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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28616-8.txt b/28616-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ef20e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/28616-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9584 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Penshurst Castle, by Emma Marshall + +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: Penshurst Castle + In the Days of Sir Philip Sidney + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: April 26, 2009 [EBook #28616] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +PENSHURST CASTLE + + + + +[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + + + + + PENSHURST CASTLE + + _IN THE TIME OF_ + + SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + + + BY + + EMMA MARSHALL + + _Author of 'Under Salisbury Spire,' 'Winchester Meads,' etc._ + + + 'A right man-like man, such as Nature, often erring, + yet shows sometimes she fain would make.'--Sir Philip Sidney. + + + LONDON + + SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED + + ESSEX STREET, STRAND + + 1894 + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +For the incidents in the life of Sir Philip Sidney, who is the central +figure in this story of 'the spacious times of great Elizabeth,' I am +indebted to Mr H. R. Fox Bourne's interesting and exhaustive Memoir of this +noble knight and Christian gentleman. + +In his short life of thirty-one years are crowded achievements as scholar, +poet, statesman and soldier, which find perhaps few, if indeed any equal, +in the records of history; a few only of these chosen from among many +appear in the following pages. The characters of Mary Gifford and her +sister, and the two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, are wholly +imaginary. + +The books which have been consulted for the poetry of Sir Philip Sidney and +the times in which he lived are--Vol. I. of _An English Garner;_ M. +Jusserand's _Roman du Temps de Shakespere,_ and a very interesting essay on +Sir Philip Sidney and his works, published in Cambridge in 1858. + + WOODSIDE, LEIGH WOODS, + CLIFTON, _October_ 5, 1893. + + + + + _CONTENTS_ + + + BOOK I. + + PAGE + + I. THE SISTERS, 1 + + II. IN THE PARK, 17 + + III. A STRANGE MEETING, 35 + + IV. THE HAWK AND THE BIRD, 60 + + V. RESISTANCE, 82 + + VI. THREE FRIENDS, 101 + + VII. WHITSUNTIDE, 1581, 121 + + VIII. DEFEAT, 146 + + IX. ACROSS THE FORD, 171 + + + BOOK II. + + X. AT WILTON, 207 + + XI. LUMEN FAMILIĈ SUĈ, 223 + + XII. FIRE AND SWORD, 243 + + XIII. RESTORED, 258 + + XIV. WHAT RIGHT? 276 + + XV. THE PASSING OF PHILIP, 296 + + XVI. FOUR YEARS LATER--1590, 311 + + + + + _LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_ + + + THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE, _Frontispiece_ + + PAGE + + PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE, 4 + + THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST, 64 + + PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK, 70 + + OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST, 130 + + THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL, 148 + + THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE, 224 + + THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE, 288 + + + + +BOOK I. + + + 'What man is he that boasts of fleshly might, + And vaine assurance of mortality; + Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight + Against spirituall foes, yields by and by: + Or from the field most cowardly doth fly? + No, let the man ascribe it to his skill, + That thorough grace hath gained victory. + If any strength we have, it is to ill; + But all the good is God's, both power and will.' + + _The Faery Queene_, Book I. Canto 10. + + + + +Penshurst Castle + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SISTERS + + 'She was right faire and fresh as morning rose, + But somewhat sad and solemne eke in sight, + As if some pensive thought constrained her gentle spright.' + + SPENSER. + + +1581.--'There is time yet ere sunset; let me, I pray you, go down to the +lych gate with the wheaten cake for Goody Salter.' + +'Nay, Lucy; methinks there are reasons for your desire to go down to the +village weightier than the wheaten cake you would fain carry with you. Rest +quietly at home; it may be Humphrey will be coming to let us know if Mr +Sidney has arrived at Penshurst. Why such haste, little sister?' + +'Because I do covet a place where I can witness the grand tourney at +Whitehall. It may suit your mood, Mary, to live always on this hilltop, +with naught to see and naught to do; with no company but a cross-grained +stepmother, and the cows and sheep. I am sick of it. Even a run down to the +village is a change. Yes, I am going; one hour, and I will be back.' + +Mary Gifford laid a detaining hand on her young sister's shoulder. + +'Have a care, dear child, nor let your wild fancies run away with your +discretion. Am I not one who has a right to caution you? I who have come +back as a widow to my old home, bereft and lonely.' + +'Because you married a bad man, and rued the day, it is no reason that I +should do the same. Trust me, good sister. I may be young, but I have my +wits about me, and no soft speeches catch me in a net.' + +The elder sister's beautiful face, always grave and mournful in its +earnestness, grew even more mournful than was its wont, as she looked down +into her sister's lovely eyes, and kissed her forehead. + +'Child, I pray God to keep you safe; but the net you speak of is not spread +in the sight of any bird, and it is captured all unawares.' + +Lucy's answer was to return her sister's kiss with a quick, warm embrace, +and then she was off, with the basket on her arm, and her glad, young voice +ringing out,-- + +'Good-bye! good-bye! I'll be back in an hour.' + +Mary Gifford stood under the old stone porch, watching the light figure as +it tripped away, and then was turning into the house again, when a sharp +voice she knew too well called,-- + +'Lucy! Lucy! Where's that hussy? There's two pails of milk to set for cream +in the pans, and the cakes are scorching before the fire. Lucy! Where's +Lucy?' + +Mary Gifford did not reply to the question, but said,-- + +'I will go to the dairy, mother, and see to the milk.' + +'And take your boy with ye, I'll warrant, who will be up to mischief. No, +no; it's Lucy's work, and she shall do it. It will be bedtime before we +know it, for the sun is going down. Lucy!' + +This time a child's voice was heard, as little feet pattered along the +terrace outside Ford Manor. + +'Aunt Lou is gone,' the child said. 'I saw her running down the hill.' + +'Is she? She shall repent it, then, gadding off like that. More shame to +you,' Mrs Forrester said wrathfully, 'to let her go, Mary, and cheat me by +not telling me the truth. You want the child to go to ruin as you did +yourself, I suppose.' + +Mary Gifford's face flushed crimson, as she said,-- + +'It ill becomes my father's wife to taunt his daughter, when he is not here +to defend her. Come with me, Ambrose, nor stay to listen to more hard +words.' + +But the child doubled his small fists, and said, approaching his +grandmother,-- + +'I'll beat you. I'll kill you if you make mother cry! I will, you--' + +'Hush, my little son,' Mary said, drawing the boy away. 'It is near thy +bedtime. Come with me; nor forget thy manners if other folk are not mindful +of theirs.' + +The tears of mingled sorrow and anger were coursing each other down Mary +Gifford's face, but she wiped them hastily away, and, putting her arm round +the child, she led him up the narrow stairs leading from the large kitchen +to the room above, where she sat down, with Ambrose clasped close to her +heart, by the square bay window, which was flung open on this lovely April +evening. + +Ford Manor stood on the slope of the hill, commanding a view of the meadows +stretching down to the valley, where the home of the Sidneys and the tower +of the old church could be seen amongst the trees, now golden in the +brilliant western sunshine of the spring evening. Perhaps there can +scarcely be found a more enchanting prospect than that on which Mary +Gifford looked, as she sat with her boy clasped in her arms, her heart, +which had been pierced with many sorrows, still smarting with the sharp +thrust her stepmother had given her. + +[Illustration: PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE.] + +That young sister whom she loved so passionately, about whom, in her gay +thoughtless youth, she was so anxious, whom she was ever longing to see +safe under the shelter of a good man's love--it was hard that her boy +should hear such words from those pitiless lips--'lead her to +ruin!'--when her one desire was to shield her from all contamination of the +evil world, of which she had herself had such bitter experience. + +Little Ambrose was tired, after a day of incessant running hither and +thither, and lay quiet with his head on his mother's breast, in that +blissful state of contentment to find himself there, which gives the thrill +of deepest joy to a mother's heart. + +Ambrose was six years old, and a fair and even beautiful child. The stiff, +ugly dress of the time, could not quite hide the symmetry of his rounded +limbs, and the large ruff, now much crumpled after the day's wear, set off +to advantage the round chin which rested on it and the rosy lips, which had +just parted with a smile, as Mary said,-- + +'Is my boy sleepy?' + +'No, mother; don't put me a-bed yet' + +Mary was not unwilling to comply with the request, and so they sat on, the +boy's red-gold curls making a gleam of brightness on the sombre black +garments of widowhood which Mary still wore. + +Presently the boy said,-- + +'When I'm a man, will Mr Philip Sidney let me be his esquire? Aunt Lou says +p'raps he will, if you ask him.' + +'My boy will not be a man for many a year yet,' Mary said, pressing the +child closer. 'And he would not leave his mother even for Mr Philip +Sidney.' + +Ambrose sat upright, and said,-- + +'I would come back to you, as Humphrey Ratcliffe comes back to his mother, +but I'd like to ride off with Mr Sidney when I am a man.' + +'Yes, yes, my boy, all in good time.' + +'And I must learn to ride and wrestle, and--oh! a hundred things. I wish to +be a man like Mr Philip Sidney.' + +'May you ever be as good, noble, and learned, my son; but come, the sun is +gone to bed, and Ambrose must go too.' + +Then, with loving hands, she prepared her child for his bed, smoothing back +the shining hair from the pure white brow, where the blue veins were +clearly traced, and Ambrose knelt at her knee and repeated his little +prayer, adding, with childlike simplicity, after the Amen,-- + +'Pray, God, make me a good man, like Mr Philip Sidney.' + +While Mary Gifford and little Ambrose were thus together in the upper +chamber of Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester had reached the old timbered house by +the lych gate of Penshurst Church, and had obtained admission at Goody +Salter's door, and put the wheaten cake and two eggs on the little rickety +table which stood against the wall in the dark, low room. The old woman's +thanks were not very profuse, hers was by no means a grateful disposition, +and, perhaps, there was no great inducement for Lucy to prolong her visit. +However that might be, it was very short, and she was soon outside again, +and standing in the village street, looking right and left, as if +expecting to see someone coming in either direction. It had not escaped +Mary Gifford's notice that Lucy dressed herself with more than ordinary +care. She wore the short skirt of the time, which displayed her small feet +and ankles to advantage. + +Over the skirt was a crimson kirtle of fine cloth, cut square in the +bodice, and crossed by a thick white kerchief, edged with lace. Lucy's +slender neck was set in a ruff, fastened at the throat by a gold brooch, +which sparkled in the light. + +Her chestnut hair was gathered up from her forehead, and a little pointed +cap of black velvet, edged with gold, was set upon it, and contrasted well +with the bright locks, from which a curl, either by accident or design, had +been loosened, and rippled over her shoulder, below her waist. + +Lucy was well known in the village, and, as she stood debating whether she +should go home or wait for a few minutes longer, a man, with the badge of +the Sidneys on his arm, came up on horseback, and turned into the park +gate, which was near this end of the village. + +'They must be coming now,' she said; 'they must be coming. Perhaps I shall +see Humphrey, and he will tell me if Mr Sydney is returning this evening. I +can hide behind the trees just outside the gate. No one will see me.' + +Presently another horseman came riding slowly along. He was hailed by one +of the loiterers in the street, and Lucy heard the question asked and +answered. + +'Yes, Mr Sidney is on the road. He is gone round by the main entrance, with +two of his gentlemen.' + +'He won't pass this way, then, to-night,' Lucy thought. 'Oh, I wish I could +see him. Humphrey is so dull, and he won't ask him to do what I want. I +know my Lady Mary would take me to see the show if Mr Philip wished, and--' + +'Lucy, why are you here alone?' and the speaker dismounted, and, throwing +the reins of his horse to a groom, he was at her side in a moment. + +'I came down to bring food to the hungry. Where's the harm of that?' + +'It is getting late. I'll walk up the hill with you. Lucy, does Mistress +Gifford know of your coming?' + +'What if she doesn't? I please myself; tell me, Humphrey, is Mr Sidney come +home?' + +'For a few days. He returns shortly for the great tournament at Whitehall +in honour of the French Embassy.' + +'On Sunday next. Oh, Humphrey, I do want to see it--to see Mr Sidney tilt. +I would walk to London to see it, if I can't ride. There is so little time +left. Why won't you ask--beg--pray someone to take me?' + +'The tournament is put off. There is time enough and to spare. Her Majesty +the Queen has desired delay, and a day in May is now fixed. Three weeks +hence--' + +'Three weeks hence! Then there is hope. I shall go to Lady Mary myself, if +I don't see Mr Sidney.' + +'Well, well, come home now, or Mistress Gifford will be full of fears about +you. I marvel that you should add a drop of bitterness to her full cup.' + +'I hate you to talk like that,' Lucy said. 'I love Mary better than all the +world beside. No one loves her as I do.' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe sighed. + +'You speak rashly, like the wayward child you are. In sober earnest, Lucy, +you are too fair to wander into the village alone, and you know it.' + +'I wanted to go into the park, and then you came and stopped me.' + +'If I did, so much the better,' was the reply. 'I will see you over the +river, at least. Then I must return, to find out if Mr Sidney has any +commands for the morrow.' + +They had reached the River Medway now--in these days scarcely more than a +shallow stream, crossed by stepping-stones, or by a narrow plank, with a +handrail on one side only. When the river was low, it was easy to cross the +ford, but, when swollen by heavy rains, it required some skill to do so, +and many people preferred to use the plank as a means of crossing the +stream. + +Just as Lucy had put her foot on the first stepping-stone, and rejected all +Humphrey's offers of help with a merry laugh, they were joined by +Humphrey's brother, who was coming down the hill in the opposite direction. + +'Stop! hold, Mistress Lucy!' he cried. 'Mistress Forrester, hold!' + +'What for?' she said. 'I am coming over,' and with extraordinary swiftness, +Lucy sprang from stone to stone, and, reaching the opposing bank, curtseyed +to George Ratcliffe, saying,-- + +'Your pleasure, sir?' + +'My pleasure is that you should not put your limbs in peril by scaling +those slippery stones. Why not take the bridge?' + +'Because I like the ford better. Good-bye. Good-bye, Humphrey,' she called, +waving her hand to the other brother who stood on the bank. + +'Good-bye, Mistress Lucy, George will take care of you now. And make all +haste homewards.' + +Lucy now began to race up the steep hill at full speed, and her faithful +squire had much difficulty to keep up with her light, airy footsteps. + +He was a giant in height and build, and was breathless, when, at the turn +on the side of the hill leading to Ford Manor, Lucy paused. + +'You have no cause to come a step further,' she said, laughing. 'Why, +Master Ratcliffe, you are puffing like old Meg when she has pulled the cart +up the hill! Good even to you.' + +'Stop, Mistress Forrester.' + +'Well, now you are more respectful, I will stop. Well, pray thee, take +breath, and make short work of what you are going to say.' + +George hesitated, as much from shyness as from want of breath. + +'My mother bids me say that she would fain have you sup with her on the +morrow. Say yes, Lucy; say yes.' + +'Oh! I must ask permission first,' she said, 'for, you know, I am a dutiful +step-daughter; but commend me to your mother, and say I will come if they +will permit me, for I love Madam Ratcliffe's sweet pasties. We do not get +sweet pasties yonder. We are bidden to think all sweet and pleasant things +unwholesome, and so we ought to believe it is true; but I don't, for one. +Good-night.' + +And Lucy was away along the rugged path at the side of the lane, with its +deep ruts and loose stones, before George Ratcliffe could say another word. + +He pursued his way for another mile up the hill, till he came to a house of +rather more pretension than Ford Manor, but of the same character, with a +heavy stone portico and square bays on either side. The diamond-shaped +panes of the lattice were filled in with thick glass, which had only, +within the last few years, replaced the horn which had admitted but little +light into the room, and had been the first attempt at filling in the +windows to keep out rain and storm. Until the latter years of Henry the +Eighth's reign wooden shutters were universal even in the homes of the rich +and great. + +The Ratcliffes had held their land under the lords of Penshurst for more +than two centuries, and had, as in duty bound, supplied men and arms, when +called upon to do so by their chief. + +The Forresters held also the same tenure of the pasture lands and meadows +which sloped down from Ford Manor, and, in earlier times, they had been the +keepers of the woods which clothed the undulating ground about Penshurst, +and the stately beeches and chestnut trees which stand almost unrivalled in +the far stretching park, where the grand old house of the Sidneys is +situated. + +But Mr Forrester, the father of Mary Gifford and Lucy, was the last of his +race, and, though his widow and daughter still occupied the Manor Farm, the +office of keeper of the woods had fallen to another family on a more +distant part of the estate, and it was only by courtesy that Mrs Forrester +was permitted to remain in the house for her life. + +The Ratcliffes occupied a superior position, and Mrs Ratcliffe prided +herself on her family, and considered Mrs Forrester very much beneath her +in the social scale. + +Was not her younger son the favourite squire of Mr Philip Sidney, an honour +coveted by many, and had he not acquired the air and bearing of the +gentlemen about the Court of the Maiden Queen, and was he not, moreover, +educated in book learning as befitted his position. George, if more homely +in his person and manner, was known in the whole district as a man of +honour, and celebrated for his breed of horses, and for the excellence of +his farm produce. + +He superintended everything connected with the small estate, and supplied +the neighbouring gentry with horses, when, perhaps for some hastily formed +expedition, they were suddenly required. + +Both brothers were respected in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ratcliffe had +indeed cause to be satisfied with the sons who had so well taken up the +place their father had left vacant, by a sudden death in the prime of his +manhood. + +George Ratcliffe found his mother seated at the head of the long table, +where the men and maidens employed on the farm were gathered at the lower +end. + +All rose when George entered, and he said, addressing his mother, as he +seated himself near her,-- + +'I am later than I thought. I crave pardon, good mother.' + +'Granted, my son,' was the reply, with an inclination of the head, which +was, to say the least of it, very stately. + +Mrs Ratcliffe stood always upon her dignity before her household, and never +forgot herself, or allowed others to forget, that she was the daughter of a +Knight of the Shire, and that her own family was connected with some of the +leading people at Court. Distantly connected, but still the fact remained, +and Mrs Ratcliffe made the most of it. + +When the horn-handled knife had been struck thrice on the board by the +bailiff, who sat at the lower end, the large party rose. George rose also, +and said a short grace. Then the hall was deserted, the servants waiting +till Madam retired to her room, before they cleared away the dishes. + +George made a hasty meal, and then, giving his hand to his mother, he led +her through a door at the upper end of the hall to her own parlour. + +The spring twilight was deepening, and the figures of both mother and son +were but dimly visible. + +Perhaps George was not sorry that there was but little light for his mother +to discover the blush which rose to his honest face, as he said,-- + +I saw Mistress Lucy Forrester an hour agone, and I bid her to sup with us +on the morrow. I gained your consent to do so,' he added hurriedly. + +'You told me of your purpose, George,' his mother said coldly. 'I did not +forbid it, but I could hardly be said to consent. The poor girl may be well +favoured; I do not deny it.' + +'Who could deny it?' George exclaimed, with some heat. + +'I said I did not deny it; but her relations are, methinks, very coarse.' + +'Mother, there is not a gentler lady in the land than Mistress Gifford. If +you doubt my word inquire of Mr Sidney or Lady Mary.' + +'There is no occasion for this heat, George; it is unbecoming.' + +'Pardon, my mother, but I cannot brook hearing Mistress Gifford and +Mistress Lucy put down as coarse. Coarse!' he repeated--'it is too much! +They can't help themselves that their father chose to marry a virago like +their stepmother. More shame to him; no shame to them.' + +'Well-a-day, George, you are really upsetting me. I can hear no more. Stop +this tirade, or I shall swoon; you know I never am fitted to bear loud +voices, or contention and strife. You have bidden the girl to sup, and, as +your cousin Dolly will be here, it will not be amiss for once. But I never +desire to have intercourse with the folk at Ford Place. Although I am a +widow, I must not forget your father's standing. I visit at the Castle, and +dear Lady Mary is so good as to call me her friend. Thus, to be a friend of +Mistress Forrester also is beyond my wish or desire, and surely you could +not desire it.' + +George did not reply at first, then he said,-- + +'Mr Philip Sidney does not despise Mistress Gifford; indeed, it is true, +there is no scorn in him towards anyone that breathes, save only against +mean cowards, liars and traitors. But I wish you a goodnight, mother. I +have to see how the mare does that foaled this morning. She is of great +value to me, and I would fain save her life, if may be.' + +When her son was gone, Mistress Ratcliffe resigned herself to meditation. + +'He is in love with that child, poor, silly boy. She may be pretty, but it +is the beauty which soon fades. I must keep Dolly with me. She has a pretty +fortune, if not a fair face, and is of our blood, and a meet match for my +home-loving son. I have other hopes for Humphrey. He will wed with some +gentlewoman about the Court. If Mr Philip Sidney wills to bring it about, +it is done. Then I shall be a proud, happy mother, and I shall get out my +taffeta with the old lace, and the ornaments I have not worn since my +husband died, to do honour to the wedding. Humphrey will be knighted some +fine day, and then he shall raise the family again to its proper level.' + + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE PARK + + Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.--BEN JONSON. + + +The dew lay upon the grass the next morning, and the eastern rays of the +rising sun had but just shot across the slopes of Penshurst Park, when +Philip Sidney passed from under the great gateway of the noble house--or +castle, for it was embattled, by the king's leave, in the reign of Edward +IV,--and crossed the turf towards the avenue of beeches now clothed in the +tenderest hues of spring. + +He was at this time in high favour at Court. The cloud which his brave +protest against the Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou had cast over +him had passed away, and he was again the favourite on whom Elizabeth +smiled, and from whom she expected and received due homage. But the +perpetual demands made by Elizabeth on her admiring courtiers was often +felt to be irksome. + +The chains might be silken, but they were, nevertheless, binding, and it +was a relief to Philip Sidney to escape from the atmosphere of the Court at +times, to breathe the pure air of his home in the fair land of Kent. + +Penshurst Place was, and is, one of the most beautiful of the stately homes +of England. + +On this April morning the long _façade_ was smiling in the early rays of +the sun, and, as Philip crossed the Park he turned, and, looking back at +it, felt stirring within him that pride of race and home, which is perhaps +one of the strongest points in the character of a well-born Englishman. + +'A fair inheritance, doubtless,' he said. 'All things are fair save where +sin and wrong enters. Why should my good Languet have grudged me my +retirement, and rejoice that I have again gone forth into the troublesome +world. 'Success at Court is dearly bought, and I must ever bear about with +me a burden which no mortal eye sees.' + +As Philip Sidney paced under the shadow of the beeches, the deep bronze of +fallen leaves at his feet glowing here and there into living gold, as the +low rays of the eastern sun shone through the branches, thinly veiled, as +yet, with tender green, to any casual observer, he did not wear the +appearance of a man whose heart knew any bitterness or was weighted with +any burden. + +His light figure, with its easy swing as he walked, the perfect symmetry of +every limb, the pose of his well-shaped head, from which he had removed the +small cap with its short plume, raising his face that the fresh air might +fan it, were all in harmony with the pride and glory of his young manhood. +Suddenly his eyes shone with a smile of welcome, as a lady came from under +the great chestnuts, which were already spreading their fan-like leaves +from every branch, and exclaimed,-- + +'Ah! sister mine, I little thought I should find you before me breathing +the soft pure air. It has brought the colour to your cheeks which I love to +see.' + +'Methinks those who lie a-bed late lose the best of the day, Philip, and +how surpassingly lovely Penshurst is.' + +'Wilton does not make it less dear, then, Mary.' + +'Nay, both are beautiful, and,' she added, 'both are home now; but tender +thoughts ever cling to the place where childhood has been passed. And how +fares it with you, dear brother?' the Countess of Pembroke said, as she put +her hand within Philip's arm. + +'But ill, Mary. I strive, God knoweth, to conquer, but I cannot, I cannot.' + +'Nay, Philip, you shall not say so. You must conquer.' + +'If I could free myself from the chain--if I could--but it maddens me, +Mary, to think she loved me, and that I was so blind, so blind. She is the +wife of a man she loathes, and I--I am to blame. I, who would have died for +her.' + +'Live for her, Philip. Live to show her all that is noble and pure in your +life, and so do her good and not evil. Yes, dear brother, by nurturing this +love you do her a worse evil than you know of. Sure, you would not bring +her to a new misery, a worse misery.' + +'No, no. I would not, yet I would. But the sting lies here; hearken, Mary, +to this sonnet, lately penned:-- + + 'I might--unhappy word! O me! I might, + And then would not, or could not, see my bliss + Till now, wrapped in a most infernal night, + I find how heavenly day--wretch! I did miss. + Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right. + No lovely Paris made thy Helen his; + No force, no fraud, robbed thee of thy delight; + Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is. + But to myself, myself did give the blow, + While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me, + That I respects, for both our sakes, must show. + And yet could not by rising morn foresee + How fair a day was near--O punished eyes! + That I had been more foolish, or more wise!' + + _Astrophel and Stella_, Sonnet xxxiii. + +'Dear brother,' the Countess of Pembroke said,--'these wild laments are not +worthy of you. You shall not make any man moan. You will conquer at last, +and come out of the fight a nobler man. The very beauty around us seems to +bid us rejoice to-day. Come, let us speak of happier themes. You will like +to see my little Will, and carry back good news of him to the Queen, whose +godson he is. Tell her she hath a brave knight in store in our little Will. +You scarce ever saw such tricks as he has, and is not yet one year old.' + +Philip Sidney threw off his melancholy mood at his sister's bidding, and, +looking down at her, kissed her pure, fair forehead. + +'Pembroke has reason to rejoice in possessing your love, Mary, and I doubt +not the boy is worthy of you, though he does not, or did not, when I saw +him, resemble you.' + +'No, he is far handsomer; he has dark eyes and lashes; they lay curled upon +his fair cheeks, making the only shadow there. Will has not the +amber-coloured hair of us Sidneys.' + +As this brother and sister stood together in the morning light under the +spreading boughs of the trees, they bore a striking similarity to each +other. + +Theirs was not the mere beauty of form and feature, though that was in both +remarkable. + +Intellectual power was seen in the wide, straight brow, and the light of +that inner fire we call genius shone in the eyes. It has been said by +contemporary records that Philip Sidney's beauty was too feminine in its +character; but, if in colouring of hair and complexion and delicate outline +of feature, this might be true; there was wonderful strength of purpose in +the mouth and upward curve of the chin which indicated resolution and +courage, and determination to conquer difficulties. + +His sister's words were to come true, 'You will conquer at last, and come +out of the fight a nobler man.' + +'We must turn homewards now. How long do you tarry here, Philip?' + +'But two or three days. Shall we not journey to London in company with +Mary. This tournament needs much preparation; I did but snatch a few days +to speak on our father's affairs and to breathe freely for a short space, +and then I must return.' + +Philip Sidney sighed. + +'Nay, Philip, what hardship is there in being the favourite of the Queen, +save for the jealousy it may breed. Our good Uncle Leicester tells +marvellous tales of the manner in which the fair ladies of the Court are +ever ready to smile on you, to say nought of the Queen's own delight to +have you near her. She seems to have forgotten your former protest against +the Duke of Anjou, and to believe in your approval now.' + +'It is scarce approval, Mary, but the Queen must do as she lists. She is of +an age to discern what is best for herself and her realm.' + +'She is, indeed, of an age to do so,' Mary said, with a silvery laugh. 'But +queens never grow old, they leave the process to humbler folk, Philip.' + +They had reached the house now, and passed under the gateway into the +quadrangle, just as the big bell was making a great clamour with its iron, +merciless tongue. + +'Breakfast is served,' the Countess said, 'and our good mother will already +be on the dais awaiting us. Would that our father were here with her. He +will be present at the tournament, and I will do my utmost to persuade him +to take a month of summer here at Penshurst, and dismiss all care for the +time.' + +Lady Mary welcomed her son and daughter with a glad smile. She had also +been astir early, looking into the affairs of her household, in the home +where the unbroken family so seldom met now. Lady Mary's life had been a +chequered one, and she had suffered much as a wife, from the unfair +treatment her brave, noble husband, Sir Henry Sidney, had received at the +Queen's hand. + +He was poor in purse and wounded in heart for his service in Ireland, from +which he returned at last, losing everything but honour. He was also Lord +President of Wales, and received small thanks for all he did in the +interests of the Principality, and less gratitude. When breakfast was +concluded, Lady Mary Sidney summoned Philip to a conference with her in the +small ante-room, which was reached by a stone staircase at the upper end of +the large hall. + +'You came hither, my son, as your good father's officer. How do you feel +towards this scheme? If my husband, your father, be sent for the fourth +time to Ireland, will you accompany him, and serve him with the wisdom you +ever show, Philip? It is time your father's services should gain some +reward. Speak, Philip; do not hang back, but let me hear your mind.' + +'Ah, sweet mother,' Philip said, seating himself on a settle at his +mother's side, and taking her hand in his, 'do not think I slight my good +father, or disparage all his great service for Ireland, if I say I cannot +advise him to move in this matter. I was amazed when Molineux came charged +with this mission to Court, and I told him I disapproved the appeal being +made. For myself, I could not go thither to Ireland in the capacity my +father speaks of; and as to the Queen conferring on him a title of nobility +or large estates, she will never do it. I know this much, and I counsel my +father to let the matter rest. He is held in respect at Ludlow, he has our +own fair home of Penshurst as an inheritance, why, then, enfeebled in +health, should he seek to be embroiled for the fourth time in the affairs +of that unhappy country of Ireland? Misfortune followed his earlier +footsteps there, is it to be counted on that as a man prematurely old and +worn, he should have better success, say rather win more gratitude. Nay, +dearest and best of wives and mothers, let me beg of you to dissuade my +father from this project.' + +'Philip,' Lady Sidney replied, with some heat, 'my heart throbs with +indignation when I think of the treatment your noble father has received at +the hands of the royal mistress he has served with honest devotion. He is +no smooth-tongued courtier, Philip; he has taken no lessons in the school +of flattery, and for this he is cast aside and misused. Think,' Lady Sidney +said, 'think, Philip, of the scant and mean allowance of twenty pounds +weekly he receives as President of Wales. Forsooth, to keep up any fitting +dignity in our mansion it costs us thrice that sum. And if it is complained +that I am with my dear spouse, and so add to the cost, sure I am worth my +meat, of which my poor scarred face is a token. Scarce ever do I see these +scars but I remember how I caught that baleful disease, from which God keep +you, my son. Should He visit you with it, may you be tended with the care +wherewith I tended the Queen's highness, when most of her attendants stood +far off. Nay, Philip, I fear you are in danger of forgetting the past +service your parents have rendered, in the glamour of the present favour +shown to you at Court.' + +Lady Mary Sidney's voice trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. + +Philip could never brook the sight of his mother's distress; and he knew +all she said was perfectly true and could not be contradicted. + +'I will confer with my father on this matter,' he said. 'Dear mother, do +not, I pray you, deem me hard and indifferent. As soon as this +entertainment of the Ambassadors from France is over, I will set about +inquiring into the aspect of affairs, and find out my Lord Burleigh's +views. If I see cause to change my mind, I will not be too proud to own +it.' + +'That is like my noble Philip,' his mother said. 'Ah, my son, this heavy +money trouble as to debts and ceaseless claims, makes of me an old woman, +far more than the scars of the dire disease which snatched away my beauty +twenty years ago. You were but a little fellow then, but then, as now, wise +beyond your years. It was hard for me to meet your inquiring gaze, and to +hear the smothered sigh as you looked on your mother's changed face. While +little Mary drew back from my offered kiss, and cried out, "It is not my +pretty mother," you put your arms round me, saying to her, "It is our own +dear mother, Mary. Fie then, for shame," as she struggled to get away from +the woman who tried to force her to kiss me.' Then with the swift change of +mood which characterised Lady Sidney she stroked Philip's cheek, and said +laughing,--'How many fair ladies are sighing for your favour, my son? Truly +the hearts of many must be in danger of capture. Wit, wisdom, learning and +beauty such as yours do not often go hand in hand.' + +'Nay; now, mother mine, I shall say you have taken lessons in the school of +flattery, for which you were ready to take me to task not long ago. But I +must away to look round the stables, and see to the proper equipment of the +men who will ride with me to the tourney at Whitehall next month.' + + * * * * * + +Lucy Forrester found her household duties irksome the next morning. + +A wrangle with her stepmother had ended in a stormy scene, when Mrs +Forrester gave Lucy a sudden box on the ear for neglecting to replenish the +fire on the open hearth with wood, so that when it was time to hang up the +kettle to boil the meat for the dinner, served at eleven o'clock to the +family, there were only a few smouldering white ashes left. + +'As if I cared a groat for you! Box the other ear if you like, and kindle +your own fire, for me.' + +'You shall not have bite or sup in this house to-day,' Mrs Forrester +screamed, as Lucy darted out of the kitchen, answering,-- + +'I don't want your food. I know where I shall be better served.' + +With flashing eyes and heightened colour, Lucy found herself face to face, +on the strip of rough ground before the house, with Humphrey Ratcliffe. + +'Mistress Lucy,' he exclaimed, 'whether are you rushing like a whirlwind?' + +'Anywhere, to get out of hearing of that tongue. Hark, now, it is still +wagging like the clapper of a bell.' + +'Where is Mistress Gifford?' Humphrey asked, without taking any notice of +Lucy's reference to the quarrel which he guessed had been raging. + +'Oh, it's Mary you want to see, not me,' Lucy said. 'Well, she is gone up +to the shepherd's hut to look after a sick child there. She has got the boy +with her, and I promised to see to the fire on the hearth, but I didn't, +and that is the cause of the uproar. But good Master Humphrey, help me to +get to London to see the great tourney. Oh!' clasping her her hands in +entreaty, 'I pray you help me to get there. I am so sick of this place. Why +should I be kept here till I am old?' + +'That is a-far off day, Mistress Lucy,' Humphrey said. 'But I have a plan +which, if it succeeds, may give you your desire.' + +'Oh, you are good, Master Humphrey, so good!' + +'My mother wishes to see London again, and I can provide her with lodgings +not far from Whitehall. It may be there will be a corner found for you, +that is to say, if Mistress Gifford approves.' + +'I'll make her approve, I warrant. I am to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe this +evening, and I will be as meek as a lamb and curtsey my lowest to her, and +call her madam, and be ever so smiling to Master George. I'll win favour +for once.' + +Humphrey discreetly forbore to let Lucy know that it was at George's +earnest desire he had determined to make this proposal to their mother. + +'Tell me, Master Humphrey, will Mr Sidney be coming this way to-day?' + +'It may be; he had to choose two extra horses from George's stalls for the +journey. George himself is, of course, to be in attendance, and one of our +serving men as groom. It is possible that Mr Sidney may be coming either +to-day or on the morrow.' + +'He will not pass without seeing Mary. I wish--' + +But Lucy had not time to say what the wish was, for Mary Gifford and her +little son were now seen coming along a field path which led down the +hillside from the open country beyond. + +Humphrey stepped forward quickly to meet them, and lifted Ambrose over the +stile, in spite of his declaration that he could get over by himself. + +Humphrey tossed the child high in the air before he set him on his legs +again, and then said to Mary,-- + +'Out on a mission of mercy, as is your wont, Mistress Gifford.' + +Mary's colour rose as she said,-- + +'The sick and poor are always in the world.' + +'And the sad also,' Humphrey said, with an appealing look, which Mary +understood only too well. + +'Come and see the little chickies, Master Humphrey,' Ambrose said. 'There's +three little ducks amongst them. Aunt Lou put the eggs under the old mother +for fun. Grannie does not know, and when the little ducklings waddle off to +the pond, she'll be in a fright, and think they'll all be drowned, and so +will the hen.' + +But Humphrey scarcely heeded the child's chatter, he was earnestly looking +at Mary Gifford's face. + +Surely there must be some fresh cause of trouble there, for he thought he +saw traces of recent tears. + +Little Ambrose, finding his appeal to Humphrey took no effect, scampered +off to the poultry yard, Lucy following. She thought it would be wiser to +leave Humphrey to plead her cause, and persuade Mary that if his mother +would consent to her journey to London, she was better out of the way when +Mary raised objections to the fulfilment of her wishes. + +'Is there any new cause of trouble, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey asked. + +'Nothing new--as you take the word.' + +'Nought in which I can be of help?' + +Mary hesitated, and Humphrey said,-- + +'The wrangles and quarrels yonder are on the increase. Is that so?' he +asked. 'I heard loud voices when I came up to the house a short time ago, +and Lucy rushed out with flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes.' + +'Poor child,' Mary said, 'I will not say there is not blame on both sides, +but the life we lead yonder becomes more and more hard. It is ill training +for my little son to see angry passions raging, and to hear loud +reproaches.' + +'I know it! I know it!' Humphrey exclaimed. 'End it, Mary--end it for ever, +and come and bless me with your love.' + +'Nay, Humphrey, do not urge me to do what is impossible. It cannot be.' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe turned away with an impatient gesture, saying,-- + +'I see no glory in self-martyrdom. I offer you a home, and I swear to +protect you from all evil, and keep your boy from evil, train him to be a +noble gentleman, and, forsooth, you turn away and will have none of me.' + +'Dear friend,' Mary began in a low voice, 'trust me so far as to believe +that I have a reason--a good reason--for refusing what would be, I doubt +not, a haven of calm after the troubled waters of my life. Trust me, kind +Master Ratcliffe, nor think ill of me. I pray you.' + +'Ill of you! nay, Mary, you know no saint in heaven is ever more devoutly +worshipped than I worship you.' But, seeing her distress as he said these +words, he went on,--'I will wait, I will bide my time, and, meanwhile, +serve you in all ways I can. Here is this child, your young sister, chafing +against the life she leads here. I will do my best to persuade my mother to +take her in her company to London for the grand show, and it may be that +some great lady may take a fancy for her, and she may win a place as +waiting-woman about the person of some Court dame. Do you consent? Do you +give me permission to try?' + +'But Lucy is not in favour with your mother; she disdains us as beneath her +notice.' + +'Not you--not Lucy; it is your father's widow whom she mislikes. Her +Puritan whims and fancies are a cause of offence, and no aversions are so +strong as those begotten by religious difference.' + +'That is so, alas!' Mary Gifford said. 'Persecution for diversity of faith, +rather for diversity in the form of worship: it is this that tears this +country into baleful divisions, and pierces it with wounds which are slow +to heal.' + +'That is true,' Humphrey said; 'and the law, condemning all Papists to +suffer extreme penalty, if found worshipping God after their own manner, +has a cruel significance. But we must not forget the fires of Smithfield, +nor the horrors to which this country was subjected when Spanish influence +was at work with a Papist queen on the throne.' + +'No,' Mary said in a low voice. 'Nor can we forget the grey head of that +queen's dearest friend, which was brought to the block, and stirred the +bitterness of revenge in Queen Mary's heart.' + +'Well,' Humphrey said, 'I am vowed to resist, with all possible might, the +encroachments of Spain,--which means the plotting of Philip to force the +religion of the Pope upon an unwilling people--in the Low Countries first, +and then, believe me, he will not stop there. Mr Sidney's protest against +the Queen's marriage with the Duc of Anjou was founded on the horror he +felt of seeing this realm given over once more to the power of the Pope. Mr +Sidney saw, with his own eyes, the Massacre of St Bartholomew; and what +security could there be if any of this crafty Medici race should be set on +high in this country?' + +'Mr Sidney has changed somewhat in his views. Is it not so?' Mary asked. + +'He has submitted to the inevitable--that is to say, finding the Queen +determined, he, with Lord Burleigh and others in high office, will confer +with the ambassadors who come from France for the purpose--praying +secretly, however, that the whole matter may fall to pieces. And, indeed, +this is likely. The Queen's highness is loth to lose her supremacy, and +there are favourites at Court who would ill brook to be displaced by a +rival power. My lord the Earl of Leicester is one, though he hides his real +feeling from his nephew, my noble master.' + +Mary Gifford was silent for a few moments, then she said,-- + +'If you can aid my poor little sister to get her heart's desire, do so. I +consent, for life here is not to be desired for many reasons. Ah! Master +Ratcliffe,' Mary said, 'how fair is this world, and is there a fairer spot +in it than these our native hills and valleys over which we look every day? +See the wooded heights yonder, in all the varied colours of the early +spring; see the sloping pastures, where the flowers make a carpet! Often as +I look on it, and see the tower of the church rising amongst the red-tiled +roofs of the cottages, and beyond, the stately pile of Penshurst Castle, I +think if only sin were absent, and truth and righteousness reigned, this +village would find no rival save in the Eden before the serpent entered, +and the ruin came with sin!' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe liked to watch Mary's face as she spoke; but, as he left +her, a few minutes later, he felt there was something which divided them +and made his suit hopeless. What was it? + +He knew but little of the history of her short married life. Her suitor had +come in the train of the Earl of Leicester in one of his visits to +Penshurst. + +That she had been cruelly deceived was known, and that she had come back to +her old home of Ford Manor with her child, clad in the weeds of widowhood, +but saying nothing of what had really happened. Rumour had been busy, and +Ambrose Gifford had been supposed to have been slain in a disgraceful +fight; but nothing was absolutely certain; and Humphrey Ratcliffe, who had +known Mary from her girlhood, now discovered that he had loved her always, +and that he had failed to win her in her early youth because he had never +tried to do so, and now that he loved her passionately, he was to find his +suit was hopeless. + +Perhaps it was the similarity between his own case and that of his master's +that made the tie between them stronger than is often the case between an +esquire and his chief. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A STRANGE MEETING + + 'Before the door sat self-consuming Care, + Day and night keeping wary watch and ward + For fear lest Force or Fraud should unaware + Break in, and spoil the treasure there in gard.' + + SPENSER. + + +Lucy Forrester soon forgot the vexation and anger which her stepmother's +scolding had roused. She kept out of her sight, and entertained little +Ambrose with stories of fairies and elfs and imps and hobgoblins till the +time came for her to go up the hill to the Ratcliffes' house. + +Lucy did not attempt to sit down at the board when dinner was served at +eleven o'clock. She had once or twice, when in disgrace, rebelled at the +sight of the crust of bread and the mug of water which had been set before +her as a token of Mistress Forrester's displeasure. + +'I am not a child now,' she thought, 'to be gaped at by serving men and +maids. I will take care of myself in the buttery, and then get ready for my +walk up the hill. Perhaps, who knows, I may chance to meet Mr Sidney, and +I may get a word from him or a rare smile; and then a fig for frowns and +the rating and scolding of fifty cross stepmothers! I wish Mary did not +look so grave. I hate to grieve her. Well-a-day, if only I can get to +London, and see him in the tourney, I shall die of joy.' + +Lucy was scarcely sixteen, an enthusiastic child, who had conceived a +romantic devotion for Mr Philip Sidney, and worshipped his ideal as maidens +of her temperament have worshipped at their idol's shrine since time began. + +And who can blame this country maiden if she cherished a passionate +admiration for one, who won the hearts of Court ladies and hoary statesmen +of a grave scholar like Hubert Languet, and of the Queen herself, who +called him the brightest jewel of her Court, and who often excited the +jealousy of her older favourites by the marks of favour she bestowed on +him. + +In the village church on Sundays Lucy would sit with anxious, eager +expectation till she saw the Sidney pew filled; if Mr Sidney was present it +was an hour or two of bliss; if, as was frequently the case, his place was +empty, she would bow her head to hide the tears of vexation and +disappointment which started to her eyes. + +Nor have these dreams of youthful romance wholly passed away. Even in the +rush and hurry of the prosaic world at the end of the nineteenth century +they yet give a certain pleasure of unfulfilled longings to some young +hearts, and fade away like the early cloud and morning dew, to leave behind +only a memory of mingled pain and sweetness, recalled in after time with +something of self-pity and something of surprise that such things had ever +seemed real and not visionary, and had touched the warm springs in the +heart now chilled, it may be, by the stern exigencies of this transitory +life. + +It must be said that few idols have been worthier of youthful adoration +than was this true knight at whose shrine Lucy laid her heart. If there +were spots in the sun, 'wandering isles of night,' which were at this time +somewhat darkening its lustre, they were unknown to Lucy Forrester. Philip +Sidney was to her all that was noble, pure, and true, and, as she put on +her prettiest cap, with its long veil and little edge of seed pearls, +Mary's gift, and crossed her finest kerchief across her breast, she saw +herself in the bit of polished steel which served for her mirror, and +smiled as she thought,-- + +'What if I meet him on the way, he may look at me with some approval. I +cannot help it. I do love to be fair, and why should I pretend I am ugly, +even to myself. No,' she went on turning her graceful head, first to the +right and then to the left, before the little mirror; 'no, I can't pretend +to be ugly, like Doll Ratcliffe, who makes eyes at poor old George. She may +have him, ay, and welcome, for all I care.' + +Lucy was pirouetting round the confined space of her attic chamber, which +was bare enough of all ornament, and mean and humble in its furniture, when +little Ambrose's feet were heard on the wooden stairs leading to this upper +story of the old house, and he called, in his loud, childish treble,-- + +'Aunt Lou, you are to come down and see Mr Sidney.' + +Lucy clasped her small hands together in an ecstasy of delight. + +'Is it true--is it true, Ambrose? Child, is it true?' + +'I always say true things, mother saith lies are wicked,' the boy +exclaimed. 'You are very pretty, Aunt Lou. I like you. I wish mother would +wear red gowns, and--and--' + +But Lucy paid no heed to the child's compliments. She gave a parting look +at the mirror, and then brushed past little Ambrose and went downstairs +with a beating heart. + +Mr Sidney was standing on the rough ground before Ford Place, leaning +against the gnarled trunk of an ancient thorn tree, which had yet life +enough left in it to put forth its tiny, round buds of pink and white, soon +to open and fill the air with fragrance. + +By his side Mary Gifford stood, with her face turned towards the smiling +landscape before her. + +Philip Sidney, with the courtesy of the true gentleman, advanced to Lucy +with his cap in his hand, bending the knee, and greeting her with all the +grace and courtly ceremony with which he would have greeted the highest +lady in the land. + +The girl's face shone with proud delight, and the young voice trembled a +little as she said, in answer to his question,-- + +'I thank you, sir, I am well and hearty.' + +'I need scarce ask the question,' Mr Sidney said. 'With your good sister's +approval, I came to inquire if you would care to fill the vacant place in +my sister the Countess of Pembroke's household. She leaves Penshurst +shortly, and will be at Leicester House before returning to Wilton. One of +her gentlewomen is summoned to her father's deathbed, and Mistress Crawley, +her bower-woman, needs help. I am not learned in the secrets of the +toilette, but you would soon learn what might be expected of you.' + +'And shall I see the great show, sir--shall I see the tourney and the +knights tilting?' Lucy said, unable to repress her joy. + +'Doubtless,' Mr Sidney replied laughing. 'But, Mistress Lucy, it will not +be all play. Mistress Crawley is a somewhat stern task-mistress. My sister +bade me say as much. Therefore, consider the proposal well, and consult +Mistress Gifford, than whom you cannot have a wiser counsellor.' + +'Mary,' Lucy exclaimed, 'I may go to serve my Lady of Pembroke? Speak, +Mary.' + +Mary Gifford now turned towards Lucy and Mr Sidney. Up to this time she had +averted her face. + +'You must remember, Lucy,' she said gently, 'Mr Sidney's words. It will +not be all play, and, methinks, you have often shown impatience of control +and undue heat when your will is crossed.' + +Lucy's face flushed crimson, as she answered,-- + +'It is not kind to say this, Mary. You know--you must know how hard it is +to please the one who rules here.' + +'I know it, dear child, full well,' Mary said. 'But we must not hinder Mr +Sidney longer. It will be only right to consult our stepmother, and crave +leave of Mr Sidney to defer an answer till the morrow.' + +'By all means, Mistress Gifford, do so,' Philip Sidney said. + +While these words had passed between the two sisters, little Ambrose had +been curiously stroking the hilt of Mr Sidney's sword, and fingering the +wide ends of the belt which held it in its place. + +'Oh,' the child said, 'I hope I shall have a sword when I am a man, and go +to battle with you, sir. Will you take me with you when I am big and +strong?' + +'Will I not!' Mr Sidney said. 'The time may come when I shall want to +gather all loyal hearts round me for service. I'll not forget you, Ambrose, +if so it chances.' + +'You are but a little child, my son,' Mary said, with a sudden gesture, +putting her arm round him. 'You must stay with your mother for a long, long +time, and be a dutiful son.' + +'I am near seven years old, and I can fling a stone further than Giles, +the cowherd's boy, and I can bend a bow, and--' + +'Hush, my little son,' Mary Gifford said. 'Do not chatter of your doings. +Mr Sidney does not care to hear of them.' + +'Strength of limb is good,' Philip said, 'but strength of will is better, +little Ambrose. Strive to be a dutiful son to the best of mothers. A +fatherless boy has to do his utmost to have a care of his mother.' + +The child left Philip Sidney's side, and went to his mother, who had turned +away her face, with an exclamation of distress. + +'Fatherless,' she repeated; 'ay, and worse than fatherless!' + +But the words did not reach Mr Sidney's ears. His groom was waiting for him +at the gate leading to the lane, and, taking Ambrose by the hand, he +said,-- + +'Come with me, boy, and I will give you a ride to the end of the lane; and +do you, Mistress Lucy, follow, and take back the young horseman when I have +put him down, if it please you.' + +'I will come also,' Mary Gifford said hastily. + +She could scarcely bear her boy out of her sight, and watched him with +anxious eyes, as Sir Philip set him on the saddle, across which his small +legs could scarcely stride, the child dumb with delight, his eyes +sparkling, his little hands clutching the bridle-rein, and his figure drawn +up to its full height. + +'Oh, have a care, Ambrose,' Mary exclaimed. + +Mr Sidney laughed. + +'He shall come to no harm, Mistress Gifford. My hand is ready to stop him +if he falls. But, indeed, there is no fear; he sits square and upright, +like a man.' + +The beautiful, well-trained horse arched his neck in reply to his master's +'Softly, Hero--quietly,' as he stepped out, raising his feet deliberately, +with that stately air which marks high breeding, and pacing down the rugged +path of the lane, with slow and measured tread, Mr Sidney at his side, the +groom in attendance following with the other horse. + +'Oh, I would like to ride like thus far, far away,' the boy said, as Mr +Sidney lifted him down, and set him by his mother's side. + +'Make Mr Sidney your bow, and say you are grateful to him for this great +kindness, Ambrose.' + +The child was almost too excited to speak, but Mr Sidney sprang lightly +into the saddle, and, with a parting smile to Lucy, with the words, 'We +shall await your decision, Mistress Forrester,' he rode away, the groom +following. + +Lucy stood at the turn of the road, watching the horses and the riders, +till they had disappeared, and then she returned to the house with Mary, +like the child, too happy to speak. They reached the house together, and +were met by Mrs Forrester. + +She had heard of Mr Sidney's visit, and had hastened upstairs to exchange +her coarse homespun for a gown of grey taffeta and a kirtle of the same +colour; a large white cap or hood was set a little awry on her thin, grey +hair. + +'You might have had the grace to ask Mr Sidney to step in,' she said +sharply to Mary Gifford. 'It is ill manners to stand chaffering outside +when the mistress of a house would fain offer a cup of mead to her guest. +But I never look for aught but uncivil conduct from either of you. What are +you pranked out for like this?' she asked, addressing Lucy. + +'I am going to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe. You needn't look so cross. I +sha'n't trouble you long. I am going to Court with my Lady Pembroke, and I +may never darken your doors again.' + +'You'll get into mischief like your sister before you, I'll warrant, and if +you do, don't come back here, for I'll shut the door in your face, as sure +as my name is Anne Forrester.' + +'Have no fear,' Lucy said. 'I am away now by the path across the hills.' + +'Nay, Lucy!' Mary exclaimed. 'Nay, by the highway is best. The hill path is +lonesome. Stay, Lucy.' + +But Lucy was gone, and Mary, looking after her retreating figure, could not +gainsay Mistress Forrester, as she said,-- + +'Wilful, headstrong little baggage, she will rue her behaviour some fine +day, as you have done.' + +'Mother,' Mary Gifford said, in a troubled voice, 'do not be for ever +reproaching me in the hearing of others, it is cruel. It may be better for +you and for me if I leave my father's house, and seek some humble refuge +with my boy.' + +But this did not suit Mistress Forrester's views. Mary Gifford was far too +useful to her. She could write, and manage the accounts of the farm; she +could, by a few calm words, effect more with lazy or careless serving men +and maids than their mistress did by scolding and reproofs, often +accompanied with a box on the ear or a sharp blow across the shoulder to +enforce what she said. + +It would not answer Mistress Forrester's purpose to let Mary Gifford go, so +she said,-- + +'Hoity, toity! don't talk like that. It's folly to say you will leave a +good home when you have no home to go to. Bide here, and let bygones be +bygones. I am ready to be friendly if you'll let me. I must away now to see +about the two sick lambs; it's all along of the shepherd's ill treatment of +the ewe that I am like to lose 'em.' + +Mistress Forrester bustled away, and Mary Gifford was left with Ambrose, +who was making a hobbyhorse of a thick stick, scampering up and down, and +calling out,-- + +'Gee-up, Hero! I'm off to the fight with Mr Sidney.' + +Mary looked at the boy with a strange, wistful smile. + +'Poor child!' she murmured, 'poor child! he hath no young comrades with +whom to make merry. It is well he can be so jocund and happy. It is true +what Mistress Gifford saith, I have no home, and I must bide quietly here, +for the boy is safe, and who can tell to what danger I might not expose him +if I ventured forth with him into the world again.' + +Lucy Forrester went gaily across the open ground, fearless of any danger +from horned cattle, of which there were several feeding on the short sweet +grass. + +She sang as she went, out of the gladness of her heart; triumph, too, +mingled with the gladness. + +How surprised Mistress Ratcliffe would be to hear she was to be a +waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. George had thought of +asking his mother to take her to London. Humphrey had spoken of a corner +being found for her. Now, what did it matter whether Mistress Ratcliffe +consented or not to her son's desire. She had no need to be beholden to +her. She would be lodged in a grand house, and have a place with the ladies +of the Countess's household. + +Remembering how Mistress Ratcliffe had often looked down upon her and Mary, +it was a keen delight to her to feel how chagrined she would be at her +unexpected good fortune. + +It was not absolutely settled yet, but she was sure Mary would give +consent, and, on the morrow, after service in the church, she would be +admitted to the grand house at Penshurst, and see the Countess herself, and +perhaps Mr Philip Sidney. + +Perched on a stile to rest, Lucy indulged in a prolonged meditation on the +fair prospect which had so unexpectedly opened before her. Of course Mary +would make no real objection. No one ever did resist Mr Philip Sidney's +will, and it was he had proposed the scheme, and he wished her to be one of +his sister's waiting-women. + +This gave the poor, little fluttering heart the most intense pleasure, +which she could scarcely dare to acknowledge, even to herself. Still, had +not Mr Sidney come to offer the coveted place to her--come himself? And had +he not beamed on her with his beautiful smile? Yes, and with admiring eyes! + +How long Lucy might have indulged in these thoughts it is impossible to +say, had she not been suddenly conscious that she was not alone. + +Stealthy footsteps were heard approaching from behind, and, turning her +head, she saw a tall man, wearing a long cloak, much the worse for wear, +and a hat, with neither band nor feather, pulled down over his eyes. + +Lucy started, and jumped from the stile, her heart beating violently, and +her face, which a few moments before had been radiant with pleasure, pale +and frightened. + +'Whither away, little maiden; why so scared?' the man said. 'I mean no +harm. See!' he said, taking a rosary from under his cloak, 'see, I kiss the +blessed cross, in token that you need not fear. I am a poor Catholic, +hiding from persecutors, wandering about and living in dens and caves of +the earth.' + +Lucy had, in her short life, heard nothing but condemnation of Papists. +When she thought of them at all, it was with horror, and her knees trembled +under her, and her voice was scarcely audible as she said,-- + +'Prithee, sir, suffer me to pass.' + +'On one condition. You know a house called Ford Place?' + +'Ay, sir, I do; and I will run back thither and--' + +'You will _not_ do so, little maiden; you will tell me how it fares with a +gentlewoman there, called Mary Gifford?' + +'She is well, sir; she is--' + +'Hearken! She has a boy named Ambrose. I would fain see him. Bring him +hither to me, and I will call on all the saints to bless you. Our Lady +shall watch over you and grant you your heart's desire.' + +'I cannot do it, sir; I dare not! Let me pass. If you would fain see the +boy, go to the house.' + +'And be seized and taken off before the grand folk down yonder and +imprisoned, and, it may be, tortured. Hearken,' he went on, bringing his +face unpleasantly near Lucy's, 'hearken, I can call down blessings on you, +but I can call down bitter curses also. Your heart's desire shall be denied +you, you shall eat the bread of affliction and drink the water of tears, +if you betray me. If you keep my secret, and let me see that boy, blessings +shall be showered on you; choose now.' + +Poor Lucy was but a child, she had scarcely counted out sixteen years. This +strange man, with his keen dark eyes gleaming under the black cap and +looking as if they read her very soul, seemed to get her into his power. +She was faint with terror, and looked round in vain for help, for some one +to come who would deliver her from her trouble. + +With a cry of delight she sprang again on the topmost rung of the stile, as +she saw George Ratcliffe's giant form appearing in the distance on the +slope of a rising ground. + +The hillside was covered in this part with great hillocks of heather and +gorse. + +Apparently her persecutor had also caught sight of the approaching figure, +for he relaxed his hold on her wrist, which he had seized as she had sprung +up on the stile, and, looking back when she had run some distance towards +George, she saw that the man had disappeared. + +'George! George!' she cried, as he came with great strides towards her, +and, to his intense satisfaction, even in his dismay at her apparent +distress, threw herself into his arms. 'George! a dreadful man, a Papist, +has scared me. He will curse me, George. Oh! it is terrible to be cursed. +Save me from him.' + +George looked about in bewilderment. + +'I see no man. There is no one near, Lucy. I see no one.' + +'Did you not see him as you came in sight?' + +'Nay, I was thinking only of you, and hoping to meet you on your way. I saw +no man, nor did I see you till I had come up yonder rising ground, just as +you mounted the stile. Be not so distressed,' George said, 'we will scour +the country for the villain, for villain he must be if he is a Papist; but +come now with me. My mother is well-pleased that you should sup with us. +Oh! Lucy,' George said, with lover-like earnestness, 'smile again, I pray +you, it goes to my heart to see you thus scared, though without reason, I +trust. Will it please you to stay here, while I go and unearth the wretch, +and belabour him till there is no breath left in him.' + +'No, no, George, don't leave me. I should fear to be left alone. Don't, +don't leave me.' + +George was only too willing to remain, and presently Lucy grew calmer, and +they walked slowly across the heath together. + +George was too happy for many words, and scarcely heeding even Lucy's +account of her adventure, in the bliss of having her clinging to his arm, +and the memory of that moment when she threw herself upon him for +protection and safety. + +'What can he want with Ambrose, Mary's child? He tried to make me promise +to bring him to that spot, that he might see him. What can it mean? It will +frighten Mary when I tell her, for she is ever dismayed if the child is +long-out of her sight. What can it mean?' + +'I cannot say,' George replied, dreamily. 'Thank God you are safe. That man +is some agent of the devil, but I will put Humphrey on the scent, and we +will track him out. I have heard there is a nest of Papists hiding in +Tunbridge. Doubtless he is one. Forget him now, Lucy; forget him, and be +happy.' + +'He gripped my wrist so hard,' Lucy said, holding up her little hand like a +child for pity. + +It is small wonder that George treated her as a child, and, taking the +little hand in his, pressed a fervent kiss upon it. + +This seemed to recall Lucy from her clinging, softened mood. She sprang +away from George with heightened colour, and said, with all her old +brightness,-- + +'I have news for you. I am going to London to see the tourney, and I am to +be one of my Lady of Pembroke's waiting-women. Isn't that grand news?' + +Poor George! his dream of bliss was over now. + +'Going away!--for how long a space?' he exclaimed. + +'Ah! that I cannot tell you, for more weeks or months than I can count, may +be.' + +George, who had with Humphrey done his utmost to persuade their mother to +consent to take Lucy with her, in the event of her going to London, without +success, or, rather, without a distinct promise that she would do so, was +fairly bewildered. + +'How did it come about?' he asked. + +'Oh! that is a question, indeed, Master Ratcliffe. There is someone you +know of who can bring about what he wishes. It is he who has commended me +to my Lady Pembroke, hearing, it may be, from your brother, that I wished +to see the tourney, and the Queen, and all the fine doings. Mr Sidney came +himself to offer the place of waiting-woman to me.' + +'Came himself!' George exclaimed. + +'And, prithee, why not; am I beneath his notice as I am beneath your +mother's? It seems not.' + +George had not time to reply, for, on the square of turf before the house, +Mistress Ratcliffe and her niece, Dorothy Ratcliffe, were apparently +awaiting their arrival. + +'You are late, George, as is your wont,' his mother said. 'Doll must make +you more mindful of the fixed time for meals. Is this young woman Mistress +Forrester's daughter? I bid you kindly welcome.' + +'I thank you, madam,' Lucy said. 'I have seen you many a time, and, +methinks, you must have seen me; but, doubtless, I was not like to be +remembered by such as you and Mistress Dorothy.' + +This little thrust passed unnoticed. Mistress Ratcliffe merely said,-- + +'George, lead your cousin Doll to the hall, for supper is served. Mistress +Lucy, will you permit me to take your hand?' + +Lucy made another curtsey, as George, with a rueful face, obeyed his mother +and handed his cousin up the stone steps to the porch, his mother and Lucy +following. + +Mistress Ratcliffe was attired in her best gown, with a long-pointed waist +and tight sleeves slashed with purple. Her ruff rivalled the Queen's in +thickness and height; and the heavy folds of her lute-string skirt were +held out by a wide hoop, which occupied the somewhat narrow doorway as they +entered the hall. + +Lucy was more than usually hungry, and did full justice to the pasties and +conserves of apples which graced the board. As she looked at Dorothy +Ratcliffe her heart swelled with triumph, for she was not slow to notice +that the household below the salt cast admiring glances at her, and that +Dorothy attracted no attention. + +George's spirits had sunk below their accustomed level, and his mother +sharply reproved him for inattention to his cousin. + +'You are ill performing the duties of a host, George. See, Doll's trencher +is empty, and the grace-cup is standing by your elbow unheeded. Are you +dreaming, George, or half-asleep?' + +'I crave pardon, mother,' George said, with a great effort rousing himself. +'Now then, cousin Doll, let me carve you a second portion of the pasty; or, +mayhap, the wing of this roast pullet will suit your dainty appetite +better.' + +Dorothy pouted. + +'I have not such vulgar appetites as some folk. Nay, I thank you, cousin, +I will but taste a little whipped cream with a sweet biscuit.' + +George piled up a mountain of frothy cream on one of the silver plates, +which were the pride and glory of his mother. The wooden trenchers were +used for the heavier viands; but these silver plates were brought out in +honour of guests, for the sweets or fruit which always came at the +conclusion of the repast. + +These silver plates were kept brightly burnished, and Lucy, as she saw +herself reflected in hers, said, laughing,-- + +'It is pleasant to eat off mirrors--that is to say when what we see there +is pleasant.' + +Madam Ratcliffe, although full of satisfaction to have her 'household gods' +admired, concealed it, and said, with an inclination of her head towards +Dorothy,-- + +'It is no novel thing for you to eat off silver, but I dare to say it is +the first time Mistress Lucy has done so.' + +'That may be true, madam,' Lucy said--she was never at a loss for a +rejoinder--'but, methinks, I shall soon eat off silver every day an' I +choose to do it.' + +'How so?' asked Mistress Ratcliffe; but the moment the question was asked, +she repented showing any curiosity about it, and made a diversion to +prevent a reply by suddenly breaking into admiration of the lace which +trimmed Dorothy Ratcliffe's bodice. + +'It is Flemish point, sure; and did it not descend to you, Doll, from your +grandmother? I have a passion for old lace; and these sapphires of your +brooch are of fine water. Now, shall we repair to the parlour, and you, +Dorothy, will discourse some sweet music on your mandoline.' + +The parlour was a dark room, with oak panels, and a heavy beam across the +ceiling. The floor was polished oak, which was slippery to unwary feet. The +open fireplace was filled by a large beau-pot filled with a posy of flowing +shrubs and long grass and rushes. + +Rushes were strewn on the raised floor of the square bay window. A +spinning-wheel stood there, and the stool of carved oak, where Mistress +Ratcliffe sat when at her work, that she might have an eye to any who came +in at the gate, and perhaps catch one of the serving-maids gossiping with a +passer-by. + +There was a settle in one corner of the parlour, and a cupboard with +shelves in a recess in the thick wall. Here the silver was kept, and some +curious old figures which had been, like the plate, handed down from the +ancestors of whom Mistress Ratcliffe was so proud. + +In another recess were a few books, in heavy vellum bindings--Tyndale's +translation of the Bible, with silver clasps; and some dull sermons, +roughly bound, with an early edition of the Boke of Chess; the prayer-book +of Edward the Sixth, and some smaller and insignificant volumes, completed +Mistress Ratcliffe's library. + +Mistress Ratcliffe did not concern herself with the awakening life of these +remarkable times in literature and culture. + +It was nothing to her that numerous poets and authors, from Edmund Spenser +to many humbler craftsmen of the pen, were busy translating from the +Italian the tales of Boccaccio, or the Latin of Virgil. + +The horizon had not yet widened to the small landed proprietors of these +days, and education, as we understand the word, was confined to the few, +and had not reached the people to whom the concerns of everyday life were +all-important. Women like Mistress Ratcliffe could often scarcely write +their own names, and read slowly and with difficulty the psalms in their +prayer-book, or the lessons of the Church in their Bible. + +Spelling was eccentric, even in the highest circles, as many letters still +preserved in family archives prove, and was made to suit the ear and eye of +the writer, without reference to rule or form. + +The evening passed somewhat slowly. There was an evident restraint upon +every one present. + +Dorothy's performance on the mandoline did not elicit much praise, except +from Mistress Ratcliffe, who was annoyed that George should seat himself on +the settle, by Lucy's side, and encourage her to talk, instead of listening +while his cousin sang a melancholy ditty, in anything but a musical voice. + +When Dorothy had finished, she laid down the mandoline in a pet, and +yawning, said,-- + +'I am weary after my long ride from Tunbridge, Aunt Ratcliffe. I pray you +forgive me if I retire early to bed.' + +'Nay, Doll, you must have a cup of spiced wine ere you go, we cannot spare +you yet.' + +'It is plain I am not wanted, so I can well be spared,' was the reply, with +a disagreeable laugh and a jerk of the head in the direction of the settle. + +Lucy now sprang up, saying,-- + +'I, too, must crave leave to bid you good evening, Mistress Ratcliffe. I +have to settle plans with my sister before I sleep to-night, and the +evening shadows are falling.' + +'If you must leave us, Mistress Forrester,' Mistress Ratcliffe said +stiffly, 'I may as well inform you, with regret, that the plan proposed by +my sons for asking you to bear me company to London in a useful capacity, +cannot be fulfilled. I take my niece with me, and two serving-men on the +second horse, hence--' + +'Oh! madam,' Lucy said, 'there is no need of excusations. I go to London in +the next week as waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. It may +be that I shall see you there, and I shall be sure to know you and Mistress +Dorothy, and make you my proper reverence, even if you have forgotten me.' + +'The impudent little hussy!' Mistress Ratcliffe murmured, but she retained +her feelings, and said,-- + +'It is fortunate for you, Mistress Forrester, that you will be under due +control in London, for in good sooth you will need it. If you must go, good +evening.' + +Lucy turned at the door and made a profound curtsey, then, drawing her +kerchief closer to her throat, she left the room, George following. + +'I don't set much store by Mistress Forrester's manner, Aunt Ratcliffe,' +Dorothy said; 'an ill-bred country child, who, of course, is ignorant, so +we will pardon her.' + +'Ignorant, yes,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'but her pretty face.' + +'Pretty!' Dorothy screamed, 'Pretty! Nay, aunt, you cannot call that +baby-faced chit pretty. No air; no breeding; mere dairymaid's beauty. It +makes me laugh to think how proud she was of her fine gown and cap, which +only showed her awkward gait the more.' And Mistress Dorothy fingered her +Flemish lace and the string of beads round her short, thick neck, with +profound belief in her own charms. + +If Lucy's beauty was that of a milkmaid, Dorothy's was decidedly of a +different character. Her complexion was sallow and pale; her hair, which +was by no means abundant, was of the sandy hue, which she tried to persuade +herself was like the Queen's. Her eyes were of a greenish colour, and +deeply set under a heavy forehead, and her figure was angular and +ungraceful. + +Fine feathers do not always make a fine bird, and Dorothy Ratcliffe, +although with what in those days was considered to be a fortune at her +back, did not find fervent suitors for her favour. She was, therefore, very +ready to fall in with Mistress Ratcliffe's wishes, and take pains to +ingratiate herself with George, failing Humphrey, whose position as one of +Mr Sidney's esquires, made him the more desirable of the two brothers. + +Dorothy Ratcliffe was the child of George's uncle, who was a recluse living +at Tunbridge. He was a scholar and a pedant, and concerned himself but +little about his only child, whose fortune was inherited from her mother. + +Marriages in those days were generally settled for the people principally +concerned, with or without their consent, as it happened, and Master +Ratcliffe and George's mother had a sort of tacit understanding with each +other that Dorothy should take herself and her fortune to Hillbrow Place. + +Dorothy was not unwilling to find herself mistress there, but she had +always a lingering hope that Humphrey would at last be a victim to her +charms, and then it would be easy to throw George over. + +But things did not look very promising, and Dorothy asked, in an irritable +tone, before she parted with her aunt for the night,-- + +'Is Humphrey so taken up with the grand folk that he cannot find the time +to pay his dutiful respects to you, aunt?' + +'He was here late the last evening,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'and is, with +George, anxious to furnish Mr Sidney with the pick of the horses in the +stable. Humphrey can scarce stir from Mr Sidney.' + +'So it seems,' Dorothy said. 'Methinks, where there's a will there's a way; +but we shall have his company in London.' + +'Yes, and George's also. You will favour my poor boy's suit, Doll.' + +'Your poor boy! nay, aunt, he is not worthy of pity, when he wins favour +from a peerless beauty like Mistress Forrester. But let be, it will not +break my heart if he gives you this fair country maid for your daughter, +who has not--so I have heard--so much as a brass farthing to call her own.' + +Deeply chagrined, and with an uneasy suspicion that Dorothy might be right +in what she said, Mistress Ratcliffe left her niece to repose, saying to +herself, 'She has a tongue and a temper of her own, but we will soon tame +her when we get her here.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE HAWK AND THE BIRD + + 'So doth the fox the lamb destroy we see, + The lion fierce, the beaver, roe or gray, + The hawk the fowl, the greater wrong the less, + The lofty proud the lowly poor oppress.' + + JOHN DAVIES, 1613. + + +When George left Lucy at the door of Ford Place, she ran quickly through +the kitchen, where Mistress Forrester was resting on the settle after the +labours of the day. + +Things had not gone well with the sick lambs, both were dead, and one of +the cart-horses had gone lame, and the eggs of the pea-hen were addled. + +These circumstances were not likely to sweeten Mistress Forrester's temper, +and Lucy, who never bore malice, received a sharp answer in reply to her +inquiries as to the condition of the lambs. + +'They are dead, and much you care, flaunting off with your lover instead of +turning your hand to help at home.' + +'I could not have saved the lambs' lives,' Lucy said, 'but I am sorry they +are dead. I am sorry when any creature dies.' + +'I dare say! Be off to bed, for I am locking up in a minute.' + +'Where is Mary?' Lucy asked. + +'A-bed. That boy has cut his little finger, or some such thing. Lor'! she +was like to swoon with terror when she saw the blood; the child himself was +not such a coward.' + +Lucy hastened upstairs, and found Mary by the window in her favourite seat. +A book lay open on her knee, and, when Lucy came in, she held up her hand, +and, pointing to the bed, said,-- + +'Hush! he is asleep.' + +'What has happened?' Lucy said. 'Is the boy hurt?' + +'He cut his hand with an old knife, and the blood poured forth. Oh, Lucy, +if aught were to befall him, I scarce dare think of what would become of +me.' + +Lucy thought of the strange encounter she had had with the man on the hill +path, and wondered whether it were kind to raise her sister's fears about +Ambrose. + +'Come and sit by me, sweetheart,' Mary said, making room for her sister on +the deep window seat. 'I am troubled to-night with a shadow of coming +grief. Sure I have had enough, and I am young yet. Twenty-five is young, +though I dare to say I seem old to you, little sister. I am perplexed in +mind, and tossed about with doubt. Can you think of me as a merry, +light-hearted maiden, donning my smartest gown to go at Lady Mary's bidding +to the Park, where great festivities were held in honour of the Queen's +visit? Ah, child, it was then soft words and flattery turned my head, and +I--well, I have rued it to this hour. Thus, dear Lucy, when I think of your +going forth in my Lady Pembroke's train, I fear for you. I will pray also, +and pray God may watch over you.' + +'Then I may go,' Lucy said. 'I may really go. Oh, Mary, Mary, I am so +happy!' + +Then, remembering her encounter with the stranger she said,-- + +'I met a man on the hill path as I went to Hillbrow. He scared me a little +bit, but George Ratcliffe came up, and he made off and like a ghost +vanished.' + +'A man!' Mary exclaimed, in a low voice of suppressed fear. 'What man?' + +'He was clad in a long cloak, with a cap pulled over his brow. He had evil +eyes--dark, piercing eyes.' + +Mary Gifford's clasp of her young sister tightened convulsively, and her +heart throbbed so that Lucy could feel it as she pressed her closer and +closer. + +'What did he say to you, this strange man?' + +'He said he would fain see little Ambrose, and bid me bring him to the +stile where he met me, that he might look at him. He said he would call a +curse down on me if I refused. He looked dreadful as he spoke. And then +George came. But, Mary--' + +For Mary had sprung to her feet, and, with hands clasped and eyes dilated +with terror, she stood like one struck down by some sudden blow. + +'Promise, swear, Lucy, you will never take the child outside the fence on +the hill side. Swear, Lucy.' + +Lucy was frightened by her sister's vehemence, and said,-- + +'Yes, I promise. Oh, Mary, do not look like that. Do you know the man?' + +'Know him! know him! Nay. How should I?' Then she said, after a pause, +'Hush! we shall wake the boy. Let us talk no more to-night. Go to your bed, +child; it is late, and to-morrow--yes, to-morrow is Sunday--I will go down +with you to the church, and await my Lady Pembroke by the lych gate, and +you shall have your desire, and God keep you, and bless you.' + +Lucy quickly recovered her spirits; her heart was too full of delighted +anticipation to have room for any prolonged fear about her sister, though +her pale, terror-struck face, seen in the twilight, and her agonised appeal +to her to swear what she asked, made her say, as she lay down on her low +truckle bed in the little attic chamber next her sister's,-- + +'Sure Mary must know something of that man. Perhaps he was a boon companion +of her wicked husband. Ah, me! it would be a different world if all men +were brave and good and noble like--' + +Before the name had taken shape on her lips, Lucy was asleep, and in her +dreams there were no dark strangers with cruel black eyes and sinister +smiles, but goodly knights, in glistening armour, riding out against their +adversaries, and goodlier and nobler than the rest, before whose lance all +others fell, while the air rang with the shouts of victory, was Mr Philip +Sidney. + + * * * * * + +Sunday morning dawned fair and bright. The bells of Penshurst church were +chiming for matins, when Mary Gifford, leading her boy by the hand, stood +with Lucy under the elm tree by the timbered houses by the lych gate, +returning the kindly greetings of many neighbours and acquaintances. + +Overhead the great boughs of the elm tree were quivering in the soft +breeze. The buds, scarcely yet unfolded into leaf, were veiled with tender +green, while a sheaf of twigs on the trunk were clothed in emerald, in +advance of the elder branches, and making the sombre bole alive with +beauty, as the sunbeams sought them out, and cast their tiny, flickering +shadows on the ground. + +The village people always waited in the churchyard, or by the lych gate +till the household from the castle came through the door leading from the +Park to the church, and this morning their appearance was looked forward to +with more than usual interest. Not only was Lady Mary expected, but the +Countess of Pembroke and her ladies, with Mr Sidney, and his young +brothers, Robert and Thomas, were known to be of the party. + +[Illustration: THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.] + +Sir Henry Sidney was seldom able to leave Ludlow for a peaceful sojourn in +his beautiful home, and Lady Mary had sometimes to make the journey from +Wales without him, to see that all things in the house were well ordered, +and to do her best to make the scanty income stretch out to meet the +necessary claims upon it. + +When two of the gentlemen in attendance came to the gate to hold it open +for the ladies of the party to pass, the throng assembled in the churchyard +moved up near the porch, and, as Lady Mary came in sight, curtseys from the +women and reverences from the men testified to the esteem in which she was +held. + +Lady Pembroke came next, smiling and gracious. On her sweet face were no +lines of the care which marked her mother's, and she looked what she was, a +happy wife and mother. + +By her side was Mr Philip Sidney, closely followed by Robert and Thomas, +who imitated his courteous bearing, and doffed their caps and bowed their +heads in acknowledgment of their people's greeting. + +The Sidneys were lords of Penshurst in every sense, and the loyalty of +their tenants and dependants was unquestioned. It is not too much to say +that Philip Sidney was regarded with admiration and respect, seldom +equalled, by these simple people in the Kentish village, who felt a right +in him, and a pride, which was perhaps sweeter to him than all the +adulation he won in Elizabeth's Court. + +When the Sidneys' large pew was filled with its occupants, the bell +stopped, and the rest of the congregation hastened to fill the benches in +the body of the church. + +The service was conducted after the Anglican form of worship, but differed +in some respects from that of the present day. The Puritans of those times +were making every effort to get rid of what, in their eyes, were useless +forms and ceremonies, and in many places in England dissension was rife, +and the dread of Popish innovations, or rather a return to Popish +practices, was mingled with fierce hatred of Papists, and apprehension of +their designs against the life of the Queen. + +The Sidneys were staunch adherents of the reformed faith, and Philip Sidney +was the staunchest of all. He could never forget the atrocities of that +summer night in Paris, when the treachery of the king and his mother +resulted in the massacre of innocent men and women, whose only crime was +their devotion to the faith for which they died. + +Philip Sidney had, as we know, protested with bold sincerity against the +Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou, urging the danger to the +Protestant cause in England, if the Queen should persist in her +determination. + +Now several years had passed, and he had regained Elizabeth's favour, and +had withdrawn his opposition. + +The French Ambassadors, who were to arrive in England in the following +week, were to be entertained with grand feasts and games, in which he and +his chief friend, Fulke Greville, were to take a leading part. + +Perhaps no one in that congregation knew or dreamed that their ideal +knight, as he stood up in his place amongst them, with his thoughtful face +turned towards the nave of the church, had his heart filled with misgivings +as to the part he had taken in this matter, and with still deeper +misgivings as to the position in which he found himself with the only woman +whom he loved and worshipped. + +While the good clergyman was preaching a somewhat dull sermon from the +words, 'Fear God, honour the King,' following the particular line +acceptable in those days, by enforcing loyalty and devotion to the reigning +sovereign as the whole duty of man, Philip, leaning back in his seat, his +head thrown back, and that wistful, far-away look in his eyes, which +enhanced their charm, was all unconscious of what was passing around him, +so absorbed was he with his own thoughts. + +He roused himself when the first words of a psalm were sung by the village +choir in Sternhold and Hopkins' version, and bending over the book, which +his sister Mary had opened, pointing her finger to the first line, he +raised his musical voice and sang with her the rugged lines which called +upon 'All people that on earth do dwell, to sing to the Lord with cheerful +voice.' + +Then the clergyman pronounced the blessing, and the congregation dispersed, +the village people to their homes, the Sidneys towards the gate leading +into the pleasance, which lay on the side of the house nearest to the +church. + +Mary Gifford held back, in spite of Lucy's entreaties to her to go forward. + +'They will all have passed in, Mary,' she exclaimed in an agony of +excitement. 'Were we not bidden to see the Countess by Mr Sidney himself.' + +But Mary was always modest and retiring, and she stood with Ambrose and her +sister awaiting a summons. + +It came at last. Humphrey Ratcliffe was at her side, saying,-- + +'My Lady of Pembroke would fain speak with Lucy. Come forward with me.' + +As they followed Humphrey through the gateway in the wall, Lucy could +scarcely conceal her agitation. + +What should she say? What if Lady Pembroke thought her too young and too +ignorant? She had pictured to herself that Mr Sidney would himself have led +her to his sister, but he was gone out of sight, and she heard one of the +gentlemen say to Humphrey,-- + +'Sir Fulke Greville has arrived with a message from the Queen. Mr Sidney +has gone round to meet him.' + +'Ill news, I wonder?' Humphrey said. + +'Nay, only some trifle about the tourney, belike a change in the colour of +the armour, or some such folly.' + +Mary and her little son and Lucy were now standing at the end of the +terrace walk of smooth turf, which is raised some feet above the wide +pleasance below. + +'Await the Countess's pleasure here,' Humphrey said. 'She is engaged in +talk with Lady Mary, she will send to summon you when she sees fit.' + +The ladies and gentlemen in attendance on Lady Mary Sidney and her daughter +were threading the narrow paths of the pleasance and chatting gaily with +each other, the bright dresses of the ladies, rivalling the colour of the +spring flowers in the beds, while the jewelled hilts of the gentlemen's +swords sparkled in the sunshine. + +From the trees in the Park came the monotonous note of the unseen cuckoo, +while the thrushes and blackbirds every now and then sent forth a burst of +song, though it was nearly nigh noontide, when the birds are often silent, +as if, in the general rejoicing of the spring, all living things must take +part. + +The picturesque side of the home of the Sidneys, which faces this +pleasance, was in shadow, and made a background to the gay scene, which +accentuated the brilliant effect of the gay throng below it. + +On the terrace Mary Gifford stood in her black garments, relieved by a long +white veil, holding her impatient boy by the hand, while Lucy, no less +impatient, was hoping every minute that she should receive a message from +Lady Pembroke. The group at last caught the attention of Lady Mary, who had +been in earnest conversation with her daughter. + +'Ah! there is Mistress Gifford,' she exclaimed, 'and the little sister of +whom Philip spoke as suitable to be one of your waiting-women. Let us +hasten to speak with them. They have been, I fear, waiting too long.' + +'Yes; it was heedless of me to forget them; but there is the bell sounding +for dinner in the hall, shall we not bid them sit down at the board? They +must needs be weary after their long walk, and the service, to say naught +of the sermon,' Lady Pembroke added, laughing. + +'Hush, then; I see the good minister coming towards us. He means well, and +is a godly man.' + +'I do not doubt it, sweet mother; but let us mount the steps to the +terrace, and show some courtesy to those waiting our pleasure there.' + +'They are coming towards us, Mary. Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, 'come forward and +meet them.' + +'Yes, mother,' Ambrose said fretfully, dragging at his mother's hand. 'I +thought I was to see Mr Sidney, and that he would let me ride again. I am +so weary and so hungry.' + +Lady Pembroke soon tripped up the stone steps, Lady Mary following more +slowly. Lady Pembroke had all the graceful courtesy which distinguished her +brother; and that high-bred manner which, quite apart from anything like +patronage, always sets those who may be on a lower rung of the social +ladder at ease in casual intercourse. + +[Illustration: PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK.] + +There are many who aspire to be thought 'aristocratic' in their manners, +and who may very successfully imitate the dress and surroundings of the +old noblesse. But this gift, which showed so conspicuously in the family of +the Sidneys, is an inheritance, and cannot be really copied. It is so easy +to patronise from a lofty vantage ground, so difficult to make those below +it feel that the distance is not thought of as an impassable gulf, but is +bridged over by the true politeness which lies not on the surface, but has +its root deep in the consideration for others, which finds expression in +forgetfulness of self, and in remembering the feelings and tastes of those +with whom we are brought in contact. + +Like the mists of morning under the warm beams of the sun, Mary Gifford's +restraint and shy reserve vanished when Lady Pembroke exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, here is the little knight that Philip told me of. See, mother, he must +be a playfellow for your Thomas.' + +Lady Mary was somewhat breathless. She could not climb the steep, stone +stairs as quickly as her daughter. + +'Mistress Gifford must stay and dine with us, Mary, and then Thomas shall +show him the pictures in the new book Philip has brought him from London.' + +'Are there pictures of horses and knights, madam?' Ambrose asked. + +'They are Bible pictures, boy, but there are warriors amongst them, +doubtless--Joshua and Samson, and, it may be, others.' + +The big bell which, to this day, is heard far and near at Penshurst, was +still making its loud, sonorous clang, and Lady Mary, taking Ambrose by the +hand led him along the terrace, his mother at the other side, and Lucy +following with Lady Pembroke. + +Instead of immediately beginning to discuss the probability of Lucy's being +placed in her household, Lady Pembroke said,-- + +'I have not seen you for some time. You have grown apace since my marriage. +Yet my brother, when he spoke of you, called you Mistress Gifford's little +sister. You are taller than I am, methinks.' + +Lucy's face glowed with pleasure, as Lady Pembroke said this. + +'And most like you have yet to grow a few inches.' + +'Nay, madam; I am near sixteen.' + +'And is sixteen too old to grow? I think not. It is the age to grow in +wisdom as well as in stature.' + +'I would fain grow in the first, madam,' Lucy said, 'if only to please +Mary, who is so good to me--my only friend.' + +'I forgot you have no mother, poor child.' + +'Nay, madam; only a cross-grained stepmother. Mary bears her quips and +cranks like a saint. I cannot do so.' + +'It is well to try to bear what you term quips and cranks. But we must +repair to the hall now,' Lady Pembroke said; and then, addressing a +gentlewoman who was standing at the lower end of the long table, she said, +'Mistress Crawley, be so good as to make room for Mistress Lucy Forrester +at your side. She dines here to-day with Mistress Gifford.' + +Mary already had her place pointed out to her, a little higher up the board +with Ambrose; and the Countess of Pembroke, with a smile, said, as she +passed to the gentleman who presided,-- + +'See that the young knight has sweet things enough to please his palate; +and be sure, Master Pearson, that Mistress Gifford is well attended by the +serving-men.' + +The family and principal guests sat at the upper end of the hall, and +amongst them was Mr Sidney's lifelong friend, Sir Fulke Greville. + +There was a few moments' silence, when the chaplain, raising his hand, said +a Latin grace; and then there was a clatter of trenchers, and the quick +passing to and fro of the serving-men, and the sound of many voices as the +meal proceeded. + +That hospitable board of the Sidneys was always well spread, and to-day, at +the upper end, Lady Mary had provided the best of viands for the +entertainment of her daughter, and of her favourite son and his friend. + +Lady Mary's face was shining with motherly pride as she looked at Philip +and her fair daughter, who joined with keen delight in the conversation in +which the two friends took the lead--her quick and ready appreciation of +the subjects under discussion winning a smile from her brother, who +continually referred to her, if on any point he and his friend held +different opinions. Indeed, the Countess of Pembroke was not far behind her +brother in intellectual gifts. The French and Italian literature, in which +he delighted, were familiar to her also; and the _Divina Commedia_ and the +_Vita Nuova_ were, we may well believe, amongst her favourite works. The +great Poet of the Unseen must have had an especial charm for the lovers of +literature in those times of awakening. + +The mystic and allegorical style, the quaint and grotesque imagery in which +Dante delighted, must have touched an answering chord in the hearts of +scholars like Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke. + +That Philip Sidney was deeply versed in the story of Beatrice--following +her with devout admiration, as her lover showed her in her girlish beauty, +and then in her matured and gracious womanhood--we may safely conclude. + +At the time of which we write, he was making a gallant fight against +defeat, in the struggle between love and duty, striving to keep the +absorbing passion for his Stella within the bounds which the laws of honour +and chivalry demanded, at whatever cost. No one can read the later stanzas, +which are amongst the most beautiful in _Stella and Astrophel_, without +feeling that, deep as was his love, his sense of honour was deeper still. + +Nor is it unreasonable to feel that, as he followed the great Master +through those mysterious realms, guided by the lady of his love, pure and +free from the fetters of earthly passion, Philip Sidney would long with +unutterable longing that his love might be also as wings to bear him +heavenward, like that of Dante for his Beatrice, whose name is for all time +immortal like his own. + +When the grace was said, the company at the upper end of the great hall +rose, and left it by the staircase which led to the private apartments of +the spacious house. + +The ladies passed out first, and the Countess of Pembroke, turning at the +foot of the stairs, said,-- + +'Mistress Crawley, bid Lucy Forrester to follow us with Mistress Gifford +and the boy.' + +But Lucy was thinking more of Mr Philip Sidney than of her summons to +attend his sister. She was hoping for a smile from him, and felt a thrill +of disappointment as he put his arm through Sir Fulke Greville's and turned +away to the principal entrance with his friend. + +Lucy's eyes followed them, and she was roused from her dream by a sharp tap +on her shoulder. + +'Did you not hear my lady's order, child? Methinks you will need to mend +your manners if you wish to enter her service.' + +Lucy's face grew crimson, and she gave Mistress Crawley a look, which, if +she had dared, she would have accompanied by a saucy word. + +Mary Gifford, who was waiting for her sister, said gently,-- + +'We are to follow quickly, hasten, Lucy, Mistress Crawley is waiting.' + +Lucy tossed her head and did not hurry herself even then. She had many +admirers in the neighbourhood besides George Ratcliffe, and one of them +said to him,-- + +'It is a shame if old Mother Crawley has that little beauty as her servant. +She will trample on her and make her life a burden to her, or I am +mistaken.' + +George resented any interference about Lucy from another man, and he +greatly objected to hear her called 'a little beauty;' for George's love +for her was that of a respectful worshipper at the shrine of a divinity, +and he could not brook anything like familiar disrespect in others. + +'Mistress Forrester,' he said, 'is likely to win favour wherever she may +go, and she will serve the Countess of Pembroke rather than Mistress +Crawley.' + +A provoking laugh was the answer to this. + +'You can know naught of the life of a household like my Lady Pembroke's. +The head waiting-woman is supreme, and the underlings are her slaves. They +may sit and stitch tapestry till they are half blind, and stoop over the +lace pillow till they grow crooked, for all my lady knows about it. Ask +Mistress Betty here, she knows what a life Mistress Crawley can lead her +slaves.' + +The person addressed as Mistress Betty was beginning to answer, when George +turned away to go to the stables, where he thought Mr Sidney had probably +preceded him with Sir Fulke Greville, to examine the points of the two +fresh steeds he had purchased for the tournament. But he could see nothing +of Mr Sidney, and, meeting his brother Humphrey, he heard from him that he +had walked away down the avenue with Sir Fulke Greville, apparently in +earnest conversation, and that they would not care to be disturbed. + +George lingered about disconsolately, and at last left the Park and went +towards the river, which he knew Mary Gifford and Lucy must cross on their +homeward way. At least he would have the chance of mounting guard over +Lucy, and be present if the man who had so lightly spoken of her should be +so presumptuous as to follow her. + +After long waiting, George saw Lucy and her sister and Ambrose coming out +of the gateway leading from the Park, and he was well satisfied to see that +his brother Humphrey, and no other squire, was in attendance. + +Ambrose was tired and a little querulous, and dragged heavily at his +mother's hand. Humphrey offered to carry the boy, but he resented that as +an indignity, and murmured that he had not seen Mr Sidney, and he wanted to +ride his horse again. + +'Mr Sidney has other matters on hand than to look after a tired, cross +boy,' his mother said. 'Come, my son, quicken your pace somewhat, or we +shall not be at home for supper. It was a grand treat for you to be +entertained by my Lady Mary's sons, and you should be in high good humour,' +she continued. + +But poor little Ambrose kept up the same murmured discontent, of which the +burden was,-- + +'I want to ride on Mr Sidney's horse,' and he dragged back more +persistently than ever, till his mother's fair face flushed with the +exertion of pulling him up the steep hill, over which the low westering sun +was casting a glow, which was hot for the time of year. + +Humphrey at last settled the matter by lifting Ambrose, in spite of his +struggles, upon his shoulders, and saying,-- + +'You will never be a true knight, boy, like Mr Sidney, if you growl and +scold at trifles. Fie, for shame, see how weary you have made your mother.' + +'I don't love you,' the child said, 'and I hate to be carried like a babe.' + +'Then do not behave as a babe,' Mary said, 'but thank Master Humphrey for +his patience and for sparing you the climb uphill. If you love me, Ambrose, +be amenable and good.' + +The appeal had its effect. The child sat quietly on his perch on Humphrey's +broad shoulder, and soon forgot his vexation in watching the rapid +evolutions of a hawk in chase of a flight of small birds, one of which at +last was made its prey. + +'See, see, mother; hark, that is the cry of the little bird, the hawk has +got it.' + +Mary Gifford stopped, and, looking up, saw the hawk in full swing, not many +hundred yards distant, with the bird in its beak, fluttering and struggling +in vain. + +'Ah!' she said, with a shudder, 'the weak is ever the prey of the strong, +Master Humphrey,' and then she stopped. + +He looked down on her troubled face with intense sympathy. + +'Master Humphrey, the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Mary said they would +fain make my boy a page in attendance. Oh! I cannot, I dare not part with +him, he is my all--my all.' + +'Nor shall you part from him,' Humphrey said. 'No one could wish to force +you to do so.' + +'No one--no one; but if a trap were laid, if a net were spread, if a +ruthless hawk pursues a defenceless bird, the end is gained at last!' + +Humphrey could not follow her meaning, and he said,-- + +'I do not understand. What do you fear?' + +'Oh! what do I fear? Perchance if you had an idol, you would think of the +words of Holy Scripture, that such should be utterly abolished, but,' she +continued, changing her tone and speaking cheerfully, 'see how Lucy lags +behind, poor child! Methinks her heart misgives her as the parting is now +certain. She is to enter on her duties when the Countess goes to London +with Lady Mary Sidney, one day in this week. May God keep her safe. You +will be about the Court with Mr Sidney, and you will keep a watch over her. +I know you will.' + +'Yes, as you know full well, I will serve you in that or in any way, nor +ask for my guerdon till such time as you may see good to grant it to me, +your friend always, Mistress Gifford, your lover, your humble suitor, +when--' + +'Hush,' she said, laying her hand on his arm, 'such words may not pass +between you and me. Did I not tell you, did I not warn you that so it must +be. And now, my little son,' she continued, 'get down from your high perch, +if Master Humphrey is so good as to put you on your feet, for we are nearly +at home.' + +Ambrose, as soon as his feet touched the ground, ran off at full speed, +and, turning into the lane, was hidden from sight for a few moments. It was +scarcely more, but his mother rushed after him, calling him by name to +stop. + +But the child was a swift runner, and Mary, putting her hands to her side, +said,-- + +'Master Ratcliffe, pursue him. Don't let him run out of sight, I--I cannot +follow.' + +It needed only a few of Humphrey Ratcliffe's long, quick strides to +overtake Ambrose, and seize him by the arm. + +'What a plague you are to your mother, child; first you can't walk, and +then you run off like a young colt.' + +'There was a black man in the hedge yonder that made me run so fast.' + +'A black man! away with such folly. The black man is the stump of that old +tree covered with ivy, so you are a coward, after all.' + +Mary had come up now, breathless. + +'Ambrose, Ambrose, why did you run like that?' + +'I saw a black man,' the child repeated, 'and I wanted to get to the gate.' + +Mary said not a word, but, taking the boy's hand, held it fast, and went +towards the house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +RESISTANCE + + 'God giveth heavenly grace unto such as call unto Him with + outstretched hands and humble heart; never wanting to those that + want not to themselves.'--SIR T. WILSON, 1554. + + +The two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, left Mary Gifford and Lucy +at the gate of Ford Place. + +From a barn came the sound of voices singing a psalm, in not very musical +tones. + +Mistress Forrester was engaging in a Puritan service with a few of the +chosen ones, who would not join in what they deemed the Popish ceremonies +of the church in the valley. These stern dissenters from the reformed +religion were keeping alive that spark which, fanned into a flame some +fifty years later, was to sweep through the land and devastate churches, +and destroy every outward sign in crucifix, and pictured saint in fair +carved niche, and image of seer or king, which were in their eyes the token +of that Babylon which was answerable for the blood of the faithful +witnesses for Christ! + +The stern creed of the followers of Calvin had a charm for natures like +Mistress Forrester, who, secure in her own salvation, could afford to look +down on those outside the groove in which she walked; and with neither +imagination nor any love of the beautiful, she felt a gruesome satisfaction +in what was ugly in her own dress and appearance, and a contempt for others +who had eyes to see the beauty to which she was blind. + +Lucy had come home in a very captious mood, and declaring she was weary and +had a pain in her head; she said she needed no supper, and went up to her +little attic chamber in the roof of the house. + +Mary Gifford laid aside her long veil, and made a bowl of milk and brown +bread ready for her boy; and then, while he ate it, pausing between every +spoonful to ask his mother some question, she prepared the board for the +guests, whom she knew her stepmother would probably bring in from the barn +when the long prayer was over. + +Ambrose was always full of inquiries on many subjects, and this evening he +had much to say about the picture-book Master Tom Sidney showed him--the +man in the lions' den, and why they did not eat him up; the men in a big +fire that were not burned, because God kept them safe. And then he returned +to the hawk and the little bird, and wondered how many more the cruel hawk +had eaten for his supper; and, finally, wished God would take care of the +little birds, and let the hawk live on mice like the old white owl in the +barn. The child's prattle was not heeded as much as sometimes, and Mary's +answers were not so satisfactory as usual. He was like his Aunt Lucy, +tired, and scarcely as much pleased with his day as he had expected to be; +and, finally, his mother carried him off to bed, and, having folded his +hands, made him repeat a little prayer, and then he murmured out in a +sing-song a verse Ned the cowboy had taught him:-- + + Four corners to my bed, + Four angels at my head; + Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, + Bless the bed I lie upon. + +Almost before the last word was said, the white lids closed over the violet +eyes, and Ambrose was asleep. Mary stood over him for a minute with clasped +hands. + +'Ah! God keep him safe, nor suffer him to stray where danger lurks,' she +said. + +Voices below and the sound of heavy feet warned her that the meeting in the +barn was over, and her stepmother would require her presence. + +The little company which had met in the barn was composed of labourers and +shepherds, with one or two of the better sort of work-people holding +superior positions on the estate of the Sidneys. + +Mistress Forrester asked a tall man with a very nasal twang to bless the +humble fare set before them, and a very long prayer followed before the +benches were drawn closer to the board, and the large bowls of bread and +milk, flavoured with strips of onion, were attacked by the hungry brethren +with large, unwieldy, wooden spoons. + +Mary waited on the guests, and, filling a large earthen cup with cider, +passed it round. One man who took a very prolonged pull at it, wiping his +mouth with the flap of his short homespun cloak, said, in a mysterious +whisper,-- + +'There's a nest of Papists hiding in Tunbridge, and one of those emissaries +of the Evil One is lurking about here, Mistress Forrester. Let us all be on +guard.' + +'Ay,' said another, 'I've seen him. He wears the priest's garb, and he is +plotting mischief. What can he want here?' + +'He can work us no harm; the tables are turned now, and the Papists are +getting their deserts,' Mistress Forrester said. + +'I wouldn't trust them,' said the first speaker. 'They would as lief set +fire to this house or yon barn as to a stake where the blessed martyrs were +bound. You looked scared, Mistress Gifford. But, if all we hear is true, +you rather favour the Papists.' + +Mary rallied, with a great effort. + +'Nay,' she said; 'I do not favour their creed or their persecuting ways, +but I may no less feel pain that they should be hunted, and, as I know, in +many cases, homeless and dying of hunger.' + +'Mary consorts with grand folks down at the great house,' Mistress +Forrester said, 'who look with as little favour on us, or less, than on the +Papists. For my part, I see but small difference between the bowings, and +scrapings and mummeries practised in the church down yonder, and the mass +in the Papists' worship.' + +'You are near right, Mistress Forrester; and those who are aiding and +abetting the Queen in her marriage with a Popish prince have much to answer +for.' + +'Which Popish prince?' asked one of the more ignorant of the assembly. + +'Is not the man, Philip Sidney, who is set up in these parts as a god, +getting ready to take a share in the tourney which is to do honour to the +men sent by the brother of the murderous French king?' + +'I never heard tell on't,' gasped an old dame. 'Dear heart! what will the +country come to?' + +'_Ruin!_' was the answer. 'And tell me not a man is godly who has ordered +the Maypole to be set up this coming first of May, and gives countenance by +his presence on the Sabbath day to the wrestling games of the village +louts, and the playing of bowls in the green at the back of the hostelry. +But let us praise the Lord we are delivered from the bondage of Satan, and +have neither part nor lot in these evil doings and vain sports, working +days or Sabbath!' + +Fervent Amens were uttered, and, wrapt in the mantle of self-satisfaction +that they were not as other men, the company gathered in the kitchen of +Ford Manor broke up, and, in the gathering twilight, dispersed to their +homes. + +Mary Gifford hastened to put away the remnants of the supper, and reserved +the broken fragments for the early breakfast of the poultry the next +morning. + +Mistress Forrester did not seem inclined for conversation, and yawned +audibly, saying she was tired out and it was time to lock up for the night. + +'The days are lengthening now,' Mary said. 'I do not feel inclined for bed. +Leave me, mother, to make all safe.' + +'As you will,' was the reply. 'I'll hear what you have to say about Lucy +to-morrow. Jabez Coleman says we are sending her to the jaws of the lion by +this move, and that she will never return, or like you--' + +'Spare me, mother!' Mary said. 'I cannot bear much more to-night.' + +'Much more! Sure, Mary, you make an ado about nothing. What have you to +bear, I'd like to know, with a roof over your head, and your child fed and +clothed? Bear indeed!' and with a low, mocking laugh, Mistress Forrester +stumped with her heavy tread up the stairs which led to the upper floor +from the further end of the kitchen. + +Mary went into the porch, and the peaceful landscape before her seemed to +quiet her troubled spirit. She was so keenly alive to all that was +beautiful in nature; her education had been imperfect, but she was open to +receive all impressions, and, during her short married life, she had been +brought into contact with the people who were attached to the Earl of +Leicester's household, and had read books which had quickened her poetic +taste and given a colour to her life. + +It is difficult for those who live in these times to realise the fervour +with which the few books then brought within the reach of the people were +received by those who were hungry for self-culture. The Queen was an +accomplished scholar, and did her best to encourage the spread of +literature in the country. But though the tide had set in with an +ever-increasing flow, the flood had not as yet reached the women in Mary +Forrester's position. Thus, when she married Ambrose Gifford, a new world +was opened to her by such books as Surrey's _Translation of the Ĉneid_, and +Painter's _Tales from Boccaccio_. She had an excellent memory, and had +learned by heart Wyatt's _Translation of the Psalms_, and many parts of +Spenser's _Shepherd's Calendar_. This evening she took from the folds of +her gown a small book in a brown cover, which had been a gift to her that +very day from Mary, Countess of Pembroke. + +It was the Psalms in English verse, which the brother and sister had +produced together in the preceding year when Philip Sidney, weary of the +Court, and burdened with the weight of his love for Stella, had soothed his +spirit by this joint work with his sister as they walked together in the +wide domain of Wilton, the home to which Mary Sidney went from her native +Penshurst, and which was scarcely less fair and beautiful than that which +she left to become the wife of the Earl of Pembroke. + +It was at Wilton that _The Arcadia_ had its birth, and the description of +the fair country where Sir Philip Sidney and his sister placed the heroes +and heroines of the story may well answer as a description of both places, +as they write of proud heights, garnished with stately trees; and humble +valleys comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers; the meadows +enamelled with all sorts of flowers; the fields garnished with roses, which +made the earth blush as bashful at its own beauty--with other imagery +which, after the lapse of more than three hundred years, shines out through +the tangled labyrinth of the story of _The Arcadia_, like golden threads, +the lustre of which time has no power to dim. + +Mary Gifford has paid dearly for those five years spent in the world, which +was so far removed from the peace and seclusion of her native hills. And +now, as she sits in the porch, and opening the little book which had been +the gift that day from the Countess of Pembroke, she tried, in the dim +waning light, to read some verses from the thick page, which the lines +printed close in black letters made somewhat difficult. Presently the book +fell from her hand and she started to her feet, as there was a rustle near +and a soft tread of stealthy footsteps. + +In another moment the tall black figure Lucy had spoken of stood before +her. + +Her heart beat fast, and it needed all her courage not to cry aloud with +fear. + +'What is your pleasure, sir?' she said. + +The slouching hat was removed, and she saw before her her husband,-- + +'You thought I was dead; is it not so? I crave your pardon for being alive, +Mary.' + +'I heard a rumour that you lived,' she replied; 'but why do you come hither +to torture me?' + +'I have an errand, and I shall fulfil it. I am come hither for my son.' + +'You come, then, on a bootless errand,' was the answer. 'No power in Heaven +and earth will make me surrender my child to your tender mercies.' + +'We shall see,' was the cool reply. 'Hearken, Mary! I left the country +after that fray with the man you know of. They left me for dead, but I rose +and escaped. The man lay dead--that consoles me--his wife--' + +'Do not go over the miserable wickedness of your life. You were covered +with dishonour, and you betrayed me. I would die sooner than give up my +child to you; you shall kill me first--' + +'Nay, Mary, do not give vent to your hatred and abhorrence of me. Hearken! +I know I was a sinner, not worse than thousands, but I have sought the +shelter of the Holy Catholic Church, and I am absolved from my sins by +penance and fasting. The unhappy woman for whom I sinned is now a professed +nun in a convent. I shall never look on her face again. I have joined the +priests at Douay; one Dr Allan has the control of the school. It is there +I will take my son, and have him brought up in the Catholic faith.' + +'Never!' Mary said. 'My son shall be trained in the Protestant faith, and I +will hold him, by God's grace, safe from your evil designs. Ah, Ambrose, be +not so pitiless; be merciful.' + +'Pitiless! nay, it is you who are pitiless. You scout my penitence; you +scorn and spurn me, and you ask me, forsooth, to be merciful. I give you +your choice--commit the boy to my care within one week, or I will find +means to take him whether you will or no. I give you fair warning.' + +'You have robbed me of peace and love, and all a woman counts dear. You +betrayed me and deserted me; you slew the husband of the woman you ruined, +and fled the country with her. The sole comfort left me is my boy, and I +will keep him, God helping me. I will not put his soul in jeopardy by +committing him to a father unworthy the name.' + +Could this be gentle Mary Gifford? This woman with flashing eyes and set, +determined face, from which all tenderness seemed to have vanished as she +stood before the man from whom she had suffered a terrible wrong, and who +was the father of her child. + +The mother, roused in defence of her boy--from what she considered danger +both to his body and soul--was, indeed, a different woman from the quiet, +dignified matron, who had stood in that very spot with Humphrey Ratcliffe a +day or two before, and had turned away with sorrowful resolution from the +love he offered her, and which she could not accept. + +What if it had been possible for her to take refuge with him! What if she +had been, as for years everyone believed her to be, a widow! Now disgraced, +and with the death of the man, whom he had killed, on his head, and as one +of the hunted and persecuted Papists, her husband lived! If only he had +died. + +The next moment the very thought was dismissed, with a prayer for grace to +resist temptation, and pardon even for the thought, and Mary Gifford was +her true self again. + +With the fading light of the April evening on her face--pale as death, but +no longer resentful--her heart no longer filled with passionate anger and +shrinking from the husband who had so cruelly deserted her, she stood +before him, quiet and self-possessed, awakening in his worldly and +deceitful heart admiration, and even awe. + +There was silence between them for a short space. + +Suddenly, from the open casement above their heads, came the sound of a +child's voice--a low murmur at first, then growing louder--as the dream +passed into reality. + +'Mother, mother! Ambrose wants mother!' + +Then, without another word, Mary Gifford bowed her head, and, passing into +the kitchen, closed and barred the door; and, hastening to her room, threw +herself on her knees by the child's little bed, crying,-- + +'Ambrose, sweetheart! Mother is here!' + +'I'm glad on't,' said the child, in a sleepy, dreamy voice, as he turned +towards her, and wound his arms round her neck. + +'I'm glad on't! I thought I had lost her.' + +The sound of the child's voice smote on the ears of the unhappy father, and +sent a sharp thrill of pain through his heart. + +Perhaps there never was a moment in his life when he felt so utterly +ashamed and miserable. + +He felt the great gulf which lay between him and the pure woman whom he had +so cruelly deserted--a gulf, too, separating him from the child in his +innocent childhood--the possession of whom he so greatly coveted. For a +moment or two softer feelings got the mastery, and Ambrose Gifford stood +there, under the starlit sky, almost resolved to relinquish his purpose, +and leave the boy to his mother. But that better feeling soon passed, and +the specious reasoning, that he was doing the best for the child to have +him brought up a good Catholic, and educated as his mother could never +educate him, and that the end justified the means, and that he was bound to +carry out his purpose, made him say to himself, as he turned away,-- + +'I will do it yet, in spite of her, for the boy's salvation. Yes; by the +saints I will do it!' + + * * * * * + +The next few days passed without any summons for Lucy to join the household +at Penshurst. + +She became restless and uneasy, fearing that, after all, she might miss +what she had set her heart upon. + +Troubles, too, arose about her dress. She had been conscious on Sunday that +the ladies in attendance were far smarter than she was; and she had +overheard the maiden, who was addressed as 'Betty,' say,-- + +'That country child is vain of her gown, but it might have been put +together in the reign of our Queen's grandmother. And who ever saw a ruff +that shape; it is just half as thick as it ought to be.' + +Poor little Lucy had other causes, as she thought, for discontent. The long +delay in the fulfilment of her wishes was almost too much for her patience; +but it was exasperating, one morning, to be summoned from the dairy by +little Ambrose to see a grand lady on a white horse, who asked if Mistress +Lucy Ratcliffe had gone to London. + +Lucy ran out in eager haste, hoping almost against hope that it was some +lady from Penshurst, sent by the Countess to make the final arrangements. + +To her dismay she found Dorothy Ratcliffe being lifted from the pillion by +a serving man, attired in a smart riding-robe of crimson with gold buttons +and a hood of the same material to protect her head from the sun and the +keen east wind which had set in during the last few days. + +'Good-day to you,' Dorothy said. 'I did not hope to find you here. +Methought you had set off for London days ago! Whence the delay?' + +'I am waiting the Countess of Pembroke's pleasure,' Lucy said, with +heightened colour. 'The tourney has been put off.' + +'As we all know,' Dorothy remarked, 'but it is well to be lodged in good +time, for all the quarters near Whitehall will be full to overflowing. +Prithee, let me come in out of the wind, it is enow to blow one's head off +one's shoulders.' + +Lucy was unpleasantly conscious that she was in her ordinary dress, that +her blue homespun was old and faded, that her sleeves were tucked up, and +that there was neither ruff at her throat nor ruffles at her sleeves, that +her somewhat disordered locks were covered with a thick linen cap, while +Mistress Ratcliffe was smartly equipped for riding after the fashion of the +ladies of the time. + +'Well-a-day,' Dorothy said. 'I am vexed you are disappointed. We are off at +sunrise on the morrow, staying a night at my father's house in Tunbridge, +and then on to London on the next day but one. Aunt Ratcliffe and my father +have business to go through about me and my jointure, for, after all, for +peace's sake, I shall have to wed with George, unless,' with a toss of her +head, 'I choose another suitor in London.' + +Dorothy's small eyes were fastened on Lucy as she spoke. If she hoped the +information she had given would be unwelcome, she must have been +disappointed. Lucy was herself again, and forgot her shabby gown and +work-a-day attire, in the secret amusement she felt in Dorothy's way of +telling her proposed marriage with George Ratcliffe. + +'It will save all further plague of suitors,' Dorothy continued, 'and there +is nought against George. If he is somewhat of a boor in manners, I can +cure him, and, come what may, I dare to say he will be a better husband in +the long run than Humphrey. What do you say, Mistress Lucy?' + +'I dare to say both are good men and trusty,' was the answer, 'and both are +well thought of by everyone.' + +'Ay, so I believe; but now tell me how comes it you are left out in the +cold like this? I vow I did my best to wheedle the old aunt yonder to let +you come in our train, but she is as hard as a rock when she chooses. When +I get to Hillbrow there won't be two mistresses, I warrant. One of us will +have to give in, and it won't be your humble servant! As I say I am sorry +you have lost your chance of this jaunt. It's a pity, and if I could put in +a good word for you I would. I am on my way now to Penshurst Place to pay +my dutiful respects to my Lady Mary Sidney. My good aunt was not ready when +I started, so I thought to tarry here to await her coming. I hear the +horse's feet, I think, in the lane. I must not make her as cross as two +sticks by keeping her fuming at my delay, so good-day, Mistress Lucy. I am +mightily sorry for you, but I will put in a word for you if I can.' + +'I pray you not to mention my name, Mistress Dorothy,' Lucy said. 'You are +quite wrong, I am only waiting for my summons from the Countess, and I am +prepared to start.' + +'Not if the summons came now,' Dorothy said, with a disagreeable smile. +'You couldn't ride to Court in homespun, methinks. Her Highness the Queen, +so I hear, is vastly choice about dress, and she has proclaimed that if the +ruffs either of squires or ladies are above a certain height they shall be +clipped down by shearers hired for the purpose--willy nilly. As you have no +ruffs, it seems, this order will not touch your comfort. Good-day.' + +Lucy looked after her departing visitor, seated on a pillion with the +serving-man, with a scornful smile. + +It was irritating, no doubt, to be pitied by Dorothy Ratcliffe, and to have +to stand by her in such humble attire, but did she not know that George, +poor George, loved her, and her alone; did she not know that he would never +suffer himself to be entrapped into a marriage with his cousin, even though +she had bags of gold, and finally--and that was perhaps the sweetest +thought of all--did she not know whether in faded homespun, guiltless of +lace or ruffle, or in her best array, no one could look twice at Dorothy +Ratcliffe while she was by. + +So the poor little vain heart was comforted, as Lucy turned to Mary, who +had been in the bakehouse kneading flour for the coarse, brown bread +consumed by the household at Ford Manor far too quickly to please Mistress +Forrester, with a merry laugh,-- + +'To think on't, Mary. Doll Ratcliffe has been visiting me to tell me she is +to marry George, and be the fair mistress of Hillbrow. I could split my +sides with laughing to think of it! And she came to pity me--pity me, +forsooth! because I have to wait long for the summons to join my Lady +Pembroke, and she starts on the morrow. I hate pity, Mary;--pity, indeed, +from a frump like that! I can snap my fingers at her, and tell her she will +want my pity--not I hers.' + +'Go and finish your work, Lucy,' Mary said. 'Strive after a gentler and +more patient spirit. It fills me with foreboding when you give your tongue +such licence.' + +'Mary!' Lucy said, with a sudden vehemence. 'Mary! I heard you sobbing last +night--I know I did. I heard you praying for help. Oh! Mary, I love you--I +love you, and I would fain know why you are more unhappy than you were a +while agone. Has it aught to do with that black, dreadful man I saw on the +hill?' + +'Do not speak of him--not a soul must know of him. Promise, Lucy!' Mary +said. + +'But George Ratcliffe knows how he scared me that day, though he did not +see him. He said he would track him out and belabour him as he deserved.' + +And now, before Mary could make any rejoinder, Ambrose was calling from the +head of the stairs,-- + +'Mother, I am tired of staying here, let me come down.' + +'Yes, come, Ambrose,' Mary said, 'mother's work is over, and she can have +you now near her.' + +The child was the next minute in his mother's arms. + +Mary covered him with kisses. + +'And you have stayed in my chamber for these two hours?' she said. 'My +good, brave boy!' + +'Yes; I stayed,' the child said, 'because I promised, you know. I didn't +like it--and when a lady rode up on a big grey horse, I did begin to run +down, and then I stopped and went back to the lattice, and only looked at +her. It was not a horse like Mr Sidney's, and I should not care to ride on +a pillion--I like to sit square, like Mr Sidney does. When will he come +again? If he comes, will you tell him I am learning to be a dutiful boy? He +told me to be a dutiful boy, because I had no father; and I _will_ be +dutiful and take care of you, sweet mother!' + +'Ah, Ambrose! Ambrose!' Mary said, 'you are my joy and pride, when you are +good and obedient, and we will take care of each other, sweetheart, and +never part--' + +'Not till I am a big man,' Ambrose said, doubtfully, 'not till I am a big +man, then--' + +'We will not speak of that day yet--it is so far off. Now we must set the +board for dinner, and you shall help me to do it, for it is near eleven +o'clock.' + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THREE FRIENDS + + 'To lose good days that might be better spent, + To waste long nights in pensive discontent, + To speed to-day--to be put back to-morrow-- + To feed on hope--and pine with fear and sorrow.' + + SPENSER. + + +The gentlewomen in attendance on the Queen had a sorry time of it during +Philip Sidney's absence from the Court. + +She was irritable and dissatisfied with herself and everyone besides. +Fearing lest the French Ambassador should not be received with due pomp in +London, and sending for Lord Burleigh and the Earl of Leicester again and +again to amend the marriage contract which was to be discussed with the +Duke of Anjou's delegates. + +Secret misgivings were doubtless the reason of the Queen's uneasy mood, and +she vented her ill-humour upon her tire-women, boxing their ears if they +failed to please her in the erection of her head-gear, or did not arrange +the stiff folds of her gold-embroidered brocade over the hoop, to her +entire satisfaction. + +Messengers were despatched several times during the process of the Queen's +toilette on this May morning to inquire if Mr Philip Sidney had returned +from Penshurst. + +'Not returned yet!' she exclaimed, 'nor Fulke Greville with him. What keeps +them against my will? I will make 'em both rue their conduct.' + +'Methinks, Madam,' one of the ladies ventured to say, 'Mr Philip Sidney is +wholly given up to the effort he is making that the coming tourney may be +as brilliant as the occasion demands, and that keeps him away from Court.' + +'A likely matter! You are a little fool, and had best hold your tongue if +you can say nought more to the purpose.' + +'I know Mr Sidney spares no pains to the end he has in view, Madam, and he +desires to get finer horses for his retinue.' + +'You think you are in his confidence, then,' the Queen said, angrily. 'You +are a greater fool than I thought you. I warrant you think Philip Sidney is +in love with you--you are in love with him, as the whole pack of you are, I +doubt not, and so much the worse for you.' + +Then the Queen having, by this sally, brought the hot tears to the lady's +eyes, recovered her composure and her temper, and proceeded to take her +morning draught of spiced wine, with sweet biscuits, and then resorted to +the Council chamber, where all matters of the State were brought before her +by her ministers. Here Elizabeth was the really wise and able monarch, who +earnestly desired the good of her people; here her counsellors were often +fairly amazed at her far-seeing intelligence and her wide culture. No +contrast could be greater than between the middle-aged Maiden Queen pluming +her feathers to win the hearts of her courtiers, and listening with +satisfaction to the broadest flattery with which they could approach her, +and the sovereign of a nation in times which must ever stand out in the +history of England as the most remarkable the country has ever known, +gravely deliberating with such men as Lord Burleigh and Sir Francis +Walsingham on the affairs of State at home and abroad. + +Elizabeth had scarcely seated herself in her chair, and was about to summon +Sir Francis Walsingham, when one of the pages-in-waiting came in, and, +bending his knee, said,-- + +'Mr Philip Sidney craves an audience with your Highness.' + +Philip was only waiting in the ante-chamber to be announced, and, being +secure of his welcome, had followed the page into the Queen's presence, +and, before Elizabeth had time to speak, he was on his knees before her, +kissing the hand she held out to him. + +'Nay, Philip, I scarce know whether I will receive you--a truant should be +whipped as a punishment--but, mayhap, this will do as well for the nonce,' +and the Queen stroked Philip Sidney on both cheeks, saying, 'The gem of my +Court, how has it fared with him?' + +'As well as with any man while absent from you, fair Queen. Gems,' he added +playfully, 'do not shine in the dark, they need the sun to call forth their +brightness, and you are my sun; apart from you, how can I shine?' + +'A pretty conceit,' Elizabeth said. 'But tell me, Philip, are things put in +train for the due observance of such an event as the coming of the +delegates from France? It is a momentous occasion to all concerned.' + +'It is, indeed, Madam,' Philip Sidney said, 'and I pray it may result in +happiness for you and this kingdom.' + +'Nay, now, Philip, are you going back to what you dared to say of +disapproval of this marriage three years ago? I would fain hope not, for +your own sake.' + +'Madam, I then, in all humility, delivered to you my sentiments. You were +not pleased to hear them, and I was so miserable as to offend you.' + +'Yes, and,' using her favourite oath 'you will again offend me if you +revive the old protest, so have a care. We exercise our royal prerogative +in the matter of marriage, and I purpose to wed with the Duke of Anjou, +come what may.' + +'I know it, Madam, and, as your faithful subject, I am doing my utmost to +make the coming jousts worthy of your approval and worthy of the occasion. +The Fortress of Beauty is erected, and the mound raised, and I would fain +hope that you will be pleased to honour the victors with a smile.' + +'And with something more valuable; but tell me, Philip, how does it fare +with my Lady Rich? Rumour is busy, and there are tale-bearers, who have +neither clean hearts nor clean tongues. Sure you can pick and choose +amongst many ladies dying for your favour; sure your Queen may lay claim to +your devotion. Why waste your sighs on the wife of Lord Rich?' + +Immediately Philip Sidney's manner changed. Not even from the Queen could +he bear to have this sore wound touched. He rose from his half-kneeling, +half-sitting position at the Queen's feet, and said in a grave voice,-- + +'I await your commands, Madam, which I shall hold sacred to my latest +breath, but pardon me if I beseech your Highness to refrain from the +mention of one whom I have lost by my own blind folly, and so made +shipwreck.' + +'Tut, tut, Philip; this is vain talking for my fine scholar and statesman. +Shipwreck, forsooth! Nay, your craft shall sail with flying colours yet. +But I hear the voices of Burleigh and Leicester in the ante-chamber! Your +good uncle is like to die of jealousy; if he finds I am closeted with you +he will come to the Council in an ill temper, and rouse the lion in me. So, +farewell till the evening, when I command your presence at the banquet.' + +'Madam, there is yet one word I would say. It is upon my good father's +affairs.' + +'What now? Henry Sidney is always complaining--no money, no favour! As to +the money, he has spent a goodly sum in Ireland, and yet cries out for +more, and would fain go thither again, and take you with him, to squander +more coin.' + +'I have no desire, Madam, either for him to go to Ireland or for myself to +accompany him. But I pray you to consider how small a pittance he receives +as Lord President of Wales. It is ever a struggle for my mother to maintain +the dignity of your representative there. She is wearing out her life in a +vain effort, and you, Madam, surely know that her nature is noble, and that +she seeks only to promote the welfare of others.' + +'Ay! Mary Sidney is well enough. We will think over the matter. Command her +to come to Court for this Whitsuntide, there is a chamber at her service. +Now, I must to business. Stay if it suits you; you have more wits than all +the rest of us put together. Yes, that is Leicester's step and voice.' + +Philip knew better than to remain without express invitation to do so from +his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. It was, perhaps, only natural that the +elder man should be jealous of the younger, who had, when scarcely +four-and-twenty, already gained a reputation for statesmanship at home and +abroad. Brilliant as Leicester was, he was secretly conscious that there +were heights which he had failed to reach, and that his nephew, Philip +Sidney, had won a place in the favour of his sovereign, which even the +honest protest he had made against this marriage with the Duke of Anjou had +failed to destroy; a high place also in the esteem of the world by the +purity of his life and the nobleness of a nature which commended itself +alike to gentle and simple; while he had the reputation of a true knight +and brave soldier, pure, and without reproach, as well as a scholar versed +in the literature of other countries, and foremost himself amongst the +scholars and poets of the day. + +Philip Sidney left the presence-chamber by another door as his uncle and +Lord Burleigh entered it, and went to his own apartments, where he expected +to meet some friends, and discuss with them topics more interesting and +profitable than the intrigues of the Court and the Queen's matrimonial +projects. + +Edmund Spenser's dedication to the _Shepherd's Calendar_ is well known, and +there can be no doubt that he owed much to Sidney's discriminating +patronage. + +That dedication was no empty compliment to win favour, and the friendship +between Edmund Spenser and Philip Sidney gathered strength with time. They +had often walked together under the trees at Penshurst, and a sort of club +had been established, of which the members were Gabriel Harvey, Edward +Dyer, Fulke Greville and others, intended for the formation of a new school +of poetry. Philip Sidney was the president, and Spenser, the youngest and +most enthusiastic member, while Gabriel Harvey, who was the oldest, was +most strict in enforcing the rules laid down, and ready with counsel and +encouragement. + +The result of all the deliberations of this club were very curious, and the +attempt made to force the English tongue into hexameters and iambics +signally failed. + +Philip Sidney and Spenser were the first to discover that the hexameter +could never take its place in English verse, and they had to endure some +opposition and even raillery from Gabriel Harvey, who was especially +annoyed at Edmund Spenser's desertion; and had bid him farewell till God or +some good angel put him in a better mind. + +This literary club had broken up three years before this time, but Edmund +Spenser and Sir Fulke Greville still corresponded or met at intervals with +Sidney to compare their literary efforts and criticise them freely, +Spenser's always being pronounced, as doubtless they were, far above the +others in beauty of style and poetical conception. + +By Philip Sidney's influence Spenser had been sent to Ireland as secretary +to Lord Grey of Wilton, whose recall was now considered certain. Sir Henry +Sidney would have been willing to return as Deputy with his son under him; +but, having been badly supported in the past, he stipulated that the Queen +should reward his long service by a peerage and a grant of money or lands +as a public mark of her confidence. + +Philip found Sir Fulke Greville in his room, and with him Edward Dyer, who +had come to discuss a letter from Edmund Spenser, which he wished his +friends to hear. + +'He fears he shall lose his place if Lord Grey be recalled, and beseeches +me,' Philip said, 'to do my best that he should remain secretary to +whomsoever the Queen may appoint.' + +'And that will be an easy matter, methinks,' Dyer said, 'if the rumour is +true that your good father is again to be appointed Deputy of Ireland, with +you for his helper.' + +'Contradict that rumour, good Ned,' Philip said. 'There is but the barest +chance of the Queen's reinstating my father, and if, indeed, it happened +so, I should not accept the post under him. I will write to our friend +Spenser and bid him take courage. His friends will not desert him. But I +have here a stanza or two of the _Fairie Queene_, for which Edmund begs me +to seek your approval or condemnation.' + +'It will be the first,' Fulke Greville said, 'as he very well knows, and it +will not surprise me to find our good friend Harvey at last giving him his +meed of praise, albeit he was so rash as to say that hexameters in English +are either like a lame gosling that draweth one leg after, or like a lame +dog that holdeth one leg up.' + +Fulke Greville laughed, saying,-- + +'A very apt simile; at least, for any attempt I was bold enow to make; but +read on, Philip. I see a whole page of Edmund's somewhat cramped writing.' + +'It is but a fragment,' Philip said, 'but Edmund makes a note below that he +had in his mind a fair morning, when we walked together at Penshurst, and +that the sounds and sights he here describes in verse are wafted to him +from that time.' + +'Why do you sigh as you say that, Philip? Come, man, let us have no +melancholy remembrances, when all ought to be bright and gay.' + +'The past time has ever somewhat of sadness as we live in it again. Have +you never heard, Fulke, of the hope deferred that maketh a sick heart, nor +of the hunger of the soul for the tree of life, which is to be ever +denied?' + +'I am in no mood for such melancholy,' was the answer. 'Let us hear what +Spenser saith of that time of which you speak. I'll warrant we shall find +it hard to pick out faults in what he writes therein. + +Then Philip read,-- + + 'Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound + Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, + Such as att once might not on living ground, + Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere: + Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, + To read what manner musicke that mote bee, + For all that pleasing is to living eare + Was there consorted in one harmonee-- + Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters, all agree. + + 'The joyous birdes, shrouded in cheerefull shade, + Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet, + Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made + To th' instruments divine respondence meet; + The silver-sounding instruments did meet + With the base murmure of the waters' fall, + The waters' fall with difference discreet, + Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call, + The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.' + +We may well think that these stanzas, which form a part of the 12th canto +of the Second Book of the _Faerie Queene_ have seldom been read to a more +appreciative audience, nor by a more musical voice. After a moment's +silence, Edward Dyer said,-- + +'I find nought to complain of in all these lines. They flow like the stream +rippling adown from the mountain side--a stream as pure as the fountain +whence it springs.' + +'Ay,' Fulke Greville said; 'that is true. Methinks the hypercritic might +say there should not be two words of the same spelling and sound and +meaning, to make the rhyme, as in the lines ending with meet.' + +'A truce to such comment, Fulke,' Philip said. 'Rhyme is not of necessity +poetry, nor poetry rhyme. There be many true poets who never strung a +rhyme, and rhymers who know nought of poetry.' + +'But, hearken; Edmund has wrote more verses on the further side of this +sheet. I will e'en read them, if it pleases you to hear.' + +Fulke Greville made a gesture of assent, and Philip Sidney read, with a +depth of pathos in his voice which thrilled the listeners,-- + + 'Ah! see, whoso faire thing dost faine to see, + In springing flowre the image of thy day! + Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee + Doth first peepe foorth with bashful modestee, + That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may! + Lo! see soone after how more bold and free + Her bared bosome she doth broad display. + Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away! + + 'So passeth, in the passing of a day, + Of mortall life, the leafe, the bud, the flowre, + No more doth flourish after first decay. + That erst was sought to deck both bed and bowre + Of many a ladie, and many a paramoure! + Gather, therefore, the rose, whilst yet is prime, + For soon comes age that will her pride deflowre; + Gather the rose of love, whilst yet is time, + Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equall crime.' + +These last verses were received in silence. There was no remark made on +them, and no criticism. + +Probably both Sidney's friends felt that they referred to what was too +sacred to be touched by a careless hand; and, indeed, there was no one, +even amongst Philip's dearest friends, except his sister Mary, the Countess +of Pembroke, who ever approached the subject of his love for Stella--that +rose which Philip had not gathered when within his reach, and which was now +drooping under an influence more merciless than that of age--the baneful +influence of a most unhappy marriage. + +The Queen had that very morning spoken out with a pitiless bluntness, which +had made Philip unusually thoughtful. The very words the Queen had used +haunted him--'tale-bearers, who had neither clean hearts nor clean +tongue.' + +Edward Dyer, according to the custom of the friends when they met, read +some verses he had lately composed, and Fulke Greville followed. + +Then Philip Sidney was called upon to contribute a sonnet or stanza. + +If he never reached the highest standard of poetry, and, even in his best +stanzas of _Stella and Astrophel_, rivalled the sweet flow of Edmund +Spenser's verse, he had the gift of making his verses vividly express what +was uppermost in his mind at the moment, as many of the _Stella and +Astrophel_ poems abundantly testify. + +In early youth Philip Sidney had been influenced by a distinguished convert +to the Reformed Faith, Hubert Languet, whom he met at Frankfort. Between +this man of fifty-four and the boy of eighteen, who had gone abroad for +thoughtful travel and diligent study, a strong--even a romantic--friendship +had sprung up, and the letters which have been preserved show how +unwavering Hubert Languet was in his devotion to the young Englishman, +whose fine and noble qualities he had been quick to discover. + +About this time Philip was anxious as to the health of his old friend. His +letters had been less frequent, and the last he had received during the +present year, had seemed to tell of failing powers of body, though the mind +was as vigorous as ever. + +Thus, the two verses which Philip now read from his _Arcadia_ had reference +to his old and dearly-loved counsellor and friend, and were inspired by +the lifelong gratitude he felt for him. They are clothed, as was the two +frequent custom of the time, in pastoral images; but Fulke Greville and +Edward Dyer listened spellbound as the words were uttered, in musical +tones, with a strength of feeling underlying them, which gave every line a +deep significance. + + 'The song I sang, old Languet had me taught, + Languet, the shepherd, best swift Ister knew; + For, clerkly read, and hating what is naught + For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true, + With his sweet skill my skilless youth he drew, + To have a feeling taste of Him that sits + Beyond the heaven, far more beyond our wits. + + 'He said the music best those powers pleased, + Was jump accord between our wit and will, + Where highest notes to godliness are raised, + And lowest sink, not down to jot of ill, + With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill, + How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive, + Spoiling their flock, or while 'twixt them they strive.' + +'There is naught to complain of in those verses, Philip,' Fulke Greville +said. 'He must be a sharp censor, indeed, who could find fault with them. +We must do our best to bring good old Gabriel Harvey back to join our +Areopagus, as Edmund Spenser is bold enough to call it.' + +'Have you heard aught of the friend in whose praise the verses were +indited?' Edward Dyer asked. + +'Nay, as I said, I have had but one letter from Languet for many months. +As soon as this tourney is over I must get leave to make a journey to +Holland to assure myself of his condition.' + +'The Queen will rebel against your absence, Philip. You are in higher +favour than ever, methinks; nor do I grudge you the honour, as, I fear, +some I could name grudge it.' + +Philip rose quickly, as if unwilling to enter into the subject, and, +gathering together their papers, the three friends broke up their meeting +and separated till the evening. + +Anyone who had seen Philip Sidney as he threw himself on a settle when +Fulke Greville and Edward Dyer had left him, and had watched the profound +sadness of his face as he gave himself up to meditation on the sorrow which +oppressed him, would have found it difficult to imagine how the graceful +courtier, who that evening after the banquet at Whitehall led the Queen, as +a mark of especial favour, through the mazes of the dance, could ever have +so completely thrown off the melancholy mood for one of gaiety and apparent +joyousness. How many looked at him with envy when the Queen gave him her +hand in the dance then much in fashion called the 'Brawl!' This dance had +been lately introduced, and the Queen delighted in it, as it gave her the +opportunity of distinguishing the reigning favourite with an especial mark +of her favour. + +This evening the ring was formed of ladies and gentlemen chosen by +Elizabeth, who gorgeously attired, her hoop and stiff brocade making a +wide circle in the centre of the ring, called upon Philip Sidney to stand +there with her. + +The Queen then, giving her hand to Philip, pirouetted with him to the sound +of the music, and, stopping before the gentleman she singled out for her +favour, kissed him on the left cheek, while Philip, bending on his knee, +performed the same ceremony with the lady who had been the partner of the +gentleman before whom the Queen had stopped. By the rules of the dance, the +couple who stood in the centre of the ring now changed places with those +who had been saluted, but this did not suit the Queen's mind this evening. + +She always delighted to display her dancing powers before her admiring +courtiers, exciting, as she believed, the jealousy of the ladies, who could +not have the same opportunity of showing their graceful movements in the +'Brawl.' + +The Queen selected Lord Leicester and Christopher Hatton and Fulke Greville +and several other gentlemen, and curtseyed and tripped like a girl of +sixteen instead of a mature lady of forty-nine. + +Elizabeth's caprice made her pass over again and again several courtiers +who were burning with ill-concealed anger as they saw Leicester and his +nephew chosen again and again, while they were passed over. + +At last the Queen was tired, and ordered the music to cease. She was led by +Leicester to the raised dais at the end of the withdrawing-room where the +dancing took place, and then, at her command, Philip Sidney sang to the +mandoline some laudatory verses which he had composed in her honour. + +The Queen contrived to keep him near her for most of the evening, but he +escaped now and then to circulate amongst the ladies of the Court and to +answer questions about the coming tournament. + +In one of the alcoves formed by the deep bay of one of the windows Philip +found his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, who was purposely waiting there +to see him alone, if possible. + +'I have been waiting for you, Philip,' she said, 'to ask who will arrange +the position my gentlewomen will occupy at the tourney. I have several +eager to see the show, more eager, methinks, than their mistress, amongst +them the little country maiden, Lucy Forrester, whom you know of.' + +'I will give what orders I can to those who control such matters. But, my +sweet sister, you look graver than your wont.' + +'Do I, Philip? Perhaps there is a reason; I would I could feel happy in the +assurance that you have freed yourself from the bonds which I know in your +better moments you feel irksome. You will have no real peace of mind till +you have freed yourself, and that I know well.' + +'I am in no mood for reproaches to-night, Mary,' Philip said, with more +heat than he often showed when speaking to his dearly-loved sister. 'Let +me have respite till this tournament is over at least.' And as he spoke, +his eyes were following Lady Rich as she moved through the mazes of a +Saraband--a stately Spanish dance introduced to the English Court when +Philip was the consort of poor Queen Mary. + +'I might now be in the coveted position of Charles Blount in yonder dance,' +Philip said. 'I refrained from claiming my right to take it, and came +hither to you instead.' + +'Your right! Nay, Philip, you have no right. Dear brother, does it never +seem to you that you do her whom you love harm by persisting in that very +love which is--yes, Philip, I must say it--unlawful? See, now, I am struck +with the change in her since I beheld her last. The modesty which charmed +me in Penelope Devereux seems vanished. Even now I hear her laugh, hollow +and unreal, as she coquettes and lays herself out for the admiring notice +of the gentlemen who are watching her movements. Yes, Philip, nothing but +harm can come of persisting in this unhappy passion.' + +'Harm to her! Nay, I would die sooner than that harm should befall her +through me. I pray you, Mary, let us speak of other matters.' But though he +did begin to discuss the affairs of his father, and to beg Lady Pembroke to +advise his mother to be wary in what she urged when the Queen gave her an +interview, it was evident to his sister that his thoughts were in the +direction of his eyes, and that she could not hope to get from him the wise +advice as to her father's embarrassments which she had expected. + +But the gently exercised influence of his pure and high-minded sister had +its effect, and long after the sounds of revelry had died away, and the +quiet of night had fallen upon the palace, there was one who could not +sleep. + +Philip Sidney was restlessly pacing to and fro in the confined space of the +chamber allotted to him at Whitehall, and this sonnet, one of the most +beautiful which he ever wrote, will express better than any other words +what effect his sister's counsel had upon him. + + 'Leave me, oh! Love! which reachest but to dust, + And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things, + Grow rich in that, which never taketh rust. + Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. + + Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might, + To that sweet yoke, where lasting freedoms be, + Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light + That doth both shine and give us sight to see. + + Oh! take fast hold! let that light be thy guide + In this small course which birth draws out to Death, + And think how evil becometh him to slide + Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. + Then farewell world, thy uttermost I see; + Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.' + +The clouds were soon to break and the light shine upon the way in that +'small course' which yet lay before him. + +We who can look onward to the few years yet left to Philip Sidney, and can +even now lament that they were so few, know how his aspirations were +abundantly fulfilled, and that Love Eternal did indeed maintain its life in +his noble and true heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WHITSUNTIDE, 1581 + + 'The greater stroke astonisheth the more; + Astonishment takes from us sense of pain; + I stood amazed when others' tears begun, + And now begin to weep, when they have done.' + + HENRY CONSTABLE, 1586. + + +After Lucy's departure from Penshurst, Mary Gifford kept her boy +continually in sight, and, however restive Ambrose might be under the +control which his grandmother exercised over him, he was generally obedient +to his mother. + +His high spirit was curbed by a look from her, and, having promised that he +would not go beyond the gate leading from the farmyard on one side of Ford +Manor, or into the lane which led to the highroad on the other, Ambrose +held that promise sacred. + +He trotted along by his mother's side as she performed the duties in the +dairy and poultry-yard, which Lucy's absence in the household had made it +necessary for her to undertake. Although it was a relief that peace reigned +now that the wranglings between their stepmother and Lucy had ceased, Mary +found the additional work a great strain upon her, however glad she was to +have her hands well occupied, that she might have less time to brood over +the fears which her husband's visit and threats had aroused. + +Two weeks had now gone by, and these fears were comparatively laid to rest. +Mary thought that her husband would not risk being seen in the +neighbourhood, as news came through the Puritan friends of Mrs Forrester +that several Papists had been seized at Tunbridge, and had been thrown into +prison, on the suspicion that they were concerned in one of the Popish +plots of which the Protestants were continually in dread, and in one of +which Edmund Campion was implicated. + +Indeed, there was an almost universal feeling throughout the country that +the Papists cherished evil designs against the Queen's life, and that they +were only biding their time to league with those who wished to place the +captive Queen of Scotland on the throne, and so restore England to her +allegiance to the Pope. + +News of the imprisonment of this celebrated Edmund Campion had been +circulated about this time through the country, and stories of the manner +in which he had been mercilessly tortured to extract from him the +confession of a plot against Elizabeth's life. + +On the Sunday after Ascension Day there were to be great shows and games in +the village of Penshurst, and Ambrose, hearing of them from his friend Ned +the cowherd, on Saturday evening, begged his mother to let him see the +sports. + +'There's a wrestling match,' he urged, 'on the green, and a tilting between +horsemen in the outer park. Mother, I'd like to see it; do take me down to +see it. Oh! mother, do; I'll hold your hand all the time; I won't run away +from you, no, not an inch. I am six years old. I am big enough now to take +care of _you_, if there's a crowd or the horses plunge and kick. Ned says +it will be a brave show.' + +'I will go down to church with you, Ambrose,' his mother said, 'and if I +can secure a safe place I will wait for a part of the sports, but you must +not fret if I do not stay to see the sports end, for I am tired, Ambrose, +and I would fain have rest on Sunday.' + +The child looked wistfully into his mother's face. + +'I'll be a very good boy, mother. I _have_ been a good boy,' he said, 'and +you will tell Mr Sidney that I didn't plague you, and tell Master Humphrey +too. He said I was a plague to you, and I hate him for saying it.' + +'Hush, Ambrose, Master Ratcliffe will be a good friend to you, if--' + +'If what? if _I_ am good? + +'I meant, if ever you had no mother to care for you.' + +'No mother!' the child repeated, only dimly catching her meaning. 'No +mother!' and there was a sudden change in his voice, which told of +something that was partly fear and partly incredulity. 'No mother! but you +said we should always have each other. I have you, and you have me. You +said I must not leave you, and,' with vehemence, 'you _sha'n't_ leave me.' + +'Ambrose, God's will must be done, let us trust him.' + +But the boy's serious mood passed, and he was now capering about and +singing as he went in a joyous monotone as he went to find Ned in the +farmyard. + +'I am to see the sports on the morrow. I'm to see the sports on the green.' + +The words reached other ears than Ned's. His grandmother came out of the +bakehouse, where she had been storing piles of loaves on a high shelf, +which had just been taken from the oven, and called out,-- + +'Sports on the Lord's Day, what does the child say? No one who eats my +bread shall see that day profaned. The wrath of the Almighty will fall on +their heads, whoever they be, mind that, Mary Gifford, mind that! Ay, I +know what you will say, that the Queen lends her countenance to them, and +your grand folk in the great house, but as sure as you live, Mary Gifford, +a curse will fall on your head if you let that child witness this +wickedness.' + +Mary took refuge in silence, but her stepmother's words sounded in her ears +like a knell. + +For herself she would willingly have dispensed with games and sports on +Sundays. Her sympathies were with those who, taking the just view of the +seventh day, believed that God had ordained it for the refreshment both of +body and soul--a day when, free from the labours of this toilsome world, +the body should rest, and the soul have quiet and leisure for meditation in +private, and for prayer and praise in the services appointed by the Church. + +Sports and merry-making were quite as much out of harmony with Mary +Gifford's feelings as they were with her stepmother's, but, in the due +observance of Sunday, as in many other things, the extreme Puritan failed +to influence those around them by their harsh insistence on the letter +which killeth, and the utter absence of that spirit of love which giveth +life. + +The villagers assembled in the churchyard on this Sunday morning were not +so numerous as sometimes, and the pew occupied by the Sidneys, when the +family was in residence at the Park, was empty. + +Mary Gifford and her boy, as they knelt together by a bench near the +chancel steps, attracted the attention of the old Rector. He had seen them +before, and had many times exchanged a kindly greeting with Mary and +complimented Lucy on her 'lilies and roses,' and asked in a jocose way for +that good and amiable lady, their stepmother! But there was something in +Mary's attitude and rapt devotion as the light of the east window fell on +her, that struck the good old man as unusual. + +When the service was over, he stepped up to her as she was crossing the +churchyard, and asked her to come into the Rectory garden to rest. + +'For,' he added, 'you look a-weary, Mistress Gifford, and need refreshment +ere you climb the hill again.' + +The Rectory garden was an Eden of delight to little Ambrose. His mother let +him wander away in the winding paths, intersecting the close-cut yew +hedges, with no fear of lurking danger, while, at the Rector's invitation, +she sat with him in a bower, over which a tangle of early roses and +honeysuckle hung, and filled the air with fragrance. A rosy-cheeked maiden +with bare arms, in a blue kirtle scarcely reaching below the knees, which +displayed a pair of sturdy legs cased in leather boots, brought a wooden +trencher of bread and cheese, with a large mug of spiced ale, and set them +down on the table, fixed to the floor of the summer bower, with a broad +smile. + +As Ambrose ran past, chasing a pair of white butterflies, the Rector +said,-- + +'That is a fine boy, Mistress Gifford. I doubt not, doubly precious, as the +only son of his mother, who is a widow. I hear Master Philip Sidney looks +at him with favour; and, no doubt, he will see that he is well trained in +service which will stand him in good stead in life.' + +'Ambrose is my only joy, sir,' Mary replied. 