Richard had seated himself, and taken up a paper from the table, which he was perusing attentively, when Lord Fulmer entered. He laid down the letter instantly, however, and gave the young nobleman the most flattering reception.
"This is kind indeed, my lord," he said, extending his hand to him. "I did not think the journey could have been performed so quickly. It shows that you look upon the king's service as paramount indeed, when you can quit your lady love thus, at a moment's notice, to render him assistance."
Unwittingly the monarch touched upon a tender point, as the reader is aware, and Fulmer felt in painfully. A cloud came upon his brow; and he replied, somewhat coldly, that he was always ready to serve the king.
"So, so," thought Richard, who was a great master of looks, and a great observer of them, "this young man is moody. I suppose my messenger arrived just in time. We must put a stop to this."
"I am glad to hear it is so, my lord," he said aloud, in a somewhat proud and kingly tone; "for while we can, as you know, curb with a strong hand the turbulent and the rebellious, we are ever willing to shower honours and rewards upon those who serve us zealously and faithfully."
"The only reward I desire, your grace," replied Fulmer, "is your kind permission to complete my marriage with the Lady Iola St. Leger as speedily as may be. I and my family have ever been faithful servants to the house of York. We have never changed our faction; and to your grace's person you know I am attached. I trust then that I may have your permission."
"Ay, and much more," answered Richard. "There are intentions in my bosom towards you, and my good Lord Calverly, which need not be mentioned; but they will bear fruit--they will bear fruit;" and he nodded his head significantly. "As soon as this expedition is over, on which I would have you go,--I mean into Dorsetshire, to guard the coast there for a few days, and put down the turbulent spirit of the people in those parts, your marriage shall take place."
"May it not take place as I go thither, sire?" asked Fulmer, with an impatient tone. "I must have a day or two for preparation. 'Tis but the last ceremonies of the church are wanting; and I know that I shall have Lord Calverly's good will. I will set off immediately, when she is my own.
"What," exclaimed Richard, "has not my Lord Calverly told you that we propose to be present ourselves? He concealed it from you, to make it a pleasant surprise. No, no, this business admits of no delay. These turbulent peasants must be put down, before their discontent becomes dangerous; and you must away at once."
"May I speak plainly to your grace?" demanded Fulmer.
Richard bowed his head gravely; and the other went on, in a somewhat mortified tone.
"In quitting Chidlow castle now, for your grace's service," he said, "I leave a somewhat dangerous rival with my promised bride."
"A rival!" said Richard. "Who may that be? I thought she was contracted to you."
"It is so, sire," answered Fulmer; "but we all know that no contracts are held very valid, by some men, against the power of love."
"My brother Edward thought so," answered Richard, with a sarcastic turn of the lip. "Who may this rival be, I say?"
"No other than the Lord Chartley," answered Fulmer, "whom your grace has placed in ward with the lady's uncle."
"What, that gay youth again!" exclaimed Richard, with a laugh. "By my faith he meets us at every turn. But he shall be looked to--make your mind easy--he shall be looked to. Only serve us faithfully and well, and the lady's hand shall be yours, whoever may gainsay it."
"Her hand were of little value to me, my good lord and sovereign," replied Fulmer, boldly, "if her heart be given to another."
"Her heart!" said Richard, with one of those low, cold, withering laughs, so painful to an enthusiastic mind; "well, well, be you easy, this gay fisherman of hearts, this Chartley, shall be removed in a week or two, to some other place."
Fulmer was just in the act of muttering to himself--"In a week or two!" when the door of the cabinet was opened; and a gentleman in dusty apparel entered.
"They bade me come in, sire," he said, in a blunt tone, "though the news I bear is not a fair exchange for a gracious welcome. The earl of Oxford, with some other gentlemen of repute, has broken out of Ham castle, and has taken the way to Britanny."
Richard smiled; and, seeing that the gentleman had something more to add, he said--
"Go on."
"It is but a rumour," answered the other; "but, when at Dover, tidings were brought, that Sir John Fortescue, one of your officers in Calais, with twelve young gentlemen of good stock, had followed the same course."
"Ha!" said Richard, in a sterner tone. "Is this so wide spread? But it matters not," he added the moment after, with the smile returning to his lip. "I have the wasp in my gauntlet; and he cannot sting, but die."
"There was much turbulence in Kent too, as I rode along," said the blunt messenger.
Richard mused for some moments, and then said--
"It is not comfortable news, Sir Arthur. Nevertheless be you welcome. Is there anything else, you have to say?"
"No, my liege," answered the old knight, "what I have had to say is bad enough; but, as I came along, not three miles from York, I passed a limber young gentleman, on a weary horse. I have seen him in John Hutton's train; and he told me that he had ridden post, from a place called Lyme in Dorset, whither he had come in a fishing-boat, to bear your grace tidings from Britanny."
The news seemed to affect Richard more than all the rest; and starting up he exclaimed--
"Ha! Call me a groom, there!"
A groom was instantly called; and the king demanded, gazing at him with an eager eye--"Has any one arrived from Britanny?"
"Not that I know of, sire," replied the man; "but there was some one rode into the court just now."
"Bring him hither, instantly," said Richard; and, seating himself again at the table, he gnawed the side of his hand with his front teeth.
"Might I venture to say a word, sire?" asked Lord Fulmer.
"No, sir, no!" exclaimed Richard, vehemently, waving his hand for silence, and then resuming his bitter meditation.
At the end of a few minutes, a young gentleman covered with dust, pale, and evidently sinking with fatigue, was introduced into the cabinet; and the king, fixing his eyes upon him, demanded--"What news?--You are Sir John Hutton's nephew, if I mistake not."
