Chapter 13

Brilliana denied him feverishly.

"What can be--what must be!" she cried. "The King has promised."

"I am a soldier of the Parliament," Evander asserted. "I cannot abandon my cause."

Brilliana almost screamed at him in her anger and despair.

"You are a prisoner under sentence of death. If you die, what gain has the Parliament of you, and I must live a widowed woman." She was close to him now and very suddenly she flung her arms about him, clasping him to her, her eager face close to his.

"Promise," she panted; "promise, dear love, promise. Your Parliament loses nothing, you gain your life, my love. Promise, promise!"

Evander's flesh fought with his spirit, but his face was calm and the arms that yearned to enfold his lover lay by his side. He turned his face away lest he should kiss her on the mouth, and, kissing, surrender his soul.

"I cannot," he said, as if from a great silence. He would not see the passionate, beautiful face; he sought to fix his mind upon the faces of those whose faithful soldier he was sworn. The girl unloosed her arms and swayed away from him, wild anger in her eyes.

"Do you call this true love," she sneered, "that is so scrupulous?"

"The truest love in the world," Evander answered, looking full at her. He could look at her now; he had no fear to fall. He was losing a joy beyond all thought, but at least he would die with a white soul.

"Do you think it is nothing to me to die thus losing you? But you have served soldier; you have a soldier's spirit; you would not have me do other than I am doing. You do not understand my cause, to think it should be easy to persuade me from it. But if I were of the King's party and in such peril so tempted, would you wish me to abandon my royal master to win life or love?"

Brilliana's cheeks flamed a furious scarlet; then the fierce blood ebbed and left her face very pale, but her eyes were shining very bright. She steadied herself against the table and tried to speak with a steady voice.

"You are in the right. You could not do other than you are doing. But it is very hard to bear."

She reeled a little, and he, thinking her about to faint, made to support her, but she stiffened again, and he stood where he was. She bent forward, speaking scarcely above a whisper.

"There is a way of escape from this chamber, a secret passage. You can get from it to the park, and so into the open country and safety. You are my prisoner. I release you from your parole. Fly, while there is time."

The loyal lovers were so absorbed in their honorable contest that they did not heed how the door of the King's apartment opened, first a little inch, then, slowly, wider and wider, allowing Charles Stuart to see and hear. A curious smile reigned over the delicate face as Brilliana made her proposal, and lingered in whimsical doubt for the response.

The response came quickly. Again Evander was saying Brilliana nay.

"I cannot that, neither, dear woman, for to do this would be to make you disloyal to your King."

"Oh, you split straws!" she cried, wildly. "A plague upon your preciousness which drives you to deny and die rather than admit my wisdom! You are no prisoner to the King. You are my prisoner. I took you, I hold you, and as my prisoner I command you to follow me, that I may convey you to some place of surety more pleasing to my mind than this mansion."

From behind the door ajar there came a clap of hearty laughter which made harassed maid and man jump more than if their discussion had been interrupted by volleying musketry. The door was wide open now, and the King was in the room, his face irradiated with honest mirth.

XXIX

THE KING MAKES A FRIEND

"Oh, good sir," he gasped, dabbing with his kerchief the merry tears from his smiling eyes, "you had better do as this lady urges, for, by St. George! she employs the most irresistible logic."

Evander and Brilliana, blown apart, as it were, by the breath of the King's merriment, regarded the monarch with very different feelings. Though he stood upon the edge of peril's precipice, at the threshold of death's temple, Evander could not scrutinize without vivid and conflicting emotions the face of the man because of whom the solid realm of England seemed to be dissolving into anarchy. This was the King of ship-money, the heart's-brother of Buckingham, the betrayer of Strafford, the doer to death of Eliot, the would-be baffler of free speech, the baffled hunter after the five members. To Brilliana he was simply the King, not even the whole hero and half-martyr King for whom she had held Loyalty House so sturdily, but simply the only man living graced with power to save the man she loved. She turned to him at once with a petulant expression of impatience.

