CHAPTER XII.
All the principal streets of the old town of Hereford were throngedwith personages of various conditions and degrees, towards the eveningof one of those soft, but cloudy summer days, when the sun makes hisfull warmth felt, but without the glare which dazzles the eye when heshines unveiled upon the world. That street, however, to which we shallconduct the reader, was narrow, so that not more than three or fourhorsemen could ride abreast, and yet it was one of the best in thetown. But, in reality, the space for passengers was much wider than itseemed; for, as was then very common, especially upon the frontiers ofWales, one half of the ground-floor of the houses was taken up by along, open arcade, which sheltered the pedestrians from the rain atsome periods of the year, and from the heat at others. From the firstfloors of these houses--just high enough to allow a tall horse, mountedby a tall man with a lance in his hand to pass, without striking thehead of the cavalier or the weapon he carried--projected long poles,usually gilt; and suspended therefrom appeared many of the varioussigns which are now restricted to inns and taverns, but were thencommon to every mansion of any importance.
Down this street, and underneath innumerable symbols of swans, andhorses, and eagles, and mermaids, and falcons, and doves, and of allthose heterogeneous mixtures of birds, beasts, and fishes, which thefertile fancy of man ever confounded, were riding, at the time I speakof, various groups of horsemen, while ever and anon the progress of oneparty or another would be stopped by some man, woman, or child, dartingout from the arcade at the side, and holding a conversation, short orlong, as the circumstances might be, with one of the equestrians.
Amongst other groups in the gay and animated scene, was one whichremained ungreeted by any of the good people of the town, but which wassuffered to pass along uninterrupted till it reached a second-rate inn,called the Maypole. It consisted of four human beings and threebeasts--namely, three men and a woman, two horses, and a sleek,vicious-looking mule. On one of the horses was mounted a tall sturdyman in the guise of a servant; on the other was evidently afellow-labourer in the same vineyard; but he was not alone, for on apillion behind him appeared a female from, covered with a thick veilwhich shrouded the face, so that it was impossible to see whether therewas beauty beneath or not, although the figure gave indications ofyouth and grace which were not to be mistaken.
Jogging along upon the mule, with his legs hanging down easily by theside of the animal, and his fat stomach resting peacefully upon thesaddle, was a jolly friar clothed in grey, with his capuche thrownback, the sun not being troublesome, and a bald head--the glisteningsmoothness of which had descended by tradition even to Shakspeare'sdays, and was recorded by him in his Two Gentlemen of Verona--peepingout from a narrow ring of jet black hair, scarcely streaked with grey.
His face was large and jovial, which, in good sooth, was no distinctionin those times between one friar and another; but there was withal alook of roguish fun about the corners of his small grey eyes; and ajeering smile, full of arch satire, quivered upon his upper lip,completely neutralizing the somewhat sensual and food-loving expressionof the under one, which moved up and down every time he spoke, like avalve, to let out the words that could never come in again. Indeed, heseemed to be one of those easy-living friars who, knowing neithersorrow nor privation in their own persons, appeared to look upon griefand care with a ready laugh and a light joke, as if no such things inreality exist. His rosy gills, his double chin, and his large roundear, all spoke of marrow and fatness; and, indeed, at the very firstsight, the spectator saw that he was not only a well-contented being,but one who had good reason to be so.
Just as they reached the entrance of the tavern which we havementioned, the friar, by some mismanagement, contrived to get hismule's hind quarters towards the servant, who was riding singly onhorseback, and by a touch of the heel, given, apparently, to make thebeast put itself into a more convenient position for all parties, heproduced a violent fit of kicking, in the course of which the horsemanreceived a blow upon the fleshy part of his thigh, which made him roarwith pain. The seat upon the vicious beast's back was no easy one, butyet the fat monk kept his position, laughing heartily, and calling hismule a petulant rogue, while he held him by his left ear, or patted hispampered neck. As soon as the fit was done, he rolled quietly off atthe side, and looking up to his companion, saw, or appeared to see, forthe first time, the wry faces which the servant man was making.
"Bless my heart!" he cried, "has he touched thee, the good-for-nothingrogue? I will chastise him for it soundly."
