At the conclusion of the trial, James was observed to smile, and Buckingham, who had drawn near the chair of state, ventured to inquire what it was that entertained his Majesty.
"Our fancy has been tickled by a curious conceit," answered the King. "We discern a singular similitude between the case we hae just heard, and the transgression of our first parents."
"How so, your Majesty?" asked the favourite.
"As thus," replied James. "Sir Thomas Lake may be likened to our gude Father Adam, wha fell into sin frae listening to the beguilements of Eve—Mither Eve being represented by his dochter, my Lady Roos—and ye will own that there cannot be a closer resemblance to the wily auld serpent than we find in my Lady Lake."
"Excellent!" cried Buckingham, joining in the royal laughter; "but before your Majesty quits that seat, I must entreat you to perform that which I know you delight in—an act of justice."
"Anither act of justice, ye should say, my Lord," returned James in a tone of slight rebuke; "seeing we hae just delivered a maist memorable judgment in a case which has cost us five days of incessant labour and anxious consideration. But what is it ye require at our hands? In whose behalf are we to exercise our prerogative?"
"In that of Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey, my gracious Liege," replied Buckingham, "who has been committed to the Fleet for contempt of this high and honourable Court, and can only be released by your Majesty's warrant. As I was myself present on the occasion, when the intemperate expressions laid to his charge were used, I can affirm that he was goaded on by his enemies to utter them; and that in his calmer moments he must have regretted his rashness."
"Ye shall have the warrant, my Lord," said James, with a smile. "And it does ye meikle credit to have made the request. The punishment Sir Jocelyn has already endured is amply sufficient for the offence; and we hae nae fears of its being repeated. A single visit to the Fleet is eneuch for any man. But in respect to Sir Jocelyn, I am happy to say that his Excellency the Conde de Gondomar has quite set him right in our gude opinion; and has satisfactorily proved to us that the spy we suspected him to be was anither person, wha shall be nameless. Ha! here comes the Count himself," he exclaimed, as the Spanish Ambassador approached. "Your Excellency will be glad to hear, after the handsome manner you have spoken of him, that it is our intention to restore Sir Jocelyn to the favour he previously enjoyed. My Lord of Buckingham is to have a warrant for his release from the Fleet, and we shall trust to see him soon at Court as heretofore."
"While your Majesty is in this gracious mood," said De Gondomar, bending lowly, "suffer me to prefer a request respecting a person of very inferior consequence to Sir Jocelyn—but one in whom I nevertheless take an interest—and who is likewise a prisoner in the Fleet."
"And ye require a warrant for his liberation—ah, Count?"
"Your Majesty has said it," replied De Gondomar, again bending lowly.
"What is the nature of his offence?" demanded the King.
"A trifling outrage upon myself," returned the Ambassador;—"a mere nothing, your Majesty."
"Ah! I know whom you mean. You refer to that rascally apprentice, Dick Taverner," cried James. "Call ye his attack upon you a trifling outrage—a mere nothing, Count. I call it a riot—almost a rebellion—to assault an ambassador."
"Whatever it may be, I am content to overlook it," said De Gondomar; "and, in sooth, the knaves had received some provocation."
"Aweel, since your Excellency is disposed to view it in that light," rejoined James—"since ye display such generosity towards your enemies, far be it from us to oppose your wishes. The order for the 'prentice's release shall be made out at the same time as Sir Jocelyn's. My Lord of Buckingham will give orders to that effect to the Clerk of the Court, and we will attach our sign manual to the warrants. And now—have ye not done?" he continued, observing that Buckingham still lingered. "Have ye any mair requests to prefer?"
"I had some request to make on the part of the Prince, my Liege," replied the Marquis; "but his Highness, I perceive, is about to speak to you himself."
As he said this, Prince Charles, who had occupied a seat among the Council, drew near, and stepping upon the elevation on which the chair of state was placed, so as to bring himself on a level with his royal father, made a long and apparently important communication to him in a very low tone. James listened to what was said by his son with great attention, and seemed much surprised and indignant at the circumstances, whatever they were, related to him. Ever and anon, he could not repress a great oath, and, but for the entreaties of Charles, would have given vent to an explosion of choler, which must have betrayed the secret reposed to his keeping. Calming himself, however, as well as he could, he at length said, in a low tone—"We confide the matter to you, since you desire it, for we are assured our dear son will act worthily and well as our representative. Ye shall be clothed with our authority, and have power to punish these heinous offenders as ye see fit. We will confirm your judgments, whatever they be, and sae will our Preevy Council."
"I must have power to pardon, as well as to punish, my gracious Liege," said Charles.
