The Knight of the Golden Melice Part 9

"Has Prudence--?" but here the a.s.sistant, sensible that he had already said too much, suddenly checked himself, while his sallow cheek looked still more yellow. But the escape of the girl's name, even without the embarra.s.sment, was a confession of guilt to the soldier, who, with rising pa.s.sion, exclaimed--

"Away, or I shall be tempted to do that whereof I may repent."

Spikeman marked his agitation, and hesitated whether to come to an open breach, or continue his system of deception. The craft of his nature preponderated, and he determined to adopt the latter course.

"Gently, Philip," he said. "Thy prison hath strangely affected thee; but because I pity, I will not be angry. At least let me finish the sentence which I begun. I did desire to know whether Prudence, whom, that thou dost affect, I have for some time known, (nay, never blush; I have been young myself,) whether Prudence, I say, gained access to thy prison to tell thee of my exertions in thy behalf?"

"Thou exert thyself for me! Go to, thou wert more busy for thyself."

"I understand thee not; yet hearken, for the whole truth must be revealed. I say that I have done all that man could do, and as the event proves, not in vain. As for Prudence, I will confess to one impropriety, if it be thy pleasure to call it so, though I meant it not, and whereof thou art in some sense the cause. Knowing thy regard for her, I did speak one day of my hopes for thee, whereat the tears did stand in her eyes, and I was so moved thereat, that I did salute her cheek, but only as a father might caress a child."

The soldier was more bewildered than ever. He was incapable of conceiving of such falsehood as the other's. It seemed to him now that Prudence might be mistaken, and have converted a mere compliment into an insult, so contrary appeared, the intimations which she had made to what was to be expected from the years and gravity of the a.s.sistant.

The freedom with which Spikeman spoke of kissing the girl confirmed the idea, and Philip fancied that he had been harsh.

"Master Spikeman," he said at length, "if I have unjustly suspected thee, I crave pardon. There may be something in what you said, but the prison hath clouded my mind."

"Think no more of it, Philip, though doubtless it is so. I have known many a one who, by confinement, hath irretrievably lost his wits.

Therefore will it be wise in thee not to be arrested again."

"Wherefore arrested, since I have an order of release?"

"Alas, thou dost forget thy banishment. If thou art taken within the forbidden boundaries, severe will be thy punishment. Attempt not for Prudence's sake, or any cause, to return without apprising me thereof, when I will endeavor to provide for thy safety."

The soldier extended his hand.

"This is kind," he said, "and be a.s.sured, Master Spikeman, that I will not soon conceive suspicion of thee again." These women be notional things, he murmured to himself.

Spikeman took the hand.

"Now this is like thyself, Philip," he said--"a brave soldier--true as a Toledo blade--one who loves his friend, and hates his enemy, although this latter part should not be so. Thou art journeying, I see, to the knight's place. Mayst thou find in him a patron, but it will do no harm to say--be on thy guard; one old friend is better than a dozen new."

He turned away, and the soldier, as he looked after him, said--

"There is truth in thy words, but thou art ignorant that the knight and I were friends long before I knew thee."

CHAPTER VI.

Nature I court in her sequestered haunts, By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove or cell, Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts, And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell.

SMOLLETT.

So long had the soldier been delayed by his interviews with Prudence and the a.s.sistant, that it was not until past noon that he reached the knight's residence. It was a large, irregularly built log-cabin, or cottage, covered with thatch, resembling somewhat, except in the last particular, and in being larger, the log-cabins one meets in the new settlements of the West, with a sort of piazza or porch, which seemed to have been lately built, running across the front. Such was the rude exterior; though the interior, as we shall presently see, when we enter the building, was furnished in a style indicating both wealth and refinement.

The house stood near the bottom of a hill, upon a piece of cleared land of perhaps half a dozen acres, upon which not the vestige of a stump was to be seen. The ground sloped gently away from the building to the southeast, until it met a small stream, which meandered at the base of the hill, and running in an easterly direction, was lost to sight in the forest. In front of the house, at the distance of a rod, bubbled up a bright spring, which, das.h.i.+ng down the declivity, fell into the first-mentioned stream. Except this cultivated spot, which had been an old corn-field of the natives, selected by them for the fertility of the soil, its advantage of water, and the favorable slope of the land, which enabled it to engross more than a common share of the genial heat of the sun, and expedite the maturing of its harvests, all was one unbroken extent of forest. In the soft autumnal days, when the maize leaves rustled yellow on their stalks, it must have looked to the soaring eagle, gazing from his "pride of place," like a vast nest in a green leafy frame.

Around this building, at some little distance, viz., at the edge of the encircling forest, were scattered some four or five wigwams, or Indian lodges, made of the bark of trees, from some of which smoke curled lazily up into the blue sky, imparting a.s.surance thereby of their being inhabited, though the presence of some naked children near the entrances, who were shooting with little bows at marks, and amusing themselves in other ways, made any such indication unnecessary.

