CHAPTER VII.THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS.
I hadsoon breasted through the trees to the side of a dark runnel that darted through the glade. Arrived there I felt that my enemies were nonplussed, as I had come by a devious and mazy way of which they must certainly be ignorant. Surely I could breathe at last, and when I stopped beside the stream to recover myself a little, my success seemed so complete, and I had played such a pretty trick upon my friend the Corporal withal, that I was quite complacent at the thought and felt a disposition to celebrate this triumph in a new sphere in a fashion that should startle ’em. Now it must have been the action of the freakish moon upon my giddy head or the magic of the woods, or a strain of wild music in the stream, for somehow as I stood there in that perishing cold night listening to the solemn river and my enemies calling through the stern stillness of the trees, all the wantonness of my spirit was let loose. The sharp frost made my blood thrill; my heart expanded to the pale loveliness of the sleeping earth. This was life. This was spacious air, and the prideof freedom. In this oppressive eighteenth century of ours, with its slaveries of rank and fashion, one must go into a wood of moonlight in the middle of the night for one’s pulses to pipe to the natural joys of unrestraint. At least I thought so then, and in the exuberance of the moment I concocted a merry plot for the diversion of myself and the mystification of the Corporal and his men. Nor was it made of mischief merely, since it was to be ordered in such a cunning way that it should still further throw them off the rebel’s track, and confirm their theory that they had already seen him in this wood.
First I returned upon the road I had come by and spied out where they were. This was a matter of small difficulty, as their voices were plainly to be distinguished close at hand.
Creeping through the thickets at the direction of their tones, I came at last to a place where a rift among the tree tops let the brightness in. It poured upon the Corporal and his men, assembled in still another consultation underneath a glorious silver-birch, arch and lissome as a maid, which rose above them with graces indescribable, and seemed from where I stood to fade into the sky. Clearly my pursuers were seriously at fault, and even dubious of the road to take in this strange wilderness. ’Twas in my mind to minister to this perplexity.
Selecting a spot appropriate to the purpose, I cheerfully set about preparing them the surprise I had in store. I crushed my soft, three-corneredhat into a pocket in my cloak, unbound my hair, and let its whole dark luxury shine with moonlight to my waist. This in itself I considered sufficient to destroy all resemblance between the figure I intended to present, and the fugitive they had so lately chased across the park, and as all of them must be extremely ill-acquainted with the features of my Lady Barbara, having only beheld them for an instant the previous night, ’twas not at all likely that they would be recognised just now. This done I crept some distance up the glade, and as I did so took occasion to recall the weirdest melody I knew, which partook of the nature of a chant, wedded the absurdest doggerel to it, though it must not be denied the merit of being a kind of interpretation of my abandoned fancy, and lifted my voice up loud and shrilly in a song. Having fallen after the first bar or two into a proper strain, I warmed to the wanton mirth of it and plunged my spirit completely in its whim.
I tripped from my concealment in the glade into an open avenue leading to a spot in which the soldiers stood in council. Full before their astounded eyes, I came dancing down the moonlight singing:
“This world it is not weary,Though my life is very long;For I’m the child of faery,And my heart it is a song.My house it is the starlight,My form is light as air,As out upon a bright night,I issue from my lair;And riding on a moonbeam,I come to realms of men;Yet when I see the day gleam,I then go back again.”
“This world it is not weary,Though my life is very long;For I’m the child of faery,And my heart it is a song.My house it is the starlight,My form is light as air,As out upon a bright night,I issue from my lair;And riding on a moonbeam,I come to realms of men;Yet when I see the day gleam,I then go back again.”
“This world it is not weary,Though my life is very long;For I’m the child of faery,And my heart it is a song.My house it is the starlight,My form is light as air,As out upon a bright night,I issue from my lair;And riding on a moonbeam,I come to realms of men;Yet when I see the day gleam,I then go back again.”
“This world it is not weary,
Though my life is very long;
For I’m the child of faery,
And my heart it is a song.
My house it is the starlight,
My form is light as air,
As out upon a bright night,
I issue from my lair;
And riding on a moonbeam,
I come to realms of men;
Yet when I see the day gleam,
I then go back again.”
I never saw six grown men affected so profoundly. One broke into a howl, not unlike a dog’s when his tail hath been trod on suddenly, wheeled about and fled precipitately thence. Two others locked themselves in one another’s arms, and turned away their eyes in the anguish of their fright; whilst the remainder seemed struck entirely stupid, fell back against the tree trunk, and, being unable to believe their eyes, opened their mouths as widely as their orbs, probably to lend some assistance to their vision.
As for me, you may be sure I was delighted highly by this flattering reception. And I do not doubt that I made a most unearthly figure with masses of hair streaming wild on my shoulders, my eyes wild-staring, and my feet tripping a fantastic measure to the shrill chant issuing from my lips:
“I ever choose the woodland,For here the wild birds are,And I’m a sister to them,Though my home it is a star.”
“I ever choose the woodland,For here the wild birds are,And I’m a sister to them,Though my home it is a star.”
“I ever choose the woodland,For here the wild birds are,And I’m a sister to them,Though my home it is a star.”
