CHAPTER XLV.
The attempt upon Hull had been abandoned; and, mortified anddesponding, Charles I. had quitted Beverley and pursued his marchthrough the land. The Earl of Essex lay in force at Northampton; butno show of energy announced at this time the successes which theparliamentary armies were ultimately to obtain. The mightier spiritshad not yet risen from the depth; and the ostensible engines withwhich faction worked were, as usual, the cunning artifice, thewell-told lie, the exaggerated grievance, the suppressed truth, thedark insinuation, by which large classes, if not whole nations, may bestirred up either for good or evil. There was activity in all thesmall and petty arts of agitation; there was activity in those courseswhich prepare the way for greater things; but in that which was todecide all--arms--tardiness, if not sloth, was alone apparent.
It is strange, in reviewing all great political convulsions, to remarkhow petty are the events and how small are really the men by whichgreat success is obtained, though insignificant incidents swell intoimportance by their mass, and mean characters gain a reflectedsublimity from the vastness of the results by which their deeds arefollowed. Even individual vices and weaknesses acquire a certaingrandeur under the magnifying power of important epochs, and from theuses to which they are turned; and the hypocrisy of Cromwell, and thebombast of Napoleon, which would have excited little but contempt inless prominent persons, appear in a degree sublime by being displayedon a wider stage, and employed as means to a mightier end. We are tooapt to judge of efforts by results, as of people by their success,noticing but little, in the appreciation of men's characters, one ofthe chief elements which distinguish the great from the little--theobjects which they propose to themselves--and, in our judgment oftheir skill, taking into small account the difficulties that opposedand the facilities that favoured the accomplishment of their designs;and it is curious to remark, that the revolutions which have carriedgreat usurpers into power have always raised the ambitious, and leftthe patriotic behind, as if human selfishness were the only motivewhich can ensure that continuity of effort and unity of purpose whichalone can command success amongst the struggles of diverse factions,and the development of infinitely varied opinions.
The Earl of Essex was a higher-minded man than Cromwell, but he haddoubts and hesitations which Cromwell's ambition would not entertain;and there can be but little doubt that he was unwilling to strike thefirst irrevocable blow against an army commanded by his sovereign inperson. Doubtless he fancied, as many did, that the small forcecollected tardily by a monarch without supplies would speedily meltaway, and leave Charles, from sheer necessity, to accept any termsthat the parliament chose to dictate; but whatever was the cause, theking was permitted to march to Shrewsbury unopposed, while theparliamentary forces lay inactive at Northampton. The reception givento the monarch in the town was such as to encourage high hopes in all;and as Wales was rising in his favour, it was judged expedient thatCharles should visit the principality in person, while the armyrecruited itself on the banks of the Severn, and every effort was madeto obtain a supply of arms and money. Provisions, indeed, wereabundant; the royalist troops were regularly paid; greater order andmore perfect discipline were maintained than had ever before beenobserved in the army; and a state of calm and cheerful enjoymentreigned in the good old town, which is but too seldom known in civilwars.
Such was the state of things when, one evening, a little beforesunset, just after the king had left Shrewsbury for Wales, twopersons, a gentleman and a lady, wandered along through the fields onthe banks of the river, once more full of happy dreams and hopes ofbright hours to come. Lord Beverley gazed down into his faircompanion's eyes as she lifted her sunny look towards his fineexpressive face, and he saw in those two wells of light the deep, purelove of which he had so often dreamed; while Annie Walton, in thecountenance of him who regarded her with such fond thoughtfulness,read the intense and passionate tenderness which alone can satisfy theheart, and teach the spirit of woman to repose with calm security onthe love of her future husband. It is too late in the tale either topaint the feelings which were in the bosom of each at thatmoment or to tell the words of dear affection that they spoke: thethrill of mutual attachment; the trembling flutter of the heart as shethought of the near-approaching hour; the glad eagerness of his tomake her his own beyond the power of fate; the visions of future joy,and the long vistas of happy years which the warm imagination of eachpresented--not the less bright and sparkling because, on her side ason his, though from different causes, vague clouds and indistinctshadows hung over parts of the scene which fancy painted. Come whatmight, in a few days they were to be united; and that was enough forthe hour.
They had been long talking over their plans and prospects; the oldhouse of Longnar Hall was to be their abode for the next three weeks;their marriage was to be as private and quiet as even Annie Walton'sheart could desire; and the circumstances of the times gave fairexcuse for cutting off all ceremonies and casting away all formaldelays. Of three weeks they thought themselves secure, and within thatlittle space was bounded all the real lifetime of their hopes.Beyond!--what was beyond? Who could say? And yet they dreamed of dayslong after, and Fancy looked over the prison-walls of the present, andtold them of fair scenes and glowing landscapes, which only her eyecould descry.
