[#] Vincent.It was an awful sight, and throughout Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, the fire continued, at times seeming to die down, and then bursting forth again with redoubled fury. Up and down the city the Duke of York rode. Lord Craven, Delarry, Reginald Newbolt, and many other brave men fought the fire as they had never fought a living enemy. There was no thought of rest, no thought of staying their hand--desolation, ruin, surrounded them on every side. The town itself was in those days hardly more than a mile wide at any point; open country was all around, and the people who had made their escape camped out on Moorfields and in the meadows of the hillside slopes.Fortunately the weather continued warm and dry, and there was bright moonlight. By mid-day on Friday all danger was past; but what had been the most picturesque city in Europe, was now a heap of ruins and ashes. Few lives had been lost, but old London had ceased to exist.CHAPTER XXIIFoundIt was Sunday morning, just a week since the fire had broken out and consumed the city. The bells of the churches that remained uninjured were ringing out, and crowds were passing over the ruins to reach the churches, there to confess their sins and their misdoings, and to pray the Lord to stay His wrath, and not utterly destroy His people.No such scene of desolation was ever witnessed before, and let us pray it may never be witnessed again in the capital of the English nation. She had fallen very low, and now her people humbled themselves, acknowledging the hand of God which had chastised and yet had not slain them.A man, a woman, and a girl were making their way from the crowded banks of the river up the Strand towards Somerset House. When they reached it they found the gates closed and guarded by soldiers, for the people who remained in the city were afraid of the many marauders and thieves who had escaped from the prisons and places of detention during the last few days. Newgate had been burnt down, and it had been impossible to keep a close watch over the prisoners, so that, now the danger of fire was over, a great fear of rapine, theft, and murder fell upon the honest inhabitants.Those who could afford it, themselves set watchmen before their houses, and barred and bolted their doors. In the court-yard of Somerset House there were both soldiers and sailors mingled together. There was also a watch-box, used at night by the watchman, but at present a soldier stood in it with fixed bayonet. Seeing all this array, the three strangers slunk back and began conversing together."What shall we do?" asked Ben Davies. "To whom shall we address ourselves to gain admittance?""Oh, it will be quite easy!" said Agnes, who was still in her peasant's dress. "I must know if Patience is here. If she is not, then perhaps Martha will be."Even as she spoke, Martha's portly figure came through the gate out into the street. She was accompanied by Peter Kemp, to whom she was saying in a loud voice, hugging a book of prayers in her arms:"Indeed, if ye have never prayed before, it would be well if ye did so now. Come along with me."Peter looked somewhat sheepish, but he had no time to answer, for Agnes sprang forward, exclaiming:"Martha, Martha, take me to Aunt Patience!""Ah, my lamb!" said Martha, "where have you sprung from?""Oh, never mind that, never mind anything!" said Agnes; "only take me to Aunt Patience." And she clung to the woman."I'll take you fast enough," said Martha, tears rolling down her face. "Maybe it will be the saving of her." And she turned back, holding Agnes's hand tightly in hers.They heard a scuffling behind them, and, looking round, they saw the guards driving back Ben Davies and his wife."Oh, let them come!" Agnes said, "they are my friends. Go and fetch them, Peter; I must go to Aunt Patience." And she ran across the court-yard, not heeding the groups of sailors who instinctively moved on one side to let her pass. Old Martha followed her as fast as she could, but Agnes ran on through the great vestibule. Her foot was on the first step of the stairs when a hand was laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Parson Ewan."Agnes!" he exclaimed."Aunt Patience--take me to Aunt Patience!" she cried, not heeding him."Come!" said Parson Ewan; and they went quickly on together, without speaking.They paused at the door of Patience's sitting-room."Agnes," said the parson, "your aunt has been ill--very ill, indeed; and the last few days have tried her beyond measure. We must be careful. Jessie is with her. I will call her out, and I will go into your aunt and tell her you are here.""Be quick, then," said Agnes. "Joy does not kill; she will get well now I am here."She had raised her voice a little, and as the door of the room opened, a voice they both knew called out:"Agnes, Agnes!""She has heard me," said the girl, and, running forward, she found herself in Patience's arms."My darling, my well-beloved!" said the elder woman, sinking into a chair and drawing Agnes on to her knees; and the two loved each other with kisses and with tears, in silence, because their hearts were overflowing.Parson Ewan closed the door and left them alone.Ben Davies and his wife were conducted by Peter Kemp to the servants' hall, and were being questioned, but they were very reticent. Ben Davies simply said that the Lady Agnes had been given into their charge, he did not even know by whom. Her very name had been hidden from them for many months. When they did know it, but for the war they would have brought her to England at once. Then a young commander, who knew the lady, had found them in Holland, and bidden them keep her quiet until the war should be over; but she was so impatient to come home, that she had persuaded Ben to hire a larger barge and to put out to sea.They came up by the Medway and had expected to be in London in a day or so, when the fire broke out, and they had had to lay to. As soon as it was possible, the Lady Agnes had insisted on pushing forward. She would not let them rest. Her one cry was:"Aunt Patience, Aunt Patience!"Presently Parson Ewan came in, accompanied by Reginald Newbolt, who said sharply:"Well, Ben, you haven't obeyed orders.""I couldn't, sir," answered Ben; "the young lady would not let me. When I told her I had no money to charter a ship, she said it did not matter, that I could promise the owner what I chose; she was sure she was rich, she was sure the money would be found, and my wife took sides with her. What could I do? So I chartered a boat, and we crossed over; but when we came within reach of London, and saw the fire raging, still she would not go back. So we waited in the river until we could move on, which we did as soon as possible. She seemed to have no fear, and but one thought--to get home.""Well, you had better remain here for the present," said Reginald. "Martha will take care of your