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<h4>CHAPTER XXIII.</h4> It was a dark and stormy night when Edgar Adelon, mounted upon a powerful horse, which seemed wearied with long travel, rode along towards a little village near the sea-coast, about twelve miles from Brandon. The rain beat hard upon him, dashing in his fair face, and almost blinding man and steed; the wind tossed about the curls of his hair like streamers round his head; neither great coat nor cloak sheltered his delicate form from the blast or the down-pouring deluge; but still he spurred on, seeming heedless of the tempest that raged around. He entered the street of the village; he passed the little alehouse, where there were lights and laughing voices within; and he drew not a rein till he reached the last cottage but one upon the right hand side, before which he checked his horse suddenly, and sprang to the ground. Fastening the bridle round the paling, he went forward and knocked at the door, and then immediately lifted the latch and went in, saying, "Martin Oldkirk lives here, I believe?" A short, square-built, vigorous-looking man rose from the fire-side, and eyed him with a suspicious look as he entered. He had been reading a sort of newspaper, small in size and apparently badly printed, by the light of a single tallow candle; but he instantly put the paper away, and shaded his eyes to examine the visitor. "Yes," he said, at length, "my name is Martin Oldkirk. What do you want with me?" "I want to speak a few words with you," answered Edgar Adelon, closing the door behind him, and advancing to the table. "You know a gentleman of the name of Norries, I believe?" The man hesitated, and then replied, "I have seen such a person, I've a notion. He called here once, but that's all." "You know me, however, I suppose?" answered Edgar Adelon. "Yes, I think I have seen you before somewhere," replied Oldkirk, with an indifferent air. "You are the baronet's son over at Brandon, I fancy." "Exactly so," replied the young gentleman; "and Harry Graves, who works for Mr. Mead, told me that you could give me some information." "What about?" demanded the man, abruptly. "About this very Mr. Norries," answered Edgar Adelon, fixing his eyes upon him. "I have been eight days hunting him, and find, at last, that you are the only man who knows where he is." "That's a lie, at least!" answered the man, in an insolent and swaggering tone; "and you may tell Harry Graves so for me." Edgar smothered his indignation at his companion's brutality, and replied, "At all events you know where he is to be found, and you must tell me where he is, for I must speak to him immediately upon business of importance." "You won't hear from me," answered the man; "for mayhap I do not know where he is. If you want him you must find him for yourself." "No," said Edgar, sternly. "You must find him for me, or if you don't you must take the consequences." "And what may they be?" asked the labourer, with no less insolence in his manner, but with a contemptuous smile curling his lip at the same time. "Why, simply, that I shall give you up to justice," answered Edgar Adelon, "as one of the rioters who treasonably attacked the town of Barhampton." "You would find that difficult to prove," answered the man, "because I was not there." "Not so difficult as you imagine," answered the young gentleman. "I have the written testimony of three witnesses to show that you were present; and if you do not do what I require, depend upon it I will use those means to convict you." The man had taken two steps round the table, and he now sprang at once between Edgar and the door, exclaiming, "Then d--mn me if I don't knock your brains out for your pains. I'm not to be bullied in that way." As he spoke, he was advancing upon the young gentleman; but when he was within not much more than two yards, Edgar suddenly drew a pistol from between his waistcoat and his shirt, where he had put it to keep it dry, and presented it at Oldkirk, cocking it at the same time with a loud click. "I came prepared for all that," he said, with a bitter smile. "They told me you were a desperate fellow, and that they were all afraid to come near you. Take another step and you are a dead man." Martin Oldkirk paused and gazed at him with a look in which a certain portion of admiration was joined with surprise. "Upon my life," he said, at length, "you're a brave little devil! but this is hardly fair, sir. Now, let us sit down and talk over the matter. I see what stuff you're made of, and I don't think you'd do what's wrong, or wish me to do so either." "Well, keep your distance, then," said Edgar Adelon. "You are a stronger man than I am, and the pistol only puts us on a level. As to wishing you to do what's wrong, I have no such desires nor intention. I wish you to do what is right, and that I will show you in a minute." Oldkirk retreated to his former situation, and waited without reply for Edgar Adelon to go on. "You have heard me request you," said the young gentleman, seating himself opposite to him, "to tell, show, or lead me to the place where Mr. Norries lies concealed. Now, I have not the slightest intention whatsoever of injuring that gentleman in any way. No consideration would induce me to betray him; and I give you my word of honour that his secret shall be as safe with me as it is with you." "Why, upon second thoughts," replied the peasant, "I should guess it would, seeing that that which hurts him might hurt your own father, Mr. Adelon; and mayhap it's about your father's affairs that you are going to speak with him." Edgar shut his lips tight; and after a moment's pause replied, "I know nothing of my father's affairs, Mr. Oldkirk, and I will not deceive you about it. My business with Mr. Norries has no connexion with my father whatsoever. I desire to speak with him in regard to matters which I am sure he takes some interest in. A gentleman, a very dear and