'All that is left to me of +earthly joy, I would say. I pray to be helped to bring him up in the +nurture and admonition of the Lord. But it is a great charge.' + +'Take heart, Mistress Gifford; there are many childless folk who would envy +you your charge, but, methinks, you have the air of one who is burdened +with a hidden grief. Now, if I can, by hearing it, assuage it, and you +would fain bring it to me, I would do what in me lies as a minister of +Christ to give you counsel.' + +'You are very good, kind sir, but there are griefs which no human hand can +touch.' + +'I know it, I know it, for I have had experience therein. There was one I +loved beyond all words, and God gave her to me. I fell under heavy +displeasure for daring to break through the old custom of the +Church--before she was purged of many abuses, which forbids the marriage of +her priests--and my beloved was snatched from me by ruthless hands, even as +we stood before the altar of God. + +'She died broken-hearted. It is forty years come Michaelmas, but the wound +is fresh; and I yet need to go to the Physician of Souls for healing. + +'When the hard times of persecution came, and our blessed young King died, +and I had to flee for my life, I could thank God she was spared the misery +of being turned out in the wide world to beg her bread, with the children +God might have given us. Then, when the sun shone on us Protestants, and +our present Queen--God bless her!--ascended the throne, and I came hither, +the hungry longing for my lost one oppressed me. But the Lord gives, and +the Lord takes away: let us both say, "Blessed be His holy name." Now, +summon the boy to partake of this simple fare, and remember, Mistress +Gifford, if you want a friend, you can resort to me. I am now bound for +the parish of Leigh, where I say evensong at five o'clock.' + +Mary called Ambrose, and said,-- + +'Bless my child, sir, and bless me also.' + +Ambrose, at his mother's bidding, knelt by her side, and the Rector +pronounced the blessing, which has always a peculiar significance for those +who are troubled in spirit. + +'To the Lord's gracious keeping I commit you. The Lord bless you and keep +you. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you, and give you +peace--now, and for evermore.' + +A fervid 'Amen' came from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the child's, +as the old man's footsteps were heard on the path as he returned to the +Rectory. + +It was a very happy afternoon for Ambrose. He enjoyed his dinner of wheaten +bread and creamy cheese; and his mother smiled to see him as he buried his +face in the large mug, and, after a good draught of the spiced drink, +smacked his lips, saying,-- + +'That is good drink, sweeter than the sour cider of which grandmother gives +me a sup. Aunt Lou says it is as sour as grandmother, who brews it. Aunt +Lucy is having sweet drinks now, and pasties, and all manner of nice +things. Why can't we go to London, mother, you and I?' + +'Not yet, my boy, not yet.' + +And then Ambrose subsided into a noonday sleep, curled up on the rude +bench which was fixed round the summer bower. His mother put her arm round +him, and he nestled close to her. + +Peace! the peace the old Rector had called down upon her seemed to fill +Mary Gifford's heart; and that quiet hour of the Sunday noontide remained +in her memory in the coming days, as the last she was to know for many a +long year. + +'The sports, mother!' Ambrose said, rousing himself at last, and struggling +to his feet. 'Let us go to see the sports.' + +'Would you please me, Ambrose, by going home instead?' + +Ambrose's lips quivered, and the colour rushed to his face. + +'I want to see the sports,' he said; 'you promised you would take me.' + +Then Mary Gifford rose, and, looking down on the child's troubled face, +where keen disappointment was written, she took his hand, saying,-- + +'Come, then; but if the crowd is great, and you are jostled and pushed, you +must come away, nor plague me to stay. I am not stout enough to battle with +a throng, and it may be that harm will come to you.' + +They were at the Rectory gates now, and people were seen in all their +Sunday trim hurrying towards the field where the tilting match was to take +place. + +Mary turned towards the square, on either side of which stood the old +timbered houses by the lych gate, and asked a man she knew, if the horsemen +who were to tilt in the field were to pass that way. + +'For,' she added, 'I would fain wait here till they have ridden on. I might +get into danger with the child from the horses' feet.' + +'Better have a care, mistress,' was the reply, and he added; 'scant +blessings come to those who turn Sunday into a day of revelry.' + +'Ah!' said another voice, 'you be one of the saints, Jeremy; but why be +hard on country folk for a little merry-making, when the Queen and all the +grand nobles and ladies do the same, so I've heard, at Court.' + +'I tell you,' was the reply, 'it's the old Popish custom--mass in the +morning, and feasting and revelling all the rest of the day. I tell you, it +is these licences which make the Nonconformists our bitter foes.' + +'Foes!' the other said. 'Ay, there's a pack of 'em all round. Some seen, +some unseen--Papists and Puritans--but, thank the stars, I care not a groat +for either. I am contented, any way. Saint or sinner, Puritan or Papist, I +say, let 'em alone, if they'll let me alone.' + +'Ay, there's the rub,' said the other, 'there's no letting alone. You and I +may live to see the fires kindled again, and burn ourselves, for that +matter.' + +[Illustration: OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.] + +'I sha'n't burn. I know a way out of that. I watch the tide, and turn my +craft to sail along with it.' + +And this easy-going time-server, of whom there are a good many descendants +in the present day, laughed a careless laugh, and then, as the sound of +horses' feet was heard, and that of the crowd drawing near, he +good-naturedly lifted Ambrose on his shoulder, and, planting his broad back +against the trunk of the great overshadowing elm, he told the boy to sit +steady, and he would carry him to the wall skirting the field, where he +could see all that was going on. + +Mary Gifford followed, and, feeling Ambrose was safe, was glad he should be +gratified with so little trouble and risk. She rested herself on a large +stone by the wall, Ambrose standing above her, held there by the strong arm +of the man who had befriended them. + +The tilt was not very exciting, for many of the best horses and men had +been called into requisition by the gentry of the neighbourhood, for the +far grander and more important show to come off at Whitehall in the +following week. + +The spectators, however, seemed well satisfied, to judge by their huzzas +and cheers which hailed the victor in every passage of arms--cheers in +which little Ambrose, from his vantage ground, heartily joined. + +At last it was over, and the throng came out of the field, the victor +bearing on the point of his tilting pole a crown made of gilded leaves, +which was a good deal battered, and had been competed for by these village +knights on several former occasions. + +Like the challenge cups and shields of a later time, these trophies were +held as the property of the conqueror, till, perhaps, at a future trial, he +was vanquished, and then the crown passed into the keeping of another +victor. + +Mary Gifford thanked the man, who had been so kind to her boy, with one of +her sweetest smiles, and Ambrose, at her bidding, said,-- + +'Thank you, kind sir, for letting me see the show. I'd like to see the game +of bowls now where all the folk are going.' + +'No, no, Ambrose! you have had enough. We must go home, and you must get to +bed early, for your little legs must be tired.' + +'Tired! I'd never be tired of seeing horses gallop and prance. Only, I long +to be astride of one, as I was of Mr Philip Sidney's.' + +Mother and son pursued their way up the hill, Ambrose going over the events +of the day in childish fashion--wanting no reply, nor even attention from +his mother, while she was thinking over the different ways in matters of +religion of those who called themselves Christians. + +These Sunday sports were denounced by some as sinful--and a sign of return +to the thraldom of Popery from which the kingdom had been delivered; others +saw in them no harm, if they did not actually countenance them by their +presence; while others, like herself, had many misgivings as to the +desirability of turning the day of rest into a day of merry-making, more, +perhaps, from personal taste and personal feeling than from principle. + +When Mary Gifford reached Ford Manor, she found it deserted, and only one +old serving-man keeping guard. The mistress had gone with the rest of the +household to a prayer and praise meeting, held in the barn belonging to a +neighbouring yeoman, two miles away; and he only hoped, he said, that she +might return in a sweeter temper than she went. She had rated him and +scolded all round till she had scarce a breath left in her. + +The old man was, like all the other servants, devoted to the gentle lady +who had gone out from her home a fair young girl, and had returned a sad +widow with her only child, overshadowed by a great trouble, the particulars +of which no one knew. + +The rest of that Sabbath day was quiet and peaceful. + +Mary read from Tyndale's version of the Testament her favourite chapter +from the Epistle of St John, and the love of which it told seemed to fill +her with confidence and descend dove-like upon her boy's turbulent young +heart. + +He was in his softest, tenderest mood, and, as Mary pressed him close to +her side, she felt comforted, and said to herself,-- + +'While I have my boy, I can bear all things, with God's help.' + +Mary Gifford was up long before sunrise the next morning, and, calling +Ambrose, she bid him come out with her and see if the shepherd had brought +in a lamb which had wandered away from the fold on the previous day. The +shepherd had been afraid to tell his mistress of the loss, and Mary had +promised to keep it from her till he had made yet another search; and then, +if indeed it was hopeless, she would try to soften Mistress Forrester's +anger against him. + +'We may perchance meet him with the news that he has found the lamb, and +then there will be no need to let grannie know that it had been lost,' she +said. + +It was a dull morning, and the clouds lay low in a leaden sky, while a mist +was hovering over the hills and blurring out the landscape. + +The larks were soon lost to sight as they soared overhead, singing faintly +as they rose; the rooks gave prolonged and melancholy caws as they took +their early flight, and the cocks crowed querulously in the yard, while now +and then there was a pitiful bleat from the old ewe which had lost her +lamb. + +In the intervals of sound, the stillness was more profound, and there was a +sense of oppression hanging over everything, which even Ambrose felt. + +The moor stretched away in the haze, which gave the hillocks of gorse and +heather and the slight eminences of the open ground an unnatural size. + +Every moment Mary hoped to see the shepherd's well-known figure looming +before her in the mist with the lamb in his arms, but no shepherd appeared. + +'We must turn our steps back again, Ambrose. Perhaps the shepherd has gone +down into the valley, and it is chill and damp for you to be out longer; +when the sun gets up it will be warmer.' + +She had scarcely spoken, when a figure appeared through the haze, like +every other object, looking unnaturally large. + +'Quick, Ambrose,' she said, 'quick!' and, seizing the child's hand, she +began to run at her utmost speed along the sheep-path towards the stile +leading into the Manor grounds, near the farmyard. + +The child looked behind to see what had frightened his mother. + +'It's the big black man!' he said. + +But Mary made no answer. She ran on, regardless of hillocks and big +stones--heedless of her steps, and thinking only of her pursuer. + +Presently her foot caught in a tangle of heather, and she fell heavily, as +she was running at full speed, and struck her head against some sharp +stones lying in a heap at the edge of the track, which could hardly be +called a path. + +'Mother! mother!' Ambrose called; and in another moment a hand was laid on +his shoulder--a strong hand, with a grasp which the child felt it was +hopeless to resist. 'Mother! mother!' + +The cry of distress might well have softened the hardest heart; but men +like Ambrose Gifford are not troubled with what is commonly understood by +a heart. He spoke, however, in gentle tones. + +'My poor child, your mother is much hurt. We must seek for the aid of a +surgeon. We must get help to carry her home. Come with me, and we will soon +get help.' + +'No, no; I will not leave my mother,' Ambrose said, throwing himself on the +ground by her side. 'Why doesn't she speak or move? _Mother!_' + +Alas! there was no answer; and a little red stream trickling down from a +wound on the forehead frightened Ambrose still more. + +'It is blood!' he cried, with the natural shrinking which children always +show when their own fingers are cut. 'It is blood! Oh, mother!' + +But Ambrose was now quietly lifted in a pair of strong arms, and the words +spoken in his ear,-- + +'We must seek help; we will get a surgeon. Your mother will die if we do +not get help, boy. Hush! If you cry out your mother may hear, and you will +distress her. Hush!' + +Poor little Ambrose now subsided into a low wail of agony as he felt +himself borne along. + +'Where are you going, sir? Set me down, set me down.' + +'We go for help for your mother. Let that suffice.' + +Ambrose now made a renewed struggle for freedom. It was the last; he felt +something put over his face, so that he could neither see where he was +going nor utter another cry; he only knew he was being carried off by this +strange man he knew not where, and that he had left his mother lying pale +and still, with that terrible red stream trickling from her forehead, on +the hillock of heather on the moor. + +It is said, and perhaps with truth, that the bitterest hate is felt by the +sinner against the sufferer for his sin. This hatred was in Ambrose +Gifford's heart, and was the primary cause of his thus forcibly taking from +the wife whom he had so cruelly betrayed, the child who was so infinitely +precious to her. + +Ambrose Gifford had, no doubt, by subtle casuistry persuaded himself that +he was doing good to the boy. He would be educated by the Jesuits, with +whom he had cast in his lot; he would be trained as a son of the Catholic +Church, and by this he hoped to gain favour, and strike off a few years of +purgatorial fire for his past sins! + +He had confessed and done penance for the disgraceful acts of which he had +been guilty, and he had been received into the refuge the Roman Church was +ready to offer to him. + +At this time she was making every effort to strengthen her outposts, and to +prepare for the struggle which at any moment she might be called upon to +make to regain her coveted ascendency in England. + +The seminary founded at Douay by a certain Dr Allen, a fine scholar, who +was educated at Oxford, was much resorted to by persecuted Catholics who +sought a refuge there. Or by men like Ambrose Gifford, who, obliged to +leave the country under the shadow of a crime committed, were glad to throw +themselves into the arms ready to receive them, and, as they would have +expressed it, find pardon and peace by fasting and penance in the bosom of +the Catholic Church. Doubtless, the great majority of those who gathered at +Douay at this time were devout and persecuted members of the Church, from +the bondage of which Elizabeth had delivered her country, with the hearty +approbation of her loyal subjects. + +But, black sheep like Ambrose Gifford went thither to be washed and +outwardly reformed; and he, being a man of considerable ability and +shrewdness, had after a time of probation been despatched to England to +beat up recruits and to bring back word how the Catholic cause was +prospering there. + +He had, therefore, every reason to wish to take with him his own boy, whose +fine physique and noble air he had noted with pride as he had, unseen, +watched him for the last few weeks when haunting the neighbourhood like an +evil spirit. + +He would do him credit, and reward all the pains taken to educate him and +bring him up as a good Catholic. + +The motives which prompted him to this were mixed, and revenge against his +wife was perhaps the dominant feeling. She loved that boy better than +anything on earth; she would bring him up in the faith of the Reformed +Church, and teach him, probably, to hate his father. + +He would, at any rate, get possession of this her idol, and punish her for +the words she had spoken to him by the porch of the farm, on that summer +evening now more than two weeks ago. + +Ambrose Gifford had deceived Mary from the first, professing to be a +Protestant while it served his purpose to win favour in the household of +the Earl of Leicester, but in reality he was a Catholic, and only waited +the turn of the tide to declare himself. He led a bad, immoral life, and it +was scarcely more than two years after her marriage that Mary Gifford's +eyes were opened to the true character of the man who had won her in her +inexperienced girlhood by his handsome person--in which the boy resembled +him--his suave manner, and his passionate protestations of devotion to her. + +Many women have had a like bitter lesson to learn, but perhaps few have +felt as Mary did, humbled in the very dust, when she awoke to the reality +of her position, that the love offered her had been unworthy the name, and +that she had been betrayed and deceived by a man who, as soon as the first +glamour of his passion was over, showed himself in his true colours, and +expected her to take his conduct as a matter of course, leaving her free, +as he basely insinuated, to console herself as she liked with other +admirers. + +To the absolutely pure woman this was the final death-blow of all hope for +the future, and all peace in the present. Mary fled to her old home with +her boy, and soon after heard the report that her husband had been killed +in a fray, and that if he had lived he would have been arrested and +condemned for the secret attack made on his victim, and also as a disguised +Catholic supposed to be in league with those who were then plotting against +the life of the Queen. + +About a year before this time, a gentleman of the Earl of Leicester's +household, when at Penshurst, had told Mary Gifford that Ambrose Gifford +was alive--that he had escaped to join the Jesuits at Douay, and was +employed by them as one of their most shrewd and able emissaries. From that +moment her peace of mind was gone, and the change that had come over her +had been apparent to everyone. + +The sadness in her sweet face deepened, and a melancholy oppressed her, +except, indeed, when with her boy, who was a source of unfailing delight, +mingled with fear, lest she should lose him, by his father's machinations. + + * * * * * + +It was not till fully half-an-hour after Ambrose had been carried away, +that the shepherd, with his staff in his hand and the lost lamb thrown over +his shoulder, came to the place where Mary was lying. + +She had recovered consciousness, but was quite unable to move. Besides the +cut on her forehead, she had sprained her ankle, and the attempt to rise +had given her such agony that she had fallen back again. + +'Ay, then! lack-a-day, Mistress Gifford,' the shepherd said, 'how did this +come about. Dear heart alive! you look like a ghost.' + +'I have fallen,' gasped Mary. 'But where is my boy--where is Ambrose? Get +me tidings of him, I pray you, good Jenkyns.' + +'Lord! I must get help for you before I think of the boy. He has run home, +I dare to say, the young urchin; he is safe enough.' + +'No, no,' Mary said. 'Oh! Jenkyns, for the love of Heaven, hasten to find +my boy, or I shall die of grief.' + +The worthy shepherd needed no further entreaty. He hastened away, taking +the stile with a great stride, and, going up to the back door of the house, +he called Mistress Forrester to come as quick as she could, for there was +trouble on the moor. + +Mistress Forrester was at this moment engaged in superintending the feeding +of a couple of fine young pigs, which had been bought in Tunbridge a few +days before. Her skirts were tucked up to her waist, and she had a large +hood over her head, which added to her grotesque appearance. + +'Another lamb lost? I protest, Jenkyns, if you go on losing lambs after +this fashion you may find somebody else's lambs to lose, and leave mine +alone. A little more barleymeal in that trough, Ned--the porkers must be +well fed if I am to make a profit of 'em and not a loss.' + +'Hearken, Madam Forrester,' Jenkyns said, 'the lamb is safe, but Mistress +Gifford is lying yonder more dead than alive. Ned, there! come and help me +to lift her home--and where's the boy, eh?' + +'What boy?' Mrs Forrester asked sharply. + +'Mistress Gifford's son,' Jenkyns said, 'his mother is crying out for him +amain, poor soul! She is in a bad case--you'd best look after her, there's +blood running down from a cut on her forehead. Here!' calling to one of the +women, 'here, if the Mistress won't come, you'd best do so--and bring a +pitcher of water with you, for she is like to swoon, by the looks of her.' + +'You mind your own business, Amice,' Mistress Forrester said, as she +smoothed down her coarse homespun skirt, and settled the hood on her head. +'You bide where you are, and see the poultry are fed, as she who ought to +have fed 'em isn't here.' + +'Nor ever will be again, mayhap,' said Jenkyns wrathfully. 'Come on, Ned, +it will take two to bear her home, poor thing. Don't let the boy see her +till we've washed her face--blood always scares children.' + +'I daresay it's a scratch,' Mistress Forrester said, as she filled a pewter +pot with water, and followed the shepherd and Ned to the place where Mary +lay. + +Even Mistress Forrester was moved to pity as she looked down on her +stepdaughter's face, and heard her murmur. + +'Ambrose! my boy! He is stolen from me. Oh! for pity's sake, find him.' + +'Stolen! stolen! not a bit of it,' Mistress Forrester said. 'I warrant he +is a-bed and asleep, for he is seldom up till sunrise.' + +'He was with me,' Mary gasped, 'he was with me, when I fell. I was running +from _him_--and--he has stolen him from me.' + +'Dear sake! who would care to steal a child? There, there, you are +light-headed. Drink a drop of water, and we'll get you home and a-bed. I'll +plaister the cut with lily leaves and vinegar, and I warrant you'll be well +in a trice.' + +They moistened Mary's lips with water, and Jenkyns sprinkled her forehead; +and then Jenkyns, with Ned's help, raised Mary from the ground and carried +her towards the house. + +A cry of suppressed agony told of the pain movement caused her, and +Mistress Forrester said,-- + +'Where's the pain, Mary? Sure you haven't broke your leg?' + +But Mary could not reply. A deadly faintness almost deprived her of the +power of speaking. + +As they passed through the yard the lamb, which Jenkyns had set down there +when he passed through, came trotting towards him, the long thick tail +vibrating like a pendulum as it bleated piteously for its mother. + +Mary turned her large sorrowful eyes upon it, and whispered,-- + +'The lost lamb is found. Let it go to its mother. Oh! kind people, +find--find my boy, and bring him back to me--to me, his mother.' + +By this time there was great excitement amongst the people employed on the +farm, and a knot of men and maidens were standing by the back door, +regardless of their mistress's anger that they should dare to idle away a +few minutes of the morning. + +'Back to your work, you fools!' she said. 'Do you think to do any good by +staring like a parcel of idiots at Mistress Gifford. Ask the Lord to help +her to bear her pain, and go and bring her boy to her, Amice.' + +But no one had seen the child that morning, and Amice declared he was not +in the house. + +They carried Mary to her chamber, and laid her down on the low truckle bed, +the shepherd moving as gently as he could, and doing his best to prevent +her from suffering. + +But placing her on the bed again wrung from her a bitter cry, and Jenkyns +said,-- + +'You must e'en get a surgeon to her, Mistress, for I believe she is sorely +hurt.' + +'A surgeon! And, prithee, where am I to find one?' + +'As luck will have it,' Jenkyns said, 'Master Burt from Tunbridge puts up +at the hostel every Monday in Penshurst.' + +'Send Ned down into the village and fetch him, then,' Mistress Forrester +said, who was now really frightened at Mary's ghastly face, which was +convulsed with pain. 'Send quick! I can deal with the cut on her forehead, +but I can't set a broken limb.' + +'Stop!' Mary cried, as Jenkyns was leaving the room to despatch Ned on his +errand. 'Stop!' Then with a great effort she raised herself to speak in an +audible voice. 'Hearken! My boy was stolen from me by a tall man in a long +black cloak. Search the country, search, and, oh! if you can, find him.' + +This effort was too much for her, and as poor Jenkyns bent down to catch +the feeble halting words, Mary fell back in a deep swoon again, and was, +for another brief space, mercifully unconscious of both bodily and mental +agony. Hers was literally the stroke which, by the suddenness of the blow, +deadens the present sense of pain; that was to come later, and the loss of +her boy would bring with it the relief of tears when others had dried +theirs and accepted with calmness the inevitable. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DEFEAT + + 'In one thing only failing of the best-- + That he was not as happy as the rest.' + + EDMUND SPENSER. + + +The court of Queen Elizabeth was well used to witness splendid shows and +passages-of-arms, masques, and other entertainments organised by the +noblemen chiefly, to whose houses--like Kenilworth--the Queen was often +pleased to make long visits. + +The Queen always expected to be amused, and those who wished to court her +favour took care that no pains should be wanting on their part to please +her. Indeed, the courtiers vied with each other in their efforts to win the +greatest praise from their sovereign lady, who dearly liked to be +entertained in some novel manner. + +This visit of the French Ambassadors to London, headed by Francis de +Bourbon, was considered a very important event. It was supposed that +Elizabeth was really in earnest about the marriage with the Duke of Anjou, +whose cause these Frenchmen had been commissioned by their Sovereign to +plead. They were also to have a careful eye to his interests in the treaty +they were to make with so shrewd a maiden lady as the Queen of England, who +was known always to have the great question of money prominently before her +in all her negotiations, matrimonial and otherwise. + +The Earl of Arundel, Lord Windsor, Philip Sidney and Fulke Greville +undertook to impress the visitors with a magnificent display worthy of the +occasion which brought them to London. + +In the tilt-yard at Whitehall, nearest to the Queen's windows, a 'Fortress +of Perfect Beauty' was erected, and the four knights were to win it by +force of arms. + +All that the ingenuity of the artificers of the time could do was done. The +Fortress of Beauty was made of canvas stretched on wooden poles, gaily +painted with many quaint devices, and wreathed about with evergreens and +garlands, which were suspended from the roof. It was erected on an +artificial mound; and, as the day drew near, those who had to control the +admission of the hundreds who clamoured to be allowed to be spectators of +the tournament, were at their wit's end to gratify the aspirants for good +places. + +The ladies about the Court were, of course, well provided with seats in the +temporary booths erected round the tilt-yard, and the Countess of Pembroke +and her following of gentlewomen in attendance occupied a prominent +position. Lady Mary Sidney and her youngest son, Thomas, were also present. +Robert was in his brother's train. Lady Rich, blazing with diamonds, was +the admired of many eyes--upon whose young, fair face might be seen the +trace of that unsatisfied longing and discontent with her lot, for which +the splendour of her jewels and richness of the lace of her embroidered +bodice were but a poor compensation. Amongst Lady Pembroke's attendants +there was one to whom all the show had the charm of novelty. + +Lucy Forrester could scarcely believe that she was actually to be a witness +of all the magnificence of which she had dreamed on the hillside above +Penshurst. Her young heart throbbed with triumph as she saw Mistress +Ratcliffe and Dorothy vainly struggling to gain admittance at one of the +entrances, and at last, hustled and jostled, only allowed to stand on the +steps of one of the booths by Humphrey's help, who was awaiting the signal +from Philip's chief esquire to go and prepare his horse for the +passage-of-arms. + +Lucy had gone through some troubles that morning with Mistress Crawley, +whom she did not find easy to please at any time, and who, seeing Lucy was +in favour with the Countess of Pembroke, did her best to prevent her from +taking too exalted a view of her own merits. + +She had ordered that Lucy, as the youngest of the bower-women, should take +a back bench in the booth, where it was difficult to see or to be seen, but +Lady Pembroke had over-ruled this by saying,-- + +[Illustration: THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL] + +'There is room for all in the front row, good Crawley. Suffer Mistress +Lucy to come forward.' + +And then Lucy, beaming with delight, had a full view of the fortress, and +found herself placed exactly opposite the window at which the Queen was to +sit with her favourites to watch the show. + +'Tell me, I pray you, the name of that grand lady whose jewels are flashing +in the sunshine?' + +Lucy said this to her companion, who bid her sit as close as she could, and +not squeeze her hoop, and take care not to lean over the edge of the booth +so as to obstruct her own view of the people who were rapidly filling up +the seats. + +'And forsooth, Mistress Forrester, you must not speak in a loud voice. It's +country-bred manners to do so.' + +Lucy pouted, but was presently consoled by a smile from Philip Sidney, who +came across the yard to exchange a word with his sister, and to ask if his +young brother was able to get a good view. + +Lucy was much elated by that recognition, and her companion said in a low +voice,-- + +'You ask who yonder lady is? Watch, now, and I'll tell you.' For Philip +had, in returning, stopped before the booth where Lady Rich sat, and she +had bent forward to speak to him. Only a few words passed, but when Philip +had moved away there was a change in Lady Rich's face, and the lines of +discontent and the restless glance of her dark eyes, seeking for +admiration, were exchanged for a satisfied smile, which had something also +of sadness in it. + +'That lady is Lord Rich's wife, and Mr Sidney's love. He will never look +with favour on anyone besides. The pity of it! And,' she added in a low +voice, 'the shame too!' + +'But, hush!' as Lucy was about to respond. 'We may be heard, and that would +anger my lady, who has no cause to love my Lady Rich, and would not care to +hear her spoken of in the same breath as Mr Sidney.' + +The waiting time for spectacles is apt to grow wearisome; and some of the +spectators were yawning, and a few of the elder ladies resigning themselves +to a quiet nap, their heads heavy with the ale of the morning meal, swaying +from side to side, and endangering the stiff folds of the ruffs, which made +a sort of cradle for their cheeks and chins. Lucy, however, knew nothing of +fatigue; she was too much elated with her position, too earnestly employed +in scanning the dresses of the ladies, and admiring the grand equipments of +the gentlemen, to feel tired. + +At length the blast of trumpets announced the coming of the Queen to the +balcony before the window whence she was to see the pageant. A burst of +applause and loud cries of 'God save the Queen' greeted Elizabeth, who, +gorgeously arrayed, smiled and bowed graciously to the assembled people. +Behind her was the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Burleigh and the French +Ambassador at either side, with a bevy of ladies-in-waiting in the +background. The large window had a temporary balcony erected before it, and +those who occupied it were for a few minutes the centre of observation. + +Lucy Forrester had never before had so good a view of the Queen, and her +astonishment was great when she saw, with the critical eye of youth, the +lady about whose beauty and charms so many sonnets and verses had been +written by every rhymester in the land, as well as by the chief poets of +the day. It was a generally accepted fact throughout the country, that the +Queen was as beautiful as she was wise, and that her charms led captive +many a noble suitor, who pined, perhaps in vain, for her favours. + +Lucy whispered to her companion,-- + +'I thought to see a young and fair Queen, and she is old and--' + +'Peace, I tell you!' said her companion sharply. 'You are a little fool to +dare to say that! You had best hold your tongue!' + +Lucy ventured at no further remark, and very soon the heralds came riding +into the tilt-yard and proclaimed the coming of the four knights who were +to carry the Fortress of Beauty by their prowess against those who defended +it; and summoned the Queen to surrender her Fortress to the Four Foster +Children of Desire. + +The Earl of Arundel led the way with Lord Windsor, both magnificently +attired, with a large following of attendant esquires. But Lucy's eyes +dilated with an admiration that was too deep for words, as Philip Sidney +rode into the yard in blue and gilt armour, seated on a splendid horse, on +which he sat with graceful ease as it curveted and pranced, perfectly +controlled by the skill of its rider. Four spare horses, richly +caparisoned, were led behind him by pages, and thirty gentlemen and yeomen, +amongst whom were Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, with four trumpeters +dressed in cassock coats and caps, Venetian hose of yellow velvet adorned +with silver lace, and white buskins. A silver band passing like a scarf +over the shoulder and under the arm bore the motto--_Sic nos non nobis_. +Lucy had no eyes for anyone but her ideal knight, and Fulke Greville, in +his gilded armour, with his followers in gorgeous array, had passed by +almost unheeded. + +Speeches were made, and songs sung, and then the challengers marched up and +down the yard, and at last proceeded to 'run tilt,' each in his turn, +against an opponent, each running six times. The opponents were numerous, +and the four, before nightfall, were seriously discomfited. + +The show was over for that day, and the Queen commanded that the tilt +should be run again on the following morning, which was Whit-Tuesday. After +a great many more speeches and confessions of weariness, the four knights +fell to work with such renewed energy that, we are told, what with +shivering swords and lusty blows, it was as if the Greeks were alive +again, and the Trojan war renewed--ending in the defeat of the Four Foster +Children of Desire, who were, as was only probable, beaten in the unequal +contest. + +The Queen was loud in her praise of the 'pleasant sport,' which had +delighted the gentlemen in whose honour it had been all arranged; and she +called up Philip Sidney for especial thanks, and, tapping him on the +shoulder, bid him repair to the banqueting-hall and discourse some sweet +music on his mandoline, and converse with the French Ambassadors. For, she +said, speaking herself in fluent and excellent French,-- + +'This good Mr Philip Sidney, I would have you to know, has the command of +many foreign tongues, and there are few to match him in Latin and Greek, as +well as those languages spoken in our own time in divers countries.' + +'Ah, madam!' Philip said, 'there is one who surpasses not only my poor self +in learning, but surpasses also the finest scholars that the world can +produce. Need I name that one, gentlemen,' he said, with a courtly bow and +kneeling as he kissed the Queen's hand, 'for she it is who has to-day been +pleased to give, even to us, Four Children of Desire--defeated as we +are--the meed of praise, which is, from her, a priceless dower.' + +This flattery was precisely what Elizabeth hoped for, and she was well +pleased that it should be offered in the hearing of those ambassadors, who +would, doubtless, repeat it in the ears of the Duke of Anjou. + +In reply, one of the soft-spoken Frenchmen said,-- + +'Mr Sidney's fame has reached our ears, Madam. We know him to be what you +are pleased to call him; nor will we for a moment dispute his assertion +that, learned as he is, he must yield the palm to his gracious Sovereign.' + +A few more flattering speeches were tendered; but a keen observer might +have noticed that there was a touch of irony, even of distrust, in the +tone, if not in the words, of the ambassadors' chief spokesman. + +For if Philip Sidney's fame as a scholar and a statesman had reached +France, his fame also as a staunch defender of the Reformed Faith had also +reached it, with the report that he had been, a few years before, bold +enough to remonstrate with the Queen when the proposal of her marriage with +the Duke had been formally made, and that his opposition had been strong +enough to turn the scale against it, at the time. + + * * * * * + +The silence of night had fallen over Whitehall, and those who had won, and +those who had been beaten in the tourney were resting their tired, and, in +many cases, their bruised limbs, in profound repose, when the porter of the +quarters assigned to Philip Sidney's gentlemen and esquires was roused from +his nap by loud and continued knocking at the gate. + +The porter was very wrathful at being disturbed, and looking out at the +small iron grating by the side of the gate, he asked,-- + +'Who goes there?' + +'One who wants speech with Master Humphrey Ratcliffe.' + +'It will keep till morning, be off; you may bide my time,' and with that +the porter shambled back to his seat in a recess of the entrance, and +composed himself to sleep again. But the man who sought admittance was not +to be so easily discouraged. He began to knock again with the staff in his +hand, more loudly than before. + +The porter in vain tried to take no further notice, and finding it +impossible to resume his sleep, heavy as it was with the strong potations +of the previous night, he rose once more, and, going to the grating, poured +out a volley of oaths upon the would-be intruder, which was enough to scare +away the boldest suitor for admission. + +His loud voice, combined with the thundering rap on the heavy oaken gate or +door which still continued, roused Humphrey Ratcliffe from his dreams, on +the upper floor, and he presently appeared on the stone staircase which led +into the outer hall, where the porter kept guard, and said,-- + +'What is all this commotion about? Who demands admission? Open the gate, +and let us see.' + +'Open the gate, Master, yourself,' was the rough reply, 'and let in a +parcel of murderers or thieves, for all I care. You're welcome.' + +'Hold your tongue, you knave,' Humphrey said; 'you are half-drunk now, I +warrant,' and Humphrey, going to the grating, asked,-- + +'Who craves admission at this hour of the night?' + +'An it please you, Master, it is near cock-crow,' was the answer, 'and day +is breaking. I have ill news for Master Humphrey Ratcliffe, and must +deliver my message to his ear.' + +'Ill news!' Humphrey repeated the words. His thoughts went first to his +mother, and then he remembered that she was safe in lodgings with Dorothy +and George. + +'I am one, Ned Barton, cowherd to one Mistress Forrester. I've trudged many +a mile at the bidding of Mistress Gifford, who is in a sore plight.' + +Humphrey did not hesitate now, he drew back the heavy bolts, and turned the +huge, rusty key in the lock, and threw open one side of the gate. + +'Come in,' he said, 'and deliver your message.' + +Ned, in his coarse smock, which was much travel-stained and worn, pulled +the lock of red hair which shadowed his forehead, in token of respect, and +shambled into the hall. + +He was footsore and weary, and said,-- + +'By your leave, Master, I would be glad to rest, for I warrant my bones +ache.' + +Humphrey pointed to a bench which was but dimly discernible in the dark +hall, lighted only by a thin wick floating in a small pan of oil, and bid +Ned seat himself, while he drew a mugful of ale from the barrel, which was +supposed to keep up the porter's strength and spirits during the +night-watch, and put it to Ned's lips. + +He drank eagerly, and then said,-- + +'I've a letter for you, Master, in my pouch, but I was to say you were to +keep it to yourself. Mistress Gifford could scarce write it, for she is +sick, and no wonder. Look here, Master, I'd tramp twice twenty miles to +serve her, and find the boy.' + +'Find the boy! You speak in riddles.' + +Ned nodded till his abundant red hair fell in more than one stray lock over +his sunburnt, freckled face. + +'Are there eavesdroppers at hand?' he asked. + +The porter was snoring loudly, but Humphrey felt uncertain whether he was +feigning sleep, or had really resumed his broken slumber. He therefore bid +the boy follow him upstairs, first replacing bolt and bar, to make all +secure till the morning. + +When he reached his room, which was up more than one flight of the winding +stone stairs, Ned stumbling after him, he struck a light with a flint and +kindled a small lamp, which hung from an iron hook in the roof. + +'Throw yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter +first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.' + +The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible, +blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble. + + * * * * * + +'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe--My Good Friend,--This comes from one nearly +distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They +have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of +Jesuits--it may be at Douay--I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good +Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to God +for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore +need. + + 'M. G. + +'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are +my meat. God's hand is heavy upon me.' + + * * * * * + +Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it +passionately to his lips. + +'Find him! Find her boy; yes, God helping me, I will track him out, alive +or dead.' + +Then he turned to Ned,-- + +'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.' + +Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking +about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had +seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after +the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out +of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse +luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had +come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy. + +'And no wonder,' Ned said; 'there's not a soul at the farm that didn't +think a mighty deal of that child. He was a plague sometimes, I'll warrant, +but--' and Ned drew his sleeve across his eyes, and his low guttural voice +faltered, as he said,--'Folks must be made of stone if they don't feel fit +to thrash that popish devil for kidnapping him, and going near to break +Madam Gifford's heart, who is a saint on earth.' + +'You are a good fellow,' Humphrey said fervently. 'Now, take off those +heavy boots and rest, while I tax my brains, till I decide what is best to +do.' + +With a mighty kick Ned sent his rough boots flying, one after the other, +across the room, and then, without more ado, curled up his ungainly figure +on the settle, and before Humphrey could have believed it possible, he was +snoring loudly, his arm thrown under his head, and his tawny red locks in a +tangled mass, spread upon the softest cushion on which the cowboy had ever +rested. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe paced the chamber at intervals till daybreak, and was +only longing for action, to be able to do something to relieve Mary's +distress--to scour the country till he found a trace of the villain, and +rescue the boy from his clutches. + +This must be his immediate aim; but to do this he must gain leave from his +chief. + +The tournament was over, but the Queen would most certainly require Mr +Sidney's attendance at Hampton Court Palace, whither it was rumoured she +was shortly to go in state, in the royal barge, with the French Ambassador. + +Humphrey grew feverishly anxious for the time when he could see Mr Sidney, +and hailed the noises in the courtyard and the voices of the grooms, who +were rubbing down the tired horses after the conflicts of the previous day, +and examining their hurts received in the fray, which were in some cases +very severe. + +Mr Sidney's rooms were reached by another staircase, and as the big clock +of the palace struck five, Humphrey went down into the porter's hall and +inquired of one of the attendants if Mr Sidney was stirring. + +'He isn't stirring, for he hasn't been a-bed,' was the answer. + +'Then I shall gain admittance?' + +'Most like,' was the reply, with a prolonged yawn. + +'Those are lucky who can slumber undisturbed, whether a-bed or up. +Yesterday's show fell hard on those who had to work at it.' + +'I hear you let in a vagrant last night, Master Ratcliffe. The porter saith +if harm comes of it he won't take the blame. Most like a rascally Jesuit +come to spy out some ways to brew mischief.' + +'A harmless country lout is not likely to brew mischief,' Humphrey said +sharply. 'The man came on urgent business, in which none here but myself +have concern,' and then he crossed to the door leading to the apartments +occupied by Mr Sydney and Sir Fulke Greville. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe had not to wait for admittance to Philip Sidney's room. + +He answered the tap at the door with a ready 'Enter,' and Humphrey found +him seated before a table covered with papers, the morning light upon his +gold-coloured hair, and on his beautiful face. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe stopped short on the threshold of the door before +closing it behind him, and how often, in the years that were to come, did +Philip Sidney's figure, as he saw it then, return to him as a vivid reality +from which time had no power to steal its charm. + +Philip looked up with a smile, saying,-- + +'Well, my good Humphrey, you are astir early.' + +'And you, sir, have been astir all night!' + +'Sleep would not come at my bidding, Humphrey, and it is in vain to court +her. She is a coy mistress, who will not be caught by any wiles till she +comes of her own sweet will. But is aught amiss, Humphrey, that you seek me +so soon? Hero, my good horse, came out of the fray untouched. I assured +myself of that ere I came hither last night.' + +'There is nothing wrong with Hero, sir, that I know of. I dare to seek you +for counsel in a matter which causes me great distress.' + +Philip Sidney had many great gifts, but perhaps none bound his friends and +dependants more closely to him, nor won their allegiance more fully, than +the sympathy with which he entered into all their cares and joys, their +sorrows or their pleasures. + +Immediately, as Humphrey told his story, he was listening with profound +attention, and Humphrey's burden seemed to grow lighter as he felt it +shared with his chief. + +'You know her, sir! You can believe how sore my heart is for her. In all +the sorrows which have well nigh crushed her, this boy has been her one +consolation and joy, and he is stolen from her.' + +'Yes,' Philip Sidney said, 'I do know Mistress Gifford, and have always +pleased myself with the thought that she would put aside the weeds of +widowhood and make you happy some day, good Humphrey.' + +'Nay, sir; she has given me too plainly to understand this is impossible. +She is as a saint in Heaven to me. I love her with my whole heart, and +yet--yet--I feel she is too far above me, and that I shall never call her +mine.' + +'Well, well, let us hope you may yet attain unto your heart's desire, nor +have it ever denied, as is God's will for me. But now, as to the boy--it +puzzles me why any man should kidnap a child of these tender years. What +can be the motive?' + +'I know not, sir, unless it be the greedy desire of the Papists to gain +over, and educate in their false doctrines and evil practices, children +likely to serve their ends. Mistress Gifford's husband was, so it is said, +a Papist from the first moment that he married her, but hid it from her, +and played his part well.' + +'I do not doubt it. While in the service of my Uncle Leicester, it was his +policy to profess the Reformed Faith. Failing to obtain what he wanted, he +threw off disguise, and, as I understand, after an intrigue with another +man's wife, had a fierce fight with the injured husband, so deadly that +both lost their lives in the fray.' + +'Some said this Gifford, fearing disgrace, had left the country, others +that he died. Mistress Gifford must believe the last to be true or she +would not, methinks, have clothed herself in the weeds of widowhood.' + +'But now, my good Humphrey, you would fain have leave to prosecute your +inquiries. God speed you in them, and may they be successful. Mistress +Gifford's reference to Douay makes me think she may have some notion, to +connect this centre of the Papists with the disappearance of her boy. At +any rate, see her, and, if it is advisable for you to repair to Douay, go, +but beware you are not entrapped by any of those Jesuits' snares.' + +'I am loth to leave you, sir,' Humphrey said, 'yet I feel bound to do what +in me lies to rescue this boy. A goodly child he is, full of spirit, and, +though wild at times as a young colt, obedient to his mother. Alack!' +Humphrey continued, 'his poor bereft mother. Would to God I knew how to +comfort her.' + +It was then arranged that Humphrey should set off, without loss of time, +for Penshurst, stopping at Tunbridge on the road to institute inquiries +there. + +George Ratcliffe was also returning home with several horses which had been +over-strained in the tourney of the day before, and both brothers left +London together, with Ned on the baggage horse with the serving-man, before +noon, George scarcely less heavy-hearted than Humphrey, and too much +absorbed in his own troubles to be alive to his brother's. What was the +loss of little Ambrose when compared with the utter hopelessness he felt +about Lucy. + +George rode moodily by his brother's side, scarcely heeding what he saw, +and torturing himself with the careless indifference with which Lucy had +treated him. + +He had asked her to come to his mother's lodgings, and she had refused, +saying,-- + +'You have Mistress Dorothy here, you cannot want me. Besides, I am under +orders, and Crawley must be obeyed.' + +Then, in the intervals of the tournament, George had seen the eyes of +several gallants directed towards Lady Pembroke's booth, and heard one man +say,-- + +'There is a pretty maiden in the Countess's following. I lay a wager I will +get a smile from her.' + +'Not you,' was the reply; 'she has eyes for no one but Mr Sidney. She +follows him with admiring glances; no one else has a chance.' + +While George was inwardly fuming against the two men, one rode up to the +booth, and bowing low, till his head nearly swept his horse's neck, he +presented a posy, tied with a blue riband, to Lucy, who smiled and blushed +with delight, quite indifferent to the scowl on George's face, as he sat +grimly on his horse at the further end of the tilting-yard, where he was +stationed, with several others, with a relay of horses in case fresh ones +should be wanted by the combatants. + +Unversed in the ways of the Court, George did not know that it was the +habit of gallants to present posies, as they would have said, at the shrine +of beauty. From the Maiden Queen upon the throne to the pretty bower-woman +at her needle, this homage was expected, and received almost as a matter of +course. But George, like many other men of his age, had his special +divinity, and could not endure to see other worshippers at her feet. + +All these memories of the two days' tournament occupied George Ratcliffe +during his ride by his brother's side, and kept up a sort of accompaniment +to the measured trot of the horses as they were brought up in the rear by +the servants in charge of them. After a long silence, George said,-- + +'Did you see Mistress Lucy ere we started, Humphrey, to let her know of her +sister's trouble.' + +'No,' was the answer. 'No; I could not get permission to do so, but I sent +a letter by the hand of one of Lord Pembroke's esquires, which would tell +her of her sister's trouble.' + +'It was an ill day for me,' George said, 'when Lucy Ratcliffe came to the +Court. I have lost her now.' + +'Nay now, George, do not be a craven and lose heart. You may win yet. There +is time, and to spare, before you.' + +Thereupon George gave his sturdy roan steed a sharp cut with the whip, +which surprised him greatly. He resented the indignity by plunging from +side to side of the rugged road, and by his heavy gambols sending the other +horses off in a variety of antics. + +When the horses were quieted down again, Humphrey said, laughing,-- + +'Poor old fellow! he doesn't understand why his master should punish him +for the offences of Mistress Lucy Ratcliffe.' Then, more seriously, 'My own +heart is heavy within me, but I try to ease the burden by doing what I can +to relieve the pain of her whom I love. Action is the best cure for heart +sickness.' + +'But action is impossible for me, Humphrey. I have only to endure. Here am +I, riding back to our home to eat the bread of disappointment, leaving her, +for whom I would gladly die, to the temptations of the Court. She will +listen to the wooing of some gallant, and my Lady Pembroke will abet it, +and then--' + +'Then bear it like a man, George; nor break your heart for a maiden, when +there are, I doubt not, many who are worthier and--' + +'That's fine talking,' poor George said wrathfully. 'What if I were to tell +you there are many worthier than the widow of Ambrose Gifford. There are +some who say that she was not--' + +Humphrey's eyes had an angry light in them as he turned them full on his +brother. + +'Not a word more, George, of _her_. I will not brook it; her name is sacred +to me as the name of any saint in Heaven.' + +George felt he dare say no more, and, after another silence, Humphrey +asked,-- + +'When does our mother propose to return?' + +'Not for a month. She has made friends with a draper in the Chepe, who is a +relation of our father's. He has a little, ill-favoured son, and I think I +saw signs of his wishing to win Dorothy Ratcliffe's favour. I would to +Heaven he may do so, and then I shall at any rate have peace and quiet, and +be free from hearing my mother lay plans of what she will do when I bring +Dorothy as mistress of Hillside. Marry Dorothy, forsooth! I pity any man +who is tied to that shrew for life.' + +'Even the ill-favoured cousin you speak of in the Chepe,' Humphrey said, +laughing in spite of himself. 'Nay, George, bear yourself as a man, and I +dare to say little Mistress Lucy will come round to your wishes.' + +'I would that I could hope, but despair has seized me ever since the day of +that tourney. Did you ever see anyone look fairer than she did that day +seated amongst all the grand folks? There was not one to compare with her, +and I caught words in several quarters which showed me I am not wrong in +my estimate of her.' + +'Ah, George,' his brother said, 'we are all wont to think our own idols are +beyond compare; it is a common illusion--or delusion. But we are nearing +Tunbridge. Here we must part, for I must tarry here to pursue inquiries, +while you proceed homewards. The horses must be baited, and we must get +some refreshments at the hostel. It may be that in the inn kitchen I may +pick up some information that may be of service. I shall not ride to +Penshurst till nightfall, or may be the morrow, but I must confide a letter +to the care of that trusty Ned who I see coming up behind us but slowly on +yonder sturdy steed.' + +Humphrey dismounted in the yard of the hostel and gave orders to his groom, +while George went into the kitchen and bid the hostess spread a good meal +for the whole party. + +Humphrey waited outside till the baggage horse, on which Ned was seated +came up. + +Poor Ned was entirely unused to travel on horseback, and had found jolting +and bumping on the sturdy mare's back over the rough road far more painful +than his long march of the previous day and night. He was the butt of the +other servants, who laughed more loudly than politely as he was set on his +legs in the yard. + +He was so stiff from the confined position, that he staggered and would +have fallen, amidst the boisterous jeers of the spectators, had not +Humphrey caught him, and, trying to steady him, said,-- + +'Peace, ye varlets; this good fellow has done me a real service, and +deserves better at your hands than gibes and scoffs. Come hither, Ned. I +have yet something further for you to do for me.' + +Ned followed Humphrey with halting steps, shaking first one leg and then +another, as if to assure himself that they still belonged to him. + +'I'll do all you ask, Master,' Ned said, 'but ride a-horseback. I will walk +fifty miles sooner. My legs are full of pins and needles, and it will take +a deal of shaking and rubbing before I can call 'em my own again.' + +Humphrey could not resist laughing, for Ned's face was comical in its +contortions, as he stamped his feet and rubbed his shins with muttered +exclamations that, as long as his name was Ned, he would never get upon a +horse's back again. + +'You've got a fit of the cramp,' Humphrey said, 'it will soon pass. Now, +after you have had a good meal, take this letter which is tied and sealed, +and put it into the hands of Mistress Gifford. It will tell her all I can +yet tell her in answer to the letter you brought me. At least she will know +by it that I will do my utmost to serve her, and find her son.' + +Ned took the letter with his large brown fingers, and, putting it into the +pouch in the breast of his smock, he said,-- + +'I'll carry it safe, Master, and I'll be off at once.' + +'Not till you have broken your long fast in the kitchen of the hostel.' + +'An it please you, Master, I would sooner be off, if I get a cake to eat on +the way, and a draft of ale before I start; that will serve me. Do not +order me, I pray you, to sit down with those gibing villains--no, nor order +me, kind sir, to mount a horse again. If I live to be three score, I pray +Heaven I may never sit a-horseback again.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ACROSS THE FORD + + 'Farewell to you! my hopes, my wonted waking dreams, + Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy, eclipsed are thy beams. + Farewell self-pleasing thoughts! which quietness brings forth, + And farewell friendship's sacred league! uniting minds of worth.' + + SIR F. GREVILLE, 1591. + + +Lucy Forrester was mending the lace of one of Lady Pembroke's ruffs which +had been torn at the edge on the previous day, when a page brought in +Humphrey's letter, saying, 'For Mistress Forrester.' + +'Hand it hither,' Mistress Crawley said. 'It will keep till that lace is +mended, and I'd have you to know, Mistress Lucy, my lady is very careful +that there should be no billets passing between the young gentlewomen of +her household and idle gallants about the Court. A pack of rubbish is in +that letter, I'll warrant; some rhymes about your bright eyes and cherry +cheeks, or some such stuff.' + +'If you please, Madam, I desire to have my letter, and, if you will not +give it to me, I will go to my lady and tell her you refuse to let me have +it.' + +'You little sauce-box! Do you think my lady has nought to do but attend to +the whimsies of chits like you? Go on with your work. Do you hear?' + +Lucy was burning with indignation, and, moreover, her curiosity was +awakened to know who had written to her, and what were the contents of the +letter. + +The spirit which had rebelled against her stepmother now asserted itself, +and she pushed back the stool on which she was sitting with such violence +that it fell with a crash on the floor, and, as it fell, knocked against +the spindle at which another of the maidens was sitting, and the thread +snapped in two. + +In the confusion which ensued Lucy escaped, and went into the gallery which +ran round the house, and meeting Mr Sidney, she stopped short. + +'Whither away, Mistress Lucy? My sister wishes to see you.' + +'And I wish to see my lady,' Lucy said, her breast heaving with suppressed +excitement. 'I was running to seek her.' + +Mistress Crawley now appeared, and, seizing Lucy by the shoulder, +exclaimed,-- + +'You impudent child! How dare you stop Mr Sidney? Return at once, or I'll +have you dismissed.' + +'Gently, good Mistress Crawley,' Philip Sidney said. 'It was I who was +seeking Mistress Lucy. Allow me to take her to the Countess's apartment, +where I fear ill news awaits her concerning her family at Penshurst.' + +Philip Sidney's voice and manner had almost a magic power. + +Mistress Crawley begged his pardon, nor would she wish to interfere with +her lady's orders. She would take another opportunity of reporting Mistress +Forrester's conduct to her. And, with a profound curtsey to Philip, and an +angry glance at Lucy, she retreated from the field to renew her attack at a +more convenient season. + +'Oh! sir,' Lucy began, 'a letter was brought for me, and Mistress Crawley +would not suffer me to have it. I was angry--' and Lucy cast down her eyes, +the long lashes wet with tears; she could not meet the calm, grave face +looking down on her. + +Yet through all, there was the sense of infinite delight that Mr Sidney was +her friend, and that Mistress Crawley was discomfited. + +'My poor child,' he said, 'I am sorry for you, if, as I think, the letter +contains news of your sister's illness and of her great trouble.' + +'Mary, is it Mary who is sick, sir?' + +'Yes, and worse than that, her boy has been stolen from her.' + +'Then I know who has done it,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I know it was that dreadful +man with the cruel eyes who scared me almost to death a month ago. He said +he wanted to see Ambrose, and now he has stolen him.' + +They were at the door of Lady Pembroke's room by this time, and Philip +Sidney drew aside the over arras hanging on it to let Lucy pass in. To her +disappointment he said,-- + +'I will leave you now to the Countess for comfort and counsel,' and then +the arras fell, and Lucy was called by Lady Pembroke to the further end of +the room, where she was sitting with parchment and pen before her. + +'Is that you, Mistress Forrester?' she said. 'Come hither. Mr Sidney has +brought tidings of Mistress Gifford, which are very grievous. Master +Humphrey Ratcliffe has gone to Penshurst, and will use every effort to +recover the boy, who--may God help her--has been stolen from his mother. +She is, I fear, very sick in body as well as mind, and I am debating +whether it would not be well for you to return to Penshurst under care of +some of the servants, who will be sent thither on the morrow. It would be a +comfort, surely, to your sister to have your presence.' + +Poor Lucy! This unexpected end to her bright hopes was too much for her. +Tears coursed each other down her cheeks, as much for her own +disappointment as sorrow for her sister. She stood before Lady Pembroke, +unable to utter a word. + +'Sit down, poor child,' Lady Pembroke said kindly. 'Yes, Crawley, what is +it?' + +For Mistress Crawley now appeared with the letter in her hand, and, with a +low curtsey, presented it to Lady Pembroke. + +'An' it please you, Madam, I cannot put up with Mistress Lucy's impudence. +There'll be no law and order amongst the young gentlewomen, over whom you +are pleased to set me, if this young woman is to put me at defiance. Vanity +and thinking of nought but gew-gaws and finery and looking out for +admiration, don't go to make a bower-woman such as a noble lady like +yourself might wish to have in her household. I would humbly say to you, my +lady, that I am not the one to put up with sauce and impudence from a +little country-bred maid you are pleased to take under your patronage.' + +'Dear Crawley,' Lady Pembroke said, 'Mistress Forrester is ill at ease at +this moment; the news from her home may well cause her dismay and grief; +leave her to me, and I will let you hear later to what conclusion I have +arrived.' + +Mistress Crawley curtseyed again even more profoundly than before, and, as +she left the room, murmured something about 'favourite,' which did not +reach Lady Pembroke's ear, or, if it did, passed unheeded. + +Lady Pembroke was sweet and gentle in her manner to all who served her, but +she was not weakly indulgent. Although her heart went out in pity towards +poor Lucy, whom she had watched on the previous day, in the full flush of +delight at her first taste of Court pageantry, and had seen, with some +uneasiness, that her beauty had attracted many eyes, she said gravely,-- + +'Try to stop weeping, Lucy, and let us think what it will be best to do. +It is well always to look at duty first, and strive after its performance, +with God's help; and I think it will be your duty to return to your sister +in her distress.' + +'And leave you for ever, Madam!' Lucy exclaimed passionately. + +'Nay, I did not say as much; but, my child, if you return to my household, +it must be understood that you be submissive to Mistress Crawley--an old +and tried friend and servant--who commands respect, and must have it +rendered her.' + +'Oh, Madam, I will, I will be submissive, only do not send me quite away.' + +It did not escape Lady Pembroke's notice that Lucy's tears and distress +were more for herself and her disappointment than for her sister. Lucy had +never learned a lesson of unselfishness, and she had thought chiefly of her +own pleasure, and how she could escape from the life at Ford Manor. And now +that she had escaped, now that a bright future had opened before her, +suddenly that future was clouded, and she was to return whence she came, +and would, doubtless, have to bear the gibes of her stepmother, who had, at +parting, said, 'She would be back in a trice, like a bad penny, returned as +worthless.' + +A prophecy fulfilled sooner than she had expected. + +All this time Humphrey's letter had not been opened, and Lady Pembroke +said,-- + +'Let us know Master Ratcliffe's wishes; he is, as I know, a good friend to +your sister.' + +'He will sure tell me to go back, but I cannot find little Ambrose; and I +am not skilled in nursing the sick, Madam, I know. Goody Pearse, in the +village, would tend Mary better. I love Mary. I love her dearly; and I +grieve about Ambrose, but--' + +'But you love yourself better than either your sister or her boy,' Lady +Pembroke said. 'Now, cut the string of that letter and let me know its +contents.' + +Lucy did as she was bid. Something in Lady Pembroke's grave manner made her +feel that she was not pleased with her, and, of all things, she longed to +win favour with her--Mr Sidney's sister! + +There were only a few words on the piece of folded parchment. + + * * * * * + +'Mistress Lucy, you must crave leave of my lady, the Countess of Pembroke, +to return to Ford Manor. Your sister is in sore distress--her boy lost, and +she is lying sick and sad. Hasten to get leave to return on the morrow with +the gentlewomen and esquires, who are to reach Penshurst with my Lady +Sidney and Master Thomas. I am now, by leave of Mr Sidney, starting on the +quest for your nephew Ambrose Gifford. Pray God I may find him. + + 'Yours to command, and in haste. + 'HUMPHREY RATCLIFFE.' + + * * * * * + +'This letter from so wise a gentleman leaves no alternative,' Lady Pembroke +said, as she scanned its contents, and then handed it back to Lucy. + +'Orders shall be given for your joining the retinue which sets off for +Penshurst the morrow. Meantime, Lucy, return to your duties, and crave +pardon of Mistress Crawley for your insubordination.' + +'And I may return? Oh! Madam, I pray you, say I may return to you. Do not +cast me off.' + +'I shall be at Wilton for some months, and thither I may send for you, if, +as I trust, you will not be needed at Ford Manor.' + +Lucy still lingered. + +'Forgive me, Madam; do not dismiss me without forgiveness.' + +'Nay, surely, dear child,' Lady Pembroke said. 'I would fain see you happy, +and content with the lot appointed you by God. There are manifold +temptations in this world for us all. We need grasp the hand of One who +will not fail to lead us safely in prosperity, and by the waters of comfort +in adversity. Seek Him, Lucy, with your whole heart, and I pray God to +bless you.' + +Lucy kissed the hand held out to her with passionate fervour, and then went +back to do Lady Pembroke's bidding. + +The expedition to Hampton Court was the topic of conversation amongst the +ladies of the household. + +Several of the elder ones were to accompany Lady Pembroke in the earl's +barge; and Lucy heard the glowing accounts of the splendour of the +entertainment there, related in triumphant tones by those who were +fortunate enough to be selected to accompany the Countess. + +They dilated on the theme with some satisfaction, as poor Lucy sat at her +lace-mending, too proud to show her mortification, and yet inwardly chafing +against the hard fate, which had prevented her from being one of the party. + +'Better never to have tasted the sweets of a bright, gay life, than be so +suddenly snatched from it,' she thought. But her better self asserted +itself as she thought of Mary's distress in the loss of Ambrose. + +For Lucy had a better self, and she was not without higher aims. She +possessed natural gifts which, though perhaps inferior to her sister's, +only wanted cultivation. She eagerly devoured any books that came in her +way; and she had a keen perception of all that was beautiful--perhaps it is +safer to say, all that was grand and imposing. + +She loved to dream of herself as the lady of some fine house, surrounded by +all that wealth and rank could give. + +The ideal knight who was to endow her with this splendour was partly ideal, +but he took the form of Mr Sidney. She dare scarcely acknowledge this to +herself. He was set on high, so far above her, it is true; yet he was never +too high above her to forget her presence. His smile was a guerdon which +she craved to win; the glance of his grave, beautiful eyes thrilled through +her; the sound of his voice was music, stirring within her an answering +chord, the echo of which was ever sweet and sweeter every time it was +awakened. + +It was, she felt sure, by his kind offices she had been placed in Lady +Pembroke's household. And did he not seem sad--sorry for her--when Mistress +Crawley pursued her in the gallery? Did he not call her 'My poor child!' +looking down at her with that light of sympathy in his eyes which seemed at +the moment to compensate for all else? + +Perhaps unconsciously to himself, Philip Sydney touched the hearts of many +a fair dame and youthful beauty about the Court of Queen Elizabeth. Indeed, +we know it to have been so, and that the charm he exercised was as subtle +as it was irresistible. This charm increased year by year, and perhaps +never was greater than at the time of which we are writing, when the +struggle within--a struggle in which he was to come out the victor--gave a +pathetic earnestness to his manner, and quickened his sympathies for every +kind and degree of sorrow or disappointment. + +It was as poor little Lucy said: 'He was not too high to stoop to care for +her, or for others.' + +In the early morning of the next day Lucy stood disconsolately in the +courtyard of Lord Pembroke's city house watching the packing of the +baggage, and awaiting the orders of the gentleman who was Master Thomas +Sydney's tutor, and was in command for the journey. + +All was in the bustle of departure, and Lucy felt that no one cared on +which pillion she was to ride, nor where her own modest packages were to be +stowed. + +She wore a scarlet riding-robe, with a hood which was lined with white +taffeta. It fell back, and made a background to her shining hair, and +defined the outline of her small, well-shaped head as she leaned against +the doorway in listless dejection, which was a contrast indeed to her +bright, sparkling mood as she bent over the edge of the booth at the +tournament. + +A sharp altercation was going on between two of the servants, each wishing +to have the honour of taking Lady Mary Sidney's youngest son on his +pillion. + +Presently the boy himself appeared in his black velvet riding suit, booted +and spurred, his red-gold locks--the true Sidney badge--falling over his +shoulders from under the stiff, pointed cap which shaded his forehead. + +'I am to ride alongside of you, not on the pillion like a babe. Peace! I +tell you, Mr Philip saith so. I am to ride Joan, the black mare, Master +Paynter saith it is Mr Philip's order.' + +'Philip,' the boy said, springing towards his brother who now came into the +yard, 'Philip, do not let them treat me as an infant.' + +Thomas Sidney was very small for his age, and was treated as youngest +children often are treated by the elders of a family, as if he were much +younger than his years. + +His delicacy appealed particularly to his brother Philip, who was always +ready to stand his friend, when his elder brother Robin was inclined to +exercise a boyish tyranny over him. + +'Yes, forsooth, Thomas, you shall ride old Joan. Come, let me see you +mount. That is it, spring into the saddle; nay, do not take the rein so +slackly, and settle firmly in the saddle, nor use the stirrup for support. +A man should be able to ride with nothing but himself to trust to for a +safe seat.' + +Thomas was triumphant, and resisted his governess's attempts to throw a +cape over his shoulders, saying,-- + +'The wind was in the east, and would be like to bite their heads off when +they turned into the country.' + +But Thomas threw off the wrap with an impatient gesture, and, in falling, +it hit the good woman on the face. + +'Ask pardon at once, Thomas,' Philip said sternly; 'nor forget the manners +of a gentleman, while you aspire to ride as one.' + +The colour rose to the boy's fair face, and, stooping from the saddle, he +said,-- + +'I am sorry I was rude, Mistress Margery, but oh! I hate to be treated as a +babe.' + +Mistress Margery was easily mollified. She conspired with the rest of the +family to spoil the boy, of whom it was said that he resembled his sister +Ambrosia, who died of wasting sickness and was buried at Ludlow. + +But Thomas had a brave spirit if his body was weak, and to all the +refinement of his race he added indomitable courage and a perseverance +which surmounted what seemed insuperable barriers. + +When the avant-couriers had ridden off, Philip turned to Lucy. + +'On which horse are you to ride, Mistress Forrester? Let me lift you to +your place.' + +Lucy was trembling with joy that Mr Sidney should care for her comfort, +and, as we all know, joy lies very near the fount of tears. + +She dare scarcely trust herself to speak, as she heard Mr Sidney call a +groom to bring up the grey horse, Prince, for Mistress Forrester. + +'Poor old Prince!' Philip said, stroking the horse's neck, who knew his +hand and bowed his head in acknowledgment, 'he has been a trusty servant, +and will carry you safely, I know. But bring hither another cushion for the +pillion,' he called to an attendant, 'and put a package below, for Mistress +Forrester's feet to rest upon.' + +Then he lifted Lucy to her place, saying, as he did so,-- + +'Methinks Prince will not complain of the burden he has to carry to-day, it +is but a feather's weight. See, place your feet on this roll, and let me +cover them with the haircloth--so; does that suit you?' + +The groom was about to take his place on the side of the pillion nearest +the horse's head, when he remembered he had forgotten to fill the powder +flask, for no horseman ever ventured on the Queen's highway without +abundant supply for the musket, which lay across the saddle bow. + +The delay caused by this gave Mr Sidney time to say,-- + +'Heaven grant you may find Mistress Gifford in better case than we fear. +You do well to go to her, and comfort her; commend me to her, and say +Humphrey Ratcliffe has my freely-given permission to scour the country to +find her lost boy. He will do so if he is to be found, and it will be a +double grace if he does, for we may be able to unearth some of these foxy +Jesuits who are lying in wait in every hole and corner.' + +Then, as Lucy did not speak, Philip laid his hand gently on hers as he +leaned against the horse, with one arm caressing his old favourite's neck. + +'Smile on me before you set off, Mistress Lucy, nor look so doleful. The +clouds will clear away, I doubt not, and you will return to my sister, the +Countess, to be blythe and happy in learning all Mistress Crawley would +fain teach you of handicraft, and still more, all my sister can instruct +you in, for she is ever ready to give out the treasures which she has +stored up in her brain and heart.' + +And now the groom appeared, and mounted to his place, and still Lucy could +not find any words. + +'God speed you in your journey,' was Philip's good-bye, and Lucy could only +murmur a few half-inaudible words, as she looked down on the true knight +who filled her girlish dreams, and to whom there never was, and never could +be, any rival. + +And as the steady-going Prince footed it with even steps over the stones, +and trotted along the somewhat rugged roads on the way to Tunbridge, Lucy +tormented herself with her folly in never telling Mr Sidney in so many +words how grateful she was to him. + +'Fool that I was!' she thought. 'And he so tender and careful for my +comfort. What a poor idiot I must have seemed! Yet, sure, I must find +favour in his eyes, or he would not have wrapt the cloth so deftly round my +feet. Oh, is he not noble and beautiful beyond all men who ever lived? I +hear them say the Queen calls him "her Philip" and "her bright gem," and +that he is the wisest statesman, and grandest poet and finest scholar of +the age, and yet he is not too great to be good to me--little Lucy +Forrester. And it may be I shall never see him again--never return to Lady +Pembroke--live up on that hill all my days, and get as stupid and dull as +the old brindled cow that stares with big, dull eyes straight before her, +and sees nought, nor cares for nought but to chew her food. + +'Alack! I am right sorry for Mary's grief. But I wish, if Ambrose was to be +stolen, she had not fallen sick, so that I must needs go and tend her. I am +a selfish hussy to feel this--selfish and hard-hearted! But, oh, was ever +anyone more grievously disappointed than I am. A few short, bright days, +and then back, back to the old, dreary life. Still, I am young; yes, and I +am fair too. I know it, and I may yet be happy.' + +Lucy's meditations continued in this strain, in alternate fears and hopes, +for some time. + +The cavalcade stopped at intervals at wayside hostels to bait the horses, +and to refresh the travellers with draughts of ale and cider. One of these +potations had a soporific effect on Lucy, and, after drinking it, she +became oblivious of jolts and stoppages, of the fair country through which +she passed, and was wrapped in profound slumber, her head resting against +the broad back of the servant who held the reins, and urged on old Prince's +somewhat slow steps by a succession of monotonous sounds, which now and +again broke into the refrain of a song, one of the ballads familiar to +Kentish men, and handed down from father to son for many generations. + + * * * * * + +Humphrey had reached Ford Manor late on the previous evening. He had ridden +hard and fast to Tunbridge, and had heard from Dorothy Ratcliffe's father +that the Papists' colony was supposed to be broken up, and that they had +escaped to Southampton, and taken ship for France. + +Two priests had been seized and thrown into prison at Canterbury, and this +was supposed to have caused the dispersion of their followers, who had +evaded pursuit, and were now thought to be beyond the reach of their +persecutors. But neither from his old uncle, Edgar Ratcliffe, nor from any +other source could Humphrey glean any information which might throw light +on the disappearance of little Ambrose Gifford. + +Nor did the intelligence of his loss seem greatly to affect the old man, +nor indeed to be of any interest to the few people at Tunbridge of whom +Humphrey made inquiries. + +They were far more anxious to hear news from the Court, and of the +tournament, and whether Mr Sidney had won fresh laurels, and if the Queen +was really going to wed with a Popish prince. This was what the Papists +built their hopes upon, and then it would be their turn to trample on the +Protestants. + +As Humphrey rode through Penshurst, the village was wrapt in profound +repose, for in those times people went to bed and rose with the sun. +Artificial light was scarcely known in the farms and homesteads of country +districts, and there was only one twinkling light in the window of the +hostel in the street to show belated travellers that if they desired +shelter and rest they might find it there. + +Humphrey rode slowly as he got nearer his destination, feeling reluctance +to be the bearer of no good news to one, who he knew was eagerly looking +for him. + +The waters of the little Medway were low, for the season had been unusually +dry, and Humphrey's horse knew the ford well, and easily stepped over it, +his hoofs making a dull splash in the rippling stream. + +The stars were bright overhead and a crescent moon gave a silvery light. +The stillness was profound. At the entrance of the lane leading to Ford +Manor the horse stopped short; he evidently wanted to go to his own stable +on the crest of the hill. + +In that momentary pause Humphrey turned in the saddle, and, looking back, +saw the dark outline of the grand old home of the Sidneys and the dark +masses of the stately trees which surround it, clear cut against the sky, +in which the moon hung like a silver lamp. + +The peace which reigned seemed to strike him as a sharp contrast with the +turmoil and noise of the city he had lately left. The Court, so full of +heart-burnings and jealousies and strivings to win a higher place in the +favour of those who were in favour with the Queen. The image of him who +was, perhaps, at that time Elizabeth's chief favourite rose before him, and +he thought how far happier he would be to live, apart from Court favour and +rivalries, in the stately home which was the pride, not only of the Sidneys +themselves, but of everyone of their tenants and dependents on their +wide-stretching domain. For Humphrey could not hide from himself that his +chief was often sad at heart, and that sometimes, in uncontrollable +weariness, he would say that he would fain lead a retired life in his +beloved Penshurst. His moods were, it is true, variable, and at times he +was the centre of everything that was bright and gay at Court, sought after +as one who could discourse sweetest music, the most graceful figure in the +dance, the most accomplished poet who could quickly improvise a verse in +praise of his Queen, or a rhyme to commemorate some feat of arms at joust +or tourney, like that of the preceding day. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe thought that he held the solution of his Master's +alternations of sadness and cheerfulness, and, as he rode up to the Manor, +he sighed as he remembered Philip Sidney's words. + +'Let us hope you may attain your heart's desire, nor have it ever denied +you, as is God's will for me.' + +'Denied to me also, but yet I have a hope, Mr Sidney cannot have; no +impassable barrier rises between me and Mary. If I find her boy I may reap +my reward.' + +At the sound of the horse's feet the casement above the porch was opened, +and a woman's head was thrust out. + +'Who goes there?' + +'It is I, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I have an errand to Mistress Gifford.' + +'She is sick, and can't hear aught to-night. It is near midnight. Go your +way, and return in the morning, Master Ratcliffe.' + +Then there was a pause, the woman's head was withdrawn, and Humphrey's +ear, quickened by love, heard Mary's voice in pathetic pleading. Presently +the head re-appeared. + +'Mistress Gifford says, "Do you bring news?"' + +'I would fain see her, if possible. I cannot speak of such matters here.' + +'Then you must wait till the morrow, nor parley any longer.' + +The casement was shut with a sharp click, and there was nothing left for +Humphrey but to pursue his way to his own home, whither George--who had +parted from him at Tunbridge--and his servants had preceded him earlier in +the day. + +Mary Gifford lay sleepless and restless all through the long hours of the +night, watching for the dawn. She longed, and yet half dreaded her meeting +with Humphrey. She felt so utterly weak and broken-hearted, so forlorn and +deserted--what if he again urged his suit!--what if she had now to tell him +what had been at their last interview only a probability, and was now a +certainty! Her husband was no vague, shadowy personality; he was alive and +strong, to work for her the greatest evil that could befall her in stealing +her boy from her. + +When Mistress Forrester came in, on her way to the dairy, to see how it +fared with Mary, she found her, to her surprise, dressed, while Goody +Pearse was snoring peacefully on the pallet bed, where Ambrose had slept +near his mother. + +'Dear heart! Mary Gifford, what do you mean by getting up like this? I +thought, forsooth, you were so sick you had need of a nurse, to take a few +more shillings out of my pocket, and here you are at five o'clock, up and +spry. Well-a-day, I never did come to the bottom of you. Deep waters, they +say, make no noise.' + +Mary had braced herself to bear anything and everything, and was strangely +unmoved by her stepmother's innuendoes, of which she took no notice, and +only said, in a gentle voice,-- + +'Is Ned astir yet?' + +'I don't know. He came hobbling in after his goose-chase to London on your +account, losing a couple of days' work; and I warrant he will have to be +shaken before he gets about his business.' + +'I can get downstairs,' Mary said, 'if Ned will help to carry me. I fear I +cannot put my leg to the ground yet.' + +'No; and you may give up the notion. If you come down, you may as lief do +without a nurse, and take to your lawful business. It is a pretty +thing!--one of you gadding off to town and thinking herself a fine lady, +and t'other laming herself and wanting to be tended by a paid woman.' + +At this juncture Goody Pearse awoke, bewildered and much alarmed by the +presence of Mistress Forrester. She expected a sharp reprimand, but +Mistress Forrester left the room without another word either to nurse or +patient. + +'Dear heart! what made you get up afore I was ready? You'll have raging +pain in your foot again, sure as fate.' + +'I must get downstairs to-day to see Master Humphrey Ratcliffe. Ned will +help me.' + +Mary's resolution did not falter. Her humble and faithful admirer, Ned, +appeared at the attic door, when summoned by Goody Pearse, to help her +downstairs. Ned made short work of it; he lifted Mary in his arms, and +trudged down the creaking steps with her without a single halt, and placed +her by her desire on the settle, where her leg could rest. Mary's smile was +a sufficient reward for Ned. But when Mary held out her hand, and said she +owed him more than tongue could tell for going to London, Ned was +speechless with emotion. At last he blurted out,-- + +'I'd walk a hundred miles to serve you, Mistress; I'd even ride 'em for +your sake. But, oh, Lord! I am sore to-day with the cramp I got +a-horseback. Here is a letter from Master Ratcliffe; he bid me put into +your hands and into none other, and I have kept to the order. Take it, +Mistress.' + +Mary held out her hand, and took the much crumpled and soiled letter from +Ned's large, brown fingers. But she had not opened it when Humphrey +Ratcliffe himself came up to the porch, and stopped short on the threshold +as if struck by some sudden blow. + +He was not prepared to see so great a change in Mary in so short a time. +Pain of body, however severe, nor the deep cut in her forehead, could +hardly have left such traces of suffering on her face--still, in +Humphrey's eyes, beautiful, though with lines of sorrow round her mouth and +eyes. + +'Enter, my kind friend,' Mary said, in a low, sweet voice, holding out her +hand to him. 'This good Ned,' she said, 'has faithfully performed his +errand, and deserves our thanks.' Ned, bashful and awkward, made for the +door and disappeared. 'But what news? Is there aught to tell me of my +child?' + +Humphrey had by this time advanced to the settle, and, kneeling by it, he +took Mary's hand in his, and kissed it gently and reverently. + +'I could find no trace of the boy in Tunbridge. The whole colony of Papists +has broken up and fled. Some of their number have been thrown into prison, +awaiting judgment for conspiracy. I did not tarry, therefore, at Tunbridge, +but rode on here last night.' + +'Yes,' Mary said. 'I heard your voice; and now--now what next?' + +'It is my purpose to follow that villain who kidnapped the boy, and regain +possession of him. It is a puzzle to me to understand why he should steal +him.' + +'He is so handsome, so clever,' his mother said. 'Humphrey, I cannot, I +cannot lose him. I must find him; and he will break his heart for his +mother,' she said passionately. 'His mother! bereft and desolate without +him.' + +'We will find him,' Humphrey said, 'never fear. My noble master has given +me leave to go on the quest to France, or, it may be, the Low Countries, +for the Papists have schools and centres of worship in all the Protestant +towns.' + +'The Low Countries,' Mary said, 'I have a friend there, at Arnhem, one +George Gifford; he is an honest and godly minister. In my first grief and +despair years ago, I sent a letter to him for counsel. He was then in +England, and acted a father's part by me, though only my husband's uncle. +Yes, I will go to him as soon as I can put my foot on the ground. I will +leave all things, and go on the quest myself--alone.' + +'Not alone!' Humphrey said, 'not alone, but with me. Oh, Mary! I will tend +you and care for you, and we will seek together for _our_ boy--mine as +yours, yours as mine. We will go to this good man of whom you speak, and +all will be well. God will speed us.' + +'Nay, dear friend,' Mary said. 'Nay, it cannot be. I can never be your +wife.' + +'And, by Heaven, why not? What hinders? Something tells me, presumptuous +though it may be, that you might give me a little--a little love, in return +for mine. Why is it beyond hope?' + +'Hush!' Mary said, 'you do not know why it is beyond hope.' + +Humphrey's brow darkened, and he bit his under lip to restrain his +irritation. + +Presently Mary laid her hand on his shoulder as he knelt by her. + +'It is beyond hope,' she said,'because the man who stole my child from me +is my husband.' + +Humphrey started to his feet, and said in a voice of mingled rage and +despair,-- + +'The villain! the despicable villain! I will run him through the body an I +get the chance.' + +'Nay, Humphrey,' Mary said in pleading tones, 'do not make my burden +heavier by these wild words. Rumours had reached me in the winter of last +year, when the Earl of Leicester with his large following were at +Penshurst, that my husband was alive. Since then I have never felt secure; +yet I did not dare to doff my widow's garments, fearing--hoping the report +was false. As soon as I heard of this man lurking about the countryside, a +horrible dread possessed me. He asked Lucy to bring Ambrose to meet +him--this strengthened my fears. From that moment I never let the boy out +of my sight. Thus, on that morning of doom, I took him with me to look for +the shepherd and the lost lamb. Ah! woe is me! He was lying in wait. He had +told me, when as I sat late in the porch one evening, that he would have my +boy, and I knew he would wreak his vengeance on me by this cruel deed. I +seized Ambrose by the hand and ran--you know the rest--I fell unconscious; +and when I awoke from my stupor, the light of my eyes was gone from me. + +'Ah! if God had taken my boy by death; if I had seen him laid in the cold +grave, at least I could have wept, and committed him to safe keeping in +the hands of his Heavenly Father--safe in Paradise from all sin. But +now--now he will be taught to lie; and to hate what is good; and be brought +up a Papist; and bidden to forget his mother--his _mother_!' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe listened, as Mary spoke, like one in a dream. + +He must be forgiven if, for the moment, the mother's grief for the loss of +her boy seemed a small matter, when compared with his despair that he had +lost her. + +For a few moments neither spoke, and then with a great rush of passionate +emotion, Humphrey flung himself on his knees by Mary's side, crying out,-- + +'Mary! Mary! say one word to comfort me. Say, at least, if it were +possible, you could love me. Why should you be loyal to that faithless +villain? Come to me, Mary.' + +The poor, desolate heart, that was pierced with so many wounds, craved, +hungered for the love offered her. How gladly would she have gone to +Humphrey, how thankfully felt the support of his honest and steadfast love. +But Mary Gifford was not a weak woman--swayed hither and thither by the +passing emotion of the moment. Clear before her, even in her sorrow, was +the line of duty. The sacred crown of motherhood was on her brow, and +should she dare to dim its brightness by yielding to the temptation which, +it is not too much to say, Humphrey's words put before her. + +She gathered all her strength, and said in a calm voice,-- + +'You must never speak thus to me again, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I am--God help +me--the wife of Ambrose Gifford, and,' she paused, and then with pathetic +earnestness, '_I am the mother of his son._ Let that suffice.' + +Again there was a long silence. From without came the monotonous cawing of +the rooks in the elm trees, the occasional bleating of the lambs in the +pastures seeking their mother's side, and the voices of the shepherd's +children, who had come down to fetch the thin butter-milk which Mistress +Forrester measured out to the precise value of the small coin the +shepherd's wife sent in exchange. + +It was a sore struggle, but it was over at last. + +When Humphrey Ratcliffe rose from his knees, Mary had the reward which a +good and true woman may ever expect sooner or later to receive from a +noble-hearted man, in a like case. + +'You are right, Mary,' he said, 'as you ever are. Forgive me, and in token +thereof let us now proceed to discuss the plans for the rescue of your +boy.' + +This was now done with surprising calmness on both sides. + +Humphrey decided to start first for Douay, and then, failing to trace any +tidings of the boy, he would proceed to Arnhem, and enlist the sympathies +and help of the good man, George Gifford, to get upon the right track for +the recovery of his nephew's child. + +'He is a just man, and will tender the best advice,' Mary said. 'It is true +that a father has a right to his own son, but sure I have a right, and a +right to save him from the hands of Papists. But I have little hope--it is +dead within me--quite dead. My last hope for this world died when I lost my +boy.' + +'God grant I may kindle that hope into life once more,' Humphrey said, in a +voice of restrained emotion, and not daring to trust himself to say another +word, he bent his knee again before Mary, took the long, slender hands +which hung listlessly at her side, and bowing his head for a moment over +them, Humphrey Ratcliffe was gone! + +Mary neither spoke nor moved, and when Goody Pearse came with a bowl of +milk and bread she found her in a deadly swoon, from which it was hard to +recall her. Mistress Forrester came at the old woman's call, and burnt +feathers under Mary's nose, and, with a somewhat ruthless hand, dashed cold +water over her pale, wan face, calling her loudly by name; and, when at +last she recovered, she scolded her for attempting to come downstairs, and +said she had no patience with sick folk giving double trouble by wilful +ways. Better things were expected of grown women than to behave like +children, with a great deal more to the same purpose, which seemed to have +no effect on Mary, who lay with large wistful eyes gazing out at the open +door through which Humphrey had passed--large tearless eyes looking in +vain for her boy, who would never gladden them again! + +'The light of mine eyes!' she whispered; 'the light of mine eyes!' + +'Shut the door,' Mistress Forrester said to her serving-maid, Avice, who +stood with her large, red arms folded, looking with awe at the pallid face +before her. 'She calls out that the light dazes her; methinks she must be +got back to bed, and kept there.' + +The heavy wooden door was closed, and but a subdued light came in through +the small diamond panes of thick, greenish glass which filled the lattice. +Presently the large weary eyes closed, and with a gentle sigh, she said,-- + +'I am tired; let me sleep, if sleep will come.' + +The business of the poultry-yard and dairy were far too important to be +further neglected, and Mistress Forrester, sharply calling Avice to mind +her work, nor stand gaping there like a gander on a common, left Goody +Pearse with her patient. + +The old crone did her best, though that best was poor. + +Nursing in the days of Queen Elizabeth was of a very rough and ready +character, and even in high circles, there was often gross ignorance +displayed in the treatment of the sick. + +The village nurse had her own nostrums and lotions, and the country +apothecary, or leech as he was called, who led very often a nomadic life, +taking rounds in certain districts, and visiting at intervals lonely +homesteads and hamlets, was obliged, and perhaps content, to leave his +patient to her care, and very often her treatment was as likely to be +beneficial as his own. + +Goody Pearse, to do her justice, had that great requisite for a nurse, in +every age and time--a kind heart. + +She felt very sorry for Mary, and, when Mistress Forrester was gone, she +crooned over her, and smoothed the pillow at her head, and then proceeded +to examine her foot, and bind it up afresh in rags steeped in one of her +own lotions. + +The doctor had ordered potations of wine for Mary, and Mistress Forrester +had produced a bottle of sack from her stores, a mugful of which Goody +Pearse now held to Mary's pale lips. + +'I only want quiet,' she said, in a low, pathetic voice; 'quiet, and, if +God please, sleep.' + +'And this will help it, dear heart,' the old woman said. 'Sup it up, like a +good child, for, Heaven help you, you are young enow.' + +Mary smiled faintly. + +'Young! nay; was I ever young and glad?' + +'Yes, my dearie, and you'll be young and glad again afore long. There! you +are better already, and Ned shall carry you up again when there's peace and +quiet.' + +It was evening, and Mary Gifford had been laid again on her own bed, when +quick footsteps were heard before the house, and Lucy's voice,-- + +'How fares it with Mary?' + +Goody Pearse was on the watch at the casement above, and called out,-- + +'Come up and see for yourself, Lucy Forrester.' + +Lucy was up the crooked, uneven stairs in a moment, and Mary, stretching +out her arms, said,-- + +'Oh! Lucy, Lucy.' + +The two sisters were locked in a long embrace. + +'I am sorry you are fetched back from all your pleasures, little sister,' +Mary said at last. + +'Nay, I am glad to come. I have had a taste of happiness, and it will last +till you are well, and we both go away from here, and the boy is found--for +he will be found--Humphrey Ratcliffe will scour the world ere he gives up +finding him, and Mr Sidney has granted him leave to go whither he lists, to +get hold of that wicked man with his horrible, cruel, black eyes. How I +hate him!' + +'Do not speak of him,' Mary said, shuddering; 'do not speak of him,' and +she put her hand to her side, as if the very mention of him sent a pang +through her heart. 'Let me look at you, Lucy,' she said presently. 'Turn +your face to the light that I may scan it. Ah!' she said, 'still my little, +innocent sister, and with a happy light in her eyes.' + +Lucy's face grew crimson. + +'Yes,' she said. 'I have been happy, though there have been some crooks and +quips to bear from old Mother Crawley. Yet, oh, Mary! when there is one big +heart-joy, everything else seems so small, and poor, and mean.' + +'Have you made George Ratcliffe happy, then, with a promise to requite his +love?' + +'George Ratcliffe!' Lucy exclaimed. 'Nay, Mary--not for a lap full of +gold.' + +'Who, then, is it? for there is someone? Who is it, Lucy? I pray God he is +a noble Christian gentleman.' + +'He is the noblest, and best, and highest that ever lived. Hearken, Mary! +and do not scoff at me--nor scorn me. No, you can never do that, I know. My +knight is far above me--so far, it may be, that he will never stoop so low +as to give me more than passing signs of his good-will. But I _have had_ +these. He has shone on me with his smile, he has thought of my comfort, he +did not deem the country maiden of no account, when grand ladies were +ogling him, and trying to win his favour, he did not think me beneath +notice when he lifted me on the saddle this very morning, and covered me +with a warm cloth, and bade me "God speed." If nought else comes--well, I +will live on what I have had from him. The crumbs of bread from him are +sweeter and richer than a feast from another. As I have jogged hither +to-day, there has been the thought of him to make me willing to give up +everything to gain his approval--his meed of praise. He bid me come to you, +and I came. Nay, it was my Lady Pembroke who _bid_ me come--it was Humphrey +Ratcliffe who said I _must_ e'en come--but it was my knight who told me I +_did well_ to come. And at these words a new feeling quickened in me about +it. + +'You do not understand, Mary, I see you do not understand. You think me +silly, and vain, and selfish--and you are right. I am all three. I have +been all three, and hot-tempered, and saucy, and oh! a hundred other +things, but now I have an aim to be good and act in all things as my knight +would have me. Oh, Mary, could you have seen him as he rode into the +tilt-yard on Whit-Monday, in his blue and gold armour, sitting on his fine +horse, so stately and grand--could you have seen him break lance after +lance, his face shining like the sun, you would know what it is for me to +feel such an one can give a thought to me--even a passing thought. + +'Mary! Mary! I cannot help it. I love him--I worship him--and there is an +end of the whole matter. It will make no odds whether what looks impossible +becomes possible--he is to me what no one beside can ever be. There, it is +out now, and I pray you do not despise me. I will be ever so patient now. I +will do all I am bidden, and one day, Mary, we will leave this place--it is +no home now, and I will return to my Lady Pembroke, and Humphrey Ratcliffe +will find Ambrose, and you will be his wife, and--' + +'Hush, Lucy; not a word more. I will keep sacred and secret in my heart +what you have told me, dear child. I will not judge you hardly. You are +young--so young--as young as I was when I went forth to sorrow and misery. +For you, even though I think your dream baseless, and that you are feeding +hope on what may turn out to be the ashes of disappointment, I will not +despair. I know your idol is worthy, and love for one who is pure and noble +cannot work ill in the end. I will keep your secret; now, Lucy, little +sister--keep mine. I can never wed with another man, for my husband +lives--and has stolen from me my boy.' + +'Mary, Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, as she hid her face, weeping, on her sister's +pillow. 'Oh, Mary! I will try to comfort you. I will not think only of +myself--I will think of you and all you suffer. Mary, I am not really so +heartless and vain, I will be good and comfort you, Mary.' + +Mary Gifford stroked Lucy's brown head, and murmured,-- + +'Dear child! dear child! we will help each other now as we have never done +before.' + +From that moment, from that day of her return to Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester +seemed to have left her careless, pleasure-loving, pleasure-seeking +girlhood behind. She had crossed the meeting place of the brook and river +of womanhood and childhood. Some cross it all unawares--others with +reluctant, lingering feet; some, like Lucy Forrester, brought face to face +with the great realities of life and of suffering love, suddenly find +themselves on the other side to return no more. + + + + +BOOK II + + + Since nature's works be good, and death doth serve + As nature's work, why should we fear to die? + Since fear is vain but when it may preserve, + Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? + Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears, + Disarming human minds of native might; + While each conceit an ugly figure bears + Which were we ill, well viewed in reason's light. + Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be, + And scarce discern the dawn of coming day, + Let them be cleared, and now begin to see + Our life is but a step in dusty way, + Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind; + Since, feeling this, great loss we cannot find.--_Arcadia_, p. 457. + + SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AT WILTON + + 'The silk well could they twist and twine, + And make the fair march pine, + And with the needle work; + And they could help the priest to say + His matins on a holy day, + And sing a psalm at kirk.' + + _November 1585._ _Old Rhyme._ + + +The chastened sunshine of an All Saints' summer was lying upon the fair +lawns and terrace walks of Wilton House, near Salisbury, in the year 1585. +It was November, but so soft and balmy was the air that even the birds were +apparently ready to believe that winter was passed over and spring had +come. + +The thrushes and blackbirds were answering each other from the trees, and +the air was filled with their melody and with the scent of the late flowers +in the pleasance, lying close under the cloisters, facing the beautiful +undulating grounds of Lord Pembroke's mansion near Salisbury. + +The graceful figure of a lady was coming down the grassy slope towards the +house; a boy of five or six years old, with a miniature bow and arrow in +his hand, at her side. + +'I would like another shot at this old beech tree, mother,' the child said. +'I do not care to come in to my tasks yet.' + +'Will must be an obedient boy, or what will Uncle Philip say, if he comes +to-day and finds him in disgrace with his tutor?' + +'Uncle Philip isn't here,' the child said. + +'But he will be ere noon. I have had a despatch from him; he is already at +Salisbury, and may be here at any hour.' + +At this moment Lady Pembroke saw one of her ladies hastening towards her, +and exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, Lucy! have you come to capture the truant?' + +'Yes, Madam, and to tell you that Sir Philip Sidney's courier has ridden +into the courtyard to announce his Master's speedy arrival.' + +'Then I will not go till I have seen Uncle Philip!' and Will dragged at +Lucy's hand as she attempted to lead him towards the house. + +'Nay, Will,' his mother said, 'you must do as you are bid.' And forthwith +the boy pouted; yet he knew to resist his mother's will was useless. But +presently there was a shout, as he broke away from Lucy Forrester's hand, +with the cry,-- + +'Uncle Philip!' and in another moment Sir Philip had taken his little +nephew in his arms, and, saluting him, set him on his feet again. Then, +with a bow and smile to Lucy, he bent his knee with his accustomed grace +before his sister, who stooped down and kissed him lovingly, with the +words,-- + +'Welcome! welcome! dear Philip. Thrice welcome, to confirm the good news of +which my lord had notice yester even.' + +'Yes; I have come to say much, and to discuss many schemes with you. I stay +but till the morrow, when I would fain you got ready to see me later at +Penshurst.' + +'At Penshurst!' + +'Yes. I have set my heart on meeting all my kindred--more especially our +father and mother--there ere I depart. Now, now, Will! wherefore all this +struggling to resist Mistress Forrester? Fie, fie! for shame!' + +'It is the attraction of your presence, Philip, which is too much for +Will,' Lady Pembroke said. + +'Then, if I am the culprit, I will do penance, and take the boy in hand +myself. See, Will, you are to come with me to your tasks, nor give Mistress +Forrester so much trouble.' And Lucy found herself free from the child's +detaining hand, as Sir Philip went, with swift steps, towards the +house--his little nephew running fast to keep up with him. + +Lucy followed, and met Sir Philip in the hall, where the tutor had captured +the truant. + +'Any news from Arnhem, Mistress Forrester?' Sir Philip asked. 'Any good +news from Mistress Gifford?' + +'Nay, sir, no news of the boy; and even our good friend Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe is ready to give up the quest.' + +'Nay, it shall not be given up. I am starting in a few days to the Low +Countries, as Governor of Flushing.' + +'So my lady told me, sir, this morning,' Lucy said demurely. + +'Yes, and I shall be on the alert; depend on it, if the boy is alive, he +shall be found. But I begin to fear that he is dead. Why should I say fear, +forsooth? Death would be better than his training by Jesuits, and so +leagued with Spain and all her evil machinations.' + +Lucy curtseyed, and, with a gentle 'Good-morning to you, sir,' she went to +her duties under Mistress Crawley. + +Lucy had changed from the impetuous child in the first flush of her youth +and consciousness of beauty, into a woman almost graver than her years, and +so little disposed to accept any overtures of marriage, that the ladies of +the Countess of Pembroke's household called her the little nun. + +One after another they drifted off as the wives of the gentlemen and +esquires, who were retainers of the Earl; but Lucy Forrester remained, high +in favour with her lady, and even spoken of by Mistress Crawley as 'clever +enough, and civil spoken,' the real truth being that she had become +indispensable to Mistress Crawley, and was trusted by her to take in hand +the instruction of the young maidens who came from the homes of the gentry +and nobility, in a long succession, to enter the household of Lady +Pembroke, which was an honour greatly coveted by many. + +Soon after Mary Gifford's great sorrow in the loss of her child, Mistress +Forrester astonished her step-daughter by announcing her marriage to one of +her Puritan neighbours, who was, in truth, but a herdsman on one of the +farms, but who had acquired a notoriety by a certain rough eloquence in +preaching and praying at the secret meetings held in Mistress Forrester's +barn. He was well pleased to give up his earthly calling at Mistress +Forrester's bidding, for he would scarcely have presumed to address her as +a suitor without very marked encouragement. He fell into very comfortable +quarters, and, if he was henpecked, he took it as a part of his discipline, +and found good food and good lodging a full compensation. + +Then Mary Gifford and her sister were offered a small sum of money to +represent their right in their father's house, and left it with very little +regret on their side, and supreme satisfaction on their stepmother's. Lucy +returned to Lady Pembroke's household, and Mary Gifford, through the +ever-ready help of Humphrey Ratcliffe, broken down as she was prematurely +in mind and body, found an asylum in the home of her husband's uncle, +Master George Gifford, at Arnheim, from which place she made many vain +inquiries to lead to the discovery of her boy, which hitherto had proved +fruitless. + +True and loyal to her interests, Humphrey Ratcliffe never again approached +her with passionate declarations of love. He was one of those men who can +be faithful unto death, and give unfaltering allegiance to the woman they +feel it is hopeless to win. Loving her well, but loving honour, hers and +his own, more, Humphrey went bravely on the straight road of duty, with no +regretful, backward glances, no murmurs at the roughness of the way, taking +each step as it came with unfaltering resolutions, with a heavy heart at +times; but what did that matter? And in all this determination to act as a +brave, true man should act, Humphrey Ratcliffe had ever before him the +example of his master, Sir Philip Sidney. Second only to his love for Mary +Gifford was his devotion to him. It is said that scarcely an instance is +recorded of any of those who were closely associated with Sir Philip Sidney +who did not, in those last years of his short life, feel ennobled by his +influence. And Humphrey Ratcliffe was no exception to this all but +universal law. + +Mean men, with base, low aims and motives, shunned the society of this +noble Christian gentleman. His clever and accomplished uncle, the brilliant +and unscrupulous Earl of Leicester, must often have been constrained to +feel, and perhaps acknowledge, that there was something in his nephew which +raised him to a height he had never attained--with all his success at +Court, his Queen's devotion, and the fame which ranked him in foreign +countries as the most successful of all Elizabeth's favourites. + +Lady Pembroke awaited her brother's return from the house. Going towards +it to meet him, she put her hand in his arm and said,-- + +'Let us have our talk in the familiar place where we have wandered together +so often, Philip.' + +'Yes,' he said, 'all these fair slopes and pleasant prospects bring back to +me, Mary, the days, the many days, when I found my best comforter in you. +How fares it with the _Arcadia_?' + +'It is winding out its long story,' Lady Pembroke said, laughing. 'Too +long, methinks, for there is much that I would blot out if I dare essay to +do so. But tell me, Philip, of this great appointment. Are you not glad now +that the design respecting Sir Francis Drake's expedition fell to nought. I +ever thought that expedition, at the best, one of uncertain issue and great +risk. Sure, Philip, you are of my mind now.' + +'Nay, Mary, not altogether. I hailed the chance of getting free from +idleness and the shackles of the Court. And moreover,' he said, 'it is a +splendid venture, and my heart swelled with triumph as I saw that grand +armament ready to sail from Plymouth. Methinks, even now, I feel a burning +desire to be one of those brave men who are crossing the seas with Drake to +those far-off islands and territories, with all their wondrous treasures, +of which such stories are told.' + +As Philip spoke, his sister saw his face kindling with an almost boyish +enthusiasm, and the ardent young soldier, eager, and almost wild, to set +sail across the great dividing sea, seemed to replace for the moment the +more dignified man of matured powers, who was now Governor of Flushing. + +'It is all past,' he said, 'and I will do my utmost to forget my +disappointment. It is somewhat hard to forgive Drake for what I must think +false dealing with me, for I know well by whose means those mandates came +to Plymouth from the Queen. There was nought left for me but to obey, for +disobedience would have kept back the whole fleet; but the whole +transaction has left a sore--' + +'Which will rapidly heal, Philip, in this new, and to my mind at least, far +grander appointment. Sure, to be Governor of Flushing means a high place, +and a field for showing all you are as a statesman and soldier. I am proud +and pleased; more proud of you than ever before, were that possible.' + +They had reached a favourite spot now, where, from a slightly rising +ground, there was and is a beautiful view of Salisbury Cathedral. + +'See yonder spire pointing skyward, Mary, how it seems to cleave the sky, +this November sky, which is like that of June? The spire, methinks, reads +me a lesson at this time. It saith to me, "Sursum corda."' + +Lady Pembroke pressed her brother's arm with answering sympathy, and, +looking up into his face, she saw there the shining of a great hope and the +upward glance of a steadfast faith. + +'Yes,' Sir Philip said, 'I am happy in this lot which has fallen to me, and +I pray God I may avenge the cause of those who are trodden down by the +tyranny of Spain. The Queen's noble words inspired me with great confidence +in the righteousness of the cause for which I am to fight. Her Grace said +her object was a holy one--even to procure peace to the holders of the +Reformed Faith, restoration of their time-honoured rights in the +Netherlands, and above all, the safety of England. It is a great work, +Mary; wish me God speed.' + +'I do, I do; and now tell me about Frances and the babe. When is her +christening to be performed?' + +'In four days. The Queen is so gracious as to ride from Richmond to London +to name our babe herself, and will dispense gifts in honour thereof. My +sweet Frances, the child's mother, is not as hearty as I would fain see +her, so she consents to delay her coming to Flushing till I can assure +myself that all is well prepared for her. I ride to London on the morrow. +The babe will be christened there. Two days later I purpose to convey +mother and child to Penshurst, where all who wish to bid me farewell will +gather. Our good father and mother, who do not feel strength enough for the +festivity of the Court, even to be present at the babe's christening, +proceed thither to-morrow from Ludlow. Will you join them there, or +accompany me to London?' + +'I will await your coming at Penshurst, Philip. I am somewhat disturbed at +the last letters from our dear father. He speaks of being broken down in +body and dejected in spirit. Verily, I can scarce forgive the mistress he +has served so well for her treatment of him. God grant you get a better +guerdon for faithful service than our father and mother won.' + +'It is true, too true,' Sir Philip said, 'that they were ill-requited, but +has anyone ever fared better who has striven to do duty in that unhappy +country of Ireland? It needs a Hercules of strength and a Solon of wisdom, +ay, and a Croesus of wealth to deal with it. In the future generations such +a man may be found, but not in this.' + +'Will you take the two boys with you, Robert and Thomas?' + +'I shall take Robert and put him in a post of command. Thomas is all agog +to come also, but he is too young and weakly, though he would rave if he +heard me call him so. He shall follow in good time. There is a brave spirit +in Thomas which is almost too great for his body, and he is not prone to be +so lavish as Robert, who has the trick of getting into debt, out of which I +have again and again helped to free him. In my youth I too had not learned +to suit my wants to my means, but the lesson is now, I pray, got by heart. +A husband and father must needs look well to the money which is to provide +all things for these weak and defenceless ones who lean on him.' + +'You speak of your youth as past, Philip,' Mary said. 'It makes me laugh. +You look, yes, far younger than some five or six years ago.' + +'Happiness has a power to smooth out wrinkles, I know, sweet sister. +Witness your face, on which time refuses to leave a trace, and,' he added +earnestly, 'happiness--rather a peaceful and contented mind--has come to me +at last. When my tender wife, loyal and true, looks up at me with her +guileless eyes, full of love and trust, I feel I am thrice blest in +possessing her. And, Mary, the sight of our babe thrilled me strangely. The +little crumpled bit of humanity, thrusting out her tiny hands, as if to +find out where she was. That quaint smile, which Frances says, is meant for +her; that feeble little bleating cry--all seemed like messages to me to +quit myself as a man should, and, protecting my child in her infancy, leave +to her and her mother a name which will make them proud to have been my +wife and my daughter.' + +'And that name you will surely leave, Philip.' + +'Be it sooner or later, God grant it,' was the fervent reply. + +The Countess soon after went into the house to make some arrangements for +departure, and to write a letter to her sister-in-law, with a beautiful +christening present, which she was to send by her brother's hand. + +Sir Philip lingered still in the familiar grounds of Wilton, which were +dear to him from many associations. The whole place was familiar to him, +and with a strange presage of farewell, a last farewell, he trod all the +old paths between the closely-clipped yew hedges, and scarcely left a nook +or corner unvisited. + +The country lying round Wilton was also familiar to him. Many a time he +had ridden to Old Sarum, and, giving his horse to his groom, had wandered +about in that city of the dead past, which with his keen poetical +imagination he peopled with those who had once lived within its walls, of +which but a few crumbling stones, turf-covered, remain. A stately church +once stood there; voices of prayer and praise rose to God, hopes and fears, +joys and sorrows, gay young life, and sorrowful old age, had in times long +since past been 'told as a tale' in the city on the hill, as now in the +city in the valley, where the spire of the new Cathedral rises skyward. + +New! Only by comparison, for old and new are but relative terms after all, +and it is hard, as we stand under the vaulted roof of Salisbury Cathedral, +to let our thoughts reach back to the far-off time when the stately church +stood out as a new possession to take the place of the ruined temple, which +had once lifted its head as the centre of Old Sarum. + +Sir Philip Sidney had left several of his servants at Salisbury, and, when +he had bidden the Countess good-bye, till they met again in a few days at +Penshurst, he rode back to the city, and, leaving his horse at the White +Hart, he passed under St Anne's Gateway, and crossed the close to the south +door of the Cathedral. + +The bell was chiming for the evensong, and Sir Philip passed in. He was +recognised by an old verger, who, with a low bow, preceded him to the +choir. + +Lady Pembroke was right when she said that her brother looked younger than +he had looked some years before. + +There never was a time, perhaps, in his life, when his face had been more +attractive and his bearing more distinguished than now. + +The eyes of the somewhat scanty congregation were directed to him as he +stood chanting in his clear, sweet musical voice the Psalms for the second +evening of the month. + +The sun, entering at the west door, caught his 'amber locks' and made them +glow like an aureole round his head, as he lifted it with glad assurance +when the words left his lips. + +'But my trust is in Thy mercy, and my heart is joyful in Thy salvation. I +will sing of the Lord because He hath dealt so lovingly with me; yea, I +will praise the name of the Lord Most Highest.' + +Those who saw Sir Philip Sidney that day, recalled him as he stood in the +old oaken stall, only one short year later, when, with bowed head and sad +hearts, they could but pray in the words of the Collect for the week, 'that +they might follow the blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that +they might come to those unspeakable joys which are prepared for them that +love God.' + +Sir Philip had not time to delay, though the Dean hurried after the service +to greet him and to offer hospitality. + +'I must be on my road to London,' he said, 'for a great event awaits me +there, Mr Dean--the baptism of my little daughter, to whom the Queen is +graciously pleased to stand godmother.' + +'And God give you a safe journey, Sir Philip, and bless the child,' the +kindly Dean said. 'How fares it with the daughter of my good friend Sir +Francis Walsingham? I trust she is well recovered.' + +'Fairly well,' Sir Philip replied. 'She is young and somewhat fragile, but +I trust will soon be able to join me at Flushing.' + +After the exchange of a few more kindly words and congratulations, Sir +Philip Sidney was leaving the Cathedral, when a figure, still kneeling in +the nave, arrested his attention, and as his footsteps drew near, the bowed +head was raised, and Sir Philip saw it was Lucy Forrester. + +He passed on, but lingered outside for a few moments, till, as he expected, +Lucy came out. + +'I am glad to see you once more,' Sir Philip said; 'if only to bid you +farewell, and to assure you I will not fail to track out the villain, who +may, at least, give me tidings of Mistress Gifford's boy. I will see her +also, if possible.' + +'You are very good, sir,' Lucy said. + +But she moved on with quick steps towards St Anne's Gateway. + +'Have you aught that I can convey to Mistress Gifford? If so, commit it to +my care at Penshurst, whither, I suppose, you go with the Countess on the +morrow or next day. Then we shall meet again--so now, farewell.' + +Years had passed since Lucy had subdued the tumultuous throb at her heart +when in Sir Philip's presence. He was still her ideal of all that was noble +and pure and courteous; her true knight, who, having filled her childish +and girlish dreams, still reigned supreme. + +There are mysteries in the human heart that must ever remain unfathomable, +and it is not for us to judge one another when we are confronted by them, +and can find no clue to solve them. + +Lucy Forrester's romantic love for Sir Philip Sidney had worked her no ill; +rather, it had strengthened her on the way; and from that night when she +and Mary Gifford had exchanged their secrets she had striven to keep her +promise, and to be, as she had said she wished to be, really good. + +The atmosphere of Lady Pembroke's house had helped her, and had been an +education to her in the best sense of the word. + +'Fare you well, sir,' she said. 'I must hasten to find Mistress Crawley. We +came hither to the city for something wanted from a shop ere we start on +our journey; but I craved leave to go to the Cathedral for a few minutes. +This is how you found me, sir, there.' + +There was something in Lucy's voice which seemed to betray anxiety as to +whether Sir Philip might think she was alone in Salisbury; and something +of relief when she exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, there is Mistress Crawley!' as she tripped away to meet her, Sir +Philip repeating as she left him,--'Fare you well, Mistress Lucy. _Au +revoir._' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +LUMEN FAMILIĈ SUĈ + + 'Was ever eye did see such face? + Was never ear did hear that tongue? + Was never mind did mind his grace, + That ever thought the travail long? + But eyes, and ears, and every thought, + Were with his sweet perfections caught.' + + SPENSER. + + +Penshurst Castle never, perhaps, wore a more festive air than when in the +November days of lengthening twilight and falling leaves, Sir Philip +Sidney's friends and relatives gathered under the hospitable roof to +congratulate him on his appointment to the Governorship of Flushing and +Rammekins, the patent having been granted at Westminster on the seventh day +of the month. + +Sir Philip had taken leave of the Queen after she had honoured him by +standing as godmother to his little daughter. He had now brought her and +her mother to Penshurst to leave them there in safety, till he had arranged +for their reception at Flushing, and found proper accommodation for them. + +It was a goodly company that assembled in the grand old hall on the day +before Sir Philip's departure. There were, we may be sure, many present +whose names live on the pages of the history of the time. + +The courtly Earl of Leicester was there, who, with whatever outward show of +satisfaction at his nephew's promotion, was never free from a latent +jealousy which he was careful to hide. + +Sir Francis Walsingham was there, the proud grandfather of the tiny babe +which Lady Mary Sidney held so tenderly in her arms, scanning her features +to discover in them a likeness to her father. Sir Henry Sidney was with +her, prematurely old and feeble, trying to shake off the melancholy which +possessed him, and striving to forget his own troubled and ill-requited +service to the Queen, in his pride that his son was placed in a position +where his splendid gifts might have full play. + +'The light of his family,' he always fondly called Philip, and he would not +grudge that this light should shed its radiance far beyond his own home and +country. + +Was it a strange prescience of coming sorrow that made Sir Henry for the +most part silent, and sigh when the Earl of Leicester tried to rally him, +saying that it was a time of rejoicing, and why should any face wear a look +of sadness. + +[Illustration: THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + +'We part from our son, good nephew,' Lady Mary said, 'on the morrow, and +partings in old age have a greater significance than in youth. We please +ourselves with future meetings when we are young; when we are old, we +know full well that there is but a short span of life left us, for reunion +with those who are dear to us.' + +As the short day closed in, the huge logs in the centre of the hall sent +forth a ruddy glow. The torches set in the iron staples on the walls were +lighted, and flickered on the plentifully-spread board and on the faces of +those gathered there. As the company at the upper end, on the raised dais, +rose to retire to the private apartments of the house, the minstrels in the +gallery struck up a joyful strain, and at the foot of the stairs Sir Philip +paused. + +He looked down on the faces of many friends and retainers, faithful in +their allegiance, with a proud, glad smile. Many of them were to follow him +to his new post as Governor. All were ready to do so, and die in the cause +he held sacred, if so it must be. + +It was not without intention that Sir Philip waited till the company had +passed him, detaining his young wife by drawing her hand through his arm, +and saying to the nurse who held his little daughter,-- + +'Tarry for one moment, Mistress Joan.' + +'My friends,' he said, 'you who follow me to Flushing, I pray I may live to +reward you for the faithful service you will render me. God grant you may +return in health and peace to your wives and children. If it please God, I +shall myself return in due season; but there are many chances in war, and a +soldier's future must ever be doubtful. So, should I fall in the fight +against the tyranny of Spain and the machinations of Rome, I say to you, +show to this fair lady, my sweet wife, all reverent care and honour, for, +forsooth, she will merit it; and as for this little lady Elizabeth, the +godchild of our gracious Sovereign,' he continued, smiling as he took the +child from the nurse's arms, 'I commend her to you also. You see but little +of her, she is so swathed in folds of lace and what not, and, in good +sooth, there is but little to see; but she gives promise of being a dainty +little maiden, not unworthy to be the Queen's name-child, and the daughter +of the gentle Dame Frances Sidney.' + +'Nor unworthy to be the child of Sir Philip Sidney, a greater honour than +all the rest, methinks.' + +These words were spoken in a deep, manly voice by Sir Francis Walsingham, +who had stopped on the stairs when he saw his son-in-law pause with his +wife and child. + +The remark was received with a prolonged 'Ay,' and a murmur of many voices +wishing Sir Philip all success and good fortune. + +There was dancing in the spacious ballroom, which was lighted for the +occasion by the three cut-glass chandeliers, surmounted by the royal crown, +which were, it is said, the first made in England, and presented to Sir +Henry Sidney by Queen Elizabeth. Here the younger portion of the guests +enjoyed the dance then so popular, and which was known by the appropriate +name of 'The Brawl.' + +The elders had followed Lady Mary Sidney to the room known as Queen +Elizabeth's, where the chairs, draped in yellow satin, and the card-table +covered by the fine silk embroidery worked by the Queen's clever fingers, +were all in their first freshness. On the walls were panels of worked silk, +which the ladies of the family had their share in producing, and between +them hung the portraits of Sir Philip and his brother Robert in childhood +in their stiff and ungainly Court dress, and one of Lady Mary when she came +as a bride to Penshurst--in the pride of her youth and beauty, before the +smallpox had robbed her face of its fair complexion, and before sorrow and +disappointment had left their trace upon it. + +The Countess of Pembroke was always her mother's chief sympathiser in joy +and sorrow. She retired with her behind the glass screen where the Queen, +in her visits to Penshurst, always chose to summon her host, or any of her +ministers for a private conversation or flirtation, as the case might be. +By the opening of a panel of white Venetian glass, those who were seated +behind the screen could watch unseen what was passing in the room beyond. + +'You look weary, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said--'weary and sad. Methinks +pride in our Philip should overrule grief at his loss. He has been well +versed in the manners and customs of foreign courts. He is a great +favourite, and I hope to see him return with fresh laurels at no distant +date.' + +'Ah, Mary! you have, as I said to my brother but an hour ago, you have a +future; for me there is only a short span left. Yet I can rejoice in the +present bliss of seeing Philip a proud husband and father. There was a +time when I feared he would never turn his thoughts towards another woman.' + +'And I, sweet mother, always felt sure he would be the victor he has +proved. Look at him now!' As she spoke Sir Philip was seen coming down the +room with Lady Frances on his arm, Sir Fulke Greville on the other side, +evidently some jest passing between them, for Sir Philip's face was +sparkling with smiles, and his silvery laugh reached the ears of those +behind the screen as he passed. + +'Yes, he has the air of a man who is happy, doubtless,' his mother said; +'but see your father, Mary, how he halts, as he comes leaning on Sir +Francis Walsingham's arm. He has the mien of a man many a year older than +he is, if age be counted by years.' + +'Dear father!' Mary said, with a sigh. 'But now, watch Robert and Thomas. +They are each leading a lady to the ballroom. Little Tom, as I must still +call him, looks well. He is all agog to be off with Philip; he must tarry +till the winter is over. Robert is of a stronger build, and can weather the +frosts and bitter cold of the Low Countries.' + +Lady Pembroke was now watching another couple who were passing on to the +ballroom. The Earl of Leicester had often been attracted by the beauty of +Lucy Forrester, and had now done her the honour of begging her to dance +with him. But Lucy shrank from the open admiration and flattery of this +brilliant courtier. While others were looking on her with envy, jealous of +the distinction the Earl had conferred upon her, Lucy hoped she might meet +her mistress, and excuse herself from the dance by saying her presence was +needed by Lady Pembroke. But those who sat behind the screen were unseen, +and Lucy did not know how near she was to her mistress. + +Presently George Ratcliffe came towards the screen with gigantic strides, +his brow dark, biting his lower lip, while his hand rested on the hilt of +his short sword. + +'Pardon me, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said, as she rose from her seat, 'I +will return anon,' and then she stepped up to George, saying,-- + +'Have you danced this evening, Master Forrester? Come with me, and let me +find you a partner.' + +George blushed crimson at the honour done him; he was no courtier, and the +thanks he would fain have spoken died on his lips. + +'I have been desiring to speak with you,' Lady Pembroke said; 'I would fain +know if aught has been heard of Mistress Gifford.' + +'Nay, Madam, not of late. She was in good health of body last summer, +though sore at heart; so my brother said.' + +'No trace of her boy yet, I grieve to hear,' Lady Pembroke exclaimed. 'If +he is to be tracked out, your good brother will do it. You do not follow +Sir Philip to the Netherlands, I think.' + +'Nay, Madam, I stay at home, my mother is sick, and the care of the place +falls on me heavily enow.' + +When Lucy saw Lady Pembroke she disengaged her hand from the Earl's, and +said,-- + +'May it please you, my Lord, to permit me to go to my Lady, she may be +seeking me.' + +'Now why so cruel?' the Earl rejoined; 'why cannot you give me one smile? +Do not reserve all your favour for yonder young country-bred giant, whom my +sister has chosen to patronise.' + +But Lucy was resolute, her colour rose at this reference to George, and, +with a profound curtsey, she left the Earl's side and joined the Countess. + +'Ah, Lucy, you are in time to give Master George your hand for a Saraband, +and I will find my uncle, the Earl, another partner, even myself,' she +added, laughing. + +It was all done so quickly that George could scarcely realise what had +happened. + +He had been faithful to his first love, and never for a moment faltered in +his allegiance. + +Both brothers were, it may be, exceptional in the steadfastness of their +loyalty to the two sisters. But Humphrey's position was widely different +from that of his brother, and he had many interests and friends, yes, and +flirtations and passing likings also, which prevented his thoughts from +dwelling so continually upon Mary Gifford. Moreover, he knew the gulf set +between them was impassable, and she was really more, as he said, like a +saint out of his reach, than a woman of everyday life, whom he longed to +make his wife. + +George, on his hilltop, with no companion but his querulous mother--Mrs +Ratcliffe was for ever harping on his folly in suffering his cousin +Dorothy, with her full money-bags, to slip through his fingers, to bless +the draper's son in the Chepe with what would have been so valuable to him +and to her--was far more to be pitied; and it was no wonder that he +withdrew more and more into himself, and grew somewhat morose and gruff in +his manner. + +It was something to watch for Lady Pembroke's visits to Penshurst, when +Lucy would at least appear with the household at church, but these visits +only left him more hopeless than before. + +His only consolation was that, although Lucy would not listen to his suit, +she apparently favoured no one else. + +George was conscious of a change in her; she was no longer the gay, +careless maiden of years gone by, no longer full of jests, teasing ways, +and laughter, but a dignified lady, held in high esteem in the Countess of +Pembroke's household; and, alas! further from him than ever. + +In the dance to which George led Lucy, they found themselves opposite to +Humphrey and one of the younger members of the Countess's household. + +A bright, blue-eyed, laughing girl, who rallied Lucy on her sedate +behaviour, and the profound curtseys she made to her partner, instead of +the pirouette which she performed with Humphrey, his arm round her waist, +and her little feet twinkling under the short skirt of her stiff brocade, +like birds on the wing. + +When the dance was over, George said,-- + +'The air is hot and fevered in this room; will you take a stroll with me, +Mistress Lucy, in the gallery? or is it too great a favour to ask at your +hands?' + +'Nay, no favour,' Lucy replied; 'I shall be as well pleased as you are to +leave the ballroom.' + +So they went together through the gallery, where, now and again, they saw +couples engrossed with each other's company in the deep recesses of the +windows. + +The young moon hung like a silver bow in the clear sky, and from this +window the church tower was seen beyond the pleasance, and the outline of +the trees, behind which the moon was hastening to sink in the western +heavens. + +As Lucy gazed upon the scene before her, her large wistful eyes had in them +that look which, in days gone by, George had never seen there. + +The dim light of a lamp hanging in the recess shone on Lucy's face, and +poor George felt something he could not have put into words, separating him +from the one love of his life. His thoughts suddenly went back to that +spring evening when Lucy, in her terror, had rushed to him for protection. +He recalled the sweetness of that moment, as a man perishing for thirst +remembers the draught of pure water from the wayside fountain, of which he +had scarcely appreciated the value, when he held it to his lips. + +A deep sigh made Lucy turn towards him, and, to his surprise, she opened +the very subject which he had been struggling in vain to find courage to +begin. + +'George,' she said, 'it would make me so happy if you could forget me, and +think of someone who could, and would, I doubt not, gladly return your +love.' + +'If that is all you can say to me,' he answered gruffly, 'I would ask you +to hold your peace. How can I forget at your bidding? it is folly to ask me +to do so.' + +'George,' Lucy said, and her voice was tremulous, so tremulous that George +felt a hope springing up in his heart.--'George, it makes me unhappy when I +think of you living alone with your mother, and--' + +'You could change all that without delay, you know you could. I can't give +you a home and all the fine things you have at Wilton--' + +'As if that had aught to do with it,' she said. 'I do not care for fine +things now; once I lived for them; that is over.' + +'You love books, if not fine things,' he went on, gathering courage as he +felt Lucy, at any rate, could think with some concern, that he was lonely +and unhappy. 'You care for books. I have saved money, and bought all I +could lay my hand on at the shop in Paul's Churchyard. More than this, I +have tried to learn myself, and picked up my old Latin, that I got at +Tunbridge School. Yes, and there is a room at Hillside I call my lady's +chamber. I put the books there, and quills and parchment; and I have got +some picture tapestry for the walls, and stored a cupboard with bits of +silver, and--' + +'Oh! George, you are too good, too faithful,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I am not +worthy; you do not really know me.' And, touched with the infinite pathos +of George's voice, as he recounted all he had done in hope, for her +pleasure, Lucy had much ado to keep back her tears. Then there was silence, +more eloquent than words. + +At last Lucy put her hand gently on George's arm. + +'Hearken, George,' she said; 'if the day should ever dawn when I can come +to you with a true heart, I _will_ come. But this is not yet, and I should +wrong a noble love like yours if I gave you in return a poor and mean +affection, unworthy of your devotion. Do you understand me, George?' + +'No,' he said, 'no, but I am fain to believe in you, and I will wait. +Only,' he added, with sudden vehemence, 'give me one promise--do not let me +hear by chance that you have become the wife of another man; give me fair +warning, or I swear, if the blow should fall unawares, it would kill me or +drive me mad.' + +'You will never hear the news of which you speak, and in this rest content. +I have neither desire nor intention of wedding with any man. Let that +suffice.' + +George drew himself up to his full height and said formally,-- + +'It shall suffice, so help me God.' + +In all great assemblies like that which had gathered at Penshurst on this +November day, there are often hidden romances, and chapters rehearsed in +individual lives, of which the majority know nor care nothing. Who amongst +that throng of courtly ladies and gay gentlemen knew aught of George +Ratcliffe's love story; and, if they had known, who would have cared? To +the greater number the whole thing would have seemed a fit subject for +jest, perhaps of ridicule, for self-forgetting love, which has nothing to +feed on, and no consolation except in nursing vain hopes for the fulfilment +of the heart's desire, does not appeal to the sympathy of the multitude. +Such chivalrous, steadfast love was not unknown in the days of Queen +Elizabeth, nor is it unknown in the days of Queen Victoria. It left no +record behind it then, nor will it leave a record now. It is amongst the +hidden treasures, which are never, perhaps, to see the light of day; but it +is a treasure, nevertheless; and who shall say that it may not shine in a +purer atmosphere and gain hereafter the meed of praise it neither sought +for nor found here? + +There was much stir and bustle in the President's Court at Penshurst's the +next morning. The gateway tower had just been completed by Sir Henry Sidney +on the old foundations, which dated from the thirteenth century. And now, +from under its shadow, on this still November morning, 'the light of Sir +Henry's family' was to ride out with a large retinue to take up the high +position granted him by the Queen as Governor of Flushing. How young he +looked as he sat erect on his noble horse, scanning his men, whose names +were called by his sergeant-at-arms as they answered one by one in deep, +sonorous tones to the roll call. Drawn up on either side of the court, it +was a goodly display of brave, stalwart followers, all faithful servants of +the house of Sidney, bearing their badge on their arm, and the boar and +porcupine on the helmets. + +The Earl of Leicester was by his nephew's side, and his gentlemen and +esquires in attendance in brilliant array, for Robert, Earl of Leicester, +loved display, and nothing could be more gorgeous than the trappings of his +own horse, nor the dazzling armour which he wore. + +In the background, under the main entrance of the house, Sir Henry Sidney +and Lady Mary stood with the Earl and Countess of Pembroke, and Dame +Frances Sidney, leaning on the arm of her father, Sir Francis Walsingham. +So fair and young she looked that all hearts went out in sympathy with her, +for she was very pale, and she was evidently trying to control herself, and +let her husband's last look be answered by smiles rather than tears. + +Sir Philip had bidden his good-bye to those to whom he was so dear in +private, and there was a general determination amongst everyone to be brave +and repress any demonstration of sadness at the last moment. And indeed the +splendid military career opening before Sir Philip was a joy in the hearts +of many who loved him, which silenced any expression of grief at his loss +to themselves. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe, in command of his men, presently left the ranks, and, +approaching Sir Philip, said,-- + +'We await the word of command to start, sir.' + +Just at this moment the feeble cry of an infant was heard. And Sir Philip, +throwing the reins to his esquire, said to the Earl,-- + +'Your pardon, my lord, if I delay for one moment,' and then, with a quick, +springing step, Sir Philip returned to the entrance, where his little +daughter had just been brought by her nurse. 'Nay, then, my lady +Elizabeth,' he said, 'it would ill-beseem me to forget to bid you +farewell,' and, taking the child in his arms, he kissed her twice on the +little puckered forehead, saying, 'Go for comfort to your sweet mother,' as +he put her into his wife's arms, 'and God bring you both safe to me ere +long.' + +In another moment he had again sprung on the saddle, and, with a last look +at the group collected under the porch, he rode away with all that gallant +company, with high hopes and courage to follow where their great chief led +them. + +Some of the guests departed in the afternoon of the day to sleep at +Tunbridge, but Sir Fulke Greville remained at the request of Lady Pembroke. + +There was no one to whom she could so freely speak of her brother, sure of +his sympathy, as to Sir Fulke Greville. + +Perhaps no one, except herself, had such an intimate knowledge of the depth +of his learning and the wonderful versatility of his gifts. + +The beech wood was Lady Pembroke's favourite resort at all seasons when at +Penshurst. It was there she had many a time played with Sir Philip as a +child, and taken sweet converse with him in later years. Here many of his +poems had been rehearsed to his sister before ever they had been written on +paper. + +It was in the profound stillness of the November noontide that Lady +Pembroke invited Sir Fulke Greville to cross the park and wander with her +in the familiar paths through the beech wood. + +The leaves were falling silently from the branches overhead, adding one by +one their tribute to the thick bronze carpet which had been lying at the +feet of the stately trees for many a long year. + +The gentle rustle of a bird as it flew from the thinning branches, the soft +sigh of a faint breeze as it whispered its message of decay to the trees, +the gentle trill of a robin at intervals, were the only sounds that fell +upon the ear as Lady Pembroke and Sir Fulke Greville spoke of him who was +uppermost in their thoughts. + +'It is a splendid career for him, doubtless,' Sir Fulke was saying, 'and +marvellous that one so young should be thus distinguished as to be set over +the heads of so many who would fain have been chosen. But no man living +excites less jealousy than Sir Philip; jealousy and scorn and mistrust die +in his presence.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said, 'that is true. Yet I would that I felt more +secure as to my Uncle Leicester's attitude towards my brother. I scarce can +feel his praise is whole-hearted. Maybe it is too much to expect that it +should be as fervent as that of others.' + +'The Earl is appointed Commander-in-Chief of the whole force. Sure that is +honour enough, and the sooner he hastens thither the better. He is gone to +dally at Court and trifle with the Queen as of old. When I see these +middle-aged folk, Queen and courtier, posing as lovers and indulging in +youthful follies, I ask myself, will it be so with me? shall I dance +attendance on fair ladies when I have told out near fifty years of life? I +hope not.' + +Lady Pembroke laughed. + +'There is no fear, methinks, for you or Philip; but, after all, it is the +heart which keeps us really young, despite age, yes, and infirmity. Philip, +as he rode forth this morning, looked as young, methinks, as when on the +first expedition he went to Paris, when scarce eighteen years had passed +over his head.' + +'That is true,' Sir Fulke answered, 'and none can look at Philip now +without seeing that happiness has the effect of renewing youth.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'he is happy, as he could not be while that +hunger for forbidden fruit was upon him. At times I am tempted to wish +Frances had more tastes in sympathy with her husband, but one cannot have +all that is desired for them we love, and she is as loving a wife as any +man ever possessed. But, tell me sure, how fares it with the young trio of +scholars? Has aught come lately from your pens? and does the sage Harvey +yet rule over your metres, and render your verses after ancient model?' + +'Nay, we have withdrawn from the good old man's too overbearing rule. As +you must know, Sir Philip has written an admirable _Defence of Poesie_, and +he there is the advocate for greater simplicity of expression. We have had +too much of copies from Italian models.' + +'The Italians vary in merit,' Lady Pembroke said. 'Sure Dante rises to the +sublime, and Philip has been of late a devout student of the _Vita Nuova_, +and caught the spirit of that mighty genius who followed Beatrice from +depths of hell to heights of Paradise.' + +'Yes, I have had the same feeling about Sir Philip which you express,' Sir +Fulke Greville said. 'Dante has raised love far above mere earthly passion +to a religion, which can worship the pure and the spiritual rather than the +mere beauty of the bodily presence. This breathes in much of Philip's later +verse. You know how he says he obeyed the muse, who bid him "look in his +heart, and write, rather than go outside for models of construction." That +great work--great work of yours and Sir Philip, the _Arcadia_--teams with +beauties, and Pamela is the embodiment of pure and noble womanhood.' + +'Ah!' Lady Pembroke said, 'my brother and I look forward to a time of +leisure and retirement, when we will recast that lengthy romance, and +compress it into narrower limits. We know full well it bears the stamp of +inexperience, and there is much concerning Philoclea that we shall expunge. +But that time of retirement!' Lady Pembroke said, 'it seems a mockery to +speak of it, now that the chief author has just left us to plunge into the +very thick of the battle of life.' + +'I am well pleased,' Sir Fulke said, 'that Sir Philip should have so able a +secretary at his elbow--Mr William Temple. The scholar's element will be a +refreshment to Philip when the cares of government press heavily. Mr +William Temple's _Dialectics_ is dedicated, with no empty profession of +respect and affection, to one who has ever been his friend. Forsooth,' Sir +Fulke Greville said, 'friends, true and loyal to your brother, Madam, are +as numerous as the leaves that rustle under our feet.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'that is a consoling thought; and he goes to +friends, if one may judge by the terms Count Maurice of Nassau writes of +him to the English Ambassador, Master Davison. My father has shown me a +copy of that letter, which speaks of Philip as his noble brother, and +honoured companion-in-arms.' + +'How proud one of the chiefest of the friends you speak of would be could +he know that Philip is gone forth to wage war against Spain.' + +'Good Hubert Languet! I always think no man in his first youth had ever a +truer and more faithful counsellor than Philip possessed in that noble old +Huguenot. And how he loved him, and mourned his loss!' + +The big bell was now sounding for the mid-day dinner, and Lady Pembroke +said,-- + +'However unwillingly, we must break off our converse now. You will write to +me if you repair to Flushing; or you will find a welcome at Wilton on any +day when you would fain bend your steps thither. Philip's friend must needs +be mine.' + +'A double honour I cannot rate too highly,' was the reply. 'I will ever do +my best to prove worthy of it.' + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FIRE AND SWORD + + 'What love hath wrought + Is dearly bought.'--_Old Song_, 1596. + + +Mary Gifford had found a quiet resting-place in the house of her husband's +uncle, Master George Gifford, at Arnhem, and here, from time to time, she +was visited by Humphrey Ratcliffe, who, in all the tumult of the war, kept +well in view the quest for Mary's lost son. + +Again and again hope had been raised that he was in one of the Popish +centres which were scattered over the Low Countries. + +Once Mary had been taken, under Humphrey's care, to watch before the gates +of a retired house in a village near Arnhem, whence the scholars of a +Jesuit school sometimes passed out for exercise. + +For the Papists were under protection of the Spanish forces, and were far +safer than their Protestant neighbours. Spain had always spies on the +watch, and armed men ready in ambush to resent any interference with the +priests or Jesuit schools. + +The country was bristling with soldiers, and skirmishes were frequent +between the English and Spaniards. Treachery and secret machinations were +always the tactics of Spain, and the bolder and more open hostility of +Elizabeth's army was often defeated by cunning. + +Mary Gifford's expedition to the little town had resulted in +disappointment. With eager eyes and a beating heart she had watched the +boys file out in that back street towards the river, and when the boy +passed whom, at a sign from Humphrey, she was especially to notice, she +turned away. The light of hope died out from her face, as she said,-- + +'Ah! no, no! That boy is not my Ambrose!' + +'He will be changed, whenever you do find him, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey +said, somewhat unwilling to give up his point. 'Methinks that stripling has +as much likeness to the child of scarce seven years old as you may expect +to find.' + +'Nay,' Mary said. 'The eyes, if nought else, set the question at rest. Did +you not note how small and deep-set were the eyes which this boy turned on +us with a sly glance as he passed. My Ambrose had ever a bold, free glance, +with his big, lustrous eyes, not a sidelong, foxy look. Nay, my good +friend, the truth gets more and more fixed in my mind that my child is safe +in Paradise, where only I shall meet him in God's good time.' + +'I do not give up hope,' Humphrey said. 'This is certain, that he was at +first at Douay, and that his father took him thence to some hiding-place +in the Netherlands. He may be nearer you than you think. I shall not have +the chance of speaking much to you for some weeks,' Humphrey said. 'It may +be never again, for our great chief, Sir Philip, weary of inaction and sick +at heart by the constant thwarts and drawbacks which he endures, is +consorting with the Count Maurice of Nassau, and both are determined to +capture Axel. The scheme has to be submitted to the Earl of Leicester, and +we only await his assent to prepare for the onset, and, by God's help, we +will take the town. Sir Philip craves for some chance of showing what he +can do. He is crippled for money and resources, and, moreover, the loss of +both his parents weighs heavy upon him.' + +'Alas! I know this must needs do so, the losses following so close, one on +the steps of the other.' + +'I have had a letter of some length from Lucy concerning Sir Henry's death +at Ludlow, and I look for another ere long with a fuller account than as +yet I have received of the Lady Mary's departure.' + +'Verily, there is only one staff to lean on as we pass through the valley +of the shadow when all human help is vain. None need be lonely who can feel +the presence of the Lord near in life and death. We must all seek to feel +that presence with us.' + +'Alas!' Humphrey said, 'this is a hard matter. It is many a year now since +I have ventured to put the question. Do you still hold to the belief that +your husband lives?' + +'Yes,' Mary said firmly, 'till certain news reaches me that he is dead.' + +They were at the door of Master Gifford's house now, and here they +parted--Humphrey to the active service which would make him forget for the +time the hopelessness of his quest for the boy Ambrose and his love for the +mother. + +Lucy Forrester had acquired, amongst other things in Lady Pembroke's +service, the art of writing well, and she kept up communication with her +sister by this means. These letters were often sent, by favour of the Earl +of Pembroke, in the despatches to Sir Philip Sidney or the Earl of +Leicester, and conveyed to Mary Gifford by his servants. + +One of these letters awaited Mary this evening on her return, and it was +lying on the table by Master Gifford's side, as he sat in the spotlessly +clean parlour, with the Bible open before him, and a sheet of parchment, on +which he was jotting down the heads of his sermon to be delivered next day +in the plain unadorned room at the back of his house at Arnhem. + +Master George Gifford was a fine and venerable-looking man, with abundance +of grey hair curling low over the stiff, white collar, which contrasted +with the sombre black of his long gown made of coarse homespun. + +He had escaped to Holland in the days of the persecution of Protestants in +England, and, having a natural gift of eloquence, had become the centre +and stay of a little band of faithful followers of the Reformed Faith. + +But Master Gifford was no narrow-minded bigot, and he abhorred persecution +on the plea of religion, as utterly at variance with the Gospel of the One +Lord and Saviour of all men. + +He was a dignified, courteous man, and treated Mary with the tender +consideration which her forlorn condition seemed to demand. Amongst those +who at intervals attended his ministry was Sir Philip Sidney, and, on this +very day when Mary Gifford had been on her vain expedition to the little +out-of-the-way village on the river bank, the young soldier had come to lay +before him the scheme for attacking Axel, and had brought with him the +letter which, on Mary's entrance, Master Gifford held towards her. + +'Here is a welcome missive,' he said; 'but forsooth, my poor child, you +look worn and tired. Sit you down and rest. Gretchen has spread the board +for you; I supped an hour agone. No news, I take it, Mary?' Master Gifford +said. + +'No, no, dear uncle, and I can go on no more vain quests. Master Humphrey +has the best intention, and who but a mother could recognise her own child? +I fear me you have needed my help with distributing the alms to the poor +this afternoon, and I should have baked the pasty for the morrow's dinner.' + +'Gretchen has done all that was needful. Is it not so, good Gretchen?' said +Master Gifford, as a squarely-built, sandy-haired Dutch woman, in her short +blue gown and large brown linen apron, and huge flapping cap came into the +room. + +Gretchen came forward to Mary with resolute steps, and said in her somewhat +eccentric English,-- + +'And what must you tire yourself out like this for, Mistress Gifford? Tut, +tut, you look like a ghost. Come and eat your supper like a Christian, I +tell you.' + +Gretchen was a rough diamond, but she had a good heart. She was absolutely +devoted to her master, and with her husband, an Englishman, who had escaped +with his master as a boy many years before, served him with zeal and +loyalty. + +Mary was led, whether she wished it or not, to the kitchen--that bright +kitchen with its well-kept pots and pans, and its heavy delf-ware ranged on +shelves, its great Dutch clock ticking loudly in the corner, and the clear +fire burning merrily in the stove, which was flanked with blue and white +tiles with a variety of quaint devices. + +'Sit you down and eat this posset. I made it for you, knowing you would be +more dead than alive. Come now, and sip this cup of mead, and don't open +that letter till you have done. Take off your hood and cloak. There! now +you are better already. Give up yawning like that, Jan, or you'll set me +off,' Gretchen said to her husband, whose name she had changed, to suit the +country of his adoption, from John to Jan, and who had been taking a +comfortable nap on the settle by the stove, from which he had been rudely +awakened by his wife. + +Mary was obliged to do as Gretchen bid her, and was constrained to +acknowledge that she felt the better for the food, of which she had been so +unwilling to partake. + +Master Gifford's house was frequented by many faithful Puritans in Arnhem, +and amongst them was a lady named Gruithuissens, who was well-known for her +benevolence and tender sympathy with all who were sorrowful and oppressed. + +As was natural, therefore, she was attracted by Mary Gifford, and her +friendship had been one of the compensations Mary felt God had granted her +for the ever present loss of her boy. + +Madam Gruithuissens' house faced the street on one side and overlooked the +river on the other. The window of her long, spacious parlour opened out +upon a verandah, and had a typical view of the Low Countries stretched +before them. A wide, far-reaching expanse of meadow-land and water--the +flat country vanishing in the sky-line many miles distant. + +A contrast, indeed, to the wood-covered heights and undulating pastures of +the fair country of Kent, where the home of the Sidneys stands in all its +stately time-honoured pride. + +Mary Gifford's thoughts were there at this moment. A summer evening came +back to her when she sat at the casement of Ford Manor with Ambrose clasped +close to her side. The years that lay between that time and the present +seemed so short, and yet how they had probably changed the child whom she +had loved so dearly. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe was right. She had not realised what that change would +be. And then came the ever-haunting fear that Ambrose, if he were alive, +would fail to recognise his mother--might have been taught to forget her, +or, perhaps, to think lightly of her, and to look upon her as a heretic, by +the Jesuits who had brought him up in their creed. + +She was roused from her meditations by Mistress Gruithuissens' abrupt +entrance. + +'Great news!' she said, 'Great news! Axel is taken, and Sir Philip Sidney +has done wonders. A messenger has just arrived with the news at the Earl of +Leicester's quarters, and Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has been sent by barge +with others of the wounded. There has been great slaughter, and terrible it +is to think of the aching hearts all around us. Women widows, children +fatherless. Yet it is a righteous war, for Spain would massacre tenfold the +number did she gain the ascendant--hearken! I hear footsteps.' + +In another moment the door was partly thrown open, and a young soldier, +evidently fresh from the scene of action, came in. + +'I am seeking Mistress Gifford,' he said. 'I am esquire to Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe, and he has dispatched me with a message.' + +'I am Mistress Gifford,' Mary said. 'What is your news?' + +'My master is wounded, and he lies in Sir Philip Sidney's quarters in the +garrison. He bids me say he would fain see you, for he has to tell you +somewhat that could be entrusted to no one but yourself.' + +'How can I go to him?' Mary said helplessly. + +'How? With me, and my servants to guard us. But do not look so +terror-struck, Mistress Gifford,' Madam Gruithuissens said, 'it may, +perchance, be good news. I will order the servants to make ready--or will +we wait till the morrow? Nay, I see that would tax your patience too far; +we will start at once.' + +As Mary Gifford and her new protectress passed through the streets of +Arnhem to the garrison where Humphrey lay wounded, they saw knots of people +collected, all talking of the great event of the taking of Axel. Some women +were weeping and unable to gain any exact information, most of them with a +look of stolid misery on their faces, with no passionate expression of +grief, as would have been seen in a like case amongst Italian and French +women, or even amongst English sufferers in the same circumstances. + +Mary Gifford's ear had become accustomed to the Dutch language, and she +spoke it with comparative ease, having, in her visits of charity amongst +the poor of Master Gifford's followers and disciples, no other means of +communicating with them. + +Madam Gruithuissens spoke English, for, like so many of those who sought +safety in the Low Countries from the persecution of the Papists in +England, she had been brought thither by her father as a child, and had, +till her marriage, spoken her native tongue, and had read much of the +literature which was brought over from England. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe was lying in a small chamber apart from other sufferers, +by Sir Philip's order. He was wounded in the shoulder, and faint from the +loss of blood. + +Mary Gifford did not lose her self-control in an emergency. Like many +gentle, quiet women, her strength and courage were always ready when she +needed them. + +'I am grieved to see you thus,' Mary said, as she went up to the low pallet +where Humphrey lay. + +'It is nought but a scratch,' he said, 'and it has been well worth the +gaining in a noble cause and a grand victory. I have certain news of your +boy. He was in a Jesuit school. It was burnt to the ground, but the boy was +saved. In the confusion and uproar, with the flames scorching hot on us, I +felt pity for the young creatures who were seen struggling in the burning +mass. With the help of my brave companions I rescued three of the boys. I +was bearing off one to a place of safety when I felt a blow from behind. +This stab in my shoulder, and the pain, made me relax my hold of the boy. + +'Instantly one of the Jesuit brothers had seized him, saying,-- + +"You are safe, Ambrose, with me." + +'I knew no more. I swooned from pain and loss of blood, and, when I came +to, I found I was in a barge being brought hither with other of the +wounded.' + +'But my son!' Mary exclaimed. 