The writer must retread his steps for a while, to show the events which had taken place in the city of Ghent since Ned Dyram and Sir Simeon of Roydon were last seen upon the stage. Whether the reader may think fit to do so or not must depend upon himself. All that the author can promise is, that he will be brief, and merely sketch the conduct of the personages left behind till he brings them up with the rest.

The arrival of Sir Simeon of Roydon in Ghent spread the same terror through the heart of poor Ella Brune that the appearance of a hawk produces in one of the feathered songsters of the bush or clouds. Had Richard of Woodville been there, she would have felt no apprehension; for to him she had accustomed herself to look for protection and support, with that relying confidence, that trust in his power, his wisdom, and his goodness, which perhaps ought never to be placed in man, and which is never so placed but by a heart where love is present. Had she been even in London, her terror would have been less; for even in those days--although they were dark and barbarous, although tumult and riot, civil strife and contention, injustice and wrong would, as we all know, take place in every different country--the peculiar character of the English people, the homely sense of justice and of right, which has been their chief characteristic in all ages, was sufficiently strong to render this island comparatively a land of security. Though there might be persons to oppress and injure, yet there were generally found some kind hearts and generous spirits to support and protect; and in short, there were more defences for those who needed defence than in any state in Europe.

Very different, however, was the case in Ghent, especially for a stranger; and Ella Brune well knew that it was so. She was aware that deeds could be done there boldly and openly, which in England would require cunning concealment and artful device, even for a chance of success; and the consequence was, that she kept herself immured within the walls of her cousin's dwelling, never venturing forth, even to breathe the air, but at night, and striving to make her companionship during the day prove as pleasant as possible to the worthy dame of Nicholas Brune. To her and to him she communicated the cause of her apprehensions; and it is but justice to the good folks to say, that they entered warmly into her feelings, and did all that they could to mitigate her alarm and give her encouragement. But Ella Brune, in answer to all assurances of safety, constantly replied, that she should never feel secure till Richard of Woodville had returned; and, as it was already beyond the period at which he had promised to be back, she looked for his appearance every day.

From such subjects sprang many a discussion between her and her good cousin, as to her future conduct. "Why, you know, my pretty Ella," he would say, "you could not go wandering after this gay young gentleman, over all the world; mischief would come of it, be you sure. Men are not to be trusted, nor pretty maidens either. We have all our weak moments; and if no harm happen to you, your fair fame would suffer. Men would call you his leman."

"Ay, that is what I fear," answered Ella Brune, "and that only; for though most men are not to be trusted, he is. But at all events," she continued, willing gently to remove all objections to the plan she was determined to pursue, "he might carry me safely with him to Burgundy, or to Liege, as he brought me here."

Nicholas Brune shook his head; and Ella said no more at that time; but gradually she put forward the notion of obviating all difficulties and objections, by assuming some disguise; and on that her good cousin pondered, thinking it a more feasible plan than any other, yet seeing many difficulties.

"As what could you go?" he said. "If at all, it must be in male guise; and though you would make a pretty boy enough, I doubt me they would find you out, fair Ella."

"Why not as a novice of the Black Friars?" demanded Madam Brune, who entered into the maiden's schemes more warmly and enthusiastically than her prudent husband; "then she would have robes longer than her own, to cover her little hands and feet, and a hood to shade her head. There is no punishment either for taking the gown of a novice."

"Then, as this man Dyram must be in the secret," added Ella Brune, "he could give me help and protection in case of need."

"Ah, ha! are you there?" cried Nicholas, laughing. But Ella shook her head, no way abashed, replying, "you are mistaken, cousin of mine; but perhaps you have so much respect for these holy men, the monks, that you would object to a profane girl, like me, taking their garb upon her?"

"Out upon them, the lazy drones," cried Nicholas Brune; "you may make what sport of them you like for that. I would put them all to hard labour on the dykes, if I had my will;" and he burst forth into a long vituperation of all the monastic orders, in terms somewhat too gross for modern ears, not even sparing the Holy Roman Catholic Church; but ending with another wise shake of the head, and an expression of his firm belief, that the scheme would not do.