intimate friend of my own, has been apprehended and committed for trial, charged with an act which he did not commit, and in regard to which, I think, Mr. Norries may furnish some information which may be useful to my friend's defence." "That he won't," replied Oldkirk, abruptly. "He'll inform against no one, I'll answer for it." "You mistake and interrupt me," said Edgar Adelon, with a slight degree of haughtiness in his manner. "I neither expect nor desire that he should turn informer; but I think he may be able to give me the names of several persons who saw my friend on the night in question, and who can bear testimony to where he was at certain times, so as to prove that it was impossible he could commit the crime with which he is charged." "That's another affair," said Martin Oldkirk; "and if you assure me, sir, upon your word of honour, that you have no other object than this, I don't mind lending a hand; but at the same time you see, Mr. Adelon, when a thing is trusted to me by any persons I mustn't tell other people anything about it till I have asked leave." "That is fair enough," answered Edgar Adelon; "I pledge you my word of honour that I have no other object whatever in seeking Mr. Norries than that which I have stated; and I have no objection to tell you the circumstances of the case, in order that you may communicate them to Mr. Norries himself before he sees me." "Oh! that's not needful, sir," replied the man. "I guess well enough what it is all about: this gentleman that is accused of killing the young lord up at Brandon, who was buried t'other day. I don't think you need trouble your head much about it, for every one knows well enough he didn't do it, and they'll never get a jury to condemn him; but for the matter of that, I don't blame a gentleman who wants to help a friend, and an innocent man too, at a pinch like that. But you'll have a long way to go, sir, though it's all in your way home too." "I do not mind how far it may be," answered Edgar, "nor whether it be in my way or not. Mr. Norries I will see, and this very night, too, if it be possible. I am quite ready to go, if you are willing." "Well, that's right," replied Oldkirk. "I like a man that's ready to do anything to serve a friend. So come along, we'll set to work at once; but you'll have to stay behind, maybe for ten minutes or so, while I ask leave. If I get it, well enough; if I don't get it, I suppose you and I are to have a tussle." "I'll think of that as we go along," answered Edgar Adelon; "but, at all events, we'll have a truce till you come back again from your mission, and fair play on both parts, my good friend." "Agreed," said Oldkirk. And putting up his pistol in his breast again, the young gentleman followed him quietly out of the house, and taking his horse's bridle over his arm, walked on by the man's side in perfect confidence. This conduct seemed to please him not a little, for he was much more conversible and open than he had been at first; but he still kept a guard upon his communications, taking care not to say a word which could lead his companion even to suspect where Norries lay concealed. The way was long, and the drenching rain poured upon the two wayfarers, as amongst the narrow lanes and between the high hedgerows which distinguished the inland parts of that country, they wandered on for more than an hour. They passed one village, a hamlet, and some scattered houses; but Edgar, in his wanderings, had made himself acquainted with every rood of the country round Brandon, and he perceived that each step he took brought him nearer home. At length, Martin Oldkirk stopped by the side of a little church at the distance of about five miles from the park, and said, "Now you must wait here for me, master, till I can get leave to bring you on. But you are very wet, and that's a bad thing for a genteel lad like you. If you like it, I can get you a glass of spirits from that farm-house there, where you see the light glimmering." "It would, perhaps, be better for me to go in there and wait for you," replied Edgar; "for although I care little about bad weather, having been accustomed to brave it all my life, yet the rain dashing heavily in one's face is not pleasant." "That will not do, sir," replied the man; "they might track us, if they saw you and me together." "Well, then, I will put my horse under the yew tree and go into the church porch," said the young gentleman; "spirits I do not drink, and shall do well enough without them." "There are worse things on a wet night," answered the other; and turning away, he left Edgar to follow his own course. The church porch alluded to was a deep, old Norman projection from the face of a building, the greater part of which was of more modern date; for successive church-wardens had each done his best to spoil, by additions and improvements, what had once been a small but very beautiful piece of architecture. There, however, under the round and richly moulded arches, Edgar Adelon found a temporary shelter, while an old yew tree, planted probably by Saxon hands, protected his horse from the fury of the storm. Time seemed to pass very slowly to his impatient spirit, and as the porch approached close to the road, he listened, though for some time in vain, for a coming step. At length one sounded at a distance, and in a minute or two more his guide was at his side. "Well," cried Edgar, eagerly, "what news?" "It won't do, sir, tonight," replied the man. "I was directed to tell you that you must not come on now, but that if you will be there to-morrow evening at nine, you will not only see him you want, but get all the information that he can give." "It is very unfortunate," answered Edgar; "the assizes open the day after to-morrow; this trial will be one of the first, in all probability, and we shall have no time to prepare. But I will be wherever you will name, of course; or will you come and guide me?" "I will be there waiting