CHAPTER II
A FORETASTE OF PEACE
It was not until the party was riding home the next day that SirNicholas Maxwell and his wife were informed of Chris' decision.
* * * * *
They had had a fair day's sport in the two estates that marched with oneanother between Overfield and Great Keynes, and about fifteen stags hadbeen killed as well as a quantity of smaller game.
Ralph had ridden out after the party had left, and had found SirNicholas at the close of the afternoon just as the last drive was aboutto take place; and had stepped into his shelter to watch the finish. Itwas a still, hot afternoon, and the air over the open space between thecopse in which they stood and the dense forest eighty yards away dancedin the heat.
Ralph nodded to his brother-in-law, who was flushed and sunburnt, andthen stood behind, running his eyes up and down that sturdy figure withthe tightly-gaitered legs set well apart and the little feathered capthat moved this way and that as the sportsman peered through thebranches before him. Once he turned fierce eyes backwards at the whineof one of the hounds, and then again thrust his hot dripping face intothe greenery.
Then very far away came a shout, and a chorus of taps and cries followedit, sounding from a couple of miles away as the beaters after sweepinga wide circle entered the thick undergrowth on the opposite side of thewood. Sir Nicholas' legs trembled, and he shifted his position a little,half lifting his strong spliced hunting bow as he did so.
For a few minutes there was silence about them except for the distantcries, and once for the stamp of a horse behind them. Then Sir Nicholasmade a quick movement, and dropped his hands again; a single rabbit hadcantered out from the growth opposite, and sat up with cocked earsstaring straight at the deadly shelter. Then another followed; and againin a sudden panic the two little furry bodies whisked back into cover.
Ralph marvelled at this strange passion that could set a reasonable mantwitching and panting like the figure in front of him. He himself was agood rider, and a sufficiently keen hunter when his blood was up; butthis brother-in-law of his seemed to live for little else. Day afterday, as Ralph knew, from the beginning of the season to the end he wasout with his men and hounds, and the rest of the year he seemed to spendin talking about the sport, fingering and oiling his weapons throughlong mornings, and elaborating future campaigns, in which the quarries'chances should be reduced to a minimum.
* * * * *
On a sudden Sir Nicholas's figure stiffened and then relaxed. A doe hadstepped out noiselessly from the cover, head up and feet close together,sniffing up wind--and they were shooting no does this month. Then againshe moved along against the thick undergrowth, stepping delicately andsilently, and vanished without a sound a hundred yards along to theleft.
The cries and taps were sounding nearer now, and at any moment the gamemight appear. Sir Nicholas shifted his position again a little, andsimultaneously the scolding voice of a blackbird rang out in front, andhe stopped again. At the same moment a hare, mad with fright, burst outof the cover, making straight for the shelter. Sir Nicholas' hands rose,steady now the crisis had come; and Ralph leaning forward touched him onthe shoulder and pointed.
A great stag was standing in the green gloom within the wood eightyyards away, with a couple of does at his flank. Then as a shout soundedout near at hand, he bolted towards the shelter in a line that wouldbring him close to it. Ralph crouched down, for he had left his bow withhis man an hour earlier, and one of the hounds gave a stifled yelp asNicholas straightened himself and threw out his left foot. Either thesound or the movement startled the great brown beast in front, and asthe arrow twanged from the string he checked and wheeled round, and wentoff like the wind, untouched. A furious hiss of the breath broke fromNicholas, and he made a swift sign as he turned to his horse; and in amoment the two lithe hounds had leapt from the shelter and were flyingin long noiseless leaps after the disappearing quarry; the does,confused by the change of direction, had whisked back into cover. Amoment later Nicholas too was after the hounds, his shoulders workingand his head thrust forward, and a stirrup clashed and jingled againstthe saddle.
Ralph sat down on the ground smiling. It gave him a certain pleasure tosee such a complete discomfiture; Nicholas was always so amusingly angrywhen he failed, and so full of reasons.
