CHAPTER V.
MARIE WORT.
There never was one of my forefathers could read, or knew so much as ahorn-book when he saw it; and therefore I, though a clerk, have abrain pan that will stand as much as any scholar's and more than manya simple man's. Otherwise the blow I got that night must have done mesome great mischief, instead of merely throwing me into a swoon, inwhich I lay until the morning was well advanced.
When I came to myself with an aching head and a dry mouth, I was hardput to it for a time to think what had happened to me. The place inwhich I lay was dark, with spots of red lights like flaming eyes hereand there. An odour of fire and leather and iron filled my nostrils. Ahoarse soughing as of a winded horse came and went regularly, with adull rumbling and creaking that seemed to shake the place. Dizzy as Iwas, I rose on my elbow with an effort, and looked round. But my eyesswam, I could see nothing which enlightened me, and with a groan Ifell back. Then I found that I was lying on a straw-bed, with bandagesround my head, and gradually the events of the night came back to me.My mind grew clearer. Yet it still failed to tell me where I was, orwhence came the hoarse choking sound, like the sighing of some giantof the Harz, which I heard.
At last, while I lay wondering and fearing, a door opened and let intothe dark place a flood of ruddy light. Framed in this light a younggirl appeared, standing on the threshold. She held a tray in her hand,and paused to close the door behind her. The bright glow which shoneround her, gave her a strange unearthly air, picking out gold in herblack locks and warming her pale cheeks; but for all that I recognisedher, and never was I more astonished. She was no other than thedaughter of the Papist Wort--the girl to rescue whom we had gone downto the Red Hart.
I could not restrain an exclamation of surprise, and the girl startedand stopped, peering into the corner in which I lay.
'Master Martin,' she said in a low tone, 'was that you?'
I had never heard her speak before, and I found, perhaps by reason ofmy low state, and a softness which pain induces in the roughest, apeculiar sweetness in her voice. I would not answer for a moment. Imade her speak again.
'Master Martin,' she said, advancing timidly, 'are you yourselfagain?'
'I don't know,' I muttered. In very fact I was so much puzzled thatthis was nearly the truth. 'If you will tell me where I am, I may beable to say,' I added, turning my head with an effort.
'You are in the kitchen behind the locksmith's forge,' she answeredplainly. 'He is a good man, and you are in no danger. The window isshuttered to keep the light from your eyes.'
'And the noise I hear is the bellows at work?'
'Yes,' she answered, coming near. 'It is almost noon. If you willdrink this broth you will get your strength again.'
I seized the bowl and drank greedily. When I set it down, my eyesseemed clearer and my mind stronger.
'You escaped?' I said. The more I grew able to think, the moreremarkable it seemed to me that the girl should be here--here in thesame house in which I lay.
'Through the window,' she answered, in a faint voice.
As she spoke she turned from me, and I knew that she was thinking ofher father and would fain hide her face.
'But the bars?' I said.
'I am very small,' she answered in the same low tone.
I do not know why, but perhaps because of the weakness and softness Ihave mentioned, I found something very pitiful in the answer. Itstirred a sudden rush of anger in my heart. I pictured this, helplessgirl chased through the streets by the howling pack of cravens we hadencountered, and for a few seconds, bruised and battered as I was, Ifelt the fighting spirit again. I half rose, then turned giddy, andsank back again. It was a minute or more before I could ask anotherquestion. At last I murmured--
'You have not told me how you came here?'
'I was coming up the alley,' she answered, shuddering, 'when at thecorner by this house I met men coming to meet me. I fled into thepassage to escape them, and finding no outlet, and seeing a lighthere, I knocked. I thought that some woman might pity me and take mein.'
'And Peter did?'
'Yes,' she answered simply. 'May Our Lady reward him.'
'We were the men you met,' I said drowsily. 'I remember now. You werecarrying your brother.'
'My brother?'
'Yes, the child.'
