“Whatever harmonies of law

The growing world assume,

Thy work is Thine. The single note

From that deep chord which Hampden smote

Will vibrate to the doom.”

—Tennyson.

By the time they approached Magdalene Bridge the twilight had faded into darkness, but the stars shone brightly in the frosty atmosphere, and the snowy ground glimmered white through the pervading gloom. Some temporary fortifications, not of a very effective order, had lately been made to protect the bridge, and a strict guard was kept. It was the endeavour to pass through at this late hour of the afternoon which was like to prove their greatest peril.

More than once Humphrey Neal looked with anxiety at his two companions. From Sandy nothing but a dog-like obedience could be expected; and it seemed to him that Gabriel’s overbright eyes and feverishly flushed face told their own tale. The lieutenant, whose fortitude and intrepid courage had carried him in a masterly fashion through the escape from the Castle, stood now on the verge of utter collapse. Clearly it rested with him to take the initiative and to pioneer the others through this dangerous attempt to pass the sentries.

“Sing a snatch of some carol as we walk,” he suggested.

And Gabriel obeyed, chanting, to a tune he had known all his life, the words:

“The God of love doth give His Son,

The Prince of Peace, to quell

The sin and strife that mar man’s life;

With us He deigns to dwell.

On earth be peace,

Bid strife to cease,

To all men show goodwill.”

By this time they had reached the first sentry.

“Halt, there!” said the man. “None leaves the city after sunset.”

“Good master sentry, let us pass; the sun hath set but an hour, and we be bound to reach Cowley by supper-time,” said Humphrey in his countryman’s drawl.

The sentry summoned one of the guard.

“Leave the city!” said the burly fellow, with a laugh. “You’re too late, my man.”

“We should ha’ been here sooner, sir,” said Humphrey, “but we had to sing in the quad at Merton to Her Majesty. You’ll never be denying us when we tell you that we’ve been carol-singing to the King and Queen.”

“Well, well, you seem a harmless fellow, but I don’t remember your coming into the city.”

“I came in yesterday, sir; and for the love o’ heaven let us pass through now to the Cowley road, for it be cruel cold here, and we have but this night to earn a few coins by our minstrelsy.”

“Well, go through with you, then,” said the guard, carelessly, “and you may thank your stars that it be Christmas night, or I’d not have let you by.”

“God bless you, sir, for a good Christian,” said Humphrey, touching his hat. “Come, mates, we’ll e’en give them a tune as we go.”

Then raising the lute he sounded the refrain of the Bosbury carol, and they passed out of Oxford singing the old familiar words which for one of them had so many memories. Once Gabriel glanced back to the bridge, and the dim outline of the towers and spires of the beautiful city, with its lights shining out here and there like glowworms; and most fervently did he hope never again to enter the place where he had suffered such torments.

For some minutes they walked rapidly on, but when at length they were out of earshot the sense of their good fortune in escaping thus far successfully made them forget everything in a rapturous sense of relief. They laughed and shouted like schoolboys released from work, and it was as much as Sandy could do to keep pace with them.

“No more gruesome thoughts of racks and halters!” said Humphrey. “And for you no more months of slow starvation in that fever den. Farewell, a long farewell to Aaron and his rod!”

“I wonder if by now he has recovered his senses,” said Gabriel. “’Tis more like that our rope has been discovered by the guard and the escape found out in that fashion—I wish we could have brought it off with us.”

“We will press on as fast as may be for fear of pursuit,” said Humphrey. “There’s a house I know at Cowley where we can get food. ’Tis owned by an old retainer of ours who can be trusted.”

They toiled on as fast as might be over the rough road, with its treacherous ruts frozen hard, and all were thankful enough when they saw the outline of St. Bartholomew’s leper-house looming into sight, for the frosty air and the exercise had sharpened their appetites.

Old Nicholas, the farmer, gladly gave them food, and they were sitting in his chimney-corner feasting on cakes and hot ale, when to their dismay the tramp of horses and the voices of men without made them fear that already they were pursued.

“Never heed, Master Humphrey,” said old Nicholas. “I’ll put them on the wrong track, and do you all step up the stairs behind yon door, for maybe they’ll be thrusting their heads into the house place.”

They obeyed their host, and Humphrey, knowing well that he was a shrewd old man, had faith in his discretion. The others heard in no small trepidation the tramp of feet on the flagged path leading to the door; then came a peremptory knock.

