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Darnley

<h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4> <div class="poem0" style="margin-left:15%"> This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon. The Tempest. </div> One of the strangest problems of our inexplicable nature is the choice of evil and the rejection of good, even after long experience has proved that evil and misery are uniformly synonymous. Virtue, it is true, does not always exempt from sorrow, but crime must ever be wretchedness. Hope loses its balsam, and fear acquires a keener sting; the present is anxiety, the past remorse, and the future is despair; and yet wayward man drinks of the bitter cup when the sweet is offered to him, and launches his boat upon an angry sea, where storms attend his course, and shipwreck terminates his voyage, rather than glide down the smooth current of a tranquil stream, where peace pilots him on his way, and happiness waits him at the shore. Sir Payan Wileton knew not what happiness is. He had drunk the intoxicating bowl of pleasure, he had drained the boiling draught of revenge: pride, avarice, vanity, had all been gratified in turn; but peace he had never sought, content he had never found, and vengeful passions, like the Promethean vulture, preyed upon him for ever. Possessed of the vast estates of Chilham Castle, joined to those he also held of Elham Manor and Hyndesford, his wealth had been fully sufficient to create for him that interest amongst the powerful of the land which he could not hope to obtain by virtues or qualities. Thus powerful, rich, and full of desperate fearlessness, he was dreaded, detested, courted, and obeyed. He felt, too, that he was detested; and hating mankind the more, he became the tyrant of the country round. Seeking to govern by fear instead of esteem, he made his misanthropy subservient to his pride and to his avarice; and wherever he received or pretended an offence, there he was sure both to avenge and to enrich himself. Thus his life was a continual warfare, and in this active misanthropy he took as much delight as his heart was capable of feeling. It was to him what ardent spirits are to the drunkard, or the dice-box to the gambler. But there was one constant thorn that goaded him, even in the midst of the success which attended his other schemes; namely, the fear that the king might deprive him of the stewardship of Dover Castle, by which alone he held the estates of Chilham. In vain he had used all the influence he possessed to have the grant made absolute, or to hold his land by sergeantry, as it had been held by Lord Fitzbernard; the king was inexorable, and imagined that he did equal justice when he refused to restore the estates to the forfeited family, or to grant the feof thereof to Sir Payan. Indeed, it had been held by cunning lawyers of the day that Lord Fitzbernard could not lawfully be dispossessed, except under an attainder, which had never been attempted against him; and that if it could be proved that the estates had not reverted to the crown by any default of tenure, or by extinction, Sir Payan's right would fall to the ground; and that the only effect of the king's patent of the stewardry of Dover would be to alienate that office from the family holding the estates. Sir Payan was too wise to moot the question; and Lord Fitzbernard, hiding his indigence in a far part of Wales, had neither the means nor opportunity of succeeding in a suit against him. The few friends, indeed, that the test of misfortune had left the earl out of many acquaintances, strongly urged the king to revoke the grant which his father had made to a bad man, and to restore the property to a good one; but they never ventured to hint to the choleric monarch that the grant itself was illegal. However, Sir Payan had long foreseen that a time would come when the young heir of Chilham Castle might wrench his heritage from the hand that usurped it, and he resolved at all hazards to strike where the blow would be most effectual. Several painful indignities had induced the aged Earl of Fitzbernard to drop a title and a name to the splendour of which his means no longer were proportioned; and burying himself, as we have before said, in Wales, he devoted his whole time to endowing his son both with those elegant and warlike accomplishments which he fondly hoped would one day prove the means of re-instating his family in the halls of their ancestors. "Fulbert de Douvres," he said, "the founder of our family in England, won the lands and lordships of Chilham at the point of his lance, and why should not Osborne Darnley, the only descendant of Rose de Douvres, his daughter, regain his patrimony by his good sword?" Happily, his very poverty had removed the old earl from any county where the influence of Sir Payan Wileton might be felt, or where his machinations could be carried on successfully. Yet more than one attempt had been made to carry off the young heir of Chilham Castle, and little doubt could be entertained in regard to whose hand had directed them. All, however, had been frustrated by the extraordinary foresight with which the old earl guarded his son, seeming to have an intuitive knowledge of the time when any such