CHAPTER X.
NOT a little was the surprise of uncle and nephew at thus meeting in the midst of Sherwood, but it was greater on the part of the old Earl than of Hugh. The scene, indeed, in which he found his venerable relative, might astonish the young gentleman a little; for the free rangers of the forest, the profusely covered table, the wine barrel, and the drinking cups, were certainly accessories which he had not expected to see around his noble kinsman. With the deference, however, which, at that period, existed for age and renown, he expressed no astonishment, and asked no questions, but dismounting from his horse, proceeded, in answer to his uncle, to inform him why and how he had returned, instead of accompanying the Earl of Ashby on his way either to Lindwell or to London.
But as the reader is well aware of the circumstances connected with the sudden disappearance of Lucy de Ashby, and of the part in seeking her which Hugh de Monthermer had taken upon himself, we shall not recapitulate this part of the young knight's account, but content ourselves with stating what success he had met with in the pursuit.
"Last night I swept the whole roads through the forest," he said, "in a breadth of about two miles, without discovering the slightest trace of any one who could have had a share in this outrageous act. I met a swineherd at one time, and then a ploughman with two potters bringing along clay in a cart, but no other persons whatsoever.--Why do you smile, good forester?" he continued, turning to Robin Hood.
"Because, noble sir," replied the outlaw, "men in the forest of Sherwood are not always exactly what they look. It is difficult there to know a carrion crow from an ousel."
"I may have been deceived, indeed," said Hugh de Monthermer; "but in one thing I must be right; whether they be ousels or carrion crows, they had no lady with them. However, I arrived at Oxton, in the wood, an hour after sunset, and as there was no possibility of pursuing my search, any farther then, I remained at the house of the reve, making inquiries amongst the people of the village, several of whom were coming in from their work in the forest. Last night I discovered nothing, but this morning at dawn a man was brought to me who reported that, in crossing from Southwell about noon yesterday, he had seen two ladies on horseback, accompanied by a number of men on foot. The lady, he said, was gaily dressed, and very beautiful"--the Earl smiled,--"and certainly a lady of high degree. They were bringing her down towards Mansfield, the fellow thought, so I set off at once, beating up every road in the neighbourhood, and often losing my way. From time to time, however, the sound of a horn led me on, though I never could discover who it was that winded it."
"Did the man imply," asked the Earl, "that the people who accompanied this lady were using force?"
"No," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "he vowed that she appeared to go very willingly; but still I thought it could not but be the lady I was seeking, from her great beauty and her dress."
"As if there were no beautiful woman in the world but Lucy de Ashby?" cried the Earl. "What say you to this story, Robin? You should know if she have passed this way."
"No lady higher than a franklin's daughter has gone on the road to Mansfield," replied Robin Hood, "except the Prioress of Wakefield, who came by yesterday with about a dozen men on foot, and a nun with her. She is a goodly dame to look upon, too, with lips like a pair of cherries, and as to her dress, she had a pulled liripipy might have suited a court harlot, a dagger at her girdle with a silver chain, a peaked hat, and a gold medal round her neck. Yes, she was a goodly dame to look upon, and weighed some fourteen stone or more. I have seen fatter women, but not many."
"Psha!" said Hugh de Monthermer; "you are jesting."
"Not I, in faith and truth," cried Robin Hood; "she is the only woman of rank who has passed this way for a week, and assuredly I ought to know. Here is a bevy of as pretty country maidens as ever came out to see foresters shoot at the butts; but I will answer for it that no lady of higher degree than themselves has gone along the road to Mansfield--except, indeed, the Prioress of Wakefield, and the nun who went with her. But did the good man tell you no more?--His information must have been somewhat scanty."
"He told me," replied Hugh de Monthermer, with a momentary smile crossing the anxiety which his countenance displayed--"he told me to take care how I went, for I might meet with Robin Hood and his merry men, and come home with a loss."
"Ay!" said Robin; "Ay! and, doubtless, you answered, my young lord, that you were not afraid, but would bring Robin Hood to Nottingham if you met him."
"No," answered Hugh de Monthermer, "No, I said no such thing. I told him, on the contrary, that I should be very glad to see bold Robin Hood; and that I was sure, if I did, we should meet and part good friends, as he and my uncle had fought side by side in the good cause of Old England."
Robin Hood held out his hand to him, replying--"You said right, young lord: though, let me tell you, it is not every gay gallant who may come through the forest that would go out of it again, without having his smart skin taken off his back as if he were a brown hare or a spotted deer. But you have come just at the nick of time: Let your uncle go on, and tell the Earl of Ashby, when he finds him, that Robin Hood says, the loss of his daughter is the judgment of the Blessed Virgin upon his head, for winking at Richard de Ashby's carrying off the child of as honest a man as himself, and making a leman of her.--It would be no marvel to hear that she has gone away with some wild young Frenchman of King Henry's bringing over.--Nay, look not so fierce, my noble lord, nor colour up so red! I mean no insult to the lady.--How should I know aught about her or her character? But if I had her in my hands, she should never return to her own home till the old Earl had pledged himself to send back idle Kate Greenly. However, it's no affair of mine, you'll say; and we have weightier matters to think of. Both your uncle and myself were mightily puzzled just now, as he must go on at all speed, and yet it is needful that I should have some one here, to consult with in regard to the news I expect to-night. You have come, then, just in time to remain with me, and to settle whatever plan may seem expedient according to the tidings that I receive."
