Erleston Glen: a Lancashire story of the sixteenth century

Front matter

LONDftN I BOBSON ANU BON:*, PBIM'fcRS, PANCRAS ROAD, W.W, .A Ciintcsliirf Slum of tilt S'irtrtntli Ccntnrt). BY ALICE O'HANLON. LONDON: BURNS AND OATES. 1878. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAaL. i. An ancient Church ...... i ii. The Sun Inn at Oehleigh .... 8 in. The Eve of a Wedding 20 iv. A slight Disagreement 28 v. A dangerous Guest 38 vi. William Anderton's Secret . . . -54 vn. The Marriage interrupted .... 65 vni. Master Ashworth hides himself . . -77 ix. Henry Anderton's Death .... 86 x. The Rev. Paul Cunningham .... 98 xi. ' Is he dead, Kate V ...... 108 xn. A Debate at Wolffesford ' . . . .114 xm. St. Michael's a reformed Church . . .127 xiv. Walter Willoughby again sees the Justice's Daughter ....... 135 xv. An Interview in the Orchard . . . .142 xvi. A wrecked Mind 153 xvn. The secret Chamber . . . . .160 xvm.

A Letter — in Durance at Eidg wood Manor . 167 xix. Trial by the Queen's Commissioners . .174 xx. The Manchester Fleet Prison . . . 185 xxi. The Prisoners are visited by a Minister of the Reformed Faith . . . . 193 xxn. The Prison Vaults . .... VI CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE xxni. 'Blessed are the Dead that die in the Lord' . 212 xxiv. Nicholas Weston returns to Waradale . .227 xxv. - Unearthed at last !' 242 xxvi. The Reward of Treachery . . . .256 xxvn. Husband and Wife . . . . . .270 xxviii. Justice Windwood in Pursuit of his escaped Captives ....... 278 xxix. On Board the Drugger 296 xxx. Arrival in Port . . . . . -310 xxxi. Le Bon Asile 320 xxxii. A Double Wedding % Storg of % Sktemt^ fetejr.

CHAPTER L AN ANCIENT CHURCH.

Chapter II. The Sun Inn At Orrleigh

' Halloa, there ! Come hither, sirrah, and take my horse.' The speaker was a stout, good-humoured-looking, little man, about forty years of age, who had drawn bridle before the Sun Inn at Orrleigh, and was addressing a serving man who stood within the shadow of its projecting porch. ' Why, Jack, is 't you ?' he added, as the man came for ward in obedience to his summons. ' Take him round to the stable, Jack, and give him a feed of oats,' he con tinued, patting the well-fed cob from which he had dis mounted. ' I'm going into the house for half an hour to warm myself.' ' I' faith, aw'll warrant your honour's well-nigh starved to deeoth,' returned the ostler, receiving the reins with a respectful salutation. ' Th' wind's bitter cow'd to-day. By th' Mass it's liker th' middle o' January nor the first o' May.

You'll find th' mistress i' th' hewse-place, Squire. An' aw'd recommend your honour to tak' a quart or two o' our prime yale aboard afore startin' again o' that long ride whoam. It 'ud keep th' cow'd out.' ' Ay, ay, I'll look after that, Jack, you may depend on't,' responded the gentleman, smiling. And after wait ing an instant until his horse had disappeared through an archway which conducted to the inn yard, he passed be neath the clumsy porch ; and following a narrow, crooked passage to its termination, threw open the door of a huge kitchen, flagged like the passage and strewn with white THE SUN INN AT ORRLEIGH. 9 sand. Broad beams of black oak crossed the low roof, from which were suspended flitches of bacon, hams, and dried deers' tongues. Two or three small diamond-paned windows, set high in the wall, served to light the apartment, and a great wood fire blazed upon the hearthstone.

Seated close by this, upon benches which had been drawn up on either side, appeared some half dozen men, drinking and talking together. One of these was the landlord of the tavern, a hale man of sixty or thereabouts, whose brown hair was only now beginning to show streaks of silver, and whose blue eyes still retained much of the brightness of youth. Near him, resting her hand upon a well-scoured deal table, on which were disposed a metal jug and one or two pewter pots, stood his wife — a buxom dame nearly twenty years his junior. Mistress Morley affected the fashion, and was somewhat overdressed for her station, but, being a good-looking woman, did no injustice to her fine ruffles and silken kirtle. Turning round as the door unclosed, she at once recog nised the visitor, and advancing a few steps dropped him a curtsy, exclaiming at the same time, in cordial tones : ' God save us a' !

