Tales from Many Sources Part 20

"You think it will do her good?"

"I think it the one chance of escaping fatal mischief. See, I have a plan to propose. Why not send her to Newbury to her aunt? She is a sensible woman, and the house is full of children--they will rouse her."

"I will take her myself," cried Mr. Ives.

"Nay, nay, that would defeat my object. I want absolute change for her, change of thought, scene, companions."

"But how manage it, if I may not go myself?"

"Squire Thornton rides to Newbury tomorrow with Sir Harry Clare, and he will willingly be her protector."

"They ride?"

"Yes, it will do Betty good to ride, and old Isaac can follow with a valise full of clothes."

"Tomorrow did you say?"

"Tomorrow at daybreak."

"It shall be done. G.o.d grant that it may do her good."

The following morning, with many a tear and many a blessing Mr. Ives and his wife started Betty on her way.

She made no resistance, pa.s.sively a.s.sented to all they wished. When she was once more in the saddle, her spirits rose feverishly again.

Sir Harry Clare, riding by her side, felt the old fascination stealing over him again, the fascination that had well nigh broken Lady Rachel's heart at Newbury last year. Squire Thornton saw her bright color, and heard the old lively talk as of old, and thought how that time cures all things, and that perhaps in the days to come, his son might have a chance at last.

About half way on their journey the little party was joined by two gentlemen who reached the highway by a cross-road; they lived far from the Wancote neighbourhood. The one Sir James Templemore, the other Mr.

Mat Harding.

Squire Thornton was glad to meet with friends so rarely encountered; they had secrets together mayhap. They saluted each other cordially, their greeting of Sir Harry Clare was more cold.

It was a gloomy windy day, and after the midday halt to bait their horses, the weather grew worse, a cold violent wind blew in their faces, now and then a driving shower of rain.

"Are you tired, Mistress Betty?" asked the squire.

"No, no, I enjoy the free fresh air, it gives me new life."

"That is well," he said, riding on well pleased.

The two cavaliers who attended Betty on each side were the new arrivals, both of whom appeared much struck by her exceeding beauty.

Now it seemed almost as if they entered into a cloud, so dark it became, so blinded were they by wind and a fresh storm of cold fine rain. The horses grew subdued, they whinnied and held down their tails tightly. It was very cold.

They moved into a short trot, but pulled up soon, breathless.

The rain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and now Betty became aware of some tall dark object looming in front of her, only as yet half visible. The wind howled past, and distinctly she heard a sort of clanking noise, as of chains or the rattling of something hard clanking together.

"Let us ride on, let us ride fast." cried Squire Thornton in his loud hearty voice. As he spoke there was a whirr of loud wings, and a dark cloud of foul birds rose into the air from off that dark thing.

Betty put out her hand and laid it on Sir James Templemore's arm.

"What is it?" she said in a ghastly whisper.

"Ah, a sad sight indeed," said he sadly. "There hangs as n.o.ble a gentleman as ever drew sword for the king, G.o.d bless him."

"Who is it?" she asked again; the whisper came hissing forth.

"Who? G.o.d rest his soul, he had many names. He was Wild Jack Barnstaple, alias John Johnstone of Belton, alias Daredevil Jack of the North."

"For the sake of all that is sacred, hold your tongue!" shouted the squire, who had caught the last words.

He was too late. With a wild hoa.r.s.e cry that none who heard it ever forgot, Betty flung wide her arms, and fell back on her saddle. The terrified horse galloped furiously forward, throwing her from side to side, then violently to the ground at the foot of the gallows.

In horror the gentlemen surrounded her, and raised her inanimate form between them.

But it was long and very late before they could get her home.

After long hours her body awoke to life, but her brain was gone.

Heartbroken, mind gone, in very sooth mad, what remained for sweet Betty now.

Travellers pa.s.sing by would point to the parsonage wall, and sorrowfully tell her story. Some more curious than the rest would perhaps stop to look through the gate.

A strange sight met their eyes.

As beautiful as ever, with a strange fearful beauty, stood Betty, her hands hanging clasped before her, and she sang to herself softly, dreamily:

"Call him, call him over the lea, Aye, well and well-a-day; Lover will never come back to thee Who loves and gallops away."

Then she put her hands to her mouth as men do who wish that their voices should carry far, and called over and over again slowly, "John Johnstone! John Johnstone!"--the last syllable rising loud on a long high note.

Then she would hold up her finger, and bend her head listening, listening, listening, till she heard the sound of the galloping hoofs come nearer and nearer, pa.s.sing and fading away.

Those who watched with her in the dark evenings in the walled garden swore that they also heard the sound, and their hair bristled with cold fear.

VIRGINIA.

PART I.