CHAPTER VI.
How uncertain is our tenure of any one possession! We stand inthe midst of accidents, their top and vane. Constantly lookingforward, we yet hardly enjoy what is actually passing, and thesubstantial advantages which we see in perspective, and conceiveourselves almost certain to attain, often present to the grasponly unmeaning shadows.
What prospect can be so distinctly apparent that we may calculateon its fulfilment with unmingled confidence? However certain itmay appear at the passing moment, a few brief hours, stealingsilently and unheeded by, may render it one of the most unlikelythings imaginable. In that short interval, the auxiliaries onwhich we rely, and from which our expectations mainly spring,may be subjected to influences that will entirely change theirrelations, or, should they themselves remain unchanged, they mayfail in their resources, or the onward progress of Providence mayhave operated in a hundred other ways to bring us disappointment.
On the morning after Evaline de Neville had met Sir WalterRaleigh in Greenwich Park, she arose from her bed with aconfident expectation that, by bringing her case under the noticeof the Queen, Sir Walter would speedily release her from herpresent distress, and effect the liberation of her father. Fromwhat Sir Walter had said the previous night, this expectation, onthe whole, was far from being unreasonable, and, though dependingon various provisos, offered itself to view with the assurance ofcertainty. Nevertheless, one short hour had hardly elapsed ere itfell utterly to the ground.
She had just seated herself at the breakfast-table, with Martha,who was now her only and constant companion, seated at its lowerend, when old Adam Green, her father’s valet, entered the chamberwith a letter.
“There is a serving-man below, my lady,” he said, presenting theletter to Evaline, “who charged me to bring thee this; but heholds the name of the writer a secret. Master Gray is also below.”
“Bid Master Gray come to me, Adam,” answered Evaline, at the sametime accepting the letter.
Her countenance fell as she tore the letter open. It was from SirWalter Raleigh; and informed her, in a few cautious words, ofthat person’s loss of the Queen’s favour, and forced retirementfrom the court. Thus, in one brief moment, were all her hopesblighted,--all her expectations overthrown.
After she had once learned the tenor of the letter, she hardlyretained sufficient perception to carry her to its close. As hereye arrived at the concluding signature, she felt her head whirlagain; and, dropping the letter, she fell back in her chair in aswoon.
Martha, who had been anxiously watching for the effect which theletter would produce on her features, and, seeing her becomedejected, was preparing to console her, sprang to her assistancein a moment. But, unused to see her so deeply moved, the fairgirl was herself so agitated, and, withal, so ignorant of whatwould be serviceable in such a case, that she could do no morethan catch her in her arms, and call for more efficient succour.
Aid was nearer than she supposed. While she was yet calling out,the door of the chamber, which was right opposite to where shestood, was pushed open, and Bernard Gray rushed in.
“What hath happened?” he cried, with a look of concern, at thesame time springing to her side.
He needed no explanation when he had once glanced at the face ofEvaline. Without saying a word, he caught up a jug of water fromthe table, and proceeded, with all the tenderness of a nurse, tolave it gently over her temples. He watched the effect of hisapplication with the most intense anxiety. No one, indeed, couldhave gazed on that fair face, now void of bloom and expression,without feeling an almost equal degree of interest and sympathy.Its surpassing beauty looked all the purer and more refined forits lack of animation. Her black hair, falling loosely back, ina dozen fairy ringlets, seemed almost to sparkle in its contrastwith her alabaster forehead. The long, raven fringe of hereyelids, which, from their exquisite sphericity, were themselvesinvested with a charm, was equally striking, and nearly asfascinating as her veiled eyes. Her every feature, indeed, fromher brow downwards, still held out some attraction, which wouldnot have been apparent in the animation of the whole, and wouldhave lost its softness under the touch of expression.