Nevertheless, Ella Brune and his good dame were now perfectly agreed upon the subject, and worked together zealously, preparing all that was needful for Ella's disguise, while Ned Dyram brought them daily information of the proceedings of Sir Simeon of Roydon, and made them smile to hear how he had deceived the knight into the belief that Ella was far away from Ghent.

"But if he should discover the truth," said Ella Brune, really anxious that no one should suffer on her account, "may he not revenge himself on you, if you give him the opportunity by going every day and working in gold and silver under his eyes? I beseech you, Master Dyram, run no risk on my account. I would rather endure insult or injury myself, than that you should incur danger."

Ned Dyram's heart beat quick, though Ella said no more to him than she would have said to any one in the same circumstances; but he shook his head with a triumphant air, replying, "He dare not wag his finger against me."

He added no more, but turned to the subject of Ella's disguise, having before this been made acquainted with her project, and being, moreover, eager to second it; for the prospect of having to leave her behind in Ghent, if his young master should be called upon some more distant expedition, had often crossed his mind, producing very unpleasant sensations. Day after day, however, he visited Simeon of Roydon, and generally found him alone. Plenty of work was provided for him; and the payment was prompt and large. Now it was an ornamented bridle that he had to produce, encrusted all over with fanciful work of silver--now a testiÈre or a poitral arabesqued with lines of gold. Sometimes he compounded perfumes or essences, sometimes he illuminated a book of canticles, which the knight intended to present to the monastery.

One morning, however, going somewhat earlier than was his wont, he met the monk, brother Paul, coming down the stairs from the knight's apartments. The cenobite gave him a grim smile, but merely added his benedicite and passed on. Ned Dyram paused and mused before he entered. More than once he had asked himself, what it was that detained Sir Simeon of Roydon so long in Ghent. The Court was absent--there was little to see, and less to gain; and the visit of father Paul gave him fresh matter for reflection. But Ned Dyram was one who, judging by slight indications, always prepared himself against probable results; and he now divined that the discovery of the truth in regard to Ella might not be far off.

He found no change in Simeon of Roydon when he entered, and the morning passed away as usual; but on the following day the knight received him with a smile so mixed in its expression that Dyram felt the hilt of his anelace, and returned him his look with one as doubtful.

"Shut the door, Master Dyram," said Sir Simeon of Roydon.

The man obeyed without the least hesitation; and the knight proceeded, "Think you, fellow, that it is wise and worthy to cheat and to deceive?"

"On proper occasions, and with proper men," replied Ned Dyram, calmly.

"Ah, you do?" cried the knight, with his brow bent; "Then let me tell you that you will deceive me no more."

"That depends upon circumstances and opportunity," answered Ned Dyram, with the same imperturbable effrontery as before. "I dare say you will not give me the means, if you can help it."

"What, if I take from you the opportunity of cheating any one again?" exclaimed Sir Simeon of Roydon. "What if, as you well deserve, I call up my men, and bid them dispose of you as they know how?"

"You will not do that," replied Dyram, without a shade of emotion.

"Why should I not?" demanded the knight, fiercely. "What should stop me? Out of these walls no secrets are likely to pass. Why should I not, I say?"

"Because," said Dyram, in a cool conversation tone, "there is a certain bridge in this city, over the river Lys, where you may have seen, as you pass along, a foolish figure cast in bronze, of two men, one going to cut off the other's head apparently. They represent a son who offered to execute his father, when, as old legends say--but I do not believe them--the sword flew to splinters in the parricide's hand. However, that has not much to do with the matter, as I see you perceive; but the fact is, that bridge is called the Bridge of the Decapitation--not, as many men fancy, on account of those two statues, but because it is there the citizens of this good town have a pious custom of putting to death knights and nobles, who have had the misfortune to become murderers. Now you must not suppose me so slow witted a man as to come to visit Sir Simeon of Roydon under such peculiar circumstances, without letting those persons know where I am, who may inquire after me if I do not reappear. I am always ready for such cases, noble knight, and to say truth, care little when I go out of the world, so that I have a companion by the way; and that, in this instance, at least, I have secured. 'Tis therefore, I say, you will abandon such vain thoughts."

