It was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion
of the town by the harbour came to an end, and it
was long before silence was restored. For long,
lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting
through the streets in all directions and in every
quarter of the town. Quarrels followed, sometimes
among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols;
knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more
than one dead body remained behind upon the snow.
When, a full hour later, the last seaman returned
grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular
tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever
known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was
absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. By
next morning there were many strange stories flying;
and a little while after, the legend of the devil’s
nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the
lads of Shoreby.
But the return of the last seaman did not, even yet,
set free young Shelton from his cold imprisonment
in the doorway.
For some time after, there was a great activity of
patrols; and special parties came forth to make the
round of the place and report to one or other of the
great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually
broken.
The night was already well spent before Dick ventured
from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, but
aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the Goat
and Bagpipes. As the law required, there was
neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped
his way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found
an end of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders,
and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon
lost in slumber.
Very early the next morning, before the first peep
of the day, Dick arose, changed his garments, armed
himself once more like a gentleman, and set forth
for Lawless’s den in the forest. There,
it will be remembered, he had left Lord Foxham’s
papers; and to get these and be back in time for the
tryst with the young Duke of Gloucester could only
be managed by an early start and the most vigorous
walking.
The frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless
and dry, and stinging to the nostril. The moon
had gone down, but the stars were still bright and
numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear
and cheerful. There was no need for a lamp to
walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least
temptation to delay.
Dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground
between Shoreby and the forest, and had reached the
bottom of the little hill, some hundred yards below
the Cross of St. Bride, when, through the stillness
of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a
trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he thought
he had never heard the match of it for audibility.
It was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time;
and then the clash of steel succeeded.