Earnestly as Bernard surveyed these several particulars, hiscontemplation of Evaline did not engage him so entirely, aboveevery other object, as to make him quite overlook the lessstriking beauty of Martha. In the present disposition of thatperson, this was, indeed, exhibited to the highest advantage.Beaming with solicitude for her mistress, her pure and dazzlingcomplexion, rounded with the brightest red, seemed to reflect andillustrate the amiability of her heart. Though her light-brownlocks did not offer the same contrast to the forehead that wasafforded by those of her mistress, they were still lovely, andin perfect keeping with her complexion. The same might be saidof her eyes, which were of a deep blue, and though, from herardent anxiety for Evaline, now dimmed with tears, endued with adepth and lustre beyond expression. Being so young, her figure,though tall, was not yet matured, but its outlines were full ofpromise, and revealed the most chaste and exact proportions.This was particularly apparent in the mould of her shoulders,which, in her agitation, had just pushed themselves above herfrock, and were thus partly visible. As they incurred Bernard’snotice, he could not but mark, by a hasty but searching glance,their faultless symmetry, and the grace and accuracy with whichthey were turned. But his sympathies, though deep and ardent, andnow peculiarly alert, were too exclusively engaged by Evaline toallow him to pause on Martha’s charms, and, after he had casta rapid glance over her person, his attention became whollyengrossed by her mistress.
The application of the cold water to Evaline’s forehead, in themanner described, quickly had a beneficial result. In a briefspace, she opened her eyes; and the delicate lines of colour,which were previously quite dormant, again mounted to her cheeks.She was still very dejected; but as her eye, on looking up,encountered the anxious gaze of Bernard, her face became moreanimated.
“All is over, my friend,” she said. And again drooping her head,she burst into tears.
“Lady, hold thee up,” said Bernard, in a gentle tone, “and lookbefore thee hopefully! Was not Lazarus dead yet four days, andlocked in his grave, ere our sweet Lord came to help him?”
“Alack! alack!” sobbed Evaline.
“Sweet mistress, be of good cheer!” cried Martha, in a brokenvoice.
“Sir Walter Raleigh, who, under Heaven, was my tower of hope, isdisgraced,” said Evaline. “What can we look for now?”
There was a pause.
“I’faith, I grieve as much for good Sir Walter, as forourselves,” observed Bernard, at length. “But stand to ’tbravely, lady. Thy cause is not yet hopeless.”
“No!” answered Evaline, raising her brimming eyes to heaven: “wehave still a Friend above!”
As she pronounced these words, the tone of her voice, alwaysmusical, was so soft, that it seemed to embody the soothinginfluence of the sentiment, and in its full, deep cadences, tohold out an assurance of support to the speaker’s self. Nor wasit without a very decided effect on the feelings of Bernard.His emotion was apparent on his face, which, besides turningvery pale, looked more than usually melancholy. His eyes, inparticular, reflected this expression very distinctly, and, bytheir quick but subdued light, afforded a clue to the fiercestruggle that was passing within.
“Art advised o’ that?” he said, respectfully taking up Evaline’shand. “Go to, then; I tell thee, thy father shall be set free!”
“Oh! that I could see him!” cried Evaline, in broken accents.“Could I once more hear his voice, which hath so oft bade Godbless me, methinks I could even die happy.”
“Sweet lady, talk not of dying, I prithee,” said Martha, in afaltering voice.
“Go to! she shall see him!” exclaimed Bernard. “I will about itstraight.”
He turned away while he spoke, as though he would pass to thedoor. Ere he had taken a step forward, however, Evaline sprangafter him, and, laying her hand on his arm, induced him to pause.
“Whit
her goest thou, Master Gray?” she asked, with deepearnestness.
Her trembling hand rested on his arm as tenderly as it mighthave clung to a brother’s. Her pale face, lit up with a suddenanimation, was pushed round before his; and her eyes ran over hisfeatures with the most intense anxiety. A deep flush spread overhis countenance, and, with a slight but abrupt effort, he threwoff her grasp, and broke away.
“Anon, anon,” he said, in a thick voice.
Without looking round, or uttering a word more, he steppedhastily to the door, and passed out of the chamber.
After he had closed the door behind him, he resumed his progress,and proceeded down the stairs to the hall. Thence he pursued hisway to the street.
On reaching the street, he pushed forward again, and did notabate his pace, which was remarkably quick and vigorous, till hehad passed through Temple-bar. Here, though the road was moreopen, and the passers-by offered much less opposition to hisprogress, his pace gradually slackened; and he seemed to be lostin a maze of thought.
