Chapter 19

"Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle."
_King John._

As Griffith and his companions rushed from the offices of St. Ruth into
the open air, they encountered no one to intercept their flight, or
communicate the alarm. Warned by the experience of the earlier part of
the same night, they avoided the points where they knew the sentinels
were posted, though fully prepared to bear down all resistance, and were
soon beyond the probability of immediate detection. They proceeded, for
the distance of half a mile, with rapid strides, and with the stern and
sullen silence of men who expected to encounter immediate danger,
resolved to breast it with desperate resolution; but, as they plunged
into a copse that clustered around the ruin which has been already
mentioned, they lessened their exertions to a more deliberate pace, and
a short but guarded dialogue ensued "We have had a timely escape," said
Griffith; "I would much rather have endured captivity, than have been
the cause of introducing confusion and bloodshed in the peaceful
residence of Colonel Howard."

"I would, sir, that you had been of this opinion some hours earlier,"
returned the Pilot, with a severity in his tones that even conveyed more
meaning than his words.

"I may have forgotten my duty, sir, in my anxiety to enquire into the
condition of a family in whom I feel a particular interest," returned
Griffith, in a manner in which pride evidently struggled with respect;
"but this is not a time for regrets; I apprehend that we follow you on
an errand of some moment, where actions would be more acceptable than
any words of apology. What is your pleasure now?"

"I much fear that our project will be defeated," said the Pilot,
gloomily; "the alarm will spread with the morning fogs, and there will
be musterings of the yeomen, and consultations of the gentry, that will
drive all thoughts of amusement from their minds. The rumor of a descent
will, at any time, force sleep from the shores of this island, to at
least ten leagues inland."

"Ay, you have probably passed some pleasant nights, with your eyes open,
among them, yourself, Master Pilot," said Manual; "they may thank the
Frenchman, Thurot, in the old business of '56, and our own daredevil,
the bloody Scotchman, as the causes of their quarters being so often
beaten up. After all, Thurot, with his fleet, did no more than bully
them a little, and the poor fellow was finally extinguished by a few
small cruisers, like a drummer's boy under a grenadier's cap; but honest
Paul sang a different tune for his countrymen to dance to, and--"

"I believe you will shortly dance yourself,