When at last I entered the house I sought Mistress Ward; for I desired
to hear what assistance she had procured for the escape of the
prisoners, and to inform her of my father's resolved purpose not
himself to attempt this flight, albeit commending her for moving Mr.
Watson to it and assisting him therein. Not finding her in the parlor,
nor in her bed-chamber, I opened the door of my aunt's room, who was
now very weak, and yet more so in mind than in body. She was lying
with her eyes shut, and Mistress Ward standing by her bedside. I
marked her intent gaze on the aged, placid face of the poor lady, and
one tear I saw roll down her cheek. Then she stooped to kiss her
forehead. A noise I made with the handle of the door caused her to
turn round, and hastening toward me, she took me by the hand and led
me to her chamber, where Muriel was folding some biscuits and cakes in
paper and stowing them in a basket. The thought came to me of the
first day I had arrived in London, and the comfort I had found in this
room, when all except her were strangers to me in that house. She sat
down betwixt Muriel and me, and smiling, said: "Now, mine own dear
children, for such my heart holds you both to be, and ever will whilst
I live, I am come here for to tell you that I purpose not to return to
this house to-night, nor can I foresee when, if ever, I shall be free
to do so."
"O, what dismal news!" I exclaimed, "and more sad than I did expect."
Muriel said nothing, but lifting her hand to her lips kissed it.
"You both know," she continued, "that in order to save one in cruel
risk and temptation of apostasy, and others perhaps, also, whom his
possible speaking should imperil, I be about to put myself in some
kind of danger, who of all persons in the world possess the best right
to do so, as having neither parents, or husband, or children, or any
on earth who depend on my care. Yea, it is true," she added, fixing
her eyes on Muriel's composed, but oh how sorrowful, countenance,
"none dependent on my care, albeit some very dear to me, and which
hang on me, and I on them, in the way of fond affection. God knoweth
my heart, and that it is very closely and tenderly entwined about each
one in this house. Good Mr. Congleton and your dear mother, who hath
clung to me so long, though I thank God not so much of late by reason
of the weakening of her mind, which hath ceased greatly to notice
changes about her, and you, Constance, my good child, since your
coming hither a little lass commended to my keeping. . . . ." There
she stopped; and I felt she could not name Muriel, or then so much as
look on her; for if ever two souls were bound together by an
unperishable bond of affection, begun on earth to last in heaven,
theirs were so united. I ween Muriel was already acquainted with her
purpose, for she asked no questions thereon; whereas I exclaimed, "I
do very well know, good Mistress Ward, what perils you do run in this
charitable enterprise; but wherefore, I pray you, this final manner of
parting? God's providence may shield you from harm in this passage,
and, indeed, human probability should lead us to hope for your safety
if becoming precautions be observed. Then why, I say, this certain
farewell?"
"Because," she answered, "whatever comes of this night's enterprise, I
return not to this house."
"And wherefore not?" I cried; "this is indeed a cruel resolve, a hard
misfortune."
"Heretofore," she answered, "I had noways offended against the laws of
the country, except in respect of recusancy, wherein all here
are alike involved; but by mine act tonight I do expose myself to so
serious a charge (conscience obliging me to prefer the law of divine
charity to that of human authority), that I may at any time and
without the least hope of mercy be exposed to detection and
apprehension; and so am resolved not to draw down sorrow and obloquy
on the gray hairs of my closest friends and on your young years such
perils as I do willingly in mine own person incur, but would not have
others to be involved in. Therefore I will lodge, leastwise for a
time, with one who feareth not any more than I do persecution, who
hath no ties and little or nothing on earth to lose, and if she had
would willingly yield it a thousand times over for to save a soul for
whom Christ died. Nor will I have you privy, my dear children, to the
place of mine abode, that if questioned on it you may with truth aver
yourselves to be ignorant thereof. And now," she said, turning to me,
"is Mr. Sherwood willing for to try to escape by the same means as Mr.
Watson? for methinks I have found a way to convey to him a cord, and,
by means of the management he knoweth of instructions how to use it."
"Nay," I answered, "he will not himself avail himself of this means,
albeit he is much rejoiced you have it in hand for Mr. Watson's
deliverance from his tormentors; and he doth pray fervently for it to
succeed."