Remorse had come upon him at last. The true goodness of hisnature, which a pursuit of retaliation had so long pressedunder foot, was no more to be dormant; and a voice rang in hisear--“Vengeance is mine: I will repay, saith the Lord!”
Evaline’s pale face still confronted him. He had gazed on itoften before; and the inward sorrow that it had revealed, moretouching in its calm look of endurance, had invoked his deepestsympathy. Now, however, its influence had sunk deeper; it had ledhim to look at himself; and, on the unveiled tablet of his ownconscience, he found the deed recorded that had covered Evalinewith affliction.
In vain did he seek to justify himself, by recalling to mind,in all their hideous and infernal frightfulness, the appallingabominations of the Popish reign of terror. Still a voice withindenounced his pursuit of retaliation; the Divine commandment,to “return good for evil,” which he had previously hardly everthought of, still thrust itself before him; and he writhed underthe whispers of his accusing conscience.
His strong frame was convulsed with the violence of his inwardcommotion. For years he had had but one object; almost his wholelife, since he had been able to exercise his judgment, hadbeen devoted to one all-engrossing pursuit; and he had had nothought, no hope, no wish, but for vengeance--vengeance whichshould know no scruple, and spare neither age nor sex. If hehad ever paused--if the tenderness of his earlier dispositionever revived, and sought to interpose--the image of her he hadloved, and whose beauty, excellence, and piety, unmoved by athousand distresses, had only seemed to excite more fully theenmity of her Popish persecutors, rose up before him; and hecast all pity aside, and called for vengeance still. But in thelast sad, patient look of Evaline, his long-departed mistress,far from urging him to avenge her, had seemed to appeal to himin Evaline’s behalf. It was the self-same look that he had sooften adored on the lovely face of Dame Clifford. It showed that,though a Papist, Evaline was equally loveable; that she wasendued with the same noble endurance, the same deep sensibility,and the same ardent affections. His heart, which had so longdisdained the restraining scruples of pity, turned cold at thereflection, and all its native tenderness revived.
When he averted his head from Evaline’s appealing look, a projecthad occurred to him, without premeditation or forethought, bywhich he might bring her troubles to a happy issue. Thoughit threatened danger to himself, he resolved on it withouthesitation, and forthwith hastened to carry it into effect.
After he had passed through Temple-bar, his pace, as has beenobserved, gradually slackened, but he did not come to a halt.Still moving on, he came to Somerset House, and thence pushedforward to the Strand.
A short distance past the entrance to the Savoy, or westernsanctuary, he broke off from the Strand, and turned down towardsthe river. The road lay between two walls, in one of which, onhis right hand, and about half-way down the road, there was agateway, opening into an adjoining garden. On coming beforethe gateway, he seized the handle of a contiguous bell, whichprotruded from an indenture in the gate-post; and proceeded, witha steady hand, to draw it forth.
Just within the gate, on one side of the avenue on which itopened, was a small lodge, from which his summons quickly drewforth the vigilant porter.
“So, soh!” cried that functionary, in a pompous voice, ashe cast a contemptuous glance at Bernard’s somewhat wornhabiliments: “who have we here?”
“Is my Lord Burleigh abroad yet, master?” asked Bernard, withoutdeigning any answer to his inquiry.
“Oh!” said the porter, opening his hands and rubbing themtogether: “Ah! truly!”
“Thou wilt have no fee from me,” pursued Bernard. “See here!”And thrusting his hand within his vest, he drew forth a slipof paper, and held it under the porter’s eye. Glancing at theunfolded paper, that person, to his great dismay, read thereonthese words:
“The bearer is in my employ.
“W. BURLEIGH.”
His whole manner altered in a moment.
“Fair Sir,” he said, in a fawning tone, “my Lord is up, but notabroad yet. Wilt please thee to enter, Sir? I will have theeconducted to his presence incontinently.”
Bernard, without a word of reply, pushed through the gateway,and passed up the avenue towards the house. The porter followedhim, but, on their arrival before the house, passed to the front,and led the way into a spacious hall. There, as he expected, heencountered one of the household servants, whom he charged tolead Bernard to their master.
“Tell my Lord that one Master Gray would speak with him,” saidBernard.