"If he have not broke my leg it is not his fault," replied the man,dismounting, and limping round his horse; "and you have as great ashare in it, mad priest, for bringing his heels round where they had nobusiness to be."
"Nay," rejoined the friar, "I brought not his heels round, he broughtthem himself, and me along with them. It was all intended to cast meoff; so the offence is towards myself, and I shall punish him severely.He shall have five barley-corns of food less for his misbehaviour."
"Psha!" said the serving-man, looking up at the inn. "You are jestingfoully, friar; I am sorry I let you join us. Is this the hostel youboasted had such good wine? It seems but a poor place for suchcommendation."
"Thou shalt find the liquor better than in any house in Hereford,"replied he of the grey gown; "whether you choose mead, or metheglin, orexcellent warm Burgundy, or cool Bordeaux. Taste and try--taste andtry; and if you find that I have deceived you, you shall cut me intopieces not an inch square, and sow me along the high road! There isgood lodging, too.--Canst thou not trust a friar?"
The man grumbled forth some reply not very laudatory of the order towhich his fat friend belonged; and in a few minutes after, the wholeparty were seated in a hall, which, for the time being, lacked othertenants. The usual hour of supper was over, and in many a hostelry ofthose days the wayfarers would have found no food in such a case,unless they brought it with them. But the host was a compassionate man,and, moreover, knew right well the twinkle of the jolly friar's eye, sothat, for old friendship's sake, many a savoury mess was speedily setbefore them, together with a large flagon of wine, which fully bore outthe character that had been given to it by the friar as they rodealong.
Under the influence of such consolations, the serving-man forgot hisbruise; and the lady, laying aside her veil, shewed a pretty face, withwhich the reader is in some part acquainted, being none other than thatwhich, once happy and bright, graced the door of the little village innunder the name of Kate Greenly. There was some sadness upon that faircountenance--the cheerful smile was gone, although there was a smile ofa different character still left. The freshness, the ease, thelightness, were all wanting; though there was greater depth of thoughtand feeling in the expression than during the pleasant days of villagesport and girlish coquetry. The rough touch of passion had brushed thebloom from the fruit, and Kate Greenly, in look at least, was three orfour years older than a few weeks before.
As she put aside her veil to take part in the meal, the eye of thefriar fixed upon her, till she reddened under his gaze, looking halfangry, half abashed; but the moment after, the colour became deeperstill, when he said, "Methinks, fair lady, I have seen that sweet facebefore."
"Perhaps so," she replied--"I cannot tell. There's many a wanderingfriar comes to my father's door; but I heed them not, good sooth."
The friar laughed, answering gaily--
"Beauty, fair girl, is like the sun-- Is marked by all, but marketh none."
"Try some of these stewed eels, pretty one; they are worthy of the Wye,whose waters have no mud to give them a foul flavour. Try them--trythem--they are good for the complexion: and now, Master Serving-man,what think you of the wine? Did you ever taste better out of the sparetankard which the butler hideth behind the cellar door?"
The serving-man was forced to admit that he had seldom drunk such goodliquor, and gradually getting over the ill humour which had beensharpened by a lurking suspicion that
the heels of the mule had beenturned towards him by human agency rather than the brute's ownobstinacy, enjoyed his supper, and laughed and talked with the friartill the wine seemed to mount somewhat into the brain of both.
In the meanwhile, the light-o'-love, Kate Greenly, sat by for somethree quarters of an hour, melancholy in the midst of mirth. Thethoughts of home had been called up in her heart by the monk'swords--the thoughts of home and happy innocence! and she now found thatin giving up every treasure with which Heaven had gifted her lot, forone trinket that, she could not always wear upon her hand, she had madea mighty sacrifice for an uncertain reward. The only object that couldconsole her was away; and after enduring for the space of time we havementioned the pangs of others' mirth, she rose, and said she would seekher chamber, as they had to proceed early.
The two serving-men sat idly at the table, leaving her to find her wayalone, for they reverenced but little their master's leman; but thejovial fat friar started up from his seat with an activity which heseemed little capable of, saying, "Stay, stay, pretty one--I will callmy host or hostess to you. They are worthy, kind people, as everlived," and he walked side by side with her towards the door.
