CHAPTER IV
I
Robin bowed to her very carefully, and stood upright again.
* * * * *
She had seen in an instant how changed he was, in that swift instant inwhich her eyes had singled him out from the little crowd of men that hadcome into the room with Anthony at their head. It was a change which shecould scarcely have put into words, unless she had said that it was theconception of the Levite within his soul. He was dressed soberly andrichly, with a sword at his side, in great riding-boots splashed to theknees with mud, with his cloak thrown back; and he carried his greatbrimmed hat in his hand. All this was as it might have been in Derby,though, perhaps, his dress was a shade more dignified than that in whichshe had ever seen him. But the change was in his face and bearing; hebore himself like a man, and a restrained man; and there was besidesthat subtle air which her woman's eyes could see, but which even herwoman's wit could not properly describe.
She made room for him to sit beside her; and then Father Campion's voicespoke:
"These are the gentlemen, then," he said. "And two more are not yetcome. Gentlemen--" he bowed. "And which is Captain Fortescue?"
A big man, distinguished from the rest by a slightly military air, andby a certain vividness of costume and a bristling feather in his hat,bowed back to him.
"We have met once before, Mr.--Mr. Edmonds," he said. "At Valladolid."
Father Campion smiled.
"Yes, sir; for five or ten minutes; and I was in the same room with yourhonour once at the Duke of Guise's.... And now, sir, who are the rest ofyour company?"
The others were named one by one; and Marjorie eyed each of themcarefully. It was her business to know them again if ever they shouldmeet in the north; and for a few minutes the company moved here andthere, bowing and saluting, and taking their seats. There were still acouple of men who were not yet come; but these two arrived a few minuteslater; and it was not until she had said a word or two to them all, andFather Campion had named her and her good works, to them, that she foundherself back again with Robin in a seat a little apart.
"You look very well," she said, with an admirable composure.
His eyes twinkled.
"I am as weary as a man can be," he said. "We have ridden since beforedawn.... And you, and your good works?"
Marjorie explained, describing to him something of the system by whichpriests were safeguarded now in the north--the districts into which thecounty was divided, and the apportioning of the responsibilities amongthe faithful houses. It was her business, she said, to receive messagesand to pass them on; she had entertained perhaps a dozen priests sincethe summer; perhaps she would entertain him, too, one day, she said.
* * * * *
The ordeal was far lighter than she had feared it would be. There was astrong undercurrent of excitement in her heart, flushing her cheeks andsparkling in her eyes; yet never for one moment was she even tempted toforget that he was now vowed to God. It seemed to her as if she talkedwith him in the spirit of that place where there is neither marrying norgiving in marriage. Those two years of quiet in the north, occupied,even more than she recognised, in the rearranging of her relations withthe memory of this young man, had done their work. She still kindled athis presence; but it was at the presence of one who had undertaken anadventure that destroyed altogether her old relations with him.... Shewas enkindled even more by the sense of her own security; and, as shelooked at him, by the sense of his security too. Robin was gone; here,instead, was young Mr. Audrey, seminary student, who even in a court oflaw could swear before God that he was not a priest, nor had been"ordained beyond the seas."
So they sat and exchanged news. She told him of the rumours of hisfather that had come to her from time to time; he would be a magistrateyet, it was said, so hot was his loyalty. Even her Grace, it wasreported, had vowed she wished she had a thousand such country gentlemenon whose faithfulness she could depend. And Robin gave her news of theseminary, of the hours of rising and sleeping, of the sports there; ofthe confessors for the faith who came and went; of Dr. Allen. He toldher, too, of Mr. Garlick and Mr. Ludlam; he often had talked with themof Derbyshire, he said. It was very peaceful and very stirring, too, tosit here in the lighted parlour, and hear and give the news; while thecompany, gathered round Anthony and Father Campion, talked in lowvoices, and Mistress Babington, placid, watched them and listened. Heshowed her, too, Mr. Maine's beads which she had given him so long ago,hung in a little packet round his neck.
* * * * *
More than once, as they talked, Marjorie found herself looking at Mr.Ballard, or, as he was called here, Captain Fortescue. It was he whoseemed the leader of the troop; and, indeed, as Robin told her in awhisper, that was what he was. He came and went frequently, he said; hismanner and his carriage were reassuring to the suspicious; he appeared,perhaps, the last man in the world to be a priest. He was a big man, ashas been said; and he had a frank assured way with him; he was leaningforward, even now, as she looked at him, and seemed laying down the law,though in what was almost a whisper. Father Campion was watching him,too, she noticed; and, what she had learned of Father Campion in thelast few hours led her to wonder whether there was not something ofdoubtfulness in his opinion of him.