“I ever choose the woodland,
For here the wild birds are,
And I’m a sister to them,
Though my home it is a star.”
Thus I sang as I danced down the glade, waving my hands above my head in a kind of unholy glee at the weird music that I made. I halted opposite these tremblers, and set up a ridiculous scream ofmockery. Then I looked upon them with great eyes of wonder, and then again began to dance and sing:
“A blackbird is my brother,I see him in that tree,A skylark is my lover,But I prefer a bee.”
“A blackbird is my brother,I see him in that tree,A skylark is my lover,But I prefer a bee.”
“A blackbird is my brother,I see him in that tree,A skylark is my lover,But I prefer a bee.”
“A blackbird is my brother,
I see him in that tree,
A skylark is my lover,
But I prefer a bee.”
While I was in the middle of this arrant nonsense, my good friend Flickers, who was paler than a ghost, hung on to his pistol with tenacity, for that piece of iron held all the little courage that he had. I could see the perspiration shining on his face, as he muttered in a voice that trembled like the ague:
“What you are I don’t know. But if you’re woman or if you’re fiend, come a step nearer and I’ll—I’ll shoot you!”
He pointed the pistol, but the muzzle tottered so that he could not have hit a tree.
“Ha! ha! ha!” I laughed in my throat in a voice that was sepulchral, then danced before them once again and began to sing:
“Water cannot quench me,And fire cannot burn;Pray, how will you slay me?That have I yet to learn.”
“Water cannot quench me,And fire cannot burn;Pray, how will you slay me?That have I yet to learn.”
“Water cannot quench me,And fire cannot burn;Pray, how will you slay me?That have I yet to learn.”
“Water cannot quench me,
And fire cannot burn;
Pray, how will you slay me?
That have I yet to learn.”
The effect of this was to cause the pistol to drop on to the grass from his nerveless hand.
“Go—go ’way!” he stuttered; “go ’way, you—you witch!”
Whereupon I broke out in reply:
“He says I am a night-witch,But this I do deny;For I’m a child of faery,And my house it is the sky.”
“He says I am a night-witch,But this I do deny;For I’m a child of faery,And my house it is the sky.”
“He says I am a night-witch,But this I do deny;For I’m a child of faery,And my house it is the sky.”
“He says I am a night-witch,
But this I do deny;
For I’m a child of faery,
And my house it is the sky.”
Mr. Flickers said no more. ’Twas not surprising, either. I much question whether any human creature could have conversationally shone in that moonlit wood just then. Those simple soldiers, shown on a solemn background of gloom and mighty trees, were sufficient in that eerie light to shatter the nerves of a person of the strongest mind should he come upon them suddenly. What must I have been, then? And these victims being very little encumbered with their education had, therefore, the less restriction imposed upon their ignorant fancies. ’Twas quite certain that I was either a witch or a rather superior sort of devil, as, of course, the popular conception of fiends is not by any means so beautiful.
I did not venture any nearer to them than I need, lest they should discover too many evidences in me of the very clay of which they were themselves composed.
“Behold in me,” cried I, in prose, but with that impressive grandeur that belongs to the queens of tragedy, “behold in me the Spirit of the Woods. And he who heeds me not shall be surely lost.”
Prose even upon these primitive minds seemed to lack the natural magic that is in poetry. Fornow ’twas that they began to recover somewhat of their courage. But by a master stroke I proved to them that I had a supernatural quality—that of divination, if you please.
“You seek a prisoner,” says I, “who escaped from a stable yesterday. His name is Dare, and he hath passed this way.”
Without a doubt my prestige was increased by the singular knowledge here displayed. I could see their astounded faces asking of one another: How can this wild creature, this witch, this Spirit of the Woods, know all this unless she is even as she says, a supernatural? Let us heed her every word, for surely she can tell us much.
Faith, it was much I told them! I told them I would be their friend, and that if they would follow my directions they should learn the way the prisoner went.
You must understand that the voice I used was one that until that hour had never been heard on earth; that my long cloak and flowing hair held awful possibilities; that I stood where the moon was brightest; that my eyes were very wild; that my face was wondrous beautiful, but weird; that I was possessed of the unnatural power of divination; while my conduct and whole appearance were the most fantastic ever seen. Therefore when I pointed out to them the exact direction of the rebel’s flight, which I had better state was precisely opposite to the one I proposed to embrace myself, they accepted it without a question and eagerly took this road,mighty glad, I think, to be relieved of my presence on such gentle terms.
Watching them recede from sight, I then quickly knotted and tucked my hair up under my hat, and then set off for the house without once tarrying. I made a slight detour to the left to approach it from the further side, and so prevent the least risk of encountering my enemies on the journey. Speed was quite as imperative now as formerly, for the rebel should be awaiting me in the kitchen, and at the mercy of the first person of the household who might chance to see him there. Fortunately, the hour, as far as I could judge, was considerably short of five o’clock; and in the winter time the domestics were not abroad till six. Gliding through the trees and across the snowy grass, I was standing at the kitchen door in less than half an hour. Entering with stealth, I had no sooner closed the door behind me than I was arrested by the light hand of the rebel on my sleeve.