'Are you sure it was my son?' + +'As sure as I can be of aught that my eyes have ever looked upon. I saw the +large eyes you speak of dilated with fear, as the flames leaped up in the +surrounding darkness. And I verily believe the man who tore him from me was +him who gave me this wound, and is the crafty wretch whom you know to be +your husband.' + +'Ah me!' Mary exclaimed, 'it is but poor comfort after all. My boy may be +near, but I can never see him; he who has him in his power will take care +he eludes our grasp. But I am selfish and ungrateful to you, my good +friend. Pardon me if I seem to forget you got that sore wound in my +service.' + +'Ah! Mary,' Humphrey said, 'I would suffer ten such wounds gladly if I +might but win my guerdon. Well for me, it may be, that I swooned, or, by +Heaven, I should have run that wily Jesuit through the body.' + +'Thank God,' Mary said fervently, 'that his blood lies not on your head.' + +Madam Gruithuissens had considerately withdrawn to a long, low chamber next +the small one where Humphrey lay. She knew enough of Mary Gifford's history +to feel that whatever Humphrey Ratcliffe had to say to her, he would prefer +to say it with no listeners. + +And, full of charity and kindness, the good lady moved about amongst the +wounded and dying, and tried to cheer them and support them in their pain, +by repeating passages from the Bible, in English or in Dutch, according to +the nationality of the sufferer. + +When Madam Gruithuissens returned to Humphrey's room, Mary said,-- + +'I would fain watch here all night, and do my utmost for all the sufferers. +Will you, Madam, give my uncle notice of my intention, and I think he will +come hither and pray by the side of those whom I hear groaning in their +pain.' + +'I will e'en do as you wish, and send my servant back with cordials and +linen for bands, and such food as may support you in your watch.' + +When Madam Gruithuissens departed, Humphrey and Mary Gifford were alone +together. The servant who had been sent with the news keeping watch at the +door outside, and Humphrey, for the time, seemed to go over, half +unconsciously, the scenes of the taking of Axel, and Mary listened to it +not exactly with half-hearted sympathy, but with the perpetually recurring +cry at her heart that God would restore to her her only son. + +It is ever so--the one anxiety, the one centre of interest to ourselves, +which may seem of little importance to others, drives out all else. All +other cares and griefs, and grand achievements of which we hear, are but as +dust in the balance, when weighed down by our own especial sorrow, or +suspense is hardest, perhaps, to bear, which is pressing upon us at the +time. + +Mary Gifford had often told herself that hope was dead within her, and that +she had resigned her boy into God's hands, that she should never clasp him +in her arms again, nor look into those lustrous eyes of which she had +spoken to Humphrey. But hope is slow to die in human hearts. It springs up +again from the very ashes of despair, and Humphrey Ratcliffe's words had +quickened it into life. Thus, as Humphrey described the events of the past +forty-eight hours, and forgot pain and weariness in the enthusiasm for the +courage and heroism of Sir Philip Sidney, his listener was picturing the +blazing house, the flames, the suffocating smoke, and the boy whose face +had been revealed to Humphrey as the face of her lost child. + +She was haunted by the certainty that the man who had stabbed Humphrey was +her husband, and that it was he who had called the boy by name, and +snatched him from his deliverer. + +This was the undercurrent of thought in Mary's mind, while she heard +Humphrey describe to her uncle, who promptly obeyed the summons, the +capture of the four citadels and rich spoil. + +'Ours was but a little band,' Humphrey was saying, 'but three thousand foot +soldiers. I was one of the five hundred of Sir Philip's men, and proud am I +to say so. It was at his place we met, on the water in front of Flushing, +and then by boat and on foot, with stealthy tread lest we should disturb +the sleepers. + +'Within a mile of Axel Sir Philip called us near, and may I never live to +forget his words. They were enow to set on fire the courage of all true +soldiers. He bade us remember it was God's battle we were fighting, for +Queen and country and for our Faith. He bade us remember, too, we were +waging war against the tyranny of Spain, and exhorted us to care nought for +danger or death in serving the Queen, furthering our country's honour, and +helping a people so grievously in want of aid. He said, moreover, that his +eye was upon us, and none who fought bravely should lose their reward. + +'I thank God I was one of the forty men, who, headed by our gallant leader, +jumped into the turbid waters of the ditch, swam across, and, scaling the +walls, opened the gate for the rest. + +'The men we attacked were brave, and fought hard for victory; but they were +but just roused from slumber, it was too late to resist, and Sir Philip +had, by his marvellous wisdom in placing the troops, ensured our success. +It was a fearful scene of carnage. I only grieve that I did not get my +wound in fair fight, but by the back-handed blow of a Jesuit. Some of our +men set fire to the house where those emissaries of the devil congregate, +and Mistress Gifford here knows the rest, and she will relate it to you, +Master Gifford, in due time.' + +'Ah, my son,' Master Gifford said, 'let us pray for the blessed time when +the nations shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into +pruning-hooks, and learn war no more.' + +'But it is a righteous war, sir, blessed by God. Sure, could you have heard +Sir Philip bid us remember this, you would not soon forget his words, his +voice, his gallant bearing. He is ever in the front rank of danger, nor +spares himself, as it is reported some other great ones are known to do. +And his brothers are not far behind him in valour. That slight stripling, +Mr Thomas Sidney, is a very David in the heat of the battle.' + +'Let us try to dismiss the dread conflict from our minds,' Master Gifford +said, 'while we supplicate our Father in Heaven that He would look with +eyes of pity and forgiveness on the wounded and the dying, the bereaved +widows and the fatherless children.' + +And then the good old man poured out his soul in prayer as he knelt by +Humphrey's side. His words seemed to have a composing effect on Humphrey; +and when Master Gifford left the room to go to the bedside of the other +sufferers in the adjoining chamber, Mary saw, to her great relief, that +Humphrey was sleeping soundly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +RESTORED + + 'Good hope upholds the heart.' + + _Old Song_, 1596. + + +There were great rejoicings at Arnhem when Sir Philip Sidney came back to +join the main army, stationed there under the command of the Earl of +Leicester. + +Sir Philip had been appointed Colonel of the Zeeland regiment of horse and, +to the disappointment of his friends, the Queen chose to be offended that +this mark of honour had been conferred upon him. + +The character of the Queen was full of surprising inconsistencies, and it +seems incredible that she should have grudged one whom she called the gem +of her Court the honour which she actually wished conferred on Count +Hohenlo, a man who, though a brave soldier, was known for his drunken, +dissolute habits. + +The Earl of Leicester made a jest of the Queen's displeasure, and only +laughed at the concern Sir Francis Walsingham showed in the letter in which +he announced it. + +'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl said to Lady Frances, who, filled +with pride in her husband's achievements, was depressed when she heard her +father's report that the Queen laid the blame on Sir Philip's ambition, and +implied that he had wrung the honour from his uncle. + +'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl repeated, 'any more than it does +mine. It is but part and parcel of Her Highness's ways with those whom she +would seem at times to think paragons. Do I not not know it full well? I +have said in my despatch the truth, and I have begged your father, sweet +Frances, to communicate what I say without delay to the Queen; my words for +sure will not count for nought.' + +'The Queen had not heard of the last grand victory, the taking of Axel, +when she made the complaint. Ambitious! nay, my good uncle, Philip is never +ambitious save for good.' + +The Earl stroked the fair cheek of Philip Sidney's young wife, saying,-- + +'Philip is happy in possessing so loyal a lady for his wife; he can afford +to let the smiles or frowns of the Queen go by. And here he comes to attest +the truth of what I say.' + +Sir Philip had often to doubt the ability of his uncle as a general, but at +this time they were on terms of greater friendliness than ever before. Sir +Philip had, in a few short months, lost both father and mother, and he +probably felt the tie between him and his mother's brother to be stronger +than in former times. Had not his mother often bid him remember that he +came of the noble race of Dudley, and that he bore their crest with that of +the Sidneys--a proud distinction. + +If there had been jealousy in the Earl's heart when he saw his nephew +rising so rapidly to a foremost place in the esteem of all men--a place +which, with all his brilliant gifts, he secretly felt he never had +filled--it was subdued now. + +He did not grudge him the praise his splendid achievement awoke, and, in +his despatch to the English Court, he gave the whole credit of the capture +of Axel to his nephew. + +The Earl always took care to have the room he inhabited, whether for a +longer or a shorter time, luxuriously furnished. + +If the word 'comfortable' does not apply to the appointments of those days, +there was abundance of grandeur in fine tapestry hangings, in +soft-cushioned seats, and in gold and silver plate on which the delicacies +that were attainable were served. + +Sir Philip and Lady Frances were the Earl's guests, with the young Earl of +Essex and Mr Thomas Sidney. The elder brother, Robert, had been left in +command at Flushing with the nine hundred trusty soldiers Sir Philip had +left in the garrison there. + +'What truth am I to attest?' Sir Philip asked, as he came up the room with +his quick, elastic step. + +His wife went forward to meet him, and, clinging to his arm, said,-- + +'Our good uncle was consoling me for those words in my father's letter.' + +'And on what ground did I console you, Frances?' the Earl said. 'You give +but half the truth; go on to say the rest.' + +'Nay,' she said, hiding her face on Sir Philip's shoulder, as he put his +arm tenderly round her. 'Nay, there is no need--' + +'To tell him he is happy to possess a loyal wife? You are right, dear +niece; he knows it full well.' + +'Ay, to my joy and blessing,' was the answer. 'The favour of the Queen is, +I do not deny, precious; but there are things more precious even than that. +But, Frances, I come to tell you I think it is time we return to Flushing. +We have had many bright days here, but I must soon be at the work I came +hither to perform, and there is much to do, as you, my Lord, know full +well.' + +'Ay, surely, but we need not be rash, or in too great haste.' + +'The investment of Doesburg is imperative,' Sir Philip said, 'and, if we +wish to gain the mastery of the Yssel, this must be done. There are some +matters which cause me great uneasiness. Stores are short and money greatly +needed; nor do I put much faith in some of our allies. There is a mutinous +feeling abroad amongst the troops.' + +'You may be right,' the Earl said, 'but let us away to our supper, it must +needs be served, and afterwards you shall take the viol, and chase away +any needless fears by your sweet music.' + +The Earl was always ready to put away any grave or serious matter, and Sir +Philip was often hampered by the difficulty he found in bringing his uncle +to the point on any question of importance. + +When Sir Philip and Lady Frances were alone together that evening, he +seemed more than usually grave and even sad. + +'Are you grieved, Philip, about the Queen's displeasure? As soon as she +hears of Axel she will sure cover you with honours.' + +'Nay, sweetheart, it is not over this matter that I am brooding. Concern +for you is pressing most.' + +'For me! But I am merry and well.' + +'Will you choose to remain here at Arnhem or return to Flushing with me? A +sore struggle must ensue before long, and Zutphen will be besieged. I have +been meditating whether or not I ought to send you and our babe under safe +convoy to England.' + +'No--oh, no! I would fain stay with you--near you--especially now. My +ladies take good care of me, and little madam Elizabeth. She is well and +hearty, and so am I; do not send us away from you!' + +'It shall be as you wish, dear love,' was the answer; 'though, I fear, you +will see but little of me. I have much to occupy me. But I will come to you +for rest, dear heart, and I shall not come in vain.' + +In all the events and chances of war, Sir Philip did not forget his +servants; and he had been greatly concerned at the wound Humphrey had +received, which had been slow to heal, and had been more serious than had +at first been supposed. Before leaving Arnhem, Sir Philip went to the house +of Madam Gruithuissens, whither Humphrey had been conveyed when able to +leave the room in the quarters allotted to Sir Philip's retainers, where he +was nursed and tended by Mary Gifford and his kind and benevolent hostess. + +Humphrey had chafed against his enforced inaction, and was eager to be +allowed to resume his usual duties. It was evident that he was still unfit +for this; and Sir Philip entirely supported Madam Gruithuissens when she +said it would be madness for him to attempt to mount his horse while the +wound was unhealed and constantly needed care. + +It was the evening before Sir Philip left Arnhem that he was met in the +square entry of Madam Gruithuissens' house by Mary Gifford. She had been +reading to Humphrey, and had been trying to divert his mind from the sore +disappointment which the decision that he was to stay in Arnhem had +occasioned him. But Humphrey, like most masculine invalids, was very hard +to persuade, or to manage, and Mary, feeling that his condition was really +the result of his efforts to save her boy and bring him to her, was full of +pity for him, and self-reproach that she had caused him so much pain and +vexation. + +'How fares it with my good esquire, Mistress Gifford?' Sir Philip asked, as +he greeted Mary. + +'Indeed, sir, but ill; and I fear that to prevent his joining your company +may hurt him more than suffering him to have his way. He is also greatly +distressed that he could not prosecute inquiries at Axel for my child. In +good sooth, Sir Philip, I have brought upon my true friend nought but ill. +I am ofttimes tempted to wish he had never seen me.' + +'Nay, Mistress Gifford, do not indulge that wish. I hold to the faith that +the love of one who is pure and good can but be a boon, whether or not +possession of that one be denied or granted.' + +'But, sir, you know my story--you know that between me and Master Ratcliffe +is a dividing wall which neither can pass.' + +'Yes, I know it,' Sir Philip said; 'but, Mistress Gifford, take courage. +The wall may be broken down and his allegiance be rewarded at last.' + +'Yet, how dare I wish or pray that so it should be, sir? No; God's hand is +heavy upon me--bereft of my boy, and tossed hither and thither as a ship on +a stormy sea. All that is left for me is to bow my head and strive to say, +"God's will be done."' + +It was seldom that Mary Gifford gave utterance to her inmost thoughts; +seldom that she confessed even to herself how deeply rooted in her heart +was her love for Humphrey Ratcliffe. She never forgot, to her latest day, +the look of perfect sympathy--yes, of understanding, which Sir Philip +Sidney bent on her as he took her hand in his, and, bending over it, +kissed it reverently. + +'May God have you in His holy keeping, Mistress Gifford, and give you +strength for every need.' + +'He understands me,' Mary said, as she stood where he left her, his quick +steps sounding on the tiled floor of the long corridor which opened from +the square lobby. 'He understands, he knows; for has he not tasted of a +like cup bitter as mine?' + +Mary Gifford was drawing her hood more closely over her face, preparing to +return to Master Gifford's house, when she saw a man on the opposite side +of the street who was evidently watching her. + +Her heart beat fast as she saw him crossing over to the place where she +stood on the threshold of the entry to Madam Gruithuissens' house. + +She quickened her steps as she turned away in the direction of Master +Gifford's house, but she felt a hand laid on her arm. + +'I am speaking to one Mistress Gifford, methinks.' + +'Yes, sir,' Mary said, her courage, as ever, rising when needed. 'What is +your business with me?' + +'I am sent on an errand by one you know of as Ambrose Gifford--called by us +Brother Ambrosio. He lies sick unto death in a desolate village before +Zutphen, and he would fain see you ere he departs hence. There is not a +moment to lose; you must come at once. I have a barge ready, and we can +reach the place by water.' + +Mary was still hurrying forward, but the detaining grasp grew firmer. + +'If I tell you that by coming you will see your son, will you consent?' + +'My son! my boy!' Mary exclaimed. 'I would traverse the world to find him, +but how am I to know that you are not deceiving me.' + +'I swear by the blessed Virgin and all the Saints I am telling you the +truth. Come!' + +'I must seek counsel. I must consider; do not press me.' + +'Your boy is lying also in the very jaws of death. A consuming fever has +seized many of our fraternity. Famine has resulted in pestilence. When I +left the place where Brother Ambrosio and the boy lie, it was doubtful +which would depart first. The rites of the Holy Church have been +administered, and the priest, who would fain shrive Brother Ambrosio, sent +me hither, for confession must be made of sins, ere absolution be bestowed. +If you wish to see your son alive you must not hesitate. It may concern you +less if I tell you that he who was your husband may have departed +unabsolved through your delay.' + +The twilight was deepening, and there were but few people in this quarter +of the town. Mary hesitated no longer, and, with an uplifting of heart for +the strength Sir Philip's parting blessing had invoked, she gathered the +folds of her cloak round her, pulled the hood over her face, and saying, +'Lead on, I am ready,' she followed her guide through some narrow lanes +leading to the brink of the water, where a barge was lying, with a man at +the prow, evidently on the watch for their coming. + +Not a word was spoken as Mary entered the barge, and took her seat on one +of the benches laid across it, her guide leaving her unmolested and +retiring to the further end of the vessel. + +There was no sound but the monotonous splash of the oars, and their regular +beat against the edge of the boat, as the two men pulled out into the wider +part of the river. + +Above, the stars were coming out one by one, and the wide stretch of low +meadow-land and water lay in the purple haze of gathering shadows like an +unknown and undiscovered country, till it was lost in the overarching +canopy of the dim far-off heavens. + +Mary Gifford felt strangely indifferent to all outward things as she sat +with her hands tightly clasped together under her cloak, and in her heart +only one thought had room--that she was in a few short hours to clasp her +boy in her arms. + +So over-mastering was this love and hungry yearning of the mother for her +child, that his condition--stricken by fever, and that of his father lying +at the very gates of death--were almost forgotten. + +'If only he knows my arms are round him,' she thought; 'if only I can hear +his voice call me _mother_, I will die with him content.' + +After a few hours, when there were lines of dawn in the eastern sky, Mary +felt the barge was being moored to the river bank; and her guide, rising +from his seat, came towards her, gave her his hand and said,-- + +'We have now to go on foot for some distance, to the place where your son +lies. Are you able for this?' + +For Mary was stiff and cramped with her position in the barge for so long a +time, and she would have fallen as she stepped out, had not one of the +watermen caught her, saying,-- + +'Steady, Madam! steady!' + +After a few tottering steps, Mary recovered herself, and said,-- + +'The motion of walking will be good for me; let us go forward.' + +It was a long and weary tramp through spongy, low-lying land, and the way +seemed interminable. + +At last, just as the sun was sending shafts of light across river and +swamp--making them glow like burnished silver, and covering every tall +spike of rush and flag with diamonds--a few straggling cottages or huts +came in sight. + +A clump of pollards hid the cluster of buildings which formed the nucleus +of the little hamlet, till they were actually before a low, irregular block +of cottages, and at the door of one of these Mary's guide stopped. + +'A few of our brethren took refuge here after the taking of Axel and the +burning of our habitation there. We are under the protection of the Duke of +Parma, who is advancing with an army for the relief of Zutphen, and will, +as we believe, drive from before us the foes of the Holy Church.' + +As they passed under the low doorway into a narrow entry paved with clay, +Mary's guide said,-- + +'Tarry here, while I find what has passed in my absence.' + +Mary was not left long in suspense. + +The man presently returned, and, beckoning her, said,-- + +'Come, without delay!' + +Mary found herself in a low, miserably furnished room on the ground-floor, +where, in the now clear light of the bright summer morning, Ambrose Gifford +lay dying. + +The 'large, cruel, black eyes,' as Lucy Forrester had called them long ago, +were dim now, and were turned with pitiful pleading upon the wife he had so +grievously injured. + +The priest stood by, and signed to Mary to kneel and put her face near her +husband, that she might hear what he had to say. + +As she obeyed, the hood fell back from her head, and a ray of sunshine +caught the wealth of her rich chestnut hair and made an aureole round it. +The grey streaks, which sorrow rather than years, had mingled amongst the +bronze locks, shone like silver. She took the long, wasted hand in hers, +and, in a low, clear voice, said,-- + +'I am here, Ambrose! what would you say to me?' + +'The boy!' he gasped; 'fetch hither the boy!' + +One of the Brothers obeyed the dying man's request, and from a pallet at +the farther end of the room he brought the boy, whose cheeks were aflame +with fever, as he lay helpless in the Brother's arms. + +'Here, Ambrose,' the dying father said--'this--this is your mother; be a +good son to her.' + +Often as Mary Gifford had drawn a picture in her own mind of this possible +meeting with her son, so long delayed, such a meeting as this had never +been imagined in her wildest dreams. + +'Thus, then, I make atonement,' the unhappy man said. 'Take him, Mary, and +forgive it _all_.' + +'Yes,' Mary said, as the boy was laid on the pallet at his father's feet, +and his mother clasped him close to her side. 'Yes, I forgive--' + +'_All?_' he said. '_All?_' + +'As I pray God to be forgiven,' she said, womanly pity for this forlorn +ending of a misspent life thrilling in her voice, as hot tears coursed one +another down her pale sweet face. 'Yes,' she repeated, '_all_! Ambrose.' + +'One thing more. Did I murder Humphrey Ratcliffe? Does that sin lie on my +soul?' + +'No, thank God!' Mary said. 'He lives; he was cruelly wounded, but God +spared his life.' + +There was silence now. The priest bid Mary move from the bed, and let him +approach; but, before she did so, she bent over her husband and said,-- + +'Have you gone to the Saviour of the world for forgiveness through His +precious blood, Ambrose? He alone can forgive sins.' + +'I know it! I know it!' was the reply. + +But the priest interfered now. + +'Withdraw, my daughter, for the end is near.' + +Then Mary, bending still lower, pressed a kiss upon the forehead, where the +cold dews of death were gathering, and, turning towards her boy, she +said,-- + +'Where shall I take him? Where can I go with him, my son, my son?' + +There was something in Mary's self-restraint and in the pathetic tones of +her voice, which moved those who stood around to pity as she repeated,-- + +'Where can I find a refuge with my child? I cannot remain here with him.' + +One of the Brothers raised Ambrose again in his arms, and saying, 'Follow +me,' he carried him to a small chamber on the upper floor, where he laid +him down on a heap of straw covered with an old sacking, and said in +English,-- + +'This is all I can do for you. Yonder room whence we came is kept for those +stricken with the fever. Two of them died yesterday. We were burned out of +house and home, and our oratory sacked and destroyed at Axel. We fled +hither, and a troop of the Duke's army is within a mile to protect us.' + +'Is there no leech at hand, no one to care for my child?' + +'There was one here yester eve. He is attached to the troop I speak of, and +has enow to do with the sick there. Famine and moisture have done their +work, and God knows where it will end. There is a good woman at a small +homestead not a mile away. She has kept us from starving, and, like many of +the Hollanders, has a kind heart. I will do my best to get her to befriend +you, Mistress, for I see you are in a sorry plight.' + +'Even water to wet his lips would be a boon. I pray you fetch water,' she +entreated. + +The man disappeared, and presently returned with a rough pitcher of water +and a flagon in which, he said, was a little drink prepared from herbs by +the kindly Vrouw he had spoken of. + +'I will seek her as quickly as other claims permit,' he said. And then Mary +was left alone with her boy. + +The restlessness of fever was followed by a spell of utter exhaustion, but +the delirious murmurs ceased, and a light of consciousness came into those +large, lustrous eyes, by which Mary knew this was indeed her son. + +Otherwise, what a change from the rosy, happy child of seven, full of life +and vigour, to the emaciated boy of twelve, whose face was prematurely old, +and, unshaded by the once abundant hair, which had been close cropped to +his head, looked ghostly and unfamiliar. + +Still, he was hers once more, and she took off the ragged black gown, which +had been the uniform of the scholars of the Jesuit school, and was now only +fit for the fire, and taking off her own cloak, she wrapped him in it, +bathed his face with water, put the herb cordial to his lips, and then, +setting herself on an old chair, the only furniture in the tumbledown +attic, she raised Ambrose on her knees, and, whispering loving words and +prayers over him, hungered for a sign of recognition. + +Evidently the poor boy's weary brain was awakened by some magnetic power to +a consciousness that some lost clue of his happy childhood had been +restored to him. + +As his head lay against his mother's breast the rest there was apparently +sweet. + +He sighed as if contented, closed his eyes and slept. + +Mary dare not move or scarcely breathe, lest she should disturb the slumber +in which, as she gazed upon his face, the features of her lost child seemed +to come out with more certain likeness to her Ambrose of past years. + +For a smile played round the scarlet lips, and the long, dark fringe of the +lashes resting on his cheeks, brought back the many times in the old home +when she had seen them shadow the rounded rosy cheeks of his infant days. + +A mother's love knows no weariness, and, as the hours passed and Ambrose +still slept, Mary forgot her aching back and arms, her forlorn position in +that desolate attic, even the painful ordeal she had gone through by her +husband's dying bed--forgot everything but the joy that, whether for life +or death, her boy was restored to her. + +At last Ambrose stirred, and the smile faded from his lips. He raised his +head and gazed up into the face bending over him. + +'I dreamed,' he faltered; 'I dreamed I saw my _mother_--my _mother_.' He +repeated the word with a feeble cry--_my mother_; 'but it's only a dream. I +have no mother but the blessed Virgin, and she--she is so far, far away, up +in Heaven.' + +'Ambrose, my sweetheart, my son!' Mary said gently. 'I am not far away; I +am here! Your own mother.' + +'It's good of you to come down from Heaven, mother; take me--take me back +with you. I am so--so weary--weary; and I can't say all the Latin prayers +to you; I can't.' + +'Ambrose,' poor Mary said, 'you need say no more Latin prayers; you are +with me, your own mother, on earth.' + +The wave of remembrance grew stronger, and, after a moment's pause, Ambrose +said,-- + +'Ned brought me two speckled eggs. The hawk caught the poor little bird; +the cruel hawk. Where am I? _Ave Maria, ora pro nobis._' + +'Say rather, dear child, "Dear Father in heaven, bless me, and keep me."' + +'Yes, yes; that is the prayer I said by--' + +'_Me_--me, your own mother.' + +The long-deferred hope was at last fulfilled, and Mary Gifford tasted the +very fruit of the tree of life, as Ambrose, with full consciousness, gazed +long and earnestly at her, and said,-- + +'Yes, you are my mother, my own mother; not a dream.' + +'Ah! say it again, my child, my child.' + +'My own mother,' the boy repeated, raising his thin hand and stroking his +mother's face, where tears were now running down unchecked, tears of +thankfulness; such as, for many a long year, she had never shed. + +With such bliss the stranger cannot intermeddle; but mothers who have had a +child restored to them from the very borders of the unseen land will know +what Mary Gifford felt. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WHAT RIGHT? + + 'Her look and countenance was settled, her face soft, and almost + still, of one measure! without any passionate gesture or violent + motion, till at length, as it were, awakening and strengthening + herself, "Well," she said, "yet this is best; and of this I am + sure, that, however they wrong me, they cannot overmaster God. No + darkness blinds His eyes, no gaol bars Him out; to whom else + should I fly but to Him for succour."'--_The Arcadia._ + + +The Countess of Pembroke was sitting in the chamber which overlooked the +pleasance at Penshurst and the raised terrace above it, on a quiet autumn +day of the year of 1586. + +She had come to her early home to arrange the letters and papers which her +mother, Lady Mary, had committed to her care on her deathbed. + +There were other matters, too, which demanded her attention, and which the +Earl was only too glad to help her to settle; he was now in London for that +purpose. + +There were many difficulties to meet in the division of the property, and +Sir Henry had been so terribly hampered by the want of money, that debts +sprang up on every side. + +Lady Pembroke had great administrative power, and, added to her other +gifts, a remarkable clearheadedness and discernment. + +The sombre mourning which she wore accentuated her beauty, and set off the +lovely pink-and-white of her complexion, and the radiant hair, which was, +as she laughingly told her brother, 'the badge of the Sidneys.' + +The profound stillness which brooded over Penshurst suited Lady Pembroke's +mood, and, looking out from the casement, she saw Lucy Forrester, playing +ball with her boy Will on the terrace. Lucy's light and agile figure was +seen to great advantage as she sprang forward or ran backward, to catch the +ball from the boy's hands. His laughter rang through the still air as, at +last, Lucy missed the catch, and then Lady Pembroke saw him run down the +steps leading to the pleasance below to meet George Ratcliffe, who was +coming in from the entrance on that side of the park. + +Lady Pembroke smiled as she saw George advance with his cap in his hand +towards Lucy. His stalwart figure was set off by the short green tunic he +wore, and a sheaf of arrows at his side, and a bow strapped across his +broad shoulders, showed that he had been shooting in the woods. + +Only a few words were exchanged, and then Lucy turned, and, leaving George +with little Will Herbert, she came swiftly toward the house, and Lady +Pembroke presently heard her quick, light tread in the corridor on which +her room opened. + +'Madam!' Lucy said, entering breathlessly, 'I bear a letter from Humphrey +to his brother; it has great news for me. Mary has found her boy, and that +evil man, Ambrose Gifford, is dead. Will it please you to hear the letter. +I can scarcely contain my joy that Mary has found her child; he was her +idol, and I began to despair that she would ever set eyes on him again.' + +Lady Pembroke was never too full of her own interests to be unable to enter +into those of her ladies and dependants. + +'I am right glad, Lucy,' she said. 'Let me hear what good Humphrey has to +say, and, perchance, there will be mention of my brothers in the letter. +Read it, Lucy. I am all impatience to hear;' and Lucy read, not without +difficulty, the large sheet of parchment, which had been sent, with other +documents, from the seat of war by special messenger. + + * * * * * + +'To my good brother, George Ratcliffe, from before Zutphen,--'This to tell +you that I, making an expedition by order of my master, Sir Philip Sidney, +to reconnoitre the country before Zutphen, where, please God, we will in a +few days meet and vanquish the enemy, fell upon a farm-house, and entering, +asked whether the folk there were favourable to the righteous cause we have +in hand or the contrary. Methinks there never was a joy greater than mine, +when, after some weeks of despair, I found there Mistress Mary Gifford and +her son! Three weeks before the day on which I write, Mistress Gifford had +disappeared from the town of Arnhem, nor could we find a trace of her. I +have before told you how, in the taking of Axel, I got a wound in my back +from the hand of a traitor, when I had rescued his son from the burning +house, where a nest of Jesuits were training young boys in their damnable +doctrines. + +'From the moment I was carried wounded to Arnhem I heard nought of the +child, snatched by the villain from my arms, till that evening when, God be +praised, I was led to the very place where he has been nursed by his mother +in a sore sickness. It has been my good fortune to give her, my +ever-beloved mistress, safe convoy to Arnhem, where they are, thank God, +safe under the care of that God-fearing man and worthy divine, Master +George Gifford. + +'Here I left them, returning to Flushing, where a strong force is ready to +meet the enemy, ay, and beat them back with slaughter when they advance. +The Earl of Leicester is in command, but the life and soul and wisdom of +the defence lie with my noble master, Sir Philip. To serve under him is +sure one of the greatest honours a man can know. We have his brave brothers +also at hand. Robert is scarce a whit less brave than his brother, and of +Mr Thomas, it is enough to say of him he is a Sidney, and worthy of that +name. + +'I write in haste, for the despatches are made up, thus I can say but +little of the hope within my heart, which, God grant, will now at last be +not, as for so many long years, a hope in vain. + +'Ambrose Gifford died of the fever, and, having made his confession, was +absolved by the priest, and forgiven by that saint who has suffered from +his sins! This last more for his benefit than the first, methinks! But I +can no more. + +'Commend me to our mother and Mistress Lucy Forrester. If I fall in the +coming fight, I pray you, George, remember to protect one dearest to me on +earth.--I rest your loving brother, + + 'HUMPHREY RATCLIFFE.' + +'_Post Scriptum._--The enemy is advancing, and we shall be ordered out to +meet them ere sunset. God defend the right. + + H. R.' + + * * * * * + +'What is the date of that letter, Lucy?' Lady Pembroke asked. + +'The twenty-first day of September, Madam.' + +'And this is the twenty-sixth. More news will sure be here ere long, and +another victory assured, if it please God. May He protect my brothers in +the fight. But, Lucy, I rejoice to hear of your sister's happiness in the +recovery of her child; and now, in due course, I trust my brother's +faithful servant and friend, Master Humphrey, will have the reward of his +loyalty.' + +'Yes, Madam; I hope Mary may, as you say, reward Humphrey.' + +'And you, Lucy; sure Master George is worthy that you should grant him his +reward also.' + +Lucy's bright face clouded as the Countess said this, and a bright crimson +flush rose to her cheeks. + +'Dear Madam,' she said, 'I shrink from giving a meagre return for such +faithful love. Sure ere a woman gives herself to a man till death, she +should make certain that he is the one in all the world for her.' + +'I will not contradict this, Lucy; but many women misjudge their own +hearts, and--' + +Lady Pembroke hesitated. Then, after a pause, she said,-- + +'There are some women who make their own idol, and worship it. After all, +it is an unreality to them, because unattainable.' + +'Nay, Madam,' Lucy said, with kindling eyes. 'I crave pardon; but the +unattainable may yet be a reality. Because the sun is set on high in the +heavens, it is yet our own when warmed by its beams and brightened by its +shining. True, many share in this, but yet it is--we cannot help it--ours +by possession when we feel its influence. Methinks,' the girl said, her +face shining with a strange light--'methinks I would sooner worship--ay, +and love--the unattainable, if pure, noble and good, than have part and lot +with the attainable that did not fulfil my dream of all that a true knight +and noble gentleman should be.' + +Lady Pembroke drew Lucy towards her, and, looking into her face, said,-- + +'May God direct you aright, dear child! You have done me and mine good +service, and the day, when it comes, that I lose you will be no day of +rejoicing for me. When first you entered my household I looked on you as a +gay and thoughtless maiden, and felt somewhat fearful how you would bear +yourself in the midst of temptations, which, strive as we may, must beset +those who form the household of a nobleman like the Earl, my husband. He +makes wise choice, as far as may be, of the gentlemen attached to his +service; but there is ever some black sheep in a large flock, and +discretion is needed by the gentlewomen who come into daily intercourse +with them. You have shown that discretion, Lucy, and it makes me happy to +think that you have learned much that will be of use to you in the life +which lies before you.' + +'Dear Madam,' Lucy said, 'I owe you everything--more than tongue can tell; +and as long as you are fain to keep me near you, I am proud to stay.' + +'I feel a strange calm and peace to-day,' Lady Pembroke said, as she leaned +out of the casement and looked down on the scene familiar to her from +childhood. 'It is the peace of the autumn,' she said; 'and I am able to +think of my father--my noble father and dear mother at rest in +Paradise--gathered in like sheaves of ripe corn into the garner--meeting +Ambrosia and the other younger children, whom they surrendered to God with +tears, but not without hope. I am full of confidence that Philip will win +fresh laurels, and I only grieve that the parents, who would have rejoiced +at his success, will never know how nobly he has borne himself in this war. +There will be news soon, and good Sir Francis Walsingham is sure to send it +hither post haste. Till it comes, let us be patient.' + +It was the afternoon of the following day that Lucy Forrester crossed the +Medway by the stepping-stones, and went up the hill to Ford Manor. + +It was her custom to do so whenever Lady Pembroke was at Penshurst. Her +stepmother was greatly softened by time, and subdued by the yoke which her +Puritan husband, who was now lord and master of the house and all in it, +had laid upon her. + +As Lucy turned into the lane, she met Ned coming along with a calf, which +he was leading by a strong rope, to the slaughter-house in the village. + +Ned's honest face kindled with smiles as he exclaimed,-- + +'Well-a-day, Mistress Lucy, you are more like an angel than ever. Did I +ever see the like?' + +'Have you heard the good news, Ned?' Lucy asked. 'Mistress Gifford has her +boy safe and sound at Arnhem.' + +Ned opened eyes and mouth with astonishment which deprived him of the power +of speech. + +'Yes,' Lucy continued, 'and she is a free woman now, Ned, for her husband +is dead.' + +'And right good news that is, anyhow,' Ned gasped out at last. 'Dead; then +there's one rogue the less in the world. But to think of the boy. What is +he like, I wonder? He was a young torment sometimes, and I've had many a +chase after him when he was meddling with the chicks. The old hen nearly +scratched his eyes out one day when he tapped the end of an egg to see if +he could get the chick out. Lord, he was a jackanapes, surely; but we all +made much of him.' + +'He has been very sick with fever,' Lucy said, 'and, I dare say, +marvellously changed in four years. You are changed, Ned,' Lucy said; 'you +are grown a big man.' + +'Ay,' Ned said, tugging at the mouth of the calf, which showed a strong +inclination to kick out, and butt with his pretty head against Ned's ribs. +'Ay; and I _am_ a man, Mistress Lucy. I have courted Avice; and--well--we +were asked in church last Sunday.' + +'I am right glad to hear it, Ned; and I wish you happiness. I must go +forward now to the house.' + +'I say!--hold! Mistress Lucy!' Ned said, with shamefaced earnestness. +'Don't think me too free and bold--but are you never going to wed? You are +a bit cruel to one I could name.' + +This was said with such fervour, mingled with fear lest Lucy should be +offended, that she could not help smiling as she turned away, saying,-- + +'The poor calf will kick itself wild if you stay here much longer. So, +good-day to you, good Ned; and I will send Avice a wedding gift. I have a +pretty blue kerchief that will suit her of which I have no need; for we are +all in sombre mourning garments for the great and good lord and lady of +Penshurst.' + +Lucy found her stepmother seated in the old place on the settle, but not +alone. 'Her master,' as she called him with great truth, was with her, and +two of 'the chosen ones,' who were drinking mead and munching cakes from a +pile on the board. + +He invited Lucy to partake of the fare, but she declined, and, having told +her stepmother the news about Mary, she did not feel much disposed to +remain. + +'The boy found, do you say?' snarled her stepmother's husband. 'It would +have been a cause of thankfulness if that young limb of the Evil One had +never been found. You may tell your sister, Mistress Lucy, that neither her +boy nor herself will ever darken these doors. We want no Papists here.' + +'Nay, nay, no Papists,' echoed one of the brethren, with his mouth full of +cake. + +'Nay, nay,' chimed in another, as he set down the huge cup of mead after a +prolonged pull. 'No Papists here to bring a curse upon the house.' + +Lucy could not help feeling pity for her stepmother, who sat knitting on +the settle--her once voluble tongue silenced, her mien dejected and +forlorn. Lucy bent down and kissed her, saying in a low voice,-- + +'You are glad, I know, Mary has found her child.' + +And the answer came almost in a whisper, with a scared glance in the +direction of her husband and his guests,-- + +'Ay, ay, sure _I am glad_.' + +Lucy lingered on the rough ground before the house, and looked down upon +the scene before her, trying in vain to realise that this had ever been her +home. + +The wood-crowned heights to the left were showing the tints of autumn, and +a soft haze lay in the valley, and brooded over the home of the Sidneys, +the stately walls of the castle and the tower of the church clearly seen +through the branches of the encircling trees, which the storm of a few days +before had thinned of many of their leaves. + +The mist seemed to thicken every minute, and as Lucy turned into the road +she gave up a dim idea she had of going on to Hillside to pay her respects +to Madam Ratcliffe, and hastened toward the village. The mist soon became a +fog, which crept up the hillside, and, before she had crossed the plank +over the river, it had blotted out everything but near objects. There +seemed a weight over everything, animate and inanimate. The cows in the +meadow to the right of the bridge stood with bent heads and depressed +tails. They looked unnaturally large, seen through the thick atmosphere; +and the melancholy caw of some belated rooks above Lucy's head, as they +winged their homeward way, deepened the depression which she felt creeping +over her, as the fog had crept over the country side. The village children +had been called in by their mothers, and there was not the usual sound of +boys and girls at play in the street. The rumble of a cart in the distance +sounded like the mutter and mumble of a discontented spirit; and as Lucy +passed through the square formed by the old timbered houses by the lych +gate, no one was about. + +The silence and gloom were oppressive, and Lucy's cloak was saturated with +moisture. She entered the house by the large hall, and here, too, was +silence. But in the President's Court beyond, Lucy heard voices, low and +subdued. She listened, with the foreshadowing of evil tidings upon her, and +yet she stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to turn fears into certainty, +suspense into the reality of some calamity. + +Presently a gentleman, who had evidently ridden hard, came into the hall, +his cloak and buskins bespattered with mud. He bowed to Lucy, and said,-- + +'I am a messenger sent post haste from Mr Secretary Walsingham, with +despatches for the Countess of Pembroke. I have sent for one Mistress +Crawley, who, I am informed, is the head of the Countess's ladies. My news +is from the Netherlands.' + +'Ill news?' Lucy asked. + +'Sir Philip Sidney is sorely wounded in the fight before Zutphen, I grieve +to say.' + +'Wounded!' Lucy repeated the word. '_Sore wounded!_' Then, in a voice so +low that it could scarcely be heard, she added, 'Dead! is he dead?' + +'Nay, Madam; and we may hope for better tidings. For--' + +He was interrupted here by the entrance of Mistress Crawley. + +'Ill news!' she exclaimed. 'And who is there amongst us who dare be the +bearer of it to my lady? Not I, not I! Her heart will break if Sir Philip +is wounded and like to die.' + +Several young maidens of Lady Pembroke's household had followed Mistress +Crawley into the hall, regardless of the reproof they knew they should +receive for venturing to do so. + +'I cannot tell my lady--nay, I dare not!' Mistress Crawley said, wringing +her hands in despair. + +'Here is the despatch which Sir Francis Walsingham has committed to me,' +the gentleman said. 'I crave pardon, but I must e'en take yonder seat. I +have ridden hard, and I am well-nigh exhausted,' he continued, as he threw +himself on one of the benches, and called for a cup of sack. + +Lucy meanwhile stood motionless as a statue, her wet cloak clinging to her +slender figure, the hood falling back from her head, the long, damp tresses +of hair rippling over her shoulders. + +'I will take the despatch to my lady,' she said, in a calm voice, 'if so be +I may be trusted to do so.' + +[Illustration: THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + +'Yes, yes!' Mistress Crawley said. 'Go--go, child, and I will follow with +burnt feathers and cordial when I think the news is told,' and Mistress +Crawley hurried away, the maidens scattering at her presence like a +flock of pigeons. + +Lucy took the despatch from the hand of the exhausted messenger, and went +to perform her task. + +Lady Pembroke was reading to her boy Will some passages from the _Arcadia_, +which, in leisure moments, she was condensing and revising, as a pleasant +recreation after the work of sorting the family letters and papers, and +deciding which to destroy and which to keep. + +When Lucy tapped at the door, Will ran to open it. + +Even the child was struck by the white face which he saw before him, and he +exclaimed,-- + +'Mistress Lucy is sick, mother.' + +'No,' Lucy said, 'dear Madam,' as Lady Pembroke turned, and, seeing her, +rose hastily. 'No, Madam, I am not sick, but I bring you a despatch from +Sir Francis Walsingham. It is ill news, dearest lady, but not news which +leaves no room for hope.' + +'It is news of Philip--Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, trying with trembling +fingers to break the seal and detach the silk cord which fastened the +letter. 'Take it, Lucy, and--and tell me the contents. I cannot see. I +cannot open it!' + +Then, while the boy nestled close to his mother, as if to give her strength +by putting his arms round her, Lucy obeyed her instructions, and opening +it, read the Earl of Leicester's private letter, which had accompanied the +official despatch, giving an account of the investment of Zutphen and the +battle which had been fought before its walls. This private letter was +enclosed for Lady Pembroke in that to his Right Honourable and trusted +friend Sir F. Walsingham. + + * * * * * + +'In the mist of the morning of the 23d, my incomparably brave nephew and +your brother, Philip Sidney, with but five hundred foot and seven hundred +horsemen, advanced to the very walls of Zutphen. + +'It was hard fighting against a thousand of the enemy. Philip's horse was +killed under him, and alas! he heightened the danger by his fearless +courage; for he had thrown off his cuisses to be no better equipped than +Sir William Pelham, who had no time to put on his own, and, springing on a +fresh horse, he went hotly to the second charge. Again there was a third +onset, and our incomparable Philip was shot in the left leg. + +'They brought him near me, faint from loss of blood, and he called for +water. They brought him a bottle full, and he was about to raise it to his +parched lips, when he espied a poor dying soldier cast greedy, ghastly eyes +thereon. He forbore to drink of the water, and, handing the bottle to the +poor wretch, said,-- + +'"Take it--thy need is greater than mine."' + + * * * * * + +'Oh! Philip! Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, 'in death, as in life, +self-forgetting and Christ-like in your deeds.' + +Lucy raised her eyes from the letter and they met those of her mistress +with perfect sympathy which had no need of words. + +'Doth my uncle say more, Lucy? Read on.' + + * * * * * + +'And,' Lucy continued, in the same low voice, which had in it a ring of +mingled pride in her ideal hero and sorrow for his pain, 'my nephew would +not take on himself any glory or honour when Sir William Russel, also +sorely wounded, exclaimed,-- + +'"Oh, noble Sir Philip, never did man attain hurt so honourably or so +valiantly as you," weeping over him as if he had been his mistress. + +'"I have done no more," he said, "than God and England claimed of me. My +life could not be better spent than in this day's service." I ordered my +barge to be prepared, and, the surgeons doing all they could to stanch the +blood, Philip was conveyed to Arnhem. He rests now in the house of one +Madam Gruithuissens, and all that love and care can do, dear niece, shall +be done by his and your sorrowing uncle, + + LEICESTER. + +'Pardon this penmanship. It is writ in haste, and not without tears, for +verily, I seem now to know, as never before, what the world and his kindred +possess in Philip Sidney. + + R. L. + +'To my dear niece, Mary, Countess of Pembroke, from before Zutphen, on the +twenty-second day of September, in the year of grace 1586. Enclosed in +despatch to the Right Honourable Sir Francis Walsingham.' + + * * * * * + +When Lucy had finished reading, the Countess took the letter, and rising, +left the room, bidding Will to remain behind. + +Mistress Crawley, who was waiting in the corridor to be called in with +cordials and burnt feathers, was amazed to see her lady pass out with a +faint, sad smile putting aside the offered cordial. + +'Nay, good Crawley, my hurt lies beyond the cure of aught but that of Him +who has stricken me. I would fain be alone.' + +'Dear heart!' Mistress Crawley exclaimed, as she bustled into the room +where Lucy still sat motionless, while Will, with childlike intolerance of +suspense, ran off to seek someone who would speak, and not sit dumb and +white like Lucy. 'Dear heart! I daresay it is not a death-wound. Sure, if +there is a God in heaven, He will spare the life of a noble knight like Sir +Philip. He will live,' Mistress Crawley said, taking a sudden turn from +despair and fear to unreasonable hope. 'He will live, and we shall see him +riding into the Court ere long, brave and hearty, so don't pine like that, +Mistress Lucy; and I don't, for my part, know what right you have to take +on like this; have a sup of cordial, and let us go about our business.' + +But Lucy turned away her head, and still sat with folded hands where Lady +Pembroke had left her. + +Mistress Crawley finished by emptying the silver cup full of cordial +herself, and, pressing her hand to her heart, said,--'She felt like to +swoon at first, but it would do no good to sit moping, and Lucy had best +bestir herself, and, for her part, she did not know why she should sit +there as if she were moon-struck.' + +The days were long over since Mistress Crawley had ordered Lucy, in the +same commanding tones with which she often struck terror into the hearts of +the other maidens, threatening them with dismissal and report of their +ill-conduct to Lady Pembroke. + +Lucy had won the place she held by her gentleness and submission, and, let +it be said, by her quickness and readiness to perform the duties required +of her. + +So Mistress Crawley, finding her adjurations unheeded, bustled off to see +that the maidens were not gossiping in the ante-chamber, but had returned +to their work. + +Lucy was thus left alone with her thoughts, and, in silence and solitude, +she faced the full weight of this sorrow which had fallen on the house of +Sidney, yes, and on her also. + +'What right had she to sit and mourn? What part was hers in this great +trouble?' Mistress Crawley's words were repeated again and again in a low +whisper, as if communing with her own heart. + +'What right have I? No right if right goes by possession. What right? Nay, +none.' + +Then, with a sudden awaking from the trance of sorrow, Lucy rose, the light +came back to her eyes, the colour to her cheeks. + +'Right? What right? Yes, the right that is mine, that for long, long years +he has been as the sun in my sky. I have gloried in all his great gifts, I +have said a thousand times that there were none like him, none. I have seen +him as he is, and his goodness and truth have inspirited me in my weakness +and ignorance to reach after what is pure and noble. Yes, I have a right, +and oh! if, indeed, I never see him again, to my latest day I shall thank +God I have known him, Philip, Sir Philip Sidney, true and noble knight.' + + * * * * * + +There was now a sound of more arrivals in the hall, and Lucy was leaving +the room, fearing, hoping, that there might be yet further tidings, when +the Earl of Pembroke came hastily along the corridor. + +'How fares it with my lady, Mistress Forrester? I have come to give her +what poor comfort lies in my power.' + +The Earl's face betrayed deep emotion and anxiety. + +Will came running after his father, delighted to see him; and in this +delight forgetting what had brought him. + +'Father! father! I have ridden old black Joan, and I can take a low fence, +father.' + +'Hush now, my son, thy mother is in sore trouble, as we all must be. Take +me to thy mother, boy.' + +'Uncle Philip will soon be well of his wound,' the child said, 'the bullet +did not touch his heart, Master Ratcliffe saith.' + +The Earl shook his head. + +'It will be as God pleases, boy,' and there, in the corridor, as he was +hastening to his wife's apartments, she came towards him with outstretched +arms. + +'Oh! my husband,' she said, as he clasped her to his breast. 'Oh! pity me, +pity me! and pray God that I may find comfort.' + +'Yes, yes, my sweetheart,' the Earl said, and then husband and wife turned +into their own chamber, Will, subdued at the sight of his mother's grief, +not attempting to follow them, and Lucy was again alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE PASSING OF PHILIP + + + 'Oh, Death, that hast us of much riches reft, + Tell us at least what hast thou with it done? + What has become of him whose flower here left + Is but the shadow of his likeness gone? + Scarce like the shadow of that which he was, + Nought like, but that he like a shade did pass. + + But that immortal spirit which was decked + With all the dowries of celestial grace, + By sovereign choice from heavenly choirs select + And lineally derived from angel's race; + Oh, what is now of it become aread? + Ah me, can so divine a thing be dead! + + Ah no, it is not dead, nor can it die, + But lives for aye in blissful Paradise, + Where, like a new-born babe it soft doth lie + In bed of lilies wrapped in tender wise, + And dainty violets from head to feet, + And compassed all about with roses sweet.' + + From the _Lament of Sir Philip_ by + MARY, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + + +'At Arnhem, in the month of October 1586; this to my dear sister, Lucy +Forrester.' This was the endorsement of a letter from Mary Gifford, which +was put into Lucy's hands on the day when a wave of sorrow swept over the +country as the news was passed from mouth to mouth that Sir Philip Sidney +was dead. + +There had been so many alternations of hope and fear, and the official +reports from the Earl of Leicester had been on the hopeful side, while +those of Robert Sidney and other of his devoted friends and servants, had +latterly been on the side of despair. + +Now Mary Gifford had written for Lucy's information an account of what had +passed in these five-and-twenty days, when Sir Philip lay in the house of +Madame Gruithuissens, ministered to by her uncle, Master George Gifford. + +The letter was begun on the seventeenth of October, and finished a few days +later, and was as follows:-- + + * * * * * + +'After the last news that I have sent you, dear sister, it will not be a +surprise to you to learn that our watching is at an end. The brave heart +ceased to beat at two of the clock on this seventeenth of October in the +afternoon. + +'It has been a wondrous scene for those who have been near at hand to see +and hear all that has passed in the upper chamber of Madame Gruithuissens' +house. + +'I account it a privilege of which I am undeserving, that I was suffered, +in ever so small a way, to do aught for his comfort by rendering help to +Madame Gruithuissens in the making of messes to tempt the sick man to eat, +and also by doing what lay in my power to console those who have been +beside themselves with grief--his two brothers. + +'What love they bore him! And how earnestly they desire to follow in his +steps I cannot say. + +'Mr Robert was knighted after the battle which has cost England so dear, +and my uncle saith that when he went first to his brother's side with his +honour fresh upon him, Sir Philip smiled brightly, and said playfully,-- + +'"Good Sir Robert, we must see to it that we treat you with due respect +now," and then, turning to Mr Thomas, he said, "Nor shall your bravery be +forgot, Thomas, as soon as I am at Court again. I will e'en commend my +youngest brother to the Queen's Highness. So we will have three knights to +bear our father's name." + +'At this time Sir Philip believed he should live, and, indeed, so did most +of those who from day to day watching his courage and never-failing +patience; the surgeon saying those were so greatly in his favour to further +his recovery. But from that morning when he himself discerned the signs of +approaching death, he made himself ready for that great change. Nay, Lucy, +methinks this readiness had been long before assured. + +'My uncle returned again and again from the dying bed to weep, as he +recounted to me and my boy the holy and beautiful words Sir Philip spake. + +'Of himself, only humbly; of all he did and wrote, as nothing in God's +sight. His prayers were such that my uncle has never heard the like, for +they seemed to call down the presence of God in the very midst of them. + +'He was troubled somewhat lest his mind should fail him through grievous +wrack of pain of body, but that trouble was set at rest. + +'To the very end his bright intelligence shone, even more and more, till, +as we now believe, it is shining in the perfectness of the Kingdom of God. + +'On Sunday evening last, he seemed to revive marvellously, and called for +paper and pencil. Then, with a smile, he handed a note to his brother, Sir +Robert, and bade him despatch it to Master John Wier, a famous physician at +the Court of the Duke of Cleves. + +'This note was wrote in Latin, and begged Master Wier to _come_, and _come_ +quick. But soon after he grew weaker, and my good uncle asking how he +fared, he replied sorrowfully that he could not sleep, though he had +besought God to grant him this boon. But when my uncle reminded him of One +who, in unspeakable anguish, prayed, as it would seem to our poor blind +eyes, in vain, for the bitter cup did not pass, said,-- + +'"Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt!" he exclaimed.' + +'"I am fully satisfied and resolved with this answer. No doubt it is even +so." + +'There were moments yet of sadness, and he reproached himself for +cherishing vain hopes in sending for Master Wier, but my uncle comforted +him so much that at length he pronounced these memorable words, "I would +not change my joy for the empire of the world." + +'I saw him from time to time as I brought to the chamber necessary things. +Once or twice he waved his hand to me, and said, oh, words ne'er to be +forgot,-- + +'"I rejoice you have your boy safe once more, Mistress Gifford. Be wary, +and train him in the faith of God, and pray that he be kept from the +trammels with which Papacy would enthral the soul." + +'He showed great tenderness and care for Lady Frances, dreading lest she +should be harmed by her constant attendance on him. + +'Sweet and gentle lady! I have had the privilege of waiting on her from +time to time, and of giving her what poor comfort lay in my power. + +'After the settlement of his worldly affairs, Sir Philip asked to have the +last ode he wrote chanted to him, but begged that all the stray leaves of +the _Arcadia_ should be gathered together and burned. He said that it was +but vanity and the story of earthly loves, and he did not care to have it +outlive him. + +'My uncle was with him when he begged Sir Robert to leave him, for his +grief could not be controlled. While the sufferer showed strength in +suppressing sorrow, the strong man showed weakness in expressing it. + +'Much more will be made known of these twenty-five days following the wound +which caused our loss. + +'For myself, I write these scanty and imperfect details for my own comfort, +in knowing that they will be, in a sad sort, a comfort to you, dear sister, +and, I might humbly hope, to your lady also. + +'My uncle, praying by Sir Philip's side, after he had addressed his +farewell to his brother, seeing him lie back on the pillow as if +unconscious, said, "Sir, if you hear what I say, let us by some means know +if you have inward joy and consolation of God." + +'Immediately his hand, which had been thought powerless, was raised, and a +clear token given to those who stood by that his understanding had not +failed him. + +'Once more, when asked the same question, he raised his hands with joined +palms and fingers pointing upwards as in prayer--and so departed. + + * * * * * + +'I wrote so far, and now I have been with my boy watching the removal of +all that is mortal of this great and noble one from Arnhem to Flushing, +convoyed to the water's edge by twelve hundred English soldiers, trailing +their swords and muskets in the dust, while solemn music played. + +'The surgeons have embalmed the poor, worn body, and the Earl of Leicester +has commanded that it be taken to England for burial. + +'"Mother," my boy said, as he clasped my hand tightly in his, as the barge +which bore the coffin away vanished in the mist hanging over the river, +"mother, why doth God take hence a brave and noble knight, and leave so +many who are evil and do evil instead of good?" + +'How can I answer questions like to this? I could only say to my son, +"There is no answer. Now we only see as in a mirror darkly; at length we +shall see clearer in the Light of God, and His ways are ever just." + +'Dear sister, it is strange to have the hunger of my heart satisfied by +God's gift to me of my boy from the very gates of death, and yet to have +that same heart oppressed with sorrow for those who are left to mourn for +the brave and noble one who is passed out of our sight. Yet is that same +heart full of thankfulness that I have recovered my child. It is not all +satisfaction with him. Every day I have to pray that much that he has +learned in the Jesuit school should be unlearned. Yet, God forbid I should +be slow to acknowledge that in some things Ambrose has been trained +well--in obedience, and the putting aside of self, and the mortification of +appetite. Yes, I feel that in this discipline he may have reaped a benefit +which with me he might have missed. But, oh! Lucy, there are moments when I +long with heart-sick longing for my joyous, if wilful child, who, on a fair +spring evening long ago, sat astride on Sir Philip's horse, and had for +his one wish to be such another brave and noble gentleman! + +'Methinks this wish is gaining strength, and that the strange repression of +all natural feeling which I sometimes notice, may vanish 'neath the +brighter shining of love--God's love and his mother's. + +'You would scarce believe, could you see Ambrose, that he--so tall and +thin, with quiet and restrained movements and seldom smiling mouth--could +be the little torment of Ford Place! Four years have told on my boy, like +thrice that number, and belike the terrible ravages of the fever may have +taken something of his youthful spring away. + +'He is tender and gentle to me, but there is reserve. + +'On one subject we can exchange but few words; you will know what that +subject is. From the little I can gather, I think his father was not unkind +to him; and far be it from me to forget the parting words, when the soul +was standing ready to take its flight into the unseen world. But oh! my +sister, how wide the gulf set between him, for whom the whole world, I may +say, wears mourning garb to-day--for foreign countries mourn no less than +England--how wide, I say, is the gulf set between that noble life and his, +of whom I dare not write, scarce dare to think. + +'Yet God's mercy is infinite in Christ Jesus, and the gulf, which looks so +wide to us, may be bridged over by that same infinite mercy. + +'God grant it. + +'This with my humble, dutiful sympathy to your dear lady, the Countess of +Pembroke, for whom no poor words of man can be of comfort, from your loving +sister, + + MARY GIFFORD. + +'_Post Scriptum._--Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has proved a true friend to +me, and to my boy. To him, under God, I owe my child's restoration to +health, and to me. + +'He is away with that solemn and sorrowful train I saw embark for Flushing, +nor do I know when he will return. + + M. G.' + + * * * * * + +'At Penshurst, in the month of February 1586,--For you, my dear sister +Mary, I will write some account of the sorrowful pageant, from witnessing +which I have lately returned to Penshurst with my dear and sorely-stricken +mistress, and all words would fail me to tell you how heavy is her grief, +and how nobly she has borne herself under its weight. + +'Four long and weary months have these been since the news of Sir Philip's +death came to cast a dark shadow over this country. Much there has been to +harass those who are intimately connected with him. Of these troubles I +need not write. The swift following of Sir Philip's death on that of his +honoured father, Sir Henry Sidney, caused mighty difficulties as to the +carrying out of that last will and testament in which he so nobly desired +to have every creditor satisfied, and justice done. + +'But, sure, no man had ever a more generous and worthy father-in-law than +Sir Philip possessed in Sir Francis Walsingham. All honour be to him for +the zeal and care he has shown in the settlement of what seemed at the +first insurmountable mountains of difficulties. + +'Of these it does not become me to speak, rather of that day, Thursday last +past, when I was witness of the great ceremony of burying all that was +mortal of him for whom Queen and peasant weep. + +'Mary! you can scarce picture to yourself the sight which I looked on from +a casement by the side of my dear mistress. All the long train of mourners +taken from every class, the uplifted standard with the Cross of St George, +the esquires and gentlemen in their long cloaks of mourning garb, these +were a wondrous spectacle. In the long train was Sir Philip's war horse, +led by a footman and ridden by a little page bearing a broken lance, +followed by another horse, like the first, richly caparisoned, ridden by a +boy holding a battle-axe reversed. All this I say I gazed at as a show, and +my mistress, like myself, was tearless. I could not believe, nay, I could +not think of our hero as connected with this pageant. Nay, nor with that +coffin, shrouded in black velvet, carried by seven yeomen, and the pall +borne by those gentlemen who loved him best, his dearest friends, Sir +Fulke Greville, Sir Edward Dyer, Edward Watson, and Thomas Dudley. + +'Next came the two brothers, Sir Robert--now Lord of Penshurst--chief +mourner, and behind, poor Mr Thomas Sidney, who was so bowed down with +grief that he could scarce support himself. + +'Earls and nobles, headed by my Lord of Leicester, came after; and the +gentlemen from the Low Countries, of whom you will have heard, and all the +great city folk--Lord Mayor and Sheriffs--bringing up the rear. + +'My dear mistress and I, with many other ladies of her household, having +watched the long train pass us from the Minories, were conveyed by back +ways to St Paul's, and, from a seat appointed us and other wives of nobles +and their gentlewomen, we were present at the last scene. + +'It was when the coffin, beautifully adorned with escutcheons, was placed +on a bier prepared for it, that my mistress said, in a low voice, heard by +me--perhaps by me only,-- + +'"_Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur._" + +'These words were the motto on the coffin, and they were the words on which +the preacher tried to enforce his lesson. + +'Up to the moment when the double volley was fired, telling us within the +church that the body rested in peace, there had been profound stillness. + +'Then the murmur of a multitude sorrowing and sighing, broke upon the ear; +and yet, beyond those whispered words, my lady had not made any sign. + +'Now she laid her hand in mine and said,-- + +'"Let us go and see where they have laid him." + +'I gave notice to the gentlemen in attendance that this was my lady's +desire. We had to wait yet for a long space; the throng, so closely packed, +must needs disperse. + +'At length way was made for us, and we stood by the open grave together--my +mistress, whose life had been bound up in her noble brother's, and I, to +whom he had been, from my childhood's days to the present, the hero to +whose excellence none could approach--a sun before whose shining other +lights grew dim. + +'Do not judge me hardly! Nay, Mary, you of all others will not do this. My +love for him was sacred, and I looked for no return; but let none grudge it +to me, for it drew me ever upwards, and, as I humbly pray, will still do so +till I see him in the other life, whither he has gone. + +'Throughout all this pageantry and symbols of woe which I have tried to +bring before you, my dear sister, I felt only that these signs of the great +grief of the whole realm were yet but vain, vain, vain. + +'As in a vision, I was fain to see beyond the blackness of funeral pomp, +the exceeding beauty of his soul, who, when he lay a-dying, said he had +fixed his thoughts on these eternal beauties, which cheered his decaying +spirits, and helped him to take possession of the immortal inheritance +given to him by, and in Christ. + +'"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; blessed be those who mourn, +for they shall be comforted." + +'I have finished the task I set myself to do for your edification, dearest +sister. Methought I could scarce get through it for tears, but these did +not flow at my will. Not till this morning, when I betook myself to the +park, where all around are signs of a springing new life, and memories of +Sir Philip in every part, did these tears I speak of have their free way. +All things wakening into life, buds swelling on the stately trees he loved; +birds singing, for the time to pair is come; dew sparkling like the lustre +of precious stones on every twig and blade of grass, daisies with golden +eyes peeping up between. Life, life, everywhere quickening life, and he who +loved life, and to see good days, can walk no more in the old dear paths of +his home, which he trod with so graceful and alert a step, his smile like +the sunshine lying on the gate of the President's Court, under which he +that went out on the November morning in all the glory of his young +manhood, shall pass in no more for ever. + +'As I thought of seeing him thus, with the light on his bright hair and +glistening armour, as he took his infant child in his arms and bade her +farewell, I wept, not bitter tears, but those God sends to us as a blessing +when the heart desires some ease of its burden. + +'It may be that you will care to read what I have written to the boy +Ambrose. Bid him from me to remember his old desire to be such another +brave and goodly knight as Sir Philip Sidney, and strive to follow him in +all loyal service to his God, his Queen, and his kindred. + +'I am thinking often, Mary, of your return to this country. Will it never +come to pass? You told me in your letter in which you gave me those +particulars of Sir Philip's death, that I should scarce believe that +Ambrose was the child I knew at the old home of Ford Place. And scarce will +you believe, when we meet, as meet I pray we shall, I am the same Lucy of +days past. Ever since that time of your grief and sickness, I have changed. +I look back with something which is akin to pity on the vain child who +thought fine clothes and array the likest to enhance the fair face and form +which maybe God has given me. Ay, Mary, I have learned better now. I should +have been a dullard, in sooth, had I not learned much in the companionship +graciously granted me by my honoured mistress. To be near her is an +education, and she has been pleased in many ways to instruct me, not only +in the needlecraft and tapestry work in which she excels, but also in +opening for me the gates of knowledge, and in rehearsing in my ear the +beautiful words of Scripture, and the Psalms in verse, as well as the poems +of Mr Spenser, and, chiefest of all, of those works in prose and verse +which Sir Philip has left behind. Sure, these will never die, and will +tell those who come after us what we possessed and lost! + +'Yet, after all, as my mistress saith again and yet again, it was not by +all his deeds of valour and his gifts of learning that he stands so high +forever amongst men. No, nor not by his death and the selfless act which +men are speaking of on all sides, as he lay in the first agony of his sore +wound on the battlefield of Zutphen. Not by these only will his name live, +but by his life, which, for purity and faith, virtue and godliness, loyalty +and truth, may be said to be without peer in this age of which he was so +fair an ornament. + +'I dare not say more, lest even you charge me with rhapsody. + +'I rest, dear Mary, in all loving and tender affection, your sister, + + LUCY FORRESTER. + +'To my honoured sister, Mary Gifford, at the house of Master Gifford, in +Arnhem, February 1586. From Penshurst Place, in the county of Kent.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +FOUR YEARS LATER--1590 + + 'My true love hath my heart and I have his, + By just exchange, one for the other given. + I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; + There never was a better bargain driven. + + His heart in me keeps me and him in one, + My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; + He loves my heart, for once it was his own, + I cherish his, because in me it bides.' + + +The sound of these words by Sir Philip Sidney, sung in a sweet melodious +voice, was borne upon the summer air of a fair June evening in the year +1590. + +It came through the open casement from the raised seat of the parlour at +Hillbrow, where once Mistress Ratcliffe had sat at her spinning-wheel, +casting her watchful eyes from time to time upon the square of turf lying +between the house and the entrance gate, lest any of her maidens should be +gossiping instead of working. + +Mistress Ratcliffe had spun her last thread of flax more than a year ago, +and another mistress reigned in her place in the old house upon the crest +of the hill above Penshurst. + +As the last words of the song were sung, and only the lingering chords of +the viol were heard, making a low, sweet refrain, a man who had been +listening unseen to the music under the porch, with its heavy overhanging +shield of carved stone, now came to the open window, which, though raised +some feet above the terrace walk beneath, was not so high but that his head +appeared on a level with the wide ledge of the casement. + +Lucy was unconscious of his presence till he said,-- + +'I would fain hear that song again, Lucy.' + +'Nay,' she said with a smile; 'once is enough.' + +'Did you think of me as you sang?' he asked. + +'Perhaps,' she said, with something of her old spirit. 'Perhaps; but you +must know there is another who hath my heart. I have been singing him to +sleep, and I pray you do not come in with a heavy tramp of your big boots +and wake him. He has been fractious to-day. Speak softly,' she said, as +George exclaimed,-- + +'The young rascal! I warrant you have near broken your back carrying him to +and fro.' + +'My back is not so easy to break; but, George, when will the travellers +come. I have made all things ready these two days and more.' + +'They may arrive any moment now,' George said, and then his bright handsome +face disappeared from the window, and in another moment he had come as +quietly as was possible for him, into the sunny parlour, now beautified by +silken drapery, worked by Lucy's clever fingers, and sweet with the +fragrance of flowers in the beau-pot on the hearth and fresh rushes on the +floor. + +In a large wooden cradle lay his first-born son--named in memory of one +whom neither husband nor wife could ever forget--Philip. The child was +small and delicate, and Lucy had tasted not only the sweets of motherhood, +but its cares. + +Yet little Philip was very fair to look upon. He had the refined features +of his mother, and though his cheeks wanted something of the roundness and +rosiness of healthful infancy, he was, in his parents' eyes, as near +perfection as first-born children are ever apt to be thought! + +George paused by the cradle, which was raised on high rockers, and, bending +over it, said,-- + +'He is sound asleep now,' just touching the little hand lying outside the +coverlet with his great fingers as gently as his mother could have done. + +'I won't be jealous of him, eh, Lucy? He is mine as well as yours, +sweetheart.' + +'That is a truism,' Lucy said. 'Now, come into the window-seat and talk +low--if you must talk--and let us watch for those who are, I pray God, +drawing near.' + +George unfastened his leather pouch which was slung over his shoulder, and +put the bow and quiver against the corner of the bay window. + +Then he threw his huge form at his wife's feet on the dais, and said,-- + +'Do not be too eager for their coming, sweetheart. I half dread their +entrance into this house, which, perchance may disturb our bliss.' + +'Fie for shame!' Lucy replied, 'as if Mary could ever be aught but a joy +and a blessing. I am ready to blush for you, George.' + +'They will be grand folk, grander than we are, that is, than _I_ am! +Humphrey knighted, and Mary Dame Ratcliffe. Then there is the boy! I am not +sure as to the boy. I confess I fear the early training of the Jesuits may +have left a mark on him.' + +'Now, I will listen to no more growlings, George,' his wife said, laying +her small fair hand on the thick masses of her husband's hair, and +smoothing it from his forehead. 'You will please to give the coming guests +a hearty welcome, and be proud to call them brother, sister, and nephew.' + +'Nay,' George said. 'Ambrose is no nephew of mine!' + +'To think of such folly, when, but a minute agone, you said what is mine is +yours. Ambrose is _my_ nephew, I'd have you to remember, sir.' + +'As you will, sweet wife! as you will; but, Lucy, when you see Humphrey +ride up with a train of gentlemen, it may be, and my lady with her +gentlewomen, will you not be sorry that you left everything to be the wife +of a country yeoman, who is unversed in fine doings, and can give you so +little?' + +'You give me all I want,' Lucy said; and this time, as she smoothed back +the rebellious curls, she bent and kissed the broad brow which they shaded. +'You give me all I want,' she repeated--'your heart!' + +Soon there was a sound of horses' feet, and, with an exclamation, 'Here at +last!' George went to the gate to receive the guests, and Lucy hurried to +the porch. + +'The noise and bustle may rouse little Philip,' she said to one of her +maids; 'watch in the parlour till I return.' + +In another moment Humphrey had grasped his brother's hand, and, turning, +lifted his wife from the pillion on which she had ridden with her son. + +'Mary! Mary!' and Lucy ran swiftly to meet her sister, and held her in a +long embrace. + +A meeting after years of separation is always mingled with joy something +akin to pain, and it was not till the first excitement of this reunion was +over that the joy predominated. + +Mary was greatly changed; her hair was white; and on her sweet face there +were many lines of suffering. Lucy led her into the parlour, and she could +only sink down upon the settle by her side, and hold her hand in hers, +looking with wistful earnestness into her face. + +'So fair still! and happy, dearest child!' Mary whispered in a low voice. +'Happy! and content?' + +'_Yes_,' Lucy replied proudly. 'And _you_, Mary, you are happy now?' + +'Blest with the tender care of my husband. _Yes_; but, Lucy, I bring him +but a poor reward for all his patient love.' + +'Nay, he does not think so, I'll warrant,' Lucy said. 'You will soon be +well and hearty in your native air, and the colour will come back to your +cheeks and the brightness to your eyes.' + +'To rival yours, dear child! Nay, you forget how time, as well as sickness +and sorrow, have left its mark on me.' + +'And Ambrose?' Lucy asked. 'You have comfort in him?' + +'Yes,' Mary said. 'Yes, but, dear heart, the vanished days of childhood +return not. Ambrose is old for his sixteen years; and, although dear, dear +as ever, I am prone to look back on those days at Ford Manor, when he was +mine, all mine, before the severance from me changed him.' + +'Sure he is not a Papist now?' Lucy said. 'I trust not.' + +'Nay, he is not professedly a Papist, but the teaching of those four years +sowed seed. Yet he loves me, and is a dutiful son to me, and to his--his +new father. I ought to be satisfied.' + +Little Philip now turned in his cradle, awoke by the entrance of the two +brothers and Ambrose, who had been to the stables to see that the grooms +and horses were well cared for. + +Lucy raised Philip in her arms, and Mary said,-- + +'Ay! give him to me, sweet boy. See, Ambrose, here is your cousin; nay, I +might say your brother, for it is a double tie between you.' + +The tall stripling looked down on the little morsel of humanity with a +puzzled expression. + +'He is very small, methinks,' he said. + +This roused Lucy's maternal vanity. + +'Small, forsooth! Do you expect a babe of eight months to be a giant. He is +big enow for my taste and his father's. Too big at times, I vow, for he is +a weight to carry.' + +Ambrose felt he had made a mistake, and hastened to add,-- + +'He has wondrous large eyes;' and then he bent over his mother and said, +'You should be resting in your own chamber, mother.' + +'Yes; well spoken, my boy,' Humphrey said. 'Mary is not as hearty as I +could desire,' he added, turning to George. 'Maybe Lucy will take her to +her chamber, and forgive her if she does not come to sup in the hall.' + +Lucy gave little Philip to his father, who held him in awkward fashion, +till the nurse came to the rescue and soothed his faint wailing by the +usual nonsense words of endearment which then, as now, nurses seem to +consider the proper language in which to address babies. + +When the two brothers were alone together that night, Humphrey said,-- + +'It is all prosperous and well with you now, George. You have got your +heart's desire, and your fair lady looks fairer, ay, and happier than I +ever saw her.' + +'Ay, Humphrey, it is true. At times I wonder at my own good fortune. I had +my fears that she would hanker after fine things and grand folk, but it is +not so. She went with the boy to Wilton two months agone to visit the +Countess of Pembroke, who holds her in a wonderful affection. The boy is +her godson, and she has made him many fine gifts. I was fearful Lucy would +find this home dull after a taste of her old life; but, Heaven bless her, +when I lifted her from the horse with the child on her return, she kissed +me and said, "I am right glad to get home again." I hope, Humphrey, all is +well and prosperous with you also?' + +'I may say yes as regards prosperity, beyond what I deserve. I have a place +about the Court, under my Lord Essex, and I was knighted, as you know, for +what they were pleased to call bravery in the Armada fight. After we lost +that wise and noble gentleman, Sir Philip Sidney, everything went crooked +under the Earl of Leicester, and Spain thought she was going to triumph and +crush England with the Armada. But God defended the right, and the victory +is ours. Spain is humbled now. Would to God Sir Philip Sidney had lived to +see it and share the glory.' + +George listened as his brother spoke, with flashing eyes, of the final +discomfiture of Spain, and then noticed how his whole manner changed to +softness and sadness, as he went on to say,-- + +'My heart's desire in the possession of the one woman whom I ever loved is +granted, but, George, I hold her by a slender thread. I have brought her +here with the hope that she may gather strength, but, as you must see, she +is but the shadow of her old self. The good old man at Arnhem counselled me +to take her to her native air, and God grant it may revive her. She is +saint-like in her patience and in her love for me. Heaven knows I am not +worthy of her, yet let me bless God I have her to cherish, and, by all +means that in me lies, fan the flame of her precious life, trusting to see +it burn brightly once more. But, George, I fear more than I hope. What will +all honours and Court favour be to me if I lose her?' + +'You will keep her,' George said, in the assured tone that those who are +happy often use when speaking to others who are less happy than themselves. +'You will keep her, Humphrey, she shall have milk warm from one of my best +cows, and feed on the fat of the land. Oh! we will soon see the Dame Mary +Ratcliffe fit to go to Court and shine there.' + +Humphrey shook his head. + +'That is the last thing Mary would desire.' Then changing his tone, he went +on: 'What think you of Ambrose, George?' + +'He is big enow, and handsome. Is he amenable and easy to control?' + +'I have no cause to find fault with him; he lacks spirit somewhat, and has +taken a craze to be a scholar rather than a soldier. He has been studying +at Göttingen, and now desires to enter Cambridge. The old ambition to be a +soldier and brave knight, like Sir Philip Sidney, died out during those +four years spent in the Jesuit school, and he is accounted marvellously +clever at Latin and Greek.' + +'Humph,' George said. 'Let us hope there is no lurking Jesuitry in him. The +worse for him if there is, for the Queen is employing every means to run +the poor wretches to earth. The prisons are chock full of them, and the +mass held in abhorrence.' + +'Ambrose was but a child when with the Jesuits--scarce twelve years old +when I came upon him, and recovered him for his mother. No, no, I do not +fear Papacy for him, though, I confess, I would rather see him a rollicking +young soldier than the quiet, reserved fellow he is. One thing is certain, +he has a devotion for his mother, and for that I bless the boy. He +considers her first in everything, and she can enter into his learning with +a zest and interest which I cannot.' + +'Learning is not everything,' George said, 'let me hope so, at any rate, as +I am no scholar.' + +'No; but it is a great deal when added to godliness,' Humphrey replied. 'We +saw that in the wonderful life of Sir Philip Sidney. It was hard to say in +what he excelled most, learning or statesmanship or soldiering. Ay, there +will never be one to match him in our time, nor in any future time, so I +am ready to think. There's scarce a day passes but he comes before me, +George, and scarce a day but I marvel why that brilliant sun went down +while it was high noonday. Thirty-one years and all was told.' + +'Yes,' George said; 'but though he is dead he is not forgotten, and that's +more than can be said of thousands who have died since he died--four years +ago; by Queen and humble folk he is remembered.' + +George Ratcliffe's prophecy seemed likely to be fulfilled. Mary Gifford +gained strength daily, and very soon she was able to walk in the pleasance +by Hillside Manor, which George had laid out for Lucy, in those long +waiting days when he gathered together all that he thought would please her +in the 'lady's chamber' he had made ready for her, long before his dream of +seeing her in it was realised. + +Gradually Mary was able to extend her walks, and it was on one evening in +July that she told Lucy she should like to walk down to Ford Manor. + +Lucy remonstrated, and said she feared if she allowed her to go so far +Humphrey and Ambrose, who had gone away to London for a few days, would be +displeased with her for allowing it. + +'I would fain go there with you and see Ned and old Jenkins. The newcomers +have kept on their services, I hope?' + +'Yes, all things are the same, except that the poor old stepmother and her +ill-conditioned husband have left it, and are living in Tunbridge. He +preaches and prays, and spends her savings, and, let us hope, he is +content. The dear old place was going to wrack and ruin, so Sir Robert's +orders came that they were to quit.' + +'Poor old place! To think,' Lucy said, 'that I could ever feel an affection +for it, but it is so nevertheless.' + +So, in the golden light of sunset, the two sisters stood by the old thorn +tree on the bit of ground in front of Ford Manor once more. + +Ned and Jenkyns had bidden them welcome, and, by the permission of the +present owners of the farm, they had gone through the house, now much +improved by needful repairs and better furnishing. But, whatever changes +there were in the house and its inhabitants, the smiling landscape +stretched out before the two sisters as they stood by the crooked back of +the old thorn tree was the same. The woodlands, in the glory of the summer +prime, clothed the uplands; the tower of the church, the stately walls of +the Castle of Penshurst, the home of the noble race of Sidney, stood out +amidst the wealth of foliage of encircling trees as in years gone by. The +meadows were sloping down to the village, where the red roofs of the +cottages clustered, and the spiral columns of thin blue smoke showed where +busy housewives were preparing the evening meal at the wood fire kindled on +the open hearth. The rooks were flying homewards with their monotonous +caw. From a copse, just below Ford Manor, the ring-doves were repeating the +old, old song of love. As Mary Gifford stood with her face turned towards +the full light of the evening sky, she looked again to Lucy like the Mary +of old. Neither spoke; their hearts were too full for words, but they +clasped each other's hands in a silence more eloquent than speech. + +Both sisters' thoughts were full of the past rather than the present. + +Mary seemed to see before her the little fair-haired boy who had been so +eager to mount Sir Philip's horse, and Sir Philip, with his radiant smile +and gracious kindliness, so ready to gratify the boy's desire, as he set +him on the saddle. + +And Mary heard, too, again the ringing voice as little Ambrose said,-- + +'I would fain be a noble gentleman and brave soldier like Mr Philip Sidney. +I would like to ride with him far, far away.' + +She recalled now the pang those words had caused her, and how she dreaded +the parting which came all too soon, and had been so bitter to her. Now, +she had her son restored to her, but she felt, as how many mothers have +felt since, a strange hunger of the soul, for her vanished child! Ambrose, +quiet and sedate, and eager to be an accomplished scholar, tall, almost +dignified, for his sixteen years, was indeed her son, and she could thank +God for him. Yet she thought with a strange regret, of the days when he +threw his arms round her in a rough embrace, or trotted chattering by her +side as she went about the farm, or, still sweeter memory, murmured in his +sleep her name, and looked up at her with a half-awakened smile, as he +found her near, and felt her kisses on his forehead. + +From these thoughts Mary was roused by Ambrose himself,-- + +'Mother,' he said, 'this is too far for you to walk. You should not have +ventured down the hill. We have returned to find the house empty; and my +father is in some distress when he heard you had come so far.' + +Ambrose spoke as if he were constituted his mother's caretaker; and Lucy, +laughing, said,-- + +'You need not look so mighty grave about it, Ambrose; your mother is not +tired. Forsooth, one would think you were an old man giving counsel, rather +than a boy.' + +Ambrose disliked of all things to be called a boy; and, since his first +remark about the baby Philip, there had often been a little war of words +between aunt and nephew. + +'Boys may have more wits than grown folk sometime,' he replied. 'Here comes +my father, who does not think me such a fool as, perchance, you do, Aunt +Lucy. He has brought a horse to carry my mother up the steep hill.' + +'Well, I will leave her to your double care,' Lucy said. 'I see George +follows a-foot. We will go up the hill path, and be at home before you, +I'll warrant.' She ran gaily away to meet George; and as Mary was lifted +on the pillion by Humphrey, Ambrose taking his place by his mother, he +turned in the opposite direction, and, following Lucy and her husband, was +soon out of sight. + +Mother and son rode slowly along the familiar path which leads into the +high road from Penshurst. + +The glow of sunset was around them, and the crimson cloth mantle Mary wore +shone in the westering light. So they pass out of sight, and the shadows +gather over the landscape, and evening closes in. As a dream when one +awaketh is the history of the past, and the individual lives which stand +out in it are like phantoms which we strive, perhaps in vain, to quicken +into life once more, and clothe them with the vivid colours for which +imagination may lend its aid. Of the central figure of this story of the +spacious times of great Elizabeth, we may say--with the sister who loved +him with no common love-- + + 'Ah, no! his spirit is not dead--nor can it die, + But lives for aye in blissful Paradise, + Where, like a new-born babe, it soft doth lie, + In bed of lilies--wrapped in tender wise, + And compassed all about with roses sweet, + And dainty violets from head to feet.' + + + + +THE END. + + + + +EDINBURGH + +COLSTON AND COMPANY + +PRINTERS + + + + + MRS MARSHALL'S HISTORICAL NOVELS. + + * * * * * + + IN THE SERVICE OF RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. + + 'This is another of those admirable historical romances in which + Mrs Marshall makes the past speak to the present.'--_Spectator._ + + WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. A Story of Exeter and Norwich in the Days of + Bishop Hall. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Captivating in style, graphic in effect, and high in tone.'--_Guardian._ + + WINCHESTER MEADS IN THE DAYS OF BISHOP KEN. + Sixth Thousand. With Eight Illustrations. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Mrs Marshall has produced another of her pleasant stories + of old times.'--_Saturday Review._ + + UNDER SALISBURY SPIRE IN THE DAYS OF GEORGE HERBERT. + With Illustrations. Ninth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'A charming study of life and character in the seventeenth + century.'--_Athenĉum._ + + ON THE BANKS OF THE OUSE. A Tale of the Times of Newton and Cowper. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'It is refreshing to read a book so earnest as this. The style is + simple and clear.'--_Academy._ + + IN FOUR REIGNS. The Recollections of ALTHEA ALLINGHAM. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Seldom does one meet with a book of such sympathetic and touching + character.'--_Morning Post._ + + UNDER THE MENDIPS. A Tale of the Times of More. + With Illustrations. Sixth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'A charming story.'--_Athenĉum._ + + IN THE EAST COUNTRY with Sir Thomas Browne, Knight. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'This is a charming and pretty story of life in Norwich two hundred + years ago.'--_Spectator._ + + IN COLSTON'S DAYS. A Story of Old Bristol. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'The illustrations are excellent pictures of Bristol in the old days, and + the book itself is particularly pleasant reading.'--_Christian World._ + + * * * * * + + LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND. + + + NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF + + MRS MARSHALL'S EARLIER WORKS. + + _Price 3s. 6d. cloth._ + + * * * * * + + LADY ALICE. + MRS MAINWARING'S JOURNAL. + HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. + VIOLET DOUGLAS. + CHRISTABEL KINGSCOTE. + HELEN'S DIARY. + BROTHERS AND SISTERS. + NOWADAYS. + DOROTHY'S DAUGHTERS. + MILLICENT LEGH. + + * * * * * + + MRS MARSHALL'S POPULAR SERIES. + + _Price 1s. 6d. cloth. 1s. sewed._ + + * * * * * + + A LILY AMONG THORNS. + BOSCOMBE CHINE. + THE TWO SWORDS. + HER SEASON IN BATH. + THE TOWER ON THE CLIFF. + THE OLD GATEWAY. + BRISTOL DIAMONDS. + UP AND DOWN THE PANTILES. + A ROMANCE OF THE UNDERCLIFF. + BRISTOL BELLS. + + * * * * * + + LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Penshurst Castle, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + +***** This file should be named 28616-8.txt or 28616-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/1/28616/ + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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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: Penshurst Castle + In the Days of Sir Philip Sidney + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: April 26, 2009 [EBook #28616] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 6em;"> +<img src="images/cover2.jpg" width="400" height="556" alt="cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1>PENSHURST CASTLE</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px; margin-top: 6em; margin-bottom: 6em;"><a name="Frontis" id="Frontis"></a> +<img src="images/ill004.jpg" width="350" height="522" alt="THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE." title="Frontispiece" /> +<span class="caption">THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE.</span> +</div> + +<h2>PENSHURST CASTLE</h2> + +<p class="plht"> +<br /> +<i>IN THE TIME OF</i> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 110%">SIR PHILIP SIDNEY</span> +</p> + +<p class="plht"> +<br /> +<br /> +<small>BY</small> +<br /> +EMMA MARSHALL +<br /> +<i>Author of 'Under Salisbury Spire,' 'Winchester Meads,' etc.</i> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<br /> +<br /> +'A right man-like man, such as Nature, often erring,<br /> +yet shows sometimes she fain would make.'—Sir Philip Sidney. +</p> + +<p class="plht"> +<br /> +<br /> +LONDON +<br /> +SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Essex Street, Strand</span> +<br /> +1894 +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><i>PREFACE</i></h2> + +<p>For the incidents in the life of Sir Philip Sidney, who is the central +figure in this story of 'the spacious times of great Elizabeth,' I am +indebted to Mr H. R. Fox Bourne's interesting and exhaustive Memoir of this +noble knight and Christian gentleman.</p> + +<p>In his short life of thirty-one years are crowded achievements as scholar, +poet, statesman and soldier, which find perhaps few, if indeed any equal, +in the records of history; a few only of these chosen from among many +appear in the following pages. The characters of Mary Gifford and her +sister, and the two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, are wholly +imaginary.</p> + +<p>The books which have been consulted for the poetry of Sir Philip Sidney and +the times in which he lived are—Vol. I. of <i>An English Garner;</i> M. +Jusserand's <i>Roman du Temps de Shakespere,</i> and a very interesting essay on +Sir Philip Sidney and his works, published in Cambridge in 1858.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Woodside, Leigh Woods</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><span class="smcap">Clifton</span>, <i>October</i> 5, 1893.</span> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="65%" cellspacing="8" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><h2><i>CONTENTS</i></h2></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3">BOOK I.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td class="tdrn"><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">THE SISTERS,</a></td><td class="tdrn">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">IN THE PARK,</a></td><td class="tdrn">17</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">A STRANGE MEETING,</a></td><td class="tdrn">35</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">THE HAWK AND THE BIRD,</a></td><td class="tdrn">60</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">RESISTANCE,</a></td><td class="tdrn">82</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">THREE FRIENDS,</a></td><td class="tdrn">101</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">WHITSUNTIDE, 1581,</a></td><td class="tdrn">121</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">DEFEAT,</a></td><td class="tdrn">146</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">ACROSS THE FORD,</a></td><td class="tdrn">171</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3">BOOK II.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">AT WILTON,</a></td><td class="tdrn">207</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">LUMEN FAMILIĈ SUĈ,</a></td><td class="tdrn">223</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">FIRE AND SWORD,</a></td><td class="tdrn">243</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">RESTORED,</a></td><td class="tdrn">258</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">WHAT RIGHT?</a></td><td class="tdrn">276</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">THE PASSING OF PHILIP,</a></td><td class="tdrn">296</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">FOUR YEARS LATER—1590,</a></td><td class="tdrn">311</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td><td> </td><td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><h2><i>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</i></h2></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#Frontis">THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE,</a></td><td class="tdrn"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#A">PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE,</a></td><td class="tdrn"><small>PAGE</small><br />4</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#B">THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST,</a></td><td class="tdrn">64</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#C">PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK,</a></td><td class="tdrn">70</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#D">OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST,</a></td><td class="tdrn">130</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#E">THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL,</a></td><td class="tdrn">148</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#F">THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE,</a></td><td class="tdrn">224</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#G">THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE,</a></td><td class="tdrn">288</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2 style="margin-top: 4em">BOOK I.</h2> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'What man is he that boasts of fleshly might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vaine assurance of mortality;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against spirituall foes, yields by and by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or from the field most cowardly doth fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, let the man ascribe it to his skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thorough grace hath gained victory.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If any strength we have, it is to ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all the good is God's, both power and will.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><i>The Faery Queene</i>, Book I. Canto 10.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<h2 style="margin-top: 4em">Penshurst Castle</h2> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="center">THE SISTERS</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'She was right faire and fresh as morning rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But somewhat sad and solemne eke in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if some pensive thought constrained her gentle spright.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Spenser</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>1581.—'There is time yet ere sunset; let me, I pray you, go down to the +lych gate with the wheaten cake for Goody Salter.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Lucy; methinks there are reasons for your desire to go down to the +village weightier than the wheaten cake you would fain carry with you. Rest +quietly at home; it may be Humphrey will be coming to let us know if Mr +Sidney has arrived at Penshurst. Why such haste, little sister?'</p> + +<p>'Because I do covet a place where I can witness the grand tourney at +Whitehall. It may suit your mood, Mary, to live always on this hilltop, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +with naught to see and naught to do; with no company but a cross-grained +stepmother, and the cows and sheep. I am sick of it. Even a run down to the +village is a change. Yes, I am going; one hour, and I will be back.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford laid a detaining hand on her young sister's shoulder.</p> + +<p>'Have a care, dear child, nor let your wild fancies run away with your +discretion. Am I not one who has a right to caution you? I who have come +back as a widow to my old home, bereft and lonely.'</p> + +<p>'Because you married a bad man, and rued the day, it is no reason that I +should do the same. Trust me, good sister. I may be young, but I have my +wits about me, and no soft speeches catch me in a net.'</p> + +<p>The elder sister's beautiful face, always grave and mournful in its +earnestness, grew even more mournful than was its wont, as she looked down +into her sister's lovely eyes, and kissed her forehead.</p> + +<p>'Child, I pray God to keep you safe; but the net you speak of is not spread +in the sight of any bird, and it is captured all unawares.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's answer was to return her sister's kiss with a quick, warm embrace, +and then she was off, with the basket on her arm, and her glad, young voice +ringing out,—</p> + +<p>'Good-bye! good-bye! I'll be back in an hour.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford stood under the old stone porch, watching the light figure as +it tripped away, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +then was turning into the house again, when a sharp +voice she knew too well called,—</p> + +<p>'Lucy! Lucy! Where's that hussy? There's two pails of milk to set for cream +in the pans, and the cakes are scorching before the fire. Lucy! Where's +Lucy?'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford did not reply to the question, but said,—</p> + +<p>'I will go to the dairy, mother, and see to the milk.'</p> + +<p>'And take your boy with ye, I'll warrant, who will be up to mischief. No, +no; it's Lucy's work, and she shall do it. It will be bedtime before we +know it, for the sun is going down. Lucy!'</p> + +<p>This time a child's voice was heard, as little feet pattered along the +terrace outside Ford Manor.</p> + +<p>'Aunt Lou is gone,' the child said. 'I saw her running down the hill.'</p> + +<p>'Is she? She shall repent it, then, gadding off like that. More shame to +you,' Mrs Forrester said wrathfully, 'to let her go, Mary, and cheat me by +not telling me the truth. You want the child to go to ruin as you did +yourself, I suppose.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford's face flushed crimson, as she said,—</p> + +<p>'It ill becomes my father's wife to taunt his daughter, when he is not here +to defend her. Come with me, Ambrose, nor stay to listen to more hard +words.'</p> + +<p>But the child doubled his small fists, and said, approaching his +grandmother,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I'll beat you. I'll kill you if you make mother cry! I will, you—'</p> + +<p>'Hush, my little son,' Mary said, drawing the boy away. 'It is near thy +bedtime. Come with me; nor forget thy manners if other folk are not mindful +of theirs.'</p> + +<p>The tears of mingled sorrow and anger were coursing each other down Mary +Gifford's face, but she wiped them hastily away, and, putting her arm round +the child, she led him up the narrow stairs leading from the large kitchen +to the room above, where she sat down, with Ambrose clasped close to her +heart, by the square bay window, which was flung open on this lovely April +evening.</p> + +<p>Ford Manor stood on the slope of the hill, commanding a view of the meadows +stretching down to the valley, where the home of the Sidneys and the tower +of the old church could be seen amongst the trees, now golden in the +brilliant western sunshine of the spring evening. Perhaps there can +scarcely be found a more enchanting prospect than that on which Mary +Gifford looked, as she sat with her boy clasped in her arms, her heart, +which had been pierced with many sorrows, still smarting with the sharp +thrust her stepmother had given her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="A" id="A"></a> +<img src="images/ill019.jpg" width="500" height="308" alt="PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE.</span> +</div> + +<p>That young sister whom she loved so passionately, about whom, in her gay +thoughtless youth, she was so anxious, whom she was ever longing to see +safe under the shelter of a good man's love—it was hard that her boy +should hear such words from those +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +pitiless lips—'lead her to +ruin!'—when her one desire was to shield her from all contamination of the +evil world, of which she had herself had such bitter experience.</p> + +<p>Little Ambrose was tired, after a day of incessant running hither and +thither, and lay quiet with his head on his mother's breast, in that +blissful state of contentment to find himself there, which gives the thrill +of deepest joy to a mother's heart.</p> + +<p>Ambrose was six years old, and a fair and even beautiful child. The stiff, +ugly dress of the time, could not quite hide the symmetry of his rounded +limbs, and the large ruff, now much crumpled after the day's wear, set off +to advantage the round chin which rested on it and the rosy lips, which had +just parted with a smile, as Mary said,—</p> + +<p>'Is my boy sleepy?'</p> + +<p>'No, mother; don't put me a-bed yet'</p> + +<p>Mary was not unwilling to comply with the request, and so they sat on, the +boy's red-gold curls making a gleam of brightness on the sombre black +garments of widowhood which Mary still wore.</p> + +<p>Presently the boy said,—</p> + +<p>'When I'm a man, will Mr Philip Sidney let me be his esquire? Aunt Lou says +p'raps he will, if you ask him.'</p> + +<p>'My boy will not be a man for many a year yet,' Mary said, pressing the +child closer. 'And he would not leave his mother even for Mr Philip +Sidney.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose sat upright, and said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I would come back to you, as Humphrey Ratcliffe comes back to his mother, +but I'd like to ride off with Mr Sidney when I am a man.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, my boy, all in good time.'</p> + +<p>'And I must learn to ride and wrestle, and—oh! a hundred things. I wish to +be a man like Mr Philip Sidney.'</p> + +<p>'May you ever be as good, noble, and learned, my son; but come, the sun is +gone to bed, and Ambrose must go too.'</p> + +<p>Then, with loving hands, she prepared her child for his bed, smoothing back +the shining hair from the pure white brow, where the blue veins were +clearly traced, and Ambrose knelt at her knee and repeated his little +prayer, adding, with childlike simplicity, after the Amen,—</p> + +<p>'Pray, God, make me a good man, like Mr Philip Sidney.'</p> + +<p>While Mary Gifford and little Ambrose were thus together in the upper +chamber of Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester had reached the old timbered house by +the lych gate of Penshurst Church, and had obtained admission at Goody +Salter's door, and put the wheaten cake and two eggs on the little rickety +table which stood against the wall in the dark, low room. The old woman's +thanks were not very profuse, hers was by no means a grateful disposition, +and, perhaps, there was no great inducement for Lucy to prolong her visit. +However that might be, it was very short, and she was soon outside again, +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +standing in the village street, looking right and left, as if +expecting to see someone coming in either direction. It had not escaped +Mary Gifford's notice that Lucy dressed herself with more than ordinary +care. She wore the short skirt of the time, which displayed her small feet +and ankles to advantage.</p> + +<p>Over the skirt was a crimson kirtle of fine cloth, cut square in the +bodice, and crossed by a thick white kerchief, edged with lace. Lucy's +slender neck was set in a ruff, fastened at the throat by a gold brooch, +which sparkled in the light.</p> + +<p>Her chestnut hair was gathered up from her forehead, and a little pointed +cap of black velvet, edged with gold, was set upon it, and contrasted well +with the bright locks, from which a curl, either by accident or design, had +been loosened, and rippled over her shoulder, below her waist.</p> + +<p>Lucy was well known in the village, and, as she stood debating whether she +should go home or wait for a few minutes longer, a man, with the badge of +the Sidneys on his arm, came up on horseback, and turned into the park +gate, which was near this end of the village.</p> + +<p>'They must be coming now,' she said; 'they must be coming. Perhaps I shall +see Humphrey, and he will tell me if Mr Sydney is returning this evening. I +can hide behind the trees just outside the gate. No one will see me.'</p> + +<p>Presently another horseman came riding slowly along. He was hailed by one +of the loiterers in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +the street, and Lucy heard the question asked and +answered.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mr Sidney is on the road. He is gone round by the main entrance, with +two of his gentlemen.'</p> + +<p>'He won't pass this way, then, to-night,' Lucy thought. 'Oh, I wish I could +see him. Humphrey is so dull, and he won't ask him to do what I want. I +know my Lady Mary would take me to see the show if Mr Philip wished, and—'</p> + +<p>'Lucy, why are you here alone?' and the speaker dismounted, and, throwing +the reins of his horse to a groom, he was at her side in a moment.</p> + +<p>'I came down to bring food to the hungry. Where's the harm of that?'</p> + +<p>'It is getting late. I'll walk up the hill with you. Lucy, does Mistress +Gifford know of your coming?'</p> + +<p>'What if she doesn't? I please myself; tell me, Humphrey, is Mr Sidney come +home?'</p> + +<p>'For a few days. He returns shortly for the great tournament at Whitehall +in honour of the French Embassy.'</p> + +<p>'On Sunday next. Oh, Humphrey, I do want to see it—to see Mr Sidney tilt. +I would walk to London to see it, if I can't ride. There is so little time +left. Why won't you ask—beg—pray someone to take me?'</p> + +<p>'The tournament is put off. There is time enough and to spare. Her Majesty +the Queen has desired delay, and a day in May is now fixed. Three weeks +hence—' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Three weeks hence! Then there is hope. I shall go to Lady Mary myself, if +I don't see Mr Sidney.'</p> + +<p>'Well, well, come home now, or Mistress Gifford will be full of fears about +you. I marvel that you should add a drop of bitterness to her full cup.'</p> + +<p>'I hate you to talk like that,' Lucy said. 'I love Mary better than all the +world beside. No one loves her as I do.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe sighed.</p> + +<p>'You speak rashly, like the wayward child you are. In sober earnest, Lucy, +you are too fair to wander into the village alone, and you know it.'</p> + +<p>'I wanted to go into the park, and then you came and stopped me.'</p> + +<p>'If I did, so much the better,' was the reply. 'I will see you over the +river, at least. Then I must return, to find out if Mr Sidney has any +commands for the morrow.'</p> + +<p>They had reached the River Medway now—in these days scarcely more than a +shallow stream, crossed by stepping-stones, or by a narrow plank, with a +handrail on one side only. When the river was low, it was easy to cross the +ford, but, when swollen by heavy rains, it required some skill to do so, +and many people preferred to use the plank as a means of crossing the +stream.</p> + +<p>Just as Lucy had put her foot on the first stepping-stone, and rejected all +Humphrey's offers of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +help with a merry laugh, they were joined by +Humphrey's brother, who was coming down the hill in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>'Stop! hold, Mistress Lucy!' he cried. 'Mistress Forrester, hold!'</p> + +<p>'What for?' she said. 'I am coming over,' and with extraordinary swiftness, +Lucy sprang from stone to stone, and, reaching the opposing bank, curtseyed +to George Ratcliffe, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Your pleasure, sir?'</p> + +<p>'My pleasure is that you should not put your limbs in peril by scaling +those slippery stones. Why not take the bridge?'</p> + +<p>'Because I like the ford better. Good-bye. Good-bye, Humphrey,' she called, +waving her hand to the other brother who stood on the bank.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye, Mistress Lucy, George will take care of you now. And make all +haste homewards.'</p> + +<p>Lucy now began to race up the steep hill at full speed, and her faithful +squire had much difficulty to keep up with her light, airy footsteps.</p> + +<p>He was a giant in height and build, and was breathless, when, at the turn +on the side of the hill leading to Ford Manor, Lucy paused.</p> + +<p>'You have no cause to come a step further,' she said, laughing. 'Why, +Master Ratcliffe, you are puffing like old Meg when she has pulled the cart +up the hill! Good even to you.'</p> + +<p>'Stop, Mistress Forrester.'</p> + +<p>'Well, now you are more respectful, I will stop. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +Well, pray thee, take +breath, and make short work of what you are going to say.'</p> + +<p>George hesitated, as much from shyness as from want of breath.</p> + +<p>'My mother bids me say that she would fain have you sup with her on the +morrow. Say yes, Lucy; say yes.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! I must ask permission first,' she said, 'for, you know, I am a dutiful +step-daughter; but commend me to your mother, and say I will come if they +will permit me, for I love Madam Ratcliffe's sweet pasties. We do not get +sweet pasties yonder. We are bidden to think all sweet and pleasant things +unwholesome, and so we ought to believe it is true; but I don't, for one. +Good-night.'</p> + +<p>And Lucy was away along the rugged path at the side of the lane, with its +deep ruts and loose stones, before George Ratcliffe could say another word.</p> + +<p>He pursued his way for another mile up the hill, till he came to a house of +rather more pretension than Ford Manor, but of the same character, with a +heavy stone portico and square bays on either side. The diamond-shaped +panes of the lattice were filled in with thick glass, which had only, +within the last few years, replaced the horn which had admitted but little +light into the room, and had been the first attempt at filling in the +windows to keep out rain and storm. Until the latter years of Henry the +Eighth's reign wooden shutters were universal even in the homes of the rich +and great. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Ratcliffes had held their land under the lords of Penshurst for more +than two centuries, and had, as in duty bound, supplied men and arms, when +called upon to do so by their chief.</p> + +<p>The Forresters held also the same tenure of the pasture lands and meadows +which sloped down from Ford Manor, and, in earlier times, they had been the +keepers of the woods which clothed the undulating ground about Penshurst, +and the stately beeches and chestnut trees which stand almost unrivalled in +the far stretching park, where the grand old house of the Sidneys is +situated.</p> + +<p>But Mr Forrester, the father of Mary Gifford and Lucy, was the last of his +race, and, though his widow and daughter still occupied the Manor Farm, the +office of keeper of the woods had fallen to another family on a more +distant part of the estate, and it was only by courtesy that Mrs Forrester +was permitted to remain in the house for her life.</p> + +<p>The Ratcliffes occupied a superior position, and Mrs Ratcliffe prided +herself on her family, and considered Mrs Forrester very much beneath her +in the social scale.</p> + +<p>Was not her younger son the favourite squire of Mr Philip Sidney, an honour +coveted by many, and had he not acquired the air and bearing of the +gentlemen about the Court of the Maiden Queen, and was he not, moreover, +educated in book learning as befitted his position. George, if more homely +in his person and manner, was known in the whole district +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +as a man of +honour, and celebrated for his breed of horses, and for the excellence of +his farm produce.</p> + +<p>He superintended everything connected with the small estate, and supplied +the neighbouring gentry with horses, when, perhaps for some hastily formed +expedition, they were suddenly required.</p> + +<p>Both brothers were respected in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ratcliffe had +indeed cause to be satisfied with the sons who had so well taken up the +place their father had left vacant, by a sudden death in the prime of his +manhood.</p> + +<p>George Ratcliffe found his mother seated at the head of the long table, +where the men and maidens employed on the farm were gathered at the lower +end.</p> + +<p>All rose when George entered, and he said, addressing his mother, as he +seated himself near her,—</p> + +<p>'I am later than I thought. I crave pardon, good mother.'</p> + +<p>'Granted, my son,' was the reply, with an inclination of the head, which +was, to say the least of it, very stately.</p> + +<p>Mrs Ratcliffe stood always upon her dignity before her household, and never +forgot herself, or allowed others to forget, that she was the daughter of a +Knight of the Shire, and that her own family was connected with some of the +leading people at Court. Distantly connected, but still the fact remained, +and Mrs Ratcliffe made the most of it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the horn-handled knife had been struck thrice on the board by the +bailiff, who sat at the lower end, the large party rose. George rose also, +and said a short grace. Then the hall was deserted, the servants waiting +till Madam retired to her room, before they cleared away the dishes.</p> + +<p>George made a hasty meal, and then, giving his hand to his mother, he led +her through a door at the upper end of the hall to her own parlour.</p> + +<p>The spring twilight was deepening, and the figures of both mother and son +were but dimly visible.</p> + +<p>Perhaps George was not sorry that there was but little light for his mother +to discover the blush which rose to his honest face, as he said,—</p> + +<p>I saw Mistress Lucy Forrester an hour agone, and I bid her to sup with us +on the morrow. I gained your consent to do so,' he added hurriedly.</p> + +<p>'You told me of your purpose, George,' his mother said coldly. 'I did not +forbid it, but I could hardly be said to consent. The poor girl may be well +favoured; I do not deny it.'</p> + +<p>'Who could deny it?' George exclaimed, with some heat.</p> + +<p>'I said I did not deny it; but her relations are, methinks, very coarse.'</p> + +<p>'Mother, there is not a gentler lady in the land than Mistress Gifford. If +you doubt my word inquire of Mr Sidney or Lady Mary.'</p> + +<p>'There is no occasion for this heat, George; it is unbecoming.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Pardon, my mother, but I cannot brook hearing Mistress Gifford and +Mistress Lucy put down as coarse. Coarse!' he repeated—'it is too much! +They can't help themselves that their father chose to marry a virago like +their stepmother. More shame to him; no shame to them.'</p> + +<p>'Well-a-day, George, you are really upsetting me. I can hear no more. Stop +this tirade, or I shall swoon; you know I never am fitted to bear loud +voices, or contention and strife. You have bidden the girl to sup, and, as +your cousin Dolly will be here, it will not be amiss for once. But I never +desire to have intercourse with the folk at Ford Place. Although I am a +widow, I must not forget your father's standing. I visit at the Castle, and +dear Lady Mary is so good as to call me her friend. Thus, to be a friend of +Mistress Forrester also is beyond my wish or desire, and surely you could +not desire it.'</p> + +<p>George did not reply at first, then he said,—</p> + +<p>'Mr Philip Sidney does not despise Mistress Gifford; indeed, it is true, +there is no scorn in him towards anyone that breathes, save only against +mean cowards, liars and traitors. But I wish you a goodnight, mother. I +have to see how the mare does that foaled this morning. She is of great +value to me, and I would fain save her life, if may be.'</p> + +<p>When her son was gone, Mistress Ratcliffe resigned herself to meditation.</p> + +<p>'He is in love with that child, poor, silly boy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +She may be pretty, but it +is the beauty which soon fades. I must keep Dolly with me. She has a pretty +fortune, if not a fair face, and is of our blood, and a meet match for my +home-loving son. I have other hopes for Humphrey. He will wed with some +gentlewoman about the Court. If Mr Philip Sidney wills to bring it about, +it is done. Then I shall be a proud, happy mother, and I shall get out my +taffeta with the old lace, and the ornaments I have not worn since my +husband died, to do honour to the wedding. Humphrey will be knighted some +fine day, and then he shall raise the family again to its proper level.' +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="center">IN THE PARK</p> + +<p class="center">Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.—<span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +The dew lay upon the grass the next morning, and the eastern rays of the +rising sun had but just shot across the slopes of Penshurst Park, when +Philip Sidney passed from under the great gateway of the noble house—or +castle, for it was embattled, by the king's leave, in the reign of Edward +IV,—and crossed the turf towards the avenue of beeches now clothed in the +tenderest hues of spring.</p> + +<p>He was at this time in high favour at Court. The cloud which his brave +protest against the Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou had cast over +him had passed away, and he was again the favourite on whom Elizabeth +smiled, and from whom she expected and received due homage. But the +perpetual demands made by Elizabeth on her admiring courtiers was often +felt to be irksome.</p> + +<p>The chains might be silken, but they were, nevertheless, binding, and it +was a relief to Philip Sidney to escape from the atmosphere of the Court at +times, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +to breathe the pure air of his home in the fair land of Kent.</p> + +<p>Penshurst Place was, and is, one of the most beautiful of the stately homes +of England.</p> + +<p>On this April morning the long <i>façade</i> was smiling in the early rays of +the sun, and, as Philip crossed the Park he turned, and, looking back at +it, felt stirring within him that pride of race and home, which is perhaps +one of the strongest points in the character of a well-born Englishman.</p> + +<p>'A fair inheritance, doubtless,' he said. 'All things are fair save where +sin and wrong enters. Why should my good Languet have grudged me my +retirement, and rejoice that I have again gone forth into the troublesome +world. 'Success at Court is dearly bought, and I must ever bear about with +me a burden which no mortal eye sees.'</p> + +<p>As Philip Sidney paced under the shadow of the beeches, the deep bronze of +fallen leaves at his feet glowing here and there into living gold, as the +low rays of the eastern sun shone through the branches, thinly veiled, as +yet, with tender green, to any casual observer, he did not wear the +appearance of a man whose heart knew any bitterness or was weighted with +any burden.</p> + +<p>His light figure, with its easy swing as he walked, the perfect symmetry of +every limb, the pose of his well-shaped head, from which he had removed the +small cap with its short plume, raising his face that the fresh air might +fan it, were all in harmony with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +the pride and glory of his young manhood. +Suddenly his eyes shone with a smile of welcome, as a lady came from under +the great chestnuts, which were already spreading their fan-like leaves +from every branch, and exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Ah! sister mine, I little thought I should find you before me breathing +the soft pure air. It has brought the colour to your cheeks which I love to +see.'</p> + +<p>'Methinks those who lie a-bed late lose the best of the day, Philip, and +how surpassingly lovely Penshurst is.'</p> + +<p>'Wilton does not make it less dear, then, Mary.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, both are beautiful, and,' she added, 'both are home now; but tender +thoughts ever cling to the place where childhood has been passed. And how +fares it with you, dear brother?' the Countess of Pembroke said, as she put +her hand within Philip's arm.</p> + +<p>'But ill, Mary. I strive, God knoweth, to conquer, but I cannot, I cannot.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Philip, you shall not say so. You must conquer.'</p> + +<p>'If I could free myself from the chain—if I could—but it maddens me, +Mary, to think she loved me, and that I was so blind, so blind. She is the +wife of a man she loathes, and I—I am to blame. I, who would have died for +her.'</p> + +<p>'Live for her, Philip. Live to show her all that is noble and pure in your +life, and so do her good and not evil. Yes, dear brother, by nurturing this +love you do her a worse evil than you know of. Sure, you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +would not bring +her to a new misery, a worse misery.'</p> + +<p>'No, no. I would not, yet I would. But the sting lies here; hearken, Mary, +to this sonnet, lately penned:—</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I might—unhappy word! O me! I might,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then would not, or could not, see my bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till now, wrapped in a most infernal night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I find how heavenly day—wretch! I did miss.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No lovely Paris made thy Helen his;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No force, no fraud, robbed thee of thy delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But to myself, myself did give the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I respects, for both our sakes, must show.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet could not by rising morn foresee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How fair a day was near—O punished eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I had been more foolish, or more wise!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><i>Astrophel and Stella</i>, Sonnet xxxiii.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>'Dear brother,' the Countess of Pembroke said,—'these wild laments are not +worthy of you. You shall not make any man moan. You will conquer at last, +and come out of the fight a nobler man. The very beauty around us seems to +bid us rejoice to-day. Come, let us speak of happier themes. You will like +to see my little Will, and carry back good news of him to the Queen, whose +godson he is. Tell her she hath a brave knight in store in our little Will. +You scarce ever saw such tricks as he has, and is not yet one year old.'</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney threw off his melancholy mood at his sister's bidding, and, +looking down at her, kissed her pure, fair forehead. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Pembroke has reason to rejoice in possessing your love, Mary, and I doubt +not the boy is worthy of you, though he does not, or did not, when I saw +him, resemble you.'</p> + +<p>'No, he is far handsomer; he has dark eyes and lashes; they lay curled upon +his fair cheeks, making the only shadow there. Will has not the +amber-coloured hair of us Sidneys.'</p> + +<p>As this brother and sister stood together in the morning light under the +spreading boughs of the trees, they bore a striking similarity to each +other.</p> + +<p>Theirs was not the mere beauty of form and feature, though that was in both +remarkable.</p> + +<p>Intellectual power was seen in the wide, straight brow, and the light of +that inner fire we call genius shone in the eyes. It has been said by +contemporary records that Philip Sidney's beauty was too feminine in its +character; but, if in colouring of hair and complexion and delicate outline +of feature, this might be true; there was wonderful strength of purpose in +the mouth and upward curve of the chin which indicated resolution and +courage, and determination to conquer difficulties.</p> + +<p>His sister's words were to come true, 'You will conquer at last, and come +out of the fight a nobler man.'</p> + +<p>'We must turn homewards now. How long do you tarry here, Philip?'</p> + +<p>'But two or three days. Shall we not journey to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +London in company with +Mary. This tournament needs much preparation; I did but snatch a few days +to speak on our father's affairs and to breathe freely for a short space, +and then I must return.'</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney sighed.</p> + +<p>'Nay, Philip, what hardship is there in being the favourite of the Queen, +save for the jealousy it may breed. Our good Uncle Leicester tells +marvellous tales of the manner in which the fair ladies of the Court are +ever ready to smile on you, to say nought of the Queen's own delight to +have you near her. She seems to have forgotten your former protest against +the Duke of Anjou, and to believe in your approval now.'</p> + +<p>'It is scarce approval, Mary, but the Queen must do as she lists. She is of +an age to discern what is best for herself and her realm.'</p> + +<p>'She is, indeed, of an age to do so,' Mary said, with a silvery laugh. 'But +queens never grow old, they leave the process to humbler folk, Philip.'</p> + +<p>They had reached the house now, and passed under the gateway into the +quadrangle, just as the big bell was making a great clamour with its iron, +merciless tongue.</p> + +<p>'Breakfast is served,' the Countess said, 'and our good mother will already +be on the dais awaiting us. Would that our father were here with her. He +will be present at the tournament, and I will do my utmost to persuade him +to take a month of summer here at Penshurst, and dismiss all care for the +time.'</p> + +<p>Lady Mary welcomed her son and daughter with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +a glad smile. She had also +been astir early, looking into the affairs of her household, in the home +where the unbroken family so seldom met now. Lady Mary's life had been a +chequered one, and she had suffered much as a wife, from the unfair +treatment her brave, noble husband, Sir Henry Sidney, had received at the +Queen's hand.</p> + +<p>He was poor in purse and wounded in heart for his service in Ireland, from +which he returned at last, losing everything but honour. He was also Lord +President of Wales, and received small thanks for all he did in the +interests of the Principality, and less gratitude. When breakfast was +concluded, Lady Mary Sidney summoned Philip to a conference with her in the +small ante-room, which was reached by a stone staircase at the upper end of +the large hall.</p> + +<p>'You came hither, my son, as your good father's officer. How do you feel +towards this scheme? If my husband, your father, be sent for the fourth +time to Ireland, will you accompany him, and serve him with the wisdom you +ever show, Philip? It is time your father's services should gain some +reward. Speak, Philip; do not hang back, but let me hear your mind.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, sweet mother,' Philip said, seating himself on a settle at his +mother's side, and taking her hand in his, 'do not think I slight my good +father, or disparage all his great service for Ireland, if I say I cannot +advise him to move in this matter. I was amazed when Molineux came charged +with this mission to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +Court, and I told him I disapproved the appeal being +made. For myself, I could not go thither to Ireland in the capacity my +father speaks of; and as to the Queen conferring on him a title of nobility +or large estates, she will never do it. I know this much, and I counsel my +father to let the matter rest. He is held in respect at Ludlow, he has our +own fair home of Penshurst as an inheritance, why, then, enfeebled in +health, should he seek to be embroiled for the fourth time in the affairs +of that unhappy country of Ireland? Misfortune followed his earlier +footsteps there, is it to be counted on that as a man prematurely old and +worn, he should have better success, say rather win more gratitude. Nay, +dearest and best of wives and mothers, let me beg of you to dissuade my +father from this project.'</p> + +<p>'Philip,' Lady Sidney replied, with some heat, 'my heart throbs with +indignation when I think of the treatment your noble father has received at +the hands of the royal mistress he has served with honest devotion. He is +no smooth-tongued courtier, Philip; he has taken no lessons in the school +of flattery, and for this he is cast aside and misused. Think,' Lady Sidney +said, 'think, Philip, of the scant and mean allowance of twenty pounds +weekly he receives as President of Wales. Forsooth, to keep up any fitting +dignity in our mansion it costs us thrice that sum. And if it is complained +that I am with my dear spouse, and so add to the cost, sure I am worth my +meat, of which my poor scarred +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +face is a token. Scarce ever do I see these +scars but I remember how I caught that baleful disease, from which God keep +you, my son. Should He visit you with it, may you be tended with the care +wherewith I tended the Queen's highness, when most of her attendants stood +far off. Nay, Philip, I fear you are in danger of forgetting the past +service your parents have rendered, in the glamour of the present favour +shown to you at Court.'</p> + +<p>Lady Mary Sidney's voice trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes.</p> + +<p>Philip could never brook the sight of his mother's distress; and he knew +all she said was perfectly true and could not be contradicted.</p> + +<p>'I will confer with my father on this matter,' he said. 'Dear mother, do +not, I pray you, deem me hard and indifferent. As soon as this +entertainment of the Ambassadors from France is over, I will set about +inquiring into the aspect of affairs, and find out my Lord Burleigh's +views. If I see cause to change my mind, I will not be too proud to own +it.'</p> + +<p>'That is like my noble Philip,' his mother said. 'Ah, my son, this heavy +money trouble as to debts and ceaseless claims, makes of me an old woman, +far more than the scars of the dire disease which snatched away my beauty +twenty years ago. You were but a little fellow then, but then, as now, wise +beyond your years. It was hard for me to meet your inquiring gaze, and to +hear the smothered sigh as you looked on your mother's changed face. While +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +little Mary drew back from my offered kiss, and cried out, "It is not my +pretty mother," you put your arms round me, saying to her, "It is our own +dear mother, Mary. Fie then, for shame," as she struggled to get away from +the woman who tried to force her to kiss me.' Then with the swift change of +mood which characterised Lady Sidney she stroked Philip's cheek, and said +laughing,—'How many fair ladies are sighing for your favour, my son? Truly +the hearts of many must be in danger of capture. Wit, wisdom, learning and +beauty such as yours do not often go hand in hand.'</p> + +<p>'Nay; now, mother mine, I shall say you have taken lessons in the school of +flattery, for which you were ready to take me to task not long ago. But I +must away to look round the stables, and see to the proper equipment of the +men who will ride with me to the tourney at Whitehall next month.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>Lucy Forrester found her household duties irksome the next morning.</p> + +<p>A wrangle with her stepmother had ended in a stormy scene, when Mrs +Forrester gave Lucy a sudden box on the ear for neglecting to replenish the +fire on the open hearth with wood, so that when it was time to hang up the +kettle to boil the meat for the dinner, served at eleven o'clock to the +family, there were only a few smouldering white ashes left.</p> + +<p>'As if I cared a groat for you! Box the other ear if you like, and kindle +your own fire, for me.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You shall not have bite or sup in this house to-day,' Mrs Forrester +screamed, as Lucy darted out of the kitchen, answering,—</p> + +<p>'I don't want your food. I know where I shall be better served.'</p> + +<p>With flashing eyes and heightened colour, Lucy found herself face to face, +on the strip of rough ground before the house, with Humphrey Ratcliffe.</p> + +<p>'Mistress Lucy,' he exclaimed, 'whether are you rushing like a whirlwind?'</p> + +<p>'Anywhere, to get out of hearing of that tongue. Hark, now, it is still +wagging like the clapper of a bell.'</p> + +<p>'Where is Mistress Gifford?' Humphrey asked, without taking any notice of +Lucy's reference to the quarrel which he guessed had been raging.</p> + +<p>'Oh, it's Mary you want to see, not me,' Lucy said. 'Well, she is gone up +to the shepherd's hut to look after a sick child there. She has got the boy +with her, and I promised to see to the fire on the hearth, but I didn't, +and that is the cause of the uproar. But good Master Humphrey, help me to +get to London to see the great tourney. Oh!' clasping her her hands in +entreaty, 'I pray you help me to get there. I am so sick of this place. Why +should I be kept here till I am old?'</p> + +<p>'That is a-far off day, Mistress Lucy,' Humphrey said. 'But I have a plan +which, if it succeeds, may give you your desire.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you are good, Master Humphrey, so good!' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>'My mother wishes to see London again, and I can provide her with lodgings +not far from Whitehall. It may be there will be a corner found for you, +that is to say, if Mistress Gifford approves.'</p> + +<p>'I'll make her approve, I warrant. I am to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe this +evening, and I will be as meek as a lamb and curtsey my lowest to her, and +call her madam, and be ever so smiling to Master George. I'll win favour +for once.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey discreetly forbore to let Lucy know that it was at George's +earnest desire he had determined to make this proposal to their mother.</p> + +<p>'Tell me, Master Humphrey, will Mr Sidney be coming this way to-day?'</p> + +<p>'It may be; he had to choose two extra horses from George's stalls for the +journey. George himself is, of course, to be in attendance, and one of our +serving men as groom. It is possible that Mr Sidney may be coming either +to-day or on the morrow.'</p> + +<p>'He will not pass without seeing Mary. I wish—'</p> + +<p>But Lucy had not time to say what the wish was, for Mary Gifford and her +little son were now seen coming along a field path which led down the +hillside from the open country beyond.</p> + +<p>Humphrey stepped forward quickly to meet them, and lifted Ambrose over the +stile, in spite of his declaration that he could get over by himself.</p> + +<p>Humphrey tossed the child high in the air before he set him on his legs +again, and then said to Mary,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Out on a mission of mercy, as is your wont, Mistress Gifford.'</p> + +<p>Mary's colour rose as she said,—</p> + +<p>'The sick and poor are always in the world.'</p> + +<p>'And the sad also,' Humphrey said, with an appealing look, which Mary +understood only too well.</p> + +<p>'Come and see the little chickies, Master Humphrey,' Ambrose said. 'There's +three little ducks amongst them. Aunt Lou put the eggs under the old mother +for fun. Grannie does not know, and when the little ducklings waddle off to +the pond, she'll be in a fright, and think they'll all be drowned, and so +will the hen.'</p> + +<p>But Humphrey scarcely heeded the child's chatter, he was earnestly looking +at Mary Gifford's face.</p> + +<p>Surely there must be some fresh cause of trouble there, for he thought he +saw traces of recent tears.</p> + +<p>Little Ambrose, finding his appeal to Humphrey took no effect, scampered +off to the poultry yard, Lucy following. She thought it would be wiser to +leave Humphrey to plead her cause, and persuade Mary that if his mother +would consent to her journey to London, she was better out of the way when +Mary raised objections to the fulfilment of her wishes.</p> + +<p>'Is there any new cause of trouble, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey asked.</p> + +<p>'Nothing new—as you take the word.'</p> + +<p>'Nought in which I can be of help?'</p> + +<p>Mary hesitated, and Humphrey said,—</p> + +<p>'The wrangles and quarrels yonder are on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +increase. Is that so?' he +asked. 'I heard loud voices when I came up to the house a short time ago, +and Lucy rushed out with flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes.'</p> + +<p>'Poor child,' Mary said, 'I will not say there is not blame on both sides, +but the life we lead yonder becomes more and more hard. It is ill training +for my little son to see angry passions raging, and to hear loud +reproaches.'</p> + +<p>'I know it! I know it!' Humphrey exclaimed. 'End it, Mary—end it for ever, +and come and bless me with your love.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Humphrey, do not urge me to do what is impossible. It cannot be.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe turned away with an impatient gesture, saying,—</p> + +<p>'I see no glory in self-martyrdom. I offer you a home, and I swear to +protect you from all evil, and keep your boy from evil, train him to be a +noble gentleman, and, forsooth, you turn away and will have none of me.'</p> + +<p>'Dear friend,' Mary began in a low voice, 'trust me so far as to believe +that I have a reason—a good reason—for refusing what would be, I doubt +not, a haven of calm after the troubled waters of my life. Trust me, kind +Master Ratcliffe, nor think ill of me. I pray you.'</p> + +<p>'Ill of you! nay, Mary, you know no saint in heaven is ever more devoutly +worshipped than I worship you.' But, seeing her distress as he said these +words,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +he went on,—'I will wait, I will bide my time, and, meanwhile, +serve you in all ways I can. Here is this child, your young sister, chafing +against the life she leads here. I will do my best to persuade my mother to +take her in her company to London for the grand show, and it may be that +some great lady may take a fancy for her, and she may win a place as +waiting-woman about the person of some Court dame. Do you consent? Do you +give me permission to try?'</p> + +<p>'But Lucy is not in favour with your mother; she disdains us as beneath her +notice.'</p> + +<p>'Not you—not Lucy; it is your father's widow whom she mislikes. Her +Puritan whims and fancies are a cause of offence, and no aversions are so +strong as those begotten by religious difference.'</p> + +<p>'That is so, alas!' Mary Gifford said. 'Persecution for diversity of faith, +rather for diversity in the form of worship: it is this that tears this +country into baleful divisions, and pierces it with wounds which are slow +to heal.'</p> + +<p>'That is true,' Humphrey said; 'and the law, condemning all Papists to +suffer extreme penalty, if found worshipping God after their own manner, +has a cruel significance. But we must not forget the fires of Smithfield, +nor the horrors to which this country was subjected when Spanish influence +was at work with a Papist queen on the throne.'</p> + +<p>'No,' Mary said in a low voice. 'Nor can we forget the grey head of that +queen's dearest friend, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +was brought to the block, and stirred the +bitterness of revenge in Queen Mary's heart.'</p> + +<p>'Well,' Humphrey said, 'I am vowed to resist, with all possible might, the +encroachments of Spain,—which means the plotting of Philip to force the +religion of the Pope upon an unwilling people—in the Low Countries first, +and then, believe me, he will not stop there. Mr Sidney's protest against +the Queen's marriage with the Duc of Anjou was founded on the horror he +felt of seeing this realm given over once more to the power of the Pope. Mr +Sidney saw, with his own eyes, the Massacre of St Bartholomew; and what +security could there be if any of this crafty Medici race should be set on +high in this country?'</p> + +<p>'Mr Sidney has changed somewhat in his views. Is it not so?' Mary asked.</p> + +<p>'He has submitted to the inevitable—that is to say, finding the Queen +determined, he, with Lord Burleigh and others in high office, will confer +with the ambassadors who come from France for the purpose—praying +secretly, however, that the whole matter may fall to pieces. And, indeed, +this is likely. The Queen's highness is loth to lose her supremacy, and +there are favourites at Court who would ill brook to be displaced by a +rival power. My lord the Earl of Leicester is one, though he hides his real +feeling from his nephew, my noble master.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford was silent for a few moments, then she said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>'If you can aid my poor little sister to get her heart's desire, do so. I +consent, for life here is not to be desired for many reasons. Ah! Master +Ratcliffe,' Mary said, 'how fair is this world, and is there a fairer spot +in it than these our native hills and valleys over which we look every day? +See the wooded heights yonder, in all the varied colours of the early +spring; see the sloping pastures, where the flowers make a carpet! Often as +I look on it, and see the tower of the church rising amongst the red-tiled +roofs of the cottages, and beyond, the stately pile of Penshurst Castle, I +think if only sin were absent, and truth and righteousness reigned, this +village would find no rival save in the Eden before the serpent entered, +and the ruin came with sin!'</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe liked to watch Mary's face as she spoke; but, as he left +her, a few minutes later, he felt there was something which divided them +and made his suit hopeless. What was it?</p> + +<p>He knew but little of the history of her short married life. Her suitor had +come in the train of the Earl of Leicester in one of his visits to +Penshurst.</p> + +<p>That she had been cruelly deceived was known, and that she had come back to +her old home of Ford Manor with her child, clad in the weeds of widowhood, +but saying nothing of what had really happened. Rumour had been busy, and +Ambrose Gifford had been supposed to have been slain in a disgraceful +fight; but nothing was absolutely certain; and Humphrey Ratcliffe, who had +known Mary from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +her girlhood, now discovered that he had loved her always, +and that he had failed to win her in her early youth because he had never +tried to do so, and now that he loved her passionately, he was to find his +suit was hopeless.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the similarity between his own case and that of his master's +that made the tie between them stronger than is often the case between an +esquire and his chief. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="center">A STRANGE MEETING</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Before the door sat self-consuming Care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day and night keeping wary watch and ward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fear lest Force or Fraud should unaware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break in, and spoil the treasure there in gard.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Spenser</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +Lucy Forrester soon forgot the vexation and anger which her stepmother's +scolding had roused. She kept out of her sight, and entertained little +Ambrose with stories of fairies and elfs and imps and hobgoblins till the +time came for her to go up the hill to the Ratcliffes' house.</p> + +<p>Lucy did not attempt to sit down at the board when dinner was served at +eleven o'clock. She had once or twice, when in disgrace, rebelled at the +sight of the crust of bread and the mug of water which had been set before +her as a token of Mistress Forrester's displeasure.</p> + +<p>'I am not a child now,' she thought, 'to be gaped at by serving men and +maids. I will take care of myself in the buttery, and then get ready for my +walk up the hill. Perhaps, who knows, I may +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> chance to meet Mr Sidney, and +I may get a word from him or a rare smile; and then a fig for frowns and +the rating and scolding of fifty cross stepmothers! I wish Mary did not +look so grave. I hate to grieve her. Well-a-day, if only I can get to +London, and see him in the tourney, I shall die of joy.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was scarcely sixteen, an enthusiastic child, who had conceived a +romantic devotion for Mr Philip Sidney, and worshipped his ideal as maidens +of her temperament have worshipped at their idol's shrine since time began.</p> + +<p>And who can blame this country maiden if she cherished a passionate +admiration for one, who won the hearts of Court ladies and hoary statesmen +of a grave scholar like Hubert Languet, and of the Queen herself, who +called him the brightest jewel of her Court, and who often excited the +jealousy of her older favourites by the marks of favour she bestowed on +him.</p> + +<p>In the village church on Sundays Lucy would sit with anxious, eager +expectation till she saw the Sidney pew filled; if Mr Sidney was present it +was an hour or two of bliss; if, as was frequently the case, his place was +empty, she would bow her head to hide the tears of vexation and +disappointment which started to her eyes.</p> + +<p>Nor have these dreams of youthful romance wholly passed away. Even in the +rush and hurry of the prosaic world at the end of the nineteenth century +they yet give a certain pleasure of unfulfilled longings +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>to some young +hearts, and fade away like the early cloud and morning dew, to leave behind +only a memory of mingled pain and sweetness, recalled in after time with +something of self-pity and something of surprise that such things had ever +seemed real and not visionary, and had touched the warm springs in the +heart now chilled, it may be, by the stern exigencies of this transitory +life.</p> + +<p>It must be said that few idols have been worthier of youthful adoration +than was this true knight at whose shrine Lucy laid her heart. If there +were spots in the sun, 'wandering isles of night,' which were at this time +somewhat darkening its lustre, they were unknown to Lucy Forrester. Philip +Sidney was to her all that was noble, pure, and true, and, as she put on +her prettiest cap, with its long veil and little edge of seed pearls, +Mary's gift, and crossed her finest kerchief across her breast, she saw +herself in the bit of polished steel which served for her mirror, and +smiled as she thought,—</p> + +<p>'What if I meet him on the way, he may look at me with some approval. I +cannot help it. I do love to be fair, and why should I pretend I am ugly, +even to myself. No,' she went on turning her graceful head, first to the +right and then to the left, before the little mirror; 'no, I can't pretend +to be ugly, like Doll Ratcliffe, who makes eyes at poor old George. She may +have him, ay, and welcome, for all I care.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was pirouetting round the confined space of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> her attic chamber, which +was bare enough of all ornament, and mean and humble in its furniture, when +little Ambrose's feet were heard on the wooden stairs leading to this upper +story of the old house, and he called, in his loud, childish treble,—</p> + +<p>'Aunt Lou, you are to come down and see Mr Sidney.'</p> + +<p>Lucy clasped her small hands together in an ecstasy of delight.</p> + +<p>'Is it true—is it true, Ambrose? Child, is it true?'</p> + +<p>'I always say true things, mother saith lies are wicked,' the boy +exclaimed. 'You are very pretty, Aunt Lou. I like you. I wish mother would +wear red gowns, and—and—'</p> + +<p>But Lucy paid no heed to the child's compliments. She gave a parting look +at the mirror, and then brushed past little Ambrose and went downstairs +with a beating heart.</p> + +<p>Mr Sidney was standing on the rough ground before Ford Place, leaning +against the gnarled trunk of an ancient thorn tree, which had yet life +enough left in it to put forth its tiny, round buds of pink and white, soon +to open and fill the air with fragrance.</p> + +<p>By his side Mary Gifford stood, with her face turned towards the smiling +landscape before her.</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney, with the courtesy of the true gentleman, advanced to Lucy +with his cap in his hand, bending the knee, and greeting her with all the +grace and courtly ceremony with which he would have greeted the highest +lady in the land. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl's face shone with proud delight, and the young voice trembled a +little as she said, in answer to his question,—</p> + +<p>'I thank you, sir, I am well and hearty.'</p> + +<p>'I need scarce ask the question,' Mr Sidney said. 'With your good sister's +approval, I came to inquire if you would care to fill the vacant place in +my sister the Countess of Pembroke's household. She leaves Penshurst +shortly, and will be at Leicester House before returning to Wilton. One of +her gentlewomen is summoned to her father's deathbed, and Mistress Crawley, +her bower-woman, needs help. I am not learned in the secrets of the +toilette, but you would soon learn what might be expected of you.'</p> + +<p>'And shall I see the great show, sir—shall I see the tourney and the +knights tilting?' Lucy said, unable to repress her joy.</p> + +<p>'Doubtless,' Mr Sidney replied laughing. 'But, Mistress Lucy, it will not +be all play. Mistress Crawley is a somewhat stern task-mistress. My sister +bade me say as much. Therefore, consider the proposal well, and consult +Mistress Gifford, than whom you cannot have a wiser counsellor.'</p> + +<p>'Mary,' Lucy exclaimed, 'I may go to serve my Lady of Pembroke? Speak, +Mary.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford now turned towards Lucy and Mr Sidney. Up to this time she had +averted her face.</p> + +<p>'You must remember, Lucy,' she said gently, 'Mr +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> Sidney's words. It will +not be all play, and, methinks, you have often shown impatience of control +and undue heat when your will is crossed.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's face flushed crimson, as she answered,—</p> + +<p>'It is not kind to say this, Mary. You know—you must know how hard it is +to please the one who rules here.'</p> + +<p>'I know it, dear child, full well,' Mary said. 'But we must not hinder Mr +Sidney longer. It will be only right to consult our stepmother, and crave +leave of Mr Sidney to defer an answer till the morrow.'</p> + +<p>'By all means, Mistress Gifford, do so,' Philip Sidney said.</p> + +<p>While these words had passed between the two sisters, little Ambrose had +been curiously stroking the hilt of Mr Sidney's sword, and fingering the +wide ends of the belt which held it in its place.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' the child said, 'I hope I shall have a sword when I am a man, and go +to battle with you, sir. Will you take me with you when I am big and +strong?'</p> + +<p>'Will I not!' Mr Sidney said. 'The time may come when I shall want to +gather all loyal hearts round me for service. I'll not forget you, Ambrose, +if so it chances.'</p> + +<p>'You are but a little child, my son,' Mary said, with a sudden gesture, +putting her arm round him. 'You must stay with your mother for a long, long +time, and be a dutiful son.'</p> + +<p>'I am near seven years old, and I can fling a stone +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> further than Giles, +the cowherd's boy, and I can bend a bow, and—'</p> + +<p>'Hush, my little son,' Mary Gifford said. 'Do not chatter of your doings. +Mr Sidney does not care to hear of them.'</p> + +<p>'Strength of limb is good,' Philip said, 'but strength of will is better, +little Ambrose. Strive to be a dutiful son to the best of mothers. A +fatherless boy has to do his utmost to have a care of his mother.'</p> + +<p>The child left Philip Sidney's side, and went to his mother, who had turned +away her face, with an exclamation of distress.</p> + +<p>'Fatherless,' she repeated; 'ay, and worse than fatherless!'</p> + +<p>But the words did not reach Mr Sidney's ears. His groom was waiting for him +at the gate leading to the lane, and, taking Ambrose by the hand, he +said,—</p> + +<p>'Come with me, boy, and I will give you a ride to the end of the lane; and +do you, Mistress Lucy, follow, and take back the young horseman when I have +put him down, if it please you.'</p> + +<p>'I will come also,' Mary Gifford said hastily.</p> + +<p>She could scarcely bear her boy out of her sight, and watched him with +anxious eyes, as Sir Philip set him on the saddle, across which his small +legs could scarcely stride, the child dumb with delight, his eyes +sparkling, his little hands clutching the bridle-rein, and his figure drawn +up to its full height. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, have a care, Ambrose,' Mary exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Mr Sidney laughed.</p> + +<p>'He shall come to no harm, Mistress Gifford. My hand is ready to stop him +if he falls. But, indeed, there is no fear; he sits square and upright, +like a man.'</p> + +<p>The beautiful, well-trained horse arched his neck in reply to his master's +'Softly, Hero—quietly,' as he stepped out, raising his feet deliberately, +with that stately air which marks high breeding, and pacing down the rugged +path of the lane, with slow and measured tread, Mr Sidney at his side, the +groom in attendance following with the other horse.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I would like to ride like thus far, far away,' the boy said, as Mr +Sidney lifted him down, and set him by his mother's side.</p> + +<p>'Make Mr Sidney your bow, and say you are grateful to him for this great +kindness, Ambrose.'</p> + +<p>The child was almost too excited to speak, but Mr Sidney sprang lightly +into the saddle, and, with a parting smile to Lucy, with the words, 'We +shall await your decision, Mistress Forrester,' he rode away, the groom +following.</p> + +<p>Lucy stood at the turn of the road, watching the horses and the riders, +till they had disappeared, and then she returned to the house with Mary, +like the child, too happy to speak. They reached the house together, and +were met by Mrs Forrester.</p> + +<p>She had heard of Mr Sidney's visit, and had hastened upstairs to exchange +her coarse homespun +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +for a gown of grey taffeta and a kirtle of the same +colour; a large white cap or hood was set a little awry on her thin, grey +hair.</p> + +<p>'You might have had the grace to ask Mr Sidney to step in,' she said +sharply to Mary Gifford. 'It is ill manners to stand chaffering outside +when the mistress of a house would fain offer a cup of mead to her guest. +But I never look for aught but uncivil conduct from either of you. What are +you pranked out for like this?' she asked, addressing Lucy.</p> + +<p>'I am going to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe. You needn't look so cross. I +sha'n't trouble you long. I am going to Court with my Lady Pembroke, and I +may never darken your doors again.'</p> + +<p>'You'll get into mischief like your sister before you, I'll warrant, and if +you do, don't come back here, for I'll shut the door in your face, as sure +as my name is Anne Forrester.'</p> + +<p>'Have no fear,' Lucy said. 'I am away now by the path across the hills.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Lucy!' Mary exclaimed. 'Nay, by the highway is best. The hill path is +lonesome. Stay, Lucy.'</p> + +<p>But Lucy was gone, and Mary, looking after her retreating figure, could not +gainsay Mistress Forrester, as she said,—</p> + +<p>'Wilful, headstrong little baggage, she will rue her behaviour some fine +day, as you have done.'</p> + +<p>'Mother,' Mary Gifford said, in a troubled voice, 'do not be for ever +reproaching me in the hearing of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +others, it is cruel. It may be better for +you and for me if I leave my father's house, and seek some humble refuge +with my boy.'</p> + +<p>But this did not suit Mistress Forrester's views. Mary Gifford was far too +useful to her. She could write, and manage the accounts of the farm; she +could, by a few calm words, effect more with lazy or careless serving men +and maids than their mistress did by scolding and reproofs, often +accompanied with a box on the ear or a sharp blow across the shoulder to +enforce what she said.</p> + +<p>It would not answer Mistress Forrester's purpose to let Mary Gifford go, so +she said,—</p> + +<p>'Hoity, toity! don't talk like that. It's folly to say you will leave a +good home when you have no home to go to. Bide here, and let bygones be +bygones. I am ready to be friendly if you'll let me. I must away now to see +about the two sick lambs; it's all along of the shepherd's ill treatment of +the ewe that I am like to lose 'em.'</p> + +<p>Mistress Forrester bustled away, and Mary Gifford was left with Ambrose, +who was making a hobbyhorse of a thick stick, scampering up and down, and +calling out,—</p> + +<p>'Gee-up, Hero! I'm off to the fight with Mr Sidney.'</p> + +<p>Mary looked at the boy with a strange, wistful smile.</p> + +<p>'Poor child!' she murmured, 'poor child! he hath no young comrades with +whom to make merry. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +is well he can be so jocund and happy. It is true +what Mistress Gifford saith, I have no home, and I must bide quietly here, +for the boy is safe, and who can tell to what danger I might not expose him +if I ventured forth with him into the world again.'</p> + +<p>Lucy Forrester went gaily across the open ground, fearless of any danger +from horned cattle, of which there were several feeding on the short sweet +grass.</p> + +<p>She sang as she went, out of the gladness of her heart; triumph, too, +mingled with the gladness.</p> + +<p>How surprised Mistress Ratcliffe would be to hear she was to be a +waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. George had thought of +asking his mother to take her to London. Humphrey had spoken of a corner +being found for her. Now, what did it matter whether Mistress Ratcliffe +consented or not to her son's desire. She had no need to be beholden to +her. She would be lodged in a grand house, and have a place with the ladies +of the Countess's household.</p> + +<p>Remembering how Mistress Ratcliffe had often looked down upon her and Mary, +it was a keen delight to her to feel how chagrined she would be at her +unexpected good fortune.</p> + +<p>It was not absolutely settled yet, but she was sure Mary would give +consent, and, on the morrow, after service in the church, she would be +admitted to the grand house at Penshurst, and see the Countess herself, and +perhaps Mr Philip Sidney. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perched on a stile to rest, Lucy indulged in a prolonged meditation on the +fair prospect which had so unexpectedly opened before her. Of course Mary +would make no real objection. No one ever did resist Mr Philip Sidney's +will, and it was he had proposed the scheme, and he wished her to be one of +his sister's waiting-women.