"Goodness gracious! if that is not the wise man in the old tower!" exclaimed Dora, when she had arrived at the name, and made it out with some difficulty; "Lord bless me! Mistress Margaret, how can he know any thing about you?"
Margaret had sunk into her chair again, without an effort to prevent the good woman from reading the letter; and, in deep thought, made no reply to the question till Dora had repeated it twice.
"You talked to me much about him, Dora," she replied, at length; "I went to see him--that is all."
"And never told me a word!" muttered Dora. "Ah, my pretty child, I can guess, dear one--I can guess, my bird. Well, love sees with his own eyes; and I say not they are bad ones, though folks call him blind. He's no bad judge, I wot, though he judges not as old lords and great people judge. Marry! they would have people men and women of the world's making, not of God's; but you can't fashion flesh and blood like a coach or a coat. Nature says shall, and who shall gainsay her? Love's not a loose cloak to fit every one; and it's a garment which can but be bought once and won't turn. Don't tear it, my dear, for patch it you can't; and old Moraber is right, depend upon it--he always is."
"Pray God he is so now," replied Margaret, fervently; and then, throwing her arms round Dora, in a wild burst of strong emotion, she wept again as profusely as ever, but far more happily.
How the heart catches at the least assurance of that which it longs to believe! Oh, dry and dusty earth of which we are made, how soon is it fired by the least spark of hope! I remember hearing of that famous lost Greek fire, how, one time, spilled by accident in the baths of a great city, no effort could put it out; it burned through theaters and dwelling-places, through the great church, through its stone pavement, down to the very graves beneath. And this is Hope, unextinguishable even into the tomb. Does it end even there? I know not. But beyond is the first world of reality, where Hope, the wanderer, meets her sister Joy.
Yes, from so slight and frail an assurance as that of the strange, wild letter she had just received, Margaret's thought-world was relighted; the darkness passed in part away; she dared to look forward; she dared to withdraw her eyes from her brother's tomb; she boldly said to herself, "Come what may, I will be firm and true."
But, as a consequence of that letter, another comfort, not more substantial, not more sustaining, but still infinitely great, was afforded her. Her old servant's words showed her that the secret of her heart had been penetrated--that no glowing explanation--no timid hesitation--no word--no sign was needed further--that she had some one to confide in, some one to counsel and to aid. The counsel might not be the wisest, the aid not the most powerful, but she stood no longer alone in the sorrow of her own heart.
We left Ralph Woodhall proceeding toward the apartments of Hortensia Danvers with the Duke of Norfolk's letter in his hand. He seemed puzzled and confused, but his determination was soon taken. "I might have foreseen this," he said to himself; "it could not be long concealed; and I must bear my destiny. But I will not encounter the good old lord with any attempt at justification. The Duke of Norfolk is perhaps right: it would be better for me to be absent for a time, seeking fortune in the West, or perhaps in Holland, till the first burst of wrath has passed. I can trust to Margaret's love."
With these thoughts he entered the sitting-room of Lady Danvers, where he found her standing by a table, dressed for her journey, and looking toward the door, as if anxious for his coming.
"Well, they have set you free," she said; "but I have been in some fear about you, not that you would not appear at the time, if you could, but that you might not be able. I sent to ask you to speak with me last night, but, to my surprise, found you were absent."
She spoke with a peculiar emphasis, and Ralph replied, in a faint, melancholy tone, "I was absent for some hours, Lady Danvers--how employed, I may find another opportunity of telling you. At present, let me show you this letter from the Duke of Norfolk. I have, unfortunately, incurred the anger of my noble relation, Lord Woodhall; he is a good man, but violent to an exceeding degree when excited; and the duke advises me strongly to hurry away into the West till I can take ship for Holland. There is his letter; you can read what he says."
"No need--no need," replied Lady Danvers, putting the letter aside; "I know it all--all that has happened. Poor young man! Well may you speak in so sad a tone, Mr. Woodhall. But the duke is right. There is no resource for you but to keep in retirement for a time, till this has passed over. Depend upon it, Lord Woodhall will move heaven and earth to ruin you. To the West? I am going to the West; but my course will be too slow; you must set off instantly."
"So I propose," replied Ralph, "though to what exact spot I shall turn my steps I do not exactly know; that is a part of the country I am unacquainted with."
"I will decide it for you," replied Hortensia; "let it be Danvers's New Church. Stay! let me give you a letter to my steward, who is the man of all others to aid you, and to take means for insuring your safety."
"Nay, dear Lady Danvers," replied Ralph, "I am under no such great apprehension as you seem to think; I have done nothing that any man of heart would not have done, or that any man of honor might not have done. I would fain, it is true, avoid all personal collision with Lord Woodhall in his present state of rage; but for my personal safety I have no fear; he is a man of too much honor to resent what has occurred by any unworthy means."