"Your Majesty," she sighed, "I wish you would speak to this proud gentleman. I cannot make him listen to reason."

The almost infantile simplicity of her address stirring the King to renewed merriment, served her cause better, in its very inappropriateness to the situation, than the most impassioned or the most calculated appeals to pity or to justice. The audacity with which the Loyalty lady coolly enlisted the King as her advocate against the King's interests seemed to the sovereign so exquisite, so grotesque, as to merit calling irresistible.

"Truly," he said to her, smiling that sweet Stuart smile which made all who ever shone in it adore him, "the man must be named Felicissimus who is loved by such a lady."

Then he turned his gaze upon Evander, and the smile grew graver, the eyes more imperious.

"So, sir," he said, "you are so certain sure of the righteousness of your side in this quarrel that you cannot, for your life's sake, for your love's sake, consent to stand neuter and look on, Captain Infallibility?"

Evander faced the slightly frowning interrogation bravely. He saluted soldierly, conscious of the subtle Stuart charm, understanding it would conquer men and women, glad to find himself unconquered.

"Your Majesty," he said, "let me answer you as I answered this dear lady. If one of those gentlemen, those Cavaliers who rallied to your flag at Nottingham and drew their swords for you at Edgehill, were made prisoner of the Parliament, and accepted his life on the condition that he stood aside and left you to fight without his aid, would you count him a loyal subject, would you call him a faithful friend, could you admit that he was an honest soldier?"

Charles looked at Evander curiously. There were some of his friends, he thought, who might not stand the trial too well. He brushed the thought aside, for he knew that most of the Cavaliers would act as gallantly as the young Puritan before him, and he could not but applaud, even while he wondered at so stiff a constancy in one whom he regarded as a rebel.

"Well, well," he said, "if this incomparable lady could not persuade you, how could a poor King hope to succeed? We must not break this lady's heart, sir, between us, for 'tis something of a rare jewel, and so you shall go back to your own people, and when I win the day I shall remember to be clement to you. Try and come out of the scuffle alive, for the sake of your sweetheart."

The King was so winning in his grace, in his dignity, in his tenderness, that Evander felt his heart in his mouth and he tried not to falter in his words.

"I humbly thank your Majesty."

As for Brilliana, she fell on her knees with tears in her eyes, but the King would not have her kneel. In his courtliest manner he lifted her, raised her right hand to his lips and kissed it, and then signifying to her with a gesture to go to Evander, he seated himself at the table and wrote rapidly for some seconds, while the two lovers stood side by side, silent in hope and joy.

When the King had finished writing he shook the powder over the paper and let it slide back into the standish, drying the ink as it slid. Then he turned and held the paper to Evander, who advanced and took it kneeling.

"This safe-conduct," said Charles, "will insure you from ill treatment or delay at the hands of any loyal subjects, in arms or otherwise." He leaned forward and struck upon the bell. To the soldier on guard who entered he gave order that he wished to see Sir Rufus Quaryll immediately. When the soldier had left, he turned in his chair a little, so as to survey Evander and Brilliana standing before him in silence, and there was a light of mockery in his eyes.

"Young people," he said, affecting mirthfully an exhortatory manner, "you have played the first act of your love-play. How it is to go with you hereafter it is for all to hope, albeit for none to guess with discretion. But in a little while this land distracted will be calm again, and it may well be, Mr. Cloud, that I shall be glad to see you at Whitehall."

The King's manner was mild, the King's voice benign; he was really very well pleased with himself for his clemency, and very well pleased with the man and woman for affording him an opportunity of justifying his character of benevolent autocrat. He would have said more, but at this moment the door opened and Sir Rufus entered the room, looking as fierce and angry as he dared to look in the presence of his royal master. He knew well enough that Brilliana's interview with the King was likely to mean mischief to his schemes, and his rage and hate tore at his life-strings like wild beasts.

An impish malice lurked on Charles's lips. This discomfiture of the truculent Rufus supplied for him the comic element of his entertainment, and came just in the nick of time to prevent its heroics and its sentimentalities from palling.