"The same, my liege," replied the young man, in a feeble tone. "Would that my uncle had been still in Britanny, methinks he had watched better."
"Speak, speak," said the king, in as calm a voice as he could command. "Some mischief has happened--say what has gone amiss."
"The earl of Richmond, my gracious lord, has escaped from Vannes," replied the young man. "He was pursued with all speed, tracked by his own dog; but he reached the gates of Angers just as the duke's men were at his heels."
Richard sat for a moment as if stupified. Then turning fiercely to Fulmer, he exclaimed, "Is this a time to talk of marriages? To horse, Lord Fulmer, and away. Your instructions shall be ready in an hour. Serve the king well, and the brightest lady in all the land shall be yours, if you but ask her. Fail, and as I live I will give her to another. By Heaven, we will take hostages of all men; there is too little faith on earth. The lady's hand for the best doer! Till then, I'll keep her sure. Away, let me hear no more!"
Fulmer dared not express the feeling which these words called up, but hastened from the room, with a flushed brow and cheek, while Richard, leaning his head upon his hand, muttered once or twice, "'Tis time to buckle on our armour."
The two gentlemen who had brought him the intelligence which had so moved him remained standing before him without receiving the slightest notice, for some five minutes, though one was hardly able to stand from fatigue, and both were somewhat alarmed at the absent and unusual mood into which the king was plunged. His face was agitated, while he thus thought, with a thousand shades of emotion. Now he bit his lip, and fixed his keen eye upon the floor; now his brow contracted, and his lip quivered; now he raised his eyes to the fretted and painted ceiling over head, with a sort of vacant look, from which all expression was banished; and when he at length ended this fit of meditation with a loud laugh, both the spectators feared his powerful mind had become affected, by the disappointment he had lately undergone. They tried, indeed, to suppress all signs of wonder; but he seemed to read their thoughts, the moment his spirit was re-called to the immediate business of the hour.
"Strange, Sir Arthur," he said, "that the things which--seen through rage and disappointment--are magnified, as in a mist, into giant evils, should, under a moment's calm reflection, diminish to their own pigmy reality. Here now, a minute or two ago, I thought the escape of this earl of Richmond from Britanny, and the reception in France, a mighty great disaster, the earl of Oxford's flight from Ham a portentous incident. Now it moves my merriment to think how I would whip the dame of Derby's beggar boy back to his Breton almshouse, if he dared to set his foot within this realm of England. By holy St. Paul, I would give him safe conduct over the narrow seas, and not place a galliot to impede his coming, for the mere jest of scourging him like a truant back to school, but that our realm has bled too much already, and that I hold the life of every subject dear. Who is this Richmond? Where is his name in arms? On what fields has he gained glory? Where learned he the art of war? And is it such a man as this shall come to battle for a crown, with one whose cradle was a corslet, his nursery a bloody fight, his schools Hexham, and Barnet, and Tewksbury, his pedagogues York, and Salisbury, and Warwick and Edward? Where are his generals? Will Dorset--feeble, vacillating, frippery Dorset, lead the van, and order the battle? Methinks, it is indeed meet matter for merriment; and I may well laugh, to think that I should have given an anxious look towards the movements of this Tudor boy. Say, my good friend, have all the fugitive lords gone with him into France? But you are weary. Sit you in that chair--nay, the king, wills it. Now answer me."
"No, my gracious liege," replied young John Hutton; "he gave them all the slip, I hear; sent them to the duke's court, to compliment him on his recovery; and thus having lulled suspicion, by the sacrifice of his friends, he fled away with only four in company?"
"Is the good duke then well again?" asked Richard, with a slight frown once more contracting his brow; "what news of Master Landais?"
"I heard he was right well, sire, and in high favour with his lord," replied the young man; "but I stayed not to learn all that was passing; for I thought your grace had been ill-served, and, entering a fishing-boat at once, I came over, and took horse. I have not lain in a bed since; for, although evil news never make a welcome messenger, yet I fancied your Highness' service might be benefitted by early tidings; and I thought that if it should be really so, your frown would prove lighter to me than your thanks for better tidings."
"You did well," said Richard, gravely, "you did right well, young man; and shall not go unrewarded. Weinants has been outwitted; over discreet men often are. Now go and seek repose; and remember, take your place at the board of our gentlemen of the privy chamber, till I can place you better."
The young man bowed, with a grateful look, and withdrew. Then turning to the other, Richard said, "Are you too over-weary, Sir Arthur?"
"Faith not I, my lord the king," replied the old knight. "I am hardened. My old clay has been beat to such consistence with hard knocks, that it cracks not easily."
"Well, we will give you till to-morrow for repose," said Richard, "then, good, faith, you must back to Kent, and strive to quiet the turbulent folks. You shall have letters, and authority. 'Tis pity no hemp grows there; but you will find ropes at Dartford--you understand me."
When Richard was once more left alone, he strode up and down the room for several minutes, in much agitation. "No more losses!" he said at length, "No more losses! They must not be suffered to fall off. This marriage must go forward quickly, once more to heal the breaches in the house of York. They shall not be patched with Tudor clay. We must keep all, gain more. This young Lord Fulmer, I was somewhat stern with him in my haste. I must smooth that down before he goes. But I will keep my fair hostage for his faith. Chartley--there is great power and wealth and many friends there. He must be won. Perchance this heiress may be a meet bait for him too. Let them contend for her in the king's service. At all events, while I have the pretty decoy in my own hand, I can whistle either bird back to the lure."
It was like a cloud passing away from a summer sky. It was as when a weary traveller laying down the heavy burden he has carried far, by the side of the road, stretches his freed limbs in an interval of rest. Such was the effect of Lord Fulmer's departure from Chidlow. Iola's light and buoyant heart bounded up from beneath the load; all her bright and happy spirits returned; the smile came back to her lip; and, though the rose took longer to expand upon her cheek again, yet, after a night of sweet calm rest, some part of the bloom had returned.
