"Well, _Milly_,--should we have been more kinder if we had let thee
alone to break thine heart, thinkest?"
"It runneth not to a certainty that mine should be broke, because others
were," mutters _Milly_ stubbornly.
"Thou countest, then, that he which had been false to a thousand maids
should be true to the one over?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, with a pitying
smile. "Well, such a thing may be possible,--once in a thousand times.
Hardly oftener, methinks, my child. But none is so blind as she that
will not see. I must leave the Lord to open thine eyes,--for I wis He
had to do it for me."
And Aunt _Joyce_ rose up and went away.
"I marvel who it were she called _Mary_," said I.
"Essay not to guess, dear heart," saith _Helen_ quickly. "'Tis plain
Aunt _Joyce_ would not have us know."
"Why, she told us, or as good," quoth _Milisent_, in that bitter fashion
she hath had to-day and yesterday. "Said she not, at the first, that
`it were well to get the tale o'er ere _Dulcie_ should come'? 'Tis my
Lady _Stafford_, of course."
"I am not so sure of that," saith _Helen_, in a low voice: and methought
she had guessed at some other, but would not say out [Note 1]. "I think
we were better to go down now."
So down went we all to the great chamber, and there found, with
_Mother_, Mistress _Lewthwaite_, that was, as was plain to see, in a
mighty taking [much agitated].
"Dear heart, Lady _Lettice_, but I never looked for this!" she crieth,
wiping of her eyes with her kerchief. "I wis we have been less stricter
than you in breeding up our maids: but to think that one of them should
bring this like of a misfortune on us! For _Blanche_ is gone to be
undone, of that am I sure. Truth to tell, yonder Sir _Francis Everett_
so took me with his fine ways and goodly looks and comely apparel and
well-chosen words,--ay, and my master too--that we never thought to
caution the maids against him. Now, it turns out that _Alice_ had some
glint of what were passing: but she never betrayed _Blanche_, thinking
it should not be to her honour; and me,--why, I ne'er so much as dreamed
of any ill in store."
"What name said you?" quoth _Mother_, that was trying to comfort her.
"_Everett_," saith she; "Sir _Francis Everett_, he said his name were,
of _Woodbridge_, in the county of _Suffolk_, where he hath a great
estate, and spendeth a thousand pound by the year. And a well-looked
man he was, not o'er young, belike, but rare goodly his hair fair and
his eyen shining grey,--somewhat like to yours, my Lady."
_Helen_ and I looked on each other, and I saw the same thought was in
both our minds. And looking then upon _Mother_, I reckoned it had come
to her likewise. At _Milisent_ I dared not look, though I saw _Helen_
glance at her.
"And now," continueth Mistress _Lewthwaite_, "here do I hear that at
_Grasmere_ Farm he gave out himself to be one Master _Tregarvon_, of
_Devon_; and up in _Borrowdale_, he hath been playing the gallant to two
or three maids by the name of Sir _Thomas Brooke_ of _Warwickshire_: and
the saints know which is his right one. He's a bad one, Lady _Lettice_!
And after all, here is your Mistress _Bess_, she saith she is as sure
as that her name is _Wolvercot_, that no one of all these names is his
own. She reckons him to be some young gentleman that she once wist,
down in the shires,--marry, what said she was his name, now? I cannot
just call to mind. She should ne'er have guessed at him, quoth she, but
she saw him do somewhat this young man were wont to do, and were
something singular therein--I mind not what it were. Dear heart, but
this fray touching our _Blanche_ hath drove aught else out of mine head!
But Mistress _Bess_ said _he_ were a bad one, and no mistake."
"Is _Blanche_ gone off with him, Mistress _Lewthwaite_?" saith _Helen_.
"That is right what she is, _Nell_, and ill luck go with her," quoth
Mistress _Lewthwaite_: "for it will, that know I. God shall never bless
no undutiful childre,--of that am I well assured."
"Nay, friend, curse not your own child!" saith _Mother_, with a little
shudder.
"Eh, poor lass, I never meant to curse her," quoth she: "she'll get
curse enough from him she's gone withal. She has made her bed, and she
must lie on it. And a jolly hard one it shall be, by my troth!"
Here come Cousin _Bess_ and Aunt _Joyce_ into the chamber, and a deal
more talk was had of them all: but at the last Mistress _Lewthwaite_
rose up, and went away. But just ere she went, saith she to _Milisent_
and me, that were sat together of one side of the chamber--
"Eh, my maids, but you twain should thank God and your good father and
mother! for if you had been bred up with less care, this companion,
whatso his name be, should have essayed to beguile you as I am a
_Cumberland_ woman. A pair of comely young lasses like you should have
been a great catch for him, I reckon."
"Ah, Mistress mine," saith Cousin _Bess_, "when lasses take as much care
of their own selves as their elders of them, we shall catch larks by the
sky falling, _I_ reckon."
"You are right, Mistress _Bess_," saith she: and so away hied she.
No sooner was Mistress _Lewthwaite_ gone, than _Mother_ saith,--"_Bess_,
who didst thou account this man to be? Mistress _Lewthwaite_ saith thou
didst guess it to be one thou hadst known down in the shires, but she
had forgat the name."