Sir Simeon of Roydon gazed at him for a moment, with the expression of a fiend; but suddenly his countenance changed, and he fell into deep thought.

What strifes there are in that eternal battle-field, the human heart! What strifes have there not been therein, since the first fell passion entered into man's breast with the words of the serpent tempter--ay, with the words of the tempter; for man had fallen before he ate! But perhaps there is none more frequent, than the struggle between passion and policy in the bosom of the vehement and wily,--none more terrible either; for whichever gains the ascendancy, ruins the country round.

There was something in Dyram's demeanour that suited well with the character of him to whom he spoke. Opposed to him, it first excited wrath; but yet a voice whispered that such a man might be made most useful to his purposes, if he could but be won; and as the knight's anger abated, the question became, how could he be gained? In regard to Ella Brune, Roydon was aware of much that had taken place, but not of all; otherwise his course would have been soon decided. By this time he had learned that Ella had journeyed from England in the train of Richard of Woodville; he knew that Dyram had stayed behind--not dismissed by his master as the man had insinuated, but left in charge of his baggage; and Simeon of Roydon suspected, judging of others by himself, that he had been left in charge of Ella, also, by her paramour. But of Dyram's love for her he had no hint, though there might have arisen in his mind a vague surmise that such attachment did exist, from the fact which brother Paul had discovered and communicated, that Dyram visited her once at least each day.

That surmise, however, was enough to guide him some way, and after pausing and pondering, till silence became unpleasant, he said, "Perhaps, my good friend, you may be mistaken in what you fancy. No fears of the results you speak of would stay me, were I so minded. Those who have good friends dread no foes."

"That is what I say, sir," replied Ned Dyram, in the same tone; "I have no apprehensions, because I know there are those who will take care of me, or avenge me."

"You need have none," answered Sir Simeon of Roydon; "but not for that cause. There are other regards that would restrain me. You have deceived me, it is true; but you can deceive me no more; and now that I know your motives and your conduct, I think that our ends may not be quite so different as you imagine, and as I too imagined at first."

"Indeed!" said Ned Dyram, with a sarcastic smile. "I know not what your ends are, or what you think you know. Knowledge is a strange thing, noble knight, and those who fancy they know much, often know little."

"True, learned master," answered Simeon of Roydon; "but you shall hear what I know--I wish not to conceal it. Your young lord brought this fair girl to Ghent; then, being called to serve the Duke of Burgundy, left his sweet leman--" he paused upon the word, and saw his companion's visage glow; but Dyram said nothing, and the knight went on; "--left his sweet leman, with his other baggage, under your careful guard. She lives now in the house of one Nicholas Brune; and you see her daily. You love her; and, fancying that I seek her par amours, would fain hide from me where she is. That you see is vain; and I will show you, too, that what you suppose of me is false. I care not for the girl; though perchance I may have thought, in former days, to trifle with her for an hour. But I will tell you more, Dyram: I love not your lord, and I believe that you have no great kindness for him either. Is it not so?"

"All wrong together, puissant knight," replied Ned Dyram, with a laugh. "She is no leman of Richard of Woodville--Sir Richard, by the mass! for I have heard to-day he has been made a knight. Nay, more; he cares no farther for her, than as a boy, who has saved a bird from hawk or raven, loves to nourish and fondle it."

"That may be," answered Sir Simeon, who had now regained all his coolness; "you know more than myself of his doings; but of one thing we are both certain, she loves him; and it would need but his humour to make her his. Of that I have had proof enough before I crossed the sea."

Ned Dyram winced; but he replied boldly, "Because she looked coldly upon you."

"Nay, not so," said the knight; "but on account of signs and tokens not to be mistaken. However, if as you think he loves her not, my scheme falls to the ground."

"And what was that, if I may dare to ask?" demanded Ned Dyram.

