CHAPTER I.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 3, 17 January 1901, Page 23

CHAPTER I.

LLANFAIR COURT.

THE sun was setting in a sea of glory behind the fir wood that surrounded Llanfair Court. The jjolden rnys pierced the h*»avy foliage and oaught the jagged, pink trunks of the old trees, turning them into ruddy, flaming reds of every tone and Iftiade. Shimmering through the branches, the parting streams of sunlight fell aocroaa the broad terrace in front of the house, now touching the old stone parapet with loving caresses, and showering golden kisses upon its grey liohens ; now lying in bright patches athwart the grass, or gilding the breast of the swallow as he wheeled in the stream of fiery light. Pensively along the terrace paced the master of the Court and his daughter, Gwynyth, a tall, slim maiden of 14. He gazed at the letting sun and smiled at it wondrous glory. 4 'Tis beautiful, 'tis beautiful,' he murmured ; then his smile faded away, and his face was overcast by some sadness of thought, as is the strong sunshine by a heavy oloud. Though not yet 40, his bearing was that of a man of many more years. He walked as one weighed down by some burden, wearily and pensively. His face, pale and handsome, was set off by the thick raven locks, and the deep, flashing eyes, which lit up his entire countenance. A short beard, pointed as was the custom of gentlemen of the Elizabethan period, covered the chin and half hid the mouth. Some great sorrow seemed to hold him in its sway, and had imprinted lines of care round the eyes and on the high brow. Perhaps it was this that had traced that gentleness on his countenance, and drew all children to him, and made his own daughter, Gwynyth, worship him with all the ardor of her being. It seemed to her that her father and sorrow had become entwined together round her heart, and were insuperable. Her earliest recollections had been connected with her mother's death. She remembered lying in her father's arms that same night, and while he bent over her she first learnt to know ■orrow, and to read in his face the written grief of a strong man. Since then trouble had always been with him, she thought. A staunch Catholic, her father had suffered many wrongs at the hands of the Queen's followers. The old place was going to ruin, for there was no money to keep it up. Only two servants remained, the others had been obliged to seek elsewhere the means of livelihood her father could no longer afford them. She alone was left to him ; he was her all in all and she waa his. And Richard . For a moment she had half forgotten the cousin who had called the old Oourt his home. 1 Dear old Dicky,' she murmured, and then she sighed —why, she could not tell ; but somehow things were not quite the same between herself and the brother-cousin, who had only lately returned from the city of London. He was just as fond of her, of that she was quite sure, and he loved Sir Rupert as much as she did. Where, then, was the difference ? Where was the rift between them, which with her quick perception she was conscious of ? Far away, deep down in the depths of her heart she feared, rather than knew where it was. How frame that awful fear into thoughts — how admit to herself that it was on the score of religion that he had ohanged! Bhe would be angry with herself for being thus suspicions, and, running to Richard's room, she would lay her cheek against his, twining her arms about his neck, or holding his hand in hers, she would gaze deep into his eyes to read there the lie to her fears. But why would he glance hastily at her and then turn away ? Why, when he received her caresses, did he grow embarrassed at her gaze ? It used not to be so. Something had happened—he was changed. Did her father know I Did he suepect anything ? On this glorious evening her heart was heavy within her, and she felt aggrieved. She paced the terrace by her father's aide, suiting her steps to his. Sir Rupert's cloak, thrown carelessly over his shoulders, set off the girlish form, clad in white, as she clung to his arm. They were not unlike, and could be told at a glauce for father and daughter. As they walked, the girl was speaking. ' 'Tis strange, father, that you perceive it not. I see it more and more. Dick is not the same lad he was wont to be ; he is no longer the light-hearted boy, who shared my every secret, who waa my constant companion and playmate. There are times now when he seems to Bhirk my company, though, in all truth, he can scarcely be wearied with it, for he spends little enough time at home nowadays.' The father smiled at her aggrieved tone. • Poor Gwynyth,' he said,' she considers herself- doubtless, a very injured maiden. She forgets that when a lad has attained his twenty-second year he looks upon himself as a man, and even the most charming of little cousins can scarce keep him tied to her apron strings. He must be away and about his own business.' ' And, pray, what is his business ? Naught that I can Bay will persuade him ever to speak of his city doings,' answered the girl with a pout. Sir Rupert Trevor seemed amused. ' And if he did tell thee, Gwynyth, dost think thou would st be any the wiser 1 What oould such a little rustic wench understand of business ? Why even I forbear to question him, for lam but a plain country squire, and could only display my ignorance in city matters. 