</p> + +<p>This gave the poor, little fluttering heart the most intense pleasure, +which she could scarcely dare to acknowledge, even to herself. Still, had +not Mr Sidney come to offer the coveted place to her—come himself? And had +he not beamed on her with his beautiful smile? Yes, and with admiring eyes!</p> + +<p>How long Lucy might have indulged in these thoughts it is impossible to +say, had she not been suddenly conscious that she was not alone.</p> + +<p>Stealthy footsteps were heard approaching from behind, and, turning her +head, she saw a tall man, wearing a long cloak, much the worse for wear, +and a hat, with neither band nor feather, pulled down over his eyes.</p> + +<p>Lucy started, and jumped from the stile, her heart beating violently, and +her face, which a few moments before had been radiant with pleasure, pale +and frightened.</p> + +<p>'Whither away, little maiden; why so scared?' the man said. 'I mean no +harm. See!' he said, taking a rosary from under his cloak, 'see, I kiss the +blessed cross, in token that you need not fear. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> I am a poor Catholic, +hiding from persecutors, wandering about and living in dens and caves of +the earth.'</p> + +<p>Lucy had, in her short life, heard nothing but condemnation of Papists. +When she thought of them at all, it was with horror, and her knees trembled +under her, and her voice was scarcely audible as she said,—</p> + +<p>'Prithee, sir, suffer me to pass.'</p> + +<p>'On one condition. You know a house called Ford Place?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, sir, I do; and I will run back thither and—'</p> + +<p>'You will <i>not</i> do so, little maiden; you will tell me how it fares with a +gentlewoman there, called Mary Gifford?'</p> + +<p>'She is well, sir; she is—'</p> + +<p>'Hearken! She has a boy named Ambrose. I would fain see him. Bring him +hither to me, and I will call on all the saints to bless you. Our Lady +shall watch over you and grant you your heart's desire.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot do it, sir; I dare not! Let me pass. If you would fain see the +boy, go to the house.'</p> + +<p>'And be seized and taken off before the grand folk down yonder and +imprisoned, and, it may be, tortured. Hearken,' he went on, bringing his +face unpleasantly near Lucy's, 'hearken, I can call down blessings on you, +but I can call down bitter curses also. Your heart's desire shall be denied +you, you shall eat the bread of affliction and drink the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +water of tears, +if you betray me. If you keep my secret, and let me see that boy, blessings +shall be showered on you; choose now.'</p> + +<p>Poor Lucy was but a child, she had scarcely counted out sixteen years. This +strange man, with his keen dark eyes gleaming under the black cap and +looking as if they read her very soul, seemed to get her into his power. +She was faint with terror, and looked round in vain for help, for some one +to come who would deliver her from her trouble.</p> + +<p>With a cry of delight she sprang again on the topmost rung of the stile, as +she saw George Ratcliffe's giant form appearing in the distance on the +slope of a rising ground.</p> + +<p>The hillside was covered in this part with great hillocks of heather and +gorse.</p> + +<p>Apparently her persecutor had also caught sight of the approaching figure, +for he relaxed his hold on her wrist, which he had seized as she had sprung +up on the stile, and, looking back when she had run some distance towards +George, she saw that the man had disappeared.</p> + +<p>'George! George!' she cried, as he came with great strides towards her, +and, to his intense satisfaction, even in his dismay at her apparent +distress, threw herself into his arms. 'George! a dreadful man, a Papist, +has scared me. He will curse me, George. Oh! it is terrible to be cursed. +Save me from him.'</p> + +<p>George looked about in bewilderment. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I see no man. There is no one near, Lucy. I see no one.'</p> + +<p>'Did you not see him as you came in sight?'</p> + +<p>'Nay, I was thinking only of you, and hoping to meet you on your way. I saw +no man, nor did I see you till I had come up yonder rising ground, just as +you mounted the stile. Be not so distressed,' George said, 'we will scour +the country for the villain, for villain he must be if he is a Papist; but +come now with me. My mother is well-pleased that you should sup with us. +Oh! Lucy,' George said, with lover-like earnestness, 'smile again, I pray +you, it goes to my heart to see you thus scared, though without reason, I +trust. Will it please you to stay here, while I go and unearth the wretch, +and belabour him till there is no breath left in him.'</p> + +<p>'No, no, George, don't leave me. I should fear to be left alone. Don't, +don't leave me.'</p> + +<p>George was only too willing to remain, and presently Lucy grew calmer, and +they walked slowly across the heath together.</p> + +<p>George was too happy for many words, and scarcely heeding even Lucy's +account of her adventure, in the bliss of having her clinging to his arm, +and the memory of that moment when she threw herself upon him for +protection and safety.</p> + +<p>'What can he want with Ambrose, Mary's child? He tried to make me promise +to bring him to that spot, that he might see him. What can it mean? It will +frighten Mary when I tell her, for she is ever +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +dismayed if the child is +long-out of her sight. What can it mean?'</p> + +<p>'I cannot say,' George replied, dreamily. 'Thank God you are safe. That man +is some agent of the devil, but I will put Humphrey on the scent, and we +will track him out. I have heard there is a nest of Papists hiding in +Tunbridge. Doubtless he is one. Forget him now, Lucy; forget him, and be +happy.'</p> + +<p>'He gripped my wrist so hard,' Lucy said, holding up her little hand like a +child for pity.</p> + +<p>It is small wonder that George treated her as a child, and, taking the +little hand in his, pressed a fervent kiss upon it.</p> + +<p>This seemed to recall Lucy from her clinging, softened mood. She sprang +away from George with heightened colour, and said, with all her old +brightness,—</p> + +<p>'I have news for you. I am going to London to see the tourney, and I am to +be one of my Lady of Pembroke's waiting-women. Isn't that grand news?'</p> + +<p>Poor George! his dream of bliss was over now.</p> + +<p>'Going away!—for how long a space?' he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>'Ah! that I cannot tell you, for more weeks or months than I can count, may +be.'</p> + +<p>George, who had with Humphrey done his utmost to persuade their mother to +consent to take Lucy with her, in the event of her going to London, without +success, or, rather, without a distinct promise that she would do so, was +fairly bewildered. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>'How did it come about?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh! that is a question, indeed, Master Ratcliffe. There is someone you +know of who can bring about what he wishes. It is he who has commended me +to my Lady Pembroke, hearing, it may be, from your brother, that I wished +to see the tourney, and the Queen, and all the fine doings. Mr Sidney came +himself to offer the place of waiting-woman to me.'</p> + +<p>'Came himself!' George exclaimed.</p> + +<p>'And, prithee, why not; am I beneath his notice as I am beneath your +mother's? It seems not.'</p> + +<p>George had not time to reply, for, on the square of turf before the house, +Mistress Ratcliffe and her niece, Dorothy Ratcliffe, were apparently +awaiting their arrival.</p> + +<p>'You are late, George, as is your wont,' his mother said. 'Doll must make +you more mindful of the fixed time for meals. Is this young woman Mistress +Forrester's daughter? I bid you kindly welcome.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you, madam,' Lucy said. 'I have seen you many a time, and, +methinks, you must have seen me; but, doubtless, I was not like to be +remembered by such as you and Mistress Dorothy.'</p> + +<p>This little thrust passed unnoticed. Mistress Ratcliffe merely said,—</p> + +<p>'George, lead your cousin Doll to the hall, for supper is served. Mistress +Lucy, will you permit me to take your hand?'</p> + +<p>Lucy made another curtsey, as George, with a rueful face, obeyed his mother +and handed his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +cousin up the stone steps to the porch, his mother and Lucy following.</p> + +<p>Mistress Ratcliffe was attired in her best gown, with a long-pointed waist +and tight sleeves slashed with purple. Her ruff rivalled the Queen's in +thickness and height; and the heavy folds of her lute-string skirt were +held out by a wide hoop, which occupied the somewhat narrow doorway as they +entered the hall.</p> + +<p>Lucy was more than usually hungry, and did full justice to the pasties and +conserves of apples which graced the board. As she looked at Dorothy +Ratcliffe her heart swelled with triumph, for she was not slow to notice +that the household below the salt cast admiring glances at her, and that +Dorothy attracted no attention.</p> + +<p>George's spirits had sunk below their accustomed level, and his mother +sharply reproved him for inattention to his cousin.</p> + +<p>'You are ill performing the duties of a host, George. See, Doll's trencher +is empty, and the grace-cup is standing by your elbow unheeded. Are you +dreaming, George, or half-asleep?'</p> + +<p>'I crave pardon, mother,' George said, with a great effort rousing himself. +'Now then, cousin Doll, let me carve you a second portion of the pasty; or, +mayhap, the wing of this roast pullet will suit your dainty appetite +better.'</p> + +<p>Dorothy pouted.</p> + +<p>'I have not such vulgar appetites as some folk. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Nay, I thank you, cousin, +I will but taste a little whipped cream with a sweet biscuit.'</p> + +<p>George piled up a mountain of frothy cream on one of the silver plates, +which were the pride and glory of his mother. The wooden trenchers were +used for the heavier viands; but these silver plates were brought out in +honour of guests, for the sweets or fruit which always came at the +conclusion of the repast.</p> + +<p>These silver plates were kept brightly burnished, and Lucy, as she saw +herself reflected in hers, said, laughing,—</p> + +<p>'It is pleasant to eat off mirrors—that is to say when what we see there +is pleasant.'</p> + +<p>Madam Ratcliffe, although full of satisfaction to have her 'household gods' +admired, concealed it, and said, with an inclination of her head towards +Dorothy,—</p> + +<p>'It is no novel thing for you to eat off silver, but I dare to say it is +the first time Mistress Lucy has done so.'</p> + +<p>'That may be true, madam,' Lucy said—she was never at a loss for a +rejoinder—'but, methinks, I shall soon eat off silver every day an' I +choose to do it.'</p> + +<p>'How so?' asked Mistress Ratcliffe; but the moment the question was asked, +she repented showing any curiosity about it, and made a diversion to +prevent a reply by suddenly breaking into admiration of the lace which +trimmed Dorothy Ratcliffe's bodice.</p> + +<p>'It is Flemish point, sure; and did it not descend +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +to you, Doll, from your +grandmother? I have a passion for old lace; and these sapphires of your +brooch are of fine water. Now, shall we repair to the parlour, and you, +Dorothy, will discourse some sweet music on your mandoline.'</p> + +<p>The parlour was a dark room, with oak panels, and a heavy beam across the +ceiling. The floor was polished oak, which was slippery to unwary feet. The +open fireplace was filled by a large beau-pot filled with a posy of flowing +shrubs and long grass and rushes.</p> + +<p>Rushes were strewn on the raised floor of the square bay window. A +spinning-wheel stood there, and the stool of carved oak, where Mistress +Ratcliffe sat when at her work, that she might have an eye to any who came +in at the gate, and perhaps catch one of the serving-maids gossiping with a +passer-by.</p> + +<p>There was a settle in one corner of the parlour, and a cupboard with +shelves in a recess in the thick wall. Here the silver was kept, and some +curious old figures which had been, like the plate, handed down from the +ancestors of whom Mistress Ratcliffe was so proud.</p> + +<p>In another recess were a few books, in heavy vellum bindings—Tyndale's +translation of the Bible, with silver clasps; and some dull sermons, +roughly bound, with an early edition of the Boke of Chess; the prayer-book +of Edward the Sixth, and some smaller and insignificant volumes, completed +Mistress Ratcliffe's library. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mistress Ratcliffe did not concern herself with the awakening life of these +remarkable times in literature and culture.</p> + +<p>It was nothing to her that numerous poets and authors, from Edmund Spenser +to many humbler craftsmen of the pen, were busy translating from the +Italian the tales of Boccaccio, or the Latin of Virgil.</p> + +<p>The horizon had not yet widened to the small landed proprietors of these +days, and education, as we understand the word, was confined to the few, +and had not reached the people to whom the concerns of everyday life were +all-important. Women like Mistress Ratcliffe could often scarcely write +their own names, and read slowly and with difficulty the psalms in their +prayer-book, or the lessons of the Church in their Bible.</p> + +<p>Spelling was eccentric, even in the highest circles, as many letters still +preserved in family archives prove, and was made to suit the ear and eye of +the writer, without reference to rule or form.</p> + +<p>The evening passed somewhat slowly. There was an evident restraint upon +every one present.</p> + +<p>Dorothy's performance on the mandoline did not elicit much praise, except +from Mistress Ratcliffe, who was annoyed that George should seat himself on +the settle, by Lucy's side, and encourage her to talk, instead of listening +while his cousin sang a melancholy ditty, in anything but a musical voice.</p> + +<p>When Dorothy had finished, she laid down the mandoline in a pet, and +yawning, said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I am weary after my long ride from Tunbridge, Aunt Ratcliffe. I pray you +forgive me if I retire early to bed.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Doll, you must have a cup of spiced wine ere you go, we cannot spare +you yet.'</p> + +<p>'It is plain I am not wanted, so I can well be spared,' was the reply, with +a disagreeable laugh and a jerk of the head in the direction of the settle.</p> + +<p>Lucy now sprang up, saying,—</p> + +<p>'I, too, must crave leave to bid you good evening, Mistress Ratcliffe. I +have to settle plans with my sister before I sleep to-night, and the +evening shadows are falling.'</p> + +<p>'If you must leave us, Mistress Forrester,' Mistress Ratcliffe said +stiffly, 'I may as well inform you, with regret, that the plan proposed by +my sons for asking you to bear me company to London in a useful capacity, +cannot be fulfilled. I take my niece with me, and two serving-men on the +second horse, hence—'</p> + +<p>'Oh! madam,' Lucy said, 'there is no need of excusations. I go to London in +the next week as waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. It may +be that I shall see you there, and I shall be sure to know you and Mistress +Dorothy, and make you my proper reverence, even if you have forgotten me.'</p> + +<p>'The impudent little hussy!' Mistress Ratcliffe murmured, but she retained +her feelings, and said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It is fortunate for you, Mistress Forrester, that you will be under due +control in London, for in good sooth you will need it. If you must go, good +evening.'</p> + +<p>Lucy turned at the door and made a profound curtsey, then, drawing her +kerchief closer to her throat, she left the room, George following.</p> + +<p>'I don't set much store by Mistress Forrester's manner, Aunt Ratcliffe,' +Dorothy said; 'an ill-bred country child, who, of course, is ignorant, so +we will pardon her.'</p> + +<p>'Ignorant, yes,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'but her pretty face.'</p> + +<p>'Pretty!' Dorothy screamed, 'Pretty! Nay, aunt, you cannot call that +baby-faced chit pretty. No air; no breeding; mere dairymaid's beauty. It +makes me laugh to think how proud she was of her fine gown and cap, which +only showed her awkward gait the more.' And Mistress Dorothy fingered her +Flemish lace and the string of beads round her short, thick neck, with +profound belief in her own charms.</p> + +<p>If Lucy's beauty was that of a milkmaid, Dorothy's was decidedly of a +different character. Her complexion was sallow and pale; her hair, which +was by no means abundant, was of the sandy hue, which she tried to persuade +herself was like the Queen's. Her eyes were of a greenish colour, and +deeply set under a heavy forehead, and her figure was angular and +ungraceful. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>Fine feathers do not always make a fine bird, and Dorothy Ratcliffe, +although with what in those days was considered to be a fortune at her +back, did not find fervent suitors for her favour. She was, therefore, very +ready to fall in with Mistress Ratcliffe's wishes, and take pains to +ingratiate herself with George, failing Humphrey, whose position as one of +Mr Sidney's esquires, made him the more desirable of the two brothers.</p> + +<p>Dorothy Ratcliffe was the child of George's uncle, who was a recluse living +at Tunbridge. He was a scholar and a pedant, and concerned himself but +little about his only child, whose fortune was inherited from her mother.</p> + +<p>Marriages in those days were generally settled for the people principally +concerned, with or without their consent, as it happened, and Master +Ratcliffe and George's mother had a sort of tacit understanding with each +other that Dorothy should take herself and her fortune to Hillbrow Place.</p> + +<p>Dorothy was not unwilling to find herself mistress there, but she had +always a lingering hope that Humphrey would at last be a victim to her +charms, and then it would be easy to throw George over.</p> + +<p>But things did not look very promising, and Dorothy asked, in an irritable +tone, before she parted with her aunt for the night,—</p> + +<p>'Is Humphrey so taken up with the grand folk that he cannot find the time +to pay his dutiful respects to you, aunt?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>'He was here late the last evening,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'and is, with +George, anxious to furnish Mr Sidney with the pick of the horses in the +stable. Humphrey can scarce stir from Mr Sidney.'</p> + +<p>'So it seems,' Dorothy said. 'Methinks, where there's a will there's a way; +but we shall have his company in London.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, and George's also. You will favour my poor boy's suit, Doll.'</p> + +<p>'Your poor boy! nay, aunt, he is not worthy of pity, when he wins favour +from a peerless beauty like Mistress Forrester. But let be, it will not +break my heart if he gives you this fair country maid for your daughter, +who has not—so I have heard—so much as a brass farthing to call her own.'</p> + +<p>Deeply chagrined, and with an uneasy suspicion that Dorothy might be right +in what she said, Mistress Ratcliffe left her niece to repose, saying to +herself, 'She has a tongue and a temper of her own, but we will soon tame +her when we get her here.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="center">THE HAWK AND THE BIRD</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'So doth the fox the lamb destroy we see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lion fierce, the beaver, roe or gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hawk the fowl, the greater wrong the less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lofty proud the lowly poor oppress.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">John Davies</span>, 1613.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +When George left Lucy at the door of Ford Place, she ran quickly through +the kitchen, where Mistress Forrester was resting on the settle after the +labours of the day.</p> + +<p>Things had not gone well with the sick lambs, both were dead, and one of +the cart-horses had gone lame, and the eggs of the pea-hen were addled.</p> + +<p>These circumstances were not likely to sweeten Mistress Forrester's temper, +and Lucy, who never bore malice, received a sharp answer in reply to her +inquiries as to the condition of the lambs.</p> + +<p>'They are dead, and much you care, flaunting off with your lover instead of +turning your hand to help at home.'</p> + +<p>'I could not have saved the lambs' lives,' Lucy said, 'but I am sorry they +are dead. I am sorry when any creature dies.'</p> + +<p>'I dare say! Be off to bed, for I am locking up in a minute.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Where is Mary?' Lucy asked.</p> + +<p>'A-bed. That boy has cut his little finger, or some such thing. Lor'! she +was like to swoon with terror when she saw the blood; the child himself was +not such a coward.'</p> + +<p>Lucy hastened upstairs, and found Mary by the window in her favourite seat. +A book lay open on her knee, and, when Lucy came in, she held up her hand, +and, pointing to the bed, said,—</p> + +<p>'Hush! he is asleep.'</p> + +<p>'What has happened?' Lucy said. 'Is the boy hurt?'</p> + +<p>'He cut his hand with an old knife, and the blood poured forth. Oh, Lucy, +if aught were to befall him, I scarce dare think of what would become of +me.'</p> + +<p>Lucy thought of the strange encounter she had had with the man on the hill +path, and wondered whether it were kind to raise her sister's fears about +Ambrose.</p> + +<p>'Come and sit by me, sweetheart,' Mary said, making room for her sister on +the deep window seat. 'I am troubled to-night with a shadow of coming +grief. Sure I have had enough, and I am young yet. Twenty-five is young, +though I dare to say I seem old to you, little sister. I am perplexed in +mind, and tossed about with doubt. Can you think of me as a merry, +light-hearted maiden, donning my smartest gown to go at Lady Mary's bidding +to the Park, where great festivities were held in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> honour of the Queen's +visit? Ah, child, it was then soft words and flattery turned my head, and +I—well, I have rued it to this hour. Thus, dear Lucy, when I think of your +going forth in my Lady Pembroke's train, I fear for you. I will pray also, +and pray God may watch over you.'</p> + +<p>'Then I may go,' Lucy said. 'I may really go. Oh, Mary, Mary, I am so +happy!'</p> + +<p>Then, remembering her encounter with the stranger she said,—</p> + +<p>'I met a man on the hill path as I went to Hillbrow. He scared me a little +bit, but George Ratcliffe came up, and he made off and like a ghost +vanished.'</p> + +<p>'A man!' Mary exclaimed, in a low voice of suppressed fear. 'What man?'</p> + +<p>'He was clad in a long cloak, with a cap pulled over his brow. He had evil +eyes—dark, piercing eyes.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford's clasp of her young sister tightened convulsively, and her +heart throbbed so that Lucy could feel it as she pressed her closer and +closer.</p> + +<p>'What did he say to you, this strange man?'</p> + +<p>'He said he would fain see little Ambrose, and bid me bring him to the +stile where he met me, that he might look at him. He said he would call a +curse down on me if I refused. He looked dreadful as he spoke. And then +George came. But, Mary—'</p> + +<p>For Mary had sprung to her feet, and, with hands clasped and eyes dilated +with terror, she stood like one struck down by some sudden blow. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Promise, swear, Lucy, you will never take the child outside the fence on +the hill side. Swear, Lucy.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was frightened by her sister's vehemence, and said,—</p> + +<p>'Yes, I promise. Oh, Mary, do not look like that. Do you know the man?'</p> + +<p>'Know him! know him! Nay. How should I?' Then she said, after a pause, +'Hush! we shall wake the boy. Let us talk no more to-night. Go to your bed, +child; it is late, and to-morrow—yes, to-morrow is Sunday—I will go down +with you to the church, and await my Lady Pembroke by the lych gate, and +you shall have your desire, and God keep you, and bless you.'</p> + +<p>Lucy quickly recovered her spirits; her heart was too full of delighted +anticipation to have room for any prolonged fear about her sister, though +her pale, terror-struck face, seen in the twilight, and her agonised appeal +to her to swear what she asked, made her say, as she lay down on her low +truckle bed in the little attic chamber next her sister's,—</p> + +<p>'Sure Mary must know something of that man. Perhaps he was a boon companion +of her wicked husband. Ah, me! it would be a different world if all men +were brave and good and noble like—'</p> + +<p>Before the name had taken shape on her lips, Lucy was asleep, and in her +dreams there were no dark strangers with cruel black eyes and sinister +smiles, but goodly knights, in glistening armour, riding out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> against their +adversaries, and goodlier and nobler than the rest, before whose lance all +others fell, while the air rang with the shouts of victory, was Mr Philip +Sidney.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>Sunday morning dawned fair and bright. The bells of Penshurst church were +chiming for matins, when Mary Gifford, leading her boy by the hand, stood +with Lucy under the elm tree by the timbered houses by the lych gate, +returning the kindly greetings of many neighbours and acquaintances.</p> + +<p>Overhead the great boughs of the elm tree were quivering in the soft +breeze. The buds, scarcely yet unfolded into leaf, were veiled with tender +green, while a sheaf of twigs on the trunk were clothed in emerald, in +advance of the elder branches, and making the sombre bole alive with +beauty, as the sunbeams sought them out, and cast their tiny, flickering +shadows on the ground.</p> + +<p>The village people always waited in the churchyard, or by the lych gate +till the household from the castle came through the door leading from the +Park to the church, and this morning their appearance was looked forward to +with more than usual interest. Not only was Lady Mary expected, but the +Countess of Pembroke and her ladies, with Mr Sidney, and his young +brothers, Robert and Thomas, were known to be of the party.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><a name="B" id="B"></a> +<img src="images/ill081.jpg" width="350" height="509" alt="THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.</span> +</div> + +<p>Sir Henry Sidney was seldom able to leave Ludlow for a peaceful sojourn in +his beautiful home, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +Lady Mary had sometimes to make the journey from +Wales without him, to see that all things in the house were well ordered, +and to do her best to make the scanty income stretch out to meet the +necessary claims upon it.</p> + +<p>When two of the gentlemen in attendance came to the gate to hold it open +for the ladies of the party to pass, the throng assembled in the churchyard +moved up near the porch, and, as Lady Mary came in sight, curtseys from the +women and reverences from the men testified to the esteem in which she was +held.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke came next, smiling and gracious. On her sweet face were no +lines of the care which marked her mother's, and she looked what she was, a +happy wife and mother.</p> + +<p>By her side was Mr Philip Sidney, closely followed by Robert and Thomas, +who imitated his courteous bearing, and doffed their caps and bowed their +heads in acknowledgment of their people's greeting.</p> + +<p>The Sidneys were lords of Penshurst in every sense, and the loyalty of +their tenants and dependants was unquestioned. It is not too much to say +that Philip Sidney was regarded with admiration and respect, seldom +equalled, by these simple people in the Kentish village, who felt a right +in him, and a pride, which was perhaps sweeter to him than all the +adulation he won in Elizabeth's Court.</p> + +<p>When the Sidneys' large pew was filled with its occupants, the bell +stopped, and the rest of the congregation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +hastened to fill the benches in the body of the church.</p> + +<p>The service was conducted after the Anglican form of worship, but differed +in some respects from that of the present day. The Puritans of those times +were making every effort to get rid of what, in their eyes, were useless +forms and ceremonies, and in many places in England dissension was rife, +and the dread of Popish innovations, or rather a return to Popish +practices, was mingled with fierce hatred of Papists, and apprehension of +their designs against the life of the Queen.</p> + +<p>The Sidneys were staunch adherents of the reformed faith, and Philip Sidney +was the staunchest of all. He could never forget the atrocities of that +summer night in Paris, when the treachery of the king and his mother +resulted in the massacre of innocent men and women, whose only crime was +their devotion to the faith for which they died.</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney had, as we know, protested with bold sincerity against the +Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou, urging the danger to the +Protestant cause in England, if the Queen should persist in her +determination.</p> + +<p>Now several years had passed, and he had regained Elizabeth's favour, and +had withdrawn his opposition.</p> + +<p>The French Ambassadors, who were to arrive in England in the following +week, were to be entertained with grand feasts and games, in which he and +his chief friend, Fulke Greville, were to take a leading part. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps no one in that congregation knew or dreamed that their ideal +knight, as he stood up in his place amongst them, with his thoughtful face +turned towards the nave of the church, had his heart filled with misgivings +as to the part he had taken in this matter, and with still deeper +misgivings as to the position in which he found himself with the only woman +whom he loved and worshipped.</p> + +<p>While the good clergyman was preaching a somewhat dull sermon from the +words, 'Fear God, honour the King,' following the particular line +acceptable in those days, by enforcing loyalty and devotion to the reigning +sovereign as the whole duty of man, Philip, leaning back in his seat, his +head thrown back, and that wistful, far-away look in his eyes, which +enhanced their charm, was all unconscious of what was passing around him, +so absorbed was he with his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>He roused himself when the first words of a psalm were sung by the village +choir in Sternhold and Hopkins' version, and bending over the book, which +his sister Mary had opened, pointing her finger to the first line, he +raised his musical voice and sang with her the rugged lines which called +upon 'All people that on earth do dwell, to sing to the Lord with cheerful +voice.'</p> + +<p>Then the clergyman pronounced the blessing, and the congregation dispersed, +the village people to their homes, the Sidneys towards the gate leading +into the pleasance, which lay on the side of the house nearest to the +church.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary Gifford held back, in spite of Lucy's entreaties to her to go forward.</p> + +<p>'They will all have passed in, Mary,' she exclaimed in an agony of +excitement. 'Were we not bidden to see the Countess by Mr Sidney himself.'</p> + +<p>But Mary was always modest and retiring, and she stood with Ambrose and her +sister awaiting a summons.</p> + +<p>It came at last. Humphrey Ratcliffe was at her side, saying,—</p> + +<p>'My Lady of Pembroke would fain speak with Lucy. Come forward with me.'</p> + +<p>As they followed Humphrey through the gateway in the wall, Lucy could +scarcely conceal her agitation.</p> + +<p>What should she say? What if Lady Pembroke thought her too young and too +ignorant? She had pictured to herself that Mr Sidney would himself have led +her to his sister, but he was gone out of sight, and she heard one of the +gentlemen say to Humphrey,—</p> + +<p>'Sir Fulke Greville has arrived with a message from the Queen. Mr Sidney +has gone round to meet him.'</p> + +<p>'Ill news, I wonder?' Humphrey said.</p> + +<p>'Nay, only some trifle about the tourney, belike a change in the colour of +the armour, or some such folly.'</p> + +<p>Mary and her little son and Lucy were now standing at the end of the +terrace walk of smooth turf, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +which is raised some feet above the wide pleasance below.</p> + +<p>'Await the Countess's pleasure here,' Humphrey said. 'She is engaged in +talk with Lady Mary, she will send to summon you when she sees fit.'</p> + +<p>The ladies and gentlemen in attendance on Lady Mary Sidney and her daughter +were threading the narrow paths of the pleasance and chatting gaily with +each other, the bright dresses of the ladies, rivalling the colour of the +spring flowers in the beds, while the jewelled hilts of the gentlemen's +swords sparkled in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>From the trees in the Park came the monotonous note of the unseen cuckoo, +while the thrushes and blackbirds every now and then sent forth a burst of +song, though it was nearly nigh noontide, when the birds are often silent, +as if, in the general rejoicing of the spring, all living things must take +part.</p> + +<p>The picturesque side of the home of the Sidneys, which faces this +pleasance, was in shadow, and made a background to the gay scene, which +accentuated the brilliant effect of the gay throng below it.</p> + +<p>On the terrace Mary Gifford stood in her black garments, relieved by a long +white veil, holding her impatient boy by the hand, while Lucy, no less +impatient, was hoping every minute that she should receive a message from +Lady Pembroke. The group at last caught the attention of Lady Mary, who had +been in earnest conversation with her daughter. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ah! there is Mistress Gifford,' she exclaimed, 'and the little sister of +whom Philip spoke as suitable to be one of your waiting-women. Let us +hasten to speak with them. They have been, I fear, waiting too long.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; it was heedless of me to forget them; but there is the bell sounding +for dinner in the hall, shall we not bid them sit down at the board? They +must needs be weary after their long walk, and the service, to say naught +of the sermon,' Lady Pembroke added, laughing.</p> + +<p>'Hush, then; I see the good minister coming towards us. He means well, and +is a godly man.'</p> + +<p>'I do not doubt it, sweet mother; but let us mount the steps to the +terrace, and show some courtesy to those waiting our pleasure there.'</p> + +<p>'They are coming towards us, Mary. Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, 'come forward and +meet them.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mother,' Ambrose said fretfully, dragging at his mother's hand. 'I +thought I was to see Mr Sidney, and that he would let me ride again. I am +so weary and so hungry.'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke soon tripped up the stone steps, Lady Mary following more +slowly. Lady Pembroke had all the graceful courtesy which distinguished her +brother; and that high-bred manner which, quite apart from anything like +patronage, always sets those who may be on a lower rung of the social +ladder at ease in casual intercourse.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="C" id="C"></a> +<img src="images/ill089.jpg" width="500" height="316" alt="PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK.</span> +</div> + +<p>There are many who aspire to be thought 'aristocratic' in their manners, +and who may very successfully +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +imitate the dress and surroundings of the +old noblesse. But this gift, which showed so conspicuously in the family of +the Sidneys, is an inheritance, and cannot be really copied. It is so easy +to patronise from a lofty vantage ground, so difficult to make those below +it feel that the distance is not thought of as an impassable gulf, but is +bridged over by the true politeness which lies not on the surface, but has +its root deep in the consideration for others, which finds expression in +forgetfulness of self, and in remembering the feelings and tastes of those +with whom we are brought in contact.</p> + +<p>Like the mists of morning under the warm beams of the sun, Mary Gifford's +restraint and shy reserve vanished when Lady Pembroke exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Ah, here is the little knight that Philip told me of. See, mother, he must +be a playfellow for your Thomas.'</p> + +<p>Lady Mary was somewhat breathless. She could not climb the steep, stone +stairs as quickly as her daughter.</p> + +<p>'Mistress Gifford must stay and dine with us, Mary, and then Thomas shall +show him the pictures in the new book Philip has brought him from London.'</p> + +<p>'Are there pictures of horses and knights, madam?' Ambrose asked.</p> + +<p>'They are Bible pictures, boy, but there are warriors amongst them, +doubtless—Joshua and Samson, and, it may be, others.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>The big bell which, to this day, is heard far and near at Penshurst, was +still making its loud, sonorous clang, and Lady Mary, taking Ambrose by the +hand led him along the terrace, his mother at the other side, and Lucy +following with Lady Pembroke.</p> + +<p>Instead of immediately beginning to discuss the probability of Lucy's being +placed in her household, Lady Pembroke said,—</p> + +<p>'I have not seen you for some time. You have grown apace since my marriage. +Yet my brother, when he spoke of you, called you Mistress Gifford's little +sister. You are taller than I am, methinks.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's face glowed with pleasure, as Lady Pembroke said this.</p> + +<p>'And most like you have yet to grow a few inches.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, madam; I am near sixteen.'</p> + +<p>'And is sixteen too old to grow? I think not. It is the age to grow in +wisdom as well as in stature.'</p> + +<p>'I would fain grow in the first, madam,' Lucy said, 'if only to please +Mary, who is so good to me—my only friend.'</p> + +<p>'I forgot you have no mother, poor child.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, madam; only a cross-grained stepmother. Mary bears her quips and +cranks like a saint. I cannot do so.'</p> + +<p>'It is well to try to bear what you term quips and cranks. But we must +repair to the hall now,' Lady Pembroke said; and then, addressing a +gentlewoman who was standing at the lower end of the long table, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> she said, +'Mistress Crawley, be so good as to make room for Mistress Lucy Forrester +at your side. She dines here to-day with Mistress Gifford.'</p> + +<p>Mary already had her place pointed out to her, a little higher up the board +with Ambrose; and the Countess of Pembroke, with a smile, said, as she +passed to the gentleman who presided,—</p> + +<p>'See that the young knight has sweet things enough to please his palate; +and be sure, Master Pearson, that Mistress Gifford is well attended by the +serving-men.'</p> + +<p>The family and principal guests sat at the upper end of the hall, and +amongst them was Mr Sidney's lifelong friend, Sir Fulke Greville.</p> + +<p>There was a few moments' silence, when the chaplain, raising his hand, said +a Latin grace; and then there was a clatter of trenchers, and the quick +passing to and fro of the serving-men, and the sound of many voices as the +meal proceeded.</p> + +<p>That hospitable board of the Sidneys was always well spread, and to-day, at +the upper end, Lady Mary had provided the best of viands for the +entertainment of her daughter, and of her favourite son and his friend.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary's face was shining with motherly pride as she looked at Philip +and her fair daughter, who joined with keen delight in the conversation in +which the two friends took the lead—her quick and ready appreciation of +the subjects under discussion winning a smile from her brother, who +continually referred +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> to her, if on any point he and his friend held +different opinions. Indeed, the Countess of Pembroke was not far behind her +brother in intellectual gifts. The French and Italian literature, in which +he delighted, were familiar to her also; and the <i>Divina Commedia</i> and the +<i>Vita Nuova</i> were, we may well believe, amongst her favourite works. The +great Poet of the Unseen must have had an especial charm for the lovers of +literature in those times of awakening.</p> + +<p>The mystic and allegorical style, the quaint and grotesque imagery in which +Dante delighted, must have touched an answering chord in the hearts of +scholars like Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke.</p> + +<p>That Philip Sidney was deeply versed in the story of Beatrice—following +her with devout admiration, as her lover showed her in her girlish beauty, +and then in her matured and gracious womanhood—we may safely conclude.</p> + +<p>At the time of which we write, he was making a gallant fight against +defeat, in the struggle between love and duty, striving to keep the +absorbing passion for his Stella within the bounds which the laws of honour +and chivalry demanded, at whatever cost. No one can read the later stanzas, +which are amongst the most beautiful in <i>Stella and Astrophel</i>, without +feeling that, deep as was his love, his sense of honour was deeper still.</p> + +<p>Nor is it unreasonable to feel that, as he followed the great Master +through those mysterious realms, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +guided by the lady of his love, pure and +free from the fetters of earthly passion, Philip Sidney would long with +unutterable longing that his love might be also as wings to bear him +heavenward, like that of Dante for his Beatrice, whose name is for all time +immortal like his own.</p> + +<p>When the grace was said, the company at the upper end of the great hall +rose, and left it by the staircase which led to the private apartments of +the spacious house.</p> + +<p>The ladies passed out first, and the Countess of Pembroke, turning at the +foot of the stairs, said,—</p> + +<p>'Mistress Crawley, bid Lucy Forrester to follow us with Mistress Gifford +and the boy.'</p> + +<p>But Lucy was thinking more of Mr Philip Sidney than of her summons to +attend his sister. She was hoping for a smile from him, and felt a thrill +of disappointment as he put his arm through Sir Fulke Greville's and turned +away to the principal entrance with his friend.</p> + +<p>Lucy's eyes followed them, and she was roused from her dream by a sharp tap +on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>'Did you not hear my lady's order, child? Methinks you will need to mend +your manners if you wish to enter her service.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's face grew crimson, and she gave Mistress Crawley a look, which, if +she had dared, she would have accompanied by a saucy word.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford, who was waiting for her sister, said gently,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>'We are to follow quickly, hasten, Lucy, Mistress Crawley is waiting.'</p> + +<p>Lucy tossed her head and did not hurry herself even then. She had many +admirers in the neighbourhood besides George Ratcliffe, and one of them +said to him,—</p> + +<p>'It is a shame if old Mother Crawley has that little beauty as her servant. +She will trample on her and make her life a burden to her, or I am +mistaken.'</p> + +<p>George resented any interference about Lucy from another man, and he +greatly objected to hear her called 'a little beauty;' for George's love +for her was that of a respectful worshipper at the shrine of a divinity, +and he could not brook anything like familiar disrespect in others.</p> + +<p>'Mistress Forrester,' he said, 'is likely to win favour wherever she may +go, and she will serve the Countess of Pembroke rather than Mistress +Crawley.'</p> + +<p>A provoking laugh was the answer to this.</p> + +<p>'You can know naught of the life of a household like my Lady Pembroke's. +The head waiting-woman is supreme, and the underlings are her slaves. They +may sit and stitch tapestry till they are half blind, and stoop over the +lace pillow till they grow crooked, for all my lady knows about it. Ask +Mistress Betty here, she knows what a life Mistress Crawley can lead her +slaves.'</p> + +<p>The person addressed as Mistress Betty was beginning to answer, when George +turned away to go to the stables, where he thought Mr Sidney had probably +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +preceded him with Sir Fulke Greville, to examine the points of the two +fresh steeds he had purchased for the tournament. But he could see nothing +of Mr Sidney, and, meeting his brother Humphrey, he heard from him that he +had walked away down the avenue with Sir Fulke Greville, apparently in +earnest conversation, and that they would not care to be disturbed.</p> + +<p>George lingered about disconsolately, and at last left the Park and went +towards the river, which he knew Mary Gifford and Lucy must cross on their +homeward way. At least he would have the chance of mounting guard over +Lucy, and be present if the man who had so lightly spoken of her should be +so presumptuous as to follow her.</p> + +<p>After long waiting, George saw Lucy and her sister and Ambrose coming out +of the gateway leading from the Park, and he was well satisfied to see that +his brother Humphrey, and no other squire, was in attendance.</p> + +<p>Ambrose was tired and a little querulous, and dragged heavily at his +mother's hand. Humphrey offered to carry the boy, but he resented that as +an indignity, and murmured that he had not seen Mr Sidney, and he wanted to +ride his horse again.</p> + +<p>'Mr Sidney has other matters on hand than to look after a tired, cross +boy,' his mother said. 'Come, my son, quicken your pace somewhat, or we +shall not be at home for supper. It was a grand treat for you to be +entertained by my Lady Mary's sons, and you should be in high good humour,' +she continued. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>But poor little Ambrose kept up the same murmured discontent, of which the +burden was,—</p> + +<p>'I want to ride on Mr Sidney's horse,' and he dragged back more +persistently than ever, till his mother's fair face flushed with the +exertion of pulling him up the steep hill, over which the low westering sun +was casting a glow, which was hot for the time of year.</p> + +<p>Humphrey at last settled the matter by lifting Ambrose, in spite of his +struggles, upon his shoulders, and saying,—</p> + +<p>'You will never be a true knight, boy, like Mr Sidney, if you growl and +scold at trifles. Fie, for shame, see how weary you have made your mother.'</p> + +<p>'I don't love you,' the child said, 'and I hate to be carried like a babe.'</p> + +<p>'Then do not behave as a babe,' Mary said, 'but thank Master Humphrey for +his patience and for sparing you the climb uphill. If you love me, Ambrose, +be amenable and good.'</p> + +<p>The appeal had its effect. The child sat quietly on his perch on Humphrey's +broad shoulder, and soon forgot his vexation in watching the rapid +evolutions of a hawk in chase of a flight of small birds, one of which at +last was made its prey.</p> + +<p>'See, see, mother; hark, that is the cry of the little bird, the hawk has +got it.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford stopped, and, looking up, saw the hawk in full swing, not many +hundred yards distant, with the bird in its beak, fluttering and struggling +in vain. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ah!' she said, with a shudder, 'the weak is ever the prey of the strong, +Master Humphrey,' and then she stopped.</p> + +<p>He looked down on her troubled face with intense sympathy.</p> + +<p>'Master Humphrey, the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Mary said they would +fain make my boy a page in attendance. Oh! I cannot, I dare not part with +him, he is my all—my all.'</p> + +<p>'Nor shall you part from him,' Humphrey said. 'No one could wish to force +you to do so.'</p> + +<p>'No one—no one; but if a trap were laid, if a net were spread, if a +ruthless hawk pursues a defenceless bird, the end is gained at last!'</p> + +<p>Humphrey could not follow her meaning, and he said,—</p> + +<p>'I do not understand. What do you fear?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! what do I fear? Perchance if you had an idol, you would think of the +words of Holy Scripture, that such should be utterly abolished, but,' she +continued, changing her tone and speaking cheerfully, 'see how Lucy lags +behind, poor child! Methinks her heart misgives her as the parting is now +certain. She is to enter on her duties when the Countess goes to London +with Lady Mary Sidney, one day in this week. May God keep her safe. You +will be about the Court with Mr Sidney, and you will keep a watch over her. +I know you will.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, as you know full well, I will serve you in that or in any way, nor +ask for my guerdon till such time +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +as you may see good to grant it to me, +your friend always, Mistress Gifford, your lover, your humble suitor, +when—'</p> + +<p>'Hush,' she said, laying her hand on his arm, 'such words may not pass +between you and me. Did I not tell you, did I not warn you that so it must +be. And now, my little son,' she continued, 'get down from your high perch, +if Master Humphrey is so good as to put you on your feet, for we are nearly +at home.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose, as soon as his feet touched the ground, ran off at full speed, +and, turning into the lane, was hidden from sight for a few moments. It was +scarcely more, but his mother rushed after him, calling him by name to +stop.</p> + +<p>But the child was a swift runner, and Mary, putting her hands to her side, +said,—</p> + +<p>'Master Ratcliffe, pursue him. Don't let him run out of sight, I—I cannot +follow.'</p> + +<p>It needed only a few of Humphrey Ratcliffe's long, quick strides to +overtake Ambrose, and seize him by the arm.</p> + +<p>'What a plague you are to your mother, child; first you can't walk, and +then you run off like a young colt.'</p> + +<p>'There was a black man in the hedge yonder that made me run so fast.'</p> + +<p>'A black man! away with such folly. The black man is the stump of that old +tree covered with ivy, so you are a coward, after all.'</p> + +<p>Mary had come up now, breathless. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ambrose, Ambrose, why did you run like that?'</p> + +<p>'I saw a black man,' the child repeated, 'and I wanted to get to the gate.'</p> + +<p>Mary said not a word, but, taking the boy's hand, held it fast, and went +towards the house.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="center">RESISTANCE</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +'God giveth heavenly grace unto such as call unto Him with +outstretched hands and humble heart; never wanting to those that +want not to themselves.'—<span class="smcap">Sir T. Wilson</span>, 1554. +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +The two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, left Mary Gifford and Lucy +at the gate of Ford Place.</p> + +<p>From a barn came the sound of voices singing a psalm, in not very musical +tones.</p> + +<p>Mistress Forrester was engaging in a Puritan service with a few of the +chosen ones, who would not join in what they deemed the Popish ceremonies +of the church in the valley. These stern dissenters from the reformed +religion were keeping alive that spark which, fanned into a flame some +fifty years later, was to sweep through the land and devastate churches, +and destroy every outward sign in crucifix, and pictured saint in fair +carved niche, and image of seer or king, which were in their eyes the token +of that Babylon which was answerable for the blood of the faithful +witnesses for Christ!</p> + +<p>The stern creed of the followers of Calvin had a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> charm for natures like +Mistress Forrester, who, secure in her own salvation, could afford to look +down on those outside the groove in which she walked; and with neither +imagination nor any love of the beautiful, she felt a gruesome satisfaction +in what was ugly in her own dress and appearance, and a contempt for others +who had eyes to see the beauty to which she was blind.</p> + +<p>Lucy had come home in a very captious mood, and declaring she was weary and +had a pain in her head; she said she needed no supper, and went up to her +little attic chamber in the roof of the house.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford laid aside her long veil, and made a bowl of milk and brown +bread ready for her boy; and then, while he ate it, pausing between every +spoonful to ask his mother some question, she prepared the board for the +guests, whom she knew her stepmother would probably bring in from the barn +when the long prayer was over.</p> + +<p>Ambrose was always full of inquiries on many subjects, and this evening he +had much to say about the picture-book Master Tom Sidney showed him—the +man in the lions' den, and why they did not eat him up; the men in a big +fire that were not burned, because God kept them safe. And then he returned +to the hawk and the little bird, and wondered how many more the cruel hawk +had eaten for his supper; and, finally, wished God would take care of the +little birds, and let the hawk live on mice like the old white owl in the +barn. The child's prattle was not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +heeded as much as sometimes, and Mary's +answers were not so satisfactory as usual. He was like his Aunt Lucy, +tired, and scarcely as much pleased with his day as he had expected to be; +and, finally, his mother carried him off to bed, and, having folded his +hands, made him repeat a little prayer, and then he murmured out in a +sing-song a verse Ned the cowboy had taught him:—</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="40%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Four corners to my bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four angels at my head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless the bed I lie upon.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>Almost before the last word was said, the white lids closed over the violet +eyes, and Ambrose was asleep. Mary stood over him for a minute with clasped +hands.</p> + +<p>'Ah! God keep him safe, nor suffer him to stray where danger lurks,' she +said.</p> + +<p>Voices below and the sound of heavy feet warned her that the meeting in the +barn was over, and her stepmother would require her presence.</p> + +<p>The little company which had met in the barn was composed of labourers and +shepherds, with one or two of the better sort of work-people holding +superior positions on the estate of the Sidneys.</p> + +<p>Mistress Forrester asked a tall man with a very nasal twang to bless the +humble fare set before them, and a very long prayer followed before the +benches were drawn closer to the board, and the large bowls of bread and +milk, flavoured with strips of onion, were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +attacked by the hungry brethren with large, unwieldy, wooden spoons.</p> + +<p>Mary waited on the guests, and, filling a large earthen cup with cider, +passed it round. One man who took a very prolonged pull at it, wiping his +mouth with the flap of his short homespun cloak, said, in a mysterious +whisper,—</p> + +<p>'There's a nest of Papists hiding in Tunbridge, and one of those emissaries +of the Evil One is lurking about here, Mistress Forrester. Let us all be on +guard.'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' said another, 'I've seen him. He wears the priest's garb, and he is +plotting mischief. What can he want here?'</p> + +<p>'He can work us no harm; the tables are turned now, and the Papists are +getting their deserts,' Mistress Forrester said.</p> + +<p>'I wouldn't trust them,' said the first speaker. 'They would as lief set +fire to this house or yon barn as to a stake where the blessed martyrs were +bound. You looked scared, Mistress Gifford. But, if all we hear is true, +you rather favour the Papists.'</p> + +<p>Mary rallied, with a great effort.</p> + +<p>'Nay,' she said; 'I do not favour their creed or their persecuting ways, +but I may no less feel pain that they should be hunted, and, as I know, in +many cases, homeless and dying of hunger.'</p> + +<p>'Mary consorts with grand folks down at the great house,' Mistress +Forrester said, 'who look with as little favour on us, or less, than on the +Papists. For +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +my part, I see but small difference between the bowings, and +scrapings and mummeries practised in the church down yonder, and the mass +in the Papists' worship.'</p> + +<p>'You are near right, Mistress Forrester; and those who are aiding and +abetting the Queen in her marriage with a Popish prince have much to answer +for.'</p> + +<p>'Which Popish prince?' asked one of the more ignorant of the assembly.</p> + +<p>'Is not the man, Philip Sidney, who is set up in these parts as a god, +getting ready to take a share in the tourney which is to do honour to the +men sent by the brother of the murderous French king?'</p> + +<p>'I never heard tell on't,' gasped an old dame. 'Dear heart! what will the +country come to?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Ruin!</i>' was the answer. 'And tell me not a man is godly who has ordered +the Maypole to be set up this coming first of May, and gives countenance by +his presence on the Sabbath day to the wrestling games of the village +louts, and the playing of bowls in the green at the back of the hostelry. +But let us praise the Lord we are delivered from the bondage of Satan, and +have neither part nor lot in these evil doings and vain sports, working +days or Sabbath!'</p> + +<p>Fervent Amens were uttered, and, wrapt in the mantle of self-satisfaction +that they were not as other men, the company gathered in the kitchen of +Ford Manor broke up, and, in the gathering twilight, dispersed to their +homes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary Gifford hastened to put away the remnants of the supper, and reserved +the broken fragments for the early breakfast of the poultry the next +morning.</p> + +<p>Mistress Forrester did not seem inclined for conversation, and yawned +audibly, saying she was tired out and it was time to lock up for the night.</p> + +<p>'The days are lengthening now,' Mary said. 'I do not feel inclined for bed. +Leave me, mother, to make all safe.'</p> + +<p>'As you will,' was the reply. 'I'll hear what you have to say about Lucy +to-morrow. Jabez Coleman says we are sending her to the jaws of the lion by +this move, and that she will never return, or like you—'</p> + +<p>'Spare me, mother!' Mary said. 'I cannot bear much more to-night.'</p> + +<p>'Much more! Sure, Mary, you make an ado about nothing. What have you to +bear, I'd like to know, with a roof over your head, and your child fed and +clothed? Bear indeed!' and with a low, mocking laugh, Mistress Forrester +stumped with her heavy tread up the stairs which led to the upper floor +from the further end of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Mary went into the porch, and the peaceful landscape before her seemed to +quiet her troubled spirit. She was so keenly alive to all that was +beautiful in nature; her education had been imperfect, but she was open to +receive all impressions, and, during her short married life, she had been +brought into contact with the people who were attached to the Earl of +Leicester's household, and had read books which had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> quickened her poetic +taste and given a colour to her life.</p> + +<p>It is difficult for those who live in these times to realise the fervour +with which the few books then brought within the reach of the people were +received by those who were hungry for self-culture. The Queen was an +accomplished scholar, and did her best to encourage the spread of +literature in the country. But though the tide had set in with an +ever-increasing flow, the flood had not as yet reached the women in Mary +Forrester's position. Thus, when she married Ambrose Gifford, a new world +was opened to her by such books as Surrey's <i>Translation of the Ĉneid</i>, and +Painter's <i>Tales from Boccaccio</i>. She had an excellent memory, and had +learned by heart Wyatt's <i>Translation of the Psalms</i>, and many parts of +Spenser's <i>Shepherd's Calendar</i>. This evening she took from the folds of +her gown a small book in a brown cover, which had been a gift to her that +very day from Mary, Countess of Pembroke.</p> + +<p>It was the Psalms in English verse, which the brother and sister had +produced together in the preceding year when Philip Sidney, weary of the +Court, and burdened with the weight of his love for Stella, had soothed his +spirit by this joint work with his sister as they walked together in the +wide domain of Wilton, the home to which Mary Sidney went from her native +Penshurst, and which was scarcely less fair and beautiful than that which +she left to become the wife of the Earl of Pembroke. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was at Wilton that <i>The Arcadia</i> had its birth, and the description of +the fair country where Sir Philip Sidney and his sister placed the heroes +and heroines of the story may well answer as a description of both places, +as they write of proud heights, garnished with stately trees; and humble +valleys comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers; the meadows +enamelled with all sorts of flowers; the fields garnished with roses, which +made the earth blush as bashful at its own beauty—with other imagery +which, after the lapse of more than three hundred years, shines out through +the tangled labyrinth of the story of <i>The Arcadia</i>, like golden threads, +the lustre of which time has no power to dim.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford has paid dearly for those five years spent in the world, which +was so far removed from the peace and seclusion of her native hills. And +now, as she sits in the porch, and opening the little book which had been +the gift that day from the Countess of Pembroke, she tried, in the dim +waning light, to read some verses from the thick page, which the lines +printed close in black letters made somewhat difficult. Presently the book +fell from her hand and she started to her feet, as there was a rustle near +and a soft tread of stealthy footsteps.</p> + +<p>In another moment the tall black figure Lucy had spoken of stood before +her.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat fast, and it needed all her courage not to cry aloud with +fear.</p> + +<p>'What is your pleasure, sir?' she said. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>The slouching hat was removed, and she saw before her her husband,—</p> + +<p>'You thought I was dead; is it not so? I crave your pardon for being alive, +Mary.'</p> + +<p>'I heard a rumour that you lived,' she replied; 'but why do you come hither +to torture me?'</p> + +<p>'I have an errand, and I shall fulfil it. I am come hither for my son.'</p> + +<p>'You come, then, on a bootless errand,' was the answer. 'No power in Heaven +and earth will make me surrender my child to your tender mercies.'</p> + +<p>'We shall see,' was the cool reply. 'Hearken, Mary! I left the country +after that fray with the man you know of. They left me for dead, but I rose +and escaped. The man lay dead—that consoles me—his wife—'</p> + +<p>'Do not go over the miserable wickedness of your life. You were covered +with dishonour, and you betrayed me. I would die sooner than give up my +child to you; you shall kill me first—'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Mary, do not give vent to your hatred and abhorrence of me. Hearken! +I know I was a sinner, not worse than thousands, but I have sought the +shelter of the Holy Catholic Church, and I am absolved from my sins by +penance and fasting. The unhappy woman for whom I sinned is now a professed +nun in a convent. I shall never look on her face again. I have joined the +priests at Douay; one Dr Allan has the control of the school. It is there +I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +will take my son, and have him brought up in the Catholic faith.'</p> + +<p>'Never!' Mary said. 'My son shall be trained in the Protestant faith, and I +will hold him, by God's grace, safe from your evil designs. Ah, Ambrose, be +not so pitiless; be merciful.'</p> + +<p>'Pitiless! nay, it is you who are pitiless. You scout my penitence; you +scorn and spurn me, and you ask me, forsooth, to be merciful. I give you +your choice—commit the boy to my care within one week, or I will find +means to take him whether you will or no. I give you fair warning.'</p> + +<p>'You have robbed me of peace and love, and all a woman counts dear. You +betrayed me and deserted me; you slew the husband of the woman you ruined, +and fled the country with her. The sole comfort left me is my boy, and I +will keep him, God helping me. I will not put his soul in jeopardy by +committing him to a father unworthy the name.'</p> + +<p>Could this be gentle Mary Gifford? This woman with flashing eyes and set, +determined face, from which all tenderness seemed to have vanished as she +stood before the man from whom she had suffered a terrible wrong, and who +was the father of her child.</p> + +<p>The mother, roused in defence of her boy—from what she considered danger +both to his body and soul—was, indeed, a different woman from the quiet, +dignified matron, who had stood in that very spot with Humphrey Ratcliffe a +day or two before, and had turned away with sorrowful resolution from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> the +love he offered her, and which she could not accept.</p> + +<p>What if it had been possible for her to take refuge with him! What if she +had been, as for years everyone believed her to be, a widow! Now disgraced, +and with the death of the man, whom he had killed, on his head, and as one +of the hunted and persecuted Papists, her husband lived! If only he had +died.</p> + +<p>The next moment the very thought was dismissed, with a prayer for grace to +resist temptation, and pardon even for the thought, and Mary Gifford was +her true self again.</p> + +<p>With the fading light of the April evening on her face—pale as death, but +no longer resentful—her heart no longer filled with passionate anger and +shrinking from the husband who had so cruelly deserted her, she stood +before him, quiet and self-possessed, awakening in his worldly and +deceitful heart admiration, and even awe.</p> + +<p>There was silence between them for a short space.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, from the open casement above their heads, came the sound of a +child's voice—a low murmur at first, then growing louder—as the dream +passed into reality.</p> + +<p>'Mother, mother! Ambrose wants mother!'</p> + +<p>Then, without another word, Mary Gifford bowed her head, and, passing into +the kitchen, closed and barred the door; and, hastening to her room, threw +herself on her knees by the child's little bed, crying,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ambrose, sweetheart! Mother is here!'</p> + +<p>'I'm glad on't,' said the child, in a sleepy, dreamy voice, as he turned +towards her, and wound his arms round her neck.</p> + +<p>'I'm glad on't! I thought I had lost her.'</p> + +<p>The sound of the child's voice smote on the ears of the unhappy father, and +sent a sharp thrill of pain through his heart.</p> + +<p>Perhaps there never was a moment in his life when he felt so utterly +ashamed and miserable.</p> + +<p>He felt the great gulf which lay between him and the pure woman whom he had +so cruelly deserted—a gulf, too, separating him from the child in his +innocent childhood—the possession of whom he so greatly coveted. For a +moment or two softer feelings got the mastery, and Ambrose Gifford stood +there, under the starlit sky, almost resolved to relinquish his purpose, +and leave the boy to his mother. But that better feeling soon passed, and +the specious reasoning, that he was doing the best for the child to have +him brought up a good Catholic, and educated as his mother could never +educate him, and that the end justified the means, and that he was bound to +carry out his purpose, made him say to himself, as he turned away,—</p> + +<p>'I will do it yet, in spite of her, for the boy's salvation. Yes; by the +saints I will do it!'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>The next few days passed without any summons for Lucy to join the household +at Penshurst. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>She became restless and uneasy, fearing that, after all, she might miss +what she had set her heart upon.</p> + +<p>Troubles, too, arose about her dress. She had been conscious on Sunday that +the ladies in attendance were far smarter than she was; and she had +overheard the maiden, who was addressed as 'Betty,' say,—</p> + +<p>'That country child is vain of her gown, but it might have been put +together in the reign of our Queen's grandmother. And who ever saw a ruff +that shape; it is just half as thick as it ought to be.'</p> + +<p>Poor little Lucy had other causes, as she thought, for discontent. The long +delay in the fulfilment of her wishes was almost too much for her patience; +but it was exasperating, one morning, to be summoned from the dairy by +little Ambrose to see a grand lady on a white horse, who asked if Mistress +Lucy Ratcliffe had gone to London.</p> + +<p>Lucy ran out in eager haste, hoping almost against hope that it was some +lady from Penshurst, sent by the Countess to make the final arrangements.</p> + +<p>To her dismay she found Dorothy Ratcliffe being lifted from the pillion by +a serving man, attired in a smart riding-robe of crimson with gold buttons +and a hood of the same material to protect her head from the sun and the +keen east wind which had set in during the last few days.</p> + +<p>'Good-day to you,' Dorothy said. 'I did not hope to find you here. +Methought you had set off for London days ago! Whence the delay?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I am waiting the Countess of Pembroke's pleasure,' Lucy said, with +heightened colour. 'The tourney has been put off.'</p> + +<p>'As we all know,' Dorothy remarked, 'but it is well to be lodged in good +time, for all the quarters near Whitehall will be full to overflowing. +Prithee, let me come in out of the wind, it is enow to blow one's head off +one's shoulders.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was unpleasantly conscious that she was in her ordinary dress, that +her blue homespun was old and faded, that her sleeves were tucked up, and +that there was neither ruff at her throat nor ruffles at her sleeves, that +her somewhat disordered locks were covered with a thick linen cap, while +Mistress Ratcliffe was smartly equipped for riding after the fashion of the +ladies of the time.</p> + +<p>'Well-a-day,' Dorothy said. 'I am vexed you are disappointed. We are off at +sunrise on the morrow, staying a night at my father's house in Tunbridge, +and then on to London on the next day but one. Aunt Ratcliffe and my father +have business to go through about me and my jointure, for, after all, for +peace's sake, I shall have to wed with George, unless,' with a toss of her +head, 'I choose another suitor in London.'</p> + +<p>Dorothy's small eyes were fastened on Lucy as she spoke. If she hoped the +information she had given would be unwelcome, she must have been +disappointed. Lucy was herself again, and forgot her shabby gown and +work-a-day attire, in the secret +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +amusement she felt in Dorothy's way of +telling her proposed marriage with George Ratcliffe.</p> + +<p>'It will save all further plague of suitors,' Dorothy continued, 'and there +is nought against George. If he is somewhat of a boor in manners, I can +cure him, and, come what may, I dare to say he will be a better husband in +the long run than Humphrey. What do you say, Mistress Lucy?'</p> + +<p>'I dare to say both are good men and trusty,' was the answer, 'and both are +well thought of by everyone.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, so I believe; but now tell me how comes it you are left out in the +cold like this? I vow I did my best to wheedle the old aunt yonder to let +you come in our train, but she is as hard as a rock when she chooses. When +I get to Hillbrow there won't be two mistresses, I warrant. One of us will +have to give in, and it won't be your humble servant! As I say I am sorry +you have lost your chance of this jaunt. It's a pity, and if I could put in +a good word for you I would. I am on my way now to Penshurst Place to pay +my dutiful respects to my Lady Mary Sidney. My good aunt was not ready when +I started, so I thought to tarry here to await her coming. I hear the +horse's feet, I think, in the lane. I must not make her as cross as two +sticks by keeping her fuming at my delay, so good-day, Mistress Lucy. I am +mightily sorry for you, but I will put in a word for you if I can.'</p> + +<p>'I pray you not to mention my name, Mistress +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> Dorothy,' Lucy said. 'You are +quite wrong, I am only waiting for my summons from the Countess, and I am +prepared to start.'</p> + +<p>'Not if the summons came now,' Dorothy said, with a disagreeable smile. +'You couldn't ride to Court in homespun, methinks. Her Highness the Queen, +so I hear, is vastly choice about dress, and she has proclaimed that if the +ruffs either of squires or ladies are above a certain height they shall be +clipped down by shearers hired for the purpose—willy nilly. As you have no +ruffs, it seems, this order will not touch your comfort. Good-day.'</p> + +<p>Lucy looked after her departing visitor, seated on a pillion with the +serving-man, with a scornful smile.</p> + +<p>It was irritating, no doubt, to be pitied by Dorothy Ratcliffe, and to have +to stand by her in such humble attire, but did she not know that George, +poor George, loved her, and her alone; did she not know that he would never +suffer himself to be entrapped into a marriage with his cousin, even though +she had bags of gold, and finally—and that was perhaps the sweetest +thought of all—did she not know whether in faded homespun, guiltless of +lace or ruffle, or in her best array, no one could look twice at Dorothy +Ratcliffe while she was by.</p> + +<p>So the poor little vain heart was comforted, as Lucy turned to Mary, who +had been in the bakehouse kneading flour for the coarse, brown bread +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +consumed by the household at Ford Manor far too quickly to please Mistress +Forrester, with a merry laugh,—</p> + +<p>'To think on't, Mary. Doll Ratcliffe has been visiting me to tell me she is +to marry George, and be the fair mistress of Hillbrow. I could split my +sides with laughing to think of it! And she came to pity me—pity me, +forsooth! because I have to wait long for the summons to join my Lady +Pembroke, and she starts on the morrow. I hate pity, Mary;—pity, indeed, +from a frump like that! I can snap my fingers at her, and tell her she will +want my pity—not I hers.'</p> + +<p>'Go and finish your work, Lucy,' Mary said. 'Strive after a gentler and +more patient spirit. It fills me with foreboding when you give your tongue +such licence.'</p> + +<p>'Mary!' Lucy said, with a sudden vehemence. 'Mary! I heard you sobbing last +night—I know I did. I heard you praying for help. Oh! Mary, I love you—I +love you, and I would fain know why you are more unhappy than you were a +while agone. Has it aught to do with that black, dreadful man I saw on the +hill?'</p> + +<p>'Do not speak of him—not a soul must know of him. Promise, Lucy!' Mary +said.</p> + +<p>'But George Ratcliffe knows how he scared me that day, though he did not +see him. He said he would track him out and belabour him as he deserved.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>And now, before Mary could make any rejoinder, Ambrose was calling from the +head of the stairs,—</p> + +<p>'Mother, I am tired of staying here, let me come down.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, come, Ambrose,' Mary said, 'mother's work is over, and she can have +you now near her.'</p> + +<p>The child was the next minute in his mother's arms.</p> + +<p>Mary covered him with kisses.</p> + +<p>'And you have stayed in my chamber for these two hours?' she said. 'My +good, brave boy!'</p> + +<p>'Yes; I stayed,' the child said, 'because I promised, you know. I didn't +like it—and when a lady rode up on a big grey horse, I did begin to run +down, and then I stopped and went back to the lattice, and only looked at +her. It was not a horse like Mr Sidney's, and I should not care to ride on +a pillion—I like to sit square, like Mr Sidney does. When will he come +again? If he comes, will you tell him I am learning to be a dutiful boy? He +told me to be a dutiful boy, because I had no father; and I <i>will</i> be +dutiful and take care of you, sweet mother!'</p> + +<p>'Ah, Ambrose! Ambrose!' Mary said, 'you are my joy and pride, when you are +good and obedient, and we will take care of each other, sweetheart, and +never part—'</p> + +<p>'Not till I am a big man,' Ambrose said, doubtfully, 'not till I am a big +man, then—' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>'We will not speak of that day yet—it is so far off. Now we must set the +board for dinner, and you shall help me to do it, for it is near eleven +o'clock.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="center">THREE FRIENDS</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'To lose good days that might be better spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To waste long nights in pensive discontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To speed to-day—to be put back to-morrow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feed on hope—and pine with fear and sorrow.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +The gentlewomen in attendance on the Queen had a sorry time of it during +Philip Sidney's absence from the Court.</p> + +<p>She was irritable and dissatisfied with herself and everyone besides. +Fearing lest the French Ambassador should not be received with due pomp in +London, and sending for Lord Burleigh and the Earl of Leicester again and +again to amend the marriage contract which was to be discussed with the +Duke of Anjou's delegates.</p> + +<p>Secret misgivings were doubtless the reason of the Queen's uneasy mood, and +she vented her ill-humour upon her tire-women, boxing their ears if they +failed to please her in the erection of her head-gear, or did not arrange +the stiff folds of her gold-embroidered brocade over the hoop, to her +entire satisfaction. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>Messengers were despatched several times during the process of the Queen's +toilette on this May morning to inquire if Mr Philip Sidney had returned +from Penshurst.</p> + +<p>'Not returned yet!' she exclaimed, 'nor Fulke Greville with him. What keeps +them against my will? I will make 'em both rue their conduct.'</p> + +<p>'Methinks, Madam,' one of the ladies ventured to say, 'Mr Philip Sidney is +wholly given up to the effort he is making that the coming tourney may be +as brilliant as the occasion demands, and that keeps him away from Court.'</p> + +<p>'A likely matter! You are a little fool, and had best hold your tongue if +you can say nought more to the purpose.'</p> + +<p>'I know Mr Sidney spares no pains to the end he has in view, Madam, and he +desires to get finer horses for his retinue.'</p> + +<p>'You think you are in his confidence, then,' the Queen said, angrily. 'You +are a greater fool than I thought you. I warrant you think Philip Sidney is +in love with you—you are in love with him, as the whole pack of you are, I +doubt not, and so much the worse for you.'</p> + +<p>Then the Queen having, by this sally, brought the hot tears to the lady's +eyes, recovered her composure and her temper, and proceeded to take her +morning draught of spiced wine, with sweet biscuits, and then resorted to +the Council chamber, where all matters of the State were brought before her +by her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +ministers. Here Elizabeth was the really wise and able monarch, who +earnestly desired the good of her people; here her counsellors were often +fairly amazed at her far-seeing intelligence and her wide culture. No +contrast could be greater than between the middle-aged Maiden Queen pluming +her feathers to win the hearts of her courtiers, and listening with +satisfaction to the broadest flattery with which they could approach her, +and the sovereign of a nation in times which must ever stand out in the +history of England as the most remarkable the country has ever known, +gravely deliberating with such men as Lord Burleigh and Sir Francis +Walsingham on the affairs of State at home and abroad.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth had scarcely seated herself in her chair, and was about to summon +Sir Francis Walsingham, when one of the pages-in-waiting came in, and, +bending his knee, said,—</p> + +<p>'Mr Philip Sidney craves an audience with your Highness.'</p> + +<p>Philip was only waiting in the ante-chamber to be announced, and, being +secure of his welcome, had followed the page into the Queen's presence, +and, before Elizabeth had time to speak, he was on his knees before her, +kissing the hand she held out to him.</p> + +<p>'Nay, Philip, I scarce know whether I will receive you—a truant should be +whipped as a punishment—but, mayhap, this will do as well for the nonce,' +and the Queen stroked Philip Sidney on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +both cheeks, saying, 'The gem of my Court, how has it fared with him?'</p> + +<p>'As well as with any man while absent from you, fair Queen. Gems,' he added +playfully, 'do not shine in the dark, they need the sun to call forth their +brightness, and you are my sun; apart from you, how can I shine?'</p> + +<p>'A pretty conceit,' Elizabeth said. 'But tell me, Philip, are things put in +train for the due observance of such an event as the coming of the +delegates from France? It is a momentous occasion to all concerned.'</p> + +<p>'It is, indeed, Madam,' Philip Sidney said, 'and I pray it may result in +happiness for you and this kingdom.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, now, Philip, are you going back to what you dared to say of +disapproval of this marriage three years ago? I would fain hope not, for +your own sake.'</p> + +<p>'Madam, I then, in all humility, delivered to you my sentiments. You were +not pleased to hear them, and I was so miserable as to offend you.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, and,' using her favourite oath 'you will again offend me if you +revive the old protest, so have a care. We exercise our royal prerogative +in the matter of marriage, and I purpose to wed with the Duke of Anjou, +come what may.'</p> + +<p>'I know it, Madam, and, as your faithful subject, I am doing my utmost to +make the coming jousts worthy of your approval and worthy of the occasion. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +The Fortress of Beauty is erected, and the mound raised, and I would fain +hope that you will be pleased to honour the victors with a smile.'</p> + +<p>'And with something more valuable; but tell me, Philip, how does it fare +with my Lady Rich? Rumour is busy, and there are tale-bearers, who have +neither clean hearts nor clean tongues. Sure you can pick and choose +amongst many ladies dying for your favour; sure your Queen may lay claim to +your devotion. Why waste your sighs on the wife of Lord Rich?'</p> + +<p>Immediately Philip Sidney's manner changed. Not even from the Queen could +he bear to have this sore wound touched. He rose from his half-kneeling, +half-sitting position at the Queen's feet, and said in a grave voice,—</p> + +<p>'I await your commands, Madam, which I shall hold sacred to my latest +breath, but pardon me if I beseech your Highness to refrain from the +mention of one whom I have lost by my own blind folly, and so made +shipwreck.'</p> + +<p>'Tut, tut, Philip; this is vain talking for my fine scholar and statesman. +Shipwreck, forsooth! Nay, your craft shall sail with flying colours yet. +But I hear the voices of Burleigh and Leicester in the ante-chamber! Your +good uncle is like to die of jealousy; if he finds I am closeted with you +he will come to the Council in an ill temper, and rouse the lion in me. So, +farewell till the evening, when I command your presence at the banquet.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Madam, there is yet one word I would say. It is upon my good father's +affairs.'</p> + +<p>'What now? Henry Sidney is always complaining—no money, no favour! As to +the money, he has spent a goodly sum in Ireland, and yet cries out for +more, and would fain go thither again, and take you with him, to squander +more coin.'</p> + +<p>'I have no desire, Madam, either for him to go to Ireland or for myself to +accompany him. But I pray you to consider how small a pittance he receives +as Lord President of Wales. It is ever a struggle for my mother to maintain +the dignity of your representative there. She is wearing out her life in a +vain effort, and you, Madam, surely know that her nature is noble, and that +she seeks only to promote the welfare of others.'</p> + +<p>'Ay! Mary Sidney is well enough. We will think over the matter. Command her +to come to Court for this Whitsuntide, there is a chamber at her service. +Now, I must to business. Stay if it suits you; you have more wits than all +the rest of us put together. Yes, that is Leicester's step and voice.'</p> + +<p>Philip knew better than to remain without express invitation to do so from +his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. It was, perhaps, only natural that the +elder man should be jealous of the younger, who had, when scarcely +four-and-twenty, already gained a reputation for statesmanship at home and +abroad. Brilliant as Leicester was, he was secretly conscious that there +were heights which he had failed to reach, and that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> his nephew, Philip +Sidney, had won a place in the favour of his sovereign, which even the +honest protest he had made against this marriage with the Duke of Anjou had +failed to destroy; a high place also in the esteem of the world by the +purity of his life and the nobleness of a nature which commended itself +alike to gentle and simple; while he had the reputation of a true knight +and brave soldier, pure, and without reproach, as well as a scholar versed +in the literature of other countries, and foremost himself amongst the +scholars and poets of the day.</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney left the presence-chamber by another door as his uncle and +Lord Burleigh entered it, and went to his own apartments, where he expected +to meet some friends, and discuss with them topics more interesting and +profitable than the intrigues of the Court and the Queen's matrimonial +projects.</p> + +<p>Edmund Spenser's dedication to the <i>Shepherd's Calendar</i> is well known, and +there can be no doubt that he owed much to Sidney's discriminating +patronage.</p> + +<p>That dedication was no empty compliment to win favour, and the friendship +between Edmund Spenser and Philip Sidney gathered strength with time. They +had often walked together under the trees at Penshurst, and a sort of club +had been established, of which the members were Gabriel Harvey, Edward +Dyer, Fulke Greville and others, intended for the formation of a new school +of poetry. Philip Sidney was the president, and Spenser, the youngest and +most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +enthusiastic member, while Gabriel Harvey, who was the oldest, was +most strict in enforcing the rules laid down, and ready with counsel and +encouragement.</p> + +<p>The result of all the deliberations of this club were very curious, and the +attempt made to force the English tongue into hexameters and iambics +signally failed.</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney and Spenser were the first to discover that the hexameter +could never take its place in English verse, and they had to endure some +opposition and even raillery from Gabriel Harvey, who was especially +annoyed at Edmund Spenser's desertion; and had bid him farewell till God or +some good angel put him in a better mind.</p> + +<p>This literary club had broken up three years before this time, but Edmund +Spenser and Sir Fulke Greville still corresponded or met at intervals with +Sidney to compare their literary efforts and criticise them freely, +Spenser's always being pronounced, as doubtless they were, far above the +others in beauty of style and poetical conception.</p> + +<p>By Philip Sidney's influence Spenser had been sent to Ireland as secretary +to Lord Grey of Wilton, whose recall was now considered certain. Sir Henry +Sidney would have been willing to return as Deputy with his son under him; +but, having been badly supported in the past, he stipulated that the Queen +should reward his long service by a peerage and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> a grant of money or lands +as a public mark of her confidence.</p> + +<p>Philip found Sir Fulke Greville in his room, and with him Edward Dyer, who +had come to discuss a letter from Edmund Spenser, which he wished his +friends to hear.</p> + +<p>'He fears he shall lose his place if Lord Grey be recalled, and beseeches +me,' Philip said, 'to do my best that he should remain secretary to +whomsoever the Queen may appoint.'</p> + +<p>'And that will be an easy matter, methinks,' Dyer said, 'if the rumour is +true that your good father is again to be appointed Deputy of Ireland, with +you for his helper.'</p> + +<p>'Contradict that rumour, good Ned,' Philip said. 'There is but the barest +chance of the Queen's reinstating my father, and if, indeed, it happened +so, I should not accept the post under him. I will write to our friend +Spenser and bid him take courage. His friends will not desert him. But I +have here a stanza or two of the <i>Fairie Queene</i>, for which Edmund begs me +to seek your approval or condemnation.'</p> + +<p>'It will be the first,' Fulke Greville said, 'as he very well knows, and it +will not surprise me to find our good friend Harvey at last giving him his +meed of praise, albeit he was so rash as to say that hexameters in English +are either like a lame gosling that draweth one leg after, or like a lame +dog that holdeth one leg up.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>Fulke Greville laughed, saying,—</p> + +<p>'A very apt simile; at least, for any attempt I was bold enow to make; but +read on, Philip. I see a whole page of Edmund's somewhat cramped writing.'</p> + +<p>'It is but a fragment,' Philip said, 'but Edmund makes a note below that he +had in his mind a fair morning, when we walked together at Penshurst, and +that the sounds and sights he here describes in verse are wafted to him +from that time.'</p> + +<p>'Why do you sigh as you say that, Philip? Come, man, let us have no +melancholy remembrances, when all ought to be bright and gay.'</p> + +<p>'The past time has ever somewhat of sadness as we live in it again. Have +you never heard, Fulke, of the hope deferred that maketh a sick heart, nor +of the hunger of the soul for the tree of life, which is to be ever +denied?'</p> + +<p>'I am in no mood for such melancholy,' was the answer. 'Let us hear what +Spenser saith of that time of which you speak. I'll warrant we shall find +it hard to pick out faults in what he writes therein.</p> + +<p>Then Philip read,—</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="60%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as att once might not on living ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right hard it was for wight which did it heare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To read what manner musicke that mote bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all that pleasing is to living eare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was there consorted in one harmonee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters, all agree.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'The joyous birdes, shrouded in cheerefull shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To th' instruments divine respondence meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver-sounding instruments did meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the base murmure of the waters' fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waters' fall with difference discreet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>We may well think that these stanzas, which form a part of the 12th canto +of the Second Book of the <i>Faerie Queene</i> have seldom been read to a more +appreciative audience, nor by a more musical voice. After a moment's +silence, Edward Dyer said,—</p> + +<p>'I find nought to complain of in all these lines. They flow like the stream +rippling adown from the mountain side—a stream as pure as the fountain +whence it springs.'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' Fulke Greville said; 'that is true. Methinks the hypercritic might +say there should not be two words of the same spelling and sound and +meaning, to make the rhyme, as in the lines ending with meet.'</p> + +<p>'A truce to such comment, Fulke,' Philip said. 'Rhyme is not of necessity +poetry, nor poetry rhyme. There be many true poets who never strung a +rhyme, and rhymers who know nought of poetry.'</p> + +<p>'But, hearken; Edmund has wrote more verses on the further side of this +sheet. I will e'en read them, if it pleases you to hear.'</p> + +<p>Fulke Greville made a gesture of assent, and Philip Sidney read, with a +depth of pathos in his voice which thrilled the listeners,—</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="60%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Ah! see, whoso faire thing dost faine to see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In springing flowre the image of thy day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth first peepe foorth with bashful modestee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! see soone after how more bold and free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her bared bosome she doth broad display.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'So passeth, in the passing of a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mortall life, the leafe, the bud, the flowre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more doth flourish after first decay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That erst was sought to deck both bed and bowre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many a ladie, and many a paramoure!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather, therefore, the rose, whilst yet is prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For soon comes age that will her pride deflowre;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather the rose of love, whilst yet is time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equall crime.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>These last verses were received in silence. There was no remark made on +them, and no criticism.</p> + +<p>Probably both Sidney's friends felt that they referred to what was too +sacred to be touched by a careless hand; and, indeed, there was no one, +even amongst Philip's dearest friends, except his sister Mary, the Countess +of Pembroke, who ever approached the subject of his love for Stella—that +rose which Philip had not gathered when within his reach, and which was now +drooping under an influence more merciless than that of age—the baneful +influence of a most unhappy marriage.</p> + +<p>The Queen had that very morning spoken out with a pitiless bluntness, which +had made Philip unusually thoughtful. The very words the Queen had used +haunted him—'tale-bearers, who had neither clean hearts nor clean +tongue.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Edward Dyer, according to the custom of the friends when they met, read +some verses he had lately composed, and Fulke Greville followed.</p> + +<p>Then Philip Sidney was called upon to contribute a sonnet or stanza.</p> + +<p>If he never reached the highest standard of poetry, and, even in his best +stanzas of <i>Stella and Astrophel</i>, rivalled the sweet flow of Edmund +Spenser's verse, he had the gift of making his verses vividly express what +was uppermost in his mind at the moment, as many of the <i>Stella and +Astrophel</i> poems abundantly testify.</p> + +<p>In early youth Philip Sidney had been influenced by a distinguished convert +to the Reformed Faith, Hubert Languet, whom he met at Frankfort. Between +this man of fifty-four and the boy of eighteen, who had gone abroad for +thoughtful travel and diligent study, a strong—even a romantic—friendship +had sprung up, and the letters which have been preserved show how +unwavering Hubert Languet was in his devotion to the young Englishman, +whose fine and noble qualities he had been quick to discover.</p> + +<p>About this time Philip was anxious as to the health of his old friend. His +letters had been less frequent, and the last he had received during the +present year, had seemed to tell of failing powers of body, though the mind +was as vigorous as ever.</p> + +<p>Thus, the two verses which Philip now read from his <i>Arcadia</i> had reference +to his old and dearly-loved +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +counsellor and friend, and were inspired by +the lifelong gratitude he felt for him. They are clothed, as was the two +frequent custom of the time, in pastoral images; but Fulke Greville and +Edward Dyer listened spellbound as the words were uttered, in musical +tones, with a strength of feeling underlying them, which gave every line a +deep significance.</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'The song I sang, old Languet had me taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Languet, the shepherd, best swift Ister knew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, clerkly read, and hating what is naught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his sweet skill my skilless youth he drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To have a feeling taste of Him that sits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the heaven, far more beyond our wits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'He said the music best those powers pleased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was jump accord between our wit and will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where highest notes to godliness are raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lowest sink, not down to jot of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoiling their flock, or while 'twixt them they strive.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>'There is naught to complain of in those verses, Philip,' Fulke Greville +said. 'He must be a sharp censor, indeed, who could find fault with them. +We must do our best to bring good old Gabriel Harvey back to join our +Areopagus, as Edmund Spenser is bold enough to call it.'</p> + +<p>'Have you heard aught of the friend in whose praise the verses were +indited?' Edward Dyer asked.</p> + +<p>'Nay, as I said, I have had but one letter from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +Languet for many months. +As soon as this tourney is over I must get leave to make a journey to +Holland to assure myself of his condition.'</p> + +<p>'The Queen will rebel against your absence, Philip. You are in higher +favour than ever, methinks; nor do I grudge you the honour, as, I fear, +some I could name grudge it.'</p> + +<p>Philip rose quickly, as if unwilling to enter into the subject, and, +gathering together their papers, the three friends broke up their meeting +and separated till the evening.</p> + +<p>Anyone who had seen Philip Sidney as he threw himself on a settle when +Fulke Greville and Edward Dyer had left him, and had watched the profound +sadness of his face as he gave himself up to meditation on the sorrow which +oppressed him, would have found it difficult to imagine how the graceful +courtier, who that evening after the banquet at Whitehall led the Queen, as +a mark of especial favour, through the mazes of the dance, could ever have +so completely thrown off the melancholy mood for one of gaiety and apparent +joyousness. How many looked at him with envy when the Queen gave him her +hand in the dance then much in fashion called the 'Brawl!' This dance had +been lately introduced, and the Queen delighted in it, as it gave her the +opportunity of distinguishing the reigning favourite with an especial mark +of her favour.</p> + +<p>This evening the ring was formed of ladies and gentlemen chosen by +Elizabeth, who gorgeously +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +attired, her hoop and stiff brocade making a +wide circle in the centre of the ring, called upon Philip Sidney to stand +there with her.</p> + +<p>The Queen then, giving her hand to Philip, pirouetted with him to the sound +of the music, and, stopping before the gentleman she singled out for her +favour, kissed him on the left cheek, while Philip, bending on his knee, +performed the same ceremony with the lady who had been the partner of the +gentleman before whom the Queen had stopped. By the rules of the dance, the +couple who stood in the centre of the ring now changed places with those +who had been saluted, but this did not suit the Queen's mind this evening.</p> + +<p>She always delighted to display her dancing powers before her admiring +courtiers, exciting, as she believed, the jealousy of the ladies, who could +not have the same opportunity of showing their graceful movements in the +'Brawl.'</p> + +<p>The Queen selected Lord Leicester and Christopher Hatton and Fulke Greville +and several other gentlemen, and curtseyed and tripped like a girl of +sixteen instead of a mature lady of forty-nine.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth's caprice made her pass over again and again several courtiers +who were burning with ill-concealed anger as they saw Leicester and his +nephew chosen again and again, while they were passed over.</p> + +<p>At last the Queen was tired, and ordered the music to cease. She was led by +Leicester to the raised dais +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> at the end of the withdrawing-room where the +dancing took place, and then, at her command, Philip Sidney sang to the +mandoline some laudatory verses which he had composed in her honour.</p> + +<p>The Queen contrived to keep him near her for most of the evening, but he +escaped now and then to circulate amongst the ladies of the Court and to +answer questions about the coming tournament.</p> + +<p>In one of the alcoves formed by the deep bay of one of the windows Philip +found his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, who was purposely waiting there +to see him alone, if possible.</p> + +<p>'I have been waiting for you, Philip,' she said, 'to ask who will arrange +the position my gentlewomen will occupy at the tourney. I have several +eager to see the show, more eager, methinks, than their mistress, amongst +them the little country maiden, Lucy Forrester, whom you know of.'</p> + +<p>'I will give what orders I can to those who control such matters. But, my +sweet sister, you look graver than your wont.'</p> + +<p>'Do I, Philip? Perhaps there is a reason; I would I could feel happy in the +assurance that you have freed yourself from the bonds which I know in your +better moments you feel irksome. You will have no real peace of mind till +you have freed yourself, and that I know well.'</p> + +<p>'I am in no mood for reproaches to-night, Mary,' Philip said, with more +heat than he often showed when +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +speaking to his dearly-loved sister. 'Let +me have respite till this tournament is over at least.' And as he spoke, +his eyes were following Lady Rich as she moved through the mazes of a +Saraband—a stately Spanish dance introduced to the English Court when +Philip was the consort of poor Queen Mary.</p> + +<p>'I might now be in the coveted position of Charles Blount in yonder dance,' +Philip said. 'I refrained from claiming my right to take it, and came +hither to you instead.'</p> + +<p>'Your right! Nay, Philip, you have no right. Dear brother, does it never +seem to you that you do her whom you love harm by persisting in that very +love which is—yes, Philip, I must say it—unlawful? See, now, I am struck +with the change in her since I beheld her last. The modesty which charmed +me in Penelope Devereux seems vanished. Even now I hear her laugh, hollow +and unreal, as she coquettes and lays herself out for the admiring notice +of the gentlemen who are watching her movements. Yes, Philip, nothing but +harm can come of persisting in this unhappy passion.'</p> + +<p>'Harm to her! Nay, I would die sooner than that harm should befall her +through me. I pray you, Mary, let us speak of other matters.' But though he +did begin to discuss the affairs of his father, and to beg Lady Pembroke to +advise his mother to be wary in what she urged when the Queen gave her an +interview, it was evident to his sister that his thoughts +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> were in the +direction of his eyes, and that she could not hope to get from him the wise +advice as to her father's embarrassments which she had expected.</p> + +<p>But the gently exercised influence of his pure and high-minded sister had +its effect, and long after the sounds of revelry had died away, and the +quiet of night had fallen upon the palace, there was one who could not +sleep.</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney was restlessly pacing to and fro in the confined space of the +chamber allotted to him at Whitehall, and this sonnet, one of the most +beautiful which he ever wrote, will express better than any other words +what effect his sister's counsel had upon him.</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Leave me, oh! Love! which reachest but to dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grow rich in that, which never taketh rust.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that sweet yoke, where lasting freedoms be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That doth both shine and give us sight to see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! take fast hold! let that light be thy guide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this small course which birth draws out to Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think how evil becometh him to slide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then farewell world, thy uttermost I see;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>The clouds were soon to break and the light shine upon the way in that +'small course' which yet lay before him. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>We who can look onward to the few years yet left to Philip Sidney, and can +even now lament that they were so few, know how his aspirations were +abundantly fulfilled, and that Love Eternal did indeed maintain its life in +his noble and true heart.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="center">WHITSUNTIDE, 1581</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'The greater stroke astonisheth the more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astonishment takes from us sense of pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stood amazed when others' tears begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now begin to weep, when they have done.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Henry Constable</span>, 1586.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +After Lucy's departure from Penshurst, Mary Gifford kept her boy +continually in sight, and, however restive Ambrose might be under the +control which his grandmother exercised over him, he was generally obedient +to his mother.</p> + +<p>His high spirit was curbed by a look from her, and, having promised that he +would not go beyond the gate leading from the farmyard on one side of Ford +Manor, or into the lane which led to the highroad on the other, Ambrose +held that promise sacred.</p> + +<p>He trotted along by his mother's side as she performed the duties in the +dairy and poultry-yard, which Lucy's absence in the household had made it +necessary for her to undertake. Although it was a relief that peace reigned +now that the wranglings between their stepmother and Lucy had ceased, Mary +found the additional work a great strain upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +her, however glad she was to +have her hands well occupied, that she might have less time to brood over +the fears which her husband's visit and threats had aroused.</p> + +<p>Two weeks had now gone by, and these fears were comparatively laid to rest. +Mary thought that her husband would not risk being seen in the +neighbourhood, as news came through the Puritan friends of Mrs Forrester +that several Papists had been seized at Tunbridge, and had been thrown into +prison, on the suspicion that they were concerned in one of the Popish +plots of which the Protestants were continually in dread, and in one of +which Edmund Campion was implicated.</p> + +<p>Indeed, there was an almost universal feeling throughout the country that +the Papists cherished evil designs against the Queen's life, and that they +were only biding their time to league with those who wished to place the +captive Queen of Scotland on the throne, and so restore England to her +allegiance to the Pope.</p> + +<p>News of the imprisonment of this celebrated Edmund Campion had been +circulated about this time through the country, and stories of the manner +in which he had been mercilessly tortured to extract from him the +confession of a plot against Elizabeth's life.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday after Ascension Day there were to be great shows and games in +the village of Penshurst, and Ambrose, hearing of them from his friend Ned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +the cowherd, on Saturday evening, begged his mother to let him see the +sports.</p> + +<p>'There's a wrestling match,' he urged, 'on the green, and a tilting between +horsemen in the outer park. Mother, I'd like to see it; do take me down to +see it. Oh! mother, do; I'll hold your hand all the time; I won't run away +from you, no, not an inch. I am six years old. I am big enough now to take +care of <i>you</i>, if there's a crowd or the horses plunge and kick. Ned says +it will be a brave show.'</p> + +<p>'I will go down to church with you, Ambrose,' his mother said, 'and if I +can secure a safe place I will wait for a part of the sports, but you must +not fret if I do not stay to see the sports end, for I am tired, Ambrose, +and I would fain have rest on Sunday.'</p> + +<p>The child looked wistfully into his mother's face.</p> + +<p>'I'll be a very good boy, mother. I <i>have</i> been a good boy,' he said, 'and +you will tell Mr Sidney that I didn't plague you, and tell Master Humphrey +too. He said I was a plague to you, and I hate him for saying it.'</p> + +<p>'Hush, Ambrose, Master Ratcliffe will be a good friend to you, if—'</p> + +<p>'If what? if <i>I</i> am good?</p> + +<p>'I meant, if ever you had no mother to care for you.'</p> + +<p>'No mother!' the child repeated, only dimly catching her meaning. 'No +mother!' and there was a sudden change in his voice, which told of +something that was partly fear and partly incredulity. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +'No mother! but you +said we should always have each other. I have you, and you have me. You +said I must not leave you, and,' with vehemence, 'you <i>sha'n't</i> leave me.'</p> + +<p>'Ambrose, God's will must be done, let us trust him.'</p> + +<p>But the boy's serious mood passed, and he was now capering about and +singing as he went in a joyous monotone as he went to find Ned in the +farmyard.</p> + +<p>'I am to see the sports on the morrow. I'm to see the sports on the green.'</p> + +<p>The words reached other ears than Ned's. His grandmother came out of the +bakehouse, where she had been storing piles of loaves on a high shelf, +which had just been taken from the oven, and called out,—</p> + +<p>'Sports on the Lord's Day, what does the child say? No one who eats my +bread shall see that day profaned. The wrath of the Almighty will fall on +their heads, whoever they be, mind that, Mary Gifford, mind that! Ay, I +know what you will say, that the Queen lends her countenance to them, and +your grand folk in the great house, but as sure as you live, Mary Gifford, +a curse will fall on your head if you let that child witness this +wickedness.'</p> + +<p>Mary took refuge in silence, but her stepmother's words sounded in her ears +like a knell.</p> + +<p>For herself she would willingly have dispensed with games and sports on +Sundays. Her sympathies were with those who, taking the just view of the +seventh day, believed that God had ordained it for the refreshment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>both of +body and soul—a day when, free from the labours of this toilsome world, +the body should rest, and the soul have quiet and leisure for meditation in +private, and for prayer and praise in the services appointed by the Church.</p> + +<p>Sports and merry-making were quite as much out of harmony with Mary +Gifford's feelings as they were with her stepmother's, but, in the due +observance of Sunday, as in many other things, the extreme Puritan failed +to influence those around them by their harsh insistence on the letter +which killeth, and the utter absence of that spirit of love which giveth +life.</p> + +<p>The villagers assembled in the churchyard on this Sunday morning were not +so numerous as sometimes, and the pew occupied by the Sidneys, when the +family was in residence at the Park, was empty.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford and her boy, as they knelt together by a bench near the +chancel steps, attracted the attention of the old Rector. He had seen them +before, and had many times exchanged a kindly greeting with Mary and +complimented Lucy on her 'lilies and roses,' and asked in a jocose way for +that good and amiable lady, their stepmother! But there was something in +Mary's attitude and rapt devotion as the light of the east window fell on +her, that struck the good old man as unusual.</p> + +<p>When the service was over, he stepped up to her as she was crossing the +churchyard, and asked her to come into the Rectory garden to rest. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>'For,' he added, 'you look a-weary, Mistress Gifford, and need refreshment +ere you climb the hill again.'</p> + +<p>The Rectory garden was an Eden of delight to little Ambrose. His mother let +him wander away in the winding paths, intersecting the close-cut yew +hedges, with no fear of lurking danger, while, at the Rector's invitation, +she sat with him in a bower, over which a tangle of early roses and +honeysuckle hung, and filled the air with fragrance. A rosy-cheeked maiden +with bare arms, in a blue kirtle scarcely reaching below the knees, which +displayed a pair of sturdy legs cased in leather boots, brought a wooden +trencher of bread and cheese, with a large mug of spiced ale, and set them +down on the table, fixed to the floor of the summer bower, with a broad +smile.</p> + +<p>As Ambrose ran past, chasing a pair of white butterflies, the Rector +said,—</p> + +<p>'That is a fine boy, Mistress Gifford. I doubt not, doubly precious, as the +only son of his mother, who is a widow. I hear Master Philip Sidney looks +at him with favour; and, no doubt, he will see that he is well trained in +service which will stand him in good stead in life.'</p> + +<p>'Ambrose is my only joy, sir,' Mary replied. 'All that is left to me of +earthly joy, I would say. I pray to be helped to bring him up in the +nurture and admonition of the Lord. But it is a great charge.'</p> + +<p>'Take heart, Mistress Gifford; there are many childless folk who would envy +you your charge, but, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +methinks, you have the air of one who is burdened +with a hidden grief. Now, if I can, by hearing it, assuage it, and you +would fain bring it to me, I would do what in me lies as a minister of +Christ to give you counsel.'</p> + +<p>'You are very good, kind sir, but there are griefs which no human hand can +touch.'</p> + +<p>'I know it, I know it, for I have had experience therein. There was one I +loved beyond all words, and God gave her to me. I fell under heavy +displeasure for daring to break through the old custom of the +Church—before she was purged of many abuses, which forbids the marriage of +her priests—and my beloved was snatched from me by ruthless hands, even as +we stood before the altar of God.</p> + +<p>'She died broken-hearted. It is forty years come Michaelmas, but the wound +is fresh; and I yet need to go to the Physician of Souls for healing.</p> + +<p>'When the hard times of persecution came, and our blessed young King died, +and I had to flee for my life, I could thank God she was spared the misery +of being turned out in the wide world to beg her bread, with the children +God might have given us. Then, when the sun shone on us Protestants, and +our present Queen—God bless her!—ascended the throne, and I came hither, +the hungry longing for my lost one oppressed me. But the Lord gives, and +the Lord takes away: let us both say, "Blessed be His holy name." Now, +summon the boy to partake of this simple fare, and remember, Mistress +Gifford, if you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +want a friend, you can resort to me. I am now bound for +the parish of Leigh, where I say evensong at five o'clock.'</p> + +<p>Mary called Ambrose, and said,—</p> + +<p>'Bless my child, sir, and bless me also.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose, at his mother's bidding, knelt by her side, and the Rector +pronounced the blessing, which has always a peculiar significance for those +who are troubled in spirit.</p> + +<p>'To the Lord's gracious keeping I commit you. The Lord bless you and keep +you. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you, and give you +peace—now, and for evermore.'</p> + +<p>A fervid 'Amen' came from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the child's, +as the old man's footsteps were heard on the path as he returned to the +Rectory.</p> + +<p>It was a very happy afternoon for Ambrose. He enjoyed his dinner of wheaten +bread and creamy cheese; and his mother smiled to see him as he buried his +face in the large mug, and, after a good draught of the spiced drink, +smacked his lips, saying,—</p> + +<p>'That is good drink, sweeter than the sour cider of which grandmother gives +me a sup. Aunt Lou says it is as sour as grandmother, who brews it. Aunt +Lucy is having sweet drinks now, and pasties, and all manner of nice +things. Why can't we go to London, mother, you and I?'</p> + +<p>'Not yet, my boy, not yet.'</p> + +<p>And then Ambrose subsided into a noonday sleep, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> curled up on the rude +bench which was fixed round the summer bower. His mother put her arm round +him, and he nestled close to her.</p> + +<p>Peace! the peace the old Rector had called down upon her seemed to fill +Mary Gifford's heart; and that quiet hour of the Sunday noontide remained +in her memory in the coming days, as the last she was to know for many a +long year.</p> + +<p>'The sports, mother!' Ambrose said, rousing himself at last, and struggling +to his feet. 'Let us go to see the sports.'</p> + +<p>'Would you please me, Ambrose, by going home instead?'</p> + +<p>Ambrose's lips quivered, and the colour rushed to his face.</p> + +<p>'I want to see the sports,' he said; 'you promised you would take me.'</p> + +<p>Then Mary Gifford rose, and, looking down on the child's troubled face, +where keen disappointment was written, she took his hand, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Come, then; but if the crowd is great, and you are jostled and pushed, you +must come away, nor plague me to stay. I am not stout enough to battle with +a throng, and it may be that harm will come to you.'</p> + +<p>They were at the Rectory gates now, and people were seen in all their +Sunday trim hurrying towards the field where the tilting match was to take +place.</p> + +<p>Mary turned towards the square, on either side +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> of which stood the old +timbered houses by the lych gate, and asked a man she knew, if the horsemen +who were to tilt in the field were to pass that way.</p> + +<p>'For,' she added, 'I would fain wait here till they have ridden on. I might +get into danger with the child from the horses' feet.'</p> + +<p>'Better have a care, mistress,' was the reply, and he added; 'scant +blessings come to those who turn Sunday into a day of revelry.'</p> + +<p>'Ah!' said another voice, 'you be one of the saints, Jeremy; but why be +hard on country folk for a little merry-making, when the Queen and all the +grand nobles and ladies do the same, so I've heard, at Court.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you,' was the reply, 'it's the old Popish custom—mass in the +morning, and feasting and revelling all the rest of the day. I tell you, it +is these licences which make the Nonconformists our bitter foes.'</p> + +<p>'Foes!' the other said. 'Ay, there's a pack of 'em all round. Some seen, +some unseen—Papists and Puritans—but, thank the stars, I care not a groat +for either. I am contented, any way. Saint or sinner, Puritan or Papist, I +say, let 'em alone, if they'll let me alone.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, there's the rub,' said the other, 'there's no letting alone. You and I +may live to see the fires kindled again, and burn ourselves, for that +matter.'</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="D" id="D"></a> +<img src="images/ill151.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.</span> +</div> + +<p>'I sha'n't burn. I know a way out of that. I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +watch the tide, and turn my craft to sail along with it.'</p> + +<p>And this easy-going time-server, of whom there are a good many descendants +in the present day, laughed a careless laugh, and then, as the sound of +horses' feet was heard, and that of the crowd drawing near, he +good-naturedly lifted Ambrose on his shoulder, and, planting his broad back +against the trunk of the great overshadowing elm, he told the boy to sit +steady, and he would carry him to the wall skirting the field, where he +could see all that was going on.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford followed, and, feeling Ambrose was safe, was glad he should be +gratified with so little trouble and risk. She rested herself on a large +stone by the wall, Ambrose standing above her, held there by the strong arm +of the man who had befriended them.</p> + +<p>The tilt was not very exciting, for many of the best horses and men had +been called into requisition by the gentry of the neighbourhood, for the +far grander and more important show to come off at Whitehall in the +following week.</p> + +<p>The spectators, however, seemed well satisfied, to judge by their huzzas +and cheers which hailed the victor in every passage of arms—cheers in +which little Ambrose, from his vantage ground, heartily joined.</p> + +<p>At last it was over, and the throng came out of the field, the victor +bearing on the point of his tilting pole a crown made of gilded leaves, +which was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +a good deal battered, and had been competed for by these village +knights on several former occasions.</p> + +<p>Like the challenge cups and shields of a later time, these trophies were +held as the property of the conqueror, till, perhaps, at a future trial, he +was vanquished, and then the crown passed into the keeping of another +victor.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford thanked the man, who had been so kind to her boy, with one of +her sweetest smiles, and Ambrose, at her bidding, said,—</p> + +<p>'Thank you, kind sir, for letting me see the show. I'd like to see the game +of bowls now where all the folk are going.'</p> + +<p>'No, no, Ambrose! you have had enough. We must go home, and you must get to +bed early, for your little legs must be tired.'</p> + +<p>'Tired! I'd never be tired of seeing horses gallop and prance. Only, I long +to be astride of one, as I was of Mr Philip Sidney's.'</p> + +<p>Mother and son pursued their way up the hill, Ambrose going over the events +of the day in childish fashion—wanting no reply, nor even attention from +his mother, while she was thinking over the different ways in matters of +religion of those who called themselves Christians.</p> + +<p>These Sunday sports were denounced by some as sinful—and a sign of return +to the thraldom of Popery from which the kingdom had been delivered; others +saw in them no harm, if they did not actually countenance them by their +presence; while others, like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +herself, had many misgivings as to the +desirability of turning the day of rest into a day of merry-making, more, +perhaps, from personal taste and personal feeling than from principle.</p> + +<p>When Mary Gifford reached Ford Manor, she found it deserted, and only one +old serving-man keeping guard. The mistress had gone with the rest of the +household to a prayer and praise meeting, held in the barn belonging to a +neighbouring yeoman, two miles away; and he only hoped, he said, that she +might return in a sweeter temper than she went. She had rated him and +scolded all round till she had scarce a breath left in her.</p> + +<p>The old man was, like all the other servants, devoted to the gentle lady +who had gone out from her home a fair young girl, and had returned a sad +widow with her only child, overshadowed by a great trouble, the particulars +of which no one knew.</p> + +<p>The rest of that Sabbath day was quiet and peaceful.</p> + +<p>Mary read from Tyndale's version of the Testament her favourite chapter +from the Epistle of St John, and the love of which it told seemed to fill +her with confidence and descend dove-like upon her boy's turbulent young +heart.</p> + +<p>He was in his softest, tenderest mood, and, as Mary pressed him close to +her side, she felt comforted, and said to herself,—</p> + +<p>'While I have my boy, I can bear all things, with God's help.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary Gifford was up long before sunrise the next morning, and, calling +Ambrose, she bid him come out with her and see if the shepherd had brought +in a lamb which had wandered away from the fold on the previous day. The +shepherd had been afraid to tell his mistress of the loss, and Mary had +promised to keep it from her till he had made yet another search; and then, +if indeed it was hopeless, she would try to soften Mistress Forrester's +anger against him.</p> + +<p>'We may perchance meet him with the news that he has found the lamb, and +then there will be no need to let grannie know that it had been lost,' she +said.</p> + +<p>It was a dull morning, and the clouds lay low in a leaden sky, while a mist +was hovering over the hills and blurring out the landscape.</p> + +<p>The larks were soon lost to sight as they soared overhead, singing faintly +as they rose; the rooks gave prolonged and melancholy caws as they took +their early flight, and the cocks crowed querulously in the yard, while now +and then there was a pitiful bleat from the old ewe which had lost her +lamb.</p> + +<p>In the intervals of sound, the stillness was more profound, and there was a +sense of oppression hanging over everything, which even Ambrose felt.</p> + +<p>The moor stretched away in the haze, which gave the hillocks of gorse and +heather and the slight eminences of the open ground an unnatural size.</p> + +<p>Every moment Mary hoped to see the shepherd's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> well-known figure looming +before her in the mist with the lamb in his arms, but no shepherd appeared.</p> + +<p>'We must turn our steps back again, Ambrose. Perhaps the shepherd has gone +down into the valley, and it is chill and damp for you to be out longer; +when the sun gets up it will be warmer.'</p> + +<p>She had scarcely spoken, when a figure appeared through the haze, like +every other object, looking unnaturally large.</p> + +<p>'Quick, Ambrose,' she said, 'quick!' and, seizing the child's hand, she +began to run at her utmost speed along the sheep-path towards the stile +leading into the Manor grounds, near the farmyard.</p> + +<p>The child looked behind to see what had frightened his mother.</p> + +<p>'It's the big black man!' he said.</p> + +<p>But Mary made no answer. She ran on, regardless of hillocks and big +stones—heedless of her steps, and thinking only of her pursuer.</p> + +<p>Presently her foot caught in a tangle of heather, and she fell heavily, as +she was running at full speed, and struck her head against some sharp +stones lying in a heap at the edge of the track, which could hardly be +called a path.</p> + +<p>'Mother! mother!' Ambrose called; and in another moment a hand was laid on +his shoulder—a strong hand, with a grasp which the child felt it was +hopeless to resist. 'Mother! mother!'</p> + +<p>The cry of distress might well have softened the hardest heart; but men +like Ambrose Gifford are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +not troubled with what is commonly understood by +a heart. He spoke, however, in gentle tones.</p> + +<p>'My poor child, your mother is much hurt. We must seek for the aid of a +surgeon. We must get help to carry her home. Come with me, and we will soon +get help.'</p> + +<p>'No, no; I will not leave my mother,' Ambrose said, throwing himself on the +ground by her side. 'Why doesn't she speak or move? <i>Mother!</i>'</p> + +<p>Alas! there was no answer; and a little red stream trickling down from a +wound on the forehead frightened Ambrose still more.</p> + +<p>'It is blood!' he cried, with the natural shrinking which children always +show when their own fingers are cut. 'It is blood! Oh, mother!'</p> + +<p>But Ambrose was now quietly lifted in a pair of strong arms, and the words +spoken in his ear,—</p> + +<p>'We must seek help; we will get a surgeon. Your mother will die if we do +not get help, boy. Hush! If you cry out your mother may hear, and you will +distress her. Hush!'</p> + +<p>Poor little Ambrose now subsided into a low wail of agony as he felt +himself borne along.</p> + +<p>'Where are you going, sir? Set me down, set me down.'</p> + +<p>'We go for help for your mother. Let that suffice.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose now made a renewed struggle for freedom. It was the last; he felt +something put over his face, so that he could neither see where he was +going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +nor utter another cry; he only knew he was being carried off by this +strange man he knew not where, and that he had left his mother lying pale +and still, with that terrible red stream trickling from her forehead, on +the hillock of heather on the moor.</p> + +<p>It is said, and perhaps with truth, that the bitterest hate is felt by the +sinner against the sufferer for his sin. This hatred was in Ambrose +Gifford's heart, and was the primary cause of his thus forcibly taking from +the wife whom he had so cruelly betrayed, the child who was so infinitely +precious to her.</p> + +<p>Ambrose Gifford had, no doubt, by subtle casuistry persuaded himself that +he was doing good to the boy. He would be educated by the Jesuits, with +whom he had cast in his lot; he would be trained as a son of the Catholic +Church, and by this he hoped to gain favour, and strike off a few years of +purgatorial fire for his past sins!</p> + +<p>He had confessed and done penance for the disgraceful acts of which he had +been guilty, and he had been received into the refuge the Roman Church was +ready to offer to him.</p> + +<p>At this time she was making every effort to strengthen her outposts, and to +prepare for the struggle which at any moment she might be called upon to +make to regain her coveted ascendency in England.</p> + +<p>The seminary founded at Douay by a certain Dr Allen, a fine scholar, who +was educated at Oxford, was much resorted to by persecuted Catholics +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> who +sought a refuge there. Or by men like Ambrose Gifford, who, obliged to +leave the country under the shadow of a crime committed, were glad to throw +themselves into the arms ready to receive them, and, as they would have +expressed it, find pardon and peace by fasting and penance in the bosom of +the Catholic Church. Doubtless, the great majority of those who gathered at +Douay at this time were devout and persecuted members of the Church, from +the bondage of which Elizabeth had delivered her country, with the hearty +approbation of her loyal subjects.</p> + +<p>But, black sheep like Ambrose Gifford went thither to be washed and +outwardly reformed; and he, being a man of considerable ability and +shrewdness, had after a time of probation been despatched to England to +beat up recruits and to bring back word how the Catholic cause was +prospering there.</p> + +<p>He had, therefore, every reason to wish to take with him his own boy, whose +fine physique and noble air he had noted with pride as he had, unseen, +watched him for the last few weeks when haunting the neighbourhood like an +evil spirit.</p> + +<p>He would do him credit, and reward all the pains taken to educate him and +bring him up as a good Catholic.</p> + +<p>The motives which prompted him to this were mixed, and revenge against his +wife was perhaps the dominant feeling. She loved that boy better than +anything on earth; she would bring him up +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> in the faith of the Reformed +Church, and teach him, probably, to hate his father.</p> + +<p>He would, at any rate, get possession of this her idol, and punish her for +the words she had spoken to him by the porch of the farm, on that summer +evening now more than two weeks ago.</p> + +<p>Ambrose Gifford had deceived Mary from the first, professing to be a +Protestant while it served his purpose to win favour in the household of +the Earl of Leicester, but in reality he was a Catholic, and only waited +the turn of the tide to declare himself. He led a bad, immoral life, and it +was scarcely more than two years after her marriage that Mary Gifford's +eyes were opened to the true character of the man who had won her in her +inexperienced girlhood by his handsome person—in which the boy resembled +him—his suave manner, and his passionate protestations of devotion to her.</p> + +<p>Many women have had a like bitter lesson to learn, but perhaps few have +felt as Mary did, humbled in the very dust, when she awoke to the reality +of her position, that the love offered her had been unworthy the name, and +that she had been betrayed and deceived by a man who, as soon as the first +glamour of his passion was over, showed himself in his true colours, and +expected her to take his conduct as a matter of course, leaving her free, +as he basely insinuated, to console herself as she liked with other +admirers.</p> + +<p>To the absolutely pure woman this was the final death-blow of all hope for +the future, and all peace in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +the present. Mary fled to her old home with +her boy, and soon after heard the report that her husband had been killed +in a fray, and that if he had lived he would have been arrested and +condemned for the secret attack made on his victim, and also as a disguised +Catholic supposed to be in league with those who were then plotting against +the life of the Queen.</p> + +<p>About a year before this time, a gentleman of the Earl of Leicester's +household, when at Penshurst, had told Mary Gifford that Ambrose Gifford +was alive—that he had escaped to join the Jesuits at Douay, and was +employed by them as one of their most shrewd and able emissaries. From that +moment her peace of mind was gone, and the change that had come over her +had been apparent to everyone.</p> + +<p>The sadness in her sweet face deepened, and a melancholy oppressed her, +except, indeed, when with her boy, who was a source of unfailing delight, +mingled with fear, lest she should lose him, by his father's machinations.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>It was not till fully half-an-hour after Ambrose had been carried away, +that the shepherd, with his staff in his hand and the lost lamb thrown over +his shoulder, came to the place where Mary was lying.</p> + +<p>She had recovered consciousness, but was quite unable to move. Besides the +cut on her forehead, she had sprained her ankle, and the attempt to rise +had given her such agony that she had fallen back again. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ay, then! lack-a-day, Mistress Gifford,' the shepherd said, 'how did this +come about. Dear heart alive! you look like a ghost.'</p> + +<p>'I have fallen,' gasped Mary. 'But where is my boy—where is Ambrose? Get +me tidings of him, I pray you, good Jenkyns.'</p> + +<p>'Lord! I must get help for you before I think of the boy. He has run home, +I dare to say, the young urchin; he is safe enough.'</p> + +<p>'No, no,' Mary said. 'Oh! Jenkyns, for the love of Heaven, hasten to find +my boy, or I shall die of grief.'</p> + +<p>The worthy shepherd needed no further entreaty. He hastened away, taking +the stile with a great stride, and, going up to the back door of the house, +he called Mistress Forrester to come as quick as she could, for there was +trouble on the moor.</p> + +<p>Mistress Forrester was at this moment engaged in superintending the feeding +of a couple of fine young pigs, which had been bought in Tunbridge a few +days before. Her skirts were tucked up to her waist, and she had a large +hood over her head, which added to her grotesque appearance.</p> + +<p>'Another lamb lost? I protest, Jenkyns, if you go on losing lambs after +this fashion you may find somebody else's lambs to lose, and leave mine +alone. A little more barleymeal in that trough, Ned—the porkers must be +well fed if I am to make a profit of 'em and not a loss.'</p> + +<p>'Hearken, Madam Forrester,' Jenkyns said, 'the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> lamb is safe, but Mistress +Gifford is lying yonder more dead than alive. Ned, there! come and help me +to lift her home—and where's the boy, eh?'</p> + +<p>'What boy?' Mrs Forrester asked sharply.</p> + +<p>'Mistress Gifford's son,' Jenkyns said, 'his mother is crying out for him +amain, poor soul! She is in a bad case—you'd best look after her, there's +blood running down from a cut on her forehead. Here!' calling to one of the +women, 'here, if the Mistress won't come, you'd best do so—and bring a +pitcher of water with you, for she is like to swoon, by the looks of her.'</p> + +<p>'You mind your own business, Amice,' Mistress Forrester said, as she +smoothed down her coarse homespun skirt, and settled the hood on her head. +'You bide where you are, and see the poultry are fed, as she who ought to +have fed 'em isn't here.'</p> + +<p>'Nor ever will be again, mayhap,' said Jenkyns wrathfully. 'Come on, Ned, +it will take two to bear her home, poor thing. Don't let the boy see her +till we've washed her face—blood always scares children.'</p> + +<p>'I daresay it's a scratch,' Mistress Forrester said, as she filled a pewter +pot with water, and followed the shepherd and Ned to the place where Mary +lay.</p> + +<p>Even Mistress Forrester was moved to pity as she looked down on her +stepdaughter's face, and heard her murmur.</p> + +<p>'Ambrose! my boy! He is stolen from me. Oh! for pity's sake, find him.'</p> + +<p>'Stolen! stolen! not a bit of it,' Mistress Forrester +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> said. 'I warrant he +is a-bed and asleep, for he is seldom up till sunrise.'</p> + +<p>'He was with me,' Mary gasped, 'he was with me, when I fell. I was running +from <i>him</i>—and—he has stolen him from me.'</p> + +<p>'Dear sake! who would care to steal a child? There, there, you are +light-headed. Drink a drop of water, and we'll get you home and a-bed. I'll +plaister the cut with lily leaves and vinegar, and I warrant you'll be well +in a trice.'</p> + +<p>They moistened Mary's lips with water, and Jenkyns sprinkled her forehead; +and then Jenkyns, with Ned's help, raised Mary from the ground and carried +her towards the house.</p> + +<p>A cry of suppressed agony told of the pain movement caused her, and +Mistress Forrester said,—</p> + +<p>'Where's the pain, Mary? Sure you haven't broke your leg?'</p> + +<p>But Mary could not reply. A deadly faintness almost deprived her of the +power of speaking.</p> + +<p>As they passed through the yard the lamb, which Jenkyns had set down there +when he passed through, came trotting towards him, the long thick tail +vibrating like a pendulum as it bleated piteously for its mother.</p> + +<p>Mary turned her large sorrowful eyes upon it, and whispered,—</p> + +<p>'The lost lamb is found. Let it go to its mother. Oh! kind people, +find—find my boy, and bring him back to me—to me, his mother.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>By this time there was great excitement amongst the people employed on the +farm, and a knot of men and maidens were standing by the back door, +regardless of their mistress's anger that they should dare to idle away a +few minutes of the morning.</p> + +<p>'Back to your work, you fools!' she said. 'Do you think to do any good by +staring like a parcel of idiots at Mistress Gifford. Ask the Lord to help +her to bear her pain, and go and bring her boy to her, Amice.'</p> + +<p>But no one had seen the child that morning, and Amice declared he was not +in the house.</p> + +<p>They carried Mary to her chamber, and laid her down on the low truckle bed, +the shepherd moving as gently as he could, and doing his best to prevent +her from suffering.</p> + +<p>But placing her on the bed again wrung from her a bitter cry, and Jenkyns +said,—</p> + +<p>'You must e'en get a surgeon to her, Mistress, for I believe she is sorely +hurt.'</p> + +<p>'A surgeon! And, prithee, where am I to find one?'</p> + +<p>'As luck will have it,' Jenkyns said, 'Master Burt from Tunbridge puts up +at the hostel every Monday in Penshurst.'</p> + +<p>'Send Ned down into the village and fetch him, then,' Mistress Forrester +said, who was now really frightened at Mary's ghastly face, which was +convulsed with pain. 'Send quick! I can deal with the cut on her forehead, +but I can't set a broken limb.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Stop!' Mary cried, as Jenkyns was leaving the room to despatch Ned on his +errand. 'Stop!' Then with a great effort she raised herself to speak in an +audible voice. 'Hearken! My boy was stolen from me by a tall man in a long +black cloak. Search the country, search, and, oh! if you can, find him.'</p> + +<p>This effort was too much for her, and as poor Jenkyns bent down to catch +the feeble halting words, Mary fell back in a deep swoon again, and was, +for another brief space, mercifully unconscious of both bodily and mental +agony. Hers was literally the stroke which, by the suddenness of the blow, +deadens the present sense of pain; that was to come later, and the loss of +her boy would bring with it the relief of tears when others had dried +theirs and accepted with calmness the inevitable.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="center">DEFEAT</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="45%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'In one thing only failing of the best—<br /></span> +<span class="i-">That he was not as happy as the rest.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edmund Spenser.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +The court of Queen Elizabeth was well used to witness splendid shows and +passages-of-arms, masques, and other entertainments organised by the +noblemen chiefly, to whose houses—like Kenilworth—the Queen was often +pleased to make long visits.</p> + +<p>The Queen always expected to be amused, and those who wished to court her +favour took care that no pains should be wanting on their part to please +her. Indeed, the courtiers vied with each other in their efforts to win the +greatest praise from their sovereign lady, who dearly liked to be +entertained in some novel manner.</p> + +<p>This visit of the French Ambassadors to London, headed by Francis de +Bourbon, was considered a very important event. It was supposed that +Elizabeth was really in earnest about the marriage with the Duke of Anjou, +whose cause these Frenchmen had been commissioned by their Sovereign to +plead. They were also to have a careful eye to his interests in the treaty +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +they were to make with so shrewd a maiden lady as the Queen of England, who +was known always to have the great question of money prominently before her +in all her negotiations, matrimonial and otherwise.</p> + +<p>The Earl of Arundel, Lord Windsor, Philip Sidney and Fulke Greville +undertook to impress the visitors with a magnificent display worthy of the +occasion which brought them to London.</p> + +<p>In the tilt-yard at Whitehall, nearest to the Queen's windows, a 'Fortress +of Perfect Beauty' was erected, and the four knights were to win it by +force of arms.</p> + +<p>All that the ingenuity of the artificers of the time could do was done. The +Fortress of Beauty was made of canvas stretched on wooden poles, gaily +painted with many quaint devices, and wreathed about with evergreens and +garlands, which were suspended from the roof. It was erected on an +artificial mound; and, as the day drew near, those who had to control the +admission of the hundreds who clamoured to be allowed to be spectators of +the tournament, were at their wit's end to gratify the aspirants for good +places.</p> + +<p>The ladies about the Court were, of course, well provided with seats in the +temporary booths erected round the tilt-yard, and the Countess of Pembroke +and her following of gentlewomen in attendance occupied a prominent +position. Lady Mary Sidney and her youngest son, Thomas, were also present. +Robert was in his brother's train. Lady Rich, blazing with diamonds, was +the admired of many eyes—upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +whose young, fair face might be seen the +trace of that unsatisfied longing and discontent with her lot, for which +the splendour of her jewels and richness of the lace of her embroidered +bodice were but a poor compensation. Amongst Lady Pembroke's attendants +there was one to whom all the show had the charm of novelty.</p> + +<p>Lucy Forrester could scarcely believe that she was actually to be a witness +of all the magnificence of which she had dreamed on the hillside above +Penshurst. Her young heart throbbed with triumph as she saw Mistress +Ratcliffe and Dorothy vainly struggling to gain admittance at one of the +entrances, and at last, hustled and jostled, only allowed to stand on the +steps of one of the booths by Humphrey's help, who was awaiting the signal +from Philip's chief esquire to go and prepare his horse for the +passage-of-arms.</p> + +<p>Lucy had gone through some troubles that morning with Mistress Crawley, +whom she did not find easy to please at any time, and who, seeing Lucy was +in favour with the Countess of Pembroke, did her best to prevent her from +taking too exalted a view of her own merits.</p> + +<p>She had ordered that Lucy, as the youngest of the bower-women, should take +a back bench in the booth, where it was difficult to see or to be seen, but +Lady Pembroke had over-ruled this by saying,—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="E" id="E"></a> +<img src="images/ill171.jpg" width="500" height="299" alt="THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL</span> +</div> + +<p>'There is room for all in the front row, good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +Crawley. Suffer Mistress Lucy to come forward.'</p> + +<p>And then Lucy, beaming with delight, had a full view of the fortress, and +found herself placed exactly opposite the window at which the Queen was to +sit with her favourites to watch the show.</p> + +<p>'Tell me, I pray you, the name of that grand lady whose jewels are flashing +in the sunshine?'</p> + +<p>Lucy said this to her companion, who bid her sit as close as she could, and +not squeeze her hoop, and take care not to lean over the edge of the booth +so as to obstruct her own view of the people who were rapidly filling up +the seats.</p> + +<p>'And forsooth, Mistress Forrester, you must not speak in a loud voice. It's +country-bred manners to do so.'</p> + +<p>Lucy pouted, but was presently consoled by a smile from Philip Sidney, who +came across the yard to exchange a word with his sister, and to ask if his +young brother was able to get a good view.</p> + +<p>Lucy was much elated by that recognition, and her companion said in a low +voice,—</p> + +<p>'You ask who yonder lady is? Watch, now, and I'll tell you.' For Philip +had, in returning, stopped before the booth where Lady Rich sat, and she +had bent forward to speak to him. Only a few words passed, but when Philip +had moved away there was a change in Lady Rich's face, and the lines of +discontent and the restless glance of her dark eyes, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> seeking for +admiration, were exchanged for a satisfied smile, which had something also +of sadness in it.</p> + +<p>'That lady is Lord Rich's wife, and Mr Sidney's love. He will never look +with favour on anyone besides. The pity of it! And,' she added in a low +voice, 'the shame too!'</p> + +<p>'But, hush!' as Lucy was about to respond. 'We may be heard, and that would +anger my lady, who has no cause to love my Lady Rich, and would not care to +hear her spoken of in the same breath as Mr Sidney.'</p> + +<p>The waiting time for spectacles is apt to grow wearisome; and some of the +spectators were yawning, and a few of the elder ladies resigning themselves +to a quiet nap, their heads heavy with the ale of the morning meal, swaying +from side to side, and endangering the stiff folds of the ruffs, which made +a sort of cradle for their cheeks and chins. Lucy, however, knew nothing of +fatigue; she was too much elated with her position, too earnestly employed +in scanning the dresses of the ladies, and admiring the grand equipments of +the gentlemen, to feel tired.</p> + +<p>At length the blast of trumpets announced the coming of the Queen to the +balcony before the window whence she was to see the pageant. A burst of +applause and loud cries of 'God save the Queen' greeted Elizabeth, who, +gorgeously arrayed, smiled and bowed graciously to the assembled people. +Behind her was the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Burleigh and the French +Ambassador at either side, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +with a bevy of ladies-in-waiting in the +background. The large window had a temporary balcony erected before it, and +those who occupied it were for a few minutes the centre of observation.</p> + +<p>Lucy Forrester had never before had so good a view of the Queen, and her +astonishment was great when she saw, with the critical eye of youth, the +lady about whose beauty and charms so many sonnets and verses had been +written by every rhymester in the land, as well as by the chief poets of +the day. It was a generally accepted fact throughout the country, that the +Queen was as beautiful as she was wise, and that her charms led captive +many a noble suitor, who pined, perhaps in vain, for her favours.</p> + +<p>Lucy whispered to her companion,—</p> + +<p>'I thought to see a young and fair Queen, and she is old and—'</p> + +<p>'Peace, I tell you!' said her companion sharply. 'You are a little fool to +dare to say that! You had best hold your tongue!'</p> + +<p>Lucy ventured at no further remark, and very soon the heralds came riding +into the tilt-yard and proclaimed the coming of the four knights who were +to carry the Fortress of Beauty by their prowess against those who defended +it; and summoned the Queen to surrender her Fortress to the Four Foster +Children of Desire.</p> + +<p>The Earl of Arundel led the way with Lord Windsor, both magnificently +attired, with a large following +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +of attendant esquires. But Lucy's eyes +dilated with an admiration that was too deep for words, as Philip Sidney +rode into the yard in blue and gilt armour, seated on a splendid horse, on +which he sat with graceful ease as it curveted and pranced, perfectly +controlled by the skill of its rider. Four spare horses, richly +caparisoned, were led behind him by pages, and thirty gentlemen and yeomen, +amongst whom were Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, with four trumpeters +dressed in cassock coats and caps, Venetian hose of yellow velvet adorned +with silver lace, and white buskins. A silver band passing like a scarf +over the shoulder and under the arm bore the motto—<i>Sic nos non nobis</i>. +Lucy had no eyes for anyone but her ideal knight, and Fulke Greville, in +his gilded armour, with his followers in gorgeous array, had passed by +almost unheeded.</p> + +<p>Speeches were made, and songs sung, and then the challengers marched up and +down the yard, and at last proceeded to 'run tilt,' each in his turn, +against an opponent, each running six times. The opponents were numerous, +and the four, before nightfall, were seriously discomfited.</p> + +<p>The show was over for that day, and the Queen commanded that the tilt +should be run again on the following morning, which was Whit-Tuesday. After +a great many more speeches and confessions of weariness, the four knights +fell to work with such renewed energy that, we are told, what with +shivering swords and lusty blows, it was as if the Greeks were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> alive +again, and the Trojan war renewed—ending in the defeat of the Four Foster +Children of Desire, who were, as was only probable, beaten in the unequal +contest.</p> + +<p>The Queen was loud in her praise of the 'pleasant sport,' which had +delighted the gentlemen in whose honour it had been all arranged; and she +called up Philip Sidney for especial thanks, and, tapping him on the +shoulder, bid him repair to the banqueting-hall and discourse some sweet +music on his mandoline, and converse with the French Ambassadors. For, she +said, speaking herself in fluent and excellent French,—</p> + +<p>'This good Mr Philip Sidney, I would have you to know, has the command of +many foreign tongues, and there are few to match him in Latin and Greek, as +well as those languages spoken in our own time in divers countries.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, madam!' Philip said, 'there is one who surpasses not only my poor self +in learning, but surpasses also the finest scholars that the world can +produce. Need I name that one, gentlemen,' he said, with a courtly bow and +kneeling as he kissed the Queen's hand, 'for she it is who has to-day been +pleased to give, even to us, Four Children of Desire—defeated as we +are—the meed of praise, which is, from her, a priceless dower.'</p> + +<p>This flattery was precisely what Elizabeth hoped for, and she was well +pleased that it should be offered in the hearing of those ambassadors, who +would,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +doubtless, repeat it in the ears of the Duke of Anjou.</p> + +<p>In reply, one of the soft-spoken Frenchmen said,—</p> + +<p>'Mr Sidney's fame has reached our ears, Madam. We know him to be what you +are pleased to call him; nor will we for a moment dispute his assertion +that, learned as he is, he must yield the palm to his gracious Sovereign.'</p> + +<p>A few more flattering speeches were tendered; but a keen observer might +have noticed that there was a touch of irony, even of distrust, in the +tone, if not in the words, of the ambassadors' chief spokesman.</p> + +<p>For if Philip Sidney's fame as a scholar and a statesman had reached +France, his fame also as a staunch defender of the Reformed Faith had also +reached it, with the report that he had been, a few years before, bold +enough to remonstrate with the Queen when the proposal of her marriage with +the Duke had been formally made, and that his opposition had been strong +enough to turn the scale against it, at the time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>The silence of night had fallen over Whitehall, and those who had won, and +those who had been beaten in the tourney were resting their tired, and, in +many cases, their bruised limbs, in profound repose, when the porter of the +quarters assigned to Philip Sidney's gentlemen and esquires was roused from +his nap by loud and continued knocking at the gate.</p> + +<p>The porter was very wrathful at being disturbed, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> and looking out at the +small iron grating by the side of the gate, he asked,—</p> + +<p>'Who goes there?'</p> + +<p>'One who wants speech with Master Humphrey Ratcliffe.'</p> + +<p>'It will keep till morning, be off; you may bide my time,' and with that +the porter shambled back to his seat in a recess of the entrance, and +composed himself to sleep again. But the man who sought admittance was not +to be so easily discouraged. He began to knock again with the staff in his +hand, more loudly than before.</p> + +<p>The porter in vain tried to take no further notice, and finding it +impossible to resume his sleep, heavy as it was with the strong potations +of the previous night, he rose once more, and, going to the grating, poured +out a volley of oaths upon the would-be intruder, which was enough to scare +away the boldest suitor for admission.</p> + +<p>His loud voice, combined with the thundering rap on the heavy oaken gate or +door which still continued, roused Humphrey Ratcliffe from his dreams, on +the upper floor, and he presently appeared on the stone staircase which led +into the outer hall, where the porter kept guard, and said,—</p> + +<p>'What is all this commotion about? Who demands admission? Open the gate, +and let us see.'</p> + +<p>'Open the gate, Master, yourself,' was the rough reply, 'and let in a +parcel of murderers or thieves, for all I care. You're welcome.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Hold your tongue, you knave,' Humphrey said; 'you are half-drunk now, I +warrant,' and Humphrey, going to the grating, asked,—</p> + +<p>'Who craves admission at this hour of the night?'</p> + +<p>'An it please you, Master, it is near cock-crow,' was the answer, 'and day +is breaking. I have ill news for Master Humphrey Ratcliffe, and must +deliver my message to his ear.'</p> + +<p>'Ill news!' Humphrey repeated the words. His thoughts went first to his +mother, and then he remembered that she was safe in lodgings with Dorothy +and George.</p> + +<p>'I am one, Ned Barton, cowherd to one Mistress Forrester. I've trudged many +a mile at the bidding of Mistress Gifford, who is in a sore plight.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey did not hesitate now, he drew back the heavy bolts, and turned the +huge, rusty key in the lock, and threw open one side of the gate.</p> + +<p>'Come in,' he said, 'and deliver your message.'</p> + +<p>Ned, in his coarse smock, which was much travel-stained and worn, pulled +the lock of red hair which shadowed his forehead, in token of respect, and +shambled into the hall.</p> + +<p>He was footsore and weary, and said,—</p> + +<p>'By your leave, Master, I would be glad to rest, for I warrant my bones +ache.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey pointed to a bench which was but dimly discernible in the dark +hall, lighted only by a thin wick floating in a small pan of oil, and bid +Ned seat himself, while he drew a mugful of ale from the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> barrel, which was +supposed to keep up the porter's strength and spirits during the +night-watch, and put it to Ned's lips.</p> + +<p>He drank eagerly, and then said,—</p> + +<p>'I've a letter for you, Master, in my pouch, but I was to say you were to +keep it to yourself. Mistress Gifford could scarce write it, for she is +sick, and no wonder. Look here, Master, I'd tramp twice twenty miles to +serve her, and find the boy.'</p> + +<p>'Find the boy! You speak in riddles.'</p> + +<p>Ned nodded till his abundant red hair fell in more than one stray lock over +his sunburnt, freckled face.</p> + +<p>'Are there eavesdroppers at hand?' he asked.</p> + +<p>The porter was snoring loudly, but Humphrey felt uncertain whether he was +feigning sleep, or had really resumed his broken slumber. He therefore bid +the boy follow him upstairs, first replacing bolt and bar, to make all +secure till the morning.</p> + +<p>When he reached his room, which was up more than one flight of the winding +stone stairs, Ned stumbling after him, he struck a light with a flint and +kindled a small lamp, which hung from an iron hook in the roof.</p> + +<p>'Throw yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter +first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.'</p> + +<p>The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible, +blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble.</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe—My Good Friend,—This +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +comes from one nearly +distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They +have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of +Jesuits—it may be at Douay—I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good +Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to God +for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore +need.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">'M. G.</p> + +<p>'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are +my meat. God's hand is heavy upon me.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it +passionately to his lips.</p> + +<p>'Find him! Find her boy; yes, God helping me, I will track him out, alive +or dead.'</p> + +<p>Then he turned to Ned,—</p> + +<p>'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.'</p> + +<p>Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking +about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had +seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after +the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out +of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse +luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had +come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And no wonder,' Ned said; 'there's not a soul at the farm that didn't +think a mighty deal of that child. He was a plague sometimes, I'll warrant, +but—' and Ned drew his sleeve across his eyes, and his low guttural voice +faltered, as he said,—'Folks must be made of stone if they don't feel fit +to thrash that popish devil for kidnapping him, and going near to break +Madam Gifford's heart, who is a saint on earth.'</p> + +<p>'You are a good fellow,' Humphrey said fervently. 'Now, take off those +heavy boots and rest, while I tax my brains, till I decide what is best to +do.'</p> + +<p>With a mighty kick Ned sent his rough boots flying, one after the other, +across the room, and then, without more ado, curled up his ungainly figure +on the settle, and before Humphrey could have believed it possible, he was +snoring loudly, his arm thrown under his head, and his tawny red locks in a +tangled mass, spread upon the softest cushion on which the cowboy had ever +rested.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe paced the chamber at intervals till daybreak, and was +only longing for action, to be able to do something to relieve Mary's +distress—to scour the country till he found a trace of the villain, and +rescue the boy from his clutches.</p> + +<p>This must be his immediate aim; but to do this he must gain leave from his +chief.</p> + +<p>The tournament was over, but the Queen would most certainly require Mr +Sidney's attendance at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> Hampton Court Palace, whither it was rumoured she +was shortly to go in state, in the royal barge, with the French Ambassador.</p> + +<p>Humphrey grew feverishly anxious for the time when he could see Mr Sidney, +and hailed the noises in the courtyard and the voices of the grooms, who +were rubbing down the tired horses after the conflicts of the previous day, +and examining their hurts received in the fray, which were in some cases +very severe.</p> + +<p>Mr Sidney's rooms were reached by another staircase, and as the big clock +of the palace struck five, Humphrey went down into the porter's hall and +inquired of one of the attendants if Mr Sidney was stirring.</p> + +<p>'He isn't stirring, for he hasn't been a-bed,' was the answer.</p> + +<p>'Then I shall gain admittance?'</p> + +<p>'Most like,' was the reply, with a prolonged yawn.</p> + +<p>'Those are lucky who can slumber undisturbed, whether a-bed or up. +Yesterday's show fell hard on those who had to work at it.'</p> + +<p>'I hear you let in a vagrant last night, Master Ratcliffe. The porter saith +if harm comes of it he won't take the blame. Most like a rascally Jesuit +come to spy out some ways to brew mischief.'</p> + +<p>'A harmless country lout is not likely to brew mischief,' Humphrey said +sharply. 'The man came on urgent business, in which none here but myself +have concern,' and then he crossed to the door +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> leading to the apartments +occupied by Mr Sydney and Sir Fulke Greville.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe had not to wait for admittance to Philip Sidney's room.</p> + +<p>He answered the tap at the door with a ready 'Enter,' and Humphrey found +him seated before a table covered with papers, the morning light upon his +gold-coloured hair, and on his beautiful face.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe stopped short on the threshold of the door before +closing it behind him, and how often, in the years that were to come, did +Philip Sidney's figure, as he saw it then, return to him as a vivid reality +from which time had no power to steal its charm.</p> + +<p>Philip looked up with a smile, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Well, my good Humphrey, you are astir early.'</p> + +<p>'And you, sir, have been astir all night!'</p> + +<p>'Sleep would not come at my bidding, Humphrey, and it is in vain to court +her. She is a coy mistress, who will not be caught by any wiles till she +comes of her own sweet will. But is aught amiss, Humphrey, that you seek me +so soon? Hero, my good horse, came out of the fray untouched. I assured +myself of that ere I came hither last night.'</p> + +<p>'There is nothing wrong with Hero, sir, that I know of. I dare to seek you +for counsel in a matter which causes me great distress.'</p> + +<p>Philip Sidney had many great gifts, but perhaps +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> none bound his friends and +dependants more closely to him, nor won their allegiance more fully, than +the sympathy with which he entered into all their cares and joys, their +sorrows or their pleasures.</p> + +<p>Immediately, as Humphrey told his story, he was listening with profound +attention, and Humphrey's burden seemed to grow lighter as he felt it +shared with his chief.</p> + +<p>'You know her, sir! You can believe how sore my heart is for her. In all +the sorrows which have well nigh crushed her, this boy has been her one +consolation and joy, and he is stolen from her.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Philip Sidney said, 'I do know Mistress Gifford, and have always +pleased myself with the thought that she would put aside the weeds of +widowhood and make you happy some day, good Humphrey.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, sir; she has given me too plainly to understand this is impossible. +She is as a saint in Heaven to me. I love her with my whole heart, and +yet—yet—I feel she is too far above me, and that I shall never call her +mine.'</p> + +<p>'Well, well, let us hope you may yet attain unto your heart's desire, nor +have it ever denied, as is God's will for me. But now, as to the boy—it +puzzles me why any man should kidnap a child of these tender years. What +can be the motive?'