The ways were very foundrous, and night closed in upon us while we
were still on our flight. Ere Harry had returned we had departed and
were making for the farm to which little Fulke had been sent with his
foster-mother. It was a good distance from Ashtead, being the
farthest part of Harry's estate inland, and detached from the rest by
a large space. For that reason it had been chosen by him for his
boy, that he might be as far as possible away from the marshes, which
were held to be pestilent in the spring.
Mrs. Waldyve was riding pillion behind me. A sort of calm had
settled upon us with the night, and I picked my way as well as I
could through the mud, content to feel her soft arm about me, and
know that it was her sweet form that leaned upon me.
Darker and darker gathered the night, and deeper grew the mire. I
could no longer see where my horse trod, and had to leave him with
loosened rein to find his way as best he could. I think the unwonted
weight upon his back must have wearied him, for all at once he
stumbled, and we found him stuck up to the girths in a slough.
There was nothing to be done but dismount and lift Mrs. Waldyve off.
I sank almost over my boots as I took her in my arms, but managed
nevertheless to set her safely on a firm bank by the side of the
road. My next care was to get my horse clear, which at last, with
great toil, I did.
Still, we were in a sorry plight. My horse had so laboured in the
slough that by the time I had got him free he was strained and weary
past all going. Moreover, the clouds had gathered above us in great
masses, so that not only was the darkness almost impenetrable, but I
had great fear of a heavy downpour of rain.
I know not what would have befallen us had it not been that I was
aware of a little inn not far distant, which was used by travellers
passing from Rochester towards Maidstone and Tunbridge.
That I could reach it with my horse I did not doubt, but was fearful
for Mrs. Waldyve. When, however, I told her how things stood with us
I found her so resolved and courageous that I determined to set out
forthwith, and in a shorter time than I had hoped we saw the lights
of the inn in front of us.
No sooner had we reached shelter than the rain came down in torrents.
During the happy dream in which I had ridden, and afterwards in the
labour with my horse, I had hardly realised what we were doing. I
was reckless, not caring what came so long as I was with her on our
journey, away from my old mournful life, as it now seemed to me.
It was clear we must pass the night in the inn. To go on was not to
be thought of. I know not what Mrs. Waldyve thought, but to me it
seemed quite natural and easy, though, I confess, it was with no
little comfort that I found there were no travellers there besides
ourselves.
Perhaps it is well I cannot write down each thing we said and all
that passed that night; yet I would do it if I could. It seems to me
now like a faint dream of some other man's life; and, try how I will,
I can remember little but the bustling hostess setting our supper to
a tune of chattering gossip, and after it was cleared leaving us with
a cheery 'Good-night to your gentilities.'
I know we sat side by side in the great chimney corner, my arm about
her, her hand in mine, talking low, with such soft speech as none but
a villain would suffer to pass between him and another man's wife. I
know the rain had ceased and the new-risen moon was shining
gloriously in between the mullions of the broad low lattice window,
almost darkening the dancing firelight, and making a large chequer
pattern on the rush-strewn floor.
How long we sat so I cannot tell, no more than how long we should
have sat had we not heard the plash of horses' feet in the mud
outside. The shadow of a cloaked horseman passed across the bright
chequer pattern on the floor, and then another.
We heard them stop, and then a voice that made our hearts stand still
hailed the house.
'Hola, house! Hola, within!' it cried.
'What would ye, gentles?' cried the voice of the hostess.
''Slight, to come in, woman. Open quickly,' said the traveller.
'Despatch, despatch, Jem,' cried the landlady. 'See you not it is a
gentleman and his gentleman servant? In good time, your worship. My
goodman is in bed. Be patient till he make shift, that we be not
shamed, and he shall let you in. Will Ostler, Will Ostler, wake up,
you loon, and take the horses! Was ever such luck? Mass! but I knew
we should have travellers ever since last Tuesday, when I could not
sleep for dreaming of green rushes, and that's for strangers.'
I could not speak, or stir, or think, but only stand by the hearth
and stupidly mark what the shrill voice of the hostess said. Yet I
had strength to resolve, come what might, I would not draw my blade.
It seemed an age of silence, broken only by muttered words for a
moment without, and then the door burst open, and Harry, covered with
mud, strode in with his rapier drawn in his hand and his cloak about
his left arm. Culverin followed at his heels, and, slamming the door
after him, stood solidly in front of it, while Harry advanced towards
us.
There seemed no anger in his face, but rather sorrow and set purpose,
as he came quickly forward. I stood where I was, hoping in a moment
to feel his point and have an end to all; but Mrs. Waldyve made a
sudden movement, half of horror, half as though to protect me.
Harry stopped in a moment with lowered point, and looked at her with
a face in which was such a constant love and unspeakable pain as
tears my heart to this hour to think on. Then, setting hard his
teeth, he lifted his rapier on high and flung it with all his might
crashing through the window into the yard outside.
I heard the clang of the broken glass. I heard the Sergeant's great
broadsword come screaming from its sheath. I saw Harry stand
trembling with set face, trying in vain to speak with steady voice;
and the Sergeant, rigid as a column, at the door with his drawn
sword, his naked dagger, and his bristling moustache.
A choking sound came at last from Harry's lips, in which there seemed
no trace of his own clear, ringing voice.
'For God's sake, Jasper, bring her back. You know not what you do.
You love her not as I do.'
That was all. I think he would have said more, but could not. For a
moment he seemed to struggle for words, and then turned and was gone.
The Sergeant sheathed his sword with an angry clang, turned on his
heel rudely, without a word or salute, and we were alone again in the
moonlight.
Then there burst upon me in dazzling light, that seemed to scorch my
very soul, the horror of my sin. I saw in a moment how blind I had
been. A mad rage at Heaven and all that had made my life seized me.
