A FAREWELL.
Always, when she got out into the open air, her spirits rose into a pure
content; and now, as they were walking westward through the peaceful
meadows, the light of the sunset was on her face; and there was a kind
of radiance there, and careless happiness, that little Willie Hart
scarce dared look upon, so abject and wistful was the worship that the
small lad laid at his pretty cousin's feet. He was a sensitive and
imaginative boy; and the joy and crown of his life was to be allowed to
walk out with his cousin Judith, her hand holding his; and it did not
matter to him whether she spoke to him, or whether she was busy with her
private thinking, and left him to his own pleasure and fancies. He had
many of these; for he had heard of all kinds of great and noble
persons--princesses, and empresses, and queens; but to him his cousin
Judith was the Queen of queens; he could not believe that any one ever
was more beautiful--or more gentle and lovable, in a magical and
mystical way--than she was; and in church, on the quiet Sunday mornings,
when the choir was singing, and all else silence, and dreams were busy
in certain small brains, if there were any far-away pictures of angels
in white and shining robes, coming toward one through rose-red celestial
gardens, be sure they had Judith's eyes and the light and witchery of
these; and that, when they spoke (if such wonderful creatures vouchsafed
to speak), it was with the softness of Judith's voice. So it is not to
be conceived that Judith, who knew something of this mute and secret
adoration, had any malice in her heart when, on this particular
evening, she began to question the boy as to the kind of sweetheart he
would choose when he was grown up: the fact being that she spoke from
idleness, and a wish to be friendly and companionable, her thoughts
being really occupied elsewhere.
"Come now, Willie, tell me," said she, "what sort of one you will
choose, some fifteen or twenty years hence, when you are grown up to be
a man, and will be going abroad from place to place. In Coventry,
perchance, you may find her, or over at Evesham, or in Warwick, or
Worcester, or as far away as Oxford; in all of them are plenty of pretty
maidens to be had for the asking, so you be civil-spoken enough, and
bear yourself well. Now tell me your fancy, sweetheart; what shall her
height be?"
"Why, you know, Judith," said he, rather shamefacedly. "Just your
height."
"My height?" she said, carelessly. "Why, that is neither the one way nor
the other. My father says I am just as high as his heart; and with that
I am content. Well, now, her hair--what color of hair shall she have?"
"Like yours, Judith; and it must come round about her ears like yours,"
said he, glancing up for a moment.
"Eyes: must they be black, or gray, or brown, or blue? nay, you shall
have your choice, sweetheart Willie; there be all sorts, if you go far
enough afield and look around you. What eyes do you like, now?"
"You know well, Judith, there is no one has such pretty eyes as you;
these are the ones I like, and no others."
"Bless the boy!--would you have her to be like me?"
"Just like you, Judith--altogether," said he, promptly; and he added,
more shyly, "for you know there is none as pretty, and they all of them
say that."
"Marry, now!" said she, with a laugh. "Here be news. What? When you go
choosing your sweetheart, would you pick out one that had as large hands
as these?"
She held forth her hands, and regarded them; and yet with some
complacency, for she had put on a pair of scented gloves which her
father had brought her from London, and these were beautifully
embroidered with silver, for he knew her tastes, and that she was not
afraid to wear finery, whatever the preachers might say.
"Why, you know, Judith," said he, "that there is none has such pretty
hands as you, nor so white, nor so soft."
"Heaven save us! am I perfection, then?" she cried (but she was
pleased). "Must she be altogether like me?"
"Just so, Cousin Judith; altogether like you; and she must wear pretty
things like you, and walk as you walk, and speak like you, else I shall
not love her nor go near her, though she were the Queen herself."