Constance was never very gay; but she was cheerful. Chartley felt that a source of constant irritation and annoyance was removed; and, with the happy facility of youth, he prepared to enjoy the present hour, careless of fortune's turn the next. Even the abbess, though she knew little or nothing of what had been passing in the hearts around her, seemed to share in the relief, and laughed and talked in merry mood, especially with Chartley, who was an object of high admiration to her. Clear-sighted Sir William Arden, who had seen right well that Chartley and his rival could not go on long in the same dwelling without danger of bloodshed, felt his apprehensions removed; and Sir Edward Hungerford remarked:--
"Well, I am glad Fulmer is gone; for he was turning marvellous fierce, and he wore such an ill-appointed doublet. It was painful to see the blue and yellow, and made one think of some strange bird."
Only the good pompous lord of the castle seemed unchanged; and he, "full of wise saws and modern instances," walked gravely about, reasoning in very trite sort upon all he saw, and lecturing rather than conversing.
Early in the morning of the day after Fulmer's departure, all those who were mere guests, invited for a day or two, took their leave and left the castle. The abbess proposed to return to her cure on the following morning; and Lord Calverly was laying out various plans for making the heavy time pass lightly, when a courier arrived with letters from the king's lieutenant in the county.
"Now good faith," he said, "this is unfortunate; for it breaks all my purposes. This noble lord here requires my immediate presence, to consult as to the best and most approved means of preserving peace and tranquillity in the county. He knows I have some experience in such things; and, though my judgment be but a poor judgment, yet he has confidence therein. Strange stories are current, he says, of meetings of peasantry by night, and strangers coming from distant parts to be present thereat. God forefend that there should be new troubles coming! But I must to horse and away. I will return before night; and, in the mean time, lords and ladies, you must amuse yourselves as best you may. There are fish in the stream, deer in the park, chess, dice, and other games in the little hall, instruments of music in the gallery, lutes, citherns, and the rest, so that you have means of entertainment if you seek it; and, good faith, if you are dull I cannot help it; for you know, my Lord Chartley, the call of duty is imperative, and courtesy, which gives place to nothing else, must yield to that."
They were not dull; but how shall I describe the passing of that day? To Chartley and to Iola it was a long draught of the cup of joy. Did they drink too deeply? I almost fear they did. Chartleyresolvedto act in all things prudently, to be calm, quiet, and upon his guard, though courteous and easy, as he would be to any lady in whom he had no interest. Iolaresolvedneither to be cold nor warm in manner towards him, neither to encourage nor to repel, to seek nor to avoid, to let his conduct be the guide of hers, to govern her feelings and to tranquillise her heart.
Oh, resolutions, resolutions! How that heart, which was to be so tranquil, beat, when her uncle rode away, and she felt herself left with him she loved, to pass the hours almost as they would! Heaven knows how they flew. Chartley was often with her. He did not shut himself in his chamber. He did not ride out to hunt, nor walk forth to meditate alone. At first he conversed with her, as they had done at their meeting in the abbey, gaily, cheerfully, with a vein of thought running through the merriment, and a touch of feeling softening the whole. But they were sometimes left alone together; and gradually they began to call up the memories of the past, to talk of scenes and incidents which had occurred, and words which had been spoken during the long adventurous night they had passed in the forest. It was dangerous ground; they felt it shake beneath them; but yet they would not move away. Their hearts thrilled as they spoke. Iola, with the eye of memory, saw Chartley sitting at her feet; and he, in fancy, felt her breath fanning his cheek as her head drooped upon his shoulder in sleep. Oh, how treacherous associations will open the gates of the heart to any enemy that desires to enter! They approached nearer and nearer to subjects which they had determined to avoid; they even spoke of them in circuitous and ambiguous phrases. The words which they uttered did not express their full meaning, but the tones and the looks did; and, by the time that the sun had sunk to within half an hour's journey of the horizon, Iola and Chartley knew that they loved each other, as well as if they had spoken and vowed it a thousand times.
She was agitated, much agitated, it is true, but perhaps less so than he was; and to see why, we must look for a moment into their hearts. Iola felt that in loving him she was doing no wrong, that the contract which bound her to Lord Fulmer was altogether void and invalid, that marriages in infancy, where that mutual and reasonable consent is absent, upon which every contract must be based, were altogether unlawful; and that therefore, morally and religiously, she was as free as if her relations had never unjustly made a promise in her name. It may be that she had been easily convinced--it may be that love for one and disliking for another had smoothed the way for such conviction; but still she wasconvinced; and no consciousness of doing wrong added weight to other emotions. She might contemplate the future with dread; she might gaze upon the coming days as upon a wide sea of tumultuous waves, through which she could see no track, beyond which appeared no shore; and she might tremble lest the billows should overwhelm her. But she felt confident in the protection of Heaven, and sure that she was doing nought to forfeit it.