'Tis different with Dick ; he has been to college, as his father would have wished. I have loved the boy as a son ever since the day I took him in, a weakly little lad of six —before thou wert eren thought of, Gwynyth —and he has always shown himself worthy of my love and confidence, worthy of his own father, Richard. But 'tis not of Dick I wonld speak now. Listen, I have news for thee. My old schoolfellow, Father Morgan, is sore pressed

by the priest-hunters, and has sent me word imploring for shelter. I shall receive him gladly to-morrow after nightfall. Let as thank God we shall hear Mass again at last I Once more shall we be permitted to approach the Sacraments.' The girl's eyes flashed with excitement, for her father's spirit, with his loyalty to the old faith, burned within her. ' What good tidings,' she cried ; ' and if those wicked men come and search for him, we Bhall shut him up safely in the hiding-plaoe in the Blue Room, and we shall die rather than betray him. And snppce they <?o find him after all, father, and we are killed, we shall be martyrs, shall we not ? ' Sir Rupert smiled at her enthusiasm, ' Nay, they shall not find him,' he said ;« a priest's life is very precious in these troublous days. I feel quite secure about our hiding-hole. None who knew not the secret would ever dream of it, so cunningly set behind the chimney. Ah, here oomes Dick ; let us tell him our news.' The girl could not explain it, but at that moment a sudden chill struck her heart, she clung to her father's arm. 'Nay, do not tell him,' she said in an undertone; 'he leaves again to-morrow morning for London, 'twill be of no avail for him to know, he will not be here. I pray thee, father, do not speak of it.' ' Nonsense, child,' he answered, surprised at her manner ; ' I shall certainly tell him that he may postpone his journey. 'Tis not often the poor lad gets the chance of a Mass, and I would indeed be lacking in my duty were I not to give him the opportunity of assisting.' Gwynyth saw there was no help for it, her cousin was even now approaching. Sir Rupert, dark and handsome, made a striking contrast to his nephew. The latter, who was somewhat below the middle height, had none of his uncle's commanding aspect ; on the contrary, his weak mouth and shifty blue eyes indicated a *haraoter easily swayed by every breath of fortune. He waa fond of Sir Rupert, in his own way, and of his cousin too, but with him every affection was subservient to the all-engrossing love of self. There were times when he inwardly cursed his uncle's fidelity to the old religion, resulting for him in the miserable allowance, now all that Sir Rupert could afford him. Gwynyth let go her father's arm as the young man approached ; she would not stay to see how he received the tidings. The girl waa fond of her brother-cousin and tried ever to shake off those thoughts and suspicions which would creep unawares upon her. Turning away she caught sight of the white cap and apron belonging to Dame Rachel Jones, who was about to announce the evening meal. She was the typical old family housekeeper, waa the Dame, and her love, like that of most old servants, amounted almost to adoration for Sir Rupert and her beloved little mistress, Gwynyth. But you must not picture her as a placid, sweet-faced old lady. Dame Rachel's Bharp features and small, deeply-set eyes, her swift, busi-ness-like movements, all tended to show the quickness of perception, the natural alertness of the woman. In the balmy days at Llanfair Court, she had ruled the household with a rod of iron, and woe to the man who tried in any way to get a penny more than his due, the Dame would be down on him like a hammer. 