Thus would I teach the world a better way,
For the recovery of a wounded honour,
Than with a savage fury, not true courage,
Still to run headlong on.
MASSINGER.
There is no earthly consolation under sorrow of a more noble kind than
that of witnessing and of promoting the happiness of those whom we
know to deserve our affection. Katharine had not experienced for a
long time a feeling of joy so true as that, with which, in the
solitude of her chamber, she reflected upon what had just passed
between herself and Juxon. She saw him go out, with hasty steps,
towards the avenue where Jane was walking alone, and she rightly
interpreted that check and change of his resolutions which made him
turn suddenly away. But she determined that the work which she had
begun should not be left long incomplete, and that Jane Lambert should
at once know of the revelation which she had made to Juxon that
morning. She regretted having uttered a syllable during their
interview which could operate to discourage Juxon from an immediate
avowal of the impression which Jane’s conduct had made upon his heart.
Most true it was that, in the present posture of public affairs, it
could not be advisable for any one, and more especially for a
clergyman, to enter into the state of matrimony, and it was a
melancholy thing to form engagements which might never be fulfilled.
Here, however, she could not but admit there was room for an exception
to the common rules of prudence. Juxon and Jane Lambert were not
ordinary characters. She knew that Juxon had of late taken a most
serious view of the duties which were imposed on him as the rector of
a parish, and that he had decided to guide and guard his flock with
vigilance and courage as long as the spirit of persecution would
suffer him to do so. While, therefore, many of the clergy were for
arming themselves, and for accompanying the King’s forces in the
field, he resisted that natural inclination, and that easy escape into
the security of a camp, by preparing to abide the visitations of the
storm at his appointed post. The path of duty, however dangerous and
exposed, is always that of peace; nevertheless, the age, the active
habits, and the resolute spirit of Juxon made a vast and necessary
difference between his course and that of the mild old parson of
Cheddar. As Katharine revolved all these matters in her mind, she
became reconciled to the thought of seeing her beloved Jane united at
once to the man so well worthy of possessing her. The sole difficulty
would be the reluctance of Juxon to expose a woman to those chances of
distress and privation which alone he could cheerfully endure.
Katharine had long foreseen that the moment would arrive when Sir
Oliver and herself must quit Milverton; and until the late disclosure
of Jane, she had fully reckoned upon that dear girl as the companion
of their wanderings and the friend of her bosom; but now it seemed a
duty to resign that comfort. However, there was one procedure by which
it might be retained. If, when it became necessary for the royalist
gentry to quit their homes, George Juxon would accompany the family to
whatever city they might select as a temporary and secure residence,
his marriage with Jane might soon take place, and there would be no
interruption of her own sweet intercourse with her friend. Some
thoughts like these had passed through the mind of Juxon as he paced
up and down the terrace, full of that hope which is dashed with fear.
While he was thus taking counsel of his own heart, Sir Charles Lambert
arrived at Milverton, and, in company with Sir Oliver and Arthur,
descended the steps and joined him. Sir Charles had for some time past
appeared to so great advantage by the manner in which he had come
forward in the royal cause, that he was considered, even by Juxon, a
thoroughly changed man. There was a carefulness in his language, which
greatly contrasted with his former coarseness. His manners were not
only grave and composed, but there was an urbanity in his address,
which made a frank-hearted person like Juxon ashamed of not being able
to like him. He thought him of a better capacity than he had once
given him credit for, and was not willing to believe that, under all
this outward improvement of his words and ways, his heart could remain
unaffected. Moreover, there seemed no adequate reason for his assuming
a false exterior, nor for any design which he might not openly avow.
He attributed this amendment of character to secret compunction for
his violence and brutality towards Cuthbert Noble; to that elevation
of sentiment which a new position and great duties might and ought to
produce; and to those considerations of death as an event possible and
near, which the hazards of the approaching contest might naturally
suggest to the least serious of men. “What think you, Master Juxon,”
said Sir Oliver, “our cousin Charles hath just had a letter from
Yorkshire from Sir Thomas Leigh, who saith that we may soon expect his
most gracious Majesty in these parts, and that he hopes to possess
himself of Coventry and raise Warwickshire, and make a good stand in
this county, if Essex should march hither: in that case, you see, we
shall not need to quit Milverton; and the battle may be fought so near
home, that even Kate will see how fit it is that I should be in the
field. Gout or no gout, I can get as far as Stoneleigh Abbey, and meet
his Majesty.”
