Heiress of Haddon. W. E. Doubleday

Grene had touched the body, and the trial had proclaimed him innocent. Indeed, Sir George fully expected it would do so, seeing that Nathan had been fast bound in the stocks at the time the crime was perpetrated. His name had only been called out because the baron had a standing dislike to the man. But the woman still lay on the rough stones without offering a sign of life.

      "Sir George, is that the witch?" asked De Lacey.

      "It is."

      "Then she is praying to her master the devil. Listen!"

      In the dread stillness of those awful minutes it was not difficult to discover that she was moaning. The crowd was stricken with terror, and catching up the words which Sir John had let fall, reiterated the cry which even yet added to the dismal terror of the scene.

      "This cannot long endure," said Sir George, as a vivid flash of lightning almost, for the moment, blinded him.

      A long, loud roll of thunder, which terminated in a crashing peal, was the only answer he received, and while the noise was at its loudest, Mary Durden started to her feet and dashed forward to touch the body.

      She just reached the bottom of the steps when, catching her foot on the uneven pavement of the yard, she over-balanced herself, and tumbled heavily upon the bier, almost knocking the body off as she fell.

      "Guilty!" eagerly shouted Sir George; "she is guilty; seize her."

      But before he had finished the sentence, Mary had turned and fled, and far from attempting to hinder her in her headlong flight, the awe-struck people, one and all, shrunk eagerly back to escape being brought into contact with one who had just given such unmistakable proofs of witchcraft, and who had been condemned a murderess by the almost infallible ordeal of the bier.

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      A VISIT TO NOTTINGHAM.

      One sole desire, one passion now remains,

       To keep life's fever still within his veins.

       Vengeance, dire vengeance, on the wretch who cast

       On him and all he had the ruinous blast.

      MOORE.

      It was upon the third day after the occurrences narrated in the last chapter had taken place that a lonely traveller might have been seen urging his way across the fields just outside the town of Nottingham. The gates closed at dusk: it was now past sunset, and he hastened forward to gain admittance.

      It was the man known at Haddon by the name of Nathan Grene, the locksmith, whose actions had ever been at variance with his character, and whose nature had always seemed to have been unequally yoked with the common occupation of a smith.

      Nathan, in fact, was no true smith. He was a brother-in-law of Sir Ronald Bury, and having taken up the practice of astrology and alchemy, this fact had been seized upon by his foes, and he had been obliged to fly in disguise to save himself from one of those persecutions which were so readily and frequently levelled against the followers of the "black arts."

      In the character of a locksmith he had lived for some months in an uneasy state of security at Haddon. The lack of comfort which he was compelled to experience in his new position being compensated for in some small degree by the kind attentions he had received at the hands of the widow Durden, which began directly upon his arrival, and which soon rapidly ripened into a sincere regard for each other, and from that eventually progressed into love.

      Being well born, Nathan Grene—or rather Edmund Wynne, for such was his proper name—had never taken kindly to the conditions imposed upon him by the disguise he had chosen to assume. He had never sought for work, and had done as little of it as he possibly could, and he had held aloof from the people around him, treating them with a supercilious indifference which they were not slow to resent. Under such conditions it was by no means surprising that he was decidedly unpopular in the neighbourhood, and the dislike to him was heightened by the intimacy which grew up between himself and the woman who was regarded as a witch.

      It was for his vigorous defence of Mary Durden that he had been placed in the stocks. His whole spirit revolted from such a degradation; he had pleaded and had raged, but all in vain, and even Dorothy's appeal on his behalf had failed to save him from the bitter humiliation.

      The ordeal, again, had been a very trying scene for him, and his annoyance was more than doubled when he saw how his beloved was being persecuted by her neighbours and oppressed by the baron. As she escaped through the gateway he made up his mind to strike Sir George down, but in spite of his resistance he was carried out beyond the limits of the Hall in the wild rush that took place when the first moment of surprise and terror had passed away.

      All night long he lay upon the floor of his little smithy pondering schemes of revenge, but when he ventured out on the following morning all his ideas were dispelled by the sight which met his gaze, for there was Mary Durden hanging from the branch of a tree at the foot of the slope which led up to the gateway of the Hall.

      He rubbed his eyes in sheer astonishment and looked again, but the second view only confirmed the vision of the first. His worst fears were realised; his Mary was dead!

      Mechanically he walked to the tree; there was a paper fastened to it upon which was some writing in the hand of the baron. He read it:—

      MARY DURDEN.

      THE STORM AVAILED HER NAUGHT.

      Impatiently he snatched it down, and tearing it into a hundred fragments, cast them down upon the ground, and slowly turning on his heels, he walked homewards, utterly dejected and cast down, and with a bitter heart. The last tie which bound him to Haddon was now severed, and he longed to get away.

      In melancholy silence he dug a grave in the little garden behind his lowly cottage, and then, with all the coolness which is lent by desperation, he proceeded again to where the body was hanging, and cut it down. He had brought another paper with him, and this he affixed in exactly the same place as the one he had destroyed. It was laconical enough, for it had but one word, and that was

      REVENGE!

      He laid the body in the grave, and put some plants upon the top, and then, after watering them with the tears which copiously ran down his cheeks, he turned his back on Haddon, and started for Nottingham with few regrets, leaving behind him little enough to love, and much to be revenged.

      Footsore and weary he hastened to the Chapel Bar, glad indeed to find himself so near the end of his journey; but before he had quite reached it he had the mortification to hear the sound of the closing bell, and when he arrived there the gates were shut.

      "Ho, ho, there, porter!" he cried, and he violently kicked the iron post by way of emphasis to the call.

      "Aye, aye, there; steady now, thou'rt over late," replied the burly porter as he tantalisingly rattled the heavy keys in his hand.

      "Yes, but only a minute," Edmund replied; "you can let me in, and you will."

      "Nay, master, not till next sunrise," he returned. Edmund groaned.

      "But I cannot stay outside all night," he said. "Come, open the gate, there's a good fellow."

      "I were like to lose my position if I did," answered the other. "I cannot unless—," and he significantly jingled some coins in his pocket.

      "Unless what?"

      The gatekeeper thought Edmund Wynne uncommonly dull of comprehension, and with a little hesitation he suggested that it were surely worth a trifle if he did break through the rule.

      "Here, here's a groat then," exclaimed the smith, bringing out his last coin as he saw the other moving away.