"Why? What charge have you against me?"

"We'll see to that to-morrow morning at the County Court!" was the reply.

"Then let my horse be taken to _The Bull_ stables," I said, for even then I could not bear for him to suffer because of me.

"Ay, and who'll take him?" was the reply.

It was a strange procession as ever man saw, as we walked towards the river; for although my captors still held me fast, Black Ben walked near me, his eyes flashing, while every now and then he shook his head, and snorted dangerously.

When we reached _The Bull_ we stopped.

"Call the ostler," I said, as though I were in command instead of being a prisoner, and a few seconds later, Black Ben allowed himself to be led into the stables.

By this time a greater crowd than ever had gathered. Indeed, as it seemed to me, the whole town had turned out to see us. This vexed me much, for I hated the thought that many hundreds of staring eyes were upon us, but Mistress Constance seemed to heed nothing. She walked along the street, and over the bridge, with head erect, and the faraway look in her eyes as when I had seen her first of all that night.

We were kept near to each other, so near in truth that I could have touched her had my hands been free, but she did not seem to heed me.

"Do not fear," I said to her.

"I fear nothing--for myself," she replied.

"We shall be perchance taken before the king. If we are we shall be set at liberty."

But she shook her head, and after that we spoke to each other no more that night, for a few minutes later I found myself in a dark dungeon of a place, where there was neither light to see, nor fresh air to be breathed.

I will not try to set down here the thoughts and feelings which possessed me that night. Indeed there will be no need to relate them, even if I felt inclined to do so. All who read this will know that it was not of myself that I thought, save only in so far as the interests of Mistress Constance were linked to my own. All my thoughts were concerned with her. Neither did I fear for myself, although I knew I was in great danger. I was for ever asking what would be done to her, and wondering at times whether the mystery which surrounded her would be explained.

As may be imagined, sleep was out of the question, and tired as I should have been under ordinary circ.u.mstances, I felt no weariness.

When daylight shewed itself, even in the foul den where I lay, I fell to wondering how Mistress Constance's hiding place had been discovered, and how she, who had felt so certain of being able to avoid capture, should have allowed herself to be taken by such a clumsy set of yokels as those who brought her thither. I wondered much also where Master Leslie might be, and why he was not by his daughter's side. I at length concluded that he must perchance have gone to London, or he might have found it necessary to place himself in hiding.

Concerning the defence I proposed making for myself I meditated not one whit, for all my interests were swallowed up in those of the woman, the very thought of whom filled me with joy, and yet tore my heart with grief. It must have been perchance eight o'clock when the door opened, and Master Sturgeon entered.

"Ah, young Master Jackanapes," he cried. "So your sins, like chicken, have come home to roost?"

"No, Master Sturgeon," I said, looking him steadily in the face. "I so enjoyed your company when last I saw you that I have taken the first opportunity to meet you again."

"Anger me not, or it will go hard with you," he cried.

"As to that, anger me not," I cried, "or I will e'en tell the town clerk and the mayor what a fool you are. I will tell them how drunk you were, and that I could not only have set one prisoner at liberty, but every one you had under lock and key."

I saw that I had made him fear, although he put a brave face on it.

"Bah! Master Braggart," he cried, "you will see that I will not be again taken in by your boasting."

"I never said I was a zealous servant of the king, even while I became so drunk that I failed to do my duty," I replied. "As to being a braggart, Master Gaoler, I have told you nought but the truth. And this I swear, if Mistress Constance Leslie, or whatever you are pleased to call her, be not kindly treated, I will see to it that a true story of the way you conducted yourself be widely published. Ay, it shall even reach the king's ears. In which case you will no longer be a gaoler, but a prisoner."

"As to that it is my full intention that she shall be treated with all due courtesy," he replied, "but tell me the meaning of what hath taken place, young master. Who are you, and why came you to Bedford? I promise you that aught you shall say to me shall do you good rather than harm."

"As to that presently," I replied. "But will you on your part first tell me something?"

"I will tell you all that seemeth right to tell," he replied.

"Then how was the woman who was brought here with me last night taken prisoner?"

"Ay, that is easy to tell," he replied. "I had my suspicion that there might be doings at Goodlands which it might advantage me to know, so I got a warrant to search the place from cellar to c.o.c.k-loft. And this, as you will see, led to good results, for truly the constables had not been in the house a minute before this daughter of Master Leslie's came to the place where the constables were, and gave herself up. Was not this mighty clever on my part?"

"And then you searched no more?" I said.

"There was nought more to search for. You see I had the house searched the day after you--you--set her free from here; but nought could I find, no not a sign of her. But I bided my time. I said, 'she will return,'

and in truth she did."

"You say you did this?" I asked.

"Ay I did--that is me and the justices together."

I said nought at this, although I was sore puzzled at his words, for I thought I saw a meaning in it all far greater than he had dreamt of.

"And now tell me what you promised to tell me?" he said.

"At what hour am I to be brought before the justices?" I asked.

"At ten o'clock," he replied.

"Then I must needs think of my defence," I replied, "and you will have to wait until their worships have examined me."

This, as may be imagined, did not satisfy him, but he had to be content, for I would not answer a single question he put.

At ten o'clock the next day I was brought before the justices of Bedford, but I never dreamed, as I appeared before them, of the things I should presently learn.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CHAPEL OF HERNE

The place into which I was taken was of no great size, nevertheless a large number of people had squeezed themselves in. I judged from this that the affair had been much noised abroad, and that justices from the whole country side had come together, so great was the interest taken. I learnt, however, that the mode of procedure was to be of no ordinary nature, seeing we were no ordinary prisoners. I was told that the justices were to examine us concerning the nature of our guilt, and then if they thought fit, either to pa.s.s us on to the a.s.sizes or to set us at liberty, just as they felt inclined. But not being versed in the ways of the law, I did not trouble much about such matters. For of this I was sure: the justices would not dare to set Mistress Constance at liberty, seeing a warrant had been out against her for a great length of time, and it was not to be expected that they would have mercy upon me, seeing I had helped the woman to liberty.

Nevertheless I knew that for the sake of their own curiosity they would be sure to ask us many questions, and in this way such matters might come to light as I much longed to know.

I saw, moreover, that we were not treated as prisoners of the period were wont to be treated. Nay more, I saw that many of the rustics gazed on us with a kind of respectful curiosity.

"Who are their worships on the bench?" I asked of a man who had conducted me into the justice room, and he pointed them out to me in a friendly way.

"That is Sir John Napier," he said, pointing to a stout choleric old man, "and that," nodding to a man with a very solemn face, "is Sir William Beecher of Howbury. The one to his left is Mr. Gery of Bushmeade, who fought with King Charles against the Roundheads, while the one on his left hand is Sir St. John Chernocke of Hulcote."

And so on, speaking to me as if I were a visitor instead of a prisoner.