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diff --git a/1550-h/1550-h.htm b/1550-h/1550-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c790078 --- /dev/null +++ b/1550-h/1550-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7975 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Lady of Quality</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">A Lady of Quality, by Frances Hodgson Burnett</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Lady of Quality, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Lady of Quality + + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #1550] +[Last updated: December 9, 2011] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LADY OF QUALITY*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1896 Frederick Warne & Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>A LADY OF QUALITY</h1> +<p>Being a most curious, hitherto unknown<br /> +history, as related by Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff<br /> +but not presented to the World of<br /> +Fashion through the pages of<br /> +The Tatler, and now for the<br /> +first time written down<br /> +by<br /> +Francis Hodgson Burnett</p> +<blockquote><p>Were Nature just to Man from his first hour, he need +not ask for Mercy; then ’tis for us—the toys of Nature—to +be both just and merciful, for so only can the wrongs she does be undone.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER I—The twenty-fourth day of November 1690</h2> +<p>On a wintry morning at the close of 1690, the sun shining faint and +red through a light fog, there was a great noise of baying dogs, loud +voices, and trampling of horses in the courtyard at Wildairs Hall; Sir +Jeoffry being about to go forth a-hunting, and being a man with a choleric +temper and big, loud voice, and given to oaths and noise even when in +good-humour, his riding forth with his friends at any time was attended +with boisterous commotion. This morning it was more so than usual, +for he had guests with him who had come to his house the day before, +and had supped late and drunk deeply, whereby the day found them, some +with headaches, some with a nausea at their stomachs, and some only +in an evil humour which made them curse at their horses when they were +restless, and break into loud surly laughs when a coarse joke was made. +There were many such jokes, Sir Jeoffry and his boon companions being +renowned throughout the county for the freedom of their conversation +as for the scandal of their pastimes, and this day ’twas well +indeed, as their loud-voiced, oath-besprinkled jests rang out on the +cold air, that there were no ladies about to ride forth with them.</p> +<p>’Twas Sir Jeoffry who was louder than any other, he having +drunk even deeper than the rest, and though ’twas his boast that +he could carry a bottle more than any man, and see all his guests under +the table, his last night’s bout had left him in ill-humour and +boisterous. He strode about, casting oaths at the dogs and rating +the servants, and when he mounted his big black horse ’twas amid +such a clamour of voices and baying hounds that the place was like Pandemonium.</p> +<p>He was a large man of florid good looks, black eyes, and full habit +of body, and had been much renowned in his youth for his great strength, +which was indeed almost that of a giant, and for his deeds of prowess +in the saddle and at the table when the bottle went round. There +were many evil stories of his roysterings, but it was not his way to +think of them as evil, but rather to his credit as a man of the world, +for, when he heard that they were gossiped about, he greeted the information +with a loud triumphant laugh. He had married, when she was fifteen, +the blooming toast of the county, for whom his passion had long died +out, having indeed departed with the honeymoon, which had been of the +briefest, and afterwards he having borne her a grudge for what he chose +to consider her undutiful conduct. This grudge was founded on +the fact that, though she had presented him each year since their marriage +with a child, after nine years had passed none had yet been sons, and, +as he was bitterly at odds with his next of kin, he considered each +of his offspring an ill turn done him.</p> +<p>He spent but little time in her society, for she was a poor, gentle +creature of no spirit, who found little happiness in her lot, since +her lord treated her with scant civility, and her children one after +another sickened and died in their infancy until but two were left. +He scarce remembered her existence when he did not see her face, and +he was certainly not thinking of her this morning, having other things +in view, and yet it so fell out that, while a groom was shortening a +stirrup and being sworn at for his awkwardness, he by accident cast +his eye upward to a chamber window peering out of the thick ivy on the +stone. Doing so he saw an old woman draw back the curtain and +look down upon him as if searching for him with a purpose.</p> +<p>He uttered an exclamation of anger.</p> +<p>“Damnation! Mother Posset again,” he said. +“What does she there, old frump?”</p> +<p>The curtain fell and the woman disappeared, but in a few minutes +more an unheard-of thing happened—among the servants in the hall, +the same old woman appeared making her way with a hurried fretfulness, +and she descended haltingly the stone steps and came to his side where +he sat on his black horse.</p> +<p>“The Devil!” he exclaimed—“what are you here +for? ’Tis not time for another wench upstairs, surely?”</p> +<p>“’Tis not time,” answered the old nurse acidly, +taking her tone from his own. “But there is one, but an hour old, +and my lady—”</p> +<p>“Be damned to her!” quoth Sir Jeoffry savagely. +“A ninth one—and ’tis nine too many. ’Tis +more than man can bear. She does it but to spite me.”</p> +<p>“’Tis ill treatment for a gentleman who wants an heir,” +the old woman answered, as disrespectful of his spouse as he was, being +a time-serving crone, and knowing that it paid but poorly to coddle +women who did not as their husbands would have them in the way of offspring. +“It should have been a fine boy, but it is not, and my lady—”</p> +<p>“Damn her puling tricks!” said Sir Jeoffry again, pulling +at his horse’s bit until the beast reared.</p> +<p>“She would not let me rest until I came to you,” said +the nurse resentfully. “She would have you told that she +felt strangely, and before you went forth would have a word with you.”</p> +<p>“I cannot come, and am not in the mood for it if I could,” +was his answer. “What folly does she give way to? +This is the ninth time she hath felt strangely, and I have felt as squeamish +as she—but nine is more than I have patience for.”</p> +<p>“She is light-headed, mayhap,” said the nurse. +“She lieth huddled in a heap, staring and muttering, and she would +leave me no peace till I promised to say to you, ‘For the sake +of poor little Daphne, whom you will sure remember.’ She +pinched my hand and said it again and again.”</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry dragged at his horse’s mouth and swore again.</p> +<p>“She was fifteen then, and had not given me nine yellow-faced +wenches,” he said. “Tell her I had gone a-hunting +and you were too late;” and he struck his big black beast with +the whip, and it bounded away with him, hounds and huntsmen and fellow-roysterers +galloping after, his guests, who had caught at the reason of his wrath, +grinning as they rode.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In a huge chamber hung with tattered tapestries and barely set forth +with cumbersome pieces of furnishing, my lady lay in a gloomy, canopied +bed, with her new-born child at her side, but not looking at or touching +it, seeming rather to have withdrawn herself from the pillow on which +it lay in its swaddling-clothes.</p> +<p>She was but a little lady, and now, as she lay in the large bed, +her face and form shrunken and drawn with suffering, she looked scarce +bigger than a child. In the brief days of her happiness those +who toasted her had called her Titania for her fairy slightness and +delicate beauty, but then her fair wavy locks had been of a length that +touched the ground when her woman unbound them, and she had had the +colour of a wild rose and the eyes of a tender little fawn. Sir +Jeoffry for a month or so had paid tempestuous court to her, and had +so won her heart with his dashing way of love-making and the daringness +of his reputation, that she had thought herself—being child enough +to think so—the luckiest young lady in the world that his black +eye should have fallen upon her with favour. Each year since, +with the bearing of each child, she had lost some of her beauty. +With each one her lovely hair fell out still more, her wild-rose colour +faded, and her shape was spoiled. She grew thin and yellow, only +a scant covering of the fair hair was left her, and her eyes were big +and sunken. Her marriage having displeased her family, and Sir +Jeoffry having a distaste for the ceremonies of visiting and entertainment, +save where his own cronies were concerned, she had no friends, and grew +lonelier and lonelier as the sad years went by. She being so without +hope and her life so dreary, her children were neither strong nor beautiful, +and died quickly, each one bringing her only the anguish of birth and +death. This wintry morning her ninth lay slumbering by her side; +the noise of baying dogs and boisterous men had died away with the last +sound of the horses’ hoofs; the little light which came into the +room through the ivied window was a faint yellowish red; she was cold, +because the fire in the chimney was but a scant, failing one; she was +alone—and she knew that the time had come for her death. +This she knew full well.</p> +<p>She was alone, because, being so disrespected and deserted by her +lord, and being of a timid and gentle nature, she could not command +her insufficient retinue of servants, and none served her as was their +duty. The old woman Sir Jeoffry had dubbed Mother Posset had been +her sole attendant at such times as these for the past five years, because +she would come to her for a less fee than a better woman, and Sir Jeoffry +had sworn he would not pay for wenches being brought into the world. +She was a slovenly, guzzling old crone, who drank caudle from morning +till night, and demanded good living as a support during the performance +of her trying duties; but these last she contrived to make wondrous +light, knowing that there was none to reprove her.</p> +<p>“A fine night I have had,” she had grumbled when she +brought back Sir Jeoffry’s answer to her lady’s message. +“My old bones are like to break, and my back will not straighten +itself. I will go to the kitchen to get victuals and somewhat +to warm me; your ladyship’s own woman shall sit with you.”</p> +<p>Her ladyship’s “own woman” was also the sole attendant +of the two little girls, Barbara and Anne, whose nursery was in another +wing of the house, and my lady knew full well she would not come if +she were told, and that there would be no message sent to her.</p> +<p>She knew, too, that the fire was going out, but, though she shivered +under the bed-clothes, she was too weak to call the woman back when +she saw her depart without putting fresh fuel upon it.</p> +<p>So she lay alone, poor lady, and there was no sound about her, and +her thin little mouth began to feebly quiver, and her great eyes, which +stared at the hangings, to fill with slow cold tears, for in sooth they +were not warm, but seemed to chill her poor cheeks as they rolled slowly +down them, leaving a wet streak behind them which she was too far gone +in weakness to attempt to lift her hand to wipe away.</p> +<p>“Nine times like this,” she panted faintly, “and +’tis for naught but oaths and hard words that blame me. +I was but a child myself and he loved me. When ’twas ‘My +Daphne,’ and ‘My beauteous little Daphne,’ he loved +me in his own man’s way. But now—” she faintly +rolled her head from side to side. “Women are poor things”—a +chill salt tear sliding past her lips so that she tasted its bitterness—“only +to be kissed for an hour, and then like this—only for this and +nothing else. I would that this one had been dead.”</p> +<p>Her breath came slower and more pantingly, and her eyes stared more +widely.</p> +<p>“I was but a child,” she whispered—“a child—as—as +this will be—if she lives fifteen years.”</p> +<p>Despite her weakness, and it was great and woefully increasing with +each panting breath, she slowly laboured to turn herself towards the +pillow on which her offspring lay, and, this done, she lay staring at +the child and gasping, her thin chest rising and falling convulsively. +Ah, how she panted, and how she stared, the glaze of death stealing +slowly over her wide-opened eyes; and yet, dimming as they were, they +saw in the sleeping infant a strange and troublous thing—though +it was but a few hours old ’twas not as red and crumple visaged +as new-born infants usually are, its little head was covered with thick +black silk, and its small features were of singular definiteness. +She dragged herself nearer to gaze.</p> +<p>“She looks not like the others,” she said. “They +had no beauty—and are safe. She—she will be like—Jeoffry—and +like <i>me</i>.”</p> +<p>The dying fire fell lower with a shuddering sound.</p> +<p>“If she is—beautiful, and has but her father, and no +mother!” she whispered, the words dragged forth slowly, “only +evil can come to her. From her first hour—she will know +naught else, poor heart, poor heart!”</p> +<p>There was a rattling in her throat as she breathed, but in her glazing +eyes a gleam like passion leaped, and gasping, she dragged nearer.</p> +<p>“’Tis not fair,” she cried. “If I—if +I could lay my hand upon thy mouth—and stop thy breathing—thou +poor thing, ’twould be fairer—but—I have no strength.”</p> +<p>She gathered all her dying will and brought her hand up to the infant’s +mouth. A wild look was on her poor, small face, she panted and +fell forward on its breast, the rattle in her throat growing louder. +The child awakened, opening great black eyes, and with her dying weakness +its new-born life struggled. Her cold hand lay upon its mouth, +and her head upon its body, for she was too far gone to move if she +had willed to do so. But the tiny creature’s strength was +marvellous. It gasped, it fought, its little limbs struggled beneath +her, it writhed until the cold hand fell away, and then, its baby mouth +set free, it fell a-shrieking. Its cries were not like those of +a new-born thing, but fierce and shrill, and even held the sound of +infant passion. ’Twas not a thing to let its life go easily, +’twas of those born to do battle.</p> +<p>Its lusty screaming pierced her ear perhaps—she drew a long, +slow breath, and then another, and another still—the last one +trembled and stopped short, and the last cinder fell dead from the fire.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>When the nurse came bustling and fretting back, the chamber was cold +as the grave’s self—there were only dead embers on the hearth, +the new-born child’s cries filled all the desolate air, and my +lady was lying stone dead, her poor head resting on her offspring’s +feet, the while her open glazed eyes seemed to stare at it as if in +asking Fate some awful question.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II—In which Sir Jeoffry encounters his offspring</h2> +<p>In a remote wing of the house, in barren, ill-kept rooms, the poor +infants of the dead lady had struggled through their brief lives, and +given them up, one after the other. Sir Jeoffry had not wished +to see them, nor had he done so, but upon the rarest occasions, and +then nearly always by some untoward accident. The six who had +died, even their mother had scarcely wept for; her weeping had been +that they should have been fated to come into the world, and when they +went out of it she knew she need not mourn their going as untimely. +The two who had not perished, she had regarded sadly day by day, seeing +they had no beauty and that their faces promised none. Naught +but great beauty would have excused their existence in their father’s +eyes, as beauty might have helped them to good matches which would have +rid him of them. But ’twas the sad ill fortune of the children +Anne and Barbara to have been treated by Nature in a way but niggardly. +They were pale young misses, with insignificant faces and snub noses, +resembling an aunt who died a spinster, as they themselves seemed most +likely to. Sir Jeoffry could not bear the sight of them, and they +fled at the sound of his footsteps, if it so happened that by chance +they heard it, huddling together in corners, and slinking behind doors +or anything big enough to hide them. They had no playthings and +no companions and no pleasures but such as the innocent invention of +childhood contrives for itself.</p> +<p>After their mother’s death a youth desolate and strange indeed +lay before them. A spinster who was a poor relation was the only +person of respectable breeding who ever came near them. To save +herself from genteel starvation, she had offered herself for the place +of governess to them, though she was fitted for the position neither +by education nor character. Mistress Margery Wimpole was a poor, +dull creature, having no wilful harm in her, but endowed with neither +dignity nor wit. She lived in fear of Sir Jeoffry, and in fear +of the servants, who knew full well that she was an humble dependant, +and treated her as one. She hid away with her pupils in +the bare school-room in the west wing, and taught them to spell and +write and work samplers. She herself knew no more.</p> +<p>The child who had cost her mother her life had no happier prospect +than her sisters. Her father felt her more an intruder than they +had been, he being of the mind that to house and feed and clothe, howsoever +poorly, these three burdens on him was a drain scarcely to be borne. +His wife had been a toast and not a fortune, and his estate not being +great, he possessed no more than his drinking, roystering, and gambling +made full demands upon.</p> +<p>The child was baptized Clorinda, and bred, so to speak, from her +first hour, in the garret and the servants’ hall. Once only +did her father behold her during her infancy, which event was a mere +accident, as he had expressed no wish to see her, and only came upon +her in the nurse’s arms some weeks after her mother’s death. +’Twas quite by chance. The woman, who was young and buxom, +had begun an intrigue with a groom, and having a mind to see him, was +crossing the stable-yard, carrying her charge with her, when Sir Jeoffry +came by to visit a horse.</p> +<p>The woman came plump upon him, entering a stable as he came out of +it; she gave a frightened start, and almost let the child drop, at which +it set up a strong, shrill cry, and thus Sir Jeoffry saw it, and seeing +it, was thrown at once into a passion which expressed itself after the +manner of all his emotion, and left the nurse quaking with fear.</p> +<p>“Thunder and damnation!” he exclaimed, as he strode away +after the encounter; “’tis the ugliest yet. A yellow-faced +girl brat, with eyes like an owl’s in an ivy-bush, and with a +voice like a very peacocks. Another mawking, plain slut that no +man will take off my hands.”</p> +<p>He did not see her again for six years. But little wit was +needed to learn that ’twas best to keep her out of his sight, +as her sisters were kept, and this was done without difficulty, as he +avoided the wing of the house where the children lived, as if it were +stricken with the plague.</p> +<p>But the child Clorinda, it seemed, was of lustier stock than her +older sisters, and this those about her soon found out to their grievous +disturbance. When Mother Posset had drawn her from under her dead +mother’s body she had not left shrieking for an hour, but had +kept up her fierce cries until the roof rang with them, and the old +woman had jogged her about and beat her back in the hopes of stifling +her, until she was exhausted and dismayed. For the child would +not be stilled, and seemed to have such strength and persistence in +her as surely infant never showed before.</p> +<p>“Never saw I such a brat among all I have brought into the +world,” old Posset quavered. “She hath the voice of +a six-months boy. It cracks my very ears. Hush thee, then, +thou little wild cat.”</p> +<p>This was but the beginning. From the first she grew apace, +and in a few months was a bouncing infant, with a strong back, and a +power to make herself heard such as had not before appeared in the family. +When she desired a thing, she yelled and roared with such a vigour as +left no peace for any creature about her until she was humoured, and +this being the case, rather than have their conversation and love-making +put a stop to, the servants gave her her way. In this they but +followed the example of their betters, of whom we know that it is not +to the most virtuous they submit or to the most learned, but to those +who, being crossed, can conduct themselves in a manner so disagreeable, +shrewish or violent, that life is a burden until they have their will. +This the child Clorinda had the infant wit to discover early, and having +once discovered it, she never ceased to take advantage of her knowledge. +Having found in the days when her one desire was pap, that she had but +to roar lustily enough to find it beside her in her porringer, she tried +the game upon all other occasions. When she had reached but a +twelvemonth, she stood stoutly upon her little feet, and beat her sisters +to gain their playthings, and her nurse for wanting to change her smock. +She was so easily thrown into furies, and so raged and stamped in her +baby way that she was a sight to behold, and the men-servants found +amusement in badgering her. To set Mistress Clorinda in their +midst on a winter’s night when they were dull, and to torment +her until her little face grew scarlet with the blood which flew up +into it, and she ran from one to the other beating them and screaming +like a young spitfire, was among them a favourite entertainment.</p> +<p>“Ifackens!” said the butler one night, “but she +is as like Sir Jeoffry in her temper as one pea is like another. +Ay, but she grows blood red just as he does, and curses in her little +way as he does in man’s words among his hounds in their kennel.”</p> +<p>“And she will be of his build, too,” said the housekeeper. +“What mishap changed her to a maid instead of a boy, I know not. +She would have made a strapping heir. She has the thigh and shoulders +of a handsome man-child at this hour, and she is not three years old.”</p> +<p>“Sir Jeoffry missed his mark when he called her an ugly brat,” +said the woman who had nursed her. “She will be a handsome +woman—though large in build, it may be. She will be a brown +beauty, but she will have a colour in her cheeks and lips like the red +of Christmas holly, and her owl’s eyes are as black as sloes, +and have fringes on them like the curtains of a window. See how +her hair grows thick on her little head, and how it curls in great rings. +My lady, her poor mother, was once a beauty, but she was no such beauty +as this one will be, for she has her father’s long limbs and fine +shoulders, and the will to make every man look her way.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the housekeeper, who was an elderly woman, +“there will be doings—there will be doings when she is a +ripe young maid. She will take her way, and God grant she mayn’t +be <i>too</i> like her father and follow his.”</p> +<p>It was true that she had no resemblance to her plain sisters, and +bore no likeness to them in character. The two elder children, +Anne and Barbara, were too meek-spirited to be troublesome; but during +Clorinda’s infancy Mistress Margery Wimpole watched her rapid +growth with fear and qualms. She dare not reprove the servants +who were ruining her by their treatment, and whose manners were forming +her own. Sir Jeoffry’s servants were no more moral than +their master, and being brought up as she was among them, their young +mistress became strangely familiar with many sights and sounds it is +not the fortune of most young misses of breeding to see and hear. +The cooks and kitchen-wenches were flighty with the grooms and men-servants, +and little Mistress Clorinda, having a passion for horses and dogs, +spent many an hour in the stables with the women who, for reasons of +their own, were pleased enough to take her there as an excuse for seeking +amusement for themselves. She played in the kennels and among +the horses’ heels, and learned to use oaths as roundly as any +Giles or Tom whose work was to wield the curry comb. It was indeed +a curious thing to hear her red baby mouth pour forth curses and unseemly +words as she would at any one who crossed her. Her temper and +hot-headedness carried all before them, and the grooms and stable-boys +found great sport in the language my young lady used in her innocent +furies. But balk her in a whim, and she would pour forth the eloquence +of a fish-wife or a lady of easy virtue in a pot-house quarrel. +There was no human creature near her who had mind or heart enough to +see the awfulness of her condition, or to strive to teach her to check +her passions; and in the midst of these perilous surroundings the little +virago grew handsomer and of finer carriage every hour, as if on the +rank diet that fed her she throve and flourished.</p> +<p>There came a day at last when she had reached six years old, when +by a trick of chance a turn was given to the wheel of her fate.</p> +<p>She had not reached three when a groom first set her on a horse’s +back and led her about the stable-yard, and she had so delighted in +her exalted position, and had so shouted for pleasure and clutched her +steed’s rein and clucked at him, that her audience had looked +on with roars of laughter. From that time she would be put up +every day, and as time went on showed such unchildish courage and spirit +that she furnished to her servant companions a new pastime. Soon +she would not be held on, but riding astride like a boy, would sit up +as straight as a man and swear at her horse, beating him with her heels +and little fists if his pace did not suit her. She knew no fear, +and would have used a whip so readily that the men did not dare to trust +her with one, and knew they must not mount her on a steed too mettlesome. +By the time she passed her sixth birthday she could ride as well as +a grown man, and was as familiar with her father’s horses as he +himself, though he knew nothing of the matter, it being always contrived +that she should be out of sight when he visited his hunters.</p> +<p>It so chanced that the horse he rode the oftenest was her favourite, +and many were the tempests of rage she fell into when she went to the +stable to play with the animal and did not find him in his stall, because +his master had ordered him out. At such times she would storm +at the men in the stable-yard and call them ill names for their impudence +in letting the beast go, which would cause them great merriment, as +she knew nothing of who the man was who had balked her, since she was, +in truth, not so much as conscious of her father’s existence, +never having seen or even heard more of him than his name, which she +in no manner connected with herself.</p> +<p>“Could Sir Jeoffry himself but once see and hear her when she +storms at us and him, because he dares to ride his own beast,” +one of the older men said once, in the midst of their laughter, “I +swear he would burst forth laughing and be taken with her impudent spirit, +her temper is so like his own. She is his own flesh and blood, +and as full of hell-fire as he.”</p> +<p>Upon this morning which proved eventful to her, she had gone to the +stables, as was her daily custom, and going into the stall where the +big black horse was wont to stand, she found it empty. Her spirit +rose hot within her in the moment. She clenched her fists, and +began to stamp and swear in such a manner as it would be scarce fitting +to record.</p> +<p>“Where is he now?” she cried. “He is my own +horse, and shall not be ridden. Who is the man who takes him? +Who? Who?”</p> +<p>“’Tis a fellow who hath no manners,” said the man +she stormed at, grinning and thrusting his tongue in his cheek. +“He says ’tis his beast, and not yours, and he will have +him when he chooses.”</p> +<p>“’Tis not his—’tis mine!” shrieked +Miss, her little face inflamed with passion. “I will kill +him! ’Tis my horse. He <i>shall</i> be mine!”</p> +<p>For a while the men tormented her, to hear her rave and see her passion, +for, in truth, the greater tempest she was in, the better she was worth +beholding, having a colour so rich, and eyes so great and black and +flaming. At such times there was naught of the feminine in her, +and indeed always she looked more like a handsome boy than a girl, her +growth being for her age extraordinary. At length a lad who was +a helper said to mock her—</p> +<p>“The man hath him at the door before the great steps now. +I saw him stand there waiting but a moment ago. The man hath gone +in the house.”</p> +<p>She turned and ran to find him. The front part of the house +she barely knew the outside of, as she was kept safely in the west wing +and below stairs, and when taken out for the air was always led privately +by a side way—never passing through the great hall, where her +father might chance to encounter her.</p> +<p>She knew best this side-entrance, and made her way to it, meaning +to search until she found the front. She got into the house, and +her spirit being roused, marched boldly through corridors and into rooms +she had never seen before, and being so mere a child, notwithstanding +her strange wilfulness and daring, the novelty of the things she saw +so far distracted her mind from the cause of her anger that she stopped +more than once to stare up at a portrait on a wall, or to take in her +hand something she was curious concerning.</p> +<p>When she at last reached the entrance-hall, coming into it through +a door she pushed open, using all her childish strength, she stood in +the midst of it and gazed about her with a new curiosity and pleasure. +It was a fine place, with antlers, and arms, and foxes’ brushes +hung upon the walls, and with carved panels of black oak, and oaken +floor and furnishings. All in it was disorderly and showed rough +usage; but once it had been a notable feature of the house, and well +worth better care than had been bestowed upon it. She discovered +on the walls many trophies that attracted her, but these she could not +reach, and could only gaze and wonder at; but on an old oaken settle +she found some things she could lay hands on, and forthwith seized and +sat down upon the floor to play with them. One of them was a hunting-crop, +which she brandished grandly, until she was more taken with a powder-flask +which it so happened her father, Sir Jeoffry, had lain down but a few +minutes before, in passing through. He was going forth coursing, +and had stepped into the dining-hall to toss off a bumper of brandy.</p> +<p>When he had helped himself from the buffet, and came back in haste, +the first thing he clapped eyes on was his offspring pouring forth the +powder from his flask upon the oaken floor. He had never seen +her since that first occasion after the unfortunate incident of her +birth, and beholding a child wasting his good powder at the moment he +most wanted it and had no time to spare, and also not having had it +recalled to his mind for years that he was a parent, except when he +found himself forced reluctantly to pay for some small need, he beheld +in the young offender only some impudent servant’s brat, who had +strayed into his domain and applied itself at once to mischief.</p> +<p>He sprang upon her, and seizing her by the arm, whirled her to her +feet with no little violence, snatching the powder-flask from her, and +dealing her a sound box on the ear.</p> +<p>“Blood and damnation on thee, thou impudent little baggage!” +he shouted. “I’ll break thy neck for thee, little +scurvy beast;” and pulled the bell as he were like to break the +wire.</p> +<p>But he had reckoned falsely on what he dealt with. Miss uttered +a shriek of rage which rang through the roof like a clarion. She +snatched the crop from the floor, rushed at him, and fell upon him like +a thousand little devils, beating his big legs with all the strength +of her passion, and pouring forth oaths such as would have done credit +to Doll Lightfoot herself.</p> +<p>“Damn <i>thee</i>!—damn <i>thee</i>!”—she +roared and screamed, flogging him. “I’ll tear thy +eyes out! I’ll cut thy liver from thee! Damn thy soul +to hell!”</p> +<p>And this choice volley was with such spirit and fury poured forth, +that Sir Jeoffry let his hand drop from the bell, fell into a great +burst of laughter, and stood thus roaring while she beat him and shrieked +and stormed.</p> +<p>The servants, hearing the jangled bell, attracted by the tumult, +and of a sudden missing Mistress Clorinda, ran in consternation to the +hall, and there beheld this truly pretty sight—Miss beating her +father’s legs, and tearing at him tooth and nail, while he stood +shouting with laughter as if he would split his sides.</p> +<p>“Who is the little cockatrice?” he cried, the tears streaming +down his florid cheeks. “Who is the young she-devil? +Ods bodikins, who is she?”</p> +<p>For a second or so the servants stared at each other aghast, not +knowing what to say, or venturing to utter a word; and then the nurse, +who had come up panting, dared to gasp forth the truth.</p> +<p>“’Tis Mistress Clorinda, Sir Jeoffry,” she stammered—“my +lady’s last infant—the one of whom she died in childbed.”</p> +<p>His big laugh broke in two, as one might say. He looked down +at the young fury and stared. She was out of breath with beating +him, and had ceased and fallen back apace, and was staring up at him +also, breathing defiance and hatred. Her big black eyes were flames, +her head was thrown up and back, her cheeks were blood scarlet, and +her great crop of crow-black hair stood out about her beauteous, wicked +little virago face, as if it might change into Medusa’s snakes.</p> +<p>“Damn thee!” she shrieked at him again. “I’ll +kill thee, devil!”</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry broke into his big laugh afresh.</p> +<p>“Clorinda do they call thee, wench?” he said. “Jeoffry +thou shouldst have been but for thy mother’s folly. A fiercer +little devil for thy size I never saw—nor a handsomer one.”</p> +<p>And he seized her from where she stood, and held her at his big arms’ +length, gazing at her uncanny beauty with looks that took her in from +head to foot.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—Wherein Sir Jeoffry’s boon companions drink +a toast</h2> +<p>Her beauty of face, her fine body, her strength of limb, and great +growth for her age, would have pleased him if she had possessed no other +attraction, but the daring of her fury and her stable-boy breeding so +amused him and suited his roystering tastes that he took to her as the +finest plaything in the world.</p> +<p>He set her on the floor, forgetting his coursing, and would have +made friends with her, but at first she would have none of him, and +scowled at him in spite of all he did. The brandy by this time +had mounted to his head and put him in the mood for frolic, liquor oftenest +making him gamesome. He felt as if he were playing with a young +dog or marking the spirit of a little fighting cock. He ordered +the servants back to their kitchen, who stole away, the women amazed, +and the men concealing grins which burst forth into guffaws of laughter +when they came into their hall below.</p> +<p>“’Tis as we said,” they chuckled. “He +had but to see her beauty and find her a bigger devil than he, and ’twas +done. The mettle of her—damning and flogging him! +Never was there a finer sight! She feared him no more than if +he had been a spaniel—and he roaring and laughing till he was +like to burst.”</p> +<p>“Dost know who I am?” Sir Jeoffry was asking the child, +grinning himself as he stood before her where she sat on the oaken settle +on which he had lifted her.</p> +<p>“No,” quoth little Mistress, her black brows drawn down, +her handsome owl’s eyes verily seeming to look him through and +through in search of somewhat; for, in sooth, her rage abating before +his jovial humour, the big burly laugher attracted her attention, though +she was not disposed to show him that she leaned towards any favour +or yielding.</p> +<p>“I am thy Dad,” he said. “’Twas thy +Dad thou gavest such a trouncing. And thou hast an arm, too. +Let’s cast an eye on it.”</p> +<p>He took her wrist and pushed up her sleeve, but she dragged back.</p> +<p>“Will not be mauled,” she cried. “Get away +from me!”</p> +<p>He shouted with laughter again. He had seen that the little +arm was as white and hard as marble, and had such muscles as a great +boy might have been a braggart about.</p> +<p>“By Gad!” he said, elated. “What a wench +of six years old. Wilt have my crop and trounce thy Dad again!”</p> +<p>He picked up the crop from the place where she had thrown it, and +forthwith gave it in her hand. She took it, but was no more in +the humour to beat him, and as she looked still frowning from him to +the whip, the latter brought back to her mind the horse she had set +out in search of.</p> +<p>“Where is my horse?” she said, and ’twas in the +tone of an imperial demand. “Where is he?”</p> +<p>“Thy horse!” he echoed. “Which is thy horse +then?”</p> +<p>“Rake is my horse,” she answered—“the big +black one. The man took him again;” and she ripped out a +few more oaths and unchaste expressions, threatening what she would +do for the man in question; the which delighted him more than ever. +“Rake is my horse,” she ended. “None else shall +ride him.”</p> +<p>“None else?” cried he. “Thou canst not ride +him, baggage!”</p> +<p>She looked at him with scornful majesty.</p> +<p>“Where is he?” she demanded. And the next instant +hearing the beast’s restless feet grinding into the gravel outside +as he fretted at having been kept waiting so long, she remembered what +the stable-boy had said of having seen her favourite standing before +the door, and struggling and dropping from the settle, she ran to look +out; whereupon having done so, she shouted in triumph.</p> +<p>“He is here!” she said. “I see him;” +and went pell-mell down the stone steps to his side.</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry followed her in haste. ’Twould not have been +to his humour now to have her brains kicked out.</p> +<p>“Hey!” he called, as he hurried. “Keep away +from his heels, thou little devil.”</p> +<p>But she had run to the big beast’s head with another shout, +and caught him round his foreleg, laughing, and Rake bent his head down +and nosed her in a fumbling caress, on which, the bridle coming within +her reach, she seized it and held his head that she might pat him, to +which familiarity the beast was plainly well accustomed.</p> +<p>“He is my horse,” quoth she grandly when her father reached +her. “He will not let Giles play so.”</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry gazed and swelled with pleasure in her.</p> +<p>“Would have said ’twas a lie if I had not seen it,” +he said to himself. “’Tis no girl this, I swear. +I thought ’twas my horse,” he said to her, “but ’tis +plain enough he is thine.”</p> +<p>“Put me up!” said his new-found offspring.</p> +<p>“Hast rid him before?” Sir Jeoffry asked, with some lingering +misgiving. “Tell thy Dad if thou hast rid him.”</p> +<p>She gave him a look askance under her long fringed lids—a surly +yet half-slyly relenting look, because she wanted to get her way of +him, and had the cunning wit and shrewdness of a child witch.</p> +<p>“Ay!” quoth she. “Put me up—Dad!”</p> +<p>He was not a man of quick mind, his brain having been too many years +bemuddled with drink, but he had a rough instinct which showed him all +the wondrous shrewdness of her casting that last word at him to wheedle +him, even though she looked sullen in the saying it. It made him +roar again for very exultation.</p> +<p>“Put me up, Dad!” he cried. “That will I—and +see what thou wilt do.”</p> +<p>He lifted her, she springing as he set his hands beneath her arms, +and flinging her legs over astride across the saddle when she reached +it. She was all fire and excitement, and caught the reins like +an old huntsman, and with such a grasp as was amazing. She sat +up with a straight, strong back, her whole face glowing and sparkling +with exultant joy. Rake seemed to answer to her excited little +laugh almost as much as to her hand. It seemed to wake his spirit +and put him in good-humour. He started off with her down the avenue +at a light, spirited trot, while she, clinging with her little legs +and sitting firm and fearless, made him change into canter and gallop, +having actually learned all his paces like a lesson, and knowing his +mouth as did his groom, who was her familiar and slave. Had she +been of the build ordinary with children of her age, she could not have +stayed upon his back; but she sat him like a child jockey, and Sir Jeoffry, +watching and following her, clapped his hands boisterously and hallooed +for joy.</p> +<p>“Lord, Lord!” he said. “There’s not +a man in the shire has such another little devil—and Rake, ‘her +horse,’” grinning—“and she to ride him so. +I love thee, wench—hang me if I do not!”</p> +<p>She made him play with her and with Rake for a good hour, and then +took him back to the stables, and there ordered him about finely among +the dogs and horses, perceiving that somehow this great man she had +got hold of was a creature who was in power and could be made use of.</p> +<p>When they returned to the house, he had her to eat her mid-day meal +with him, when she called for ale, and drank it, and did good trencher +duty, making him the while roar with laughter at her impudent child-talk.</p> +<p>“Never have I so split my sides since I was twenty,” +he said. “It makes me young again to roar so. She +shall not leave my sight, since by chance I have found her. ’Tis +too good a joke to lose, when times are dull, as they get to be as a +man’s years go on.”</p> +<p>He sent for her woman and laid strange new commands on her.</p> +<p>“Where hath she hitherto been kept?” he asked.</p> +<p>“In the west wing, where are the nurseries, and where Mistress +Wimpole abides with Mistress Barbara and Mistress Anne,” the woman +answered, with a frightened curtsey.</p> +<p>“Henceforth she shall live in this part of the house where +I do,” he said. “Make ready the chambers that were +my lady’s, and prepare to stay there with her.”</p> +<p>From that hour the child’s fate was sealed. He made himself +her playfellow, and romped with and indulged her until she became fonder +of him than of any groom or stable-boy she had been companions with +before. But, indeed, she had never been given to bestowing much +affection on those around her, seeming to feel herself too high a personage +to show softness. The ones she showed most favour to were those +who served her best; and even to them it was always <i>favour</i> she +showed, not tenderness. Certain dogs and horses she was fond of, +Rake coming nearest to her heart, and the place her father won in her +affections was somewhat like to Rake’s. She made him her +servant and tyrannised over him, but at the same time followed and imitated +him as if she had been a young spaniel he was training. The life +the child led, it would have broken a motherly woman’s heart to +hear about; but there was no good woman near her, her mother’s +relatives, and even Sir Jeoffry’s own, having cut themselves off +early from them—Wildairs Hall and its master being no great credit +to those having the misfortune to be connected with them. The +neighbouring gentry had gradually ceased to visit the family some time +before her ladyship’s death, and since then the only guests who +frequented the place were a circle of hunting, drinking, and guzzling +boon companions of Sir Jeoffry’s own, who joined him in all his +carousals and debaucheries.</p> +<p>To these he announced his discovery of his daughter with tumultuous +delight. He told them, amid storms of laughter, of his first encounter +with her; of her flogging him with his own crop, and cursing him like +a trooper; of her claiming Rake as her own horse, and swearing at the +man who had dared to take him from the stable to ride; and of her sitting +him like an infant jockey, and seeming, by some strange power, to have +mastered him as no other had been able heretofore to do. Then +he had her brought into the dining-room, where they sat over their bottles +drinking deep, and setting her on the table, he exhibited her to them, +boasting of her beauty, showing them her splendid arm and leg and thigh, +measuring her height, and exciting her to test the strength of the grip +of her hand and the power of her little fist.</p> +<p>“Saw you ever a wench like her?” he cried, as they all +shouted with laughter and made jokes not too polite, but such as were +of the sole kind they were given to. “Has any man among +you begot a boy as big and handsome? Hang me! if she would not +knock down any lad of ten if she were in a fury.”</p> +<p>“We wild dogs are out of favour with the women,” cried +one of the best pleased among them, a certain Lord Eldershawe, whose +seat was a few miles from Wildairs Hall—“women like nincompoops +and chaplains. Let us take this one for our toast, and bring her +up as girls should be brought up to be companions for men. I give +you, Mistress Clorinda Wildairs—Mistress Clorinda, the enslaver +of six years old—bumpers, lads!—bumpers!”</p> +<p>And they set her in the very midst of the big table and drank her +health, standing, bursting into a jovial, ribald song; and the child, +excited by the noise and laughter, actually broke forth and joined them +in a high, strong treble, the song being one she was quite familiar +with, having heard it often enough in the stable to have learned the +words pat.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Two weeks after his meeting with her, Sir Jeoffry was seized with +the whim to go up to London and set her forth with finery. ’Twas +but rarely he went up to town, having neither money to waste, nor finding +great attraction in the more civilised quarters of the world. +He brought her back such clothes as for richness and odd, unsuitable +fashion child never wore before. There were brocades that stood +alone with splendour of fabric, there was rich lace, fine linen, ribbands, +farthingales, swansdown tippets, and little slippers with high red heels. +He had a wardrobe made for her such as the finest lady of fashion could +scarcely boast, and the tiny creature was decked out in it, and on great +occasions even strung with her dead mother’s jewels.</p> +<p>Among these strange things, he had the fantastical notion to have +made for her several suits of boy’s clothes: pink and blue satin +coats, little white, or amber, or blue satin breeches, ruffles of lace, +and waistcoats embroidered with colours and silver or gold. There +was also a small scarlet-coated hunting costume and all the paraphernalia +of the chase. It was Sir Jeoffry’s finest joke to bid her +woman dress her as a boy, and then he would have her brought to the +table where he and his fellows were dining together, and she would toss +off her little bumper with the best of them, and rip out childish oaths, +and sing them, to their delight, songs she had learned from the stable-boys. +She cared more for dogs and horses than for finery, and when she was +not in the humour to be made a puppet of, neither tirewoman nor devil +could put her into her brocades; but she liked the excitement of the +dining-room, and, as time went on, would be dressed in her flowered +petticoats in a passion of eagerness to go and show herself, and coquet +in her lace and gewgaws with men old enough to be her father, and loose +enough to find her premature airs and graces a fine joke indeed. +She ruled them all with her temper and her shrewish will. She +would have her way in all things, or there should be no sport with her, +and she would sing no songs for them, but would flout them bitterly, +and sit in a great chair with her black brows drawn down, and her whole +small person breathing rancour and disdain.</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry, who had bullied his wife, had now the pleasurable experience +of being henpecked by his daughter; for so, indeed, he was. Miss +ruled him with a rod of iron, and wielded her weapon with such skill +that before a year had elapsed he obeyed her as the servants below stairs +had done in her infancy. She had no fear of his great oaths, for +she possessed a strangely varied stock of her own upon which she could +always draw, and her voice being more shrill than his, if not of such +bigness, her ear-piercing shrieks and indomitable perseverance always +proved too much for him in the end. It must be admitted likewise +that her violence of temper and power of will were somewhat beyond his +own, notwithstanding her tender years and his reputation. In fact, +he found himself obliged to observe this, and finally made something +of a merit and joke of it.</p> +<p>“There is no managing of the little shrew,” he would +say. “Neither man nor devil can bend or break her. +If I smashed every bone in her carcass, she would die shrieking hell +at me and defiance.”</p> +<p>If one admits the truth, it must be owned that if she had not had +bestowed upon her by nature gifts of beauty and vivacity so extraordinary, +and had been cursed with a thousandth part of the vixenishness she displayed +every day of her life, he would have broken every bone in her carcass +without a scruple or a qualm. But her beauty seemed but to grow +with every hour that passed, and it was by exceeding good fortune exactly +the fashion of beauty which he admired the most. When she attained +her tenth year she was as tall as a fine boy of twelve, and of such +a shape and carriage as young Diana herself might have envied. +Her limbs were long, and most divinely moulded, and of a strength that +caused admiration and amazement in all beholders. Her father taught +her to follow him in the hunting-field, and when she appeared upon her +horse, clad in her little breeches and top-boots and scarlet coat, child +though she was, she set the field on fire. She learned full early +how to coquet and roll her fine eyes; but it is also true that she was +not much of a languisher, as all her ogling was of a destructive or +proudly-attacking kind. It was her habit to leave others to languish, +and herself to lead them with disdainful vivacity to doing so. +She was the talk, and, it must be admitted, the scandal, of the county +by the day she was fifteen. The part wherein she lived was a boisterous +hunting shire where there were wide ditches and high hedges to leap, +and rough hills and moors to gallop over, and within the region neither +polite life nor polite education were much thought of; but even in the +worst portions of it there were occasional virtuous matrons who shook +their heads with much gravity and wonder over the beautiful Mistress +Clorinda.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV—Lord Twemlow’s chaplain visits his patron’s +kinsman, and Mistress Clorinda shines on her birthday night</h2> +<p>Uncivilised and almost savage as her girlish life was, and unregulated +by any outward training as was her mind, there were none who came in +contact with her who could be blind to a certain strong, clear wit, +and unconquerableness of purpose, for which she was remarkable. +She ever knew full well what she desired to gain or to avoid, and once +having fixed her mind upon any object, she showed an adroitness and +brilliancy of resource, a control of herself and others, the which there +was no circumventing. She never made a blunder because she could +not control the expression of her emotions; and when she gave way to +a passion, ’twas because she chose to do so, having naught to +lose, and in the midst of all their riotous jesting with her the boon +companions of Sir Jeoffry knew this.</p> +<p>“Had she a secret to keep, child though she is,” said +Eldershawe, “there is none—man or woman—who could +scare or surprise it from her; and ’tis a strange quality to note +so early in a female creature.”</p> +<p>She spent her days with her father and his dissolute friends, treated +half like a boy, half a fantastical queen, until she was fourteen. +She hunted and coursed, shot birds, leaped hedges and ditches, reigned +at the riotous feastings, and coquetted with these mature, and in some +cases elderly, men, as if she looked forward to doing naught else all +her life.</p> +<p>But one day, after she had gone out hunting with her father, riding +Rake, who had been given to her, and wearing her scarlet coat, breeches, +and top-boots, one of the few remaining members of her mother’s +family sent his chaplain to remonstrate and advise her father to command +her to forbear from appearing in such impudent attire.</p> +<p>There was, indeed, a stirring scene when this message was delivered +by its bearer. The chaplain was an awkward, timid creature, who +had heard stories enough of Wildairs Hall and its master to undertake +his mission with a quaking soul. To have refused to obey any behest +of his patron would have cost him his living, and knowing this beyond +a doubt, he was forced to gird up his loins and gather together all +the little courage he could muster to beard the lion in his den.</p> +<p>The first thing he beheld on entering the big hall was a beautiful +tall youth wearing his own rich black hair, and dressed in scarlet coat +for hunting. He was playing with a dog, making it leap over his +crop, and both laughing and swearing at its clumsiness. He glanced +at the chaplain with a laughing, brilliant eye, returning the poor man’s +humble bow with a slight nod as he plainly hearkened to what he said +as he explained his errand.</p> +<p>“I come from my Lord Twemlow, who is your master’s kinsman,” +the chaplain faltered; “I am bidden to see and speak to him if +it be possible, and his lordship much desires that Sir Jeoffry will +allow it to be so. My Lord Twemlow—”</p> +<p>The beautiful youth left his playing with the dog and came forward +with all the air of the young master of the house.</p> +<p>“My Lord Twemlow sends you?” he said. “’Tis +long since his lordship favoured us with messages. Where is Sir +Jeoffry, Lovatt?”</p> +<p>“In the dining-hall,” answered the servant. “He +went there but a moment past, Mistress.”</p> +<p>The chaplain gave such a start as made him drop his shovel hat. +“Mistress!” And this was she—this fine young +creature who was tall and grandly enough built and knit to seem a radiant +being even when clad in masculine attire. He picked up his hat +and bowed so low that it almost swept the floor in his obeisance. +He was not used to female beauty which deigned to cast great smiling +eyes upon him, for at my Lord Twemlow’s table he sat so far below +the salt that women looked not his way.</p> +<p>This beauty looked at him as if she was amused at the thought of +something in her own mind. He wondered tremblingly if she guessed +what he came for and knew how her father would receive it.</p> +<p>“Come with me,” she said; “I will take you to him. +He would not see you if I did not. He does not love his lordship +tenderly enough.”</p> +<p>She led the way, holding her head jauntily and high, while he cast +down his eyes lest his gaze should be led to wander in a way unseemly +in one of his cloth. Such a foot and such—! He felt +it more becoming and safer to lift his eyes to the ceiling and keep +them there, which gave him somewhat the aspect of one praying.</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry stood at the buffet with a flagon of ale in his hand, +taking his stirrup cup. At the sight of a stranger and one attired +in the garb of a chaplain, he scowled surprisedly.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” quoth he. “What dost +want, Clo? I have no leisure for a sermon.”</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda went to the buffet and filled a tankard for herself +and carried it back to the table, on the edge of which she half sat, +with one leg bent, one foot resting on the floor.</p> +<p>“Time thou wilt have to take, Dad,” she said, with an +arch grin, showing two rows of gleaming pearls. “This gentleman +is my Lord Twemlow’s chaplain, whom he sends to exhort you, requesting +you to have the civility to hear him.”</p> +<p>“Exhort be damned, and Twemlow be damned too!” cried +Sir Jeoffry, who had a great quarrel with his lordship and hated him +bitterly. “What does the canting fool mean?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” faltered the poor message-bearer, “his lordship +hath—hath been concerned—having heard—”</p> +<p>The handsome creature balanced against the table took the tankard +from her lips and laughed.</p> +<p>“Having heard thy daughter rides to field in breeches, and +is an unseemly-behaving wench,” she cried, “his lordship +sends his chaplain to deliver a discourse thereon—not choosing +to come himself. Is not that thy errand, reverend sir?”</p> +<p>The chaplain, poor man, turned pale, having caught, as she spoke, +a glimpse of Sir Jeoffry’s reddening visage.</p> +<p>“Madam,” he faltered, bowing—“Madam, I ask +pardon of you most humbly! If it were your pleasure to deign to—to—allow +me—”</p> +<p>She set the tankard on the table with a rollicking smack, and thrust +her hands in her breeches-pockets, swaying with laughter; and, indeed, +’twas ringing music, her rich great laugh, which, when she grew +of riper years, was much lauded and written verses on by her numerous +swains.