Hugh de Monthermer looked doubtfully from the face of the Outlaw to that of his uncle, and then demanded, "Have I your word that she has not passed this way?"
"I pawn my soul that she has not," replied the forester.
The young man cast his eyes down towards the ground, and thought for an instant or two, a suspicion having taken possession of his mind, he knew not well why, that Robin was better informed of Lucy de Ashby's fate than he chose to avow.
Before he had brought his meditations to an end, however, the old Earl interrupted them, saying, "It is very needful, Hugh, that, if possible, you should remain here, as he asks you. From your account, you have sought this fair lady much farther than you undertook to do. You have likewise been misled a little from the track, I fancy; and it seems to me more than probable that some emissary of the king's, or of the Earl of Gloucester's--who has been lately proclaimed by De Montfort, a traitor,--may have got possession of the fair Lucy, as a hostage for her father's neutrality."
"Gloucester proclaimed a traitor!" said Hugh de Monthermer. "Then are active times coming, my dear uncle!--I will not refuse to stay if it be needful, but still----"
"You could do no good bye any farther search," interrupted the Earl; "she must either have been found by her father or her brother, or must be far away ere now.--I look upon it as a duty, Hugh, that one of us should remain here this night; and assuredly I ought to go on."
"Enough, enough!" replied Hugh de Monthermer. "Your wish, my lord, is sufficient for me. But what can I do with the men? Two of them belong to my Lord of Ashby,--and where can I stable my horses?"
"Send them all away but your own charger," said the Outlaw. "You are not afraid to stay alone with Robin Hood--or Robert of the Lees, if you like the name better?"
"Not in the least," answered the young gentleman. "I know I am as safe with you, bold Robin, as in my own castle. Take them then with you, fair uncle; and you, sir," he continued, turning to one of the Earl of Ashby's servants, "bear witness to your lord that I have sought this young lady far and near, with all zeal and due devotion. Tell him, moreover, that I have ascertained beyond all doubt--as you yourself have heard--that she has not passed in this direction. Should he himself find her, I trust he will send me a messenger to ease my mind--that is to say, to save me the trouble of farther pursuit."
"Well, then, I will away," said the old Earl, "for the sun is getting far down already. I sleep to-night at Stapleford, and to-morrow go on for Derby. Follow me quickly, Hugh. So long as you are in Sherwood with our good friends here, you are safe, but I will leave you half a score of archers at Stapleford, and, should I find the roads dangerous, will send you some spears from Derby. If you learn by to-night's tidings that war has already begun, arrange with bold Robin for a levy of as many yeomen as possible, and let them march to join me wherever I am making head."
Thus saying, the Earl, putting his foot in the stirrup, flung himself lightly into the saddle, gave a brief order for the attendants who had followed his nephew to fall in with the rest of his train; and, once more grasping the hand of the Outlaw, without forgetting his companion, Little John, he rode away, taking, as his parting benison, a loud cheer from the band of yeomen.
"Now, my young lord," said Robin, when he had gazed for a moment or two after the gallant old Earl, "you seem fatigued and exhausted after your day's ride. I will warrant you, you have not broken bread since----"
"Since five o'clock this morning," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "but that matters not, I am more anxious than tired, and care little for food."
"Nonsense, nonsense, young gentleman," cried Robin, taking him by the arm, and drawing him towards the table. "Here, some one hold the horse. A slice of yon baron, though it be, like a timid counsellor, neither hot nor cold, together with a cup of Bordeaux wine, will do you good, young sir."
"Nay," replied Hugh, "give me one of those barley cakes and the wine you speak of. That is all I want. Where do we rest to-night?"
"Some three miles hence, on the way to Nottingham," answered the forester, "and if you will not sup now, you must have a rere supper there."
While Hugh de Monthermer broke the barley cake and drank the wine, Robin spoke a few words, in an undertone, to Little John, who replied, laughing, "No fear, no fear; there is plenty of light, dear little souls."
"Nay, but I will have it so," answered his leader, aloud. "Now, my merry men and pretty maids, disperse, and God's blessing be with you. But let it be remembered that if there be a damsel away from her home at sunset, I will reckon with the man that keeps her. They are all under the safeguard of our honour; and we shall lose their sweet faces at our feasts if any evil happens to them.--Those who have sturdy shoulders, clear away all that is left, and let it be given to the poor in the villages round. So do the monks at their gates, and Robin Hood will be as good as a monk, though his gates be the meres of Sherwood. Here, cooks, here is your reward, and let the tapster take the tuns for his pains."
Very rapidly after these words were spoken the numbers on the green began to disperse. Some sauntered down the road, some disappeared amongst the trees, and those that remained made themselves busy in carrying off the platters and trenchers from the table, and piling the whole of the simple dinner-service, stools and all, into some large country carts which stood near. No horses, indeed, were upon the ground, but that of Hugh de Monthermer, and the white charger which had borne the bold forester, and which was still seen under a tree, finishing slowly a trough of oats that had been put down for its consumption.
The boy who had held the beast while Robin was waiting for the Earl of Monthermer, now stood close to his master's side looking up in his face; and, at a sign of the finger, he darted away and led up the steed at a quick pace.
Robin laid his hand upon the urchin's head, saying, "Good boy!" and that word, if one might judge by the smile of the young countenance, was reward enough.
"Now I am ready," said Hugh de Monthermer; and, mounting their horses, they rode away into the wood.
"You will sup better to-night," said Robin, as they went.