Not so exactly Chartley. Not alone the future, but the present also, had its darkness for him. He knew not her exact situation; he knew not whether the ceremonies of the church--often in those days performed between mere children, and looked upon, when once performed, as a sacrament, merely requiring an after benediction to be full and complete--had or had not taken place between her and Lord Fulmer. His reason might teach him that such espousals, where neither the heart nor the judgment were consulted, were in themselves wicked and dangerous; but his mind had not yet reached the point of considering them quite invalid. He had been brought up as a strict Roman Catholic. It was the only religion tolerated in his native land; and, although he could not but see that gross corruptions had crept into the church to which he belonged, and that many of the grossest of those corruptions had been made the foundation of dogmas even more dangerous than themselves, yet, not having met with any of the followers of Wickliffe, he had never heard the heresies, the idolatries, or the usurpations of the Roman church fully exposed--nor indeed attacked--till passing through Bohemia, in his return from the East, he had met with some of the disciples of Huss at a small road-side inn. The conversation had been free; for, far from large towns, the doctrines which the council of Constance could not suppress were more boldly spoken; and Chartley heard words which shook his faith in the infallibility of Rome, and made him, determine to inquire and judge for himself at an after period. He had not yet inquired, however; and, even while he gave way to the impulses of the heart, he felt doubtful, fearful of his own conduct. Had such not been the case, the passion in his breast would have found open and undisguised utterance. Dangers and difficulties he would have set at nought; impediments he would have overleaped, with the knowledge that he was loved in return. But now he doubted, as I have said, hesitated, suffered his love to be seen, rather than declared it openly.
The abbess sat embroidering at one end of the hall, while Iola and Chartley stood together in the oriel window at the other; and Sir William Arden, with the right knee thrown across the left, and his head bent, pored over the miniatures in a richly illuminated manuscript of Monstrelet, lifting his eyes from time to time, with a thoughtful look, towards Chartley and Iola, and thinking, if the truth must be told, that Constance was somewhat long absent. The glow of the evening sun, poured full through the window at which the lovers were standing, concentrated upon them by the stone work; and, both so beautiful and full of grace, they looked in that haze of golden beams like the old pictures of saints in glory. Just at that moment Constance entered the hall with a light step, and a more cheerful look than usual. She too had been reading; and she had found what she sought, truth--truth, which came home to her own heart, and dispelled every doubt and shadow within it. She looked up at the window, as she crossed the hall, and said, in a low sweet voice:
"What a fair evening! The sunset must look beautiful from the ramparts."
"So it must!" exclaimed Iola. "Let us go out and enjoy it. Will you come, dear lady mother?" she added, raising her voice to reach the ear of the abbess.
"No, dear child, no," replied the elder lady, "I must finish this cat's head. I never saw such a troublesome puss in my life;" and she laughed merrily. "I cannot get her whiskers in, all I can do. When I make them black, they look like a spot of ink, and when I make them white, they look like a drop of cream. But go, my children, go. The evening is beautiful; and sunsets and sunrises, and such sort of things, do young people good. Forget not to tell your beads, Iola, as he goes down; for no one can ever tell what his rising may look upon."
Without any other covering of the head than that which they wore in the house, the two girls went forth with Chartley, Sir William starting up and following. It need not be asked how the party divided itself. Ah, it is a pleasant number, four. It does not admit of much variety; but, on most occasions, it is perfect in itself. Happy Iola, how gaily she walked on by Chartley's side, round those same walls which she had trod some evenings before, with a pale cheek and anxious eye, and a heart well nigh despairing. Now all the scene was bright and beautiful, on the one side spreading out the purple glow of evening, on the other, the pale primrose of the west growing fainter at the approach of night, and the golden hills all round crowning themselves with the beams of the departing sun. As if to leave them free room to say all that might be sweet, yet dangerous, to say, Sir William Arden and Constance lingered a good way behind, paused often, once or twice sat down, till Iola and Chartley, circling all round the walls, came back to them again.
What was Sir William Arden doing? I verily believe he was making love in his own peculiar way; for, every now and then, in the midst of smiles at some odd frank speech, a faint blush fluttered over Constance's fair cheek, as if she felt that, in his warmer words, there was an allusion to herself.
Chartley and Iola passed them by, each party so full of their own thoughts as not to notice the other.
"It was indeed," said Chartley, "a night ever to be remembered--at least by me--a night full of sensations new, and deep, and thrilling; sensations known but once in a whole lifetime. Nor do I think that you will ever forget it. Did I not tell you, that it was one of those points of time which raise their heads above the waste of the past, and are seen like a mountain peak, till man is at the end of his journey?"
"It cannot be forgot, indeed," replied Iola, and cast her eyes down thoughtfully.
"Strange words you spoke that night," continued Chartley; "words that to me were then like the mysterious figures upon Egyptian stones, of which I could interpret nothing. Now, alas, I have got the key."
"What words?" demanded Iola. "What words of mine can even from memory produce so sad a tone?" and she looked up in his face, with the feeling of her heart but too plainly written in her eyes.
"You spoke," replied Chartley, "words that have rung in my ear ever since, 'Happy are those who have no ties to bind them!' I now knew of what ties you spoke--" and he added, almost vehemently, "Oh that I could rend them, and scatter them to the winds."
"Chartley!" said Iola, pausing for an instant, and then immediately resuming her walk.
"Forgive me!" said Chartley. "I know I am wrong. I know it is very wrong, even to feel what I feel, and that to speak it is worse. Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive," replied Iola, in a very low tone. "You have done no wrong, that I know of."
"Oh yes, I have," answered Chartley. "I have agitated and alarmed you by my rash words. You tremble, even now."
"Every wind will move a willow," answered Iola. "If I tremble, Chartley, it is not from what you think; but, I say you have done no wrong, and I mean it."
"What, not to acknowledge love to the wife of another?" said Chartley.
"I, I, his wife!" said Iola, with a start. "No, no, I am not, and never will be. The sin were, if I vowed to love where I cannot love, if I promised what cannot be performed;" and, casting her eyes to the ground again, she clasped her hands together, and walked on by his side in silence.
"What then," said Chartley, after a moment's thought, "has not the church's sanction of your contract been pronounced?"
She remained silent for about a minute, ere she answered; and the many changes which passed over her beautiful countenance, during that short space, are impossible to describe. Then she looked up again, with one of those bright and glorious looks, in which a happy spirit seems to speak out, triumphing over dark thoughts or memories; but still there were drops in her eyes.