As the soldier drew near, he heard more and more distinctly musical sounds, and presently could distinguish the tinkling of a guitar, accompanied by a female voice. He stopped and listened. The air was slow and solemn, the notes were soft and clear, and the words sweet, but not English. There was a rich luxuriance, yet pathos in the music, like the utterances of a spirit whose hopes were mingled with reminiscences of joys which it had lost. How long Philip listened, he knew not, so entranced was he by the sounds. It was a long time since he had heard such delicious strains, and the effect upon him was therefore the greater. Suddenly they ceased, as if his approach had been discovered, and immediately thereafter, a man stepped out upon the piazza. Philip recognized him at once as the young man to whom Prudence had sent a message, and whom he himself had called Master Arundel.

He was a fair-haired youth of some twenty-three or four years, with that clear, bright complexion so common among the English, and which they owe to their foggy climate and habit of exercise in the open air.

Dark blue eyes looked out joyously from a handsome face, which would have been effeminate, so delicate were the features and rosy the tint of the cheeks, but for a brown moustache, which shaded the lip, and redeemed it from the imputation. His doublet and hose were of a dark green cloth, as was also the cap he held in his hand, and he wore boots made of yellow leather, reaching above the knee, and full at the top. Around his neck was a white band, like those worn by the wealthier colonists. This young gentleman first spoke.

"Ha! Achilles, or Coeur de Lion from captivity," or to fas.h.i.+on my speech more into the humor of this new world, "O, Daniel from the lion's den, greatly doth my heart rejoice at thy deliverance."

"Welcome, good Philip," he added, in a more natural tone, betraying some sympathy, and taking him at the same time by the hand; "welcome to your friends."

The tired soldier sank down upon a bench before he was able to speak.

"Thy tongue is dry, and moves slowly, and, now that I regard thee more closely, art pale. We must cheer up thy drooping spirit"

"Having thus spoken, the young man entered the house, and presently returned with a flagon and drinking cups.

"Drink, man," said Arundel, filling a cup with wine, "and wash all sorrow out of thine heart. The suns that ripened the grapes out of which this juice was crushed, were bright and joyous. May they impart their own happiness and vigor unto thee."

The soldier put the cup to his lips, nor withdrew it until the contents were drained.

"I feel," he said, "the good wine tingling through all my veins, and am a new man again."

"Fill once more," said the young man, suiting the action to the word; "one shower is not enough for so thirsty a soil."

The soldier did not refuse, and having drank a second time, he felt refreshed.

"Pleasant enough quarters, Master Arundel," he said, looking around; "and I see ye have some red-skins camped near by."

"They are the knight's particular friends, whose society it seems to be his sovereign pleasure to cultivate. He has persuaded them to gather round him, forming what may be called his body-guard."

"Or outposts of the main garrison. Well, for runners or scouts they may answer, but for hand-to-hand action, they are naught. But where is Sir Christopher?"

"He started on a hunt this morning, our larder having run low. Hark!"

he added, as suddenly the blast of a bugle was heard echoing through the forest, "that is the sound wherewith he is accustomed to announce his approach, and you will presently see him coming out of the wood."

Sure enough, in a few moments the tall form of the knight, arrayed in a deer-skin hunting-s.h.i.+rt, with leggins of the same material, and "a piece" in his hand, was seen emerging into the open s.p.a.ce. He was followed by a couple of Indians, each of whom bore on his shoulders a deer.

"Quecheco," the two white men heard him say, as he came out of the bushes, "carry thou thy deer to my lodge, and do thou, Poc.o.c.ke, divide thine with thy brother Quecheco." After speaking these words he advanced toward them.

"So, ho, Philip," cried Sir Christopher, "again under my banner. Fate hath decreed us I think for buenas camaradas, and for my part I heartily rejoice thereat. A braver heart than thine never beat under steel corselet, or truer hand wielded a sharp sword."

"I thank you, Sir Christopher, for your good opinion," said the soldier, "but I have seen little service since we parted among the Turbans, of whom somehow your wine sets me a thinking, at all to my mind. As for fighting these naked savages, who have nothing but children's bows and stone hatchets, while our men-at-arms are clad in bullet-proof steel from head to heel, methinks there is little manhood required therefor, and for what I have done in that way, I confess myself somewhat ashamed."

"It doth please me to hear thee speak thus, Philip," replied the knight. True valor is ever joined with generosity, and despises to take advantage of superior strength to crush the weaker. But fear not that I have any service of the kind for thee. I came not among these innocent natives to bring a sword, but the olive branch of peace. I would see them peaceful, and united, and happy, not broken into hostile clans, and delighting in murdering one another."

"I spoke not," said the soldier, "as desiring to make terms with you, Sir Christopher, well knowing that you would ask nothing which an honest man would be unwilling to perform, and am only too happy to enter your service."

"So be it, Philip," said the knight. "Henceforth be here thy home."