wife.""Please, your honour, I must go back to my ship to-night," said Ben Davies, "and my wife cannot leave the little one. Fortunately my mother came with us, and took charge of the child; but my wife must be back before night.""Very well," said Reginald; "tell me in what dock your ship is lying and I will go to you. You must not go without seeing the Lady Agnes. Stay here and take proper refreshment. I will see to your getting back the quickest way possible.""Thank you, sir!" said Ben Davies; then, speaking in a low voice so that no one else could hear, he said:"You will not betray me, sir? You will not let evil happen to me because I listened to that wicked man?""No, I will not," said Reginald, "I promise you. You have redeemed yourself. You shall go scot-free. Indeed, I expect you will be rewarded for your care of the Lady Agnes.""Thank you kindly, sir!" said the man. And then Reginald and Mr. Ewan left the hall.That same evening there was a great consultation, and it was agreed that the very next day Mr. Ewan, Patience, and the two girls, with their men and women servants, should start north. They would have to go very slowly because of Patience. It was impossible for her to travel on horseback, so a carriage had to be hired, and everything done to ensure the least possible fatigue for her.Patience wrote to the king, telling him how Agnes had been found. She dwelt but slightly on her disappearance. All she said was: "She was carried away from us by some misadventure or by some evil design, which the Lord has frustrated, and she has mercifully been given back to my arms. Surely her angels have watched over her that her foot should not slip. With your majesty's leave I am taking her back to Westmorland to my home, seeing she has none of her own--De Lisle Abbey, her ancestral home, having passed into the hands of strangers. I would entreat your majesty to inform the queen-dowager of these facts; and also I would remind your majesty that her father died serving that saint and martyr, your most gracious majesty's father, and of your promise to befriend the child, who is fatherless and motherless, with nothing she can call her own. As regards myself, I shall not be here long to protect her. The late events have shattered my health, and I am going home to die; then she will be alone. Praying your majesty's goodness for the orphan, I kiss your majesty's hand, and leave her to your tender mercy."PATIENCE BEAUMONT.""I will take the letter," said Reginald, "and you, Delarry, shall accompany me.""Willingly," said the young Irish officer; and the two went off together.The conduct of the young men had been so remarkable during the late events of the fire that they were in high favour with both the king and the Duke of York, to whom they had access at any hour of the day or night.When the king had read the letter, he looked at Reginald with that peculiar expression of bonhomie which was so familiar to his courtiers."Are not you the present possessor of the De Lisle estates?" he asked."Yes, sire," answered Reginald boldly; "they were given my father in return for his services in the Parliamentary army. But let not that trouble your majesty; I am ready to restore them to their rightful owner.""And their rightful owner is this Lady Agnes Beaumont De Lisle," said the king. "Well, Captain Newbolt, I have a bit of advice to give you, and at the same time a tangible recognition of your services during the Dutch War, of which my cousin, Prince Rupert," and he turned to the prince, who was standing by him, and smiled, "has given me full account. Go courting this lady; make her your wife. It will not be very difficult, seeing she is the fairest maiden at our court, and my mother has kept her hidden as a pearl in an oyster shell. It is for you to bring her forth, and when you present her at our court as your wife, I will create you Sir Reginald De Lisle, and ratify to you and to her conjointly the estates of which you have defrauded her; so shall we do away with all difficulties. What say you to this, my cousin?" And he turned once more to Prince Rupert."That your majesty has as usual solved the question with your happy wit. What can be better than love, and marriage, and wedding-bells?"But Reginald answered:"I am only too willing, your majesty; but there is one thing I would beseech of you, namely, to restore the estate to Lady Agnes without delay, and with no regard as to whether I win her hand or not.""But unless you wed her you cannot be Sir Reginald De Lisle," said the king."Then, with your permission, I will be Sir Reginald something else," said the young man boldly; "but I would have the Lady Agnes left free, quite free, to wed me or not as it seems best to her.""But you will go a-courting her?" said Charles, laughing."Ah, verily I will!" answered Reginald, drawing himself up, "and I hope to win her.""Have it your own way," said the king. "Send us the parchments concerning the De Lisle estate and we will make them over to the young lady, and you, you will be penniless and a soldier of fortune. Now, begone, and do not tarry on the road, but win your spurs and a wife."Reginald bent his knee before the king and kissed his hand; then rose and went his way.CHAPTER XXIIIHome at LastIt was a long journey north, and a wearisome one. They had to make many halts on the road because of Patience's weakness. She was as a queen amongst them; they loved and tended her, each one in his or her own way. Jessie fairly worshipped her, and was almost jealous of Agnes. How was it possible that, thus cradled in love, she should not live! and it was evident to them all that as she approached north there seemed to dawn upon her face a look of happiness, and in her voice there was a note of gladness. So they were content and ceased to fear for her."You are getting well so quickly, Aunt Patience!" said Agnes. But Patience shook her head; she could not think so herself, for she could not shake off the horror of the past months--the plague, the fire, and the loss of Agnes--she could not believe it possible that she should live, she who had ceased to desire life. Again and again she said to Parson Ewan, "If only I could see Agnes married and settled with a good man, I should be content to go.""Have you not learnt through all this time of trial," said Parson Ewan reproachfully, "to leave things in God's hands? Each day you say 'Thy Will be done', and yet you make plans for the future. You say you do not care to live, but if it be His will that you should live, surely you will be content. You are still a young woman, and there may be work for you to do--others to comfort and care for. Who can tell what God requires of us?""When Agnes is married I shall be alone," said Patience, "and I do not like the thought of being alone. I would sooner go home to my dear ones.""Loneliness is a thing we have all to face," said Parson Ewan sadly; "but