A STRANGE CHANCE
On the fourth day of her husband's absence, Mora climbed to the
battlements to watch the glories of a most gorgeous sunset.
Also she loved to find herself again there where she and Hugh had spent
that wonderful hour in the moonlight, when she had told him of the
vision, and afterwards had given him the promise that on the morrow he
should take her to his home.
She paused in the low archway at the top of the winding stair,
remembering how she had turned a moment there, to whisper: "I love
thee." Ah, how often she had said it since: "Dear man of mine, I love
thee! Come back to me safe; come back to me soon; I love thee!"
That he should have had to leave her just as her love was ready to
respond to his, had caused that love to grow immeasurably in depth and
intensity.
Also she now realised, more fully, his fine self-control, his
chivalrous consideration for her, his noble unselfishness. From the
first, he had been so perfect to her; and now her one desire was that,
if her love could give it, he should have his reward.
Ah, when would he come! When would he come!
She could not keep from shading her eyes and looking along the road to
the point where it left the fir wood, though this was but the fourth
day since Hugh's departure--the day on which, by fast riding and long
hours, he might arrive at Worcester--and the ninth was the very
earliest she dared hope for his return.
How slowly, slowly, passed the days. Yet they were full of a quiet joy
and peace.
From the moment when she had stepped out into the sunshine, resolved to
go steadily forward without looking back, she had thrown herself with
zest and pleasure into investigating and arranging her house and estate.
Also, on the second day an idea had come to her with her first waking
thoughts, which she had promptly put into execution.
Taking Martin Goodfellow with her she had ridden over to Hugh's home;
had found it, as she expected, greatly needing a woman's hand and mind,
and had set to work at once on those changes and arrangements most
needed, so that all should be in readiness when Hugh, returning, would
take her home.
Under her direction the chamber which should be hers was put into
perfect order; her own things were transported thither, and all was
made so completely ready, that at any moment she and Hugh could start,
without need of baggage or attendants, and ride together home.
This chamber had two doors, the one leading down a flight of steps on
to a terrace, the other opening directly into the great hall, the
central chamber of the house.
Mora loved to stand in this doorway, looking into the noble apartment,
with its huge fireplace, massive carved chairs on either side of the
hearth, weapons on the walls, trophies of feats of arms, all those
things which made it home to Hugh, and to remember that of this place
he had said in his petition to our Lady: "Take pity on a lonely home, a
desolate hearth . . . and send her to me."
No longer should it be lonely or desolate. Aye, and no longer should
his faithful heart be hungry.
On this day she had been over for the third time, riding by the road,
because she and Martin both carried packages of garments and other
things upon their saddles; but returning by a shorter way through the
woods, silent and mossy, most heavenly cool and green.
This journey had served to complete her happy preparations. So now,
should Hugh arrive, even at sunset, and be wishful to ride on without
delay, she could order the saddling of Icon, and say: "I am ready, dear
Knight; let us go."
She stood on the Castle wall, gazing at the blood-red banners of the
sunset, flaming from the battlements of a veritable city of gold; then,
shading her eyes, turned to look once again along the road.
And, at that moment, out from the dark fir wood there rode a horseman,
alone.
For one moment only did her heart leap in the wild belief that Hugh had
returned. The next instant she knew this could not be he; even before
her eyes made out a stranger.
She watched him leave the road, and turn up the winding path which led
to the Castle gate; saw the porter go to the grating in answer to a
loud knocking without; saw him fetch old Zachary, who in his turn sent
for Martin Goodfellow; upon which the gates were opened wide, and the
stranger rode into the courtyard.
Whereupon Mora thought it time that she should descend from the
battlements and find out who this unexpected visitor might be.
At the head of the great staircase, she met Martin.
"Lady," he said, "there waits a man below who urgently desires speech
with Sir Hugh. Learning from us that the Knight hath ridden south, and
is like to be away some days longer, he begs to have word with you,
alone; yet refuses to state his business or to give his name. Master
Zachary greatly hopeth that it may be your pleasure that we bid the
fellow forthwith depart, telling him--if he so will--to ride back in
six days' time, when the worshipful Knight, whom he desires to see,
will have returned."
Mora knitted her brows. It did not please her that Zachary and Martin
Goodfellow should arrange together what she should do.
"Describe him, Martin," she said. "What manner of man is he?"
"Swarthy," said Martin, "and soldierly; somewhat of a dare-devil, but
on his best behaviour. Zachary and I would suggest----"
"I will see him," said Mora, beginning to descend the stairs. "I will
see him in the banqueting hall, and alone. You, Martin, can wait
without, entering on the instant if I call. Tell Zachary to bid them
prepare a meal of bread and meat, with a flagon of wine, or a pot of
good ale, which I may offer to this traveller, should he need
refreshment."
She was standing in the banqueting hall, on the very spot where Hugh
had kneeled at their parting, when the swarthy fellow, soldierly, yet
somewhat of a dare-devil, entered.
