CHAPTER XXII.
"It was discreet, my lord, it was discreet," said Lord Calverly, as hewalked up into the hall with Fulmer by his side; "and take my word forit, that discretion is a quality which every man should prize in awife. She meant you no offence, depend upon it, but with maidenlymodesty retired till she had the sanction of her guardian's presence."
"I made no complaint, my dear lord," replied Fulmer, for the firsttime aware that, in telling how soon Iola had left him, his tone haddisplayed some mortification; "I merely said that, after a moment'sinterview, the dear girl withdrew; and you may easily imagine that Ishould have better liked her stay."
"Nay, nay, not so," answered the old peer. "That is a boyish fancy. Weshould always prefer lengthened happiness to present pleasure. Now herretiring was a sign of that frame of mind which will be your besthappiness hereafter, therefore you should have been well pleased."
Fulmer set his teeth tight together, bearing the lecture withimpatience, to which he did not choose to give utterance; but the nextmoment the old lord continued, saying--
"Thanks for your diligence, my dear lord. I see the people are all ina bustle of preparation. My noble friend Lord Chartley will be hereanon; for, good sooth, it gave me some trouble to outride him; and Iwould not have him find anything in disarray; for his own household, Iam told, is the best ordered in England."
The words galled their auditor. He asked himself why it should be so;and he had nothing to reply; for the movements of the human heart,deep, subtle, and intricate, conceal themselves constantly more orless, not only from the eyes of the outward world, but from the sightof the mind, which is affected by their impulses. As the ship leavesno permanent trace in the ever closing waters, as the arrow marks notits path through the sky, so do feelings often pass through the humanheart, leaving no trace of the way by which they came and went.
Fulmer could not prevent a frown from gathering on his brow; but,though marked by Sir Edward Hungerford, it passed unnoticed by oldLord Calverly, whose coming somewhat earlier than had been expectedset the whole household of the castle in movement. Orders had to begiven; rooms to be assigned; new preparations to be ordered; oldpreparations to be undone; servants, attendants, guests hurried hereand there; and a great deal of bustle, and not a little confusion,prevailed, when, at length, Iola and Constance appeared in answerto a summons from their uncle. The former was still very pale; andthe keen and marking eye of Fulmer detected--or he fancied that hedetected--the trace of tears upon her beautiful cheek.
All passed unnoticed by her self-occupied uncle. He had not seen herfor nearly two years, and he did not remark any change in herappearance. She might have been pale before, for aught he knew; andbesides he was too busy to take any note of such trifling things aspaleness or tears. He saluted both his nieces, and welcomed them toChidlow in fewer words than was his wont; asked why their aunt, theabbess, had not come with them at his summons; but waited for noanswer; and, committing them to the care of Lord Fulmer and Sir EdwardHungerford, with some gentlemen, of inferior fortune and station whohad accompanied him from Leicester, he proceeded to reiterate ordersgiven twice before, and confuse his servants with manifold directions,often somewhat contradictory.
Left in the hall with her cousin, and her uncle's guests, Iola feltsome relief in the numbers who were present. Fulmer would fain haveenacted the lover's part; nor was he indeed at all unfitted to do so;for his heart was naturally warm and impetuous, and Iola's beauty andgrace might well have kindled the flame of love in a colder breastthan his own. Strange human nature, too, would have it, that thedoubts and apprehensions which had arisen in his mind should renderhim only the mere eager to overcome anything like coldness upon herpart; and he strove, with soft speeches and low-toned words, to winher ear to himself alone.
The result was not favourable. Iola listened calmly, coldly, and everreplied aloud, in words which all the world might hear. She did so,not upon any plan or system indeed, but from the feelings which werebusy in her own heart, and the impressions which his words produced.She was contrasting them all the time with those of Chartley; and toher mind, at least, the comparison was unfavourable. The frank gaymanner, the lively half-careless answer, the want of all study andformality, the shining forth of a heart that, like a gay bird, seemedmade captive in spite of itself, which had all pleased, excited, wonher in Chartley, was not to be found in the conversation or demeanourof Lord Fulmer. Between her and him there were but few subjects incommon; the only one, indeed, being that from which she shrunk awaywith apprehension. He could but have recourse to the common places oflove and admiration; and they were not at all fitted to win her. Itwas his misfortune indeed, and not his fault; but yet we oftenaggravate our misfortunes by our faults; and so it was in some degreewith Fulmer. He had dreamed bright dreams of their meeting; and,little knowing woman's heart, he had fancied that she would do thesame, that she would look forward with the same hopes to their union,that her heart unwooed would spring to meet his; and he wasdisappointed, mortified, somewhat irritated, to find that it was notso.
