The last of the fairies

Chapter 1

THERE was an old house near Worcester on the very highest part of the hill, which is not very high after all. It was not a gentleman’s house, nora farm-house, nor acottage. Heaven knows what it had been in former years. It was nothing at all in A. D. 1651 but a moderatesized brick building, lined with old wainscot, with broken windows and Jatchless doors, and one portion of it a great deal taller than the other.

There were eyes in the upper room of the tallest part of the old house ; and to them was exposed an exceedingly beautiful scene, such as is rarely beheld, except in the vale of the Severn. Worcester, with its walls, and gates, and thurches, and sunny fields, and pleasant places round; and the wide valley studded with little knolls, and monticules covered with turf still green, and plumed with feathery trees. It was a pleasant and a cheerful sight,—a sort of fairy scene ; and indeed the rings left by the feet of the Good People, in their merry moonlight dances, attested their frequent revels in the meadows and under the trees.

But there were other objects besides those which Nature’s hand had formed that gave additional cheerfulness to the scene. On both banks of the Severn, the eyes gazing from that high window could discern colours flaunting in the light wind, banners tossed about, and plumes, and gay dresses, and glittering arms; so that in that part of the landscape, as a cloud or two passed over the sun, the effect was like that of rapid light and shade sweeping across a garden of flowers. And merry notes were there too : the fife, and the drum, and the clarion, rising up from below, softened and entendered by the air anid and the distance. The bells of the cathedral chimed cheerfully, and altogether it was a pleasant scene to look upon, and these were merry sounds to hear.

About ten of the clock, a horseman, followed by two or three others, spurred up from the bank of the Severn, towards that house upon the hill. He came gaily along at a good quick canter, and his horse was a fine one, and well caparisoned. His bearing, too, was firm and soldier-like; but when one saw his face nearer, although he could not have counted more than five or six and thirty years, there seemed to be traces of many cares and anxieties upon his countenance, as well, perhaps, as a certain degree of constitutional melancholy, not to say

gloom. It was a very grave face—very grave

indeed, yet high and noble in expression, with a tall straight forehead, somewhat broader, perhaps, at the top of the temples than over the brow.

Some servants came round from the back of the house as he approached, and ran to hold his liorse and his stirrup. He sprang lightly to the ground, and walked into the house, saying, ** Take the basket from Matthews there behind he THE LAST OF me, and bring it up. Take care that you don’t break the wine-bottles, for there is but little to be hadin Worcester. The Puritans have drunk it alk up in a very godly manner; ’’ and, mounting the old stairs as he spoke, he ran rather than walked up to the higher chamber. There was an embrace for each of the two persons it contained—a lady of seven or eight and twenty years of age, still in her full loveliness, and a little girl of nine or ten, exceedingly beautiful, and very like her mother. Their faces were full of affection towards him who came ; but yet there could not be a greater contrast than between the expression of his countenance and theirs. Cheerful hope and glad expectation was upon the face of the girl and her mother, and melancholy thought upon his.

‘* Here is some breakfast for you, Lilla, dear,” he said, ‘‘and for my little Kate too. I was resolved to come up for half an hour, and take it with you, for Heaven knows where our next meal may be.”

‘* Will there be a battle to-day, father?” said the little girl; ‘t and will the King win? Oh! yes, Iam sure the King will win.”

‘* T trust he will,” replied the soldier, ‘‘ if there is a battle, my Kate ; but of that I begin to doubt, for the Roundheads have a long march before them, and cannot get here very early.”

‘** Then we had better come back into the town,” said the lady, looking to her husband inquiringly, while two of the servants laid a napkin in one of the broad open window-seats, for table there was none. ‘‘I should not like Cromwell’s people to cut us off.”

** No, my Lilla,” answered her husband, ‘‘you must not come into the town again. There is much confusion there ; and as soon as the enemy appear, you had better retire with the servants to Pershore, where you will have speedy tidings of what follows. If we have to stand a siege, or repel an assault, it would be a pain and a burden to me to have all I love pent up within those old and crumbling walls.”