there is no need to trouble about it until it comes. Rest assured that when it does, with God's grace you will bear it. The vicarage is not far from Holt Farm, and there is Jessie.""You are right," said Patience, and a slight colour crept over her face; "besides, we are talking as if Agnes were married and gone, and we do not even know that she thinks of either love or marriage.""Just so," said the parson; "as I told you, you were taking trouble by the forelock."Their last halting-place was at Appleby, which was but a short distance from De Lisle Abbey."Would you like me to take Agnes over to see the old home?" asked Mr. Ewan the following morning."No," said Patience; "she shall not go there until it is her own, and that may never be. I have had no answer from the king.""All in good time," said Mr. Ewan, and he smiled, for he had had a conversation with Reginald and Delarry the morning before they started, when he had learnt the king's pleasure, "that De Lisle Abbey was to be restored to Agnes, and that Reginald was to go a-courting.""I don't think he will need to do that long," Delarry had said. "Agnes has always been his sweetheart.""Ah, but I was a rich man in those days, now I possess nothing! You know this full well, Delarry, seeing you have had no dower with Ann, and I can give you none.""I am quite content," said Delarry."But I, 'a soldier of fortune', shall have to woo an heiress," said Reginald, "so I am not content.""What matters it; what matters anything," said Mr. Ewan, "if she loves you?""True," said Reginald, "if she loves me." And then they parted company, for Reginald and Delarry were much in request at court, and could not even wait to see them off; but, as Reginald bade Agnes farewell, he said:"As soon as I can get leave of absence, may I come north and visit you?""If you will," said Agnes; "but we are poor folk now. We live at Holt Farm, and you are master of Newbolt Abbey.""I shall not be master there long," he answered; and so he bade her farewell.At every cottage door in the little hamlet of St. Mary's, women and children, even the men in the fields, stopped now and again, and, shading their eyes with their hands, looked up over the hills in the direction of Appleby. There was an air of expectancy and gladness on every face, for the news had reached them through Rolfe that the parson, Mistress Patience Beaumont, and the two young maidens were coming home that day."It's a wonder they're alive," one woman said to another; "to think they've been through the plague and the fire!""But it seems that Mistress Patience is terribly ill," answered her companion."So I heard," said the first speaker, "but she'll soon get hale and hearty when she is home again. There they be;" and she pointed down the valley to where a coach was just visible, accompanied by horses and riders. A general movement took place among the villagers, as if they would have all gone forward to meet the travellers.Suddenly there arose a cry of pleasure, for they saw two youthful figures come running on in front."Ah, it's the maidens!" said an old man, leaning on his stick. "I thank the Lord my eyes will see them once again!" and then there was no holding back. Children and women and men left their cottages to take care of themselves, and went on their way cheering and waving their kerchiefs until Agnes and Jessie were in their midst, shaking hands with one and all, half-laughing and half-crying."Follow us," said Jessie. "Father says we must thank God first of all for His great mercies vouchsafed to us;" and she and Agnes led the way to the little parish church, and the old sexton threw the door open, and they entered. Patience, very pale and very feeble, but with a glint of life and gladness in her eyes, walked between the two girls, leaning on them both, and Mr. Ewan went first, entered the church and stood on the altar steps, whilst the people crowded in. Then he spoke to them and told them something of the danger through which Patience and Agnes had passed, of that terrible plague, of the fire, and the long separation, for which no one could account. Tears poured down his hearers' faces, and the women sobbed."But it is over," he said, "and God has been very merciful, for He has brought them home again; therefore, let us kneel and give thanks to Him Who is the Lord of life and death."They knelt for a time in silence, which spoke more eloquently than words, and then there broke upon the stillness the first words of that great song of triumph:"We praise Thee, O Lord, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting."It poured forth from every heart and every tongue, the sound rolled out through the open door into the sweet country beyond; and it seemed to Patience, as she listened, as if healing were coming to her, the love of life, the gladness which belongs to the true believer. As the last words, "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded", died out, with one accord they knelt again; every head was bowed, as the pastor raised his hands and blessed them.Then they went forth. Patience was lifted on to a horse, and it was, "Who should lead it?" And so they trooped up to Holt Farm. Doors and windows were wide open, and the scent of the summer flowers, roses and sweet lavender, filled the air.Oh, the joy of that home-coming, the sweet peace which crept over them as they crossed the threshold and stood for a second waving their thanks and their good-byes to those who had followed them!Mr. Ewan stepped into the midst of his flock."You will go now," he said, "all of you, because the Mistress must have rest and peace to recover her strength." So they went, and Patience was taken up-stairs and put to bed in the sweet lavender-scented sheets, with open windows looking out over the moors; and as she lay there it seemed to her as if the past were an ugly dream from which she had just awakened. As she listened to the birds singing, and the voices of Agnes and Jessie as they went and came, she buried her face in the pillow and wept tears of gladness and thanksgiving. All the bitterness of her soul for those dark years of mourning passed away. Her youth had departed from her, but it seemed to her almost as if there were a resurrection within her, a new life dawning, a life which did not belong to others, as all her past had done, but to herself. A strange gladness, a sense of peace, crept over her, and she fell asleep.What would her awakening be? None but God knew. Surely she was one of God's elect; she had possessed her soul in patience.In a different way Agnes realized the same feeling. It was not likely she would ever forget what she had gone through or what she had seen and heard, but it grew to be almost like a dream from which she had awakened. She had been away from home and she had come back again, and as she linked her arm in Jessie's, and with Mr. Ewan walked back to the vicarage, she