One day there was a great deal of company at Mistress Wells's house,
which was the only one I then haunted, being as afore said, somewhat
sickened of society and diversions. The conversation which was mostly
ministered amongst such as visited there related to public affairs and
foreign countries, and not so much as in some other houses to private
scandals and the tattle of the town. The uncertainty I was in
concerning my father's present abode and his known intent soon to
cross over the sea from France worked in me a constant craving for
news from abroad, and also an apprehensive curiosity touching reports
of the landing of seminary priests at any of the English ports. Some
would often tarry at Mr. Wells's house for a night who had lately come
from Rheims or Paris, and even Rome, or leastways received letters
from such as resided in those distant parts. And others I met there
were persons who had friends at court; and they often related
anecdotes of the queen and the ministers, and the lords and ladies of
her household, which it also greatly concerned me to hear of, by
reason of my dearest friend having embarked her whole freight of
happiness in a frail vessel launched on that stormy sea of the court,
so full of shoals and quicksands, whereby many a fair ship was daily
chanced to be therein wrecked.
Nothing notable of this kind had been mentioned on the day I speak of,
which, howsoever, proved a very notable one to me. For after I had
been in the house a short time there came there one not known, and yet
it should seem not wholly unknown to me; for that I did discover in
his shape and countenance something not unfamiliar, albeit I could not
call to mind that I had ever seen this gentleman before. I asked his
name of a young lady who sat near to me, and she said she thought he
should be the elder brother of Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who was lodging in
the house, and that she heard he tabled there also since he had come
to town, and that he was a very commendable person, above the common
sort, albeit not one of such great parts as his brother. Then I did
instantly take note of the likeness between the brothers which had
made the elder's face not strange to me, as also perhaps that one
sight of him I had at Bedford some years before. Their visages were
very like; but their figures and mostly their countenances different.
I cannot say wherein that great differency did lie; but methinks every
one must have seen, or rather felt it. Basil was the tallest and the
handsomest of the twain. I will not be so great a prodigal of time as
to bestow it on commendations of his outward appearance whose inward
excellences were his chiefest merit. Howsoever, I be minded to set
down in this place somewhat touching his appearance; as it may so
happen that some who read this history, and who have known and loved
Basil in his old years, should take as much pleasure in reading as I
do in writing the description of his person, and limning as it were
the resemblance of him at a period in this history wherein the
hitherto separate currents of his life and mine do meet, like a noble
river and a poor stream, for to flow onward in the same channel.
Basil Rookwood was of a tall stature, and well-proportioned shape in
all parts. His hair of light brown, very thickly set, and of a sunny
hue, curled with a graceful wave. His head had many becoming motions.
His mouth was well-made, and his lips ruddy. His forehead not very
high, in which was a notable dissemblance from his brother. His nose
raised and somewhat sharply cut. His complexion clear and rosy; his
smile so full of cheer and kindliness that it infected others with
mirthfulness. He was very nimble and active in all his movements, and
well skilled in riding, fencing, and dancing. I pray you who have
known him in his late years, can you in aught, save in a never-altered
sweetness mixing with the dignity of age, trace in this picture a
likeness to Basil, your Basil and mine?
I care not, in writing this plain showing of mine own life, to use
such disguises as are observed in love-stories, whereby the reader is
kept ignorant of that which is to follow until in due time the course
of the tale doth unfold it. No, I may not write Basil's name as that
of a stranger. Not for the space of one page; nay, not with so much as
one stroke of my pen can I dissemble the love which had its dawn on
the day I have noted. It was sudden in its beginnings, yet steady in
its progress. It deepened and widened with the course of years, even
as a rivulet doth start with a lively force from its source, and,
gathering strength as it flows, grows into a broad and noble river. It
was ardent but not idolatrous; sudden, as I have said, in its rise,
but not unconsidered. It was founded on high esteem on the one side,
on the other an inexpressible tenderness and kindness. Religion,
honor, and duty were the cements of this love. No blind dotage; but a
deathless bond of true sympathy, making that equal which in itself was
unequal; for, if a vain world should have deemed that on the one side
there did appear some greater brilliancy of parts than showed in the
other, all who could judge of true merit and sound wisdom must needs
have allowed that in true merit Basil was as greatly her superior whom
he honored with his love, as is a pure diamond to the showy setting
which encases it.
