A SHELTER FROM THE STORM
The morning of the second day found Francis once more on her way without
having seen any of the queen's men. The day was unusually warm, and both
the girl and her horse, wearied by the hard riding, showed the effects of
the journey. But fatigued though she was she pushed resolutely on,
pausing only to care for the tired animal. At length the road entered a
deep wood and she gave a sigh of relief as the grateful shade of the
trees enveloped her. The horse too seemed to revive somewhat and went
forward with more briskness.
So dense was the shade that Francis was not aware that the sky had become
overcast with clouds until a distant peal of thunder broke upon her ear.
"A storm is coming," she cried. "I must seek shelter; but where?"
It was a problem that would have puzzled a head older and wiser than
that of Francis Stafford. She was in the midst of a dense forest. She
looked about her in dismay.
"Beshrew me!" she uttered, "these woods are impenetrable enough to
furnish hiding-place for Robin Hood and all his men. Surely there must be
an inn or house somewhere near. Patience! I will find shelter. On, good
horse!"
The mutterings of the thunder became louder and deeper as the storm
approached. The clouds scudded across the heavens swiftly, borne on the
wings of a heavy wind. Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning zigzagged
across the sky followed by a deafening crash of thunder, and the storm
broke in all its force. The rain came down in torrents. The trees bent
and swayed in the wind, tossing their proud heads as if in defiance to
the storm king. The horse snorted in terror as flash after flash of
lightning blazed across the road. Francis was drenched to the skin, but
she struggled on, soothing the frightened animal as best she could.
Presently she thought she saw an opening in the trees. Drawing closer she
was overjoyed to find that there really was a path through the wood.
Turning into it she followed it for some distance, finally coming to an
open glade where stood what looked to be an ancient inn.
One wing had fallen into decay. The rose covered trellis of the porch lay
rotting on the ground. All about the building hung an air of dilapidation
and decay that forbade the thought of cheer. One part of the tumbled down
structure looked as though it might serve as a shelter, and the girl
hastened to the door of this portion and knocked.
There was no response, and Francis rapped again; this time more loudly
than before, resolving to force the door should there be no answer. She
waited a few moments, and then there came a high shrill voice from behind
the closed door.
"Who's there?"
"One who desires shelter from the storm. Open, i' God's name!"
"And who be ye that seek shelter of Dame Margery? Know you not that men
call me the white witch?"
"I care not," exclaimed Francis impatiently. "Open, woman, else I will
force the door."
There was a muttering of protest, then the bolts were drawn, and the door
opened. A woman stood in the aperture. A woman, old and bent, and looking
not unlike the witch she called herself. A hood of brown sat on her white
hair; a brown lappet was thrown about her, and she supported herself by
means of a staff. Her black eyes regarded the girl with keenness from
under her shaggy brows.
"Now thou art brave, forsooth, who dares take shelter here," she said.
"There are those, and they are many, who would brave the fiercest storm
rather than risk Dame Margery's evil eye."
"But not I," said Francis boldly. Nevertheless she made the sign of the
cross, for the age was a superstitious one and the belief in witches and
witchcraft well nigh universal. "Good dame, tell me, I pray, where I may
put my horse. Give us both shelter, and thou shall have this angel for
thy guerdon."
She held the gold piece out as she spoke. The woman's fingers closed over
it eagerly.
"Back of the house are the stables," she said a trifle more civilly.
"There will ye find food for the beast as well as cover. But thou wilt
have to be thine own groom, young sir. These old bones be racked with
rheums."
"I thank you," answered Francis briefly. Following the direction
indicated by the beldame she led her horse round the house where she
found the stables in somewhat better condition than she had expected.
After looking after the welfare of the animal she muttered a short
prayer, and entered the dwelling with a bold front.
The door gave entrance into a large, low ceiled room whose rafters were
grimed with smoke and dirt. A low bed stood in one corner of the room; a
small deal table and three chairs completed the simple furnishings, but
the girl's eyes were caught by the strings of herbs that depended from
the walls, and the cabalistic signs that were everywhere in evidence. A
fire burned on the hearth and over it, depending from a crane, hung a
large kettle in which something savory was brewing.