"Hear what there exists," she said. "I had little knowledge of it myself till I came here; but this, I now learn, is all. There is a cold parchment, contracting in marriage one Iola St. Leger to one Arnold Lord Fulmer. To it are signed the names of Calverly, Talbot, Bouchier, Savage, and other peers and gentlemen, having some guardianship over, or interest in, those two persons mentioned. But, above all," she added, with a faint smile and a rueful shake of the head, "are two crosses, somewhat crooked, shaken, and unseemly; for, in truth, I think our little hands must have been guided in the making of them, which, as at the side it is testified in clerkly hand, are the signatures of Arnold Lord Fulmer and Iola St. Leger. This is all, Lord Chartley."
"Then you are mine," said Chartley, in a low, deep, eager tone; "then you are mine. Tell me not of obstacles, think me not over bold. Iola would never have uttered what she has, had her heart not been ready to say, Yea; and as for obstacles, I will devour them like a flame."
Iola now trembled more than before.
"Hush, hush!" she said, "Do not speak so vehemently; you frighten me, Chartley. I must beseech you to do nothing rashly. Say nothing to any one at present--nay, not a word. I must entreat, I must beg--and" resuming in a degree her gay tone, she added: "more, I must command, that you interfere not in the least. You are my servant, are you not? Well then, servant, I order you to take no part in this whatever. Fear nothing, Chartley. Light as I seem, gay, as I am, gentle as I would fain be to all, I can be as firm as iron, where I am sure I have right on my side, as I am sure here. I cannot love him. I will not marry him; but the refusal must come from my own lips, and not be spoken by another."
"But they may find means to overbear your will," said Chartley, "unless you have some support--ay, and that support must be a strong arm, a stout heart, and powerful means."
"Should the time ever come when I need it," said Iola, "you shall have instant notice."
"But they may force you into a convent," said Chartley. "That, I believe, is within their power to do. At least, I have heard of several instances where it has been done."
"They would find it difficult with me," replied Iola. "They might force me into a prison, it is true; but vows against my conscience I will never take, to mortal man or to the altar. One thing, perhaps, they can do; for of that I know little. They may take from me these broad lands, and the goodly heritage which my father possessed and forfeited. I am reputed to be their heiress; but doubtless my uncle can take them from me, if I obstinately oppose his will."
"That is not worth a thought," answered Chartley. "Wealth has undoubtedly its value, my Iola; but it is not happiness, and only a small ingredient therein. Let us speak of things of more importance. I cannot but fear you calculate too much upon your strength, your courage, and your power of resistance. But leave the matter to me, and I will contrive to cut the gordian knot of all difficulties, in a very short space of time. There is a plan before my eyes, even now, which could hardly fail us."
"Would you cut that knot, like the Macedonian, with your sword?" said Iola, gazing at him with a meaning look. "No, Chantey, that must not be. If you love me as you say, you will not attempt it. Nay, more, you will trust to me, and to the promise which I make, to call upon you at once, in the moment of need, whenever that moment comes."
"But I may be absent. You may have no means," replied Chartley.
"Ah, I have means and messengers that you know not at," answered Iola gaily, "fairies that will fly like swallows with my messages, elves of the green wood that will track you for me through their darkest bowers. Nay, I am serious, Chartley. What would you think if I were to tell you that even in the midnight, with doors all bolted, barred, and locked, the keys lying by the heavy porter's head, and all the warders snoring in their beds, I can pass forth from this castle, and sport upon the lawns and slopes around, as if it had no walls--nay, that I have done it."
"Then you are a fairy yourself," answered Chartley, "as I have been half inclined to think ere now. But I have your promise; your solemn promise, that nothing shall ever force you, to this detested marriage, and that you will send to me, or give me notice, the moment that my aid is needful--and not delay too long."
"I will," she answered, emphatically. "Methinks you would not find it difficult to guard me once more through the green forest, as you did one night we both remember; and should it be needful, Chartley, so to do, I will then trust as implicitly to your honour as I did before; for Iola will be wholly at your mercy. But I must have promise for promise, and vow for vow. You must assure me that, whatever you see, whatever you hear, you will remain quiescent, and leave the whole decision to myself."
"Then if that youth returns," answered Chartley, "I must shut myself up in my dull tower, and make myself a prisoner indeed."
Iola smiled, saying in a low tone--
"It might perhaps be better--if Chartley cannot rule Chartley. But happily there is no chance of my being pressed on this sad subjects for weeks or months to come, as I learn from Constance that the king has refused to give an immediate consent; for which I could almost say, Heaven bless him."
"That is happy news indeed," answered Chartley; "and yet, Iola, I could wish that if a struggle is to be made, it might be soon made; for nothing is so painful as uncertainty."
"All men are alike in that, I see," replied Iola; "we women love to put off the evil day."
"It may indeed, in this instance, be as well," answered Chartley, "for it gives time for preparation; and that I will commence at once."
"Preparation for what?" demanded Iola in some surprise.
"For any thing that may occur," replied Chartley; "but for one thing we must both be prepared, sweet Iola--for flight--ay, flight to distant lands, love; for think not that if we venture to unite our fate by the dearest and the holiest rite, against the consent of your family, in defiance of their contract, and without the king's permission, this land will be safe for us thenceforward. Richard is well fitted to find treason in such acts; and, if he cannot part you from your husband, to take your husband's head. My preparation therefore must be, not only to secure a refuge in another land, but to provide means there, to keep us from poverty or dependence. But that will be easily accomplished. Will you regret it, Iola? Will you shrink from it--to pass some few years with Chartley on a foreign shore, and leave this fair land and all the memories of home behind you?"
