He opened his eyes, and thought, of course, it was another vision. But no, the man, with whose blows his body was sore, and his right arm utterly3 numbed4, walked close to him between two sword-dancers with Raby-marks and Little-marks upon him, viz., a face spotted5 with blood, and a black eye.
Little sighed.
“Eh, that's music to me,” said a friendly voice close to him. It was the King George of the lyrical drama, and, out of poetry, George the blacksmith.
“What, it is you, is it?” said Little.
“Ay, sir, and a joyful6 man to hear you speak again. The cowardly varmint! And to think they have all got clear but this one! Are ye sore hurt, sir?”
“I'm in awful pain, but no bones broken.” Then, in a whisper—“Where are you taking me, George?”
“To Raby Hall,” was the whispered reply.
“Not for all the world! if you are my friend, put me down, and let me slip away.”
“Don't ask me, don't ask me,” said George, in great distress7. “How could I look Squire8 in the face? He did put you in my charge.”
“Then I'm a prisoner!” said Henry, sternly.
George hung his head, but made no reply.
Henry also maintained a sullen9 silence after that.
The lights of Raby came in sight.
That house contained two women, who awaited the result of the nocturnal expedition with terrible anxiety.
Its fate, they both felt, had been determined10 before they even knew that the expedition had started.
They had nothing to do but to wait, and pray that Henry had made his escape, or else had not been so mad as to attempt resistance.
In this view of things, the number and even the arms of his assailants were some comfort to them, as rendering11 resistance impossible.
As for Mr. Coventry, he was secretly delighted. His conscience was relieved. Raby would now drive his rival out of the church and out of the country without the help of the Trades, and his act of treachery and bad faith would be harmless. Things had taken the happiest possible turn for him.
For all that, this courtier affected12 sympathy, and even some anxiety, to please Miss Carden, and divert all suspicion from himself. But the true ring was wanting to his words, and both the women felt them jar, and got away from him, and laid their heads together, in agitated13 whispers. And the result was, they put shawls over their heads, and went together out into the night.
They ran up the road, sighing and clasping their hands, but no longer speaking.
At the first turn they saw the whole body coming toward them.
“I'll soon know,” said Jael, struggling with her agitation14. “Don't you be seen, miss; that might anger the Squire; and, oh, he will be a wrathful man this night, if he caught him working in yonder church.”
Grace then slipped back, and Jael ran on. But no sooner did she come up with the party, than Raby ordered her back, in a tone she dared not resist.
She ran back, and told Grace they were carrying him in, hurt, and the Squire's eyes were like hot coals.
Grace slipped into the drawing-room and kept the door ajar.
Soon afterward16, Raby, his men, and his prisoners, entered the hall, and Grace heard Raby say, “Bring the prisoners into the dining-room.”
Grace Carden sat down, and leaned her head upon her hand, and her little foot beat the ground, all in a flutter.
But this ended in a spirited resolve. She rose, pale, but firm, and said, “Come with me, Jael;” and she walked straight into the dining-room. Coventry strolled in after her.
The room was still brilliantly lighted. Mr. Raby was seated at his writing-table at the far end, and the prisoners, well guarded, stood ready to be examined.
“You can't come in here,” was Mr. Raby's first word to Grace.
But she was prepared for this, and stood her ground. “Excuse me, dear uncle, but I wish to see you administer justice; and, besides, I believe I can tell you something about one of the prisoners.”
“Indeed! that alters the case. Somebody give Miss Carden a chair.”
She sat down, and fixed17 her eyes upon Henry Little—eyes that said plainly, “I shall defend you, if necessary:” his pale cheek was flushing at sight of her.
Mr. Raby arranged his papers to make notes, and turned to Cole. “The charge against you is, that you were seen this night by several persons engaged in an assault of a cruel and aggravated18 character. You, and two other men, attacked and overpowered an individual here present; and, while he was helpless, and on the ground, you were seen to raise a heavy cudgel (Got the cudgel, George?)—”
“Ay, your worship, here 'tis.”
“—And to strike him several times on the head and limbs, with all your force.”
“Oh, cruel! cruel!”
“This won't do, Miss Carden; no observations, please. In consequence of which blows he soon after swooned away, and was for some time unconscious, and—”
“Oh!”
“—For aught I know, may have received some permanent injury.”
“Not he,” said Cole; “he's all right. I'm the only man that is hurt; and I've got it hot; he hit me with his hammer, and knocked me down like a bullock. He's given me this black eye too.”
“In self-defense19, apparently20. Which party attacked the other first?”
“Why they attacked me, of course,” said Henry. “Four of them.”
“Four! I saw but three.”
“Oh, I settled one at starting, up near the forge. Didn't you find him?” (This to George.)
“Nay, we found none of the trash but this,” indicating Cole, with a contemptuous jerk of the thumb.
“Now, don't all speak at once,” said Mr. Raby. “My advice to you is to say nothing, or you'll probably make bad worse. But if you choose to say anything, I'm bound to hear it.”
“Well, sir,” said Cole, in a carrying voice, “what I say is this: what need we go to law over this? If you go against me for hitting him with a stick, after he had hit me with a blacksmith's hammer, I shall have to go against you for shooting me with a gun.”
“That is between you and me, sir. You will find a bystander may shoot a malefactor21 to save the life of a citizen. Confine your defense, at present, to the point at issue. Have you any excuse, as against this young man?” (To Henry.)—“You look pale. You can sit down till your turn comes.”
“Not in this house.”
“And why not in this house, pray? Is your own house a better?”
No answer from Henry. A look of amazement22 and alarm from Grace. But she was afraid to utter a word, after the admonition she had received.
“Well, sir,” said Cole, “he was desecrating23 a church.”
“So he was, and I shall talk to him in his turn. But you desecrated24 it worse. He turned it into a blacksmith shop; you turned it into a shambles26. I shall commit you. You will be taken to Hillsborough to-morrow; to-night you will remain in my strong-room. Fling him down a mattress27 and some blankets, and give him plenty to eat and drink; I wouldn't starve the devil on old Christmas Eve. There, take him away. Stop; search his pockets before you leave him alone.”
Cole was taken away, and Henry's turn came.
Just before this examination commenced, Grace clasped her hands, and cast a deprecating look on Henry, as much as to say, “Be moderate.” And then her eyes roved to and fro, and the whole woman was in arms, and on the watch.
Mr. Raby began on him. “As for you, your offense28 is not so criminal in the eye of the law; but it is bad enough; you have broken into a church by unlawful means; you have turned it into a smithy, defiled29 the graves of the dead, and turned the tomb of a good knight31 into an oven, to the scandal of men and the dishonor of god. Have you any excuse to offer?”
“Plenty. I was plying32 an honest trade, in a country where freedom is the law. The Hillsborough unions combined against me, and restrained my freedom, and threatened my life, ay, and attempted my life too, before to-day: and so the injustice33 and cruelty of men drove me to a sanctuary34, me and my livelihood35. Blame the Trades, blame the public laws, blame the useless police: but you can't blame me; a man must live.”
“Why not set up your shop in the village? Why wantonly desecrate25 a church?”
“The church was more secret, and more safe: and nobody worships in it. The wind and the weather are allowed to destroy it; you care so little for it you let it molder; then why howl if a fellow uses it and keeps it warm?”
At this sally there was a broad
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