A black cat which had been stretched near the fire rose at her entrance,
and spat as if he resented the intrusion as well as his mistress.
Francis glanced at the mysterious signs, the black cat, the old woman,
and a half wish came into her mind that she had braved the fury of the
storm rather than enter such an abode. As if in answer to her thought the
dame spoke:
"Draw nigh the fire, boy, and dry thy wet garments. Marry! hearest thou
the rain? Even the dwelling of a witch, I trow, is better than to be out
in't. Hark!"
The storm had redoubled its fury. The wind shrieked and howled as though
a thousand demons were loosed from durance and were exulting in their
freedom. The rain came down in sheets, while peal on peal of thunder
crashed and rolled. Francis shuddered and drew nearer the fire. The steam
arose from her saturated garments, and rendered her uncomfortable. The
old woman noticed her discomfort and said not unkindly:
"Boy, no garments have I of thy sex, but if thou wilt play the woman for
the nonce thou canst have of mine apparel until thine own be dried."
For the first time since she had left the court Francis laughed. She
flushed rosy red under the old woman's glance, and then grew bewildered
and confused at her continued scrutiny, and answered with an effort at
self-command.
"I thank you, my good dame, but I will stay as I am an it please you."
"Content yourself,--master," answered the dame with the slightest
hesitation before the word. "'Twas but to soften thy distress."
She spoke no more, but busied herself about the brew over the fire.
Presently she placed some of the stew before the girl, saying,
"Eat, sir. Thou wilt find it to thy liking, I trow."
"It is in sooth," replied Francis falling to heartily. Under the
influence of warmth and comfort her fear of the woman had vanished.
"Think you, good mother, that the storm will soon pass?"
"Nay;" answered she her face softening at the appellation. "Not till
midnight comes; for
"When storm comes at end of day
The midnight hour takes the rain away.'"
The girl's face clouded.
"Then I must forth at midnight," she declared.
"Thy need must be urgent that impels thee onward through the darkness,"
observed the woman keenly. "Boy, what is thy business? Would have me read
the stars for its issue?"
"Nay, mother," answered Francis in agitated tones. "Were it favorable all
would be well, but if it were evil I would not know of it. But it will
not be ill. It must not, shall not be!"
She arose and paced the floor, chafing that she must be inactive when
time was so precious. The dame regarded her curiously. Presently she
spoke.
"Mistress, I may not call thee because of thy garb. Master, I cannot
because of thy sex; but whatsoe'er thou art, tell old Margery why thou
art so dressed, and why you wander forth alone?"
"Woman, are you in very truth a witch?" cried the girl in astonishment.
"So men call me," returned Margery dryly.
"But save for the few who were told, not one at the court penetrated my
masquerade," said Francis. "Then how is it, that thou, at our first
meeting, know that my dress covers a maiden?"
"Old Margery hath lived long, and her eyes are sharp," answered the dame.
"But tell me. What brings you hither, if you are of the court?"
Francis paused in front of the woman and looked long and earnestly into
her eyes. Something she saw there made her say impulsively:
"Good mother, thou must be in truth the witch men call thee, because
thine eyes impel me to tell thee all. Listen! and I will unfold the tale
from the beginning." And she recounted the affair of Elizabeth's coming,
the reason for donning the page's dress, her going to court, and now the
cause of her desire to reach her father. The woman listened attentively.
"Child, thou hast done well. And thou sayst that none of the queen's men
have passed thee?"
"None, mother. I have outstripped them all," exulted Francis. "Let me but
continue in the lead for a few hours longer so that my father may have
opportunity to get to a place of safety, and I care not how soon they
come."
At this moment there came the sound of hoarse shouting of men, followed
by the clatter of horses' hoofs, and then above the storm came a loud
knocking at the door.
"Open in the name of the queen," came the stern command.