There was a look of remonstrance came upon the lady’s face, but her husband interrupted her with a smile, saying, ‘*‘ Come—to breakfast! to breakfast! for I must soon get back. What, not achair to sitdown upon! Well, we must make the best of our campaigning ;” and standing by the side of the window-seat, he proceeded to distribute the homely breakfast he had brought up from Worcester; ate a small portion, but not much, himself; and gazed with a look of thoughtful delight upon his innocent child, as she seemed to partake of the meal with double zest, from the rude and hasty way in which it was served.

Perhaps five minutes had elapsed while they were thus employed, when a quick light foot was heard coming up the stairs, and a lad some seventeen or eighteen years of age, richly dressed and accoutred, with his long dark hair flowing down over his laced collar to his shoulders, entered the room in haste, exclaiming, ‘‘ Lord Eustace! —My lord! Cromwell is in sight—Hark! yeu can hear his trumpets !”

The gentleman he addressed instantly started to the window and looked out, while his young visitor, witha slight affectation of manhood, patted the little girl upon the head, saying, ‘‘ Ah! my darling Kate, drinking wine at ten in the morning. That’s to make you a fit wife for a dashing Cavalier. I hope your ladyship is well this morning. You will soon see some warm work down below; but I trust before night we shall have one-half of the Roundheads in the Severn, and the rest in the gaol.”

A slight cloud came over the lady’s face, and

THE FAIRIES. ss she was answering, with a sigh, ‘‘I trust so,” when her husband turned round from the window, saying, ‘*I must to horse, dear ones. Remem- ~ ber, you must ride to Pershore, as soon as you have seen them upon the ground. Come, Denzil, we must away.”

** Do you see them, Charles ,—do you see them?” asked the lady, clinging to his arm.

‘* Not their whole force,” replied her husband; ** those trees there hide them; but I caught a glance of steel caps through the brake ; and if you listen for a moment you will hear.—There! there |”

The distant sounds of a trumpet rose upon the air; and with one brief embrace he tore himself away,—ran down the stairs followed by his young friend,—mounted his horse, and galloped back to Worcester.

‘the lady’s eyes were full of tears when she gazed forth from the window; first marking the course of her husband towards the town, and then turning an anxious look over the distant. wooded landscape, where the forces of the Parliament were advancing towards the fatal field of Worcester. In a few minutes she beheld a dark moving mass—with catches of light here and there upon breast-plate or steel cap— come forth from behind one clump of trees, and disappear again behind a little wood. Another and another body passed, foot and horse in very equal numbers; but regiment after regiment, troop after troop, till the lady’s heart sank at the conviction of the great superiority of their numbers; and her eyes turned to the royal army below.

A good deal of bustle was then observable ; and, by the aid of fancy, she thought she could discover her husband, and the King, and Leslie, and Middleton, and Hamilton, and Derby.

Long and anxious was her watch, till passing in and out, now seen, now lost as before, the army of the Commonwealth—growing more. and more distinct in all its parts as it advanced —swept on—halted for a moment—marched forward again, and assumed its position as if for battle, taking possession of the slope of the very hill on which she stood, and interposing between herself and the town.

Her heart sank a little, and she gazed down upon her child; but then a look of high resolution came into her face, and, putting her arm round the fair delicate form of the little girl, she said, *‘ We will see it out, Kate; we will see it out.”

**Oh! yes, mother, let us see it out,” answered the child; ‘*do not let us run away while my father is fighting.”

‘** Never,” answered the lady; and there they stood, while the servants gathered themselves together at another window, and gazed forth likewise.