'Oh, yes,' she answered, in rather a strange fashion; but I was toodull to do more than notice it. 'The child of course.'
I could ask no more, for my head was already splitting with pain. Ilay back, and I suppose went off into a swoon again, sleeping all thatday and until the morning of the next was far advanced.
Then I awoke to find the place in which I lay changed from a cave ofmystery to a low-roofed dingy room; the shutter of the window standinghalf-open, admitted a ray of sunshine and a breath of pure air. Asmall fire burned on the hearth, a black pot bubbled beside it.For the room itself, a litter of old iron stood in every corner;bunches of keys and rows of rusty locks--padlocks, fetter-locks, anddoor-locks--hung on all the walls. One or two chests, worm-eaten andrickety, but prized by their present possessor for the antiquity oftheir fastenings, stood here and there; with a great open press fullof gun-locks, matchlocks, wheel-locks, spring-locks and the like. Halfa dozen arquebuses and pistols decorated the mantel-piece, giving theroom something of the air of an armoury.
In the midst of all this litter sat old Peter himself, working away,with a pair of horn glasses on his forehead, at a small lock; whichseemed to be giving him a vast amount of trouble. A dozen times atleast I watched him fit a number of tiny parts together, only toscatter them again in his leather apron, and begin to pare one orother of them with a little file. At length he laid the work down, asif he were tired, and looking up found my eyes fixed upon him.
He nodded cheerfully. 'Good,' he said. 'Now you look yourself, Martin.No more need of febrifuges. Another night's sleep, and you may goabroad.'
'What day is it?' I said, striving to collect my thoughts.
'Friday,' he answered, looking at me with his shrewd, pleasant eyes.He was an old man, over sixty, a widower with two young children, andclever at his trade. I never knew a better man. 'Wednesday night youcame here,' he continued, showing in his countenance the pleasure itgave him to see me recovering.
'I must go to the castle,' I exclaimed, rising abruptly and sittingup. 'Do you hear? I must go.'
'I do not see the necessity,' he answered, looking at me coolly, andwithout budging an inch.
'My lady will need me.'
'Not at all,' he answered, in the same quiet tone. 'You may make yourmind easy about that. The Countess is safe and well. She is in thecastle, and the gates are shut.'
'But she has not----' Then I stopped. I was going to say too much.
'She has not half a dozen men with her, you would say,' he replied.'Well, no. But one is a man, it seems. The young lord has turned acouple of cannon on the town, and all our valiant scoundrels areshaking in their shoes.'
'A couple of cannon! But there are no cannon in the castle!'
'You are mistaken,' Peter answered drily. He had a very dry way withhim at times. 'I have seen the muzzles of them, myself, and you cansee them, if you please, from the attic window. One is trained on themarket-place, and one to fire down the High Street. To-morrow morningour Burgomaster and the Minister are to go up and make their peace.And I can tell you some of our brisk boys feel the rope already roundtheir necks.'
'Is this true?' I said, hardly able to believe the tale.
'As true as you please,' he answered. 'If you will take my advice youwill lie quietly here until to-morrow morning, and then go up to thecastle. No one will molest you. The townsfolk will be only too glad tofind you alive, and that they have so much the less to pay for. Ishould not wonder if you saved half a dozen necks,' Peter addedregretfully. 'For I hear the Countess is finely mad about you.'
At this mention of my lady's regard my eyes filled so that I had
muchado to hide my feelings. Affecting to find the light too strong Iturned my back on Peter, and then for the first time became aware thatI had a companion in misfortune. On a heap of straw behind me layanother man, so bandaged about the head that I could see nothing ofhis features.
'Hallo!' I exclaimed, raising myself that I might have a better viewof him. 'Who is this?'
'Your man Steve,' Peter said briefly. 'But for him and another, MasterMartin, I do not think that you would be here.'
'You do well to remind me,' I answered, feeling shame that I had notyet thanked him, or asked how I came to be in safety. 'How was it?'
