CHAPTER XVII.

HOLFORD AGAIN.

Jack's first visit was to his uncle. He found the old man in his accustomed seat on the turfy hill, with Bevis sitting by his side. He could not but think that Thomas had grown visibly older and more infirm during the few weeks of his absence.

"I have been quite well," he said, in reply to Jack's anxious inquiries; "but either because I have missed your good company or because I am so many weeks older, I do not feel quite my usual strength. But then, I am an old man, dear son. I am fourscore and four years old, and cannot expect to use my limbs as lightly as when I followed our old knight to the wars more than sixty years ago. But what brings you to Holford so soon again?"

"I had an errand to the knight, from one of his friends in Bridgewater," said Jack, hesitating; "at least—Uncle Thomas, I should like to tell you the whole story, but I suppose the knight should know my errand before any one. Only, uncle, will you pray that I may have wisdom to guide me? For my mission is something delicate."

"Surely, surely, dear son, thou hast my prayers at all times. The knight has been very kind to me of late. He has ever been so, but there seems now to be a new bond of union, if I may so say, between us. I have also had more than one visit from our good friend Master Fleming, who, as you doubtless know, has been several times at the Hall, and never without seeking me out. I have been greatly blessed in mine old age in being allowed to see again the light which shone upon my youth. But how has it fared with you, my dear lad? Methinks you, too, have grown older since I saw you."

"I almost feel as though I had never been young," said Jack, sighing. "I have so much to think of. Uncle Thomas, I do feel guilty in keeping this matter secret from my father. He has ever been the best and kindest of fathers to me, and I cannot bear to feel as if I were deceiving him. I feel as if I must tell him all."

"I am not sure but you are right, my clear lad," said the old shepherd, thoughtfully. "I like not concealments more than you do, and, as you say, your father hath every right to your confidence."

"If the secret had been mine alone, he should have heard it long ago," said Jack. "But there was yourself, and Master Fleming."

"Think not of me, my son," said Thomas Sprat; "I am, as I think, already suspected and watched, and at best my time is short. You had best consult Master Fleming, however, before moving in the matter. He may see reasons for secrecy which I do not, and you know that the secret, once told, can never be got back again."

"I have told one who will, I fear, have less mercy on me than my dear father," remarked Jack. "Anne knows all about my share in the secret, and I cannot tell how she will use her knowledge."

"How happened it that you told her?" asked the shepherd.

Jack repeated the story, adding, "I do not know but I was wrong, but I could not see her so unhappy without striving to comfort her. It seems to have done no good, however, but rather harm, for I am sure she has been more miserable than she was before, and she grows more and more hard and cold toward me every day. She told me this morning that she would keep no terms with heretics, and that she would be true to her vow and to the Church, if she walked over the dead body of every friend she had in the world. I know not what she would do, but I would fain anticipate her, at least with my father."

"It is a hard strait," said the old man, sighing; "yet I suppose Anne feels as you do, that she must follow the dictates of her own conscience."

"If she were only doing that," replied Jack; "but I cannot help fearing that she is acting not against her own conscience, and trying to stifle its voice."

"If so, she is indeed in evil case, and needs all our prayers," said Thomas Sprat. "Be very gentle and patient with her, dear son, and seek you wisdom of God, doubting not that it shall be given."

"Have you seen Father John of late?" asked Jack, after a short silence.

"Only twice since you went away. I have not been to the church in service time, but I have met him in the village, and once at the Hall. His reverence has always an inquiry and a good word for you. He seems more easy and jovial, more like his old self, since Father Barnaby went away."

"Yes, I dare say. He is afraid of Father Barnaby, and I must say I am glad he is gone, for all our sakes. He is a hard, dangerous man. I must go see the old gentleman, for he has been very kind to me, and I have a token for him from my father, of a kind he will like right well."

Jack found Father John looking much as usual, seated at his ease in his great chair with his dinner before him, flanked by a mighty tankard of ale on one side and a flask of wine on the other. He gave Jack a warm and affectionate welcome, and would have him sit down to dinner with him.

"I am late to-day," said he; "I have been out visiting the sick, and have taken a long ride, for me—quite to the other end of the parish. But I have great news for you, my son," he continued, piling Jack's plate with good things while he spoke. "The bishop's sumner was here yesterday, and he tells me Father Barnaby is expected to go to Rome on a mission of weight for the king and the cardinals. I am sure I hope he may have a pleasant journey, and that his Holiness will like him so well that he will make him a cardinal, or, at least, a bishop of some good bishopric on the other side of the world."

Jack smiled. "Perhaps his Holiness will keep him in his own family," said he.

"So much the better—so much the better," said Father John, hastily. "I bear no ill-will to Father Barnaby, but his merits are too great for such an obscure station, and we are a deal more comfortable without him."

Jack could hardly forbear laughing. He brought forward the sweetmeats and other matters which his father had sent, and had the satisfaction of seeing them received with great delight. Then excusing himself, he hastened once more to the Hall, and found that Sir John and his lady had been at home for an hour.

