Though those were days of splendid cavalcades, and the neighborhood of the royal place of Royston had rendered them not infrequent some years before in that part of Huntingdonshire, it was not often that such a party presented itself in the small village of Buckley as that which was seen on the day after Edward's arrival. First, there was Dr. Winthorne, on his tall, stout, Roman-nosed horse, forming the centre of the group; then, on his left, Edward Langdale, riding a wicked, fiery devil, which screamed and bit at the approach of any other animal, but which he managed with grace and ease. Then there was the Prince de Soubise on the doctor's right, mounted on a powerful Norman charger and looking very much the soldier and the prince. Behind them were three servants, all well mounted and armed; and the whole formed a group which attracted the attention of the villagers and made even the blacksmith suspend the blows of his sledge-hammer to look at the fine horses he longed to shoe.

There was a little, old, dusty house on the right-hand side of the road as you came from Applethorpe toward the king's highway to Huntingdon, with the gables turned toward the street, a wooden porch carved in curious shapes, and some five or six descending steps. On one of the pillars of the porch was hung a curious sort of shield painted with various colors,—a quaint emblem of the holy Roman empire; and underneath was written, with no great regard to symmetry either in the size or shape of the letters, the words "Martin Sykes, Notary Public, Attorney-at-Law, Solicitor in his most gracious Majesty's Court of Chancery, &c. &c. &c.,"—which etceteras were explained and commented upon by a long inscription on the other pillar.

Before that little porch Dr. Winthorne pulled in his rein and floundered off his horse, and Soubise and Edward Langdale followed. In the first room on the left hand they found three or four clerks; and at a separate desk, which he could not have overtopped without assistance, was seated a little old man with very keen features and a back and chest which assumed a menacing posture in regard to the head.

"Ah, doctor," he said, slipping off the high stool which raised him up to the desk, "what brings you so early to Buckley? Odds-my-life! Why, I can hardly believe my eyes! Master Ned grown into a bearded man of war! My dear boy, how are you? Oh, how I have missed you!—missed the trout in the month of May,—missed the partridges in September,—missed the snipes and the woodcocks in the cold weather, when I have my annual abscess in the lungs,—missed thy handsome face at all those times when a kind word in a youthful voice cheers an old man like me!"

Edward shook him warmly by the hand, and asked after all his ailments kindly, but speedily turned to their companion, saying, "Mr. Sykes, this is the Prince de Soubise, an old friend of both my parents."

"I remember him well," said Mr. Sykes. "That is to say, I do not remember him at all. I mean, in person I do not remember him, for he might as well be Goliath of Gath as Prince de Soubise, so far as any identification on my part could go; but I remember quite well a young gentleman of that name, in purfled silk philimot velvet laced with gold, slashed velvet breeches, and a sword as long as a barbecuing-spit by his side, being present at your father's wedding and witnessing the marriage-contract."

"He has got me exactly," said Monsieur de Soubise. "I have had, Mr. Notary, to take to lighter but more serviceable weapons since; but, if my person is so much changed that you cannot remember me, there are plenty of witnesses here to swear to whom I am; and I expect in a few days my good friend Monsieur Clement Tournon, syndic of the goldsmiths of Rochelle, who made and brought over a set of jewels for my friend's bride, and who saw me witness the contract with his own eyes. He remembers the whole deed, he says; for it was read over to us before the signature."

"He will be an important witness, sir," said Martin Sykes; "and your Highness will be more so. It is all coming right, as I thought it would," he continued, turning to Dr. Winthorne and rubbing his thin, bony hands. "Somewhat long we have been about it; but step by step we are making way. Every thing takes time, doctor,—even a sermon, as the poor people here know well. The great difference between a lawsuit and a sermon is, that during the first the people sleep often and sleep badly, and during the second they sleep once and they sleep well. Now, Master Ned, I calculate that we shall get to the end of this suit and have a decree in our favor—let me see: you are about twenty, are not you?—in about forty-nine years and seven months." He paused a single instant, and rubbed his hands, and then added, with a smile slightly triumphant, "That is to say, if we cannot get the original settlement. But I think we shall get it, Ned, my boy. I think I can guess where it is. It is most likely badly damaged; but just give me sufficient of it left to show some of the signatures and the date, and then come in these gentlemen as witnesses to prove what it originally contained. Oh, we will make a fine little case of it! But parties: we want parties,—somebody to fight us,—Master Ned."

