“But I am ty’d to very thee

By ev’ry thought I have;

Thy face I only care to see,

Thy heart I only crave.”

Sedley.

In an hour’s time the preparations were made, and, furnished with a pass from Waller, the two friends, with Morrison, Captain Heyworth’s servant, in attendance, rode through the sleeping city and, after a brief delay at the gate, passed out into the open country.

Gabriel forgot his fatigue in the excitement of this unexpected quest. The night was very still, and little fleecy white clouds floated in the moonlit sky; he began keenly to enjoy the prospect of thwarting Colonel Norton, whose brutal words to Major Locke had stirred up in him a resentment which was all the fiercer because he had at first been deceived by the pleasant voice and the buoyant cheerfulness of their visitor. Here was a man who might easily enough betray a young and ignorant girl. He could fancy only too well how Hilary would have been attracted by this light-hearted officer, with his ready smile and his merry-looking eyes; and the thought made him all the more eager to rescue little Helena Locke.

“Has the Major only this one child?” he asked.

“Ay,” replied Joscelyn Heyworth, “’tis a case of

‘One fair daughter and no more,

The which he loved passing well.’

She inherits the estate, and doubtless Colonel Norton has an eye to that.”

They had ridden for some two hours, when Gabriel pointed to a tower darkly outlined against the pale sky. “Yonder lies the church,” he said. “We take this turning to the right. What is that ahead? Surely I saw a light through the trees.”

“Corpse candles in the churchyard, maybe,” said Joscelyn.

“No, ’twas not near the church, but yonder. See, ’tis a light in a cottage; ’tis the gatehouse of the Manor.”

“All the better,” said Joscelyn, “they will be ready to open to us.”

Without replying, Gabriel dismounted and looked closely at the marks on the road near the gate. “A couple of horsemen have just entered, I should say by these hoof-prints,” he exclaimed. And picking up a pebble he threw it against the lighted window of the gate-house.

Immediately the door of the lodge was cautiously opened, and an old white-haired man put out his head. “Who goes there?” he cried.

“We have a message from your master, Major Locke, and have ridden in haste from Gloucester,” said Gabriel.

The old man, looking much perturbed, took up his lantern and came out to the gate. “Why, that be strange,” he said, scratching his head, as he noted the orange scarves with which their buff coats were girt, “you bring a message from master at Gloucester, and but ten minutes since I let in two gentlemen who brought a message from him at Little Dean, where they tell me he lies wounded and a prisoner.”

“Was the messenger you admitted Colonel Norton?” asked Joscelyn Heyworth.

“Ay, ’twas young Squire Norton that lives over at Crawleigh Park; known master all his life he has, and was willing to show him a kindness and take Mistress Helena to him ere he die.”

“Man,” said Gabriel, impatiently, “’tis all a pack of lies. We serve under Major Locke and have left him but now in sound health at Gloucester; he knows that Colonel Norton means to entrap his daughter, and, being unable to come, has sent us to escort her safely to Alderman Pury’s house. Here is a letter for her in your master’s own hand if you doubt me.”

The old man raised the lantern, but his eyes were fixed on Gabriel’s face, not on the letter. “I can’t read writing,” he said, “but the Almighty’s given me some skill in reading faces, and yours, sir, has truth in every line. I blame myself for trusting young Squire Norton, but the news that the master was at death’s door dithered me, and that’s a fact.”

“Let us lose no time,” said Gabriel, eagerly. “Will Colonel Norton have been long at the house?”

“Nay, sir; for it will take my son, who went with him, a bit of a time to rouse the household. Belike they may be still outside.”

“Good; then let us leave the horses without the gate in charge of Morrison,” said Joscelyn Heyworth, “and do you guide us to the house.”

“We must steal in without noise,” said Gabriel, quickly, “and, if possible, convey Mistress Helena away before Colonel Norton sees her. Where does that light come from?”

“It be in the window of the dining-hall,” said the gatekeeper, keeping up with the two young officers by means of a shambling trot, which made his words come in a series of jerks and gasps. “But as sure as my name’s Amos I don’t see how you are to get speech of Mistress Helena now that Squire Norton has the start of you.”

“I will see how the land lies,” said Gabriel, lowering his voice as they drew near to the house. “Should Colonel Norton be in the hall you can surely convey us upstairs without his knowledge?”

“I’ll do my best, sir, but ’twill be a difficult matter,” said Amos.