Was it for this I had striven, and denied myself, and lived the life
of a monk, when others were dancing, and dicing, and drinking in full
content? Was this, after all my toil and wasted youth, the place
where my religion had brought me?
So, in wild reaction, my long-pent thoughts, their bonds burst in
sunder, ran riot through my brain, till I heard a horseman dash away
through the mud. In hate of Heaven, in hate of myself, I went forth,
not knowing what I did.
The cool night air and the pure, soft moonlight seemed to soothe my
fever as I stepped into the yard. There lay Harry's rapier, where it
had fallen, the hilt buried in the mire, the blade glittering like
hope in the silver light.
I know not how the fancy seized me, unless, unknown to myself, I was
infected with a foretaste of that sweet sense which since has flowed
in such full and tuneful flood from the honeyed lips of Mr. Spenser.
Yet I know, as that rapier lay there so keen and shining, I saw in it
a mirror of perfect courage and gentleness, wherein I could look for
every rule of life. I saw in it, as it were, the embodied
presentment of that noble spirit I had so foully wronged, and I
clutched at it in forlorn hope to save me amidst the dark waste of
waters that had flowed over every landmark I had known before, and
every path I had painfully learned to tread.
Yes, many may think it folly, yet to me it was the devoutest act of
my life. I drew my own stained blade, and, setting my foot upon it,
snapped it across, and then flung it into the mire as the weapon of a
felon knight.
So I kneeled down, and picking up Harry's rapier, like a holy thing,
I put it to my lips. For I had an oath to swear, and I swore it
aloud on that unsullied blade, that, come what might, in joy and
sorrow, by land and sea, in life and death, I would never, by the
help of Harry's memory, do an act that would disgrace the weapon
which he had hallowed by true faith, and love, and courtesy, and
every knightly virtue.
I kissed the blade again, and, rising up, I put it in my own
scabbard. It fitted easily, as though it shunned not its new
resting-place. As I looked up I was suddenly aware of Sergeant
Culverin standing by my side. His posture was as different as could
be from that in which I had last seen him. Soldierly he was as ever,
yet the childlike look was on his face behind the fierce moustache,
and he was saluting me.
'Has your worship any use for me ere I go?' he said, very
respectfully, and drawn up stiffly to his full height.
I could have easily embraced the grim soldier for that salute and
those words. In the depth of my degradation, when I so loathed
myself that I felt I should never dare to look an honest man in the
face again, I found this steadfast soul did not wholly despise me.
It seemed to me he was a sign sent, I cannot say from God, for God
was no more to me now, but sent by some mysterious power of good that
by hazard I had conjured, to bid me hope my vow would be fulfilled.
'Is your horse strong enough to go back to Ashtead?' said I.
'Yes, your worship,' he answered; 'and as far again in a good cause.'
'Then set the pillion saddle on him,' said I. The Sergeant's
childlike look grew very apparent and smiling as I spoke. I thought
at first he was about to seize my hand, but he restrained himself and
only rigidly saluted as he went to do my bidding. So, hopefully and
with hardened heart, I went back to the guest chamber of the inn.
She had left the place where I had seen her last, and was sitting in
the window, as though she had gone there to look after Harry or me, I
knew not which. How beautiful she shone in the moonlight! I can
think of it quietly now. The silver flood fell full upon her, and
illumined her lovely face and form with so heavenly a radiance in the
dark chamber that she seemed to me like some poor angel, weary of
worship, who had strayed from heaven. It was as though the eye of
some great spirit far away was turned upon her to draw her back to
the realms she had left; as though she saw the golden gate whence she
came, and, weighed down by the thick and cloying vapours of earth,
knew not how to take wing back to the life she had loved and lost.
'Will you go back to-night,' said I, 'or wait for the morning?'
She started then from her reverie, and turned on me her sweet brown
eyes, so wistfully and full of reproach as almost to undo me.
'Must we go back, Jasper?' she said at last, so submissively and in
such beseeching tones that my head swam and my breath came thick.
Many a struggle I have had in my changeful life, but never one like
that. It was only my new guardian that won the strife for me. I
clapped my hand to Harry's rapier, and, pressing it mighty hard,
found strength to say firmly, 'Yes!'
I think she saw what I did, for she stood up with that stony calm
which to me is far more terrible than the wildest passion. Once she
pressed her little white hands to her eyes, and then drew them slowly
away, while I stood watching and waiting for my answer.
'We will go now, Jasper,' she said at last. 'You are right; we must
go; but I can never have been to you what you have been to me.'
Her words cut me like the hangman's lash on the back of prisoner
unjustly condemned. It was more than I could bear to see her. It
was past my strength after these scourging words to choose the path
that was so hard and bitter before the one that was so easy and
sweet. I felt driven towards her. I sprang forwards to take her
tender form in my arms, and cover her reproachful face with
passionate kisses; to show her what she had done; to show her what
she was to me--more than honour, more than duty, more than all the
world; to show her that I loved her.
I was at her side with arms wide open to enfold her; in one last
strife with myself I paused, and like a thunderclap to my strained
wits the Sergeant's knock rattled out on the door, and I was saved.
Clutching the rapier by my side once more, I turned to see the
soldier's tall form appear in the doorway.
'Your bidding is done, sir,' said he.
'Then help Mrs. Waldyve to the saddle,' said I; 'we will walk by her
side.'
With hanging head, and never a glance to me, she went with tottering
steps to the Sergeant, who lifted her with loving gentleness into the
saddle. Then we set forward through the moonlight. Not a word was
spoken as we toiled along; not a sound broke the stillness of the
night, save the suck of our boots and the horse's feet in the mire.
So in silence, each communing with his own thoughts, we came in the
first gray glimmer of the dawn to Ashtead, and in silence parted.