"Well said, sweetheart Willie!--you shall to the court some day, if you
can speak so fair. And shall I tell you, now, how you must woo and win
such a one?" she continued, lightly. "It may be you shall find her here
or there--in a farm-house, perchance; or she may be a great lady with
her coach; or a wench in an ale-house; but if she be as you figure her,
this is how you shall do: you must not grow up to be too nice and fine
and delicate-handed; you must not bend too low for her favor; but be her
lord and governor; and you must be ready to fight for her, if need there
be--yes, you shall not suffer a word to be said in dispraise of her; and
for slanderers you must have a cudgel and a stout arm withal; and yet
you must be gentle with her, because she is a woman; and yet not too
gentle, for you are a man; and you must be no slape-face, with whining
through the nose that we are all devilish and wicked and the children of
sin; and you must be no tavern-seeker, with oaths and drunken jests and
the like; and when you find her you must be the master of her--and yet a
gentle master: marry, I cannot tell you more; but, as I hope for heaven,
sweet Willie, you will do well and fairly if she loves thee half as much
as I do."
And she patted the boy's head. What sudden pang was it that went through
his heart?
"They say you are going to marry Parson Blaise, Judith," said he,
looking up at her.
"Do they, now?" said she, with a touch of color in her face. "They are
too kind that would take from me the business of choosing for myself."
"Is it true, Judith?"
"It is but idle talk; heed it not, sweetheart," said she, rather
sharply. "I would they were as busy with their fingers as with their
tongues; there would be more wool spun in Warwickshire!"
But here she remembered that she had no quarrel with the lad, who had
but innocently repeated the gossip he had heard; and so she spoke to him
in a more gentle fashion; and, as they were now come to a parting of the
ways, she said that she had a message to deliver, and bade him go on by
himself to the cottage, and have some flowers gathered for her from out
of the garden by the time she should arrive. He was a biddable boy, and
went on without further question. Then she turned off to the left, and
in a few minutes was in the wide and wooded lane where she was to meet
the young gentleman that had appealed to her friendliness.
And there, sure enough, he was; and as he came forward, hat in hand, to
greet her, those eloquent black eyes of his expressed so much pleasure
(and admiration of a respectful kind) that Judith became for a moment a
trifle self-conscious, and remembered that she was in unusually brave
attire. There may have been something else: some quick remembrance of
the surprise and alarm of the morning; and also--in spite of her
determination to banish such unworthy fancies--some frightened doubt as
to whether, after all, there might not be a subtle connection between
her meeting with this young gentleman and the forecasts of the wizard.
This was but for a moment, but it confused her in what she had intended
to say (for, in crossing the meadows, she had been planning out certain
speeches as well as talking idly to Willie Hart), and she was about to
make some stumbling confession to the effect that she had obtained no
clear intelligence from her gossip Prudence Shawe, when the young
gentleman himself absolved her from all further difficulty.
"I beseech your pardon, sweet lady," said he, "that I have caused you so
much trouble, and that to no end; for I am of a mind now not to carry
the letter to your father, whatever hopes there might be of his sympathy
and friendship."
She stared in surprise.
"Nay, but, good sir," said she, "since you have the letter, and are so
near to Stratford, that is so great a distance from London, surely it
were a world of pities you did not see my father. Not that I can
honestly gather that he would have any favor for a desperate enterprise
upsetting the peace of the land----"
"I am in none such, Mistress Judith, believe me," said he, quickly. "But
it behooves me to be cautious; and I have heard that within the last few
hours which summons me away. If I were inclined to run the risk, there
is no time at this present: and what I can do now is to try to thank you
for the kindness you have shown to one that has no habit of forgetting."
"You are going away forthwith?" said she.
There was no particular reason why she should be sorry at his departure
from the neighborhood, except that he was an extraordinarily
gentle-spoken young man, and of a courteous breeding, whom her father,
as she thought, would have been pleased to welcome as being commended
from his friend Ben Jonson. Few visitors came to New Place; the faces to
be met with there were grown familiar year after year. It seemed a pity
that this stranger--and so fair-spoken a stranger, moreover--should be
close at hand, without making her father's acquaintance.