"Ye shall hae baith," answered the King; "but the distinction is needless, since the ane is comprehended in the ither. Ye shall have our ain seal, and act as if ye were King yersel'—as ye will be ane of these days. Will that content ye?"
"Perfectly," replied Charles, gratefully kissing his royal father's hand. And, descending from the platform, he proceeded to join Buckingham and De Gondomar, with whom he held a brief whispered conference.
Meanwhile, the two warrants were made out, and received the royal signature; after which James quitted the Court, and the Council broke up.
The warrants having been delivered by the clerk to Buckingham, were entrusted by the latter to Luke Hatton, who, it appeared, was waiting for them in the outer gallery; and, after the latter had received some directions respecting them from the Marquis, he hastened away.
As he passed through New Palace-yard, Luke Hatton encountered a tall man muffled in a long black cloak. A few words were exchanged between them, and, the information gained by the individual in the cloak seemed perfectly satisfactory to him. So he went his way, while Luke Hatton repaired to the Fleet Prison.
There he was at once admitted to the ward wherein Sir Jocelyn was confined, and announced to him the glad tidings of his restoration to freedom. By this time Sir Jocelyn was perfectly recovered from the injuries he had received from the jailer, during his struggle with Sir Giles Mompesson, so that there was no obstacle to his removal, and his natural wish was to quit the prison at once; but such cogent reasons were assigned by Luke Hatton for his remaining there for another day, that he could not but acquiesce in them. Indeed, when all the circumstances were explained to him, as they were, by the apothecary, he could not but approve of the plan, which, it appeared, was about to be acted upon in the next day for the punishment of his enemies; and it then became evident why Sir Giles should not be made acquainted with his release, which must be the case if the warrant were immediately acted upon. Neither the deputy-warden nor the jailer—both of whom, as he knew, were the extortioner's creatures—were to be informed of it till the last moment. Certain disclosures respecting Clement Lanyere, which were made by Luke Hatton to the young knight, affected him very deeply, and plunged him for a long time in painful thought.
Quitting the cell of the more important prisoner, Luke Hatton proceeded to that of the apprentice, whom he acquainted with his good fortune, holding out to him certain prospects of future happiness, which drove poor Dick nearly distracted. At the suggestion of his new friend, the 'prentice wrote a letter to Gillian Greenford, conjuring her, by the love she bore him, and by their joint hopes of a speedy union, implicitly to comply with the directions of the bearer of the note—whatever they might be: and, armed with this, Luke Hatton quitted the Meet, and, procuring a horse, rode off, at a rapid pace, to Tottenham.
Within Sir Giles Mompesson's vast and gloomy mansion, it has been said there were certain rooms which, from their size and splendour, formed a striking contrast to the rest of the habitation. Never used,—except on extraordinary occasions, when their owner gave a grand entertainment with some ulterior object,—these apartments, notwithstanding their magnificence, partook in some degree of the chilling and inhospitable character of the house. Even when brilliantly lighted up, they wanted warmth and comfort; and though the banquets given within them were sumptuous and profuse, and the wine flowed without stint, the guests went away dissatisfied, and railing against their ostentatious host. Thus, though the stone walls were hung with rich tapestry, the dust had gathered thickly upon its folds, while portions of the rugged masonry were revealed to view. The furniture was massive, but cumbrous and ill-assorted; and the gilded ceiling and Venetian mirrors, from want of care, had become tarnished and dim.
Such as they were, however, these apartments were assigned to Aveline, when she was forcibly brought to the extortioner's habitation, as before narrated. Allowed to range within them at pleasure, she was kept strictly within their limits. The doors were constantly guarded by one or other of the myrmidons; and any communication with the external world was impossible, because the windows were partially grated, and looked into a court-yard. Beyond this, she was subjected to no restraint; and her own attendants, Dame Sherborne and old Anthony Rocke, were suffered to remain with her.
Had it not been for her exposure to the annoyance of frequent from Sir Francis Mitchell, and her anxiety about Sir Jocelyn, Aveline would not have found her confinement so intolerable. But the enamoured old usurer persecuted her at all hours, and she could never be free from the intrusion, since the doors could not be shut against him. Sometimes, he came accompanied by his partner, though more frequently alone, but ever with the same purpose,—namely, that of protesting the violence of his passion, and seeking to soften her obduracy. As may be well supposed, his pleadings, however urged, were wholly ineffectual, and excited no other feelings, except those of detestation, in her bosom. Such a state of things could not endure for ever; and her only hope was, that finding all his efforts to move her fruitless, he would in time desist from them. Not that she was without other fearful apprehensions, which were shared by her attendants.