Had the eyes of her two companions been upon her, they would have seenher start as she was quitting the room with the friar; but their lookswere directed to the tankard which was passing between them, and in amoment after, the rich full voice of the grey gown was heard callingfor the host and hostess. In another instant he rolled back into theroom, and resuming his place at the table, did as much justice as anyone to the good wine of the Maypole.
"Here's to thy lord, whosoever he may be!" cried the friar, addressingthe serving-man whom his mule had kicked. "God prosper his good deeds,and frustrate his bad ones, if he commits any!"
"I'll not drink that," replied the worthy who had carried Kate Greenlybehind him. "I say, God prosper my master, and all his works--good,bad, and indifferent. I have no business to take exceptions."
"Tut, man, drink the toast, and sing us a song!" cried he of the greygown.
"Sing first, thyself, fat friar," answered the serving-man.
The friar rejoined, "That I will!" and after taking another deepdraught, he poured forth, in full mellow strains, the well-known oldsong,
"In a tavern let me die, And a bottle near me lye, That the angelic choir may cry, God's blessing on the toper!" etc.
The song was much applauded, and as both the friar's companions werenow sufficiently imbued with drink to be ready for any species ofjollity, the same musical propensity seized upon them both in turn, andthey poured forth a couple of strains, which, if they could be foundwritten down in the exact terms in which they were sung, might well beconsidered as invaluable specimens of the English poetry of that earlyage. As they had no great tendency to edification, however, andcontained more ribaldry than wit, the gentle render will probablyexcuse their omission in this place.
While thus with mirth and revelry three out of the personages whom wesaw arrive at the inn passed more than one hour of the night, thefourth was ushered to a chamber hung with dark-painted cloth, while alamp placed in the window shewed a deep recess projecting over thestreet, and making, as it were, a room within the room. The hostessaccompanied Kate Greenly to her apartment, and for some time bustledabout, seeing that all was in order, much to the poor girl'sdiscomfort. In vain she assured the good landlady that she had all shewanted; in vain she expressed weariness and a desire to retire to bed:still the hostess found something to set to rights, some table toplace, some stool to dust, while ever and anon she declared that hergirls were slatterns, and her chamberlain a lazy knave. At length sheturned towards the door, and Kate Greenly thought that she was going tobe freed from her presence; but it was only to call for her husband,and to tell him, at the top of her voice, that he was "wonderful slow."
The poor girl could bear it no longer, but approaching the deep recess,where the lamp stood in the window, she mounted the two little steps,which separated it from the rest of the room, and standing close to thelight, unfolded a paper which she held in her hand. At first she couldscarcely see the words which were written therein, but shading her eyeswith her hand, she gazed intently on the lines, and read,--
"Return to your father; leave him not broken-hearted with shame andsorrow! If you are willing to go back, I will soon find means; for Ihave more help at hand than you wot of. Say but one word to thehostess, and ere daylight to-morrow you shall be on the way toBarnesdale. As I know the whole, so I tell you that the last hope isbefore you. If you go back you may have peace and ease, though you havecast away happiness; if you go forward, you may have a few hours ofjoy, but a long life of misery, neglect, destitution, and despair,without the hope of this world or the hope of the next.
"THE FRIAR."
Kate trembled very much, and her whole thoughts seemed to refuse alldirection or control; but at that moment the host of the Maypolehimself appeared, bearing a small silver chalice of warm wine, and aplate filled with many-coloured comfits.
"I pray you, taste the sleeping-cup," he said, approaching his fairguest; and as she mechanically followed the common custom of the day intaking the cup, putting a few comfits in, and raising it for an instantto her lips, she saw the eyes of both her companions fix upon hercountenance with a look of interest and inquiry, and perceived at aglance that they also had, in some way, been made acquainted with herhistory.
The burning glow of shame--the first time that she had felt itfully--came into Kate Greenly's cheek, but it only roused her pride;and instead of trampling that viper of the human heart under her feet,after a moment's pause to recover herself, she said, with the look andair of a queen--
"I want nothing more. You may go! If I want aught else, I will call."
