Put Yourself in His Place [115]
blow, and the butcher, with one eye closed by Henry's fist, but the other gleaming savagely, raised the cudgel to finish him, Henry saw a huge tongue of flame pour out at them all, from outside the church, and a report, that sounded like a cannon, was accompanied by the vicious ping of shot. Cole screamed and yelled, and dropped his cudgel, and his face was covered with blood in a moment; he yelled, and covered his face with his hands; and instantly came another flash, another report, another cruel ping of shot, and this time his hands were covered with blood.
The others rolled yelling out of the line of fire, and ran up the aisle for their lives.
Cole, yelling, tried to follow; but Henry, though sick and weak with the blows, caught him, and clung to his knees, and the next moment the place was filled with men carrying torches and gleaming swords, and led by a gentleman, who stood over Henry, in evening dress, but with the haughty expanded nostrils, the brilliant black eyes, and all the features of that knight in rusty armor who had come to him in his dream and left him with scorn.
At this moment a crash was heard: two of the culprits, with desperate agility, had leaped on to the vestry chest, and from that on to the horse, and from him headlong out of the window.
Mr. Raby dispatched all his men but one in pursuit, with this brief order--"Take them, alive or dead--doesn't matter which--they are only cutlers; and cowards."
His next word was to Cole. "What, three blackguards to one!--that's how Hillsborough fights, eh?"
"I'm not a blackguard," said Henry, faintly.
"That remains to be proved, sir," said Raby, grimly.
Henry made answer by fainting away.
CHAPTER XVI.
When Henry Little came to himself, he was seated on men's hands, and being carried through the keen refreshing air. Mr. Raby was striding on in front; the horse's hoofs were clamping along on the hard road behind; and he himself was surrounded by swordsmen in fantastic dresses.
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 utterly numbed, walked close to him between two sword-dancers with Raby-marks and Little-marks upon him, viz., a face spotted 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 joyful 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 distress. "How could I look Squire 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 sullen 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 determined 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 rendering 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 affected sympathy, and even some anxiety, to please Miss Carden,
The others rolled yelling out of the line of fire, and ran up the aisle for their lives.
Cole, yelling, tried to follow; but Henry, though sick and weak with the blows, caught him, and clung to his knees, and the next moment the place was filled with men carrying torches and gleaming swords, and led by a gentleman, who stood over Henry, in evening dress, but with the haughty expanded nostrils, the brilliant black eyes, and all the features of that knight in rusty armor who had come to him in his dream and left him with scorn.
At this moment a crash was heard: two of the culprits, with desperate agility, had leaped on to the vestry chest, and from that on to the horse, and from him headlong out of the window.
Mr. Raby dispatched all his men but one in pursuit, with this brief order--"Take them, alive or dead--doesn't matter which--they are only cutlers; and cowards."
His next word was to Cole. "What, three blackguards to one!--that's how Hillsborough fights, eh?"
"I'm not a blackguard," said Henry, faintly.
"That remains to be proved, sir," said Raby, grimly.
Henry made answer by fainting away.
CHAPTER XVI.
When Henry Little came to himself, he was seated on men's hands, and being carried through the keen refreshing air. Mr. Raby was striding on in front; the horse's hoofs were clamping along on the hard road behind; and he himself was surrounded by swordsmen in fantastic dresses.
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 utterly numbed, walked close to him between two sword-dancers with Raby-marks and Little-marks upon him, viz., a face spotted 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 joyful 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 distress. "How could I look Squire 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 sullen 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 determined 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 rendering 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 affected sympathy, and even some anxiety, to please Miss Carden,