Nearly a fortnight had thus passed by, when, one day, during which she had seen nothing of her tormentor, and was rejoicing at the circumstance, the repast usually served at noon was brought in by a fresh serving-man. Something in this person's manner, and in the meaning glance he fixed upon her attracted her attention; otherwise, he was a man of singularly unprepossessing appearance. She addressed a few words to him, but he made no reply, and became suddenly as reserved as his predecessor had been. This deportment, however, it presently appeared, was only assumed. While placing a flask of wine on the table, the man said in a low tone—"I am a friend of Sir Jocelyn. Constrain yourself, or you will betray me. Sir Francis is watching us from an eyelet-hole in the door. Drink of this," he added, pouring wine into a goblet.
"Is it medicated?" she asked in a whisper, regarding him anxiously.
"It is supposed to be so," he answered, with a scarcely perceptible smile. "Drink, I say. If you do not, you will mar my project. 'Tis well!" he added, as she raised the goblet to her lips. "A few words must explain my design. Sir Francis will fancy you have swallowed a love-potion. Take care not to undeceive him, for on that belief rests your safety. When he presents himself, as he will do shortly, do not repulse him as heretofore. Smile on him as kindly as you can; and though the task of duping him may be difficult and distasteful to you, shrink not from it. The necessity of the case justifies the deception. If he presses his suit, no longer refuse him your hand."
"I cannot do it," murmured Aveline, with a shudder.
"You MUST," rejoined Luke Hatton—for it was he—"or incur worse dangers. Provoked by your resistance, Sir Francis has lost all patience, and is determined to accomplish his purpose. Knowing my skill as a brewer of philters, he has applied to me, and I have promised him aid. But have no fear. Though employed by him, I am devoted to you, and will effect your deliverance—ay, and avenge you upon your persecutors at the same time—if you follow my instructions exactly. Raise the goblet to your lips again. Quaff its contents without apprehension—they are perfectly harmless. Force smiles to your features—give tenderness to your tones, and softness to your glances—and all will be won."
And with a grin, which, though intended to encourage her, somewhat alarmed Aveline, he took up the flask of wine and departed.
As her singular adviser had predicted, it was not long before the old usurer made his appearance, evidently full of eagerness to ascertain whether any change had been wrought in her disposition towards him by the wonder-working draught. Dissembling her aversion as well as she could, and assuming looks very foreign to her feelings, she easily succeeded in persuading him that the philter had taken effect, and that all obstacles to his happiness were removed. Transported with rapture, he fell upon his knees, and besought her to crown his felicity by consenting to their union on the following day. Bewildered by various emotions, yet still managing to play her part, she returned an answer, which he construed into an affirmative; and now quite beside himself with delight, the amorous old dotard left her.
The alteration in Aveline's manner and deportment towards her persecutor, did not escape the notice of her attendants, and greatly perplexed them. Dame Sherborne ventured to remonstrate with her, hoping she could not be in earnest; and old Anthony Rocke bluntly told her he would rather see her in her grave than the bride of such a hoary reprobate as Sir Francis. Aware that her actions were watched, Aveline thought it best to dissemble, even with her attendants; and they were both convinced she was either bewitched or had lost her senses; and in either case bitterly deplored her fate.
Nor must it be supposed that Aveline herself was without much secret misgiving, however skilfully and courageously she might act her part. The appearance of Luke Hatton, as we have more than once remarked, was calculated to inspire distrust in all brought in contact with him; and with no other proofs of his sincerity except such as were furnished by the circumstances, she might well entertain suspicion of him. While professing devotion, he might intend to betray her. In that event, if driven to extremity, she resolved to liberate herself by the only means that would then be left her.
In the evening, Luke Hatton paid her a second visit; and on this occasion comported himself with as much caution as at first. He applauded her conduct towards Sir Francis, whom he stated to be most effectually duped, and counselled her to persevere in the same course; adding, with his customary sardonic grin, that grand preparations were making for the wedding-feast, but he thought the cook's labours likely to be thrown away.
Next day, Aveline found all her counsellor had told her was correct. Several of the rooms, hitherto thrown open to her—in especial the great banquetting-chamber—were now closed; and it was evident from the sounds that reached her ear—footsteps hurrying to and fro, loud impatient voices, and noises occasioned by the removal of furniture, and the placing of chairs and tables, together with the clatter of plates and dishes—that preparations for a festival were going on actively within them. Nothing could equal the consternation and distress exhibited by Dame Sherborne and old Anthony Rocke; but, faithful to her scheme, Aveline (however she desired it) did not relieve their anxiety.
At noon, Luke Hatton came again. He seemed in great glee; and informed her that all was going on as well as could be desired. He counselled her to make two requests of Sir Francis. First, that he should endow her with ten thousand marks, to be delivered to her before the nuptials; secondly, that she should be permitted to shroud her features and person in a veil during the marriage ceremony. Without inquiring the meaning of these requests, which, indeed, she partly conjectured, Aveline promised ready compliance; and her adviser left her, but not till he had once more proffered her the supposed philter, and caused her to place the cup containing it to her lips.
