It has been laid upon me as a very solemn duty by the late Lady Jane Dudley, or Grey as she is usually called, to whom I owe obedience and fealty born of love, which is all the more insistent because she is no longer here to claim it, that I should set forth, in the best language possible to one of my limited education, the stirring events that my eyes have witnessed and the true story, as it is known to me, of the short, sad tragedy of her life and death. And this being so, I will make no excuse for my boldness and presumption in attempting work which might well be left to learned and authoritative historians, especially as I remember that my dear lady said to me, Margery, others may write more learnedly on the matter, but loving eyes see further and more truly than those of the mere critic, and I would fain be represented to posterity as I am rather than as I am supposed to be. And, fear not, child, for though you are weak and humble in your own eyes, His grace and help are to be had for the asking, Who gives power to the faint, and to such as have no might increases strength.' For my lady knew that this is a righteous task which she was setting me—the representation of truth, as we know it, is always righteous—and to those who do the like His promises never fail.

MARGARET BROWN.

CHAPTER I
Leaving Home

It was in the month of May, in the year 1553, and I was a young girl, only seventeen, when my dear father—my mother being dead—astonished me beyond measure by disclosing the fact that I was to leave my home in Sussex and proceed to the city of London, there to become gentlewoman to a lady of high degree.

That was not the sort of life I should have chosen by any means, for my freedom was as dear to me as to any of God's creatures of earth, or sea, or sky. Having no mother, and with a most easy-going father and a brace of madcap young brothers, I had run wild all my life, and could ill brook the idea of being confined within four walls for the most part of my days, attired in the fine clothing of a grand lady. What compensations should I have for such joys as lying for hours on the soft turf of the Downs, looking up to the blue sky and making out pictures in the white clouds flitting across it, whilst I listened to the singing of the skylarks, or sitting beneath an overturned boat on the seashore, hearing the lapping of the waves and gazing across the Channel, with wondering speculations of the lands beyond those fair blue waters, or, on the other hand, rowing out upon the sea with my brothers, or riding with them at breakneck paces over hill and dale? What would they do without me, little Hal with his endless scrapes and foolhardy schemes, and Jack with his love of fighting and passionate essays to assert the manhood latent in him? Notwithstanding my wildness, I was a softening influence in their lives, for there was in me ever, even then, the consciousness which is not very far from any of us that there is a Higher Law than even the sweetest promptings of our own fond wills. I never talked about it—father used to say, 'Many words show weakness in a cause'—much less preached to the boys, but I knew it was so and they were aware I knew it, and that was quite enough. They were good lads, and, as the serving men and women said, I had them at a word.

I did not like the thought of leaving my brothers, or my father, or, as I have said, my freedom and the skylarks, turf, sky, clouds, seashore and mystery of wild sea-waves, with the unknown lands beyond, but never thought of opposing my father's will, and, easygoing though he was, dared not question it; however, I went down to the parsonage to speak to Master Montgomery, our curate, of the matter, and, after listening to all I had to say, and cheering me with descriptions of wondrous sights to be seen in London, he uttered wise words, which stilled my trouble mightily.

'Child,' he said, laying his hand gently on my head, 'listen to me. This call which has come to you is not of your own seeking, therefore it must be from Him Who alone was found worthy to hold the Book of Life—the lives of His people—in His hands. He Who called Rebekah from her water-pot and David from his sheep, Elisha from his ploughing and the praying women of Jerusalem to follow Him to the Cross, is surely calling you to do some special work. It may be lowly in its nature, or it may be great, but whatever it be, it is surely work that you and no one else can do. Like the little maid who was carried away into captivity and did great things for her master Naaman, the Syrian, so, it may be, you, too, may carry help and healing to some afflicted one amongst those whom the world calls mighty. And remember,' he added very earnestly, 'remember that you can do nothing in your own strength, but that with the help of the Holy Spirit, which is given to those who ask for it, all things will be possible.'

I went away, feeling very solemn and almost more frightened than encouraged, and it was a relief to my over-charged heart when, as I was going home with great soberness, I encountered Hal, bareback on his black pony, tearing along like wildfire, and calling to me to follow, as there was a ship passing in the Channel, and so I ran after him down to the beach; and what with one thing and another, I did not give Master Montgomery's words their full consideration until the time came when, being far away from him, I found my thoughts recurring to them.

Before I set off to London City there was great to-do amongst the women servants in making me sufficient garments for a lady's wardrobe, and it was a wonderful sight to see the things they got together and the way they wished to dress me. I did not like it very much, for I did not think I should ever be able to skip and play and ride bareback attired in that fashion, but my father said I was a child and knew nothing about it, and they were women and ought to know what they were doing; so we left it all to them, and I put off the thought of wearing their handiwork as long as possible.

The day before I went my father informed me about those to whom I was going. It seemed the Duke of Northumberland, knowing my father, Sir Henry Brown, with whom he had been in battles in their younger days, had sent for me to come and be one of the gentlewomen of his daughter-in-law, the young Lady Jane Grey, newly married to his fourth son, Lord Guildford Dudley, in London City. My father said that it was a great distinction for me to be selected out of scores of other country maidens for the work, and that if ever I had speech with the noble duke I was to thank him heartily for his favour towards us—this I promised readily, not knowing what manner of man that was whose doings were afterwards an enormous factor in working dire woe to those I loved. And then my father went on to say that business of importance would prevent his going with me on this my entrance into the big world—oh, father! I saw through that, for was it not from you I inherited the nature which loved home and freedom better than the life among great people of exalted rank?—but he said he would send me with old and trusty servants, who would take me safely in a horse-litter from our town of Brighthelmstone[[1]] on the south coast, all the long way to Sion House, in Isleworth, near London City, where my Lady Grey was residing at that time.