"I heed not who knows it," replied Roydon, at once. "I seek revenge, and thought to accomplish it by taking this girl from him. As to what is to follow, I care not. I never seek to see her more; would wed her to a hind, or any one. But if you judge rightly, and he loves her not, I am frustrated in this, and must seek other means."

There was a pause of several minutes; and both thought, or seemed to think, deeply. With Dyram it was really so; though the more shrewd and wise of the two, he had suffered the words of Roydon to fall upon the dangerous weaknesses of his bosom, like a spark into some inflammable mass; and doubt, suspicion, jealousy, were all in a blaze within. Yet he had sufficient power over himself to hide his feelings skilfully, and sought, neither admitting nor denying aught farther, to lead on the knight to speak of his purposes more plainly. But Simeon of Roydon saw there was a struggle, and that was sufficient for his purpose without discovering clearly what it was. He did speak more plainly then, and by many an artful suggestion, and many a promise, sought to lure Dyram on to aid in separating Ella Brune from him who could protect her; concealing carefully that it was on her his thirst of revenge longed to sate itself, though Richard of Woodville was not forgotten either; and before they parted, he thought that he had nearly won him to his wishes. The man did, indeed, hesitate; but the sparks of better feeling, which I have before said he possessed, burned up ere their conversation ended; and a doubt which, even in the midst of passion will rise up in the minds of the cunning and deceitful, that there may ever be a knavish purpose in others, made him desire to see his way more clearly.

All that the knight could gain was a promise that he would consider of his hints; and Dyram left him, with the resolution to draw from Ella Brune, by any means, a knowledge of her true feelings towards his master, and to watch every movement of Simeon of Roydon with a care that should let not the veriest trifle escape.

In the first object he was frustrated, as before; for the cold despair of Ella's love, its utter unselfishness, its high and lofty nature, was a veil to her heart which the eyes of one so full of human passion as himself could by no art penetrate. But, in his second, he was more successful--with the cunning of a serpent, with the perseverance of a ferret, he examined, he watched, he pursued his purpose. He had already wound himself into the confidence of several of the knight's servants; and he now took every means to gain some hold upon them, which was not indeed difficult, from the character of the men whom Roydon had chosen. Neither did he altogether cease his visits to their master, but, for many days, kept him negotiating as to the price of his services; and, although he could not exactly divine the end that the other proposed to himself, he learned enough to show him that Roydon was sincere, when he assured him that no love for Ella influenced him in seeking to remove her from the protection of Richard of Woodville. He then admitted that he loved her himself, in order to see what the knight would propose; and was not a little surprised to find how eagerly Roydon grasped at the fact, as a means to his own ends.

"Then she may be yours at a word," exclaimed Roydon, grasping his hand as if he had been an equal; "but aid me boldly and skilfully in what I seek, and she shall be placed entirely in your hands--at your mercy--to do with her as you will. Then, if you use not your advantage like a wise and resolute man, it is your own fault."

Dyram mused: the prospect tempted him: the strong passions of his nature rose up, and urged him on; he could not resist them; but still, cunning and cautious, he resolved to make his own position sure, and he replied, "I must first know your motive, noble knight. Men are not so eager without some object. What is it?"

"Revenge!" replied Sir Simeon of Roydon, vehemently, and he said truly; but then he added more calmly the next moment, "I am still unconvinced by what you have said, in regard to the feelings of your master. Though he may seek a higher lady as his wife--and, indeed, I know he does--yet he loves this girl, and will seek her par amours as soon as he has made sufficient way with her; for I persist not in saying that she is his leman. I have been acquainted with him longer than you have--since his boyhood; and he cannot hide himself from me as from others. At all events, that is my affair: I seek revenge, I tell you; and if I think I shall inflict a heavy blow on him, by making this girl your paramour, and am mistaken, the error will fall on myself. You will gain your ends, if I gain not mine."

"My paramour!" said Ned Dyram, thoughtfully.

"Ay--or your wife, if you will," replied the knight; "but, perchance, she will not, till forced, readily consent to be your wife--you understand me. I will give you every surety you may demand, that she shall remain wholly in your power. The course you follow afterwards must be of your own choosing."