If 'tisn't Squire Rutherford ! Troth, sir, you're heartily welcome. It's long sin' you were i' our poor house 'afore. But will your honour condescend to tak' a seat by this fire, for we ha' not leeted one i' the little parlour to-day ?' ' Ay, that I will, and gladly,' replied the jovial Squire, nodding to the landlord, who had risen to greet him, and politely returning the good morrows of the other guests. ' And I'll drink a pint of mulled ale, fair dame, an 't will please you to prepare it for me,' he subjoined, placing himself upon the chair which had been set for him in front of the blazing logs. ' I hav'n't seen you at Mass lately, Mistress Morley,' he remarked presently, when his active hostess presented him with a tankard of the warm and fragrant beverage he had ordered. ' How is that ?

You are not in ill health, or your rosy cheeks belie you.' ' Hew, nawe, sir, it's not been sickness 'at has kept me away,' sighed the woman, shaking her head sorrowfully. * My health's well enoo', thank Heaven. But, to tell th' truth, Squire,' she added in a low tone — designating her husband by a backward movement of the head — ' he has forbid me to goo any moor to th' dear owd church i' Waradale.' ' Ay, woman, aw have forbid thee to goo theer any moor, and aw forbid thee again,' exclaimed the host brusquely, his quick ears having caught both question and answer. ' It's all very weel for th' gentry to mind their consciences wi' their long purses to back 'em up, but it won't do for poor folk like me, aw can tell thee. Neaw, look yo here, your honour,' he weut on argumentatively, addressing Squire Rutherford. ' Aw ha' eight chiider to find i' food an' clooas, not to speak o' th' wife's dresses and farthin gales.

Aw, by th' mon it's bin as much as ever aw could do, so fur, to mak' both ends meet, for it's nobbut a beggarly livin' but aw'm getting eawt o' th' yale-heawse. So wheer'd aw be, aw wonner, if aw had to pay deawn a hun dred marks for Cicely's yearing Mass ? Nay, nay, aw've nawe likin' for ruin and starvation oather for mysel' or niy fam'ly ; and tho' aw hope aw'll ha' time given me to repent i' th' end, an' 'at th' good Lord '11 sen' me a priest when aw'm deein', aw'st give in neaw and goo to the Parliament church, and so shall th' wife and th' youngsters. Aw'll stond to that.' ' Nay, but, Adam, I pray you consider,' remonstrated Squire Rutherford, touched by the distressed expression upon Dame Cicely's comely face, ' your wife and children have been going regularly to St. Michael's Church these ten years past, and no harm has come of it yet.' THE SUN USN AT ORRLEIGH. 11 ' Well, nawe, there's neaw harm coom o' it yet, as aw kneaws on,' returned the landlord promptly. ' But things is a deeol different wi' us i' Orrleigh fro' what they wur afore th' new parson and th' new justice coom'd to it, as your honour must be aweer.

When th' good Major wur alive, God rest his sowl ! an' th' deeof owd cobbler, Dick Riley, mumbled through th' prayers every Sunday i' th' parish church, folk met do as they pleased, and go to their dooties if they'd a mind to. Th' Major wur fain to wink at other folk gooin' to Mass when his own wife and niece did th' same ; an' as for Dick, he never fashed hissel' abeawt empty benches, so long as they gav' him his six shillin' a quarter for gooin' through the prayers.' ' An' what mak' o' a man is th' new parson, Adam ? inquired a thin, light-haired man from the opposite bench, who had entered the inn but a few moments before the Squire. ' Why ! Giles Henderson, thou never means to say 'at thou hasn't sin him yet ?' queried the landlord in his turn. ' Hast' not bin to church sin he coom'd to th' parish ?' ' Nawe, aw hav'n't,' returned the other. 'An' dost kneaw th' consequences of that, mon?' asked Adam again. ' Dost kneaw what's to be done wi' them 'at refuses to goo for a whole month ?' ' Nawe, aw cannot say as aw do, reetly,' responded Giles, whose disposition was somewhat phlegmatic ; ' but thou canst tell me if thou's a mind.' ' Aw that I will, lad, for it'll be a bad job for thee if thou stays away mich longer, aw con tell thee,' said Adam. ' So to get agate, there's Maister Cherrick, o' Healey Hall, and young Ben Faulker bin appointed churchwardens, as may be thou kneaws, an' th' new parson — Sir Silas Featherstone, they ca' him — gav' eawt, th' very first Sun day 'at he preached i' St. John's, at each week end th' two o' them wur to report — oather to himsel' or to th' justice o' th' peace, Maister Anthony Windwood — th' names o' every parishioner 'at had bin absent fro' th' service upon th' Sunday afore.

