Chapter 3

"Do thou go instantly and clothe the lady within in some of thy garments; and have care that thou say no word to any of what hath happened, else will it not be well for thee."

When I heard the tone in which he spoke, methought in truth it would not be well for her did she not heed his commands.

Shortly there entered a woman most marvellous fair, with hair that seemed spun of black taffetas, and a skin like a white jasmine. When she saw the blood her lips whitened, and she did close them more closely, but no cry escaped her. Whereat I was much ashamed, remembering the hullabaloo that I had raised.

I turned aside while she disrobed my lady and clothed her in clean linen, and drew down the sheets, placing her between them. But the blood still flowed in spite of all bandages, and the fair linen was soon crimson.

And when all was prepared, the woman went to the door and said, "You can enter," and the earl came into the chamber again. When, however, he did see my lady he cried out, "God in heaven! she will bleed to death!" and he called the woman, and showed her how to stanch the wound. Then, when the steps of the surgeon were heard in the hall without, he said unto her, "Remember. She is thy sister, and thieves have stabbed her for the jewels on her neck." And she answered him, "I will remember."

And all this time methought I was in an evil dream, and that Marian, for some spite, would not awaken me.

How it came about, to this day I recollect not, but ere two weeks had sped we were again at Amhurste, and my lady in her own bower, under Marian's care. As to that, Marian had been with my lady ever since the fatal night whereon she was nigh done to death by that masked ruffian.

The earl did go himself to fetch her from Mistress Pepper's, and after that she came neither of us saw the sloe-eyed woman any more.

None had known of my lady's stay in town, saving my lady herself, Lord Denbeigh, the black-eyed woman (who never uttered word more, good or bad, after that she had said, "I will remember"), Marian, and me. So besides us five no one was the wiser.

It was towards the last of May that my lady did beg that we would lift her out to sit in a long-chair on the east terrace. The birds were at their morning gossiping in the shrubbery, and the air was most sweet with the breath of the white lilacs. My lady looked like a snow-wreath fallen suddenly among the greenery of spring, but her eyes did peep softly, like bluebells, from the snows of her face. Methought she was all white and blue, like the heavens above her, and her hair made sunshine over all. Herne, the blood-hound, lay at her feet, and would not be stirred, though for sport my lady had Marian to tempt him with some comfits.

While we were all there, and my lady showing us how the light shined through her thin hands, and discoursing right merrily, there came a page and handed her a letter. Back fell she among her pillows, and her eyelids dropped over her eyes, like snow-flakes fallen on violets. Anon she opened the letter, and having read it, said unto Marian, "Nurse, go bid him hither." So Marian beckoned me, and we left her. As we entered the house, who should pass us but my Lord of Denbeigh, and o' my word he was whiter than my lady, if anything, and wrapped as usual in a long cloak. He seemed not to see us, and we went on in silence.

Here transpires the only part of this narrative concerning which I am reluctant to write. I will out with it, however, and the Almighty knows that I have not done with repentance even yet. So be it. There was a window overhanging the terrace where my lady sat (the window out of which she had leaned to speak to me about repairing to the Red Deer). But let me not defer longer. I, Anthony Butter, of respectable parents, and counted among my fellows and betters an honest man, did go to this window, and did most deliberately listen to the words that passed between my mistress and the Earl of Denbeigh. In fact (for I have sworn to keep back no jot or tittle of the truth), I did speed me so fast that I was at the window ere his lordship reached my lady's side.

He came slowly, but his look went before him, and was fast upon my lady's face ere he himself was within ten yards of her. When at last he was come to her side, he did stand and look down on her, but uttered no word. And also my lady did look down, and there was a light like sunset on her cheek.