"I do not know," replied the young lord; "I am anxious about this young lady, Robin, that is the truth; and anxiety makes but bad sauce to the most savoury food."
"Nay--nay, take heart of grace," said Robin; "I doubt not she is well enough wherever she may be, and it becomes not a gay gentleman to pine for any lady till he knows that she fares hardly."
"Nay, I do not pine," replied Hugh, not liking the term; "methinks I do not look much like a sick crow or a magpie in the moulting season; but still I must feel somewhat anxious, as you would if you had ever seen her."
"Is she so very beautiful, then?" said Robin Hood, with an arch smile.
"Faith is she!" answered Hugh de Monthermer, "and more than beautiful, though you may think my description savours of extravagance. But it is not so. I have seen others perhaps as beautiful--perhaps more so--but there is that sort of charm about her--that sort of sparkling grace, which is like nothing but the bright morning sunshine, giving fresh loveliness to everything it lights upon."
"Are you sure that the charm is not love?" asked Robin Hood. "But let us talk of other matters. Here we must turn off from the road, and I take you through paths in Sherwood unknown to any justice, either north or south of Trent. Although I could well trust to your knightly honour, and to your regard for the laws of hospitality, yet I must here exact from you a promise, which every one makes who is led where I lead you. It is, that, upon your honour as true man and good knight, everything you see or hear from this spot till I lead you back to the high road again, shall be forgotten as soon as you quit me, and revealed to no one--no, not to your confessor."
The notions which then existed of knightly honour caused Hugh de Monthermer to give the promise exacted from him without the slightest hesitation; and, that having been done, the bold forester led him on through one of those narrow lanes which we have before mentioned, where only one horse could advance at a time. This path continued for about half a mile, and opened out into one of the wildest parts of the forest, through which there seemed to be no track of any kind.
It was not one of those spots properly called coverts--which name was only applied to woods so thick that the branches of the trees touched each other,--but, on the contrary, it was a sort of wild chase, scattered with fine old oaks, and encumbered with an immense quantity of brushwood. There were patches of green grass to be seen here and there, indeed, and once or twice a sandy bank peeped out amongst the bushes, while two or three large ponds, and a small silver stream appeared glistening at about half a mile's distance from the spot where the horsemen issued forth from the lane.
It was as lovely a forest scene as ever the eye rested upon, for the ground was broken, and a thousand beautiful accidents diversified the landscape. Every here and there a tall mound of earth, sometimes covered with turf, sometimes rounded with brushwood, would rise up, bearing aloft a graceful clump of trees, while the setting sun, pouring its long horizontal rays across the wild track, cast lengthened shadows over the ground below, and brightened all the higher points with gleams of purple light.
Beyond, again, at the distance of not less than two miles and a half, and considerably lower than the spot where the two journeyers stood, reappeared the thicker coverts of the forest, rolling like the waves of a deep green sea in the calm and mellow rays of the departing day, while a slight mist here and there marked out its separate lines, growing fainter and more faint, till some distant objects, like towers and pinnacles--they might be clouds--they might be parts of a far city--closed the scene, and united the earth with the sky.
Here all trace of a road ended, but without the slightest hesitation, bold Robin Hood led the way onward, threading with unerring steps the different green lines which separated one mass of brushwood from another, guiding his companion under one tall bank, and round another high mound, between the bolls of old oaks and across the dancing stream, without even once meeting a check, or having to pause in his whole course through the woody labyrinth.
At length, however, the sun went down, and the twilight just sufficed to show Hugh de Monthermer his way, as they had reached the lowest spot of the chase, and approached a clump of several acres of thick covert. There was a path at one angle by which Robin and his companion entered, and winding on in darkness for some way--for the trees excluded the whole of the remaining rays--they at length emerged into an open space in the centre, where they could again see, though faintly, the objects around them.
Opposite to the mouth of the road by which they came, was the first building that they had seen upon their ride. It was of a very peculiar architecture, consisting of round stones piled upon one another, and cemented together, being what, I believe, is called rubble, while the windows and doors alone, presented hewn stone lintels and transoms, with short small columns supporting each. A quantity of ivy had grown over the greater part of the building; but there were lights within, and for a moment Robin Hood drew up his horse as if to listen.
"Here," he said, at length, "lived and reigned a Saxon Thane when the trees of Sherwood were yet young. His bones lie in the little chapel behind. The memory of the place has passed away as well as the people that inhabited it, and it has come to be the abode of a child of the same race, when outlawed for the love of his country."
CHAPTER XI.
Two notes, or, as they were then called, mots, upon his horn, formed the only signal that Robin Hood gave of his return; but in an instant those sounds brought forth a head from one of the windows, at the height of about twelve or thirteen feet from the ground. That it was apparently a human head, Hugh could distinguish, and also that it was a very large one, somewhat strangely shaped; but he was not a little surprised when the body began to follow after, with an extraordinary serpent-like suppleness, till the knees were brought upon the window sill; and then, the feet being swung over, the body was suddenly dropped, and hung against the side of the house, while one hand retained its hold of the stone work, and the other waved, what seemed to be, an odd-looking cap, round and round in the air. The next instant the being who had thought fit to employ this unusual method of descent, let go the grasp of its left hand, and came down upon its feet, bounding up again from the earth like a ball, and cutting a curious caper in the air.
