301


mit
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HOPE THE HERMIT
A NOVEL
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Once in a blithe greenwood, liv'd a hermit wise and good,
Whom the folks from far and near
For his counsel sought, knowing well that what he taught
The dreariest of hearts would cheer.
Though his hair was white, his eye was clear and bright,
And he thus was ever wont to say:
"Though to care we are born, yet the dullest morn
Often heralds in the fairest day!"
*
* *
* * *
* * * *
*
Pray, is the hermit dead? from the forest has he fled?
No, he lives to counsel all
Who an ear will lend to their wisest, truest friend,
And Hope, the hermit's name they call;
Still he sits, I ween, 'mid branches ever green,
And cheerily you may hear him say:
"Though to care we are born, yet the dullest morn
Often heralds in the fairest day!"
―
- From Chappell's Old English Ditties.


DEDICATED
TO THE
REV. CANON AND MRS. RAWNSLEY,
IN MEMORY OF
PLEASANT HOURS AT CROSTHWAITE.





HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER I.
"Come, Death! and match thy quiet gloom
With Being's darkling strife,
Come, sit beside the lonely Tomb,
The Solitude of Life!"
HOUGHTON.
THE sun had set. A crimson glow lit up the western
sky and lingered on the mountain tops, but the little
white farm among the hills was already in shadow. There
it stood in lonely Watendlath, and even on this summer
evening in the year 1668 its walls had witnessed the
joys and sorrows of many generations. Yet never had
so sad a story been enacted in the old house as the
one which was now drawing to a close-dying out with
the day, but less peacefully.
A deep porch with stone steps led up to the thick
oaken door heavily studded with nails, but wide open
now to let in the summer air; in the large house-place,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
or kitchen, two women sat by the fire talking, and to the
left a door led into a second room which, in a sudden
emergency, had been converted into a guest chamber.
The guest was evidently dying. Death was written
on her white face and pale lips, which contrasted so
curiously with the ruddy face of the little new-born
child, nestled on her arm. They were in every way a
contrast. The mother, a mere girl of seventeen, wore
a look of heartrending grief and anxiety; the baby was
wrapt in a peace as profound and untroubled as if he
had begun an existence in the Garden of Eden, instead
of being launched on the waves of this troublesome
world.
"If only your father would come," sighed the girl.
"If only I could once hear him promise to care for you!
Yet what use would it be? He ever promises and pro-
mises. Did he not vow when we were wed to cherish
and love me—and what has it proved? For a week
of happiness I have lost home and all who loved me
there."
And at this thought she fell a-crying, but was terri-
fied to find that her sobs were quite tearless. Had not
her old nurse at home once told her that the dying
can shed no tears? "Oh, John!" she moaned, "come
back to me! Come back! I can't die alone in this
strange place."
The mistress of the house, kind-hearted Mary Wilson,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
9
paused for a minute in her talk, thinking the babe had
cried; but finding that all was still she took up the
thread of her story again, and poured into the ears of
the neighbour who had come to bear her company that
night the amazing news which had stirred the quiet
Cumberland farmhouse from its usual peace.
Two nights ago, just as it was growing dusk, a
gentleman wearing the usual long, curled wig, and with
feathers in the broad-brimmed hat which was pulled low
over his brow, had knocked at the door of the farm and
had begged their hospitality for his wife, who was quite
unable to travel further. He had lifted the lady from
the pillion and half led, half carried her into the house,
whereupon Mary Wilson, seeing the plight she was in,
and touched by the sweet face and golden-brown eyes
which had lighted with relief as they looked into hers,
hastened to make the guest-room ready. Busy with her
preparations, she had never noticed the gentleman rid-
ing away from the farm, but when she came back into
the house-place there was the lady all alone by the
hearth crying like a tired child.
The neighbour, who had listened to all this with
bated breath, made that shocked sound with her tongue
against the roof of her mouth by which women can ex-
press so much.
"He shouldna ha'e left ye,' says I to her," resumed
Mary Wilson. "But at that the leddy drew herself oop


ΙΟ
HOPE THE HERMIT.
an' says she, 'My husband will coom back; he will but
leave me to rest awhile.' I said nae mair an' juist
helped her to bed, but in the mornin' I saw how 'twad
be, and at cock-crow to-day the laal barn was born."
"A doot the gentleman will never coom back," said
the neighbour, shaking her head ominously. "It's the
auld story."
"Mappen they've never been weddit," said Mary
Wilson. "But I'm loth to think ill of the puir leddy.
Anyhoo, she's deein'. She'll no be lang in this world,
puir soul."
In the next room all this had been quite audible,
nor did the Cumbrian expressions at all veil the truth
from the dying girl. They were perfectly familiar to
her, and the words went to her heart like a sword-thrust.
She drew down the little unconscious child closer to her
heart, holding him with a passionate devotion, as if
her frail arms could shield him from the hard, cruel
world.
"It's a lie," she whispered. "You are his true son
and heir, my sweet one. Oh, John! why don't you come
back to me? Why did you make me promise not to
tell them our name?”
What was that last thing they had said? She was
dying? Would not be long in this world? Why, then,
this little defenceless child of hers would be left name-
less and unfriended, with a doubt, a horrible slur, cast


HOPE THE HERMIT.
I I
on his birth! Was she bound still to keep her word
and to say nothing? Or could it be true that her hus-
hand was so utterly weary of her that he really never
meant to return? Unhappy as her short married life
had been, she was yet too loyal to credit such a thought
as that. He had often left her for weeks at a time, but
he had always returned. The haunting thought re-
mained, however, that he might return now too late.
Nor could she flatter herself that he would take very
much trouble about his child. It was not John's way
to burden himself-he left the burdens to other people.
"Mappen they've never been weddit," her hostess
had said. Other people would say the same, very likely,
and the child would be the sufferer. What could she
do for him?
In those days wedding rings were not all of one
pattern; any ring served. She drew from her finger the
one her husband had given her. It was a thick gold
ring with a large sapphire set in it, and the poesy en-
graved on the inner side was this:--
In Christ and thee my comfort be.
A little tearless sob escaped her as she glanced at
the words. "John" had proved a sorry comforter, and
had deserted her in her greatest need. She had ex-
cused him with a sort of patient dignity when Mary
Wilson blamed him, but in her heart she knew that he


I 2
HOPE THE HERMIT.
had cruelly neglected the woman he had vowed to love
and cherish.
"I will fasten this round the child," she said to her-
self; "maybe it will speak for him when I am gone."
And catching at a bit of green ribbon which hung from
her travelling cloak, she tore it off with some difficulty,
threaded the ring on it, and tied the ends securely under
the child's clothes.
At this he woke and began to wail piteously, which
brought Mary Wilson from the next room.
She just
glanced at the shadowy face on the pillow, and then
called quickly to her neighbour to come and hold the
infant.
"The puir leddy is passin' awa'," she said, lifting the
child from its mother's breast and giving it to her com-
panion. "Tell me the gentleman's name, dear," she
pleaded, raising the dying girl's head tenderly.
There was a slight gesture of refusal. The colour-
less lips closed firmly.
"Tell me juist his name," urged Mary Wilson, "or
your feyther's name. Mappen the gentleman hath
wronged thee, but--"
She broke off, astonished by the energy and strength
which suddenly nerved the form she was supporting.
The dying girl sat bolt upright; a glow of colour
rose in her pale face.
"I call God to witness that he is my lawful hus-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
13
band," she cried, and without another word she fell
back dead in Mary Wilson's arms.
The sunset glow had faded and the night had set
in when two travellers passed by the gloomy Watend-
lath tarn, upon which the moonlight made a broad,
silvery track.
"Ha!" exclaimed the elder of the two, "the good
folk at the farm are still astir; there's a light in the
window. What does that bode? I wish, Christopher,
you would go on and ask how Lucy fares.
You can
say her husband hath sent for tidings. It would be as
well that I should not show my face in Watendlath an
it can be helped."
"What is the name of the farm people?" asked
Christopher Vane, a somewhat thickset and heavy-
featured lad who looked about eighteen, but was in
reality younger.
"Their name is Wilson. But the man himself is
away at some fair. I will wait for you here. Already
we have roused all the dogs of the place."
Christopher Vane, not much liking his errand, but
accustomed to obey this brilliant friend of his, who was
a courtier and a wit besides being fifteen years his senior,
moved off in the direction of the little white farm and
knocked at the door.
"How fares it with the lady who came here for


14
HOPE THE HERMIT.
shelter two nights ago?" he asked, when Mary Wilson
appeared in answer to his summons.
"Oh, sir, she has passed awa' this verra night," re-
plied the good woman. "Her laal barn-a son, sir-
was born at cock-crow."
Christopher Vane made a stifled ejaculation. "Wait
a bit," he said; "I must speak a few words to my friend
here."
Mary Wilson saw him stride hastily down to the side
of the little beck, which foamed and tumbled over its
rocky bed not far from the house. He disappeared in
the shadow of the trees, and after a few minutes a
taller and older man came slowly forward into the moon-
light. Looking sharply at the plumed hat and the
general outline of the form, the mistress of the house
had no difficulty in recognising the strange gentleman
who had asked for shelter two nights since, but then, as
now, his face had been half hidden.
"Where is the child?" he said, abruptly.
She led him into the kitchen, where, in a wooden
cradle, lay the new-born infant.
"Put one of the lady's cloaks about it and give it to
me," he said, with the merest glance at the little dark
head nestled into the pillow.
Mary Wilson hesitated. "The night is cauld, sir,"
she ventured, "and a babe in swaddling clothes-—”


HOPE THE HERMIT.
15
"Do as I tell you," he said, with a peremptory
gesture, "and let me have a light here.”
He moved towards the inner room and Mary Wilson
lit a candle, and would have carried it for him into the
death chamber; but, taking it from her with a hand
which trembled a little, he went in, shutting the door
behind him.
In the presence of death a momentary sense of awe
had quenched the courtier's mirth. His heartless schemes
were for awhile checked; tears stood in his eyes as he
looked on the lovely, tranquil face of the girl he had
loved for a few weeks and whose life he had wrecked.
"It would have been
well for both of us if we had never met!
"Poor Lucy!" he muttered.
here is this cursed brat to be disposed of!
he not the grace to die with you?"
And now
Why had
He drew the sheet once more over the face of the
dead girl, and, setting down the candle, paced to and
fro with knitted brow.
"There is no help for it," he said to himself at last.
"He stands in the way of all my schemes. And after
all who will be the worse for it? That it goes against
my stomach proves naught."
He caught up the warm travelling cloak which Lucy
had worn but a day or two ago, and strode back to the
kitchen, where Mary Wilson held the sleeping child in
The firelight flickered upon the rosy little.
her arms.


16
HOPE THE HERMIT.
face; how full of life it seemed after the marble face in
the inner room! He shuddered and turned away,
ostensibly to count out some money from his purse.
"I am obliged to you for all you have done," he
said, placing some gold pieces in the woman's hand.
"I want no payment, sir," she replied, with quiet
dignity. "The puir leddy was welcome to a' the help I
could gi'e her."
"Then keep this for the burial," he said, quickly.
"I would stay to arrange things myself were it possible,
but urgent and pressing business calls me away from
this part of England. Give me the child."
Between the thought of the burial of the poor lady,
and what her husband would say to it all when he
came back from the fair, and this sudden demand for
the infant, Mary Wilson was so much agitated that
words failed her, nor did she venture on a second re-
monstrance when the gentleman took the sleeping child
in his arms, flung a corner of his own short cloak over
it, and, with a promptitude which fairly bewildered her,
threw open the door and passed down the steps. When
he had actually disappeared her faculties returned to
her, and hastening out into the porch she called after
him eagerly, "Sir, sir, at least tell me your name!"
But there was no reply, nor could she even hear his
footsteps. A passing cloud had hidden the moon; no-
thing was to be seen but the dark outline of the hills,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
17
nothing was to be heard save the familiar rushing of
the little beck. But after awhile, as she stood there
straining her ears in the hope of hearing his steps, she
caught the dreaded sound of the phantom hounds bay-
ing as they hunted the "barfoot stag". Then in deadly
terror she closed and barred the door, and, crouching
beside the kitchen fire, said the Lord's Prayer for com-
fort; for was it not well known that the "barfoot stag,"
the terror of that part of the country, always went
through Watendlath tarn, and was chased over the fells
down into Borrowdale?
In the meantime Christopher Vane had been rejoined
by his companion, and the two men were making their
way to Rosthwaite.
"It's well you know the path," said Christopher,
stumbling down the rough track. "You seem to the
manner born."
"Well, that's not unnatural," replied his friend.
"This part of the world was known to me as a boy, and
one doesn't forget things learnt in youth."
A muffled wail made Christopher start.
"Good lord! what's that?" he cried, in alarm.
"No banshee," said his companion, with a laugh.
"Only this brat of mine has roused up, worse luck to
him."
"You have brought the child away?"
"Yes; it was the safest plan. The woman would
Hope the Hermit. I.
2


18
HOPE THE HERMIT.
never have kept him without asking a score of awkward
questions, she was too shrewd for that."
"What shall you do with it?" said Christopher.
"Dispose of it somewhere in Borrowdale, the lone-
liest place in creation, and then ignore the fact that it
ever existed. I know I can trust you to keep a still
tongue. I have your oath."
"Yes, you have," said Christopher Vane, not daring
to remonstrate with his friend, yet secretly uneasy about
this night's work. "I suppose you'll leave the babe with
some of the dales-folk?" he suggested, hesitatingly.
"I have a scheme in my head," said the older man.
They had by this time reached the valley, and the
speaker paused for a minute.
"Do you recollect the way to Longthwaite?" he
asked; "over yonder and across the river."
"Yes," said Christopher; "I can find my way there
if the moon keeps clear."
"Then you go on and bid them prepare us the best
meal they can, with plenty of hot spiced ale, and in an
hour or two, when light breaks, we will take horse and
go over the Stake Pass.”
"Where are you going now?" said Christopher, un-
easily.
"Only to dispose safely of this brat. I'll be with
you anon; and mind! not a word as to the child. We'll
keep a golden silence."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
19
So saying, he turned sharply to the right, while
Christopher Vane made his way slowly to Longthwaite
Farm, where their horses were stabled.
For some time the infant had made no sound what-
ever; it had, in fact, been violently jogged to sleep as
its father strode down the steep track from Watendlath.
Once it crossed his mind that perhaps it had been
stifled beneath his cloak. He paused in a little clear-
ing where the moonbeams pierced the trees, and looked
at it. In the cold, pale light the tiny face was like
marble. Surely the child was dead! He felt quite
kindly towards it for having considerately relieved him
from a piece of work very little to his taste. But even
as he looked a smile flickered over the face of the
sleeping child, and it stirred a tiny yet vigorous-look-
ing fist.
With a muttered curse the father flung the cloak
over it, and again strode on through lovely Borrowdale,
with its stately trees and craggy mountains and its river
gleaming like a silver thread in the moonlight.
"I ought to have hired some ruffian to do my dirty
work," he reflected. "Yet then there is always the risk
of betrayal. After all, if I christen the imp first it will
but translate him to Paradise. I'll get down by the
river as soon as may be. Old Father Francis once told
me that lay baptism was valid, but I'll warrant he never
2*


20
HOPE THE HERMIT.
thought of the baptiser drowning the child the next
minute."
He laughed grimly, but there was, nevertheless, a
sick feeling at his heart; he shivered. It seemed to him
that the little unconscious babe was drawing out all his
vital heat, it lay so warm and peacefully on his arm.
Waging an uncomfortable debate within himself, he
strode on until he could see the outline of Castle Crag
just across the river, while not far from him on the hill-
side to the right was the huge detached piece of rock
known by the dales-folk as the Bowder Stone. He must
go no further or, as he well knew, he should come
within sight of the tiny hamlet of Grange.
The piece of work he so cordially detested must be
done without any more delay. Quitting the rough mule
track, he bent his steps to the left and climbed down
to the riverside, depositing his burden on the grass, and
removing Lucy's mantle, which had been folded about it.
Rolling this into a tight bundle, he hid it in the hollow
trunk of an old oak tree, and paused for a minute to
remove from beneath his doublet a miniature which
hung there.
"I'd better throw this into the Derwent," he re-
flected, "or else bury it here. If Lucy's successor were
to come across it her jealousy would be up in arms,
and she would get at the whole truth by hook or by
crook."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
21
In the moonlight he glanced for the last time at the
sweet, girlish face, and with a stifled sigh thrust the
miniature under a flat stone beside the oak, to the great
discomfiture of the ants beneath it. Then, lifting the
sleeping child once more, he stepped down to the water's
edge.
"It's a
"What shall I name the imp?" he thought.
matter of little moment. I will name him after the
river which is to carry him to Paradise." And bending
down he sprinkled the child's brow, hastily muttering
the words, "Derwent, I baptise thee, in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."
He had hoped not to rouse his little son, but at the
first touch of the cold water the infant awoke; he could
have sworn that it looked up at him with Lucy's eyes—
that the tiny face of the new-born babe was the face of
the wife he had neglected. Something in its helpless-
ness and innocence appealed to him strongly. He cursed
his own weakness, but he could not, as he had intended,
drown this little defenceless mortal.
"There are things a gentleman cannot put his hand.
to," he said to himself, with a soothing sense of his
innate refinement. "I cannot do it. I will only leave
him here by the river.”
And without any more delay he put the child down
on the wet grass at the foot of a silver birch tree, and
turned to go, pluming himself on his forbearance.


22
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Like so many, he failed to see that it is often more
cruel for a parent to desert a child than to murder it
outright that desertion is in fact, as a rule, only
murder long drawn out. Without once looking back, he
turned away to regain the mule track, when suddenly
he paused, rooted to the spot by overmastering terror.
What unearthly tumult was this which greeted him? On
the mountain-side, above the Bowder Stone, there came
the blood-curdling sound of that mysterious phantom
hunt which he had heard of in his boyhood. The
"barfoot stag" had made its way through Watendlath
tarn, and was now plunging down in its headlong course
to Borrowdale. He could hear the awful baying of the
phantom hounds and the rushing of many feet; nay,
there came a moment when he could hear the panting
of the stag close beside him. Then he could endure
the mystery of it no longer, but fled to Rosthwaite, run-
ning the faster because a wailing, piteous voice rang in
his ears, and he knew that the phantom hunt must be
plunging into the Derwent at the very place where his
baby son lay helpless and forlorn.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
23
CHAPTER II.
"The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
The acorn on the hill,
Each for some separate end is born
In season fit, and still
Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty will."
STEPHENSON.
Now it chanced that the worthy owner of Isel Hall
-one Sir Wilfrid Lawson-who had great possessions
in Cumberland, and owned part of Borrowdale besides
St. Herbert's Isle on Derwentwater, had come to spend
a few weeks at his summer house on the island. He,
waking early and seeing that the day bade fair to be still
and cloudy-just such a day as Isaak Walton commends
to anglers-ordered his gillie to make ready the boat,
in which they rowed from St. Herbert's Isle, and the
water being high after much rain, made their way up
the river within sight of Grange Farm.
Having fastened the boat to an ash tree, Sir Wilfrid
in his fishing boots strode along the bank in the direc-
tion of Castle Crag, and had just landed his first trout
when Dickon, the gillie, came hurrying back with con-
sternation in his sunburnt face. "Sir," he said, "there's


24
HOPE THE HERMIT.
a strange cratur over yonder—an uncanny cratur, that
makes a sound betwixt a lamb's bleat and the hootin' of
an owl."
Sir Wilfrid laughed.
"Go and bring me this strange thing," he said.
But Dickon hesitated.
"Weel, sir, the cratur's uncanny; maybe it would
bewitch us. I will fetch it, sir, if you order it—but—
I've no liking for bogles."
66
'Come, come," said the knight. "Who ever heard
of bogles after sunrise? I'll go and see the monster my-
self. Where is it?"
Dickon, glad to be quit of the duty of fetching this
strange thing, led the way a few hundred yards up the
river and pointed across to the further bank, where,
under a silver birch tree, was a white bundle which
certainly justified his description.
Sir Wilfrid strode across from boulder to boulder,
waded through the shallower part of the river, and
stepped on to the further shore. His companion, made
brave by his example, followed closely in his wake.
"Why, God preserve us!" exclaimed the knight.
"Tis a new-born babe, and someone must have de-
serted it hours ago, for the poor brat is half-dead with
cold lying in this heavy dew. Better have drowned it
outright than have left it to suffer like this."
Dickon, ashamed of his fears, ventured now to pick


HOPE THE HERMIT.
25
up the poor little mortal, whose wailing had chilled his
blood.
"This be no gipsy's child, sir," he said. "See, its
swaddlin' clothes be fine and soft."
The knight looked perplexed. Had they been near
any highroad he could have understood it; but a de-
serted child in Borrowdale, where travellers hardly ever
ventured! This was a mystery indeed.
"Well, we can scarce hope to track the parents," he
said, “and anyhow we must first carry this poor little
imp to some shelter. Perhaps Anne Fisher at Grange
Farm would see to it. She has an infant of her own."
"Nay, sir; it died
three days since, and I heard
Agnes say that her mother was to nurse Mistress Rad-
cliffe's infant."
"Well, carry it to Grange and let us see what can
be done," said Sir Wilfrid.
"We shall have it dying if
there's much more delay. Of all cowardly deeds the
most cowardly is to bring a child into the world and
then to desert it. I wish I had the horse-whipping of
its father!"
They tramped back to Grange, and the knight
knocked at the door of the snug farmhouse and told the
mistress of the discovery they had made. Anne Fisher's
sad face brightened with a gleam of amusement as she
glanced at awkward Dickon and the burden he was
bearing.


26
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Why, Dickon!" she said, "you hold the babe face
down for all the world as if't were a pig. Give it to
me. Bless its heart, it is half-starved with the cauld."
She took it in her motherly arms, and sitting down
by the kitchen fire, began to unfold the soft flannel and
fine linen in which it was swathed.
"Why, here is a ring, sir, tied aboot it," she ex-
claimed. "It's clear this child belongs to gentlefolks.
And noo I think o' it, Agnes did say that she saw two
gentlemen, foreigners to Borrowdale, riding from Keswick
at dusk yesterday."
Sir Wilfrid looked at the ring, with its magnificent
sapphire; then he read the poesy and shrugged his
shoulders. He felt convinced that he should never un-
ravel the mystery, but being a practical and a most
kindly man he determined to do all that could be done
for the poor little waif whom he had rescued from a
lingering and painful death.
"Look here, Anne," he said.
little imp for awhile I will make
"If you will tend this
myself responsible for
Before long this boy
all charges that you are put to.
will be worth his salt. If he promises well I will have
him educated, and if he is a dunce-why, at the worst
he can be put to field work. Is that Mistress Radcliffe's
babe? I hear there is great disappointment on Lord's
Island that this posthumous child is a lassie.”


HOPE THE HERMIT.
27
He bent down to glance at an infant that slept by
the hearth in a wooden cradle.
"Yes, sir; old Sir Nicholas Radcliffe langed sair for
a grandson. Mrs. Radcliffe has put the barn out to
nurse for a year,” said Anne Fisher. "And it's glad I
am to have her now that my own babe is taken. As
for this little one, I'll do my best for him, sir; you may
trust me."
"Ay, I would trust you, Anne, sooner than any
woman in the world," said Sir Wilfrid, with a glance at
the strong, quiet face, with its look of motherly patience
and tenderness. "I go back to Isel to-day, but by
Michaelmas I shall be over again for the shooting, and
will come and see how this little imp thrives."
Bidding her good-day he left the farm, and Anne,
having warmed and fed and washed her little charge,
laid him in the cradle by the tiny descendant of the
Derwentwaters, little dreaming that, while the one by
her sex had failed to inherit the coveted property in
Patterdale, the other had been disinherited and deserted.
by the cruel caprice of his own father.
Supremely indifferent to all this, however, the two
little mortals lay cosily beside the hearth in the farm-
house kitchen, and Anne Fisher rocked the cradle and
sang to comfort her own sad heart one of the old metrical
psalms:-


28
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Unto the righteous doth arise
In trouble joy, in darknesse light:
Compassion is in his eyes,
And mercy alwaies in his sight:
Yea, pitie moveth such to lend,
He doth by judgment things expend.
And surely such shall never faile,
For in remembrance had is he,
No tidings ill can make him quaile,
Who in the Lord sure hope doth see.
His heart is firm, his feare is past,
For he shall see his foes down cast.
True to his word, Sir Wilfrid Lawson visited the
farm again at Michaelmas, bringing with him this time
his wife. Beyond the fact that two strange gentlemen
had rested their horses at Longthwaite Farm the night
before the discovery of the child, nothing had transpired.
Up at Watendlath they were busy with the harvest, and
then Mary Wilson had been ill, and though her husband
had certainly been down to Keswick Market he was a
man who had a wonderful gift of silence, and when he
did open his lips it was to discourse of crops and to
grumble at the weather.
"Has the child been baptised yet?" asked Lady
Lawson, who took very kindly to the pretty little un-
known babe.
.
"No, ma'am, but Mistress Radcliffe's is to be chris-
tened at Crosthwaite Church to-morrow morn, and


HOPE THE HERMIT.
29
maybe I'd better take the little lad, too.
be called, sir?"
What is he to
"Poor little imp, I doubt he has no surname," said
the knight. "We had better call him after the river-
it's there we found him; as for his Christian name-
since he is to be christened at Michaelmas-let him be
called Michael, and you and I, my dear, will be
sponsors."
Lady Lawson assented, and held the little babe.
tenderly enough in her motherly arms the next day in
Crosthwaite Church. At the last moment there was a
hue and cry for a second godfather, the parish clerk
sturdily refusing to add to his already large number of
godchildren.
"I'd do it for a parishioner," he said, "but at for-
eigners I draw the line; a parish clerk must draw the
line somewhere."
At that there stepped forward a curious-looking man,
with an enormous forehead and a bush of flaxen hair.
It was the Keswick fiddler-usually known as Sebastian
Snoggles-though, as he was apt to inform the good
Cumbrians, his name was not that at all, but Zinogle.
His grandfather had been one of the miners who came
over from Germany in Queen Elizabeth's days to work
the copper mines now closed, and "Snoggles" was a
popular person in all the country round because-


30
HOPE THE HERMIT.
although "a Dutchman"-he played divinely on the
fiddle.
"I'm ready to stand sponsor," he said, with a twinkle
in his blue eyes.
"I'm not one myself to draw the line
at foreigners."
And the little discussion being over, the ceremony
proceeded, and Michael the foundling, and Audrey, the
youngest member of the Keswick branch of the Derwent-
waters, were enrolled in the Christian army.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
31
CHAPTER III.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT.
Begun in this month of August, Anno Domini 1687, at Christ's
College, Cambridge.
"Two children in one hamlet born and bred,
So runs the round of life from hour to hour."
TENNYSON.
A SEN'NIGHT since there came to me here at Cam-
bridge a fellow who had lain at Isel Hall and had been
charged with messages to me by Sir Wilfrid Lawson.
Lady Lawson, who had always shown me great kind-
ness, sent me sundry gifts welcome enough to a poor
sizar who likes very ill to go shabby about the world,
and in the parcel, to my great content, was enclosed
another smaller packet directed in Audrey Radcliffe's
irregular writing and indifferent spelling. As I hastily
unfolded the paper I saw two pair of most well-knit
socks, with sprigs of lavender laid between them; and
with the smell there seemed to rise before me a vision
of the pleasance on Lord's Island, and of my playmate
and foster-sister, and the world felt to me a better place,
just because she was in it, and because she took thought
for me and my needs.
A student left alone at Cambridge in the Long Vaca-


32
HOPE THE HERMIT.
tion is apt to mope like an owl by day, and in the
drowsy, enervating heat of the summer noon I found
myself consumed with longing for the old days at
Borrowdale, climbing once more in imagination Scafell
and Great Gable, and roaming with Audrey along the
shores of Derwentwater. To wake from those dreams
of the past to the deathly quiet of Cambridge in August
was dreary enough; to trudge alone over that desolate,
flat country only made me more homesick for the
mountains of my own north country, while to look out
into the grey quad of Christ's, where not a single man
was left to bear me company, made me at times well-
nigh desperate.
One day, when thoughts of Audrey had haunted me
more incessantly than ever, it came into my head that
I would write down some of the recollections of our
childhood, and no sooner had I taken pen and paper
in hand than I found a sort of companionship in the
notion, and what with writing and remembering and
living over again the old days I passed the time in-
different well.
My earliest recollection is a strange one. It is of
the landing-place at Lowdore, not far from the mill.
Old Zinogle was beside me with his fiddle, and we
stood watching a boat and measuring with our eyes
the swiftly-increasing space between it and the bank.
Some of the Lord's Island servants were in the boat,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
33
and beside them sat Audrey, a plump, jolly little child
of three, much excited at the long-deferred home-going,
and chatting fast to her companions, yet ever and anon
turning to wave farewells to me. I can remember now
the horrid way in which the boat dwindled and dwindled
till it was a mere speck in the distance, and then I flung
myself down upon the grass and sobbed, for Borrowdale
felt as desolate as a wilderness.
Zinogle and the miller talked together; the old fiddler
said it was cruel to part us when we were just like
sweethearts. I had no idea what the word meant, but
his tone was sympathetic and comforting.
The miller, on the other hand, argued that it was
not to be expected that Mrs. Radcliffe would let her
daughter be any longer with a brat that had neither
father nor mother, but had just been picked up under
a bush.
He had a slow, drawling voice, and his words made
a deep impression on me. When he was gone I asked
question.
my old friend the fiddler a
"Snoggles," I said, hiding my wet face on his shaggy
beard, "was it wrong of me to be picked up under a
bush?"
"Why', no, my laddie," he said, gathering me up in
his strong arms, and laughing. "But very wrong of
them that left ye there; and when ye grow to be a
man, laddie, I should set off like Jack in the fairy tale
Hope the Hermit. I.
3


34
HOPE THE HERMIT.
and find them that did ye that wrong. I hope to God
ye'll ha'e your rights yet. Often enoo 'tis the grey
dawn that brings the fine day. So don't forget to hope,
laddie. Hope maun be your guiding star through life.”
Luckily for me, Lord's Island did not suit Audrey
well, or perhaps she pined for companionship. At any-
rate, it happened that she was constantly being sent
back to Grange Farm; so that practically we grew up
together, belonging to each other from the very first.
As for Anne Fisher, she was as happy as I was when
Audrey returned, and I overheard her once saying to the
servant who had come from the island that the children
did each other a "mort o' good," that the boy made
the girl brave, and the girl made the boy gentle.
There was certainly truth in the last notion, for nobody
could have been rough with one like Audrey; and
though she was as brave as anyone could have desired,
she was none of your stuck-up, independent lasses, but
from the first loved to have a stronger hand to help her
in climbing as we roamed about the hills and scrambled
about the crags.
In those days I think we learned to know every
inch of the fells. We would play at Cavaliers and
Roundheads by the hour together, and many were the
hiding-places in which distressed fugitives found shelter
from imaginary pursuers. There was what we called
the Steeple Rock on Grange Fell, where actually in


HOPE THE HERMIT.
35
sight of the farm we could hide in a narrow little cleft;
and there was the wood in what we called the Happy
Valley, a tiny, unfrequented gully among the hills, where
beneath an old yew tree was a sheltered recess, which
we considered our most secure retreat. But, perhaps,
our favourite expedition was a long scramble up to
high Lowdore, where in a V-shaped opening between
Shepherd's Crag and Gowder Crag one could catch a
lovely glimpse of Skiddaw and of Derwentwater, with
its islands like little green dots on a silver shield. I
remember there was a hiding-place not far from here
in the woods betwixt Lowdore and Ashness Farm. We
called it the quarry, and often made our hunted patriots
take shelter there. But to no one did we ever reveal
these secrets, but treasured them up as possessions of
our very own, fully believing that some day we might
need them ourselves. And what would be the good of
a secret hiding-place if all Borrowdale knew of it?
In the evenings Anne would sometimes be persuaded
into telling us of the Borrowdale bogle. She had not
seen it herself, but her daughter Agnes had seen it and
would never speak to us on the subject, looking scared
if the very word bogle was spoken in her presence.
This ghost was a far-away kinsman of Audrey's—a
Radcliffe, but of which of the many branches I never
clearly understood.
The story ran that when in the time of the Civil
3*


36
HOPE THE HERMIT.
War St. Herbert's Isle had been garrisoned for the
Parliament, some wag thought to amuse himself at the
expense of one of the Royalist defenders of Carlisle
Castle, Robert Phillipson, and persuaded him that the
custodian of St. Herbert's Isle was a traitor and would
yield up his valuable store of ammunition. Accordingly
Anne told us that Mr. Phillipson sallied forth one night
from Carlisle, cut his way through the lines besieging
the castle, and with a strong party of men rode up to
Cat Bells. But then he found that it was all a jest;
every boat was drawn up upon the island, and when he
summoned the St. Herbert's garrison to surrender he
was only greeted with shouts of derisive laughter. He
had had a useless ride of sixty miles! Afterwards he
went to Keswick, where his men refreshed themselves,
while he in great dudgeon visited Sir Edward Radcliffe
on Lord's Island and told him and the garrison there of
the way in which the Parliamentarians had cozened him.
It chanced that one of the many Radcliffe cousins,
named James, was present, and he vowed that he would
be revenged on the perpetrators of the joke. A few
days later a young officer from St. Herbert's Isle was
returning from a day's shooting, and as he strode along,
his servant following with the birds, who should appear
from among the trees near their boat but James Rad-
cliffe! With many bitter words he challenged the
officer, and a duel was fought by the water's side, and


HOPE THE HERMIT.
37
in this way James Radcliffe met with his death, and
ever since his ghost has haunted the neighbourhood,
being seen by many both in Grange and Borrowdale,
and on the fells and in the woods round Derwentwater,
whence it happens that nobody cares to go out after
dark, since to meet a ghost is enough to make even a
brave man recoil.
It was well enough to hear Anne tell the tale as we
sat by the hearth near the glowing logs, but it was not
so pleasant when we had to go up to bed in the dark
rooms above, and to pass the great carved oak chest in
the passage, in which it seemed always so likely that
ghosts would hide! Audrey used to pant like a hunted
stag as we ran up the stairs hand in hand, but though
I was scared too, I am sure I would have bucklered
her against a thousand bogles, for there was nothing
that heartened me so much as to feel her grip tight
hold of my hand as though she had faith in my
strength.
I must have been about ten years old when I first
went, at Sir Wilfrid Lawson's request, to keep Christ-
mas at Isel Hall; my patron wished to see what pro-
gress I had made since I had been a scholar at the
Keswick High School, and Zinogle, who was needed
to play his fiddle at a dance, took me over with him.
By the time we reached Cockermouth we were very


38
HOPE THE HERMIT.
weary, and glad enough to dine at one of the inns in
the little town.
Afterwards Zinogle dropped asleep over his pipe,
while I, eager to be off once more, strolled out to the
open door, and stood watching the busy throng of people
in the street. All at once there rose in the distance a
most curious noise; every moment it grew louder. It
seemed to me the most awful sound I had ever heard,
and for a moment I shook in my shoes, thinking that
the day of judgment had come, and that all the fiends
in hell were hastening to seize and drag down their
victims to perdition. It comforted me greatly to see
that the landlord, in spite of his fiery nose and shak-
ing hands and the other tokens he gave of being a
drunkard, did not manifest the least alarm; clearly it
could not be the Last Day.
"Is it a wild beast show?" I asked, cheering up.
"Are those lions and bears roaring?" for I had heard
Zinogle describe how he once met a travelling show,
and had always longed to come across one. The land-
lord laughed till the tears ran down his bloated face.
"Beasts roaring!" he said. "Why, no, laddie; those be
the worthy inhabitants of this town hounding down the
pestilent knaves called Quakers."
I was greatly disappointed. To have seen lions
and bears would haye been an event worth living for;
but who cared to see these eccentric preachers? Why,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
39
even so kind-hearted a man as Sir Wilfrid called them
a most dangerous sect. I had heard him say as much
once when he was in Keswick. Still, there was comfort
in knowing that it was not the Last Day.
And now the shouting and jeering and groaning
grew louder and louder, and a great crowd came into
sight. I scrambled up onto a window-sill to see the
better, and was much surprised to find that these
dangerous folk were nought but some peaceable-looking
men and women, and my blood began to boil to see
them so defenceless in the midst of the rude, bawling
throng.
Though they were pushed and goaded and driven
like beasts amid blows and curses, they made no show
whatever of resistance. Even the women, when their
hoods and scarves were torn off them by the rabble,
showed never a sign of anger, but went calmly on, for
this, I learnt afterwards, was part of their creed.
I doubt if there is any feeling more deeply rooted
in the hearts of most English folk than the instinct that
makes us rush to the help of the ill-used and weak.
The Quakers suffered chiefly because a wave of panic
was sweeping through the land, and men became cruel
because they feared; but they were also unpopular be-
cause they spoke plainly against many vested interests.
Our landlord, for instance, was one of the foremost in
throwing mud and stones at them. But when I caught


40
HOPE THE HERMIT.
sight of a brutal fellow striding along, repeatedly striking
with his stick the bald head of one of the Quakers until
the blood streamed down, a sort of fiery strength sud-
denly possessed me. From the vantage-ground of the
window-sill I snatched at the stick, wrenched it out of
the fellow's hand, and dropped it down the grating
beneath the window.
The face of the Quaker lit up for a moment with an
expression which I can never forget, but the next in-
stant the owner of the stick had caught me by the hair
of the head, and with oaths and blows had flung me
with all his force on to the doorstep of the inn. "After
all, it is my last day," I thought in the curious moment
of reflection for which there always seems time during a
fall. Then came a crash, and I knew no more till
I woke up on Zinogle's knee.
"Are you better, sonny?" he asked, kindly, and I sat
up, but turned deadly sick, and was glad to fall back
once more on the old fiddler's breast.
"You're a blessed young fool to help scum like that,"
said the landlord, contemptuously-"folks as won't take
their Bible oath as all decent Christians do."
"What has become of the man with the bald head?"
I asked.
"Well, I reckon you saved him from many a blow
of Bully Barton's stick," said Zinogle, in his comforting
voice. "And, strangely enough, he be a Radcliffe,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
41
There be Catholic Radcliffes an' Church of England
Radcliffes, and now there be this Quaker Radcliffe.
And I will say for them that they all know how to
suffer for their faith, and that's more'n can be said for
some folk."
It was now high time to go on our way, and having
washed my face and hands at the pump in the back-
yard, and sleeked down my wet hair over my forehead
so that the worst of the bruises was hidden, I set off
with Zinogle, feeling very shaky about the knees.
"I whope you've learnt your lesson," said the land-
lord in a patronising tone; "you'll ha'e mony a sair head,
I'm thinking, if ye go aboot the world interfering with
the course of justice.”
"But it was not justice," I thought to myself, and
trudged on doggedly, hardly daring to think how many
miles still lay betwixt us and Isel Hall.
We had only just gained the outskirts of the town
when we were hailed by a farmer who was driving
home from market. He had a broad, honest, cheerful
face that made me think of a withered but still rosy
apple.
"Why, Snoggles!" he cried, heartily, "so you're
shepherding the laddie that snatched Bully Barton's
stick from him. Art going to Isel, man?"
"Ay," said Zinogle, "if Bully Barton has left breath
enough in this little imp's body."