Then suddenly did he drop upon his knees beside her, and bowed down his head upon her knee and was silent. Then my lady (God forever keep her!) did turn her eyes quickly, and stole a look to see that no one was nigh (God forgive my dastardly presence!), and did reach out one pale hand, half fearfully as 'twere, and did let it rest upon the man's bowed head, as a white rose-leaf falls and rests on the earth. And she said but two words, "My friend;" yet methought all love was in them. Whereat he raised his head and looked at her, and it is so that men look upward when they pray. He took her hands with his and held them to his breast, and he saith, "Dear saint, if thou forgivest me, wilt thou but kiss my brow?" And she bended forward and kissed him; and he trembled, calling her by name; and she asked him what he would with her. Then kneeling at her side, he spoke to her, and his words were as follows:

"Thou hast heard of my life and of my misfortunes, but all hath not been told thee. Grant me but patience for a moment, that I myself may tell thee all."

And she saith unto him, "Say on."

So he spoke and said, "There is much that I may not tell thee, yet part I will tell thee, for that I must. Thou hast heard how that my wife--" But he could not continue, so dropped his face into my lady's hands, and she waited for him, saying softly,

"I will understand what thou dost not say. Be not troubled, but speak out thy soul to me;" and presently he told her more. As I do live, never listened I to sadder story. So piteous it was that my tears fell down like rain, and I was sore afraid that my sighing would discover my whereabouts. But the Almighty is merciful even to sinners, and I remained unnoted. 'Twas the old tale of love and treachery; a false wife and a friend who was a villain.

The earl had killed the man (but in fair encounter), and his wife he had brought back, never to be as husband to her more, but to preserve her from further sin. And I do maintain that 'twas a noble act, and I did quite forgive him the blood of his betrayer. Methought my lady did forgive him too, for she did but stroke his hair softly, saying ever and anon, "Poor soul!" or "God help thee!" And by-and-by he lifted his face, and saith, "But the worst is yet to tell thee."

And she said again, "Say on."

And he trembled again, but spoke out bravely: "My wife yet lives. It was she who bound thy wounds."

Now at this I thought to see my lady swoon; but she only smiled, though better had one seen her weep than smile in such wise. And she saith, "I have known that these many days;" and she leaned towards him, and placed both hands upon his head, saying, "Weep not. I hold thee guiltless. Do not weep."

But he sobbed, clasping her knees, as one whose heart is broken, saying now and again below his breath, "O God! O God!"

If there be this side the stars a more awful sight than the sight of a strong man in tears, God grant I may ne'er behold it, for surely I should die of pity. Doth it please God that I resemble Abraham in the matter of age, if in none other, ne'er will that scene fade from my memory--my lady, so wan and white and narrow, like a tall lily over which a rude wind hath swept, and at her knee the strong man, bowed as a little lad that saith his prayers, clasping her kirtle and her hands, as though one sinking in deep waters were to grasp at a floating stem of flowers for support. And after a while, when the violence of his grief was spent, he saith unto her,

"I sail for Spain with Essex on the morrow, as thou knowest; but it doth remain for me to tell thee why I go. It is for that I think the lad, thy brother, hath been a prisoner of war these many years, and I go to bring him to thee."

And she sat and looked at him as though her heart had leaped from her breast into his body; but she spake no words save only, "God keep thee; God go with thee."

And suddenly he saith unto her, as though the words would forth,

"I loved thee from the moment that I saw thee. Let me but tell thee that."

She whispered, saying, "It was even so with me." And he lifted his eyes and looked at her. Then fled I, as though I had drawn away the veil from the sanctuary, for I thought that God would surely smite me for having beheld that look.

* * * * *

So Lord Denbeigh sailed with the Earl of Essex for the war in Spain, and my lady's soul left her body and went with him; for surely 'twas but her body that remained at Amhurste. All day long would she sit silent, nor move, nor look, and her hands the one upon the other before her, as who should say, "I am done with all things, whether of work or of play." So passed the months, and ever and anon some report would reach the village of the wild earl's deeds in Spain, and of how he would fight ten men with one arm wounded and the blood in his eyes, and such like tales. But no word came direct, either through letters or friends. So passed the months, and it was nigh to August, and the fighting was over for the time, when one day, with a clattering as of a horsed army, there comes dashing into the court two cavaliers on horseback, and one of them was my Lord of Denbeigh. Ere I could look at the other he had leaped to the ground, and had me about the neck a-kissing me as roundly as ever a wench in the market-place. And lo! when I looked, it was Lord Robert in very truth. He was grown out of all knowledge, and as brown as a nut, but as big and as bonny a lad as ever clapped hand to sword.