"Everything promiseth well," she replied. "I dealt this day with an
honest Catholic boatman, a servant of Mr. Hodgson, who is willing to
assist in it. Two men are needed for to row the boat with so much
speed as shall be necessary to carry it quickly beyond reach of
pursuers. He knoweth none of his own craft which should be reliable or
else disposed to risk the enterprise; but he says at a house of resort
for Catholics which he doth frequent, he chanced to fall in with a
young gentleman, lately landed from France, whom he doth make sure
will lend his aid in it. As dextrous a man," he saith, "to handle an
oar, and of as courageous a spirit, as can be found in England."
As soon as she had uttered these words, I thought of what Hubert had
said touching a report of Basil being in London and of his rashness in
plunging into dangers; a cold shiver ran through me. "Did he tell you
this gentleman's name?" I asked.
"No," she answered, "he would not mention it; but only that he was one
who could be trusted with the lives of ten thousand persons, and so
zealous a Catholic he would any day risk his life to do some good
service to a priest."
"And hath this boatman promised," I inquired, "to wait for Mr. Watson
and convey him away?"
"Yea, most strictly," she answered, "at twelve o'clock of the night he
and his companion shall approach a boat to the side of some
scaffolding which lieth under the wall of the prison; and when the
clock of the tower striketh, Mr. Watson shall open his window, the
bars of which he hath found it possible to remove, and by means of the
cord, which is of the length he measured should be necessary, he will
let himself down on the planks, whence he can step into the boat, and
be carried to a place of concealment in a close part of the city till
it shall be convenient for him to cross the sea to France."
"Must you go?" I said, seeing her rise, and feeling a dull hard
heaviness at my heart which did well-nigh impede my utterance. I was
not willing to let her know the fear I had conceived; "of what use
should it be," I inwardly argued, "to disturb her in the discharge of
her perilous task by a surmise which might prove groundless; and,
indeed, were it certainly true, could she, nay, would she, alter her
intent, or could I so much as ask her to do it?" Whilst, with Muriel's
assistance, she concluded the packing of her basket, wherein the
weighty cord was concealed in an ingenious manner, I stood by
watching the doing of it, fearing to see her depart, yet unable to
think of any means by which to delay that which I could not, even if I
had willed it, prevent. When the last contents were placed in the
basket, and Muriel was pressing down the lid, I said: "Do you,
peradventure, know the name of the inn where you said that gentleman
doth tarry which the boatman spake of?"
"No," she replied; "nor so much as where the good boatman himself
lodgeth. I met with him at Mr. Hodgson's house, and there made this
agreement."
"But if," I said, "it should happen by any reason that Mr. Watson
changed his mind, how should you, then, inform him of it?"
"In that case," she answered, "he would hang a white kerchief outside
his window, by which they should be advertised to withdraw themselves.
And now," she added, "I have always been of the way of thinking that
farewells should be brief; and 'God speed you,' and 'God bless you,'
enough for those which do hope, if it shall please God, on earth, but
for a surety in heaven, to meet again."
So, kissing us both somewhat hurriedly, she took up her basket on her
arm, and said she should send a messenger on the morrow for her
clothes; at which Muriel, for the first time, shed some tears, which
was an instance of what I have often noticed, that grief, howsoever
heavy, doth not always overflow in the eyes unless some familiar words
or homely circumstance doth substantiate the verity of a sorrow known
indeed, but not wholly apparent till its common effects be seen. Then
we two sat awhile alone in that empty chamber--empty of her which for
so long years had tenanted it to our no small comfort and benefit.
When the light waned, Muriel lit a candle, and said she must go for to
attend on her mother, for that duty did now devolve chiefly on her;
and I could see in her sad but composed face the conquering peace
which doth exceed all human consolation.
