The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 198: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. 179 Her eyes glared, as it were, through the dark- ness. P She had never seen such a sight as this be- ore. When concealed against her will in the nunnery, she had witnessed the terrible battle on the bridge in which Harold had saved the life of Cromwell, but she had never before been in such close proximity to death. The combat was not long, however. Suddenly, in the midst of the battle, when Quelf's friends, more numerous than those of Lord Clement Villiers, were pressing hard upon the others, every lamp in the place was ex- tinguished. The vaults had been dark before. The light had been given by the dullest of | dull oil lamps, but now everything was plunged ; into utter darkness, Lord Villiers availed himself of this. “ Now, my friends,” he said, ‘* follow me,”’ With these words, he sprang upwards to the place where he had left Blanche anxiously awaiting him. She had made no attempt to move the pedestal. All she desired was to watch him—to be near him—and the thought of quitting the place be- fore him had never once entered her mind. Ina few moments, however, preased by the strong shoulder of Lord Villiers, the statue of the Virgin had yielded, and the triamphant hus- band and his band were beneath the free canopy of Heaven. How much less trinamphant, how muoh less elate would they have felt, had they known what friend they had left behind. How their hearts would have bled could they have understood that beneath those gloomy depths Ettie Leslie was confined in darkness and despair. ‘We have no time to waste, or I would call on the armourer,” said Lord Clement; “ but time presses, and it would be madness, when I am 80 greatly required elsewhere, to let ‘friend- ship stand in my way.” And so they quitted the spot, leaving the young and gentle daughter of the armourer in the power of her deadliest and most unscrupulous foe. It may occur to my readers as a most ex- traordinary circumstance that Lord Clement Villiers should have been able so readily to discover the place where his wife had been con- cealed by his enemies. A single circumstance led to ih After an interview with Pilgrim Corder, in which the latter afforded him some very neces- sary information in relation to the whereabouts of useful men belonging to the Alsatian brother- hood, Lord Villiers took his way on foot along London Bridge. He had scarcely reached the place where the half-way house swung its huge sign-board over the roadway, when he heard the voice of an excessively drunken man singing in loud tones the words of a jovial ditty, Dranken as were the tones, he knew them at once. They were those of Captain Lackland, the Alsatian bully, the man who had tried to murder him on that very bridge. “This may lead to something,” thought ON ee ey a Villiers. ‘I will endeavour to lead this man into conversation. In the darkness and in his drunken state he will not know me again.” The man approached, He came on very slowly. Loudly over the water rolled his drunken notes. ‘* Here's a health to my lass In a full-brimming glass, That with rich, luscious wine’s running over ; From her arms [’ll ne'er rove, She’s the queen of my love, Aye, the queen of the merry night-rover!”’ So sang Captain Lackland in his cups—a merry rude song. He would, have shrieked instead with fear had he remembered the spot where he stood, and the one who was nearly by his side. So on he came. ‘s Halt ! there,” cried Lord Villiers. Lackland stopped swaying to and fro foolishly, He seemed to recognise the voice ; and yet in trnth he had no idea that he who stood beside him was the one whom he had flung headlong into the river, “Who are you 7” he said. ‘‘A friend; whither are you going? may be of service to me.” The Alsatian rolled up against the parapet, and sat himself down upon a projecting ledge. “ peak up, then,” he cried; “if it’s in my way I shall be glad.” “You de not answer, Whither are you going f” ‘“T am going to see my Lord Raymond.” * Ab! he is a great friend of mine,” returned Villiers, “ Indeed ; then you can do me @ service.” “Oan youf [am quite willing.” “J have a letter for my lord ; and, as you see, I can scarcely see er stand. Therefore, if you are his friend, take this letter for me.” “T will do so with pleasure. From whom shall I say that it comes ?” “From Peter Quelf.’’ “ Good,” said Lord Villiers, scarcely able to repress a amile, ‘‘ good, I will do this commis- sion for you. Give me the letter, and you can return at once to your home.” The Alsatian without further demur produced the letter, and placed it in the hands of his companion. Then with a drunken farewell he passed on, and Lord Villiers hurried away to find a spot where he could read the missive. He felt assured that the secret of his own sorrow was to be discovered in this letter. So he went on eagerly. Presently as he passed off the bridge the friendly light of a hoetelry glowed upon him, and he at once entered. fanding beneath a lamp he read these words, written in the scrawling hand of the dwarf— “Lady Villiers and Ettie Leslie are safe in the vaults beneath the house of the Armourer., I will wait for you This was enongh. It was a clue at once to the secret, and we have seen how, when acted upon, it resulted in the escare of Lady Blanche, and the defeat of Lord Raymond and his companions. We must new return to Harold Fordyce. You | ” » nt « | e . é » ;° y Ys AGG COMED OOKSEEON