"Gag the slanderous old mass-monger! away with her! the horsepond, the horse-pond!" cried three or four at once. In vain did the good-natured grazier counsel dame Lawrence to pocket her drinking-horn and trudge, since she had chosen the wrong neighbourhood for venting her abuse of the Comptons. She continued her anathemas and predictions with more bitterness than ever, though she retained a calmness of manner that seemed little adapted to the rancour of her words; and the warrener, with some others of the party, were preparing to put their threats into immediate execution, when the landlord interfered, exclaiming "Nay, nay, my worthies, let us never lay angry hands upon a woman, and one, moreover, who is as crazy as Tom o' Bedlam. Better troll a catch than souse a witch, and pour wine down our own throats than water down hers. Ods pittikins! we meet here to sing, drink, and be merry, and I am the leader of the band to set you a good example, and he that will match me with a rousing chorus, shall have next pot for nothing: : So here's to the man that delights in Sol-fa, For sack is his only rosin. A load of heigho is not worth a ha! ha! He's a man for my money that draws in: Then a pin for the muck, and a pin for ill luck, 'Tis better be blithe and frolic, Than sigh out our breath, or invite our own death It is doubtful whether this inn-keeping Orpheus would have succeeded in pacifying his customers, who were beginning to rage like wild beasts, and have been able to rescue dame Lawrence from the horse-pond, had not the attention of the whole party been diverted by the sudden arrival of a courier on a smoking horse, who, desiring the boy to wipe the dust out of his steed's nostrils with some wet hay, called hastily to the landlord for a gill of sack. "A gill, master Winbolt ?" cried the landlord, "why, surely you haven't forgotten the ballad: 'Hang the Presbyter's gill, He's one of the honester crew.' "Thou art a bold cock to crow so loudly to the old tune," said the courier; "but a pint let it be, so it be quick, for I bear despatches, and must cross the Weald, and call at Hever Castle, ere I draw bit or loose girth. But what pastimes toward in these parts, and what fool's game is Sir John Compton playing that sets the red-coats a marching for Brambletye House?" "The red-coats, master Winbolt ?" exclaimed the landlord, whose face suddenly assumed the same hue; "ods pittikins, what mean ye?" "Neither more nor less than that I passed a troop of the Lord Protector's own regiment of Ironsides, watering their horses at Withyham bridge, who inquired the way to Brambletye House, and from their conversation I gathered that they had an order to search the premises and arrest Sir John. So let not your tongue wear too light a snaffle, my merry landlord, for a new ballad may be paid by an old grudge; better be silent on your own tree than sing in a cage; and a joke may be sharp, but a sword is sharper, with which caution I give you goodden." "Dang the fellow," cried the warrener, with a chop-fallen look, "where were it he zeed the red-coats?"-"At Withyam Bridge,” replied the landlord; whereupon the former applied his thong lustily to his dapple gray pony, and was out of sight in a twinkling. "Said I not sooth ?" ejaculated the old woman, while a momentary triumph lighted up her generally inanimate features "the Lord is slow to wrath, but his hour of anger comes at last. The Comptons are a doomed race; the curse of Cain is upon them, for they have slaughtered God's holy image. The stone is in the sling, and the bolt is in the bow, and the house where the crime was committed shall not long be covered with a roof to shelter one of the accursed and sacrilegious tribe." At these words she departed, still muttering denunciations of vengeance against the objects of her wrath, and the company at the Swan dispersed themselves several ways, not less anxious to circulate the news they had learned, than to avoid the suspicion that might attach to them for tippling at the house of an old Cavalier soldier, and a singer of irreverend songs, when the troops of the Protector were known to be in the neighbourhood. Brambletye, or, as it is termed in Doomsday Book, Branbertie House, the point to which the parliament troops were directing their march, stands upon the extreme borders of Ashdown forest, in the county of Sussex. After the Conquest, it became the property of the Earl of Mortain and Cornwall, forming part of the barony then conferred upon him, and subsequently denominated the Honour of the Eagle. Passing into possession of the Audehams, the Saint Clares, and several others, it came into the occupation of the Comptons towards the beginning of the seventeenth century; and from the arms of that family impaling those of Spencer, still remaining over the principal entrance, with the date 1631 in a lozenge, it is conjectured that the old moated edifice, which had hitherto formed the residence of the proprietors, was abandoned in the reign of James the First, by Sir Henry Compton, who built the extensive and solid baronial mansion, commonly known by the name of Brambletye House. This massive structure, owing to one of those freaks of fortune which will be explained in the following pages, is now a mass of ivy-covered ruins, though two centuries have not elapsed since its first stone was laid; while the venerable moated house in its vicinity remains in probably little worse condition than when it was deserted by Sir Henry. From their undaunted courage and inflexible loyalty to the Stuarts, the Comptons had been heavy sufferers, both in purse and person, during the eventful progress of the civil wars. The Earl of Northampton, the head of the family, and nephew to Sir Henry, the presumed builder of Brambletye, had four sons, officers under him, whereof three charged in the field at the battle of Hopton Heath, and the eldest, Lord Compton, was wounded. The Earl himself, refusing to take quarter from the rascally Roundheads, as he indignantly termed them, even