</p> +<p>“If ’twere my pleasure to go away and allow you to speak, +free from the awkwardness of a young lady’s presence,” she +said. “But ’tis not, as it happens, and if I stay +here, I shall be a protection.”</p> +<p>In truth, he required one. Sir Jeoffry broke into a torrent +of blasphemy. He damned both kinsman and chaplain, and raged at +the impudence of both in daring to approach him, swearing to horsewhip +my lord if they ever met, and to have the chaplain kicked out of the +house, and beyond the park gates themselves. But Mistress Clorinda +chose to make it her whim to take it in better humour, and as a joke +with a fine point to it. She laughed at her father’s storming, +and while the chaplain quailed before it with pallid countenance and +fairly hang-dog look, she seemed to find it but a cause for outbursts +of merriment.</p> +<p>“Hold thy tongue a bit, Dad,” she cried, when he had +reached his loudest, “and let his reverence tell us what his message +is. We have not even heard it.”</p> +<p>“Want not to hear it!” shouted Sir Jeoffry. “Dost +think I’ll stand his impudence? Not I!”</p> +<p>“What was your message?” demanded the young lady of the +chaplain. “You cannot return without delivering it. +Tell it to me. <i>I</i> choose it shall be told.”</p> +<p>The chaplain clutched and fumbled with his hat, pale, and dropping +his eyes upon the floor, for very fear.</p> +<p>“Pluck up thy courage, man,” said Clorinda. “I +will uphold thee. The message?”</p> +<p>“Your pardon, Madam—’twas this,” the chaplain +faltered. “My lord commanded me to warn your honoured father—that +if he did not beg you to leave off wearing—wearing—”</p> +<p>“Breeches,” said Mistress Clorinda, slapping her knee.</p> +<p>The chaplain blushed with modesty, though he was a man of sallow +countenance.</p> +<p>“No gentleman,” he went on, going more lamely at each +word—“notwithstanding your great beauty—no gentleman—”</p> +<p>“Would marry me?” the young lady ended for him, with +merciful good-humour.</p> +<p>“For if you—if a young lady be permitted to bear herself +in such a manner as will cause her to be held lightly, she can make +no match that will not be a dishonour to her family—and—and—”</p> +<p>“And may do worse!” quoth Mistress Clo, and laughed until +the room rang.</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry’s rage was such as made him like to burst; but +she restrained him when he would have flung his tankard at the chaplain’s +head, and amid his storm of curses bundled the poor man out of the room, +picking up his hat which in his hurry and fright he let fall, and thrusting +it into his hand.</p> +<p>“Tell his lordship,” she said, laughing still as she +spoke the final words, “that I say he is right—and I will +see to it that no disgrace befalls him.”</p> +<p>“Forsooth, Dad,” she said, returning, “perhaps +the old son of a—”—something unmannerly—“is +not so great a fool. As for me, I mean to make a fine marriage +and be a great lady, and I know of none hereabouts to suit me but the +old Earl of Dunstanwolde, and ’tis said he rates at all but modest +women, and, in faith, he might not find breeches mannerly. I will +not hunt in them again.”</p> +<p>She did not, though once or twice when she was in a wild mood, and +her father entertained at dinner those of his companions whom she was +the most inclined to, she swaggered in among them in her daintiest suits +of male attire, and caused their wine-shot eyes to gloat over her boyish-maiden +charms and jaunty airs and graces.</p> +<p>On the night of her fifteenth birthday Sir Jeoffry gave a great dinner +to his boon companions and hers. She had herself commanded that +there should be no ladies at the feast; for she chose to announce that +she should appear at no more such, having the wit to see that she was +too tall a young lady for childish follies, and that she had now arrived +at an age when her market must be made.</p> +<p>“I shall have women enough henceforth to be dull with,” +she said. “Thou art but a poor match-maker, Dad, or wouldst +have thought of it for me. But not once has it come into thy pate +that I have no mother to angle in my cause and teach me how to cast +sheep’s eyes at bachelors. Long-tailed petticoats from this +time for me, and hoops and patches, and ogling over fans—until +at last, if I play my cards well, some great lord will look my way and +be taken by my shape and my manners.”</p> +<p>“With thy shape, Clo, God knows every man will,” laughed +Sir Jeoffry, “but I fear me not with thy manners. Thou hast +the manners of a baggage, and they are second nature to thee.”</p> +<p>“They are what I was born with,” answered Mistress Clorinda. +“They came from him that begot me, and he has not since improved +them. But now”—making a great sweeping curtsey, her +impudent bright beauty almost dazzling his eyes—“now, after +my birth-night, they will be bettered; but this one night I will have +my last fling.”</p> +<p>When the men trooped into the black oak wainscotted dining-hall on +the eventful night, they found their audacious young hostess awaiting +them in greater and more daring beauty than they had ever before beheld. +She wore knee-breeches of white satin, a pink satin coat embroidered +with silver roses, white silk stockings, and shoes with great buckles +of brilliants, revealing a leg so round and strong and delicately moulded, +and a foot so arched and slender, as surely never before, they swore +one and all, woman had had to display. She met them standing jauntily +astride upon the hearth, her back to the fire, and she greeted each +one as he came with some pretty impudence. Her hair was tied back +and powdered, her black eyes were like lodestars, drawing all men, and +her colour was that of a ripe pomegranate. She had a fine, haughty +little Roman nose, a mouth like a scarlet bow, a wonderful long throat, +and round cleft chin. A dazzling mien indeed she possessed, and +ready enough she was to shine before them. Sir Jeoffry was now +elderly, having been a man of forty when united to his conjugal companion. +Most of his friends were of his own age, so that it had not been with +unripe youth Mistress Clorinda had been in the habit of consorting. +But upon this night a newcomer was among the guests. He was a +young relation of one of the older men, and having come to his kinsman’s +house upon a visit, and having proved himself, in spite of his youth, +to be a young fellow of humour, high courage in the hunting-field, and +by no means averse either to entering upon or discussing intrigue and +gallant adventure, had made himself something of a favourite. +His youthful beauty for a man almost equalled that of Mistress Clorinda +herself. He had an elegant, fine shape, of great strength and +vigour, his countenance was delicately ruddy and handsomely featured, +his curling fair hair flowed loose upon his shoulders, and, though masculine +in mould, his ankle was as slender and his buckled shoe as arched as +her own.</p> +<p>He was, it is true, twenty-four years of age and a man, while she +was but fifteen and a woman, but being so tall and built with such unusual +vigour of symmetry, she was a beauteous match for him, and both being +attired in fashionable masculine habit, these two pretty young fellows +standing smiling saucily at each other were a charming, though singular, +spectacle.</p> +<p>This young man was already well known in the modish world of town +for his beauty and adventurous spirit. He was indeed already a +beau and conqueror of female hearts. It was suspected that he +cherished a private ambition to set the modes in beauties and embroidered +waistcoats himself in time, and be as renowned abroad and as much the +town talk as certain other celebrated beaux had been before him. +The art of ogling tenderly and of uttering soft nothings he had learned +during his first season in town, and as he had a great melting blue +eye, the figure of an Adonis, and a white and shapely hand for a ring, +he was well equipped for conquest. He had darted many an inflaming +glance at Mistress Clorinda before the first meats were removed. +Even in London he had heard a vague rumour of this handsome young woman, +bred among her father’s dogs, horses, and boon companions, and +ripening into a beauty likely to make town faces pale. He had +almost fallen into the spleen on hearing that she had left her boy’s +clothes and vowed she would wear them no more, as above all things he +had desired to see how she carried them and what charms they revealed. +On hearing from his host and kinsman that she had said that on her birth-night +she would bid them farewell for ever by donning them for the last time, +he was consumed with eagerness to obtain an invitation. This his +kinsman besought for him, and, behold! the first glance the beauty shot +at him pierced his inflammable bosom like a dart. Never before +had it been his fortune to behold female charms so dazzling and eyes +of such lustre and young majesty. The lovely baggage had a saucy +way of standing with her white jewelled hands in her pockets like a +pretty fop, and throwing up her little head like a modish beauty who +was of royal blood; and these two tricks alone, he felt, might have +set on fire the heart of a man years older and colder than himself.</p> +<p>If she had been of the order of soft-natured charmers, they would +have fallen into each other’s eyes before the wine was changed; +but this Mistress Clorinda was not. She did not fear to meet the +full battery of his enamoured glances, but she did not choose to return +them. She played her part of the pretty young fellow who was a +high-spirited beauty, with more of wit and fire than she had ever played +it before. The rollicking hunting-squires, who had been her play-fellows +so long, devoured her with their delighted glances and roared with laughter +at her sallies. Their jokes and flatteries were not of the most +seemly, but she had not been bred to seemliness and modesty, and was +no more ignorant than if she had been, in sooth, some gay young springald +of a lad. To her it was part of the entertainment that upon this +last night they conducted themselves as beseemed her boyish masquerading. +Though country-bred, she had lived among companions who were men of +the world and lived without restraints, and she had so far learned from +them that at fifteen years old she was as worldly and as familiar with +the devices of intrigue as she would be at forty. So far she had +not been pushed to practising them, her singular life having thrown +her among few of her own age, and those had chanced to be of a sort +she disdainfully counted as country bumpkins.</p> +<p>But the young gallant introduced to-night into the world she lived +in was no bumpkin, and was a dandy of the town. His name was Sir +John Oxon, and he had just come into his title and a pretty property. +His hands were as white and bejewelled as her own, his habit was of +the latest fashionable cut, and his fair flowing locks scattered a delicate +French perfume she did not even know the name of.</p> +<p>But though she observed all these attractions and found them powerful, +young Sir John remarked, with a slight sinking qualm, that her great +eye did not fall before his amorous glances, but met them with high +smiling readiness, and her colour never blanched or heightened a whit +for all their masterly skilfulness. But he had sworn to himself +that he would approach close enough to her to fire off some fine speech +before the night was ended, and he endeavoured to bear himself with +at least an outward air of patience until he beheld his opportunity.</p> +<p>When the last dish was removed and bottles and bumpers stood upon +the board, she sprang up on her chair and stood before them all, smiling +down the long table with eyes like flashing jewels. Her hands +were thrust in her pockets—with her pretty young fop’s air, +and she drew herself to her full comely height, her beauteous lithe +limbs and slender feet set smartly together. Twenty pairs of masculine +eyes were turned upon her beauty, but none so ardently as the young +one’s across the table.</p> +<p>“Look your last on my fine shape,” she proclaimed in +her high, rich voice. “You will see but little of the lower +part of it when it is hid in farthingales and petticoats. Look +your last before I go to don my fine lady’s furbelows.”</p> +<p>And when they filled their glasses and lifted them and shouted admiring +jests to her, she broke into one of her stable-boy songs, and sang it +in the voice of a skylark.</p> +<p>No man among them was used to showing her the courtesies of polite +breeding. She had been too long a boy to them for that to have +entered any mind, and when she finished her song, sprang down, and made +for the door, Sir John beheld his long-looked-for chance, and was there +before her to open it with a great bow, made with his hand upon his +heart and his fair locks falling.</p> +<p>“You rob us of the rapture of beholding great beauties, Madam,” +he said in a low, impassioned voice. “But there should be +indeed but <i>one</i> happy man whose bliss it is to gaze upon such +perfections.”</p> +<p>“I am fifteen years old to-night,” she answered; “and +as yet I have not set eyes upon him.”</p> +<p>“How do you know that, madam?” he said, bowing lower +still.</p> +<p>She laughed her great rich laugh.</p> +<p>“Forsooth, I do not know,” she retorted. “He +may be here this very night among this company; and as it might be so, +I go to don my modesty.”</p> +<p>And she bestowed on him a parting shot in the shape of one of her +prettiest young fop waves of the hand, and was gone from him.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>When the door closed behind her and Sir John Oxon returned to the +table, for a while a sort of dulness fell upon the party. Not +being of quick minds or sentiments, these country roisterers failed +to understand the heavy cloud of spleen and lack of spirit they experienced, +and as they filled their glasses and tossed off one bumper after another +to cure it, they soon began again to laugh and fell into boisterous +joking.</p> +<p>They talked mostly, indeed, of their young playfellow, of whom they +felt, in some indistinct manner, they were to be bereft; they rallied +Sir Jeoffry, told stories of her childhood and made pictures of her +budding beauties, comparing them with those of young ladies who were +celebrated toasts.</p> +<p>“She will sail among them like a royal frigate,” said +one; “and they will pale before her lustre as a tallow dip does +before an illumination.”</p> +<p>The clock struck twelve before she returned to them. Just as +the last stroke sounded the door was thrown open, and there she stood, +a woman on each side of her, holding a large silver candelabra bright +with wax tapers high above her, so that she was in a flood of light.</p> +<p>She was attired in rich brocade of crimson and silver, and wore a +great hooped petticoat, which showed off her grandeur, her waist of +no more bigness than a man’s hands could clasp, set in its midst +like the stem of a flower; her black hair was rolled high and circled +with jewels, her fair long throat blazed with a collar of diamonds, +and the majesty of her eye and lip and brow made up a mien so dazzling +that every man sprang to his feet beholding her.</p> +<p>She made a sweeping obeisance and then stood up before them, her +head thrown back and her lips curving in the triumphant mocking smile +of a great beauty looking upon them all as vassals.</p> +<p>“Down upon your knees,” she cried, “and drink to +me kneeling. From this night all men must bend so—all men +on whom I deign to cast my eyes.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V—“Not I,” said she. “There +thou mayst trust me. I would not be found out.”</h2> +<p>She went no more a-hunting in boy’s clothes, but from this +time forward wore brocades and paduasoys, fine lawn and lace. +Her tirewoman was kept so busily engaged upon making rich habits, fragrant +waters and essences, and so running at her bidding to change her gown +or dress her head in some new fashion, that her life was made to her +a weighty burden to bear, and also a painful one. Her place had +before been an easy one but for her mistress’s choleric temper, +but it was so no more. Never had young lady been so exacting and +so tempestuous when not pleased with the adorning of her face and shape. +In the presence of polite strangers, whether ladies or gentlemen, Mistress +Clorinda in these days chose to chasten her language and give less rein +to her fantastical passions, but alone in her closet with her woman, +if a riband did but not suit her fancy, or a hoop not please, she did +not fear to be as scurrilous as she chose. In this discreet retirement +she rapped out oaths and boxed her woman’s ears with a vigorous +hand, tore off her gowns and stamped them beneath her feet, or flung +pots of pomade at the poor woman’s head. She took these +freedoms with such a readiness and spirit that she was served with a +despatch and humbleness scarcely to be equalled, and, it is certain, +never excelled.</p> +<p>The high courage and undaunted will which had been the engines she +had used to gain her will from her infant years aided her in these days +to carry out what her keen mind and woman’s wit had designed, +which was to take the county by storm with her beauty, and reign toast +and enslaver until such time as she won the prize of a husband of rich +estates and notable rank.</p> +<p>It was soon bruited abroad, to the amazement of the county, that +Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had changed her strange and unseemly habits +of life, and had become as much a young lady of fashion and breeding +as her birth and charm demanded. This was first made known by +her appearing one Sunday morning at church, accompanied—as though +attended with a retinue of servitors—by Mistress Wimpole and her +two sisters, whose plain faces, awkward shape, and still more awkward +attire were such a foil to her glowing loveliness as set it in high +relief. It was seldom that the coach from Wildairs Hall drew up +before the lych-gate, but upon rare Sunday mornings Mistress Wimpole +and her two charges contrived, if Sir Jeoffry was not in an ill-humour +and the coachman was complaisant, to be driven to service. Usually, +however, they trudged afoot, and, if the day chanced to be sultry, arrived +with their snub-nosed faces of a high and shiny colour, or if the country +roads were wet, with their petticoats bemired.</p> +<p>This morning, when the coach drew up, the horses were well groomed, +the coachman smartly dressed, and a footman was in attendance, who sprang +to earth and opened the door with a flourish.</p> +<p>The loiterers in the churchyard, and those who were approaching the +gate or passing towards the church porch, stared with eyes wide stretched +in wonder and incredulity. Never had such a thing before been +beheld or heard of as what they now saw in broad daylight.</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda, clad in highest town fashion, in brocades and +silver lace and splendid furbelows, stepped forth from the chariot with +the air of a queen. She had the majestic composure of a young +lady who had worn nothing less modish than such raiment all her life, +and who had prayed decorously beneath her neighbours’ eyes since +she had left her nurse’s care.</p> +<p>Her sisters and their governess looked timorous, and as if they knew +not where to cast their eyes for shamefacedness; but not so Mistress +Clorinda, who moved forward with a stately, swimming gait, her fine +head in the air. As she stepped into the porch a young gentleman +drew back and made a profound obeisance to her. She cast her eyes +upon him and returned it with a grace and condescension which struck +the beholders dumb with admiring awe. To some of the people of +a commoner sort he was a stranger, but all connected with the gentry +knew he was Sir John Oxon, who was staying at Eldershawe Park with his +relative, whose estate it was.</p> +<p>How Mistress Clorinda contrived to manage it no one was aware but +herself, but after a few appearances at church she appeared at other +places. She was seen at dinners at fine houses, and began to be +seen at routs and balls. Where she was seen she shone, and with +such radiance as caused matchmaking matrons great dismay, and their +daughters woeful qualms. Once having shone, she could not be extinguished +or hidden under a bushel; for, being of rank and highly connected through +mother as well as father, and playing her cards with great wit and skill, +she could not be thrust aside.</p> +<p>At her first hunt ball she set aflame every male breast in the shire, +unmasking such a battery of charms as no man could withstand the fire +of. Her dazzling eye, her wondrous shape, the rich music of her +laugh, and the mocking wit of her sharp saucy tongue were weapons to +have armed a dozen women, and she was but one, and in the first rich +tempting glow of blooming youth.</p> +<p>She turned more heads and caused more quarrels than she could have +counted had she sat up half the night. She went to her coach with +her father followed by a dozen gallants, each ready to spit the other +for a smile. Her smiles were wondrous, but there seemed always +a touch of mockery or disdain in them which made them more remembered +than if they had been softer.</p> +<p>One man there was, who perchance found something in her high glance +not wholly scornful, but he was used to soft treatment from women, and +had, in sooth, expected milder glances than were bestowed upon him. +This was young Sir John Oxon, who had found himself among the fair sex +that night as great a beau as she had been a belle; but two dances he +had won from her, and this was more than any other man could boast, +and what other gallants envied him with darkest hatred.</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry, who had watched her as she queened it amongst rakes +and fops and honest country squires and knights, had marked the vigour +with which they plied her with an emotion which was a new sensation +to his drink-bemuddled brain. So far as it was in his nature to +love another than himself, he had learned to love this young lovely +virago of his own flesh and blood, perchance because she was the only +creature who had never quailed before him, and had always known how +to bend him to her will.</p> +<p>When the chariot rode away, he looked at her as she sat erect in +the early morning light, as unblenching, bright, and untouched in bloom +as if she had that moment risen from her pillow and washed her face +in dew. He was not so drunk as he had been at midnight, but he +was a little maudlin.</p> +<p>“By God, thou art handsome, Clo!” he said. “By +God, I never saw a finer woman!”</p> +<p>“Nor I,” she answered back, “which I thank Heaven +for.”</p> +<p>“Thou pretty, brazen baggage,” her father laughed. +“Old Dunstanwolde looked thee well over to-night. He never +looked away from the moment he clapped eyes on thee.”</p> +<p>“That I knew better than thee, Dad,” said the beauty; +“and I saw that he could not have done it if he had tried. +If there comes no richer, younger great gentleman, he shall marry me.”</p> +<p>“Thou hast a sharp eye and a keen wit,” said Sir Jeoffry, +looking askance at her with a new maggot in his brain. “Wouldst +never play the fool, I warrant. They will press thee hard and +’twill be hard to withstand their love-making, but I shall never +have to mount and ride off with pistols in my holsters to bring back +a man and make him marry thee, as Chris Crowell had to do for his youngest +wench. Thou wouldst never play the fool, I warrant—wouldst +thou, Clo?”</p> +<p>She tossed her head and laughed like a young scornful devil, showing +her white pearl teeth between her lips’ scarlet.</p> +<p>“Not I,” she said. “There thou mayst trust +me. <i>I</i> would not be found out.”</p> +<p>She played her part as triumphant beauty so successfully that the +cleverest managing mother in the universe could not have bettered her +position. Gallants brawled for her; honest men fell at her feet; +romantic swains wrote verses to her, praising her eyes, her delicate +bosom, the carnation of her cheek, and the awful majesty of her mien. +In every revel she was queen, in every contest of beauties Venus, in +every spectacle of triumph empress of them all.</p> +<p>The Earl of Dunstanwolde, who had the oldest name and the richest +estates in his own county and the six adjoining ones, who, having made +a love-match in his prime, and lost wife and heir but a year after his +nuptials, had been the despair of every maid and mother who knew him, +because he would not be melted to a marriageable mood. After the +hunt ball this mourning nobleman, who was by this time of ripe years, +had appeared in the world again as he had not done for many years. +Before many months had elapsed, it was known that his admiration of +the new beauty was confessed, and it was believed that he but waited +further knowledge of her to advance to the point of laying his title +and estates at her feet.</p> +<p>But though, two years before, the entire county would have rated +low indeed the wit and foresight of the man who had even hinted the +possibility of such honour and good fortune being in prospect for the +young lady, so great was Mistress Clorinda’s brilliant and noble +beauty, and with such majesty she bore herself in these times, that +there were even those who doubted whether she would think my lord a +rich enough prize for her, and if, when he fell upon his knees, she +would deign to become his countess, feeling that she had such splendid +wares to dispose of as might be bartered for a duke, when she went to +town and to court.</p> +<p>During the length of more than one man’s lifetime after, the +reign of Mistress Clorinda Wildairs was a memory recalled over the bottle +at the dining-table among men, some of whom had but heard their fathers +vaunt her beauties. It seemed as if in her person there was not +a single flaw, or indeed a charm, which had not reached the highest +point of beauty. For shape she might have vied with young Diana, +mounted side by side with her upon a pedestal; her raven locks were +of a length and luxuriance to clothe her as a garment, her great eye +commanded and flashed as Juno’s might have done in the goddess’s +divinest moments of lovely pride, and though it was said none ever saw +it languish, each man who adored her was maddened by the secret belief +that Venus’ self could not so melt in love as she if she would +stoop to loving—as each one prayed she might—himself. +Her hands and feet, her neck, the slimness of her waist, her mantling +crimson and ivory white, her little ear, her scarlet lip, the pearls +between them and her long white throat, were perfection each and all, +and catalogued with oaths of rapture.</p> +<p>“She hath such beauties,” one admirer said, “that +a man must toast them all and cannot drink to her as to a single woman. +And she hath so many that to slight none her servant must go from the +table reeling.”</p> +<p>There was but one thing connected with her which was not a weapon +to her hand, and this was, that she was not a fortune. Sir Jeoffry +had drunk and rioted until he had but little left. He had cut +his timber and let his estate go to rack, having, indeed, no money to +keep it up. The great Hall, which had once been a fine old place, +was almost a ruin. Its carved oak and noble rooms and galleries +were all of its past splendours that remained. All had been sold +that could be sold, and all the outcome had been spent. The county, +indeed, wondered where Mistress Clorinda’s fine clothes came from, +and knew full well why she was not taken to court to kneel to the Queen. +That she was waiting for this to make her match, the envious were quite +sure, and did not hesitate to whisper pretty loudly.</p> +<p>The name of one man of rank and fortune after another was spoken +of as that of a suitor to her hand, but in some way it was discovered +that she refused them all. It was also known that they continued +to worship her, and that at any moment she could call even the best +among them back. It seemed that, while all the men were enamoured +of her, there was not one who could cure himself of his passion, however +hopeless it might be.</p> +<p>Her wit was as great as her beauty, and she had a spirit before which +no man could stand if she chose to be disdainful. To some she +was so, and had the whim to flout them with great brilliancy. +Encounters with her were always remembered, and if heard by those not +concerned, were considered worthy both of recollection and of being +repeated to the world; she had a tongue so nimble and a wit so full +of fire.</p> +<p>Young Sir John Oxon’s visit to his relative at Eldershawe being +at an end, he returned to town, and remaining there through a few weeks +of fashionable gaiety, won new reputations as a triumpher over the female +heart. He made some renowned conquests and set the mode in some +new essences and sword-knots. But even these triumphs appeared +to pall upon him shortly, since he deserted the town and returned again +to the country, where, on this occasion, he did not stay with his relative, +but with Sir Jeoffry himself, who had taken a boisterous fancy to him.</p> +<p>It had been much marked since the altered life of Mistress Clorinda +that she, who had previously defied all rules laid down on behaviour +for young ladies, and had been thought to do so because she knew none +of them, now proved that her wild fashion had been but wilfulness, since +it was seen that she must have observed and marked manners with the +best. There seemed no decorum she did not know how to observe +with the most natural grace. It was, indeed, all grace and majesty, +there being no suggestion of the prude about her, but rather the manner +of a young lady having been born with pride and stateliness, and most +carefully bred. This was the result of her wondrous wit, the highness +of her talents, and the strength of her will, which was of such power +that she could carry out without fail anything she chose to undertake. +There are some women who have beauty, and some who have wit or vigour +of understanding, but she possessed all three, and with them such courage +and strength of nerve as would have well equipped a man.</p> +<p>Quick as her wit was and ready as were her brilliant quips and sallies, +there was no levity in her demeanour, and she kept Mistress Margery +Wimpole in discreet attendance upon her, as if she had been the daughter +of a Spanish Hidalgo, never to be approached except in the presence +of her duenna. Poor Mistress Margery, finding her old fears removed, +was overpowered with new ones. She had no lawlessness or hoyden +manners to contend with, but instead a haughtiness so high and demands +so great that her powers could scarcely satisfy the one or her spirit +stand up before the other.</p> +<p>“It is as if one were lady-in-waiting to her Majesty’s +self,” she used to whimper when she was alone and dare do so. +“Surely the Queen has not such a will and such a temper. +She will have me toil to look worthy of her in my habit, and bear myself +like a duchess in dignity. Alack! I have practised my obeisance +by the hour to perfect it, so that I may escape her wrath. And +I must know how to look, and when and where to sit, and with what air +of being near at hand, while I must see nothing! And I must drag +my failing limbs hither and thither with genteel ease while I ache from +head to foot, being neither young nor strong.”</p> +<p>The poor lady was so overawed by, and yet so admired, her charge, +that it was piteous to behold.</p> +<p>“She is an arrant fool,” quoth Mistress Clorinda to her +father. “A nice duenna she would be, forsooth, if she were +with a woman who needed watching. She could be hoodwinked as it +pleased me a dozen times a day. It is I who am her guard, not +she mine! But a beauty must drag some spy about with her, it seems, +and she I can make to obey me like a spaniel. We can afford no +better, and she is well born, and since I bought her the purple paduasoy +and the new lappets she has looked well enough to serve.”</p> +<p>“Dunstanwolde need not fear for thee now,” said Sir Jeoffry. +“Thou art a clever and foreseeing wench, Clo.”</p> +<p>“Dunstanwolde nor any man!” she answered. “There +will be no gossip of me. It is Anne and Barbara thou must look +to, Dad, lest their plain faces lead them to show soft hearts. +My face is my fortune!”</p> +<p>When Sir John Oxon paid his visit to Sir Jeoffry the days of Mistress +Margery were filled with carking care. The night before he arrived, +Mistress Clorinda called her to her closet and laid upon her her commands +in her own high way. She was under her woman’s hands, and +while her great mantle of black hair fell over the back of her chair +and lay on the floor, her tirewoman passing the brush over it, lock +by lock, she was at her greatest beauty. Either she had been angered +or pleased, for her cheek wore a bloom even deeper and richer than usual, +and there was a spark like a diamond under the fringe of her lashes.</p> +<p>At her first timorous glance at her, Mistress Margery thought she +must have been angered, the spark so burned in her eyes, and so evident +was the light but quick heave of her bosom; but the next moment it seemed +as if she must be in a pleasant humour, for a little smile deepened +the dimples in the corner of her bowed, full lips. But quickly +she looked up and resumed her stately air.</p> +<p>“This gentleman who comes to visit to-morrow,” she said, +“Sir John Oxon—do you know aught of him?”</p> +<p>“But little, Madame,” Mistress Margery answered with +fear and humility.</p> +<p>“Then it will be well that you should, since I have commands +to lay upon you concerning him,” said the beauty.</p> +<p>“You do me honour,” said the poor gentlewoman.</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda looked her straight in the face.</p> +<p>“He is a gentleman from town, the kinsman of Lord Eldershawe,” +she said. “He is a handsome man, concerning whom many women +have been fools. He chooses to allow it to be said that he is +a conqueror of female hearts and virtue, even among women of fashion +and rank. If this be said in the town, what may not be said in +the country? He shall wear no such graces here. He chooses +to pay his court to me. He is my father’s guest and a man +of fashion. Let him make as many fine speeches as he has the will +to. I will listen or not as I choose. I am used to words. +But see that we are not left alone.”</p> +<p>The tirewoman pricked up her ears. Clorinda saw her in the +glass.</p> +<p>“Attend to thy business if thou dost not want a box o’ +the ear,” she said in a tone which made the woman start.</p> +<p>“You would not be left alone with the gentleman, Madam?” +faltered Mistress Margery.</p> +<p>“If he comes to boast of conquests,” said Mistress Clorinda, +looking at her straight again and drawing down her black brows, “I +will play as cleverly as he. He cannot boast greatly of one whom +he never makes his court to but in the presence of a kinswoman of ripe +years. Understand that this is to be your task.”</p> +<p>“I will remember,” Madam, answered Mistress Margery. +“I will bear myself as you command.”</p> +<p>“That is well,” said Mistress Clorinda. “I +will keep you no more. You may go.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI—Relating how Mistress Anne discovered a miniature</h2> +<p>The good gentlewoman took her leave gladly. She had spent a +life in timid fears of such things and persons as were not formed by +Nature to excite them, but never had she experienced such humble terrors +as those with which Mistress Clorinda inspired her. Never did +she approach her without inward tremor, and never did she receive permission +to depart from her presence without relief. And yet her beauty +and wit and spirit had no admirer regarding them with more of wondering +awe.</p> +<p>In the bare west wing of the house, comfortless though the neglect +of its master had made it, there was one corner where she was unafraid. +Her first charges, Mistress Barbara and Mistress Anne, were young ladies +of gentle spirit. Their sister had said of them that their spirit +was as poor as their looks. It could not be said of them by any +one that they had any pretension to beauty, but that which Mistress +Clorinda rated at as poor spirit was the one element of comfort in their +poor dependent kinswoman’s life. They gave her no ill words, +they indulged in no fantastical whims and vapours, and they did not +even seem to expect other entertainment than to walk the country roads, +to play with their little lap-dog Cupid, wind silks for their needlework, +and please themselves with their embroidery-frames.</p> +<p>To them their sister appeared a goddess whom it would be presumptuous +to approach in any frame of mind quite ordinary. Her beauty must +be heightened by rich adornments, while their plain looks were left +without the poorest aid. It seemed but fitting that what there +was to spend must be spent on her. They showed no signs of resentment, +and took with gratitude such cast-off finery as she deigned at times +to bestow upon them, when it was no longer useful to herself. +She was too full of the occupations of pleasure to have had time to +notice them, even if her nature had inclined her to the observance of +family affections. It was their habit, when they knew of her going +out in state, to watch her incoming and outgoing through a peep-hole +in a chamber window. Mistress Margery told them stories of her +admirers and of her triumphs, of the county gentlemen of fortune who +had offered themselves to her, and of the modes of life in town of the +handsome Sir John Oxon, who, without doubt, was of the circle of her +admiring attendants, if he had not fallen totally her victim, as others +had.</p> +<p>Of the two young women, it was Mistress Anne who had the more parts, +and the attraction of the mind the least dull. In sooth, Nature +had dealt with both in a niggardly fashion, but Mistress Barbara was +the plainer and the more foolish. Mistress Anne had, perchance, +the tenderer feelings, and was in secret given to a certain sentimentality. +She was thin and stooping, and had but a muddy complexion; her hair +was heavy, it is true, but its thickness and weight seemed naught but +an ungrateful burden; and she had a dull, soft eye. In private +she was fond of reading such romances as she could procure by stealth +from the library of books gathered together in past times by some ancestor +Sir Jeoffry regarded as an idiot. Doubtless she met with strange +reading in the volumes she took to her closet, and her simple virgin +mind found cause for the solving of many problems; but from the pages +she contrived to cull stories of lordly lovers and cruel or kind beauties, +whose romances created for her a strange world of pleasure in the midst +of her loneliness. Poor, neglected young female, with every guileless +maiden instinct withered at birth, she had need of some tender dreams +to dwell upon, though Fate herself seemed to have decreed that they +must be no more than visions.</p> +<p>It was, in sooth, always the beauteous Clorinda about whose charms +she builded her romances. In her great power she saw that for +which knights fought in tourney and great kings committed royal sins, +and to her splendid beauty she had in secrecy felt that all might be +forgiven. She cherished such fancies of her, that one morning, +when she believed her absent from the house, she stole into the corridor +upon which Clorinda’s apartment opened. Her first timid +thought had been, that if a chamber door were opened she might catch +a glimpse of some of the splendours her sister’s woman was surely +laying out for her wearing at a birth-night ball, at the house of one +of the gentry of the neighbourhood. But it so happened that she +really found the door of entrance open, which, indeed, she had not more +than dared to hope, and finding it so, she stayed her footsteps to gaze +with beating heart within. On the great bed, which was of carved +oak and canopied with tattered tapestry, there lay spread such splendours +as she had never beheld near to before. ’Twas blue and silver +brocade Mistress Clorinda was to shine in to-night; it lay spread forth +in all its dimensions. The beautiful bosom and shoulders were +to be bared to the eyes of scores of adorers, but rich lace was to set +their beauties forth, and strings of pearls. Why Sir Jeoffry had +not sold his lady’s jewels before he became enamoured of her six-year-old +child it would be hard to explain. There was a great painted fan +with jewels in the sticks, and on the floor—as if peeping forth +from beneath the bravery of the expanded petticoats—was a pair +of blue and silver shoes, high-heeled and arched and slender. +In gazing at them Mistress Anne lost her breath, thinking that in some +fashion they had a regal air of being made to trample hearts beneath +them.</p> +<p>To the gentle, hapless virgin, to whom such possessions were as the +wardrobe of a queen, the temptation to behold them near was too great. +She could not forbear from passing the threshold, and she did with heaving +breast. She approached the bed and gazed; she dared to touch the +scented gloves that lay by the outspread petticoat of blue and silver; +she even laid a trembling finger upon the pointed bodice, which was +so slender that it seemed small enough for even a child.</p> +<p>“Ah me,” she sighed gently, “how beautiful she +will be! How beautiful! And all of them will fall at her +feet, as is not to be wondered at. And it was always so all her +life, even when she was an infant, and all gave her her will because +of her beauty and her power. She hath a great power. Barbara +and I are not so. We are dull and weak, and dare not speak our +minds. It is as if we were creatures of another world; but He +who rules all things has so willed it for us. He has given it +to us for our portion—our portion.”</p> +<p>Her dull, poor face dropped a little as she spoke the words, and +her eyes fell upon the beauteous tiny shoes, which seemed to trample +even when no foot was within them. She stooped to take one in +her hand, but as she was about to lift it something which seemed to +have been dropped upon the floor, and to have rolled beneath the valance +of the bed, touched her hand. It was a thing to which a riband +was attached—an ivory miniature—and she picked it up wondering. +She stood up gazing at it, in such bewilderment to find her eyes upon +it that she scarce knew what she did. She did not mean to pry; +she would not have had the daring so to do if she had possessed the +inclination. But the instant her eyes told her what they saw, +she started and blushed as she had never blushed before in her tame +life. The warm rose mantled her cheeks, and even suffused the +neck her chaste kerchief hid. Her eye kindled with admiration +and an emotion new to her indeed.</p> +<p>“How beautiful!” she said. “He is like a +young Adonis, and has the bearing of a royal prince! How can it—by +what strange chance hath it come here?”</p> +<p>She had not regarded it more than long enough to have uttered these +words, when a fear came upon her, and she felt that she had fallen into +misfortune.</p> +<p>“What must I do with it?” she trembled. “What +will she say, whether she knows of its being within the chamber or not? +She will be angry with me that I have dared to touch it. What +shall I do?”</p> +<p>She regarded it again with eyes almost suffused. Her blush +and the sensibility of her emotion gave to her plain countenance a new +liveliness of tint and expression.</p> +<p>“I will put it back where I found it,” she said, “and +the one who knows it will find it later. It cannot be she—it +cannot be she! If I laid it on her table she would rate me bitterly—and +she can be bitter when she will.”</p> +<p>She bent and placed it within the shadow of the valance again, and +as she felt it touch the hard oak of the polished floor her bosom rose +with a soft sigh.</p> +<p>“It is an unseemly thing to do,” she said; “’tis +as though one were uncivil; but I dare not—I dare not do otherwise.”</p> +<p>She would have turned to leave the apartment, being much overcome +by the incident, but just as she would have done so she heard the sound +of horses’ feet through the window by which she must pass, and +looked out to see if it was Clorinda who was returning from her ride. +Mistress Clorinda was a matchless horsewoman, and a marvel of loveliness +and spirit she looked when she rode, sitting upon a horse such as no +other woman dared to mount—always an animal of the greatest beauty, +but of so dangerous a spirit that her riding-whip was loaded like a +man’s.</p> +<p>This time it was not she; and when Mistress Anne beheld the young +gentleman who had drawn rein in the court she started backward and put +her hand to her heart, the blood mantling her pale cheek again in a +flood. But having started back, the next instant she started forward +to gaze again, all her timid soul in her eyes.</p> +<p>“’Tis he!” she panted; “’tis he himself! +He hath come in hope to speak with my sister, and she is abroad. +Poor gentleman, he hath come in such high spirit, and must ride back +heavy of heart. How comely, and how finely clad he is!”</p> +<p>He was, in sooth, with his rich riding-habit, his handsome face, +his plumed hat, and the sun shining on the fair luxuriant locks which +fell beneath it. It was Sir John Oxon, and he was habited as when +he rode in the park in town and the court was there. Not so were +attired the country gentry whom Anne had been wont to see, though many +of them were well mounted, knowing horseflesh and naught else, as they +did.</p> +<p>She pressed her cheek against the side of the oriel window, over +which the ivy grew thickly. She was so intent that she could not +withdraw her gaze. She watched him as he turned away, having received +his dismissal, and she pressed her face closer that she might follow +him as he rode down the long avenue of oak-trees, his servant riding +behind.</p> +<p>Thus she bent forward gazing, until he turned and the oaks hid him +from her sight; and even then the spell was not dissolved, and she still +regarded the place where he had passed, until a sound behind her made +her start violently. It was a peal of laughter, high and rich, +and when she so started and turned to see whom it might be, she beheld +her sister Clorinda, who was standing just within the threshold, as +if movement had been arrested by what had met her eye as she came in. +Poor Anne put her hand to her side again.</p> +<p>“Oh sister!” she gasped; “oh sister!” but +could say no more.</p> +<p>She saw that she had thought falsely, and that Clorinda had not been +out at all, for she was in home attire; and even in the midst of her +trepidation there sprang into Anne’s mind the awful thought that +through some servant’s blunder the comely young visitor had been +sent away. For herself, she expected but to be driven forth with +wrathful, disdainful words for her presumption. For what else +could she hope from this splendid creature, who, while of her own flesh +and blood, had never seemed to regard her as being more than a poor +superfluous underling? But strangely enough, there was no anger +in Clorinda’s eyes; she but laughed, as though what she had seen +had made her merry.</p> +<p>“You here, Anne,” she said, “and looking with light-mindedness +after gallant gentlemen! Mistress Margery should see to this and +watch more closely, or we shall have unseemly stories told. <i>You</i>, +sister, with your modest face and bashfulness! I had not thought +it of you.”</p> +<p>Suddenly she crossed the room to where her sister stood drooping, +and seized her by the shoulder, so that she could look her well in the +face.</p> +<p>“What,” she said, with a mocking not quite harsh—“What +is this? Does a glance at a fine gallant, even taken from behind +an oriel window, make such change indeed? I never before saw this +look, nor this colour, forsooth; it hath improved thee wondrously, Anne—wondrously.”</p> +<p>“Sister,” faltered Anne, “I so desired to see your +birth-night ball-gown, of which Mistress Margery hath much spoken—I +so desired—I thought it would not matter if, the door being open +and it spread forth upon the bed—I—I stole a look at it. +And then I was tempted—and came in.”</p> +<p>“And then was tempted more,” Clorinda laughed, still +regarding her downcast countenance shrewdly, “by a thing far less +to be resisted—a fine gentleman from town, with love-locks falling +on his shoulders and ladies’ hearts strung at his saddle-bow by +scores. Which found you the most beautiful?”</p> +<p>“Your gown is splendid, sister,” said Anne, with modest +shyness. “There will be no beauty who will wear another +like it; or should there be one, she will not carry it as you will.”</p> +<p>“But the man—the man, Anne,” Clorinda laughed again. +“What of the man?”</p> +<p>Anne plucked up just enough of her poor spirit to raise her eyes +to the brilliant ones that mocked at her.</p> +<p>“With such gentlemen, sister,” she said, “is it +like that <i>I</i> have aught to do?”</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda dropped her hand and left laughing.</p> +<p>“’Tis true,” she said, “it is not; but for +this one time, Anne, thou lookest almost a woman.”</p> +<p>“’Tis not beauty alone that makes womanhood,” said +Anne, her head on her breast again. “In some book I have +read that—that it is mostly pain. I am woman enough for +that.”</p> +<p>“You have read—you have read,” quoted Clorinda. +“You are the bookworm, I remember, and filch romances and poems +from the shelves. And you have read that it is mostly pain that +makes a woman? ’Tis not true. ’Tis a poor lie. +<i>I</i> am a woman and I do not suffer—for I <i>will</i> not, +that I swear! And when I take an oath I keep it, mark you! +It is men women suffer for; that was what your scholar meant—for +such fine gentlemen as the one you have just watched while he rode away. +More fools they! No man shall make <i>me</i> womanly in such a +fashion, I promise you! Let <i>them</i> wince and kneel; <i>I</i> +will not.”</p> +<p>“Sister,” Anne faltered, “I thought you were not +within. The gentleman who rode away—did the servants know?”</p> +<p>“That did they,” quoth Clorinda, mocking again. +“They knew that I would not receive him to-day, and so sent him +away. He might have known as much himself, but he is an arrant +popinjay, and thinks all women wish to look at his fine shape, and hear +him flatter them when he is in the mood.”</p> +<p>“You would not—let him enter?”</p> +<p>Clorinda threw her graceful body into a chair with more light laughter.</p> +<p>“I would not,” she answered. “You cannot +understand such ingratitude, poor Anne; you would have treated him more +softly. Sit down and talk to me, and I will show thee my furbelows +myself. All women like to chatter of their laced bodices and petticoats. +<i>That</i> is what makes a woman.”</p> +<p>Anne was tremulous with relief and pleasure. It was as if a +queen had bid her to be seated. She sat almost with the humble +lack of ease a serving-woman might have shown. She had never seen +Clorinda wear such an air before, and never had she dreamed that she +would so open herself to any fellow-creature. She knew but little +of what her sister was capable—of the brilliancy of her charm +when she chose to condescend, of the deigning softness of her manner +when she chose to please, of her arch-pleasantries and cutting wit, +and of the strange power she could wield over any human being, gentle +or simple, with whom she came in contact. But if she had not known +of these things before, she learned to know them this morning. +For some reason best known to herself, Mistress Clorinda was in a high +good humour. She kept Anne with her for more than an hour, and +was dazzling through every moment of its passing. She showed her +the splendours she was to shine in at the birth-night ball, even bringing +forth her jewels and displaying them. She told her stories of +the house of which the young heir to-day attained his majority, and +mocked at the poor youth because he was ungainly, and at a distance +had been her slave since his nineteenth year.</p> +<p>“I have scarce looked at him,” she said. “He +is a lout, with great eyes staring, and a red nose. It does not +need that one should look at men to win them. They look at us, +and that is enough.”</p> +<p>To poor Mistress Anne, who had seen no company and listened to no +wits, the entertainment bestowed upon her was as wonderful as a night +at the playhouse would have been. To watch the vivid changing +face; to hearken to jesting stories of men and women who seemed like +the heroes and heroines of her romances; to hear love itself—the +love she trembled and palpitated at the mere thought of—spoken +of openly as an experience which fell to all; to hear it mocked at with +dainty or biting quips; to learn that women of all ages played with, +enjoyed, or lost themselves for it—it was with her as if a nun +had been withdrawn from her cloister and plunged into the vortex of +the world.</p> +<p>“Sister,” she said, looking at the Beauty with humble, +adoring eyes, “you make me feel that my romances are true. +You tell such things. It is like seeing pictures of things to +hear you talk. No wonder that all listen to you, for indeed ’tis +wonderful the way you have with words. You use them so that ’tis +as though they had shapes of their own and colours, and you builded +with them. I thank you for being so gracious to me, who have seen +so little, and cannot tell the poor, quiet things I have seen.”</p> +<p>And being led into the loving boldness by her gratitude, she bent +forward and touched with her lips the fair hand resting on the chair’s +arm.</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda fixed her fine eyes upon her in a new way.</p> +<p>“I’ faith, it doth not seem fair, Anne,” she said. +“I should not like to change lives with thee. Thou hast +eyes like a shot pheasant—soft, and with the bright hid beneath +the dull. Some man might love them, even if thou art no beauty. +Stay,” suddenly; “methinks—”</p> +<p>She uprose from her chair and went to the oaken wardrobe, and threw +the door of it open wide while she looked within.</p> +<p>“There is a gown and tippet or so here, and a hood and some +ribands I might do without,” she said. “My woman shall +bear them to your chamber, and show you how to set them to rights. +She is a nimble-fingered creature, and a gown of mine would give almost +stuff enough to make you two. Then some days, when I am not going +abroad and Mistress Margery frets me too much, I will send for you to +sit with me, and you shall listen to the gossip when a visitor drops +in to have a dish of tea.”</p> +<p>Anne would have kissed her feet then, if she had dared to do so. +She blushed red all over, and adored her with a more worshipping gaze +than before.</p> +<p>“I should not have dared to hope so much,” she stammered. +“I could not—perhaps it is not fitting—perhaps I could +not bear myself as I should. I would try to show myself a gentlewoman +and seemly. I—I <i>am</i> a gentlewoman, though I have learned +so little. I could not be aught but a gentlewoman, could I, sister, +being of your own blood and my parents’ child?” half afraid +to presume even this much.</p> +<p>“No,” said Clorinda. “Do not be a fool, Anne, +and carry yourself too humbly before the world. You can be as +humble as you like to me.”</p> +<p>“I shall—I shall be your servant and worship you, sister,” +cried the poor soul, and she drew near and kissed again the white hand +which had bestowed with such royal bounty all this joy. It would +not have occurred to her that a cast-off robe and riband were but small +largesse.</p> +<p>It was not a minute after this grateful caress that Clorinda made +a sharp movement—a movement which was so sharp that it seemed +to be one of dismay. At first, as if involuntarily, she had raised +her hand to her tucker, and after doing so she started—though +’twas but for a second’s space, after which her face was +as it had been before.</p> +<p>“What is it?” exclaimed Anne. “Have you lost +anything?”</p> +<p>“No,” quoth Mistress Clorinda quite carelessly, as she +once more turned to the contents of the oaken wardrobe; “but I +thought I missed a trinket I was wearing for a wager, and I would not +lose it before the bet is won.”</p> +<p>“Sister,” ventured Anne before she left her and went +away to her own dull world in the west wing, “there is a thing +I can do if you will allow me. I can mend your tapestry hangings +which have holes in them. I am quick at my needle, and should +love to serve you in such poor ways as I can; and it is not seemly that +they should be so worn. All things about you should be beautiful +and well kept.”</p> +<p>“Can you make these broken things beautiful?” said Clorinda. +“Then indeed you shall. You may come here to mend them when +you will.”</p> +<p>“They are very fine hangings, though so old and ill cared for,” +said Anne, looking up at them; “and I shall be only too happy +sitting here thinking of all you are doing while I am at my work.”</p> +<p>“Thinking of all I am doing?” laughed Mistress Clorinda. +“That would give you such wondrous things to dream of, Anne, that +you would have no time for your needle, and my hangings would stay as +they are.”</p> +<p>“I can think and darn also,” said Mistress Anne, “so +I will come.