The forest was full of noises now; a crowd of starlings were protestingwildly overhead, there were shouts far away and the throb of hoofs, andthe ground game was pouring out of the undergrowth and dispersing inall directions. Once a boar ran past, grumbling as he went, turning awicked and resentful eye on the placid gentleman in green who sat on theground, but who felt for his long dirk as he saw the fury on the brute'sface and the foam on the tusks. But the pig thought discretion was best,and hurried on complaining. More than one troop of deer flew past, thedoes gathered round their lord to protect him, all swerving togetherlike a string of geese as they turned the corner of the shelter andcaught sight of Ralph; but the beaters were coming out now, whistlingand talking as they came, and gathering into groups of two or three onthe ground, for the work was done, and it had been hot going.
Mary Maxwell appeared presently on her grey horse, looking slender anddignified in her green riding-suit with the great plume shading herface, and rode up to Ralph whom she had seen earlier in the afternoon.
"My husband?" she enquired looking down at Ralph who was lying with hishat over his eyes.
"He left me just now," said her brother, "very hot and red, after a stagwhich he missed. That will mean some conversation to-night, Minnie."
She smiled down at him.
"I shall agree with him, you know," she said.
"Of course you will; it is but right. And I suppose I shall too."
"Will you wait for him? Tell him we are going home by the mill. It isall over now."
Ralph nodded, and Mary moved off down the glade to join the others.
Ralph began to wonder how Nicholas would take the news of Chris'decision. Mary, he knew very well, would assent to it quietly as shedid to all normal events, even though they were not what she would havewished; and probably her husband would assent too, for he had a greatrespect for a churchman. For himself his opinions were divided and hescarcely knew what he thought. From the temporal point of view Chris'step would be an advantage to him, for the vow of poverty would put anend to any claims upon the estate on the part of the younger son; butRalph was sufficiently generous not to pay much attention to this. Fromthe social point of view, no great difference would be made; it was asrespectable to have a monk for a brother as a small squire, and Chriscould never be more than this unless he made a good marriage. From thespiritual point of view--and here Ralph stopped and wondered whether itwas very seriously worth considering. It was the normal thing of courseto believe in the sublimity of the religious life and its peculiardignity; but the new learning was beginning to put questions on thesubject that had very considerably affected the normal view in Ralph'seyes. In that section of society where new ideas are generated and towhich Ralph himself belonged, there were very odd tales being told; andit was beginning to be thought possible that monasticism hadover-reached itself, and that in trying to convert the world it haditself been converted by the world. Ralph was proud enough of the honourof his family to wonder whether it was an unmixed gain that his ownbrother should join such ranks as these. And lastly there were the factsthat he had learnt from his association with Cromwell that made himhesitate more than ever in giving Chris his sympathy. He had beenthinking these points over in the parlour the night before when theothers had left him, and during the day in the intervals of the sport;and he was beginning to come to the conclusion that all thingsconsidered he had better just acquiesce in the situation, and neitherpraise nor blame overmuch.
It was a sleepy afternoon. The servants had all gone by now, and thehorn-blowings and noises had died away in the direction of the mill;there was no leisure for stags to bra
y, as they crouched now far away inthe bracken, listening large-eyed and trumpet-eared for the sounds ofpursuit; only the hum of insect life in the hot evening sunshine filledthe air; and Ralph began to fall asleep, his back against a fallentrunk.
Then he suddenly awakened and saw his brother-in-law, black against thesky, looking down at him, from the saddle.
"Well?" said Ralph, not moving.
Nicholas began to explain. There were a hundred reasons, it seemed, forhis coming home empty-handed; and where were his men?
"They are all gone home," said Ralph, getting up and stretching himself."I waited for you It is all over."
