THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
On hearing the sounds which indicated the departure of those in the
room beneath, Elinor arose from her cramped position and noiselessly
crept to the window. In the moonlit garden she could distinguish the
figures of four men going in the direction of the lane at the back of
the house. One she recognized as Sir Thomas Winter; the others were
unknown to her. But in a moment she heard her father's voice as he
uttered a warning to the horsemen: "Mind the ditch, Lord Percy! Sir
Catesby, keep well to the left!"
Then Fawkes closed the door, and she could hear his movements as he
went about extinguishing the lights. His footsteps sounded on the
stairs. If by chance he came into the chamber and found her awake and
up, what then? He would readily surmise how much it had been possible
for her to hear. Once in his anger, she remembered, he had valued her
life but cheaply;--within two short hours Elinor had learned to look
upon her father with terror, almost with dread; those words of his
rang in her ears: "I will kill the King if need be, even without
help!"
The footsteps approached her room. What was she to do? It was too late
to gain the bed and feign slumber, for the creaking of a loose board
would certainly attract his attention. She hoped the door was secured,
but had no recollection of locking it. At last he had gained the
passage; now he was before her room and placed his hand upon the
latch; it was not locked, for the door opened. The man peered in
through the crevice and gazed in her direction. How her heart
throbbed, shaking her whole body, and sending the blood through her
veins with a sound which she feared he would hear. She thanked God
that the moon shone directly through the window and her position was
well out of its rays. He evidently did not see the girl, for after a
scrutiny of the bed, which stood well in the shadow, and a muttered,
"Safe, safe enough; all safe," he closed the door and passed down the
corridor.
Elinor for a moment stood listening to the retreating footsteps; then
sank into a chair, exhausted by the strain of the last few moments,
and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. With woman's intuition she
quickly grasped the enormity of all she had overheard, comprehending
that high treason and wholesale murder had been planned; but the
hardest truth for her to realize was that her father, whom she had
always trusted and looked upon as the embodiment of honor and
uprightness, was the foremost to suggest and even offer to carry out
the fearful deed. "I will kill the King, if need be, even without
help:" the awful sentence seemed to be repeated over and over again by
the rustling night wind. Her first impulse was to save him from the
consequences of such an act. Were not the names of Moore and Essex
familiar to her? And what was their fate for even a suspected treason?
Her hysterical imagination placed vividly before her the head of the
father she loved, lying bleeding in that patch of moonlight on the
floor.
But what could she do in her weakness? Go to her father and beseech
him that, for love of her, he would take no part in this terrible
crime? That would accomplish nothing, for she knew him to be one whom
naught could turn from a deed he once undertook and looked upon as
justified. And now the most passionate fanaticism had seized
him--fanaticism of the most dangerous kind, born of wrongs done to his
faith. To whom could she turn for aid? She knew but one who, perhaps,
had some influence over Fawkes' stubborn mind. However, was not this
very one as deep in the treason as her father? Winter! The name caused
a shudder, bringing to mind that terrible morning ten days past.
Winter! She must then seek help from him; her hopes clung only to a
straw; nevertheless she would go and beg, if need be, even upon bended
knee, that he would persuade her father to relinquish this terrible
purpose. Yes, now was the time to act, for she feared in her
indefinite terror that the morrow might be too late.
Quickly seizing a cloak and throwing it about her, Elinor crept toward
the door and listened. The place was dark, and quiet as the grave.
Swiftly she descended the stairs, then groped her way to the door and
tried to withdraw the bolts. Would they never yield to her efforts? At
last they slipped with a sound which echoed through the house. The
girl paused, expecting to hear her father's voice, but the silence was
unbroken. In a moment she was out in the moonlit street. How quiet and
serene everything appeared. How in contrast to the tumult of her
feelings. As she stood, the great bell of St. Paul's boomingly tolled
out the hour--twelve o'clock.
"He must," she whispered to herself, "he must be home ere now, but
what will he think of my coming to him at this time?" She tried to
thrust this thought aside, and to gain repose of mind by walking more
swiftly.
Arrived before Winter's residence, and trying the wicket at the
entrance she found it yielded to her touch. The girl beheld a stream
of light coming from between the curtains of a window on the second
floor. The master of the house was then within. Quickly Elinor passed
up the walk and stood before the door. As she raised the knocker her
resolution almost gave way. What was she about to tell Winter. That
she, a girl, was possessed of this terrible secret!
Suddenly came to her memory the dreadful words connecting this man's
name with hers. She thought of the few times when they had been
together; how eager he had seemed to be near her; with what a
trembling clasp he had carried her fingers to his lips and imprinted
upon them kisses which burned themselves into the very flesh. And now
she was about to face him in the dead of night--and alone! Her fingers
relaxed their hold. "Courage, courage," she murmured; and quickly
laying hold of the knocker again, she smote thrice upon the panel and
listened. There soon fell upon her ear the sound of some one coming in
answer to her summons. The door opened and a sleepy servant stood
regarding her with an air of no small astonishment.
