Having accomplished his object, the mysterious plunderer thrust his
spoil into a leathern bag with which he was provided, tied its mouth,
and was about to take his departure by means of a rope-ladder attached
to the battlements, when his retreat was suddenly cut off by the
gatekeeper, armed with a halberd, and bearing a lantern, who issued from
a door opening upon the leads. The baffled marauder looked round, and remarking the open window at
which Doctor Lamb was stationed, hurled the sack and its contents
through it. He then tried to gain the ladder, but was intercepted by the
gatekeeper, who dealt him a severe blow on the head with his halberd. The plunderer uttered a loud cry, and attempted to draw his sword; but
before he could do so, he received a thrust in the side from his
opponent. He then fell, and the gatekeeper would have repeated the blow,
if the doctor had not called to him to desist. "Do not kill him, good Baldred," he cried. "The attempt may not be so
criminal as it appears. Doubtless, the mutilated remains which the poor
wretch has attempted to carry off are those of his kindred, and horror
at their exposure must have led him to commit the offence." "It may be, doctor," replied Baldred; "and if so I shall be sorry I have
hurt him. But I am responsible for the safe custody of these traitorous
relics, and it is as much as my own head is worth to permit their
removal." "I know it," replied Doctor Lamb; "and you are fully justified in what
you have done. It may throw some light upon the matter, to know whose
miserable remains have been disturbed." "They were the heads of two rank papists," replied Baldred, "who were
decapitated on Tower Hill, on Saint Nicholas's Day, three weeks ago, for
conspiring against the queen." "But their names?" demanded the doctor. "How were they called?" "They were father and son," replied Baldred--"Sir Simon Darcy and Master
Reginald Darcy. Perchance they were known to your worship?" "Too well--too well!" replied Doctor Lamb, in a voice of emotion that
startled his hearer. "They were near kinsmen of mine own. What is he
like who has made this strange attempt?" "Of a verity, a fair youth," replied Baldred, holding down the lantern. "Heaven grant I have not wounded him to the death! No, his heart still
beats. Ha! here are his tablets," he added, taking a small book from
his doublet; "these may give the information you seek. You were right
in your conjecture, doctor. The name herein inscribed is the same as
that borne by the others--Auriol Darcy." "I see it all," cried Lamb. "It was a pious and praiseworthy deed. Bring
the unfortunate youth to my dwelling, Baldred, and you shall be well
rewarded. Use despatch, I pray you." As the gatekeeper essayed to comply, the wounded man groaned deeply, as
if in great pain. "Fling me the weapon with which you smote him," cried Doctor Lamb, in
accents of commiseration, "and I will anoint it with the powder of
sympathy. His anguish will be speedily abated." "I know your worship can accomplish wonders," cried Baldred, throwing
the halberd into the balcony. "I will do my part as gently as I can." And as the alchemist took up the weapon, and disappeared through the
window, the gatekeeper lifted the wounded man by the shoulders, and
conveyed him down a narrow, winding staircase to a lower chamber. Though
he proceeded carefully, the sufferer was put to excruciating pain; and
when Baldred placed him on a wooden bench, and held a lamp towards him,
he perceived that his features were darkened and distorted. "I fear it's all over with him," murmured the gatekeeper; "I shall have
a dead body to take to Doctor Lamb. It would be a charity to knock him
on the head, rather than let him suffer thus. The doctor passes for a
cunning man, but if he can cure this poor youth without seeing him, by
the help of his sympathetic ointment, I shall begin to believe, what
some folks avouch, that he has relations with the devil." While Baldred was ruminating in this manner, a sudden and extraordinary
change took place in the sufferer. As if by magic, the contraction of
the muscles subsided; the features assumed a wholesome hue, and the
respiration was no longer laborious. Baldred stared as if a miracle had
been wrought. Now that the countenance of the youth had regained its original
expression, the gatekeeper could not help being struck by its extreme
beauty. The face was a perfect oval, with regular and delicate features. A short silken moustache covered the upper lip, which was short and
proud, and a pointed beard terminated the chin. The hair was black,
glossy, and cut short, so as to disclose a highly intellectual expanse
of brow. The youth's figure was slight, but admirably proportioned. His attire
consisted of a black satin doublet, slashed with white, hose of black
silk, and a short velvet mantle. His eyes were still closed, and it was
difficult to say what effect they might give to the face when they
lighted it up; but notwithstanding its beauty, it was impossible not to
admit that a strange, sinister, and almost demoniacal expression
pervaded the countenance. All at once, and with as much suddenness as his cure had been effected,
the young man started, uttering a piercing cry, and placed his hand to
his side. "Caitiff!" he cried, fixing his blazing eyes on the gatekeeper, "why do
you torture me thus? Finish me at once--Oh!" And overcome by anguish, he sank back again. "I have not touched you, sir," replied Baldred. "I brought you here to
succour you. You will be easier anon. Doctor Lamb must have wiped the
halberd," he added to himself. Another sudden change. The pain fled from the sufferer's countenance,
and he became easy as before. "What have you done to me?" he asked, with a look of gratitude; "the
torture of my wound has suddenly ceased, and I feel as if a balm had
been dropped into it. Let me remain in this state if you have any
pity--or despatch me, for my late agony was almost insupportable." "You are cared for by one who has greater skill than any chirurgeon in
London," replied Baldred. "If I can manage to transport you to his
lodgings, he will speedily heal your wounds." "Do not delay, then," replied Auriol faintly; "for though I am free from
pain, I feel that my life is ebbing fast away." "Press this handkerchief to your side, and lean on me," said Baldred. "Doctor Lamb's dwelling is but a step from the gateway--in fact, the
first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor declares he is your
kinsman." "It is the first I ever heard of him," replied Auriol faintly; "but take
me to him quickly, or it will be too late." In another moment they were at the doctor's door. Baldred tapped against
it, and the summons was instantly answered by a diminutive personage,
clad in a jerkin of coarse grey serge, and having a leathern apron tied
round his waist. This was Flapdragon. Blear-eyed, smoke-begrimed, lantern-jawed, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace.