The Knight of the Golden Melice Part 7

"Because it would have broke your sleep, and for another reason. And now, Philip, will you ruin yourself and me, or will you remain?"

"Good Sam," said Philip, extending his hand and raising the other up, "let thou and I be sworn friends. There is some mystery behind this matter which it behooves us both to have cleared up. Answer me a question. Did Master Spikeman know of that paper?"

"Surely he did. He inquired of me concerning it."

"Umph!" grunted Philip. "Now tell again, what is that other reason why thou didst say nothing of the paper to me before?"

"Answer for answer; tickle me and I will scratch thee. I will answer that question if you will me another."

"There is reason in thee. I promise."

"Because Master Spikeman commanded me not."

"And canst tell why he wanted to speak to me alone?"

"To get to the bottom of sundry plots wherewith you were acquainted, and which you had partly confessed. And now it is my turn to ask questions, so tell me how gattest thou rid of the irons?"

"Master Spikeman unfastened them."

"I might have guessed as much before," said Bars, scratching his head.

"Hark ye, Sam, that same canon-ball of thine which thou seemest to take so great delight in digging with thy fingers, would have been a b.l.o.o.d.y c.o.xcomb had I followed the advice of our friend, Master Spikeman."

"How!" exclaimed the jailer, did he counsel injury to me?"

"Thou hast said. At any rate, to my thinking, there was not much difference from that."

"The accursed Judas!" burst out the excited jailer; "the blood-thirsty Joab, who would have had me smitten under the fifth rib. Profane Korah, Dathan and Abiram, whom the earth swallowed up for their bitterness against Moses, were children of light compared with this horrid Philistine."

"I suppose she was sick at the stomach, and so gulped them down for bitters, just as my good mother used to give me wormwood when I was weakly in the spring," said Philip, laughing. At any other time this speech would have drawn down a serious remonstrance for its impiety, but at the present moment Sam was too much engaged with the treachery of Spikeman to bestow upon it any attention.

"Philip," he said, "I accept thy offer to be sworn friends. This Satan, this Pharaoh, this platter with the inside unwashed, shall not have another chance to set on honest men to murder one another.

Hearken, and thou shalt have another secret. It was this h.e.l.l incarnate who commanded me to load thee with irons, and to starve thee besides, but that I could not do."

One revelation led to another, until the whole wickedness of the a.s.sistant was laid bare. Philip also learned in addition that it was Bars himself who had communicated a knowledge of his condition to the knight, by whom directions had been left to have him come to the Mount of Promise as soon as he should be liberated. Prudence, too, he was told, had been at the prison to inquire after him, but the instructions to the jailer forbade the carrying or delivering of messages, for which reason Philip had hitherto remained ignorant of the interest betrayed by her.

With the discovery of the villainy of Spikeman there was mixed up some comfort for the soldier in reflecting on the affection of Prudence and the friends.h.i.+p of the knight; but for the jailer there was no such solace. He dwelt resentfully on the exposure of his person and the loss of office which would probably have been the consequence had Philip escaped, and meditated schemes of revenge.

When the jailer took leave, the soldier stretched himself again on the straw, and in spite of the prospect of liberty and the scenes he had just pa.s.sed through, was soon asleep.

CHAPTER V.

"Wherefore adew, my owne Herte true, None other red I can; For I must to the greene Wode goe, Alone, a banishyd man."

THE NUT-BROWN MAID.

The uppermost desire in the heart of Philip Joy upon being liberated in the morning by the order which, while it opened his prison door, exonerated him from no other part of his sentence, was to see Prudence; but his late experience of the wiles of Spikeman, although he could think of no motive, for his hostility, had taught him caution, and he determined to advance warily to gratify his wishes.

The occupation of Philip was that of a blacksmith and armorer, in which capacities he had been of some utility to the colony. Between whiles, also, whenever any desperate service was required in order to strike terror into the savages, he had been employed in his military character, and always with credit to himself. In consequence of his skill in his handicraft and bravery, he had at first been a man of no little consideration, but as the population of the settlement increased, and fears of the Indians diminished, and blacksmiths and armorers became more numerous, the importance of the stout soldier gradually waned. To this result contributed, in no small degree, the fact that he had never joined the congregation, and sometimes indulged in a freedom of speech on interdicted topics, which was unpalatable to those around him. Hence it happened that slight offences, which were at first overlooked in consideration of his usefulness, were no longer pa.s.sed by when that usefulness was no longer prized, and there were even some who were disposed to visit him with punishment for transgressions of the kind, of years previous. Spikeman, who by his wealth and cunning, had lately succeeded in getting himself for the first time elevated to the dignity of an a.s.sistant, had always appeared to be a friend, and indeed had truly been so, until he sought to pluck the apple of discord, the too fascinating Prudence, out of the soldier's hand. So deep was the impression of the a.s.sistant's good-will to him, and so long had he been in the habit of regarding the magistrate as a patron, that without exactly disbelieving, he found it difficult to give full credence to the jailer's representations. His mind was so confused that he hardly knew what to do. He wanted to see Prudence before he departed for the knight's residence, and yet, with a vague dread of Spikeman's power for mischief, wished to avoid him.