Worse, in the end he showed such feelings in his manner, and by animpatient look and tone, caused Iola to shrink from him still morecoldly.
It was just at that moment that old Lord Calverly returned, sayingaloud--
"Our other guests are coming. They are just at the castle gates. Now,Constance," he continued, for his lordship would sometimes venture aninsipid joke, "now, Constance, if you would win a rich and noblehusband, put on your brightest smiles."
"Who may he be, my lord?" asked Constance, who as well as Iola wasignorant of the names of the persons expected.
"Nay, nay, you will see," said Lord Calverly. "Did not his younglordship tell you?"
"No, indeed!" answered Constance quietly; "but I can wait in patience,my good lord. Time brings all things to light."
Through the open windows came the clattering sound of horses' feetfrom the courtyard, and then of orders given and voices speaking.There is something very strange in our memory of sounds. How long, howclearly we remember, how definitely we can trace back those intangiblefootprints of things that we have loved or dreaded, on the pathway ofthe air. A tone which has once awakened strong emotions is neverforgotten. Iola's heart thrilled as she heard those sounds from thecourt.
There was then a pause of a minute or two, during which no one spoke.Then came steps upon the short wide staircase; and then the dooropened. Fulmer fixed his eyes upon Iola's face; but she remarked notthat he did so; for her own look was bent forward upon the door. Hesaw a clear light rise up in her eyes, a soft warm glow spread itselfover her cheek and forehead, a bright but very transient smile,extinguished as soon as lighted, beam upon her beautiful lips. Thenext instant she was calm and pale again; and, turning his head, hesaw Chartley approaching.
The wound was given. His doubts, his apprehensions, his suspicionswere confirmed. Yet there was nothing tangible; nothing that couldjustify him in saying a word, or acting in any way except as before.But that was the greater torture; and now he resolved to watch forsome occasion to speak or do. In the mean time Chartley advancedrapidly, followed by good Sir William Arden. He was somewhat changedsince Iola had seen him. He looked graver, sterner. His cheek hadgrown pale too. There were care and thought written on his brow.
"He has suffered also," thought Iola; and her heart sunk more thanever.
"Oh, would that I had told him all at once!" she said in her ownheart. "Yet how could I do it? Alas, that I should make him unhappytoo."
Chartley's manner however showed no agitation. He had been prepared byhis conversation with Lord Calverly to meet those whom he found there;and, at once addressing the old nobleman, he said:
"I here redeem my parole, my good lord, and surrender myself to yourward, according to the king's will, and to my word given this morningwhen you left me."
Then turning to Iola, he took her hand with a frank but grave air, andbent his head over it, saying, "dear lady, I rejoice to see you onceagain, and trus
t that you have been well since the evening when wemet."
With a degree of haste, which was the only sign of emotion he showed,he next saluted Constance, almost in the same words; but then, with akindly and sincere tone, inquired after her aunt, the abbess, trustingthat she had not suffered from the alarm and anxiety she must havefelt on the night when he last saw her. He listened too attentively toConstance's reply; but he could not prevent his eyes from wanderingfor a moment back to the face of Iola; and then, with a sort of start,he turned away, looking round the circle, and exclaimed, "oh,Hungerford, I did not expect to meet you here. When you left me atLeicester, I thought you were bound for London, and believed you, evennow, plunged in a sea of green Genoa velvet."
"Nay, you forget," replied Sir Edward Hungerford; "summer is comingon. No one could venture to wear velvet for the next eight months,except a lord mayor or an alderman."
"Faith, I know not much of such matters," answered Chartley; "but thatis the most reasonable piece of tailorism I have heard, which gives uswarm clothing for our winter wear and lighter garments for our summeruse. However I thought you were in London."