[[1]] Now called Brighton.—ED.

And the next day, after a troubled leave-taking from all I loved so dearly, I suffered him to bestow on me his blessing, which he did with many words of touching kindness, and put me in the litter.

I must confess that I did not perceive very much of the road we went over during the first part of my journey, owing to a weakness which came on in my eyes and a sickness and dejection of spirit such as I had never previously known, and my good maid Betsy proved to be very annoying for talking over much, which was indeed her wont when excited, and making doleful laments about the dangers of the way and the roughness of the roads that, without doubt, somewhat impeded our progress.

But afterwards, after a long while, I felt better and could think less miserably of my father's tender blessing and of the sudden breakdown and loud crying of poor Jack and the afflicting disappearance of Hal, who I knew had hidden himself in order that he might get over the parting in secret, and the crying of the woman servants we left behind, and solemn faces of the men and the waving of Master Montgomery's old hat as we passed the parsonage, so that by the time we neared a neighbouring castle I could even look admiringly upon it. We stayed that night at Horsham, in a queer little inn kept by a monstrously fat innkeeper and his exceedingly thin wife, who at another time would have amused me greatly by her fussiness and servility.

And the next day we proceeded on our way, passing many strange and curious places, but meeting with no brigands and no mishap at all until it chanced that, on the King's highway, we came upon a group of unruly, wild-looking men and boys, who were dragging a poor old woman, with great violence, towards a large pond.

'What is the matter? Oh, Betsy, see!' I cried. 'What are those men doing to that poor old woman? Look! they are dragging her to that pond! Poor creature! They will hurt her!'

'Mistress, 'tis only a witch!' cried Betsy, who had been told to call me Mistress now that I was going to be a great lady. 'Suchlike do much harm,' she continued. 'They sell their souls to the devil for gold; they meet each other on broomsticks riding through the air, and plot mischief. From such may we be delivered!' she went on fervently. 'They had better be drowned!' she concluded.

'No, no. 'Tis cruel! Tell Humphrey to stop.' And I myself called to the men to stay the horses bearing my litter, and looked out full of sympathy with the poor old creature. Was there no one to stand up for her, no one to stay this rough horse-play which was going on? Master Montgomery had always taught us to treat the aged with reverence, and therefore it seemed truly shocking to me, as also most alarming.

'Forsooth, Mistress Marg'et,' said Joseph, my lacquey, coming to my litter, ''tis the country roughs that are just wild to drown yon old witch.'

'But they shall not!' declared I vigorously; 'they shall not! Stop it, Joseph! Stop it at once!'

'Mistress, I cannot! The men are just mad! Hark at their shouts! They are wild to do it.'

'They shall not do it!' cried I. 'Tell them, Joseph, that Mistress Margaret Brown forbids it.'

Joseph and Timothy, the head man, and John, the other lacquey, looked timidly towards the crowd of excited men and boys who were shouting, gesticulating and urging on each other to drag along the old woman with cuffs and kicks.

I got out of my litter and looked round. It was such a beautiful country, on one side great woods just bursting into leaf, on the other green meadowland, threaded by a silvery stream and studded here and there with blossoming hawthorn trees. Nowhere could I see a house, yet some there must be not far distant, judging from the crowd of men and boys. Alone, with my few servants, what could I do? Who would have suspected that in such a lovely place there could be doings so outrageous?

'I must speak to them, Betsy,' I said, and across my mind flashed the thought that perhaps Master Montgomery was thinking of some such work as this when he spoke of that to which he believed I was being called.[[2]]

[[2]] Young people are usually in haste. They always aim to reach the end of things at once; they cannot wait.—ED.

'Oh, no, mistress! You must not, indeed you must not interfere!' cried the terrified woman.

'Hold thy tongue, Betsy,' said I. 'I shall go to them and speak,' and in my heart I prayed for help where Master Montgomery said it would never be denied.

And then I advanced towards the roughs, who turned to look at me in amazement.

In a tone and in a manner of authority, for my father always said that it was no use speaking otherwise to knaves, I bade them cease from persecuting a poor old woman who might be innocent of all offence, and passionately adjured them to refrain from violence.

The effect of this was marvellous. Releasing their victim, they fell back, and she, poor soul, knelt on the grass before me, crying out for mercy and catching hold of the border of my gown.

'What has she done?' I asked.

A Babel of voices answered. The old woman had brought disease on Farmer North's cattle. She had turned her evil eye on a young woman who had straightway sickened and died. She had looked on a man as he rode to market and his horse had run away, thrown him off and killed him. Last of all she had spirited away her own orphan grandson, a boy of great promise, who had been committed to her care by his deceased parents and of whom she had professed to be very fond. This young man was believed to have been sent through the earth to the abodes of the lost.

'I did not do it, lady! I did not! Saul was the darling of my old age. I know no more than they where he has gone. I am no witch. Ask the minister; he knows.'

This and much more cried the poor old dame in quavering tones.

'Listen to her. She is innocent,' I said authoritatively to the rascals, who were recovering themselves and again holding out threatening hands. 'She is a poor old woman, very lame and infirm.'

That did not touch them, so I seized a weightier argument.

'Have you not heard,' I said, 'of One Who laid His hands upon the sick and lame and made them whole? Jesus had compassion on the multitude. He took pity on the infirm. He laid His hands on them and blessed them. He——'

'He sent the devils into the swine, so that they ran into the sea,' interposed a man's voice grimly.