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII—’Twas the face of Sir John Oxon the moon +shone upon</h2> +<p>From that time henceforward into the young woman’s dull life +there came a little change. It did not seem a little change to +her, but a great one, though to others it would have seemed slight indeed. +She was an affectionate, house-wifely creature, who would have made +the best of wives and mothers if it had been so ordained by Fortune, +and something of her natural instincts found outlet in the furtive service +she paid her sister, who became the empress of her soul. She darned +and patched the tattered hangings with a wonderful neatness, and the +hours she spent at work in the chamber were to her almost as sacred +as hours spent at religious duty, or as those nuns and novices give +to embroidering altar-cloths. There was a brightness in the room +that seemed in no other in the house, and the lingering essences in +the air of it were as incense to her. In secrecy she even busied +herself with keeping things in better order than Rebecca, Mistress Clorinda’s +woman, had ever had time to do before. She also contrived to get +into her own hands some duties that were Rebecca’s own. +She could mend lace cleverly and arrange riband-knots with taste, and +even change the fashion of a gown. The hard-worked tirewoman was +but too glad to be relieved, and kept her secret well, being praised +many times for the set or fashion of a thing into which she had not +so much as set a needle. Being a shrewd baggage, she was wise +enough always to relate to Anne the story of her mistress’s pleasure, +having the wit to read in her delight that she would be encouraged to +fresh effort.</p> +<p>At times it so befell that, when Anne went into the bed-chamber, +she found the beauty there, who, if she chanced to be in the humour, +would detain her in her presence for a space and bewitch her over again. +In sooth, it seemed that she took a pleasure in showing her female adorer +how wondrously full of all fascinations she could be. At such +times Anne’s plain face would almost bloom with excitement, and +her shot pheasant’s eyes would glow as if beholding a goddess.</p> +<p>She neither saw nor heard more of the miniature on the riband. +It used to make her tremble at times to fancy that by some strange chance +it might still be under the bed, and that the handsome face smiled and +the blue eyes gazed in the very apartment where she herself sat and +her sister was robed and disrobed in all her beauty.</p> +<p>She used all her modest skill in fitting to her own shape and refurnishing +the cast-off bits of finery bestowed upon her. It was all set +to rights long before Clorinda recalled to mind that she had promised +that Anne should sometime see her chance visitors take their dish of +tea with her.</p> +<p>But one day, for some cause, she did remember, and sent for her.</p> +<p>Anne ran to her bed-chamber and donned her remodelled gown with shaking +hands. She laughed a little hysterically as she did it, seeing +her plain snub-nosed face in the glass. She tried to dress her +head in a fashion new to her, and knew she did it ill and untidily, +but had no time to change it. If she had had some red she would +have put it on, but such vanities were not in her chamber or Barbara’s. +So she rubbed her cheeks hard, and even pinched them, so that in the +end they looked as if they were badly rouged. It seemed to her +that her nose grew red too, and indeed ’twas no wonder, for her +hands and feet were like ice.</p> +<p>“She must be ashamed of me,” the humble creature said +to herself. “And if she is ashamed she will be angered and +send me away and be friends no more.”</p> +<p>She did not deceive herself, poor thing, and imagine she had the +chance of being regarded with any great lenience if she appeared ill.</p> +<p>“Mistress Clorinda begged that you would come quickly,” +said Rebecca, knocking at the door.</p> +<p>So she caught her handkerchief, which was scented, as all her garments +were, with dried rose-leaves from the garden, which she had conserved +herself, and went down to the chintz parlour trembling.</p> +<p>It was a great room with white panels, and flowered coverings to +the furniture. There were a number of ladies and gentlemen standing +talking and laughing loudly together. The men outnumbered the +women, and most of them stood in a circle about Mistress Clorinda, who +sat upright in a great flowered chair, smiling with her mocking, stately +air, as if she defied them to dare to speak what they felt.</p> +<p>Anne came in like a mouse. Nobody saw her. She did not, +indeed, know what to do. She dared not remain standing all alone, +so she crept to the place where her sister’s chair was, and stood +a little behind its high back. Her heart beat within her breast +till it was like to choke her.</p> +<p>They were only country gentlemen who made the circle, but to her +they seemed dashing gallants. That some of them had red noses +as well as cheeks, and that their voices were big and their gallantries +boisterous, was no drawback to their manly charms, she having seen no +other finer gentlemen. They were specimens of the great conquering +creature Man, whom all women must aspire to please if they have the +fortunate power; and each and all of them were plainly trying to please +Clorinda, and not she them.</p> +<p>And so Anne gazed at them with admiring awe, waiting until there +should come a pause in which she might presume to call her sister’s +attention to her presence; but suddenly, before she had indeed made +up her mind how she might best announce herself, there spoke behind +her a voice of silver.</p> +<p>“It is only goddesses,” said the voice, “who waft +about them as they move the musk of the rose-gardens of Araby. +When you come to reign over us in town, Madam, there will be no perfume +in the mode but that of rose-leaves, and in all drawing-rooms we shall +breathe but their perfume.”</p> +<p>And there, at her side, was bowing, in cinnamon and crimson, with +jewelled buttons on his velvet coat, the beautiful being whose fair +locks the sun had shone on the morning she had watched him ride away—the +man whom the imperial beauty had dismissed and called a popinjay.</p> +<p>Clorinda looked under her lashes towards him without turning, but +in so doing beheld Anne standing in waiting.</p> +<p>“A fine speech lost,” she said, “though ’twas +well enough for the country, Sir John. ’Tis thrown away, +because ’tis not I who am scented with rose-leaves, but Anne there, +whom you must not ogle. Come hither, sister, and do not hide as +if you were ashamed to be looked at.”</p> +<p>And she drew her forward, and there Anne stood, and all of them stared +at her poor, plain, blushing face, and the Adonis in cinnamon and crimson +bowed low, as if she had been a duchess, that being his conqueror’s +way with gentle or simple, maid, wife, or widow, beauty or homespun +uncomeliness.</p> +<p>It was so with him always; he could never resist the chance of luring +to himself a woman’s heart, whether he wanted it or not, and he +had a charm, a strange and wonderful one, it could not be denied. +Anne palpitated indeed as she made her curtsey to him, and wondered +if Heaven had ever before made so fine a gentleman and so beautiful +a being.</p> +<p>She went but seldom to this room again, and when she went she stood +always in the background, far more in fear that some one would address +her than that she should meet with neglect. She was used to neglect, +and to being regarded as a nonentity, and aught else discomfited her. +All her pleasure was to hear what was said, though ’twas not always +of the finest wit—and to watch Clorinda play the queen among her +admirers and her slaves. She would not have dared to speak of +Sir John Oxon frequently—indeed, she let fall his name but rarely; +but she learned a curious wit in contriving to hear all things concerning +him. It was her habit cunningly to lead Mistress Margery to talking +about him and relating long histories of his conquests and his grace. +Mistress Wimpole knew many of them, having, for a staid and prudent +matron, a lively interest in his ways. It seemed, truly—if +one must believe her long-winded stories—that no duchess under +seventy had escaped weeping for him and losing rest, and that ladies +of all ranks had committed follies for his sake.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne, having led her to this fruitful subject, would sit +and listen, bending over her embroidery frame with strange emotions, +causing her virgin breast to ache with their swelling. She would +lie awake at night thinking in the dark, with her heart beating. +Surely, surely there was no other man on earth who was so fitted to +Clorinda, and to whom it was so suited that this empress should give +her charms. Surely no woman, however beautiful or proud, could +dismiss his suit when he pressed it. And then, poor woman, her +imagination strove to paint the splendour of their mutual love, though +of such love she knew so little. But it must, in sooth, be bliss +and rapture; and perchance, was her humble thought, she might see it +from afar, and hear of it. And when they went to court, and Clorinda +had a great mansion in town, and many servants who needed a housewife’s +eye upon their doings to restrain them from wastefulness and riot, might +it not chance to be that if she served well now, and had the courage +to plead with her then, she might be permitted to serve her there, living +quite apart in some quiet corner of the house. And then her wild +thoughts would go so far that she would dream—reddening at her +own boldness—of a child who might be born to them, a lordly infant +son and heir, whose eyes might be blue and winning, and his hair in +great fair locks, and whom she might nurse and tend and be a slave to—and +love—and love—and love, and who might end by knowing she +was his tender servant, always to be counted on, and might look at her +with that wooing, laughing glance, and even love her too.</p> +<p>The night Clorinda laid her commands upon Mistress Wimpole concerning +the coming of Sir John Oxon, that matron, after receiving them, hurried +to her other charges, flurried and full of talk, and poured forth her +wonder and admiration at length.</p> +<p>“She is a wondrous lady!” she said—“she is +indeed! It is not alone her beauty, but her spirit and her wit. +Mark you how she sees all things and lets none pass, and can lay a plan +as prudent as any lady old enough to be twice her mother. She +knows all the ways of the world of fashion, and will guard herself against +gossip in such a way that none can gainsay her high virtue. Her +spirit is too great to allow that she may even <i>seem</i> to be as +the town ladies. She will not have it! Sir John will not +find his court easy to pay. She will not allow that he shall be +able to say to any one that he has seen her alone a moment. Thus, +she says, he cannot boast. If all ladies were as wise and cunning, +there would be no tales to tell.” She talked long and garrulously, +and set forth to them how Mistress Clorinda had looked straight at her +with her black eyes, until she had almost shaken as she sat, because +it seemed as though she dared her to disobey her will; and how she had +sat with her hair trailing upon the floor over the chair’s back, +and at first it had seemed that she was flushed with anger, but next +as if she had smiled.</p> +<p>“Betimes,” said Mistress Wimpole, “I am afraid +when she smiles, but to-night some thought had crossed her mind that +pleased her. I think it was that she liked to think that he who +has conquered so many ladies will find that he is to be outwitted and +made a mock of. She likes that others shall be beaten if she thinks +them impudent. She liked it as a child, and would flog the stable-boys +with her little whip until they knelt to beg her pardon for their freedoms.”</p> +<p>That night Mistress Anne went to her bed-chamber with her head full +of wandering thoughts, and she had not the power to bid them disperse +themselves and leave her—indeed, she scarce wished for it. +She was thinking of Clorinda, and wondering sadly that she was of so +high a pride that she could bear herself as though there were no human +weakness in her breast, not even the womanly weakness of a heart. +How could it be possible that she could treat with disdain this gallant +gentleman, if he loved her, as he surely must? Herself she had +been sure that she had seen an ardent flame in his blue eyes, even that +first day when he had bowed to her with that air of grace as he spoke +of the fragrance of the rose leaves he had thought wafted from her robe. +How could a woman whom he loved resist him? How could she cause +him to suffer by forcing him to stand at arm’s length when he +sighed to draw near and breathe his passion at her feet?</p> +<p>In the silence of her chamber as she disrobed, she sighed with restless +pain, but did not know that her sighing was for grief that love—of +which there seemed so little in some lives—could be wasted and +flung away. She could not fall into slumber when she lay down +upon her pillow, but tossed from side to side with a burdened heart.</p> +<p>“She is so young and beautiful and proud,” she thought. +“It is because I am so much older that I can see these things—that +I see that this is surely the one man who should be her husband. +There may be many others, but they are none of them her equals, and +she would scorn and hate them when she was once bound to them for life. +This one is as beautiful as she—and full of grace, and wit, and +spirit. She could not look down upon him, however wrath she was +at any time. Ah me! She should not spurn him, surely she +should not!”</p> +<p>She was so restless and ill at ease that she could not lie upon her +bed, but rose therefrom, as she often did in her wakeful hours, and +went to her lattice, gently opening it to look out upon the night, and +calm herself by sitting with her face uplifted to the stars, which from +her childhood she had fancied looked down upon her kindly and as if +they would give her comfort.</p> +<p>To-night there were no stars. There should have been a moon +three-quarters full, but, in the evening, clouds had drifted across +the sky and closed over all heavily, so that no moonlight was to be +seen, save when a rare sudden gust made a ragged rent, for a moment, +in the blackness.</p> +<p>She did not sit this time, but knelt, clad in her night-rail as she +was. All was sunk into the profoundest silence of the night. +By this time the entire household had been long enough abed to be plunged +in sleep. She alone was waking, and being of that simple mind +which, like a child’s, must ever bear its trouble to a protecting +strength, she looked up at the darkness of the cloudy sky and prayed +for the better fortune of the man who had indeed not remembered her +existence after the moment he had made her his obeisance. She +was too plain and sober a creature to be remembered.</p> +<p>“Perchance,” she murmured, “he is at this moment +also looking at the clouds from his window, because he cannot sleep +for thinking that in two days he will be beneath her father’s +roof and will see her loveliness, and he must needs be contriving within +his mind what he will say, if she do but look as if she might regard +him with favour, which I pray she will.”</p> +<p>From the path below, that moment there rose a slight sound, so slight +a one that for a moment she thought she must have been deceived in believing +it had fallen upon her ear. All was still after it for full two +minutes, and had she heard no more she would have surely forgotten she +had heard aught, or would have believed herself but the victim of fancy. +But after the long pause the same sound came again, though this time +it was slighter; yet, despite its slightness, it seemed to her to be +the crushing of the earth and stone beneath a cautious foot. It +was a foot so cautious that it was surely stealthy and scarce dared +to advance at all. And then all was still again. She was +for a moment overcome with fears, not being of a courageous temper, +and having heard, but of late, of a bold gipsy vagabond who, with a +companion, had broken into the lower rooms of a house of the neighbourhood, +and being surprised by its owner, had only been overcome and captured +after a desperate fight, in which shots were exchanged, and one of the +hurriedly-awakened servants killed. So she leaned forward to hearken +further, wondering what she should do to best alarm the house, and, +as she bent so, she heard the sound again and a smothered oath, and +with her straining eyes saw that surely upon the path there stood a +dark-draped figure. She rose with great care to her feet, and +stood a moment shaking and clinging to the window-ledge, while she bethought +her of what servants she could wake first, and how she could reach her +father’s room. Her poor heart beat in her side, and her +breath came quickly. The soundlessness of the night was broken +by one of the strange sudden gusts of wind which tossed the trees, and +tore at the clouds as they hurried. She heard the footsteps again, +as if it feared its own sound the less when the wind might cover it. +A faint pale gleam showed between two dark clouds behind which the moon +had been hidden; it grew brighter, and a jagged rent was torn, so that +the moon herself for a second or so shone out dazzling bright before +the clouds rushed over her again and shut her in.</p> +<p>It was at this very instant Mistress Anne heard the footsteps once +more, and saw full well a figure in dark cloak and hat which stepped +quickly into the shade of a great tree. But more she saw—and +clapped her hand upon her mouth to stifle the cry that would have otherwise +risen in spite of her—that notwithstanding his fair locks were +thrust out of sight beneath his hat, and he looked strange and almost +uncomely, it was the face of Sir John Oxon, the moon, bursting through +the jagged clouds, had shone upon.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII—Two meet in the deserted rose garden, and the +old Earl of Dunstanwolde is made a happy man</h2> +<p>It was not until three days later, instead of two, that Sir John +Oxon rode into the courtyard with his servant behind him. He had +been detained on his journey, but looked as if his impatience had not +caused him to suffer, for he wore his finest air of spirit and beauty, +and when he was alone with Sir Jeoffry, made his compliments to the +absent ladies, and inquired of their health with his best town grace.</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda did not appear until the dining hour, when she +swept into the room like a queen, followed by her sister, Anne, and +Mistress Wimpole, this being the first occasion of Mistress Anne’s +dining, as it were, in state with her family.</p> +<p>The honour had so alarmed her, that she looked pale, and so ugly +that Sir Jeoffry scowled at sight of her, and swore under his breath +to Clorinda that she should have been allowed to come.</p> +<p>“I know my own affairs the best, by your leave, sir,” +answered Clorinda, as low and with a grand flash of her eye. “She +hath been drilled well.”</p> +<p>This she had indeed, and so had Mistress Wimpole, and throughout +Sir John Oxon’s stay they were called upon to see that they played +well their parts. Two weeks he stayed and then rode gaily back +to town, and when Clorinda made her sweeping curtsey to the ground to +him upon the threshold of the flowered room in which he bade her farewell, +both Anne and Mistress Wimpole curtseyed a step behind her.</p> +<p>“Now that he has gone and you have shown me that you can attend +me as I wish,” she said, turning to them as the sound of his horse’s +hoofs died away, “it will not trouble me should he choose some +day to come again. He has not carried with him much that he can +boast of.”</p> +<p>In truth, it seemed to the outer world that she had held him well +in hand. If he had come as a sighing lover, the whole county knew +she had shown him but small favour. She had invited companies +to the house on several occasions, and all could see how she bore herself +towards him. She carried herself with a certain proud courtesy +as becoming the daughter of his host, but her wit did not spare him, +and sometimes when it was more than in common cutting he was seen to +wince though he held himself gallantly. There were one or two +who thought they now and then had seen his blue eyes fall upon her when +he believed none were looking, and rest there burningly for a moment, +but ’twas never for more than an instant, when he would rouse +himself with a start and turn away.</p> +<p>She had been for a month or two less given to passionate outbreaks, +having indeed decided that it was to her interest as a young lady and +a future great one to curb herself. Her tirewoman, Rebecca, had +begun to dare to breathe more freely when she was engaged about her +person, and had, in truth, spoken of her pleasanter fortune among her +fellows in the servants’ hall.</p> +<p>But a night or two after the visitor took his departure, she gave +way to such an outburst as even Rebecca had scarce ever beheld, being +roused to it by a small thing in one sense, though in yet another perhaps +great enough, since it touched upon the despoiling of one of her beauties.</p> +<p>She was at her toilet-table being prepared for the night, and her +long hair brushed and dressed before retiring. Mistress Wimpole +had come in to the chamber to do something at her bidding, and chancing +to stand gazing at her great and heavy fall of locks as she was waiting, +she observed a thing which caused her, foolish woman that she was, to +give a start and utter an unwise exclamation.</p> +<p>“Madam!” she gasped—“madam!”</p> +<p>“What then!” quoth Mistress Clorinda angrily. “You +bring my heart to my throat!”</p> +<p>“Your hair!” stammered Wimpole, losing all her small +wit—“your beauteous hair! A lock is gone, madam!”</p> +<p>Clorinda started to her feet, and flung the great black mass over +her white shoulder, that she might see it in the glass.</p> +<p>“Gone!” she cried. “Where? How? +What mean you? Ah-h!”</p> +<p>Her voice rose to a sound that was well-nigh a scream. She +saw the rifled spot—a place where a great lock had been severed +jaggedly—and it must have been five feet long.</p> +<p>She turned and sprang upon her woman, her beautiful face distorted +with fury, and her eyes like flames of fire. She seized her by +each shoulder and boxed her ears until her head spun round and bells +rang within it.</p> +<p>“’Twas you!” she shrieked. “’Twas +you—she-devil-beast—slut that you are! ’Twas +when you used your scissors to the new head you made for me. You +set it on my hair that you might set a loop—and in your sluttish +way you snipped a lock by accident and hid it from me.”</p> +<p>She beat her till her own black hair flew about her like the mane +of a fury; and having used her hands till they were tired, she took +her brush from the table and beat her with that till the room echoed +with the blows on the stout shoulders.</p> +<p>“Mistress, ’twas not so!” cried the poor thing, +sobbing and struggling. “’Twas not so, madam!”</p> +<p>“Madam, you will kill the woman,” wept Mistress Wimpole. +“I beseech you—! ’Tis not seemly, I beseech—”</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda flung her woman from her and threw the brush at +Mistress Wimpole, crying at her with the lordly rage she had been wont +to shriek with when she wore breeches.</p> +<p>“Damnation to thy seemliness!” she cried, “and +to thee too! Get thee gone—from me, both—get thee +gone from my sight!”</p> +<p>And both women fled weeping, and sobbing, and gasping from the room +incontinently.</p> +<p>She was shrewish and sullen with her woman for days after, and it +was the poor creature’s labour to keep from her sight, when she +dressed her head, the place from whence the lock had been taken. +In the servants’ hall the woman vowed that it was not she who +had cut it, that she had had no accident, though it was true she had +used the scissors about her head, yet it was but in snipping a ribbon, +and she had not touched a hair.</p> +<p>“If she were another lady,” she said, “I should +swear some gallant had robbed her of it; but, forsooth, she does not +allow them to come near enough for such sport, and with five feet of +hair wound up in coronals, how could a man unwind a lock, even if ’twas +permitted him to stand at her very side.”</p> +<p>Two years passed, and the beauty had no greater fields to conquer +than those she found in the country, since her father, Sir Jeoffry, +had not the money to take her to town, he becoming more and more involved +and so fallen into debt that it was even whispered that at times it +went hard with him to keep even the poor household he had.</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda’s fortunes the gentry of the neighbourhood +discussed with growing interest and curiosity. What was like to +become of her great gifts and powers in the end, if she could never +show them to the great world, and have the chance to carry her splendid +wares to the fashionable market where there were men of quality and +wealth who would be like to bid for them. She had not chosen to +accept any of those who had offered themselves so far, and it was believed +that for some reason she had held off my lord of Dunstanwolde in his +suit. ’Twas evident that he admired her greatly, and why +he had not already made her his countess was a sort of mystery which +was productive of many discussions and bore much talking over. +Some said that, with all her beauty and his admiration, he was wary +and waited, and some were pleased to say that the reason he waited was +because the young lady herself contrived that he should, it being her +desire to make an open conquest of Sir John Oxon, and show him to the +world as her slave, before she made up her mind to make even a much +greater match. Some hinted that for all her disdainfulness and +haughty pride she would marry Sir John if he asked her, but that he +being as brilliant a beau as she a beauty, he was too fond of his pleasures +and his gay town life to give them up even to a goddess who had no fortune. +His own had not been a great one, and he had squandered it magnificently, +his extravagances being renowned in the world of fashion, and having +indeed founded for him his reputation.</p> +<p>It was, however, still his way to accept frequent hospitalities from +his kinsman Eldershawe, and Sir Jeoffry was always rejoiced enough to +secure him as his companion for a few days when he could lure him from +the dissipation of the town. At such times it never failed that +Mistress Wimpole and poor Anne kept their guard. Clorinda never +allowed them to relax their vigilance, and Mistress Wimpole ceased to +feel afraid, and became accustomed to her duties, but Anne never did +so. She looked always her palest and ugliest when Sir John was +in the house, and she would glance with sad wonder and timid adoration +from him to Clorinda; but sometimes when she looked at Sir John her +plain face would grow crimson, and once or twice he caught her at the +folly, and when she dropped her eyes overwhelmed with shame, he faintly +smiled to himself, seeing in her a new though humble conquest.</p> +<p>There came a day when in the hunting-field there passed from mouth +to mouth a rumour, and Sir Jeoffry, hearing it, came pounding over on +his big black horse to his daughter and told it to her in great spirits.</p> +<p>“He is a sly dog, John Oxon,” he said, a broad grin on +his rubicund face. “This very week he comes to us, and he +and I are cronies, yet he has blabbed nothing of what is being buzzed +about by all the world.”</p> +<p>“He has learned how to keep a closed mouth,” said Mistress +Clorinda, without asking a question.</p> +<p>“But ’tis marriage he is so mum about, bless ye!” +said Sir Jeoffry. “And that is not a thing to be hid long. +He is to be shortly married, they say. My lady, his mother, has +found him a great fortune in a new beauty but just come to town. +She hath great estates in the West Indies, as well as a fine fortune +in England—and all the world is besieging her; but Jack hath come +and bowed sighing before her, and writ some verses, and borne her off +from them all.”</p> +<p>“’Tis time,” said Clorinda, “that he should +marry some woman who can pay his debts and keep him out of the spunging +house, for to that he will come if he does not play his cards with skill.”</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry looked at her askance and rubbed his red chin.</p> +<p>“I wish thou hadst liked him, Clo,” he said, “and +ye had both had fortunes to match. I love the fellow, and ye would +have made a handsome pair.”</p> +<p>Mistress Clorinda laughed, sitting straight in her saddle, her fine +eyes unblenching, though the sun struck them.</p> +<p>“We had fortunes to match,” she said—“I was +a beggar and he was a spendthrift. Here comes Lord Dunstanwolde.”</p> +<p>And as the gentleman rode near, it seemed to his dazzled eyes that +the sun so shone down upon her because she was a goddess and drew it +from the heavens.</p> +<p>In the west wing of the Hall ’twas talked of between Mistress +Wimpole and her charges, that a rumour of Sir John Oxon’s marriage +was afloat.</p> +<p>“Yet can I not believe it,” said Mistress Margery; “for +if ever a gentleman was deep in love, though he bitterly strove to hide +it, ’twas Sir John, and with Mistress Clorinda.”</p> +<p>“But she,” faltered Anne, looking pale and even agitated—“she +was always disdainful to him and held him at arm’s length. +I—I wished she would have treated him more kindly.”</p> +<p>“’Tis not her way to treat men kindly,” said Mistress +Wimpole.</p> +<p>But whether the rumour was true or false—and there were those +who bestowed no credit upon it, and said it was mere town talk, and +that the same things had been bruited abroad before—it so chanced +that Sir John paid no visit to his relative or to Sir Jeoffry for several +months. ’Twas heard once that he had gone to France, and +at the French Court was making as great a figure as he had made at the +English one, but of this even his kinsman Lord Eldershawe could speak +no more certainly than he could of the first matter.</p> +<p>The suit of my Lord of Dunstanwolde—if suit it was—during +these months appeared to advance somewhat. All orders of surmises +were made concerning it—that Mistress Clorinda had privately quarrelled +with Sir John and sent him packing; that he had tired of his love-making, +as ’twas well known he had done many times before, and having +squandered his possessions and finding himself in open straits, must +needs patch up his fortunes in a hurry with the first heiress whose +estate suited him. But ’twas the women who said these things; +the men swore that no man could tire of or desert such spirit and beauty, +and that if Sir John Oxon stayed away ’twas because he had been +commanded to do so, it never having been Mistress Clorinda’s intention +to do more than play with him awhile, she having been witty against +him always for a fop, and meaning herself to accept no man as a husband +who could not give her both rank and wealth.</p> +<p>“We know her,” said the old boon companions of her childhood, +as they talked of her over their bottles. “She knew her +price and would bargain for it when she was not eight years old, and +would give us songs and kisses but when she was paid for them with sweet +things and knickknacks from the toy-shops. She will marry no man +who cannot make her at least a countess, and she would take him but +because there was not a duke at hand. We know her, and her beauty’s +ways.”</p> +<p>But they did not know her; none knew her, save herself.</p> +<p>In the west wing, which grew more bare and ill-furnished as things +wore out and time went by, Mistress Anne waxed thinner and paler. +She was so thin in two months’ time, that her soft, dull eyes +looked twice their natural size, and seemed to stare piteously at people. +One day, indeed, as she sat at work in her sister’s room, Clorinda +being there at the time, the beauty, turning and beholding her face +suddenly, uttered a violent exclamation.</p> +<p>“Why look you at me so?” she said. “Your +eyes stand out of your head like a new-hatched, unfeathered bird’s. +They irk me with their strange asking look. Why do you stare at +me?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” Anne faltered. “I could +not tell you, sister. My eyes seem to stare so because of my thinness. +I have seen them in my mirror.”</p> +<p>“Why do you grow thin?” quoth Clorinda harshly. +“You are not ill.”</p> +<p>“I—I do not know,” again Anne faltered. “Naught +ails me. I do not know. For—forgive me!”</p> +<p>Clorinda laughed.</p> +<p>“Soft little fool,” she said, “why should you ask +me to forgive you? I might as fairly ask you to forgive <i>me</i>, +that I keep my shape and show no wasting.”</p> +<p>Anne rose from her chair and hurried to her sister’s side, +sinking upon her knees there to kiss her hand.</p> +<p>“Sister,” she said, “one could never dream that +you could need pardon. I love you so—that all you do, it +seems to me must be right—whatsoever it might be.”</p> +<p>Clorinda drew her fair hands away and clasped them on the top of +her head, proudly, as if she crowned herself thereby, her great and +splendid eyes setting themselves upon her sister’s face.</p> +<p>“All that I do,” she said slowly, and with the steadfast +high arrogance of an empress’ self—“All that I do +<i>is</i> right—for me. I make it so by doing it. +Do you think that I am conquered by the laws that other women crouch +and whine before, because they dare not break them, though they long +to do so? <i>I</i> am my own law—and the law of some others.”</p> +<p>It was by this time the first month of the summer, and to-night there +was again a birth-night ball, at which the beauty was to dazzle all +eyes; but ’twas of greater import than the one she had graced +previously, it being to celebrate the majority of the heir to an old +name and estate, who had been orphaned early, and was highly connected, +counting, indeed, among the members of his family the Duke of Osmonde, +who was one of the richest and most envied nobles in Great Britain, +his dukedom being of the oldest, his numerous estates the most splendid +and beautiful, and the long history of his family full of heroic deeds. +This nobleman was also a distant kinsman to the Earl of Dunstanwolde, +and at this ball, for the first time for months, Sir John Oxon appeared +again.</p> +<p>He did not arrive on the gay scene until an hour somewhat late. +But there was one who had seen him early, though no human soul had known +of the event.</p> +<p>In the rambling, ill-cared for grounds of Wildairs Hall there was +an old rose-garden, which had once been the pride and pleasure of some +lady of the house, though this had been long ago; and now it was but +a lonely wilderness where roses only grew because the dead Lady Wildairs +had loved them, and Barbara and Anne had tended them, and with their +own hands planted and pruned during their childhood and young maiden +days. But of late years even they had seemed to have forgotten +it, having become discouraged, perchance, having no gardeners to do +the rougher work, and the weeds and brambles so running riot. +There were high hedges and winding paths overgrown and run wild; the +stronger rose-bushes grew in tangled masses, flinging forth their rich +blooms among the weeds; such as were more delicate, struggling to live +among them, became more frail and scant-blossoming season by season; +a careless foot would have trodden them beneath it as their branches +grew long and trailed in the grass; but for many months no foot had +trodden there at all, and it was a beauteous place deserted.</p> +<p>In the centre was an ancient broken sun-dial, which was in these +days in the midst of a sort of thicket, where a bold tangle of the finest +red roses clambered, and, defying neglect, flaunted their rich colour +in the sun.</p> +<p>And though the place had been so long forgotten, and it was not the +custom for it to be visited, about this garlanded broken sun-dial the +grass was a little trodden, and on the morning of the young heir’s +coming of age some one stood there in the glowing sunlight as if waiting.</p> +<p>This was no less than Mistress Clorinda herself. She was clad +in a morning gown of white, which seemed to make of her more than ever +a tall, transcendent creature, less a woman than a conquering goddess; +and she had piled the dial with scarlet red roses, which she was choosing +to weave into a massive wreath or crown, for some purpose best known +to herself. Her head seemed haughtier and more splendidly held +on high even than was its common wont, but upon these roses her lustrous +eyes were downcast and were curiously smiling, as also was her ripe, +arching lip, whose scarlet the blossoms vied with but poorly. +It was a smile like this, perhaps, which Mistress Wimpole feared and +trembled before, for ’twas not a tender smile nor a melting one. +If she was waiting, she did not wait long, nor, to be sure, would she +have long waited if she had been kept by any daring laggard. This +was not her way.</p> +<p>’Twas not a laggard who came soon, stepping hurriedly with +light feet upon the grass, as though he feared the sound which might +be made if he had trodden upon the gravel. It was Sir John Oxon +who came towards her in his riding costume.</p> +<p>He came and stood before her on the other side of the dial, and made +her a bow so low that a quick eye might have thought ’twas almost +mocking. His feather, sweeping the ground, caught a fallen rose, +which clung to it. His beauty, when he stood upright, seemed to +defy the very morning’s self and all the morning world; but Mistress +Clorinda did not lift her eyes, but kept them upon her roses, and went +on weaving.</p> +<p>“Why did you choose to come?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Why did you choose to keep the tryst in answer to my message?” +he replied to her.</p> +<p>At this she lifted her great shining eyes and fixed them full upon +him.</p> +<p>“I wished,” she said, “to hear what you would say—but +more to <i>see</i> you than to hear.”</p> +<p>“And I,” he began—“I came—”</p> +<p>She held up her white hand with a long-stemmed rose in it—as +though a queen should lift a sceptre.</p> +<p>“You came,” she answered, “more to see <i>me</i> +than to hear. You made that blunder.”</p> +<p>“You choose to bear yourself like a goddess, and disdain me +from Olympian heights,” he said. “I had the wit to +guess it would be so.”</p> +<p>She shook her royal head, faintly and most strangely smiling.</p> +<p>“That you had not,” was her clear-worded answer. +“That is a later thought sprung up since you have seen my face. +’Twas quick—for you—but not quick enough.” +And the smile in her eyes was maddening. “You thought to +see a woman crushed and weeping, her beauty bent before you, her locks +dishevelled, her streaming eyes lifted to Heaven—and you—with +prayers, swearing that not Heaven could help her so much as your deigning +magnanimity. You have seen women do this before, you would have +seen <i>me</i> do it—at your feet—crying out that I was +lost—lost for ever. <i>That</i> you expected! ’Tis +not here.”</p> +<p>Debauched as his youth was, and free from all touch of heart or conscience—for +from his earliest boyhood he had been the pupil of rakes and fashionable +villains—well as he thought he knew all women and their ways, +betraying or betrayed—this creature taught him a new thing, a +new mood in woman, a new power which came upon him like a thunderbolt.</p> +<p>“Gods!” he exclaimed, catching his breath, and even falling +back apace, “Damnation! you are <i>not</i> a woman!”</p> +<p>She laughed again, weaving her roses, but not allowing that his eyes +should loose themselves from hers.</p> +<p>“But now, you called me a goddess and spoke of Olympian heights,” +she said; “I am not one—I am a woman who would show other +women how to bear themselves in hours like these. Because I am +a woman why should I kneel, and weep, and rave? What have I lost—in +losing you? I should have lost the same had I been twice your +wife. What is it women weep and beat their breasts for—because +they love a man—because they lose his love. They never have +them.”</p> +<p>She had finished the wreath, and held it up in the sun to look at +it. What a strange beauty was hers, as she held it so—a +heavy, sumptuous thing—in her white hands, her head thrown backward.</p> +<p>“You marry soon,” she asked—“if the match +is not broken?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, watching her—a flame growing +in his eyes and in his soul in his own despite.</p> +<p>“It cannot be too soon,” she said. And she turned +and faced him, holding the wreath high in her two hands poised like +a crown above her head—the brilliant sun embracing her, her lips +curling, her face uplifted as if she turned to defy the light, the crimson +of her cheek. ’Twas as if from foot to brow the woman’s +whole person was a flame, rising and burning triumphant high above him. +Thus for one second’s space she stood, dazzling his very eyesight +with her strange, dauntless splendour; and then she set the great rose-wreath +upon her head, so crowning it.</p> +<p>“You came to see me,” she said, the spark in her eyes +growing to the size of a star; “I bid you look at me—and +see how grief has faded me these past months, and how I am bowed down +by it. Look well—that you may remember.”</p> +<p>“I look,” he said, almost panting.</p> +<p>“Then,” she said, her fine-cut nostril pinching itself +with her breath, as she pointed down the path before her—“<i>go</i>!—back +to your kennel!”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>That night she appeared at the birth-night ball with the wreath of +roses on her head. No other ladies wore such things, ’twas +a fashion of her own; but she wore it in such beauty and with such state +that it became a crown again even as it had been the first moment that +she had put it on. All gazed at her as she entered, and a murmur +followed her as she moved with her father up the broad oak staircase +which was known through all the country for its width and massive beauty. +In the hall below guests were crowded, and there were indeed few of +them who did not watch her as she mounted by Sir Jeoffry’s side. +In the upper hall there were guests also, some walking to and fro, some +standing talking, many looking down at the arrivals as they came up.</p> +<p>“’Tis Mistress Wildairs,” these murmured as they +saw her. “Clorinda, by God!” said one of the older +men to his crony who stood near him. “And crowned with roses! +The vixen makes them look as if they were built of rubies in every leaf.”</p> +<p>At the top of the great staircase there stood a gentleman, who had +indeed paused a moment, spellbound, as he saw her coming. He was +a man of unusual height and of a majestic mien; he wore a fair periwig, +which added to his tallness; his laces and embroiderings were marvels +of art and richness, and his breast blazed with orders. Strangely, +she did not seem to see him; but when she reached the landing, and her +face was turned so that he beheld the full blaze of its beauty, ’twas +so great a wonder and revelation to him that he gave a start. +The next moment almost, one of the red roses of her crown broke loose +from its fastenings and fell at his very feet. His countenance +changed so that it seemed almost, for a second, to lose some of its +colour. He stooped and picked the rose up and held it in his hand. +But Mistress Clorinda was looking at my Lord of Dunstanwolde, who was +moving through the crowd to greet her. She gave him a brilliant +smile, and from her lustrous eyes surely there passed something which +lit a fire of hope in his.</p> +<p>After she had made her obeisance to her entertainers, and her birthday +greetings to the young heir, he contrived to draw closely to her side +and speak a few words in a tone those near her could not hear.</p> +<p>“To-night, madam,” he said, with melting fervour, “you +deign to bring me my answer as you promised.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she murmured. “Take me where we may +be a few moments alone.”</p> +<p>He led her to an antechamber, where they were sheltered from the +gaze of the passers-by, though all was moving gaiety about them. +He fell upon his knee and bowed to kiss her fair hand. Despite +the sobriety of his years, he was as eager and tender as a boy.</p> +<p>“Be gracious to me, madam,” he implored. “I +am not young enough to wait. Too many months have been thrown +away.”</p> +<p>“You need wait no longer, my lord,” she said—“not +one single hour.”</p> +<p>And while he, poor gentleman, knelt, kissing her hand with adoring +humbleness, she, under the splendour of her crown of roses, gazed down +at his grey-sprinkled head with her great steady shining orbs, as if +gazing at some almost uncomprehended piteous wonder.</p> +<p>In less than an hour the whole assemblage knew of the event and talked +of it. Young men looked daggers at Dunstanwolde and at each other; +and older men wore glum or envious faces. Women told each other +’twas as they had known it would be, or ’twas a wonder that +at last it had come about. Upon the arm of her lord that was to +be, Mistress Clorinda passed from room to room like a royal bride.</p> +<p>As she made her first turn of the ballroom, all eyes upon her, her +beauty blazing at its highest, Sir John Oxon entered and stood at the +door. He wore his gallant air, and smiled as ever; and when she +drew near him he bowed low, and she stopped, and bent lower in a curtsey +sweeping the ground.</p> +<p>’Twas but in the next room her lord led her to a gentleman +who stood with a sort of court about him. It was the tall stranger, +with the fair periwig, and the orders glittering on his breast—the +one who had started at sight of her as she had reached the landing of +the stairs. He held still in his hand a broken red rose, and when +his eye fell on her crown the colour mounted to his cheek.</p> +<p>“My honoured kinsman, his Grace the Duke of Osmonde,” +said her affianced lord. “Your Grace—it is this lady +who is to do me the great honour of becoming my Lady Dunstanwolde.”</p> +<p>And as the deep, tawny brown eye of the man bending before her flashed +into her own, for the first time in her life Mistress Clorinda’s +lids fell, and as she swept her curtsey of stately obeisance her heart +struck like a hammer against her side.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX—“I give to him the thing he craves with all +his soul—myself”</h2> +<p>In a month she was the Countess of Dunstanwolde, and reigned in her +lord’s great town house with a retinue of servants, her powdered +lackeys among the tallest, her liveries and equipages the richest the +world of fashion knew. She was presented at the Court, blazing +with the Dunstanwolde jewels, and even with others her bridegroom had +bought in his passionate desire to heap upon her the magnificence which +became her so well. From the hour she knelt to kiss the hand of +royalty she set the town on fire. It seemed to have been ordained +by Fate that her passage through this world should be always the triumphant +passage of a conqueror. As when a baby she had ruled the servants’ +hall, the kennel, and the grooms’ quarters, later her father and +his boisterous friends, and from her fifteenth birthday the whole hunting +shire she lived in, so she held her sway in the great world, as did +no other lady of her rank or any higher. Those of her age seemed +but girls yet by her side, whether married or unmarried, and howsoever +trained to modish ways. She was but scarce eighteen at her marriage, +but she was no girl, nor did she look one, glowing as was the early +splendour of her bloom. Her height was far beyond the ordinary +for a woman; but her shape so faultless and her carriage so regal, that +though there were men upon whom she was tall enough to look down with +ease, the beholder but felt that her tallness was an added grace and +beauty with which all women should have been endowed, and which, as +they were not, caused them to appear but insignificant. What a +throat her diamonds blazed on, what shoulders and bosom her laces framed, +on what a brow her coronet sat and glittered. Her lord lived as +’twere upon his knees in enraptured adoration. Since his +first wife’s death in his youth, he had dwelt almost entirely +in the country at his house there, which was fine and stately, but had +been kept gloomily half closed for a decade. His town establishment +had, in truth, never been opened since his bereavement; and now—an +elderly man—he returned to the gay world he had almost forgotten, +with a bride whose youth and beauty set it aflame. What wonder +that his head almost reeled at times and that he lost his breath before +the sum of his strange late bliss, and the new lease of brilliant life +which seemed to have been given to him.</p> +<p>In the days when, while in the country, he had heard such rumours +of the lawless days of Sir Jeoffry Wildairs’ daughter, when he +had heard of her dauntless boldness, her shrewish temper, and her violent +passions, he had been awed at the thought of what a wife such a woman +would make for a gentleman accustomed to a quiet life, and he had indeed +striven hard to restrain the desperate admiration he was forced to admit +she had inspired in him even at her first ball.</p> +<p>The effort had, in sooth, been in vain, and he had passed many a +sleepless night; and when, as time went on, he beheld her again and +again, and saw with his own eyes, as well as heard from others, of the +great change which seemed to have taken place in her manners and character, +he began devoutly to thank Heaven for the alteration, as for a merciful +boon vouchsafed to him. He had been wise enough to know that even +a stronger man than himself could never conquer or rule her; and when +she seemed to begin to rule herself and bear herself as befitted her +birth and beauty, he had dared to allow himself to dream of what perchance +might be if he had great good fortune.</p> +<p>In these days of her union with him, he was, indeed, almost humbly +amazed at the grace and kindness she showed him every hour they passed +in each other’s company. He knew that there were men, younger +and handsomer than himself, who, being wedded to beauties far less triumphant +than she, found that their wives had but little time to spare them from +the world, which knelt at their feet, and that in some fashion they +themselves seemed to fall into the background. But ’twas +not so with this woman, powerful and worshipped though she might be. +She bore herself with the high dignity of her rank, but rendered to +him the gracious respect and deference due both to his position and +his merit. She stood by his side and not before him, and her smiles +and wit were bestowed upon him as generously as to others. If +she had once been a vixen, she was surely so no longer, for he never +heard a sharp or harsh word pass her lips, though it is true her manner +was always somewhat imperial, and her lacqueys and waiting women stood +in greatest awe of her. There was that in her presence and in +her eye before which all commoner or weaker creatures quailed. +The men of the world who flocked to pay their court to her, and the +popinjays who followed them, all knew this look, and a tone in her rich +voice which could cut like a knife when she chose that it should do +so. But to my Lord of Dunstanwolde she was all that a worshipped +lady could be.</p> +<p>“Your ladyship has made of me a happier man than I ever dared +to dream of being, even when I was but thirty,” he would say to +her, with reverent devotion. “I know not what I have done +to deserve this late summer which hath been given me.”</p> +<p>“When I consented to be your wife,” she answered once, +“I swore to myself that I would make one for you;” and she +crossed the hearth to where he sat—she was attired in all her +splendour for a Court ball, and starred with jewels—bent over +his chair and placed a kiss upon his grizzled hair.</p> +<p>Upon the night before her wedding with him, her sister, Mistress +Anne, had stolen to her chamber at a late hour. When she had knocked +upon the door, and had been commanded to enter, she had come in, and +closing the door behind her, had stood leaning against it, looking before +her, with her eyes wide with agitation and her poor face almost grey.</p> +<p>All the tapers for which places could be found had been gathered +together, and the room was a blaze of light. In the midst of it, +before her mirror, Clorinda stood attired in her bridal splendour of +white satin and flowing rich lace, a diamond crescent on her head, sparks +of light flaming from every point of her raiment. When she caught +sight of Anne’s reflection in the glass before her, she turned +and stood staring at her in wonder.</p> +<p>“What—nay, what is this?” she cried. “What +do you come for? On my soul, you come for something—or you +have gone mad.”</p> +<p>Anne started forward, trembling, her hands clasped upon her breast, +and fell at her feet with sobs.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” she gasped, “I came—for something—to +speak—to pray you—! Sister—Clorinda, have patience +with me—till my courage comes again!” and she clutched her +robe.</p> +<p>Something which came nigh to being a shudder passed through Mistress +Clorinda’s frame; but it was gone in a second, and she touched +Anne—though not ungently—with her foot, withdrawing her +robe.</p> +<p>“Do not stain it with your tears,” she said, “’twould +be a bad omen.”</p> +<p>Anne buried her face in her hands and knelt so before her.</p> +<p>“’Tis not too late!” she said—“’tis +not too late yet.”</p> +<p>“For what?” Clorinda asked. “For what, I +pray you tell me, if you can find your wits. You go beyond my +patience with your folly.”</p> +<p>“Too late to stop,” said Anne—“to draw back +and repent.”</p> +<p>“What?” commanded Clorinda—“what then should +I repent me?”</p> +<p>“This marriage,” trembled Mistress Anne, taking her poor +hands from her face to wring them. “It should not be.”</p> +<p>“Fool!” quoth Clorinda. “Get up and cease +your grovelling. Did you come to tell me it was not too late to +draw back and refuse to be the Countess of Dunstanwolde?” and +she laughed bitterly.</p> +<p>“But it should not be—it must not!” Anne panted. +“I—I know, sister, I know—”</p> +<p>Clorinda bent deliberately and laid her strong, jewelled hand on +her shoulder with a grasp like a vice. There was no hurry in her +movement or in her air, but by sheer, slow strength she forced her head +backward so that the terrified woman was staring in her face.</p> +<p>“Look at me,” she said. “I would see you +well, and be squarely looked at, that my eyes may keep you from going +mad. You have pondered over this marriage until you have a frenzy. +Women who live alone are sometimes so, and your brain was always weak. +What is it that you know. Look—in my eyes—and tell +me.”</p> +<p>It seemed as if her gaze stabbed through Anne’s eyes to the +very centre of her brain. Anne tried to bear it, and shrunk and +withered; she would have fallen upon the floor at her feet a helpless, +sobbing heap, but the white hand would not let her go.</p> +<p>“Find your courage—if you have lost it—and speak +plain words,” Clorinda commanded. Anne tried to writhe away, +but could not again, and burst into passionate, hopeless weeping.</p> +<p>“I cannot—I dare not!” she gasped. “I +am afraid. You are right; my brain is weak, and I—but that—that +gentleman—who so loved you—”</p> +<p>“Which?” said Clorinda, with a brief scornful laugh.</p> +<p>“The one who was so handsome—with the fair locks and +the gallant air—”</p> +<p>“The one you fell in love with and stared at through the window,” +said Clorinda, with her brief laugh again. “John Oxon! +He has victims enough, forsooth, to have spared such an one as you are.”</p> +<p>“But he loved you!” cried Anne piteously, “and +it must have been that you—you too, sister—or—or else—” +She choked again with sobs, and Clorinda released her grasp upon her +shoulder and stood upright.</p> +<p>“He wants none of me—nor I of him,” she said, with +strange sternness. “We have done with one another. +Get up upon your feet if you would not have me thrust you out into the +corridor.”</p> +<p>She turned from her, and walking back to her dressing-table, stood +there steadying the diadem on her hair, which had loosed a fastening +when Anne tried to writhe away from her. Anne half sat, half knelt +upon the floor, staring at her with wet, wild eyes of misery and fear.</p> +<p>“Leave your kneeling,” commanded her sister again, “and +come here.”</p> +<p>Anne staggered to her feet and obeyed her behest. In the glass +she could see the resplendent reflection; but Clorinda did not deign +to turn towards her while she addressed her, changing the while the +brilliants in her hair.</p> +<p>“Hark you, sister Anne,” she said. “I read +you better than you think. You are a poor thing, but you love +me and—in my fashion—I think I love you somewhat too. +You think I should not marry a gentleman whom you fancy I do not love +as I might a younger, handsomer man. You are full of love, and +spinster dreams of it which make you flighty. I love my Lord of +Dunstanwolde as well as any other man, and better than some, for I do +not hate him. He has a fine estate, and is a gentleman—and +worships me. Since I have been promised to him, I own I have for +a moment seen another gentleman who <i>might</i>—but ’twas +but for a moment, and ’tis done with. ’Twas too late +then. If we had met two years agone ’twould not have been +so. My Lord Dunstanwolde gives to me wealth, and rank, and life +at Court. I give to him the thing he craves with all his soul—myself. +It is an honest bargain, and I shall bear my part of it with honesty. +I have no virtues—where should I have got them from, forsooth, +in a life like mine? I mean I have no women’s virtues; but +I have one that is sometimes—not always—a man’s. +’Tis that I am not a coward and a trickster, and keep my word +when ’tis given. You fear that I shall lead my lord a bitter +life of it. ’Twill not be so. He shall live smoothly, +and not suffer from me. What he has paid for he shall honestly +have. I will not cheat him as weaker women do their husbands; +for he pays—poor gentleman—he pays.”</p> +<p>And then, still looking at the glass, she pointed to the doorway +through which her sister had come, and in obedience to her gesture of +command, Mistress Anne stole silently away.