The great tempter himself could not have chosen better words to work his purpose. It seemed, as if by instinct, that the one base man addressed himself to all that was weak in the other's nature; and there is a kind of divination between men of similar characters, which leads them to foresee, with almost unerring certainty, the effect of particular inducements upon their fellows.

Gradually, Dyram yielded more and more, resolving firmly all the while to do nothing, to aid in nothing, without insuring that his own objects also were attained; but, in the execution of such schemes, there are always small oversights. Passion so frequently interferes with prudence--the stream grows so much stronger as we are hurried on, that it is scarcely possible to stop when we would; and, when once the knave or the fool puts power into the hands of another, his own course is as much beyond his direction as that of a charioteer who would guide wild horses with packthread. How strange it is--perhaps the most wonderful of all moral phenomena--that any man should trust another in the commission of a bad action!

The question between Sir Simeon of Roydon and his lowlier companion speedily reduced itself to how Ella Brune was to be separated from those who could afford her protection; but the knight soon pointed out a means, instructed as he was by another, who kept himself in the dark.

"These people," he said, "with whom she resides, are known to be the followers of a new sect of heretics, which has sprung up in a distant part of Germany, and is similar to our own Lollards, only their apostle is named Huss, instead of Wickliffe. The girl herself is more than suspected of favouring these false doctrines. Such things are matters of no moment in your eyes or mine; but the zealous priesthood, fearful for their shaken power, are resolute to put such blasphemous notions down; and, if you can but discover when these Brunes go to one of their assemblies, which are kept profoundly secret, we can ensure that they shall be arrested. The girl, then left alone, shall be placed at your disposal. If she will fly with you from Ghent, for fear of being implicated, well. If not, on your bringing me the information, you shall have a sufficient sum of money to hire unscrupulous friends, and carry her whithersoever you will."

"But if she should accompany them to their assembly," said Ned Dyram at once, "how shall I ensure that she is not thrown into prison, tortured, perhaps burnt at the stake? No, no--that will never do!"

"All those ifs can be met right easily," answered Simeon of Roydon. "Ere you give any information, you can exact a promise from brother Paul--"

"A promise from brother Paul!" exclaimed Dyram, with a mocking laugh; "what! trust the promise of a monk! You are jesting, sir knight. Was there ever promise so sacred, sworn at the altar on the body of our Lord, that they have not found excuse for breaking or means of evading? Do you judge me a fool, Sir Simeon of Roydon?"

"Not so," rejoined the knight, "the danger did not strike me; but I see it now. It must be obviated, or I cannot expect you to go along with me. Yet--let me consider--methinks it were easily guarded against. Perchance she may not go; but, if she do, you can go with the party, take what number of men with you you like, and, in the confusion that must ensue, rescue your fair maiden. The gates, at this time of night, are not shut till ten; horses may be ready; and there is a castle, some five leagues off, on the road to Bruges, which I saw and cheapened three days since, as a place of residence during my exile. It is vacant now: you can bear her thither. To-morrow you can speak with father Paul yourself, and make your own terms as to leading him to the place of their meeting, if you discover it."

"No," replied Ned Dyram, "no! I will not go with him. I will be at their meeting with men I can trust; so can I be sure that I shall be near at hand to guard her. I will have it under his hand, too, that I am authorized by him to go; or, perchance, they may burn me likewise."

"You are too suspicious, my good friend," cried the knight, with a laugh that rang not quite so merrily as it might have done.

"A monk! a monk!" answered Dyram; "one can never doubt a monk too much. I will gain the intelligence wanted, sir knight; but I leave you to prepare this brother Paul to grant me all the security I ask, or he hears not a word from me; and so, good night!--you shall have news of me soon:" and, thus saying, he left him.

Simeon of Roydon bent down his head, and thought for several minutes; but at length he exclaimed, biting his lip, "He will shear down my revenge to a half--and yet, perhaps, that may be as bitter as death. To be the minion of a varlet!--'Twill be a fiercer, though a slower fire, than that of fagot and stake."