A Reputed Changeling; Or, Three Seventh Years Two Centuries Ago by Yonge (phonics reading books TXT) 📗

mode of conversion.  Would it be possible to alter her destination? was his thought, when he rose the next day, but loyalty stood in the way, and that very afternoon another event happened which made it evident that the poor girl must leave Portchester as soon as possible.

She had gone out with him to take leave of some old cottagers in the village, and he finding himself detained to minister to a case of unexpected illness, allowed her to go home alone for about a quarter of a mile along the white sunny road at the foot of Portsdown, with the castle full in view at one end, and the cottage where he was at the other.  Many a time previously had she trodden it alone, but she had not reckoned on two officers coming swaggering from a cross road down the hill, one of them Sedley Archfield, who immediately called out, “Ha, ha! my pretty maid, no wench goes by without paying toll;” and they spread their arms across the road so as to arrest her.

“Sir,” said Anne, drawing herself up with dignity, “you mistake—”

“Not a whit, my dear; no exemption here;” and there was a horse laugh, and an endeavour to seize her, as she stepped back, feeling that in quietness lay her best chance of repelling them, adding—

“My uncle is close by.”

“The more cause for haste;” and they began to close upon her.  But at that moment Peregrine Oakshott, leaping from his horse, was among them, with the cry—

“Dastards! insulting a lady.”

“Lady, forsooth! the parson’s niece.”

In a few seconds—very long seconds to her—her flying feet had brought her back to the cottage, where she burst in with—“Pardon, pardon, sir; come quick; there are swords drawn; there will be bloodshed if you do not come.”

He obeyed the summons without further query, for when all men wore swords the neighbourhood of a garrison were only too liable to such encounters outside.  There was no need for her to gasp out more; from the very cottage door he could see the need of haste, for the swords were actually flashing, and the two young men in position to fight.  Anne shook her head, unable to do more than sign her thanks to the good woman of the cottage, who offered her a seat.  She leant against the door, and watched as her uncle, sending his voice before him, called on them to desist.

There was a start, then each drew back and held down his weapon, but with a menacing gesture on one side, a shrug of the shoulders on the other, which impelled the Doctor to use double speed in the fear that the parting might be with a challenge reserved.

He was in time to stand warning, and arguing that if he pardoned the slighting words and condoned the insult to his niece, no one had a right to exact vengeance; and in truth, whatever were his arguments, he so dealt with the two young men as to force them into shaking hands before they separated, though with a contemptuous look on either side—a scowl from Sedley, a sneer from Peregrine, boding ill for the future, and making him sigh.

“Ah! sister, sister, you judged aright.  Would that I could have sent the maid sooner away rather than that all this ill blood should have been bred.  Yet I may only be sending her to greater temptation and danger.  But she is a good maiden; God bless her and keep her here and there, now and for evermore, as I trust He keepeth our good Dr. Ken in this sore strait.  The trial may even now be over.  Ah, my child, here you are!  Frightened were you by that rude fellow?  Nay, I believe you were almost equally terrified by him who came to the rescue.  You will soon be out of their reach, my dear.”

“Yes, that is one great comfort in going,” sighed Anne.  One comfort—yes—though she would not have stayed had the choice been given her now.  And shall the thought be told that flashed over her and coloured her cheeks with a sort of shame yet of pleasure, “I surely must have power over men!  I know mother would say it is a terrible danger one way, and a great gift another.  I will not misuse it; but what will it bring me?  Or am I only a rustic beauty after all, who will be nobody elsewhere?”

Still heartily she wished that her rescuer had been any one else in the wide world.  It was almost uncanny that he should have sprung out of the earth at such a moment.

CHAPTER XIII
The Bonfire

“From Eddystone to Berwick bounds,
  From Lynn to Milford Bay,
That time of slumber was as
  Bright and busy as the day;
For swift to east and swift to west
  The fiery herald sped,
High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone:
  It shone on Beachy Head.”

MACAULAY.

Doctor Woodford and his niece had not long reached their own door when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs was heard, and Charles Archfield was seen, waving his hat and shouting ‘Hurrah!’ before he came near enough to speak,

“Good news, I see!” said the Doctor.

“Good news indeed!  Not guilty!  Express rode from Westminster Hall with the news at ten o’clock this morning.  All acquitted.  Expresses could hardly get away for the hurrahing of the people.  Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” cried the young man, throwing up his hat, while Doctor Woodford, taking off his own, gave graver, deeper thanks that justice was yet in England, that these noble and honoured confessors were safe, and that the King had been saved from further injustice and violence to the Church.

“We are to have a bonfire on Portsdown hill,” added Charles.  “They will be all round the country, in the Island, and everywhere.  My father is rid one way to spread the tidings, and give orders.  I’m going on into Portsmouth, to see after tar barrels.  You’ll be there, sir, and you, Anne?”  There was a moment’s hesitation after the day’s encounters, but he added, “My mother is going, and my little Madam, and Lucy.  They will call for you in the coach if you will be at Ryder’s cottage at nine o’clock.  It will not be dark enough to light up till ten, so there will be time to get a noble pile ready.  Come, Anne, ’tis Lucy’s last chance of seeing you—so strange as you have made yourself of late.”

