went to her side, and said some of those sweet, foolish words which
alas! too often become a forgotten tongue. Matilda answered them in the
same tender, broken patois--"Dear heart! Sweetheart! Darling Jane! Go
to the little drawer in my toilet table and bring me a picture you will
find there. It is in an ivory box, Jane, and here is the key." And
Jane went and found the miniature she had once got a glimpse of, and she
laid it in Matilda's hand. And the girl kissed it and said, "Look here,
Jane, and tell me _who_ it is."
Then Jane looked earnestly at the handsome, melancholy, haughty face; at
the black hair cut straight across the brows and flowing in curls over
the laced collar and steel corselet, and she lifted her eyes to
Matilda's but she did not like to speak. Matilda smiled rapturously and
said,
"It is not impossible, Jane, though I see you think so. He loves me. He
has vowed to marry me, or to marry no one else."
"And you?"
"Could I help loving him? I was just sixteen when we first met. I gave
my heart to him. I adored him. He was worthy of it. I adore him yet.
He is still more worthy of it."
"But--but--he cannot marry you. He will not be allowed. Half-a-dozen
kings and queens would rise up to prevent it--for I am sure I know the
face."
"Who is it, Jane? Whisper the words to me. Who is it, dear heart?"
And Jane stooped to the face on the pillow and whispered,
"_Prince Rupert_."
And as the name fell on her ear, Matilda's face grew heavenly sweet and
tender, she smiled and sighed, and softly echoed Jane's last word--
"_Rupert_."
*CHAPTER VII*
*TWO LOVE AFFAIRS*
"Justice, the Queen of Virtues!
All other virtues dwell but in the blood,
That in the soul; and gives the name of good."
* * * * *
"The wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to attempt them. Fear and Folly
Shiver and shrink at sight of wrong and hazard,
And make the impossibility they fear."
Matilda's confession brought on a conversation which lasted many hours.
The seal of silence having been broken, the sick and sorrowful girl
eagerly took the consolation her confidence procured her. She related
with an impulsive frankness--often with bitter, though healing
tears--the story of her love for the gallant Royalist leader. "He came
first when I was yet a girl at my lessons," she said, "but my governess
had told me such wonderful things of him, that he was like a god to me.
You must know, Jane, that he is exceedingly tall and warlike, his black
hair is cut straight across his brows, and flows in curls upon his
shining armour. And he is always splendidly dressed."
"Indeed, all have heard of his rich clothing; even the laced cravats are
called after him."
"See how people talk for nothing. Rupert's laced cravat was a
necessity, not a vanity. He told me himself, that being out very early
drilling his men, he took a sore throat, and having no other covering,
he drew his laced kerchief from his pocket and tied it round his neck.
And his officers, seeing how well it became him, must needs also get
themselves laced neckerchiefs, and then civilians, as is their way,
followed the custom. But who could look as Rupert looked? the most
beautiful, the most soldierlike man in England."
"I might question that opinion, Matilda. I might say there is your
brother Stephen--or----"
"Or Lord Cluny Neville, or many others; but let the question go, Jane.
I had given my heart to Prince Rupert before I knew what love was; but
one day--it was my sixteenth birthday--we were walking in de Wick Park,
and the Hawthorns were in flower--I can smell them now, it was the very
scent of Paradise; and he said such words as seemed to float upon their
sweetness, and they filled my heart till I could have cried for pure
happiness. The green turf was white with flowers, and the birds sang
above us, and if heaven can come to earth, we were in heaven that dear
spring morning. And as truly as I loved him, so he loved me; and that
is something to make all my life beautiful. I have been loved! I have
been loved! even if I see him no more, I have been loved! and by the
noblest prince that ever drew a righteous sword. This is the one joy
left me."
[Illustration: "THE HAWTHORNS WERE IN FLOWER."]
"But, Matilda, it was a secret joy, and it could not be right. What
would your father and mother have said?"
"You think wrong too readily, Jane. When Rupert had told me how dear I
was to him, he went to my parents. He said to them, as he held my hand,
'Earl and Countess de Wick, with your permission, this is my
Princess;'--and they were glad and proud, for they loved Rupert, and my
brothers, who were in his troop, adored him. As for me, when Rupert
said 'Matilda,' I was in an ecstasy; and if he took my hand I trembled
with delight. I was so happy! So happy! For those heavenly hours I
will thank God all my life long."