When I could turn my eyes from him upon the earl, I saw that he was waxed as pale as death, and wore his arm in a kerchief, and that there was a great red streak adown his temple, clean through his right eyebrow. And his splendid flanks and chest were hollow, like those of a good steed that lacketh fodder. But when he stood and leaned against his horse's neck and smiled at us, methought he was by far the goodliest man that ever I had looked upon. His teeth were as white as the foam on his horse's bit, and there was a deep nick at the corner of his mouth, like that at the mouth of a girl.

Then must I call Marian, and send her to break the news to my lady. So in a moment she comes rushing down along the stair-way, like a branch that is blown suddenly from the top o' a tall tree, and so into Lord Robert's arms; and he catches her to his heart, and so stands holding her; and they make no motion nor any sound whatever. Then turns the earl away, and leaves them together. But I marked that his eyes were brimming, and that there was a quiver in his lip.

Ere night all is known to us: how Lord Robert had been a prisoner in Spain all these years, yet was he treated with courtesy at the behest o' some wench. But he did not love her, God be praised! And 'tis in my mind to this day how he might have wed her, and how the earl did relate to him his bitter experiences with a Spanish wife. Ay, that is my firm opinion. All this and more did we hear, laughing and weeping by turns. But it was not until Lord Robert saw my lady alone that she heard of how the earl had saved him at the risk of his own life, all but bearing him in his arms through the enemy, hewing his way right and left. And, moreover, Lord Robert did tell how that the blood from that cut on the earl's temple did in truth run down into his eyes and blind him, but how that he dashed it back and slew the man who wounded him, and so they escaped.

The next morning, as I did sally forth with my cross-bow to have a shot at a screech-owl which for some nights past had disturbed Marian's slumbers, she in her turn having disturbed mine, I did see Lord Denbeigh come out upon the terrace and throw himself down along the grass, beneath a tulip-tree, with a book. But he read not, lying very quiet, with his head raised up upon one hand and his elbow sunk in the soft turf. And as the sunlight struck through the leaves upon his glittering hair, and his face like marble, I could not but pause to gaze on him, so noble looked he. But his eyes were far away, and his thoughts with them.

It was for this that he did not hear my lady coming until she stood beside him, and her white gown brushed his cheek. But seeing her, he leaped to his feet, and the blood ran along his face, and then seemed all to settle in the long wound, leaving him more pale than before. And she said to him,

"Nay, do not rise, for thou art weak yet;" but he would not be seated, so they stood there, side by side in the fair morning light. And presently she puts out her hand (no one ere reached out their hand as did my lady), and she just lays it on his sleeve, and saith she, "I am come to thank you--to thank you with all my heart and soul--" and there a sob chokes her, and she can say no more.

Again the blood swept up across his brow; and he said, "For God's love, say no more."

But she answered, saying, "Nay, I have so much to say." And she came nearer to him for a little space; and her head drooped downward, like a flower full of rain. And she did knit and unknit her white fingers as they hung before her. And she saith, "There is no guerdon worthy such a knight, but if an thou--"

Then all on a sudden did she reach out both arms towards him, and her fair hands, palms upward, and the scarlet leaped to her very brow; but she lifted her little head proudly, albeit her eyes were dropped downward, and she said unto him, "Take me, for I am thine."

And he trembled from head to foot, and parting his lips as though to speak, reached out his arms and clasped her.

And when I realized what I had done, I did drop my cross-bow and took to my heels, like one followed by goblins.

Now, even as I hope to be saved, I but just come to recognize that this was my second eavesdropping. So be it. I have vowed, and must keep my vow.

