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, and divert all suspicion from himself. But the true ring was wanting to his words, and both the women felt them jar, and got away from him, and laid their heads together, in agitated whispers. And the result was, they put shawls over their heads, and went together out into the night.
They ran up the road, sighing and clasping their hands, but no longer speaking.
At the first turn they saw the whole body coming toward them.
"I'll soon know," said Jael, struggling with her agitation. "Don't you be seen, miss; that might anger the Squire; and, oh, he will be a wrathful man this night, if he caught him working in yonder church."
Grace then slipped back, and Jael ran on. But no sooner did she come up with the party, than Raby ordered her back, in a tone she dared not resist.
She ran back, and told Grace they were carrying him in, hurt, and the Squire's eyes were like hot coals.
Grace slipped into the drawing-room and kept the door ajar.
Soon afterward, Raby, his men, and his prisoners, entered the hall, and Grace heard Raby say, "Bring the prisoners into the dining-room."
Grace Carden sat down, and leaned her head upon her hand, and her little foot beat the ground, all in a flutter.
But this ended in a spirited resolve. She rose, pale, but firm, and said, "Come with me, Jael;" and she walked straight into the dining-room. Coventry strolled in after her.
The room was still brilliantly lighted. Mr. Raby was seated at his writing-table at the far end, and the prisoners, well guarded, stood ready to be examined.
"You can't come in here," was Mr. Raby's first word to Grace.
But she was prepared for this, and stood her ground. "Excuse me, dear uncle, but I wish to see you administer justice; and, besides, I believe I can tell you something about one of the prisoners."
"Indeed! that alters the case. Somebody give Miss Carden a chair."
She sat down, and fixed her eyes upon Henry Little--eyes that said plainly, "I shall defend you, if necessary:" his pale cheek was flushing at sight of her.
Mr. Raby arranged his papers to make notes, and turned to Cole.
"The charge against you is, that you were seen this night by several persons engaged in an assault of a cruel and aggravated character.
You, and two other men, attacked and overpowered an individual here present; and, while he was helpless, and on the ground, you were seen to raise a heavy cudgel (Got the cudgel, George?)--"
"Ay, your worship, here 'tis."
"--And to strike him several times on the head and limbs, with all your force."
"Oh, cruel! cruel!"
"This won't do, Miss Carden; no observations, please. In consequence of which blows he soon after swooned away, and was for some time unconscious, and--"
"Oh!"
"--For aught I know, may have received some permanent injury."
"Not he," said Cole; "he's all right. I'm the only man that is hurt; and I've got it hot; he hit me with his hammer, and knocked me down like a bullock. He's given me this black eye too."
"In self-defense, apparently. Which party attacked the other first?"
"Why they attacked me, of course," said Henry. "Four of them."
"Four! I saw but three."
"Oh, I settled one at starting, up near the forge. Didn't you find him?" (This to George.)
"Nay, we found none of the trash but this," indicating Cole, with a contemptuous jerk of the thumb.
"Now, don't all speak at once," said Mr. Raby. "My advice to you is to say nothing, or you'll probably make bad worse. But if you choose to say anything, I'm bound to hear it."
"Well, sir," said Cole, in a carneying voice, "what I say is this: what need we go to law over this? If you go against me for hitting him with a stick, after he had hit me with a blacksmith's hammer, I shall have to go against you for shooting me with a gun."