The host and hostess retired, wishing her good night; but she thoughtshe saw upon the man's lip one of those maddening smiles which say morethan words, but do not admit of reply.
The moment they were gone she clasped her hands together, and burstinto tears--tears, not calm and soothing; tears, not bitter andpurifying; but tears of fierce and passionate anger at meeting,perhaps, kinder treatment than she deserved. Seating herself upon thestep to the window, she sobbed for a few minutes with uncontrollablevehemence; and then, starting up, she approached the lamp, and oncemore read the lines she had received.
They seemed to change the current of her thoughts again, for her eyefixed upon vacancy, the paper dropped from her hand, and once or twiceshe uttered, in a low, solemn voice, the word "Return!"
"Oh no!" she cried at length, "no; I cannot return. What! return to myfather's house, with every object that my eyes could light upon cryingout upon me, and telling me what I was once, and what I am now,--tohave the jeers and smiles and nods of my companions, and be pointed atas the light-o'-love and the wanton!--to be marked in the walk, and inthe church, to be shunned like a leper, to be pitied by those who hateme most, and looked cold upon by those who loved me! No, no, no! I cannever return. There is no return in life from any course that we haveonce taken.--I feel it, I know it now. We may strive hard, we may lookback, we may stretch forth our arms towards the place from which we setout; but we can never reach it again, struggle however we may. No, no;I must forward! I have chosen my path, I have sealed my own fate, andby it I must abide!"
She paused and thought for several minutes, and as she did so, it wouldseem, the fears and apprehensions, the doubts and anxieties, that dogthe steps of sin, the hell-hounds that are ever ready to fall upontheir prey the moment that lassitude overtakes it on its onward course,seized upon the heart of poor Kate Greenly with their envenomed teeth.
Yes, you may struggle on, poor thing; you may burst away, for aninstant, from the fangs that hold, you may get a fresh start and runon, thinking that you have distanced them, but those fell pursuers,Fear and Apprehension, Doubt and Anxiety, are still behind you, andshall hunt you unto death!
They
were now, for the first time, tearing the sides of their victim;and the shapes they assumed may be discovered by the words that brokefrom her in her mental agony--"He will never surely abandon me!--hewill never surely ill-treat me! after all that he has promised, afterall that he has told me, after all that he has sworn! He will neversurely be so base, so utterly base!--and yet why has he not come onwith me? Why, after two poor days' companionship, send me on withserving-men? If he needs must to London, why not take me with him?--Butno," she continued, soothing herself with fond hopes, "no, it cannotbe; he has some weighty business on hand requiring instant dispatch.Doubtless his journey was too swift and fatiguing for a woman.--Oh,yes, he will come back to me soon.--Perhaps he is already at hiscastle--perhaps I may see him to-morrow:" and she clapped her prettyhands with joy at the happiness which imagination had called up.
At that moment, however, by one of those strange turns of thought whichthe mind sometimes suddenly takes, whether we will or not--like a birdstruggling away from the hand that would hold it--the image of poorRalph Harland rose up before her, and the satisfaction she felt at theidea of again seeing her seducer, seemed to contrast itself painfullyin imagination with the anguish which he must endure at never beholdingmore the object of his earliest love, and knowing that she was in thearms of another.
"What," she asked herself, "what would be my own feelings under suchcircumstances?" and the answer which naturally sprang to her lips fromthe eager and passionate heart that beat within her bosom, was, "Ishould kill some one and die!"
The contemplation, however, was too painful; she would think of it nomore. Sorrow and repentance had not yet sufficiently taken hold of her,to render it difficult for Kate Greenly to cast away thought with theusual lightness of her nature, and she answered the reproaches ofconscience, as usually happens, with a falsehood.
"Oh, he will soon find some one to console him!" she said; and for fearof her own better judgment convicting her of an untruth, she hastenedto employ herself on the trifles of the toilet, and to seek in sleepthat repose of heart which her waking hours were never more to know.But there was a thorn in her pillow too, and her nights had lost nosmall portion of their peace.