"Is thy master at home?" she inquired, in a voice which, in spite of
her efforts, trembled.
"That he is, young miss, but what wouldst thou with him at this late
hour? He hath but just returned from a journey, and is sore weary.
Canst thou not wait until the morning?"
"I must see him at once; 'tis on the most urgent business."
The hour, coupled with the fairness of the visitor, seemed to fill the
servant with surprise, for he stood a moment looking at her, then
replied:
"If thou wilt step inside, mistress, I'll inform Sir Winter that there
be someone who wishes to hold converse with him, and perchance," he
added with a meaning smile, "he'll not be so badly put out after all.
What name shall I bear to him? It may be one," he continued
significantly, "which would soon draw any bolt Sir Thomas might have
shot."
"No name is necessary," she answered, looking at the man and pointing
with her finger. "I seek thy master and come not to parley with his
menial. Go! Say a lady would speak with him."
The servant read in the girl's eye a look which seemed to brook
neither delay nor familiarity, for he turned and went along the
passage and up the stairway.
As Elinor waited, the utter hopelessness of her mission broke full
upon her, but it was now too late to draw back from her hasty act; the
voice of Winter could be heard exclaiming with a laugh:
"What, a lady to see me at this hour? Troth, I am fatigued, but never
so weary that I cannot look upon a fair face. Admit her."
A door opened and closed; the servant reappeared and beckoned her.
"Sir Thomas will see thee; 'tis the third portal from the landing," he
said, pointing up the stairs leading to the floor above.
As Elinor followed the directions given, she endeavored to frame some
fitting sentence with which to begin her interview, but her agitation
was too great; she could think of none. Arriving before the door she
tapped with her fingers upon the panel.
"Enter, my pretty one," cried a voice. "Thou hast already been
announced."
She stepped within the chamber. Winter sat with his back toward the
entrance facing a table upon which stood a flagon of wine. As the door
closed he turned, and to her horror Elinor saw that he was flushed
with strong drink.
"What? Elinor?" exclaimed Winter, in astonishment, rising from the
chair with such haste that it was overturned and fell with a clatter
to the floor. "I crave thy pardon, Mistress Fawkes," he continued with
a bow, mastering his surprise. "Thy sudden entrance caused my tongue
to utter the name that ever dwells within my heart. Pray tell me to
what happy circumstance am I indebted for the honor of this visit? I
would know the same that I may render homage to it."
Elinor stood speechless, filled with abhorrence and dread. All her
bravery could scarce keep her from flying out of the room. She
endeavored to fix her mind on the purpose which had brought her here,
and so find courage. At last desperation gave her voice and she began
hurriedly:
"I know that thou and others were at my father's house this night. I
was not asleep as ye all supposed, and have come to beg, to beseech,
pray, that my father be released from this terrible treason which hath
been talked of. Thou wert the only one to whom I could turn for aid--I
trust to thy goodness, to thy noble nature;--for the love of God tell
me not that I come in vain. See--see," she cried hysterically, her
self control gone and falling upon her knees. "I kneel before thee to
crave this boon."
At her first words Winter started as if a pike had been thrust into
his side. On his face was written blank astonishment, which
expression, as she proceeded, gave way to one of abject fear. It would
have been difficult to say which of the two was the more agitated. He
dashed a hand to his brow as if to drive away the fumes of liquor
which had mounted to his brain; looked at the kneeling figure; gazed
on the tapers burning upon the table; and tried to form some words of
reply. At last, with an effort at composure, and endeavoring to force
a laugh past his dry lips, he said:
"What silly tale is this thou utterest. I have not been----"
"Nay," the girl broke in wildly, "'tis useless for thee to say so. My
eyes and ears did not deceive me. Would to heaven they had and it were
only some mad dream which fills my brain."
"Then--then--thou hast played the spy," hissed Winter, in sudden anger
born of drink and fear. "Dost know to what thou hast listened? Has
aught of it passed thy lips? Speak!" he cried furiously, seizing the
girl's arm and glaring at her in drunken rage. "Nay; then thou didst
not, and 'tis well; for if thy lips had breathed one word these hands
of mine would choke from out thy body its sweet breath." He
relinquished his hold, and turning toward the table hurriedly drained
a cup of wine.
Elinor, spellbound with terror at his outburst of fury, stood rooted
to the spot. She realized the madness of her words, seeing plainly
that the man's condition was one which made both prayers and
entreaties useless. Again he filled a cup and dashed it off. What his
state would be in a few moments she dared not think. His back was
toward her; now was her chance to escape! Slowly the girl edged her
way toward the entrance. At last she reached it; her hand groped
behind the curtain for the knob; it turned, but to her horror, she
discovered the door was securely fastened.
