"Toil-worn and very weary--
For the waiting-time is long;
Leaning upon the promise--
For the Promiser is strong."
So were we children left alone in the Castle of Ludlow, and two weary
months we had of it. Wearier were they by far than the six that ran
afore them, when our mother was there, and our elder brethren, that she
had now carried away. Lessons dragged, and play had no interest. It
had been Meg that devised all our games, and Nym that made boats and
wooden horses for us, and Joan that wove wreaths and tied cowslip
balls--and they were all away. There was not a bit of life nor fun
anywhere except in Jack, and if Jack were shut in a coal-hole by
himself, he would make the coals play with him o' some fashion. But
even Jack could fetch no fun out of _amo, amas, amat_; and I grew sore
weary of pulling my neeld [needle] in and out, and being banged o'er the
head with the fiddlestick when I played the wrong string. If we could
swallow learning as we do meat, what a lessening of human misery should
it be!
No news came all this while--at least, none that we heard. Winter grew
into spring, and May came with her flowers. Ay, and with something
else.
The day rose like the long, dreary days that had come before it, and
nobody guessed that any thing was likely to happen. We ate eggs and
butter, and said our verbs and the commandments of God and the Church,
to Sir Philip, and played some weary, dreary exercises on the spinnet to
Dame Hilda, and dined (I mind it was on lamb, finches, and flaunes
[custards]), and then Kate, I, and Maud, were set down to our needles.
Blanche was something too young for needlework, saving to pull coloured
silks in and out of a bit of rag for practice. We had scarce taken
twenty stitches, when far in the distance we heard a horn sounded.
"Is that my Lady a-coming home?" said I to Kate.
"Eh, would it were!" quoth she. "I reckon it is some hunters in the
neighbourhood."
I looked to and fro, and no Dame Hilda could I see--only Margery, and
she was easy enough with us for little things; so I crept out on tiptoe
into the long gallery, and looked through the great oriel, which I could
well reach by climbing on the window-seat. I remember what a sweet,
peaceful scene lay before me,--the fields and cottages lighted up with
the May sunshine, which glinted on the Teme as it wound here and there
amid the trees. I looked right and left, but saw no hunters--nothing at
all, I thought at first. And then, as I was going to leave the oriel, I
saw the sun glance on something that moved, and looked like a dark
square, and I heard the horn ring out again a little nearer. I watched
the square thing grow--from dark to red, from an indistinct mass to a
compact body of marching men, with mounted officers at their head; and
then, forgetting Dame Hilda and every thing else except the startling
news I brought, I rushed back into the nursery, crying out--
"The King's troops! Jack, Kate, the King's troops are coming! Come and
see!"
Dame Hilda was there, but she did not scold me. She turned as white as
the sindon in her hand, and stood up.
"Dame Agnes, what mean you? Surely 'tis never thus! Holy Mary, shield
us!"
And she hurried forth to the oriel window, where Jack was already
perched.
The square had grown larger and plainer now. It was evident they were
marching straight for the Castle.
Dame Hilda hastened away--I guessed, to confer with Master Inge--and
having so done, she came back to the nursery, bade us put aside our
sewing and wash our hands, and come down with her to hall. We all
trooped after, Beatrice led by her hand, and she ranged us afore her in
the great hall, on the dais, standing after our ages,--Kate at the head,
then I, Maud, and Jack. And so we awaited our fate.
I scarce think I was frighted. I knew too little what was likely to
happen, to feel so. That something was going to happen, I had uncertain
fantasy; but our life had been colourless for so long, that the idea of
any thing to happen which would make a change was rather agreeable than
otherwise.
We heard the last loud summons of the trumpet, which in our ignorance we
had mistaken for a hunting-horn, and the trumpeter's cry of "Open to the
King's troops!" We heard the portcullis lifted, and the steady tramp of
the soldiers as they marched into the court-yard. There was a little
parleying outside, and then two officers in the King's livery [Note 1]
came forward into the hall, bowing low to us and Dame Hilda.