Nicholas opened promptly enough, anxious to keep his questioners in a good temper.

“Have you seen aught of three carol singers here?” asked a voice which clearly reached the fugitives on the staircase.

“Bellringers did you say?” asked Nicholas, feigning deafness. “Up at the inn, sir, supping at the inn.”

“Three carol singers,” shouted the man.

“Oh! to be sure,” nodded Nicholas. “Yes, sir, and one of them had a lute, oh! yes to be sure, I saw them a while ago, and they was singing like archangels.”

“Which way did they take?” shouted the pursuer. “Are they like to be at the inn?”

“No, sir, not at the inn,” said Nicholas, shaking his head vigorously.

“Which way did they go?”

Nicholas stepped out into the garden and pointed and gesticulated with much energy.

“Where does that lead to?” questioned the officer.

“Where does it lead to?” repeated Nicholas, as though not quite sure that he had heard aright. “It leads to Thame, sir, you’ll soon get there; Thame the market town.”

“Oh, they have taken the road there, have they. The villains have escaped from Oxford Castle and one of them is a spy. Now then, my boys, set spurs to your horses, we shall soon run the quarry to earth, and the first that comes up with them shall have the hanging of the vile rebels. Keep to the left and press on.”

The sound of the horses’ hoofs died away in the distance; then Nicholas returned to the house place, and the three hunted men came out of hiding.

“That was a close shave, Nicholas,” said Humphrey Neal, shaking the old man’s hand gratefully. “Thanks to your ready wit we are safe, but we must press forward without delay or these wolves will be the death of us yet.”

“Where do you escape to, sir?” asked Nicholas.

“To London,” said Gabriel. “There will be a warm welcome for Mr. Neal at Notting Hill Manor, the home of my grand dame. ’Tis thanks to him I have escaped.”

“Thanks to your own courage,” said Humphrey. “But we will hasten on, Nicholas, without delay, and at Watlington I will get old Parslow to speed us on our journey.”

Nicholas with many good wishes bade them farewell, and, taking the precaution of leaving the road, they went across country, shortening the distance and running less risk of capture.

“I have hunted so often in this part of the country that I know every inch of the ground,” said Humphrey, as he pioneered his two companions across the snowy fields and frozen brooks. “’Tis not so pleasant a matter, though, to be hunted oneself, especially on foot. Perhaps at Watlington we can get a mount from Parslow, he is the landlord of the ‘Hare and Hounds,’ and I’ve known him all my life.”

The bitter wind blew in their faces as they toiled on; and, at length, Sandy began to whimper that he could go no farther. They tried their utmost to cheer the lad.

“We shall soon be at Watlington,” said Humphrey, “and I’ll get Parslow to give you a berth as stable boy; you shall be as happy as a King, and maybe happier, with plenty to eat and a motherly old cook who’ll see you’re not bullied. Oh! you’ll think yourself in paradise after the life you’ve led with Aaron.”

Sandy grinned placidly, but soon remarked again that he was “cruel footsore.”

“This is Chalgrove field, where Colonel Hampden got his death wound,” said Humphrey, and Gabriel looked over the snowy ground, gleaming white in the starlight, and tried to think how it had looked on that fatal day when a deadly fight had been fought, and the waving corn had been trampled underfoot and dyed crimson with the blood of the noblest of Englishmen.

By this time the excitement which had carried him on had subsided, and though he said nothing, it was evident to Humphrey that only dogged resolution and an indomitable will enabled him to drag one foot after the other. But he came of a stock that was not easily daunted, and it was not till they reached the “Hare and Hounds” at Watlington that he would admit that he was dead beat.

“Come round to the back entrance,” said Humphrey. “I’ll get a word with old Mogg the cook.”

Softly lifting the latch, he took them into the kitchen of the inn, where an old crone, with a most good-natured face, sat alone by the fire.

“Mogg,” said Humphrey, stealing across the room, “a happy Christmas to you, and of your charity take us into hiding, for we stand in peril of our lives.”

“Larka mercy, Master Humphrey, how you do startle a body,” exclaimed the old woman, beaming with pleasure at the sight of one she had known from babyhood. “What’s amiss with yonder gentleman? Methinks he is but ill-fitted for travelling. ’Tis in bed you should be, sir, with a good sack posset and warm blankets.”