'The devils? Yes. But not the man out of whom they were driven. He sat at Jesus' feet, clothed and in his right mind.'

'True! true!' cried several voices.

It really seemed as if mercy were going to win the day. But at that moment, with a tremendous noise, a number of men and boys came round a bend in the road, dragging forward a wretched object whose head was hidden in a man's jacket.

'A witch! A witch!' yelled the newcomers, brandishing their sticks.

'And we have another! Ha! ha! ha!' laughed and shrieked the men and boys beside me.

Then I perceived that the newcomers were led on by as evil-looking a young man as you could see anywhere. His dress showed him to be a knight, but anything more unknightly than his manner and his conduct could not well be found; he seemed just like the knaves who formed his company, and an ill-looking lot they were, with scarcely a whole garment among them.

'Oh, mistress,' said Timothy, who had left his horses that he might have speech with me. 'Yon is Sir Claudius Crossley, who is said to be your father's sworn enemy. I pray you make haste and get into the litter before he recognizes you. Then we will drive away as fast as the horses can take us.'

'Save me! Save me, lady!' cried the old woman, clinging to my feet, as my hands tried to drag her away.

How could I desert her? It was hard on my servants, but I would not listen to their advice. For I saw nothing, heard nothing but that pitiful old woman, with her despairing cries to me to save her, and the menacing crowd of villains thirsting for her life.

CHAPTER II
My Champion

I began to speak again to the villains, repeating much that I had said before, with even greater earnestness.

Sir Claudius Crossley stared at me, and listened for a moment or two with a bewildered air. Then perceiving the drift of my words, he rudely shouted to me to shut my mouth, and, signing to his men, they caught up the old woman at my feet and bundled her along to the side of the other victim, interposing several of their broad backs between me and the poor old creatures.

The road being now completely blocked by the shouting men and boys, my servants closed round me and literally carried me back to the litter. In truth they were themselves of the opinion that the old women were witches, who had sold themselves to the devil for a term of years, and ought therefore to be put to death.

I was perforce obliged to sit in my litter, but it could not proceed because of the crowd which blocked the way. I would not look towards the wretched scene, but Betsy would not refrain from telling me every detail of what was taking place with the supposed witches and their enemies.

'Both old women are witches, mistress,' she cried. 'I thought so, and now I know it; they are ugly as sin. The men are making them confess. The way they do it is to pull their hair and screw their wrists until they say for what sum the devil has bought their souls, and for what length of time they have bound themselves to serve him. No, mistress, Timothy will not allow you to interfere. He promised Sir Henry that he would take you safely to Sion House, near London, and he means to do it. Now, mistress, they are tying the witches' thumbs together—the two of them are being tied together by the thumbs, I mean—and now they are going to throw them into the water. If they do not sink, they will know they are witches, and will force them under; if they sink, they will drown, so there will be an end of them in any case.'

'Oh, this is terrible—terrible!' I cried. Putting my head out of my litter, I called to the ruffians to cease their cruelty. 'It is murder,' I said; 'it is nothing but murder! "Thou shalt do no murder."'

But I might as well have spoken to the wind, which was beginning to rise in fitful gusts.

The mob—for by this time the crowd had become a howling mob—was in no mood to be stayed from proceeding to extremities. A shower of mud and stones was flung at my litter and its attendants, one of the men-servants receiving a blow upon the shoulder, which might have put it out of joint, being most violent.

'Wait till we have drowned the witches, then we will come for you!' shouted Sir Claudius cruelly.

'Ay, ay, sir!' chorused many voices.

This was alarming. My servants put their heads together, muttering their fears. I overheard them saying that they had seen the witch looking hard at me as she begged for mercy, and that I might be doomed, and what could three men and a woman do against more than a hundred ruffians?

'Mistress,' said old Timothy to me at length. 'We can do nothing against so many, and unfortunately we have already incurred their anger. Far better would it be, therefore, for us to turn and flee whilst they are occupied in drowning the witches.'

'Flee! Do you mean that?' exclaimed I.

'Yes. Yes, mistress dear. And quickly—quickly! It is our only chance.'

And Timothy looked affrightedly at the angry faces of the mob.

'Nay. But that is cowardly!' I cried, 'to run away and think only of our own skins when the weak and old are being murdered!'

'We shall be murdered ourselves in a few more minutes if we stay here,' muttered the old man. 'Child,' he said, forgetting my new dignity, which indeed profited me nothing just then, 'it is to save our lives—yours, the most precious of all. How could I face Sir Henry again if you were killed?'

And his voice shook.

'Killed! Killed? Are they threatening that? Oh, but, Timothy, we have never done them any harm.'

'Ay, but you have!' cried the loud, domineering voice of Sir Claudius, as he thrust himself forward to get between Timothy and me. 'You have tried to stop our sport!'

'Sport!' cried I, with the most mighty contempt I ever felt in all my life. 'Sport! Call you it sport to torture and kill poor feeble old women?'

Angered by my words, the miscreant was about to lay hold of me with his great hands, when the lacquey Joseph gave him a blow of the fist which sent him staggering into the midst of his men.

Alas, that was, as it were, a signal for hostilities to commence. Men and boys rushed on us from all sides. My men-servants were seized by overpowering numbers and hurled to the ground, and I myself was lifted bodily out of the litter and set on a bank by the roadside, so that all might see me.

