CHAPTER XXIV.
The hall was as light as day; for Lord Calverly was fond of a glare.The feast was as delicate as he could have desired, and even thecritical taste of Sir Edward Hungerford found nothing to criticise.The arrangement of the guests, however, was not altogether that whichbest suited their several inclinations. There were many, with whom wehave little or nothing to do, who might, or might not, be placed asthey would have placed themselves; but, certainly, with regard to Iolaand Chartley, such was not the case; for she was seated between heruncle and Lord Fulmer, while Chartley was at some distance from her,on the opposite side of the table. Let the mind say what it would, theheart told her she would rather have had him near. Her ear thirstedfor the tones of his voice, and her eye wandered for a moment, fromtime to time, to his face, with a glance withdrawn as soon as given,but with an impulse she could not controul. She was very young, andvery inexperienced, and some excuse must be made for her. She wishedto do all that was right, to avoid all that was wrong; but the heartwas rebellious, and would have its own way.
Constance, too, could have wished something changed in her position.Sir William Arden, it is true, had contrived to place himself on herleft; and with that part of the arrangement she was very wellsatisfied; but Sir Edward Hungerford occupied the other side, andthere was hardly any one in all the hall whom she would not havepreferred.
"Be merry, be merry, my friends," said excellent Lord Calverly, whoperceived that, for some reason or another, his guests were not ascheerful as they might have been. "Let us all be gay; for in thesetroublous times, when one sits down to the merry evening meal, withfriendly faces round us, it is never possible to tell when we shallall meet again."
"By St. Paul, that's a topic well calculated to promote hilarity!"said Sir William Arden in a low voice to Constance; "and, to saytruth, dear lady, the castle hall does not seem to me so gay a placeas the abbey refectory."
"I begin to think," said Constance, "that the calm shade of thecloister may, upon the whole, contain more cheerfulness than thelaughter-loving world."
"Pooh! We must not let you think so," said Sir William Arden. "CannotSir Edward Hungerford persuade you of the contrary? He has beentrying, I think."
He spoke in a whisper, and his words produced a slight smile, but noblush, upon Constance's face, and her only reply was:
"Hush, hush!"
"Nay, then, if he can't succeed, I must try," continued Sir William;"though, to say truth, it would be somewhat like an old suit of armourdancing a quick step. But why should you not be happy in the world, aswell as your fair cousin?"
"Is she happy?" asked Constance, with a sigh.
"Ay, that is a question, in regard to which I have some doubt,"answered the good knight; "but, no more at present; the popinjay isturning round. Now, I'll warrant, he has discussed the whole questionof the superiority of cendel over laid silk, with that pretty littlething on his right, who seems to have as many ideas as he has; and, Iwill answer for it, half an hour's talk would make them both bankrupt,so that they have stopped payment for lack of coin."
"It is marvellous hot to-night, sweet lady Constance," said Sir Edwardturning towards her. "My cheek burns, till I am sure I must be rosy asa country justice's serving-man."
"Better that than white and yellow, like a lump of tallow," repliedSir William Arden, across her. "These people, with their delicatecomplexions, drive me mad, as if they thought a man, to be a courtier,should look like a whey-faced girl, just emptied from the nursery. Andthen they must blush too, and find the air oppressive; but there isone way of banishing the red rose from your cheek. Faint, Hungerford,faint outright! Then you'll be as pale as usual."
"Did'st thou ever hear, fair lady, such a blustering old son of Marsas this?" demanded Sir Edward Hungerford. "He thinks no one can fightbut himself, unless he be full of big oaths, with a face like ebony,and a skin like a rhinoceros."
"Nay, I know thou can'st fight, Hungerford, like a man," answered SirWilliam Arden. "More shame for thee to talk like a woman, and dresslike a mountebank. If thou didst take as much care of thy prettyperson in the field, as thou dost in the hall, thou wouldst be a worsesoldier than thou art."
