Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
I shall not, however, hide the proceedings of lord Herbert without the
hall any more than he did himself when he reached the oak parlour with
the members of his own family, in which Dorothy seemed now included. He
had taken Tom Fool both because he knew the castle so well, and might
therefore be useful in searching for Amanda, and because he believed he
might depend, if not on his discretion, yet on his dread, for secrecy.
They had scarcely left the hall before they were joined by Caspar, who,
while his master and the fool went in one direction, set off in another,
and after a long search in vain, at length found her in an empty stall
in the subterranean stable, as if, in the agony of her terror at the
awful noises and the impending discovery, she had sought refuge in the
companionship of the innocent animals. She was crouching, the very image
of fear, under the manger, gave no cry when he entered, but seemed to
gather a little courage when she found that the approaching steps were
those of a human being.
'Mistress Amanda Fuller,' said his lordship with awful severity, 'thou
hast in thy possession a jewel which is not thine own.'
'A jewel, my lord?' faltered Amanda, betaking herself by the force of
inborn propensity and habit, even when hopeless of success in
concealment, to the falsehood she carried with her like an atmosphere;
'I know not what your lordship means. Of what sort is the jewel?'
'One very like this,' returned lord Herbert, producing the false ring.
'Why, there you have it, my lord!'
'Traitress to thy king and thy lord, out of thine own mouth have I
convicted thee. This is not the ring. See!'
As he spoke he squeezed it betwixt his finger and thumb to a shapeless
mass, and threw it from him--then continued:
'Thou art she who did show the rebel his way from the prison into which
her lord had cast him.'
'He took me by the throat, my lord,' gasped Amanda, 'and put me in
mortal terror.'
'Thou slanderest him,' returned lord Herbert. 'The roundhead is a
gentleman, and would not, to save his life, have harmed thee, even had
he known what a worthless thing thou art. I will grant that he put thee
in fear. But wherefore gavest thou no alarm when he was gone?'
'He made me swear that I would not betray him.'
'Let it be so. Why didst thou not reveal the way he took?'
'I knew it not.'
'Yet thou wentest after him when he left thee. And wherefore didst thou
not deliver the ring he gave thee for mistress Dorothy?'
'I feared she would betray me, that I had held talk with the prisoner.'
'Let that too pass as less wicked than cowardly. But wherefore didst
thou lock the door upon her when thou sawest her go into the roundhead's
prison? Thou knewest that therefrom she must bear the blame of having
set him free, with other blame, and worse for a maiden to endure?'
'It was a sudden temptation, my lord, which I knew not how to resist,
and was carried away thereby. Have pity upon me, dear my lord,' moaned
Amanda.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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