The two old women were drowned now—their murderers thirsted for more blood, and Sir Claudius, smarting from the treatment he had received from the hands of my good Joseph, yearned above all things for revenge.

'Eh, lads! What shall we do to my lady?' he asked mockingly, pointing to me.

'Drown her also,' suggested one, with a hoarse laugh.

'Strangle her,' cried another.

'Carry her away to some remote country place, and then get money from her friends before we will tell them where she is,' said a third.

Cries of approval and many alternative suggestions arose from the mob.

Looking from one to the other, I could see no pity, no relenting anywhere, least of all in Sir Claudius. I spoke to him.

'I am a lady,' I said; 'where is your chivalry?'

The man had not any, but I thought it as well to cry out for what ought to have been there.

'You tried to save those witches,' he began.

'And you will try to save me, will you not?' I asked, looking at him, with the vain hope that I should see something which was not there.

'That I will not!' cried the churl.

'Shall we drown her, Sir Claudius? Shall we drown her, too?' demanded many voices.

'Help! Help for a lady! Help for Mistress Brown!' shouted the lacquey Joseph with his loud, stentorian voice. The honest fellow had been bound hand and foot; he had nothing left but his voice with which to serve me, and the next moment it was silenced with a blow and a gag; but it had done good work.

Noiselessly over a soft fallow field a little group of horsemen had approached, and at the sound of that loud, manly cry of my poor Joseph's they charged into the mob, calling out lustily:—

'Disperse, in the King's name! In the King's name I say disperse!'

Bullies are cowards all the world over. The men who had drowned old women and were threatening a defenceless girl with a like fate, took to their heels with one accord, knocking down each other and falling over each other in their flight, whilst, alarmed and struck, first on this side and then on that, my horses set off galloping, and dashed, with the litter, amongst the crowd, treading down some and crushing others. The damage they did was appalling. Curses, shouts, groans and screams filled the air on every side.

In a few moments none of the roughs remained near me, and I was enabled to look up at my deliverer.

He was a handsome knight of medium size and frank, soldier-like deportment and bearing; as I found afterwards, he was scarcely twenty-six, yet he looked much older, having seen service in the profession of arms from his boyhood. He was dressed in crimson velvet, very worn and travel-stained. Indeed, both he and his horse bore traces of a rapid journey across country, as did also his followers and their horses.

'How shall I thank you?' I said gratefully. 'Sir, you have saved my life.'

'I thank God that I came in time,' he said. 'I fear those rascals have terrified you much.'

'I fear they have hurt my good serving-men,' I said, looking round for them.

My champion, desirous of serving me still more, picked up my poor Timothy, who, having been thrown down and trampled upon, was in no little pain. He breathed better, however, when his arms were freed and his legs unbound, and began to lament the loss of the horses and litter, which made us think he was coming round finely. We left him, therefore, to look to Joseph, who was in a desperate state, having been almost smothered by the gag which was tied over his mouth and nostrils. His face, swollen and discoloured, was fearful to look upon, but I took his poor head on my lap and endeavoured to induce him to drink from a flask my rescuer had put in my hand.

The good knight stood by me, with the kindest eyes it seemed to me that I had ever seen.

'Give him time,' he said; 'give him time. There is no hurry.'

It seemed to me, as I glanced at him, that he would have stood there all day with great content, so long as he could watch me doing things, and no doubt he was tired, having ridden far.

'But look after the others, please,' I said, feeling anxious about Betsy and John.

'They are all right,' he answered. 'They have picked themselves up bravely. And your man is coming round.'

Then one of his followers came up to him, saying, 'Sir Hubert, we do wrong to linger here. Those villains will return with greater numbers, bent upon wreaking vengeance. There was one amongst them of good birth, and a knight, but of low nature, who is notorious for crime. He will return, if no one else does; and the lady——'

The rest of the sentence I could not hear, but it seemed to mightily excite my brave deliverer.

Joseph was sitting up whilst this was going on, and begging my pardon for the liberty he had taken in lying down with his head on my lap. At the same moment John and Betsy declared themselves recovered.

'Lady,' said the knight, ''tis necessary that we hurry on. Say, could you ride my horse? Or stay, Smith,' turning to one of his men, 'you have a quiet nag; bring her here for the lady.'

'Is there no hope of recovering my litter?' I asked, adding, 'I am going all the way to Sion House, near London, where the Duke of Northumberland's daughter-in-law awaits me.'

'The litter is lost to you,' was the startling answer. 'If we wait here for its return, or pursue those runaway horses, we shall be lost too. Madam,' the knight bent his head to speak softly in my ear, 'I will not hide it from you. These are fearful times for a lady to be travelling alone with so small a retinue. Lawless men, such as those that have just been routed, might carry you off where your friends would never hear of you again——'

'Why frighten us?' I interrupted, but had no time to say more, for the noise of brawling again broke upon my ear.

The knight turned to his men, saying, 'They are coming. They are many, we are few. We must ride back the way we came, across the fields. Take up the lady's men and woman.'

And with that he lifted me hastily from the ground, and, placing me upon his own horse, vaulted lightly into the saddle behind me.

'Hold fast, madam,' he said in my ear. 'Put your arms round my neck; so. That is it. Now, Sultan, good horse, gallop thy fastest!'

Whinnying low, the horse tore off across the fallow fields, and away we went like the wind, but I did not know even so much as the name of the valiant knight to whom I was clinging as for life.

CHAPTER III
Hiding from the Enemy

I had been carried off in such haste as left me no time to look back and see if my servants were equally well mounted, and for some time all I could do was to cling to my cavalier. I felt his heart beating as I did so and his warm breath fanning my cheeks. Moments seemed hours as they passed.