42
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"I'll gi'e ye a lift," said the farmer; "put the laddie
up betwixt us. But," with a sly wink at me, "ye mustna
be takin' my whip awa' if I touch up Brown Bess now
and agin."
I shall never forget the relief of that unexpected
ending to our journey. Dear old Snoggles threw his
arm about me, and Farmer Birkett wrapped me in a
horsecloth, and in two minutes, what with the gathering
gloom and the cold air and the monotonous jogging of
the cart, I was sound asleep. By the time we reached
Isel the moon was shining, and I can dimly remember
my first sleepy view of that grand old mansion, with its
battlemented walls and its peel tower.
I wished we
could have driven on in the cart for ever. However,
Farmer Birkett patted me on the shoulder and wished
me good-night and good luck, and Zinogle led me into
the house, where we were taken to a large room with
curious panelling round the walls and a blazing fire of
logs, beside which sat my patron and his lady.
"Why, heaven help us! what has befallen the child?"
cried my Lady Lawson.
Whereupon Zinogle gave a graphic account of what
had passed at Cockermouth, and I stood by trembling,
for I well knew that Sir Wilfrid detested the Quakers.
"Come here, boy," he said when Zinogle paused,
and I stepped swiftly up to him, much as one steps to-
wards the schoolmaster for a stroke of the cane, caring


HOPE THE HERMIT.
43
only to get it over quickly and not to flinch. He lifted
his hand and raised the hair from my forehead as gently
as a woman could have done it; there was a kindly
twinkle in his bright eyes.
"So thou couldst not brook seeing Bully Barton beat
a Quaker," he said, "and did snatch his stick from
him." At that he laughed right out, for as I learnt
afterwards this Barton was a notorious character and
much addicted to prize-fighting, so that it seemed
mere midsummer madness for a child of ten to pro-
voke him.
"The Quaker did not strike back again, sir," I
pleaded in excuse, "and somebody had to try and help
him, else he might have been killed."
"I am not blaming you," said Sir Wilfrid. "Nay, I
like you the better for it. Nevertheless your friend with
the bald head will have to stay in prison, and I shall
do my utmost to put down this sect, for I consider that
it is a danger to the State. There, go get your supper,
and good-night to you. If you mean to champion every
ill-used mortal you come across you'll not find this world
a bed of roses."
It must have been soon after my return from this
visit that one afternoon Mrs. Radcliffe invited a few
children from the neighbourhood to play with her
daughter. There were two or three of the Radcliffe
kinsfolk and the Brownriggs of Millbeck Hall, and after


44
HOPE THE HERMIT.
thawing our shyness with "Hoodman Blind" someone
proposed a game of "All Hid.” It fell about that Au-
drey and I were to hide together, and as we were
searching about for a good place in the little room above
the porch we looked into a large old chest which stood
against the wall.
"Let us get in here," I suggested. "Why, how the
thing smells! It is just as though a candle had been
blown out in it."
Audrey scrambled in, but her attention was at once
drawn to an iron ring let into the floor of the chest.
She showed it to me, and we wondered that we had
never noticed it before.
"What can be the good of it?" I said, and, bending,
down, began to tug at the ring, for no special reason,
but just from curiosity.
"Why, a bit of the floor lifts up!" cried Audrey, and
then, as with much exertion I raised the square piece
of wood to which the ring was fastened, we both
started back with exclamations of horror, for just below,
quite clearly to be seen, was the head of a bald old
man.
"It's a robber!" cried Audrey, turning as white as
a sheet and gripping hold of my arm; as for me, I was
dumb with dismay, but seeing the terror in the face of
this unexpected visitor, my courage began to return.
"For God's sake," he cried, "do not raise an alarm.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
45
Sir Nicholas knows I am here in the secret hiding-place.
He himself put me here, and if another soul learns of it
my life will be in danger."
"Are you a Quaker?" I asked, thinking of my
Cockermouth friend, and with some foolish connec-
tion in my mind betwixt bald heads and persecuted
devotees.
He smiled involuntarily at the question.
“Nay, I am a Catholic priest, and in telling you the
truth I put my life in your hands, for they hunt us as
though we were wild beasts. I beg you to speak of this
to no one but to Sir Nicholas."
We both solemnly promised to keep his secret, and
then shut him down once more in the hiding-place
which, till that day, had been utterly unknown to any-
one in the house save to Sir Nicholas and to one of the
old servants. Then we prudently chose another room
for our hiding-place in the game, but took scant interest
in it, and were quickly discovered.
"What a stupid place!" said Henry Brownrigg, a
boy some years my senior, who played with us in an
ungracious and patronising fashion. "You were so long
gone, too, that you might have done better than just
creep behind curtains. Hide with me, Audrey, and you
will see it will go much better. Are there no sliding


46
HOPE THE HERMIT.
panels in this house? I expect you have two or three
priests' holes, as they call them. Come
you?"
now,
haven't
Audrey had turned crimson; in another minute she
would have cried.
"It is not a good house for All Hid," I said quickly.
"Let us come to the garret and dress up in the put-
away clothes there; when the lamps are lighted we'll
play the mummers in the hall."
This idea was popular with everybody, and we
skurried upstairs like rabbits, Audrey giving me a grate-
ful little nod of acknowledgment for having tided her
over her difficulty.
We heard no more of the hunted priest; but not
very long after another Catholic friend of Sir Nicholas
Radcliffe became a permanent member of the Lord's
Island household.
This was Mr. Noel, a gentleman who helped Sir
Nicholas in the management of his estate, and acted as
tutor, first to Audrey, and eventually to me also. I think
in our hearts we children knew from the first that he
was a priest in disguise. The persecution of the Catholics
was very bitter just then owing to the revelations of
Dr. Titus Oates; and Mrs. Radcliffe, who belonged to
the Church of England, told us that Sir Nicholas him-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
47
self might have run some danger of imprisonment had
he not lived so peaceful and inoffensive a life. In truth
he was too much of an invalid to leave the island, and
no one could suspect him of having any part in the
Popish plot which was the talk of the land.
And here I should like to say that however much
Mr. Noel's opinions may have been wrong, his presence
at Lord's Island was a capital thing for all of us. He
was an excellent teacher, and I always found him a
most kind friend; he, too, like dear old Zinogle, always
urged me to work and to hope, and though, for aught I
can see, nothing lies before me but to become secretary
to Sir Wilfrid Lawson, I still buoy myself up with the
hope of one day finding that I have an honest name of
my own, and kith and kin to care what befalls me.
Nothing can be foreseen with certainty in these
strange times; and whereas in our childhood the Papists
were glad to hide from the fury of the storm, now they
are become most deadly tyrants, and His Majesty is
trying to force the Fellows of Magdalen at Oxford to
violate their statutes and their oaths, and men say he
intends to turn the college into a Popish seminary. Law
being thus wholly set aside, no clergyman throughout
the land feels secure in his benefice, it being well known
that King James abhors the English Church, and in
ejecting the clergy would not even grant that third part


48
HOPE THE HERMIT.
of the income which the Puritans granted them when
they were ejected in the Civil War.
However, I have yet another year at Cambridge,
and much may happen in this changeful world before
I again see Borrowdale and my friends on Lord's
Island.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
49
CHAPTER IV.
"Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant;
Nor speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent:
Of her self survey she takes
But 'tween men no difference makes."
WILLIAM HABINGTON.
THE passing years produced wonderfully little change
in Zinogle the fiddler. He had never looked young,
and now at sixty he did not look old. His flaxen hair
might have had a grey thread or two perhaps, and his
face was more deeply lined, but otherwise he looked
much as he had done that Michaelmas day in Cros-
thwaite Church, as, twenty years later, he wandered along
the wooded shore of Lord's Island. His fiddle was
tucked under his arm, and his keen blue eyes, with their
irresistible humour, their twinkling merriment, took little
heed of the lovely view to the west, where the autumn
sunset was already mellowing the sky and throwing a
gleam of glory over the mountains.
Zinogle was not thinking of sunsets, he was thinking
how amusing the world can be to a spectator, the little
passing world of men, with their strange makeshifts,
Hope the Hermit. I.
4


50
HOPE THE HERMIT.
their subtle plans, their mixed motives.
"Potztausend!
-'tis a queer world, a most queer, topsy-turvy world!"
he cried, laughing at his thoughts. "I fiddle to-night
for old Sir Nicholas Radcliffe, the Papist, who this year
is in the ascendant, though he had to lie low when the
plot was the talk of the land. And now it's Sir John
Lowther who is shaking in his shoes, and praying night
and morning for a Protestant wind to save him from the
scaffold he sees in the future. A mad world, my masters
-a most mad world! Ha! here comes pretty Mistress
Audrey, who, methinks, cares little for the wrangling
between parties in the State, but loves her Papist grand-
father and her Protestant mother alike, and expects
them to agree in heaven, but not before, like a sensible
lass."
"What! Zinogle!” cried a clear, fresh voice close by.
And the next moment a young girl, dressed in white
and wearing a wreath of mountain-ash berries and
bracken in her nut-brown hair, stepped out from among
the trees and eagerly greeted the fiddler.
"Have you
seen Michael? Has he come?" she asked, eagerly.
"Ay, ay," said the old German. "He rode over
from Isel Hall yesterday, and will be here anon. Quite
a man he's grown since last he was here. Not that he's
so tall, neither, as one might expect. I reckon he has
had to rough it at Cambridge, where, according to him,
sizars don't have an easy time. But though he's but a


HOPE THE HERMIT.
51
stripling there's just the old spirit that made him ever
the foremost to be after the eagles on Glaramara.”
"Ah, yes, to be sure," said Audrey, gaily. "How
well I remember seeing him lowered over the crags by
a rope, and how Anne Fisher and I could hear our
hearts thumping as we watched him. We were very
happy as children together in Borrowdale! I wish the
dear old times would return again."
"Why, Mistress Audrey, that's for an old man like
me to say, not for a young maid with the best of life
before her."
He looked meditatively at the sweet, thoughtful face,
with its delicate outline and fair colouring, its great wist-
ful grey eyes shaded by black lashes, and the rich brown
curls touched with a golden glory where the sun glinted
on them.
"Now, Zinogle, how stupid you are,” she said, laugh-
ing. "It's exactly because all my life is before me, and
because things are perplexing and the future uncertain,
that I want the old times back. When we were children
together we were as happy as the day was long. What
did we know of factions and disputes? What did money
signify, or rank, or creed? As to the future, it troubled
us not at all. We never thought about it, but enjoyed
every day as it came."
"And why not now?" asked Zinogle, thrumming his
strings.
4*


52
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Why not?" she asked, hesitatingly. "Why, because
things happen so contrarily, and thoughts will come
troubling, whether we want them or not.”
For answer Zinogle drew his bow across the strings,
and to a fantastic accompaniment, and in the most
mirth-provoking fashion, sang a verse of "Begone, dull
care".
Merely to look at his face as he sang was irresistible,
and Audrey's laughter rang through the wood.
"If I only had you always at hand, Zinogle, I should
never be in the dumps," she said, merrily.
"Maybe," said Zinogle, hugely pleased with her com-
pliment; "but there is always an 'if only' with all of us.
If only I could have a good tankard of home-brewed
now I could have sung that more musically.”
"Then go to the house and get it," said Audrey,
blithely. "But come back again; don't forget to come
back."
"What a funny old fellow he is!" she said to her-
self. "He is quite right, I ought to be happy enough
to-day; here's my foster-brother come back after his long
absence, and to-night there will be the tenants' merry-
making in the hall, and all the Hallowe'en sports, and
Henry Brownrigg and his sister coming to see the fun.
I'm afraid Michael will not be over-glad to see them, for
in old days he never did like the Brownriggs; they never
seem to forget that he is a foundling, though, after all,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
53
it's no shame to him.
Michael was always too ready to
He seemed to feel a sneer as
mind being laughed at.
other people feel a blow. Ah! there's a boat coming
across from St. Herbert's Isle! Michael must be com-
ing!"
She started up from the log on which she had been
resting, and ran down to the water's edge, her face
lighting up radiantly as she recognised her old play-
mate.
"Michael!" she cried, in her clear voice, fearful lest
he should go to the chief landing-stage. The rower
glanced round, waved his hat in greeting, and hastily
put in to the little creek on the island close to which
she was standing.
"Zinogle told me you were here," she said, as he
sprang on shore and caught her hand in his. "He told
me of you and he told me of the periwig. It is well I
was forewarned, or I should have been afraid of so fine
a gentleman. Welcome to Lord's Island, sir," and she
swept him a mocking curtsey, to which he responded by
a profound bow.
"Madam, your humble servant," he said, with a smile
which quite disguised his secret nervousness.
The most noticeable things about him were his eyes,
which were extraordinarily bright, and of that golden
colour which makes one think of sunlight on a mountain
stream. For the rest his well-cut features and rather


54
HOPE THE HERMIT.
short face seemed to be of the Welsh type, and though
wiry and athletic he was neither tall nor particularly
strong-looking, but had a resolute expression bespeaking
great powers of endurance.
"After all, save for the periwig, I don't think you are
much altered," said Audrey, gaily, "and you have grown
monstrous silent. There's a great change there; has
Cambridge cultivated your brain at the expense of your
tongue?"
"In the words of the riddle it's only tongue and
brains that make the best dish for conversation," he
replied, with a laugh. "Cambridge is not to be blamed,
but rather the spell of this place and the change in
you."
"What!" she cried, with a roguish little glance,
"have I turned into a Gorgon during your absence, and
do I now freeze you into silence? In what, pray, am I
changed?"
"You are a thousand times more beautiful," he said,
in a voice so low and reverent that it seemed like an
act of worship. But Audrey failed to catch its signi-
ficance; he was to her nothing but her old comrade, and
people are seldom very observant under those circum-
stances.
"They teach you to make compliments at Cam-
bridge," she said, laughing-"a very dangerous practice
let me tell you, sir, and not to be tolerated from a foster-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
55
brother. We two, at anyrate, will speak the truth to-
gether. Come!"—she slipped her hand into his as she
would have done years ago-"let us sit down here for
awhile and chat; there are many things I want to hear
and to tell."
Michael had winced involuntarily at the word brother;
he could hardly tell whether it was pleasure or torture
to him to feel her hand resting carelessly in his; but
they walked together to the fallen tree, and there sat
talking in friendly fashion.
"And so your Cambridge days are over," she said.
"And Zinogle tells me you found the life of a sizar a
rough one."
"It was what my life is like to prove from beginning
to end," he said. "One of uncertain position, one which
must be always looked down on and held in contempt.
As for the menial part of the work that fell to me, I
cared nothing about that. It was honest labour, and
there was no disgrace in it; but the thing which galled
one was the contempt of other men whose lot chanced
to be happier."
Audrey's face had grown thoughtful and tender.
Her thoughts flew back to a time when Michael had
been a daily scholar at the Keswick High School,
founded in the days of the Tudors, and she remembered
how Zinogle the fiddler had once brought him to Lord's


56
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Island, more dead than alive, after fighting Henry Brown-
rigg, a boy nearly twice his size.
"Why did you fight him?" her mother had asked as
she bathed his face.
"He called me base-born," replied Michael, with an
indignation which had made a deep impression on his
little foster-sister. And from that day forward there had
always been a sort of feud between Michael and his
antagonist, though of late years they had seen nothing
of each other.
"I
suppose Anne Fisher really knows no more than
what she always told us as children?" said Audrey.
"No, I questioned her only yesterday, and Sir Wilfrid
and Dickon, the gillie, did their utmust to trace things
out at the time, but failed."
"Then why trouble any more about it?" said Audrey;
"after all, what does it matter? 'What's in a name?'
as the bard of Avon sings."
"All the difference betwixt honour and dishonour at
times," said Michael, with a sigh. "This ring—” he
took off the sapphire ring he was wearing and glanced
at the poesy inscribed on it; "this ring may be clear
proof to my own mind that my mother was wedded,
but it is no legal proof whatever."
"For my part," said Audrey, holding out her hand
for the ring and looking at it attentively, "I could weave
a whole romance out of this. They were good and


HOPE THE HERMIT.
57
Godfearing people, your parents, else wherefore this
motto, and some treacherous servant, out of spite, made
away with you on the death of your mother; your father
was away from home, and either believed that you had
died at your birth or else learnt something of the truth
and still searches all England for you. Then the wicked
nurse who had hoped to get him into her power and to
step into the place of her late mistress, and win the
estate for her children, pined away and came to a
miserable end, as the covetors of land and money always
do. Did you never hear the tale of my great-aunt
Isabella?"
"Who was she?"
"I never saw her, she died six years ago, and had
long been bedridden. You must have heard of my
great-uncle Radcliffe, a younger brother of my grand-
father's. Well, the story goes no sooner was I born and
great-uncle Radcliffe became heir to the estate-not this
island, which belongs, of course, to the Radcliffes of
Dilston, but heir to Goldrill, near Ulleswater—this fair
Lady Isabella, who for some reason had ever coveted
the estate, straightway consented to wed my great-uncle;
and there was born to them a most lovely child, a son,
who was the delight of both father and mother. When
this child was but three years old he fell into the beck
which runs past the house, and his mother saw his peril
and tried to save him but could not; and the terrible


58
HOPE THE HERMIT.
sight of his death wholly shattered her health, poor
lady."
"Have you ever seen your great-uncle?”
"I have no remembrance of him," said Audrey.
"After the death of his son he lived in London, and at
the time of the so-called Popish plot he was for long in
prison and in peril of his life, although he was innocent
enough, like many others in those times who fell victims
to that false-tongued Dr. Titus Oates."
"Have a care," said Michael; "it is not always safe
to denounce Dr. Oates even yet. There are some that
would take you for a Papist an you spoke like that.
Here comes Zinogle. Any news to-day in Keswick,
Zinogle?"
"Why yes, sir, there has come news that the Prince
of Orange set sail last week, but after two days at sea
was driven back by reason of a great tempest, And
they do say that Sir John Lowther is in the dumps, and
prays night and day for a Protestant wind."
""Tis like enough," said Michael. "For if the prince
does not come to deliver us from the king's tyranny he
will pay dearly for his expedition the other night."
"Is it, then, really true that Sir John armed his
tenants?" asked Audrey. "My mother heard some
rumour of it, but in our divided household we seldom
learn the truth of things."
"Tell it not in Gath, but I was in the expedition


HOPE THE HERMIT.
59
myself," said Michael, his face lighting up. "By great
good fortune Sir Wilfrid had sent me over to Sir John
Lowther's with important papers for his perusal.
And
it so chanced that Andrew Huddleston, of Hutton John,
brought word to the Lowthers that a ship would arrive
at Workington laden with arms and ammunition for the
Popish garrison at Carlisle. Then there was such a
mustering of the tenants as it would have done your
heart good to see, and we were marched by night to the
coast, and forced the vessel to surrender. That was the
first act of the drama, but the second act does not
prosper so well. Of course, the Prince of Orange should
have been here by now, but thanks to contrary winds he
is yet in Holland.”
"I care not whether he comes or no, so that they
do not molest my grandfather," said Audrey.
"No one would molest him," said Michael, warmly.
"They say, moreover, that the Prince of Orange is tolerant
and just, and a Papist who lives in peace with his neigh-
bours, and seeks not to meddle with the liberties of
Englishmen, is not likely to be in any peril."
"Perhaps not, yet I would that Dr. Oates were safely
out of the way," said Audrey. Then as Zinogle wandered
away playing his favourite air, "Lady Francis Nevill's
Delight," she said, lowering her voice, "Can you ever
forget that poor old priest we suddenly came upon in
the secret hiding-place?"


60
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"No," said Michael.
"What awful terror there was
in his face when we suddenly unearthed him in our
game of All Hid. It was well for him we were the
children, and not any of the Brownrigg clan; they would
certainly have betrayed him, and brought trouble on your
grandfather, and perhaps death to the refugee.”
"It was well that he let us tell my grandfather,
otherwise I could never have borne it," said Audrey.
"And do you know, Michael, I believe it was your
courage and your silence that day that first made my
grandfather take so kindly to you. He always speaks
of you with respect."
"I wonder what became of the priest?" said Michael.
"I asked my grandfather not long since. He said
that he escaped the following day, and went over to
Ireland, and then, I think, to France. He is alive now,
but where I don't know. What should you do in a like
case now that you are a man? Should you harbour a
Papist?"
"That would depend on the sort of man he proved
to be. Such an one as Sir Nicholas Radcliffe I would
most certainly shield and protect had I the chance, but
for the lying scoundrels who would bring free English-
men under the thraldom of Rome, why I would not lift
a finger to help them. As for Sir Nicholas, he is one
of the best men living, and differences of creed come
not to one's mind when speaking with him."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
61
"There is the bell ringing to summon us to the
merry-making," said Audrey, springing up from the fallen
"Now let us forget all cares, and only remember
that it is Allhallows e'en."
tree.


62
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER V.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT.
Written in the month of November, 1688, at St. Herbert's Isle,
Derwentwater.
"Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made,
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;
The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd."
ALEXANDER POPE.
WHEN, after my long absence at Cambridge, I once
more saw Audrey Radcliffe, she bade me to a merry-
making and said that we were to forget all cares, it
being Hallowe'en. Her face had been a trifle grave a
moment before, our talk having turned upon religious
differences, which ever bring some sadness into the hap-
piest of homes; but it lit up as she spoke with its old
look of radiant, childlike happiness. Never, surely, was
there a more winsome face than hers, with its frank,
sweet look, its freedom from all that was artificial. One
would as soon have expected the noble beech trees in
the pleasance to lend themselves to the grotesque figures


HOPE THE HERMIT.
63
into which gardeners hack box bushes, as have expected
Audrey to abandon her free, natural manner for the cat-
and-mouse tactics which most women adopt. To talk
with her was like talking with a boy, so free was she
from any trying after effect, only all the time one was
conscious of a sweet, subtle difference, and knew that
she was just a pure-minded woman who had grown up
among the hills and dales of the dear old North-country,
and was as yet heart-whole as a child.
We walked slowly towards the old house, a fifteenth-
century mansion built of rough-hewn stone, but now,
since the stormy times of the great Civil War, sadly
falling into decay. Sir Wilfrid Lawson has often told
me what stirring times they had then, even in this quiet
part of the world, for Lord's Island was garrisoned for
the King by old Sir Edward Radcliffe, while St. Herbert's
Isle-the Lawson property-was garrisoned, of course,
for the Parliament. Naturally Lord's Island came off the
worst, and the large private chapel, which, to judge by
the fragments remaining, must have been a fine build-
ing, was unroofed, leaving little standing but the eastern
wall and its pointed window, with ivy and creepers now
festooning the broken tracery. The dining-room, more-
over, which adjoined it, was half-demolished, so that
there only remained on the ground floor three rooms for
the family use.
Sir Francis Radcliffe, the present head of the Der-


64
HOPE THE HERMIT.
It
wentwater family, lived wholly on his great property at
Dilston, in Northumberland, and they say that it was
only to humour a fancy of his kinsman, old Sir Nicholas,
that he permitted this younger branch of the Derwent-
waters to reside in the old house. In his heart of
hearts Sir Nicholas believes that the Lord's Island pro-
perty should really have been his, he being the descend-
ant of Nicholas Radcliffe, gentleman, of Keswick, fourth
son of Sir Thomas Radcliffe, who built the house.
seems there was a family arrangement made by which
the first son was disinherited, and was only to be allowed
occupation by sufferance during his life, after which the
estate was to pass to the other sons and their descend-
ants. However, when the time came for this extra-
ordinary arrangement to be carried out, the son of the
disinherited heir was allowed to succeed, and, being a
man of much force of character, he made for himself a
good position and devised the estate at his death. This
story of the far past still rankles, nevertheless, in the
mind of old Sir Nicholas, who spends much of his time
in poring over musty old deeds and trying to prove to
the satisfaction of the lawyers that he should really be
owner of Lord's Island instead of merely the occupant
of this half-dismantled house.
Audrey led me through the withdrawing-room into
the great hall, where the tenants were already gathering
in answer to the big bell which clanged overhead in the


HOPE THE HERMIT.
65
tower. Standing to welcome them was old Sir Nicholas
in his mulberry-coloured coat. He was not in the least
altered; indeed, he appeared to me, if anything, younger,
for, as a boy, I had always thought of him as a very
aged man. Now there seemed to me, after all, to be
much vitality in the gentle old face, though he had al-
ready reached his threescore years and ten. His mild
blue eyes had always to me the look of some mediaval
saint, and they glanced at me very kindly when he
spoke and bade me welcome to Lord's Island. It was
in Audrey's mother that I noticed more plainly the havoc
that time had wrought. She had never been strong,
and now her hair was quite grey, while there were lines
that told of pain and anxiety about her mouth. One
does not think much about one's elders in childhood,
but, coming back to the old scenes again, it struck me
for the first time what a difficult life Mrs. Marmaduke
Radcliffe had led. Even the days of her courtship must
have been troubled, for it had sorely displeased Sir
Nicholas that his heir should fall in love with a dower-
less maid, and a Protestant to boot, and Marmaduke
had made matters still more trying to his father by join-
ing the Church of England himself, and leaving direc-
tions in his will that his children should be brought up
in the same faith. Then he had died before they had
been married a year, and his widow had still further
disappointed Sir Nicholas by giving birth to a daughter
Hope the Hermit. I.
5


66
HOPE THE HERMIT.
instead of a son, whereby the Goldrill estate would pass
upon his death to his younger brother, who, although of
his own creed, was not a man in whom anyone put
much confidence-at least, so I have heard Zinogle say.
Mrs. Radcliffe put many questions to me about my
life at Cambridge, to which I replied dutifully, though,
at the same time, I could not forbear now and again
glancing at Audrey as she moved about, chatting now
with this tenant, now with that. She had grown up
among them much as I had done, and she loved and
respected these sturdy North-country folk, and they,
needless to say, were quite ready to like one so win-
some.
"And what are your plans now?" asked Mrs. Rad-
cliffe.
Her voice made me start guiltily, for, truth to tell, I
had paid no very great heed to what she had been say-
ing as to the changes that had come about during my
absence, or at anyrate had given it but a divided atten-
tion, hearing also Audrey's merry talk with Zinogle.
"What are your plans?" said Mrs. Radcliffe once
more, and there was something in her look and tone
that disconcerted me horribly. I felt as if my heart had
been suddenly laid bare before her, as if she knew all
about the love which had quietly grown with my growth
and strengthened with my strength, and had now taken
possession of me body and soul. I grew hot all over


HOPE THE HERMIT.
67
beneath the searching inquiry of those grey eyes, which
were so like Audrey's in shape and colour, but so unlike
in expression.
I stammered like a stupid schoolboy. "Sir Wilfrid
Lawson has made me his secretary, ma'am," I explained.
"I shall be sometimes at the house on St. Herbert's Isle,
but more often at Isel Hall."
Mrs. Radcliffe looked relieved, for Isel Hall lies be-
yond Bassenthwaite and Cockermouth, and is, as I found
to my cost, a most cruel distance from Lord's Island.
And at the thought of this and the recollection that
it was sheer midsummer madness for a poor and penni-
less foundling of doubtful birth to woo Audrey Radcliffe,
a great heaviness fell upon me, and maybe it would have
been better had that sobering recollection continued to
weigh me down. Unfortunately, all things seem possible
at twenty, and no sooner had Zinogle played the first
two or three bars of the merry air "Come, lasses and
lads," than my spirits had risen again, and before the
great bell had ceased clanging I had asked Audrey to
be my partner in the country dance, and we were gal-
loping down the middle and up again.
I do not know whether at Court Audrey would have
been considered a good dancer; perhaps in the stiff and
stately minuets she might not have excelled, but at a
country dance no one could beat her; she was all life
and animation and gaiety; she enjoyed it as unfeignedly
5*


68
HOPE THE HERMIT.
as a child. As for me, naturally enough, I was in the
seventh heaven of happiness, and came down to earth
again with a shock as Zinogle ceased playing, and-the
dance being over-we suddenly perceived that two visi-
tors had entered the hall while it was in progress, and
were now talking to Sir Nicholas and Mrs. Radcliffe.
Audrey just glanced at me, and then laughed.
"I see you do not recognise them," she said. "Come
and let me introduce you."
There was no doubt that the guest who stood talk-
ing to Sir Nicholas was a remarkably fine man. His
huge proportions seemed to dwarf the old knight alto-
gether; he was broad and massive, and held his head
very erect, as though calmly conscious of his own im-
mense superiority to the average mortals he met. At
the first glance I disliked the fellow, but when I saw him
stoop to salute Audrey, and speak to her in his affected,
patronising tone, I longed to kick him.
"Here is an old schoolfellow of yours," she said,
cheerfully; "but you fail to recognise each other. Let
me present Mr. Derwent, Mr. Brownrigg."
I bowed stiffly, but Henry Brownrigg with a laugh—
artificial as the rest of his manners and customs-held
out his huge hand, and said in most patronising tones,
"What, Michael Derwent, the foundling? I had almost
forgotten your existence. What have you been doing
with yourself all this time?"


HOPE THE HERMIT.
69
There was nothing for it but to take the massive
hand he proffered; it was so broad and large that it felt
like shaking hands with a beef-steak. I muttered some-
thing about Cambridge, and Sir Wilfrid Lawson, angry
with myself for letting this conceited fellow put me so
foolishly out of countenance.
"Ah, to be sure; Sir Wilfrid Lawson was your patron
from the first; I remember now," he said, looking me
over in his supercilious way. "Don't you find him rather
too outspoken-rather uncompromising? He seems to
me a dangerous patron in these dubious days, when no
one knows which way things will turn."
"He has always been a good friend to me," I said,
hotly, "and it scarcely becomes his secretary to criticise
him."
"Oh, he has made you his secretary?" said Brown-
rigg, with a covert sneer. "I see; you are, of course,
quite tight; you mustn't bite the hand that feeds you."
With that he turned his back upon me and began
to talk in a low voice to Audrey, who seemed very well
pleased with his attentions, as indeed was most natural,
for there was no denying that he was a fine fellow,
though of a type I instinctively loathe.
Old Sir Nicholas glanced at them thoughtfully, then
with a slight shrug of the shoulders he turned to me
and said in his kind, courteous fashion, "If you will
come with me into my study we will have a chat with


70
HOPE THE HERMIT.
your old friend and tutor, Mr. Noel; I see him over
yonder, listening to one of William Hollins' tales."
And, truly enough, on looking across the hall I saw
that Mr. Noel, while listening to the farmer's talk, had
his keen grey eyes fixed upon our group, and had evi-
dently noticed all that had passed. He gave me a very
pleasant greeting and we followed the old knight into
his study, a small, square room leading out of the hall.
It was lighted only by the blazing fire on the hearth,
and through the uncurtained window we could see the
moonlight on the water and the dark outline of Skiddaw
against the pale sky. Sir Nicholas, tired with the effort
of receiving his guests, sank down wearily in his arm-
chair, while Mr. Noel held me for some time in talk by
the window.
He had lived for the last ten years with Sir Nicholas,
and passed for his secretary; he kept all the household
accounts, looked after the property at Patterdale which
belonged to this younger branch of the Derwentwaters,
and during our childhood had acted as tutor to Audrey.
He wore secular dress, but of late years it had become
an open secret in the neighbourhood that he was in
reality a priest, probably one of the many Papists who
had been in peril of their lives during the late king's
reign, when panic had possessed the country and many
false reports had been spread abroad.
Mr. Noel had always been exceptionally kind to me,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
71
as I said before, and it was largely through his influence
that Audrey and I had been permitted to continue
friends after our actual childhood was over; it was from
him that I had learnt many things which I could never
have learnt in the Keswick High School; and my success
at Cambridge was due to the thoroughness of the ground-
ing which he had given me in his leisure hours. Mrs.
Radcliffe had taken good care that he should never
interfere with our religious views; but I am not sure that
I could have resisted his strong, indirect influence had I
not been withdrawn from it during the most critical
years of life and plunged into the wider world of the
University.
Coming back to my old friend and teacher after
these years of absence, I noticed one or two things about
him which as a boy had wholly escaped me. Beneath
his polished manners and his kindly, quiet way of talk-
ing there was a suggestion of hardness. His power of
reading people's thoughts seemed almost uncanny, and
he presented a curious contrast to the saintly old knight,
for where the one was simple as a child the other was
evidently a man of schemes, though always, I should
fancy, schemes woven for what he thought the benefit
of others, since he was a good and a kind-hearted man.
The more he talked to me, however, that evening, the
more I became conscious that he looked upon life as a
very serious game of chess which the Almighty had set


72
HOPE THE HERMIT.
him to play with the devil as opponent.
We the laity
whom he came across-were merely the pieces in the
game, to be moved as he thought best. And I am sure
he honestly believed that free-will was only given to the
laity that they might resign their wills into the hands of
the priest, who would mediate betwixt them and heaven,
guide all their affairs with the discretion and wisdom
which come from knowing the secrets of all other men
in the confessional, and, saving us a mort of trouble,
would personally conduct us through life in the easiest
way conceivable.
Nevertheless, though in common with the vast majority
of Englishmen I abhorred this notion of priestly domina-
tion, I loved my old friend very heartily, and spite of his
failure to number me among his converts I think he
loved me, too. There were three things which bound
us closely together; the first was a mutual admiration
for old Sir Nicholas and his island home, the second
was a love of climbing the fells and crags of Borrow-
dale, and the third was a common detestation of Henry
Brownrigg.
My heart warmed to the old tutor when I found that
this last was stronger than ever.
"Why are the Brownriggs here to-night?" I ques-
tioned, seeing that Sir Nicholas had fallen asleep, and
that it was possible to inquire.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
73
"Why, indeed?" said Mr. Noel, shaking his head.
"I know not; it is Mrs. Radcliffe's doing. I believe she
maintains that the sister is a good friend for Mistress
Audrey. All I can say is that it is invariably the brother
who talks to her."
I winced as his searching eyes rested for a moment
on my face, being sure that the torturing jealousy which
for the first time filled my heart must have been clearly
visible.
But Mr. Noel was always full of tact; there was no
slightest reference to Audrey in his next remark.
"Henry Brownrigg," he said, "thinks himself a fine
gentleman, but I can only say that for all his London
manners and his fine clothes he is but pinchbeck after
all. The poorest statesman in Borrowdale would have
had better breeding than to greet you in the fashion he
did to-night."
"Sir," I said, "as a lad you always bade me to wait
and to ask no questions, but I can wait no longer. I
must and will try to unravel the mystery of my parent-
age."
"I still advise you to wait," said Mr. Noel, thought-
fully. "Had there been any chance of discovering the
truth do you not think it would have transpired in
twenty years' time? Besides, what will you gain? It is
pretty clear from the clothes in which you were found
that you are of gentle birth, and to my mind it is


74
HOPE THE HERMIT.
clear that this ring shows that you were born in wed-
lock."
"I was always grateful to you for holding that the
ring was evidence," I replied. "But no one else accepts
it as evidence; even Mrs. Radcliffe, kind as she is, never
admitted that it proved anything."
"Mrs. Radcliffe invariably takes the opposite side to
any opinion of mine," said Mr. Noel, smiling somewhat
grimly. "Her Protestant prejudice is too strong to allow
her to put faith in anything I do, or in any conclusion I
draw."
There was a touch of bitterness in his tone at which
one could not wonder, for what he said was true enough.
Mrs. Radcliffe, though always civil to him, could not
bring herself to trust him. They had lived under the
same roof twenty years, but in reality they knew little
of each other, as both were lynx-eyed to detect the
other's faults, and somehow never succeeded in reaching
that meeting-place of mutual interest which must be
gained before heart can answer to heart.
Our talk was interrupted just at this point. I felt a
light touch on my arm which thrilled me through and
through. There stood Audrey, looking more exquisite
than ever in the pale moonlight.
"What grave discourses are you having?" she ex-
claimed, merrily, yet speaking low for fear of disturb-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
75
ing Sir Nicholas.
"Come into the hall and let us
roast our chestnuts and see what fortune lies before
us. Zinogle and some of the others are playing at
bob apple and the sight would make even a Quaker
laugh."