"But I see not how, even with your father's and mother's consent, you
could hope to marry Prince Rupert. Kings and queens would be against
it."
"Indeed, it was a most likely consummation. The Prince came to de Wick
to arrange loans for the King. You must have heard that at the beginning
of the war my father had great wealth which he had made by joining in
Sir Thomas Jevery's East and West Indian ventures. He was glad to let
King Charles have money, and a great deal of gold was sent, from time to
time, as the King needed it. And when the war was over, my father was to
have all his loans back, and also be raised to the rank of a Duke. And
in those days we never doubted that the King would win; not till Dunbar,
not till after cruel Worcester, did we lose hope. And surely you can
see that an English Duke's daughter, with a large fortune in money,
would be a suitable match for one of the Palatine Princes. Rupert is
poor, Jane, his sword is his only fortune. And moreover, Rupert's
mother and brothers have been in terror lest he marry a papist. But as
for me--you know that I would die, yes, I would burn for my Bible and
Book of Common Prayer. More than this, the King was pleased at our
engagement, and sent me a jewel in token of it. Alas, it has been an
unlucky jewel! I have had only sorrow since it came to me."
"I would get quit of it."
"It is too beautiful. And when the poor King is dead! Oh, dear me! I
could not bear to part with it. Do you wonder now that the news of
Dunbar made me so cross and sad, and that I was distraught--past
myself--after Worcester? All was lost that fatal night."
"I do not wonder, but----"
"Say you are sorry, plain out, Jane. I am past disguise with you, now,
and must ask your pity. Think of my father and mother dead of grief,
and of my three brothers,--two slain in battle, one wandering, I know
not where. Remember that with my father's death, died all hope of the
loaned money and the dukedom to the family, and all my own hopes
regarding my lover. For without money and rank, I would be no bride for
Prince Rupert; a milkmaid were as fit. And when father had been three
days in his grave, and I lay at point of death, Anthony Lynn came with
his Parliamentary title to our house and lands. I was at his mercy, at
his charity, Jane."
"Well, and if so, many favours he and his have received from your
family. All he is worth he owes to your father."
"He was kind and respectful; I am very sensible of that. It is a
strange thing to count past benefits, Jane; 'tis like remembering eaten
bread. If Anthony thought of my father's help, 'tis more than can be
believed. But for my jewels, I am a very pauper--a dependent on Sir
Thomas Jevery."
"He was your father's friend and partner in business--he is the husband
of your aunt."
"'Tis confest; but for all that, I am here by his charity."
"Your aunt?"
"My aunt lives in the atmosphere of Sir Thomas' whims and wishes. What
she will think, what she will do, depends upon what he thinks and what
he does."
"'Tis commonly said that he is devoted to her."
"He loves her after the ordinary rate of husbands, I'll warrant." Then,
speaking with her old peremptoriness, she said suddenly, "But for God's
sake let me ask when you heard anything of Prince Rupert? Oh, Jane, I
am sick with heart-hunger for some small intelligence of his doings or
his whereabouts."
"He has filled the news-letters and papers lately."
"But I am not suffered to see them. 'Tis pretended they will make me
ill; and Sir Thomas vowed when the doctor gave the order, that he was
glad on it, and that he had long wanted an excuse to keep the pernicious
sheets outside of his house. So, then, I hear nothing, and if I did
hear, twenty to one I would be the better of it."
"I think you would, Matilda. What is harder to bear than trouble that
is not sure? Still, to be the messenger of ill news is an ungrateful
office."
"Any news will be grateful; be so much my friend, dear Jane, as to tell
me all you have heard."
"You know that he was made Admiral of the Royalist Navy; but, indeed, he
is said to be nothing else but a pirate, robbing all ships that he may
support the Stuart family at The Hague. No sail could leave British
waters without being attacked by him, until Blake drove him to the
African coast and the West Indies."
"He is the bread-finder of the King as well as his defender. So much I
knew, and 'tis well done in him."
"The latest news is the drowning of Prince Maurice."
"That is the worst of news. Rupert loved this brother of his so
tenderly. They were not happy apart. Poor Rupert! His last letter
said, 'he was kept waking with constant troubles'; this will be a
crowning misfortune. Sir Hugh Belward told me that his disasters have
followed one on the heels of the other; that he had no port, and that
poverty, despair and revenge alone guided his course."