attack was likely to take place, and to be always prepared to avoid or repel it. At length, however, the time came when the young Osborne Maurice (as he was now called) was to encounter alone all that his enemies could do against him; but it seemed as if his father had now lost all fear, and bidding him resume his real name when he joined the army, he sent him forth unhesitatingly to win renown. How he acquitted himself we have in some measure seen, and will now proceed with the circumstances that followed immediately upon his return to his native country, after five years of arduous military service. The bosom of Sir Payan Wileton, during his absence from the house where he had left his prisoner, was agitated by a thousand various passions. Triumph--malice--pride--fear that he might yet, by some unforeseen circumstance, escape from his hands--newer and vaster projects of ambition, still, as he made one step sure, seeking to place another still higher--the feeling of a difficult enterprise accomplished--the heart-stealing preparation for a fresh crime, and mingled still withal an unwonted thrilling of remorse, that, like sounds of music amidst cries of riot and tumult, made discord more discordant--all occupied the void place of thought, and made him gallop quickly on, communicating to even his corporeal actions the hurried agitation of his feelings. Thus he proceeded for some way; but when he had ridden on for such a time as he computed that Lady Constance would remain at his dwelling, he turned his horse, and prepared to return home, having by his time striven to remove from his face all trace of any emotion, and having also, in some degree, reduced his feelings to their usual calm, determined action. Yet, nevertheless, there was a strange sensation of horror tugging at his heart, when he thought of the near accomplishment of his long-entertained designs. "He is too like his mother," muttered Sir Payan. "But yet I am not a woman to halt in my purposes for the weak memory of an idle passion, which disappointment and rejection should long have turned into revenge; and yet I wish he were not so like his mother." As he returned he checked the speed with which he had set out, and was proceeding leisurely on the road, when he heard the cantering of a horse coming up behind; and, turning round, perceived the somewhat curious figure of Sir Cesar the astrologer. It was one, however, well known to Sir Payan, who (as too often is the case) was destitute of religion, but by no means emancipated from superstition, and who, while he rejected the light of revelation, could not refrain from often yielding to the wild gleams of a dark imagination. In the still agitated state of his mind, too, when a sort of feverish excitement stimulated him to seek from any source knowledge of what would be the future consequences of his meditated actions, he looked upon the coming of Sir Cesar as a benefit at the hands of Fortune, and prepared to take advantage of it. Doffing low, therefore, his plumed hat as the old knight rode up, and bowing almost to his saddle-bow, "Welcome, worthy Sir Cesar," he said; "any news from your splendid friend his Grace of Buckingham?" Sir Cesar touched his palfrey between the ears with his small baton to make it slacken its pace; and then, after regarding Sir Payan with his keen dark eyes, as was usual with him on first encountering any one he knew, he replied, "Welcome, fortunate Sir Payan Wileton! Your star is in the ascendant!" And while he spoke there was a sort of cynical sneer on his countenance, which seemed hardly to wish well to him that he congratulated. "It is," replied Sir Payan; "but condescend, good Sir Cesar, to ride to my dwelling and pass one day with me, and I will tell you more." "What can you tell me that I do not know already?" demanded the other. "Do you think I know not how much you merited from fortune by your deeds when Perkyn Warbeck fled from Taunton? Do you think I know not that your enemy is in your power? I do, I do; and as I love the fortunate, I will come and stay one day at your house, though you know I tarry nowhere long." "I know it well, and hold your sojourn the more honour," answered Sir Payan; "but let us on, good Sir Cesar; there is much information which I will seek at your hands, and I know that you never refuse to give it when it is asked for no idle purpose." "No," replied the astrologer; "every man who seeks knowledge from me shall find it, were he worse than Satan himself; but woe be unto him if he turn it to an evil account! The deeper damnation be upon his head!" Putting their horses into a quick pace, they now soon reached the manor-house, the owner of which showed his guest with some ceremony into the banquet-hall. "How now!" cried he, observing the repast which had been set before Lady Constance still upon the table; "why have not these things been removed? And where is Heartley?" The answer involved a long account of what had happened during his absence, in which the story of the Portingallo having frightened Lady Constance till she fled into the strong-room was told with a greater degree of accuracy than might have been expected, though the length of time which she remained there was rather exaggerated, and