THE WARNING FULFILLED.
"For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minutes at end,
And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!"
--ROBERT BROWNING.
"Where there exists the most ardent and true Love, it is often better
to be united in Death than separated in Life."--VALERIUS MAXIMUS.
The 30th of January of the year 1649 dawned dark and lowering in the
vale of Gwynnon, and while those dark scenes which dyed Cromwell's
hand in blood were being enacted in far-distant London, and the
hearts of the murdered king's faithful followers in the hamlet of
Bryn Afon were aching bitterly over the tragedy to be that day
consummated, the wind raged and howled through the valley, and tore
up the trees along the river-bank in its mad fury, while the rain
fell in torrents of angry weeping, the very elements themselves
lifting up as it were a wild cry of protestation against the deed of
wickedness which was being perpetrated.
Within the walls of the castle the grey-headed old boatman spent the
long dreary hours of that dreadful day in sore lamentation and
weeping for the sovereign he had loved with unflagging loyalty
through all the dark struggles of the past, and whose cause he had to
the last firmly believed must surely triumph in the end; and by his
side, soothing him as well as her own aching heart knew how, sat his
granddaughter, longing throughout each weary hour for the safe return
of Percival Vere, who had gone forth in the early forenoon on an
errand of mercy, at some miles distant beyond the river, and whose
homeward journey she feared might be fraught with danger, not so much
from the stormy weather as from the lawless crowd, who, collected
together by Master Jones from miles around, and incited by himself
and his few followers in the village of Cwmfelin, had marched to and
fro throughout the day, singing wild songs of vengeance upon the
followers of the murdered king, and uttering openly their dark and as
yet unfulfilled threats against Master Vere and his Papistical church
on the hillside. Scarcely had their hands been restrained from
violence, when just after midday, at the hour of the unhappy king's
execution, the little building had been filled from end to end with
his gallant subjects in the loyal little Welsh village, and its walls
had resounded with their unrestrained weeping, as they joined with
their beloved vicar and good Master Taylor in prayer and supplication
for their murdered monarch. But some remnant of gentleness yet
dwelling in Master Jones's lawless heart restrained him from striking
a blow against the sacred building whilst the fair river-maiden knelt
in prayer within its walls, and though he was capable of inciting any
violence towards the person of the pure-hearted young priest whom he
hated, he shrank from lifting a finger against him while she who
loved him was by his side. So, his turbulent followers being
restrained with difficulty from committing their evil deeds until a
more convenient season, the little band of Cavaliers were permitted
peacefully to join in the prayers offered to God by their vicar for
their beloved sovereign and his cruelly bereaved family, and to
hearken in quietness of spirit to the beautiful words afterwards
spoken to them by Master Taylor from the pulpit, in which he exhorted
them not to return "railing for railing," but to "suffer and be
still," and prayed them to return quietly to their own homes,
remembering the words of Holy Writ: "Vengeance is mine; I will repay,
saith the Lord."
Long were the brave and eloquent words spoken by Master Jeremy Taylor
at that memorable hour treasured in the hearts of the simple village
folk, and long they remembered with tears and sorely aching hearts
the holy upturned faces of Primrose and the lily-knight, as they
knelt in prayer side by side when the benediction had been
pronounced, the light of another world--not long hence to illumine
for ever their beautiful features--already shedding its gleams of
coming glory upon their pure countenances. Slowly and with reverent
step the gallant band had proceeded homewards, and Percival, leaving
Primrose in safety within her own walls, had gone forth on his
distant errand to a dying person, accompanied some part of the way,
greatly to her relief and joy, by his friend Jeremy, who on this day
clung to him with a feeling he could not analyse of being strangely
loth to let him out of his sight. But Primrose knew that Master
Taylor's own duties must call him homeward to Craig Arthur ere late
in the day, and as twilight fell, and she began to anticipate her
lover's lonely return through the darkness, her anxiety could with
difficulty be controlled, and she sat at the casement, watching the
raging of the storm with a beating heart, side by side with the old
boatman, who, trembling with apprehension for the fate of his bridge,
had for hours sat patiently at the little window immediately above
it, fearing every moment to see it carried down the stream. At
length, in the thickly gathering gloom, both bridge and river became
invisible to his failing sight, and Primrose had scarcely persuaded
him to exchange his seat for one closer to the crackling logs on the
wide hearth, when, looking out herself from a window on the farther
side of the room, she saw sudden flames leap up on the hillside, and
at the same time wild shouts rent the air, and above the storm voices
could be heard below, shrieking; "The church! the church! Where is
Master Vere? The church is burning!"
Primrose clasped her hands for a moment in wild despair. Already had
her own warders and serving-men been some hours since despatched to
the defence of the sacred building, together with a brave band of the
stoutest and sturdiest villagers, and no other help was at hand.
