A VISIONARY.
"Wenn der Lenzerwacht, und wenn Liebesmacht
Dich gefesselt hält mit Leide,
Wandle nicht allein, Nachts im Mondenschein,
Durch die grüne, grüne Haide."
M. NATHUSIUS.
Mrs. Joyce ushered her guest up the wide staircase with due ceremony
and volubility. He was aware that faces peered from half-open doors
and whispered remarks went round as he came out into the hall with the
landlady, and when he began to ascend the stairs in her wake, the
household ventured forth and watched his progress with admiration and
awe.
The maid, who carried in the sumptuous feast Mrs. Joyce provided,
glanced nervously around as she deposited her dishes clattering on the
table, and fled as quickly as she could, and Mrs. Joyce herself, who
followed to superintend, was evidently ill at ease, and her hands
trembled as she re-ordered the maid's hasty arrangements. But, in
spite of her alarms, it was with considerable difficulty that Mr.
Rogers cut short her scoldings and apologies, and induced her to leave
him to himself.
When the good woman had at last been persuaded to depart, Mr. Rogers
took a careful survey of the room, and then he softly bolted the door
and drew a heavy tapestry curtain across it. Then he walked over to
the great fireplace and stood at one side of it, close to the panelled
wall.
"Mistress Perrient," he said, in a low but clear voice; "Miss Perrient,
I pray you let me speak with you. I am John Rogers, and I promise you,
on my faith as a minister of the gospel, I will betray you neither to
your enemies not yet to your friends. I have come hither to pray you
to let me be instrumental in your escape, and seeing that I also have
often times been both fugitive and a prisoner, I pray you to trust me
as a friend."
He stood and waited, and all was silent. Then he spoke again--
"Mistress Perrient, I take God to witness I am a true man. I pray you
trust me and be not afraid. There is no one here but I; if you will
but speak with me, no one shall be told. Your secret is indeed safe."
There was a sound of a bolt shot back, and then a panel swung slowly
forward. There, in a doorway, stood Audrey Perrient, a very deplorable
sight, with her tear-stained face and disordered dress.
"My poor child!" cried the minister, stepping hastily forward and
taking her hand. "You are indeed in a sorry plight! Madam, it goes to
my heart to see you thus! I pray you come forth and sit by the
fire--the door is safely fastened. Why, you look well-nigh as white as
did my wife when she lay sick in Carisbrook Castle. Before I say aught
further, you must eat and drink." And he poured out a cup of wine and
carried to her.
"How did you know I was here?" demanded Audrey, with a scared face,
disregarding his hospitable care.
"It was but a guess; but a guess I am right thankful to have made, and
that no one knows of but myself. Why, madam, you would have perished
of cold and hunger had you stayed long in that hiding-place."
"Oh no," she answered, with a wan smile. "I have a great cloak, and an
old man will bring me provisions as soon as 'tis dark to-night."
Mr. Rogers remembered the description Harrison had given him of Audrey
Perrient's fertility of devices; but he was too wise to make any
comment, and contented himself with establishing her in the great
chair, and pressing all Mrs. Joyce's dainties upon her.
"But, sir," said Audrey, a faint colour creeping back into her white
face; "I know not why I should let you so trouble yourself in serving
me. You have doubtless travelled far and are weary enough."
"Yes, by your leave I will willingly share your dinner, Mistress
Perrient. They say 'tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting,
and when we have dined I hope you will let me unfold the proposals I
have for your escape."
"I thank you, sir," said Audrey, drawing herself up, "I have made my
own plans for my journey. I care not to join company again with
strangers."
"Nay, madam, I do entreat you not to count me as a stranger, for not
only am I a minister of the gospel, so that it is mine office to seek
out any of Christ's flock whom I may serve and tend. And further, it
is now many years that I have known your name and even exchanged
letters with your learned father. And so much as five years agone,
when I was snatched from my congregation and thrown into prison by the
late tyrant, who did rage and devour in England, in the same chains did
lie my precious friend Major-General Harrison. And as we lay in
bondage and comforted our souls with savoury discourse concerning holy
things, so did we also speak of worldly concerns as casting our care
concerning them on Him who careth for us. And then did General
Harrison tell me of his excellent friend, Sir Gyles Perrient of
Hunstanton, and also of his granddaughter Mistress Audrey----"
"Oh!" interrupted Audrey, a flash of angry comprehension coming across
her face. "Then it was you who told that uncivil old gentleman at Lynn
of the talk of my marriage?"