"Sir Rufus," said the King, gravely, "we ride at once to Oxford, our loyal, loving Oxford. Take order for this on the instant. The Lady Brilliana resumes her command of Loyalty House, with our royal thanks for her man's spirit and our royal sympathy for her woman's heart. As for the stranger within our gates, we have of our clemency given him full leave to go hence in all freedom, not without some private supplications that Heaven may be pleased to lift a misguided gentleman into a better way of life."

Sir Rufus opened his lips as if to speak, and then closed them again without speaking. He knew well enough how stubborn the King could be on occasion, and that there was no hope for him to win his game with the King's help. He saluted the King and left the presence with fury in his heart.

The King turned to Evander.

"Go, sir," he commanded, "and make ready for your departure, which should follow promptly upon mine, for I do not think the atmosphere of Oxford will be sweet breathing for gentlemen of your inclining from this out. I give you half an hour from my riding to say your adieus to your sweet saint here. Farewell."

Evander fell on one knee.

"Your Majesty," he pleaded, "permit me to kiss your hand." The King smiled whimsically, yet a thought wistfully.

"You are a gentle rebel," he said, and held out his fine, white hand for Evander's salutation. Then the young soldier rose, and with one look of love to Brilliana, left the room. Charles stood with his grave eyes fixed on his hostess, smiling.

"What a thing is civil war!" he sighed. "How it rips through the pretty web of workaday life, dividing sire from son, sundering brother from brother, parting lover from lass! But I was forced to it--I was forced to it."

"It will end soon, sire," Brilliana suggested, tears in her eyes at the sadness in his. The King seemed to catch at her speech.

"Ay," he agreed, more cheerily. "That's it, that's true. 'Tis but a walk to loyal Oxford, 'tis but a march on disloyal London, and all's done."

"London will prove loyal when your Majesty enters in triumph," Brilliana cried. A bright look came over the King's worn face. As in a dream he saw himself, the rose of that triumphant entry, flowers at his feet, flags in the air, loyalty abroad in its bravest, huzzaing its loudest, and all grim, sour-hearted fellows safe out of sight under lock and key. Exultantly he held out his hand for Brilliana to salute.

"Farewell, Lady of Loyalty."

"Nay," Brilliana protested, "I must bring your Majesty to the gate. If the fitting welcome were missing, you shall not lack the ceremonial 'God speed you.'"

"I thank you, madam," gravely answered Charles. Brilliana dipped him a reverence, and then, opening the door, conducted her royal guest out of the chamber. In the corridor they found Halfman waiting to kiss the King's hand. Charles felt for a moment for his purse, and then swiftly and regally changing his mind, he drew a ring from his finger.

"Wear this for me, friend," he requested, graciously, "in memory of old days."

Halfman rose from his knees and drew himself up as if on parade.

"God save the King!" he thundered, and with that loyal music in his ears the King followed Brilliana down the great staircase over which the carven angels kept watch and ward. Halfman, leaning over the rail-way, saw the pair pass through the hall, then he turned and entered the apartment that Charles had left, and stood there, rigid in meditation.

XXX

RUFUS PROPOSES

Rufus stepped stealthily out of the dusking garden into the lighted room, and moving noiselessly across the floor, laid his hand on Halfman's shoulder. Halfman did not look round.

"Well, Sir Rufus," he asked, as calmly as if the sudden touch had been some recognized, awaited signal.

"You are not to be taken by surprise, my good friend," Sir Rufus said. Halfman shrugged his shoulders.

"It would need more than the clap of a man's paw on my back to take me by surprise; and, besides, I saw you coming. There is a mirror near, good Sir Rufus, and even in yonder owl-light I could pick you out of the mist. Moreover, I thought you would come."

"Why did you think I would come?" Sir Rufus asked, with a frown.

"Just because I thought it," Halfman answered, indifferently. "And, you see, my thoughts were true thoughts."

Sir Rufus came closer to him, speaking in his ear.

"I hope you hate all Roundheads," he said. "All damned rebels."