Ere long, he was succeeded by Sir Francis, arrayed like a bridegroom, in doublet and hose of white satin, thickly laid with silver lace, and a short French mantle of sky-blue velvet, branched with silver flowers, white roses in his shoes, and drooping white plumes, arrangedà l'Espagnolle,in his hat. Besides this, he was trimmed, curled, oiled, and would have got himself ground young again, had such a process been practicable.
But though he could not effect this, he did the next thing to it, and employed all the restoratives suggested by Luke Hatton. He bathed in milk, breakfasted on snail-broth, and swallowed a strange potion prepared for him by the apothecary, which the latter affirmed would make a new man of him and renovate all his youthful ardour. It certainly had produced an extraordinary effect; and when he presented himself before Aveline, his gestures were so extravagant, and his looks so wild and unpleasant, that it was with the utmost difficulty she repressed a scream. His cheeks were flushed, as if with fever, and his eyes dilated and burning with unnatural lustre. He spoke almost incoherently, tossing his arms about, and performing the antics of a madman. The philter; it was clear, had been given him, and he was now under its influence.
Amid all this strange frenzy, so alarming to Aveline, he dwelt upon nothing but his inextinguishable passion, and never for a moment withdrew his fevered gaze from her. He told her he would be her slave for life, proud to wear her chains; and that she should be absolute mistress of his house and all his possessions. On this she mustered up resolution to prefer the requests she had been counselled to make; and Sir Francis, who was in no mood to refuse her anything, at once acceded to them. He laughed at the notion of the veil—said it was a delicate fancy, and quite charmed him—but as to the ten thousand marks, they were utterly unworthy of her acceptance, and she should have thrice the amount delivered to her in a silver coffer before the ceremony. With these, and a great many other professions, he released her from his presence, which had become well-nigh insupportable.
After a while, a magnificent bridal-dress of white satin, richly trimmed with lace, together with a thick white veil of the largest size, calculated to envelope her whole person, were brought her by a young damsel, who told her she was engaged to serve her as tire-woman; adding, that "she hoped she would be able to satisfy her ladyship, as she had already served the Countess of Exeter in that capacity."
"Why do you call me 'ladyship' child?" said Aveline, without looking at her. "I have no right to any such title."
"But you soon will have," replied the young tire-woman; "as the bride of Sir Francis, you must needs be my Lady Mitchell."
Checking the rejoinder that rose to her lips, Aveline cast her eyes, for the first time, on the speaker; and then, to her great surprise, perceived it to be her village acquaintance, Gillian Greenford. A significant glance from the blue eyes of the pretty damsel impressed her with the necessity of caution, and seemed to intimate that Gillian herself was likewise in the plot. And so it presently appeared she was; for when the damsel had an opportunity of talking quite in private to her new mistress, she informed her of the real motive of her coming there.
"I am engaged, by one who wishes you well, to take your place, sweet Mistress Aveline, and to be married in your stead to Sir Francis Mitchell," she said.
"And have you really consented to such an arrangement?" rejoined Aveline. "Is it possible you can sacrifice yourself thus?"
"I am not to be sacrificed," returned the damsel quickly. "If it were so, I would never have agreed to the scheme. But I am told I shall get a fortune, and—"
"Oh, then the ten thousand marks are for you!" interrupted the other. "I now see the meaning of that part of the plan. But what else do you hope to accomplish?"
"The deliverance of my unfortunate lover, Dick Taverner, from the Fleet," she answered.
"But how is your marrying this wicked old usurer to effect your object?" inquired Aveline. "You may save me by the proposed stratagem; but you will destroy your own happiness, and all your lover's hopes."
"No, no, I shall not," replied Gillian, hastily; "I can't tell how it's to be managed, but I am quite sure no harm will happen to me, and that Dick's restoration to liberty will be the reward of the service—if such it may be called—that I am about to render you. He wrote to me so himself."
"At least, tell me by whom you are engaged, and I can then judge of the probability of the rest happening in the way you anticipate?"
"Do not question me further, sweet mistress," replied the damsel, "for I am bound to secrecy. But thus much I may declare—I am the agent of one, who, for some purposes of his own—be they what they may—is determined to counteract all Sir Francis's vile machinations against you, as well as those of his partner, Sir Giles Mompesson, against your lover, Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey. Ah! you understand me now, I perceive, sweet mistress! You have been guarded by this unseen but watchful friend, during the whole of your confinement in this dreadful habitation; and he has kept an equal watch over your lover in the Fleet."