The servant, warned of Bernard’s influence by the recommendationof the porter, and awed by his authoritative bearing, promisedcompliance, and passed to his master’s presence with that view.In a few minutes he returned, and informed Bernard, in the samerespectful manner, that his master would see him, and waited hisapproach in an upper chamber. Bernard, with a taciturnity notunusual to him, and which he maintained on the most inopportuneoccasions, signed to him to lead the way; and thus instructed,the servant marshalled him up the stairs to the minister’scloset. There, stepping back to the gallery without, he left himand the minister to themselves.
That sagacious personage, from whatever cause, took no notice ofBernard’s respectful salute, although, from his very first entry,he fixed his eyes on his face with apparent interest. His gaze,however, though it was prolonged beyond his wont, had no effecton the pale features of Bernard, and he met it perfectly unmoved.Whether his insensibility, or, to speak more accurately, hisunconcern, satisfied the wily premier, or because he had gazedhis fill, he dropped his glance after a while; and signed toBernard to possess himself of a neighbouring chair.
Lord Burleigh was never disposed to say more than was absolutelynecessary. On the present occasion, he was not disposed to sayanything; but intended, in the first place, to allow Bernardto deliver all he had to say, and, when he was master of hisbusiness, regulate his demeanour as circumstances might dictate.Bernard, however, knew him too well to be thus entrapped; and,remaining silent, the minister was ultimately compelled to speakfirst.
“Well,” he said.
“I am glad on’t, my Lord,” answered Bernard.
There was a pause.
“Hem!” said Lord Burleigh.
Bernard looked up, but continued silent.
“There is a rumour of a new plot toward,” said Lord Burleigh.“Hast thou heard aught concerning it?”
“Thou knowest I have not been an idler, my Lord,” answeredBernard, “and have well earned the small allowance thou makestme, and which thou hast thyself oft wanted to double. Moreover--”
“Good!” exclaimed Lord Burleigh, testily. “But the matter!”
“Thou wilt doubtless recollect, my Lord,” pursued Bernard,“that ’twas I first informed thee of the great conspiracy in theNorth, which cost my Lord Westmoreland his head. Afterwards, Itold thee of the plot to wed the Duke of Norfolk to the Queen ofScots.”
“Well, well,” muttered Burleigh.<
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“Did not I refuse the rich guerdons thou wouldst have dealt me,my Lord, and give all my pains for nought?” asked Bernard.
“Thou didst so, and thereby approved thyself a right loyalsubject,” said the minister.
“I say nothing, my Lord, of the early tidings I gave thee of myLord Leicester’s marriage with my Lady Sheffield,” continuedBernard, “because I sought therein to gratify your Lordship,rather than serve the state.”
“What doth all this preface portend?” demanded the minister, inan abrupt tone.
“Thou hast thyself said, my Lord, that I have approved myself aright loyal subject,” answered Bernard. “Thou knowest, too, thatI have served the state, not for gain’s sake, but oft at mine ownproper cost, out of pure love. Will it be ever thought, then,that I, having these merits, would seek your Lordship’s ear forone of the state’s enemies?”
“’Twould never be so thought by me,” replied Burleigh, lessimpatiently.
“There is now in Newgate, my Lord, on a state warrant, one whom Iknow to have done no crime,” said Bernard. “I would humbly sue toyour Lordship, on the strength of my good services, that he maybe set free.”
“Innocent, is he?” returned Burleigh. “Well, I would not denythee a small thing. How doth he name himself?”
“Sir Edgar de Neville,” answered Bernard.
The minister’s brow darkened. “Ah!” he cried.
Bernard, looking up, met his scowl with an unruffled brow, butventured no reply.
“Innocent, is he?” reiterated Burleigh. “These are bold speeches,Master Gray. Why, the man hath murderously slain one of thyfellows, is bound up with the Spaniard, and, to crown all, is apestilent Papist. I have this on the word of--”
“A rank knave, my Lord,” said Bernard, seeing him hesitate toname his authority: “even of Master Shedlock, his inveterateenemy.”