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X—“Yes—I have marked him”</h2> +<p>Through the brilliant, happy year succeeding to his marriage my Lord +of Dunstanwolde lived like a man who dreams a blissful dream and knows +it is one.</p> +<p>“I feel,” he said to his lady, “as if ’twere +too great rapture to last, and yet what end could come, unless you ceased +to be kind to me; and, in truth, I feel that you are too noble above +all other women to change, unless I were more unworthy than I could +ever be since you are mine.”</p> +<p>Both in the town and in the country, which last place heard many +things of his condition and estate through rumour, he was the man most +wondered at and envied of his time—envied because of his strange +happiness; wondered at because having, when long past youth, borne off +this arrogant beauty from all other aspirants she showed no arrogance +to him, and was as perfect a wife as could have been some woman without +gifts whom he had lifted from low estate and endowed with rank and fortune. +She seemed both to respect himself and her position as his lady and +spouse. Her manner of reigning in his household was among his +many delights the greatest. It was a great house, and an old one, +built long before by a Dunstanwolde whose lavish feasts and riotous +banquets had been the notable feature of his life. It was curiously +rambling in its structure. The rooms of entertainment were large +and splendid, the halls and staircases stately; below stairs there was +space for an army of servants to be disposed of; and its network of +cellars and wine-vaults was so beyond all need that more than one long +arched stone passage was shut up as being without use, and but letting +cold, damp air into corridors leading to the servants’ quarters. +It was, indeed, my Lady Dunstanwolde who had ordered the closing of +this part when it had been her pleasure to be shown her domain by her +housekeeper, the which had greatly awed and impressed her household +as signifying that, exalted lady as she was, her wit was practical as +well as brilliant, and that her eyes being open to her surroundings, +she meant not that her lacqueys should rob her and her scullions filch, +thinking that she was so high that she was ignorant of common things +and blind.</p> +<p>“You will be well housed and fed and paid your dues,” +she said to them; “but the first man or woman who does a task +ill or dishonestly will be turned from his place that hour. I +deal justice—not mercy.”</p> +<p>“Such a mistress they have never had before,” said my +lord when she related this to him. “Nay, they have never +dreamed of such a lady—one who can be at once so severe and so +kind. But there is none other such, my dearest one. They +will fear and worship you.”</p> +<p>She gave him one of her sweet, splendid smiles. It was the +sweetness she at rare times gave her splendid smile which was her marvellous +power.</p> +<p>“I would not be too grand a lady to be a good housewife,” +she said. “I may not order your dinners, my dear lord, or +sweep your corridors, but they shall know I rule your household and +would rule it well.”</p> +<p>“You are a goddess!” he cried, kneeling to her, enraptured. +“And you have given yourself to a poor mortal man, who can but +worship you.”</p> +<p>“You give me all I have,” she said, “and you love +me nobly, and I am grateful.”</p> +<p>Her assemblies were the most brilliant in the town, and the most +to be desired entrance to. Wits and beauties planned and intrigued +that they might be bidden to her house; beaux and fine ladies fell into +the spleen if she neglected them. Her lord’s kinsman the +Duke of Osmonde, who had been present when she first knelt to Royalty, +had scarce removed his eyes from her so long as he could gaze. +He went to Dunstanwolde afterwards and congratulated him with stately +courtesy upon his great good fortune and happiness, speaking almost +with fire of her beauty and majesty, and thanking his kinsman that through +him such perfections had been given to their name and house. From +that time, at all special assemblies given by his kinsman he was present, +the observed of all observers. He was a man of whom ’twas +said that he was the most magnificent gentleman in Europe; that there +was none to compare with him in the combination of gifts given both +by Nature and Fortune. His beauty both of feature and carriage +was of the greatest, his mind was of the highest, and his education +far beyond that of the age he lived in. It was not the fashion +of the day that men of his rank should devote themselves to the cultivation +of their intellects instead of to a life of pleasure; but this he had +done from his earliest youth, and now, in his perfect though early maturity, +he had no equal in polished knowledge and charm of bearing. He +was the patron of literature and art; men of genius were not kept waiting +in his antechamber, but were received by him with courtesy and honour. +At the Court ’twas well known there was no man who stood so near +the throne in favour, and that there was no union so exalted that he +might not have made his suit as rather that of a superior than an equal. +The Queen both loved and honoured him, and condescended to avow as much +with gracious frankness. She knew no other man, she deigned to +say, who was so worthy of honour and affection, and that he had not +married must be because there was no woman who could meet him on ground +that was equal. If there were no scandals about him—and +there were none—’twas not because he was cold of heart or +imagination. No man or woman could look into his deep eye and +not know that when love came to him ’twould be a burning passion, +and an evil fate if it went ill instead of happily.</p> +<p>“Being past his callow, youthful days, ’tis time he made +some woman a duchess,” Dunstanwolde said reflectively once to +his wife. “’Twould be more fitting that he should; +and it is his way to honour his house in all things, and bear himself +without fault as the head of it. Methinks it strange he makes +no move to do it.”</p> +<p>“No, ’tis not strange,” said my lady, looking under +her black-fringed lids at the glow of the fire, as though reflecting +also. “There is no strangeness in it.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” her lord asked.</p> +<p>“There is no mate for him,” she answered slowly. +“A man like him must mate as well as marry, or he will break his +heart with silent raging at the weakness of the thing he is tied to. +He is too strong and splendid for a common woman. If he married +one, ’twould be as if a lion had taken to himself for mate a jackal +or a sheep. Ah!” with a long drawn breath—“he +would go mad—mad with misery;” and her hands, which lay +upon her knee, wrung themselves hard together, though none could see +it.</p> +<p>“He should have a goddess, were they not so rare,” said +Dunstanwolde, gently smiling. “He should hold a bitter grudge +against me, that I, his unworthy kinsman, have been given the only one.”</p> +<p>“Yes, he should have a goddess,” said my lady slowly +again; “and there are but women, naught but women.”</p> +<p>“You have marked him well,” said her lord, admiring her +wisdom. “Methinks that you—though you have spoken +to him but little, and have but of late become his kinswoman—have +marked and read him better than the rest of us.”</p> +<p>“Yes—I have marked him,” was her answer.</p> +<p>“He is a man to mark, and I have a keen eye.” She +rose up as she spoke, and stood before the fire, lifted by some strong +feeling to her fullest height, and towering there, splendid in the shadow—for +’twas by twilight they talked. “He is a Man,” +she said—“he is a Man! Nay, he is as God meant man +should be. And if men were so, there would be women great enough +for them to mate with and to give the world men like them.” +And but that she stood in the shadow, her lord would have seen the crimson +torrent rush up her cheek and brow, and overspread her long round throat +itself.</p> +<p>If none other had known of it, there was one man who knew that she +had marked him, though she had borne herself towards him always with +her stateliest grace. This man was his Grace the Duke himself. +From the hour that he had stood transfixed as he watched her come up +the broad oak stair, from the moment that the red rose fell from her +wreath at his feet, and he had stooped to lift it in his hand, he had +seen her as no other man had seen her, and he had known that had he +not come but just too late, she would have been his own. Each +time he had beheld her since that night he had felt this burn more deeply +in his soul. He was too high and fine in all his thoughts to say +to himself that in her he saw for the first time the woman who was his +peer; but this was very truth—or might have been, if Fate had +set her youth elsewhere, and a lady who was noble and her own mother +had trained and guarded her. When he saw her at the Court surrounded, +as she ever was, by a court of her own; when he saw her reigning in +her lord’s house, receiving and doing gracious honour to his guests +and hers; when she passed him in her coach, drawing every eye by the +majesty of her presence, as she drove through the town, he felt a deep +pang, which was all the greater that his honour bade him conquer it. +He had no ignoble thought of her, he would have scorned to sully his +soul with any light passion; to him she was the woman who might have +been his beloved wife and duchess, who would have upheld with him the +honour and traditions of his house, whose strength and power and beauty +would have been handed down to his children, who so would have been +born endowed with gifts befitting the state to which Heaven had called +them. It was of this he thought when he saw her, and of naught +less like to do her honour. And as he had marked her so, he saw +in her eyes, despite her dignity and grace, she had marked him. +He did not know how closely, or that she gave him the attention he could +not restrain himself from bestowing upon her. But when he bowed +before her, and she greeted him with all courtesy, he saw in her great, +splendid eye that had Fate willed it so, she would have understood all +his thoughts, shared all his ambitions, and aided him to uphold his +high ideals. Nay, he knew she understood him even now, and was +stirred by what stirred him also, even though they met but rarely, and +when they encountered each other, spoke but as kinsman and kinswoman +who would show each other all gracious respect and honour. It +was because of this pang which struck his great heart at times that +he was not a frequent visitor at my Lord Dunstanwolde’s mansion, +but appeared there only at such assemblies as were matters of ceremony, +his absence from which would have been a noted thing. His kinsman +was fond of him, and though himself of so much riper age, honoured him +greatly. At times he strove to lure him into visits of greater +familiarity; but though his kindness was never met coldly or repulsed, +a further intimacy was in some gracious way avoided.</p> +<p>“My lady must beguile you to be less formal with us,” +said Dunstanwolde. And later her ladyship spoke as her husband +had privately desired: “My lord would be made greatly happy if +your Grace would honour our house oftener,” she said one night, +when at the end of a great ball he was bidding her adieu.</p> +<p>Osmonde’s deep eye met hers gently and held it. “My +Lord Dunstanwolde is always gracious and warm of heart to his kinsman,” +he replied. “Do not let him think me discourteous or ungrateful. +In truth, your ladyship, I am neither the one nor the other.”</p> +<p>The eyes of each gazed into the other’s steadfastly and gravely. +The Duke of Osmonde thought of Juno’s as he looked at hers; they +were of such velvet, and held such fathomless deeps.</p> +<p>“Your Grace is not so free as lesser men,” Clorinda said. +“You cannot come and go as you would.”</p> +<p>“No,” he answered gravely, “I cannot, as I would.”</p> +<p>And this was all.</p> +<p>It having been known by all the world that, despite her beauty and +her conquests, Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had not smiled with great +favour upon Sir John Oxon in the country, it was not wondered at or +made any matter of gossip that the Countess of Dunstanwolde was but +little familiar with him and saw him but rarely at her house in town.</p> +<p>Once or twice he had appeared there, it is true, at my Lord Dunstanwolde’s +instance, but my lady herself scarce seemed to see him after her first +courtesies as hostess were over.</p> +<p>“You never smiled on him, my love,” Dunstanwolde said +to his wife. “You bore yourself towards him but cavalierly, +as was your ladyship’s way—with all but one poor servant,” +tenderly; “but he was one of the many who followed in your train, +and if these gay young fellows stay away, ’twill be said that +I keep them at a distance because I am afraid of their youth and gallantry. +I would not have it fancied that I was so ungrateful as to presume upon +your goodness and not leave to you your freedom.”</p> +<p>“Nor would I, my lord,” she answered. “But +he will not come often; I do not love him well enough.”</p> +<p>His marriage with the heiress who had wealth in the West Indies was +broken off, or rather ’twas said had come to naught. All +the town knew it, and wondered, and talked, because it had been believed +at first that the young lady was much enamoured of him, and that he +would soon lead her to the altar, the which his creditors had greatly +rejoiced over as promising them some hope that her fortune would pay +their bills of which they had been in despair. Later, however, +gossip said that the heiress had not been so tender as was thought; +that, indeed, she had been found to be in love with another man, and +that even had she not, she had heard such stories of Sir John as promised +but little nuptial happiness for any woman that took him to husband.</p> +<p>When my Lord Dunstanwolde brought his bride to town, and she soared +at once to splendid triumph and renown, inflaming every heart, and setting +every tongue at work, clamouring her praises, Sir John Oxon saw her +from afar in all the scenes of brilliant fashion she frequented and +reigned queen of. ’Twas from afar, it might be said, he +saw her only, though he was often near her, because she bore herself +as if she did not observe him, or as though he were a thing which did +not exist. The first time that she deigned to address him was +upon an occasion when she found herself standing so near him at an assembly +that in the crowd she brushed him with her robe. His blue eyes +were fixed burningly upon her, and as she brushed him he drew in a hard +breath, which she hearing, turned slowly and let her own eyes fall upon +his face.</p> +<p>“You did not marry,” she said.</p> +<p>“No, I did not marry,” he answered, in a low, bitter +voice. “’Twas your ladyship who did that.”</p> +<p>She faintly, slowly smiled.</p> +<p>“I should not have been like to do otherwise,” she said; +“’tis an honourable condition. I would advise you +to enter it.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI—Wherein a noble life comes to an end</h2> +<p>When the earl and his countess went to their house in the country, +there fell to Mistress Anne a great and curious piece of good fortune. +In her wildest dreams she had never dared to hope that such a thing +might be.</p> +<p>My Lady Dunstanwolde, on her first visit home, bore her sister back +with her to the manor, and there established her. She gave her +a suite of rooms and a waiting woman of her own, and even provided her +with a suitable wardrobe. This last she had chosen herself with +a taste and fitness which only such wit as her own could have devised.</p> +<p>“They are not great rooms I give thee, Anne,” she said, +“but quiet and small ones, which you can make home-like in such +ways as I know your taste lies. My lord has aided me to choose +romances for your shelves, he knowing more of books than I do. +And I shall not dress thee out like a peacock with gay colours and great +farthingales. They would frighten thee, poor woman, and be a burden +with their weight. I have chosen such things as are not too splendid, +but will suit thy pale face and shot partridge eyes.”</p> +<p>Anne stood in the middle of her room and looked about at its comforts, +wondering.</p> +<p>“Sister,” she said, “why are you so good to me? +What have I done to serve you? Why is it Anne instead of Barbara +you are so gracious to?”</p> +<p>“Perchance because I am a vain woman and would be worshipped +as you worship me.”</p> +<p>“But you are always worshipped,” Anne faltered.</p> +<p>“Ay, by men!” said Clorinda, mocking; “but not +by women. And it may be that my pride is so high that I must be +worshipped by a woman too. You would always love me, sister Anne. +If you saw me break the law—if you saw me stab the man I hated +to the heart, you would think it must be pardoned to me.”</p> +<p>She laughed, and yet her voice was such that Anne lost her breath +and caught at it again.</p> +<p>“Ay, I should love you, sister!” she cried. “Even +then I could not but love you. I should know you could not strike +so an innocent creature, and that to be so hated he must have been worthy +of hate. You—are not like other women, sister Clorinda; +but you could not be base—for you have a great heart.”</p> +<p>Clorinda put her hand to her side and laughed again, but with less +mocking in her laughter.</p> +<p>“What do you know of my heart, Anne?” she said. +“Till late I did not know it beat, myself. My lord says +’tis a great one and noble, but I know ’tis his own that +is so. Have I done honestly by him, Anne, as I told you I would? +Have I been fair in my bargain—as fair as an honest man, and not +a puling, slippery woman?”</p> +<p>“You have been a great lady,” Anne answered, her great +dull, soft eyes filling with slow tears as she gazed at her. “He +says that you have given to him a year of Heaven, and that you seem +to him like some archangel—for the lower angels seem not high +enough to set beside you.”</p> +<p>“’Tis as I said—’tis his heart that is noble,” +said Clorinda. “But I vowed it should be so. He paid—he +paid!”</p> +<p>The country saw her lord’s happiness as the town had done, +and wondered at it no less. The manor was thrown open, and guests +came down from town; great dinners and balls being given, at which all +the country saw the mistress reign at her consort’s side with +such a grace as no lady ever had worn before. Sir Jeoffry, appearing +at these assemblies, was so amazed that he forgot to muddle himself +with drink, in gazing at his daughter and following her in all her movements.</p> +<p>“Look at her!” he said to his old boon companions and +hers, who were as much awed as he. “Lord! who would think +she was the strapping, handsome shrew that swore, and sang men’s +songs to us, and rode to the hunt in breeches.”</p> +<p>He was awed at the thought of paying fatherly visits to her house, +and would have kept away, but that she was kind to him in the way he +was best able to understand.</p> +<p>“I am country-bred, and have not the manners of your town men, +my lady,” he said to her, as he sat with her alone on one of the +first mornings he spent with her in her private apartment. “I +am used to rap out an oath or an ill-mannered word when it comes to +me. Dunstanwolde has weaned you of hearing such things—and +I am too old a dog to change.”</p> +<p>“Wouldst have thought I was too old to change,” answered +she, “but I was not. Did I not tell thee I would be a great +lady? There is naught a man or woman cannot learn who hath the +wit.”</p> +<p>“Thou hadst it, Clo,” said Sir Jeoffry, gazing at her +with a sort of slow wonder. “Thou hadst it. If thou +hadst not—!” He paused, and shook his head, and there +was a rough emotion in his coarse face. “I was not the man +to have made aught but a baggage of thee, Clo. I taught thee naught +decent, and thou never heard or saw aught to teach thee. Damn +me!” almost with moisture in his eyes, “if I know what kept +thee from going to ruin before thou wert fifteen.”</p> +<p>She sat and watched him steadily.</p> +<p>“Nor I,” quoth she, in answer. “Nor I—but +here thou seest me, Dad—an earl’s lady, sitting before thee.”</p> +<p>“’Twas thy wit,” said he, still moved, and fairly +maudlin. “’Twas thy wit and thy devil’s will!”</p> +<p>“Ay,” she answered, “’twas they—my +wit and my devil’s will!”</p> +<p>She rode to the hunt with him as she had been wont to do, but she +wore the latest fashion in hunting habit and coat; and though ’twould +not have been possible for her to sit her horse better than of old, +or to take hedges and ditches with greater daring and spirit, yet in +some way every man who rode with her felt that ’twas a great lady +who led the field. The horse she rode was a fierce, beauteous +devil of a beast which Sir Jeoffry himself would scarce have mounted +even in his younger days; but she carried her loaded whip, and she sat +upon the brute as if she scarcely felt its temper, and held it with +a wrist of steel.</p> +<p>My Lord Dunstanwolde did not hunt this season. He had never +been greatly fond of the sport, and at this time was a little ailing, +but he would not let his lady give up her pleasure because he could +not join it.</p> +<p>“Nay,” he said, “’tis not for the queen of +the hunting-field to stay at home to nurse an old man’s aches. +My pride would not let it be so. Your father will attend you. +Go—and lead them all, my dear.”</p> +<p>In the field appeared Sir John Oxon, who for a brief visit was at +Eldershawe. He rode close to my lady, though she had naught to +say to him after her first greetings of civility. He looked not +as fresh and glowing with youth as had been his wont only a year ago. +His reckless wildness of life and his town debaucheries had at last +touched his bloom, perhaps. He had a haggard look at moments when +his countenance was not lighted by excitement. ’Twas whispered +that he was deep enough in debt to be greatly straitened, and that his +marriage having come to naught his creditors were besetting him without +mercy. This and more than this, no one knew so well as my Lady +Dunstanwolde; but of a certainty she had little pity for his evil case, +if one might judge by her face, when in the course of the running he +took a hedge behind her, and pressing his horse, came up by her side +and spoke.</p> +<p>“Clorinda,” he began breathlessly, through set teeth.</p> +<p>She could have left him and not answered, but she chose to restrain +the pace of her wild beast for a moment and look at him.</p> +<p>“‘Your ladyship!’” she corrected his audacity. +“Or—‘my Lady Dunstanwolde.’”</p> +<p>“There was a time”—he said.</p> +<p>“This morning,” she said, “I found a letter in +a casket in my closet. I do not know the mad villain who wrote +it. I never knew him.”</p> +<p>“You did not,” he cried, with an oath, and then laughed +scornfully.</p> +<p>“The letter lies in ashes on the hearth,” she said. +“’Twas burned unopened. Do not ride so close, Sir +John, and do not play the madman and the beast with the wife of my Lord +Dunstanwolde.”</p> +<p>“‘The wife!’” he answered. “‘My +lord!’ ’Tis a new game this, and well played, by God!”</p> +<p>She did not so much as waver in her look, and her wide eyes smiled.</p> +<p>“Quite new,” she answered him—“quite new. +And could I not have played it well and fairly, I would not have touched +the cards. Keep your horse off, Sir John. Mine is restive, +and likes not another beast near him;” and she touched the creature +with her whip, and he was gone like a thunderbolt.</p> +<p>The next day, being in her room, Anne saw her come from her dressing-table +with a sealed letter in her hand. She went to the bell and rang +it.</p> +<p>“Anne,” she said, “I am going to rate my woman +and turn her from my service. I shall not beat or swear at her +as I was wont to do with my women in time past. You will be afraid, +perhaps; but you must stay with me.”</p> +<p>She was standing by the fire with the letter held almost at arm’s +length in her finger-tips, when the woman entered, who, seeing her face, +turned pale, and casting her eyes upon the letter, paler still, and +began to shake.</p> +<p>“You have attended mistresses of other ways than mine,” +her lady said in her slow, clear voice, which seemed to cut as knives +do. “Some fool and madman has bribed you to serve him. +You cannot serve me also. Come hither and put this in the fire. +If ’twere to be done I would make you hold it in the live coals +with your hand.”</p> +<p>The woman came shuddering, looking as if she thought she might be +struck dead. She took the letter and kneeled, ashen pale, to burn +it. When ’twas done, her mistress pointed to the door.</p> +<p>“Go and gather your goods and chattels together, and leave +within this hour,” she said. “I will be my own tirewoman +till I can find one who comes to me honest.”</p> +<p>When she was gone, Anne sat gazing at the ashes on the hearth. +She was pale also.</p> +<p>“Sister,” she said, “do you—”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered my lady. “’Tis a man +who loved me, a cur and a knave. He thought for an hour he was +cured of his passion. I could have told him ’twould spring +up and burn more fierce than ever when he saw another man possess me. +’Tis so with knaves and curs; and ’tis so with him. +He hath gone mad again.”</p> +<p>“Ay, mad!” cried Anne—“mad, and base, and +wicked!”</p> +<p>Clorinda gazed at the ashes, her lips curling.</p> +<p>“He was ever base,” she said—“as he was at +first, so he is now. ’Tis thy favourite, Anne,” lightly, +and she delicately spurned the blackened tinder with her foot—“thy +favourite, John Oxon.”</p> +<p>Mistress Anne crouched in her seat and hid her face in her thin hands.</p> +<p>“Oh, my lady!” she cried, not feeling that she could +say “sister,” “if he be base, and ever was so, pity +him, pity him! The base need pity more than all.”</p> +<p>For she had loved him madly, all unknowing her own passion, not presuming +even to look up in his beautiful face, thinking of him only as the slave +of her sister, and in dead secrecy knowing strange things—strange +things! And when she had seen the letter she had known the handwriting, +and the beating of her simple heart had well-nigh strangled her—for +she had seen words writ by him before.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>When Dunstanwolde and his lady went back to their house in town, +Mistress Anne went with them. Clorinda willed that it should be +so. She made her there as peaceful and retired a nest of her own +as she had given to her at Dunstanwolde. By strange good fortune +Barbara had been wedded to a plain gentleman, who, being a widower with +children, needed a help-meet in his modest household, and through a +distant relationship to Mistress Wimpole, encountered her charge, and +saw in her meekness of spirit the thing which might fall into the supplying +of his needs. A beauty or a fine lady would not have suited him; +he wanted but a housewife and a mother for his orphaned children, and +this, a young woman who had lived straitly, and been forced to many +contrivances for mere decency of apparel and ordinary comfort, might +be trained to become.</p> +<p>So it fell that Mistress Anne could go to London without pangs of +conscience at leaving her sister in the country and alone. The +stateliness of the town mansion, my Lady Dunstanwolde’s retinue +of lacqueys and serving-women, her little black page, who waited on +her and took her pug dogs to walk, her wardrobe, and jewels, and equipages, +were each and all marvels to her, but seemed to her mind so far befitting +that she remembered, wondering, the days when she had darned the tattered +tapestry in her chamber, and changed the ribbands and fashions of her +gowns. Being now attired fittingly, though soberly as became her, +she was not in these days—at least, as far as outward seeming +went—an awkward blot upon the scene when she appeared among her +sister’s company; but at heart she was as timid and shrinking +as ever, and never mingled with the guests in the great rooms when she +could avoid so doing. Once or twice she went forth with Clorinda +in her coach and six, and saw the glittering world, while she drew back +into her corner of the equipage and gazed with all a country-bred woman’s +timorous admiration.</p> +<p>“’Twas grand and like a beautiful show!” she said, +when she came home the first time. “But do not take me often, +sister; I am too plain and shy, and feel that I am naught in it.”</p> +<p>But though she kept as much apart from the great World of Fashion +as she could, she contrived to know of all her sister’s triumphs; +to see her when she went forth in her bravery, though ’twere but +to drive in the Mall; to be in her closet with her on great nights when +her tirewomen were decking her in brocades and jewels, that she might +show her highest beauty at some assembly or ball of State. And +at all these times, as also at all others, she knew that she but shared +her own love and dazzled admiration with my Lord Dunstanwolde, whose +tenderness, being so fed by his lady’s unfailing graciousness +of bearing and kindly looks and words, grew with every hour that passed.</p> +<p>They held one night a splendid assembly at which a member of the +Royal House was present. That night Clorinda bade her sister appear.</p> +<p>“Sometimes—I do not command it always—but sometimes +you must show yourself to our guests. My lord will not be pleased +else. He says it is not fitting that his wife’s sister should +remain unseen as if we hid her away through ungraciousness. Your +woman will prepare for you all things needful. I myself will see +that your dress becomes you. I have commanded it already, and +given much thought to its shape and colour. I would have you very +comely, Anne.” And she kissed her lightly on her cheek—almost +as gently as she sometimes kissed her lord’s grey hair. +In truth, though she was still a proud lady and stately in her ways, +there had come upon her some strange subtle change Anne could not understand.</p> +<p>On the day on which the assembly was held, Mistress Anne’s +woman brought to her a beautiful robe. ’Twas flowered satin +of the sheen and softness of a dove’s breast, and the lace adorning +it was like a spider’s web for gossamer fineness. The robe +was sweetly fashioned, fitting her shape wondrously; and when she was +attired in it at night a little colour came into her cheeks to see herself +so far beyond all comeliness she had ever known before. When she +found herself in the midst of the dazzling scene in the rooms of entertainment, +she was glad when at last she could feel herself lost among the crowd +of guests. Her only pleasure in such scenes was to withdraw to +some hidden corner and look on as at a pageant or a play. To-night +she placed herself in the shadow of a screen, from which retreat she +could see Clorinda and Dunstanwolde as they received their guests. +Thus she found enjoyment enough; for, in truth, her love and almost +abject passion of adoration for her sister had grown as his lordship’s +had, with every hour. For a season there had rested upon her a +black shadow beneath which she wept and trembled, bewildered and lost; +though even at its darkest the object of her humble love had been a +star whose brightness was not dimmed, because it could not be so whatsoever +passed before it. This cloud, however, being it seemed dispelled, +the star had shone but more brilliant in its high place, and she the +more passionately worshipped it. To sit apart and see her idol’s +radiance, to mark her as she reigned and seemed the more royal when +she bent the knee to royalty itself, to see the shimmer of her jewels +crowning her midnight hair and crashing the warm whiteness of her noble +neck, to observe the admiration in all eyes as they dwelt upon her—this +was, indeed, enough of happiness.</p> +<p>“She is, as ever,” she murmured, “not so much a +woman as a proud lovely goddess who has deigned to descend to earth. +But my lord does not look like himself. He seems shrunk in the +face and old, and his eyes have rings about them. I like not that. +He is so kind a gentleman and so happy that his body should not fail +him. I have marked that he has looked colourless for days, and +Clorinda questioned him kindly on it, but he said he suffered naught.”</p> +<p>’Twas but a little later than she had thought this, that she +remarked a gentleman step aside and stand quite near without observing +her. Feeling that she had no testimony to her fancifulness, she +found herself thinking in a vague fashion that he, too, had come there +because he chose to be unobserved. ’Twould not have been +so easy for him to retire as it had been for her smallness and insignificance +to do so; and, indeed, she did not fancy that he meant to conceal himself, +but merely to stand for a quiet moment a little apart from the crowd.</p> +<p>And as she looked up at him, wondering why this should be, she saw +he was the noblest and most stately gentleman she had ever beheld.</p> +<p>She had never seen him before; he must either be a stranger or a +rare visitor. As Clorinda was beyond a woman’s height, he +was beyond a man’s.</p> +<p>He carried himself as kingly as she did nobly; he had a countenance +of strong, manly beauty, and a deep tawny eye, thick-fringed and full +of fire; orders glittered upon his breast, and he wore a fair periwig, +which became him wondrously, and seemed to make his eye more deep and +burning by its contrast.</p> +<p>Beside his strength and majesty of bearing the stripling beauty of +John Oxon would have seemed slight and paltry, a thing for flippant +women to trifle with.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne looked at him with an admiration somewhat like reverence, +and as she did so a sudden thought rose to her mind, and even as it +rose, she marked what his gaze rested on, and how it dwelt upon it, +and knew that he had stepped apart to stand and gaze as she did—only +with a man’s hid fervour—at her sister’s self.</p> +<p>’Twas as if suddenly a strange secret had been told her. +She read it in his face, because he thought himself unobserved, and +for a space had cast his mask aside. He stood and gazed as a man +who, starving at soul, fed himself through his eyes, having no hope +of other sustenance, or as a man weary with long carrying of a burden, +for a space laid it down for rest and to gather power to go on. +She heard him draw a deep sigh almost stifled in its birth, and there +was that in his face which she felt it was unseemly that a stranger +like herself should behold, himself unknowing of her near presence.</p> +<p>She gently rose from her corner, wondering if she could retire from +her retreat without attracting his observation; but as she did so, chance +caused him to withdraw himself a little farther within the shadow of +the screen, and doing so, he beheld her.</p> +<p>Then his face changed; the mask of noble calmness, for a moment fallen, +resumed itself, and he bowed before her with the reverence of a courtly +gentleman, undisturbed by the unexpectedness of his recognition of her +neighbourhood.</p> +<p>“Madam,” he said, “pardon my unconsciousness that +you were near me. You would pass?” And he made way +for her.</p> +<p>She curtseyed, asking his pardon with her dull, soft eyes.</p> +<p>“Sir,” she answered, “I but retired here for a +moment’s rest from the throng and gaiety, to which I am unaccustomed. +But chiefly I sat in retirement that I might watch—my sister.”</p> +<p>“Your sister, madam?” he said, as if the questioning +echo were almost involuntary, and he bowed again in some apology.</p> +<p>“My Lady Dunstanwolde,” she replied. “I take +such pleasure in her loveliness and in all that pertains to her, it +is a happiness to me to but look on.”</p> +<p>Whatsoever the thing was in her loving mood which touched him and +found echo in his own, he was so far moved that he answered to her with +something less of ceremoniousness; remembering also, in truth, that +she was a lady he had heard of, and recalling her relationship and name.</p> +<p>“It is then Mistress Anne Wildairs I am honoured by having +speech with,” he said. “My Lady Dunstanwolde has spoken +of you in my presence. I am my lord’s kinsman the Duke of +Osmonde;” again bowing, and Anne curtseyed low once more.</p> +<p>Despite his greatness, she felt a kindness and grace in him which +was not condescension, and which almost dispelled the timidity which, +being part of her nature, so unduly beset her at all times when she +addressed or was addressed by a stranger. John Oxon, bowing his +bright curls, and seeming ever to mock with his smiles, had caused her +to be overcome with shy awkwardness and blushes; but this man, who seemed +as far above him in person and rank and mind as a god is above a graceful +painted puppet, even appeared to give of his own noble strength to her +poor weakness. He bore himself towards her with a courtly respect +such as no human being had ever shown to her before. He besought +her again to be seated in her nook, and stood before her conversing +with such delicate sympathy with her mood as seemed to raise her to +the pedestal on which stood less humble women. All those who passed +before them he knew and could speak easily of. The high deeds +of those who were statesmen, or men honoured at Court or in the field, +he was familiar with; and of those who were beauties or notable gentlewomen +he had always something courtly to say.</p> +<p>Her own worship of her sister she knew full well he understood, though +he spoke of her but little.</p> +<p>“Well may you gaze at her,” he said. “So +does all the world, and honours and adores.”</p> +<p>He proffered her at last his arm, and she, having strangely taken +courage, let him lead her through the rooms and persuade her to some +refreshment. Seeing her so wondrously emerge from her chrysalis, +and under the protection of so distinguished a companion, all looked +at her as she passed with curious amazement, and indeed Mistress Anne +was all but overpowered by the reverence shown them as they made their +way.</p> +<p>As they came again into the apartment wherein the host and hostess +received their guests, Anne felt her escort pause, and looked up at +him to see the meaning of his sudden hesitation. He was gazing +intently, not at Clorinda, but at the Earl of Dunstanwolde.</p> +<p>“Madam,” he said, “pardon me that I seem to detain +you, but—but I look at my kinsman. Madam,” with a +sudden fear in his voice, “he is ailing—he sways as he stands. +Let us go to him. Quickly! He falls!”</p> +<p>And, in sooth, at that very moment there arose a dismayed cry from +the guests about them, and there was a surging movement; and as they +pressed forward themselves through the throng, Anne saw Dunstanwolde +no more above the people, for he had indeed fallen and lay outstretched +and deathly on the floor.</p> +<p>’Twas but a few seconds before she and Osmonde were close enough +to him to mark his fallen face and ghastly pallor, and a strange dew +starting out upon his brow.</p> +<p>But ’twas his wife who knelt beside his prostrate body, waving +all else aside with a great majestic gesture of her arm.</p> +<p>“Back! back!” she cried. “Air! air! and water! +My lord! My dear lord!”</p> +<p>But he did not answer, or even stir, though she bent close to him +and thrust her hand within his breast. And then the frightened +guests beheld a strange but beautiful and loving thing, such as might +have moved any heart to tenderness and wonder. This great beauty, +this worshipped creature, put her arms beneath and about the helpless, +awful body—for so its pallor and stillness indeed made it—and +lifted it in their powerful whiteness as if it had been the body of +a child, and so bore it to a couch near and laid it down, kneeling beside +it.</p> +<p>Anne and Osmonde were beside her. Osmonde pale himself, but +gently calm and strong. He had despatched for a physician the +instant he saw the fall.</p> +<p>“My lady,” he said, bending over her, “permit me +to approach. I have some knowledge of these seizures. Your +pardon!”</p> +<p>He knelt also and took the moveless hand, feeling the pulse; he, +too, thrust his hand within the breast and held it there, looking at +the sunken face.</p> +<p>“My dear lord,” her ladyship was saying, as if to the +prostrate man’s ear alone, knowing that her tender voice must +reach him if aught would—as indeed was truth. “Edward! +My dear—dear lord!”</p> +<p>Osmonde held his hand steadily over the heart. The guests shrunk +back, stricken with terror.</p> +<p>There was that in this corner of the splendid room which turned faces +pale.</p> +<p>Osmonde slowly withdrew his hand, and turning to the kneeling woman—with +a pallor like that of marble, but with a noble tenderness and pity in +his eyes—</p> +<p>“My lady,” he said, “you are a brave woman. +Your great courage must sustain you. The heart beats no more. +A noble life is finished.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The guests heard, and drew still farther back, a woman or two faintly +whimpering; a hurrying lacquey parted the crowd, and so, way being made +for him, the physician came quickly forward.</p> +<p>Anne put her shaking hands up to cover her gaze. Osmonde stood +still, looking down. My Lady Dunstanwolde knelt by the couch and +hid her beautiful face upon the dead man’s breast.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII—Which treats of the obsequies of my Lord of Dunstanwolde, +of his lady’s widowhood, and of her return to town</h2> +<p>All that remained of my Lord Dunstanwolde was borne back to his ancestral +home, and there laid to rest in the ancient tomb in which his fathers +slept. Many came from town to pay him respect, and the Duke of +Osmonde was, as was but fitting, among them. The countess kept +her own apartments, and none but her sister, Mistress Anne, beheld her.</p> +<p>The night before the final ceremonies she spent sitting by her lord’s +coffin, and to Anne it seemed that her mood was a stranger one, than +ever woman had before been ruled by. She did not weep or moan, +and only once kneeled down. In her sweeping black robes she seemed +more a majestic creature than she had ever been, and her beauty more +that of a statue than of a mortal woman. She sent away all other +watchers, keeping only her sister with her, and Anne observed in her +a strange protecting gentleness when she spoke of the dead man.</p> +<p>“I do not know whether dead men can feel and hear,” she +said. “Sometimes there has come into my mind—and made +me shudder—the thought that, though they lie so still, mayhap +they know what we do—and how they are spoken of as nothings whom +live men and women but wait a moment to thrust away, that their own +living may go on again in its accustomed way, or perchance more merrily. +If my lord knows aught, he will be grateful that I watch by him to-night +in this solemn room. He was ever grateful, and moved by any tenderness +of mine.”</p> +<p>’Twas as she said, the room was solemn, and this almost to +awfulness. It was a huge cold chamber at best, and draped with +black, and hung with hatchments; a silent gloom filled it which made +it like a tomb. Tall wax-candles burned in it dimly, but adding +to its solemn shadows with their faint light; and in his rich coffin +the dead man lay in his shroud, his hands like carvings of yellowed +ivory clasped upon his breast.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne dared not have entered the place alone, and was so +overcome at sight of the pinched nostrils and sunk eyes that she turned +cold with fear. But Clorinda seemed to feel no dread or shrinking. +She went and stood beside the great funeral-draped bed of state on which +the coffin lay, and thus standing, looked down with a grave, protecting +pity in her face. Then she stooped and kissed the dead man long +upon the brow.</p> +<p>“I will sit by you to-night,” she said. “That +which lies here will be alone to-morrow. I will not leave you +this last night. Had I been in your place you would not leave +me.”</p> +<p>She sat down beside him and laid her strong warm hand upon his cold +waxen ones, closing it over them as if she would give them heat. +Anne knelt and prayed—that all might be forgiven, that sins might +be blotted out, that this kind poor soul might find love and peace in +the kingdom of Heaven, and might not learn there what might make bitter +the memory of his last year of rapture and love. She was so simple +that she forgot that no knowledge of the past could embitter aught when +a soul looked back from Paradise.</p> +<p>Throughout the watches of the night her sister sat and held the dead +man’s hand; she saw her more than once smooth his grey hair almost +as a mother might have touched a sick sleeping child’s; again +she kissed his forehead, speaking to him gently, as if to tell him he +need not fear, for she was close at hand; just once she knelt, and Anne +wondered if she prayed, and in what manner, knowing that prayer was +not her habit.</p> +<p>’Twas just before dawn she knelt so, and when she rose and +stood beside him, looking down again, she drew from the folds of her +robe a little package.</p> +<p>“Anne,” she said, as she untied the ribband that bound +it, “when first I was his wife I found him one day at his desk +looking at these things as they lay upon his hand. He thought +at first it would offend me to find him so; but I told him that I was +gentler than he thought—though not so gentle as the poor innocent +girl who died in giving him his child. ’Twas her picture +he was gazing at, and a little ring and two locks of hair—one +a brown ringlet from her head, and one—such a tiny wisp of down—from +the head of her infant. I told him to keep them always and look +at them often, remembering how innocent she had been, and that she had +died for him. There were tears on my hand when he kissed it in +thanking me. He kept the little package in his desk, and I have +brought it to him.”</p> +<p>The miniature was of a sweet-faced girl with large loving childish +eyes, and cheeks that blushed like the early morning. Clorinda +looked at her almost with tenderness.</p> +<p>“There is no marrying or giving in marriage, ’tis said,” +quoth she; “but were there, ’tis you who were his wife—not +I. I was but a lighter thing, though I bore his name and he honoured +me. When you and your child greet him he will forget me—and +all will be well.”</p> +<p>She held the miniature and the soft hair to his cold lips a moment, +and Anne saw with wonder that her own mouth worked. She slipped +the ring on his least finger, and hid the picture and the ringlets within +the palms of his folded hands.</p> +<p>“He was a good man,” she said; “he was the first +good man that I had ever known.” And she held out her hand +to Anne and drew her from the room with her, and two crystal tears fell +upon the bosom of her black robe and slipped away like jewels.</p> +<p>When the funeral obsequies were over, the next of kin who was heir +came to take possession of the estate which had fallen to him, and the +widow retired to her father’s house for seclusion from the world. +The town house had been left to her by her deceased lord, but she did +not wish to return to it until the period of her mourning was over and +she laid aside her weeds. The income the earl had been able to +bestow upon her made her a rich woman, and when she chose to appear +again in the world it would be with the power to mingle with it fittingly.</p> +<p>During her stay at her father’s house she did much to make +it a more suitable abode for her, ordering down from London furnishings +and workmen to set her own apartments and Anne’s in order. +But she would not occupy the rooms she had lived in heretofore. +For some reason it seemed to be her whim to have begun to have an enmity +for them. The first day she entered them with Anne she stopped +upon the threshold.</p> +<p>“I will not stay here,” she said. “I never +loved the rooms—and now I hate them. It seems to me it was +another woman who lived in them—in another world. ’Tis +so long ago that ’tis ghostly. Make ready the old red chambers +for me,” to her woman; “I will live there. They have +been long closed, and are worm-eaten and mouldy perchance; but a great +fire will warm them. And I will have furnishings from London to +make them fit for habitation.”</p> +<p>The next day it seemed for a brief space as if she would have changed +even from the red chambers.</p> +<p>“I did not know,” she said, turning with a sudden movement +from a side window, “that one might see the old rose garden from +here. I would not have taken the room had I guessed it. +It is too dreary a wilderness, with its tangle of briars and its broken +sun-dial.”</p> +<p>“You cannot see the dial from here,” said Anne, coming +towards her with a strange paleness and haste. “One cannot +see <i>within</i> the garden from any window, surely.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said Clorinda; “’tis not near enough, +and the hedges are too high; but one knows ’tis there, and ’tis +tiresome.”</p> +<p>“Let us draw the curtains and not look, and forget it,” +said poor Anne. And she drew the draperies with a trembling hand; +and ever after while they dwelt in the room they stayed so.</p> +<p>My lady wore her mourning for more than a year, and in her sombre +trailing weeds was a wonder to behold. She lived in her father’s +house, and saw no company, but sat or walked and drove with her sister +Anne, and visited the poor. The perfect stateliness of her decorum +was more talked about than any levity would have been; those who were +wont to gossip expecting that having made her fine match and been so +soon rid of her lord, she would begin to show her strange wild breeding +again, and indulge in fantastical whims. That she should wear +her mourning with unflinching dignity and withdraw from the world as +strictly as if she had been a lady of royal blood mourning her prince, +was the unexpected thing, and so was talked of everywhere.</p> +<p>At the end of the eighteenth month she sent one day for Anne, who, +coming at her bidding, found her standing in her chamber surrounded +by black robes and draperies piled upon the bed, and chairs, and floor, +their sombreness darkening the room like a cloud; but she stood in their +midst in a trailing garment of pure white, and in her bosom was a bright +red rose tied with a knot of scarlet ribband, whose ends fell floating. +Her woman was upon her knees before a coffer in which she was laying +the weeds as she folded them.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne paused within the doorway, her eyes dazzled by the +tall radiant shape and blot of scarlet colour as if by the shining of +the sun. She knew in that moment that all was changed, and that +the world of darkness they had been living in for the past months was +swept from existence. When her sister had worn her mourning weeds +she had seemed somehow almost pale; but now she stood in the sunlight +with the rich scarlet on her cheek and lip, and the stars in her great +eyes.</p> +<p>“Come in, sister Anne,” she said. “I lay +aside my weeds, and my woman is folding them away for me. Dost +know of any poor creature newly left a widow whom some of them would +be a help to? ’Tis a pity that so much sombreness should +lie in chests when there are perhaps poor souls to whom it would be +a godsend.”</p> +<p>Before the day was over, there was not a shred of black stuff left +in sight; such as had not been sent out of the house to be distributed, +being packed away in coffers in the garrets under the leads.</p> +<p>“You will wear it no more, sister?” Anne asked once. +“You will wear gay colours—as if it had never been?”</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> as if it had never been,” Clorinda answered. +“Ere now her lord is happy with her, and he is so happy that I +am forgot. I had a fancy that—perhaps at first—well, +if he had looked down on earth—remembering—he would have +seen I was faithful in my honouring of him. But now, I am sure—”</p> +<p>She stopped with a half laugh. “’Twas but a fancy,” +she said. “Perchance he has known naught since that night +he fell at my feet—and even so, poor gentleman, he hath a happy +fate. Yes, I will wear gay colours,” flinging up her arms +as if she dropped fetters, and stretched her beauteous limbs for ease—“gay +colours—and roses and rich jewels—and all things—<i>all</i> +that will make me beautiful!”</p> +<p>The next day there came a chest from London, packed close with splendid +raiment; when she drove out again in her chariot her servants’ +sad-coloured liveries had been laid by, and she was attired in rich +hues, amidst which she glowed like some flower new bloomed.</p> +<p>Her house in town was thrown open again, and set in order for her +coming. She made her journey back in state, Mistress Anne accompanying +her in her travelling-coach. As she passed over the highroad with +her equipage and her retinue, or spent the night for rest at the best +inns in the towns and villages, all seemed to know her name and state.</p> +<p>“’Tis the young widow of the Earl of Dunstanwolde,” +people said to each other—“she that is the great beauty, +and of such a wit and spirit that she is scarce like a mere young lady. +’Twas said she wed him for his rank; but afterwards ’twas +known she made him a happy gentleman, though she gave him no heir. +She wore weeds for him beyond the accustomed time, and is but now issuing +from her retirement.”</p> +<p>Mistress Anne felt as if she were attending some royal lady’s +progress, people so gazed at them and nudged each other, wondered and +admired.</p> +<p>“You do not mind that all eyes rest on you,” she said +to her sister; “you are accustomed to be gazed at.”</p> +<p>“I have been gazed at all my life,” my lady answered; +“I scarce take note of it.”</p> +<p>On their arrival at home they met with fitting welcome and reverence. +The doors of the town house were thrown open wide, and in the hall the +servants stood in line, the housekeeper at the head with her keys at +her girdle, the little jet-black negro page grinning beneath his turban +with joy to see his lady again, he worshipping her as a sort of fetich, +after the manner of his race. ’Twas his duty to take heed +to the pet dogs, and he stood holding by their little silver chains +a smart-faced pug and a pretty spaniel. His lady stopped a moment +to pat them and to speak to him a word of praise of their condition; +and being so favoured, he spoke also, rolling his eyes in his delight +at finding somewhat to impart.</p> +<p>“Yesterday, ladyship, when I took them out,” he said, +“a gentleman marked them, knowing whose they were. He asked +me when my lady came again to town, and I answered him to-day. +’Twas the fair gentleman in his own hair.”</p> +<p>“’Twas Sir John Oxon, your ladyship,” said the +lacquey nearest to him.</p> +<p>Her ladyship left caressing her spaniel and stood upright. +Little Nero was frightened, fearing she was angered; she stood so straight +and tall, but she said nothing and passed on.</p> +<p>At the top of the staircase she turned to Mistress Anne with a laugh.</p> +<p>“Thy favourite again, Anne,” she said. “He +means to haunt me, now we are alone. ’Tis thee he comes +after.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII—Wherein a deadly war begins</h2> +<p>The town and the World of Fashion greeted her on her return with +open arms. Those who looked on when she bent the knee to kiss +the hand of Royalty at the next drawing-room, whispered among themselves +that bereavement had not dimmed her charms, which were even more radiant +than they had been at her presentation on her marriage, and that the +mind of no man or woman could dwell on aught as mournful as widowhood +in connection with her, or, indeed, could think of anything but her +brilliant beauty. ’Twas as if from this time she was launched +into a new life. Being rich, of high rank, and no longer an unmarried +woman, her position had a dignity and freedom which there was no creature +but might have envied. As the wife of Dunstanwolde she had been +the fashion, and adored by all who dared adore her; but as his widow +she was surrounded and besieged. A fortune, a toast, a wit, and +a beauty, she combined all the things either man or woman could desire +to attach themselves to the train of; and had her air been less regal, +and her wit less keen of edge, she would have been so beset by flatterers +and toadies that life would have been burdensome. But this she +would not have, and was swift enough to detect the man whose debts drove +him to the expedient of daring to privately think of the usefulness +of her fortune, or the woman who manoeuvred to gain reputation or success +by means of her position and power.</p> +<p>“They would be about me like vultures if I were weak fool enough +to let them,” she said to Anne. “They cringe and grovel +like spaniels, and flatter till ’tis like to make one sick. +’Tis always so with toadies; they have not the wit to see that +their flattery is an insolence, since it supposes adulation so rare +that one may be moved by it. The men with empty pockets would +marry me, forsooth, and the women be dragged into company clinging to +my petticoats. But they are learning. I do not shrink from +giving them sharp lessons.”</p> +<p>This she did without mercy, and in time cleared herself of hangers-on, +so that her banquets and assemblies were the most distinguished of the +time, and the men who paid their court to her were of such place and +fortune that their worship could but be disinterested.</p> +<p>Among the earliest to wait upon her was his Grace of Osmonde, who +found her one day alone, save for the presence of Mistress Anne, whom +she kept often with her. When the lacquey announced him, Anne, +who sat upon the same seat with her, felt her slightly start, and looking +up, saw in her countenance a thing she had never beheld before, nor +had indeed ever dreamed of beholding. It was a strange, sweet +crimson which flowed over her face, and seemed to give a wondrous deepness +to her lovely orbs. She rose as a queen might have risen had a +king come to her, but never had there been such pulsing softness in +her look before. ’Twas in some curious fashion like the +look of a girl; and, in sooth, she was but a girl in years, but so different +to all others of her age, and had lived so singular a life, that no +one ever thought of her but as a woman, or would have deemed it aught +but folly to credit her with any tender emotion or blushing warmth girlhood +might be allowed.