76
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER VI.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT (continued).
"But truth by its own sinews will prevail."
DRYDEN.
DURING the next few days Sir Wilfrid kept me hard
at work, and it was not until Sunday that I again had
a chance of seeing Audrey. After service, as we came
out of Crosthwaite Church, I had the good fortune to
overtake her, and while Sir Wilfrid walked with Mrs.
Radcliffe it fell to my share to carry Audrey's prayer-
book for her and to escort her to the landing-place. It
was then that I was able to tell her of our old foster-
mother's invitation to spend a day with her at Grange;
and Audrey, who had a great love for the place where
some of the happiest years of our childhood had been
spent, quickly gained her mother's permission, and it
was arranged that Dickon and I should call for her in
the boat early in the morning when the weather per-
mitted, and that we should spend a long day with Anne
Fisher at Grange Farm.
Poets have sung dismal ditties about November, but
as a matter of fact that particular November morning


HOPE THE HERMIT.
77
when we set out on our expedition was the most beauti-
ful day conceivable. The sun had just dispersed the
thick mist which had shrouded Derwentwater, but here
and there on the side of Skiddaw foam-like wreaths still
lingered. Causey Pike had but lately thrown back its
silvery veil, and now rose radiant in the morning sun-
shine, a light sprinkling of snow on its summit, which
contrasted with the golden brown bracken on Catbells;
while the thickly-wooded shore, with its dark green fir-
trees and golden beeches and russet oaks, fast thinning
after the recent gales, made a perfect setting to the
glassy stillness of the water.
Audrey sat in the stern, closely wrapped in a cloak
of Lincoln green cloth, and wearing a little Puritan hood
in black velvet bordered with fur which suited her vastly
well.
"Have you heard any news?" she asked, anxiously.
"Nothing certain," I replied. "Sir Wilfrid heard last
night in Keswick that there were some that had seen
the Prince of Orange embark at Brill on Wednesday,
and that the Princess had been there to take leave of
him and wish him God-speed. But this may be mere
idle gossip. It is thought he will land here in the North.
I only wish we had a chance to see him."
"They say he hath a sour temper," said Audrey,
"but that he is all for toleration. In any case he must
be better than King James, who seems the most cruel-


78
HOPE THE HERMIT.
hearted bigot that ever wore the crown.
talk no more of such vexed questions.
ceeded yet in your quest?"
Well, let us
Have you suc-
"No," I replied; "but to-day I mean to question
Anne Fisher more closely, and Dickon hath been showing
me the exact spot in Borrowdale where he and Sir Wilfrid
rescued me."
"You must show it to me," said Audrey, eagerly; "I
never understood precisely where it was. Let us come
there first, for Anne will be busy making ready the
dinner, and will not have time to talk to us yet."
Accordingly we left Dickon and the boat at Lowdore,
and made our way along the mule-track to Grange,
paused just to greet our foster-mother at the farm, and
then wandered into Borrowdale, making our way along
the riverside and talking as friends talk when they have
been parted for a long time and have great arrears to
make up.
At last we came to the place where, not far from
the Bowder Stone, the river, after a broad, shallow
reach, grows somewhat narrower, and without much
difficulty I found my way again to the old hollow oak
which Dickon had pointed out to me. Here, some three
years after my birth, they had discovered the remains of
an old cloak much weather-stained and covered with
mildew, but with a ribbon torn from it in one place,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
79
which Anne Fisher stoutly maintained was without ques-
tion the ribbon which had bound the ring about me.
"And where did Dickon and Sir Wilfrid find you?”
said Audrey.
"Close to the river, just by this birch tree, roaring,
they say, at the top of my voice."
"What hard hearts they must have had who de-
serted you!" she exclaimed. "They can have been only
hirelings. I wonder whether those who found the cloak
searched for other things hidden in the tree."
"Let us come and look," I said, turning back to the
oak.
Nothing, however, was to be seen, and, giving up
the search, we sat down to rest and chat; and, truth to
tell, I was too happy in the present and too full of dreams
for the future to care much about what had happened
twenty years ago.
"Look at this ant!" exclaimed Audrey, laughing.
"It is toiling along with a grain almost as large as itself.
There it goes down the crack by that large stone. Here
comes another and another; we must be on the high-
road to an anthill."
With a mischievous smile she tried to lift the big
stone, but it was too heavy.
"You will cause a terrible commotion in that ant
kingdom," I said, remonstratingly.
"Never mind," she said, laughing. "They must have


80
HOPE THE HERMIT.
their revolutions just as we do. Now please enact the
Prince of Orange, and let me see what is going on in
that world below."
I tore up the big stone from the moss and earth in
which it was embedded. The ants scurried away in all
directions, but we scarcely heeded them, for the sun
glinted on something bright and shining; it was the gold
setting of an oval miniature which lay there unharmed.
in the earth. Lifting it up eagerly and rubbing the
mould from the glass, I saw the face of a beautiful girl
with soft brown curls lying on her white shoulders; the
face somehow seemed familiar to me.
I turned to Audrey in amazement.
"Who is it?" I said. "How do I know these features
so well?"
"Why," said Audrey, looking gravely first at the
miniature and then at me, "there can be no doubt
whatever about it. This must be your mother; you are
her living image, only with the strength of a man in
your look. See, the face is rather short, the cheek-
bones somewhat high, and the moulding of mouth and
chin and the very bright eyes-why, they are precisely
like yours."
We turned the miniature over and searched anxiously
for any trace of a name, but there was none, nor could
we imagine why the miniature should have been hidden
in this extraordinary fashion; it almost looked as though


HOPE THE HERMIT.
81
the hirelings who had deserted me had some special
dislike to my mother.
We went back to Grange Farm to show the treasure
we had discovered to Anne Fisher, and she, too, in-
stantly recognised the likeness which had struck us both.
Unluckily it conveyed to her mind an idea which had
not occurred to me. When Audrey was out looking at
her old friends the pigeons my foster-mother drew me
aside to give me a word of counsel.
"Keep this quiet, my lad," she said, "for I fear it
points more to your mother's shame than anything yet
has done. No doubt it was the old story of a wily-
tongued deceiver, and maybe she died at your birth,
and her family put away all remembrance of her and
left you to perish. Depend upon it, lad, there's shame
in the story, and you would do well not to search
further."
"Would you have me believe anything evil of such
an one as this?" I asked, looking again at the lovely
face, which was as guileless as the face of a child.
"Ah, lad, you are young," she said. "God knows
life is harder for such as have a face like this, for they'll
have sair temptations, and willna find it easy faring.
But don't take it too heavily. You are not the first that
has been born nameless and yet has done good work in
the world."
But though she spoke cheeringly my heart sank
Hope the Hermit. 1.
6


82
HOPE THE HERMIT,
down like lead, for I thought of Audrey, and felt more
than ever cut off from her, and I thought of Henry
Brownrigg with a sort of dumb fury. Then I remembered
the ring and the motto, and felt certain that at anyrate
my mother must have been deceived by some mock
marriage; to think otherwise of that exquisitely pure
face was impossible. It was my father who had be-
trayed her and forsaken me and tossed aside the very
picture of the girl whose life he had ruined. For what
had I found this miniature if not to aid me in tracing
him out and calling him to account? The truth should
be dragged from him, cost what it might, and my mother
should be avenged.
"Come, my lad," said Anne Fisher; "dinner is ready.
Will you go and tell Mistress Audrey?”
I strode out of the house-place, and, standing in the
porch, saw that Audrey was surrounded by pigeons,
which she was feeding. One that was specially tame
had perched on her shoulder and was eating from her
hand.
"There, you greedy birds," she cried; "you have
eaten every grain, now fly away and let me go to my
dinner."
She clapped her hands and away flew the pigeons,
their white wings flashing in the sunlight, and making
a vivid streak of brightness against the purple-grey
heights of Maiden Moor,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
83
"Oh, Mic!" she said, "how good it is to be here,
away from all cares and anxieties! What pleasant
summer visits we used to have here! I could almost
wish we were just children again. By-the-bye, I never
heard what you thought of Henry Brownrigg.
not grown into a fine-looking man?"
"Very," I said, drily.
Has he
"He is so tall and strong," she said, reflectively; “I
do like those great big men."
"Yes, women always admire that 'prize ox' kind of
man," I said, with a touch of bitterness, which did not
escape her.
"Now, Michael,” she said, laughing, "I am not going
to allow you to make an eternal feud out of a school-
boy quarrel. You two will have to be good friends now.
that you have come back to the North. Don't be cross;
come and be fed."
It was impossible to resist her coaxing, merry face;
we went into the house-place, and Anne Fisher feasted
us with all the favourite dishes of our childhood, be-
ginning with eggs and bacon and ending with girdle
cakes.
It was dusk when Dickon and I rowed Audrey back
to Lord's Island; I remember that she sang, as she sat
in the stern, that quaint old song which begins, "Now,
robin, lend to me thy bow". Her voice was quite un-
trained, but sweet and clear as a bird's. When she had
6*


84
HOPE THE HERMIT.
left us it seemed to me that all the brightness had gone
out of my world.
"Let us come to Keswick," I said to Dickon. "Sir
Wilfrid will want to hear if any news has come, and I
must speak to Zinogle."
The German fiddler lived in the market-place in a
house not far from that of Sir John Banks.
He owned
a couple of the upper rooms, and had no belongings in
the world but his fiddle and his dog; also, perhaps, I
should add his pipe, which was, he always maintained,
the best of companions.
I found him as usual in an atmosphere of music and
tobacco, and he seemed not a little interested in the
miniature when I showed it to him. He agreed with
Anne Fisher that it would be as well were I not to
mention it to people in general.
"There is one person, though, that ought to see it,"
he remarked, "and that is Mr. Noel. Show it to him
and see what he says."
"Yes, I will show it him," I replied; "he always
maintained that the ring was a wedding-ring."
"Did it ever strike you that he perhaps knows more
than he says?" asked Zinogle, his keen eyes looking
right into mine.
"If he knew the truth surely he would tell it," I
said; "but no, it is impossible. From the way in which
he was talking only the other night it's clear to me that


HOPE THE HERMIT.
85
he knows nothing.
He was saying that if it had been
possible for the truth to come out it would surely have
transpired in twenty years."
"H'm," grunted Zinogle, "you might take that saying
in two ways. He is deep and subtle. I still think he
knows the truth; and if he learnt it in the confessional,
why, his tongue is tied. That must be a bad predica-
ment for an honest man, to know, perhaps, of some
atrocious wrong and to be unable to speak and save the
innocent."
"The whole system is an accursed one," I said, hotly.
"Ha! what is that hubbub in the market-place?"
Such a shouting and cheering and huzzaing as I had
never heard in quiet little Keswick rent the air. We
thrust our heads out of the window, and saw that the
people were crowding round a rider who had drawn rein
at the town hall, a quaint old timber building in the
centre of the square.
"The Prince must have landed!" cried Zinogle, and
with one accord we rushed downstairs and out into the
market-place, there to hear the welcome tidings that on
the morning of the 5th the Prince of Orange had landed
at Brixham in Devonshire, and that King James would
no longer be free to trample the laws of England under
foot.
We had expected the landing to be in the North,
and ever since the trial of the seven bishops prepara-


86
HOPE THE HERMIT.
tions for a rising had been silently going on under the
leadership of the Earl of Devonshire, the Earl of Derby,
and my Lord Lumley. It was something of a dis-
appointment that Brixham should have chanced to be
the landing-place, but as there was no question of fight-
ing, at anyrate at present, we Cumbrians worked off our
excitement in other ways, and there was a hurried
climbing of Skiddaw to kindle the beacon, which had
last been fired when the seven bishops were acquitted
in the summer.
The night was clear and frosty, and the beacon
blazed gloriously in the still air, bearing its good tidings
into many a distant dale and town. One old veteran,
who had climbed as lustily as any of us youngsters,
stood with his white head uncovered, and solemnly gave
thanks to God for having sent a deliverer to the nation,
and then Zinogle, who for all his comic vein had a
grave side as well to his character, played on his fiddle
the first line of the Old Hundredth, and we all fell in
with his thought and sang the psalm which more than
any other tends to deepen joy and quicken gratitude.
Then came a race down the mountain at some peril
to our necks, and after pushing our way through the
thronged market-square, where many drunken revellers
were shouting "Lero, lero, lillibulero," at the tops of
their voices, Dickon and I made our way to the landing-
place and rowed across the quiet water to St. Herbert's


HOPE THE HERMIT.
87
Isle. There was a faint yellow light in Audrey's bed-
chamber, and it looked pale as a primrose in contrast
with the red glare of the beacon, which still blazed on
Skiddaw. I wondered much how the news would affect
the divided household on Lord's Island.


88
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER VII.
"Oh, Liberty! thou goddess heav'nly bright,
Profuse of bliss and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load, Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight;
Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay,
Giv'st beauty to the sun and pleasure to the day."
ADDISON.
As Michael rowed past Lord's Island the old knight
and his chaplain were sitting by the hearth in the study,
talking gravely over the great event of the day. That
unwelcome red glare in the sky, that blazing beacon on
Skiddaw, had roused even gentle old Sir Nicholas to
think anxiously of the future which lay before them.
But it was not so much of the country in general as of
his own estate and his own private affairs that Sir
Nicholas thought.
"I fancy however things turn they will not molest
me," he said. "They know that I meddle not in affairs
of State, and that for the last year I have not even
quitted the island. But when my brother succeeds to
the estate matters will be very different. He has ever


HOPE THE HERMIT.
89
been headstrong and over-much embroiled in plots and
politics. If this scheme of my daughter-in-law for marry-
ing Audrey to young Mr. Brownrigg is carried out I
foresee nothing but storms in the future."
"That is too true," said Mr. Noel, thoughtfully. "It
would be to Henry Brownrigg's interest to get your
brother out of the way and seize on the estate in his
wife's name. Oh, he is quite capable of that, for he is
ambitious and a lover of money, besides being as bitter
a Protestant as ever I met. If he had his way every
Catholic would be driven from the land. Heaven grant
that pretty Mistress Audrey may never be his wife."
"Amen to that," said Sir Nicholas, feebly rubbing
his thin hands. "It is the wish of my heart to see her
wedded to young Cuthbert Salkeld, who is not only rich,
but a good Catholic and of excellent character. Her
mother is bitterly opposed to it, however, and will not
hear of her being given in marriage to any but a Pro-
testant."
"How Mrs. Radcliffe can be hoodwinked by such
an overbearing and pragmatical piece of conceit as
Henry Brownrigg passes my understanding," said Mr.
Noel. "But she can see no fault in him. And what
is more, if she encourages his suit, I fear Mistress
Audrey will be won over, for no doubt he is a fine
figure of a man, and that goes for much with one so
young. If it be indeed out of the question to urge the


90
HOPE THE HERMIT.
marriage with Mr. Salkeld, how would it be to take
advantage of Michael Derwent's perfectly evident de-
votion to your granddaughter?"
"Eh? What? Does the wind sit in that quarter?"
said Sir Nicholas, with some surprise. "I knew they
were good friends, but never guessed that the boy
dreamt of such a thing."
"He has said naught," said Mr. Noel, "but I have
known him all his life, and can read his face like a
book. He is very much in love-there is no doubt of
that."
"But his birth, Father, and his fortune? In no way
is he a fitting match for my granddaughter."
"Oh, as for his birth, that is indeed a mystery," said
Mr. Noel; "but everything pointed to his being of gentle
lineage. As for money, it is true that he hath but what
he earns, yet I am much mistaken if he does not make
his mark in the world. Then, although he is a Pro-
testant, and for that reason might prove acceptable as a
son-in-law to Mrs. Radcliffe, he is no bigot, as we have
good reason to know. Indeed, I am sure he would be
the very one to help and shelter any Catholic, if he
deemed him hardly dealt with by the Government.
There is a generosity about Michael Derwent which is
wholly wanting in such men as Henry Brownrigg."
"Yes, yes, they are poles apart, and I like the lad


HOPE THE HERMIT.
91
well enough. Still, it is not such a match as a Rad-
cliffe might have looked for."
The priest's face bore a curious expression; one
might almost have fancied that there was a momentary
gleam of humour in his grey eyes.
He turned away,
and began to pace the room restlessly. "Of course,
the other match would be in every way more desirable,"
he said; "young Salkeld is a good Catholic and will
succeed to the title, but that seems out of the question
during Mrs. Radcliffe's lifetime. The point now is
whether, to get rid of the Brownrigg incubus, it might
not be worth while to encourage Michael Derwent."
"I leave it to you," said Sir Nicholas, with a sigh.
"Such things are better managed by active and obser-
vant people. I am merely a recluse. You love Aud-
rey, and have her best interests at heart. Act as it
seems well to you. For my own part, I have always
liked Michael."
Mr. Noel was quite ready to echo these last words,
for his affection for his pupil was perfectly genuine.
Nevertheless, he had no scruples as to using Michael
in whatever way seemed best for the general further-
ance of his well-meaning schemes; and it was quite
possible, as he now foresaw, that, after encouraging his
passion for Audrey, circumstances might arise which
would make it politic to reverse these tactics.
There were so many things which might alter the


92
HOPE THE HERMIT.
whole state of affairs. Not only private happenings, but
the troubled and uncertain state of the country, made
it a most interesting problem for the priest's brain to
busy itself with. He sat musing over it in silence. The
Salkeld marriage was the move he had actually planned,
but his opponent's play had necessitated a new develop-
ment, in which Michael for a time was to be the piece
brought into action. He, meanwhile, quite unconscious
of all this, was supping with Sir Wilfrid and discussing
the great news of the day.
Audrey and her mother, having watched the beacon
die out and darkness settle over Derwentwater, lingered
a little over their preparations for the night to talk
over the news as it affected their own particular neigh-
bourhood.
"The Lowthers will sleep more peacefully now," said
Mrs. Radcliffe, with a smile. "And Henry Brownrigg
He is pretty
sure to get promotion if the Prince's cause triumphs, as
there is every reason to think it will."
will feel that his star is in the ascendant.
"That will just suit him; his sister says he is very
ambitious," said Audrey, laughing. "What will they
make him, I wonder? He certainly loves ordering other
folk about."
Her mother glanced at her a little anxiously. Did
this frank criticism of Henry Brownrigg hide any deeper
feelings? She could not feel sure; and her heart mis-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
93
gave her a little when Audrey began a graphic descrip-
tion of her happy day in Borrowdale, and of how they
had discovered the miniature.
"Poor Michael!" said Mrs. Radcliffe. "This makes
There can be no doubt now of
his case even worse.
his mother's disgrace.
To-morrow, Audrey, we will go
over to Millbeck Hall and see the Brownriggs. Henry
is sure to have the latest news as to the Prince's pro-
gress, and I have great confidence in his opinion.
Young as he is, I would take his judgment before Sir
Wilfrid's."
To this Audrey was quite ready to agree. To her
there seemed no comparison between Sir Wilfrid and
that paragon of perfection at Millbeck Hall. Un-
doubtedly she was much flattered by Henry Brown-
rigg's attentions, and honestly admired his splendid
physique; nor was she altogether unaware of a certain
throbbing of the heart and quickening of the pulses
at the very mention of his name. But these details
were nothing to Mr. Noel; he rated them at precisely
what they were worth, and with a shrug of his shoulders
calmly continued his game of human chess.
The peaceful English Revolution meanwhile went
quietly on its course. The Prince of Orange, who had
come over at the pressing invitation of the leading men
among Tories and Whigs, and worthy representatives of
the Church of England and the Nonconformists, was


94
HOPE THE HERMIT.
naturally acknowledged with little delay by the nation.
York and Newcastle, and indeed city after city, declared
in his favour, and King James found that his tyranny
had wholly alienated the hearts of the people. The
spies sent by him to find out what was doing in the
West took his money and quietly joined the Prince, so
that it was almost impossible for the King to get any
true idea of his son-in-law's movements. He could only
learn that day after day one great man after another
joined his army, the cruellest cut of all being, perhaps,
the desertion of Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton,
who joined the Prince at Axminster, Churchill quitting
the King's army at night, and explaining by letter that
he could not fight against the Protestant cause.
Then followed negotiations which might very pos-
sibly have left James the crown, but made for ever out
of the question that despotic authority which he desired.
Unfortunately for himself, he had all his father's dupli-
city without his virtues, and while treating with the
Prince of Orange he was also negotiating with France,
and endeavouring to set up his despotism once more by
French aid.
At last, affairs growing desperate he resolved upon
flight. Having previously contrived to send the Queen
and her child to France, he left Whitehall on the tenth
of December disguised as the servant of Sir Edward


HOPE THE HERMIT.
95
Hales, and favoured by the darkness of very early
morning.
Thinking to plunge the country into difficulties, he
flung the Great Seal into the river, and escaped in a
miserable fishing-boat which had been provided by his
companion. But unluckily, Sir Edward Hales was re-
cognised by some fishermen at Feversham, who took
upon themselves to check his progress, and the King,
thus caught in the act of running away, was ignomini-
ously brought back again, to the general embarrassment
of the people and their leaders, who were at a great
loss to know what to do with him. Some were for
keeping him prisoner, and it became clear that while he
remained at Whitehall disorders would be certain to
arise in London. It was at length suggested to him
that he should retire to Rochester, and from thence in
a few days he once more escaped by night, and going
on board a frigate in the Medway, was swiftly borne,
as the people would have said, "by a Protestant wind"
to Ambleteuse, from which place he made his way to
St. Germains.


96
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER VIII.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT.
"I that have love and no more
Give you but love of you, sweet:
He that hath more, let him give;
He that hath wings, let him soar;
Mine is the heart at your feet
Here, that must love you to live."
SWINBURNE.
ALL through December and January there was
scarcely anything but talk of public events, and Sir
Wilfrid kept me hard at work, so that, what with writ-
ing of letters and attending conferences at Cockermouth
and elsewhere, I began to despair of ever seeing Audrey
again. Henry Brownrigg had just been promoted to
the office of Under-Sheriff, and it maddened me to think
that he might see her every day if it so pleased him.
However at last my chance came, and his, thanks to
providence-or as I sometimes fancy to the machina-
tions of Mr. Noel-was for the time lost.
It came about in this fashion.
There lived at Raby Castle in the county of Durham
one Sir Christopher Vane-son of the late Sir Harry


HOPE THE HERMIT.
97
Vane, commonly known as the patriot-and he had
arranged to hold high festival at Raby late in Febru-
ary, in honour of a family event it was said, though
probably not without reference to the great change which
had taken place in public affairs.
Sir Christopher had at one time held office under
King James; the Sovereign's illegalities had, however,
so disgusted him that he gave up the untenable theory
that the King could do no wrong and, in the reaction,
went back to the faith of his fathers and became a
strong advocate of freedom. It was therefore both con-
venient and seemly that his change of front should be
generally known, and by inviting a host of friends and
showing them a princely hospitality he managed very
neatly to effect his object.
Sir Wilfrid Lawson being an old friend of the Vanes
was among the first to be invited, and I thought myself
in luck's way to get the chance of accompanying him,
specially when I learnt through old Zinogle, who chanced
to be in Cockermouth to play at a wedding, that Audrey
and her mother had also received an invitation,-owing
I believe to some past connection between the Vanes
and the Radcliffes.
We left Isel Hall just after the news had arrived
that the Convention had offered the crown to the Prince
of Orange and the Princess Mary, and that they had
Hope the Hermit. I.
7


98
HOPE THE HERMIT.
been proclaimed King and Queen at London and West-
minster. Great therefore were the rejoicings at Cocker-
mouth, where what with Church bells ringing, and the
people half wild with joy to think that the suspense
and uncertainty were ended, and the reign of toleration
beginning, we found some difficulty in making our way
through the thronged streets. For-let alone the crowd
-there were scores of folk that wanted a word with
Sir Wilfred, he being much beloved in all the neighbour-
hood. However, at length we were riding along the
quiet shore of Bassenthwaite and as dusk fell found our-
selves once more in the familiar little market town of
Keswick. We lay that night at the Royal Oak, where
Zinogle came to see me, bringing me word that Henry
Brownrigg was to accompany the ladies from Lord's
Island on their journey early the next morning. This
was not very cheerful hearing, and I lay awake a whole
hour brooding over the news. Nevertheless things
looked brighter by daylight, and having made a hearty
breakfast I set out with my patron in excellent spirits,
full of hope that we might fall in with Audrey upon the
road.
We had only just quitted the town when suddenly
a man sprang forward from the shelter of a great beech
tree and waving a paper in his hand to attract attention
called to Sir Wilfrid to draw rein.
"There's mischief afoot, sir," he panted breathlessly.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
99
"Of your charity bear this to, the Under-Sheriff-they
say he has ridden to Stable Hills farm."
Before Sir Wilfrid could put a single question to
him the man had thrust the letter into his hand and
had dashed away into the wood as though dreading
detection.
"Here's a pretty state of things," said Sir Wilfrid.
"Mischief afoot already and the King and Queen but
just proclaimed! We must lose no time, Michael, but
carry this news to Henry Brownrigg. Did you ever see
that fellow before?"
"I never caught a full sight of his face, his hat was
over his eyes, sir," I replied. "But his way of speaking
was not Cumbrian. Now I think of it his speech savoured
a little of that Irish cobbler that Mr. Noel nursed through
the small-pox."
"Ah, I remember hearing about that," said Sir
Wilfrid, "though I never saw the cobbler. Mr. Noel
has as kind a heart as any man in the county. Pity he
is on the wrong side."
We rode as fast as might be to Stable Hills farm,
which was on the eastern side of Derwentwater and
within a stone's throw of Lord's Island. It was here the
Radcliffes stabled their horses.
In front of the farm there was a little group which I
eagerly scanned. Audrey, looking wonderfully fresh and
winsome in her brown riding-skirt and broad plumed
7*


100
HOPE THE HERMIT.
hat was already mounted on her chestnut mare—Fire-
fly; and Henry Brownrigg was in the act of helping Mrs.
Radcliffe to her pillion behind one of the serving-men,
while Mr. Noel stood talking to William Hollins the
farmer. He glanced round quickly as we approached
and I am sure I saw a twinkle of amused satisfaction in
his eye as we drew rein.
"I am glad to have caught you before you started,
Mr. Brownrigg," exclaimed Sir Wilfrid, after saluting
the ladies. "Just as we rode out of Keswick a man
thrust this letter for you into my hand and asked me to
give it you with all speed, as mischief was brewing.
What the fellow means I have no notion, nor was he a
man I had ever seen before. He disappeared before I
could question him, but perhaps the letter will explain
itself."
Henry Brownrigg with an important air which evi-
dently amused Mr. Noel, slowly broke the seal and read
the letter. As he read, his face darkened. He read
the communication a second time more carefully and
stood for a few minutes deep in thought, not uncon-
scious that all eyes were upon him, for he was the sort
of man to find this a very soothing sensation to his self-
love.
"Well, there is no help for it," he said, with a shrug
of the shoulders, "my duty calls me away, ladies; there
is I fear mischief afoot and I shall not be able to escort


HOPE THE HERMIT.
ΙΟΙ
you to Raby Castle.
Be sure that I shall follow you,
though, as soon as I can. Possibly to-morrow or the
next day.”
He handed the missive to Sir Wilfrid, who quite
agreed with him that he must stay and inquire into the
matter and courteously volunteered to take his place as
escort to Mrs. Radcliffe and her daughter.
They were very glad to accept the suggestion, and
Audrey, after saying a courteous word or two of regret
to Henry Brownrigg and hoping that the business would
not detain him long, was very soon chatting gaily enough
with me, nor could I read in her face any sign that she
was grieving over the absence of the Under-Sheriff. I
built a great deal on this-foolishly enough-not having
learnt yet that women have a most extraordinary power
in hiding their true feelings, and that the most skilful of
all actresses is a maiden who would fain conceal her
love-story from the public gaze.
I shall never pass along the Penrith road without re-
membering our cheery ride that day.
"Isel Hall has taught you how to talk," she said
once with a roguish glance in my direction. "The
silent Cambridge graduate is no more!"
And how was I to sum up audacity enough to tell
her the truth, that it was not the time at Isel which had
taught me, but just the delight of being in her presence
which, since that first bewildering November afternoon


102
HOPE THE HERMIT.
when we had met once more on Lord's Island, had
changed my whole world, and made me for the first
time feel that I truly lived. Without her it was mere
existence, but with her life indeed.
We broke the journey at the most comfortable of
the wayside inns, arriving at Staindrop, the village close
to Raby Castle, just as the sun was setting on the second
day.
The broad village street was unusually lively, and as
we passed the old grey-towered church Audrey drew my
attention to a group of pretty children standing by the
wall, and with a laugh tossed them some comfits from a
little embroidered bag hanging at her side.
"I warrant you they envy us, these chubby little
mortals," she said. "And yet, to tell the truth, I would
far liefer dismount and play with them than ride on to
this stately place where we shall find only strangers."
But spite of the shyness natural enough to one who
was used to nothing but country life, she gave a cry of
delight when, as we rode up the rising ground, that
splendid pile of massive towers and turrets and battle-
mented walls came into view. The red sun was sinking
like a glowing ball in the grey misty sky and a rosy
glow rested on the castle-the pride of the neighbour-
hood ever since the days of Canute. The place had
been partially ruined and had been sold to the elder
Sir Henry Vane by Charles I. According to the pur-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
103
chaser it had then been merely "a hillock o' stanes,"
but judicious re-building had soon wrought a magical
transformation and it is said King Charles considered
that the splendid castle which he visited later on had
been very cheaply obtained. Passing over the draw-
bridge and across a courtyard we rode into the actual
castle itself, dismounting at the foot of the great stair-
case where Sir Christopher stood to receive his guests.
He was a somewhat heavy-featured man and I, naturally
enough, expected the most formal of greetings from him,
but as I made my bow and his eyes rested for a
moment on my face a look of astonishment and a
muttered ejaculation escaped him; however, quickly re-
covering himself, he turned again to speak with Mrs.
Radcliffe, and it was not until the following day that I
understood the meaning of the look of recognition which
I had certainly seen in his eyes.
Chancing to be early astir, I came across Sir Chris-
topher in one of the corridors, and he, with a kindly
greeting and a somewhat searching look, invited me to
go with him into the walled garden at a little distance
from the castle.
"I understand from Sir Wilfrid that you are his
secretary," he began, as we entered the garden. “I did
not catch your name yesterday," he glanced at me
questioningly.
"I am called Michael Derwent, sir," I replied. "But


104
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Sir
I have no real surname, being just a foundling.
Wilfrid rescued me twenty years ago in Borrowdale by
the river-side."
A most extraordinary look passed over Sir Chris-
topher's face.
"Do you mean that he found you there deserted?"
he asked quickly.
"Yes, deserted and half-dead with cold and hunger.
Luckily he chanced to be out early that morning on a
fishing expedition or it would have been all over with
me."
"And you have never found out anything of your
parentage?"
"Never, sir, though I would give the world to do so.
I am in a miserable position now, and until I can find
out the truth my career is sure to be more or less
hampered."
"Perhaps I can help you up to a certain point,"
said Sir Christopher cautiously. "I recognised you in a
moment, for you are the living image of your mother."
"You knew her, sir?" I asked eagerly, and after a
moment's reflection I drew out the miniature, which I
had never ceased to wear since the day we had dis-
covered it, and placed it in his hands.
He looked at it with admiration but quite without
any trace of special feeling; clearly my mother had
been but an acquaintance, and yet it set all my pulses


HOPE THE HERMIT.
105
throbbing at double time to think that he had once
seen her and that he knew her story.
"Is she still living?" I asked eagerly.
"No," he replied, "she died at your birth. Poor
girl! she was only seventeen if I remember right.”
me."
"Then it must have been my father who deserted
"Yes, I suppose so," he replied, cautiously weighing
his words. "Your father was my friend. I understood
that he meant to leave you in charge of some of the
dalesfolk. I suppose he changed his mind."
"At least tell me his name," I said with rage in my
heart.
"I wish I could do so. But I was a mere lad at
the time," replied Sir Christopher, "and my friend, who
was considerably older, extorted a vow of secrecy from
me."
"I suppose he wronged my mother and then
naturally enough desired to make an end of me," I
said with burning cheeks.
"No, no, it was not so bad as that," said Sir Chris-
topher. "He may have neglected your mother, it is
true, his passion was too vehement to last long, it burnt
itself out in a few weeks. But he wedded her honestly
enough in London, though at what church I dare not
tell you.
I was one of the witnesses myself however,
and can set your mind at rest on that score."


