Perhaps the stunned condition of his mind made

the suspense just within the bounds of endurance, while trust in

his wife's innocence rendered his inability to come to her aid

well-nigh intolerable; and doubt of her seemed both profanity and

misery unspeakable. He could do nothing. He had shot his only

shaft by sending Landry Osbert, and had found that to endeavour to

induce his grandfather to use further measures was worse than

useless, and was treated as mere infatuation. He knew that all he

had to do was to endeavour for what patience he could win from

Cecily's sweet influence and guidance, and to wait till either

certainty should come--that dreadful, miserable certainty that all

looked for, and his very helplessness might be bringing about--or

till he should regain strength to be again effective.

And miserably slow work was this recovery. No one had surgical

skill to deal with so severe a wound as that which Narcisse had

inflicted; and the daily pain and inconvenience it caused led to

innumerable drawbacks that often--even after he had come as far as

the garden--brought him back to his bed in a dark room, to blood-

letting, and to speechlessness. No one knew much of his mind--

Cecily perhaps the most; and next to her, Philip--who, from the

time he had been admitted to his step-brother's presence, had been

most assiduous in tending him--seemed to understand his least sign,

and to lay aside all his boisterous roughness in his eager desire

to do him service. The lads had loved each other from the moment

they had met as children, but never so apparently as now, when all

the rude horse-play of healthy youths was over--and one was

dependent, the other considerate. And if Berenger had made on one

else believe in Eustacie, he had taught Philip to view her as the

'Queen's men' viewed Mary of Scotland. Philip had told Lucy the

rough but wholesome truth, that 'Mother talks mere folly. Eustacie

is no more to be spoken of with you than a pheasant with old brown

Partlet; and Berry waits but to be well to bring her off from all

her foes. And I'll go with him.'

It was on Philip's arm that Berenger first crept round the

bowling-green, and with Philip at his rein that he first endured to

ride along the avenue on Lord Walwyn's smooth-paced palfrey; and it

was Philip who interrupted Lucy's household cares by rushing in and

shouting, 'Sister, here! I have wiled him to ride over the down,

and he is sitting under the walnut-tree quite spent, and the three

little wenches are standing in a row, weeping like so many little

mermaids. Come, I say!'

Lucy at once followed him through the house, through the deep porch

to the court, which was shaded by a noble walnut-tree, where Sir

Marmaduke loved to sit among his dogs. There not sat Berenger,

resting against the trunk, overcome by the heat and exertion of his

ride. His cloak and hat lay on the ground; the dogs fawned round

him, eager for the wonted caress, and his three little sisters

stood a little aloof, clinging to one another and crying piteously.

It was their first sight of him; and it seemed to them as if he

were behind a frightful mask. Even Lucy was not without a

sensation of the kind, of this effect in the change from the

girlish, rosy complexion to extreme paleness, on which was visible,

in ghastly red and purple, the great scar left by Narcisse, from

the temple on the one side to the ear on the other.

The far more serious would on the cheek was covered with a black

patch, and the hair had almost entirely disappeared from the head,

only a few light brown locks still hanging round the neck and

temples, so that the bald brow gave a strange look of age; and the

disfigurement was terrible, enhanced as it was by the wasting

effect of nearly a year of sickness. Lucy was so much shocked,

that she could hardly steady her voice to chide the children for

not giving a better welcome to their brother. They would have

clung round her, but she shook them off, and sent Annora in haste

for her mother's fan; while Philip arriving with a slice of diet-

bread and a cup of sack, the one fanned him, and the other fed him

with morsels of the cake soaked in the wine, till he revived,

looked up with eyes that were unchanged, and thanked them with a

few faltering words, scarcely intelligible to Lucy. The little

girls came nearer, and curiously regarded him but when he held out

his hand to his favourite Dolly, she shrank back in reluctance.

'Do not chide her,' he said wearily. 'May she never become used to

such marks!'

'What, would you have her live among cowards?' exclaimed Philip;

but Berenger, instead of answering, looked up at the front of the

house, one of those fine Tudor facades that seem all carved timber

and glass lattice, and asked, so abruptly that Lucy doubted whether

she heard him alright,--'How many windows are there in this front?'

'I never counted,' said Philip.

'I have,' said Annora; 'there are seven and thirty, besides the two

little ones in the porch.'

'None shall make them afraid,' he muttered. 'Who would dare build

such a defenceless house over yonder?'--pointing south.