"I told the knight you had been here, asking for him, and he bid me show you to him as soon as ever you came back," said Master Butler. "He waits you in the library."

Jack felt somewhat abashed, not to say frightened, when he found himself alone with Sir John, and hardly knew how to begin his tale.

"You come a messenger from Master Fleming?" said Sir John, kindly, seeing the youth's evident embarrassment. "Speak freely; we are quite by ourselves."

"It is not upon any business of Master Fleming's that I have come, Sir John," said Jack, gathering courage. "I know not but you will think me very forward and presumptuous when I open the matter to you. In that case, my only excuse must be that I have done as I would be done by under the like circumstances."

"It is a good excuse, if any be needed," returned the knight gravely. "Of that I can judge better when I hear what you have to say to me."

"Your worship has a son," said Jack, determined to go to the root of the matter at once.

Sir John started and turned pale. "I have—or had," said he, trying to speak calmly. "I know not if he be living or no. Have you heard any news of him?"

"I believe that I have—nay, I am sure of it," replied Jack. "It was that which brought me here this day."

Sir John paused a moment, and then asked, "Is the news good or bad?"

"Altogether good, as I think."

"Tell me at once what you have to say," said Sir John. "I can bear anything better than suspense. My son is then alive?"

"He is alive, and likely, as I trust, to live, though he has been ill and is still very weak," replied Jack.

He then went on and told his tale in as few words as possible, adding, "I am come to you, Sir John, wholly on mine own motion, and without authority from Master Arthur. But it seemed to me no more than right that you should know the truth."

"Does not my son then desire to see me?" asked Sir John.

"He does, indeed," said Jack eagerly. "He said last night that his only remaining wish was, to ask your forgiveness and to die in your arms. But he cannot come to seek you. He is very weak and low, unable so much as to rise from his bed, and besides, I can see he is full of fear and doubt. He says he has brought disgrace and shame on an honorable house, and he knows not whether his friends would not rather think him dead. I do not think he even guesses that I know his secret, for I gathered it from his wanderings last night, whereof he remembered nothing this morning. I most humbly crave your pardon, if I have done wrong," said Jack, not knowing how to interpret the knight's face.

Sir John rose, and walked to the door of the ante-room, where a servant was in waiting.

"Tell David to put my saddle on gray Hastings," said he sharply and briefly. "Bid him also saddle a fresh horse for young Lucas, and take care of the one he rode, that it may be returned tomorrow; and let David make himself and Hugh ready to ride with us. Make haste and then return hither."

Sir John shut the door, and returned to where Jack was standing.

"My young brother," said he, "for brother you are in the bonds of the gospel—you have done for me what I can never repay. However this matter may turn, I shall never forget your service. I had, heretofore, taken you for a boy of promise and grace, indeed, but yet a boy. You have shown yourself a wise and discreet man, as well as a good Christian. Tell me, does any one know of this matter besides ourselves?"

"Nobody but my father, sir," answered Jack. "I was obliged to consult him before taking so much upon myself; but I am sure he will never mention the matter."

"That is well. I would have nothing said here till the matter is settled. Not that I shall be ashamed to own my son before all the world; but I would not have his mother disturbed while there is the least doubt. Now I must order refreshment for you, while I apprise my lady of my sudden journey."

"I have but lately dined with the good priest at the village," said Jack. "I shall be ready to ride so soon as your worship is ready."

"Ay, you are very far in Father John's good books," said the knight, smiling. "Poor old man, he would fain be at peace with all the world, I believe. But you must eat and drink for the honor of my house. I will but seek my lady and be with you again."

Lady Brydges was much surprised to hear of her husband's sudden journey, but offered no opposition.

"I had hoped you were done with public affairs," said she. "At our age, the chimney corner is the best chair of state."

"I am wholly of your mind, sweetheart," replied her husband. "This is no matter of public business, however, but a private concern of mine own. I shall, I trust, be with you or else send you word of my progress tomorrow; and I would have you say a word of kindness to young Lucas, who has done me a great service, and, as I think, saved me from losing what I could ill spare."

My lady was always disposed to be gracious, at least, to her acknowledged inferiors. She asked Jack about his studies and his school, told him of a sovereign remedy for the headache, to which he was subject, and ended by giving him a plum-cake, and a silver piece.

At another time, Jack might have resented being treated like a schoolboy, but just now he was too full of interest and compassion to harbor any such feeling.

In the course of half an hour, the party were on the road, and riding at the best speed of the knight's good horses; the pony being left behind to rest and regale himself in Sir John's stable.

"You say my son was very weak and low," remarked Sir John after riding some time in silence. "Has any physician or priest been to see him?"

"Davy Brent sent for old Doctor Berton directly," answered Jack; "and he hath been to Master Arthur every day, but Master Arthur did not desire to see a priest."

"Did he say aught to show you the state of his mind?"

Jack had been hesitating as to whether he ought to say anything about Arthur's religious condition; but now that the way seemed so clearly opened, he hesitated no longer.

