Early in the morning of the day after that of which we have just been
speaking, a young gentleman walked up and down the terrace, on the
garden side of the Duke of Norfolk's palace in Norwich. His eyes were
generally bent upon the ground, but ever, when he turned, he raised
them for a moment to one particular window on the second floor of the
building. His walk continued for fully half an hour uninterrupted. The
guests and the servants had been up late, and nobody felt himself
inclined to rise betimes except that young gentleman, who, to say
truth, had not closed his eyes all night. All the windows of the house
were still defended from the attack of the morning sun by the large
gray wooden shutters which folded over them from the outside. At
length a solitary housemaid appeared at one of the doors which opened
on the terrace, sweeping out a quantity of dust, mingled with flowers,
and bugles, and other gew-gaws, without noticing at all whether with
them might not be mingled diamonds, or rubies, or other precious
things.
Shortly after, the window toward which the young gentleman's eyes had
been so frequently turned was opened, and the shutters thrown back, in
the act of doing which a maid's head and shoulders appeared. Instantly
the young gentleman stopped, saying, "Tell Margaret, Vernon, that I
wish to speak with her as soon as she can admit me."
"Very well, sir," replied the maid, and withdrew her head.
Henry Woodhall took two or three more turns up and down the terrace,
and then brushing hastily past the girl who was sweeping out the hall,
he mounted the stair-case and knocked at his sister's door. The maid
admitted him, and was about to recommence her labors upon the toilet
of Margaret, who was seated before a table near the window, with her
beautiful hair hanging in large masses over her shoulders. But Henry
turned toward her, saying, in an impetuous tone, "Leave us, Vernon! I
wish to speak with my sister alone. You shall come back in a few
minutes."
Margaret had started up at the sharp sound of her brother's voice,
feeling some degree of alarm, which was only increased by the strange
change which she perceived upon his usually placable and good-humored
countenance. The moment, however, that the waiting-woman had retired
and closed the door, Henry's whole aspect softened. Margaret was still
frightened, however; and, throwing her beautiful arms round his neck,
she said, "What is the matter, Henry? You frighten me."
Henry put one arm round her waist, led her gently back to her chair,
and seated himself by her side. Then again drawing her nearer to his
heart, he said, in the kindest and tenderest tone, "Dearest Margaret,
I have come to comfort and console you. You and I are the only
children of the house, Margaret. I have always loved you better than
any thing on earth, and have seemed to feel no wish or hope separate
from your happiness. Let us, dear Margaret, have confidence in one
another; and you will always find that you may rely upon me as a stay
and counselor in any moment of difficulty, and that I will think of
your happiness without any consideration of avarice, ambition, or
prejudice, which may have weight with others."
Margaret hid her face upon his shoulder; but he could see the cheek,
and temple, and the fair, delicately-chiseled ear glowing like an
evening sunset.
"You need not tell me, Margaret," continued Henry; "I know and see how
it is with you and Ralph. But only speak, dear girl--only let me know
how this came about. Has he sought you eagerly? Has he taught you to
conceal this from my father and me till this moment? Has he instilled
into your mind lessons of concealment from those who love you best?
Has he taken advantage of my father's kindness secretly to win your
heart, without a brother's knowledge, and against a parent's will?"
"Oh heavens, no! No, no," cried Margaret, raising her head and gazing
on her brother's face; and then, with warm, impetuous words, which I
can not repeat, for they were all confused, almost incoherent, but all
very natural, she poured forth the whole tale of her love, showing
how, from early years, almost from infancy, she and Ralph had become
attached to each other; how little kindnesses, and some important
services, and frequent communication, and the interchange of mutual
thought, had ripened early regard into fraternal affection, and warmed
fraternal affection into mature love. Then she told him how by the
merest accident, their mutual feelings had become known to each other,
and how they had trembled, and dreaded, and agreed that it was in vain
to hope, and had determined to part; how, in consequence of this
resolution, Ralph had remained one whole vacation at his college; and
how they fancied, in the end, they could meet calmly, and forget their
love; and how, when they did meet, they found that passion was
stronger than reason, and that it was in vain to hope that the memory
of first true love could ever be obliterated. Then she added that
Ralph had determined to go forth and seek his fortune, lighted on his
way by the hope of winning her, and how he had not even bound her by
any engagement, except that deep, strong bond of the heart, which she
fondly fancied could never be severed; and then she once more hid her
face on her brother's bosom, and tears told the rest.
Henry was a great deal moved. "His crime is not so great," he said,
thoughtfully.
"Crime! crime!" repeated Margaret; "what do you mean, Henry?"
"Yes, crime," answered her brother; "for it is a crime, Margaret, to
trifle with affections such as yours."
As he held her to his heart, he felt her shudder at the confirmation
of the fears she herself had entertained. But Henry went on,
determined to say all at once, in order to spare the pain of after
explanations.