Although well accustomed to all the monsters which were then much sought for in courts and castles, Hugh de Monthermer at first imagined that the creature before him was an enormous ape, so extraordinary was its agility, and such the pliancy of all its limbs. The arms, too, like those of the Simia tribe, were of an extraordinary length, and the one which attached it to the window as it hung from above, seemed to be longer than the whole body. The moment after it descended, however, the young knight was undeceived, for a human voice proceeded from the supposed ape, of remarkable sweetness.
"Ho! Robin, Ho!" it said in English.[3] "So you have come home at length, wicked wanderer. You have been feasting in the forest, I know, and carried off little Harry with you to pamper him on wine and comfits, and left Tangel behind with the women."
"Did I not take thee at Christmas," asked Robin, "and leave Harry behind? It was but fair, Tangel!"
"Ay, but he's the favourite," said the dwarf, "though he can't do half that I can. Pretty looks, Robin, pretty looks! You're like all the world, beauty's fool. Pretty looks are everything! But I'll comb him into worsted when he comes back again."
"Nay; thou wilt not hurt him," replied Robin; "thou lovest him as well as we do, Tangel."
"I love him!" exclaimed the dwarf. "Scurvy little monster of whiteness! I love him not--out upon him! I'll carve his pink cheeks for him, and bore a hole in each of his eyes. Take care what you do with him, Robin, and look well to your meat; for if I find you kinder to him than to me, I'll roast him before a slow fire, baste him in his own fat, and serve him up to you as a barbecued pig. Ha! ha! ha!--that will be fine sport!--Come, give me the horses.--Who have you got here in the purfled jerkin?--Give you good day, sir," and with his cap in his hand, he made a low and grotesque bow to the young lord.
"He will take your horse, my lord," said Robin. "Now let us in," and approaching the door, he shook it with his hand. It was locked, however, and the stout forester was obliged to have recourse to an instrument, in use during many centuries in England, which served the purpose of a knocker. It consisted merely of a large ring with sundry notches in it; and, a small iron bar, hanging beside it by a chain, being rapidly run over the indented surface, produced a sharp and unpleasant sound, which soon called the attention of those within, who enquired who was there.
The door was speedily thrown open at Robin's well-known voice, and Hugh de Monthermer followed his guide through a long dark passage into a room at the back of the house. There were lights in it, though it was vacant; and it was hung with tapestry, which was stained in some places as if with damp, though in general the colours were as fresh as when first the texture was wrought.
"Here, Cicely," said Robin Hood, pausing at the door after his guest had entered, and speaking to a pretty young woman who had given them admission--"Bid them prepare a chamber for this young lord; and hark! tell old Martha--"
The rest of the sentence was lost to the ears of the young gentleman, and after the girl had tripped away, the Outlaw remained upon the ground, apparently in a meditative mood, till at length the sound of some one singing seemed to rouse him from his reverie. It was a remarkably sweet voice, and the air was one but little known in England at the time, coming from those Southern lands where music had made greater progress than with us.
Robin listened for a moment or two, and then said aloud, though evidently speaking to himself--"It is scarcely just, after all, to punish the innocent for the guilty; and it must be a punishment, though she bears it lightly. I must speak with him first, however."
"Remember, you are not alone, good Robin," said Hugh of Monthermer, unwilling to be a partaker in the Outlaw's counsels.
Robin Hood laughed--"It was ever a fault of mine," he replied, "that my tongue was a false gaoler to my thoughts. One would sometimes fancy I was an old doating woman, to mumble to myself the fragments of half-digested purposes. But come, my lord, you have not supped, I have; and as there is much business to do, I must leave you for a time. I go to see a young friend of yours and mine, in order to hold with him some counsel of importance; and I beseech you, quit not this house till I return, which will be in about two hours' time."
"I will not," answered Hugh, "and in the meantime, rather than sup, I will lie me down and take some rest, having first, with your good leave, seen to the accommodation of my horse."
"Trust him to my people, trust him to my people," replied Robin Hood--"and follow my advice. Take some supper: you may have to ride far to-night, for aught you know; and meat and drink in moderation, is strength, if not courage. Hunger is a sad tamer of stout limbs."
As he spoke, he lighted a small silver lamp at one of the candles, which hung in a large polished brass sconce against the wall, and bidding the young lord follow, he led the way through another of those long narrow passages which occupied so much space in all ancient houses. No doors appeared on either side till a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a heavy wooden staircase, the steps of which seemed to be composed of solid blocks of wood, piled round a common centre. There was a rope on either hand fastened by stanchions of iron let into the stonework of the wall.
"There," said Robin Hood, giving the young lord the lamp, "if you go up and open the door just before you, at the top, you will find some supper ready. When you are tired, and wish to go to bed, call for Cicely or Tangel, and they will show you the way. I must hasten away, or I may miss my time."
Hugh de Monthermer took the lamp and bidding God speed him for the present, ascended the stairs with a slow step. At the top he found himself in a large sort of vestibule, lighted from one end, and containing three doors; one immediately opposite to him, as Robin had said; another a little farther down, and another upon his left hand; but although the directions of the Outlaw had been very distinct, Hugh de Monthermer paused and hesitated, for he heard the sound of voices speaking within, and the tongues seemed those of women.
Although he was by no means averse to the society of the fair, the young knight imagined that there must be some mistake, as the Outlaw had given him no cause to suppose that any one was waiting for him. After a moment of suspense, however, he approached and knocked; and a voice answered, "Come in, for we have no means of keeping any one out."