All seemed tranquil for about half an hour. An occasional horseman galloped along the line, trumpets sounded from time to time, a slight movement took place amongst the infantry, some stragglers were seen moving about upon the rear of the Parliamentary army, and a stout heavy man, with ten or twelve other horsemen following him, moved slowly for a little distance up the hill. Then halting, he gazed over the plain, and over the town, for a moment or two, spoke a few words to one of those near him, and instantly a horseman dashed away, taking his course towards the left. A large body of cavalry detached itself at once, and rode along the bank of the river, a fire of musketry began from. the centre of the line, and a cloud of smoke spread over the scene. It interrupted the sight sadly, but the lady saw several ‘large squadrons. of horse put into a charge, and they whirled down like a bolt from a cross-bow against the Royalist troops on the nearest side of the river.

From that moment all was confusion, to eyes unaccustomed to seek outand judge the events of a field of battle. Large bodies of men riding fast were seen through the clouds of sulphurous vapour; the flashes of the musketry, the gleam of waving swords, and the slow movements of some bands of pikemen, were caught indistinctly from time to time; but all that the lady and her child could gather as to the result of these movements was, that the Parliamentary army was pressing down steadily and strongly upon Worcester, and that the waves of battle rolled nearer and nearer to the town.

It was a sight that made her heart sink, and her eye ran along the course of the river, towards a spot where she knew that alarge body of the Royalist cavalry had been posted. She saw them there all firm and in array upon the: opposite bank, but a little further on she saw—) what they could not see, on account of a thick.

THE FAIRIES. au copse and a wooded hill which screened the operations of the enemy—two regiments of Par-

liamentary horse galloping rapidly towards a ford, where the stream took a sharp turn. She clasped her hands together, and pressed them tight.. What would she have given at that moment for wings to fly and bear her friends intelligence of the manceuvre she had detected and understood right well. But it was all in vain, The enemy reached the ford, dashed in, gained the meadows on the*other side, re-formed, and taking ground a little to the left, became suddenly apparent to the King’s cavalry.

An instant movement was observable amongst the latter; two gentlemen drew out a little way from the rest, gazed at the squadrons which had so suddenly appeared, and rode to the opposite extremes of their own line. A slight change of disposition immediately followed. The right of the Royalists was somewhat extended, the left ‘was brought a little forward at a slow pace, and then there came a temporary pause. The sound of trumpets was heard the moment after; and both parties dashed forward against each other with furious speed. They met in full career, while a fierce and wild hurrah rose up into the air, and reached the lady’s ears as she gazed upon the struggling mass, now all mingled and confused. Her hands pressed tighter and tighter together as she saw masterless horses break away from the line and gallop across the plain, and knew that some one, as loved and dear to others as he whom she loved best was to herself, had fallen beneath the chargers’ feet in the midst of that fierce conflict.

‘*They give way, mother, they give way,” cried the little girl, touching the lady’s arm; **the Roundheads are routed—See, they fly, they fly!”

It was true. The temporary success of Middleton and the Duke of Hamilton for an instant promised to change the fate of the day. Cromwell’s cavalry did give way, the Royalists pursued fiercely, and drove them back fighting, almost to the very ford. But at that moment a small group was seen to separate itself from the rear of the King’s soldiers, and the lady could distinguish two or three troopers supporting a gentleman upon his horse. ‘That looks like the Duke,” she murmured; ‘*No, it must be Middleton.”

Another group detached itself, but these were on foot—dismounted soldiers bearing a dead or wounded man in their arms. Then the uncertain tide of battle turned. The Parliamentary forces rallied, charged again, the Royalists were beaten back over the ground they had just traversed, broken, scattered, and flying hither and thither in parties of ten and twelve.

The lady clasped the child’s hand in her own —tight, very tight; and the little girl wept. They turned their eyes to the part of the field immediately below them. A terrible change had come over the scene. The Royalist forces were not to be discovered—unless, indeed, the fragments might be distinguished in those small bodies of horse that were seen galloping away over the distant fields. The troops of the Parliament were at the gates of Worcester.