The following morning dawned bright and clear, and Kate Greenly's stateof mind was changed. Fears and apprehensions, self-reproach and regret,had vanished with the shades of night. The stillness, the darkness, thesolitude--those powerful encouragers of sad thoughts--were gone; thebusy, bustling, sunshiny day was present; she heard songs coming upfrom the streets, she heard voices talking and laughing below; all thesounds and sights of merry life were around her; and her heart took thetop of the wave, and bounded onward in the light of hope. Her onlycare, as she dressed herself in the morning, was, how she should meetthe keen grey eye of the Friar; but that was soon resolved. She wouldfrown upon him, she thought; she would treat him with silent contempt,and doubtless he would not dare to say another word, for fear ofcalling upon himself chastisement from her two attendants.
She was spared all trouble upon the subject, however, for the friar haddeparted before daybreak. She had sent him no answer by the hostess,and her silence was answer enough.
After a hasty meal the light-o'-love and those who accompanied her oncemore set out upon their way, and rode on some fifteen miles down theWye without stopping. Not that the two serving-men would not willinglyhave paused, at one of the little towns they passed, to let the faircompanion of their journey take some repose; but Kate herself was eagerto proceed. Hope and expectation were busy at her heart--hope, thatlike a moth, flies on to burn itself to death in the flame ofdisappointment.
At length, upon a high woody bank, showing a bold craggy face towardsthe river--the reader who has travelled that way may know it, for alittle country church now crowns the trees--appeared a smallcastellated tower, with one or two cottages seeking protection beneathits walls. The serving-man who rode beside her pointed forward with hishand, as they passed over a slight slope in the ground, which firstpresented this object to their sight, saying, "There is the castle,Madam."
Kate looked forward, and her eyes sparkled; and in a few minutes morethey were entering the archway under the building.
The castle was smaller than she expected to see it. It was, in fact,merely one of those strong towers which had been built about a centurybefore, for the protection of the Norman encroachers upon that fairportion of the island, into which the earliest known possessors of thewhole land had been driven by the sword of various invaders. Many ofthese towers, with a small territory round them, had fallen into thepossession of the younger sons of noble families; upon the mere tenureof defending them against the attacks of the enemy; and although theincursions of the Welsh upon the English lands were now much lessfrequent than they had been some time before, the lords of these smallcastles had often to hold them out against the efforts of other stillmore formidable assailants.
It mattered not to Kate, however, whether the place was large or small:how furnished or decorated was the same to her. It was _his_castle--_his_, to whom all her thoughts and feelings were now given;and she looked upon it but as the home of love and joy, where all thehours of the future were to be passed.
Her disappointments began almost at the threshold. An old warder wholet them in, not only said in a rough tone, that Sir Richard de Ashbyhad not yet arrived, but gazed over the form of the female visitor witha look of harsh and somewhat sullen displeasure. He murmured somethingto himself too, the greater part of which she did not hear, but wordsthat sounded like--"This new leman," caught her ear, and made herstart, while a thrill of agony indescribable passed through her bosomat the thought of a name which might but too justly be applied to her.The eyes of two or three archers, however, who were hanging about thegate, were upon her, as she knew; and, fancying that the same termmight be in their hearts also, she hurried on after the old warder, whosaid he would show her the chamber which had been prepared for her byhis master's orders.
She found it convenient, and fitted up with every comfort, some of thearticles being evidently new; and she concluded, with love's eagercredulity, that these objects had been sent down to decorate herapartment, and make every thing look gay and cheerful in her eyes. Shewas well used also; but still, amongst the men who surrounded her,there was a want of that respect, which, although she knew she hadfairly forfeited all claim to it, she was angry and grieved not toobtain. She had fancied, in her idle vanity, that the concubine of aman of rank would approach, in a degree at least, to the station of hiswife; and she now consoled herself with believing that she could easilyinduce Richard de Ashby, if not to punish such want of reverence, atleast to put a stop to it. But day passed by, after day, without theappearance of him for whom she had sacrificed all; and melancholymemories and vain regrets kept pouring upon her mind more and morestrongly, till she could hardly bear the weight of her own thoughts.