“In truth, ’tis where I would fain be,” said Gabriel, dropping on to the nearest bench. “Yet I would crave leave to have a wash first.”

Sandy stared at him, that anyone should actually wish to be clean on this cold winter’s night seemed to him the most extraordinary thing he had ever heard.

“Ay, Mogg, the brutes have treated my friend most scurvily,” said Humphrey; “do you furnish him with one of your master’s shirts and a pair of hose, and look well to him, for he’s worn out and half-starved. But first take me to the master’s room and let me have speech of him in private, for we will keep our coming quiet if possible.”

Parslow, the landlord, who had known Squire Neal, of Chinnor, for many years, gladly undertook to help Humphrey, and Sandy was promised work in the stableyard on the understanding that the two gentlemen he had helped so greatly should start him in life with money for his outfit. By nine o’clock, thanks to Mogg’s kindly offices, Gabriel found himself in a state of drowsy cleanliness and comfort in a great four-post bed, and when Parslow ushered his friend into the room and stayed for awhile chatting he was too blissfully sleepy to open his eyes.

“Then, should there be any signs of pursuit, you will let us know,” said Humphrey, setting down his candle and pulling off his boots. “Meanwhile we’ll sleep.”

“’Tis the bed on which Colonel Hampden lay the night before Chalgrove fight,” said Parslow. “Well do I remember it.”

“And I’ve good cause to remember it, too, Robin, for ’twas the very night Prince Rupert’s men set our house ablaze and brought us to ruin. Well, good-night to you, and many thanks for your aid. We will be up by four, and, as you suggest, go with Jock the carrier to Henley. Once out of Oxfordshire we shall be safe. My friend sleeps already I see. Poor fellow, after lying for months on bare boards, I’ll warrant he thinks himself in clover.”

They slept soundly for some three hours, then Humphrey was roused by hearing a peremptory knocking without. He started up in bed and listened; someone was going downstairs to the front entrance, and again a thundering knock descended on the door.

Stealing across to the window, he looked cautiously down and descried the dark forms of four or five horsemen—there were sounds of unbolting the door, and then the question he had expected: “Have you seen a party of minstrels from Oxford pass through here?”

“No, sir,” said the landlord, with truth.

“Curse the fellows! How can we have missed them? Do you and a couple of men ride on, sergeant, you may yet overtake them on the London-road. Everton, you and I will get some food and a few hours’ sleep here.”

“I can give you food, gentlemen, but being Christmas night we are fuller than usual,” said Parslow.

“Oh, anything will do,” said the officer, dismounting. “Everton, see the horses fed and stabled while the landlord makes ready for us, it will be the quickest way in the end.” Humphrey whistled softly to himself, dismayed to think of the risk they now ran of being trapped. The notion of being taken in bed and being dragged back to Oxford to be hung was not to be borne. He groped in the dark for his clothes and hastily dressed. His companion still slept, though uneasily, now and again talking and moaning in a way which alarmed Humphrey, who thought it highly probable that the new fever had already attacked him.

Presently there was a soft knock at the door and the latch was lifted by the landlord, who stole in cautiously, candle in hand.

“Sir,” said Parslow, “you are not safe here. I’ve left the King’s officers down below supping, and have promised to make a room ready for them. I will put them in here if we can safely manage to take the two of you down to the stableyard. Once there I can hide you among the sacks in the carrier’s cart, and will rouse Jock when the officers are abed and bid him drive you with all speed to Henley.”

“’Tis our only hope,” said Humphrey; “yet I don’t know but my friend is too ill to travel. Look at him.”

In truth the sleeper’s flushed face and burning hands were not reassuring, but they were obliged to rouse him and try to explain matters.

He started up, staring at them in a dazed, bewildered way.

“We are within an ace of being caught,” whispered Humphrey. “Don your clothes with all speed and the landlord will help us to escape.”

With an effort Gabriel forced himself to attend, though it seemed to him that a couple of sledge-hammers were pounding remorselessly on his brain. He began to dress without a word, but staggered and all but fell when he attempted to cross the room. Humphrey took him by the arm.

“What of Sandy?” he asked. “Let us leave the money for him.”

“To be sure,” said Humphrey, placing some gold pieces in the landlord’s hand. “I know you’ll have the poor fellow provided for, Robin, and for your help to us you shall be well recompensed. We’ll follow you on tiptoe without more delay.”