For mine own part, I was so unhinged by doubtful suspense that I
lacked ability to employ my mind in reading or my fingers in
stitch-work; and so descended for relief into the garden, where I
wandered to and fro like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest but finding
none. The dried shaking leaves made a light noise in falling, which
caused me each time to think I heard a footstep behind me. And despite
the increasing darkness, after I had paced up and down for near unto
an hour, some one verily did come walking along the alley where I was,
seeking to overtake me. Turning round I perceived it to be mine own
dear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, what great comfort I experienced in
the sight of this good man! How eager was my greeting of him! How full
my heart as I poured into his ear the narrative of the passages which
had befallen me since we had met! Of the most weighty he knew
somewhat; but nothing of the last haunting fear I had lest my dear
Basil should be in London, and this very night engaged in the perilous
attempt to carry off Mr. Watson. When I told him of it, he started and
exclaimed:
"God defend it!" but quickly corrected himself and cried, "God's
mercy, that my first feeling should have led me to think rather of
Basil's safety than of the fine spirit he showed in all instances
where a good action had to be done, or a service rendered to those in
affliction."
"Indeed, Mr. Roper," I said, as he led me back to the house and into
the solitary parlor (where my uncle now seldom came, but remained
sitting alone in his library, chiefly engaged in praying and reading),
"I do condemn mine own weakness in this, and pray God to give me
strength for what may come upon us; but I do promise you 'tis no easy
matter to carry always so high a heart that it shall not sink with
human fears and griefs in such passages as these."
"My dear," the good man answered, "God knoweth 'tis no easy matter to
attain to the courage you speak of. I have myself seen the sweetest,
the lovingest, and the most brave creature which ever did breathe give
marks of extraordinary sorrow when her father, that generous martyr of
Christ, was to die."
"I pray you tell me," I answered, "what her behavior was like in that
trial; for to converse on such themes doth allay somewhat the torment
of suspense, and I may learn lessons from her example, who, you say,
joined to natural weakness so courageous a spirit in like straits."
Upon which he, willing to divert and yet not violently change the
current of my thoughts, spake as followeth:
"On the day when Sir Thomas More came from Westminster to the
Tower-ward, my wife, desirous to see her father, whom she thought she
should never see in this world after, and also to have his final
blessing, gave attendance about the wharf where she knew he should
pass before he could enter into the Tower. As soon as she saw him,
after his blessing upon her knees reverently received, hastening
toward him without care or consideration of herself, passing in
amongst the throng and company of the guard, she ran to him and took
him about the neck and kissed him; who, well liking her most natural
and dear daughterly affection toward him, gave her his fatherly
blessing and godly words of comfort beside; from whom, after she was
departed, not satisfied with the former sight of him, and like one
that had forgotten herself, being all ravished with the entire love of
her father, suddenly turned back again, ran to him as before, took him
about the neck, and divers times kissed him lovingly, till at last,
with a full and heavy heart, she was fain to depart from him; the
beholding thereof was to many that were present so lamentable, and
mostly so to me, that for very sorrow we could not forbear to weep
with her. The wife of John Harris, Sir Thomas's secretary, was moved
to such a transport of grief, that she suddenly flew to his neck and
kissed him, as he had reclined his head on his daughter's shoulder;
and he who, in the midst of the greatest straits, had ever a merry
manner of speaking, cried, 'This is kind, albeit rather unpolitely
done.'"
"And the day he suffered," I asked, "what was this good daughter's
behavior?"
"She went," quoth he, "to the different churches, and distributed
abundant alms to the poor. When she had given all her money away, she
withdrew to pray in a certain church, where she on a sudden did
remember she had no linen in which to wrap up her father's body. She
had heard that the remains of the Bishop of Rochester had been thrown
into the ground, without priest, cross, lights, or shroud, for the
dread of the king had prevented his relations from attempting to bury
him. But Margaret resolved her father's body should not meet with such
unchristian treatment. Her maid advised her to buy some linen in the
next shop, albeit having given away all her money to the poor, there
was no likelihood she should get credit from strangers. She ventured,
howsoever, and having agreed about the price, she put her hand in her
pocket, which she knew was empty, to show she forgot the money, and
ask credit under that pretence. But to her surprise, she found in her
purse the exact price of the linen, neither more or less; and so
buried the martyr of Christ with honor, nor was there any one so
inhuman found as to hinder her."