"You understand," said Nicholas, putting his horse into motion, andbeginning to explain all over again, "you understand that it had notbeen for that foul hound yelping, I should have had him here. I nevermiss such a shot; and then when we went after him--"
"I understand perfectly, Nick," said Ralph. "You missed him because youdid not shoot straight, and you did not catch him because you did not gofast enough. A lawyer could say no more."
Nicholas threw back his head and laughed loudly, for the two were goodfriends.
"Well, if you will have it," he said, "I was a damned fool. There! Alawyer dare not say as much--not to me, at any rate."
Ralph found his man half a mile further on coming to meet him with hishorse, and he mounted and rode on with Nicholas towards the mill.
"I have something to tell you," he said presently. "Chris is to be amonk."
"Mother of God!" cried Nicholas, half checking his horse, "and when wasthat arranged?"
"Last night," went on Ralph. "He went to see the Holy Maid at St.Sepulchre's, and it seems that she told him he had a vocation; so thereis an end of it."
"And what do you all think of it?" asked the other.
"Oh! I suppose he knows his business."
Nicholas asked a number of questions, and was informed that Chrisproposed to go to Lewes in a month's time. He was already twenty-three,the Prior had given his conditional consent before, and there was noneed for waiting. Yes, they were Cluniacs; but Ralph believed that theywere far from strict just at present. It need not be the end of Chris sofar as this world was concerned.
"But you must not say that to him," he went on, "he thinks it is heavenitself between four walls, and we shall have a great scene of farewell.I think I must go back to town before it takes place: I cannot do thatkind of thing."
Nicholas was not attending, and rode on in silence for a few yards,sucking in his lower lip.
"We are lucky fellows, you and I," he said at last, "to have a monk topray for us."
Ralph glanced at him, for he was perfectly grave, and a rather intentand awed look was in his eyes.
"I think a deal of that," he went on, "though I cannot talk to achurchman as I should. I had a terrible time with my Lord of Canterburylast year, at Otford. He was not a hunter like this one, and I knew notwhat else to speak of."
Ralph's eyes narrowed with amusement.
"What did you say to him?" he asked.
"I forget," said Nicholas, "and I hope my lord did. Mary told me Ibehaved like a fool. But this one is better. I hear. He is at Ashfordnow with his hounds."
They talked a little more about Chris, and Ralph soon saw on which sideNicholas ranged himself. It was an unfeigned pleasure to this huntingsquire to have a monk for a brother-in-law; there was no knowing howshort purgatory might not be for them all under the circumstances.
It was evident, too, when they came up with the others a couple of milesfurther on, that Nicholas's attitude towards the young man had undergonea change. He looked at him with a deep respect, refrained fromcriticising his bloodless hands, and was soon riding on in front besidehim, talking eagerly and deferentially, while Ralph followed with Maryand his father.
"You have heard?" he said to her presently.
"Father has just told me," she said. "We are very much pleased--dearChris!"
"And then there is Meg," put in her father.
"Oh! Meg; yes, I knew she would. She is made for a nun."
Sir James edged his horse in presently close to Ralph, as Mary went infront through a narrow opening in the wood.
"Be good to him," he said. "He thinks so much of you."
Ralph glanced up and smiled into the tender keen eyes that were lookinginto his own.
"Why, of course, sir," he said.
* * * * *
It was an immense pleasure to Chris to notice the difference inNicholas's behaviour towards him. There was none of that loud andcheerful rallying that stood for humour, no criticisms of his riding orhis costume. The squire asked him a hundred questions, almost nervously,about the Holy Maid and himself, and what had passed between them.
"They say the Host was carried to her through the air from Calais,Chris, when the King was there. Did you hear her speak of that?"
Chris shook his head.
"There was not time," he said.
"And then there was the matter of the divorce--" Nicholas turned hishead slightly; "Ralph cannot hear us, can he? Well--the matter of thedivorce--I hear she denounced that, and would have none of it, and haswritten to the Pope, too."
"They were saying something of the kind," said Chris, "but I thought itbest not to meddle."
"And what did she say to you?"