"But if the fight is to last so long as you have said, my dear friend," remarked Edward Langdale, "and I am only to succeed when I am sixty-nine years and seven months old, I think I had better not begin the battle."

"Ay, but you forget the if," said Martin Sykes, with a laugh. "An if makes every thing in law. It is as potent as 'any thing hereinbefore contained to the contrary notwithstanding,' or 'always provided nevertheless,' or any other of those sweet phrases with which we double up the sense of our documents or give a sweet and polite contradiction to what we have just been saying the moment before. As to the battle, my dear young friend, it has begun already. Acting on your behalf, as your next friend, I have managed to get possession of Buckley, have served Sir Richard's lawyer and agent with all sorts of processes,—some sixteen or seventeen, I think,—ejectments, quo warrantos, rules nisi, and others; and the poor fool, who is nothing at all unless he has a Londoner at his back, has let me have very nearly my own way, having no orders, not knowing where to get any, and standing like a goose under the first drops of a thunder-shower, with his eyes staring and his mouth half open."

"But where is the contract?" asked Monsieur de Soubise, in French. "If I understood him aright, he said he knew where it was."

Edward interpreted, feeling very sure that good Mr. Sykes was not very abundantly provided with French; but the little lawyer shook his head, saying, "No, no; I did not profess to know absolutely where it is; but there is one not very far from here who I think does know. I think he does,—I am sure he does. He tells me a box of valuable papers were lost at the great fire; and he shakes his head, and looks wise, and talks of its being 'made worth his while.' He is the most avaricious old devil in the world. It is a curious thing, Ned, all sextons are avaricious. They deal so much with dust and ashes that they learn to like the only sort of dross which does not decay when you bury it. He is a very old man now, and could not enjoy for more than a few months any thing he had, were it millions."

"What! you are not speaking of the old sexton at Langley, are you?" asked Edward,—"the man with the lame hip? He used to say he got that injury at the fire; and my father gave him many a guinea for it. I used to give him shillings and sixpences, too, to make him tell me all about the fire, till one day I caught him taking away a groat I had given to a poor child, and then I knocked him over the shoulder with my fishing-rod. He has never liked me after, but hobbles away into his cottage whenever he sees me, and shuts the door tight."

What there was in this little anecdote which peculiarly struck good Mr. Sykes I cannot tell, but he fell into a fit of thought, still standing,—for there were no chairs in the room, except one, which had lost a leg, (in what action I do not know,) and the high stools on which the clerks were sitting, if they could be called chairs. He kept a finger of his right hand resting on the side of his nose, however, for two or three minutes; and then, suddenly rousing himself, he said, "Let us go into the house. We can sit down there and talk. This is a poor place for such company. It does well enough for roystering farmers' sons who have been breaking each others' heads, or for a deputy tax-collector, or for gossiping women who have been slandering and being slandered. I don't want them to sit down at all; and that is the reason I have only one chair with a broken leg, to which I always hand old Mistress Skillet, the doctor's widow, who abuses every young girl in the place who has got a pretty face and wears a pink ribbon. Then down she comes, and declares she has broken her hip-bone, and walks away in great indignation, never coming back until she has another peck of lies upon her stomach. I must not do it any more, for she has grown as large as an elephant; and the last time she tumbled she had nearly shaken the office down. Besides, it cost me two ounces of peppermint to bring all those boys there out of their convulsions. But come, gentlemen, let us go."

