CHAPTER II
THE CRUSADERS' CHAPEL
The church dedicated to St Gabriel the Messenger was enshrined in aleafy glade. No churlish wall marked the limits of the sacred ground,and from the ancient building a soft green sward stretched on all sidesto the circle of oaks which sheltered it from the rude winds. In thiscircle were two openings counter to each other. The lower one admittedthose who came from Colester into the precincts; the upper gave entranceto a larger glade, in which the dead had been buried for centuries. Thisalso was without a wall, and it was strange beyond words to comesuddenly upon an assemblage of tombstones in the heart of a wood. Fromthis sylvan God's-acre a path climbed upward to the moor, and passedonward for some little distance until it was obliterated by the purpleheather. Then for leagues stretched the trackless, treeless waste to thefoot of distant hills.
Of no great size, the chapel was an architectural gem. Built in the formof a cross, a square tower rose where the four arms met, and thiscontained a famous peal of bells. The grey stone walls were carved withstrange and holy devices, lettered with sacred texts in mediaeval Latin,and here and there were draped in darkly-green ivy. The sharp angles ofthe building had been rounded by the weather, the stones were mellowedby time, and, nestling under the great boughs of the oaks, it had aholy, restful look. "Like a prayer made visible," said Mr Tempest.
With his companion he had paused at the entrance to the glade, so as toenjoy the beauty of the scene. Round the chapel swept the swallows,pigeons whirled aloft in the cloudless blue sky; from the leafy treescame the cooing of doves, and the cawing of rooks could be heard. Allthe wild life of the wood haunted the chapel, and the place was musicalwith forest minstrelsy. As the beauty of scene and sound crept intotheir hearts, the vicar quoted Spenser's lovely lines:--
"A little lowly hermitage it was, Downe in a dale, hard by a forest side."
"Just so," said Pratt, in the hard, unromantic way of the twentiethcentury; "it's the kind of church you see in pictures."
"The church in which Sir Percival met Sir Galahad," replied Tempest.
The American felt the influence of the place despite the material faithwhich he held. There was a vein of romance in his nature which had beenburied beneath the common-place and selfish. But in this holy solitude,at the door of the shrine, his spiritual self came uppermost, and whenhe stood bare-headed in the nave his talkative tongue was silent. Theinfluence of the unseen surrounded him, and, like Moses, he wasinclined to put off his shoes, "for this is holy ground," murmured hisheart.
Glancing at his companion, Tempest was surprised to see his usually paleand calm face working with emotion and covered with blushes.
"You are unwell, Mr Pratt?" he asked in a low tone befitting the place.
The man stammered, "No--that is, I feel that--well, no matter." Hecontrolled himself by a powerful effort and laughed. Tempest was notshocked. He was shrewd enough to see that the merriment was artificialand designed to cloak a deeper feeling. But the laughter was reproved ina most unexpected fashion.
"The joy of the profane is as the passing smoke," said a high, sweetvoice.
Pratt started in surprise, and looked around. He saw the jewelledwindows shining through the dim twilight of the church, the white clothon the altar, and the glimmer of a silver crucifix, in the faint lightof tall candles. But who had spoken he could not guess, as no one was insight. Mr Tempest, however, had recognised the voice.
"Is that you, Pearl?" he called out softly.
From behind the altar emerged a girl of eighteen, though in looks andstature she was a child. She was small and delicately formed, and on herthin white face there was a vacant look as of one whose wits wereastray. No intelligence shone through her dark eyes, but a mysticallight burned in their depths. Like Kilmeny, she had been to fairyland,and had seen things which had lifted her above the common lot ofmortals. Therefore upon her face there shone the light that never was onsea or land. And, curiously enough, she was dressed in a green gown--thefairy's colour. Round her straw hat was twisted a wreath of oak leaves.When she appeared her arms were full of flowers.
"You are decorating the altar, Pearl," said the vicar, kindly.
"I am making ready the House for the Master's coming," replied the girlin her silvery voice, "but He will abide here but a little time." Shepointed to the groined roof of black oak. "That shuts out His Home,"said Pearl, reverently, "and He loves not to dwell in darkness."