when their swords were at his throat, was put to death in the same battle; and the successor to his title, with one of his brothers, finally accompanied the royal family in their exile as dame Lawrence had truly stated. Sir John Compton, a branch of this family, was still, however, living at Brambletye House, and having preserved much of his property, from the committee of sequestration, displayed rather more splendour than fell to the lot of most of the Cavaliers who had taken an equally conspicuous part against the parliament armies. Although never capable of any regular defence, yet the place having been hastily fortified, had refused the summons of the parliamentary colonel, Okey, by whom it was invested; but it was speedily taken, when sad havoc was committed by the soldiery, all the armorial bearings, and every symbol of rank and gentility, being wan 44 tonly mutilated or destroyed. Not a single one of these would the sturdy and wrathful Sir John suffer to be restored, preserving them as so many scores against the wall, of what he owed to the Puritans, - debts, which, with curses "not loud but deep," he swore to seize the very first opportunity of repaying upon their crop-eared sconces. Cromwell was too formidable and vigorous an adversary to be openly bearded; but Sir Joan was in constant correspondence with those members of his family who were in attendance upon the absent king, as well as with the leading partisans of the royal cause at home, and had engaged with more zeal than prudence, as the reader will already have guessed from our first chapter, in certain premature machinations for effecting the downfall of the usurper. Of all men living, he was, perhaps, the least qualified for the successful management of, or even the safe participation in, a plot of any sort; for his scorn of the hypocritical arts, by which his adversaries had gained the ascendancy, incapacitated him from imitating them; and though he practised an ostensible obedience to the established authority, he was perpetually blurting out some term of reproach against it, singing scraps of his old Cavalier songs, or launching some ambiguous menace, which suggested more than it expressed. From its not being a place of any strength or notice, it was imagined that Brambletye might better escape the keen and jealous watchfulness, which kept the Protector's eye ever fixed upon the strongholds and defensible mansions of the nobility and gentry; while its proximity to the metropolis, combined with the seclusion of its situation, adapted it to any enterprise which required at the same time secrecy, and an easy communication with the capital. The defences of the house, such as they were, received, however, several additions; there were occasional meetings in it of strange gentlemen, who came and departed with a secrecy which gave rise to half-smothered whispers in the neighbourhood; and the covered wagon, which we have already noticed, having more than once been seen returning from the premises after midnight, and being known not to belong to any of the surrounding farmers, was vehemently suspected of being engaged in some business much more dangerous than smuggling. So little pains did the stout and sturdy Sir John give himself to conceal his hatred of the present government, that even in his favourite recreation of hunting, which, with the roaring of Cavalier songs at his select parties, formed his principal resources against the ennui of idleness and submission, he named his hounds after Rupert, Maurice, Digby, Astley, Langdale, and other leaders of the royal cause; cheering them on with redoubled ardour, not unmixed with shouts of laughter, in running down Cromwell, Lambert, Ireton, Fairfax, and Skippon, as he christened the different stags, who were turned out for the day's amusement. While thus engaged in the chase, and listening to the echoes of names, with which his ears had been familiar in the battles of the civil war, from Edge-hill, Roundway, Marston Moor, and Naseby, down to the fight of Worcester, his past exploits were recalled in so lively a manner to his imagination, that he sometimes fancied himself still riding at the head of his regiment, or presiding over a cavalier dinner-party, and was not unfrequently heard shouting out with stentorian lungs- -"Forward, my lads! for the king and St. George! pepper the Puritan rogues! cut off their Roundhead ears! hammer away at Cromwell's regiment of Ironsides! crack the shells of Sir Arthur Haselrigg's lobsters!" or roaring aloud, as if seated at the convivial board, "A hound and a hawk no longer, Shall be the token of disaffection, A cock-fight shall cease to be breach of the peace, Then off with your pots, English, Irish, and Scots, From lobster-like jump, and the Head-playing Rump, He was absent upon one of these excursions, when Nick Groombridge, the warrener, with whom we parted just now at the Swan, gallopped full speed into the court-yard of Brambletye House, his pony covered with foam, and inquired, with a look of consternation, for Mr. Waynfleet, the secretary. Hurrying with this gentleman through the great hall into the waiting room, he stated that upon learning the news about the parliamentary troops, he had hurried forward to meet them, when their commanding officer stopped him to inquire the road to Sir John Compton's; and as some of the soldiers conversed together, he heard one of them tell the other that they could not be far off now, that they had got a full warrant from the Lord Protector for searching Brambletye House, and he trusted they should rout the old malignant fairly out of his den, for he had owed him a grudge ever since the affair at Colchester, when Sir John had ridden right over him. "Good God!" exclaimed the secretary, changing colour, "then they will be here immediately." "Will 'um?" replied the warrener, while a knowing smile and a wink of the eye gave a peculiar expression to his heated face; - "I'll bet ye two cans of ale to one that they won't. Noa, noa, Master Waynfleet, I