And now shouts and the sound of pursuing horsemen entering the fields in full career after us sounded in our ears, and, looking back, we saw a company of riders as well as foot-runners.

'Hold tight, madam; we take the fence. Hurrah! old Sultan has done it!' cried my knight, and we were over and speeding across a meadow long before any one else had reached the fence.

Presently I heard shooting, and, looking back, perceived that my knight's men, hampered by the wounded servants and unable to leap the fence, were obliged to turn and fight. This kept back the pursuers and gave us a better chance of escape.

My cavalier drew rein and looked back across the meadow. Alas, four horsemen, having separated themselves from the others, had just leaped the fence and were galloping after us.

'Sultan, good horse!' cried my knight encouragingly, and his steed answered with a low whinny, and galloped along as before. 'Cling to me, madam. Hold tight!'

Again I clung to him convulsively, not venturing to speak about my fears for my poor servants and our own perilous position.

Another higher and thicker fence was leaped, not quite so successfully this time, for poor Sultan was just done and, floundering, caught his hoof in a long hawthorn branch. Down he fell upon his knees, and I saw stars and thick darkness.

When I came to myself, I found I was being carried in the strong arms of the good knight. I said nothing, for indeed what could I say? What he was doing for me that day I should never forget, never in all my life. But I could not speak of it.

Presently I could see that we were passing through a plantation of young trees, on a path so narrow that my rescuer had much difficulty in carrying me through it. He was exceedingly careful lest I should receive a knock from some too prominent bough or tree-trunk, yet I noticed he bruised his own hands more than once in his endeavour to protect me. I thought I should never feel the same about those hands again; they had suffered for me. Once as he carried me on I tried to wipe off the blood that flowed from a scratch on his neck with my neckerchief, torn off for the purpose, much to his concern.

'Do not,' he said. 'It does not matter about me.'

But I persisted that it did, and bound his neck with the neckerchief, begging him to permit the liberty I was taking.

He looked at me then very kindly, saying, 'No one ever took so much trouble about me before,' and that seemed to me the most extraordinary shame that ever was.

When we were through the plantation we found a wooden shanty, or covered shed, in the field at the other side of the trees. The door of the place was not locked, and my knight set me down upon my feet and opened it. Then he led me in, and we found there was an old cart in it, full of cut grass.

'We must hide here a little while,' said my rescuer. 'Perhaps our pursuers will not come to this side of the trees.'

'I am afraid they will,' returned I, 'if they saw us entering the wood.'

'Then we must hide,' said he. 'Madam, can you get into the cart?'

'Easily,' I answered. 'My name,' I added shyly, for it was awkward for us not to know each other's names, 'is Margaret Brown.'

'Mistress Margaret Brown,' said he, pronouncing the words so beautifully that it seemed to me my cognomen had never sounded half so well before. Then he added, 'And mine is Hubert Blair.'

'Sir Hubert Blair?' said I thoughtfully, thinking what a very nice name it was and how well it seemed to suit the man.

'Yes,' answered he with a smile. 'But now, Mistress Brown, please to get into the cart and lie down. Then I will cover you with the cut grass which half fills it.'

'Will you hide yourself too?'

'Aye, aye.'

He assisted me into the cart and piled the grass over me, even putting a thin layer of it over my head. Then, perceiving a heap of grass in the corner of the shed, and, thinking he could conceal himself more quickly in it, he told me that he was going to do so, beseeching me, whatever happened, to make no sound, but to lie still where I was hidden.

'You may rely upon me,' I said. 'You, Sir Hubert, are the captain of this adventure, and I know how to obey.'

Sir Hubert then hid himself as well as he could in the heap of cut grass in the corner of the shed, and scarcely had he done so when the noise of men and horses was to be heard outside.

Presently a man pushed the door open and entered.

'What's in here?' he said aloud. 'A queer sort of a shed! Better call the others. But no, it seemeth empty, except for this grass. What have we here?'

He had approached the cart, and was peering in cautiously.

'Bad farming to leave so much stuff in a cart!' he went on, poking the grass a little with his stick, or weapon.

I trembled, and was fearful that my trembling would cause the grass to move. Indeed, he must have seen something of the sort, for he said in a low tone, 'Thou needst not fear. As sure as my name is Jack Fish, I will keep the other men out of this place.'

With that he went away, returning, however, in a moment to add, 'Thou hadst best keep here a little while longer before thou attemptest to go away. I am a true man. I will keep thy secret.'

With that he crossed over to the heap of grass in the corner of the shed, behind which Sir Hubert was hidden. Then, being of a playful humour, he began to poke the grass heap gently with his foot, blustering a little as he did so.

'Hullo!' said he, ''tis strange how men and grass become mixed in these days! Easy now, don't show thyself! I am a truthful man, and I want to say I have seen no one. Thou needst not fear.'

'Thanks. You are a good man.'

The words came out of the grass with weird effect.

'I'll get the others away from here directly; I really joined them to prevent their doing mischief. But do not stir for half an hour or so. Then keep well to the right and thou wilt regain the high road, and perchance find thy litter awaiting thee.'

Now Sir Hubert was so delighted to hear this, and so certain that the man was a friend, that he threw the grass off him and sat up, but was instantly almost smothered with the quantity of green stuff the other immediately threw over him.

The next instant another voice at the door inquired: 'Is any one hidden here, Jack Fish?'