"To my sorrow I did. And for that indiscretion of my tongue I do
heartily ask your pardon. But, indeed, I spoke of the matter in the
simplicity of my heart with Dick Harrison, nor did either of us know
that brother Marshman noted what we said. But I am all the more bound
to amend that evil I did ignorantly. And, therefore, have I sought
you, madam, to pray you to honour me with your company on my journey to
Rotterdam, for I go there, God willing, by the next ship that sails
from Lynn, to meet my wife, who waits for me there with our little
lads."
Audrey cast an eager look at him. "Oh!" she cried, with a wild burst
of weeping, "have I one friend in the world, can I trust any one?"
"Take comfort, my child," answered the minister. "I do verily believe
I have been led hither, that I should be an instrument for your
deliverance. Therefore I bid you take no further thought concerning
your journey, seeing I will bring you to my wife, and you shall abide
with her till we hear of honest folks undertaking the New England
voyage, with whom you may cross the ocean. 'Tis but a small matter,
you see," he added, jestingly. "We poor ministers are so well used to
fleeing from one place to another, that we take little thought how to
compass our ends, and yet doth the Lord bring us in safety to the haven
where we would be."
Audrey gave a sob, and then suddenly springing up, she threw herself on
her knees before him.
"I do believe you have been sent direct from heaven to succour me in my
extremity of body and soul," she cried.
"Nay, nay," answered the good man, raising her and placing her in her
chair. "Take not the matter with such passion. I partly guess it is
the precious balm of Brother Marshman that has been like to break your
head, for the true wisdom of his counsel is often times lost by reason
of the bitter husk in which he doth enfold it. But the fear of man
worketh a snare, therefore be of good courage and, by God's help, you
shall come safe to your father."
Audrey sat silent awhile, passively enjoying the relief from terror and
fatigue. The physical warmth and food that had refreshed her, seemed a
sort of outward sign of the comfort that flowed into her soul from the
good man's simple words of encouragement. Mr. Rogers saw she was
almost at an end of her strength, and drawing his bible from his
pocket, he proceeded to read and write notes without seeming to pay any
attention to her. So they sat in silence for some time. At last
Audrey spoke, hesitatingly, her eyes fixed on the fire--
"I am afraid I have been very fantastic and perverse."
"Nay, nay," said Mr. Rogers, laying down his pen and drawing nearer to
the hearth. "There must be no more hard words, whether from ministers
or yourself. You do well to defend your liberty, even with your life.
If you feared that any man should arrogate a sovereignty over you, for
which none hath any warrant, or to hinder your liberty of choice and
force you by star-chamber admonitions into the bonds of a marriage you
like not, you did well to flee. Hold fast your liberty, keep your
ground that Christ hath got and won for you, and maintain your lawful
rights."
"I do believe my grandfather gave me more liberty than many women
enjoy," said Audrey, thoughtfully. "But I fear his goodness hath
encouraged my natural pride and self-will most mightily."
"Then take the greater heed," said Mr. Rogers. "While I desire that
men despise not women, neither wrong them of their liberty in voting
and speaking in common affairs, yet I do also desire women to be
cautious in the use of their liberty. Festina lente. First be swift
to hear, slow to speak; your silence may sometimes be the best advocate
of your orderly liberty, and the sweetest evidence of your prudence and
modesty. And yet you ought not by your silence to trouble your
conscience nor lose your privileges. But be not too hasty, nor too
high, for"--he concluded with a smile, pointing to the writing that
filled every blank corner on the pages of his Bible--"as the notes that
come too nigh the margin are in danger of running into the text, so
spirits that run too high at first, may soon fall into disorder and
irregularity."
Audrey smiled. "I will lay your words to heart, sir," she said. "It
would not be in nature, methinks, that I should forget anything that
has happened this day, and the remembrance of my miseries, and of your
goodness, should be a beacon to point me to the thought of your
counsels."