They were walking, not on the carriage road, but over the bowling-green, and Gabriel now hastened noiselessly forward, and, swinging himself up by a sturdy little hawthorn which grew close to the house, he looked anxiously into the hall. It was a great, bare place, wainscotted with black oak, and lighted only by a couple of candles. A flagon of wine stood on the long, narrow table in the centre, and the visitors were refreshing themselves after their long ride. The Prince’s messenger had his back to the window, and little was visible of him but his long dark lovelocks. Norton, at the opposite side of the table, lay back in a carved elbow-chair, a silver cup in his shapely hand, and the candle light full on his handsome, reckless face.

Gabriel saw at a glance that the hall was constructed on the usual plan of mediaeval houses, with a minstrels’ gallery at the end nearest the outer door of the mansion, and beneath the gallery two open archways leading through the wooden screen to a passage traversing the house from front to back. Across one of the archways hung a thick crimson curtain, but the archway nearest the main door was exposed to view, the curtain having evidently been half drawn back on the arrival of the midnight guests.

He dropped down noiselessly from his post of observation.

“The two of them are in there drinking,” he said, in a whisper. “Mistress Helena hath not yet come down. Is there any means of reaching her by the stairs leading to the gallery?”

“Ay, sir, the little stone stair leads up to the gallery, and on beyond to the upper rooms,” whispered Amos, his shrewd old face lighting up as he began to hope for a successful issue.

“Good; then let us off with our boots, and steal through to the gallery stairs without a sound.”

Amos stepped out of his broad low-heeled shoes easily enough, but the high riding-boots and spurs of the two young knights proved a more difficult matter, and Joscelyn Heyworth waxed so merry over their struggles that they came perilously near to an audible laugh. Their preparations made, the gatekeeper led the way up the steps to the main entrance, softly opened the door and admitted them into a flagged passage; a broad stream of light fell athwart the white stones from the archway on the right leading into the hall; they paused a moment before advancing, and to their relief heard that Norton and his companion were talking—under cover of their voices it would be easier to risk the perilous crossing to the stairs.

“This fair damsel takes a great deal of rousing,” said the Prince’s messenger. “Doth she intend to make a full toilette before coming down to hear of her father’s plight?”

“We won’t grudge her time to doff her nightcap,” said Norton, “for i’ faith, Tom, she hath the prettiest golden locks you ever saw. What shall I tell her of the old Major’s wound? Shot through the lungs, eh? Life hangs on a thread? By the Lord Harry! I only wish it did,” and he laughed boisterously.

Taking advantage of this noise, Gabriel put his hand on old Amos’ arm and walked swiftly past the archway, and on beyond to the spiral staircase which lay concealed behind a door in the wainscot.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Norton, “I thought I saw a shadow in the passage.”

“Patience, man,” said the other. “’Twas doubtless the fellow that let us in. I faith I begin to think your love for this pretty maid is hotter than most of your fancies. She will come all in good time; I drink to the success of your enterprise!”

“And I drink to fair Mistress Nell, the Queen of my heart!” said Norton.

He refilled his silver cup, and the three rescuers stole quietly up the dark staircase. Hardly, however, had they reached the level of the gallery when an exclamation from Norton crushed their hopes.

“And here in good sooth she comes!” he said, as sounds of approaching footsteps made themselves heard, and a flickering light began to play on the dark oak wainscot at the further end of the hall near the entrance to the main staircase.

Gabriel signed to his companions to pause on the spiral steps, and going down on his hands and knees crept cautiously into the gallery, which lay in deep shadow, but commanded an excellent view of the hall between the posts of the massive oak balustrade. He clenched his hands in hot anger when he saw how young and innocent and helpless was Norton’s victim.

She came into the hall bearing a silver candlestick, and the flickering light revealed a face of childlike beauty, the cheeks still flushed with the sudden awakening from sound sleep, the blue eyes wide with anxiety and alarm. She had hurriedly thrown on a pink flannel sacque, and her fair hair hung in disorder about her shoulders. Norton stood still for a moment feasting his eyes on her loveliness, then he noticed that close behind her came a certain poor relation who had lived for many years at the Manor, a worthy lady of fifty, known as Cousin Malvina.

“I grieve to be the bearer of ill news,” he said, saluting both ladies with great courtesy.

“Oh, sir, tell me all, and tell me quickly. How doth my father?” asked little Mistress Nell, her pretty eyes filling with tears.

“Nay,” said Norton, “be not so distressed. He was sorely wounded to-day in a skirmish—you may doubtless have heard that Sir William Waller cut his way right through Prince Maurice’s army in the forest; your father is now our prisoner, and lies at the Prince’s headquarters at Little Dean. If you will don your riding-gear at once I will have a pillion put on my horse and take you to him.”

“Sir,” said Cousin Malvina, “it is out of the question that Helena should go with you now. You must wait till morning, then I will bring her in the coach.”