An' now, thou 'st hear what th' penalty o' bein' a recusant is — that's th' name they've christened them by as sticks to th' owd faith thou kneaws. But, coom, eawr Cicely shall tell thee that,' he pursued, turning to his wife : ' aw want her to get it well i' her yed, and hoo yeard it as well as me, for aw mad' her goo wi' me to church that day.' 'Ay, that thou didst, God forgive thee!' groaned the poor hostess ; ' it wur th' first time aw'd set my fuut i'side it sin' Sir John Buckley died ; an' by my faith, aw wish it met be th' last. Heigho ! these are terrible times we're livin' in? Mother o' mercy, pity us a' !' And, bursting into tears, Mistress Morley sank upon a seat and lifted her dainty apron to her eyes. 'Neaw then, dame, neaw then, sweetheart,' murmured the innkeeper soothingly, ' dunnot tak' on so, dunnot.

Thou kneaws aw connot abeer to see thee cryin'. Sure, aw'd be fain to let thee goo to Mass, and aw'd be fain to goo mysel' too, God kneaws, if it wur nobbut safe. But just bethink thee, Cicely, how wouldst like to ha' thy husband ta'en away to prison some foine neet ? How wouldst like to ha' th' house sold o're thy yed, and to see thy childer beggin' bread ? An' how wouldst like a' thy foine clooas stol'n fro' thee, good wife ? Marry ! thou'd think th' times worse then than thou dost neaw, i' my opinion.' Alarmed by this picture, with its heartrending cul mination, Dame Cicely ceased to sob, and dropped her apron ; and with tear-drops arrested upon her now pallid cheeks commenced tenderly to smooth out her dress and rearrange her laces. Then, perceiving that his words had had the desired effect, Adam, with an inward chuckle, resumed his instruction of Giles. ' Well, mon, aw'll tell thee a' abeaut it, i' a few words neaw,' he began. 'Parliament, it seems, couldn't feel quite satisfied wi' th' child it had borne — th' new law church.

I' its opinion, hoo wasn't well-favoured enoo' to draw folk to hersel', oather wi' th' beauty o' her teachin' or service. So it wur resolv'd folk must be druv to her ; and last year it wur settled by Government that a fine o' twenty pound a month should be laid upo' them 'at wouldn't goo to th' Protestant church, an' that if onybody heerd Mass he should ha' th' privilege o' payin' a hundred marks for it. An' if we're to believe th' parson, Giles, these fines are gooin' to be levied regel'r i' Orrleigh, an' them as wi' not or connot pay, '11 be ta'en to Manchester an' clapped i' th' new gaol they've built theer o' purpose for Catholics.' ' Ay, but dommit, Adam, that's not th' warst o' it,' remarked a burly red-faced yeoman, setting his empty pewter upon the floor by his side, and letting his hand fall heavily above his gaitered knee. ' That's not th' warst o' it.

For, by a' accounts, it's bin made a mighty serious matter neaw to know wheer there's a priest and not to tell on it to th' magistrate. An', by 'r Lady, aw reckon there's not mony o' us here 'at hasn't a notion.' ' Hush't wi' thee, Jacob ; howd thy noise, wilt thou ?' interposed the landlord, glancing uneasily at the door. 'Odsbody, man, who's to prove as we kneaw anything, if we nobbut keep a wary tongue i' eawr yead ? An', by th' Mass, aw'd like to see th' chap i' this town as 'ud turn informer agin good Father Maitland ! He'd ha' coom o' a breed 'at aw'd not like to ha' mony dealings wi. But, for a' that, aw'll take care Cicely doesn't go a-nigh him agin. An' yur honour '11 not blame me for that, aw'm thinkin' ?' he inquired of Squire Rutherford in conclusion. 'Faith, Adam, it seems hard to do so,' replied that gentleman. ' But you know, good friend, there's a verse in the holy gospel which saith, " That whosoever leaveth houses or lands, or parents or children, for our dear Lord's sake, shall receive manyfold more in this present time, and in the world to come life everlasting."