"There is more besides this, Margaret," he said; "more besides his
conduct to you and Lady Danvers. There are other affections he can
trifle with--other hearts he can break, Margaret. I am moved by no
pride, no family prejudice, no desire of wealth. You could be happy
with small means with a man who deserved you; but I tell you, my dear
sister, you must think of this man no more, for he deserves you not."
"Other hearts he can break!" said Margaret, in a low, sad tone; "I do
not comprehend you, Henry."
"There, read that letter, Margaret," said her brother, putting the
billet he had received from their cousin into his sister's hands.
Margaret gazed at it, read it by fits and snatches, and then said, "I
know not what this means--Kate Stilling! Who is Kate Stilling?"
"An unhappy peasant girl," replied her brother; "look at the back,
Margaret. It was brought by his own servant after a long absence, and
fell into my hands by chance."
Margaret turned the paper, and, as her eyes rested upon the words of
the address, she sank slowly down into the chair from which she had
just before risen, and the letter dropped upon the floor.
Henry thought she had fainted again, and took a step to call for
assistance, but Margaret's voice stopped him.
"Stay, Henry, stay, I beseech you," she cried; "say not a word of this
to any one, if you do love me indeed. Let us never talk of it but when
we are alone together. You shall henceforth know every thought of my
breast--Only--only beseech ray father to quit this place at once. Tell
him I shall be ill here; tell him I shall die;" and, starting up with
a burst of uncontrollable emotion, she sprang to the side of her bed,
cast herself upon her knees, and, burying her face in the coverings,
sobbed loud and vehemently.
Henry gazed upon his sister for a moment with feelings of deep
sympathy and compassion, and then hurrying out of the room, found her
waiting-woman near the door.
"Go in to your lady, Vernon," he said; "comfort her and soothe her,
but say no word of her state to any one; for I have had to grieve her
much, and it would only double her grief if others were to know it."
Thus saying, he strode on and sought the higher chamber which had been
assigned to his cousin Robert. The latter was still in bed and asleep,
but Henry soon roused him.
"I have inquired, Robert," he said, as soon as the eyes of his cousin
were fully open; "I have inquired, and the whole of the tale you told
me is but too true. Ralph is a scoundrel and a hypocrite, and must be
punished. Get up; you must bear him a billet from me."
"No need of such great hurry, Hal," replied Robert, in his usual
affected tone. "Demme, Ralph is not a wild goose that will take wing
every time you fire near him. He will stay here as long as the bright
baroness does, believe me."
"But I must go," replied Henry; "ay, and this very day. Margaret must
be here no longer. Last night my father hesitated whether to go on
this morning or to stay another day. A word from me will turn the
balance, and that word I will speak."
"Your plan is a bad one, Hal," said his cousin; "if you attempt to
bring your enemy to the ground this morning, you will be frustrated,
depend upon it. All the world is up and busy; the Duke of Norfolk has
eyes upon us all; there will be no slipping away unobserved for such a
time as would be needful to get out of Norwich. No, no, you must go
more cautiously to work."
"But Margaret has besought me earnestly to have her taken hence at
once," replied Henry; "she says she will die if she stays, and, on my
life, I think she says the truth."
"Well, have her taken hence," replied Robert; "let her and your father
go, and let us stay behind; or, better still, let us all go; it will
lull suspicion."
"Four-and-twenty hours shall not pass ere I have satisfaction upon
Ralph Woodhall," replied Henry, vehemently.
"No need that they should," answered his cousin; "only hear me out.
Send your cartel this morning before you set out; take it for granted
at once that this ambitious youth will not refuse his good cousin a
meeting at the sword's point, and name the wilderness as the place, at
any hour of the night when you can be sure, by the almanac, that the
moon is up. Give him a hint that, though you seem to be going
Londonward, you will be back for the pleasure of pinking his doublet;
and bid him come to the ground alone, as you will do."
Henry Woodhall mused for some time over this plan, but eventually
agreed to follow his cousin's suggestions; and Robert, springing from
his bed, soon produced writing materials for drawing up the challenge.
Henry sat down to the table, and wrote for a few moments in a fine,
bold hand, and when he had concluded, read the letter aloud to his
cousin as follows:
"SIR,--Your conduct, which I have had the sorrow and misfortune of
discovering lately, and of which you yourself must be conscious; the
evil uses which you have made of my father's unsuspecting hospitality
and kindness, and the pain and discomfort which you have occasioned in
my family, compel me not only to inform you that I can no longer look
upon you as a relation, but to require that you give me immediate
satisfaction for the injuries you have inflicted. The circumstances in
which I am placed drive me to abridge the usual courtesies upon this
occasion, for which I pray your excuse. To avoid all publicity and the
chance of interference, I shall apparently take my departure from
Norwich this day; but you will not fail to find me in the wilderness
of the duke's house, near the fish-pond, this evening at ten, when
there will be sufficient moonlight for our purpose. I send you
inclosed the length of my sword; and if you be a man of courage, for
which I give you credit, you will be at the spot appointed, and alone,
as I shall be.