Hubert presented to me his brother, who, when he heard my name
mentioned, would not be contented till he had got speech of me; and
straightway, after the first civilities had passed between us, began
to relate to me that he had been staying for a few days before coming
to town at Mr. Roper's house at Richmond, where I had often visited in
the summer. It so befel that I had left in the chamber where I slept
some of my books, on the margins of which were written such notes as I
was wont to make whilst reading, for so Hubert had advised me, and his
counsel in this I found very profitable; for this method teaches one
to reflect on what he reads, and to hold converse as it were with
authors whose friendship and company he thus enjoys, which is a source
of contentment more sufficient and lasting than most other pleasures
in this world.
Basil chanced to inhabit this room, and discovered on an odd by-shelf
these volumes so disfigured, or, as he said, so adorned; and took such
delight in the reading of them, but mostly in the poor reflections an
unknown pen had affixed to these pages, that he rested not until he
had learnt from Mr. Roper the name of the writer. When he found she
was the young girl he had once seen at Bedford, he marvelled at the
strong impulse he had toward her, and pressed the venerable gentleman
with so many questions relating to her that he feared he should have
wearied him but his inquiries met with such gracious answers that he
perceived Mr. Roper to be as well pleased with the theme of his
discourse as himself, and as glad to set forth her excellences (I
be ashamed to write the words which should indeed imply the speaker to
have been in his dotage, but for the excuse of a too great kindness to
an unworthy creature) as he had to listen to them. And here I must
needs interrupt my narrative to admire that one who was no scholar,
yea, no great reader at any time, albeit endowed with excellent good
sense and needful information, should by means of books have been
drawn to the first thoughts of her who was to enjoy his love which
never was given to any other creature but herself. But I pray you,
doth it not happen most often, though it is scarce to be credited,
that dissemblance in certain matters doth attract in the way of love
more than resemblance? That short men do choose tall wives; lovers of
music women who have no ear to discern one tune from another; scholars
witless housewives; retired men ambitious helpmates; and gay ladies
grave husbands? This should seem to be the rule, otherways the
exception; and a notable instance of the same I find in the first
motions which did incline Basil to a good opinion of my poor self.
But to return. "Mistress Sherwood," quoth Basil, "Mr. Roper did not
wholly praise you; he recited your faults as well as your virtues."
I answered, it did very much content me he should have done so, for
that then more credit should be given to his words in that wherein he
did commend me, since he was so true a friend as to note my defects.
"But what," quoth he, archly smiling, "if the faults he named are such
as pleased me as well as virtues?"
"Then," I replied, "methinks, sir, the fault should be rather in you
than in her who doth commit them, for she may be ignorant, or else
subject to some infirmity of temper; but to commend faults should be a
very dangerous error."
"But will you hear," quoth he, "your faults as Mr. Roper recited
them?"
"Yea, willingly," I answered, "and mend them also if I can."
"Oh, I pray you mend them not," he cried.
At which I laughed, and said he should be ashamed to give such wanton
advice. And then he:
"Mr. Roper declares you have so much inability to conceal your
thoughts that albeit your lips should be forcibly closed, your eyes
would speak them so clearly that any one who listed should read them."
"Methinks," I said, willing to excuse myself like the lawyer in the
gospel, "that should not be my fault, who made not mine own eyes."
"Then he also says, that you have so sharp an apprehension of wrongs
done to others, that if you hear of an injustice committed, or some
cruel treatment of any one, you are so moved and troubled, that he has
known you on such occasions to shed tears, which do not flow with a
like ease for your own griefs. Do you cry mercy to this accusation,
Mistress Sherwood?"
"Indeed," I answered, "God knoweth I do, and my ghostly father also.
For the strong passions of resentment touching the evil usage our
Catholics do meet with work in me so mightfully, that I often am in
doubt if I have sinned therein. And concerning mine own griefs, they
have been but few as yet, so that 'tis little praise I deserve for not
overmuch resentment in instances wherein, if others are afflicted, I
have much ado to restrain wrath."
