The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖

more stairs, leading into a corridor with a polished oaken floor, and mullioned windows looking down upon the courtyard; and as he reached the second, a bright, handsome girl, whose features proclaimed sisterhood, started out to meet him.

“Oh Ralph,” she said, “who are those dreadful-looking men you have brought up?”

“Don’t stop me, Min,” he said hastily. “Old soldiers who want to see father. Where is he?”

“In his room.”

The lad hurried on, and entered through a door way on his left, to where, in an oaken-panelled room, a stern, slightly grey, military-looking man sat poring over an old book, but looked up directly the lad entered.

“Ah, Ralph, boy,” he said; “been out?”

“Only on the cliff, father,” cried the lad hastily. “Visitors.”

“Visitors? Nonsense! I expect no visitors. Who are they?”

“Captain Purlrose and his men.”

“Purlrose!” cried Sir Morton, with a look of angry disgust. “Here?”

“Yes, father,” said Ralph, watching keenly the impression made by his words. “Waiting at the foot of the steps.”

“Bah! I thought the drunken, bullying scoundrel was dead and gone years ago. Hung or shot, for he deserved either.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the lad, with a sigh of relief. “Then you are not glad to see him, father?”

“Glad to see him? Are you mad, boy?”

“No, father,” said the lad, with a merry laugh. “I hope not; but he said you would be, and that you were old brothers-in-arms, and that he longed to grip you by the hand; and he tried to hug me, and shed tears, and flattered me, and said all sorts of things.”

“Pah! the same as of old; but you said—and his men.”

“Yes, about a dozen like him; ruffianly-looking, rag-bags of fellows, all armed, and looking like a gang of bullies and robbers.”

Sir Morton frowned, rose from his seat, and walked to the side of the room, where his sword and belt lay in front of a bookcase.

“Well, I suppose I must see the fellow. He served under me, years ago, Ralph, and I suppose he has come begging, unless he sees a chance to steal.”

“Then I was not unjust, father, in thinking ill of the man and disliking him.”

“Unjust? Pah! The fellow was a disgrace to the name of soldier; and now, I suppose, that there is no war on the way, he has been discharged from the king’s service, with a pack of his companions.”

“He said he had saved your life, father.”

Sir Morton laughed contemptuously. “I have no recollection of the fact, Ralph, boy, and I don’t think I should have forgotten so important a matter; but I do recollect saving his, by interceding when he was about to be shot for plundering some helpless people. There; let him and a couple of his men come in. The poor wretch is in a bad state, I suppose, and I will give him something to help him on his road.”

Ralph went to the door, but turned back, hesitating.

“Well, my boy?” said his father.

“Had I not better tell some of the men to arm, and be ready?” asked the lad.

“What! Nonsense, boy! I know my man. He would not dare to be insolent.”

“But he has a dangerous-looking gang of fellows with him.”

“Of the same kind as himself, Ralph. Have no fear of that. If there were real danger, we could soon summon a dozen stout men to deal with him and his party. But, as I said, let him only bring in two or three with him.”

Ralph hurried out, and found the captain and his men forming a picturesque group about the stone steps; and as soon as he appeared, the former swung himself round, and threw his cloak over his shoulder, with a swaggering gesture.

“Hallo, my young eagle,” he cried. “What saith the parent bird, the gallant lord of the castle?”

“My father will see you, sir,” replied Ralph. “This way.”

“Aha! I knew he would,” cried the man, giving his steel cap a cock over on one side, and displaying a large pink patch of his bald head. “Come on, brave boys.”

“Stop!” cried Ralph quickly. “Three of you, only, are to accompany your leader.”

“Eh? What?” cried the captain fiercely, as a low murmur arose.

“That is what my father said, sir.”

“What does this mean?” cried the man theatrically. “Separate me from my brave companions-in-arms? Does this mean treachery, young sir?”

“Treachery? Why should it mean that?” cried Ralph stoutly, as the man’s words endorsed the character so lately given of him. “If,” argued Ralph to himself, “the fellow were the honest, brave soldier, why should he fear treachery from the brother-officer with whom he said he had often shared danger?”

“The world is full of wickedness, boy,” replied the captain; “and I have often been misjudged. But there; a brave man never knows fear. You three come with me, and if in half an hour I do not come back, boys, you know what to do.”

There was a shout at this, and hands struck sword-hilts with a loud clang.

“Right, brave boys, and don’t leave one stone upon another until you have found your captain.”

Ralph burst out into a fit of laughter, and then felt annoyed with himself, as the man turned round scowling.

“What do you mean by that, boy?”

“That your men would have their work cut out, sir,” said Ralph sharply. “This way, please.”

The captain uttered a low growl, signed to three of his men, and the party followed the lad, who, to his annoyance, once more came across his sister, hurrying along the passage.

“Salute, brave boys, salute,” cried the captain. “Youth and beauty in front—the worship of the gallant soldiers of the king.”

He struck an attitude, which was roughly imitated by the men.

“A sister, on my life,” cried the captain.

“This way,” said Ralph shortly, and with the colour coming into his cheeks, as he felt indignant with the man for daring to notice his sister, and angry with her for being there.

The door of Sir Morton’s room was thrown open, and the captain strode in, followed by his men; and, as he saw the knight, standing with his back to the fireplace, he struck a fresh attitude.

