; I know he will.”

“If I thought that – ”

“You may think it,” responded she, at the same time cutting the cords that bound the prisoner, “you may be sure of it. Leave him to me. Now, sir, the cloak. No, the skirt first. That’s the way to fix it. Now the cloak. Here! put your head into the hood – draw it well over your face. That’ll do. When you go out, don’t stop to speak to him. He’ll want to kiss you – I know that. You mustn’t let him, but keep quick on to the door. The wicket is on the latch. When you get outside you can run as fast as you like. Make for the trees at the top of the hill. There you will find father along with your own man, Master Garth. It’s dark as pitch outside. I’ll keep the lamp here till you get through the passage. I defy him to tell it isn’t me, if you don’t let him kiss you. Don’t do that; but pass him as rapidly as you can. Now you’re ready? Go!”

This long chapter of directions was spoken more quickly than it can be read. Before the final word was uttered, Bet Dancey had succeeded in disguising the prisoner.

She herself retained her complete dress – the only part of her left uncovered being her head and shoulders.

Holtspur gazed for a moment upon the generous boldly beautiful girl; and with a glance that told of tenderness. She might have mistaken it for a look of love. Alas! – for her sake, alas! – it was only the gaze of gratitude.

At that moment the sentry struck his halbert against the stoup – as if summoning them to a separation.

“Coming, Master Withers! I’m coming,” cried the girl in an under tone, at the same time placing her lips close to the keyhole, “open, and let me out!”

The bolt was turned briskly at the words. Withers was longing for that promised kiss. The door was reopened; and the cloaked figure glided forth into the darkness.