"Ah," he said, "methinks if you answer in so true and grave a manner
my rude catechizing. Mistress Sherwood, I be not bold enough to
continue the inventory of your faults."
"I pray you do," I answered; for I felt in my soul an unusual liking
for his conversation, and the more so when, leaving off jesting, he
said, "The last fault Mr. Roper did charge you with was lack of
prudence in matters wherein prudence is most needed in these days."
"Alas!" I exclaimed; "for that also do I cry mercy; but indeed, Master
Rookwood, there is in these days so much cowardice and time-serving
which doth style itself prudence, that methinks it might sometimes
happen that a right boldness should be called rashness."
Raising my eyes to his, I thought I saw them clouded by a misty dew;
and he replied, "Yea, Mistress Constance, and if it is so, I had
sooner that myself and such as I have a friendship for should have to
cry mercy on their death-beds for too much rashness in stemming the
tide, than for too much ease in yielding to it. And now," he added,
"shall I repeat what Mr. Roper related of your virtues?"
"No," I answered, smiling. "For if the faults he doth charge me with
be so much smaller than the reality, what hope have I that he should
speak the truth in regard to my poor merits?"
Then some persons moving nearer to where we were sitting, some general
conversation ensued, in which several took part; and none so much to
my liking as Basil, albeit others might possess more ready tongues and
a more sparkling wit. In all the years since I had left my home, I had
not found so much contentment in any one's society. His mind and mine
were like two instruments with various chords, but one key-note, which
maintained them in admirable harmony. The measure of our agreement
stood rather in the drift of our desires and the scope of our
approval, than in any parity of tastes or resemblance of disposition.
Acquaintanceship soon gave way to intimacy, which bred a mutual
friendship that in its turn was not slow to change into a warmer
feeling. We met very often. It seemed so natural to him to affection
me, and to me to reciprocate his affection, that if our love began
not, which methinks it did, on that first day of meeting, I know not
when it had birth. But if it be difficult precisely to note the
earliest buddings of the sweet flower love, it was easy to discern the
moment when the bitter root of jealousy sprang up in Hubert's heart.
He who had been suspicious of every person whose civilities I allowed
of, did not for some time appear to mislike the intimacy which had
arisen betwixt his brother and me. I ween from what he once said, when
on a later occasion anger loosened his tongue, that he held him in
some sort of contempt, even as a fox would despise a nobler animal
than himself. His subtle wit disdained his plainness of speech. His
confiding temper he derided; and he had methinks no apprehension that
a she-wit, as he was wont to call me, should prove herself so witless
as to prefer to one of his brilliant parts a man notable for his
indifferency to book learning, and to his smooth tongue and fine
genius the honest words and unvarnished merits of his brother.
Howsoever, one day he either did himself notice some sort of
particular kindness to exist between us, or he was advertised thereof
by some of the company we frequented, and I saw him fix his eyes on us
with so arrested a persistency, and his frame waxed so rigid, that
methought Lot's wife must have so gazed when she turned toward the
doomed city. I was more frighted at the dull lack of expression in his
face than at a thousand frowns or even scowls. His eyes were reft of
their wonted fire; the color had flown from his lips; his always pale
cheek was of a ghastly whiteness; and his hand, which was thrust in
his bosom, and his feet, which seemed rooted to the ground, were as
motionless as those of a statue. A shudder ran through me as he stood
in this guise, neither moving nor speaking, at a small distance from
me. I rose and went away, for his looks freezed me. But the next time
I met him this strangeness of behavior had vanished, and I almost
misdoubted the truth of what I had seen. He was a daily witness, for
several succeeding weeks, of what neither Basil nor I cared much
to conceal--the mutual confidence and increasing tenderness of
affection, which was visible in all our words and actions at that
time, which was one of greater contentment than can be expressed. That
summer was a rare one for fineness of the weather and its great store
of sun-shiny days. We had often pleasant divertisements in the
neighborhood of London, than which no city is more famous for the
beauty of its near scenery. One while we ascended the noble river
Thames as far as Richmond, England's Arcadia, whose smooth waters,
smiling meads, and hills clad in richest verdure, do equal whatsoever
poets have ever sung or painters pictured. Another time we disported
ourselves in the gardens of Hampton, where, in the season of roses,
the insects weary their wings over the flower-beds--the thrifty bees
with the weight of gathered honey--and the gay butterflies, idlers as
ourselves, with perfume and pleasure. Or we went to Greenwich Park,
and underneath the spreading trees, with England's pride of shipping
in sight, and barges passing to and fro on the broad stream as on a
watery highway, we whiled away the time in many joyous pastimes.