The sight that presented itself to Hugh de Monthermer made him pause suddenly in surprise not unmingled with pleasure. The room was a small low-roofed chamber, covered with dark-coloured painted cloth instead of arras, but well lighted, and with a blazing log on the hearth, which might be needed in that old dwelling, notwithstanding the month being May. Although the furniture was ancient even in those times, yet everything was most comfortable according to the usages of the day. The floor was thickly strewed with dry rushes, and a table was in the midst, on which pretty Cicely was arranging, in haste, a number of dishes, and plates, and drinking-cups.
But it was neither on the maid nor on the table that the eyes of Hugh rested, for in a chair, at some distance from the fire, sat a fair lady, amusing herself with an old embroidery frame, while on two seats somewhat lower, engaged in winding and unwinding silks, sat two girls of about the same age as their mistress, one of whom was evidently the person who had spoken, as her eyes were fixed upon the door, and her pretty little lips still apart.
If the surprise of Hugh de Monthermer was great, that of the party within seemed not less so. The lady at once dropped the embroidery frame, started up and ran towards him with her hands extended, as if she would have cast herself into his arms, exclaiming, with a glowing cheek and sparkling eye--"Hugh!" Then, suddenly stopping herself, she turned her eyes to the ground, and the colour became still brighter in her face than before. She recovered herself in a moment; but neither of the maids of Lucy de Ashby ever jested with their mistress afterwards upon her wearing the colours of the House of Monthermer.
Hugh, however, did not hesitate, but advancing, with a quick step, took the hand that was held out to him, and pressed his lips upon it. "Lucy!" he cried, "have I then found you at last?"
"Have you been seeking me, my lord?" asked Lucy de Ashby, glancing her eyes timidly towards the two maids; "I trust you are come to deliver us--though, to say sooth," she added, with a gay look, "we have been so well treated in the forest, and so thoroughly despaired of gaining our freedom, that we had well-nigh chosen ourselves husbands from the bold rangers."
"You might do worse, Lady," said Cicely, scarcely liking the subject to be jested with; "there are honest hearts in the forest!"
"Doubtless, my good girl," replied Lucy; "but you forget, we have not tried them yet. Now, my good Lord Hugh, let us know, in a word, whether you are come to deliver us or not.--On my life, one would think that he was the man who goes about preaching patience: to keep a lady one whole minute without an answer!"
"Nay," replied Hugh, "I am so surprised to find you here, that my wonder must have time to cool. But, in reply to your question, fairest lady, I must own, though I certainly came into Sherwood to seek you, I came not here to deliver you."
"Why, how is that, Sir Knight?" demanded Lucy, a shade of disappointment coming over her bright countenance, at the thought of being detained longer in the forest; for, however gaily we may bear it, the loss of liberty is always painful, and the exercise of that gift which has brought so much misery to every man--our own free will--is not the less dear under any circumstances--"Why, how is that? Surely, if you came to seek me, you came to deliver me! You speak in riddles but to tease me a little longer."
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, "that I should tease you at all! But, to explain what I mean, I must tell you the whole story."
"Oh, tell it, tell it then!" cried the lady; "that is quite according to every ballad in the land! The knight always finds the lady in the wood, and then narrates his lamentable history."
"Mine shall be a short one, at all events," said Hugh, and he proceeded, as briefly as possible, to relate all that had occurred to him during the last six-and-thirty hours.
Every one, of course, in this world tells his story in his own way, and his manner of telling it is not alone modified by his own peculiar character, but by the circumstances in which he is placed, and the passions that are within him at the moment. This truism may be trite enough, but it was applicable to the case of Hugh de Monthermer, for his own sensations at the time affected the method of telling his tale even more than any of the peculiarities of his own nature. The feelings that he entertained towards Lucy de Ashby--the difficulty of restraining those feelings, and yet the fear of suffering them to appear too openly, circumstanced as he then was, all modified his history, and made it very different from what it would have been had he been indifferent to the person whom he addressed. Love, however, has ever been considered a skilful teacher of oratory, and without any actual intention of doing so, every word that Hugh de Monthermer uttered showed the fair girl beside him something more of the passion which she already knew was in his heart.
He paused but little upon the anxiety of her father, or the indignation of her brother, but he detailed at length the whole of his own course while seeking her, the grief he had felt, the apprehensions he had entertained, and the disappointment he had experienced when frustrated in his endeavours; and, although there appeared from time to time flashes of his own gay and sparkling disposition--though he told his tale jestingly, with many a light figure and playful illustration, there was an undertone of deep tenderness running through the whole, which showed Lucy that the sportive tone was but as a light veil cast over the true feelings of his heart.
The reader need hardly be told, after the traits that we have given--which, though they be few, were significant enough--that Lucy was not by any means displeased with the discoveries which she made in Hugh de Monthermer's bosom. That she loved him we have not attempted to conceal, but the history of her love is somewhat curious, and worth inquiring into, as it displays some of the little secrets of the human heart.
Lucy de Ashby was by no means a coquette; her nature was too tender--too sensitive, her mind too imaginative for cold arts. She knew that she was beautiful, it is true; indeed she could not doubt it, for she saw it in every mirror, and heard it from every tongue; but she was far less anxious for admiration than for love. Indeed, to persons not naturally vain, who aim at higher objects than merely to please the eye, personal admiration, although they may know that they deserve it, may sometimes become even burdensome. Lucy, for one, was tired of hearing that she was beautiful, and to tell her that she was so, in whatever courtly forms the intimation might be conveyed, was no way of winning her favour. It was the general mode, however adopted by the young nobles who frequented the Court of England, and were admitted to her father's house. They thought they could never too much praise her loveliness or extol her grace. It was the custom of the day, the only mode of winning lady's love then known; and the world were much surprised to find that for one or two years she remained very cold and insensible to all who strove by such means to raise a warmer feeling in her bosom.