</p> + +<p>'I know not, sir, unless it be the greedy desire of the Papists to gain +over, and educate in their false doctrines and evil practices, children +likely to serve +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +their ends. Mistress Gifford's husband was, so it is said, +a Papist from the first moment that he married her, but hid it from her, +and played his part well.'</p> + +<p>'I do not doubt it. While in the service of my Uncle Leicester, it was his +policy to profess the Reformed Faith. Failing to obtain what he wanted, he +threw off disguise, and, as I understand, after an intrigue with another +man's wife, had a fierce fight with the injured husband, so deadly that +both lost their lives in the fray.'</p> + +<p>'Some said this Gifford, fearing disgrace, had left the country, others +that he died. Mistress Gifford must believe the last to be true or she +would not, methinks, have clothed herself in the weeds of widowhood.'</p> + +<p>'But now, my good Humphrey, you would fain have leave to prosecute your +inquiries. God speed you in them, and may they be successful. Mistress +Gifford's reference to Douay makes me think she may have some notion, to +connect this centre of the Papists with the disappearance of her boy. At +any rate, see her, and, if it is advisable for you to repair to Douay, go, +but beware you are not entrapped by any of those Jesuits' snares.'</p> + +<p>'I am loth to leave you, sir,' Humphrey said, 'yet I feel bound to do what +in me lies to rescue this boy. A goodly child he is, full of spirit, and, +though wild at times as a young colt, obedient to his mother. Alack!' +Humphrey continued, 'his poor bereft mother. Would to God I knew how to +comfort her.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was then arranged that Humphrey should set off, without loss of time, +for Penshurst, stopping at Tunbridge on the road to institute inquiries +there.</p> + +<p>George Ratcliffe was also returning home with several horses which had been +over-strained in the tourney of the day before, and both brothers left +London together, with Ned on the baggage horse with the serving-man, before +noon, George scarcely less heavy-hearted than Humphrey, and too much +absorbed in his own troubles to be alive to his brother's. What was the +loss of little Ambrose when compared with the utter hopelessness he felt +about Lucy.</p> + +<p>George rode moodily by his brother's side, scarcely heeding what he saw, +and torturing himself with the careless indifference with which Lucy had +treated him.</p> + +<p>He had asked her to come to his mother's lodgings, and she had refused, +saying,—</p> + +<p>'You have Mistress Dorothy here, you cannot want me. Besides, I am under +orders, and Crawley must be obeyed.'</p> + +<p>Then, in the intervals of the tournament, George had seen the eyes of +several gallants directed towards Lady Pembroke's booth, and heard one man +say,—</p> + +<p>'There is a pretty maiden in the Countess's following. I lay a wager I will +get a smile from her.'</p> + +<p>'Not you,' was the reply; 'she has eyes for no one but Mr Sidney. She +follows him with admiring glances; no one else has a chance.'</p> + +<p>While George was inwardly fuming against the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> two men, one rode up to the +booth, and bowing low, till his head nearly swept his horse's neck, he +presented a posy, tied with a blue riband, to Lucy, who smiled and blushed +with delight, quite indifferent to the scowl on George's face, as he sat +grimly on his horse at the further end of the tilting-yard, where he was +stationed, with several others, with a relay of horses in case fresh ones +should be wanted by the combatants.</p> + +<p>Unversed in the ways of the Court, George did not know that it was the +habit of gallants to present posies, as they would have said, at the shrine +of beauty. From the Maiden Queen upon the throne to the pretty bower-woman +at her needle, this homage was expected, and received almost as a matter of +course. But George, like many other men of his age, had his special +divinity, and could not endure to see other worshippers at her feet.</p> + +<p>All these memories of the two days' tournament occupied George Ratcliffe +during his ride by his brother's side, and kept up a sort of accompaniment +to the measured trot of the horses as they were brought up in the rear by +the servants in charge of them. After a long silence, George said,—</p> + +<p>'Did you see Mistress Lucy ere we started, Humphrey, to let her know of her +sister's trouble.'</p> + +<p>'No,' was the answer. 'No; I could not get permission to do so, but I sent +a letter by the hand of one of Lord Pembroke's esquires, which would tell +her of her sister's trouble.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It was an ill day for me,' George said, 'when Lucy Ratcliffe came to the +Court. I have lost her now.'</p> + +<p>'Nay now, George, do not be a craven and lose heart. You may win yet. There +is time, and to spare, before you.'</p> + +<p>Thereupon George gave his sturdy roan steed a sharp cut with the whip, +which surprised him greatly. He resented the indignity by plunging from +side to side of the rugged road, and by his heavy gambols sending the other +horses off in a variety of antics.</p> + +<p>When the horses were quieted down again, Humphrey said, laughing,—</p> + +<p>'Poor old fellow! he doesn't understand why his master should punish him +for the offences of Mistress Lucy Ratcliffe.' Then, more seriously, 'My own +heart is heavy within me, but I try to ease the burden by doing what I can +to relieve the pain of her whom I love. Action is the best cure for heart +sickness.'</p> + +<p>'But action is impossible for me, Humphrey. I have only to endure. Here am +I, riding back to our home to eat the bread of disappointment, leaving her, +for whom I would gladly die, to the temptations of the Court. She will +listen to the wooing of some gallant, and my Lady Pembroke will abet it, +and then—'</p> + +<p>'Then bear it like a man, George; nor break your heart for a maiden, when +there are, I doubt not, many who are worthier and—'</p> + +<p>'That's fine talking,' poor George said wrathfully. 'What if I were to tell +you there are many worthier +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> than the widow of Ambrose Gifford. There are +some who say that she was not—'</p> + +<p>Humphrey's eyes had an angry light in them as he turned them full on his +brother.</p> + +<p>'Not a word more, George, of <i>her</i>. I will not brook it; her name is sacred +to me as the name of any saint in Heaven.'</p> + +<p>George felt he dare say no more, and, after another silence, Humphrey +asked,—</p> + +<p>'When does our mother propose to return?'</p> + +<p>'Not for a month. She has made friends with a draper in the Chepe, who is a +relation of our father's. He has a little, ill-favoured son, and I think I +saw signs of his wishing to win Dorothy Ratcliffe's favour. I would to +Heaven he may do so, and then I shall at any rate have peace and quiet, and +be free from hearing my mother lay plans of what she will do when I bring +Dorothy as mistress of Hillside. Marry Dorothy, forsooth! I pity any man +who is tied to that shrew for life.'</p> + +<p>'Even the ill-favoured cousin you speak of in the Chepe,' Humphrey said, +laughing in spite of himself. 'Nay, George, bear yourself as a man, and I +dare to say little Mistress Lucy will come round to your wishes.'</p> + +<p>'I would that I could hope, but despair has seized me ever since the day of +that tourney. Did you ever see anyone look fairer than she did that day +seated amongst all the grand folks? There was not one to compare with her, +and I caught +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +words in several quarters which showed me I am not wrong in +my estimate of her.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, George,' his brother said, 'we are all wont to think our own idols are +beyond compare; it is a common illusion—or delusion. But we are nearing +Tunbridge. Here we must part, for I must tarry here to pursue inquiries, +while you proceed homewards. The horses must be baited, and we must get +some refreshments at the hostel. It may be that in the inn kitchen I may +pick up some information that may be of service. I shall not ride to +Penshurst till nightfall, or may be the morrow, but I must confide a letter +to the care of that trusty Ned who I see coming up behind us but slowly on +yonder sturdy steed.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey dismounted in the yard of the hostel and gave orders to his groom, +while George went into the kitchen and bid the hostess spread a good meal +for the whole party.</p> + +<p>Humphrey waited outside till the baggage horse, on which Ned was seated +came up.</p> + +<p>Poor Ned was entirely unused to travel on horseback, and had found jolting +and bumping on the sturdy mare's back over the rough road far more painful +than his long march of the previous day and night. He was the butt of the +other servants, who laughed more loudly than politely as he was set on his +legs in the yard.</p> + +<p>He was so stiff from the confined position, that he staggered and would +have fallen, amidst the boisterous +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +jeers of the spectators, had not +Humphrey caught him, and, trying to steady him, said,—</p> + +<p>'Peace, ye varlets; this good fellow has done me a real service, and +deserves better at your hands than gibes and scoffs. Come hither, Ned. I +have yet something further for you to do for me.'</p> + +<p>Ned followed Humphrey with halting steps, shaking first one leg and then +another, as if to assure himself that they still belonged to him.</p> + +<p>'I'll do all you ask, Master,' Ned said, 'but ride a-horseback. I will walk +fifty miles sooner. My legs are full of pins and needles, and it will take +a deal of shaking and rubbing before I can call 'em my own again.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey could not resist laughing, for Ned's face was comical in its +contortions, as he stamped his feet and rubbed his shins with muttered +exclamations that, as long as his name was Ned, he would never get upon a +horse's back again.</p> + +<p>'You've got a fit of the cramp,' Humphrey said, 'it will soon pass. Now, +after you have had a good meal, take this letter which is tied and sealed, +and put it into the hands of Mistress Gifford. It will tell her all I can +yet tell her in answer to the letter you brought me. At least she will know +by it that I will do my utmost to serve her, and find her son.'</p> + +<p>Ned took the letter with his large brown fingers, and, putting it into the +pouch in the breast of his smock, he said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I'll carry it safe, Master, and I'll be off at once.'</p> + +<p>'Not till you have broken your long fast in the kitchen of the hostel.'</p> + +<p>'An it please you, Master, I would sooner be off, if I get a cake to eat on +the way, and a draft of ale before I start; that will serve me. Do not +order me, I pray you, to sit down with those gibing villains—no, nor order +me, kind sir, to mount a horse again. If I live to be three score, I pray +Heaven I may never sit a-horseback again.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="center">ACROSS THE FORD</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Farewell to you! my hopes, my wonted waking dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy, eclipsed are thy beams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell self-pleasing thoughts! which quietness brings forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And farewell friendship's sacred league! uniting minds of worth.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Sir F. Greville</span>, 1591.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +Lucy Forrester was mending the lace of one of Lady Pembroke's ruffs which +had been torn at the edge on the previous day, when a page brought in +Humphrey's letter, saying, 'For Mistress Forrester.'</p> + +<p>'Hand it hither,' Mistress Crawley said. 'It will keep till that lace is +mended, and I'd have you to know, Mistress Lucy, my lady is very careful +that there should be no billets passing between the young gentlewomen of +her household and idle gallants about the Court. A pack of rubbish is in +that letter, I'll warrant; some rhymes about your bright eyes and cherry +cheeks, or some such stuff.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, Madam, I desire to have my letter, and, if you will not +give it to me, I will go to my lady and tell her you refuse to let me have +it.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You little sauce-box! Do you think my lady has nought to do but attend to +the whimsies of chits like you? Go on with your work. Do you hear?'</p> + +<p>Lucy was burning with indignation, and, moreover, her curiosity was +awakened to know who had written to her, and what were the contents of the +letter.</p> + +<p>The spirit which had rebelled against her stepmother now asserted itself, +and she pushed back the stool on which she was sitting with such violence +that it fell with a crash on the floor, and, as it fell, knocked against +the spindle at which another of the maidens was sitting, and the thread +snapped in two.</p> + +<p>In the confusion which ensued Lucy escaped, and went into the gallery which +ran round the house, and meeting Mr Sidney, she stopped short.</p> + +<p>'Whither away, Mistress Lucy? My sister wishes to see you.'</p> + +<p>'And I wish to see my lady,' Lucy said, her breast heaving with suppressed +excitement. 'I was running to seek her.'</p> + +<p>Mistress Crawley now appeared, and, seizing Lucy by the shoulder, +exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'You impudent child! How dare you stop Mr Sidney? Return at once, or I'll +have you dismissed.'</p> + +<p>'Gently, good Mistress Crawley,' Philip Sidney said. 'It was I who was +seeking Mistress Lucy. Allow me to take her to the Countess's apartment, +where I fear ill news awaits her concerning her family at Penshurst.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>Philip Sidney's voice and manner had almost a magic power.</p> + +<p>Mistress Crawley begged his pardon, nor would she wish to interfere with +her lady's orders. She would take another opportunity of reporting Mistress +Forrester's conduct to her. And, with a profound curtsey to Philip, and an +angry glance at Lucy, she retreated from the field to renew her attack at a +more convenient season.</p> + +<p>'Oh! sir,' Lucy began, 'a letter was brought for me, and Mistress Crawley +would not suffer me to have it. I was angry—' and Lucy cast down her eyes, +the long lashes wet with tears; she could not meet the calm, grave face +looking down on her.</p> + +<p>Yet through all, there was the sense of infinite delight that Mr Sidney was +her friend, and that Mistress Crawley was discomfited.</p> + +<p>'My poor child,' he said, 'I am sorry for you, if, as I think, the letter +contains news of your sister's illness and of her great trouble.'</p> + +<p>'Mary, is it Mary who is sick, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, and worse than that, her boy has been stolen from her.'</p> + +<p>'Then I know who has done it,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I know it was that dreadful +man with the cruel eyes who scared me almost to death a month ago. He said +he wanted to see Ambrose, and now he has stolen him.'</p> + +<p>They were at the door of Lady Pembroke's room by this time, and Philip +Sidney drew aside the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +over arras hanging on it to let Lucy pass in. To her disappointment he said,—</p> + +<p>'I will leave you now to the Countess for comfort and counsel,' and then +the arras fell, and Lucy was called by Lady Pembroke to the further end of +the room, where she was sitting with parchment and pen before her.</p> + +<p>'Is that you, Mistress Forrester?' she said. 'Come hither. Mr Sidney has +brought tidings of Mistress Gifford, which are very grievous. Master +Humphrey Ratcliffe has gone to Penshurst, and will use every effort to +recover the boy, who—may God help her—has been stolen from his mother. +She is, I fear, very sick in body as well as mind, and I am debating +whether it would not be well for you to return to Penshurst under care of +some of the servants, who will be sent thither on the morrow. It would be a +comfort, surely, to your sister to have your presence.'</p> + +<p>Poor Lucy! This unexpected end to her bright hopes was too much for her. +Tears coursed each other down her cheeks, as much for her own +disappointment as sorrow for her sister. She stood before Lady Pembroke, +unable to utter a word.</p> + +<p>'Sit down, poor child,' Lady Pembroke said kindly. 'Yes, Crawley, what is +it?'</p> + +<p>For Mistress Crawley now appeared with the letter in her hand, and, with a +low curtsey, presented it to Lady Pembroke.</p> + +<p>'An' it please you, Madam, I cannot put up with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> Mistress Lucy's impudence. +There'll be no law and order amongst the young gentlewomen, over whom you +are pleased to set me, if this young woman is to put me at defiance. Vanity +and thinking of nought but gew-gaws and finery and looking out for +admiration, don't go to make a bower-woman such as a noble lady like +yourself might wish to have in her household. I would humbly say to you, my +lady, that I am not the one to put up with sauce and impudence from a +little country-bred maid you are pleased to take under your patronage.'</p> + +<p>'Dear Crawley,' Lady Pembroke said, 'Mistress Forrester is ill at ease at +this moment; the news from her home may well cause her dismay and grief; +leave her to me, and I will let you hear later to what conclusion I have +arrived.'</p> + +<p>Mistress Crawley curtseyed again even more profoundly than before, and, as +she left the room, murmured something about 'favourite,' which did not +reach Lady Pembroke's ear, or, if it did, passed unheeded.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke was sweet and gentle in her manner to all who served her, but +she was not weakly indulgent. Although her heart went out in pity towards +poor Lucy, whom she had watched on the previous day, in the full flush of +delight at her first taste of Court pageantry, and had seen, with some +uneasiness, that her beauty had attracted many eyes, she said gravely,—</p> + +<p>'Try to stop weeping, Lucy, and let us think what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> it will be best to do. +It is well always to look at duty first, and strive after its performance, +with God's help; and I think it will be your duty to return to your sister +in her distress.'</p> + +<p>'And leave you for ever, Madam!' Lucy exclaimed passionately.</p> + +<p>'Nay, I did not say as much; but, my child, if you return to my household, +it must be understood that you be submissive to Mistress Crawley—an old +and tried friend and servant—who commands respect, and must have it +rendered her.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Madam, I will, I will be submissive, only do not send me quite away.'</p> + +<p>It did not escape Lady Pembroke's notice that Lucy's tears and distress +were more for herself and her disappointment than for her sister. Lucy had +never learned a lesson of unselfishness, and she had thought chiefly of her +own pleasure, and how she could escape from the life at Ford Manor. And now +that she had escaped, now that a bright future had opened before her, +suddenly that future was clouded, and she was to return whence she came, +and would, doubtless, have to bear the gibes of her stepmother, who had, at +parting, said, 'She would be back in a trice, like a bad penny, returned as +worthless.'</p> + +<p>A prophecy fulfilled sooner than she had expected.</p> + +<p>All this time Humphrey's letter had not been opened, and Lady Pembroke +said,—</p> + +<p>'Let us know Master Ratcliffe's wishes; he is, as I know, a good friend to +your sister.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>'He will sure tell me to go back, but I cannot find little Ambrose; and I +am not skilled in nursing the sick, Madam, I know. Goody Pearse, in the +village, would tend Mary better. I love Mary. I love her dearly; and I +grieve about Ambrose, but—'</p> + +<p>'But you love yourself better than either your sister or her boy,' Lady +Pembroke said. 'Now, cut the string of that letter and let me know its +contents.'</p> + +<p>Lucy did as she was bid. Something in Lady Pembroke's grave manner made her +feel that she was not pleased with her, and, of all things, she longed to +win favour with her—Mr Sidney's sister!</p> + +<p>There were only a few words on the piece of folded parchment.</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'Mistress Lucy, you must crave leave of my lady, the Countess of Pembroke, +to return to Ford Manor. Your sister is in sore distress—her boy lost, and +she is lying sick and sad. Hasten to get leave to return on the morrow with +the gentlewomen and esquires, who are to reach Penshurst with my Lady +Sidney and Master Thomas. I am now, by leave of Mr Sidney, starting on the +quest for your nephew Ambrose Gifford. Pray God I may find him.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Yours to command, and in haste.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'<span class="smcap">Humphrey Ratcliffe.</span>'</span> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'This letter from so wise a gentleman leaves no alternative,' Lady Pembroke +said, as she scanned its contents, and then handed it back to Lucy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Orders shall be given for your joining the retinue which sets off for +Penshurst the morrow. Meantime, Lucy, return to your duties, and crave +pardon of Mistress Crawley for your insubordination.'</p> + +<p>'And I may return? Oh! Madam, I pray you, say I may return to you. Do not +cast me off.'</p> + +<p>'I shall be at Wilton for some months, and thither I may send for you, if, +as I trust, you will not be needed at Ford Manor.'</p> + +<p>Lucy still lingered.</p> + +<p>'Forgive me, Madam; do not dismiss me without forgiveness.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, surely, dear child,' Lady Pembroke said. 'I would fain see you happy, +and content with the lot appointed you by God. There are manifold +temptations in this world for us all. We need grasp the hand of One who +will not fail to lead us safely in prosperity, and by the waters of comfort +in adversity. Seek Him, Lucy, with your whole heart, and I pray God to +bless you.'</p> + +<p>Lucy kissed the hand held out to her with passionate fervour, and then went +back to do Lady Pembroke's bidding.</p> + +<p>The expedition to Hampton Court was the topic of conversation amongst the +ladies of the household.</p> + +<p>Several of the elder ones were to accompany Lady Pembroke in the earl's +barge; and Lucy heard the glowing accounts of the splendour of the +entertainment there, related in triumphant tones by those who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> were +fortunate enough to be selected to accompany the Countess.</p> + +<p>They dilated on the theme with some satisfaction, as poor Lucy sat at her +lace-mending, too proud to show her mortification, and yet inwardly chafing +against the hard fate, which had prevented her from being one of the party.</p> + +<p>'Better never to have tasted the sweets of a bright, gay life, than be so +suddenly snatched from it,' she thought. But her better self asserted +itself as she thought of Mary's distress in the loss of Ambrose.</p> + +<p>For Lucy had a better self, and she was not without higher aims. She +possessed natural gifts which, though perhaps inferior to her sister's, +only wanted cultivation. She eagerly devoured any books that came in her +way; and she had a keen perception of all that was beautiful—perhaps it is +safer to say, all that was grand and imposing.</p> + +<p>She loved to dream of herself as the lady of some fine house, surrounded by +all that wealth and rank could give.</p> + +<p>The ideal knight who was to endow her with this splendour was partly ideal, +but he took the form of Mr Sidney. She dare scarcely acknowledge this to +herself. He was set on high, so far above her, it is true; yet he was never +too high above her to forget her presence. His smile was a guerdon which +she craved to win; the glance of his grave, beautiful eyes thrilled through +her; the sound of his voice +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> was music, stirring within her an answering +chord, the echo of which was ever sweet and sweeter every time it was +awakened.</p> + +<p>It was, she felt sure, by his kind offices she had been placed in Lady +Pembroke's household. And did he not seem sad—sorry for her—when Mistress +Crawley pursued her in the gallery? Did he not call her 'My poor child!' +looking down at her with that light of sympathy in his eyes which seemed at +the moment to compensate for all else?</p> + +<p>Perhaps unconsciously to himself, Philip Sydney touched the hearts of many +a fair dame and youthful beauty about the Court of Queen Elizabeth. Indeed, +we know it to have been so, and that the charm he exercised was as subtle +as it was irresistible. This charm increased year by year, and perhaps +never was greater than at the time of which we are writing, when the +struggle within—a struggle in which he was to come out the victor—gave a +pathetic earnestness to his manner, and quickened his sympathies for every +kind and degree of sorrow or disappointment.</p> + +<p>It was as poor little Lucy said: 'He was not too high to stoop to care for +her, or for others.'</p> + +<p>In the early morning of the next day Lucy stood disconsolately in the +courtyard of Lord Pembroke's city house watching the packing of the +baggage, and awaiting the orders of the gentleman who was Master Thomas +Sydney's tutor, and was in command for the journey.</p> + +<p>All was in the bustle of departure, and Lucy felt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> that no one cared on +which pillion she was to ride, nor where her own modest packages were to be +stowed.</p> + +<p>She wore a scarlet riding-robe, with a hood which was lined with white +taffeta. It fell back, and made a background to her shining hair, and +defined the outline of her small, well-shaped head as she leaned against +the doorway in listless dejection, which was a contrast indeed to her +bright, sparkling mood as she bent over the edge of the booth at the +tournament.</p> + +<p>A sharp altercation was going on between two of the servants, each wishing +to have the honour of taking Lady Mary Sidney's youngest son on his +pillion.</p> + +<p>Presently the boy himself appeared in his black velvet riding suit, booted +and spurred, his red-gold locks—the true Sidney badge—falling over his +shoulders from under the stiff, pointed cap which shaded his forehead.</p> + +<p>'I am to ride alongside of you, not on the pillion like a babe. Peace! I +tell you, Mr Philip saith so. I am to ride Joan, the black mare, Master +Paynter saith it is Mr Philip's order.'</p> + +<p>'Philip,' the boy said, springing towards his brother who now came into the +yard, 'Philip, do not let them treat me as an infant.'</p> + +<p>Thomas Sidney was very small for his age, and was treated as youngest +children often are treated by the elders of a family, as if he were much +younger than his years.</p> + +<p>His delicacy appealed particularly to his brother +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> Philip, who was always +ready to stand his friend, when his elder brother Robin was inclined to +exercise a boyish tyranny over him.</p> + +<p>'Yes, forsooth, Thomas, you shall ride old Joan. Come, let me see you +mount. That is it, spring into the saddle; nay, do not take the rein so +slackly, and settle firmly in the saddle, nor use the stirrup for support. +A man should be able to ride with nothing but himself to trust to for a +safe seat.'</p> + +<p>Thomas was triumphant, and resisted his governess's attempts to throw a +cape over his shoulders, saying,—</p> + +<p>'The wind was in the east, and would be like to bite their heads off when +they turned into the country.'</p> + +<p>But Thomas threw off the wrap with an impatient gesture, and, in falling, +it hit the good woman on the face.</p> + +<p>'Ask pardon at once, Thomas,' Philip said sternly; 'nor forget the manners +of a gentleman, while you aspire to ride as one.'</p> + +<p>The colour rose to the boy's fair face, and, stooping from the saddle, he +said,—</p> + +<p>'I am sorry I was rude, Mistress Margery, but oh! I hate to be treated as a +babe.'</p> + +<p>Mistress Margery was easily mollified. She conspired with the rest of the +family to spoil the boy, of whom it was said that he resembled his sister +Ambrosia, who died of wasting sickness and was buried at Ludlow. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Thomas had a brave spirit if his body was weak, and to all the +refinement of his race he added indomitable courage and a perseverance +which surmounted what seemed insuperable barriers.</p> + +<p>When the avant-couriers had ridden off, Philip turned to Lucy.</p> + +<p>'On which horse are you to ride, Mistress Forrester? Let me lift you to +your place.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was trembling with joy that Mr Sidney should care for her comfort, +and, as we all know, joy lies very near the fount of tears.</p> + +<p>She dare scarcely trust herself to speak, as she heard Mr Sidney call a +groom to bring up the grey horse, Prince, for Mistress Forrester.</p> + +<p>'Poor old Prince!' Philip said, stroking the horse's neck, who knew his +hand and bowed his head in acknowledgment, 'he has been a trusty servant, +and will carry you safely, I know. But bring hither another cushion for the +pillion,' he called to an attendant, 'and put a package below, for Mistress +Forrester's feet to rest upon.'</p> + +<p>Then he lifted Lucy to her place, saying, as he did so,—</p> + +<p>'Methinks Prince will not complain of the burden he has to carry to-day, it +is but a feather's weight. See, place your feet on this roll, and let me +cover them with the haircloth—so; does that suit you?'</p> + +<p>The groom was about to take his place on the side of the pillion nearest +the horse's head, when he remembered he had forgotten to fill the powder +flask,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> for no horseman ever ventured on the Queen's highway without +abundant supply for the musket, which lay across the saddle bow.</p> + +<p>The delay caused by this gave Mr Sidney time to say,—</p> + +<p>'Heaven grant you may find Mistress Gifford in better case than we fear. +You do well to go to her, and comfort her; commend me to her, and say +Humphrey Ratcliffe has my freely-given permission to scour the country to +find her lost boy. He will do so if he is to be found, and it will be a +double grace if he does, for we may be able to unearth some of these foxy +Jesuits who are lying in wait in every hole and corner.'</p> + +<p>Then, as Lucy did not speak, Philip laid his hand gently on hers as he +leaned against the horse, with one arm caressing his old favourite's neck.</p> + +<p>'Smile on me before you set off, Mistress Lucy, nor look so doleful. The +clouds will clear away, I doubt not, and you will return to my sister, the +Countess, to be blythe and happy in learning all Mistress Crawley would +fain teach you of handicraft, and still more, all my sister can instruct +you in, for she is ever ready to give out the treasures which she has +stored up in her brain and heart.'</p> + +<p>And now the groom appeared, and mounted to his place, and still Lucy could +not find any words.</p> + +<p>'God speed you in your journey,' was Philip's good-bye, and Lucy could only +murmur a few half-inaudible words, as she looked down on the true +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> knight +who filled her girlish dreams, and to whom there never was, and never could +be, any rival.</p> + +<p>And as the steady-going Prince footed it with even steps over the stones, +and trotted along the somewhat rugged roads on the way to Tunbridge, Lucy +tormented herself with her folly in never telling Mr Sidney in so many +words how grateful she was to him.</p> + +<p>'Fool that I was!' she thought. 'And he so tender and careful for my +comfort. What a poor idiot I must have seemed! Yet, sure, I must find +favour in his eyes, or he would not have wrapt the cloth so deftly round my +feet. Oh, is he not noble and beautiful beyond all men who ever lived? I +hear them say the Queen calls him "her Philip" and "her bright gem," and +that he is the wisest statesman, and grandest poet and finest scholar of +the age, and yet he is not too great to be good to me—little Lucy +Forrester. And it may be I shall never see him again—never return to Lady +Pembroke—live up on that hill all my days, and get as stupid and dull as +the old brindled cow that stares with big, dull eyes straight before her, +and sees nought, nor cares for nought but to chew her food.</p> + +<p>'Alack! I am right sorry for Mary's grief. But I wish, if Ambrose was to be +stolen, she had not fallen sick, so that I must needs go and tend her. I am +a selfish hussy to feel this—selfish and hard-hearted! But, oh, was ever +anyone more grievously disappointed than I am. A few short, bright days, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +and then back, back to the old, dreary life. Still, I am young; yes, and I +am fair too. I know it, and I may yet be happy.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's meditations continued in this strain, in alternate fears and hopes, +for some time.</p> + +<p>The cavalcade stopped at intervals at wayside hostels to bait the horses, +and to refresh the travellers with draughts of ale and cider. One of these +potations had a soporific effect on Lucy, and, after drinking it, she +became oblivious of jolts and stoppages, of the fair country through which +she passed, and was wrapped in profound slumber, her head resting against +the broad back of the servant who held the reins, and urged on old Prince's +somewhat slow steps by a succession of monotonous sounds, which now and +again broke into the refrain of a song, one of the ballads familiar to +Kentish men, and handed down from father to son for many generations.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>Humphrey had reached Ford Manor late on the previous evening. He had ridden +hard and fast to Tunbridge, and had heard from Dorothy Ratcliffe's father +that the Papists' colony was supposed to be broken up, and that they had +escaped to Southampton, and taken ship for France.</p> + +<p>Two priests had been seized and thrown into prison at Canterbury, and this +was supposed to have caused the dispersion of their followers, who had +evaded pursuit, and were now thought to be beyond +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> the reach of their +persecutors. But neither from his old uncle, Edgar Ratcliffe, nor from any +other source could Humphrey glean any information which might throw light +on the disappearance of little Ambrose Gifford.</p> + +<p>Nor did the intelligence of his loss seem greatly to affect the old man, +nor indeed to be of any interest to the few people at Tunbridge of whom +Humphrey made inquiries.</p> + +<p>They were far more anxious to hear news from the Court, and of the +tournament, and whether Mr Sidney had won fresh laurels, and if the Queen +was really going to wed with a Popish prince. This was what the Papists +built their hopes upon, and then it would be their turn to trample on the +Protestants.</p> + +<p>As Humphrey rode through Penshurst, the village was wrapt in profound +repose, for in those times people went to bed and rose with the sun. +Artificial light was scarcely known in the farms and homesteads of country +districts, and there was only one twinkling light in the window of the +hostel in the street to show belated travellers that if they desired +shelter and rest they might find it there.</p> + +<p>Humphrey rode slowly as he got nearer his destination, feeling reluctance +to be the bearer of no good news to one, who he knew was eagerly looking +for him.</p> + +<p>The waters of the little Medway were low, for the season had been unusually +dry, and Humphrey's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> horse knew the ford well, and easily stepped over it, +his hoofs making a dull splash in the rippling stream.</p> + +<p>The stars were bright overhead and a crescent moon gave a silvery light. +The stillness was profound. At the entrance of the lane leading to Ford +Manor the horse stopped short; he evidently wanted to go to his own stable +on the crest of the hill.</p> + +<p>In that momentary pause Humphrey turned in the saddle, and, looking back, +saw the dark outline of the grand old home of the Sidneys and the dark +masses of the stately trees which surround it, clear cut against the sky, +in which the moon hung like a silver lamp.</p> + +<p>The peace which reigned seemed to strike him as a sharp contrast with the +turmoil and noise of the city he had lately left. The Court, so full of +heart-burnings and jealousies and strivings to win a higher place in the +favour of those who were in favour with the Queen. The image of him who +was, perhaps, at that time Elizabeth's chief favourite rose before him, and +he thought how far happier he would be to live, apart from Court favour and +rivalries, in the stately home which was the pride, not only of the Sidneys +themselves, but of everyone of their tenants and dependents on their +wide-stretching domain. For Humphrey could not hide from himself that his +chief was often sad at heart, and that sometimes, in uncontrollable +weariness, he would say that he would fain lead a retired +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> life in his +beloved Penshurst. His moods were, it is true, variable, and at times he +was the centre of everything that was bright and gay at Court, sought after +as one who could discourse sweetest music, the most graceful figure in the +dance, the most accomplished poet who could quickly improvise a verse in +praise of his Queen, or a rhyme to commemorate some feat of arms at joust +or tourney, like that of the preceding day.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe thought that he held the solution of his Master's +alternations of sadness and cheerfulness, and, as he rode up to the Manor, +he sighed as he remembered Philip Sidney's words.</p> + +<p>'Let us hope you may attain your heart's desire, nor have it ever denied +you, as is God's will for me.'</p> + +<p>'Denied to me also, but yet I have a hope, Mr Sidney cannot have; no +impassable barrier rises between me and Mary. If I find her boy I may reap +my reward.'</p> + +<p>At the sound of the horse's feet the casement above the porch was opened, +and a woman's head was thrust out.</p> + +<p>'Who goes there?'</p> + +<p>'It is I, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I have an errand to Mistress Gifford.'</p> + +<p>'She is sick, and can't hear aught to-night. It is near midnight. Go your +way, and return in the morning, Master Ratcliffe.'</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause, the woman's head was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> withdrawn, and Humphrey's +ear, quickened by love, heard Mary's voice in pathetic pleading. Presently +the head re-appeared.</p> + +<p>'Mistress Gifford says, "Do you bring news?"'</p> + +<p>'I would fain see her, if possible. I cannot speak of such matters here.'</p> + +<p>'Then you must wait till the morrow, nor parley any longer.'</p> + +<p>The casement was shut with a sharp click, and there was nothing left for +Humphrey but to pursue his way to his own home, whither George—who had +parted from him at Tunbridge—and his servants had preceded him earlier in +the day.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford lay sleepless and restless all through the long hours of the +night, watching for the dawn. She longed, and yet half dreaded her meeting +with Humphrey. She felt so utterly weak and broken-hearted, so forlorn and +deserted—what if he again urged his suit!—what if she had now to tell him +what had been at their last interview only a probability, and was now a +certainty! Her husband was no vague, shadowy personality; he was alive and +strong, to work for her the greatest evil that could befall her in stealing +her boy from her.</p> + +<p>When Mistress Forrester came in, on her way to the dairy, to see how it +fared with Mary, she found her, to her surprise, dressed, while Goody +Pearse was snoring peacefully on the pallet bed, where Ambrose had slept +near his mother.</p> + +<p>'Dear heart! Mary Gifford, what do you mean by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> getting up like this? I +thought, forsooth, you were so sick you had need of a nurse, to take a few +more shillings out of my pocket, and here you are at five o'clock, up and +spry. Well-a-day, I never did come to the bottom of you. Deep waters, they +say, make no noise.'</p> + +<p>Mary had braced herself to bear anything and everything, and was strangely +unmoved by her stepmother's innuendoes, of which she took no notice, and +only said, in a gentle voice,—</p> + +<p>'Is Ned astir yet?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know. He came hobbling in after his goose-chase to London on your +account, losing a couple of days' work; and I warrant he will have to be +shaken before he gets about his business.'</p> + +<p>'I can get downstairs,' Mary said, 'if Ned will help to carry me. I fear I +cannot put my leg to the ground yet.'</p> + +<p>'No; and you may give up the notion. If you come down, you may as lief do +without a nurse, and take to your lawful business. It is a pretty +thing!—one of you gadding off to town and thinking herself a fine lady, +and t'other laming herself and wanting to be tended by a paid woman.'</p> + +<p>At this juncture Goody Pearse awoke, bewildered and much alarmed by the +presence of Mistress Forrester. She expected a sharp reprimand, but +Mistress Forrester left the room without another word either to nurse or +patient.</p> + +<p>'Dear heart! what made you get up afore I was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> ready? You'll have raging +pain in your foot again, sure as fate.'</p> + +<p>'I must get downstairs to-day to see Master Humphrey Ratcliffe. Ned will +help me.'</p> + +<p>Mary's resolution did not falter. Her humble and faithful admirer, Ned, +appeared at the attic door, when summoned by Goody Pearse, to help her +downstairs. Ned made short work of it; he lifted Mary in his arms, and +trudged down the creaking steps with her without a single halt, and placed +her by her desire on the settle, where her leg could rest. Mary's smile was +a sufficient reward for Ned. But when Mary held out her hand, and said she +owed him more than tongue could tell for going to London, Ned was +speechless with emotion. At last he blurted out,—</p> + +<p>'I'd walk a hundred miles to serve you, Mistress; I'd even ride 'em for +your sake. But, oh, Lord! I am sore to-day with the cramp I got +a-horseback. Here is a letter from Master Ratcliffe; he bid me put into +your hands and into none other, and I have kept to the order. Take it, +Mistress.'</p> + +<p>Mary held out her hand, and took the much crumpled and soiled letter from +Ned's large, brown fingers. But she had not opened it when Humphrey +Ratcliffe himself came up to the porch, and stopped short on the threshold +as if struck by some sudden blow.</p> + +<p>He was not prepared to see so great a change in Mary in so short a time. +Pain of body, however severe, nor the deep cut in her forehead, could +hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +have left such traces of suffering on her face—still, in +Humphrey's eyes, beautiful, though with lines of sorrow round her mouth and +eyes.</p> + +<p>'Enter, my kind friend,' Mary said, in a low, sweet voice, holding out her +hand to him. 'This good Ned,' she said, 'has faithfully performed his +errand, and deserves our thanks.' Ned, bashful and awkward, made for the +door and disappeared. 'But what news? Is there aught to tell me of my +child?'</p> + +<p>Humphrey had by this time advanced to the settle, and, kneeling by it, he +took Mary's hand in his, and kissed it gently and reverently.</p> + +<p>'I could find no trace of the boy in Tunbridge. The whole colony of Papists +has broken up and fled. Some of their number have been thrown into prison, +awaiting judgment for conspiracy. I did not tarry, therefore, at Tunbridge, +but rode on here last night.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Mary said. 'I heard your voice; and now—now what next?'</p> + +<p>'It is my purpose to follow that villain who kidnapped the boy, and regain +possession of him. It is a puzzle to me to understand why he should steal +him.'</p> + +<p>'He is so handsome, so clever,' his mother said. 'Humphrey, I cannot, I +cannot lose him. I must find him; and he will break his heart for his +mother,' she said passionately. 'His mother! bereft and desolate without +him.'</p> + +<p>'We will find him,' Humphrey said, 'never fear. My noble master has given +me leave to go on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +quest to France, or, it may be, the Low Countries, +for the Papists have schools and centres of worship in all the Protestant +towns.'</p> + +<p>'The Low Countries,' Mary said, 'I have a friend there, at Arnhem, one +George Gifford; he is an honest and godly minister. In my first grief and +despair years ago, I sent a letter to him for counsel. He was then in +England, and acted a father's part by me, though only my husband's uncle. +Yes, I will go to him as soon as I can put my foot on the ground. I will +leave all things, and go on the quest myself—alone.'</p> + +<p>'Not alone!' Humphrey said, 'not alone, but with me. Oh, Mary! I will tend +you and care for you, and we will seek together for <i>our</i> boy—mine as +yours, yours as mine. We will go to this good man of whom you speak, and +all will be well. God will speed us.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, dear friend,' Mary said. 'Nay, it cannot be. I can never be your +wife.'</p> + +<p>'And, by Heaven, why not? What hinders? Something tells me, presumptuous +though it may be, that you might give me a little—a little love, in return +for mine. Why is it beyond hope?'</p> + +<p>'Hush!' Mary said, 'you do not know why it is beyond hope.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey's brow darkened, and he bit his under lip to restrain his +irritation.</p> + +<p>Presently Mary laid her hand on his shoulder as he knelt by her. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It is beyond hope,' she said,'because the man who stole my child from me +is my husband.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey started to his feet, and said in a voice of mingled rage and +despair,—</p> + +<p>'The villain! the despicable villain! I will run him through the body an I +get the chance.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Humphrey,' Mary said in pleading tones, 'do not make my burden +heavier by these wild words. Rumours had reached me in the winter of last +year, when the Earl of Leicester with his large following were at +Penshurst, that my husband was alive. Since then I have never felt secure; +yet I did not dare to doff my widow's garments, fearing—hoping the report +was false. As soon as I heard of this man lurking about the countryside, a +horrible dread possessed me. He asked Lucy to bring Ambrose to meet +him—this strengthened my fears. From that moment I never let the boy out +of my sight. Thus, on that morning of doom, I took him with me to look for +the shepherd and the lost lamb. Ah! woe is me! He was lying in wait. He had +told me, when as I sat late in the porch one evening, that he would have my +boy, and I knew he would wreak his vengeance on me by this cruel deed. I +seized Ambrose by the hand and ran—you know the rest—I fell unconscious; +and when I awoke from my stupor, the light of my eyes was gone from me.</p> + +<p>'Ah! if God had taken my boy by death; if I had seen him laid in the cold +grave, at least I could have wept, and committed him to safe keeping in +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +hands of his Heavenly Father—safe in Paradise from all sin. But +now—now he will be taught to lie; and to hate what is good; and be brought +up a Papist; and bidden to forget his mother—his <i>mother</i>!'</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe listened, as Mary spoke, like one in a dream.</p> + +<p>He must be forgiven if, for the moment, the mother's grief for the loss of +her boy seemed a small matter, when compared with his despair that he had +lost her.</p> + +<p>For a few moments neither spoke, and then with a great rush of passionate +emotion, Humphrey flung himself on his knees by Mary's side, crying out,—</p> + +<p>'Mary! Mary! say one word to comfort me. Say, at least, if it were +possible, you could love me. Why should you be loyal to that faithless +villain? Come to me, Mary.'</p> + +<p>The poor, desolate heart, that was pierced with so many wounds, craved, +hungered for the love offered her. How gladly would she have gone to +Humphrey, how thankfully felt the support of his honest and steadfast love. +But Mary Gifford was not a weak woman—swayed hither and thither by the +passing emotion of the moment. Clear before her, even in her sorrow, was +the line of duty. The sacred crown of motherhood was on her brow, and +should she dare to dim its brightness by yielding to the temptation which, +it is not too much to say, Humphrey's words put before her. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>She gathered all her strength, and said in a calm voice,—</p> + +<p>'You must never speak thus to me again, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I am—God help +me—the wife of Ambrose Gifford, and,' she paused, and then with pathetic +earnestness, '<i>I am the mother of his son.</i> Let that suffice.'</p> + +<p>Again there was a long silence. From without came the monotonous cawing of +the rooks in the elm trees, the occasional bleating of the lambs in the +pastures seeking their mother's side, and the voices of the shepherd's +children, who had come down to fetch the thin butter-milk which Mistress +Forrester measured out to the precise value of the small coin the +shepherd's wife sent in exchange.</p> + +<p>It was a sore struggle, but it was over at last.</p> + +<p>When Humphrey Ratcliffe rose from his knees, Mary had the reward which a +good and true woman may ever expect sooner or later to receive from a +noble-hearted man, in a like case.</p> + +<p>'You are right, Mary,' he said, 'as you ever are. Forgive me, and in token +thereof let us now proceed to discuss the plans for the rescue of your +boy.'</p> + +<p>This was now done with surprising calmness on both sides.</p> + +<p>Humphrey decided to start first for Douay, and then, failing to trace any +tidings of the boy, he would proceed to Arnhem, and enlist the sympathies +and help of the good man, George Gifford, to get upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> the right track for +the recovery of his nephew's child.</p> + +<p>'He is a just man, and will tender the best advice,' Mary said. 'It is true +that a father has a right to his own son, but sure I have a right, and a +right to save him from the hands of Papists. But I have little hope—it is +dead within me—quite dead. My last hope for this world died when I lost my +boy.'</p> + +<p>'God grant I may kindle that hope into life once more,' Humphrey said, in a +voice of restrained emotion, and not daring to trust himself to say another +word, he bent his knee again before Mary, took the long, slender hands +which hung listlessly at her side, and bowing his head for a moment over +them, Humphrey Ratcliffe was gone!</p> + +<p>Mary neither spoke nor moved, and when Goody Pearse came with a bowl of +milk and bread she found her in a deadly swoon, from which it was hard to +recall her. Mistress Forrester came at the old woman's call, and burnt +feathers under Mary's nose, and, with a somewhat ruthless hand, dashed cold +water over her pale, wan face, calling her loudly by name; and, when at +last she recovered, she scolded her for attempting to come downstairs, and +said she had no patience with sick folk giving double trouble by wilful +ways. Better things were expected of grown women than to behave like +children, with a great deal more to the same purpose, which seemed to have +no effect on Mary, who lay with large wistful eyes gazing out at the open +door through which Humphrey had passed—large +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> tearless eyes looking in +vain for her boy, who would never gladden them again!</p> + +<p>'The light of mine eyes!' she whispered; 'the light of mine eyes!'</p> + +<p>'Shut the door,' Mistress Forrester said to her serving-maid, Avice, who +stood with her large, red arms folded, looking with awe at the pallid face +before her. 'She calls out that the light dazes her; methinks she must be +got back to bed, and kept there.'</p> + +<p>The heavy wooden door was closed, and but a subdued light came in through +the small diamond panes of thick, greenish glass which filled the lattice. +Presently the large weary eyes closed, and with a gentle sigh, she said,—</p> + +<p>'I am tired; let me sleep, if sleep will come.'</p> + +<p>The business of the poultry-yard and dairy were far too important to be +further neglected, and Mistress Forrester, sharply calling Avice to mind +her work, nor stand gaping there like a gander on a common, left Goody +Pearse with her patient.</p> + +<p>The old crone did her best, though that best was poor.</p> + +<p>Nursing in the days of Queen Elizabeth was of a very rough and ready +character, and even in high circles, there was often gross ignorance +displayed in the treatment of the sick.</p> + +<p>The village nurse had her own nostrums and lotions, and the country +apothecary, or leech as he was called, who led very often a nomadic life, +taking rounds in certain districts, and visiting at intervals +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> lonely +homesteads and hamlets, was obliged, and perhaps content, to leave his +patient to her care, and very often her treatment was as likely to be +beneficial as his own.</p> + +<p>Goody Pearse, to do her justice, had that great requisite for a nurse, in +every age and time—a kind heart.</p> + +<p>She felt very sorry for Mary, and, when Mistress Forrester was gone, she +crooned over her, and smoothed the pillow at her head, and then proceeded +to examine her foot, and bind it up afresh in rags steeped in one of her +own lotions.</p> + +<p>The doctor had ordered potations of wine for Mary, and Mistress Forrester +had produced a bottle of sack from her stores, a mugful of which Goody +Pearse now held to Mary's pale lips.</p> + +<p>'I only want quiet,' she said, in a low, pathetic voice; 'quiet, and, if +God please, sleep.'</p> + +<p>'And this will help it, dear heart,' the old woman said. 'Sup it up, like a +good child, for, Heaven help you, you are young enow.'</p> + +<p>Mary smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>'Young! nay; was I ever young and glad?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, my dearie, and you'll be young and glad again afore long. There! you +are better already, and Ned shall carry you up again when there's peace and +quiet.'</p> + +<p>It was evening, and Mary Gifford had been laid again on her own bed, when +quick footsteps were heard before the house, and Lucy's voice,—</p> + +<p>'How fares it with Mary?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>Goody Pearse was on the watch at the casement above, and called out,—</p> + +<p>'Come up and see for yourself, Lucy Forrester.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was up the crooked, uneven stairs in a moment, and Mary, stretching +out her arms, said,—</p> + +<p>'Oh! Lucy, Lucy.'</p> + +<p>The two sisters were locked in a long embrace.</p> + +<p>'I am sorry you are fetched back from all your pleasures, little sister,' +Mary said at last.</p> + +<p>'Nay, I am glad to come. I have had a taste of happiness, and it will last +till you are well, and we both go away from here, and the boy is found—for +he will be found—Humphrey Ratcliffe will scour the world ere he gives up +finding him, and Mr Sidney has granted him leave to go whither he lists, to +get hold of that wicked man with his horrible, cruel, black eyes. How I +hate him!'</p> + +<p>'Do not speak of him,' Mary said, shuddering; 'do not speak of him,' and +she put her hand to her side, as if the very mention of him sent a pang +through her heart. 'Let me look at you, Lucy,' she said presently. 'Turn +your face to the light that I may scan it. Ah!' she said, 'still my little, +innocent sister, and with a happy light in her eyes.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's face grew crimson.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said. 'I have been happy, though there have been some crooks and +quips to bear from old Mother Crawley. Yet, oh, Mary! when there is one big +heart-joy, everything else seems so small, and poor, and mean.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Have you made George Ratcliffe happy, then, with a promise to requite his +love?'</p> + +<p>'George Ratcliffe!' Lucy exclaimed. 'Nay, Mary—not for a lap full of +gold.'</p> + +<p>'Who, then, is it? for there is someone? Who is it, Lucy? I pray God he is +a noble Christian gentleman.'</p> + +<p>'He is the noblest, and best, and highest that ever lived. Hearken, Mary! +and do not scoff at me—nor scorn me. No, you can never do that, I know. My +knight is far above me—so far, it may be, that he will never stoop so low +as to give me more than passing signs of his good-will. But I <i>have had</i> +these. He has shone on me with his smile, he has thought of my comfort, he +did not deem the country maiden of no account, when grand ladies were +ogling him, and trying to win his favour, he did not think me beneath +notice when he lifted me on the saddle this very morning, and covered me +with a warm cloth, and bade me "God speed." If nought else comes—well, I +will live on what I have had from him. The crumbs of bread from him are +sweeter and richer than a feast from another. As I have jogged hither +to-day, there has been the thought of him to make me willing to give up +everything to gain his approval—his meed of praise. He bid me come to you, +and I came. Nay, it was my Lady Pembroke who <i>bid</i> me come—it was Humphrey +Ratcliffe who said I <i>must</i> e'en come—but it was my knight who told +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> me I +<i>did well</i> to come. And at these words a new feeling quickened in me about +it.</p> + +<p>'You do not understand, Mary, I see you do not understand. You think me +silly, and vain, and selfish—and you are right. I am all three. I have +been all three, and hot-tempered, and saucy, and oh! a hundred other +things, but now I have an aim to be good and act in all things as my knight +would have me. Oh, Mary, could you have seen him as he rode into the +tilt-yard on Whit-Monday, in his blue and gold armour, sitting on his fine +horse, so stately and grand—could you have seen him break lance after +lance, his face shining like the sun, you would know what it is for me to +feel such an one can give a thought to me—even a passing thought.</p> + +<p>'Mary! Mary! I cannot help it. I love him—I worship him—and there is an +end of the whole matter. It will make no odds whether what looks impossible +becomes possible—he is to me what no one beside can ever be. There, it is +out now, and I pray you do not despise me. I will be ever so patient now. I +will do all I am bidden, and one day, Mary, we will leave this place—it is +no home now, and I will return to my Lady Pembroke, and Humphrey Ratcliffe +will find Ambrose, and you will be his wife, and—'</p> + +<p>'Hush, Lucy; not a word more. I will keep sacred and secret in my heart +what you have told me, dear child. I will not judge you hardly. You +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> are +young—so young—as young as I was when I went forth to sorrow and misery. +For you, even though I think your dream baseless, and that you are feeding +hope on what may turn out to be the ashes of disappointment, I will not +despair. I know your idol is worthy, and love for one who is pure and noble +cannot work ill in the end. I will keep your secret; now, Lucy, little +sister—keep mine. I can never wed with another man, for my husband +lives—and has stolen from me my boy.'</p> + +<p>'Mary, Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, as she hid her face, weeping, on her sister's +pillow. 'Oh, Mary! I will try to comfort you. I will not think only of +myself—I will think of you and all you suffer. Mary, I am not really so +heartless and vain, I will be good and comfort you, Mary.'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford stroked Lucy's brown head, and murmured,—</p> + +<p>'Dear child! dear child! we will help each other now as we have never done +before.'</p> + +<p>From that moment, from that day of her return to Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester +seemed to have left her careless, pleasure-loving, pleasure-seeking +girlhood behind. She had crossed the meeting place of the brook and river +of womanhood and childhood. Some cross it all unawares—others with +reluctant, lingering feet; some, like Lucy Forrester, brought face to face +with the great realities of life and of suffering love, suddenly find +themselves on the other side to return no more.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2>BOOK II</h2> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since nature's works be good, and death doth serve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As nature's work, why should we fear to die?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since fear is vain but when it may preserve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why should we fear that which we cannot fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disarming human minds of native might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While each conceit an ugly figure bears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which were we ill, well viewed in reason's light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And scarce discern the dawn of coming day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let them be cleared, and now begin to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our life is but a step in dusty way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since, feeling this, great loss we cannot find.—<i>Arcadia</i>, p. 457.<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Sir Philip Sidney.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="center">AT WILTON</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'The silk well could they twist and twine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And make the fair march pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with the needle work;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they could help the priest to say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His matins on a holy day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sing a psalm at kirk.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>November 1585.</i> <span style="margin-left: 4em"><i>Old Rhyme.</i></span></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +The chastened sunshine of an All Saints' summer was lying upon the fair +lawns and terrace walks of Wilton House, near Salisbury, in the year 1585. +It was November, but so soft and balmy was the air that even the birds were +apparently ready to believe that winter was passed over and spring had +come.</p> + +<p>The thrushes and blackbirds were answering each other from the trees, and +the air was filled with their melody and with the scent of the late flowers +in the pleasance, lying close under the cloisters, facing the beautiful +undulating grounds of Lord Pembroke's mansion near Salisbury.</p> + +<p>The graceful figure of a lady was coming down the grassy slope towards the +house; a boy of five or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> six years old, with a miniature bow and arrow in +his hand, at her side.</p> + +<p>'I would like another shot at this old beech tree, mother,' the child said. +'I do not care to come in to my tasks yet.'</p> + +<p>'Will must be an obedient boy, or what will Uncle Philip say, if he comes +to-day and finds him in disgrace with his tutor?'</p> + +<p>'Uncle Philip isn't here,' the child said.</p> + +<p>'But he will be ere noon. I have had a despatch from him; he is already at +Salisbury, and may be here at any hour.'</p> + +<p>At this moment Lady Pembroke saw one of her ladies hastening towards her, +and exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Ah, Lucy! have you come to capture the truant?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Madam, and to tell you that Sir Philip Sidney's courier has ridden +into the courtyard to announce his Master's speedy arrival.'</p> + +<p>'Then I will not go till I have seen Uncle Philip!' and Will dragged at +Lucy's hand as she attempted to lead him towards the house.</p> + +<p>'Nay, Will,' his mother said, 'you must do as you are bid.' And forthwith +the boy pouted; yet he knew to resist his mother's will was useless. But +presently there was a shout, as he broke away from Lucy Forrester's hand, +with the cry,—</p> + +<p>'Uncle Philip!' and in another moment Sir Philip had taken his little +nephew in his arms, and, saluting him, set him on his feet again. Then, +with a bow and smile to Lucy, he bent his knee with his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> accustomed grace +before his sister, who stooped down and kissed him lovingly, with the +words,—</p> + +<p>'Welcome! welcome! dear Philip. Thrice welcome, to confirm the good news of +which my lord had notice yester even.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; I have come to say much, and to discuss many schemes with you. I stay +but till the morrow, when I would fain you got ready to see me later at +Penshurst.'</p> + +<p>'At Penshurst!'</p> + +<p>'Yes. I have set my heart on meeting all my kindred—more especially our +father and mother—there ere I depart. Now, now, Will! wherefore all this +struggling to resist Mistress Forrester? Fie, fie! for shame!'</p> + +<p>'It is the attraction of your presence, Philip, which is too much for +Will,' Lady Pembroke said.</p> + +<p>'Then, if I am the culprit, I will do penance, and take the boy in hand +myself. See, Will, you are to come with me to your tasks, nor give Mistress +Forrester so much trouble.' And Lucy found herself free from the child's +detaining hand, as Sir Philip went, with swift steps, towards the +house—his little nephew running fast to keep up with him.</p> + +<p>Lucy followed, and met Sir Philip in the hall, where the tutor had captured +the truant.</p> + +<p>'Any news from Arnhem, Mistress Forrester?' Sir Philip asked. 'Any good +news from Mistress Gifford?'</p> + +<p>'Nay, sir, no news of the boy; and even our good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> friend Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe is ready to give up the quest.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, it shall not be given up. I am starting in a few days to the Low +Countries, as Governor of Flushing.'</p> + +<p>'So my lady told me, sir, this morning,' Lucy said demurely.</p> + +<p>'Yes, and I shall be on the alert; depend on it, if the boy is alive, he +shall be found. But I begin to fear that he is dead. Why should I say fear, +forsooth? Death would be better than his training by Jesuits, and so +leagued with Spain and all her evil machinations.'</p> + +<p>Lucy curtseyed, and, with a gentle 'Good-morning to you, sir,' she went to +her duties under Mistress Crawley.</p> + +<p>Lucy had changed from the impetuous child in the first flush of her youth +and consciousness of beauty, into a woman almost graver than her years, and +so little disposed to accept any overtures of marriage, that the ladies of +the Countess of Pembroke's household called her the little nun.</p> + +<p>One after another they drifted off as the wives of the gentlemen and +esquires, who were retainers of the Earl; but Lucy Forrester remained, high +in favour with her lady, and even spoken of by Mistress Crawley as 'clever +enough, and civil spoken,' the real truth being that she had become +indispensable to Mistress Crawley, and was trusted by her to take in hand +the instruction of the young maidens who came from the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> homes of the gentry +and nobility, in a long succession, to enter the household of Lady +Pembroke, which was an honour greatly coveted by many.</p> + +<p>Soon after Mary Gifford's great sorrow in the loss of her child, Mistress +Forrester astonished her step-daughter by announcing her marriage to one of +her Puritan neighbours, who was, in truth, but a herdsman on one of the +farms, but who had acquired a notoriety by a certain rough eloquence in +preaching and praying at the secret meetings held in Mistress Forrester's +barn. He was well pleased to give up his earthly calling at Mistress +Forrester's bidding, for he would scarcely have presumed to address her as +a suitor without very marked encouragement. He fell into very comfortable +quarters, and, if he was henpecked, he took it as a part of his discipline, +and found good food and good lodging a full compensation.</p> + +<p>Then Mary Gifford and her sister were offered a small sum of money to +represent their right in their father's house, and left it with very little +regret on their side, and supreme satisfaction on their stepmother's. Lucy +returned to Lady Pembroke's household, and Mary Gifford, through the +ever-ready help of Humphrey Ratcliffe, broken down as she was prematurely +in mind and body, found an asylum in the home of her husband's uncle, +Master George Gifford, at Arnheim, from which place she made many vain +inquiries to lead to the discovery of her boy, which hitherto had proved +fruitless.</p> + +<p>True and loyal to her interests, Humphrey Ratcliffe +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> never again approached +her with passionate declarations of love. He was one of those men who can +be faithful unto death, and give unfaltering allegiance to the woman they +feel it is hopeless to win. Loving her well, but loving honour, hers and +his own, more, Humphrey went bravely on the straight road of duty, with no +regretful, backward glances, no murmurs at the roughness of the way, taking +each step as it came with unfaltering resolutions, with a heavy heart at +times; but what did that matter? And in all this determination to act as a +brave, true man should act, Humphrey Ratcliffe had ever before him the +example of his master, Sir Philip Sidney. Second only to his love for Mary +Gifford was his devotion to him. It is said that scarcely an instance is +recorded of any of those who were closely associated with Sir Philip Sidney +who did not, in those last years of his short life, feel ennobled by his +influence. And Humphrey Ratcliffe was no exception to this all but +universal law.</p> + +<p>Mean men, with base, low aims and motives, shunned the society of this +noble Christian gentleman. His clever and accomplished uncle, the brilliant +and unscrupulous Earl of Leicester, must often have been constrained to +feel, and perhaps acknowledge, that there was something in his nephew which +raised him to a height he had never attained—with all his success at +Court, his Queen's devotion, and the fame which ranked him in foreign +countries as the most successful of all Elizabeth's favourites.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke awaited her brother's return from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> the house. Going towards +it to meet him, she put her hand in his arm and said,—</p> + +<p>'Let us have our talk in the familiar place where we have wandered together +so often, Philip.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he said, 'all these fair slopes and pleasant prospects bring back to +me, Mary, the days, the many days, when I found my best comforter in you. +How fares it with the <i>Arcadia</i>?'</p> + +<p>'It is winding out its long story,' Lady Pembroke said, laughing. 'Too +long, methinks, for there is much that I would blot out if I dare essay to +do so. But tell me, Philip, of this great appointment. Are you not glad now +that the design respecting Sir Francis Drake's expedition fell to nought. I +ever thought that expedition, at the best, one of uncertain issue and great +risk. Sure, Philip, you are of my mind now.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Mary, not altogether. I hailed the chance of getting free from +idleness and the shackles of the Court. And moreover,' he said, 'it is a +splendid venture, and my heart swelled with triumph as I saw that grand +armament ready to sail from Plymouth. Methinks, even now, I feel a burning +desire to be one of those brave men who are crossing the seas with Drake to +those far-off islands and territories, with all their wondrous treasures, +of which such stories are told.'</p> + +<p>As Philip spoke, his sister saw his face kindling with an almost boyish +enthusiasm, and the ardent young soldier, eager, and almost wild, to set +sail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +across the great dividing sea, seemed to replace for the moment the +more dignified man of matured powers, who was now Governor of Flushing.</p> + +<p>'It is all past,' he said, 'and I will do my utmost to forget my +disappointment. It is somewhat hard to forgive Drake for what I must think +false dealing with me, for I know well by whose means those mandates came +to Plymouth from the Queen. There was nought left for me but to obey, for +disobedience would have kept back the whole fleet; but the whole +transaction has left a sore—'</p> + +<p>'Which will rapidly heal, Philip, in this new, and to my mind at least, far +grander appointment. Sure, to be Governor of Flushing means a high place, +and a field for showing all you are as a statesman and soldier. I am proud +and pleased; more proud of you than ever before, were that possible.'</p> + +<p>They had reached a favourite spot now, where, from a slightly rising +ground, there was and is a beautiful view of Salisbury Cathedral.</p> + +<p>'See yonder spire pointing skyward, Mary, how it seems to cleave the sky, +this November sky, which is like that of June? The spire, methinks, reads +me a lesson at this time. It saith to me, "Sursum corda."'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke pressed her brother's arm with answering sympathy, and, +looking up into his face, she saw there the shining of a great hope and the +upward glance of a steadfast faith. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes,' Sir Philip said, 'I am happy in this lot which has fallen to me, and +I pray God I may avenge the cause of those who are trodden down by the +tyranny of Spain. The Queen's noble words inspired me with great confidence +in the righteousness of the cause for which I am to fight. Her Grace said +her object was a holy one—even to procure peace to the holders of the +Reformed Faith, restoration of their time-honoured rights in the +Netherlands, and above all, the safety of England. It is a great work, +Mary; wish me God speed.'</p> + +<p>'I do, I do; and now tell me about Frances and the babe. When is her +christening to be performed?'</p> + +<p>'In four days. The Queen is so gracious as to ride from Richmond to London +to name our babe herself, and will dispense gifts in honour thereof. My +sweet Frances, the child's mother, is not as hearty as I would fain see +her, so she consents to delay her coming to Flushing till I can assure +myself that all is well prepared for her. I ride to London on the morrow. +The babe will be christened there. Two days later I purpose to convey +mother and child to Penshurst, where all who wish to bid me farewell will +gather. Our good father and mother, who do not feel strength enough for the +festivity of the Court, even to be present at the babe's christening, +proceed thither to-morrow from Ludlow. Will you join them there, or +accompany me to London?'</p> + +<p>'I will await your coming at Penshurst, Philip. I am somewhat disturbed at +the last letters from our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> dear father. He speaks of being broken down in +body and dejected in spirit. Verily, I can scarce forgive the mistress he +has served so well for her treatment of him. God grant you get a better +guerdon for faithful service than our father and mother won.'</p> + +<p>'It is true, too true,' Sir Philip said, 'that they were ill-requited, but +has anyone ever fared better who has striven to do duty in that unhappy +country of Ireland? It needs a Hercules of strength and a Solon of wisdom, +ay, and a Crœsus of wealth to deal with it. In the future generations such +a man may be found, but not in this.'</p> + +<p>'Will you take the two boys with you, Robert and Thomas?'</p> + +<p>'I shall take Robert and put him in a post of command. Thomas is all agog +to come also, but he is too young and weakly, though he would rave if he +heard me call him so. He shall follow in good time. There is a brave spirit +in Thomas which is almost too great for his body, and he is not prone to be +so lavish as Robert, who has the trick of getting into debt, out of which I +have again and again helped to free him. In my youth I too had not learned +to suit my wants to my means, but the lesson is now, I pray, got by heart. +A husband and father must needs look well to the money which is to provide +all things for these weak and defenceless ones who lean on him.'</p> + +<p>'You speak of your youth as past, Philip,' Mary said. 'It makes me laugh. +You look, yes, far younger than some five or six years ago.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Happiness has a power to smooth out wrinkles, I know, sweet sister. +Witness your face, on which time refuses to leave a trace, and,' he added +earnestly, 'happiness—rather a peaceful and contented mind—has come to me +at last. When my tender wife, loyal and true, looks up at me with her +guileless eyes, full of love and trust, I feel I am thrice blest in +possessing her. And, Mary, the sight of our babe thrilled me strangely. The +little crumpled bit of humanity, thrusting out her tiny hands, as if to +find out where she was. That quaint smile, which Frances says, is meant for +her; that feeble little bleating cry—all seemed like messages to me to +quit myself as a man should, and, protecting my child in her infancy, leave +to her and her mother a name which will make them proud to have been my +wife and my daughter.'</p> + +<p>'And that name you will surely leave, Philip.'</p> + +<p>'Be it sooner or later, God grant it,' was the fervent reply.</p> + +<p>The Countess soon after went into the house to make some arrangements for +departure, and to write a letter to her sister-in-law, with a beautiful +christening present, which she was to send by her brother's hand.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip lingered still in the familiar grounds of Wilton, which were +dear to him from many associations. The whole place was familiar to him, +and with a strange presage of farewell, a last farewell, he trod all the +old paths between the closely-clipped yew hedges, and scarcely left a nook +or corner unvisited.</p> + +<p>The country lying round Wilton was also familiar +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> to him. Many a time he +had ridden to Old Sarum, and, giving his horse to his groom, had wandered +about in that city of the dead past, which with his keen poetical +imagination he peopled with those who had once lived within its walls, of +which but a few crumbling stones, turf-covered, remain. A stately church +once stood there; voices of prayer and praise rose to God, hopes and fears, +joys and sorrows, gay young life, and sorrowful old age, had in times long +since past been 'told as a tale' in the city on the hill, as now in the +city in the valley, where the spire of the new Cathedral rises skyward.</p> + +<p>New! Only by comparison, for old and new are but relative terms after all, +and it is hard, as we stand under the vaulted roof of Salisbury Cathedral, +to let our thoughts reach back to the far-off time when the stately church +stood out as a new possession to take the place of the ruined temple, which +had once lifted its head as the centre of Old Sarum.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip Sidney had left several of his servants at Salisbury, and, when +he had bidden the Countess good-bye, till they met again in a few days at +Penshurst, he rode back to the city, and, leaving his horse at the White +Hart, he passed under St Anne's Gateway, and crossed the close to the south +door of the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>The bell was chiming for the evensong, and Sir Philip passed in. He was +recognised by an old verger, who, with a low bow, preceded him to the +choir.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke was right when she said that her brother looked younger than +he had looked some years before.</p> + +<p>There never was a time, perhaps, in his life, when his face had been more +attractive and his bearing more distinguished than now.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the somewhat scanty congregation were directed to him as he +stood chanting in his clear, sweet musical voice the Psalms for the second +evening of the month.</p> + +<p>The sun, entering at the west door, caught his 'amber locks' and made them +glow like an aureole round his head, as he lifted it with glad assurance +when the words left his lips.</p> + +<p>'But my trust is in Thy mercy, and my heart is joyful in Thy salvation. I +will sing of the Lord because He hath dealt so lovingly with me; yea, I +will praise the name of the Lord Most Highest.'</p> + +<p>Those who saw Sir Philip Sidney that day, recalled him as he stood in the +old oaken stall, only one short year later, when, with bowed head and sad +hearts, they could but pray in the words of the Collect for the week, 'that +they might follow the blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that +they might come to those unspeakable joys which are prepared for them that +love God.'</p> + +<p>Sir Philip had not time to delay, though the Dean hurried after the service +to greet him and to offer hospitality. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I must be on my road to London,' he said, 'for a great event awaits me +there, Mr Dean—the baptism of my little daughter, to whom the Queen is +graciously pleased to stand godmother.'</p> + +<p>'And God give you a safe journey, Sir Philip, and bless the child,' the +kindly Dean said. 'How fares it with the daughter of my good friend Sir +Francis Walsingham? I trust she is well recovered.'</p> + +<p>'Fairly well,' Sir Philip replied. 'She is young and somewhat fragile, but +I trust will soon be able to join me at Flushing.'</p> + +<p>After the exchange of a few more kindly words and congratulations, Sir +Philip Sidney was leaving the Cathedral, when a figure, still kneeling in +the nave, arrested his attention, and as his footsteps drew near, the bowed +head was raised, and Sir Philip saw it was Lucy Forrester.</p> + +<p>He passed on, but lingered outside for a few moments, till, as he expected, +Lucy came out.</p> + +<p>'I am glad to see you once more,' Sir Philip said; 'if only to bid you +farewell, and to assure you I will not fail to track out the villain, who +may, at least, give me tidings of Mistress Gifford's boy. I will see her +also, if possible.'</p> + +<p>'You are very good, sir,' Lucy said.</p> + +<p>But she moved on with quick steps towards St Anne's Gateway.</p> + +<p>'Have you aught that I can convey to Mistress Gifford? If so, commit it to +my care at Penshurst, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +whither, I suppose, you go with the Countess on the +morrow or next day. Then we shall meet again—so now, farewell.'</p> + +<p>Years had passed since Lucy had subdued the tumultuous throb at her heart +when in Sir Philip's presence. He was still her ideal of all that was noble +and pure and courteous; her true knight, who, having filled her childish +and girlish dreams, still reigned supreme.</p> + +<p>There are mysteries in the human heart that must ever remain unfathomable, +and it is not for us to judge one another when we are confronted by them, +and can find no clue to solve them.</p> + +<p>Lucy Forrester's romantic love for Sir Philip Sidney had worked her no ill; +rather, it had strengthened her on the way; and from that night when she +and Mary Gifford had exchanged their secrets she had striven to keep her +promise, and to be, as she had said she wished to be, really good.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of Lady Pembroke's house had helped her, and had been an +education to her in the best sense of the word.</p> + +<p>'Fare you well, sir,' she said. 'I must hasten to find Mistress Crawley. We +came hither to the city for something wanted from a shop ere we start on +our journey; but I craved leave to go to the Cathedral for a few minutes. +This is how you found me, sir, there.'</p> + +<p>There was something in Lucy's voice which seemed to betray anxiety as to +whether Sir Philip might +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> think she was alone in Salisbury; and something +of relief when she exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Ah, there is Mistress Crawley!' as she tripped away to meet her, Sir +Philip repeating as she left him,—'Fare you well, Mistress Lucy. <i>Au +revoir.</i>'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="center">LUMEN FAMILIĈ SUĈ</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Was ever eye did see such face?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was never ear did hear that tongue?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never mind did mind his grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ever thought the travail long?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But eyes, and ears, and every thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were with his sweet perfections caught.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +Penshurst Castle never, perhaps, wore a more festive air than when in the +November days of lengthening twilight and falling leaves, Sir Philip +Sidney's friends and relatives gathered under the hospitable roof to +congratulate him on his appointment to the Governorship of Flushing and +Rammekins, the patent having been granted at Westminster on the seventh day +of the month.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip had taken leave of the Queen after she had honoured him by +standing as godmother to his little daughter. He had now brought her and +her mother to Penshurst to leave them there in safety, till he had arranged +for their reception at Flushing, and found proper accommodation for them.</p> + +<p>It was a goodly company that assembled in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> grand old hall on the day +before Sir Philip's departure. There were, we may be sure, many present +whose names live on the pages of the history of the time.</p> + +<p>The courtly Earl of Leicester was there, who, with whatever outward show of +satisfaction at his nephew's promotion, was never free from a latent +jealousy which he was careful to hide.</p> + +<p>Sir Francis Walsingham was there, the proud grandfather of the tiny babe +which Lady Mary Sidney held so tenderly in her arms, scanning her features +to discover in them a likeness to her father. Sir Henry Sidney was with +her, prematurely old and feeble, trying to shake off the melancholy which +possessed him, and striving to forget his own troubled and ill-requited +service to the Queen, in his pride that his son was placed in a position +where his splendid gifts might have full play.</p> + +<p>'The light of his family,' he always fondly called Philip, and he would not +grudge that this light should shed its radiance far beyond his own home and +country.</p> + +<p>Was it a strange prescience of coming sorrow that made Sir Henry for the +most part silent, and sigh when the Earl of Leicester tried to rally him, +saying that it was a time of rejoicing, and why should any face wear a look +of sadness.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="F" id="F"></a> +<img src="images/ill249.jpg" width="500" height="306" alt="THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE.</span> +</div> + +<p>'We part from our son, good nephew,' Lady Mary said, 'on the morrow, and +partings in old age have a greater significance than in youth. We please +ourselves with future meetings when we are young; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> when we are old, we +know full well that there is but a short span of life left us, for reunion +with those who are dear to us.'</p> + +<p>As the short day closed in, the huge logs in the centre of the hall sent +forth a ruddy glow. The torches set in the iron staples on the walls were +lighted, and flickered on the plentifully-spread board and on the faces of +those gathered there. As the company at the upper end, on the raised dais, +rose to retire to the private apartments of the house, the minstrels in the +gallery struck up a joyful strain, and at the foot of the stairs Sir Philip +paused.</p> + +<p>He looked down on the faces of many friends and retainers, faithful in +their allegiance, with a proud, glad smile. Many of them were to follow him +to his new post as Governor. All were ready to do so, and die in the cause +he held sacred, if so it must be.</p> + +<p>It was not without intention that Sir Philip waited till the company had +passed him, detaining his young wife by drawing her hand through his arm, +and saying to the nurse who held his little daughter,—</p> + +<p>'Tarry for one moment, Mistress Joan.'</p> + +<p>'My friends,' he said, 'you who follow me to Flushing, I pray I may live to +reward you for the faithful service you will render me. God grant you may +return in health and peace to your wives and children. If it please God, I +shall myself return in due season; but there are many chances in war, and a +soldier's future must ever be doubtful. So, should I fall in the fight +against the tyranny of Spain and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> the machinations of Rome, I say to you, +show to this fair lady, my sweet wife, all reverent care and honour, for, +forsooth, she will merit it; and as for this little lady Elizabeth, the +godchild of our gracious Sovereign,' he continued, smiling as he took the +child from the nurse's arms, 'I commend her to you also. You see but little +of her, she is so swathed in folds of lace and what not, and, in good +sooth, there is but little to see; but she gives promise of being a dainty +little maiden, not unworthy to be the Queen's name-child, and the daughter +of the gentle Dame Frances Sidney.'</p> + +<p>'Nor unworthy to be the child of Sir Philip Sidney, a greater honour than +all the rest, methinks.'</p> + +<p>These words were spoken in a deep, manly voice by Sir Francis Walsingham, +who had stopped on the stairs when he saw his son-in-law pause with his +wife and child.</p> + +<p>The remark was received with a prolonged 'Ay,' and a murmur of many voices +wishing Sir Philip all success and good fortune.</p> + +<p>There was dancing in the spacious ballroom, which was lighted for the +occasion by the three cut-glass chandeliers, surmounted by the royal crown, +which were, it is said, the first made in England, and presented to Sir +Henry Sidney by Queen Elizabeth. Here the younger portion of the guests +enjoyed the dance then so popular, and which was known by the appropriate +name of 'The Brawl.'</p> + +<p>The elders had followed Lady Mary Sidney to the room known as Queen +Elizabeth's, where the chairs, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> draped in yellow satin, and the card-table +covered by the fine silk embroidery worked by the Queen's clever fingers, +were all in their first freshness. On the walls were panels of worked silk, +which the ladies of the family had their share in producing, and between +them hung the portraits of Sir Philip and his brother Robert in childhood +in their stiff and ungainly Court dress, and one of Lady Mary when she came +as a bride to Penshurst—in the pride of her youth and beauty, before the +smallpox had robbed her face of its fair complexion, and before sorrow and +disappointment had left their trace upon it.</p> + +<p>The Countess of Pembroke was always her mother's chief sympathiser in joy +and sorrow. She retired with her behind the glass screen where the Queen, +in her visits to Penshurst, always chose to summon her host, or any of her +ministers for a private conversation or flirtation, as the case might be. +By the opening of a panel of white Venetian glass, those who were seated +behind the screen could watch unseen what was passing in the room beyond.</p> + +<p>'You look weary, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said—'weary and sad. Methinks +pride in our Philip should overrule grief at his loss. He has been well +versed in the manners and customs of foreign courts. He is a great +favourite, and I hope to see him return with fresh laurels at no distant +date.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, Mary! you have, as I said to my brother but an hour ago, you have a +future; for me there is only a short span left. Yet I can rejoice in the +present<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +bliss of seeing Philip a proud husband and father. There was a +time when I feared he would never turn his thoughts towards another woman.'</p> + +<p>'And I, sweet mother, always felt sure he would be the victor he has +proved. Look at him now!' As she spoke Sir Philip was seen coming down the +room with Lady Frances on his arm, Sir Fulke Greville on the other side, +evidently some jest passing between them, for Sir Philip's face was +sparkling with smiles, and his silvery laugh reached the ears of those +behind the screen as he passed.</p> + +<p>'Yes, he has the air of a man who is happy, doubtless,' his mother said; +'but see your father, Mary, how he halts, as he comes leaning on Sir +Francis Walsingham's arm. He has the mien of a man many a year older than +he is, if age be counted by years.'</p> + +<p>'Dear father!' Mary said, with a sigh. 'But now, watch Robert and Thomas. +They are each leading a lady to the ballroom. Little Tom, as I must still +call him, looks well. He is all agog to be off with Philip; he must tarry +till the winter is over. Robert is of a stronger build, and can weather the +frosts and bitter cold of the Low Countries.'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke was now watching another couple who were passing on to the +ballroom. The Earl of Leicester had often been attracted by the beauty of +Lucy Forrester, and had now done her the honour of begging her to dance +with him. But Lucy shrank from the open admiration and flattery of this +brilliant courtier. While others were looking on her with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> envy, jealous of +the distinction the Earl had conferred upon her, Lucy hoped she might meet +her mistress, and excuse herself from the dance by saying her presence was +needed by Lady Pembroke. But those who sat behind the screen were unseen, +and Lucy did not know how near she was to her mistress.</p> + +<p>Presently George Ratcliffe came towards the screen with gigantic strides, +his brow dark, biting his lower lip, while his hand rested on the hilt of +his short sword.</p> + +<p>'Pardon me, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said, as she rose from her seat, 'I +will return anon,' and then she stepped up to George, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Have you danced this evening, Master Forrester? Come with me, and let me +find you a partner.'</p> + +<p>George blushed crimson at the honour done him; he was no courtier, and the +thanks he would fain have spoken died on his lips.</p> + +<p>'I have been desiring to speak with you,' Lady Pembroke said; 'I would fain +know if aught has been heard of Mistress Gifford.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Madam, not of late. She was in good health of body last summer, +though sore at heart; so my brother said.'</p> + +<p>'No trace of her boy yet, I grieve to hear,' Lady Pembroke exclaimed. 'If +he is to be tracked out, your good brother will do it. You do not follow +Sir Philip to the Netherlands, I think.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Madam, I stay at home, my mother is sick, and the care of the place +falls on me heavily enow.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Lucy saw Lady Pembroke she disengaged her hand from the Earl's, and +said,—</p> + +<p>'May it please you, my Lord, to permit me to go to my Lady, she may be +seeking me.'</p> + +<p>'Now why so cruel?' the Earl rejoined; 'why cannot you give me one smile? +Do not reserve all your favour for yonder young country-bred giant, whom my +sister has chosen to patronise.'</p> + +<p>But Lucy was resolute, her colour rose at this reference to George, and, +with a profound curtsey, she left the Earl's side and joined the Countess.</p> + +<p>'Ah, Lucy, you are in time to give Master George your hand for a Saraband, +and I will find my uncle, the Earl, another partner, even myself,' she +added, laughing.</p> + +<p>It was all done so quickly that George could scarcely realise what had +happened.</p> + +<p>He had been faithful to his first love, and never for a moment faltered in +his allegiance.</p> + +<p>Both brothers were, it may be, exceptional in the steadfastness of their +loyalty to the two sisters. But Humphrey's position was widely different +from that of his brother, and he had many interests and friends, yes, and +flirtations and passing likings also, which prevented his thoughts from +dwelling so continually upon Mary Gifford. Moreover, he knew the gulf set +between them was impassable, and she was really more, as he said, like a +saint out of his reach, than a woman of everyday life, whom he longed to +make his wife.</p> + +<p>George, on his hilltop, with no companion but his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> querulous mother—Mrs +Ratcliffe was for ever harping on his folly in suffering his cousin +Dorothy, with her full money-bags, to slip through his fingers, to bless +the draper's son in the Chepe with what would have been so valuable to him +and to her—was far more to be pitied; and it was no wonder that he +withdrew more and more into himself, and grew somewhat morose and gruff in +his manner.</p> + +<p>It was something to watch for Lady Pembroke's visits to Penshurst, when +Lucy would at least appear with the household at church, but these visits +only left him more hopeless than before.</p> + +<p>His only consolation was that, although Lucy would not listen to his suit, +she apparently favoured no one else.</p> + +<p>George was conscious of a change in her; she was no longer the gay, +careless maiden of years gone by, no longer full of jests, teasing ways, +and laughter, but a dignified lady, held in high esteem in the Countess of +Pembroke's household; and, alas! further from him than ever.</p> + +<p>In the dance to which George led Lucy, they found themselves opposite to +Humphrey and one of the younger members of the Countess's household.</p> + +<p>A bright, blue-eyed, laughing girl, who rallied Lucy on her sedate +behaviour, and the profound curtseys she made to her partner, instead of +the pirouette which she performed with Humphrey, his arm round her waist, +and her little feet twinkling under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> short skirt of her stiff brocade, +like birds on the wing.</p> + +<p>When the dance was over, George said,—</p> + +<p>'The air is hot and fevered in this room; will you take a stroll with me, +Mistress Lucy, in the gallery? or is it too great a favour to ask at your +hands?'</p> + +<p>'Nay, no favour,' Lucy replied; 'I shall be as well pleased as you are to +leave the ballroom.'</p> + +<p>So they went together through the gallery, where, now and again, they saw +couples engrossed with each other's company in the deep recesses of the +windows.</p> + +<p>The young moon hung like a silver bow in the clear sky, and from this +window the church tower was seen beyond the pleasance, and the outline of +the trees, behind which the moon was hastening to sink in the western +heavens.</p> + +<p>As Lucy gazed upon the scene before her, her large wistful eyes had in them +that look which, in days gone by, George had never seen there.</p> + +<p>The dim light of a lamp hanging in the recess shone on Lucy's face, and +poor George felt something he could not have put into words, separating him +from the one love of his life. His thoughts suddenly went back to that +spring evening when Lucy, in her terror, had rushed to him for protection. +He recalled the sweetness of that moment, as a man perishing for thirst +remembers the draught of pure water from the wayside fountain, of which he +had scarcely appreciated the value, when he held it to his lips. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>A deep sigh made Lucy turn towards him, and, to his surprise, she opened +the very subject which he had been struggling in vain to find courage to +begin.</p> + +<p>'George,' she said, 'it would make me so happy if you could forget me, and +think of someone who could, and would, I doubt not, gladly return your +love.'</p> + +<p>'If that is all you can say to me,' he answered gruffly, 'I would ask you +to hold your peace. How can I forget at your bidding? it is folly to ask me +to do so.'</p> + +<p>'George,' Lucy said, and her voice was tremulous, so tremulous that George +felt a hope springing up in his heart.—'George, it makes me unhappy when I +think of you living alone with your mother, and—'</p> + +<p>'You could change all that without delay, you know you could. I can't give +you a home and all the fine things you have at Wilton—'</p> + +<p>'As if that had aught to do with it,' she said. 'I do not care for fine +things now; once I lived for them; that is over.'</p> + +<p>'You love books, if not fine things,' he went on, gathering courage as he +felt Lucy, at any rate, could think with some concern, that he was lonely +and unhappy. 'You care for books. I have saved money, and bought all I +could lay my hand on at the shop in Paul's Churchyard. More than this, I +have tried to learn myself, and picked up my old Latin, that I got at +Tunbridge School. Yes, and there is a room at Hillside I call my lady's +chamber. I put the books there, and quills and parchment; and I have got +some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +picture tapestry for the walls, and stored a cupboard with bits of +silver, and—'</p> + +<p>'Oh! George, you are too good, too faithful,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I am not +worthy; you do not really know me.' And, touched with the infinite pathos +of George's voice, as he recounted all he had done in hope, for her +pleasure, Lucy had much ado to keep back her tears. Then there was silence, +more eloquent than words.</p> + +<p>At last Lucy put her hand gently on George's arm.</p> + +<p>'Hearken, George,' she said; 'if the day should ever dawn when I can come +to you with a true heart, I <i>will</i> come. But this is not yet, and I should +wrong a noble love like yours if I gave you in return a poor and mean +affection, unworthy of your devotion. Do you understand me, George?'</p> + +<p>'No,' he said, 'no, but I am fain to believe in you, and I will wait. +Only,' he added, with sudden vehemence, 'give me one promise—do not let me +hear by chance that you have become the wife of another man; give me fair +warning, or I swear, if the blow should fall unawares, it would kill me or +drive me mad.'</p> + +<p>'You will never hear the news of which you speak, and in this rest content. +I have neither desire nor intention of wedding with any man. Let that +suffice.'</p> + +<p>George drew himself up to his full height and said formally,—</p> + +<p>'It shall suffice, so help me God.'</p> + +<p>In all great assemblies like that which had gathered at Penshurst on this +November day, there are often +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> hidden romances, and chapters rehearsed in +individual lives, of which the majority know nor care nothing. Who amongst +that throng of courtly ladies and gay gentlemen knew aught of George +Ratcliffe's love story; and, if they had known, who would have cared? To +the greater number the whole thing would have seemed a fit subject for +jest, perhaps of ridicule, for self-forgetting love, which has nothing to +feed on, and no consolation except in nursing vain hopes for the fulfilment +of the heart's desire, does not appeal to the sympathy of the multitude. +Such chivalrous, steadfast love was not unknown in the days of Queen +Elizabeth, nor is it unknown in the days of Queen Victoria. It left no +record behind it then, nor will it leave a record now. It is amongst the +hidden treasures, which are never, perhaps, to see the light of day; but it +is a treasure, nevertheless; and who shall say that it may not shine in a +purer atmosphere and gain hereafter the meed of praise it neither sought +for nor found here?</p> + +<p>There was much stir and bustle in the President's Court at Penshurst's the +next morning. The gateway tower had just been completed by Sir Henry Sidney +on the old foundations, which dated from the thirteenth century. And now, +from under its shadow, on this still November morning, 'the light of Sir +Henry's family' was to ride out with a large retinue to take up the high +position granted him by the Queen as Governor of Flushing. How young he +looked as he sat erect on his noble horse, scanning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> his men, whose names +were called by his sergeant-at-arms as they answered one by one in deep, +sonorous tones to the roll call. Drawn up on either side of the court, it +was a goodly display of brave, stalwart followers, all faithful servants of +the house of Sidney, bearing their badge on their arm, and the boar and +porcupine on the helmets.</p> + +<p>The Earl of Leicester was by his nephew's side, and his gentlemen and +esquires in attendance in brilliant array, for Robert, Earl of Leicester, +loved display, and nothing could be more gorgeous than the trappings of his +own horse, nor the dazzling armour which he wore.</p> + +<p>In the background, under the main entrance of the house, Sir Henry Sidney +and Lady Mary stood with the Earl and Countess of Pembroke, and Dame +Frances Sidney, leaning on the arm of her father, Sir Francis Walsingham. +So fair and young she looked that all hearts went out in sympathy with her, +for she was very pale, and she was evidently trying to control herself, and +let her husband's last look be answered by smiles rather than tears.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip had bidden his good-bye to those to whom he was so dear in +private, and there was a general determination amongst everyone to be brave +and repress any demonstration of sadness at the last moment. And indeed the +splendid military career opening before Sir Philip was a joy in the hearts +of many who loved him, which silenced any expression of grief at his loss +to themselves. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe, in command of his men, presently left the ranks, and, +approaching Sir Philip, said,—</p> + +<p>'We await the word of command to start, sir.'</p> + +<p>Just at this moment the feeble cry of an infant was heard. And Sir Philip, +throwing the reins to his esquire, said to the Earl,—</p> + +<p>'Your pardon, my lord, if I delay for one moment,' and then, with a quick, +springing step, Sir Philip returned to the entrance, where his little +daughter had just been brought by her nurse. 'Nay, then, my lady +Elizabeth,' he said, 'it would ill-beseem me to forget to bid you +farewell,' and, taking the child in his arms, he kissed her twice on the +little puckered forehead, saying, 'Go for comfort to your sweet mother,' as +he put her into his wife's arms, 'and God bring you both safe to me ere +long.'</p> + +<p>In another moment he had again sprung on the saddle, and, with a last look +at the group collected under the porch, he rode away with all that gallant +company, with high hopes and courage to follow where their great chief led +them.</p> + +<p>Some of the guests departed in the afternoon of the day to sleep at +Tunbridge, but Sir Fulke Greville remained at the request of Lady Pembroke.</p> + +<p>There was no one to whom she could so freely speak of her brother, sure of +his sympathy, as to Sir Fulke Greville.</p> + +<p>Perhaps no one, except herself, had such an intimate knowledge of the depth +of his learning and the wonderful versatility of his gifts. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>The beech wood was Lady Pembroke's favourite resort at all seasons when at +Penshurst. It was there she had many a time played with Sir Philip as a +child, and taken sweet converse with him in later years. Here many of his +poems had been rehearsed to his sister before ever they had been written on +paper.</p> + +<p>It was in the profound stillness of the November noontide that Lady +Pembroke invited Sir Fulke Greville to cross the park and wander with her +in the familiar paths through the beech wood.</p> + +<p>The leaves were falling silently from the branches overhead, adding one by +one their tribute to the thick bronze carpet which had been lying at the +feet of the stately trees for many a long year.</p> + +<p>The gentle rustle of a bird as it flew from the thinning branches, the soft +sigh of a faint breeze as it whispered its message of decay to the trees, +the gentle trill of a robin at intervals, were the only sounds that fell +upon the ear as Lady Pembroke and Sir Fulke Greville spoke of him who was +uppermost in their thoughts.</p> + +<p>'It is a splendid career for him, doubtless,' Sir Fulke was saying, 'and +marvellous that one so young should be thus distinguished as to be set over +the heads of so many who would fain have been chosen. But no man living +excites less jealousy than Sir Philip; jealousy and scorn and mistrust die +in his presence.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said, 'that is true. Yet I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> would that I felt more +secure as to my Uncle Leicester's attitude towards my brother. I scarce can +feel his praise is whole-hearted. Maybe it is too much to expect that it +should be as fervent as that of others.'</p> + +<p>'The Earl is appointed Commander-in-Chief of the whole force. Sure that is +honour enough, and the sooner he hastens thither the better. He is gone to +dally at Court and trifle with the Queen as of old. When I see these +middle-aged folk, Queen and courtier, posing as lovers and indulging in +youthful follies, I ask myself, will it be so with me? shall I dance +attendance on fair ladies when I have told out near fifty years of life? I +hope not.'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke laughed.</p> + +<p>'There is no fear, methinks, for you or Philip; but, after all, it is the +heart which keeps us really young, despite age, yes, and infirmity. Philip, +as he rode forth this morning, looked as young, methinks, as when on the +first expedition he went to Paris, when scarce eighteen years had passed +over his head.'</p> + +<p>'That is true,' Sir Fulke answered, 'and none can look at Philip now +without seeing that happiness has the effect of renewing youth.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'he is happy, as he could not be while that +hunger for forbidden fruit was upon him. At times I am tempted to wish +Frances had more tastes in sympathy with her husband, but one cannot have +all that is desired for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +them we love, and she is as loving a wife as any +man ever possessed. But, tell me sure, how fares it with the young trio of +scholars? Has aught come lately from your pens? and does the sage Harvey +yet rule over your metres, and render your verses after ancient model?'</p> + +<p>'Nay, we have withdrawn from the good old man's too overbearing rule. As +you must know, Sir Philip has written an admirable <i>Defence of Poesie</i>, and +he there is the advocate for greater simplicity of expression. We have had +too much of copies from Italian models.'</p> + +<p>'The Italians vary in merit,' Lady Pembroke said. 'Sure Dante rises to the +sublime, and Philip has been of late a devout student of the <i>Vita Nuova</i>, +and caught the spirit of that mighty genius who followed Beatrice from +depths of hell to heights of Paradise.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I have had the same feeling about Sir Philip which you express,' Sir +Fulke Greville said. 'Dante has raised love far above mere earthly passion +to a religion, which can worship the pure and the spiritual rather than the +mere beauty of the bodily presence. This breathes in much of Philip's later +verse. You know how he says he obeyed the muse, who bid him "look in his +heart, and write, rather than go outside for models of construction." That +great work—great work of yours and Sir Philip, the <i>Arcadia</i>—teams with +beauties, and Pamela is the embodiment of pure and noble womanhood.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ah!' Lady Pembroke said, 'my brother and I look forward to a time of +leisure and retirement, when we will recast that lengthy romance, and +compress it into narrower limits. We know full well it bears the stamp of +inexperience, and there is much concerning Philoclea that we shall expunge. +But that time of retirement!' Lady Pembroke said, 'it seems a mockery to +speak of it, now that the chief author has just left us to plunge into the +very thick of the battle of life.'</p> + +<p>'I am well pleased,' Sir Fulke said, 'that Sir Philip should have so able a +secretary at his elbow—Mr William Temple. The scholar's element will be a +refreshment to Philip when the cares of government press heavily. Mr +William Temple's <i>Dialectics</i> is dedicated, with no empty profession of +respect and affection, to one who has ever been his friend. Forsooth,' Sir +Fulke Greville said, 'friends, true and loyal to your brother, Madam, are +as numerous as the leaves that rustle under our feet.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'that is a consoling thought; and he goes to +friends, if one may judge by the terms Count Maurice of Nassau writes of +him to the English Ambassador, Master Davison. My father has shown me a +copy of that letter, which speaks of Philip as his noble brother, and +honoured companion-in-arms.'</p> + +<p>'How proud one of the chiefest of the friends you speak of would be could +he know that Philip is gone forth to wage war against Spain.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Good Hubert Languet! I always think no man in his first youth had ever a +truer and more faithful counsellor than Philip possessed in that noble old +Huguenot. And how he loved him, and mourned his loss!'</p> + +<p>The big bell was now sounding for the mid-day dinner, and Lady Pembroke +said,—</p> + +<p>'However unwillingly, we must break off our converse now. You will write to +me if you repair to Flushing; or you will find a welcome at Wilton on any +day when you would fain bend your steps thither. Philip's friend must needs +be mine.'</p> + +<p>'A double honour I cannot rate too highly,' was the reply. 'I will ever do +my best to prove worthy of it.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="center">FIRE AND SWORD</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'What love hath wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is dearly bought.'—<i>Old Song</i>, 1596.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +Mary Gifford had found a quiet resting-place in the house of her husband's +uncle, Master George Gifford, at Arnhem, and here, from time to time, she +was visited by Humphrey Ratcliffe, who, in all the tumult of the war, kept +well in view the quest for Mary's lost son.</p> + +<p>Again and again hope had been raised that he was in one of the Popish +centres which were scattered over the Low Countries.</p> + +<p>Once Mary had been taken, under Humphrey's care, to watch before the gates +of a retired house in a village near Arnhem, whence the scholars of a +Jesuit school sometimes passed out for exercise.</p> + +<p>For the Papists were under protection of the Spanish forces, and were far +safer than their Protestant neighbours. Spain had always spies on the +watch, and armed men ready in ambush to resent any interference with the +priests or Jesuit schools. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>The country was bristling with soldiers, and skirmishes were frequent +between the English and Spaniards. Treachery and secret machinations were +always the tactics of Spain, and the bolder and more open hostility of +Elizabeth's army was often defeated by cunning.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford's expedition to the little town had resulted in +disappointment. With eager eyes and a beating heart she had watched the +boys file out in that back street towards the river, and when the boy +passed whom, at a sign from Humphrey, she was especially to notice, she +turned away. The light of hope died out from her face, as she said,—</p> + +<p>'Ah! no, no! That boy is not my Ambrose!'</p> + +<p>'He will be changed, whenever you do find him, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey +said, somewhat unwilling to give up his point. 'Methinks that stripling has +as much likeness to the child of scarce seven years old as you may expect +to find.'</p> + +<p>'Nay,' Mary said. 'The eyes, if nought else, set the question at rest. Did +you not note how small and deep-set were the eyes which this boy turned on +us with a sly glance as he passed. My Ambrose had ever a bold, free glance, +with his big, lustrous eyes, not a sidelong, foxy look. Nay, my good +friend, the truth gets more and more fixed in my mind that my child is safe +in Paradise, where only I shall meet him in God's good time.'</p> + +<p>'I do not give up hope,' Humphrey said. 'This is certain, that he was at +first at Douay, and that his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> father took him thence to some hiding-place +in the Netherlands. He may be nearer you than you think. I shall not have +the chance of speaking much to you for some weeks,' Humphrey said. 'It may +be never again, for our great chief, Sir Philip, weary of inaction and sick +at heart by the constant thwarts and drawbacks which he endures, is +consorting with the Count Maurice of Nassau, and both are determined to +capture Axel. The scheme has to be submitted to the Earl of Leicester, and +we only await his assent to prepare for the onset, and, by God's help, we +will take the town. Sir Philip craves for some chance of showing what he +can do. He is crippled for money and resources, and, moreover, the loss of +both his parents weighs heavy upon him.'</p> + +<p>'Alas! I know this must needs do so, the losses following so close, one on +the steps of the other.'</p> + +<p>'I have had a letter of some length from Lucy concerning Sir Henry's death +at Ludlow, and I look for another ere long with a fuller account than as +yet I have received of the Lady Mary's departure.'</p> + +<p>'Verily, there is only one staff to lean on as we pass through the valley +of the shadow when all human help is vain. None need be lonely who can feel +the presence of the Lord near in life and death. We must all seek to feel +that presence with us.'</p> + +<p>'Alas!' Humphrey said, 'this is a hard matter. It is many a year now since +I have ventured to put the question. Do you still hold to the belief that +your husband lives?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes,' Mary said firmly, 'till certain news reaches me that he is dead.'</p> + +<p>They were at the door of Master Gifford's house now, and here they +parted—Humphrey to the active service which would make him forget for the +time the hopelessness of his quest for the boy Ambrose and his love for the +mother.</p> + +<p>Lucy Forrester had acquired, amongst other things in Lady Pembroke's +service, the art of writing well, and she kept up communication with her +sister by this means. These letters were often sent, by favour of the Earl +of Pembroke, in the despatches to Sir Philip Sidney or the Earl of +Leicester, and conveyed to Mary Gifford by his servants.</p> + +<p>One of these letters awaited Mary this evening on her return, and it was +lying on the table by Master Gifford's side, as he sat in the spotlessly +clean parlour, with the Bible open before him, and a sheet of parchment, on +which he was jotting down the heads of his sermon to be delivered next day +in the plain unadorned room at the back of his house at Arnhem.</p> + +<p>Master George Gifford was a fine and venerable-looking man, with abundance +of grey hair curling low over the stiff, white collar, which contrasted +with the sombre black of his long gown made of coarse homespun.</p> + +<p>He had escaped to Holland in the days of the persecution of Protestants in +England, and, having a natural gift of eloquence, had become the centre +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +stay of a little band of faithful followers of the Reformed Faith.</p> + +<p>But Master Gifford was no narrow-minded bigot, and he abhorred persecution +on the plea of religion, as utterly at variance with the Gospel of the One +Lord and Saviour of all men.</p> + +<p>He was a dignified, courteous man, and treated Mary with the tender +consideration which her forlorn condition seemed to demand. Amongst those +who at intervals attended his ministry was Sir Philip Sidney, and, on this +very day when Mary Gifford had been on her vain expedition to the little +out-of-the-way village on the river bank, the young soldier had come to lay +before him the scheme for attacking Axel, and had brought with him the +letter which, on Mary's entrance, Master Gifford held towards her.</p> + +<p>'Here is a welcome missive,' he said; 'but forsooth, my poor child, you +look worn and tired. Sit you down and rest. Gretchen has spread the board +for you; I supped an hour agone. No news, I take it, Mary?' Master Gifford +said.</p> + +<p>'No, no, dear uncle, and I can go on no more vain quests. Master Humphrey +has the best intention, and who but a mother could recognise her own child? +I fear me you have needed my help with distributing the alms to the poor +this afternoon, and I should have baked the pasty for the morrow's dinner.'</p> + +<p>'Gretchen has done all that was needful. Is it not so, good Gretchen?' said +Master Gifford, as a squarely-built, sandy-haired Dutch woman, in her short +blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +gown and large brown linen apron, and huge flapping cap came into the +room.</p> + +<p>Gretchen came forward to Mary with resolute steps, and said in her somewhat +eccentric English,—</p> + +<p>'And what must you tire yourself out like this for, Mistress Gifford? Tut, +tut, you look like a ghost. Come and eat your supper like a Christian, I +tell you.'</p> + +<p>Gretchen was a rough diamond, but she had a good heart. She was absolutely +devoted to her master, and with her husband, an Englishman, who had escaped +with his master as a boy many years before, served him with zeal and +loyalty.</p> + +<p>Mary was led, whether she wished it or not, to the kitchen—that bright +kitchen with its well-kept pots and pans, and its heavy delf-ware ranged on +shelves, its great Dutch clock ticking loudly in the corner, and the clear +fire burning merrily in the stove, which was flanked with blue and white +tiles with a variety of quaint devices.</p> + +<p>'Sit you down and eat this posset. I made it for you, knowing you would be +more dead than alive. Come now, and sip this cup of mead, and don't open +that letter till you have done. Take off your hood and cloak. There! now +you are better already. Give up yawning like that, Jan, or you'll set me +off,' Gretchen said to her husband, whose name she had changed, to suit the +country of his adoption, from John to Jan, and who had been taking a +comfortable nap on the settle by the stove, from which he had been rudely +awakened by his wife. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary was obliged to do as Gretchen bid her, and was constrained to +acknowledge that she felt the better for the food, of which she had been so +unwilling to partake.</p> + +<p>Master Gifford's house was frequented by many faithful Puritans in Arnhem, +and amongst them was a lady named Gruithuissens, who was well-known for her +benevolence and tender sympathy with all who were sorrowful and oppressed.</p> + +<p>As was natural, therefore, she was attracted by Mary Gifford, and her +friendship had been one of the compensations Mary felt God had granted her +for the ever present loss of her boy.</p> + +<p>Madam Gruithuissens' house faced the street on one side and overlooked the +river on the other. The window of her long, spacious parlour opened out +upon a verandah, and had a typical view of the Low Countries stretched +before them. A wide, far-reaching expanse of meadow-land and water—the +flat country vanishing in the sky-line many miles distant.</p> + +<p>A contrast, indeed, to the wood-covered heights and undulating pastures of +the fair country of Kent, where the home of the Sidneys stands in all its +stately time-honoured pride.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford's thoughts were there at this moment. A summer evening came +back to her when she sat at the casement of Ford Manor with Ambrose clasped +close to her side. The years that lay between that time and the present +seemed so short, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +and yet how they had probably changed the child whom she +had loved so dearly.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe was right. She had not realised what that change would +be. And then came the ever-haunting fear that Ambrose, if he were alive, +would fail to recognise his mother—might have been taught to forget her, +or, perhaps, to think lightly of her, and to look upon her as a heretic, by +the Jesuits who had brought him up in their creed.</p> + +<p>She was roused from her meditations by Mistress Gruithuissens' abrupt +entrance.</p> + +<p>'Great news!' she said, 'Great news! Axel is taken, and Sir Philip Sidney +has done wonders. A messenger has just arrived with the news at the Earl of +Leicester's quarters, and Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has been sent by barge +with others of the wounded. There has been great slaughter, and terrible it +is to think of the aching hearts all around us. Women widows, children +fatherless. Yet it is a righteous war, for Spain would massacre tenfold the +number did she gain the ascendant—hearken! I hear footsteps.'</p> + +<p>In another moment the door was partly thrown open, and a young soldier, +evidently fresh from the scene of action, came in.</p> + +<p>'I am seeking Mistress Gifford,' he said. 'I am esquire to Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe, and he has dispatched me with a message.'</p> + +<p>'I am Mistress Gifford,' Mary said. 'What is your news?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>'My master is wounded, and he lies in Sir Philip Sidney's quarters in the +garrison. He bids me say he would fain see you, for he has to tell you +somewhat that could be entrusted to no one but yourself.'</p> + +<p>'How can I go to him?' Mary said helplessly.</p> + +<p>'How? With me, and my servants to guard us. But do not look so +terror-struck, Mistress Gifford,' Madam Gruithuissens said, 'it may, +perchance, be good news. I will order the servants to make ready—or will +we wait till the morrow? Nay, I see that would tax your patience too far; +we will start at once.'</p> + +<p>As Mary Gifford and her new protectress passed through the streets of +Arnhem to the garrison where Humphrey lay wounded, they saw knots of people +collected, all talking of the great event of the taking of Axel. Some women +were weeping and unable to gain any exact information, most of them with a +look of stolid misery on their faces, with no passionate expression of +grief, as would have been seen in a like case amongst Italian and French +women, or even amongst English sufferers in the same circumstances.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford's ear had become accustomed to the Dutch language, and she +spoke it with comparative ease, having, in her visits of charity amongst +the poor of Master Gifford's followers and disciples, no other means of +communicating with them.</p> + +<p>Madam Gruithuissens spoke English, for, like so many of those who sought +safety in the Low Countries +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +from the persecution of the Papists in +England, she had been brought thither by her father as a child, and had, +till her marriage, spoken her native tongue, and had read much of the +literature which was brought over from England.</p> + +<p>Humphrey Ratcliffe was lying in a small chamber apart from other sufferers, +by Sir Philip's order. He was wounded in the shoulder, and faint from the +loss of blood.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford did not lose her self-control in an emergency. Like many +gentle, quiet women, her strength and courage were always ready when she +needed them.</p> + +<p>'I am grieved to see you thus,' Mary said, as she went up to the low pallet +where Humphrey lay.</p> + +<p>'It is nought but a scratch,' he said, 'and it has been well worth the +gaining in a noble cause and a grand victory. I have certain news of your +boy. He was in a Jesuit school. It was burnt to the ground, but the boy was +saved. In the confusion and uproar, with the flames scorching hot on us, I +felt pity for the young creatures who were seen struggling in the burning +mass. With the help of my brave companions I rescued three of the boys. I +was bearing off one to a place of safety when I felt a blow from behind. +This stab in my shoulder, and the pain, made me relax my hold of the boy.</p> + +<p>'Instantly one of the Jesuit brothers had seized him, saying,—</p> + +<p>"You are safe, Ambrose, with me." +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I knew no more. I swooned from pain and loss of blood, and, when I came +to, I found I was in a barge being brought hither with other of the +wounded.'</p> + +<p>'But my son!' Mary exclaimed. 'Are you sure it was my son?'</p> + +<p>'As sure as I can be of aught that my eyes have ever looked upon. I saw the +large eyes you speak of dilated with fear, as the flames leaped up in the +surrounding darkness. And I verily believe the man who tore him from me was +him who gave me this wound, and is the crafty wretch whom you know to be +your husband.'</p> + +<p>'Ah me!' Mary exclaimed, 'it is but poor comfort after all. My boy may be +near, but I can never see him; he who has him in his power will take care +he eludes our grasp. But I am selfish and ungrateful to you, my good +friend. Pardon me if I seem to forget you got that sore wound in my +service.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! Mary,' Humphrey said, 'I would suffer ten such wounds gladly if I +might but win my guerdon. Well for me, it may be, that I swooned, or, by +Heaven, I should have run that wily Jesuit through the body.'</p> + +<p>'Thank God,' Mary said fervently, 'that his blood lies not on your head.'</p> + +<p>Madam Gruithuissens had considerately withdrawn to a long, low chamber next +the small one where Humphrey lay. She knew enough of Mary Gifford's history +to feel that whatever Humphrey Ratcliffe had to say to her, he would prefer +to say it with no listeners. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, full of charity and kindness, the good lady moved about amongst the +wounded and dying, and tried to cheer them and support them in their pain, +by repeating passages from the Bible, in English or in Dutch, according to +the nationality of the sufferer.</p> + +<p>When Madam Gruithuissens returned to Humphrey's room, Mary said,—</p> + +<p>'I would fain watch here all night, and do my utmost for all the sufferers. +Will you, Madam, give my uncle notice of my intention, and I think he will +come hither and pray by the side of those whom I hear groaning in their +pain.'</p> + +<p>'I will e'en do as you wish, and send my servant back with cordials and +linen for bands, and such food as may support you in your watch.'</p> + +<p>When Madam Gruithuissens departed, Humphrey and Mary Gifford were alone +together. The servant who had been sent with the news keeping watch at the +door outside, and Humphrey, for the time, seemed to go over, half +unconsciously, the scenes of the taking of Axel, and Mary listened to it +not exactly with half-hearted sympathy, but with the perpetually recurring +cry at her heart that God would restore to her her only son.</p> + +<p>It is ever so—the one anxiety, the one centre of interest to ourselves, +which may seem of little importance to others, drives out all else. All +other cares and griefs, and grand achievements of which we hear, are but as +dust in the balance, when weighed down by our own especial sorrow, or +suspense is hardest, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +perhaps, to bear, which is pressing upon us at the time.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford had often told herself that hope was dead within her, and that +she had resigned her boy into God's hands, that she should never clasp him +in her arms again, nor look into those lustrous eyes of which she had +spoken to Humphrey. But hope is slow to die in human hearts. It springs up +again from the very ashes of despair, and Humphrey Ratcliffe's words had +quickened it into life. Thus, as Humphrey described the events of the past +forty-eight hours, and forgot pain and weariness in the enthusiasm for the +courage and heroism of Sir Philip Sidney, his listener was picturing the +blazing house, the flames, the suffocating smoke, and the boy whose face +had been revealed to Humphrey as the face of her lost child.</p> + +<p>She was haunted by the certainty that the man who had stabbed Humphrey was +her husband, and that it was he who had called the boy by name, and +snatched him from his deliverer.</p> + +<p>This was the undercurrent of thought in Mary's mind, while she heard +Humphrey describe to her uncle, who promptly obeyed the summons, the +capture of the four citadels and rich spoil.</p> + +<p>'Ours was but a little band,' Humphrey was saying, 'but three thousand foot +soldiers. I was one of the five hundred of Sir Philip's men, and proud am I +to say so. It was at his place we met, on the water in front of Flushing, +and then by boat and on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +foot, with stealthy tread lest we should disturb the sleepers.</p> + +<p>'Within a mile of Axel Sir Philip called us near, and may I never live to +forget his words. They were enow to set on fire the courage of all true +soldiers. He bade us remember it was God's battle we were fighting, for +Queen and country and for our Faith. He bade us remember, too, we were +waging war against the tyranny of Spain, and exhorted us to care nought for +danger or death in serving the Queen, furthering our country's honour, and +helping a people so grievously in want of aid. He said, moreover, that his +eye was upon us, and none who fought bravely should lose their reward.</p> + +<p>'I thank God I was one of the forty men, who, headed by our gallant leader, +jumped into the turbid waters of the ditch, swam across, and, scaling the +walls, opened the gate for the rest.</p> + +<p>'The men we attacked were brave, and fought hard for victory; but they were +but just roused from slumber, it was too late to resist, and Sir Philip +had, by his marvellous wisdom in placing the troops, ensured our success. +It was a fearful scene of carnage. I only grieve that I did not get my +wound in fair fight, but by the back-handed blow of a Jesuit. Some of our +men set fire to the house where those emissaries of the devil congregate, +and Mistress Gifford here knows the rest, and she will relate it to you, +Master Gifford, in due time.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, my son,' Master Gifford said, 'let us pray for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> the blessed time when +the nations shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into +pruning-hooks, and learn war no more.'</p> + +<p>'But it is a righteous war, sir, blessed by God. Sure, could you have heard +Sir Philip bid us remember this, you would not soon forget his words, his +voice, his gallant bearing. He is ever in the front rank of danger, nor +spares himself, as it is reported some other great ones are known to do. +And his brothers are not far behind him in valour. That slight stripling, +Mr Thomas Sidney, is a very David in the heat of the battle.'</p> + +<p>'Let us try to dismiss the dread conflict from our minds,' Master Gifford +said, 'while we supplicate our Father in Heaven that He would look with +eyes of pity and forgiveness on the wounded and the dying, the bereaved +widows and the fatherless children.'</p> + +<p>And then the good old man poured out his soul in prayer as he knelt by +Humphrey's side. His words seemed to have a composing effect on Humphrey; +and when Master Gifford left the room to go to the bedside of the other +sufferers in the adjoining chamber, Mary saw, to her great relief, that +Humphrey was sleeping soundly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="center">RESTORED</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="45%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Good hope upholds the heart.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2" style="text-align: right"><i>Old Song</i>, 1596.</span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +There were great rejoicings at Arnhem when Sir Philip Sidney came back to +join the main army, stationed there under the command of the Earl of +Leicester.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip had been appointed Colonel of the Zeeland regiment of horse and, +to the disappointment of his friends, the Queen chose to be offended that +this mark of honour had been conferred upon him.</p> + +<p>The character of the Queen was full of surprising inconsistencies, and it +seems incredible that she should have grudged one whom she called the gem +of her Court the honour which she actually wished conferred on Count +Hohenlo, a man who, though a brave soldier, was known for his drunken, +dissolute habits.</p> + +<p>The Earl of Leicester made a jest of the Queen's displeasure, and only +laughed at the concern Sir Francis Walsingham showed in the letter in which +he announced it. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl said to Lady Frances, who, filled +with pride in her husband's achievements, was depressed when she heard her +father's report that the Queen laid the blame on Sir Philip's ambition, and +implied that he had wrung the honour from his uncle.</p> + +<p>'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl repeated, 'any more than it does +mine. It is but part and parcel of Her Highness's ways with those whom she +would seem at times to think paragons. Do I not not know it full well? I +have said in my despatch the truth, and I have begged your father, sweet +Frances, to communicate what I say without delay to the Queen; my words for +sure will not count for nought.'</p> + +<p>'The Queen had not heard of the last grand victory, the taking of Axel, +when she made the complaint. Ambitious! nay, my good uncle, Philip is never +ambitious save for good.'</p> + +<p>The Earl stroked the fair cheek of Philip Sidney's young wife, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Philip is happy in possessing so loyal a lady for his wife; he can afford +to let the smiles or frowns of the Queen go by. And here he comes to attest +the truth of what I say.'</p> + +<p>Sir Philip had often to doubt the ability of his uncle as a general, but at +this time they were on terms of greater friendliness than ever before. Sir +Philip had, in a few short months, lost both father and mother, and he +probably felt the tie between him and his mother's brother to be stronger +than in former<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +times. Had not his mother often bid him remember that he +came of the noble race of Dudley, and that he bore their crest with that of +the Sidneys—a proud distinction.</p> + +<p>If there had been jealousy in the Earl's heart when he saw his nephew +rising so rapidly to a foremost place in the esteem of all men—a place +which, with all his brilliant gifts, he secretly felt he never had +filled—it was subdued now.</p> + +<p>He did not grudge him the praise his splendid achievement awoke, and, in +his despatch to the English Court, he gave the whole credit of the capture +of Axel to his nephew.</p> + +<p>The Earl always took care to have the room he inhabited, whether for a +longer or a shorter time, luxuriously furnished.</p> + +<p>If the word 'comfortable' does not apply to the appointments of those days, +there was abundance of grandeur in fine tapestry hangings, in +soft-cushioned seats, and in gold and silver plate on which the delicacies +that were attainable were served.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip and Lady Frances were the Earl's guests, with the young Earl of +Essex and Mr Thomas Sidney. The elder brother, Robert, had been left in +command at Flushing with the nine hundred trusty soldiers Sir Philip had +left in the garrison there.</p> + +<p>'What truth am I to attest?' Sir Philip asked, as he came up the room with +his quick, elastic step.</p> + +<p>His wife went forward to meet him, and, clinging to his arm, said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Our good uncle was consoling me for those words in my father's letter.'</p> + +<p>'And on what ground did I console you, Frances?' the Earl said. 'You give +but half the truth; go on to say the rest.'</p> + +<p>'Nay,' she said, hiding her face on Sir Philip's shoulder, as he put his +arm tenderly round her. 'Nay, there is no need—'</p> + +<p>'To tell him he is happy to possess a loyal wife? You are right, dear +niece; he knows it full well.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, to my joy and blessing,' was the answer. 'The favour of the Queen is, +I do not deny, precious; but there are things more precious even than that. +But, Frances, I come to tell you I think it is time we return to Flushing. +We have had many bright days here, but I must soon be at the work I came +hither to perform, and there is much to do, as you, my Lord, know full +well.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, surely, but we need not be rash, or in too great haste.'</p> + +<p>'The investment of Doesburg is imperative,' Sir Philip said, 'and, if we +wish to gain the mastery of the Yssel, this must be done. There are some +matters which cause me great uneasiness. Stores are short and money greatly +needed; nor do I put much faith in some of our allies. There is a mutinous +feeling abroad amongst the troops.'</p> + +<p>'You may be right,' the Earl said, 'but let us away to our supper, it must +needs be served, and afterwards +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +you shall take the viol, and chase away any needless fears by your sweet music.'</p> + +<p>The Earl was always ready to put away any grave or serious matter, and Sir +Philip was often hampered by the difficulty he found in bringing his uncle +to the point on any question of importance.</p> + +<p>When Sir Philip and Lady Frances were alone together that evening, he +seemed more than usually grave and even sad.</p> + +<p>'Are you grieved, Philip, about the Queen's displeasure? As soon as she +hears of Axel she will sure cover you with honours.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, sweetheart, it is not over this matter that I am brooding. Concern +for you is pressing most.'</p> + +<p>'For me! But I am merry and well.'</p> + +<p>'Will you choose to remain here at Arnhem or return to Flushing with me? A +sore struggle must ensue before long, and Zutphen will be besieged. I have +been meditating whether or not I ought to send you and our babe under safe +convoy to England.'</p> + +<p>'No—oh, no! I would fain stay with you—near you—especially now. My +ladies take good care of me, and little madam Elizabeth. She is well and +hearty, and so am I; do not send us away from you!'</p> + +<p>'It shall be as you wish, dear love,' was the answer; 'though, I fear, you +will see but little of me. I have much to occupy me. But I will come to you +for rest, dear heart, and I shall not come in vain.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + +<p>In all the events and chances of war, Sir Philip did not forget his +servants; and he had been greatly concerned at the wound Humphrey had +received, which had been slow to heal, and had been more serious than had +at first been supposed. Before leaving Arnhem, Sir Philip went to the house +of Madam Gruithuissens, whither Humphrey had been conveyed when able to +leave the room in the quarters allotted to Sir Philip's retainers, where he +was nursed and tended by Mary Gifford and his kind and benevolent hostess.</p> + +<p>Humphrey had chafed against his enforced inaction, and was eager to be +allowed to resume his usual duties. It was evident that he was still unfit +for this; and Sir Philip entirely supported Madam Gruithuissens when she +said it would be madness for him to attempt to mount his horse while the +wound was unhealed and constantly needed care.</p> + +<p>It was the evening before Sir Philip left Arnhem that he was met in the +square entry of Madam Gruithuissens' house by Mary Gifford. She had been +reading to Humphrey, and had been trying to divert his mind from the sore +disappointment which the decision that he was to stay in Arnhem had +occasioned him. But Humphrey, like most masculine invalids, was very hard +to persuade, or to manage, and Mary, feeling that his condition was really +the result of his efforts to save her boy and bring him to her, was full of +pity for him, and self-reproach that she had caused him so much pain and +vexation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>'How fares it with my good esquire, Mistress Gifford?' Sir Philip asked, as +he greeted Mary.</p> + +<p>'Indeed, sir, but ill; and I fear that to prevent his joining your company +may hurt him more than suffering him to have his way. He is also greatly +distressed that he could not prosecute inquiries at Axel for my child. In +good sooth, Sir Philip, I have brought upon my true friend nought but ill. +I am ofttimes tempted to wish he had never seen me.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Mistress Gifford, do not indulge that wish. I hold to the faith that +the love of one who is pure and good can but be a boon, whether or not +possession of that one be denied or granted.'</p> + +<p>'But, sir, you know my story—you know that between me and Master Ratcliffe +is a dividing wall which neither can pass.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know it,' Sir Philip said; 'but, Mistress Gifford, take courage. +The wall may be broken down and his allegiance be rewarded at last.'</p> + +<p>'Yet, how dare I wish or pray that so it should be, sir? No; God's hand is +heavy upon me—bereft of my boy, and tossed hither and thither as a ship on +a stormy sea. All that is left for me is to bow my head and strive to say, +"God's will be done."'</p> + +<p>It was seldom that Mary Gifford gave utterance to her inmost thoughts; +seldom that she confessed even to herself how deeply rooted in her heart +was her love for Humphrey Ratcliffe. She never forgot, to her latest day, +the look of perfect sympathy—yes, of understanding, which Sir Philip +Sidney bent on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +her as he took her hand in his, and, bending over it, +kissed it reverently.</p> + +<p>'May God have you in His holy keeping, Mistress Gifford, and give you +strength for every need.'</p> + +<p>'He understands me,' Mary said, as she stood where he left her, his quick +steps sounding on the tiled floor of the long corridor which opened from +the square lobby. 'He understands, he knows; for has he not tasted of a +like cup bitter as mine?'</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford was drawing her hood more closely over her face, preparing to +return to Master Gifford's house, when she saw a man on the opposite side +of the street who was evidently watching her.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat fast as she saw him crossing over to the place where she +stood on the threshold of the entry to Madam Gruithuissens' house.</p> + +<p>She quickened her steps as she turned away in the direction of Master +Gifford's house, but she felt a hand laid on her arm.</p> + +<p>'I am speaking to one Mistress Gifford, methinks.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir,' Mary said, her courage, as ever, rising when needed. 'What is +your business with me?'</p> + +<p>'I am sent on an errand by one you know of as Ambrose Gifford—called by us +Brother Ambrosio. He lies sick unto death in a desolate village before +Zutphen, and he would fain see you ere he departs hence. There is not a +moment to lose; you must come at once. I have a barge ready, and we can +reach the place by water.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary was still hurrying forward, but the detaining grasp grew firmer.</p> + +<p>'If I tell you that by coming you will see your son, will you consent?'</p> + +<p>'My son! my boy!' Mary exclaimed. 'I would traverse the world to find him, +but how am I to know that you are not deceiving me.'</p> + +<p>'I swear by the blessed Virgin and all the Saints I am telling you the +truth. Come!'</p> + +<p>'I must seek counsel. I must consider; do not press me.'</p> + +<p>'Your boy is lying also in the very jaws of death. A consuming fever has +seized many of our fraternity. Famine has resulted in pestilence. When I +left the place where Brother Ambrosio and the boy lie, it was doubtful +which would depart first. The rites of the Holy Church have been +administered, and the priest, who would fain shrive Brother Ambrosio, sent +me hither, for confession must be made of sins, ere absolution be bestowed. +If you wish to see your son alive you must not hesitate. It may concern you +less if I tell you that he who was your husband may have departed +unabsolved through your delay.'</p> + +<p>The twilight was deepening, and there were but few people in this quarter +of the town. Mary hesitated no longer, and, with an uplifting of heart for +the strength Sir Philip's parting blessing had invoked, she gathered the +folds of her cloak round her, pulled the hood over her face, and saying, +'Lead on, I am ready,' she followed her guide through some narrow lanes +leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +to the brink of the water, where a barge was lying, with a man at +the prow, evidently on the watch for their coming.</p> + +<p>Not a word was spoken as Mary entered the barge, and took her seat on one +of the benches laid across it, her guide leaving her unmolested and +retiring to the further end of the vessel.</p> + +<p>There was no sound but the monotonous splash of the oars, and their regular +beat against the edge of the boat, as the two men pulled out into the wider +part of the river.</p> + +<p>Above, the stars were coming out one by one, and the wide stretch of low +meadow-land and water lay in the purple haze of gathering shadows like an +unknown and undiscovered country, till it was lost in the overarching +canopy of the dim far-off heavens.</p> + +<p>Mary Gifford felt strangely indifferent to all outward things as she sat +with her hands tightly clasped together under her cloak, and in her heart +only one thought had room—that she was in a few short hours to clasp her +boy in her arms.</p> + +<p>So over-mastering was this love and hungry yearning of the mother for her +child, that his condition—stricken by fever, and that of his father lying +at the very gates of death—were almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>'If only he knows my arms are round him,' she thought; 'if only I can hear +his voice call me <i>mother</i>, I will die with him content.'</p> + +<p>After a few hours, when there were lines of dawn in the eastern sky, Mary +felt the barge was being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +moored to the river bank; and her guide, rising +from his seat, came towards her, gave her his hand and said,—</p> + +<p>'We have now to go on foot for some distance, to the place where your son +lies. Are you able for this?'</p> + +<p>For Mary was stiff and cramped with her position in the barge for so long a +time, and she would have fallen as she stepped out, had not one of the +watermen caught her, saying,—</p> + +<p>'Steady, Madam! steady!'</p> + +<p>After a few tottering steps, Mary recovered herself, and said,—</p> + +<p>'The motion of walking will be good for me; let us go forward.'</p> + +<p>It was a long and weary tramp through spongy, low-lying land, and the way +seemed interminable.</p> + +<p>At last, just as the sun was sending shafts of light across river and +swamp—making them glow like burnished silver, and covering every tall +spike of rush and flag with diamonds—a few straggling cottages or huts +came in sight.</p> + +<p>A clump of pollards hid the cluster of buildings which formed the nucleus +of the little hamlet, till they were actually before a low, irregular block +of cottages, and at the door of one of these Mary's guide stopped.</p> + +<p>'A few of our brethren took refuge here after the taking of Axel and the +burning of our habitation there. We are under the protection of the Duke of +Parma, who is advancing with an army for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> relief of Zutphen, and will, +as we believe, drive from before us the foes of the Holy Church.'</p> + +<p>As they passed under the low doorway into a narrow entry paved with clay, +Mary's guide said,—</p> + +<p>'Tarry here, while I find what has passed in my absence.'</p> + +<p>Mary was not left long in suspense.</p> + +<p>The man presently returned, and, beckoning her, said,—</p> + +<p>'Come, without delay!'</p> + +<p>Mary found herself in a low, miserably furnished room on the ground-floor, +where, in the now clear light of the bright summer morning, Ambrose Gifford +lay dying.</p> + +<p>The 'large, cruel, black eyes,' as Lucy Forrester had called them long ago, +were dim now, and were turned with pitiful pleading upon the wife he had so +grievously injured.</p> + +<p>The priest stood by, and signed to Mary to kneel and put her face near her +husband, that she might hear what he had to say.</p> + +<p>As she obeyed, the hood fell back from her head, and a ray of sunshine +caught the wealth of her rich chestnut hair and made an aureole round it. +The grey streaks, which sorrow rather than years, had mingled amongst the +bronze locks, shone like silver. She took the long, wasted hand in hers, +and, in a low, clear voice, said,—</p> + +<p>'I am here, Ambrose! what would you say to me?'</p> + +<p>'The boy!' he gasped; 'fetch hither the boy!' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>One of the Brothers obeyed the dying man's request, and from a pallet at +the farther end of the room he brought the boy, whose cheeks were aflame +with fever, as he lay helpless in the Brother's arms.</p> + +<p>'Here, Ambrose,' the dying father said—'this—this is your mother; be a +good son to her.'</p> + +<p>Often as Mary Gifford had drawn a picture in her own mind of this possible +meeting with her son, so long delayed, such a meeting as this had never +been imagined in her wildest dreams.</p> + +<p>'Thus, then, I make atonement,' the unhappy man said. 'Take him, Mary, and +forgive it <i>all</i>.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Mary said, as the boy was laid on the pallet at his father's feet, +and his mother clasped him close to her side. 'Yes, I forgive—'</p> + +<p>'<i>All?</i>' he said. '<i>All?</i>'</p> + +<p>'As I pray God to be forgiven,' she said, womanly pity for this forlorn +ending of a misspent life thrilling in her voice, as hot tears coursed one +another down her pale sweet face. 'Yes,' she repeated, '<i>all</i>! Ambrose.'</p> + +<p>'One thing more. Did I murder Humphrey Ratcliffe? Does that sin lie on my +soul?'</p> + +<p>'No, thank God!' Mary said. 'He lives; he was cruelly wounded, but God +spared his life.'</p> + +<p>There was silence now. The priest bid Mary move from the bed, and let him +approach; but, before she did so, she bent over her husband and said,—</p> + +<p>'Have you gone to the Saviour of the world for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> forgiveness through His +precious blood, Ambrose? He alone can forgive sins.'</p> + +<p>'I know it! I know it!' was the reply.</p> + +<p>But the priest interfered now.</p> + +<p>'Withdraw, my daughter, for the end is near.'</p> + +<p>Then Mary, bending still lower, pressed a kiss upon the forehead, where the +cold dews of death were gathering, and, turning towards her boy, she +said,—</p> + +<p>'Where shall I take him? Where can I go with him, my son, my son?'</p> + +<p>There was something in Mary's self-restraint and in the pathetic tones of +her voice, which moved those who stood around to pity as she repeated,—</p> + +<p>'Where can I find a refuge with my child? I cannot remain here with him.'</p> + +<p>One of the Brothers raised Ambrose again in his arms, and saying, 'Follow +me,' he carried him to a small chamber on the upper floor, where he laid +him down on a heap of straw covered with an old sacking, and said in +English,—</p> + +<p>'This is all I can do for you. Yonder room whence we came is kept for those +stricken with the fever. Two of them died yesterday. We were burned out of +house and home, and our oratory sacked and destroyed at Axel. We fled +hither, and a troop of the Duke's army is within a mile to protect us.'</p> + +<p>'Is there no leech at hand, no one to care for my child?'</p> + +<p>'There was one here yester eve. He is attached to the troop I speak of, and +has enow to do with the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> sick there. Famine and moisture have done their +work, and God knows where it will end. There is a good woman at a small +homestead not a mile away. She has kept us from starving, and, like many of +the Hollanders, has a kind heart. I will do my best to get her to befriend +you, Mistress, for I see you are in a sorry plight.'</p> + +<p>'Even water to wet his lips would be a boon. I pray you fetch water,' she +entreated.</p> + +<p>The man disappeared, and presently returned with a rough pitcher of water +and a flagon in which, he said, was a little drink prepared from herbs by +the kindly Vrouw he had spoken of.</p> + +<p>'I will seek her as quickly as other claims permit,' he said. And then Mary +was left alone with her boy.</p> + +<p>The restlessness of fever was followed by a spell of utter exhaustion, but +the delirious murmurs ceased, and a light of consciousness came into those +large, lustrous eyes, by which Mary knew this was indeed her son.</p> + +<p>Otherwise, what a change from the rosy, happy child of seven, full of life +and vigour, to the emaciated boy of twelve, whose face was prematurely old, +and, unshaded by the once abundant hair, which had been close cropped to +his head, looked ghostly and unfamiliar.</p> + +<p>Still, he was hers once more, and she took off the ragged black gown, which +had been the uniform of the scholars of the Jesuit school, and was now only +fit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +for the fire, and taking off her own cloak, she wrapped him in it, +bathed his face with water, put the herb cordial to his lips, and then, +setting herself on an old chair, the only furniture in the tumbledown +attic, she raised Ambrose on her knees, and, whispering loving words and +prayers over him, hungered for a sign of recognition.</p> + +<p>Evidently the poor boy's weary brain was awakened by some magnetic power to +a consciousness that some lost clue of his happy childhood had been +restored to him.</p> + +<p>As his head lay against his mother's breast the rest there was apparently +sweet.</p> + +<p>He sighed as if contented, closed his eyes and slept.</p> + +<p>Mary dare not move or scarcely breathe, lest she should disturb the slumber +in which, as she gazed upon his face, the features of her lost child seemed +to come out with more certain likeness to her Ambrose of past years.</p> + +<p>For a smile played round the scarlet lips, and the long, dark fringe of the +lashes resting on his cheeks, brought back the many times in the old home +when she had seen them shadow the rounded rosy cheeks of his infant days.</p> + +<p>A mother's love knows no weariness, and, as the hours passed and Ambrose +still slept, Mary forgot her aching back and arms, her forlorn position in +that desolate attic, even the painful ordeal she had gone through by her +husband's dying bed—forgot everything +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +but the joy that, whether for life or death, her boy was restored to her.</p> + +<p>At last Ambrose stirred, and the smile faded from his lips. He raised his +head and gazed up into the face bending over him.</p> + +<p>'I dreamed,' he faltered; 'I dreamed I saw my <i>mother</i>—my <i>mother</i>.' He +repeated the word with a feeble cry—<i>my mother</i>; 'but it's only a dream. I +have no mother but the blessed Virgin, and she—she is so far, far away, up +in Heaven.'</p> + +<p>'Ambrose, my sweetheart, my son!' Mary said gently. 'I am not far away; I +am here! Your own mother.'</p> + +<p>'It's good of you to come down from Heaven, mother; take me—take me back +with you. I am so—so weary—weary; and I can't say all the Latin prayers +to you; I can't.'</p> + +<p>'Ambrose,' poor Mary said, 'you need say no more Latin prayers; you are +with me, your own mother, on earth.'</p> + +<p>The wave of remembrance grew stronger, and, after a moment's pause, Ambrose +said,—</p> + +<p>'Ned brought me two speckled eggs. The hawk caught the poor little bird; +the cruel hawk. Where am I? <i>Ave Maria, ora pro nobis.</i>'</p> + +<p>'Say rather, dear child, "Dear Father in heaven, bless me, and keep me."'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes; that is the prayer I said by—'</p> + +<p>'<i>Me</i>—me, your own mother.'</p> + +<p>The long-deferred hope was at last fulfilled, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> Mary Gifford tasted the +very fruit of the tree of life, as Ambrose, with full consciousness, gazed +long and earnestly at her, and said,—</p> + +<p>'Yes, you are my mother, my own mother; not a dream.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! say it again, my child, my child.'</p> + +<p>'My own mother,' the boy repeated, raising his thin hand and stroking his +mother's face, where tears were now running down unchecked, tears of +thankfulness; such as, for many a long year, she had never shed.</p> + +<p>With such bliss the stranger cannot intermeddle; but mothers who have had a +child restored to them from the very borders of the unseen land will know +what Mary Gifford felt.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p class="center">WHAT RIGHT?</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>'Her look and countenance was settled, her face soft, and almost +still, of one measure! without any passionate gesture or violent +motion, till at length, as it were, awakening and strengthening +herself, "Well," she said, "yet this is best; and of this I am +sure, that, however they wrong me, they cannot overmaster God. No +darkness blinds His eyes, no gaol bars Him out; to whom else +should I fly but to Him for succour."'—<i>The Arcadia.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +The Countess of Pembroke was sitting in the chamber which overlooked the +pleasance at Penshurst and the raised terrace above it, on a quiet autumn +day of the year of 1586.</p> + +<p>She had come to her early home to arrange the letters and papers which her +mother, Lady Mary, had committed to her care on her deathbed.</p> + +<p>There were other matters, too, which demanded her attention, and which the +Earl was only too glad to help her to settle; he was now in London for that +purpose.</p> + +<p>There were many difficulties to meet in the division of the property, and +Sir Henry had been so terribly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +hampered by the want of money, that debts sprang up on every side.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke had great administrative power, and, added to her other +gifts, a remarkable clearheadedness and discernment.</p> + +<p>The sombre mourning which she wore accentuated her beauty, and set off the +lovely pink-and-white of her complexion, and the radiant hair, which was, +as she laughingly told her brother, 'the badge of the Sidneys.'</p> + +<p>The profound stillness which brooded over Penshurst suited Lady Pembroke's +mood, and, looking out from the casement, she saw Lucy Forrester, playing +ball with her boy Will on the terrace. Lucy's light and agile figure was +seen to great advantage as she sprang forward or ran backward, to catch the +ball from the boy's hands. His laughter rang through the still air as, at +last, Lucy missed the catch, and then Lady Pembroke saw him run down the +steps leading to the pleasance below to meet George Ratcliffe, who was +coming in from the entrance on that side of the park.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke smiled as she saw George advance with his cap in his hand +towards Lucy. His stalwart figure was set off by the short green tunic he +wore, and a sheaf of arrows at his side, and a bow strapped across his +broad shoulders, showed that he had been shooting in the woods.</p> + +<p>Only a few words were exchanged, and then Lucy turned, and, leaving George +with little Will Herbert, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +she came swiftly toward the house, and Lady +Pembroke presently heard her quick, light tread in the corridor on which +her room opened.</p> + +<p>'Madam!' Lucy said, entering breathlessly, 'I bear a letter from Humphrey +to his brother; it has great news for me. Mary has found her boy, and that +evil man, Ambrose Gifford, is dead. Will it please you to hear the letter. +I can scarcely contain my joy that Mary has found her child; he was her +idol, and I began to despair that she would ever set eyes on him again.'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke was never too full of her own interests to be unable to enter +into those of her ladies and dependants.</p> + +<p>'I am right glad, Lucy,' she said. 'Let me hear what good Humphrey has to +say, and, perchance, there will be mention of my brothers in the letter. +Read it, Lucy. I am all impatience to hear;' and Lucy read, not without +difficulty, the large sheet of parchment, which had been sent, with other +documents, from the seat of war by special messenger.</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'To my good brother, George Ratcliffe, from before Zutphen,—'This to tell +you that I, making an expedition by order of my master, Sir Philip Sidney, +to reconnoitre the country before Zutphen, where, please God, we will in a +few days meet and vanquish the enemy, fell upon a farm-house, and entering, +asked whether the folk there were favourable to the righteous cause we have +in hand or the contrary. Methinks there never +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +was a joy greater than mine, +when, after some weeks of despair, I found there Mistress Mary Gifford and +her son! Three weeks before the day on which I write, Mistress Gifford had +disappeared from the town of Arnhem, nor could we find a trace of her. I +have before told you how, in the taking of Axel, I got a wound in my back +from the hand of a traitor, when I had rescued his son from the burning +house, where a nest of Jesuits were training young boys in their damnable +doctrines.</p> + +<p>'From the moment I was carried wounded to Arnhem I heard nought of the +child, snatched by the villain from my arms, till that evening when, God be +praised, I was led to the very place where he has been nursed by his mother +in a sore sickness. It has been my good fortune to give her, my +ever-beloved mistress, safe convoy to Arnhem, where they are, thank God, +safe under the care of that God-fearing man and worthy divine, Master +George Gifford.</p> + +<p>'Here I left them, returning to Flushing, where a strong force is ready to +meet the enemy, ay, and beat them back with slaughter when they advance. +The Earl of Leicester is in command, but the life and soul and wisdom of +the defence lie with my noble master, Sir Philip. To serve under him is +sure one of the greatest honours a man can know. We have his brave brothers +also at hand. Robert is scarce a whit less brave than his brother, and of +Mr Thomas, it is enough to say of him he is a Sidney, and worthy of that +name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I write in haste, for the despatches are made up, thus I can say but +little of the hope within my heart, which, God grant, will now at last be +not, as for so many long years, a hope in vain.</p> + +<p>'Ambrose Gifford died of the fever, and, having made his confession, was +absolved by the priest, and forgiven by that saint who has suffered from +his sins! This last more for his benefit than the first, methinks! But I +can no more.</p> + +<p>'Commend me to our mother and Mistress Lucy Forrester. If I fall in the +coming fight, I pray you, George, remember to protect one dearest to me on +earth.—I rest your loving brother,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">'Humphrey Ratcliffe.'