Let us return to the close of supper on the preceding night. The
abbess and her two fair nieces, with some other ladies who had been
congregated in the castle, retired, first, to a little hall, above
that where they had supped, and then, after a short conversation,
separated into various parties, and sought the chambers where they
were to take repose. Iola, Constance, and their aunt, retired to the
bed-room of the former, before they parted for the night, and sat and
talked for a few minutes in a calm tone.
"My dear child, you look sad," said the abbess; "has any thing vexed
you?"
"No, dear aunt, nothing more than usual," answered Iola, forcing a
laugh. "I suppose a man may be merry enough, when he knows he is to be
hanged at the end of a year; but the case alters when he finds himself
at the day before the hanging."
"A hang dog simile, my child," said the abbess. "But fie, Iola, put
away such thoughts. Marriage is an honourable state, though it lacks
the sanctity of devotion; and I doubt not it is a very comfortable
condition, though, good lack, I have never tried it, and never shall
now;" and she laughed a little at the thought. "Well, well, methinks
you ought to be content," she continued; "for, certainly he is a very
fair and handsome young man."
"Is he?" said Iola, in an indifferent tone. "I thought he was dark."
"Well, his hair and eyes are dark," replied her aunt, "and his skin
somewhat brownish; but what I meant was, that he is good-looking and
manly. I do not think your fair men, with pink cheeks, handsome for my
part, though I take but little heed to men's beauty--why should I?
However, I say he is as handsome a young man for a husband as woman
would wish to choose."
"I must have him for a husband whether I choose or not," answered
Iola; "so, handsome or ugly, it comes to the same."
Constance thought for a moment, and then said, in a quiet tone, "I do
not think he is so handsome as Lord Chartley;" and she gave a quick
glance towards her cousin's face as she spoke.
Iola's cheek was crimson in a moment, but she said nothing; and the
abbess exclaimed gaily, "Oh, this world, this world. I see it will
steal your heart away from us, Constance. No more vows and veils for
you now. Well, do as you like, my child. I have found a convent life a
very happy one--perhaps, because there was no choice, and I resolved
to make the best of it; and, if Iola would take her aunt's advice, she
would look upon marriage as much the same, and make the best of it
too."
With this piece of exceeding good counsel, the worthy lady rose and
left her two fair companions; and, no sooner was she gone, than
Constance moved closer to her cousin, and, laying her hand upon
Iola's, looked tenderly into her face.
"Give me your heart, Iola," she said. "You have withdrawn your
confidence from me, and your heart must have gone with it."
Iola bent down her forehead on her cousin's shoulder, and wept without
reply.
"Nay, dear cousin," continued Constance, "if not for my sake--if not
for old affection's sake, and for love, which, unlike the love of the
world, can never weary or wax old--for your own sake, give me your
confidence as in days of yore. Tell me your heart's feelings and your
mind's thoughts; for, be sure that there are few, if any, situations
in life, in which counsel cannot bring comfort."
"I will, I will, Constance," said Iola, wiping away the tears. "These
foolish drops," she continued, "spring but from a momentary weakness,
my Constance. I have borne up and struggled hard till now. It is
kindness that shakes me."
"But then tell me," said her cousin, "tell me whence they spring,
Iola. I see you are unhappy--miserable. I would fain help you, or, at
least, console you; but I know not how."
"What would you have, dear Constance?" said Iola, mournfully. "You
must see it--I love him not--I can never love him; and yet in a few
days, I know not how soon, I must vow at the altar to love him for
ever. Is not that a hard fate, dear Constance?"
"It might be worse," answered Constance. "How worse?" demanded Iola in
surprise. "If you loved another," said her cousin, slowly and
sorrowfully.
Again the crimson glow spread over Iola's brow and cheek, followed by
a warm gush of tears; but Constance twined her arms round her saying:
"I have your secret now, dear Iola. That is over. Let us speak freely
of all things. But first, for some comfort--though it be but a
reprieve. My uncle told me, just before supper, that the king's
consent to the celebration of the marriage has not been obtained; that
Richard begs him to delay, till he and the queen can be present. It
may be long first; for poor queen Ann, they declare, is gone mad upon
the death of the prince. It must be some months; for they cannot be
present at a marriage in mourning. But, what is very strange, my uncle
seemed well satisfied with the delay."
Iola sat and gazed at her as she spoke, with a look of wonder, as if
the tidings were so unexpected and incredible, even to hope, that she
could hardly comprehend what she heard. The next instant, however, she
started up and clapped her hands with a look of childlike joy.
"A reprieve!" she cried. "Oh, it is everything. It is everything. It
is comfort. It is life. It is hope!" and then, casting herself upon
her cousin's neck, she wept again, sobbing as if her heart would
break.
Constance tried to calm her, but her words seemed not to reach Iola's
mind; for, when the tears had had their way, she sprang up, clasping
her hands again, and crying, with the same radiant look, "Months, did
you say? Oh, moments were a blessing--who can tell what months may
bring forth? They have sometimes swept away empires. Now, we shall
have time to think, and speak, and act. Before, I thought it was
useless to take counsel even with you, dear Constance; for what could
counsel avail, when the event was hurrying on with such terrible
rapidity. It seemed like one of those mountains of snow, which I have
heard of, falling in the Alps, where, though they be seen thundering
down, 'tis vain to fly, or move, or think; for their coming is too
rapid, their extent too wide; and all that remains is to call upon the
name of God and die."