They sank into silence once more. Audrey lay dozing in the great
chair, and her companion was soon completely absorbed in his own
thoughts. His Bible dropped on his knee, and his thin features worked
with excitement, as broken vows of meditation and prayer escaped him
now and again. "The Lord's muster-day is at hand--then, by the grace
of God, the proudest of them shall know we are engaged on life or
death, to stand or fall with the Lord our Captain-General on his red
horse." "Though we may suffer hard things yet he hath a gracious end,
and will make for His own glory and the good end of His people. God
will give testimony unto what He hath been doing."
The early winter evening drew on, the shadows gathered in the corners
of the great chamber, but still there was no sound but the crackling of
the fire, and the murmured soliloquy of the minister.
At last the silence was broken by the deep note of the church clock.
Audrey sprang up.
"That must be six," she said, "and old John awaits me below in the
gravel pit. I must go down to him."
Mr. Rogers looked at her blankly for a moment, and then suddenly came
down from the visionary regions in which he had spent the last two
hours.
"And what order shall we take for your journey?" he asked, in quite a
businesslike tone. "If you will honour me with your company so far, I
pray you ride with me, to-night, to Lynn. I know an excellent poor
woman," he hastened to add, "in whose house you may lodge till I hear
when the _Good Hope_ sails."
"Thank you, sir, I will gladly embrace your counsel. When do you
purpose to start? Perhaps it were safest I should meet you without the
town if you will set me an hour and a rendezvous."
"I think we may begin our march as soon as the moon rises. All that
troubles me is to find you a horse without awaking notice, for if I
should go afoot to Lynn, I fear it will somewhat delay your flight."
"Oh," cried Audrey, "did you, indeed, think I would consent to steal
your horse! No, no, my servant hath for sure ridden my pony hither,
and I will bid him tramp home and let me ride into Lynn. We can tarry
as we pass Inglethorpe to shift saddles; old Molly will fetch me mine
out without rousing the constable. Then, sir, may I await you about a
mile out on the road? There is a pond there, screened by bushes. I
can keep close there till you come."
When Mr. Rogers was aroused a second time from his meditation, by the
message that his horse was in readiness, the whole household was on the
watch to see him come forth from the haunted chamber, and as he passed
down the stairs, his large eyes still bright with the vision that had
occupied his hours of meditation, whispers went round from maid to man:
"I'll warrant he has seen somewhat!" "A' looks mighty ungain." "A'
might be a ghost hisself, and I'll be sworn I smell sulphur!"
The landlady bustled forward, but Mr. Rogers hardly noticed her.
"Pray, pray, good sir, tell me, have you seen aught?" she urged, in a
loud whisper, catching his sleeve as he passed through the hall.
He turned his eyes vaguely upon her. "Have I seen aught?" he repeated.
"Surely, surely, I have seen the glory of the Lord for many a year, and
the vision is not for me alone, but for all! All flesh shall see Him,
and shall walk in the light of His light."
"But, dear sir," she cried in great perturbation, her voice rising from
a whisper in her urgency, "have you seen aught of our young lady--of
Mistress Audrey Perrient?"
"Oh, ay, I crave your pardon, good hostess. My mind was set on certain
words of promise that have been borne in on me while I read the
Scriptures. Your young lady? She is in safety; she will speedily be
with her friends."
"But the noises, good sir?" urged Mrs. Joyce; and the maids, encouraged
by her open curiosity, ventured near to listen.
"The noises? They matter not--they are nothing; you will not be
further troubled, you need have no fear! Nevertheless," he said,
stopping suddenly, and turning with his hands raised to face the
household, "ye do well to fear, seeing that the day cometh when all
shall fear, both great and small. Therefore I warn you to seek a sure
refuge while it be time, and turn unto the Lord to-day; for those that
be his saints dwell in safety, neither fear they any terror by night,
and the pestilence that walketh in darkness shall not come nigh them."
So saying, he walked out of the door.