</span></p> + +<p>'<i>Post Scriptum.</i>—The enemy is advancing, and we shall be ordered out to +meet them ere sunset. God defend the right.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. R.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'What is the date of that letter, Lucy?' Lady Pembroke asked.</p> + +<p>'The twenty-first day of September, Madam.'</p> + +<p>'And this is the twenty-sixth. More news will sure be here ere long, and +another victory assured, if it please God. May He protect my brothers in +the fight. But, Lucy, I rejoice to hear of your sister's happiness in the +recovery of her child; and now, in due course, I trust my brother's +faithful servant and friend, Master Humphrey, will have the reward of his +loyalty.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes, Madam; I hope Mary may, as you say, reward Humphrey.'</p> + +<p>'And you, Lucy; sure Master George is worthy that you should grant him his +reward also.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's bright face clouded as the Countess said this, and a bright crimson +flush rose to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Dear Madam,' she said, 'I shrink from giving a meagre return for such +faithful love. Sure ere a woman gives herself to a man till death, she +should make certain that he is the one in all the world for her.'</p> + +<p>'I will not contradict this, Lucy; but many women misjudge their own +hearts, and—'</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke hesitated. Then, after a pause, she said,—</p> + +<p>'There are some women who make their own idol, and worship it. After all, +it is an unreality to them, because unattainable.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, Madam,' Lucy said, with kindling eyes. 'I crave pardon; but the +unattainable may yet be a reality. Because the sun is set on high in the +heavens, it is yet our own when warmed by its beams and brightened by its +shining. True, many share in this, but yet it is—we cannot help it—ours +by possession when we feel its influence. Methinks,' the girl said, her +face shining with a strange light—'methinks I would sooner worship—ay, +and love—the unattainable, if pure, noble and good, than have part and lot +with the attainable that did not fulfil my dream of all that a true knight +and noble gentleman should be.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke drew Lucy towards her, and, looking into her face, said,—</p> + +<p>'May God direct you aright, dear child! You have done me and mine good +service, and the day, when it comes, that I lose you will be no day of +rejoicing for me. When first you entered my household I looked on you as a +gay and thoughtless maiden, and felt somewhat fearful how you would bear +yourself in the midst of temptations, which, strive as we may, must beset +those who form the household of a nobleman like the Earl, my husband. He +makes wise choice, as far as may be, of the gentlemen attached to his +service; but there is ever some black sheep in a large flock, and +discretion is needed by the gentlewomen who come into daily intercourse +with them. You have shown that discretion, Lucy, and it makes me happy to +think that you have learned much that will be of use to you in the life +which lies before you.'</p> + +<p>'Dear Madam,' Lucy said, 'I owe you everything—more than tongue can tell; +and as long as you are fain to keep me near you, I am proud to stay.'</p> + +<p>'I feel a strange calm and peace to-day,' Lady Pembroke said, as she leaned +out of the casement and looked down on the scene familiar to her from +childhood. 'It is the peace of the autumn,' she said; 'and I am able to +think of my father—my noble father and dear mother at rest in +Paradise—gathered in like sheaves of ripe corn into the garner—meeting +Ambrosia and the other younger children, whom they surrendered to God with +tears, but not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +without hope. I am full of confidence that Philip will win +fresh laurels, and I only grieve that the parents, who would have rejoiced +at his success, will never know how nobly he has borne himself in this war. +There will be news soon, and good Sir Francis Walsingham is sure to send it +hither post haste. Till it comes, let us be patient.'</p> + +<p>It was the afternoon of the following day that Lucy Forrester crossed the +Medway by the stepping-stones, and went up the hill to Ford Manor.</p> + +<p>It was her custom to do so whenever Lady Pembroke was at Penshurst. Her +stepmother was greatly softened by time, and subdued by the yoke which her +Puritan husband, who was now lord and master of the house and all in it, +had laid upon her.</p> + +<p>As Lucy turned into the lane, she met Ned coming along with a calf, which +he was leading by a strong rope, to the slaughter-house in the village.</p> + +<p>Ned's honest face kindled with smiles as he exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Well-a-day, Mistress Lucy, you are more like an angel than ever. Did I +ever see the like?'</p> + +<p>'Have you heard the good news, Ned?' Lucy asked. 'Mistress Gifford has her +boy safe and sound at Arnhem.'</p> + +<p>Ned opened eyes and mouth with astonishment which deprived him of the power +of speech.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Lucy continued, 'and she is a free woman now, Ned, for her husband +is dead.'</p> + +<p>'And right good news that is, anyhow,' Ned gasped +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> out at last. 'Dead; then +there's one rogue the less in the world. But to think of the boy. What is +he like, I wonder? He was a young torment sometimes, and I've had many a +chase after him when he was meddling with the chicks. The old hen nearly +scratched his eyes out one day when he tapped the end of an egg to see if +he could get the chick out. Lord, he was a jackanapes, surely; but we all +made much of him.'</p> + +<p>'He has been very sick with fever,' Lucy said, 'and, I dare say, +marvellously changed in four years. You are changed, Ned,' Lucy said; 'you +are grown a big man.'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' Ned said, tugging at the mouth of the calf, which showed a strong +inclination to kick out, and butt with his pretty head against Ned's ribs. +'Ay; and I <i>am</i> a man, Mistress Lucy. I have courted Avice; and—well—we +were asked in church last Sunday.'</p> + +<p>'I am right glad to hear it, Ned; and I wish you happiness. I must go +forward now to the house.'</p> + +<p>'I say!—hold! Mistress Lucy!' Ned said, with shamefaced earnestness. +'Don't think me too free and bold—but are you never going to wed? You are +a bit cruel to one I could name.'</p> + +<p>This was said with such fervour, mingled with fear lest Lucy should be +offended, that she could not help smiling as she turned away, saying,—</p> + +<p>'The poor calf will kick itself wild if you stay here much longer. So, +good-day to you, good Ned; and I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +will send Avice a wedding gift. I have a +pretty blue kerchief that will suit her of which I have no need; for we are +all in sombre mourning garments for the great and good lord and lady of +Penshurst.'</p> + +<p>Lucy found her stepmother seated in the old place on the settle, but not +alone. 'Her master,' as she called him with great truth, was with her, and +two of 'the chosen ones,' who were drinking mead and munching cakes from a +pile on the board.</p> + +<p>He invited Lucy to partake of the fare, but she declined, and, having told +her stepmother the news about Mary, she did not feel much disposed to +remain.</p> + +<p>'The boy found, do you say?' snarled her stepmother's husband. 'It would +have been a cause of thankfulness if that young limb of the Evil One had +never been found. You may tell your sister, Mistress Lucy, that neither her +boy nor herself will ever darken these doors. We want no Papists here.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, nay, no Papists,' echoed one of the brethren, with his mouth full of +cake.</p> + +<p>'Nay, nay,' chimed in another, as he set down the huge cup of mead after a +prolonged pull. 'No Papists here to bring a curse upon the house.'</p> + +<p>Lucy could not help feeling pity for her stepmother, who sat knitting on +the settle—her once voluble tongue silenced, her mien dejected and +forlorn. Lucy bent down and kissed her, saying in a low voice,—</p> + +<p>'You are glad, I know, Mary has found her child.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the answer came almost in a whisper, with a scared glance in the +direction of her husband and his guests,—</p> + +<p>'Ay, ay, sure <i>I am glad</i>.'</p> + +<p>Lucy lingered on the rough ground before the house, and looked down upon +the scene before her, trying in vain to realise that this had ever been her +home.</p> + +<p>The wood-crowned heights to the left were showing the tints of autumn, and +a soft haze lay in the valley, and brooded over the home of the Sidneys, +the stately walls of the castle and the tower of the church clearly seen +through the branches of the encircling trees, which the storm of a few days +before had thinned of many of their leaves.</p> + +<p>The mist seemed to thicken every minute, and as Lucy turned into the road +she gave up a dim idea she had of going on to Hillside to pay her respects +to Madam Ratcliffe, and hastened toward the village. The mist soon became a +fog, which crept up the hillside, and, before she had crossed the plank +over the river, it had blotted out everything but near objects. There +seemed a weight over everything, animate and inanimate. The cows in the +meadow to the right of the bridge stood with bent heads and depressed +tails. They looked unnaturally large, seen through the thick atmosphere; +and the melancholy caw of some belated rooks above Lucy's head, as they +winged their homeward way, deepened the depression which she felt creeping +over her, as the fog had crept over +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +the country side. The village children +had been called in by their mothers, and there was not the usual sound of +boys and girls at play in the street. The rumble of a cart in the distance +sounded like the mutter and mumble of a discontented spirit; and as Lucy +passed through the square formed by the old timbered houses by the lych +gate, no one was about.</p> + +<p>The silence and gloom were oppressive, and Lucy's cloak was saturated with +moisture. She entered the house by the large hall, and here, too, was +silence. But in the President's Court beyond, Lucy heard voices, low and +subdued. She listened, with the foreshadowing of evil tidings upon her, and +yet she stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to turn fears into certainty, +suspense into the reality of some calamity.</p> + +<p>Presently a gentleman, who had evidently ridden hard, came into the hall, +his cloak and buskins bespattered with mud. He bowed to Lucy, and said,—</p> + +<p>'I am a messenger sent post haste from Mr Secretary Walsingham, with +despatches for the Countess of Pembroke. I have sent for one Mistress +Crawley, who, I am informed, is the head of the Countess's ladies. My news +is from the Netherlands.'</p> + +<p>'Ill news?' Lucy asked.</p> + +<p>'Sir Philip Sidney is sorely wounded in the fight before Zutphen, I grieve +to say.'</p> + +<p>'Wounded!' Lucy repeated the word. '<i>Sore wounded!</i>' Then, in a voice so +low that it could scarcely be heard, she added, 'Dead! is he dead?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Nay, Madam; and we may hope for better tidings. For—'</p> + +<p>He was interrupted here by the entrance of Mistress Crawley.</p> + +<p>'Ill news!' she exclaimed. 'And who is there amongst us who dare be the +bearer of it to my lady? Not I, not I! Her heart will break if Sir Philip +is wounded and like to die.'</p> + +<p>Several young maidens of Lady Pembroke's household had followed Mistress +Crawley into the hall, regardless of the reproof they knew they should +receive for venturing to do so.</p> + +<p>'I cannot tell my lady—nay, I dare not!' Mistress Crawley said, wringing +her hands in despair.</p> + +<p>'Here is the despatch which Sir Francis Walsingham has committed to me,' +the gentleman said. 'I crave pardon, but I must e'en take yonder seat. I +have ridden hard, and I am well-nigh exhausted,' he continued, as he threw +himself on one of the benches, and called for a cup of sack.</p> + +<p>Lucy meanwhile stood motionless as a statue, her wet cloak clinging to her +slender figure, the hood falling back from her head, the long, damp tresses +of hair rippling over her shoulders.</p> + +<p>'I will take the despatch to my lady,' she said, in a calm voice, 'if so be +I may be trusted to do so.'</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="G" id="G"></a> +<img src="images/ill315.jpg" width="500" height="314" alt="THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE.</span> +</div> + +<p>'Yes, yes!' Mistress Crawley said. 'Go—go, child, and I will follow with +burnt feathers and cordial when I think the news is told,' and Mistress +Crawley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> hurried away, the maidens scattering at her presence like a +flock of pigeons.</p> + +<p>Lucy took the despatch from the hand of the exhausted messenger, and went +to perform her task.</p> + +<p>Lady Pembroke was reading to her boy Will some passages from the <i>Arcadia</i>, +which, in leisure moments, she was condensing and revising, as a pleasant +recreation after the work of sorting the family letters and papers, and +deciding which to destroy and which to keep.</p> + +<p>When Lucy tapped at the door, Will ran to open it.</p> + +<p>Even the child was struck by the white face which he saw before him, and he +exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'Mistress Lucy is sick, mother.'</p> + +<p>'No,' Lucy said, 'dear Madam,' as Lady Pembroke turned, and, seeing her, +rose hastily. 'No, Madam, I am not sick, but I bring you a despatch from +Sir Francis Walsingham. It is ill news, dearest lady, but not news which +leaves no room for hope.'</p> + +<p>'It is news of Philip—Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, trying with trembling +fingers to break the seal and detach the silk cord which fastened the +letter. 'Take it, Lucy, and—and tell me the contents. I cannot see. I +cannot open it!'</p> + +<p>Then, while the boy nestled close to his mother, as if to give her strength +by putting his arms round her, Lucy obeyed her instructions, and opening +it, read the Earl of Leicester's private letter, which had accompanied the +official despatch, giving an account of the investment of Zutphen and the +battle which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> had been fought before its walls. This private letter was +enclosed for Lady Pembroke in that to his Right Honourable and trusted +friend Sir F. Walsingham.</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'In the mist of the morning of the 23d, my incomparably brave nephew and +your brother, Philip Sidney, with but five hundred foot and seven hundred +horsemen, advanced to the very walls of Zutphen.</p> + +<p>'It was hard fighting against a thousand of the enemy. Philip's horse was +killed under him, and alas! he heightened the danger by his fearless +courage; for he had thrown off his cuisses to be no better equipped than +Sir William Pelham, who had no time to put on his own, and, springing on a +fresh horse, he went hotly to the second charge. Again there was a third +onset, and our incomparable Philip was shot in the left leg.</p> + +<p>'They brought him near me, faint from loss of blood, and he called for +water. They brought him a bottle full, and he was about to raise it to his +parched lips, when he espied a poor dying soldier cast greedy, ghastly eyes +thereon. He forbore to drink of the water, and, handing the bottle to the +poor wretch, said,—</p> + +<p>'"Take it—thy need is greater than mine."'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'Oh! Philip! Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, 'in death, as in life, +self-forgetting and Christ-like in your deeds.'</p> + +<p>Lucy raised her eyes from the letter and they met +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> those of her mistress +with perfect sympathy which had no need of words.</p> + +<p>'Doth my uncle say more, Lucy? Read on.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'And,' Lucy continued, in the same low voice, which had in it a ring of +mingled pride in her ideal hero and sorrow for his pain, 'my nephew would +not take on himself any glory or honour when Sir William Russel, also +sorely wounded, exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'"Oh, noble Sir Philip, never did man attain hurt so honourably or so +valiantly as you," weeping over him as if he had been his mistress.</p> + +<p>'"I have done no more," he said, "than God and England claimed of me. My +life could not be better spent than in this day's service." I ordered my +barge to be prepared, and, the surgeons doing all they could to stanch the +blood, Philip was conveyed to Arnhem. He rests now in the house of one +Madam Gruithuissens, and all that love and care can do, dear niece, shall +be done by his and your sorrowing uncle,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Leicester.</span></p> + +<p>'Pardon this penmanship. It is writ in haste, and not without tears, for +verily, I seem now to know, as never before, what the world and his kindred +possess in Philip Sidney.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">R. L.</p> + +<p>'To my dear niece, Mary, Countess of Pembroke, from before Zutphen, on the +twenty-second day of September, in the year of grace 1586. Enclosed in +despatch to the Right Honourable Sir Francis Walsingham.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +When Lucy had finished reading, the Countess took the letter, and rising, +left the room, bidding Will to remain behind.</p> + +<p>Mistress Crawley, who was waiting in the corridor to be called in with +cordials and burnt feathers, was amazed to see her lady pass out with a +faint, sad smile putting aside the offered cordial.</p> + +<p>'Nay, good Crawley, my hurt lies beyond the cure of aught but that of Him +who has stricken me. I would fain be alone.'</p> + +<p>'Dear heart!' Mistress Crawley exclaimed, as she bustled into the room +where Lucy still sat motionless, while Will, with childlike intolerance of +suspense, ran off to seek someone who would speak, and not sit dumb and +white like Lucy. 'Dear heart! I daresay it is not a death-wound. Sure, if +there is a God in heaven, He will spare the life of a noble knight like Sir +Philip. He will live,' Mistress Crawley said, taking a sudden turn from +despair and fear to unreasonable hope. 'He will live, and we shall see him +riding into the Court ere long, brave and hearty, so don't pine like that, +Mistress Lucy; and I don't, for my part, know what right you have to take +on like this; have a sup of cordial, and let us go about our business.'</p> + +<p>But Lucy turned away her head, and still sat with folded hands where Lady +Pembroke had left her.</p> + +<p>Mistress Crawley finished by emptying the silver cup full of cordial +herself, and, pressing her hand to her heart, said,—'She felt like to +swoon at first, but it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +would do no good to sit moping, and Lucy had best +bestir herself, and, for her part, she did not know why she should sit +there as if she were moon-struck.'</p> + +<p>The days were long over since Mistress Crawley had ordered Lucy, in the +same commanding tones with which she often struck terror into the hearts of +the other maidens, threatening them with dismissal and report of their +ill-conduct to Lady Pembroke.</p> + +<p>Lucy had won the place she held by her gentleness and submission, and, let +it be said, by her quickness and readiness to perform the duties required +of her.</p> + +<p>So Mistress Crawley, finding her adjurations unheeded, bustled off to see +that the maidens were not gossiping in the ante-chamber, but had returned +to their work.</p> + +<p>Lucy was thus left alone with her thoughts, and, in silence and solitude, +she faced the full weight of this sorrow which had fallen on the house of +Sidney, yes, and on her also.</p> + +<p>'What right had she to sit and mourn? What part was hers in this great +trouble?' Mistress Crawley's words were repeated again and again in a low +whisper, as if communing with her own heart.</p> + +<p>'What right have I? No right if right goes by possession. What right? Nay, +none.'</p> + +<p>Then, with a sudden awaking from the trance of sorrow, Lucy rose, the light +came back to her eyes, the colour to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Right? What right? Yes, the right that is mine, that for long, long years +he has been as the sun in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +my sky. I have gloried in all his great gifts, I +have said a thousand times that there were none like him, none. I have seen +him as he is, and his goodness and truth have inspirited me in my weakness +and ignorance to reach after what is pure and noble. Yes, I have a right, +and oh! if, indeed, I never see him again, to my latest day I shall thank +God I have known him, Philip, Sir Philip Sidney, true and noble knight.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>There was now a sound of more arrivals in the hall, and Lucy was leaving +the room, fearing, hoping, that there might be yet further tidings, when +the Earl of Pembroke came hastily along the corridor.</p> + +<p>'How fares it with my lady, Mistress Forrester? I have come to give her +what poor comfort lies in my power.'</p> + +<p>The Earl's face betrayed deep emotion and anxiety.</p> + +<p>Will came running after his father, delighted to see him; and in this +delight forgetting what had brought him.</p> + +<p>'Father! father! I have ridden old black Joan, and I can take a low fence, +father.'</p> + +<p>'Hush now, my son, thy mother is in sore trouble, as we all must be. Take +me to thy mother, boy.'</p> + +<p>'Uncle Philip will soon be well of his wound,' the child said, 'the bullet +did not touch his heart, Master Ratcliffe saith.'</p> + +<p>The Earl shook his head.</p> + +<p>'It will be as God pleases, boy,' and there, in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +corridor, as he was +hastening to his wife's apartments, she came towards him with outstretched +arms.</p> + +<p>'Oh! my husband,' she said, as he clasped her to his breast. 'Oh! pity me, +pity me! and pray God that I may find comfort.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, my sweetheart,' the Earl said, and then husband and wife turned +into their own chamber, Will, subdued at the sight of his mother's grief, +not attempting to follow them, and Lucy was again alone.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p class="center">THE PASSING OF PHILIP</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Oh, Death, that hast us of much riches reft,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tell us at least what hast thou with it done?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What has become of him whose flower here left<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is but the shadow of his likeness gone?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scarce like the shadow of that which he was,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nought like, but that he like a shade did pass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But that immortal spirit which was decked<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With all the dowries of celestial grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By sovereign choice from heavenly choirs select<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lineally derived from angel's race;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, what is now of it become aread?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah me, can so divine a thing be dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah no, it is not dead, nor can it die,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But lives for aye in blissful Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, like a new-born babe it soft doth lie<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In bed of lilies wrapped in tender wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dainty violets from head to feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And compassed all about with roses sweet.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2" style="text-align: right">From the <i>Lament of Sir Philip</i> by<br /></span> +<span class="i4" style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Mary, Countess of Pembroke</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +'At Arnhem, in the month of October 1586; this to my dear sister, Lucy +Forrester.' This was the endorsement of a letter from Mary Gifford, which +was put into Lucy's hands on the day when a wave +of sorrow swept over the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +country as the news was passed from mouth to mouth that Sir Philip Sidney +was dead.</p> + +<p>There had been so many alternations of hope and fear, and the official +reports from the Earl of Leicester had been on the hopeful side, while +those of Robert Sidney and other of his devoted friends and servants, had +latterly been on the side of despair.</p> + +<p>Now Mary Gifford had written for Lucy's information an account of what had +passed in these five-and-twenty days, when Sir Philip lay in the house of +Madame Gruithuissens, ministered to by her uncle, Master George Gifford.</p> + +<p>The letter was begun on the seventeenth of October, and finished a few days +later, and was as follows:—</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'After the last news that I have sent you, dear sister, it will not be a +surprise to you to learn that our watching is at an end. The brave heart +ceased to beat at two of the clock on this seventeenth of October in the +afternoon.</p> + +<p>'It has been a wondrous scene for those who have been near at hand to see +and hear all that has passed in the upper chamber of Madame Gruithuissens' +house.</p> + +<p>'I account it a privilege of which I am undeserving, that I was suffered, +in ever so small a way, to do aught for his comfort by rendering help to +Madame Gruithuissens in the making of messes to tempt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> the sick man to eat, +and also by doing what lay in my power to console those who have been +beside themselves with grief—his two brothers.</p> + +<p>'What love they bore him! And how earnestly they desire to follow in his +steps I cannot say.</p> + +<p>'Mr Robert was knighted after the battle which has cost England so dear, +and my uncle saith that when he went first to his brother's side with his +honour fresh upon him, Sir Philip smiled brightly, and said playfully,—</p> + +<p>'"Good Sir Robert, we must see to it that we treat you with due respect +now," and then, turning to Mr Thomas, he said, "Nor shall your bravery be +forgot, Thomas, as soon as I am at Court again. I will e'en commend my +youngest brother to the Queen's Highness. So we will have three knights to +bear our father's name."</p> + +<p>'At this time Sir Philip believed he should live, and, indeed, so did most +of those who from day to day watching his courage and never-failing +patience; the surgeon saying those were so greatly in his favour to further +his recovery. But from that morning when he himself discerned the signs of +approaching death, he made himself ready for that great change. Nay, Lucy, +methinks this readiness had been long before assured.</p> + +<p>'My uncle returned again and again from the dying bed to weep, as he +recounted to me and my boy the holy and beautiful words Sir Philip spake.</p> + +<p>'Of himself, only humbly; of all he did and wrote, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> as nothing in God's +sight. His prayers were such that my uncle has never heard the like, for +they seemed to call down the presence of God in the very midst of them.</p> + +<p>'He was troubled somewhat lest his mind should fail him through grievous +wrack of pain of body, but that trouble was set at rest.</p> + +<p>'To the very end his bright intelligence shone, even more and more, till, +as we now believe, it is shining in the perfectness of the Kingdom of God.</p> + +<p>'On Sunday evening last, he seemed to revive marvellously, and called for +paper and pencil. Then, with a smile, he handed a note to his brother, Sir +Robert, and bade him despatch it to Master John Wier, a famous physician at +the Court of the Duke of Cleves.</p> + +<p>'This note was wrote in Latin, and begged Master Wier to <i>come</i>, and <i>come</i> +quick. But soon after he grew weaker, and my good uncle asking how he +fared, he replied sorrowfully that he could not sleep, though he had +besought God to grant him this boon. But when my uncle reminded him of One +who, in unspeakable anguish, prayed, as it would seem to our poor blind +eyes, in vain, for the bitter cup did not pass, said,—</p> + +<p>'"Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt!" he exclaimed.'</p> + +<p>'"I am fully satisfied and resolved with this answer. No doubt it is even +so."</p> + +<p>'There were moments yet of sadness, and he reproached +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>himself for +cherishing vain hopes in sending for Master Wier, but my uncle comforted +him so much that at length he pronounced these memorable words, "I would +not change my joy for the empire of the world."</p> + +<p>'I saw him from time to time as I brought to the chamber necessary things. +Once or twice he waved his hand to me, and said, oh, words ne'er to be +forgot,—</p> + +<p>'"I rejoice you have your boy safe once more, Mistress Gifford. Be wary, +and train him in the faith of God, and pray that he be kept from the +trammels with which Papacy would enthral the soul."</p> + +<p>'He showed great tenderness and care for Lady Frances, dreading lest she +should be harmed by her constant attendance on him.</p> + +<p>'Sweet and gentle lady! I have had the privilege of waiting on her from +time to time, and of giving her what poor comfort lay in my power.</p> + +<p>'After the settlement of his worldly affairs, Sir Philip asked to have the +last ode he wrote chanted to him, but begged that all the stray leaves of +the <i>Arcadia</i> should be gathered together and burned. He said that it was +but vanity and the story of earthly loves, and he did not care to have it +outlive him.</p> + +<p>'My uncle was with him when he begged Sir Robert to leave him, for his +grief could not be controlled. While the sufferer showed strength in +suppressing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +sorrow, the strong man showed weakness in expressing it.</p> + +<p>'Much more will be made known of these twenty-five days following the wound +which caused our loss.</p> + +<p>'For myself, I write these scanty and imperfect details for my own comfort, +in knowing that they will be, in a sad sort, a comfort to you, dear sister, +and, I might humbly hope, to your lady also.</p> + +<p>'My uncle, praying by Sir Philip's side, after he had addressed his +farewell to his brother, seeing him lie back on the pillow as if +unconscious, said, "Sir, if you hear what I say, let us by some means know +if you have inward joy and consolation of God."</p> + +<p>'Immediately his hand, which had been thought powerless, was raised, and a +clear token given to those who stood by that his understanding had not +failed him.</p> + +<p>'Once more, when asked the same question, he raised his hands with joined +palms and fingers pointing upwards as in prayer—and so departed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'I wrote so far, and now I have been with my boy watching the removal of +all that is mortal of this great and noble one from Arnhem to Flushing, +convoyed to the water's edge by twelve hundred English soldiers, trailing +their swords and muskets in the dust, while solemn music played.</p> + +<p>'The surgeons have embalmed the poor, worn body, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> and the Earl of Leicester +has commanded that it be taken to England for burial.</p> + +<p>'"Mother," my boy said, as he clasped my hand tightly in his, as the barge +which bore the coffin away vanished in the mist hanging over the river, +"mother, why doth God take hence a brave and noble knight, and leave so +many who are evil and do evil instead of good?"</p> + +<p>'How can I answer questions like to this? I could only say to my son, +"There is no answer. Now we only see as in a mirror darkly; at length we +shall see clearer in the Light of God, and His ways are ever just."</p> + +<p>'Dear sister, it is strange to have the hunger of my heart satisfied by +God's gift to me of my boy from the very gates of death, and yet to have +that same heart oppressed with sorrow for those who are left to mourn for +the brave and noble one who is passed out of our sight. Yet is that same +heart full of thankfulness that I have recovered my child. It is not all +satisfaction with him. Every day I have to pray that much that he has +learned in the Jesuit school should be unlearned. Yet, God forbid I should +be slow to acknowledge that in some things Ambrose has been trained +well—in obedience, and the putting aside of self, and the mortification of +appetite. Yes, I feel that in this discipline he may have reaped a benefit +which with me he might have missed. But, oh! Lucy, there are moments when I +long with heart-sick longing for my joyous, if wilful child, who, on a fair +spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +evening long ago, sat astride on Sir Philip's horse, and had for +his one wish to be such another brave and noble gentleman!</p> + +<p>'Methinks this wish is gaining strength, and that the strange repression of +all natural feeling which I sometimes notice, may vanish 'neath the +brighter shining of love—God's love and his mother's.</p> + +<p>'You would scarce believe, could you see Ambrose, that he—so tall and +thin, with quiet and restrained movements and seldom smiling mouth—could +be the little torment of Ford Place! Four years have told on my boy, like +thrice that number, and belike the terrible ravages of the fever may have +taken something of his youthful spring away.</p> + +<p>'He is tender and gentle to me, but there is reserve.</p> + +<p>'On one subject we can exchange but few words; you will know what that +subject is. From the little I can gather, I think his father was not unkind +to him; and far be it from me to forget the parting words, when the soul +was standing ready to take its flight into the unseen world. But oh! my +sister, how wide the gulf set between him, for whom the whole world, I may +say, wears mourning garb to-day—for foreign countries mourn no less than +England—how wide, I say, is the gulf set between that noble life and his, +of whom I dare not write, scarce dare to think.</p> + +<p>'Yet God's mercy is infinite in Christ Jesus, and the gulf, which looks so +wide to us, may be bridged over by that same infinite mercy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + +<p>'God grant it.</p> + +<p>'This with my humble, dutiful sympathy to your dear lady, the Countess of +Pembroke, for whom no poor words of man can be of comfort, from your loving +sister,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Mary Gifford.</span></p> + +<p>'<i>Post Scriptum.</i>—Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has proved a true friend to +me, and to my boy. To him, under God, I owe my child's restoration to +health, and to me.</p> + +<p>'He is away with that solemn and sorrowful train I saw embark for Flushing, +nor do I know when he will return.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">M. G.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 5em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p>'At Penshurst, in the month of February 1586,—For you, my dear sister +Mary, I will write some account of the sorrowful pageant, from witnessing +which I have lately returned to Penshurst with my dear and sorely-stricken +mistress, and all words would fail me to tell you how heavy is her grief, +and how nobly she has borne herself under its weight.</p> + +<p>'Four long and weary months have these been since the news of Sir Philip's +death came to cast a dark shadow over this country. Much there has been to +harass those who are intimately connected with him. Of these troubles I +need not write. The swift following of Sir Philip's death on that of his +honoured father, Sir Henry Sidney, caused mighty difficulties as to the +carrying out of that last will and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +testament in which he so nobly desired +to have every creditor satisfied, and justice done.</p> + +<p>'But, sure, no man had ever a more generous and worthy father-in-law than +Sir Philip possessed in Sir Francis Walsingham. All honour be to him for +the zeal and care he has shown in the settlement of what seemed at the +first insurmountable mountains of difficulties.</p> + +<p>'Of these it does not become me to speak, rather of that day, Thursday last +past, when I was witness of the great ceremony of burying all that was +mortal of him for whom Queen and peasant weep.</p> + +<p>'Mary! you can scarce picture to yourself the sight which I looked on from +a casement by the side of my dear mistress. All the long train of mourners +taken from every class, the uplifted standard with the Cross of St George, +the esquires and gentlemen in their long cloaks of mourning garb, these +were a wondrous spectacle. In the long train was Sir Philip's war horse, +led by a footman and ridden by a little page bearing a broken lance, +followed by another horse, like the first, richly caparisoned, ridden by a +boy holding a battle-axe reversed. All this I say I gazed at as a show, and +my mistress, like myself, was tearless. I could not believe, nay, I could +not think of our hero as connected with this pageant. Nay, nor with that +coffin, shrouded in black velvet, carried by seven yeomen, and the pall +borne by those gentlemen who loved him best, his dearest friends, Sir +Fulke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +Greville, Sir Edward Dyer, Edward Watson, and Thomas Dudley.</p> + +<p>'Next came the two brothers, Sir Robert—now Lord of Penshurst—chief +mourner, and behind, poor Mr Thomas Sidney, who was so bowed down with +grief that he could scarce support himself.</p> + +<p>'Earls and nobles, headed by my Lord of Leicester, came after; and the +gentlemen from the Low Countries, of whom you will have heard, and all the +great city folk—Lord Mayor and Sheriffs—bringing up the rear.</p> + +<p>'My dear mistress and I, with many other ladies of her household, having +watched the long train pass us from the Minories, were conveyed by back +ways to St Paul's, and, from a seat appointed us and other wives of nobles +and their gentlewomen, we were present at the last scene.</p> + +<p>'It was when the coffin, beautifully adorned with escutcheons, was placed +on a bier prepared for it, that my mistress said, in a low voice, heard by +me—perhaps by me only,—</p> + +<p>'"<i>Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur.</i>"</p> + +<p>'These words were the motto on the coffin, and they were the words on which +the preacher tried to enforce his lesson.</p> + +<p>'Up to the moment when the double volley was fired, telling us within the +church that the body rested in peace, there had been profound stillness.</p> + +<p>'Then the murmur of a multitude sorrowing and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> sighing, broke upon the ear; +and yet, beyond those whispered words, my lady had not made any sign.</p> + +<p>'Now she laid her hand in mine and said,—</p> + +<p>'"Let us go and see where they have laid him."</p> + +<p>'I gave notice to the gentlemen in attendance that this was my lady's +desire. We had to wait yet for a long space; the throng, so closely packed, +must needs disperse.</p> + +<p>'At length way was made for us, and we stood by the open grave together—my +mistress, whose life had been bound up in her noble brother's, and I, to +whom he had been, from my childhood's days to the present, the hero to +whose excellence none could approach—a sun before whose shining other +lights grew dim.</p> + +<p>'Do not judge me hardly! Nay, Mary, you of all others will not do this. My +love for him was sacred, and I looked for no return; but let none grudge it +to me, for it drew me ever upwards, and, as I humbly pray, will still do so +till I see him in the other life, whither he has gone.</p> + +<p>'Throughout all this pageantry and symbols of woe which I have tried to +bring before you, my dear sister, I felt only that these signs of the great +grief of the whole realm were yet but vain, vain, vain.</p> + +<p>'As in a vision, I was fain to see beyond the blackness of funeral pomp, +the exceeding beauty of his soul, who, when he lay a-dying, said he had +fixed his thoughts on these eternal beauties, which cheered his decaying +spirits, and helped him to take possession +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> of the immortal inheritance +given to him by, and in Christ.</p> + +<p>'"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; blessed be those who mourn, +for they shall be comforted."</p> + +<p>'I have finished the task I set myself to do for your edification, dearest +sister. Methought I could scarce get through it for tears, but these did +not flow at my will. Not till this morning, when I betook myself to the +park, where all around are signs of a springing new life, and memories of +Sir Philip in every part, did these tears I speak of have their free way. +All things wakening into life, buds swelling on the stately trees he loved; +birds singing, for the time to pair is come; dew sparkling like the lustre +of precious stones on every twig and blade of grass, daisies with golden +eyes peeping up between. Life, life, everywhere quickening life, and he who +loved life, and to see good days, can walk no more in the old dear paths of +his home, which he trod with so graceful and alert a step, his smile like +the sunshine lying on the gate of the President's Court, under which he +that went out on the November morning in all the glory of his young +manhood, shall pass in no more for ever.</p> + +<p>'As I thought of seeing him thus, with the light on his bright hair and +glistening armour, as he took his infant child in his arms and bade her +farewell, I wept, not bitter tears, but those God sends to us as a blessing +when the heart desires some ease of its burden. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It may be that you will care to read what I have written to the boy +Ambrose. Bid him from me to remember his old desire to be such another +brave and goodly knight as Sir Philip Sidney, and strive to follow him in +all loyal service to his God, his Queen, and his kindred.</p> + +<p>'I am thinking often, Mary, of your return to this country. Will it never +come to pass? You told me in your letter in which you gave me those +particulars of Sir Philip's death, that I should scarce believe that +Ambrose was the child I knew at the old home of Ford Place. And scarce will +you believe, when we meet, as meet I pray we shall, I am the same Lucy of +days past. Ever since that time of your grief and sickness, I have changed. +I look back with something which is akin to pity on the vain child who +thought fine clothes and array the likest to enhance the fair face and form +which maybe God has given me. Ay, Mary, I have learned better now. I should +have been a dullard, in sooth, had I not learned much in the companionship +graciously granted me by my honoured mistress. To be near her is an +education, and she has been pleased in many ways to instruct me, not only +in the needlecraft and tapestry work in which she excels, but also in +opening for me the gates of knowledge, and in rehearsing in my ear the +beautiful words of Scripture, and the Psalms in verse, as well as the poems +of Mr Spenser, and, chiefest of all, of those works in prose and verse +which Sir Philip has left behind. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +Sure, these will never die, and will +tell those who come after us what we possessed and lost!</p> + +<p>'Yet, after all, as my mistress saith again and yet again, it was not by +all his deeds of valour and his gifts of learning that he stands so high +forever amongst men. No, nor not by his death and the selfless act which +men are speaking of on all sides, as he lay in the first agony of his sore +wound on the battlefield of Zutphen. Not by these only will his name live, +but by his life, which, for purity and faith, virtue and godliness, loyalty +and truth, may be said to be without peer in this age of which he was so +fair an ornament.</p> + +<p>'I dare not say more, lest even you charge me with rhapsody.</p> + +<p>'I rest, dear Mary, in all loving and tender affection, your sister,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Lucy Forrester.</span></p> + +<p>'To my honoured sister, Mary Gifford, at the house of Master Gifford, in +Arnhem, February 1586. From Penshurst Place, in the county of Kent.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 15em; text-align:center;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p class="center">FOUR YEARS LATER—1590</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'My true love hath my heart and I have his,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By just exchange, one for the other given.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There never was a better bargain driven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">His heart in me keeps me and him in one,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He loves my heart, for once it was his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I cherish his, because in me it bides.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +The sound of these words by Sir Philip Sidney, sung in a sweet melodious +voice, was borne upon the summer air of a fair June evening in the year +1590.</p> + +<p>It came through the open casement from the raised seat of the parlour at +Hillbrow, where once Mistress Ratcliffe had sat at her spinning-wheel, +casting her watchful eyes from time to time upon the square of turf lying +between the house and the entrance gate, lest any of her maidens should be +gossiping instead of working.</p> + +<p>Mistress Ratcliffe had spun her last thread of flax more than a year ago, +and another mistress reigned +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +in her place in the old house upon the crest of the hill above Penshurst.</p> + +<p>As the last words of the song were sung, and only the lingering chords of +the viol were heard, making a low, sweet refrain, a man who had been +listening unseen to the music under the porch, with its heavy overhanging +shield of carved stone, now came to the open window, which, though raised +some feet above the terrace walk beneath, was not so high but that his head +appeared on a level with the wide ledge of the casement.</p> + +<p>Lucy was unconscious of his presence till he said,—</p> + +<p>'I would fain hear that song again, Lucy.'</p> + +<p>'Nay,' she said with a smile; 'once is enough.'</p> + +<p>'Did you think of me as you sang?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps,' she said, with something of her old spirit. 'Perhaps; but you +must know there is another who hath my heart. I have been singing him to +sleep, and I pray you do not come in with a heavy tramp of your big boots +and wake him. He has been fractious to-day. Speak softly,' she said, as +George exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>'The young rascal! I warrant you have near broken your back carrying him to +and fro.'</p> + +<p>'My back is not so easy to break; but, George, when will the travellers +come. I have made all things ready these two days and more.'</p> + +<p>'They may arrive any moment now,' George said, and then his bright handsome +face disappeared from the window, and in another moment he had come as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +quietly as was possible for him, into the sunny parlour, now beautified by +silken drapery, worked by Lucy's clever fingers, and sweet with the +fragrance of flowers in the beau-pot on the hearth and fresh rushes on the +floor.</p> + +<p>In a large wooden cradle lay his first-born son—named in memory of one +whom neither husband nor wife could ever forget—Philip. The child was +small and delicate, and Lucy had tasted not only the sweets of motherhood, +but its cares.</p> + +<p>Yet little Philip was very fair to look upon. He had the refined features +of his mother, and though his cheeks wanted something of the roundness and +rosiness of healthful infancy, he was, in his parents' eyes, as near +perfection as first-born children are ever apt to be thought!</p> + +<p>George paused by the cradle, which was raised on high rockers, and, bending +over it, said,—</p> + +<p>'He is sound asleep now,' just touching the little hand lying outside the +coverlet with his great fingers as gently as his mother could have done.</p> + +<p>'I won't be jealous of him, eh, Lucy? He is mine as well as yours, +sweetheart.'</p> + +<p>'That is a truism,' Lucy said. 'Now, come into the window-seat and talk +low—if you must talk—and let us watch for those who are, I pray God, +drawing near.'</p> + +<p>George unfastened his leather pouch which was slung over his shoulder, and +put the bow and quiver against the corner of the bay window. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then he threw his huge form at his wife's feet on the dais, and said,—</p> + +<p>'Do not be too eager for their coming, sweetheart. I half dread their +entrance into this house, which, perchance may disturb our bliss.'</p> + +<p>'Fie for shame!' Lucy replied, 'as if Mary could ever be aught but a joy +and a blessing. I am ready to blush for you, George.'</p> + +<p>'They will be grand folk, grander than we are, that is, than <i>I</i> am! +Humphrey knighted, and Mary Dame Ratcliffe. Then there is the boy! I am not +sure as to the boy. I confess I fear the early training of the Jesuits may +have left a mark on him.'</p> + +<p>'Now, I will listen to no more growlings, George,' his wife said, laying +her small fair hand on the thick masses of her husband's hair, and +smoothing it from his forehead. 'You will please to give the coming guests +a hearty welcome, and be proud to call them brother, sister, and nephew.'</p> + +<p>'Nay,' George said. 'Ambrose is no nephew of mine!'</p> + +<p>'To think of such folly, when, but a minute agone, you said what is mine is +yours. Ambrose is <i>my</i> nephew, I'd have you to remember, sir.'</p> + +<p>'As you will, sweet wife! as you will; but, Lucy, when you see Humphrey +ride up with a train of gentlemen, it may be, and my lady with her +gentlewomen, will you not be sorry that you left everything to be the wife +of a country yeoman, who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +is unversed in fine doings, and can give you so little?'</p> + +<p>'You give me all I want,' Lucy said; and this time, as she smoothed back +the rebellious curls, she bent and kissed the broad brow which they shaded. +'You give me all I want,' she repeated—'your heart!'</p> + +<p>Soon there was a sound of horses' feet, and, with an exclamation, 'Here at +last!' George went to the gate to receive the guests, and Lucy hurried to +the porch.</p> + +<p>'The noise and bustle may rouse little Philip,' she said to one of her +maids; 'watch in the parlour till I return.'</p> + +<p>In another moment Humphrey had grasped his brother's hand, and, turning, +lifted his wife from the pillion on which she had ridden with her son.</p> + +<p>'Mary! Mary!' and Lucy ran swiftly to meet her sister, and held her in a +long embrace.</p> + +<p>A meeting after years of separation is always mingled with joy something +akin to pain, and it was not till the first excitement of this reunion was +over that the joy predominated.</p> + +<p>Mary was greatly changed; her hair was white; and on her sweet face there +were many lines of suffering. Lucy led her into the parlour, and she could +only sink down upon the settle by her side, and hold her hand in hers, +looking with wistful earnestness into her face.</p> + +<p>'So fair still! and happy, dearest child!' Mary whispered in a low voice. +'Happy! and content?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> + +<p>'<i>Yes</i>,' Lucy replied proudly. 'And <i>you</i>, Mary, you are happy now?'</p> + +<p>'Blest with the tender care of my husband. <i>Yes</i>; but, Lucy, I bring him +but a poor reward for all his patient love.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, he does not think so, I'll warrant,' Lucy said. 'You will soon be +well and hearty in your native air, and the colour will come back to your +cheeks and the brightness to your eyes.'</p> + +<p>'To rival yours, dear child! Nay, you forget how time, as well as sickness +and sorrow, have left its mark on me.'</p> + +<p>'And Ambrose?' Lucy asked. 'You have comfort in him?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' Mary said. 'Yes, but, dear heart, the vanished days of childhood +return not. Ambrose is old for his sixteen years; and, although dear, dear +as ever, I am prone to look back on those days at Ford Manor, when he was +mine, all mine, before the severance from me changed him.'</p> + +<p>'Sure he is not a Papist now?' Lucy said. 'I trust not.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, he is not professedly a Papist, but the teaching of those four years +sowed seed. Yet he loves me, and is a dutiful son to me, and to his—his +new father. I ought to be satisfied.'</p> + +<p>Little Philip now turned in his cradle, awoke by the entrance of the two +brothers and Ambrose, who had been to the stables to see that the grooms +and horses were well cared for. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lucy raised Philip in her arms, and Mary said,—</p> + +<p>'Ay! give him to me, sweet boy. See, Ambrose, here is your cousin; nay, I +might say your brother, for it is a double tie between you.'</p> + +<p>The tall stripling looked down on the little morsel of humanity with a +puzzled expression.</p> + +<p>'He is very small, methinks,' he said.</p> + +<p>This roused Lucy's maternal vanity.</p> + +<p>'Small, forsooth! Do you expect a babe of eight months to be a giant. He is +big enow for my taste and his father's. Too big at times, I vow, for he is +a weight to carry.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose felt he had made a mistake, and hastened to add,—</p> + +<p>'He has wondrous large eyes;' and then he bent over his mother and said, +'You should be resting in your own chamber, mother.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; well spoken, my boy,' Humphrey said. 'Mary is not as hearty as I +could desire,' he added, turning to George. 'Maybe Lucy will take her to +her chamber, and forgive her if she does not come to sup in the hall.'</p> + +<p>Lucy gave little Philip to his father, who held him in awkward fashion, +till the nurse came to the rescue and soothed his faint wailing by the +usual nonsense words of endearment which then, as now, nurses seem to +consider the proper language in which to address babies.</p> + +<p>When the two brothers were alone together that night, Humphrey said,— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It is all prosperous and well with you now, George. You have got your +heart's desire, and your fair lady looks fairer, ay, and happier than I +ever saw her.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Humphrey, it is true. At times I wonder at my own good fortune. I had +my fears that she would hanker after fine things and grand folk, but it is +not so. She went with the boy to Wilton two months agone to visit the +Countess of Pembroke, who holds her in a wonderful affection. The boy is +her godson, and she has made him many fine gifts. I was fearful Lucy would +find this home dull after a taste of her old life; but, Heaven bless her, +when I lifted her from the horse with the child on her return, she kissed +me and said, "I am right glad to get home again." I hope, Humphrey, all is +well and prosperous with you also?'</p> + +<p>'I may say yes as regards prosperity, beyond what I deserve. I have a place +about the Court, under my Lord Essex, and I was knighted, as you know, for +what they were pleased to call bravery in the Armada fight. After we lost +that wise and noble gentleman, Sir Philip Sidney, everything went crooked +under the Earl of Leicester, and Spain thought she was going to triumph and +crush England with the Armada. But God defended the right, and the victory +is ours. Spain is humbled now. Would to God Sir Philip Sidney had lived to +see it and share the glory.'</p> + +<p>George listened as his brother spoke, with flashing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> eyes, of the final +discomfiture of Spain, and then noticed how his whole manner changed to +softness and sadness, as he went on to say,—</p> + +<p>'My heart's desire in the possession of the one woman whom I ever loved is +granted, but, George, I hold her by a slender thread. I have brought her +here with the hope that she may gather strength, but, as you must see, she +is but the shadow of her old self. The good old man at Arnhem counselled me +to take her to her native air, and God grant it may revive her. She is +saint-like in her patience and in her love for me. Heaven knows I am not +worthy of her, yet let me bless God I have her to cherish, and, by all +means that in me lies, fan the flame of her precious life, trusting to see +it burn brightly once more. But, George, I fear more than I hope. What will +all honours and Court favour be to me if I lose her?'</p> + +<p>'You will keep her,' George said, in the assured tone that those who are +happy often use when speaking to others who are less happy than themselves. +'You will keep her, Humphrey, she shall have milk warm from one of my best +cows, and feed on the fat of the land. Oh! we will soon see the Dame Mary +Ratcliffe fit to go to Court and shine there.'</p> + +<p>Humphrey shook his head.</p> + +<p>'That is the last thing Mary would desire.' Then changing his tone, he went +on: 'What think you of Ambrose, George?'</p> + +<p>'He is big enow, and handsome. Is he amenable and easy to control?' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I have no cause to find fault with him; he lacks spirit somewhat, and has +taken a craze to be a scholar rather than a soldier. He has been studying +at Göttingen, and now desires to enter Cambridge. The old ambition to be a +soldier and brave knight, like Sir Philip Sidney, died out during those +four years spent in the Jesuit school, and he is accounted marvellously +clever at Latin and Greek.'</p> + +<p>'Humph,' George said. 'Let us hope there is no lurking Jesuitry in him. The +worse for him if there is, for the Queen is employing every means to run +the poor wretches to earth. The prisons are chock full of them, and the +mass held in abhorrence.'</p> + +<p>'Ambrose was but a child when with the Jesuits—scarce twelve years old +when I came upon him, and recovered him for his mother. No, no, I do not +fear Papacy for him, though, I confess, I would rather see him a rollicking +young soldier than the quiet, reserved fellow he is. One thing is certain, +he has a devotion for his mother, and for that I bless the boy. He +considers her first in everything, and she can enter into his learning with +a zest and interest which I cannot.'</p> + +<p>'Learning is not everything,' George said, 'let me hope so, at any rate, as +I am no scholar.'</p> + +<p>'No; but it is a great deal when added to godliness,' Humphrey replied. 'We +saw that in the wonderful life of Sir Philip Sidney. It was hard to say in +what he excelled most, learning or statesmanship or soldiering. Ay, there +will never be one to match +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +him in our time, nor in any future time, so I +am ready to think. There's scarce a day passes but he comes before me, +George, and scarce a day but I marvel why that brilliant sun went down +while it was high noonday. Thirty-one years and all was told.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' George said; 'but though he is dead he is not forgotten, and that's +more than can be said of thousands who have died since he died—four years +ago; by Queen and humble folk he is remembered.'</p> + +<p>George Ratcliffe's prophecy seemed likely to be fulfilled. Mary Gifford +gained strength daily, and very soon she was able to walk in the pleasance +by Hillside Manor, which George had laid out for Lucy, in those long +waiting days when he gathered together all that he thought would please her +in the 'lady's chamber' he had made ready for her, long before his dream of +seeing her in it was realised.</p> + +<p>Gradually Mary was able to extend her walks, and it was on one evening in +July that she told Lucy she should like to walk down to Ford Manor.</p> + +<p>Lucy remonstrated, and said she feared if she allowed her to go so far +Humphrey and Ambrose, who had gone away to London for a few days, would be +displeased with her for allowing it.</p> + +<p>'I would fain go there with you and see Ned and old Jenkins. The newcomers +have kept on their services, I hope?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, all things are the same, except that the poor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> old stepmother and her +ill-conditioned husband have left it, and are living in Tunbridge. He +preaches and prays, and spends her savings, and, let us hope, he is +content. The dear old place was going to wrack and ruin, so Sir Robert's +orders came that they were to quit.'</p> + +<p>'Poor old place! To think,' Lucy said, 'that I could ever feel an affection +for it, but it is so nevertheless.'</p> + +<p>So, in the golden light of sunset, the two sisters stood by the old thorn +tree on the bit of ground in front of Ford Manor once more.</p> + +<p>Ned and Jenkyns had bidden them welcome, and, by the permission of the +present owners of the farm, they had gone through the house, now much +improved by needful repairs and better furnishing. But, whatever changes +there were in the house and its inhabitants, the smiling landscape +stretched out before the two sisters as they stood by the crooked back of +the old thorn tree was the same. The woodlands, in the glory of the summer +prime, clothed the uplands; the tower of the church, the stately walls of +the Castle of Penshurst, the home of the noble race of Sidney, stood out +amidst the wealth of foliage of encircling trees as in years gone by. The +meadows were sloping down to the village, where the red roofs of the +cottages clustered, and the spiral columns of thin blue smoke showed where +busy housewives were preparing the evening meal at the wood fire kindled on +the open hearth. The rooks were flying homewards +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +with their monotonous +caw. From a copse, just below Ford Manor, the ring-doves were repeating the +old, old song of love. As Mary Gifford stood with her face turned towards +the full light of the evening sky, she looked again to Lucy like the Mary +of old. Neither spoke; their hearts were too full for words, but they +clasped each other's hands in a silence more eloquent than speech.</p> + +<p>Both sisters' thoughts were full of the past rather than the present.</p> + +<p>Mary seemed to see before her the little fair-haired boy who had been so +eager to mount Sir Philip's horse, and Sir Philip, with his radiant smile +and gracious kindliness, so ready to gratify the boy's desire, as he set +him on the saddle.</p> + +<p>And Mary heard, too, again the ringing voice as little Ambrose said,—</p> + +<p>'I would fain be a noble gentleman and brave soldier like Mr Philip Sidney. +I would like to ride with him far, far away.'</p> + +<p>She recalled now the pang those words had caused her, and how she dreaded +the parting which came all too soon, and had been so bitter to her. Now, +she had her son restored to her, but she felt, as how many mothers have +felt since, a strange hunger of the soul, for her vanished child! Ambrose, +quiet and sedate, and eager to be an accomplished scholar, tall, almost +dignified, for his sixteen years, was indeed her son, and she could thank +God for him. Yet she thought with a strange regret, of the days when he +threw his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +arms round her in a rough embrace, or trotted chattering by her +side as she went about the farm, or, still sweeter memory, murmured in his +sleep her name, and looked up at her with a half-awakened smile, as he +found her near, and felt her kisses on his forehead.</p> + +<p>From these thoughts Mary was roused by Ambrose himself,—</p> + +<p>'Mother,' he said, 'this is too far for you to walk. You should not have +ventured down the hill. We have returned to find the house empty; and my +father is in some distress when he heard you had come so far.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose spoke as if he were constituted his mother's caretaker; and Lucy, +laughing, said,—</p> + +<p>'You need not look so mighty grave about it, Ambrose; your mother is not +tired. Forsooth, one would think you were an old man giving counsel, rather +than a boy.'</p> + +<p>Ambrose disliked of all things to be called a boy; and, since his first +remark about the baby Philip, there had often been a little war of words +between aunt and nephew.</p> + +<p>'Boys may have more wits than grown folk sometime,' he replied. 'Here comes +my father, who does not think me such a fool as, perchance, you do, Aunt +Lucy. He has brought a horse to carry my mother up the steep hill.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I will leave her to your double care,' Lucy said. 'I see George +follows a-foot. We will go up the hill path, and be at home before you, +I'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +warrant.' She ran gaily away to meet George; and as Mary was lifted +on the pillion by Humphrey, Ambrose taking his place by his mother, he +turned in the opposite direction, and, following Lucy and her husband, was +soon out of sight.</p> + +<p>Mother and son rode slowly along the familiar path which leads into the +high road from Penshurst.</p> + +<p>The glow of sunset was around them, and the crimson cloth mantle Mary wore +shone in the westering light. So they pass out of sight, and the shadows +gather over the landscape, and evening closes in. As a dream when one +awaketh is the history of the past, and the individual lives which stand +out in it are like phantoms which we strive, perhaps in vain, to quicken +into life once more, and clothe them with the vivid colours for which +imagination may lend its aid. Of the central figure of this story of the +spacious times of great Elizabeth, we may say—with the sister who loved +him with no common love—</p> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="50%" cellspacing="0" summary="POEM"> +<tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Ah, no! his spirit is not dead—nor can it die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lives for aye in blissful Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, like a new-born babe, it soft doth lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bed of lilies—wrapped in tender wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And compassed all about with roses sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dainty violets from head to feet.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p class="center"> +<br /> +THE END.</p> + +<p class="plht"> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<small>EDINBURGH<br /> +COLSTON AND COMPANY<br /> +PRINTERS</small></p> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: 125%"> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mrs Marshall's Historical Novels.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<div class='centered table'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="ADVERT"> +<tr> +<td><span style="font-size: 105%">IN THE SERVICE OF RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL.</span> +With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand.<br /> +<small>'This is another of those admirable historical romances in which +Mrs Marshall makes the past speak to the present.'—<i>Spectator.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL.</span> A Story of Exeter and Norwich in the Days of Bishop Hall. +With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'Captivating in style, graphic in effect, and high in tone.'—<i>Guardian.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">WINCHESTER MEADS IN THE DAYS OF BISHOP KEN.</span> +Sixth Thousand. With Eight Illustrations. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'Mrs Marshall has produced another of her pleasant stories +of old times.'—<i>Saturday Review.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">UNDER SALISBURY SPIRE IN THE DAYS OF GEORGE HERBERT.</span> +With Illustrations. Ninth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'A charming study of life and character in the seventeenth +century.'—<i>Athenĉum.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">ON THE BANKS OF THE OUSE.</span> A Tale of the Times of Newton and Cowper. +With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'It is refreshing to read a book so earnest as this. The style is +simple and clear.'—<i>Academy.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">IN FOUR REIGNS.</span> The Recollections of <span class="smcap">Althea Allingham</span>. +With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'Seldom does one meet with a book of such sympathetic and touching +character.'—<i>Morning Post.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">UNDER THE MENDIPS.</span> A Tale of the Times of More. +With Illustrations. Sixth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'A charming story.'—<i>Athenĉum.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">IN THE EAST COUNTRY</span> with Sir Thomas Browne, Knight. +With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'This is a charming and pretty story of life in Norwich two hundred +years ago.'—<i>Spectator.</i></small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><br /> +<span style="font-size: 105%">IN COLSTON'S DAYS.</span> A Story of Old Bristol. +With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.<br /> +<small>'The illustrations are excellent pictures of Bristol in the old days, and +the book itself is particularly pleasant reading.'—<i>Christian World.</i></small></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p class="center">LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.</p> + +<p class="plht"> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">New and Cheaper Edition of</span><br /> +<span style="font-size: 120%">MRS MARSHALL'S EARLIER WORKS.</span><br /> +<i>Price 3s. 6d. cloth.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<div class='centered table'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="45%" cellspacing="0" summary="ADVERT"> +<tr> +<td><span style="margin-left: 2em">LADY ALICE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">MRS MAINWARING'S JOURNAL.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">VIOLET DOUGLAS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">CHRISTABEL KINGSCOTE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">HELEN'S DIARY.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">BROTHERS AND SISTERS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">NOWADAYS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">DOROTHY'S DAUGHTERS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em">MILLICENT LEGH.</span><br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p class="center"> +<span style="font-size: 120%">MRS MARSHALL'S POPULAR SERIES.</span><br /> +<i>Price 1s. 6d. cloth. 1s. sewed.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<div class='centered table'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" width="45%" cellspacing="0" summary="ADVERT"> +<tr> +<td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A LILY AMONG THORNS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">BOSCOMBE CHINE.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE TWO SWORDS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">HER SEASON IN BATH.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE TOWER ON THE CLIFF.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE OLD GATEWAY.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">BRISTOL DIAMONDS.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">UP AND DOWN THE PANTILES.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ROMANCE OF THE UNDERCLIFF.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">BRISTOL BELLS.</span><br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 7em; text-align:center;" /> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND. +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Penshurst Castle, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + +***** This file should be named 28616-h.htm or 28616-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/1/28616/ + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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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: Penshurst Castle + In the Days of Sir Philip Sidney + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: April 26, 2009 [EBook #28616] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +PENSHURST CASTLE + + + + +[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + + + + + PENSHURST CASTLE + + _IN THE TIME OF_ + + SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + + + BY + + EMMA MARSHALL + + _Author of 'Under Salisbury Spire,' 'Winchester Meads,' etc._ + + + 'A right man-like man, such as Nature, often erring, + yet shows sometimes she fain would make.'--Sir Philip Sidney. + + + LONDON + + SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED + + ESSEX STREET, STRAND + + 1894 + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +For the incidents in the life of Sir Philip Sidney, who is the central +figure in this story of 'the spacious times of great Elizabeth,' I am +indebted to Mr H. R. Fox Bourne's interesting and exhaustive Memoir of this +noble knight and Christian gentleman. + +In his short life of thirty-one years are crowded achievements as scholar, +poet, statesman and soldier, which find perhaps few, if indeed any equal, +in the records of history; a few only of these chosen from among many +appear in the following pages. The characters of Mary Gifford and her +sister, and the two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, are wholly +imaginary. + +The books which have been consulted for the poetry of Sir Philip Sidney and +the times in which he lived are--Vol. I. of _An English Garner;_ M. +Jusserand's _Roman du Temps de Shakespere,_ and a very interesting essay on +Sir Philip Sidney and his works, published in Cambridge in 1858. + + WOODSIDE, LEIGH WOODS, + CLIFTON, _October_ 5, 1893. + + + + + _CONTENTS_ + + + BOOK I. + + PAGE + + I. THE SISTERS, 1 + + II. IN THE PARK, 17 + + III. A STRANGE MEETING, 35 + + IV. THE HAWK AND THE BIRD, 60 + + V. RESISTANCE, 82 + + VI. THREE FRIENDS, 101 + + VII. WHITSUNTIDE, 1581, 121 + + VIII. DEFEAT, 146 + + IX. ACROSS THE FORD, 171 + + + BOOK II. + + X. AT WILTON, 207 + + XI. LUMEN FAMILIAE SUAE, 223 + + XII. FIRE AND SWORD, 243 + + XIII. RESTORED, 258 + + XIV. WHAT RIGHT? 276 + + XV. THE PASSING OF PHILIP, 296 + + XVI. FOUR YEARS LATER--1590, 311 + + + + + _LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_ + + + THE ENTRANCE TOWER, PENSHURST CASTLE, _Frontispiece_ + + PAGE + + PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE, 4 + + THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST, 64 + + PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK, 70 + + OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST, 130 + + THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL, 148 + + THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE, 224 + + THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE, 288 + + + + +BOOK I. + + + 'What man is he that boasts of fleshly might, + And vaine assurance of mortality; + Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight + Against spirituall foes, yields by and by: + Or from the field most cowardly doth fly? + No, let the man ascribe it to his skill, + That thorough grace hath gained victory. + If any strength we have, it is to ill; + But all the good is God's, both power and will.' + + _The Faery Queene_, Book I. Canto 10. + + + + +Penshurst Castle + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SISTERS + + 'She was right faire and fresh as morning rose, + But somewhat sad and solemne eke in sight, + As if some pensive thought constrained her gentle spright.' + + SPENSER. + + +1581.--'There is time yet ere sunset; let me, I pray you, go down to the +lych gate with the wheaten cake for Goody Salter.' + +'Nay, Lucy; methinks there are reasons for your desire to go down to the +village weightier than the wheaten cake you would fain carry with you. Rest +quietly at home; it may be Humphrey will be coming to let us know if Mr +Sidney has arrived at Penshurst. Why such haste, little sister?' + +'Because I do covet a place where I can witness the grand tourney at +Whitehall. It may suit your mood, Mary, to live always on this hilltop, +with naught to see and naught to do; with no company but a cross-grained +stepmother, and the cows and sheep. I am sick of it. Even a run down to the +village is a change. Yes, I am going; one hour, and I will be back.' + +Mary Gifford laid a detaining hand on her young sister's shoulder. + +'Have a care, dear child, nor let your wild fancies run away with your +discretion. Am I not one who has a right to caution you? I who have come +back as a widow to my old home, bereft and lonely.' + +'Because you married a bad man, and rued the day, it is no reason that I +should do the same. Trust me, good sister. I may be young, but I have my +wits about me, and no soft speeches catch me in a net.' + +The elder sister's beautiful face, always grave and mournful in its +earnestness, grew even more mournful than was its wont, as she looked down +into her sister's lovely eyes, and kissed her forehead. + +'Child, I pray God to keep you safe; but the net you speak of is not spread +in the sight of any bird, and it is captured all unawares.' + +Lucy's answer was to return her sister's kiss with a quick, warm embrace, +and then she was off, with the basket on her arm, and her glad, young voice +ringing out,-- + +'Good-bye! good-bye! I'll be back in an hour.' + +Mary Gifford stood under the old stone porch, watching the light figure as +it tripped away, and then was turning into the house again, when a sharp +voice she knew too well called,-- + +'Lucy! Lucy! Where's that hussy? There's two pails of milk to set for cream +in the pans, and the cakes are scorching before the fire. Lucy! Where's +Lucy?' + +Mary Gifford did not reply to the question, but said,-- + +'I will go to the dairy, mother, and see to the milk.' + +'And take your boy with ye, I'll warrant, who will be up to mischief. No, +no; it's Lucy's work, and she shall do it. It will be bedtime before we +know it, for the sun is going down. Lucy!' + +This time a child's voice was heard, as little feet pattered along the +terrace outside Ford Manor. + +'Aunt Lou is gone,' the child said. 'I saw her running down the hill.' + +'Is she? She shall repent it, then, gadding off like that. More shame to +you,' Mrs Forrester said wrathfully, 'to let her go, Mary, and cheat me by +not telling me the truth. You want the child to go to ruin as you did +yourself, I suppose.' + +Mary Gifford's face flushed crimson, as she said,-- + +'It ill becomes my father's wife to taunt his daughter, when he is not here +to defend her. Come with me, Ambrose, nor stay to listen to more hard +words.' + +But the child doubled his small fists, and said, approaching his +grandmother,-- + +'I'll beat you. I'll kill you if you make mother cry! I will, you--' + +'Hush, my little son,' Mary said, drawing the boy away. 'It is near thy +bedtime. Come with me; nor forget thy manners if other folk are not mindful +of theirs.' + +The tears of mingled sorrow and anger were coursing each other down Mary +Gifford's face, but she wiped them hastily away, and, putting her arm round +the child, she led him up the narrow stairs leading from the large kitchen +to the room above, where she sat down, with Ambrose clasped close to her +heart, by the square bay window, which was flung open on this lovely April +evening. + +Ford Manor stood on the slope of the hill, commanding a view of the meadows +stretching down to the valley, where the home of the Sidneys and the tower +of the old church could be seen amongst the trees, now golden in the +brilliant western sunshine of the spring evening. Perhaps there can +scarcely be found a more enchanting prospect than that on which Mary +Gifford looked, as she sat with her boy clasped in her arms, her heart, +which had been pierced with many sorrows, still smarting with the sharp +thrust her stepmother had given her. + +[Illustration: PENSHURST CHURCH AND CASTLE.] + +That young sister whom she loved so passionately, about whom, in her gay +thoughtless youth, she was so anxious, whom she was ever longing to see +safe under the shelter of a good man's love--it was hard that her boy +should hear such words from those pitiless lips--'lead her to +ruin!'--when her one desire was to shield her from all contamination of the +evil world, of which she had herself had such bitter experience. + +Little Ambrose was tired, after a day of incessant running hither and +thither, and lay quiet with his head on his mother's breast, in that +blissful state of contentment to find himself there, which gives the thrill +of deepest joy to a mother's heart. + +Ambrose was six years old, and a fair and even beautiful child. The stiff, +ugly dress of the time, could not quite hide the symmetry of his rounded +limbs, and the large ruff, now much crumpled after the day's wear, set off +to advantage the round chin which rested on it and the rosy lips, which had +just parted with a smile, as Mary said,-- + +'Is my boy sleepy?' + +'No, mother; don't put me a-bed yet' + +Mary was not unwilling to comply with the request, and so they sat on, the +boy's red-gold curls making a gleam of brightness on the sombre black +garments of widowhood which Mary still wore. + +Presently the boy said,-- + +'When I'm a man, will Mr Philip Sidney let me be his esquire? Aunt Lou says +p'raps he will, if you ask him.' + +'My boy will not be a man for many a year yet,' Mary said, pressing the +child closer. 'And he would not leave his mother even for Mr Philip +Sidney.' + +Ambrose sat upright, and said,-- + +'I would come back to you, as Humphrey Ratcliffe comes back to his mother, +but I'd like to ride off with Mr Sidney when I am a man.' + +'Yes, yes, my boy, all in good time.' + +'And I must learn to ride and wrestle, and--oh! a hundred things. I wish to +be a man like Mr Philip Sidney.' + +'May you ever be as good, noble, and learned, my son; but come, the sun is +gone to bed, and Ambrose must go too.' + +Then, with loving hands, she prepared her child for his bed, smoothing back +the shining hair from the pure white brow, where the blue veins were +clearly traced, and Ambrose knelt at her knee and repeated his little +prayer, adding, with childlike simplicity, after the Amen,-- + +'Pray, God, make me a good man, like Mr Philip Sidney.' + +While Mary Gifford and little Ambrose were thus together in the upper +chamber of Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester had reached the old timbered house by +the lych gate of Penshurst Church, and had obtained admission at Goody +Salter's door, and put the wheaten cake and two eggs on the little rickety +table which stood against the wall in the dark, low room. The old woman's +thanks were not very profuse, hers was by no means a grateful disposition, +and, perhaps, there was no great inducement for Lucy to prolong her visit. +However that might be, it was very short, and she was soon outside again, +and standing in the village street, looking right and left, as if +expecting to see someone coming in either direction. It had not escaped +Mary Gifford's notice that Lucy dressed herself with more than ordinary +care. She wore the short skirt of the time, which displayed her small feet +and ankles to advantage. + +Over the skirt was a crimson kirtle of fine cloth, cut square in the +bodice, and crossed by a thick white kerchief, edged with lace. Lucy's +slender neck was set in a ruff, fastened at the throat by a gold brooch, +which sparkled in the light. + +Her chestnut hair was gathered up from her forehead, and a little pointed +cap of black velvet, edged with gold, was set upon it, and contrasted well +with the bright locks, from which a curl, either by accident or design, had +been loosened, and rippled over her shoulder, below her waist. + +Lucy was well known in the village, and, as she stood debating whether she +should go home or wait for a few minutes longer, a man, with the badge of +the Sidneys on his arm, came up on horseback, and turned into the park +gate, which was near this end of the village. + +'They must be coming now,' she said; 'they must be coming. Perhaps I shall +see Humphrey, and he will tell me if Mr Sydney is returning this evening. I +can hide behind the trees just outside the gate. No one will see me.' + +Presently another horseman came riding slowly along. He was hailed by one +of the loiterers in the street, and Lucy heard the question asked and +answered. + +'Yes, Mr Sidney is on the road. He is gone round by the main entrance, with +two of his gentlemen.' + +'He won't pass this way, then, to-night,' Lucy thought. 'Oh, I wish I could +see him. Humphrey is so dull, and he won't ask him to do what I want. I +know my Lady Mary would take me to see the show if Mr Philip wished, and--' + +'Lucy, why are you here alone?' and the speaker dismounted, and, throwing +the reins of his horse to a groom, he was at her side in a moment. + +'I came down to bring food to the hungry. Where's the harm of that?' + +'It is getting late. I'll walk up the hill with you. Lucy, does Mistress +Gifford know of your coming?' + +'What if she doesn't? I please myself; tell me, Humphrey, is Mr Sidney come +home?' + +'For a few days. He returns shortly for the great tournament at Whitehall +in honour of the French Embassy.' + +'On Sunday next. Oh, Humphrey, I do want to see it--to see Mr Sidney tilt. +I would walk to London to see it, if I can't ride. There is so little time +left. Why won't you ask--beg--pray someone to take me?' + +'The tournament is put off. There is time enough and to spare. Her Majesty +the Queen has desired delay, and a day in May is now fixed. Three weeks +hence--' + +'Three weeks hence! Then there is hope. I shall go to Lady Mary myself, if +I don't see Mr Sidney.' + +'Well, well, come home now, or Mistress Gifford will be full of fears about +you. I marvel that you should add a drop of bitterness to her full cup.' + +'I hate you to talk like that,' Lucy said. 'I love Mary better than all the +world beside. No one loves her as I do.' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe sighed. + +'You speak rashly, like the wayward child you are. In sober earnest, Lucy, +you are too fair to wander into the village alone, and you know it.' + +'I wanted to go into the park, and then you came and stopped me.' + +'If I did, so much the better,' was the reply. 'I will see you over the +river, at least. Then I must return, to find out if Mr Sidney has any +commands for the morrow.' + +They had reached the River Medway now--in these days scarcely more than a +shallow stream, crossed by stepping-stones, or by a narrow plank, with a +handrail on one side only. When the river was low, it was easy to cross the +ford, but, when swollen by heavy rains, it required some skill to do so, +and many people preferred to use the plank as a means of crossing the +stream. + +Just as Lucy had put her foot on the first stepping-stone, and rejected all +Humphrey's offers of help with a merry laugh, they were joined by +Humphrey's brother, who was coming down the hill in the opposite direction. + +'Stop! hold, Mistress Lucy!' he cried. 'Mistress Forrester, hold!' + +'What for?' she said. 'I am coming over,' and with extraordinary swiftness, +Lucy sprang from stone to stone, and, reaching the opposing bank, curtseyed +to George Ratcliffe, saying,-- + +'Your pleasure, sir?' + +'My pleasure is that you should not put your limbs in peril by scaling +those slippery stones. Why not take the bridge?' + +'Because I like the ford better. Good-bye. Good-bye, Humphrey,' she called, +waving her hand to the other brother who stood on the bank. + +'Good-bye, Mistress Lucy, George will take care of you now. And make all +haste homewards.' + +Lucy now began to race up the steep hill at full speed, and her faithful +squire had much difficulty to keep up with her light, airy footsteps. + +He was a giant in height and build, and was breathless, when, at the turn +on the side of the hill leading to Ford Manor, Lucy paused. + +'You have no cause to come a step further,' she said, laughing. 'Why, +Master Ratcliffe, you are puffing like old Meg when she has pulled the cart +up the hill! Good even to you.' + +'Stop, Mistress Forrester.' + +'Well, now you are more respectful, I will stop. Well, pray thee, take +breath, and make short work of what you are going to say.' + +George hesitated, as much from shyness as from want of breath. + +'My mother bids me say that she would fain have you sup with her on the +morrow. Say yes, Lucy; say yes.' + +'Oh! I must ask permission first,' she said, 'for, you know, I am a dutiful +step-daughter; but commend me to your mother, and say I will come if they +will permit me, for I love Madam Ratcliffe's sweet pasties. We do not get +sweet pasties yonder. We are bidden to think all sweet and pleasant things +unwholesome, and so we ought to believe it is true; but I don't, for one. +Good-night.' + +And Lucy was away along the rugged path at the side of the lane, with its +deep ruts and loose stones, before George Ratcliffe could say another word. + +He pursued his way for another mile up the hill, till he came to a house of +rather more pretension than Ford Manor, but of the same character, with a +heavy stone portico and square bays on either side. The diamond-shaped +panes of the lattice were filled in with thick glass, which had only, +within the last few years, replaced the horn which had admitted but little +light into the room, and had been the first attempt at filling in the +windows to keep out rain and storm. Until the latter years of Henry the +Eighth's reign wooden shutters were universal even in the homes of the rich +and great. + +The Ratcliffes had held their land under the lords of Penshurst for more +than two centuries, and had, as in duty bound, supplied men and arms, when +called upon to do so by their chief. + +The Forresters held also the same tenure of the pasture lands and meadows +which sloped down from Ford Manor, and, in earlier times, they had been the +keepers of the woods which clothed the undulating ground about Penshurst, +and the stately beeches and chestnut trees which stand almost unrivalled in +the far stretching park, where the grand old house of the Sidneys is +situated. + +But Mr Forrester, the father of Mary Gifford and Lucy, was the last of his +race, and, though his widow and daughter still occupied the Manor Farm, the +office of keeper of the woods had fallen to another family on a more +distant part of the estate, and it was only by courtesy that Mrs Forrester +was permitted to remain in the house for her life. + +The Ratcliffes occupied a superior position, and Mrs Ratcliffe prided +herself on her family, and considered Mrs Forrester very much beneath her +in the social scale. + +Was not her younger son the favourite squire of Mr Philip Sidney, an honour +coveted by many, and had he not acquired the air and bearing of the +gentlemen about the Court of the Maiden Queen, and was he not, moreover, +educated in book learning as befitted his position. George, if more homely +in his person and manner, was known in the whole district as a man of +honour, and celebrated for his breed of horses, and for the excellence of +his farm produce. + +He superintended everything connected with the small estate, and supplied +the neighbouring gentry with horses, when, perhaps for some hastily formed +expedition, they were suddenly required. + +Both brothers were respected in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ratcliffe had +indeed cause to be satisfied with the sons who had so well taken up the +place their father had left vacant, by a sudden death in the prime of his +manhood. + +George Ratcliffe found his mother seated at the head of the long table, +where the men and maidens employed on the farm were gathered at the lower +end. + +All rose when George entered, and he said, addressing his mother, as he +seated himself near her,-- + +'I am later than I thought. I crave pardon, good mother.' + +'Granted, my son,' was the reply, with an inclination of the head, which +was, to say the least of it, very stately. + +Mrs Ratcliffe stood always upon her dignity before her household, and never +forgot herself, or allowed others to forget, that she was the daughter of a +Knight of the Shire, and that her own family was connected with some of the +leading people at Court. Distantly connected, but still the fact remained, +and Mrs Ratcliffe made the most of it. + +When the horn-handled knife had been struck thrice on the board by the +bailiff, who sat at the lower end, the large party rose. George rose also, +and said a short grace. Then the hall was deserted, the servants waiting +till Madam retired to her room, before they cleared away the dishes. + +George made a hasty meal, and then, giving his hand to his mother, he led +her through a door at the upper end of the hall to her own parlour. + +The spring twilight was deepening, and the figures of both mother and son +were but dimly visible. + +Perhaps George was not sorry that there was but little light for his mother +to discover the blush which rose to his honest face, as he said,-- + +I saw Mistress Lucy Forrester an hour agone, and I bid her to sup with us +on the morrow. I gained your consent to do so,' he added hurriedly. + +'You told me of your purpose, George,' his mother said coldly. 'I did not +forbid it, but I could hardly be said to consent. The poor girl may be well +favoured; I do not deny it.' + +'Who could deny it?' George exclaimed, with some heat. + +'I said I did not deny it; but her relations are, methinks, very coarse.' + +'Mother, there is not a gentler lady in the land than Mistress Gifford. If +you doubt my word inquire of Mr Sidney or Lady Mary.' + +'There is no occasion for this heat, George; it is unbecoming.' + +'Pardon, my mother, but I cannot brook hearing Mistress Gifford and +Mistress Lucy put down as coarse. Coarse!' he repeated--'it is too much! +They can't help themselves that their father chose to marry a virago like +their stepmother. More shame to him; no shame to them.' + +'Well-a-day, George, you are really upsetting me. I can hear no more. Stop +this tirade, or I shall swoon; you know I never am fitted to bear loud +voices, or contention and strife. You have bidden the girl to sup, and, as +your cousin Dolly will be here, it will not be amiss for once. But I never +desire to have intercourse with the folk at Ford Place. Although I am a +widow, I must not forget your father's standing. I visit at the Castle, and +dear Lady Mary is so good as to call me her friend. Thus, to be a friend of +Mistress Forrester also is beyond my wish or desire, and surely you could +not desire it.' + +George did not reply at first, then he said,-- + +'Mr Philip Sidney does not despise Mistress Gifford; indeed, it is true, +there is no scorn in him towards anyone that breathes, save only against +mean cowards, liars and traitors. But I wish you a goodnight, mother. I +have to see how the mare does that foaled this morning. She is of great +value to me, and I would fain save her life, if may be.' + +When her son was gone, Mistress Ratcliffe resigned herself to meditation. + +'He is in love with that child, poor, silly boy. She may be pretty, but it +is the beauty which soon fades. I must keep Dolly with me. She has a pretty +fortune, if not a fair face, and is of our blood, and a meet match for my +home-loving son. I have other hopes for Humphrey. He will wed with some +gentlewoman about the Court. If Mr Philip Sidney wills to bring it about, +it is done. Then I shall be a proud, happy mother, and I shall get out my +taffeta with the old lace, and the ornaments I have not worn since my +husband died, to do honour to the wedding. Humphrey will be knighted some +fine day, and then he shall raise the family again to its proper level.' + + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE PARK + + Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.--BEN JONSON. + + +The dew lay upon the grass the next morning, and the eastern rays of the +rising sun had but just shot across the slopes of Penshurst Park, when +Philip Sidney passed from under the great gateway of the noble house--or +castle, for it was embattled, by the king's leave, in the reign of Edward +IV,--and crossed the turf towards the avenue of beeches now clothed in the +tenderest hues of spring. + +He was at this time in high favour at Court. The cloud which his brave +protest against the Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou had cast over +him had passed away, and he was again the favourite on whom Elizabeth +smiled, and from whom she expected and received due homage. But the +perpetual demands made by Elizabeth on her admiring courtiers was often +felt to be irksome. + +The chains might be silken, but they were, nevertheless, binding, and it +was a relief to Philip Sidney to escape from the atmosphere of the Court at +times, to breathe the pure air of his home in the fair land of Kent. + +Penshurst Place was, and is, one of the most beautiful of the stately homes +of England. + +On this April morning the long _facade_ was smiling in the early rays of +the sun, and, as Philip crossed the Park he turned, and, looking back at +it, felt stirring within him that pride of race and home, which is perhaps +one of the strongest points in the character of a well-born Englishman. + +'A fair inheritance, doubtless,' he said. 'All things are fair save where +sin and wrong enters. Why should my good Languet have grudged me my +retirement, and rejoice that I have again gone forth into the troublesome +world. 'Success at Court is dearly bought, and I must ever bear about with +me a burden which no mortal eye sees.' + +As Philip Sidney paced under the shadow of the beeches, the deep bronze of +fallen leaves at his feet glowing here and there into living gold, as the +low rays of the eastern sun shone through the branches, thinly veiled, as +yet, with tender green, to any casual observer, he did not wear the +appearance of a man whose heart knew any bitterness or was weighted with +any burden. + +His light figure, with its easy swing as he walked, the perfect symmetry of +every limb, the pose of his well-shaped head, from which he had removed the +small cap with its short plume, raising his face that the fresh air might +fan it, were all in harmony with the pride and glory of his young manhood. +Suddenly his eyes shone with a smile of welcome, as a lady came from under +the great chestnuts, which were already spreading their fan-like leaves +from every branch, and exclaimed,-- + +'Ah! sister mine, I little thought I should find you before me breathing +the soft pure air. It has brought the colour to your cheeks which I love to +see.' + +'Methinks those who lie a-bed late lose the best of the day, Philip, and +how surpassingly lovely Penshurst is.' + +'Wilton does not make it less dear, then, Mary.' + +'Nay, both are beautiful, and,' she added, 'both are home now; but tender +thoughts ever cling to the place where childhood has been passed. And how +fares it with you, dear brother?' the Countess of Pembroke said, as she put +her hand within Philip's arm. + +'But ill, Mary. I strive, God knoweth, to conquer, but I cannot, I cannot.' + +'Nay, Philip, you shall not say so. You must conquer.' + +'If I could free myself from the chain--if I could--but it maddens me, +Mary, to think she loved me, and that I was so blind, so blind. She is the +wife of a man she loathes, and I--I am to blame. I, who would have died for +her.' + +'Live for her, Philip. Live to show her all that is noble and pure in your +life, and so do her good and not evil. Yes, dear brother, by nurturing this +love you do her a worse evil than you know of. Sure, you would not bring +her to a new misery, a worse misery.' + +'No, no. I would not, yet I would. But the sting lies here; hearken, Mary, +to this sonnet, lately penned:-- + + 'I might--unhappy word! O me! I might, + And then would not, or could not, see my bliss + Till now, wrapped in a most infernal night, + I find how heavenly day--wretch! I did miss. + Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right. + No lovely Paris made thy Helen his; + No force, no fraud, robbed thee of thy delight; + Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is. + But to myself, myself did give the blow, + While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me, + That I respects, for both our sakes, must show. + And yet could not by rising morn foresee + How fair a day was near--O punished eyes! + That I had been more foolish, or more wise!' + + _Astrophel and Stella_, Sonnet xxxiii. + +'Dear brother,' the Countess of Pembroke said,--'these wild laments are not +worthy of you. You shall not make any man moan. You will conquer at last, +and come out of the fight a nobler man. The very beauty around us seems to +bid us rejoice to-day. Come, let us speak of happier themes. You will like +to see my little Will, and carry back good news of him to the Queen, whose +godson he is. Tell her she hath a brave knight in store in our little Will. +You scarce ever saw such tricks as he has, and is not yet one year old.' + +Philip Sidney threw off his melancholy mood at his sister's bidding, and, +looking down at her, kissed her pure, fair forehead. + +'Pembroke has reason to rejoice in possessing your love, Mary, and I doubt +not the boy is worthy of you, though he does not, or did not, when I saw +him, resemble you.' + +'No, he is far handsomer; he has dark eyes and lashes; they lay curled upon +his fair cheeks, making the only shadow there. Will has not the +amber-coloured hair of us Sidneys.' + +As this brother and sister stood together in the morning light under the +spreading boughs of the trees, they bore a striking similarity to each +other. + +Theirs was not the mere beauty of form and feature, though that was in both +remarkable. + +Intellectual power was seen in the wide, straight brow, and the light of +that inner fire we call genius shone in the eyes. It has been said by +contemporary records that Philip Sidney's beauty was too feminine in its +character; but, if in colouring of hair and complexion and delicate outline +of feature, this might be true; there was wonderful strength of purpose in +the mouth and upward curve of the chin which indicated resolution and +courage, and determination to conquer difficulties. + +His sister's words were to come true, 'You will conquer at last, and come +out of the fight a nobler man.' + +'We must turn homewards now. How long do you tarry here, Philip?' + +'But two or three days. Shall we not journey to London in company with +Mary. This tournament needs much preparation; I did but snatch a few days +to speak on our father's affairs and to breathe freely for a short space, +and then I must return.' + +Philip Sidney sighed. + +'Nay, Philip, what hardship is there in being the favourite of the Queen, +save for the jealousy it may breed. Our good Uncle Leicester tells +marvellous tales of the manner in which the fair ladies of the Court are +ever ready to smile on you, to say nought of the Queen's own delight to +have you near her. She seems to have forgotten your former protest against +the Duke of Anjou, and to believe in your approval now.' + +'It is scarce approval, Mary, but the Queen must do as she lists. She is of +an age to discern what is best for herself and her realm.' + +'She is, indeed, of an age to do so,' Mary said, with a silvery laugh. 'But +queens never grow old, they leave the process to humbler folk, Philip.' + +They had reached the house now, and passed under the gateway into the +quadrangle, just as the big bell was making a great clamour with its iron, +merciless tongue. + +'Breakfast is served,' the Countess said, 'and our good mother will already +be on the dais awaiting us. Would that our father were here with her. He +will be present at the tournament, and I will do my utmost to persuade him +to take a month of summer here at Penshurst, and dismiss all care for the +time.' + +Lady Mary welcomed her son and daughter with a glad smile. She had also +been astir early, looking into the affairs of her household, in the home +where the unbroken family so seldom met now. Lady Mary's life had been a +chequered one, and she had suffered much as a wife, from the unfair +treatment her brave, noble husband, Sir Henry Sidney, had received at the +Queen's hand. + +He was poor in purse and wounded in heart for his service in Ireland, from +which he returned at last, losing everything but honour. He was also Lord +President of Wales, and received small thanks for all he did in the +interests of the Principality, and less gratitude. When breakfast was +concluded, Lady Mary Sidney summoned Philip to a conference with her in the +small ante-room, which was reached by a stone staircase at the upper end of +the large hall. + +'You came hither, my son, as your good father's officer. How do you feel +towards this scheme? If my husband, your father, be sent for the fourth +time to Ireland, will you accompany him, and serve him with the wisdom you +ever show, Philip? It is time your father's services should gain some +reward. Speak, Philip; do not hang back, but let me hear your mind.' + +'Ah, sweet mother,' Philip said, seating himself on a settle at his +mother's side, and taking her hand in his, 'do not think I slight my good +father, or disparage all his great service for Ireland, if I say I cannot +advise him to move in this matter. I was amazed when Molineux came charged +with this mission to Court, and I told him I disapproved the appeal being +made. For myself, I could not go thither to Ireland in the capacity my +father speaks of; and as to the Queen conferring on him a title of nobility +or large estates, she will never do it. I know this much, and I counsel my +father to let the matter rest. He is held in respect at Ludlow, he has our +own fair home of Penshurst as an inheritance, why, then, enfeebled in +health, should he seek to be embroiled for the fourth time in the affairs +of that unhappy country of Ireland? Misfortune followed his earlier +footsteps there, is it to be counted on that as a man prematurely old and +worn, he should have better success, say rather win more gratitude. Nay, +dearest and best of wives and mothers, let me beg of you to dissuade my +father from this project.' + +'Philip,' Lady Sidney replied, with some heat, 'my heart throbs with +indignation when I think of the treatment your noble father has received at +the hands of the royal mistress he has served with honest devotion. He is +no smooth-tongued courtier, Philip; he has taken no lessons in the school +of flattery, and for this he is cast aside and misused. Think,' Lady Sidney +said, 'think, Philip, of the scant and mean allowance of twenty pounds +weekly he receives as President of Wales. Forsooth, to keep up any fitting +dignity in our mansion it costs us thrice that sum. And if it is complained +that I am with my dear spouse, and so add to the cost, sure I am worth my +meat, of which my poor scarred face is a token. Scarce ever do I see these +scars but I remember how I caught that baleful disease, from which God keep +you, my son. Should He visit you with it, may you be tended with the care +wherewith I tended the Queen's highness, when most of her attendants stood +far off. Nay, Philip, I fear you are in danger of forgetting the past +service your parents have rendered, in the glamour of the present favour +shown to you at Court.' + +Lady Mary Sidney's voice trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. + +Philip could never brook the sight of his mother's distress; and he knew +all she said was perfectly true and could not be contradicted. + +'I will confer with my father on this matter,' he said. 'Dear mother, do +not, I pray you, deem me hard and indifferent. As soon as this +entertainment of the Ambassadors from France is over, I will set about +inquiring into the aspect of affairs, and find out my Lord Burleigh's +views. If I see cause to change my mind, I will not be too proud to own +it.' + +'That is like my noble Philip,' his mother said. 'Ah, my son, this heavy +money trouble as to debts and ceaseless claims, makes of me an old woman, +far more than the scars of the dire disease which snatched away my beauty +twenty years ago. You were but a little fellow then, but then, as now, wise +beyond your years. It was hard for me to meet your inquiring gaze, and to +hear the smothered sigh as you looked on your mother's changed face. While +little Mary drew back from my offered kiss, and cried out, "It is not my +pretty mother," you put your arms round me, saying to her, "It is our own +dear mother, Mary. Fie then, for shame," as she struggled to get away from +the woman who tried to force her to kiss me.' Then with the swift change of +mood which characterised Lady Sidney she stroked Philip's cheek, and said +laughing,--'How many fair ladies are sighing for your favour, my son? Truly +the hearts of many must be in danger of capture. Wit, wisdom, learning and +beauty such as yours do not often go hand in hand.' + +'Nay; now, mother mine, I shall say you have taken lessons in the school of +flattery, for which you were ready to take me to task not long ago. But I +must away to look round the stables, and see to the proper equipment of the +men who will ride with me to the tourney at Whitehall next month.' + + * * * * * + +Lucy Forrester found her household duties irksome the next morning. + +A wrangle with her stepmother had ended in a stormy scene, when Mrs +Forrester gave Lucy a sudden box on the ear for neglecting to replenish the +fire on the open hearth with wood, so that when it was time to hang up the +kettle to boil the meat for the dinner, served at eleven o'clock to the +family, there were only a few smouldering white ashes left. + +'As if I cared a groat for you! Box the other ear if you like, and kindle +your own fire, for me.' + +'You shall not have bite or sup in this house to-day,' Mrs Forrester +screamed, as Lucy darted out of the kitchen, answering,-- + +'I don't want your food. I know where I shall be better served.' + +With flashing eyes and heightened colour, Lucy found herself face to face, +on the strip of rough ground before the house, with Humphrey Ratcliffe. + +'Mistress Lucy,' he exclaimed, 'whether are you rushing like a whirlwind?' + +'Anywhere, to get out of hearing of that tongue. Hark, now, it is still +wagging like the clapper of a bell.' + +'Where is Mistress Gifford?' Humphrey asked, without taking any notice of +Lucy's reference to the quarrel which he guessed had been raging. + +'Oh, it's Mary you want to see, not me,' Lucy said. 'Well, she is gone up +to the shepherd's hut to look after a sick child there. She has got the boy +with her, and I promised to see to the fire on the hearth, but I didn't, +and that is the cause of the uproar. But good Master Humphrey, help me to +get to London to see the great tourney. Oh!' clasping her her hands in +entreaty, 'I pray you help me to get there. I am so sick of this place. Why +should I be kept here till I am old?' + +'That is a-far off day, Mistress Lucy,' Humphrey said. 'But I have a plan +which, if it succeeds, may give you your desire.' + +'Oh, you are good, Master Humphrey, so good!' + +'My mother wishes to see London again, and I can provide her with lodgings +not far from Whitehall. It may be there will be a corner found for you, +that is to say, if Mistress Gifford approves.' + +'I'll make her approve, I warrant. I am to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe this +evening, and I will be as meek as a lamb and curtsey my lowest to her, and +call her madam, and be ever so smiling to Master George. I'll win favour +for once.' + +Humphrey discreetly forbore to let Lucy know that it was at George's +earnest desire he had determined to make this proposal to their mother. + +'Tell me, Master Humphrey, will Mr Sidney be coming this way to-day?' + +'It may be; he had to choose two extra horses from George's stalls for the +journey. George himself is, of course, to be in attendance, and one of our +serving men as groom. It is possible that Mr Sidney may be coming either +to-day or on the morrow.' + +'He will not pass without seeing Mary. I wish--' + +But Lucy had not time to say what the wish was, for Mary Gifford and her +little son were now seen coming along a field path which led down the +hillside from the open country beyond. + +Humphrey stepped forward quickly to meet them, and lifted Ambrose over the +stile, in spite of his declaration that he could get over by himself. + +Humphrey tossed the child high in the air before he set him on his legs +again, and then said to Mary,-- + +'Out on a mission of mercy, as is your wont, Mistress Gifford.' + +Mary's colour rose as she said,-- + +'The sick and poor are always in the world.' + +'And the sad also,' Humphrey said, with an appealing look, which Mary +understood only too well. + +'Come and see the little chickies, Master Humphrey,' Ambrose said. 'There's +three little ducks amongst them. Aunt Lou put the eggs under the old mother +for fun. Grannie does not know, and when the little ducklings waddle off to +the pond, she'll be in a fright, and think they'll all be drowned, and so +will the hen.' + +But Humphrey scarcely heeded the child's chatter, he was earnestly looking +at Mary Gifford's face. + +Surely there must be some fresh cause of trouble there, for he thought he +saw traces of recent tears. + +Little Ambrose, finding his appeal to Humphrey took no effect, scampered +off to the poultry yard, Lucy following. She thought it would be wiser to +leave Humphrey to plead her cause, and persuade Mary that if his mother +would consent to her journey to London, she was better out of the way when +Mary raised objections to the fulfilment of her wishes. + +'Is there any new cause of trouble, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey asked. + +'Nothing new--as you take the word.' + +'Nought in which I can be of help?' + +Mary hesitated, and Humphrey said,-- + +'The wrangles and quarrels yonder are on the increase. Is that so?' he +asked. 'I heard loud voices when I came up to the house a short time ago, +and Lucy rushed out with flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes.' + +'Poor child,' Mary said, 'I will not say there is not blame on both sides, +but the life we lead yonder becomes more and more hard. It is ill training +for my little son to see angry passions raging, and to hear loud +reproaches.' + +'I know it! I know it!' Humphrey exclaimed. 'End it, Mary--end it for ever, +and come and bless me with your love.' + +'Nay, Humphrey, do not urge me to do what is impossible. It cannot be.' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe turned away with an impatient gesture, saying,-- + +'I see no glory in self-martyrdom. I offer you a home, and I swear to +protect you from all evil, and keep your boy from evil, train him to be a +noble gentleman, and, forsooth, you turn away and will have none of me.' + +'Dear friend,' Mary began in a low voice, 'trust me so far as to believe +that I have a reason--a good reason--for refusing what would be, I doubt +not, a haven of calm after the troubled waters of my life. Trust me, kind +Master Ratcliffe, nor think ill of me. I pray you.' + +'Ill of you! nay, Mary, you know no saint in heaven is ever more devoutly +worshipped than I worship you.' But, seeing her distress as he said these +words, he went on,--'I will wait, I will bide my time, and, meanwhile, +serve you in all ways I can. Here is this child, your young sister, chafing +against the life she leads here. I will do my best to persuade my mother to +take her in her company to London for the grand show, and it may be that +some great lady may take a fancy for her, and she may win a place as +waiting-woman about the person of some Court dame. Do you consent? Do you +give me permission to try?' + +'But Lucy is not in favour with your mother; she disdains us as beneath her +notice.' + +'Not you--not Lucy; it is your father's widow whom she mislikes. Her +Puritan whims and fancies are a cause of offence, and no aversions are so +strong as those begotten by religious difference.' + +'That is so, alas!' Mary Gifford said. 'Persecution for diversity of faith, +rather for diversity in the form of worship: it is this that tears this +country into baleful divisions, and pierces it with wounds which are slow +to heal.' + +'That is true,' Humphrey said; 'and the law, condemning all Papists to +suffer extreme penalty, if found worshipping God after their own manner, +has a cruel significance. But we must not forget the fires of Smithfield, +nor the horrors to which this country was subjected when Spanish influence +was at work with a Papist queen on the throne.' + +'No,' Mary said in a low voice. 'Nor can we forget the grey head of that +queen's dearest friend, which was brought to the block, and stirred the +bitterness of revenge in Queen Mary's heart.' + +'Well,' Humphrey said, 'I am vowed to resist, with all possible might, the +encroachments of Spain,--which means the plotting of Philip to force the +religion of the Pope upon an unwilling people--in the Low Countries first, +and then, believe me, he will not stop there. Mr Sidney's protest against +the Queen's marriage with the Duc of Anjou was founded on the horror he +felt of seeing this realm given over once more to the power of the Pope. Mr +Sidney saw, with his own eyes, the Massacre of St Bartholomew; and what +security could there be if any of this crafty Medici race should be set on +high in this country?' + +'Mr Sidney has changed somewhat in his views. Is it not so?' Mary asked. + +'He has submitted to the inevitable--that is to say, finding the Queen +determined, he, with Lord Burleigh and others in high office, will confer +with the ambassadors who come from France for the purpose--praying +secretly, however, that the whole matter may fall to pieces. And, indeed, +this is likely. The Queen's highness is loth to lose her supremacy, and +there are favourites at Court who would ill brook to be displaced by a +rival power. My lord the Earl of Leicester is one, though he hides his real +feeling from his nephew, my noble master.' + +Mary Gifford was silent for a few moments, then she said,-- + +'If you can aid my poor little sister to get her heart's desire, do so. I +consent, for life here is not to be desired for many reasons. Ah! Master +Ratcliffe,' Mary said, 'how fair is this world, and is there a fairer spot +in it than these our native hills and valleys over which we look every day? +See the wooded heights yonder, in all the varied colours of the early +spring; see the sloping pastures, where the flowers make a carpet! Often as +I look on it, and see the tower of the church rising amongst the red-tiled +roofs of the cottages, and beyond, the stately pile of Penshurst Castle, I +think if only sin were absent, and truth and righteousness reigned, this +village would find no rival save in the Eden before the serpent entered, +and the ruin came with sin!' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe liked to watch Mary's face as she spoke; but, as he left +her, a few minutes later, he felt there was something which divided them +and made his suit hopeless. What was it? + +He knew but little of the history of her short married life. Her suitor had +come in the train of the Earl of Leicester in one of his visits to +Penshurst. + +That she had been cruelly deceived was known, and that she had come back to +her old home of Ford Manor with her child, clad in the weeds of widowhood, +but saying nothing of what had really happened. Rumour had been busy, and +Ambrose Gifford had been supposed to have been slain in a disgraceful +fight; but nothing was absolutely certain; and Humphrey Ratcliffe, who had +known Mary from her girlhood, now discovered that he had loved her always, +and that he had failed to win her in her early youth because he had never +tried to do so, and now that he loved her passionately, he was to find his +suit was hopeless. + +Perhaps it was the similarity between his own case and that of his master's +that made the tie between them stronger than is often the case between an +esquire and his chief. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A STRANGE MEETING + + 'Before the door sat self-consuming Care, + Day and night keeping wary watch and ward + For fear lest Force or Fraud should unaware + Break in, and spoil the treasure there in gard.' + + SPENSER. + + +Lucy Forrester soon forgot the vexation and anger which her stepmother's +scolding had roused. She kept out of her sight, and entertained little +Ambrose with stories of fairies and elfs and imps and hobgoblins till the +time came for her to go up the hill to the Ratcliffes' house. + +Lucy did not attempt to sit down at the board when dinner was served at +eleven o'clock. She had once or twice, when in disgrace, rebelled at the +sight of the crust of bread and the mug of water which had been set before +her as a token of Mistress Forrester's displeasure. + +'I am not a child now,' she thought, 'to be gaped at by serving men and +maids. I will take care of myself in the buttery, and then get ready for my +walk up the hill. Perhaps, who knows, I may chance to meet Mr Sidney, and +I may get a word from him or a rare smile; and then a fig for frowns and +the rating and scolding of fifty cross stepmothers! I wish Mary did not +look so grave. I hate to grieve her. Well-a-day, if only I can get to +London, and see him in the tourney, I shall die of joy.' + +Lucy was scarcely sixteen, an enthusiastic child, who had conceived a +romantic devotion for Mr Philip Sidney, and worshipped his ideal as maidens +of her temperament have worshipped at their idol's shrine since time began. + +And who can blame this country maiden if she cherished a passionate +admiration for one, who won the hearts of Court ladies and hoary statesmen +of a grave scholar like Hubert Languet, and of the Queen herself, who +called him the brightest jewel of her Court, and who often excited the +jealousy of her older favourites by the marks of favour she bestowed on +him. + +In the village church on Sundays Lucy would sit with anxious, eager +expectation till she saw the Sidney pew filled; if Mr Sidney was present it +was an hour or two of bliss; if, as was frequently the case, his place was +empty, she would bow her head to hide the tears of vexation and +disappointment which started to her eyes. + +Nor have these dreams of youthful romance wholly passed away. Even in the +rush and hurry of the prosaic world at the end of the nineteenth century +they yet give a certain pleasure of unfulfilled longings to some young +hearts, and fade away like the early cloud and morning dew, to leave behind +only a memory of mingled pain and sweetness, recalled in after time with +something of self-pity and something of surprise that such things had ever +seemed real and not visionary, and had touched the warm springs in the +heart now chilled, it may be, by the stern exigencies of this transitory +life. + +It must be said that few idols have been worthier of youthful adoration +than was this true knight at whose shrine Lucy laid her heart. If there +were spots in the sun, 'wandering isles of night,' which were at this time +somewhat darkening its lustre, they were unknown to Lucy Forrester. Philip +Sidney was to her all that was noble, pure, and true, and, as she put on +her prettiest cap, with its long veil and little edge of seed pearls, +Mary's gift, and crossed her finest kerchief across her breast, she saw +herself in the bit of polished steel which served for her mirror, and +smiled as she thought,-- + +'What if I meet him on the way, he may look at me with some approval. I +cannot help it. I do love to be fair, and why should I pretend I am ugly, +even to myself. No,' she went on turning her graceful head, first to the +right and then to the left, before the little mirror; 'no, I can't pretend +to be ugly, like Doll Ratcliffe, who makes eyes at poor old George. She may +have him, ay, and welcome, for all I care.' + +Lucy was pirouetting round the confined space of her attic chamber, which +was bare enough of all ornament, and mean and humble in its furniture, when +little Ambrose's feet were heard on the wooden stairs leading to this upper +story of the old house, and he called, in his loud, childish treble,-- + +'Aunt Lou, you are to come down and see Mr Sidney.' + +Lucy clasped her small hands together in an ecstasy of delight. + +'Is it true--is it true, Ambrose? Child, is it true?' + +'I always say true things, mother saith lies are wicked,' the boy +exclaimed. 'You are very pretty, Aunt Lou. I like you. I wish mother would +wear red gowns, and--and--' + +But Lucy paid no heed to the child's compliments. She gave a parting look +at the mirror, and then brushed past little Ambrose and went downstairs +with a beating heart. + +Mr Sidney was standing on the rough ground before Ford Place, leaning +against the gnarled trunk of an ancient thorn tree, which had yet life +enough left in it to put forth its tiny, round buds of pink and white, soon +to open and fill the air with fragrance. + +By his side Mary Gifford stood, with her face turned towards the smiling +landscape before her. + +Philip Sidney, with the courtesy of the true gentleman, advanced to Lucy +with his cap in his hand, bending the knee, and greeting her with all the +grace and courtly ceremony with which he would have greeted the highest +lady in the land. + +The girl's face shone with proud delight, and the young voice trembled a +little as she said, in answer to his question,-- + +'I thank you, sir, I am well and hearty.' + +'I need scarce ask the question,' Mr Sidney said. 'With your good sister's +approval, I came to inquire if you would care to fill the vacant place in +my sister the Countess of Pembroke's household. She leaves Penshurst +shortly, and will be at Leicester House before returning to Wilton. One of +her gentlewomen is summoned to her father's deathbed, and Mistress Crawley, +her bower-woman, needs help. I am not learned in the secrets of the +toilette, but you would soon learn what might be expected of you.' + +'And shall I see the great show, sir--shall I see the tourney and the +knights tilting?' Lucy said, unable to repress her joy. + +'Doubtless,' Mr Sidney replied laughing. 'But, Mistress Lucy, it will not +be all play. Mistress Crawley is a somewhat stern task-mistress. My sister +bade me say as much. Therefore, consider the proposal well, and consult +Mistress Gifford, than whom you cannot have a wiser counsellor.' + +'Mary,' Lucy exclaimed, 'I may go to serve my Lady of Pembroke? Speak, +Mary.' + +Mary Gifford now turned towards Lucy and Mr Sidney. Up to this time she had +averted her face. + +'You must remember, Lucy,' she said gently, 'Mr Sidney's words. It will +not be all play, and, methinks, you have often shown impatience of control +and undue heat when your will is crossed.' + +Lucy's face flushed crimson, as she answered,-- + +'It is not kind to say this, Mary. You know--you must know how hard it is +to please the one who rules here.' + +'I know it, dear child, full well,' Mary said. 'But we must not hinder Mr +Sidney longer. It will be only right to consult our stepmother, and crave +leave of Mr Sidney to defer an answer till the morrow.' + +'By all means, Mistress Gifford, do so,' Philip Sidney said. + +While these words had passed between the two sisters, little Ambrose had +been curiously stroking the hilt of Mr Sidney's sword, and fingering the +wide ends of the belt which held it in its place. + +'Oh,' the child said, 'I hope I shall have a sword when I am a man, and go +to battle with you, sir. Will you take me with you when I am big and +strong?' + +'Will I not!' Mr Sidney said. 'The time may come when I shall want to +gather all loyal hearts round me for service. I'll not forget you, Ambrose, +if so it chances.' + +'You are but a little child, my son,' Mary said, with a sudden gesture, +putting her arm round him. 'You must stay with your mother for a long, long +time, and be a dutiful son.' + +'I am near seven years old, and I can fling a stone further than Giles, +the cowherd's boy, and I can bend a bow, and--' + +'Hush, my little son,' Mary Gifford said. 'Do not chatter of your doings. +Mr Sidney does not care to hear of them.' + +'Strength of limb is good,' Philip said, 'but strength of will is better, +little Ambrose. Strive to be a dutiful son to the best of mothers. A +fatherless boy has to do his utmost to have a care of his mother.' + +The child left Philip Sidney's side, and went to his mother, who had turned +away her face, with an exclamation of distress. + +'Fatherless,' she repeated; 'ay, and worse than fatherless!' + +But the words did not reach Mr Sidney's ears. His groom was waiting for him +at the gate leading to the lane, and, taking Ambrose by the hand, he +said,-- + +'Come with me, boy, and I will give you a ride to the end of the lane; and +do you, Mistress Lucy, follow, and take back the young horseman when I have +put him down, if it please you.' + +'I will come also,' Mary Gifford said hastily. + +She could scarcely bear her boy out of her sight, and watched him with +anxious eyes, as Sir Philip set him on the saddle, across which his small +legs could scarcely stride, the child dumb with delight, his eyes +sparkling, his little hands clutching the bridle-rein, and his figure drawn +up to its full height. + +'Oh, have a care, Ambrose,' Mary exclaimed. + +Mr Sidney laughed. + +'He shall come to no harm, Mistress Gifford. My hand is ready to stop him +if he falls. But, indeed, there is no fear; he sits square and upright, +like a man.' + +The beautiful, well-trained horse arched his neck in reply to his master's +'Softly, Hero--quietly,' as he stepped out, raising his feet deliberately, +with that stately air which marks high breeding, and pacing down the rugged +path of the lane, with slow and measured tread, Mr Sidney at his side, the +groom in attendance following with the other horse. + +'Oh, I would like to ride like thus far, far away,' the boy said, as Mr +Sidney lifted him down, and set him by his mother's side. + +'Make Mr Sidney your bow, and say you are grateful to him for this great +kindness, Ambrose.' + +The child was almost too excited to speak, but Mr Sidney sprang lightly +into the saddle, and, with a parting smile to Lucy, with the words, 'We +shall await your decision, Mistress Forrester,' he rode away, the groom +following. + +Lucy stood at the turn of the road, watching the horses and the riders, +till they had disappeared, and then she returned to the house with Mary, +like the child, too happy to speak. They reached the house together, and +were met by Mrs Forrester. + +She had heard of Mr Sidney's visit, and had hastened upstairs to exchange +her coarse homespun for a gown of grey taffeta and a kirtle of the same +colour; a large white cap or hood was set a little awry on her thin, grey +hair. + +'You might have had the grace to ask Mr Sidney to step in,' she said +sharply to Mary Gifford. 'It is ill manners to stand chaffering outside +when the mistress of a house would fain offer a cup of mead to her guest. +But I never look for aught but uncivil conduct from either of you. What are +you pranked out for like this?' she asked, addressing Lucy. + +'I am going to sup with Mistress Ratcliffe. You needn't look so cross. I +sha'n't trouble you long. I am going to Court with my Lady Pembroke, and I +may never darken your doors again.' + +'You'll get into mischief like your sister before you, I'll warrant, and if +you do, don't come back here, for I'll shut the door in your face, as sure +as my name is Anne Forrester.' + +'Have no fear,' Lucy said. 'I am away now by the path across the hills.' + +'Nay, Lucy!' Mary exclaimed. 'Nay, by the highway is best. The hill path is +lonesome. Stay, Lucy.' + +But Lucy was gone, and Mary, looking after her retreating figure, could not +gainsay Mistress Forrester, as she said,-- + +'Wilful, headstrong little baggage, she will rue her behaviour some fine +day, as you have done.' + +'Mother,' Mary Gifford said, in a troubled voice, 'do not be for ever +reproaching me in the hearing of others, it is cruel. It may be better for +you and for me if I leave my father's house, and seek some humble refuge +with my boy.' + +But this did not suit Mistress Forrester's views. Mary Gifford was far too +useful to her. She could write, and manage the accounts of the farm; she +could, by a few calm words, effect more with lazy or careless serving men +and maids than their mistress did by scolding and reproofs, often +accompanied with a box on the ear or a sharp blow across the shoulder to +enforce what she said. + +It would not answer Mistress Forrester's purpose to let Mary Gifford go, so +she said,-- + +'Hoity, toity! don't talk like that. It's folly to say you will leave a +good home when you have no home to go to. Bide here, and let bygones be +bygones. I am ready to be friendly if you'll let me. I must away now to see +about the two sick lambs; it's all along of the shepherd's ill treatment of +the ewe that I am like to lose 'em.' + +Mistress Forrester bustled away, and Mary Gifford was left with Ambrose, +who was making a hobbyhorse of a thick stick, scampering up and down, and +calling out,-- + +'Gee-up, Hero! I'm off to the fight with Mr Sidney.' + +Mary looked at the boy with a strange, wistful smile. + +'Poor child!' she murmured, 'poor child! he hath no young comrades with +whom to make merry. It is well he can be so jocund and happy. It is true +what Mistress Gifford saith, I have no home, and I must bide quietly here, +for the boy is safe, and who can tell to what danger I might not expose him +if I ventured forth with him into the world again.' + +Lucy Forrester went gaily across the open ground, fearless of any danger +from horned cattle, of which there were several feeding on the short sweet +grass. + +She sang as she went, out of the gladness of her heart; triumph, too, +mingled with the gladness. + +How surprised Mistress Ratcliffe would be to hear she was to be a +waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. George had thought of +asking his mother to take her to London. Humphrey had spoken of a corner +being found for her. Now, what did it matter whether Mistress Ratcliffe +consented or not to her son's desire. She had no need to be beholden to +her. She would be lodged in a grand house, and have a place with the ladies +of the Countess's household. + +Remembering how Mistress Ratcliffe had often looked down upon her and Mary, +it was a keen delight to her to feel how chagrined she would be at her +unexpected good fortune. + +It was not absolutely settled yet, but she was sure Mary would give +consent, and, on the morrow, after service in the church, she would be +admitted to the grand house at Penshurst, and see the Countess herself, and +perhaps Mr Philip Sidney. + +Perched on a stile to rest, Lucy indulged in a prolonged meditation on the +fair prospect which had so unexpectedly opened before her. Of course Mary +would make no real objection. No one ever did resist Mr Philip Sidney's +will, and it was he had proposed the scheme, and he wished her to be one of +his sister's waiting-women. + +This gave the poor, little fluttering heart the most intense pleasure, +which she could scarcely dare to acknowledge, even to herself. Still, had +not Mr Sidney come to offer the coveted place to her--come himself? And had +he not beamed on her with his beautiful smile? Yes, and with admiring eyes! + +How long Lucy might have indulged in these thoughts it is impossible to +say, had she not been suddenly conscious that she was not alone. + +Stealthy footsteps were heard approaching from behind, and, turning her +head, she saw a tall man, wearing a long cloak, much the worse for wear, +and a hat, with neither band nor feather, pulled down over his eyes. + +Lucy started, and jumped from the stile, her heart beating violently, and +her face, which a few moments before had been radiant with pleasure, pale +and frightened. + +'Whither away, little maiden; why so scared?' the man said. 'I mean no +harm. See!' he said, taking a rosary from under his cloak, 'see, I kiss the +blessed cross, in token that you need not fear. I am a poor Catholic, +hiding from persecutors, wandering about and living in dens and caves of +the earth.' + +Lucy had, in her short life, heard nothing but condemnation of Papists. +When she thought of them at all, it was with horror, and her knees trembled +under her, and her voice was scarcely audible as she said,-- + +'Prithee, sir, suffer me to pass.' + +'On one condition. You know a house called Ford Place?' + +'Ay, sir, I do; and I will run back thither and--' + +'You will _not_ do so, little maiden; you will tell me how it fares with a +gentlewoman there, called Mary Gifford?' + +'She is well, sir; she is--' + +'Hearken! She has a boy named Ambrose. I would fain see him. Bring him +hither to me, and I will call on all the saints to bless you. Our Lady +shall watch over you and grant you your heart's desire.' + +'I cannot do it, sir; I dare not! Let me pass. If you would fain see the +boy, go to the house.' + +'And be seized and taken off before the grand folk down yonder and +imprisoned, and, it may be, tortured. Hearken,' he went on, bringing his +face unpleasantly near Lucy's, 'hearken, I can call down blessings on you, +but I can call down bitter curses also. Your heart's desire shall be denied +you, you shall eat the bread of affliction and drink the water of tears, +if you betray me. If you keep my secret, and let me see that boy, blessings +shall be showered on you; choose now.' + +Poor Lucy was but a child, she had scarcely counted out sixteen years. This +strange man, with his keen dark eyes gleaming under the black cap and +looking as if they read her very soul, seemed to get her into his power. +She was faint with terror, and looked round in vain for help, for some one +to come who would deliver her from her trouble. + +With a cry of delight she sprang again on the topmost rung of the stile, as +she saw George Ratcliffe's giant form appearing in the distance on the +slope of a rising ground. + +The hillside was covered in this part with great hillocks of heather and +gorse. + +Apparently her persecutor had also caught sight of the approaching figure, +for he relaxed his hold on her wrist, which he had seized as she had sprung +up on the stile, and, looking back when she had run some distance towards +George, she saw that the man had disappeared. + +'George! George!' she cried, as he came with great strides towards her, +and, to his intense satisfaction, even in his dismay at her apparent +distress, threw herself into his arms. 'George! a dreadful man, a Papist, +has scared me. He will curse me, George. Oh! it is terrible to be cursed. +Save me from him.' + +George looked about in bewilderment. + +'I see no man. There is no one near, Lucy. I see no one.' + +'Did you not see him as you came in sight?' + +'Nay, I was thinking only of you, and hoping to meet you on your way. I saw +no man, nor did I see you till I had come up yonder rising ground, just as +you mounted the stile. Be not so distressed,' George said, 'we will scour +the country for the villain, for villain he must be if he is a Papist; but +come now with me. My mother is well-pleased that you should sup with us. +Oh! Lucy,' George said, with lover-like earnestness, 'smile again, I pray +you, it goes to my heart to see you thus scared, though without reason, I +trust. Will it please you to stay here, while I go and unearth the wretch, +and belabour him till there is no breath left in him.' + +'No, no, George, don't leave me. I should fear to be left alone. Don't, +don't leave me.' + +George was only too willing to remain, and presently Lucy grew calmer, and +they walked slowly across the heath together. + +George was too happy for many words, and scarcely heeding even Lucy's +account of her adventure, in the bliss of having her clinging to his arm, +and the memory of that moment when she threw herself upon him for +protection and safety. + +'What can he want with Ambrose, Mary's child? He tried to make me promise +to bring him to that spot, that he might see him. What can it mean? It will +frighten Mary when I tell her, for she is ever dismayed if the child is +long-out of her sight. What can it mean?' + +'I cannot say,' George replied, dreamily. 'Thank God you are safe. That man +is some agent of the devil, but I will put Humphrey on the scent, and we +will track him out. I have heard there is a nest of Papists hiding in +Tunbridge. Doubtless he is one. Forget him now, Lucy; forget him, and be +happy.' + +'He gripped my wrist so hard,' Lucy said, holding up her little hand like a +child for pity. + +It is small wonder that George treated her as a child, and, taking the +little hand in his, pressed a fervent kiss upon it. + +This seemed to recall Lucy from her clinging, softened mood. She sprang +away from George with heightened colour, and said, with all her old +brightness,-- + +'I have news for you. I am going to London to see the tourney, and I am to +be one of my Lady of Pembroke's waiting-women. Isn't that grand news?' + +Poor George! his dream of bliss was over now. + +'Going away!--for how long a space?' he exclaimed. + +'Ah! that I cannot tell you, for more weeks or months than I can count, may +be.' + +George, who had with Humphrey done his utmost to persuade their mother to +consent to take Lucy with her, in the event of her going to London, without +success, or, rather, without a distinct promise that she would do so, was +fairly bewildered. + +'How did it come about?' he asked. + +'Oh! that is a question, indeed, Master Ratcliffe. There is someone you +know of who can bring about what he wishes. It is he who has commended me +to my Lady Pembroke, hearing, it may be, from your brother, that I wished +to see the tourney, and the Queen, and all the fine doings. Mr Sidney came +himself to offer the place of waiting-woman to me.' + +'Came himself!' George exclaimed. + +'And, prithee, why not; am I beneath his notice as I am beneath your +mother's? It seems not.' + +George had not time to reply, for, on the square of turf before the house, +Mistress Ratcliffe and her niece, Dorothy Ratcliffe, were apparently +awaiting their arrival. + +'You are late, George, as is your wont,' his mother said. 'Doll must make +you more mindful of the fixed time for meals. Is this young woman Mistress +Forrester's daughter? I bid you kindly welcome.' + +'I thank you, madam,' Lucy said. 'I have seen you many a time, and, +methinks, you must have seen me; but, doubtless, I was not like to be +remembered by such as you and Mistress Dorothy.' + +This little thrust passed unnoticed. Mistress Ratcliffe merely said,-- + +'George, lead your cousin Doll to the hall, for supper is served. Mistress +Lucy, will you permit me to take your hand?' + +Lucy made another curtsey, as George, with a rueful face, obeyed his mother +and handed his cousin up the stone steps to the porch, his mother and Lucy +following. + +Mistress Ratcliffe was attired in her best gown, with a long-pointed waist +and tight sleeves slashed with purple. Her ruff rivalled the Queen's in +thickness and height; and the heavy folds of her lute-string skirt were +held out by a wide hoop, which occupied the somewhat narrow doorway as they +entered the hall. + +Lucy was more than usually hungry, and did full justice to the pasties and +conserves of apples which graced the board. As she looked at Dorothy +Ratcliffe her heart swelled with triumph, for she was not slow to notice +that the household below the salt cast admiring glances at her, and that +Dorothy attracted no attention. + +George's spirits had sunk below their accustomed level, and his mother +sharply reproved him for inattention to his cousin. + +'You are ill performing the duties of a host, George. See, Doll's trencher +is empty, and the grace-cup is standing by your elbow unheeded. Are you +dreaming, George, or half-asleep?' + +'I crave pardon, mother,' George said, with a great effort rousing himself. +'Now then, cousin Doll, let me carve you a second portion of the pasty; or, +mayhap, the wing of this roast pullet will suit your dainty appetite +better.' + +Dorothy pouted. + +'I have not such vulgar appetites as some folk. Nay, I thank you, cousin, +I will but taste a little whipped cream with a sweet biscuit.' + +George piled up a mountain of frothy cream on one of the silver plates, +which were the pride and glory of his mother. The wooden trenchers were +used for the heavier viands; but these silver plates were brought out in +honour of guests, for the sweets or fruit which always came at the +conclusion of the repast. + +These silver plates were kept brightly burnished, and Lucy, as she saw +herself reflected in hers, said, laughing,-- + +'It is pleasant to eat off mirrors--that is to say when what we see there +is pleasant.' + +Madam Ratcliffe, although full of satisfaction to have her 'household gods' +admired, concealed it, and said, with an inclination of her head towards +Dorothy,-- + +'It is no novel thing for you to eat off silver, but I dare to say it is +the first time Mistress Lucy has done so.' + +'That may be true, madam,' Lucy said--she was never at a loss for a +rejoinder--'but, methinks, I shall soon eat off silver every day an' I +choose to do it.' + +'How so?' asked Mistress Ratcliffe; but the moment the question was asked, +she repented showing any curiosity about it, and made a diversion to +prevent a reply by suddenly breaking into admiration of the lace which +trimmed Dorothy Ratcliffe's bodice. + +'It is Flemish point, sure; and did it not descend to you, Doll, from your +grandmother? I have a passion for old lace; and these sapphires of your +brooch are of fine water. Now, shall we repair to the parlour, and you, +Dorothy, will discourse some sweet music on your mandoline.' + +The parlour was a dark room, with oak panels, and a heavy beam across the +ceiling. The floor was polished oak, which was slippery to unwary feet. The +open fireplace was filled by a large beau-pot filled with a posy of flowing +shrubs and long grass and rushes. + +Rushes were strewn on the raised floor of the square bay window. A +spinning-wheel stood there, and the stool of carved oak, where Mistress +Ratcliffe sat when at her work, that she might have an eye to any who came +in at the gate, and perhaps catch one of the serving-maids gossiping with a +passer-by. + +There was a settle in one corner of the parlour, and a cupboard with +shelves in a recess in the thick wall. Here the silver was kept, and some +curious old figures which had been, like the plate, handed down from the +ancestors of whom Mistress Ratcliffe was so proud. + +In another recess were a few books, in heavy vellum bindings--Tyndale's +translation of the Bible, with silver clasps; and some dull sermons, +roughly bound, with an early edition of the Boke of Chess; the prayer-book +of Edward the Sixth, and some smaller and insignificant volumes, completed +Mistress Ratcliffe's library. + +Mistress Ratcliffe did not concern herself with the awakening life of these +remarkable times in literature and culture. + +It was nothing to her that numerous poets and authors, from Edmund Spenser +to many humbler craftsmen of the pen, were busy translating from the +Italian the tales of Boccaccio, or the Latin of Virgil. + +The horizon had not yet widened to the small landed proprietors of these +days, and education, as we understand the word, was confined to the few, +and had not reached the people to whom the concerns of everyday life were +all-important. Women like Mistress Ratcliffe could often scarcely write +their own names, and read slowly and with difficulty the psalms in their +prayer-book, or the lessons of the Church in their Bible. + +Spelling was eccentric, even in the highest circles, as many letters still +preserved in family archives prove, and was made to suit the ear and eye of +the writer, without reference to rule or form. + +The evening passed somewhat slowly. There was an evident restraint upon +every one present. + +Dorothy's performance on the mandoline did not elicit much praise, except +from Mistress Ratcliffe, who was annoyed that George should seat himself on +the settle, by Lucy's side, and encourage her to talk, instead of listening +while his cousin sang a melancholy ditty, in anything but a musical voice. + +When Dorothy had finished, she laid down the mandoline in a pet, and +yawning, said,-- + +'I am weary after my long ride from Tunbridge, Aunt Ratcliffe. I pray you +forgive me if I retire early to bed.' + +'Nay, Doll, you must have a cup of spiced wine ere you go, we cannot spare +you yet.' + +'It is plain I am not wanted, so I can well be spared,' was the reply, with +a disagreeable laugh and a jerk of the head in the direction of the settle. + +Lucy now sprang up, saying,-- + +'I, too, must crave leave to bid you good evening, Mistress Ratcliffe. I +have to settle plans with my sister before I sleep to-night, and the +evening shadows are falling.' + +'If you must leave us, Mistress Forrester,' Mistress Ratcliffe said +stiffly, 'I may as well inform you, with regret, that the plan proposed by +my sons for asking you to bear me company to London in a useful capacity, +cannot be fulfilled. I take my niece with me, and two serving-men on the +second horse, hence--' + +'Oh! madam,' Lucy said, 'there is no need of excusations. I go to London in +the next week as waiting-woman to my lady the Countess of Pembroke. It may +be that I shall see you there, and I shall be sure to know you and Mistress +Dorothy, and make you my proper reverence, even if you have forgotten me.' + +'The impudent little hussy!' Mistress Ratcliffe murmured, but she retained +her feelings, and said,-- + +'It is fortunate for you, Mistress Forrester, that you will be under due +control in London, for in good sooth you will need it. If you must go, good +evening.' + +Lucy turned at the door and made a profound curtsey, then, drawing her +kerchief closer to her throat, she left the room, George following. + +'I don't set much store by Mistress Forrester's manner, Aunt Ratcliffe,' +Dorothy said; 'an ill-bred country child, who, of course, is ignorant, so +we will pardon her.' + +'Ignorant, yes,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'but her pretty face.' + +'Pretty!' Dorothy screamed, 'Pretty! Nay, aunt, you cannot call that +baby-faced chit pretty. No air; no breeding; mere dairymaid's beauty. It +makes me laugh to think how proud she was of her fine gown and cap, which +only showed her awkward gait the more.' And Mistress Dorothy fingered her +Flemish lace and the string of beads round her short, thick neck, with +profound belief in her own charms. + +If Lucy's beauty was that of a milkmaid, Dorothy's was decidedly of a +different character. Her complexion was sallow and pale; her hair, which +was by no means abundant, was of the sandy hue, which she tried to persuade +herself was like the Queen's. Her eyes were of a greenish colour, and +deeply set under a heavy forehead, and her figure was angular and +ungraceful. + +Fine feathers do not always make a fine bird, and Dorothy Ratcliffe, +although with what in those days was considered to be a fortune at her +back, did not find fervent suitors for her favour. She was, therefore, very +ready to fall in with Mistress Ratcliffe's wishes, and take pains to +ingratiate herself with George, failing Humphrey, whose position as one of +Mr Sidney's esquires, made him the more desirable of the two brothers. + +Dorothy Ratcliffe was the child of George's uncle, who was a recluse living +at Tunbridge. He was a scholar and a pedant, and concerned himself but +little about his only child, whose fortune was inherited from her mother. + +Marriages in those days were generally settled for the people principally +concerned, with or without their consent, as it happened, and Master +Ratcliffe and George's mother had a sort of tacit understanding with each +other that Dorothy should take herself and her fortune to Hillbrow Place. + +Dorothy was not unwilling to find herself mistress there, but she had +always a lingering hope that Humphrey would at last be a victim to her +charms, and then it would be easy to throw George over. + +But things did not look very promising, and Dorothy asked, in an irritable +tone, before she parted with her aunt for the night,-- + +'Is Humphrey so taken up with the grand folk that he cannot find the time +to pay his dutiful respects to you, aunt?' + +'He was here late the last evening,' Mistress Ratcliffe said, 'and is, with +George, anxious to furnish Mr Sidney with the pick of the horses in the +stable. Humphrey can scarce stir from Mr Sidney.' + +'So it seems,' Dorothy said. 'Methinks, where there's a will there's a way; +but we shall have his company in London.' + +'Yes, and George's also. You will favour my poor boy's suit, Doll.' + +'Your poor boy! nay, aunt, he is not worthy of pity, when he wins favour +from a peerless beauty like Mistress Forrester. But let be, it will not +break my heart if he gives you this fair country maid for your daughter, +who has not--so I have heard--so much as a brass farthing to call her own.' + +Deeply chagrined, and with an uneasy suspicion that Dorothy might be right +in what she said, Mistress Ratcliffe left her niece to repose, saying to +herself, 'She has a tongue and a temper of her own, but we will soon tame +her when we get her here.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE HAWK AND THE BIRD + + 'So doth the fox the lamb destroy we see, + The lion fierce, the beaver, roe or gray, + The hawk the fowl, the greater wrong the less, + The lofty proud the lowly poor oppress.' + + JOHN DAVIES, 1613. + + +When George left Lucy at the door of Ford Place, she ran quickly through +the kitchen, where Mistress Forrester was resting on the settle after the +labours of the day. + +Things had not gone well with the sick lambs, both were dead, and one of +the cart-horses had gone lame, and the eggs of the pea-hen were addled. + +These circumstances were not likely to sweeten Mistress Forrester's temper, +and Lucy, who never bore malice, received a sharp answer in reply to her +inquiries as to the condition of the lambs. + +'They are dead, and much you care, flaunting off with your lover instead of +turning your hand to help at home.' + +'I could not have saved the lambs' lives,' Lucy said, 'but I am sorry they +are dead. I am sorry when any creature dies.' + +'I dare say! Be off to bed, for I am locking up in a minute.' + +'Where is Mary?' Lucy asked. + +'A-bed. That boy has cut his little finger, or some such thing. Lor'! she +was like to swoon with terror when she saw the blood; the child himself was +not such a coward.' + +Lucy hastened upstairs, and found Mary by the window in her favourite seat. +A book lay open on her knee, and, when Lucy came in, she held up her hand, +and, pointing to the bed, said,-- + +'Hush! he is asleep.' + +'What has happened?' Lucy said. 'Is the boy hurt?' + +'He cut his hand with an old knife, and the blood poured forth. Oh, Lucy, +if aught were to befall him, I scarce dare think of what would become of +me.' + +Lucy thought of the strange encounter she had had with the man on the hill +path, and wondered whether it were kind to raise her sister's fears about +Ambrose. + +'Come and sit by me, sweetheart,' Mary said, making room for her sister on +the deep window seat. 'I am troubled to-night with a shadow of coming +grief. Sure I have had enough, and I am young yet. Twenty-five is young, +though I dare to say I seem old to you, little sister. I am perplexed in +mind, and tossed about with doubt. Can you think of me as a merry, +light-hearted maiden, donning my smartest gown to go at Lady Mary's bidding +to the Park, where great festivities were held in honour of the Queen's +visit? Ah, child, it was then soft words and flattery turned my head, and +I--well, I have rued it to this hour. Thus, dear Lucy, when I think of your +going forth in my Lady Pembroke's train, I fear for you. I will pray also, +and pray God may watch over you.' + +'Then I may go,' Lucy said. 'I may really go. Oh, Mary, Mary, I am so +happy!' + +Then, remembering her encounter with the stranger she said,-- + +'I met a man on the hill path as I went to Hillbrow. He scared me a little +bit, but George Ratcliffe came up, and he made off and like a ghost +vanished.' + +'A man!' Mary exclaimed, in a low voice of suppressed fear. 'What man?' + +'He was clad in a long cloak, with a cap pulled over his brow. He had evil +eyes--dark, piercing eyes.' + +Mary Gifford's clasp of her young sister tightened convulsively, and her +heart throbbed so that Lucy could feel it as she pressed her closer and +closer. + +'What did he say to you, this strange man?' + +'He said he would fain see little Ambrose, and bid me bring him to the +stile where he met me, that he might look at him. He said he would call a +curse down on me if I refused. He looked dreadful as he spoke. And then +George came. But, Mary--' + +For Mary had sprung to her feet, and, with hands clasped and eyes dilated +with terror, she stood like one struck down by some sudden blow. + +'Promise, swear, Lucy, you will never take the child outside the fence on +the hill side. Swear, Lucy.' + +Lucy was frightened by her sister's vehemence, and said,-- + +'Yes, I promise. Oh, Mary, do not look like that. Do you know the man?' + +'Know him! know him! Nay. How should I?' Then she said, after a pause, +'Hush! we shall wake the boy. Let us talk no more to-night. Go to your bed, +child; it is late, and to-morrow--yes, to-morrow is Sunday--I will go down +with you to the church, and await my Lady Pembroke by the lych gate, and +you shall have your desire, and God keep you, and bless you.' + +Lucy quickly recovered her spirits; her heart was too full of delighted +anticipation to have room for any prolonged fear about her sister, though +her pale, terror-struck face, seen in the twilight, and her agonised appeal +to her to swear what she asked, made her say, as she lay down on her low +truckle bed in the little attic chamber next her sister's,-- + +'Sure Mary must know something of that man. Perhaps he was a boon companion +of her wicked husband. Ah, me! it would be a different world if all men +were brave and good and noble like--' + +Before the name had taken shape on her lips, Lucy was asleep, and in her +dreams there were no dark strangers with cruel black eyes and sinister +smiles, but goodly knights, in glistening armour, riding out against their +adversaries, and goodlier and nobler than the rest, before whose lance all +others fell, while the air rang with the shouts of victory, was Mr Philip +Sidney. + + * * * * * + +Sunday morning dawned fair and bright. The bells of Penshurst church were +chiming for matins, when Mary Gifford, leading her boy by the hand, stood +with Lucy under the elm tree by the timbered houses by the lych gate, +returning the kindly greetings of many neighbours and acquaintances. + +Overhead the great boughs of the elm tree were quivering in the soft +breeze. The buds, scarcely yet unfolded into leaf, were veiled with tender +green, while a sheaf of twigs on the trunk were clothed in emerald, in +advance of the elder branches, and making the sombre bole alive with +beauty, as the sunbeams sought them out, and cast their tiny, flickering +shadows on the ground. + +The village people always waited in the churchyard, or by the lych gate +till the household from the castle came through the door leading from the +Park to the church, and this morning their appearance was looked forward to +with more than usual interest. Not only was Lady Mary expected, but the +Countess of Pembroke and her ladies, with Mr Sidney, and his young +brothers, Robert and Thomas, were known to be of the party. + +[Illustration: THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.] + +Sir Henry Sidney was seldom able to leave Ludlow for a peaceful sojourn in +his beautiful home, and Lady Mary had sometimes to make the journey from +Wales without him, to see that all things in the house were well ordered, +and to do her best to make the scanty income stretch out to meet the +necessary claims upon it. + +When two of the gentlemen in attendance came to the gate to hold it open +for the ladies of the party to pass, the throng assembled in the churchyard +moved up near the porch, and, as Lady Mary came in sight, curtseys from the +women and reverences from the men testified to the esteem in which she was +held. + +Lady Pembroke came next, smiling and gracious. On her sweet face were no +lines of the care which marked her mother's, and she looked what she was, a +happy wife and mother. + +By her side was Mr Philip Sidney, closely followed by Robert and Thomas, +who imitated his courteous bearing, and doffed their caps and bowed their +heads in acknowledgment of their people's greeting. + +The Sidneys were lords of Penshurst in every sense, and the loyalty of +their tenants and dependants was unquestioned. It is not too much to say +that Philip Sidney was regarded with admiration and respect, seldom +equalled, by these simple people in the Kentish village, who felt a right +in him, and a pride, which was perhaps sweeter to him than all the +adulation he won in Elizabeth's Court. + +When the Sidneys' large pew was filled with its occupants, the bell +stopped, and the rest of the congregation hastened to fill the benches in +the body of the church. + +The service was conducted after the Anglican form of worship, but differed +in some respects from that of the present day. The Puritans of those times +were making every effort to get rid of what, in their eyes, were useless +forms and ceremonies, and in many places in England dissension was rife, +and the dread of Popish innovations, or rather a return to Popish +practices, was mingled with fierce hatred of Papists, and apprehension of +their designs against the life of the Queen. + +The Sidneys were staunch adherents of the reformed faith, and Philip Sidney +was the staunchest of all. He could never forget the atrocities of that +summer night in Paris, when the treachery of the king and his mother +resulted in the massacre of innocent men and women, whose only crime was +their devotion to the faith for which they died. + +Philip Sidney had, as we know, protested with bold sincerity against the +Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou, urging the danger to the +Protestant cause in England, if the Queen should persist in her +determination. + +Now several years had passed, and he had regained Elizabeth's favour, and +had withdrawn his opposition. + +The French Ambassadors, who were to arrive in England in the following +week, were to be entertained with grand feasts and games, in which he and +his chief friend, Fulke Greville, were to take a leading part. + +Perhaps no one in that congregation knew or dreamed that their ideal +knight, as he stood up in his place amongst them, with his thoughtful face +turned towards the nave of the church, had his heart filled with misgivings +as to the part he had taken in this matter, and with still deeper +misgivings as to the position in which he found himself with the only woman +whom he loved and worshipped. + +While the good clergyman was preaching a somewhat dull sermon from the +words, 'Fear God, honour the King,' following the particular line +acceptable in those days, by enforcing loyalty and devotion to the reigning +sovereign as the whole duty of man, Philip, leaning back in his seat, his +head thrown back, and that wistful, far-away look in his eyes, which +enhanced their charm, was all unconscious of what was passing around him, +so absorbed was he with his own thoughts. + +He roused himself when the first words of a psalm were sung by the village +choir in Sternhold and Hopkins' version, and bending over the book, which +his sister Mary had opened, pointing her finger to the first line, he +raised his musical voice and sang with her the rugged lines which called +upon 'All people that on earth do dwell, to sing to the Lord with cheerful +voice.' + +Then the clergyman pronounced the blessing, and the congregation dispersed, +the village people to their homes, the Sidneys towards the gate leading +into the pleasance, which lay on the side of the house nearest to the +church. + +Mary Gifford held back, in spite of Lucy's entreaties to her to go forward. + +'They will all have passed in, Mary,' she exclaimed in an agony of +excitement. 'Were we not bidden to see the Countess by Mr Sidney himself.' + +But Mary was always modest and retiring, and she stood with Ambrose and her +sister awaiting a summons. + +It came at last. Humphrey Ratcliffe was at her side, saying,-- + +'My Lady of Pembroke would fain speak with Lucy. Come forward with me.' + +As they followed Humphrey through the gateway in the wall, Lucy could +scarcely conceal her agitation. + +What should she say? What if Lady Pembroke thought her too young and too +ignorant? She had pictured to herself that Mr Sidney would himself have led +her to his sister, but he was gone out of sight, and she heard one of the +gentlemen say to Humphrey,-- + +'Sir Fulke Greville has arrived with a message from the Queen. Mr Sidney +has gone round to meet him.' + +'Ill news, I wonder?' Humphrey said. + +'Nay, only some trifle about the tourney, belike a change in the colour of +the armour, or some such folly.' + +Mary and her little son and Lucy were now standing at the end of the +terrace walk of smooth turf, which is raised some feet above the wide +pleasance below. + +'Await the Countess's pleasure here,' Humphrey said. 'She is engaged in +talk with Lady Mary, she will send to summon you when she sees fit.' + +The ladies and gentlemen in attendance on Lady Mary Sidney and her daughter +were threading the narrow paths of the pleasance and chatting gaily with +each other, the bright dresses of the ladies, rivalling the colour of the +spring flowers in the beds, while the jewelled hilts of the gentlemen's +swords sparkled in the sunshine. + +From the trees in the Park came the monotonous note of the unseen cuckoo, +while the thrushes and blackbirds every now and then sent forth a burst of +song, though it was nearly nigh noontide, when the birds are often silent, +as if, in the general rejoicing of the spring, all living things must take +part. + +The picturesque side of the home of the Sidneys, which faces this +pleasance, was in shadow, and made a background to the gay scene, which +accentuated the brilliant effect of the gay throng below it. + +On the terrace Mary Gifford stood in her black garments, relieved by a long +white veil, holding her impatient boy by the hand, while Lucy, no less +impatient, was hoping every minute that she should receive a message from +Lady Pembroke. The group at last caught the attention of Lady Mary, who had +been in earnest conversation with her daughter. + +'Ah! there is Mistress Gifford,' she exclaimed, 'and the little sister of +whom Philip spoke as suitable to be one of your waiting-women. Let us +hasten to speak with them. They have been, I fear, waiting too long.' + +'Yes; it was heedless of me to forget them; but there is the bell sounding +for dinner in the hall, shall we not bid them sit down at the board? They +must needs be weary after their long walk, and the service, to say naught +of the sermon,' Lady Pembroke added, laughing. + +'Hush, then; I see the good minister coming towards us. He means well, and +is a godly man.' + +'I do not doubt it, sweet mother; but let us mount the steps to the +terrace, and show some courtesy to those waiting our pleasure there.' + +'They are coming towards us, Mary. Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, 'come forward and +meet them.' + +'Yes, mother,' Ambrose said fretfully, dragging at his mother's hand. 