"I could have wished," said Annie Walton, after a pause, "that Charlescould have been married on the same day."
The earl smiled. "Then you see it now, beloved?" he replied.
"Nay, Francis, who could help seeing it?" asked Miss Walton. "Arrahherself must see and know it; and yet she seems not so happy, not socheerful, as I should have thought such knowledge would make her, forI am very sure that she has loved him long, and at one time I fearedfor and pitied her."
"And he has loved her long too, Annie," replied the earl; "longer thanyou believe, or he himself knew. This passion has been growing like aflower in the spring; first in the bud, as pity; then showing itsfirst hues as deep interest and tenderness; then partly expanding,like the timid blushing blossom, which seems to fear that even thegreen leaves around should look into its glowing breast, and at last,on a bright warm day, opening wide to the bright sun. Charles Walton,when first I saw your own dear eyes at Bishop's Merton, felt love, orsomething very like it, for Arrah Neil; and yet he would have beenstrangely hurt if any had told him that he ever thought of the poor,wild cottage girl with aught but mere compassion."
"You men are strange beings!" replied Annie Walton, with a sigh and asmile at the same time; "and yet I am not without my fears for thatdear child. Unless the proofs of who she is can be found and clearlymade out, what will be Charles's conduct?"
"I will tell you, love," answered Lord Beverley. "Pride willyield, Annie, to the noblest and strongest quality of your brother'sheart--the sense of honour. He has displayed his love for her tooopenly to herself for Charles Walton to hesitate. Other men might doso, and think themselves justified in sacrificing both her peace andtheir own affection to the cold judgment of the world; but if a timeshould come when he has to ask himself what he is to Arrah Neil, stillpoor, still unknown in position, and even in name, he will feelhimself plighted to her by the words and looks of these days, and as Ihave said, he will not hesitate."
"I trust it may be so," replied the lady; "and indeed I think it will,for he is generous and kind; but yet I wish this man would return withthe papers that he undertook to bring. Here several weeks have passed,and no tidings have been heard of him. Surely that sad hypocrite, Dry,cannot have bribed him."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the earl with a laugh: "all men have their ownnotions of honour, dearest; and though he is loose and dissolute, ababbler and a braggadocio, yet his courage and his fidelity are beyonddoubt. If he is not dead he will come back.--But what is that lying inthe grass?"
"Good heaven! it is a dead man!" cried Annie Walton, turning pale.
"Nay, some one asleep, rather," said her lover; "he is not like thedead. See! his arm is folded to pillow his he
ad. Wait here a moment,Annie, and I will go and see."
Lord Beverley advanced to the spot where the person they had beenspeaking of was stretched in the long grass, and gazed upon him for aninstant without speaking. Then, taking him by the arm, he shook himgently to rouse him, and with a start the sleeper sat up and gazedaround.
"Good gracious me!" he cried, as he awoke, "where am I? Ah, my lordthe earl! is that you? Well, this is a lucky chance indeed!"
"Why, how came you sleeping here, Master Falgate," inquired the earl;"and how did you get out of Hull?"
"I came here on the carriage provided by nature, my good lord,"answered the painter; "and I was sleeping because I could not keep myeyes open. To get out of Hull was no difficulty, but to get out ofWorcester was hard work indeed;" and he went on to relate how he hadtravelled on foot from Hull to Worcester, and there, having venturedupon some loyal speeches over a cup of ale, had found himself speedilyunder charge of a guard, from whom he escaped after innumerableobstacles (which need not be detailed to the reader), and had walkedfrom that city to the neighbourhood of Shrewsbury, a distance of morethan forty-seven miles, between the preceding midnight and one o'clockof that day, when, utterly exhausted, he had lain down to rest andfallen asleep.
"This is an old friend of mine, dear Annie," said the earl, turning toMiss Walton, who had come slowly up when she saw that the poor painterwas not dead; "and as he showed good discretion in my case, at a verycritical moment, we must do what we can for him. So, Master Falgate,"he continued, "the good folks of Worcester seem very rebelliouslyinclined, to treat you so harshly for a few loyal words?"
"Good faith! my noble lord, the men of Worcester had little to do withit," replied Falgate. "It was Lord Essex's soldiers that were sobarbarous to poor me. Have you not heard that he took up his quartersat Worcester yesterday?"
"No, indeed!" said the earl, a cloud coming over his countenance atthe thought of fresh dangers and delays. "No, indeed; but come with usinto the city, Falgate. Your intelligence must be valuable; and as foryourself; I must do what I can to place you in some good regiment offoot."