“They are fooled, my lad,” says I, my triumph irrepressible, “fooled as six men never were before. And now, sir, I think that we shall save you.”
“Madam,” says he, with a boyish directness that seemed charming, “oh, what a genius you have! But I cannot thank you now, I am too dead weary. And where am I to hide?”
“If you will slip your shoes off and carry ’em in your hand,” says I, “I will lead you to my chamber, and once there you shall sleep the clock round if you have the disposition.”
“And you,” says he, “are you not weary?”
“Not I,” I answered. “I am never weary of adventures. Besides, I have much to do ere you can be snugly hid.”
An instant later I had guided him through the darkness and the maze of passages in deep silence to my bedroom, this being the most secret chamber I could devise for his reception. Only Mrs. Polly Emblem was ever likely to intrude upon his privacy. Wherefore I led him there and permitted him to fling his worn-out frame upon my couch.
Discarding the cloak and hat of his I wore, I wrapped a warm rug about him, gave him a cordial, and bade him get himself to sleep. Then I turned the key upon him and repaired to the chamber of my maid.
I entered without disturbing her, for she always was a wonderful good sleeper at the hour she ought to be awake preparing a dish of chocolate for her mistress. I kindled her candle with the extreme of difficulty, for my hands were numbed so badly that for the present they had no virtue in them. Even the light did not arouse the comfortable Mrs. Polly, but when I laid my icy fingers on her warm cheek they worked on her like magic. She would have shrieked only I held my other hand across her mouth.
“Do you see the time!” says I; “three minutes after five. But hush! not a word, my girl, as you love your life, for there’s a strange man got into the house.”
The foolish creature shook with fright.
“He is in my chamber,” I added, with an air of tragedy.
“Oh, my lady!” says the maid.
There was too little time to plague her, though, which was perhaps as well, for I was in a mood that might have caused her to take an early departure from her wits. Instead of that, however, I told the story of the night with all the detail that was necessary. When I had done, the silly but delightful thing looked at me in a kind of holy wonder.
“Oh, your la’ship!” says she, in tones of very tolerable ecstasy. “What a heart you’ve got! What an angel’s disposition!”
“No, my silly girl,” says I, though not displeased to hear her say so. “I happen to have neither. An infernal deal of naughtiness is all that my character contains. A stranger sleeping in my chamber! Besides, you know you flatter me. For if no man is a hero to his valet, how possibly can a woman be an angel to her maid?”
To prove the soundness of this argument I grasped Mrs. Polly’s ear, pinched it pretty badly, and asked her what she thought of my divinity.
She was soon into her clothes though, and had a fire lit; while I made haste to pull my shoes and stockings off, their condition was so horrid, and exchanged them for some dry ones, then set about warming my hands and toes, for they were causing me to grin with the fierce hot-ache that was in them. Having at last put my own person into amore comfortable state, and that of the rebel into some security, I took counsel of Mrs. Polly on the problem of his ultimate escape.
She was the only creature I could possibly confide in at this moment. And as she was the staunchest, faithfullest of souls I had no hesitation. Presently some of my clothes and toilet necessaries had to be procured. It was unfortunate that they were in my dressing-room, and that the only entrance to it was through my chamber. However, taking Emblem with me, I went to fetch them out.
Unlocking the door with care, we entered softly, that we might not disturb the sleeper, for God knew how much there lay before him! I had Emblem pull the blinds up against the daylight, for should any person look upon my window from the lawn at noon ’twould astonish them to see it veiled. We soon took the requisite articles from the dressing-room, relocked the chamber door, and returned to whence we came. But ere this was done, I held the candle near the sleeper’s face. ’Twas to relieve the curiosity of Emblem, you understand; she was pining to see what the fugitive’s countenance was like.
He made the most sweetly piteous picture. He lay huddled among snow-white sheets of linen, and a counterpane of silk, in his tattered, muddy suit of coarse prunella, which left many soils upon its delicate surroundings. His cheek was pale and lean as death. Where the gyves had pinched his wrists they had left them raw; and I was startledat the thinness of his body, for it appeared to have no more flesh upon it than a rat. In sooth he looked the very poorest beggar that ever slept on straw, and no more in harmony with his present situation than was Mr. Christophero Sly in like circumstances. Yet as I looked at him there seemed something so tender and so strong about his meagreness that I pushed back the hair upon his forehead with light fingers in an absent manner, and just as lightly and just as absently did touch it with my lips. No sooner had I done this than I drew them back, and turned my face abruptly round to Emblem as though it had been stung. I had forgotten Emblem!
But I saw that the maid was blushing for me very deeply, though she strove with excellent intention to look quite unconscious of my conduct. Yet I coldly stared her out of countenance.
“Girl,” says I, severely, “the queen can do no wrong. She may box the ears of gartered dukes, or kiss the brows of sleeping bakers’ boys. But only the queen, you understand.” And I shot out such a look at her that she led the way to her chamber without a single word.
I appeared at breakfast in high feather, but with rather more complexion than I usually wear so early in the day. But a woman cannot go prowling over fields of snow and moonlight at dreadful hours of morning without a tale being told. Cosmetics, though, have a genius for secrets.