</p> +<p>His Grace was as courtly of bearing as he had ever been. He +stayed not long, and during his visit conversed but on such subjects +as a kinsman may graciously touch upon; but Anne noted in him a new +look also, though she could scarce have told what it might be. +She thought that he looked happier, and her fancy was that some burden +had fallen from him.</p> +<p>Before he went away he bent low and long over Clorinda’s hand, +pressing his lips to it with a tenderness which strove not to conceal +itself. And the hand was not withdrawn, her ladyship standing +in sweet yielding, the tender crimson trembling on her cheek. +Anne herself trembled, watching her new, strange loveliness with a sense +of fascination; she could scarce withdraw her eyes, it seemed so as +if the woman had been reborn.</p> +<p>“Your Grace will come to us again,” my lady said, in +a soft voice. “We are two lonely women,” with her +radiant compelling smile, “and need your kindly countenancing.”</p> +<p>His eyes dwelt deep in hers as he answered, and there was a flush +upon his own cheek, man and warrior though he was.</p> +<p>“If I might come as often as I would,” he said, “I +should be at your door, perhaps, with too great frequency.”</p> +<p>“Nay, your Grace,” she answered. “Come as +often as <i>we</i> would—and see who wearies first. ’Twill +not be ourselves.”</p> +<p>He kissed her hand again, and this time ’twas passionately, +and when he left her presence it was with a look of radiance on his +noble face, and with the bearing of a king new crowned.</p> +<p>For a few moments’ space she stood where he had parted from +her, looking as though listening to the sound of his step, as if she +would not lose a footfall; then she went to the window, and stood among +the flowers there, looking down into the street, and Anne saw that she +watched his equipage.</p> +<p>’Twas early summer, and the sunshine flooded her from head +to foot; the window and balcony were full of flowers—yellow jonquils +and daffodils, white narcissus, and all things fragrant of the spring. +The scent of them floated about her like an incense, and a straying +zephyr blew great puffs of their sweetness back into the room. +Anne felt it all about her, and remembered it until she was an aged +woman.</p> +<p>Clorinda’s bosom rose high in an exultant, rapturous sigh.</p> +<p>“’Tis the Spring that comes,” she murmured breathlessly. +“Never hath it come to me before.”</p> +<p>Even as she said the words, at the very moment of her speaking, Fate—a +strange Fate indeed—brought to her yet another visitor. +The door was thrown open wide, and in he came, a lacquey crying aloud +his name. ’Twas Sir John Oxon.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Those of the World of Fashion who were wont to gossip, had bestowed +upon them a fruitful subject for discussion over their tea-tables, in +the future of the widowed Lady Dunstanwolde. All the men being +enamoured of her, ’twas not likely that she would long remain +unmarried, her period of mourning being over; and, accordingly, forthwith +there was every day chosen for her a new husband by those who concerned +themselves in her affairs, and they were many. One week ’twas +a great general she was said to smile on; again, a great beau and female +conqueror, it being argued that, having made her first marriage for +rank and wealth, and being a passionate and fantastic beauty, she would +this time allow herself to be ruled by her caprice, and wed for love; +again, a certain marquis was named, and after him a young earl renowned +for both beauty and wealth; but though each and all of those selected +were known to have laid themselves at her feet, none of them seemed +to have met with the favour they besought for.</p> +<p>There were two men, however, who were more spoken of than all the +rest, and whose court awakened a more lively interest; indeed, ’twas +an interest which was lively enough at times to become almost a matter +of contention, for those who upheld the cause of the one man would not +hear of the success of the other, the claims of each being considered +of such different nature. These two men were the Duke of Osmonde +and Sir John Oxon. ’Twas the soberer and more dignified +who were sure his Grace had but to proffer his suit to gain it, and +their sole wonder lay in that he did not speak more quickly.</p> +<p>“But being a man of such noble mind, it may be that he would +leave her to her freedom yet a few months, because, despite her stateliness, +she is but young, and ’twould be like his honourableness to wish +that she should see many men while she is free to choose, as she has +never been before. For these days she is not a poor beauty as +she was when she took Dunstanwolde.”</p> +<p>The less serious, or less worldly, especially the sentimental spinsters +and matrons and romantic young, who had heard and enjoyed the rumours +of Mistress Clorinda Wildairs’ strange early days, were prone +to build much upon a certain story of that time.</p> +<p>“Sir John Oxon was her first love,” they said. +“He went to her father’s house a beautiful young man in +his earliest bloom, and she had never encountered such an one before, +having only known country dolts and her father’s friends. +’Twas said they loved each other, but were both passionate and +proud, and quarrelled bitterly. Sir John went to France to strive +to forget her in gay living; he even obeyed his mother and paid court +to another woman, and Mistress Clorinda, being of fierce haughtiness, +revenged herself by marrying Lord Dunstanwolde.”</p> +<p>“But she has never deigned to forgive him,” ’twas +also said. “She is too haughty and of too high a temper +to forgive easily that a man should seem to desert her for another woman’s +favour. Even when ’twas whispered that she favoured him, +she was disdainful, and sometimes flouted him bitterly, as was her way +with all men. She was never gentle, and had always a cutting wit. +She will use him hardly before she relents; but if he sues patiently +enough with such grace as he uses with other women, love will conquer +her at last, for ’twas her first.”</p> +<p>She showed him no great favour, it was true; and yet it seemed she +granted him more privilege than she had done during her lord’s +life, for he was persistent in his following her, and would come to +her house whether of her will or of his own. Sometimes he came +there when the Duke of Osmonde was with her—this happened more +than once—and then her ladyship’s face, which was ever warmly +beautiful when Osmonde was near, would curiously change. It would +grow pale and cold; but in her eyes would burn a strange light which +one man knew was as the light in the eyes of a tigress lying chained, +but crouching to leap. But it was not Osmonde who felt this, he +saw only that she changed colour, and having heard the story of her +girlhood, a little chill of doubt would fall upon his noble heart. +It was not doubt of her, but of himself, and fear that his great passion +made him blind; for he was the one man chivalrous enough to remember +how young she was, and to see the cruelty of the Fate which had given +her unmothered childhood into the hands of a coarse rioter and debauchee, +making her his plaything and his whim. And if in her first hours +of bloom she had been thrown with youthful manhood and beauty, what +more in the course of nature than that she should have learned to love; +and being separated from her young lover by their mutual youthful faults +of pride and passionateness of temper, what more natural than, being +free again, and he suing with all his soul, that her heart should return +to him, even though through a struggle with pride. In her lord’s +lifetime he had not seen Oxon near her; and in those days when he had +so struggled with his own surging love, and striven to bear himself +nobly, he had kept away from her, knowing that his passion was too great +and strong for any man to always hold at bay and make no sign, because +at brief instants he trembled before the thought that in her eyes he +had seen that which would have sprung to answer the same self in him +if she had been a free woman. But now when, despite her coldness, +which never melted to John Oxon, she still turned pale and seemed to +fall under a restraint on his coming, a man of sufficient high dignity +to be splendidly modest where his own merit was concerned, might well +feel that for this there must be a reason, and it might be a grave one.</p> +<p>So though he would not give up his suit until he was sure that ’twas +either useless or unfair, he did not press it as he would have done, +but saw his lady when he could, and watched with all the tenderness +of passion her lovely face and eyes. But one short town season +passed before he won his prize; but to poor Anne it seemed that in its +passing she lived years.</p> +<p>Poor woman, as she had grown thin and large-eyed in those days gone +by, she grew so again. Time in passing had taught her so much +that others did not know; and as she served her sister, and waited on +her wishes, she saw that of which no other dreamed, and saw without +daring to speak, or show by any sign, her knowledge.</p> +<p>The day when Lady Dunstanwolde had turned from standing among her +daffodils, and had found herself confronting the open door of her saloon, +and John Oxon passing through it, Mistress Anne had seen that in her +face and his which had given to her a shock of terror. In John +Oxon’s blue eyes there had been a set fierce look, and in Clorinda’s +a blaze which had been like a declaration of war; and these same looks +she had seen since that day, again and again. Gradually it had +become her sister’s habit to take Anne with her into the world +as she had not done before her widowhood, and Anne knew whence this +custom came. There were times when, by use of her presence, she +could avoid those she wished to thrust aside, and Anne noted, with a +cold sinking of the spirit, that the one she would plan to elude most +frequently was Sir John Oxon; and this was not done easily. The +young man’s gay lightness of demeanour had changed. The +few years that had passed since he had come to pay his courts to the +young beauty in male attire, had brought experiences to him which had +been bitter enough. He had squandered his fortune, and failed +to reinstate himself by marriage; his dissipations had told upon him, +and he had lost his spirit and good-humour; his mocking wit had gained +a bitterness; his gallantry had no longer the gaiety of youth. +And the woman he had loved for an hour with youthful passion, and had +dared to dream of casting aside in boyish insolence, had risen like +a phoenix, and soared high and triumphant to the very sun itself. +“He was ever base,” Clorinda had said. “As he +was at first he is now,” and in the saying there was truth. +If she had been helpless and heartbroken, and had pined for him, he +would have treated her as a victim, and disdained her humiliation and +grief; magnificent, powerful, rich, in fullest beauty, and disdaining +himself, she filled him with a mad passion of love which was strangely +mixed with hatred and cruelty. To see her surrounded by her worshippers, +courted by the Court itself, all eyes drawn towards her as she moved, +all hearts laid at her feet, was torture to him. In such cases +as his and hers, it was the woman who should sue for love’s return, +and watch the averted face, longing for the moment when it would deign +to turn and she could catch the cold eye and plead piteously with her +own. This he had seen; this, men like himself, but older, had +taught him with vicious art; but here was a woman who had scorned him +at the hour which should have been the moment of his greatest powerfulness, +who had mocked at and lashed him in the face with the high derision +of a creature above law, and who never for one instant had bent her +neck to the yoke which women must bear. She had laughed it to +scorn—and him—and all things—and gone on her way, +crowned with her scarlet roses, to wealth, and rank, and power, and +adulation; while he—the man, whose right it was to be transgressor—had +fallen upon hard fortune, and was losing step by step all she had won. +In his way he loved her madly—as he had loved her before, and +as he would have loved any woman who embodied triumph and beauty; and +burning with desire for both, and with jealous rage of all, he swore +he would not be outdone, befooled, cast aside, and trampled on.</p> +<p>At the playhouse when she looked from her box, she saw him leaning +against some pillar or stationed in some noticeable spot, his bold blue +eyes fixed burningly upon her; at fashionable assemblies he made his +way to her side and stood near her, gazing, or dropping words into her +ear; at church he placed himself in some pew near by, that she and all +the world might behold him; when she left her coach and walked in the +Mall he joined her or walked behind. At such times in my lady’s +close-fringed eyes there shone a steady gleam; but they were ever eyes +that glowed, and there were none who had ever come close enough to her +to know her well, and so there were none who read its meaning. +Only Anne knew as no other creature could, and looked on with secret +terror and dismay. The world but said that he was a man mad with +love, and desperate at the knowledge of the powerfulness of his rivals, +could not live beyond sight of her.</p> +<p>They did not hear the words that passed between them at times when +he stood near her in some crowd, and dropped, as ’twas thought, +words of burning prayer and love into her ear. ’Twas said +that it was like her to listen with unchanging face, and when she deigned +reply, to answer without turning towards him. But such words and +replies it had more than once been Anne’s ill-fortune to be near +enough to catch, and hearing them she had shuddered.</p> +<p>One night at a grand rout, the Duke of Osmonde but just having left +the reigning beauty’s side, she heard the voice she hated close +by her, speaking.</p> +<p>“You think you can disdain me to the end,” it said. +“Your ladyship is <i>sure</i> so?”</p> +<p>She did not turn or answer, and there followed a low laugh.</p> +<p>“You think a man will lie beneath your feet and be trodden +upon without speaking. You are too high and bold.”</p> +<p>She waved her painted fan, and gazed steadily before her at the crowd, +now and then bending her head in gracious greeting and smiling at some +passer-by.</p> +<p>“If I could tell the story of the rose garden, and of what +the sun-dial saw, and what the moon shone on—” he said.</p> +<p>He heard her draw her breath sharply through her teeth, he saw her +white bosom lift as if a wild beast leapt within it, and he laughed +again.</p> +<p>“His Grace of Osmonde returns,” he said; and then marking, +as he never failed to do, bitterly against his will, the grace and majesty +of this rival, who was one of the greatest and bravest of England’s +gentlemen, and knowing that she marked it too, his rage so mounted that +it overcame him.</p> +<p>“Sometimes,” he said, “methinks that I shall <i>kill</i> +you!”</p> +<p>“Would you gain your end thereby?” she answered, in a +voice as low and deadly.</p> +<p>“I would frustrate his—and yours.”</p> +<p>“Do it, then,” she hissed back, “some day when +you think I fear you.”</p> +<p>“’Twould be too easy,” he answered. “You +fear it too little. There are bitterer things.”</p> +<p>She rose and met his Grace, who had approached her. Always +to his greatness and his noble heart she turned with that new feeling +of dependence which her whole life had never brought to her before. +His deep eyes, falling on her tenderly as she rose, were filled with +protecting concern. Involuntarily he hastened his steps.</p> +<p>“Will your Grace take me to my coach?” she said. +“I am not well. May I—go?” as gently as a tender, +appealing girl.</p> +<p>And moved by this, as by her pallor, more than his man’s words +could have told, he gave her his arm and drew her quickly and supportingly +away.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne did not sleep well that night, having much to distract +her mind and keep her awake, as was often in these days the case. +When at length she closed her eyes her slumber was fitful and broken +by dreams, and in the mid hour of the darkness she wakened with a start +as if some sound had aroused her. Perhaps there had been some +sound, though all was still when she opened her eyes; but in the chair +by her bedside sat Clorinda in her night-rail, her hands wrung hard +together on her knee, her black eyes staring under a brow knit into +straight deep lines.</p> +<p>“Sister!” cried Anne, starting up in bed. “Sister!”</p> +<p>Clorinda slowly turned her head towards her, whereupon Anne saw that +in her face there was a look as if of horror which struggled with a +grief, a woe, too monstrous to be borne.</p> +<p>“Lie down, Anne,” she said. “Be not afraid—’tis +only I,” bitterly—“who need fear?”</p> +<p>Anne cowered among the pillows and hid her face in her thin hands. +She knew so well that this was true.</p> +<p>“I never thought the time would come,” her sister said, +“when I should seek you for protection. A thing has come +upon me—perhaps I shall go mad—to-night, alone in my room, +I wanted to sit near a woman—’twas not like me, was it?”</p> +<p>Mistress Anne crept near the bed’s edge, and stretching forth +a hand, touched hers, which were as cold as marble.</p> +<p>“Stay with me, sister,” she prayed. “Sister, +do not go! What—what can I say?”</p> +<p>“Naught,” was the steady answer. “There is +naught to be said. You were always a woman—I was never one—till +now.”</p> +<p>She rose up from her chair and threw up her arms, pacing to and fro.</p> +<p>“I am a desperate creature,” she cried. “Why +was I born?”</p> +<p>She walked the room almost like a thing mad and caged.</p> +<p>“Why was I thrown into the world?” striking her breast. +“Why was I made so—and not one to watch or care through +those mad years? To be given a body like this—and tossed +to the wolves.”</p> +<p>She turned to Anne, her arms outstretched, and so stood white and +strange and beauteous as a statue, with drops like great pearls running +down her lovely cheeks, and she caught her breath sobbingly, like a +child.</p> +<p>“I was thrown to them,” she wailed piteously, “and +they harried me—and left the marks of their great teeth—and +of the scars I cannot rid myself—and since it was my fate—pronounced +from my first hour—why was not this,” clutching her breast, +“left hard as ’twas at first? Not a woman’s—not +a woman’s, but a she-cub’s. Ah! ’twas not just—not +just that it should be so!”</p> +<p>Anne slipped from her bed and ran to her, falling upon her knees +and clinging to her, weeping bitterly.</p> +<p>“Poor heart!” she cried. “Poor, dearest heart!”</p> +<p>Her touch and words seemed to recall Clorinda to herself. She +started as if wakened from a dream, and drew her form up rigid.</p> +<p>“I have gone mad,” she said. “What is it +I do?” She passed her hand across her brow and laughed a +little wild laugh. “Yes,” she said; “this it +is to be a woman—to turn weak and run to other women—and +weep and talk. Yes, by these signs I <i>am</i> a woman!” +She stood with her clenched hands pressed against her breast. +“In any fair fight,” she said, “I could have struck +back blow for blow—and mine would have been the heaviest; but +being changed into a woman, my arms are taken from me. He who +strikes, aims at my bared breast—and that he knows and triumphs +in.”</p> +<p>She set her teeth together, and ground them, and the look, which +was like that of a chained and harried tigress, lit itself in her eyes.</p> +<p>“But there is <i>none</i> shall beat me,” she said through +these fierce shut teeth. “Nay I there is <i>none</i>! +Get up, Anne,” bending to raise her. “Get up, or I +shall be kneeling too—and I must stand upon my feet.”</p> +<p>She made a motion as if she would have turned and gone from the room +without further explanation, but Anne still clung to her. She +was afraid of her again, but her piteous love was stronger than her +fear.</p> +<p>“Let me go with you,” she cried. “Let me +but go and lie in your closet that I may be near, if you should call.”</p> +<p>Clorinda put her hands upon her shoulders, and stooping, kissed her, +which in all their lives she had done but once or twice.</p> +<p>“God bless thee, poor Anne,” she said. “I +think thou wouldst lie on my threshold and watch the whole night through, +if I should need it; but I have given way to womanish vapours too much—I +must go and be alone. I was driven by my thoughts to come and +sit and look at thy good face—I did not mean to wake thee. +Go back to bed.”</p> +<p>She would be obeyed, and led Anne to her couch herself, making her +lie down, and drawing the coverlet about her; after which she stood +upright with a strange smile, laying her hands lightly about her own +white throat.</p> +<p>“When I was a new-born thing and had a little throat and a +weak breath,” she cried, “’twould have been an easy +thing to end me. I have been told I lay beneath my mother when +they found her dead. If, when she felt her breath leaving her, +she had laid her hand upon my mouth and stopped mine, I should not,” +with the little laugh again—“I should not lie awake to-night.”</p> +<p>And then she went away.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV—Containing the history of the breaking of the +horse Devil, and relates the returning of his Grace of Osmonde from +France</h2> +<p>There were in this strange nature, depths so awful and profound that +it was not to be sounded or to be judged as others were. But one +thing could have melted or caused the unconquerable spirit to bend, +and this was the overwhelming passion of love—not a slight, tender +feeling, but a great and powerful one, such as could be awakened but +by a being of as strong and deep a nature as itself, one who was in +all things its peer.</p> +<p>“I have been lonely—lonely all my life,” my Lady +Dunstanwolde had once said to her sister, and she had indeed spoken +a truth.</p> +<p>Even in her childhood she had felt in some strange way she stood +apart from the world about her. Before she had been old enough +to reason she had been conscious that she was stronger and had greater +power and endurance than any human being about her. Her strength +she used in these days in wilful tyranny, and indeed it was so used +for many a day when she was older. The time had never been when +an eye lighted on her with indifference, or when she could not rule +and punish as she willed. As an infant she had browbeaten the +women-servants and the stable-boys and grooms; but because of her quick +wit and clever tongue, and also because no humour ever made her aught +but a creature well worth looking at, they had taken her bullying in +good-humour and loved her in their coarse way. She had tyrannised +over her father and his companions, and they had adored and boasted +of her; but there had not been one among them whom she could have turned +to if a softer moment had come upon her and she had felt the need of +a friend, nor indeed one whom she did not regard privately with contempt.</p> +<p>A god or goddess forced upon earth and surrounded by mere human beings +would surely feel a desolateness beyond the power of common words to +express, and a human being endowed with powers and physical gifts so +rare as to be out of all keeping with those of its fellows of ordinary +build and mental stature must needs be lonely too.</p> +<p>She had had no companion, because she had found none like herself, +and none with whom she could have aught in common. Anne she had +pitied, being struck by some sense of the unfairness of her lot as compared +with her own. John Oxon had moved her, bringing to her her first +knowledge of buoyant, ardent youth, and blooming strength and beauty; +for Dunstanwolde she had felt gratitude and affection; but than these +there had been no others who even distantly had touched her heart.</p> +<p>The night she had given her promise to Dunstanwolde, and had made +her obeisance before his kinsman as she had met his deep and leonine +eye, she had known that ’twas the only man’s eye before +which her own would fall and which held the power to rule her very soul.</p> +<p>She did not think this as a romantic girl would have thought it; +it was revealed to her by a sudden tempestuous leap of her heart, and +by a shock like terror. Here was the man who was of her own build, +whose thews and sinews of mind and body was as powerful as her own—here +was he who, had she met him one short year before, would have revolutionised +her world.</p> +<p>In the days of her wifehood when she had read in his noble face something +of that which he endeavoured to command and which to no other was apparent, +the dignity of his self-restraint had but filled her with tenderness +more passionate and grateful.</p> +<p>“Had he been a villain and a coward,” was her thought, +“he would have made my life a bitter battle; but ’tis me +he loves, not himself only, and as I honour him so does he honour me.”</p> +<p>Now she beheld the same passion in his eyes, but no more held in +leash: his look met hers, hiding from her nothing of what his high soul +burned with; and she was free—free to answer when he spoke, and +only feeling one bitterness in her heart—if he had but come in +time—God! why had he not been sent in time?</p> +<p>But, late or early, he had come; and what they had to give each other +should not be mocked at and lost. The night she had ended by going +to Anne’s chamber, she had paced her room saying this again and +again, all the strength of her being rising in revolt. She had +been then a caged tigress of a verity; she had wrung her hands; she +had held her palm hard against her leaping heart; she had walked madly +to and fro, battling in thought with what seemed awful fate; she had +flung herself upon her knees and wept bitter scalding tears.</p> +<p>“He is so noble,” she had cried—“he is so +noble—and I so worship his nobleness—and I have been so +base!”</p> +<p>And in her suffering her woman’s nerves had for a moment betrayed +her. Heretofore she had known no weakness of her sex, but the +woman soul in her so being moved, she had been broken and conquered +for a space, and had gone to Anne’s chamber, scarcely knowing +what refuge she so sought. It had been a feminine act, and she +had realised all it signified when Anne sank weeping by her. Women +who wept and prated together at midnight in their chambers ended by +telling their secrets. So it was that it fell out that Anne saw +not again the changed face to the sight of which she had that night +awakened. It seemed as if my lady from that time made plans which +should never for a moment leave her alone. The next day she was +busied arranging a brilliant rout, the next a rich banquet, the next +a great assembly; she drove in the Mall in her stateliest equipages; +she walked upon its promenade, surrounded by her crowd of courtiers, +smiling upon them, and answering them with shafts of graceful wit—the +charm of her gaiety had never been so remarked upon, her air never so +enchanting. At every notable gathering in the World of Fashion +she was to be seen. Being bidden to the Court, which was at Hampton, +her brilliant beauty and spirit so enlivened the royal dulness that +’twas said the Queen herself was scarce resigned to part with +her, and that the ladies and gentlemen in waiting all suffered from +the spleen when she withdrew. She bought at this time the fiercest +but most beautiful beast of a horse she had ever mounted. The +creature was superbly handsome, but apparently so unconquerable and +so savage that her grooms were afraid to approach it, and indeed it +could not be saddled and bitted unless she herself stood near. +Even the horse-dealer, rogue though he was, had sold it to her with +some approach to a qualm of conscience, having confessed to her that +it had killed two grooms, and been sentenced to be shot by its first +owner, and was still living only because its great beauty had led him +to hesitate for a few days. It was by chance that during these +few days Lady Dunstanwolde heard of it, and going to see it, desired +and bought it at once.</p> +<p>“It is the very beast I want,” she said, with a gleam +in her eye. “It will please me to teach it that there is +one stronger than itself.”</p> +<p>She had much use for her loaded riding-whip; and indeed, not finding +it heavy enough, ordered one made which was heavier. When she +rode the beast in Hyde Park, her first battles with him were the town +talk; and there were those who bribed her footmen to inform them beforehand, +when my lady was to take out Devil, that they might know in time to +be in the Park to see her. Fops and hunting-men laid wagers as +to whether her ladyship would kill the horse or be killed by him, and +followed her training of the creature with an excitement and delight +quite wild.</p> +<p>“Well may the beast’s name be Devil,” said more +than one looker-on; “for he is not so much horse as demon. +And when he plunges and rears and shows his teeth, there is a look in +his eye which flames like her own, and ’tis as if a male and female +demon fought together, for surely such a woman never lived before. +She will not let him conquer her, God knows; and it would seem that +he was swearing in horse fashion that she should not conquer him.”</p> +<p>When he was first bought and brought home, Mistress Anne turned ashy +at the sight of him, and in her heart of hearts grieved bitterly that +it had so fallen out that his Grace of Osmonde had been called away +from town by high and important matters; for she knew full well, that +if he had been in the neighbourhood, he would have said some discreet +and tender word of warning to which her ladyship would have listened, +though she would have treated with disdain the caution of any other +man or woman. When she herself ventured to speak, Clorinda looked +only stern.</p> +<p>“I have ridden only ill-tempered beasts all my life, and that +for the mere pleasure of subduing them,” she said. “I +have no liking for a horse like a bell-wether; and if this one should +break my neck, I need battle with neither men nor horses again, and +I shall die at the high tide of life and power; and those who think +of me afterwards will only remember that they loved me—that they +loved me.”</p> +<p>But the horse did not kill her, nor she it. Day after day she +stood by while it was taken from its stall, many a time dealing with +it herself, because no groom dare approach; and then she would ride +it forth, and in Hyde Park force it to obey her; the wondrous strength +of her will, her wrist of steel, and the fierce, pitiless punishment +she inflicted, actually daunting the devilish creature’s courage. +She would ride from the encounter, through two lines of people who had +been watching her—and some of them found themselves following +after her, even to the Park gate—almost awed as they looked at +her, sitting erect and splendid on the fretted, anguished beast, whose +shining skin was covered with lather, whose mouth tossed blood-flecked +foam, and whose great eye was so strangely like her own, but that hers +glowed with the light of triumph, and his burned with the agonised protest +of the vanquished. At such times there was somewhat of fear in +the glances that followed her beauty, which almost seemed to blaze—her +colour was so rich, the curve of her red mouth so imperial, the poise +of her head, with its loosening coils of velvet black hair, so high.</p> +<p>“It is good for me that I do this,” she said to Anne, +with a short laugh, one day. “I was growing too soft—and +I have need now for all my power. To fight with the demon in this +beast, rouses all in me that I have held in check since I became my +poor lord’s wife. That the creature should have set his +will against all others, and should resist me with such strength and +devilishness, rouses in me the passion of the days when I cursed and +raved and struck at those who angered me. ’Tis fury that +possesses me, and I could curse and shriek at him as I flog him, if +’twould be seemly. As it would not be so, I shut my teeth +hard, and shriek and curse within them, and none can hear.”</p> +<p>Among those who made it their custom to miss no day when she went +forth on Devil that they might stand near and behold her, there was +one man ever present, and ’twas Sir John Oxon. He would +stand as near as might be and watch the battle, a stealthy fire in his +eye, and a look as if the outcome of the fray had deadly meaning to +him. He would gnaw his lip until at times the blood started; his +face would by turns flush scarlet and turn deadly pale; he would move +suddenly and restlessly, and break forth under breath into oaths of +exclamation. One day a man close by him saw him suddenly lay his +hand upon his sword, and having so done, still keep it there, though +’twas plain he quickly remembered where he was.</p> +<p>As for the horse’s rider, my Lady Dunstanwolde, whose way it +had been to avoid this man and to thrust him from her path by whatsoever +adroit means she could use, on these occasions made no effort to evade +him and his glances; in sooth, he knew, though none other did so, that +when she fought with her horse she did it with a fierce joy in that +he beheld her. ’Twas as though the battle was between themselves; +and knowing this in the depths of such soul as he possessed, there were +times when the man would have exulted to see the brute rise and fall +upon her, crushing her out of life, or dash her to the earth and set +his hoof upon her dazzling upturned face. Her scorn and deadly +defiance of him, her beauty and maddening charm, which seemed but to +increase with every hour that flew by, had roused his love to fury. +Despite his youth, he was a villain, as he had ever been; even in his +first freshness there had been older men—and hardened ones—who +had wondered at the selfish mercilessness and blackness of the heart +that was but that of a boy. They had said among themselves that +at his years they had never known a creature who could be so gaily a +dastard, one who could plan with such light remorselessness, and using +all the gifts given him by Nature solely for his own ends, would take +so much and give so little. In truth, as time had gone on, men +who had been his companions, and had indeed small consciences to boast +of, had begun to draw off a little from him, and frequent his company +less. He chose to tell himself that this was because he had squandered +his fortune and was less good company, being pursued by creditors and +haunted by debts; but though there was somewhat in this, perchance ’twas +not the entire truth.</p> +<p>“By Gad!” said one over his cups, “there are things +even a rake-hell fellow like me cannot do; but he does them, and seems +not to know that they are to his discredit.”</p> +<p>There had been a time when without this woman’s beauty he might +have lived—indeed, he had left it of his own free vicious will; +but in these days, when his fortunes had changed and she represented +all that he stood most desperately in need of, her beauty drove him +mad. In his haunting of her, as he followed her from place to +place, his passion grew day by day, and all the more gained strength +and fierceness because it was so mixed with hate. He tossed upon +his bed at night and cursed her; he remembered the wild past, and the +memory all but drove him to delirium. He knew of what stern stuff +she was made, and that even if her love had died, she would have held +to her compact like grim death, even while loathing him. And he +had cast all this aside in one mad moment of boyish cupidity and folly; +and now that she was so radiant and entrancing a thing, and wealth, +and splendour, and rank, and luxury lay in the hollow of her hand, she +fixed her beauteous devil’s eyes upon him with a scorn in their +black depths which seemed to burn like fires of hell.</p> +<p>The great brute who dashed, and plunged, and pranced beneath her +seemed to have sworn to conquer her as he had sworn himself; but let +him plunge and kick as he would, there was no quailing in her eye, she +sat like a creature who was superhuman, and her hand was iron, her wrist +was steel. She held him so that he could not do his worst without +such pain as would drive him mad; she lashed him, and rained on him +such blows as almost made him blind. Once at the very worst, Devil +dancing near him, she looked down from his back into John Oxon’s +face, and he cursed aloud, her eye so told him his own story and hers. +In those days their souls met in such combat as it seemed must end in +murder itself.</p> +<p>“You will not conquer him,” he said to her one morning, +forcing himself near enough to speak.</p> +<p>“I will, unless he kills me,” she answered, “and +that methinks he will find it hard to do.”</p> +<p>“He will kill you,” he said. “I would, were +I in his four shoes.”</p> +<p>“You would if you could,” were her words; “but +you could not with his bit in your mouth and my hand on the snaffle. +And if he killed me, still ’twould be he, not I, was beaten; since +he could only kill what any bloody villain could with any knife. +He is a brute beast, and I am that which was given dominion over such. +Look on till I have done with him.”</p> +<p>And thus, with other beholders, though in a different mood from theirs, +he did, until a day when even the most sceptical saw that the brute +came to the fray with less of courage, as if there had at last come +into his brain the dawning of a fear of that which rid him, and all +his madness could not displace from its throne upon his back.</p> +<p>“By God!” cried more than one of the bystanders, seeing +this, despite the animal’s fury, “the beast gives way! +He gives way! She has him!” And John Oxon, shutting +his teeth, cut short an oath and turned pale as death.</p> +<p>From that moment her victory was a thing assured. The duel +of strength became less desperate, and having once begun to learn his +lesson, the brute was made to learn it well. His bearing was a +thing superb to behold; once taught obedience, there would scarce be +a horse like him in the whole of England. And day by day this +he learned from her, and being mastered, was put through his paces, +and led to answer to the rein, so that he trotted, cantered, galloped, +and leaped as a bird flies. Then as the town had come to see him +fight for freedom, it came to see him adorn the victory of the being +who had conquered him, and over their dishes of tea in the afternoon +beaux and beauties of fashion gossiped of the interesting and exciting +event; and there were vapourish ladies who vowed they could not have +beaten a brute so, and that surely my Lady Dunstanwolde must have looked +hot and blowzy while she did it, and have had the air of a great rough +man; and there were some pretty tiffs and even quarrels when the men +swore that never had she looked so magnificent a beauty and so inflamed +the hearts of all beholding her.</p> +<p>On the first day after her ladyship’s last battle with her +horse, the one which ended in such victory to her that she rode him +home hard through the streets without an outbreak, he white with lather, +and marked with stripes, but his large eye holding in its velvet a look +which seemed almost like a human thought—on that day after there +occurred a thing which gave the town new matter to talk of.</p> +<p>His Grace of Osmonde had been in France, called there by business +of the State, and during his absence the gossip concerning the horse +Devil had taken the place of that which had before touched on himself. +’Twas not announced that he was to return to England, and indeed +there were those who, speaking with authority, said that for two weeks +at least his affairs abroad would not be brought to a close; and yet +on this morning, as my Lady Dunstanwolde rode ’neath the trees, +holding Devil well in hand, and watching him with eagle keenness of +eye, many looking on in wait for the moment when the brute might break +forth suddenly again, a horseman was seen approaching at a pace so rapid +that ’twas on the verge of a gallop, and the first man who beheld +him looked amazed and lifted his hat, and the next, seeing him, spoke +to another, who bowed with him, and all along the line of loungers hats +were removed, and people wore the air of seeing a man unexpectedly, +and hearing a name spoken in exclamation by his side, Sir John Oxon +looked round and beheld ride by my lord Duke of Osmonde. The sun +was shining brilliantly, and all the Park was gay with bright warmth +and greenness of turf and trees. Clorinda felt the glow of the +summer morning permeate her being. She kept her watch upon her +beast; but he was going well, and in her soul she knew that he was beaten, +and that her victory had been beheld by the one man who knew that it +meant to her that which it seemed to mean also to himself. And +filled with this thought and the joy of it, she rode beneath the trees, +and so was riding with splendid spirit when she heard a horse behind +her, and looked up as it drew near, and the rich crimson swept over +her in a sweet flood, so that it seemed to her she felt it warm on her +very shoulders, ’neath her habit, for ’twas Osmonde’s +self who had followed and reached her, and uncovered, keeping pace by +her side.</p> +<p>Ah, what a face he had, and how his eyes burned as they rested on +her. It was such a look she met, that for a moment she could not +find speech, and he himself spoke as a man who, through some deep emotion, +has almost lost his breath.</p> +<p>“My Lady Dunstanwolde,” he began; and then with a sudden +passion, “Clorinda, my beloved!” The time had come +when he could not keep silence, and with great leapings of her heart +she knew. Yet not one word said she, for she could not; but her +beauty, glowing and quivering under his eyes’ great fire, answered +enough.</p> +<p>“Were it not that I fear for your sake the beast you ride,” +he said, “I would lay my hand upon his bridle, that I might crush +your hand in mine. At post-haste I have come from France, hearing +this thing—that you endangered every day that which I love so +madly. My God! beloved, cruel, cruel woman—sure you must +know!”</p> +<p>She answered with a breathless wild surrender. “Yes, +yes!” she gasped, “I know.”</p> +<p>“And yet you braved this danger, knowing that you might leave +me a widowed man for life.”</p> +<p>“But,” she said, with a smile whose melting radiance +seemed akin to tears—“but see how I have beaten him—and +all is passed.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” he said, “as you have conquered all—as +you have conquered me—and did from the first hour. But God +forbid that you should make me suffer so again.”</p> +<p>“Your Grace,” she said, faltering, “I—I will +not!”</p> +<p>“Forgive me for the tempest of my passion,” he said. +“’Twas not thus I had thought to come to make my suit. +’Tis scarcely fitting that it should be so; but I was almost mad +when I first heard this rumour, knowing my duty would not loose me to +come to you at once—and knowing you so well, that only if your +heart had melted to the one who besought you, you would give up.”</p> +<p>“I—give up,” she answered; “I give up.”</p> +<p>“I worship you,” he said; “I worship you.” +And their meeting eyes were drowned in each other’s tenderness.</p> +<p>They galloped side by side, and the watchers looked on, exchanging +words and glances, seeing in her beauteous, glowing face, in his joyous +one, the final answer to the question they had so often asked each other. +’Twas his Grace of Osmonde who was the happy man, he and no other. +That was a thing plain indeed to be seen, for they were too high above +the common world to feel that they must play the paltry part of outward +trifling to deceive it; and as the sun pierces through clouds and is +stronger than they, so their love shone like the light of day itself +through poor conventions. They did not know the people gazed and +whispered, and if they had known it, the thing would have counted for +naught with them.</p> +<p>“See!” said my lady, patting her Devil’s neck—“see, +he knows that you have come, and frets no more.”</p> +<p>They rode homeward together, the great beauty and the great duke, +and all the town beheld; and after they had passed him where he stood, +John Oxon mounted his own horse and galloped away, white-lipped and +with mad eyes.</p> +<p>“Let me escort you home,” the duke had said, “that +I may kneel to you there, and pour forth my heart as I have so dreamed +of doing. To-morrow I must go back to France, because I left my +errand incomplete. I stole from duty the time to come to you, +and I must return as quickly as I came.” So he took her +home; and as they entered the wide hall together, side by side, the +attendant lacqueys bowed to the ground in deep, welcoming obeisance, +knowing it was their future lord and master they received.</p> +<p>Together they went to her own sitting-room, called the Panelled Parlour, +a beautiful great room hung with rare pictures, warm with floods of +the bright summer sunshine, and perfumed with bowls of summer flowers; +and as the lacquey departed, bowing, and closed the door behind him, +they turned and were enfolded close in each other’s arms, and +stood so, with their hearts beating as surely it seemed to them human +hearts had never beat before.</p> +<p>“Oh! my dear love, my heavenly love!” he cried. +“It has been so long—I have lived in prison and in fetters—and +it has been so long!”</p> +<p>Even as my Lord Dunstanwolde had found cause to wonder at her gentle +ways, so was this man amazed at her great sweetness, now that he might +cross the threshold of her heart. She gave of herself as an empress +might give of her store of imperial jewels, with sumptuous lavishness, +knowing that the store could not fail. In truth, it seemed that +it must be a dream that she so stood before him in all her great, rich +loveliness, leaning against his heaving breast, her arms as tender as +his own, her regal head thrown backward that they might gaze into the +depths of each other’s eyes.</p> +<p>“From that first hour that I looked up at you,” she said, +“I knew you were my lord—my lord! And a fierce pain +stabbed my heart, knowing you had come too late by but one hour; for +had it not been that Dunstanwolde had led me to you, I knew—ah! +how well I knew—that our hearts would have beaten together not +as two hearts but as one.”</p> +<p>“As they do now,” he cried.</p> +<p>“As they do now,” she answered—“as they do +now!”</p> +<p>“And from the moment that your rose fell at my feet and I raised +it in my hand,” he said, “I knew I held some rapture which +was my own. And when you stood before me at Dunstanwolde’s +side and our eyes met, I could not understand—nay, I could scarce +believe that it had been taken from me.”</p> +<p>There, in her arms, among the flowers and in the sweetness of the +sun, he lived again the past, telling her of the days when, knowing +his danger, he had held himself aloof, declining to come to her lord’s +house with the familiarity of a kinsman, because the pang of seeing +her often was too great to bear; and relating to her also the story +of the hours when he had watched her and she had not known his nearness +or guessed his pain, when she had passed in her equipage, not seeing +him, or giving him but a gracious smile. He had walked outside +her window at midnight sometimes, too, coming because he was a despairing +man, and could not sleep, and returning homeward, having found no rest, +but only increase of anguish. “Sometimes,” he said, +“I dared not look into your eyes, fearing my own would betray +me; but now I can gaze into your soul itself, for the midnight is over—and +joy cometh with the morning.”</p> +<p>As he had spoken, he had caressed softly with his hand her cheek +and her crown of hair, and such was his great gentleness that ’twas +as if he touched lovingly a child; for into her face there had come +that look which it would seem that in the arms of the man she loves +every true woman wears—a look which is somehow like a child’s +in its trusting, sweet surrender and appeal, whatsoever may be her stateliness +and the splendour of her beauty.</p> +<p>Yet as he touched her cheek so and her eyes so dwelt on him, suddenly +her head fell heavily upon his breast, hiding her face, even while her +unwreathing arms held more closely.</p> +<p>“Oh! those mad days before!” she cried—“Oh! +those mad, mad days before!”</p> +<p>“Nay, they are long passed, sweet,” he said, in his deep, +noble voice, thinking that she spoke of the wildness of her girlish +years—“and all our days of joy are yet to come.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” she cried, clinging closer, yet with shuddering, +“they were <i>before</i>—the joy—the joy is all to +come.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV—In which Sir John Oxon finds again a trophy he +had lost</h2> +<p>His Grace of Osmonde went back to France to complete his business, +and all the world knew that when he returned to England ’twould +be to make his preparations for his marriage with my Lady Dunstanwolde. +It was a marriage not long to be postponed, and her ladyship herself +was known already to be engaged with lacemen, linen-drapers, toyshop +women, and goldsmiths. Mercers awaited upon her at her house, +accompanied by their attendants, bearing burdens of brocades and silks, +and splendid stuffs of all sorts. Her chariot was to be seen standing +before their shops, and the interest in her purchases was so great that +fashionable beauties would contrive to visit the counters at the same +hours as herself, so that they might catch glimpses of what she chose. +In her own great house all was repressed excitement; her women were +enraptured at being allowed the mere handling and laying away of the +glories of her wardrobe; the lacqueys held themselves with greater state, +knowing that they were soon to be a duke’s servants; her little +black Nero strutted about, his turban set upon his pate with a majestic +cock, and disdained to enter into battle with such pages of his own +colour as wore only silver collars, he feeling assured that his own +would soon be of gold.</p> +<p>The World of Fashion said when her ladyship’s equipage drove +by, that her beauty was like that of the god of day at morning, and +that ’twas plain that no man or woman had ever beheld her as his +Grace of Osmonde would.</p> +<p>“She loves at last,” a wit said. “Until the +time that such a woman loves, however great her splendour, she is as +the sun behind a cloud.”</p> +<p>“And now this one hath come forth, and shines so that she warms +us in mere passing,” said another. “What eyes, and +what a mouth, with that strange smile upon it. Whoever saw such +before? and when she came to town with my Lord Dunstanwolde, who, beholding +her, would have believed that she could wear such a look?”</p> +<p>In sooth, there was that in her face and in her voice when she spoke +which almost made Anne weep, through its strange sweetness and radiance. +’Twas as if the flood of her joy had swept away all hardness and +disdain. Her eyes, which had seemed to mock at all they rested +on, mocked no more, but ever seemed to smile at some dear inward thought.</p> +<p>One night when she went forth to a Court ball, being all attired +in brocade of white and silver, and glittering with the Dunstanwolde +diamonds, which starred her as with great sparkling dewdrops, and yet +had not the radiance of her eyes and smile, she was so purely wonderful +a vision that Anne, who had been watching her through all the time when +she had been under the hands of her tirewoman, and beholding her now +so dazzling and white a shining creature, fell upon her knees to kiss +her hand almost as one who worships.</p> +<p>“Oh, sister,” she said, “you look like a spirit. +It is as if with the earth you had naught to do—as if your eyes +saw Heaven itself and Him who reigns there.”</p> +<p>The lovely orbs of Clorinda shone more still like the great star +of morning.</p> +<p>“Sister Anne,” she said, laying her hand on her white +breast, “at times I think that I must almost be a spirit, I feel +such heavenly joy. It is as if He whom you believe in, and who +can forgive and wipe out sins, has forgiven me, and has granted it to +me, that I may begin my poor life again. Ah! I will make +it better; I will try to make it as near an angel’s life as a +woman can; and I will do no wrong, but only good; and I will believe, +and pray every day upon my knees—and all my prayers will be that +I may so live that my dear lord—my Gerald—could forgive +me all that I have ever done—and seeing my soul, would know me +worthy of him. Oh! we are strange things, we human creatures, +Anne,” with a tremulous smile; “we do not believe until +we want a thing, and feel that we shall die if ’tis not granted +to us; and then we kneel and kneel and believe, because we <i>must</i> +have somewhat to ask help from.”</p> +<p>“But all help has been given to you,” poor tender Anne +said, kissing her hand again; “and I will pray, I will pray—”</p> +<p>“Ay, pray, Anne, pray with all thy soul,” Clorinda answered; +“I need thy praying—and thou didst believe always, and have +asked so little that has been given thee.”</p> +<p>“Thou wast given me, sister,” said Anne. “Thou +hast given me a home and kindness such as I never dared to hope; thou +hast been like a great star to me—I have had none other, and I +thank Heaven on my knees each night for the brightness my star has shed +on me.”</p> +<p>“Poor Anne, dear Anne!” Clorinda said, laying her arms +about her and kissing her. “Pray for thy star, good, tender +Anne, that its light may not be quenched.” Then with a sudden +movement her hand was pressed upon her bosom again. “Ah, +Anne,” she cried, and in the music of her voice, agony itself +was ringing—“Anne, there is but one thing on this earth +God rules over—but one thing that belongs—<i>belongs</i> +to me; and ’tis Gerald Mertoun—and he is mine and <i>shall</i> +not be taken from me, for he is a part of me, and I a part of him!”</p> +<p>“He will not be,” said Anne—“he will not.”</p> +<p>“He cannot,” Clorinda answered—“he shall +not! ’Twould not be human.”</p> +<p>She drew a long breath and was calm again.</p> +<p>“Did it reach your ears,” she said, reclasping a band +of jewels on her arm, “that John Oxon had been offered a place +in a foreign Court, and that ’twas said he would soon leave England?”</p> +<p>“I heard some rumour of it,” Anne answered, her emotion +getting the better of her usual discreet speech. “God grant +it may be true!”</p> +<p>“Ay!” said Clorinda, “would God that he were gone!”</p> +<p>But that he was not, for when she entered the assembly that night +he was standing near the door as though he lay in waiting for her, and +his eyes met hers with a leaping gleam, which was a thing of such exultation +that to encounter it was like having a knife thrust deep into her side +and through and through it, for she knew full well that he could not +wear such a look unless he had some strength of which she knew not.</p> +<p>This gleam was in his eyes each time she found herself drawn to them, +and it seemed as though she could look nowhere without encountering +his gaze. He followed her from room to room, placing himself where +she could not lift her eyes without beholding him; when she walked a +minuet with a royal duke, he stood and watched her with such a look +in his face as drew all eyes towards him.</p> +<p>“’Tis as if he threatens her,” one said. +“He has gone mad with disappointed love.”</p> +<p>But ’twas not love that was in his look, but the madness of +long-thwarted passion mixed with hate and mockery; and this she saw, +and girded her soul with all its strength, knowing that she had a fiercer +beast to deal with, and a more vicious and dangerous one, than her horse +Devil. That he kept at first at a distance from her, and but looked +on with this secret exultant glow in his bad, beauteous eyes, told her +that at last he felt he held some power in his hands, against which +all her defiance would be as naught. Till this hour, though she +had suffered, and when alone had writhed in agony of grief and bitter +shame, in his presence she had never flinched. Her strength she +knew was greater than his; but his baseness was his weapon, and the +depths of that baseness she knew she had never reached.</p> +<p>At midnight, having just made obeisance before Royalty retiring, +she felt that at length he had drawn near and was standing at her side.</p> +<p>“To-night,” he said, in the low undertone it was his +way to keep for such occasions, knowing how he could pierce her ear—“to-night +you are Juno’s self—a very Queen of Heaven!”</p> +<p>She made no answer.</p> +<p>“And I have stood and watched you moving among all lesser goddesses +as the moon sails among the stars, and I have smiled in thinking of +what these lesser deities would say if they had known what I bear in +my breast to-night.”</p> +<p>She did not even make a movement—in truth, she felt that at +his next words she might change to stone.</p> +<p>“I have found it,” he said—“I have it here—the +lost treasure—the tress of hair like a raven’s wing and +six feet long. Is there another woman in England who could give +a man a lock like it?”</p> +<p>She felt then that she had, in sooth, changed to stone; her heart +hung without moving in her breast; her eyes felt great and hollow and +staring as she lifted them to him.</p> +<p>“I knew not,” she said slowly, and with bated breath, +for the awfulness of the moment had even made her body weak as she had +never known it feel before—“I knew not truly that hell made +things like you.”