"There is no knowing--there is no knowing," said Lady Danvers; "your life is too precious to others--to your father, to be lightly risked. Is your horse in a fit state to carry you? If not, take one from my servants; they are well mounted, and their beasts must be quite fresh by this time."
"Oh, mine is quite fit and strong," replied Ralph; "the little journey he has had can have had but little effect upon so strong and tried an animal."
"Well, I will write the letter," replied Lady Danvers, with the same eager and quick manner in which she had hitherto been speaking. "You go and order your servant, who is arrived. I am told, to get all things ready. Alice! Alice! bring me back the ink and paper."
Ralph hastened to follow her suggestion, and found Gaunt Stilling in somewhat sharp conversation with a man considerably taller than himself, but who seemed to stand in considerable awe of him.
"Get you back to Norwich, Master Roger," said Stilling, in a more angry tone than Ralph had ever heard him use before. "If I find you watching our movements, I will break every bone in your skin, and take that as an installment of what your master owes me."
"I must wait till I have baited my horse, Master Stilling," replied the servant.
"I should like to know what the devil brought you here," cried the other; but he was interrupted by the call of his master, and only paused to add, "Mind what I have said; I am not one to be trifled with, as you ought to know by this time."
Ralph gave his orders rapidly, then returned to his own room for a few moments, and then once more sought Hortensia for the letter she had promised. It was written, sealed, and addressed to "Master William Drayton, Danvers's New Church, by Harstock, Dorset."
She placed it in Ralph's hands, gazing at him with a look of deep and melancholy interest. There was also an air of hesitation about her as she asked, "Is all ready?"
"I dare say it is by this time," replied Ralph. "Accept my best thanks, dear Lady Danvers, for all the kind interest you have taken in me, especially in these painful circumstances in which I am placed."
She waved her hand almost impatiently, saying, "Not a word--not a word, my good friend; but there is one thing more I wish to say--" Again she hesitated, but then added quickly, and in a tone of kindly feeling, "Ralph, I look upon you as a relation--I can not regard your mother's son in any other light; you came away with me hastily yesterday; you had no time to provide funds for a long journey--No false delicacy between you and me."
Ralph took her hand and raised it to his lips, and as he did so he thought that it trembled very much. "Thanks--a thousand thanks," he said; "and I would accept your kind offer as frankly as it is made, but I have quite enough here, Lady Danvers; my servant has brought a large part of my baggage with him, and I have there all the little store which was to last me for six months."
"Well, well--go, then," she said; "do not delay a moment, for I am apprehensive till you are out of the old lord's reach. We shall meet again, my friend, and talk over all these details more at leisure. At present, nothing is to be done but to part as soon as possible."
Again Ralph kissed her hand, which was beautiful enough; though, to say truth, her lip was the more tempting of the two. He was soon in the stable-yard, and found his horse saddled and the baggage all arranged. In another moment he was riding out under the archway of the inn, and remarked a face gazing from a little window at the side, which commanded a view both of the stable-yard and of the street. Gaunt Stilling shook his fist at it as they passed, and, while his master paused to say a few words to the Duke of Norfolk's servants who were gathered round the gate, laid his finger significantly on the hilt of a good strong sword, which by this time he had added to his traveling equipage. Ralph was then turning his horse to the right hand, in the direction of the western road; but Gaunt Stilling rode up to his side, saying, in a low voice, "This way, sir; we are watched, and must give them the slip. I can find the way, I think, by the back lanes, as they have directed me. After we get past Ely, I know every rood of the road for a hundred miles."
Ralph readily followed his suggestion, but inquired, after riding a few yards, "Who is watching us? One of Lord Woodhall's people?"
"No!" replied Stilling, in his quaint, bluff way; "knave Robert's knave Roger."
"I wish to heaven it was his master instead," said Ralph, with a quick glow of the cheek and flash of the eye.
"Ay, so do I," answered Gaunt Stilling, gloomily; "but he always contrives to put some one else in his place when that place is a dangerous one. Every man has his time, however, and his is waiting for him."