A laugh greeted her from the table. "What, surely, Mistress
Fawkes--nay, by my troth, Mistress Fawkes it shall be no more, for
'tis too cold a title; therefore, Pretty Elinor--wouldst leave me, and
thy errand but half done? I swear thy words did at first affright; but
see, this good wine," he continued, advancing toward her unsteadily,
"hath taught me wisdom, and this I know, our secret once hid in thy
fair breast, could ne'er be driven forth, even if thou wished, as 'tis
too warm a resting place for it to relinquish. Why dost thou shrink
from me? Dost know," he added, a fierce gleam coming into his eyes, "I
would try to pluck great Saturn from the heavens if thou wished to
gird about thy waist his rings? Aye, and would give my soul for a kiss
from thy warm lips, thinking my soul well sold. Elinor!" he exclaimed,
in a husky voice, "hast thou never read my passion for thee? 'Tis
written----"
"Then!" cried the girl, "think upon that love and for God's sake let
me hence."
"What? Is my love so beggarly a thing that the only answer deigned to
its utterance is a scurvy request to get beyond its hearing? Nay, I
have looked upon thy frozen greetings long enough, and they, I tell
thee, have poorly matched my ardor. Listen! Thou dost wish to go?" he
questioned, placing himself before the door and holding to the
curtains for support. "Well, I will ask but cheap recompense for the
loss of thy fair company. 'Tis a kiss from thy red lips; what sayest
thou?"
"And thou dost call thyself a gentleman!" exclaimed Elinor looking at
him with scorn, her fear in a measure giving place to indignation at
the insolent and shameless words. "Let me depart, I say--nay, I
command thee."
"Ha! ha! Thou, I think, art carrying thyself loftily. 'Command!'" he
repeated with a laugh. "Nay, marry! Here thou wilt stay until them
thinkest thy going worth the price. And while thou dost meditate upon
it I will drink to thy health." He staggered toward the table and
refilled the cup.
Elinor glanced about the room seeking some possible avenue of escape.
Her eyes rested upon the portieres in front of the window; she moved
toward them, but as her dress rustled Winter turned at the sound.
"Aye, walk the room, my pretty one; thou wilt find thy cage well
barred. But enough of this," he continued, approaching her, "we do but
delay. Thou didst ask thy father's release from his compact. Well, he
shall be set free, but thou must recompense--not in coin, not in some
heavy muttered penance, but by thy beauty." He caught the girl in his
arms and whispered in her ear. Then the indignities which had been
heaped upon her gave strength to her arm. No sooner had his drunken
tongue uttered the sentence than she smote with all her might the face
gazing into hers. The blow for a moment staggered the man and he
released his hold; in that instant of freedom Elinor sprang toward the
window, dashing the curtains aside.
"Stand back!" she cried, as he made a step toward her, his face purple
with rage, "and for thy wicked words ask forgiveness from heaven ere
it blast thee. Where is thy religion, where thy manhood, thou beast?
Aye, beast is too good a term for such as thee, for they respect the
sex--even the stag will not goad the doe. I fear thee not; move from
where thou art and by the God who heard thy wicked words I'll cry thy
infamy and treason in a voice which shall 'rouse all London, and wake
the sleepy headsman to grind the axe. Now, I fear thee not!"
For a moment Winter paused, looking at the girl. Then his quick wit,
no longer dulled by the wine which had blinded him to the consequences
of the words he had uttered, came to his aid, and he replied:
"What? And lay thy father's head, as well as mine, upon the block?"
The curtain dropped from the girl's hand; she staggered, catching it
for support; then quickly recovered herself and with determination
flashing from her eyes exclaimed: "Nay, then, I will not cry thy
treason; my tongue is mute. But stir one foot and I leap from off the
balcony, gladly embracing the cold stones beneath, rather than suffer
a touch from thy guilty hands."
"Come! Come!" said Winter, baffled by her words and spirit; "I'll not
harm thee. I was but heated by the wine. Thou mayst depart in peace."
"I put no faith in thy words," said Elinor, still standing by the
casement, "for thou hast taught me how far one who calls himself a man
may be trusted. Go thou and unbar the door," pointing imperiously with
her hand; "then take thyself to the further end of the chamber and
there stand."
Winter hesitated, but even his dulled faculties recognized the
superiority of the girl's position, and he sullenly complied with her
request. Not until he had retired to the extreme end of the room did
Elinor leave her place. Then, she quickly fled into the corridor.
Winter remained for a moment where he was and, mad with drunken rage
when the closing of the outer door announced the escape of his victim,
exclaimed: "Aye, thou hast outwitted me for a moment; but thy victory
is not for long. I shall hold the laurel and also thee before
daybreak." Then, staggering into the hall, he shouted: "Richard!
Richard!"
A man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Come! Stir thy scurvy
legs; didst see the woman who this moment left me? Follow, and when at
a place thou deemest fit, throw this heavy mantle about her, and bring
her to me. She will struggle, I trow; but thou knowest the remedy.
Tarry not; go swiftly, or she will escape."
At last Elinor was in the street, and, dazed for a moment by her
sudden release from the peril in which she had just stood, with a
terrified look over her shoulder--half fearing to see a staggering
figure in pursuit, she fled in the direction of her home. But what
form is this which glides from out the gate, and catching sight of the
girl hurries in the direction she has taken? Like some evil phantom it
moves, noiselessly and swiftly, ever keeping well in the shadows.