</p> +<p>Whereupon he made a movement forward, and the crowd about surged +nearer with hasty exclamations, for the strange weakness of her body +had overpowered her in a way mysterious to her, and she had changed +to marble, growing too heavy of weight for her sinking limbs. +And those in the surrounding groups saw a marvellous thing—the +same being that my Lady Dunstanwolde swayed as she turned, and falling, +lay stretched, as if dead, in her white and silver and flashing jewels +at the startled beholders’ feet.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>She wore no radiant look when she went home that night. She +would go home alone and unescorted, excepting by her lacqueys, refusing +all offers of companionship when once placed in her equipage. +There were, of course, gentlemen who would not be denied leading her +to her coach; John Oxon was among them, and at the last pressed close, +with a manner of great ceremony, speaking a final word.</p> +<p>“’Tis useless, your ladyship,” he murmured, as +he made his obeisance gallantly, and though the words were uttered in +his lowest tone and with great softness, they reached her ear as he +intended that they should. “To-morrow morning I shall wait +upon you.”</p> +<p>Anne had forborne going to bed, and waited for her return, longing +to see her spirit’s face again before she slept; for this poor +tender creature, being denied all woman’s loves and joys by Fate, +who had made her as she was, so lived in her sister’s beauty and +triumphs that ’twas as if in some far-off way she shared them, +and herself experienced through them the joy of being a woman transcendently +beautiful and transcendently beloved. To-night she had spent her +waiting hours in her closet and upon her knees, praying with all humble +adoration of the Being she approached. She was wont to pray long +and fervently each day, thanking Heaven for the smallest things and +the most common, and imploring continuance of the mercy which bestowed +them upon her poor unworthiness. For her sister her prayers were +offered up night and morning, and ofttimes in hours between, and to-night +she prayed not for herself at all, but for Clorinda and for his Grace +of Osmonde, that their love might be crowned with happiness, and that +no shadow might intervene to cloud its brightness, and the tender rapture +in her sister’s softened look, which was to her a thing so wonderful +that she thought of it with reverence as a holy thing.</p> +<p>Her prayers being at length ended, she had risen from her knees and +sat down, taking a sacred book to read, a book of sermons such as ’twas +her simple habit to pore over with entire respect and child-like faith, +and being in the midst of her favourite homily, she heard the chariot’s +returning wheels, and left her chair, surprised, because she had not +yet begun to expect the sound.</p> +<p>“’Tis my sister,” she said, with a soft, sentimental +smile. “Osmonde not being among the guests, she hath no +pleasure in mingling with them.”</p> +<p>She went below to the room her ladyship usually went to first on +her return at night from any gathering, and there she found her sitting +as though she had dropped there in the corner of a great divan, her +hands hanging clasped before her on her knee, her head hanging forward +on her fallen chest, her large eyes staring into space.</p> +<p>“Clorinda! Clorinda!” Anne cried, running to her +and kneeling at her side. “Clorinda! God have mercy! +What is’t?”</p> +<p>Never before had her face worn such a look—’twas colourless, +and so drawn and fallen in that ’twas indeed almost as if all +her great beauty was gone; but the thing most awful to poor Anne was +that all the new softness seemed as if it had been stamped out, and +the fierce hardness had come back and was engraven in its place, mingled +with a horrible despair.</p> +<p>“An hour ago,” she said, “I swooned. That +is why I look thus. ’Tis yet another sign that I am a woman—a +woman!”</p> +<p>“You are ill—you swooned?” cried Anne. “I +must send for your physician. Have you not ordered that he be +sent for yourself? If Osmonde were here, how perturbed he would +be!”</p> +<p>“Osmonde!” said my lady. “Gerald! Is +there a Gerald, Anne?”</p> +<p>“Sister!” cried Anne, affrighted by her strange look—“oh, +sister!”</p> +<p>“I have seen heaven,” Clorinda said; “I have stood +on the threshold and seen through the part-opened gate—and then +have been dragged back to hell.”</p> +<p>Anne clung to her, gazing upwards at her eyes, in sheer despair.</p> +<p>“But back to hell I will not go,” she went on saying. +“Had I not seen Heaven, they might perhaps have dragged me; but +now I will not go—I will not, that I swear! There is a thing +which cannot be endured. Bear it no woman should. Even I, +who was not born a woman, but a wolf’s she-cub, I cannot. +’Twas not I, ’twas Fate,” she said—“’twas +not I, ’twas Fate—’twas the great wheel we are bound +to, which goes round and round that we may be broken on it. ’Twas +not I who bound myself there; and I will not be broken so.”</p> +<p>She said the words through her clenched teeth, and with all the mad +passion of her most lawless years; even at Anne she looked almost in +the old ungentle fashion, as though half scorning all weaker than herself, +and having small patience with them.</p> +<p>“There will be a way,” she said—“there will +be a way. I shall not swoon again.”</p> +<p>She left her divan and stood upright, the colour having come back +to her face; but the look Anne worshipped not having returned with it, +’twas as though Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had been born again.</p> +<p>“To-morrow morning I go forth on Devil,” she said; “and +I shall be abroad if any visitors come.”</p> +<p>What passed in her chamber that night no human being knew. +Anne, who left her own apartment and crept into a chamber near hers +to lie and watch, knew that she paced to and fro, but heard no other +sound, and dared not intrude upon her.</p> +<p>When she came forth in the morning she wore the high look she had +been wont to wear in the years gone by, when she ruled in her father’s +house, and rode to the hunt with a following of gay middle-aged and +elderly rioters. Her eye was brilliant, and her colour matched +it. She held her head with the old dauntless carriage, and there +was that in her voice before which her women quaked, and her lacqueys +hurried to do her bidding.</p> +<p>Devil himself felt this same thing in the touch of her hand upon +his bridle when she mounted him at the door, and seemed to glance askance +at her sideways.</p> +<p>She took no servant with her, and did not ride to the Park, but to +the country. Once on the highroad, she rode fast and hard, only +galloping straight before her as the way led, and having no intention. +Where she was going she knew not; but why she rode on horseback she +knew full well, it being because the wild, almost fierce motion was +in keeping with the tempest in her soul. Thoughts rushed through +her brain even as she rushed through the air on Devil’s back, +and each leaping after the other, seemed to tear more madly.</p> +<p>“What shall I do?” she was saying to herself. “What +thing is there for me to do? I am trapped like a hunted beast, +and there is no way forth.”</p> +<p>The blood went like a torrent through her veins, so that she seemed +to hear it roaring in her ears; her heart thundered in her side, or +’twas so she thought of it as it bounded, while she recalled the +past and looked upon the present.</p> +<p>“What else could have been?” she groaned. “Naught +else—naught else. ’Twas a trick—a trick of Fate +to ruin me for my punishment.”</p> +<p>When she had gone forth it had been with no hope in her breast that +her wit might devise a way to free herself from the thing which so beset +her, for she had no weak fancies that there dwelt in this base soul +any germ of honour which might lead it to relenting. As she had +sat in her dark room at night, crouched upon the floor, and clenching +her hands, as the mad thoughts went whirling through her brain, she +had stared her Fate in the face and known all its awfulness. Before +her lay the rapture of a great, sweet, honourable passion, a high and +noble life lived in such bliss as rarely fell to lot of woman—on +this one man she knew that she could lavish all the splendour of her +nature, and make his life a heaven, as hers would be. Behind her +lay the mad, uncared-for years, and one black memory blighting all to +come, though ’twould have been but a black memory with no power +to blight if the heaven of love had not so opened to her and with its +light cast all else into shadow.</p> +<p>“If ’twere not love,” she cried—“if +’twere but ambition, I could defy it to the last; but ’tis +love—love—love, and it will kill me to forego it.”</p> +<p>Even as she moaned the words she heard hoof beats near her, and a +horseman leaped the hedge and was at her side. She set her teeth, +and turning, stared into John Oxon’s face.</p> +<p>“Did you think I would not follow you?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered.</p> +<p>“I have followed you at a distance hitherto,” he said; +“now I shall follow close.”</p> +<p>She did not speak, but galloped on.</p> +<p>“Think you you can outride me?” he said grimly, quickening +his steed’s pace. “I go with your ladyship to your +own house. For fear of scandal you have not openly rebuffed me +previous to this time; for a like reason you will not order your lacqueys +to shut your door when I enter it with you.”</p> +<p>My Lady Dunstanwolde turned to gaze at him again. The sun shone +on his bright falling locks and his blue eyes as she had seen it shine +in days which seemed so strangely long passed by, though they were not +five years agone.</p> +<p>“’Tis strange,” she said, with a measure of wonder, +“to live and be so black a devil.”</p> +<p>“Bah! my lady,” he said, “these are fine words—and +fine words do not hold between us. Let us leave them. I +would escort you home, and speak to you in private.” There +was that in his mocking that was madness to her, and made her sick and +dizzy with the boiling of the blood which surged to her brain. +The fury of passion which had been a terror to all about her when she +had been a child was upon her once more, and though she had thought +herself freed from its dominion, she knew it again and all it meant. +She felt the thundering beat in her side, the hot flood leaping to her +cheek, the flame burning her eyes themselves as if fire was within them. +Had he been other than he was, her face itself would have been a warning. +But he pressed her hard. As he would have slunk away a beaten +cur if she had held the victory in her hands, so feeling that the power +was his, he exulted over the despairing frenzy which was in her look.</p> +<p>“I pay back old scores,” he said. “There +are many to pay. When you crowned yourself with roses and set +your foot upon my face, your ladyship thought not of this! When +you gave yourself to Dunstanwolde and spat at me, you did not dream +that there could come a time when I might goad as you did.”</p> +<p>She struck Devil with her whip, who leaped forward; but Sir John +followed hard behind her. He had a swift horse too, and urged +him fiercely, so that between these two there was a race as if for life +or death. The beasts bounded forward, spurning the earth beneath +their feet. My lady’s face was set, her eyes were burning +flame, her breath came short and pantingly between her teeth. +Oxon’s fair face was white with passion; he panted also, but strained +every nerve to keep at her side, and kept there.</p> +<p>“Keep back! I warn thee!” she cried once, almost +gasping.</p> +<p>“Keep back!” he answered, blind with rage. “I +will follow thee to hell!”</p> +<p>And in this wise they galloped over the white road until the hedges +disappeared and they were in the streets, and people turned to look +at them, and even stood and stared. Then she drew rein a little +and went slower, knowing with shuddering agony that the trap was closing +about her.</p> +<p>“What is it that you would say to me?” she asked him +breathlessly.</p> +<p>“That which I would say within four walls that you may hear +it all,” he answered. “This time ’tis not idle +threatening. I have a thing to show you.”</p> +<p>Through the streets they went, and as her horse’s hoofs beat +the pavement, and the passers-by, looking towards her, gazed curiously +at so fine a lady on so splendid a brute, she lifted her eyes to the +houses, the booths, the faces, and the sky, with a strange fancy that +she looked about her as a man looks who, doomed to death, is being drawn +in his cart to Tyburn tree. For ’twas to death she went, +nor to naught else could she compare it, and she was so young and strong, +and full of love and life, and there should have been such bliss and +peace before her but for one madness of her all-unknowing days. +And this beside her—this man with the fair face and looks and +beauteous devil’s eyes, was her hangman, and carried his rope +with him, and soon would fit it close about her neck.</p> +<p>When they rode through the part of the town where abode the World +of Fashion, those who saw them knew them, and marvelled that the two +should be together.</p> +<p>“But perhaps his love has made him sue for pardon that he has +so borne himself,” some said, “and she has chosen to be +gracious to him, since she is gracious in these days to all.”</p> +<p>When they reached her house he dismounted with her, wearing an outward +air of courtesy; but his eye mocked her, as she knew. His horse +was in a lather of sweat, and he spoke to a servant.</p> +<p>“Take my beast home,” he said. “He is too +hot to stand, and I shall not soon be ready.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI—Dealing with that which was done in the Panelled +Parlour</h2> +<p>He followed her to the Panelled Parlour, the one to which she had +taken Osmonde on the day of their bliss, the one in which in the afternoon +she received those who came to pay court to her over a dish of tea. +In the mornings none entered it but herself or some invited guest. +’Twas not the room she would have chosen for him; but when he +said to her, “’Twere best your ladyship took me to some +private place,” she had known there was no other so safe.</p> +<p>When the door was closed behind them, and they stood face to face, +they were a strange pair to behold—she with mad defiance battling +with mad despair in her face; he with the mocking which every woman +who had ever trusted him or loved him had lived to see in his face when +all was lost. Few men there lived who were as vile as he, his +power of villainy lying in that he knew not the meaning of man’s +shame or honour.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said, “tell me the worst.”</p> +<p>“’Tis not so bad,” he answered, “that a man +should claim his own, and swear that no other man shall take it from +him. That I have sworn, and that I will hold to.”</p> +<p>“Your own!” she said—“your own you call it—villain!”</p> +<p>“My own, since I can keep it,” quoth he. “Before +you were my Lord of Dunstanwolde’s you were mine—of your +own free will.”</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” she cried. “God! through some +madness I knew not the awfulness of—because I was so young and +had known naught but evil—and you were so base and wise.”</p> +<p>“Was your ladyship an innocent?” he answered. “It +seemed not so to me.”</p> +<p>“An innocent of all good,” she cried—“of +all things good on earth—of all that I know now, having seen manhood +and honour.”</p> +<p>“His Grace of Osmonde has not been told this,” he said; +“and I should make it all plain to him.”</p> +<p>“What do you ask, devil?” she broke forth. “What +is’t you ask?”</p> +<p>“That you shall not be the Duchess of Osmonde,” he said, +drawing near to her; “that you shall be the wife of Sir John Oxon, +as you once called yourself for a brief space, though no priest had +mumbled over us—”</p> +<p>“Who was’t divorced us?” she said, gasping; “for +I was an honest thing, though I knew no other virtue. Who was’t +divorced us?”</p> +<p>“I confess,” he answered, bowing, “that ’twas +I—for the time being. I was young, and perhaps fickle—”</p> +<p>“And you left me,” she cried, “and I found that +you had come but for a bet—and since I so bore myself that you +could not boast, and since I was not a rich woman whose fortune would +be of use to you, you followed another and left me—me!”</p> +<p>“As his Grace of Osmonde will when I tell him my story,” +he answered. “He is not one to brook that such things can +be told of the mother of his heirs.”</p> +<p>She would have shrieked aloud but that she clutched her throat in +time.</p> +<p>“Tell him!” she cried, “tell him, and see if he +will hear you. Your word against mine!”</p> +<p>“Think you I do not know that full well,” he answered, +and he brought forth a little package folded in silk. “Why +have I done naught but threaten till this time? If I went to him +without proof, he would run me through with his sword as I were a mad +dog. But is there another woman in England from whose head her +lover could ravish a lock as long and black as this?”</p> +<p>He unfolded the silk, and let other silk unfold itself, a great and +thick ring of raven hair which uncoiled its serpent length, and though +he held it high, was long enough after surging from his hand to lie +upon the floor.</p> +<p>“Merciful God!” she cried, and shuddering, hid her face.</p> +<p>“’Twas a bet, I own,” he said; “I heard too +much of the mad beauty and her disdain of men not to be fired by a desire +to prove to her and others, that she was but a woman after all, and +so was to be won. I took an oath that I would come back some day +with a trophy—and this I cut when you knew not that I did it.”</p> +<p>She clutched her throat again to keep from shrieking in her—impotent +horror.</p> +<p>“Devil, craven, and loathsome—and he knows not what he +is!” she gasped. “He is a mad thing who knows not +that all his thoughts are of hell.”</p> +<p>’Twas, in sooth, a strange and monstrous thing to see him so +unwavering and bold, flinching before no ignominy, shrinking not to +speak openly the thing before the mere accusation of which other men’s +blood would have boiled.</p> +<p>“When I bore it away with me,” he said, “I lived +wildly for a space, and in those days put it in a place of safety, and +when I was sober again I had forgot where. Yesterday, by a strange +chance, I came upon it. Think you it can be mistaken for any other +woman’s hair?”</p> +<p>At this she held up her hand.</p> +<p>“Wait,” she said. “You will go to Osmonde, +you will tell him this, you will—”</p> +<p>“I will tell him all the story of the rose garden and of the +sun-dial, and the beauty who had wit enough to scorn a man in public +that she might more safely hold tryst with him alone. She had +great wit and cunning for a beauty of sixteen. ’Twould be +well for her lord to have keen eyes when she is twenty.”</p> +<p>He should have seen the warning in her eyes, for there was warning +enough in their flaming depths.</p> +<p>“All that you can say I know,” she said—“all +that you can say! And I love him. There is no other man +on earth. Were he a beggar, I would tramp the highroad by his +side and go hungered with him. He is my lord, and I his mate—his +mate!”</p> +<p>“That you will not be,” he answered, made devilish by +her words. “He is a high and noble gentleman, and wants +no man’s cast-off plaything for his wife.”</p> +<p>Her breast leaped up and down in her panting as she pressed her hand +upon it; her breath came in sharp puffs through her nostrils.</p> +<p>“And once,” she breathed—“and once—I +<i>loved</i> thee—cur!”</p> +<p>He was mad with exultant villainy and passion, and he broke into +a laugh.</p> +<p>“Loved me!” he said. “Thou! As thou +lovedst me—and as thou lovest him—so will Moll Easy love +any man—for a crown.”</p> +<p>Her whip lay upon the table, she caught and whirled it in the air. +She was blind with the surging of her blood, and saw not how she caught +or held it, or what she did—only that she struck!</p> +<p>And ’twas his temple that the loaded weapon met, and ’twas +wielded by a wrist whose sinews were of steel, and even as it struck +he gasped, casting up his hands, and thereupon fell, and lay stretched +at her feet!</p> +<p>But the awful tempest which swept over her had her so under its dominion +that she was like a branch whirled on the wings of the storm. +She scarce noted that he fell, or noting it, gave it not one thought +as she dashed from one end of the apartment to the other with the fierce +striding of a mad woman.</p> +<p>“Devil!” she cried, “and cur! and for thee I blasted +all the years to come! To a beast so base I gave all that an empress’ +self could give—all life—all love—for ever. +And he comes back—shameless—to barter like a cheating huckster, +because his trade goes ill, and I—I could stock his counters once +again.”</p> +<p>She strode towards him, raving.</p> +<p>“Think you I do not know, woman’s bully and poltroon, +that you plot to sell yourself, because your day has come, and no woman +will bid for such an outcast, saving one that you may threaten. +Rise, vermin—rise, lest I kill thee!”</p> +<p>In her blind madness she lashed him once across the face again. +And he stirred not—and something in the resistless feeling of +the flesh beneath the whip, and in the quiet of his lying, caused her +to pause and stand panting and staring at the thing which lay before +her. For it was a Thing, and as she stood staring, with wild heaving +breast, this she saw. ’Twas but a thing—a thing lying +inert, its fair locks outspread, its eyes rolled upward till the blue +was almost lost; a purple indentation on the right temple from which +there oozed a tiny thread of blood.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“There will be a way,” she had said, and yet in her most +mad despair, of this way she had never thought; though strange it had +been, considering her lawless past, that she had not—never of +this way—never! Notwithstanding which, in one frenzied moment +in which she had known naught but her delirium, her loaded whip had +found it for her—the way!</p> +<p>And yet it being so found, and she stood staring, seeing what she +had done—seeing what had befallen—’twas as if the +blow had been struck not at her own temple but at her heart—a +great and heavy shock, which left her bloodless, and choked, and gasping.</p> +<p>“What! what!” she panted. “Nay! nay! nay!” +and her eyes grew wide and wild.</p> +<p>She sank upon her knees, so shuddering that her teeth began to chatter. +She pushed him and shook him by the shoulder.</p> +<p>“Stir!” she cried in a loud whisper. “Move +thee! Why dost thou lie so? Stir!”</p> +<p>Yet he stirred not, but lay inert, only with his lips drawn back, +showing his white teeth a little, as if her horrid agony made him begin +to laugh. Shuddering, she drew slowly nearer, her eyes more awful +than his own. Her hand crept shaking to his wrist and clutched +it. There was naught astir—naught! It stole to his +breast, and baring it, pressed close. That was still and moveless +as his pulse; for life was ended, and a hundred mouldering years would +not bring more of death.</p> +<p>“I have <i>killed</i> thee,” she breathed. “I +have <i>killed</i> thee—though I meant it not—even hell +itself doth know. Thou art a dead man—and this is the worst +of all!”</p> +<p>His hand fell heavily from hers, and she still knelt staring, such +a look coming into her face as throughout her life had never been there +before—for ’twas the look of a creature who, being tortured, +the worst at last being reached, begins to smile at Fate.</p> +<p>“I have killed him!” she said, in a low, awful voice; +“and he lies here—and outside people walk, and know not. +But <i>he</i> knows—and I—and as he lies methinks he smiles—knowing +what he has done!”</p> +<p>She crouched even lower still, the closer to behold him, and indeed +it seemed his still face sneered as if defying her now to rid herself +of him! ’Twas as though he lay there mockingly content, +saying, “Now that I lie here, ’tis for <i>you</i>—for +<i>you</i> to move me.”</p> +<p>She rose and stood up rigid, and all the muscles of her limbs were +drawn as though she were a creature stretched upon a rack; for the horror +of this which had befallen her seemed to fill the place about her, and +leave her no air to breathe nor light to see.</p> +<p>“Now!” she cried, “if I would give way—and +go mad, as I could but do, for there is naught else left—if I +would but give way, that which is I—and has lived but a poor score +of years—would be done with for all time. All whirls before +me. ’Twas I who struck the blow—and I am a woman—and +I could go raving—and cry out and call them in, and point to him, +and tell them how ’twas done—all!—all!”</p> +<p>She choked, and clutched her bosom, holding its heaving down so fiercely +that her nails bruised it through her habit’s cloth; for she felt +that she had begun to rave already, and that the waves of such a tempest +were arising as, if not quelled at their first swell, would sweep her +from her feet and engulf her for ever.</p> +<p>“That—that!” she gasped—“nay—that +I swear I will not do! There was always One who hated me—and +doomed and hunted me from the hour I lay ’neath my dead mother’s +corpse, a new-born thing. I know not whom it was—or why—or +how—but ’twas so! I was made evil, and cast helpless +amid evil fates, and having done the things that were ordained, and +there was no escape from, I was shown noble manhood and high honour, +and taught to worship, as I worship now. An angel might so love +and be made higher. And at the gate of heaven a devil grins at +me and plucks me back, and taunts and mires me, and I fall—on +<i>this</i>!”</p> +<p>She stretched forth her arms in a great gesture, wherein it seemed +that surely she defied earth and heaven.</p> +<p>“No hope—no mercy—naught but doom and hell,” +she cried, “unless the thing that is tortured be the stronger. +Now—unless Fate bray me small—the stronger I will be!”</p> +<p>She looked down at the thing before her. How its stone face +sneered, and even in its sneering seemed to disregard her. She +knelt by it again, her blood surging through her body, which had been +cold, speaking as if she would force her voice to pierce its deadened +ear.</p> +<p>“Ay, mock!” she said, setting her teeth, “thinking +that I am conquered—yet am I not! ’Twas an honest +blow struck by a creature goaded past all thought! Ay, mock—and +yet, but for one man’s sake, would I call in those outside and +stand before them, crying: ‘Here is a villain whom I struck in +madness—and he lies dead! I ask not mercy, but only justice.’”</p> +<p>She crouched still nearer, her breath and words coming hard and quick. +’Twas indeed as if she spoke to a living man who heard—as +if she answered what he had said.</p> +<p>“There would be men in England who would give it me,” +she raved, whispering. “That would there, I swear! +But there would be dullards and dastards who would not. He would +give it—he! Ay, mock as thou wilt! But between his +high honour and love and me thy carrion <i>shall</i> not come!”</p> +<p>By her great divan the dead man had fallen, and so near to it he +lay that one arm was hidden by the draperies; and at this moment this +she saw—before having seemed to see nothing but the death in his +face. A thought came to her like a flame lit on a sudden, and +springing high the instant the match struck the fuel it leaped from. +It was a thought so daring and so strange that even she gasped once, +being appalled, and her hands, stealing to her brow, clutched at the +hair that grew there, feeling it seem to rise and stand erect.</p> +<p>“Is it madness to so dare?” she said hoarsely, and for +an instant, shuddering, hid her eyes, but then uncovered and showed +them burning. “Nay! not as I will dare it,” she said, +“for it will make me steel. You fell well,” she said +to the stone-faced thing, “and as you lie there, seem to tell +me what to do, in your own despite. You would not have so helped +me had you known. Now ’tis ’twixt Fate and I—a +human thing—who is but a hunted woman.”</p> +<p>She put her strong hand forth and thrust him—he was already +stiffening—backward from the shoulder, there being no shrinking +on her face as she felt his flesh yield beneath her touch, for she had +passed the barrier lying between that which is mere life and that which +is pitiless hell, and could feel naught that was human. A poor +wild beast at bay, pressed on all sides by dogs, by huntsmen, by resistless +weapons, by Nature’s pitiless self—glaring with bloodshot +eyes, panting, with fangs bared in the savagery of its unfriended agony—might +feel thus. ’Tis but a hunted beast; but ’tis alone, +and faces so the terror and anguish of death.</p> +<p>The thing gazing with its set sneer, and moving but stiffly, she +put forth another hand upon its side and thrust it farther backward +until it lay stretched beneath the great broad seat, its glazed and +open eyes seeming to stare upward blankly at the low roof of its strange +prison; she thrust it farther backward still, and letting the draperies +fall, steadily and with care so rearranged them that all was safe and +hid from sight.</p> +<p>“Until to-night,” she said, “you will lie well +there. And then—and then—”</p> +<p>She picked up the long silken lock of hair which lay like a serpent +at her feet, and threw it into the fire, watching it burn, as all hair +burns, with slow hissing, and she watched it till ’twas gone.</p> +<p>Then she stood with her hands pressed upon her eyeballs and her brow, +her thoughts moving in great leaps. Although it reeled, the brain +which had worked for her ever, worked clear and strong, setting before +her what was impending, arguing her case, showing her where dangers +would arise, how she must provide against them, what she must defend +and set at defiance. The power of will with which she had been +endowed at birth, and which had but grown stronger by its exercise, +was indeed to be compared to some great engine whose lever ’tis +not nature should be placed in human hands; but on that lever her hand +rested now, and to herself she vowed she would control it, since only +thus might she be saved. The torture she had undergone for months, +the warring of the evil past with the noble present, of that which was +sweet and passionately loving woman with that which was all but devil, +had strung her to a pitch so intense and high that on the falling of +this unnatural and unforeseen blow she was left scarce a human thing. +Looking back, she saw herself a creature doomed from birth; and here +in one moment seemed to stand a force ranged in mad battle with the +fate which had doomed her.</p> +<p>“’Twas ordained that the blow should fall so,” +she said, “and those who did it laugh—laugh at me.”</p> +<p>’Twas but a moment, and her sharp breathing became even and +regular as though at her command; her face composed itself, and she +turned to the bell and rang it as with imperious haste.</p> +<p>When the lacquey entered, she was standing holding papers in her +hand as if she had but just been consulting them.</p> +<p>“Follow Sir John Oxon,” she commanded. “Tell +him I have forgot an important thing and beg him to return at once. +Lose no time. He has but just left me and can scarce be out of +sight.”</p> +<p>The fellow saw there was no time to lose. They all feared that +imperial eye of hers and fled to obey its glances. Bowing, he +turned, and hastened to do her bidding, fearing to admit that he had +not seen the guest leave, because to do so would be to confess that +he had been absent from his post, which was indeed the truth.</p> +<p>She knew he would come back shortly, and thus he did, entering somewhat +breathed by his haste.</p> +<p>“My lady,” he said, “I went quickly to the street, +and indeed to the corner of it, but Sir John was not within sight.”</p> +<p>“Fool, you were not swift enough!” she said angrily. +“Wait, you must go to his lodgings with a note. The matter +is of importance.”</p> +<p>She went to a table—’twas close to the divan, so close +that if she had thrust forth her foot she could have touched what lay +beneath it—and wrote hastily a few lines. They were to request +that which was stiffening within three feet of her to return to her +as quickly as possible that she might make inquiries of an important +nature which she had forgotten at his departure.</p> +<p>“Take this to Sir John’s lodgings,” she said. +“Let there be no loitering by the way. Deliver into his +own hands, and bring back at once his answer.”</p> +<p>Then she was left alone again, and being so left, paced the room +slowly, her gaze upon the floor.</p> +<p>“That was well done,” she said. “When he +returns and has not found him, I will be angered, and send him again +to wait.”</p> +<p>She stayed her pacing, and passed her hand across her face.</p> +<p>“’Tis like a nightmare,” she said—“as +if one dreamed, and choked, and panted, and would scream aloud, but +could not. I cannot! I must not! Would that I might +shriek, and dash myself upon the floor, and beat my head upon it until +I lay—as <i>he</i> does.”</p> +<p>She stood a moment, breathing fast, her eyes widening, that part +of her which was weak woman for the moment putting her in parlous danger, +realising the which she pressed her sides with hands that were of steel.</p> +<p>“Wait! wait!” she said to herself. “This +is going mad. This is loosening hold, and being beaten by that +One who hates me and laughs to see what I have come to.”</p> +<p>Naught but that unnatural engine of will could have held her within +bounds and restrained the mounting female weakness that beset her; but +this engine being stronger than all else, it beat her womanish and swooning +terrors down.</p> +<p>“Through this one day I must live,” she said, “and +plan, and guard each moment that doth pass. My face must tell +no tale, my voice must hint none. He will be still—God knows +he will be still enough.”</p> +<p>Upon the divan itself there had been lying a little dog; ’twas +a King Charles’ spaniel, a delicate pampered thing, which attached +itself to her, and was not easily driven away. Once during the +last hour the fierce, ill-hushed voices had disturbed it, and it had +given vent to a fretted bark, but being a luxurious little beast, it +had soon curled up among its cushions and gone to sleep again. +But as its mistress walked about muttering low words and ofttimes breathing +sharp breaths, it became disturbed again. Perhaps through some +instinct of which naught is known by human creatures, it felt the strange +presence of a thing which roused it. It stirred, at first drowsily, +and lifted its head and sniffed; then it stretched its limbs, and having +done so, stood up, turning on its mistress a troubled eye, and this +she saw and stopped to meet it. ’Twas a strange look she +bestowed upon it, a startled and fearful one; her thought drew the blood +up to her cheek, but backward again it flowed when the little beast +lifted its nose and gave a low but woeful howl. Twice it did this, +and then jumped down, and standing before the edge of the couch, stood +there sniffing.</p> +<p>There was no mistake, some instinct of which it knew not the meaning +had set it on, and it would not be thrust back. In all beasts +this strange thing has been remarked—that they know that which +ends them all, and so revolt against it that they cannot be at rest +so long as it is near them, but must roar, or whinny, or howl until +’tis out of the reach of their scent. And so ’twas +plain this little beast knew and was afraid and restless. He would +not let it be, but roved about, sniffing and whining, and not daring +to thrust his head beneath the falling draperies, but growing more and +yet more excited and terrified, until at last he stopped, raised head +in air, and gave vent to a longer, louder, and more dolorous howl, and +albeit to one with so strange and noticeable a sound that her heart +turned over in her breast as she stooped and caught him in her grasp, +and shuddered as she stood upright, holding him to her side, her hand +over his mouth. But he would not be hushed, and struggled to get +down as if indeed he would go mad unless he might get to the thing and +rave at it.</p> +<p>“If I send thee from the room thou wilt come back, poor Frisk,” +she said. “There will be no keeping thee away, and I have +never ordered thee away before. Why couldst thou not keep still? +Nay, ’twas not dog nature.”</p> +<p>That it was not so was plain by his struggles and the yelps but poorly +stifled by her grasp.</p> +<p>She put her hand about his little neck, turning, in sooth, very pale.</p> +<p>“Thou too, poor little beast,” she said. “Thou +too, who art so small a thing and never harmed me.”</p> +<p>When the lacquey came back he wore an air more timorous than before.</p> +<p>“Your ladyship,” he faltered, “Sir John had not +yet reached his lodgings. His servant knew not when he might expect +him.”</p> +<p>“In an hour go again and wait,” she commanded. +“He must return ere long if he has not left town.”</p> +<p>And having said this, pointed to a little silken heap which lay outstretched +limp upon the floor. “’Tis poor Frisk, who has had +some strange spasm, and fell, striking his head. He hath been +ailing for days, and howled loudly but an hour ago. Take him away, +poor beast.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII—Wherein his Grace of Osmonde’s courier +arrives from France</h2> +<p>The stronghold of her security lay in the fact that her household +so stood in awe of her, and that this room, which was one of the richest +and most beautiful, though not the largest, in the mansion, all her +servitors had learned to regard as a sort of sacred place in which none +dared to set foot unless invited or commanded to enter. Within +its four walls she read and wrote in the morning hours, no servant entering +unless summoned by her; and the apartment seeming, as it were, a citadel, +none approached without previous parley. In the afternoon the +doors were thrown open, and she entertained there such visitors as came +with less formality than statelier assemblages demanded. When +she went out of it this morning to go to her chamber that her habit +might be changed and her toilette made, she glanced about her with a +steady countenance.</p> +<p>“Until the babblers flock in to chatter of the modes and playhouses,” +she said, “all will be as quiet as the grave. Then I must +stand near, and plan well, and be in such beauty and spirit that they +will see naught but me.”</p> +<p>In the afternoon ’twas the fashion for those who had naught +more serious in their hands than the killing of time to pay visits to +each other’s houses, and drinking dishes of tea, to dispose of +their neighbours’ characters, discuss the playhouses, the latest +fashions in furbelows or commodes, and make love either lightly or with +serious intent. One may be sure that at my Lady Dunstanwolde’s +many dishes of Bohea were drunk, and many ogling glances and much witticism +exchanged. There was in these days even a greater following about +her than ever. A triumphant beauty on the verge of becoming a +great duchess is not like to be neglected by her acquaintance, and thus +her ladyship held assemblies both gay and brilliantly varied, which +were the delight of the fashionable triflers of the day.</p> +<p>This afternoon they flocked in greater numbers than usual. +The episode of the breaking of Devil, the unexpected return of his Grace +of Osmonde, the preparations for the union, had given an extra stimulant +to that interest in her ladyship which was ever great enough to need +none. Thereunto was added the piquancy of the stories of the noticeable +demeanour of Sir John Oxon, of what had seemed to be so plain a rebellion +against his fate, and also of my lady’s open and cold displeasure +at the manner of his bearing himself as a disappointed man who presumed +to show anger against that to which he should gallantly have been resigned, +as one who is conquered by the chance of war. Those who had beheld +the two ride homeward together in the morning, were full of curiousness, +and one and another, mentioning the matter, exchanged glances, speaking +plainly of desire to know more of what had passed, and of hope that +chance might throw the two together again in public, where more of interest +might be gathered. It seemed indeed not unlikely that Sir John +might appear among the tea-bibbers, and perchance ’twas for this +lively reason that my lady’s room was this afternoon more than +usually full of gay spirits and gossip-loving ones.</p> +<p>They found, however, only her ladyship’s self and her sister, +Mistress Anne, who, of truth, did not often join her tea-parties, finding +them so given up to fashionable chatter and worldly witticisms that +she felt herself somewhat out of place. The world knew Mistress +Anne but as a dull, plain gentlewoman, whom her more brilliant and fortunate +sister gave gracious protection to, and none missed her when she was +absent, or observed her greatly when she appeared upon the scene. +To-day she was perchance more observed than usual, because her pallor +was so great a contrast to her ladyship’s splendour of beauty +and colour. The contrast between them was ever a great one; but +this afternoon Mistress Anne’s always pale countenance seemed +almost livid, there were rings of pain or illness round her eyes, and +her features looked drawn and pinched. My Lady Dunstanwolde, clad +in a great rich petticoat of crimson flowered satin, with wondrous yellow +Mechlin for her ruffles, and with her glorious hair dressed like a tower, +looked taller, more goddess-like and full of splendid fire than ever +she had been before beheld, or so her visitors said to her and to each +other; though, to tell the truth, this was no new story, she being one +of those women having the curious power of inspiring the beholder with +the feeling each time he encountered them that he had never before seen +them in such beauty and bloom.</p> +<p>When she had come down the staircase from her chamber, Anne, who +had been standing at the foot, had indeed started somewhat at the sight +of her rich dress and brilliant hues.</p> +<p>“Why do you jump as if I were a ghost, Anne?” she asked. +“Do I look like one? My looking-glass did not tell me so.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Anne; “you—are so—so crimson +and splendid—and I—”</p> +<p>Her ladyship came swiftly down the stairs to her.</p> +<p>“You are not crimson and splendid,” she said. “’Tis +you who are a ghost. What is it?”</p> +<p>Anne let her soft, dull eyes rest upon her for a moment helplessly, +and when she replied her voice sounded weak.</p> +<p>“I think—I am ill, sister,” she said. “I +seem to tremble and feel faint.”</p> +<p>“Go then to bed and see the physician. You must be cared +for,” said her ladyship. “In sooth, you look ill indeed.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said Anne; “I beg you, sister, this afternoon +let me be with you; it will sustain me. You are so strong—let +me—”</p> +<p>She put out her hand as if to touch her, but it dropped at her side +as though its strength was gone.</p> +<p>“But there will be many babbling people,” said her sister, +with a curious look. “You do not like company, and these +days my rooms are full. ’Twill irk and tire you.”</p> +<p>“I care not for the people—I would be with you,” +Anne said, in strange imploring. “I have a sick fancy that +I am afraid to sit alone in my chamber. ’Tis but weakness. +Let me this afternoon be with you.”</p> +<p>“Go then and change your robe,” said Clorinda, “and +put some red upon your cheeks. You may come if you will. +You are a strange creature, Anne.”</p> +<p>And thus saying, she passed into her apartment. As there are +blows and pain which end in insensibility or delirium, so there are +catastrophes and perils which are so great as to produce something near +akin to these. As she had stood before her mirror in her chamber +watching her reflection, while her woman attired her in her crimson +flowered satin and builded up her stately head-dress, this other woman +had felt that the hour when she could have shrieked and raved and betrayed +herself had passed by, and left a deadness like a calm behind, as though +horror had stunned all pain and yet left her senses clear. She +forgot not the thing which lay staring upward blankly at the under part +of the couch which hid it—the look of its fixed eyes, its outspread +locks, and the purple indentation on the temple she saw as clearly as +she had seen them in that first mad moment when she had stood staring +downward at the thing itself; but the coursing of her blood was stilled, +the gallop of her pulses, and that wild hysteric leaping of her heart +into her throat, choking her and forcing her to gasp and pant in that +way which in women must ever end in shrieks and cries and sobbing beatings +of the air. But for the feminine softness to which her nature +had given way for the first time, since the power of love had mastered +her, there was no thing of earth could have happened to her which would +have brought this rolling ball to her throat, this tremor to her body—since +the hour of her birth she had never been attacked by such a female folly, +as she would indeed have regarded it once; but now ’twas different—for +a while she had been a woman—a woman who had flung herself upon +the bosom of him who was her soul’s lord, and resting there, her +old rigid strength had been relaxed.</p> +<p>But ’twas not this woman who had known tender yielding who +returned to take her place in the Panelled Parlour, knowing of the companion +who waited near her unseen—for it was as her companion she thought +of him, as she had thought of him when he followed her in the Mall, +forced himself into her box at the play, or stood by her shoulder at +assemblies; he had placed himself by her side again, and would stay +there until she could rid herself of him.</p> +<p>“After to-night he will be gone, if I act well my part,” +she said, “and then may I live a freed woman.”</p> +<p>’Twas always upon the divan she took her place when she received +her visitors, who were accustomed to finding her enthroned there. +This afternoon when she came into the room she paused for a space, and +stood beside it, the parlour being yet empty. She felt her face +grow a little cold, as if it paled, and her under-lip drew itself tight +across her teeth.</p> +<p>“In a graveyard,” she said, “I have sat upon the +stone ledge of a tomb, and beneath there was—worse than this, +could I but have seen it. This is no more.”</p> +<p>When the Sir Humphreys and Lord Charleses, Lady Bettys and Mistress +Lovelys were announced in flocks, fluttering and chattering, she rose +from her old place to meet them, and was brilliant graciousness itself. +She hearkened to their gossipings, and though ’twas not her way +to join in them, she was this day witty in such way as robbed them of +the dulness in which sometimes gossip ends. It was a varied company +which gathered about her; but to each she gave his or her moment, and +in that moment said that which they would afterwards remember. +With those of the Court she talked royalty, the humours of her Majesty, +the severities of her Grace of Marlborough; with statesmen she spoke +with such intellect and discretion that they went away pondering on +the good fortune which had befallen one man when it seemed that it was +of such proportions as might have satisfied a dozen, for it seemed not +fair to them that his Grace of Osmonde, having already rank, wealth, +and fame, should have added to them a gift of such magnificence as this +beauteous woman would bring; with beaux and wits she made dazzling jests; +and to the beauties who desired their flatteries she gave praise so +adroit that they were stimulated to plume their feathers afresh and +cease to fear the rivalry of her loveliness.</p> +<p>And yet while she so bore herself, never once did she cease to feel +the presence of that which, lying near, seemed to her racked soul as +one who lay and listened with staring eyes which mocked; for there was +a thought which would not leave her, which was, that it could hear, +that it could see through the glazing on its blue orbs, and that knowing +itself bound by the moveless irons of death and dumbness it impotently +raged and cursed that it could not burst them and shriek out its vengeance, +rolling forth among her worshippers at their feet and hers.</p> +<p>“But he <i>can</i> not,” she said, within her clenched +teeth, again and again—“<i>that</i> he cannot.”</p> +<p>Once as she said this to herself she caught Anne’s eyes fixed +helplessly upon her, it seeming to be as the poor woman had said, that +her weakness caused her to desire to abide near her sister’s strength +and draw support from it; for she had remained at my lady’s side +closely since she had descended to the room, and now seemed to implore +some protection for which she was too timid to openly make request.</p> +<p>“You are too weak to stay, Anne,” her ladyship said. +“’Twould be better that you should retire.”</p> +<p>“I am weak,” the poor thing answered, in low tones—“but +not too weak to stay. I am always weak. Would that I were +of your strength and courage. Let me sit down—sister—here.” +She touched the divan’s cushions with a shaking hand, gazing upward +wearily—perchance remembering that this place seemed ever a sort +of throne none other than the hostess queen herself presumed to encroach +upon.</p> +<p>“You are too meek, poor sister,” quoth Clorinda. +“’Tis not a chair of coronation or the woolsack of a judge. +Sit! sit!—and let me call for wine!”</p> +<p>She spoke to a lacquey and bade him bring the drink, for even as +she sank into her place Anne’s cheeks grew whiter.</p> +<p>When ’twas brought, her ladyship poured it forth and gave it +to her sister with her own hand, obliging her to drink enough to bring +her colour back. Having seen to this, she addressed the servant +who had obeyed her order.</p> +<p>“Hath Jenfry returned from Sir John Oxon?” she demanded, +in that clear, ringing voice of hers, whose music ever arrested those +surrounding her, whether they were concerned in her speech or no; but +now all felt sufficient interest to prick up ears and hearken to what +was said.</p> +<p>“No, my lady,” the lacquey answered. “He +said that you had bidden him to wait.”</p> +<p>“But not all day, poor fool,” she said, setting down +Anne’s empty glass upon the salver. “Did he think +I bade him stand about the door all night? Bring me his message +when he comes.”</p> +<p>“’Tis ever thus with these dull serving folk,” +she said to those nearest her. “One cannot pay for wit with +wages and livery. They can but obey the literal word. Sir +John, leaving me in haste this morning, I forgot a question I would +have asked, and sent a lacquey to recall him.”</p> +<p>Anne sat upright.</p> +<p>“Sister—I pray you—another glass of wine.”</p> +<p>My lady gave it to her at once, and she drained it eagerly.</p> +<p>“Was he overtaken?” said a curious matron, who wished +not to see the subject closed.</p> +<p>“No,” quoth her ladyship, with a light laugh—“though +he must have been in haste, for the man was sent after him in but a +moment’s time. ’Twas then I told the fellow to go +later to his lodgings and deliver my message into Sir John’s own +hand, whence it seems that he thinks that he must await him till he +comes.”</p> +<p>Upon a table near there lay the loaded whip; for she had felt it +bolder to let it lie there as if forgotten, because her pulse had sprung +so at first sight of it when she came down, and she had so quailed before +the desire to thrust it away, to hide it from her sight. “And +that I quail before,” she had said, “I must have the will +to face—or I am lost.” So she had let it stay.</p> +<p>A languishing beauty, with melting blue eyes and a pretty fashion +of ever keeping before the world of her admirers her waxen delicacy, +lifted the heavy thing in her frail white hand.</p> +<p>“How can your ladyship wield it?” she said. “It +is so heavy for a woman—but your ladyship is—is not—”</p> +<p>“Not quite a woman,” said the beautiful creature, standing +at her full great height, and smiling down at this blue and white piece +of frailty with the flashing splendour of her eyes.</p> +<p>“Not quite a woman,” cried two wits at once. “A +goddess rather—an Olympian goddess.”</p> +<p>The languisher could not endure comparisons which so seemed to disparage +her ethereal charms. She lifted the weapon with a great effort, +which showed the slimness of her delicate fair wrist and the sweet tracery +of blue veins upon it.</p> +<p>“Nay,” she said lispingly, “it needs the muscle +of a great man to lift it. I could not hold it—much less +beat with it a horse.” And to show how coarse a strength +was needed and how far her femininity lacked such vigour, she dropped +it upon the floor—and it rolled beneath the edge of the divan.</p> +<p>“Now,” the thought shot through my lady’s brain, +as a bolt shoots from the sky—“now—he <i>laughs</i>!”</p> +<p>She had no time to stir—there were upon their knees three beaux +at once, and each would sure have thrust his arm below the seat and +rummaged, had not God saved her! Yes, ’twas of God she thought +in that terrible mad second—God!—and only a mind that is +not human could have told why.</p> +<p>For Anne—poor Mistress Anne—white-faced and shaking, +was before them all, and with a strange adroitness stooped,—and +thrust her hand below, and drawing the thing forth, held it up to view.</p> +<p>“’Tis here,” she said, “and in sooth, sister, +I wonder not at its falling—its weight is so great.”</p> +<p>Clorinda took it from her hand.</p> +<p>“I shall break no more beasts like Devil,” she said, +“and for quieter ones it weighs too much; I shall lay it by.”</p> +<p>She crossed the room and laid it upon a shelf.</p> +<p>“It was ever heavy—but for Devil. ’Tis done +with,” she said; and there came back to her face—which for +a second had lost hue—a flood of crimson so glowing, and a smile +so strange, that those who looked and heard, said to themselves that +’twas the thought of Osmonde who had so changed her, which made +her blush. But a few moments later they beheld the same glow mount +again. A lacquey entered, bearing a salver on which lay two letters. +One was a large one, sealed with a ducal coronet, and this she saw first, +and took in her hand even before the man had time to speak.</p> +<p>“His Grace’s courier has arrived from France,” +he said; “the package was ordered to be delivered at once.”</p> +<p>“It must be that his Grace returns earlier than we had hoped,” +she said, and then the other missive caught her eye.</p> +<p>“’Tis your ladyship’s own,” the lacquey explained +somewhat anxiously. “’Twas brought back, Sir John +not having yet come home, and Jenfry having waited three hours.”</p> +<p>“’Twas long enough,” quoth her ladyship. +“’Twill do to-morrow.”</p> +<p>She did not lay Osmonde’s letter aside, but kept it in her +hand, and seeing that she waited for their retirement to read it, her +guests began to make their farewells. One by one or in groups +of twos and threes they left her, the men bowing low, and going away +fretted by the memory of the picture she made—a tall and regal +figure in her flowered crimson, her stateliness seeming relaxed and +softened by the mere holding of the sealed missive in her hand. +But the women were vaguely envious, not of Osmonde, but of her before +whom there lay outspread as far as life’s horizon reached, a future +of such perfect love and joy; for Gerald Mertoun had been marked by +feminine eyes since his earliest youth, and had seemed to embody all +that woman’s dreams or woman’s ambitions or her love could +desire.</p> +<p>When the last was gone, Clorinda turned, tore her letter open, and +held it hard to her lips. Before she read a word she kissed it +passionately a score of times, paying no heed that Anne sate gazing +at her; and having kissed it so, she fell to reading it, her cheeks +warm with the glow of a sweet and splendid passion, her bosom rising +and falling in a tempest of tender, fluttering breaths—and ’twas +these words her eyes devoured:</p> +<blockquote><p>“If I should head this page I write to you ‘Goddess +and Queen, and Empress of my deepest soul,’ what more should I +be saying than ‘My Love’ and ‘My Clorinda,’ +since these express all the soul of man could crave for or his body +desire. The body and soul of me so long for thee, sweetheart, +and sweetest beautiful woman that the hand of Nature ever fashioned +for the joy of mortals, that I have had need to pray Heaven’s +help to aid me to endure the passing of the days that lie between me +and the hour which will make me the most strangely, rapturously, happy +man, not in England, not in the world, but in all God’s universe. +I must pray Heaven again, and indeed do and will, for humbleness which +shall teach me to remember that I am not deity, but mere man—mere +man—though I shall hold a goddess to my breast and gaze into eyes +which are like deep pools of Paradise, and yet answer mine with the +marvel of such love as none but such a soul could make a woman’s, +and so fit to mate with man’s. In the heavy days when I +was wont to gaze at you from afar with burning heart, my unceasing anguish +was that even high honour itself could not subdue and conquer the thoughts +which leaped within me even as my pulse leaped, and even as my pulse +could not be stilled unless by death. And one that for ever haunted—aye, +and taunted—me was the image of how your tall, beauteous body +would yield itself to a strong man’s arm, and your noble head +with its heavy tower of hair resting upon his shoulder—the centres +of his very being would be thrilled and shaken by the uplifting of such +melting eyes as surely man ne’er gazed within on earth before, +and the ripe and scarlet bow of a mouth so beauteous and so sweet with +womanhood. This beset me day and night, and with such torture +that I feared betimes my brain might reel and I become a lost and ruined +madman. And now—it is no more forbidden me to dwell upon +it—nay, I lie waking at night, wooing the picture to me, and at +times I rise from my dreams to kneel by my bedside and thank God that +He hath given me at last what surely is my own!