said as much."I hope I may never go back to London," she said. "I will stay here all my life. Could anything be more lovely?""Make no rash promises," said Mr. Ewan, laughing. "You are too young to do that. What if someone fetches you away?"Agnes coloured. "I cannot leave Aunt Patience," she answered. "Think what she has done and suffered for me. Can I ever repay her?""We can never repay love; we can but give it in return," answered Mr. Ewan.After the first two or three days life resumed its even course for them all.If the Ewans and Patience and Agnes had been friends before, they were more than friends now. It seemed as if they could not bear to be parted."If we could only live all together, Aunt Patience," Agnes said one morning.Patience laughed, for she did laugh now, with a certain ring of gladness which had never been there before. "That we cannot do," she answered. "I cannot leave the farm, and Mr. Ewan cannot leave the vicarage."As she said these words Mr. Ewan entered the sitting-room, smiled at Aunt Patience, who coloured deeply, for she knew he must have heard Agnes's last words, but he gave no sign, only laid a voluminous packet of papers in front of her."These are for you, Agnes," he said. "I met a king's messenger bringing them, and he entrusted them to me." Both Patience and Mr. Ewan exchanged glances, while Agnes fingered the parchment and slowly broke the seal."What is it?" she said. "I cannot read this cramped writing. What have I to do with the king?""Give it to me; let me read it to you," said Mr. Ewan."Oh no, not all these long pages!" said Agnes, "just tell me what it means. What does the king want with me?""Nothing," answered Mr. Ewan, "except to give back to you what by right is yours, the lands and estates of De Lisle Abbey.""There is no De Lisle Abbey; it is Newbolt Manor," said Agnes sharply, "and I won't have it.""You cannot help yourself. I think you must," said Patience."No, Aunt Patience, you may say what you will, but I will never go there. It would never be to me like home; I would sooner remain with you always. I will write and tell the king as much; I do not want to be Lady of De Lisle Abbey.""It would be of no use your sending to the king; there are your title-deeds," said Patience."Then I will throw them into the fire; I will have none of it," she said, and she caught at them. But Parson Ewan put his hand on hers."Let be, Agnes," he said.She burst into tears."I will not; I tell you I will not!" and she stamped her foot.A step had come up the gravel path which she had not heard, neither had she seen the figure of a man standing in the doorway; but Patience and Mr. Ewan had both heard and seen, and quietly they turned and left the room.Agnes, her arms crossed on the table, sobbed with childish anger, repeating: "I will not; I will not!""What will you not do, you naughty child?" said a man's voice, and a somewhat heavy hand was laid on her shoulder.She started, looked up, and saw Reginald standing over her. "I will not be Lady De Lisle," she said."Very well," answered Reginald seriously; "I am very sorry if that be your last word, Agnes.""What can it matter to you?" she said passionately. "I will not take your lands; I will not rob you."She looked so pretty in her anger, with her tear-stained face and ruffled hair, still such a child."Nevertheless I am sorry," he said, "for I have come to ask you to be my wife; and the king has promised to knight me Sir Reginald De Lisle if I win you.""I cannot be your wife," she answered slowly. "I am too young; and then there is Aunt Patience. You must be Sir Reginald something else.""I will not be Sir anything, unless I am Sir Reginald De Lisle, and you knight me," he answered.She shook her head. "I tell you, you can't. I will not have the land."He put his arm round her, turned her face up to his, and looked into her eyes. "Now, tell me you do not love me, my little sweetheart," he said.Evidently she could not so answer him, for a smile broke over her face."Yes or no, Agnes?" he asked softly.A short gasp and then a timid "Yes", and he would have kissed her, but she slipped away from him and stood at the farther end of the room."I cannot; you know I cannot. What will become of Aunt Patience?" she said.He laughed. "I think that will settle itself, Agnes," he answered. "Don't run away, little one." And he took both her hands in his."Have you seen nothing?""Seen! What should I have seen?" said Agnes."Well, then, wait awhile and you will see," said Reginald. "In the meantime, you love me and I love you; so you must be my wife, and the king will knight me, and we will go and live in the place I love best in the world, De Lisle Abbey.""Then Aunt Patience must come too," she said. "She cannot stay here alone."She did not know that Aunt Patience had come back until she felt her arms round her, and heard the voice she loved so well say:"I shall not hinder you, my darling. Did you not yourself say it would be a good thing if the vicarage and the farm were one dwelling-place?""Yes, I did," answered Agnes, "because we are all such good friends.""Just so," said Patience. "But as the vicarage is too small for us all, Mr. Ewan and myself have settled that he and Jessie shall live up here with me after you are married.""Oh," answered Agnes, "then you will not want me!" And her face fell."We shall always want you, dear. Only, I think someone else wants you more, and someone wants me too, and we shall never be quite happy without our lovers. Am I not right?" She drew Agnes into her arms, and they kissed tenderly, in remembrance of the past, and for joy in the future.And so it came to pass that a few weeks later Sir Reginald De Lisle and Agnes were married in the little church where her mother lay sleeping; and they rode away together, she on her white palfrey, he on his black charger, and he took her to her old home, the home of her race, now his and hers.They left no sadness behind, for Mr. Ewan and Patience were also married a few days later in the same village church, and Jessie's heart was glad because she had a mother. And so, for one and all, the evil days were over.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE QUEEN'S FAVOURITE***
[#] Vincent.
It was an awful sight, and throughout Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, the fire continued, at times seeming to die down, and then bursting forth again with redoubled fury. Up and down the city the Duke of York rode. Lord Craven, Delarry, Reginald Newbolt, and many other brave men fought the fire as they had never fought a living enemy. There was no thought of rest, no thought of staying their hand--desolation, ruin, surrounded them on every side. The town itself was in those days hardly more than a mile wide at any point; open country was all around, and the people who had made their escape camped out on Moorfields and in the meadows of the hillside slopes.