"Good Heaven, what an image!" exclaimed Constance; "and have you
really suffered all this, my poor Iola?--But now tell me what has
passed between you and Lord Chartley?"
"Nothing," replied Iola; and, be it remarked that, at every word she
uttered, her spirits seemed to revive more and more, as if nothing but
the intolerable burden which had been cast upon them had been able to
keep them down, and that, as soon as it was removed, they sprang up
again fresher than ever. "Nothing at all, but what I have told you,
dear Constance. For the world, I would not have told you a falsehood."
"Then, nothing has been said to make you think he loves you as you
love him!" asked Constance.
Iola blushed a little, and looked down; but, there was an expression
of arch meaning about her smiling lips; and she replied:--
"Nothing has been said, it is true, dear Constance; but a good deal
has been looked. How the tone, how the eyes change the whole meaning
of cold words: I have not loved, unbeloved, I hope--I trust--I
believe. Men are deceivers, you will say, and in nought more deceitful
than their looks. Perhaps you will tell me too that Chartley, this
very night, was gay and joyful, that he laughed and talked with those
around him, not at all like a disappointed lover. But he was not
joyful at his heart, Constance. I watched and saw it all. I saw that
the laugh was forced, the merriment unreal. I marked the sudden fit of
thought, the gloomy look that chequered the smile, the head held high,
and the curling lip which scorned the words the tongue uttered."
"Alas, that you should have watched so closely," answered Constance;
and, after a moment's thought, she added; "but, as we are to have
confidence in each other, dear Iola, I must feign nothing with you;
and I do believe that it is as you say. Nay, more. There is another,
who knows him better than I do, who thinks so too."
"Who? Who?" demanded Iola, eagerly.
"None other than good Sir William Arden," answered Constance; and she
went on to give her cousin a sketch of the conversation which had
taken place between herself and her companion at supper.
"I saw you talking very busily," replied Iola, with a smile; "but in
truth, dear Constance, I almost fancied you and the good knight had
better subjects of conversation than the fate of Iola and Chartley.
Well, thank Heaven, we have got another in the plot, who can give us
good help too, in the hour of need, perhaps."
"A plot!" said Constance, with a look of apprehension. "What plot do
you intend to form, Iola?"
"Now she is frightened out of her wits!" cried Iola, laughing as
merrily as ever. "No plot, dearest cousin. I spoke in my wild way, and
gave it a wild name. Only this, Constance, be sure of, that if there
be a means of escape--and what may not this respite produce--I will
not give my hand to Lord Fulmer--no, even though a convent should be
my only refuge, though Heaven knows, thinking as I think, that would
be bad enough."
"Thinking as you think--I do not understand what you mean, Iola," said
her cousin in some surprise.
Iola thought gravely for a moment or two, before she spoke; but at
length she replied:
"Perhaps I am not so devout as you are, Constance, and yet, in some
things more devout. There is another enigma for you; but I know a
convent would not suit me. You will say, I seemed happy enough in one;
but yet I have come to the belief that they are not truly holy or good
institutions. To take the vows I should have to take, were I to enter
one, to live according to all the rules and ordinances, to go through
all the ceremonies, and to make all the professions, I should be a
hypocrite, Constance. But to marry this Lord Fulmer, to vow that I
will love him when I love another, would make me worse than a
hypocrite."
Constance gazed at her with a bewildered look; for, though her words
were not very plain, yet they created doubts.
"I do not know what to think of your language, Iola," she answered.
"Holy men, fathers of the church, successors of the apostles, have
founded convents, and blessed them. Surely they cannot be evil
institutions with such a sanction."
Iola laughed, seeming not inclined to grapple with the question; and
then, with a playful gesture of the hand, she asked abruptly--
"Would you like now, now as you sit here, to devote yourself for life
to one of them?"
"That is not a fair question," answered Constance, with a blush and a
smile; "but now, let us think, Iola, of what must be your conduct
between these two men. To one you are bound by a contract, valid it
seems in the eye of the law, and from which you cannot escape,
although it was entered into when you had no power to assent or to
refuse. To the other you are linked by ties of affection, which are
even less easily broken, I do believe."
"Most mathematically put, dear cousin," answered Iola, in her old gay
tone; "but yet I can hardly reply. I must seek advice of some one who
knows more of the world's ways than either you or I do."
"My aunt?" suggested Constance. "She will say, there is but one thing
to be done--to yield, and make the best of it."
"No, no. Not to her will I apply," said Iola. "Of the world's ways,
dear Constance, of its laws and rules, she knows but little--hardly
more than we do. She can deal with foresters and bailiffs, sell timber
or wheat, collect the abbey dues, regulate its expenses, rule her nuns
wisely, though not strictly, and make devotion cheerful, without
depriving it of reverence; but there is a wide, wide circle beyond all
this, of which she knows nothing--nor I either, but that it exists."
