"But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me."
Hamlet.
Floods of tears were shed at the departure of the two young officers
of sixteen and seventeen. The sobs of the household made the
English party feel very glad when it was over and the cavalcade was
in motion. A cavalcade it was, for each gentleman rode and so did
his body-servant, and each horse had a mounted groom. The two young
officers had besides each two chargers, requiring a groom and horse
boy, and each conducted half a dozen fresh troopers to join the
army. A coach was the regulation mode of travelling for ladies, but
both the English girls had remonstrated so strongly that Madame de
Bellaise had consented to their riding, though she took them and
Suzanne the first day's journey well beyond the ken of the Parisians
in her own carriage, as far as Senlis, where there was a fresh
parting with the two lads, fewer tears, and more counsel and
encouragement, with many fond messages to her son, many to her
sister in England, and with affectionate words to her niece a
whisper to her to remember that she would not be in a Protestant
country till she reached Holland or England.
The last sight they had of the tall dignified figure of the old lady
was under the arch of the cathedral, where she was going to pray for
their safety. Suzanne was to ride on a pillion behind the Swiss
valet of Mr. Fellowes, whom Naomi had taken into her confidence, and
the two young ladies each mounted a stout pony. Mr. Fellowes had
made friends with the Abbe Leblanc, who was of the old Gallican
type, by no means virulently set against Anglicanism, and also a
highly cultivated man, so that they had many subjects in common,
besides the question of English Catholicity. The two young cousins,
Ribaumont and D'Aubepine, were chiefly engaged in looking out for
sport, setting their horses to race with one another, and the like,
in which Charles Archfield sometimes took a share, but he usually
rode with the two young ladies, and talked to them very pleasantly
of his travels in Italy, the pictures and antiquities which had made
into an interesting reality the studies that he had hated when a
boy, also the condition of the country he had seen with a mind which
seemed to have opened and enlarged with a sudden start beyond the
interests of the next fox-hunt or game at bowls. All were, as he
had predicted, greatly shocked at the aspect of the country through
which they passed: the meagre crops ripening for harvest, the hay-
carts, sometimes drawn by an equally lean cow and woman, the haggard
women bearing heavy burthens, and the ragged, barefooted children
leading a wretched cow or goat to browse by the wayside, the gaunt
men toiling at road-mending with their poor starved horses, or at
their seigneur's work, alike unpaid, even when drawn off from their
own harvests. And in the villages the only sound buildings were the
church and presbytere by its side, the dwellings being miserable
hovels, almost sunk into the earth, an old crone or two, marvels of
skinniness, spinning at the door, or younger women making lace, and
nearly naked children rushing out to beg. Sometimes the pepper-box
turrets of a chateau could be seen among distant woods, or the walls
of a cloister, with a taper spire in the midst, among greener
fields; and the towns were approached through long handsome avenues,
and their narrow streets had a greater look of prosperity, while
their inns, being on the way to the place of warfare, were almost
luxurious, with a choice of dainty meats and good wines. Everywhere
else was misery, and Naomi said it was the vain endeavour to reform
the source of these grievances that had forced her father to become
an exile from his native country, and that he had much apprehended
that the same blight might gradually be brought over his adopted
land, on which Charles stood up for the constitution, and for the
resolute character of Englishmen, and Anne, as in duty bound, for
the good intentions of her godfather. Thus they argued, and Anne
not only felt herself restored to the company of rational beings,
but greatly admired Charles's sentiments and the ability with which
he put them forward, and now and then the thought struck her, and
with a little twinge of pain of which she was ashamed, would Naomi
Darpent be the healer of the wound nearly a year old, and find in
him consolation for the hero of her girlhood? Somehow there would
be a sense of disappointment in them both if so it were.