Thus saying, he led the way through a little door at the back of the office, across a small passage, into an exceedingly neat old fashioned parlor, where, having seated his guests, he rushed at a corner cupboard and brought forth some tall-stalked cut and gilded wineglasses, and a square-sided bottle, likewise cut and gilded, from which he pressed his visitors to help themselves. Monsieur de Soubise remarked it was too early to drink wine; but the old man pressed them, saying, "It is not wine at all. It is fine old Dutch cinnamon." And, each having taken a little, good Mr. Sykes leaned his arms upon the table, remarking, "Now, this looks really like the commencement of a conspiracy; and a conspiracy we must have. I have settled it all. We must go over to the old place,—that is, old Langley Court, prince. I will enact my own character. The doctor here is too reverent to undergo transformation. You, my noble sir, must be a French nobleman about to buy Langley Court, and Buckley too,—in fact, half the estates in the neighborhood. Edward here must be your cornet of horse. There will be no need to mention his name; but the old wretch, who is as sharp as Satan, will most likely know him. He is aware, however, that Master Ned has been over in the wars in France: so the story will go down."

"It seems to me, my good friend Sykes," said Dr. Winthorne, "that you are going to tell a vast quantity of lies. Mark you, now: I will have nothing to do with them. I don't even know that I ought to stand by and hear them."

"You shall not hear a lie come out of my mouth," said Sykes, laughing. "My lord the prince, I dare say you are willing enough to buy Langley Court and the estate, if I will sell it to you for a gold crown,—what you call in France an Écu d'or?"

"Oh, very willingly," answered Soubise: "this cinnamon is worth an Écu d'or." And he helped himself to some more.

"Well, then, I will sell you the whole estate for that sum,—if ever I can prove my title to it," said Sykes. "It is a bargain. Now, Dr. Winthorne, do not you by any scruples spoil your young friend's only chance, if you would not have us take you for a cropped-eared Puritan instead of a good old sound Church-of-England man."

"Well, then, don't you lie too much, Mr. Attorney. I will swallow as much as I can; but keep within bounds, or you may chance to find me break out."

"All you have to do is to hold your tongue. I will do all the speaking," replied Sykes. "The prince here may talk as much French as ever he likes, and Master Ned may answer him in the same tongue. I will answer for it that neither old Grimes the sexton nor Martin Sykes the lawyer will be a bit the wiser for it."

"But when is this to be done?" asked Dr. Winthorne. "We have ridden ten miles already to-day."

"Well," said Mr. Sykes, "if we go over by the Barford road, that is but ten miles; and then we can go to Applethorpe, where you intend to give me a bed: that is but nine miles more. You would not mind going thirty miles any day for a fox-hunt."

"I never go fox-hunting," grumbled Dr. Winthorne.

"No, but you used once," said Mr. Sykes. And, bearing down all opposition, being strongly supported, it must be owned, by Edward and the Prince de Soubise, Mr. Sykes carried his point, ordered his own easy-going cob to be brought round, and had a bag fixed to the saddle with such little articles of dress as he wanted.

When the four gentlemen issued forth into the street to proceed upon their way, a certain rosyness of Pierrot's nose, which, together with some dewy drops in his eye, gave his face somewhat the aspect of a morning landscape, induced Edward to believe that he had been engaged in the pious employment of breaking a good resolution. But Pierrot declared manfully that he had only been following his young master's orders with his French companion. "You told me to treat them hospitably, sir," he said; "and how can I treat them hospitably without drinking with them?" Edward gave him a caution to keep himself sober at all events, and on they went some nine miles upon their way at a brisk pace.

"Now," said Sykes, as they approached the old park-wall, which had fallen down in several places, "we won't go nearer the old rascal. We must be perfectly indifferent."

"I recollect this park well," said the Prince de Soubise. "What a splendid place it was before the fire!"

