Boscobel: or, the royal oak

"I will tell your reverence some other time," she replied, evasively.

"Perhaps your reverence can prevail on Mistress Jane Lane to sit down with us and share our supper," said Charles to Father Huddlestone.

"I shall need no entreaty, for in truth I am very hungry," replied Jane, taking a place at the table, while the priest sat down beside her.

"How are you named, good youth?" asked Charles of the supposed page.

"Jasper," was the reply.

"Then come and sit down by me, Jasper," said the king.

"Shall I, madam?" inquired the page of his mistress, who signified her assent, and the so-called Jasper took a place by the king.

Fortunately, Mary Penderel had made such bountiful provision that there was plenty for the new-comers.

"No accident, I hope, has happened to your mistress, young sir?" observed Charles to the page.

"We were on our way from Wolverhampton to Bentley Hall, when we were attacked by a patrol of rebels in the forest, who were in search for the king," replied Jasper. "They did us no injury, but took our horses."

"How came it that you did not defend your mistress better?" asked Charles.

"How could I defend her against half a dozen armed men?" cried the page. "If I had had a pistol, I would have shot the first Roundhead rascal who came up through the head."

"Rather through the heart, I should say," remarked the king, with a smile.

"Heaven preserve his majesty, and deliver him from his enemies!" exclaimed Father Huddlestone. "May their devices be confounded."

"Amen!" ejaculated Jane Lane, fervently. "Could I communicate with his majesty, I would counsel him to embark for France as speedily as may be."

"Such, I doubt not, is his design," remarked the priest. "But there is danger on every side," he added in a significant tone, and looking at the king as he spoke.

"I have heard no particulars of the battle of Worcester," observed Jasper. "His majesty has escaped, I know, but I would fain learn that his aide-de-camp, Major Careless, is safe."

"Rest easy on that score, Jasper," said the king. "I saw Major Careless this morning."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the page, unable to repress his emotion. "Oh, I am so glad. You have taken a great weight from my breast."

"You appear greatly interested in Major Careless," remarked Charles. "Have you known him long?"

"Only since his majesty arrived in Worcester. I hope I shall see him again."

"Have you any message for him, in case I should meet him?" whispered Charles.

"None," replied the page, in the same tone. "But he will remember the house in Angel-lane."

"Ah! then you are – "

The page imposed silence by a look.

Just then Richard Penderel arose, and glanced significantly at Charles, who at once took the hint, and rose likewise.

"Don't let me disturb the company," said Dick. "But Master Jackson and I have a long walk before us, and must be moving."

"Quite right, my son," replied the priest. "But I should like to say a word to Master Jackson before he sets forth."

Taking Charles aside, he said to him in a low earnest tone: "I will not waste time in professions of loyalty and devotion, nor can I be of any present use to your majesty. Whatever your plans may be, I trust Heaven will prosper them, but should it be necessary for you to seek a place of concealment, you will be safe with my worthy friend and patron, Mr. Whitgreave, of Moseley Hall. Richard Penderel will guide you thither."

"Should occasion require it, I will take refuge in Mr. Whitgreave's house," replied Charles.

"Your majesty will be pleased to learn that Lord Wilmot is now at Moseley," pursued Father Huddlestone.

"I am glad to hear it," replied Charles. "Should he not hear from me in two or three days, he may conclude I have escaped to France. And now give me your blessing, father."

While preferring this request he bowed his head, and the good priest gave him his benediction.

As the king passed her, Jane Lane fixed a meaning look upon him, and said in a low tone: "At Bentley Hall your majesty will find a safe place of refuge, should you require it."

A hasty adieu sufficed for the page, and with a warm expression of thanks to Mary Penderel, Charles quitted the house with her husband.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW CHARLES AND TRUSTY DICK WERE FRIGHTENED BY THE MILLER OF EVELITH

The night was so dark, that without a guide it would have been utterly impossible for the king to find his way through the forest. Trusty Dick, however, experienced no difficulty, but marched along through the trees at a quick pace, and Charles kept close beside him. The crackling of sticks and small branches which they crushed beneath their feet as they proceeded, and the rustling of fallen leaves, betrayed their course, but they did not talk much, lest they should be overheard by a patrol of the enemy. Now and then they paused to listen, and on one occasion, fancying he heard the sound of horses' feet in the distance, Dick immediately struck into another path; but he did not stray far from the direct course.

At this hour there was something mysterious in the gloom of the forest, that acted very powerfully on the king's imagination, and led him to fancy that he discerned strange figures among the trees. But Richard Penderel, to whom he communicated his apprehensions, treated them very lightly.

"Your majesty needn't be alarmed," he said. "The forms you behold are merely trunks of old trees, or projecting boughs. They have a weird look at this time, and I myself have been scared by 'em."

At length they emerged from the forest, and got upon a wide common – greatly to the king's relief, for he had begun to feel oppressed by the gloom. The fresh air, so different from the damp atmosphere he had just been inhaling, laden with the scent of decaying leaves and timber, produced an exhilarating effect upon him, and he strode along vigorously.

While crossing the common, they descried a patrol of horse apparently proceeding in the direction of White Ladies or Boscobel, but they easily avoided them, and quitting the common, they soon afterwards mounted a steep hill, on the other side of which was a brook that turned a water-mill. As they drew near the mill, the sound of voices brought them to a halt. The hour being now late, it was singular that any persons should be astir, and Trusty Dick, naturally alarmed by the circumstance, at first thought of turning back. But to do so would have taken him and his companion considerably out of their course, and he therefore hesitated.

"This is Evelith Mill," he observed in a low voice to Charles, "Roger Bushell, the miller, is a cross-grained fellow, and I think a Roundhead, so I shouldn't like to trust him."

"'Tis safer not," replied the king. "How far are we from Madeley?"

"About two miles," replied Dick. "But if we were obliged to turn back it will add another mile, at least, to the distance."

"Then let us go on," said the king.

So they waited quietly for a few minutes, when the light disappeared, and the voices became hushed.

"Roger Bushell has gone to bed at last," observed Charles. "We may proceed on our way."

So they marched on without fear. But the king was wrong, in his supposition, for as they passed the mill a gruff voice called out, "Who goes there?"

"'Tis the miller himself," whispered Dick.