THE VISION EMBODIED.
"Could you but know what 'tis to bear, my friend,
One image stamped within you, turning blank
The else imperial brilliance of your mind,--
A weakness, but most precious,--like a flaw
I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face
Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there
Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever!"
--ROBERT BROWNING.
It was in the dusk of evening when Lady Bryn Afon, accompanied by her
serving-maids and Primrose, arrived at the solitary farmhouse beneath
the lonely heights of Craig Aran. The ride over hill and dale from
their halting-place of the previous day, some three or four miles
from Glyn Helen, was wonderfully beautiful in the evening twilight,
the mountain-tops bathed in the rosy light of the setting sun, and
the lower hills waving in soft outline, one below another, in purple
shadow or mysterious blue distance, with here and there a wooded
valley, whose wealth of June leafage caught the sunset glory, and lay
bathed in yellow glow. The last half mile to Glyn Melen Farm was a
steep descent down a narrow, rugged lane, closely shut in on both
sides by high hedges and steep, grassy banks. At the bottom of the
lane a white gate opened into a peaceful orchard, through which a
wide pathway led to the door of the quaint, low-roofed house, where
the travellers were to spend the next few weeks. Here they were
warmly welcomed by the farmer's wife, an elderly woman, whose snowy
cap, tied beneath her chin, and surmounted by a tall black hat,
surrounded a sweet and gentle, though homely face, which lighted up
with genuine pleasure at the sight of her well-known guest and her
fair young companion, and whose torrent of Welsh eloquence caused the
olive-cheeked Italian serving-maids to open round eyes of wonder.
Her husband and two comely daughters chimed in with a hearty
greeting, and she then handed a note to Lady Bryn Afon, who, reading
it, said in English to Primrose; "Our chaplain craves our pardon for
neglecting to bid us welcome, but knowing it is ever our wish that he
should fulfil every duty of his sacred calling, he has gone forth, at
a sudden summons, to a sick bed, whence, since it is at some long
distance, he must needs be late in returning. You must know,
Primrose,"--for the young girl was looking at her with an inquiring
as well as half-startled expression in her eyes,--"that during our
stay here he is relieving an aged clergyman in charge of a scattered
parish on the mountain-side; for though my husband and I would fain
have seen him take holiday for a season, his active mind must needs
thus find employment, and rather give rest to others than to itself.
Methinks it is as well he should be absent to-night, for despite the
brightness of your eyes, you must needs plead guilty of some fatigue,
and I confess that my own limbs are weary after last night's
adventure! We shall do better to seek an early couch, rather than to
enter upon any such lengthy topics of converse as Master Vere would
too surely beguile us into. What think you, dear one, of our lonely
dwelling-place? Can you cheerfully pass some three or four weeks in
this mountain fastness with such pleasures only as nature can afford
us?" "Nature has ever been my best companion," said Primrose with a
smile, "and oftentimes, save indeed my dear foster-father and my
books, my only one for long months together; and here, in your sweet
company, dear madam, and surrounded by such wonderfully beautiful
scenes, I have no fear of being dull." "That is well," said Lady
Bryn Afon, kissing her with loving gentleness, while a strangely
wistful expression crossed her pale features. "I am glad you are so
well content to be for a time once more my companion. I much desired
to have you with me in this, to me, much-loved spot, and to make you
love its strange and solitary beauties as I do." "And I am so glad
you had need of me this summer," said Primrose, "for we cannot tell
what next year may bring forth, since next April I shall reach my
twenty-first birthday." "And then?" said Lady Bryn Afon inquiringly.
"Then," said Primrose, "I may at any moment expect a summons from my
mother, and may never again be at your command as now. For who can
tell what strange changes our meeting may bring to my life?" "Dread
them not, sweet one," said her friend affectionately. "Take what
present joy God gives you, and wait in patience for what may
hereafter befall. Be she whom she may, your mother can scarce fail
to love so fair and sweet a daughter!" "I hope she may indeed love
me!" said the girl wistfully. "Yet, after so strange a desertion of
me in my babyhood, I cannot tell. But I will think no more of my own
matters, nor let the thought of the future trouble me in this
beautiful place!" And bidding Lady Bryn Afon an affectionate
good-night, she went to her little white-washed chamber, and fell
asleep, wondering on what errand of mercy the chaplain might be bent,
and if he were indeed the very least like Sir Galahad of old! On
going downstairs next morning, Primrose found that she must take her
morning meal alone, Lady Bryn Afon being still too much fatigued to
rise for some hours. The chaplain, moreover, having not yet
returned, the morning prayer could not be said, and the young girl,
free as soon as her meal was over to roam whither she would, betook
herself to an exploration of the premises without further delay.
