Heiress of Haddon. W. E. Doubleday
a pause, "I am hurt, for although I have come off victor without a scratch, I have not come out of the tussle without a bruise or two. I shall tell them I have had a fall. You understand!"
The page acquiesced, the conversation ceased, and the two walked on in silence to rejoin their companions.
CHAPTER III.
THE CLOSE OF THE DAY.
See how the wily rascal plays his part.
With many a groan and many a practised art.
Around his victims he the net entwines,
Nor rests till he is snared within its lines.
But sure such hurtsome craft and wicked toil,
Will eftsoon on the villain's head recoil.
In the meantime the chase had grown in excitement. The hawks were as eager to distinguish themselves as the birds were to escape, and the sport waxed fast and furious.
As the sun declined, the scattered hawkers struggled back to the appointed rendezvous to partake of refreshment ere they began their return journey. By ones and twos they came, bearing with them the trophies of their sport, which they deposited in a heap before the ladies.
No one missed De la Zouch at first, and it was not until nigh upon the conclusion of the meal that his absence was remarked.
"Why, where is Sir Henry de la Zouch?" asked the old knight.
No one had seen him for some time.
"Ah, well," exclaimed Sir George, "'tis a bad plan to be betwixt towns at mealtimes, eh, Doll? I suppose he'll come soon, though. Perhaps he's having the best run of the day all alone;" and the knight sighed at the bare thought of his being away from it.
But Sir George's anticipations were not fulfilled, for when the meal was finished De la Zouch had not appeared.
"He may have met with an accident?" suggested Manners.
"I rather think Sir Henry is afraid of me," stammered old Sir John de
Lacey, as he buried his face in the last tankard of ale.
"Then he were wise indeed to stay away," added Sir Thomas Stanley, with a sly wink. "I, for one, would not lightly risk a combat with so doughty a knight as yourself, else Margaret might eftsoon weep for a lover departed."
As there was still some time left, and there was no certain knowledge that Sir Henry needed their assistance, it was determined to return slowly homewards, and if sport offered itself upon the way to turn aside and follow it. The party had not been long in motion before it roused a "fall" of woodcocks, the very sight of which—so excessively rare at such a time—infused into the sportsmen all the animation of which they were capable. The hawks shot up after them, and their bells, which could be heard tinkling even when the birds were beyond the range of vision, served in some degree to inform the hunters which direction they should take.
"Well, if De la Zouch is doing better than this, why then he is welcome to it," said Sir George, as with his coat sleeve he wiped away the perspiration which was streaming down his face. "'Tis fine sport, this, Master Manners," he added, and the old baron chuckled with glee.
It was at this moment that the head falconer approached.
"We have found Sir Henry, my lord," he said. "He is sorely injured by a fall."
"Ha! is that so? Then you were right, Master Manners," exclaimed Sir
George, as he turned round to the falconer. "Where is he?" he asked.
"Over the ditch, my lord, close by the wall where his page is standing by his side," and he pointed to where Eustace stood.
Sir George blew his horn, and in answer to the signal the eager hunters broke off their chase and returned, puzzled in no small degree by the summons they had received. In a few brief words the situation was explained to them, and the party rapidly pushed on to rejoin their injured companion.
De Lacey, upon hearing that his quondam friend was hurt, was so overcome by a most chivalric spirit of forgiveness that he determined to be the first to reach his side, and to offer him what relief lay within his power. Filled with this noble resolve, he hurried forward, but, unfortunately for him, he was not destined to accomplish his mission, for as he was crossing the ditch his pole snapped asunder, and he suddenly found himself located in the very centre of the rank mud dyke. There he was, and all his efforts to free himself caused him only to sink deeper and deeper.
"O, Blessed Mary, save me; save me!" he yelled out in an agony of anguish as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking; but not, apparently, feeling very much assured about the answer to his prayer, he turned from things spiritual to things visible and mortal.
"Help me; save me, George," he cried.
Sir George Vernon was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the affair to lend any assistance just then, for he well knew that two feet, if not less than that, was the excess of its depth.
"Let him alone," he cried. "If he had not so befuddled his head with ale he would remember as well as I do that twenty inches would reach the bottom of the mud."
Had Lady Maude been there she would in all probability have sent her lord and master to aid the poor unfortunate, but she was safe at Haddon, and, rejoicing in his freedom from restraint, he laughed louder and louder as he watched the frantic efforts of his friend.
"Don't let me die," pleaded poor De Lacey. "Don't let me die like a dog. Oh, dear, I'm going, I'm going! Blessed Virgin, help me; save me!" and the old man made a last great struggle to free himself.
Manners could bear it no longer. He clearly perceived that what was fun to them was mortal terror to the pitiable object of their merriment, and, advancing to the edge of the dyke, he held out his pole at arm's length to render him what assistance he could.
"Here, take hold of it," he cried.
Sir John endeavoured to obey the injunction, but he could not even touch it, and he sank back again in despair.
"Why, man," laughed Sir George, "as I'm a Vernon, you know as well as
I do that thou canst never sink deep in two feet of mud."
The words roused De Lacey to struggle to his feet and attempt to extricate himself. He staggered forward and advanced a foot or two, but the slimy mud had such a determined hold of him that he overbalanced himself, and fell forward at full length into the ditch. This time, however, he was closer to the bank, and making another effort, he grasped the pole which was still held out to help him. Manners leaned forward, and pulled with all his might, but for some time it was an open question whether he would go in or Sir John come out.
At this critical juncture Dorothy arrived upon the scene of the disaster. The sight of the old man's distress at once appealed to her womanly nature, and she had but to murmur a word of pity, when, in a moment, half-a-dozen knights leapt over to fulfil her unspoken wish. With this accession of strength the captive was easily freed, and a queer figure he was. It would have been difficult for a stranger to have determined exactly what he was; for, covered as he was to the depth of several inches with black mud, he looked more like an animal of prehistoric times—such as we see represented by fossils—than any human being.
De Lacey was promptly rolled upon the turf, and the pages set to work and endeavoured to reach his person by scraping away the adhesive slime with the aid of sticks and stones.
"Get up, man, get up," exclaimed Sir George. "Here is Doll waiting to honour thee with a dance."
Dorothy shrank back, while Sir John, utterly exhausted, sank back again helplessly upon the ground. Seeing that he was totally unable to walk of his own accord, and in too dirty a condition to lean upon anyone's arm, a rough