be too far north to be such a flat as that comes to; for hang me, if I didn't tell 'em the shortest way to the house were right down Massiter's Lane, and soon as ever I seed 'em turn into the woods, I gallopped here as fast as ever old Dapple could lay legs to the ground. They'll be cotch'd in a rare queach down Massiter's Lane, and as their horses were pretty well blow'd already, I reckon they can't be here in less nor an hour, let 'em flounder out which way they will." "How truly unfortunate," said Waynfleet' walking up and down in great agitation, "that Sir John should be absent at this critical moment, when his very life may depend Groombridge, my good fellow, do run for Mr. Charnley, and fetch him here as fast as you can, and bring Jack Whittaker with you; quick, quick; we shall not have a moment to lose." The former of these personages was the chaplain, who was in the entire confidence of the baronet, and well acquainted, as has already been shown, with all the state secrets and perilous machinations of which Brambletye House had for some time been the head-quarters. The latter, who still retained the name of Sergeant Whittaker, from his having served several campaigns under Sir John in that capacity, was also a confidential personage, and had been retained in his service as armourer, for which office the old arquebuses, pikes, and swords, that had mounted guard in the hall ever since the time of James the First, afforded less employment than certain other arms, of all sorts, deposited in a much more unobtrusive situation. No sooner had the chaplain, who arrived first, learned the cause of his being summoned, than he was seized with a consternation even more conspicuous than that of the secretary, and ejaculated, in a trembling voice, "What's to be done? where's Sergeant Whittaker?" "Not at his proper post, of course," replied Groombridge, "but, I dare say, I shall find him with his pipe and cannikin on the kitchen chimney bench, or telling his old story of Worcester Fight, to Patty, at the buttery hatch." Just as he was about to run to these respective haunts, the object of their search, a morose-looking, bald-headed figure, rendered more grim by a deep scar across his cheek, was seen marching towards them, whiffing his pipe, and at the same time mumbling execrations against the new batch of ale, which he declared ought to have had at least another strike of malt to make it fit for any one but a cuckoldy Roundhead. No sooner, however, had he learned the news, than his whole countenance became lignted up with a sudden beam of animation; his scar assumed a portentous redness ; he dashed his pipe upon the ground, smacked his hands together, tnen snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, "Let 'em come! let 'em come! the canting crop-eared knaves: I shall be glad to have a slap at them again. We have Some rare poppers, and plenty of powder, if we can but get hands enough to pepper the rascals." "What's best to be done ?" inquired Waynfleet, turning towards Whittaker, to whom, as the principal military authority in the absence of Sir John, he seemed disposed to show a more than usual deference. "Done?" cried Whittaker, "why first of all shut the inner and outer gates: ring the alarm bell, to get together our little garrison, with such of the tenants as are at hand; fire off the two falconets on the roof beside the western tower, as the signal agreed upon with Sir John; let Groombridge take one of the best horses, and gallop after him into Ashdown forest, to tell him what has happened; and then you and the parson had better set about burning all the papers that might make against us; while I get out the arms, barricado the gates, and order every man to his post." So saying, he took down a fowling-piece, that was hanging over the mantle of the small room in which they were conversing, and began to examine its lock by rapidly opening and shutting it. "All very proper measures; very proper, indeed," said the secretary; "but as to resistance, it is out of the question; we must of course surrender." "I'll be hanged if we must!" roared the sergeant, striking his piece upon the floor with such violence that the adjoining hall rang with the echo. "What! didn't she stand a three days' siege against Colonel Okey, with three companies of foot; and is old Brambletye to be frightened by a paltry troop of horse? I always said the original builder was an ass for not placing her where the old house stands, that he might have had a moat round her; but as to surrendering, unless Sir John gives us his orders, I say once more, may I be cursed "Mr. Whittaker," said the chaplain, rendered more than usually demure by his apprehensions, “I must request you will not use profane oaths in my presence." "What! not when we are going into battle? Then how the devil would you distinguish us from the psalm-singing Puritans? Now that the parliament have forbidden it under pain and penalty, every true Christian, who loves his king, ought to swear day and night as lustily as he can, and I take shame to myself for not doing it oftener. -D--! how shall we conceal the house-entrance to the vaults? There are some ugly telltales down below, if the rogues once got scent of them." "Every thing will be discovered! every thing will be discovered!" cried Waynfleet and the chaplain, in the same despairing tone. "If Sir John were at home "He would call you a couple of lily-livered Tom Otters," interrupted the sergeant, with a contemptuous turning up of his nose. "What! did you never smell powder before? well, then, go and smell burnt paper. Ram into the fire every scrap and letter that might give old Noll an excuse for making us run the gauntlet, and leave all the rest to me." Recommending his companions to execute this commission without farther delay, he proceeded instantly to give such orders as the emergency required. The warrener was despatched on a fleet horse to seek Sir John in Ashdown forest; the falconets were fired from the western tower, to |