“I am afraid the King reckons without his host,” answered Juxon: “I
doubt if the gates of Coventry will open more readily for him than
those of Hull:--the citizens there are all for the parliament.”
“The citizens of Coventry be hanged,” said Sir Charles: “they have
only their own train bands to man the walls,--a set of knock-knee’d
rascals:--why, a squib in their breeches would clear their
market-place.”
“Yes,” said Arthur; “and they would run like rats to their holes at
the very clatter of a horse-hoof.”
“Perhaps they might, Arthur,” said Juxon smiling; “but the matter will
be to get this horse into the streets, and this squib into the
market-place.”
Sir Charles, who well knew that Juxon was no coward, bit his lips,
and said, “Really I cannot think what is come to you, parson: you are
always now a prophet of evil:--why the cause of the King would soon be
down, if all had such faint hearts about it as you have.”
“Faint hearts, sir, are fond of feeding on false hopes; stout hearts
look at naked dangers without blenching. The notion that a rebellion
of citizens can be put down by a few horses is foolish. It prevents,
first, earnest preparations to subdue it; and, at last, when these are
attempted, they prove too late, and altogether ineffectual.”
“Well, Juxon, Sir Oliver here and I have done our parts, and shall do
them to the last: your words don’t touch me; but I must say, you love
to damp us; I hope, however, that the boy cares as little for you as I
do.”
“You need not to be rude as well as angry, Sir Charles.”
“Rude! methinks you forget yourself!--a truce to all compliments. Did
you not call me faint-hearted?”
“Your memory is short indeed, Sir Charles, not to remember who first
used the word.”
“Come, come,” interrupted the old knight, “I wo’n’t have any falling
out between friends. Are we not all king’s men, loyal and true? It may
be, Sir Charles, that Juxon sees further into matters than we do; but
his heart is with us.”
“That may seem clear to you, Sir Oliver:--time will show us all men in
their true colours: I have been right once before, and I may be right
again.”
“What do you mean?” asked Juxon, reddening with anger: “do you doubt
my loyalty, sir?”
The evil temper of Sir Charles was so strong within him, that,
desirous only of vexing Juxon to the uttermost, he replied with a
sneer, “You have taken care to secure yourself a friend in the enemy’s
camp; so that your parsonage at Old Beech will be quite safe, come
what may; and you mean to stick by it, as I am told.”
“It is an insinuation as false as it is base to suspect and utter it:
try me not farther, or you will make me forget my sacred calling.”
“You are not likely to do that by what I hear of your doings at Old
Beech. You preach like a Puritan already: it were a pity to lose a fat
rectory if the Parliament get uppermost.”
The mean and cruel turn, which Sir Charles thus gave to his malicious
charge, so startled and affected Juxon, who had always been both
honest and earnest in his pulpit, that he paused in his reply,--and
was sending up a swift ejaculation to Heaven for the grace of
patience, when Sir Oliver angrily interposed.
“Zounds and thunder, Sir Charles, you might have remembered, among the
doings of Friend Juxon, that he has furnished right stout troopers
from his own purse, and that every man in his parish, capable of
bearing arms, who can be spared from home, has been sent off already
to carry a pike for King Charles. I think the devil is in thee, or
that yellow Margery hath crossed thy path this morning.”
The mention of yellow Margery was never pleasant to Sir Charles, and a
scowl came over his brow at the sound of her name; but he answered in
a dogged and sullen manner,--“Ay, that is all very well: it is good to
have two strings to one’s bow. I suppose, Master Juxon will not deny
that that canting fanatic, Cuthbert Noble, is his friend. My steward,
who came last night from Hertfordshire, saw the vile hypocrite, with
tuck and partizan, on guard in the market-place at St. Albans. Your
grave tutor is a lieutenant of pikemen. I hope I shall ride over the
rascal some fine day.”
“A fanatic he may be--a hypocrite he cannot be; and you say truly that
I am his friend; but I will not trust myself with another word--I must
return home. Sir Charles, from henceforth I shall look on you as a
stranger; and did it become my cloth I would chastise you.”
“Insolent priest! thy cloth is thy protection,” said Sir Charles,
advancing with a lifted hunting whip, as if to strike Juxon.
“You need not come between us, Sir Oliver,” said Juxon, with a look of
quiet scorn: “in spite of the anger in his heart, he knows when to be
prudent.”