**Pardon, my lady, but it is time for you to go,” said an old servant, approaching from the other window ; ‘‘ the day is lost. You had better betake yourself to Pershore, as my lord directed. The horses are all ready.”

The lady raised her eyes to heaven for an instant, and seemed to ask strength from above. **No,” she said at length, ‘* we will hide in the wood, Isaac. I will not quit this ground till I know his fate. Come, Kate, we may help your dear father yet. God give us courage and success!”

———

Chapter II

Ir was night—dark night. There were stars out, but no moon, and across many parts of the sky long lines of dull grey clouds were drawn, hiding the twinklers of the heavens, The clocks of Worcester had struck nine, and the dull vibration of the great bell was sounding, as if with pulses, through the heavy feverish air. The scene around the city lay wrapt up in shadows, while the fugitives sped far away from the field of their defeat, and the pursuers with hot spur hurried after. The dead in their last rest Jay in the meadows round—three thousand as gallant gentlemen as ever drew asword. The wounded untended shared the couch of the dead, and lost part of their own sufferings in the sense of their royal master’s disaster. Here and there was a light upon the field, sometimes seen wandering” about, sometimes stationary ; and the low creaking of rude cart-wheels could be heard seeking for the less dangerously wounded, or for those

THE PAIRIES. 18 prisoners who had not yet been taken into the town of Worcester.

Near a low wood, broken and irregular in its external form, stood two or three Parliamentary musketeers, with a group of some seven or eight prisoners, disarmed and tied. A torch wasstuck into a hole in the ground, casiing its red unwholesome glare around, over the rough stern features of Cromwell’s soldiers, “and the sad countenances of the captives, and the green branches of the trees, and the turf dabbled with blood, and the corpses of five or six gallant companions fallen ; for the spot was one where a fierce and last effort at resistance had been made.

The armed soldiers were standing, resting on their guns; the captives were generally seated, though some who had received wounds were stretched out upon the grass. Few of them spoke, but one man, a Scotchman, in the garb of a Royalist foot-soldier, who was upon his feet, nearest to the musketeers, seemed anxious to ascertain the fate reserved for them, He had put several questions without receiving an answer; but, at jength, one of the men, seemingly irritated by his pertinacity, replied in aloud harsh tone, ‘‘ If you want to know what is to become of you, Scot,

1 will tell you, though methinks you would learn soon enough; you are to be sold for slaves into the plantations.”

The poor Scotchman hung his head, and sat down dejected by his fellows, At the same moment a heavy cart came grating along towards them, and one of the soldiers said, ‘*‘ Come, get up, get up; here is your conveyance,”

The cart had not yet indeed become visible, but the next instant the faint outline thereof was descried wending slowly forward, and there seemed two or three people with it. The soldiers, as they looked forward, thought they perceived a woman’s garments, and, in about a minute after, they saw a child also.

That sight was seen by another likewise, and it told to a heart oppressed with grief and despair the sweet consoling tale of love and devotion true to the last. He raised himself a little from the grass, and the light of the torch fell more strongly than before upon his fine form and noble countenance. The expression was still the — same, and any close observer could not have doubted that there was a man of noble lineage, and of gentle breeding, although his gay and plumed hat was cast away, and the coat that he.

now wore was that of a common foot-soldier.

Slowly the cart rolled on, but when it came nigh, though the child stillappeared, young, and fair, and graceful, the woman’s form was no longer seen. It seemed to have dissolved into thin air, or as if the darkness had swallowed it up, even as she came forward. So suddenly and completely did it disappear, that one of the soldiers took two or three steps forward to meet the cart, bending his eyes fixedly upon the obscurity before him; and when he reached the little group walking together at the horse’s head, he demanded, sharply, ‘‘ Was there not a woman with you?”

**No,” replied the carter, ‘tthere has been no woman here, unless you call this babe a woman.”

**And what does she want here?” demanded the stern voice of the soldier; ‘‘ this is no place for children, or women either.”