Halfman's only answer was to whistle very softly the first few bars of a roaring Cavalier ballad. The grasp on Halfman's shoulder tightened.

"There is one damned Roundhead here who vexes me," Sir Rufus said, fiercely.

"I think his name is called Cloud," said Halfman.

Sir Rufus swore a round oath.

"I wish he were dead," he said.

"If wishes were coaches," Halfman observed, sententiously, "beggars would ride."

"He would have been dead ere this if she had not wheedled the King out of his wits. His Majesty is in a forgiving disposition to-day, and forgets his friends at the prayer of a pretty face. I wish this rebel were dead, friend."

"He will die in time," Halfman commented, philosophically. Sir Rufus growled.

"You are as dull as mud. It would be money in your pocket, friend Halfman, ay, money running over your pocket-holes, if this rebel were to be your quarry."

Halfman shook his head, and a knowing smile twisted his mouth awry.

"Nay, Sir Rufus, with your favor, you must do your own killing," he said.

"Why, so I will," Rufus answered, angrily. "I will call up the household, lay hands on the rascal, back him to the wall, and bang a fusillade into him."

Halfman laughed derisively.

"Call up the household!" he crowed. "Do you think they would come at your call? Do you think they would serve you against my lady? Why, they would fling you into the fish-pools if she bade them do so."

The face of Sir Rufus showed that through all his fury he still retained sufficient command of his reason to know that what Halfman said was more than true. Halfman went leisurely on:

"You cannot employ your own men on the business, neither, for they must march to Oxford with the King. In little it comes to this: if you want a thing done, do it yourself."

"You are in the right," Sir Rufus agreed, gloomily. "This fellow was doomed long since. It is no more than common justice to put him out of the way. But I ride with the King."

"You need not ride very far," Halfman suggested. "A little way on the road you can slip aside unseen and get back here by a bridle-path. Watch at the western gate of the park. His horse will be waiting for him there to carry him to Cambridge. After his tender leave-taking he will come to his exit a clear mark on the white garden-path for a steady hand holding a pistol. So you can whistle 'Good-night, cuckoo,' as you haste to o'ertake the King."

"'Tis an ingenious scheme," Sir Rufus mused. Halfman laughed grimly.

"Oh, I am a pattern of strategy; this is but a simple ambuscado, a tame trap. You are a sure shot, I know; you cannot miss your bird. You need waste no time in making sure that he is stark. I shall be at hand to make sure, and will soon stick him in a ditch to wait for judgment."

Sir Rufus clapped Halfman on the shoulder.

"Your wit has a most pleasant invention," he approved. "She will soon forget this whining wry-face."

Halfman disengaged himself from the pressure of his companion's hand.

"It is so to be hoped," he said, drearily; "it is so to be believed. Woman's love-memory is a kind of quicksand that can swallow a score or so of gallant gentlemen and show no trace of their passage."

"A curse on your poppycoddle," Sir Rufus grumbled. "I must be stirring. I should like him to know that I killed him."

"If I find any breath in him I will tell him," Halfman affirmed. "Your honor over-refines your pleasant purpose. The pith is that he be killed. Remember the western gate."

In another moment Halfman was alone, listening to the sound of spurred heels on the stairway, as Sir Rufus hastened to join the King.

"Love of woman leads us to strange issues," he said to himself, with a wintry smile. "Cavalier, Puritan, and poor Jack here, we all love the same lady, and here be two of us clapping palms together to kill the third."

XXXI

HALFMAN DISPOSES

Brilliana came in from the garden. Halfman heard her step and turned. She was pale with many emotions; he never had seen her more beautiful.

"The King has gone, friend," she said; "God bless him for his clemency."

"My heart does not sing because a Puritan lives," Halfman answered, sourly. He stared into the fire again and saw burning towns between the dogs. Brilliana paused for a moment and then came a little closer to him.

"We have ever been friends," she said, softly. There was a note of timidity in her voice, new to Halfman, and he turned in surprise.

"Indeed," he said, roundly.