I saw Cousin _Bess_ look toward Aunt _Joyce_ with a question in her
eyes: and if ever I read _English_ in eyes, what _Aunt's_ said
was,--"Have a care!" Then Cousin _Bess_ saith, very quiet--
"It was a gentleman in _Oxford_ town, Cousin _Lettice_, that I was wont
to hear of from our _Nell_ when she dwelt yonder."
"Oh, so?" saith _Mother_: and thus the matter ended.
But at after, in the even, when _Father_ and Aunt _Joyce_ and I were by
ourselves a little season in the hall, I heard Aunt _Joyce_ say, very
soft--
"_Aubrey_, didst thou give her the name?"
Methought _Father_ shook his head.
"I dared not, _Joyce_," saith he. "She was so sore troubled touching--
the other matter."
"I thought so," quoth _Aunt_. "Then I will beware that I utter it not."
"But _Edith_ knows," answereth _Father_ in a low voice.
"The maids all know," saith she. "I did not reckon thou wouldest keep
it from her."
"I should not, but,"--and _Father_ paused. "Thou wist, _Joyce_, how she
setteth her heart on all things."
"I am afeared, _Aubrey_, she shall have to know sooner or later.
Mistress _Lewthwaite_ did all but utter it to her this morning, only I
thank God her memory failed her just at the right minute."
"We were better to tell her than that," saith _Father_, and leaned his
head upon his hand as though he took thought.
Then _Mother_ and _Helen_ came in, and no more was said.
SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER THE FOURTH.
I had no time to write yestereven, for we were late abed, it being nigh
nine o' the clock ere we came up; and all the day too busy. My Lady
_Stafford_ and Sir _Robert_ and Mistress _Martin_ did return with
_Father_--the which I set not down in his right place at my last
writing,--and yesterday we gat acquaint and showed them the vicinage and
such like. As to-morrow, _Mother_ shall carry them to wait on my Lord
_Dilston_.
Sir _Robert Stafford_ is a personable gentleman, much of _Father's_
years; his nose something high, yet not greatly so, and his hair and
beard now turning grey, but have been dark. Mistress _Martin_ his
sister (that when _Mother_ wist her was Mistress _Grissel Stafford_) is
much like to him in her face, but some years the younger of the twain,
though her hair be the greyer. My Lady _Stafford_, howbeit, hath not a
grey hair of her head, and hath more ruddiness of her face than Mistress
_Martin_, being to my thought the comelier dame of the twain. _Mother_,
nathless, saith that Mistress _Grissel_ was wont to be the fairer when
all were maids, and that she hath wist much trouble, the which hath thus
consumed her early lovesomeness. For her husband, Captain _Martin_,
that was an officer of _Calais_, coming home after that town was lost in
Queen _Mary's_ time, was attaint of heresy and taken of Bishop _Bonner_,
he lying long in prison, and should have been brent at the stake had not
Queen _Mary's_ dying (under God's gracious ordering) saved him
therefrom. And all these months was Mistress _Martin_ in dread disease,
never knowing from one week to another what should be the end thereof.
And indeed he lived not long after, but two or three years. Sir _Robert
Stafford_, on the other part, was a wiser man; for no sooner was it
right apparent, on Queen _Mary's_ incoming, how matters should turn,
than he and his dame and their two daughters gat them over seas and
dwelt in foreign parts all the days that Queen _Mary_ reigned. And in
_Dutchland_ [Germany] were both their daughters wedded, the one unto a
noble of that country, by name the Count of _Rothenthal_, and the other
unto a priest, an Englishman that took refuge also in those parts, by
name Master _Francis Digby_, that now hath a living in _Somerset_.
Medoubteth if _Mother_ be told who Sir _Edwin Tregarvon_ were.
_Milly_ 'bideth yet in the sulks, and when she shall come thereout will
I not venture to guess. _Alice Lewthwaite_ come over this afternoon but
for a moment, on her way to her aunt's, Mistress _Rigg_, and saith no
word is yet heard of their _Blanche_, whom her father saith he will
leather while he can lay on if she do return, while her mother is all
for killing the fatted calf and receiving her back with welcome.
SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER THE V.
This morrow we set forth for _Lord's Island_, a goodly company--to wit,
_Father_, and _Mother_, and Sir _Robert_ and my Lady _Stafford_, and
Mistress _Martin_, and _Milisent_, and me. Too many were we for _Adam_
to row, and thought to take old _Matthias_, had not _Robin Lewthwaite_
chanced on us the last minute, and craved leave to take an oar, saying
it should be a jolly pleasance for him to spend the day on _Lord's
Island_. So _Father_ took the second oar, and _Adam_ steered, and all
we got well across, thanks to God. We landed, _Father_ gave his hand to
my Lady _Stafford_, and Sir _Robert_ to _Mother_, and _Robin_, pulling a
face at _Milly_ and me (for I wis well he had liever have been with us),
his to Mistress _Martin_.
"Well, _Edith_," saith _Milly_, the pleasantest she hath spoken of late,
"I reckon I must be thy _cavaliero_."
