It was the afternoon of the third day after the arrival of Cadurcis at
the gipsy encampment, and nothing had yet occurred to make him repent
his flight from the abbey, and the choice of life he had made. He had
experienced nothing but kindness and hospitality, while the beautiful
Beruna seemed quite content to pass her life in studying his
amusement. The weather, too, had been extremely favourable to his new
mode of existence; and stretched at his length upon the rich turf,
with his head on Beruna's lap, and his eyes fixed upon the rich forest
foliage glowing in the autumnal sunset, Plantagenet only wondered
that he could have endured for so many years the shackles of his
common-place home.
His companions were awaiting the return of their leader, Morgana,
who had been absent since the preceding day, and who had departed on
Plantagenet's pony. Most of them were lounging or strolling in the
vicinity of their tents; the children were playing; the old woman was
cooking at the fire; and altogether, save that the hour was not so
late, the scene presented much the same aspect as when Cadurcis had
first beheld it. As for his present occupation, Beruna was giving him
a lesson in the gipsy language, which he was acquiring with a rapid
facility, which quite exceeded all his previous efforts in such
acquisitions.
Suddenly a scout sang out that a party was in sight. The men instantly
disappeared; the women were on the alert; and one ran forward as a
spy, on pretence of telling fortunes. This bright-eyed professor of
palmistry soon, however, returned running, and out of breath, yet
chatting all the time with inconceivable rapidity, and accompanying
the startling communication she was evidently making with the most
animated gestures. Beruna started up, and, leaving the astonished
Cadurcis, joined them. She seemed alarmed. Cadurcis was soon convinced
there was consternation in the camp.
Suddenly a horseman galloped up, and was immediately followed by a
companion. They called out, as if encouraging followers, and one of
them immediately galloped away again, as if to detail the results
of their reconnaissance. Before Cadurcis could well rise and make
inquiries as to what was going on, a light cart, containing several
men, drove up, and in it, a prisoner, he detected Morgana. The
branches of the trees concealed for a moment two other horsemen
who followed the cart; but Cadurcis, to his infinite alarm and
mortification, soon recognised Dr. Masham and Peter.
When the gipsies found their leader was captive, they no longer
attempted to conceal themselves; they all came forward, and would have
clustered round the cart, had not the riders, as well as those who
more immediately guarded the prisoner, prevented them. Morgana spoke
some words in a loud voice to the gipsies, and they immediately
appeared less agitated; then turning to Dr. Masham, he said in
English, 'Behold your child!'
Instantly two gipsy men seized Cadurcis, and led him to the Doctor.
'How now, my lord!' said the worthy Rector, in a stern voice, 'is this
your duty to your mother and your friends?'
Cadurcis looked down, but rather dogged than ashamed.
'You have brought an innocent man into great peril,' continued the
Doctor. 'This person, no longer a prisoner, has been arrested on
suspicion of robbery, and even murder, through your freak. Morgana, or
whatever your name may be, here is some reward for your treatment of
this child, and some compensation for your detention. Mount your pony,
Lord Cadurcis, and return to your home with me.'
'This is my home, sir,' said Plantagenet.
'Lord Cadurcis, this childish nonsense must cease; it has already
endangered the life of your mother, nor can I answer for her safety,
if you lose a moment in returning.'
'Child, you must return,' said Morgana.
'Child!' said Plantagenet, and he walked some steps away, and leant
against a tree. 'You promised that I should remain,' said he,
addressing himself reproachfully to Morgana.
'You are not your own master,' said the gipsy; 'your remaining here
will only endanger and disturb us. Fortunately we have nothing to fear
from laws we have never outraged; but had there been a judge less wise
and gentle than the master here, our peaceful family might have been
all harassed and hunted to the very death.'
He waved his hand, and addressed some words to his tribe, whereupon
two brawny fellows seized Cadurcis, and placed him again, in spite of
his struggling, upon his pony, with the same irresistible facility
with which they had a few nights before dismounted him. The little
lord looked very sulky, but his position was beginning to get
ludicrous. Morgana, pocketing his five guineas, leaped over the side
of the cart, and offered to guide the Doctor and his attendants
through the forest. They moved on accordingly. It was the work of an
instant, and Cadurcis suddenly found himself returning home between
the Rector and Peter. Not a word, however, escaped his lips; once only
he moved; the light branch of a tree, aimed with delicate precision,
touched his back; he looked round; it was Beruna. She kissed her hand
to him, and a tear stole down his pale, sullen cheek, as, taking from
his breast his handkerchief, he threw it behind him, unperceived, that
she might pick it up, and keep it for his sake.
After proceeding two or three miles under the guidance of Morgana, the
equestrians gained the road, though it still ran through the forest.