"No, oh no!" she answered; "I will neither shrink nor regret. My home will ever be with my heart--" she paused, and the crimson spread gently over her cheek, as she felt how much her words implied. Her eyes too, sunk under the warm, and tender, and grateful gaze which was bent upon her; but the next moment she asked, in her low sweet tones--"Will you never regret, Chartley? Will you never think that you have paid for Iola's hand too dear a price, when memory turns back to your native land, high station, wealth, ambition, all sacrificed for her?"
"Never," answered Chartley; "were it to cost me all, and leave us but a cabin and bare food, I would not hesitate now, or regret hereafter. I do but change dross for a jewel of inestimable price, and I will value it ever as I do now."
They were both silent for several minutes; and then, as they turned the north western angle of the walls, they saw the sun setting in the splendour of scattered clouds, and Constance and Sir William Anton advancing towards them. Iola perceived that her cousin's step wanted its quiet steadiness; and when her eye fixed on her face, a blush rose in Constance's cheek.
"There is the sun setting and your uncle rising, lady," said Sir William Arden, in a gay voice, pointing with his hand in the direction of the road across the park, upon which several horsemen might be seen advancing--"we shall soon have the light of his countenance, though the star goes down."
"Let us go in," said Iola, in a hurried tone; "perhaps we have already staid out too long; but the evening has been so beautiful."
"And the conversation so sweet," said Arden, almost in a whisper to Constance; "so should close the phrase both with Chartley and with me, if I had aught of the court in my nature. I will study, dear lady--I will study, and rub off the rust which has gathered between my armour and my skin."
"No--Be ever, what you are," answered Constance.
Another day elapsed, and another. The sunshine mingled with the shade; as is ever the case in human life; but there were no dark clouds. Sometimes, for many hours, Chartley and Iola could obtain not a single moment for private intercourse. At others, a whole sweet hour was won from the great adversary of love, the world. Lord Calverly perceived not, or did not seem to perceive, that anything was changed; and the lady abbess set off to rejoin her nuns, as ignorant of the secrets of Iola's heart as she had come. Thus wore away the second day, till towards nightfall, when the whole party of the castle returned from their evening ride, and entered the great court. The porter did not venture to stop his lord's horse, as he passed the archway; but he followed him into the court, with a quick step, saying aloud--
"Lord Fulmer is returned, my lord, and wishes to speak with your lordship instantly. He is in the little hall."
The old nobleman dismounted from his horse, and, leaving Iola and Constance to the care of the rest, hurried up the manifold steps which led to the door.
Chartley's cheek flushed, as he heard the words the porter spoke; but, as he stood by Iola's side, assisting her to dismount, she said in a low but earnest tone--
"Chartley, to your tower, till you can command yourself--I beseech--I entreat you--if you love me."
Chartley bowed his head in sign of acquiescence; and, not considering that Lord Fulmer could not know all that had passed between Iola and himself, since his departure, he consoled himself with the thought, "If this lord keeps the spirit which he has hitherto displayed, he will soon seek me in my chamber."
Thus thinking, he turned away to the apartments assigned to him, while Iola, Constance, and Sir William Arden entered the main body of the building. The latter, however, seeing Iola take her cousin's arm, and whisper something in her ear, tarried in the great hall, while the two fair girls ascended the stairs.
The words of Iola to her cousin were--"Come with me, Constance. Something tells me in my heart that the hour of trial is coming. Let me meet it at once, before my spirit sinks with anticipation. But I must have something to lean on, dear cousin. You be my support."
They walked on, till they reached the door of the little hall; and it was not climbing the steps of the stairs, though they were many, that made Iola's breath come short and quick. It was the beating of the anxious heart. She opened the door at once, however, and went in. Her uncle and Lord Fulmer were standing together at some distance on the right of the door in earnest conversation; and, as soon as Iola and her cousin entered, Lord Calverly retreated towards the oriel window, saying to his companion--
"Come hither, come hither."
But Iola would not give up the ground; and, though she walked to the other end of the hall, she remained in the room. She turned an anxious and eager gaze towards her uncle and Lord Fulmer, however, and whispered to Constance--"I knew it--see how eagerly they speak."
They spoke so long that the suspense was very painful; but, at length, they turned, as if to come towards the two ladies, and Lord Fulmer said aloud--
"Upon my honour and my faith, not a word shall be uttered without your permission;" and then they advanced with a quick step, Lord Calverly only saying in reply--
"So be it then."
Iola gazed at them in the dim light, for the sun was by this time down; and her hand clasped tight upon her cousin's arm--
"Now, God help me," she murmured.
"Iola, my dear niece," said Lord Calverly, approaching, "I have a communication to make to you, which will take you somewhat by surprise; but you have received an education which will make you always submit to duty, I am sure, unmurmuring. This noble lord here has just informed me of circumstances which render it absolutely necessary that we should pass over all preliminaries, and that you should give him your hand immediately, according to the contract entered into long ago."
"Iola gasped, and tried to answer, but her voice failed her; and Lord Calverly went on to say--
"It is somewhat sudden in verity and truth; but he must depart for Dorset by daybreak to-morrow, and therefore the marriage ceremony must be performed to-night. The priest will be ready in the chapel at ten, and--"
"Impossible!" said Iola, in a firm and almost indignant tone; for this was worse than she had expected, and it roused her anger. "What, two hours' notice to prepare for the most important step of all a woman's life And does this noble lord think to conciliate affection, or to win esteem, by such indecent haste, by such a rude insult to all the feelings of my heart?"
"What feelings?" demanded Lord Calverly, sharply. "I see, my lord, it is as you thought. Hark you, lady, I am not a man to be trifled with. I have ruled my own household well and steadily; and, please God, I will rule you too. No one has ever been suffered to disobey me; and you shall not be the first. Go and prepare. What, ho, without there?" he continued, turning to the door; and a servant running up, he said--"Bring lights here. Where is Lord Chartley?"