Chris told him the story, and Nicholas's eyes grew round and fixed as helistened; his mouth was a little open, and he murmured inarticulatecomments as they rode together up from the mill.
"Lord!" he said at last, "and she said all that about hell. God save us!And her tongue out of her mouth all the while! And did you see anythingyourself? No devils or angels?"
"I saw nothing," said Chris. "I just listened, but she saw them."
"Lord!" said Nicholas again, and rode on in profound silence.
The Maxwells were to stay to supper at the Court; and drive homeafterwards; so there was no opportunity for Chris to go down and bathein the lake as he usually did in summer after a day's hunting, forsupper was at seven o'clock, and he had scarcely more than time todress.
Nicholas was very talkative at supper, and poured out all that Chris hadtold him, with his usual lack of discretion; for the other had alreadytold the others once all the details that he thought would interestthem.
"They were talking about the divorce," he broke out, and then stoppedand eyed Ralph craftily; "but I had better not speak of that here--eh,Chris?"
Ralph looked blandly at his plate.
"Chris did not mention that," he said. "Tell us, Nick."
"No, no," cried Nicholas. "I do not want you to go with tales to town.Your ears are too quick, my friend. Then there was that about the Hostflying from Calais, eh, Chris? No, no; you said you had heard nothing ofthat."
Chris looked up and his face was a little flushed.
"No, Nick," he said.
"There seems to have been a great deal that Chris did not tell us--"began Ralph.
Sir James glanced swiftly from his seat under the canopy.
"He told us all that was needed," he said.
"Aha!" broke out Nicholas again, "but the Holy Maid said that the Kingwould not live six months if he--"
Chris's face was full of despair and misery, and his father interruptedonce more.
"We had better not speak of that, my son," he said to Nicholas. "It isbest to leave such things alone."
Ralph was smiling broadly with tight lips by now.
"By my soul, Nick, you are the maddest wind-bag I have ever heard. Allour heads might go for what you have said to-night. Thank God theservants are gone."
"Nick," cried Mary imploringly, "do hold your tongue."
Lady Torridon looked from one to the other with serene amusement, andthere was an odd pause such as generally fell when she showed signs ofspeaking. Her lips moved but she said nothing, and ran her eyes over thesilver flagons before her.
When the Maxwells had gone at last, and prayers were over, Chris slippedacross th
e Court with a towel, and went up to the priest's room over thesacristy. Mr. Carleton looked up from his lamp and rose.
"Yes, Chris," he said, "I will come. The moon will be up soon."
They went down together through the sacristy door on to the levelplateaux of lawns that stretched step after step down to the dark lake.The sky was ablaze with stars, and in the East there was a growing lightin the quarter where the moon was at its rising. The woods beyond thewater were blotted masses against the sky; and the air was full of therich fragrance of the summer night. The two said very little, and thepriest stopped on the bank as Chris stepped out along the little boardedpier that ran out among the rushes into deep water. There was a scurryand a cry, and a moor-hen dashed out from under cover, and sped acrossthe pond, scattering the silver points that hung there motionless,reflected from the heaven overhead.
Chris was soon ready, and stood there a moment, a pale figure in thegloom, watching the shining dots rock back again in the ripples tomotionlessness. Then he lifted his hands and plunged.
It seemed to him, as he rose to the surface again, as if he wereswimming between two sides. As he moved softly out across the middle,and a little ripple moved before him, the water was invisible. There wasonly a fathomless gulf, as deep below as the sky was high above, prickedwith stars. As he turned his head this way and that the great trees,high overhead, seemed less real than those two immeasurable spaces aboveand beneath. There was a dead silence everywhere, only broken by thefaint suck of the water over his shoulder, and an indescribably sweetcoolness that thrilled him like a strain of music. Under its influence,again, as last night, the tangible, irritating world seemed to sink outof his soul; here he was, a living creature alone in a great silencewith God, and nothing else was of any importance.