That's a reward worth the trying for, Adam,' he continued, with a solemnity which dignified and transformed his whole countenance. ' And God helping me, I mean to stand fast by our holy religion, be the consequences what they may. Nathless, it is hard to blame those that fall into apos tasy,' he added after a pause ; ' and I trust God '11 lay their sin to the charge of them that tempted to it by threats o' punishments almost too heavy to be borne.' A silence of some duration followed Squire Rutherford's remark. This was broken at length by an old man with long gray beard and stooping frame, who throughout the previous conversation had been rocking himself to and fro as he listened, with a wearying regularity of movement. ' Eh ! why cannot th' Queen an' th' Parliament let us abee, aw wonner !' he burst out in the quavering voice of age. ' Why cannot they let's worship eawr Maker i' th' good owd fashion as ha' served th' country a' these centu ries, ever sin' St. Augustine landed i' it, an' th' same as is neaw observ'd o're a' th' warld beside !

What reet ha' they, aw'd like to kneaw, to be thrustin' their new-fangled notions deawn eawr throats wi' the pint o' th' sword, as you may say ? Dule tak' it ! it's a strange thing, to my thinkin' if God A'mighty leeft th' true religion to be fund eawt fifteen hundred year a'ter He coom'd to yearth to teach it ! An' for my part, aw'll goo noan to their heretic sarvice ; that's sattled. Aw na' not bin i' th' parish church this twelve year, an' aw'm not goin' to begin again neaw. Aw'l stop a-whoam o' Sundays, an' say my beads as aw've bin used to, so's what they do wi' me ; for aw'm gettin' an owd mon, 'an aw'd like to save my sowl if I con.' ' Well, i' good sooth, as far's aw con see,' observed his next neighbour reflectively, ' the Queen gains nowt by forcing folk to renounce th' Pope's authority.

We'd a' be a seet more loyal, aw'm sure, if we might serve God as well as her Majesty. Heigho ! England wur a deeol happier country when hoo wur Catholic ! Th' blessin' o' God rested upo' her then.' ' Marry, aw'll tell yo what, mates ! ' cried a strongly built man, by trade a blacksmith, springing up excitedly, and waving a grimy hand, ' aw'll tell yo what ! It's my opinion 'at nobody believes th' Queen's th' head o' th' Church, for a' hoo ca's hersel' so ; an' aw'd wager my forge and bellows hoo doesn't believe it hersel'. An' moor, I deawt if onybody believes i' th' new religion oather. Aw don't see heaw they con, for it's like a chameleon, for a' the world, for changin' its colour. Aw'm not so owd as eawr friend i' th' corner theer, but aw've lived long enough tq see a mony shades i' it.

Aw've sin' it shiftin' backurds and forruds from this belief to t'other, an' makin' an' mendin' at its prayer book an' service, till it made a body fair i' a maze to look at it. Certes, it 'ud be passin' strange, aw'm thinkin,' if us scholars know'd what we'd gotten to learn, afore our tachers ha' made up their minds what they wanten to tach us.' ' Well, at any rate, aw've no reason to like th' new re ligion, as th' maist o' yo'le own,' protested a much younger man than any who had yet spoken ; ' it's but a sou turn it's sarved me and my belungin's ; for, as yo' kneaw, my feyther's bin bedridden ever sin th' day they poo'd down th' altar o' St. John, and brent th' pictures an' th' cruci fixes i' th' market-place, an' that'll be fifteen year come Michaelmas. He couldn't abide to see th' sacred things brennin', poor chap ; an' he'd getten howld o' th' end o' an altar-cloth as hadn't took fire, an' was pooin' it quietly eawt o' th' heap, when a sodyer caught him a blow upo' th' back as fell him to th' greawnd, an' injured his spine so's he wur ne'er able to set fuut to th' floor 'at after.' ' Ay, good lack ! that wur a sad day for him, poor mon,' observed the owner of the tavern ; ' still, on th' whole, good nebours,' he went on reflectively, 'when we coom to think o' what's bin gooin' on so long i' other parts o' eawr lond, we must confess as we ha' had little cause o' complaint i' Orrleigh.

Yo see, we ha' had no regel'r parson like, sin' th' first one deeod, as was put to th' church when it wur made Protestant. That wur Sir John Buckley ; and he, yo know, wur but a half-an'-half sort o' chap ; for though he'd read th' Common Prayer at th' regel'r hour o' Sundays, he'd ha' said Mass early i' th' mornin' for onybcdy as liked to year it, an' that, aw guess, was welly a' th' town. An' faith, aw yerd, that he ownt when he wur deein' that he'd never left th' owd faith i' his heart at a', as onybody might ha' known. Then, look yo, what o' a justice we ha' had a' these years. By our Lady, so's whether Major Windwood wur a Protestant or not, he wur as good a friend o' Catholics as ever stepped shoe-leather.' 'Ay, truly that he was. Adam,' acquiesced Squire Rutherford ; ' but how came it to pass, think you, that he left his house and property to that currish nephew of his ?' 'Left it to him, your honour,' ejaculated the host; 'what, left it to him.' Gad-a-mercy, th' owd gentlemon 'ud ne'er be able to rest i' his grave i' peace if he nobbut knew Maister Anthony 'd getten it.

