Traditions of Lancashire Volume I Part 36

Holt, though of a stout and resolute temper, was yet daunted by this bold and unlooked-for address. He trembled as he gazed on the mysterious being before him, gifted, as it seemed, with some supernatural endowments. His unaccountable appearance, the nature of his communications, together with his manner and abrupt mode of speech, would have shaken many a firmer heart unprepared for these disclosures.

"What is thy business with me?" he inquired, with some hesitation.

"To warn thee;--to warn thy daughter. She hath seen me. Ay, to-night.

And how runs the prophecy? Let her beware. I have looked on her beforetime. Looked on her! ay, until these glowing orbs have become dim, dazzled with excess of brightness. I have looked on her till this stern bosom hath become softer than the bubbling wax to her impression; but I was concealed, and the maiden pa.s.sed unharmed by the curse. To-night I have saved her life. A resistless impulse! And she hath looked on me."

He smote his brow, groaning aloud in the agony he endured.

It may be supposed this revelation did not allay the apprehensions of the listener. Bewildered and agitated, he turned towards the window. The pale moon was glimmering through the quiet leaves, and he saw a dark and m.u.f.fled figure in the avenue. It was stationary for a while; it then slowly moved towards the adjoining thicket and was lost to his view.

Holt turned to address his visitor, but he had disappeared. It was like the pa.s.sing of a troubled dream, vague and indistinct, but fraught with horrible conceptions. A cloud seemed to gather on his spirit, teeming with some terrible but unknown doom. Its nature even imagination failed to conjecture. His first impulse was to visit his daughter. He found the careful nurse by her bedside. As he entered the room, Agnes raised one finger to her lips, in token of silence. The anxious father bent over his child. Her sleep was heavy, and her countenance flushed. A tremor pa.s.sed over her features. A groan succeeded. Suddenly she started up.

With a look of anguish he could never forget, she cried--

"Help! O my father!" She clung around his neck. In vain he endeavoured to soothe her. She sobbed aloud, as if her heart were breaking. But she never told that dream, though her haggard looks, when morning rose on her anxious and pallid countenance, showed the disturbance it had created.

Days and weeks pa.s.sed by. The intrusion of the bold outlaw was nigh forgotten. The father's apprehensions had in some degree subsided, but Constance did not resume her wonted serenity. Her earliest recollections were those of the old nursery rhymes, with which Agnes had not failed to store her memory. But the giant killers and their champions now failed to interest and excite. Other feelings than those of terror and of wonder were in operation, requiring a fresh cla.s.s of stimulants for their support--tales of chivalry and of love, that all-enduring pa.s.sion, where maidens and their lovers sighed for twice seven years, and all too brief a trial of their truth and constancy! As she listened, her soul seemed to hang on the minstrel's tongue; that erratic troubadour, Gaffer Gee, being a welcome and frequent visitor at Grislehurst.

One night he had tarried late in the little chamber, where she was wont to give him audience. She seemed more wishful to protract his stay than heretofore.

"Now for the ballad of Sir Bertine, the famous Lancas.h.i.+re knight, who was killed at St Alban's, fighting for the glorious red rose of Lancaster."

Nothing loth, he commenced the following ditty:--

"The brave Sir Bartine Entwisel Hath donned his coat of steel, And left his hall and stately home, To fight for Englond's weal.

"To fight for Englond's weal, I trow, And good King Harry's right, His loyal heart was warm and true, His sword and buckler bright.

"That sword once felt the craven foe, Its hilt was black with gore, And many a mother's son did rue His might at Agincourt.

"And now he stately steps his hall, 'A summons from the king?

My armour bright, my casque and plume, My sword and buckler bring.

"'Blow, warder, blow. Thy horn is shrill, My liegemen hither call, For I must away to the south countrie, And spears and lances all.'

"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'

His lady weeping said; 'Oh, go not to the battle-field, For I dreamed of the waters red!'

"'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'

Cried out his daughter dear; 'Oh, go not to the b.l.o.o.d.y fight, For I dreamed of the waters clear!'

"Sir Bertine raised his dark visor, And he kissed his fond lady; 'I must away to the wars and fight For our king in jeopardy!'

"The lady gat her to the tower, She clomb the battlement; She watched and greet, while through the woods The glittering falchions went.

"The wind was high, the storm grew loud, Fierce rose the billowy sea; When from Sir Bertine's lordly tower The bell boomed heavily!

"'O mother dear, what bodes that speech From yonder iron tongue?'

''Tis but the rude, rude blast, my love, That idle bell hath swung.'

"Upon the rattling cas.e.m.e.nt still The beating rain fell fast; When creeping fingers wandering thrice Across that window pa.s.sed.

"'O mother dear, what means that sound Upon the lattice nigh?'

''Tis but the cold, cold arrowy sleet, That hurtles in the sky.'

"The blast was still--a pause more dread Ne'er terror felt--when, lo!

