The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

. fae wes ° = ogee wy Stooping down, he found thi: to be some straw. “T will go no farther, but lie down, and try and sleep till morning,” said Harold. For some time this was a perfectly useless endeavour. Thoughts crowded upon his brain, His own peril was nothing to him; it never indeed entered into his calculations. He was thinking of Ettie, of the mystery of her abduction; of her present peril; of the grief of the armourer ; even of Leicester’s dan- er— Leicester, the man whom he doubted and espised. At length, however, the unutterable silence of the place overcame the workings of his brain. Pleasant memories of old days came upon him, and he passed off into a drowsiness which was scarcely sleep. For nearly an hour he must havé slumbered thus, when he was awakened by a cold wind that swept over him like the chill air of a sud- denly opened vault. He sat up with a peculiar feeling of alarm. In the centre of the room was an apparition which riveted his attention. An old man, with hair white as the driven snow, habited in a long robe, was standing in the broad belt of moonlight that now streamed in from a barred window just above Harold’s He was guite still; his face turned upwards towards the light with an expression of adora- tion, such as one would fancy might be observed on the face of an Eastern fire-worshipper when he first beholds the sun in the morning. Then, as he gazed, the moon became gradually obscured. . The light which shone on the strange figure gradually faded away, and the figure melted away too, and all was utter darkness again. On first seeing the vision, Harold was so utterly confounded that he could find no voice to speak to it, It remained as it was but a few moments, moreover, and disappeared just as he had re- solved to address it, Eagerly he awaited the return of the blessed moonlight. At length the broad belt burst in again through the barred window. But the vision—was gone, In vain he rose and searched everywhere. The cell was empty. Not even a sign was there of how any one had entered or quitted the place. “What can this mean?” thought Harold. ‘Ts it some visitation from the dead, or is it some ancient prisoner who has found access to my cell ?” His hopes that it might be so kept him awake, and it was not until the firat light of dawn in- vaded his cell that he fell intoa heavy slumber. He was awakened by the clanging of bolts and the opening of his prison door, Springing up, he found himself face to face with Lord Raymond. Several soldiera were behind him. . Leave me,” cried he; “but remain within The soldiers closed the door, and Lord Ray- oD) Gl o~ ae THE YOUNG APPRENTICE; OR, the cell and played fiickeringly upon the rough ™ One Peres ees oF were mond sat down on a piece of stone which jutted from the wall, and was dignified. by the name of bench. Harold Fordyce,” said he, “do you know me 99 “T do. You are Lord Raymond, whom I saw struck down in the battle before St. David's.” Lord Raymond smiled. It was Harold’s voice that made him do so. It so plainly said how delighted he was to see him fall, and how sorry he was that he had sur- vived. “And you regret that I rose up again?’ he said. 66 I do.” * And, pray, why?” ‘‘ Because you are the enemy of all my friends—the one who pursues them with vin- dictive hatred—the attempted murderer of my benefactor.” “Would you like to be free?” ‘*Why ask me? The air of liberty cannot be compared to this.” ‘Would you give much for liberty ?” ‘*T would.” “Then, understand me, Before one hour you can be free if you do as I bid you.” “What is it you want of me?” Lord Raymond shook his head. “ That is not what I must speak of first,” he said. “I must explain to you the advantages which will accrue to you by doing what I wish you todo. In the firat place, there is your liberty—that is what every one covets, and more especially one who is of your age. In the second place, I have in my power Kttie Leslie, the daughter of the armourer. I know that you love your benefactor—I know that you respect your master—I know, through private sources, that you love the girl herself, Now, she is wholly and solely in my power; a word from me can consign her to a dungeon, or send her away miles — miles from London, where you and your friends would never find her. I will give you your own freedom, and her's also, if you do as I wish you.” “Yes,” said Harold, do not tell me the terms. ‘‘They are simple, I desire the place of con- cealment of Lady Blanche Marcheville.”’ Harold’s hopes at once vanished. His eagerneas was chilled. To obtain his liberty and that of Ettie he was asked to become a traitor. “No,” he said, “that I will never give up to any one. Lord Clement Villiers acted with me because he thought I could be trusted, I will not betray him.” Lord Raymond’s brows knitted with fierce anger, ‘You refuse, then ?”’ he said. 6 I do,” The other rose, ‘Good ; we will see what our mode of treat- ment will effect,” he said. Then, approaching the door of the cell, he tapped twice, and was let out by the soldiers. Harold was once more alone. The bright sunlight poured in a tremulous, feeble stream through the barred window into impatiently, “but you EDOOo