THE LADY OF THE CASTLE.
"O, pray you, noble lady, weep no more;
But let my words, the words of one so small,
Who knowing nothing knows but to obey,
* * * * * * *
Comfort your sorrows; for they do not flow
From evil done; right sure am I of that,
Who see your tender grace and stateliness."
--TENNYSON.
Half-an-hour later Llewellyn, the guide, ushered Master Rhys and his
young charge, whose heart was beating with some excitement at the
prospect of the interview, into the room where Lady Rosamond, ever a
picture of youth and beauty and gay contentment, stood looking forth
from one of the casements, her arm linked in that of her friend,
whose pale and statuesque style of beauty formed a marked contrast to
her own brightness and vivacity. Primrose gazed on the lady of the
mysterious castle with a sort of fascination, withdrawing modestly
into a corner of the deep casement after being presented to her,
while the vicar and the two friends interchanged civilities. Her
face was one of striking interest, the complexion very pale, and the
expression of the features marked with a deep melancholy. Her eyes
were wonderfully large and dark, and deep shadows lay beneath them,
as though they had watched and wept greatly. Much of both pride and
sweetness lay in the curves of the beautiful mouth, and face and form
both generally betokened a character of great strength and
individuality, a woman in whom great pride and haughtiness were
tempered and chastened by infinite sorrow--a woman who could love
intensely and suffer in proud silence--who might have sinned
perchance for those she loved, and be still repenting in tears and
bitterness. Her raven hair was already deeply tinged with grey, yet
her face was still young in spite of its many lines of pain, and she
could scarcely be over forty years of age. Her voice, too, charmed
Primrose; it was deep and low and full, like the tones of an organ,
and when she turned and spoke to the young girl, calling her out from
her quiet corner, a light broke out amidst the shadows on her face
which made her very beautiful. Primrose felt herself entranced,
while at Lady Bryn Afon's bidding she told her the strange story of
her babyhood and adoption by Jack, of all his great love and care for
her during her lonely childhood by the riverside, of the mysterious
visits of the Black Horseman, and the occasional glimpses of the gay
outside world, gained during the earl's short and far-between
sojourns at the castle. She told also of the good old vicar's
kindness, and of all she had learned from him in her daily tasks in
his study, and of her love for his tiny church on the hillside, where
the green branches waved across the windows, and round which the
summer breezes played their soft whispered accompaniment to the
chanting within; and next she confessed her great desire to offer
herself as a candidate at the Confirmation which the Lord Bishop of
St. David's had given out to be held at the ensuing Michaelmas, and
for that reason to obtain in the meanwhile the knowledge of her
rightful name from her unknown mother. And as Lady Bryn Afon bade
her talk without fear of all that was in her heart, saying that from
what her husband had told her she had long felt a deep interest in
her story, Primrose owned the deep longing she felt at times to see
her mysterious mother, and her frequent secret wonder as to whether
she would indeed ever bear to leave her foster-father and go to her
should she bid her. "Methinks you could not choose but go to her,"
said Lady Bryn Afon musingly, "though truly the parting would be a
hard one for both of you. You are brave, sweet Primrose, though
withal of tender heart, and had your unknown mother a mission for you
to fulfil in life for her sake, your courage would, I trow, scarce
fail you. Think you so?" "I will do my mother's bidding, cost me
what it may," answered Primrose steadfastly. "It can but cost me
dear to leave the father who has loved and tended me so truly, but I
oft think this pleasant life by the riverside must one day have an
ending, and that something more must needs await me in the future. I
know not what it may be, but of late, when I have been happiest in my
play, I have felt a foreboding in my heart, of what I know not,
but----" "It needs not to be a foreboding of evil, sweet one," said
Lady Bryn Afon gently. "Let not any shadow of evil fall upon your
bright spirit--only be brave and strong and ready against aught that
may befall you. Surely, too, your mother, be she whom she may, will
never separate you wholly from him who has been more than father to
you from your cradle? But crave you never also to see your real
father?" "Dad has been so true a father to me," answered Primrose
frankly, "that I have felt no want of any other, as I have at times
of a mother. Only now and again I have thought it would be a brave
thing to have for my real father such an one as one of King Arthur's
knights of old, of whom I love to read in our dear vicar's library,
or indeed such a noble knight as our own earl, who has oft shown me
kindness as a child! But these are but vain and idle thoughts, which
have come to me when I have been at times puffed up with pride,
because dad has tried to make me believe I come from a noble
ancestry! Dad loves me so, he would make me a queen an he could!
Yet I tell him I am well content to be a humble Primrose, growing by
the riverside." "An the Primrose would not wither," said Lady Bryn
Afon with a half-sad smile, "I would fain transplant it for a season,
and see to what perfection I might rear it in a sunny southern clime!