He then relapsed into silence, and they pursued their way without interruption. Nothing remarkable occurred upon the road throughout the whole journey, though, as the reader knows, it led them across nearly the widest part of Great Britain. Ralph himself was silent and melancholy, and many painful considerations pressed upon his mind, withdrawing it from that enjoyment of changing scene and rapid motion which a young and ardent heart like his might well have experienced in traversing the beautiful counties which lie between Norfolk and Dorsetshire. His thoughts were almost entirely of Margaret. He saw little--he observed little--and conversation he had none; for Gaunt Stilling, though evidently a man superior, by education, to his class, and who had received the education of the world as well as of books, was taciturn and gloomy. He had never spoken much, and what he had said was generally brief and blunt; but now he hardly uttered a word, and remained usually totally apart from all other servants or society of any kind in the inns where they chanced to stop on the road. Ralph remarked, too, that when his bill was brought to him at any of these places, no charge was ever made for his servant or his servant's horse; and the strange circumstances in which the man had been placed with him came back, from time to time, upon his mind with a feeling not altogether agreeable. That he had been useful, serviceable, ay, and zealous in his service, Ralph fully felt; but it was unpleasant to him to have such gratuitous attendance, especially where it involved no light expense to the person rendering it. He determined he would have some explanations upon this subject with Gaunt Stilling; but the man's taciturnity, his own busy thoughts, and the rapidity with which they passed from place to place, made him delay the execution of his intention till they reached the place of their temporary sojourn.
Upon the frontiers of Somersetshire and Dorsetshire, Gaunt Stilling seemed to enter upon a well-known land. He had before displayed a very good knowledge of the country lying between the Isle of Ely and the Mendip Hills--an extent sufficient to try his geographical information--but now not a single lane or by-road was unknown to him. He was aware where comfortable inns could be found in the most remote parts of the country--not at that time well cultivated or largely populated; and Ralph could not help thinking that, if it were really necessary for him to play at hide and seek at all--which he began to doubt--he could not have a better instructor in the game than his good companion.
Still, however, Gaunt Stilling maintained the same dull silence; answered in monosyllables, though civilly, and never exceeded above two or three words except once, when, crossing the beautiful Mendip Hills, he said, "I have brought you forty miles out of the way, sir, not for the sake of giving you that fine view, but for the purpose of avoiding the lands of old Lady Coldenham. I should be soon known there; and you would be found out through me. Then the news would fly across the country as rapidly as possible."
"I really do not see the need of such extreme precaution," replied Ralph, musing.
"Don't you, sir?" said Gaunt Stilling, and there the conversation dropped; for Ralph did not think it needful to enter into the particulars of his situation with his taciturn servant, and knew not how far the facts might have been bruited abroad in the household of the Duke of Norfolk.
At length, one afternoon, about a couple of hours before sunset, they passed through a long, deep lane, sunk beneath the level of the neighboring fields, and overhung by tall and shady trees in the full richness of their summer foliage. Even at those spots where the head of a horseman rose above the bank, no view of the country was to be obtained; for rich orchards, already beginning to glow with their blossoms, spread all along on either side for more than a mile. At the end of a quarter of a mile's riding, the sunshine was seen streaming up the end of the lane; and in a few minutes more Ralph stood upon the verge of a gentle descent, where the eye ranged free along one of the most beautiful valleys he ever beheld. A considerable portion of the ground in front was laid out as a park, with sloping lawns, and large ancient trees on both sides of a stream of some extent, which ran rapidly, dashing and sparkling, down the dell. An old gray bridge, too, was seen here and there along the course of the stream--even in the wilder land, which spread forth beyond the limits of the park; and on an elevated spot some two hundred yards from the river appeared a large stone edifice, perhaps of the reign of Henry the Seventh or Eighth, for it bore some of the characteristics of the best period of Tudor architecture.
At the distance of about a bow-shot from the house, but within the limits of the park, rose a beautiful church, from the bosom of a small grove of trees. Not less than three centuries and a half before, it might have deserved the name of New Church; for even if any architect could have been found to imitate so perfectly the inimitable early English architecture, the lichens and mosses, the hue of the stone, and the crumbling of the antique moldings, would have clearly denoted how long it had been constructed.
"There is Danvers's New Church, sir," said Gaunt Stilling; "but we must take a little round to get to the gates."
"It seems a peaceful spot enough," said Ralph, in reply.
"Peaceful?" murmured Gaunt Stilling. "Is there such a thing as peace?"
In a few minutes more they had entered the park and were riding up to the house, under the old stone gate-way of which were sitting a hale, good-looking, well-dressed man, past the middle age, and an elderly woman, with a young child reading a horn-book at their feet.
"That is Master Drayton, I take it," said Gaunt Stilling; and, riding up, Ralph dismounted and presented Lady Danvers's letter.
"This is for me," said the man upon the steps, opening the letter; "I suppose my lady will soon be coming."
At the same moment he unfolded the sheet, and fixed his eyes upon the contents. They seemed to startle him; for although he said, as a sort of comment while he read, "Of course--certainly--to be sure," his broad brow was contracted, and his whole face assumed a hesitating look.
"You are quite welcome, sir," he said, when he had done, "and I will do the best I can for you. My lady's orders shall be obeyed to the utmost of my power; but I can't resist the law, you know."