'Well,' he said, 'it began with the girl. The doings on Wednesdaynight were not much to my mind, as you may suppose, and I shut upearly and kept myself close. About seven, when the racket had not yetrisen to its height, there came a knocking at my door. For a while Itook no notice of it, but presently, as it continued, I went tolisten, and heard such a sobbing on the step as the heart of man couldnot resist. So I opened and found the Papist girl there with a child.I do not know,' Peter continued, pushing forward his greasy old capand rubbing his head, 'that I should have opened it if I had been surewho it was. But as the door was open, the girl had to come in.'
'I do not think you will repent it!' I said.
'I don't know that I shall,' he answered thoughtfully. 'However, shehad not been long inside and the bolts shot on us, when there began amost tremendous skirmish in the lane, which lasted off and on for halfan hour. Then followed a sudden silence. I had given the girl somefood, and told her she might sleep with the children upstairs, and wewere sitting before the fire while she cried a bit--she was all overof a shake, you understand--when on a sudden she stood up, andlistened.
'"What is it?" I said.
'She did not answer for a while, but still stood listening, lookingnow at me and now towards the forge in a queer eager kind of way. Itold her to sit down, but she did not seem to hear, and presently shecried, "There is some one there!"
'"Well," said I, "they will stop there then. I don't open that dooragain to-night."
'She looked at me pitifully, but sat down for all the world as if Ihad struck her. Not for long, however. In a minute she was up again,and began to go to and fro between the kitchen and the forge door likenothing else but a cat looking for her kittens. "Sit down, wench," Isaid. But this time she took no heed, and at last the sight of hergoing up and down like a dumb creature in pain was too much for me,and I got up and undid the door. She was out in a minute, seeming nota bit afraid for herself, and sure enough, there were you and Stevelying one on the top of the other on the step, and so still that Ithought you gone. Heaven only knows how she heard you.'
'Peter,' I said abruptly, 'have you any water handy?'
'To be sure,' he replied, starting up. 'Are you thirsty?'
I nodded, and he went to get it, blaming himself for histhoughtlessness. He need not have reproached himself, however. I wasnot thirsty; but I could not bear that he should sit and look at me atthat moment. The story he had told had touched me--and I was stillweak; and I could not answer for it, I should not burst into tearslike a woman. The thought of this girl's persistence, who ineverything else was so weak, of her boldness who in her own defencewas a hare, of her strange instinct on our behalf who seemed made onlyto be herself protected--the thought of these things touched me to theheart and filled me with an odd mixture of pity and gratitude! I hadgone to save her, and she had saved me! I had gone to shield her fromharm, and heaven had led me to her door, not in strength but inweakness. She had fled from me who came to help her; that when Ineeded help, she might be at hand to give it!
'Where is she?' I muttered, when he came back and I had drunk.
'Who? Marie?' he asked.
'Yes, if that is her name,' I said, drinking again.
'She is lying down upstairs,' he answered. 'She is worn out, poorchild. Not that in one sense, Master Martin,' he continued, droppinghis voice and nodding with a mysterious air, 'she _is_ poor. Thoughyou might think it.'
'How do you mean?' I said, raising my head and meeting his eyes. Henodded.
'It is between ourselves,' he said; 'but I am afraid there is a gooddeal in what our rascals here say. I am afraid, to be plain, MasterMartin, that the father was like all his kind: plundered many anhonest citizen, and roasted many a poor farmer before his own fire. Itis the way of soldiers in that army; and God help the country theymarch in, be it friend's or foe's!'
'Well?' I said impatiently; 'but what of that now?' The mention ofthese things fretted me. I wanted to hear nothing about the father.'The man is dead,' I said.
'Ay, he is,' Peter answered slowly and impressively. 'But thedaughter? She has got a necklace round her neck now, worth--worth Idare say two hundred men at arms.'
'What, ducats?'
'Ay, ducats! Gold ducats. It is worth all that.'