"Mr. Roper," I said, when he had ended his recital, "methinks this
angelic lady's trial was most hard: but how much harder should it yet
have been if you, her husband, had been in a like peril at that time
as her father?"
A half kind of melancholy, half smiling look came into the good old
man's face as he answered:
"Her father was Sir Thomas More, and he so worthy of a daughter's
passionate love, and the affection betwixt them so entire and
absolute, compounded of filial love on her part, unmitigated
reverence, and unrestrained confidence, that there was left in her
heart no great space for wifely doating. But to be moderately
affectioned by such a woman, and to stand next in her esteem to her
incomparable father, was of greater honor and worth to her unworthy
husband, than should have been the undivided, yea idolatrous, love of
one not so perfect as herself."
After a pause, during which his thoughts, I ween, reverted to the
past, and mine investigated mine own soul, I said to Mr. Roper:
"Think you, sir, that love to be idolatrous which is indeed so
absolute that it should be no difficulty to die for him who doth
inspire it; which would prefer a prison in his company, howsoever dark
and loathsome (yea consider it a very paradise), to the beautifullest
palace in the world, which without him would seem nothing but a vile
dungeon; which should with a good-will suffer all the torments in the
world for to see the object of its affection enjoy good men's esteem
on earth, and a noble place in heaven; but which should be,
nevertheless, founded and so wholly built up on a high estimate of his
virtues; on the quality he holdeth of God's servant; on the likeness
of Christ stamped on his soul, and each day exemplified in his manner
of living, that albeit to lose his love or his company in this world
should be like the uprooting of all happiness and turning the
brightness of noonday to the darkness of the night, it should a
thousand times rather endure this mishap than that the least shade or
approach of a stain should alter the unsullied opinion till then held
of his perfections?"
Mr. Roper smiled, and said that was a too weighty question to answer
at once; for he should be loth to condemn or yet altogether to absolve
from some degree of overweeningness such an affection as I described,
which did seem indeed to savor somewhat of excess; but yet if noble in
its uses and held in subjection to the higher claims of the Creator,
whose perfections the creature doth at best only imperfectly mirror,
it might be commendable and a means of attaining ourselves to the like
virtues we doated on in another.
As he did utter these words a servant came into the parlor, and
whispered in mine ear:
"Master Basil Rookwood is outside the door, and craves--"
I suffered him not to finish his speech, but bounded into the hall,
where Basil was indeed standing with a traveller's cloak on him, and a
slouched hat over his face. After such a greeting as may be conceived
(alas, all greetings then did seem to combine strange admixtures of
joy and pain!), I led him into the parlor, where Mr. Roper in his turn
received him with fatherly words of kindness mixed with amazement at
his return.
"And whence," he exclaimed, "so sudden a coming, my good Basil?
Verily, you do appear to have descended from the skies!"
Basil looked at me and replied: "I heard in Paris, Mr. Roper, that a
gentleman in whom I do take a very lively interest, one Mr. Tunstall,
was in prison at London; and I bethought me I could be of some service
to him by coming over at this time."
"O Basil," I cried, "do you then know he is my father?"
"Yea," he joyfully answered, "and I am right glad you do know it also,
for then there is no occasion for any feigning, which, albeit I deny
it not to be sometimes useful and necessary, doth so ill agree with my
bluntness, that it keepeth me in constant fear of stumbling in my
speech. I was in a manner forced to come over secretly; because if Sir
Henry Stafford, who willeth me to remain abroad till I have got
out of my wardship, should hear of my being in London, and gain scent
of the object of my coming, he should have dealt in all sorts of ways
to send me out of it. But, prithee, dearest love, is Mrs. Ward in this
house?"
"Alas!" I said, "she is gone hence. Her mind is set on a very
dangerous enterprise."
"I know it," he saith (at which word my heart began to sink); "but,
verily, I see not much danger to be in it; and methinks if we do
succeed in carrying off your good father and that other priest
to-night in the ingenious manner she hath devised, it will be the best
night's work done by good heads, good arms, and good oars which can be
thought of."
"Oh, then," I exclaimed, "it is even as I feared, and you, Basil, have
engaged in this rash enterprise. O woe the day you came to London, and
met with that boatman!"
