THE GIPSY'S HAUNT.
"Love is ... the passion of soul for soul, an exchange of ideals, a
response of depth to depth of human life."--_Essay on_ BROWNING
(_Quarterly Review_).
Percival Vere awoke next morning to a consciousness that some subtle
change had come over his being, and after a day spent in some
pleasant mountain rambling with Lady Bryn Afon and her fair
attendant, during which sunny hours he made profounder study of the
river-maiden than she had any idea of, he found himself utterly
unable to settle his mind to any other kind of study, when, in the
cool of the evening, he gathered his books around him and strove to
turn his thoughts into severer channels. At length, in desperation
over his own want of strength of mind, he gathered two or three of
his unopened volumes under his arm and wandered out over the
mountain-side, to inquire within himself as to the strange tumult of
new feelings, which possessed him all the more overwhelmingly because
he had as yet had none of those experiences of them so common to
youth; and as he climbed the steep mountain-paths, he reasoned
severely with himself on the weakness of permitting the witchery of a
midnight vision so to throw its mocking glamour over his senses as to
make him succumb thus easily to its mortal resemblance. It was quite
true that no maiden yet had e'er had power to take his heart by
storm; not that he had been at any time guilty of a lack of
chivalrous feelings towards the fair sex, or of lack of due
admiration for their peculiar virtues and graces, but that these very
virtues, only imperfectly realised in any of the fair ones with whom
he had as yet come in contact, had but served to heighten his idea of
their possible perfection, and to raise his ideal woman to a pinnacle
which, as Lady Rosamond loved to remind him, might perchance ever
rear itself aloft in his imagination only, and be impossible for any
poor mortal woman to attain. Moreover, so wholly had his heart and
mind been given up since his early youth to his preparation for the
duties of his sacred calling, and especially for those sterner duties
which must lie in his path with regard to that vice which he had for
some years past felt himself imperiously called upon to combat, that
dreams of love and fair companionship had found but little harbour in
his mind, stealing in upon his deeper thoughts but as transient
visions, to be driven forth and bidden keep their place till a more
convenient season. And such season, in the course of the peculiar
work he had undertaken, the young student had boldly told himself
might never occur. Now for the first time such dreams leapt forth in
dazzling radiancy, and refused to be driven back. There was nothing
for it but to look them fairly in the face, and, if sinful, reject
them finally, once and for all. If not sinful--if indeed for him
there might be the bliss of a pure earthly love, which should be the
true sacrament of a deep spiritual union, and might be indulged in
without casting any shadow on his union with his God--then--ah, how
beautiful might life become--how infinitely sweet would be the work
for Christ, shared between two beings, whose love for Him would be
their own strongest bond of union, and whose souls would ever be as
one in their service of Him in this world, and in their yet closer
worship and service in the world to come! To have loved one who
could not share in the deepest longings of his nature would have been
an impossibility to the young chaplain, whose heart was so far
uplifted above the things of mere mortal sense, that they alone could
never enchant him. But in the pure, sweet face of her whose image
had taken thus sudden possession of his heart he saw a true picture
of the beautiful soul within, and read clearly those deep, inner
sympathies which, more than her exceeding mortal loveliness, touched
his own soul, and had already struck within it that strange new
chord, which, whether it sounded for joy or sorrow, could never be
silent again. Percival Vere wandered on, far over the mountain, in
the still eventide, by hill and dale, nor stopped his march and his
musing till, far up on the lonely mountain-side, he came upon one of
nature's beautiful spots which he had often wished to see--the cavern
whence sprang the far-famed river Gwynnon, bubbling up in this
solitary hiding-place out of the secret places of the earth, and
trickling forth, down its steep, rocky bed, in hurrying eagerness to
reach the sunny valley, where it might spread itself at will over the
flowery meadows, and become the broad and noble stream, for which,
little trickling handful of water as it now was, it felt itself to be
destined. A second streamlet, venturing forth more shyly from out a
smaller cave hard by, joined it with slower and more timid footstep,
rippling modestly over its smooth pebbles, till, caught by the
noisier streamlet into its passionate embrace, the two sped gaily
together down the mountain-side in one laughing little river. "Thus
should our lives flow together," said the young chaplain, following
with shining, eager eyes the course of the merry brooklet below his
feet; "and thus, in the sunlight of God's continual presence, should
our hearts expand with love to Him for His goodness, and our lives
run over in deeds of thanksgiving and of charity, which should spring
up as flowers beneath our feet along the valley of life!--Ah! who
speaks? Methought no living thing but the singing birds shared with
me this rugged, solitary spot." He turned hastily and saw, peering
out from behind some rough thorn bushes, an old woman, whose
tottering form, clothed in ragged garments, withered countenance, and