On an occasion of this sort it happened that both brothers went with
us, and we forecasted to spend the day at a house in the village of
Paddington, about two miles from London, where Mr. Congleton's sister,
a lady of fortune, resided. It stood in a very fair garden, the gate
of which opened on the high road; and after dinner we sat with some
other company which had been invited to meet us under the large cedar
trees which lined a broad gravel-walk leading from the house to the
gate. The day was very hot, but now a cooling air had risen, and the
young people there assembled played at pastimes, in which I was
somewhat loth to join; for jesting disputations and framing of
questions and answers, an amusement then greatly in fashion, minded
one of that fatal encounter betwixt Martin Tregony and Thomas
Sherwood, the end of which had been the death of the one and a fatal
injury to the soul of the other. Hubert was urgent with me to join in
the arguments proposed; but I refused, partly for the aforesaid
reason, and methinks, also, because I doubted that Basil should acquit
himself so admirably as his brother in these exercises of wit, wherein
the latter did indeed excel, and I cared not to shine in a sport
wherein he took no part. So I set myself to listen to the disputants,
albeit with an absent mind; for I had grown to be somewhat thoughtful
of late, and to forecast the future with such an admixture of hope and
fear touching the issue of those passages of love I was engaged in,
that the trifles which entertained a disengaged mind lacked ability to
divert me. I ween Polly, if she had been then in London, should have
laughed at me for the symptoms I exhibited of what she styled the
sighing malady.
A little while after the contest had begun, a sound was heard at a
distance as of a trampling on the road, but not discernible as yet
whether of men or horses' feet. There was mixed with it cries of
hooting and shouts, which increased as this sort of procession (for so
it should seem to be) approached. All who were in the garden ran to
the iron railing for to discover the cause. From the houses on both
sides the road persons came out and joined in the clamor. As the crowd
neared the gate where we stood, the words, "Papists--seditious
priests--traitors," were discernible, mixed with oaths, curses, and
such opprobrious epithets as my pen dares not write. At the hearing of
them the blood rushed to my head, and my heart began to beat as if it
should burst from the violence with which it throbbed; for now the mob
was close at hand, and we could see the occasion of their yells and
shoutings. About a dozen persons were riding without bridle or spur or
other furniture, on lean and bare horses, which were fastened one
to the other's tails, marching slowly in a long row, each man's feet
tied under his horse's belly and his arms bound hard and fast behind
him. A pursuivant rode in front and cried aloud that those coming
behind him were certain papists, foes to the gospel and enemies to the
commonwealth, for that they had been seized in the act of saying and
hearing mass in disobedience to the laws. And as he made this
proclamation, the rabble yelled and took up stones and mud to cast at
the prisoners. One man cried out, "Four of them be vile priests." O ye
who read this, have you taken heed how, at some times in your lives,
in a less space than the wink of an eye, thought has outrun sight? So
did mine with lightning speed apprehend lest my father should be one
of these. I scanned the faces of the prisoners as they passed, but he
was not amongst them; however I recognized, with a sharp pain, the
known countenance of the priest who had shriven my mother on her
death-bed. He looked pale and worn to a shadow, and hardly able to sit
on his horse. I sunk down on my knees, with my head against the
railings, feeling very sick. Then the gate opened, and with a strange
joy and trembling fear I saw Basil push through the mob till he stood
close to the horse's feet where the crowd had made a stoppage. He
knelt and took off his hat, and the lips of the priests moved, as they
passed, for to bless him. Murmurs rose from the rabble, but he took no
heed of them. Till the last horseman had gone by he stood with his
head uncovered, and then slowly returned, none daring to touch him.