'If she did not look to Sir Rupert's interests,' she would say, ' she should like to know who would. I troth the poor, dear gentleman would soon be robbed of every farthing he had, and not know it either.' And now that those days of plenty were over, Dame Rachel still clung to the family : Bhe and old John, the gardener, were all that were left of Sir Rupert's formerly well-filled household. At the 9ight of the old servant Gwynyth, in her childish lightheartednes?, forgot her momentary trouble and bounded from her father's side to catch the Dame affectionately by the arm, all eager to tell her secret. ' Rachel, dear, what thinkest thou, I have such news 1 ' she cried. ' A priest is coming here and we shall have Mass again ; and if those bad soldiers com 9we shall hide him. And, Rachel, thou'lt help me to get the blue room in readiness, wilt thou not V The old woman released herself from the girl's grasp, speaking with apparent irritation. ' A priest coming here I And what may he want with us, I ask you ? I wonder he has not more consideration for poor Sir Rupert than to thrust himself upon him in these days, when the harboring of a priest means certain imprisonment, if not worse. I troth we've had enough to bear already 1' Gwynyth only laughed ; she well knew the Dame. ' Thy bark is ever worse than thy bite,' Bhe said ; ' thou'lt welcome Father Morgan as much as any of us, I know. Poor man, my father says he hath been sore pressed of late by the Queen's men.' ' Then all the greater reason he should keep away,' snapped the Dame. ' I tell thee, child, it truly puzzles me what Sir Rupert is about in receiving him. But there ! as I was ever wont to say the poor gentleman has no eye to his own interests. I would I managed them for him. I should soon send the priest aflying.' ' Rachel 1 ' ejaculated Gwynyth. 1 Come now, child, thou knowest well I am aB good a Catholic as any of you ; indeed I would to heaven Queen Bess and all her rascal Protestants were at the bottom of the sea. To my mind, there's a place for everything, and I troth Llanfair Court is no place for priests and Mass in these days, with the dear master risking his very life'; and still grumbling the Dame re-entered the house. Gwynyth laughed as she returned to the men, ' Rachel is in one of her cantankerous moods to-night ; she welcomes not the thought of Father Morgan.' ' Poor old Rachel,' ?aid Sir Rupert ; 'if ever a faithful heart rested 'neath a sharp exterior, it is hers. Dick here says he may not stay over the morrow.' Oh 1 why that deadly chill again ? The girl's voice had lost it* joyous tone as she addressed her cousin. IDo stay, Dicky,' Bhe said ; ' why mast thou hasten thus away ? '

• I would indeed I might remain,' replied the youth, at the same time avoiding those clear, truthful eyes ' I long, like thee, to hear Mass once more, but duty calls, and I must from hence on urgent business. I may return, however, before he leaves,' he added after a slight pause. ' Come, that is right, Dick my lad 1 ' exclaimed his uncle, cordially ; 'I know that thouiwilt do thy beat. Now, let's to supper.' * * * That night, when all but himself lay wrapt in slumber. Richard Trevor paced restlessly up and down his room, with knitted brows and hands clenched. • It must be done,' he muttered ; ' 'twill never do to allow such a chance to slip me. This fellow, Morgan, is the very man they are bent on taking ; the price of his capture will be well worth the having. And yet—but why should I hesitate? 'Tis only my business, for what am I — a paid spy ? ' and he laughed harshly. 4 Yes, a paid Bpy ; easy work and good wage I But that Norton, how he did threaten me. " Trevor," he said, " dost think I keep thee in my service to lead the life of a lazy dog ? 'Tis time thou bestir thyself ! Track out that rascal Morgan, or in the foul fiend's name I'll out thee, bag and baggage." What a chance 1 Here is this Morgan flying to my very arms ! Norton and his band are Bcarce thirty miles away ; I have but to ride hence and make my terms. Ah ! I forget my uncle ! Should they capture a priest beneath his roof he will be in danger. 'Twill be certain imprisonment, if not death. Nay, I cannot — he has been more than a father to me all these years. And little Gwynyth — I love her, too— shall I cause her this bitterest grief ? Nay, I have not fallen thus low. Yet the reward — the money — God knows I need it. And Norton's favour — in a moment he can undo me, turn me away, penniless and in debt. Surely there is a way between the two. I shall find it — I must. 1 And he paced feverishly up and down. All at once he drew vp s . • I have it I ' he cried. 'It shall be done ! The money shall be mine, and yet my uncle shall be safe. They think I hie to London on the morrow. I shall return quickly with pressing tidings to Sir Rupert. His sister, the Lady Marjory, shall be in danger of death, and implore his presence. He will go. In his absence, Norton and his band shall come The prie3t discovered, I shall hie after my uncle, and warn him to keep away. As for Gwynyth, the child will be safe enough in Dame Rachel's care.' And so the night wore away, and the household of Llanfair slept peacefully on, all unconscious of the danger brooding in their very midst. CHAPTER 11. On the morning following Father Morgan's arrival Gwynyth set out on her palfrey to tell an old servant who lived at some distance of the priest's presence among them. 