"Gallantly said!" replied the other knight; and, turning again toConstance, he continued the conversation with her, saying: "He is notbad at main, this worthy man. Though, to hear him talk, we mightsuppose him one of the devils; but it is all talk, dear lady. He is atheart as gentle as a lamb, except when he is in the field; and then,of course, he fights for company; but, polish is impossible with him.His mother forgot to lick him when he was young, I suppose; and so wehave the bear in his native state."
Sir William Arden laughed, though he was the object of the sarcasm;and, looking round at Constance, he said:
"It is all quite true, lady, as true as what I said of him. We arefamous for drawing each other's characters. So now, you have heard usdescribed each by the other, say which you like best."
"Good, mighty good!" exclaimed Hungerford. "That is an offer of hishand and heart."
"Well, so be it," answered Sir William Arden, with a laugh. "That issomething solid at all events. He can offer nothing but a shadow in aslashed doublet, a mere voice and a walking suit of clothes. Echo isnothing to him, in respect of thinness; and I should fear hisundergoing Narcissus' fate, but that he loves himself better than evenNarcissus, and would not part with his own pretty person for anythingelse whatsoever, be it substance or shadow. He will never pine himselfeither into a flower or a water-course, as those young gentlemen andladies did in days of old."
"I should be a great fool if I did," replied Hungerford; "but if youwere to begin to melt, Arden, all the world would thaw; for it isdifficult to say whether your head or your heart is the hardest."
"Why, gentlemen, you are using very bitter words," said the prettylady, on the other side of Sir Edward Hungerford. "Really I mustappeal to my good Lord Calverly."
"Nay, rather let me appeal to you," said Hungerford, in a tender tone;and thenceforth he continued to talk with her till the supper wasover, which was all she wanted.
"That shaft is shot," said Arden, resuming the conversation withConstance, but speaking in a lower tone than before. "You asked butnow, 'Is she happy?' and, good faith, she does not look like it. Herlips have hardly moved since we sat down to the board; but methinksthat question might be put of every one round. It is not the gaysmile, or the cheerful laugh, that shows a happy heart within; and Idoubt much, if you could see into every bosom along these two ranks ofhuman things, whether you would not find some hidden care, or somesorrow that flies the light."
"That is to say," replied Constance, "that every one who mingles withthe world finds unhappiness in it; a fine argument to keep me out of aconvent, truly. Either your gallantry or your wit halts, Sir William;for, to my knowledge, there is many a happy heart beats in thecloister."
"Are there no masks there?" asked the stout knight. "If not, there areveils, fair Constance; and, take my word for it, sooner or later,there come regrets and repinings, longings to see the world that hasbeen renounced, and pluck some of the fruit of the pleasant tree ofknowledge, that bitter sweet, the pleasant berries of which tempt theeye from afar, although there is now no serpent hid amongst thefoliage."
"But look at my good aunt, the abbess," answered the young lady. "Shehas none of these regrets and repinings that you mention. She isalways merry, cheerful, contented."
"Ay, but hers is a case by itself," answered Arden. "She can get outwhen she likes; and a good creature she is. Her life is as easy as awidow's. No, no. Take my advice, and think not of a convent."
"Why, what would you have me do in the wide world?" asked Constance,half gaily, half sadly.
"Why, marry to be sure," replied the good knight, "and have a score ofcherub babes, to cheer you with their pleasant faces. Let me tell you,it is like having heaven round your knees, and you are not a whit theless likely in the end to reach the heaven overhead."
"But suppose no one would h
ave me," answered Constance, with a smile.
"Try all the young fellows first, and then try me," answered SirWilliam, bluffly, but with a light laugh at the same time, whichsoftened the point of his words; and Constance answered--
"No, no. A woman can try no one. I must be wooed and won."
"On my life, if I thought you could," murmured Arden to himself, "Ithink I would try;" but the words did not reach Constance's ear; and,after a short pause of thought, the old knight said abruptly, "I don'tlike your fair cousin's looks."
"And yet they are fair looks too," answered Constance.
"Ay, so are my cousin Chartley's," said the knight; "but I don't likehis looks either."
"They are gay enough, surely," replied Constance. "See, he is laughingeven now."
"Did you ever see a will-o'-the-wisp?" asked Sir William.