"Darkness and light are the same to Him, Pearl. But go on with yourwork, my child. You have beautiful flowers I see."
"I gathered them in the woods before dawn, when the dew was yet on them.And see, I have got these mosses to put into the pots. The flowers willbe quite fresh to-morrow for morning service. Then they will die," addedthe girl, heaving a sigh, "die, as we all must."
"To rise again in the light of Heaven, child."
Pearl shook her black locks and turning back to the altar begandexterously to arrange the flowers. When passing and re-passing shenever forgot to bend the knee. Pratt observed this. "Is she a RomanCatholic?" Mr Tempest smiled. "She does only what I have taught her," hesaid. "I am what is called High Church, Mr Pratt, and believe in abeautiful ritual. To the service of God we should bring all lovelythings, and perform all solemn acts of humility and reverence. That,"said Tempest, pointing to the white-covered altar, "is a symbol of theUnseen Power, and so those who approach it should acknowledge its solemnmeaning."
Pratt shrugged his shoulders. The vicar was talking of things too highfor his comprehension. He looked at the mad girl decorating the altar."I suppose the villagers think a great deal of this church," he said.
"It is the most precious possession we have," replied Tempest,reverently, "and it is all that remains to us of the beautiful andsacred things created by the faith of our forefathers. There were manyvessels for the altar, Mr Pratt; but these were melted down by theGabriel who fought for the first Charles in order to help his king. Iwould we had a communion service as beautiful as this shrine," and MrTempest sighed.
The remark gave Pratt an idea. He wanted to obtain the goodwill of thevillagers seeing he had come amongst them to pass his days in peace. Ifthey loved their church so much they would approve of anyone who helpedto decorate it. "I am not rich," he said slowly, "and I can't give you awhole service such as you want. But I should like to present this chapelwith a communion cup. I have in my travels collected many beautifulthings, Mr Tempest. Amongst others a golden cup of Roman workmanshipwhich I obtained in Italy. It is a splendid example of the jeweller'sart, and would look well on that table."
"On the altar," corrected Tempest, wincing at the sound of the wordwhich he connected with the Low Church party. "It is more than good ofyou, Mr Pratt. We must talk the matter over. I do not accept giftslightly, especially for the service of the Church. But come, let us lookat the tombs. Then we can go to luncheon."
Pratt said no more, but fully made up his mind that the cup of which hespoke should figure on the altar. He had a vague kind of idea that hecould buy repentance if he gave so splendid a present. If the vicarproved difficult to deal with, he resolved to ask for Mrs Gabriel'shelp. As the lady of the manor, she could insist upon the acceptance ofthe offering. There was no reason why Tempest should refuse it, butPratt knew that the old man was--as he phrased it--queer, and one neverknew what objection he might make. If he thought that the cup was givenonly to secure the goodwill of the parish he would certainly refuse it.A gift made in such a spirit could not be accepted by the Church.
Meanwhile he examined the tombs of the crusading Gabriels, which he hadseen often before. But the vicar made the present visit more acceptableby recounting the legends connected with each recumbent figure. Thetombs were three in number, and occupied what was called the Ladye'sChapel. Their sides were richly blazoned with the Gabriel crest and withdecorations of scallop shells to denote that those who rested below hadbeen to the Holy Land. The figures of the brave knights werecross-legged, and their hands rested on the pommel
s of their hugeswords. Considering the lapse of time, they were in a wonderful state ofpreservation. Pratt looked upon them with a sigh, and the vicar inquiredthe reason of his sadness.
"I was thinking of the glory of having such ancestors," said Pratt, andMr Tempest noticed that his Yankee twang and mode of expressing himselfhad quite disappeared. "I would give anything to come of such a line--tohave a dwelling that had been in the possession of my race forcenturies, and to have traditions which I could live up to. I am alonely man, Mr Tempest," he added, with some pathos, "no one cares forme. I never had a home, or a family, or a position in the world. All mylife I have had to fight for my own hand, and for years I have been arolling stone. Money, yes! I have made money, but I would give it all,"and he pointed to the crusaders, "if I could call those my ancestors."