"I have the honor to subscribe myself your most obedient and very
humble servant,
"HENRY WOODHALL."
"Let me see, let me see," said Robert; and, taking the note from his
cousin's hand, he read it over very considerately, pausing and
pondering upon every word. There were some things that he could have
well wished omitted; but, upon the whole, it was better than he
expected--that is to say, more suitable to his purpose--and, after
some consideration, he determined to let it go without alteration.
"Master Ralph," he thought, "will fancy that the whole weight of the
offense is having made love to my pretty Lady Margaret contrary to the
will and wishes of papa and brother: that can hardly be explained
away, I think. Nevertheless, doubtless he will endeavor to explain it
as best he can. He will not like fighting the brother, for whatever
comes of it must be ill for him. I must contrive to stop all
explanations, and bring them to the point of the sword. There,
whatever they may do will be done for me."
This last thought carried on his mind for some little time in a
different direction. An important subject of consideration started
itself; but he reserved it for future thought, and brought back his
mind to the affair of the present. He saw that he must prevent any
communication between the cousins, as explanation, if it did not
absolutely lead to the discovery of his villainy, would, at all
events, frustrate his object, and throw suspicion on his character. To
do so, however, was very easy. Henry's absence till the hour of
meeting was all that was needful on one part, and that was already
arranged. The only chance of another turn being given to the whole
affair was, that Ralph, with his frank and open nature, might set out,
as soon as he received the challenge, to follow Lord Woodhall and his
family, meet all charges boldly, and explain his whole conduct. Some
means, he thought, must be devised to prevent such an occurrence; but
he determined to leave that also for after consideration, to obtain
from Henry the task of delivering his letter, and to delay its
execution till after Lord Woodhall's departure.
"Who shall I send it by?" said his cousin, interrupting his reverie's,
somewhat impatiently.
"Oh, I will take it, of course," replied Robert; "I think the best
plan will be, Henry, for me to remain here another day; I can then get
Master Ralph's answer."
"Remain or not, as you like," replied Henry Woodhall; "but his answer
I will have before I quit this place--if any answer indeed is to be
given. I appoint a meeting. Any man of courage or honor will feel
himself obliged to be there, without further question. Ralph is
undoubtedly a man of courage; I have seen him tried; but he may not
like to fight me in this cause; and I will have yea or nay."
Robert felt that he had made a false step, but he hastened to retrieve
it by another stroke of his art.
"Well, then," he said, "let us send it by my servant Roger; he is
skillful in all small diplomacies. He shall be here in a moment. Fold
it up, and seal it with your largest seal, remember, while I throw on
a dressing-gown and seek for my good man."
Henry Woodhall sat down to the table, and his cousin left the room.
Close to his own door he met his man Roger, coquetting with a
pretty-looking waiting-woman somewhat over-dressed. He had no
hesitation, however, in breaking through their sweet conversation by
calling Master Roger to the window at the further end of the corridor.
"Who is that?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon the girl, as she
retreated toward the head of the stairs.
"Only Lady Danvers's waiting-woman," answered Roger, with a simper;
"she is a sweet creature, and uncommonly kind."
"Ah!" said his master; "now listen to me;" and he proceeded in a low
voice to give the man the instructions which he thought needful. He
repeated them over twice with great precision, and each time Roger
bowed his head and said, "It shall be done, sir." How he fulfilled his
mission I shall now proceed to show.
Robert Woodhall returned at once to his own room, saying as he
entered, "I can not find the scoundrel; but he will be here soon, for
he knows my hour, and that I won't endure negligence."
Henry Woodhall rose with a look of impatience, and walked up and down
the room. A few minutes after, there was a knock at the door, and the
servant entered.
"You are late," said his master, in an affectedly sharp tone.
"No, sir, to a minute," replied Roger; "the castle clock is now
striking."
"Well, that matters not," cried Henry; "take this letter to the room
of Master Ralph Woodhall, and bring me back an answer, if he thinks
fit to send one."
"Instantly, sir," said the man, taking the note with a very humble
bow; and, with a look of perfect unconsciousness, he quitted the room.
He then directed his course at once toward the apartment of Ralph, but
he communed with himself as he went. "A guinea!" he said; "a guinea!
and something more in prospect! Upon my soul, my honorable master is
generous and free of his money. Hang me if I do not spoil this little
scheme for him, just to show him that he can not work without me. But
I must be cautious, so that he does not find out who did it."
He put the letter in his pocket, and walked straight on to Ralph's
door, where he knocked.