At length the spires and towers of Douai came in sight, fenced in by
stern lines of fortification according to the science of Vauban--
smooth slopes of glacis, with the terrible muzzles of cannon peeping
out on the summits of the ramparts, and the line of salient angle
and ravelin with the moat around, beautiful though formidable. The
Marquis de Nidemerle had sent a young officer and sergeant's party
to meet the travellers several miles off, and bring them
unquestioned through the outposts of the frontier town, so closely
watched in this time of war, and at about half a mile from the gates
he himself, with a few attendants, rode out all glittering and
clanking in their splendid uniforms and accoutrements. He doffed
his hat with the heavy white plume, and bowed his greeting to the
ladies and clergymen, but both the young Frenchmen, after a military
salute, hastily dismounted and knelt on one knee, while he sprang
from his horse, and then, making the sign of the Cross over his son,
raised him, and folding him in his arms pressed him to his breast
and kissed him on each cheek, not without tears, then repeated the
same greeting with young D'Aubepine. He then kissed the hand of his
belle cousine, whom, of course, he knew already, and bowed almost to
the ground on being presented to Mademoiselle Woodford, a little
less low to Monsieur Archfield, who was glad the embracing was not
to be repeated, politely received Mr. Fellowes, and honoured the
domestic abbe with a kindly word and nod. The gradation was
amusing, and he was a magnificent figure, with his noble horse and
grand military dress, while his fine straight features, sunburnt
though naturally fair, and his tall, powerful frame, well became his
surroundings--'a true white Ribaumont,' as Naomi said, as she looked
at the long fair hair drawn back and tied with ribbon. "He is just
like the portrait of our great-grandfather who was almost killed on
the S. Barthelemi!" However, Naomi had no more time to talk _of_
him, for he rode by her side inquiring for his mother, wife, and
children, but carefully doing the honours to the stranger lady and
gentleman.
Moat and drawbridge there were at Portsmouth, and a sentry at the
entrance, but here there seemed endless guards, moats, bridges, and
gates, and there was a continual presenting of arms and
acknowledging of salutes as the commandant rode in with the
travellers. It was altogether a very new experience in life. They
were lodged in the governor's quarters in the fortress, where the
accommodation for ladies was of the slenderest, and M. de Nidemerle
made many apologies, though he had evidently given up his own
sleeping chamber to the two ladies, who would have to squeeze into
his narrow camp-bed, with Suzanne on the floor, and the last was to
remain there entirely, there being no woman with whom she could have
her meals. The ladies were invited to sup with the staff, and
would, as M. de Nidemerle assured them, be welcomed with the
greatest delight. So Naomi declared that they must make their
toilette do as much justice as possible to their country; and though
full dress was not attainable, they did their best with ribbons and
laces, and the arrangement of her fair locks and Anne's brown ones,
when Suzanne proved herself an adept; the ladies meantime finding no
small amusement in the varieties of swords, pistols, spurs, and
other accoutrements, for which the marquis had apologised, though
Naomi told him that they were the fittest ornaments possible.
"And my cousin Gaspard is a really good man," she said, indicating
to her friend the little shrine with holy-water stoup, ivory
crucifix, print of the Madonna, two or three devotional books, and
the miniatures of mother, wife, and children hung not far off; also
of two young cavaliers, one of whom Naomi explained to be the young
father whom Gaspard could not recollect, the other, that of the
uncle Eustace, last Baron Walwyn and Ribaumont, of whom her own
mother talked with such passionate affection, and whose example had
always been a guiding star to the young marquis.
He came to their door to conduct them down to supper, giving his arm
to Miss Woodford as the greatest stranger, while Miss Darpent was
conducted by a resplendent ducal colonel. The supper-room was in
festal guise, hung round with flags, and the table adorned with
flowers; a band was playing, and never had either Anne or Naomi been
made so much of. All were eagerly talking, Charles especially so,
and Anne thought, with a thrill, "Did he recollect that this was the
very anniversary of that terrible 1st of July?"
It was a beautiful summer evening, and the supper taking place at
five o'clock there was a considerable time to spare afterwards, so
that M. de Nidemerle proposed to show the strangers the place, and
the view from the ramparts.
"In my company you can see all well," he said, "but otherwise there
might be doubts and jealousies."
He took them through the narrow Flemish streets of tall houses with
projecting upper stories, and showed them that seminary which was
popularly supposed in England to be the hotbed of truculent plots,
but where they only saw a quiet academic cloister and an exquisite
garden, green turf, roses and white lilies in full perfection, and
students flitting about in cassocks and square caps, more like an
Oxford scene, as Mr. Fellowes said, than anything he had yet seen.
He was joined by an English priest from his own original
neighbourhood. The Abbe Leblanc found another acquaintance, and
these two accompanied their friends to the ramparts. The marquis
had a great deal to hear from his cousin about his home, and thus it
happened that Charles Archfield and Anne found themselves more
practically alone together than they had yet been. As they looked
at the view over the country, he told her of a conversation that he
had had with an officer now in the French army, but who had served
in the Imperial army against the Turks, and that he had obtained
much useful information.