“*T am seeking my father, sir,” said the sweet low voice of the little girl. ‘‘I am sure you will help me to find my father.”

The soldier gazed at her for an instant, as the light of the torch, somewhat softened by the distance, fell upon her fair countenance and her rich dress; and he shook his head with alook not altogether unfeeling, replying, ‘‘ Ab, poor child! your father is not here; we have none of your gay gallants amongst us; your ruffling Cavaliers and dashing lords have all been taken into the town; we have got none but the poor foot-soldiers, who.have been led like sheep to the slaughter by those who should know better.”

‘* But I am sure heis here, living or dead,” said the little girl in reply; ‘*one of our servants saw him here just after the battle, and he told me where to find him; pray let me look for him by the light of the torch;” and she clasped her fair” small handstogether with the gesture of earnést entreaty.

‘*] am here, my child, | am here, my Kate,” cried a voice; for, although it was ruin to all his plans, the captive could resist no longer; and the child darted forward unopposed, for the soldiers had not the heart to restrain her under the impulse of filial affection. .

The poor captive tried to rise from the ground to press her to his heart as she sprang towards him; but his hands were tied, and before he could effect that purpose, the child had cast herself upon his bosom with one arm round his neck, covering his face with kisses.

The stern soldiers looked on much moved; but the captive was surprised to find that while with her Jeft arm she clung closely to him, the right sought out the bonds upon his hands, and something cold, like steel, glided down his wrist. The next instant the cord was severed, and his hands were free; and the child’s mouth, pressed close to his ear, whispered, low but clear, ‘*There’s a horse at the corner of the wood. Mount, father, and away !”

His brain seemed to turn giddy for a moment, and the pulsations of his heart to stop. But the child unclasped her arm from his neck, and whispered once more, ‘* Away!”

It was the only chance for safety. The concealment he had hoped for was no longer possible. The bloody axe which had struck so many of his noble friends was the only fate before him ; and, springing suddenly on his feet, he darted away into the gloom.

As his tall figure disappeared, however, the stern soldiers, with a fierce cry of indignation, raised theie muskets to their shoulders, and fired in the direction he had taken. A shrill scream burst from the darkness, at the very same instant that the sound of a horse’s hoofs at the full gallop reached the spot where they stood.

**He is down, he is down !” cried some of the men, rushing forward, whiist two of their comrades remained with the prisoners. But they found no one, though they searched diligently around; and still the quick beating of the horse’s hoofs was heard, growing fainter and fainter in the distance. When they returned to the spot where the captives were, they found the child lying prone upon the ground, pale as monumental marble; nor did she recover from the swoon into which she had fallen, till the prisoners had been all placed in the cart, and the party were about to proceed upon their way. The soldiers threatened and reproached, but they had not the heart to hurt her; and one of them, who was a father himself, took her by the hand, and led her into Worcester. He said he must take her before the Lord General, but she besought and prayed him to let her seek shelter in the house of an old servant, and when he left her at the door, he said to himself, ‘*If I should be ever in such a case, may my child do as she has done.” "

THE FAIRIES. a4

EPOCH THE SECOND.

muses

Chapter III

‘* How the hours fleet away! Be they dull and heavy-footed, overburdened with sorrow — be they winged with joy and mirth — be they even-paced and tranquil in the path of life, still they go, they go; and, when they are gone, they diminish into a mere speck. Nine years have passed away, and it seems but a span; and yet if I come to think, my hair, which is now white, was then just turning grey, and my eyes, that are dim now, were as clear as an eagle’s.—But come out of the way, lad, come out of the way. There’s a stranger riding down the hill, and I have not liked the sight of a stranger for many a long year.”

Such were the words of an old man, dressed in a black coat, with a broad-ended handkerchief round his neck, and bearing a respectable and even reverend appearance, to a good-looking country youth of two or three and twenty years of age, as they stood together upon the green

esward beneath an old castle wall.