An armed footstep on the stair Clanked heavily and slow.

"Up flew the latch and tirling-pin, Wide swung the grated door, Then came a solemn stately tread Upon the quaking floor!

"A shudder through the building ran, A chill and icy blast; A moan, as though in agony Some viewless spirit pa.s.sed!

"'O mother dear, my heart is froze, My limbs are stark and cold.'

Her mother spake not, for again That turret bell hath tolled.

"Three days pa.s.sed by. At eventide There came an aged man, He bent him low before the dame, His wrinkled cheek was wan.

"'Now, speak, thou evil messenger, Thy tidings show to me.'

That aged man, nor look vouchsafed, Nor ever a word spake he.

"'What bringest thou?' the lady said, 'I charge thee by the rood.'

He drew a signet from his hand, 'Twas speckled o'er with blood.

"'Thy husband's grave is wide and deep.

In St Alban's priory His body lies, but on his soul Christ Jesus have mercy!'"[28]

Scarcely had the last solemn supplication been uttered, when the latch of the chamber was raised. The door flew open, and the outlaw, in his dark grey cap and cloak, stood before them. Constance was too much alarmed to utter a word. She clung to her companion with the agony of one grasping at the most fragile support for life and safety.

"Nay, maiden, I would not harm thee," said the intruder, in a voice so musical and sad, that it seemed to drop into the listener's ear like a gush of harmony, or a sweet and melancholy chime wakening up the heart's most endeared and hallowed a.s.sociations. His features were n.o.bly formed.

His eye, large and bright, of the purest grey; the lashes, like a cloud, covering and tempering their l.u.s.tre. A touch of sadness rested on his lips. They seemed to speak of suffering and endurance, as if the soul's deepest agony would not have cast a word across their barriers.

Constance for a moment raised her eyes, but they were suddenly withdrawn, overflowing with some powerful emotion. He still gazed, but one proud effort broke the fixed intensity of his glance, and his tongue resumed its office.

"Maiden, I am pursued. The foe are on my track. My retreat is discovered, and unless thou wilt vouchsafe to me a hiding-place, I am in their power. The Earl of Tyrone--nay, I scorn the t.i.tle--'tis the King of Ulster that stands before thee. I would not crouch thus for my own life, were it not for my country. Her stay, her sustenance, is in thy keeping."

Never did wretchedness and misfortune sue in vain to woman's ear.

Constance forgot her weakness and timidity. She saw not her own danger.

A fellow-being craved help and succour; all other feelings gave place, and she seemed animated with a new impulse. She looked on the minstrel, as if to ascertain his fidelity. It was evident, however, that no apprehension need be entertained, this personage seeming to manifest no slight solicitude for the safety of the unfortunate chief.

"The old lead mine, in the Cleuch," whispered he.

"Nay, it must be in the house," replied Constance, with a glance of forethought beyond her years. "The pursuers will not search this loyal house for treason!"

As was the case in most mansions belonging to families of rank and importance, a room was contrived for purposes of special concealment, where persons or property could be stowed in case of danger. A heavy stack of chimneys was enlarged so as to admit of a small apartment, inconvenient enough in other respects, yet well adapted as a temporary hiding-place.

Hither, through secluded pa.s.sages, the careful Constance conducted her guest, who had so strangely thrown himself, with unhesitating confidence, upon her generosity and protection. The proud representative of a kingly race was rescued by a woman from ignominy and death. Some feeling of this nature probably overpowered him. As he bade her good night, his voice faltered, and he pa.s.sed his hand suddenly athwart his brow. Constance, having fulfilled this sacred duty, shrank from any further intercourse, and hastened to her chamber. It was long ere she could sleep; portentous dreams then brooded over her slumbers. The terrible vision was repeated, and she awoke, but not to her wonted cheerfulness.

How strange, how mysterious, the mechanism of the human heart! The feelings glide insensibly into each other, changing their hue and character imperceptibly, as the colours on the evening cloud. Protection awakens kindness, kindness pity, and pity love. Love, the more dangerous, too, the process being unperceived, insidiously disguised under other names, and under the finest sympathies and affections of our nature.

With a step light and noiseless as that of her favourite spaniel who crept behind her, did Constance make an early visit to ascertain the safety of her prisoner. His retreat was unmolested. The pursuit was for the present evaded, and his enemies thrown out in their track. It was needful, however, that he should remain for a few days in his present concealment, prior to the attempt by which he purposed to regain his native country.

Constance loved the moonlight. The broad glare of day is so garish and extravagant. Besides, there is a restlessness and a buz no human being, at least no sensible human being, can endure. Everything is on the stir.

Every creature, however paltry and insignificant, whether moth, mote, or atom, seems busy. Whereas, one serene soft gaze of the moon appears to allay nature's universal disquiet. The calm and mellow placidity of her look, so heavenly and undisturbed, lulls the soul, and subdues its operations to her influence.