From the distant din of voices which reached her ear as she flung
open the window and leaned out breathless with terror into the
darkness, it was evident that the whole village had flocked to the
scene of the riot, and the horrid glare of the leaping flames proved
only too surely that the enemy had been too strong for the brave Bryn
Afon guard. She turned from the window and glanced at her
grandfather, and seeing by his peaceful countenance that his deaf
ears had failed to catch the cry from below, or even her own startled
exclamations of dismay, her resolution was quickly taken. No one but
herself should break the news of this awful sacrilege to her lover,
whose heart would well-nigh break at the hearing of such a deed. He
had assured her he should return to the castle before nightfall, that
she might know of his safety ere he took his way to the parsonage.
She herself would slip out quietly under cover of the storm, and
await him by the boatman's bridge, and break gently to him this act
of wickedness ere other ruder tongues could reveal it. His way lay
along the valley and through the dark woodlands the other side of the
river. There was but little chance of his seeing the dreadful flames
until he had crossed the bridge, since the greater height of the
steep on which Bryn Afon stood would hide the farther hillside from
his view.
"Grandfather," she whispered in the old man's ear, "the rain has
cleared a little, and ere it grows later I will steal down to the
riverside and see that your bridge is safe for any night passers-by
who chance to cross it. Percival must needs pass that way, and I
fear somewhat for him, lest the storm should have worked damage, and
rendered the footing dangerous. Ere long I will return. Do not fear
for me, for the crowds have passed along to the other side of the
village, and I shall meet no foe in the darkness. See, if you have
need of aught, you have but to sound this gong which I leave at your
side, and the maidens will wait on you. But prithee tell them not I
have quitted the house, else they will fall into foolish terrors.
Anon Percival and I will once more be at your side."
And kissing him tenderly, she left him, half slumbering in his quiet
corner, and slipped quietly out of the castle, while the flames ever
leaped higher on the hill, and the distant roar of voices grew every
moment wilder. To venture to the scene of the tumult was impossible.
All the men it was safe to spare from the castle were already there,
doing, she well knew, their very utmost to quell the fury of the
flames and drive back the foe. But the enemy was in possession, and
with a bitter pang she was forced to realise that the little church,
in which she and Percival had vowed their vows of love and so often
prayed together, and without whose walls her beloved parents lay
sleeping, was doomed to swift destruction.
Her feet sped with a swiftness borne of love towards the bridge,
which swung to and fro across the raging, foaming waters, as though
each moment it must be dashed by the furious wind into a thousand
pieces. Hardly could she keep her footing along the narrow roadway,
but the bridge was reached at last, and she bravely walked half-way
across it, trembling and giddy in the darkness; then--oh, horror!--in
the dim, fast-decreasing light, she suddenly beheld at her very feet
a black chasm, where, in the fury of the storm, several boards had
been dashed from the footway at the very centre of the bridge,
leaving a gap far too wide for her to pass, and for Percival barely
possible by a skilful leap. A cold shiver passed through her frame
as she saw the deadly danger he must run were he to cross alone later
in the evening, in yet deeper darkness. She gazed around--no human
being stirred in the dim distance. She called, but no voice
answered. All were watching, far away on the hillside, with
fascinated eyes those lurid flames, which now, in face of this new
danger to her beloved, Primrose forgot utterly. She crept back to
the bank, and searched eagerly up and down in the darkness for a boat
or raft--anything by means of which she could row herself across the
torrent and bring back Percival in safety. But there was no raft,
however rude, in sight. The boat-house was locked, and the boatman,
Jack's successor, was far away on the hillside, as Primrose knew, one
of the chosen band for the defence of the ill-fated church. She must
stay on the bridge and watch for Percival--it was all she could
do--and in her anxiety for him the stormy wind and driving rain were
trifles she hardly noticed as she eagerly strained her eyes across
the swaying bridge into the blackness beyond, to catch the first
glimpse of his figure. And as the long moments dragged themselves
away, and she remained a lonely sentinel in the ever-gathering gloom
of night, a vision came to her like those of her childish dreams--a
vision of King Arthur's knights of old, pacing to and fro on their
brave palfreys along the winding road by the riverside, and this time
they rode stately and slow, and at their head, on snow-white steed,
rode, with pure and reverent countenance and eyes which seemed to
gaze far away into distant worlds, Sir Galahad, the "Lily Knight,"
bearing aloft the Holy Grail. And as she gazed in rapture upon him
who wore the very image of her own true love, his face and form faded
gradually into an ethereal shape of silvery whiteness, on whose head
there gleamed a faintly shining crown of gold, and by his side she
seemed to see her own shadow standing; and as a crown like his was
likewise placed upon her head, a voice like sweetest music whispered
through the rippling of the waters; "These are they which have come
out of great tribulation." And then she saw and heard no more, only
around her a yet deeper gloom and a yet fiercer raging of wind and
water, so that she was fain to cling for very life to the frail
handrail of the quivering bridge, lest she should be swept into the
roaring current below.