"Then to whom can you apply?" asked Constance; and Iola, rising, laid
her hands upon her cousin's, with a grave smile.
"I will apply to one who will advise me well," she said; "but here,
dearest Constance, I must--however unwillingly--hold back a part of my
confidence from you. Were it my own alone, you should have it all,
fully and at once; but there is another, whose confidence I must not
break. Rest satisfied with this, that, as far as Chartley and I are
concerned, every secret of my heart, every act that I perform,
propose, or think of, shall be told to you at once. You shall see into
my breast, as if it were your own."
"But yet there will be one dark spot," said Constance, almost
reproachfully.
"Not concerning myself," answered Iola. "I tell you I am going to seek
advice. What that advice is, you shall know. Where I ask it, who gives
it, you must not know. This shall be the only reserve."
"And you will not act in anything without speaking to me?" asked
Constance anxiously.
"Certainly not," replied Iola; "but, you must promise in return,
Constance, that my confidence will never be violated, that no notions
which you may have imbibed of duty or propriety, or anything else on
earth--no, not of religion itself--shall make you ever betray to man
or woman that which I shall tell you."
Constance seemed to hesitate; and Iola added, firmly, but sadly--
"You must promise, Constance, or there can be no confidence. My heart
must hide itself from you, as from the rest of the world, unless I
know that its secrets are as safe with you as with myself. Will you
promise, without any reservation, remembering, that I shall look upon
no consideration of 'my own good,' as it is called, as an excuse for
your violating that engagement. I know you will keep your promise when
you have given it."
"Assuredly I will," replied Constance; and, after a moment's thought,
she added; "and I will give the promise too, Iola. If I did not, you
could easily withhold your confidence from me; and I do think that it
will be better for you to have some one, of whose love you can have no
doubt, to consult with and rely on. Remember I do not know and cannot
divine who this secret adviser is, nor how he or she should have
followed you hither, to give you counsel on any sudden occasion.
Surely you would not rely upon your maid, in preference to your
cousin."
Iola laughed gaily.
"Nay, Heaven forbid," she cried, waving her hand. "Besides, what knows
she of the world? Poor Susan's utmost experience reaches but to know,
that Harry Smith, the abbey gardener's son, bought her pink ribbons at
Tamworth fair, and asked her to marry him at Shrovetide next. No, no,
dear Constance. All my confidence you shall have--that is to say, all
my own. I will only keep from you the confidence of others; and now
your promise is given, is it not--fully and without reservation?"
"It is," answered Constance. "I know you have always hated that
doctrine of mental reservation, and called it unchristian and
uncandid. I do not like it, and will never act upon it, though very
good men say that it is sometimes needful."
"Fie on them!" cried Iola, warmly. "Those who would teach that would
teach any other kind of falsehood. But now, my own dear cousin, now
for a petition. Will you help your Iola to seek this advice?"
"How can I help you? What would you have me do?" asked Constance.
"'Tis but to endure imprisonment for an hour," said Iola, "to stay here
and watch till I come back, and, if any one comes to the door, merely
to answer, 'You cannot come in!'"
"That is easily accomplished," replied her cousin; "and I may as well
perform my devotions for the night here, as in my own chamber hard
by."
"Quite as well," answered Iola, with a smile. "But now I must clear
the way;" and, opening the door into the ante-room, she said--"Here,
Susan. Have the guests left the hall?"
"Oh yes, lady," replied the rosy country girl, who appeared in answer
to her summons. "They did not sit long to-night. They have all gone to
their chambers some time."
"Well then, I shall not want you for an hour," said Iola; and she
added, with a laugh--"I know there is some one whom you want to talk
with. But be discreet, Susan; and you shall have a present on my
marriage, to furnish house with."
The girl blushed, and simpered, and retired.
"And now," said Iola, "I must cover over these gay robes;" and,
opening one of those large cupboards, which, from the use that they
were sometimes applied to, retained, for many years, and still do in
some parts of Europe, the name of armoury, she drew forth a white
serge gown and hood, which she threw over her other apparel.
"But where are you going?" demanded Constance, in a tone of alarm.
"Surely not beyond the castle walls. Your wanderings round the abbey
used to frighten me sometimes, when the broad daylight shone upon you;
but now you make me fear still more."
"Fear not, and ask no questions," answered Iola. "I shall not be
without protection in case of need."
"Oh, Iola, Iola, think well of what you are doing!" exclaimed her
cousin, detaining her by the hand.
"I have thought," answered the lady. "See how the moon shines; and,
hark, there is my summons."
Constance looked out and listened; and, faint upon her ear, the closed
casement dulling the sound, came the same strain of music which Fulmer
had heard from a different part of the castle. Gently disengaging her
hand, Iola glided into the ante-room, and opened the door leading into
the passage. She returned the moment after, however, saying--
"There is some one moving. I must wait a little;" but, ere two minutes
more were over, she went out again, and closed the doors behind her.
Constance remained where her cousin left her, listening with anxious
ears, for several moments, but Iola returned not; and, locking the
door, her cousin cast herself upon her knees, and prayed fervently.