Fortunately the weather continued warm and dry, and there was bright moonlight. By mid-day on Friday all danger was past; but what had been the most picturesque city in Europe, was now a heap of ruins and ashes. Few lives had been lost, but old London had ceased to exist.
CHAPTER XXII
Found
It was Sunday morning, just a week since the fire had broken out and consumed the city. The bells of the churches that remained uninjured were ringing out, and crowds were passing over the ruins to reach the churches, there to confess their sins and their misdoings, and to pray the Lord to stay His wrath, and not utterly destroy His people.
No such scene of desolation was ever witnessed before, and let us pray it may never be witnessed again in the capital of the English nation. She had fallen very low, and now her people humbled themselves, acknowledging the hand of God which had chastised and yet had not slain them.
A man, a woman, and a girl were making their way from the crowded banks of the river up the Strand towards Somerset House. When they reached it they found the gates closed and guarded by soldiers, for the people who remained in the city were afraid of the many marauders and thieves who had escaped from the prisons and places of detention during the last few days. Newgate had been burnt down, and it had been impossible to keep a close watch over the prisoners, so that, now the danger of fire was over, a great fear of rapine, theft, and murder fell upon the honest inhabitants.
Those who could afford it, themselves set watchmen before their houses, and barred and bolted their doors. In the court-yard of Somerset House there were both soldiers and sailors mingled together. There was also a watch-box, used at night by the watchman, but at present a soldier stood in it with fixed bayonet. Seeing all this array, the three strangers slunk back and began conversing together.
"What shall we do?" asked Ben Davies. "To whom shall we address ourselves to gain admittance?"
"Oh, it will be quite easy!" said Agnes, who was still in her peasant's dress. "I must know if Patience is here. If she is not, then perhaps Martha will be."
Even as she spoke, Martha's portly figure came through the gate out into the street. She was accompanied by Peter Kemp, to whom she was saying in a loud voice, hugging a book of prayers in her arms:
"Indeed, if ye have never prayed before, it would be well if ye did so now. Come along with me."
Peter looked somewhat sheepish, but he had no time to answer, for Agnes sprang forward, exclaiming:
"Martha, Martha, take me to Aunt Patience!"
"Ah, my lamb!" said Martha, "where have you sprung from?"
"Oh, never mind that, never mind anything!" said Agnes; "only take me to Aunt Patience." And she clung to the woman.
"I'll take you fast enough," said Martha, tears rolling down her face. "Maybe it will be the saving of her." And she turned back, holding Agnes's hand tightly in hers.
They heard a scuffling behind them, and, looking round, they saw the guards driving back Ben Davies and his wife.
"Oh, let them come!" Agnes said, "they are my friends. Go and fetch them, Peter; I must go to Aunt Patience." And she ran across the court-yard, not heeding the groups of sailors who instinctively moved on one side to let her pass. Old Martha followed her as fast as she could, but Agnes ran on through the great vestibule. Her foot was on the first step of the stairs when a hand was laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Parson Ewan.
"Agnes!" he exclaimed.
"Aunt Patience--take me to Aunt Patience!" she cried, not heeding him.
"Come!" said Parson Ewan; and they went quickly on together, without speaking.
They paused at the door of Patience's sitting-room.
"Agnes," said the parson, "your aunt has been ill--very ill, indeed; and the last few days have tried her beyond measure. We must be careful. Jessie is with her. I will call her out, and I will go into your aunt and tell her you are here."
"Be quick, then," said Agnes. "Joy does not kill; she will get well now I am here."
She had raised her voice a little, and as the door of the room opened, a voice they both knew called out:
"Agnes, Agnes!"
"She has heard me," said the girl, and, running forward, she found herself in Patience's arms.
"My darling, my well-beloved!" said the elder woman, sinking into a chair and drawing Agnes on to her knees; and the two loved each other with kisses and with tears, in silence, because their hearts were overflowing.
Parson Ewan closed the door and left them alone.
Ben Davies and his wife were conducted by Peter Kemp to the servants' hall, and were being questioned, but they were very reticent. Ben Davies simply said that the Lady Agnes had been given into their charge, he did not even know by whom. Her very name had been hidden from them for many months. When they did know it, but for the war they would have brought her to England at once. Then a young commander, who knew the lady, had found them in Holland, and bidden them keep her quiet until the war should be over; but she was so impatient to come home, that she had persuaded Ben to hire a larger barge and to put out to sea.
They came up by the Medway and had expected to be in London in a day or so, when the fire broke out, and they had had to lay to. As soon as it was possible, the Lady Agnes had insisted on pushing forward. She would not let them rest. Her one cry was:
"Aunt Patience, Aunt Patience!"
Presently Parson Ewan came in, accompanied by Reginald Newbolt, who said sharply:
"Well, Ben, you haven't obeyed orders."
"I couldn't, sir," answered Ben; "the young lady would not let me. When I told her I had no money to charter a ship, she said it did not matter, that I could promise the owner what I chose; she was sure she was rich, she was sure the money would be found, and my wife took sides with her. What could I do? So I chartered a boat, and we crossed over; but when we came within reach of London, and saw the fire raging, still she would not go back. So we waited in the river until we could move on, which we did as soon as possible. She seemed to have no fear, and but one thought--to get home."
"Well, you had better remain here for the present," said Reginald. "Martha will take care of your wife."