Father Campion suddenly shook his head sharply.
"I am not of that view at all," he said. "I--"
And once more his voice sank so low as to be inaudible; as the restleaned closer about him.
II
Mr. Anthony Babington seemed silent and even a little displeased when,half an hour later, the visitors were all gone downstairs to supper.Three or four of them were to sleep in the house; the rest, of whomRobin was one, had Captain Fortescue's instructions as to where lodgingswere prepared. But the whole company was tired out with the long ridefrom the coast, and would be seen no more that night.
* * * * *
Marjorie knew enough of the divisions of opinion among Catholics, and ofMr. Babington in particular, to have a general view as to why hercompanion was displeased; but more than that she did not know, nor whatpoint in particular it was on which the argument had run. The oneparty--of Mr. Babington's kind--held that Catholics were, morally, in astate of war. War had been declared upon them, without justification,by the secular authorities, and physical instruments, includingpursuivants and the rack, were employed against them. Then why shouldnot they, too, employ the same kind of instruments, if they could, inreturn? The second party held that a religious persecution could not beheld to constitute a state of war; the Apostles Peter and Paul, forexample, not only did not employ the arm of flesh against the RomanEmpire, but actually repudiated it. And this party further held thateven the Pope's bull, relieving Elizabeth's subjects from theirallegiance, did so only in an interior sense--in such a manner thatwhile they must still regard her personal and individual rights--suchrights as any human being possessed--they were not bound to renderinterior loyalty to her as their Queen, and need not, for example(though they were not forbidden to do so), regard it as a duty to fightfor her, in the event, let us say, of an armed invasion from Spain.
There, then, was the situation; and Mr. Anthony had, plainly, crossedswords this evening on the point.
"The Jesuit is too simple," he said suddenly, as he strode about. "Ithink--" He broke off.
His sister smiled upon him placidly.
"You are too hot, Anthony," she said.
The man turned sharply towards her.
"All the praying in the world," he said, "has not saved us so far. Itseems to me time--"
"Perhaps our Lord would not have us saved," she said; "as you mean it."
III
It was not until Christmas Eve that Marjorie went to St. Paul's, for allthat it was so close. But the days were taken up with the visitors; ahundred matters had to be arranged; for it was decided that before theNew Year all were to be dispersed.
Captain Fortescue and Robin were toleave again for the Continent on the day following Christmas Day itself.
Marjorie made acquaintance during these days with more than onemeeting-place of the Catholics in London. One was a quiet little housenear St. Bartholomew's-the-Great, where a widow had three or four setsof lodgings, occupied frequently by priests and by other Catholics, whowere best out of sight; and it was here that mass was to be said onChristmas Day. Another was in the Spanish Embassy; and here, to her joy,she looked openly upon a chapel of her faith, and from the galleryadored her Lord in the tabernacle. But even this was accomplished withan air of uneasiness in those round her; the Spanish priest who tookthem in walked quickly and interrupted them before they were done, andseemed glad to see the last of them. It was explained to Marjorie thatthe ambassador did not wish to give causeless offence to the Protestantcourt.
And now, on Christmas Eve, Robin, Anthony and the two ladies entered theCathedral as dusk was falling--first passing through the burial-ground,over the wall of which leaned the rows of houses in whose windows lightswere beginning to burn.
The very dimness of the air made the enormous heights of the greatchurch more impressive. Before them stretched the long nave, over sevenhundred feet from end to end; from floor to roof the eye travelled upthe bunches of slender pillars to the dark ceiling, newly restored afterthe fire, a hundred and fifty feet. The tall windows on either side, andthe clerestory lights above, glimmered faintly in the darkening light.
But to the Catholic eyes that looked on it the desolation was moreapparent than the splendour. There were plenty of people here, indeed:groups moved up and down, talking, directing themselves more and moretowards the exits, as the night was coming on and the church would beclosed presently; in one aisle a man was talking aloud, as if lecturing,with a crowd of heads about him. In another a number of soberly dressedmen were putting up their papers and ink on the little tables that stoodin a row--this was Scriveners' Corner, she was told; from a third half adozen persons were dejectedly moving away--these were servants that hadwaited to be hired. But the soul of the place was gone. When they cameout into the transepts, Anthony stopped them with a gesture, while acouple of porters, carrying boxes on their heads, pushed by, on theirshort cut through the cathedral.