106
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I was silent for a minute trying to realise that the
load which had so long oppressed me had suddenly
been taken away and that the worst obstacle to my ac-
ceptance by Mrs. Radcliffe as Audrey's suitor no longer
existed. We passed a great bush of lavender about
which a spider had been spinning its web, and now all
wet with morning dew it sparkled in the sun like a
dainty network of diamonds. No less brilliant was the
dream castle I hastily reared upon these words of Sir
Christopher.
"Is my father still living, sir?" I asked after a
pause.
"Yes, but it is many years since I saw him. And
now I believe he is not in England. You wonder no
doubt why it was that he deserted you since you were
his rightful heir. I have no right to explain that matter
to you, but I will certainly communicate with him and
let him know that I have come across you.
He may
yet acknowledge you-indeed I should think he would
be glad to do so. There, let us say no more of the
matter, I have perhaps already been ill-advised in speak-
ing so freely."
With a few kindly and hospitable words he left me
to think over the astonishing news that he had told me,
and I might have paced up and down the garden paths
for hours had I not been interrupted. There was a
merry shout and a ringing child's laugh; then, down the
1


HOPE THE HERMIT.
107
green alley in pursuit of a ball, ran a little imp of about
seven years of age, hotly pursued by Audrey, who al-
ways dearly loved a good romp with children.
"Neighbour, I've come to torment you-do as I
do!" was her laughing greeting, and whether I would
or no she dragged me into the game which, to the great
delight of little Will Vane, we continued until he was
fetched away by one of the servants.
"Why, 'tis as hot as midsummer!" said Audrey, her
face all aglow with the fresh air and the exercise,
"come, let us rest awhile in this arbour. What were
you meditating upon so solemnly when we came across
you just now?"
Then I told her of all that Sir Christopher had said,
and her delighted sympathy made my heart beat fast.
Audrey had a way of identifying herself with her friends
and their interests which very few women possess.
Many can give sympathy, but she gave her whole being
and made you feel that she cared for your concerns al-
most more than you cared yourself.
All this I understood afterwards, but in the glow of
hope and excitement which filled my heart this morning
it seemed to me that a whole new life was opening be-
fore me and that all the wishes of my heart were going
to be granted at once. Yet I dared not tell her yet of
my love, though I longed to do so. For that it was
surely best to wait until all things connected with my
•


108
HOPE THE HERMIT.
father had been made clear. The only thing that I
ventured to do was to ask her to tell her mother what
Sir Christopher had said, and later in the day Mrs.
Radcliffe spoke very kindly to me about this, while Sir
Wilfrid, who probably had some inkling as to my feelings
towards Audrey, was full of congratulations and earned
my eternal gratitude by giving me almost unlimited.
freedom during our brief visit.
But all things delightful must come to an end, and
on the fourth evening of our stay there came a sudden
eclipse of all satisfaction as far as I was concerned.
There was dancing that night in the Baron's hall—
one of the most magnificent rooms I have ever seen.
All the wealth and beauty of the neighbourhood seemed
gathered together beneath its vaulted roof, but Audrey
with her childlike grey eyes and her wealth of golden-
brown hair was the fairest of all the company-not the
least of her charms being her wonderful simplicity. I
heard one critical matron declare that for all her good
looks she did not know how to use her charms and
make the most of her advantages; but it was just in that
very fact that her great charm lay. While other maidens
picked up a dozen coquettish tricks, and ogled every
man they encountered, Audrey went on her way with
the light-hearted ease of a child of six years old, heartily
enjoying fun and frolic and without I am sure one vain
or selfish thought. It was wonderful to me that every-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
109
one was not at her feet. But my luck was still in the
ascendant; she gave me three dances, and afterwards
for awhile we sat together in one of the window-seats
chatting of trivial things, and letting the golden hours
slip by in a way which I bitterly regretted when it was
too late. How was I to know that fate in the person of
Henry Brownrigg was climbing the stair, entering the
hall, and at that very moment seeking me out?
I felt Audrey start a little, and glancing up saw the
massive figure and handsome haughty features of the
Under-Sheriff. He greeted Audrey effusively.
"The rumour
"Yes, I have been able at last to overtake you,” he
said, favouring me with a curt nod.
seems to have been a false alarm after all.
Derwent, Sir Wilfrid is looking for you.
By-the-bye,
A messenger
before I left
rode over to Keswick from Isel Hall just
and I was able to bring the letter on here. It seems
that Lady Lawson is very ill."
I hastened to join my patron and found that Henry
Brownrigg's news was only too true. Sir Wilfrid was in
great anxiety, and as it was a moonlight night and the
roads in these parts were not so dangerous as in many
other neighbourhoods, he had determined to lose no
time but to press on at once.
So ended the happiest days of my life. Hastily
taking leave of Audrey and her mother I hurried off to
prepare for the journey, to change my black velvet cos-


ΙΙΟ
HOPE THE HERMIT.
tume for a sober travelling dress of brown tweed, to
don a heavy frieze cloak warranted to keep the wearer
warm even in our northern winter, and to pack Sir
Wilfrid's possessions for him.
Sir Christopher took a kindly farewell of us and just
at the last drew me aside to say in a low voice that
he would not forget his promise to write to my father
at the earliest opportunity. Then we rode out through
the great door and across the drawbridge, and through
the park with its bright stretches of white light and its
inky shadows. The clock was striking ten when I turned
to get one last look at the castle with its noble outlines,
its orange-coloured lamps shining from every window,
and its stately towers clearly defined against the pale
sky. Would Audrey give a thought to me on this
dreary night journey? Something told me she would;
and I rode on, cold and tired, and chafing under the
thought that our gala days had come to so sudden an
end; yet beneath it all was that comforting assurance
which kept with me like a living presence all through
the night.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
III
CHAPTER IX.
"You who are earth and cannot rise
Above your sense,
Boasting the envied wealth which lies
Bright in your mistress' lips or eyes,
Betray a pitied eloquence.”
HABINGTON.
It was with a sense of great content that Henry
Brownrigg watched his rival disappear from the Baron's
hall. It was not easy any longer to despise Michael
Derwent; he could not be bullied as in the old school
days, and he had a way of entirely ignoring slights and
snubs which recoiled upon the snubber, and was highly
irritating. That the fellow had the presumption to love
Audrey Radcliffe there was no doubt, but whether
Audrey returned the feeling was fortunately quite un-
certain, and Henry Brownrigg, who had his share of the
wisdom of the serpent, checked the disparaging remark
which was on his lips and made no allusion to Michael
at all, but instead gave the girl an amusing account of
the difficulties he had had to contend with in hunting
up traces of the rumoured plot.
Audrey was interested and not a little flattered by


I 12
HOPE THE HERMIT.
his way of talking to her; empty compliments would not
have pleased her at all, but she felt the subtle charm of
being deferred to and consulted by a man who knew so
much of the world; and whereas Michael had never been
able to awaken in her anything but the most sisterly
friendship, this older man, with his fine physique and
his carefully drawn plan of campaign, was able to lay a
most successful siege upon her heart.
Her pulses beat quickly when the following morning
her mother called her aside just before the guests went
to make ready for morning church.
"My child," she said, "Mr. Brownrigg has just asked
me to give you to him in marriage.
could you love him as a husband?”
Audrey blushed and trembled.
Tell me the truth:
"I think I could, ma'am," she said, "and yet--oh
mother! must I wed him yet! I do not think I can
leave you."
"Dear child," said her mother, "there is no immediate
haste, and indeed your marriage to such a man would
be a great comfort to me. We cannot always be to-
gether, dear heart, and as you well know my health is
but uncertain."
"Oh do not say that," said Audrey, tears rushing to
her eyes, "I could never be happy without you, mother."
Mrs. Radcliffe took the girl's hand and held it
caressingly.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
113
"Why, Audrey," she said, "it will not make me die
a day sooner to speak of the possibility. And think
what a load you will take from my heart if you can in-
deed accept Henry Brownrigg's proposal of marriage. I
should then be at rest about your future. But if I had
to leave you in the old house with only your grandfather
and Mr. Noel I should be anxious indeed for your well-
being."
"Then I will accept this offer of marriage," said
Audrey with great calmness, "only do not let there be
any haste as to the ceremony. If we are betrothed
would you then feel happy about me?”
"Quite happy," said Mrs. Radcliffe, with a sigh of
relief. "I will tell Mr. Brownrigg that he may speak
with you after church. Run and dress quickly, my dear,
or we shall keep the others waiting."
Audrey, in a whirl of excitement, half painful, half
pleasurable, hastily put on her fur-bordered mantle and
her broad, feathered hat; she also put on for the first
time a dainty pair of French gloves which had been
given to her at Christmas, and taking her large morocco-
bound prayer-book joined the other guests at the foot of
the great staircase. She perceived directly that Henry
Brownrigg was talking to Lady Vane, and stole a shy
glance at her future husband, who, in his purple coat,
best lace cravat and huge periwig, looked a very fine
gentleman indeed. Did she love him? Yes, there could
Hope the Hermit. I.
8


114
HOPE THE HERMIT.
certainly be no doubt as to that; she loved him with
that blind admiration which is not the highest or the
happiest form of love, but which while it lasts is un-
doubtedly most real.
Like one treading on air she walked through the park
to Staindrop church and side by side with her lover
paced up the path between the graves which led to the
stately building where according to tradition Canute had
once worshipped. It was rich in monuments of the
Nevill family, and Audrey found herself drawn by a sort
of fascination to the tomb of the fifth Earl of Westmore-
land, who, with his first wife on one side of him and his
second wife on the other, lay with upturned face await-
ing the resurrection where "they neither marry nor are
given in marriage."
There was a special thanksgiving for the happy set-
tlement of the nation's great difficuties, and for the first
time the names of the new King and Queen were intro-
duced in the prayers, upon which a strange thrill seemed
to pass through the congregation; but Audrey observed
that one sturdy-looking old gentleman rose from his knees
and closed his prayer-book with a resounding thud, upon
which a small schoolboy tittered and the beadle ad-
vancing with his staff of office gave the offending lad a
tap on the head, and would evidently have enjoyed ap-
plying the staff to the knees of the old man.
Then followed the sermon, which it is to be feared


HOPE THE HERMIT.
115
Audrey did not hear at all, for her thoughts would keep
wandering to the great event which was about to change
her whole life.
She remembered how greatly Michael would dislike
her marriage with one who had always failed to under-
stand him, and she wondered whether she should be
able to make her husband and her foster-brother the
good friends she would fain have had them to be. It
never once occurred to her that Michael's friendship
had developed into love, nor did she dream that while.
she sat there in Staindrop church wondering whether
the revelation as to his parentage would in itself be suf-
ficient to make Henry Brownrigg adopt a different tone
to him, Michael was riding towards Penrith treasuring up
in his heart every word she had spoken to him at Raby
Castle, and blind to the beauty of the landscape be-
cause of the inward vision of her face which continually
haunted him.
At the close of the sermon they sang the metrical
version of the 15th psalm, and Audrey thought in her
mind how well the words applied to her lover.
Her confidence in Henry's generosity was boundless,
but it was hard to say upon what she grounded it. Had
she analysed her impressions-which needless to say
she never did—she might possibly have found that his
size had something to do with it. She was one of those
girls who reverence mere physical bulk; Skiddaw was
8*


116
HOPE THE HERMIT.
much more to her than Causey Pike because though less
beautiful it was larger. She loved old Rollo the mastiff
because of his huge proportions, trusting him far more
than Fritz the terrier. And she had an instinct that a man
of Henry Brownrigg's build must be also large-minded and
trustworthy.
Her heart beat fast with happy excitement when on
the way back from church he confessed his love to her,
and begged her to spare him a few minutes' private talk
in the walled garden, that he might plead his cause.
They sat together in the very arbour in which she
had sat with Michael when, but a few days before, he
had told her of Sir Christopher's revelation; where also,
though she little guessed it, he had been on the point
of telling her of his love, but had choked back the words,
determined that he would bide his time and have at least
a name to offer the woman he loved.
But Audrey had no leisure to think of her foster-
brother at such a moment as this. For was not the
man she loved and admired with her whole heart asking
her to be his wife?
She did not keep him long waiting for his answer,
and in her heart there lurked no faintest shadow of
doubt as to their future happiness. To Henry's failings
she was as yet altogether blind, and the mere fact that
her mother liked him, and that Mr. Noel detested him,
added piquancy to the whole affair and made her ready


HOPE THE HERMIT.
117
to champion him against all the world. Her heart
burnt within her as she remembered that she had once
heard Mr. Noel speak of him as an ambitious and selfish
schemer. Well, there was a wise old proverb which
said "We judge others by ourselves," and Audrey, who
was no saint, but had her share of elfish delight in
teasing and baffling and making sport out of those who
had displeased her, looked forward with no slight pleasure
to an encounter with her old tutor on their return to
Lord's Island.
Henry Brownrigg, kneeling beside her, saw the swift
changes in her expressive face and wondered what they
betokened.
"What are your thoughts, sweetheart?" he said, rais-
ing her hand to his lips. "Why do you frown?"
Audrey broke into a merry laugh.
"I was only thinking of my old tutor at home-you
know he was never one of your likers, but he will have
to change his mind now.”
"That priest?" said Henry Brownrigg bitterly. "Don't
let him come betwixt us, Audrey, for heaven's sake."
"Why, no, how could he do that?" said Audrey con-
fidently. "The day of his power has quite gone by;
and depend upon it, when he really knows you he will
like you."
Henry Brownrigg shook his head.
"Scarcely that, I think," he said with a bitter smile.


118
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"But after all we need not come across him much. When
once we are wedded all will be well. I hate to think
that till then you must be under a Papist's roof."
"Why," said Audrey, a little startled at his tone.
"How strangely you speak! You forget how dearly I
love my grandfather. You speak of him as if he were
no Christian! But it is because you do not know him.
When you see how kind, how gentle, how full of charity
he is you will not talk in that hard voice."
Henry seemed about to speak, but he checked him-
self and only smiled in a superior and rather patronising
way, which in any other man Audrey would have deeply
resented.
Just now, however, she was in the blind stage of
love; and after all how was it likely that she should
trouble herself about such matters when for the first
time she felt her lover's strong arm round her, when she
heard him lavishing upon her every endearing epithet,
and began faintly to realise what it means to love and
to be loved?
Her face was radiant as they went slowly back to-
gether to the Castle, there to receive her mother's tender
and happy greeting and the congratulations of those who
had had the pleasure of guessing beforehand that a be-
trothal was imminent.
Two days later, when the festivities at Raby came
to an end, Audrey and her mother, attended of course by
1


HOPE THE HERMIT.
119
Henry Brownrigg, went on their homeward way as far
as Penrith, where, according to previous arrangements,
they were to spend a few weeks with some of Mrs.
Radcliffe's kinsfolk. The news of the betrothal was
therefore sent to Lord's Island by a letter carried by
one of the serving-men, a course which Mrs. Radcliffe
greatly preferred to breaking the news herself to her
father-in-law.
She wrote dutifully and courteously but dwelt much
on her satisfaction in seeing Audrey betrothed to one
they had long known, a near neighbour, moreover, and
one who held her own views as to religious matters.
It pained her to hurt one so kindly as old Sir Nich-
olas, but she must hold her own and bestow her daughter
as she thought best and in accordance with what would
have been her father's wishes. She had signed her
name and was about to fold and seal the letter when
an idea suddenly flashed into her mind and taking up
her pen once more she added a postscript.
"It may be well to let Michael Derwent know of the
betrothal," she wrote. "Also all relatives and friends in
the neighbourhood that come in your way."
"I fear the lad cared for her," she said to herself
thoughtfully. "Audrey never seemed even to guess at
it, but there were many things which pointed that way.
Well, he is young-he will get over it.
Yet I am sorry
for him nevertheless."


I 20
HOPE THE HERMIT.
But just then the church bells began to ring for
service, and not unnaturally Mrs. Radcliffe's thoughts
quickly left Michael Derwent and his trouble, and turned
instead to a much more cheering idea. Wedding bells
-the bells of St. Kentigern's at Crosthwaite were peal-
ing gaily, and down the churchyard path walked Audrey
and Henry Brownrigg.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
121
CHAPTER X.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT.
"When the Lord's blessed will bloweth across your desires, it
is best, in humility, to strike sail to Him."
SAMUEL RUTHERFORD.
THAT Lady Lawson should have chosen that precise
time for falling ill seemed to me hard lines, for to be
forced to quit Raby Castle, to leave the coast clear for
Henry Brownrigg just when my hopes were highest,
seemed intolerable. As we rode on through the dismal
night, I found myself wishing that my patron had been
a less affectionate and anxious husband, or that he had
been a rigid Sabbatarian, when no doubt we should
have remained until Monday as Sir Christopher's guests.
Above all I wished myself a free agent, not a great man's
secretary, and at thought of the small discomforts of
the situation I fell to remembering the injury my father
had done to me in leaving me all these years to the
mercy of fate. How cruelly unfair was the treatment
he had dealt out to me in the past! And was it likely
that he would be willing now to remedy the wrong as far
as might be, and own me as his heir? Sir Christopher
Vane would doubtless do what he could to urge this


122
HOPE THE HERMIT.
course upon him, but was it wise to hope much from a
parent who in the past had proved himself so cold-
hearted and callous? Surely I had been a fool to hope
anything from such a man.
Then back into my mind there came the remem-
brance of Audrey's words in the arbour, how she had
argued in her tender womanly way that he might be
only too glad of a chance of righting the great wrong he
had wrought years ago. And from her arguments I fell
to thinking of the flush of excitement that had risen to
her face, and the sweet sympathy of her eyes as I told
her my tale. It was from such thoughts that Sir Wil-
frid's laughing voice recalled me.
"Art asleep, lad?" he asked, turning towards me
with a smile. "Three times have I spoken and never an
answer can I get.”
I stammered an apology, but he only laughed good-
humouredly.
"Nay, lad, 'tis easy to see that you left your heart
behind you at Raby. And in truth were I your age I
should have done the same. As to that pragmatical
and humourless Under-Sheriff, I scarce think you need
fear him as a rival. The girl has surely wit enough
to see through his pretensions, and to despise his vanity.
Let us but unearth this father of yours, and get you your
rights, and I would back you against ten Henry Brown-
riggs."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
123
There was something so comfortable and cheering
in these words that my fears were for the time lulled,
but when late on the Sunday we reached Penrith and
after a hearty supper went to bed, the fates were less
kind to me, and all night I was pursued by a horrid
vision of the Under-Sheriff twice as big as he was in
real life. Everywhere he followed me with that hateful
superior smile of his, and everywhere he led Audrey like
a child by the hand.
"Only one can win in this game," he said to me with
a sneer, "and foundlings are handicapped."
I raged at this, and could feel the blood tingling in
my veins as in the old days at school when I had
fought him. But what broke my heart was that Audrey
turned and looked at me with her great grey eyes, and
in them I read a sort of curiosity. "How are you tak-
ing it?" the eyes seemed to say. "Is it true as my lover
declares that you really cared for me?”
At that I rushed away from both pursuers, and
throwing myself down beside the Derwent for always
Borrowdale formed the background of my dreams-I
fell a-sobbing and so woke up, shaken and exhausted
and a prey to the most deadly depression.
In very low spirits we went on our journey that
Monday morning, but when we reached Isel Hall the
presence of serious illness in the household drove out
every other thought; indeed for days it was impossible


124
HOPE THE HERMIT.
to think of anything but of the shadow of death that
hung over us like a pall. On the Thursday, however,
this anxiety abated. Lady Lawson began to mend
and the doctor no longer waited long hours in the house
as though expecting a deadly combat with the foe he
was always trying to cheat of his prey, but rode back
cheerfully to Cockermouth to see how it fared with his
other patients.
By the Friday morning we had settled down into
the ordinary routine of work, and I was doing accounts
in the library while Sir Wilfrid at the other side of the
table was busy over some legal documents when a ser-
vant entered and handed me a letter. I had not so
many correspondents that I could long remain in doubt.
as to who the letter was from, and indeed Mr. Noel's
handwriting was well known to me.
I don't know what instinct warned me, but in an
instant I knew that the letter contained news of Audrey's
betrothal to Henry Brownrigg. My heart seemed all
at once to turn to stone, mechanically I broke the
seal and read the letter. It was short and ran as fol-
lows:-
MY DEAR MICHAEL,
I regret to say that we have received a letter from Penrith in
which Mrs. Radcliffe tells Sir Nicholas that her daughter was be-
trothed to Mr. Brownrigg on Sunday last at Raby Castle. The
marriage is highly distasteful to Sir Nicholas but he has no power
to forbid it. I am anxious to see you if you are able to visit Lord's


HOPE THE HERMIT.
125
Island within the next fortnight, and you will find us quite at leisure,
for Mrs. Radcliffe will remain for two or possibly three weeks with
her kinsfolk at Penrith. Sir Nicholas begs to be remembered to
Sir Wilfrid Lawson.
I remain, yours faithfully,
Written at Lord's Island, Derwentwater.
TO MR. MICHAEL DERWENT,
Care of SIR WILFRID LAWSON,
At Isel Hall, near Cockermouth.
AUGUSTINE NOEL.
I folded the letter, and taking up my quill began to
write on a scrap of paper that lay near me.
To go on
with my patron's accounts was at that moment out of
the question, yet the act of mechanically writing down
any words which came to hand, helped me to control
myself, kept me from yielding to that passion of despair
which sweeps from the man who abandons himself to it
all faith, all hope, all power of endurance.
"That way
madness lies."
There was it is true not much sense in the dis-
jointed letters and words I forced my pen to write on
that blank sheet of paper, but for the time they availed,
they tided me over the first horrible moments of agony,
and gave me time to rally. After awhile I found my-
self writing down some words of Shakspere which-I
know not why-had floated through my brain.
"Love give me strength! and strength shall help af-
ford."


126
HOPE THE HERMIT.
To this thought of strength I clung like a drowning
man to a plank. This disastrous love of mine which,
it seemed, had been all a mistake should not drag me
down into those depths of despair and ruin which
threatened to close above my head; I would wrest from
it a strength which might yet fit me to serve Audrey in
some far future. And with increasing steadiness I wrote
again and again the words, "Love give me strength!"
as though they had been a charm.
"You have had news?" said Sir Wilfrid, glancing
at me.
I handed him Mr. Noel's letter, and was grateful
for his silence. When at length he did speak it was
not to make any comment on the letter but to send me
up to the withdrawing-room on some errand—a task
which I was glad enough to execute, though as I went
up the long slippery flight of polished wooden steps I
had an odd feeling that my limbs were not my own.
Gaining the head of the staircase I started back,
for coming to meet me I saw what for a moment I
took to be a wraith. It was the figure of a young
man dressed in brown and wearing a brown periwig,
his face was quite colourless, his pale lips were set in
a straight line, his eyes seemed as though they had
looked into hell.
The next moment I saw with a shock of astonish-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
127
ment that the wraith was nothing but my own reflection
in a tall mirror that hung from the wall.
"You shall at anyrate play your part better than
that!" I muttered, with a angry glance at the reflection.
"Is it for you to be looking like a love-sick swain in a
penny ballad, when in half an hour you must be dining
Iwith all the household?"
The thought of the smoking joint on the board
made my stomach turn, and the dread of the curious
eyes sent a cold shudder through me. But where was
the use of stopping to think of such things? I de-
livered Sir Wilfrid's message and went down once more
to him in the library.
"I have a letter for the Vicar of Crosthwaite," said
my patron, glancing at me quickly as I took my place.
at the writing-table. "It will be as well, I think, if you
ride over with it this afternoon. You can sleep at
Herbert's Isle and bring me back word as to the damage
done by Tuesday's storm. This summer, if all is well,
I think of enlarging the house there, you can talk mat-
ters over with the steward."
I thanked him, and asked if there was any more writ-
ing to be done.
"Nothing more now," he replied. "Start when you
please; and look you, Michael! go and have a talk with
that old tutor of yours, for he is a shrewd man. If I


128
HOPE THE HERMIT.
were you I would tell him all that you learnt from Sir
Christopher Vane."
I promised to do so and hurried away to my room
in the pele tower there to make ready for the ride to
Keswick.
Never had man a more kindly patron, and I knew
well enough that the errand to Crosthwaite and the con-
fabulations with the steward might very well have waited.
It was nothing more than a device to give me a breathing-
space in which to regain my bearings.
The pele tower was by far the most ancient part of
Isel Hall; it stood at one corner of the battlemented
house and my room was in the upper part of it. It
was but sparsely furnished, but whatever it contained
of interest was in some way associated with Audrey
Radcliffe. Here I kept my few worldly possessions-the
birds' eggs we had collected together as children; the
books we had shared, and one or two trifles of needle-
work wrought by her hands years ago. Looking back
now it seemed to me that there had never been a time
in my life when I had not loved her; she had been mine
from the beginning, mine years and years before this
Under-Sheriff had ever seen her. Who was he that he
should come betwixt us now?
At that thought pain changed to a blind hatred and
resentment that by contrast seemed for the time a re-
lief. I hurried down the tower stairs at a headlong


HOPE THE HERMIT.
129
pace, saddled my horse and rode swiftly away from
Isel with the thought of Henry Brownrigg ever present
in my mind. Had she given herself to one more worthy
of her I might have borne it patiently, but that she
should have been caught by the wiles of a man of fine
presence and handsome features, seemed intolerable.
For well I knew that Henry Brownrigg's mind was of
the narrowest, that all his petty prejudices would ere long
irritate her large-minded nature, that his insufferable
conceit and fussiness would chafe Audrey as nothing
else could have done. Respectable he might be, but it
was with the heartless Pharisaical respectability that
only repulses, and it sickened me to think that Audrey
should be tied for life to such an one.
I was past Cockermouth now, and as I galloped
along by the shore of Bassenthwaite, the fresh air and
the exercise invigorated me, yet at the same time
seemed to fan the fire of raging hatred that burned in
my heart. My chief hope was that he might have re-
turned to Millbeck Hall, that we might casually meet,
and that I might have the chance of picking a quarrel
with him and calling him out. It would surely not be
hard to find some pretext for fighting? I knew his
haunts in Keswick pretty well, and that evening I would
do my best to make a duel inevitable.
Having left Sir Wilfrid's letter at the Crosthwaite
Vicarage I turned my horse's head towards the little
Hope the Hermit. I.
9


130
HOPE THE HERMIT.
market town, still brooding over my schemes with re-
gard to Henry Brownrigg, when suddenly a mischievous
lad in a smock frock leapt out of the hedge with a
shrill war-whoop which terrified Hotspur and sent him
tearing down the lane at full gallop. I had been riding
carelessly with slack reins and now found it impossible
to stop the horse. On we rushed at lightning speed,
when to my horror I saw a little troop of children filing
out of a dame-school at the side of the road; they
paused and looked with stupefied faces at the runaway
horse; in another moment we should be upon them.
With a desperate effort I dragged at the right rein and
put Hotspur at the hedge, he just cleared it, while I lost
my seat and was thrown violently to the ground. How
long I lay there stunned I have no idea, probably not
many minutes, but I seemed to wake up in a quite un-
known world.
I was lying on a smooth lawn in a garden; close
by, a very neat, box-edged path led through a vista of
bare and gnarled apple-trees, and walking up the path
came a soberly dressed old gentleman whose face was
the most peaceful it has ever been my lot to see.
"I must have died," I thought to myself; "these
must be the 'gardens and the gallant walks' the hymn
speaks of. That is how men look in heaven, quiet and
kindly and with no shadow of care and self-seeking; yet


HOPE THE HERMIT.
131
the cut of his doublet might be better, there's room for
improvement there."
The man with the peaceful face had drawn near by
this time, he did not raise his hat or salute me in any
way whatever, but just bent down and looked into my
face. As for me I was still too much bewildered to
wish to move or speak.
"Friend," he said at last, "wilt thou walk to my
house and rest? or shall I send for my servants to carry
thee?"
I sat up, then with some difficulty struggled to my
feet, not feeling any pain but with a strange dizziness
in my head. Perhaps this was the natural effect of
waking in a quite different world.
My new friend drew my arm into his, and we walked
down the trimly-kept path under the apple-trees, the
box bordering seemed natural enough, but beyond it
there grew some curious yellow and puce-coloured plants
that I had never seen before; it seemed to me wonder-
ful that such fair flowers should bloom so early in the
year; till I remembered that I was in a place where
time had ceased to exist. This thought, and also per-
haps the moving, made my brain feel in a whirl; my
eyes grew dim, so that I could only leave it to my com-
panion to guide me.
He led me into a house and made me lie down on
a couch, where being still giddy and shaken I was glad
9*


132
HOPE THE HERMIT.
enough to stay quietly. It was not apparently the
custom in this place to ply one with questions, and
there was a strange restfulness in the man's friendly
silence.
"Take this cordial," he said to me after a timeless
interval, during which I had lain with closed eyes, bask-
ing as it were in the quiet.
I took the silver cup he placed in my hand and
thanked him.
"The horse is not injured," he remarked, "my
servant has put it in the stable, so be at rest on that
point."
The cordial had revived me, and now these startling
words thoroughly roused me, for somehow I had never
fancied that dear old Hotspur would go to heaven.
"What has happened, sir?—I thought I was out of
the world yet you speak of the horse?" I stammered,
looking in perplexity at my friend. "What is this place?
and how did I come here, sir?"
"The place is Hye Hill, and I am Nathaniel Rad-
cliffe, one of the Society of Friends. Walking in my
garden this afternoon I heard in the road sounds as of
a runaway horse and the shouting of many voices; then
over my hedge leapt a chestnut steed, and its rider was
flung with violence on to my lawn."
"I hope Hotspur did no mischief to your garden,
sir?" I said. "I put him to the hedge to save the chil-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
133
dren in the lane who were too much scared to get out
of the way."
"He did no harm, for the gardener quickly caught
him, but I fear, my friend, thou thyself art more injured
than at first we thought. I see thou art suffering great
pain."
I could not reply, for it took all my manhood to
strangle the sobs that rose in my throat. As long as I
live I shall never forget the horrible revulsion of feeling
that overwhelmed me as I realised that I was back in
this dreary world in which all things seemed going so
hopelessly wrong.
The Quaker put his hand on mine, probably to feel
the pulse and judge of my state. His cool quiet touch
had something soothing in it, and I gripped his hand
hard in a way which must, I think, have astonished
him.
"Have patience," he said. "The sharpest pain can-
not last long; God allows long aches but only short
agonies."
I wondered if his words applied to mental pain as
well as bodily, he looked like a man who had lived
through both, and this gave his sayings a curious force.
Perhaps that is why the prophets of old, nay of all ages,
have led such troubled lives. They could not tell forth
the truth with any force till they had lived through much


134
HOPE THE HERMIT.
tribulation.
It was suffering that fitted them for the
goodly fellowship of the prophets.
"I will send for a surgeon, maybe he could relieve
thee," said the Quaker.
For answer I broke into a wild fit of laughter,
which was discourteous, but for the life of me I could
not help it.
I struggled to my feet and paced the room like one
possessed.
"Why, sir, what could a leech do for me?" I cried.
"It is no bodily pain I feel. It is the torture of being
in this hateful world when I thought I was well out
of it. It's the torture of knowing that a rival whom I
hate and despise is to win and keep and drag down to
his own level the best and the most beautiful woman in
all Cumberland. She little knows what he really is or
she would never dream of wedding him. But I'll not
live to see her ruin her happiness, somehow I can surely
pick a quarrel with him. He is a better swordsman
than I-but I shall at least have the pleasure of fighting
him."
"Wouldst thou break one of Christ's commandments
to gratify thy carnal lust?" said the Quaker gravely.
"Christ would never approve of this marriage!" I
said vehemently.
"Maybe that is true," replied Nathaniel Radcliffe,
"indeed if thou dost refer to the marriage of which I


HOPE THE HERMIT.
135
heard some rumour to-day betwixt my young kinswoman
Audrey Radcliffe and the Under-Sheriff I incline to agree
with thee. Little true happiness is like to come of such
a union."
"You are her kinsman, sir, I had forgot that.
remember now to have heard that you were at length
released from gaol by King James. I saw you years
ago at Cockermouth when all the people were hooting the
Quakers."
I trust that the
They were hard
"Why then thou art most like the lad that didst
lay hold of Barton's stick to save my pate," said the
Quaker with a smile. "Long ago as it is I recall thy
face and am glad to see thee again.
days of persecution are at an end.
to endure, as hard perchance as this pain that now
tries thee so grievously, but we have grown strong
through them and so mayst thou, my friend, an thou
wilt follow the guidance of the Spirit, and hold down
thy brute instincts."
"If you knew the Under-Sheriff's overbearing arro-
gance, sir, you would long to fight him yourself,” I said
hotly. "It might put off the marriage, moreover, for he
is so good a swordsman that he would most likely make
worm's meat of me, and Audrey would scarce wed the
murderer of her foster-brother."
He laid his hand on my shoulder and drew me back
once more to the couch.


136
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Rest, my friend, and quietly think what thy words.
Do nothing rashly, but wait for the lead-
truly mean.
ing of the Spirit."
I think if he had preached at me I should have
scoffed, or if he had argued with me I should have
rushed from the house, but when he drew me back
into that attitude of repose, and sat down himself at a
little distance in an old high-backed chair, there was
something in the extreme gentleness of his manner
that I could not resist. There was absolute silence in
the room save for the ticking of the tall eight-day clock,
and the gentle flickering of the flames on the hearth.
I wondered vaguely if my companion would speak.
Should we stay there for hours in this extraordinary
silence? What was the good of it all? How cruelly it
contrasted with the tumult of my mind, with the angry
heat of the blood that pricked and throbbed in my veins.
My eyes rested on the fine face of Nathaniel Radcliffe
and for a time I forgot my own misery in wondering
how a man though pale and emaciated by the un-
healthy life he had led in prison could yet bear such
an extraordinary look of serenity and peace. I shall
never forget the expression of calm,
was on his face. Most clearly he
voice to speak to him. And after all what could be
more natural? Does God command us to pray and
then intend that we shall spare not a minute to listen
patient waiting that
expected an inner


HOPE THE HERMIT.
137
Of the duties of prayer
to what He will say to us?
and praise I had been taught ever since I was a child,
but no one had said a word about waiting for the
guidance of the Inner Light.
Well, we naturally tend to follow the example of
those we are with, and the influence of that calm serene
old man had much weight with me. I, too, began to
wait expectantly. By degrees the angry heat died out
of me, and I reflected with a gleam of satisfaction that
Nathaniel Radcliffe had agreed with me that Christ
could hardly approve of this proposed marriage. Would
He not then bring it to naught? That might or might
not be, for evils were unquestionably for a time per-
mitted; "Short agonies," as the Quaker had called them,
certainly found place in this sad world which I would
so gladly have quitted. I fell to waiting again, but for
a long, long time nothing came to me, only I was con-
scious of the slow ticking of the clock in the corner. I
could almost have smiled, for to my fancy the pendulum
seemed to beat time to the words, "Choose well,"
"Choose well."
The words seemed a mockery. What choice was
left me? This hideous bit of suffering had been thrust
into my life and somehow I had to endure it.
Then back into my mind flashed the line from Shak-
spere which had come to me that morning at Isel:
"Love give me strength, and strength shall help afford".


138
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I began to see that there was a weak way and a strong
way of bearing this heavy blow-that it might cripple
and mar my life or, if I would, might make me strong
with a strength which does not come to those who live
lapped in ease. What if I could come out of this fiery
furnace as Nathaniel Radcliffe had come out of his long
imprisonment?
The thing that happened then I cannot explain, but
suddenly all the pain and tumult in my heart was
hushed. An inner stillness, like the outer stillness of
the room, fell upon me, and out of this heavenly calm
a voice spoke in my heart-spoke the words that ended.
my desolation, and gave me the leading I craved, that
comforted even the old soreness as to my birth.
It seemed to me a miracle when, a few minutes
later, Nathaniel Radcliffe quietly rose to his feet and
repeated the very words that had been spoken to me.
His manner was slow and gentle, he seemed like a
child repeating a message as he began—
"I have called thee by thy name. Thou art mine.'
It is laid upon me to speak these words to thee, friend,
and to bid thee be loyal to Him whose love is the un-
failing fount of strength."
Then he sat down again in the high-backed chair
and stillness fell upon us once more. But the wish for
vengeance and the craving for death had died out of
me, and I stood on the threshold of a new life.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
139
CHAPTER XI.
"Yet not without us but within
Our true life lies,
Untouched by all a city's din,
Or cloudless skies;
"And if we bear a lurking pain
Within the heart,
No charm of nature can restrain
Or take its smart;
"And if we bear a parched soul,
Whose pain is worst,
No summer glories can control
Or stay its thirst."
ARTHUR L. SALMON.
ON the Saturday morning as Sir Nicholas Radcliffe
rose from the table at the end of breakfast, his chaplain
put a question to him. Throughout the meal there had
been silence, for the old knight was in the lowest of
spirits, and the priest's busy brain had been at work on
an interesting problem.
"Sir," he said, "is your brother Mr. John Radcliffe
still in France?"
"He spoke in his last letter of coming to England


140
HOPE THE HERMIT.
in the spring," said Sir Nicholas, "and by this time he
may be in London for aught I know."
"Might it not be well that he should know this
news as to Mistress Audrey's betrothal?" said the
priest. ""Tis a matter that cannot be without interest to
him."
"True," said Sir Nicholas, "since he will succeed at
my death, he has doubtless a right to know the unwel-
come news; I would that he or any man had the power
to forbid the match."
The priest's shrewd kindly face was overclouded
now; the thought of Audrey's marriage to Henry
Brownrigg was abhorrent to him for many reasons. He
was really fond of his pupil and was grieved to think of
the life she was likely to lead with a man so overbear-
ing and selfish as the Under-Sheriff. Then, too, he
sincerely desired her marriage with the son of Sir Francis
Salkeld, a Catholic gentleman of good position and ex-
cellent character. And deep down in his heart there
was one thought keenly painful to a really good man,
and this was that-his lips being silenced by the know-
ledge that he had gained in the confessional-he was
obliged to keep quiet, and see one for whom he had
real affection placed in a most unfair position, and
rendered now utterly useless in the game.
He was
heartily sorry for Michael, who by some perverse fate
seemed always to be the one to get the worst of things,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
141
and through no fault of his own to pay the penalty of
other people's sins and mistakes.
The question as to Mr. John Radcliffe's return to
England had been prompted by a strong desire both to
check the Brownrigg marriage and to help Michael to
his rights, but no one knew better than the priest how
difficult the course he proposed to steer would probably
prove. For many years, the whole truth as to Michael's
parentage had been known to him, and again and again.
he had been forced to act a living lie. Long ago John
Radcliffe had in confession revealed to him all the details
of his first marriage, the death of his wife at Watendlath
and his own abandonment of the child in Borrowdale.
At that time Mr. Noel had been living in London, and it
was not till the so-called Popish plot had driven numbers
of Catholics into hiding that he left his work in the south
of England and found shelter with old Sir Nicholas
Radcliffe on Derwentwater. Here, in Audrey's little
foster-brother, the Borrowdale foundling, he speedily re-
cognised John Radcliffe's deserted child, and though his
lips were necessarily sealed he wrote most urgently to
Michael's father, strongly counselling him to acknowledge
his son.
His letters however proved of no avail. John Rad-
cliffe had escaped to France and saw no reason to
burden himself with any additional trouble or expense;
moreover he shrank from the reproaches of his second


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wife and her kinsfolk, and determined to let things be.
The priest now began to think that it would be well to
undertake a journey to London to seek out the heir to
the estate and to rouse him to a sense of his duty in
this matter. He hoped that when all was made public
and Henry Brownrigg realised that Audrey would not
succeed to the Goldrill estate on the death of her great-
uncle, he would readily consent to abandon the pro-
posed alliance with the Radcliffes, and, in that case,
either Michael's union with Audrey might solve the dif-
ficulty and end matters happily, or Audrey could be
married to the heir of Sir Francis Salkeld, as proved best
and most desirable for the general good.
He was pacing up and down in the garden still
musing over these schemes, when he was startled to see
the figure of Michael himself at the further end of the
path. The priest had time as he approached to take in
every detail of his appearance. He looked years older
than when they had last met, but notwithstanding his
pallor and the unmistakable signs of a great struggle
passed through, there was something vigorous and strong
in his bearing which delighted the priest. He had had
to deal with many love-sick youths in his time, but had
never come across one who met his troubles precisely in
this fashion.
"You are early at Derwentwater!" he exclaimed with
a cheery greeting. "Hast had my letter?"