"Please, your honour, I must go back to my ship to-night," said Ben Davies, "and my wife cannot leave the little one. Fortunately my mother came with us, and took charge of the child; but my wife must be back before night."
"Very well," said Reginald; "tell me in what dock your ship is lying and I will go to you. You must not go without seeing the Lady Agnes. Stay here and take proper refreshment. I will see to your getting back the quickest way possible."
"Thank you, sir!" said Ben Davies; then, speaking in a low voice so that no one else could hear, he said:
"You will not betray me, sir? You will not let evil happen to me because I listened to that wicked man?"
"No, I will not," said Reginald, "I promise you. You have redeemed yourself. You shall go scot-free. Indeed, I expect you will be rewarded for your care of the Lady Agnes."
"Thank you kindly, sir!" said the man. And then Reginald and Mr. Ewan left the hall.
That same evening there was a great consultation, and it was agreed that the very next day Mr. Ewan, Patience, and the two girls, with their men and women servants, should start north. They would have to go very slowly because of Patience. It was impossible for her to travel on horseback, so a carriage had to be hired, and everything done to ensure the least possible fatigue for her.
Patience wrote to the king, telling him how Agnes had been found. She dwelt but slightly on her disappearance. All she said was: "She was carried away from us by some misadventure or by some evil design, which the Lord has frustrated, and she has mercifully been given back to my arms. Surely her angels have watched over her that her foot should not slip. With your majesty's leave I am taking her back to Westmorland to my home, seeing she has none of her own--De Lisle Abbey, her ancestral home, having passed into the hands of strangers. I would entreat your majesty to inform the queen-dowager of these facts; and also I would remind your majesty that her father died serving that saint and martyr, your most gracious majesty's father, and of your promise to befriend the child, who is fatherless and motherless, with nothing she can call her own. As regards myself, I shall not be here long to protect her. The late events have shattered my health, and I am going home to die; then she will be alone. Praying your majesty's goodness for the orphan, I kiss your majesty's hand, and leave her to your tender mercy.
"PATIENCE BEAUMONT."
"I will take the letter," said Reginald, "and you, Delarry, shall accompany me."
"Willingly," said the young Irish officer; and the two went off together.
The conduct of the young men had been so remarkable during the late events of the fire that they were in high favour with both the king and the Duke of York, to whom they had access at any hour of the day or night.
When the king had read the letter, he looked at Reginald with that peculiar expression of bonhomie which was so familiar to his courtiers.
"Are not you the present possessor of the De Lisle estates?" he asked.
"Yes, sire," answered Reginald boldly; "they were given my father in return for his services in the Parliamentary army. But let not that trouble your majesty; I am ready to restore them to their rightful owner."
"And their rightful owner is this Lady Agnes Beaumont De Lisle," said the king. "Well, Captain Newbolt, I have a bit of advice to give you, and at the same time a tangible recognition of your services during the Dutch War, of which my cousin, Prince Rupert," and he turned to the prince, who was standing by him, and smiled, "has given me full account. Go courting this lady; make her your wife. It will not be very difficult, seeing she is the fairest maiden at our court, and my mother has kept her hidden as a pearl in an oyster shell. It is for you to bring her forth, and when you present her at our court as your wife, I will create you Sir Reginald De Lisle, and ratify to you and to her conjointly the estates of which you have defrauded her; so shall we do away with all difficulties. What say you to this, my cousin?" And he turned once more to Prince Rupert.
"That your majesty has as usual solved the question with your happy wit. What can be better than love, and marriage, and wedding-bells?"
But Reginald answered:
"I am only too willing, your majesty; but there is one thing I would beseech of you, namely, to restore the estate to Lady Agnes without delay, and with no regard as to whether I win her hand or not."
"But unless you wed her you cannot be Sir Reginald De Lisle," said the king.
"Then, with your permission, I will be Sir Reginald something else," said the young man boldly; "but I would have the Lady Agnes left free, quite free, to wed me or not as it seems best to her."
"But you will go a-courting her?" said Charles, laughing.
"Ah, verily I will!" answered Reginald, drawing himself up, "and I hope to win her."
"Have it your own way," said the king. "Send us the parchments concerning the De Lisle estate and we will make them over to the young lady, and you, you will be penniless and a soldier of fortune. Now, begone, and do not tarry on the road, but win your spurs and a wife."
Reginald bent his knee before the king and kissed his hand; then rose and went his way.
CHAPTER XXIII
Home at Last
It was a long journey north, and a wearisome one. They had to make many halts on the road because of Patience's weakness. She was as a queen amongst them; they loved and tended her, each one in his or her own way. Jessie fairly worshipped her, and was almost jealous of Agnes. How was it possible that, thus cradled in love, she should not live! and it was evident to them all that as she approached north there seemed to dawn upon her face a look of happiness, and in her voice there was a note of gladness. So they were content and ceased to fear for her.
"You are getting well so quickly, Aunt Patience!" said Agnes. But Patience shook her head; she could not think so herself, for she could not shake off the horror of the past months--the plague, the fire, and the loss of Agnes--she could not believe it possible that she should live, she who had ceased to desire life. Again and again she said to Parson Ewan, "If only I could see Agnes married and settled with a good man, I should be content to go."
"Have you not learnt through all this time of trial," said Parson Ewan reproachfully, "to leave things in God's hands? Each day you say 'Thy Will be done', and yet you make plans for the future. You say you do not care to live, but if it be His will that you should live, surely you will be content. You are still a young woman, and there may be work for you to do--others to comfort and care for. Who can tell what God requires of us?"
"When Agnes is married I shall be alone," said Patience, "and I do not like the thought of being alone. I would sooner go home to my dear ones."
