Months passed, and the Irish maiden became one of Master Walgrave's
ordinary household. And she and my Jeannette were as sisters.
It was not without a struggle that my master and mistress were prevailed
upon to open their home to the fair stranger. At first, my master,
being sorely wroth with the miscarriage of my errand to his Grace, vowed
so roundly that he would turn both me and my papist wench--so he called
her--out of doors, that it seemed likely there would be broken heads as
well as hearts over this business. For it was hard to keep my temper
even with Jeannette's step-father, when he talked like that.
But I deemed it wise to leave the management of the matter to daintier
hands than mine; and when Jeannette, clinging to her father's knees,
besought him with tears at least to let the maiden stay a few days till
she could find a shelter, he surlily yielded so much, provided she
stayed in a chamber by herself, and brought not her papist blasphemy
within earshot of any in the house. Then, when a day after, my
mistress, being won over by her sweet daughter, saw how ill and withal
how gentle the maiden was, it was even permitted her to walk in the
garden and exchange civilities with the two ladies of the house. Soon
after, yet another event served to put my master in humour. For a
message came from his Grace's secretary permitting the printing of the
book. And that evening, as I observed, Master Walgrave even
condescended to speak to the maiden himself. And last of all, when she
told him prettily that she was rich enough to recompense him for his
hospitality, and begged him take charge of her purse so long as she
lodged with him, he had no more to say, but let her go in and out as she
pleased, pledging her only to speak not a word of her religion to
Jeannette or anyone else in his house.
It was not much I saw of her; for, despite her liberty, she never
strayed beyond the little garden, and many a day kept close to her
chamber. Yet often I heard of her from Jeannette, and now and again she
herself enquired for me, and asked me to walk with her.
I soon learned what little she had to tell of her own adventures. After
leaving Dunluce she had been kept close prisoner in Toome Castle by her
old step-dame, despite her father's protest, who had no more voice in
his own house than a dog and was not sorry to escape from it to
Castleroe. The English soldier who had been sent to guard her was not
admitted within the walls, but paced--faithful fellow--outside, within
sight of her window, the only reminder she had of the happiness she had
lost. Presently rumours came that Ludar had been slain in battle; and
after a while Captain Merriman came on a visit. Happily, this time, he
returned not to the violence with which he had persecuted her at
Castleroe, but tried to win her by civilities which were scarcely less
loathsome to her than his old rudenesses. Amongst other things, he told
her Ludar had cursed her for being his brother's murderess; and that he
believed it was true, as had been reported, that the young McDonnell was
slain. And two days after, to confirm this, an officer came to the
Castle with news that Ludar's head was set on a pole above the gate at
the Bridge of Dublin.
After that, the maiden said, she wished no longer to live. For she knew
not what to believe; or how much was a wicked plot to deceive her into
yielding to the Captain. Presently her father came home, and she begged
him on her knees to send her to England. He consented; but when my Lady
heard of it, she took the whim to go to Court too, and invited the
Captain to be their escort. So nothing was gained by that move--or
nothing would have been gained, had not Providence directed that Captain
Merriman and my Lady should grievously fall out on the journey about
some act of disrespect to herself, such as the neglecting to see her
lifted to her horse before he assisted the maiden. Whatever the cause
was, it saved the maiden much trouble during the journey; for the
Captain was kept thereby at arm's length and never permitted to come
near. And, to add to her comfort, she had espied among the men who
formed the escort the same English fellow who had escorted her from
Dunluce to Toome, and who, it was clear, was still true to his trust.
But as they neared London, my Lady, feeling in need of some little pomp
to make good her entry, took the Captain back once more into favour; and
with that the maiden's troubles began again. For the Captain bargained,
as a price of his good-will, that he should wed the maiden so soon as
they reached town. To this my Lady seemed to consent, and told her
step-daughter, sternly enough, to prepare herself for what was no longer
to be avoided.
Thus made desperate, on a certain morning about a day's ride from
London, the maiden made some pretence of her saddle being broken, and
beckoned to the English fellow to come and attend to it. But instead of
him, for his head was turned, came Tom Price the Captain's sergeant.