"Constance," he said reproachfully, "should it be a woful day to thee
the one on which, even at some great risk, which I deny doth exist in
this instance, I should aid in thy father's rescue?"
"Oh, but, my dear Basil," I cried, "he doth altogether refuse to stir
in this matter. I have had speech with him to-day, and he will by no
means attempt to escape again from prison. He hath done it once for
the sake of a soul in jeopardy; but only to save his life, he is
resolved not to involve others in peril of theirs. And oh, how
confirmed he would be in his purpose if he knew who it was who doth
throw himself into so great a risk! I' faith, I cannot and will not
suffer it!" I exclaimed impetuously, for the sudden joy of his
presence, the sight of his beloved countenance, lighted up with an
inexpressible look of love and kindness, more beautiful than my poor
words can describe, worked in me a rebellion against the thought of
more suffering, further parting, greater fears than I had hitherto
sustained.
He said, "He could wish my father had been otherwise disposed, for to
have aided in his escape should have been to him the greatest joy he
could think of; but that having promised likewise to assist in Mr.
Watson's flight, he would never fail to do so, if he was to die for
it."
"'Tis very easy," I cried, "to speak of dying, Basil, nor do I doubt
that to one of your courage and faith the doing of it should have
nothing very terrible in it. But I pray you remember that that life,
which you make so little account of, is not now yours alone to dispose
of as you list. Mine, dear Basil, is wrapped up with it; for if I lose
you, I care not to live, or what becomes of me, any more."
Mr. Roper said he should think on it well before he made this venture;
for, as I had truly urged, I had a right over him now, and he should
not dispose of himself as one wholly free might do.
"Dear sir," quoth he in answer, "my sweet Constance and you also might
perhaps have prevailed with me some hours ago to forego this
intention, before I had given a promise to Mr. Hodgson's boatman, and
through him to Mistress Ward and Mr. Watson; I should then have been
free to refuse my assistance if I had listed; and albeit methinks in
so doing I should have played a pitiful part, none could justly have
condemned me. But I am assured neither her great heart nor your
honorable spirit would desire me so much as to place in doubt the
fulfilment of a promise wherein the safety of a man, and he one of
God's priests, is concerned. I pray thee, sweetheart, say thou wouldst
not have me do it."
Alas! this was the second time that day my poor heart had been called
upon to raise itself higher than nature can afford to reach. But the
present struggle was harder than the first. My father had long been to
me as a distant angel, severed from my daily life and any future hope
in this world. His was an expectant martyrdom, an exile from his true
home, a daily dying on earth, tending but to one desired end.
Nature could be more easily reconciled in the one case than in the
other to thoughts of parting. Basil was my all, my second self, my
sole treasure,--the prop on which rested youth's hopes, earth's joys,
life's sole comfort; and chance (as it seemed, and men would have
called it), not a determined seeking, had thrust on him this danger,
and I must needs see him plunged into it, and not so much as say a
word to stay him or prevent it. . . . . I was striving to constrain my
lips to utter the words my rebelling heart disavowed, and he kneeling
before me, with his dear eyes fixed on mine, awaiting my consent, when
a loud noise of laughter in the hall caused us both to start up, and
then the door was thrown open, and Kate and Polly ran into the room so
gaily attired, the one in a yellow and the other in a crimson gown
bedecked with lace and jewels, that nothing finer could be seen.
"Lackaday!" Polly cried, when she perceived Basil; "who have we here?
I scarce can credit mine eyes! Why, Sir Lover, methought you were in
France. By what magic come you here? Mr. Roper, your humble servant.
'Tis like you did not expect so much good company to-night, Con, for
you have but one poor candle or two to light up this dingy room, and I
fear there will not be light enough for these gentlemen to see our
fine dresses, which we do wear for the first time at Mrs. Yates's
house this evening."
"I thought you were both in the country," I said, striving to disguise
how much their coming did discompose me.