Mr Tempest looked surprised. "I did not expect to hear such views fromthe mouth of a Republican," he said, "for, as you are an American, Ipresume you hold by the political faith of Washington."
"I don't hold by anything in particular," replied Pratt, recoveringhimself, as they left the chapel. "I am unfettered by sectarianprejudices. You can call me a cosmopolitan, Mr Tempest. But we can talkof these things on some other occasion. You must come to see me. I havefurnished The Nun's House, and have got out my collection of rare andcurious things. Will you and Miss Tempest dine with me next week?"
"I rarely go out," replied the vicar; "however, I will see what Sybilsays. If she is willing, I will come with pleasure."
"Oh, Miss Tempest will be willing," said Pratt, significantly. "LeoHaverleigh is coming to dine also!"
"They are very good friends," said the vicar, simply. No thought of whatPratt meant entered his mind.
At the Vicarage they were met by Sybil and the curate, who had beentalking to her about parish affairs for the greater part of the morning.At once Raston drew aside his ecclesiastical superior, and the two wentinto the library, leaving Sybil to entertain the American. She was notaverse to doing this, as she liked Mr Pratt and his merry conversation.Having recovered from the emotion caused by the atmosphere of thechapel, the man was more pronouncedly Yankee than ever. He described hiswalk with the vicar, and repeated his invitation to dinner. "Mrs Gabrieland Mr Haverleigh are coming," he said, "and I shall also ask Sir FrankHale and his sister."
Sybil smiled on hearing that Leo was to be present, but her brow cloudedover when she heard about the baronet and Miss Hale. She did not likethat young woman, and Pratt knew the cause. It was not unconnected withLeo. He was the prize for which these young ladies strove. Miss Hale wasvery much in love with the young man, and so was Sibyl, but he caredmore for the vicar's daughter than for Miss Hale. The two girls guessedeach other's feelings, and disliked one another accordingly. This mightnot have been proper, but it was eminently human. However, Sibyl was toomuch a woman of the world to show Pratt what she felt, and she acceptedhis invitation calmly enough. "I shall be delighted to come," she said,"but I can't answer for my father."
"Oh, I have something to lure him," said Pratt, easily, "and I think youwill be pleased also, Miss Tempest." And thereupon he told the girl ofhis proposed gift. "The cup is over a thousand years old," he explained."It belongs to the time of the Caesars."
"From all I have heard of them," said Sybil, bluntly, "I don't think avessel of their manufacture ought to serve for a Christian ceremony."
"On the contrary, the cup will be sanctified by being put to such a gooduse," said Pratt, "and you can set your mind at rest, Miss Tempest. Igot the cup from the church of a little Italian town, where it servedfor a chalice. It has been used in the service of the Romish Church forages."
"In that case I am sure my father will be delighted to accept it. He isanxious to get some vessels for the chapel altar. It is very good of youto give the cup, Mr Pratt."
"Not at all. It is better put to such use than in my collection.However, you will see all my curios when you come. Mr Haverleigh hasalready seen them."
"He told me about them yesterday. I only hope Mr Haverleigh will be herenext week. He said something about going away."
"Why is he going away?" Pratt fixed his keen eyes on the girl.
"I think he is in trouble. That is," added Sybil, hastily, "I gatheredas much. But don't say I told you anything, Mr Pratt. Ah," she broke offsuddenly, "here are my father and Mr Raston."
Pratt cast another sharp glance at her. He guessed that something waswrong with Leo, and that the young man had told her of his trouble. Hewondered if the two were engaged when they were thus confidential. Pratttook an interest in Leo, as he had known him for some years, and rathersympathised with his outbursts of youthful folly. He thought thatmarriage would steady the lad's somewhat volatile nature, but he couldnot make up his mind as to whether Miss Hale or Miss Tempest was thebest wife for him. However, it was useless for Pratt to worry over this,as he recognised very clearly. In the first place, it was none of hisbusiness; and in the second, Leo would certainly choose for himself.
"I am giving a house-warming, Mr Raston," said Pratt during luncheon,"and I should like you to come to dinner. Next Thursday. I suppose inthis Arcadian spot it is not necessary to give written invitations."