"What! Is Sir Jocelyn a prisoner in the Fleet?" exclaimed Aveline. "I knew it not!"
"He is; but the period of his deliverance approaches," replied Gillian. "The secret friend I spoke of has bided his time, and the hour is at hand when full measure of revenge will be dealt upon those two wicked oppressors. He has long worked towards it; and I myself, am to be an humble instrument towards the great end."
"You astonish me!" cried Aveline, greatly surprised at the change in the damsel's manner as well as by what she said.
"Do not perplex yourself, fair mistress," pursued Gillian. "All will be speedily made known to you. But now, no more time must be lost, and we must each assume the character we have to enact. As I am to be the bride, and you the tire-woman, you must condescend to aid me in putting on these rich robes and then disguise yourself in my rustic attire. We are both pretty nearly of a size, so there is little risk of detection in that particular; and if you can but conceal your features for a short while, on Sir Francis's entrance, the trick will never be discovered. All the rest has been arranged; and I am a mere puppet in the hands of others, to be played as they direct. Bless us! how beautiful this dress is, to-be-sure!—what satin!—and what lace! The Countess of Exeter has just such another. Have you heard that her ladyship has gained her cause against those wicked Lakes, who conspired against her? But what am I saying—when I know you cannot have heard of it! Well, then, it occupied five days in the Star-Chamber; and Sir Thomas and his lady are sent to the Tower, and Sarah Swarton to the Fleet. Poor creature! she is to be whipped and branded, and to do penance in Saint Martin's church. Dreadful! but I won't think of it. I wonder how this dress will become me! How astounded Dick Taverner would be, if he could only see me in it! Mayhap he will—there's no saying. And now, fair mistress, may I crave your aid?"
While Gillian was thus running on, she had partially disrobed herself, and very soon afterwards was decked out in the rich attire, the effect of which upon her own person she was so desirous of ascertaining. When her toilet was complete, she could not help running up to a mirror, and on seeing the reflection of her well-formed figure now displayed to unwonted advantage, she clapped her hands and cried out with girlish delight.
Allowing her to gratify her feelings of vanity by the contemplation of her pretty person for a few minutes, Aveline felt it necessary to recal her to her situation, and her own transformation into the tire-woman was speedily effected,—Gillian's dress fitting her exactly. The light-hearted damsel was quite as much pleased with this change as with the other—and vowed that Aveline looked far better in the rustic gown, than she herself did in the silken attire.
But time pressed; and as Sir Francis might surprise them, they hastened to complete their arrangements. Gillian's comely features, as well as her sumptuous robe, had to be obscured by the envious veil; and as it was thrown over her, she could not help heaving a sigh. Aveline then put on the muffler which had been worn by the country damsel, and their disguises were complete.
Not a minute too soon. At this juncture a tap was heard at a door communicating with the adjoining apartment, and the voice of the old usurer was heard inquiring whether his bride was ready. An answer in the affirmative was given by Aveline, and, with a throbbing heart and faltering steps, Gillian prepared to obey the summons.
The door was thrown open, and mustering up all her resolution, she passed through it. Both Sir Francis and his partner were waiting to receive her. The latter was richly attired, but had not changed the sombre hue of his habiliments, even for the anticipated ceremonial, being clad, as usual, in black. In this respect he offered marked contrast to the gay apparel of the antiquated bridegroom, as well as by the calmness of his deportment and the stern gravity of his looks. Behind them stood Luke Hatton, bearing a heavy silver coffer, of antique workmanship.
"What means this veil?" cried Sir Giles, gazing suspiciously at Gillian as she emerged from the inner room, followed cautiously by Aveline, who was wrapped in the muffler. "Why are the bride's features thus hidden?"
"A mere whim, Sir Giles—a pleasant fancy," replied the old usurer. "But she must have her way. I mean to indulge her in everything."
"You are wrong," rejoined the extortioner. "Make her feel you will be her master. Bid her take it off."
"On no account whatever, Sir Giles. I have only won her by submission, and shall I spoil all at the last moment, by opposing her inclinations? Of a truth not."
"Who is the maiden with her?" demanded Sir Giles, scrutinizing Aveline, with a keen glance. "Why does she wear a muffler? Is that a whim, likewise?"
"Perchance it is," replied Sir Francis; "but I have given no consent to it. She is only the tire-woman."
"Come, mistress, unmuffle. Let us see your face," cried Sir Giles, striding towards the terrified maiden, who thought discovery was now inevitable.
But Luke Hatton interposed to save her.
"Prevent this rudeness," he whispered, plucking Sir Francis's cloak. "Prevent it instantly. If her whim be thwarted, I will not answer for the consequences."
