CHAPTER XIII.
THE MAGICIAN'S VAULT.
Dorothy went straight to lady Margaret's parlour, and made her humbleapology for the trouble and alarm her dog had occasioned. Lady Margaretassured her that the children were nothing the worse, not having beeneven much terrified, for the dog had not gone a hair's-breadth beyondrough play. Poor bunny was the only one concerned who had not yetrecovered his equanimity. He did not seem positively hurt, she said, butas he would not eat the lovely clover under his nose where he lay inMolly's crib, it was clear that the circulation of his animal spiritshad been too rudely checked. Thereupon Dorothy begged to be taken to thenursery, for, being familiar with all sorts of tame animals, she knewrabbits well. As she stood with the little creature in her arms, gentlystroking its soft whiteness, the children gathered round her, and shebent herself to initiate a friendship with them, while doing her best tocomfort and restore their favourite. Success in the latter object shefound the readiest way to the former. Under the sweet galvanism of herstroking hand the rabbit was presently so much better that when sheoffered him a blade of the neglected clover, the equilateral triangle ofhis queer mouth was immediately set in motion, the trefoil vanished, andwhen he was once more placed in the crib he went on with his meal as ifnothing had happened. The children were in ecstasies, and cousin Dorothywas from that moment popular and on the way to be something better.
When supper time came, lady Margaret took her again to the dining-room,where there was much laughter over the story of the two marquises, lordWorcester driving the joke in twenty different directions, but so kindlythat Dorothy, instead of being disconcerted or even discomposed thereby,found herself emboldened to take a share in the merriment. When thecompany rose, lady Margaret once more led her to her own room, where,working at her embroidery frame, she chatted with her pleasantly forsome time. Dorothy would have been glad if she had set her work also,for she could ill brook doing nothing. Notwithstanding her quietness ofdemeanour, amounting at times to an appearance of immobility, her naturewas really an active one, and it was hard for her to sit with her handsin her lap. Lady Margaret at length perceived her discomfort.
'I fear, my child, I am wearying you,' she said.
'It is only that I want something to do, madam,' said Dorothy.
'I have nothing at hand for you to-night,' returned lady Margaret.'Suppose we go and find my lord;--I mean my own lord Herbert. I have notseen him since we broke fast together, and you have not seen him at all.I am afraid he must think of leaving home again soon, he seems soanxious to get something or other finished.'
As she spoke, she pushed aside her frame, and telling Dorothy to go andfetch herself a cloak, went into the next room, whence she presentlyreturned, wrapped in a hooded mantle. As soon as Dorothy came, she ledher along the corridor to a small lobby whence a stair descended to thecourt, issuing close by the gate.
'I shall never learn my way about,' said Dorothy. 'If it were only thestaircases, they are more than my memory will hold.'
Lady Margaret gave a merry little laugh.
'Harry set himself to count them the other day,' she said. 'I do notremember how many he made out altogether, but I know he said there wereat least thirty stone ones.'
Dorothy's answer was an exclamation.
But she was not in the mood to dwell upon the mere arithmetic ofvastness. Invaded by the vision of the mighty structure, its aspectrendered yet more imposing by the time which now suited with it, sheforgot lady Margaret's presence, and stood still to gaze.
The twilight had deepened half-way into night. There was no moon, and inthe dusk the huge masses of building rose full of mystery and awe. Abovethe rest, the great towers on all sides seemed by indwelling might tosoar into the regions of air. The pile stood there, the epitome of thestory of an ancient race, the precipitate from its vanished life--a hardcore that had gathered in the vaporous mass of history--the all of solidthat remained to witness of the past.
She came again to herself with a start. Lady Margaret had stood quietlywaiting for her mood to change. Dorothy apologised, but her mistressonly smiled and said,
'I am in no haste, child. I like to see another impressed as I was whenfirst I stood just where you stand now. Come, then, I will show yousomething different.'
She led the way along the southern side of the court until they came tothe end of the chapel, opposite which an archway pierced the line ofbuilding, and revealed the mighty bulk of the citadel, the only portionof the castle, except the kitchen-tower, continuing impregnable toenlarged means of assault: gunpowder itself, as yet far from perfect incomposition and make, and conditioned by clumsy, uncertain, andill-adjustable artillery, was nearly powerless against walls more thanten feet in thickness.