What say you, dear child, to making a short stay with me, with your
mother's leave and that of your good foster-father? I go anon to
spend the winter months beneath the sunny skies of Italy, for my
health's sake; and since I must needs be parted from my husband,
whose presence the king will require at that season, I seek for some
companion in my travels, and would fain have about me so bright and
gladsome a maiden as yourself to cheer me. I would care tenderly for
you, and after some few months you should return to your dear
guardian filled with new thoughts, and your mind enriched with new
beauties. What say you?" "I would dearly love to see foreign
lands!" exclaimed Primrose with sparkling eyes, "and could dad indeed
spare me without too much sorrow, I would gladly go with you, sweet
lady. But it is too much honour you do me, for you know I am but a
country maiden, of lowly bringing-up, and knowing nought of the ways
of houses such as this one, or of great ladies such as you are." "An
your ways displease me, child, I will be at liberty to correct them,"
answered Lady Bryn Afon with a smile. "You must know that my lord,
the earl, has oft brought this thought before my mind, and long since
he bade me steal you away from the boatman, an I could do so, for a
time, knowing how sorely I pined at times in my loneliness for a
daughter of my own. An your mother and your foster-father will
consent, you shall, when the summer is over, spend a week with me at
Court, and see the gay world ere I part from my husband and take you
over the seas. I love not the Court myself, nor the ways of the
world, and am at all times glad to escape into peace and quietness;
but men think not as we do, and a wife's place is beside her husband.
I could not presently leave him, but that our physician bids me, with
stern authority, to depart for my health's sake, and promises me
faithfully to care well for him the while I am gone. Think you you
will have means of communication with your mother betwixt the present
time and Michaelmas?" "The Black Horseman's visit draws near," said
Primrose. "Twice every year he comes to bring dad money from my
mother, for my bringing-up in comfort. In a week from now we look
for him, and much I long for his coming that I may send a letter to
my mother, begging her to let me know my name without delay, since it
is just before Michaelmas that my Lord Bishop will hold his
confirmation, and so rarely are they held in these remote parts, that
being already fifteen years of age, I am loth to lose my chance. In
that letter also, if dad is willing, and our dear vicar thinks also
well of it, I will beg her also to consider your great kindness, and
to let me know at once her decision." "That is well," said Lady Bryn
Afon. "Now, my child, farewell, and may we spend a happy winter in
each other's company! You are very fair, sweet river-maiden! May
you be as good as you are beautiful! It is not ever so." And as she
kissed the young girl's blushing cheeks, she sighed, and a faint
colour rose in her own pale face. "Methinks I have scarce had my
fair share of your converse, dear friend!" cried Lady Rosamond,
saluting the Lady Bryn Afon affectionately, as she was about to
depart, "and I shall perforce charm you out of your solitude again
ere you leave the castle. You have, moreover, made no inquiries as
to the health of your future chaplain, who thus shamefully plays the
truant while I entertain my guests! I fear me he hath perchance
overheard somewhat of our converse at dinner, and having gathered so
fair a share of our goodwill towards him, hath retired into some
corner to blush unseen." "Bid him from me to take some thought for
the body," said Lady Bryn Afon, "nor grow too pale and spirit-like
over his books for this workaday world. An he will wage a successful
war against the intemperance in our midst, he must needs have
strength for the task. It is verily a crying sin, and I pray his
labours may bring forth fruit. I would speak a word aside with you,
Rosamond, an our friends will deem it not amiss, for I may not at
present see you again in these parts, since I journey to-morrow
towards London to rejoin my lord."
While bidding farewell to the vicar and his young charge, about an
hour after Lady Bryn Afon's departure, Lady Rosamond whispered in the
ear of Primrose; "I pray you, sweet child, to grant the favour my
Lady Bryn Afon asks of you, for she sorely stands in need of
comfort." And Primrose answered; "At my mother's bidding, I will
indeed gladly do so."
So the grey mare turned her back upon Caer Caradoc, and bore her
riders swiftly back through the valley, bright with the evening
sunlight, and at the cottage by the riverside the vicar deposited his
fair young charge, weary, yet full of happiness after her day's
pleasure, and as yet feeling herself too much in Dreamland to realise
the possible parting for a season from her foster-father, which was
before her. As she sought her pillow, one regret only lingered in
her mind, and that was, that "Sir Galahad," the musician, had not
revealed himself! She would fain have seen one who could discourse
such sweet music, and who bore, as it seemed, all the graces and
virtues of her hero. It was good to think that there existed at the
least one living man worthy to bear the noble name of that stainless
knight of old, even though it were given him but in jest; and as she
thus pondered, the sounds of the organ seemed to mingle with the
music of the waters beneath her casement, and softly lulled her to
sleep.
Meanwhile the boatman sat long absorbed in thought before he could
seek his own couch, for to him this possible six months' separation
meant more than Primrose was likely to foresee. To him it appeared
as the beginning of a long-dreaded new state of things, in which his
darling must drift farther and farther from him, and which was but
the beginning of the end, ever surely drawing nearer, when she would
be his charge no longer, but would be called forth to that as yet
unknown place in the great world for which he felt she must be
destined. It was in his power to refuse Lady Bryn Afon's request
without further parley, and without consulting the mysterious mother,
of whom he often thought with deep indignation, that she could bring
herself to dwell apart from her own offspring, and trust to her
bringing-up by one who, if a relative, was none the less a stranger.
Yet his unselfishness prevailed, for he could not but see that for
the child's own sake he must not refuse to procure for her, if
possible, the great good and pleasure of travelling in foreign lands.
After making his unselfish resolve, he began to find consolation and
food for his pride in the reflection that Primrose would no doubt be
presented at Court by her ladyship during their brief sojourn in
town, and that the king and queen themselves would have the honour of
beholding his darling's wondrous loveliness. But the girl assured
him that since she was as yet but fifteen years old she was likely to
find herself far more at home in the royal nurseries than in the
presence of their majesties, and would be better satisfied to look
upon the beautiful countenance of King Charles at a safe distance.