FATE AT WORK.
"And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company
Upon whose faith and honour I repose."
_Two Gentlemen of Verona._
Harrison took Audrey's hand and led her back into the kitchen. For a
minute he held her hand, and a curious memory came to him of how he had
once picked up a little bird that had fallen from its nest, and how
softly the little live thing had nestled in his palm. Then he spoke
gently--
"Mistress Audrey, you must not stay here longer alone."
"No," she gasped. "No, I will go speedily. But no one was ever
uncivil to me before in all my life. All the folk about here reverence
our very name. I will keep down at the cottage with old Molly till I
am ready to depart."
"May I ask you what delays your journey, madam?" he asked.
"Faith!" she answered, smiling through some tears, "because I liked my
own company too little to travel forth with no better. I have delayed
that perhaps I might hear of honest folk, travelling at least so far as
Rotterdam, who would bear me company. But I may not tarry much longer
or all my money will be spent, so indeed I will now be gone with all
speed."
Harrison looked at her. Could any man, with a spark of chivalry in his
breast, endure to think of this bright young creature going forth
alone, to cross half the world, as ignorant of the perils that might
surround her as though she were still the child he had pulled out of
the lily pond? Could he forsake his little playfellow?
Richard was not in the habit of hesitating. "Mistress Audrey," he said
eagerly, "why cannot you take your journey on Thursday when I do, and
let me be as your brother to guard you? God do so to me, and more
also, if I bring you not safe to your father's hands. Will you not
take me for your brother, Audrey? For the sake of old times, and the
memory of those we both did love and reverence, you will trust me?"
"In truth," she answered, "I knew not how sore I needed a brother till
this very day."
She looked out of the door across the empty landscape, brown woods and
russet fields; nowhere, save in the little white cottage below the
copse, was there a friend for her in all the country. Who would burden
themselves with a penniless girl? And if her kinsfolk were too
careless or too proud to own her, she on the other hand, had been too
closely kept in her own circle of well-born neighbours to have any
acquaintances among the Nonconformists who were now flying from
England. Her gay courage had always made her strive to ignore the
difficulties that lay before her; but she knew only too well how
difficult, nay almost impossible for a lonely girl, was the journey
that lay before her; for those were days when a woman needed a strong
arm and a ready blade to protect her among strangers. She had still
kept putting off her inevitable journey, telling herself that
companions might yet be found to share the perils of a voyage half
across the world. But in the bottom of her heart she knew that she
might linger in Inglethorpe Hall till she was grey-headed before the
desired protector appeared. Now, by a sort of miracle, came a friend
of old times, pat to the minute! Would it not be childish, nay wrong,
to hesitate? Harrison's kind hand still held hers, his eyes were bent
on her face in anxious waiting for her decision. She turned towards
him, and he caught her meaning.
"Then shall it be so?" he cried gaily. "And you will be my little
sister? I will indeed do all I may to make the rough ways smooth for
you, and you will pardon your brother's lack of courtly fashions?"
"I knew not I was so very great a coward," she murmured, brushing away
a tear that had stolen down her cheek; "but I am not of a fearful
nature, and I will not be burdensome to you on the journey--good
brother," she added softly.
"Then, now," he cried cheerfully, "we have no time to lose; we must
dispose all for our flitting. What do you propose for our order of
march? You are the lady commander."
"Oh, that will give no one a headache to plan. I am but roosting in
the corner of this old house by the charity of Sir Frank Cremer, to
whom it passed back when my aunt died; so I have but to lock the door,
and give the key to old John, and have done with my housekeeping. John
hath long desired to spend his savings on buying my cows, so they do
not stand in the way of my journey; and what goods I desire to carry
over seas can travel to Lynn by to-morrow's carrier, and he will see
them aboard your ship. But"--she interrupted herself--"I do not think
you should be seen in those clothes."
"Why?" he laughed rather ruefully, as he looked down at his tarnished
lace. "I know my suit is too travel-worn for the champion of so dainty
a lady; but methinks there is no sign of a Puritan about it to put me
in danger. My uncle had no love for a godliness that depended on a
plain band or a dingy cloak."
"Nay, 'tis too gay you are," she answered; "so fine a gentleman cannot
pass unnoticed. Let me see"--she paused and considered--"I have it!