some comments upon the conduct of Heartley, otherwise Longpole, were added, calculated to take from him Sir Payan's confidence. He had prevented every one from going in, the servant said, but himself, and had remained all the time the lady was there. "He did right," was the laconic reply of Sir Payan; "go to the granary, where are the Portingallos and their contraband goods, and bid the red-haired Dutchman who speaks English to come hither directly. The key hangs on the nail in the passage." Sir Payan's plan was formed at once. He doubted not that the communication which had taken place between his prisoner and Lady Constance would lead to her seeking means to effect his liberation the moment she arrived at Canterbury, or at least to set on foot some investigation; for although he knew not that they had ever met before, he felt sure that the young knight would make his situation known to every one who might in any way procure his release. Under this conviction, he determined to risk the event of sending down Sir Osborne by daylight, in the custody of the Portuguese, accompanied by two of his own servants, who might, in case of necessity, produce the warrant for his detention, and who would not be missed from his own household. The servant whom he had sent to the Portingals, however, soon returned, with a countenance in which might be seen a strong desire to laugh, contending with a habitual dread of Sir Payan. "What is the matter, villain?" cried the knight: "where is the Dutchman?" "Lying in the granary, please your worship," replied the man, restraining his merriment, "dead drunk, tumbled across a Portingallo's face, that makes him heave up and down by dint of snoring." Sir Payan stamped his foot with anger and disappointment. "And the rest?" demanded he; "all the rest?" "All dead drunk, please your worship!" replied the servant; "I kicked them all, to make sure, but not one of them answered me a syllable but Umph!" "Go!" said Sir Payan; "fetch me Heartley. Sir Cesar, give me your advice. This is my embarrassment!" and he proceeded to state to his companion the difficulty into which the news he had just heard had cast him. This proceeding may appear at first somewhat extraordinary, but it was very often the case in regard to Sir Cesar, that people acted as Sir Payan Wileton, in letting him into their most private affairs, and even into secrets where life and death were concerned, having such perfect confidence in his foreknowledge of events that it would have seemed to them folly to conceal them. It is very possible that in this manner the old knight obtained much of the extraordinary information which he certainly did possess, concerning the circumstances and affairs of almost every person with whom he came in contact; and many of those predictions which were so singularly verified may be attributed to the combinations he was thus enabled to form. But at the same time it is perfectly indubitable that he himself attributed all to the sciences which he studied, and placed implicit faith in his own powers; and thus, if he deceived the world, he deceived himself also. It was not, however, the nature of Sir Payan Wileton to confide wholly in any one; and though he informed the old knight that he apprehended the influence of Lady Constance de Grey might be exerted the moment she arrived at Canterbury to procure the release of his prisoner, or at all events that her representations might cause an immediate investigation of the affair, which would prevent his disposing of Darnley as he proposed; and though also perfectly convinced that Sir Cesar, by his superhuman knowledge, was well aware of the fate he meditated for his victim, he could not bring himself to unfold to him that part of his plan, merely saying he intended to send the turbulent youth, who, as he was well informed, came to seek no less than his ruin and his death, to some far country from whence it would be difficult to return. Sir Cesar listened in calm, profound silence; then, fixing his eyes on Sir Payan, uttered slowly, "The grave!" Sir Payan started from his seat. "You know too much! you know too much!" cried he. "Can you see thoughts as well as actions?" "Yes!" replied Sir Cesar: "I see and know more than you dream of, but calm yourself, and fear not. Lady Constance will not arrive at Canterbury before seven o' the clock: you know the haste of magistrates and magistrates' men, and can well judge whether she be likely to find a man so generous as to abandon his rere-supper and his bed of down, for a cold ride and a cold reception. At all events, they could not be here before two i' the morning, and ere that he will be gone. Rest satisfied, I tell you, that they may come if they will, but before they come he will be gone." Sir Payan's fears were very much allayed by this assurance, for his confidence in Sir Cesar's prophecies was great; but he felt still more secure from the examination to which he subjected our friend Longpole, who managed to evade his questions and to quiet his fears with infinite presence of mind. The lady, he said, had been so terrified by the insolence of the Portingal captain, that she had run into the strong-room, not knowing where she went, and was more like one dead than