"Will you have my cap, _Milisent_?" saith _Robin_, o'er his shoulder.
"Thanks, I reckon I shall manage without," quoth she.
"Well, have a care you demean yourself as a _cavaliero_ should," saith
he. "Tell her she is the fairest maid in all the realm, and you shall
die o' despair an' you get not a glance from her sweet eyes."
"Nay, I'll leave that for you," saith _Milly_.
"Good. I will do mine utmost to mind it the next opportunity," quoth
_Robin_.
So, with mirth, come we up to _Dilston_ Hall.
My Lord was within, said the old serving-man, and so likewise were
Mistress _Jane_ and Mistress _Cicely_: so he led us across the hall,
that is set with divers coloured stones, of a fashion they have in
_Italy_, and into a pleasant chamber, where Mistress _Cicely_ was sat at
her frame a-work, and rose up right lovingly to welcome us. Mistress
_Jane_, said she, was in the garden: but my Lord come in the next
minute, and was right pleasant unto us after his sad and bashful
fashion, for never saw I a man like him, as bashful as any maid. Then
Mistress _Jane_ come anon, and bare us--to wit, _Milisent_ and me--away
to her own chamber, where she gave us sweet cakes and muscadel; and
Mistress _Cicely_ came too. And a jolly time should we have had, had it
not come into Mistress _Cicely's_ head to ask at us if it were true that
_Blanche Lewthwaite_ was gone away with some gallant. I had need to say
Ay, for _Milisent_ kept her mouth close shut.
"And who were he?" quoth Mistress _Jane_. I answered that so far as we
heard he had passed by divers names, all about this vicinage: but the
name whereby he had called himself at _Mere Lea_ (which is Master
_Lewthwaite's_) was _Everett_.
"I warrant you, _Jane_," saith Mistress _Cicely_, "'tis the same
_Everett_ Farmer _Benson_ was so wroth with, for making up to his
_Margaret_. He said if ever he came nigh his house again, he should go
thence with a bullet more than he brought. A man past his youth, was
he, _Edith_, with fair shining hair--no grey in it--and mighty sweet
spoken?"
"Ay, that is he," said I, "or I mistake, Madam."
"Dear heart, but what an ill one must he be!" quoth Mistress _Jane_.
"Why he made old _Nanny's_ grand-daughter _Doll_ reckon he meant to wed
her, and promised to give her a silver chain for her neck this next
_Sunday_!"
All this while sat _Milisent_ still and spake never a word. I gat
discourse turned so soon as ever I might. Then after a little while
went we down to hall, and good mirth was had of the young gentlewomen
with _Robin_ and me: but all the while _Milisent_ very still, so that at
last Mistress _Cicely_ noted it, and asked her if her head ached. She
said ay: and she looked like it. So, soon after came we thence, and
crossed the lake again, and so home. _Milly_ yet very silent all the
even: not as though she sulked, as of late, but rather as though she
meditated right sadly.
SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER YE VII.
This morrow, I being in Aunt _Joyce's_ chamber, helping her to lay by
the new-washed linen, come _Milisent_ in very softly.
"Aunt _Joyce_," she saith, "I would fain have speech of you."
"Shall I give thee leave [go away and leave you], _Milly_?" said I,
arising, for I was knelt of the floor, before the bottom drawer.
"Nay, _Edith_," she makes answer: "thou knowest my faults, and it is but
meet thou shouldst hear my confession."
Her voice choked somewhat, and Aunt _Joyce_ saith lovingly, "Dost think,
then, thou hast been foolish, dear child?"
"I can hardly tell about foolish, _Aunt_," saith she, casting down her
eyes, "but methinks I have been sinful. Will you forgive me mine hard
words and evil deeds?"
"Ay, dear heart, right willingly. And I shall not gainsay thee,
_Milly_," saith Aunt _Joyce_, sadly: "for `the thought of foolishness is
sin,' and God calls many a thing sin whereof we men think but too
lightly. Yet, bethink thee that `if any man sin, we have an Advocate
with the Father.' Now, dear heart, if thou wilt be ruled by me, thou
wilt `arise and go to thy father' and thy mother, and say to them right
as did the prodigal, that thou hast sinned against Heaven and in their
sight. I think neither of them is so much angered as sorrowful and
pitying: yet, if there be any anger in them, trust me, that were the way
to disarm it. Come back, _Milly_--first to God, and then to them. Thou
shalt find fatherly welcome from either."
_Milly_ still hid her face.
"Aunt _Joyce_," she saith, "I dare not say I have come _back_ to God,
for I have been doubting this morrow if I were ever near Him. But I
think I have _come_. So now I may go to _Father_ and _Mother_."
Aunt _Joyce_ kissed her lovingly, and carried her off. Of course I know
not what happed betwixt _Father_ and _Mother_, and _Milly_, but I know
that _Milly_ looks a deal happier, and yet sadder [graver], than she
hath done of many days: and that both _Father_ and _Mother_ be very
tender unto her, as to one that had been lost and is found.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Helen guessed rightly. As the readers of "Lettice Eden" will
know, the "Mary" of the tale was her mother.