The cowman John goes to-day on my errands to Castle Rising, and I will
bid him buy me divers things that my father will need, so no one will
wonder if he gets also a suit of country clothes, such as our yeomen
wear. Then the ship-men may take you for one of the wool-merchants who
are always passing to and fro to Holland, and no questions will be
asked."
"Methinks, fair sister," he cried in admiration, "you were born a
plotter! I have money enow, but may I trust old John's discretion to
buy me fitting raiment?"
"Oh, you seem much of a height with my father," she said, eyeing him
critically, "though you are broader in the shoulders. The suit shall
fit you as well as fit the times. But I believe in your heart you are
loth to change from a fine gentleman to the likeness of a country
clown," she added mischievously: then, breaking into a laugh, "I know
not what you will think of my father when we get to land! I misdoubt
me sorely we shall find him clad like John the Baptist on the
tapestries, for what clothes he hath not given away will be falling off
him in rags!"
"Is it not strange that Sir Gyles' son should favour him so little?"
"Ah, but he is like my grandfather in that he is wise; only he is wise
like a philosopher, and looks at the matters of this world as if he
were sitting away high up with Greeks, and Romans, and saints, in the
clouds. Grandad used to say father cared more for the laws of Plato's
Republic than he did for English Acts of Parliament, and that some day
he would be asking if Queen Bess sat still on the throne! While my
grandfather was wise for everything, for the constables, and the
soldiers, and the poor folks, and the Parliament; so when he died it
was as though the sky had fallen, and no one knew which way to turn."
But there was little time to spare, even for such a chatterbox as
Audrey to discourse in. She was soon flying round the house, searching
and planning, emptying cupboards, and tying up bundles, and Richard
found work enough to drive away all thoughts, save how best to defend
bedding from salt water, and whether it were possible to carry the
great brass warming-pan over seas. Not till evening drew on and the
chests and bundles were piled ready in the entry, did the thoughts that
had laid in ambush all day spring out and possess him again. The
pleasant occupation, the novelty of the girl's bright society and ready
sympathy, had charmed them to sleep for a while, but the sickness that
lay at his heart was part of himself; it was only the more real that he
could turn from it for a while, and come back and find it unchanged.
"Prithee, good brother," cried Audrey, crossing to the chimney corner,
where he sat in sudden gloom, "why so sad? Are you already repenting
of having chosen a hard task-mistress as a travelling companion?"
He started from his study. "No, truly," he answered; "'tis the
pleasantest day I have spent since the troubles came upon us. I reckon
I have laughed more this day than I have for a twelve-month past. But,
sweet sister, is there not enough to make a man sad nowadays?"
"Yes," she answered gently; "but you must not grieve overmuch for
General Harrison. Surely, though the way thereto was hard, now he hath
attained to rest from his labours."
"Ay," answered Richard, bitterly, rising and pacing up and down the
kitchen, "but do his works follow him? Indeed I grieve no longer for
him of whom this land is not worthy. How may I dare to grieve, having
witnessed his triumph over a death of agony? But what of the liberties
of England for which he gave his life? If our cause had been of God
would it not have gone forward? But He hath not owned us, and our
labour was spent in vain."
"No, no," she cried eagerly; "not all in vain! I am but a foolish
girl, and should not speak of such high matters; but I mind my father
often hath said that a great deed hath an immortality in itself and
cannot die, even if for a time it seem to perish. He did not justify
the death of the king, but doth bewail it yearly as the day comes
round, in fasting and humiliation. He held that the cause of Liberty
must triumph in the end by men's eyes being instructed to desire her
for her beauty, for that she needs not the service of bloody hands. He
is of so meek a spirit, he would rather endure to the uttermost than
take the sword. Yet have I often heard him say that he did account all
that the army had done for the liberty of England was so great, that
the names of those who fought in it would, by-and-by, be numbered among
the heroes of history."
"You are a kind comforter, my gentle sister, and I trust your
prophecies may prove true. Yet, as a man may not read his own epitaph,
'tis but a lesson of patience to say that by-and-by matters may mend,
while now they go from bad to worse."