Half an hour later, the bright moon that lit up the open moorlands that
bordered the sea showed two figures riding along the bridle-path that
led from Hunstanton to Lynn. Audrey led the way, and guided her
companion down lonely little bye-paths and sandy lanes that were seldom
used, save by the few fishermen or broom-binders, who lived on the
borders of the moorlands.
It was one of those rare nights that sometimes come in an English
February and carry with them the promise of May. The soft air brought
wafts of fragrance from the balmy fir-woods and yellow gorse-blossoms,
and the full moon shed a golden haze over the lonely heath. They rode
in silence, the horses' hoofs scarcely making a sound on the sandy way.
Mr. Rogers was still wrapt in dreams. Eager as he was to assist any
one whom he considered was the victim of tyranny or cruelty, as soon as
the immediate need of action ceased to press on him, he relapsed
naturally into his habitual train of thought and returned to that
visionary world that was far more real to him than the material one
that lay around him.
The spiritual powers of evil, and the human persecutors of the Fifth
Monarchy men, rose marshalled before him in the one great host that
followed the dragon, mustering for the final conflict of Armageddon;
and to his vivid enthusiasm there could be but a little time to wait
before that conflict must end in the crowning victory of the saints,
and the establishment on earth of the visible kingdom of Christ--the
last and greatest of the monarchies of the world. He rode on, his head
raised, his light hair floating back from his ecstatic face, riding, as
he ever hoped it might be, to join the host of angelic horsemen, who
might appear to him at any moment.
To Audrey, that night-ride seemed the strangest thing she had ever
known. The silent, hazy landscape, the flood of golden moonlight, her
own wild fears and resentments so suddenly stilled. It seemed to her
as though the words she caught from time to time, half-chanted by her
companion, were less strange and dreamlike than the events that were
passing around her.
Silently Audrey led the way. Mile after mile they rode, now threading
a cautious way through the dark aisles of the fir-woods, and then
making better time on the delicate turf that bordered the waste of
sand-hills to seaward.
"We must venture a little way on the road here,", said Audrey, at
length. "I fear the Babingly brook is too much swollen by the rains
for safe fording, and we must cross the bridge."
They turned on to the main road and reached the bridge, when a man
suddenly sprang out from the bushes by the road, and barred their way.
With a stifled cry Audrey turned her horse.
"All's well," cried the stranger, "'tis only I, Dick Harrison. I have
waited here for you, thank Heaven, you are safe!" He stood between
them, his hand on Mr. Rogers's saddlebow, and spoke rapidly. "The hue
and cry is out after Mistress Perrient, and all the ways into Lynn are
beset. I could not go out of the south gate without a scuffle; she
must not try to enter. But I have a boat here, and if Mistress
Perrient can endure a night on the water, 'twill be easy to board the
_Good Hope_ to-morrow morning, when she is safe out of Lynn harbour."
Mr. Rogers did not answer. Richard laid his hand on his knee.
"I have a boat here, good sir," he repeated. "We must not venture into
Lynn for fear of the constables."
Mr. Rogers did not seem to hear. He still gazed away into the distance
with the ecstatic expression that had illuminated his face during the
silent ride; then, as he caught the last word, he started.
"Fear," he echoed, "what do we know of fear? is it not for the soldiers
of the Most High to fear when the trumpet sounds?"
"No, sir," urged Richard, "but there is no fighting towards now; it is
only that Justice Tomkins desires to hinder Mistress Perrient's
journey."
The minister was too entirely absorbed in his own dreams to attend to
the words of Harrison, except when they fell in with his own train of
thought.
"Tomkins," he repeated, "Tomkins, ay, he doubtless hindereth. He that
letteth will let, till he be taken out of the way. Nevertheless, his
time is short, and the day of repentance is well-nigh at its end. I
will back and warn him."
Audrey looked at him in dismay. "Dear sir," she ventured to say, "you
had set to take me to Rotterdam by this ship."
"Cast not a stumbling-block in my way!" cried Mr. Rogers, more wildly.
"Shall I have the blood of this man Tomkins on my head? Shall he go
down into the pit suddenly without warning? The great beast Oliver is
cast down, and the remembrance of him is a scoffing; so shall it be
also to all them that have followed him. The Lord's muster-day is at
hand; his magazines and artillery, yea, his most excellent mortar
pieces and batteries are ready. We wait only for the Most High to fall
on----" His voice died away in murmurs like those of a man talking in
his sleep.