"Gone to his apartments, noble lord," replied the man.
"Set a guard at his door," said Lord Calverly. "Let his servants pass in and out, but not himself."
Then turning again to Iola, with an angry tone, he said--
"Marry! The feelings of your heart! We begin to understand them, niece. What have the feelings of your heart to do with a contract of marriage already signed and sealed?"
"Everything," replied Iola; "in as far as upon them depends whether I will or will not fulfil a contract entered into without my consent, and which therefore cannot be binding on me."
"Idle nonsense," cried Lord Calverly; "you know little of the law of the land, my learned gentlewoman. God's my life! We shall soon have chits out of a nunnery-school setting up for chief justices. The contract was entered into by your guardians on your behalf, and is binding upon you by law."
"Then let him appeal to the law to enforce it," said Iola; "for by my act and my will, it shall never be fulfilled."
"Nay, nay, my dear uncle," said Constance, "you are too harsh with her. Think what a surprise this must be, when you yourself told me that the king had not yet given his consent to the marriage, and that it must be put off for a month or two, till he and the queen could be present. Of course, she marvels at this sudden change; for I told her exactly what you told me."
"More fool you, wench," answered her uncle, who was irritated beyond measure, at the first opposition he had ever met with, from one whom he conceived to be dependent on himself. "Circumstances have changed; and now we must pass over royal consents, and all such trifling matters. She is a disobedient hussy, and shall bow her pride to my will this very night, or my name is not Calverly. Away to your chamber, madam, and prepare as fast as possible. You have two hours to think. So make your mind up, as best you may, to yield obedience, or you will find I will force you."
Lord Fulmer had stood during this conversation, which was so rapid as hardly to admit of interruption, in no very enviable state of mind, and with looks by no means calm or dignified. He had thought himself firmer and sterner than he really was, and now he hesitated and regretted.
"Stay, stay, my lord," he said. "Iola, let me beseech you--dear lady, let me plead."
"Hush, my lord," answered Iola, giving him a cold and shuddering look. "Your cause has been put upon its proper footing, force. My noble uncle, prompted by you, speaks the first feelings of your heart. No after thought can now avail. You and he may drag me to the altar. You and he may cause a vain ceremony to be performed, turn a deaf ear to my rejection of the vows tendered me, and commit what violence you will. But you cannot make me your wife; for that depends upon myself; and the words which would constitute me such shall never be uttered by these lips in favour of a man whom I never loved, and whom I now scorn."
"This is all vain," exclaimed Lord Calverly, his rage only increasing. "Argue not with her, my lord; she will learn her duty when she is your wife. This very night--ay, as the clock strikes ten--the ceremony shall be performed in the chapel of the castle, whether she will or not; and, once that sacrament received, the union is indissoluble. My chaplain will administer it. He will have no scruples to obey my commands, when I show him the contract. Away to your chamber, disobedient wench, and be ready to perform what you cannot refuse."
With a slow step, and still leaning on her cousin's arm, Iola quitted the hall, mounted a few steps near the hall door, passed through the long corridor which ran round that side of the castle, and then turned into the passage, leading to her own chamber. Constance marvelled that she trembled not; but Iola's step was firm and light, though somewhat slow. She opened the door of the ante-room, and looked in; but there was no one there, and it was dark and vacant.
"What will you do, dear Iola? How can I help you?"
"No way, dear Constance," replied her cousin, "but by giving me an hour for calm thought. Keep my girl, Susan, way from me. Tell her, I want no lights for an hour, and only wish to think."
"But what will you do?" asked Constance.
"Not marry him," replied Iola; "no, not if he had an emperor's crown to lay at my feet. Does he think this the way to win a woman's heart?--Leave me, leave me, dear Constance! Come again in an hour. By that time my resolution will be taken--" and as Constance turned sadly away and closed the door, Iola added, in a low voice to herself, "and executed."
Slowly and thoughtfully Constance trod her way back towards the lesser hall, pausing more than once, as if to consider some plan. When she entered, the sconces were lighted, and her uncle and Lord Fulmer were standing under one of them at some distance, still talking loud and eagerly.
"Nonsense, nonsense," cried Lord Calverly. "This is now my business. She will disobey my commands, will she? She shall be taught better--" Then, seeing Constance, he raised his voice, as if he had not been speaking loud enough before, exclaiming, "Where have you left that little rebel, Constance?"
"In her chamber, my lord," replied Constance, in a sad tone.
"'Twere better you stayed for her," said her uncle.
"She sent me away, my lord," replied Constance, "refusing all consolation."
"Well, well, let her sulk," answered the old nobleman. "We care not for sullenness, so we have obedience. The storm will work itself clear, my lord, never fear;" and he resumed his conversation with Fulmer.
In the mean time, Constance glided out of the other door, and sought a small room where the women servants of the castle were accustomed to work in the evening. She found her own maid there, but not Iola's girl, Susan; and, sending the former, to give her cousin's message, Constance proceeded through the lower passages of the house, and under the lesser hall, to the great hall below. It was now fully lighted; but she found Sir William Arden still there walking up and down with a slow step, and his arms crossed upon his chest.
"I am very glad I have found you," said Constance, approaching him, with an eager and confiding look. "I have something to tell you."
"I thought so, dear lady," replied the knight. "I thought so, as soon as I heard of this young lord's return; and so I waited here, to see if I could help. What is it? Two or three men came in, a few minutes ago, and took down some partizans from the wall. What may that mean?"