"So had I been," answered the young knight; "but I was stopped by adelicate epistle from my friend Lord Fulmer, here, containing aninvitation not to be refused."
"Let me make you acquainted, any good lords," said Lord Calverly,advancing between the two young noblemen, and presenting them to eachother. Each bowed with a stiff and stately air; and Chartley pausedfor a moment, as if to see whether Fulmer would speak or not; but,finding him silent, he turned on his heel; and, seeing Sir WilliamArden talking bluffly to Iola, he took his place by the side ofConstance, and once more spoke of the night of their meeting.
The entrance of the young nobleman and those who accompanied him hadcaused one of those pauses which are very common in--I might saypeculiar to--English society. Amongst foreigners in general, astranger can enter, glide in amongst the other guests, speak withthose he knows, pass those who are strangers, and be introduced tothis person or to that, without interrupting the occupations oramusements going on. If his rank be very high, or his character verydistinguished, a slight murmur, a hardly perceptible movement, and afew seconds of observation, form all that is produced by hisappearance; but here such is not the case; and, unless theconversation going forward be very entertaining indeed, or theamusement in progress very exciting, a long silence follows theintroduction of any personage worthy of note, during which he is wellaware that every body is observing and commenting upon him. Such hadbeen in a great degree the case in the present instance. For the firstfive minutes, nobody had spoken but Chartley, Iola, Constance, theiruncle, and Sir Edward Hungerford. But, at the end of that time, eachof the many guests resumed his conversation with his neighbour; andChartley had a better opportunity of saying a few words, which he didnot wish heard, to Constance, while the busy buzz of tongues prevailedaround.
"I am happy, dear lady," he said, as soon as he had made sure of themoment, "to see you looking so well. I wish I could say the same ofyour sweet cousin. She looks pale, anxious, and thoughtful."
He paused as if for an answer, but Constance merely replied, "she doesnot look well indeed."
"I fear," continued Chartley, "that terrible night she passed in theforest, with all the alarm that she must have felt, was too much forher fair and delicate frame. I did my best, believe me, to comfort andprotect her; but my best was but little, and she must have sufferedmuch."
"I do not think that had any effect," replied Constance. "Her healthhas ever been strong and unimpaired--" she stopped for an instant,fearful of being led on to say more than she intended, and then added;"but she certainly looks ill. She speaks, however, my lord, with greatgratitude of the kindness which you showed her, on that terriblenight, which I shall never think of without dread."
"Gratitude!" said Chartley, with a smile. "Kindness! Dear lady, shemust have formed a very unfavourable opinion of mankind, if shethought there was any gentleman who would not do the same."
"But it may be done in very different ways, my noble lord," answeredConstance; "and she assured me that you treated her as if you had beena brother."
Chartley murmured to himself in a low tone, "Would that I could havefelt as one!" The sounds were hardly articulate; but they caught theear of his companion, and the whole secret was revealed at once. Shecast down her eyes in painful thought, from which she was roused themoment after by Chartley saying, almost in a whisper,
"Will you give her a message for me, dear lady? for I may never havethe opportunity of saying what I wish myself."
"What is it, my lord?" demanded Constance, timidly, with a glow ofagitation coming into her cheek.
"It is merely this," replied the young nobleman. "Tell her, that hefor whom she risked so much--I mean the bishop of Ely--is safe inFrance. I have received intimation of the fact from a sure hand. Tellher so, and add that, if the deepest gratitude and the sincerestregard can compensate for what she underwent that night, she hasthem."
"I will," replied Constance. "I will repeat your words exactly. Therecan be no harm in that."
She laid some emphasis on the last words; and Chartley gazed in herface as if to learn the interpretation thereof, "There can, indeed, beno harm in that," he rejoined: "nor in telling her any thought of mymind towards her."
Constance was about to reply; but, looking up, she saw the eyes of heruncle fixed upon her, with a meaning smile upon his lip, as if hethought she had already made a conquest of Lord Chartley. Theconversation between them then paused; and Lord Calverly, crossing towhere they stood, proposed to lead the young nobleman, who was partlyhis guest, partly his prisoner, to the lodging which had been preparedfor him, his friend Sir William Arden, and their attendants. Chartleyfollowed in silence, and found everything done that it was possible todo to render his residence at Chidlow pleasant.