'Our hearts are guarded now,' said Philip, proudly. Berenger half

smiled, as he was wont to do when he meant more than he could

conveniently utter, and presently he asked, in the same languid,

musing tone, 'Lucy, were you ever really affrighted?'

Lucy questioned whether he could be really in his right mind, as if

the bewilderment of his brain was again returning; and while she

paused, Annora exclaimed, 'Yes, when we were gathering cowslips,

and the brindled cow ran at us, and Lucy could not run because she

had Dolly in her arm. Oh! we were frightened then, till you came,

brother.'

'Yes,' added Bessie; 'and last winter too, when the owl shrieked at

the window---'

'And,' added Berenger, 'sister, what was your greatest time of

revelry?'

Annora again put in her word. 'I know, brother; you remember the

fair-day, when my Lady Grandame was angered because you and Lucy

went on dancing when we and all then gentry had ceased. And when

Lucy said she had not seen that you were left alone, Aunt Cecily

said it was because the eyes of discretion were lacking.'

'Oh, the Christmas feast was far grander,' said Bessie. 'Then Lucy

had her first satin farthingale, and three gallants, besides my

brother, wanted to dance with her.'

Blushing deeply, Lucy tried to hush the little ones, much perplexed

by the questions, and confused by the answers. Could he be

contrasting the life where a vicious cow had been the most alarming

object, a greensward dance with a step-brother the greatest gaiety,

dye of the elder juice the deepest stain, with the temptations and

perils that had beset one equally young? Resting his head on his

hand, his elbow on his knee, he seemed to be musing in a reverie

that he could hardly brook, as his young brow was knitted by care

and despondency.

Suddenly, the sounds in the village rose from the quiet sleepy

summer hum into a fierce yell of derisive vituperation, causing

Philip at once to leap up, and run across the court to the

entrance-gate, while Lucy called after him some vain sisterly

warning against mingling in a fray.

It seemed as if his interposition had a good effect, for the uproar

lulled almost as soon as he had hurried to the scene of action; and

presently he reappeared, eager and breathless. 'I told them to

bring him up here,' he said; 'they would have flogged him at the

cart's-tail, the rogues, just because my father is out of the way.

I could not make out his jargon, but you can, brother; and make

that rascal Spinks let him go.'

'What should I have to do with it?' said Berenger, shrinking from

the sudden exposure of his scarred face and maimed speech. 'I am

no magistrate.'

'But you can understand him; he is French, the poor rogue something

abut a letter, and wanting to ask his way. Ah! I thought that

would touch you, and it will cost you little pains, and slouching

it over his face, rose, and, leaning upon Annora's shoulder,

stepped forward, just as the big burly blacksmith-constable and

small shriveled cobbler advanced, dragging along, by a cord round

the wrists, a slight figure with a red woolen sailor's shirt,

ragged black hosen, bare head, and almost bare feet.

Doffing their caps, the men began an awkward salutation to the

young Lord on his recovery, but he only touched his beaver in

return, and demanded, 'How now! what have you bound him for?'

'You see, my Lord,' began the constable, 'there have been a sort of

vagrants of late, and I'll be bound' twas no four-legged fox as

took Gaffer Shepherd's lamb.'

The peroration was broken off, for with a start as if he had been

shot, Berenger cried aloud, 'Mericour! the Abbe!'

'Ah, Monsieur, if you know me,' cried the young man, raising his

head, 'free me from this shame--aid me in my mission!'

'Loose him, fellows,' shouted Berenger; 'Philip, a knife--Lucy,

those scissors.'

'Tis my duty, my Lord,' said Spinks, gruffly. 'All vagabonds to be

apprehended and flogged at the cart's-tail, by her Grace's special

commands. How is it to be answered to his Honour, Sir Marmaduke?'

'Oaf!' cried Philip, 'you durst not have used such violence had my

father been at home! Don't you see my brother knows him?'

With hands trembling with haste, Berenger had seized the scissors

that, house-wife like, hung at Lucy's waist, and was cutting the

rope, exclaiming in French, 'Pardon, pardon, friend, for so

shameful a reception.'

'Sir,' was the reply, without a sign of recognition, 'if, indeed,

you know my name, I entreat you to direct me to the chateau of Le

Sieur Tistefote, whose lady was once Baronne de Ribaumont.'

'My mother! Ah, my friend, my friend! what would you?' he cried in

a tone of tremulous hope and fear, laying one hand on Mericour's

shoulder, and about to embrace him.