"Hush! hush!" cried Sykes. "That is English." And, riding on, he pulled up his horse at a spot where some cottages were built between the road and the river, just fronting the old iron gates of what was called the grass court, beyond which, some two hundred yards off, appeared the blackened ruins of Langley.

The walls were all down,—at least, those of the main building; for not only had the fire overthrown them, but the pick and shovel had been busy for several weeks after the catastrophe, turning over the principal ruins in search of plate and other articles of value which had not been carried out during the fire.

There the gentlemen dismounted. The servants tied the horses to the iron gates, and the whole party entered the grass court and looked around. At that moment an old wizened face appeared at one of the small lozenges of a cottage-window, and the next a chink of the door was opened the mean and the same face gazed out. In time Mr. Sykes, with his riding-whip in his hand, was pointing out to Soubise all the wonders of the place, telling him where the great hall used to stand, where the guest-chambers were, and where were the private apartments of the Lady of Langley. Never before in his life was he so eloquent. While he went on, an old man of perhaps eighty hobbled across the road and came close up to the side of Dr. Winthorne. Just at that moment Mr. Sykes pointed with his whip to a tower a little detached from the main building, and apparently of more ancient architecture, saying, "That was the wine and ale cellar; and I have heard people say that during the fire the casks burst with an explosion like so many cannon."

"That is not true," said the old man, who had just come up; "for there had not been a thing or a body in that tower for thirty years before. Why, the stairs were half worn away; and Sir Richard would have pulled it down if it had not been for my lady, who liked the look of it."

"Ah, is that you, old Grimes?" said Mr. Sykes. "Why, you look younger than ever."

"I shall live to bury you yet," said the old sexton. "Don't make me wait long, for I am tired enough of life, I am sure. Who is that you have got with you, Sykes?"

"This is a French nobleman, the Prince de Soubise," replied the attorney. "As he cannot live in his own country, on account of the troubles, he has come over to England. We have been talking about his buying this place. Indeed, it is almost a bargain. He will have all these ruins cleared away," he continued, in a confidential tone, and somewhat dropping his voice, to prevent Dr. Winthorne from hearing too much.

The old sexton's face had turned a little pale; but the next instant he said, a little gruffly, "You can't sell him the place, Sykes."

"No; but Sir Richard can," replied the lawyer.

The old man grunted forth something which nobody heard distinctly, but which had some reference to "Sir Richard," and to "not paying a pension," and "giving no orders."

Sykes kept his eye fixed upon him steadily, and thought he saw an uneasy look come upon the old man's face, which was turned at that moment toward the ruined tower; and, looking round, the attorney saw that the servants, having left the horses at the gate, were sporting about the court-yard, and that Pierrot had mounted upon a pile of stones which had fallen from the tall wall above.

"What were you saying, Grimes?" asked Mr. Sykes. "That Sir Richard had not paid your pension? That is strange. The agent has plenty of money in his hands, for he has got all the rents of Langley, and Sir Richard has not drawn a farthing."

"Ay, but he says he has no orders," said Grimes, with a hasty and uneasy manner. "But what I am saying now is, that man will break his neck if he goes up there: I tell you he will. I put my hip out once doing just the same thing."

"Ha!" exclaimed Sykes: "I thought that was at the fire, Grimes. But what you say is very true. He will break his neck. Call him down, sir,—call him down: he is your servant."

The last words were addressed to Edward, who instantly called to Pierrot to come down,—which the good man unwillingly did; for he had imbibed just a sufficient quantity of liquor to make him full of sport without shaking his nerves.

Now, it is to be hoped that the reader read and pondered well the description given of that old tower in the seventh chapter of this eventful history; but, as there are some readers, and a great number of them, who will skip certain passages which they in their superciliousness think of little importance, I may as well recall the words of Edward Langdale while he was narrating the scenes of his early life to Clement Tournon and Lucette. "The whole of the house was burned," he said, on that occasion; "and the greater part of the walls fell in, with the exception of those of the ivy-tower, which were very ancient, and much thicker than the rest. Even there the woodwork was all consumed, and the staircase fell, except where a few of the stone steps, about half-way up, clung to the masonry."