The old lord was all courtesy and kindness. In his usual pompous tone,he excused what he called the poverty of the furniture, though it wasin reality of a very splendid description. He declared the bed was nothalf large enough, though it would have afforded room to turn in, toat least six well-grown persons. The plumes of feathers too, at thetop of the posts, he declared were in a bad fashion, as well as thehangings of the bed, and the tapestry of the bedroom somewhat faded.The antechamber and the chamber adjoining were well enough, thoughsomewhat confined, he said; but he excused their narrowness, onaccount of that part of the building being the most ancient of all,the tower having been built by William the Bastard.
"Our Norman ancestors," he said, "thought more of defence thanconvenience; but we have larger apartments in the main building, whereLord Chartley will always be received as an honoured guest. And now,my dear young lord," he continued, "though I grieve in some sort to bemade, as it were, your jailer, yet in some sort I rejoice; for I canlighten your captivity, or, to call it by a better name, yourwardship. I would fain have it as mild as may be, and, though I amresponsible to the king for your person, yet I would only secure youby bolts and bars of words, and fetters of air. Give me your promise,as knight and nobleman, as you did this morning, that you will make noattempt to escape, and then roam whithersoever you will. I will set nospies upon you. You have then only to fancy yourself a guest in mypoor mansion, and all the pangs of imprisonment are gone."
"A thousand thanks, my noble friend," replied Chartley. "My promise Ifreely give; but it were better for both you and me that yourforbearance and my engagement should have a limit. Let it be frommonth to month. Thus, the first of every month I present myself asyour prisoner, and then you can renew your kind permission if youplease, or not."
"Agreed, agreed," cried Lord Calverly. "It is a marvellous goodarrangement. The rooms of your friend, Sir William Arden, anexceedingly good and valiant knight, though somewhat more familiarwith the battle field than with bower or hall, are immediately aboveyou; the rooms of your own attendants below. The truckle beds in theantechamber are somewhat small, but will serve two of the knaves well
enough. And now I leave you, with a warning that our repast will beupon the board within the hour.--Ha, here comes Sir William Ardenacross the court, conducted by my cousin John. I will tell him of oursupper hour as we pass; but he does not spend much time on hisapparel, I should think."
"Good faith, he is well apparelled in his own high qualities," repliedChartley, "however he be dressed. The wool of a sheep and the entrailsof a silkworm make but a poor addition in my eyes to a man's ownworth--but," he added, not willing that his bluff friend should beundervalued, even by one who esteemed wealth as a high quality, "theplainness of Arden's apparel is from choice and not necessity.Doubtless, you know, my lord, that in worldly wealth he is as wellfurnished as in qualities of heart."
"Nay, nay, I did not know it," said Lord Calverly, with a look of muchinterest. "I thought he was but one of the knights of your household."
"My mother's first cousin," replied Chartley, "which is the cause ofhis attachment to myself."
"Nay, nay, your own high merits," said Lord Calverly, with a slidingbow, and took his leave.
In a few minutes more, Sir William Arden entered Chartley's room, witha gay air.
"Well, boy," he exclaimed, "here you are a prisoner. Think yourselfhappy that you have not been gored by the boar's tusks. Good faith, hewounds deep where he strikes. That old fool, our host, has stopped mefor five minutes in the court, with a panegyric on your merits, andlooked much surprized when I told him the plain truth, to wit, thatyou are a foolish mad-headed boy, who will need fifty such hardlessons as you have received, before you get some grains of commonsense beaten into you."
Arden threw himself on a seat in the window, as he spoke, and gazedout, little attending to Chartley's answer, which consisted but ofsome words of course. He remained silent, even for a minute or twoafter; but then, turning sharply round, he said--
"Tell me, Chartley, what has happened to that sweet girl, Iola? Shethat was bright is dull; she, who was gay, is sad; she, whose cheekwas like the rose, is now like a lily bending amongst its greenleaves, bowed down with drops of dew."
"Nay, I know not," answered Chartley, leaning his head upon his hand,and bending his eyes upon the table.