'How do you know?' I said, staring at him. 'I have never seen such athing on her. And I have seen the girl two or three times.'
'Well, I will tell you,' he answered, glancing first at the window andthen at Steve to be sure that we were not overheard. 'I'll tell you.When we had carried you into the house the other night she took offher kerchief, to tear a piece from it to bind up your head. Thatuncovered the necklace. She was quick to cover it up, when sheremembered herself, but not quick enough.'
'Is it of gold?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Fifteen or sixteen links I should say, and each as big asa small walnut. Carved and shaped like a walnut too.'
'It may be silver-gilt.'
He laughed. 'I am a smith, though only a locksmith,' he said. 'Trustme for knowing gold. I doubt it came from Magdeburg; I doubt it did.Magdeburg, or Halle, which my Lord Tilly ravaged about that time. Andif so there is blood upon it. It will bring the girl no luck, dependupon it.'
'If we talk about it, I'll be sworn it will not!' I answered savagely.'There are plenty here who would twist her neck for so much as a linkof it.'
'You are right, Master Martin,' he answered meekly. 'Perhaps I shouldnot have mentioned it; but I know that you are safe. And after all thegirl has done nothing.'
That was true, but it did not content me. I wished he had not seenwhat he had, or that he had not told me the tale. A minute before Ihad been able to think of the girl with pure satisfaction; to picturewith a pleasant warmth about my heart her gentleness, her courage, herdark mild beauty that belonged as much to childhood as womanhood, thethought for others that made her flight a perpetual saving. But thisspoiled all. The mere possession of this necklace, much more the useof it, seemed to sully her in my eyes, to taint her freshness, tosteal the perfume from her youth.
... she came presently to me with a bowl of broth inher hands and a timid smile on her lips....]
For I am peasant born, of those on whom the free-companions havebattened from the beginning; and spoil won in such a way seemed to meto be accursed. Whether I would or no, horrid tales of the storming ofMagdeburg came into my mind: tales of streets awash with blood, ofchurches blocked with slain, of women lying dead with living babes intheir arms. And I shuddered. I felt the necklace a blot on all. Ishrank from one, who, with the face of a saint, wore under herkerchief gold dyed in such a fashion!
That was while I lay alone, tossing from side to side, and troublingmyself unreasonably about the matter; since the girl was nothing tome, and a Papist. But when she came presently to me with a bowl ofbroth in her hands and a timid smile on her lips--a smile which gavethe lie to the sadness of her eyes and the red rims that surroundedthem--I forgot all, necklace and creed. I took the bowl silently, asshe gave it. I gave it back with only one 'Thank you,' which soundedhoarse and rustic in my ears; but I suppose my eyes were moreeloquent, for she blushed and trembled. And in the evening she did notcome. Instead one of the children brought my supper, and sitting downon the straw beside me, twittered of Marie and 'Go' and other things.
'Who is Go?' I said.
'Go is Marie's brother,' the child answered,
open-eyed at myignorance. 'You not know Go?'
'It is a strange name,' I said, striving to excuse myself.
'_He_ is a strange man,' the little one retorted, pointing to Steve.'He does not speak. Now you speak. Marie says--'
'What does Marie say?' I asked.
'Marie says you saved his life.'
'Well, you can tell her it was the other way,' I exclaimed roughly.
Twice that night when I awoke I heard a light footstep, and turned tosee the girl, moving to and fro among the rusty locks and ancientchests in attendance on Steve. He mended but slowly. She did not comenear me at these times, and after a glance I pretended to fall asleepthat I might listen unnoticed to her movements, and she be more freeto do her will. But whenever I heard her and opened my eyes to see herslender figure moving in that dingy place, I felt the warmth about myheart again. I forgot the gold necklace; I thought no more of therosary, only of the girl. For what is there which so well becomes awoman as tending the sick; an office which in a lover's eyes shouldset off his mistress beyond velvet and Flanders lace.