Many astrong fortified house had been besieged and ruined by the cannon of one or the other of the contending parties in the great civil war, but the dilapidation of this building dated from a pe-. riod long anterior, and the ivy had grown thickly over even the fragments which had fallen ‘from the walls, marking that centuries had passed, Yet these walls were very thick and strong, and one could not suppose, to look upon them, that the hand of time alone had broken them as they now appeared, It was evident, in short, that some of man’s desolating devices had overthrown the place of strength before its time --when, I know not—perhaps during the contentions of York and Lancaster ; but however, there it stood, aruin. The most perfect part of the building was the old gateway, with its two tall machicolated towers, and guard-room over the arch; but yet the guard-room and towers were both unroofed, and the wind whistled through the empty window-frames—the yoice of desolation calling to the dead.

From either side of this gateway stretched forth walls, with other towers, surrounding perhaps an acre and a half of ground ; and the court within showed many a fragment of feudal time

-in the crumbling masonry of the late keep, and the broken tracery of the chapel windows. A seedling ash tree had planted itself here and there amongst the ruins, and three tall elms ina group

-stretched their wide branches over the well in the castle court. That well had once been co-

-vered by an arch of richly wrought stone-work ; but some forty years before the period of which I speak, the mortar having fallen out, and some of the stones dropped into the water, which was the finest, the clearest, and the best in the whole neighbourhood, the inhabitants of the adjacent

-village, who loved the well with a degree of almost superstitious affection, cleared away the ruined fragments from around it, and left it nearly as nature had formed it, with no covering but the branches of the three elms of which I have spoken.

The castle well was in fact a spring of very beautiful water, which issued bountifully from the turfin the castlecourt. Old hands long gone had dug a little reservoir for the waters of this spring about three feet deep, and of the same width, with a length of about four feet —it might be five, but I never measured it. The sides of this reseryoir were lined with flat stones to prevent the

Oh THE LAST OF earth from falling in ; and a semi-circular piece, | cut out of the slab at the west side, suffered the superfluous water to flow away into a little conduit underneath the castle wall, and so over the side of the hill down to the stream in the valley. From the distance of more than a mile, people would come to fill the pitcher at this well; and, indeed, so limpid was the water, that although at most times the smooth surface reflected the leaves and branches of the trees above, yet through these transparent coloured images one could see the little pebbles at the bottom as distinctly as if no medium but thin air had been interposed : indeed, it only seemed to render them brighter, as if encasing them in polished crystal. Allaround, the turf was short and thick; and the elms and the well they shaded were so placed as to be clearly seen through the archway of the great gates, by any one who was standing on the castle green in front.

I have been obliged to dwell upon these facts particularly ; for the reader must remark and remember them as necessary to the due understanding of this tale. It may be also as well Lo point out that the castle stood alone, on what may be called the step of a hill, occupying a position about half way up the ascent, which was long but not steep. This step was a flat piece of some twenty or thirty acres ; and upon it, at the distance of three or four hundred yards from the old castle, were built several neat cottages. Below them again,‘on both sides of the road, which, after crossing the castle green in its descent, ~wound gently down to the bottom of the valley, appeared the village, following all the sinuosities of the path, and so closely embowered in trees, that from the old gates nothing could be perceived but a roof or a chimney here and there, and the tower of the church rising up from below. : It was as pretty a rural scene, indeed, as ever the eye fell upon; and, whether in sunshine or in shade, under the blue sky or the cloud, there was something ofhomely peace and tranquillity aboutit which had a tendency to soothe the mind of the beholder, and call up images of a calmer and a happier kind, than the heart was ordinarily conversant within those days of strife and faction. The village had fared well, too, in many respects. At some distance from any of the channels through which the tide of war had flowed, few of those pertinacious heat-burnings had been 1"