'How rejoiced he will be,' she thought, as she passed the avenue gates, and gaily shaking her bridle she set off at a brisk canter across an open bit of country. Her soul was happy within her — for had she not assisted once more at the great Sacrifice, and received once again her God, for Whom she was ready to suffer so much ? Coming to the cross-roads, Bhe paused a moment. Her ey es followed the white line winding far away to the left. 'In a few days,' she thought, ' Dick will be returning from London by this way. I will be here to meet him, and learn his news.' She turned her horse's head in the opposite direction, along the lesa-frequented lane which passed by the old man's dwelling. Trotting briskly, she turned a sharp corner, and came unexpectedly upon a horseman, riding slowly towards her. He was reading intently Borne papers in his hand, so that she could not see his face. She glanced at his horse inquisitively. ' Surely that is Black Saladin,' she said, unconsciously speaking aloud. ' How comes a stranger to be riding him ? ' At the sound of her voice the man raised his head. ' Richard 1 ' she cried in amazement. For a moment she was utterly taken aback. ' Dick ! It cannot be thee I " she exclaimed again, approaching him. Apparently startled, he drew in his horse, quickly thrusting the papers into his doublet. •And why not forsooth,' he replied hastily, 'have I not as much right to ride on the Queen's highway as thou thyself, Mistress Gwynyth 1 ' ' Yes, yes,' she half laughed, but continued, still in amazement. • I thought thou wert still in London, how comes it that thy business was so quickly dispatched ? ' 'Thou art not overjoyed to see me, methinks. Does my unexpected presence disturb thee or my uncle, or interfere with your devotions ? If so, I can return from whence I came,' and he half turned his horse. ' Nay, stay, Dick, stay 1 Thou knowest I mean not that. I was but surprised at this unexpected meeting.' Suddenly a thought struck her. ' But Richard, say ! thou canst not have been to London, for thou comest from the wrong direction I ' Bending over his horse, he hesitated before replying. 1 Black Saladin cast a shoe, and I sought the nearest forge at hand. Bub come, sweet Gwynyth, let us return together : and tell me how fares it with Father Morgan 1 I would fain see him again,' and he laid his hand on her bridle to lead her home. ' Nay, Dick, I must ride on, for my father hath but now bade me Beak out old Daniel and tell him the glad news. I will speed swiftly, and be with thee ere long.' ' Nay, Gwynyth, thou canst not do so.' The girl's eyes spoke her surprise. ' And why not, forsooth 1 My father's errands are not to be so lightly discarded. Leave my bridle, Richard, and let me go 1 ' ' Dear cousin, I have good reason in seeking to hinder thee. Believe me I have a purpose in what I say ; thou canst not go.' ' But I must, I will go/ she cried.

Seeing her prepare to ride on, the lad became exasperated and angrily clutched her arm. ' Thou shall not, I say. Look thee, wench, in yonder hollow a whole company of troopers lies hid. Thinkest thou I will let thee ride by, to be jeered at and insulted, perchance ? ' ' Soldiers, Dick, soldiers ! ' She passed her hand over her brow in a dazed manner. ' Why are the soldiers here, Richard 1 ' She caught his arm and gazed anxiously into hia face. ' How dost thou know, good Dick, that they are here ? ' ' Because I have seen them, thou silly wench,' he answered sullenly, ' but come, I have loitered long enough, lot us ride home.' He spurred on Black Saladin, and caught the bridle of the white palfrey. Once again that sudden chill struck the girl's heart, and a heavy foreboding fear passed over her. Silently she rode by her cousin's side, thinking deeply. And as they gained the terrace, Sir Rupert appeared in the doorway. ' What ! now my Richard ! Art back again so soon ? This is indeed sweet fortune.' ' Ay, good uncle, I have made great speed, for alas 1 I bring evil tidings. Thy sister, the Lady Marjory, lies in London dangerously ill, even at death's door, I fear me, and greatly desires thy presence.' 1 This is sad news, indeed,' groaned Sir Rupert, ' but God grant Bhe may yet recover. I will to her this very day. Look thee, lad, do thou prepare my own good horse for my journey to-night. I have many things to do ere I start, but with God's grace I will set forth at sunset. Wnt see to it, Dick ? ' ' Gladly, uncle,' and he led the palfrey away, Black Saladin following by his side. ' And now, my Gwynyth, let us visit the good priest, and tell him of this fre3h sorrow ; he will succor us by his prayers.' ' But, father, I have also evil tidings : the soldiers are hard by, encamped beyond the wood. Thinkest thou, my father, that they have heard a priest lies hero ? ' ' Tut, tut, child, the soldier are ever on the move just now. Their presence here portends no evil to us. But I am glad, sweet child, thou hast told me, for it behoves us to use every caution. I grieve me that I must away to London ; but yet, I think my absence will tend to allay all suspicion. They