The Coming of the King. Hocking Joseph
along the passage towards a doorway I had noted during the evening. No one seemed astir, and the house was as silent as death. When I came to the door, I found that it was unbolted. Evidently the man had left it so that the woman might enter when she had performed his mission.
Closing the door silently behind me, I pulled on my boots, and a minute later was creeping silently up the hill out of the town. Once away from the houses, I realized the cruelty of the man in sending out a woman on such an errand. It is true the night was neither dark nor cold, but for a woman to take such a long weary journey alone at such a time was hard indeed. The country, since Oliver Cromwell's death, had become infested with footpads, while the thought of going to a haunted house was terrible enough for a man, much less a woman. Besides, she was troubled by some fear. The man had some power over her beyond the ordinary, or she would never submit to his will. What was it? I called to mind the story told me concerning Sir Charles Denman that very night. Was this man Sir Charles? And was this woman the one who had been associated with him? This might be the case; and yet I could not believe it, why I could not tell. Perhaps it was because I had learnt to be wary of stories told at taverns and inns, perhaps because I desired another solution to the mystery.
When I was well out in the country I stopped and listened. I also looked eagerly along the road, but I could neither hear nor see the woman I had come out to follow. Thereupon I started running, for the road was better than ordinary, and the light of the moon revealed all pits and dangerous places. Presently I reached the top of the hill, where the road crossed an open space. Neither hedge nor ditch hid aught from me, although a mile on, skirting the open plain was a belt of trees. Here I stopped again, and gazed eagerly along the roadway. Yes, there could be no doubt about it, away in the distance was a dark object.
Up to this time I had formed no plan of action save to follow the woman. Now it came to me that if I desired to speak to her I should not know what to say, while if I watched her without letting her know of my presence I should be acting the part of a spy. She was alone and unprotected, she did not know that I heard something of what had passed between her and the man at the inn. Therefore my presence would give her a fright, while I had no excuse for intruding upon her as she took this lonely and mysterious night journey.
What an older man might have done I may not say. What I should do now that I have passed the age of impetuous youth I dare not hazard. But then I was young, I knew naught of the world, and the mission upon which I myself had come caused me to surround everything with the halo of youthful vision. I determined that I would overtake her, tell her that I had heard what had passed between her and the man at the Barley Sheaf, and then offer to accompany her on her journey. Doubtless an older man would have acted differently, but I suspect that my decision was that which any youth of my age will understand.
I therefore commenced running again, and I saw that every step lessened the distance between me and the dark form which toiled silently along the lonely road. Not a house was in sight, neither could I see aught but the line of road curling its way along the heather covered land, and the belt of trees which lay beyond. I ran silently, because I kept on the edge of the road, where grass grew, and as I drew nearer I saw that the woman kept straight on, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
Presently the moon, which had been under a cloud, shot into the clear sky, so that I could see her plainly. She was clad from head to foot in a long garment, while on her head she wore a hood, as if even in the loneliness of midnight she desired to hide her face. I could see, too, that she was tall and that she moved with rapidity and ease; but that was all, for her back was toward me, and although the light of the moon was bright I could not even tell the colour of the garment she wore.
As I came up close to her, my heart fell to beating wildly, not because of my exertion in overtaking her, but because of the strangeness of my adventure. In truth it seemed as though I were in a dream from which I should presently awake, only to find what had taken place was but the wild fancy which comes to one when one loses control over one's own imaginings.
Whether I should have dared to speak to her I know not, but when I was only a few yards from her I happened to kick a stone which lay in my way, and as it rattled along the road she turned around sharply, and with a cry of fear.
"What do you wish?" she asked, and I noted that her voice trembled not one whit.
But I did not reply; I was so much wrought upon that no words would come to me.
"I have naught to give you," she said, "so pass on and allow me to go my way."
As she spoke her hood dropped from her face and I saw her every feature plainly.
CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT MEETING
My first glance at the woman's face showed me that it was the same as I had seen a few hours before. In the moonlight she looked very pale, and I saw that she was young, not indeed as I judged more than twenty years of age. But what struck me most was the fact that she betrayed no fear; rather I saw a look of defiance, and I could not understand how a woman who had, as I thought, been cowed by the man at the inn could meet me here alone at midnight and be so brave. Nay, as I thought, there was a look of defiance in her face, and a confidence in her own strength.
"I desire naught from you, and I have no will to molest you," I said.
"Then go your way."
"Ay, I will go my way," I replied, "and perchance my way may be yours."
"It cannot be. If you have no will to molest me, take your road and I will take mine."
Her quiet confidence almost angered me. Fearfulness I was prepared to meet, while cries I expected; but to be quietly commanded to pass on, knowing what I knew, made me somewhat impatient, and hence more at my ease.
"It may be, mistress, when I have told you what is in my mind, you will not be so desirous to be rid of me."
"There can be naught in your mind that concerns me." Then with a flash as quick as light she said, "Do you boast of gentle blood, young sir?"
"I am of gentle birth," I replied.
"Then you must know that when a lady would be alone no man of honour will stay by her side."
"That's as may be," I replied. "The lady may be surrounded by dangers of which she knows nothing, in which case the man of honour will stay and protect her even against her will!"
For a moment she gazed around her as if she apprehended danger, but only for a moment.
"Will it please you to pass on?" she said.
"Not until I have told you what is in my mind."
"Then you are a spy."
"As you will," I replied, for the words angered me, and even although I had no sufficient excuse for remaining by her side, I determined to know more of her.
"Perhaps my first impression was right," she went on, "and you are a common thief. If so, it is useless coming to me, I have no money."
At this I was silent, for my brain refused to give me a suitable answer.
"So having no money, and having no desire to remain longer in your company, I will e'en go on my way."
"No you will not."
At this her eyes flashed like fire.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you are afraid to let me know where you are going."
At this she gazed fearfully at me, but she spoke no word.
"Nevertheless, I know the place for which you are bound," I said. "But if I were you I would not go."
"Why?"
"Because the man who sent you seeks only his own safety and not yours. Because he desires to use you only as a key to unlock the door by which he would enter, because he has gained power over you only to make you his tool."
"What do you know of the man who sent me?"
This she said, as I thought, involuntarily, for she quickly went on: "How do you know I have been sent? In these days even a woman may – " and then she stopped suddenly, like one afraid.
"Because