for you," said the other; "but you must swear not to say one word to any person which can lead people to find out where the gentleman is, on any account whatever." "Most willingly," replied Edgar Adelon; "under no circumstances whatever, by word, or look, or sign, will I betray the place of his concealment, upon my honour." "That will do," rejoined Oldkirk. "And now, to tell you where to come. I dare say you know the country pretty well?" "Oh! yes," answered the young gentleman; "there are few parts within twenty miles round where I could not find my way." "Well, then, do you know the old workhouse at Langley?" asked the countryman. "It stands just at the back of the village." "Perfectly," replied Edgar. "Am I to be there?" "You will find me near the door at nine to-morrow," said Oldkirk. "And now, master, can you find your road home?" "As easily as if it were broad day," answered his companion. "And now, Oldkirk, let me say, I am sorry I used a threat towards you; but you must forgive it; for when one is so deeply interested as I am in proving the innocence of a friend, one often says things one would not say at another time." "There, don't say any more about it," replied the other. "May be some day you may lend me a hand, and that will clear all scores; so good night, sir!" Edgar bade him farewell, mounted his horse, and spurred on towards Brandon, seeing not a living creature till he came within a hundred yards of the park gates. His heart was lightened, and his spirits, which had been greatly depressed, rose high at the thoughts of serving, nay, perhaps of saving, one for whom, from the first, he had in his young enthusiasm conceived the warmest friendship. The wind had somewhat abated, but the rain still continued when he approached the park, and the night was so dark that his horse was nearly upon a foot-passenger before he saw him. The person whom he overtook was walking slowly on, with an umbrella covering his head and shoulders; but the sound of the falling hoofs startled him, and made him jump aside just as Edgar checked his horse. "Is that you, Edgar?" said Mr. Filmer, turning round; and Edgar immediately sprang to the ground, apologizing for having nearly ridden over him. "The truth is, father," he said, "I was riding fast to catch dear Eda before she goes to bed, and to tell her the tidings which have made me very joyful." "Let me share them," said Father Filmer; "for if I judge rightly they will be joyful to me too." "I am sure they will," cried Edgar, forgetting, in the light-heartedness of the moment, the caution which Eda had given. "By this time to-morrow, I trust to be able to prove Dudley's innocence beyond a doubt." "That is indeed most satisfactory," answered the priest. "But are you quite sure, my young friend? Youth is apt to be sanguine; too sanguine, alas! not to meet with disappointment." "I trust such will not be the case now," answered Edgar Adelon; "for at nine to-morrow I am to meet one who can give me information if he will." Mr. Filmer was well aware that his hold upon the mind of the young gentleman who was now walking on beside him was much less strong than that which he possessed over Daniel Connor, Sir Arthur Adelon, or even Mr. Clive. He knew that to attempt to force his secrets from him, by representing a full communication thereof to the priest in the light of a religious duty, would be at once treated by Edgar as a ridiculous assumption, and that he must therefore take a very different course with him from that which he had pursued with others; as, indeed, he had done in addressing every one of the persons I have named above. To no two of them had he put forth exactly the same motives in exercising the influence which he possessed over them. The general line he took was still the same, indeed, though he modified his arguments to each individual; but now he was obliged, in a degree, to choose a new direction. "I seek no confidence, my son," he said, "but that which is voluntary. You have been a little reserved lately, but that matters not; though, perhaps, I might have aided you more than you know. When I ask you, therefore, who is the person you have to meet, and where you are to meet him, I do not want you to tell me anything you may be disposed to conceal, and have only in view your own safety; for you must remember, Edgar, that these are somewhat dangerous times; and if I am not much mistaken, the people you have to deal with are rash and violent men, who will not scruple at anything which may serve their purpose." "There is not the slightest danger," answered Edgar Adelon. "I know who and what they are quite well; and they know that I would not betray them for any consideration whatever. That which prevents me from telling you whom I am going to meet and where, is that which has hitherto prevented me from speaking with you as openly as I could wish: namely, that the affairs with which I have to do are not my own, and that other persons are compromised throughout the whole matter. I could not, therefore, in honour reveal to you any of the particulars; and in this case especially, I am bound, by a most solemn promise, to discover nothing to any one." "It is very well," replied the priest. "I have no curiosity; and I shall be perfectly satisfied if you can prove that our young friend is totally innocent. At nine tomorrow, did you say? Well, may you be successful; for I myself am quite sure of Mr. Dudley's innocence, and therefore trust it may be clearly established. You had better, therefore, mount again, and get home to your fair cousin as soon as possible, for I know she is very anxious, unnecessarily so, I believe; but we must always make allowances." Thus saying, he seemed to drop the subject; and after walking a few steps farther with him, Edgar Adelon sprang into the saddle, and rode on towards Brandon Park. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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