"Loneliness is a thing we have all to face," said Parson Ewan sadly; "but there is no need to trouble about it until it comes. Rest assured that when it does, with God's grace you will bear it. The vicarage is not far from Holt Farm, and there is Jessie."
"You are right," said Patience, and a slight colour crept over her face; "besides, we are talking as if Agnes were married and gone, and we do not even know that she thinks of either love or marriage."
"Just so," said the parson; "as I told you, you were taking trouble by the forelock."
Their last halting-place was at Appleby, which was but a short distance from De Lisle Abbey.
"Would you like me to take Agnes over to see the old home?" asked Mr. Ewan the following morning.
"No," said Patience; "she shall not go there until it is her own, and that may never be. I have had no answer from the king."
"All in good time," said Mr. Ewan, and he smiled, for he had had a conversation with Reginald and Delarry the morning before they started, when he had learnt the king's pleasure, "that De Lisle Abbey was to be restored to Agnes, and that Reginald was to go a-courting."
"I don't think he will need to do that long," Delarry had said. "Agnes has always been his sweetheart."
"Ah, but I was a rich man in those days, now I possess nothing! You know this full well, Delarry, seeing you have had no dower with Ann, and I can give you none."
"I am quite content," said Delarry.
"But I, 'a soldier of fortune', shall have to woo an heiress," said Reginald, "so I am not content."
"What matters it; what matters anything," said Mr. Ewan, "if she loves you?"
"True," said Reginald, "if she loves me." And then they parted company, for Reginald and Delarry were much in request at court, and could not even wait to see them off; but, as Reginald bade Agnes farewell, he said:
"As soon as I can get leave of absence, may I come north and visit you?"
"If you will," said Agnes; "but we are poor folk now. We live at Holt Farm, and you are master of Newbolt Abbey."
"I shall not be master there long," he answered; and so he bade her farewell.
At every cottage door in the little hamlet of St. Mary's, women and children, even the men in the fields, stopped now and again, and, shading their eyes with their hands, looked up over the hills in the direction of Appleby. There was an air of expectancy and gladness on every face, for the news had reached them through Rolfe that the parson, Mistress Patience Beaumont, and the two young maidens were coming home that day.
"It's a wonder they're alive," one woman said to another; "to think they've been through the plague and the fire!"
"But it seems that Mistress Patience is terribly ill," answered her companion.
"So I heard," said the first speaker, "but she'll soon get hale and hearty when she is home again. There they be;" and she pointed down the valley to where a coach was just visible, accompanied by horses and riders. A general movement took place among the villagers, as if they would have all gone forward to meet the travellers.
Suddenly there arose a cry of pleasure, for they saw two youthful figures come running on in front.
"Ah, it's the maidens!" said an old man, leaning on his stick. "I thank the Lord my eyes will see them once again!" and then there was no holding back. Children and women and men left their cottages to take care of themselves, and went on their way cheering and waving their kerchiefs until Agnes and Jessie were in their midst, shaking hands with one and all, half-laughing and half-crying.
"Follow us," said Jessie. "Father says we must thank God first of all for His great mercies vouchsafed to us;" and she and Agnes led the way to the little parish church, and the old sexton threw the door open, and they entered. Patience, very pale and very feeble, but with a glint of life and gladness in her eyes, walked between the two girls, leaning on them both, and Mr. Ewan went first, entered the church and stood on the altar steps, whilst the people crowded in. Then he spoke to them and told them something of the danger through which Patience and Agnes had passed, of that terrible plague, of the fire, and the long separation, for which no one could account. Tears poured down his hearers' faces, and the women sobbed.
"But it is over," he said, "and God has been very merciful, for He has brought them home again; therefore, let us kneel and give thanks to Him Who is the Lord of life and death."
They knelt for a time in silence, which spoke more eloquently than words, and then there broke upon the stillness the first words of that great song of triumph:
"We praise Thee, O Lord, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting."
"We praise Thee, O Lord, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting."
"We praise Thee, O Lord, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting."
It poured forth from every heart and every tongue, the sound rolled out through the open door into the sweet country beyond; and it seemed to Patience, as she listened, as if healing were coming to her, the love of life, the gladness which belongs to the true believer. As the last words, "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded", died out, with one accord they knelt again; every head was bowed, as the pastor raised his hands and blessed them.
Then they went forth. Patience was lifted on to a horse, and it was, "Who should lead it?" And so they trooped up to Holt Farm. Doors and windows were wide open, and the scent of the summer flowers, roses and sweet lavender, filled the air.
Oh, the joy of that home-coming, the sweet peace which crept over them as they crossed the threshold and stood for a second waving their thanks and their good-byes to those who had followed them!
Mr. Ewan stepped into the midst of his flock.
"You will go now," he said, "all of you, because the Mistress must have rest and peace to recover her strength." So they went, and Patience was taken up-stairs and put to bed in the sweet lavender-scented sheets, with open windows looking out over the moors; and as she lay there it seemed to her as if the past were an ugly dream from which she had just awakened. As she listened to the birds singing, and the voices of Agnes and Jessie as they went and came, she buried her face in the pillow and wept tears of gladness and thanksgiving. All the bitterness of her soul for those dark years of mourning passed away. Her youth had departed from her, but it seemed to her almost as if there were a resurrection within her, a new life dawning, a life which did not belong to others, as all her past had done, but to herself. A strange gladness, a sense of peace, crept over her, and she fell asleep.
What would her awakening be? None but God knew. Surely she was one of God's elect; she had possessed her soul in patience.