Beyond the farmyard and the greensward, where cows, pigs, and geese
wandered in full liberty, lay a second well-wooded orchard, similar
to the one on the front side of the house, and passing through it,
Primrose found herself in a shady copse, through which bubbled a
merry little brooklet, in which she gleefully bathed her face and
hands; then, finding no one in sight, took off shoes and stockings,
and waded down the cool stream, till it emerged from its shady
hiding-place into the open grassy plain beneath the hill, and, joined
by other tiny streamlets, became a wide and noisy river, forming a
barrier between the farm-lands and the mountain-slopes beyond, too
deep for her to wade across. But donning her shoes once more, she
soon discovered a rude extempore bridge, consisting of well-worn
boulders, which lay at wide intervals across the stream, yet were
wide enough to allow her to jump merrily from one to another,
sometimes nearly losing her footing on their slippery surface, but
finally landing her safely on the other side, at the foot of the
steep green slope, up which lay the narrow track to the Craig Aran
Pool. She pursued the path for some distance, not knowing whither it
led, and was delighted when, on reaching the summit of the slope, she
saw stretched out before her the undulating table-land, where lay the
mysterious lake at the foot of the towering ridge overhead. "Lady
Bryn Afon will have no need of me before noon," she said to herself.
"I will wander on and visit by daylight yon uncanny spot, and see if
I can discern the maiden's footprints along the Pool's brink. What
did the chaplain, I wonder, think of the vision, and will he also
come and seek for them anon! But methinks she trod too softly to
leave much trace behind her. Ah, if I had known he would be there, I
could not have dared, and I trow he would have had no vision! And
now he is at the farm, and I must presently face him! I doubt that I
will ne'er play for the Lady Rosamond again without a better
understanding of her wiles! How fiercely the sun begins to beat upon
the hillside! I fear me I shall be chidden for venturing thus far in
the heat of the day, but I will rest awhile by the Pool, under the
rock where we sat on Midsummer Eve; I shall then return in time
enough for our midday meal. How still the black lake appears! as
black now in the full blaze of the noonday sun as in the dim light of
the midnight moon. Nay, I see no footprints; the fairy footfall was
e'en light enough, in spite of my Lady Rosamond!" And a merry laugh
rang out in the mountain stillness, startling a young pedestrian,
who, having clambered down a rugged watercourse from the summit of
the mountain, was advancing, unperceived by Primrose, to the brink of
the lake, while her eyes were still bent on the ground in search of
the footprints, her form concealed from him by a jutting rock. He
came yet a few steps forward, then stood, transfixed at the sight, on
the Pool's edge, of a maiden scarcely less beautiful than the vision
of Midsummer Eve, and clad, like that fairy form, in pure white
robes, adorned only with her own wealth of golden hair. As he gazed
upon her, the old moonlight spell seemed again to take possession of
him, and he stood for some moments like one enchanted, while she
still looked upon the ground. Yet surely that girlish laugh had been
of a truly mortal ring! He would presently accost her, and so break
the spell, and return home a wiser man. He moved a step nearer, and
then, the sound arousing her attention, she turned in sudden surprise
and looked at him. "Sir Galahad!" burst involuntarily from her lips,
and for a few seconds they both stood and gazed upon one another,
spellbound! Yes, that pale, pure face, and those deep far-searching
eyes, which, bent so intently upon her, seemed to read her very soul,
could belong to none other than to the "lily knight," of whom she had
heard so much, and whom, must the truth be told, she had so often
wished to see. She was not disappointed in the sudden vision. It
was truly the countenance of one worthy to bear the name of her ideal
hero--a refined, spiritual countenance, which, though bearing plainly
upon it the marks of a daily conflict with earth's evil, yet shone
with a beauty not of earth but of heaven, while in the depths of
those far-seeing eyes, shaded with their long and heavy lashes and
glowing with the fire of intense energy, there mingled likewise the
deep abiding peace of a soul at rest with God, and the wistful
longing a holy soul must ever feel to win a sinful world to its own
loved Master. Such thoughts flashed like lightning through the young
girl's mind ere, with a sudden blush, she withdrew her eyes from the
chaplain's face, and strove to frame some suitable remark with due
self-possession. "I fear me I startled you, madam," he said, raising
his hat courteously, "but until I emerged this moment from the
shelter of yon rock, I thought myself alone in this vast solitude,
and but that I presently heard you laugh as surely none but mortals
can, I had as like as not greeted you with exorcisms upon my lips,
taking you verily for a repetition of my strange vision at this place
two nights agone!" Primrose's laugh rippled forth again
irrepressibly. "I thank you, sir," she said, making him a graceful
reverence, such as his reverend bearing and habiliments seemed to
warrant; "'tis true you startled me for a moment, for I too thought
no living being nearer than yon shepherd on the distant hill-top.