The enlarged observation displayed by his answer, showing that,wherever he might be placed, his eyes were always on the alert,was far from drawing upon him the minister’s displeasure. Indeed,it reminded him how serviceable he had been to the state, and tohimself personally, in time past, and determined him to retainhim in his service at whatever cost. Unfortunately, however, thecharge against Sir Edgar de Neville was of so serious a cast,and had been urged with such an appearance of truth, that itcould not be dismissed without a full investigation; and thoughpolicy and state-craft inclined him to comply with his emissary’srequest, his sense of justice, which he rarely disregarded,forbad him to interpose, and suggested that he should allow thelaw to take its course. But on one point he was resolved, andthat was, that, come what might, he would in no case offend hisemissary.
In this frame of mind, he shortly replied to that person’sremark.
“I knew not Master Shedlock was a knave,” he said, “but ratherthought otherwise, seeing that, from whatever cause, he hathacted with much zeal in this matter, professing it to evidencea new plot. But even an’ he be what thou call’st him, how doththat, which concerns only him, certify the innocence of theprisoner?”
“The prisoner, my Lord, says that he was journeying peaceably onthe highway, when he was wantonly assailed by two armed men,”answered Bernard. “While he was beating these men back, therecame that way a certain traveller, who, seeing him hard pressed,straight rode up to his succour. By this cavalier was the mandeceased put to the sword; and the other, without waiting afurther issue, thereupon made off.”
“Wherefore, then, hath this cavalier, whoever he be, not beenbrought forward?” asked Lord Burleigh. “Hath no one any knowledgeof him?”
“He is well known to Sir Walter Raleigh, my Lord,” repliedBernard.
“Ah!” said Burleigh, knitting his brows.
Bernard was silent.
“’Tis a most strange story,” resumed Burleigh, after a pause.“Could not this doughty cavalier, who slew one ruffian, arrestthe other?”
“An’ that ruffian were produced, would the knight be set free, myLord?” asked Bernard.
“Of a surety he would,” answered Burleigh.
“Then, my Lord, I am he,” said Bernard.
Lord Burleigh drew back. If he were displeased at Bernard’saudacity, his displeasure, in the first instance, was lost inhis surprise; and, for once in his life, he was unprepared toexpress his sentiments. Nevertheless, he was too accustomed torestrain and repress his feelings, on occasions more trying thanthe present, to be thrown off his guard; and as he desired tomeditate before he spoke with Bernard further, he determined todismiss him till the following day.
“Come to me at this hour to-morrow,” he said. “We will then talkfurther of the matter.”
“I commend me to your Lordship’s kind thoughts,” said Bernard.“Meantime, as I take all the blame of the outrage to myself, Iwould pray your Lordship to do me a grace therein so far, as tosuffer the innocent prisoner to be visited by his daughter.”
The minister hesitated a moment. Then, with more composure, hecaught up a slip of paper from the table, and, laying it downbefore him, proceeded to write thereon. After he had crossedit with a few lines, he folded it in the form of a letter, and(for he had wax and a lighted taper ready at hand), sealing itup, superscribed it to the Governor of Newgate. This done, hepresented it to Bernard.
“Here is a pass for her,” he said. “And remember thee,” he added,in a significant tone, “thou art in great peril thyself. No more!we will talk on’t to-morrow.”
Bernard, thus admonished, made no reply, but accepted the letterin silence. Thrusting it into his vest, he dropped a humble bowto the premier, and turned from the chamber.
Having passed out of the chamber, he did not linger without, butpushed forward, under the guidance of the servant, who was inwaiting there, to the hall, and thence to the street.
The bitter passion which he had felt on entering the mansionof the minister, as described heretofore, had passed away, andhis heart was weighed down no longer. Indeed, he felt morecheerful and composed than he had been for many years. He wasstill melancholy, but his melancholy was more rational, andless despondent, and nearer to that which arises from ordinarycauses, than was its wont. The world seemed to open to him a newand more material sphere. The cloud that had so long pressed onhis spirit, overshadowing and distorting every perception, wasnow dispelled, and, in the light which it unveiled, he discernedevery individual object in its own proper colours.