"Sir Hugh Belward! Was he not the companion of your brother
Stephen--_that night_?"
"Yes. He is now at The Hague with the King, and he has been over on
secret affairs. I saw him at de Wick the day before I left. He was so
shocked at my appearance that he burst out weeping, and knelt down and
kissed my hands. Aunt begged him to leave my presence, for indeed I was
like to faint away."
"Then you must have heard all about the doings of Prince Rupert?"
"I had not heard of the drowning of Prince Maurice. That affliction will
bring Rupert to shore, and then what will the King do for money?"
"He is said now to be in great need of it, though Prince Rupert sent
home a rich prize this past summer; and 'tis further said he resigned
his own share of it to his cousin, Charles Stuart."
"'Twould be most like him."
"Some English sailors taken on a prize were put on one of the Royalist
ships, and they overpowered her officers, and brought the ship to London
a few days ago. I like not to tell you what they said of Prince Rupert
to the Parliament."
"It will not vex me, Jane. Evil is said of people so universally that
no one is hurt by it."
"They declared, then, that the delight of Prince Rupert and his crews
was in swearing and plundering, and in sinking all English ships they
could lay their talons on; but also, they added to this account, that
there was a chaplain on the Admiral's ship, and that they rode still on
Sundays, and did the duties of the day in the best manner they
could--the same at evening. Many believed not this report, and many
made a mock at, what they conclude, is a travesty of true worship."
"Indeed, Jane, the Puritans have not all the religion in the world,
though they think so. However, if Prince Maurice be dead, I am sure
that Rupert will not keep the high seas wanting him. Thank you for this
intelligence, Jane. 'Twill be some comfort to hear that Rupert is on
dry land again."
This conversation had many asides and deviations, and the night was far
spent when Matilda was willing to sleep. And in the morning, while they
eat breakfast together, the subject was renewed; for sorrow is selfish,
and Matilda forgot that she had never even asked after the welfare of
Jane's family. As they talked, Lady Jevery joined them. She bid Delia
bring her some capon and white wine, and then thanked Jane for her
visit, adding--
"I have brought you the key to my private entrance. It will admit you to
Matilda's apartments when you wish, without the delays of a formal
reception; and 'twill be the greatest token of kindness if you come
often."
She spoke gently, and was soft and moth-like in all her movements, but
her affection for her niece was unmistakable. While she talked, Jane's
eyes wandered over the richly furnished room, noting its draperies of
rose velvet, beautifully painted, its carved bedstead and quilted satin
coverlet, its dressing-table with little gilded Venetian ewers for
perfumes, and India boxes for powders--and also the fine breakfast
service of French china before her. Lady Jevery's "charity" to her niece
was certainly magnificent, and Jane felt no anxiety concerning her
friend's material comforts.
She returned to her home soon after breakfast, and her mother met her
with a smiling face. "I was going to send the coach for you," she said,
"for there is to be company to-night;" and then she looked at Jane so
intelligently that the girl understood at once what was meant.
"Is it Cluny?" she asked, blushing brightly.
"Yes. He has asked for an interview with your father, and I suppose
that it is granted, for I was told of the matter."
"Mother, dear, you will speak in our favour?"
"If needs be, Jane. But I am of this opinion--some one has spoken
already."
"Do you mean the Lord General?"
"I wouldn't wonder if he has said the two or three words that would move
your father more than any woman's talk or tears. Keep your bravery,
Jane; father likes women that stand up for themselves. When we were
first married, I tried crying for my way, and I never got it. It is a
deal better with men like your father and brothers to stand up for your
rights. They know what that means, but they think a crying woman is
trying to get the better of them."
Jane understood this advice, and she was not a girl inclined to cry for
her way or her wish, yet she was glad to be thus early warned of the
stand she might have to take. After all, it was one so loving and
simple, so well defined in her own mind, and so positively accepted,
that there was little need for preparation.
"I have made a resolve to marry Cluny, if Cluny be of the same mind,"
she said to herself, "and I have made a resolve to marry no one else,
whether Cluny be of the same mind or not. I will let no one impose a
husband on me. This thing I will stand boldly for; it has the witness of
my heart, and love is too great to need lying or deceit."