alive; and that as for the prisoner, he thought of nothing but threshing the Portingal, against whom he seemed to have an ancient grudge. Sir Payan was satisfied, but still his roused suspicion was never without some effect; and to Longpole's dismay he demanded the key, which he said he would now keep himself. There was, however, no means of avoiding it; and Heartley was obliged to resign into the hands of Sir Payan the means by which he had proposed to effect his young lord's delivery. "Sir Cesar, I humbly crave your excuse for one moment," said the crafty knight. "Stay, Heartley, where you are, and removing those things, arrange the board for a second banquet: for a banquet such as I give to my best and noblest friends. Open those cupboards of plate, and let the vessels be placed in order." So saying, he quitted the apartment, and proceeded to the room in which Sir Osborne was still pacing up and down, waiting impatiently the approach of night. The key turned in the door, and with a firm step Sir Payan entered, and stood before his captive. For a moment they paused, and eyed each other as when they had first met; and it was only by a strong effort that the young knight stayed himself from seizing the persecutor of his race, and dashing him to pieces on the floor of the prison. At length Sir Payan, after having glanced his eye round the chamber, spoke, and in the deep, hollow tones of his voice no agitation made itself heard. "You said this morning that we knew each other," said the knight; "Osborne Lord Darnley, we do; I have long sought you, I have found you, and you are mine own." "Calm, cold-blooded, mean-spirited villain!" answered Darnley, "what seek you with me now? Is it not enough to have ruined a noble house? Is it not enough to have destroyed your benefactor? Is it not enough to have swept away the happiness of me and mine, without seeking farther to injure those on whose head your detestable arts must nearly have exhausted themselves?" "I have done enough for my revenge, young man," replied Sir Payan; "I have done enough for my ambition; but I have not done enough for my security." "For your revenge!" cried Darnley: "what mean you, ruffian? My father was your friend, your benefactor. Compassionating your indigence, did he not aid to raise you with his purse and with his influence, till you could hold your head amongst your noble kindred, of whose house you are now the opprobrium?" "Your father insulted me with his services," answered the knight, "after your mother had insulted me with her scorn." "Name not my mother, traitor!" exclaimed Darnley, his eyes flashing fire. "Profane not her name with your accursed lips, lest I tear you limb from limb!" Sir Payan laid his hand on his dagger with a grim smile. "We waste time, young man," said he: "to the purpose for which I came! There is yet in my redder blood some drops of that weak thing called pity. I would rather see you live than die; but if you would live, I must be Lord of Chilham Castle, indeed and indeed. No stewardship of Dover, and holding by tenure of good pleasure, for me. Within this hour, then, sign me over, for yourself and for your father, all right and interest, claim and title, to the lands and lordship which you and yours did formerly possess, and you are free as air. But if you will not--" "What then?" demanded Darnley. "Why, then I will hold by a still better tenure," replied Sir Payan; "the extinction of the race of Darnley!" "Then hold thereby, if such be heaven's will," replied the prisoner. "But beware yourself; for in your best-laid schemes you may chance to fail, and even here on earth meet with that sure damnation for which you have toiled so long. Were I willing to stain myself with crimes like yours, this hour were your last; for yon dagger were but a poor defence against a man who knows his life is lost." Sir Payan took a step forward to the door. "Will you sign?" said he, laying his hand on the lock. "Never!" "Then farewell!" and he quitted the apartment. "Oh, the villain!" cried Jekin Groby, poking his head out of the closet. "Oh, the downright, immense villain! What a damaged piece that man's conscience must be! I'm all quaking with only hearing him. But don't you think, my lord--that is to say, Sir Osborne--that if you had just knocked his brains out, we might have got away?" "No, no!" replied the knight. "If, as Heartley told us, we could not have escaped when aided by Lady Constance de Grey's servants, much less could we do so now. Better wait till night, which surely cannot be far distant, for it seems to me we have been here an age." Nevertheless, hour after hour went by, and the provoking sun, which had now fully come round to that side of the house, continued to pour his beams into the high window, as if willing to sicken the prisoners with his unwished-for light. Nor did much conversation cheer the passing of their time. Sir Osborne was silent and meditative; and Jekin Groby, growing more and more tired of his situation, kept running in and out of the closet, now sitting still for a moment upon the straw, now walking up and down, not at all unlike a tame bear perambulating to and fro in his den. Occasionally, indeed, a word or two of hope, or doubt, or inquiry, passed