"A something light as air--a look--
A word unkind, or wrongly taken--
Oh, love! that tempest never shook,
A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken."
MOORE.
Sir Christopher, on leaving the Governor, proceeded in the direction
of the hostelry, where he had left his horse; and on his way was
greeted with one of those sights to be seen only in this strange
commonwealth. It was a woman in the stocks, being no other than an old
acquaintance, Dame Bars, the wife of the jailer. The good woman
possessed a kind heart, but she was not perfection. She had a weakness
for a pot of ale; and, if justice had in anywise been done to the
proportion of malt therein, it was very apt to make her eloquent to an
extraordinary degree. On these occasions, feeling herself to be
clearly in the right, she found it difficult to endure contradiction,
considering it excessively unreasonable and rude, and expressing her
sentiments thereupon with great freedom. In one of these moods, she
had been overheard by Master Prout, in a colloquy with one of her
gossips, contrasting the "wearyful and forlorn" condition of women in
the colony with the merry times she used to have in England; and upon
her friend suggesting a few words in favor of the change, bursting out
with sundry epithets more sounding than musical, and more energetic
than complimentary.
We will not pretend to say whether Master Prout was more scandalized
by the sentiment of dissatisfaction at the colony, or by there
proaches lavished on the other goody, who, indeed, to do her justice,
was not slow in the use of that formidable weapon wherewith Nature, as
if to make amends for physical weakness, has armed the lovelier sex.
It may be that both combined roused his righteous indignation, in
consequence whereof Dame Bars had to expiate the sins of her tongue by
silencing its eloquence in a cleft stick, and cooling her heels in the
stocks.
But the appearance of the poor woman was now anything but belligerent.
So far from manifesting a refractory disposition, her face was covered
with her hands, and tears of shame and mortification were stealing
through the fingers. Her husband was standing by her side, and
endeavoring to comfort her, while Master Prout, with his long staff,
was threatening some idle school-boys, who, with the mischief natural
to their age, were showing an inclination to proceed to extremities
against the captive, which was not approved by the grave _custode_ of
order.
As the Knight drew nigh, a feeling of pity was excited in him, and he
stopped, and addressed some words to the officer of the law.
"I am unwilling," said Master Prout, in reply, "to refuse any thing to
a gentleman so highly esteemed by the Governor, as yourself, Sir
Christopher, and therefore will I release the woman; but truly was it
my intention to detain her an hour or two longer, in order that she
might have time for serious and profitable reflection. Verily, as
saith James, in his epistle, the tongue can no man tame; it is an
unruly evil, full of deadly poison."
"Methinks then," said the Knight, smiling, "thou hast performed an
achievement which holy St. James himself might deem a miracle, for the
good dame's tongue is tame enough at present."
Master Prout's demure features ventured as near to a smile at the
jest, as his principles would permit, and then approaching the woman,
he unfastened the stocks, and allowed her to withdraw the imprisoned
members.
"Good woman," he said, "thank this noble Knight for thy deliverance,
and may this be the last time that these wooden bars shall contract a
friendship for thee."
So spoke Master Prout, with a twinkle of the eye at the Knight, on
account of the good thing which he fancied he had said, and the woman
lost no time in extricating herself from durance. Her face was
crimsoned with blushes; she dropped a curtsey to the Knight, and
hurried off with her husband.
"Master Prout," said the Knight, as he turned away, "accept my thanks
for the courtesy, and believe me that thou hast made me so much thy
friend, thou hast only to express a wish, and if it is in my power it
shall be granted."
On arriving at the inn, Sir Christopher ordered immediately his horse,
and mounting, rode homeward. At a slow pace he proceeded through the
streets, and allowed the animal, with the rein lying loose upon his
neck, to follow the winding path in the forest. No adventure befel him
on his solitary ride, and in due time he reached his home. He was met
by Philip Joy, to whom he delivered the horse.
"Is the Indian whom I left in thy charge safe?" he inquired.
"He is, Sir Christopher," answered the soldier.
"Sassacus has not seen him, I trust."
"No one has seen him but myself. I have faithfully followed your
orders, and kept him like a rat in a trap. He takes to eating and
sleeping prodigious kindly, and has shown no disposition to do any
thing else."
"It is natural he should do so, and you have acted with discretion."
With these words Sir Christopher entered the house, and straightway
proceeded to find the Indian. He was lying on the floor, apparently
asleep, but at the noise of the opening door, roused himself and sat
upright.