"Useful?" asked Anne.
"Yes. I have been watching for the moment to tell you, Anne; I have
resolved what to do. I intend to make a few campaigns there against
the enemy of Christendom."
"O Mr. Archfield!" was all she could say.
"See here, I have perceived plainly that to sink down into my lady's
eldest son is no wholesome life for a man with all his powers about
him. I understand now what a set of oafs we were to despise the
poor fellow you wot of, because he was not such a lubber as
ourselves. I have no mind to go through the like."
"You are so different; it could not be the same."
"Not quite; but remember there is nothing for me to do. My father
is still an active man, and I am not old enough to take my part in
public affairs, even if I loved greatly either the Prince of Orange
or King James. I could not honestly draw my sword for either. I
have no estate to manage, my child's inheritance is all in money,
and it would drive me mad, or worse, to go home to be idle. No; I
will fight against the common enemy till I have made me a name, and
won reputation and standing; or if I should not come back, there's
the babe at home to carry on the line."
"Oh, sir! your father and mother--Lucy--all that love you. What
will they say?"
"It would only put them to needless pain to ask them. I shall not.
I shall write explaining all my motives--all except one, and that
you alone know, Anne."
She shuddered a little, and felt him press her arm tightly. They
had fallen a good deal behind the marquis and his cousin, and were
descending as twilight fell into a narrow, dark, lonely street, with
all the houses shut up. "No one has guessed, have they?" she
faltered.
"Not that I know of. But I cannot--no! I can_not_ go home, to have
that castle near me, and that household at Oakwood. I see enough in
my dreams without that."
"See! Ah, yes!"
"Then, Anne, you have suffered then too--guiltless as you are in
keeping my terrible secret! I have often thought and marvelled
whether it were so with you."
She was about to tell him what she had seen, when he began, "There
is one thing in this world that would sweeten and renew my life--and
that?"
Her heart was beating violently at what was so suddenly coming on
her, when at that instant Charles broke off short with "Good
Heavens! What's that?"
On the opposite side of the street, where one of the many churches
stood some way back, making an opening, there was a figure,
essentially the same that Anne had seen at Lambeth, but bare-headed,
clad apparently in something long and white, and with a pale bluish
light on the ghastly but unmistakable features.
She uttered a faint gasping cry scarcely audible, Charles's impulse
was to exclaim, "Man or spirit, stand!" and drawing his sword to
rush across the street; but in that second all had vanished, and he
only struck against closed doors, which he shook, but could not
open.
"Mr. Archfield! Oh, come back! I have seen it before," entreated
Anne; and he strode back, with a gesture of offering her support,
and trembling, she clung to his arm. "It does not hurt," she said.
"It comes and goes--"
"You have seen it before!"
"Twice."
No more could be said, for through the gloom the white plume and
gold-laced uniform of the marquis were seen. He had missed them,
and come back to look for them, beginning to apologise.
"I am confounded at having left Mademoiselle behind.--Comment!"--as
the sound betrayed that Charles was sheathing his sword. "I trust
that Monsieur has met with no unpleasant adventure from my people."
"Oh, no, Monsieur," was the answer, as he added--
"One can never be sure as to these fiery spirits towards an
Englishman in the present state of feeling, and I blame myself
extremely for having permitted myself to lose sight of Monsieur and
Mademoiselle."
"Indeed, sir, we have met with no cause of complaint," said Charles,
adding as if casually, "What is that church?"
"'Tis the Jesuits' Church," replied the governor. "There is the
best preaching in the town, they say, and Jansenists as we are, I
was struck with the Lenten course."
Anne went at once to her room on returning to the house. Naomi, who
was there already, exclaimed at her paleness, and insisted on
administering a glass of wine from what the English called the rere
supper, the French an encas, the substantial materials for which had
been left in the chamber. Then Anne felt how well it had been for
her that her fellows at the palace had been so uncongenial, for she
could hardly help disclosing to Naomi the sight she had seen, and
the half-finished words she had heard. It was chiefly the feeling
that she could not bear Naomi to know of the blood on Charles's hand
which withheld her in her tumult of feeling, and made her only
entreat, "Do not ask me, I cannot tell you." And Naomi, who was
some years older, and had had her own sad experience, guessed
perhaps at one cause for her agitation, and spared her inquiries,
though as Anne, tired out by the long day, and forced by their close
quarters to keep herself still, dropped asleep, strange mutterings
fell from her lips about "The vault--the blood--come back. There he
is. The secret has risen to forbid. O, poor Peregrine!"