"Desist, Sir Giles—desist, I pray you!" cried the old usurer, in alarm. "It is my bride's wish that her attendant be not interfered with—and mine too."
"Well, be it as you will," replied the extortioner, testily. "But I would not permit the impertinence were I in your case. The bride must raise her veil when she stands before the priest."
"She shall do as she pleases," replied Sir Francis, gallantly. "If she desires to hide her blushes, I will not put any compulsion upon her to disclose them. Come, fair mistress," he added, taking the trembling hand of the veiled maiden, "the priest awaits us in the further chamber, where the ceremony is to take place, and where several of the noble and illustrious guests who have consented to grace our nuptials are already assembled. Some of the most illustrious personages in the land will be present—the Marquis of Buckingham, and perhaps Prince Charles himself. His Excellency the Spanish Ambassador has promised to come. Let us on, then. Yet, ere we proceed further, I have to request your acceptance of that silver coffer. The thirty thousand marks within it constitute your dowry."
As he spoke Luke Hatton advanced, and, holding the coffer towards the veiled damsel, so that she could touch it, said—"Place your hand upon this silver box, and take possession of it, fair mistress. I am a witness that Sir Francis Mitchell has freely bestowed it, with its contents, upon you. It will remain in my custody till you require me to deliver it up to you."
After the presentation of the silver casket, as before described, the whole of the bridal party, with the exception of Aveline, who contrived to remain behind, passed on into the adjoining chamber, where the priest was understood to be in waiting to perform the marriage ceremony.
Apprehensive of the consequences of the discovery which must inevitably be soon made, Aveline would have flown back to her own room, but was deterred, from the strange noises and confusion she heard within it. Uncertain how to act, she at last resolved upon attempting an escape from the house, and was hurrying forward, in the hope of gaining the corridor unperceived, but the sound of voices outside again drove her back; and, in this new dilemma, she had nothing left but to take refuge behind the tapestry covering the walls, which being fortunately loose and hanging upon the ground, effectually concealed her.
Scarcely was she screened from observation in this manner, when the door was thrown open, and a crowd of young gallants—evidently, from their bearing and the richness of their attire, of high rank—entered the apartment. Without exposing herself, Aveline was enabled, through the folds of the tapestry, to command a view of what was going forward. The youthful nobles—for such they were—who had just come in, were laughing loudly; and their jests were chiefly at the expense of the old usurer, whose marriage they had been invited to attend.
After looking round for a moment, as if in search of some one to direct them whither to go, the foremost of them clapped his hands, whereupon the thick curtains which, in lieu of a door, guarded the entrance to the other room, were drawn aside, and disclosed a group of persons collected together within that chamber. In the midst of them were the bride and bridegroom—the former still enveloped in her veil—together with the priest and his assistant. At this sight, the band of youthful nobles set up a shout of laughter, and rushed tumultuously forward, while the curtains, dropping to their place, closed upon the scene.
Presently the outer door again opened, and this time to admit three persons, all of whom were magnificently dressed, and apparently of yet higher rank than those who had preceded them. As they were masked, their features could not be discerned; but they were all distinguished by rare personal grace. One of them, indeed, was remarkable for symmetry of figure, and his finely-proportioned limbs were arrayed in habiliments of the most splendid material, adorned with pearls and precious stones, and richly embroidered. Yet he did not seem to hold the chief place among them: that, by common consent, seemed accorded to a young man clad in black velvet, who, by the majesty of his deportment and the gravity of his manner, appeared to exercise a certain sway over his companions, and to be treated by them, when he spoke, with marked respect. The third individual was habited in a Spanish-cloak of murrey-velvet, lined with cloth of silver, branched with murrey-flowers, and wore a chain of gold, richly set with precious stones, round his neck, from which depended the order of the Golden Fleece.
There was something in the presence of these three important personages that gave Aveline a feeling of security, such as she had not experienced since her forcible detention by the two extortioners, and she almost felt inclined to throw herself at the feet of the one who appeared to be the principal of them, and solicit his protection. But before she could execute her half-formed design, the party had approached the entrance of the nuptial chamber; and the curtain being raised for their admittance, excluded them, the next moment, from her view.
All now appearing quiet, she again ventured from her hiding-place, and speeded towards the door communicating with the gallery. But her departure was unexpectedly interrupted by the sudden entrance of another masked personage, tall in stature, and habited entirely in black; and in him she could not fail to recognise the messenger employed by Sir Giles Mompesson to bring her, in the first instance, to his habitation. Circumstances had subsequently occurred to induce her to change her opinion respecting this mysterious individual. Nevertheless, his appearance at this juncture would have caused her to utter a cry of terror, if she had not been reassured by the timely appearance of one upon whom she had reliance, and who raised his finger to his lips in token of silence. This was Luke Hatton, who, at the very moment that Lanyere appeared, issued from the chamber where the marriage ceremony was being performed.