"Basil, dear Basil!" I cried, and, weeping, gave him my hand. It was
the first time I had called him by his name. Methinks in that moment
as secure a troth-plight was passed between us as if ten thousand
bonds had sealed it. When, some time afterward, we moved toward the
house, I saw Hubert standing at the door with the same stony rigid
look which had frighted me once before. He said not one word as I
passed him. I have since heard that a lady, endowed with more
sharpness than prudence or kindness, had thus addressed him on this
occasion: "Methinks, Master Hubert Rookwood, that you did perform your
part excellently well in that ingenious pastime which procured us so
much good entertainment awhile ago; but beshrew me if your brother did
not exceed you in the scene we have just witnessed, and if Mistress
Sherwood's looks do not belie her, she thought so too. I ween his
tragedy hath outdone your comedy." Then he (well-nigh biting his lips
through, as the person who related it to me observed) made answer: "If
this young gentlewoman's taste be set on tragedy, then will I promise
her so much of it another day as should needs satisfy her."
This malicious lady misliked Hubert, by reason of his having denied
her the praise of wit, which had been reported to her by a third
person. She was minded to be revenged on him, and so the shaft
contained in her piercing jest had likewise hit those she willed not
to injure. It is not to be credited how many persons have been ruined
in fortune, driven into banishment, yea, delivered over to death, by
careless words uttered without so much as a thought of the evil which
should ensue from them.
And now upon the next day Basil was to leave London. Before he went he
said he hoped not to be long absent, and that Mr. Congleton should
receive a letter, if it pleased God, from his father; which, if it
should be favorably received, and I willed it not to be otherwise,
should cause our next meeting to be one of greater contentment than
could be thought of.
I answered, "I should never wish otherwise than that we should meet
with contentment, or will anything that should hinder it." Which he
said did greatly please him to hear, and gave him a comfortable hope
of a happy return.
He conversed also with Mistress Ward touching the prisoners we had
seen the day before, and left some money with her in case she should
find means to see and assist them, which she strove to do with the
diligence used by her in all such managements. In a few days she
discovered Mr. Watson to be in Bridewell, also one Mr. Richardson in
the Marshalsea, and three laymen in the Clink. Mr. Watson had a sister
who was a Protestant, and by her means she succeeded in relieving his
wants, and dealt with the gaolers at the other prisons so as to convey
some assistance to the poor men therein confined, whose names she had
found out.
One morning when I was at Kate's house Hubert came there; and she, the
whole compass of whose thoughts was now circled in her nursery, not
minding the signs I made she should not leave us alone, rose and said
she must needs go and see if her babe was awake, for Hubert must see
him, and he should not go away without first he had beheld him walk
with his new leading-strings, which were the tastefullest in the world
and fit for a king's son; and that she doubted not we could find good
enough entertainment in each other's company, or in Mr. Lacy's books,
which must be the wittiest ever written, if she judged by her
husband's fondness for them. As soon as the door was shut on her,
Hubert began to speak of his brother, and to insinuate that my
behavior to himself was changed since Basil had come to London, which
I warmly denied.
"If," I said, "I have changed--"
"_If_," he repeated, stopping my speaking with an ironical and
disdainful smile, and throwing into that one little word as he uttered
it more of meaning than it would seem possible it should express.
"Yes!" I continued, angered at his defiant looks. "Yes, if my behavior
to you has changed, which, I must confess, in some respects it has,
the cause did lie in my uncle's commands, laid on me before your
brother's coming to London. You know it, Master Rookwood, by the same
token that you charged me with unkindness for not allowing of your
visits, and refusing to read Italian with you, some weeks before ever
he arrived."
"You have a very obedient disposition, madam," he answered in a
scornful manner, "and I doubt not have attended with a like readiness
to the behest to favor the _elder_ brother's suit as to that which
forbade the receiving of the younger brother's addresses."
"I did not look upon you as a suitor," I replied.