In a different way Agnes realized the same feeling. It was not likely she would ever forget what she had gone through or what she had seen and heard, but it grew to be almost like a dream from which she had awakened. She had been away from home and she had come back again, and as she linked her arm in Jessie's, and with Mr. Ewan walked back to the vicarage, she said as much.
"I hope I may never go back to London," she said. "I will stay here all my life. Could anything be more lovely?"
"Make no rash promises," said Mr. Ewan, laughing. "You are too young to do that. What if someone fetches you away?"
Agnes coloured. "I cannot leave Aunt Patience," she answered. "Think what she has done and suffered for me. Can I ever repay her?"
"We can never repay love; we can but give it in return," answered Mr. Ewan.
After the first two or three days life resumed its even course for them all.
If the Ewans and Patience and Agnes had been friends before, they were more than friends now. It seemed as if they could not bear to be parted.
"If we could only live all together, Aunt Patience," Agnes said one morning.
Patience laughed, for she did laugh now, with a certain ring of gladness which had never been there before. "That we cannot do," she answered. "I cannot leave the farm, and Mr. Ewan cannot leave the vicarage."
As she said these words Mr. Ewan entered the sitting-room, smiled at Aunt Patience, who coloured deeply, for she knew he must have heard Agnes's last words, but he gave no sign, only laid a voluminous packet of papers in front of her.
"These are for you, Agnes," he said. "I met a king's messenger bringing them, and he entrusted them to me." Both Patience and Mr. Ewan exchanged glances, while Agnes fingered the parchment and slowly broke the seal.
"What is it?" she said. "I cannot read this cramped writing. What have I to do with the king?"
"Give it to me; let me read it to you," said Mr. Ewan.
"Oh no, not all these long pages!" said Agnes, "just tell me what it means. What does the king want with me?"
"Nothing," answered Mr. Ewan, "except to give back to you what by right is yours, the lands and estates of De Lisle Abbey."
"There is no De Lisle Abbey; it is Newbolt Manor," said Agnes sharply, "and I won't have it."
"You cannot help yourself. I think you must," said Patience.
"No, Aunt Patience, you may say what you will, but I will never go there. It would never be to me like home; I would sooner remain with you always. I will write and tell the king as much; I do not want to be Lady of De Lisle Abbey."
"It would be of no use your sending to the king; there are your title-deeds," said Patience.
"Then I will throw them into the fire; I will have none of it," she said, and she caught at them. But Parson Ewan put his hand on hers.
"Let be, Agnes," he said.
She burst into tears.
"I will not; I tell you I will not!" and she stamped her foot.
A step had come up the gravel path which she had not heard, neither had she seen the figure of a man standing in the doorway; but Patience and Mr. Ewan had both heard and seen, and quietly they turned and left the room.
Agnes, her arms crossed on the table, sobbed with childish anger, repeating: "I will not; I will not!"
"What will you not do, you naughty child?" said a man's voice, and a somewhat heavy hand was laid on her shoulder.
She started, looked up, and saw Reginald standing over her. "I will not be Lady De Lisle," she said.
"Very well," answered Reginald seriously; "I am very sorry if that be your last word, Agnes."
"What can it matter to you?" she said passionately. "I will not take your lands; I will not rob you."
She looked so pretty in her anger, with her tear-stained face and ruffled hair, still such a child.
"Nevertheless I am sorry," he said, "for I have come to ask you to be my wife; and the king has promised to knight me Sir Reginald De Lisle if I win you."
"I cannot be your wife," she answered slowly. "I am too young; and then there is Aunt Patience. You must be Sir Reginald something else."
"I will not be Sir anything, unless I am Sir Reginald De Lisle, and you knight me," he answered.
She shook her head. "I tell you, you can't. I will not have the land."
He put his arm round her, turned her face up to his, and looked into her eyes. "Now, tell me you do not love me, my little sweetheart," he said.
Evidently she could not so answer him, for a smile broke over her face.
"Yes or no, Agnes?" he asked softly.
A short gasp and then a timid "Yes", and he would have kissed her, but she slipped away from him and stood at the farther end of the room.
"I cannot; you know I cannot. What will become of Aunt Patience?" she said.
He laughed. "I think that will settle itself, Agnes," he answered. "Don't run away, little one." And he took both her hands in his.
"Have you seen nothing?"
"Seen! What should I have seen?" said Agnes.
"Well, then, wait awhile and you will see," said Reginald. "In the meantime, you love me and I love you; so you must be my wife, and the king will knight me, and we will go and live in the place I love best in the world, De Lisle Abbey."
"Then Aunt Patience must come too," she said. "She cannot stay here alone."
She did not know that Aunt Patience had come back until she felt her arms round her, and heard the voice she loved so well say:
"I shall not hinder you, my darling. Did you not yourself say it would be a good thing if the vicarage and the farm were one dwelling-place?"
"Yes, I did," answered Agnes, "because we are all such good friends."
"Just so," said Patience. "But as the vicarage is too small for us all, Mr. Ewan and myself have settled that he and Jessie shall live up here with me after you are married."
"Oh," answered Agnes, "then you will not want me!" And her face fell.
"We shall always want you, dear. Only, I think someone else wants you more, and someone wants me too, and we shall never be quite happy without our lovers. Am I not right?" She drew Agnes into her arms, and they kissed tenderly, in remembrance of the past, and for joy in the future.
And so it came to pass that a few weeks later Sir Reginald De Lisle and Agnes were married in the little church where her mother lay sleeping; and they rode away together, she on her white palfrey, he on his black charger, and he took her to her old home, the home of her race, now his and hers.
They left no sadness behind, for Mr. Ewan and Patience were also married a few days later in the same village church, and Jessie's heart was glad because she had a mother. And so, for one and all, the evil days were over.
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