"Resist the law!" exclaimed Ralph; "surely Lady Danvers does not ask you to do that! and there could be no necessity on my account."
"Well, sir, you know best," replied Mr. Drayton, "but I think it will be best if you would just step into this room, and talk with me for a moment;" and, opening the door of the house, he led the way to a small ante-room off the great hall. When there, he said, after having closed the door, "What I meant just now, sir, was merely that I would do every thing, as in duty bound, to hide you; but that, if officers should come to take you, I could not think myself justified in resisting with a strong hand."
"Officers come to take me?" said Ralph, completely bewildered; "there must be some mistake, my good sir. May I be permitted to look at Lady Danvers's letter!"
"Oh, certainly, sir," replied the steward; "there is nothing that you need not see;" and he placed the letter in Ralph's hand, who read as follows:
"Master Drayton,
"This will be given into your hands by Mr. Ralph Woodhall, the son of my poor mother's dearest friend, and consequently mine. You will show him every attention in your power, and let him make use of Danvers's New Church as if it were his own, providing suitably all things for himself and his servant. It will be necessary to keep good watch around the place, and not suffer him to be at all molested by any one, as he has had the misfortune of killing in a duel his cousin, the son of Lord Woodhall, who is highly incensed against him."
Ralph let the paper fall from his hand, and gazed upon Mr. Drayton with a look of unmingled astonishment. "In the name of Heaven!" he exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this? Henry Woodhall killed in a duel! and by me! I can not believe my senses when I see such an assertion under the hand of Lady Danvers. She must have been grossly and terribly misled--but there must be some foundation for this;" and, opening the door vehemently, he made his way to the outer porch, and called aloud, "Stilling! Stilling!"
The man, who was leading the horses up and down, returned to the door, and Ralph at once demanded, "What is this? Lady Danvers, in her letter to Mr. Drayton here, declares that my cousin Henry has been killed in a duel."
"Well, sir, did you not know it?" asked Stilling, in a cold tone.
"Know it!" exclaimed Ralph; "how in Heaven's name should I know it? You never mentioned the subject to me during the whole course of the journey."
"I thought it would be too painful a subject, sir," replied the man, with a very peculiar look; "you had the Duke of Norfolk's letter."
"The duke never mentioned a word of it," said Ralph. "Good God! this will drive me mad;" and, turning on his heel, he walked back into the house, followed by Mr. Drayton, and, casting himself into a chair, covered his eyes with his hands in an agony of grief and consternation.
Gaunt Stilling tied the horses to an iron railing and followed him quietly; and good Mr. Drayton, as much moved to attention and respect toward the young gentleman by the agony he saw him suffer as by his lady's letter, did all that he could think of to comfort and console him. It was not much he could think of, it is true, for he was a man of material thoughts and habits. He could tell the number of acres, roods, and poles in every farm upon the estate, and how they should be cultivated. He knew the condition and the wants of every laborer, every tenant; and he tried his best to ameliorate the one, and to diminish the other. But to deal with deep sorrow--to soothe an intelligent mind and feeling heart, were tasks above or beyond his scope. At best--and it was his only resource--he might try to divert the thoughts of one afflicted from the causes of grief. He had done so with many a mendicant at the hall door--for he was no harsh and cruel deputy despot--and he tried at least to add comfort to gifts. He did the same even now. He even teased Ralph about bed-rooms, and first and second tables, and what he would require during his stay; till at length he pressed him so hard upon these subjects, that Ralph rose and followed him to the rooms he proposed to show him with a gloomy air and heavy step, from which all the elasticity of youth seemed gone.
Gaunt Stilling looked after him with a hesitating, uncertain expression of countenance, as if he did not know whether to follow him or not. But, after a moment's consideration, he turned round, led the horses to the stables, and after having given them, with some directions, into the hands of a country lad whom he found there, returned to the house and sought out his master, whom he found sitting sorrowfully alone, Mr. Drayton having quitted him in order to make the necessary preparations.
The moment Gaunt Stilling entered the room, Ralph motioned him to shut the door, and said, "Now tell me more of this sad affair, Stilling. I am calmer now; and though I do wish you had spoken to me on the subject as we came hither, by which you would have stopped my journey entirely, yet I dare say you were under the same mistake which it seems has been made by others."
"Why, sir," replied the servant, in a tone of some feeling, "I saw you very melancholy and sad, and, as the duke himself had written to you, I naturally concluded that you were right well aware of all. You may easily judge that, the death of Mr. Henry Woodhall was the subject of talk with the whole of the duke's house; and when he had written to you, I could not presume to speak to you on the subject without your speaking to me."