leering eyes presented a somewhat startling spectacle, thus bursting
suddenly upon him. With one hand the old hag grasped a stout knotted
stick, with which she supported her trembling limbs, while with the
other she pushed away the brambles, and suddenly grasped the
chaplain's arm. "Who are you," she muttered, "that dares to track me
to my hiding-place, which is known to no man but him to whom I choose
to reveal it? You have come to spy out the source of the river,
which is my secret, which I guard night and day, and choose not that
every mortal eye should look upon. I know well how to terrify away
those whom I will not to find the secret springs--but you--as my eye
saw you from behind these thorns, my spirit quailed for sudden fear
of you, for you are the 'lily-knight,' whose eyes are ever fixed on
Heaven, where He dwells whom I dare not name! I know you and I fear
you, but you shall fear me too. When I let loose the springs into
the valley, then you shall tremble! Then woe, woe to the boatman and
his bridge in which he vaunts himself, and woe to you, lily-knight,
and to her you love! The boatman scoffs and heeds not my warnings,
but the day will come." She stopped, breathless; then seizing
Percival's hand, suddenly changed her tone, and whispered: "A silver
coin, good sir, and I will read the lines for you truly--or a bit of
bright red gold, and maybe somewhat of the ill I see may not come to
pass!" "Nay, my good woman," said the chaplain, "my fortune is in
God's keeping, and it is He who 'holds the waters in the hollow of
His hand, and metes them out whithersoever He will.' I fear not your
warnings, nor would have you fear me, but rather make of me a friend
who may lead you to seek a higher Master than him you now serve. I
come not to pry into your secrets, having had no knowledge of your
dwelling here in the mountain; yet, since you have revealed yourself,
will you not suffer me to see further into your hiding-place, that I
may tell whether a silver coin left in your keeping may procure you
some greater comfort?" The old hag's eyes glistened, and still
keeping a tight hold upon his arm, she dragged him after her into her
thorny retreat, where, as the bushes closed behind them, an open
space in the thicket lay before them, in the midst of which rose up a
steep wall of rock, towering upwards to a great height, and breaking
away, on the side which faced them, into a deep, yawning cavern,
which evidently, as Percival saw by peering into its dark depths, led
far away into the solid earth. "This is my castle," said the woman
with a hoarse chuckle, "where I eat and sleep, and keep guard over
the river-spirit, when I am weary and have grown rich by wandering
through the valleys, telling pretty fortunes to youths and maidens.
Give me the silver coin! My store is well-nigh spent, and I must
soon go forth again to earn my bread. And I grow old and faint, and
am often like to die by the way. I would fain die and be buried here
by the river springs, for there is no curse here like yon castle in
the valley. My daughter died in the castle--the curse drove her mad.
Nay, I will hear naught of your God, He loves me not, and I have long
forgotten Him! What, you will have no pretty fortune for the silver
coin? I can see true love in your hand, but neither long life, nor
wedding, nor fair children! There, leave me, and bring but the bit
of red gold another day, and I will look for better things. But
beware when the river breaks loose in the valley, and beware the pale
Primrose, who dwells on its banks, an you will not carry an aching
heart to your grave. Go!" And shaking him off suddenly, and
brandishing her stick wildly in his face, she tottered to her heap of
rags in a dark recess of the cavern, pressing the silver coin
ravenously to her lips. Percival Vere advanced one moment to her
side, and kneeling for a second upon the stony floor, murmured: "May
God have mercy on your soul!" and left the cavern, sick at heart, but
with a firm resolve to seek out this poor lost sheep upon the
mountain, until, beneath the mask of the Evil One, he had found again
the lost image of God in her soul. On his return to the farm he
found it too late for any conversation with Lady Bryn Afon and
Primrose, but giving some account of his adventure at the morning
meal on the following day, he found Primrose deeply interested in his
encounter with the old gipsy, to whose frequently recurring presence
in the hamlet of Bryn Afon she had been from her early childhood so
well accustomed. "I was even curious enough to suffer her to tell my
fortune," she said, "but I repented me afterwards of so doing,
fearing I had been sinful. In truth, it was scarce worth the silver
she demanded, for though fair in part, it was clouded by evil
forebodings so dark that she would not even confess them!" "Pay no
heed to her witcheries, sweet one," said Lady Bryn Afon; "she ever
bears ill-will to aught that is young and fair. I would that you had
not suffered her to tell her idle tales in your hearing! Yet you
have too good sense, I warrant, to let aught of her dark speech
trouble you?" "Indeed, I have scarce given it a thought," said
Primrose, "and have but pitied her the more for leading so miserable
and unholy a life. Did you also submit your hand to her scrutiny,
Master Vere?" "Nay," he answered somewhat gravely; "yet I could not
choose but hear some of her sayings while she grasped my hand and
gazed upon my unwilling palm ere I could withdraw it." "I hope she
prophesied nought but good concerning you?" said Primrose somewhat
shyly. "I will not reveal her forebodings," he answered with a
laugh, yet with a flush suffusing his countenance for a moment.