"Master Arthur begged me to read the Scripture to him, and I did so," said he. "He seemed, at first, to fear that he had betrayed himself to a spy of the priests, and when I reassured him, he showed me the scars which had been made on his wrists by the rack as he said, whereby I supposed he had been in the hands of the Inquisition somewhere in the Low Countries or in France. He seemed to fear that your worship would not receive him because he had heard the Lutheran preachers, and said it was Master Frith who told him he ought to return to his father."

"My poor boy!" said Sir John, and then followed another long silence, which was hardly broken till they reached Bridgewater.

The horses and man-servant were left at the inn, and Sir John walked down to Mary Brent's house attended by Jack, and followed by the wondering looks and respectful salutes of all he met, for Sir John was almost as well-known in Bridgewater as the tower of St. Mary's.

"You had better go up first and see how my son is," said the knight, as they reached the door. "But what shall we say to the good woman of the house?"

"I will manage that," said Jack, marvelling at his own confidence. "I can easily content her."

Mary Brent in her neat widow's weeds was always fit to be seen, and welcomed Sir John with all due humility.

"The dear young gentleman has been much better to-day," said she in answer to his inquiries. "He said he felt as though Master Jack had put new life into him. I hope your worship will see no harm in him," she added somewhat uneasily. "I could do nothing else than take him in when my son brought him home."

"You have done quite right, and I thank you, dame," said Sir John graciously. "If the young man proves, as I think he may, a kinsman of mine, you shall be no loser by your kindness."

Jack found his new friend sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, and looking eagerly toward the door. He seemed a little disappointed as Jack entered alone.

"Is it you, my kind nurse?" said he. "Are you alone? I fancied I heard another voice."

"A familiar voice?" asked Jack, smiling. "A voice you have heard before?"

"It did seem so," replied Paul, sinking wearily back again on his pillows. "But it could have been but a sick man's fancy. I doubt I shall never live to hear that voice again."

"Whose voice did you think you heard?" asked Jack; then, as Paul did not answer, "Was it your father's?"

"It did, indeed, seem like his," returned Paul. "But I know it could not be. Oh, could I but once fall at his feet like the poor prodigal!"

"The prodigal did not fall at his father's feet, though he might have meant to do so," said Jack, softly. "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him."

Paul started up with more energy than one would have thought possible. "Have you brought my father to me?" he cried. "Is he here?"

"Hush hush!" said Jack, gently laying him back on the pillow. "Do but be quiet and composed, and all shall be well. There is, indeed, a worthy gentleman below stairs, and when I see you yourself again, I will bring him to your bedside."

Great was the amazement and delight of Mary Brent when Sir John, coming down-stairs from his long interview with her lodger, took her by the hand, and, in fitting and formal phrase, thanked her for the kindness she had shown to his only son and heir.

She could hardly comprehend the matter, and looked from Sir John to Jack in evident bewilderment.

"Do you not understand?" said Jack. "The young gentleman above is Mr. Arthur Paul Brydges, Sir John Brydges's son, long in captivity in foreign parts and supposed to be dead. He was on his way home when he was wrecked and saved by your son Davy."

No happier or prouder woman than Mary Brent could be found in all Bridgewater and Somersetshire to boot. It was plain that Paul, or Arthur, as we must now call him, could not be moved at present; so fitting furniture and garnishing was procured for Mary's empty rooms, and the next day Lady Brydges and her waiting gentlewoman came in from the Hall and took up their lodging with the shipmaster's widow.

After all Jack's care in preparing the way, the shock of the meeting told severely on Arthur's enfeebled frame, and for many days, he hovered between life and death. At last, however, youth and good nursing carried him through, and he was able to be taken home to his father's house.

It may easily be guessed that the knight and his lady were not wanting in thanks and in more solid tokens of esteem toward the kind little widow and her family. All the furniture which had been bought for Lady Brydges's use was given to Mary. Davy was advanced by Sir John's interest to be commander of a coasting vessel, and her younger children rejoiced in the new clothes, the toys, and sweetmeats, which made them the envy of all the school-children.

"'Tis a fine thing to have grand friends," said Dame Higgins, who had made an errand to Mary Brent's house expressly to see the new furniture. "You were in luck, after all."

"I should not have been in luck, if I had taken your advice and left poor Mr. Arthur to take his chance at the convent gate," returned Mary, unable to resist the temptation of triumphing a little. "But he should have been welcome to my best bed all the same, as long as he needed it, if he had been the poor sailor we all thought him."

"Some folks have all the luck," grumbled Dame Higgins. "If I had taken in all the poor vagabonds in the port, they would never have turned out anything but vagabonds."

"When you take in a poor vagabond sailor, he will turn out a prince of the Indies at least," said Davy Brent bluntly. "My mother did what she did from pure love and kindness, and she would not have failed of her reward, however it had turned out."

"Well, well, I don't want to quarrel," said Dame Higgins. "You are sure to be rising folks, now that you have obliged such great people; and I only hope you won't forget old friends in your prosperity, that is all."