between the prisoners; and Jekin, who felt in himself an internal conviction that he was a man of as much consequence in the world as any human being, could not conceive how Sir Payan Wileton could have forgot to inquire where he was, when he did not find him in the same room with the knight. On this he wondered, and better wondered, till his companion replied, "I told you before, my good Jekin, Sir Payan's designs only affect me, and possibly he may have forgotten you altogether. But it seems growing darker. I wonder Longpole has not been here to speak to us, according to his promise." "I should not wonder if he were playing us a trick, and were not to come at all," said Jekin. "Oh, dear! What would become of us? Lord-a-mercy! I don't like it at all!" In about a quarter of an hour, however, their hopes were raised, and disappointed. The key once more turned in the door, and both the knight and his companion expected to see their friend Heartley; but in his place appeared two of the servants of Sir Payan, one of whom brought in some provisions, while the other stood at the door. The sight, however, of the roast beef and jug of ale was very gratifying to the entrails of the worthy clothier, who looked on well contented while the man laid them down on the ground before him. "Now, my good fellow, an we had a little salt," said Jekin, "we could fall to." "Fellow me no fellow!" answered the servant. "Eat what you've got, my forward chap, and thank God for it." "Ay, but wouldst have me tear it with my teeth?" cried the clothier. "I'm not a wild beast, though you do keep me in a den." "Well, I will cut you a nuncheon with my dagger," replied the serving-man. "Look to him, Will, that he do not smite me while I kneel." And so saying, he stooped and cut several slices from the meat with his side knife, which being done, he rose, and left the strong-room quickly, as if almost afraid of its denizens. "Now, sir," cried Jekin, "come and keep your spirit up with some of the best comfort in nature. Oh! to my mind, there is no consolation on earth like roast beef and ale." But Sir Osborne had no inclination to join in the good clothier's repast. The auguries which he drew from the appearance of these two strange serving-men, and the absence of Longpole, were not of a nature to increase his appetite; and he looked on silently, while Jekin, without any sacrifice to the gods, devoured great part of the beef, and made manifold libations of the ale. "Jekin," said Sir Osborne, when the clothier had finished, "I am afraid Sir Payan Wileton has discovered that our friend Heartley is not quite cordial to his interests, and that he may take means to prevent his aiding us. Now, there is no reason that you should stay here as well as I; therefore, as soon as it is dark, I will help you up to the window as you did me. Drop down on the other side, and speed as fast as you can to any town where you are well known, there get together a body of a dozen horsemen, and scour the sea-coast from Sandwich to Hythe. Wherever you hear of a Portingallo vessel, there stop, and keep good watch; for I doubt not that this Sir Payan intends to send me to some far land, and perhaps sell me for a slave. Kill me I do not think he dare. Your pains shall be well paid. The night is coming on; so you had better mount first, and see the ground on the other side, that you may drop fair." "No, no, my lord--that is, Sir Osborne," said Jekin. "Dang it, no! you would not go away and leave me, so I'll not go away and leave you. Lord-'a-mercy! that's not fair, any way." "But by going you can serve me far more than by staying," said Sir Osborne; "so try to mount on my shoulders that you may see the ground." It was with great difficulty, however, that the honest clothier was persuaded to make the attempt, and when he did so it was in vain, Somewhat corpulent and shorter than the knight, even when standing upright on Sir Osborne's shoulders, he could hardly get as much of his arms over the opening as the other had done; and when he attempted to swing himself up, the heavy part of his body, which, according to Hudibras, is the seat of honour, and which, in the worthy clothier, was by no means deficient in rotundity, weighed him back again with a strong counteracting force, so that when Sir Osborne freed him he swang for a moment like a pendulum, and then dropped to the ground. No resource now remained but to wait patiently the event, and much need of patience had they to support them. Day waned, night fell, hour after hour passed by, and yet no sound gave them notice that any friendly being existed within the mansion. The curfew bell, the distant village clock, the barking of some watchful dogs in the hamlet, and the remote echoes of persons walking to and fro in the different halls, were all that marked the passing of time to the prisoners; and hope began gradually to wax dimmer and more dim, like the flame of a lamp when its oil is spent. At length, after a weary, silent pause, the clock was heard to strike again; but so faint were the sounds before they reached their ears, that Sir Osborne could hardly count them. "I counted but eleven," said he, "and yet methought the last hour that struck was eleven too." "Oh, 'tis twelve, 