"Methinks," answered Polly, laughing, "your wish was father to that
thought, Con, and that you desired to have the company of this fine
gentleman to yourself alone, and Mr. Roper's also, and no one else for
to disturb you. But, in good sooth, we were both at Mr. Benham's seat
in Berkshire when we heard of this good entertainment at so great a
friend's house, and so prevailed on our lords and governors for to
hire a coach and bring us to London for one night. We lie at Kate's
house, and she and I have supped on a cold capon and a veal pie we
brought with us, and Sir Ralph and Mr. Lacy do sup at a tavern in the
Strand, and shall fetch us here when it shall be convenient to them to
carry us to this grand ball, which I would not have missed, no, not
for all the world. So I pray you let us be merry till they do come,
and pass the time pleasantly."
"Ay," said Kate, in a lamentable voice, "you would force me to dress
and go abroad, when I would sooner be at home; for John's stomach is
disordered, and baby doth cut her teeth, and he pulled at my ribbons
and said I should not leave him; and beshrew me if I would have done
so, but for your overpersuading me. But you are always so absolute! I
wonder you love not more to stay at home, Polly."
Basil smiled with a better heart than I could do, and said he would
promise her John should sleep never the less well for her absence, and
she should find baby's tooth through on the morrow; and sitting down
by her side, talked to her of her children with a kindliness which
never did forsake him. Mr. Roper set himself to converse with Polly; I
ween for to shield me from the torrent of her words, which, as I sat
between them, seemed to buzz in mine ear without any meaning; and yet
I must needs have heard them, for to this day I remember what they
talked of;--that Polly said, "Have you seen the ingenious poesy which
the queen's saucy godson, the merry wit Harrington, left behind her
cushion on Wednesday, and now 'tis in every one's hands?"
"Not in mine," quoth Mr. Roper; "so, if your memory doth serve you,
Lady Ingoldsby, will you rehearse it?" which she did as follows; and
albeit I only did hear those lines that once, they still remain
in my mind:
"For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince,
You read a verse of mine a little since,
And so pronounced each word and every letter,
Your gracious reading graced my verse the better;
Sith then your highness doth by gift exceeding
Make what you read the better for your reading,
Let my poor muse your pains thus far importune,
Like as you read my verse--so read my fortune!"
"Tis an artful and witty petition," Mr. Roper observed; "but I have
been told her majesty mislikes the poet's satirical writings, and
chiefly the metamorphosis of Ajax."
"She signified," Polly answered, "some outward displeasure at it, but
Robert Markham affirms she likes well the marrow of the book, and is
minded to take the author to her favor, but sweareth she believes he
will make epigrams on her and all her court. Howsoever, I do allow she
conceived much disquiet on being told he had aimed a shaft at
Leicester. By the way, but you, cousin Constance, should best know the
truth thereon" (this she said turning to me), "'tis said that Lord
Arundel is exceeding sick again, and like to die very soon. Indeed his
physicians are of opinion, so report speaketh, that he will not last
many days now, for as often as he hath rallied before."
"Yesterday," I said, "when I saw Lady Surrey, he was no worse than
usual."
"Oh, have you heard," Polly cried, running from one theme to another,
as was her wont, "that Leicester is about to marry Lettice Knollys, my
Lady Essex?"
"'Tis impossible," Basil exclaimed, who was now listening to her
speeches, for Kate had finished her discourse touching her Johnny's
disease in his stomach. The cause thereof, she said, both herself
thought, and all in Mr. Benham's house did judge to have been, the
taking in the morning a confection of barley sodden with water and
sugar, and made exceeding thick with bread. This breakfast lost him
both his dinner and supper, and surely the better half of his sleep;
but God be thanked, she hoped now the worst was past, and that the
dear urchin would shortly be as merry and well-disposed as afore he
left London. Basil said he hoped so too; and in a pause which ensued,
he heard Polly speak of Lord Leicester's intended marriage, which
seemed to move him to some sort of indignation, the cause of which I
only learnt many years later; for that when Lady Douglas Howard's
cause came before the Star-Chamber, in his present majesty's reign, he
told me he had been privy, through information received in France, of
her secret marriage with that lord.
"'Tis not impossible," Polly retorted, "by the same token that the new
favorite, young Robert Devereux, maketh no concealment of it, and
calleth my Lord Leicester his father elect. But I pray you, what is
impossible in these days? Oh, I think they are the most whimsical,
entertaining days which the world hath ever known; and the merriest,
if people have a will to make them so."
