THE TRYST.
"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea.
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me."
Gray.
From the flagstaff on the tower of the castle was to be seen for a
little while at midday a pennant, with long streamers fluttering in the
breeze. There was no one on the tower at the time but Alice. What is the
significance of this? Nothing, apparently, but a freak of fancy. But any
one sufficiently observant would notice that Alice takes her stand on
the north side of the tower, and, leaning her elbows on the battlements,
looks long and eagerly towards yonder grim mountain looming blackly in
the hazy distance, whose scarred limestone precipices seem fearful to
look upon. But presently there became visible to any one possessed of
strong, keen vision, a dark speck of something which had sprung into
sight against the clear background of heaven's blue. It seemed perfectly
motionless in the air, and might be some bird of prey hovering on poised
wing, and watching for its prey. But it was no bird of prey. Alice gave
an exclamation of surprise.
"He sees it," she said; "he will be here to-night. Speed away laggard
hours that separate me from him! There is music in his voice, and refuge
in his strong arms and loving heart!"
She piously uttered a prayer to the saints to guide him. But perhaps,
wise one, that prayer was breathed into the idle April breeze--a
contribution of nothingness--an impalpable seedling, flung out of a
needy human soul, but deposited nowhere, and having fruition never--I
trow not, for prayers, like curses, have an assured harvest, and are as
surely reaped by the sowers, no inspired vision being requisite to see
it done from day to day.
The laggard hours quickly passed, and the lingering twilight deepened
into sombre night. The thrushes which carolled to each other from tree
to tree as the deepening gloom gathered about them, as though loth to
say good-bye to the joyous day, had long since sought their
resting-place for the night. Standing beside the old oak in the wood
might be seen the form of Oswald, listening intently for sound of human
voice or human footfall. Nothing disturbs the silent night air that
gives uneasy thoughts to the listener, though there are many sounds
distinctly audible to one so familiar with nature, and the woods are
most alive now that man has gone to his rest. There is the hurried
pattering here and there and everywhere, of game and vermin, or the
unhurried crawl of the urchin as he issues from his bed in quest of
food. Overhead the bats are flitting in and out amongst the branches of
the trees, followed by the heavy beat of the owlet's wing, whose eyes,
catlike, are gleaming like live coals in the darkness. In the distance
the sharp yelp of the fox proclaims Reynard also to be abroad and busy.
None of these sounds give uneasiness to Oswald. On the contrary, they
are to him most reassuring. He turns his gaze towards the tower, the
outlines of which are clearly marked against the starlit sky. Soon he
sees a dark figure move towards the battlements, and peer over on the
side on which he stands. Perhaps some sentinel keeps watch from the
lonely heights whilst his comrades below are resting in peace. No; that
is no sentinel, for the figure waves something to and fro for a moment
or two, then slowly sinks behind the battlements. On witnessing the
signal, Oswald quickly mounts the tree, and disappears in its cavernous
recesses. The journey along the underground passage is quickly
traversed, and he emerges on the battlements, and the muffled figure is
folded in his arms, and a loving kiss is implanted on her cheek.
"What ails you, Alice, dear? No ill news, I trust?"
"Alas! I have only ill news for you, dearest, and I know you are hard
beset without my adding other troubles to your perplexities."
"Hush, darling! Never think _your_ needs add to my perplexities. I never
feel so like surmounting everything as when I think I live for you; to
champion your cause against all comers, and flaunt defiance in the face
of your enemies."
"I fear the championing of my cause will bring you into deadly peril,
perhaps to death."
"If it does, dearest, you gave me my life when an ignominious death
awaited me. If I die in defence of you, well, I am willing, aye, more
than willing. But let us not cherish thoughts like these, for I think a
merciful Providence will always reserve a blessing for one like you; so
let us have faith, and never doubt the future. I am full of faith and
hope. Come, tell me what new trouble distracts and disturbs your mind."
Then they sat together on an abutment, and Alice, nestling close to her
virtuous knight, told of the new complications which had arisen.
"My father has been very wroth to-day, chiding me roughly because I make
not preparations for my nuptials, and threatening my marriage to Vigneau
by force."
"He is still determined, then, to press on this hateful and heathenish
alliance?"
"Yes; but judge him not too harshly, dearest. I am well assured he loves
me dearly, in spite of this seeming harshness. I have seen again and
again a frown on his brow, and heard bitter words break from his lips at
the intrusion of Vigneau. I am satisfied that if it were not for the
hateful power he wields over my father, I should not be forced into this
alliance. But Vigneau claims my hand as the price of peace."
"You still hate this man, and abhor a union with him, Alice, dear? Is it
not so?"
"I loathe him with my whole heart, and would rather die a hundred deaths
than marry him. But what it may be my duty to do, for my father's sake,
I know not."
"And will it come to this, that, as the price of peace, you are to be
offered to this devil incarnate--to one whose hands are red with the
blood of murdered men and women, and whose life is one coarse round of
brutal indulgence?"
"The prospect is most sickening. But what can I do in an extremity like
this?"
"Rest assured, my love, you will not do that," said Oswald, drawing his
sword. "Here is a trusty friend which will cut this Gordian knot, if it
be not unloosed by more peaceable means. This Vigneau owes his
villainous life a hundred times told, for the foul crimes he has
committed, and is committing from day to day, upon my helpless
countrymen. The sword has been hanging over him a long time, and it will
fall before he claims you as his bride. Though he live to stand at the
altar with you, he shall not compass his vile ends, for I will confront
him there; and rest assured I will make sure of _him_ if it be the last
stroke my trusty sword shall ever make. Drive the matter to the utmost
verge of delay, and if relief come not in the meantime, it will come ere
the extremity. But come now, let us think of other things, for this
matter, I see, sits like a grievous nightmare upon your spirits. I am
pleased to be able to report upon the forward state of the fortress on
the hill."
"But, alas! I have ill news for you with regard to that matter. It was
partly on that account I summoned you from the hills to-night."
"What is it, dearest? Come, unburthen your mind of all troublesome
matters. I can assure you, nevertheless, that we are now very
indifferent as to what steps may be taken."
"But I am afraid this will be serious. The king is now at York with a
large contingent of his men-at-arms, and a number of mercenaries, intent
on quelling any attempts at insurrection on the part of the Saxons. One
of his Bodes[2] arrived here this morning, asking for all information
with regard to the attitude of your people. My father is having a
parchment writing made out, with full particulars of your doings, and
asking for help to reduce your fortress, and slay your rebellious
followers. I fear me if William exerts himself he will not desist, until
he has captured your stronghold; and he will give no quarter to those
who try to thwart him."
[Footnote 2: Messengers.]
"This is, indeed, serious news, and we must move heaven and earth to
prevent this despatch reaching its destination. Do you know when the
messenger will depart?"
"The day after to-morrow, I heard my father say. See, I have here a copy
of the despatch. I drew it up at father's dictation."
"Many thanks, my dear. We must devise some expedient to meet this
emergency. I think I know a sly rogue who will, either by hook or crook,
circumvent the king's messenger. But no time must be lost. Give me a
parting kiss. Ah! get you to bed, you trembling puss, and may sweet
sleep enfold you in his gentle arms! Adieu, adieu, for a little while."