"Yes," said Constance. "What of that?"
"They flit over deep morasses and dangerous spots," answered theknight. "Don't you let Chartley's laugh mislead you. See how he holdshis head in the air, with his nostril spread, and his lip curling. Besure, when he laughs with such a look as that, there is something verybitter at his heart."
"But they say he is half a prisoner here," rejoined Constance. "Thatis enough to make him sad."
"Would that were all," replied Arden; "but let us talk no more of him.It is your fair cousin I am thinking of. When she sat opposite to meat the abbey, a week or two ago, her eyes were like stars thatglistened up instead of down. Her brow was smooth and clear. Her lipplayed in smiles with every thought. I would fain know what it is hasclouded that ivory brow, what it is weighs down that rosy arch, andsinks the sweeping eye-lashes to her cheek."
"I cannot tell," answered Constance, with a little mental reservation;"but I suppose great changes coming, when they are foreseen, will makethe heart somewhat pensive."
"Pensive, but not sorrowful," answered Arden. "Well, well," he added,"I see your uncle moving in his seat, as if we should not be long sideby side. Let me see--when you were a little smiling child, justtoddling about your nurse's knee, I was in arms, dealing hard blows inmore than one stricken field. There is a mighty difference between ourages, some four and twenty years perhaps--Nay, do not be afraid. I amnot going to ask you--but, methinks, a young thing like you may placesome confidence in a man old enough to be your father; and all I cansay is if you, or your fair cousin, need counsel of a head that hashad some experience, or help from an arm none of the weakest, you mayrely upon a heart which has been ever believed true to friend and foe,to man or woman. There, my dear child, I have said my say. It is foryou to act upon it, as you think fit."
Sunk almost to a whisper with much emotion, the voice of Constanceanswered--
"I thank you deeply;" and the next moment, according to a bad custom,even then prevalent, the ladies of the party rose, and left thegentlemen to pursue their revel unchecked.
We must go back a little, however; for during the meal we havefollowed only one little group at that long table. What was theconduct, what were the thoughts of Lord Fulmer, while all this waspassing? He sat beside Iola in anguish, the anguish of doubt andjealousy; and, conscious that his mood was not fitted to win orplease, he struggled with it sorely. He determined to use everyeffort, both to conquer himself, and to gain her love; but it isdifficult to conquer an enemy without when there is an enemy within;and the very effort embarrassed him. If he sat silent for a minute ortwo, he was revolving what he should say. When he did speak, it wasnot the tone or the words of the heart which came forth; the whole wasstudied; the effort was too evident. He felt it, yet could not helpit; and Iola's reply did not generally aid or encourage him. It wascourteous but cold, civil but not kind--very brief too; and the momentit was uttered, she fell into thought again. It was clear there was astruggle in her mind, as well as his, and the only difference was,that she did not strive to conceal it. He was angry with her and withhimself; with her, because she did not put on at least the semblanceof regard she did not feel; with himself, because he knew that his ownwant of self-command was every moment betraying the interests of apassion which was growing upon him more and more, even under doubt anddisappointment. Still he struggled, still he strove to please, or, atleast, to amuse; but it was in vain. His words were cold and formal,and Iola was grave, absent, thoughtful, so that no conversation lastedmore than a minute. At length he gave it up. He struggled no more. Heyielded to the feelings within; but they impelled him in a verydifferent course from that of Iola. She saw, heard, marked, verylittle of what passed at the table. Buried in her own thoughts, sheonly roused herself from time to time, to reply to her uncle, who satat her side, or to answer the abbess, who was placed opposite, or togive a momentary timid look towards the face of Chartley.
Fulmer, on the contrary, was full of eager observation, quickened bythe passions in his heart. "I will know all," he thought. "I willforce Hungerford to tell me all--ay, this very night. I cannot live inthis torture any longer? and if I find it as I think, that man shallanswer me with his heart's best blood. What right had he to win theaffections of my contracted wife. He must have known that she was so.Every one knew it; but I will be satisfied. Hungerford shall explainhis words before he lays his head upon his pillow."
