“Be comforted, my father,” said Clavering; “my troubles will soon be over. Bethink thee of the sacred cause for which I lay down my life. That reflection will support me in my latest hour. Let it support thee now!”
“Well said, young sir!” exclaimed Lord Wilmot, extending his hand to him, which Clavering warmly grasped. “These are sentiments to deprive the scaffold of all terror. But trust me,” he added, in a cheerful tone, “you will disappoint your bloodthirsty captors. You are reserved for better days.”
“Mayhap your lordship also calculates upon escaping the punishment due to your treasonable offences against the Commonwealth?” jeered Delves.
“I calculate upon enjoying the fruits of my fidelity to a gracious lord and master,” Lord Wilmot replied, “as well as of my unceasing efforts to free his kingdom from the bloodthirsty and rebellious fanatics by whom it is overrun. Look well to thy charge, sirrah, for, by my faith, thou shalt have some trouble to hold me.”
As these bold words were uttered, his lordship’s eye rested upon John Habergeon, and he read in the old trooper’s looks that any attempt he might make for his own liberation would be effectively seconded by him.
Upon one person, for whose benefit the captive nobleman’s observations were chiefly uttered, they produced a cheering effect. Hope was suddenly reawakened in Colonel Maunsel’s breast, and he roused himself from the state of almost atony into which he had sunk. Things did not look now quite so desperate as they had done. He began to conceive projects for his son’s deliverance, and even debated with himself the possibility of stirring up his house hold to an attack upon the Ironsides.
But Delves did not allow him much time for reflection. Though regarding Lord Wilmot’s speech as mere bravado—Cavalier’s rodomontade, he styled it—the sergeant thought that the prisoners had given their tongues licence enough. A stop must be put to the further expression of their sentiments. Sternly ordering them to keep silence, he signified in a peremptory tone to Colonel Maunsel that he must retire to his own chamber. The command roused the old Cavalier’s ire, and he seemed by no means inclined to obey it; but his son besought him by his looks to yield compliance, and, after a little hesitation, he remounted the staircase much more firmly than he had come down it, and disappeared.
Three wearisome hours passed by, and Stelfax had not returned. During the whole of this time the prisoners were detained in the entrance-hall. Not a word was exchanged between Lord Wilmot and Clavering that did not reach the ears of Delves, who stood close beside them. The sergeant, however, began to find this lengthened attendance irksome, and his men, moreover, looked as if a little change would be agreeable.
Preparations were, therefore, made for the removal of the prisoners to the church. Delves had sixteen men under his command, three of the troopers, as already intimated, having gone with Stelfax in pursuit of the fugitive Cavalier. Half of the force at his disposal the sergeant decided upon taking with him to the church, deeming that number ample guard for the prisoners: the other half should stay at the Grange to keep watch over the malignant colonel and his household. But before carrying his plan into execution, he repaired to the buttery, and causing a couple of baskets to be filled with provisions and wine, despatched Moppett and Crundy—under a guard—with these stores to the church; and, on their return, he took out his prisoners, and placing himself at the head of the escort, moved towards the sacred edifice.
Torches to light the troop were carried by old Ticehurst, the gardener, and Nut Springett, who had been pressed into the service; and the flare of the flambeaux was reflected upon the steel caps, corslets, and carabines of the Ironsides. In the midst of the guard, by whom they were closely surrounded, marched the prisoners. The torchlight flashed upon gate and wall, upon overhanging tree and thick hedge-row as the little party advanced—Delves keeping a wary look-out lest any attack should be attempted.
Though all the Roundhead soldiers were religious fanatics, not one of them had the slightest scruple in turning the sacred pile they were approaching into a strong-room for their prisoners, and a barrack for themselves. No feeling of irreverence crossed them as the church-door was unlocked, and the sergeant marched into the little nave with as much unconcern as if he had been entering a stable. Old Ticehurst and Springett were dismissed at the church-door, their services being no longer required; but the torches were brought into the building, and set up in such a position that their flame illuminated the whole of the interior. Very strange the place looked by this lurid light—so much like a sepulchre as a church.
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