“Odd’s life!” said the old knight, “I will have no more ill blood at
Milverton:--look you, go your ways, both of you, and sleep over it,
and come here again to-morrow, and let us make all up. You are both
right, and both wrong--faults on both sides; that is always the story
of a quarrel.”
With these words he took Juxon by the hand and shook it kindly,
adding, “There go, man, get your horse; you’ll be yourself again
before you reach home. Here, Arthur, boy, go with him, and call
Richard to saddle his hobby.--I’ll make Sir Charles listen to reason.”
This easy and indolent mode of confounding right and wrong, and
escaping out of the proper and severe course of honourable judgment,
was by no means agreeable to the upright and manly Juxon. He coldly
gave his hand, and wishing Sir Oliver a good morning, ascended the
steps with Arthur, casting a look of silent and expressive indignation
at Sir Charles, who regarded him in return with violent eyes and
cheeks livid with rage.
As Juxon and Arthur passed round to the side of the mansion facing the
court-yard, they saw Katharine Heywood and Jane Lambert standing
together under the shade of a tree, in earnest conversation. At the
sound of the approaching footsteps they turned their heads; and it was
evident to George Juxon that the subject of their discourse was
connected with what had already passed at the interview between
Katharine and himself that very morning.
“Oh! what a thing is man! how far from power,
From settled peace and rest!
He is some twenty sev’ral men, at least,
Each sev’ral hour.”
The sweet and sudden calm which fell upon the roused and troubled
passions of Juxon at the very sight of Jane Lambert brought that
stanza of Herbert’s to his memory, and he gave utterance to it as he
joined and stood with them for a few moments, while Arthur went
forward to order out his horse.
If Katharine had not already told her friend that Juxon was now truly
informed of all those circumstances which, at the time, must of
necessity have perplexed him about her conduct and her probable
engagement, the expression of his fine eyes would have revealed to her
that grateful fact. There is a silent eloquence in the look of one
who truly and fondly loves which needs no interpreter. The avowal of
his attachment, which he had upon principle resolved to suppress, his
eyes, prompted by the pulses of his heart, spoke as plainly to Jane as
though she had heard it from his lips in all the language of ardour
and admiration.
Katharine questioned him reproachingly on the cause of his sudden
return to Old Beech, but he excused himself without betraying the true
reason. They gave credit to his simple assurance that it was not
possible for him to prolong his visit at present; and with a tender
pressure of the hand he took his leave of Jane, promising Katharine
that he would soon ride over to Milverton again.
It was not till his horse had turned the distant corner of the road,
and was lost to view, that Arthur came in from the outer gate; and the
distress and dejection of the youth were so plainly to be read in his
countenance, that Katharine took him aside to ask what was the matter.
He related to her the quarrel between Juxon and Sir Charles Lambert
just as it had occurred. She heard it with more pain than surprise,
for she was well aware of the unaltered nature of Sir Charles; and she
knew that he cherished mean and vindictive feelings towards Juxon for
his conduct at the time of his own ferocious assault on Cuthbert
Noble, and for all his subsequent kindness and friendship to that
injured student. On one account she very deeply regretted this
occurrence. It could not fail to put a very serious obstacle in the
way of that union between Jane Lambert and Juxon which she had just
indulged herself with the hope she might soon have the happiness of
seeing perfected at the altar.