During the greater part of that time the House of Monthermer had been at open enmity with that of Ashby, and Hugh himself was the object of many a bitter and an angry speech on the part both of her father and her brother. Now it may seem that the fair lady was a little animated by the spirit of contradiction, when we acknowledge that the hatred which her family entertained towards the young Lord Hugh was one of the first causes that created in Lucy's bosom a feeling in his favour. But the reader must not forget, Lucy had no reason to suppose that the animosity of her family was well-founded, or their harsh censure just. On the contrary, from every indifferent person whom she was inclined to respect and esteem, she heard the highest praises of him whom her father and brother delighted to decry. She saw, also, that they themselves had no slight difficulty in finding matter for blame in the conduct of the rival house; and when occasionally the two families met, either at the Court or at any of the chivalrous pageants of the day, it seemed to her that in demeanour, at least, Hugh de Monthermer was very different from that which the voice of angry passion represented him. All these things sunk into her mind; and although she said nothing upon the subject, but remained equally silent when he was condemned or praised, the conviction forced itself upon her that he was the object of injustice; and where is the woman's heart without that latent chivalry which instantly takes arms in favour of the oppressed?
Thus went on the history of Lucy's love till that reconciliation was brought about between the families, of which we have already spoken. Circumstances then led them into frequent communication, and a great change took place in her father's opinion of the young lord. He made no longer any difficulty of acknowledging that Hugh was one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the day; and though her brother Alured did not forget his enmity so easily--for in his case there was a touch of envious jealousy in it--yet he suffered the motives too plainly to appear; and Lucy, seeing, esteeming, and admiring, had always ready a champion in her own breast to defend the cause of Hugh de Monthermer. Had anything been wanting to lead her onward to that state in which the whole heart is given--where there is no retreat, and where all other sensations are swallowed up in love--some of the events of the first few months succeeding the reconciliation of the two families would have speedily furnished it.
For some time Hugh de Monthermer paid only such attention to Lucy de Ashby as the courtesy of the day required. She was certainly surprised--perhaps a little disappointed, that the only man for whose admiration she had ever wished, should not at once be captivated by her beauty, as others had been. Many a woman, under such circumstances, would have thrown out every lure, would have used every art to win his attention; but Lucy did not so: she retired to her own chamber, and fell into deep meditation. "He may love some one else," she said to herself, and as she said so, she felt inclined to weep; but she repressed her tears, and determined never to let her thoughts rest for a moment upon him again. She chid herself for unwomanly rashness, even for the preference she felt; but with poor Lucy the time for good resolutions or self-chiding to be of any avail, was past. She loved already--loved truly, and those who have so loved, well know that, like the garment imbued with the blood of Nessus, true affection, when once it clothes the human heart, can never be torn off, and that even in the effort to do so the very veins and flesh are rent away along with it.
She was not destined long to suffer any doubt, however: a single day brought her relief, and changed sorrow into joy. The Earl of Monthermer and his nephew were then at her father's castle of Lindwell, enjoying the sports of the brown autumn, and cementing the newly-revived friendship between the two houses in the intimate communication of domestic life. The day after she had indulged in the melancholy thoughts, and made all the vain resolutions, and addressed to her own heart the idle reproaches we have mentioned, Hugh and Lucy were seated next each other at the table, and at first their conversation was cold and commonplace. At length, however, as so often happens, something was said--some accidental word--some mere casual observation--some sentence, apparently as light as air, but accompanied by smile, or glance, or tone, indicative of feelings deeper than the words implied, and the heart of each seemed to open to the other as if by magic.
I recollect once visiting a house where the scenery around appeared tame and monotonous enough. The rooms were stately, fine pictures hung upon the walls, and many objects of art and interest lay scattered round, but still when one looked forth there was nothing beautiful before the eye, till suddenly, in a dark, dull chamber, in a remote part of the mansion, a servant drew back a blind from a small window, and one of the most magnificent scenes in nature burst instantly upon the view.
What it was that Lucy de Ashby said to Hugh de Monthermer I know not, but it drew back the veil from her heart and showed him a new world, such as he had never dreamt was near at hand. He had certainly not been without warm admiration of her beauty: he had felt its power, and somewhat dreaded its effects; but the master spell was now added, and the harmony between her person and her mind left him no power to resist. His whole manner towards her changed at once; admiration and regard were thenceforward in every look and in bright interchange of thoughts and feelings; and when Lucy laid her head down upon her pillow, her brain reeled with the memory of a thousand sweet sensations crowded into the short space of a few hours.
Her brother was absent--there is reason to believe purposely--and on the following day her father's horse fell in the chase and injured him, though not dangerously. It was Hugh who brought her the tidings, who soothed her apprehensions, who calmed and consoled her, and every hour added something to the intimacy that grew up between them. They rode forth in the woods together, they walked side by side upon the battlements; and, though the words of love that might be spoken, were all vague and shadowy, yet each understood the feelings of the other; and Hugh only waited till the friendship of their houses should be more confirmed, to demand the hand of Lucy as a new bond of union between their families.