"I accept with pleasure," replied Raston, quite ignorant that Prattwished to enlist him on his side in getting the vicar to accept the cup;"but as to written invitations--what do you say, Miss Tempest?"
"Oh, those are _most_ necessary," laughed Sybil. "We are very particularin this part of the world."
"I am an American, you see, Miss Tempest, and I don't know your Englishway of doing things. But the invitations shall be written in due form. Iguess it is as well to humour the prejudice of folks."
"If you wish to be popular," said the vicar, "you must do so here."
"As I intend to die in this part of the world, I must get on with thecrowd somehow. I am not accustomed to be shunned, and that is what yourpeople here are doing."
"Oh, no!" cried Sybil, much distressed, "they are only waiting to knowyou better, Mr Pratt. In a year you will be quite friendly with them."
"I'm friendly with them now," said Pratt, dryly, "it is they who holdoff."
"We are slow to make friendships here," said Raston, "but when we doaccept a friend we stick to him always."
"You are a native of these parts, Mr Raston?"
"I was born and bred here."
"It is I who am the stranger," put in Mr Tempest, "and it was a longtime before my parishioners took to me."
"You are adored now, papa," said Sybil, with a bright glance.
"And someone else is adored also," put in Pratt. Sybil flushed at thecompliment. She thought it was in bad taste.
After a time the conversation turned on Pearl Darry, and Raston, who wasdeeply interested in her, gave them some insight into the girl's mind."She does not care for churches built by hands," he said. "If she hadher way she would take the altar into the middle of the moor and worshipthere. I think she feels stifled under a roof."
"Ha!" said Pratt, with a swift glance, remembering Mrs Jeal, "is she ofgipsy blood? She looks like it."
"No. Her dark complexion comes from Highland blood," explained Sybil."Her father, Peter Darry, was a stone mason. He is dead now--diedthrough drink. While working in Perth he married a farmer's daughter.They came back here and Pearl was born. Then her mother died and herfather treated her badly. Mrs Jeal rescued her, and Peter fell over acliff while drunk."
"Mrs Jeal is a good woman," said Tempest, mechanically.
"Do you endorse that statement, Miss Tempest?"
Sybil looked at Pratt who had spoken. "I think Mrs Jeal was very good totake charge of Pearl," she said evasively, whereat Pratt smiled tohimself. He saw that Sybil did not like the woman, and privately admiredher insight.
Mr Pratt was destined to deliver all his invitations verbally. On hisway home after the vicar's luncheon he met with a rider on a roan horse.This was a fair, handsome young man with a clear skin, a pair of brightblue eyes and a sunny look on his face. He
had a remarkably good figure,and rode admirably. Horse and man made a picture as they came up theroad. Pratt waved his hands and the rider pulled up.
"How are you this morning, Haverleigh?"
Leo laughed. He did not wear his heart on his sleeve, and if he wasworried, as Sybil averred, he did not show his vexation. "I am allright," he replied, with a smile. "Who could help being all right inthis jolly weather? And how are you, Mr Pratt?"
"I am busy," responded the American, gravely. "I have been lunching withthe vicar, and now I am going home to write out invitations for a dinnerat my new house."
"Will you ask me, Mr Pratt?"
"I have asked Miss Tempest and I want you to come."
Leo laughed. Also he flushed a trifle. "It is very good of you," hesaid. "And who else will be at your house-warming?"
"Mrs Gabriel, Mr Raston, Miss Hale and her brother."
"Oh!" Leo looked annoyed at the mention of Miss Hale. "I am not sure ifI shall be able to come," he said, after a pause.
"No?" Pratt's tone was quite easy. "Miss Tempest said something aboutyour going away. But I hope you will put that off. My dearfellow"--Pratt smiled meaningly--"you can depend upon me. It is not thefirst time I have helped you!"
Haverleigh made no direct response, but sat on his saddle in deepthought. "I'll come," he said at length, and rode off abruptly.
"I thought you would," murmured Pratt, with a bland smile. He knew moreabout Leo Haverleigh than most people in Colester.