Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
'Hast seen thy mistress, little Dick, Marquis?' asked Richard.
Again the dog whined, moved his feet, and turned his head towards the
door. But whether it was that he understood the question, or only that
he recognised the name of his friend, who could tell?
'Will thou take me to Dick, Marquis?'
The dog turned and walked to the door, then stood and looked back, as if
waiting for Richard to open it and follow him.
'No, Marquis, we must not go before night,' said Richard.
The dog returned slowly to his knee, and again laid his chin upon it.
'What will the dog do next, thinkest thou, mother--when he finds himself
well again, I mean? Will he run from thee?' said Richard.
'He would be like neither dog nor man I ever knew, did he not,' returned
the old woman. 'He will for sure go back where he got his hurts--to
revenge them if he may, for that is the custom also with both dogs and
men.'
'Couldst thou make sure of him that he run not away till I come again at
night, mother?'
'Certain I can, my son. I will shut him up whence he will not break so
long as he hears me nigh him.'
'Do so then an' thou lovest me, mother Rees, and I will be here with the
first of the darkness.'
'An' I love thee, master Richard? Nay, but I do love thy good face and
thy true words, be thou puritan or roundhead, or fanatic, or what evil
name soever the wicked fashion of the times granteth to men to call
thee.'
'Hark in thine ear then, mother: I will call no names; but they of
Raglan have, as I truly believe, stolen from me my Lady.'
'Nay, nay, master Richard,' interrupted mistress Rees; 'did I not tell
thee with my own mouth that she went of her own free will, and in the
company of the reverend sir Matthew Herbert?'
'Alas! thou goest not with me, mother Rees. I meant not mistress
Dorothy. She is lost to me indeed; but so also is my poor mare, which
was stolen last night from Redware stables as the watchers slept.'
'Alack-a-day!' cried goody Rees, holding up her hands in sore trouble
for her friend. 'But what then dreams thou of doing? Not surely, before
all the saints in heaven, will thou adventure thy body within Raglan
walls? But I speak like a fool. Thou canst not.'
'This good dog,' said Richard, stroking Marquis, 'must, as thou thyself
plainly seest, have found some way of leaving Raglan without the
knowledge or will of its warders. Where he gat him forth, will he not
get him in again? And where dog can go, man may at least endeavour to
follow.--Mayhap he hath for himself scratched a way, as many dogs will.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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