LOVERS PLOTTING.
"Good-night, good-night; parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good-night, till it be morrow."
Shakespeare.
The day appointed for Alice's ill-starred nuptials draws near with
ill-omened celerity. Anxious consultations and meetings at the
trysting-place with her Saxon lover become most frequent as the fatal
day approaches. To-night, as she climbs the rough stone stairs which
lead to the tower, her heart seems to grow lighter in the toilsome
ascent. When she reaches the top night has already asserted its sway
over the face of nature, and deep silence broods solemnly everywhere
around. On the turret she paces to and fro in deep meditation, whilst
occasionally she steps upon the stone platform and peers anxiously
towards the adjacent wood, and waves her handkerchief. But the night is
dark, and she knows not whether any one is there to heed her signal.
Then she steps down and listens at the head of the stair for the sound
of the welcome footsteps. Though this most serious and portentous crisis
in her life is approaching, and dark-browed Fate seems from day to day
to frown more darkly upon her path, and though she recognises most
vividly the perilousness of the enterprise which Oswald is entering upon
for her deliverance, yet to-night none but pleasant thoughts dance
through her mind, and ever and anon also pleasant smiles persist in
wreathing her countenance in sweet hopefulness, for she conjures up some
pleasing dream of a possible escape from the dreaded union designed for
her. But the wonderful secret of this hopeful spirit is this: her
champion, the Saxon chieftain, will be here to-night. Here it must be
confessed was the chief inspiration of those pleasant thoughts and
pleasant smiles. When he was nigh fear and doubt and dismay never
oppressed her. But alas! this buoyancy of hopefulness was just as surely
followed by cruel depression of spirit, and a dread sense of loneliness
and helplessness, when he was far away--when the hated presence of
Vigneau was obtruded upon her especially. Worst of all, as the appointed
time of marriage drew near, he presumed more and more to thrust himself
upon her; and she must needs hide, as best she could, the feelings of
abhorrence and deep loathing with which she regarded him. She had come
to see the futility of resistance, and of manifesting dislike to him;
for she had no hope that he would abate one jot of his determination to
force the fulfilment of this marriage contract.
Presently, as she listens, a feeble grating sound strikes her ear, and
she strains anxiously to hear further. Soon a distinct sound of movement
in the winding stair is heard. She rushes to the spot where the steps
reach the platform of the tower, and anxiously peers into the dark
beneath. One moment more and Oswald clasps her to his heart.
"Ah, you lonely watcher," said he, tremulous with emotion. "How long
have you been waiting here alone? are you not afraid to watch here in
the darkness?"
"I am not afraid to-night, dearest. I am only a woman, you know, with a
woman's weakness; but I have always fortitude enough to dare anything
for you. Why should I be afraid of darkness, which is only God's
coverlet, drawn with infinite gentleness over tired and sleeping
nature?"
"Ah! there is a good angel watching over you, Alice dear, whether 'tis
dark or light, and whether I am near or far. So be of good courage."
"I have faith in God, and I have faith in my Saxon lover; but alas! my
heart fails me often as the fateful day draws nigh. Sometimes I am
almost paralysed with fear, lest some cruel fate should, after all, doom
me to a hated meeting of Vigneau at the altar; but I have a little
friend which I keep sharp and bright, and there is a step beyond which I
go no farther with him."
"Hush, dearest! such thoughts are cruel; that dreadful alternative you
will never resort to. Vigneau, in his gross attempt to force your hand,
in the face of earth and heaven, will rush upon a fate he recks not of,
but which he richly merits. No more of this, dearest; this hour we will
dedicate to more welcome topics. So a truce to all unpleasant thoughts.
How does the question of questions wear apace? Have you become more
reconciled to my project?"
"Dearest, do not think me foolish; but since you intimated your
intention of appearing in the lists, I have been engaged in a little
enterprise of my own. I have still my forebodings that you will be
discovered if you venture to enter the lists of the tournament, without
some more effectual disguise than you seem to possess. So, excuse me, I
have been taxing my poor woman's wit in the matter. Would it be wrong to
practise a little ruse upon my father, think you? I have a cousin, who,
some years ago, joined the ranks of the king of Spain, and has gone to
war with him against the Moors in the south. He is much commended by the
king of Spain for his valour. If we could dare to convey to my father a
message that this knight would be present at the festival, and take part
in the joust and feat of arms, you yourself might then assume this
disguise. You would, I think, pass easily for this valiant southern
knight, providing you could arrive opportunely, so as to preclude as
much as possible previous intercourse. Your followers also might be
prepared to enact their part. It would disarm suspicion effectively, I
think."