"Be not alarmed, fair maiden," said Lanyere, in a low voice, "you are in no danger; and all your troubles, I trust, are well-nigh ended. I thought you were in the marriage-chamber. Give me your hand. You must assist at the mock ceremonial taking place within there. I have no time for explanations; and indeed they are needless, since all will be speedily made clear to you. Divest yourself, I pray you, of this muffler. It is part of my plan that your features should now be revealed. You will understand why, anon."
With this, he led her quickly towards the entrance of the inner chamber; and, pushing aside the curtain, advanced a few steps beyond it, still holding her by the hand, and followed by Luke Hatton.
The apartment, which was of considerable size and splendidly furnished, was full of wedding-guests, grouped around that portion of it which was railed off for the accommodation of those more immediately connected with the ceremonial, amongst whom, as a matter of course, was Sir Giles Mompesson.
Somewhat apart from the others were the three important persons who had arrived last; and the most exalted among them was seated on a raised chair, contemplating the scene, while his companions stood near him. They had now taken off their masks; and, even in that agitating moment Aveline recognised in the trio the Marquis of Buckingham, the Conde de Gondomar, and Prince Charles. All the rest of the company remained standing; and some of the young nobles formed a small semicircle behind the royal chair.
Lanyere's entrance with his fair companion could not have been better timed. They arrived at the particular juncture when Sir Francis, having presented the wedding-ring to the priest was in the act of receiving it back from him, in order that it might be placed upon the finger of the bride; and the noise made by the promoter, who still wore his vizard, drew all eyes upon him, and upon the damsel by whom he was accompanied.
A smile of intelligence passed between Prince Charles and Buckingham; and some remark was made by the latter, to which the Prince replied by a gesture, seeming to intimate that the interruption was not altogether unexpected by him. De Gondomar's looks also betrayed that he was likewise in the secret.
Others of the company laughed as if in anticipation of a jest; but the majority looked surprised—but none so much so as Sir Giles Mompesson. As his eye fell upon the dark and ominous figure of Lanyere, and shifted from him to Aveline, he appeared transported with rage; and dashing the ring from the hand of the astonished bridegroom (who, having his back toward the newcomers, was unaware of what was going forward), exclaimed—"Proceed no further! We have been deceived! Look there!"
"Where? where?" cried Sir Francis. "What is the matter, Sir Giles? You quite terrify me with your fierce looks. Help me to pick up the ring, and let the ceremony go on."
"It is well for you that it isnotcompleted," replied Sir Giles, almost black in the face with choler. "You know not whom you are about to wed. But we will soon see. Off with your veil, minion! Off with it, I say!"
"Sir Giles, I will not permit this liberty," cried the old usurer. "You shall not touch her. Whom should it be but my own dear, delectable Aveline?"
"Look round, I say, and credit your own eyes, since you doubt my assertions!" roared Sir Giles.
"Ten thousand furies!" ejaculated Sir Francis, as he complied with the injunction. "Why, there she is, in good truth, when I thought she was by my side. Whom, then, have I been about to take to my bosom?"
"It matters not," replied Sir Giles. "She you desired to wed is yonder, and must take the other's place. That is—but I forget," he added, suddenly checking himself, and lowering his tone, "naught can be done, except according to rule, in this presence. Your vanity must needs be gratified by bringing together all this courtly company to witness your marriage. And now they will only mock you."
"S'death! you are right, Sir Giles," rejoined the old usurer. "I am become a mere laughing-stock to my guests. But at least I will see my false bride's features. You hear what I say, Madam," he added to Gillian—"let me behold your face without more ado."
As he uttered the command, the damsel threw off her veil, and stood blushing, half-smiling and half-abashed, before the assemblage. Her natural charms, heightened by her attire, and by the peculiar situation in which she was placed, elicited general admiration.
"As I live, 'tis the pretty tirewoman from Tottenham, engaged by Luke Hatton to attend on Aveline," cried Sir Francis; "but, 'fore Heaven, I have gained by the exchange. I like her better than the other, and will go through with the ceremony. Proceed, Sir Priest."
At this declaration there was a shout of laughter from the assemblage; but the merriment was increased, when Do Gondomar, stepping up to the bride, said, "I forbid the marriage. She belongs to me."
"But my claim is paramount to that of your Excellency," cried the old usurer.
"I cannot admit it," rejoined the other. "Let the damsel decide for herself."
"Then I will accept neither," said Gillian. "Dick Taverner is already master of my heart, and no one but he shall have my hand. I have been brought here to play a part, on the clear understanding that nothing serious was to come of it."