The man who delays even for an hour in love is a fool, or has no experience. The latter was the case of Hugh de Monthermer. Had he asked for Lucy de Ashby then, the old Earl would have granted her to him at once; but in a few days Alured de Ashby returned, bringing his cousin Richard with him; and it soon became evident to the lover that the favourable moment was past for the time.
Such is the history of the affection which had grown up between Hugh and Lucy to the time when last they parted. Some months had intervened, and it may well be supposed that it was not a little soothing to the sweet girl's heart to mark that strain of tenderness which, as we have said, ran through the whole of Hugh de Monthermer's story. So pleasant was it, indeed, that for a short time the disappointment of her hopes of deliverance was forgotten in the gratification of other feelings. She paused and mused; but at length her mind reverted to the more painful consideration. She at once saw, when she reflected on all he had just told her, that Hugh was bound by his promise to the Outlaw to take no step whatever to set her free. He had sworn that all he beheld and heard there should be to him as if it were not; and Lucy herself had too much of the chivalrous spirit in her nature to wish that one she loved should ever evade, even were it possible, the sincere execution of an engagement he had formed. She looked in his face for a moment or two in silence, and in the end asked him simply, "What then do you intend to do?"
"Good faith, dear lady," he replied, "I see but one thing to be done, which is, as I cannot take you away with me, to stay here with you; and, if this terrible enchanter of Sherwood will not set you free, why we must spend our days here under the green leaves, chasing the wild deer, and singing the hours away."
Lucy smiled gaily, for the images were not unpleasant ones that Hugh de Monthermer's reply called up. She thought it would be a very happy life; and if those sad bonds of circumstances which continually tie down the noblest energies of the mind and the best, and strongest feelings of the heart had permitted it, she would willingly have cast off high rank and station, and all the gawds and gewgaws of society, to remain with Hugh de Monthermer in the forest of Sherwood and pass the rest of her days in low estate.
His reply threw her into a new fit of musing, however, and their farther conversation was interrupted, for the moment, by the pretty maid, Cicely, calling their attention to the supper, which was spread upon the table. The two lovers sat down side by side; Lucy's maidens took their seats opposite, and the meal passed over partly in gay, partly in serious conversation; but, between Lucy and Hugh, there was of course a degree of restraint from the presence of others, which was sufficiently evident to those who caused it.
There is a general sympathy in every woman's heart for love, but, of course, that sympathy is more active in the young, who feel, than in the old, who only remember the passion. With unchilled hearts ready to thrill at the first touch, Lucy de Ashby's two maids having so lately been enlightened fully in regard to their mistress's feelings for Hugh de Monthermer, were only anxious for an excuse to leave the lady and her lover alone; and not finding any ready to their hand, they dispensed with all pretexts whatever, first the one and then the other quitting the room, and betaking themselves to the sleeping-chamber which had been assigned to them and their lady.
There can be but little doubt that Lucy was well satisfied with their departure; but yet a sort of timid panic took possession of her, and she had well-nigh called them back. The next moment she smiled at her own fears, and would have given a great deal to renew the conversation, which had come to a sudden halt, upon some indifferent topic; but words were wanting, and Lucy sat with the colour a little heightened in her cheek, and the silky fringes of her soft dark eyes drooping so as to veil half their light.
Hugh de Monthermer gazed at her with admiration and love, and although he felt very certain that she was not without her share of tenderness towards him, he determined to make "assurance double sure," and not lose the opportunity which fortune had presented.
"Well, Lucy," he said, breaking the long pause at length, "as I cannot deliver you, shall I remain with you to protect you?"
"Assuredly!" she answered, covering a certain degree of agitation with a gay look, "you are a faithless knight, even to dream of quitting a lady in this enchanted castle! Did you not say that you were to stay here; and that we were to live a woodland life--chasing the wild deer, and making the groves and dells echo with our horns? I declare it is quite delightful to think of!"
"And you are to be my lady, and I am to be your knight?" asked the lover. "Is it not so, Lucy?"
"To be sure!" replied his fair companion. "I will have you my most devoted servant, as in duty bound. You shall train my hawks for me, and teach my dogs, and ride by my side, and be ever ready to couch your lance in my defence. In short, as I have said, you shall be my very humble servant on all occasions."
"And nothing more?" inquired Hugh de Monthermer. "May I not sometimes have a dearer title?" Lucy blushed deeply and was silent, and Hugh de Monthermer went on; "May I not be called your lover, Lucy?--may I not some time, perhaps, be called your husband? Dear girl," he continued, taking her hand, which trembled a little in his,--"Dear girl, if we are to remain here, depend upon it, we shall soon have to look for a priest in the forest. What say you, Lucy, shall it be so?"
Lucy crushed a bright drop through her eyelashes, and giving her pretty brow a wild fawnlike shake, she turned her glowing face towards him with a look of gay daring, saying, "I dare say we could find one, Hugh, if it were needful."
Her lover drew her somewhat nearer to him, whispering a few low words in her ear.
"Hush, hush!" she said, "be satisfied, I will tell you no more!"
"But listen, dearest Lucy," said Hugh de Monthermer, "we have here a few moments to ourselves: it may be long ere we have the same again. It is right that we should clearly understand how we are placed. I love you, dearest Lucy, as well as woman was ever loved! Do you believe me?"
"I dare say you do," replied Lucy, laughing, "I think it is quite natural you should--How could you help yourself, poor youth!"
"And you love me as much, Lucy," added the young knight; "Is it not so?"
"No!" cried Lucy, "I hate you! You know it quite well, and I shall hate you still more if you tease me about it!"