“Dear madam, by morning it will be too late; her father lies at death’s door, and he himself implored me to bring her to him without delay. Can you not trust an old neighbour?”

“You were a neighbour that my kinsman sorely distrusted,” said Cousin Malvina, her grave face bearing an expression of great perplexity.

“But much is changed when we have but a short time to live,” said Norton, unblushingly. “Come, madam, let bygones be bygones. You shall ride to Little Dean with us behind my friend.”

“Dear Cousin Malvina, pray do not hinder us,” said Helena, eagerly. “Perhaps with good nursing we may yet save my father’s life. Come, let us go upstairs and dress. Come, please, come!”

The good lady was overpersuaded, and Norton, adjuring them to lose no time, accompanied them to the foot of the great staircase with so many signs of respect and kindly sympathy that Gabriel was fain to own him the cleverest as well as the most audacious villain he had ever encountered.

Creeping noiselessly back to the dim spiral stairs he begged Joscelyn Heyworth to keep a watch on Norton’s doings while Amos took him to the other floor to speak to the two ladies. The old gate-keeper, who was trembling with rage and excitement, whispered an assurance that he would return to Captain Heyworth when their plans were formed, and then led Gabriel to Mistress Malvina’s room. The ladies had not yet returned, for the main staircase and the corridors made a much wider circuit.

“You wait, sir, and I’ll prepare them,” said Amos, stealing along the passage, carrying his shoes in one hand, and raising a warning forefinger as little Mistress Nell approached.

“Hush, missie,” he said. “Yon wicked young Squire Norton has deceived you; here is a gentleman who hath brought you a letter from my master.”

“Did I not tell you, child, that your father ever mistrusted Squire Norton?” said Cousin Malvina, triumphantly.

Helena, looking utterly bewildered, allowed Amos to usher her into the room where Gabriel stood waiting her approach. She lifted up her candle the better to see him, and something in his clear honest eyes brought her instant relief.

“Sir,” she exclaimed, “Amos says my father sent you hither.”

“Yes, madam,” he said, bowing low and handing her the Major’s letter. “You will recognise his handwriting, and pray read this quickly, for if we are to save you from Colonel Norton’s vile plot we must lose no time.”

“Read, child,” said Cousin Malvina, “and let us know at once what your father bids you do.”

Gabriel took the candle from the girl’s trembling hand, and held it for her while she read aloud the Major’s brief note.

“Dear Daughter,—This letter is borne to you by Lieutenant Harford, who is accompanied by his friend, Captain Heyworth. I am unable to fetch you myself, but you must ride with them without a minute’s delay to Gloucester, where Alderman Pury will shelter you. We have learnt of a probable attack to be made by the Prince’s troops on the Manor; do not let the servants attempt a defence, it will be useless. A worse danger threatens you yourself from that vile profligate, Squire Norton. I had thought him safely disposed of during the war, but since he is in your neighbourhood, I dare not leave you at the Manor. Come at once to Gloucester, or I shall not have a moment’s peace of mind. I shall be gone to the attack of Tewkesbury when you arrive, but Lieutenant Harford will place you safely under Alderman Pury’s care. May God direct you.—Your loving father,

“Christopher Locke.

“Written at Gloucester, this evening, April 11, 1643.”

“Is there a third staircase in the house?” asked Gabriel, turning to Amos.

“Ay, sir, there be the kitchen stairs, but they be plaguy steep and apt to creak.”

“They are further from the hall,” said little Mistress Nell, “and we can slip out of the back door and through the shrubbery to the gate ere Squire Norton thinks us ready. Haste, haste, Cousin Malvina, here is your Lincoln green cloak and hood, do not let us lose a moment.”

“Summon Captain Heyworth,” said Gabriel to Amos, “and if possible get a couple of pillions, we will meet you by the back entrance. I will guard your door, ladies, while you don your wraps, but pray lose no time.”

He stood without in the corridor, each minute seeming agelong in the darkness and silence. Presently a faint sound of stealthy steps at a little distance warned him that Joscelyn and the gatekeeper were moving towards the back staircase, then came silence, broken only by the low tones of Mistress Malvina’s agitated voice.

At length, when his patience was well nigh exhausted,

Helena in a long blue cloak and a close Puritan hood, opened the door.

“We are ready, sir,” she whispered.

“Can you find your way down in the dark?” he asked.

She nodded, blew out the candle, and with a child’s ready confidence slipped her hand into his.

“Take care,” she said, beneath her breath, “there are little steps up and down in this corridor, two up here, now one down, now turn to the left and tread softly, there are twenty-six stairs—very steep ones. Don’t forget, Cousin Malvina, that the twenty-fourth step creaks.”