Since Edward had seen the place or marked it with any particular attention, some changes had come over that tower, though they were not very apparent. We shall be compelled to notice them more in a moment or two. Suffice it for the present to say that those stone steps which Edward had mentioned were still sticking out about half-way up the tower, and that, somehow or another, Pierrot had contrived nearly to reach them.

However, Mr. Sykes took no notice of the careful forethought of an old sexton for a foreign servant's life, though he thought his benevolence strange, but went on round the old building, the piles of rubbish, and the blackberry-bushes which encumbered them, speaking a word or two every now and then to Dr. Winthorne, and keeping Mr. Grimes in pretty constant conversation. There is a game which young people play at, called, I think, "Hide-and-Seek;" and Mr. Sykes was determined to have a game with the old sexton. The seeker, when he approaches the object of his search, is told that he is hot; when he goes far from it, that he is cold. Now, in the neighborhood of most parts of the old building Grimes's face said, as plainly as possible, "Cold; cold as ice;" but when Mr. Sykes brought him near to the old ivy-tower again there was a tremulous motion of the hanging under lip, an anxious twinkle of the eye, and a fidgety motion of the hands, which said, as plainly as possible, "Warm; warm; very hot." This was the more apparent when the party came in face of that part of the tower where about a third of the wall, rent from top to bottom by the great heat, had fallen and strewn the ground with ruins. Mr. Sykes did not look up at the tower at all. His eyes were fixed upon the face of Mr. Grimes, and he was reading it as a book. Dr. Winthorne was reading it too. Edward Langdale and the Prince de Soubise were talking together in French; but their eyes were about them all the time.

Suddenly Edward exclaimed, in English, "Why, Pierrot could have gone up very easily. There is a stone taken out of the wall every two or three feet, and between them somebody has made steps by jamming in large blocks of wood with smaller stones. Besides, the tough old stems of ivy would take any one up who has hands to hold by. Pierrot! Pierrot!"

"No, no!" cried Dr. Winthorne: "send for a ladder from the church. My man shall go."

"Doctor, doctor," said Mr. Grimes, with a face as pale as death, "I want to speak to your Reverence."

"Well, speak out!" cried the bluff parson; but the old man drew him a little aside, and said, "If they will give me a hundred pounds sterling I will tell them something."

"Not a penny, you old sinner," said Dr. Winthorne. "Go down for the ladder to the church, William: get some men and bring it up, and be quick."

"Oh, doctor, I am an old man, and have suffered very much for the last fifteen years——"

"What is that he is saying? what is that he is saying?" said Sykes. "I have a notion you are very like the boy who went up the apple-tree to steal his neighbor's fruit: the branch broke, and he cracked his leg, and ever after he used to say that it had pleased God to afflict him."

At that moment a loud shout was heard from the tower above; and Pierrot, who had run up like a squirrel, put out his head, shouting, "A pie's nest! a pie's nest! Here are all manner of things!"

"Well, stay there and guard them," cried Dr. Winthorne.

"They are all mine!" cried the old man Grimes, wringing his hands, and speaking with the air and tone of a disappointed demon. "Well, I will not speak a word. I have done nothing. What business have you to take my things? I shall go home. If there is law in England, I will have it." And he was turning away toward the gates, when Mr. Sykes took him by the arm, saying, "John Grimes, I apprehend you for robbery on the night of the fire at Langley. Master Ned, tell that servant not to let him depart. I will be responsible: I know my man, and have had my eye upon him for many years. The old fool could not keep his tongue from babbling, and boasted what he could do if he liked."

A few minutes passed in almost perfect silence, till the church-ladder was brought and reared against the tower, and then all the younger men ran up. Dr. Winthorne and Mr. Sykes kept guard over the prisoner, having no great confidence in their own agility, not being much accustomed to mount ladders; and, for a moment or two, Mr. Grimes, now evidently panic-struck, continued to whisper eagerly to Dr. Winthorne, while Mr. Sykes's eyes were turned with impatience toward the tower.