'I +thought I was to see Mr Sidney, and that he would let me ride again. I am +so weary and so hungry.' + +Lady Pembroke soon tripped up the stone steps, Lady Mary following more +slowly. Lady Pembroke had all the graceful courtesy which distinguished her +brother; and that high-bred manner which, quite apart from anything like +patronage, always sets those who may be on a lower rung of the social +ladder at ease in casual intercourse. + +[Illustration: PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK.] + +There are many who aspire to be thought 'aristocratic' in their manners, +and who may very successfully imitate the dress and surroundings of the +old noblesse. But this gift, which showed so conspicuously in the family of +the Sidneys, is an inheritance, and cannot be really copied. It is so easy +to patronise from a lofty vantage ground, so difficult to make those below +it feel that the distance is not thought of as an impassable gulf, but is +bridged over by the true politeness which lies not on the surface, but has +its root deep in the consideration for others, which finds expression in +forgetfulness of self, and in remembering the feelings and tastes of those +with whom we are brought in contact. + +Like the mists of morning under the warm beams of the sun, Mary Gifford's +restraint and shy reserve vanished when Lady Pembroke exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, here is the little knight that Philip told me of. See, mother, he must +be a playfellow for your Thomas.' + +Lady Mary was somewhat breathless. She could not climb the steep, stone +stairs as quickly as her daughter. + +'Mistress Gifford must stay and dine with us, Mary, and then Thomas shall +show him the pictures in the new book Philip has brought him from London.' + +'Are there pictures of horses and knights, madam?' Ambrose asked. + +'They are Bible pictures, boy, but there are warriors amongst them, +doubtless--Joshua and Samson, and, it may be, others.' + +The big bell which, to this day, is heard far and near at Penshurst, was +still making its loud, sonorous clang, and Lady Mary, taking Ambrose by the +hand led him along the terrace, his mother at the other side, and Lucy +following with Lady Pembroke. + +Instead of immediately beginning to discuss the probability of Lucy's being +placed in her household, Lady Pembroke said,-- + +'I have not seen you for some time. You have grown apace since my marriage. +Yet my brother, when he spoke of you, called you Mistress Gifford's little +sister. You are taller than I am, methinks.' + +Lucy's face glowed with pleasure, as Lady Pembroke said this. + +'And most like you have yet to grow a few inches.' + +'Nay, madam; I am near sixteen.' + +'And is sixteen too old to grow? I think not. It is the age to grow in +wisdom as well as in stature.' + +'I would fain grow in the first, madam,' Lucy said, 'if only to please +Mary, who is so good to me--my only friend.' + +'I forgot you have no mother, poor child.' + +'Nay, madam; only a cross-grained stepmother. Mary bears her quips and +cranks like a saint. I cannot do so.' + +'It is well to try to bear what you term quips and cranks. But we must +repair to the hall now,' Lady Pembroke said; and then, addressing a +gentlewoman who was standing at the lower end of the long table, she said, +'Mistress Crawley, be so good as to make room for Mistress Lucy Forrester +at your side. She dines here to-day with Mistress Gifford.' + +Mary already had her place pointed out to her, a little higher up the board +with Ambrose; and the Countess of Pembroke, with a smile, said, as she +passed to the gentleman who presided,-- + +'See that the young knight has sweet things enough to please his palate; +and be sure, Master Pearson, that Mistress Gifford is well attended by the +serving-men.' + +The family and principal guests sat at the upper end of the hall, and +amongst them was Mr Sidney's lifelong friend, Sir Fulke Greville. + +There was a few moments' silence, when the chaplain, raising his hand, said +a Latin grace; and then there was a clatter of trenchers, and the quick +passing to and fro of the serving-men, and the sound of many voices as the +meal proceeded. + +That hospitable board of the Sidneys was always well spread, and to-day, at +the upper end, Lady Mary had provided the best of viands for the +entertainment of her daughter, and of her favourite son and his friend. + +Lady Mary's face was shining with motherly pride as she looked at Philip +and her fair daughter, who joined with keen delight in the conversation in +which the two friends took the lead--her quick and ready appreciation of +the subjects under discussion winning a smile from her brother, who +continually referred to her, if on any point he and his friend held +different opinions. Indeed, the Countess of Pembroke was not far behind her +brother in intellectual gifts. The French and Italian literature, in which +he delighted, were familiar to her also; and the _Divina Commedia_ and the +_Vita Nuova_ were, we may well believe, amongst her favourite works. The +great Poet of the Unseen must have had an especial charm for the lovers of +literature in those times of awakening. + +The mystic and allegorical style, the quaint and grotesque imagery in which +Dante delighted, must have touched an answering chord in the hearts of +scholars like Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke. + +That Philip Sidney was deeply versed in the story of Beatrice--following +her with devout admiration, as her lover showed her in her girlish beauty, +and then in her matured and gracious womanhood--we may safely conclude. + +At the time of which we write, he was making a gallant fight against +defeat, in the struggle between love and duty, striving to keep the +absorbing passion for his Stella within the bounds which the laws of honour +and chivalry demanded, at whatever cost. No one can read the later stanzas, +which are amongst the most beautiful in _Stella and Astrophel_, without +feeling that, deep as was his love, his sense of honour was deeper still. + +Nor is it unreasonable to feel that, as he followed the great Master +through those mysterious realms, guided by the lady of his love, pure and +free from the fetters of earthly passion, Philip Sidney would long with +unutterable longing that his love might be also as wings to bear him +heavenward, like that of Dante for his Beatrice, whose name is for all time +immortal like his own. + +When the grace was said, the company at the upper end of the great hall +rose, and left it by the staircase which led to the private apartments of +the spacious house. + +The ladies passed out first, and the Countess of Pembroke, turning at the +foot of the stairs, said,-- + +'Mistress Crawley, bid Lucy Forrester to follow us with Mistress Gifford +and the boy.' + +But Lucy was thinking more of Mr Philip Sidney than of her summons to +attend his sister. She was hoping for a smile from him, and felt a thrill +of disappointment as he put his arm through Sir Fulke Greville's and turned +away to the principal entrance with his friend. + +Lucy's eyes followed them, and she was roused from her dream by a sharp tap +on her shoulder. + +'Did you not hear my lady's order, child? Methinks you will need to mend +your manners if you wish to enter her service.' + +Lucy's face grew crimson, and she gave Mistress Crawley a look, which, if +she had dared, she would have accompanied by a saucy word. + +Mary Gifford, who was waiting for her sister, said gently,-- + +'We are to follow quickly, hasten, Lucy, Mistress Crawley is waiting.' + +Lucy tossed her head and did not hurry herself even then. She had many +admirers in the neighbourhood besides George Ratcliffe, and one of them +said to him,-- + +'It is a shame if old Mother Crawley has that little beauty as her servant. +She will trample on her and make her life a burden to her, or I am +mistaken.' + +George resented any interference about Lucy from another man, and he +greatly objected to hear her called 'a little beauty;' for George's love +for her was that of a respectful worshipper at the shrine of a divinity, +and he could not brook anything like familiar disrespect in others. + +'Mistress Forrester,' he said, 'is likely to win favour wherever she may +go, and she will serve the Countess of Pembroke rather than Mistress +Crawley.' + +A provoking laugh was the answer to this. + +'You can know naught of the life of a household like my Lady Pembroke's. +The head waiting-woman is supreme, and the underlings are her slaves. They +may sit and stitch tapestry till they are half blind, and stoop over the +lace pillow till they grow crooked, for all my lady knows about it. Ask +Mistress Betty here, she knows what a life Mistress Crawley can lead her +slaves.' + +The person addressed as Mistress Betty was beginning to answer, when George +turned away to go to the stables, where he thought Mr Sidney had probably +preceded him with Sir Fulke Greville, to examine the points of the two +fresh steeds he had purchased for the tournament. But he could see nothing +of Mr Sidney, and, meeting his brother Humphrey, he heard from him that he +had walked away down the avenue with Sir Fulke Greville, apparently in +earnest conversation, and that they would not care to be disturbed. + +George lingered about disconsolately, and at last left the Park and went +towards the river, which he knew Mary Gifford and Lucy must cross on their +homeward way. At least he would have the chance of mounting guard over +Lucy, and be present if the man who had so lightly spoken of her should be +so presumptuous as to follow her. + +After long waiting, George saw Lucy and her sister and Ambrose coming out +of the gateway leading from the Park, and he was well satisfied to see that +his brother Humphrey, and no other squire, was in attendance. + +Ambrose was tired and a little querulous, and dragged heavily at his +mother's hand. Humphrey offered to carry the boy, but he resented that as +an indignity, and murmured that he had not seen Mr Sidney, and he wanted to +ride his horse again. + +'Mr Sidney has other matters on hand than to look after a tired, cross +boy,' his mother said. 'Come, my son, quicken your pace somewhat, or we +shall not be at home for supper. It was a grand treat for you to be +entertained by my Lady Mary's sons, and you should be in high good humour,' +she continued. + +But poor little Ambrose kept up the same murmured discontent, of which the +burden was,-- + +'I want to ride on Mr Sidney's horse,' and he dragged back more +persistently than ever, till his mother's fair face flushed with the +exertion of pulling him up the steep hill, over which the low westering sun +was casting a glow, which was hot for the time of year. + +Humphrey at last settled the matter by lifting Ambrose, in spite of his +struggles, upon his shoulders, and saying,-- + +'You will never be a true knight, boy, like Mr Sidney, if you growl and +scold at trifles. Fie, for shame, see how weary you have made your mother.' + +'I don't love you,' the child said, 'and I hate to be carried like a babe.' + +'Then do not behave as a babe,' Mary said, 'but thank Master Humphrey for +his patience and for sparing you the climb uphill. If you love me, Ambrose, +be amenable and good.' + +The appeal had its effect. The child sat quietly on his perch on Humphrey's +broad shoulder, and soon forgot his vexation in watching the rapid +evolutions of a hawk in chase of a flight of small birds, one of which at +last was made its prey. + +'See, see, mother; hark, that is the cry of the little bird, the hawk has +got it.' + +Mary Gifford stopped, and, looking up, saw the hawk in full swing, not many +hundred yards distant, with the bird in its beak, fluttering and struggling +in vain. + +'Ah!' she said, with a shudder, 'the weak is ever the prey of the strong, +Master Humphrey,' and then she stopped. + +He looked down on her troubled face with intense sympathy. + +'Master Humphrey, the Countess of Pembroke and Lady Mary said they would +fain make my boy a page in attendance. Oh! I cannot, I dare not part with +him, he is my all--my all.' + +'Nor shall you part from him,' Humphrey said. 'No one could wish to force +you to do so.' + +'No one--no one; but if a trap were laid, if a net were spread, if a +ruthless hawk pursues a defenceless bird, the end is gained at last!' + +Humphrey could not follow her meaning, and he said,-- + +'I do not understand. What do you fear?' + +'Oh! what do I fear? Perchance if you had an idol, you would think of the +words of Holy Scripture, that such should be utterly abolished, but,' she +continued, changing her tone and speaking cheerfully, 'see how Lucy lags +behind, poor child! Methinks her heart misgives her as the parting is now +certain. She is to enter on her duties when the Countess goes to London +with Lady Mary Sidney, one day in this week. May God keep her safe. You +will be about the Court with Mr Sidney, and you will keep a watch over her. +I know you will.' + +'Yes, as you know full well, I will serve you in that or in any way, nor +ask for my guerdon till such time as you may see good to grant it to me, +your friend always, Mistress Gifford, your lover, your humble suitor, +when--' + +'Hush,' she said, laying her hand on his arm, 'such words may not pass +between you and me. Did I not tell you, did I not warn you that so it must +be. And now, my little son,' she continued, 'get down from your high perch, +if Master Humphrey is so good as to put you on your feet, for we are nearly +at home.' + +Ambrose, as soon as his feet touched the ground, ran off at full speed, +and, turning into the lane, was hidden from sight for a few moments. It was +scarcely more, but his mother rushed after him, calling him by name to +stop. + +But the child was a swift runner, and Mary, putting her hands to her side, +said,-- + +'Master Ratcliffe, pursue him. Don't let him run out of sight, I--I cannot +follow.' + +It needed only a few of Humphrey Ratcliffe's long, quick strides to +overtake Ambrose, and seize him by the arm. + +'What a plague you are to your mother, child; first you can't walk, and +then you run off like a young colt.' + +'There was a black man in the hedge yonder that made me run so fast.' + +'A black man! away with such folly. The black man is the stump of that old +tree covered with ivy, so you are a coward, after all.' + +Mary had come up now, breathless. + +'Ambrose, Ambrose, why did you run like that?' + +'I saw a black man,' the child repeated, 'and I wanted to get to the gate.' + +Mary said not a word, but, taking the boy's hand, held it fast, and went +towards the house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +RESISTANCE + + 'God giveth heavenly grace unto such as call unto Him with + outstretched hands and humble heart; never wanting to those that + want not to themselves.'--SIR T. WILSON, 1554. + + +The two brothers, Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, left Mary Gifford and Lucy +at the gate of Ford Place. + +From a barn came the sound of voices singing a psalm, in not very musical +tones. + +Mistress Forrester was engaging in a Puritan service with a few of the +chosen ones, who would not join in what they deemed the Popish ceremonies +of the church in the valley. These stern dissenters from the reformed +religion were keeping alive that spark which, fanned into a flame some +fifty years later, was to sweep through the land and devastate churches, +and destroy every outward sign in crucifix, and pictured saint in fair +carved niche, and image of seer or king, which were in their eyes the token +of that Babylon which was answerable for the blood of the faithful +witnesses for Christ! + +The stern creed of the followers of Calvin had a charm for natures like +Mistress Forrester, who, secure in her own salvation, could afford to look +down on those outside the groove in which she walked; and with neither +imagination nor any love of the beautiful, she felt a gruesome satisfaction +in what was ugly in her own dress and appearance, and a contempt for others +who had eyes to see the beauty to which she was blind. + +Lucy had come home in a very captious mood, and declaring she was weary and +had a pain in her head; she said she needed no supper, and went up to her +little attic chamber in the roof of the house. + +Mary Gifford laid aside her long veil, and made a bowl of milk and brown +bread ready for her boy; and then, while he ate it, pausing between every +spoonful to ask his mother some question, she prepared the board for the +guests, whom she knew her stepmother would probably bring in from the barn +when the long prayer was over. + +Ambrose was always full of inquiries on many subjects, and this evening he +had much to say about the picture-book Master Tom Sidney showed him--the +man in the lions' den, and why they did not eat him up; the men in a big +fire that were not burned, because God kept them safe. And then he returned +to the hawk and the little bird, and wondered how many more the cruel hawk +had eaten for his supper; and, finally, wished God would take care of the +little birds, and let the hawk live on mice like the old white owl in the +barn. The child's prattle was not heeded as much as sometimes, and Mary's +answers were not so satisfactory as usual. He was like his Aunt Lucy, +tired, and scarcely as much pleased with his day as he had expected to be; +and, finally, his mother carried him off to bed, and, having folded his +hands, made him repeat a little prayer, and then he murmured out in a +sing-song a verse Ned the cowboy had taught him:-- + + Four corners to my bed, + Four angels at my head; + Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, + Bless the bed I lie upon. + +Almost before the last word was said, the white lids closed over the violet +eyes, and Ambrose was asleep. Mary stood over him for a minute with clasped +hands. + +'Ah! God keep him safe, nor suffer him to stray where danger lurks,' she +said. + +Voices below and the sound of heavy feet warned her that the meeting in the +barn was over, and her stepmother would require her presence. + +The little company which had met in the barn was composed of labourers and +shepherds, with one or two of the better sort of work-people holding +superior positions on the estate of the Sidneys. + +Mistress Forrester asked a tall man with a very nasal twang to bless the +humble fare set before them, and a very long prayer followed before the +benches were drawn closer to the board, and the large bowls of bread and +milk, flavoured with strips of onion, were attacked by the hungry brethren +with large, unwieldy, wooden spoons. + +Mary waited on the guests, and, filling a large earthen cup with cider, +passed it round. One man who took a very prolonged pull at it, wiping his +mouth with the flap of his short homespun cloak, said, in a mysterious +whisper,-- + +'There's a nest of Papists hiding in Tunbridge, and one of those emissaries +of the Evil One is lurking about here, Mistress Forrester. Let us all be on +guard.' + +'Ay,' said another, 'I've seen him. He wears the priest's garb, and he is +plotting mischief. What can he want here?' + +'He can work us no harm; the tables are turned now, and the Papists are +getting their deserts,' Mistress Forrester said. + +'I wouldn't trust them,' said the first speaker. 'They would as lief set +fire to this house or yon barn as to a stake where the blessed martyrs were +bound. You looked scared, Mistress Gifford. But, if all we hear is true, +you rather favour the Papists.' + +Mary rallied, with a great effort. + +'Nay,' she said; 'I do not favour their creed or their persecuting ways, +but I may no less feel pain that they should be hunted, and, as I know, in +many cases, homeless and dying of hunger.' + +'Mary consorts with grand folks down at the great house,' Mistress +Forrester said, 'who look with as little favour on us, or less, than on the +Papists. For my part, I see but small difference between the bowings, and +scrapings and mummeries practised in the church down yonder, and the mass +in the Papists' worship.' + +'You are near right, Mistress Forrester; and those who are aiding and +abetting the Queen in her marriage with a Popish prince have much to answer +for.' + +'Which Popish prince?' asked one of the more ignorant of the assembly. + +'Is not the man, Philip Sidney, who is set up in these parts as a god, +getting ready to take a share in the tourney which is to do honour to the +men sent by the brother of the murderous French king?' + +'I never heard tell on't,' gasped an old dame. 'Dear heart! what will the +country come to?' + +'_Ruin!_' was the answer. 'And tell me not a man is godly who has ordered +the Maypole to be set up this coming first of May, and gives countenance by +his presence on the Sabbath day to the wrestling games of the village +louts, and the playing of bowls in the green at the back of the hostelry. +But let us praise the Lord we are delivered from the bondage of Satan, and +have neither part nor lot in these evil doings and vain sports, working +days or Sabbath!' + +Fervent Amens were uttered, and, wrapt in the mantle of self-satisfaction +that they were not as other men, the company gathered in the kitchen of +Ford Manor broke up, and, in the gathering twilight, dispersed to their +homes. + +Mary Gifford hastened to put away the remnants of the supper, and reserved +the broken fragments for the early breakfast of the poultry the next +morning. + +Mistress Forrester did not seem inclined for conversation, and yawned +audibly, saying she was tired out and it was time to lock up for the night. + +'The days are lengthening now,' Mary said. 'I do not feel inclined for bed. +Leave me, mother, to make all safe.' + +'As you will,' was the reply. 'I'll hear what you have to say about Lucy +to-morrow. Jabez Coleman says we are sending her to the jaws of the lion by +this move, and that she will never return, or like you--' + +'Spare me, mother!' Mary said. 'I cannot bear much more to-night.' + +'Much more! Sure, Mary, you make an ado about nothing. What have you to +bear, I'd like to know, with a roof over your head, and your child fed and +clothed? Bear indeed!' and with a low, mocking laugh, Mistress Forrester +stumped with her heavy tread up the stairs which led to the upper floor +from the further end of the kitchen. + +Mary went into the porch, and the peaceful landscape before her seemed to +quiet her troubled spirit. She was so keenly alive to all that was +beautiful in nature; her education had been imperfect, but she was open to +receive all impressions, and, during her short married life, she had been +brought into contact with the people who were attached to the Earl of +Leicester's household, and had read books which had quickened her poetic +taste and given a colour to her life. + +It is difficult for those who live in these times to realise the fervour +with which the few books then brought within the reach of the people were +received by those who were hungry for self-culture. The Queen was an +accomplished scholar, and did her best to encourage the spread of +literature in the country. But though the tide had set in with an +ever-increasing flow, the flood had not as yet reached the women in Mary +Forrester's position. Thus, when she married Ambrose Gifford, a new world +was opened to her by such books as Surrey's _Translation of the AEneid_, and +Painter's _Tales from Boccaccio_. She had an excellent memory, and had +learned by heart Wyatt's _Translation of the Psalms_, and many parts of +Spenser's _Shepherd's Calendar_. This evening she took from the folds of +her gown a small book in a brown cover, which had been a gift to her that +very day from Mary, Countess of Pembroke. + +It was the Psalms in English verse, which the brother and sister had +produced together in the preceding year when Philip Sidney, weary of the +Court, and burdened with the weight of his love for Stella, had soothed his +spirit by this joint work with his sister as they walked together in the +wide domain of Wilton, the home to which Mary Sidney went from her native +Penshurst, and which was scarcely less fair and beautiful than that which +she left to become the wife of the Earl of Pembroke. + +It was at Wilton that _The Arcadia_ had its birth, and the description of +the fair country where Sir Philip Sidney and his sister placed the heroes +and heroines of the story may well answer as a description of both places, +as they write of proud heights, garnished with stately trees; and humble +valleys comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers; the meadows +enamelled with all sorts of flowers; the fields garnished with roses, which +made the earth blush as bashful at its own beauty--with other imagery +which, after the lapse of more than three hundred years, shines out through +the tangled labyrinth of the story of _The Arcadia_, like golden threads, +the lustre of which time has no power to dim. + +Mary Gifford has paid dearly for those five years spent in the world, which +was so far removed from the peace and seclusion of her native hills. And +now, as she sits in the porch, and opening the little book which had been +the gift that day from the Countess of Pembroke, she tried, in the dim +waning light, to read some verses from the thick page, which the lines +printed close in black letters made somewhat difficult. Presently the book +fell from her hand and she started to her feet, as there was a rustle near +and a soft tread of stealthy footsteps. + +In another moment the tall black figure Lucy had spoken of stood before +her. + +Her heart beat fast, and it needed all her courage not to cry aloud with +fear. + +'What is your pleasure, sir?' she said. + +The slouching hat was removed, and she saw before her her husband,-- + +'You thought I was dead; is it not so? I crave your pardon for being alive, +Mary.' + +'I heard a rumour that you lived,' she replied; 'but why do you come hither +to torture me?' + +'I have an errand, and I shall fulfil it. I am come hither for my son.' + +'You come, then, on a bootless errand,' was the answer. 'No power in Heaven +and earth will make me surrender my child to your tender mercies.' + +'We shall see,' was the cool reply. 'Hearken, Mary! I left the country +after that fray with the man you know of. They left me for dead, but I rose +and escaped. The man lay dead--that consoles me--his wife--' + +'Do not go over the miserable wickedness of your life. You were covered +with dishonour, and you betrayed me. I would die sooner than give up my +child to you; you shall kill me first--' + +'Nay, Mary, do not give vent to your hatred and abhorrence of me. Hearken! +I know I was a sinner, not worse than thousands, but I have sought the +shelter of the Holy Catholic Church, and I am absolved from my sins by +penance and fasting. The unhappy woman for whom I sinned is now a professed +nun in a convent. I shall never look on her face again. I have joined the +priests at Douay; one Dr Allan has the control of the school. It is there +I will take my son, and have him brought up in the Catholic faith.' + +'Never!' Mary said. 'My son shall be trained in the Protestant faith, and I +will hold him, by God's grace, safe from your evil designs. Ah, Ambrose, be +not so pitiless; be merciful.' + +'Pitiless! nay, it is you who are pitiless. You scout my penitence; you +scorn and spurn me, and you ask me, forsooth, to be merciful. I give you +your choice--commit the boy to my care within one week, or I will find +means to take him whether you will or no. I give you fair warning.' + +'You have robbed me of peace and love, and all a woman counts dear. You +betrayed me and deserted me; you slew the husband of the woman you ruined, +and fled the country with her. The sole comfort left me is my boy, and I +will keep him, God helping me. I will not put his soul in jeopardy by +committing him to a father unworthy the name.' + +Could this be gentle Mary Gifford? This woman with flashing eyes and set, +determined face, from which all tenderness seemed to have vanished as she +stood before the man from whom she had suffered a terrible wrong, and who +was the father of her child. + +The mother, roused in defence of her boy--from what she considered danger +both to his body and soul--was, indeed, a different woman from the quiet, +dignified matron, who had stood in that very spot with Humphrey Ratcliffe a +day or two before, and had turned away with sorrowful resolution from the +love he offered her, and which she could not accept. + +What if it had been possible for her to take refuge with him! What if she +had been, as for years everyone believed her to be, a widow! Now disgraced, +and with the death of the man, whom he had killed, on his head, and as one +of the hunted and persecuted Papists, her husband lived! If only he had +died. + +The next moment the very thought was dismissed, with a prayer for grace to +resist temptation, and pardon even for the thought, and Mary Gifford was +her true self again. + +With the fading light of the April evening on her face--pale as death, but +no longer resentful--her heart no longer filled with passionate anger and +shrinking from the husband who had so cruelly deserted her, she stood +before him, quiet and self-possessed, awakening in his worldly and +deceitful heart admiration, and even awe. + +There was silence between them for a short space. + +Suddenly, from the open casement above their heads, came the sound of a +child's voice--a low murmur at first, then growing louder--as the dream +passed into reality. + +'Mother, mother! Ambrose wants mother!' + +Then, without another word, Mary Gifford bowed her head, and, passing into +the kitchen, closed and barred the door; and, hastening to her room, threw +herself on her knees by the child's little bed, crying,-- + +'Ambrose, sweetheart! Mother is here!' + +'I'm glad on't,' said the child, in a sleepy, dreamy voice, as he turned +towards her, and wound his arms round her neck. + +'I'm glad on't! I thought I had lost her.' + +The sound of the child's voice smote on the ears of the unhappy father, and +sent a sharp thrill of pain through his heart. + +Perhaps there never was a moment in his life when he felt so utterly +ashamed and miserable. + +He felt the great gulf which lay between him and the pure woman whom he had +so cruelly deserted--a gulf, too, separating him from the child in his +innocent childhood--the possession of whom he so greatly coveted. For a +moment or two softer feelings got the mastery, and Ambrose Gifford stood +there, under the starlit sky, almost resolved to relinquish his purpose, +and leave the boy to his mother. But that better feeling soon passed, and +the specious reasoning, that he was doing the best for the child to have +him brought up a good Catholic, and educated as his mother could never +educate him, and that the end justified the means, and that he was bound to +carry out his purpose, made him say to himself, as he turned away,-- + +'I will do it yet, in spite of her, for the boy's salvation. Yes; by the +saints I will do it!' + + * * * * * + +The next few days passed without any summons for Lucy to join the household +at Penshurst. + +She became restless and uneasy, fearing that, after all, she might miss +what she had set her heart upon. + +Troubles, too, arose about her dress. She had been conscious on Sunday that +the ladies in attendance were far smarter than she was; and she had +overheard the maiden, who was addressed as 'Betty,' say,-- + +'That country child is vain of her gown, but it might have been put +together in the reign of our Queen's grandmother. And who ever saw a ruff +that shape; it is just half as thick as it ought to be.' + +Poor little Lucy had other causes, as she thought, for discontent. The long +delay in the fulfilment of her wishes was almost too much for her patience; +but it was exasperating, one morning, to be summoned from the dairy by +little Ambrose to see a grand lady on a white horse, who asked if Mistress +Lucy Ratcliffe had gone to London. + +Lucy ran out in eager haste, hoping almost against hope that it was some +lady from Penshurst, sent by the Countess to make the final arrangements. + +To her dismay she found Dorothy Ratcliffe being lifted from the pillion by +a serving man, attired in a smart riding-robe of crimson with gold buttons +and a hood of the same material to protect her head from the sun and the +keen east wind which had set in during the last few days. + +'Good-day to you,' Dorothy said. 'I did not hope to find you here. +Methought you had set off for London days ago! Whence the delay?' + +'I am waiting the Countess of Pembroke's pleasure,' Lucy said, with +heightened colour. 'The tourney has been put off.' + +'As we all know,' Dorothy remarked, 'but it is well to be lodged in good +time, for all the quarters near Whitehall will be full to overflowing. +Prithee, let me come in out of the wind, it is enow to blow one's head off +one's shoulders.' + +Lucy was unpleasantly conscious that she was in her ordinary dress, that +her blue homespun was old and faded, that her sleeves were tucked up, and +that there was neither ruff at her throat nor ruffles at her sleeves, that +her somewhat disordered locks were covered with a thick linen cap, while +Mistress Ratcliffe was smartly equipped for riding after the fashion of the +ladies of the time. + +'Well-a-day,' Dorothy said. 'I am vexed you are disappointed. We are off at +sunrise on the morrow, staying a night at my father's house in Tunbridge, +and then on to London on the next day but one. Aunt Ratcliffe and my father +have business to go through about me and my jointure, for, after all, for +peace's sake, I shall have to wed with George, unless,' with a toss of her +head, 'I choose another suitor in London.' + +Dorothy's small eyes were fastened on Lucy as she spoke. If she hoped the +information she had given would be unwelcome, she must have been +disappointed. Lucy was herself again, and forgot her shabby gown and +work-a-day attire, in the secret amusement she felt in Dorothy's way of +telling her proposed marriage with George Ratcliffe. + +'It will save all further plague of suitors,' Dorothy continued, 'and there +is nought against George. If he is somewhat of a boor in manners, I can +cure him, and, come what may, I dare to say he will be a better husband in +the long run than Humphrey. What do you say, Mistress Lucy?' + +'I dare to say both are good men and trusty,' was the answer, 'and both are +well thought of by everyone.' + +'Ay, so I believe; but now tell me how comes it you are left out in the +cold like this? I vow I did my best to wheedle the old aunt yonder to let +you come in our train, but she is as hard as a rock when she chooses. When +I get to Hillbrow there won't be two mistresses, I warrant. One of us will +have to give in, and it won't be your humble servant! As I say I am sorry +you have lost your chance of this jaunt. It's a pity, and if I could put in +a good word for you I would. I am on my way now to Penshurst Place to pay +my dutiful respects to my Lady Mary Sidney. My good aunt was not ready when +I started, so I thought to tarry here to await her coming. I hear the +horse's feet, I think, in the lane. I must not make her as cross as two +sticks by keeping her fuming at my delay, so good-day, Mistress Lucy. I am +mightily sorry for you, but I will put in a word for you if I can.' + +'I pray you not to mention my name, Mistress Dorothy,' Lucy said. 'You are +quite wrong, I am only waiting for my summons from the Countess, and I am +prepared to start.' + +'Not if the summons came now,' Dorothy said, with a disagreeable smile. +'You couldn't ride to Court in homespun, methinks. Her Highness the Queen, +so I hear, is vastly choice about dress, and she has proclaimed that if the +ruffs either of squires or ladies are above a certain height they shall be +clipped down by shearers hired for the purpose--willy nilly. As you have no +ruffs, it seems, this order will not touch your comfort. Good-day.' + +Lucy looked after her departing visitor, seated on a pillion with the +serving-man, with a scornful smile. + +It was irritating, no doubt, to be pitied by Dorothy Ratcliffe, and to have +to stand by her in such humble attire, but did she not know that George, +poor George, loved her, and her alone; did she not know that he would never +suffer himself to be entrapped into a marriage with his cousin, even though +she had bags of gold, and finally--and that was perhaps the sweetest +thought of all--did she not know whether in faded homespun, guiltless of +lace or ruffle, or in her best array, no one could look twice at Dorothy +Ratcliffe while she was by. + +So the poor little vain heart was comforted, as Lucy turned to Mary, who +had been in the bakehouse kneading flour for the coarse, brown bread +consumed by the household at Ford Manor far too quickly to please Mistress +Forrester, with a merry laugh,-- + +'To think on't, Mary. Doll Ratcliffe has been visiting me to tell me she is +to marry George, and be the fair mistress of Hillbrow. I could split my +sides with laughing to think of it! And she came to pity me--pity me, +forsooth! because I have to wait long for the summons to join my Lady +Pembroke, and she starts on the morrow. I hate pity, Mary;--pity, indeed, +from a frump like that! I can snap my fingers at her, and tell her she will +want my pity--not I hers.' + +'Go and finish your work, Lucy,' Mary said. 'Strive after a gentler and +more patient spirit. It fills me with foreboding when you give your tongue +such licence.' + +'Mary!' Lucy said, with a sudden vehemence. 'Mary! I heard you sobbing last +night--I know I did. I heard you praying for help. Oh! Mary, I love you--I +love you, and I would fain know why you are more unhappy than you were a +while agone. Has it aught to do with that black, dreadful man I saw on the +hill?' + +'Do not speak of him--not a soul must know of him. Promise, Lucy!' Mary +said. + +'But George Ratcliffe knows how he scared me that day, though he did not +see him. He said he would track him out and belabour him as he deserved.' + +And now, before Mary could make any rejoinder, Ambrose was calling from the +head of the stairs,-- + +'Mother, I am tired of staying here, let me come down.' + +'Yes, come, Ambrose,' Mary said, 'mother's work is over, and she can have +you now near her.' + +The child was the next minute in his mother's arms. + +Mary covered him with kisses. + +'And you have stayed in my chamber for these two hours?' she said. 'My +good, brave boy!' + +'Yes; I stayed,' the child said, 'because I promised, you know. I didn't +like it--and when a lady rode up on a big grey horse, I did begin to run +down, and then I stopped and went back to the lattice, and only looked at +her. It was not a horse like Mr Sidney's, and I should not care to ride on +a pillion--I like to sit square, like Mr Sidney does. When will he come +again? If he comes, will you tell him I am learning to be a dutiful boy? He +told me to be a dutiful boy, because I had no father; and I _will_ be +dutiful and take care of you, sweet mother!' + +'Ah, Ambrose! Ambrose!' Mary said, 'you are my joy and pride, when you are +good and obedient, and we will take care of each other, sweetheart, and +never part--' + +'Not till I am a big man,' Ambrose said, doubtfully, 'not till I am a big +man, then--' + +'We will not speak of that day yet--it is so far off. Now we must set the +board for dinner, and you shall help me to do it, for it is near eleven +o'clock.' + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THREE FRIENDS + + 'To lose good days that might be better spent, + To waste long nights in pensive discontent, + To speed to-day--to be put back to-morrow-- + To feed on hope--and pine with fear and sorrow.' + + SPENSER. + + +The gentlewomen in attendance on the Queen had a sorry time of it during +Philip Sidney's absence from the Court. + +She was irritable and dissatisfied with herself and everyone besides. +Fearing lest the French Ambassador should not be received with due pomp in +London, and sending for Lord Burleigh and the Earl of Leicester again and +again to amend the marriage contract which was to be discussed with the +Duke of Anjou's delegates. + +Secret misgivings were doubtless the reason of the Queen's uneasy mood, and +she vented her ill-humour upon her tire-women, boxing their ears if they +failed to please her in the erection of her head-gear, or did not arrange +the stiff folds of her gold-embroidered brocade over the hoop, to her +entire satisfaction. + +Messengers were despatched several times during the process of the Queen's +toilette on this May morning to inquire if Mr Philip Sidney had returned +from Penshurst. + +'Not returned yet!' she exclaimed, 'nor Fulke Greville with him. What keeps +them against my will? I will make 'em both rue their conduct.' + +'Methinks, Madam,' one of the ladies ventured to say, 'Mr Philip Sidney is +wholly given up to the effort he is making that the coming tourney may be +as brilliant as the occasion demands, and that keeps him away from Court.' + +'A likely matter! You are a little fool, and had best hold your tongue if +you can say nought more to the purpose.' + +'I know Mr Sidney spares no pains to the end he has in view, Madam, and he +desires to get finer horses for his retinue.' + +'You think you are in his confidence, then,' the Queen said, angrily. 'You +are a greater fool than I thought you. I warrant you think Philip Sidney is +in love with you--you are in love with him, as the whole pack of you are, I +doubt not, and so much the worse for you.' + +Then the Queen having, by this sally, brought the hot tears to the lady's +eyes, recovered her composure and her temper, and proceeded to take her +morning draught of spiced wine, with sweet biscuits, and then resorted to +the Council chamber, where all matters of the State were brought before her +by her ministers. Here Elizabeth was the really wise and able monarch, who +earnestly desired the good of her people; here her counsellors were often +fairly amazed at her far-seeing intelligence and her wide culture. No +contrast could be greater than between the middle-aged Maiden Queen pluming +her feathers to win the hearts of her courtiers, and listening with +satisfaction to the broadest flattery with which they could approach her, +and the sovereign of a nation in times which must ever stand out in the +history of England as the most remarkable the country has ever known, +gravely deliberating with such men as Lord Burleigh and Sir Francis +Walsingham on the affairs of State at home and abroad. + +Elizabeth had scarcely seated herself in her chair, and was about to summon +Sir Francis Walsingham, when one of the pages-in-waiting came in, and, +bending his knee, said,-- + +'Mr Philip Sidney craves an audience with your Highness.' + +Philip was only waiting in the ante-chamber to be announced, and, being +secure of his welcome, had followed the page into the Queen's presence, +and, before Elizabeth had time to speak, he was on his knees before her, +kissing the hand she held out to him. + +'Nay, Philip, I scarce know whether I will receive you--a truant should be +whipped as a punishment--but, mayhap, this will do as well for the nonce,' +and the Queen stroked Philip Sidney on both cheeks, saying, 'The gem of my +Court, how has it fared with him?' + +'As well as with any man while absent from you, fair Queen. Gems,' he added +playfully, 'do not shine in the dark, they need the sun to call forth their +brightness, and you are my sun; apart from you, how can I shine?' + +'A pretty conceit,' Elizabeth said. 'But tell me, Philip, are things put in +train for the due observance of such an event as the coming of the +delegates from France? It is a momentous occasion to all concerned.' + +'It is, indeed, Madam,' Philip Sidney said, 'and I pray it may result in +happiness for you and this kingdom.' + +'Nay, now, Philip, are you going back to what you dared to say of +disapproval of this marriage three years ago? I would fain hope not, for +your own sake.' + +'Madam, I then, in all humility, delivered to you my sentiments. You were +not pleased to hear them, and I was so miserable as to offend you.' + +'Yes, and,' using her favourite oath 'you will again offend me if you +revive the old protest, so have a care. We exercise our royal prerogative +in the matter of marriage, and I purpose to wed with the Duke of Anjou, +come what may.' + +'I know it, Madam, and, as your faithful subject, I am doing my utmost to +make the coming jousts worthy of your approval and worthy of the occasion. +The Fortress of Beauty is erected, and the mound raised, and I would fain +hope that you will be pleased to honour the victors with a smile.' + +'And with something more valuable; but tell me, Philip, how does it fare +with my Lady Rich? Rumour is busy, and there are tale-bearers, who have +neither clean hearts nor clean tongues. Sure you can pick and choose +amongst many ladies dying for your favour; sure your Queen may lay claim to +your devotion. Why waste your sighs on the wife of Lord Rich?' + +Immediately Philip Sidney's manner changed. Not even from the Queen could +he bear to have this sore wound touched. He rose from his half-kneeling, +half-sitting position at the Queen's feet, and said in a grave voice,-- + +'I await your commands, Madam, which I shall hold sacred to my latest +breath, but pardon me if I beseech your Highness to refrain from the +mention of one whom I have lost by my own blind folly, and so made +shipwreck.' + +'Tut, tut, Philip; this is vain talking for my fine scholar and statesman. +Shipwreck, forsooth! Nay, your craft shall sail with flying colours yet. +But I hear the voices of Burleigh and Leicester in the ante-chamber! Your +good uncle is like to die of jealousy; if he finds I am closeted with you +he will come to the Council in an ill temper, and rouse the lion in me. So, +farewell till the evening, when I command your presence at the banquet.' + +'Madam, there is yet one word I would say. It is upon my good father's +affairs.' + +'What now? Henry Sidney is always complaining--no money, no favour! As to +the money, he has spent a goodly sum in Ireland, and yet cries out for +more, and would fain go thither again, and take you with him, to squander +more coin.' + +'I have no desire, Madam, either for him to go to Ireland or for myself to +accompany him. But I pray you to consider how small a pittance he receives +as Lord President of Wales. It is ever a struggle for my mother to maintain +the dignity of your representative there. She is wearing out her life in a +vain effort, and you, Madam, surely know that her nature is noble, and that +she seeks only to promote the welfare of others.' + +'Ay! Mary Sidney is well enough. We will think over the matter. Command her +to come to Court for this Whitsuntide, there is a chamber at her service. +Now, I must to business. Stay if it suits you; you have more wits than all +the rest of us put together. Yes, that is Leicester's step and voice.' + +Philip knew better than to remain without express invitation to do so from +his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. It was, perhaps, only natural that the +elder man should be jealous of the younger, who had, when scarcely +four-and-twenty, already gained a reputation for statesmanship at home and +abroad. Brilliant as Leicester was, he was secretly conscious that there +were heights which he had failed to reach, and that his nephew, Philip +Sidney, had won a place in the favour of his sovereign, which even the +honest protest he had made against this marriage with the Duke of Anjou had +failed to destroy; a high place also in the esteem of the world by the +purity of his life and the nobleness of a nature which commended itself +alike to gentle and simple; while he had the reputation of a true knight +and brave soldier, pure, and without reproach, as well as a scholar versed +in the literature of other countries, and foremost himself amongst the +scholars and poets of the day. + +Philip Sidney left the presence-chamber by another door as his uncle and +Lord Burleigh entered it, and went to his own apartments, where he expected +to meet some friends, and discuss with them topics more interesting and +profitable than the intrigues of the Court and the Queen's matrimonial +projects. + +Edmund Spenser's dedication to the _Shepherd's Calendar_ is well known, and +there can be no doubt that he owed much to Sidney's discriminating +patronage. + +That dedication was no empty compliment to win favour, and the friendship +between Edmund Spenser and Philip Sidney gathered strength with time. They +had often walked together under the trees at Penshurst, and a sort of club +had been established, of which the members were Gabriel Harvey, Edward +Dyer, Fulke Greville and others, intended for the formation of a new school +of poetry. Philip Sidney was the president, and Spenser, the youngest and +most enthusiastic member, while Gabriel Harvey, who was the oldest, was +most strict in enforcing the rules laid down, and ready with counsel and +encouragement. + +The result of all the deliberations of this club were very curious, and the +attempt made to force the English tongue into hexameters and iambics +signally failed. + +Philip Sidney and Spenser were the first to discover that the hexameter +could never take its place in English verse, and they had to endure some +opposition and even raillery from Gabriel Harvey, who was especially +annoyed at Edmund Spenser's desertion; and had bid him farewell till God or +some good angel put him in a better mind. + +This literary club had broken up three years before this time, but Edmund +Spenser and Sir Fulke Greville still corresponded or met at intervals with +Sidney to compare their literary efforts and criticise them freely, +Spenser's always being pronounced, as doubtless they were, far above the +others in beauty of style and poetical conception. + +By Philip Sidney's influence Spenser had been sent to Ireland as secretary +to Lord Grey of Wilton, whose recall was now considered certain. Sir Henry +Sidney would have been willing to return as Deputy with his son under him; +but, having been badly supported in the past, he stipulated that the Queen +should reward his long service by a peerage and a grant of money or lands +as a public mark of her confidence. + +Philip found Sir Fulke Greville in his room, and with him Edward Dyer, who +had come to discuss a letter from Edmund Spenser, which he wished his +friends to hear. + +'He fears he shall lose his place if Lord Grey be recalled, and beseeches +me,' Philip said, 'to do my best that he should remain secretary to +whomsoever the Queen may appoint.' + +'And that will be an easy matter, methinks,' Dyer said, 'if the rumour is +true that your good father is again to be appointed Deputy of Ireland, with +you for his helper.' + +'Contradict that rumour, good Ned,' Philip said. 'There is but the barest +chance of the Queen's reinstating my father, and if, indeed, it happened +so, I should not accept the post under him. I will write to our friend +Spenser and bid him take courage. His friends will not desert him. But I +have here a stanza or two of the _Fairie Queene_, for which Edmund begs me +to seek your approval or condemnation.' + +'It will be the first,' Fulke Greville said, 'as he very well knows, and it +will not surprise me to find our good friend Harvey at last giving him his +meed of praise, albeit he was so rash as to say that hexameters in English +are either like a lame gosling that draweth one leg after, or like a lame +dog that holdeth one leg up.' + +Fulke Greville laughed, saying,-- + +'A very apt simile; at least, for any attempt I was bold enow to make; but +read on, Philip. I see a whole page of Edmund's somewhat cramped writing.' + +'It is but a fragment,' Philip said, 'but Edmund makes a note below that he +had in his mind a fair morning, when we walked together at Penshurst, and +that the sounds and sights he here describes in verse are wafted to him +from that time.' + +'Why do you sigh as you say that, Philip? Come, man, let us have no +melancholy remembrances, when all ought to be bright and gay.' + +'The past time has ever somewhat of sadness as we live in it again. Have +you never heard, Fulke, of the hope deferred that maketh a sick heart, nor +of the hunger of the soul for the tree of life, which is to be ever +denied?' + +'I am in no mood for such melancholy,' was the answer. 'Let us hear what +Spenser saith of that time of which you speak. I'll warrant we shall find +it hard to pick out faults in what he writes therein. + +Then Philip read,-- + + 'Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound + Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, + Such as att once might not on living ground, + Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere: + Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, + To read what manner musicke that mote bee, + For all that pleasing is to living eare + Was there consorted in one harmonee-- + Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters, all agree. + + 'The joyous birdes, shrouded in cheerefull shade, + Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet, + Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made + To th' instruments divine respondence meet; + The silver-sounding instruments did meet + With the base murmure of the waters' fall, + The waters' fall with difference discreet, + Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call, + The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.' + +We may well think that these stanzas, which form a part of the 12th canto +of the Second Book of the _Faerie Queene_ have seldom been read to a more +appreciative audience, nor by a more musical voice. After a moment's +silence, Edward Dyer said,-- + +'I find nought to complain of in all these lines. They flow like the stream +rippling adown from the mountain side--a stream as pure as the fountain +whence it springs.' + +'Ay,' Fulke Greville said; 'that is true. Methinks the hypercritic might +say there should not be two words of the same spelling and sound and +meaning, to make the rhyme, as in the lines ending with meet.' + +'A truce to such comment, Fulke,' Philip said. 'Rhyme is not of necessity +poetry, nor poetry rhyme. There be many true poets who never strung a +rhyme, and rhymers who know nought of poetry.' + +'But, hearken; Edmund has wrote more verses on the further side of this +sheet. I will e'en read them, if it pleases you to hear.' + +Fulke Greville made a gesture of assent, and Philip Sidney read, with a +depth of pathos in his voice which thrilled the listeners,-- + + 'Ah! see, whoso faire thing dost faine to see, + In springing flowre the image of thy day! + Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee + Doth first peepe foorth with bashful modestee, + That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may! + Lo! see soone after how more bold and free + Her bared bosome she doth broad display. + Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away! + + 'So passeth, in the passing of a day, + Of mortall life, the leafe, the bud, the flowre, + No more doth flourish after first decay. + That erst was sought to deck both bed and bowre + Of many a ladie, and many a paramoure! + Gather, therefore, the rose, whilst yet is prime, + For soon comes age that will her pride deflowre; + Gather the rose of love, whilst yet is time, + Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equall crime.' + +These last verses were received in silence. There was no remark made on +them, and no criticism. + +Probably both Sidney's friends felt that they referred to what was too +sacred to be touched by a careless hand; and, indeed, there was no one, +even amongst Philip's dearest friends, except his sister Mary, the Countess +of Pembroke, who ever approached the subject of his love for Stella--that +rose which Philip had not gathered when within his reach, and which was now +drooping under an influence more merciless than that of age--the baneful +influence of a most unhappy marriage. + +The Queen had that very morning spoken out with a pitiless bluntness, which +had made Philip unusually thoughtful. The very words the Queen had used +haunted him--'tale-bearers, who had neither clean hearts nor clean +tongue.' + +Edward Dyer, according to the custom of the friends when they met, read +some verses he had lately composed, and Fulke Greville followed. + +Then Philip Sidney was called upon to contribute a sonnet or stanza. + +If he never reached the highest standard of poetry, and, even in his best +stanzas of _Stella and Astrophel_, rivalled the sweet flow of Edmund +Spenser's verse, he had the gift of making his verses vividly express what +was uppermost in his mind at the moment, as many of the _Stella and +Astrophel_ poems abundantly testify. + +In early youth Philip Sidney had been influenced by a distinguished convert +to the Reformed Faith, Hubert Languet, whom he met at Frankfort. Between +this man of fifty-four and the boy of eighteen, who had gone abroad for +thoughtful travel and diligent study, a strong--even a romantic--friendship +had sprung up, and the letters which have been preserved show how +unwavering Hubert Languet was in his devotion to the young Englishman, +whose fine and noble qualities he had been quick to discover. + +About this time Philip was anxious as to the health of his old friend. His +letters had been less frequent, and the last he had received during the +present year, had seemed to tell of failing powers of body, though the mind +was as vigorous as ever. + +Thus, the two verses which Philip now read from his _Arcadia_ had reference +to his old and dearly-loved counsellor and friend, and were inspired by +the lifelong gratitude he felt for him. They are clothed, as was the two +frequent custom of the time, in pastoral images; but Fulke Greville and +Edward Dyer listened spellbound as the words were uttered, in musical +tones, with a strength of feeling underlying them, which gave every line a +deep significance. + + 'The song I sang, old Languet had me taught, + Languet, the shepherd, best swift Ister knew; + For, clerkly read, and hating what is naught + For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true, + With his sweet skill my skilless youth he drew, + To have a feeling taste of Him that sits + Beyond the heaven, far more beyond our wits. + + 'He said the music best those powers pleased, + Was jump accord between our wit and will, + Where highest notes to godliness are raised, + And lowest sink, not down to jot of ill, + With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill, + How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive, + Spoiling their flock, or while 'twixt them they strive.' + +'There is naught to complain of in those verses, Philip,' Fulke Greville +said. 'He must be a sharp censor, indeed, who could find fault with them. +We must do our best to bring good old Gabriel Harvey back to join our +Areopagus, as Edmund Spenser is bold enough to call it.' + +'Have you heard aught of the friend in whose praise the verses were +indited?' Edward Dyer asked. + +'Nay, as I said, I have had but one letter from Languet for many months. +As soon as this tourney is over I must get leave to make a journey to +Holland to assure myself of his condition.' + +'The Queen will rebel against your absence, Philip. You are in higher +favour than ever, methinks; nor do I grudge you the honour, as, I fear, +some I could name grudge it.' + +Philip rose quickly, as if unwilling to enter into the subject, and, +gathering together their papers, the three friends broke up their meeting +and separated till the evening. + +Anyone who had seen Philip Sidney as he threw himself on a settle when +Fulke Greville and Edward Dyer had left him, and had watched the profound +sadness of his face as he gave himself up to meditation on the sorrow which +oppressed him, would have found it difficult to imagine how the graceful +courtier, who that evening after the banquet at Whitehall led the Queen, as +a mark of especial favour, through the mazes of the dance, could ever have +so completely thrown off the melancholy mood for one of gaiety and apparent +joyousness. How many looked at him with envy when the Queen gave him her +hand in the dance then much in fashion called the 'Brawl!' This dance had +been lately introduced, and the Queen delighted in it, as it gave her the +opportunity of distinguishing the reigning favourite with an especial mark +of her favour. + +This evening the ring was formed of ladies and gentlemen chosen by +Elizabeth, who gorgeously attired, her hoop and stiff brocade making a +wide circle in the centre of the ring, called upon Philip Sidney to stand +there with her. + +The Queen then, giving her hand to Philip, pirouetted with him to the sound +of the music, and, stopping before the gentleman she singled out for her +favour, kissed him on the left cheek, while Philip, bending on his knee, +performed the same ceremony with the lady who had been the partner of the +gentleman before whom the Queen had stopped. By the rules of the dance, the +couple who stood in the centre of the ring now changed places with those +who had been saluted, but this did not suit the Queen's mind this evening. + +She always delighted to display her dancing powers before her admiring +courtiers, exciting, as she believed, the jealousy of the ladies, who could +not have the same opportunity of showing their graceful movements in the +'Brawl.' + +The Queen selected Lord Leicester and Christopher Hatton and Fulke Greville +and several other gentlemen, and curtseyed and tripped like a girl of +sixteen instead of a mature lady of forty-nine. + +Elizabeth's caprice made her pass over again and again several courtiers +who were burning with ill-concealed anger as they saw Leicester and his +nephew chosen again and again, while they were passed over. + +At last the Queen was tired, and ordered the music to cease. She was led by +Leicester to the raised dais at the end of the withdrawing-room where the +dancing took place, and then, at her command, Philip Sidney sang to the +mandoline some laudatory verses which he had composed in her honour. + +The Queen contrived to keep him near her for most of the evening, but he +escaped now and then to circulate amongst the ladies of the Court and to +answer questions about the coming tournament. + +In one of the alcoves formed by the deep bay of one of the windows Philip +found his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, who was purposely waiting there +to see him alone, if possible. + +'I have been waiting for you, Philip,' she said, 'to ask who will arrange +the position my gentlewomen will occupy at the tourney. I have several +eager to see the show, more eager, methinks, than their mistress, amongst +them the little country maiden, Lucy Forrester, whom you know of.' + +'I will give what orders I can to those who control such matters. But, my +sweet sister, you look graver than your wont.' + +'Do I, Philip? Perhaps there is a reason; I would I could feel happy in the +assurance that you have freed yourself from the bonds which I know in your +better moments you feel irksome. You will have no real peace of mind till +you have freed yourself, and that I know well.' + +'I am in no mood for reproaches to-night, Mary,' Philip said, with more +heat than he often showed when speaking to his dearly-loved sister. 'Let +me have respite till this tournament is over at least.' And as he spoke, +his eyes were following Lady Rich as she moved through the mazes of a +Saraband--a stately Spanish dance introduced to the English Court when +Philip was the consort of poor Queen Mary. + +'I might now be in the coveted position of Charles Blount in yonder dance,' +Philip said. 'I refrained from claiming my right to take it, and came +hither to you instead.' + +'Your right! Nay, Philip, you have no right. Dear brother, does it never +seem to you that you do her whom you love harm by persisting in that very +love which is--yes, Philip, I must say it--unlawful? See, now, I am struck +with the change in her since I beheld her last. The modesty which charmed +me in Penelope Devereux seems vanished. Even now I hear her laugh, hollow +and unreal, as she coquettes and lays herself out for the admiring notice +of the gentlemen who are watching her movements. Yes, Philip, nothing but +harm can come of persisting in this unhappy passion.' + +'Harm to her! Nay, I would die sooner than that harm should befall her +through me. I pray you, Mary, let us speak of other matters.' But though he +did begin to discuss the affairs of his father, and to beg Lady Pembroke to +advise his mother to be wary in what she urged when the Queen gave her an +interview, it was evident to his sister that his thoughts were in the +direction of his eyes, and that she could not hope to get from him the wise +advice as to her father's embarrassments which she had expected. + +But the gently exercised influence of his pure and high-minded sister had +its effect, and long after the sounds of revelry had died away, and the +quiet of night had fallen upon the palace, there was one who could not +sleep. + +Philip Sidney was restlessly pacing to and fro in the confined space of the +chamber allotted to him at Whitehall, and this sonnet, one of the most +beautiful which he ever wrote, will express better than any other words +what effect his sister's counsel had upon him. + + 'Leave me, oh! Love! which reachest but to dust, + And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things, + Grow rich in that, which never taketh rust. + Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. + + Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might, + To that sweet yoke, where lasting freedoms be, + Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light + That doth both shine and give us sight to see. + + Oh! take fast hold! let that light be thy guide + In this small course which birth draws out to Death, + And think how evil becometh him to slide + Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. + Then farewell world, thy uttermost I see; + Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.' + +The clouds were soon to break and the light shine upon the way in that +'small course' which yet lay before him. + +We who can look onward to the few years yet left to Philip Sidney, and can +even now lament that they were so few, know how his aspirations were +abundantly fulfilled, and that Love Eternal did indeed maintain its life in +his noble and true heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WHITSUNTIDE, 1581 + + 'The greater stroke astonisheth the more; + Astonishment takes from us sense of pain; + I stood amazed when others' tears begun, + And now begin to weep, when they have done.' + + HENRY CONSTABLE, 1586. + + +After Lucy's departure from Penshurst, Mary Gifford kept her boy +continually in sight, and, however restive Ambrose might be under the +control which his grandmother exercised over him, he was generally obedient +to his mother. + +His high spirit was curbed by a look from her, and, having promised that he +would not go beyond the gate leading from the farmyard on one side of Ford +Manor, or into the lane which led to the highroad on the other, Ambrose +held that promise sacred. + +He trotted along by his mother's side as she performed the duties in the +dairy and poultry-yard, which Lucy's absence in the household had made it +necessary for her to undertake. Although it was a relief that peace reigned +now that the wranglings between their stepmother and Lucy had ceased, Mary +found the additional work a great strain upon her, however glad she was to +have her hands well occupied, that she might have less time to brood over +the fears which her husband's visit and threats had aroused. + +Two weeks had now gone by, and these fears were comparatively laid to rest. +Mary thought that her husband would not risk being seen in the +neighbourhood, as news came through the Puritan friends of Mrs Forrester +that several Papists had been seized at Tunbridge, and had been thrown into +prison, on the suspicion that they were concerned in one of the Popish +plots of which the Protestants were continually in dread, and in one of +which Edmund Campion was implicated. + +Indeed, there was an almost universal feeling throughout the country that +the Papists cherished evil designs against the Queen's life, and that they +were only biding their time to league with those who wished to place the +captive Queen of Scotland on the throne, and so restore England to her +allegiance to the Pope. + +News of the imprisonment of this celebrated Edmund Campion had been +circulated about this time through the country, and stories of the manner +in which he had been mercilessly tortured to extract from him the +confession of a plot against Elizabeth's life. + +On the Sunday after Ascension Day there were to be great shows and games in +the village of Penshurst, and Ambrose, hearing of them from his friend Ned +the cowherd, on Saturday evening, begged his mother to let him see the +sports. + +'There's a wrestling match,' he urged, 'on the green, and a tilting between +horsemen in the outer park. Mother, I'd like to see it; do take me down to +see it. Oh! mother, do; I'll hold your hand all the time; I won't run away +from you, no, not an inch. I am six years old. I am big enough now to take +care of _you_, if there's a crowd or the horses plunge and kick. Ned says +it will be a brave show.' + +'I will go down to church with you, Ambrose,' his mother said, 'and if I +can secure a safe place I will wait for a part of the sports, but you must +not fret if I do not stay to see the sports end, for I am tired, Ambrose, +and I would fain have rest on Sunday.' + +The child looked wistfully into his mother's face. + +'I'll be a very good boy, mother. I _have_ been a good boy,' he said, 'and +you will tell Mr Sidney that I didn't plague you, and tell Master Humphrey +too. He said I was a plague to you, and I hate him for saying it.' + +'Hush, Ambrose, Master Ratcliffe will be a good friend to you, if--' + +'If what? if _I_ am good? + +'I meant, if ever you had no mother to care for you.' + +'No mother!' the child repeated, only dimly catching her meaning. 'No +mother!' and there was a sudden change in his voice, which told of +something that was partly fear and partly incredulity. 'No mother! but you +said we should always have each other. I have you, and you have me. You +said I must not leave you, and,' with vehemence, 'you _sha'n't_ leave me.' + +'Ambrose, God's will must be done, let us trust him.' + +But the boy's serious mood passed, and he was now capering about and +singing as he went in a joyous monotone as he went to find Ned in the +farmyard. + +'I am to see the sports on the morrow. I'm to see the sports on the green.' + +The words reached other ears than Ned's. His grandmother came out of the +bakehouse, where she had been storing piles of loaves on a high shelf, +which had just been taken from the oven, and called out,-- + +'Sports on the Lord's Day, what does the child say? No one who eats my +bread shall see that day profaned. The wrath of the Almighty will fall on +their heads, whoever they be, mind that, Mary Gifford, mind that! Ay, I +know what you will say, that the Queen lends her countenance to them, and +your grand folk in the great house, but as sure as you live, Mary Gifford, +a curse will fall on your head if you let that child witness this +wickedness.' + +Mary took refuge in silence, but her stepmother's words sounded in her ears +like a knell. + +For herself she would willingly have dispensed with games and sports on +Sundays. Her sympathies were with those who, taking the just view of the +seventh day, believed that God had ordained it for the refreshment both of +body and soul--a day when, free from the labours of this toilsome world, +the body should rest, and the soul have quiet and leisure for meditation in +private, and for prayer and praise in the services appointed by the Church. + +Sports and merry-making were quite as much out of harmony with Mary +Gifford's feelings as they were with her stepmother's, but, in the due +observance of Sunday, as in many other things, the extreme Puritan failed +to influence those around them by their harsh insistence on the letter +which killeth, and the utter absence of that spirit of love which giveth +life. + +The villagers assembled in the churchyard on this Sunday morning were not +so numerous as sometimes, and the pew occupied by the Sidneys, when the +family was in residence at the Park, was empty. + +Mary Gifford and her boy, as they knelt together by a bench near the +chancel steps, attracted the attention of the old Rector. He had seen them +before, and had many times exchanged a kindly greeting with Mary and +complimented Lucy on her 'lilies and roses,' and asked in a jocose way for +that good and amiable lady, their stepmother! But there was something in +Mary's attitude and rapt devotion as the light of the east window fell on +her, that struck the good old man as unusual. + +When the service was over, he stepped up to her as she was crossing the +churchyard, and asked her to come into the Rectory garden to rest. + +'For,' he added, 'you look a-weary, Mistress Gifford, and need refreshment +ere you climb the hill again.' + +The Rectory garden was an Eden of delight to little Ambrose. His mother let +him wander away in the winding paths, intersecting the close-cut yew +hedges, with no fear of lurking danger, while, at the Rector's invitation, +she sat with him in a bower, over which a tangle of early roses and +honeysuckle hung, and filled the air with fragrance. A rosy-cheeked maiden +with bare arms, in a blue kirtle scarcely reaching below the knees, which +displayed a pair of sturdy legs cased in leather boots, brought a wooden +trencher of bread and cheese, with a large mug of spiced ale, and set them +down on the table, fixed to the floor of the summer bower, with a broad +smile. + +As Ambrose ran past, chasing a pair of white butterflies, the Rector +said,-- + +'That is a fine boy, Mistress Gifford. I doubt not, doubly precious, as the +only son of his mother, who is a widow. I hear Master Philip Sidney looks +at him with favour; and, no doubt, he will see that he is well trained in +service which will stand him in good stead in life.' + +'Ambrose is my only joy, sir,' Mary replied. 'All that is left to me of +earthly joy, I would say. I pray to be helped to bring him up in the +nurture and admonition of the Lord. But it is a great charge.' + +'Take heart, Mistress Gifford; there are many childless folk who would envy +you your charge, but, methinks, you have the air of one who is burdened +with a hidden grief. Now, if I can, by hearing it, assuage it, and you +would fain bring it to me, I would do what in me lies as a minister of +Christ to give you counsel.' + +'You are very good, kind sir, but there are griefs which no human hand can +touch.' + +'I know it, I know it, for I have had experience therein. There was one I +loved beyond all words, and God gave her to me. I fell under heavy +displeasure for daring to break through the old custom of the +Church--before she was purged of many abuses, which forbids the marriage of +her priests--and my beloved was snatched from me by ruthless hands, even as +we stood before the altar of God. + +'She died broken-hearted. It is forty years come Michaelmas, but the wound +is fresh; and I yet need to go to the Physician of Souls for healing. + +'When the hard times of persecution came, and our blessed young King died, +and I had to flee for my life, I could thank God she was spared the misery +of being turned out in the wide world to beg her bread, with the children +God might have given us. Then, when the sun shone on us Protestants, and +our present Queen--God bless her!--ascended the throne, and I came hither, +the hungry longing for my lost one oppressed me. But the Lord gives, and +the Lord takes away: let us both say, "Blessed be His holy name." Now, +summon the boy to partake of this simple fare, and remember, Mistress +Gifford, if you want a friend, you can resort to me. I am now bound for +the parish of Leigh, where I say evensong at five o'clock.' + +Mary called Ambrose, and said,-- + +'Bless my child, sir, and bless me also.' + +Ambrose, at his mother's bidding, knelt by her side, and the Rector +pronounced the blessing, which has always a peculiar significance for those +who are troubled in spirit. + +'To the Lord's gracious keeping I commit you. The Lord bless you and keep +you. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you, and give you +peace--now, and for evermore.' + +A fervid 'Amen' came from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the child's, +as the old man's footsteps were heard on the path as he returned to the +Rectory. + +It was a very happy afternoon for Ambrose. He enjoyed his dinner of wheaten +bread and creamy cheese; and his mother smiled to see him as he buried his +face in the large mug, and, after a good draught of the spiced drink, +smacked his lips, saying,-- + +'That is good drink, sweeter than the sour cider of which grandmother gives +me a sup. Aunt Lou says it is as sour as grandmother, who brews it. Aunt +Lucy is having sweet drinks now, and pasties, and all manner of nice +things. Why can't we go to London, mother, you and I?' + +'Not yet, my boy, not yet.' + +And then Ambrose subsided into a noonday sleep, curled up on the rude +bench which was fixed round the summer bower. His mother put her arm round +him, and he nestled close to her. + +Peace! the peace the old Rector had called down upon her seemed to fill +Mary Gifford's heart; and that quiet hour of the Sunday noontide remained +in her memory in the coming days, as the last she was to know for many a +long year. + +'The sports, mother!' Ambrose said, rousing himself at last, and struggling +to his feet. 'Let us go to see the sports.' + +'Would you please me, Ambrose, by going home instead?' + +Ambrose's lips quivered, and the colour rushed to his face. + +'I want to see the sports,' he said; 'you promised you would take me.' + +Then Mary Gifford rose, and, looking down on the child's troubled face, +where keen disappointment was written, she took his hand, saying,-- + +'Come, then; but if the crowd is great, and you are jostled and pushed, you +must come away, nor plague me to stay. I am not stout enough to battle with +a throng, and it may be that harm will come to you.' + +They were at the Rectory gates now, and people were seen in all their +Sunday trim hurrying towards the field where the tilting match was to take +place. + +Mary turned towards the square, on either side of which stood the old +timbered houses by the lych gate, and asked a man she knew, if the horsemen +who were to tilt in the field were to pass that way. + +'For,' she added, 'I would fain wait here till they have ridden on. I might +get into danger with the child from the horses' feet.' + +'Better have a care, mistress,' was the reply, and he added; 'scant +blessings come to those who turn Sunday into a day of revelry.' + +'Ah!' said another voice, 'you be one of the saints, Jeremy; but why be +hard on country folk for a little merry-making, when the Queen and all the +grand nobles and ladies do the same, so I've heard, at Court.' + +'I tell you,' was the reply, 'it's the old Popish custom--mass in the +morning, and feasting and revelling all the rest of the day. I tell you, it +is these licences which make the Nonconformists our bitter foes.' + +'Foes!' the other said. 'Ay, there's a pack of 'em all round. Some seen, +some unseen--Papists and Puritans--but, thank the stars, I care not a groat +for either. I am contented, any way. Saint or sinner, Puritan or Papist, I +say, let 'em alone, if they'll let me alone.' + +'Ay, there's the rub,' said the other, 'there's no letting alone. You and I +may live to see the fires kindled again, and burn ourselves, for that +matter.' + +[Illustration: OLD HOUSES BY THE LYCH GATE, PENSHURST.] + +'I sha'n't burn. I know a way out of that. I watch the tide, and turn my +craft to sail along with it.' + +And this easy-going time-server, of whom there are a good many descendants +in the present day, laughed a careless laugh, and then, as the sound of +horses' feet was heard, and that of the crowd drawing near, he +good-naturedly lifted Ambrose on his shoulder, and, planting his broad back +against the trunk of the great overshadowing elm, he told the boy to sit +steady, and he would carry him to the wall skirting the field, where he +could see all that was going on. + +Mary Gifford followed, and, feeling Ambrose was safe, was glad he should be +gratified with so little trouble and risk. She rested herself on a large +stone by the wall, Ambrose standing above her, held there by the strong arm +of the man who had befriended them. + +The tilt was not very exciting, for many of the best horses and men had +been called into requisition by the gentry of the neighbourhood, for the +far grander and more important show to come off at Whitehall in the +following week. + +The spectators, however, seemed well satisfied, to judge by their huzzas +and cheers which hailed the victor in every passage of arms--cheers in +which little Ambrose, from his vantage ground, heartily joined. + +At last it was over, and the throng came out of the field, the victor +bearing on the point of his tilting pole a crown made of gilded leaves, +which was a good deal battered, and had been competed for by these village +knights on several former occasions. + +Like the challenge cups and shields of a later time, these trophies were +held as the property of the conqueror, till, perhaps, at a future trial, he +was vanquished, and then the crown passed into the keeping of another +victor. + +Mary Gifford thanked the man, who had been so kind to her boy, with one of +her sweetest smiles, and Ambrose, at her bidding, said,-- + +'Thank you, kind sir, for letting me see the show. I'd like to see the game +of bowls now where all the folk are going.' + +'No, no, Ambrose! you have had enough. We must go home, and you must get to +bed early, for your little legs must be tired.' + +'Tired! I'd never be tired of seeing horses gallop and prance. Only, I long +to be astride of one, as I was of Mr Philip Sidney's.' + +Mother and son pursued their way up the hill, Ambrose going over the events +of the day in childish fashion--wanting no reply, nor even attention from +his mother, while she was thinking over the different ways in matters of +religion of those who called themselves Christians. + +These Sunday sports were denounced by some as sinful--and a sign of return +to the thraldom of Popery from which the kingdom had been delivered; others +saw in them no harm, if they did not actually countenance them by their +presence; while others, like herself, had many misgivings as to the +desirability of turning the day of rest into a day of merry-making, more, +perhaps, from personal taste and personal feeling than from principle. + +When Mary Gifford reached Ford Manor, she found it deserted, and only one +old serving-man keeping guard. The mistress had gone with the rest of the +household to a prayer and praise meeting, held in the barn belonging to a +neighbouring yeoman, two miles away; and he only hoped, he said, that she +might return in a sweeter temper than she went. She had rated him and +scolded all round till she had scarce a breath left in her. + +The old man was, like all the other servants, devoted to the gentle lady +who had gone out from her home a fair young girl, and had returned a sad +widow with her only child, overshadowed by a great trouble, the particulars +of which no one knew. + +The rest of that Sabbath day was quiet and peaceful. + +Mary read from Tyndale's version of the Testament her favourite chapter +from the Epistle of St John, and the love of which it told seemed to fill +her with confidence and descend dove-like upon her boy's turbulent young +heart. + +He was in his softest, tenderest mood, and, as Mary pressed him close to +her side, she felt comforted, and said to herself,-- + +'While I have my boy, I can bear all things, with God's help.' + +Mary Gifford was up long before sunrise the next morning, and, calling +Ambrose, she bid him come out with her and see if the shepherd had brought +in a lamb which had wandered away from the fold on the previous day. The +shepherd had been afraid to tell his mistress of the loss, and Mary had +promised to keep it from her till he had made yet another search; and then, +if indeed it was hopeless, she would try to soften Mistress Forrester's +anger against him. + +'We may perchance meet him with the news that he has found the lamb, and +then there will be no need to let grannie know that it had been lost,' she +said. + +It was a dull morning, and the clouds lay low in a leaden sky, while a mist +was hovering over the hills and blurring out the landscape. + +The larks were soon lost to sight as they soared overhead, singing faintly +as they rose; the rooks gave prolonged and melancholy caws as they took +their early flight, and the cocks crowed querulously in the yard, while now +and then there was a pitiful bleat from the old ewe which had lost her +lamb. + +In the intervals of sound, the stillness was more profound, and there was a +sense of oppression hanging over everything, which even Ambrose felt. + +The moor stretched away in the haze, which gave the hillocks of gorse and +heather and the slight eminences of the open ground an unnatural size. + +Every moment Mary hoped to see the shepherd's well-known figure looming +before her in the mist with the lamb in his arms, but no shepherd appeared. + +'We must turn our steps back again, Ambrose. Perhaps the shepherd has gone +down into the valley, and it is chill and damp for you to be out longer; +when the sun gets up it will be warmer.' + +She had scarcely spoken, when a figure appeared through the haze, like +every other object, looking unnaturally large. + +'Quick, Ambrose,' she said, 'quick!' and, seizing the child's hand, she +began to run at her utmost speed along the sheep-path towards the stile +leading into the Manor grounds, near the farmyard. + +The child looked behind to see what had frightened his mother. + +'It's the big black man!' he said. + +But Mary made no answer. She ran on, regardless of hillocks and big +stones--heedless of her steps, and thinking only of her pursuer. + +Presently her foot caught in a tangle of heather, and she fell heavily, as +she was running at full speed, and struck her head against some sharp +stones lying in a heap at the edge of the track, which could hardly be +called a path. + +'Mother! mother!' Ambrose called; and in another moment a hand was laid on +his shoulder--a strong hand, with a grasp which the child felt it was +hopeless to resist. 'Mother! mother!' + +The cry of distress might well have softened the hardest heart; but men +like Ambrose Gifford are not troubled with what is commonly understood by +a heart. He spoke, however, in gentle tones. + +'My poor child, your mother is much hurt. We must seek for the aid of a +surgeon. We must get help to carry her home. Come with me, and we will soon +get help.' + +'No, no; I will not leave my mother,' Ambrose said, throwing himself on the +ground by her side. 'Why doesn't she speak or move? _Mother!_' + +Alas! there was no answer; and a little red stream trickling down from a +wound on the forehead frightened Ambrose still more. + +'It is blood!' he cried, with the natural shrinking which children always +show when their own fingers are cut. 'It is blood! Oh, mother!' + +But Ambrose was now quietly lifted in a pair of strong arms, and the words +spoken in his ear,-- + +'We must seek help; we will get a surgeon. Your mother will die if we do +not get help, boy. Hush! If you cry out your mother may hear, and you will +distress her. Hush!' + +Poor little Ambrose now subsided into a low wail of agony as he felt +himself borne along. + +'Where are you going, sir? Set me down, set me down.' + +'We go for help for your mother. Let that suffice.' + +Ambrose now made a renewed struggle for freedom. It was the last; he felt +something put over his face, so that he could neither see where he was +going nor utter another cry; he only knew he was being carried off by this +strange man he knew not where, and that he had left his mother lying pale +and still, with that terrible red stream trickling from her forehead, on +the hillock of heather on the moor. + +It is said, and perhaps with truth, that the bitterest hate is felt by the +sinner against the sufferer for his sin. This hatred was in Ambrose +Gifford's heart, and was the primary cause of his thus forcibly taking from +the wife whom he had so cruelly betrayed, the child who was so infinitely +precious to her. + +Ambrose Gifford had, no doubt, by subtle casuistry persuaded himself that +he was doing good to the boy. He would be educated by the Jesuits, with +whom he had cast in his lot; he would be trained as a son of the Catholic +Church, and by this he hoped to gain favour, and strike off a few years of +purgatorial fire for his past sins! + +He had confessed and done penance for the disgraceful acts of which he had +been guilty, and he had been received into the refuge the Roman Church was +ready to offer to him. + +At this time she was making every effort to strengthen her outposts, and to +prepare for the struggle which at any moment she might be called upon to +make to regain her coveted ascendency in England. + +The seminary founded at Douay by a certain Dr Allen, a fine scholar, who +was educated at Oxford, was much resorted to by persecuted Catholics who +sought a refuge there. Or by men like Ambrose Gifford, who, obliged to +leave the country under the shadow of a crime committed, were glad to throw +themselves into the arms ready to receive them, and, as they would have +expressed it, find pardon and peace by fasting and penance in the bosom of +the Catholic Church. Doubtless, the great majority of those who gathered at +Douay at this time were devout and persecuted members of the Church, from +the bondage of which Elizabeth had delivered her country, with the hearty +approbation of her loyal subjects. + +But, black sheep like Ambrose Gifford went thither to be washed and +outwardly reformed; and he, being a man of considerable ability and +shrewdness, had after a time of probation been despatched to England to +beat up recruits and to bring back word how the Catholic cause was +prospering there. + +He had, therefore, every reason to wish to take with him his own boy, whose +fine physique and noble air he had noted with pride as he had, unseen, +watched him for the last few weeks when haunting the neighbourhood like an +evil spirit. + +He would do him credit, and reward all the pains taken to educate him and +bring him up as a good Catholic. + +The motives which prompted him to this were mixed, and revenge against his +wife was perhaps the dominant feeling. She loved that boy better than +anything on earth; she would bring him up in the faith of the Reformed +Church, and teach him, probably, to hate his father. + +He would, at any rate, get possession of this her idol, and punish her for +the words she had spoken to him by the porch of the farm, on that summer +evening now more than two weeks ago. + +Ambrose Gifford had deceived Mary from the first, professing to be a +Protestant while it served his purpose to win favour in the household of +the Earl of Leicester, but in reality he was a Catholic, and only waited +the turn of the tide to declare himself. He led a bad, immoral life, and it +was scarcely more than two years after her marriage that Mary Gifford's +eyes were opened to the true character of the man who had won her in her +inexperienced girlhood by his handsome person--in which the boy resembled +him--his suave manner, and his passionate protestations of devotion to her. + +Many women have had a like bitter lesson to learn, but perhaps few have +felt as Mary did, humbled in the very dust, when she awoke to the reality +of her position, that the love offered her had been unworthy the name, and +that she had been betrayed and deceived by a man who, as soon as the first +glamour of his passion was over, showed himself in his true colours, and +expected her to take his conduct as a matter of course, leaving her free, +as he basely insinuated, to console herself as she liked with other +admirers. + +To the absolutely pure woman this was the final death-blow of all hope for +the future, and all peace in the present. Mary fled to her old home with +her boy, and soon after heard the report that her husband had been killed +in a fray, and that if he had lived he would have been arrested and +condemned for the secret attack made on his victim, and also as a disguised +Catholic supposed to be in league with those who were then plotting against +the life of the Queen. + +About a year before this time, a gentleman of the Earl of Leicester's +household, when at Penshurst, had told Mary Gifford that Ambrose Gifford +was alive--that he had escaped to join the Jesuits at Douay, and was +employed by them as one of their most shrewd and able emissaries. From that +moment her peace of mind was gone, and the change that had come over her +had been apparent to everyone. + +The sadness in her sweet face deepened, and a melancholy oppressed her, +except, indeed, when with her boy, who was a source of unfailing delight, +mingled with fear, lest she should lose him, by his father's machinations. + + * * * * * + +It was not till fully half-an-hour after Ambrose had been carried away, +that the shepherd, with his staff in his hand and the lost lamb thrown over +his shoulder, came to the place where Mary was lying. + +She had recovered consciousness, but was quite unable to move. Besides the +cut on her forehead, she had sprained her ankle, and the attempt to rise +had given her such agony that she had fallen back again. + +'Ay, then! lack-a-day, Mistress Gifford,' the shepherd said, 'how did this +come about. Dear heart alive! you look like a ghost.' + +'I have fallen,' gasped Mary. 'But where is my boy--where is Ambrose? Get +me tidings of him, I pray you, good Jenkyns.' + +'Lord! I must get help for you before I think of the boy. He has run home, +I dare to say, the young urchin; he is safe enough.' + +'No, no,' Mary said. 'Oh! Jenkyns, for the love of Heaven, hasten to find +my boy, or I shall die of grief.' + +The worthy shepherd needed no further entreaty. He hastened away, taking +the stile with a great stride, and, going up to the back door of the house, +he called Mistress Forrester to come as quick as she could, for there was +trouble on the moor. + +Mistress Forrester was at this moment engaged in superintending the feeding +of a couple of fine young pigs, which had been bought in Tunbridge a few +days before. Her skirts were tucked up to her waist, and she had a large +hood over her head, which added to her grotesque appearance. + +'Another lamb lost? I protest, Jenkyns, if you go on losing lambs after +this fashion you may find somebody else's lambs to lose, and leave mine +alone. A little more barleymeal in that trough, Ned--the porkers must be +well fed if I am to make a profit of 'em and not a loss.' + +'Hearken, Madam Forrester,' Jenkyns said, 'the lamb is safe, but Mistress +Gifford is lying yonder more dead than alive. Ned, there! come and help me +to lift her home--and where's the boy, eh?' + +'What boy?' Mrs Forrester asked sharply. + +'Mistress Gifford's son,' Jenkyns said, 'his mother is crying out for him +amain, poor soul! She is in a bad case--you'd best look after her, there's +blood running down from a cut on her forehead. Here!' calling to one of the +women, 'here, if the Mistress won't come, you'd best do so--and bring a +pitcher of water with you, for she is like to swoon, by the looks of her.' + +'You mind your own business, Amice,' Mistress Forrester said, as she +smoothed down her coarse homespun skirt, and settled the hood on her head. +'You bide where you are, and see the poultry are fed, as she who ought to +have fed 'em isn't here.' + +'Nor ever will be again, mayhap,' said Jenkyns wrathfully. 'Come on, Ned, +it will take two to bear her home, poor thing. Don't let the boy see her +till we've washed her face--blood always scares children.' + +'I daresay it's a scratch,' Mistress Forrester said, as she filled a pewter +pot with water, and followed the shepherd and Ned to the place where Mary +lay. + +Even Mistress Forrester was moved to pity as she looked down on her +stepdaughter's face, and heard her murmur. + +'Ambrose! my boy! He is stolen from me. Oh! for pity's sake, find him.' + +'Stolen! stolen! not a bit of it,' Mistress Forrester said. 'I warrant he +is a-bed and asleep, for he is seldom up till sunrise.' + +'He was with me,' Mary gasped, 'he was with me, when I fell. I was running +from _him_--and--he has stolen him from me.' + +'Dear sake! who would care to steal a child? There, there, you are +light-headed. Drink a drop of water, and we'll get you home and a-bed. I'll +plaister the cut with lily leaves and vinegar, and I warrant you'll be well +in a trice.' + +They moistened Mary's lips with water, and Jenkyns sprinkled her forehead; +and then Jenkyns, with Ned's help, raised Mary from the ground and carried +her towards the house. + +A cry of suppressed agony told of the pain movement caused her, and +Mistress Forrester said,-- + +'Where's the pain, Mary? Sure you haven't broke your leg?' + +But Mary could not reply. A deadly faintness almost deprived her of the +power of speaking. + +As they passed through the yard the lamb, which Jenkyns had set down there +when he passed through, came trotting towards him, the long thick tail +vibrating like a pendulum as it bleated piteously for its mother. + +Mary turned her large sorrowful eyes upon it, and whispered,-- + +'The lost lamb is found. Let it go to its mother. Oh! kind people, +find--find my boy, and bring him back to me--to me, his mother.' + +By this time there was great excitement amongst the people employed on the +farm, and a knot of men and maidens were standing by the back door, +regardless of their mistress's anger that they should dare to idle away a +few minutes of the morning. + +'Back to your work, you fools!' she said. 'Do you think to do any good by +staring like a parcel of idiots at Mistress Gifford. Ask the Lord to help +her to bear her pain, and go and bring her boy to her, Amice.' + +But no one had seen the child that morning, and Amice declared he was not +in the house. + +They carried Mary to her chamber, and laid her down on the low truckle bed, +the shepherd moving as gently as he could, and doing his best to prevent +her from suffering. + +But placing her on the bed again wrung from her a bitter cry, and Jenkyns +said,-- + +'You must e'en get a surgeon to her, Mistress, for I believe she is sorely +hurt.' + +'A surgeon! And, prithee, where am I to find one?' + +'As luck will have it,' Jenkyns said, 'Master Burt from Tunbridge puts up +at the hostel every Monday in Penshurst.' + +'Send Ned down into the village and fetch him, then,' Mistress Forrester +said, who was now really frightened at Mary's ghastly face, which was +convulsed with pain. 'Send quick! I can deal with the cut on her forehead, +but I can't set a broken limb.' + +'Stop!' Mary cried, as Jenkyns was leaving the room to despatch Ned on his +errand. 'Stop!' Then with a great effort she raised herself to speak in an +audible voice. 'Hearken! My boy was stolen from me by a tall man in a long +black cloak. Search the country, search, and, oh! if you can, find him.' + +This effort was too much for her, and as poor Jenkyns bent down to catch +the feeble halting words, Mary fell back in a deep swoon again, and was, +for another brief space, mercifully unconscious of both bodily and mental +agony. Hers was literally the stroke which, by the suddenness of the blow, +deadens the present sense of pain; that was to come later, and the loss of +her boy would bring with it the relief of tears when others had dried +theirs and accepted with calmness the inevitable. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DEFEAT + + 'In one thing only failing of the best-- + That he was not as happy as the rest.' + + EDMUND SPENSER. + + +The court of Queen Elizabeth was well used to witness splendid shows and +passages-of-arms, masques, and other entertainments organised by the +noblemen chiefly, to whose houses--like Kenilworth--the Queen was often +pleased to make long visits. + +The Queen always expected to be amused, and those who wished to court her +favour took care that no pains should be wanting on their part to please +her. Indeed, the courtiers vied with each other in their efforts to win the +greatest praise from their sovereign lady, who dearly liked to be +entertained in some novel manner. + +This visit of the French Ambassadors to London, headed by Francis de +Bourbon, was considered a very important event. It was supposed that +Elizabeth was really in earnest about the marriage with the Duke of Anjou, +whose cause these Frenchmen had been commissioned by their Sovereign to +plead. They were also to have a careful eye to his interests in the treaty +they were to make with so shrewd a maiden lady as the Queen of England, who +was known always to have the great question of money prominently before her +in all her negotiations, matrimonial and otherwise. + +The Earl of Arundel, Lord Windsor, Philip Sidney and Fulke Greville +undertook to impress the visitors with a magnificent display worthy of the +occasion which brought them to London. + +In the tilt-yard at Whitehall, nearest to the Queen's windows, a 'Fortress +of Perfect Beauty' was erected, and the four knights were to win it by +force of arms. + +All that the ingenuity of the artificers of the time could do was done. The +Fortress of Beauty was made of canvas stretched on wooden poles, gaily +painted with many quaint devices, and wreathed about with evergreens and +garlands, which were suspended from the roof. It was erected on an +artificial mound; and, as the day drew near, those who had to control the +admission of the hundreds who clamoured to be allowed to be spectators of +the tournament, were at their wit's end to gratify the aspirants for good +places. + +The ladies about the Court were, of course, well provided with seats in the +temporary booths erected round the tilt-yard, and the Countess of Pembroke +and her following of gentlewomen in attendance occupied a prominent +position. Lady Mary Sidney and her youngest son, Thomas, were also present. +Robert was in his brother's train. Lady Rich, blazing with diamonds, was +the admired of many eyes--upon whose young, fair face might be seen the +trace of that unsatisfied longing and discontent with her lot, for which +the splendour of her jewels and richness of the lace of her embroidered +bodice were but a poor compensation. Amongst Lady Pembroke's attendants +there was one to whom all the show had the charm of novelty. + +Lucy Forrester could scarcely believe that she was actually to be a witness +of all the magnificence of which she had dreamed on the hillside above +Penshurst. Her young heart throbbed with triumph as she saw Mistress +Ratcliffe and Dorothy vainly struggling to gain admittance at one of the +entrances, and at last, hustled and jostled, only allowed to stand on the +steps of one of the booths by Humphrey's help, who was awaiting the signal +from Philip's chief esquire to go and prepare his horse for the +passage-of-arms. + +Lucy had gone through some troubles that morning with Mistress Crawley, +whom she did not find easy to please at any time, and who, seeing Lucy was +in favour with the Countess of Pembroke, did her best to prevent her from +taking too exalted a view of her own merits. + +She had ordered that Lucy, as the youngest of the bower-women, should take +a back bench in the booth, where it was difficult to see or to be seen, but +Lady Pembroke had over-ruled this by saying,-- + +[Illustration: THE TILT YARD, WHITEHALL] + +'There is room for all in the front row, good Crawley. Suffer Mistress +Lucy to come forward.' + +And then Lucy, beaming with delight, had a full view of the fortress, and +found herself placed exactly opposite the window at which the Queen was to +sit with her favourites to watch the show. + +'Tell me, I pray you, the name of that grand lady whose jewels are flashing +in the sunshine?' + +Lucy said this to her companion, who bid her sit as close as she could, and +not squeeze her hoop, and take care not to lean over the edge of the booth +so as to obstruct her own view of the people who were rapidly filling up +the seats. + +'And forsooth, Mistress Forrester, you must not speak in a loud voice. It's +country-bred manners to do so.' + +Lucy pouted, but was presently consoled by a smile from Philip Sidney, who +came across the yard to exchange a word with his sister, and to ask if his +young brother was able to get a good view. + +Lucy was much elated by that recognition, and her companion said in a low +voice,-- + +'You ask who yonder lady is? Watch, now, and I'll tell you.' For Philip +had, in returning, stopped before the booth where Lady Rich sat, and she +had bent forward to speak to him. Only a few words passed, but when Philip +had moved away there was a change in Lady Rich's face, and the lines of +discontent and the restless glance of her dark eyes, seeking for +admiration, were exchanged for a satisfied smile, which had something also +of sadness in it. + +'That lady is Lord Rich's wife, and Mr Sidney's love. He will never look +with favour on anyone besides. The pity of it! And,' she added in a low +voice, 'the shame too!' + +'But, hush!' as Lucy was about to respond. 'We may be heard, and that would +anger my lady, who has no cause to love my Lady Rich, and would not care to +hear her spoken of in the same breath as Mr Sidney.' + +The waiting time for spectacles is apt to grow wearisome; and some of the +spectators were yawning, and a few of the elder ladies resigning themselves +to a quiet nap, their heads heavy with the ale of the morning meal, swaying +from side to side, and endangering the stiff folds of the ruffs, which made +a sort of cradle for their cheeks and chins. Lucy, however, knew nothing of +fatigue; she was too much elated with her position, too earnestly employed +in scanning the dresses of the ladies, and admiring the grand equipments of +the gentlemen, to feel tired. + +At length the blast of trumpets announced the coming of the Queen to the +balcony before the window whence she was to see the pageant. A burst of +applause and loud cries of 'God save the Queen' greeted Elizabeth, who, +gorgeously arrayed, smiled and bowed graciously to the assembled people. +Behind her was the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Burleigh and the French +Ambassador at either side, with a bevy of ladies-in-waiting in the +background. The large window had a temporary balcony erected before it, and +those who occupied it were for a few minutes the centre of observation. + +Lucy Forrester had never before had so good a view of the Queen, and her +astonishment was great when she saw, with the critical eye of youth, the +lady about whose beauty and charms so many sonnets and verses had been +written by every rhymester in the land, as well as by the chief poets of +the day. It was a generally accepted fact throughout the country, that the +Queen was as beautiful as she was wise, and that her charms led captive +many a noble suitor, who pined, perhaps in vain, for her favours. + +Lucy whispered to her companion,-- + +'I thought to see a young and fair Queen, and she is old and--' + +'Peace, I tell you!' said her companion sharply. 'You are a little fool to +dare to say that! You had best hold your tongue!' + +Lucy ventured at no further remark, and very soon the heralds came riding +into the tilt-yard and proclaimed the coming of the four knights who were +to carry the Fortress of Beauty by their prowess against those who defended +it; and summoned the Queen to surrender her Fortress to the Four Foster +Children of Desire. + +The Earl of Arundel led the way with Lord Windsor, both magnificently +attired, with a large following of attendant esquires. But Lucy's eyes +dilated with an admiration that was too deep for words, as Philip Sidney +rode into the yard in blue and gilt armour, seated on a splendid horse, on +which he sat with graceful ease as it curveted and pranced, perfectly +controlled by the skill of its rider. Four spare horses, richly +caparisoned, were led behind him by pages, and thirty gentlemen and yeomen, +amongst whom were Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, with four trumpeters +dressed in cassock coats and caps, Venetian hose of yellow velvet adorned +with silver lace, and white buskins. A silver band passing like a scarf +over the shoulder and under the arm bore the motto--_Sic nos non nobis_. +Lucy had no eyes for anyone but her ideal knight, and Fulke Greville, in +his gilded armour, with his followers in gorgeous array, had passed by +almost unheeded. + +Speeches were made, and songs sung, and then the challengers marched up and +down the yard, and at last proceeded to 'run tilt,' each in his turn, +against an opponent, each running six times. The opponents were numerous, +and the four, before nightfall, were seriously discomfited. + +The show was over for that day, and the Queen commanded that the tilt +should be run again on the following morning, which was Whit-Tuesday. After +a great many more speeches and confessions of weariness, the four knights +fell to work with such renewed energy that, we are told, what with +shivering swords and lusty blows, it was as if the Greeks were alive +again, and the Trojan war renewed--ending in the defeat of the Four Foster +Children of Desire, who were, as was only probable, beaten in the unequal +contest. + +The Queen was loud in her praise of the 'pleasant sport,' which had +delighted the gentlemen in whose honour it had been all arranged; and she +called up Philip Sidney for especial thanks, and, tapping him on the +shoulder, bid him repair to the banqueting-hall and discourse some sweet +music on his mandoline, and converse with the French Ambassadors. For, she +said, speaking herself in fluent and excellent French,-- + +'This good Mr Philip Sidney, I would have you to know, has the command of +many foreign tongues, and there are few to match him in Latin and Greek, as +well as those languages spoken in our own time in divers countries.' + +'Ah, madam!' Philip said, 'there is one who surpasses not only my poor self +in learning, but surpasses also the finest scholars that the world can +produce. Need I name that one, gentlemen,' he said, with a courtly bow and +kneeling as he kissed the Queen's hand, 'for she it is who has to-day been +pleased to give, even to us, Four Children of Desire--defeated as we +are--the meed of praise, which is, from her, a priceless dower.' + +This flattery was precisely what Elizabeth hoped for, and she was well +pleased that it should be offered in the hearing of those ambassadors, who +would, doubtless, repeat it in the ears of the Duke of Anjou. + +In reply, one of the soft-spoken Frenchmen said,-- + +'Mr Sidney's fame has reached our ears, Madam. We know him to be what you +are pleased to call him; nor will we for a moment dispute his assertion +that, learned as he is, he must yield the palm to his gracious Sovereign.' + +A few more flattering speeches were tendered; but a keen observer might +have noticed that there was a touch of irony, even of distrust, in the +tone, if not in the words, of the ambassadors' chief spokesman. + +For if Philip Sidney's fame as a scholar and a statesman had reached +France, his fame also as a staunch defender of the Reformed Faith had also +reached it, with the report that he had been, a few years before, bold +enough to remonstrate with the Queen when the proposal of her marriage with +the Duke had been formally made, and that his opposition had been strong +enough to turn the scale against it, at the time. + + * * * * * + +The silence of night had fallen over Whitehall, and those who had won, and +those who had been beaten in the tourney were resting their tired, and, in +many cases, their bruised limbs, in profound repose, when the porter of the +quarters assigned to Philip Sidney's gentlemen and esquires was roused from +his nap by loud and continued knocking at the gate. + +The porter was very wrathful at being disturbed, and looking out at the +small iron grating by the side of the gate, he asked,-- + +'Who goes there?' + +'One who wants speech with Master Humphrey Ratcliffe.' + +'It will keep till morning, be off; you may bide my time,' and with that +the porter shambled back to his seat in a recess of the entrance, and +composed himself to sleep again. But the man who sought admittance was not +to be so easily discouraged. He began to knock again with the staff in his +hand, more loudly than before. + +The porter in vain tried to take no further notice, and finding it +impossible to resume his sleep, heavy as it was with the strong potations +of the previous night, he rose once more, and, going to the grating, poured +out a volley of oaths upon the would-be intruder, which was enough to scare +away the boldest suitor for admission. + +His loud voice, combined with the thundering rap on the heavy oaken gate or +door which still continued, roused Humphrey Ratcliffe from his dreams, on +the upper floor, and he presently appeared on the stone staircase which led +into the outer hall, where the porter kept guard, and said,-- + +'What is all this commotion about? Who demands admission? Open the gate, +and let us see.' + +'Open the gate, Master, yourself,' was the rough reply, 'and let in a +parcel of murderers or thieves, for all I care. You're welcome.' + +'Hold your tongue, you knave,' Humphrey said; 'you are half-drunk now, I +warrant,' and Humphrey, going to the grating, asked,-- + +'Who craves admission at this hour of the night?' + +'An it please you, Master, it is near cock-crow,' was the answer, 'and day +is breaking. I have ill news for Master Humphrey Ratcliffe, and must +deliver my message to his ear.' + +'Ill news!' Humphrey repeated the words. His thoughts went first to his +mother, and then he remembered that she was safe in lodgings with Dorothy +and George. + +'I am one, Ned Barton, cowherd to one Mistress Forrester. I've trudged many +a mile at the bidding of Mistress Gifford, who is in a sore plight.' + +Humphrey did not hesitate now, he drew back the heavy bolts, and turned the +huge, rusty key in the lock, and threw open one side of the gate. + +'Come in,' he said, 'and deliver your message.' + +Ned, in his coarse smock, which was much travel-stained and worn, pulled +the lock of red hair which shadowed his forehead, in token of respect, and +shambled into the hall. + +He was footsore and weary, and said,-- + +'By your leave, Master, I would be glad to rest, for I warrant my bones +ache.' + +Humphrey pointed to a bench which was but dimly discernible in the dark +hall, lighted only by a thin wick floating in a small pan of oil, and bid +Ned seat himself, while he drew a mugful of ale from the barrel, which was +supposed to keep up the porter's strength and spirits during the +night-watch, and put it to Ned's lips. + +He drank eagerly, and then said,-- + +'I've a letter for you, Master, in my pouch, but I was to say you were to +keep it to yourself. Mistress Gifford could scarce write it, for she is +sick, and no wonder. Look here, Master, I'd tramp twice twenty miles to +serve her, and find the boy.' + +'Find the boy! You speak in riddles.' + +Ned nodded till his abundant red hair fell in more than one stray lock over +his sunburnt, freckled face. + +'Are there eavesdroppers at hand?' he asked. + +The porter was snoring loudly, but Humphrey felt uncertain whether he was +feigning sleep, or had really resumed his broken slumber. He therefore bid +the boy follow him upstairs, first replacing bolt and bar, to make all +secure till the morning. + +When he reached his room, which was up more than one flight of the winding +stone stairs, Ned stumbling after him, he struck a light with a flint and +kindled a small lamp, which hung from an iron hook in the roof. + +'Throw yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter +first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.' + +The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible, +blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble. + + * * * * * + +'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe--My Good Friend,--This comes from one nearly +distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They +have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of +Jesuits--it may be at Douay--I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good +Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to God +for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore +need. + + 'M. G. + +'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are +my meat. God's hand is heavy upon me.' + + * * * * * + +Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it +passionately to his lips. + +'Find him! Find her boy; yes, God helping me, I will track him out, alive +or dead.' + +Then he turned to Ned,-- + +'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.' + +Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking +about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had +seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after +the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out +of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse +luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had +come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy. + +'And no wonder,' Ned said; 'there's not a soul at the farm that didn't +think a mighty deal of that child. He was a plague sometimes, I'll warrant, +but--' and Ned drew his sleeve across his eyes, and his low guttural voice +faltered, as he said,--'Folks must be made of stone if they don't feel fit +to thrash that popish devil for kidnapping him, and going near to break +Madam Gifford's heart, who is a saint on earth.' + +'You are a good fellow,' Humphrey said fervently. 'Now, take off those +heavy boots and rest, while I tax my brains, till I decide what is best to +do.' + +With a mighty kick Ned sent his rough boots flying, one after the other, +across the room, and then, without more ado, curled up his ungainly figure +on the settle, and before Humphrey could have believed it possible, he was +snoring loudly, his arm thrown under his head, and his tawny red locks in a +tangled mass, spread upon the softest cushion on which the cowboy had ever +rested. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe paced the chamber at intervals till daybreak, and was +only longing for action, to be able to do something to relieve Mary's +distress--to scour the country till he found a trace of the villain, and +rescue the boy from his clutches. + +This must be his immediate aim; but to do this he must gain leave from his +chief. + +The tournament was over, but the Queen would most certainly require Mr +Sidney's attendance at Hampton Court Palace, whither it was rumoured she +was shortly to go in state, in the royal barge, with the French Ambassador. + +Humphrey grew feverishly anxious for the time when he could see Mr Sidney, +and hailed the noises in the courtyard and the voices of the grooms, who +were rubbing down the tired horses after the conflicts of the previous day, +and examining their hurts received in the fray, which were in some cases +very severe. + +Mr Sidney's rooms were reached by another staircase, and as the big clock +of the palace struck five, Humphrey went down into the porter's hall and +inquired of one of the attendants if Mr Sidney was stirring. + +'He isn't stirring, for he hasn't been a-bed,' was the answer. + +'Then I shall gain admittance?' + +'Most like,' was the reply, with a prolonged yawn. + +'Those are lucky who can slumber undisturbed, whether a-bed or up. +Yesterday's show fell hard on those who had to work at it.' + +'I hear you let in a vagrant last night, Master Ratcliffe. The porter saith +if harm comes of it he won't take the blame. Most like a rascally Jesuit +come to spy out some ways to brew mischief.' + +'A harmless country lout is not likely to brew mischief,' Humphrey said +sharply. 'The man came on urgent business, in which none here but myself +have concern,' and then he crossed to the door leading to the apartments +occupied by Mr Sydney and Sir Fulke Greville. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe had not to wait for admittance to Philip Sidney's room. + +He answered the tap at the door with a ready 'Enter,' and Humphrey found +him seated before a table covered with papers, the morning light upon his +gold-coloured hair, and on his beautiful face. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe stopped short on the threshold of the door before +closing it behind him, and how often, in the years that were to come, did +Philip Sidney's figure, as he saw it then, return to him as a vivid reality +from which time had no power to steal its charm. + +Philip looked up with a smile, saying,-- + +'Well, my good Humphrey, you are astir early.' + +'And you, sir, have been astir all night!' + +'Sleep would not come at my bidding, Humphrey, and it is in vain to court +her. She is a coy mistress, who will not be caught by any wiles till she +comes of her own sweet will. But is aught amiss, Humphrey, that you seek me +so soon? Hero, my good horse, came out of the fray untouched. I assured +myself of that ere I came hither last night.' + +'There is nothing wrong with Hero, sir, that I know of. I dare to seek you +for counsel in a matter which causes me great distress.' + +Philip Sidney had many great gifts, but perhaps none bound his friends and +dependants more closely to him, nor won their allegiance more fully, than +the sympathy with which he entered into all their cares and joys, their +sorrows or their pleasures. + +Immediately, as Humphrey told his story, he was listening with profound +attention, and Humphrey's burden seemed to grow lighter as he felt it +shared with his chief. + +'You know her, sir! You can believe how sore my heart is for her. In all +the sorrows which have well nigh crushed her, this boy has been her one +consolation and joy, and he is stolen from her.' + +'Yes,' Philip Sidney said, 'I do know Mistress Gifford, and have always +pleased myself with the thought that she would put aside the weeds of +widowhood and make you happy some day, good Humphrey.' + +'Nay, sir; she has given me too plainly to understand this is impossible. +She is as a saint in Heaven to me. I love her with my whole heart, and +yet--yet--I feel she is too far above me, and that I shall never call her +mine.' + +'Well, well, let us hope you may yet attain unto your heart's desire, nor +have it ever denied, as is God's will for me. But now, as to the boy--it +puzzles me why any man should kidnap a child of these tender years. What +can be the motive?' + +'I know not, sir, unless it be the greedy desire of the Papists to gain +over, and educate in their false doctrines and evil practices, children +likely to serve their ends. Mistress Gifford's husband was, so it is said, +a Papist from the first moment that he married her, but hid it from her, +and played his part well.' + +'I do not doubt it. While in the service of my Uncle Leicester, it was his +policy to profess the Reformed Faith. Failing to obtain what he wanted, he +threw off disguise, and, as I understand, after an intrigue with another +man's wife, had a fierce fight with the injured husband, so deadly that +both lost their lives in the fray.' + +'Some said this Gifford, fearing disgrace, had left the country, others +that he died. Mistress Gifford must believe the last to be true or she +would not, methinks, have clothed herself in the weeds of widowhood.' + +'But now, my good Humphrey, you would fain have leave to prosecute your +inquiries. God speed you in them, and may they be successful. Mistress +Gifford's reference to Douay makes me think she may have some notion, to +connect this centre of the Papists with the disappearance of her boy. At +any rate, see her, and, if it is advisable for you to repair to Douay, go, +but beware you are not entrapped by any of those Jesuits' snares.' + +'I am loth to leave you, sir,' Humphrey said, 'yet I feel bound to do what +in me lies to rescue this boy. A goodly child he is, full of spirit, and, +though wild at times as a young colt, obedient to his mother. Alack!' +Humphrey continued, 'his poor bereft mother. Would to God I knew how to +comfort her.' + +It was then arranged that Humphrey should set off, without loss of time, +for Penshurst, stopping at Tunbridge on the road to institute inquiries +there. + +George Ratcliffe was also returning home with several horses which had been +over-strained in the tourney of the day before, and both brothers left +London together, with Ned on the baggage horse with the serving-man, before +noon, George scarcely less heavy-hearted than Humphrey, and too much +absorbed in his own troubles to be alive to his brother's. What was the +loss of little Ambrose when compared with the utter hopelessness he felt +about Lucy. + +George rode moodily by his brother's side, scarcely heeding what he saw, +and torturing himself with the careless indifference with which Lucy had +treated him. + +He had asked her to come to his mother's lodgings, and she had refused, +saying,-- + +'You have Mistress Dorothy here, you cannot want me. Besides, I am under +orders, and Crawley must be obeyed.' + +Then, in the intervals of the tournament, George had seen the eyes of +several gallants directed towards Lady Pembroke's booth, and heard one man +say,-- + +'There is a pretty maiden in the Countess's following. I lay a wager I will +get a smile from her.' + +'Not you,' was the reply; 'she has eyes for no one but Mr Sidney. She +follows him with admiring glances; no one else has a chance.' + +While George was inwardly fuming against the two men, one rode up to the +booth, and bowing low, till his head nearly swept his horse's neck, he +presented a posy, tied with a blue riband, to Lucy, who smiled and blushed +with delight, quite indifferent to the scowl on George's face, as he sat +grimly on his horse at the further end of the tilting-yard, where he was +stationed, with several others, with a relay of horses in case fresh ones +should be wanted by the combatants. + +Unversed in the ways of the Court, George did not know that it was the +habit of gallants to present posies, as they would have said, at the shrine +of beauty. From the Maiden Queen upon the throne to the pretty bower-woman +at her needle, this homage was expected, and received almost as a matter of +course. But George, like many other men of his age, had his special +divinity, and could not endure to see other worshippers at her feet. + +All these memories of the two days' tournament occupied George Ratcliffe +during his ride by his brother's side, and kept up a sort of accompaniment +to the measured trot of the horses as they were brought up in the rear by +the servants in charge of them. After a long silence, George said,-- + +'Did you see Mistress Lucy ere we started, Humphrey, to let her know of her +sister's trouble.' + +'No,' was the answer. 'No; I could not get permission to do so, but I sent +a letter by the hand of one of Lord Pembroke's esquires, which would tell +her of her sister's trouble.' + +'It was an ill day for me,' George said, 'when Lucy Ratcliffe came to the +Court. I have lost her now.' + +'Nay now, George, do not be a craven and lose heart. You may win yet. There +is time, and to spare, before you.' + +Thereupon George gave his sturdy roan steed a sharp cut with the whip, +which surprised him greatly. He resented the indignity by plunging from +side to side of the rugged road, and by his heavy gambols sending the other +horses off in a variety of antics. + +When the horses were quieted down again, Humphrey said, laughing,-- + +'Poor old fellow! he doesn't understand why his master should punish him +for the offences of Mistress Lucy Ratcliffe.' Then, more seriously, 'My own +heart is heavy within me, but I try to ease the burden by doing what I can +to relieve the pain of her whom I love. Action is the best cure for heart +sickness.' + +'But action is impossible for me, Humphrey. I have only to endure. Here am +I, riding back to our home to eat the bread of disappointment, leaving her, +for whom I would gladly die, to the temptations of the Court. She will +listen to the wooing of some gallant, and my Lady Pembroke will abet it, +and then--' + +'Then bear it like a man, George; nor break your heart for a maiden, when +there are, I doubt not, many who are worthier and--' + +'That's fine talking,' poor George said wrathfully. 'What if I were to tell +you there are many worthier than the widow of Ambrose Gifford. There are +some who say that she was not--' + +Humphrey's eyes had an angry light in them as he turned them full on his +brother. + +'Not a word more, George, of _her_. I will not brook it; her name is sacred +to me as the name of any saint in Heaven.' + +George felt he dare say no more, and, after another silence, Humphrey +asked,-- + +'When does our mother propose to return?' + +'Not for a month. She has made friends with a draper in the Chepe, who is a +relation of our father's. He has a little, ill-favoured son, and I think I +saw signs of his wishing to win Dorothy Ratcliffe's favour. I would to +Heaven he may do so, and then I shall at any rate have peace and quiet, and +be free from hearing my mother lay plans of what she will do when I bring +Dorothy as mistress of Hillside. Marry Dorothy, forsooth! I pity any man +who is tied to that shrew for life.' + +'Even the ill-favoured cousin you speak of in the Chepe,' Humphrey said, +laughing in spite of himself. 'Nay, George, bear yourself as a man, and I +dare to say little Mistress Lucy will come round to your wishes.' + +'I would that I could hope, but despair has seized me ever since the day of +that tourney. Did you ever see anyone look fairer than she did that day +seated amongst all the grand folks? There was not one to compare with her, +and I caught words in several quarters which showed me I am not wrong in +my estimate of her.' + +'Ah, George,' his brother said, 'we are all wont to think our own idols are +beyond compare; it is a common illusion--or delusion. But we are nearing +Tunbridge. Here we must part, for I must tarry here to pursue inquiries, +while you proceed homewards. The horses must be baited, and we must get +some refreshments at the hostel. It may be that in the inn kitchen I may +pick up some information that may be of service. I shall not ride to +Penshurst till nightfall, or may be the morrow, but I must confide a letter +to the care of that trusty Ned who I see coming up behind us but slowly on +yonder sturdy steed.' + +Humphrey dismounted in the yard of the hostel and gave orders to his groom, +while George went into the kitchen and bid the hostess spread a good meal +for the whole party. + +Humphrey waited outside till the baggage horse, on which Ned was seated +came up. + +Poor Ned was entirely unused to travel on horseback, and had found jolting +and bumping on the sturdy mare's back over the rough road far more painful +than his long march of the previous day and night. He was the butt of the +other servants, who laughed more loudly than politely as he was set on his +legs in the yard. + +He was so stiff from the confined position, that he staggered and would +have fallen, amidst the boisterous jeers of the spectators, had not +Humphrey caught him, and, trying to steady him, said,-- + +'Peace, ye varlets; this good fellow has done me a real service, and +deserves better at your hands than gibes and scoffs. Come hither, Ned. I +have yet something further for you to do for me.' + +Ned followed Humphrey with halting steps, shaking first one leg and then +another, as if to assure himself that they still belonged to him. + +'I'll do all you ask, Master,' Ned said, 'but ride a-horseback. I will walk +fifty miles sooner. My legs are full of pins and needles, and it will take +a deal of shaking and rubbing before I can call 'em my own again.' + +Humphrey could not resist laughing, for Ned's face was comical in its +contortions, as he stamped his feet and rubbed his shins with muttered +exclamations that, as long as his name was Ned, he would never get upon a +horse's back again. + +'You've got a fit of the cramp,' Humphrey said, 'it will soon pass. Now, +after you have had a good meal, take this letter which is tied and sealed, +and put it into the hands of Mistress Gifford. It will tell her all I can +yet tell her in answer to the letter you brought me. At least she will know +by it that I will do my utmost to serve her, and find her son.' + +Ned took the letter with his large brown fingers, and, putting it into the +pouch in the breast of his smock, he said,-- + +'I'll carry it safe, Master, and I'll be off at once.' + +'Not till you have broken your long fast in the kitchen of the hostel.' + +'An it please you, Master, I would sooner be off, if I get a cake to eat on +the way, and a draft of ale before I start; that will serve me. Do not +order me, I pray you, to sit down with those gibing villains--no, nor order +me, kind sir, to mount a horse again. If I live to be three score, I pray +Heaven I may never sit a-horseback again.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ACROSS THE FORD + + 'Farewell to you! my hopes, my wonted waking dreams, + Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy, eclipsed are thy beams. + Farewell self-pleasing thoughts! which quietness brings forth, + And farewell friendship's sacred league! uniting minds of worth.' + + SIR F. GREVILLE, 1591. + + +Lucy Forrester was mending the lace of one of Lady Pembroke's ruffs which +had been torn at the edge on the previous day, when a page brought in +Humphrey's letter, saying, 'For Mistress Forrester.' + +'Hand it hither,' Mistress Crawley said. 'It will keep till that lace is +mended, and I'd have you to know, Mistress Lucy, my lady is very careful +that there should be no billets passing between the young gentlewomen of +her household and idle gallants about the Court. A pack of rubbish is in +that letter, I'll warrant; some rhymes about your bright eyes and cherry +cheeks, or some such stuff.' + +'If you please, Madam, I desire to have my letter, and, if you will not +give it to me, I will go to my lady and tell her you refuse to let me have +it.' + +'You little sauce-box! Do you think my lady has nought to do but attend to +the whimsies of chits like you? Go on with your work. Do you hear?' + +Lucy was burning with indignation, and, moreover, her curiosity was +awakened to know who had written to her, and what were the contents of the +letter. + +The spirit which had rebelled against her stepmother now asserted itself, +and she pushed back the stool on which she was sitting with such violence +that it fell with a crash on the floor, and, as it fell, knocked against +the spindle at which another of the maidens was sitting, and the thread +snapped in two. + +In the confusion which ensued Lucy escaped, and went into the gallery which +ran round the house, and meeting Mr Sidney, she stopped short. + +'Whither away, Mistress Lucy? My sister wishes to see you.' + +'And I wish to see my lady,' Lucy said, her breast heaving with suppressed +excitement. 'I was running to seek her.' + +Mistress Crawley now appeared, and, seizing Lucy by the shoulder, +exclaimed,-- + +'You impudent child! How dare you stop Mr Sidney? Return at once, or I'll +have you dismissed.' + +'Gently, good Mistress Crawley,' Philip Sidney said. 'It was I who was +seeking Mistress Lucy. Allow me to take her to the Countess's apartment, +where I fear ill news awaits her concerning her family at Penshurst.' + +Philip Sidney's voice and manner had almost a magic power. + +Mistress Crawley begged his pardon, nor would she wish to interfere with +her lady's orders. She would take another opportunity of reporting Mistress +Forrester's conduct to her. And, with a profound curtsey to Philip, and an +angry glance at Lucy, she retreated from the field to renew her attack at a +more convenient season. + +'Oh! sir,' Lucy began, 'a letter was brought for me, and Mistress Crawley +would not suffer me to have it. I was angry--' and Lucy cast down her eyes, +the long lashes wet with tears; she could not meet the calm, grave face +looking down on her. + +Yet through all, there was the sense of infinite delight that Mr Sidney was +her friend, and that Mistress Crawley was discomfited. + +'My poor child,' he said, 'I am sorry for you, if, as I think, the letter +contains news of your sister's illness and of her great trouble.' + +'Mary, is it Mary who is sick, sir?' + +'Yes, and worse than that, her boy has been stolen from her.' + +'Then I know who has done it,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I know it was that dreadful +man with the cruel eyes who scared me almost to death a month ago. He said +he wanted to see Ambrose, and now he has stolen him.' + +They were at the door of Lady Pembroke's room by this time, and Philip +Sidney drew aside the over arras hanging on it to let Lucy pass in. To her +disappointment he said,-- + +'I will leave you now to the Countess for comfort and counsel,' and then +the arras fell, and Lucy was called by Lady Pembroke to the further end of +the room, where she was sitting with parchment and pen before her. + +'Is that you, Mistress Forrester?' she said. 'Come hither. Mr Sidney has +brought tidings of Mistress Gifford, which are very grievous. Master +Humphrey Ratcliffe has gone to Penshurst, and will use every effort to +recover the boy, who--may God help her--has been stolen from his mother. +She is, I fear, very sick in body as well as mind, and I am debating +whether it would not be well for you to return to Penshurst under care of +some of the servants, who will be sent thither on the morrow. It would be a +comfort, surely, to your sister to have your presence.' + +Poor Lucy! This unexpected end to her bright hopes was too much for her. +Tears coursed each other down her cheeks, as much for her own +disappointment as sorrow for her sister. She stood before Lady Pembroke, +unable to utter a word. + +'Sit down, poor child,' Lady Pembroke said kindly. 'Yes, Crawley, what is +it?' + +For Mistress Crawley now appeared with the letter in her hand, and, with a +low curtsey, presented it to Lady Pembroke. + +'An' it please you, Madam, I cannot put up with Mistress Lucy's impudence. +There'll be no law and order amongst the young gentlewomen, over whom you +are pleased to set me, if this young woman is to put me at defiance. Vanity +and thinking of nought but gew-gaws and finery and looking out for +admiration, don't go to make a bower-woman such as a noble lady like +yourself might wish to have in her household. I would humbly say to you, my +lady, that I am not the one to put up with sauce and impudence from a +little country-bred maid you are pleased to take under your patronage.' + +'Dear Crawley,' Lady Pembroke said, 'Mistress Forrester is ill at ease at +this moment; the news from her home may well cause her dismay and grief; +leave her to me, and I will let you hear later to what conclusion I have +arrived.' + +Mistress Crawley curtseyed again even more profoundly than before, and, as +she left the room, murmured something about 'favourite,' which did not +reach Lady Pembroke's ear, or, if it did, passed unheeded. + +Lady Pembroke was sweet and gentle in her manner to all who served her, but +she was not weakly indulgent. Although her heart went out in pity towards +poor Lucy, whom she had watched on the previous day, in the full flush of +delight at her first taste of Court pageantry, and had seen, with some +uneasiness, that her beauty had attracted many eyes, she said gravely,-- + +'Try to stop weeping, Lucy, and let us think what it will be best to do. +It is well always to look at duty first, and strive after its performance, +with God's help; and I think it will be your duty to return to your sister +in her distress.' + +'And leave you for ever, Madam!' Lucy exclaimed passionately. + +'Nay, I did not say as much; but, my child, if you return to my household, +it must be understood that you be submissive to Mistress Crawley--an old +and tried friend and servant--who commands respect, and must have it +rendered her.' + +'Oh, Madam, I will, I will be submissive, only do not send me quite away.' + +It did not escape Lady Pembroke's notice that Lucy's tears and distress +were more for herself and her disappointment than for her sister. Lucy had +never learned a lesson of unselfishness, and she had thought chiefly of her +own pleasure, and how she could escape from the life at Ford Manor. And now +that she had escaped, now that a bright future had opened before her, +suddenly that future was clouded, and she was to return whence she came, +and would, doubtless, have to bear the gibes of her stepmother, who had, at +parting, said, 'She would be back in a trice, like a bad penny, returned as +worthless.' + +A prophecy fulfilled sooner than she had expected. + +All this time Humphrey's letter had not been opened, and Lady Pembroke +said,-- + +'Let us know Master Ratcliffe's wishes; he is, as I know, a good friend to +your sister.' + +'He will sure tell me to go back, but I cannot find little Ambrose; and I +am not skilled in nursing the sick, Madam, I know. Goody Pearse, in the +village, would tend Mary better. I love Mary. I love her dearly; and I +grieve about Ambrose, but--' + +'But you love yourself better than either your sister or her boy,' Lady +Pembroke said. 'Now, cut the string of that letter and let me know its +contents.' + +Lucy did as she was bid. Something in Lady Pembroke's grave manner made her +feel that she was not pleased with her, and, of all things, she longed to +win favour with her--Mr Sidney's sister! + +There were only a few words on the piece of folded parchment. + + * * * * * + +'Mistress Lucy, you must crave leave of my lady, the Countess of Pembroke, +to return to Ford Manor. Your sister is in sore distress--her boy lost, and +she is lying sick and sad. Hasten to get leave to return on the morrow with +the gentlewomen and esquires, who are to reach Penshurst with my Lady +Sidney and Master Thomas. I am now, by leave of Mr Sidney, starting on the +quest for your nephew Ambrose Gifford. Pray God I may find him. + + 'Yours to command, and in haste. + 'HUMPHREY RATCLIFFE.' + + * * * * * + +'This letter from so wise a gentleman leaves no alternative,' Lady Pembroke +said, as she scanned its contents, and then handed it back to Lucy. + +'Orders shall be given for your joining the retinue which sets off for +Penshurst the morrow. Meantime, Lucy, return to your duties, and crave +pardon of Mistress Crawley for your insubordination.' + +'And I may return? Oh! Madam, I pray you, say I may return to you. Do not +cast me off.' + +'I shall be at Wilton for some months, and thither I may send for you, if, +as I trust, you will not be needed at Ford Manor.' + +Lucy still lingered. + +'Forgive me, Madam; do not dismiss me without forgiveness.' + +'Nay, surely, dear child,' Lady Pembroke said. 'I would fain see you happy, +and content with the lot appointed you by God. There are manifold +temptations in this world for us all. We need grasp the hand of One who +will not fail to lead us safely in prosperity, and by the waters of comfort +in adversity. Seek Him, Lucy, with your whole heart, and I pray God to +bless you.' + +Lucy kissed the hand held out to her with passionate fervour, and then went +back to do Lady Pembroke's bidding. + +The expedition to Hampton Court was the topic of conversation amongst the +ladies of the household. + +Several of the elder ones were to accompany Lady Pembroke in the earl's +barge; and Lucy heard the glowing accounts of the splendour of the +entertainment there, related in triumphant tones by those who were +fortunate enough to be selected to accompany the Countess. + +They dilated on the theme with some satisfaction, as poor Lucy sat at her +lace-mending, too proud to show her mortification, and yet inwardly chafing +against the hard fate, which had prevented her from being one of the party. + +'Better never to have tasted the sweets of a bright, gay life, than be so +suddenly snatched from it,' she thought. But her better self asserted +itself as she thought of Mary's distress in the loss of Ambrose. + +For Lucy had a better self, and she was not without higher aims. She +possessed natural gifts which, though perhaps inferior to her sister's, +only wanted cultivation. She eagerly devoured any books that came in her +way; and she had a keen perception of all that was beautiful--perhaps it is +safer to say, all that was grand and imposing. + +She loved to dream of herself as the lady of some fine house, surrounded by +all that wealth and rank could give. + +The ideal knight who was to endow her with this splendour was partly ideal, +but he took the form of Mr Sidney. She dare scarcely acknowledge this to +herself. He was set on high, so far above her, it is true; yet he was never +too high above her to forget her presence. His smile was a guerdon which +she craved to win; the glance of his grave, beautiful eyes thrilled through +her; the sound of his voice was music, stirring within her an answering +chord, the echo of which was ever sweet and sweeter every time it was +awakened. + +It was, she felt sure, by his kind offices she had been placed in Lady +Pembroke's household. And did he not seem sad--sorry for her--when Mistress +Crawley pursued her in the gallery? Did he not call her 'My poor child!' +looking down at her with that light of sympathy in his eyes which seemed at +the moment to compensate for all else? + +Perhaps unconsciously to himself, Philip Sydney touched the hearts of many +a fair dame and youthful beauty about the Court of Queen Elizabeth. Indeed, +we know it to have been so, and that the charm he exercised was as subtle +as it was irresistible. This charm increased year by year, and perhaps +never was greater than at the time of which we are writing, when the +struggle within--a struggle in which he was to come out the victor--gave a +pathetic earnestness to his manner, and quickened his sympathies for every +kind and degree of sorrow or disappointment. + +It was as poor little Lucy said: 'He was not too high to stoop to care for +her, or for others.' + +In the early morning of the next day Lucy stood disconsolately in the +courtyard of Lord Pembroke's city house watching the packing of the +baggage, and awaiting the orders of the gentleman who was Master Thomas +Sydney's tutor, and was in command for the journey. + +All was in the bustle of departure, and Lucy felt that no one cared on +which pillion she was to ride, nor where her own modest packages were to be +stowed. + +She wore a scarlet riding-robe, with a hood which was lined with white +taffeta. It fell back, and made a background to her shining hair, and +defined the outline of her small, well-shaped head as she leaned against +the doorway in listless dejection, which was a contrast indeed to her +bright, sparkling mood as she bent over the edge of the booth at the +tournament. + +A sharp altercation was going on between two of the servants, each wishing +to have the honour of taking Lady Mary Sidney's youngest son on his +pillion. + +Presently the boy himself appeared in his black velvet riding suit, booted +and spurred, his red-gold locks--the true Sidney badge--falling over his +shoulders from under the stiff, pointed cap which shaded his forehead. + +'I am to ride alongside of you, not on the pillion like a babe. Peace! I +tell you, Mr Philip saith so. I am to ride Joan, the black mare, Master +Paynter saith it is Mr Philip's order.' + +'Philip,' the boy said, springing towards his brother who now came into the +yard, 'Philip, do not let them treat me as an infant.' + +Thomas Sidney was very small for his age, and was treated as youngest +children often are treated by the elders of a family, as if he were much +younger than his years. + +His delicacy appealed particularly to his brother Philip, who was always +ready to stand his friend, when his elder brother Robin was inclined to +exercise a boyish tyranny over him. + +'Yes, forsooth, Thomas, you shall ride old Joan. Come, let me see you +mount. That is it, spring into the saddle; nay, do not take the rein so +slackly, and settle firmly in the saddle, nor use the stirrup for support. +A man should be able to ride with nothing but himself to trust to for a +safe seat.' + +Thomas was triumphant, and resisted his governess's attempts to throw a +cape over his shoulders, saying,-- + +'The wind was in the east, and would be like to bite their heads off when +they turned into the country.' + +But Thomas threw off the wrap with an impatient gesture, and, in falling, +it hit the good woman on the face. + +'Ask pardon at once, Thomas,' Philip said sternly; 'nor forget the manners +of a gentleman, while you aspire to ride as one.' + +The colour rose to the boy's fair face, and, stooping from the saddle, he +said,-- + +'I am sorry I was rude, Mistress Margery, but oh! I hate to be treated as a +babe.' + +Mistress Margery was easily mollified. She conspired with the rest of the +family to spoil the boy, of whom it was said that he resembled his sister +Ambrosia, who died of wasting sickness and was buried at Ludlow. + +But Thomas had a brave spirit if his body was weak, and to all the +refinement of his race he added indomitable courage and a perseverance +which surmounted what seemed insuperable barriers. + +When the avant-couriers had ridden off, Philip turned to Lucy. + +'On which horse are you to ride, Mistress Forrester? Let me lift you to +your place.' + +Lucy was trembling with joy that Mr Sidney should care for her comfort, +and, as we all know, joy lies very near the fount of tears. + +She dare scarcely trust herself to speak, as she heard Mr Sidney call a +groom to bring up the grey horse, Prince, for Mistress Forrester. + +'Poor old Prince!' Philip said, stroking the horse's neck, who knew his +hand and bowed his head in acknowledgment, 'he has been a trusty servant, +and will carry you safely, I know. But bring hither another cushion for the +pillion,' he called to an attendant, 'and put a package below, for Mistress +Forrester's feet to rest upon.' + +Then he lifted Lucy to her place, saying, as he did so,-- + +'Methinks Prince will not complain of the burden he has to carry to-day, it +is but a feather's weight. See, place your feet on this roll, and let me +cover them with the haircloth--so; does that suit you?' + +The groom was about to take his place on the side of the pillion nearest +the horse's head, when he remembered he had forgotten to fill the powder +flask, for no horseman ever ventured on the Queen's highway without +abundant supply for the musket, which lay across the saddle bow. + +The delay caused by this gave Mr Sidney time to say,-- + +'Heaven grant you may find Mistress Gifford in better case than we fear. +You do well to go to her, and comfort her; commend me to her, and say +Humphrey Ratcliffe has my freely-given permission to scour the country to +find her lost boy. He will do so if he is to be found, and it will be a +double grace if he does, for we may be able to unearth some of these foxy +Jesuits who are lying in wait in every hole and corner.' + +Then, as Lucy did not speak, Philip laid his hand gently on hers as he +leaned against the horse, with one arm caressing his old favourite's neck. + +'Smile on me before you set off, Mistress Lucy, nor look so doleful. The +clouds will clear away, I doubt not, and you will return to my sister, the +Countess, to be blythe and happy in learning all Mistress Crawley would +fain teach you of handicraft, and still more, all my sister can instruct +you in, for she is ever ready to give out the treasures which she has +stored up in her brain and heart.' + +And now the groom appeared, and mounted to his place, and still Lucy could +not find any words. + +'God speed you in your journey,' was Philip's good-bye, and Lucy could only +murmur a few half-inaudible words, as she looked down on the true knight +who filled her girlish dreams, and to whom there never was, and never could +be, any rival. + +And as the steady-going Prince footed it with even steps over the stones, +and trotted along the somewhat rugged roads on the way to Tunbridge, Lucy +tormented herself with her folly in never telling Mr Sidney in so many +words how grateful she was to him. + +'Fool that I was!' she thought. 'And he so tender and careful for my +comfort. What a poor idiot I must have seemed! Yet, sure, I must find +favour in his eyes, or he would not have wrapt the cloth so deftly round my +feet. Oh, is he not noble and beautiful beyond all men who ever lived? I +hear them say the Queen calls him "her Philip" and "her bright gem," and +that he is the wisest statesman, and grandest poet and finest scholar of +the age, and yet he is not too great to be good to me--little Lucy +Forrester. And it may be I shall never see him again--never return to Lady +Pembroke--live up on that hill all my days, and get as stupid and dull as +the old brindled cow that stares with big, dull eyes straight before her, +and sees nought, nor cares for nought but to chew her food. + +'Alack! I am right sorry for Mary's grief. But I wish, if Ambrose was to be +stolen, she had not fallen sick, so that I must needs go and tend her. I am +a selfish hussy to feel this--selfish and hard-hearted! But, oh, was ever +anyone more grievously disappointed than I am. A few short, bright days, +and then back, back to the old, dreary life. Still, I am young; yes, and I +am fair too. I know it, and I may yet be happy.' + +Lucy's meditations continued in this strain, in alternate fears and hopes, +for some time. + +The cavalcade stopped at intervals at wayside hostels to bait the horses, +and to refresh the travellers with draughts of ale and cider. One of these +potations had a soporific effect on Lucy, and, after drinking it, she +became oblivious of jolts and stoppages, of the fair country through which +she passed, and was wrapped in profound slumber, her head resting against +the broad back of the servant who held the reins, and urged on old Prince's +somewhat slow steps by a succession of monotonous sounds, which now and +again broke into the refrain of a song, one of the ballads familiar to +Kentish men, and handed down from father to son for many generations. + + * * * * * + +Humphrey had reached Ford Manor late on the previous evening. He had ridden +hard and fast to Tunbridge, and had heard from Dorothy Ratcliffe's father +that the Papists' colony was supposed to be broken up, and that they had +escaped to Southampton, and taken ship for France. + +Two priests had been seized and thrown into prison at Canterbury, and this +was supposed to have caused the dispersion of their followers, who had +evaded pursuit, and were now thought to be beyond the reach of their +persecutors. But neither from his old uncle, Edgar Ratcliffe, nor from any +other source could Humphrey glean any information which might throw light +on the disappearance of little Ambrose Gifford. + +Nor did the intelligence of his loss seem greatly to affect the old man, +nor indeed to be of any interest to the few people at Tunbridge of whom +Humphrey made inquiries. + +They were far more anxious to hear news from the Court, and of the +tournament, and whether Mr Sidney had won fresh laurels, and if the Queen +was really going to wed with a Popish prince. This was what the Papists +built their hopes upon, and then it would be their turn to trample on the +Protestants. + +As Humphrey rode through Penshurst, the village was wrapt in profound +repose, for in those times people went to bed and rose with the sun. +Artificial light was scarcely known in the farms and homesteads of country +districts, and there was only one twinkling light in the window of the +hostel in the street to show belated travellers that if they desired +shelter and rest they might find it there. + +Humphrey rode slowly as he got nearer his destination, feeling reluctance +to be the bearer of no good news to one, who he knew was eagerly looking +for him. + +The waters of the little Medway were low, for the season had been unusually +dry, and Humphrey's horse knew the ford well, and easily stepped over it, +his hoofs making a dull splash in the rippling stream. + +The stars were bright overhead and a crescent moon gave a silvery light. +The stillness was profound. At the entrance of the lane leading to Ford +Manor the horse stopped short; he evidently wanted to go to his own stable +on the crest of the hill. + +In that momentary pause Humphrey turned in the saddle, and, looking back, +saw the dark outline of the grand old home of the Sidneys and the dark +masses of the stately trees which surround it, clear cut against the sky, +in which the moon hung like a silver lamp. + +The peace which reigned seemed to strike him as a sharp contrast with the +turmoil and noise of the city he had lately left. The Court, so full of +heart-burnings and jealousies and strivings to win a higher place in the +favour of those who were in favour with the Queen. The image of him who +was, perhaps, at that time Elizabeth's chief favourite rose before him, and +he thought how far happier he would be to live, apart from Court favour and +rivalries, in the stately home which was the pride, not only of the Sidneys +themselves, but of everyone of their tenants and dependents on their +wide-stretching domain. For Humphrey could not hide from himself that his +chief was often sad at heart, and that sometimes, in uncontrollable +weariness, he would say that he would fain lead a retired life in his +beloved Penshurst. His moods were, it is true, variable, and at times he +was the centre of everything that was bright and gay at Court, sought after +as one who could discourse sweetest music, the most graceful figure in the +dance, the most accomplished poet who could quickly improvise a verse in +praise of his Queen, or a rhyme to commemorate some feat of arms at joust +or tourney, like that of the preceding day. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe thought that he held the solution of his Master's +alternations of sadness and cheerfulness, and, as he rode up to the Manor, +he sighed as he remembered Philip Sidney's words. + +'Let us hope you may attain your heart's desire, nor have it ever denied +you, as is God's will for me.' + +'Denied to me also, but yet I have a hope, Mr Sidney cannot have; no +impassable barrier rises between me and Mary. If I find her boy I may reap +my reward.' + +At the sound of the horse's feet the casement above the porch was opened, +and a woman's head was thrust out. + +'Who goes there?' + +'It is I, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I have an errand to Mistress Gifford.' + +'She is sick, and can't hear aught to-night. It is near midnight. Go your +way, and return in the morning, Master Ratcliffe.' + +Then there was a pause, the woman's head was withdrawn, and Humphrey's +ear, quickened by love, heard Mary's voice in pathetic pleading. Presently +the head re-appeared. + +'Mistress Gifford says, "Do you bring news?"' + +'I would fain see her, if possible. I cannot speak of such matters here.' + +'Then you must wait till the morrow, nor parley any longer.' + +The casement was shut with a sharp click, and there was nothing left for +Humphrey but to pursue his way to his own home, whither George--who had +parted from him at Tunbridge--and his servants had preceded him earlier in +the day. + +Mary Gifford lay sleepless and restless all through the long hours of the +night, watching for the dawn. She longed, and yet half dreaded her meeting +with Humphrey. She felt so utterly weak and broken-hearted, so forlorn and +deserted--what if he again urged his suit!--what if she had now to tell him +what had been at their last interview only a probability, and was now a +certainty! Her husband was no vague, shadowy personality; he was alive and +strong, to work for her the greatest evil that could befall her in stealing +her boy from her. + +When Mistress Forrester came in, on her way to the dairy, to see how it +fared with Mary, she found her, to her surprise, dressed, while Goody +Pearse was snoring peacefully on the pallet bed, where Ambrose had slept +near his mother. + +'Dear heart! Mary Gifford, what do you mean by getting up like this? I +thought, forsooth, you were so sick you had need of a nurse, to take a few +more shillings out of my pocket, and here you are at five o'clock, up and +spry. Well-a-day, I never did come to the bottom of you. Deep waters, they +say, make no noise.' + +Mary had braced herself to bear anything and everything, and was strangely +unmoved by her stepmother's innuendoes, of which she took no notice, and +only said, in a gentle voice,-- + +'Is Ned astir yet?' + +'I don't know. He came hobbling in after his goose-chase to London on your +account, losing a couple of days' work; and I warrant he will have to be +shaken before he gets about his business.' + +'I can get downstairs,' Mary said, 'if Ned will help to carry me. I fear I +cannot put my leg to the ground yet.' + +'No; and you may give up the notion. If you come down, you may as lief do +without a nurse, and take to your lawful business. It is a pretty +thing!--one of you gadding off to town and thinking herself a fine lady, +and t'other laming herself and wanting to be tended by a paid woman.' + +At this juncture Goody Pearse awoke, bewildered and much alarmed by the +presence of Mistress Forrester. She expected a sharp reprimand, but +Mistress Forrester left the room without another word either to nurse or +patient. + +'Dear heart! what made you get up afore I was ready? You'll have raging +pain in your foot again, sure as fate.' + +'I must get downstairs to-day to see Master Humphrey Ratcliffe. Ned will +help me.' + +Mary's resolution did not falter. Her humble and faithful admirer, Ned, +appeared at the attic door, when summoned by Goody Pearse, to help her +downstairs. Ned made short work of it; he lifted Mary in his arms, and +trudged down the creaking steps with her without a single halt, and placed +her by her desire on the settle, where her leg could rest. Mary's smile was +a sufficient reward for Ned. But when Mary held out her hand, and said she +owed him more than tongue could tell for going to London, Ned was +speechless with emotion. At last he blurted out,-- + +'I'd walk a hundred miles to serve you, Mistress; I'd even ride 'em for +your sake. But, oh, Lord! I am sore to-day with the cramp I got +a-horseback. Here is a letter from Master Ratcliffe; he bid me put into +your hands and into none other, and I have kept to the order. Take it, +Mistress.' + +Mary held out her hand, and took the much crumpled and soiled letter from +Ned's large, brown fingers. But she had not opened it when Humphrey +Ratcliffe himself came up to the porch, and stopped short on the threshold +as if struck by some sudden blow. + +He was not prepared to see so great a change in Mary in so short a time. +Pain of body, however severe, nor the deep cut in her forehead, could +hardly have left such traces of suffering on her face--still, in +Humphrey's eyes, beautiful, though with lines of sorrow round her mouth and +eyes. + +'Enter, my kind friend,' Mary said, in a low, sweet voice, holding out her +hand to him. 'This good Ned,' she said, 'has faithfully performed his +errand, and deserves our thanks.' Ned, bashful and awkward, made for the +door and disappeared. 'But what news? Is there aught to tell me of my +child?' + +Humphrey had by this time advanced to the settle, and, kneeling by it, he +took Mary's hand in his, and kissed it gently and reverently. + +'I could find no trace of the boy in Tunbridge. The whole colony of Papists +has broken up and fled. Some of their number have been thrown into prison, +awaiting judgment for conspiracy. I did not tarry, therefore, at Tunbridge, +but rode on here last night.' + +'Yes,' Mary said. 'I heard your voice; and now--now what next?' + +'It is my purpose to follow that villain who kidnapped the boy, and regain +possession of him. It is a puzzle to me to understand why he should steal +him.' + +'He is so handsome, so clever,' his mother said. 'Humphrey, I cannot, I +cannot lose him. I must find him; and he will break his heart for his +mother,' she said passionately. 'His mother! bereft and desolate without +him.' + +'We will find him,' Humphrey said, 'never fear. My noble master has given +me leave to go on the quest to France, or, it may be, the Low Countries, +for the Papists have schools and centres of worship in all the Protestant +towns.' + +'The Low Countries,' Mary said, 'I have a friend there, at Arnhem, one +George Gifford; he is an honest and godly minister. In my first grief and +despair years ago, I sent a letter to him for counsel. He was then in +England, and acted a father's part by me, though only my husband's uncle. +Yes, I will go to him as soon as I can put my foot on the ground. I will +leave all things, and go on the quest myself--alone.' + +'Not alone!' Humphrey said, 'not alone, but with me. Oh, Mary! I will tend +you and care for you, and we will seek together for _our_ boy--mine as +yours, yours as mine. We will go to this good man of whom you speak, and +all will be well. God will speed us.' + +'Nay, dear friend,' Mary said. 'Nay, it cannot be. I can never be your +wife.' + +'And, by Heaven, why not? What hinders? Something tells me, presumptuous +though it may be, that you might give me a little--a little love, in return +for mine. Why is it beyond hope?' + +'Hush!' Mary said, 'you do not know why it is beyond hope.' + +Humphrey's brow darkened, and he bit his under lip to restrain his +irritation. + +Presently Mary laid her hand on his shoulder as he knelt by her. + +'It is beyond hope,' she said,'because the man who stole my child from me +is my husband.' + +Humphrey started to his feet, and said in a voice of mingled rage and +despair,-- + +'The villain! the despicable villain! I will run him through the body an I +get the chance.' + +'Nay, Humphrey,' Mary said in pleading tones, 'do not make my burden +heavier by these wild words. Rumours had reached me in the winter of last +year, when the Earl of Leicester with his large following were at +Penshurst, that my husband was alive. Since then I have never felt secure; +yet I did not dare to doff my widow's garments, fearing--hoping the report +was false. As soon as I heard of this man lurking about the countryside, a +horrible dread possessed me. He asked Lucy to bring Ambrose to meet +him--this strengthened my fears. From that moment I never let the boy out +of my sight. Thus, on that morning of doom, I took him with me to look for +the shepherd and the lost lamb. Ah! woe is me! He was lying in wait. He had +told me, when as I sat late in the porch one evening, that he would have my +boy, and I knew he would wreak his vengeance on me by this cruel deed. I +seized Ambrose by the hand and ran--you know the rest--I fell unconscious; +and when I awoke from my stupor, the light of my eyes was gone from me. + +'Ah! if God had taken my boy by death; if I had seen him laid in the cold +grave, at least I could have wept, and committed him to safe keeping in +the hands of his Heavenly Father--safe in Paradise from all sin. But +now--now he will be taught to lie; and to hate what is good; and be brought +up a Papist; and bidden to forget his mother--his _mother_!' + +Humphrey Ratcliffe listened, as Mary spoke, like one in a dream. + +He must be forgiven if, for the moment, the mother's grief for the loss of +her boy seemed a small matter, when compared with his despair that he had +lost her. + +For a few moments neither spoke, and then with a great rush of passionate +emotion, Humphrey flung himself on his knees by Mary's side, crying out,-- + +'Mary! Mary! say one word to comfort me. Say, at least, if it were +possible, you could love me. Why should you be loyal to that faithless +villain? Come to me, Mary.' + +The poor, desolate heart, that was pierced with so many wounds, craved, +hungered for the love offered her. How gladly would she have gone to +Humphrey, how thankfully felt the support of his honest and steadfast love. +But Mary Gifford was not a weak woman--swayed hither and thither by the +passing emotion of the moment. Clear before her, even in her sorrow, was +the line of duty. The sacred crown of motherhood was on her brow, and +should she dare to dim its brightness by yielding to the temptation which, +it is not too much to say, Humphrey's words put before her. + +She gathered all her strength, and said in a calm voice,-- + +'You must never speak thus to me again, Humphrey Ratcliffe. I am--God help +me--the wife of Ambrose Gifford, and,' she paused, and then with pathetic +earnestness, '_I am the mother of his son._ Let that suffice.' + +Again there was a long silence. From without came the monotonous cawing of +the rooks in the elm trees, the occasional bleating of the lambs in the +pastures seeking their mother's side, and the voices of the shepherd's +children, who had come down to fetch the thin butter-milk which Mistress +Forrester measured out to the precise value of the small coin the +shepherd's wife sent in exchange. + +It was a sore struggle, but it was over at last. + +When Humphrey Ratcliffe rose from his knees, Mary had the reward which a +good and true woman may ever expect sooner or later to receive from a +noble-hearted man, in a like case. + +'You are right, Mary,' he said, 'as you ever are. Forgive me, and in token +thereof let us now proceed to discuss the plans for the rescue of your +boy.' + +This was now done with surprising calmness on both sides. + +Humphrey decided to start first for Douay, and then, failing to trace any +tidings of the boy, he would proceed to Arnhem, and enlist the sympathies +and help of the good man, George Gifford, to get upon the right track for +the recovery of his nephew's child. + +'He is a just man, and will tender the best advice,' Mary said. 'It is true +that a father has a right to his own son, but sure I have a right, and a +right to save him from the hands of Papists. But I have little hope--it is +dead within me--quite dead. My last hope for this world died when I lost my +boy.' + +'God grant I may kindle that hope into life once more,' Humphrey said, in a +voice of restrained emotion, and not daring to trust himself to say another +word, he bent his knee again before Mary, took the long, slender hands +which hung listlessly at her side, and bowing his head for a moment over +them, Humphrey Ratcliffe was gone! + +Mary neither spoke nor moved, and when Goody Pearse came with a bowl of +milk and bread she found her in a deadly swoon, from which it was hard to +recall her. Mistress Forrester came at the old woman's call, and burnt +feathers under Mary's nose, and, with a somewhat ruthless hand, dashed cold +water over her pale, wan face, calling her loudly by name; and, when at +last she recovered, she scolded her for attempting to come downstairs, and +said she had no patience with sick folk giving double trouble by wilful +ways. Better things were expected of grown women than to behave like +children, with a great deal more to the same purpose, which seemed to have +no effect on Mary, who lay with large wistful eyes gazing out at the open +door through which Humphrey had passed--large tearless eyes looking in +vain for her boy, who would never gladden them again! + +'The light of mine eyes!' she whispered; 'the light of mine eyes!' + +'Shut the door,' Mistress Forrester said to her serving-maid, Avice, who +stood with her large, red arms folded, looking with awe at the pallid face +before her. 