Audrey's heart died within her. What had befallen her half-angelic
guardian? Was her confidence once more given amiss? If he had failed
her, who indeed could she trust? Astonished and alarmed, she looked
from one to the other. Where could she go? She was once more as
helpless and unfriended as she had been before Mr. Rogers had found
her. Nay, she was even in some ways in a worst plight; her
self-reliance and self-confidence were shaken, for her calmer reason
told her that Mr. Marshman's comments on her adventurous journey were
perfectly just, that her grandfather would have said the same, though
in more polished terms, and that no words at all would have been equal
to expressing Madam Isham's horror at such an unconventional proceeding.
That silent night-ride had calmed her spirits, and she could judge her
life with a curious sense of detachment, as though she had risen for a
while to look down on it from some starry height. She read her own
heart with a new clear-sightedness, and she knew now that it was not
the dictatorial manner or the cruel candour of Mr. Marshman that was
the true cause of the wild revolt that had filled her soul. She had
discovered why the thought of such a usual thing as an arranged
marriage with Richard Harrison had stung her so bitterly, why the bare
thought that he might have overheard the brutal plainness of Mr.
Marshman's words brought back the wild desire to fly anywhere, so that
she might hide herself.
If it had not been for the strange quiet that had descended on her soul
from Mr. Rogers's half-inspired words at Hunstanton, she would not have
had courage to face this new discovery, for she knew now that this ache
in her heart would never leave her and what its true name was. Well,
this pain must be endured with the other troubles of life, and endured
in silence.
Harrison turned to her, and she met his eyes without flinching. She
was relieved to find there was no intimacy, no claim to familiarity,
only courtesy and the cool readiness of a leader.
"Mr. Rogers is overwearied," he said, under his breath. "We must rouse
him."
"Dear sir, you must come this way," he continued, laying his hand on
the minister's rein.
"Stay me not, stay me not," he answered, wheeling his horse so abruptly
that Harrison had to step quickly out of the way. "I must back to
Hunstanton lest destruction come upon him even as a thief in the night."
Harrison caught his bridle once more. "You would not go alone to him,"
he said, in a cheerful voice, "Remember, it is written that two
witnesses shall establish a matter. You will seek Mr. Marshman, and go
together to warn this man."
"You say well, you say well," answered the minister, hurriedly. "There
shall be two witnesses, and two prophets before the great day of the
Lord. I will go seek Brother Marshman instantly," and setting spurs to
his wearied horse he dashed forward along the road to Lynn.
Audrey looked at Harrison in dismay. "Is he mad?" she asked.
"I sometimes fear he must be near it," he answered. "But, in truth, I
believe it is but that he is very high-flown concerning the Fifth
Monarchy and such matters, neither do these fits last long with him, I
have never seen him so near distraught. Yet Mr. Marshman knows how to
handle him and will not let him run into any danger, and, I doubt not,
will see him safe aboard in the morning." He noticed that Audrey was
still silent. "Even if anything should befall the good man, which God
forbid," he said, "we had set us a rendezvous at Mrs. Rogers's lodging
at Rotterdam, so if you will do me so much grace, I will bring you
thither; 'tis but a short voyage to come there."
He looked at her. Her face was white in the moonlight, and looked thin
and drawn. When might he dare to ask what had happened during the last
two days? When might he ask for her pardon?
"I entreat of you to come to the boat," he said. "Most like you know
the old fisherman who owns it, Job Hamont? He waits below for us. I
fear though the road is too bad for riding."
Audrey made no answer in words, but slid from her horse and stood
waiting in the road.
"Shall I lead the pony down to Job's hut?" asked Harrison.
"Oh, no, Dapple knows how to take care of himself," answered Audrey, at
last. She tied up the reins, and then with a sudden movement she laid
her cheek beside the pony's. "Farewell, old friend," she murmured, "I
shall scarce find one more faithful. Now home, little horse, home!"
she cried, recovering herself and clapping her hands, and the docile
little beast trotted off in the direction of Inglethorpe.