He could not be content to wait for that explanation, however; and, asI have said, he watched, in order to ascertain, as far as possible,how far the evil, which he suspected, had gone. Three times he saw theeyes of Iola raised for an instant to Chartley's face, and then asspeedily withdrawn. Oh, what would he have given, in some mysteriousglass, to have seen a picture of the emotions which were passing inher breast. The first time she looked at him, her colour washeightened the moment she withdrew her eyes. He could not tell why,and he puzzled himself to divine the cause. Was it that Chartley wastalking with another, and that his tone was gay? Or was it that shefound the eyes of the abbess upon her, and, blushed fromconsciousness. The second time she looked that way, a slight passingsmile followed--the mere shadow of a smile. Was it that Chartley,fallen into a fit of absence, committed some strange error, which madethose around him laugh. The next glance she gave left her in deeperthought than ever; and to him her eyes seemed to swim in bright dew;but she dropped the deep veil of long silken lashes over theglistening drop, and it was hidden.
In the mean time, what marked he in Chartley's conduct? It was thesame in some respects as Iola's, but different in others. He oftenlooked to the spot where she was seated; but it was in a calmer,firmer, less timid manner. Once or twice his gaze was earnest, intent,full of deep thought. There was no levity in it, none of theconfidence of knowing that he was loved. It was a look of almostpainful interest, deep, tender, grave; and once he fixed his eyes uponFulmer himself, and gazed at him long, notwithstanding an angryexpression which came upon the young lord's face. Busied altogetherwith what was passing in his own mind, Chartley saw not that irritablelook, never fancied that it was called up by his own. He scanned everyfeature of his face, as if he were scrutinizing some inanimate objectwhich could not perceive or comprehend the examination it wasundergoing. And yet that gaze almost drove Fulmer mad; and even theway in which it was withdrawn, the fit of thought which succeeded, andthen the start, and the resumption of conversation with those around,all irritated the young man more.
Fortunately, some time elapsed before the gentlemen there present wereleft without the restraint of ladies' presence; for Fulmer had time torecover himself; and, though still highly irritated, to recollect whatwas due to Iola, to himself, and to his entertainer. He resolvedto bridle his passion, and to guide it; and, could he have keptthe resolutions which he formed--he did not, as the reader willsee--though not altogether good ones, they were much better than thewild impulses of passion.
"There must be no quarrel _about her_," he thought. "I must not mingleher name is our enmity--I have no right to do that. 'Tis easy toprovoke him upon some other subject; nor will I too hastily do that,for the good old lord's sake. I will irritate him by degrees, till theactual offence
comes from him; and then to justify myself with mysword is a right. I can do it with all courtesy too, and I will."
If man's resolutions are generally rendered vain and fruitless, by theforce of circumstances, when they affect things over which he has nocontrol, it is sad to think that they should be so often renderedineffectual, by passions, when they refer only to his own conduct,over which he should have the mastery. So, however, it isoften--almost always--I had well nigh said, ever. It was not otherwisewith Fulmer. His resolutions passed away, under the heat of histemper, like the shadowy clouds of morning. Ere five minutes wereover, he was in full career to irritate, if not to insult, Chartley.His resolutions to be courteous, to be moderate, were forgotten, andhis tone was very offensive.
But the calm indifference of manner on Chartley's part, while itprovoked him, frustrated his purpose. His rival, for as such he nowfully looked upon him, heard any words he addressed to him calmly,replied to them briefly, and then seemed to withdraw his thoughts fromhim altogether. It was impossible to engage him in any irritatingconversation, his answers were so short, so tranquil, so conclusive;and Fulmer, driven at length to seek more plain and open means ofoffence, began to touch upon the cause of Chartley's having fallenunder the king's displeasure, thinking that thus, at least, he shoulddraw him forth from his reserve. But here old Lord Calverly at onceinterposed.
"Nay, nay, my noble friend," he said. "These are subjects that arenever spoken of, except when they are matters of mere business; butmethinks it is time to seek repose. My noble Lord Chartley, I willonce more conduct you to your lodging. After to-night, you will beable, methinks, to find your way yourself;" and he at once rose fromthe table.