Most certainly he was on his best behaviour. He doffed his cap at
first sight of her, advanced a few paces, then stood still, bowing low;
came forward a few more paces, then bowed again.
She spoke.
"You wished to see my husband, Friend, and speak with him? He is away
and hardly can return before five days, at soonest. Is your business
with Sir Hugh such as I can pass on to him for you, by word of mouth?"
She hoped those bold, dark eyes did not perceive how she glowed to
speak for the first time, to another, of Hugh as her husband.
He answered, and his words were blunt; his manner, frank and soldierly.
"Most noble Lady, failing the Knight, whom I have ridden far to find,
my business may most readily be told to you.
"Years ago, on a Syrian battle-field it was my good fortune, in the
thick of the fray, to find myself side by side with Sir Hugh d'Argent.
The Infidels struck me down; and, sorely wounded, I should have been at
their mercy, had not the noble Knight, seeing me fall, wheeled his
horse and, riding back, hewn his way through to me, scattering mine
assailants right and left. Then, helping me to mount behind him,
galloped with me back to camp. Whereupon I swore, by the holy Cross at
Lucca, that if ever the chance came my way to do a service to Sir Hugh
of the Silver Shield, I would travel to the world's end to do it.
"Ten nights ago, I chanced to be riding through a wood somewhere
betwixt Worcester and Warwick. A band of lawless fellows coming by, I
and my steed drew off the path, taking cover in a thicket. But a
solitary horseman, riding from Worcester, failed to avoid them. Within
sight of my hiding-place he was set upon, made to dismount, stripped
and bidden to return on foot to the place from whence he came. I could
do naught to help him. We were two, to a round dozen. The robbers
took the money from his wallet. Within it they found also a letter,
which they flung away as worthless. I marked where it fell, close to
my hiding-place.
"When the affray was over, their victim having fled and the lawless
band ridden off, I came forth, picked up the letter and slipped it into
mine own wallet. So soon as the sun rose I drew forth the letter,
when, to my amaze, I found it addressed to my brave rescuer, the Knight
of the Silver Shield and Azure Pennant. It appeared to be of
importance as, failing Warwick Castle, six halting places, all on the
northward road, were named on the outside; also it was marked to be
delivered with most urgent haste.
"It seemed to me that now had come my chance, to do this brave Knight
service. Therefore have I ridden from place to place, following; and,
after some delay, I find myself at length at Castle Norelle, only to
hear that he to whom I purposed to hand the letter has ridden south by
another road. Thus is my endeavour to serve him rendered fruitless."
"Nay, Friend," said Mora, much moved by this recital. "Not fruitless.
Give me the letter you have thus rescued and faithfully attempted, to
deliver. My husband returns in five days. I will then hand him the
letter and tell him your tale. Most grateful will he be for your good
service, and moved by your loyal remembrance."
The swarthy fellow drew from his wallet a letter, heavily sealed, and
inscribed at great length. He placed it in Mora's hands.
Her clear eyes dwelt upon his countenance with searching interest. It
was wonderful to her to see before her a man whose life Hugh had saved,
so far away, on an Eastern battle-field.
"In my husband's name, I thank you, Friend," she said. "And now my
people will put before you food and wine. You must have rest and
refreshment before you again set forth."
"I thank you, no," replied the stranger. "I must ride on, without
delay. I bid you farewell, Lady; and I do but wish the service, which
a strange chance has enabled me to render to the Knight, had been of
greater importance and had held more of risk or danger."
He bowed low, and departed. A few moments later he was riding out at
the gates, and making for the northward road.
Had Brother Philip chanced to be at hand, he could not have failed to
note that the swarthy stranger was mounted upon the fastest nag in the
Bishop's stable.
For a life of lawlessness, rapine, and robbery, does not debar a man
from keeping an oath sworn, out of honest gratitude, in cleaner, better
days.
Left alone, Mora passed on to the terrace and, in the clearer light,
examined this soiled and much inscribed missive.
To her amazement she recognised the well-known script of Symon, Bishop
of Worcester. How many a letter had reached her hands addressed in
these neat characters.
Yet Hugh had left her, and gone upon this ride of many days to
Worcester in order to see the Bishop, because he had received a letter
telling him, without sufficient detail, a matter of importance.
Probably the letter she now held in her hands should have reached him
first. Doubtless had he received it, he need not have gone.
Pondering this matter, and almost unconscious that she did so, Mora
broke the seals. Then paused, even as she began to unfold the
parchment, questioning whether to read it or to let it await Hugh's
return.
But not long did she hesitate. It was upon a matter which closely
concerned her. That much Hugh had admitted. It might be imperative to
take immediate action concerning this first letter, which by so strange
a mishap had arrived after the other. Unless she mastered its
contents, she could not act.
Ascending the turret stairway, Mora stepped again on to the battlements.
The golden ramparts in the west had faded; but a blood-red banner still
floated above the horizon. The sky overhead was clear.
Sitting upon the seat on which she had sat while telling Hugh of old
Mary Antony's most blessèd and wondrous vision, Mora unfolded and read
the Bishop's letter.