"Yes, sweet lady," said he, in the same respectful way, "it is true that
I must quit my present lodging for a time; but I doubt whether I could
find anywhere a quieter or securer place--nay, I have no reason to fear
you; I will tell you freely that it is Bassfield Farm, that is on the
left before you go down the hill to Bidford; and it is like enough I may
come back thither, when that I see how matters stand with me in London."
And then he glanced at her with a certain diffidence.
"Perchance I am too daring," said he; "and yet your courtesy makes me
bold. Were I to communicate with you when I return----"
He paused, and his hesitation well became him; it was more eloquent in
its modesty than many words.
"That were easily done," said Judith at once, and with her usual
frankness; "but I must tell you, good sir, that any written message you
might send me I should have to show to my friend and gossip Prudence
Shawe, that reads and writes for me, being so skilled in that; and when
you said that to no one was the knowledge to be given that you were in
this neighborhood----"
"Sweet lady," said he, instantly, with much gratitude visible in those
handsome dark eyes, "if I may so far trespass on your goodness, I would
leave that also within your discretion. One that you have chosen to be
your friend must needs be trustworthy--nay, I am sure of that."
"But my father too, good sir----"
"Nay, not so," said he, with some touch of entreaty in his voice. "Take
it not ill of me, but one that is in peril must use precautions for his
safety, even though they savor of ill manners and suspicion."
"As you will, sir--as you will; I know little of such matters," Judith
said. "But yet I know that you do wrong to mistrust my father."
"Nay, dearest lady," he said, quickly, "it is you that do me wrong to
use such words. I mistrust him not; but, indeed, I dare not disclose to
him the charge that is brought against me until I have clearer proofs of
my innocence, and these I hope to have in time, when I may present
myself to your father without fear. Meanwhile, sweet Mistress Judith, I
can but ill express my thanks to you that you have vouchsafed to lighten
the tedium of my hiding through these few words that have passed between
us. Did you know the dulness of the days at the farm--for sad thoughts
are but sorry companions--you would understand my gratitude toward
you----"
"Nay, nothing, good sir, nothing," said she; and then she paused, in
some difficulty. She did not like to bid him farewell without any
reference whatsoever to the future; for in truth she wished to hear more
of him, and how his fortunes prospered. And yet she hesitated about
betraying so much interest--of however distant and ordinary a kind--in
the affairs of a stranger. Her usual frank sympathy conquered: besides,
was not this unhappy young man the friend of her father's friend?
"Is it to the farm that you return when you have been to London?" she
asked.
"I trust so: better security I could not easily find elsewhere; and my
well-wishers have means of communication with me, so that I can get the
news there. Pray Heaven I may soon be quit of this skulking in corners!
I like it not: it is not the life of a free man."
"I hope your fortunes will mend, sir, and speedily," said she, and there
was an obvious sincerity in her voice.
"Why," said he, with a laugh--for, indeed, this young man, to be one in
peril of his life, bore himself with a singularly free and undaunted
demeanor; and he was not looking around him in a furtive manner, as if
he feared to be observed, but was allowing his eyes to rest on Judith's
eyes, and on the details of her costume (which he seemed to approve), in
a quite easy and unconcerned manner--"the birds and beasts we hunt are
allowed to rest at times, but a man in hiding has no peace nor freedom
from week's end to week's end--no, nor at any moment of the day or
night. And if the good people that shelter him are not entirely of his
own station, and if he cares to have but little speech with them, and if
the only book in the house be the family Bible, then the days are like
to pass slowly with him. Can you wonder, sweet Mistress Judith," he
continued, turning his eyes to the ground in a modest manner, "that I
shall carry away the memory of this meeting with you as a treasure, and
dwell on it, and recall the kindness of each word you have spoken?"
"In truth, no, good sir," she said, with a touch of color in her cheeks,
that caught the warm golden light shining over from the west. "I would
not have you think them of any importance, except the hope that matters
may go well with you."
"And if they should," said he, "or if they should go ill, and if I were
to presume to think that you cared to know them, when I return to
Bassfield I might make so bold as to send you some brief tidings,
through your friend Mistress Prudence Shawe, that I am sure must be
discreet, since she has won your confidence. But why should I do so?" he
added, after a second. "Why should I trouble you with news of one whose
good or evil fortune cannot concern you?"