"It was there," he said, "that the altars stood."
He pointed between the pillars on either side, and there, up littleraised steps, lay the floors of the chapels. But within all was empty,except for a tomb or two, some tattered colours and the _piscinae_ stillin place. Where the altars had stood there were blank spaces of wall;piled up in one such place were rows of wooden seats set there for wantof room.
Opposite the entrance to the choir, where once overhead had hung thegreat Rood, the four stood and looked in, through a gap which the masonswere mending in the high wall that had bricked off the chancel from thenave. On either side, as of old, still rose up the towering carvenstalls; the splendid pavement still shone beneath, refracting back fromits surface the glimmer of light from the stained windows above; but thehead of the body was gone. Somewhere, beneath the deep shadowed altarscreen, they could make out an erection that might have been an altar,only they knew that it was not. It was no longer the Stone ofSacrifice, whence the smoke of the mystical Calvary ascended day byday: it was the table, and no more, where bread and wine were eaten anddrunk in memory of an event whose deathless energy had ceased, in thisplace, at least, to operate. Yet it was here, thought Marjorie, thatonly forty years ago, scarcely more than twenty years before she wasborn, on this very Night, the great church had hummed and vibrated withlife. Round all the walls had sat priests, each in his place; and besideeach kneeled a penitent, making ready for the joy of Bethlehem onceagain--wise and simple--Shepherds and Magi--yet all simple before thebaffling and entrancing Mystery. There had been footsteps and voicesthere too--yet of men who were busy upon their Father's affairs in theirFather's house, and not upon their own. They were going from altar toaltar, speaking with their Friends at Court; and here, opposite whereshe stood and peeped in the empty cold darkness, there had burned lightsbefore the Throne of Him Who had made Heaven and earth, and did HisFather's Will on earth as it was done in Heaven.... Forty years ago thelife of this church was rising on this very night, with a hum as of anapproaching multitude, from hour to hour, brightening and quickening asit came, up to the glory of the Midnight Mass, the crowded church,alight from end to end, the smell of bog and bay in the air, soon to bemet and crowned by the savour of incense-smoke; and the world of spirit,too, quickened about them; and the angels (she thought) came down fromHeaven, as men up from the City round about, to greet Him who is King ofboth angels and men.
And now, in this new England, the church, empty of the Divine Presence,was emptying, too, of its human visitors. She could hear great doorssomewhere crash together, and the reverberation roll beneath the stonevaulting. It would empty soon, desolate and dark; and so it would beall night.... Why did not the very stones cry out?
Mistress Alice touched her on the arm.
"We must be going," she said. "They are closing the church."
IV
She had a long talk with Robin on Christmas night.
The day had passed, making strange impressions on her, which she couldnot understand. Partly it was the contrast between the homelyassociations of the Feast, begun, as it was for her, with the massbefore dawn--the room at the top of the widow's house was crowded allthe while she was there--between these associations and theunfamiliarity of the place. She had felt curiously apart from all thatshe saw that day in the streets--the patrolling groups, the singers, themonstrous-headed mummers (of whom companies went about all day), two orthree glimpses of important City festivities, the garlands thatdecorated many of the houses. It seemed to her as a shadow-show withoutsense or meaning, since the heart of Christmas was gone. Partly, too, nodoubt, it was the memory of a former Christmas, three years ago, whenshe had begun to understand that Robin loved her. And he was with heragain; yet all that he had stood for, to her, was gone, and anothersignificance had taken its place. He was nearer to her heart, in onemanner, though utterly removed, in another. It was as when a friend wasdead: his familiar presence is gone; but now that one physical barrieris vanished, his presence is there, closer than ever, though in anotherfashion....
* * * * *
Robin had come in to sup. Captain Fortescue would fetch him about nineo'clock, and the two were to ride for the coast before dawn.
The four sat quiet after supper, speaking in subdued voices, of hopesfor the future, when England should be besieged, indeed, by thespiritual forces that were gathering overseas; but they slippedgradually into talk of the past and of Derbyshire, and of rides theyremembered. Then, after a while, Anthony was called away; Mistress Alicemoved back to the table to see her needlework the better, and Robin andMarjorie sat together by the fire.