Audrey could not, in the bottom of her heart, grieve as deeply as did
the young soldier for the downfall of the Republican cause, but even in
that lonely Hall she heard enough of public matters to understand that
the new King Charles was not renewing the golden Elizabethan age she
had been brought up to revere, and, moreover, she was a born
hero-worshipper, and treasured the stories of Blake's victories, and of
Cromwell's defence of the Waldenses all the more dearly now that the
bones of those great Englishmen were torn from their graves and flung
into a shameful pit under the gallows. She could give a good deal of
sympathy, and still more of pity to the lost cause, but could she give
consolation? She had seen her grandfather preserve his hope of the
ultimate triumph of sober liberty through all the storms and tumult of
the Civil wars; she knew how old men could sorrow and could endure.
But this stranger's mind was still a sealed book to her. How did the
young sorrow? What was the comfort that would appeal to him? How
could she whisper hope to the man who sat with his head dropped in his
hands, as if he feared to let any one see the burning tears of shame
that were gathering in his eyes?
"If indeed the Lord spake to the Jews," Harrison went on, "did He not
speak to us? Or was that also but a vain imagination, and did men
fable when they wrote of the wonders done for the Jews, as they fabled
concerning the Greeks and Romans?"
"I have heard my father and other clergymen of our English Church say
they feared that some good men were apt to lean too much on the history
of the Jews, as though we in England were their doubles, and bound by
the same ordinances. He said he feared such reasonings, when they
proved hollow, would make men run the other way and fall into unbelief.
For he held that God hath His fashions of working, which differ for
every nation, as one star differs from another in glory, and that He
speaketh not to us in England by open signs, but for the most part,
through our reason and our consciences."
Harrison rose with a groan and strode restlessly across the room.
"Ay," he answered, "your father is a wise man. But did not our reason
and our consciences approve of that great work? Why then is it cast
down and brought to nought, as though it were all folly and wickedness?"
She rose, and laid her hand on his arm; her eyes, too, were full of
tears.
"Good brother, may it not be as in the days of the martyrs Mr. Fox
tells of? I mind me of the words of Bishop Latimer concerning the
flames that consumed him lighting a candle that should never be put out
in England. Perhaps in this war you have set going a word of liberty
that none may put to silence. Methinks, since the days of old Rome,
there can have been no such talk of the government of the people by the
people, as we have heard in these days, and as my father says, he
beholds in very deed in New England. Mayhap, liberty is but departed
across seas to renew her strength, and will come again to gather, not
England only, but all the nations, under her wings."
Harrison turned and caught her hand. "In truth I were worse than a Jew
did I not believe so fair a prophetess," he cried. "Yet----" he
paused, and looked at her curiously, and a sudden impulse came on him
to speak out all that was in his heart. "You seem very sure of it
all?" he said.
Audrey blushed scarlet. She had grown up among people who were less
outspoken on religious matters than the Puritans, and the young girl's
feelings were locked in her own little holy of holies; but she was no
coward.
"I doubt not I am often too sure of matters," she said. "My father was
wont to say I had too much impatience to be a true philosopher; but on
this I cannot but be sure."
All shyness was gone. She fixed her large eyes on him with the
directness of a child.
"But," he said, leaning forward, "Mr. Rogers and my uncle were very
sure, yet hath their Fifth Monarchy not appeared, nor have any miracles
answered their faith."
"You will think me very bold," she answered, "but may not men be great
saints and yet mistaken in the opinions which they hold within the
bounds of our common faith? It seems scarce fitting for me to carp at
the beliefs of General Harrison, yet you yourself did say he seemed to
you well-nigh crazed concerning the Fifth Monarchy?"
Richard nodded assent.
"Then sure, if his prayers were not according to reason, 'twould be
mercy that denied them? But indeed, as touching prayers, I have heard
my father say we must be on our guard lest we pray like the heathen,
holding our words as a charm that must needs bring an answer according
to our desires, for that the prayers of a Christian do consist rather
in carrying his matters into the presence of the great God, and leaving
them there, for Him to deal with as He lists."
Harrison made no answer, and there was silence a long time; only the
fire flickered, and the wind sighed softly without. Then Audrey rose
up and wished the young man good night; but as he took her hand, there
were tears in his eyes.