"No, no, my lord," answered the painter, "I have done with soldiering;I was never made for it. I do not like to paint men's faces withblood, or to see it done. All that you can do for me is to bring me tospeak to a noble gentleman named Lord Walton, if such a thing is everto take place; for I have hunted him to Beverley, to York, toNottingham, and then, finding the Roundheads in the way, in an unluckyday took Worcester on my road hither. So I do think I shall never seehim."
"Nothing can be more easy, my good friend," answered the earl: "LordWalton is here, and this lady is his sister. Come with us, and youwill see him in a few minutes."
The poor painter, who was not without his share of taste, wasdelighted at his meeting with Miss Walton, whose beautiful face andform were ready passports to his respect and admiration: nor did herwords and manner produce less effect; for, to the heart of Annie, theleast service rendered to him she loved made the doer interesting inher eyes; and with gentle tones and kindly looks she told poor DiggoryFalgate that she had heard of him and of his discretion from LordBeverley, and thanked him deeply for the caution he had shown. HadDiggory Falgate been Captain Barecolt, she would instantly have had afull account of all that had been done to save the earl, by informingSir John Hotham of his situation, together with various additions andimprovements, which would have left all the honour of his deliverancewith the worthy narrator. But Falgate, to whom the presence of beautyhad something almost awful in it, did not even take to himself thecredit that was rightly his due, but walked on nearly in silencebeside the earl and his fair companion, till, entering the town ofShrewsbury, they reached the house where Lady Margaret Langley and heryoung relations had taken up their abode, near the Wellington gate ofthe city.
"Is Lord Walton within?" the earl demanded, addressing one of theservants in the old porch, and the answer was, "Yes, my lord. He is inthe small room on the left with my lady," and leading Annie on,Falgate following close behind, Lord Beverley entered the chamber,saying, "Here is a good friend of mine, Charles, who brings youtidings from Hull."
Lord Walton rose from a seat between that of Lady Margaret and fairArrah Neil, gazing upon the painter through the dim evening light,which found its way in at the tall lattice window, without theslightest recollection of his face, as indeed he had never before seenhim. But the moment that Falgate beheld Arrah Neil he advanced a stepor two towards her, then stopped and hesitated, for her dress was muchaltered, and then went on again, but with a timid and doubtful air.
Arrah, however, welcomed him with a kindly smile, holding out her handto him and saying, "Ah, Master Falgate! I am glad to see you safe.This is the person whom I mentioned, Charles, who aided my escape fromHull."
"He deserves all our thanks, dear Arrah," replied Charles Walton, "andevery recompense that we can give him; but did I understand right,sir, that you have business with me?"
"Why, I had, my noble lord," answered Falgate, In a somewhat falteringtone; "but--but, as I have found this young lady, I think it is to herI should speak, for the business is her own. I only asked for yourlordship because--because I had heard that you were her best friend."
"Oh, yes! indeed he is," exclaimed Arrah Neil, warmly; "and whateveris to be said had better be said to him: he can judge rightly ofthings that I do not understand."
"Well, then, speak to me here, sir," said Lord Walton, retiringtowards the window. "You had better come, too, Arrah, for we may wantyou in our council."
Falgate followed to the other side of the room, and Arrah Neil roseand joined them, while Annie Walton seated herself beside her aunt,and Lord Beverley took a seat placed on the other side of LadyMargaret's chair, engaging her attention by an account of their walk.Nor was it accidentally that he did so; for he knew that at thatmoment, though the fine countenance of the old dame was calm, therewere many thoughts and memories, many doubts and hopes, busy in herbosom--far too busy for her peace. In the mean time he turned his eyesevery now and then towards the window, against which appeared the fineand dignified form of Lord Walton, the light of evening shining fullupon his lordly brow and chiselled features, and the sweet profile ofArrah Neil, with the graceful outline of her figure, all in deepshade. The painter seemed speaking eagerly as they listened, and fromtime to time Charles Walton bent his head or asked a question; whileArrah Neil, her face inclined towards the ground, once or twice raisedher handkerchief to her eyes, and seemed to wipe away a tear. Atlength the painter drew forth from his pocket a small packet (which heplaced in Lord Walton's hands), and a slip of paper, which he heldwhile the young nobleman eagerly examined the contents of the packet.They seemed various, some of them being letters and scraps ofparchment, some small trinkets. While he gazed upon them all, oneafter the other, Charles Walton gave them to Arrah Neil--first,however, drawing her arm through his own, as if to support her. Then,taking the paper from Falgate's hand, he attentively read what waswritten on it; and, turning once more to his fair companion, he kissedher tenderly, adding a few words, the last of which sounded like "mydear cousin."