"They were worth nought, and such folly were best not repeated. But
I will visit the poor soul again while we remain in this
neighbourhood, and do what lies in my power for the comfort of her
mind and body. Perhaps Lady Bryn Afon would allow me to escort
herself and you thither one afternoon? A pillion on the back of one
of our worthy host's stout farm-steeds would convey you both in
comfort and safety, and I would fain have you see the beauty of the
wild and lonesome spot, whence issue the springs of your fair river
Gwynnon. And in my charge you will not fear the old gipsy's uncouth
speeches, should she again emerge from her secret cavern?" "I would
much like to see her too in her strange home," said Primrose, "for I
am well used to her wild figure and rude rhymes, and have no fear of
her. And I have long wished to see the beautiful caves where the
Gwynnon rises. You will let us go, will you not, dear madam, some
day when you are not too much fatigued?" "Willingly," she answered,
"for while we remain in this beautiful spot we shall do well to see
all we may of its neighbourhood. On the morrow, if Master Vere's
duties permit, we will make our expedition, and carry with us such
comforts as the poor soul may find acceptable." So, on the forenoon
of the day following, the little cavalcade set forth, the two ladies
mounted on the back of a stout cart-horse, while the chaplain walked
at their side, beguiling the time with recounting many ancient
legends of the country-side, and with much learned discourse on the
subject of his crusade against the evils of intoxicating drinks, upon
which subject he waxed eloquent under fire of Lady Bryn Afon's
searching questions, proving himself to have inquired into the matter
with no prejudiced mind, but with a calm judgment and a deep study
both of books and of human nature which could not be gainsayed. And
in favour of his views he quoted many excellent passages from the
writings of his revered friend, Master George Herbert, with whom, as
a boy, he had been wont to hold much converse on this particular
matter, and whose example of sobriety and godliness had inspired him
with a zeal and courage which he confessed humbly that he might
otherwise have sorely lacked. And so, listening to his talk, and to
the quaint yet charming verses of his sainted friend, over which his
lips lingered in loving utterance, the rough travelling appeared to
come to only too speedy an ending, and the wondrous caverns were
reached ere either of the fair travellers had a thought of weariness.
Their appreciation of the beautiful spot was as hearty and
enthusiastic as he could have desired, but Primrose, on peeping
boldly into the gipsy's cave, found it empty, and they were fain to
leave their gifts behind them, trusting to her speedy return from
some one of her wild expeditions to enjoy them.
The ride home was very beautiful in the soft evening twilight, and by
Primrose and Percival the "yellow valley" (Glyn Melen) in its wealth
of gorse-bushes in fullest bloom had never been seen through more
golden spectacles. They were too happy for many words, but their
eyes met ever and again in a mutual sympathy and understanding which
was perhaps yet more eloquent, and which was not unnoticed by Lady
Bryn Afon, who, as she watched them, sighed once or twice to herself,
with an expression of mingled pleasure and perplexity.
The days that followed were golden days, whose light lingered on
through the dreary months of separation which ensued for the two
young people, who each in their secret heart felt every day more and
more drawn to the other, ever finding new topics of mutual interest
and new tastes in common, and ever feeling their souls to be more
firmly knit together by those higher aspirations and longings after
the "things unseen and eternal," which alone can form the basis of a
true, unending love. Yet no word of love ever passed between them,
for Percival, knowing the strange circumstances of Primrose's life,
and that the still-continued waiting-time for her unknown mother was
one of which he dared not take advantage, kept a tight rein upon
himself, and would often spend hours in solitude upon the mountains
rather than intrude, save at Lady Bryn Afon's bidding, into the
presence of her whom, he could not but confess to himself, he dearly
loved. There were, however, many pleasant hours which he spent in
their company, whether reading aloud to them, as they sat at work in
the copse or orchard, or listening in the dusky twilight to the sweet
strains which Primrose drew from her beloved harp by the side of the
stream, or guiding the sure-footed old horse to the tiny church in
the nearest village on Sundays, and at other times to some beautiful
spot in the mountains, which he had discovered in his own rambles,
and would fain have them enjoy with him. And now and then there came
brief moments to each of unacknowledged bliss, when, left alone with
books or music, for some short space of time their tongues seemed to
loosen mutually, and their hearts to draw nearer in sweet converse
and unspoken sympathy, But at such times Primrose often wondered why
the chaplain would as it were suddenly withdraw into himself,
shutting himself up within a wall of impenetrable reserve, which she
dared not break, and more than once abruptly leaving her, on the plea
of forgotten duties, causing her to think sorrowfully for the rest of
the day that she must needs have in some way vexed him, until at
their meeting on the morrow he would again silently reassure her
heart by a glance which betokened an unbroken friendship, or an
involuntary pressure of her hand which made her heart throb with a
strangely sweet pleasure.