Why, he hated th' chap like pison, by what Jonas Smith says, an' he ought to kneaw, for he's lived at Ridgwood Manor, boy an' mon, these thirty-five years ; he wur th' heir, yo see, Squire, that's heaw it wur, an' Major deeod wi'out makin' a will.' 'Bless us! that was a careless trick,' muttered the Squire, 'not to make a will.' ' Well, happen it wur, yur honour,' assented Adam, 'but, yo see, sir, th' Major wur loike good mony other folk beside ; he thought if he'd gotten a' his affairs straight an' sattled like, it 'ud hasten his deeoth ; but, however, by what Jonas says, he wur for ever dinnin' it into his wife, that as soon's ever he wur took ill, hoo must send straight off for a notary at onct, so 's he could leave a' he had to her an' Miss Isabella. But, Lord save us ! th' fit as took him off coom'd so sudden, that there wasn't time for th' poor lady nobbut to oppen th' parlour door, an' screech eawt that somebody must run for a doctor, afore th' poor gentleman had drawed away.' ' And are the two ladies still living at Ridgwood Manor ?' inquired his interlocutor. ' Humph ! nawe, your worship, they aren't,' interposed Mistress Morley, who, having drawn her seat within the circle by the fire, had for some time been awaiting an opportunity of joining in the conversation. ' Black Anthony, "th' Devil's darling," as his own mon says they used to ca' him, for a by-name, deawn seauth, soon sent them to th' right-abeawt, an' they've left the town.

But there's two or three o' th' servants stoppin' on wi' th' new maister, for, yo see, he offer't them good wages if they'd stay i' their places. Jonas Smith's one o' them, an' it's him 'at tells us a' as goes forrud i' Ridgwood. They say, Squire, he's very rich, is Maister Windwood, over and above his uncle's fortin' ; but, Holy Jesu ! it passes me an' he get ony good eawt o' his wealth, seein' as heau he's made it wi' thievin' an' informin' again Catholics, an' betrayin' priests to their deeoth.' 'Beshrew the base fellow!' cried the Squire; 'he wasn't long in getting appointed to the post of justice of the peace, left vacant by his good uncle's death; 'tis c scarce three weeks since Ridgwood came into his pos session. Marry! our rulers know well when they've found a fitting instrument to carry out their foul and bloody laws.

Is the man married?' 'Ay, your worship, he's married for certain,' she re plied, 'though it's little love he bears his lady, by a' accounts ; he's got a daughter, though, sir, as is the very leet o' hise'e, if Jonas Smith tells truth, an' as fine, strappin', an' handsome a wench as ever you'd wish to see. Awful yedstrong and maisterfu' though, hoo is, Jonas says, tho' her feyther doesn't seem to see it, for he just gives in to the girl i' everything ; and cooms and goos at her bidden' as though he wur her galley-slave. An' mighty busy hoo's kep' him, makin' alterations i' the heawse and greawnts, ever sin' he coom'd to Ridgwood ; so 's, aw understond, he hasn't had time to look abeawt him yet, an' a good job too !' ' Troth, good dame, I'd be thankful an' she'd keep him so well employed that he'd never have time to look about him, so far as Erleston Glen, at any rate,' remarked Squire Rutherford. ' But, zounds !

I must hasten in that direction, myself,' he continued, rising hastily ; ' I have greatly overstayed my time. God send Bingo be well rested, for he'll get a touch of the spur ; I'll have to ride hard to reach Hall-i'-th'-Wood in time for supper. My daughter Helen is to be married on the morrow, Mistress Morley,' he added, in a confidential whisper. ' See, here are some gems ' (drawing forth from his doublet a case of diamond ornaments) ' which Master Henley's son took to London to have reset for me in the fashion ; they are to be her mother's present, and my errand to Orrleigh to-day was to fetch them home.' ' God save us a' ! Well-a-day ! So Mistress Helen's goin' to wed to-morrow ! ' cried the comely dame, in terested, as a true woman always is, in the subject of marriage. ' Heaven bless her bonny face an' sweet young heart !