will never dream that a priest is harbored here while lam elsewhere. Thou art growing fanciful, child, and seest danger at every turn. Come, my Gwynyth, kiss thy father, then run and bid Rachel prepare for my journey about sundown.' With his own hands Richard saddled Sir Rupert's horse that evening, and led him from the stables. Twilight was settling on the country side, beginning to shroud all things in its sombre, mystic gloom. Dick knew that now every moment was precious, and it was with difficulty that he restrained his impatience. At length his uncle appeared on the doorstep, closely followed by Gwynyth, who was_ bravely trying to force back the tears, which would rise up in spite of herself. ' You must take good care of thy cousin while I am away, Dick,' said Sir Rupert, cheerily. ' Wall, John, what is it ?' he added as the old man came hobbling up, apparently in a great state of excitement. 'Please, yer honor, there's Queen's men, soldiers, acomxng over the hill at the back. They be making for tue Court, yer honor 1 ' Gwynyth grew deadly pale, for a moment she could scarcely stand. 'It has come at last ! ' she thought. Dick muttered an angry exclamation under his breath. He must make one more effort, now or never ! His face was flushed with excitement, and there was a strange quiver in his voice, as he urgently addressed Sir Rupert. ' My uncle,' he said, ' I implore thee, postpone not thy journey another instant 1 'Twill but draw down their suspicions to see thee thus stayed, in the very act of setting forth. Believe me, go as though nothing were amiss. Leave the rest to me. I assure thee it is best ! ' ' Perhaps thou art right,' replied Sir Rupert slowly, ' and yet I like not to leave the child ' 'Think not of her,' interrupted Richard, chafing with impatience, ' I shall make her my first thought. I undertake to disarm all suspicion. Leave all to me 1 ' ' I trust thee, Dick, I shall go.' It was almost more than even Richard could bear, he winced under the honest, confiding eyes of his uncle, and muttered, turning away to hide his confusion : 'I go to parley with the Captain, 'twill the better cover thy departure.' ' Rachael 1 have you my saddle bag ? ' called Sir Rupert, his foot on the stirrup. ' 'Tis here, Master., He re-entered the house, but before he had taken the bag, the old servant stayed him. Her small, sharp eyes looked keenly into his, as she well nigh hissed the words : ♦ Beware ! we are betrayed ! S^e here ! ' and she produced a paper, signed by Thomas Nonon. lo tbw effect that a certain sum of money should be paid to Riehuirt Trevor, on his delivering one James Morgan, Popish priest, into the hands of the State. 'I found it, but now, in Master Dick's room,' she said, • there are few who can go undetected when liachael is about I ' and she almost smiled in triumph at her own cunning. Sir Rupert grasped the back of an oaken chair for support ; for a moment everything seemed to reel about him. He saw it all ; Richard's absence, his prompt reappearance with a forged story, his impatience to get his uncle safely away ; yes it was as clear as day, they were betrayed 1 With a well nigh superhuman effort of will he collected his thoughts. But a few moments for action remained. The priest must be saved, but how ? ' Rachael,' he said, ' I charge you, speak of this to no one,' and without another word he had turned and bounded up the stairs.

Meanwhile Gwynyth, who had followed her cousin to the corner of the house, stood gazing at the distance, watching with a strange fascination the band of men as they hastened down the steep road towards the Court. At first she was too dazed to think, then did all manner of doubts and questions crowd into her mind, almost overwhelming her by their force and persistency. Had Richard— No, no, it could not be : she must not allow these wicked thoughts to creep upon her. The soldiers were but coming as a matter of course to such a well-known Catholic house. They might f-earch as uiudi as they wished, but they could never find the hiding place — unless — Ah, why had Dick been bo queer oi late/ Why his fevuiK-li haste to get rid of his uncle ? A hundred little incidents occurred in her memory, till at last, angry with herself, she turned impatiently away. As she did so she perceived her father's tall form emerge from the house. He bounded on to the handsome charger and the next moment was galloping down the avenue, soon to be lost •mid the gloom of trees. Gwynyth'a eyes filled with tears. So he was gone, gone without a word to her, not even a look. ' Poor father,' she murmured, ' he is very distressed about my •ant's illneßs, and now this trouble too ! Well, lam glad he is gone, for now, come what may, he at all events in safe.' And Richard also gave a sigh of intense relief as turning he beheld his ancle's form riding swiftly down the avenue. (To be concluded in our next ittue).