"Oh, Polly," I cried, unable to restrain myself, "I pray God you may
never find cause to change your mind thereon."
"Yea, amen to that prayer," quoth she; "I'll promise you, my grave
little coz, that I have no mind to be sad till I grow old--and there
be yet some years to come before that shall befall me. When Mistress
Helen Ingoldsby shall reach to the height of my shoulder, then,
methinks, I may begin to take heed unto my ways. What think you the
little wench said to me yesterday? 'What times is it we do conform to,
mother? dinner-times or bed-times?'" "She should have been answered,
'The devil's times,'" Basil muttered; and Kate told Polly she should
be ashamed to speak in her father's house of the conformity she
practised when others were suffering for their religion. And,
methought, albeit I had scarcely endured the jesting which had
preceded it, I could less bear any talk of religion, least-ways of
that kind, just then. But, in sooth, the constraint I suffered almost
overpassed my strength. There appeared no hope of their going, and
they fell into an eager discourse concerning the bear-baiting they had
been to see in Berkshire, and a great sort of ban-dogs, which had been
tied in an outer court, let loose on thirteen bears that were baited
in the inner; and my dear Basil, who doth delight in all kinds of
sports, listened eagerly to the description they gave of this
diversion. Oh, how I counted the minutes! what a pressure weighted my
heart! how the sound of their voices pained mine ears! how long an
hour seemed! and yet too short for my desires, for I feared the time
must soon come when Basil should go, and lamented that these
unthinking women's tarrying should rob me of all possibility to talk
with him alone. Howsoever, when Mr. Roper rose to depart, I followed
him into the hall and waited near the door for Basil, who was bidding
farewell to Kate and Polly. I heard him beseech them to do him so much
favor as not to mention they had seen him; for that he had not
informed Sir Henry Stafford of his coming over from France, which if
he heard of it otherwise than from himself, it should peradventure
offend him. They laughed, and promised to be as silent as graves
thereon; and Polly said he had learnt French fashions she perceived,
and taken lessons in wooing from mounseer; but she hoped his stealthy
visit should in the end prove more conformable to his desires than
mounseer's had done. At last they let him go; and Mr. Roper, who had
waited for him, wrung his hand, and the manner of his doing it made my
eyes overflow. I turned my face away, but Basil caught both my hands
in his and said, "Be of good cheer, sweetheart. I have not words
wherewith to express how much I love thee, but God knoweth it is very
dearly."
"O Basil! mine own dear Basil," I murmured, laying my forehead on his
coat-sleeve, and could not then utter another word. Ere I lifted it
again, the hall-door opened, and who, I pray you, should I then see
(with more affright, I confess, than was reasonable) but Hubert? My
voice shook as he said to Basil, whose back was turned from the door,
"Here is your brother."
"Ah, Hubert!" he exclaimed; "I be glad to see thee!" and held out his
hand to him with a frank smile, which the other took, but in the doing
of it a deadly paleness spread over his face.
"I have no leisure to tarry so much as one minute," Basil said; "but
this sweet lady will tell thee what weighty reasons I have for
presently remaining concealed; and so farewell, my dear love, and
farewell, my good brother. Be, I pray you, my bedes-woman this night,
Constance; and you too, Hubert,--if you do yet say your prayers like a
good Christian, which I pray God you do,--mind you say an ave for me
before you sleep."
When the door closed on him I sunk down on a chair, and hid my face
with my hands.
"You have not told him anything?" Hubert whispered; and I, "God help
you, Hubert! he hath come to London for this very matter, and hath
already, I fear, albeit not in any way that shall advantage my father,
yet in seeking to assist him, run himself into danger of death, or
leastways banishment."
As I said this mine eyes raised themselves toward him; and I would
they had not, for I saw in his visage an expression I have tried these
many years to forget, but which sometimes even now comes back to me
painfully.
"I told you so," he answered. "He hath an invariable aptness to miss
his aim, and to hurt himself by the shafts he looseth. What plan hath
he now formed, and what shall come of it?"