"The duke's letter I must have misunderstood entirely," replied Ralph; "fearful of wounding my feelings, it would seem, he wrote in vague general terms of unfortunate events and unhappy circumstances. My imagination, utterly ignorant of what had taken place, fixed upon other events and circumstances--but all that matters not. Now I would know the whole. It would seem that they attributed poor Henry's death to me?"
"Yes, sir, every body thought so," replied Gaunt Stilling. "They said that Mr. Woodhall had discovered that you and his sister were in love with each other, contrary to the wishes of the family; that he had challenged you, and that you had killed him."
"But you must have known better," said Ralph, somewhat sternly; and the man's countenance fell, and his brow became clouded, as if the tone of the master, whom he served gratuitously, had wounded his pride.
Ralph went on, however, saying, "You should have contradicted it at once, Stilling. The duke might be deceived; for he could not tell that I had not returned secretly; but you must have known I never re-entered my room from the time I quitted it in the morning."
"Yes, sir," replied Stilling, in a quiet tone; "but there was no need of re-entering your room. You had a sword with you, and had but to ride back, fight your adversary, and disappear."
"True--true," replied his master; "But did you really think I had done so?"
Gaunt Stilling hesitated, but replied at length, "I certainly did not, sir; but I was in no circumstances to speak my mind. Every thing, indeed, seemed against your having done so, in my mind, till the morning after."
"And what happened then to make you change your opinion?" asked Ralph.
"Why, I heard at the inn where Lady Danvers stopped," replied Stilling, "that you had gone out about half past eight o'clock, and had not been seen by any body for some hours. Now the duel took place between ten and eleven; and, with a quick-going horse, you might easily have got to Norwich within the time."
Ralph pressed his hand upon his brow, saying, as if in reply to some question which had arisen in his own mind, "That explains it--that explains it all. How Lady Danvers could have imagined that I had been guilty of this act, I was at a loss to comprehend; but now I see it all."
"Guilty! sir," said Gaunt Stilling, whose old soldier's habits made him view such events in a very different light from that in which his master regarded them; "no great guilt, I think, in killing a man in fair and open combat, without advantage--especially when he was the person to seek it."
"We may think differently," replied Ralph, "but this, at least, I will tell you, Stilling, that if my hand had shed poor Henry's blood in such a quarrel as this, I never should forgive myself to my dying day. Leave me now, Stilling. You will be well taken care of here; and I will send for you soon, to seek for any further information I may want. At present, my mind is all in wild confusion; and I must try to calm my thoughts, and decide upon what is to be done next. My first impulse is to set off at once for London, to clear myself of this deed."
"Better give the horses some rest, sir," said Gaunt Stilling; "we have come at a rattling pace; and they won't do much more just at present. Besides, it would be well to think whether you could clear yourself so easily as to prevent disagreeable consequences. Four or five months' imprisonment, waiting for trial, is no very agreeable thing, and the very fact of your running away here in such haste would require a good deal of explanation, for other people might not understand it quite as well as you do yourself."
Ralph looked at him earnestly, and asked, in a low, deep voice, "You surely do not believe me guilty still?"
"Not in the least, sir," replied the man, frankly. "I am quite sure you are not; and I can even give a guess, and a pretty shrewd one, as to what was the mistake which made you follow the duke's advice so readily; but all I think, is, that other people may not understand the matter so easily, and that, in order to clear yourself, in a hurry, of this accusation, you might be forced to explain other matters, which might be unpleasant for you to touch upon."
"I will think over it--I will think over it," replied Ralph; and Gaunt Stilling, seeing him fall into a deep revery, quietly left the room.
Candles were lighted in a small, beautiful room at Danvers's New Church, and Ralph Woodhall sat at a table covered with delicacies which he could little have expected to find, at that season of the year, in that remote place. He gave small heed to them, however. He ate what was merely needful for sustenance, and drank several glasses of fine old wine, which were pressed upon him by the care of two old servants of the Danvers family--blue bottles, as they were called in those days--who, with less to do at any time than they altogether liked, were left behind by their lady in the country, when she journeyed far, in consideration of their age, which they themselves were not apt to believe in very much. They thought themselves strong and hearty as ever, and able to do any sort of work which might be assigned to them. But Hortensia was not one to overtask any one's willingness; and she had more consideration for their years than they had themselves. Right glad were they, then, to pay every attention to a favored guest during her absence; and old men, being very often apt at calculation, and especially at putting two stray ends of circumstances together and linking them, as it were, with cobbler's wax, reasoned internally upon the probability of the handsome young stranger--in regard to whose fortune and fate they knew nothing--becoming, ere long, their legitimate lord and master.
