XI
Of My Second Meeting with Rose Lisle
Now, it seemed to me when I heard Philip Lisle’s voice, that I was walking in a dream from which I should presently wake to find myself elsewhere, so strange was it to meet with him and Rose standing almost where I had left them so many years before. Yet the strange thrill of pleasure which shot through my heart was no dream, and the clasp of Black Phil’s hand was warm and real as he bent from his saddle to greet me.
“Ha!” said he, “I am glad to meet thee, Will Dale. Rose, give Will thy hand. How many years is it, I wonder, since thou and he rode together down yonder bank on horse Caesar’s back? Ye have both grown somewhat since then, and I have grown older and grayer.”
Rose stretched out her hand to me and looked curiously at me in the moonlight. She must indeed have wondered to find the lad she remembered grown into such a strapping man as I was then. Yet she could not be more surprised than I was when I came to look at her in the full light of the moon. She had grown into a tall and stately maiden of gracious presence and rare beauty, in which I could still trace some resemblance to the child that had bent over me in the wood when I fell down from the stormcock’s nest. Now, I had never until then looked much upon maidens, always having my mind intent on other matters, but I felt that having once seen Rose Lisle I could go on watching her dark eyes forever. So we stood looking at each other in the moonlight, each no doubt wondering by what magic means time had so soon wrought this great change in us.
“Well,” said Philip Lisle, “and how goes the world with you, Will? I have never ridden this way since that sad night many a year ago, and I dare say ye have all well-nigh forgotten me.”
“That, indeed, we have not, sir. We have thought often of you and of Mistress Rose here, and wondered why you brought her not to see us as you promised.”
“Ah, lad, I have had much to do. My time has been spent far north, Carlisle way, this ten years. For dost know, Will, I had given up my old trade when I found thee kneeling by thy poor father’s body that night. I have been a King’s man since then; nay, I was even then upon the King’s business. Rose and I have had a quiet billet in Carlisle this many years.”
I was glad to hear that, and said so.
“But who knows, lad, how much longer it may be quiet? There is trouble afoot. You have heard of it, Will?”
“We have heard such news as travellers bring,” I answered.
“There is war at hand, Will,” said he. “War and no less. You have heard that the King and Commons are at daggers drawn. I fear it will be a great struggle, of which no man can yet see the end.”
Now, in our parts we knew very little of the discussion between the King and the Parliament, for news travelled slowly, and we had enough to do to look after our own concerns without troubling about those of our betters. Nevertheless, so unsettled had been the times during the past ten years that people had talked more than usual about the doings of those in high places, and we were thus somewhat familiar with certain great events which had lately happened. We had heard, for example, of the levying of ship-money on the port towns which had caused so much ill-feeling throughout the country, and travellers had told us of the resistance offered to it by Mr. John Hampden and others. We had heard, too, of the harsh punishment meted out to Prynne, the lawyer, and to his companions Burton and Bastwick, whose path from the prison to the pillory in Palace Yard the populace had strewn with flowers. Then had come to us news of the disturbances in Scotland, where the King was fighting against numerous malcontents. Nothing but trouble and sorrow, indeed, seemed to follow the King at that time, and every traveller brought bad news of great affairs. The Earl of Strafford had been executed. The House of Commons had passed its Grand Remonstrance against the King, who, in his turn, had impeached five of its members of high treason, and attempted to seize them in the House itself. Things, indeed, were in a sad state, and yet because we were a long way from London it seemed to us that we were out of danger and need do nothing but attend to our own matters and thank God that we had been born to quiet lives.
“Think you we shall hear aught of it in these parts?” I asked, thinking these matters over as I stood by Philip Lisle’s horse.
“Nay, lad, I cannot say. But, hark ye, Will, I am on my way to Nottingham, where is to be a meeting of the King’s friends this week, and I shall hear news there. And so little faith have I of returning to Carlisle yet awhile that I have brought Rose southwards with me. We came here but an hour ago, and Rose is going to stay with the old woman at the inn yonder for a couple of days until I return with more certain news.”
“Nay,” said I, “why should Mistress Rose stay at the inn when Dale’s Field is so near? Mistress Rose, persuade your father to bring you up to Dale’s Field. Come, sir, if you are in no great need to ride on, go up and sup with me. My mother and sister will be glad to see you once more, and they will welcome your daughter heartily.”
“Thou speakest kindly, Will,” said Philip