At length, one day, towards eventide, she saw, as she wandered roundthe battlements, which were left unguarded, a small party of horsemencoming up over the hill; and, with impatience which would brook norestraint, she ran down to meet him who, she was convinced, was nowapproaching. The old warder would have prevented her from passing thegate, but she bade him stand back in so stern and peremptory a tonethat he gave way: for few are the minds upon which the assumption ofauthority does not produce some effect.
Kate Greenly was not mistaken. The party consisted of her seducer, andfour or five soldiers, whom he had obtained at Hereford, for thepurpose of strengthening his little garrison, war being by this timeimminent, and the post that he held considered of some importance.
Richard de Ashby sprang down from his horse to meet her, and kissed herrepeatedly, with many expressions of tenderness and affection. It istrue, he spoke to her lightly; called her "Pretty one," and used thoseterms with which he might have fondled a child, but which he wouldnever have thought of employing to a woman he much respected. To otherears, this might have marked the difference between Kate Greenly's realsituation, and that wh
ich fancy almost taught her to believe was hers;but poor Kate saw it not; for happiness swallowed up all other feeling.He was with her--he was kind--he was affectionate--she was no longer asolitary being, without love, or joy, or occupation, or self-respect,and that evening, and the next day, and the next, passed over inhappiness, which obliterated every sensation of remorse for the past orapprehension for the future.
Gradually, however, a change came over Richard de Ashby; he lost someof his tenderness--he now and then spoke angrily--he would be out onhorseback the whole day, and return at night, tired, imperious andirritable. Kate tried to soothe him, but tried in vain. He utteredharsh and unkind words--he laughed at her tears--he turned from hercaresses.
It were painful to pursue and recapitulate the very well-known courseof the events which, in nine cases out of ten, follow such conduct asshe had adopted. The retribution was beginning. The pangs ofill-requited affection, of betrayed confidence, and of disappointedhope, rapidly took possession of the young, light, wilful heart, whichhad inflicted the same on others; and, in the gentler paroxysms of hergrief, Kate would sit and think of young Ralph Harland, and his truelove, of the father she had deceived and disgraced, of the happy scenesof her childhood and her youth, her village companions, her innocentsports, the flowers gathered in the early morning, and the Maypole onthe green.
Of all these she would think, I say, in the gentler moments of hersorrow, and would sit and weep for many an hour together. But therewere other times, when a fiercer and a haughtier mood would come uponher, when disappointed vanity and irritated pride would raise theirvoice, as well as injured love; and dark and passionate thoughts wouldpass through her mind, sometimes flashing forth fiery schemes ofvengeance, like lightning from a cloud, soon swallowed up in theobscurity again. An angry word, also, would often break from her whenshe saw herself trifled with, or neglected, or ill-treated, but it onlyexcited a mocking laugh, or some insulting answer. It seemed, indeed,as if Richard de Ashby took a pleasure in seeing her fair face andbeautiful figure wrought by strong passion; for, when he beheld herwrath kindled, he would urge her on, with mirth or taunts, till thefire would flash from her eyes, and then drown itself in tears.
There was still, however, so much of unsated passion yet left in hisbosom, as to make him generally soothe her in the end; and, thoughsometimes Kate's heart would continue to burn for a whole day, afterone of these scenes, they generally ended with her face hid on hisbosom. The very quickness and fiery nature of her spirit, indeed, gaveher charms in his cold, dissolute eyes, which none of the softer andthe weaker victims who had preceded her had ever possessed. It kept hissensations alive, amused and excited him, and he treated her as a goodcavalier will sometimes treat a fiery horse, which he now spurs intofury, now reins and governs with a strong hand, now soothes andcaresses into tranquillity and gentleness.
His servants marked all this, and smiled, and one would turn to anotherand say, "This has lasted longer than it ever lasted before. She musthave some spell upon him, to keep his love for a whole month!" But itwas clear to see that, under such constant vehemence and irritation,affection, on her part, at least, could not long endure, or that, aswill sometimes happen, love would change its own nature, and act thepart of hate.