"How have my people treated Mesandowit in my absence?" inquired the
Knight.
"Well," answered the savage. "Mesandowit has eaten, and drank, and
slept, and is refreshed."
"Is he ready to return to his own country?"
"Mesandowit is ready."
"When the trees cast long shadows he shall return, and I will go a
little distance with him, lest he should meet the Aberginians."
"Good--and now Mesandowit will sleep." He stretched himself again upon
the skin, which served for a couch, probably not entirely rested after
the long and rapid journey he had made, and disposed himself to
slumber. The Knight, on leaving him, went to the door of the lady's
apartment, and gently rapped.
It was opened by the Indian girl, and he was immediately admitted.
"Celestina," said the Knight, looking first at her and then at her
little attendant, "I have something to say to thee."
"Neebin," said the lady, addressing the child, "may run about in the
woods a little while."
When the girl had departed, the Knight, seating himself at some
distance from the lady, opened the conversation.
"Celestina," he said, "there has been of late a want of that frankness
which characterized our intercourse at our arrival in this country,
and for some time thereafter. Will you not tell me the cause?"
"Sir Christopher," replied the lady, "a suspicious mind is ofttimes
deceived by its imaginations. Wherein, pray, has been a change in my
conduct?"
"Nay. I know not that I can say, in this and in that thou hast not
trusted me, but I feel that it is so."
"Look into thyself, Sir Christopher, and there wilt thou find the
cause. The outer world is but a reflection of the inner."
"I protest, Celestina, I am not altered. Thou art to me as ever, my
trusty and valued associate, bound to me by ties of peculiar
significancy, and as sacred as those which commonly unite man and
woman.
"It is my dearest wish that thou shouldst feel the full force of the
obligation they impose on thee."
"Do I not?" Have I not labored with untiring diligence to promote the
end we both have in view? Wherein have I failed? Point out the error,
and I will correct it."
"I do not presume to be so bold. The masculine energy of Sir
Christopher Gardiner is not to be guided by a woman."
"Alas! Celestina," said the Knight, with some feeling, "were we not
joined in this holy enterprise because it was supposed the fulness of
the one might supply the deficiency of the other? O, turn not away so
coldly."
"My warm devotion, my active zeal, shall never be wanting to the work
whereunto we are pledged; and if any feeling hath arisen inconsistent
with the harmony that should unite us, I am not sensible that it
springs from any fault of mine. But you exaggerate," she added,
smiling, "my momentary sadness into unnecessary importance--a sadness
wherewith thou mayst have no connection."
"Thou canst not deceive me, Celestina. I have profited little by the
lessons of this world, and feeling was given me in vain, were I
incapable of noticing the change in thee. There was a time when thy
spirit, like a musical string in accord with another, vibrated in
harmony with mine--but it is no longer so."
"Thou art importunate, Sir Christopher. Wilt thou not believe what I
say?"
"Pardon me if I am over urgent, and ascribe it to the value I attach
to my lost treasure. It sweetened the solitude of exile, and made me
almost forget the attractions of stirring Europe. But thou dost not,
and canst not deny my complaint."
"Is there not enough in the circumstances wherein I am placed, to
agitate the timid heart of a woman, and account for her unreasonable
caprices? Why persist in connecting them with thyself as the cause?"
"This is not the first time that I have vainly endeavored to discover
wherein I have offended, that by the humiliation of myself, or by any
other means, I might restore the unison that before existed between
us. I conjure thee, Celestina," he said, approaching and taking her
hand into one of his, while with the other he drew back a curtain on
the wall, which, on being withdrawn, exposed to view the carved figure
of Christ extended on the cross, "by the Captain of our faith, whose
soldiers we are, to put away this estrangement, which if it does not
defeat, may hazard and retard our mutual plans."
The lady withdrew not her hand, but allowing it to remain in his,
stood up. She bowed her head before the crucifix, and murmured--_Domino
Jesu speravi in te_. Turning then to the Knight she said--
"Sir Christopher, look upon that sorrowful face, and that drooping
head, bleeding under the points of the accursed thorns. Thy sins and
mine gave them their sharpness. Gaze upon the hideous nails that
pierce those blessed hands and feet, and upon the blood trickling from
that divine side, and say, canst thou be untrue to him?"
"Woman! Celestina! what meanest thou? Why this solemn adjuration?"
"Thou wert dedicated to a service," she continued, her pale face
flushing with enthusiasm, "to which nobles and kings, the proudest and
noblest of earth, might aspire. Do thy devoir, and incalculable will
be thy reward; fail therein, and the doom of Judas were heaven to thy
fate."