HOPE THE HERMIT.
143
"Yes, sir, it reached Isel yesterday," said Michael,
and his voice betrayed more than his face, for it had a
curious note in it that is only heard in the voice of one
who suffers. “I should have seen you last night; for I
rode into Crosthwaite with a letter from Sir Wilfrid
Lawson, but I was thrown from my horse and stunned,
so got no further than Keswick."
I
"None the worse I hope," said the priest, "though
now I look at you 'tis clear you have had a shaking.
hear, by-the-bye, from Sir Nicholas that you had good
news while you were at Raby Castle."
"Good news?" said Michael, looking bewildered, for
it seemed to him a mockery to speak of anything being
good just then.
"Ay, to be sure," said the priest cheerfully, “Mrs.
Radcliffe said in her letter that Sir Christopher Vane
knew of your parentage, and that all doubt as to your
having been born in wedlock was at an end."
"Yes," said Michael, "that is clear, but I don't know
that the knowledge will avail much."
"Nonsense," said the priest. "It may avail you more
than you think and you should leave no stone unturned
to get at further evidence and to learn the whole truth.
What did you hear from Sir Christopher?”
Michael repeated what had passed between them.
"I have a notion," he said, "that from the descrip-
tion he gave it must have been up at Watendlath that I


144
HOPE THE HERMIT.
was born. He spoke of coming down into Borrowdale
at night, and that he had much difficulty in making his
way to the left to a farm where they had stabled the
horses. That fits in with what we already know as to
the two gentlemen who left their horses at Longthwaite;
and in the meantime my father must have walked along
towards the Bowder Stone till he came to the place
where I was found by Sir Wilfrid and Dickon."
"If I were you," said the priest, "I would go to
Watendlath and see what you can discover from the
good folk up there. What do you say to making a day
of it among the hills? Nothing would clear your brain
better after your tumble of yesterday. Come, go out
with me. We will walk first to Seathwaite where I have
to visit a sick man, and afterwards we will work our
way up to Watendlath and learn what we can as to the
past."
Michael fell in very readily with this plan, and was
grateful to his old tutor for the discreet silence he pre-
served as to Audrey. He tried hard to rouse himself
into taking interest in the research which had once
meant so much to him, but all his future had become
blank and empty; he could only hold fast to the thought
that had come to him at Hye Hill the day before, that
his life belonged to One who was actually within him,
and that through weal and through woe he had to follow
the guidance of that Inner Light.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
145
The walk would have been a silent one had it de-
pended on Michael to find topics for conversation, but
the priest with rare skill and kindliness kept up a cheery
flow of such chat as he thought best suited to draw his
pupil away from dwelling overmuch on his troubles. He
talked of his own youth, of his training at St. Omer, of
his life in London, of adventures that had befallen him
as he crossed the Alps years ago on a pilgrimage to
Rome; so that it was not until they had reached Sea-
thwaite, and Michael was left for an hour to his own de-
vices, that he had much leisure for remembrance. The
cloud quickly fell upon him then, however, and as he
wandered on to the foot of the Styhead Pass everything
in the landscape seemed to harmonise only too well with
the utter dreariness that oppressed him.
The grey
amphitheatre of rugged hills, the foaming white stream
which he had crossed lower down in the valley, the
stunted, leafless mountain-ash tree which seemed the
only living thing within sight, made a picture that for
desolation could hardly have been surpassed. He threw
himself on the rocks by a tiny waterfall that went splash-
ing down beside the mountain-ash; the dull aching at
his heart seemed to creep all over his physical frame as
he rested his throbbing head on the grey boulder nearest
him. He wondered whether Jacob had felt half as de-
solate and weary on that night long ago when the stones
had been his pillow.
Hope the Hermit. I.
ΙΟ


146
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Presently he fell asleep, and like Jacob dreamed a
dream. Someone bent over him and kissed him on the
forehead, and looking up quickly he saw the face that
he had learnt to know so well from the miniature-his
mother's face. Its tender yet strong sympathy seemed
to fill him with new energy.
"Your work awaits you!" she said, and he started
up from sleep and looked round in a bewildered way.
The vision had faded, only in the bare mountain-ash
tree there was a robin singing its cheerful morning song,
and revelling in a brief gleam of sunshine which swept
over the gloomy grey of the hills.
He had no notion how long he had been asleep, and
fearing to keep Mr. Noel beyond the appointed time he
went back to Seathwaite, his mind still haunted by the
loveliness of the face he had just seen.
The priest did not keep him waiting, but came
promptly out of the little stone cottage where the sick
man lived, directly his step was heard without.
"I shall have to leave you to go to Watendlath
alone," he said. "For Jo Milburn is in a critical state
and his wife worn out with watching. I cannot leave
them yet."
And so it chanced that Michael made his way alone
up from Rosthwaite to Watendlath and, early in the
afternoon, climbed the steps leading to the door of
Wilson's farm and knocked for admittance. There was


HOPE THE HERMIT.
147
little journeying about in those days, and as often as not
people in the next hamlet did not know each other.
Although Watendlath was such a short distance from the
place where Michael had spent the greater part of his
life he had never before seen the face of the elderly
woman in clean white mutch and snowy kerchief
who opened the door to him and inquired what he
needed.
His tale was soon told, and Mary Wilson, who had
listened in silence to all that he had heard at Raby,
gave an exclamation of heartfelt interest and recognition
as he showed her the miniature.
All her caution and northern reserve were scattered
by the sight.
"Aw, to be sure! 'Tis the bonnie leddy hersel'. An'
you are as like her, sir, as like can be, and reet glad
am I to think that no mischance befell ye the night the
gentleman carried ye off in such haste."
"Did you ever learn his name?" asked Michael
eagerly.
"No, sir, though I asked the leddy mair then once,
but she just shook her head. And after she had deed
and you were carried off I called after the gentleman
to ask him, but the wind was blawin', and awa' in the
distance cam' the sound of the 'bar-foot stag' and the
hounds, and I was forced to shut the door."
"It was at night then?" asked Michael.
IO*


148
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Oh, ay, sir! and I niver fairly saw the gentleman's
face, he was in sair haste, and after going in to see the
corp' he just bade me wrap a cloak aboot ye, and laid
some gold on the table for the buryin' and was gone
before I reetly knew what he was aboot. . . . Ill fitted
...
was he to tak' care of a babe, or a wife either for that
matter. And the bonny leddy vowed with her last breath
that she was his true weddit wife, though 'twas plain to
see that he'd broke his vows and had done nowt to com-
fort and cherish her. But there! Mony a man will
swear those words glib enoo' in kirk, and niver give the
matter a thought agin. They wouldna treat a horse
with as little care as their ain weddit wife often enoo'.
There's ain thing ye should have, sir," she added, going
to an oaken chest and searching diligently among its
contents. "When we cam' to make the leddy ready for
her buryin' we found this."
She handed to him a copy of the Imitation of Christ,
and eagerly opening it Michael read the inscription on
the flyleaf.
"Lucy Carleton.
Her Booke. Penrith. 1666."
"Why, here is the name clearly enough!" he ex-
claimed, reading the words aloud.
"Mappen that would be her maiden name,” said the
shrewd north country woman. ""Twas in the summer
of the year 1668 as I mind weel that she deed in this
hoose, an' she told me her ain sel' she had been but


HOPE THE HERMIT.
149
ten months weddit. God forgive me! I doubted her
at first and thought 'twas just the auld story over again.
of a young girl an' a braw-faced man that had deceived
her; but I never doubted after she deed. There was
truth-God's truth in her look as she said her last
words, an' the strength of her I shall niver forget, for it
frightened me in one just passin' awa'. She made a
beautiful corp', sir. You wad like mebbe to see the
room yonder, 'twas in there she deed."
Michael felt a choking sensation in his throat as he
glanced round the room.
"And her husband? what of him?" he asked. "What
sort of man was he?"
"Aboot your ain height, sir, he was, an' as I think
with light hair, but he kept his face well-nigh hidden.
As for me I thought him stern and hard, but belike
'twas the shock of seein' his wife dead. An' angry I was
with him for takin' the laal barn-that's you, sir-oot
into the cauld. Howiver there was no gainsayin' him,
he was off wid the babe under his cloak before I could
rightly understand that he meant it in sober earnest, and
nowt more have I heard or seen of him since."
"Where was my mother buried?" asked Michael.
"Over at Wythburn, sir. 'Twas the way they had
travelled from, and my husband he made inquiries but
could learn nowt. They had been just travellers passin'
through the country, foreign to these parts I take it."


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
This was all that Michael could gather, and having
thanked Mary Wilson, and accepted the meal she hos-
pitably offered him, he tramped down to Derwentwater
once more and borrowing a boat from Mounsey, the
miller of Lowdore, rowed himself out to Sir Wilfrid's
summer house on St. Herbert's Isle.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
151
CHAPTER XII.
"Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?"
POPE.
AUDREY RADCLIFFE had in the meantime been pass-
ing a very quiet interval at Penrith with her mother's
kinsfolk. The first excitement of her betrothal was over
and she had settled down into a state of dreamy content,
liking well enough to work at the store of new garments
which her mother was helping her to prepare, and won-
dering in her own heart whether in their old age she
and Henry Brownrigg would be as quarrelsome a couple
as her great-aunt and great-uncle Aglionby.
Surely Henry could never so flatly contradict her, or
adopt Uncle Aglionby's invariable retort-
"Nonsense, madam, you know nothing whatever about
it, ply your needle and hold your tongue."
If he did, could she have had the patience to go on
meekly making his shirt, while he blundered over some
detail which a woman with her quicker insight would
have had the skill to avoid? Certainly Aunt Aglionby


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revenged herself by most withering remarks when her
husband was ruefully obliged to admit himself mistaken.
There was something indescribably irritating about her
smile and her "Just as I told you, sir."
Still the old people were fond of each other after a
fashion, and apart they would have been utterly miser-
able; but Audrey, who had seen scarcely anything of
married life, began to perceive that it was not all un-
mixed bliss, and that even these old kinsfolk who had
lived together for fifty years had still to make large
allowance for each other's little infirmities.
She was
sitting one morning in the parlour busy with a piece of
fine embroidery, when her mother entered with an open
letter in her hand.
"I have heard from an old friend of my mother,
Audrey," she said, "a Mrs. Simpson who is visiting her
kinsman, Mr. Carleton, not far from Penrith. She has
but just heard of our being in the neighbourhood, and
Mr. Carleton's coach waits below to take us back to visit
them. Put on your best sacque, child, and let us come
at once, for the horses must not be kept waiting in this
cold east wind."
"Who is Mr. Carleton, ma'am?" asked Audrey,
glancing towards the hearth where Aunt Aglionby was
busy with her spinning wheel.
"He lives at Carleton Manor, a mile from Penrith,"
said the old lady. "But he is a strange-tempered old


HOPE THE HERMIT.
153
gentleman and crippled with gout; the Simpsons are the
only visitors who ever stay at the manor now."
"Did not his daughter and heiress marry Thomas
Simpson?" asked Mrs. Radcliffe.
"To be sure she did; they had her safely wedded
when she was but a child of fourteen lest she should
follow the example of her elder sister," said Mrs. Ag-
lionby. "The poor old man has never got over that
scandal."
Audrey would have liked to stay and hear more, for
Aunt Aglionby seemed in a chatty mood, but she was
obliged to hasten away and dress, and though she had
intended to ask her mother what the scandal was that
had so disturbed old Mr. Carleton, she forgot all about
it when they were rattling along in the cumbrous old
coach, nor did it recur to her mind until Mrs. Simpson,
a pleasant-looking elderly lady, led her into the room.
where, half lost in a huge grandfather chair with cushioned
sides and arms to it, sat a withered, wrinkled old man
in a purple coat, with his gouty foot on a leg-rest, and
that ominous single upright line between the eyes which
betokens a stormy temper.
He received Mrs. Radcliffe with an effort at courtesy,
but either a twinge of gout or some painful memory made
him glare at Audrey as she curtseyed in response to his
slight bow.
"What! Madam!" he said turning to Mrs. Radcliffe,


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
"do I understand that your daughter has arrived at this
age and is not yet married? That's a mistake—a great
mistake."
"Audrey is betrothed to Mr. Brownrigg the Under-
Sheriff," said Mrs. Radcliffe, amazed, but secretly amused,
at this very plain speaking.
"Get her married quick, madam," growled the old
man. "Delays are dangerous. I would have all maids
wedded at fourteen before they have time to get foolish
notions in their heads or try to take the bit between
their teeth."
Here Mrs. Simpson contrived to put in a word which
turned the conversation, and soon after the butler an-
nounced that dinner was served. The meal proved a
long and very dull function, and Audrey sighed with
relief when they returned to the cooler atmosphere of
the withdrawing-room. Here a pretty little boy of seven
years old joined them, Mrs. Simpson's small grandson,
Tom; and Audrey, who could always make herself happy
with children, soon induced the little fellow to cast aside
his stiff company manner and to chatter away freely.
"Show your doves to Miss Radcliffe, Tom," said his
grandmother, not unwilling to get rid of the two younger
members of the party and to enjoy a quiet talk with
Mrs. Radcliffe.
And Audrey, willing enough, went off hand in hand.
with the child, who led her into a far-away wing where


HOPE THE HERMIT.
155
in the big deserted nursery his wicker cage of doves oc-
cupied the wide window-seat.
"Did you bring this big cage with you from home?"
asked Audrey.
"No, the doves live here," said the child. "But
every year I come here and see them, sometimes with
my mother, sometimes with grandmother. I should like
it if it weren't for the ghost."
Audrey laughed merrily.
"Why, Tom, there are no such things as ghosts,"
she said. "Come! I am sure you never saw one."
"No," said the child doubtfully. "I don't think it
comes into the house, but Betty-that's the housemaid
-she says that any night you may see her walking in
the pleasance and crying!"
"See Betty?" said Audrey mischievously.
"No, see the ghost," said the child with wide eyes.
"Who is she?"
"Well," said Tom lowering his voice, "don't say I
told you, for they think I don't know, they always do
think I don't know things-but it is my mother's sister,
Lucy-I b'lieve she was a very wicked woman—that's
why we must never say her name, Betty says-though
all the same I think Betty is very sorry for her. She
disobeyed grandfather, and no one ever dares do that—
I can't think how she dared do it. Betty said that rather
than marry Sir James Grey who was always drunk by


156
HOPE THE HERMIT.
two in the afternoon, she ran away from home. Betty's
mother was a servant here then and she told her. You
come here and I'll show you something."
Audrey allowed herself to be led along a corridor at
the end of which Tom unbolted a door and took her
into an empty room. Not an atom of furniture was in
it, but leaning against the wainscot with its face to the
wall there stood a large picture.
"This was Aunt Lucy's bedroom," whispered the
child, "and after she ran away my grandfather had it
all stripped like this, and he made them take down her
picture from the dining-room and had it put away in
here with its face to the wall."
"And what makes you fancy that she walks still in
the garden?" said Audrey.
"They have seen her," said the child in an awestruck
voice. "Her ghost walks up and down under the trees
in the pleasance, just as Betty's mother saw her doing
the afternoon when my grandfather said she should marry
Sir James whether she liked it or not. She walked to
and fro crying, for hours, they say, and in the morning
when they came here to wake her up, the room was
empty and the window wide open; she had got out in
the night by this tree that grows close by."
Audrey went to look at the tree and reflected that
the girl must have been desperate indeed before she


HOPE THE HERMIT.
157
took such a leap. Then she stooped down and looked
at the name painted on the back of the picture.
"Lucy Carleton. Anno Domini, 1666, ætat. 15.”
Strong curiosity to see the face of the heroine of this
strange romance suddenly seized her. She carefully
turned the picture round, rather to the horror of little
Tom, who gripped fast hold of her dress, curious, too,
yet full of an inexplicable dread at the thought of see-
ing the face of the ghost.
Flicking off the dust with her handkerchief, Audrey
saw that the picture represented a young girl sitting in
a conventional attitude on a grassy slope, in a white
satin dress much more suited to a ball-room. At her
feet two little King Charles' spaniels played with a ball,
but when, raising her hand to dust the higher part of
the picture, Audrey was able to make out the features
distinctly, she gave a stifled exclamation of astonish-
ment. For in that familiar short face with its healthy
colouring, its finely moulded mouth and chin, its daz-
zlingly bright hazel eyes and soft brown curls, she at
once recognised the face painted in the miniature which
she and Michael had discovered in Borrowdale. Here
at last was fresh evidence as to Michael's parentage, and
she hastily turned over in her mind the plan she had
best adopt. It would hardly do to speak of the dis-
covery downstairs, she must at anyrate consult with her
mother first, and with another long look at the picture


158
HOPE THE HERMIT.
she turned it once more with its face to the wall, and
hand in hand with Tom returned to the nursery.
"You could not be afraid of such a sweet-looking
ghost as that," she said, glancing at the child.
"N-no,” said Tom doubtfully. "I'm somehow glad
she was fond of dogs."
That was a human touch and gave him a fellow
feeling for the poor ghost. "I wish she had the dogs
with her when she walks," he said. "But she doesn't.
They say she is always crying, and
heart would break."
crying, as if her
Audrey was silent; the mournful cooing of the doves
in the cage seemed to harmonise only too well with the
sad story of poor Lucy. Could it really be true that
she was unable to rest, but still returned to her old
home, haunting the place where she had suffered so
much?
"I wonder why she walks?" said Tom. "Is it because
my grandfather never forgave her?"
"I don't know," said Audrey musingly. "Perhaps
there is some wrong that she wants set right."
"There's Rover barking in the pleasance; come and
look at him" said the child, running to the window.
"Why, see! he is barking at that pretty lady; he always
does bark at strangers. Who can she be? Look, she
is stopping to make friends with him, he's quiet now,
he's wagging his tail."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
159
"But, Tom," said Audrey in astonishment, "there is
no lady there, only the dog."
"Yes, there is! Why, I can see her as plain, as
plain! She's coming this way, she's looking up at us.
Oh! it is the lady in the picture-how lovely-how
lovely she is. It's you she's looking at! What is it she
wants so much?"
"Dear Tom, it's your fancy, there's nothing to be
seen at all, only the dog wagging his tail."
"It's the ghost lady. And she's begging you to do
something for her," said Tom, struggling to unfasten the
window. "What is it that you want, ma'am?" he called
in his shrill treble. "Oh, she gave such a smile at that,
and now she's looking at you; she must be very fond of
you. Oh see! she's going, she's waving her hand. She's
gone out, just as my soap-bubbles go."
Audrey looked in some perplexity at her companion's
intent little face. She was afraid that his brooding over
the ghost story, and the sight of the picture, had over-
excited his brain.
"You have been having a spring afternoon's dream,
Tom," she said laughingly. "Come, let us have a good
game of battledore and shuttlecock. I'll warrant I can
beat you at that."
Delighted to have a playfellow, Tom willingly as-
sented to this plan, and they were still hard at work,
and making the nursery ring with their merry voices


160
HOPE THE HERMIT.
and the monotonous beat of the battledores, when the
old serving-man came to say that the coach was at the
door, and would Mistress Radcliffe come to the with-
drawing-room?
"I shall never be afraid of the ghost any more,"
whispered Tom in her ear, "now that I've seen her.”
The farewells were said and Audrey and her mother
were shut into the cumbrous old coach.
"Such a strange thing has happened, mother," said
the girl eagerly. "Through the chatter of little Tom
Simpson I have learnt something more about Michael
Derwent's mother, there can be no doubt that she was
old Mr. Carleton's runaway daughter, for her picture is
precisely like the miniature we found. Do they know
whom she married?"
"They have no idea. Mrs. Simpson was talking of
it just now. I believe old Mr. Carleton knows, but no
one else has ever discovered who the man was."
"We must let Michael know about this," said Au-
drey, "I will write to him and tell him just what I found
out."
"No need to write,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. "We shall
soon be at home again and shall doubtless see him."
"Yes, we shall soon be home," said Audrey, and
then with a sudden catching of the breath she gripped
fast hold of her mother's hand. For as they passed out
through the gate something made the horses shy vio-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
161
lently and for a minute it seemed that the coach must
be overturned. Then, plunging and kicking in desperate
terror, the frightened animals suddenly bolted and went
tearing madly along the road to Penrith.
"Don't be frightened, dear," said Mrs. Radcliffe, sur-
prised to see the deathly pallor of Audrey's face, for as
a rule the girl was not easily alarmed.
"Oh mother!" she said trembling violently, "it was
the ghost that made them shy, I saw her by the gate-
post, and she was weeping bitterly."
"You are overwrought," said her mother soothingly.
"It must have been your fancy and the memory of the
picture."
So she argued, but the fact remained that the terri-
fied horses were still galloping at a pace which seemed
incredible considering the load they were dragging; that
the coachman sat on the box trembling like a man with
the palsy quite unable to control them, and that the
Carleton coach was rolling and swinging from side to
side, bumping over stones, crashing through ruts and
shaking the occupants intolerably. At length there came
one tremendous upheaving, and the coach was overturned
just as they reached the outskirts of Penrith.
How long they lay there stunned Audrey had no
notion, she awoke to the consciousness that someone
was lifting her up and that the fresh cold wind was
blowing on her face. In a bewildered way she looked
Hope the Hermit. I.
I I


162
HOPE THE HERMIT.
round, two passers-by were lifting Mrs. Radcliffe, and
as they laid her on the grass by the roadside she heard
her mother moan faintly. The sound made her start
to her feet and hasten to Mrs. Radcliffe's side.
It was
evident that she was seriously hurt, nor did she entirely
recover consciousness until they had carried her back to
Uncle Aglionby's house, where under the care of Aunt
Aglionby's maid, who seemed to have every appliance
that was needed for fainting ladies, from hartshorn to
burnt feathers, she gradually came to herself.
Audrey breathed more freely on hearing the surgeon's
report that no bones were broken, but before long it
became evident that some serious internal mischief had
been caused by the accident, and their unlucky drive
from Carleton Manor proved the beginning of a long
and wearing illness which made any thought of return-
ing to Lord's Island out of the question for some months.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
163
CHAPTER XIII.
"Delight is layd abedde; and pleasure past;
No sonne now shines; cloudes han all overcast."
SPENSER.
AT Isel Hall the summer passed by uneventfully.
Michael had had plenty to do, and fortunately it had
not been possible for him to brood over his private
troubles, for no one could live with Sir Wilfrid and fail
to take a keen and practical interest in the affairs of
the political world. Though sorry to hear of Mrs. Rad-
cliffe's tedious illness, Audrey's enforced stay at Penrith
was clear gain to him, and he was not without hope that
Sir Wilfrid-who had recently been made a baronet-
might be compelled before long to make a journey to
London in connection with a lawsuit, and that by ac-
companying him he might still further postpone that
dreaded meeting with the girl he loved, in her new
position as Henry Brownrigg's betrothed.
One September afternoon, dinner being over, he was
pacing to and fro in the quaint walled garden which lay
in front of the house, when he saw, coming towards
him down the broad flight of stone steps which were
II*


164
HOPE THE HERMIT.
always half veiled by moss and ferns, the well-known
figure of Zinogle, the Keswick fiddler.
"Why, Zinogle!" he exclaimed, greeting the old man
heartily. "Tis an age since I saw you. How goes the
world at Keswick?"
"Not so well as it did last November, sir, when we
fired the beacon," said Zinogle with a sly gleam in his
eye. "There's less of thanking the Almighty and more
of grumbling and squabbling. For my part I say long
live King William, who had the chimney tax repealed.”
"What! you bring a letter for me?" said Michael,
glancing curiously at the missive which Zinogle produced
from his leather wallet.
"A letter from Mr. Noel, sir, and I've just delivered
one from Mrs. Radcliffe to Sir Wilfrid Lawson."
"Is Mrs. Radcliffe at Lord's Island then?" asked
Michael, his heart stirring uncomfortably.
"Yes, sir, they are at home, and Mrs. Radcliffe calls
herself well, but to my thinking she'll never again be
what she was before her accident."
Michael did not reply; he was busy with Mr. Noel's
letter, which brought him news that was sufficiently
startling.
MY DEAR MICHAEL,
A rumour has reached us that Sir Wilfrid Lawson is about to
go to London. Deeming it probable that you will attend him, I
am most anxious to see you first that I may give you an intro-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
165
duction to an old friend of mine who may, I believe, be of service
to you.
Mrs. Radcliffe is writing to Sir Wilfrid Lawson, at the
request of Sir Nicholas, and trusts that he will break his journey
here. There is yet a further reason why we are anxious to get
speech of you.
While at Penrith Mrs. Radcliffe and her daughter
visited a Mr. Robert Carleton of Carleton Manor; they have reason
to believe that he must be your grandfather, but have not succeeded
in getting actual proof. The name corresponds with that in the
book which was given you at Watendlath and I think you should
lose no time in following up the clue.
I am, yours very faithfully,
AUGUSTINE NOEL.
Michael read this letter with very mingled feelings.
To escape from this quiet place would indeed be a
relief; he had suffered too bitterly in that stately old
hall with its imposing façade and its massive pele tower
not to crave for fresh fields and pastures new; the
thought of at length finding his mother's people
stimulated his fancy, and the notion of at length seeing
London pleased him well enough; but all this would be
dearly purchased by having to stay at Lord's Island
under the same roof as Audrey, and with the constant
dread that Henry Brownrigg might appear upon the
scene.
"Well, after all!" he reflected somewhat bitterly, "I
am not my own master and shall have to do as Sir
Wilfrid thinks best."
"Come indoors, Zinogle," he said, turning to the


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fiddler; "you must want rest and food after your journey,
and I will go and write a reply to Mr. Noel.”
A journey to London in those days was a formidable
undertaking, and in this instance Sir Wilfrid knew that
he would probably meet with a thousand delays and
hindrances and that several months would probably
elapse before he returned to the north country. Many
things had to be discussed and arranged; the attorney
was summoned from Cockermouth to make out a new
will, tenants had to be seen and entertained, accounts
overhauled, and everything set in order as though in-
stead of making a journey to the south of England,
the good baronet was taking leave of this world alto-
gether.
However, at length all arrangements were made,
and on a bright October morning Sir Wilfrid and his
secretary set out for the long-talked-of expedition. It
was about noon when they reached Keswick, and Michael,
in spite of himself, felt a thrill of pleasure as he caught
sight once more of Derwentwater glistening in the sun
and beyond it that wonderful vista of the Borrowdale
crags. He might be coming face to face with sorrow,
but after all it was a home-coming, and he felt new life
in him as he looked lovingly at those familiar mountains
which had been the friends of his childhood.
No other


HOPE THE HERMIT.
167
•
place in the world could ever be to him what Borrow-
dale had been.
Putting up their horses at Stable Hills farm, they
were rowed across the narrow strip of water to the
island by old William Hollins, and then, with steady
steps but a wildly throbbing heart, Michael walked be-
side his patron up the familiar path to the great door.
It opened just as they approached, and he saw Audrey
standing between the two old serving-men, waiting to
receive her grandfather's guests, and making a pretty
apology to Sir Wilfrid. Sir Nicholas, she said, was not
well, and they had persuaded him not to venture from
the hearth. The next moment her hand was in Michael's,
and she was giving him the most matter-of-fact greeting,
friendly but preoccupied-apparently quite oblivious that
anything out of the common had happened since they
had last held each other's hands at Raby Castle.
Well, he reflected, she had never in the least under-
stood what she had been to him, and it was better so.
His heart seemed to turn into a lump of ice, but then,
after all, was not that more or less convenient? He
found himself able to talk with perfect sangfroid, even
to jest with Father Noel-as most people called him in
these more tolerant days-over the outfit he would need
directly he reached London.
Mrs. Radcliffe was particularly kind to him, perhaps
because her quick insight penetrated below his mask


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
of composure and well-assumed indifference; or possibly
because she could not help rejoicing in the thought that
she was not to have this penniless and nameless found-
ling for a son-in-law,-a mere boy, moreover, contrasting
most unfavourably in every respect with the Under-
Sheriff, who was a man of good standing, wealthy, and
eminently fitted to protect Audrey from the wiles of
Father Noel.
It did not occur to her that the priest's schemes
were by no means ended by the betrothal, and that he
had no intention whatever of quietly acquiescing in what
seemed to him a most disastrous state of things. She
retired when dinner was over, leaving the gentlemen over
their wine, and being still weak after her long illness,
she was glad to go to her own room and rest while
Audrey took a basketful of scraps of bread and went
out to feed her swans.
Father Noel caught sight of her just as Sir Nicholas
rose from the table, and went off to the library with
Sir Wilfrid Lawson. He glanced from the girl's re-
treating figure to the face of his pupil and thought for
a moment. Was he deliberately to lead this boy into
temptation?
"His heart is frozen," he reflected. "It must at any
cost be thawed, or he will inevitably go to the dogs.
Were there another woman likely to serve the purpose
I would throw him in her way, but as things are it is


HOPE THE HERMIT.
169
absolutely necessary that we should keep him still in
love with Audrey. He will suffer, but that can't be
helped. To save him from himself, and to save her
from Henry Brownrigg, I must put up with that and
run a certain amount of risk."
"Let us come out together in the orchard," he said,
turning to Michael. "I want to speak a few words with
you as to my friend in London, to whom you have
kindly promised to bear a book. He, also, was one of
those falsely suspected in the time of the so-called.
Popish plot in 1678. We left London together, but he
has spent most of his time abroad, having only lately
returned to London. I know that you are not one of
the bigots who will have no dealings with a Catholic or
I should not have asked this service of you."
"I will gladly serve any friend of yours, sir," said
Michael. "What is the gentleman's name?"
"Ask for him under the name of Mr. Calverley. He
is staying in Villiers Street, York Buildings. I have
known him for many years, and shall be grateful if you
will deliver into his hands the letter and packet I will
give you.
And now let us say a word as to your own
affairs."
"As to this Mr. Carleton of Penrith, sir?"
"Yes. It was strange that the discovery should have
been made, was it not?"


170
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"It comes too late," said Michael with a sigh.
care little about it now."
"I
"There I think you are wrong. Audrey cares very
much indeed, and is most anxious that you should in-
vestigate matters for yourself.”
He coloured painfully. "Is she?" he said. "How
can it affect her?"
Father Noel hailed both the blush and the slight
faltering of the voice. The thawing process had clearly
begun.
"It may affect her more than you think," he said,
and the words were strictly true, but he said them in
one sense and knew quite well that they would convey
a very different sense to Michael.
There was silence for some minutes. The two paced
on beneath the trees until they came to the water, and
here, standing on the shore with four snowy swans close
to the margin of the water, they saw Audrey feeding
her favourites.
"Are they not beautiful creatures?" she said. “Now
there is only one bit of bread left-they shall have a
race for it."
She flung it far out and clapped her hands as the
largest swan followed the prize.
"I knew he would beat the others," she said. “Isn't
he splendid with his long, stately neck?"
"The race is not always to the swift nor the battle


HOPE THE HERMIT.
171
to the strong," said Father Noel musingly, and the words
made Michael pull himself together, for he always in-
stinctively rebelled against Audrey's curious admiration
for mere bulk.
size.
Fortunately for him, strength was not dependent on
"Do you think," said the priest, "that Sir Wilfrid
will object to your going to Carleton Manor, on your
way to London? I think you should get speech of Mr.
Carleton himself. That would be possible, I suppose,
Audrey?"
"Oh, yes,” said the girl eagerly. "Though he is an
invalid I think he would certainly see you, and he is
the only person who knows who it was his daughter ran
away with; they say he has never mentioned the name
and that there were all sorts of guesses made at the
time in Penrith. But old Mrs. Aglionby thinks it must
have been some stranger from quite another neigh-
bourhood."
They had strolled along as far as the fallen tree,
where a year before they had sat together on the day
of Michael's return; he recognised the place at once
and sighed as all the old hopes and dreams recurred to
his mind."
"Tell all about your discovery of the picture," said
Father Noel, and for a minute or two he sat down be-


172
HOPE THE HERMIT.
side them, but soon complained of the cold and wan-
dered away by himself.
The two scarcely noted his departure, for Audrey
was thoroughly interested in telling exactly what had
passed at Carleton Manor, and Michael was not only
absorbed in her description, but seemed unable to take
his eyes from her face.
In truth she looked most lovely with her soft grey
eyes, a trifle wider than usual as she spoke of the ap-
parition, her face all animation and life, her sunny
brown curls lightly stirred by the western wind. And
the priest had spoken truly, for she did care very much
that he should follow up the clue she had so strangely
discovered. After all, was his case absolutely hopeless?
Wild dreams began to find place in his mind; was there
not, after all, many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip?
She was not yet wedded to Henry Brownrigg. Mrs. Rad-
cliffe's illness had already delayed the marriage. Might
not some other chance intervene and once more save
her from a fate which seemed more intolerable now than
ever?
"It is strange," he said, "but I, too, had the same
vision of my mother, although only in a dream.”
He told her of his walk with Father Noel, and of
how he had waited on the Styhead Pass and had seen
what he had never for a moment doubted to be his
mother; and then with far more hope than he had felt


HOPE THE HERMIT.
173
at the time, he told all that had passed at Watendlath,
Audrey listening with that whole-hearted attention
which she had always shown in matters that con-
cerned him.
By-and-by he took the copy of Thomas à Kempis
from his pocket and they looked at it together. Audrey's
thoughts were of that strange romance of the past; ab-
sorbed in picturing poor Lucy, whose sweet, sad face
had been stamped on her heart ever since she had seen
it at the gate of Carleton Manor, she never paused to
reflect that her curls brushed Michael's cheek and fell
on his hand as together they bent over the book. But
he was conscious of it in every fibre of his being, and it
was with a bewildered wonder that he read mechanically
on the page at which Audrey had opened, the descrip-
tion of a man who, hundreds of years before, had some-
how attained to a peace of mind which seemed scarcely
credible.
"He committed himself wholly to the will of God,
and that noisome anxiety ceased. Neither had he the
mind to search curiously any farther, to know what
should befall him; but rather laboured to understand
what was the perfect and acceptable will of God for the
beginning and accomplishing of every good work.”
Audrey read on thoughtfully, but his eyes were no
longer on the book, but on that bright soft tress of hair
which rested on the back of his hand.