Toward the end of the meal, when some early fruits, at that time brought to perfection with great difficulty and at vast expense, had been put upon the table, Mr. Drayton himself appeared, and stood for a moment by the side of Ralph's chair, excusing the scantiness of the dinner on the ground of the short time allowed for preparation.
"We shall treat you better to-morrow, sir," he said; "but, in the mean time, is there any wine in the cellar you would like better? The keys are always left with me, and there is some very rich Burgundy, as well as Bordeaux wine of the finest quality--even imperial Tokay; for my late lord was a great judge, and the wines have only improved since his death, which, come Martinmas, will be thirteen years."
"Nothing more, Mr. Drayton--nothing more, thank you," replied Ralph; "I have had quite enough, and all has been very good."
"Perhaps, sir, you would like to look through the house," said Mr. Drayton, determined not to leave the young stranger to his own bitter thoughts if he could help it; "it is a curious old place, and, to my mind, looks better by candlelight than at any other time. I think old places always do; for there is something about them which makes one feel that their real light is gone, and that they can only be viewed pleasantly by something manufactured and modern. I think you would like to see it."
"Very well," replied Ralph, in an indifferent tone; "I will accompany you, Mr. Drayton, when you like."
"This minute, if you please, sir, if you have done your wine," replied Mr. Drayton. "Stay! I will call people to take the lights on before, and we will go through the whole suites of apartments, beginning with the yellow guest chamber, and going on to the green guest chamber, and the blue guest chamber."
"Yellow, and green, and blue guests!" said Ralph; "methinks that there must have been some heavier hearts than even my own here."
"Oh, sir, it is but a name," replied the good man; "and I dare say what we call the rooms has little to do with those who sleep in them. But now, sir, I will be ready in a moment;" and, ordering one of the menservants to take up two of the lights and precede them, he led the way with a step as slow and solemn as if the place had been a nunnery, and he had feared to interrupt the devout orisons of its inmates.
I will not detain the reader with much particular account of the various rooms and passages through which Ralph was led, but simply dwell upon the general aspect of the place, which was solemn, stalely, and meditative. The effect, too, was heightened by every ornament and decoration to be seen, for the late Lord Danvers had a consummate knowledge and a real taste for art. Thus along the old corridor, which had been converted to the purposes of a picture gallery, the young gentleman was led, pausing every now and then to examine more closely one or other of the portraits which hung upon the wall. The whole history of each was well known to Mr. Drayton, who gave it in full to his young companion--not, perhaps, without a little embellishment, in order to keep his attention engaged. At first Ralph walked listlessly enough; but gradually his mind assumed an interest in the subjects which were laid before him, and he stopped several times to gaze at the different portraits as he passed by, asking the names and history of the personages. Some were by Sir Peter Lely--some were by Vandyck; and the collection went as far back even as Holbein. The Danvers family, of course, figured conspicuously. There were Danverses of all ages, from the infant swathed up like an Egyptian mummy, to the white-bearded senior in his high-backed chair; men in suits of armor, with pages holding the casque, and a horse looking over the left shoulder; gentlemen in long gowns and venerable ruffs, and ladies in stiff bodices, or with collars buttoned up to the chin. But there were also a number of portraits representing persons either allied to the family by blood or affection, or figuring remarkably in history. Howards there were many--Percys not a few; and, in fact, the records of each age since the family rose to distinction had their representative on the walls. Among the rest were two full-length, portraits of ladies in the early spring of life. One was represented standing with a large Spanish fan in her hand, while a grayhound, raised upon his hind feet, and with his curling tail dropping gracefully nearly to the ground, had his fore feet upon a table supporting a globe of gold and silver fishes, which he seemed to be eyeing with intense curiosity and some appetite. The face of the lady was exquisitely beautiful; and Ralph had no occasion to inquire the name of the original, for the likeness to Hortensia was so strong, though the hair was a shade less dark, that no one who had seen her could fail to recognize her mother. The other portrait was of a somewhat taller lady, leaning upon a marble urn, which had something sepulchral in its character. Her eyes were raised, so as to seem gazing directly at the spectator; and her right hand was stretched out, as if she were offering it to the figure in the other picture. In those eyes there was that deep, intense expression which is never seen--no, never--except in persons whose feelings are strong and permanent; and the painter had caught that look, and expressed it with wonderful power, making even the beauty of the features and of the coloring subservient to that. It was a face that Ralph knew well; and to see the portrait of his own mother side by side with that of the late Lady Danvers, made him feel indeed as if there were nearer bonds between him and Hortensia than any thing like a sudden friendship or the acquaintance of a few short days could twine.
"I must always feel toward her as a brother," he thought; "and she has nobly proved toward me that she regards me as such. One of my first acts must be to disabuse her mind of the idea that I would so lightly draw my sword against my cousin Henry's life."