"Thou art mad, Celestina. Some dreadful delusion hath blinded thy
understanding. Hear me now"--and he bent down and kissed the feet of
the image of the Saviour, and then raising his head fixed his eyes
upon it--"per adventum tuum, per nativitatem tuam, per baptismum et
sanctum jejunium tuum, per crucem et passionem tuam, per mortem et
sepulturam tuam, per sanctam resurrectionem tuam, et per admirabilem
ascensionem tuam--I am guilty, truly, of weakness and ignorance, and
unintentional sin, but not of want of faithfulness to that whereunto
thou hast called me."
"Sir Christopher! Oh! Sir Christopher," cried the lady, falling at his
feet, "Wherefore, when I besought thee before to explain thy conduct,
did you treat me so slightingly? Wherefore ever refuse to satisfy my
questions?"
"Because I considered them unworthy of thee and me; because I regarded
them as the petulance of a passing feminine curiosity; because I knew
not how serious was thy desire?
"_Deus adjuva me!_" sobbed the lady.
"Rise, my sister," said the Knight, assisting her to a seat.
"Henceforth let no distrust exist between us, and, that it may be so,
inquire, and I will answer as at the confessional."
Of the conversation which ensued we shall give no account, save that,
at its conclusion, tears were flowing plentifully from the eyes of the
lady, while the Knight seemed puzzled at her extraordinary emotion.
"Celestina," he said, "thou art moved beyond what thy venial fault
requires. Forgive thyself as freely as I forgive thee."
"Thou knowest not all my sin," she answered, "nor dare I trust it to
the air, lest my own words should strike me dead. _Sancta Maria, ora
pro nobis!_"
When the Knight left the room, she fell upon her knees before the
crucifix and buried her face in her hands. She remained in this
position for perhaps a quarter of an hour, during which time only an
occasional sob escaped her, and then rising, passed into an inner
chamber.
As for Sir Christopher, neither did he make his appearance until late
in the afternoon, when he emerged from the house in the company of the
soldier Joy and the Indian, whom he called Mesandowit. The course they
took was in a northerly direction, and as they proceeded, the Knight
was engaged in earnest conversation with the Indian. In this manner
they went on long after the sun had set, even until the position of
the stars announced that the hour of midnight was at hand. There must
have been some danger to the savage feared by the Knight to induce him
to lend his escort thus far. But they met nothing to excite
apprehension. Silence reigned throughout the unviolated forest,
unbroken save by the cry of a night bird, or the stealthy step of some
wild beast stealing through the thickets, or the cracking of dry
branches under their own feet, or their murmured conversation. It was
at least six hours since they left the house of the Knight, and the
distance passed over could not be less than eighteen or twenty miles.
The three stopped, and, before parting, it seemed that the Knight was
desirous of impressing more strongly on the mind of his red companion
something which he had already been urging.
"Has what I have said sunk into the ears of Mesandowit?" he asked.
"It has sunk very deep, even as a stone when it falls into the great
salt lake."
"Will he remember the place?"
"He will remember it. Mesandowit once took two scalps there."
Self-possessed as in general was Sir Christopher, the reply startled
him; but the association in the mind of the savage was too obvious to
excite alarm long, and it was without feeling any he replied. He
thought proper, however, to remind the Indian of the friendly relation
he stood in to his tribe and of the favor he had done them.
"The Sagamore and his Paniese," he said, "who brought the defiance of
the Taranteens to the English, have returned safe to their people. Let
not the Taranteens forget when I come to visit them that they spoke
through my mouth, and that I stood between them and the anger of
sachem Winthrop."
The Taranteens never forget. Mesandowit will tell them how Soog-u-gest
flew to Shawmut, when Mesandowit, of the swift foot, brought a message
from the sachems of the Taranteens, that they desired him to take care
of the two warriors who brought the red arrows tied up with a snake
skin as a present to Owanux. The Taranteens are a great people and
forget not a benefit."
"I am unable to fix the exact time;" said the Knight; "but the young
moon that looks now like the eye brow of Mesandowit, will probably not
be round before we shall meet again."
They parted at these words, and while Sir Christopher and Philip
turned their faces homeward, the Taranteen pursued the same direction
in which they had been traveling. Fatigued with the distance they had
come, it was now with a more leisurely pace the two proceeded, and,
walking for the most part in silence, the sun had risen before they
reached home.