The Black Box 12

The Black Box 12

So saying, I bent forward in the saddle, and, pressing my knees upon the

mare’s flanks, spoke softly to her. She gave an angry snort, down went

her ears, and next instant she was rushing forward like a mad thing.

 

’Twas all so sudden that, for the nonce, those valiant keepers of the

road were utterly confounded. With startled cries, they broke and fled

towards the banks. Yet barely was I past them ere a musket-shot rang

out, and a ball sang dangerously near my head. Another and another

followed, but by that time I was beyond their reach.

 

Not till I was well past Uplime did I draw rein; then, pulling up beside

a little wood, I stopped to breathe and think. Truly, my mare and I had

already had a taste of what rebellion meant. A few short hours had made

our quiet roads unsafe for honest men. "’Tis a pretty thing," I

muttered, "if a fellow cannot ride home peacefully without the danger of

a pistol bullet through his head. If this be the way of ’honest

Protestants’, then give me Popery! The sooner I am at The Havering, the

better."

 

With that I turned my horse, and, entering a lonely lane, which, as it

seemed, was certain to prove empty, cantered on my way. But I had not

gone far before I overtook some half-score fellows who were hurrying

Lymewards. As they drew aside to let me pass, I reined up suddenly and

scanned their faces. They were heavy, lumbering yokels, farm hands for

the most part, and several were known to me.

 

"Well, and whither go you?" I asked.

 

"Up over, into Lyme," said they, "to join the Duke o’ Monmouth. Hast

not heard the news, sir?"

 

"Yes, I have heard it right enough," I answered; "but, if you would be

warned in time, go home again, for methinks your present way leads

straight to hanging."

 

Their mouths fell open at my words, and for a moment there was silence;

then one of them, a big-limbed fellow, cried:

 

"A Monmouth! Down with Popery! The Protestant religion!"

 

The others joined in lustily, and so I left them and rode on. Alack! I

was to see three of those simple-minded rustics dangling from a rope-end

in the days to come!

 

On drawing near Hay House (a lonely place), where lived the Mayor of

Lyme, I saw a horse come out into the road, with two men on it, riding

double.

 

This seemed so strange that I must needs pull up to look at them, and

so, as they came abreast of me, I found the foremost one was Dassell.

Both had swords and pistols.

 

"What now?" said I.

 

"Hush!" said he. "The very trees have ears to-night. I ride to raise

the country on these rebels--to Crewkerne first--and friend Thorold here

goes with me."

 

"Yes, but why ride ye so?" I asked.

 

"Because there is no other way," he answered, smiling grimly. "’Tis

certainly a heavy beast--a coach-horse surely; but ’twill serve,

methinks. At any rate, ’twas the only horse in Master Gregory’s

stable."

 

"And is the Mayor at home?"

 

"Nay, there is no one save his sister. All his men have joined the

rebels. The Mayor fled long ago to Exeter, to warn the Duke of

Albemarle."

 

"And save his skin!" said I. "Well, have a care. The roads are guarded,

and ’tis but a chance that I am not the heavier by a bullet."

 

"Ah! is that so?" quoth Dassell, glancing at his pistols.

 

"It is," said I, and, wishing them God-speed, rode on my way.

 

On reaching home I found the yard deserted, and so, vowing vengeance on

our truant fellows, I led Kitty to the stable. There I had removed her

harness, fed and watered her, when I heard a footstep just outside; and

turning, found my father standing in the doorway with a lantern in his

hand.

 

"Is that you, my son?" he asked, in a voice which methought was strange

and hollow.

 

"Yes, sir," I answered, and was about to start forth on a full account

of all that I had seen and heard, when, as my father raised the light, I

noticed that his face was deathly white, and that his eyes were full of

fear, a look which I had never seen in them before. Then, and not till

then, I thought of Tubal Ammon, and the guarding of the window.

 

"What is it, sir?" I asked with great anxiety.

 

"Come, quickly, Michael," he replied, and turning, led the way towards

the house.

 

He took me straight into the study, where one glance sufficed to prove

that something bad had happened. The window, a pane of which above the

fastener had been broken, lay wide open; papers were littered on the

floor; while with a thrill of fear, I noticed that my mother’s portrait

was displaced.

 

"Father, what is wrong?" I asked, turning to the spot where he stood

staring at me in dumb, frightened fashion.

 

He made no answer, but going over to the secret panel, opened it, and

pointed to a darkened corner.

 

With trembling hand I took a candle from the table, and, kneeling,

looked inside.

 

The Black Box was not there!

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER VI*

 

*"Too Late"*

 

 

When I glanced up, amazed and stupefied, it was to find my father’s eyes

fixed on me with a look that I shall ne’er forget. ’Twas one of fear,

and bitterness, and deep reproach. For a moment I was stricken dumb,

then, scarce knowing what I said, I gasped:

 

"Gone! How?"

 

My father waved a hand towards the window, and, in a low voice,

answered:

 

"You have failed me, Michael."

 

I did not, could not answer him, and so he went on in the same low,

crushing voice:

 

"Yes, Michael, you have failed me utterly. You have placed your father

in the shadow of the gallows."

 

Those words to me were like the plunging of a knife into my heart.

Shame, self-reproach, could silence me no longer.

 

"Sir!" I cried, springing to my feet, and facing him with tight-clenched

hands, and burning cheeks, "you judge me harshly! I did not fail you

willingly! I----"

 

"You did not get my letter, then?" he put in sternly.

 

"Yes, sir, I got your letter, but other stirring things clean drove it

from my mind."

 

"And, pray, what stirring things are those?"

 

"Why, hast not heard the news?"

 

"I have heard naught. I have not long returned, and though methought I

heard a sound of some commotion in the town, I took but little heed. My

thoughts were far away. My friend is dead. But, say, what news is that

which made you fail your father?"

 

"Duke Monmouth landed here, at Lyme, to-night!"

 

With one deep, sobbing groan, my father staggered back into a chair, and

there sat, limp and helpless, like a man bereft of reason.

 

"Monmouth--landed--here--at--Lyme!" he gasped at length. "Then are we

utterly undone, and both may look upon the gallows as our own. For,

verily, the words I spake this morning are now proven. He who hath thus

put us into jeopardy is in truth a creature of that plotter, Robert

Ferguson, and----"

 

"Nay, sir," I broke in desperately, like one who grasps at silken

threads to save himself; "it surely is not proven yet--perchance some

other----"

 

In speaking I had moved a step towards my father, and now, as if to mock

me and to prove his words, a something grated underneath my foot.

Stooping, I picked it up; and holding it upon my outstretched palm,

stared at it fixedly.

 

"’Tis proven now," I murmured.

 

"What’s that?" rejoined my father, starting forward in his chair.

 

"The sign of Tubal Ammon," I replied, still gazing hard at what lay in

my hand. "’Tis one of those small carven balls he did his trick with by

the roadside. He has been here beyond a doubt."

 

"I knew it, and no proof was needed," groaned my father, sinking back

again. "And not only hath he robbed me, but he most likely heard and

saw all that passed between us here this very morning. Oh, Michael,

Michael! to think that you, my son, should thus have failed me!"

 

He wrung his hands.

 

"Yes, yes! and I will make amends for it," I answered fiercely, as, hand

on sword, I turned towards the door.