Between the July heat, the narrow bed, and the two chamber fellows,
Anne had little time to collect her thoughts, except for the general
impression that if Charles finished what he had begun to say, the
living and the dead alike must force her to refuse, though something
within foreboded that this would cost her more than she yet durst
perceive, and her heart was ready to spring forth and enclose him as
it were in an embrace of infinite tenderness, above all when she
thought of his purpose of going to those fearful Hungarian wars.
But after the hot night, it was a great relief to prepare for an
early start. M. de Nidemerle had decided on sending the travellers
to Tournay, the nearest Spanish town, on the Scheldt, since he had
some acquaintance with the governor, and when no campaign was
actually on foot the courtesies of generous enemies passed between
them. He had already sent an intimation of his intention of
forwarding an English kinswoman of his own with her companions, and
bespoken the good offices of his neighbour, and they were now to set
off in very early morning under the escort of a flag of truce, a
trumpeter, and a party of troopers, commanded by an experienced old
officer with white moustaches and the peaked beard of the last
generation, contrasting with a face the colour of walnut wood.
The marquis himself and his son, however, rode with the travellers
for their first five miles, through a country where the rich green
of the natural growth showed good soil, all enamelled with flowers
and corn crops run wild; but the villages looked deserted, the
remains of burnt barns and houses were frequent, and all along that
frontier, it seemed as if no peaceful inhabitants ventured to
settle, and only brigands often rendered such by misery might prowl
about. The English party felt as if they had never understood what
war could be.
However, in a melancholy orchard run wild, under the shade of an
apple-tree laden with young fruit, backed by a blackened gable half
concealed by a luxuriant untrimmed vine, the avant couriers of the
commandant had cleared a space in the rank grass, and spread a
morning meal, of cold pate, fowl and light wines, in which the
French officers drank to the good journey of their friends, and then
when the horses had likewise had their refreshment the parting took
place with much affection between the cousins. The young Ribaumont
augured that they should meet again when he had to protect Noemi in
a grand descent on Dorsetshire in behalf of James, and she merrily
shook her fist at him and defied him, and his father allowed that
they were a long way from that.
M. de Nidemerle hinted to Mr. Archfield that nobody could tell him
more about the war with the Turks than M. le Capitaine Delaune, who
was, it appeared, a veteran Swiss who had served in almost every
army in Europe, and thus could give information by no means to be
neglected. So that, to Anne's surprise and somewhat to her
mortification, since she had no knowledge of the cause, she saw
Charles riding apart with this wooden old veteran, who sat as
upright as a ramrod on his wiry-looking black horse, leaving her to
the company of Naomi and Mr. Fellowes. Did he really wish not to
pursue the topic which had brought Peregrine from his grave? It
would of course be all the better, but it cost her some terrible
pangs to think so.
There were far more formalities and delays before the travellers
could cross the Tournay bridge across the Scheldt. They were
brought to a standstill a furlong off, and had to wait while the
trumpeter rode forward with the white flag, and the message was
referred to the officer on guard, while a sentry seemed to be
watching over them. Then the officer came to the gateway of the
bridge, and Captain Delaune rode forward to him, but there was still
a long weary waiting in the sun before he came back, after having
shown their credentials to the governor, and then he was accompanied
by a Flemish officer, who, with much courtesy, took them under his
charge, and conducted them through all the defences, over the
bridge, and to the gate where their baggage had to be closely
examined. Naomi had her Bible in her bosom, or it would not have
escaped; Anne heartily wished she had used the same precaution on
her flight from England, but she had not, like her friend, been
warned beforehand.
When within the city there was more freedom, and the Fleming
conducted the party to an inn, where, unlike English inns, they
could not have a parlour to themselves, but had to take their meals
in common with other guests at a sort of table d'hote, and the
ladies had no refuge but their bedroom, where the number of beds did
not promise privacy. An orderly soon arrived with an invitation to
Don Carlos Arcafila to sup with the Spanish governor, and of course
the invitation could not be neglected. The ladies walked about a
little in the town with Mr. Fellowes, looking without appreciation
at the splendid five-towered cathedral, but recollecting with due
English pride that the place had been conquered by Henry VIII.