"That they have set a guard at Lord Chartley's door," answered Constance; "and that my uncle vows he will compel Iola to give her hand to Lord Fulmer at ten tonight."
"A guard at Chartley's door," exclaimed Arden. "Then something must be done indeed. We must consult, dear lady; but let us seek some more private place than this. You are not afraid to go with me?"
"Oh no," answered Constance, giving him her hand; "you persuaded me to tell you so the other day. But come into the passage behind the hall. Few pass that way, I believe; and, we can speak freely there."
Thus saying, she led him to the farther end of the wide vaulted chamber, and thence, through a low-browed door, into a small narrow passage, where a single lamp was twinkling. They both paused near the doors and Constance then said, "What is to be done? You told me you would help me on any occasion if you could. Now is the moment, my noble friend."
"And so I will," answered Arden, frankly; "ay, if it should cost my heart's blood. But let me hear the whole. I will interrogate you in order, my sweet witness. You say they have stationed a guard at Chartley's door, and declare they will force Iola to marry this moody boy at ten to-night. They must have discovered all that we have fancied between her and Chartley. Is it not so?"
"I can reach no other conclusion," answered Constance.
"Then, where is your fair cousin?" asked Arden.
"In her own chamber," implied Constance; "whence my uncle threatens to drag her down at the hour named, and force her to marry a man whom she abhors."
"It has been done before now," said Arden, setting his teeth close. "What does your cousin propose to do?"
"I know not," answered Constance. "She sent me away that she might think alone. She will refuse to the last, of that I am sure; and she will have strength to do it firmly too; for her courage is far greater than I ever dreamt it would be."
"Think you the chaplain will perform the ceremony if she does refuse?" asked Arden, in a meditative tone.
"I fear so," answered Constance. "He is a mere creature of my uncle's, and, as you have seen, fat, sleek, and pliable, considering venison, and capon, and Gascon wine, much more than the service of the altar, or the conscience of his penitents."
"Then we must contrive to give your cousin some support in her resistance," said Arden, gravely. "It must be done; for she shall not be sacrificed, if I were to cleave Lord Fulmer to the chine with my own hand. But, upon my life, it is dangerous; for, if the king has given his consent, and we stop it with the strong hand, we shall have the wild boar upon us, and he is a savage beast."
"But his consent is not given," exclaimed Constance, eagerly. "That my uncle admitted, and said they would do without. From some words, too, I gathered that the marriage is to be concealed when it has taken place."
"So, so, then our course is clear enough," answered Arden. "We will take the king's part! Otherwise, dear Constance, I must have asked you to make up a little packet of plain clothes, and jump upen croupebehind your knight, and away with him to Britanny, as ladies did in days of old, if tales of knight errantry are true. Upon my life it would be no bad plan."
"Nay, nay," said Constance, "speak seriously, Arden; for my heart is very full of poor Iola just now."
"But one little corner left for me," answered Arden; and then more seriously he added, "Well, well, I will stop this marriage. Fear not; we must begin soon, however; for it will not do to have strife in the chapel."
"There will not be bloodshed?" said Constance, with a look of terror.
"Oh no, I trust not," replied Arden. "That which requires secrecy is soon given up, when men find it must be made public. The king's name will, I doubt not, be sufficient; but we must take means to prevent anything like resistance being offered. How many men are there in the castle, do you know?"
"There were thirty-five," answered Constance, "so my maid told me; but three of those who came from the abbey with us, and ten of my uncle's men, went well armed to guard my aunt back, and have not yet returned. Some, too, are cooks and kitchen men."
"We are ten," said Arden, musing. "That is quite enough; but yet we must have recourse to stratagem, in order to make sure that no rash opposition brings on violence. Leave it to me, dear Constance, leave it to me. You go to your own little chamber, say your prayers, and, when your hour is expired, go to your pretty cousin, and tell her, old William Arden says that they shall not marry her to any one against her will. So let her keep a good heart, be firm, and fear not."
"Had I not better go and tell her now," said Constance, eager to relieve her cousin's anxiety.
"What, little soldier, not obey your general's orders," exclaimed Arden, laughing. "No, no, we can do nothing yet, till the time comes near; for I suppose you would not have me tell your uncle that it was from you my information came. I must see signs of a wedding, before I proceed to stop it. But be content; all shall be prepared; and you be secret, not to let any burst of joy betray that we have concerted measures of deliverance. Now, farewell, dear Constance. Both you and Iola keep quiet above, till all the hurly burly's done; for we shall have hard words going, if nothing harder still, which God forfend."
"Oh, I beseech you, let there be no violence!" said Constance, imploringly.
"No, no, there shall be none," replied Arden. "If they assail not us, we will not assail them. But still women are better out of the way," he added, kissing her hand; "for they scream, you know, Constance, and that makes a noise."
With a faint smile Constance left him; and turning to the hall he recommenced his walk, till, at length, Lord Calverly came down, pausing suddenly, when he saw his guest there. The moment after he called for a servant, however, and gave him some orders in a low voice, while Arden turned at the other end of the hall, and in his perambulations approached, the place where he stood.
"It has been a lovely day, and promises as fine a night, my lord," said the knight, in the tone of ordinary conversation. "Methinks I will go and take a walk upon the battlements, a cup of wine, and then to bed; for I was stirring early to-day."
"Would I could be companion of your walk," replied Lord Calverly, with courteous hypocrisy. "Nothing is pleasanter than a warm moonlight night of summer; but I have dull business to be attended to; and business, you know, Sir William, must supersede pleasure."
"Quite just, my lord, and wise," replied Arden, "as indeed is always what your lordship says. I will away, however, giving you good night. May success attend all honourable business, and then slumber bring repose." Thus saying, he turned and left the hall; and the old nobleman called loudly by name for some of his attendants.