"Ah! to be sure, set love a-plotting and the thing is done at once."
"Nonsense! you jest with me. Now listen! I have already set about
embroidering you handsome trappings for your horse, with quaint,
southern devices, which I learnt under the tuition of the good sisters
of the convent. Now, don't laugh, you think it a mad whim, I can see."
"Nay, nay! my Lady Suspicion," said Oswald, stooping and kissing her,
and giving her a tighter squeeze. "I almost begin to fear you as I think
of the dark plots you are capable of weaving. I never for a moment
dreamed I had found such a subtle schemer. Now, go on; you have got your
finger on the weak point in the plot. I certainly feared the ordeal of
exposure on the field myself; and you have been taxing your 'poor
woman's wit,' and have anticipated my one difficulty. Now for the rest,
dearest."
"Come down with me to my room. All is perfectly quiet."
So together they descended the winding stair, and sought Alice's room.
Here she and Jeannette had been deftly plying their fingers in
embroidering most quaint devices upon the trappings of the horses of the
knight and his esquire, and a couple of men-at-arms. Oswald's were most
gorgeously embroidered with silk and gold, upon the finest Bayeaux
cloth, by the fingers of Alice alone. Most beautiful and chaste was the
workmanship, for she had lavished not only her skill, but her love in
the equipment of her champion. The figures were so quaint, the design so
original, and the whole so rich in quality, that no prince could hope to
ride with more tasteful and imposing housings for his steed. Jeannette
also had done her best, it can easily be imagined, to equip her valiant
squire like his master.
Oswald took the garments in his hands.
"Well, dearest," said he, "no one will expect a boorish Saxon outlaw to
appear like a Norman prince, that is certain; and I dare warrant no
curious eyes will penetrate a disguise so complete as you are preparing.
Love is not blind in this case, Alice dear, I avouch it; but it has the
gift of prevision also. There remains but one condition to give point
and consummation to this, and it is that your valiant cousin shall prove
himself worthy of such a lady love. But, darling, can you answer this
question,--if Vigneau should be overthrown ignominiously, will the
spoils of war, the fair queen of this high festival, be the lawful prize
of the victor? Now, beware! if you escape the toils of Vigneau, there is
another ominous figure hovering near, who is ready to pounce down upon
you and carry you off."
"So, I suppose, like an unhappy maiden, I may sing--
"'Then woe is me! a bride I'll be,
Whether I will or no;
For 'tis a law of chivalry--
Victors will have it so.'
"Well, if only the 'fair queen' may have the option of choice, I think
in that case the Norman cousin will have it. But do not cherish any vain
hopes; I am sure that Vigneau will gulp down his humiliation, if he
cannot avenge it; and there is no hope of his relinquishing any claims
to myself, though I believe malignant hatred is the only feeling he
cherishes towards me."
"It were an easy matter to sweep him out of the way; that would be an
easy task; but here comes in a tax upon my conscience, for in spite of
the fact that he richly merits it, to compass his overthrow in cold
blood is abhorrent to my feelings. If I should worst him in the
encounter, he will probably claim satisfaction, and if he does not, but
persists in his determination to claim you as his bride, then, in
accordance with the laws of chivalry, I also will claim your hand, and
challenge him to mortal combat. So, honour and my conscience will be
appeased. May Heaven nerve the arm that battles for the right!"
"I am afraid the complications will not end even if Heaven rid us of the
Baron, for his brother at the Abbey is fully conversant with my father's
ill-starred confidence."
"Well, enough, dearest; one step at once. Are there many knights
expected in this tourney?"
"I scarcely think there will be many. My father is very half-hearted in
the matter, and you may be sure he has no encouragement from myself. The
fewer who are witness of my humiliation the better."
"Well, I am sure that so far as Vigneau is concerned, the feebler the
opponents the better he will like it; I daresay, though, he counts upon
an easy conquest in any case. Well, now, dearest, don't be discouraged;
I must be away, but I shall look daily for the signal. May happier days
soon dawn for you, and for this unhappy country. _Au revoir_, darling."
So saying, with a parting kiss Oswald sped him for the home on the
hills.