It was all made clear to me that night, when Marian did relate to me how that the Spanish woman had slain herself by swallowing flame. At which (though mightily pleased, God forgive me, on account of my lady and the earl) I was more than ever thankful that Lord Robert had escaped alive and unwed out o' th' clutches o' th' Spanish wench. And here it occurreth to me that I have not yet told that Marian did know from the first of my lady's going up to town dressed as her brother. This I record more on account of its being a marvellous instance of a woman's keeping her tongue than to shame Marian, who hath often read how that wives should submit themselves unto their husbands as unto the Lord. Howbeit, all ended so happily that I had not the heart to scold her.

With the first frosts of October my lady and the earl were wed. Methought the queen herself could not have had a finer wedding, and certes no woman could have had a nobler spouse. He was yet pale from his wounds, but most soldierly of bearing and proud of carriage. He was clad all in white, like my lady. A more beauteous apparel I have never seen.

His doublet was of cloth of silver, with a close jerkin of white satin embroidered in silver and little pearls. His girdle and the scabbard of his sword were of cloth of silver, with golden buckles. His poniard and sword were hilted and mounted in gold, together with many blazing orders and richer devices that I know not how to enumerate.

My lady's gown was all of white satin, sewn down the front with little pearls, like those on my lord's jerkin, and her ruff was of soft lace, not stiff, as was the fashion, but falling about her bosom most modestly and becomingly. Lord Robert, methinks, was eke as goodly, after his way, as either his sister or Lord Denbeigh, being close clad from head to foot in crimson sarcenet, slashed all with cloth of gold. My lady had given me some suiting clothes for the occasion; and as for Marian, methought in her new gown of sea-green taffeta, with her new ruff and head-gear, that she looked as fair a matron as any mother of fine lads in all England.

IV.

Seven months they had been wed, and it was May again. Methought such love had never been on earth since Eden. 'Twas gladness but to see them. And all, moreo'er, was so well with Lord Robert, who, folks did say, was in mighty great favor at court, and like to become a shining light in the land.

'Twas on a May morning. The trees were a-lilt with birds, and the sound of waters set all the winds a-singing. All at once comes my lord, and sets his hand on my shoulder. Then know I that something dire hath happened. And he saith, "Friend, where is thy mistress?"

And I tell him that she is out among her roses.

Then saith he all at once, "The Queen hath sent for me--I must to war."

And I could do naught but stare at him. And he said to me: "In an hour I must be gone. Say naught to thy mistress. I will go don a suiting dress, and do thou bring me my sword and give it into my hand."

And he went, returning shortly, and I gave him the sword. It was then that we heard the voice of my lady without, and she sang a song of the spring-tide. The words I have ne'er forgot, though I did but hear them once:

"For O! For O! The cowslips blow, And the ground's all gold below me; The speedwell's eye Peers up so bli' I swear it seems to know me!

"The lady-smocks In silver frocks Do flout the sonsy clover; The humble bee Consorts wi' me And hails me for a rover.

"Then trip, then trip, And if ye slip Your lad will lend a hand O; The lass in green With black, black een, Is the fairest in the land O."

And as the earl listened methought he would have fallen, grasping my shoulder, old man as I was, and bending down his head upon it. And I did stay him with my arm, as though he had been my very son--for old age is father to all men.

So my lady comes in, with her gold hair blowing, and her white kirtle full of red roses, and seeing her lord goes to meet him. But when she noted the soldierly fashioning of his dress, and the sword girt at his thigh, she opened her lips as though to cry out, but no sound escaped them. And her kirtle slipped from her hold, and the red roses lay between them like a pool of blood.

Then she saith unto him, "Tell me. Quick, quick!"

And he lifts her to him, and saith, "Sweetheart, my Queen hath bidden me come fight for her and for my country."

And she saith naught, only clasps him.

But by-and-by she cries out, saying, "Go not! Go not! Else wilt thou kill me." And so speaking, falls like one dead at her lord's feet.

Then I, running like one distraught to fetch Marian, do tilt pell-mell into Lord Robert, who hath come down to Amhurste for a week or so of rest.

"Heydey!" quoth he. "What Jack-a-lent hath frighted thee?" And I told him all. Never a word said he, but went straightway and got upon his horse, and clapped spurs to its sides, and so out of sight.

