“Edmund! Can you get through here?” she exclaimed in a low eager whisper.
Edmund was immediately by her side, kissing the flushed anxious forehead: “My gallant Rose!” he said.
“Oh, thank heaven! thank heaven! now you may be safe!” continued Rose, still in the same whisper. “I never knew this was a door till this moment. Heaven sent the discovery on purpose for your safety! Hush, Walter! Oh remember the soldier outside!” as Walter was about to break out into tumultuous tokens of gladness. “But can you get through, Edmund? Or perhaps we might move out some of the shelves.”
“That is easily done,” said Edmund; “but I know not. Even if I should escape, it would be only to fall into the hands of some fresh troop of enemies, and I cannot go and leave my mother to their mercy.”
“You could do nothing to save her,” said Rose, “and all that they may do to her would scarcely hurt her if she thought you were safe. O Edmund! think of her joy in finding you were escaped! the misery of her anxiety now!”
“Yet to leave her thus! You had not told me half the change in her! I know not how to go!” said Edmund.
“You must, you must!” said Rose and Walter, both at once. And Rose added, “Your death would kill her, I do believe!”
“Well, then; but I do not see my way even when I have squeezed between your shelves, my little sister. Every port is beset, and our hiding places here can no longer serve me.”
“Listen,” said Rose, “this is what my mother and I had planned before. The old clergyman of this parish, Dr. Bathurst, lives in a little house at Bosham, with his daughter, and maintains himself by teaching the wealthier boys of the town. Now, if you could ride to him to-night, he would be most glad to serve you, both as a cavalier, and for my mother’s sake. He would find some place of concealment, and watch for the time when you may attempt to cross the Channel.”
Edmund considered, and made her repeat her explanation. “Yes, that might answer,” he said at length; “I take you for my general, sweet Rose. But how am I to find your good doctor?”
“I think,” said Rose, after considering a little while, “that I had better go with you. I could ride behind you on your horse, if the rebels have not found him, and I know the town, and Dr. Bathurst’s lodging. I only cannot think what is to be done about Walter.”
“Never mind me,” said Walter, “they cannot hurt me.”
“Not if you will be prudent, and not provoke them,” said Edmund.
“Oh, I know!” cried Rose; “wear my gown and hood! these men have only seen us by candle-light, and will never find you out if you will only be careful.”
“I wear girl’s trumpery!” exclaimed Walter, in such indignation that Edmund smiled, saying, “If Rose’s wit went with her gown, you might be glad of it.”
“She is a good girl enough,” said Walter, “but as to my putting on her petticoat trash, that’s all nonsense.”
“Hear me this once, dear Walter,” pleaded Rose. “If there is a pursuit, and they fancy you and Edmund are gone together, it will quite mislead them to hear only of a groom riding before a young lady.”
“There is something in that,” said Walter, “but a pretty sort of lady I shall make!”
“Then you consent? Thank you, dear Walter. Now, will you help me into your room, and I’ll put two rolls of clothes to bed, that the captain may find his prisoners fast asleep to-morrow morning.”
Walter could hardly help laughing aloud with delight at the notion of the disappointment of the rebels. The next thing was to consider of Edmund’s equipment; Rose turned over her ancient hoards in vain, everything that was not too remarkable had been used for the needs of the family, and he must go in his present blood-stained buff coat, hoping to enter Bosham too early in the morning for gossips to be astir. Then she dressed Walter in her own clothes, not without his making many faces of disgust, especially when she fastened his long curled love-locks in a knot behind, tried to train little curls over the sides of his face, and drew her black silk hood forward so as to shade it. They were nearly of the same height and complexion, and Edmund pronounced that Walter made a very pretty girl, so like Rose that he should hardly have known them apart, which seemed to vex the boy more than all.
There had been a sort of merriment while this was doing, but when it was over, and the moment came when the brother and sister must set off, there was lingering, sorrow, and reluctance. Edmund felt severely the leaving his mother in the midst of peril, brought upon her for his sake, and his one brief sight of his home had made him cling the closer to it, and stirred up in double force the affections for mother, brothers, and sisters, which, though never extinct, had been comparatively dormant while he was engaged in stirring scenes abroad. Now that he had once more seen the gentle loving countenance of his mother, and felt her tender, tearful caress, known that noble-minded Rose, and had a glimpse of those pretty little sisters, there was such a yearning for them through his whole being, that it seemed to him as if he might as well die as continue to be cast up and down the world far from them.
Rose felt as if she was abandoning her mother by going from home at such a time, when perhaps she should find on her return that she had been carried away to prison. She could not bear to think of being missed on such a morning that was likely to ensue, but she well knew that the greatest good she could do would be to effect the rescue of her brother, and she could not hesitate a moment. She crowded charge after charge upon Walter, with many a message for her mother, promise to return as soon as possible, and entreaty for pardon for leaving her in such a strait; and Edmund added numerous like parting greetings, with counsel and entreaties that she would ask for Colonel Enderby’s interference, which might probably avail to save her from further imprisonment and sequestration.
“Good-bye, Walter. In three or four years, if matters are not righted before that, perhaps, if you can come to me, I may find employment for you in Prince Rupert’s fleet, or the Duke of York’s troop.”
“O Edmund, thanks! that would be—”
Walter had not time to finish, for Rose kissed him, left her love and duty to her mother with him, bade him remember he was a lady, and then holding Edmund by the hand, both with their shoes off, stole softly down the stairs in the dark.
CHAPTER VIII
After pacing up and down Rose’s room till he was tired, Walter sat down to rest, for Rose had especially forbidden him to lie down, lest he should derange his hair. He grew very sleepy, and at last, with his arms crossed on the table, and his forehead resting on them, fell sound asleep, and did not awaken till it was broad daylight, and calls of “Rose! Rose!” were heard outside the locked door.
He was just going to call out that Rose was not here, when he luckily recollected that he was Rose, pulled his hood forward, and opened the door.
He was instantly surrounded by the three children, who, poor little things, feeling extremely forlorn and desolate without their mother, all gathered round him, Lucy and Eleanor seizing each a hand, and Charles clinging to the skirts of his dress. He by no means understood this; and Rose was so used to it, as to have forgotten he would not like it. “How you crowd?” he exclaimed.
“Mistress Rose,” began Deborah, coming half way up stairs—Lucy let go his hand, but Charles instantly grasped it, and he felt as if he could not move. “Don’t be troublesome, children,” said he, trying to shake them off; “can’t you come near one without pulling off one’s hands?”
“Mistress!” continued Deborah; but as he forgot he was addressed, and did not immediately attend, she exclaimed, “Oh, she won’t even look at me! I thought she had forgiven me.”
“Forgiven you!” said he, starting. “Stuff and nonsense; what’s all this about? You were a fool, that’s all.”