Then turning to Mr. Drayton, he asked, "Is there any picture of Lady Danvers here?"
"Only one, sir, in her own morning room," replied the steward; "it was taken when she was quite a child, and she would never sit for one afterward. This is the room;" and, taking a step or two forward, he opened a door on the left.
The lights the servant carried slowly penetrated the gloom, and Ralph gazed round with deep interest at the arrangement of the place where so fair and interesting a creature as Hortensia made her ordinary abode. Nowhere could his eye rest without finding some proof of her fine taste, and of a certain spirit of order, neatness, and decoration rarely met with in one so young. Antique cabinets of ebony, with silver hinges and locks, were in several parts of the room, containing, doubtless, many little treasures of virtù. A large table in the middle, supported by richly-carved and twisted columns of dark-black oak, was covered with miniatures, carvings in ivory, pieces of rare china, curious ancient ornaments, one or two small books in very antique bindings, and two or three small statues in bronze or ivory, which might, perhaps, have employed the hand of Cellini or Bologna. There, too, were a number of specimens of the cinqui-cento art, placed beneath glass covers to keep them from the dust; a crucifixion in ivory, where the intense passion of the expression seemed to make the dead material live; a drinking-cup of silver, from the sides of which stood out in bold relief some scores of figures holding up wreaths of flowers to the brim, as if to catch the drops of wine that might rim over, and every figure differing from the other, but anatomically perfect and full of grace; a salt-cellar of gold, used probably at high festivals in days of yore, where, on a large cockle-shell, intended to contain the salt, stood the figure of Neptune waving his trident over the heads of two sea-horses, while round about were exquisitely grouped, with arms sometimes linked together, sometimes cast round each other's necks or shoulders in every different attitude that can be conceived, the numberless deities of the wave.
On the walls around, between the various cabinets and the windows, were a number of small and beautiful pictures from the hands of the greatest masters. They were principally landscapes though here and there a figure-piece of the Dutch or Flemish school found admittance, where the subject fitted it for a lady's eyes. There was only one large picture in the room, and that was the portrait of a young girl, some what fancifully dressed, putting aside with her hand the green leaves and branches of a tree, and seeming to look out from the shadowy bower beneath upon those who gazed upon her in return. The face was full of life, and light, and intelligence, and joy. Youth was evidently holding revel in her heart, and the spirit of the free green-wood seemed over all. Although Lady Danvers's eyes had deeper things in them now--although the expression was now generally more thoughtful, more timid, and the form, there in the bud, had blossomed into womanly loveliness, yet Ralph had no difficulty in recognizing Hortensia in the delicate features and wild graces of the child. He paused longer there, and with deeper interest than he had done any where else; and as the servant continued to hold up the lights before him, and Mr. Drayton stood a step behind, a slight smile came upon the face of the latter, arising apparently from some conclusions that he was drawing in his own mind.
"This is my lady's dressing-room," he said, after a while, opening a door beyond, "and this is her bed-room."
Ralph followed, and gazed round. Here, it was evident, the same spirit resided; but the bed-room itself was very simply arranged. There was a fire-place for a wood-fire, with a mantel, piece of rich white marble, supported by two beautiful columns; and the andirons, according to the ancient mode, were decorated with two large dogs' heads beautifully sculptured in brass. Above the mantel-piece was another picture of the late Lady Danvers. The chairs were of green velvet, and the hangings of the bed the same. The pillow and the sheet were edged with lace; and as Ralph gazed at the spot where Hortensia laid her head to rest, he said to himself, with a strange feeling that he did not stop to analyze, "May peace and happiness ever rest there with her!"
Turning away with the good steward, he proceeded through a number of other rooms; but, though the house had some historical associations, and a number of those old dreamy stair-cases, passages, and halls, which filled the unoccupied mind with strange imaginings, no part had such an interest for him as that which he had visited first; and he returned to the room in which he had been sitting with the more painful feelings busy in his heart, but mingled with some pleasanter thoughts, by all that he had seen in the apartments of Hortensia.
"I will now, Mr. Drayton," he said, "write some letters, and then retire to rest."
"Ay, sir, it is always better," said Mr. Drayton, in that commonplace tone which somewhat jars with strong emotions, "to write a letter at night, take counsel with one's pillow, and read it over before one sends it in the morning. It seems my lady has made some mistake about this duel, and it has taken you by surprise. You had better think well, sir, before you act in any way, for one does not always do the wisest when one acts in a hurry."
