on such good company.”
“We may be of use to your majesty on the journey,” remarked Captain Wogan.
“I doubt it not,” said the prince. “Will you go with me?” he added to Forster.
“I pray your majesty to excuse me,” replied the squire. “I must frankly own I would rather not be engaged in the expedition.”
“As you please, sir,” said the prince, with affected indifference. “I can do very well without you.”
“I see that I have not made myself understood, my liege,” said Forster. “I am ready to fight for you, and if need be, die for you, but I will not be instrumental in delivering you to your enemies.”
“Ah! I see I have done you an injustice,” said the prince.
The conversation then took another turn, and a good deal of curiosity was manifested both by Sir John Webb and Colonel Oxburgh as to the prince's future plans, but his highness displayed considerable reserve on this point, and did not choose to gratify them. Indeed, he soon afterwards retired, and Lord Derwentwater went with him, leaving Charles Radclyffe to attend to the company.
Those were hard-drinking days, and the Jacobites were as fond of good claret as their predecessors the Cavaliers. We are afraid to say how many magnums were emptied on the occasion, but before the party broke up, which it did not do till a late hour, a general resolution was come to, that a more strenuous effort should be made on the morrow, to induce his majesty to forego his ill-advised journey to London, and instead of endangering his safety by such a senseless attempt, to set up his standard, and summon all his adherents to join him. Then he might proceed to London as soon as he pleased.
A loud shout, with which his majesty's name was coupled, concluded a vehement harangue made by Colonel Oxburgh, and the party broke up.
Some of them retired to rest, but Tom Forster and two or three others adjourned to a smaller room not far from the butler's pantry, where a bowl of capital punch was provided for them by Newbiggin.
XI.—A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE IN THE CHAPEL.
Anna Webb submitted unrepiningly to the penance enjoined by Father Norham. She remained in her own room, and was not distracted by a visit either from her mother, or Dorothy. Some refreshments were brought her by a female servant, but they were untouched. Several hours were thus passed in solitude and prayer, and night had come on. She wondered when the priest would come, according to his promise, to take her to the chapel.
At length, he appeared, and desired her to follow him. Wishing to avoid the servants, who were crowded in the great hall, he led her down a back staircase to a small room on the ground floor, where he obtained a lantern. In another minute, they had crossed the court, and reached the door of the chapel.
The little structure, it has been said, was screened by trees, and the place was so dark, it would have been difficult to find the door, save with the lantern's aid.
A slight shiver ran through Anna's frame as she entered the building, but she attributed the feeling to the damp atmosphere. Meanwhile, Father Norham had lighted a couple of tapers at the altar, and their feeble glimmer enabled her to survey the place.
Its simplicity and diminutive size pleased her, and reassured her. Knowing she would have to remain there alone till midnight, she might have felt some misgivings had the room been large and sombre. Fortunately, she was not aware that there was a vault beneath, in which rested the earl's ancestors. Marble tablets were on the walls, but she did not read them.
After an exhortation, to which she listened devoutly, the priest withdrew. Thus left alone, she knelt down at the altar, and was soon engrossed in prayer.
For awhile she continued thus employed, but at length a feeling of drowsiness came over her, which she found it impossible to resist.
How long she slept she could not tell, but when she awoke the place was buried in darkness.
What had happened while she slumbered? And how came the tapers to be extinguished?
Very much alarmed, she started to her feet, and somehow—though she scarcely knew how—made her way to the door.
It was fastened. Father Norham must have locked it when he went out
She was thus to be kept in that dreadful place—for dreadful it now seemed to her—till his return at midnight.
She could not guess the hour, but she might have to wait long—very long! Moments seemed ages now. Her terror was insupportable.
Just then she heard the castle clock, and counted the strokes.
Eleven! Another agonising hour had to be borne!—another hour!—when five minutes had been intolerable!
Rendered desperate by terror, she went back to the altar, and kneeling down once more, prayed for deliverance.
Becoming somewhat calmer, she felt ashamed of her weakness, and tried to persuade herself that the tapers might have gone out by accident. The notion gave her momentary courage.
But her fears returned with greater force than before as she heard a deep sigh, seemingly proceeding from some one close beside her, and she fancied she discerned a dusky figure.
“Who is there?” she cried. “Is it you holy father?”
No answer was returned, but a slight sound was heard, and the figure seemed to retreat.
She heard and saw no more.
Uttering a cry, she fell senseless at the foot of the altar, where she was found shortly afterwards by Father Norham and her mother.
The former having brought the lantern with him, her situation was perceived at once, and the prompt application of a smelling-bottle by Lady Webb quickly restored her to consciousness. She was able to walk back to the mansion, but begged not to be questioned as to the cause of her fright till the morrow, when she should have quite recovered from its effects.
XII.—A LETTER FROM THE EARL OF MAR.
NEXT morning she related the mysterious occurrence to them both, but they treated it very lightly, though neither could understand how the tapers had been extinguished. All the rest they regarded as the effect of an over-excited imagination.
“No one could have entered the chapel,” remarked the priest. “I locked the door, and took the key with me. However, you must dismiss all these thoughts from your mind, daughter. To-day the chapel will present a very different appearance from what it did last night.”
“Yes—it will be the scene of your betrothal,” said Lady Webb.
“I would rather the ceremony took place elsewhere,” said Anna.
“It cannot be,” said Father Norham. “His lordship has arranged the matter. The prince will be present, and it would be a great disappointment to the household to be deprived of the sight.”
“It would also be a great disappointment to Sir John and myself,” observed Lady Webb. “Besides there are several guests in the Castle who ought not to be excluded. For many reasons, therefore, there must be no change in the plan.”
“Don't say a word, mamma,” said Anna. “I am quite convinced. My objections were ridiculous. The morning is delightful, and a walk in the garden will set me quite right.”
“You will find Lord Derwentwater, his majesty, and