The landlord had hurriedly re-arranged the bed, and now, candle in hand, crept down the stairs, pausing once or twice to make sure that the officers from Oxford were still chatting over their supper. Humphrey was relieved to see that the sense of danger had for the time restored Gabriel. With admirable selfcontrol he rallied his failing powers, stole softly after the landlord, and left the inn by the back door at which they had made their entrance a few hours earlier. In the stableyard stood a carrier’s cart piled up with sacks of corn. Into this the two fugitives climbed, the landlord arranging the sacks round them and covering the whole with a bit of sail-cloth.

“You lie there, gentlemen, and you’ll be safe enough,” he said, “and when the officers are abed I’ll rouse Jock and bid him put in the horses and drive to Henley.”

The waiting seemed endless, but at last they heard cautious steps approaching and whispered remarks between Parslow and Jock, and finally there came the grinding of the wheels and a shaking and jarring of the cart which made Gabriel feel as if his last hour was come. He gasped for breath; to move was impossible, for the corn sacks were piled on every side, and on the top of them.

“I can never endure twelve miles of this—we shall be here for hours,” he reflected, desperately.

But just then, as the cart rumbled out of the yard and passed into the street, there were sounds of a window being thrust open, and a man’s voice shouted out.

“Ho! there! Which way are you going?”

The fugitives held their breath to listen; clearly their pursuers had heard the sounds of departure—were they even at this last moment to fall into the hands of their captors?

“Why, what a fool I was,” reflected Gabriel. “I could endure for days in this carrier’s cart if needful. Anything—anything rather than to be again a prisoner in Oxford Castle!” Meanwhile Jock was conveniently deaf, and drove placidly along the snowy street.

“Stop, you fellow,” roared the officer. “Which way do you go, and what’s your errand?”

Jock drew up, swearing vehemently.

“Where be I a-goin?” he shouted, in a surly voice. “To Henley with a load of corn.”

And to the horror of the fugitives he got down from his place and began in a leisurely way to alter something in the harness, lugubriously singing meanwhile a snatch of a tune which Gabriel thought would ring in his ears for ever.

The cramp is in my purse full sore,

No money will bide therein—a,

And if I had some salve therefore,

O lightly then would I sing—a.

The officer at the window above burst into a laugh.

“In truth a shrewd fellow!—here’s a groat to mend the purse, and if on the road you come upon three soldiers bid them wait on me here as they return, and fail not to tell them if you have clapped eyes on any of these cursed wandering minstrels.-”

The window was closed, and with a cheery word to the horses Jock climbed back to his place. They heard him chuckle to himself as he resumed the reins, and soon the cart had rumbled out of Watlington and was rolling and swaying and grinding its way among the frozen ruts.

“How do you fare?” said Humphrey, anxiously.

“I shall last out,” said Gabriel, philosophically. “’Tis better than a halter anyway. Is the driver trustworthy?”

“Yes, an honest old man, he’ll stand by us, I know him well. But I thought that fellow at the window smelt a rat and would stop us at the last moment. Heavens! How this road doth churn one up! we shall be knocked black and blue by the time we have got to the end of the journey.”

Gabriel was past speaking. He could only lie there in torment, half fancying that he had been sentenced to be pressed to death, so increasingly intolerable grew the weight of the corn-sacks above him. The only relief was from a chink between the sacks which chanced to come just where a rent in the sail-cloth let through a breath of air, and now and then as the cart swayed brought into view a starry patch of the dark blue vault above. He wondered what Hilary would have thought could she know of his dilemma; and then with a rush of hope and a renewed sense of life and strength, he remembered that freedom meant at least the possibility of seeing her again. And spite of his present misery he smiled to himself, and even perceived the humour of Jock’s song about the cramp in his purse, with the monotonous chorus of

Ay ho, the cramp—a! ay ho, the cramp—a!

They must have travelled some eight or nine miles when the sound of horsemen in the distance roused him to fresh anxiety. Doubtless the soldiers, finding their errand at Henley hopeless, were riding back. Now was the time when Jock’s fidelity and ready wit would be put to the test. There was a breathless pause; the groaning of the wheels slowly ceased and a harsh voice rang out into the night.

“Stand, in the King’s name!” shouted the sergeant, while his men seized the horses. Instinctively Humphrey gripped the hand of his sick comrade. The two lay listening in an agony of suspense to hear what questions would be put.