he had to get repaired before he could decently attend another parade. But the scalds or burns inflicted upon him proved more serious than was anticipated, and he was placed under the medical skill of Doctor Moult. The doctor recommended a short rest from his laborious duties; this rest, with the unremitting attentions bestowed upon him by the relenting cook, led to mutual affection, and when he recovered he never rejoined the invading force, but married her who had caused his injuries, settled in the town, became a thriving tradesman, and has descendants here who are highly respectable and wealthy."
Our last extract describes the interview of Valentine Holt, a young volunteer in the Stuart cause, with Prince Charles.
"After a little conversation, Lochiel wrote him a note and told him to go to Manchester forthwith, and present it at the house of Mr. Dickenson, at the top of Market Street Lane, which is now called the Palace Inn, and wait for an answer—the interview lasted only a few minutes. Clegg and Holt then went into the churchyard, and the latter looked upon his native town and the hills surrounding, and said with a sigh, 'I feel a presentiment that I shall never see my native town again. Ah, my dear mother, do forgive the many faults of an erring son. I confess I have caused thee many pangs of sorrow, and I leave the town with an idea that if I get weaned from my wild companions, I may become a wiser and a better man.' These and other sorrowful thoughts came crowding upon his mind, and Clegg observing that he was in deep thought, proposed to have a parting glass in the neighbouring tavern; after which he departed for Manchester, along what are now called the back lanes of Castleton, as at this time there was no road by Pinfold. He arrived at Manchester late in the evening, and was stirring early on the morrow; being at the house aforementioned at 10 a.m., he presented the letter given to him by Lochiel (which was directed in such a way that Holt was unable to imagine who it was for) to the orderly standing at the door; the latter appeared astonished, looking at Holt with a scrutinising eye, and told him he must wait at the door until he delivered the letter. He returned in a few minutes and ushered Holt into a room in which was seated a young man, tall, well-built, with a handsome face, auburn hair, and good eyes; the latter speaking to Holt, said, 'You are the young man from Rochdale (this was no less a person than the Prince himself) who has offered to join our cause?' Holt replied 'I am.' 'I hear you use the rifle with unerring aim.' The Prince taking up a loaded rifle that was in the corner, said, 'You see that jackdaw on the ridge of the house opposite, try to bring it down!' Holt fired, and it rolled down the roof. 'Ah! very good,' exclaimed the Prince, and calling in the orderly, said, 'Tell Dickson that he must enrol this man as Sergeant in the Manchester contingent.'"
1"Rochdale in 1745 and 1746." By an Old Inhabitant. Rochdale, John Turner, Drake Street, 1874.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE INFANT HEIR WAS STOLEN.
About midnight, in the autumn of 1724, two persons cautiously approached an old moated mansion, situated in Cheshire, though close to the borders of Lancashire. The night being almost pitch-dark, very little of the ancient fabric could be distinguished; but the irregular outline of its numerous gables showed that it was of considerable size. It was, in fact, a large picturesque hall, built in the early days of Elizabeth, and was completely surrounded by an unusually broad, deep moat. The moat was crossed by a drawbridge, but this being now raised, access to the mansion could only be obtained by rousing the porter, who slept over the gateway. All the inmates of the house seemed buried in repose. Not a sound was heard. No mastiff barked to give the alarm.
A melancholy air had the old hall, even when viewed by daylight. Of late years it had been much neglected, and portions were allowed to go to decay. Several rooms were shut up. Its owner, who died rather more than a year before the date of our story, preferred a town residence, and rarely inhabited the hall. Extravagant, and fond of play, he had cut down the fine timber that ornamented his park to pay his debts. Death, however, put an end to his career before he had quite run through his fortune. He left behind him a wife and an infant son—the latter being heir to the property. As there would be a long minority, the estates, by prudent management, might be completely retrieved. On the demise of her husband, the widow quitted her town house, and took up her abode with her child at the old hall. With a greatly reduced establishment, she lived in perfect seclusion. As she was young, very beautiful, and much admired, people wondered that she could thus tear herself from the world. But her resolution remained unchanged. Her affections seemed centred in her infant son. She had few visitors, declined all invitations, and rarely strayed beyond the limits of the park.
She had got it into her head that her child would be taken from her, and would not, therefore, let him out of her sight. The infant was as carefully watched as if he had been heir to a dukedom; and at night, for fear of a surprise, the drawbridge was always raised. In the event of the young heir dying under age, the estates passed to the brother of her late husband, and of him she entertained dark suspicions that did not seem altogether unwarranted.
Having offered this brief explanation, we shall return to the mysterious pair whom we left making their way to the hall. As their design was to enter the house secretly, they did not go near the drawbridge, being provided with other means of crossing the moat. One of them carried a coracle—a light boat formed of a wicker framework covered with leather.
Though they had now reached the margin of the moat, which was fringed with reeds and bulrushes, they did not put their plan into immediate execution, but marched on in silence, till a light was observed glimmering from one of the windows. A taper had been thus placed to guide them, proving that they had a confederate in the house.
On perceiving this light, which streamed from the partly-opened casement on the dusky water beneath it, the foremost of the twain immediately halted. He was a tall man wrapped in a long black cloak, with a broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows, and was well-armed.
As soon as the coracle was launched, he stepped into it, and was followed by his attendant, who pushed the frail bark noiselessly across the moat.
On reaching the opposite side, the chief personage sprang ashore, leaving his follower in the boat, and made his way to a postern, which he found open, as he expected. Before entering the house, he put on a mask.
The postern communicated with a back staircase, up which the midnight visitor quickly mounted, making as little noise as possible. The staircase conducted him to a gallery, and he had not advanced far when a door was softly opened, and a young woman, who had hastily slipped on a dressing-gown, came forth, bearing a light. It was the nurse. She almost recoiled with terror on beholding the masked figure standing before her.
"What's the matter with you, Bertha? Don't you know me?" asked the mysterious personage in a low voice.
"Yes, I know you now, sir," she rejoined in the same tone. "But you look like—I won't say what."
"A truce to this folly. Where is the child?"
"In his mother's bed. I offered to take him, but she would not part with him to-night."
"She will be obliged to part with him. I must have him."
"Oh, sir! I beseech you to abandon this wicked design. I am certain it will bring destruction upon all concerned in it. Do not rob her of her child."
"These misgivings are idle, Bertha. Bring me the child without more ado, or I will snatch it from its mother's arms."
"I cannot do it. The poor soul will go distracted when she finds she has lost her darling."
"What means