But had you terrified me with your exorcisms, I had indeed rushed in
affright from you! Do I then bear aught of resemblance to the maiden
whom you saw on Midsummer Eve, and did she in truth appear to you as
the legend says?" "You are indeed her very counterpart," answered
the chaplain, "with but such difference in your appearance as is
caused by the present shining of the sun in place of the more ghostly
glamour of the pale moon, who then rode in the heavens, triumphant
doubtless in her own powers of deception. Yes, I saw the mystic
maiden, doubtless, as clearly as I now see you, fair mistress, and
did I then dream, as I have since assured myself was the case, why
then I surely dream again, and now behold but the same vision in
mortal guise." "I cannot now explain to you the riddle," said
Primrose, with a little shake of the head; "you must needs discover
it, if riddle there be, for yourself. Yet I will e'en assure you for
your present comfort, that I, whom you now behold, am nought but
mortal maiden! Others, however, were witnesses of the fairy vision
besides yourself, among them one whom, methinks, you count as a
friend, the Lady Rosamond of Caer Caradoc?" "I know it," he answered
gravely. "Well, since I find you not to be the fairy for whom I
mistook you, must I needs leave you to the blazing heat of this
noonday sun, or may I have permission to escort you somewhither--be
it only to caves in the rocks, where pixies dwell?" "You mistrust me
even now," said Primrose. "I fear me your nightly vision hath
wrought overmuch upon your mind. I was myself but now searching
after the damsel's footprints, but she has left not one behind her.
Could I but show you the print of a mortal shoe, perchance it would
set your mind at rest, and you would feel less disturbed? I am going
below to Glyn Melen Farm, where I wait upon my Lady Bryn Afon. An
your way should lie in that direction, I will gladly accept of your
company, good sir, for the great silence that ever reigns upon this
mountain doth seem to press like a weight upon the brow! Is it not a
marvellous stillness, and does not the distant tinkle of the
sheep-bells steal sweetly from the heights above? Have you come from
the summit of the mountain? I would fain climb there one day, for
the view must be passing wonderful!" "It is so indeed," said Master
Vere enthusiastically; "and though the climb is steep, yet its
trouble is well repaid. Yet I would beg of you not to venture the
climb in solitude, for it is giddy work, whether you ascend by yon
precipitous greensward, or by one of these dry watercourses, where a
loose rock giving way or a false step might hurl you back headlong."
"Nay, I will not be over venturesome," answered Primrose, "for I am
in Lady Bryn Afon's charge, and must needs do her bidding, but she
will not refuse to let me adventure myself in company with her
serving-maids or the farm damsels." "I am also going to the farm,"
said the chaplain, "being likewise in attendance of a different sort
upon her ladyship, whom I treated but discourteously yestere'en, in
leaving her to arrive without a welcome. But I was summoned unawares
to the bedside of a dying man, and am but now returning from the
lonely hamlet where his body lies, on the farther side of the
mountain." "And you have not slept all the night?" said Primrose
gently, for she noted that he walked wearily. "I will rest anon," he
said. "Nay, I am not much to be pitied, for surely since I could
give up my rest two nights agone for the sight of an idle vision, I
might well do so again, to give peace to an immortal soul. I am
glad, fair mistress, to learn that we are both to be for a time
inmates of the same household, since I would fain benefit myself for
a season in the presence of those virtues which rumour has for some
time past whispered in my ear as being the rich dower of the fair
maid of Gwynnon." "You compliment me too well, good sir," said
Primrose, blushing rosy red. "Rumour hath been over bold, I do
assure you, and methinks the gain will be on my side rather, for I
will confess that I have more than once wished to meet with one of
whom both the Lady Bryn Afon and Lady Rosamond have spoken with so
great affection. Besides, you must know that not long since our
valley was ringing with your fame as a preacher and testifier against
the sad drinking customs of our people, and my dear foster-father
wished many a time that he might have had speech with you upon a
subject which is very dear to his own heart." "Is it so indeed?"