And while he made good the straps she took heart of grace and begged
him, for pity's sake, help her, and slipped into his hand some gold
pieces. And he, having no liking to see his master married and himself,
perhaps, cast out of service, willingly offered to help her when the
time came. So she bade him be ready with a horse at midnight of the
very day they reached London, and to bring the other English fellow, if
needs be, also.
The rest of the story I knew. How Tom Price had carried her to her old
nunnery school at Canterbury; and how the fellow Gedge (though Tom had
no mind to share the reward with him), discovered what was afoot and
went to Canterbury too. And how Peter Stoupe, having heard the secret
from the drunken sergeant, had found out the Captain, and sold the same
to him; and, finally, after getting the honest watchdog out of the way,
how, disguised as priests, those two villains had invaded the convent
and, but for the Providence which took me thither, might have had her
across seas and at their mercy long since.
"So, my good Humphrey," said the maiden, "once more I owe you more than
my life. I cannot repay you, but Heaven will. Nay it is doing so
already, in giving you this sweetest little Jeannette to love you."
And then, as her eyes grew dim, and her bosom heaved, I could guess
whither her thoughts had flown, and how my happy lot contrasted with her
own.
I had told her all I knew of Ludar, up to the time of the poet's letter.
But for a long time I durst not tell her of his visit to my master's
house that evening while I was at Canterbury. At last, however, I
summoned up courage, with Jeannette's help, to tell her that; and it was
pitiful to see how it moved her.
"Talk of it no more," said she. "He will not return; or if he does, the
sight of me--to whom he owes all these troubles, who tempted him to
desert his duty and ruined his life--will drive him hence. Jeannette,"
said she, taking my little mistress' hand in hers, "why must one live
when it would be so happy to die?"
"Maiden," said Jeannette, boldly, "you do wrong to talk so, and I shall
love you less if you say it again. Of course he will come, and of
course he loves you, and of course all will be happy yet. Is the God
you pray to less kind and strong than ours?"
The maiden said nothing, but her cheeks flushed as she lifted
Jeannette's little hand to her lips. And after that we seldom spoke
together of Ludar. Yet he was in all our thoughts.
As for me, I wandered about the town night by night for many a week,
hoping to hear of him. But never a word could I hear. And in time
people ceased even to talk of the Scotch Queen and all the troublous
times which had ended at her death. And a leaden weight was falling on
my heart, as I wondered if I was never again to hold my friend's hand in
mine; when one day I chanced to stumble on news of him in the strangest
way.
It was near midsummer that a journeyman came urgently one day to my
master from Master Barker's, her Majesty's printer, desiring his aid in
the setting up in type of certain matter which was to be printed
forthwith, but which Master Barker (being crowded with other work), must
needs hire out to be done. My master, who desired by all means to keep
the good graces of the Queen's printer, undertook to give the help asked
for, and handed to me the paper to put in type. I opened it, and found
it headed thus:--"A List of Persons who in these late grievous times
have suffered punishment for treasonable acts against the state and
person of her Most Gracious Majesty. To wit--"
Then followed a goodly list of names of persons suffering death in the
ill cause; headed by that of the Scotch Queen herself. Afterwards came
the names of certain persons imprisoned, together with a note of the
place where each was imprisoned, and the term of his punishment.
Amongst these, towards the end, was a line which made my blood suddenly
run cold, and set the stick a trembling in my hand. It ran thus:--
"_One, Ludar, an Irishman, who carried certain Letters abroad. He lieth
in ye Tower of London, waiting Her Majesty's pleasure_."
The summer passed, and each week the maiden's cheek grew paler. She had
said little when Jeannette showed her the name on the proof which I had
kept. But she quietly took the paper and hid it in her bosom, and for a
day kept herself to her chamber.
After that she rarely mentioned Ludar's name, and when we spoke of him
to her, she always changed the talk to something else. Once or twice,
in the late summer evenings, I took her and Jeannette to row on the
river. And on each occasion we dropped on the tide to below London
Bridge, where standing out in the gloom of twilight we could see the
great frowning Tower which held still, as we hoped, a life dear to us
all.