The reflections of Juxon himself, as he rode homewards, were of a
complexion as varied as the face of an April sky. His thoughts were
overshadowed by many a cloud of fear, and care, and coming sorrow,
while ever and anon they became glad and bright as if coloured with
blue sky and sunbeams, and the rainbow of hope. Notwithstanding his
uncomfortable quarrel with Sir Charles, it was a day to be marked in
his calendar with a white stone. The day was so hot, that he walked
his horse leisurely all the way; and when he had gone about half the
distance between Milverton and Old Beech, he pulled up near a water
trough, under the shadow of a majestic old oak, and dismounted. There
was a bank of earth round the trunk of the tree, on which he seated
himself: his beast stood indolently still, after having dipped its
nose in the trough; and both rider and horse luxuriated in the cool
shade. The murmur of the spring that fed the trough was the only sound
to be heard; and the loneliness of the spot, for it was in the middle
of a common, suggested pleasing thoughts of gratitude for the human
charity which had thus provided for the comfort and refreshment of man
and his dumb companions in labour. By a natural train of associations
the mind of Juxon was led to reflect on charity in its more high and
heavenly signification, and on those works which it should produce. He
considered what the earth would be if subjected to the law of love,
and what it really was. He bethought him of the mission and office of
the Prince of Peace: he remembered that he was a minister of that new
and glorious covenant announced by the voice of angels in a heavenly
melody,--“Peace on earth, good will towards men.” He mused upon the
titles by which ministers are designated,--watchmen, shepherds,--and
he was more than ever confirmed in his resolution to remain with his
flock at Old Beech during the coming troubles. “‘The hireling
fleeth,’” said he to himself, “‘because he is an hireling.’ Why was I
so moved at the taunt of malignity and ignorance? How strong a thing
must be the fear of man, when I can allow myself to fear the opinion
of one whom I despise, and whom, in truth, I ought to pity; when I can
dare to wish for an opportunity of showing on the battle-field that my
heart is English, loyal, and true. I am priest of the temple; I will
defend my church porch to the last, and keep out the wolf as long as I
can.” As Juxon was thus occupied in sober meditation, he heard the
tramp of a horse galloping across the common, in the direction of
Milverton. On looking up, he instantly knew the horse and the figure
of Sir Charles Lambert. He felt certain that nothing but a fit of
boiling and ungovernable anger would have led to this swift pursuit of
him, and was at no loss to conjecture the nature of the trial for
which he must prepare. Juxon never rode from home in those unquiet
days without pistols; but come what might from the violence of this
infuriated man, he resolved that nothing should induce him to use them
in his defence. Although as a clergyman he could not wear a sword, yet
he often carried with him a cane of Italian invention, which contained
a sword-blade, and by means of a secret spring threw out a small guard
at the handle, which supplied a hilt, and thus, if at any time
assaulted with the sword, he was furnished with some, though an
imperfect, weapon of resistance. He was fortunately thus provided on
the present occasion.
Sir Charles no sooner reached the spot than he threw himself
impetuously from his horse, and said with a loud oath, “This shall
settle our difference for ever.” At the same time he drew his rapier,
and advanced upon his antagonist.
Juxon, without a word, took a defensive posture, and opposing his
cane-sword to that of Sir Charles, parried his fierce passes with such
a quick eye and so strong a hand, that, in a rencontre which could not
have lasted two minutes, he twisted the sword of his opponent from his
angry grasp, and made it fly several yards off. He as immediately
secured it. “By hell, you shall not escape me!” said Sir Charles,
frantic with vexation; and plucking a pistol from his belt, he
discharged it at Juxon as he returned from picking up the sword. The
ball struck the buckle of Juxon’s hat-band, and glanced off. He felt a
slight shock, but, as it came aslant upon it, the concussion was not
so violent as to stun him.
Sir Charles dropped the pistol, seized upon a second, which was in his
belt, but, ere he could deliver his fire, Juxon had beaten aside his
arm, and the bullet spent its force harmlessly on the yielding air.
“Madman!” said Juxon with an earnest and solemn tone, “let us from our
hearts thank God. He has preserved you from the sin of murder, and me
from being hurried into the holy presence of the Prince of Peace from
a scene of guilty contention, in the cause of which I am far from
innocent. There is your sword:--there is my hand:--by these lips no
human being shall ever be informed of what has just occurred. Your
present situation and your present duties call upon you to use your
sword in the field of honour and in the service of your king: do so in
a good spirit, and forget this hour as fully as I forgive it.”
The burning coal fell, guided by Heaven, upon the humbled head of the
proud one. Scalding tears stood in his eyes; the blood rushed hotly to
his cheeks. His embarrassment was so great, that for a while he could
utter nothing. “Let me hope,” said Juxon, “that I have lost an enemy,
and gained a friend.”
“You have done more, much more,” answered Sir Charles: “you are the
first person on earth who ever touched my heart with a feeling
altogether new:--I shall bless this day for ever. You shall never
repent your noble consideration for my character. This sword shall
never again be dishonoured.” Here Sir Charles fell upon his knees. “I
ask pardon of God and of you, Juxon, for my murderous purpose. I feel
that the hand of Providence has been in this strange work--I am not
yet an utter reprobate.”
“God forbid!” said Juxon, as he raised him up: “we will talk together
of better hopes. Suppose we return together to Milverton, and show
ourselves as reconciled heartily--it will, I think, spare that kind
family many hours of uneasiness.”
Sir Charles acceded with eagerness to the proposal, and mounting their
horses they rode back quietly together.