He turned on his back, and there was the dark figure on the bankwatching him, and above it the great towered house, with its half-dozenlighted windows along its eastern side, telling him of the world of menand passion.
"Look," came the priest's voice, and he turned again, and over thefurther bank, between two tall trees, shone a great silver rim of therising moon. A path of glory was struck now across the black water, andhe pleased himself by travelling up it towards the remote splendour,noticing as he went how shadows had sprung into being in that moment,and how the same light that made the glory made the dark as well. Hissoul seemed to emerge a stage higher yet from the limits in which thehot day and the shouting and the horns and the crowded woods hadfettered it. How remote and little seemed Ralph's sneers and Nicholas'sindiscretions and Mary's pity! Here he moved round in a cooler andserener mood. That keen mood, whether physical or spiritual he did notcare to ask, made him inarticulate as he walked up with the priest tenminutes later. But Mr. Carleton seemed to understand.
"There are some things besides the divorce best not talked about," hesaid, "and I think bathing by starlight is one of them."
They passed under the chapel window presently, and Chris noticed with anodd sensation of pleasure the little translucent patch of colour betweenthe slender mullions thrown by the lamp within--a kind of reflex oranti-type of the broad light shining over the water.
"Come up for a while," went on the priest, as they reached theside-entrance, "if you are not too tired."
The two went through the sacristy-door, locking it behind them, and upthe winding stairs in the turret at the corner to the priest's chamber.Chris threw himself down, relaxed and happy, in the tall chair by thewindow, where he could look out and see the moon, clear of the treesnow, riding high in heaven.
"That was a pity at supper," said the priest presently, as he sat at thetable. "I love Sir Nicholas and think him a good Christian, but he isscarcely a discreet one."
"Tell me, father," broke out Chris, "what is going to happen?"
Mr. Carleton looked at him smiling. He had a pleasant ugly face, withlittle kind eyes and sensitive mouth.
"You must ask Mr. Ralph," he said, "or rather you must not. But he knowsmore than any of us."
"I wish he would not speak like that."
"Dear lad," said the priest, "you must not feel it like that. Rememberour Lord bore contempt as well as pain."
There was silence a moment, and then Chris began again. "Tell me aboutLewes, father. What will it be like?"
"It will be bitterly hard," said the priest deliberately. "Christ Churchwas too bitter for me, as you know. I came out after six months, and theCluniacs are harder. I do not know if I lost my vocation or found it;but I am not the man to advise you in either case."
"Ralph thinks it is easy enough. He told me last night in the carriagethat I need not trouble myself, and that monks had a very pleasant time.He began to tell me some tale about Glastonbury, but I would not hearit."
"Ah," said the chaplain regretfully, "the world's standard for monks isalways high. But you will find it hard enough, especially in the firstyear. But, as I said, I am not the man to advise you--I failed."
Chris looked at him with something of pity in his heart, as the priestfingered the iron pen on the table, and stared with pursed lips andfrowning forehead. The chaplain was extraordinarily silent in public,just carrying on sufficient conversation not to be peculiar or to seemmorose, but he spoke more freely to Chris, and would often spend an houror two in mysterious talk with Sir James. Chris's father had a verymarked respect for the priest, and had had more than one sharp word withhis wife, ten years before when he had first come to the house, and hadfound Lady Torridon prepared to treat her chaplain with the kind ofrespect that she gave to her butler. But the chaplain's position wassecured by now, owing in a large measure to his own tact andunobtrusiveness, and he went about the house a quiet, sedate figure ofconsiderable dignity and impressiveness, performing his dutiespunctually and keeping his counsel. He had been tutor to both the sonsfor a while, to Ralph only for a few months, but to Chris since histwelfth birthday, and the latter had formed with him a kind of peacefulconfederacy, often looking in on him at unusual hours, always findinghim genial, although very rarely confidential. It was to Mr. Carleton,too, that Chris owed his first drawings to the mystical life of prayer;there was a shelf of little books in the corner by the window of thepriest's room, from which he would read to the boy aloud, firsttranslating them into English as he went, and then, as studiesprogressed, reading the Latin as it stood; and that mysteriouslyfascinating world in which great souls saw and heard eternal things andtalked familiarly with the Saviour and His Blessed Mother had firstdawned on the boy there. New little books, too, appeared from time totime, and the volumes had overflowed their original home; and from thatfact Christopher gathered that the priest, though he had left theexternal life of Religion, still followed after the elusive spirit thatwas its soul.