174
HOPE THE HERMIT.
At that moment a shadow darkened the sunlight
and made them both look up hastily, imagining that
Father Noel had strolled back towards them along the
grassy path. Audrey gave a little exclamation of sur-
prise and pleasure when she saw that it was not the
priest after all, but Henry Brownrigg. She greeted him
gaily, and never noticed the expression on his face until
he turned to Michael with the stiffest and most un-
friendly of salutations. Then she glanced in perplexity
from one to the other. What did it all mean? Both
men were evidently furious; her lover's brow wore a frown
so menacing and stormy that for the first time in her
life she was afraid of him; while Michael, with flushed
face and over-bright eyes, stood by erect and scornful,
defiance in his whole attitude.
There was an awkward pause; she had an instinct
that unless she broke it quickly something terrible
would happen, and with an effort she made a step or
two forward and put her hand on Henry Brownrigg's
arm.
"See," she said gently, "we were looking at this
book which was found at Watendlath. It belonged to
Michael's mother and will form a link in the chain of
evidence he is getting together.”
"Indeed!" he said with sarcasm in his voice, and
taking the book from her hand, he gave it to Michael
with a formal bow, and a look which said as plainly as


HOPE THE HERMIT.
175
words, "I should like to throw it at your head if
courtesy did not forbid."
Michael glanced swiftly at Audrey; her clear, inno-
cent eyes had a troubled look. He felt that for her
sake he ought not to linger.
“I have an errand in Keswick," he said, "and shall
not return till supper time. Can I do anything for you
in the town?"
She thanked him, but said she needed nothing, and
with a sense of relief saw him disappear among the
trees, leaving her alone with her lover.
"How long has that boy been here with you?" said
Henry in an angry voice.
"Michael? He came with Sir Wilfrid Lawson just
before dinner.”
"You know very well I meant what o'clock was it
when he came out here with you alone."
Perhaps she resented his masterful tone, or perhaps
it was merely her innate love of teasing which made her
reply with a laugh:-
:-
"As Orlando said to Rosalind, 'There's no clock in
the forest!""
"I will not have him hanging about you!" said
Henry Brownrigg furiously. "Can't you see yourself how
unseemly it is?"
"I don't understand you," she said, colouring.
"Michael is my foster-brother. I knew him long before


176
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I knew you. If my grandfather and my mother choose
to invite him here as a guest it is not your place to
complain that we talk together."
Henry Brownrigg had the shrewdness to see that he
had made a mistake in adopting such a tone to his be-
trothed, and with an effort he refrained from saying an-
other word as to Michael, though his heart was still hot
within him.
"Of course you very naturally wished to tell your
ghost story," he said, allowing his face to relax into a
smile. "I had forgotten that."
Then seeing that she still looked grave and dis-
pleased, he threw his arm about her, and began to tell
her of the wearing work he had had to do that morn-
ing, and to speak of the future when he should have her
always near to gladden his life.
"But I am forgetting the special reason of my visit,"
he said at length. "It was to ask whether you and
Mrs. Radcliffe will not spend a day with us next week.
The short distance to Millbeck Hall would surely not be
too much for your mother, and there are many things to
discuss and arrange before our marriage."
"We could come for the day," said Audrey, “but in-
deed I don't think my mother can spare me yet; she is
not strong. Don't urge her to fix any early date for the
wedding."
She could hardly have explained why for the first


HOPE THE HERMIT.
177
time she felt a dread of her lover; she was not in the
least accustomed to analysing her thoughts. Had she
done so she might have discovered that the entire blind-
ness of her admiration was at an end; his revelation of
petty jealousy of so old a friend as Michael, the insuffer-
able manner in which he had looked at her foster-
brother, had in reality opened her eyes to perceive
something of his true character. Now, love has power
to see faults and blemishes and still to love on, because
it goes deeper than the faults, and loves what shall one
day be perfected. But the so-called love which is only
admiration is quickly killed by the sudden discovery of
serious failings; never having penetrated below the sur-
face, it withers and dies easily enough.
Audrey's admiration of her betrothed was by no
means ended that October afternoon, but the perfect
content she had enjoyed during the first part of their
engagement was over. Had she been able to follow him
when he left her his true self would have been plainly
revealed, but unfortunately she never guessed that he
rode away from Stable Hills farm with the full intention
of overtaking Michael before he reached Keswick.
To his great satisfaction, he came upon him close to
Castle Hill, for Michael was on foot. He reined in his
horse.
"A word with you, Mr. Derwent, if you please," he
said in his haughtiest tone.
Hope the Hermit. I.
12


178
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Michael stood still and looked his rival in the face.
"Understand plainly, sir," said Henry Brownrigg,
"that I will not endure a repetition of what I saw to-
day. I will not have you enjoying private interviews with
my betrothed.”
"Do you dare to dictate to Sir Nicholas Radcliffe's
guests?" said Michael angrily. "Let me remind you,
sir, that Lord's Island is not your property.”
"Thank God
"No," said Henry Brownrigg with a sneer. "It is
not, but Mistress Audrey Radcliffe is my property."
"Not yet," said Michael passionately.
you can't say that till she is your wife. The law will
permit you to do it then, and, like Petruchio, I have no
doubt you'll proclaim, 'She is my goods, my chattels, my
horse, my ox, my ass, my anything!'"
"Perhaps I shall," said Henry Brownrigg, determined
to provoke a quarrel. "It is nothing to you. What have
you to do, pray, with Audrey Radcliffe? You! a mere
foundling bastard!”
The blood rushed to Michael's face.
"You lie!" he said fiercely. "Take back your words
or give me satisfaction."
"That would please me better than anything," said
Henry Brownrigg with a sneer, "and since you leave to-
morrow-
"9
He broke off abruptly, for from among the trees and
bushes which clothed the lower part of Castle Hill there


HOPE THE HERMIT.
179
suddenly emerged an old and venerable-looking man
wearing a sober-hued doublet and a plain, broad-
brimmed hat, black-silk hose of the finest quality, and
silver shoe-buckles which were faultlessly polished.
"Friend," he said to Michael, "do not forget."
Michael turned to the speaker; his eyes were bright
with passion, his boyish face flushed, but the Quaker's
calm voice and manner exerted over him the same ex-
traordinary influence as on that March day when he had
first heard of Audrey's betrothal.
"Sir," he said, "Mr. Brownrigg foully slandered my
mother. Am I to stand still and endure that? He lies,
and knows it right well."
"If thou dost fight every liar thy sword will never
be sheathed," said the Quaker; "remember the sage
who sought through a city for one honest man, yet
found him not for all his seeking. As for thee, Henry
Brownrigg, I heard thee stirring up strife with thy un-
seemly words, and, as Audrey Radcliffe's kinsman, I
liked it very ill that thou didst so little reverence her as
to speak of her as thy property in the public way."
“Had I known, sir, that Mistress Radcliffe's illustrious
Quaker cousin, instead of being in prison, was skulking
among the trees, I would have spoken more carefully,"
said Henry Brownrigg with a sneer on his handsome
face,
12*


180
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"I take thy words as an apology," said the Quaker.
"But, nevertheless, 'tis the presence of the Lord, not
the presence of man, that should teach thee rightly to
reverence woman."
"Well, Derwent, the fates are against us," said the
Under-Sheriff with a laugh as he touched up his horse.
“It seems that this time we must forego our meeting.
Better luck, I hope, in our next dispute."
Michael, with a sick feeling of disappointment,
bowed in silence, and watched his rival until he dis-
appeared among the trees which bordered the horse
track.
The Quaker eyed him keenly, understanding well
enough what was passing in his mind.
"Art thou wise to visit at Lord's Island?" he said
at last.
"I am in attendance on Sir Wilfrid Lawson, sir,"
said Michael. "The visit was none of my seeking. We
only rest there to-night on our way to London, and there
were letters of introduction which Father Noel wished to
give me."
They walked on together, as they spoke, in the
direction of Keswick.
"Do not take it ill of me if I speak plainly to thee
with regard to Augustine Noel," said the Quaker. "He
is, as I know, an old and tried friend of thine, but I


HOPE THE HERMIT.
181
Iwould have thee careful as to these same letters of in-
troduction. London is in a troubled state, as I learn
from my worthy friend George Fox; the very elect may
be deceived, led, before they know it, into meddling
with matters of earthly government."
"I am the last to wish to dabble in politics," said
Michael with an air of distaste, "and am well content
with our new King and Queen. All I care for is to
see the town, to get away to something that will be fresh
and free from memories. You can never have known,
sir, what restlessness means."
"Indeed, 'tis a malady that doth too often haunt a
prison," said the Quaker with a smile upon his quiet
face. “But 'tis a foe to be wrestled with and not lightly
yielded to. Do not in thy restlessness become like the
rolling stone of the proverb which gathers no moss. As
for thy journey to London, that is well enough, only
have a care and remember that thy life is not thine
own. Tell me, hast thou room in thy valise for a small
book? If so I would be much beholden to thee if
thou wouldst carry it to George Fox, who is scarce
likely again to be at Swarthmoor Hall, or to venture
upon a journey to these parts, for he waxes old and
feeble."
Michael gladly undertook to deliver the packet to
the great leader of the Friends, and Nathaniel Radcliffe


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
prevailed upon him to stay and sup at Hye Hill, where,
in the stillness of the parlour in which he had once
lived through so strange an experience, he began once
more to face the life that lay before him, shamed into
patient endurance by the silent influence of his Quaker
friend.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
183
CHAPTER
XIV.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT.
“The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair
Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
Sighed and looked, and sighed again."
DRYDEN.
MORE than seven months passed by after the March
day when I first heard of Audrey's betrothal before I
again found myself at Hye Hill. Late in October I
had to attend Sir Wilfrid to London, and on our way,
at Sir Nicholas Radcliffe's request, we lay for a night
at the mansion on Lord's Island. It chanced unluckily
that I came across Henry Brownrigg there; and after-
wards, near Castle Hill, high words passed betwixt us,
so that we should certainly have fought upon the matter
had not my Quaker friend suddenly appeared, managed
to patch up a peace between us, and brought me to his
house.
What it was in Nathaniel Radcliffe and that sweet-
faced old lady his wife which wrought so strange an
effect on me I never can tell. I went into their house


184
HOPE THE HERMIT.
heated and chafed and at war with fate; I came out
again calmed, and with a strength that made me ready
to face outer storms. Yet they never preached at me
-it was not the Quaker way to speak much of religion.
They were just friends; and it was not what they did
or what they spoke, but what they were in themselves,
which somehow worked like magic. My old fancy that
Hye Hill was heaven, came back to me curiously that
night, and perhaps, after all, the dream had not been
wholly wrong; for in this old couple there certainly was
a heavenly-mindedness I never saw elsewhere. Had
they gained it in those long years of persecution and
imprisonment? Was it the reward-the martyr's crown
-won by their patient suffering?
All the way back to Lord's Island I pondered over
it. There was a light in the window of the withdrawing-
room, and in the still evening air I caught the sound
of music as William Hollins set me down at the landing-
place.
Drawing nearer, the whole room became clearly
visible to me. Sir Nicholas, in his armchair by the
hearth, beat time feebly with his long, slender hand;
Mrs. Radcliffe was playing at chess with Sir Wilfrid,
while Audrey, with her nut-brown hair gleaming like
gold in the lamplight, sang to her lute Ben Jonson's
song, "See the chariot at hand here of love".
Her voice, though sweet, was not very strong, and


HOPE THE HERMIT.
185
the charm of her singing lay in the clear, unaffected
way in which she rendered the words. I could have
wished it had not been so that night, for each phrase
seemed to have its own special torture for me.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt the bud of the briar?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O, so white! O, so soft! O, so sweet is she!
The very unconsciousness with which
seemed to heighten the charm of the song.
away trembling like a palsied man.
she sang
I turned
He was
In the hall I came across Father Noel.
pacing to and fro, breviary in hand, and with one of
his swift glances he read my face. Audrey's lute still
sounded through the silent house.
"Welcome back again," he said with his pleasant
smile. "Will you join them in the withdrawing-room,
or will you have supper first?"
"I supped at Hye Hill," I replied, and then briefly
told him of the dispute with Henry Brownrigg and of
the Quaker's intervention.
"He was quite right," said Father Noel. "You were


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ever too ready to fight that braggart. Henry Brownrigg
needs tackling in other ways. Do not forget to see
what you can of my friend Mr. Calverley when you reach
London; and now let us join the others."
But I hung back and begged him to make my ex-
cuses, to say that I was preparing for the journey, or
was indisposed, for to meet Audrey again at that
minute seemed to me intolerable.
The priest, however, with a persistence that I could
not understand, would take no refusal, and I was forced
to follow him into the room where the family was as-
sembled. He could not force me, however, to approach
Audrey. I stood by the fire near Sir Nicholas, while
Father Noel took the vacant chair close to the singer
and asked for one song after another, deliberately
choosing or so it seemed to me--the ones that would
give me the keenest pain. That he hated Henry Brown-
rigg and shrank from the idea of the marriage I knew
well enough, but why, now that the betrothal was a fact,
did he add to my misery by compelling me to meet
the woman I vainly loved?
I had reached Lord's Island that morning with a
heart like a lump of ice, but when I left the next day,
after a miserable night haunted by visions of past
happiness, love and passion and pain raged within me
once more, and dreams as wild as an old fairy tale


HOPE THE HERMIT.
187
began to take shape in my mind as I rode beside Sir
Wilfrid to Penrith.
In the forenoon of the following day I rode to
Carleton Manor. Audrey had described the house so
well that I seemed to know every stone of it, and stand-
ing in the morning sunshine, the whole place seemed
steeped in peace. It was what they call St. Luke's
summer; not a breath of wind stirred the russet and
gold of the trees, only now and then a leaf detached
itself from its twig and fluttered noiselessly down upon
the smooth green turf below. One could hardly picture
that restless, sad spirit, which Audrey had described,
haunting a place where all things seemed so tranquil.
Feeling not unlike Jack the giant-killer, I blew the
horn which hung beside the great door, and after some
little delay an old serving-man appeared in somewhat
shabby livery. I inquired whether it were possible to
see Mr. Carleton.
The old man looked at me very narrowly. A puzzled
expression stole over his wrinkled face.
"The master sees few guests, being an invalid,” he
said.
"But I come on an urgent matter and bring letters
of introduction," I said persuasively. Whereupon the
old man, still eyeing me very curiously, permitted me
to enter, and ushering me into a small anteroom, took


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
the letter with which Mrs. Radcliffe had furnished me
and hobbled off into the adjoining apartment.
"Don't disturb me," said a harsh, irritable voice,
plainly audible through the open door.
The toothless old serving-man was not so audible,
but I heard a remonstrating mumble.
"I tell you I will not be disturbed.
impudence."
"Mumble, mumble, mumble."
Curse your
"Well, open the confounded letter, then, and hand
it to me to read, you idiot! What! Mrs. Radcliffe,
who was in the overturned coach? Humph! I suppose
I must see the gentleman.
blockhead, and show him in."
Shift my leg for me, you
I began to think it would be no pleasant task to go
and claim kinship with this irascible old invalid, and my
heart beat fast as I was shown into the presence of a
white-haired and most crabbed-looking veteran of about
eighty, who gave me a ceremonious greeting, and in-
quired after Mrs. Radcliffe's health. When I had replied
to that, there followed an uncomfortable pause. Some
instinct warned me as I looked at old Mr. Carleton not
to beat about the bush, but to speak straightforwardly,
even abruptly.
"Sir," I said, "you will wonder what hath brought
me here to trouble you with a question, seeing that I
am a total stranger. But perhaps you will bear with


HOPE THE HERMIT.
189
me when I tell you that all my life will be overclouded
till my question is answered. My mother was deserted
by her husband just before my birth; she died refusing
to reveal his name, and only within the last few months
have I discovered her maiden name. It is written in
this book." And with that I opened and held towards
him the copy of Thomas à Kempis.
His bushy white eyebrows contracted as he peered
down at the inscription; then with a fierce, quick move-
ment he clutched me by the shoulder and drew me
down that he might more closely scan my face. The
scrutiny would have been embarrassing, but something
in the old man's eager eyes arrested my attention, and
I fell to thinking of him rather than of myself. There
was something piteous after all about his crabbed,
solitary, old age.
"You are Lucy's son; there is no doubt about that,"
he said, falling back to his former position. "The child
of her shame."
"Sir," I said, "I have met one who
nessed my mother's marriage; he is one
actually wit-
whose word
baronet as is
He pledged
you could not possibly doubt—as worthy a
to be found in all the county of Durham.
himself at the time not to reveal her husband's name.
That is why I come to you to-day to ask it."
"You come to me?" he said with a bitter, mirthless
laugh. "You could not have come to a worse person."


190
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Surely, sir," I pleaded, "you will not withhold from
me my own father's name. I have a right to know it-
if only that I may call him to account for having first
deserted my mother and then done his best to murder
me by the Spartan plan of exposure."
Old Mr. Carleton's eyes lit up with a gleam of some-
thing like sympathy.
"I like your spirit," he said. "I would help you if
I could, but that arch-deceiver's name is still unknown
to me. My daughter did not see fit to inform me who
it was that imposed upon her, who it was in whose
honour she confided rather than in the honour of the
father to whom she owed everything."
This unexpected blow fairly staggered me.
"You do not know even his name?" I faltered.
"Then surely you must be able at least to guess which
of her admirers she was likely to favour."
"Indeed, sir, I can do nothing of the kind," said
the old man bitterly. "You have doubtless heard from
Mrs. Radcliffe the current version of the tale. You not
unnaturally side with your mother, but now hear my
side of the story. I have never spoken of it from that
day to this, but now methinks I have a mind that Lucy's
son should hear both versions. Have the goodness, sir,
to cross the room and open the doors of that Japan
cabinet."
I obeyed, turned the curiously wrought brass key,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
191
and revealed the daintily arranged pigeonholes and
drawers inside.
"Now press with your fingers on the bottom of the
centre compartment," said Mr. Carleton.
This apparently touched a spring, for out flew a
little secret drawer in which there lay a letter yellow
with age.
Mr. Carleton told me to bring it to him, and
motioned to me to resume my former place.
"My wife had died," he said, "at the birth of our
second daughter, and thus, at twelve years old, Lucy
found herself mistress of this house. I had no fault to
find with her; she was dutiful and affectionate. I ex-
pected perfect obedience, and she never refused it until
it came to the time of her proposed marriage; then,
without any warning, she changed her whole method of
behaviour, and flatly refused to marry the husband I
had chosen for her. It became a contest of wills. I
knew that I should not yield, and thought that with
time and patience we should bring her to hear reason.
But the girl was old for her years, had some inkling of
what marriage involved, and vowed that nothing on
earth should make her wed worthy Sir James Grey, be-
cause, forsooth, he was, like other gentlemen, a little
over-free at times with the wine. At last, as you know,
she fled from home, and the news brought to me the
next day so shattered my health that by the time I


192
HOPE THE HERMIT.
could attend to things again it was useless to search for
her."
"But she wrote?" I said, eagerly glancing at the
letter.
"Ay, weeks after her flight this letter arrived-it
had evidently been delayed on the road. Probably her
lover saw to that. Read it, sir, and see what you make
of it."
I unfolded the letter; it was written in a clear,
round hand, but the spelling was in many places faulty.
me,
MY DEARE SIR,
To have disobeyed you and given you griefe pains me, but I
could not wed Sir James. I knew you would not relent; therefore
my only course was to leave home. I had intended to go to old
Betty the nursekeeper at York, but on the road, being in danger
from a highwayman, I was courteously rescued by a gentleman that
was journeying with a friend to London. They vowed to protect
and we journeyed on together. Deare Sir, my kindly rescuer
hath won my heart, and hath promised to wed me when we reach
London. He is a gentleman of an honourable family, and I truste
you will pardon me for having prifered him to the husband you
had chosen for me, since to wed Sir James would have been life-
long miserie to me. I pray you to forgive me, and to let me know
of yure forgiveness, deare sir. I will write again from London to
send you word where we have made our home. Pardon this ill
writ letter; the messenger waits and I am in haste, as we travel on
at once.
I remain, yure most affectionate daughter,
LUCY CARLETON.
"And did she write again?" I asked eagerly.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
193
"Never again," said the old man bitterly. "She
had at least enough good feeling to hide her shame."
"But, sir, I have seen an eye-witness of her mar-
riage," I said. "Surely it was her sorrow and disap-
pointment in having wedded one who quickly tired of
her that kept her silent. Nor did she know whether
you would forgive her flight."
The old man's eyes seemed to soften a little; he
looked at me very searchingly.
"Sir," he said, "you are young and hopeful. I
think you have not yet seen much of the world. For
my own part I believe your worthy baronet, who wit-
nessed the marriage ceremony, was hoodwinked by his
scoundrel of a friend. We all know that it is easy
enough to go through a form of marriage. Your mother,
I doubt not, was easily deceived. She was like you,
slow to suspect evil, and altogether wanting in judgment.
She preferred this adventurer, this total stranger, to the
husband I had chosen for her-one who owned as fair
an estate as could be desired."
The thought that Sir Christopher Vane had been
deceived had not occurred to me, and I remembered
reluctantly, and with an effort to suppress the thought,
that he must have been very young at the time, and a
mere country-bred lad.
"I'll not rest till I have met my father face to face
and heard the truth from his own lips," I said, starting
Hope the Hermit. I.
13


194
HOPE THE HERMIT.
up with a longing to set off on my quest there and
then.
Old Mr. Carleton watched me in silence for a
minute.
"Take that letter with you," he said. "It may be
of use in proving matters. God grant you may succeed
in calling that villain to account. God grant that I may
live to see him suffer as he deserves."
"Amen to that," I said hotly, for the old man's
righteous anger touched an answering chord in my
heart.
"Sir," I pleaded after a moment's silence, "there is
one favour I would ask you. Mistress Audrey Radcliffe
spoke of a picture of my mother which she saw here in
one of the upper rooms. I would fain see it with your
permission, and judge how far it corresponds with this
miniature."
He held out his hand eagerly for the miniature, and
gazed at it for some minutes in silence, then made me
tell him exactly when and where it had been found.
"Depend upon it, 'twas a mock marriage," he said.
"Why should a man be so anxious to be rid of all
traces of his dead wife? And why should he practically
murder his own son and heir? But all the more reason
that you do your utmost to search for this villain and
expose him. Ring that bell, sir, and I will send for
the picture. Timothy," he added as the old serving-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
195
man appeared, "bring down once more the portrait that
used to hang above the sideboard."
The old servant, with an involuntary start of as-
tonishment at such a command, disappeared, favouring
me, however, with a keen glance as he left the room.
"You bear your story in your face," said Mr. Carle-
ton. "The fellow sees who you are.” Then with that
curious, intent look in which I could not help thinking
there lurked something like affection, the old man
gripped hold of my hand. "You must not take it ill of
me,” he said, “if I ask you to do me a favour. Left as
a foundling, you cannot have much of this world's goods
to help you on your way."
"Sir Wilfrid Lawson gave me my education, sir, and
I have my salary of eighteen pounds a year and the
use of a horse, that is more than many secretaries re-
ceive."
"True," he replied. "He has dealt generously with
you, but if you are to trace out this scoundrel you will
need money, and I would fain have my money used for
such a purpose. Take this purse and furnish yourself
with all that you need; nay, I'll take no refusal! Use
it, if not to pleasure me, then to avenge your mother.”
It was impossible after this to decline the old man's
gift, and indeed little more could be said, for at that
moment the serving-man entered, staggering under the
weight of an oil-painting nearly as tall as himself. Very
13*


196
HOPE THE HERMIT.
eagerly I looked at the picture Audrey had described,
and saw at once that it exactly corresponded with the
miniature; moreover, I could see in this larger portrait
more distinctly that the face was indeed as my own.
I glanced towards old Mr. Carleton and saw that
his wrinkled face was quivering with emotion. He held
out his hand in farewell, evidently unable to endure any
more.
"Go and prosper," he said fervently. "Avenge her,
sir! Avenge her!"


HOPE THE HERMIT.
197
CHAPTER XV.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MICHAEL DERWENT (continued).
"But some there are
That in a sacred want and hunger rise,
And draw the misery home and live with it,
And excellent in honour wait, and will
That something good should yet be found in it,
Else wherefore were they born?"
JEAN INGELOW.
OUR journey to London was uneventful but some-
what tedious, and I was heartily glad when we at length
reached the house of Sir Wilfrid's friend, Sir William
Denham. It stood in Norfolk Street, betwixt the river
and the Strand, and was to be our headquarters during
our stay, for the two were close friends, and had many
hobbies in common, both being lovers of science and
keen naturalists.
The actual day of our arrival had not of course
been fixed, and we chanced to get in on an evening
when guests had been bidden.
Now, one of the smaller discomforts of my life had
always been the uncertainty of position which attaches
to anyone in such circumstances. Most men are fixed
by fate either in one sphere or the other. I hovered


198
HOPE THE HERMIT.
uncertainly on the borderland, one of the waifs of the
world, yet educated as a gentleman, and enjoying many
privileges owing to Sir Wilfrid's kind-heartedness and to
the affection which he had always shown me. At Isel
I had never anything to complain of, and at Raby,
thanks to Sir Christopher Vane's interest on the night
of our arrival, I had been treated precisely like any
other guest. But elsewhere often enough there were
snubs and disagreeables to be encountered, those petty
vexations which affect an older and wiser mortal very
little, but rankle bitterly when one is young, and has
not yet learnt to look on such matters philosophically.
Supper was going on when we reached the house,
and having hastily donned evening dress, we were
shown to the dining-room by an old servant named
Thomas, who pompously announced Sir Wilfrid as he
flung open the door, and then gripping my arm, said
in a stage aside:—
"There ain't no more room, sir; as it is, I'm putting
Sir Wilfrid into the place of Lord Downshire's chaplain.
Luckily the roast had been removed and he'd returned
thanks. One can always turn out the chaplain before
the sweets are served. You are the secretary, I believe,
sir?" He looked up questioningly as though he would
say: "Don't let us have any mistakes; if you are a gentle-
man of means, say so at once, and I'll apologise."
"Yes, I am the secretary," I replied, unable to sup-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
199
press a smile as I saw the expression of the old man's
face and the relieved air with which he received my
answer.
"Then step this way, sir; you'll find the parson to
keep you company."
"But I can't eat the parson, and I am as hungry as
a hunter," I suggested, seeing that the fellow was evi-
dently an old family servant and looked capable of tak-
ing a joke.
His broad shoulders shook, and he promised to
bring me some supper without delay, which was as
well, for the chaplain was the most lean and scraggy
of men, and even a cannibal would scarce have deemed
his bones worth picking. He bowed rather stiffly as
I entered.
"I am the Reverend Ambrose Newfold, chaplain to
my Lord Downshire," he said pompously. "May I ask
your name, sir?"
"I am Michael Derwent, secretary to Sir Wilfrid
Lawson, of Isel Hall, Cumberland," I replied, glancing
round the somewhat comfortless little room, which con-
tained nothing warmer in the grate than some very
curious specimens of stuffed birds, and nothing more
edible than cases of eminently dull fossils ranged all
round the walls. We had journeyed far that day, and
I was both hungry and cold, nor did the savoury odours
from the next room help to make matters more pleasant.


200
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I yawned prodigiously, which seemed to offend the
Reverend Ambrose.
"It is a most unseemly custom," he said sourly,
"that the chaplain should be asked to withdraw when
the meat is removed; a great insult to the church in
the person of her unworthy representative."
"For my part I think you came off very well, sir,” I
said with a laugh. "I would willingly dispense with
the sweets if only they would bring me a good plate of
beef and a tankard of ale."
"Sir," said the chaplain, "I thought of no such
carnal matters; it is the insult to the cloth that I resent
-the insult to the cloth,-sir."
"Oh, hang the insult!" I replied, chafed by the
man's pettishness. "For the matter of that, they have
insulted my pen far worse, for I never got a chance of
sitting down to table at all. The truth of the matter
is, sir, that there was no room, and had not Sir Wilfrid
Lawson arrived just at that precise time, you might have
said grace without any latent resentment."
"Do you suppose, sir," said the chaplain angrily,
"that I hankered after the paltry cates of the pastry-
cook?"
"I ask your pardon; it was perhaps the natural in-
ference of a hungry man," I said, dropping into the
nearest chair and relapsing into silence. But ill-humour
is infectious, and the chaplain's fit of discontent soon


HOPE THE HERMIT.
201
attacked me, so that I fell to wondering gloomily
whether it was always to be my lot to take the lowest
place, to see the Henry Brownriggs of the world gaining
all that I coveted, and to remain to the end of my days
merely a rich man's secretary.
As for the serving-man, he seemed basely to have
deserted me, and though hunger is said to be the best
sauce, it is apt to make a man decidedly short-tempered,
so that each moment as I waited I hated that lean
chaplain with a more deadly hatred, and only longed to
be rid of the sight of his lantern jaws.
At last there was a sound of voices and steps with-
out, and then the door opened, and in came a lady in
primrose-coloured satin, with filmy white lace about
her neck and shoulders. She was a brunette, with
soft, stag-like eyes, which somehow were sad even
when they smiled. I guessed her to be about thirty,
but found later on that she was younger than she
looked.
"I am afraid, Mr. Newfold," she said, turning with
an apologetic air to the chaplain, "that old Thomas
treated you somewhat unceremoniously. In his anxiety
to make ready for Sir Wilfrid Lawson, he hurried you
away most abruptly. He is such a good old fellow that
we put up with his brusque tongue; he has been with
my uncle for five-and-thirty years."
The chaplain was obliged to accept the apology, and


202
HOPE THE HERMIT.
in the meantime Sir William Denham's niece had be-
come aware of my presence, and the parson seeing her
bewilderment, presented me.
"This is Sir Wilfrid Lawson's secretary," he said in
his raucous voice. "Mr. Michael Derwent, Mistress
Mary Denham.”
The lady curtseyed very graciously.
"Why," she exclaimed warmly, "you have been
worse treated even than Mr. Newfold, and have had
no supper at all. I shall have to give Thomas a
thorough scolding. Come, Mr. Newfold, my aunt is
longing for a game of chess with you in the withdraw-
ing-room. Please find your own way up while I give
orders about Mr. Derwent's supper."
The chaplain, glad, I am sure, to leave my uncon-
genial society, hurried upstairs, and in a few minutes
Mistress Denham reappeared, followed by the guilty
Thomas, who, to make up for his misdeeds, provided
me at length with the best that the house could afford,
waiting upon me with sedulous attention, while Mistress
Denham took the chair which the chaplain had vacated
and chatted to me in the most friendly and comfortable
way about our journey.
In what her great charm lay I have never been able
to tell. She was not to be compared for one moment
in beauty with Audrey Radcliffe, and her face, though
sweet and winning, had quite lost its youthfulness. I


HOPE THE HERMIT.
203
think it must have been her frank friendliness and the
consciousness that she had a large share of womanly
wisdom that so won me to her. No other woman ever
held just the same place in my life that she was des-
tined to fill. For Audrey Radcliffe an undying and
passionate love brought me as much pain as rapture;
for Mrs. Radcliffe I had a genuine affection, but it was
tempered by a certain resentment, for I knew that the
betrothal of her daughter to Henry Brownrigg had been
to a great extent a matter of her own arrangement.
Then there was Lady Lawson, who had always been
most kind to me, but who was naturally much absorbed
by her own children and the claims of her great house-
hold.
In Mistress Mary Denham I for the first time came
across one who seemed almost as much alone in the
world, as far as near relations went, as myself; this
made her able to understand, as others could not under-
stand, many things in my life. There was, moreover,
about her what I have never observed in any other
woman—a sort of genius for friendship, and a power of
throwing herself wholly into the lives of her friends.
She seemed to move in a different region to most
women, as though the page of personal desire in the
book of her life had been turned while she was yet
quite young, and she was now intent only in the lives
of other people. It was not in that first evening that I


204
HOPE THE HERMIT.
learnt to understand her fully, but it was then that the
charm began to work. For certainly part of her fascina-
tion was that she in many ways perplexed one, being
full of curious contradictions. Surrounded by the friends
she had won by her friendliness, yet always somehow
giving you the impression of loneliness; dressed like a
woman of the world, yet with something in her manner
which suggested the simplicity and straightforwardness
of a Quaker; frank and genial, yet always beyond a
certain point curiously reserved; and quite free from the
desire to make an impression, which is the bane of most
people.
There was absolutely nothing in our talk of the
North road and of the difficulties of the way, of the
state of London, and of the recent events, that would
be worth setting down, but nevertheless for the first time
since I had quitted Hye Hill I was conscious of that
rest of mind and heart which had first come to me
among the Quakers.
Later on, when we were in the crowded withdraw-
ing-room, where some had betaken themselves to cards,
and others to talk, while in one corner a string quartette
discoursed sweet music, I-still watching the wearer of
the primrose-satin gown as she moved about among her
uncle's guests, with her sweet, restful face--was carried
away in thought to that calm-faced man who had walked
down the box-bordered path between the apple-trees in


HOPE THE HERMIT.
205
the place I had dreamily mistaken for heaven. Was it,
after all, merely a fancy that these two had already
reached in some degree that state of heavenly citizen-
ship? that it was this that made them so ready of ac-
cess, so open-hearted to one who was but a stranger?
Surely nothing else would have made it possible to ac-
cept all they gave without reluctance, or hesitation; no-
thing else could have given me that curious sense of
kinship with them.
The old Quaker had doubtless attained to this state
while suffering so patiently his long years of imprison-
ment. But how had this gentle-faced lady gained the
serene heights which to one in the midst of the battle
looked so unattainable?
There was much talk that evening of the festivities
that were to take place on the 5th of November, the
anniversary of the King's landing at Brixham, and Sir
Wilfrid, to my no small content, not only arranged that
I should attend him when he came to Whitehall, but
carried me off the very next morning to a tailor specially
recommended by Mistress Denham's cousin, Rupert.
How it was that while desperately miserable about
Audrey's betrothal, and thirsting to avenge my mother's
honour, and distracted by the wildest visions of what
the future might bring, I could yet find satisfaction in
the colour of a vest or the cut of a doublet or the fine-
ness of a lace cravat, I know not. But so it was; and


206
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I am fain to confess that I took keen pleasure in donning
for the first time a court suit of tawny-brown velvet, and
silken hose of the approved shade of orange, and a long
vest of rich cream satin with innumerable gold buttons,
together with fine lace frills and furbelows, and a rakish-
looking three-cornered hat on the top of a freshly-dressed
peruke.
Mistress Denham seemed in good spirits when we
set out on the evening of the 5th. She wore a very
beautiful dress of flame-coloured brocade; her brown
hair was turned back from the forehead and dressed
high over a cushion according to the fashion then pre-
vailing, and about her slender throat she wore a row of
fine pearls. Nothing could have been less Quaker-like
than such attire, and yet, as ever, she made me think of
the Society of Friends.
"It is all so different, so happily different to the
Whitehall I can remember in King Charles' time, seven
years ago," she said to me as we entered the great
gallery, which was thronged with people. "And yet, in
spite of all King William's good intentions, the strict
orders he gave for toleration to be shown towards Papists
and Nonconformists, his repeal of the Hearth tax, and
his honest endeavour to make the Whigs and the Tories
work together for the real good of England, he is greatly
misunderstood and seems far from popular."
We were greeted just then by Rupert Denham's


HOPE THE HERMIT.
207
brother-in-law, a young barrister named Wharncliffe,
whom I had already met at the house in Norfolk Street.
Mistress Mary Denham fell into conversation with his
pretty wife, who was one of her closest friends, and Mr.
Wharncliffe began to tell me how Parliament had reversed
the attainders of Colonel Algernon Sydney, of Lord
Russell, and of the Lady Alice Lisle. I had heard from
the Denhams how some years ago he had well-nigh lost
his life in Newgate while they tried by every means
short of actual torture to make him give evidence against
Colonel Sydney, and could understand how keen an
interest he would take in this act of reparation. Only
it saddened one to see that evil can never be really un-
done; the hardships he had endured in prison had sown
the seeds of disease in him, and it was easy to tell by
his over-bright eyes, by the unnatural beauty of his
colouring, and by the soft but troublesome cough which
seemed habitual to him, that he was already in con-
sumption. However, for the present he was as happy
as a man well can be; was the father of three delicate
but very winsome little children, and was blessed with a
most charming wife, who looked capable of taking the
utmost care of him, and prolonging his life by her tender
care to the longest possible span. He was a pleasant
companion, and pointed out to me many well-known
people as we stood there waiting for the entrance of the
royal party.


208
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"There goes my Lord Devonshire," he said, indicat-
ing a magnificently dressed nobleman clad in orange
and green. "He is Lord Steward of the household, and
is a great lover of balls. One of his greatest annoyances
is that the court balls cannot be given in the splendid
rooms which King Charles built for the Duchess of
Portsmouth, for the Princess Anne, at the Revolution, got
King William to promise them to her, and though the
Queen did her utmost to get her to relinquish them, she
will not yield; in fact, she has for her private use
not only that splendid suite, but the Cockpit as well.
Whether 'tis her doing or the doing of her favourite
Lady Marlborough, no one really knows, but between
them they have certainly obtained a very goodly heri-
tage."
"Who is that handsome boy?" I inquired, glancing
at a youth who passed close to us in conversation with
a merry-looking companion.
"That," said Mr. Wharncliffe, "is young Arnold van
Keppel, the King's favourite page, and his companion is
Dillon, the aide-de-camp to my Lord Marlborough.
According to van Keppel, the King hates Lord Marl-
borough and speaks of him as 'that vile man'. Like
most of the silent and quiet people in the world, his
Majesty has a pretty insight into character and well
knows with whom he has to deal. Ah! the doors are


HOPE THE HERMIT.
209
being thrown open; the King and Queen are about to
come in."
I looked eagerly in the direction to which all eyes
turned, and frankly confess that at first a chill of sur-
prise and disappointment ran through me; for the de-
liverer who had responded to the appeal of the oppressed
people of England, the conquerer who had freed us from
the despotism of King James, was a little, sickly-looking
man with that air of constant suffering which is too often
mistaken for crossness, and in addition one of those care-
worn brows which betoken a mind incessantly harassed
by vexatious details. He was much shorter than the
Queen, who, in her white satin robes, orange-lined train,
and magnificent diamonds, seemed to tower above him.
She was strikingly handsome, and had just the lively
charm of manner in which his Majesty was so singularly
lacking, but from the tone of the talk that I heard later
on I doubt if she was really any more popular than her
husband; for after effusively welcoming the new King
and Queen people seemed mercilessly ready to criticise
them. If the King looked grave he was instantly dubbed
a sullen, ill-mannered Dutchman. If her Majesty exerted
herself to be animated and gay, people promptly said
she was a most heartless daughter, and ought to be
mourning over the sad plight in which her poor father
found himself.
They seemed quite to forget that the English them-
Hope the Hermit. I.
14


210
HOPE THE HERMIT.
selves had summoned the new monarchs to their aid,
and, by their own act, had placed them on the throne
which King James had deserted when he found that his
tyranny would no longer be tolerated.
Dancing now began, and the pleasure of watching it
had not had time to pall upon me, when my attention
was distracted by feeling upon me the piercing gaze of
a pair of eyes which seemed to have in them a most
curious influence. Shifting a little in my place, I looked
across the gallery, compelled almost against my will to
meet the gaze of a gentleman several years my senior.
He wore a suit of black velvet laced with silver, and a
light peruke, and there was something in his face which
attracted and interested me.
"Who is that gentleman standing close to my Lord
Portland?" I inquired.
"Why, that,” replied Mr. Wharncliffe, "is a man I am
surprised to see here. His name is Calverley, and,
though 'tis not generally known, I have good reason to
believe that he is a Papist. At the chambers next to
mine in King's Bench Walk, there is a barrister named
Winter-as good a fellow as breathes, but hampered not
a little in his career because he comes of the well-known
Papist family of that name. I was once introduced to
yonder gentleman in his rooms, and have passed him
many times on the staircase."
“Why, then he must be the very man to whom I


HOPE THE HERMIT.
2II
"See,
brought a book from Father Noel," I exclaimed.
he is coming this way. I beg you to introduce me to
him."
The stranger bowed very courteously, and thanked
me for the packet I had left in Villiers Street-he had
been out when I delivered it.
"I should have known you were from the north
country," he said pleasantly. "None of these wretched
southerners can say their r's properly. And how is my
friend Father Noel?"
"I left him well, sir."
"And his patron-let me see what is the old gen-
tleman's name-Radcliffe, is it not?"
"Yes, sir- a kinsman of my Lord Derwentwater
named Sir Nicholas Radcliffe."
"To be sure, I remember now, and indeed have
met the old gentleman many years ago. How does he
fare?"
"He ages fast, sir. I fear we shall soon have his
brother inheriting the estate, for old Sir Nicholas can't
in nature last much longer. The brother, they say, is a
very different man and goes in overmuch for plots and
politics. However, he'll not be on Lord's Island, for
that really belongs to my Lord Derwentwater, and he
lives wholly at Dilston, and would not, I am sure, disturb
Mrs. Radcliffe and her daughter."
In the pleasure of finding one who knew the Rad-
14*


212
HOPE THE HERMIT.
cliffes even very slightly, I had wandered on perhaps
rather rashly, considering how little I knew this gentle-
man. There was, however, something about him which
tended to draw one out. He had a frank, pleasant
manner, which inspired confidence, and I felt attracted
to him. I knew that Mr. Wharncliffe's surmise as to
his religion was perfectly true, for Father Noel had him-
self told me that he was a Catholic. But there was,
after all, nothing so very strange in his being present at
court, for every English gentleman had from time imme-
morial possessed the right of free entrance at Whitehall,
both during the King's dining-hour and at any special
diversion. Probably he came merely out of curiosity.
While I mused over this, I was startled by a sudden
question from the stranger:-
"Then old Sir Nicholas Radcliffe's granddaughter is
next in succession to her great-uncle, I suppose?"
"Yes," I replied, "for he has no living child."
"I heard a rumour that she was betrothed to a
most bigoted Protestant. How does Sir Nicholas take
that?"
The colour flamed up into my face.
"He likes it, as most folks do, very ill,” I answered
shortly.
Mr. Calverley lowered his voice.
"What! are you one of us?"
I shook my head.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
213
"No, but I loathe Henry Brownrigg's bigotry."
And, as I spoke, all the miserable recollections that
had for a time been driven from my mind by the novelty
of the present scene, came crowding in upon me. I
thought of Audrey singing "See the chariot at hand.
here of love"; I thought of our talk by the shore and
of Henry Brownrigg's interruption; I thought of the
words the Under-Sheriff had used by Castle Hill, and
of the expression on his face as he rode away to Kes-
wick after the Quaker's intervention.
What a hard world it was! And how soon the
splendour of Whitehall, and the charms of music and
dancing and gay attire, palled upon one!
"The King, they say, is longing to be with his army
in Ireland," said someone standing near me to his com-
panion. "He is more at home in camp than at court,
and that's the honest truth. Did you ever see anything
more like a fish out of water?"
So that was the meaning of the restless, unhappy
expression on King William's face! It was this hor-
rible atmosphere of hollow merriment, of meaningless
splendour, that was stifling him. It was the thought of
the hateful bigotry and party-spirit with which he was
everywhere confronted that gave him that almost despair-
ing expression. He longed to be fighting with foes that
could be fairly faced and frankly dealt with. A war of
words was intolerable to him; he craved to be handling