"We have been fellow-soldiers," Brilliana went on, still with that curious hesitancy that sat so strangely upon her. "We have shared a siege. I have a secret to tell you."

Halfman felt a sudden uncanny warning of danger. "A secret," he repeated, staring at her.

Brilliana was outblushing all things red--peony, poppy, flamingo, anything.

"You have always loved me, Hobbin?" she asked, half timorously.

"I have always loved you," he answered, slowly, with a rigid face.

"Then you will be glad of what I have to tell," she said. "There will be no change here. For I love this gentleman even as this gentleman loves me, and we are to wed when this meddling war is ended."

"You love him?" Halfman echoed, dully. "You wed an enemy to the King?"

Brilliana sighed.

"Love is the greatest power in all the world," she said; "greater than kings, greater than emperors, greater than popes. But I will wed no enemy to the King. If these wars were to endure forever, then forever my dear friend and I would remain unwed and bear our single souls to heaven."

Her voice was low and dreary; suddenly it brightened.

"But these wars will not endure forever. The King will be in London in a few days; the Parliament will be at his feet; my friend will be no more a rebel, for all rebellion will have ceased to be."

"How if your friend be killed before the King reaches London?" Halfman asked her, hoarsely. "The wheels of war do not turn from the path of a lover."

"If he be killed," she said, simply, "I do not think I shall long outlive him. My heart does not veer like a vane for every breath of praise or passion. First and last, I have found my mate in the world; first and last, I will be loyal while I live. But if he die, I hope God will deal gently with me, nor suffer me to grow gray in sorrow."

She turned away from Halfman that he might not see the tears in her eyes, and so turning did not see the tears that stood in his. She moved towards the harpsichord and dropped into the chair that served it. Her fingers fluttered over the keys and a tinkling music answered them and underlined the words she sang:

"You ride to fight, my dearest friend, I bide at home and sigh; God only knows what God may send, To test us, by-and-by. If 'tis decreed that you must die, So comes my world to end; And I will seek beyond the sky The features of my friend. Come back from fight, my dearest friend, The idol of my eye, That hand in hand ourselves may bend Before God's altar high. If death consent to pass you by, How sweetly shall we wend To the last home where we shall lie Together, friend and friend."

As Brilliana sat at the harpsichord playing the brave Cavalier ballad, Halfman, watching her, found his eyes dim with most unfamiliar water. Fierce memories of his life seemed to come before him sharply, vivid succeeding pictures, rich in evil. In a flash he tramped across forests, sack and battle and rapine new painted themselves upon his brain; deeds long dead and forgotten suddenly became instant agonies. He seemed like a prisoner before an invisible judge, and his startled spirit sought wildly and vainly for some good deed it might offer in plea for pity. If only he had spared that girl, that child unripe for love, who never dreamed of brutal hands. He seemed to see her in the room where he ran her down, her staring eyes; he seemed to hear her screams; he remembered how hot his blood was then, though now it ran like ice at the memory. If only he had not helped to torture the old Jew in San Juan; if only he could blot out his share in all those acts of lust and blood. And through all his horrid thoughts came the sweet voice of Brilliana singing the sweet, brave words, and he saw her curls sway as she sang, and he thought of her love for her kinsman which she had told him so simply, and he thought of his own mad love for her, which she would never know, which no one would ever understand. And then he thought of that grim sentry at the western gate whose hate was black, whose aim was fatal.

A fantastic purpose came into the man's thought. His mind was ever like a stage with the lights lighted and the curtains drawn, upon whose boards himself played a thousand parts and played them to the top. Here was the part he had never played, the noblest, the most heroic, chiefly perhaps in this, that it was also the loneliest. The purpose had hardly pricked before he seized it, hugged it to his breast, made it incorporate with his being. Mingled with his tender pity for Brilliana there was now a splendid pity for himself, the noblest Roman of them all. But the purpose must not cool. His thoughts were all a-jumble. One of them seemed to assert to his feverish fancy that this way meant atonement; the quenching of his torch some measure of compensation for the candles he had puffed out.