Here the Doctor dismissed the gipsy-man, with whom he had occasionally
conversed during their progress; but not a sound ever escaped from the
mouth of Cadurcis, or rather, the captive, who was now substituted in
Morgana's stead. The Doctor, now addressing himself to Plantagenet,
informed him that it was of importance that they should make the best
of their way, and so he put spurs to his mare, and Cadurcis sullenly
complied with the intimation. At this rate, in the course of little
more than another hour, they arrived in sight of the demesne of
Cadurcis, where they pulled up their steeds.
They entered the park, they approached the portal of the abbey; at
length they dismounted. Their coming was announced by a servant, who
had recognised his lord at a distance, and had ran on before with the
tidings. When they entered the abbey, they were met by Lady Annabel in
the cloisters; her countenance was very serious. She shook hands with
Dr. Masham, but did not speak, and immediately led him aside. Cadurcis
remained standing in the very spot where Doctor Masham left him, as if
he were quite a stranger in the place, and was no longer master of
his own conduct. Suddenly Doctor Masham, who was at the end of the
cloister, while Lady Annabel was mounting the staircase, looked round
with a pale face, and said in an agitated voice, 'Lord Cadurcis, Lady
Annabel wishes to speak to you in the saloon.'
Cadurcis immediately, but slowly, repaired to the saloon. Lady Annabel
was walking up and down in it. She seemed greatly disturbed. When she
saw him, she put her arm round his neck affectionately, and said in
a low voice, 'My dearest Plantagenet, it has devolved upon me to
communicate to you some distressing intelligence.' Her voice faltered,
and the tears stole down her cheek.
'My mother, then, is dangerously ill?' he inquired in a calm but
softened tone.
'It is even sadder news than that, dear child.'
Cadurcis looked about him wildly, and then with an inquiring glance at
Lady Annabel:
'There can be but one thing worse than that,' he at length said.
'What if it have happened?' said Lady Annabel.
He threw himself into a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
After a few minutes he looked up and said, in a low but distinct
voice, 'It is too terrible to think of; it is too terrible to mention;
but, if it have happened, let me be alone.'
Lady Annabel approached him with a light step; she embraced him, and,
whispering that she should be found in the next room, she quitted the
apartment.
Cadurcis remained seated for more than half an hour without changing
in the slightest degree his position. The twilight died away; it grew
quite dark; he looked up with a slight shiver, and then quitted the
apartment.
In the adjoining room, Lady Annabel was seated with Doctor Masham,
and giving him the details of the fatal event. It had occurred that
morning. Mrs. Cadurcis, who had never slept a wink since her knowledge
of her son's undoubted departure, and scarcely for an hour been free
from violent epileptic fits, had fallen early in the morning into a
doze, which lasted about half an hour, and from which her medical
attendant, who with Pauncefort had sat up with her during the night,
augured the most favourable consequences. About half-past six o'clock
she woke, and inquired whether Plantagenet had returned. They answered
her that Doctor Masham had not yet arrived, but would probably be at
the abbey in the course of the morning. She said it would be too late.
They endeavoured to encourage her, but she asked to see Lady Annabel,
who was immediately called, and lost no time in repairing to her. When
Mrs. Cadurcis recognised her, she held out her hand, and said in a
dying tone, 'It was my fault; it was ever my fault; it is too late
now; let him find a mother in you.' She never spoke again, and in the
course of an hour expired.
While Lady Annabel and the Doctor were dwelling on these sad
circumstances, and debating whether he should venture to approach
Plantagenet, and attempt to console him, for the evening was now
far advanced, and nearly three hours had elapsed since the fatal
communication had been made to him, it happened that Mistress
Pauncefort chanced to pass Mrs. Cadurcis' room, and as she did so she
heard some one violently sobbing. She listened, and hearing the sounds
frequently repeated, she entered the room, which, but for her candle,
would have been quite dark, and there she found Lord Cadurcis kneeling
and weeping by his mother's bedside. He seemed annoyed at being seen
and disturbed, but his spirit was too broken to murmur. 'La! my lord,'
said Mistress Pauncefort, 'you must not take on so; you must not
indeed. I am sure this dark room is enough to put any one in low
spirits. Now do go downstairs, and sit with my lady and the Doctor,
and try to be cheerful; that is a dear good young gentleman. I wish
Miss Venetia were here, and then she would amuse you. But you must not
take on, because there is no use in it. You must exert yourself, for
what is done cannot be undone; and, as the Doctor told us last Sunday,
we must all die; and well for those who die with a good conscience;
and I am sure the poor dear lady that is gone must have had a good
conscience, because she had a good heart, and I never heard any one
say the contrary. Now do exert yourself, my dear lord, and try to be
cheerful, do; for there is nothing like a little exertion in these
cases, for God's will must be done, and it is not for us to say yea or
nay, and taking on is a murmuring against God's providence.' And so
Mistress Pauncefort would have continued urging the usual topics of
coarse and common-place consolation; but Cadurcis only answered with a
sigh that came from the bottom of his heart, and said with streaming
eyes, 'Ah! Mrs. Pauncefort, God had only given me one friend in this
world, and there she lies.'