"Hate me in the same way ever," replied Hugh de Monthermer, kissing her cheek, "and I will forgive you, my sweet mistress.--But the case is this, Lucy," he added, in graver tone; "there are difficulties and dangers before us. Why they have brought you here, I do not know. How long they may keep you, I cannot tell; but the moment that I dare to leave you, I must march with all speed towards Wales. Battle and peril are in my way--perhaps I may never see you more. A thousand evils may occur, a thousand dark mischances may separate us for long, if not for ever, and I would fain----"
"Say no more, Hugh, say no more," cried Lucy, at once rendered serious by his words; "I do love you, if it will make you happy to hear it. I have never loved any but you--There, I can say no more, can I?"
Hugh rewarded the confession as such an acknowledgment may best be rewarded; but still he went on, after a few minutes, in the same tone.
"No one can tell dear girl," he proceeded, "what events the future may have in store; but I see clouds gathering in the sky, portending storms which may well dash down the blossom of our hopes, if we put it not under shelter. What I mean is, that we must not fancy our affection will meet with no opposition."
"But my father loves you, Hugh," exclaimed Lucy; "he loves, esteems, and praises you."
"But your brother does not," replied her lover. "It is in vain, Lucy, that I have sought his regard, by every honest means that a true heart could take. Still he loves me not; and I am apprehensive lest in the coming events some cause of dissension should arise, which might induce him, and perhaps your father also, to endeavour to separate us for ever."
Lucy bent down her eyes thoughtfully, and remained for several moments without answering. "One cannot resist the will of a father," she said, at length, "but I am not bound to obey the will of a brother. What is it you would have me to do, Hugh?--I am in a foolish mood for complying," she added, with a smile. "I know not what you men would do, if we women did not sometimes become as soft as wax when the sun shines on it."
Hugh de Monthermer paused, for there was a strong temptation at his heart, and, to say the truth, he could scarcely resist it. He saw that Lucy was in a yielding mood--he saw that, taking advantage of the opportunity, he might, perhaps, win her even to give him her hand at once. There were excuses for such a step, which, probably, no other moment would furnish. In a situation of danger and captivity, where she required the protection of one invested with some sacred right--far from her own relatives, and having every reason to believe that her father would approve her choice, a thousand motives for yielding to such a request might easily be urged; and when pleaded by the voice of love would doubtless prevail.
These were strong temptations to Hugh de Monthermer, whose heart was not of the most icy nature; but, on the other hand, there were those chivalrous feelings of honour in which he had been educated, which but too few, indeed, of the nobles of his own day entertained, but which were rooted in his mind as principles that even passion could not overthrow. He demanded of himself, Would it be honourable? would it be just?--Treated with kindness and trust as he had lately been by the Earl of Ashby, ought he not to return confidence for confidence, and boldly ask her father for Lucy's hand without taking advantage of her unprotected situation to induce her to grant what might otherwise be refused?
"It is like stealing a treasure," said Hugh to himself, "which we have found by chance, but which we know belongs to another man."
Lucy looked up, wondering that he did not reply; and her lover, believing that he risked nothing to show her both the passion which was in his heart, and the principles which restrained that passion, answered, at length, "Dear girl, I am sorely tempted--tempted to ask you to be mine at once--tempted to ask you to send for that same priest we talked of but now, and to give me this fair hand before we quit these greenwood shades."
"Nay, nay, Hugh," cried Lucy, colouring brightly.
"Hear me, Lucy," said her lover; "I only said I was sorely tempted; but I know I must not yield. Yet one thing, Lucy, I may seek, and that fairly, for it is what I would ask were we now in the midst of the gayest hall,--ay! or in that sweet oriel window of your father's castle, where we have whiled away so many an hour with idle words that covered deeper thoughts within. Will you promise to be mine?--Will you promise to be mine whatever betide!"
Lucy gazed somewhat sadly in his face--"Sooner or later, Hugh," she said; "sooner or later, I will. I must not resist my father's will. If he oppose, I must obey so far, as to deny you for the time; but never--believe me, Hugh, for I promise by all I hold most sacred--never shall this hand rest as a bride in that of another man. They can but send me to a convent; and that my father will not do, for I know that often, when my brother's rash mood frets him and brings a cloud over the calm evening sunshine of his days, he finds a comfort in my presence, which he would not willingly be without."
"But, dear Lucy," said Hugh, "were your father dead, might not your brother doom you to the dark cold shade of the cloister?"
"He cannot, Hugh--he dare not!" replied Lucy. "He has no power. The lands I hold are not from him, nor from the King of England. However, they might strip me of them, Hugh, it is true, and Lucy de Ashby might be a dowerless bride, but----"
"But the more welcome, dearest Lucy!" replied Hugh. "Would that your father even now would give me this fair hand, with nothing on it but the ring that makes you mine! and should the time ever come when, after his death, your brother opposes our union, but bring me that sweet smile, and the kind word, 'Yes,' at the altar, and I shall think my Lucy dowered well enough."
"It is sad, Hugh," said Lucy, "even to look forward to future joys when one of those we love shall be no longer here; and, therefore, I will still trust that my father's eyes may see our wedding, and his voice give us a blessing. But my proud brother, Alured, shall never stand between you and me.--Hark! there are steps upon the stairs!" she exclaimed; "before they come, let me bind myself by bonds that cannot be broken.--I promise you that, sooner or later, I will be yours, Hugh; and that I will never be the bride of another; so help me Heaven at my need!"