I have already mentioned that one peculiarity of Raglan was a distinctmoat surrounding its keep. Immediately from the outer end of thearchway, a Gothic bridge of stone led across this thirty-foot moat to anarrow walk which encompassed the tower. The walk was itself encompassedand divided from the moat by a wall with six turrets at equal distances,surmounted by battlements. At one time the sole entrance to the towerhad been by a drawbridge dropping across the walk to the end of thestone bridge, from an arched door in the wall, whose threshold was someten or twelve feet from the ground; but another entrance had since beenmade on the level of the walk, and by it the two ladies now entered.Passing the foot of a great stone staircase, they came to the door ofwhat had, before the opening of the lower entrance, been a vaultedcellar, probably at one time a dungeon, at a later period a place ofstorage, but now put to a very different use, and wearing a strangeraspect than it could ever have borne at any past period of its story--alook indeed of mystery inexplicable.
When Dorothy entered she found herself in a large place, the form ofwhich she could ill distinguish in the dull light proceeding from thechinks about the closed doors of a huge furnace. The air was filled withgurglings and strange low groanings, as of some creature in dire pain.Dorothy had as good nerves as ever woman, yet she could not help somefright as she stood alone by the door and stared into the gloomytwilight into which her companion had advanced. As her eyes became usedto the ruddy dusk, she could see better, but everywhere they lighted onshapes inexplicable, whose forms to the first questioning thoughtsuggested instruments of torture; but cruel as some of them looked, theywere almost too strange, contorted, fantastical for such. Still, thewood-cuts in a certain book she had been familiar with in childhood,commonly called Fox's Book of Martyrs, kept haunting her mind's eye--andwere they not Papists into whose hands she had fallen? she said toherself, amused at the vagaries of her own involuntary suggestions.
Among the rest, one thing specially caught her attention, both from itssize and its complicated strangeness. It was a huge wheel standing nearthe wall, supported between two strong uprights--some twelve or fifteenfeet in diameter, with about fifty spokes, from every one of which hunga large weight. Its grotesque and threatful character was greatlyincreased by the mingling of its one substance with its many shadows onthe wall behind it. So intent was she upon it that she started when ladyMargaret spoke.
'Why, mistress Dorothy!' she said, 'you look as if you had wandered intoSt. Anthony's cave! Here is my lord Herbert to welcome his cousin.'
Beside her stood a man rather under the middle stature, but as his backwas to the furnace this was about all Dorothy could discover of hisappearance, save that he was in the garb of a workman, with bare headand arms, and held in his hand a long iron rod ending in a hook.
'Welcome, indeed, cousin Vaughan!' he said heartily, but withoutoffering his hand, which in truth, although an honest, skilful, andwell-fashioned hand, was at the present moment far from fit for a lady'stouch.
There was something in his voice not altogether strange to Dorothy, butshe could not tell of whom or what it reminded her.
'Are you come to take another lesson on the cross-bow?' he asked with asmile.
Then she knew he was the same she had met in the looped chamber besid
ethe arblast. An occasional slight halt, not impediment, in his speech,was what had remained on her memory. Did he always dwell only in thedusky borders of the light?
Dorothy uttered a little 'Oh!' of surprise, but immediately recoveringherself, said,
'I am sorry I did not know it was you, my lord. I might by this timehave been capable of discharging bolt or arrow with good aim in defenceof the castle.'
'It is not yet too late, I hope,' returned the workman-lord. 'I confessI was disappointed to find your curiosity went no further. I hoped I hadat last found a lady capable of some interest in pursuits like mine. Formy lady Margaret here, she cares not a straw for anything I do, andwould rather have me keep my hands clean than discover the mechanism ofthe primum mobile!
'Yes, in truth, Ned,' said his wife, 'I would rather have thee with fairhands in my sweet parlour, than toiling and moiling in this dirtydungeon, with no companion but that horrible fire-engine of thine,grunting and roaring all night long.'
'Why, what do you make of Caspar Kaltoff, my lady?'
'I make not much of him.'
'You misjudge his goodfellowship then.'
'Truly, I think not well of him: he always hath secrets with thee, and Ilike it not.'
'That they are secrets is thine own fault, Peggy. How can I teach theemy secrets if thou wilt not open thine ears to hear them?'
'I would your lordship would teach me!' said Dorothy. 'I might not be anapt pupil, but I should be both an eager and a humble one.'
'By St. Patrick! mistress Dorothy, but you go straight to steal myhusband's heart from me. "Humble," forsooth! and "eager" too! Nay! nay!If I have no part in his brain, I can the less yield his heart.'
