individuals.
Thus placed, he bowed right and left, in acknowledgement of the cheers of the assemblage.
Not wishing to take a prominent part in these proceedings, Atherton had kept aloof, but he now came up to Syddall, and shaking hands with him, told him in a whisper that he might expect to see him at night.
The brave little Jacobite barber was then borne off in triumph, surrounded by his friends – a tall man marching before him carrying the white flag.
The procession took its way up the lane to Deansgate, along which thoroughfare it slowly moved, its numbers continually increasing as it went on, while the windows of the houses were thronged with spectators.
Thus triumphantly was Tom conveyed to his dwelling. Throughout the whole route no molestation was offered him – the magistrates prudently abstaining from further interference.
Before quitting him, the crowd promised to come to his succour should any attempt be made to arrest him.
Atherton did not join the procession, but took a totally different route.
Leaving the boat with the wharf-master, who volunteered to take care of it, he caused himself to be ferried across the river, and soon afterwards entered a path leading across the fields in the direction of Salford.
He walked along very slowly, being anxious to hold a little self-communion; and stopped now and then to give free scope to his reflections.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN
From these fields, the town, which was scarcely a mile distant, could be seen in its full extent. In saying "town," we include Salford, for no break in the continuity of the houses was distinguishable. The buildings on either side of the Irwell seemed massed together; and the bridge was entirely hidden.
It was not a very bright day – we must recollect it was November – but the lights chanced to be favourable, and brought out certain objects in a striking manner. For instance, the collegiate church, which formed almost the central part of the picture, stood out in bold relief, with its massive tower against a clear sky. A gleam of sunshine fell upon St. Ann's Church and upon the modern buildings near it, and Trinity Church in Salford was equally favoured. Other charming effects were produced, which excited the young man's admiration, and he remained gazing for some time at the prospect. He then accelerated his pace, and soon reached the outskirts of Salford.
At the entrance of the main street stood Trinity Church, to which we have just alluded – a modern pile of no great beauty, but possessing a lofty tower ornamented with pinnacles, and surmounted by a short spire. The row of houses on the right side of the street formed pleasant residences, for they had extensive gardens running down to the banks of the river.
Opposite the church, but withdrawn from the street, stood an old-fashioned mansion with a garden in front, surrounded by high walls. The place had a neglected air. Large gates of wrought iron, fashioned in various devices, opened upon the garden. Recollecting to have heard that this old mansion was occupied by Mrs. Butler – Monica's mother and Constance's aunt – Atherton stopped to look at it, and while peering through the iron gates, he beheld Miss Rawcliffe herself in the garden.
She was alone, and the impulse that prompted him to say a few words to her being too strong to be resisted, he opened the gates and went in. She had disappeared, but he found her seated in an arbour.
On beholding him she uttered a cry of surprise, and started up. For a moment the colour deserted her cheek, but the next instant a blush succeeded.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Atherton Legh," she said. "But how did you learn I was here?"
"Accident has brought me hither," he replied. "While passing the garden gates I chanced to see you, and ventured in. If I have been too bold, I will retire at once."
"Oh, no – pray stay! I am delighted to see you. But you are very incautious to venture forth. You ought to keep in some place of concealment. However, let me offer you my meed of admiration. I was wonderstruck by your last gallant exploit."
"You helped me to accomplish it."
"I helped you – how? I was merely a spectator."
"That was quite sufficient. I felt your eyes were upon me. I fancied I had your approval."
"I most heartily wished you success," she rejoined, again blushing deeply. "But I think you are excessively rash. Suppose the caissons had been fired, you would have been destroyed by the explosion."
"In that case I might have had your sympathy."
"Yes, but my sympathy would have been worth very little. It would not have brought you to life."
"It would have made death easy."
"With such exalted sentiments, 'tis a pity you did not live in the days of chivalry."
"If I had I would have maintained the peerless beauty of the dame I worshipped against all comers."
"Now you are beginning to talk high-flown nonsense, so I must stop you."
But she did not look offended.
Presently she added, "Do you desire to win distinction? Do you wish to please me?"
"I desire to please you more than any one on earth, Miss Rawcliffe," he rejoined, earnestly. "I will do whatever you ask me."
"Then join the prince. But no! I ought not to extort this pledge from you. Reflect! reflect!"
"No need of reflection. My decision is made. I will join the Manchester Regiment."
"Then I will place the sash on your shoulder, and gird on your sword," she said.
A fire seemed kindled in the young man's breast by these words. Casting an impassioned glance at the fair maiden, he prostrated himself at her feet, and taking her hand, which she did not withhold, pressed it to his lips.
"I devote myself to you," he said, in a fervent tone.
"And to the good cause?" she cried.
"To the good cause," he rejoined. "But chiefly to you."
Before he could rise from his kneeling posture, Monica and Jemmy Dawson, who had come forth from the house, approached the arbour, but seeing how matters stood, they would have retired; but Constance, who did not exhibit the slightest embarrassment, advanced to meet them.
"I have gained another recruit for the prince," she said.
"So I see," replied Monica. "His royal highness could not have a better officer."
"I am sure not," said Jemmy Dawson.
And embracing his friend, he cried, "I longed for you as a companion-in-arms, and my desire is gratified. We shall serve together – conquer together – or die together. Whatever it may be, apparently our destiny will be the same."
"You are certain of a rich reward," said Atherton. "But I – "
"Live in hope," murmured Constance.
"Not till I have discovered the secret of my birth will I presume to ask your hand," said the young man.
Constance