Mericour retreated from him; but the high-spirited young man

crossed his arms on his breast, and gazing at the group with

indignant scorn, made answer, 'My message is from her who deems

herself a widow, to the mother of the husband whom she little

imagines to be not only alive, but consoled.'

'Faithful! Faithful!' burst out Berenger, with a wild, exultant,

strangely-ringing shout. 'Woe, woe to those who would have had me

doubt her! Philip--Lucy--hear! Her truth is clear to all the

world!' Then changing back again to French, 'Ten thousand

blessings on you, Mericour! You have seen her! Where--how?'

Mericour still spoke with frigid politeness. 'I had the honour to

part with Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont in the town of La

Sablerie, among humble, Huguenot guardians, to whom she had fled,

to save her infant's life--when no aid came.'

He was obliged to break off, for Berenger, stunned by the sudden

rush of emotion, reeled as he stood, and would have fallen but for

the prompt support of Lucy, who was near enough to guide him back

to rest upon the bench, saying resentfully in French as she did so,

'My brother is still very ill. I pray you, sir, have a care.'

She had not half understood the rapid words of the two young men,

Philip comprehended them far less, and the constable and his crew

of course not at all; and Spinks pushed forward among the group as

he saw Berenger sink back on the bench; and once more collaring his

prisoner, exclaimed almost angrily to Philip, 'There now, sir,

you've had enough of the vagabond. We'll keep him tight ere he

bewitches any more of you.'

This rude interference proved an instant restorative. Berenger

sprang up at once, and seizing Spink's arm, exclaimed, 'Hands off,

fellow! This is my friend--a gentleman. He brings me tidings of

infinite gladness. Who insults him, insults me.'

Spinks scarcely withdrew his hand from Mericour's neck; and

scowling, said, 'Very odd gentleman--very queer tidings, Master

Berenger, to fell you like an ox. I must be answerable for the

fellow till his Honour comes.'

'Ah! Eh quoi, wherefore not show the canaille your sword?'

said Mericour, impatiently.

'It may not be here, in England,' said Berenger (who fortunately

was not wearing his weapon). 'And in good time here comes my step-

father,' as the gate swung back, and Sir Marmaduke and Lady

Thistlewood rode through it, the former sending his voice far

before him to demand the meaning of the hurly-burly that filled his

court.

Philip was the first to spring to his rein, exclaiming, 'Father, it

is a Frenchman whom Spinks would have flogged at the cart's-tail;

but it seems he is a friend of Berenger's, and has brought him

tidings. I know not what--about his wife, I believe--any way he is

beside himself with joy.'

'Sir, your Honour,' shouted Spinks, again seizing Mericour, and

striving to drag him forward, 'I would know whether the law is to

be hindered from taking its course because my young Lord there is a

Frenchman and bewitched.'

'Ah,' shrieked Lady Thistlewood, 'I knew it. They will have sent

secret poison to finish him. Keep the fellow safe. He will cast

it in the air.'

'Ay, ay, my Lady,' said Spinks, 'there are plenty of us to testify

that he made my young Lord fall back as in a swoon, and reel like

one distraught. Pray Heaven it have not gone further.'

'Sir,' exclaimed Berenger, who on the other side held his friend's

hand tight, 'this is a noble gentleman--the brother of the Duke de

Mericour. He has come at great risk to bring me tidings of my dear

and true wife. And not one word will these demented rascals let me

hear with their senseless clamour.'

'Berenger! You here, my boy!' exclaimed Sir Marmaduke, more amazed

by this than all the rest.

'He touches him--he holds him! Ah! will no one tear him away?'

screamed Lady Thistlewood. Nor would Spinks have been slow in

obeying her if Sir Marmaduke had not swung his substantial form to

the ground, and stepping up to the prisoner, rudely clawed on one

side by Spinks, and affectionately grasped on the other side by

Berenger, shouted--

'Let go, both!' does he speak English? Peace, dame! If the lad

be bewitched, it is the right way. He looks like the other man.

Eh, lad, what does your friend say for himself?'

'Sir,' said Berenger, interpreting Mericour's words as they were

spoken, 'he has been robbed and misused at sea by Montgomery's

pirate crews. He fled from court for the religion's sake; he met

her--my wife' (the voice was scarcely intelligible, so tremulously

was it spoken), 'in hiding among the Huguenots--he brings a letter

and a token from her to my mother.'