'What would be gladly learned would be gladly taught, cousin,' said lordHerbert.
'There! there!' exclaimed lady Margaret; 'I knew it would be so. Youdischarge your poor dull apprentice the moment you find a clever one!'
'And why not? I never was able to teach thee anything.'
'Ah, Ned, there you are unkind indeed!' said lady Margaret, withsomething in her voice that suggested the water-springs were swelling.
'My shamrock of four!' said her husband in the tenderest tone, 'I butjested with thee. How shouldst thou be my pupil in anything I can teach?I am yours in all that is noble and good. I did not mean to vex you,sweet heart.'
''Tis gone again, Ned,' she answered, smiling. 'Give cousin Dorothy herfirst lesson.'
'It shall be that, then, to which I sought in vain to make thee listenthis very morning--a certain great saying of my lord of Verulam,mistress Dorothy. I had learnt it by heart that I might repeat it wordfor word to my lady, but she would none of it.'
'May I not hear it, madam?' said Dorothy.
'We will both hear it, Herbert, if you will pardon your foolish wife andadmit her to grace.' And as she spoke she laid her hand on his sootyarm.
He answered her only with a smile, but such a one as sufficed.
'Listen then, ladies both,' he said. 'My lord of Verulam, having quotedthe words of Solomon, "The glory of God is to conceal a thing, but theglory of the king is to find it out," adds thus, of his own thoughtconcerning them,--"as if," says my lord, "according to the innocent playof children, the divine majesty took delight to hide his works, to theend to have them found out, and as if kings could not obtain a greaterhonour than to be God's playfellows in that game, considering the greatcommandment of wits and means, whereby nothing needeth to be hidden fromthem."'
'That was very well for my lord of--what did'st thou call him, Ned?'
'Francis Bacon, lord Verulam,' returned Herbert, with a queer smile.
'Very well for my lord of Veryflam!' resumed lady Margaret, with a mock,yet bewitching affectation of innocence and ignorance; 'but tell me hadhe?--nay, I am sure he had not a wild Irishwoman sitting breaking herheart in her bower all day long for his company. He could never elsehave had the heart to say it.--Mistress Dorothy,' she went on, 'take thecounsel of a forsaken wife, and lay it to thy heart: never marry a manwho loves lathes and pipes and wheels and water and fire, and I know notwhat. But do come in ere bed-time, Herbert, and I will sing thee thesweetest of English ditties, and make thee such a sack-posset as nevercould be made out of old Ireland any more than the song.'
But her husband that moment sprang from her side, and shouting 'Caspar!Caspar!' bounded to the furnace, reached up with his iron rod into thedarkness over his head, caught something with the hooked end of it, andpulled hard. A man who from somewhere in the gloomy place had respondedlike a greyhound to his master's call, did the like on the other side.Instantly followed a fierce, protracted, sustained hiss, and in a momentthe place was filled with a white cloud, whence issued still the hideoushiss, changing at length to a roar. Lady Margaret turned in terror, ranout of the keep, and fled across the bridge and through the archwaybefore she slackened her pace. Dorothy followed, but more composedly,led by duty, not driven by terror, and indeed reluctantly forsaking aspot where was so much she did not understand.
They had fled from the infant roar of the 'first stock-father' ofsteam-engines, whose cradle was that feudal keep, eight centuries old.
That night Dorothy lay down weary enough. It seemed a month since shehad been in her own bed at Wyfern, so many new and strange things hadcrowded into her house, hitherto so still. Every now and then thedarkness heaved and rippled with some noise of the night. The stampingof horses, and the ringing of their halter chains, seemed very near her.She thought she heard the howl of Marquis from afar, and said toherself, 'The poor fellow cannot sleep! I must get my lord to let mehave him in my chamber.' Then she listened a while to the sweet flow ofthe water from the mouth of the white horse, which in general went onall night long. Suddenly came an awful sound--like a howl also, but suchas never left the throat of dog. Again and again at intervals it came,with others like it but not the same, torturing the dark with a dismalfear. Dorothy had never heard the cry of a wild beast, but thesuggestion that these might be such cries, and the recollection that shehad heard such beasts were in Raglan Castle, came together to her mind.She was so weary, however, that worse noises than these could hardlyhave kept her awake; not even her weariness could prevent them fromfollowing her into her dreams.