''Twas a fancy of mine to search the shanty. However, I might have known those fugitives would not have ventured to stay here,' returned Master Fish.

'Well, there is no place to hide in here, unless it be the cart. Have you looked into that grass on it?'

'Aye, aye. I've poked about it rarely, but nothing bigger than a mouse ran out of it.'

'Well, come on then, if there is nothing here,' cried the other impatiently.

They left the shed, Jack Fish lingering a moment to close the door and to say noisily to those within and those without, 'All right! All right!'

We were still for the next ten minutes, which seemed an age; then Sir Hubert said:

'He was a good old fellow yon, and I liked his hint about your litter. It will be a fine thing indeed if we can find it on the high road when we get there.'

'Yes indeed,' I said, 'and my servants too, which last is a matter of more importance, for they are very dear to me.'

I had raised my head out of the grass, and was sitting up.

'Do you think I can get out of the cart now?' I asked.

'Not yet. Wait a little longer where you are. I will look round outside;' and shaking off the grass sticking to him on all sides, Sir Hubert proceeded to the door, at which he listened cautiously before attempting to open it.

The next moment he stepped back quickly to his place in the corner, saying, 'Some one is coming.'

Then he hid himself under the grass as before.

An old man entered, with a large two-pronged hay fork in his hand.

'They will have stolen my cart, I'll be bound!' he said aloud.

He looked suspiciously around, but gave a grunt of satisfaction upon seeing the cart.

Approaching it, he was about to plunge his fork into the grass, when Sir Hubert sprang up, caught hold of the tool and wrenched it from his grasp.

'Your pardon, master,' said the knight hastily to the man. 'But I have placed something in your cart which you might unwittingly have damaged had you plunged your fork into it.'

'Cannot a man do as he likes in his own shed?' cried the old countryman. 'And who art thou,' he demanded, 'and what business hast thou here?'

'I am Sir Hubert Blair, of Harpton Hall, in Sussex. I was travelling in these parts with but a few retainers, when I met with a lady and her servants set upon by roughs and in danger of their lives. I carried the lady on my own horse across the fields until a mischance happened to my horse in leaping the last fence before we came to the wood close by. He fell down on his knees, throwing us off; the lady fainted and I carried her through the wood, and then in here. She is in your cart.'

I sat up in the cart, smiling at the old farmer's astonishment.

'Well, well,' he said, leaning on his fork and looking hard at me. 'These are troublous times! Vagabonds roam the country, and we never know what they will be up to, and a knight and a lady hide in an old cart-shed. The King, God bless him, is young and not by any means strong, but it is to be hoped he and Parliament will do something to make the highways safer.'

'Did you see any signs of the ruffians as you came here?' asked Sir Hubert.

'Nay, not I. But then I was not looking for them. I was thinking of the new calf that came this morning. Do you not know, young sir, that what we are thinking of, that is what we see?'

'Aye, aye.'

Sir Hubert looked at me, and I knew he was reflecting that he could see little else for thinking of me and my unfortunate plight.

'It seems a sorry tale for a knight to be running away from low country rabble,' muttered the old farmer.

Sir Hubert coloured.

'I feel ashamed of myself,' he said. 'But it was for the lady's sake. How would it have been with her if I had been killed? I was obliged to think of her precious life.'

'Well, well. I'm thinking you must both be pretty hungry. Will you come with me to my house, where my wife shall give you food?'

This was too good an offer to be refused, and we thankfully accepted it, and accompanied the old man to his farmhouse.

It was but a poor place, yet we were as glad to find ourselves in it, with the door bolted to keep out vagrants, as if we were in a palace. And very thankful we were to the farmer's wife when she placed milk and meat before us. I felt almost ashamed of the wonderful appetite I had; but indeed I was very, very hungry when I sat down to the table.

Sir Hubert helped me to everything before he would touch food himself, and I felt a wonderful happiness when his big, strong hands—which had been bruised for me—were serving me. Sweet it was to be so tenderly cared for by him, with words and manner showing the most reverent esteem. I had never experienced aught like it before. At home I was treated by my father as a child and by my brothers as if I were one of themselves; the servants were more deferential, but then they were poor folk, not like this fine gentleman, who seemed to lift me higher than himself that he might look up to me with a sort of loving worship. It was very delightful and very, very beautiful. I felt ennobled.

Sir Hubert seemed to be extremely happy, and would like to have lingered talking over the meal, but the old man grew uneasy and fidgetty.

'It would well nigh ruin me,' he said, 'if those rascals who attacked you should come over here and find you on my premises. They might sack the house and possibly maltreat us too. My old woman is not very strong, and there's a young serving-lass also. Of course I don't mind for myself, but——'

'We will go,' I said, rising at once. 'You have been very kind, and we should be sorry to bring you into trouble.'

Then I stopped short. Where could we go? It was all very well to say we would depart, but we had not even Sir Hubert's horse to convey us away. The knight aroused himself to look the situation in the face. He seemed somewhat dazed, for the fact was, as he told me afterwards, he had been so extraordinarily happy sitting at the same table, ministering to my wants, and watching the colour return to my face and the light to my eyes, that he had forgotten all else.

'Supposing I leave the lady here a little whilst I go to try and find her coach?' he said to the farmer.

But the latter answered sharply, 'Nay, sir, nay. Thou art not going to leave her on our hands, just to bring the wrath of the country-side upon us——'

'If you go, Sir Knight, she must go too,' interrupted the old farmer's wife. 'It is bad enough for us to have to shelter you both when you are here to help to fight if the rascals come, but without you! Why, they might string us up to the rafters, and leave us hanging like dried herrings, as easy as anything. My old man has not any fight in him, bless you! When he thought there was a thief in the house the other night, he made me go first to look for him!'