At last, after what had seemed to be many weary hours, she felt the
bridge tremble beneath the weight of a new footstep, and cried in
mingled joy and terror: "Percival, Percival, come no farther at your
peril!" as the darkly-clad figure of the chaplain, scarcely
discernible in the blackness of the night, stopped short on the very
verge of the yawning chasm. "Primrose!" he exclaimed in a voice of
deep gladness, yet mingled with surprise and
anxiety,--"sweetheart--what brings you hither in such wild weather?
Ah, you have braved alone these fearful elements, to tell me of yon
flames on the hillside? Yes, I have seen their glare upon the
blackness of the sky, and too well I know their meaning. Dear
one----" "Come not a step farther, if you love me, Percival!" she
cried in terror, as he moved nearer in the darkness. "Betwixt you
and me there yawns a black depth, where the boards have been torn
from the footpath in the storm! Ah, you have already seen the flames
and guessed their import? Yes, dear heart, I came to break the news
gently to you, as I hoped, trusting yon castle-heights had hid them
from your sight as you passed along the wooded valley; and finding
the bridge had thus given way, I waited for you, dreading lest alone
in such thick darkness you should come to harm. Think you you can
leap the chasm, Percival? Oh, I fear terribly, lest as you leap,
your weight should bring the whole bridge down and hurl you into the
water!"
[Illustration: "THE BLINDING SPRAY DASHED UP AND COVERED THEM."]
Percival tried the distance between them with his stick, and for a
moment paused irresolute. "The words of the gipsy are verily being
fulfilled," he said musingly. "The river-spirit is indeed let loose
in the valley, and is running riot! It is but now an old shepherd
told me there had been no such storms or floods in the valley within
the memory of man! Well, I will not be rash. 'Twere vain to try to
swim across such a foaming torrent! I must e'en risk the leap. But,
Shanno--sweetheart--you must first leave the bridge, and let me know
you safe on yonder bank, for my weight alone will sorely try the
strength of these rotting timbers!" "I sought for a boat, Percival,"
said the girl, trembling from head to foot, "but none are left out in
such weather, and Morgan, who keeps the keys of the boat-house, is
away amid yon riotous crowd, where he and our brave men have striven
in vain to save our church! Methought I could have crossed the river
had there been some craft at hand, and we could have so returned
together." "I am glad you found no craft, sweetheart!" he answered
earnestly, "for you must verily have been dashed to pieces ere you
reached the other side! Nay, the leap is my only chance. Have no
fear for me.--Shanno, you must obey me! Till you call to me that you
are safe on yon bank I will never risk it!" Primrose shuddered,
hesitating with a wild fear of putting any yet greater distance
between herself and him she loved; then, her trustful spirit of
obedience gaining the mastery, she boldly crept to land, and called
to him to follow. He leaped, and such a wild crash followed, that
Shanno rushed madly forward, and had but just thrown her arms around
him before the footway along which she had passed was torn asunder
and tossed into a thousand fragments; and clasped in each other's
arms they two stood alone above the raging torrent on the few planks
which yet remained firm upon their strong posts in the very midst of
the stream. On either side of them a black gulf yawned deep and
dreadful, and the blinding spray dashed up and covered them as the
river boiled and seethed beneath their feet in its mad fury. "Dear
love, you have waited long hours for me," said Percival, "and you are
cold and wet. How can I save you? You should have let me die here
alone! Did I not bid you stay on the bank in safety?" "I was cold
and wet," said Primrose dreamily, "but my heart was warm.
Sweetheart, life without you would be death! A grave beside you here
in this dark river is sweeter far than life. In the dark river--you
remember what the gipsy sang?--'In the dark river the Primrose and
Lily shall sleep!' Farewell, my lily-knight! We have loved
faithfully on earth through much suffering, and God will never part
us in heaven!" And in the blackness of the storm the chaplain
commended his own soul and hers into the hands of Him who "holds the
waters in the hollow of His hand, and metes them whithersoever He
will;" and as the lips of the lovers met in one long last kiss, a
crash, heard above the roaring of the wind by the terrified servants
within the castle walls above, rent the air with horrible sound, and
in a few moments nought remained of Jack the boatman's bridge but a
few broken spars, which the angry torrent flung upon the banks as it
whirled the fragments hither and thither in its rage. And the
Primrose and the Lily, whom no mad, revengeful river-spirit had power
to sever, rising unharmed to the surface, floated gently down the
stream, tightly clasped in each other's arms, towards a quiet pool
beneath an overhanging willow, whose bare, leafless branches bowed
down, weeping, over their beautiful lifeless bodies, and where the
angry current swept by, leaving them unharmed, to sleep their last
long sleep together, the fair Lady Shanno's golden hair floating out
around them both on the silent surface of the still pool like a halo
of glory.