But, somewhat recovered from my surprise, I bethought myself it
should not be prudent, albeit I grieved to think so, to let him know
what sort of enterprise it was Basil had in hand; so I did evade his
question, which indeed he did not show himself very careful to have
answered. He said he was yet dealing with Sir Francis Walsingham, and
had hopes of success touching my father's liberation, and so prayed me
not to yield to despondency; but it would take time to bring matters
to a successful issue, and patience was greatly needed, and likewise
prudence toward that end. He requested me very urgently to take no
other steps for the present in his behalf, which might ruin all. And
above all things not to suffer Basil to come forward in it, for that
he had made himself obnoxious to Sir Francis by speeches which he had
used, and which some one had reported to him, touching Lady Ridley's
compliance with his (Sir Francis's) request that she should have a
minister in her house for to read Protestant prayers to her household,
albeit herself, being bedridden, did not attend; and if he should now
stir in this matter, all hope would be at an end. So he left me, and I
returned to the parlor, and Kate and Polly declared my behavior to
them not to be over and above civil; but they supposed when folks were
in love, they had a warrant to treat their friends as they pleased.
Then finding me very dull and heavy, I ween, they bethought themselves
at the last of going to visit their mother in her bed, and paying
their respects to their father, whom they found asleep in his chair,
his prayer-book, with which he was engaged most of the day, lying open
by his side. Polly kissed his forehead, and then the picture of our
Blessed Lady in the first page of this much-used volume; which sudden
acts of hers comforted me not a little.
Muriel came out of her mother's chamber to greet them, but would not
suffer them to see her at this unexpected time, for that the least
change in her customable habits disordered her; and then whispered to
me that she had often asked for Mistress Ward, and complained of her
absence.
At the last Sir Ralph came, but not Mr. Lacy, who he said was tired
with his long ride, and had gone home to bed. Thereupon Kate began to
weep; for she said she would not go without him to this fine ball, for
it was an unbecoming thing for a woman to be seen abroad when her
husband was at home, and a thing she had not yet done, nor did intend
to do. But that it was a very hard thing she should have been at the
pains to dress herself so handsomely, and not so much as one person to
see her in this fine suit; and she wished she had not been so foolish
as to be persuaded to it, and that Polly was very much to blame
therein. At the which, "I' faith, I think so too," Polly exclaimed;
"and I wish you had stayed in the country, my dear."
Kate's pitiful visage and whineful complaint moved me, in my then
apprehensive humor, to an unmerry but not to be resisted fit of
laughter, which she did very much resent; but I must have laughed or
died, and yet it made me angry to hear her utter such lamentations who
had no true cause for displeasure.
When they were gone,--she, still shedding tears, in a chair Sir Ralph
sent for to convey her to Gray's Inn Lane, and he and Polly in their
coach to Mrs. Yates's,--the relief I had from their absence proved so
great that at first it did seem to ease my heart. I went slowly up to
mine own chamber, and stood there a while at the casement looking at
the quiet sky above and the unquiet city beneath it, and chiefly in
the distant direction where I knew the prison to be, picturing to
myself my father in his bare cell. Mistress Ward regaining her obscure
lodging, Mr. Watson's dangerous descent, and mostly the boat which
Basil was to row,--that boat freighted with so perilous a burthen.
These scenes seemed to rise before mine eyes as I remained motionless,
straining their sight to pierce the darkness of the night and of
the fog which hung over the town. When the clock struck twelve, a
shiver ran through me, for I thought of the like striking at Lynn
Court, and what had followed. Upon which I betook myself to my
prayers, and thinking on Basil, said, "Speak for him, O Blessed Virgin
Mary! Entreat for him, O ye apostles! Make intercession for him, all
ye martyrs! Pray for him, all ye confessors and all ye company of
heaven, that my prayers for him may take effect before our Lord Jesus
Christ!" Then my head waxed heavy with sleep, and I sank on the
cushion of my kneeling-stool. I wot not for how many hours I slumbered
in this wise; but I know I had some terrible dreams.
When I awoke it was daylight. A load knocking at the door of the house
had aroused me. Before I had well bethought me where I was, Muriel's
white face appeared at my door. The pursuivants, she said, were come
to seek for Mistress Ward.