'Well, well,' said the old man. 'I'm getting old, and am not much stronger than thee, Susannah. But thou canst scream rarely, and 'tis a weapon of a sort, which sometimes is unexpectedly powerful.'

Sir Hubert laughed. Then he turned to me, saying with rare tenderness, 'I could not leave you, Mistress Margaret, with these people. Will you come with me?'

I said I would, and indeed I felt as if I could go with him anywhere, anywhere in the world, and he a knight whom half a dozen hours before I had never seen.

'Come then,' he said, and after throwing some silver on the table to pay for our meal, he offered me his arm, and we went out together into the night, now fast coming on.

'The darkness is our friend,' said Sir Hubert, 'for it will hide us from our enemies.'

'Yes,' returned I, with great content, for I had no fear of darkness when he was by my side, holding me with his firm, strong arm.

And in my heart I prayed to our Father in heaven to protect us both and bring us in safety out of all danger.

CHAPTER IV
Better Happenings

In all the vicissitudes of my lot the memory of that first walk with Sir Hubert Blair through the Sussex lanes was ever one of unalloyed sweetness.

The stars came out one by one in the heavens, glimmering down upon us, and a young moon arose, whilst a soft night wind stirred the hedgerows, making the slumbering violets breathe forth their sweetness. I could scarcely help leaning on my companion, for I had been much shaken that day, and far from resenting it, as Jack and Hal would have done most heartily, he begged me to lean more heavily, declaring that he was very strong and not at all fatigued, as he sought tenderly to conduct me over the smoothest places.

Very soon, however, we reached the high road and had scarcely begun to walk upon it when, to our joy and satisfaction, we heard the tramping of horses and were presently overtaken by my horse-litter, conducted by my men, Timothy, John and Joseph. Betsy was seated inside, and they all cried for joy when they discovered me with Sir Hubert Blair, entirely unhurt and in the best of spirits.

We had a great deal to say to each other; but scarcely had we begun to explain how we came there, and to relate our experiences, before Sir Hubert Blair interrupted by bidding us defer the talk until we had reached a place of safety.

'I strongly advise you, Mistress Margaret,' he said, 'to press forward at once, lest those ruffians who attacked you should again come in your way.'

'And you?' I said, as he put me into the litter, 'will you not come with us, too?'

'I wish that I could,' he answered. 'But it is not for me to ride at my ease by a lady's litter. I have other work to do.'

'But—but,' faltered I, for at the idea of losing him a feeling of despair came over me, 'you are a true knight, Sir Hubert, and as such will not desert a lady in her need——'

'Certainly not in her need,' returned he. 'But, madam, you have your own trusty servants back again and your litter, and the villains who molested you have gone.'

'Still, I fear,' I said, 'I fear much that Sir Claudius, with his odious followers, may again find us. His father and my father are at enmity, and he may carry on the feud against me.'

'There is no knowing what such a cur may do,' rejoined Sir Hubert Blair. 'He will lose his knighthood if he goes on as he is doing. But are you really afraid, Mistress Margaret?' And then he added, 'I thought you were so brave.'

Thereupon I did a very foolish thing, but one which was perhaps natural considering my youth and the rough experiences I had just passed through—I began to cry, as if my heart would break, hiding my face against Betsy's shoulder and giving way completely.

'Oh! Do not! Do not weep!' cried Sir Hubert, his resolution vanquished by my tears. 'I will escort you to your destination, indeed I will, if only you will not weep.'

'Hearken, mistress, hearken. The noble gentleman will accompany us,' said Betsy in my ear.

And still I wept, for having given way I gave way utterly and could not stop my tears.

'Poor child! Poor child!' I heard Sir Hubert say. And then he turned to Timothy, and began some talk about the horses.

When I felt a little better I heard Timothy telling the knight that his men had captured his horse and were seeking him in all directions.

When he heard this Sir Hubert whistled three times, and then waited, listening intently.

In the distance we heard a faint sound as of whistling in answer.

Then Sir Hubert came to my coach door and spoke to me.

'Mistress Margaret Brown,' he said, 'I am pleased to find that I can escort you as an outrider, as far as you are going. When my men come up with my horse, which they have recovered, we will ride by your coach. Then I think, even if that scoundrel, Sir Claudius, and his men encounter us again, we shall be equal to them.'

I was overjoyed at that, and I don't know what I answered, but he seemed quite satisfied, and presently his men came up with Sultan, whom they had captured, and he and they rode before and alongside our coach, to my extreme content and satisfaction.

Betsy chattered on about the escape she and the men had been able to make, whilst the rabble fought with Sir Hubert's men. She could not fight, having no weapon, and therefore, when they were brought to a standstill in the field and the fighting commenced, she slid off the horse on which she had been placed and ran away as fast as her feet could carry her; upon which John, who was her cousin, could not refrain from following, and Timothy and Joseph being dropped by the men who had taken them up and feeling too ill to fight, crept away into the shelter of a hedge, where the other two found them after all the combatants had gone. They could not discover me, and therefore returned to the high road, where presently they came upon the litter and horses, the latter feeding on the grass by the wayside. Then they drove up and down, hoping that I should find my way back to the road, and that the enemy would not again appear.

I fell into a doze at last, lulled by the sound of Betsy's untiring voice and the steady trampling of the horses' feet, and when I awoke again the moon was shining brightly down upon Sir Hubert riding by the litter, making the small gold cross he wore upon his breast gleam in its light.