214
HOPE THE HERMIT.
his sword. A strong wave of sympathy with the silent
and much misunderstood sovereign swept over me. After
all, was the Quaker right? Surely the fighting instinct
was a noble one. Surely his doctrine of passive re-
sistance was only a counsel of perfection, never meant
at all for the world at large.
I was startled back to the present by finding Mr.
Calverley's curiously attractive eyes fixed intently upon
me, so that I could not help wondering how long he
had been reading my face like a book.
"The scene impresses you, Mr. Derwent," he said
with a smile which was wholly kind and free from sar-
casm. "I would give something to see it with eyes as
young as yours."
"People always take it for granted that to be young
means to be happy. It's a confounded mistake," I said
bitterly.
But before my companion could make any reply I
was summoned by Sir Wilfrid Lawson and, following my
patron, I saw Mr. Calverley no more that night.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
215
CHAPTER XVI.
"Drive despaire away,
And live in hopë which shall do you good.
Joy cometh after when the payne is past;
Be ye pacient and sober in mode;
To wepe and waile, all is for you in waste.
Was never payne, but it had joy at last
In the fayre morrowe."
HAWES.
"OUR friend, I think, has a grievance," said Mr.
Calverley, turning with a smile to Hugo Wharncliffe.
"Tis a pity. 'Twill sour him. He's over-young for a
grievance."
Hugo Wharncliffe laughed.
"Few can pick and choose the time for such things,"
he said. "And as for that poor fellow Derwent, his
grievance, I understand, began when he first drew breath.
They say he was a foundling."
"If he never has a worse grievance than that he'll
survive," said Mr. Calverley, fidgeting with a ravelled
bit of silver lace on his doublet which offended his eye.
"He has been well educated, and is in the service of a
kindly gentleman-what more does he wish? No, no,
depend upon it, there's a nearer grievance than that to


216
HOPE THE HERMIT.
I
make a fellow of twenty-one wear the look he wears.
There's a woman in the case, and a hated rival.
know something of the rival, and detest him as cordially
as I fancy our friend does. Possibly I may be able to
put a spoke in his wheel, and so aid Mr. Derwent. What
a small world it is, and how we all jostle up against
one another! I like that young fellow, and must see
more of him.”
With that he passed on to other topics, and before
very long left Whitehall.
Hugo Wharncliffe turned then to his friend Mary
Denham.
"That Mr. Calverley seems much taken with Sir
Wilfrid's secretary. If you have any influence with him
it would be kind to warn him that Calverley is strongly
suspected of being a Jacobite."
"You mean that he had better not get intimate with
him?" asked Mary.
"He ought to be on his guard," said Hugo Wharn-
cliffe. "Without being a bigot, one can be prudent as
to intercourse with those who are under suspicion. Be-
sides, to tell the truth, Mr. Calverley is a dangerously
persuasive talker, and from the look of that young fel-
low I fancy he is just in the state when a very slight
touch might send him in the wrong direction."
"But he will have Mary for his friend," said little
Mistress Wharncliffe with a look of happy confidence in


HOPE THE HERMIT.
217
her friend's influence. "I'll warrant her to outweigh the
most persuasive of Jacobites. As for me, I think it is
quite clear that the poor boy is in love. Did you not
see how he coloured up like a girl when Mr. Calverley
spoke of Mistress Radcliffe?"
"So thinks Mr. Calverley, and he even knows the
hated rival," said Hugo Wharncliffe with a smile. "I
heard him say as much but now. I wish I could make
the fellow out, but he is deep."
"Who? Mr. Derwent?" asked Mary Denham.
"No, no, he is as honest and straightforward as the
day; it was the mysterious Mr. Calverley I meant. One
can't help liking him, yet he is not a man I should
readily trust."
Michael Derwent, being some years younger and
knowing far less of the world, took much longer to dis-
cover the shortcomings hidden beneath Mr. Calverley's
very winning exterior. It chanced that the lawsuit
which had brought Sir Wilfrid Lawson to town took far
longer than had been anticipated, and all through the
winter and the spring they remained in London, owing
to the endless delays of the lawyers. During this time
Michael saw much of his new friend, sometimes at his
rooms in Villiers Street and sometimes in the chambers
of Mr. Winter, the young barrister who had been men-
tioned by Hugo Wharncliffe. Here he often met a
very pleasant and clever friend of Father Noel's named


218
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Anthony Sharp, a middle-aged and highly cultivated
scholar, and one of the keenest arguers conceivable.
The two younger men, as a rule, simply listened to the
discussions between Anthony Sharp and Mr. Calverley.
They debated numberless questions, but more often than
not the discussion turned upon some point of difference
between the Anglican and Roman Churches. On these
occasions it always happened that, for the sake of argu-
ment, Mr. Calverley would take a brief for the English
Church, and Anthony Sharp would, with wonderful skill,
crush his argument beneath the overpowering weight of
a merciless logic.
He was
Now, as Hugo Wharncliffe had shrewdly surmised,
Michael was just at this time in a state when a very
slight touch might send him hopelessly wrong.
unhappy; he had good cause for suspecting a great
deal of the noisy Protestantism which he came across,
to be nothing more than place-hunting under the cloak
of religion; and he hated with all his heart a certain
very aggressive Protestant who performed the duties
of Under-Sheriff in Cumberland with more zeal than
charity.
In old times Father Noel had done his best to make
a convert of him, but had failed. Now, however, in
the bitterness of his isolation, in the restlessness which
is the sure symptom of a sore heart, there was un-
doubtedly something that attracted him in a church.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
219
which would, so to speak, take you in and do for you,
save you from all personal responsibility, think for you
and care for you, exacting nothing but filial obedience
in return. Surely, too, even in that thought of filial
obedience there was a charm to one who all his life had
been a waif.
One day early in April there arrived in Norfolk
Street a letter from Father Noel directed to Michael.
He read it at first with shocked surprise, then with a
curious stirring of the heart.
"You have received bad news?" asked Mary Den-
ham, who happened to be attending to her pet birds in
a small aviary which opened out of the study.
"Yes," he said. "Mrs. Radcliffe has died. She had
never wholly recovered from an accident last year in a
coach near Penrith, but the end was very sudden and
unexpected."
"The poor daughter! What will she do?" said
Mary.
"I suppose for the present she will remain with her
grandfather," said Michael, the tell-tale colour rising to
his brow. "Father Noel tells me that the marriage was
to have taken place at Easter, but is now of course
postponed for awhile."
"Poor girl! how desolate she must be! And she
will feel doubly alone because in matters of religion she
thinks differently to her grandfather.”


220
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Nay," said Michael.
"It is in trouble that we see
how slight are the differences betwixt us."
"I like your thought that, as far as may be, we
should live at unity with each other, but unity is the
fruit of love and toleration, and has nought to do with
uniformity, which is a matter of outward ordinances and
differing beliefs, and never can come in this world."
"Yet in uniformity there would be peace," said
Michael wearily. "One grows sick of these strivings as
to party questions-these miserable divisions."
"The peace of a hard and fast uniformity would
be the peace of slavery--of death," said Mary Denham.
"There will always be differences of view, for men are
not turned out in one mould. Surely, as the proverb
has it, 'twill ever be 'Many men, many minds'. It is
not a system, but a spirit that will bring peace; not a
church where all think alike and use precisely the same
ceremonies, but the spirit of love."
He looked into her clear, shining eyes; they seemed
to him like wells of light, so deep yet so calm were
they in their brightness. Was it possible that this woman
had more true insight into the problem that was filling
his heart than such a ripe scholar, such a trained de-
bater, as Anthony Sharp?
"I sometimes think," he said with apparent irre-
levance, "that it would be far the happiest thing for


HOPE THE HERMIT.
221
Audrey Radcliffe if she came to share her grandfather's
views."
"How can that be?" said Mary Denham. "If, as
we think, his views are mistaken, then it cannot be for
her real happiness."
"It would, at anyrate, save her from a miserable mar-
riage-a marriage that would be hell on earth."
"But to save a great pain would you do wrong?"
said Mary.
"I think there are cases where it might be permis-
sible,” he replied, as though feeling his way in the dark
along a strange path.
"But once allow that we may do evil that good
may come and there is an end of all morality," she
said; and now there was some trace of agitation in her
manner. Her breath came quickly, her eyes dilated,
her colour rose, for instinctively she knew that she
was fighting for a soul-struggling to resist the devil's
own doctrine. When such a time as that comes to
man or woman one of life's keenest delights is felt, and
just as a soldier glories in being called to some difficult
task, so the spirit exults in being used for so glorious
an end.
Yet, though her words were clear and forceful, it
was not the power of her argument which arrested
Michael; it was rather a sort of bewildered gratitude
and surprise when the realisation broke upon him, that


222
HOPE THE HERMIT.
she cared intensely that he should not swerve from the
absolutely true, the absolutely right. From the first he
had known that she was singularly free from that petty
craving for attention which characterises so many women;
she had always been to him a perfectly frank and un-
selfish friend. But now he understood how greatly she
cared for him, how divine a thing this friendship was
which, in the time of his desolation, had brought fresh
interest into his life.
He began to tell her of Anthony Sharp, and of the
way in which his arguments were always recurring to
his mind; how it had seemed to him that there was
something of devotion in the life of a good Catholic, like
Winter of the Inner Temple, which was lacking in men.
of their own Church.
"But surely," urged Mary, "devotion is not the special
characteristic of any set of men. We have saintly men
in the English Church, like Bishop Ken and Dean Tillot-
son; and saintly Quakers, like your friend at Keswick
and like George Fox."
"Yes, that's true," said Michael reflectively. "And
how they are misunderstood! I was walking along the
Strand the other night with Mr. Calverley and a Jacobite
friend of his who was calling the Dean of St. Paul's
every vile name you can think of.”
"Are you wise to be thus mixed up with Jacobites ?"
said Mary Denham thoughtfully.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
223
"Oh, it was merely by chance that I fell in with
this gentleman," said Michael. "As for Mr. Calverley,
I have never heard him talk of politics. I remember
once before you warned me. But I assure you King
James is never so much as mentioned in Mr. Winter's
chambers. He is a very quiet, peaceable man, and has
good reason to avoid plots or conspiracies of any sort."
Mary was silent for a minute. All this might be
true enough, but she could not rid herself of the im-
pression that a strong effort was being made to win
Michael Derwent over to the Romish Church.
It was
quite evident that unless they had both great desire to
gain him as an adherent and confidence in the likeli-
hood of his conversion, they would not at this particular
time have dared to risk admitting him to the discussions
which he had described to her. She knew, moreover,
how likely it was that in a state of sore-hearted restless-
ness he would catch at anything which seemed to offer
a sheltered haven, without pausing to consider whether
it was a safe refuge, or the best and truest to be had.
As she mused over the danger which threatened him it
occurred to her that in the utterances of a man like the
much-persecuted George Fox, with his intense spirituality,
his profound belief in the divine guidance of each soul,
he might find what he just at this time needed to restore
his mental balance.
"I should like to see Mr. Fox," she said. "I wish


224
HOPE THE HERMIT.
you would some day take me to the meeting-house in
Gracechurch Street. The Quakers are able now to meet
without any molestation, and Mr. Wharncliffe told me
strangers were freely admitted.”
Michael laughed a little.
"What! Would you go all the way to the city and
then perchance sit for a couple of hours and hear no
single word? They do not speak unless the Spirit moves
them."
"I should like to go, all the same," said Mary. "To-
morrow is Wednesday, or what they call Fourth day, so
there is sure to be a meeting. Let us go and see what
it is like."
"There is no one like them when one is in trouble,"
said Michael thoughtfully. "I only wish that Audrey
may see something of her old kinsfolk at Keswick. But
that is scarce likely. Mrs. Brownrigg will be for ever
fussing round her, and will perhaps carry her off to Mill-
beck Hall."
He sighed with a fierce impatience and began to
pace the room restlessly.
"Tell me about Mistress Audrey," said Mary Den-
ham. "Is she young?"
"She is my age; we were reared by the same foster-
mother, brought up in the same place. There was
never a time when I did not love her, and she-she
would have cared had it not been for my cursed ill-luck.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
225
For just as I had well-nigh proved my birth we were
separated, and they betrothed her to a man that I know
to be nothing but a great hectoring bully, a fellow she
would never have accepted had it not been that he is
the sort of prize-ox type of man that women admire."
"Does her grandfather know Mr. Brownrigg well?"
"Yes, knows him and detests him, but he has no
power to interfere, for it was expressly arranged in his
son's will that any children born of the marriage should
be brought up in the English Church. How sick one
grows of all these religious disputes and party wranglings!
It half inclines one to have done with all struggling
after truth, and hand oneself over, body and soul, to
some father confessor who would arrange matters com-
fortably. Why think for yourself if you can think by
proxy?"
His tone had been cynical. Hers, as she replied,
was sweet, yet so eager that the contrast was extra-
ordinary.
"But why draw water from a pump in the public
street, often in past times found defective and danger-
ous, when in your own dwelling-place you have the
fountain-head?"
Hope the Hermit. I.
15


226
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER XVII.
"By mutual confidence and mutual aid
Great deeds are done and great discoveries made.
The wise new prudence from the wise acquire,
And one brave hero fans another's fire."
ILIAD.
THEY were interrupted just then, but the words
haunted Michael all that day and indeed for many days
after. Mary Denham, with her clear insight, had seen
rightly the peril which at that moment threatened him.
James Calverley, the scheming man of the world, Anthony
Sharp, the scholar and theologian, and Winter, the
saintly devotee, who honestly believed that all who were
not members of his own Church were doomed to un-
ending torments, were doing their very utmost to win
over the young north-countryman to their own views.
Their tact and judgment were wonderful, and probably
their efforts would have been successful had it not been
for another and stronger influence which they had not
reckoned on.
Brought up among the hills and dales of Cumber-
land, and inheriting from his mother one of those


HOPE THE HERMIT.
227
spiritual minds which turn more readily to the mystical
rather than the sensuous side of things, Michael had in-
evitably been attracted by the inwardness of the Quaker
teaching. And when he found himself on "Fourth day"
sitting among those quiet "Friends" who were neither
praying nor preaching but just waiting upon God, all the
restlessness seemed to be smoothed out of him. Re-
bellion against God's ordering was a thought that died
in this atmosphere, and the same calmness which was
clearly visible in the faces of the Quakers, gradually
stole over him also, as he waited there in the unbroken
silence.
Presently there stood up a woman who prayed with
great simplicity and earnestness; the whole meeting
stood and prayed silently with her. Then they sat down
again, and all was still once more.
They had prayed for all who walked in darkness, for
all seekers after truth, and woven in now with scraps
and shreds of the arguments that had been of late so
much pressed upon him, there came the remembrance
of the quiet room at Hye Hill and of Nathaniel Rad-
cliffe's voice saying the words-"Be loyal to Him whose
love is the unfailing fount of strength".
Presently, in the quiet building there came a very
faint stir as of people roused from an inward to an out-
ward listening. All eyes were turned upon an old man
15*


228
HOPE THE HERMIT.
dressed in brown leather who had risen from his place.
He was tall, and although much crippled by rheumatism,
and aged by the persecutions he had for so many years
suffered, there was something commanding in his presence.
His snow-white hair, parted in the middle over a low
broad forehead, hung in scanty locks about his shoulders,
and the massive large-featured face was relieved from stern-
ness by the piercing sweetness of the large dark eyes.
Michael knew at once that this was George Fox, for
he had seen the Quaker for a few minutes when de-
livering to him Nathaniel Radcliffe's packet. He listened
to the sermon with some curiosity, wondering how this
man, who had learnt to endure every sort of ill treat-
ment without retaliating, would speak. He had none of
the cultivation of Anthony Sharp, and yet in what he
said, and in his intense earnestness, there was something
which riveted the attention of all hearers. He spoke on
the text "Be still and know that I am God," begging
the Friends to keep their minds retired to the Lord, to
make an effort to do so, to control all over-eagerness in
telling and hearing news, since in the lower region all
news was uncertain and nothing stable; while in the
higher region—the kingdom of Christ—all things were
stable and sure, and the news always good and certain,
because Christ ruled there. Neither should they seek
after earthly guidance, but rather go straight to Christ
Himself. All men had the Inner Light, and by it their


HOPE THE HERMIT.
229
consciences should be enlightened, and they should be
led both to see their sin and to be healed of it.
There was only one way in which to gain true in-
dependence, true peace, and that was perfect trust in the
divine guidance. If we turned to earthly guides, we
should lose that religious reserve which is the rightful
and wholesome state for the souls of men, and we should
no longer turn the whole force of our wills to keep the
mind retired to the Lord. Only by waiting upon God
could the strength come which should enable each fol-
lower of Christ to go forth and do the work to which he
was called; only in silence could we gain clear convic-
tion that a concern was specially laid upon us.
After the sermon they rose once more to pray, and
to Michael it all came as a revelation. In George Fox's
prayer there was a reverence so profound, an inward
realisation of God's presence so wonderful, that it seemed
as though he drew all hearts with him into a like
heavenly-mindedness. He used very few words and these
of a great simplicity, but as though they were carefully
weighed and chosen like the words of a poet, and, above
all, with a deep, unfailing regard to absolute truth.
There were no whining and exaggerated and long-winded
confessions of sin, no florid and fulsome ascriptions of
praise, no informing the Almighty of what he had or


230
HOPE THE HERMIT.
had not done; it was rather the solemn communion of
one who speaks heart to heart with the Being he loves
and reveres most profoundly.
There was one other point which struck Michael with
surprise and admiration; the prayer had been curiously
short, as though George Fox took very literally the in-
junction in Ecclesiastes-"Let thy words be few."
When the congregation dispersed it chanced that
the veteran leader caught sight of Michael, whose face
was one which it was not easy to forget. He paused
and spoke to him for a few minutes, giving him no
greeting, for it was against his principles to say "Good-
morning," or to lift his hat, but nevertheless conveying
by his whole manner and expression a courtesy so far
beyond any conventional forms, that it impressed all
who met him. His eyes rested tenderly on the young
north-countryman, for during his life of wandering he
had come to know countless people and was noted for
being both a "discerner of others' spirits, and very much
a master of his own".
There was a gentleness and sympathy in his manner
which was all the more striking because of his strength,
and the severity of which he was capable whenever evil
had to be fought against.
"I would fain journey back to the north with thee,”


HOPE THE HERMIT.
231
he said, "and see my wife at Swarthmoor Hall, but the
way is over-long for me now.
marriage register that 'tis thy
"No, sir," said Michael.
many registers for the year
found it."
Hast thou found yet the
desire to find?"
"I have searched through
1667, but have not yet
"Hast thou sought yet in the steeple-house of Dun-
stan?"
"Nay, sir, I have not yet been there."
"When I saw thy face this morning and remembered
thy story, there was brought to my mind how that just
a year after my release from Scarboro' (which took place
the very day before the great fire of London), I was
walking from the house of Thomas Marsh down Fleet
Street, and by the door of the steeple-house there stood
a bride and bridegroom just about to step into a hackney
coach. I know not why the scene lived in my memory;
perchance it was that my own marriage was then in
contemplation; also there was something unusual in the
face of the bride. Perchance there is a leading in this.
Go and search the register for the 1st of seventh month,
1667, and see what entries there are."
So they parted, and Mary Denham being much in-
clined to think that they might find this curious coinci-
dence the means of discovering the lost clue, suggested


232
HOPE THE HERMIT.
that they should lose no time, but go at once to the
Church of St. Dunstan.
A most crabbed old verger reluctantly admitted them
to the vestry, and amid incessant grumbling unlocked an
oaken chest. It was richly carved with a very quaint
design of Eve giving the apple to Adam, and beneath
was the inscription, "It is more blessed to give than to
receive," which greatly tickled Mary's fancy and made
them both laugh. This enraged the verger, who fully
believed that they were making game of him.
"If you wish to take copies of a marriage register
you'll please to do it with care or not at all," he said
severely. "There was a couple of gentlemen in here a
sen'night since, old enough to have known better, both
of them, and they must needs get fooling about with the
inkhorn and spilt it all over the page-a plague upon
them! Just look ye there! There's a fine mess for you
in a parish register! But, bless you, I made 'em pay for
it! They didn't leave this vestry till they'd crossed my
hand with gold."
He chuckled at the remembrance, and Michael and
Mary bent over to look at the damaged page.
"Why, 'tis the very date, 1st September, 1667!" ex-
claimed Mary.
Michael's heart seemed to stand still, for there was


HOPE THE HERMIT.
233
the entry he had been seeking, but so damaged by the
ink stains, and by an effort to scratch them out, that the
name of the bridegroom, the very name which he desired
to learn, was illegible. The rest was all perfectly clear
and ran as follows:-
On this 1st day of September, 1667, was solemnised a marriage
between . . . . and Lucy Carleton, spinster, daughter of Robert
Carleton, gent., of Carleton Manor, Penrith, at this Church of
St. Dunstan, according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of
England, by me Joseph Baynes, clerk in holy orders,
in the presence of Christopher Vane, of Raby Castle,
County Durham,
and Zachary Stevens, ye parish clerk of St. Dunstan's.
“ 'Clearly the first name must have been ‘John,'” said
Mary Denham, pointing to the faint indications of the
first and last letters. "Now, if only it had been some
out-of-the-way name!
at all!"
"When was this
But John! why, it is no guide
confounded mess made?" asked
Michael, "and who were the gentlemen?"
"They give no names, sir," said the verger, “and
'twas a sen'night since. One of them, sir, was just about
your height and build, and might ha' been fifty or there-
about; the other seemed a bit younger, and I reckoned
'un the more learned of the two."
"They took a copy of this particular marriage cer-
tificate?"


234
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Well, sir, I'm no reader myself, so I can't say, but
know it was on this page."
"Who is the witness named in the register-Zachary
Stevens?"
"That be my father, sir."
"Can I see him?"
"Bless you no, sir!
Poor old man, he's been a-lyin'
Why,
out there in the churchyard these fifteen year.
he'd be more'n a hundred if so be that he was alive."
"There seems a fate against me!" said Michael with
an impatient sigh, and putting some silver into the verger's
hand, he turned to leave the church, feeling terribly
downhearted.
"One thing is clear," said Mary Denham, "that was
no genuine accident with the inkhorn. And there had
been a deliberate scratching out of your father's name.
Had the old verger been able to read he would have
realised that."
"Then it must mean that Sir Christopher Vane has
communicated with my father," said Michael. "He
promised that he would do so, and my father must still
be anxious to disown me, and has destroyed the only
certain legal proof that would have availed me."
"And yet, nevertheless," said Mary, "I think this


HOPE THE HERMIT.
235
will prove, as Mr. Fox said, 'a leading'. It, at anyrate,
shows you that for the present you can do no more,
that you must just be still and wait for more light.”
They had walked as far as Temple Bar, when their
talk was interrupted by a sound of street brawling; a
crowd had gathered about an extremely noisy and half-
intoxicated gentleman, who was singing at the top of his
voice one of the familiar Jacobite songs of the day:—
Ken ye how he requited him?
Ken ye how he requited him?
The dog has into England come,
And ta'en the crown in spite of him!
The rogue he shall not keep it lang;
To budge we'll make him fain again.
We'll hang him high upon a tree;
King James shall ha'e his ain again!
At this moment the singer was confronted by a mes-
senger, who showed him a warrant which he was quite
incapable of reading, and marched him off to the Tower,
amid the mingled cheers and groans of the crowd.
"Why, that is a fellow I have often seen with Mr.
Calverley-young Sir Arthur Bell. So he, too, is a
Jacobite! I wonder how long he will be clapt up.”
Mary was wishing in her heart that he would be
more careful as to the people he mixed with, but she
was too wise to press the matter further just then.


236
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"Do you know," said Michael, "what it is to care
not a straw for anything in the world? To be indifferent
as to what happens? To find everything one dull, dead
level?"
"Yes," she said, "I know very well what you mean."
"Since finding that damaged register I feel that there's
no more to be done; my life is over, at least all that
makes it worth living," he said with profound dejection.
"What did you do when you were in like case?”
"You will find, I think, that other people's interests
are put into your life, and you'll begin to care for them
instead. By-the-bye, there is a matter in which you could
help me very much. You remember how, in the winter,
we had that appeal from the Bishop of London to help
the Protestant Vaudois, who had been obliged to fly
from their homes because of the persecution of the Duke
of Savoy and the French? There is much need of a
man who understands accounts and business matters, at
which, to tell the truth, the clergy are notoriously bad,
and the ladies nothing to boast of. Much has been
given in charity. If you could spare us some of your
free time you would be doing a very kindly deed.”
Michael could not refuse such a request, though at
that moment he felt perfectly hard and callous as to
the sufferings of the Vaudois. But the work in itself did


HOPE THE HERMIT.
237
him good; moreover, as Mary had known would be the
case, it brought him into contact with men like Dean
Tillotson, Hugo Wharncliffe, and Mr. John Evelyn, who
was staying just then with his family in Soho Square.


238
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"Only be steadfast, never waver,
Nor seek earth's favour,
But rest.
Thou knowest what God's will must be
For all His creatures-so, for thee-
The best."
PAUL FLEMING, 1609.
"So far it has been a dead failure," said James Cal-
verley, closing the shutters of his sitting-room in Villiers
Street, and proceeding in a leisurely fashion to get a
light with flint and steel and kindle the two candles
which, in very ill-cleaned silver candlesticks, stood on the
table. "Before the fellow can be of much service he
must be won over to the true faith. I thought the last
debate had nearly converted him, but since Easter I
have not set eyes on him; he deliberately avoids me,
and even when asked to come here writes an excuse."
"There is some other influence at work," said Anthony
Sharp, "and I think I can tell you what it is. That
dark-eyed niece of Sir William Denham's hath introduced
him to the good folk who are bent on relieving the
heretic Vaudois. I despair of him now, for they'll stuff


HOPE THE HERMIT.
239
his ears with gruesome tales of cruelty, and he will con-
clude that we are all fiends; for somehow your good
Protestant always manages to forget that he too can be
a persecutor when he has a chance. Such an one will
talk very big about the fires of Smithfield, but will
manage to forget the horrible cruelties perpetrated in
Ireland, to say nothing of the murder of my Lord Strafford,
as innocent a man as ever breathed."
"You must have another try at him," said Calverley,
"for it is essential that he should somehow be con-
verted."
"That, my dear friend, is more easily said than done,
particularly now that he is hand and glove with Dean
Tillotson."
"Tillotson? Perhaps the worthy Dean will only com-
fort him as they say he did the Queen-I mean the
Dutchman's wife-with a sermon on hell."
"Perhaps," said Anthony Sharp, with an odd motion
of the eyebrows. "But if, as they say is the case,
Tillotson holds that the torments of hell are not end-
less, then you may be sure he will attract a fellow of
Michael Derwent's nature. Some may be won by fear,
but he is not of that make. The doctrine of never-
ending evil and suffering revolts his sense of justice,
and you may be quite sure that Tillotson will net him."
"Perhaps he only sees the Dean about this Vaudois
business."


240
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"No; I saw them together a sen'night since, walking
to and fro in the half-built new St. Paul's, in deep talk.
By stepping behind some scaffolding, I contrived to
catch a sentence now and then as they passed, and
heard the Dean arguing against an infallible Church,
and speaking outrageous things of His Holiness the
Pope. The Church, he argued, was but the congrega-
tion of faithful men, liable to err, and as yet unfinished
and incomplete, just like the building in which they
walked. It was built up, not out of rules and dogmas
and ceremonies, but of the lives of Christian men and
women; and there, to do him justice, he said many ex-
cellent and practical things to young Derwent, for prac-
tical charity hath a large place in the Dean's teaching,
and accounts no doubt for his enormous influence. It's
not that the man is a great scholar or a profound theo-
logian-his best friends would scarce claim that for him
--but he certainly is zealous in good works, and, depend
upon it, his influence over young Derwent will last. I
can do no more for you."
"Then the fellow must remain Sir Wilfrid Lawson's
nameless secretary," said James Calverley with a shrug
of the shoulders. "No one can say I haven't done my
utmost to save him."
"True, and, even as it is, you may find him of use
some day," said Anthony Sharp. "Have you a lemon
here? I might write a letter to Nevil Payne and tell


HOPE THE HERMIT.
241
him how matters progress. I almost wonder Enderby
hasn't returned from St. Germains by this time; he has
been longer gone than I thought for."
"Ay, now that the Dutchman has started for Ireland,
the sooner we set our plan agoing, the better," said
Calverley, producing a lemon, which he cut in half, and
fetching from a drawer a goose-quill and some sheets of
writing paper.
Together the two proceeded to concoct a letter which
was carefully written in lemon-juice, and would only
become legible on the application of heat. They were
still at work, when a tap at the door made Anthony
Sharp hastily thrust the quill into his pocket and
shuffle the papers under the table-cover. Calverley mean-
time crossed the room, and flinging the door open,
greeted his visitor effusively.
"We were but now talking of you, Mr. Derwent," he
said in that genial, pleasant tone which had from the
first won Michael's heart. "You are too much of a
stranger here.
Has Sir Wilfrid been keeping you
chained to the desk that you have not visited me all
this time?"
"No, sir," said Michael, a little sorry to find Anthony
Sharp present. "But I have been taken up with other
things, and have come now to bid you farewell, for we
go back to the north on Monday."
Hope the Hermit. I.
16


242
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"What! so soon? I am sorry for that," said James
Calverley thoughtfully.
"There is nothing now to wait for," explained
Michael. "Sir Wilfrid's lawsuit has come to a success-
ful finish, and my search after my father's name to an
unsuccessful one."
"How's that?" said Anthony Sharp, scanning the
young man's face attentively.
"Why, sir, I have found the entry in the register at
St. Dunstan's, but it had been tampered with, a
quantity of ink spilt over it, and the name—just the
one name I need-is quite illegible."
"That does indeed seem a cruel stroke of fate,”
said Anthony Sharp. "But accidents will happen, and
maybe you will find other proofs."
"It was no accident, sir, but design, if I mistake
not," said Michael. "I firmly believe my father himself
to have moved in the matter."
Calverley had been elaborately slicing up the lemon
into a tumbler of water; he looked up now with a
smile.
"Most men would be willing enough to have such a
fellow for son and heir. What reason can your father
have for still disowning you?"
"I know not, sir, unless perchance it is a matter of
money, or unless he is ashamed now, after all these
years, to face one he did his best to murder."


HOPE THE HERMIT.
243
"But now that you have discovered that you were
without doubt born in wedlock, why seek further?" said
Calverley. "By your own showing, the meeting could
scarce be a pleasant one.”
“Why, sir, I should naturally like to know my own
name," said Michael. "And were it only for the sake
of pleasing my old grandfather at Carleton Manor, I
would fain speak a few plain words to the man who so
grossly neglected my mother."
"It is a thousand pities that you dwell so much on
what is past," said Calverley, dropping the straw through
which he had been drinking his lemon water. "You
want some fresh interest in your life. Why not take up
politics?"
Michael laughed and shook his head with an air of
distaste.
"They interest me very little," he said, "and from
all I can gather it is hard for a man to keep his honesty
if he meddles much with them."
"In matters of state," said Anthony Sharp, "it is not
always possible to observe the same distinction between
right and wrong that governs the private life of an in-
dividual."
And therewith he started on a long and ingenious
argument to prove that strict honesty, perfect justice, is
not always possible or even desirable. But somehow
through it all Michael seemed to see the face of George
16*


244
HOPE THE HERMIT.
Fox the Quaker, with those clear, wonderful eyes, pro-
testing against this devil's doctrine, and showing how
possible it was even here and now to live in the higher
region where are to be found whatsoever things are
true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things
are just.
While Anthony Sharp was still speaking, there came
a hasty rap at the door, and without waiting for leave
to enter, in walked a young fellow of about five and
twenty, dusty and heated and evidently fresh from a
long journey. He looked flushed and excited, and was
in excellent spirits-quite irrepressible spirits, indeed-
for do what they would, neither Calverley nor Anthony
Sharp could stop his mouth.
"I should have been back long before, but the wind
was dead against us. I left St. Germains on Saturday,"
he explained, taking a vacant chair beside Michael and
facing the other two.
As the name St. Germains was uttered, Michael felt
a violent kick under the table from his vis-à-vis and
shrewdly surmised that it had been intended for the
over-talkative new-comer. A light began to dawn upon
him; clearly his friends were in communication with the
exiled Queen.
"So the Oranger has really gone at last," said the
stranger. "Hey! what's the matter?" Apparently the
kick had reached him this time. "Finding you here in


HOPE THE HERMIT.
245
close confabulation and with a lemon on the table, I
naturally concluded the coast was clear.
gentleman?"
Who is this
Calverley, who was half-angry, half amused, gave a
keen glance at Michael's face. "This is my friend Mr.
Derwent," he said. "Come and change your travelling
dress in my room, Dick, for in truth you are one
mass of dust. Then we can sup together and hear
your news."
"Nay, you shall hear that at the Globe Tavern in
an hour's--——___ ”
وو
The rest of the sentence was lost, for Calverley
contrived to get his talkative friend out into the ad-
joining room and to close the door with a resounding
bang.
Meanwhile Michael turned over in his mind the
mysterious words, "Seeing you with a lemon on the
table, I thought the coast was clear." Was the lemon
some secret symbol? He looked in perplexity at the
untouched half on the plate and at the fragments of
peel at the bottom of the empty tumbler. What could
it mean? Evidently, too, there was to be a special
meeting at the Glove Tavern that evening, when the
news from St. Germains was to be discussed. Well, he
had better go before he heard any more, and taking up
his hat, he rose from the table, when just at that mo-
ment Calverley returned to the room.


246
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"I will bid you good-bye, sir," he said in a some-
what constrained tone.
"Not good-bye," said Calverley with a cordial hand-
shake; "I shall see you again before you go to the
north."
"I think not," said Michael, colouring. "Our ways
evidently lie apart."
"That talkative fellow has betrayed us," said Cal-
verley with an air of great annoyance, while Anthony
Sharp scanned with no small interest Michael's ex-
pressive face; he could not help wondering whether his
conscience would urge him to make public what he could
hardly help knowing must be a Jacobite conspiracy of
some sort.
"Sir," said Michael, "the gentleman certainly talked
over-freely, but I was here as your guest, and am surely
in honour bound not to take any heed of matters which
were not meant for my ears."
Calverley pressed his hand, and a look of relief
crossed his face; then having sent kindly messages to
Father Noel, he parted with Michael, and closing the
door after him, paced the room in silence.
"We can trust implicitly to him," said Sharp. "He
will not repeat any of that fellow's remarks. As long as
I live I will never employ Enderby again; I believe the
fellow was drunk."
"No, no, but, as usual, careless and excitable. He


HOPE THE HERMIT.
247
swore he thought he had seen Mr. Derwent, or some-
one much like him, at one of our meetings beneath the
arches of the Haymarket. After all, it does not matter
so far as public affairs go, for Michael Derwent is, as
you say, a man of his word and will reveal nothing.
Yet I am sorry, too, that he found out the truth. If
things go well for us it will not signify though, and in-
deed if all Enderby says be true, our plans are most
promising. Now that the Oranger is off for Ireland and
has left his wife to rule alone, we shall have an excellent
chance of restoring his Majesty. However, you will hear
all presently at the Globe. Here, take the papers from
under the table-cover, and we will add a postscript to
our lemon letter."
As they wrote, Enderby cautiously opened the inner
door and glanced round the room.
"Is the gentleman from the north safely departed?"
he asked. "That's well! I breathe again! Now, gentle-
men, let me favour you with the latest lyric!"
And he trolled out in a clear baritone voice the
song--
Ye Whigs and ye Tories, repair to Whitehall,
And there ye shall see majestical Mall;
She fills up the throne in the absence of Willy;
Never was monarch so chattering and silly.
"Do have the goodness to remember that you are in
England and not in France," said Calverley impatiently.