"I can promise you nothing," answered the clergyman, bluffly. "It is no great matter to them what you confess or what you don't; but perhaps, if you do tell the whole truth, Ned Langdale, in consideration of your great age, may spare you. It is a horrible thing to see a man hanged at eighty."

At that moment the servants began to come down, bringing between them a chest of no very great size but bound with brass and somewhat ornamented, though its color and appearance showed it to have been a good deal scorched with fire. Though its weight did not seem great, the men carried it with much care, the occasion of which became evident when they reached the ground; for the top had been rudely forced open, and they were afraid of its falling back and the contents tumbling out.

A number of other objects were subsequently brought down,—a chalice, evidently the property of some church, a silver waiter, a clergyman's cassock, a number of silver spoons bearing the arms of the family of Langdale, and a whole mass of miscellaneous articles, some valuable, some perfectly worthless. But Mr. Sykes put his foot firmly upon the chest after it was laid upon the ground, saying, "Take notice, doctor, that I do not open this till there are plenty of witnesses." The moment, however, that the Prince de Soubise and Edward had descended, he called upon them to remark what the chest contained, and proceeded to the examination.

It is not my intention to give a descriptive catalogue of old papers; but, after turning over many documents of no great importance, a parchment was found and opened, and the Prince de Soubise instantly put his finger on the lowest part of the fifth sheet, saying, "There stands my name."

"Well," said Dr. Winthorne, "I can easily conceive this old man stealing the sacrament-cup and the silver spoons. I remember the robbery of the church quite well. Those he could melt down, and he was a great fool for not doing it. But why he should take Brother Wynstone's gown, which he could never dare to wear, and why he should steal this box of papers, which he could make no use of, I cannot imagine."

It is impossible for any writer of history to discover and describe the real motives of one-half the actions he relates; and what it was that moved old Grimes the sexton at that moment I cannot at all pretend to say, but he certainly mumbled, in low and tremulous accents, and with some tears, "I thought it was my lady's jewel-case."

The scene which then took place is not worthy of description. Let the reader imagine the congratulations that were poured upon Edward Langdale, how all his friends shook hands with him heartily, how Pierrot, who from his knowledge of English understood the whole, almost danced with joy, and how the servant of the Prince de Soubise, seeing all the rest do it, shook hands with him too, and wished monsieur a good morning, being the two principal words he possessed. A cart was procured, and also a constable; under whose charge, escorted by Dr. Winthorne's servant, Mr. Grimes and the contents of his magpie's nest—with the exception of the all-important settlement, which Mr. Sykes would not part with—were carried over to Applethorpe that night.

Dr. Winthorne and his party had preceded them by nearly an hour, and very important business occupied the remainder of the day till it was time to retire to rest. On that business we need not dwell at present; but in order not to be obliged to turn back to a character which, however important, has appeared but briefly, let me say that that very night Mr. Grimes, in the first terror of detection, made a full and frank confession of all he had done. He had been one of the first to enter the house on the night of the fire, and had met Lady Langdale carrying the case which contained her marriage-settlement. He had instantly asked her after her boy; and, dropping the case, she had flown to Edward's room to see if he had been rescued by his father. The sexton, concluding that the case contained her jewels, had seized upon it and carried it off. At first he had concealed it under some of the bushes, but had afterward carried it up into what was called the ivy-tower, which, having been vacant and in ruins for some years, he imagined would never be searched. When asked why he had not carried it to his own cottage, he replied, "Because that was certain to be examined as soon as they discovered that any thing was lost." He was never prosecuted for the thefts he had committed; but he died some seven weeks after,—perhaps as much from shame and disappointment as disease; and thus he never had the pleasure of burying Mr. Martin Sykes.