He seemed to know in a moment when I awoke.

'Are you better, Mistress Margaret?' he asked, with such tender, chivalrous feeling in his voice as made my heart bound with delight.

'Yes,' I answered shyly, and meant to have thanked him, but could say no more, for thinking of the tears he had seen me shed and that I was too small a person and too babyish to be lifted up so high as he was lifting me above himself.

'I am glad of that,' he said. 'I want to tell you something. We are coming to a castle, where a friend of mine dwells. He will give us lodging for the night, and indeed I think we had better stay a day or two for you to rest.'

'Will you stay, too?' I asked, as simply as a little child.

He bent his head over his horse and appeared to be busy examining the bridle. I could not see his face and began to fear that I might have said something wrong. But he did not blame me when he spoke again.

'Sir William Wood,' he said, 'who lives at this castle we are approaching, is a great friend of mine, and indeed it was to stay with him that I came into this neighbourhood—we had certain business of importance to discuss——' he broke off, and began again, 'He was in Spain with us, when I went there with some friends on an embassy, and he and I were knighted at the same time. He has a fair young wife, Lady Caroline, who will be good to you.'

'I should like to go to them for the night,' said I, 'for I am weary.' And I could not prevent a sob from escaping from my breast.

'Poor child! I know you are,' he answered, with infinite compassion.

Betsy began to vociferate that my father had bidden them to conduct me straight to Sion House, London, with no lingering on the way, but Sir Hubert silenced her.

'Some lingerings are needful,' he said. 'Your young mistress is worn out, and unless she rest upon the way she may never reach her destination.'

'I wish we could let my father know,' I said; 'but it would take a couple of days to reach him,[[1]] and a couple for his answer to return to me, even if I sent one of the men, and by that time I should have stayed the full time for which I craved his leave.'

[[1]] How slow were all modes of sending messages in those days may be gathered by the fact, recorded in history, that when Queen Mary died, the news was not known in York, until four days after her death in London,—EDITOR.]

Sir Hubert smiled.

'We shall have to do without it,' he said. Then he added more seriously, 'You will act upon my advice, will you not, and rest awhile with these friends?'

'Certainly I will,' said I, for I felt sure Sir Hubert was one of the wisest and best of men.

We seemed a long while getting to the castle after that, for the way led up a steep hill, and I was again overpowered by sleep; but I have a dim recollection of waking up to find myself being welcomed by a fair and gracious lady, whilst a big young man shook Sir Hubert by the hand as if he would never let him go, and many servants moved silently about, and Betsy was too overawed to speak and did nothing but what they bade her.

Soon I was lying on a huge bed, the posts of which were reaching up to the ceiling of my room, and then I fell asleep and knew no more.

CHAPTER V
Lady Caroline Talks With Me

I slept soundly that first night of my stay at Woodleigh Castle, being altogether worn out and in the utmost need of Nature's kind restorer, and it was very late on the following day when I awoke to find Betsy at my side with hot broth and bread and sundry other articles of food.

'Mistress,' said my woman, 'you must eat and drink, for there are great happenings here, and you will need your strength, aye and your wits about you, too. Timothy says he does not like you to be alone amongst strange leaders of whom your father may not approve, and he hopes that you will not be led to feelings which will unfit you for being the companion of the high and noble lady to whom your father is sending you, though indeed I think he might have come with you himself if he had known how dangerous it was.'

I could not help smiling at Betsy's speech, as I sat up to take the refreshment she brought me. The first part of her speech was laboured and unnatural, as if she were the unwilling mouthpiece of poor old Timothy, but the last bit was certainly her own, for it bore Betsy stamped all over it.

'Yes, mistress, you can smile now that the danger is over,' said my maid, much aggrieved, 'but I can tell you we have had a narrow escape, a very narrow escape indeed. The people here say that we might have been all killed, as likely as not, by the highwaymen whom Sir Claudius consorts with and leads. They say that he got knighted by mistake, and that he is to be unknighted again—the knowledge of which makes him desperate. And they say, too, which indeed our men and I think also, that you brought all our misfortunes upon us, mistress, by interposing to save those witches, which was directly interfering with Providence that was about to send them back to where they came from.'

'I never did think you were wise, Betsy,' said I, 'but now I know you are most foolish. And I will not listen to you any more.' And with that I turned my back upon her, and took my food looking the other way, with the vague feeling that I would not cast the pearls of my wiser thoughts before the swine of Betsy's foolishness.

Betsy, however, was not to be suppressed. She went on talking as she looked over my dress, repairing it in places where it had been torn and making it ready for me to put on. And, by-and-by I heard her say words which caused me to turn round and ask, 'What is that? What did the men say Sir Claudius cried as he rode off?'

'He vowed,' she cried, 'he vowed that he would have you yet. Aye, he said that he would never rest until he had won you for his own, that he might vanquish your proud and haughty spirit!'

I was rather frightened, but endeavoured not to show it.

''Tis a little cock,' I said, 'that crows the loudest.'

A Queen of Nine Days

A QUEEN OF NINE DAYS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ILeaving Home

CHAPTER IIMy Champion

CHAPTER IIIHiding from the Enemy

CHAPTER IVBetter Happenings

CHAPTER VLady Caroline Talks With Me

CHAPTER I
Leaving Home

CHAPTER II
My Champion

CHAPTER III
Hiding from the Enemy

CHAPTER IV
Better Happenings

CHAPTER V
Lady Caroline Talks With Me