CHAPTER VII

Sir Hubert and I

What a wonderful thing is love--the love, I mean, of man for woman and woman for man! It is so bewitching and alluring, yet withal so tyrannical and imperious. No wonder that it has been the theme of poets and historians in all times, and will be as long as the world remains. Love enters so largely into our lives, for weal or woe, that to ignore it is to wilfully shut our eyes to facts and blind ourselves to one of the greatest realities of existence, which must be reckoned with and allowed for, whatever else is omitted. The story of the love of man and woman commenced in the Garden of Eden, runs all through the pages of history, sacred and profane, and is to be seen in all the haunts of men. It is only the very young into whose thoughts and calculations it does not enter, until they wake up suddenly to find themselves its subjects.

I was wandering about in Lady Caroline's garden, within the castle's precincts, the next day--her ladyship had left me to amuse myself whilst she was busy with the steward of her household--thinking about Sir Hubert Blair, when he came to me, saying wistfully, as he took my hand in his--

'May I have a little talk with you, Mistress Brown? We may not have such a good opportunity again.'

A sudden shyness fell upon me, as glancing up, I caught the look in his dark eyes, and I could not answer in words, though he must have read my meaning, for he thanked me very much, and we walked on side by side, stooping ever and anon to look into a flower, or smell an early rose, but scarcely speaking at all, until he began in feverish haste--

'Lady Caroline sent me to talk to you of matters political and religious. You heard what I said at the meeting yesterday, and she wishes me to enlighten you still further about the desires and intentions of the boldest and perhaps the most farseeing statesmen near our dying king. But methinks, though politics may be of importance, and kings and queens demand our unswerving allegiance and devotion, yet there is something nearer my heart just now, something which affects mine own self more closely----' He broke off, and began again: 'Mistress Margaret, this is a rare opportunity for a quiet talk with you, and I must seize it'----He paused.

'Yes,' I said, trying to help him on, 'you must seize it!'

'Exactly,' he rejoined. 'Oh, but you may think it intolerable presumption on my part. And yet I cannot help it. Margaret--Margaret, I love you, I love you with all my heart.'

He took my hands in his, and held them to him.

I fancy sometimes, after all the far different aspects in which I have seen his dear face and fine figure, that never did he look so handsome and so lovable as then, when he was telling me for the first time of his dear love, and my heart bounded with joy as I realized that he to the full reciprocated my tender affection.

Perhaps he read my answer in my face--I have often been told it is like an open book that he who runs may read--or perhaps he perceived the difficulty I had in finding words, and wished to spare me, for he went on, without awaiting for any rejoinder, to tell me that ever since we first met--he spoke as if that were years and years ago, though it was barely fifty hours before--he felt convinced that I was his affinity, his kindred soul, his wife that ought to be. 'We have been made for each other,' he said, and much more to that effect, whilst I listened as if I were in a happy dream, and thought that it was all too good and beautiful to be true.

And then, long before it was time for her to return--to my thinking, at least--Lady Caroline came into the garden, and, hastening up to me, inquired of what I thought of all Sir Hubert had been telling me.

I felt myself blushing as I answered rather falteringly--

'It is very nice--very--very nice.'

'My dear Mistress Margaret,' she said in a puzzled tone.

'I mean--I mean it is beautiful,' I hastily corrected myself.

'Why, Sir Hubert,' exclaimed Lady Caroline, 'what have you been talking about to her instead of telling her all that I enjoined upon you to say about our poor young king and his successor?'

Sir Hubert looked rather confused. 'The fact was,' said he, 'this garden of yours is so beautiful. We admired the flowers, and conversed of them until----'

'You admired each other and conversed of that instead,' she interrupted merrily. 'Oh! Sir Hubert, fie! You a diplomatist! You a soldier! You a lover of your country----'

'I am a lover of one in it, if you like, madam,' he said, and forthwith we took Lady Caroline into our confidence and confessed that we were in love.