Now most of the rooms in the duke's palace at Norwich had ante-rooms
to them, which was the case here. Thus the door was opened, not by
Ralph Woodhall himself, but by no less a person than Gaunt Stilling;
and the servants of the two cousins stood face to face, eyeing each
other for a moment with a somewhat sinister expression, like two
quarrelsome dogs meeting suddenly at the corner of a street and
deliberating, ere they set to, as to which shall give the first bite.
"Good morning to you, Mr. Stilling," said Roger, who was the first to
drop his tail, if I may follow out my simile; for a soldier of the
Tangier regiment might well be considered a very formidable opponent.
"Let us forget all grudges. I have had no share, for my part, in doing
you any wrong; and I now bear a message from my master to yours--not
very willingly, for, to say the truth, I don't do much of my master's
work willingly at all; but a man must gain his bread, you know."
"What is your message?" asked Gaunt Stilling, sharply, adding
something, muttered between his teeth, which the other did not hear.
"My master told me to say," replied Roger, "that he will be obliged if
your master will be in this room of his at noon to-day, as he has
something to say to him at that hour."
"Very well, so be it," replied Gaunt Stilling, and was then about to
close the door, which he held in his hand, in the other man's face. A
sudden change of thought seemed to come across him, however, and he
opened it wider than before, saying, "Harkee, Roger, I do not believe
you are so bad as the rest of them. I never saw you at our house with
your scoundrel master; and, if you take my advice, you will quit his
service as soon as possible, otherwise bad luck may befall you."
"Find me another place first, Mr. Stilling," replied Roger; "but,
however, I will talk more with you of it by-and-by. I dare say we
shall soon meet; and I do not like my place much, I can tell you, in
any way."
Gaunt Stilling nodded his head and shut the door.
Robert Woodhall's servant then directed his steps quite in a different
direction from his master's chamber, found out Lady Danvers's
waiting-woman on the floor below, and whispered a word in her ear.
"A challenge!" cried the maid.
"Yes," replied Roger, in a solemn tone, "about some words which passed
between them last night in the ball-room."
"And when are they going to fight?" cried the young lady.
"Some time in the afternoon." replied Roger; "but the hour I did not
hear, for I was talking with a pretty little gill-flirt, of whom you
know something, in the passage. She was as cruel as Queen Mary, and
made me lose the best part of the story. Can I find you again in an
hour?"
"Not you," cried the girl, with a coquettish air.
"I am obliged to go now," said Roger, "but I will hunt the house for
you very soon. Mind you don't tell any one what I have told you."
"Oh dear, no," replied the girl, "I would not tell any one for the
world;" and away she went, and told her mistress every word.
In the mean time Roger made his way back to his master's room, having
calculated--for he was a great calculator--that the little interlude
which had just passed would precisely fill up the lapse of time that
might have been consumed in reading the letter of which he was the
bearer, if he had delivered it. He entered without ceremony; and, as
he expected, the first question was, "Have you taken the letter?"
"Yes, sir," replied Roger, mentally adding, "and brought it back
again."
"What was the answer?" demanded Robert Woodhall.
"Very short, sir," replied Roger; "all that was said was 'Very well,
so be it.'"
"So I say too," cried Henry Woodhall; "so be it, Master Ralph. I knew
he would not flinch, Robert; but now I will go and get my father and
Margaret off as soon as possible, and return and join you here from
our first halting-place."
"Good," replied Robert, regarding his cousin with a somewhat
supercilious smile, which the other could not help remarking. His
thoughts, however, were busy with other things, and he made no inquiry
regarding the cause, but at once quitted the room.
Robert remained seated, with his eyes fixed upon the table, and for
some moments he was motionless as well as silent. There are people,
however, who, when thought is very strong within them, love to have
some active demonstration of the conclusions at which they have
arrived. Robert Woodhall raised both his hands, and with the index
finger of the right touched first one and then another of the
left-hand, pausing between the second and third, and then going on to
the third and fourth.
"So," he said; "ay, so."
At that moment his eye rested upon his servant Roger, and he
exclaimed, angrily, "What are you lingering for? quit the room."
"I thought you might want me, sir," replied the man; "and you told me
to bring the letter back again, and deliver it to you."
Thus saying, he placed the challenge before his master, and retreated
to the ante-room, where he paused for an instant to consider what he
termed "the finger work."
"That is to say, as plain as it can speak," said Roger to himself,
imitating his master's gesticulations, "finger one, Henry kills Ralph;
finger two, a troublesome rival out of my way, and I revenged by
another man's sword--very good. Finger three, Ralph kills Henry;
finger four, a better man than myself taken out of the world, an
everlasting barrier put between Master Ralph and Mistress Margaret,
Lord Woodhall without an heir, and I Baron Woodhall on his death--very
good, indeed! Clever, Master Robert, clever! I did not think you had
so much wit; but there are other witty people in the world as well as
yourself."