Meditating upon these embarra.s.sments, Philip mechanically took his way in the direction of the a.s.sistant's house, unconsciously obeying the hope that some kind chance would enable him to see his mistress without being discovered. With this view, and as if believing that she would be able to see through a disguise impenetrable to others, and with some sense of shame at having been confined in a dungeon, Philip drew his slouched hat over his eyes, and m.u.f.fling his face in the folds of his short cloak, walked in front of the dwelling, casting frequent glances at the windows. It was in vain, however; and fearful of attracting an attention which he desired to shun, he started at last for the forest, through which he was obliged to pa.s.s on his way to the knight's place. Wearily he dragged his steps along, for the confinement he had suffered, and the irons he had worn, had diminished his strength and chafed his limbs. Pondering sadly his unfortunate fate, he was slowly advancing, and had only just entered the wood, when he was saluted by a well-known voice, that made him start with a joyful surprise. It was that of Prudence, who was following him. She had seen him whom it would have been difficult to disguise from her, pa.s.s the house, and had allowed him to suppose himself undiscovered, and then pursued, in order to enjoy, undisturbed, a meeting which she desired as much as he. She was so overjoyed and confused at seeing him again, that somehow she stumbled as she came near, and would have fallen had not Philip caught her in his arms--for which benevolent deed he rewarded himself with a couple of smacks like the report of a pistol.

"Fie, for shame, Philip," cried Prudence, all in a glow, and looking wonderfully, as if she wanted the offence repeated; at any rate the soldier so understood it, and clasping her again in his arms, refused to release her till her lips had paid the penalty of their sweetness.

"Oh, fie," said she, once more; "what would folk say if they saw thee?"

"There's only birds or a chance deer to see us," said Philip, "and it can do them no harm to take a lesson," and he attempted to renew his demonstrations of affection.

"Be quiet now," said Prudence, pus.h.i.+ng him away. "I must soon hurry back, or I shall be missed, and I want, first, to hear all about thee, and then I have something to say on my part."

Thus rebuked, Philip seated himself, with the maiden by his side, on the trunk of a fallen tree, and narrated the circ.u.mstances of his trial and condemnation, and the occurrences at the prison. Some tears pretty Prudence let fall over parts of his story, while at others her hazel eyes flashed with indignation, and upon its conclusion she disclosed in turn the conduct of Spikeman to herself.

"I tell thee all Philip," said Prudence, "because thou dost seem to doubt about the wickedness of this bad man, who is trying to ruin us both." She stopped, and hid her face in her hands.

Great was the rage of the soldier at what he had heard.

"By the head of king Charles," he swore, "I will drive my dagger into his black heart."

He rose in anger, as if about immediately to put his threat into execution, but the girl threw her arms around him and drew him down.

"That would be certain death to thee, Philip," she said. "We must find other means to punish him. Besides, I must keep thee safe to serve my young mistress."

"Thou art right, Prudence, and I am hot and hasty; but does not the villain deserve the warmest place in Beelzebub's dominions who would harm thee? Prudence, thou shalt not remain in his house."

"That will I," replied the girl. "Why, who is to wait on my mistress, and take care of her but me? If mistress Eveline were to hear thy speech, she would not be over obliged to thee, Master Philip, for wis.h.i.+ng me to desert her."

"You misunderstand me, and that is not my desire. But art not afraid of the old villain?"

"Me afraid!" exclaimed Prudence, contemptuously, curling her lips; "I am not half as much afraid of him as I am of thee." And as she uttered the words, she drew herself a little back from him on the log where they sat.

"But tell me, my brave robin red-breast," said Philip, casting a look at the gay cloak which she had thrown around her person, and not seeming to pay much regard to the latter part of her answer, "how am I to serve mistress Eveline?"

"O, I know not, yet I dare say we shall be able to turn thee to some good purpose; men are sometimes so useful!"

"I will recollect thy speech," said the soldier, laughing, "and promise to teach thee, on a future occasion, how maidens also may be useful. But hast never a message from mistress Eveline to Master Arundel, should I chance to see him, for he is often at the place of the Knight of the Golden Melice, and it is my purpose to go thither to-day?"

"Young ladies affect not to send messages to thy over bold s.e.x," said Prudence, tossing her head, "but an' thou dost see the gentleman, thou mayest tell him, as from me, that she is well, and desires his prosperity."

"A cold message, truly, and it is well the weather is warm, else would poor Master Arundel be in danger of being frozen into an icicle."

"A hundred such messages would not, I fear, cool thy hot blood; but Master Miles is gentle born, and less presumptuous than thou; thou mayest therefore say, rather than hurt his feelings, that my mistress would have no objection to seeing him."

"What a b.u.t.termilk kind of a message is that!" said the soldier. Dost think that a man of any spirit is going to be satisfied with an errand that runs like a stream of cold water down one's back? Come, Prudence, perk thy red lips into more reasonable and comforting words."

"Thou art thyself unreasonable, Philip. Dost suppose it becomes a young woman to let her gallant know all she thinks about him? He ought to be ravished to believe that she does not hate him like the rest of them who wear beards; at any rate, thou wilt get nothing else from me."