'I am delighted to hear it,' said Lady Caroline, adding: 'By your valour in defending Mistress Margaret Brown the other day, and perchance saving her life, Sir Hubert, you have earned the right to aspire to her hand; still I think you must remember that her father ought to be consulted before you become really betrothed to her.'

'Her father!' cried Sir Hubert, taken aback. 'Where is he?'

I explained where my home was, adding dutifully that my father said business of importance prevented his personally conducting me to London, yet I could see, even as I said it, that my companions thought it very remiss of him to leave the care of me on the long journey to servants, however trustworthy, and not wishing them to blame him, I went on to say that he was somewhat delicate and his life was a very valuable one. They seemed to think better of him after that, and not by any means worse of me, and I have ever noticed that judicious praise of and speaking up for others endears ourselves to those to whom we speak.

Lady Caroline went away presently, and Sir Hubert and I spent a blissful hour or two in that quaint little garden amongst the primroses and early wallflowers, violets and wood anemones.

Our happy time together came to an end only too soon, for we were summoned to dinner, and afterwards Sir William himself came to me and Lady Caroline as we sat in the drawing-room, and carefully instructed me as to the way in which, should opportunity occur, I was to talk to Lady Jane Grey, touching the matter of her possible succession to the crown.

'You must tell her,' said Sir William, 'that the welfare of English Protestants all over the kingdom rests in her hands. There will be no religious freedom if Princess Mary becomes queen. Tell Lady Jane she must not think of herself, for, student as she is, no doubt the cares and the pomps and ceremonies of royalty will be distasteful to her; but she must be willing to sacrifice her own wishes to the good of the people. Yes, that is the way you must put it; for they tell me she is exceedingly good and kind, self-denying and merciful.'

I agreed that, if able to do so, I would repeat all this to my mistress when I joined her, and then I was further instructed upon the difference between a Roman Catholic Government and a Protestant one, and the great superiority of the latter.

I listened to everything that was said and endeavoured to give my mind to it, whilst yet longing much to have a further talk alone with Sir Hubert. However, it seemed that could not be, and I retired to bed early; and with the hope of hearing him play once more, sat by the window in the moonlight after Betsy had left me for the night.

And again Sir Hubert came under my window with his lute, and played so excellently that his lute seemed to speak to me of love until, enraptured, I leaned out of the window towards the player. Then in a moment the playing ceased and a small tightly folded note was thrown into my lap.

'Good night! Good night!' said Sir Hubert softly, yet so distinctly that his words were plainly audible, and then he went away and I read my first love letter.

'Queen of my heart,' it said; 'my dearest love, as soon as I have escorted you safely to Sion House I will travel to your father's house, and tell him of your welfare and beseech him to allow me to become betrothed to you. I think he will, for I can take him letters from people of importance testifying to my prowess in battle and my worthiness of character, and I can show him that I possess no mean share of this world's goods, together with my estate and Hall of Harpton in Sussex. But, the best of all, I would have you, my love, write to him, with your own hand, and that is to say that I am not wholly uncared for by you. Such a letter, written and sealed, I would carefully deliver into his hand. Then, if he consents to our betrothal, I will return to you in all haste to acquaint you with the good news.'

The letter ended with some most fond terms of endearment and assurances of undying affection, and I slept with it under my pillow that night--as many a girl has done with her lover's letters before and since--and I dreamt of Sir Hubert Blair, but how he looked and what he said I must reserve for myself, it being of a purely personal and private nature. I can only add that I was very happy when I slept, and still happier when I awoke, and knew that the best of what had happened was not a dream, because there was the letter under my pillow, a tangible, visible proof of its reality. And I thanked God that He had heard my prayer and was causing something very good indeed to result from our friendship and love for each other. For I believed then, as indeed I believe still, that two are better than one, and that man and woman united are better than man and woman separate, if they be rightly mated and their feet are treading in the same direction, whilst the golden cord of love binding heart to heart binds each one also to the mightier heart of God.