248
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"If you are anxious to be lodged in the Tower I am
not."
"What! You don't think Mr. Derwent will betray
us?" said Enderby in consternation.
"No, he can hold his tongue, but you apparently
can't," said Anthony Sharp severely. "Come, gentlemen,
we may as well repair at once to the Globe, where no
doubt our friends will be assembling."
And so saying, he carefully folded the illegible letter,
threw the remains of the lemon into the tumbler, and
prepared to go out.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
249
CHAPTER XIX.
"A faithful friend is a strong defence."
MICHAEL'S thoughts were far from pleasant as he
quitted Villiers Street. To know that a Jacobite con-
spiracy was on foot was nothing now, for it had long
been the news of the town that Queen Mary of Modena
was in communication with many zealous adherents of
King James both in England and Scotland. Only a
short time ago some highly important despatches had
been sent over by two men named Fuller and Crone.
Fuller had, however, proved false to his trust; on reach-
ing London he turned Government spy and carried his
communications straight to King William, who was at
his new palace at Kensington. Crone delivered his
letters to the plotters, but afterwards, on Fuller's
evidence, was arrested and thrown into Newgate, where,
however, he steadily refused to reveal what he knew of
the plot. He was now lying, as Michael well knew,
under sentence of death, but it was thought that he
would probably be respited and induced to tell the whole
truth. Meantime, King William, unable to delay any


250
HOPE THE HERMIT.
longer his departure for Ireland, where his presence was
absolutely necessary, had been forced to leave the Queen
to rule the distracted country as best she could. He
had set out for the war on the very day that Crone was
brought up for trial, and those who saw his unmoved,
mask-like face little guessed how deeply he felt leaving
the Queen in such a perilous time. Only to his friend
Lord Portland, and to Burnet-whom he detested but
knew to be faithful-did he reveal the distress he was
enduring.
But never perhaps has there been so striking an in-
stance of the way in which a woman can rise to the
occasion as is shown by the manner in which Queen
Mary ruled in England during one of the most dangerous
and trying years the country has ever passed through.
The Jacobite songs might describe her as chattering
and silly, might laugh at her pastime of knotting fringes,
but those who know the inner history of those difficult
times cannot but admire the wonderful ability and judg-
ment which she showed.
On the whole, as he thought over the unsettled state
of the country, and remembered with a sense of dis-
comfort how much he had been in Mr. Calverley's com-
pany, Michael felt glad that they were soon to return to
Cumberland, and as he walked along the crowded and
evil-smelling streets a longing came over him for the
fresh mountain air of his native place. Avoiding a noisy


HOPE THE HERMIT.
251
party of "Scourers," who were making merry over the
persecution of a poor old watchman, he turned down
Norfolk Street, and hearing sounds of music in the with-
drawing-room, went upstairs at once. The room was
lighted only by two wax candles, which stood on the
spinet at the far end. Mary Denham was playing
Whitelocke's Coranto, and Sir William slept peacefully,
with "The Ornithology of Francis Willoughby, Esq.,
illustrated by most elegant figures nearly resembling the
live birds," open before him.
"That is an old tune that my mother used to play,"
said Mary, glancing up at him as he appeared. “I al-
ways have to play it when I stay with my uncle Sir
Joscelyn Heyworth at Katterham.”
"You are going there soon, are you not?"
"Yes, I go next week. One begins to long for the
country. You, too, will be glad to leave London and
get back to the north."
"For some things," he replied, his face clouding a
little. "If one could just get a good blow on the fells
and come back. But the thought of settling down there
for the rest of one's life does not, I must own, attract
me."
"You look forward too far," said Mary. "A good
many changes are sure to come before your life is ended.
When I think of all we have passed through in the last


252
HOPE THE HERMIT.
eight years merely in matters of state, it seems to me
that we certainly can't complain of monotony. There
were those sad years at the end of King Charles' reign,
with all their anxiety, and then the tyranny of King
James, and Monmouth's rebellion, and the fright-
ful cruelties of Judge Jeffreys in the west; then the
trial of the seven bishops, and the invitation to the
present King, and the excitement of the Revolution. We
certainly live in stirring days. I wonder what will happen
to that poor young Jacobite, Crone.”
"The general opinion is that he will not be able to
face death when it actually comes, and will reveal the
truth at the last moment," said Michael.
"However wrong or mistaken he may be, I cannot
help but pity him," said Mary. "To lie all these weeks
in Newgate with death staring him in the face is hard
on one so young. This afternoon Lady Temple was
here; she is devoted to the Queen, and has been much
with her since King William's departure. She told me
that Lord Monmouth constantly brings to her Majesty
in cabinet council most mysterious letters, which he
declares are intercepted by his friend Major Wildman.
They are all written in lemon-juice."
"In lemon-juice?" said Michael, starting.
"Yes, the writing only becomes visible when exposed
to heat. But the extraordinary thing is that they con-


HOPE THE HERMIT.
253
tain abstracts of everything done in the cabinet council,
of which Lord Monmouth, you know, is a member.”
"To whom are they directed?" asked Michael.
"To M. Contenay at Amsterdam. Her Majesty be-
gins to think that perhaps Lord Monmouth himself con-
trives them, and wishes to raise doubts and stir up strife
in the Queen's council. It must be a terrible time for
her; she does not know whom to trust, and everything
she does seems to give offence, while all the time Lady
Temple says she is breaking her heart over the enforced
absence from her husband, and is miserably anxious
lest her father should be killed or wounded in Ireland."
"I think her Majesty need hardly be anxious on that
last point," said Michael with a smile. "From all one
hears, the late King is very unlike his father in personal
courage, and will take good care of his own skin, though
he will let the poor Irish folk die by the thousand in his
cause."
"She can hardly help being anxious about her own
father when her husband is fighting against him. It
must be the same terrible struggle that my uncle Hey-
worth had to face in the civil war, that sad time of
divided households. People say the Queen is heartless
because when, at the people's invitation, she came to
the rescue of England, she put on a bright face as she


254
HOPE THE HERMIT.
entered Whitehall and affected a gaiety she was far from
feeling. But Lady Temple is her close friend, and she
knows that her Majesty has implored King William to
take every care of her father's person, and to let all
people know that he specially desired no hurt should.
happen to him.”
"Tis well she has such a sweet-natured friend as
Lady Temple. You have taught me in these months,
Mistress Denham, that, as the old sage wrote long ago,
'A faithful friend is a strong defence'."
She coloured with pleasure at his words.
"I have good reason to believe in friendship," she
said as she played on dreamily upon the spinet. "As
our old Scotch servant says, I have been well "friended”
always. And don't you forget your promise to write to
me as soon as you find those moths which Uncle Denham
thinks you may discover on the wooded shores of
Derwentwater. It will be a rare delight to him if you
can send him some, and, moreover, I shall want to know
how you fare."
Just then Sir William woke up, and they fell to talk-
ing over the moths in question. He said that his friend
the late Mr. Willoughby had died before studying them
as he had wished, and now he and Dr. Martin Lister,
whose study of spiders was so well known, desired to


HOPE THE HERMIT.
255
collect specimens. Mary felt no small satisfaction as she
perceived that her efforts had not been altogether in
vain, and that she had really roused the young north-
countryman from his private troubles into taking interest
again in other things.


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CHAPTER XX.
"Those sweet, sweet snatches of delight
That visit our bedarken'd clay,
Like passage birds, with hasty flight,
It cannot be they perish quite,
Although they pass away."
HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
"My dear Audrey, if you would but realise that
delays are dangerous!" said Mrs. Brownrigg with a touch
of impatience in her voice. "I have tried to hint as
much to you times without number, but it seems use-
less."
The good lady was not unlike her son; she was
large and solid, with very handsome features and a
slightly dictatorial tone. And now, as she sat in the
parlour at Millbeck Hall watching the pale, downcast
face of her future daughter-in-law, she felt not a little
irritated.
For Audrey, in her deep mourning, with all the colour
flown from her sweet face, and with dark shadows under
her eyes, looked very little like a girl who was on the
eve of a happy marriage.


HOPE THE HERMIT.
257
"Indeed, I am sorry for the delay, ma'am," she said
wistfully, "but I should make but a sad wife yet awhile,
and should bring little happiness to Henry."
"Of that, my dear, you are no fit judge," said Mrs.
Brownrigg. "To my mind you would show greater
respect to your mother's memory by wedding the man
she desired you to wed, than in letting yourself pine like
this in a grief that is of no avail.”
Audrey kept her eyes upon her embroidery, though
they were so full of tears that she could not see the
stitches.
"I promised Henry this morning that our marriage
should be in August, as he wishes," she said. "It could
not be before that, for now that Father Noel has sprained
his knee and is invalided, I could not leave my grand-
father."
"I believe that provoking Mr. Noel hurt himself on
purpose to postpone the wedding again. You can't deny,
Audrey, that both he and your grandfather dislike your
wedding a Protestant."
Audrey sighed. "They do not understand Henry,"
she said. "And sometimes I think he does not under-
stand them." Then seeing Mrs. Brownrigg draw herself
up with an air of offence, she hastened to add, “Maybe
when we are really married, all things will go more
smoothly. Is that five o'clock striking? Then the horses
will be coming to the door, and I must not keep them
Hope the Hermit. I.
17


258
HOPE THE HERMIT.
waiting.
for me."
My two invalids at home will be looking
Putting on her hat and riding-gloves, she went with
her hostess to the great front door, and stood in the
sunny little garden waiting for her groom, listening half
dreamily to Mrs. Brownrigg's parting exhortations, while
her eyes rested on the quaint old Latin motto carved
above the name of the former owner, Nicholas Williamson,
upon the lintel:—
"Quorsum? Vivere mori. Mori vivere."
"Whither? To live (is) to die.
live."
To die (is) to
Audrey had reached that stage of sorrow when a
supreme indifference to everything in the world falls with
numbing influence on the heart. She looked back at
Millbeck Hall without the least quickening of the pulses
as she remembered that in a short time it was to be-
come her home, and there was much excuse for the
impatient and worried look on Mrs. Brownrigg's face as
she watched her future daughter-in-law out of sight.
"Now, what in the world possesses that girl I would
give much to understand!" she ejaculated, returning to
her work in the parlour in no very good humour.
"From love to my son I urge on the marriage, but 'tis
signing my own death warrant, for to be shut up day
after day in the same house with a chit who has no


HOPE THE HERMIT.
259
more spirit left in her than a broody hen, will make my
life a burden."
The good lady, however, would have endured much
for her son, and her hard face softened when later she
heard his step without. He came in looking flushed
and eager, and asked at once for Audrey.
1
"Did you not meet her? She rode home with the
groom but a little while ago,” said Mrs. Brownrigg. "She
declared she must go back to her two invalids, and truly
the way in which she pampers that disguised priest is
enough to sicken any good Protestant. My belief is that
his injured knee is nothing but a pretext for hindering
the wedding."
"I wish I had not missed her," said Henry with an
air of vexation. "But I was coming from the other
direction and never thought she would leave yet awhile."
"What is the news? And where have you been?"
asked his mother.
"I have been at Wythop Hall with the Fletchers,
and there is great news afoot. A Jacobite plot has
been discovered, and the Queen and the privy council
at Whitehall have ordered the arrest of my Lord
Clarendon and many others. It seems, moreover, that
John Radcliffe, Sir Nicholas' younger brother and heir,
has been one of this accursed gång, and there is a
warrant out against him. He had been plotting and
17*


260
HOPE THE HERMIT.
carrying on correspondence with St. Germains these
many months in London, but went always under an
assumed name. At last he was recognised and his
arrest was ordered. Somehow he contrived, however,
to escape from London, and it is thought that he will
possibly seek shelter with his kinsfolk in the north."
Mrs. Brownrigg was an astute lady, and she sat up
now with eager eyes.
"It will rest with you, of course, will be your positive
duty, to search for this traitor," she said.
"Certainly," replied her son. "And he will be a
clever man if he contrives to escape me. Not only do
I hate all these vile plotters, but it would be to my own
interest to rid Audrey of this dastardly great-uncle. She
would then inherit her grandfather's estate of Goldrill
near Ulleswater."
"To be sure," said Mrs. Brownrigg, rubbing her hands
gently together. "I should like to see you the master
of Goldrill. 'Tis a beautiful place, and I remember once
dining there in the old times when Mrs. John Radcliffe
was a bride. 'Tis strange that Sir Nicholas lets such a
place stand empty and lives in that half-ruined old house
on Lord's Island, which he only dreams to be his own.
A most unpractical, visionary old man. I have no patience
with him."
"Visionary, yes, but easy enough to manage," said
Henry Brownrigg complacently. "A generous and foolish


HOPE THE HERMIT.
261
old man, too. He will be certain to shelter this ne'er-
do-weel brother of his."
"But how will you find out?" asked Mrs. Brown-
rigg.
"Why, easily enough, mother," said Henry with a
laugh. "The little god Cupid will come to my help,
and I shall draw all the information I need from
Audrey."
"To be sure," said his mother. "A girl will do any-
thing for love, and I don't for a moment doubt her love
to you, Henry. It is about the only thing left to her,
poor lassie; she's lost her looks and her spirits and all
her small talk. But her love to you survives. You
were but a foolish fellow ever to be jealous of Michael
Derwent."
"That bête noire of mine is come on the scene once
more. Sir Wilfrid is returned from London, and Der-
went is to be on St. Herbert's Isle this summer, looking
after the work on the new house there, and tutoring the
children, for it seems that some of the household at Isel
Hall are down with the small-pox."
"Audrey had heard as much, but she clearly takes
no interest in her old playmate. Not a muscle of her
face moved when I spoke of him.”
"Yes, I don't think I need be jealous," said Henry.


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HOPE THE HERMIT.
"To-morrow I will go and see how the land lies with
regard to the great-uncle. As you say, a girl will not
withhold information from her lover."
The next day Henry Brownrigg lost no time in visit-
ing Lord's Island, and Audrey gave him so eager and
loving a welcome that his heart beat high with hope.
They sat together in a little arbour in the shady pleas-
ance, and after beating about the bush for some little
time, he made a direct attack on the matter that was
filling his thoughts.
"You have no visitors here?" he said, watching her
keenly as he put the question.
"No," she replied, "none whatever. They tell me
Michael has returned from London, but he has not come
to see us."
"I wonder at that," said Henry.
“I am glad he has not come,” she said wearily. "I
dread seeing people since my mother died. I want no
one but you."
He raised her hand to his lips. Should he tell her
of the discovered plot? On the whole he thought not.
"My dearest heart!" he said tenderly. "I come to
you whenever I can, and indeed I need you now more
than ever, for we live in troubled times and my work
just now is arduous. You little know how it cheers and
helps me to throw all public cares aside and come here


HOPE THE HERMIT.
263
You
to this quiet place and find you waiting for me.
will not mind if I come even more often than I have
done hitherto?"
"Mind?" she said with a little shy caress. "Why,
no, Henry, your coming is the one thing that cures my
heartache."
"I shall be much in Keswick during the next few
weeks," he said, "and will make a point of coming
whenever I can. And do not forget, dear heart, that at
Lammas-tide, you will be my bride, and that next Sunday
our banns are to be read in Crosthwaite Church.
have told your grandfather that?"
You
"Yes, I told him last night, and he consents, though
liking but ill to lose me," said Audrey.
"Well, well, that is but natural," said her lover.
"And, after all, Millbeck Hall is no very great distance;
you will often see him."
He left the island in good spirits, feeling that there
would be no difficulty in learning the whole truth from
his betrothed should John Radcliffe seek shelter in the
house.
Audrey watched him row back in the direction of
Keswick, feeling happier than she had done for some
time. There was something in Henry Brownrigg's
strength which comforted her; and to-day she had
noticed in his manner a warmth and eagerness that


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touched her sad heart, rousing it from its grief, and
kindling once more a gleam of hope in the life that lay
before her. After all, was she not young? It was im-
possible to dwell for ever in the happiness that was past.
Perhaps joy awaited her in that wedded home at Mill-
beck; perhaps Mrs. Brownrigg was, after all, right, and
she would most truly show her love to her mother by
making the very utmost of such happiness as might fall
to her share.
There was much to brighten her life in the prospect
of Henry's love and protection; then, too, God might
send her the blessed gift of children. In many ways,
as she sat there dreaming over the possibilities of the
future, her outlook grew wider and more sunshiny, till
something of its former youth and beauty stole back to
her face, and the old gardener, as he approached her,
was quick to note the change.
"Bless her!" he said to himself. "She's like her ain
sel' once more. Good-mornin', mistress. Ha'e ye time
to be cuttin' the lavender? It be fine and dry now, and
by night I'm thinkin' we shall ha'e rain."
"Why, to be sure, Jock. I am but idling here in the
arbour," said Audrey with a smile; and going to the
house, she returned in a snowy apron, carrying a large
flat basket and a pair of scissors to clip the lavender.
Jock heard her singing softly as she set about her work,


HOPE THE HERMIT.
265
and had a very shrewd suspicion of the direction in
which her thoughts had turned; for, as the fragrant,
mauve spikes were laid in the basket, Audrey involun-
tarily began to picture her fine new linen and the great
chest where her bridal clothes were stored.


266
HOPE THE HERMIT.
CHAPTER XXI.
"The devil is but God's master fencer, to teach us to handle
our weapons."
SAMUEL RUTHERFORD.
LATE on the evening of this same 4th July the rain
which old Jock, the gardener, had foretold came down
in good earnest, wetting to the skin a wayfarer who, in
the fading light, was making his way down the Stake
Pass towards Borrowdale. From the way in which he
walked it was evident that he knew the country, nor did
he greatly care for the bad weather, but strode on at a
brisk pace, a solitary figure in the grey landscape. He
had journeyed far that day and was footsore and tired,
so that a sigh of relief escaped him as he came down.
into the valley, tramped through the little sleeping vil-
lage of Rosthwaite, where folks went early to bed, and
made his way through Borrowdale to the margin of
Derwentwater. Here he paused and looked across to
St. Herbert's Isle, his eye being attracted by the light
burning in Michael's room.
"So Sir Wilfrid is apparently at his summer house!
Worse luck to the old Protestant! Unless he is safely


HOPE THE HERMIT.
267
at Isel we shall have him playing the spy. Well, at any-
rate there is a light on Lord's Island too, so the good
folks there have not gone to roost. The question is,
how am I to reach them without disturbing the ser-
vants?"
Musing over his plans, he strode on through the
woods which fringed the shore, pausing now and then
to glance at some remembered landmark, and finally
stealing down towards Stable Hills Farm, close to which
was one of the Radcliffe boathouses.
"No dogs about; that is well," he muttered to him-
self as he unlatched the door, and soon with deft hands
he had loosed a boat and was rowing across the narrow
strip of water which lay between the shore and the chief
landing-stage on the island. It was now quite dusk, and
having safely moored his boat, he crept noiselessly round
the ruined chapel until he reached the window of the
room in which he had seen a light burning as he stood
near Lowdore.
The shutters were still unclosed; he
glanced into the deserted hall, and saw that the remains
of supper were still upon the table.
"They must have gone to the study," he reflected.
"I'll not risk going round by the garden and the kitchen
premises; better creep round the chapel and the brew-
house; one is less likely to fall foul of the servants."
Swiftly crossing the open courtyard in front of the
mansion, he made his way to the window of the study,


268
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and here good fortune attended him, for the window
was open, and beside it, drinking in the cool night air,
sat Father Noel, a self-controlled person with iron nerves,
who was not in the least likely to be startled by his
sudden appearance.
"Any shelter, good Father, for a hunted stag?" he
asked in a low but cheery voice.
Father Noel involuntarily crossed himself and turned
a shade paler; then, with a warning gesture to the
fugitive, he turned to prepare old Sir Nicholas, who
dozed in his armchair.
"My child," he said as Audrey glanced up at him
with startled eyes, "your great-uncle Mr. John Radcliffe
stands without asking for shelter.
We must ask your
grandfather what is to be done."
Audrey threw down her knitting and knelt beside
the old man's chair, gently rousing him.
"Grandfather," she said quietly, "there is a great
surprise for you. My uncle Radcliffe has come.
needs shelter."
He
"John!" said the old man, waking all in a tremble;
"John here and needing shelter?"
"Ay," said a voice behind them, and glancing round,
they saw the heir to the estate swing himself lightly in
by the open window with the ease and agility of a much
younger man.
"I am here, good friends, but have only escaped the


HOPE THE HERMIT.
269
Tower by the skin of my teeth. How are you, brother?”
He greeted the old knight with light-hearted good-
nature, speaking as though they had but parted a few
days ago. "My pretty niece, you will scarce remember
me; but an you love me, go close the window and the
shutters; then I shall breathe more freely. We must
keep my coming dark, Father Noel, or I shall maybe
land you all in trouble."
"What has happened?" said the old priest anxiously.
"We have heard naught up here, save that the French
fleet is in the channel. Is that true?"
"Ay, indeed it is, and by this time, like enough, it
may have beaten the English fleet, for my Lord Tor-
rington hath one of those timid natures that shrink
from responsibility of any sort. The Queen and the
council, threatened by a French invasion and by a
Jacobite insurrection, grew desperate. Then, unluckily,
that poor young fellow Crone could hold out no
longer."
"They say he had a fair enough trial," said old Sir
Nicholas. "We must at least allow that the present
government do not treat enemies after the fashion of
former times, when my Lord Jeffreys condemned men.
But what of young Crone? Is he dead?"
"No, poor beggar, at last he broke down and
couldn't face the scaffold. They offered him a free
pardon if only he would confess all he knew, and so at


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Whitehall he revealed many matters which showed the
Queen the strength of the Jacobite cause. My Lord
Clarendon is in the Tower, and I should be keeping
him company had I not, by the aid of my worthy friend
Father Sharp, contrived to escape before the warrant
had been delivered. What do you say? Can I shelter
for a time in the priests' hole?"
"Yes, you would be safe enough there," said Sir
Nicholas; "as Audrey remembers, from her game of hide
and seek, 'tis little likely to be found. We had old
Father Francis there for weeks."
"What is the matter, my child?" said Father Noel,
his keen eyes at once observing the look of doubt and
trouble that flashed into Audrey's face.
"Could it be possible," she said, "that Henry already
knows my uncle to be a fugitive?"
"Why, doubtless the authorities at Keswick know it,"
said John Radcliffe easily. "I have been some time
getting here, and ill news, as we all know, flies apace.
You mean that this Under-Sheriff lover of yours will
come searching the house?"
"He was here this morning," said Audrey, colouring
crimson, "and I remember that he asked if we had any
visitors, and spoke of having to be much in Keswick
during the next few weeks, and that he hoped often to
come and see me."
Her eyes filled with tears, for a terrible doubt of


HOPE THE HERMIT.
271
Henry's motive for the first time came into her mind.
Was he just professing special tenderness to her to
further his own ends? Did he mean to use her as his
tool? Use her against her own kith and kin?
The thought tortured her, nor was there any comfort
in the long-embarrassed silence which reigned in the
room. It was quite evident that even gentle old Sir
Nicholas, with all his reluctance to think evil of his
neighbours, believed that her lover had been seeking
for information that morning as to the escaped Jacobite.
Now, Audrey, though gentle and sweet by nature,
was quite capable of being roused by anything which
savoured of meanness, and the notion of being trapped
into betraying those who were of her own blood made
her heart stir indignantly.
"Oh," she cried, "I don't think you will be safe
here! I believe Henry will come again with his question
as to visitors, and how am I truthfully to answer him if
you are in the priests' hole?-actually in the house?"
"My child, a lie in such a case would be quite per-
missible," said Father Noel. "You would be merely
telling such a lie as Michal did to save David from her
father's fury."
"I can't tell a lie to my lover," said Audrey.
"The maid is right," said John Radcliffe. "Never
fear, Audrey; no one has a right to expect that of you.
Better give up your old uncle, my dear." He stooped


272
HOPE THE HERMIT.
and kissed her with the frank kindliness of look that
had won him so many hearts; and as Audrey felt him
pat her gently on the shoulder, as though she had still
been a child, her heart went out to this unknown kins-
man, and she felt the impossibility of betraying him.
"I could never give you up, uncle," she said warmly.
"Only if we could contrive to shelter you elsewhere, I
think Henry's suspicions would be more easy to allay.
Even if I tried to lie, I should do it badly, and he would
at once guess that something was amiss."
"There is something in that," said Father Noel. “A
lover of truth for its own sake ever bungles the matter
and lies shamefacedly. Ha! there's knocking at the
great door. I fear your coming to the island has been
observed."
For a moment they all seemed stupefied, for a visitor
at that late hour was unheard of, and to bestow John
Radcliffe in the priests' hole was now out of the ques-
tion. Audrey was the most quick-witted, and with a
woman's swift intuition saw in a flash the sole chance
of escape.
"Quick, uncle," she said, "come with me to my
room and I will bolt the door. Henry would never
dream of disturbing me."
"You are willing to take the risk?" said John Rad-
cliffe, hesitating for a moment.
But she caught his arm impatiently and drew him


HOPE THE HERMIT.
273
to the door. "Quick, quick! or we shall not reach the
stairs before the servants come," she urged; and John
Radcliffe, without another word, obeyed, following her
swiftly up the broad, shallow steps, along the gallery,
and into a room dimly visible by a rushlight which
burnt on the table near the bed. She closed and
bolted the door behind them, then breathlessly motioned
him towards the large, roomy cupboard where her
dresses hung.
"I will let you out when they tell us that all is safe
below," she said, locking the door upon him, and then
pausing for a minute to listen intently to what was
passing.
She heard steps in the entrance hall, then the voice
of old Duncan, the butler.
"Sir Nicholas is alone, sir," he said. "If any visitor
had come into the house to-day, why, I should have
known it."
"Well, let me speak a few words with Sir Nicholas,"
replied a clear, penetrating voice, and Audrey shivered,
for she knew that it was, as they had feared, Henry
himself.
She stole across the room to the bed, and creeping
into it with her clothes on, drew up the heavy, knitted
coverlet, shuddering as though it had been a cold win-
ter's night instead of a sultry evening in July.
It seemed to her that without a moment's warning
Hope the Hermit. I.
18


274
HOPE THE HERMIT.
she had been plunged into a sea of difficulties and
perils, and her heart ached as she thought how soon
the brightness of the morning had passed away. But
though plainly seeing that she had a difficult part to
play, there was no wavering about her. In an instant
she had thrown in her lot with those of her own blood.
It was nothing to her that she shared neither their
religious nor their political views; on such details she
never even bestowed a thought in this crisis. She only
knew that her lover was seeking her uncle's life and
liberty, and all her sympathies went to the man who
had begged for help and shelter. For to fly to the
rescue of the oppressed is the natural instinct of every
true woman, the secret of that motherliness which enters
into every relation of life, perfecting her attitude not
only towards children, but towards husband, kinsman,
and friend.
Meanwhile Henry Brownrigg had entered the study,
looking sharply round with expectant eyes and feeling
somewhat nonplussed by the calm of the atmosphere.
Sir Nicholas leant back in his armchair, with his eyes
shielded by one of his long, slender hands, and as the
visitor was announced he rose with an air of mild sur-
prise and gave him a quiet, courtly greeting. Beside
the window sat Father Noel, book in hand.
"You'll excuse my rising, Mr. Brownrigg; but, as
very likely you have heard, I have crippled my knee,"


HOPE THE HERMIT.
275
he said pleasantly. "I trust nothing is wrong with Mrs.
Brownrigg?"
"I do not come from Millbeck, but from Keswick,"
said Henry Brownrigg. "A very disagreeable errand
has been entrusted to me, Sir Nicholas, and I only wish
I were not called by my duty to carry it out. The fact
is a warrant is out for the arrest of your brother, Mr.
John Radcliffe."
Father Noel made a startled ejaculation.
"Upon what charge, sir?" he inquired.
"On a charge of high treason," said Henry Brown-
rigg, trying in vain to read the priest's face.
"Foolish fellow!" said Father Noel. "He is one of
those who cannot keep from dabbling in politics. 'Tis
a pity he has not followed the example of his brother
and held aloof altogether from public affairs; but he
has been much abroad, and that is an ill training for an
Englishman: they lose all genuine patriotism if they are
much in France."
"There is truth in that," said Sir Nicholas. "But I
think, Mr. Brownrigg, you know me well enough to be
aware that I have no sympathy with any of the hare-
brained schemes for calling the French to invade our
shores in the hope of restoring King James. Rather
than see a French invasion I would welcome again the
days of Cromwell and the Commonwealth."
"Sir, I am quite well aware that you are a true-
18*


276
HOPE THE HERMIT.
hearted English gentleman," said Henry Brownrigg,
touched in spite of himself by the unmistakable sincerity
of the old man's tone. "But to-night we have had
terrible news; the English fleet has been disgracefully
beaten by the French off Beachy Head, and my Lord
Torrington has been forced to fly along the coast of Kent
and to take refuge in the Thames."
"Great Heavens!" said Sir Nicholas, his eyes kind-
ling. "This is terrible news, indeed! Mr. Brownrigg,
on many matters we disagree, but I call God to wit-
ness that in this matter of the French invasion we are
entirely of the same mind”
He held out his hand, and Henry Brownrigg pressed
it in his, not without genuine admiration of the old
Catholic gentleman, whose patriotism was plainly visible.
"It seems ungracious," he said, "to return to the
object of my visit, but duty must be done. It will be
my duty to arrest your brother, however little I like the
task, and it seems only too likely that, having, as we
know, fled from London, he should take refuge here."
"He would be very slow to imperil Sir Nicholas,"
said Father Noel. "In old days I knew him well, and
there is much kindly generosity in his nature. More-
over, to come here would be a foolish and risky thing to
do, and Mr. John Radcliffe is a shrewd man."
"I will be open with you," said Henry Brownrigg,
"and will tell you just how things stand. We know


HOPE THE HERMIT.
277
that some days ago Mr. John Radcliffe left London, and
came down to York by coach. At York he disappeared;
and in spite of many efforts we have not yet traced him.
This evening, however, I chanced to observe a boat
crossing at an unusually late hour to the island, and on
inquiry learnt from a travelling pedlar who was passing
with his pack-horse that he had seen a gentleman in the
path between Rosthwaite and Grange. Now, it is of
course quite possible that I may be mistaken, but taken in
connection with the boat which I myself noticed-
""
"That, if you will pardon the interruption, is a
matter of frequent occurrence," said the priest; "on these
long summer evenings the servants often cross from the
farm quite late."
"Still I conceive it my duty," said Henry Brownrigg
haughtily, "to make a search of the house, though I am
sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Sir Nicholas."
"Not in the least," said the old knight with a courtly
bow; "you are perfectly at liberty, sir, to make whatever
search you deem necessary."
The Under-Sheriff was puzzled by this ready ac-
quiescence.
"They will show me round the place," he reflected,
"but all the while they may have got the fellow stowed
away in some secret room.”
"It is hardly to be imagined, Sir Nicholas," he said,
"that an old mansion like this was built without its


278
HOPE THE HERMIT.
secret hiding-place; it would save us all a world of
trouble if you would kindly tell me where your secret
room is."
"With pleasure," said the old knight. "It is known
to few; but old Duncan will open it for you if I give
him instructions."
Then summoning the old butler, he said:-
"Take Mr. Brownrigg round the house; he is in
search of a gentleman against whom a warrant has
been issued. Show him through the rooms and let him
look into the priests' hole. But go quietly, Duncan, for
I do not wish Mistress Audrey to be disturbed; by this
time she will be asleep."
"Oh, we will go quietly, I assure you," said Henry
Brownrigg. "I would not for the world alarm Audrey:
she has looked sadly out of health since her mother's
death, and we must not let her be harrassed by this
affair. Pray say nothing to her about my visit."
"You are quite right," said Sir Nicholas; "she must
not be disturbed or in any way troubled."
So the Under-Sheriff was solemnly conducted round
the house, and looked into every hole and cranny with
the one exception of Audrey's room; but, needless to
say, he discovered no trace of the Jacobite, and before
long was rowing back to Keswick greatly crestfallen and
disappointed.
In the meanwhile Sir Nicholas and the priest had


HOPE THE HERMIT.
279
been holding a consultation and had come to the con-
clusion that it was necessary to take the old butler into
their confidence. When he returned from bolting the
great door upon the Under-Sheriff they had him into the
study and told him the whole truth, making him swear
perfect secrecy.
"Now go and bid Mistress Audrey bring her uncle
down once more, and bring some supper in here, for I
doubt Mr. Radcliffe will be hungry after his journey,"
Isaid Sir Nicholas.
Duncan bustled off in great excitement, eager to see
with his own eyes this visitor whose presence he had
strenuously and honestly denied to the Under-Sheriff.
"Mistress Audrey," he whispered, knocking softly on
her door, "I was to tell you that all is safe below."
Audrey hastened across the room, and holding the
rushlight in her hand, peered cautiously into the dark
passage.
"Is Mr. Brownrigg gone?" she asked.
66
"Ay, miss, he has searched the house and has gone,
and I was to bid you and Mr. Radcliffe come down once
more to the study."
Audrey, with a sigh of relief, unlocked the cupboard.
"Tis all safe, uncle," she whispered.
And John Radcliffe, who had stretched himself out
comfortably enough in the roomy dress-cupboard, sprang


280
HOPE THE HERMIT.
to his feet and gave the old butler a careless, kindly
greeting.
"Tis many a year since I met you, Duncan," he
said, "but, by the Mass! you're not a day older as far
as looks go. Come, my pretty niece, you have been
the saving of me to-night, and I'm much mistaken if
you haven't sharper brains even than Father Noel, which
is saying a good deal. By all means let us come down
and have a family conclave."
Audrey, who was most eager to know all that her
lover had said, was glad enough to make one of the
little group which gathered round the table in the study
while John Radcliffe made a hearty meal.
With a sinking heart she heard of the disaster at
Beachy Head and the threatened French invasion, yet it
was a comfort to know that her grandfather by no means
shared his brother's views with regard to these matters,
and she listened with a thrill of loving pride to his
straightforward words.
"You know well enough, John, that I hate all your
plottings and contrivings and will take no part in them.
But blood is thicker than water, and I will do my ut-
most to shelter you. What are your plans?"
"If I can take
shelter here for awhile until we
see which way events run," said John Radcliffe, "that
is all I desire. If King James prospers in Ireland and


HOPE THE HERMIT.
281
the French invasion is successful in the south of Eng-
land, why, I should return before long to London. If
not, I should make my way to the coast and take ship
for France. In any case a few weeks must decide the
fate of the kingdom and my fate with it."
"Uncle, you will not be safe in this house," said
Audrey quickly.
"What! not even in the priests' hole?”
"The Under-Sheriff knows the secret of that since
to-night," said Father Noel.
"And he will be constantly coming here to see me,"
said Audrey, blushing. "I cannot parry his questions if
you are in the house."
John Radcliffe gave a low whistle of dismay.
"Then what is to be done?" he said composedly,
helping himself a second time to the pigeon pie. "I
thought now he had once searched the house, all would
be well."
"There are many other hiding-places among the
hills if you don't mind being in the open air," she sug-
gested. "Michael and I used to know of several when
we were children. I could take you myself this very
night, and no one else knows of them."
"But, my dear child, if you were seen wandering
about the fells the truth would at once be guessed,” said
Sir Nicholas.


282
HOPE THE HERMIT.
"There are few people astir in Borrowdale," said
Father Noel. "She would be safe enough, and Henry
Brownrigg is disposed of, at anyrate, for to-night. I
have just seen his boat disappear in the distance."
"How are we to tell that she may not happen upon
some shepherd? The less we desire to meet folk the
more certain we are to do it, as a rule.”
"Grandfather," said Audrey, "I have thought of all
that while waiting upstairs. It would never do to go in
my own dress; but you remember how all the Borrow-
dale folk say that the bogle still haunts the neighbour-
hood and has by many of them been seen, dressed in
the clothes he wore when he fought the duel with the
Parliamentary officer from St. Herbert's Isle. Now, up-
stairs we still have some of the clothes my father wore
when he was a lad of seventeen. In old days I often
used to help my mother to unfold them, and see that
they were free from moth.”
"And you would make your uncle wear these?"
asked Sir Nicholas.
"No, I would wear them myself," said Audrey,
blushing a little. "Then, did any chance to catch sight
of us, they would at once run away, for there is nothing
so much dreaded as the sight of the Borrowdale Bogle."
John Radcliffe laughed and rubbed his hands.
"Bravo! little niece, did I not say you had the best


HOPE THE HERMIT.
283
wits of us all? You shall enact the ghost of the
Royalist Radcliffe, and I for the nonce will be one of
old Noll's crew."
"Child," said Sir Nicholas, putting his wrinkled
hand on hers, "do not rush into this escapade without
thinking. You are right to try to help your uncle, but
remember that 'tis a perilous part you are about to play;
one, moreover, which might be gravely misunderstood by
Mr. Brownrigg should he ever by ill chance come to hear
of it."
"I know," said Audrey, "but oh, sir, anything is
better than that Uncle Radcliffe should fall into Henry's
hands. I cannot bear to think that Henry should be
the one to bring him to the gallows—anything is better
than that!"
Her eyes filled with tears, for it is hard to have to
put into words the very fear with which the heart has
been fighting. Moreover, there surged over her once
more that horrible feeling that Henry had used her that
morning as his tool, that even his devotion had been
tinged with that other motive.
She was recalled to the present by finding the entire
breast of a fat capon thrust on to her empty plate.
"Eat, my pretty niece, eat," said John Radcliffe. "If
you mean to pilot me across the fells to-night you will


284
HOPE THE HERMIT.
stand in need of a good supper.
After all, you are
flesh and blood, you know, and but a mock ghost."
She laughed, and did her best to obey, glancing
now and then with something of curiosity at this un-
known kinsman, who in the course of half an hour had
succeeded in making himself so entirely one of the
family.
Not only in face was he curiously like his elder
brother, but the tone of his voice kept reminding her of
some other voice which she knew, and she puzzled her
brain to think which of the many Radcliffe cousins it
could be. Though like Sir Nicholas in feature, he was
twenty years younger, and his light periwig, alert, brisk
manner, and upright carriage made him look less than
his true age. There was, moreover, about him a
buoyancy and youthfulness which astonished Audrey,
and she began to understand that whereas her grand-
father hated the very notion of a plot and would not
have stirred a finger to restore King James, Uncle Rad-
cliffe revelled in anything likely to bring him excitement
and stirring adventure, enjoying the Jacobite conspiracy
as a boy enjoys a risky game.
"Uncle," she said, "how long can you bear to
shelter among the hills? I must go and arrange with
Duncan to get your provisions for the next few days."
"Oh, if you'll not starve me I'll bide my time


HOPE THE HERMIT.
285
patiently enough.
And in a few days' time there is
bound to be news of one sort or the other."
"Very well, I will get you plenty of food; and look
for me between ten and twelve at night on Wednesday,
the 9th; then I can bring you fresh supplies and what-
ever news we have heard."
She went away to make her preparations, and as
the door closed gently behind her a silence fell on the
little group gathered round the table.
END OF VOL. I.





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