—for so it seems to me, +my love, that each of us is but a part of the other, and that such forces +of Nature rush to meet together in us, that Nature herself would cry +out were we rent apart. If there were aught to rise like a ghost +between us, if there were aught that could sunder us—noble soul, +let us but swear that it shall weld us but the closer together, and +that locked in each other’s arms its blows shall not even make +our united strength to sway. Sweetest lady, your lovely lip will +curve in smiles, and you will say, ‘He is mad with his joy—my +Gerald’ (for never till my heart stops at its last beat and leaves +me still, a dead man, cold upon my bed, can I forget the music of your +speech when you spoke those words, ‘My Gerald! My Gerald.’) +And indeed I crave your pardon, for a man so filled with rapture cannot +be quite sane, and sometimes I wonder if I walk through the palace gardens +like one who is drunk, so does my brain reel. But soon, my heavenly, +noble love, my exile will be over, and this is in truth what my letter +is to tell you, that in four days your lacqueys will throw open your +doors to me and I shall enter, and being led to you, shall kneel at +your feet and kiss the hem of your robe, and then rise standing to fold +her who will so soon be my very wife to my throbbing breast.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Back to her face had come all the softness which had been lost, the +hard lines were gone, the tender curves had returned, her lashes looked +as if they were moist. Anne, sitting rigidly and gazing at her, +was afraid to speak, knowing that she was not for the time on earth, +but that the sound of a voice would bring her back to it, and that ’twas +well she should be away as long as she might.</p> +<p>She read the letter, not once, but thrice, dwelling upon every word, +’twas plain; and when she had reached the last one, turning back +the pages and beginning again. When she looked up at last, ’twas +with an almost wild little smile, for she had indeed for that one moment +forgotten.</p> +<p>“Locked in each other’s arms,” she said—“locked +in each other’s arms. My Gerald! My Gerald! +‘What surely is my own—my own’!”</p> +<p>Anne rose and came to her, laying her hand on her arm. She +spoke in a voice low, hushed, and strained.</p> +<p>“Come away, sister,” she said, “for a little while—come +away.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII—My Lady Dunstanwolde sits late alone and writes</h2> +<p>That she must leave the Panelled Parlour at her usual hour, or attract +attention by doing that to which her household was unaccustomed, she +well knew, her manner of life being ever stately and ceremonious in +its regularity. When she dined at home she and Anne partook of +their repast together in the large dining-room, the table loaded with +silver dishes and massive glittering glass, their powdered, gold-laced +lacqueys in attendance, as though a score of guests had shared the meal +with them. Since her lord’s death there had been nights +when her ladyship had sat late writing letters and reading documents +pertaining to her estates, the management of which, though in a measure +controlled by stewards and attorneys, was not left to them, as the business +of most great ladies is generally left to others. All papers were +examined by her, all leases and agreements clearly understood before +she signed them, and if there were aught unsatisfactory, both stewards +and lawyers were called to her presence to explain.</p> +<p>“Never did I—or any other man—meet with such a +head upon a woman’s shoulders,” her attorney said. +And the head steward of Dunstanwolde and Helversly learned to quake +at the sight of her bold handwriting upon the outside of a letter.</p> +<p>“Such a lady!” he said—“such a lady! +Lie to her if you can; palter if you know how; try upon her the smallest +honest shrewd trick, and see how it fares with you. Were it not +that she is generous as she is piercing of eye, no man could serve her +and make an honest living.”</p> +<p>She went to her chamber and was attired again sumptuously for dinner. +Before she descended she dismissed her woman for a space on some errand, +and when she was alone, drawing near to her mirror, gazed steadfastly +within it at her face. When she had read Osmonde’s letter +her cheeks had glowed; but when she had come back to earth, and as she +had sat under her woman’s hands at her toilette, bit by bit the +crimson had died out as she had thought of what was behind her and of +what lay before. The thing was so stiffly rigid by this time, +and its eyes still stared so. Never had she needed to put red +upon her cheeks before, Nature having stained them with such richness +of hue; but as no lady of the day was unprovided with her crimson, there +was a little pot among her toilette ornaments which contained all that +any emergency might require. She opened this small receptacle +and took from it the red she for the first time was in want of.</p> +<p>“I must not wear a pale face, God knows,” she said, and +rubbed the colour on her cheeks with boldness.</p> +<p>It would have seemed that she wore her finest crimson when she went +forth full dressed from her apartment; little Nero grinned to see her, +the lacqueys saying among themselves that his Grace’s courier +had surely brought good news, and that they might expect his master +soon. At the dinner-table ’twas Anne who was pale and ate +but little, she having put no red upon her cheeks, and having no appetite +for what was spread before her. She looked strangely as though +she were withered and shrunken, and her face seemed even wrinkled. +My lady had small leaning towards food, but she sent no food away untouched, +forcing herself to eat, and letting not the talk flag—though it +was indeed true that ’twas she herself who talked, Mistress Anne +speaking rarely; but as it was always her way to be silent, and a listener +rather than one who conversed, this was not greatly noticeable.</p> +<p>Her Ladyship of Dunstanwolde talked of her guests of the afternoon, +and was charming and witty in her speech of them; she repeated the <i>mots</i> +of the wits, and told some brilliant stories of certain modish ladies +and gentlemen of fashion; she had things to say of statesmen and politics, +and was sparkling indeed in speaking of the lovely languisher whose +little wrist was too delicate and slender to support the loaded whip. +While she talked, Mistress Anne’s soft, dull eyes were fixed upon +her with a sort of wonder which had some of the quality of bewilderment; +but this was no new thing either, for to the one woman the other was +ever something to marvel at.</p> +<p>“It is because you are so quiet a mouse, Anne,” my lady +said, with her dazzling smile, “that you seem never in the way; +and yet I should miss you if I knew you were not within the house. +When the duke takes me to Camylotte you must be with me even then. +It is so great a house that in it I can find you a bower in which you +can be happy even if you see us but little. ’Tis a heavenly +place I am told, and of great splendour and beauty. The park and +flower-gardens are the envy of all England.”</p> +<p>“You—will be very happy, sister,” said Anne, “and—and +like a queen.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” was her sister’s answer—“yes.” +And ’twas spoken with a deep in-drawn breath.</p> +<p>After the repast was ended she went back to the Panelled Parlour.</p> +<p>“You may sit with me till bedtime if you desire, Anne,” +she said; “but ’twill be but dull for you, as I go to sit +at work. I have some documents of import to examine and much writing +to do. I shall sit up late.” And upon this she turned +to the lacquey holding open the door for her passing through. +“If before half-past ten there comes a message from Sir John Oxon,” +she gave order, “it must be brought to me at once; but later I +must not be disturbed—it will keep until morning.”</p> +<p>Yet as she spoke there was before her as distinct a picture as ever +of what lay waiting and gazing in the room to which she went.</p> +<p>Until twelve o’clock she sat at her table, a despatch box by +her side, papers outspread before her. Within three feet of her +was the divan, but she gave no glance to it, sitting writing, reading, +and comparing documents. At twelve o’clock she rose and +rang the bell.</p> +<p>“I shall be later than I thought,” she said. “I +need none of you who are below stairs. Go you all to bed. +Tell my woman that she also may lie down. I will ring when I come +to my chamber and have need of her. There is yet no message from +Sir John?”</p> +<p>“None, my lady,” the man answered.</p> +<p>He went away with a relieved countenance, as she made no comment. +He knew that his fellows as well as himself would be pleased enough +to be released from duty for the night. They were a pampered lot, +and had no fancy for late hours when there were no great entertainments +being held which pleased them and gave them chances to receive vails.</p> +<p>Mistress Anne sat in a large chair, huddled into a small heap, and +looking colourless and shrunken. As she heard bolts being shot +and bars put up for the closing of the house, she knew that her own +dismissal was at hand. Doors were shut below stairs, and when +all was done the silence of night reigned as it does in all households +when those who work have gone to rest. ’Twas a common thing +enough, and yet this night there was one woman who felt the stillness +so deep that it made her breathing seem a sound too loud.</p> +<p>“Go to bed, Anne,” she said. “You have stayed +up too long.”</p> +<p>Anne arose from her chair and drew near to her.</p> +<p>“Sister,” said she, as she had said before, “let +me stay.”</p> +<p>She was a poor weak creature, and so she looked with her pale insignificant +face and dull eyes, a wisp of loose hair lying damp on her forehead. +She seemed indeed too weak a thing to stand even for a moment in the +way of what must be done this night, and ’twas almost irritating +to be stopped by her.</p> +<p>“Nay,” said my Lady Dunstanwolde, her beautiful brow +knitting as she looked at her. “Go to your chamber, Anne, +and to sleep. I must do my work, and finish to-night what I have +begun.”</p> +<p>“But—but—” Anne stammered, dominated again, +and made afraid, as she ever was, by this strong nature, “in this +work you must finish—is there not something I could do to—aid +you—even in some small and poor way. Is there—naught?”</p> +<p>“Naught,” answered Clorinda, her form drawn to its great +full height, her lustrous eyes darkening. “What should there +be that you could understand?”</p> +<p>“Not some small thing—not some poor thing?” Anne +said, her fingers nervously twisting each other, so borne down was she +by her awful timorousness, for awful it was indeed when she saw clouds +gather on her sister’s brow. “I have so loved you, +sister—I have so loved you that my mind is quickened somehow at +times, and I can understand more than would be thought—when I +hope to serve you. Once you said—once you said—”</p> +<p>She knew not then nor ever afterwards how it came to pass that in +that moment she found herself swept into her sister’s white arms +and strained against her breast, wherein she felt the wild heart bounding; +nor could she, not being given to subtle reasoning, have comprehended +the almost fierce kiss on her cheek nor the hot drops that wet it.</p> +<p>“I said that I believed that if you saw me commit murder,” +Clorinda cried, “you would love me still, and be my friend and +comforter.”</p> +<p>“I would, I would!” cried Anne.</p> +<p>“And I believe your word, poor, faithful soul—I do believe +it,” my lady said, and kissed her hard again, but the next instant +set her free and laughed. “But you will not be put to the +test,” she said, “for I have done none. And in two +days’ time my Gerald will be here, and I shall be safe—saved +and happy for evermore—for evermore. There, leave me! +I would be alone and end my work.”</p> +<p>And she went back to her table and sat beside it, taking her pen +to write, and Anne knew that she dare say no more, and turning, went +slowly from the room, seeing for her last sight as she passed through +the doorway, the erect and splendid figure at its task, the light from +the candelabras shining upon the rubies round the snow-white neck and +wreathed about the tower of raven hair like lines of crimson.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX—A piteous story is told, and the old cellars walled +in</h2> +<p>It is, indeed, strangely easy in the great world for a man to lose +his importance, and from having been the target for all eyes and the +subject of all conversation, to step from his place, or find it so taken +by some rival that it would seem, judging from the general obliviousness +to him, that he had never existed. But few years before no fashionable +gathering would have been felt complete had it not been graced by the +presence of the young and fascinating Lovelace, Sir John Oxon. +Women favoured him, and men made themselves his boon companions; his +wit was repeated; the fashion of his hair and the cut of his waistcoat +copied. He was at first rich and gay enough to be courted and +made a favourite; but when his fortune was squandered, and his marriage +with the heiress came to naught, those qualities which were vicious +and base in him were more easy to be seen. Besides, there came +new male beauties and new dandies with greater resources and more of +prudence, and these, beginning to set fashion, win ladies’ hearts, +and make conquests, so drew the attention of the public mind that he +was less noticeable, being only one of many, instead of ruling singly +as it had seemed that by some strange chance he did at first. +There were indeed so many stories told of his light ways, that their +novelty being worn off and new ones still repeated, such persons as +concerned themselves with matters of reputation either through conscience +or policy, began to speak of him with less of warmth or leniency.</p> +<p>“’Tis not well for a matron with daughters to marry and +with sons to keep an eye to,” it was said, “to have in her +household too often a young gentleman who has squandered his fortune +in dice and drink and wild living, and who ’twas known was cast +off by a reputable young lady of fortune.”</p> +<p>So there were fine ladies who began to avoid him, and those in power +at Court and in the world who regarded him with lessening favour day +by day! In truth, he had such debts, and his creditors pressed +him so ceaselessly, that even had the world’s favour continued, +his life must have changed its aspect greatly. His lodgings were +no longer the most luxurious in the fashionable part of the town, his +brocades and laces were no longer of the richest, nor his habit of the +very latest and most modish cut; he had no more an equipage attracting +every eye as he drove forth, nor a gentleman’s gentleman whose +swagger and pomp outdid that of all others in his world. Soon +after the breaking of his marriage with the heiress, his mother had +died, and his relatives being few, and those of an order strictly averse +to the habits of ill-provided and extravagant kinsmen, he had but few +family ties. Other ties he had, ’twas true, but they were +not such as were accounted legal or worthy of attention either by himself +or those related to him.</p> +<p>So it befell that when my Lady Dunstanwolde’s lacquey could +not find him at his lodgings, and as the days went past neither his +landlady nor his creditors beheld him again, his absence from the scene +was not considered unaccountable by them, nor did it attract the notice +it would have done in times gone by.</p> +<p>“He hath made his way out of England to escape us,” said +the angry tailors and mercers—who had besieged his door in vain +for months, and who were now infuriated at the thought of their own +easiness and the impudent gay airs which had befooled them. “A +good four hundred pounds of mine hath he carried with him,” said +one. “And two hundred of mine!” “And more +of mine, since I am a poor man to whom a pound means twenty guineas!” +“We are all robbed, and he has cheated the debtors’ prison, +wherein, if we had not been fools, he would have been clapped six months +ago.”</p> +<p>“Think ye he will not come back, gentlemen?” quavered +his landlady. “God knows when I have seen a guinea of his +money—but he was such a handsome, fine young nobleman, and had +such a way with a poor body, and ever a smile and a chuck o’ the +chin for my Jenny.”</p> +<p>“Look well after poor Jenny if he hath left her behind,” +said the tailor.</p> +<p>He did not come back, indeed; and hearing the rumour that he had +fled his creditors, the world of fashion received the news with small +disturbance, all modish persons being at that time much engaged in discussion +of the approaching nuptials of her ladyship of Dunstanwolde and the +Duke of Osmonde. Close upon the discussions of the preparations +came the nuptials themselves, and then all the town was agog, and had +small leisure to think of other things. For those who were bidden +to the ceremonials and attendant entertainments, there were rich habits +and splendid robes to be prepared; and to those who had not been bidden, +there were bitter disappointments and thwarted wishes to think of.</p> +<p>“Sir John Oxon has fled England to escape seeing and hearing +it all,” was said.</p> +<p>“He has fled to escape something more painful than the spleen,” +others answered. “He had reached his rope’s end, and +finding that my Lady Dunstanwolde was not of a mind to lengthen it with +her fortune, having taken a better man, and that his creditors would +have no more patience, he showed them a light pair of heels.”</p> +<p>Before my Lady Dunstanwolde left her house she gave orders that it +be set in order for closing for some time, having it on her mind that +she should not soon return. It was, however, to be left in such +condition that at any moment, should she wish to come to it, all could +be made ready in two days’ time. To this end various repairs +and changes she had planned were to be carried out as soon as she went +away from it. Among other things was the closing with brickwork +of the entrance to the passage leading to the unused cellars.</p> +<p>“’Twill make the servants’ part more wholesome +and less damp and draughty,” she said; “and if I should +sell the place, will be to its advantage. ’Twas a builder +with little wit who planned such passages and black holes. In +spite of all the lime spread there, they were ever mouldy and of evil +odour.”</p> +<p>It was her command that there should be no time lost, and men were +set at work, carrying bricks and mortar. It so chanced that one +of them, going in through a back entrance with a hod over his shoulder, +and being young and lively, found his eye caught by the countenance +of a pretty, frightened-looking girl, who seemed to be loitering about +watching, as if curious or anxious. Seeing her near each time +he passed, and observing that she wished to speak, but was too timid, +he addressed her—</p> +<p>“Would you know aught, mistress?” he said.</p> +<p>She drew nearer gratefully, and then he saw her eyes were red as +if with weeping.</p> +<p>“Think you her ladyship would let a poor girl speak a word +with her?” she said. “Think you I dare ask so much +of a servant—or would they flout me and turn me from the door? +Have you seen her? Does she look like a hard, shrewish lady?”</p> +<p>“That she does not, though all stand in awe of her,” +he answered, pleased to talk with so pretty a creature. “I +but caught a glimpse of her when she gave orders concerning the closing +with brick of a passage-way below. She is a tall lady, and grand +and stately, but she hath a soft pair of eyes as ever man would wish +to look into, be he duke or ditcher.”</p> +<p>The tears began to run down the girl’s cheeks.</p> +<p>“Ay!” she said; “all men love her, they say. +Many a poor girl’s sweetheart has been false through her—and +I thought she was cruel and ill-natured. Know you the servants +that wait on her? Would you dare to ask one for me, if he thinks +she would deign to see a poor girl who would crave the favour to be +allowed to speak to her of—of a gentleman she knows?”</p> +<p>“They are but lacqueys, and I would dare to ask what was in +my mind,” he answered; “but she is near her wedding-day, +and little as I know of brides’ ways, I am of the mind that she +will not like to be troubled.”</p> +<p>“That I stand in fear of,” she said; “but, oh! +I pray you, ask some one of them—a kindly one.”</p> +<p>The young man looked aside. “Luck is with you,” +he said. “Here comes one now to air himself in the sun, +having naught else to do. Here is a young woman who would speak +with her ladyship,” he said to the strapping powdered fellow.</p> +<p>“She had best begone,” the lacquey answered, striding +towards the applicant. “Think you my lady has time to receive +traipsing wenches.”</p> +<p>“’Twas only for a moment I asked,” the girl said. +“I come from—I would speak to her of—of Sir John Oxon—whom +she knows.”</p> +<p>The man’s face changed. It was Jenfry.</p> +<p>“Sir John Oxon,” he said. “Then I will ask +her. Had you said any other name I would not have gone near her +to-day.”</p> +<p>Her ladyship was in her new closet with Mistress Anne, and there +the lacquey came to her to deliver his errand.</p> +<p>“A country-bred young woman, your ladyship,” he said, +“comes from Sir John Oxon—”</p> +<p>“From Sir John Oxon!” cried Anne, starting in her chair.</p> +<p>My Lady Dunstanwolde made no start, but turned a steady countenance +towards the door, looking into the lacquey’s face.</p> +<p>“Then he hath returned?” she said.</p> +<p>“Returned!” said Anne.</p> +<p>“After the morning he rode home with me,” my lady answered, +“’twas said he went away. He left his lodgings without +warning. It seems he hath come back. What does the woman +want?” she ended.</p> +<p>“To speak with your ladyship,” replied the man, “of +Sir John himself, she says.”</p> +<p>“Bring her to me,” her ladyship commanded.</p> +<p>The girl was brought in, overawed and trembling. She was a +country-bred young creature, as the lacquey had said, being of the simple +rose-and-white freshness of seventeen years perhaps, and having childish +blue eyes and fair curling locks.</p> +<p>She was so frightened by the grandeur of her surroundings, and the +splendid beauty of the lady who was so soon to be a duchess, and was +already a great earl’s widow, that she could only stand within +the doorway, curtseying and trembling, with tears welling in her eyes.</p> +<p>“Be not afraid,” said my Lady Dunstanwolde. “Come +hither, child, and tell me what you want.” Indeed, she did +not look a hard or shrewish lady; she spoke as gently as woman could, +and a mildness so unexpected produced in the young creature such a revulsion +of feeling that she made a few steps forward and fell upon her knees, +weeping, and with uplifted hands.</p> +<p>“My lady,” she said, “I know not how I dared to +come, but that I am so desperate—and your ladyship being so happy, +it seemed—it seemed that you might pity me, who am so helpless +and know not what to do.”</p> +<p>Her ladyship leaned forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee, +her chin held in her hand, to gaze at her.</p> +<p>“You come from Sir John Oxon?” she said.</p> +<p>Anne, watching, clutched each arm of her chair.</p> +<p>“Not <i>from</i> him, asking your ladyship’s pardon,” +said the child, “but—but—from the country to him,” +her head falling on her breast, “and I know not where he is.”</p> +<p>“You came <i>to</i> him,” asked my lady. “Are +you,” and her speech was pitiful and slow—“are you +one of those whom he has—ruined?”</p> +<p>The little suppliant looked up with widening orbs.</p> +<p>“How could that be, and he so virtuous and pious a gentleman?” +she faltered.</p> +<p>Then did my lady rise with a sudden movement.</p> +<p>“Was he so?” says she.</p> +<p>“Had he not been,” the child answered, “my mother +would have been afraid to trust him. I am but a poor country widow’s +daughter, but was well brought up, and honestly—and when he came +to our village my mother was afraid, because he was a gentleman; but +when she saw his piety, and how he went to church and sang the psalms +and prayed for grace, she let me listen to him.”</p> +<p>“Did he go to church and sing and pray at first?” my +lady asks.</p> +<p>“’Twas in church he saw me, your ladyship,” she +was answered. “He said ’twas his custom to go always +when he came to a new place, and that often there he found the most +heavenly faces, for ’twas piety and innocence that made a face +like to an angel’s; and ’twas innocence and virtue stirred +his heart to love, and not mere beauty which so fades.”</p> +<p>“Go on, innocent thing,” my lady said; and she turned +aside to Anne, flashing from her eyes unseen a great blaze, and speaking +in a low and hurried voice. “God’s house,” she +said—“God’s prayers—God’s songs of praise—he +used them all to break a tender heart, and bring an innocent life to +ruin—and yet was he not struck dead?”</p> +<p>Anne hid her face and shuddered.</p> +<p>“He was a gentleman,” the poor young thing cried, sobbing—“and +I no fit match for him, but that he loved me. ’Tis said +love makes all equal; and he said I was the sweetest, innocent young +thing, and without me he could not live. And he told my mother +that he was not rich or the fashion now, and had no modish friends or +relations to flout any poor beauty he might choose to wed.”</p> +<p>“And he would marry you?” my lady’s voice broke +in. “He said that he would marry you?”</p> +<p>“A thousand times, your ladyship, and so told my mother, but +said I must come to town and be married at his lodgings, or ’twould +not be counted a marriage by law, he being a town gentleman, and I from +the country.”</p> +<p>“And you came,” said Mistress Anne, down whose pale cheeks +the tears were running—“you came at his command to follow +him?”</p> +<p>“What day came you up to town?” demands my lady, breathless +and leaning forward. “Went you to his lodgings, and stayed +you there with him,—even for an hour?”</p> +<p>The poor child gazed at her, paling.</p> +<p>“He was not there!” she cried. “I came alone +because he said all must be secret at first; and my heart beat so with +joy, my lady, that when the woman of the house whereat he lodges let +me in I scarce could speak. But she was a merry woman and good-natured, +and only laughed and cheered me when she took me to his rooms, and I +sate trembling.”</p> +<p>“What said she to you?” my lady asks, her breast heaving +with her breath.</p> +<p>“That he was not yet in, but that he would sure come to such +a young and pretty thing as I, and I must wait for him, for he would +not forgive her if she let me go. And the while I waited there +came a man in bands and cassock, but he had not a holy look, and late +in the afternoon I heard him making jokes with the woman outside, and +they both laughed in such an evil way that I was affrighted, and waiting +till they had gone to another part of the house, stole away.”</p> +<p>“But he came not back that night—thank God!” my +lady said—“he came not back.”</p> +<p>The girl rose from her knees, trembling, her hands clasped on her +breast.</p> +<p>“Why should your ladyship thank God?” she says, pure +drops falling from her eyes. “I am so humble, and had naught +else but that great happiness, and it was taken away—and you thank +God.”</p> +<p>Then drops fell from my lady’s eyes also, and she came forward +and caught the child’s hand, and held it close and warm and strong, +and yet with her full lip quivering.</p> +<p>“’Twas not that your joy was taken away that I thanked +God,” said she. “I am not cruel—God Himself +knows that, and when He smites me ’twill not be for cruelty. +I knew not what I said, and yet—tell me what did you then? +Tell me?”</p> +<p>“I went to a poor house to lodge, having some little money +he had given me,” the simple young thing answered. “’Twas +an honest house, though mean and comfortless. And the next day +I went back to his lodgings to question, but he had not come, and I +would not go in, though the woman tried to make me enter, saying, Sir +John would surely return soon, as he had the day before rid with my +Lady Dunstanwolde and been to her house; and ’twas plain he had +meant to come to his lodgings, for her ladyship had sent her lacquey +thrice with a message.”</p> +<p>The hand with which Mistress Anne sate covering her eyes began to +shake. My lady’s own hand would have shaken had she not +been so strong a creature.</p> +<p>“And he has not yet returned, then?” she asked. +“You have not seen him?”</p> +<p>The girl shook her fair locks, weeping with piteous little sobs.</p> +<p>“He has not,” she cried, “and I know not what to +do—and the great town seems full of evil men and wicked women. +I know not which way to turn, for all plot wrong against me, and would +drag me down to shamefulness—and back to my poor mother I cannot +go.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore not, poor child?” my lady asked her.</p> +<p>“I have not been made an honest, wedded woman, and none would +believe my story, and—and he might come back.”</p> +<p>“And if he came back?” said her ladyship.</p> +<p>At this question the girl slipped from her grasp and down upon her +knees again, catching at her rich petticoat and holding it, her eyes +searching the great lady’s in imploring piteousness, her own streaming.</p> +<p>“I love him,” she wept—“I love him so—I +cannot leave the place where he might be. He was so beautiful +and grand a gentleman, and, sure, he loved me better than all else—and +I cannot thrust away from me that last night when he held me to his +breast near our cottage door, and the nightingale sang in the roses, +and he spake such words to me. I lie and sob all night on my hard +pillow—I so long to see him and to hear his voice—and hearing +he had been with you that last morning, I dared to come, praying that +you might have heard him let drop some word that would tell me where +he may be, for I cannot go away thinking he may come back longing for +me—and I lose him and never see his face again. Oh! my lady, +my lady, this place is so full of wickedness and fierce people—and +dark kennels where crimes are done. I am affrighted for him, thinking +he may have been struck some blow, and murdered, and hid away; and none +will look for him but one who loves him—who loves him. Could +it be so?—could it be? You know the town’s ways so +well. I pray you, tell me—in God’s name I pray you!”</p> +<p>“God’s mercy!” Anne breathed, and from behind her +hands came stifled sobbing. My Lady Dunstanwolde bent down, her +colour dying.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” she said, “there has been no murder +done—none! Hush, poor thing, hush thee. There is somewhat +I must tell thee.”</p> +<p>She tried to raise her, but the child would not be raised, and clung +to her rich robe, shaking as she knelt gazing upward.</p> +<p>“It is a bitter thing,” my lady said, and ’twas +as if her own eyes were imploring. “God help you bear it—God +help us all. He told me nothing of his journey. I knew not +he was about to take it; but wheresoever he has travelled, ’twas +best that he should go.”</p> +<p>“Nay! nay!” the girl cried out—“to leave +me helpless. Nay! it could not be so. He loved me—loved +me—as the great duke loves you!”</p> +<p>“He meant you evil,” said my lady, shuddering, “and +evil he would have done you. He was a villain—a villain +who meant to trick you. Had God struck him dead that day, ’twould +have been mercy to you. I knew him well.”</p> +<p>The young thing gave a bitter cry and fell swooning at her feet; +and down upon her knees my lady went beside her, loosening her gown, +and chafing her poor hands as though they two had been of sister blood.</p> +<p>“Call for hartshorn, Anne, and for water,” she said; +“she will come out of her swooning, poor child, and if she is +cared for kindly in time her pain will pass away. God be thanked +she knows no pain that cannot pass! I will protect her—aye, +that will I, as I will protect all he hath done wrong to and deserted.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>She was so strangely kind through the poor victim’s swoons +and weeping that the very menials who were called to aid her went back +to their hall wondering in their talk of the noble grandness of so great +a lady, who on the very brink of her own joy could stoop to protect +and comfort a creature so far beneath her, that to most ladies her sorrow +and desertion would have been things which were too trivial to count; +for ’twas guessed, and talked over with great freedom and much +shrewdness, that this was a country victim of Sir John Oxon’s, +and he having deserted his creditors, was ready enough to desert his +rustic beauty, finding her heavy on his hands.</p> +<p>Below stairs the men closing the entrance to the passage with brick, +having caught snatches of the servants’ gossip, talked of what +they heard among themselves as they did their work.</p> +<p>“Ay, a noble lady indeed,” they said. “For +’tis not a woman’s way to be kindly with the cast-off fancy +of a man, even when she does not want him herself. He was her +own worshipper for many a day, Sir John; and before she took the old +earl ’twas said that for a space people believed she loved him. +She was but fifteen and a high mettled beauty; and he as handsome as +she, and had a blue eye that would melt any woman—but at sixteen +he was a town rake, and such tricks as this one he hath played since +he was a lad. ’Tis well indeed for this poor thing her ladyship +hath seen her. She hath promised to protect her, and sends her +down to Dunstanwolde with her mother this very week. Would all +fine ladies were of her kind. To hear such things of her puts +a man in the humour to do her work well.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX—A noble marriage</h2> +<p>When the duke came back from France, and to pay his first eager visit +to his bride that was to be, her ladyship’s lacqueys led him not +to the Panelled Parlour, but to a room which he had not entered before, +it being one she had had the fancy to have remodelled and made into +a beautiful closet for herself, her great wealth rendering it possible +for her to accomplish changes without the loss of time the owners of +limited purses are subjected to in the carrying out of plans. +This room she had made as unlike the Panelled Parlour as two rooms would +be unlike one another. Its panellings were white, its furnishings +were bright and delicate, its draperies flowered with rosebuds tied +in clusters with love-knots of pink and blue; it had a large bow-window, +through which the sunlight streamed, and it was blooming with great +rose-bowls overrunning with sweetness.</p> +<p>From a seat in the morning sunshine among the flowers and plants +in the bow-window, there rose a tall figure in a snow-white robe—a +figure like that of a beautiful stately girl who was half an angel. +It was my lady, who came to him with blushing cheeks and radiant shining +eyes, and was swept into his arms in such a passion of love and blessed +tenderness as Heaven might have smiled to see.</p> +<p>“My love! my love!” he breathed. “My life! +my life and soul!”</p> +<p>“My Gerald!” she cried. “My Gerald—let +me say it on your breast a thousand times!”</p> +<p>“My wife!” he said—“so soon my wife and all +my own until life’s end.”</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” she cried, her cheek pressed to his own, +“through all eternity, for Love’s life knows no end.”</p> +<p>As it had seemed to her poor lord who had died, so it seemed to this +man who lived and so worshipped her—that the wonder of her sweetness +was a thing to marvel at with passionate reverence. Being a man +of greater mind and poetic imagination than Dunstanwolde, and being +himself adored by her, as that poor gentleman had not had the good fortune +to be, he had ten thousand-fold the power and reason to see the tender +radiance of her. As she was taller than other women, so her love +seemed higher and greater, and as free from any touch of earthly poverty +of feeling as her beauty was from any flaw. In it there could +be no doubt, no pride; it could be bounded by no limit, measured by +no rule, its depths sounded by no plummet.</p> +<p>His very soul was touched by her great longing to give to him the +feeling, and to feel herself, that from the hour that she had become +his, her past life was a thing blotted out.</p> +<p>“I am a new created thing,” she said; “until you +called me ‘Love’ I had no life! All before was darkness. +’Twas you, my Gerald, who said, ‘Let there be light, and +there was light.’”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, sweet love,” he said. “Your +words would make me too near God’s self.”</p> +<p>“Sure Love is God,” she cried, her hands upon his shoulders, +her face uplifted. “What else? Love we know; Love +we worship and kneel to; Love conquers us and gives us Heaven. +Until I knew it, I believed naught. Now I kneel each night and +pray, and pray, but to be pardoned and made worthy.”</p> +<p>Never before, it was true, had she knelt and prayed, but from this +time no nun in her convent knelt oftener or prayed more ardently, and +her prayer was ever that the past might be forgiven her, the future +blessed, and she taught how to so live that there should be no faintest +shadow in the years to come.</p> +<p>“I know not What is above me,” she said. “I +cannot lie and say I love It and believe, but if there is aught, sure +It must be a power which is great, else had the world not been so strange +a thing, and I—and those who live in it—and if He made us, +He must know He is to blame when He has made us weak or evil. +And He must understand why we have been so made, and when we throw ourselves +into the dust before Him, and pray for help and pardon, surely—surely +He will lend an ear! We know naught, we have been told naught; +we have but an old book which has been handed down through strange hands +and strange tongues, and may be but poor history. We have so little, +and we are threatened so; but for love’s sake I will pray the +poor prayers we are given, and for love’s sake there is no dust +too low for me to lie in while I plead.”</p> +<p>This was the strange truth—though ’twas not so strange +if the world feared not to admit such things—that through her +Gerald, who was but noble and high-souled man, she was led to bow before +God’s throne as the humblest and holiest saint bows, though she +had not learned belief and only had learned love.</p> +<p>“But life lasts so short a while,” she said to Osmonde. +“It seems so short when it is spent in such joy as this; and when +the day comes—for, oh! Gerald, my soul sees it already—when +the day comes that I kneel by your bedside and see your eyes close, +or you kneel by mine, it <i>must</i> be that the one who waits behind +shall know the parting is not all.”</p> +<p>“It could not be all, beloved,” Osmonde said. “Love +is sure, eternal.”</p> +<p>Often in these blissful hours her way was almost like a child’s, +she was so tender and so clinging. At times her beauteous, great +eyes were full of an imploring which made them seem soft with tears, +and thus they were now as she looked up at him.</p> +<p>“I will do all I can,” she said. “I will +obey every law, I will pray often and give alms, and strive to be dutiful +and—holy, that in the end He will not thrust me from you; that +I may stay near—even in the lowest place, even in the lowest—that +I may see your face and know that you see mine. We are so in His +power, He can do aught with us; but I will so obey Him and so pray that +He will let me in.”</p> +<p>To Anne she went with curious humility, questioning her as to her +religious duties and beliefs, asking her what books she read, and what +services she attended.</p> +<p>“All your life you have been a religious woman,” she +said. “I used to think it folly, but now—”</p> +<p>“But now—” said Anne.</p> +<p>“I know not what to think,” she answered. “I +would learn.”</p> +<p>But when she listened to Anne’s simple homilies, and read her +weighty sermons, they but made her restless and unsatisfied.</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis not that,” she said one day, with a +deep sigh. “’Tis more than that; ’tis deeper, +and greater, and your sermons do not hold it. They but set my +brain to questioning and rebellion.”</p> +<p>But a short time elapsed before the marriage was solemnised, and +such a wedding the world of fashion had not taken part in for years, +’twas said. Royalty honoured it; the greatest of the land +were proud to count themselves among the guests; the retainers, messengers, +and company of the two great houses were so numerous that in the west +end of the town the streets wore indeed quite a festal air, with the +passing to and fro of servants and gentlefolk with favours upon their +arms.</p> +<p>’Twas to the Tower of Camylott, the most beautiful and remote +of the bridegroom’s several notable seats, that they removed their +household, when the irksomeness of the extended ceremonies and entertainments +were over—for these they were of too distinguished rank to curtail +as lesser personages might have done. But when all things were +over, the stately town houses closed, and their equipages rolled out +beyond the sight of town into the country roads, the great duke and +his great duchess sat hand in hand, gazing into each other’s eyes +with as simple and ardent a joy as they had been but young ’prentice +and country maid, flying to hide from the world their love.</p> +<p>“There is no other woman who is so like a queen,” Osmonde +said, with tenderest smiling. “And yet your eyes wear a +look so young in these days that they are like a child’s. +In all their beauty, I have never seen them so before.”</p> +<p>“It is because I am a new created thing, as I have told you, +love,” she answered, and leaned towards him. “Do you +not know I never was a child. I bring myself to you new born. +Make of me then what a woman should be—to be beloved of husband +and of God. Teach me, my Gerald. I am your child and servant.”</p> +<p>’Twas ever thus, that her words when they were such as these +were ended upon his breast as she was swept there by his impassioned +arm. She was so goddess-like and beautiful a being, her life one +strangely dominant and brilliant series of triumphs, and yet she came +to him with such softness and humility of passion, that scarcely could +he think himself a waking man.</p> +<p>“Surely,” he said, “it is a thing too wondrous +and too full of joy’s splendour to be true.”</p> +<p>In the golden afternoon, when the sun was deepening and mellowing +towards its setting, they and their retinue entered Camylott. +The bells pealed from the grey belfry of the old church; the villagers +came forth in clean smocks and Sunday cloaks of scarlet, and stood in +the street and by the roadside curtseying and baring their heads with +rustic cheers; little country girls with red cheeks threw posies before +the horses’ feet, and into the equipage itself when they were +of the bolder sort. Their chariot passed beneath archways of flowers +and boughs, and from the battlements of the Tower of Camylott there +floated a flag in the soft wind.</p> +<p>“God save your Graces,” the simple people cried. +“God give your Graces joy and long life! Lord, what a beautiful +pair they be. And though her Grace was said to be a proud lady, +how sweetly she smiles at a poor body. God love ye, madam! +Madam, God love ye!”</p> +<p>Her Grace of Osmonde leaned forward in her equipage and smiled at +the people with the face of an angel.</p> +<p>“I will teach them to love me, Gerald,” she said. +“I have not had love enough.”</p> +<p>“Has not all the world loved you?” he said.</p> +<p>“Nay,” she answered, “only you, and Dunstanwolde +and Anne.”</p> +<p>Late at night they walked together on the broad terrace before the +Tower. The blue-black vault of heaven above them was studded with +myriads of God’s brilliants; below them was spread out the beauty +of the land, the rolling plains, the soft low hills, the forests and +moors folded and hidden in the swathing robe of the night; from the +park and gardens floated upward the freshness of acres of thick sward +and deep fern thicket, the fragrance of roses and a thousand flowers, +the tender sighing of the wind through the huge oaks and beeches bordering +the avenues, and reigning like kings over the seeming boundless grassy +spaces.</p> +<p>As lovers have walked since the days of Eden they walked together, +no longer duke and duchess, but man and woman—near to Paradise +as human beings may draw until God breaks the chain binding them to +earth; and, indeed, it would seem that such hours are given to the straining +human soul that it may know that somewhere perfect joy must be, since +sometimes the gates are for a moment opened that Heaven’s light +may shine through, so that human eyes may catch glimpses of the white +and golden glories within.</p> +<p>His arm held her, she leaned against him, their slow steps so harmonising +the one with the other that they accorded with the harmony of music; +the nightingales trilling and bubbling in the rose trees were not affrighted +by the low murmur of their voices; perchance, this night they were so +near to Nature that the barriers were o’erpassed, and they and +the singers were akin.</p> +<p>“Oh! to be a woman,” Clorinda murmured. “To +be a woman at last. All other things I have been, and have been +called ‘Huntress,’ ‘Goddess,’ ‘Beauty,’ +‘Empress,’ ‘Conqueror,’—but never ‘Woman.’ +And had our paths not crossed, I think I never could have known what +’twas to be one, for to be a woman one must close with the man +who is one’s mate. It must not be that one looks down, or +only pities or protects and guides; and only to a few a mate seems given. +And I—Gerald, how dare I walk thus at your side and feel your +heart so beat near mine, and know you love me, and so worship you—so +worship you—”</p> +<p>She turned and threw herself upon his breast, which was so near.</p> +<p>“Oh, woman! woman!” he breathed, straining her close. +“Oh, woman who is mine, though I am but man.”</p> +<p>“We are but one,” she said; “one breath, one soul, +one thought, and one desire. Were it not so, I were not woman +and your wife, nor you man and my soul’s lover as you are. +If it were not so, we were still apart, though we were wedded a thousand +times. Apart, what are we but like lopped-off limbs; welded together, +we are—<i>this</i>.” And for a moment they spoke not, +and a nightingale on the rose vine, clambering o’er the terrace’s +balustrade, threw up its little head and sang as if to the myriads of +golden stars. They stood and listened, hand in hand, her sweet +breast rose and fell, her lovely face was lifted to the bespangled sky.</p> +<p>“Of all this,” she said, “I am a part, as I am +a part of you. To-night, as the great earth throbs, and as the +stars tremble, and as the wind sighs, so I, being woman, throb and am +tremulous and sigh also. The earth lives for the sun, and through +strange mysteries blooms forth each season with fruits and flowers; +love is my sun, and through its sacredness I may bloom too, and be as +noble as the earth and that it bears.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI—An heir is born</h2> +<p>In a fair tower whose windows looked out upon spreading woods, and +rich lovely plains stretching to the freshness of the sea, Mistress +Anne had her abode which her duchess sister had given to her for her +own living in as she would. There she dwelt and prayed and looked +on the new life which so beauteously unfolded itself before her day +by day, as the leaves of a great tree unfold from buds and become noble +branches, housing birds and their nests, shading the earth and those +sheltering beneath them, braving centuries of storms.</p> +<p>To this simile her simple mind oft reverted, for indeed it seemed +to her that naught more perfect and more noble in its high likeness +to pure Nature and the fulfilling of God’s will than the passing +days of these two lives could be.</p> +<p>“As the first two lived—Adam and Eve in their garden +of Eden—they seem to me,” she used to say to her own heart; +“but the Tree of Knowledge was not forbidden them, and it has +taught them naught ignoble.”</p> +<p>As she had been wont to watch her sister from behind the ivy of her +chamber windows, so she often watched her now, though there was no fear +in her hiding, only tenderness, it being a pleasure to her full of wonder +and reverence to see this beautiful and stately pair go lovingly and +in high and gentle converse side by side, up and down the terrace, through +the paths, among the beds of flowers, under the thick branched trees +and over the sward’s softness.</p> +<p>“It is as if I saw Love’s self, and dwelt with it—the +love God’s nature made,” she said, with gentle sighs.</p> +<p>For if these two had been great and beauteous before, it seemed in +these days as if life and love glowed within them, and shone through +their mere bodies as a radiant light shines through alabaster lamps. +The strength of each was so the being of the other that no thought could +take form in the brain of one without the other’s stirring with +it.</p> +<p>“Neither of us dare be ignoble,” Osmonde said, “for +’twould make poor and base the one who was not so in truth.”</p> +<p>“’Twas not the way of my Lady Dunstanwolde to make a +man feel that he stood in church,” a frivolous court wit once +said, “but in sooth her Grace of Osmonde has a look in her lustrous +eyes which accords not with scandalous stories and playhouse jests.”</p> +<p>And true it was that when they went to town they carried with them +the illumining of the pure fire which burned within their souls, and +bore it all unknowing in the midst of the trivial or designing world, +which knew not what it was that glowed about them, making things bright +which had seemed dull, and revealing darkness where there had been brilliant +glare.</p> +<p>They returned not to the house which had been my Lord of Dunstanwolde’s, +but went to the duke’s own great mansion, and there lived splendidly +and in hospitable state. Royalty honoured them, and all the wits +came there, some of those gentlemen who writ verses and dedications +being by no means averse to meeting noble lords and ladies, and finding +in their loves and graces material which might be useful. ’Twas +not only Mr. Addison and Mr. Steele, Dr. Swift and Mr. Pope, who were +made welcome in the stately rooms, but others who were more humble, +not yet having won their spurs, and how these worshipped her Grace for +the generous kindness which was not the fashion, until she set it, among +great ladies, their odes and verses could scarce express.</p> +<p>“They are so poor,” she said to her husband. “They +are so poor, and yet in their starved souls there is a thing which can +less bear flouting than the dull content which rules in others. +I know not whether ’tis a curse or a boon to be born so. +’Tis a bitter thing when the bird that flutters in them has only +little wings. All the more should those who are strong protect +and comfort them.”</p> +<p>She comforted so many creatures. In strange parts of the town, +where no other lady would have dared to go to give alms, it was rumoured +that she went and did noble things privately. In dark kennels, +where thieves hid and vagrants huddled, she carried her beauty and her +stateliness, the which when they shone on the poor rogues and victims +housed there seemed like the beams of the warm and golden sun.</p> +<p>Once in a filthy hovel in a black alley she came upon a poor girl +dying of a loathsome ill, and as she stood by her bed of rags she heard +in her delirium the uttering of one man’s name again and again, +and when she questioned those about she found that the sufferer had +been a little country wench enticed to town by this man for a plaything, +and in a few weeks cast off to give birth to a child in the almshouse, +and then go down to the depths of vice in the kennel.</p> +<p>“What is the name she says?” her Grace asked the hag +nearest to her, and least maudlin with liquor. “I would +be sure I heard it aright.”</p> +<p>“’Tis the name of a gentleman, your ladyship may be sure,” +the beldam answered; “’tis always the name of a gentleman. +And this is one I know well, for I have heard more than one poor soul +mumbling it and raving at him in her last hours. One there was, +and I knew her, a pretty rosy thing in her country days, not sixteen, +and distraught with love for him, and lay in the street by his door +praying him to take her back when he threw her off, until the watch +drove her away. And she was so mad with love and grief she killed +her girl child when ’twas born i’ the kennel, sobbing and +crying that it should not live to be like her and bear others. +And she was condemned to death, and swung for it on Tyburn Tree. +And, Lord! how she cried his name as she jolted on her coffin to the +gallows, and when the hangman put the rope round her shuddering little +fair neck. ‘Oh, John,’ screams she, ‘John Oxon, +God forgive thee! Nay, ’tis God should be forgiven for letting +thee to live and me to die like this.’ Aye, ’twas +a bitter sight! She was so little and so young, and so affrighted. +The hangman could scarce hold her. I was i’ the midst o’ +the crowd and cried to her to strive to stand still, ’twould be +the sooner over. But that she could not. ‘Oh, John,’ +she screams, ‘John Oxon, God forgive thee! Nay, ’tis +God should be forgiven for letting thee to live and me to die like this!’”</p> +<p>Till the last hour of the poor creature who lay before her when she +heard this thing, her Grace of Osmonde saw that she was tended, took +her from her filthy hovel, putting her in a decent house and going to +her day by day, until she received her last breath, holding her hand +while the poor wench lay staring up at her beauteous face and her great +deep eyes, whose lustrousness held such power to sustain, protect, and +comfort.</p> +<p>“Be not afraid, poor soul,” she said, “be not afraid. +I will stay near thee. Soon all will end in sleep, and if thou +wakest, sure there will be Christ who died, and wipes all tears away. +Hear me say it to thee for a prayer,” and she bent low and said +it soft and clear into the deadening ear, “He wipes all tears +away—He wipes all tears away.”</p> +<p>The great strength she had used in the old days to conquer and subdue, +to win her will and to defend her way, seemed now a power but to protect +the suffering and uphold the weak, and this she did, not alone in hovels +but in the brilliant court and world of fashion, for there she found +suffering and weakness also, all the more bitter and sorrowful since +it dared not cry aloud. The grandeur of her beauty, the elevation +of her rank, the splendour of her wealth would have made her a protector +of great strength, but that which upheld all those who turned to her +was that which dwelt within the high soul of her, the courage and power +of love for all things human which bore upon itself, as if upon an eagle’s +outspread wings, the woes dragging themselves broken and halting upon +earth. The starving beggar in the kennel felt it, and, not knowing +wherefore, drew a longer, deeper breath, as if of purer, more exalted +air; the poor poet in his garret was fed by it, and having stood near +or spoken to her, went back to his lair with lightening eyes and soul +warmed to believe that the words his Muse might speak the world might +stay to hear.</p> +<p>From the hour she stayed the last moments of John Oxon’s victim +she set herself a work to do. None knew it but herself at first, +and later Anne, for ’twas done privately. From the hag who +had told her of the poor girl’s hanging upon Tyburn Tree, she +learned things by close questioning, which to the old woman’s +dull wit seemed but the curiousness of a great lady, and from others +who stood too deep in awe of her to think of her as a mere human being, +she gathered clues which led her far in the tracing of the evils following +one wicked, heartless life. Where she could hear of man, woman, +or child on whom John Oxon’s sins had fallen, or who had suffered +wrong by him, there she went to help, to give light, to give comfort +and encouragement. Strangely, as it seemed to them, and as if +done by the hand of Heaven, the poor tradesmen he had robbed were paid +their dues, youth he had led into evil ways was checked mysteriously +and set in better paths; women he had dragged downward were given aid +and chance of peace or happiness; children he had cast upon the world, +unfathered, and with no prospect but the education of the gutter, and +a life of crime, were cared for by a powerful unseen hand. The +pretty country girl saved by his death, protected by her Grace, and +living innocently at Dunstanwolde, memory being merciful to youth, forgot +him, gained back her young roses, and learned to smile and hope as though +he had been but a name.</p> +<p>“Since ’twas I who killed him,” said her Grace +to her inward soul, “’tis I must live his life which I took +from him, and making it better I may be forgiven—if there is One +who dares to say to the poor thing He made, ‘I will not forgive.’”</p> +<p>Surely it was said there had never been lives so beautiful and noble +as those the Duke of Osmonde and his lady lived as time went by. +The Tower of Camylott, where they had spent the first months of their +wedded life, they loved better than any other of their seats, and there +they spent as much time as their duties of Court and State allowed them. +It was indeed a splendid and beautiful estate, the stately tower being +built upon an eminence, and there rolling out before it the most lovely +land in England, moorland and hills, thick woods and broad meadows, +the edge of the heather dipping to show the soft silver of the sea.