"No!" he exclaimed, "and not as on a lover? Not as on one whose lips,
borrowing words from enamored poets twenty times in a day, did avow
his passion, and was entertained on your side with so much good-nature
and apparent contentment with this mode of disguised worship, as
should lead him to hope for a return of his affection? But why
question of that wherein my belief is unshaken? I know you love me,
Constance Sherwood, albeit you peradventure love more dearly my
brother's heirship of Euston and its wide acres. Your eyes deceived
not, nor did your flushing cheek dissemble, when we read together
those sweet tales and noble poems, wherein are set forth the dear
pains and tormenting joys of a mutual love. No, not if you did take
your oath on it will I believe you love my brother!"
"What warrant have you, sir," I answered with burning cheek, "to
minister such talk to one who, from the moment she found you thought
of marriage, did plainly discountenance your suit?"
"You were content, then, madam, to be worshipped as an idol," he
bitterly replied, "if only not sued for in marriage by a poor man."
My sin found me out then, and the hard taunt awoke dormant pangs in my
conscience for the pleasure I had taken and doubtless showed in the
disguised professions of an undisguised admiration; but anger yet
prevailed, and I cried, "Think you to advance your interest in my
friendship, sir, by such language and reproaches as these?"
"Do you love my brother?" he said again, with an implied contempt
which made me mad.
"Sir," I answered, "I entertain for your brother so great a respect
and esteem as one must needs feel toward one of so much virtue and
goodness. No contract exists between us; nor has he made me the tender
of his hand. More than that it behoves you not to ask, or me to
answer."
"Ah! the offer of marriage is then the condition of your regard, and
love is to follow, not precede, the settlements, I' faith, ladies are
very prudent in these days; and virtue and goodness the new names for
fortune and lands. Beshrew me, if I had not deemed you to be made of
other metal than the common herd. But whatever be the composition of
your heart, Constance Sherwood, be it hard as the gold you set so much
store on, or, like wax, apt to receive each day some new impress, I
will have it; yea, and keep it for my own. No rich fool shall steal it
from me."
"Hubert Rookwood," I cried in anger, "dare not so to speak of one
whose merit is as superior to thine as the sun outshines a
torchlight."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, turning pale with rage, "if I thought thou didst
love him!" and clenched his hand with a terrible gesture, and ground
his teeth. "But 'tis impossible," he added bitterly smiling. "As soon
would I believe Titania verily to doat on the ass's head as for thee
to love Basil!"
"Oh!" I indignantly replied, "you do almost constrain me to avow that
which no maiden should, unasked, confess. Do you think, sir, that
learning and scholarship, and the poor show of wit that lies in a
ready tongue, should outweigh honor, courage, and kindliness of heart?
Think you that more respect should be paid to one who can speak, and
write also, if you will, fair sounding words, than to him who in his
daily doings shows forth such nobleness as others only inculcate, and
God only knoweth if ever they practise it?"
"Lady!" he exclaimed, "I have served you long; sustained torments in
your presence; endured griefs in your absence; pining thoughts in the
day, and anguished dreams in the night; jealousies often in times
past, and now--"
He drew in his breath; and then not so much speaking the word
"despair" as with a smothered vehemence uttering it, he concluded his
vehement address.
I was so shaken by his speech that I remained silent: for if I had
spoken I must needs have wept. Holding my head with both hands, and so
shielding my eyes from the sight of his pale convulsed face, I sat
like one transfixed. Then he again: "These be not times, Mistress
Sherwood, for women to act as you have done; to lift a man's heart one
while to an earthly heaven, and then, without so much as a thought, to
cast him into a hellish sea of woes. These be the dealings which drive
men to desperation; to attempt things contrary to their own minds, to
religion, and to honesty; to courses once abhorred--"
His violence wrung my heart then with so keen a remorse that I cried
out, "I cry you mercy, Master Rookwood, if I have dealt thus with you;
indeed I thought not to do it. I pray you forgive me, if unwittingly,
albeit peradventure in a heedless manner, I have done you so much
wrong as your words do charge me with." And then tears I could not
stay began to flow; and for awhile no talk ensued. But after a little
time he spoke in a voice so changed and dissimilar in manner, that I
looked up wholly amazed.