"True--true, Mr. Drayton," said Ralph, in an absent tone, "I will think before I act; but still I must not suffer an imputation to rest upon me which I do not deserve;" and, after having procured writing materials, he proceeded to indite several letters, of which I shall only give one as a specimen. It was addressed to Lord Woodhall, and was to the following effect:
"My honored and very dear Lord,
"I have this evening, and only this evening, learned the sad and terrible event which has occurred in your family, and which has deprived me not only of a very dear relation, but of one who has been my friend from boyhood. Though your lordship's grief must naturally be greater than that of any other person, believe me that mine, upon receiving this intelligence, would have been hard enough to bear without any aggravation. But coupled with the sad information comes the strange tidings that by some mistake, to me unaccountable, my name has been mingled with the transaction which deprived you of your dear son, and me of my friend and cousin. I can not leave you to suppose for one moment that I would have drawn my sword upon your son; but I have further to declare that there was no quarrel or dispute between us whatsoever; that we parted on the night of Wednesday last in perfect friendship and good feeling; and that I have never either seen or heard from him since, as I set out early on the morning of Thursday to escort Lady Danvers westward, and have never been in Norwich from that hour to this. Nay, more, it is utterly impossible that I could have been there, as I am willing to prove at any time, by accounting for every moment of my time, and producing persons who were with me. If, notwithstanding my most solemn assurance, your lordship still entertains doubts of the fact I mention, which can not be removed by private investigation, I am not at all unwilling to abide fair and open trial; and if I do not show that there was no possibility whatsoever of my having been on the spot, and at the hour where and when the unfortunate transaction took place, let me be condemned as a murderer.
"One thing, however, I would fain avoid, which is lengthened imprisonment; but if it is publicly given forth on what day the charge against me can be tried, I pledge you my word of honor, as a man and a gentleman, I will come forward at the place named, and surrender myself to abide the result.
"With the hope that God may comfort you in the sad affliction with which He has been pleased to visit you, and that He may shower every blessing upon yourself and your daughter, I have the honor to subscribe myself, my lord, your lordship's most faithful and humble servant,
"Ralph Woodhall."
Another letter of similar import was addressed to the Duke of Norfolk, another to his own father, and another to Lady Danvers.
He would fain have written to Margaret also, but paused, hesitated, and finally abandoned his intention.
When these were all concluded, he sent for Gaunt Stilling, to consult with him as to the best means of dispatching the letters from that part of the country, communications by post being in those days not very rapid and not very secure.
"I will have them conveyed, sir," said Stilling, taking the letters, "though Norwich and London are far apart, and Lincolnshire a good way off too; but if the object of these letters is what I guess, I think you might save yourself the trouble and expense, which will not be small."
"What do you guess the object is?" asked Ralph.
The man paused for an instant, and then answered, "To tell all these people that you are not the man who killed Mr. Henry Woodhall."
"Do you not think it worth my while to clear myself of shedding my cousin's blood?" asked Ralph, with some feeling of anger at the man's cool tone.
"Certainly, sir," replied Stilling; "but I think it is done already, in all probability. Either you do not know well the person who first placed me with you, or he has not told you how his eyes are always on those in whom he takes an interest. His eyes need no perspective glasses, sir, and he is just as well aware of the whole facts as you or I--better, indeed, most likely, than either of us. Nor will he let the knowledge sleep, depend upon it. He will make your cause good with those who are most concerned, whether you ask him or not."
Ralph smiled faintly. "You seem to have great faith," he said; "but I must not trust to any thing like a chance in such matters. I should like the letters to go."
"Well, sir, they shall go," replied Gaunt Stilling; "but one must trust to chance in all matters. For instance, I must give this letter for London to the king's post: there's a chance of his being stopped on the way. This must be sent to Lady Danvers by a special messenger, who is just as likely to miss her as not. The Duke of Norfolk will be gone from Norwich by this time, and--"
Ralph waved his hand somewhat impatiently. "I wish them to go," he said; "there is no chance, at least, of the messenger not reaching London."
"The greatest in the world," answered Gaunt Stilling; "but I see, sir, that you are not aware of all that is going on. Do you know that the country between this and London is all in a flame? If civil war has not broken out already, it won't be long first, and depend upon it that no letter will reach London, without being stopped and examined, for this month to come. I haven't got all the particulars right, but you shall hear more to-morrow morning, for I have got friends in Lyme, where this matter first broke out, and I have sent over a boy to inquire."
"Give me the letters," said Ralph Woodhall, "and I will decide to-morrow, when we have heard more."
Thus saying, he took them back, determined, on account of the difficulties Stilling threw in his way, to see them dispatched himself. The news of insurrection made but small impression upon his mind at the moment, occupied so fully as it was by personal feelings; but he asked a few questions in an indifferent tone; and, receiving nothing but a report of vague rumors, to which he attached but little importance, he retired to bed, determined to rise early on the following morning, and transact his business for himself.