“Ah! at last!” he cried. “My old brave companion-in-arms! Well met, once more.”

He stretched out his hands, and swaggered forward to grasp Sir Morton’s.

“Halt!” cried that gentleman sharply, without stirring from his position. “Now, Captain Purlrose, what is your business with me?”

“Business with you? Is this my reception, after long years of absence? Ah, I see! The war-worn soldier forgotten once again. Ah, Sir Morton Darley, why humble me before my gallant men?”

“I have not forgotten you, Captain Purlrose. I remember you perfectly, and you are not changed in the least. Now, if you please, be brief, and explain your business.”

“My business! I thought I was coming to an old friend and brother.”

“No, sir; you thought nothing of the kind. Come, you know I understand you thoroughly. State your business, if you please.”

The three men laughed aloud, and Sir Morton, who had not before noticed them, turned upon them sharply, with the result that the laughter died out, and they looked uncomfortable.

“And this before my men! Humbled thus! Have I fallen so low?”

“You are wasting words, Captain Purlrose; and, as you have found where I lived, and have evidently journeyed long, tell me at once why you have come.”

“I will,” cried the captain, resuming his swaggering air. “I, as an old soldier, sir, came to ask favours of no man.”

“Then why have you come, sir, if not to ask a favour?”

“I was passing this way, and, as an old brother-in-arms lived here, I thought I would call.”

“You were not passing this way, sir; no brother-in-arms lived here, but an officer, under whom you once served; and you had some object in view to make you cross our desolate moors,” said Sir Morton, sternly. “If you want help, speak out.”

“I am no beggar, Sir Morton Darley,” said the man, in blustering tones.

“I am glad to hear it. Now, then, what is it?”

“Well, sir, you boast of knowing me thoroughly. Let me tell you that I know you, and your position here.”

“And find it is in every respect a strong one, sir. Well?”

“You live here, close at hand to an enemy who covets your lands, and with whom you have fought again and again. You and your ancestors were always enemies with the Edens.”

“Quite right, sir. Well, what is that to you?”

“This, Sir Morton Darley. The war is over. I and my brave fellows are idle, our swords rusting in their sheaths.”

“More shame to the brave fellows who do not keep their weapons bright. Well, this is a long preamble to tell me that you have all been dismissed from the king’s service. Go on.”

The captain stared and scowled, but he could not fully meet the searching eyes which looked him down.

“Well,” he said, rather blunderingly now, “knowing what I did of my old officer’s state—”

“‘Old officer’ is better, Captain Purlrose. Go on, sir.”

“I said, here am I, a brave soldier, with a handful of stout followers, eager to do good, honest work; why should I not go and offer my sword to Sir Morton Darley? He is sorely pressed.”

“Wrong,” said Sir Morton.

“He would be glad of our help,” continued the man, without heeding the interruption; “we could garrison his castle and help him to drive his enemy from the field. Twelve of them, all well-tried soldiers, who can make him king of the country round. That, sir, is why I have come, to confer a favour more than ask one. Now, sir, what do you say? Such a chance for you may never occur again.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Sir Morton; “and all this out of pure good fellowship!”

“Of course; save that a retainer who risks his life in his chief’s service is worthy of his hire.”

“Naturally, sir. So that is your meaning—your object in coming?”

“That is it, Sir Morton. We can put your castle in a state of defence, make raids, and harass the enemy, fetch in stores from the surrounding country, and make you a great man. Think of how you can humble the Edens.”

Sir Morton frowned as he looked back at the past, and then from thence up to his present position, one in which he felt that he played a humble part in presence of his stronger enemy; and Ralph watched him, read in his face that he was about to accept his visitor’s proposal, and with a feeling of horror at the thought of such a gang being hired to occupy a part of the castle, and brought, as it were, into a kind of intimacy, he turned quickly to his father, laid his hand upon his arm, and whispered eagerly:

“Father, pray, pray don’t do this. They are a terribly villainous set of ruffians.”

The captain twitched his big ears in his efforts to catch what was said; but he could only hear enough to make out that the son was opposing the plans, and he scowled fiercely at the lad.

“Wait, wait,” said Sir Morton.

“But do go out and look at the rest of the men, father,” whispered Ralph.

“There is no need.”

“Then you will not agree, father?”

“Most certainly not, my boy.”

Purlrose could not catch all this, but he scowled again.

“Look here, young cockerel,” he cried, “don’t you try and set my old officer against me.”

“No need,” said Sir Morton hotly.

“Ah, that’s because hard times have made me and my poor gallant fellows look a little shabby.”

“Not that, sir. Your old character stands in your way.”

“Oh, this is hard—this is hard. You rich, and with everything comfortable, while I am poor, and unrewarded for all my labour and risk by an ungrateful Scot.”

“Don’t insult your sovereign, sir!” cried Sir Morton.

“Oh, this is hard—this is hard.”

“Look here, Michael Purlrose, if you had been an officer and a gentleman in distress, I would have helped you.”

“Do you mean to say that I am not an officer, and a gentleman in distress, sir?” cried the captain, clapping his hand to the hilt of his sword, a movement imitated by Ralph, angrily. But Sir Morton stood back, unmoved.

“Let your sword