"Sweet Constance," he said, "I have played the fool in my customable
fashion, and by such pretended slanders of one I should rather incline
to commend beyond his deserts, if that were possible, than to give him
vile terms, have sought--I cry you mercy for it--to discover your
sentiments, and feigned a resentment and a passion which indeed has
proved an excellent piece of acting, if I judge by your tears. I pray
you pardon and forget my brotherly device. If you love Basil--as I
misdoubt not he loves you--where shall a more suitable match be found,
or one which every one must needs so much approve? Marry, sweet lady;
I will be his best man when he doth ride to church with you, and cry
'Amen' more loudly than the clerk. So now dart no more vengeful
lightnings from thine eyes, sweet one; and wipe away the pearly drops
my unmannerly jesting hath caused to flow. I would not Basil had
wedded a lady in love with his pelf, not with himself."
"I detest tricks," I cried, "and such feigning as you do confess to. I
would I had not answered one word of your false discourse."
Now I wept for vexation to have been so circumvented and befooled as
to own some sort of love for a man who bad not yet openly addressed
me. And albeit reassured in some wise, touching what my conscience had
charged me with when I heard Hubert's vehement reproaches, I
misdoubted his present sincerity. He searched my face with a keen
investigation, for to detect, I ween, if I was most contented or
displeased with his late words. I resolved, if he was false, I would
be true, and leave not so much as a suspicion in his mind that I did
or ever had cared for him. But Kate, who should not have left us
alone, now returned, when her absence would have been most profitable.
She had her babe in her aims, and must needs call on Hubert to praise
its beauty and list to its sweet crowing. In truth, a more winsome,
gracious creature could not be seen; and albeit I had made an
inpatient gesture when she entered, my arms soon eased hers of their
fair burthen, and I set to playing with the boy, and Hubert talking
and laughing in such good cheer, that I began to credit his passion
had been feigning, and his indifferency to be true, which contented me
not a little.
A few days afterward Mr. Congleton received a letter, in the evening,
when we were sitting in my aunt's room, and a sudden fluttering in my
heart whispered it should be from Basil's father. Mine eyes affixed
themselves on the cover, which had fallen on the ground, and then
travelled to my uncle's face, wherein was a smile which seemed to say,
"This is no other than what I did expect." He put it down on the
table, and his hand over it. My aunt said he should tell us the news
he had received, to make us merry; for that the fog had given her the
vapors, and she had need of some good entertainment.
"News!" quoth he. "What news do you look for, good wife?"
"It would not be news, sir," she answered, "if I expected it."
"That is more sharp than true," he replied. "There must needs come
news of the queen of France's lying-in; but I pray you how will it be?
Shall she live and do well? Shall it be a prince or a princess?"
"Prithee, no disputings, Mr. Congleton," she said. "We be not playing
at questions and answers."
"Nay, but thou dost mistake," he cried out, laughing. "Methinks we
have here in hand some game of that sort if I judge by this letter."
Then my heart leapt, I knew not how high or how tumultuously; for I
doubted not now but he had received the tidings I hoped for.
"Constance," he said, "hast a mind to marry?"
"If it should please you, sir," I answered; "for my father charged me
to obey you."
"Good," quoth he. "I see thou art an obedient wench. And thou wilt
marry who I please?"
"Nay, sir; I said not that."
"Oh, oh!" quoth he. "Thou wilt marry so as to please me, and yet--"
"Not so as to displease myself, sir," I answered.
"Come," he said, "another question. Here is a gentleman of
fortune and birth, and excellent good character, somewhat advanced in
years indeed, but the more like to make an indulgent husband, and to
be prudent in the management of his affairs, hath heard so good a
report from two young gentlemen, his sons, of thy abilities and proper
behavior, that he is minded to make thee a tender of marriage, with so
good a settlement on his estate in Suffolk as must needs content any
reasonable woman. Wilt have him, Conny?"
"Who, sir?" I asked, waxing, I ween, as red as a field-poppy.
"Mr. Rookwood, wench--Basil and Hubert's father."