'Ha! And you know him? You avouch him to be what he represents

himself?'

'I knew him at court. I know him well. Father, make these fellows

cease their insults! I have heard nothing yet. See here!' holding

out what Mericour had put into his hand; 'this you cannot doubt,

mother.'

'Parted the pearls! Ah, the little minx!' cried the lady, as she

recognized the jewels.

'I thought he had been robbed?' added Sir Marmaduke.

'The gentleman doubts?' said Mericour, catching some of the words.

'He should know that what is confided in a French gentleman is only

taken from him with his life. Much did I lose; but the pearl I

kept hidden in my mouth.'

Therewith he produced the letter. Lady Thistlewood pronounced that

no power on earth should induce her to open it, and drew off

herself and her little girls to a safe distance from the secret

poison she fancied it contained; while Sir Marmaduke was rating the

constables for taking advantage of his absence to interpret the

Queen's Vagrant Act in their own violent fashion; ending, however,

by sending them round to the buttery-hatch to drink the young

Lord's health. For the messeger, the good knight heartily grasped

his hand, welcoming him and thanking him for having 'brought

comfort to you poor lad's heart.'

But there Sir Marmaduke paused, doubting whether the letter had

indeed brought comfort; for Berenger, who had seized on it, when it

was refused by his mother, was sitting under the tree--turning away

indeed, but not able to conceal that his tears were gushing down

like rain. The anxious exclamation of his step-father roused him

at length, but he scarce found power or voice to utter, as he

thrust the letter into the knight's hand, 'Ah! see what has she not

suffered for me! me, whom you would have had believed her

faithless!'

He then grasped his friend's arm, and with him disappeared into the

house, leaving Sir Marmaduke holding the letter in a state of the

utmost bewilderment, and calling by turns on his wife and daughter

to read and explain it to him.

And as Lucy read the letter, with her mother could not yet prevail

on herself to touch, she felt at each word more grateful to the

good Aunt Cecily, whose influence had taught her always to view

Berenger as a brother, and not to condemn unheard the poor young

wife. If she had not been thus guarded, what distress might not

this day of joy to Berenger have brought to Lucy! Indeed, Lady

Thistlewood was vexed enough as it was, and ready to carry her

incredulity to the most inconsistent lengths. 'It was all a trick

for getting the poor boy back, that they might make an end of him

altogether. Tell her they thought him dead.--'Tilley-valley! It

was a mere attempt on her own good-nature, to get a little French

impostor on her hands. Let Sir Duke look well to it, and take care

that her poor boy was not decoyed among them. The Frenchman might

be cutting his throat at that moment! Where was he? Had Sir Duke

been so lost as to let them out of sight together? No one had

either pity or prudence now that her poor father was gone;' and she

began to weep.

'No great fear on that score, dame,' laughed the knight. 'Did you

not hear the lad shouting for 'Phil, Phil!' almost in a voice like

old times? It does one good to hear it.'

Just at twilight, Berenger came down the steps, conducting a

graceful gentleman in black, to whom Lady Thistlewood's instinct

impelled her to make a low courtesy, before Berenger had said,

'Madam, allow me to present to you my friend, the Abbe de

Mericour.'

'Is it the same?' whispered Bessie to Annora. 'Surely he is

translated!'

'Only into Philip's old mourning suit. I know it by the stain on

the knee.

'Then it is translated too. Never did it look so well on Philip!

See, our mother is quite gracious to him; she speaks to him as

though he were some noble visitor to my Lord.'

Therewith Sir Marmaduke came forward, shook Mericour with all his

might by the hand, shouted to him his hearty thanks for the good he

had done his poor lad and assured him of a welcome from the very

bottom of his heart. The good knight would fain have kept both

Berenger and his friend at the Manor, but Berenger was far too

impatient to carry home his joy, and only begged the loan of a

horse for Mericour. For himself, he felt as if fatigue or

dejection would never touch him again, and he kissed his mother and

his sisters, including Lucy, all round, with an effusion of

delight.

'Is that indeed your step-father?' said Mericour, as they rode away

together. 'And the young man, is he your half-brother?'

'Brother wholly in dear love,' said Berenger; 'no blood relation.

The little girls are my mother's children.'

'Ah! so large a family all one? All at home? None in convents?'

'We have no convents.'

'Ah, no. but all at home! All at peace! This is a strange place,

your England.'




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024