"Nay, sir, I wish you well," said she, simply, "and would fain hear
better tidings of your condition. If you may not come at present to New
Place, where you would have better counsel than I can give you, at least
you may remember that there is one in the household there that will be
glad when she hears of your welfare, and better pleased still when she
learns that you are free to make her father's friendship."
This was clearly a dismissal; and after a few more words of gratitude on
his part (he seemed almost unable to take away his eyes from her face,
or to say all that he would fain say of thanks for her gracious
intervention and sympathy) they parted; and forthwith Judith--now with a
much lighter heart, for this interview had cost her not a little
embarrassment and anxiety--hastened away back through the lane in the
direction of the barns and gardens of Shottery. All these occurrences of
the day had happened so rapidly that she had had but little time to
reflect over them; but now she was clearly glad that she should be able
to talk over the whole affair with Prudence Shawe. There would be
comfort in that, and also safety; for, if the truth must be told, that
wild and bewildering fancy that perchance the wizard had prophesied
truly would force itself on her mind in a disquieting manner. But she
strove to reason herself and laugh herself out of such imaginings. She
had plenty of courage and a strong will. From the first she had made
light of the wizard's pretensions; she was not going to alarm herself
about the possible future consequences of this accidental meeting. And,
indeed, when she recalled the particulars of that meeting, she came to
think that the circumstances of the young man could not be so very
desperate. He did not speak nor look like one in imminent peril; his gay
description of the masques and entertainments of the court was not the
talk of a man seriously and really in danger of his life. Perhaps he had
been in some thoughtless escapade, and was waiting for the bruit of it
to blow over: perhaps he was unused to confinement, and may have
exaggerated (for this also occurred to her) somewhat in order to win her
sympathy. But, anyhow, he was in some kind of misfortune or trouble, and
she was sorry for him; and she thought that if Prudence Shawe could see
him, and observe how well-bred and civil-spoken and courteous a young
gentleman he seemed to be, she, too, would pity the dulness of the life
he must be leading at the farm, and be glad to do anything to relieve
such a tedium. In truth, by the time Judith was drawing near her
grandmother's cottage, she had convinced herself that there was no dark
mystery connected with this young man; that she had not been holding
converse with any dangerous villain or conspirator; and that soon
everything would be cleared up, and perhaps he himself present himself
at New Place, with Ben Jonson's letter in his hand. So she was in a
cheerful enough frame of mind when she arrived at the cottage.
This was a picturesque little building of brick and timber, with a
substantial roof of thatch, and irregularly placed small windows; and it
was prettily set in front of a wild and variegated garden, and of course
all the golden glow of the west was now flooding the place with its
beautiful light, and causing the little rectangular panes in the open
casements to gleam like jewels. And here, at the wooden gate of the
garden, was Willie Hart, who seemed to have been using the time
profitably, for he had a most diverse and sweet-scented gathering of
flowers and herbs of a humble and familiar kind--forget-me-nots, and
pansies, and wall-flower, and mint, and sweet-brier, and the like--to
present to his pretty cousin.
"Well done, sweetheart? and are all these for me?" said she, as she
passed within the little gate, and stood for a moment arranging and
regarding them. "What, then, what is this?--what mean you by it, Cousin
Willie?"
"By what, Cousin Judith?" said the small boy, looking up with his
wondering and wistful eyes.
"Why," said she, gayly, "this pansy that you have put fair in the front.
Know you not the name of it?"
"Indeed I know it not, Cousin Judith."
"Ah, you cunning one! well you know it, I'll be sworn! Why, 'tis one of
the chiefest favorites everywhere. Did you never hear it called 'kiss me
at the gate?' Marry, 'tis an excellent name; and if I take you at your
word, little sweetheart?"
And so they went into the cottage together; and she had her arm lying
lightly round his neck.