'She calls out that the light dazes her; methinks she must be +got back to bed, and kept there.' + +The heavy wooden door was closed, and but a subdued light came in through +the small diamond panes of thick, greenish glass which filled the lattice. +Presently the large weary eyes closed, and with a gentle sigh, she said,-- + +'I am tired; let me sleep, if sleep will come.' + +The business of the poultry-yard and dairy were far too important to be +further neglected, and Mistress Forrester, sharply calling Avice to mind +her work, nor stand gaping there like a gander on a common, left Goody +Pearse with her patient. + +The old crone did her best, though that best was poor. + +Nursing in the days of Queen Elizabeth was of a very rough and ready +character, and even in high circles, there was often gross ignorance +displayed in the treatment of the sick. + +The village nurse had her own nostrums and lotions, and the country +apothecary, or leech as he was called, who led very often a nomadic life, +taking rounds in certain districts, and visiting at intervals lonely +homesteads and hamlets, was obliged, and perhaps content, to leave his +patient to her care, and very often her treatment was as likely to be +beneficial as his own. + +Goody Pearse, to do her justice, had that great requisite for a nurse, in +every age and time--a kind heart. + +She felt very sorry for Mary, and, when Mistress Forrester was gone, she +crooned over her, and smoothed the pillow at her head, and then proceeded +to examine her foot, and bind it up afresh in rags steeped in one of her +own lotions. + +The doctor had ordered potations of wine for Mary, and Mistress Forrester +had produced a bottle of sack from her stores, a mugful of which Goody +Pearse now held to Mary's pale lips. + +'I only want quiet,' she said, in a low, pathetic voice; 'quiet, and, if +God please, sleep.' + +'And this will help it, dear heart,' the old woman said. 'Sup it up, like a +good child, for, Heaven help you, you are young enow.' + +Mary smiled faintly. + +'Young! nay; was I ever young and glad?' + +'Yes, my dearie, and you'll be young and glad again afore long. There! you +are better already, and Ned shall carry you up again when there's peace and +quiet.' + +It was evening, and Mary Gifford had been laid again on her own bed, when +quick footsteps were heard before the house, and Lucy's voice,-- + +'How fares it with Mary?' + +Goody Pearse was on the watch at the casement above, and called out,-- + +'Come up and see for yourself, Lucy Forrester.' + +Lucy was up the crooked, uneven stairs in a moment, and Mary, stretching +out her arms, said,-- + +'Oh! Lucy, Lucy.' + +The two sisters were locked in a long embrace. + +'I am sorry you are fetched back from all your pleasures, little sister,' +Mary said at last. + +'Nay, I am glad to come. I have had a taste of happiness, and it will last +till you are well, and we both go away from here, and the boy is found--for +he will be found--Humphrey Ratcliffe will scour the world ere he gives up +finding him, and Mr Sidney has granted him leave to go whither he lists, to +get hold of that wicked man with his horrible, cruel, black eyes. How I +hate him!' + +'Do not speak of him,' Mary said, shuddering; 'do not speak of him,' and +she put her hand to her side, as if the very mention of him sent a pang +through her heart. 'Let me look at you, Lucy,' she said presently. 'Turn +your face to the light that I may scan it. Ah!' she said, 'still my little, +innocent sister, and with a happy light in her eyes.' + +Lucy's face grew crimson. + +'Yes,' she said. 'I have been happy, though there have been some crooks and +quips to bear from old Mother Crawley. Yet, oh, Mary! when there is one big +heart-joy, everything else seems so small, and poor, and mean.' + +'Have you made George Ratcliffe happy, then, with a promise to requite his +love?' + +'George Ratcliffe!' Lucy exclaimed. 'Nay, Mary--not for a lap full of +gold.' + +'Who, then, is it? for there is someone? Who is it, Lucy? I pray God he is +a noble Christian gentleman.' + +'He is the noblest, and best, and highest that ever lived. Hearken, Mary! +and do not scoff at me--nor scorn me. No, you can never do that, I know. My +knight is far above me--so far, it may be, that he will never stoop so low +as to give me more than passing signs of his good-will. But I _have had_ +these. He has shone on me with his smile, he has thought of my comfort, he +did not deem the country maiden of no account, when grand ladies were +ogling him, and trying to win his favour, he did not think me beneath +notice when he lifted me on the saddle this very morning, and covered me +with a warm cloth, and bade me "God speed." If nought else comes--well, I +will live on what I have had from him. The crumbs of bread from him are +sweeter and richer than a feast from another. As I have jogged hither +to-day, there has been the thought of him to make me willing to give up +everything to gain his approval--his meed of praise. He bid me come to you, +and I came. Nay, it was my Lady Pembroke who _bid_ me come--it was Humphrey +Ratcliffe who said I _must_ e'en come--but it was my knight who told me I +_did well_ to come. And at these words a new feeling quickened in me about +it. + +'You do not understand, Mary, I see you do not understand. You think me +silly, and vain, and selfish--and you are right. I am all three. I have +been all three, and hot-tempered, and saucy, and oh! a hundred other +things, but now I have an aim to be good and act in all things as my knight +would have me. Oh, Mary, could you have seen him as he rode into the +tilt-yard on Whit-Monday, in his blue and gold armour, sitting on his fine +horse, so stately and grand--could you have seen him break lance after +lance, his face shining like the sun, you would know what it is for me to +feel such an one can give a thought to me--even a passing thought. + +'Mary! Mary! I cannot help it. I love him--I worship him--and there is an +end of the whole matter. It will make no odds whether what looks impossible +becomes possible--he is to me what no one beside can ever be. There, it is +out now, and I pray you do not despise me. I will be ever so patient now. I +will do all I am bidden, and one day, Mary, we will leave this place--it is +no home now, and I will return to my Lady Pembroke, and Humphrey Ratcliffe +will find Ambrose, and you will be his wife, and--' + +'Hush, Lucy; not a word more. I will keep sacred and secret in my heart +what you have told me, dear child. I will not judge you hardly. You are +young--so young--as young as I was when I went forth to sorrow and misery. +For you, even though I think your dream baseless, and that you are feeding +hope on what may turn out to be the ashes of disappointment, I will not +despair. I know your idol is worthy, and love for one who is pure and noble +cannot work ill in the end. I will keep your secret; now, Lucy, little +sister--keep mine. I can never wed with another man, for my husband +lives--and has stolen from me my boy.' + +'Mary, Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, as she hid her face, weeping, on her sister's +pillow. 'Oh, Mary! I will try to comfort you. I will not think only of +myself--I will think of you and all you suffer. Mary, I am not really so +heartless and vain, I will be good and comfort you, Mary.' + +Mary Gifford stroked Lucy's brown head, and murmured,-- + +'Dear child! dear child! we will help each other now as we have never done +before.' + +From that moment, from that day of her return to Ford Manor, Lucy Forrester +seemed to have left her careless, pleasure-loving, pleasure-seeking +girlhood behind. She had crossed the meeting place of the brook and river +of womanhood and childhood. Some cross it all unawares--others with +reluctant, lingering feet; some, like Lucy Forrester, brought face to face +with the great realities of life and of suffering love, suddenly find +themselves on the other side to return no more. + + + + +BOOK II + + + Since nature's works be good, and death doth serve + As nature's work, why should we fear to die? + Since fear is vain but when it may preserve, + Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? + Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears, + Disarming human minds of native might; + While each conceit an ugly figure bears + Which were we ill, well viewed in reason's light. + Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be, + And scarce discern the dawn of coming day, + Let them be cleared, and now begin to see + Our life is but a step in dusty way, + Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind; + Since, feeling this, great loss we cannot find.--_Arcadia_, p. 457. + + SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AT WILTON + + 'The silk well could they twist and twine, + And make the fair march pine, + And with the needle work; + And they could help the priest to say + His matins on a holy day, + And sing a psalm at kirk.' + + _November 1585._ _Old Rhyme._ + + +The chastened sunshine of an All Saints' summer was lying upon the fair +lawns and terrace walks of Wilton House, near Salisbury, in the year 1585. +It was November, but so soft and balmy was the air that even the birds were +apparently ready to believe that winter was passed over and spring had +come. + +The thrushes and blackbirds were answering each other from the trees, and +the air was filled with their melody and with the scent of the late flowers +in the pleasance, lying close under the cloisters, facing the beautiful +undulating grounds of Lord Pembroke's mansion near Salisbury. + +The graceful figure of a lady was coming down the grassy slope towards the +house; a boy of five or six years old, with a miniature bow and arrow in +his hand, at her side. + +'I would like another shot at this old beech tree, mother,' the child said. +'I do not care to come in to my tasks yet.' + +'Will must be an obedient boy, or what will Uncle Philip say, if he comes +to-day and finds him in disgrace with his tutor?' + +'Uncle Philip isn't here,' the child said. + +'But he will be ere noon. I have had a despatch from him; he is already at +Salisbury, and may be here at any hour.' + +At this moment Lady Pembroke saw one of her ladies hastening towards her, +and exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, Lucy! have you come to capture the truant?' + +'Yes, Madam, and to tell you that Sir Philip Sidney's courier has ridden +into the courtyard to announce his Master's speedy arrival.' + +'Then I will not go till I have seen Uncle Philip!' and Will dragged at +Lucy's hand as she attempted to lead him towards the house. + +'Nay, Will,' his mother said, 'you must do as you are bid.' And forthwith +the boy pouted; yet he knew to resist his mother's will was useless. But +presently there was a shout, as he broke away from Lucy Forrester's hand, +with the cry,-- + +'Uncle Philip!' and in another moment Sir Philip had taken his little +nephew in his arms, and, saluting him, set him on his feet again. Then, +with a bow and smile to Lucy, he bent his knee with his accustomed grace +before his sister, who stooped down and kissed him lovingly, with the +words,-- + +'Welcome! welcome! dear Philip. Thrice welcome, to confirm the good news of +which my lord had notice yester even.' + +'Yes; I have come to say much, and to discuss many schemes with you. I stay +but till the morrow, when I would fain you got ready to see me later at +Penshurst.' + +'At Penshurst!' + +'Yes. I have set my heart on meeting all my kindred--more especially our +father and mother--there ere I depart. Now, now, Will! wherefore all this +struggling to resist Mistress Forrester? Fie, fie! for shame!' + +'It is the attraction of your presence, Philip, which is too much for +Will,' Lady Pembroke said. + +'Then, if I am the culprit, I will do penance, and take the boy in hand +myself. See, Will, you are to come with me to your tasks, nor give Mistress +Forrester so much trouble.' And Lucy found herself free from the child's +detaining hand, as Sir Philip went, with swift steps, towards the +house--his little nephew running fast to keep up with him. + +Lucy followed, and met Sir Philip in the hall, where the tutor had captured +the truant. + +'Any news from Arnhem, Mistress Forrester?' Sir Philip asked. 'Any good +news from Mistress Gifford?' + +'Nay, sir, no news of the boy; and even our good friend Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe is ready to give up the quest.' + +'Nay, it shall not be given up. I am starting in a few days to the Low +Countries, as Governor of Flushing.' + +'So my lady told me, sir, this morning,' Lucy said demurely. + +'Yes, and I shall be on the alert; depend on it, if the boy is alive, he +shall be found. But I begin to fear that he is dead. Why should I say fear, +forsooth? Death would be better than his training by Jesuits, and so +leagued with Spain and all her evil machinations.' + +Lucy curtseyed, and, with a gentle 'Good-morning to you, sir,' she went to +her duties under Mistress Crawley. + +Lucy had changed from the impetuous child in the first flush of her youth +and consciousness of beauty, into a woman almost graver than her years, and +so little disposed to accept any overtures of marriage, that the ladies of +the Countess of Pembroke's household called her the little nun. + +One after another they drifted off as the wives of the gentlemen and +esquires, who were retainers of the Earl; but Lucy Forrester remained, high +in favour with her lady, and even spoken of by Mistress Crawley as 'clever +enough, and civil spoken,' the real truth being that she had become +indispensable to Mistress Crawley, and was trusted by her to take in hand +the instruction of the young maidens who came from the homes of the gentry +and nobility, in a long succession, to enter the household of Lady +Pembroke, which was an honour greatly coveted by many. + +Soon after Mary Gifford's great sorrow in the loss of her child, Mistress +Forrester astonished her step-daughter by announcing her marriage to one of +her Puritan neighbours, who was, in truth, but a herdsman on one of the +farms, but who had acquired a notoriety by a certain rough eloquence in +preaching and praying at the secret meetings held in Mistress Forrester's +barn. He was well pleased to give up his earthly calling at Mistress +Forrester's bidding, for he would scarcely have presumed to address her as +a suitor without very marked encouragement. He fell into very comfortable +quarters, and, if he was henpecked, he took it as a part of his discipline, +and found good food and good lodging a full compensation. + +Then Mary Gifford and her sister were offered a small sum of money to +represent their right in their father's house, and left it with very little +regret on their side, and supreme satisfaction on their stepmother's. Lucy +returned to Lady Pembroke's household, and Mary Gifford, through the +ever-ready help of Humphrey Ratcliffe, broken down as she was prematurely +in mind and body, found an asylum in the home of her husband's uncle, +Master George Gifford, at Arnheim, from which place she made many vain +inquiries to lead to the discovery of her boy, which hitherto had proved +fruitless. + +True and loyal to her interests, Humphrey Ratcliffe never again approached +her with passionate declarations of love. He was one of those men who can +be faithful unto death, and give unfaltering allegiance to the woman they +feel it is hopeless to win. Loving her well, but loving honour, hers and +his own, more, Humphrey went bravely on the straight road of duty, with no +regretful, backward glances, no murmurs at the roughness of the way, taking +each step as it came with unfaltering resolutions, with a heavy heart at +times; but what did that matter? And in all this determination to act as a +brave, true man should act, Humphrey Ratcliffe had ever before him the +example of his master, Sir Philip Sidney. Second only to his love for Mary +Gifford was his devotion to him. It is said that scarcely an instance is +recorded of any of those who were closely associated with Sir Philip Sidney +who did not, in those last years of his short life, feel ennobled by his +influence. And Humphrey Ratcliffe was no exception to this all but +universal law. + +Mean men, with base, low aims and motives, shunned the society of this +noble Christian gentleman. His clever and accomplished uncle, the brilliant +and unscrupulous Earl of Leicester, must often have been constrained to +feel, and perhaps acknowledge, that there was something in his nephew which +raised him to a height he had never attained--with all his success at +Court, his Queen's devotion, and the fame which ranked him in foreign +countries as the most successful of all Elizabeth's favourites. + +Lady Pembroke awaited her brother's return from the house. Going towards +it to meet him, she put her hand in his arm and said,-- + +'Let us have our talk in the familiar place where we have wandered together +so often, Philip.' + +'Yes,' he said, 'all these fair slopes and pleasant prospects bring back to +me, Mary, the days, the many days, when I found my best comforter in you. +How fares it with the _Arcadia_?' + +'It is winding out its long story,' Lady Pembroke said, laughing. 'Too +long, methinks, for there is much that I would blot out if I dare essay to +do so. But tell me, Philip, of this great appointment. Are you not glad now +that the design respecting Sir Francis Drake's expedition fell to nought. I +ever thought that expedition, at the best, one of uncertain issue and great +risk. Sure, Philip, you are of my mind now.' + +'Nay, Mary, not altogether. I hailed the chance of getting free from +idleness and the shackles of the Court. And moreover,' he said, 'it is a +splendid venture, and my heart swelled with triumph as I saw that grand +armament ready to sail from Plymouth. Methinks, even now, I feel a burning +desire to be one of those brave men who are crossing the seas with Drake to +those far-off islands and territories, with all their wondrous treasures, +of which such stories are told.' + +As Philip spoke, his sister saw his face kindling with an almost boyish +enthusiasm, and the ardent young soldier, eager, and almost wild, to set +sail across the great dividing sea, seemed to replace for the moment the +more dignified man of matured powers, who was now Governor of Flushing. + +'It is all past,' he said, 'and I will do my utmost to forget my +disappointment. It is somewhat hard to forgive Drake for what I must think +false dealing with me, for I know well by whose means those mandates came +to Plymouth from the Queen. There was nought left for me but to obey, for +disobedience would have kept back the whole fleet; but the whole +transaction has left a sore--' + +'Which will rapidly heal, Philip, in this new, and to my mind at least, far +grander appointment. Sure, to be Governor of Flushing means a high place, +and a field for showing all you are as a statesman and soldier. I am proud +and pleased; more proud of you than ever before, were that possible.' + +They had reached a favourite spot now, where, from a slightly rising +ground, there was and is a beautiful view of Salisbury Cathedral. + +'See yonder spire pointing skyward, Mary, how it seems to cleave the sky, +this November sky, which is like that of June? The spire, methinks, reads +me a lesson at this time. It saith to me, "Sursum corda."' + +Lady Pembroke pressed her brother's arm with answering sympathy, and, +looking up into his face, she saw there the shining of a great hope and the +upward glance of a steadfast faith. + +'Yes,' Sir Philip said, 'I am happy in this lot which has fallen to me, and +I pray God I may avenge the cause of those who are trodden down by the +tyranny of Spain. The Queen's noble words inspired me with great confidence +in the righteousness of the cause for which I am to fight. Her Grace said +her object was a holy one--even to procure peace to the holders of the +Reformed Faith, restoration of their time-honoured rights in the +Netherlands, and above all, the safety of England. It is a great work, +Mary; wish me God speed.' + +'I do, I do; and now tell me about Frances and the babe. When is her +christening to be performed?' + +'In four days. The Queen is so gracious as to ride from Richmond to London +to name our babe herself, and will dispense gifts in honour thereof. My +sweet Frances, the child's mother, is not as hearty as I would fain see +her, so she consents to delay her coming to Flushing till I can assure +myself that all is well prepared for her. I ride to London on the morrow. +The babe will be christened there. Two days later I purpose to convey +mother and child to Penshurst, where all who wish to bid me farewell will +gather. Our good father and mother, who do not feel strength enough for the +festivity of the Court, even to be present at the babe's christening, +proceed thither to-morrow from Ludlow. Will you join them there, or +accompany me to London?' + +'I will await your coming at Penshurst, Philip. I am somewhat disturbed at +the last letters from our dear father. He speaks of being broken down in +body and dejected in spirit. Verily, I can scarce forgive the mistress he +has served so well for her treatment of him. God grant you get a better +guerdon for faithful service than our father and mother won.' + +'It is true, too true,' Sir Philip said, 'that they were ill-requited, but +has anyone ever fared better who has striven to do duty in that unhappy +country of Ireland? It needs a Hercules of strength and a Solon of wisdom, +ay, and a Croesus of wealth to deal with it. In the future generations such +a man may be found, but not in this.' + +'Will you take the two boys with you, Robert and Thomas?' + +'I shall take Robert and put him in a post of command. Thomas is all agog +to come also, but he is too young and weakly, though he would rave if he +heard me call him so. He shall follow in good time. There is a brave spirit +in Thomas which is almost too great for his body, and he is not prone to be +so lavish as Robert, who has the trick of getting into debt, out of which I +have again and again helped to free him. In my youth I too had not learned +to suit my wants to my means, but the lesson is now, I pray, got by heart. +A husband and father must needs look well to the money which is to provide +all things for these weak and defenceless ones who lean on him.' + +'You speak of your youth as past, Philip,' Mary said. 'It makes me laugh. +You look, yes, far younger than some five or six years ago.' + +'Happiness has a power to smooth out wrinkles, I know, sweet sister. +Witness your face, on which time refuses to leave a trace, and,' he added +earnestly, 'happiness--rather a peaceful and contented mind--has come to me +at last. When my tender wife, loyal and true, looks up at me with her +guileless eyes, full of love and trust, I feel I am thrice blest in +possessing her. And, Mary, the sight of our babe thrilled me strangely. The +little crumpled bit of humanity, thrusting out her tiny hands, as if to +find out where she was. That quaint smile, which Frances says, is meant for +her; that feeble little bleating cry--all seemed like messages to me to +quit myself as a man should, and, protecting my child in her infancy, leave +to her and her mother a name which will make them proud to have been my +wife and my daughter.' + +'And that name you will surely leave, Philip.' + +'Be it sooner or later, God grant it,' was the fervent reply. + +The Countess soon after went into the house to make some arrangements for +departure, and to write a letter to her sister-in-law, with a beautiful +christening present, which she was to send by her brother's hand. + +Sir Philip lingered still in the familiar grounds of Wilton, which were +dear to him from many associations. The whole place was familiar to him, +and with a strange presage of farewell, a last farewell, he trod all the +old paths between the closely-clipped yew hedges, and scarcely left a nook +or corner unvisited. + +The country lying round Wilton was also familiar to him. Many a time he +had ridden to Old Sarum, and, giving his horse to his groom, had wandered +about in that city of the dead past, which with his keen poetical +imagination he peopled with those who had once lived within its walls, of +which but a few crumbling stones, turf-covered, remain. A stately church +once stood there; voices of prayer and praise rose to God, hopes and fears, +joys and sorrows, gay young life, and sorrowful old age, had in times long +since past been 'told as a tale' in the city on the hill, as now in the +city in the valley, where the spire of the new Cathedral rises skyward. + +New! Only by comparison, for old and new are but relative terms after all, +and it is hard, as we stand under the vaulted roof of Salisbury Cathedral, +to let our thoughts reach back to the far-off time when the stately church +stood out as a new possession to take the place of the ruined temple, which +had once lifted its head as the centre of Old Sarum. + +Sir Philip Sidney had left several of his servants at Salisbury, and, when +he had bidden the Countess good-bye, till they met again in a few days at +Penshurst, he rode back to the city, and, leaving his horse at the White +Hart, he passed under St Anne's Gateway, and crossed the close to the south +door of the Cathedral. + +The bell was chiming for the evensong, and Sir Philip passed in. He was +recognised by an old verger, who, with a low bow, preceded him to the +choir. + +Lady Pembroke was right when she said that her brother looked younger than +he had looked some years before. + +There never was a time, perhaps, in his life, when his face had been more +attractive and his bearing more distinguished than now. + +The eyes of the somewhat scanty congregation were directed to him as he +stood chanting in his clear, sweet musical voice the Psalms for the second +evening of the month. + +The sun, entering at the west door, caught his 'amber locks' and made them +glow like an aureole round his head, as he lifted it with glad assurance +when the words left his lips. + +'But my trust is in Thy mercy, and my heart is joyful in Thy salvation. I +will sing of the Lord because He hath dealt so lovingly with me; yea, I +will praise the name of the Lord Most Highest.' + +Those who saw Sir Philip Sidney that day, recalled him as he stood in the +old oaken stall, only one short year later, when, with bowed head and sad +hearts, they could but pray in the words of the Collect for the week, 'that +they might follow the blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that +they might come to those unspeakable joys which are prepared for them that +love God.' + +Sir Philip had not time to delay, though the Dean hurried after the service +to greet him and to offer hospitality. + +'I must be on my road to London,' he said, 'for a great event awaits me +there, Mr Dean--the baptism of my little daughter, to whom the Queen is +graciously pleased to stand godmother.' + +'And God give you a safe journey, Sir Philip, and bless the child,' the +kindly Dean said. 'How fares it with the daughter of my good friend Sir +Francis Walsingham? I trust she is well recovered.' + +'Fairly well,' Sir Philip replied. 'She is young and somewhat fragile, but +I trust will soon be able to join me at Flushing.' + +After the exchange of a few more kindly words and congratulations, Sir +Philip Sidney was leaving the Cathedral, when a figure, still kneeling in +the nave, arrested his attention, and as his footsteps drew near, the bowed +head was raised, and Sir Philip saw it was Lucy Forrester. + +He passed on, but lingered outside for a few moments, till, as he expected, +Lucy came out. + +'I am glad to see you once more,' Sir Philip said; 'if only to bid you +farewell, and to assure you I will not fail to track out the villain, who +may, at least, give me tidings of Mistress Gifford's boy. I will see her +also, if possible.' + +'You are very good, sir,' Lucy said. + +But she moved on with quick steps towards St Anne's Gateway. + +'Have you aught that I can convey to Mistress Gifford? If so, commit it to +my care at Penshurst, whither, I suppose, you go with the Countess on the +morrow or next day. Then we shall meet again--so now, farewell.' + +Years had passed since Lucy had subdued the tumultuous throb at her heart +when in Sir Philip's presence. He was still her ideal of all that was noble +and pure and courteous; her true knight, who, having filled her childish +and girlish dreams, still reigned supreme. + +There are mysteries in the human heart that must ever remain unfathomable, +and it is not for us to judge one another when we are confronted by them, +and can find no clue to solve them. + +Lucy Forrester's romantic love for Sir Philip Sidney had worked her no ill; +rather, it had strengthened her on the way; and from that night when she +and Mary Gifford had exchanged their secrets she had striven to keep her +promise, and to be, as she had said she wished to be, really good. + +The atmosphere of Lady Pembroke's house had helped her, and had been an +education to her in the best sense of the word. + +'Fare you well, sir,' she said. 'I must hasten to find Mistress Crawley. We +came hither to the city for something wanted from a shop ere we start on +our journey; but I craved leave to go to the Cathedral for a few minutes. +This is how you found me, sir, there.' + +There was something in Lucy's voice which seemed to betray anxiety as to +whether Sir Philip might think she was alone in Salisbury; and something +of relief when she exclaimed,-- + +'Ah, there is Mistress Crawley!' as she tripped away to meet her, Sir +Philip repeating as she left him,--'Fare you well, Mistress Lucy. _Au +revoir._' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +LUMEN FAMILIAE SUAE + + 'Was ever eye did see such face? + Was never ear did hear that tongue? + Was never mind did mind his grace, + That ever thought the travail long? + But eyes, and ears, and every thought, + Were with his sweet perfections caught.' + + SPENSER. + + +Penshurst Castle never, perhaps, wore a more festive air than when in the +November days of lengthening twilight and falling leaves, Sir Philip +Sidney's friends and relatives gathered under the hospitable roof to +congratulate him on his appointment to the Governorship of Flushing and +Rammekins, the patent having been granted at Westminster on the seventh day +of the month. + +Sir Philip had taken leave of the Queen after she had honoured him by +standing as godmother to his little daughter. He had now brought her and +her mother to Penshurst to leave them there in safety, till he had arranged +for their reception at Flushing, and found proper accommodation for them. + +It was a goodly company that assembled in the grand old hall on the day +before Sir Philip's departure. There were, we may be sure, many present +whose names live on the pages of the history of the time. + +The courtly Earl of Leicester was there, who, with whatever outward show of +satisfaction at his nephew's promotion, was never free from a latent +jealousy which he was careful to hide. + +Sir Francis Walsingham was there, the proud grandfather of the tiny babe +which Lady Mary Sidney held so tenderly in her arms, scanning her features +to discover in them a likeness to her father. Sir Henry Sidney was with +her, prematurely old and feeble, trying to shake off the melancholy which +possessed him, and striving to forget his own troubled and ill-requited +service to the Queen, in his pride that his son was placed in a position +where his splendid gifts might have full play. + +'The light of his family,' he always fondly called Philip, and he would not +grudge that this light should shed its radiance far beyond his own home and +country. + +Was it a strange prescience of coming sorrow that made Sir Henry for the +most part silent, and sigh when the Earl of Leicester tried to rally him, +saying that it was a time of rejoicing, and why should any face wear a look +of sadness. + +[Illustration: THE GREAT HALL, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + +'We part from our son, good nephew,' Lady Mary said, 'on the morrow, and +partings in old age have a greater significance than in youth. We please +ourselves with future meetings when we are young; when we are old, we +know full well that there is but a short span of life left us, for reunion +with those who are dear to us.' + +As the short day closed in, the huge logs in the centre of the hall sent +forth a ruddy glow. The torches set in the iron staples on the walls were +lighted, and flickered on the plentifully-spread board and on the faces of +those gathered there. As the company at the upper end, on the raised dais, +rose to retire to the private apartments of the house, the minstrels in the +gallery struck up a joyful strain, and at the foot of the stairs Sir Philip +paused. + +He looked down on the faces of many friends and retainers, faithful in +their allegiance, with a proud, glad smile. Many of them were to follow him +to his new post as Governor. All were ready to do so, and die in the cause +he held sacred, if so it must be. + +It was not without intention that Sir Philip waited till the company had +passed him, detaining his young wife by drawing her hand through his arm, +and saying to the nurse who held his little daughter,-- + +'Tarry for one moment, Mistress Joan.' + +'My friends,' he said, 'you who follow me to Flushing, I pray I may live to +reward you for the faithful service you will render me. God grant you may +return in health and peace to your wives and children. If it please God, I +shall myself return in due season; but there are many chances in war, and a +soldier's future must ever be doubtful. So, should I fall in the fight +against the tyranny of Spain and the machinations of Rome, I say to you, +show to this fair lady, my sweet wife, all reverent care and honour, for, +forsooth, she will merit it; and as for this little lady Elizabeth, the +godchild of our gracious Sovereign,' he continued, smiling as he took the +child from the nurse's arms, 'I commend her to you also. You see but little +of her, she is so swathed in folds of lace and what not, and, in good +sooth, there is but little to see; but she gives promise of being a dainty +little maiden, not unworthy to be the Queen's name-child, and the daughter +of the gentle Dame Frances Sidney.' + +'Nor unworthy to be the child of Sir Philip Sidney, a greater honour than +all the rest, methinks.' + +These words were spoken in a deep, manly voice by Sir Francis Walsingham, +who had stopped on the stairs when he saw his son-in-law pause with his +wife and child. + +The remark was received with a prolonged 'Ay,' and a murmur of many voices +wishing Sir Philip all success and good fortune. + +There was dancing in the spacious ballroom, which was lighted for the +occasion by the three cut-glass chandeliers, surmounted by the royal crown, +which were, it is said, the first made in England, and presented to Sir +Henry Sidney by Queen Elizabeth. Here the younger portion of the guests +enjoyed the dance then so popular, and which was known by the appropriate +name of 'The Brawl.' + +The elders had followed Lady Mary Sidney to the room known as Queen +Elizabeth's, where the chairs, draped in yellow satin, and the card-table +covered by the fine silk embroidery worked by the Queen's clever fingers, +were all in their first freshness. On the walls were panels of worked silk, +which the ladies of the family had their share in producing, and between +them hung the portraits of Sir Philip and his brother Robert in childhood +in their stiff and ungainly Court dress, and one of Lady Mary when she came +as a bride to Penshurst--in the pride of her youth and beauty, before the +smallpox had robbed her face of its fair complexion, and before sorrow and +disappointment had left their trace upon it. + +The Countess of Pembroke was always her mother's chief sympathiser in joy +and sorrow. She retired with her behind the glass screen where the Queen, +in her visits to Penshurst, always chose to summon her host, or any of her +ministers for a private conversation or flirtation, as the case might be. +By the opening of a panel of white Venetian glass, those who were seated +behind the screen could watch unseen what was passing in the room beyond. + +'You look weary, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said--'weary and sad. Methinks +pride in our Philip should overrule grief at his loss. He has been well +versed in the manners and customs of foreign courts. He is a great +favourite, and I hope to see him return with fresh laurels at no distant +date.' + +'Ah, Mary! you have, as I said to my brother but an hour ago, you have a +future; for me there is only a short span left. Yet I can rejoice in the +present bliss of seeing Philip a proud husband and father. There was a +time when I feared he would never turn his thoughts towards another woman.' + +'And I, sweet mother, always felt sure he would be the victor he has +proved. Look at him now!' As she spoke Sir Philip was seen coming down the +room with Lady Frances on his arm, Sir Fulke Greville on the other side, +evidently some jest passing between them, for Sir Philip's face was +sparkling with smiles, and his silvery laugh reached the ears of those +behind the screen as he passed. + +'Yes, he has the air of a man who is happy, doubtless,' his mother said; +'but see your father, Mary, how he halts, as he comes leaning on Sir +Francis Walsingham's arm. He has the mien of a man many a year older than +he is, if age be counted by years.' + +'Dear father!' Mary said, with a sigh. 'But now, watch Robert and Thomas. +They are each leading a lady to the ballroom. Little Tom, as I must still +call him, looks well. He is all agog to be off with Philip; he must tarry +till the winter is over. Robert is of a stronger build, and can weather the +frosts and bitter cold of the Low Countries.' + +Lady Pembroke was now watching another couple who were passing on to the +ballroom. The Earl of Leicester had often been attracted by the beauty of +Lucy Forrester, and had now done her the honour of begging her to dance +with him. But Lucy shrank from the open admiration and flattery of this +brilliant courtier. While others were looking on her with envy, jealous of +the distinction the Earl had conferred upon her, Lucy hoped she might meet +her mistress, and excuse herself from the dance by saying her presence was +needed by Lady Pembroke. But those who sat behind the screen were unseen, +and Lucy did not know how near she was to her mistress. + +Presently George Ratcliffe came towards the screen with gigantic strides, +his brow dark, biting his lower lip, while his hand rested on the hilt of +his short sword. + +'Pardon me, dear mother,' Lady Pembroke said, as she rose from her seat, 'I +will return anon,' and then she stepped up to George, saying,-- + +'Have you danced this evening, Master Forrester? Come with me, and let me +find you a partner.' + +George blushed crimson at the honour done him; he was no courtier, and the +thanks he would fain have spoken died on his lips. + +'I have been desiring to speak with you,' Lady Pembroke said; 'I would fain +know if aught has been heard of Mistress Gifford.' + +'Nay, Madam, not of late. She was in good health of body last summer, +though sore at heart; so my brother said.' + +'No trace of her boy yet, I grieve to hear,' Lady Pembroke exclaimed. 'If +he is to be tracked out, your good brother will do it. You do not follow +Sir Philip to the Netherlands, I think.' + +'Nay, Madam, I stay at home, my mother is sick, and the care of the place +falls on me heavily enow.' + +When Lucy saw Lady Pembroke she disengaged her hand from the Earl's, and +said,-- + +'May it please you, my Lord, to permit me to go to my Lady, she may be +seeking me.' + +'Now why so cruel?' the Earl rejoined; 'why cannot you give me one smile? +Do not reserve all your favour for yonder young country-bred giant, whom my +sister has chosen to patronise.' + +But Lucy was resolute, her colour rose at this reference to George, and, +with a profound curtsey, she left the Earl's side and joined the Countess. + +'Ah, Lucy, you are in time to give Master George your hand for a Saraband, +and I will find my uncle, the Earl, another partner, even myself,' she +added, laughing. + +It was all done so quickly that George could scarcely realise what had +happened. + +He had been faithful to his first love, and never for a moment faltered in +his allegiance. + +Both brothers were, it may be, exceptional in the steadfastness of their +loyalty to the two sisters. But Humphrey's position was widely different +from that of his brother, and he had many interests and friends, yes, and +flirtations and passing likings also, which prevented his thoughts from +dwelling so continually upon Mary Gifford. Moreover, he knew the gulf set +between them was impassable, and she was really more, as he said, like a +saint out of his reach, than a woman of everyday life, whom he longed to +make his wife. + +George, on his hilltop, with no companion but his querulous mother--Mrs +Ratcliffe was for ever harping on his folly in suffering his cousin +Dorothy, with her full money-bags, to slip through his fingers, to bless +the draper's son in the Chepe with what would have been so valuable to him +and to her--was far more to be pitied; and it was no wonder that he +withdrew more and more into himself, and grew somewhat morose and gruff in +his manner. + +It was something to watch for Lady Pembroke's visits to Penshurst, when +Lucy would at least appear with the household at church, but these visits +only left him more hopeless than before. + +His only consolation was that, although Lucy would not listen to his suit, +she apparently favoured no one else. + +George was conscious of a change in her; she was no longer the gay, +careless maiden of years gone by, no longer full of jests, teasing ways, +and laughter, but a dignified lady, held in high esteem in the Countess of +Pembroke's household; and, alas! further from him than ever. + +In the dance to which George led Lucy, they found themselves opposite to +Humphrey and one of the younger members of the Countess's household. + +A bright, blue-eyed, laughing girl, who rallied Lucy on her sedate +behaviour, and the profound curtseys she made to her partner, instead of +the pirouette which she performed with Humphrey, his arm round her waist, +and her little feet twinkling under the short skirt of her stiff brocade, +like birds on the wing. + +When the dance was over, George said,-- + +'The air is hot and fevered in this room; will you take a stroll with me, +Mistress Lucy, in the gallery? or is it too great a favour to ask at your +hands?' + +'Nay, no favour,' Lucy replied; 'I shall be as well pleased as you are to +leave the ballroom.' + +So they went together through the gallery, where, now and again, they saw +couples engrossed with each other's company in the deep recesses of the +windows. + +The young moon hung like a silver bow in the clear sky, and from this +window the church tower was seen beyond the pleasance, and the outline of +the trees, behind which the moon was hastening to sink in the western +heavens. + +As Lucy gazed upon the scene before her, her large wistful eyes had in them +that look which, in days gone by, George had never seen there. + +The dim light of a lamp hanging in the recess shone on Lucy's face, and +poor George felt something he could not have put into words, separating him +from the one love of his life. His thoughts suddenly went back to that +spring evening when Lucy, in her terror, had rushed to him for protection. +He recalled the sweetness of that moment, as a man perishing for thirst +remembers the draught of pure water from the wayside fountain, of which he +had scarcely appreciated the value, when he held it to his lips. + +A deep sigh made Lucy turn towards him, and, to his surprise, she opened +the very subject which he had been struggling in vain to find courage to +begin. + +'George,' she said, 'it would make me so happy if you could forget me, and +think of someone who could, and would, I doubt not, gladly return your +love.' + +'If that is all you can say to me,' he answered gruffly, 'I would ask you +to hold your peace. How can I forget at your bidding? it is folly to ask me +to do so.' + +'George,' Lucy said, and her voice was tremulous, so tremulous that George +felt a hope springing up in his heart.--'George, it makes me unhappy when I +think of you living alone with your mother, and--' + +'You could change all that without delay, you know you could. I can't give +you a home and all the fine things you have at Wilton--' + +'As if that had aught to do with it,' she said. 'I do not care for fine +things now; once I lived for them; that is over.' + +'You love books, if not fine things,' he went on, gathering courage as he +felt Lucy, at any rate, could think with some concern, that he was lonely +and unhappy. 'You care for books. I have saved money, and bought all I +could lay my hand on at the shop in Paul's Churchyard. More than this, I +have tried to learn myself, and picked up my old Latin, that I got at +Tunbridge School. Yes, and there is a room at Hillside I call my lady's +chamber. I put the books there, and quills and parchment; and I have got +some picture tapestry for the walls, and stored a cupboard with bits of +silver, and--' + +'Oh! George, you are too good, too faithful,' Lucy exclaimed. 'I am not +worthy; you do not really know me.' And, touched with the infinite pathos +of George's voice, as he recounted all he had done in hope, for her +pleasure, Lucy had much ado to keep back her tears. Then there was silence, +more eloquent than words. + +At last Lucy put her hand gently on George's arm. + +'Hearken, George,' she said; 'if the day should ever dawn when I can come +to you with a true heart, I _will_ come. But this is not yet, and I should +wrong a noble love like yours if I gave you in return a poor and mean +affection, unworthy of your devotion. Do you understand me, George?' + +'No,' he said, 'no, but I am fain to believe in you, and I will wait. +Only,' he added, with sudden vehemence, 'give me one promise--do not let me +hear by chance that you have become the wife of another man; give me fair +warning, or I swear, if the blow should fall unawares, it would kill me or +drive me mad.' + +'You will never hear the news of which you speak, and in this rest content. +I have neither desire nor intention of wedding with any man. Let that +suffice.' + +George drew himself up to his full height and said formally,-- + +'It shall suffice, so help me God.' + +In all great assemblies like that which had gathered at Penshurst on this +November day, there are often hidden romances, and chapters rehearsed in +individual lives, of which the majority know nor care nothing. Who amongst +that throng of courtly ladies and gay gentlemen knew aught of George +Ratcliffe's love story; and, if they had known, who would have cared? To +the greater number the whole thing would have seemed a fit subject for +jest, perhaps of ridicule, for self-forgetting love, which has nothing to +feed on, and no consolation except in nursing vain hopes for the fulfilment +of the heart's desire, does not appeal to the sympathy of the multitude. +Such chivalrous, steadfast love was not unknown in the days of Queen +Elizabeth, nor is it unknown in the days of Queen Victoria. It left no +record behind it then, nor will it leave a record now. It is amongst the +hidden treasures, which are never, perhaps, to see the light of day; but it +is a treasure, nevertheless; and who shall say that it may not shine in a +purer atmosphere and gain hereafter the meed of praise it neither sought +for nor found here? + +There was much stir and bustle in the President's Court at Penshurst's the +next morning. The gateway tower had just been completed by Sir Henry Sidney +on the old foundations, which dated from the thirteenth century. And now, +from under its shadow, on this still November morning, 'the light of Sir +Henry's family' was to ride out with a large retinue to take up the high +position granted him by the Queen as Governor of Flushing. How young he +looked as he sat erect on his noble horse, scanning his men, whose names +were called by his sergeant-at-arms as they answered one by one in deep, +sonorous tones to the roll call. Drawn up on either side of the court, it +was a goodly display of brave, stalwart followers, all faithful servants of +the house of Sidney, bearing their badge on their arm, and the boar and +porcupine on the helmets. + +The Earl of Leicester was by his nephew's side, and his gentlemen and +esquires in attendance in brilliant array, for Robert, Earl of Leicester, +loved display, and nothing could be more gorgeous than the trappings of his +own horse, nor the dazzling armour which he wore. + +In the background, under the main entrance of the house, Sir Henry Sidney +and Lady Mary stood with the Earl and Countess of Pembroke, and Dame +Frances Sidney, leaning on the arm of her father, Sir Francis Walsingham. +So fair and young she looked that all hearts went out in sympathy with her, +for she was very pale, and she was evidently trying to control herself, and +let her husband's last look be answered by smiles rather than tears. + +Sir Philip had bidden his good-bye to those to whom he was so dear in +private, and there was a general determination amongst everyone to be brave +and repress any demonstration of sadness at the last moment. And indeed the +splendid military career opening before Sir Philip was a joy in the hearts +of many who loved him, which silenced any expression of grief at his loss +to themselves. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe, in command of his men, presently left the ranks, and, +approaching Sir Philip, said,-- + +'We await the word of command to start, sir.' + +Just at this moment the feeble cry of an infant was heard. And Sir Philip, +throwing the reins to his esquire, said to the Earl,-- + +'Your pardon, my lord, if I delay for one moment,' and then, with a quick, +springing step, Sir Philip returned to the entrance, where his little +daughter had just been brought by her nurse. 'Nay, then, my lady +Elizabeth,' he said, 'it would ill-beseem me to forget to bid you +farewell,' and, taking the child in his arms, he kissed her twice on the +little puckered forehead, saying, 'Go for comfort to your sweet mother,' as +he put her into his wife's arms, 'and God bring you both safe to me ere +long.' + +In another moment he had again sprung on the saddle, and, with a last look +at the group collected under the porch, he rode away with all that gallant +company, with high hopes and courage to follow where their great chief led +them. + +Some of the guests departed in the afternoon of the day to sleep at +Tunbridge, but Sir Fulke Greville remained at the request of Lady Pembroke. + +There was no one to whom she could so freely speak of her brother, sure of +his sympathy, as to Sir Fulke Greville. + +Perhaps no one, except herself, had such an intimate knowledge of the depth +of his learning and the wonderful versatility of his gifts. + +The beech wood was Lady Pembroke's favourite resort at all seasons when at +Penshurst. It was there she had many a time played with Sir Philip as a +child, and taken sweet converse with him in later years. Here many of his +poems had been rehearsed to his sister before ever they had been written on +paper. + +It was in the profound stillness of the November noontide that Lady +Pembroke invited Sir Fulke Greville to cross the park and wander with her +in the familiar paths through the beech wood. + +The leaves were falling silently from the branches overhead, adding one by +one their tribute to the thick bronze carpet which had been lying at the +feet of the stately trees for many a long year. + +The gentle rustle of a bird as it flew from the thinning branches, the soft +sigh of a faint breeze as it whispered its message of decay to the trees, +the gentle trill of a robin at intervals, were the only sounds that fell +upon the ear as Lady Pembroke and Sir Fulke Greville spoke of him who was +uppermost in their thoughts. + +'It is a splendid career for him, doubtless,' Sir Fulke was saying, 'and +marvellous that one so young should be thus distinguished as to be set over +the heads of so many who would fain have been chosen. But no man living +excites less jealousy than Sir Philip; jealousy and scorn and mistrust die +in his presence.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said, 'that is true. Yet I would that I felt more +secure as to my Uncle Leicester's attitude towards my brother. I scarce can +feel his praise is whole-hearted. Maybe it is too much to expect that it +should be as fervent as that of others.' + +'The Earl is appointed Commander-in-Chief of the whole force. Sure that is +honour enough, and the sooner he hastens thither the better. He is gone to +dally at Court and trifle with the Queen as of old. When I see these +middle-aged folk, Queen and courtier, posing as lovers and indulging in +youthful follies, I ask myself, will it be so with me? shall I dance +attendance on fair ladies when I have told out near fifty years of life? I +hope not.' + +Lady Pembroke laughed. + +'There is no fear, methinks, for you or Philip; but, after all, it is the +heart which keeps us really young, despite age, yes, and infirmity. Philip, +as he rode forth this morning, looked as young, methinks, as when on the +first expedition he went to Paris, when scarce eighteen years had passed +over his head.' + +'That is true,' Sir Fulke answered, 'and none can look at Philip now +without seeing that happiness has the effect of renewing youth.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'he is happy, as he could not be while that +hunger for forbidden fruit was upon him. At times I am tempted to wish +Frances had more tastes in sympathy with her husband, but one cannot have +all that is desired for them we love, and she is as loving a wife as any +man ever possessed. But, tell me sure, how fares it with the young trio of +scholars? Has aught come lately from your pens? and does the sage Harvey +yet rule over your metres, and render your verses after ancient model?' + +'Nay, we have withdrawn from the good old man's too overbearing rule. As +you must know, Sir Philip has written an admirable _Defence of Poesie_, and +he there is the advocate for greater simplicity of expression. We have had +too much of copies from Italian models.' + +'The Italians vary in merit,' Lady Pembroke said. 'Sure Dante rises to the +sublime, and Philip has been of late a devout student of the _Vita Nuova_, +and caught the spirit of that mighty genius who followed Beatrice from +depths of hell to heights of Paradise.' + +'Yes, I have had the same feeling about Sir Philip which you express,' Sir +Fulke Greville said. 'Dante has raised love far above mere earthly passion +to a religion, which can worship the pure and the spiritual rather than the +mere beauty of the bodily presence. This breathes in much of Philip's later +verse. You know how he says he obeyed the muse, who bid him "look in his +heart, and write, rather than go outside for models of construction." That +great work--great work of yours and Sir Philip, the _Arcadia_--teams with +beauties, and Pamela is the embodiment of pure and noble womanhood.' + +'Ah!' Lady Pembroke said, 'my brother and I look forward to a time of +leisure and retirement, when we will recast that lengthy romance, and +compress it into narrower limits. We know full well it bears the stamp of +inexperience, and there is much concerning Philoclea that we shall expunge. +But that time of retirement!' Lady Pembroke said, 'it seems a mockery to +speak of it, now that the chief author has just left us to plunge into the +very thick of the battle of life.' + +'I am well pleased,' Sir Fulke said, 'that Sir Philip should have so able a +secretary at his elbow--Mr William Temple. The scholar's element will be a +refreshment to Philip when the cares of government press heavily. Mr +William Temple's _Dialectics_ is dedicated, with no empty profession of +respect and affection, to one who has ever been his friend. Forsooth,' Sir +Fulke Greville said, 'friends, true and loyal to your brother, Madam, are +as numerous as the leaves that rustle under our feet.' + +'Yes,' Lady Pembroke said; 'that is a consoling thought; and he goes to +friends, if one may judge by the terms Count Maurice of Nassau writes of +him to the English Ambassador, Master Davison. My father has shown me a +copy of that letter, which speaks of Philip as his noble brother, and +honoured companion-in-arms.' + +'How proud one of the chiefest of the friends you speak of would be could +he know that Philip is gone forth to wage war against Spain.' + +'Good Hubert Languet! I always think no man in his first youth had ever a +truer and more faithful counsellor than Philip possessed in that noble old +Huguenot. And how he loved him, and mourned his loss!' + +The big bell was now sounding for the mid-day dinner, and Lady Pembroke +said,-- + +'However unwillingly, we must break off our converse now. You will write to +me if you repair to Flushing; or you will find a welcome at Wilton on any +day when you would fain bend your steps thither. Philip's friend must needs +be mine.' + +'A double honour I cannot rate too highly,' was the reply. 'I will ever do +my best to prove worthy of it.' + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FIRE AND SWORD + + 'What love hath wrought + Is dearly bought.'--_Old Song_, 1596. + + +Mary Gifford had found a quiet resting-place in the house of her husband's +uncle, Master George Gifford, at Arnhem, and here, from time to time, she +was visited by Humphrey Ratcliffe, who, in all the tumult of the war, kept +well in view the quest for Mary's lost son. + +Again and again hope had been raised that he was in one of the Popish +centres which were scattered over the Low Countries. + +Once Mary had been taken, under Humphrey's care, to watch before the gates +of a retired house in a village near Arnhem, whence the scholars of a +Jesuit school sometimes passed out for exercise. + +For the Papists were under protection of the Spanish forces, and were far +safer than their Protestant neighbours. Spain had always spies on the +watch, and armed men ready in ambush to resent any interference with the +priests or Jesuit schools. + +The country was bristling with soldiers, and skirmishes were frequent +between the English and Spaniards. Treachery and secret machinations were +always the tactics of Spain, and the bolder and more open hostility of +Elizabeth's army was often defeated by cunning. + +Mary Gifford's expedition to the little town had resulted in +disappointment. With eager eyes and a beating heart she had watched the +boys file out in that back street towards the river, and when the boy +passed whom, at a sign from Humphrey, she was especially to notice, she +turned away. The light of hope died out from her face, as she said,-- + +'Ah! no, no! That boy is not my Ambrose!' + +'He will be changed, whenever you do find him, Mistress Gifford,' Humphrey +said, somewhat unwilling to give up his point. 'Methinks that stripling has +as much likeness to the child of scarce seven years old as you may expect +to find.' + +'Nay,' Mary said. 'The eyes, if nought else, set the question at rest. Did +you not note how small and deep-set were the eyes which this boy turned on +us with a sly glance as he passed. My Ambrose had ever a bold, free glance, +with his big, lustrous eyes, not a sidelong, foxy look. Nay, my good +friend, the truth gets more and more fixed in my mind that my child is safe +in Paradise, where only I shall meet him in God's good time.' + +'I do not give up hope,' Humphrey said. 'This is certain, that he was at +first at Douay, and that his father took him thence to some hiding-place +in the Netherlands. He may be nearer you than you think. I shall not have +the chance of speaking much to you for some weeks,' Humphrey said. 'It may +be never again, for our great chief, Sir Philip, weary of inaction and sick +at heart by the constant thwarts and drawbacks which he endures, is +consorting with the Count Maurice of Nassau, and both are determined to +capture Axel. The scheme has to be submitted to the Earl of Leicester, and +we only await his assent to prepare for the onset, and, by God's help, we +will take the town. Sir Philip craves for some chance of showing what he +can do. He is crippled for money and resources, and, moreover, the loss of +both his parents weighs heavy upon him.' + +'Alas! I know this must needs do so, the losses following so close, one on +the steps of the other.' + +'I have had a letter of some length from Lucy concerning Sir Henry's death +at Ludlow, and I look for another ere long with a fuller account than as +yet I have received of the Lady Mary's departure.' + +'Verily, there is only one staff to lean on as we pass through the valley +of the shadow when all human help is vain. None need be lonely who can feel +the presence of the Lord near in life and death. We must all seek to feel +that presence with us.' + +'Alas!' Humphrey said, 'this is a hard matter. It is many a year now since +I have ventured to put the question. Do you still hold to the belief that +your husband lives?' + +'Yes,' Mary said firmly, 'till certain news reaches me that he is dead.' + +They were at the door of Master Gifford's house now, and here they +parted--Humphrey to the active service which would make him forget for the +time the hopelessness of his quest for the boy Ambrose and his love for the +mother. + +Lucy Forrester had acquired, amongst other things in Lady Pembroke's +service, the art of writing well, and she kept up communication with her +sister by this means. These letters were often sent, by favour of the Earl +of Pembroke, in the despatches to Sir Philip Sidney or the Earl of +Leicester, and conveyed to Mary Gifford by his servants. + +One of these letters awaited Mary this evening on her return, and it was +lying on the table by Master Gifford's side, as he sat in the spotlessly +clean parlour, with the Bible open before him, and a sheet of parchment, on +which he was jotting down the heads of his sermon to be delivered next day +in the plain unadorned room at the back of his house at Arnhem. + +Master George Gifford was a fine and venerable-looking man, with abundance +of grey hair curling low over the stiff, white collar, which contrasted +with the sombre black of his long gown made of coarse homespun. + +He had escaped to Holland in the days of the persecution of Protestants in +England, and, having a natural gift of eloquence, had become the centre +and stay of a little band of faithful followers of the Reformed Faith. + +But Master Gifford was no narrow-minded bigot, and he abhorred persecution +on the plea of religion, as utterly at variance with the Gospel of the One +Lord and Saviour of all men. + +He was a dignified, courteous man, and treated Mary with the tender +consideration which her forlorn condition seemed to demand. Amongst those +who at intervals attended his ministry was Sir Philip Sidney, and, on this +very day when Mary Gifford had been on her vain expedition to the little +out-of-the-way village on the river bank, the young soldier had come to lay +before him the scheme for attacking Axel, and had brought with him the +letter which, on Mary's entrance, Master Gifford held towards her. + +'Here is a welcome missive,' he said; 'but forsooth, my poor child, you +look worn and tired. Sit you down and rest. Gretchen has spread the board +for you; I supped an hour agone. No news, I take it, Mary?' Master Gifford +said. + +'No, no, dear uncle, and I can go on no more vain quests. Master Humphrey +has the best intention, and who but a mother could recognise her own child? +I fear me you have needed my help with distributing the alms to the poor +this afternoon, and I should have baked the pasty for the morrow's dinner.' + +'Gretchen has done all that was needful. Is it not so, good Gretchen?' said +Master Gifford, as a squarely-built, sandy-haired Dutch woman, in her short +blue gown and large brown linen apron, and huge flapping cap came into the +room. + +Gretchen came forward to Mary with resolute steps, and said in her somewhat +eccentric English,-- + +'And what must you tire yourself out like this for, Mistress Gifford? Tut, +tut, you look like a ghost. Come and eat your supper like a Christian, I +tell you.' + +Gretchen was a rough diamond, but she had a good heart. She was absolutely +devoted to her master, and with her husband, an Englishman, who had escaped +with his master as a boy many years before, served him with zeal and +loyalty. + +Mary was led, whether she wished it or not, to the kitchen--that bright +kitchen with its well-kept pots and pans, and its heavy delf-ware ranged on +shelves, its great Dutch clock ticking loudly in the corner, and the clear +fire burning merrily in the stove, which was flanked with blue and white +tiles with a variety of quaint devices. + +'Sit you down and eat this posset. I made it for you, knowing you would be +more dead than alive. Come now, and sip this cup of mead, and don't open +that letter till you have done. Take off your hood and cloak. There! now +you are better already. Give up yawning like that, Jan, or you'll set me +off,' Gretchen said to her husband, whose name she had changed, to suit the +country of his adoption, from John to Jan, and who had been taking a +comfortable nap on the settle by the stove, from which he had been rudely +awakened by his wife. + +Mary was obliged to do as Gretchen bid her, and was constrained to +acknowledge that she felt the better for the food, of which she had been so +unwilling to partake. + +Master Gifford's house was frequented by many faithful Puritans in Arnhem, +and amongst them was a lady named Gruithuissens, who was well-known for her +benevolence and tender sympathy with all who were sorrowful and oppressed. + +As was natural, therefore, she was attracted by Mary Gifford, and her +friendship had been one of the compensations Mary felt God had granted her +for the ever present loss of her boy. + +Madam Gruithuissens' house faced the street on one side and overlooked the +river on the other. The window of her long, spacious parlour opened out +upon a verandah, and had a typical view of the Low Countries stretched +before them. A wide, far-reaching expanse of meadow-land and water--the +flat country vanishing in the sky-line many miles distant. + +A contrast, indeed, to the wood-covered heights and undulating pastures of +the fair country of Kent, where the home of the Sidneys stands in all its +stately time-honoured pride. + +Mary Gifford's thoughts were there at this moment. A summer evening came +back to her when she sat at the casement of Ford Manor with Ambrose clasped +close to her side. The years that lay between that time and the present +seemed so short, and yet how they had probably changed the child whom she +had loved so dearly. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe was right. She had not realised what that change would +be. And then came the ever-haunting fear that Ambrose, if he were alive, +would fail to recognise his mother--might have been taught to forget her, +or, perhaps, to think lightly of her, and to look upon her as a heretic, by +the Jesuits who had brought him up in their creed. + +She was roused from her meditations by Mistress Gruithuissens' abrupt +entrance. + +'Great news!' she said, 'Great news! Axel is taken, and Sir Philip Sidney +has done wonders. A messenger has just arrived with the news at the Earl of +Leicester's quarters, and Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has been sent by barge +with others of the wounded. There has been great slaughter, and terrible it +is to think of the aching hearts all around us. Women widows, children +fatherless. Yet it is a righteous war, for Spain would massacre tenfold the +number did she gain the ascendant--hearken! I hear footsteps.' + +In another moment the door was partly thrown open, and a young soldier, +evidently fresh from the scene of action, came in. + +'I am seeking Mistress Gifford,' he said. 'I am esquire to Master Humphrey +Ratcliffe, and he has dispatched me with a message.' + +'I am Mistress Gifford,' Mary said. 'What is your news?' + +'My master is wounded, and he lies in Sir Philip Sidney's quarters in the +garrison. He bids me say he would fain see you, for he has to tell you +somewhat that could be entrusted to no one but yourself.' + +'How can I go to him?' Mary said helplessly. + +'How? With me, and my servants to guard us. But do not look so +terror-struck, Mistress Gifford,' Madam Gruithuissens said, 'it may, +perchance, be good news. I will order the servants to make ready--or will +we wait till the morrow? Nay, I see that would tax your patience too far; +we will start at once.' + +As Mary Gifford and her new protectress passed through the streets of +Arnhem to the garrison where Humphrey lay wounded, they saw knots of people +collected, all talking of the great event of the taking of Axel. Some women +were weeping and unable to gain any exact information, most of them with a +look of stolid misery on their faces, with no passionate expression of +grief, as would have been seen in a like case amongst Italian and French +women, or even amongst English sufferers in the same circumstances. + +Mary Gifford's ear had become accustomed to the Dutch language, and she +spoke it with comparative ease, having, in her visits of charity amongst +the poor of Master Gifford's followers and disciples, no other means of +communicating with them. + +Madam Gruithuissens spoke English, for, like so many of those who sought +safety in the Low Countries from the persecution of the Papists in +England, she had been brought thither by her father as a child, and had, +till her marriage, spoken her native tongue, and had read much of the +literature which was brought over from England. + +Humphrey Ratcliffe was lying in a small chamber apart from other sufferers, +by Sir Philip's order. He was wounded in the shoulder, and faint from the +loss of blood. + +Mary Gifford did not lose her self-control in an emergency. Like many +gentle, quiet women, her strength and courage were always ready when she +needed them. + +'I am grieved to see you thus,' Mary said, as she went up to the low pallet +where Humphrey lay. + +'It is nought but a scratch,' he said, 'and it has been well worth the +gaining in a noble cause and a grand victory. I have certain news of your +boy. He was in a Jesuit school. It was burnt to the ground, but the boy was +saved. In the confusion and uproar, with the flames scorching hot on us, I +felt pity for the young creatures who were seen struggling in the burning +mass. With the help of my brave companions I rescued three of the boys. I +was bearing off one to a place of safety when I felt a blow from behind. +This stab in my shoulder, and the pain, made me relax my hold of the boy. + +'Instantly one of the Jesuit brothers had seized him, saying,-- + +"You are safe, Ambrose, with me." + +'I knew no more. I swooned from pain and loss of blood, and, when I came +to, I found I was in a barge being brought hither with other of the +wounded.' + +'But my son!' Mary exclaimed. 'Are you sure it was my son?' + +'As sure as I can be of aught that my eyes have ever looked upon. I saw the +large eyes you speak of dilated with fear, as the flames leaped up in the +surrounding darkness. And I verily believe the man who tore him from me was +him who gave me this wound, and is the crafty wretch whom you know to be +your husband.' + +'Ah me!' Mary exclaimed, 'it is but poor comfort after all. My boy may be +near, but I can never see him; he who has him in his power will take care +he eludes our grasp. But I am selfish and ungrateful to you, my good +friend. Pardon me if I seem to forget you got that sore wound in my +service.' + +'Ah! Mary,' Humphrey said, 'I would suffer ten such wounds gladly if I +might but win my guerdon. Well for me, it may be, that I swooned, or, by +Heaven, I should have run that wily Jesuit through the body.' + +'Thank God,' Mary said fervently, 'that his blood lies not on your head.' + +Madam Gruithuissens had considerately withdrawn to a long, low chamber next +the small one where Humphrey lay. She knew enough of Mary Gifford's history +to feel that whatever Humphrey Ratcliffe had to say to her, he would prefer +to say it with no listeners. + +And, full of charity and kindness, the good lady moved about amongst the +wounded and dying, and tried to cheer them and support them in their pain, +by repeating passages from the Bible, in English or in Dutch, according to +the nationality of the sufferer. + +When Madam Gruithuissens returned to Humphrey's room, Mary said,-- + +'I would fain watch here all night, and do my utmost for all the sufferers. +Will you, Madam, give my uncle notice of my intention, and I think he will +come hither and pray by the side of those whom I hear groaning in their +pain.' + +'I will e'en do as you wish, and send my servant back with cordials and +linen for bands, and such food as may support you in your watch.' + +When Madam Gruithuissens departed, Humphrey and Mary Gifford were alone +together. The servant who had been sent with the news keeping watch at the +door outside, and Humphrey, for the time, seemed to go over, half +unconsciously, the scenes of the taking of Axel, and Mary listened to it +not exactly with half-hearted sympathy, but with the perpetually recurring +cry at her heart that God would restore to her her only son. + +It is ever so--the one anxiety, the one centre of interest to ourselves, +which may seem of little importance to others, drives out all else. All +other cares and griefs, and grand achievements of which we hear, are but as +dust in the balance, when weighed down by our own especial sorrow, or +suspense is hardest, perhaps, to bear, which is pressing upon us at the +time. + +Mary Gifford had often told herself that hope was dead within her, and that +she had resigned her boy into God's hands, that she should never clasp him +in her arms again, nor look into those lustrous eyes of which she had +spoken to Humphrey. But hope is slow to die in human hearts. It springs up +again from the very ashes of despair, and Humphrey Ratcliffe's words had +quickened it into life. Thus, as Humphrey described the events of the past +forty-eight hours, and forgot pain and weariness in the enthusiasm for the +courage and heroism of Sir Philip Sidney, his listener was picturing the +blazing house, the flames, the suffocating smoke, and the boy whose face +had been revealed to Humphrey as the face of her lost child. + +She was haunted by the certainty that the man who had stabbed Humphrey was +her husband, and that it was he who had called the boy by name, and +snatched him from his deliverer. + +This was the undercurrent of thought in Mary's mind, while she heard +Humphrey describe to her uncle, who promptly obeyed the summons, the +capture of the four citadels and rich spoil. + +'Ours was but a little band,' Humphrey was saying, 'but three thousand foot +soldiers. I was one of the five hundred of Sir Philip's men, and proud am I +to say so. It was at his place we met, on the water in front of Flushing, +and then by boat and on foot, with stealthy tread lest we should disturb +the sleepers. + +'Within a mile of Axel Sir Philip called us near, and may I never live to +forget his words. They were enow to set on fire the courage of all true +soldiers. He bade us remember it was God's battle we were fighting, for +Queen and country and for our Faith. He bade us remember, too, we were +waging war against the tyranny of Spain, and exhorted us to care nought for +danger or death in serving the Queen, furthering our country's honour, and +helping a people so grievously in want of aid. He said, moreover, that his +eye was upon us, and none who fought bravely should lose their reward. + +'I thank God I was one of the forty men, who, headed by our gallant leader, +jumped into the turbid waters of the ditch, swam across, and, scaling the +walls, opened the gate for the rest. + +'The men we attacked were brave, and fought hard for victory; but they were +but just roused from slumber, it was too late to resist, and Sir Philip +had, by his marvellous wisdom in placing the troops, ensured our success. +It was a fearful scene of carnage. I only grieve that I did not get my +wound in fair fight, but by the back-handed blow of a Jesuit. Some of our +men set fire to the house where those emissaries of the devil congregate, +and Mistress Gifford here knows the rest, and she will relate it to you, +Master Gifford, in due time.' + +'Ah, my son,' Master Gifford said, 'let us pray for the blessed time when +the nations shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into +pruning-hooks, and learn war no more.' + +'But it is a righteous war, sir, blessed by God. Sure, could you have heard +Sir Philip bid us remember this, you would not soon forget his words, his +voice, his gallant bearing. He is ever in the front rank of danger, nor +spares himself, as it is reported some other great ones are known to do. +And his brothers are not far behind him in valour. That slight stripling, +Mr Thomas Sidney, is a very David in the heat of the battle.' + +'Let us try to dismiss the dread conflict from our minds,' Master Gifford +said, 'while we supplicate our Father in Heaven that He would look with +eyes of pity and forgiveness on the wounded and the dying, the bereaved +widows and the fatherless children.' + +And then the good old man poured out his soul in prayer as he knelt by +Humphrey's side. His words seemed to have a composing effect on Humphrey; +and when Master Gifford left the room to go to the bedside of the other +sufferers in the adjoining chamber, Mary saw, to her great relief, that +Humphrey was sleeping soundly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +RESTORED + + 'Good hope upholds the heart.' + + _Old Song_, 1596. + + +There were great rejoicings at Arnhem when Sir Philip Sidney came back to +join the main army, stationed there under the command of the Earl of +Leicester. + +Sir Philip had been appointed Colonel of the Zeeland regiment of horse and, +to the disappointment of his friends, the Queen chose to be offended that +this mark of honour had been conferred upon him. + +The character of the Queen was full of surprising inconsistencies, and it +seems incredible that she should have grudged one whom she called the gem +of her Court the honour which she actually wished conferred on Count +Hohenlo, a man who, though a brave soldier, was known for his drunken, +dissolute habits. + +The Earl of Leicester made a jest of the Queen's displeasure, and only +laughed at the concern Sir Francis Walsingham showed in the letter in which +he announced it. + +'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl said to Lady Frances, who, filled +with pride in her husband's achievements, was depressed when she heard her +father's report that the Queen laid the blame on Sir Philip's ambition, and +implied that he had wrung the honour from his uncle. + +'Let it not disturb your peace,' the Earl repeated, 'any more than it does +mine. It is but part and parcel of Her Highness's ways with those whom she +would seem at times to think paragons. Do I not not know it full well? I +have said in my despatch the truth, and I have begged your father, sweet +Frances, to communicate what I say without delay to the Queen; my words for +sure will not count for nought.' + +'The Queen had not heard of the last grand victory, the taking of Axel, +when she made the complaint. Ambitious! nay, my good uncle, Philip is never +ambitious save for good.' + +The Earl stroked the fair cheek of Philip Sidney's young wife, saying,-- + +'Philip is happy in possessing so loyal a lady for his wife; he can afford +to let the smiles or frowns of the Queen go by. And here he comes to attest +the truth of what I say.' + +Sir Philip had often to doubt the ability of his uncle as a general, but at +this time they were on terms of greater friendliness than ever before. Sir +Philip had, in a few short months, lost both father and mother, and he +probably felt the tie between him and his mother's brother to be stronger +than in former times. Had not his mother often bid him remember that he +came of the noble race of Dudley, and that he bore their crest with that of +the Sidneys--a proud distinction. + +If there had been jealousy in the Earl's heart when he saw his nephew +rising so rapidly to a foremost place in the esteem of all men--a place +which, with all his brilliant gifts, he secretly felt he never had +filled--it was subdued now. + +He did not grudge him the praise his splendid achievement awoke, and, in +his despatch to the English Court, he gave the whole credit of the capture +of Axel to his nephew. + +The Earl always took care to have the room he inhabited, whether for a +longer or a shorter time, luxuriously furnished. + +If the word 'comfortable' does not apply to the appointments of those days, +there was abundance of grandeur in fine tapestry hangings, in +soft-cushioned seats, and in gold and silver plate on which the delicacies +that were attainable were served. + +Sir Philip and Lady Frances were the Earl's guests, with the young Earl of +Essex and Mr Thomas Sidney. The elder brother, Robert, had been left in +command at Flushing with the nine hundred trusty soldiers Sir Philip had +left in the garrison there. + +'What truth am I to attest?' Sir Philip asked, as he came up the room with +his quick, elastic step. + +His wife went forward to meet him, and, clinging to his arm, said,-- + +'Our good uncle was consoling me for those words in my father's letter.' + +'And on what ground did I console you, Frances?' the Earl said. 'You give +but half the truth; go on to say the rest.' + +'Nay,' she said, hiding her face on Sir Philip's shoulder, as he put his +arm tenderly round her. 'Nay, there is no need--' + +'To tell him he is happy to possess a loyal wife? You are right, dear +niece; he knows it full well.' + +'Ay, to my joy and blessing,' was the answer. 'The favour of the Queen is, +I do not deny, precious; but there are things more precious even than that. +But, Frances, I come to tell you I think it is time we return to Flushing. +We have had many bright days here, but I must soon be at the work I came +hither to perform, and there is much to do, as you, my Lord, know full +well.' + +'Ay, surely, but we need not be rash, or in too great haste.' + +'The investment of Doesburg is imperative,' Sir Philip said, 'and, if we +wish to gain the mastery of the Yssel, this must be done. There are some +matters which cause me great uneasiness. Stores are short and money greatly +needed; nor do I put much faith in some of our allies. There is a mutinous +feeling abroad amongst the troops.' + +'You may be right,' the Earl said, 'but let us away to our supper, it must +needs be served, and afterwards you shall take the viol, and chase away +any needless fears by your sweet music.' + +The Earl was always ready to put away any grave or serious matter, and Sir +Philip was often hampered by the difficulty he found in bringing his uncle +to the point on any question of importance. + +When Sir Philip and Lady Frances were alone together that evening, he +seemed more than usually grave and even sad. + +'Are you grieved, Philip, about the Queen's displeasure? As soon as she +hears of Axel she will sure cover you with honours.' + +'Nay, sweetheart, it is not over this matter that I am brooding. Concern +for you is pressing most.' + +'For me! But I am merry and well.' + +'Will you choose to remain here at Arnhem or return to Flushing with me? A +sore struggle must ensue before long, and Zutphen will be besieged. I have +been meditating whether or not I ought to send you and our babe under safe +convoy to England.' + +'No--oh, no! I would fain stay with you--near you--especially now. My +ladies take good care of me, and little madam Elizabeth. She is well and +hearty, and so am I; do not send us away from you!' + +'It shall be as you wish, dear love,' was the answer; 'though, I fear, you +will see but little of me. I have much to occupy me. But I will come to you +for rest, dear heart, and I shall not come in vain.' + +In all the events and chances of war, Sir Philip did not forget his +servants; and he had been greatly concerned at the wound Humphrey had +received, which had been slow to heal, and had been more serious than had +at first been supposed. Before leaving Arnhem, Sir Philip went to the house +of Madam Gruithuissens, whither Humphrey had been conveyed when able to +leave the room in the quarters allotted to Sir Philip's retainers, where he +was nursed and tended by Mary Gifford and his kind and benevolent hostess. + +Humphrey had chafed against his enforced inaction, and was eager to be +allowed to resume his usual duties. It was evident that he was still unfit +for this; and Sir Philip entirely supported Madam Gruithuissens when she +said it would be madness for him to attempt to mount his horse while the +wound was unhealed and constantly needed care. + +It was the evening before Sir Philip left Arnhem that he was met in the +square entry of Madam Gruithuissens' house by Mary Gifford. She had been +reading to Humphrey, and had been trying to divert his mind from the sore +disappointment which the decision that he was to stay in Arnhem had +occasioned him. But Humphrey, like most masculine invalids, was very hard +to persuade, or to manage, and Mary, feeling that his condition was really +the result of his efforts to save her boy and bring him to her, was full of +pity for him, and self-reproach that she had caused him so much pain and +vexation. + +'How fares it with my good esquire, Mistress Gifford?' Sir Philip asked, as +he greeted Mary. + +'Indeed, sir, but ill; and I fear that to prevent his joining your company +may hurt him more than suffering him to have his way. He is also greatly +distressed that he could not prosecute inquiries at Axel for my child. In +good sooth, Sir Philip, I have brought upon my true friend nought but ill. +I am ofttimes tempted to wish he had never seen me.' + +'Nay, Mistress Gifford, do not indulge that wish. I hold to the faith that +the love of one who is pure and good can but be a boon, whether or not +possession of that one be denied or granted.' + +'But, sir, you know my story--you know that between me and Master Ratcliffe +is a dividing wall which neither can pass.' + +'Yes, I know it,' Sir Philip said; 'but, Mistress Gifford, take courage. +The wall may be broken down and his allegiance be rewarded at last.' + +'Yet, how dare I wish or pray that so it should be, sir? No; God's hand is +heavy upon me--bereft of my boy, and tossed hither and thither as a ship on +a stormy sea. All that is left for me is to bow my head and strive to say, +"God's will be done."' + +It was seldom that Mary Gifford gave utterance to her inmost thoughts; +seldom that she confessed even to herself how deeply rooted in her heart +was her love for Humphrey Ratcliffe. She never forgot, to her latest day, +the look of perfect sympathy--yes, of understanding, which Sir Philip +Sidney bent on her as he took her hand in his, and, bending over it, +kissed it reverently. + +'May God have you in His holy keeping, Mistress Gifford, and give you +strength for every need.' + +'He understands me,' Mary said, as she stood where he left her, his quick +steps sounding on the tiled floor of the long corridor which opened from +the square lobby. 'He understands, he knows; for has he not tasted of a +like cup bitter as mine?' + +Mary Gifford was drawing her hood more closely over her face, preparing to +return to Master Gifford's house, when she saw a man on the opposite side +of the street who was evidently watching her. + +Her heart beat fast as she saw him crossing over to the place where she +stood on the threshold of the entry to Madam Gruithuissens' house. + +She quickened her steps as she turned away in the direction of Master +Gifford's house, but she felt a hand laid on her arm. + +'I am speaking to one Mistress Gifford, methinks.' + +'Yes, sir,' Mary said, her courage, as ever, rising when needed. 'What is +your business with me?' + +'I am sent on an errand by one you know of as Ambrose Gifford--called by us +Brother Ambrosio. He lies sick unto death in a desolate village before +Zutphen, and he would fain see you ere he departs hence. There is not a +moment to lose; you must come at once. I have a barge ready, and we can +reach the place by water.' + +Mary was still hurrying forward, but the detaining grasp grew firmer. + +'If I tell you that by coming you will see your son, will you consent?' + +'My son! my boy!' Mary exclaimed. 'I would traverse the world to find him, +but how am I to know that you are not deceiving me.' + +'I swear by the blessed Virgin and all the Saints I am telling you the +truth. Come!' + +'I must seek counsel. I must consider; do not press me.' + +'Your boy is lying also in the very jaws of death. A consuming fever has +seized many of our fraternity. Famine has resulted in pestilence. When I +left the place where Brother Ambrosio and the boy lie, it was doubtful +which would depart first. The rites of the Holy Church have been +administered, and the priest, who would fain shrive Brother Ambrosio, sent +me hither, for confession must be made of sins, ere absolution be bestowed. +If you wish to see your son alive you must not hesitate. It may concern you +less if I tell you that he who was your husband may have departed +unabsolved through your delay.' + +The twilight was deepening, and there were but few people in this quarter +of the town. Mary hesitated no longer, and, with an uplifting of heart for +the strength Sir Philip's parting blessing had invoked, she gathered the +folds of her cloak round her, pulled the hood over her face, and saying, +'Lead on, I am ready,' she followed her guide through some narrow lanes +leading to the brink of the water, where a barge was lying, with a man at +the prow, evidently on the watch for their coming. + +Not a word was spoken as Mary entered the barge, and took her seat on one +of the benches laid across it, her guide leaving her unmolested and +retiring to the further end of the vessel. + +There was no sound but the monotonous splash of the oars, and their regular +beat against the edge of the boat, as the two men pulled out into the wider +part of the river. + +Above, the stars were coming out one by one, and the wide stretch of low +meadow-land and water lay in the purple haze of gathering shadows like an +unknown and undiscovered country, till it was lost in the overarching +canopy of the dim far-off heavens. + +Mary Gifford felt strangely indifferent to all outward things as she sat +with her hands tightly clasped together under her cloak, and in her heart +only one thought had room--that she was in a few short hours to clasp her +boy in her arms. + +So over-mastering was this love and hungry yearning of the mother for her +child, that his condition--stricken by fever, and that of his father lying +at the very gates of death--were almost forgotten. + +'If only he knows my arms are round him,' she thought; 'if only I can hear +his voice call me _mother_, I will die with him content.' + +After a few hours, when there were lines of dawn in the eastern sky, Mary +felt the barge was being moored to the river bank; and her guide, rising +from his seat, came towards her, gave her his hand and said,-- + +'We have now to go on foot for some distance, to the place where your son +lies. Are you able for this?' + +For Mary was stiff and cramped with her position in the barge for so long a +time, and she would have fallen as she stepped out, had not one of the +watermen caught her, saying,-- + +'Steady, Madam! steady!' + +After a few tottering steps, Mary recovered herself, and said,-- + +'The motion of walking will be good for me; let us go forward.' + +It was a long and weary tramp through spongy, low-lying land, and the way +seemed interminable. + +At last, just as the sun was sending shafts of light across river and +swamp--making them glow like burnished silver, and covering every tall +spike of rush and flag with diamonds--a few straggling cottages or huts +came in sight. + +A clump of pollards hid the cluster of buildings which formed the nucleus +of the little hamlet, till they were actually before a low, irregular block +of cottages, and at the door of one of these Mary's guide stopped. + +'A few of our brethren took refuge here after the taking of Axel and the +burning of our habitation there. We are under the protection of the Duke of +Parma, who is advancing with an army for the relief of Zutphen, and will, +as we believe, drive from before us the foes of the Holy Church.' + +As they passed under the low doorway into a narrow entry paved with clay, +Mary's guide said,-- + +'Tarry here, while I find what has passed in my absence.' + +Mary was not left long in suspense. + +The man presently returned, and, beckoning her, said,-- + +'Come, without delay!' + +Mary found herself in a low, miserably furnished room on the ground-floor, +where, in the now clear light of the bright summer morning, Ambrose Gifford +lay dying. + +The 'large, cruel, black eyes,' as Lucy Forrester had called them long ago, +were dim now, and were turned with pitiful pleading upon the wife he had so +grievously injured. + +The priest stood by, and signed to Mary to kneel and put her face near her +husband, that she might hear what he had to say. + +As she obeyed, the hood fell back from her head, and a ray of sunshine +caught the wealth of her rich chestnut hair and made an aureole round it. +The grey streaks, which sorrow rather than years, had mingled amongst the +bronze locks, shone like silver. She took the long, wasted hand in hers, +and, in a low, clear voice, said,-- + +'I am here, Ambrose! what would you say to me?' + +'The boy!' he gasped; 'fetch hither the boy!' + +One of the Brothers obeyed the dying man's request, and from a pallet at +the farther end of the room he brought the boy, whose cheeks were aflame +with fever, as he lay helpless in the Brother's arms. + +'Here, Ambrose,' the dying father said--'this--this is your mother; be a +good son to her.' + +Often as Mary Gifford had drawn a picture in her own mind of this possible +meeting with her son, so long delayed, such a meeting as this had never +been imagined in her wildest dreams. + +'Thus, then, I make atonement,' the unhappy man said. 'Take him, Mary, and +forgive it _all_.' + +'Yes,' Mary said, as the boy was laid on the pallet at his father's feet, +and his mother clasped him close to her side. 'Yes, I forgive--' + +'_All?_' he said. '_All?_' + +'As I pray God to be forgiven,' she said, womanly pity for this forlorn +ending of a misspent life thrilling in her voice, as hot tears coursed one +another down her pale sweet face. 'Yes,' she repeated, '_all_! Ambrose.' + +'One thing more. Did I murder Humphrey Ratcliffe? Does that sin lie on my +soul?' + +'No, thank God!' Mary said. 'He lives; he was cruelly wounded, but God +spared his life.' + +There was silence now. The priest bid Mary move from the bed, and let him +approach; but, before she did so, she bent over her husband and said,-- + +'Have you gone to the Saviour of the world for forgiveness through His +precious blood, Ambrose? He alone can forgive sins.' + +'I know it! I know it!' was the reply. + +But the priest interfered now. + +'Withdraw, my daughter, for the end is near.' + +Then Mary, bending still lower, pressed a kiss upon the forehead, where the +cold dews of death were gathering, and, turning towards her boy, she +said,-- + +'Where shall I take him? Where can I go with him, my son, my son?' + +There was something in Mary's self-restraint and in the pathetic tones of +her voice, which moved those who stood around to pity as she repeated,-- + +'Where can I find a refuge with my child? I cannot remain here with him.' + +One of the Brothers raised Ambrose again in his arms, and saying, 'Follow +me,' he carried him to a small chamber on the upper floor, where he laid +him down on a heap of straw covered with an old sacking, and said in +English,-- + +'This is all I can do for you. Yonder room whence we came is kept for those +stricken with the fever. Two of them died yesterday. We were burned out of +house and home, and our oratory sacked and destroyed at Axel. We fled +hither, and a troop of the Duke's army is within a mile to protect us.' + +'Is there no leech at hand, no one to care for my child?' + +'There was one here yester eve. He is attached to the troop I speak of, and +has enow to do with the sick there. Famine and moisture have done their +work, and God knows where it will end. There is a good woman at a small +homestead not a mile away. She has kept us from starving, and, like many of +the Hollanders, has a kind heart. I will do my best to get her to befriend +you, Mistress, for I see you are in a sorry plight.' + +'Even water to wet his lips would be a boon. I pray you fetch water,' she +entreated. + +The man disappeared, and presently returned with a rough pitcher of water +and a flagon in which, he said, was a little drink prepared from herbs by +the kindly Vrouw he had spoken of. + +'I will seek her as quickly as other claims permit,' he said. And then Mary +was left alone with her boy. + +The restlessness of fever was followed by a spell of utter exhaustion, but +the delirious murmurs ceased, and a light of consciousness came into those +large, lustrous eyes, by which Mary knew this was indeed her son. + +Otherwise, what a change from the rosy, happy child of seven, full of life +and vigour, to the emaciated boy of twelve, whose face was prematurely old, +and, unshaded by the once abundant hair, which had been close cropped to +his head, looked ghostly and unfamiliar. + +Still, he was hers once more, and she took off the ragged black gown, which +had been the uniform of the scholars of the Jesuit school, and was now only +fit for the fire, and taking off her own cloak, she wrapped him in it, +bathed his face with water, put the herb cordial to his lips, and then, +setting herself on an old chair, the only furniture in the tumbledown +attic, she raised Ambrose on her knees, and, whispering loving words and +prayers over him, hungered for a sign of recognition. + +Evidently the poor boy's weary brain was awakened by some magnetic power to +a consciousness that some lost clue of his happy childhood had been +restored to him. + +As his head lay against his mother's breast the rest there was apparently +sweet. + +He sighed as if contented, closed his eyes and slept. + +Mary dare not move or scarcely breathe, lest she should disturb the slumber +in which, as she gazed upon his face, the features of her lost child seemed +to come out with more certain likeness to her Ambrose of past years. + +For a smile played round the scarlet lips, and the long, dark fringe of the +lashes resting on his cheeks, brought back the many times in the old home +when she had seen them shadow the rounded rosy cheeks of his infant days. + +A mother's love knows no weariness, and, as the hours passed and Ambrose +still slept, Mary forgot her aching back and arms, her forlorn position in +that desolate attic, even the painful ordeal she had gone through by her +husband's dying bed--forgot everything but the joy that, whether for life +or death, her boy was restored to her. + +At last Ambrose stirred, and the smile faded from his lips. He raised his +head and gazed up into the face bending over him. + +'I dreamed,' he faltered; 'I dreamed I saw my _mother_--my _mother_.' He +repeated the word with a feeble cry--_my mother_; 'but it's only a dream. I +have no mother but the blessed Virgin, and she--she is so far, far away, up +in Heaven.' + +'Ambrose, my sweetheart, my son!' Mary said gently. 'I am not far away; I +am here! Your own mother.' + +'It's good of you to come down from Heaven, mother; take me--take me back +with you. I am so--so weary--weary; and I can't say all the Latin prayers +to you; I can't.' + +'Ambrose,' poor Mary said, 'you need say no more Latin prayers; you are +with me, your own mother, on earth.' + +The wave of remembrance grew stronger, and, after a moment's pause, Ambrose +said,-- + +'Ned brought me two speckled eggs. The hawk caught the poor little bird; +the cruel hawk. Where am I? _Ave Maria, ora pro nobis._' + +'Say rather, dear child, "Dear Father in heaven, bless me, and keep me."' + +'Yes, yes; that is the prayer I said by--' + +'_Me_--me, your own mother.' + +The long-deferred hope was at last fulfilled, and Mary Gifford tasted the +very fruit of the tree of life, as Ambrose, with full consciousness, gazed +long and earnestly at her, and said,-- + +'Yes, you are my mother, my own mother; not a dream.' + +'Ah! say it again, my child, my child.' + +'My own mother,' the boy repeated, raising his thin hand and stroking his +mother's face, where tears were now running down unchecked, tears of +thankfulness; such as, for many a long year, she had never shed. + +With such bliss the stranger cannot intermeddle; but mothers who have had a +child restored to them from the very borders of the unseen land will know +what Mary Gifford felt. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WHAT RIGHT? + + 'Her look and countenance was settled, her face soft, and almost + still, of one measure! without any passionate gesture or violent + motion, till at length, as it were, awakening and strengthening + herself, "Well," she said, "yet this is best; and of this I am + sure, that, however they wrong me, they cannot overmaster God. No + darkness blinds His eyes, no gaol bars Him out; to whom else + should I fly but to Him for succour."'--_The Arcadia._ + + +The Countess of Pembroke was sitting in the chamber which overlooked the +pleasance at Penshurst and the raised terrace above it, on a quiet autumn +day of the year of 1586. + +She had come to her early home to arrange the letters and papers which her +mother, Lady Mary, had committed to her care on her deathbed. + +There were other matters, too, which demanded her attention, and which the +Earl was only too glad to help her to settle; he was now in London for that +purpose. + +There were many difficulties to meet in the division of the property, and +Sir Henry had been so terribly hampered by the want of money, that debts +sprang up on every side. + +Lady Pembroke had great administrative power, and, added to her other +gifts, a remarkable clearheadedness and discernment. + +The sombre mourning which she wore accentuated her beauty, and set off the +lovely pink-and-white of her complexion, and the radiant hair, which was, +as she laughingly told her brother, 'the badge of the Sidneys.' + +The profound stillness which brooded over Penshurst suited Lady Pembroke's +mood, and, looking out from the casement, she saw Lucy Forrester, playing +ball with her boy Will on the terrace. Lucy's light and agile figure was +seen to great advantage as she sprang forward or ran backward, to catch the +ball from the boy's hands. His laughter rang through the still air as, at +last, Lucy missed the catch, and then Lady Pembroke saw him run down the +steps leading to the pleasance below to meet George Ratcliffe, who was +coming in from the entrance on that side of the park. + +Lady Pembroke smiled as she saw George advance with his cap in his hand +towards Lucy. His stalwart figure was set off by the short green tunic he +wore, and a sheaf of arrows at his side, and a bow strapped across his +broad shoulders, showed that he had been shooting in the woods. + +Only a few words were exchanged, and then Lucy turned, and, leaving George +with little Will Herbert, she came swiftly toward the house, and Lady +Pembroke presently heard her quick, light tread in the corridor on which +her room opened. + +'Madam!' Lucy said, entering breathlessly, 'I bear a letter from Humphrey +to his brother; it has great news for me. Mary has found her boy, and that +evil man, Ambrose Gifford, is dead. Will it please you to hear the letter. +I can scarcely contain my joy that Mary has found her child; he was her +idol, and I began to despair that she would ever set eyes on him again.' + +Lady Pembroke was never too full of her own interests to be unable to enter +into those of her ladies and dependants. + +'I am right glad, Lucy,' she said. 'Let me hear what good Humphrey has to +say, and, perchance, there will be mention of my brothers in the letter. +Read it, Lucy. I am all impatience to hear;' and Lucy read, not without +difficulty, the large sheet of parchment, which had been sent, with other +documents, from the seat of war by special messenger. + + * * * * * + +'To my good brother, George Ratcliffe, from before Zutphen,--'This to tell +you that I, making an expedition by order of my master, Sir Philip Sidney, +to reconnoitre the country before Zutphen, where, please God, we will in a +few days meet and vanquish the enemy, fell upon a farm-house, and entering, +asked whether the folk there were favourable to the righteous cause we have +in hand or the contrary. Methinks there never was a joy greater than mine, +when, after some weeks of despair, I found there Mistress Mary Gifford and +her son! Three weeks before the day on which I write, Mistress Gifford had +disappeared from the town of Arnhem, nor could we find a trace of her. I +have before told you how, in the taking of Axel, I got a wound in my back +from the hand of a traitor, when I had rescued his son from the burning +house, where a nest of Jesuits were training young boys in their damnable +doctrines. + +'From the moment I was carried wounded to Arnhem I heard nought of the +child, snatched by the villain from my arms, till that evening when, God be +praised, I was led to the very place where he has been nursed by his mother +in a sore sickness. It has been my good fortune to give her, my +ever-beloved mistress, safe convoy to Arnhem, where they are, thank God, +safe under the care of that God-fearing man and worthy divine, Master +George Gifford. + +'Here I left them, returning to Flushing, where a strong force is ready to +meet the enemy, ay, and beat them back with slaughter when they advance. +The Earl of Leicester is in command, but the life and soul and wisdom of +the defence lie with my noble master, Sir Philip. To serve under him is +sure one of the greatest honours a man can know. We have his brave brothers +also at hand. Robert is scarce a whit less brave than his brother, and of +Mr Thomas, it is enough to say of him he is a Sidney, and worthy of that +name. + +'I write in haste, for the despatches are made up, thus I can say but +little of the hope within my heart, which, God grant, will now at last be +not, as for so many long years, a hope in vain. + +'Ambrose Gifford died of the fever, and, having made his confession, was +absolved by the priest, and forgiven by that saint who has suffered from +his sins! This last more for his benefit than the first, methinks! But I +can no more. + +'Commend me to our mother and Mistress Lucy Forrester. If I fall in the +coming fight, I pray you, George, remember to protect one dearest to me on +earth.--I rest your loving brother, + + 'HUMPHREY RATCLIFFE.' + +'_Post Scriptum._--The enemy is advancing, and we shall be ordered out to +meet them ere sunset. God defend the right. + + H. R.' + + * * * * * + +'What is the date of that letter, Lucy?' Lady Pembroke asked. + +'The twenty-first day of September, Madam.' + +'And this is the twenty-sixth. More news will sure be here ere long, and +another victory assured, if it please God. May He protect my brothers in +the fight. But, Lucy, I rejoice to hear of your sister's happiness in the +recovery of her child; and now, in due course, I trust my brother's +faithful servant and friend, Master Humphrey, will have the reward of his +loyalty.' + +'Yes, Madam; I hope Mary may, as you say, reward Humphrey.' + +'And you, Lucy; sure Master George is worthy that you should grant him his +reward also.' + +Lucy's bright face clouded as the Countess said this, and a bright crimson +flush rose to her cheeks. + +'Dear Madam,' she said, 'I shrink from giving a meagre return for such +faithful love. Sure ere a woman gives herself to a man till death, she +should make certain that he is the one in all the world for her.' + +'I will not contradict this, Lucy; but many women misjudge their own +hearts, and--' + +Lady Pembroke hesitated. Then, after a pause, she said,-- + +'There are some women who make their own idol, and worship it. After all, +it is an unreality to them, because unattainable.' + +'Nay, Madam,' Lucy said, with kindling eyes. 'I crave pardon; but the +unattainable may yet be a reality. Because the sun is set on high in the +heavens, it is yet our own when warmed by its beams and brightened by its +shining. True, many share in this, but yet it is--we cannot help it--ours +by possession when we feel its influence. Methinks,' the girl said, her +face shining with a strange light--'methinks I would sooner worship--ay, +and love--the unattainable, if pure, noble and good, than have part and lot +with the attainable that did not fulfil my dream of all that a true knight +and noble gentleman should be.' + +Lady Pembroke drew Lucy towards her, and, looking into her face, said,-- + +'May God direct you aright, dear child! You have done me and mine good +service, and the day, when it comes, that I lose you will be no day of +rejoicing for me. When first you entered my household I looked on you as a +gay and thoughtless maiden, and felt somewhat fearful how you would bear +yourself in the midst of temptations, which, strive as we may, must beset +those who form the household of a nobleman like the Earl, my husband. He +makes wise choice, as far as may be, of the gentlemen attached to his +service; but there is ever some black sheep in a large flock, and +discretion is needed by the gentlewomen who come into daily intercourse +with them. You have shown that discretion, Lucy, and it makes me happy to +think that you have learned much that will be of use to you in the life +which lies before you.' + +'Dear Madam,' Lucy said, 'I owe you everything--more than tongue can tell; +and as long as you are fain to keep me near you, I am proud to stay.' + +'I feel a strange calm and peace to-day,' Lady Pembroke said, as she leaned +out of the casement and looked down on the scene familiar to her from +childhood. 'It is the peace of the autumn,' she said; 'and I am able to +think of my father--my noble father and dear mother at rest in +Paradise--gathered in like sheaves of ripe corn into the garner--meeting +Ambrosia and the other younger children, whom they surrendered to God with +tears, but not without hope. I am full of confidence that Philip will win +fresh laurels, and I only grieve that the parents, who would have rejoiced +at his success, will never know how nobly he has borne himself in this war. +There will be news soon, and good Sir Francis Walsingham is sure to send it +hither post haste. Till it comes, let us be patient.' + +It was the afternoon of the following day that Lucy Forrester crossed the +Medway by the stepping-stones, and went up the hill to Ford Manor. + +It was her custom to do so whenever Lady Pembroke was at Penshurst. Her +stepmother was greatly softened by time, and subdued by the yoke which her +Puritan husband, who was now lord and master of the house and all in it, +had laid upon her. + +As Lucy turned into the lane, she met Ned coming along with a calf, which +he was leading by a strong rope, to the slaughter-house in the village. + +Ned's honest face kindled with smiles as he exclaimed,-- + +'Well-a-day, Mistress Lucy, you are more like an angel than ever. Did I +ever see the like?' + +'Have you heard the good news, Ned?' Lucy asked. 'Mistress Gifford has her +boy safe and sound at Arnhem.' + +Ned opened eyes and mouth with astonishment which deprived him of the power +of speech. + +'Yes,' Lucy continued, 'and she is a free woman now, Ned, for her husband +is dead.' + +'And right good news that is, anyhow,' Ned gasped out at last. 'Dead; then +there's one rogue the less in the world. But to think of the boy. What is +he like, I wonder? He was a young torment sometimes, and I've had many a +chase after him when he was meddling with the chicks. The old hen nearly +scratched his eyes out one day when he tapped the end of an egg to see if +he could get the chick out. Lord, he was a jackanapes, surely; but we all +made much of him.' + +'He has been very sick with fever,' Lucy said, 'and, I dare say, +marvellously changed in four years. You are changed, Ned,' Lucy said; 'you +are grown a big man.' + +'Ay,' Ned said, tugging at the mouth of the calf, which showed a strong +inclination to kick out, and butt with his pretty head against Ned's ribs. +'Ay; and I _am_ a man, Mistress Lucy. I have courted Avice; and--well--we +were asked in church last Sunday.' + +'I am right glad to hear it, Ned; and I wish you happiness. I must go +forward now to the house.' + +'I say!--hold! Mistress Lucy!' Ned said, with shamefaced earnestness. +'Don't think me too free and bold--but are you never going to wed? You are +a bit cruel to one I could name.' + +This was said with such fervour, mingled with fear lest Lucy should be +offended, that she could not help smiling as she turned away, saying,-- + +'The poor calf will kick itself wild if you stay here much longer. So, +good-day to you, good Ned; and I will send Avice a wedding gift. I have a +pretty blue kerchief that will suit her of which I have no need; for we are +all in sombre mourning garments for the great and good lord and lady of +Penshurst.' + +Lucy found her stepmother seated in the old place on the settle, but not +alone. 'Her master,' as she called him with great truth, was with her, and +two of 'the chosen ones,' who were drinking mead and munching cakes from a +pile on the board. + +He invited Lucy to partake of the fare, but she declined, and, having told +her stepmother the news about Mary, she did not feel much disposed to +remain. + +'The boy found, do you say?' snarled her stepmother's husband. 'It would +have been a cause of thankfulness if that young limb of the Evil One had +never been found. You may tell your sister, Mistress Lucy, that neither her +boy nor herself will ever darken these doors. We want no Papists here.' + +'Nay, nay, no Papists,' echoed one of the brethren, with his mouth full of +cake. + +'Nay, nay,' chimed in another, as he set down the huge cup of mead after a +prolonged pull. 'No Papists here to bring a curse upon the house.' + +Lucy could not help feeling pity for her stepmother, who sat knitting on +the settle--her once voluble tongue silenced, her mien dejected and +forlorn. Lucy bent down and kissed her, saying in a low voice,-- + +'You are glad, I know, Mary has found her child.' + +And the answer came almost in a whisper, with a scared glance in the +direction of her husband and his guests,-- + +'Ay, ay, sure _I am glad_.' + +Lucy lingered on the rough ground before the house, and looked down upon +the scene before her, trying in vain to realise that this had ever been her +home. + +The wood-crowned heights to the left were showing the tints of autumn, and +a soft haze lay in the valley, and brooded over the home of the Sidneys, +the stately walls of the castle and the tower of the church clearly seen +through the branches of the encircling trees, which the storm of a few days +before had thinned of many of their leaves. + +The mist seemed to thicken every minute, and as Lucy turned into the road +she gave up a dim idea she had of going on to Hillside to pay her respects +to Madam Ratcliffe, and hastened toward the village. The mist soon became a +fog, which crept up the hillside, and, before she had crossed the plank +over the river, it had blotted out everything but near objects. There +seemed a weight over everything, animate and inanimate. The cows in the +meadow to the right of the bridge stood with bent heads and depressed +tails. They looked unnaturally large, seen through the thick atmosphere; +and the melancholy caw of some belated rooks above Lucy's head, as they +winged their homeward way, deepened the depression which she felt creeping +over her, as the fog had crept over the country side. The village children +had been called in by their mothers, and there was not the usual sound of +boys and girls at play in the street. The rumble of a cart in the distance +sounded like the mutter and mumble of a discontented spirit; and as Lucy +passed through the square formed by the old timbered houses by the lych +gate, no one was about. + +The silence and gloom were oppressive, and Lucy's cloak was saturated with +moisture. She entered the house by the large hall, and here, too, was +silence. But in the President's Court beyond, Lucy heard voices, low and +subdued. She listened, with the foreshadowing of evil tidings upon her, and +yet she stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to turn fears into certainty, +suspense into the reality of some calamity. + +Presently a gentleman, who had evidently ridden hard, came into the hall, +his cloak and buskins bespattered with mud. He bowed to Lucy, and said,-- + +'I am a messenger sent post haste from Mr Secretary Walsingham, with +despatches for the Countess of Pembroke. I have sent for one Mistress +Crawley, who, I am informed, is the head of the Countess's ladies. My news +is from the Netherlands.' + +'Ill news?' Lucy asked. + +'Sir Philip Sidney is sorely wounded in the fight before Zutphen, I grieve +to say.' + +'Wounded!' Lucy repeated the word. '_Sore wounded!_' Then, in a voice so +low that it could scarcely be heard, she added, 'Dead! is he dead?' + +'Nay, Madam; and we may hope for better tidings. For--' + +He was interrupted here by the entrance of Mistress Crawley. + +'Ill news!' she exclaimed. 'And who is there amongst us who dare be the +bearer of it to my lady? Not I, not I! Her heart will break if Sir Philip +is wounded and like to die.' + +Several young maidens of Lady Pembroke's household had followed Mistress +Crawley into the hall, regardless of the reproof they knew they should +receive for venturing to do so. + +'I cannot tell my lady--nay, I dare not!' Mistress Crawley said, wringing +her hands in despair. + +'Here is the despatch which Sir Francis Walsingham has committed to me,' +the gentleman said. 'I crave pardon, but I must e'en take yonder seat. I +have ridden hard, and I am well-nigh exhausted,' he continued, as he threw +himself on one of the benches, and called for a cup of sack. + +Lucy meanwhile stood motionless as a statue, her wet cloak clinging to her +slender figure, the hood falling back from her head, the long, damp tresses +of hair rippling over her shoulders. + +'I will take the despatch to my lady,' she said, in a calm voice, 'if so be +I may be trusted to do so.' + +[Illustration: THE BARON'S COURT, PENSHURST CASTLE.] + +'Yes, yes!' Mistress Crawley said. 'Go--go, child, and I will follow with +burnt feathers and cordial when I think the news is told,' and Mistress +Crawley hurried away, the maidens scattering at her presence like a +flock of pigeons. + +Lucy took the despatch from the hand of the exhausted messenger, and went +to perform her task. + +Lady Pembroke was reading to her boy Will some passages from the _Arcadia_, +which, in leisure moments, she was condensing and revising, as a pleasant +recreation after the work of sorting the family letters and papers, and +deciding which to destroy and which to keep. + +When Lucy tapped at the door, Will ran to open it. + +Even the child was struck by the white face which he saw before him, and he +exclaimed,-- + +'Mistress Lucy is sick, mother.' + +'No,' Lucy said, 'dear Madam,' as Lady Pembroke turned, and, seeing her, +rose hastily. 'No, Madam, I am not sick, but I bring you a despatch from +Sir Francis Walsingham. It is ill news, dearest lady, but not news which +leaves no room for hope.' + +'It is news of Philip--Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, trying with trembling +fingers to break the seal and detach the silk cord which fastened the +letter. 'Take it, Lucy, and--and tell me the contents. I cannot see. I +cannot open it!' + +Then, while the boy nestled close to his mother, as if to give her strength +by putting his arms round her, Lucy obeyed her instructions, and opening +it, read the Earl of Leicester's private letter, which had accompanied the +official despatch, giving an account of the investment of Zutphen and the +battle which had been fought before its walls. This private letter was +enclosed for Lady Pembroke in that to his Right Honourable and trusted +friend Sir F. Walsingham. + + * * * * * + +'In the mist of the morning of the 23d, my incomparably brave nephew and +your brother, Philip Sidney, with but five hundred foot and seven hundred +horsemen, advanced to the very walls of Zutphen. + +'It was hard fighting against a thousand of the enemy. Philip's horse was +killed under him, and alas! he heightened the danger by his fearless +courage; for he had thrown off his cuisses to be no better equipped than +Sir William Pelham, who had no time to put on his own, and, springing on a +fresh horse, he went hotly to the second charge. Again there was a third +onset, and our incomparable Philip was shot in the left leg. + +'They brought him near me, faint from loss of blood, and he called for +water. They brought him a bottle full, and he was about to raise it to his +parched lips, when he espied a poor dying soldier cast greedy, ghastly eyes +thereon. He forbore to drink of the water, and, handing the bottle to the +poor wretch, said,-- + +'"Take it--thy need is greater than mine."' + + * * * * * + +'Oh! Philip! Philip!' Lady Pembroke said, 'in death, as in life, +self-forgetting and Christ-like in your deeds.' + +Lucy raised her eyes from the letter and they met those of her mistress +with perfect sympathy which had no need of words. + +'Doth my uncle say more, Lucy? Read on.' + + * * * * * + +'And,' Lucy continued, in the same low voice, which had in it a ring of +mingled pride in her ideal hero and sorrow for his pain, 'my nephew would +not take on himself any glory or honour when Sir William Russel, also +sorely wounded, exclaimed,-- + +'"Oh, noble Sir Philip, never did man attain hurt so honourably or so +valiantly as you," weeping over him as if he had been his mistress. + +'"I have done no more," he said, "than God and England claimed of me. My +life could not be better spent than in this day's service." I ordered my +barge to be prepared, and, the surgeons doing all they could to stanch the +blood, Philip was conveyed to Arnhem. He rests now in the house of one +Madam Gruithuissens, and all that love and care can do, dear niece, shall +be done by his and your sorrowing uncle, + + LEICESTER. + +'Pardon this penmanship. It is writ in haste, and not without tears, for +verily, I seem now to know, as never before, what the world and his kindred +possess in Philip Sidney. + + R. L. + +'To my dear niece, Mary, Countess of Pembroke, from before Zutphen, on the +twenty-second day of September, in the year of grace 1586. Enclosed in +despatch to the Right Honourable Sir Francis Walsingham.' + + * * * * * + +When Lucy had finished reading, the Countess took the letter, and rising, +left the room, bidding Will to remain behind. + +Mistress Crawley, who was waiting in the corridor to be called in with +cordials and burnt feathers, was amazed to see her lady pass out with a +faint, sad smile putting aside the offered cordial. + +'Nay, good Crawley, my hurt lies beyond the cure of aught but that of Him +who has stricken me. I would fain be alone.' + +'Dear heart!' Mistress Crawley exclaimed, as she bustled into the room +where Lucy still sat motionless, while Will, with childlike intolerance of +suspense, ran off to seek someone who would speak, and not sit dumb and +white like Lucy. 'Dear heart! I daresay it is not a death-wound. Sure, if +there is a God in heaven, He will spare the life of a noble knight like Sir +Philip. He will live,' Mistress Crawley said, taking a sudden turn from +despair and fear to unreasonable hope. 'He will live, and we shall see him +riding into the Court ere long, brave and hearty, so don't pine like that, +Mistress Lucy; and I don't, for my part, know what right you have to take +on like this; have a sup of cordial, and let us go about our business.' + +But Lucy turned away her head, and still sat with folded hands where Lady +Pembroke had left her. + +Mistress Crawley finished by emptying the silver cup full of cordial +herself, and, pressing her hand to her heart, said,--'She felt like to +swoon at first, but it would do no good to sit moping, and Lucy had best +bestir herself, and, for her part, she did not know why she should sit +there as if she were moon-struck.' + +The days were long over since Mistress Crawley had ordered Lucy, in the +same commanding tones with which she often struck terror into the hearts of +the other maidens, threatening them with dismissal and report of their +ill-conduct to Lady Pembroke. + +Lucy had won the place she held by her gentleness and submission, and, let +it be said, by her quickness and readiness to perform the duties required +of her. + +So Mistress Crawley, finding her adjurations unheeded, bustled off to see +that the maidens were not gossiping in the ante-chamber, but had returned +to their work. + +Lucy was thus left alone with her thoughts, and, in silence and solitude, +she faced the full weight of this sorrow which had fallen on the house of +Sidney, yes, and on her also. + +'What right had she to sit and mourn? What part was hers in this great +trouble?' Mistress Crawley's words were repeated again and again in a low +whisper, as if communing with her own heart. + +'What right have I? No right if right goes by possession. What right? Nay, +none.' + +Then, with a sudden awaking from the trance of sorrow, Lucy rose, the light +came back to her eyes, the colour to her cheeks. + +'Right? What right? Yes, the right that is mine, that for long, long years +he has been as the sun in my sky. I have gloried in all his great gifts, I +have said a thousand times that there were none like him, none. I have seen +him as he is, and his goodness and truth have inspirited me in my weakness +and ignorance to reach after what is pure and noble. Yes, I have a right, +and oh! if, indeed, I never see him again, to my latest day I shall thank +God I have known him, Philip, Sir Philip Sidney, true and noble knight.' + + * * * * * + +There was now a sound of more arrivals in the hall, and Lucy was leaving +the room, fearing, hoping, that there might be yet further tidings, when +the Earl of Pembroke came hastily along the corridor. + +'How fares it with my lady, Mistress Forrester? I have come to give her +what poor comfort lies in my power.' + +The Earl's face betrayed deep emotion and anxiety. + +Will came running after his father, delighted to see him; and in this +delight forgetting what had brought him. + +'Father! father! I have ridden old black Joan, and I can take a low fence, +father.' + +'Hush now, my son, thy mother is in sore trouble, as we all must be. Take +me to thy mother, boy.' + +'Uncle Philip will soon be well of his wound,' the child said, 'the bullet +did not touch his heart, Master Ratcliffe saith.' + +The Earl shook his head. + +'It will be as God pleases, boy,' and there, in the corridor, as he was +hastening to his wife's apartments, she came towards him with outstretched +arms. + +'Oh! my husband,' she said, as he clasped her to his breast. 'Oh! pity me, +pity me! and pray God that I may find comfort.' + +'Yes, yes, my sweetheart,' the Earl said, and then husband and wife turned +into their own chamber, Will, subdued at the sight of his mother's grief, +not attempting to follow them, and Lucy was again alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE PASSING OF PHILIP + + + 'Oh, Death, that hast us of much riches reft, + Tell us at least what hast thou with it done? + What has become of him whose flower here left + Is but the shadow of his likeness gone? + Scarce like the shadow of that which he was, + Nought like, but that he like a shade did pass. + + But that immortal spirit which was decked + With all the dowries of celestial grace, + By sovereign choice from heavenly choirs select + And lineally derived from angel's race; + Oh, what is now of it become aread? + Ah me, can so divine a thing be dead! + + Ah no, it is not dead, nor can it die, + But lives for aye in blissful Paradise, + Where, like a new-born babe it soft doth lie + In bed of lilies wrapped in tender wise, + And dainty violets from head to feet, + And compassed all about with roses sweet.' + + From the _Lament of Sir Philip_ by + MARY, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + + +'At Arnhem, in the month of October 1586; this to my dear sister, Lucy +Forrester.' This was the endorsement of a letter from Mary Gifford, which +was put into Lucy's hands on the day when a wave of sorrow swept over the +country as the news was passed from mouth to mouth that Sir Philip Sidney +was dead. + +There had been so many alternations of hope and fear, and the official +reports from the Earl of Leicester had been on the hopeful side, while +those of Robert Sidney and other of his devoted friends and servants, had +latterly been on the side of despair. + +Now Mary Gifford had written for Lucy's information an account of what had +passed in these five-and-twenty days, when Sir Philip lay in the house of +Madame Gruithuissens, ministered to by her uncle, Master George Gifford. + +The letter was begun on the seventeenth of October, and finished a few days +later, and was as follows:-- + + * * * * * + +'After the last news that I have sent you, dear sister, it will not be a +surprise to you to learn that our watching is at an end. The brave heart +ceased to beat at two of the clock on this seventeenth of October in the +afternoon. + +'It has been a wondrous scene for those who have been near at hand to see +and hear all that has passed in the upper chamber of Madame Gruithuissens' +house. + +'I account it a privilege of which I am undeserving, that I was suffered, +in ever so small a way, to do aught for his comfort by rendering help to +Madame Gruithuissens in the making of messes to tempt the sick man to eat, +and also by doing what lay in my power to console those who have been +beside themselves with grief--his two brothers. + +'What love they bore him! And how earnestly they desire to follow in his +steps I cannot say. + +'Mr Robert was knighted after the battle which has cost England so dear, +and my uncle saith that when he went first to his brother's side with his +honour fresh upon him, Sir Philip smiled brightly, and said playfully,-- + +'"Good Sir Robert, we must see to it that we treat you with due respect +now," and then, turning to Mr Thomas, he said, "Nor shall your bravery be +forgot, Thomas, as soon as I am at Court again. I will e'en commend my +youngest brother to the Queen's Highness. So we will have three knights to +bear our father's name." + +'At this time Sir Philip believed he should live, and, indeed, so did most +of those who from day to day watching his courage and never-failing +patience; the surgeon saying those were so greatly in his favour to further +his recovery. But from that morning when he himself discerned the signs of +approaching death, he made himself ready for that great change. Nay, Lucy, +methinks this readiness had been long before assured. + +'My uncle returned again and again from the dying bed to weep, as he +recounted to me and my boy the holy and beautiful words Sir Philip spake. + +'Of himself, only humbly; of all he did and wrote, as nothing in God's +sight. His prayers were such that my uncle has never heard the like, for +they seemed to call down the presence of God in the very midst of them. + +'He was troubled somewhat lest his mind should fail him through grievous +wrack of pain of body, but that trouble was set at rest. + +'To the very end his bright intelligence shone, even more and more, till, +as we now believe, it is shining in the perfectness of the Kingdom of God. + +'On Sunday evening last, he seemed to revive marvellously, and called for +paper and pencil. Then, with a smile, he handed a note to his brother, Sir +Robert, and bade him despatch it to Master John Wier, a famous physician at +the Court of the Duke of Cleves. + +'This note was wrote in Latin, and begged Master Wier to _come_, and _come_ +quick. But soon after he grew weaker, and my good uncle asking how he +fared, he replied sorrowfully that he could not sleep, though he had +besought God to grant him this boon. But when my uncle reminded him of One +who, in unspeakable anguish, prayed, as it would seem to our poor blind +eyes, in vain, for the bitter cup did not pass, said,-- + +'"Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt!" he exclaimed.' + +'"I am fully satisfied and resolved with this answer. No doubt it is even +so." + +'There were moments yet of sadness, and he reproached himself for +cherishing vain hopes in sending for Master Wier, but my uncle comforted +him so much that at length he pronounced these memorable words, "I would +not change my joy for the empire of the world." + +'I saw him from time to time as I brought to the chamber necessary things. +Once or twice he waved his hand to me, and said, oh, words ne'er to be +forgot,-- + +'"I rejoice you have your boy safe once more, Mistress Gifford. Be wary, +and train him in the faith of God, and pray that he be kept from the +trammels with which Papacy would enthral the soul." + +'He showed great tenderness and care for Lady Frances, dreading lest she +should be harmed by her constant attendance on him. + +'Sweet and gentle lady! I have had the privilege of waiting on her from +time to time, and of giving her what poor comfort lay in my power. + +'After the settlement of his worldly affairs, Sir Philip asked to have the +last ode he wrote chanted to him, but begged that all the stray leaves of +the _Arcadia_ should be gathered together and burned. He said that it was +but vanity and the story of earthly loves, and he did not care to have it +outlive him. + +'My uncle was with him when he begged Sir Robert to leave him, for his +grief could not be controlled. While the sufferer showed strength in +suppressing sorrow, the strong man showed weakness in expressing it. + +'Much more will be made known of these twenty-five days following the wound +which caused our loss. + +'For myself, I write these scanty and imperfect details for my own comfort, +in knowing that they will be, in a sad sort, a comfort to you, dear sister, +and, I might humbly hope, to your lady also. + +'My uncle, praying by Sir Philip's side, after he had addressed his +farewell to his brother, seeing him lie back on the pillow as if +unconscious, said, "Sir, if you hear what I say, let us by some means know +if you have inward joy and consolation of God." + +'Immediately his hand, which had been thought powerless, was raised, and a +clear token given to those who stood by that his understanding had not +failed him. + +'Once more, when asked the same question, he raised his hands with joined +palms and fingers pointing upwards as in prayer--and so departed. + + * * * * * + +'I wrote so far, and now I have been with my boy watching the removal of +all that is mortal of this great and noble one from Arnhem to Flushing, +convoyed to the water's edge by twelve hundred English soldiers, trailing +their swords and muskets in the dust, while solemn music played. + +'The surgeons have embalmed the poor, worn body, and the Earl of Leicester +has commanded that it be taken to England for burial. + +'"Mother," my boy said, as he clasped my hand tightly in his, as the barge +which bore the coffin away vanished in the mist hanging over the river, +"mother, why doth God take hence a brave and noble knight, and leave so +many who are evil and do evil instead of good?" + +'How can I answer questions like to this? I could only say to my son, +"There is no answer. Now we only see as in a mirror darkly; at length we +shall see clearer in the Light of God, and His ways are ever just." + +'Dear sister, it is strange to have the hunger of my heart satisfied by +God's gift to me of my boy from the very gates of death, and yet to have +that same heart oppressed with sorrow for those who are left to mourn for +the brave and noble one who is passed out of our sight. Yet is that same +heart full of thankfulness that I have recovered my child. It is not all +satisfaction with him. Every day I have to pray that much that he has +learned in the Jesuit school should be unlearned. Yet, God forbid I should +be slow to acknowledge that in some things Ambrose has been trained +well--in obedience, and the putting aside of self, and the mortification of +appetite. Yes, I feel that in this discipline he may have reaped a benefit +which with me he might have missed. But, oh! Lucy, there are moments when I +long with heart-sick longing for my joyous, if wilful child, who, on a fair +spring evening long ago, sat astride on Sir Philip's horse, and had for +his one wish to be such another brave and noble gentleman! + +'Methinks this wish is gaining strength, and that the strange repression of +all natural feeling which I sometimes notice, may vanish 'neath the +brighter shining of love--God's love and his mother's. + +'You would scarce believe, could you see Ambrose, that he--so tall and +thin, with quiet and restrained movements and seldom smiling mouth--could +be the little torment of Ford Place! Four years have told on my boy, like +thrice that number, and belike the terrible ravages of the fever may have +taken something of his youthful spring away. + +'He is tender and gentle to me, but there is reserve. + +'On one subject we can exchange but few words; you will know what that +subject is. From the little I can gather, I think his father was not unkind +to him; and far be it from me to forget the parting words, when the soul +was standing ready to take its flight into the unseen world. But oh! my +sister, how wide the gulf set between him, for whom the whole world, I may +say, wears mourning garb to-day--for foreign countries mourn no less than +England--how wide, I say, is the gulf set between that noble life and his, +of whom I dare not write, scarce dare to think. + +'Yet God's mercy is infinite in Christ Jesus, and the gulf, which looks so +wide to us, may be bridged over by that same infinite mercy. + +'God grant it. + +'This with my humble, dutiful sympathy to your dear lady, the Countess of +Pembroke, for whom no poor words of man can be of comfort, from your loving +sister, + + MARY GIFFORD. + +'_Post Scriptum._--Master Humphrey Ratcliffe has proved a true friend to +me, and to my boy. To him, under God, I owe my child's restoration to +health, and to me. + +'He is away with that solemn and sorrowful train I saw embark for Flushing, +nor do I know when he will return. + + M. G.' + + * * * * * + +'At Penshurst, in the month of February 1586,--For you, my dear sister +Mary, I will write some account of the sorrowful pageant, from witnessing +which I have lately returned to Penshurst with my dear and sorely-stricken +mistress, and all words would fail me to tell you how heavy is her grief, +and how nobly she has borne herself under its weight. + +'Four long and weary months have these been since the news of Sir Philip's +death came to cast a dark shadow over this country. Much there has been to +harass those who are intimately connected with him. Of these troubles I +need not write. The swift following of Sir Philip's death on that of his +honoured father, Sir Henry Sidney, caused mighty difficulties as to the +carrying out of that last will and testament in which he so nobly desired +to have every creditor satisfied, and justice done. + +'But, sure, no man had ever a more generous and worthy father-in-law than +Sir Philip possessed in Sir Francis Walsingham. All honour be to him for +the zeal and care he has shown in the settlement of what seemed at the +first insurmountable mountains of difficulties. + +'Of these it does not become me to speak, rather of that day, Thursday last +past, when I was witness of the great ceremony of burying all that was +mortal of him for whom Queen and peasant weep. + +'Mary! you can scarce picture to yourself the sight which I looked on from +a casement by the side of my dear mistress. All the long train of mourners +taken from every class, the uplifted standard with the Cross of St George, +the esquires and gentlemen in their long cloaks of mourning garb, these +were a wondrous spectacle. In the long train was Sir Philip's war horse, +led by a footman and ridden by a little page bearing a broken lance, +followed by another horse, like the first, richly caparisoned, ridden by a +boy holding a battle-axe reversed. All this I say I gazed at as a show, and +my mistress, like myself, was tearless. I could not believe, nay, I could +not think of our hero as connected with this pageant. Nay, nor with that +coffin, shrouded in black velvet, carried by seven yeomen, and the pall +borne by those gentlemen who loved him best, his dearest friends, Sir +Fulke Greville, Sir Edward Dyer, Edward Watson, and Thomas Dudley. + +'Next came the two brothers, Sir Robert--now Lord of Penshurst--chief +mourner, and behind, poor Mr Thomas Sidney, who was so bowed down with +grief that he could scarce support himself. + +'Earls and nobles, headed by my Lord of Leicester, came after; and the +gentlemen from the Low Countries, of whom you will have heard, and all the +great city folk--Lord Mayor and Sheriffs--bringing up the rear. + +'My dear mistress and I, with many other ladies of her household, having +watched the long train pass us from the Minories, were conveyed by back +ways to St Paul's, and, from a seat appointed us and other wives of nobles +and their gentlewomen, we were present at the last scene. + +'It was when the coffin, beautifully adorned with escutcheons, was placed +on a bier prepared for it, that my mistress said, in a low voice, heard by +me--perhaps by me only,-- + +'"_Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur._" + +'These words were the motto on the coffin, and they were the words on which +the preacher tried to enforce his lesson. + +'Up to the moment when the double volley was fired, telling us within the +church that the body rested in peace, there had been profound stillness. + +'Then the murmur of a multitude sorrowing and sighing, broke upon the ear; +and yet, beyond those whispered words, my lady had not made any sign. + +'Now she laid her hand in mine and said,-- + +'"Let us go and see where they have laid him." + +'I gave notice to the gentlemen in attendance that this was my lady's +desire. We had to wait yet for a long space; the throng, so closely packed, +must needs disperse. + +'At length way was made for us, and we stood by the open grave together--my +mistress, whose life had been bound up in her noble brother's, and I, to +whom he had been, from my childhood's days to the present, the hero to +whose excellence none could approach--a sun before whose shining other +lights grew dim. + +'Do not judge me hardly! Nay, Mary, you of all others will not do this. My +love for him was sacred, and I looked for no return; but let none grudge it +to me, for it drew me ever upwards, and, as I humbly pray, will still do so +till I see him in the other life, whither he has gone. + +'Throughout all this pageantry and symbols of woe which I have tried to +bring before you, my dear sister, I felt only that these signs of the great +grief of the whole realm were yet but vain, vain, vain. + +'As in a vision, I was fain to see beyond the blackness of funeral pomp, +the exceeding beauty of his soul, who, when he lay a-dying, said he had +fixed his thoughts on these eternal beauties, which cheered his decaying +spirits, and helped him to take possession of the immortal inheritance +given to him by, and in Christ. + +'"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; blessed be those who mourn, +for they shall be comforted." + +'I have finished the task I set myself to do for your edification, dearest +sister. Methought I could scarce get through it for tears, but these did +not flow at my will. Not till this morning, when I betook myself to the +park, where all around are signs of a springing new life, and memories of +Sir Philip in every part, did these tears I speak of have their free way. +All things wakening into life, buds swelling on the stately trees he loved; +birds singing, for the time to pair is come; dew sparkling like the lustre +of precious stones on every twig and blade of grass, daisies with golden +eyes peeping up between. Life, life, everywhere quickening life, and he who +loved life, and to see good days, can walk no more in the old dear paths of +his home, which he trod with so graceful and alert a step, his smile like +the sunshine lying on the gate of the President's Court, under which he +that went out on the November morning in all the glory of his young +manhood, shall pass in no more for ever. + +'As I thought of seeing him thus, with the light on his bright hair and +glistening armour, as he took his infant child in his arms and bade her +farewell, I wept, not bitter tears, but those God sends to us as a blessing +when the heart desires some ease of its burden. + +'It may be that you will care to read what I have written to the boy +Ambrose. Bid him from me to remember his old desire to be such another +brave and goodly knight as Sir Philip Sidney, and strive to follow him in +all loyal service to his God, his Queen, and his kindred. + +'I am thinking often, Mary, of your return to this country. Will it never +come to pass? You told me in your letter in which you gave me those +particulars of Sir Philip's death, that I should scarce believe that +Ambrose was the child I knew at the old home of Ford Place. And scarce will +you believe, when we meet, as meet I pray we shall, I am the same Lucy of +days past. Ever since that time of your grief and sickness, I have changed. +I look back with something which is akin to pity on the vain child who +thought fine clothes and array the likest to enhance the fair face and form +which maybe God has given me. Ay, Mary, I have learned better now. I should +have been a dullard, in sooth, had I not learned much in the companionship +graciously granted me by my honoured mistress. To be near her is an +education, and she has been pleased in many ways to instruct me, not only +in the needlecraft and tapestry work in which she excels, but also in +opening for me the gates of knowledge, and in rehearsing in my ear the +beautiful words of Scripture, and the Psalms in verse, as well as the poems +of Mr Spenser, and, chiefest of all, of those works in prose and verse +which Sir Philip has left behind. Sure, these will never die, and will +tell those who come after us what we possessed and lost! + +'Yet, after all, as my mistress saith again and yet again, it was not by +all his deeds of valour and his gifts of learning that he stands so high +forever amongst men. No, nor not by his death and the selfless act which +men are speaking of on all sides, as he lay in the first agony of his sore +wound on the battlefield of Zutphen. Not by these only will his name live, +but by his life, which, for purity and faith, virtue and godliness, loyalty +and truth, may be said to be without peer in this age of which he was so +fair an ornament. + +'I dare not say more, lest even you charge me with rhapsody. + +'I rest, dear Mary, in all loving and tender affection, your sister, + + LUCY FORRESTER. + +'To my honoured sister, Mary Gifford, at the house of Master Gifford, in +Arnhem, February 1586. From Penshurst Place, in the county of Kent.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +FOUR YEARS LATER--1590 + + 'My true love hath my heart and I have his, + By just exchange, one for the other given. + I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; + There never was a better bargain driven. + + His heart in me keeps me and him in one, + My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; + He loves my heart, for once it was his own, + I cherish his, because in me it bides.' + + +The sound of these words by Sir Philip Sidney, sung in a sweet melodious +voice, was borne upon the summer air of a fair June evening in the year +1590. + +It came through the open casement from the raised seat of the parlour at +Hillbrow, where once Mistress Ratcliffe had sat at her spinning-wheel, +casting her watchful eyes from time to time upon the square of turf lying +between the house and the entrance gate, lest any of her maidens should be +gossiping instead of working. + +Mistress Ratcliffe had spun her last thread of flax more than a year ago, +and another mistress reigned in her place in the old house upon the crest +of the hill above Penshurst. + +As the last words of the song were sung, and only the lingering chords of +the viol were heard, making a low, sweet refrain, a man who had been +listening unseen to the music under the porch, with its heavy overhanging +shield of carved stone, now came to the open window, which, though raised +some feet above the terrace walk beneath, was not so high but that his head +appeared on a level with the wide ledge of the casement. + +Lucy was unconscious of his presence till he said,-- + +'I would fain hear that song again, Lucy.' + +'Nay,' she said with a smile; 'once is enough.' + +'Did you think of me as you sang?' he asked. + +'Perhaps,' she said, with something of her old spirit. 'Perhaps; but you +must know there is another who hath my heart. I have been singing him to +sleep, and I pray you do not come in with a heavy tramp of your big boots +and wake him. He has been fractious to-day. Speak softly,' she said, as +George exclaimed,-- + +'The young rascal! I warrant you have near broken your back carrying him to +and fro.' + +'My back is not so easy to break; but, George, when will the travellers +come. I have made all things ready these two days and more.' + +'They may arrive any moment now,' George said, and then his bright handsome +face disappeared from the window, and in another moment he had come as +quietly as was possible for him, into the sunny parlour, now beautified by +silken drapery, worked by Lucy's clever fingers, and sweet with the +fragrance of flowers in the beau-pot on the hearth and fresh rushes on the +floor. + +In a large wooden cradle lay his first-born son--named in memory of one +whom neither husband nor wife could ever forget--Philip. The child was +small and delicate, and Lucy had tasted not only the sweets of motherhood, +but its cares. + +Yet little Philip was very fair to look upon. He had the refined features +of his mother, and though his cheeks wanted something of the roundness and +rosiness of healthful infancy, he was, in his parents' eyes, as near +perfection as first-born children are ever apt to be thought! + +George paused by the cradle, which was raised on high rockers, and, bending +over it, said,-- + +'He is sound asleep now,' just touching the little hand lying outside the +coverlet with his great fingers as gently as his mother could have done. + +'I won't be jealous of him, eh, Lucy? He is mine as well as yours, +sweetheart.' + +'That is a truism,' Lucy said. 'Now, come into the window-seat and talk +low--if you must talk--and let us watch for those who are, I pray God, +drawing near.' + +George unfastened his leather pouch which was slung over his shoulder, and +put the bow and quiver against the corner of the bay window. + +Then he threw his huge form at his wife's feet on the dais, and said,-- + +'Do not be too eager for their coming, sweetheart. I half dread their +entrance into this house, which, perchance may disturb our bliss.' + +'Fie for shame!' Lucy replied, 'as if Mary could ever be aught but a joy +and a blessing. I am ready to blush for you, George.' + +'They will be grand folk, grander than we are, that is, than _I_ am! +Humphrey knighted, and Mary Dame Ratcliffe. Then there is the boy! I am not +sure as to the boy. I confess I fear the early training of the Jesuits may +have left a mark on him.' + +'Now, I will listen to no more growlings, George,' his wife said, laying +her small fair hand on the thick masses of her husband's hair, and +smoothing it from his forehead. 'You will please to give the coming guests +a hearty welcome, and be proud to call them brother, sister, and nephew.' + +'Nay,' George said. 'Ambrose is no nephew of mine!' + +'To think of such folly, when, but a minute agone, you said what is mine is +yours. Ambrose is _my_ nephew, I'd have you to remember, sir.' + +'As you will, sweet wife! as you will; but, Lucy, when you see Humphrey +ride up with a train of gentlemen, it may be, and my lady with her +gentlewomen, will you not be sorry that you left everything to be the wife +of a country yeoman, who is unversed in fine doings, and can give you so +little?' + +'You give me all I want,' Lucy said; and this time, as she smoothed back +the rebellious curls, she bent and kissed the broad brow which they shaded. +'You give me all I want,' she repeated--'your heart!' + +Soon there was a sound of horses' feet, and, with an exclamation, 'Here at +last!' George went to the gate to receive the guests, and Lucy hurried to +the porch. + +'The noise and bustle may rouse little Philip,' she said to one of her +maids; 'watch in the parlour till I return.' + +In another moment Humphrey had grasped his brother's hand, and, turning, +lifted his wife from the pillion on which she had ridden with her son. + +'Mary! Mary!' and Lucy ran swiftly to meet her sister, and held her in a +long embrace. + +A meeting after years of separation is always mingled with joy something +akin to pain, and it was not till the first excitement of this reunion was +over that the joy predominated. + +Mary was greatly changed; her hair was white; and on her sweet face there +were many lines of suffering. Lucy led her into the parlour, and she could +only sink down upon the settle by her side, and hold her hand in hers, +looking with wistful earnestness into her face. + +'So fair still! and happy, dearest child!' Mary whispered in a low voice. +'Happy! and content?' + +'_Yes_,' Lucy replied proudly. 'And _you_, Mary, you are happy now?' + +'Blest with the tender care of my husband. _Yes_; but, Lucy, I bring him +but a poor reward for all his patient love.' + +'Nay, he does not think so, I'll warrant,' Lucy said. 'You will soon be +well and hearty in your native air, and the colour will come back to your +cheeks and the brightness to your eyes.' + +'To rival yours, dear child! Nay, you forget how time, as well as sickness +and sorrow, have left its mark on me.' + +'And Ambrose?' Lucy asked. 'You have comfort in him?' + +'Yes,' Mary said. 'Yes, but, dear heart, the vanished days of childhood +return not. Ambrose is old for his sixteen years; and, although dear, dear +as ever, I am prone to look back on those days at Ford Manor, when he was +mine, all mine, before the severance from me changed him.' + +'Sure he is not a Papist now?' Lucy said. 'I trust not.' + +'Nay, he is not professedly a Papist, but the teaching of those four years +sowed seed. Yet he loves me, and is a dutiful son to me, and to his--his +new father. I ought to be satisfied.' + +Little Philip now turned in his cradle, awoke by the entrance of the two +brothers and Ambrose, who had been to the stables to see that the grooms +and horses were well cared for. + +Lucy raised Philip in her arms, and Mary said,-- + +'Ay! give him to me, sweet boy. See, Ambrose, here is your cousin; nay, I +might say your brother, for it is a double tie between you.' + +The tall stripling looked down on the little morsel of humanity with a +puzzled expression. + +'He is very small, methinks,' he said. + +This roused Lucy's maternal vanity. + +'Small, forsooth! Do you expect a babe of eight months to be a giant. He is +big enow for my taste and his father's. Too big at times, I vow, for he is +a weight to carry.' + +Ambrose felt he had made a mistake, and hastened to add,-- + +'He has wondrous large eyes;' and then he bent over his mother and said, +'You should be resting in your own chamber, mother.' + +'Yes; well spoken, my boy,' Humphrey said. 'Mary is not as hearty as I +could desire,' he added, turning to George. 'Maybe Lucy will take her to +her chamber, and forgive her if she does not come to sup in the hall.' + +Lucy gave little Philip to his father, who held him in awkward fashion, +till the nurse came to the rescue and soothed his faint wailing by the +usual nonsense words of endearment which then, as now, nurses seem to +consider the proper language in which to address babies. + +When the two brothers were alone together that night, Humphrey said,-- + +'It is all prosperous and well with you now, George. You have got your +heart's desire, and your fair lady looks fairer, ay, and happier than I +ever saw her.' + +'Ay, Humphrey, it is true. At times I wonder at my own good fortune. I had +my fears that she would hanker after fine things and grand folk, but it is +not so. She went with the boy to Wilton two months agone to visit the +Countess of Pembroke, who holds her in a wonderful affection. The boy is +her godson, and she has made him many fine gifts. I was fearful Lucy would +find this home dull after a taste of her old life; but, Heaven bless her, +when I lifted her from the horse with the child on her return, she kissed +me and said, "I am right glad to get home again." I hope, Humphrey, all is +well and prosperous with you also?' + +'I may say yes as regards prosperity, beyond what I deserve. I have a place +about the Court, under my Lord Essex, and I was knighted, as you know, for +what they were pleased to call bravery in the Armada fight. After we lost +that wise and noble gentleman, Sir Philip Sidney, everything went crooked +under the Earl of Leicester, and Spain thought she was going to triumph and +crush England with the Armada. But God defended the right, and the victory +is ours. Spain is humbled now. Would to God Sir Philip Sidney had lived to +see it and share the glory.' + +George listened as his brother spoke, with flashing eyes, of the final +discomfiture of Spain, and then noticed how his whole manner changed to +softness and sadness, as he went on to say,-- + +'My heart's desire in the possession of the one woman whom I ever loved is +granted, but, George, I hold her by a slender thread. I have brought her +here with the hope that she may gather strength, but, as you must see, she +is but the shadow of her old self. The good old man at Arnhem counselled me +to take her to her native air, and God grant it may revive her. She is +saint-like in her patience and in her love for me. Heaven knows I am not +worthy of her, yet let me bless God I have her to cherish, and, by all +means that in me lies, fan the flame of her precious life, trusting to see +it burn brightly once more. But, George, I fear more than I hope. What will +all honours and Court favour be to me if I lose her?' + +'You will keep her,' George said, in the assured tone that those who are +happy often use when speaking to others who are less happy than themselves. +'You will keep her, Humphrey, she shall have milk warm from one of my best +cows, and feed on the fat of the land. Oh! we will soon see the Dame Mary +Ratcliffe fit to go to Court and shine there.' + +Humphrey shook his head. + +'That is the last thing Mary would desire.' Then changing his tone, he went +on: 'What think you of Ambrose, George?' + +'He is big enow, and handsome. Is he amenable and easy to control?' + +'I have no cause to find fault with him; he lacks spirit somewhat, and has +taken a craze to be a scholar rather than a soldier. He has been studying +at Goettingen, and now desires to enter Cambridge. The old ambition to be a +soldier and brave knight, like Sir Philip Sidney, died out during those +four years spent in the Jesuit school, and he is accounted marvellously +clever at Latin and Greek.' + +'Humph,' George said. 'Let us hope there is no lurking Jesuitry in him. The +worse for him if there is, for the Queen is employing every means to run +the poor wretches to earth. The prisons are chock full of them, and the +mass held in abhorrence.' + +'Ambrose was but a child when with the Jesuits--scarce twelve years old +when I came upon him, and recovered him for his mother. No, no, I do not +fear Papacy for him, though, I confess, I would rather see him a rollicking +young soldier than the quiet, reserved fellow he is. One thing is certain, +he has a devotion for his mother, and for that I bless the boy. He +considers her first in everything, and she can enter into his learning with +a zest and interest which I cannot.' + +'Learning is not everything,' George said, 'let me hope so, at any rate, as +I am no scholar.' + +'No; but it is a great deal when added to godliness,' Humphrey replied. 'We +saw that in the wonderful life of Sir Philip Sidney. It was hard to say in +what he excelled most, learning or statesmanship or soldiering. Ay, there +will never be one to match him in our time, nor in any future time, so I +am ready to think. There's scarce a day passes but he comes before me, +George, and scarce a day but I marvel why that brilliant sun went down +while it was high noonday. Thirty-one years and all was told.' + +'Yes,' George said; 'but though he is dead he is not forgotten, and that's +more than can be said of thousands who have died since he died--four years +ago; by Queen and humble folk he is remembered.' + +George Ratcliffe's prophecy seemed likely to be fulfilled. Mary Gifford +gained strength daily, and very soon she was able to walk in the pleasance +by Hillside Manor, which George had laid out for Lucy, in those long +waiting days when he gathered together all that he thought would please her +in the 'lady's chamber' he had made ready for her, long before his dream of +seeing her in it was realised. + +Gradually Mary was able to extend her walks, and it was on one evening in +July that she told Lucy she should like to walk down to Ford Manor. + +Lucy remonstrated, and said she feared if she allowed her to go so far +Humphrey and Ambrose, who had gone away to London for a few days, would be +displeased with her for allowing it. + +'I would fain go there with you and see Ned and old Jenkins. The newcomers +have kept on their services, I hope?' + +'Yes, all things are the same, except that the poor old stepmother and her +ill-conditioned husband have left it, and are living in Tunbridge. He +preaches and prays, and spends her savings, and, let us hope, he is +content. The dear old place was going to wrack and ruin, so Sir Robert's +orders came that they were to quit.' + +'Poor old place! To think,' Lucy said, 'that I could ever feel an affection +for it, but it is so nevertheless.' + +So, in the golden light of sunset, the two sisters stood by the old thorn +tree on the bit of ground in front of Ford Manor once more. + +Ned and Jenkyns had bidden them welcome, and, by the permission of the +present owners of the farm, they had gone through the house, now much +improved by needful repairs and better furnishing. But, whatever changes +there were in the house and its inhabitants, the smiling landscape +stretched out before the two sisters as they stood by the crooked back of +the old thorn tree was the same. The woodlands, in the glory of the summer +prime, clothed the uplands; the tower of the church, the stately walls of +the Castle of Penshurst, the home of the noble race of Sidney, stood out +amidst the wealth of foliage of encircling trees as in years gone by. The +meadows were sloping down to the village, where the red roofs of the +cottages clustered, and the spiral columns of thin blue smoke showed where +busy housewives were preparing the evening meal at the wood fire kindled on +the open hearth. The rooks were flying homewards with their monotonous +caw. From a copse, just below Ford Manor, the ring-doves were repeating the +old, old song of love. As Mary Gifford stood with her face turned towards +the full light of the evening sky, she looked again to Lucy like the Mary +of old. Neither spoke; their hearts were too full for words, but they +clasped each other's hands in a silence more eloquent than speech. + +Both sisters' thoughts were full of the past rather than the present. + +Mary seemed to see before her the little fair-haired boy who had been so +eager to mount Sir Philip's horse, and Sir Philip, with his radiant smile +and gracious kindliness, so ready to gratify the boy's desire, as he set +him on the saddle. + +And Mary heard, too, again the ringing voice as little Ambrose said,-- + +'I would fain be a noble gentleman and brave soldier like Mr Philip Sidney. +I would like to ride with him far, far away.' + +She recalled now the pang those words had caused her, and how she dreaded +the parting which came all too soon, and had been so bitter to her. Now, +she had her son restored to her, but she felt, as how many mothers have +felt since, a strange hunger of the soul, for her vanished child! Ambrose, +quiet and sedate, and eager to be an accomplished scholar, tall, almost +dignified, for his sixteen years, was indeed her son, and she could thank +God for him. Yet she thought with a strange regret, of the days when he +threw his arms round her in a rough embrace, or trotted chattering by her +side as she went about the farm, or, still sweeter memory, murmured in his +sleep her name, and looked up at her with a half-awakened smile, as he +found her near, and felt her kisses on his forehead. + +From these thoughts Mary was roused by Ambrose himself,-- + +'Mother,' he said, 'this is too far for you to walk. You should not have +ventured down the hill. We have returned to find the house empty; and my +father is in some distress when he heard you had come so far.' + +Ambrose spoke as if he were constituted his mother's caretaker; and Lucy, +laughing, said,-- + +'You need not look so mighty grave about it, Ambrose; your mother is not +tired. Forsooth, one would think you were an old man giving counsel, rather +than a boy.' + +Ambrose disliked of all things to be called a boy; and, since his first +remark about the baby Philip, there had often been a little war of words +between aunt and nephew. + +'Boys may have more wits than grown folk sometime,' he replied. 'Here comes +my father, who does not think me such a fool as, perchance, you do, Aunt +Lucy. He has brought a horse to carry my mother up the steep hill.' + +'Well, I will leave her to your double care,' Lucy said. 'I see George +follows a-foot. We will go up the hill path, and be at home before you, +I'll warrant.' She ran gaily away to meet George; and as Mary was lifted +on the pillion by Humphrey, Ambrose taking his place by his mother, he +turned in the opposite direction, and, following Lucy and her husband, was +soon out of sight. + +Mother and son rode slowly along the familiar path which leads into the +high road from Penshurst. + +The glow of sunset was around them, and the crimson cloth mantle Mary wore +shone in the westering light. So they pass out of sight, and the shadows +gather over the landscape, and evening closes in. As a dream when one +awaketh is the history of the past, and the individual lives which stand +out in it are like phantoms which we strive, perhaps in vain, to quicken +into life once more, and clothe them with the vivid colours for which +imagination may lend its aid. Of the central figure of this story of the +spacious times of great Elizabeth, we may say--with the sister who loved +him with no common love-- + + 'Ah, no! his spirit is not dead--nor can it die, + But lives for aye in blissful Paradise, + Where, like a new-born babe, it soft doth lie, + In bed of lilies--wrapped in tender wise, + And compassed all about with roses sweet, + And dainty violets from head to feet.' + + + + +THE END. + + + + +EDINBURGH + +COLSTON AND COMPANY + +PRINTERS + + + + + MRS MARSHALL'S HISTORICAL NOVELS. + + * * * * * + + IN THE SERVICE OF RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. + + 'This is another of those admirable historical romances in which + Mrs Marshall makes the past speak to the present.'--_Spectator._ + + WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. A Story of Exeter and Norwich in the Days of + Bishop Hall. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Captivating in style, graphic in effect, and high in tone.'--_Guardian._ + + WINCHESTER MEADS IN THE DAYS OF BISHOP KEN. + Sixth Thousand. With Eight Illustrations. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Mrs Marshall has produced another of her pleasant stories + of old times.'--_Saturday Review._ + + UNDER SALISBURY SPIRE IN THE DAYS OF GEORGE HERBERT. + With Illustrations. Ninth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'A charming study of life and character in the seventeenth + century.'--_Athenaeum._ + + ON THE BANKS OF THE OUSE. A Tale of the Times of Newton and Cowper. + With Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'It is refreshing to read a book so earnest as this. The style is + simple and clear.'--_Academy._ + + IN FOUR REIGNS. The Recollections of ALTHEA ALLINGHAM. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'Seldom does one meet with a book of such sympathetic and touching + character.'--_Morning Post._ + + UNDER THE MENDIPS. A Tale of the Times of More. + With Illustrations. Sixth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'A charming story.'--_Athenaeum._ + + IN THE EAST COUNTRY with Sir Thomas Browne, Knight. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'This is a charming and pretty story of life in Norwich two hundred + years ago.'--_Spectator._ + + IN COLSTON'S DAYS. A Story of Old Bristol. + With Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth. + + 'The illustrations are excellent pictures of Bristol in the old days, and + the book itself is particularly pleasant reading.'--_Christian World._ + + * * * * * + + LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND. + + + NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF + + MRS MARSHALL'S EARLIER WORKS. + + _Price 3s. 6d. cloth._ + + * * * * * + + LADY ALICE. + MRS MAINWARING'S JOURNAL. + HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. + VIOLET DOUGLAS. + CHRISTABEL KINGSCOTE. + HELEN'S DIARY. + BROTHERS AND SISTERS. + NOWADAYS. + DOROTHY'S DAUGHTERS. + MILLICENT LEGH. + + * * * * * + + MRS MARSHALL'S POPULAR SERIES. + + _Price 1s. 6d. cloth. 1s. sewed._ + + * * * * * + + A LILY AMONG THORNS. + BOSCOMBE CHINE. + THE TWO SWORDS. + HER SEASON IN BATH. + THE TOWER ON THE CLIFF. + THE OLD GATEWAY. + BRISTOL DIAMONDS. + UP AND DOWN THE PANTILES. + A ROMANCE OF THE UNDERCLIFF. + BRISTOL BELLS. + + * * * * * + + LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Penshurst Castle, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENSHURST CASTLE *** + +***** This file should be named 28616.txt or 28616.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/6/1/28616/ + +Produced by Paul Dring, Delphine Lettau, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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