"And nothing serious shall come of it, fair maiden," said Prince Charles. "I promise that on my princely faith."
"Then, indeed, I am easy," replied Gillian, inclining herself reverentially towards the royal speaker.
At this juncture, Sir Giles Mompesson, who had been hitherto restrained by the presence of the royal guest from any violent measures, was advancing with menacing looks towards Lanyere, when the attention of Charles being directed to his movements by Buckingham, the Prince instantly arose, and in a tone of authority not to be disputed, said—
"Not a step further, Sir Giles. I will take care that all needful explanations be given."
"But your Highness cannot be aware that this is a heinous offender and traitor," rejoined Sir Giles, pointing to Lanyere. "I was about to take means to prevent his escape."
"He has no intention of escaping," rejoined Charles; "and I forbid any one to leave this apartment without my permission."
"Will your Highness suffer me to relieve this fair creature from the embarrassing position in which she is placed," said De Gondomar. "The youth she has mentioned, and to whom she declares her affections are given, was confined in the Fleet Prison for an attack on me; but, on my representation of the matter to the King, your father, his Majesty's gracious consent was immediately accorded for his liberation."
"I am aware of it, Count," replied Prince Charles.
"But your Highness may not be aware that the poor fellow is without," pursued the Ambassador. "Will it please you to allow him to be brought in?"
The Prince assented, on which De Gondomar signed to Luke Hatton, who seemed waiting for the order, and, disappearing for a moment, returned with the apprentice.
Though evidently prepared for the scene that awaited him, and not overburthened with modesty, Dick Taverner could not help exhibiting considerable confusion; but the sight of his mistress somewhat restored him, and he pressed towards her. Sir Francis, however, stepped between them, exclaiming—"Get hence, base varlet—she is my wife."
"No such thing!" cried Gillian—"the ceremony has only been half performed. I amnotmarried. I am yours—and yours only, dear, sweet Dickon."
"You never shall be his—you are mine—" exclaimed the old usurer—"I implore his Highness the Prince to let the marriage go forward."
"Nay, I shall not allow any compulsion to be placed on the damsel's inclinations," replied Charles, unable to repress a smile. "She must choose for herself."
"In that case, your Highness, my choice is soon made," replied Gillian, taking her lover's hand.
"And honest Dickon need not be under any alarm at such part of the marriage as has already taken place," observed De Gondomar. "It has been a mock ceremonial throughout. This is no priest, but one of my Lord of Buckingham's grooms employed for the occasion."
"Then I have been a dupe all this time!" cried Sir Francis furiously. "O, purblind dolt that I am!"
But he met with no commiseration from the assemblage, who only laughed at his rage and absurd grimaces.
"Kneel and thank his Highness for his goodness," said De Gondomar to the young couple; "and then, if he will give you leave to do so, depart at once. Stay not a moment longer than you can help it in this house, or in the neighbourhood."
"Most assuredly I will not, your Excellency," returned Dick. "It is much too near the Fleet to be agreeable to me. I have to offer my heartfelt thanks to your Excellency for your kindly consideration of me, and I own that I have scarcely deserved it at your hands."
"Render your thanks, as I have said, to his Highness, who is alone entitled to them, good fellow," said the Ambassador. "Take Gillian home to her grandsire—and wed her as soon as you can. She will need no dowry," he added in a low tone—"for she is already provided with thirty thousand marks."
"Honestly come by, I hope, your Excellency?" inquired Dick.
"Ay, ay—thou suspicious blockhead. Do as I have bidden thee, and get hence. More remains to be done to which thou art a hindrance."
On this, the young couple prostrated themselves before Prince Charles, who graciously gave his hand to Gillian to kiss, and then motioning them to rise, they were allowed to quit the room.
Luke Hatton saw them safe out of the house, and very well it was he accompanied them, for they had many obstacles to encounter. Before quitting them, the apothecary delivered up the silver casket to Dick, bidding him take good care of it, as it contained his intended wife's dowry.
Meanwhile, Sir Giles Mompesson, who had with difficulty controlled his impatience during the incidents previously described, advanced towards Prince Charles, and with a profound reverence, said—"Will it please your Highness to terminate this idle scene, which, though apparently amusing to the company assembled, is by no means so entertaining to Sir Francis and myself?"
"You shall have your wish, Sir," rejoined Charles in a stern tone and with a freezing look, that seemed of ill augury to the extortioner—"It is my intention to terminate the scene. Stand forth, Clement Lanyere and let me hear what you have to declare in reference to this man."
Hereupon, the promoter, consigning Aveline to the care of a gentleman who advanced towards her for the purpose, and respectfully took her hand, stepped forward, and, removing his mask, confronted his enemy.