said the young chaplain eagerly. "I am right glad at all times to
welcome sympathy, I must confess, for you must know that my labours
meet with no favour in most quarters, and are accounted the delusions
of a wild fanatic and wicked despiser of God's good gifts! Yet I
cannot keep silence while my heart burns within me at the evil I see
around, and I must needs testify, even should my outspokenness bring
me to the star chamber and the pillory, or worse." "Will you dare,
when you are in attendance on the Lord Bryn Afon at Court, to speak
these new doctrines openly?" asked Primrose; "for all tell me that
they are new opinions, and that no other man has yet dared to lift up
his voice openly against the evils of strong drink as you have done."
"I thrust them not down unwilling throats," answered Master Vere,
with a smile, "for in all things the law of charity appears to me to
be a rightful rule for us to follow, yet there are many occasions on
which I must speak or be consumed with the fire within me; and that I
have already given offence to some in high places I doubt not, for
all, alas! are not men of high and holy living like our king." "Do
you not love our king?" said Primrose enthusiastically. "I had the
honour of being presented in Court some few years since by the
kindness of Lady Bryn Afon, and methinks the sweet gravity of his
noble countenance and the rare beauty of his smile have ever since
made of me a stauncher royalist maiden than before! For you must
know that in our tiny hamlet by the riverside we have great
dissensions upon political matters, the most part of us being, like
my own dear foster-father and our good vicar, zealous cavaliers,
while some few, led away by the teachings of one who of late years
has worked much mischief in Cardiff and its neighbourhood, are fast
sowing the seeds of schism and discord in our midst, having even set
up for themselves a chapel in which to pray and preach against our
church and our king, openly confessing that they would love nothing
better than to burn our Prayer Books; and I trow they would willingly
enough burn us likewise, an they could! Ah, but our king will never
suffer you to be put in the pillory, Master Vere, for aught you may
teach, for even we, in our ignorance of the world and in the
seclusion of our lonely valley, have heard that he holds you in great
esteem, and rejoices that his friend the Lord Bryn Afon should have
secured for his chaplain one whose influence cannot fail to be for
good!" "I do verily love my king dearly!" said the young chaplain,
his pale face glowing under the earnest gaze of his fair companion's
sparkling eyes, "and I cannot but rejoice in the kind favour he has
been pleased to show me; yet with all my love for him, I cannot but
see the weak and unstable side of his nature, and feel that in time
of peril I might have too true cause to echo the words of the
Psalmist--'Put not your trust in princes.'" "Now I like you not!"
cried Primrose, "for thus taking away your sovereign's character!
Methinks you can but love him with half a heart, an you will not
trust him!" "Nay, I feel nought but love and loyalty to him,"
answered the chaplain, "and will die willingly for him, an the day
come when I must needs choose betwixt him and his enemies. Yet I
cannot but grieve over those faults which, as a king, do plainly show
themselves in him, and which, I fear me, may, in spite of his soul's
true goodness, bring him one day to much evil. Think not too hardly
of me, I pray you, fair mistress, for thus openly speaking my mind!
I do assure you I would not so speak of my loved king to any one in
whom I did not place the fullest confidence--such as, pardon me, your
face bids me, at this our first meeting, place in you." "You do me
too much honour, good sir," answered Primrose, drooping her head to
hide the swift blush of shy pleasure which dyed her cheeks at such
words from her ideal knight. "And I will not again doubt your true
love for his Majesty. Mine were but idle words, and you must pardon
their folly, for I trow we women are wont to worship our heroes in
more unjudging a fashion than you men, who have a sterner and wiser
judgment, and a more just weighing of merits and follies. We will
think no ill of them, nor see their faults, until they deceive us,
which may perchance be sad unwisdom, yet, methinks, is woman's
nature." "I would fain not suffer any words of mine to destroy by
one jot your faith and loyalty," said Master Vere earnestly. "Since
we men must needs do battle against the ugly things of life, and drag
them forth to light that we may the sooner o'ermaster them, it is
surely well that there are ever hands ready to bury them out of
sight, and shroud them gently with tender touch and guileless
thought. Suffer me to guide you across these rude stepping-stones,
for the river is swollen and rough to-day, and their surface offers
but treacherous hold to the foot."