Lady Margaret Langley caught them and started up, but instantlyresumed her seat; and Lord Walton, taking Arrah's hand in his, whilehe supported her trembling steps with his arm, led her forward to theold lady's chair. The fair girl sank upon her knees, and bent her headbefore Lady Margaret, while in a low and solemn voice the youngnobleman said--
"My dear aunt, it is as you have dreamed. This sweet girl is yourchild's child."
Lady Margaret said not a word, but cast her arms round Arrah Neil,bent her brow upon her fair neck, and wept in silence; then raised hertearful eyes towards heaven, and sobbed aloud. The old stag-hound,too, as if he comprehended all and shared in all, approached, and witha low whine licked his mistress's withered hand. She speedily grewcalm, however, and looking up to her nephew, without taking her armfrom Arrah's neck, she asked--
"But is it all true, Charles? Is it all proved? Is she the hei
ress ofmy house?"
"Nothing but a few minute links in the chain of evidence are wanting,"replied Lord Walton; "and quite enough is proved, my dear aunt, toleave no doubt whatever on our minds, as I will show you, though otherpapers indeed are wanting at present, which might be needful toestablish her rights and legitimacy in a court of law. Whatever may beits decision, however, to us she must be ever our own dear cousin,Arabella Tyrone."
"Ah, no, no!" cried the poor girl, starting up and clasping her hands;"still Arrah Neil to you, Charles--to all of you, still Arrah Neil!"
Lord Walton gazed on her with a look of earnest tenderness, and afaint smile crossed his fine lip. Perhaps he thought that, whateverwas her name for the time, she would soon be Arabella Walton; but hewould not agitate her more at that moment, and was about to proceedwith the account he was rendering to Lady Margaret, when Lord Beverleyadvanced and extended his arms to Arrah Neil. She gazed upon him insurprise; but he pressed her to his bosom warmly, eagerly, and kissedher brow, exclaiming--
"Fear not, dear child! fear not! The same blood flows in your veins asin mine. I am not deceived, Lady Margaret--her father was my mother'sbrother. Is it not so?"
"It is," said Lady Margaret. "Ask me no questions yet, my child. He isyour cousin, and he and his have forgiven me and mine. I trust thatGod has forgiven us, and you may have to do so, too, when you hearall. Say, will you do it, Arrah?"
The fair girl fell upon her neck and kissed her; and Annie Walton thenclaimed her share of tenderness, though to her the tale had beendeveloped more gradually, and was not heightened by surprise.
It was a strange and touching scene, however, even to one whowitnessed it, like the poor painter, without any personal interest inthe recovery of the lost lamb; and Falgate's eyes were as full oftears as those of the rest, when he was called forward by Lord Waltonto give an account of how he had found the packet which he had broughtthat day. His tale was somewhat confused, and the particulars need notbe related here, as the reader is already acquainted with them; butwhen he spoke of the account given by the good hostess of the inn, andpointed out the facts she had written down--when he detailed his visitto the vault and the opening of the coffin--Lady Margaret Langleysobbed aloud, exclaiming--
"My child! oh, my child! Ah! didst thou die so near me, and nomother's hand to close thine eyes?"
When she had somewhat recovered, however, she took the tokens and thepapers which had been found in the coffin, and gazed upon them, oneafter the other, with many a sad comment. There were two rings sherecollected well. One she had given herself, and a small gold circletfor the brow. It was on her child's sixteenth birthday, she said, thelast she ever spent within her father's halls. Then she read thecertificate of marriage, and a short statement of events, in a handthat she knew too well, wiping the bitter drops from her eyes that shemight see the words; and then she kissed the name written below, and,drawing Arrah to her heart, embraced her long. At length she lookedround and asked--
"What is there wanting, Charles? All doubt is done away."
"To us it is, my dear aunt," answered Lord Walton; "but the law willrequire proof that this dear girl, so long called Arrah Neil, is thesame as the child whom old Sergeant Neil brought from Hull to Bishop'sMerton many years ago. Those proofs, I hope, will soon be found.Indeed, I expected that they would have been brought hither ere now.Some strange delay has taken place, but doubtless some mere accidenthas caused it; and at all events we are satisfied."
Miss Walton whispered something to her brother as he ended, to whichhe replied quickly--
"You are right, Annie; I will do it. Stay with my aunt, and cheer hertill we return. There is a tale to be told to this dear girl," hesaid, speaking to Lady Margaret, "which is too sad for you to tell.Let me do it, my dear aunt--I know all the facts."
"Ay, but not the feelings, Charles," replied the old lady; "yet do soif you will. I can tell the rest hereafter, when I am calmer, for thiswill pass away. I never thought to have shed tears again. I fanciedthe fountains were dried up. Tell her, Charles, tell her; but nothere."
"No; I will speak with her in the dining-hall," replied Lord Walton."Come, dear Arrah. It is better to perform a painful task at once; andtaking her hand he led her from the room."