"Then, what's the matter with you, my lord?" rejoined Sir WilliamArden; "for yours is the same case as hers. You are sad where you weregay; you are stupid where you were sharp; you look like a pipped heninstead of a rosy bumpkin."
"Methinks my present situation were enough to account for all this,"replied Chartley.
"Come, come. That will not do, my lord," answered his friend. "I haveseen you in much worse plight, when we were taken by the brown fellowsat Tripoli, and you were then as gay as a lark. Better you should havesome one to consult with. Tell me in a word, then. Were you makinglove to this dear little lady, when you were out with her the wholenight in the forest? It was a great temptation, truly. I was halfinclined at supper to make an old fool of myself, and say sweet thingsto pretty Constance, just to console her for the empty babbling of NedHungerford."
Chartley still leaned his arm upon the table, and remained in thought.It was not a usual mood with him; for, generally, the first emotionsof his heart soonest found utterance; but new passions will producenew conduct. For the first time in his life, he felt inclined to beangry at his acts being inquired into, even by a friend, for thepurposes of friendship. But he felt that it was foolish and wrong;and, being a very imperfect creature, after a brief struggle, he wentinto quite the opposite extreme.
"You are too sharp a questioner, Arden," he said, with a laugh, whichhad somewhat of his old gaiety in it; "but I'll answer your questionmanfully. I do not think the name of love ever passed my lips duringthat whole night."
"Ay, ay," cried the bluff knight; "but talking of love is not makingit."
"Perhaps not," answered Chartley; "but, if I did make it, it waswithout intention. One thing, however, I feel too well, that, if I didnot make love, I learned to love; and that is much worse. But it wereworse still, Arden, should I have taught her to love too."
"Why so?" asked Sir William Arden, with a start.
"And yet I cannot think it," said Chartley, pursuing his own course ofthought. "No, no, God forbid! This paleness, this sadness, may have athousand other causes."
"But how now? What's the matter?" asked Arden, again. "Why should youwish yourself unloved? Remember, young man, when once put on, youcannot strip off love like a soiled jerkin. The honest man and trueseeks no love that he cannot wear for ever--at least, till the garmentdrops off of itself."
"You do not know. You do not understand," said Chartley, impatiently."The lady is contracted, I tell you, to this Lord Fulmer--ay,contracted in infancy, by every tie but the mere last ceremony of thechurch."
"And did she not tell you?" demanded Arden. "That was wrong, verywrong."
"'Tis you who are wrong," replied Chartley. "Why should she tell me?How should she tell me, when I never spoke to her of love? What mymanner said, I know not; but there was not one word uttered by mewhich could give her a plea for relating to me all her privatehistory. I thought I should have plenty of opportunity of speakingboldly, at an after time; and, alarmed and agitated as she was, Iwould not for the world have said or done aught that could add to whatshe felt. Since then, I have learned that she was contracted, when achild, to this Lord Fulmer; but that, educated as he has been at thecourt of Burgundy, they have never met from infancy till now."
"Damnation!" cried Sir William Arden, striding up and down the room."This is the most unpleasant thing I ever had to deal with! And youforced to live in the same house with him too. In fortune's name, whatwill you do, my dear boy?"
"As best I may," answered Chartley. "Perhaps 'twere as well, Arden, toresume the appearance, at least, of all my old light spirits. At theworst, she will then but tax me with levity; and, if the feelings shehas taught me have been at all learned by herself, she will soon bebrought to believe that I am unworthy, because careless, of heraffections, and feel the less regret at the sacrifice she must make."
"Don't resume, or assume anything, my dear lord," answered Sir WilliamArden. "Be what you are, seem what you are at all times. Confound meall men that walk in vizards! The best result always comes of the moststraightforward course. But I will go and change these travel-soiledgarments, and think of it all while I am getting the dust out of myeyes.--By the Lord that lives," he continued, looking out at thewindow, "there comes the abbess of St. Clare into the court, withHeaven knows how many more people. The castle will be too full, and Ishall have to share my room with her. Well, thank Heaven for allthings. She is a merry little fat soul, and will help us to laugh careaway."
Thus saying, he turned and left his friend, who was not ill-satisfied,on the whole, at having been forced into making a confidant of one, onwhose honour, integrity, and good sense he could firmly rely.