For now the two young travellers had arrived at the foot of the last
green slope, and between them and the farm copse brawled the noisy
river, higher now, and more turbulent in its course, than when
Primrose had crossed with light foot some few hours earlier. Master
Vere sprang lightly upon the first slippery stone, and Primrose
taking his offered hand, they jumped from boulder to boulder with
much merriment, ever and again but narrowly escaping a headlong
tumble into the foaming stream; and being after all but youthful, if
withal a reverend and learned chaplain, what wonder if Percival
hesitated one brief moment on the farther shore ere he released those
clinging slender fingers! They walked silently through the copse to
the farmhouse, each conscious of a strange new thrill unfelt before
in either heart, and Primrose repaired to Lady Bryn Afon's chamber
with a sense as of some sudden new life within her, which gave
greater lightness to her step, and more glowing brightness to her
radiant eyes. The two ladies took their midday meal together; and
afterwards, Lady Bryn Afon being still fatigued with her journey, she
lay on her sofa idly, while Primrose amused her by recounting her
morning's adventure; and in the cool of the evening they sat together
in the shady copse awhile, at the edge of the streamlet, and the
young girl brought out her beloved harp, and discoursed sweet music
to the gentle accompaniment of the rippling brook.
[Illustration: "PRIMROSE TAKING HIS OFFERED HAND, THEY JUMPED FROM
BOULDER TO BOULDER WITH MUCH MERRIMENT."]
The evening breeze wafted the sounds gently through the open casement
of the room where the chaplain sat deep in study, and ever and anon
he was fain to close his book and sit like one entranced, while for a
moment he allowed his morning's fair vision to haunt his thoughts
unchecked. He was tempted to stroll forth likewise into the cool
copse, and beg to be a closer listener to the pleasant strains, but
the fear of intruding an unwelcome presence held him back, and he and
Primrose met no more that day, save when the household met for
evening prayer in the tiny white-washed chamber which he had fitted
up as an impromptu chapel in which to hold the daily services of the
church. As none of the farmer's family could speak one word of
English, these were said in the Welsh tongue; but Master Vere was as
well versed in this language as were Lady Bryn Afon and Primrose, and
all three were able, to join heartily in the hymns, in which the farm
damsels uplifted voices of more power than sweetness, making the
rafters ring with strains which, if somewhat uncouth to English ears,
yet possessed of their own a sort of wild, barbaric beauty, and a
weird, melancholy music, which haunted the ear. Meanwhile, the two
dusky maidens of the south were fain to sit and tell their beads in
the solitude of their own chamber, marvelling somewhat at the
barbarous people's hearty worship in which they might not join, and
half-tempted to steal in and listen, if they might not understand!
But the fear of the displeasure of the good old priest at home in
their own sunny valley held their footsteps, and made them tell their
beads the faster. Primrose, for the first time seeing the young
chaplain wear the pure white robe of his sacred office, could not but
think that so clad he looked even yet more worthy to bear the name of
her ideal knight, Sir Galahad. If ever outward garment did truly
represent the inward purity of the soul, then surely it was so in the
case of this youthful minister of God, whose deep yet clear-shining
eyes were as windows through which a holy soul looked forth, and
which, as Primrose gazed into their far-seeing depths, seemed
truly--as spoke those words of Holy Writ, which came into her
mind--to be "looking not at the things that are seen, but at the
things that are unseen." Yes, her ideal Sir Galahad had been no
empty shadow of an impossible stainless life, but a real, living
knight, who now walked once more on earth, as it were, in the person
of this holy man, so worthy to bear his name. "I am glad there is
one like him among living men," she said softly to herself in the
silence of her own chamber. "I have not dreamed foolishly of a
knight who should be crowned with virtues impossible to mortal man,
and live but in my fond fancy, but of one who truly walks this
present world in the steps of my hero of old, whose name he bears
right worthily, though it be but in jest among his fellows."
And in the dreams of the chaplain himself there were
strangely-mingled visions of Lady Bryn Afon's fair-haired attendant
and the golden-haired maiden of the mystic Pool, who ever, in his
dream, walked round and round the dark lake, now together in loving
concert, with arms entwined after the fashion of mortal damsels, now
blending mysteriously into one radiant being, around whom played the
sweet strains of invisible harp-strings, but who, on his approach,
fell headlong into the black water, with resounding splash, and was
lost to view, while ever from the watery depths sounded those same
mysterious harp-strings, now wailing as in bitter woe over the
drowned maiden.