Sybil, Or, The Two Nations by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli (10 best novels of all time txt) 📕

place probably in a spirit of frolic, and if met with tact and civility might ultimately be induced to retire from it without much annoyance. This was evidently the opinion of Mr Mountchesney from the first, and when an uncouth being on a white mule, attended by twenty or thirty miners, advanced to the castle and asked for Lord de Mowbray, Mr Mountchesney met them with kindness, saying that he regretted his father-in-law was absent, expressed his readiness to represent him, and enquired their pleasure. His courteous bearing evidently had an influence on the Bishop, who dropping his usual brutal tone mumbled something about his wish to drink Lord de Mowbray’s health.

“You shall all drink his health,” said Mr Mountchesney humouring him, and he gave directions that a couple of barrels of ale should be broached in the park before the castle. The Bishop was pleased, the people were in good humour, some men began dancing, it seemed that the cloud had blown over, and Mr Mountchesney sent up a bulletin to Lady de Mowbray that all danger was past and that he hoped in ten minutes they would all have disappeared.

The ten minutes had expired: the Bishop was still drinking ale, and Mr Mountchesney still making civil speeches and keeping his immediate attendants in humour.

“I wish they would go,” said Lady de Mowbray.

“How wonderfully Alfred has managed them,” said Lady Joan. “After all,” said Lady Maud, “it must be confessed that the people—” Her sentence was interrupted; Harold who had been shut out but who had laid down without quietly, though moaning at intervals, now sprang at the door with so much force that it trembled on its hinges, while the dog again barked with renewed violence. Sybil went to him: he seized her dress with his teeth and would have pulled her away. Suddenly uncouth and mysterious sounds were heard, there was a loud shriek, the gong in the hail thundered, the great alarum-bell of the tower sounded without, and the housekeeper followed by the female domestics rushed into the room.

“O! my lady, my lady,” they all exclaimed at the same time, “the Hell-cats are breaking into the castle.”

Before any one of the terrified company could reply, the voice of Mr Mountchesney was heard. He was approaching them; he was no longer calm. He hurried into the room; he was pale, evidently greatly alarmed. “I have come to you,” he said; “these fellows have got in below. While there is time and we can manage them, you must leave the place.”

“I am ready for anything.” said Lady de Mowbray.

Lady Joan and Lady Maud wrung their hands in frantic terror. Sybil very pale said “Let me go down; I may know some of these men.”

“No, no,” said Mr Mountchesney. “They are not Mowbray people. It would not be safe.”

Dreadful sounds were now heard; a blending of shouts and oaths and hideous merriment. Their hearts trembled.

“The mob are in the house, sir,” called out Mr Bentley rushing up to them. “They say they will see everything.”

“Let them see everything,” said Lady de Mowbray, “but make a condition that they first let us go. Try Alfred, try to manage them before they are utterly ungovernable.”

Mr Mountchesney again left them on this desperate mission. Lady de Mowbray and all the women remained in the chamber. Not a word was spoken: the silence was complete. Even the maid-servants had ceased to sigh and sob. A feeling something like desperation was stealing over them.

The dreadful sounds continued increased. They seemed to approach nearer. It was impossible to distinguish a word, and yet their import was frightful and ferocious.

“Lord have mercy on us all!” exclaimed the housekeeper unable to restrain herself. The maids began to cry.

After an absence of about five minutes Mr Mountchesney again hurried in and leading away Lady de Mowbray, he said, “You haven’t a moment to lose. Follow us!”

There was a general rush, and following Mr Mountchesney they passed rapidly through several apartments, the fearful noises every moment increasing, until they reached the library which opened on the terrace. The windows were broken, the terrace crowded with people, several of the mob were in the room, even Lady de Mowbray cried out and fell back.

“Come on,” said Mr Mountchesney. “The mob have possession of the castle. It is our only chance.”

“But the mob are here,” said Lady de Mowbray much terrified.

“I see some Mowbray faces,” cried Sybil springing forward, with a flashing eye and glowing cheek. “Bamford and Samuel Carr: Bamford, if you be my father’s friend, aid us now; and Samuel Carr, I was with your mother this morning: did she think I should meet her son thus? No, you shall not enter,” said Sybil advancing. They recognised her, they paused. “I know you, Couchman; you told us once at the Convent that we might summon you in our need. I summon you now. O, men, men!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “What is this? Are you led away by strangers to such deeds? Why, I know you all! You came here to aid, I am sure, and not to harm. Guard these ladies; save them from these foreigners! There’s Butler, he’ll go with us, and Godfrey Wells. Shall it be said you let your neighbours be plundered and assailed by strangers and never tried to shield them? Now, my good friends, I entreat, I adjure you, Butler, Wells, Couchman, what would Walter Gerard say, your friend that you have so often followed, if he saw this?”

“Gerard forever!” shouted Couchman.

“Gerard forever!” exclaimed a hundred voices.

“‘Tis his blessed daughter,” said others; “‘tis Sybil, our angel Sybil.”

“Stand by Sybil Gerard.”

Sybil had made her way upon the terrace, and had collected around her a knot of stout followers, who, whatever may have been their original motive, were now resolved to do her bidding. The object of Mr Mountchesney was to descend the side-step of the terrace and again the flower-garden, from whence there were means of escape. But the throng was still too fierce to permit Lady de Mowbray and her companions to attempt the passage, and all that Sybil and her followers could at present do, was to keep the mob off from entering the library, and to exert themselves to obtain fresh recruits.

At this moment an unexpected aid arrived.

“Keep back there! I call upon you in the name of God to keep back!” exclaimed a voice of one struggling and communing with the rioters, a voice which all immediately recognised. It was that of Mr St Lys. Charles Gardner, “I have been your friend. The aid I gave you was often supplied to me by this house. Why are you here?”

“For no evil purpose, Mr St Lys. I came as others did, to see what was going on.”

“Then you see a deed of darkness. Struggle against it. Aid me and Philip Warner in this work; it will support you at the judgment. Tressel, Tressel, stand by me and Warner. That’s good, that’s right! And you too, Daventry, and you, and you. I knew you would wash your hands of this