* * * * *
He told her again of the journey from Rheims, of the inns where theylodged, of the extraordinary care that was taken, even in that Catholicland, that no rumour of the nature of the party should slip out, lestsome gossip precede them or even follow them to the coast of England.They carried themselves even there, he said, as ordinary gentlementravelling together; two of them were supposed to be lawyers; he himselfpassed as Mr. Ballard's servant. They heard mass when they could in thelarger towns, but even then not all together.
The landing in England had been easier, he said, than he had thought,though he had learned afterwards that a helpful young man, who hadoffered to show him to an inn in Folkestone, and in whose presence Mr.Ballard had taken care to give him a good rating for dropping abag--with loud oaths--was a well-known informer. However, no harm wasdone: Mr. Ballard's admirable bearing, and his oaths in particular, hadseemed to satisfy the young man, and he had troubled them no more.
Marjorie did not say much. She listened with a fierce attention, so muchinterested that she was scarcely awar
e of her own interest; she lookedup, half betrayed into annoyance, when a placid laugh from MistressAlice at the table showed that another was listening too.
She too, then, had to give her news, and to receive messages for theDerbyshire folk whom Robin wished to greet; and it was not untilMistress Alice slipped out of the room that she uttered a word of whatshe had been hoping all day she might have an opportunity to say.
"Mr. Audrey," she said (for she was careful to use this form ofaddress), "I wish you to pray for me. I do not know what to do."
He was silent.
"At present," she said, gathering courage, "my duty is clear. I must beat home, for my mother's sake, if for nothing else. And, as I told you,I think I shall be able to do something for priests. But if my motherdied--"
"Yes?" he said, as she stopped again.
She glanced up at his serious, deep-eyed face, half in shadow and halfin light, so familiar, and yet so utterly apart from the boy she hadknown.
"Well," she said, "I think of you as a priest already, and I can speakto you freely.... Well, I am not sure whether I, too, shall not gooverseas, to serve God better."
"You mean--"
"Yes. A dozen or more are gone from Derbyshire, whose names I know. Someare gone to Bruges; two or three to Rome; two or three more to Spain. Wewomen cannot do what priests can, but, at least, we can serve God inReligion."
She looked at him again, expecting an answer. She saw him move his head,as if to answer. Then he smiled suddenly.
"Well, however you look at me, I am not a priest.... You had best speakto one--Father Campion or another."
"But--"
"And I will pray for you," he said with an air of finality.
Then Mistress Alice came back.
* * * * *
She never forgot, all her life long, the little scene that took placewhen Captain Fortescue came in with Mr. Babington, to fetch Robin away.Yet the whole of its vividness rose from its interior significance.Externally here was a quiet parlour; two ladies--for the girl afterwardsseemed to see herself in the picture--stood by the fireplace; MistressAlice still held her needlework gathered up in one hand, and her spoolsof thread and a pin-cushion lay on the polished table. And the twogentlemen--for Captain Fortescue would not sit down, and Robin had risenat his entrance--the two gentlemen stood by it. They were not in theirboots, for they were not to ride till morning; they appeared twoordinary gentlemen, each hat-in-hand, and Robin had his cloak across hisarm. Anthony Babington stood in the shadow by the door, and, beyond him,the girl could see the face of Dick, who had come up to say good-byeagain to his old master.
That was all--four men and two ladies. None raised his voice, none madea gesture. The home party spoke of the journey, and of their hopes thatall would go well; the travellers, or rather the leader (for Robin spokenot one word, good or bad), said that he was sure it would be so; therewas not one-tenth of the difficulty in getting out of England as ofgetting into it. Then, again, he said that it was late; that he hadstill one or two matters to arrange; that they must be out of London assoon as the gates opened. And the scene ended.
Robin bowed to the two ladies, precisely and courteously; making nodifference between them, and wheeled and went out, and she saw Dick'sface, too, vanish from the door, and heard the voices of the two on thestairs. Marjorie returned the salute of Mr. Ballard, longing to entreathim to take good care of the boy, yet knowing that she must not andcould not.
Then he, too, was gone, with Anthony to see him downstairs; andMarjorie, without a word, went straight through to her room, fearing totrust her own voice, for she felt that her heart was gone with them.Yet, not for one moment did even her sensitive soul distrust any morethe nature of the love that she bore to the lad.
But Mistress Alice sat down again to her sewing.