But as the weeks sped by, with one consent we let go even that hope; and
on the last evening, when we rowed, the maiden said--
"Humphrey, row us some other way to-night."
And as she spoke, her face looked to me scarcely less white than the
shivering moonbeams on the water.
About the middle of the autumn, I met Will Peake one day, who told me
that there had been of late not a few men hanged at Tyburn and
elsewhere; some for recent treasons, and others whose sentence had been
overhanging ever since the conspiracies concerning the Scotch Queen.
When I pressed him closer, he said he had been present at one hanging at
Tyburn, but that was of a debaser of coins. But a friend of his, said
he, had seen four traitors hanged, drawn, and quartered; of whom he knew
the names of three. But the other, thought to be a Scotchman or
Irishman, no one knew his name.
I begged Will to take me to his friend that I might hear more, and
plainly told him my reason. Whereat he drew a very long face, and said
he thought better of me than to consort with such vile carrion as these
traitors to her Majesty. Nevertheless he took me to his friend to hear
what he had to say.
His friend sickened me with a long story of the horrible death of these
men, whereby he thought to entertain me as he had entertained not a few
other idle fellows during the past month.
"Oh," said he, "pity on us you saw not the fourth rogue dangle--be
hanged to him that he had no name! I tell you, Master Dexter, it almost
made me creep to see all they did to make an end of him. First of
all--"
"Hold thy peace, beast!" roared I. "Keep it to thyself. But tell me,
what was he like?"
"If I be a beast," said he, mightily offended, "thou art like to hear
that better from anyone else."
"Your pardon," said I, "but my imagination is quick, and your horrible
story well-nigh made me ill."
He took this as a mighty compliment, and smoothed down forthwith.
"Ay, ay," said he, "some stomachs are squeamish, but I thought you one
of the stout ones. This fourth fellow, say you? Marry, by the build of
him he might be a brother of yours, for his feet dangled a foot nearer
the ground than the others; and when it came to--"
"Was he dark or fair?" I asked hurriedly, frightened lest he should
turn again to his horrible relation.
"Why, he had a shock of hair as like straw for colour as anything I saw.
I tell you no man knew his name. Some said he was a Highlander. And
he looked it, though I never saw one. But a wilder, more bold-face,
shameless villain I ne'er set eyes on. Ay, and he kept it up to the
end, too; after the hanging and when they--"
"Have done!" cried I, angrily, "no more of that. But tell me one last
thing. Said he anything, before he died?"
"Never a word. But there was a curl on his lip as if it were we who had
the rope round our necks and not he; and when the chaplain came to
exhort him, he swung round on his heel and pulls me out his papist
crucifix and kisses it before all the people. What think you of that
for a stubborn dog? The others died with their tails betwixt their
legs, I tell you; but this notable ruffler, from the moment he swung
aloft to the moment--"
I could stand him no more, and left him telling his horrible story to
the church steeple; while I crawled back, scarce daring to think, to my
master's house, I told this news neither to Jeannette nor the maiden.
For it might be false, as former panics had been. And if it were not
false, what good could it do to break that gentle heart a day sooner
than Heaven ordained?
So the year ended miserably, in doubt and gloomy foreboding; and
Jeannette and I, as we looked at the maiden's white cheek and suffering
brow, dare scarcely claim as our own the happiness which came of the
love that grew daily betwixt us.
Now, I grieve to say that early in the new year, my master, who had of
late seemed docile and obedient to the orders of the worshipful the
Stationers' Company, fell once more into his evil practices of secret
printing. I know not how or why it was, but more than once he was
absent visiting the minister at Kingston; and once, that same Welshman,
Master Penry, whom I had met in Oxford, came to our house and had a long
conference there, and left behind him certain papers which my master
carefully locked away.
And one night, after I had been late out, when I came back, I spied a
light in the cellar below, and heard the rumble of a press there, and
knew that, cost what it would, my master was once more risking his
liberty and fortune at the bidding of his bishop-hating employers.
"Master," said I, boldly marching below, to where he stood busily
working his press, "since I am to be your son-in-law, I may as well
share your peril. Have I your leave?"