And all that night my lady lay nigh to death, so that there was ne'er a thought in the breast of any for another soul. Therefore Lord Robert was not missed.

Ere two days were past came a man with despatches, and we found out how that Lord Robert had substituted himself for the earl (having acquainted the Queen with the circumstances--and he being, moreover, so great a favorite), and how the Queen had granted Lord Denbeigh leave to remain in England a while longer.

And so his lordship was with his lady when their child was born, but Lord Robert was killed in the wars.

They grieved sore for him, and for many weeks would not be comforted. And even it was said that the Queen mourned for him, and did banish all festivities from court for the space of several days.

But like as the stars do pale in the morning sky, so pales the orb of sorrow before the rays of the great sun, happiness.

And though he was ne'er forgotten, and though the tears would spring to my lady's eyes heard she but his name mentioned, yet she did smile again and was happy.

It chanced but this morning that Marian and I, leaning from the window that overlooks the east terrace, did see a most winsome sight.

'Twas a fair morning, and May again, and on such mornings as these my lady would go forth on the east terrace with the child. And there grow all such sweet flowers as my lady loves--the red mule-pinks, and dame's-violets, such as are sweet o' evenings, but marvellous fair to look upon both by sunlight and moonlight. And the south wall was all thick with the yellow violets, so that my lady's head looked like the head o' a saint against a golden platter. And there did my lady sit, on a quaintly wrought bench, with the little lord.

And this morning, when she was seated, and the babe curled against her bosom, and Marian and myself thinking o' the pictures o' the Virgin Mary and the blessed Jesus (saving that my lady's kirtle was all of white and gold, like the lilies, knotted in her waistband), she looked up on a sudden, and lo! there was the master coming along over the grass towards her. When he saw who it was that sat there, he doffed his plumed hat like as though it had been the Virgin Mary for very truth, and he paused a minute, but then came on.

When my lady saw him who he was, there came a fair red o'er all the white o' her throat and face; ay, and withal over her very bosom. And she put up one white hand, with her wedding-ring on't, and made as though she would shield the sun from the babe's eyes.

And all this time my lord came slowly over the grass, as though the sweet sight did pleasure him both far and near. And when he was approached, he stood, still with his hat in his hand, and looked down at the babe and its mother, and was silent.

Then the child, feeling mayhap that its father was near, twisted over towards him, reaching out its waxen arm, and smiled right knowingly; whereat my lord did pluck the great plume out o' his hat and lay it across my lady's bosom; moreover, he knelt and put an hand on the babe, but his arm he held about his wife.

Then did she draw both my lord and the child to her, and pressed them against her, but her face she lifted Godwards.

And something spoke within our hearts that we turned and left the window.

THE FARRIER LASS O' PIPING PEBWORTH.

HUMFREY LEMON, meeting Bered Turnip, before the "Red Deer," doth speak as follows:

* * * * *

Whom have we here? Well, well, by my troth! 'tis none other than Bered Turnip, the farrier, as I do live! Come for an alms-drink, comrade. Would I had as many gold-pieces as we have burnt alnights i' this very tavern! And is it thus we meet after all these years? It doth seem but yesterday that we supped under this very roof as juvenals. Dost thou mind thee o' the night that we gave old Gammer Lick-the-Dish a bath in his own sack, for that he served us in a foul jerkin? By'r lay'kin, those were days! Well, well, to meet thee thus! Though, believe it or not, as thou wilt, I had such a pricking i' my thumbs but an hour gone that I was of a mind to roar you like any babe with a pin in his swaddling-bands. Thou wast my beau-peer i' those times; and we are kin by profession, moreover. How be Mistress Turnip and thy eight lads? Ha! ha! Dost remember how old Anthony Butter--him who was gardener at Amhurste Castle, ye mind--dost thou remember in what spite he held thee because o' those eight little salads o' thine? A always said a married with an eye to a's posterity; and o' my word a's been cockeyed e'er since, for's posterity has e'er kept him on the lookout: never chick or child hath Mistress Butter given him.