Aw wish her joy, aw do fro' th' bottom of my heart; an' aw'll be sworn, Squire, aw'd kneaw reet weel who th' bridegroom'll be,' she added, as she handed her departing guest his stirrup cup of sack. ' An' by 'r Lady, if Adam'll let me, aw'll ha' th' nag eawt to-morrow an' ride o'er to see th' weddin'.'

Chapter III. The Eve Of

A WEDDING. Refreshed by food and rest, Bingo set off at a brisk trot, which was only interrupted once during the entire journey homewards. This was upon the occasion of passing Ridgwood Manor, the residence, as we have learnt, of the late and present justice of the peace, which lay to the left of the Squire's road, at a distance of nearly three miles from the small town of Orrleigh. The Manse was a two-storied, somewhat straggling, stone building, with numerous windows, scarcely any two of which were alike in size, or on a level in position. Its roof, which was surrounded by a low, wooden parapet, or balustrade, exhibited a profusion of chimneys, and had a cupola in the centre; whilst a smooth, mossy lawn in front was ornamented with triumphs of the topiarian art, in the shape of yew and holly bushes, curiously cut into the re semblances of birds, quadrupeds, and other figures, the most remarkable of them being a large elephant with a castle on his back.

Riding slowly past the high, carefully clipped hedge, which skirted the estate upon the side of the road he was travelling, Squire Rutherford peered over it with some interest, noting traces of the alterations of which Dame Morley had spoken, in the extension of a flower garden, situated at the western end of the house, and in the enlargement of one or two windows upon the ground floor. Then, muttering something as he left the house behind him, which was not exactly a blessing upon its proprietor, the Squire touched his horse with the spur, and, continuing his ride at the former rapid pace, soon reached home. Throwing off his plumed hat and cloak, he passed into a large wainscoted parlour opening from the entrance hall. The room was all aglow with the light and warmth of a huge fire, and a babble of cheerful voices greeted his appearance ; for, in addition to his own family, a few familiar friends were dispersed about the apartment, who had assembled to spend the evening at Hall-i'-th'-Wood.

Saluting his guests with much heartiness, the Squire apologised for his tardy arrival ; then, seating himself by his wife, expressed a hope that he had not kept the supper waiting. ' Not very long, dear heart,' responded the stout, motherly-looking dame he addressed, ' but in sooth, you are a little late, and Margery has been very cross this half hour past. She declares that everything will be over-cooked. I have had to send Helen to the kitchen to pacify her. A sight of that lassie always dispels her ill humour. But what was it kept you, Thomas ? ' ' A tankard of mulled ale at the Sun Inn, I believe, good wife,' replied the Squire, in a tone of pretended de precation. ' But, prithee, don't be angry.

Come hither, Agnes, and take father's part,' he continued, lifting to his knee a pretty little girl ill a scarlet home-spun dress, who had been nestling in Mistress Rutherford's lap. ' Don't let mother scold.' ' Nay, father, mother never scolds,' returned the child, caressing him, but looking round at the same time with loving eyes at the sweet face which answered hers with a ready smile. ' Marry, not very often, little one, i' good faith,' as sented the Squire, smiling in his turn with affectionate admiration at the wife of his bosom. ' But here comes our bonny bride !' he exclaimed, as a dark-eyed girl of eighteen, with oval cheeks, clear brunette complexion, and the same air of amiability about her face as charac terised that of her mother, entered the room. ' Supper's ready, is it, sweet ?' he added, repeating the announce ment she had made as he kissed her cheek. ' Well, I trow most of us are ready for it.' And advancing to wards a stately lady, who sat at some little distance, he offered her his hand, and waiting only until his wife, with a venerable man of seventy, had taken the precedence, led her to the dining-hall.

It was a very sumptuous repast which Margery Daw son, head cook and general suzerain of the Hall-i'-th'- Wood kitchen, had prepared in honour of the young mistress who was this evening to sup for the last time in her father's house as an unmarried girl ; and in spite of her predictions, none of the dishes were over-cooked. Whilst gathered around his hospitable board, we will take the opportunity of introducing to the reader Squire Rutherford's guests, as well as any member of his family of whom mention has not yet been made. Installed in the post of distinction at the right hand of his hostess was the aged man she had conducted to table — Father Maitland, to whom allusion has been made in the previous chapter. Hair, white as snow, shaded a countenance wrinkled with years, but bearing the impress of exalted piety, and his gray eyes, clear and innocent as those of a child, beamed with unfeigned benevolence.