Thence they were to make for Ostend, where they were certain of
finding a vessel bound for England.
It was a much smaller party that set forth from Tournay than from
Paris, and soon they fell into pairs, Mr. Fellowes and Naomi riding
together, sufficiently out of earshot of the others for Charles to
begin--
"I have not been able to speak to you, Anne, since that strange
interruption--if indeed it were not a dream."
"Oh, sir, it was no dream! How could it be?"
"How could it, indeed, when we both saw it, and both of us awake and
afoot, and yet I cannot believe my senses."
"Oh, I can believe it only too truly! I have seen him twice before.
I thought you said you had."
"Merely in dreams, and that is bad enough."
"Are you sure? for I was up and awake."
"Are _you_ sure? I might ask again. I was asleep in bed, and glad
enough to shake myself awake. Where were you?"
"Once on Hallowmas Eve, looking from the window at Whitehall; once
when waiting with the Queen under the wall of Lambeth Church, on the
night of our flight."
"Did others see him then?"
"I was alone the first time. The next time when he flitted across
the light, no one else saw him; but they cried out at my start. Why
should he appear except to us?"
"That is true," muttered Charles.
"And oh, sir, those two times he looked as he did in life--not
ghastly as now. There can be no doubt now that--"
"What, sweet Anne?"
"Sir, I must tell you! I could bear it no longer, and I _did_
consult the Bishop of Bath and Wells."
"Any more?" he asked in a somewhat displeased voice.
"No one, not a soul, and he is as safe as any of the priests here;
he regards a confession in the same way. Mr. Archfield, forgive me.
He seemed divinely sent to me on that All Saints' day! Oh, forgive
me!" and tears were in her eyes.
"He is Dr. Ken--eh? I remember him. I suppose he is as safe as any
man, and a woman must have some relief. You have borne enough
indeed," said Charles, greatly touched by her tears. "What did he
say?"
"He asked, was I certain of the--death," said she, bringing out the
word with difficulty; "but then I had only seen _it_ at Whitehall;
and these other appearances, in such places too, take away all hope
that it is otherwise!"
"Assuredly," said Charles; "I had not the least doubt at the moment.
I know I ran my sword through his body, and felt a jar that I
believe was his backbone," he said with a shudder, "and he fell
prone and breathless; but since I have seen more of fencing, and
heard more of wounds, the dread has crossed me that I acted as an
inexperienced lad, and that I ought to have tried whether the life
was in him, or if he could be recovered. If so, I slew him twice,
by launching him into that pit. God forgive me!"
"Is it so deep?" asked Anne, shuddering. "I know there is a sort of
step at the top; but I always shunned the place, and never looked
in."
"There are two or three steps at the top, but all is broken away
below. Sedley and I once threw a ball down, and I am sure it
dropped to a depth down which no man could fall and _live_. I
believe there once were underground passages leading to the harbour
on one hand, and out to Portsdown Hill on the other, but that the
communication was broken away and the openings destroyed when Lord
Goring was governor of Portsmouth, to secure the castle. Be that as
it may, he could not have been living after he reached that floor.
I heard the thud, and the jingle of his sword, and it will haunt me
to my dying day."
"And yet you never intended it. You did it in defence of me. You
did not mean to strike thus hard. It was an accident."
"Would that I could so feel it!" he sighed. "Nay, of course I had
no evil design when my poor little wife drove me out to give you her
rag of ribbon, or whatever it was; but I hated as well as despised
the fellow. He had angered me with his scorn--well deserved, as now
I see--of our lubberly ways. She had vexed me with her teasing
commendations--out of harmless mischief, poor child. I hated him
more every time you looked at him, and when I had occasion to strike
him I was glad of it. There was murder in my heart, and I felt as
if I were putting a rat or a weasel out of the way when I threw him
down that pit. God forgive me! Then, in my madness, I so acted
that in a manner I was the death of that poor young thing."
"No, no, sir. Your mother had never thought she would live."
"So they say; but her face comes before me in reproach. There are
times when I feel myself a double murderer. I have been on the
point of telling all to Mr. Fellowes, or going home to accuse
myself. Only the thought of my father and mother, and of leaving
such a blight on that poor baby, has withheld me; but I cannot go
home to face the sight of the castle."
"No," said Anne, choked with tears.
"Nor is there any suspicion of the poor fellow's fate," he added.
"Not that I ever heard."