He looked half-vexed and half-contented; and declared that what he did,
though it might be against the rules, was yet a righteous thing, and he
wanted not my help unless I thought the same. This tract, said he,
could it but get abroad, would save God's Church from much evil that
threatened her; and to that end he was willing to risk his liberty in
printing it.
Now, whether he was right or wrong, I was not scholar enough to
understand all the tract said concerning the state of the Church. But
since no one wished to see the Church improved more than I, I was ready
to believe my master's cause a righteous one, and told him as much.
And having once lent myself to the work, it suited my humour to carry it
on without question, though not without sundry misgivings as to how far
it sorted with my loyalty to my Queen to be thus flying in the face of a
decree of her honourable Star Chamber.
But before this labour was done, a new task fell into my hands. For one
day, as I worked at my case, I heard a voice at the door say:
"Is it here I find my Hollander, like Pegasus clipped of his wings, yet
giving wings to the thoughts of the wise, so that they may fly abroad,
as, in sooth, shall presently mine own burning numbers? Salute me, my
once servant, now honoured to be called my friend, and the goal of my
muse-sped wanderings."
It was the poet. But how changed from the gay popinjay I knew on the
_Misericorde_!
He was so lean that the skin scarce held together over his bones; his
face was shrunk and nipped with hunger; a ragged beard hung from his
chin. His attire was the same as he had worn when last I saw him, but
so tattered and dirty and threadbare that it was a marvel to me it did
not fall to pieces before my eyes. The great ruff drooped brown and
dank upon his shoulders. The gay shirt and doublet hung like grey
sackcloth on his limbs. His shoes flapped in fragments about his feet,
and the empty scabbard at his belt swung like the shreds of a worn rope
between his legs.
He was a sorry spectacle in truth, and but for his unchanged speech I
might have looked at him long ere I knew him.
"I am come," said he, when I had greeted him and bidden him sit and
rest, "like a dove from the ends of the earth, yet with not so much as
an olive leaf to fill my mouth withal. My Hollander, even the poet,
friend of the immortals, can eat. Even the honey on Mount Athos
satisfieth not; and nectar leaveth its void. As a sign of peace and
good-will, my humble comrade, I will eat whatsoever bread and meat you
may place before me; for in truth my teeth have lost their cunning, and
he who late warbled elegiacs hath almost forgot how to swallow a cup of
vulgar sack."
'Twas not long before with Jeannette's aid I set before him a meal the
very sight of which filled his eyes with tears, and set his hand a
trembling. It seemed kinder not to stand by while he devoured it; yet
even in the adjoining room we could hear him, betwixt his mouthfuls,
talk of Hebe and Ganymede, and utter brave speeches about Venus who ever
haunted his wandering steps, and in mortal guise waited on her favoured
servant. By which I understood he was struck with the beauty of my
sweet Jeannette; for the which I forgave him much.
But when, after a little, we returned to see how he fared, he was fallen
forward on the table in a deep sleep, from which it never even roused
him when I lifted him in my arms and laid him on a clean straw bed in
the corner of the office. And for twenty hours by the clock did he
sleep there, never turning a limb, till it seemed a charity to rouse him
and give him more food.
Then when he found himself refreshed and filled, he gave us his news;
which, shorn of all its flourishes, was shortly this.
After he had written his letter from Chester, he was detained many a
week in custody as a vagabond and a lunatic. And at last, shaking the
dust of that city from his feet, he tramped to the next, where a like
fate awaited him. And so, tossed about, like a drift log on the
unpitying ocean, he had found himself cast up at last in London; where,
remembering me, he had with many a rebuff sought me out, and here he
was.
When he discovered that the maiden--his once mistress and incomparable
swan--was of our household, he fell into strange raptures concerning the
indulgences of the gods towards their favourites--meaning himself. And
the sight of her, and her goodness to him--for with her own purse she
found him a lodging not far off--called up from him many a burst of
poetic fire, such as it grieves me to think cannot now be recovered.
More than that, he told us a little of Ludar, whom, as has been said, he
encountered at Chester.
More yet, he had one piece of news which was of no little import to the
maiden and us all, as you shall hear.