This plea decided Anne, who had been on the point of declaring that she should have an excellent view from the top of the keep.  However, not only did she long to see Lucy again, but the enthusiasm was contagious, and there was an attraction in the centre of popular rejoicing that drew both her and her uncle, nor could there be a doubt of her being sufficiently protected when among the Archfield ladies.  So the arrangement was accepted, and then there was the cry—

“Hark! the Havant bells!  Ay! and the Cosham!  Portsmouth is pealing out.  That’s Alverstoke.  They know it there.  A salute!  Another.”

“Scarce loyal from the King’s ships,” said the Doctor, smiling.

“Nay, ’tis only loyalty to rejoice that the King can’t make a fool of himself.  So my father says,” rejoined Charles.

And that seemed to be the mood of all England.  When Anne and her uncle set forth in the summer sunset light the great hill above them was dark with the multitudes thronging around the huge pyre rising in the midst.  They rested for some minutes at the cottage indicated before the arrival of Sir Philip, who rode up accompanying the coach in which his three ladies were seated, and which was quite large enough to receive Dr. Woodford and Mistress Anne.  Charles was in the throng, in the midst of most of the younger gentlemen of the neighbourhood, and a good many of the naval and military officers, directing the arrangement of the pile.

What a scene it was, as seen even from the windows of the coach where the ladies remained, for the multitude of sailors, soldiers, town and village people, though all unanimous, were far too tumultuous for them to venture beyond their open door, especially as little Mrs. Archfield was very far from well, and nothing but her eagerness for amusement could have brought her hither, and of course she could not be left.  Probably she knew as little of the real bearings of the case or the cause of rejoicing as did the boys who pervaded everything with their squibs, and were only restrained from firing them in the faces of the horses by wholesome fear of the big whips of the coachman and outriders who stood at the horses’ heads.

It was hardly yet dark when the match was put to the shavings, and to the sound of the loud ‘Hurrahs!’ and cries of ‘Long live the Bishops!’  ‘Down with the Pope!’ the flame kindled, crackled, and leapt up, while a responsive fire was seen on St. Catherine’s Down in the Isle of Wight, and northward, eastward, westward, on every available point, each new light greeted by fresh acclamations, as it shone out against the summer night sky, while the ships in the harbour showed their lights, reflected in the sea, as the sky grew darker.  Then came a procession of sailors and other rough folk, bearing between poles a chair with a stuffed figure with a kind of tiara, followed by others with scarlet hats and capes, and with reiterated shouts of ‘Down with the Pope!’ these were hurled into the fire with deafening hurrahs, their more gorgeous trappings being cleverly twitched off at the last moment, as part of the properties for the 5th of November.

Little Mrs. Archfield clapped her hands and screamed with delight as each fresh blaze shot up, and chattered with all her might, sometimes about some lace and perfumes which she wanted Anne to procure for her in London at the sign of the Flower Pot, sometimes grumbling at her husband having gone off to the midst of the party closest to the fire, “Just like Mr. Archfield, always leaving her to herself,” but generally very well amused, especially when a group of gentlemen, officers, and county neighbours gathered round the open door talking to the ladies within.

Peregrine was there with his hands in his pockets, and a queer ironical smile writhing his features.  He was asked if his father and brother were present.

“Not my father,” he replied.  “He has a logical mind.  Martha is up here with her guardian, and I am keeping out of her way, and my brother is full in the thick of the fray.  A bonfire is a bonfire to most folks, were it to roast their grandsire!”

“Oh, fie, Mr. Oakshott, how you do talk!” laughed Mrs. Archfield.

“Nay, but you rejoice in the escape of the good Bishops,” put in Lucy.

“For what?” asked Peregrine.  “For refusing to say live and let live?”

“Not against letting live, but against saying so unconstitutionally, my young friend,” said Dr. Woodford, “or tyrannising over our consciences.”

Generally Peregrine was more respectful to Dr. Woodford than to any one else; but there seemed to be a reckless bitterness about him on that night, and he said, “I marvel with what face those same Eight Reverend Seigniors will preach against the French King.”

“Sir,” thrust in Sedley Archfield, “I am not to hear opprobrious epithets applied to the Bishops.”

“What was the opprobrium?” lazily demanded Peregrine, and in spite of his unpopularity, the laugh was with him.  Sedley grew more angry.

“You likened them to the French King—”

“The most splendid monarch in Europe,” said Peregrine coolly.

“A Frenchman!” quoth one of the young squires with withering contempt.

“He has that ill fortune, sir,” said Peregrine.  “Mayhap he would be sensible of the disadvantage, if he evened himself with some of my reasonable countrymen.”

“Do you mean that for an insult, sir?” exclaimed Sedley Archfield, striding forward.

“As you please,” said Peregrine.  “To me it had the sound of compliment.”

“Oh la! they’ll fight,” cried Mrs. Archfield.  “Don’t let them!  Where’s the Doctor?  Where’s Sir Philip?”

“Hush, my dear,” said Lady Archfield; “these gentlemen would not fall out close to us.”

Dr. Woodford was out of sight, having been drawn into controversy with a fellow-clergyman on the limits of toleration.  Anne looked anxiously for him, but with provoking coolness Peregrine presently said, “There’s no crowd near, and if you will step out, the fires on the farther hills are to be seen well from the knoll hard by.”

He spoke chiefly to Anne, but even if she had not a kind of shrinking from trusting herself with him in this strange wild scene, she would have been prevented by Mrs. Archfield’s eager cry—

“Oh, I’ll come, let me come!  I’m so weary of sitting here.  Thank you, Master Oakshott.”

Lady Archfield’s remonstrance was lost as Peregrine helped the little lady out, and there was nothing for it but to follow her, as close as might