"His family think him fled, as was like enough, considering the way
in which they treated him," said Charles. "Nor do I see what good
it would do them to know the truth."
"It would only be a grief and bitterness to all."
"I hope I have repented, and that God accepts my forgiveness," said
Charles sadly. "I am banishing myself from all I love, and there is
a weight on me for life; but, unless suspicion falls on others, I do
not feel bound to make it worse for all by giving myself up. Yet
those appearances--to you, to me, to us both! At such a moment,
too, last night!"
"Can it be because of his unhallowed grave?" said Anne, in a low
voice of awe.
"If it were!" said Charles, drawing up his horse for a moment in
thought. "Anne, if there be one more appearance, the place shall be
searched, whether it incriminate me or not. It would be adding to
all my wrongs towards the poor fellow, if that were the case."
"Even if he were found," said Anne, "suspicion would not light on
you. And at home it will be known if he haunts the place. I will--
"
"Nay, but, Anne, he will not interrupt me now. I have much more to
say. I want you to remember that we were sweethearts ere ever I, as
a child of twelve, knew that I was contracted to that poor babe, and
bidden to think only of her. Poor child! I honestly did my best to
love her, so far as I knew how, and mayhap we could have rubbed on
through life passably well as things go. But--but--It skills not
talking of things gone by, except to show that it is a whole heart--
not the reversion of one that is yours for ever, mine only love."
"Oh, but--but--I am no match for you."
"I've had enough of grand matches."
"Your father would never endure it."
"My father would soon rejoice. Besides, if we are wedded here--say
at Ostend--and you make me a home at Buda, or Vienna, or some place
at our winter quarters, as my brave wench will, my father will be
glad enough to see us both at home again."
"No; it cannot be. It would be plain treachery to your parents; Mr.
Fellowes would say so. I am sure he would not marry us."
"There are English chaplains. Is that all that holds you back?"
"No, sir. If the Archbishop of Canterbury were here himself, it
could not make it other than a sin, and an act of mean ingratitude,
for me, the Prince's rocker, to take advantage of their goodness in
permitting you to come and bring me home--to do what would be pain,
grief, and shame to them."
"Never shame."
"What is wrong is shame! Cannot you see how unworthy it would be in
me, and how it would grieve my uncle that I should have done such a
thing?"
"Love would override scruples."
"Not _true_ love."
"True! Then you own to some love for me, Anne."
"I do--not--know. I have guarded--I mean--cast away--I mean--never
entertained any such thought ever since I was old enough to know how
wicked it would be."
"Anne! Anne!" (in an undertone very like rapture), "you have
confessed all! It is no sin _now_. Even you cannot say so."
She hung her head and did not answer, but silence was enough for
him.
"It is enough!" he said; "you will wait. I shall know you are
waiting till I return in such sort that nothing can be denied me.
Let me at least have that promise."
"You need not fear," murmured Anne. "How could I need? The secret
would withhold me, were there nothing else."
"And there is something else? Eh, sweetheart? Is that all I am to
be satisfied with?"
"Oh sir!--Mr. Archfield, I mean--O Charles!" she stammered.
Mr. Fellowes turned round to consult his pupil as to whether the
halt should be made at the village whose peaked roofs were seen over
the fruit trees.
But when Anne was lifted down from the steed it was with no grasp of
common courtesy, and her hand was not relinquished till it had been
fervently kissed.
Charles did not again torment her with entreaties to share his
exile. Mayhap he recognised, though unwillingly, that her judgment
had been right, but there was no small devotion in his whole
demeanour, as they dined, rode, and rested on that summer's day amid
fields of giant haycocks, and hostels wreathed with vines, with long
vistas of sleek cows and plump dappled horses in the sheds behind.
The ravages of war had lessened as they rode farther from the
frontier, and the rich smiling landscape lay rejoicing in the summer
sunshine; the sturdy peasants looked as if they had never heard of
marauders, as they herded their handsome cattle and responded
civilly when a draught of milk was asked for the ladies.