Albeit I knew my uncle's trick of jesting, my folly was so great just
then, hope and fear working in me, that I was seized with fright, and
from crimson turned so white, that he cried out:
"Content thee, child! content thee! 'Tis that tall strapping fellow
Basil must needs make thee an offer of his hand; and by my troth,
wench, I warrant thee thou wouldst go further and fare worse; for the
gentleman is honorably descended, heir-apparent to an estate worth
yearly, to my knowledge, three thousand pounds sterling, well disposed
in religion, and of a personage without exception. Mr. Rookwood
declares he is more contented with his son's choice than if he married
Mistress Spencer, or any other heiress; and beshrew me, if I be not
contented also."
Then he bent his head close to mine ear, and whispered, "And so art
thou, methinks, if those tell-tale eyes of thine should be credited.
Yea, yea, hang down thy head, and stammer 'As you please, sir!' And
never so much as a _Deo gratias_ for thy good fortune! What thankless
creatures women be!" I laughed and ran out of the room before mine
aunt or Mistress Ward had disclosed their lips; for I did long to be
in mine own chamber alone, and, from the depths of a heart over full
of, yea overflowing with, such joy as doth incline the knees to bend
and the eyes to raise themselves to the Giver of all good--he whom
all other goodness doth only mirror and shadow forth--pour out a hymn
of praise for the noble blessing I had received. For, I pray you,
after the gift of faith and grace for to know and love God, is there
aught on earth to be jewelled by a woman like to the affection of a
good man; or a more secure haven for her to anchor in amid the present
billows of life, except that of religion, to which all be not called,
than an honorable contract of marriage, wherein reason, passion, and
duty do bind the soul in a triple cord of love?
And oh! with what a painful tenderness I thought in that moving hour
on mine own dear parents--my mother, now so many years dead; my
father, so parted from his poor child, that in the most weighty
concernment of her life--the disposal of her in marriage--his consent
had to be presumed; his authority, for so he had with forecasting care
ordained, being left in other hands. But albeit a shade of melancholy
from such a retrospect as the mind is wont to take of the past, when
coming events do cast, as it should seem, a new light on what has
preceded them, I could not choose but see, in this good which had
happened to me, a reward to him who had forsaken all things--lands,
home, kindred, yea his only child, for Christ's dear sake. It minded
me of my mother's words concerning me, when she lay dying, "Fear not
for her."
I was somewhat loth to return to mine aunt's chamber, and to appear in
the presence of Kate and Polly, who had come to visit their mother,
and, by their saucy looks when I entered, showed they were privy to
the treaty in hand. Mine aunt said she had been thinking that she
would not go to church when I was married, but give me her blessing at
home; for she had never recovered from the chilling she had when Kate
was married, and had laid abed on Polly' wedding-day, which she
liked better. Mistress Ward had great contentment, she said, that I
should have so good an husband. Kate was glad Basil was not too fond
of books, for that scholars be not as conversable as agreeable
husbands should be. Polly said, for her part, she thought the less wit
a man had, the better for his wife, for she would then be the more
like to have her own way. But that being her opinion, she did not
wholly wish me joy; for she had noticed Basil to be a good thinker,
and a man of so much sense, that he would not be ruled by a wife more
than should be reasonable. I was greatly pleased that she thus
commended him, who was not easily pleased, and rather given to despise
gentlemen than to praise them. I kissed her, and said I had always
thought her the most sensible woman in the world. She laughed, and
cried, "That was small commendation, for that women were the
foolishest creatures in the world, and mostly such as were in love."
Ah me! The days which followed were full of sweet waiting and pleasant
pining for the effects of the letter mine uncle wrote to Mr. Rookwood,
and looking for one Basil should write himself, when licence for to
address me had been yielded to him. When it came, how unforeseen, how
sad were the contents! Albeit love was expressed in every line, sorrow
did so cover its utterance, that my heart overflowed through mine
eyes, and I could only sigh and weep that the beginning of so fair a
day of joy should have set in clouds of so much grief. Basil's father
was dead. The day after he wrote that letter, the cause of all our
joy, he fell sick and never bettered any more, but the contrary: time
was allowed him to prepare his soul for death, by all holy rites and
ghostly comforts. One of his sons was on each side of his bed when he
died; and Basil closed his eyes.