Crown and Sceptre Part 57

"You treacherous dog!" cried the colonel, in a voice of thunder, as he seized the landlord by the throat, and forced him to his knees; "so nothing would do but you must bid that boy take the pony and ride over to Brownsand so as to betray the fact that an escort of prisoners had halted at your house and were gone on by the Brownsand road."

"No, sir; I never--I never did."

"You lie, you old villain: tell the truth before I hand you over to my men, and have you hung for a spy on the nearest tree."

"I swear, colonel, I never did anything of the kind," cried the landlord, piteously.

"No, sir, it is not true," cried a girlish voice; and the landlord's little daughter appeared in the doorway.

"Then pray who did?" cried Colonel Forrester.

"I did, sir," said the girl, undauntedly.

"And pray, why?"

"Because I heard that the young officer was Sir G.o.dfrey Markham's son, and it seemed so horrible that he should be dragged off a prisoner."

"What do you know of Sir G.o.dfrey Markham?" asked the colonel, sternly.

"I had heard my father speak of him, sir."

"And so you planned all this and executed it yourself?"

"Yes, sir; I sent our lad off with a message to where the king's men lay."

"I need not ask, I suppose, whether you are telling the truth," said the colonel, grimly.

"No, sir. Why should I tell a lie?" replied the girl, quietly; and she looked unflinchingly in her questioner's face.

"And at the first opportunity, I suppose, you will betray us into the enemy's hands?"

"Oh no, sir," said the girl, with the tears in her eyes, as she glanced at Fred. "I would sooner try and save you, though you are the enemies of our king."

"Silence, girl! there is no king now in England, only a man who calls himself king. A tyrant who has been driven from the throne."

The girl flushed and held up her head.

"It is not true," she cried, proudly. "G.o.d save the king!"

"What!" cried Colonel Forrester, in a voice of thunder; and for the first time the innkeeper spoke, his ruddy face now mottled with white, and his hands trembling as he placed them together beseechingly.

"Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a foolish, wilful girl, sir. I've been a miserable coward to hold my tongue so long, but I will speak now. It was all my doing. I held back so as not to seem in the business, because I wanted to be friends with both sides, sir; but I could not bear to see the young squire carried off a prisoner, and I winked at it all. It was my doing, sir. Don't believe a word she says."

"Father, what have you said?" cried his child, clinging to him.

"Hus.h.!.+ Hold your tongue," he whispered angrily.

"So we have the truth at last," said the colonel. "You convict yourself of being a spy and traitor; and you know your fate, I suppose?"

As Colonel Forrester spoke, he rose and walked to the window, made a sign with his hand, and directly after heavy steps were heard upon the stairs, accompanied by the clank of arms.

In an instant the girl was at the colonel's feet.

"Oh, sir, what are you going to do?" she shrieked. "He is my father."

The guilty innkeeper's lips were quivering, and the white portions in his face were gradually increasing, to the exclusion of the red, for the steps of the soldiers on the stairs brought vividly before his eyes the scene of a spy's fate. He knew what such a traitor's end would be, and, speechless with terror, he could hardly keep his feet, as he looked from his child to the stern colonel and back again.

"Father!" she cried, "why don't you speak? Why don't you ask him to forgive us?"

"Mercy--mercy!" faltered the wretched man.

"What mercy did you have on my poor boy?" cried the colonel, fiercely.

"Through your treachery, he was surrounded by five times the number of his own men; and, for aught you cared, instead of lying wounded here he might have been dead."

"Mercy! I did not know," gasped the miserable culprit.

"Mercy? Yes; you shall have the choice of your own trees on which to hang," cried the colonel.

"No, no; mercy!" gasped the trembling man, dropping on his knees; "for my child's sake--for Heaven's sake--spare me!"

"Father!" cried Fred, excitedly.

"Silence, boy! I am their judge," said Colonel Forrester, sternly.

"Yes, man, for your child's sake, I will spare you, in spite of your cowardly treachery."

"Father, father!" cried the girl, excitedly; but he could not speak.

"Yes, I will spare you for your child's sake," said the colonel again.

"There, little woman, I forgive you, for you are as brave and true-hearted as can be. I believe you--every word. Your little heart was moved to pity for the prisoner, as it has been moved to pity for my poor boy here, and for my men."

He took her hand in his, and held it.

"I have heard of all your busy nursing, and I do not blame you; I would rather praise. There, help the old man downstairs, and I am not afraid of your betraying us."

The girl raised his hand and kissed it before rus.h.i.+ng to her father, flinging her arms about him, and helping him away, so weak and semi-paralysed by fright that he could hardly totter from the room, the colonel following to the door, and signing to the soldiers to go down.

"There, he has had his punishment," said the colonel, smiling; "and now you will be able to rest in peace."

"Thank you, father, thank you," whispered Fred, huskily.

"You see you were not to blame now."

"Not so much as I thought, father."

"Not to blame at all. There, make haste and grow strong, my boy, before we are driven out in turn by the enemy."

"Are they near, father?"

"No; as far as I know, my boy. But the victors of yesterday are the defeated to-day, perhaps to win again to-morrow. Ah, my boy, it is fratricidal work! and, though I love my cause as well as ever, I would give all I possess as one of the richest men in our county to see home smiling again in peace."