There was that strange sense of Eden felicity that sometimes comes
with the knowledge that the time is short for mutual enjoyment in
full peace. Charles and Anne would part, their future was
undefined; but for the present they reposed in the knowledge of each
other's hearts, and in being together. It was as in their
childhood, when by tacit consent he had been Anne's champion from
the time she came as a little Londoner to be alarmed at rough
country ways, and to be easily scared by Sedley. It had been then
that Charles had first awakened to the chivalry of the better part
of boyhood's nature, instead of following his cousin's lead, and
treating girls as creatures meant to be bullied. Many a happy
reminiscence was shared between the two as they rode together, and
it was not till the pale breadth of sea filled their horizon, broken
by the tall spires and peaked gables and many-windowed steep roofs
of Ostend, that the future was permitted to come forward and trouble
them. Then Anne's heart began to feel that persistence in her
absolute refusal was a much harder thing than at the first, when the
idea was new and strange to her. And there were strange yearnings
that Charles should renew the proposal, mixed with dread of herself
and of her own resolution in case of his doing so. As her
affections embraced him more and more she pictured him sick,
wounded, dying, out of reach of all, among Germans, Hungarians,
Turks,--no one at hand to comfort him or even to know his fate.
There was even disappointment in his acquiescence, though her better
mind told her that it was in accordance with her prayer against
temptation. Moreover, he was of a reserved nature, not apt to
discuss what was once fixed, and perhaps it showed that he respected
her judgment not to try to shake her decision. Though for once love
had carried him away, he might perhaps be grateful to her for
sparing him the perplexities of dragging her about with him and of
giving additional offence to his parents. The affection born of
lifelong knowledge is not apt to be of the vehement character that
disregards all obstacles or possible miseries to the object thereof.
Yet enough feeling was betrayed to make Naomi whisper at night,
"Sweet Nan, are you not some one else's sweet?"
And Anne, now with another secret on her heart, only replied with
embraces, and, "Do not talk of it! I cannot tell how it is to be.
I cannot tell you all."
Naomi was discreet enough only to caress.
With strict formalities at outworks, moat, drawbridge, and gates,
and the customary inquisitorial search of the luggage, the
travellers were allowed to repair to a lofty inn, with the Lion of
Flanders for its sign, and a wide courtyard, the successive outside
galleries covered with luxuriant vines. Here, as usual, though the
party of females obtained one bedroom together, the gentlemen had to
share one vast sleeping chamber with a variety of merchants, Dutch,
Flemish, Spanish, and a few English. Meals were at a great table
d'hote in the public room, opening into the court, and were shared
by sundry Spanish, Belgic, and Swiss officers of the garrison, who
made this their mess-room. Two young English gentlemen, like
Charles Archfield, making the grand tour, whom he had met in Italy,
were delighted to encounter him again, and still more so at the
company of English ladies.
"No wonder the forlorn widower has recovered his spirits!" Anne
heard one say with a laugh that made her blush and turn away; and
there was an outcry that after a monopoly of the fair ones all the
way from Paris, the seats next to them must be yielded.
Anne was disappointed, and could not bring herself to be agreeable
to the obtrusive cavalier with the rich lace cravat and perfumed
hair, both assumed in her honour.
The discussion was respecting the vessels where a passage might be
obtained. The cavaliers were to sail in a couple of days for
London, but another ship would go out of harbour with the tide on
the following day for Southampton, and this was decided on by
acclamation by the Hampshire party, though no good accommodation was
promised them.
There was little opportunity for a tete-a-tetes, for the young men
insisted on escorting the ladies to the picture galleries, palaces,
and gardens, and Charles did not wish to reawaken the observations
that, according to the habits of the time, might not be of the
choicest description. Anne watched him under her eyelashes, and
wondered with beating heart whether after all he intended to return
home, and there plead his cause, for he gave no token of intending
to separate from the rest.
The Hampshire Hog was to sail at daybreak, so the passengers went on
board over night, after supper, when the summer twilight was sinking
down and the far-off west still had a soft golden tint.
Anne felt Charles's arm round her in the boat and grasping her hand,
then pulling off her glove and putting a ring on her finger--all in
silence. She still felt that arm on the deck in the confusion of
men, ropes, and bales of goods, and the shouts and hails on all
sides that nearly deafened her. There was imminent danger of being
hurled down, if not overboard, among the far from sober sailors, and
Mr. Fellowes urged the ladies to go below at once, conducting Miss
Darpent himself as soon as he could ascertain where to go. Anne
felt herself almost lifted down. Then followed a strong embrace, a
kiss on brow, lips, and either cheek, and a low hoarse whisper--"So
best! Mine own! God bless you,"--and as Suzanne came tumbling aft
into the narrow cabin, Anne found herself left alone with her two
female companions, and knew that these blissful days were over.