Silently and with infinite care they went down the long descent, thankful for a gleam of moonlight from the window of the house-keeper’s room down below. But, alas! Cousin Malvina, half paralysed with terror as they heard Norton’s voice in the hall, lost count of the steps.

The twenty-fourth stair creaked ominously as she trod on it, and the next moment to their horror, Norton’s voice grew louder and clearer.

“They are coming at last!” he exclaimed. “I hear steps in the passage. What! no lights? Curse those servants! Why can’t they bring a lamp? Hullo! who goes there? a petticoat an I mistake not. Tom, bring one of those candles; here’s sport to pass the time of waiting.”

Unluckily, as Norton’s eyes grew more accustomed to the semi-darkness, he caught sight of three people rapidly crossing a patch of moonlight in the kitchen. He hurried forward, and was just in time to sec the little group of dusky figures stealing out of the house. Then the door closed behind them, and though he pulled with all his might at the handle, he could not make it yield, for Joscelyn Heyworth held on to it like grim death.

Meanwhile, Gabriel had hurriedly pulled on his boots, and was half-leading, half-carrying, little Mistress Nell through the dark shrubbery, while Amos panted after him with Mistress Malvina.

When Joscelyn rejoined them, the poor chaperon seemed almost at her last gasp, and the sound of Norton’s steps gaining upon them took all the strength from her limbs.

“Take a turn to the right and double back to the house with the lady,” said Joscelyn; “you will outwit them thus, and can ride later on to Gloucester.”

It was no time to hesitate. Amos blindly obeyed, and dragged Mistress Malvina into the depths of the shrubbery, where she sank on to the ground unable to take another step, but listening in terrible anxiety to hear what would happen.

Joscelyn, running like the wind, overtook his companions, and caught Helena’s other hand in his, then, leaving the shrubbery, the fugitives rushed across the bowling-green. The moon shone only too brightly, but they were forced to risk shots from behind, for to drag the girl along the narrow half-overgrown path proved slow work, and their capture would have been certain.

Surely Norton would hesitate to shoot. His feelings as a gentleman would probably be stronger than the savage lust of conquest, and the brute instincts which had prompted him to this night’s work.

But they had yet to learn his character; as long as his mind was fully bent on any desire, nothing could baffle him.

A bullet whistled through the air, missing Joscelyn Hey-worth only by a hair’s breadth. Little Nell gripped the hands of her rescuers with the intensity of one whose nerves are strained to the utmost, but otherwise she made no sign, and ran bravely on. A second bullet followed, but it glanced aside from Gabriel’s corslet. Helena felt the shock of it in the hand which he grasped, and a stifled cry of horror escaped her. Had not her two protectors borne her on more and more swiftly she felt that she must have given up, and have thrown herself on Squire Norton’s mercy.

But now at last they were nearing the lodge, and, to their relief, at the sound of their approach, Morrison threw open the gate for them. Gabriel hastily mounted his horse and bade the man lift little Mistress Nell in front of him, for the pillions had been left with Amos in the shrubbery, and he dared not let her ride behind, when at any moment Norton or his companion might again shoot.

“It’ll take the gentlemen a few minutes to find their horses,” said Morrison, lifting the trembling girl in front of Gabriel. “They’d left them on the other side of the gatehouse, and I’ve put ’em down by yon pollard willow, and hobbled their hind legs with a bit of rope in a way that will make their riders swear.”

He chuckled softly to himself, and glanced at his master, who laughed outright as he mounted.

“You’re worth your weight in gold to me,” he said. “We shall baffle this villain yet, Gabriel.”

And setting spurs to their horses, the little cavalcade started at a sharp trot, which changed as soon as they heard sounds of pursuit, to a gallop. When at length they drew rein for a moment to breathe their panting horses, all was still, and it became clear that Norton and his companion had abandoned the chase.

Joscelyn Heyworth glanced at the little slender figure which clung so closely to his comrade; in the moonlight her girlish face looked pale, but absolutely tranquil, and in her eyes he could read perfect trust in her rescuer. He felt convinced, that ere long such confidence would develop in the girl’s heart into the utter devotion of love.

“Now, an’ my friend could but rid his heart of old memories, and forget that Mistress Hilary he raved about at Kineton in his fever, here is as winsome and sweet a bride for him as man could desire,” thought Joscelyn.

But Gabriel’s expression was grave, and his eyes had an absent look in them. He paid very little heed to the Major’s daughter when once assured of her safety and comfort, for the clasp of her arms about his neck only made him crave Hilary’s presence the more, and he was dreaming his own dream of how one day it might be his happy fortune to rescue her from some deadly peril or save her from the machinations of such a man as Norton.