"But tell me," he said again, as the priest laid the pen down and satback in his chair, crossing his buckled feet beneath the cassock; "tellme, why is it so hard? I am not afraid of the discipline or the food."
"It is the silence," said the priest, looking at him.
"I love silence," said Chris eagerly.
"Yes, you love an hour or two, or there would be no hope of a vocationfor you. But I do not think you will love a year. However, I may bewrong. But it is the day after day that is difficult. And there is norelaxation; not even in the infirmary. You will have to learn signs inyour novitiate; that is almost the first exercise."
The priest got up and fetched a little book from the corner cupboard.
"Listen," he said, and then began to read aloud the instructions laiddown for the sign-language of novices; how they were to make a circle inthe air for bread since it was round, a motion of drinking for water,and so forth.
"You see," he said, "you are not even allowed to speak when you ask fornecessaries. And, you know, silence has its peculiar temptations as wellas its joys. There is accidie and scrupulousness and contempt ofothers, and a host of snares that you know little of now."
"But--" began Chris.
"Oh, yes; it has its joys, and gives a pec
uliar strength."
Chris knew, of course, well enough by now in an abstract way what theReligious discipline would mean, but he wished to have it made moreconcrete by examples, and he sat long with the chaplain asking himquestions. Mr. Carleton had been, as he said, in the novitiate atCanterbury for a few months, and was able to tell him a good deal aboutthe life there; but the differences between the Augustinians and theCluniacs made it impossible for him to go with any minuteness into thelife of the Priory at Lewes. He warned him, however, of the tendencythat every soul found in silence to think itself different from others,and of so peculiar a constitution that ordinary rules did not apply toit. He laid so much stress on this that the other was astonished.
"But it is true," said Chris, "no two souls are the same."
The priest smiled.
"Yes, that is true, too; no two sheep are the same, but the sheep natureis one, and you will have to learn that for yourself. A Religious ruleis drawn up for many, not for one; and each must learn to conformhimself. It was through that I failed myself; I remembered that I wasdifferent from others, and forgot that I was the same."
Mr. Carleton seemed to take a kind of melancholy pleasure in returningto what he considered his own failure, and Chris began to wonder whetherthe thought of it was not the secret of that slight indication tomoroseness that he had noticed in him.
The moon was high and clear by now, and Chris often leaned his cheek onthe sash as the priest talked, and watched that steady shining shieldgo up the sky, and the familiar view of lawns and water and trees,ghostly and mystical now in the pale light.
The Court was silent as he passed through it near midnight, as thehousehold had been long in bed; the flaring link had been extinguishedtwo hours before, and the shadows of the tall chimneys lay black andprecise at his feet across the great whiteness on the western side ofthe yard. Again the sense of the smallness of himself and hissurroundings, of the vastness of all else, poured over his soul; theselittle piled bricks and stones, the lawns and woods round about, evenEngland and the world itself, he thought, as his mind shot out towardsthe stars and the unfathomable spaces--all these were but very tinythings, negligeable quantities, when he looked at them in the eternallight. It was this thought, after all, that was calling him out of theworld, and had been calling him fitfully ever since his soul awoke eightyears ago, and knew herself and her God: and his heart expanded and grewtremulous as he remembered once more that his vocation had been sealedby a divine messenger, and that he would soon be gone out of this littlecell into the wide silent liberty of the most dear children of God.