Nevertheless, he was not altogether free from anxiety. Itis true, he felt comparatively easy concerning Sir Edgar deNeville, as he conceived, however prematurely, that he had quitecleared that personage from the crime and purposes imputed tohim. But in achieving this vindication, on which he raised sucha promising and felicitous perspective, he had brought greatdanger on himself. Though he had rendered Burleigh such importantservices, he was not so sure that, in a case like the present,they would receive that consideration which was necessary tohis safety, as to feel perfectly confident respecting theissue. But if, in this respect, his solicitude was painful, theconsciousness that it was the effect of an act of reparation wassoothing, and, in the “exceeding great reward” of an appeasedconscience, he was strengthened against the evil of the impendentconsequence.
Returning by the same route that had led him to the mansion, hewalked at a quick pace till he came to Fleet-street, when, withwhatever view, he suddenly adopted a slower step. But he did notpause; and in a short time, passing steadily along, he arrived atEvaline’s lodging.
This tenement, which was distinguished by the sign of “The ThreeCompasses,” was a cutler’s shop; but, besides the entrance tothe shop, there was a private door, which was appropriatedexclusively to the fair lodger. It was before the latter doorthat Bernard came to a halt; and a cumbrous clicket, or knocker,just above its lower panels, enabled him to inflict thereon asummons to the inmates.
The door was shortly opened, and Adam Green, the old valet,presented himself at the aperture.
It will be remembered that Adam was the servant who, as wasset for
th heretofore, had assisted Sir Edgar de Neville in hiscontest with the robbers, and had afterwards named Bernard ashis adversary on that occasion. Although a great alteration inBernard’s appearance, and the friendly relations which weremaintained with him by Evaline, with the earnest zeal which heinvariably manifested in that lady’s service, had since led himto refrain from reiterating this assertion, he did not feelassured that it was wholly unfounded. His suspicion, indeed,though he was silent, occurred to him often, and time rather lentit confirmation, than wore it away. On the present occasion,Bernard’s disordered manner, which his haste and agitation hadled him to overlook, reminded Adam so forcibly of the bearing ofhis adversary in the affair of the robbers, that his suspicionburst all restraint, and he quite started under its resistlesspressure.
Bernard, though he had observed him closely, took no notice ofhis embarrassment at the moment; but first passed into the hall,and closed the street-door.
“What ails thee?” he then demanded of Adam.
“Art thou he?” inquired Adam, in reply.
“No other,” answered Bernard, calmly.
“What brings thee here, then?” asked Adam, passionately. “Hastthou not harmed us enow?”
“Hold thee there!” answered Bernard. “I have repented me. Asthou keepest peace in this matter, so shall it be measured to thymaster. Will that content thee?”
The eyes of the aged domestic filled with tears, and a look ofanxious indecision, which was even more distressing than histears, crossed his pale face. Bernard was moved.
“’Fore God,” he said, catching up Adam’s hand, “I am true, oldman! Mark thou how it will end!”
Adam looked up, and, raising his hand, devoutly crossed himself.
“So God deal between me and thee, as thou art true or false!” hesaid, in an agitated voice. “But no more now, Sir! My mistresshath been asking for thee earnestly.”
“Lead the way!” answered Bernard. “I have that for her will makeher glad.”
With a quick step, the old man, now quite composed again, led theway up the stairs, and shortly brought him to Evaline’s presence.
She was sitting exactly as he had left her, with Martha, stillseeking to cheer her, at her side. They both rose, however, whenhe entered, and Evaline gazed inquiringly in his face.
“God be with thee, lady!” he said, with a smile. “What wouldstthou have?”
His smile, and the tone in which he spoke, which was morecheerful than his wont, brought a flush of animation to Evaline’sface, and the look of inquiry that she had fixed upon him becamemore intense.
“Thou hast heard somewhat, Master Gray,” she said. “Is Sir WalterRaleigh at large again?”
“I fear me, no!” answered Bernard. “But be of good cheer, fairmistress. I have brought thee a pass to visit thy father.”
And, with another cheering smile, he drew forth the letter whichhe had received from Lord Burleigh, and placed it in her hands.
As Evaline accepted the letter, her small white hands, thoughthey clasped closely over it, quivered like aspens. Drawing theletter to her heaving bosom, she raised her eyes towards heaven,and burst into tears.