It was evening when Cluny came, and he was taken at once to the room in
which General Swaffham was smoking his good-night pipe. He looked
steadily at the young man as he entered, but the look was one of inquiry
and observation rather than of displeasure.
"Good-evening, sir," he answered to Cluny's greeting. "Sit down. You
have requested speech with me; talk straight out then."
"I am here, General, to ask for your daughter's hand. I love her."
"Come, come, Lord Neville! Do you expect to drive the wedge head
foremost? Ere you ask so great a gift, give me some good reasons for
expecting it."
"We love each other, sir."
"So! but you must forethink, and straightforward is the best course.
You cannot live on love--you two. No, sir!"
"I have my sword and the Lord General's favour. And my mother left me an
estate in Fifeshire. 'Tis no great matter, but it is between me and the
wolf's mouth."
"Very good for a young man; for a married man, very poor. If you were
wanting to know how in God's name you were to provide for your household
and pay your debts, would it do to ask your sword, or to send to
Fifeshire--or to the stars--for the gold? That is a father's question,
sir."
"It is a lover's also. I have enough for our necessities, and somewhat
for our comfort,--and we are both willing to take love as security for
our contentment." And though the words were such ordinary ones, the
young man's heart throbbed in them, and the father felt it.
"Well, well," he answered, "yet I could wish you were altogether an
Englishman."
"My mother was of a noble Scotch family, the Cupars of Fife. I would
not willingly lose anything she gave me, sir."
"Lord Neville, I have seen the Scots in the late unhappy war, enough of
them, and more than enough--greedy creatures, never losing sight of the
spoil. I saw a good deal of the country also--beggary, nakedness,
hunger, ever-lasting spite, envy and quarreling. But in every land God
has His elect and reserve, and I doubt not that Lady Neville was among
them."
"She was the purest-hearted of women. A word against her goes to my
heart like a sword."
"Nay, nay, I meant no unkindness in particular; I spoke of generalities.
You are not a Scot, but I hear that you are a Presbyterian. If you
marry my daughter, I wish you to become an Independent."
"'Twould be an impossible thing, sir. I sucked Presbyterianism in my
mother's milk. Even in heaven, it would grieve her to know I had become
an apostate."
"An apostate! The veriest nonsense. There is not an ounce of
difference between a Presbyterian and an Independent--but the ounce is
the salt and the savour. You will become an Independent. The Lord
General is an Independent."
"He never asked me to become one."
"You never asked him for his daughter, his youngest child, his darling."
"Forgive me, sir; Mistress Swaffham has no objection to my faith."
"Because, if men have not every good quality, some woman invents all
they lack for them. Mistress Swaffham assures herself she can change
your creed."
"I hope that she judges me of better mould. I can no more change a
letter in my creed than a feature in my face."
"That is John Knoxism! It won't do, Lord Neville. If I was asking you
to become a Fifth Monarchy Man, or one of those unbaptised, buttonless
hypocrites, who call themselves Quakers, you might talk about the
letters of your creed. Pooh! Pooh!"
"Sir, not for any woman born, will a man, worth the name of a man, give
up his creed or his country. Mistress Swaffham would not ask this thing
of me. She takes me as I am. I love her with all my soul. To the end
of our life days, I will love and cherish her. Whether you credit me
thus far, or not, I can say no more. I am a suppliant for your grace,
and I know well that I have nothing worthy to offer in return for the
great favour I ask from you."
Dauntless, but not overbold, the fine, expressive face of the suppliant
was very persuasive. General Swaffham looked at him silently for a few
moments and then said, "I will not be unkind to either you or my
daughter; but there must be no leap in the dark, or in a hurry. Take
five years to learn how to live together fifty years. At the end of
five years, if you are both of a mind, I will do all I can for your
welfare."
"Your goodness is very great, sir; make it more so by bringing it nearer
to us. Five years is a long time out of life."
"That is what youth thinks. Five years' service for fifty years of
happiness. You gave your teachers far more time to prepare you for
life. Now go to school five years, for love. I waited six years for my
wife, Jacob waited fourteen for Rachel."
"Sir, we live not by centuries, as Jacob did--if it would please you to
say two years."
"I have said five, and verily it shall be five; unless these strange
times bring us some greater stress or hurry than is now evident. Cannot
you wait and serve for five years? If not, your love is but a summer
fruit, and Jane Swaffham is worthy of something better."
