Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Eccles was already running and shouting and whistling. She heard his
feet resounding from the bridge. With trembling hands she flung a cloak
about her, and sped bare-footed down the grand staircase and along the
north side of the court to the bell-tower, where she seized the rope of
the alarm-bell, and pulled with all her strength. A horrid clangour tore
the stillness of the night, re-echoed with yelping response from the
multitudinous buildings around. Window after window flew open, head
after head was popped out--amongst the first that of the marquis,
shouting to know what was amiss. But the question found no answer. The
courts began to fill. Some said the castle was on fire; others, that the
wild beasts were all out; others, that Waller and Cromwell had scaled
the rampart, and were now storming the gates; others, that Eccles had
turned traitor and admitted the enemy. In a few moments all was outcry
and confusion. Both courts and the great hall were swarming with men and
women and children, in every possible stage of attire. The main entrance
was crowded with a tumult of soldiery, and scouts were rushing to
different stations of outlook, when the cry reached them that the
western gate was open, the portcullis up, and the guard gone.
The moment Richard was clear of the portcullis, he set off at a sharp
trot for the brick gate, and had almost reached it when he became aware
that he was pursued. He had heard the voice of Dorothy as he rode out,
and knew to whom he owed it. But yet there was a chance. Rousing the
porter with such a noisy reveillee as drowned in his sleepy ears the
cries of the warder and those that followed him, he gave the watchword,
and the huge key was just turning in the wards when the clang of the
alarm-bell suddenly racked the air. The porter stayed his hand, and
stood listening.
'Open the gate,' said Richard in authoritative tone.
'I will know first, master,--' began the man.
'Dost not hear the bell?' cried Richard. 'How long wilt thou endanger
the castle by thy dulness?'
'I shall know first,' repeated the man deliberately, 'what that bell--'
Ere he could finish the sentence, the butt of Richard's whip had laid
him along the threshold of the gate. Richard flung himself from his
horse, and turned the key. But his enemies were now close at
hand--Eccles and the men of his guard. If the porter had but fallen the
other way! Ere he could drag aside his senseless body and open the gate,
they were upon him with blows and curses. But the puritan's blood was
up, and with the heavy handle of his whip he had felled one and wounded
another ere he was himself stretched on the ground with a sword-cut in
the head.
CHAPTER XXX.
RICHARD AND THE MARQUIS.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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