</p> +<p>Here was this beauteous woman chatelaine and queen, wife of her husband +as never before, he thought, had wife blessed and glorified the existence +of mortal man. All her great beauty she gave to him in tender, +joyous tribute; all her great gifts of mind and wit and grace it seemed +she valued but as they were joys to him; in his stately households in +town and country she reigned a lovely empress, adored and obeyed with +reverence by every man or woman who served her and her lord. Among +the people on his various estates she came and went a tender goddess +of benevolence. When she appeared amid them in the first months +of her wedded life, the humble souls regarded her with awe not unmixed +with fear, having heard such wild stories of her youth at her father’s +house, and of her proud state and bitter wit in the great London world +when she had been my Lady Dunstanwolde; but when she came among them +all else was forgotten in their wonder at her graciousness and noble +way.</p> +<p>“To see her come into a poor body’s cottage, so tall +and grand a lady, and with such a carriage as she hath,” they +said, hobnobbing together in their talk of her, “looking as if +a crown of gold should sit on her high black head, and then to hear +her gentle speech and see the look in her eyes as if she was but a simple +new-married girl, full of her joy, and her heart big with the wish that +all other women should be as happy as herself, it is, forsooth, a beauteous +sight to see.”</p> +<p>“Ay, and no hovel too poor for her, and no man or woman too +sinful,” was said again.</p> +<p>“Heard ye how she found that poor wench of Haylits lying sobbing +among the fern in the Tower woods, and stayed and knelt beside her to +hear her trouble? The poor soul has gone to ruin at fourteen, +and her father, finding her out, beat her and thrust her from his door, +and her Grace coming through the wood at sunset—it being her way +to walk about for mere pleasure as though she had no coach to ride in—the +girl says she came through the golden glow as if she had been one of +God’s angels—and she kneeled and took the poor wench in +her arms—as strong as a man, Betty says, but as soft as a young +mother—and she said to her things surely no mortal lady ever said +before—that she knew naught of a surety of what God’s true +will might be, or if His laws were those that have been made by man +concerning marriage by priests saying common words, but that she surely +knew of a man whose name was Christ, and He had taught love and helpfulness +and pity, and for His sake, He having earned our trust in Him, whether +He was God or man, because He hung and died in awful torture on the +Cross—for His sake all of us must love and help and pity—‘I +you, poor Betty,’ were her very words, ‘and you me.’ +And then she went to the girl’s father and mother, and so talked +to them that she brought them to weeping, and begging Betty to come +home; and also she went to her sweetheart, Tom Beck, and made so tender +a story to him of the poor pretty wench whose love for him had brought +her to such trouble, that she stirred him up to falling in love again, +which is not man’s way at such times, and in a week’s time +he and Betty went to church together, her Grace setting them up in a +cottage on the estate.”</p> +<p>“I used all my wit and all my tenderest words to make a picture +that would fire and touch him, Gerald,” her Grace said, sitting +at her husband’s side, in a great window, from which they often +watched the sunset in the valley spread below; “and that with +which I am so strong sometimes—I know not what to call it, but +’tis a power people bend to, that I know—that I used upon +him to waken his dull soul and brain. Whose fault is it that they +are dull? Poor lout, he was born so, as I was born strong and +passionate, and as you were born noble and pure and high. I led +his mind back to the past, when he had been made happy by the sight +of Betty’s little smiling, blushing face, and when he had kissed +her and made love in the hayfields. And this I said—though +’twas not a thing I have learned from any chaplain—that +when ’twas said he should make an honest woman of her, it was +<i>my</i> thought that she had been honest from the first, being too +honest to know that the world was not so, and that even the man a woman +loved with all her soul, might be a rogue, and have no honesty in him. +And at last—’twas when I talked to him about the child—and +that I put my whole soul’s strength in—he burst out a-crying +like a schoolboy, and said indeed she was a fond little thing and had +loved him, and he had loved her, and ’twas a shame he had so done +by her, and he had not meant it at the first, but she was so simple, +and he had been a villain, but if he married her now, he would be called +a fool, and laughed at for his pains. Then was I angry, Gerald, +and felt my eyes flash, and I stood up tall and spoke fiercely: ‘Let +them dare,’ I said—‘let any man or woman dare, and +then will they see what his Grace will say.’”</p> +<p>Osmonde drew her to his breast, laughing into her lovely eyes.</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis not his Grace who need be called on,” +he said; “’tis her Grace they love and fear, and will obey; +though ’tis the sweetest, womanish thing that you should call +on me when you are power itself, and can so rule all creatures you come +near.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she said, with softly pleading face, “let +me not rule. Rule for me, or but help me; I so long to say your +name that they may know I speak but as your wife.”</p> +<p>“Who is myself,” he answered—“my very self.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” she said, with a little nod of her head, “that +I know—that I am yourself; and ’tis because of this that +one of us cannot be proud with the other, for there is no other, there +is only one. And I am wrong to say, ‘Let me not rule,’ +for ’tis as if I said, ‘You must not rule.’ +I meant surely, ‘God give me strength to be as noble in ruling +as our love should make me.’ But just as one tree is a beech +and one an oak, just as the grass stirs when the summer wind blows over +it, so a woman is a woman, and ’tis her nature to find her joy +in saying such words to the man who loves her, when she loves as I do. +Her heart is so full that she must joy to say her husband’s name +as that of one she cannot think without—who is her life as is +her blood and her pulses beating. ’Tis a joy to say your +name, Gerald, as it will be a joy”—and she looked far out +across the sun-goldened valley and plains, with a strange, heavenly +sweet smile—“as it will be a joy to say our child’s—and +put his little mouth to my full breast.”</p> +<p>“Sweet love,” he cried, drawing her by the hand that +he might meet the radiance of her look—“heart’s dearest!”</p> +<p>She did not withhold her lovely eyes from him, but withdrew them +from the sunset’s mist of gold, and the clouds piled as it were +at the gates of heaven, and they seemed to bring back some of the far-off +glory with them. Indeed, neither her smile nor she seemed at that +moment to be things of earth. She held out her fair, noble arms, +and he sprang to her, and so they stood, side beating against side.</p> +<p>“Yes, love,” she said—“yes, love—and +I have prayed, my Gerald, that I may give you sons who shall be men +like you. But when I give you women children, I shall pray with +all my soul for them—that they may be just and strong and noble, +and life begin for them as it began not for me.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In the morning of a spring day when the cuckoos cried in the woods, +and May blossomed thick, white and pink, in all the hedges, the bells +in the grey church-steeple at Camylott rang out a joyous, jangling peal, +telling all the village that the heir had been born at the Tower. +Children stopped in their play to listen, men at their work in field +and barn; good gossips ran out of their cottage door, wiping their arms +dry, from their tubs and scrubbing-buckets, their honest red faces broadening +into maternal grins.</p> +<p>“Ay, ’tis well over, that means surely,” one said +to the other; “and a happy day has begun for the poor lady—though +God knows she bore herself queenly to the very last, as if she could +have carried her burden for another year, and blenched not a bit as +other women do. Bless mother and child, say I.”</p> +<p>“And ’tis an heir,” said another. “She +promised us that we should know almost as quick as she did, and commanded +old Rowe to ring a peal, and then strike one bell loud between if ’twere +a boy, and two if ’twere a girl child. ’Tis a boy, +heard you, and ’twas like her wit to invent such a way to tell +us.”</p> +<p>In four other villages the chimes rang just as loud and merrily, +and the women talked, and blessed her Grace and her young child, and +casks of ale were broached, and oxen roasted, and work stopped, and +dancers footed it upon the green.</p> +<p>“Surely the new-born thing comes here to happiness,” +’twas said everywhere, “for never yet was woman loved as +is his mother.”</p> +<p>In her stately bed her Grace the duchess lay, with the face of the +Mother Mary, and her man-child drinking from her breast. The duke +walked softly up and down, so full of joy that he could not sit still. +When he had entered first, it was his wife’s self who had sate +upright in her bed, and herself laid his son within his arms.</p> +<p>“None other shall lay him there,” she said, “I +have given him to you. He is a great child, but he has not taken +from me my strength.”</p> +<p>He was indeed a great child, even at his first hour, of limbs and +countenance so noble that nurses and physicians regarded him amazed. +He was the offspring of a great love, of noble bodies and great souls. +Did such powers alone create human beings, the earth would be peopled +with a race of giants.</p> +<p>Amid the veiled spring sunshine and the flower-scented silence, broken +only by the twittering of birds nesting in the ivy, her Grace lay soft +asleep, her son resting on her arm, when Anne stole to look at her and +her child. Through the night she had knelt praying in her chamber, +and now she knelt again. She kissed the new-born thing’s +curled rose-leaf hand and the lace frill of his mother’s night-rail. +She dared not further disturb them.</p> +<p>“Sure God forgives,” she breathed—“for Christ’s +sake. He would not give this little tender thing a punishment +to bear.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII—Mother Anne</h2> +<p>There was no punishment. The tender little creature grew as +a blossom grows from bud to fairest bloom. His mother flowered +as he, and spent her days in noble cherishing of him and tender care. +Such motherhood and wifehood as were hers were as fair statues raised +to Nature’s self.</p> +<p>“Once I thought that I was under ban,” she said to her +lord in one of their sweetest hours; “but I have been given love +and a life, and so I know it cannot be. Do I fill all your being, +Gerald?”</p> +<p>“All, all!” he cried, “my sweet, sweet woman.”</p> +<p>“Leave I no longing unfulfilled, no duty undone, to you, dear +love, to the world, to human suffering I might aid? I pray Christ +with all passionate humbleness that I may not.”</p> +<p>“He grants your prayer,” he answered, his eyes moist +with worshipping tenderness.</p> +<p>“And this white soul given to me from the outer bounds we know +not—it has no stain; and the little human body it wakened to life +in—think you that Christ will help me to fold them in love high +and pure enough, and teach the human body to do honour to its soul? +’Tis not monkish scorn of itself that I would teach the body; +it is so beautiful and noble a thing, and so full of the power of joy. +Surely That which made it—in His own image—would not that +it should despise itself and its own wonders, but do them reverence, +and rejoice in them nobly, knowing all their seasons and their changes, +counting not youth folly, and manhood sinful, or age aught but gentle +ripeness passing onward? I pray for a great soul, and great wit, +and greater power to help this fair human thing to grow, and love, and +live.”</p> +<p>These had been born and had rested hid within her when she lay a +babe struggling ’neath her dead mother’s corpse. Through +the darkness of untaught years they had grown but slowly, being so unfitly +and unfairly nourished; but Life’s sun but falling on her, they +seemed to strive to fair fruition with her days.</p> +<p>’Twas not mere love she gave her offspring—for she bore +others as years passed, until she was the mother of four sons and two +girls, children of strength and beauty as noted as her own; she gave +them of her constant thought, and an honour of their humanity such as +taught them reverence of themselves as of all other human things. +Their love for her was such a passion as their father bore her. +She was the noblest creature that they knew; her beauty, her great unswerving +love, her truth, were things bearing to their child eyes the unchangingness +of God’s stars in heaven.</p> +<p>“Why is she not the Queen?” a younger one asked his father +once, having been to London and seen the Court. “The Queen +is not so beautiful and grand as she, and she could so well reign over +the people. She is always just and honourable, and fears nothing.”</p> +<p>From her side Mistress Anne was rarely parted. In her fair +retreat at Camylott she had lived a life all undisturbed by outward +things. When the children were born strange joy came to her.</p> +<p>“Be his mother also,” the duchess had said when she had +drawn the clothes aside to show her first-born sleeping in her arm. +“You were made to be the mother of things, Anne.”</p> +<p>“Nay, or they had been given to me,” Anne had answered.</p> +<p>“Mine I will share with you,” her Grace had said, lifting +her Madonna face. “Kiss me, sister—kiss him, too, +and bless him. Your life has been so innocent it must be good +that you should love and guard him.”</p> +<p>’Twas sweet to see the wit she showed in giving to poor Anne +the feeling that she shared her motherhood. She shared her tenderest +cares and duties with her. Together they bathed and clad the child +in the morning, this being their high festival, in which the nurses +shared but in the performance of small duties. Each day they played +with him and laughed as women will at such dear times, kissing his grand +round limbs, crying out at their growth, worshipping his little rosy +feet, and smothering him with caresses. And then they put him +to sleep, Anne sitting close while his mother fed him from her breast +until his small red mouth parted and slowly released her.</p> +<p>When he could toddle about and was beginning to say words, there +was a morning when she bore him to Anne’s tower that they might +joy in him together, as was their way. It was a beautiful thing +to see her walk carrying him in the strong and lovely curve of her arm +as if his sturdy babyhood were of no more weight than a rose, and he +cuddling against her, clinging and crowing, his wide brown eyes shining +with delight.</p> +<p>“He has come to pay thee court, Anne,” she said. +“He is a great gallant, and knows how we are his loving slaves. +He comes to say his new word that I have taught him.”</p> +<p>She set him down where he stood holding to Anne’s knee and +showing his new pearl teeth, in a rosy grin; his mother knelt beside +him, beginning her coaxing.</p> +<p>“Who is she?” she said, pointing with her finger at Anne’s +face, her own full of lovely fear lest the child should not speak rightly +his lesson. “What is her name? Mammy’s man say—” +and she mumbled softly with her crimson mouth at his ear.</p> +<p>The child looked up at Anne, with baby wit and laughter in his face, +and stammered sweetly—</p> +<p>“Muz—Muzzer—Anne,” he said, and then being +pleased with his cleverness, danced on his little feet and said it over +and over.</p> +<p>Clorinda caught him up and set him on Anne’s lap.</p> +<p>“Know you what he calls you?” she said. “’Tis +but a mumble, his little tongue is not nimble enough for clearness, +but he says it his pretty best. ’Tis Mother Anne, he says—’tis +Mother Anne.”</p> +<p>And then they were in each other’s arms, the child between +them, he kissing both and clasping both, with little laughs of joy as +if they were but one creature.</p> +<p>Each child born they clasped and kissed so, and were so clasped and +kissed by; each one calling the tender unwed woman “Mother Anne,” +and having a special lovingness for her, she being the creature each +one seemed to hover about with innocent protection and companionship.</p> +<p>The wonder of Anne’s life grew deeper to her hour by hour, +and where she had before loved, she learned to worship, for ’twas +indeed worship that her soul was filled with. She could not look +back and believe that she had not dreamed a dream of all the fears gone +by and that they held. This—this was true—the beauty +of these days, the love of them, the generous deeds, the sweet courtesies, +and gentle words spoken. This beauteous woman dwelling in her +husband’s heart, giving him all joy of life and love, ruling queenly +and gracious in his house, bearing him noble children, and tending them +with the very genius of tenderness and wisdom.</p> +<p>But in Mistress Anne herself life had never been strong; she was +of the fibre of her mother, who had died in youth, crushed by its cruel +weight, and to her, living had been so great and terrible a thing. +There had not been given to her the will to battle with the Fate that +fell to her, the brain to reason and disentangle problems, or the power +to set them aside. So while her Grace of Osmonde seemed but to +gain greater state and beauty in her ripening, her sister’s frail +body grew more frail, and seemed to shrink and age. Yet her face +put on a strange worn sweetness, and her soft, dull eyes had a look +almost like a saint’s who looks at heaven. She prayed much, +and did many charitable works both in town and country. She read +her books of devotion, and went much to church, sitting with a reverend +face through many a dull and lengthy sermon she would have felt it sacrilegious +to think of with aught but pious admiration. In the middle of +the night it was her custom to rise and offer up prayers through the +dark hours. She was an humble soul who greatly feared and trembled +before her God.</p> +<p>“I waken in the night sometimes,” the fair, tall child +Daphne said once to her mother, “and Mother Anne is there—she +kneels and prays beside my bed. She kneels and prays so by each +one of us many a night.”</p> +<p>“’Tis because she is so pious a woman and so loves us,” +said young John, in his stately, generous way. The house of Osmonde +had never had so fine and handsome a creature for its heir. He +o’ertopped every boy of his age in height, and the bearing of +his lovely youthful body was masculine grace itself.</p> +<p>The town and the Court knew these children, and talked of their beauty +and growth as they had talked of their mother’s.</p> +<p>“To be the mate of such a woman, the father of such heirs, +is a fate a man might pray God for,” ’twas said. “Love +has not grown stale with them. Their children are the very blossoms +of it. Her eyes are deeper pools of love each year.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII—“In One who will do justice, and demands +that it shall be done to each thing He has made, by each who bears His +image”</h2> +<p>’Twas in these days Sir Jeoffry came to his end, it being in +such way as had been often prophesied; and when this final hour came, +there was but one who could give him comfort, and this was the daughter +whose youth he had led with such careless evilness to harm.</p> +<p>If he had wondered at her when she had been my Lady Dunstanwolde, +as her Grace of Osmonde he regarded her with heavy awe. Never +had she been able to lead him to visit her at her house in town or at +any other which was her home. “’Tis all too grand +for me, your Grace,” he would say; “I am a country yokel, +and have hunted and drank, and lived too hard to look well among town +gentlemen. I must be drunk at dinner, and when I am in liquor +I am no ornament to a duchess’s drawing-room. But what a +woman you have grown,” he would say, staring at her and shaking +his head. “Each time I clap eyes on you ’tis to marvel +at you, remembering what a baggage you were, and how you kept from slipping +by the way. There was Jack Oxon, now,” he added one day—“after +you married Dunstanwolde, I heard a pretty tale of Jack—that he +had made a wager among his friends in town—he was a braggart devil, +Jack—that he would have you, though you were so scornful; and +knowing him to be a liar, his fellows said that unless he could bring +back a raven lock six feet long to show them, he had lost his bet, for +they would believe no other proof. And finely they scoffed at +him when he came back saying that he had had one, but had hid it away +for safety when he was drunk, and could not find it again. They +so flouted and jeered at him that swords were drawn, and blood as well. +But though he was a beauty and a crafty rake-hell fellow, you were too +sharp for him. Had you not had so shrewd a wit and strong a will, +you would not have been the greatest duchess in England, Clo, as well +as the finest woman.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she answered—“in those days—nay, +let us not speak of them! I would blot them out—out.”</p> +<p>As time went by, and the years spent in drink and debauchery began +to tell even on the big, strong body which should have served any other +man bravely long past his threescore and ten, Sir Jeoffry drank harder +and lived more wildly, sometimes being driven desperate by dulness, +his coarse pleasures having lost their potency.</p> +<p>“Liquor is not as strong as it once was,” he used to +grumble, “and there are fewer things to stir a man to frolic. +Lord, what roaring days and nights a man could have thirty years ago.”</p> +<p>So in his efforts to emulate such nights and days, he plunged deeper +and deeper into new orgies; and one night, after a heavy day’s +hunting, sitting at the head of his table with his old companions, he +suddenly leaned forward, staring with starting eyes at an empty chair +in a dark corner. His face grew purple, and he gasped and gurgled.</p> +<p>“What is’t, Jeoff?” old Eldershawe cried, touching +his shoulder with a shaking hand. “What’s the man +staring at, as if he had gone mad?”</p> +<p>“Jack,” cried Sir Jeoffry, his eyes still farther starting +from their sockets. “Jack! what say you? I cannot +hear.”</p> +<p>The next instant he sprang up, shrieking, and thrusting with his +hands as if warding something off.</p> +<p>“Keep back!” he yelled. “There is green mould +on thee. Where hast thou been to grow mouldy? Keep back! +Where hast thou been?”</p> +<p>His friends at table started up, staring at him and losing colour; +he shrieked so loud and strangely, he clutched his hair with his hands, +and fell into his chair, raving, clutching, and staring, or dashing +his head down upon the table to hide his face, and then raising it as +if he could not resist being drawn in his affright to gaze again. +There was no soothing him. He shouted, and struggled with those +who would have held him. ’Twas Jack Oxon who was there, +he swore—Jack, who kept stealing slowly nearer to him, his face +and his fine clothes damp and green, he beat at the air with mad hands, +and at last fell upon the floor, and rolled, foaming at the mouth.</p> +<p>They contrived, after great strugglings, to bear him to his chamber, +but it took the united strength of all who would stay near him to keep +him from making an end of himself. By the dawn of day his boon +companions stood by him with their garments torn to tatters, their faces +drenched with sweat, and their own eyes almost starting from their sockets; +the doctor who had been sent for, coming in no hurry, but scowled and +shook his head when he beheld him.</p> +<p>“He is a dead man,” he said, “and the wonder is +that this has not come before. He is sodden with drink and rotten +with ill-living, besides being past all the strength of youth. +He dies of the life he has lived.”</p> +<p>’Twas little to be expected that his boon companions could +desert their homes and pleasures and tend his horrors longer than a +night. Such a sight as he presented did not inspire them to cheerful +spirits.</p> +<p>“Lord,” said Sir Chris Crowell, “to see him clutch +his flesh and shriek and mouth, is enough to make a man live sober for +his remaining days,” and he shook his big shoulders with a shudder.</p> +<p>“Ugh!” he said, “God grant I may make a better +end. He writhes as in hell-fire.”</p> +<p>“There is but one on earth who will do aught for him,” +said Eldershawe. “’Tis handsome Clo, who is a duchess; +but she will come and tend him, I could swear. Even when she was +a lawless devil of a child she had a way of standing by her friends +and fearing naught.”</p> +<p>So after taking counsel together they sent for her, and in as many +hours as it took to drive from London, her coach stood before the door. +By this time all the household was panic-stricken and in hopeless disorder, +the women-servants scattered and shuddering in far corners of the house; +such men as could get out of the way having found work to do afield +or in the kennels, for none had nerve to stay where they could hear +the madman’s shrieks and howls.</p> +<p>Her Grace, entering the house, went with her woman straight to her +chamber, and shortly emerged therefrom, stripped of her rich apparel, +and clad in a gown of strong blue linen, her hair wound close, her white +hands bare of any ornament, save the band of gold which was her wedding-ring. +A serving-woman might have been clad so; but the plainness of her garb +but made her height, and strength, so reveal themselves, that the mere +sight of her woke somewhat that was like to awe in the eyes of the servants +who beheld her as she passed.</p> +<p>She needed not to be led, but straightway followed the awful sounds, +until she reached the chamber behind whose door they were shut. +Upon the huge disordered bed, Sir Jeoffry writhed, and tried to tear +himself, his great sinewy and hairy body almost stark. Two of +the stable men were striving to hold him.</p> +<p>The duchess went to his bedside and stood there, laying her strong +white hand upon his shuddering shoulder.</p> +<p>“Father,” she said, in a voice so clear, and with such +a ring of steady command, as, the men said later, might have reached +a dead man’s ear. “Father, ’tis Clo!”</p> +<p>Sir Jeoffry writhed his head round and glared at her, with starting +eyes and foaming mouth.</p> +<p>“Who says ’tis Clo?” he shouted. “’Tis +a lie! She was ever a bigger devil than any other, though she +was but a handsome wench. Jack himself could not manage her. +She beat him, and would beat him now. ’Tis a lie!”</p> +<p>All through that day and night the power of her Grace’s white +arm was the thing which saved him from dashing out his brains. +The two men could not have held him, and at his greatest frenzy they +observed that now and then his bloodshot eye would glance aside at the +beauteous face above him. The sound of the word “Clo” +had struck upon his brain and wakened an echo.</p> +<p>She sent away the men to rest, calling for others in their places; +but leave the bedside herself she would not. ’Twas a strange +thing to see her strength and bravery, which could not be beaten down. +When the doctor came again he found her there, and changed his surly +and reluctant manner in the presence of a duchess, and one who in her +close linen gown wore such a mien.</p> +<p>“You should not have left him,” she said to him unbendingly, +“even though I myself can see there is little help that can be +given. Thought you his Grace and I would brook that he should +die alone if we could not have reached him?”</p> +<p>Those words “his Grace and I” put a new face upon the +matter, and all was done that lay within the man’s skill; but +most was he disturbed concerning the lady, who would not be sent to +rest, and whose noble consort would be justly angered if she were allowed +to injure her superb health.</p> +<p>“His Grace knew what I came to do and how I should do it,” +the duchess said, unbending still. “But for affairs of State +which held him, he would have been here at my side.”</p> +<p>She held her place throughout the second night, and that was worse +than the first—the paroxysms growing more and more awful; for +Jack was within a yard, and stretched out a green and mouldy hand, the +finger-bones showing through the flesh, the while he smiled awfully.</p> +<p>At last one pealing scream rang out after another, until after making +his shuddering body into an arc resting on heels and head, the madman +fell exhausted, his flesh all quaking before the eye. Then the +duchess waved the men who helped, away. She sat upon the bed’s +edge close—close to her father’s body, putting her two firm +hands on either of his shoulders, holding him so, and bent down, looking +into his wild face, as if she fixed upon his very soul all the power +of her wondrous will.</p> +<p>“Father,” she said, “look at my face. Thou +canst if thou wilt. Look at my face. Then wilt thou see +’tis Clo—and she will stand by thee.”</p> +<p>She kept her gaze upon his very pupils; and though ’twas at +first as if his eyes strove to break away from her look, their effort +was controlled by her steadfastness, and they wandered back at last, +and her great orbs held them. He heaved a long breath, half a +big, broken sob, and lay still, staring up at her.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he said, “’tis Clo! ’tis Clo!”</p> +<p>The sweat began to roll from his forehead, and the tears down his +cheeks. He broke forth, wailing like a child.</p> +<p>“Clo—Clo,” he said, “I am in hell.”</p> +<p>She put her hand on his breast, keeping will and eyes set on him.</p> +<p>“Nay,” she answered; “thou art on earth, and in +thine own bed, and I am here, and will not leave thee.”</p> +<p>She made another sign to the men who stood and stared aghast in wonder +at her, but feeling in the very air about her the spell to which the +madness had given way.</p> +<p>“’Twas not mere human woman who sat there,” they +said afterwards in the stables among their fellows. “’Twas +somewhat more. Had such a will been in an evil thing a man’s +hair would have risen on his skull at the seeing of it.”</p> +<p>“Go now,” she said to them, “and send women to +set the place in order.”</p> +<p>She had seen delirium and death enough in the doings of her deeds +of mercy, to know that his strength had gone and death was coming. +His bed and room were made orderly, and at last he lay in clean linen, +with all made straight. Soon his eyes seemed to sink into his +head and stare from hollows, and his skin grew grey, but ever he stared +only at his daughter’s face.</p> +<p>“Clo,” he said at last, “stay by me! Clo, +go not away!”</p> +<p>“I shall not go,” she answered.</p> +<p>She drew a seat close to his bed and took his hand. It lay +knotted and gnarled and swollen-veined upon her smooth palm, and with +her other hand she stroked it. His breath came weak and quick, +and fear grew in his eyes.</p> +<p>“What is it, Clo?” he said. “What is’t?”</p> +<p>“’Tis weakness,” replied she, soothing him. +“Soon you will sleep.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” he said, with a breath like a sob. “’Tis +over.”</p> +<p>His big body seemed to collapse, he shrank so in the bed-clothes.</p> +<p>“What day o’ the year is it?” he asked.</p> +<p>“The tenth of August,” was her answer.</p> +<p>“Sixty-nine years from this day was I born,” he said, +“and now ’tis done.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said she—“nay—God grant—”</p> +<p>“Ay,” he said, “done. Would there were nine +and sixty more. What a man I was at twenty. I want not to +die, Clo. I want to live—to live—live, and be young,” +gulping, “with strong muscle and moist flesh. Sixty-nine +years—and they are gone!”</p> +<p>He clung to her hand, and stared at her with awful eyes. Through +all his life he had been but a great, strong, human carcass; and he +was now but the same carcass worn out, and at death’s door. +Of not one human thing but of himself had he ever thought, not one creature +but himself had he ever loved—and now he lay at the end, harking +back only to the wicked years gone by.</p> +<p>“None can bring them back,” he shuddered. “Not +even thou, Clo, who art so strong. None—none! Canst +pray, Clo?” with the gasp of a craven.</p> +<p>“Not as chaplains do,” she answered. “I believe +not in a God who clamours but for praise.”</p> +<p>“What dost believe in, then?”</p> +<p>“In One who will do justice, and demands that it shall be done +to each thing He has made, by each who bears His image—ay, and +mercy too—but justice always, for justice is mercy’s highest +self.”</p> +<p>Who knows the mysteries of the human soul—who knows the workings +of the human brain? The God who is just alone. In this man’s +mind, which was so near a simple beast’s in all its movings, some +remote, unborn consciousness was surely reached and vaguely set astir +by the clear words thus spoken.</p> +<p>“Clo, Clo!” he cried, “Clo, Clo!” in terror, +clutching her the closer, “what dost thou mean? In all my +nine and sixty years—” and rolled his head in agony.</p> +<p>In all his nine and sixty years he had shown justice to no man, mercy +to no woman, since he had thought of none but Jeoffry Wildairs; and +this truth somehow dimly reached his long-dulled brain and wakened there.</p> +<p>“Down on thy knees, Clo!” he gasped—“down +on thy knees!”</p> +<p>It was so horrible, the look struggling in his dying face, that she +went down upon her knees that moment, and so knelt, folding his shaking +hands within her own against her breast.</p> +<p>“Thou who didst make him as he was born into Thy world,” +she said, “deal with that to which Thou didst give life—and +death. Show him in this hour, which Thou mad’st also, that +Thou art not Man who would have vengeance, but that justice which is +God.”</p> +<p>“Then—then,” he gasped—“then will He +damn me!”</p> +<p>“He will weigh thee,” she said; “and that which +His own hand created will He separate from that which was thine own +wilful wrong—and this, sure, He will teach thee how to expiate.”</p> +<p>“Clo,” he cried again—“thy mother—she +was but a girl, and died alone—I did no justice to her!—Daphne! +Daphne!” And he shook beneath the bed-clothes, shuddering +to his feet, his face growing more grey and pinched.</p> +<p>“She loved thee once,” Clorinda said. “She +was a gentle soul, and would not forget. She will show thee mercy.”</p> +<p>“Birth she went through,” he muttered, “and death—alone. +Birth and death! Daphne, my girl—” And his voice +trailed off to nothingness, and he lay staring at space, and panting.</p> +<p>The duchess sat by him and held his hand. She moved not, though +at last he seemed to fall asleep. Two hours later he began to +stir. He turned his head slowly upon his pillows until his gaze +rested upon her, as she sat fronting him. ’Twas as though +he had awakened to look at her.</p> +<p>“Clo!” he cried, and though his voice was but a whisper, +there was both wonder and wild question in it—“Clo!”</p> +<p>But she moved not, her great eyes meeting his with steady gaze; and +even as they so looked at each other his body stretched itself, his +lids fell—and he was a dead man.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV—The doves sate upon the window-ledge and lowly +cooed and cooed</h2> +<p>When they had had ten years of happiness, Anne died. ’Twas +of no violent illness, it seemed but that through these years of joy +she had been gradually losing life. She had grown thinner and +whiter, and her soft eyes bigger and more prayerful. ’Twas +in the summer, and they were at Camylott, when one sweet day she came +from the flower-garden with her hands full of roses, and sitting down +by her sister in her morning-room, swooned away, scattering her blossoms +on her lap and at her feet.</p> +<p>When she came back to consciousness she looked up at the duchess +with a strange, far look, as if her soul had wandered back from some +great distance.</p> +<p>“Let me be borne to bed, sister,” she said. “I +would lie still. I shall not get up again.”</p> +<p>The look in her face was so unearthly and a thing so full of mystery, +that her Grace’s heart stood still, for in some strange way she +knew the end had come.</p> +<p>They bore her to her tower and laid her in her bed, when she looked +once round the room and then at her sister.</p> +<p>“’Tis a fair, peaceful room,” she said. “And +the prayers I have prayed in it have been answered. To-day I saw +my mother, and she told me so.”</p> +<p>“Anne! Anne!” cried her Grace, leaning over her +and gazing fearfully into her face; for though her words sounded like +delirium, her look had no wildness in it. And yet—“Anne, +Anne! you wander, love,” the duchess cried.</p> +<p>Anne smiled a strange, sweet smile. “Perchance I do,” +she said. “I know not truly, but I am very happy. +She said that all was over, and that I had not done wrong. She +had a fair, young face, with eyes that seemed to have looked always +at the stars of heaven. She said I had done no wrong.”</p> +<p>The duchess’s face laid itself down upon the pillow, a river +of clear tears running down her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Wrong!” she said—“you! dear one—woman +of Christ’s heart, if ever lived one. You were so weak and +I so strong, and yet as I look back it seems that all of good that made +me worthy to be wife and mother I learned from your simplicity.”</p> +<p>Through the tower window and the ivy closing round it, the blueness +of the summer sky was heavenly fair; soft, and light white clouds floated +across the clearness of its sapphire. On this Anne’s eyes +were fixed with an uplifted tenderness until she broke her silence.</p> +<p>“Soon I shall be away,” she said. “Soon all +will be left behind. And I would tell you that my prayers were +answered—and so, sure, yours will be.”</p> +<p>No man could tell what made the duchess then fall on her knees, but +she herself knew. ’Twas that she saw in the exalted dying +face that turned to hers concealing nothing more.</p> +<p>“Anne! Anne!” she cried. “Sister Anne! +Mother Anne of my children! You have known—you have known +all the years and kept it hid!”</p> +<p>She dropped her queenly head and shielded the whiteness of her face +in the coverlid’s folds.</p> +<p>“Ay, sister,” Anne said, coming a little back to earth, +“and from the first. I found a letter near the sun-dial—I +guessed—I loved you—and could do naught else but guard you. +Many a day have I watched within the rose-garden—many a day—and +night—God pardon me—and night. When I knew a letter +was hid, ’twas my wont to linger near, knowing that my presence +would keep others away. And when you approached—or he—I +slipped aside and waited beyond the rose hedge—that if I heard +a step, I might make some sound of warning. Sister, I was your +sentinel, and being so, knelt while on my guard, and prayed.”</p> +<p>“My sentinel!” Clorinda cried. “And knowing +all, you so guarded me night and day, and prayed God’s pity on +my poor madness and girl’s frenzy!” And she gazed +at her in amaze, and with humblest, burning tears.</p> +<p>“For my own poor self as well as for you, sister, did I pray +God’s pity as I knelt,” said Anne. “For long +I knew it not—being so ignorant—but alas! I loved +him too!—I loved him too! I have loved no man other all +my days. He was unworthy any woman’s love—and I was +too lowly for him to cast a glance on; but I was a woman, and God made +us so.”</p> +<p>Clorinda clutched her pallid hand.</p> +<p>“Dear God,” she cried, “you loved him!”</p> +<p>Anne moved upon her pillow, drawing weakly, slowly near until her +white lips were close upon her sister’s ear.</p> +<p>“The night,” she panted—“the night you bore +him—in your arms—”</p> +<p>Then did the other woman give a shuddering start and lift her head, +staring with a frozen face.</p> +<p>“What! what!” she cried.</p> +<p>“Down the dark stairway,” the panting voice went on, +“to the far cellar—I kept watch again.”</p> +<p>“You kept watch—you?” the duchess gasped.</p> +<p>“Upon the stair which led to the servants’ place—that +I might stop them if—if aught disturbed them, and they oped their +doors—that I might send them back, telling them—it was I.”</p> +<p>Then stooped the duchess nearer to her, her hands clutching the coverlid, +her eyes widening.</p> +<p>“Anne, Anne,” she cried, “you knew the awful thing +that I would hide! That too? You knew that he was <i>there</i>!”</p> +<p>Anne lay upon her pillow, her own eyes gazing out through the ivy-hung +window of her tower at the blue sky and the fair, fleecy clouds. +A flock of snow-white doves were flying back and forth across it, and +one sate upon the window’s deep ledge and cooed. All was +warm and perfumed with summer’s sweetness. There seemed +naught between her and the uplifting blueness, and naught of the earth +was near but the dove’s deep-throated cooing and the laughter +of her Grace’s children floating upward from the garden of flowers +below.</p> +<p>“I lie upon the brink,” she said—“upon the +brink, sister, and methinks my soul is too near to God’s pure +justice to fear as human things fear, and judge as earth does. +She said I did no wrong. Yes, I knew.”</p> +<p>“And knowing,” her sister cried, “you came to me +<i>that afternoon</i>!”</p> +<p>“To stand by that which lay hidden, that I might keep the rest +away. Being a poor creature and timorous and weak—”</p> +<p>“Weak! weak!” the duchess cried, amid a greater flood +of streaming tears—“ay, I have dared to call you so, who +have the heart of a great lioness. Oh, sweet Anne—weak!”</p> +<p>“’Twas love,” Anne whispered. “Your +love was strong, and so was mine. That other love was not for +me. I knew that my long woman’s life would pass without +it—for woman’s life is long, alas! if love comes not. +But you were love’s self, and I worshipped you and it; and to +myself I said—praying forgiveness on my knees—that one woman +should know love if I did not. And being so poor and imperfect +a thing, what mattered if I gave my soul for you—and love, which +is so great, and rules the world. Look at the doves, sister, look +at them, flying past the heavenly blueness—and she said I did +no wrong.”</p> +<p>Her hand was wet with tears fallen upon it, as her duchess sister +knelt, and held and kissed it, sobbing.</p> +<p>“You knew, poor love, you knew!” she cried.</p> +<p>“Ay, all of it I knew,” Anne said—“his torture +of you and the madness of your horror. And when he forced himself +within the Panelled Parlour that day of fate, I knew he came to strike +some deadly blow; and in such anguish I waited in my chamber for the +end, that when it came not, I crept down, praying that somehow I might +come between—and I went in the room!”</p> +<p>“And there—what saw you?” quoth the duchess, shuddering. +“Somewhat you must have seen, or you could not have known.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said Anne, “and heard!” and her chest +heaved.</p> +<p>“Heard!” cried Clorinda. “Great God of mercy!”</p> +<p>“The room was empty, and I stood alone. It was so still +I was afraid; it seemed so like the silence of the grave; and then there +came a sound—a long and shuddering breath—but one—and +then—”</p> +<p>The memory brought itself too keenly back, and she fell a-shivering.</p> +<p>“I heard a slipping sound, and a dead hand fell on the floor-lying +outstretched, its palm turned upwards, showing beneath the valance of +the couch.”</p> +<p>She threw her frail arms round her sister’s neck, and as Clorinda +clasped her own, breathing gaspingly, they swayed together.</p> +<p>“What did you then?” the duchess cried, in a wild whisper.</p> +<p>“I prayed God keep me sane—and knelt—and looked +below. I thrust it back—the dead hand, saying aloud, ‘Swoon +you must not, swoon you must not, swoon you shall not—God help! +God help!’—and I saw!—the purple mark—his eyes +upturned—his fair curls spread; and I lost strength and fell upon +my side, and for a minute lay there—knowing that shudder of breath +had been the very last expelling of his being, and his hand had fallen +by its own weight.”</p> +<p>“O God! O God! O God!” Clorinda cried, and +over and over said the word, and over again.</p> +<p>“How was’t—how was’t?” Anne shuddered, +clinging to her. “How was’t ’twas done? +I have so suffered, being weak—I have so prayed! God will +have mercy—but it has done me to death, this knowledge, and before +I die, I pray you tell me, that I may speak truly at God’s throne.”</p> +<p>“O God! O God! O God!” Clorinda groaned—“O +God!” and having cried so, looking up, was blanched as a thing +struck with death, her eyes like a great stag’s that stands at +bay.</p> +<p>“Stay, stay!” she cried, with a sudden shock of horror, +for a new thought had come to her which, strangely, she had not had +before. “You thought I <i>murdered</i> him?”</p> +<p>Convulsive sobs heaved Anne’s poor chest, tears sweeping her +hollow cheeks, her thin, soft hands clinging piteously to her sister’s.</p> +<p>“Through all these years I have known nothing,” she wept—“sister, +I have known nothing but that I found him hidden there, a dead man, +whom you so hated and so feared.”</p> +<p>Her hands resting upon the bed’s edge, Clorinda held her body +upright, such passion of wonder, love, and pitying adoring awe in her +large eyes as was a thing like to worship.</p> +<p>“You thought I <i>murdered</i> him, and loved me still,” +she said. “You thought I murdered him, and still you shielded +me, and gave me chance to live, and to repent, and know love’s +highest sweetness. You thought I murdered him, and yet your soul +had mercy. Now do I believe in God, for only a God could make +a heart so noble.”</p> +<p>“And you—did not—” cried out Anne, and raised +upon her elbow, her breast panting, but her eyes growing wide with light +as from stars from heaven. “Oh, sister love—thanks +be to Christ who died!”</p> +<p>The duchess rose, and stood up tall and great, her arms out-thrown.</p> +<p>“I think ’twas God Himself who did it,” she said, +“though ’twas I who struck the blow. He drove me mad +and blind, he tortured me, and thrust to my heart’s core. +He taunted me with that vile thing Nature will not let women bear, and +did it in my Gerald’s name, calling on him. And then I struck +with my whip, knowing nothing, not seeing, only striking, like a goaded +dying thing. He fell—he fell and lay there—and all +was done!”</p> +<p>“But not with murderous thought—only through frenzy and +a cruel chance—a cruel, cruel chance. And of your own will +blood is not upon your hand,” Anne panted, and sank back upon +her pillow.</p> +<p>“With deepest oaths I swear,” Clorinda said, and she +spoke through her clenched teeth, “if I had not loved, if Gerald +had not been my soul’s life and I his, I would have stood upright +and laughed in his face at the devil’s threats. Should I +have feared? You know me. Was there a thing on earth or +in heaven or hell I feared until love rent me. ’Twould but +have fired my blood, and made me mad with fury that dares all. +‘Spread it abroad!’ I would have cried to him. ‘Tell +it to all the world, craven and outcast, whose vileness all men know, +and see how I shall bear myself, and how I shall drive through the town +with head erect. As I bore myself when I set the rose crown on +my head, so shall I bear myself then. And you shall see what comes!’ +This would I have said, and held to it, and gloried. But I knew +love, and there was an anguish that I could not endure—that my +Gerald should look at me with changed eyes, feeling that somewhat of +his rightful meed was gone. And I was all distraught and conquered. +Of ending his base life I never thought, never at my wildest, though +I had thought to end my own; but when Fate struck the blow for me, then +I swore that carrion should not taint my whole life through. It +should not—should not—for ’twas Fate’s self +had doomed me to my ruin. And there it lay until the night; for +this I planned, that being of such great strength for a woman, I could +bear his body in my arms to the farthest of that labyrinth of cellars +I had commanded to be cut off from the rest and closed; and so I did +when all were sleeping—but you, poor Anne—but you! +And there I laid him, and there he lies to-day—an evil thing turned +to a handful of dust.”</p> +<p>“It was not murder,” whispered Anne—“no, +it was not.” She lifted to her sister’s gaze a quivering +lip. “And yet once I had loved him—years I had loved +him,” she said, whispering still. “And in a woman +there is ever somewhat that the mother creature feels”—the +hand which held her sister’s shook as with an ague, and her poor +lip quivered—“Sister, I—saw him again!”</p> +<p>The duchess drew closer as she gasped, “Again!”</p> +<p>“I could not rest,” the poor voice said. “He +had been so base, he was so beautiful, and so unworthy love—and +he was dead,—none knowing, untouched by any hand that even pitied +him that he was so base a thing, for that indeed is piteous when death +comes and none can be repentant. And he lay so hard, so hard upon +the stones.”</p> +<p>Her teeth were chattering, and with a breath drawn like a wild sob +of terror, the duchess threw her arm about her and drew her nearer.</p> +<p>“Sweet Anne,” she shuddered—“sweet Anne—come +back—you wander!”</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis not wandering,” Anne said. “’Tis +true, sister. There is no night these years gone by I have not +remembered it again—and seen. In the night after that you +bore him there—I prayed until the mid-hours, when all were sleeping +fast—and then I stole down—in my bare feet, that none could +hear me—and at last I found my way in the black dark—feeling +the walls until I reached that farthest door in the stone—and +then I lighted my taper and oped it.”</p> +<p>“Anne!” cried the duchess—“Anne, look through +the tower window at the blueness of the sky—at the blueness, Anne!” +But drops of cold water had started out and stood upon her brow.</p> +<p>“He lay there in his grave—it was a little black place +with its stone walls—his fair locks were tumbled,” Anne +went on, whispering. “The spot was black upon his brow—and +methought he had stopped mocking, and surely looked upon some great +and awful thing which asked of him a question. I knelt, and laid +his curls straight, and his hands, and tried to shut his eyes, but close +they would not, but stared at that which questioned. And having +loved him so, I kissed his poor cheek as his mother might have done, +that he might not stand outside, having carried not one tender human +thought with him. And, oh, I prayed, sister—I prayed for +his poor soul with all my own. ‘If there is one noble or +gentle thing he has ever done through all his life,’ I prayed, +‘Jesus remember it—Christ do not forget.’ We +who are human do so few things that are noble—oh, surely one must +count.”</p> +<p>The duchess’s head lay near her sister’s breast, and +she had fallen a-sobbing—a-sobbing and weeping like a young broken +child.</p> +<p>“Oh, brave and noble, pitiful, strong, fair soul!” she +cried. “As Christ loved you have loved, and He would hear +your praying. Since you so pleaded, He would find one thing to +hang His mercy on.”</p> +<p>She lifted her fair, tear-streaming face, clasping her hands as one +praying.</p> +<p>“And I—and I,” she cried—“have I not +built a temple on his grave? Have I not tried to live a fair life, +and be as Christ bade me? Have I not loved, and pitied, and succoured +those in pain? Have I not filled a great man’s days with +bliss, and love, and wifely worship? Have I not given him noble +children, bred in high lovingness, and taught to love all things God +made, even the very beasts that perish, since they, too, suffer as all +do? Have I left aught undone? Oh, sister, I have so prayed +that I left naught. Even though I could not believe that there +was One who, ruling all, could yet be pitiless as He is to some, I have +prayed That—which sure it seems must be, though we comprehend +it not—to teach me faith in something greater than my poor self, +and not of earth. Say this to Christ’s self when you are +face to face—say this to Him, I pray you! Anne, Anne, look +not so strangely through the window at the blueness of the sky, sweet +soul, but look at me.”</p> +<p>For Anne lay upon her pillow so smiling that ’twas a strange +thing to behold. It seemed as she were smiling at the whiteness +of the doves against the blue. A moment her sister stood up watching +her, and then she stirred, meaning to go to call one of the servants +waiting outside; but though she moved not her gaze from the tower window, +Mistress Anne faintly spoke.</p> +<p>“Nay—stay,” she breathed. “I go—softly—stay.”</p> +<p>Clorinda fell upon her knees again and bent her lips close to her +ear. This was death, and yet she feared it not—this was +the passing of a soul, and while it went it seemed so fair and loving +a thing that she could ask it her last question—her greatest—knowing +it was so near to God that its answer must be rest.</p> +<p>“Anne, Anne,” she whispered, “must he know—my +Gerald? Must I—must I tell him all? If so I must, +I will—upon my knees.”</p> +<p>The doves came flying downward from the blue, and lighted on the +window stone and cooed—Anne’s answer was as low as her soft +breath and her still eyes were filled with joy at that she saw but which +another could not.</p> +<p>“Nay,” she breathed. “Tell him not. +What need? Wait, and let God tell him—who understands.”</p> +<p>Then did her soft breath stop, and she lay still, her eyes yet open +and smiling at the blossoms, and the doves who sate upon the window-ledge +and lowly cooed and cooed.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>’Twas her duchess sister who clad her for her last sleeping, +and made her chamber fair—the hand of no other touched her; and +while ’twas done the tower chamber was full of the golden sunshine, +and the doves ceased not to flutter about the window, and coo as if +they spoke lovingly to each other of what lay within the room.</p> +<p>Then the children came to look, their arms full of blossoms and flowering +sprays. They had been told only fair things of death, and knowing +but these fair things, thought of it but as the opening of a golden +door. They entered softly, as entering the chamber of a queen, +and moving tenderly, with low and gentle speech, spread all their flowers +about the bed—laying them round her head, on her breast, and in +her hands, and strewing them thick everywhere.</p> +<p>“She lies in a bower and smiles at us,” one said. +“She hath grown beautiful like you, mother, and her face seems +like a white star in the morning.”</p> +<p>“She loves us as she ever did,” the fair child Daphne +said; “she will never cease to love us, and will be our angel. +Now have we an angel of our own.”</p> +<p>When the duke returned, who had been absent since the day before, +the duchess led him to the tower chamber, and they stood together hand +in hand and gazed at her peace.</p> +<p>“Gerald,” the duchess said, in her tender voice, “she +smiles, does not she?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” was Osmonde’s answer—“yes, love, +as if at God, who has smiled at herself—faithful, tender woman +heart!”</p> +<p>The hand which he held in his clasp clung closer. The other +crept to his shoulder and lay there tremblingly.</p> +<p>“How faithful and how tender, my Gerald,” Clorinda said, +“I only know. She is my saint—sweet Anne, whom I dared +treat so lightly in my poor wayward days. Gerald, she knows all +my sins, and to-day she has carried them in her pure hands to God and +asked His mercy on them. She had none of her own.”</p> +<p>“And so having done, dear heart, she lies amid her flowers, +and smiles,” he said, and he drew her white hand to press it against +his breast.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>While her body slept beneath soft turf and flowers, and that which +was her self was given in God’s heaven, all joys for which her +earthly being had yearned, even when unknowing how to name its longing, +each year that passed made more complete and splendid the lives of those +she so had loved. Never, ’twas said, had woman done such +deeds of gentleness and shown so sweet and generous a wisdom as the +great duchess. None who were weak were in danger if she used her +strength to aid them; no man or woman was a lost thing whom she tried +to save: such tasks she set herself as no lady had ever given herself +before; but ’twas not her way to fail—her will being so +powerful, her brain so clear, her heart so purely noble. Pauper +and prince, noble and hind honoured her and her lord alike, and all +felt wonder at their happiness. It seemed that they had learned +life’s meaning and the honouring of love, and this they taught +to their children, to the enriching of a long and noble line. +In the ripeness of years they passed from earth in as beauteous peace +as the sun sets, and upon a tablet above the resting-place of their +ancestors there are inscribed lines like these:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here sleeps by her husband the purest and noblest +lady God e’er loved, yet the high and gentle deeds of her chaste +sweet life sleep not, but live and grow, and so will do so long as earth +is earth.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LADY OF QUALITY***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1550-h.htm or 1550-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/5/1550 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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