"Sir, I entreat. I am no coward, but I cannot bear to think of five
years."
"I have said my say. There is nothing to add or to take from it--save,
to remind you, Lord Neville, that there is more heroism in self-denial
than in battle."
Then Cluny perceived that entreaty would only weaken his cause, and he
advanced and offered his hand, saying, "I am much in your debt, sir.
'Tis more than I deserve, but Love must always beg more than his
desert." And General Swaffham stood up and held the slim brown hand a
moment. He was moved beyond his own knowledge, for his voice trembled
perceptibly as he answered--
"You have time and opportunity to win your way to my heart, then I will
give you a son's place. Go and ask Jane; she will tell you I have done
kindly and wisely." And Cluny bowed and went silently to seek his
betrothed.
There was a sense of disappointment in his heart. Perhaps also an
unavoidable feeling of offense. The Lord General had looked into his
face and trusted him; yea, about great affairs, public and private. He
had asked no five years' trial of his honour and honesty; and such
thought gave an air of dissatisfaction and haughtiness to the young man
that struck Jane unhappily as he entered the room in which she was
sitting.
"Your father says we are to wait five years, sweet Jane; and 'tis a hard
condition. I know not how I am to endure it."
And Jane smiled and began to talk over with her lover the hard
condition, and somehow it became an easy and reasonable one. They soon
saw it through Love and Hope and Wisdom, and so at the beginning of
their probation, they rejoiced in the end of it. Cluny was hopeful of
getting some military appointment in Edinburgh, and then the estate that
was "no great matter" would be a home, at no inconvenient distance. And
he described the old place with its ivy-covered walls and ancient rooms,
and its garden, dark with foliage, until Jane knew all its beauties and
possibilities. They were so happy and so full of happy plans, that they
were laughing cheerfully together when the General came in with his wife
and household for evening prayers. And it touched and pleased Cluny
that he was mentioned by name in the family petition, and so, as it
were, taken publicly and affectionately into it. He felt this all the
more when the servants, in leaving the room, included him in their
respectful obeisance to their master and mistress. It restored to him
the sense of home, and he carried that strength and joy with him to his
duty, and day by day grew to more perfect manhood in it.
Life soon settled itself to the new conditions of the Swaffhams. The
General, in spite of his wife's and daughter's disapproval, bought the
Sandys House near Russel Square, and some of the most precious heirlooms
of old Swaffham were brought up to London to adorn it, For it was now
certain that the Lord General would not agree to part with his faithful
friend and ally; and, indeed, Swaffham's influence in the army could not
well be spared, for it was evident enough that there was such ill-will
between the army and the Parliament as might easily become a very
dangerous national condition.
"So we may be here the rest of our lives, Jane, and we may as well get
our comforts round us," said Mrs. Swaffham, and there was a tone of fret
in her voice she did not try to hide. "William won't marry as a good
man should at his age," she continued, "and Tonbert thinks himself too
young to wive; and Cymlin is for Lady Matilda de Wick or no other woman,
and so the dear old place will run to waste and mischief. And there are
the fine milch cows--and the turkeys. Who will attend to them when I am
not there to see they get attention? Nobody."
"Will and Tonbert know how to manage, mother."
"Yes, if it comes to meadow and corn land, or horses, or dogs. I am
thinking of the house and the dairy and the poultry yard. Men don't
bother themselves about such things; and my boys won't marry, and my
girls won't let marrying alone. I am sure I don't know what to make of
it all."
In spite of her complaining, however, she was well content in London.
Social by nature, fond of the stir and news of life, enjoying even the
shadow of her old friends' power and splendour, and taking the greatest
interest in all public events of the time, she was pleased rather than
otherwise at the Lord General's determination to keep her husband near
him.
Neither was Jane at all averse to London. Cluny was in London, and
Matilda was there, and most of the girls whom she had known all her life
long. And it was not difficult to adapt herself to the new home, with
its long galleries and large rooms full of beautiful paintings and
handsome furniture. The little figure in its sober-tinted raiment took
on a prouder poise, richer clothing seemed necessary and fitting; and
insensibly, but continually, the fashion of the Swaffhams' life shook
off its rusticity and became after the manner of the great Puritan town
in which their lot had been cast.