'tis twelve!" replied Groby; "I did not take heed to count, but I am sure it is twelve." "Hush!" cried the knight; "I hear some one on the outside. Hark!" "'Tis but a bat," said Jekin; "I heard its wings whirr past the window." "Hush!" cried the knight again, and as he spoke something darted through the opening, and fell at his feet. Feeling over the ground with his hands, he soon discovered the object of his search, which was a small roll of parchment. "It is a letter," said he; "but what is the use of throwing me what I cannot see to read? It must be for to-morrow morning." "Open it, open it!" cried Jekin; "methinks I see something shining through the end. It casts a light upon your hand." Sir Osborne rapidly unrolled the scroll, when to his joy and surprise he found it covered with large luminous characters, in which, though somewhat smeared by rolling the parchment, was written legibly: "Pull up the rope gently that is cast through the window. Catch the settle that is tied to it. Make no noise. Come out, and be speedy." "Oons!" cried Jekin, "this is magic. The fairies are our friends!" "Oh! brave Heartley," cried the knight; "I thought he would prove true. But let us lose no time. Jekin, stand you under with me, and extend your arms, that the settle may not make a noise by falling." By searching along the wall the rope was found, and by pulling it gently the knight soon began to feel a weight at the farther end. For some way it ascended silently, as if a person without held it from the wall; but then, when it had been raised about six or seven feet, it grated desperately till it entered the opening in the wall, which by courtesy we have termed window. The cord had been so adjusted as to insure its entrance; and as soon as Sir Osborne was certain that it had passed sufficiently, and hung upon the very brink, he gave it a sudden jerk, and catching it with a strong hand as it fell, secured possession of the tall settle or hall stool with scarcely any noise. "Now, good Jekin," said he, "we are free. I will mount first, and then help you up; by standing on this settle, and pulled by me above, you will not have much difficulty." "Oh, no! I warrant you, your worship," replied Jekin. "And when we are once out, let every man run his own way, say I. Your worship's company may prove somewhat dangerous, and I am a peaceable man." "Well, be it so," answered the knight; and placing the settle directly under the window, he soon contrived to get into the opening, and kneeling in the deep wall, managed with some trouble to raise the heavy body of Groby, and place him in a sitting position on the edge, so that the moment he himself dropped down on the other side, the honest clothier could take his place and follow his example. Turning round, Sir Osborne could perceive by the dim light of the night the tall form of Longpole standing below, but he took care not to utter a sound; and bending his knees, he gradually stretched himself out, till he hung by nothing but his hands; then dropped, and in a moment stood silently by Heartley's side, who instantly placed in his hands the large double-edged sword of which he had been deprived in the morning. It now became poor Jekin's turn, who managed the matter somewhat more slowly, and a good deal more clumsily; and at length, when he dropped, although the arms of the knight broke his fall, he uttered a tremendous "Oh!" and exhausted, leant against the wall. At that moment a light appeared in a window above, passed by a second one, and instantly the alarum-bell rang out a peal loud enough to awake the dead. "Run! run! every one his own way!" cried Jekin, who seemed to trust mightily to the activity of his own legs, and plying them with vast rapidity, he fled up an alley before him. "This way, my lord!" cried Heartley; "quick, we shall distance them far." And darting off for the thick wood that almost touched the angle of the house, he led the knight into a deep forest path, crying "Stoop!" The sounds of pursuit were now loud on every side. Whoop, and halloo, and shout, floated on the wind, as the servants, dispersed in all directions, strove to give information or encouragement to their comrades, and one party especially seemed by the sound to come rapidly on their track. At length an alley, bounded by a wall, closed their course in that direction. "We can vault?" said Heartley. "On!" cried the knight; and in a moment both had cleared the wall and the dry ditch beyond; but at the same moment the sounds of two parties of pursuers were heard in the parallel alley. "Down in the ditch!" cried the knight; "they will see us if we take to the open field." No sooner was it said than done, and immediately after, they heard as they lay, the feet and voices of half a dozen men passing rapidly by. "I was sure they did not take this way, Joe," cried one. "And I am sure they did!" answered the other. "They're in the wood now. Let us----" What he said more was lost, and after pausing for a moment or two till the sounds were but faintly heard in the wood, Longpole and his lord betook them to the open field, and soon were out of sight of the park. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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