CHAPTER XXXIII.
It was like a cloud passing away from a summer sky. It was as when aweary traveller laying down the heavy burden he has carried far, bythe side of the road, stretches his freed limbs in an interval ofrest. Such was the effect of Lord Fulmer's departure from Chidlow.Iola's light and buoyant heart bounded up from beneath the load; allher bright and happy spirits returned; the smile came back to her lip;and, though the rose took longer to expand upon her cheek again, yet,after a night of sweet calm rest, some part of the bloom had returned.
Constance was never very gay; but she was cheerful. Chartley felt thata source of constant irritation and annoyance was removed; and, withthe happy facility of youth, he prepared to enjoy the present hour,careless of fortune's turn the next. Even the abbess, though she knewlittle or nothing of what had been passing in the hearts around her,seemed to share in the relief, and laughed and talked in merry mood,especially with Chartley, who was an object of high admiration to her.Clear-sighted Sir William Arden, who had seen right well that Chartleyand his rival could not go on long in the same dwelling without dangerof bloodshed, felt his apprehensions removed; and Sir EdwardHungerford remarked:--
"Well, I am glad Fulmer is gone; for he was turning marvellous fierce,and he wore such an ill-appointed doublet. It was painful to see theblue and yellow, and made one think of some strange bird."
Only the good pompous lord of the castle seemed unchanged; and he,"full of wise saws and modern instances," walked gravely about,reasoning in very trite sort upon all he saw, and lecturing ratherthan conversing.
Early in the morning of the day after Fulmer's departure, all thosewho were mere guests, invited for a day or two, took their leave andleft the castle. The abbess proposed to return to her cure on thefollowing morning; and Lord Calverly was laying out various plans formaking the heavy time pass lightly, when a courier arrived withletters from the king's lieutenant in the county.
"Now good faith," he said, "this is unfortunate; for it breaks all mypurposes. This noble lord here requires my immediate presence, toconsult as to the best and most approved means of preserving peace andtranquillity in the county. He knows I have some experience in suchthings; and, though my judgment be but a poor judgment, yet he hasconfidence therein. Strange stories are current, he says, of meetingsof peasantry by night, and strangers coming from distant parts to bepresent thereat. God forefend that there should be new troublescoming! But I must to horse and away. I will return before night; and,in the mean time, lords and ladies, you must amuse yourselves as bestyou may. There are fish in the stream, deer in the park, chess, dice,and other games in the little hall, instruments of music in thegallery, lutes, citherns, and the rest, so that you have means ofentertainment if you seek it; and, good faith, if you are dull Icannot help it; for you know, my Lord Chartley, the call of duty isimperative, and courtesy, which gives place to nothing else, mustyield to that."
They were not dull; but how shall I describe the passing of that day?To Chartley and to Iola it was a long draught of the cup of joy. Didthey drink too deeply? I almost fear they did. Chartley _resolved_ toact in all things prudently, to be calm, quiet, and upon his guard,though courteous and easy, as he would be to any lady in whom he hadno interest. Iola _resolved_ neither to be cold nor warm in mannertowards him, neither to encourage nor to repel, to seek nor to avoid,to let his conduct be the guide of hers, to govern her feelings and totranquillise her heart.
Oh, resolutions, resolutions! How that heart, which was to be sotranquil, beat, when her uncle rode away, and she felt herself leftwith him she loved, to pass the hours almost as they would! Heavenknows how they flew. Chartley was often with her. He did not shuthimself in his chamber. He did not ride out to hunt, nor walk forth tomeditate alone. At first he conversed with her, as they had done attheir meeting in the abbey, gaily, cheerfully, with a vein of thoughtrunning through the merriment, and a touch of feeling softening thewhole. But they were sometimes left alone together; and gradually theybegan to call up the memories of the past, to talk of scenes andincidents which had occurred, and words which had been spoken duringthe long adventurous night they had passed in the forest. It wasdangerous ground; they felt it shake beneath them; but yet they wouldnot move away. Their hearts thrilled as they spoke. Iola, with the eyeof memory, saw Chartley sitting at her feet; and he, in fancy, felther breath fanning his cheek as her head drooped upon his shoulder insleep. Oh, how treacherous associations will open the gates of theheart to any enemy that desires to enter! They approached nearer andnearer to subjects which they had determined to avoid; they even spokeof them in circuitous and ambiguous phrases. The words which theyuttered did not express their full meaning, but the tones and thelooks did; and, by the time that the sun had sunk to within half anhour's journey of the horizon, Iola and Chartley knew that they lovedeach other, as well as if they had spoken and vowed it a thousandtimes.
She was agitated, much agitated, it is true, but perhaps less so thanhe was; and to see why, we must look for a moment into their hearts.Iola felt that in loving him she was doing no wrong, that the contractwhich bound her to Lord Fulmer was altogether void and invalid, thatmarriages in infancy, where that mutual and reasonable consent isabsent, upon which every contract must be based, were altogetherunlawful; and that therefore, morally and religiously, she was as freeas if her relations had never unjustly made a promise in her name. Itmay be that she had been easily convinced--it may be that love for oneand disliking for another had smoothed the way for such conviction;but still she was _convinced_; and no consciousness of doing wrongadded weight to other emotions. She might contemplate the future withdread; she might gaze upon the coming days as upon a wide sea oftumultuous waves, through which she could see no track, beyond whichappeared no shore; and she might tremble lest the billows shouldoverwhelm her. But she felt confident in the protection of Heaven, andsure that she was doing nought to forfeit it.
Not so exactly Chartley. Not alone the future, but the present also,had its darkness for him. He knew not her exact situation; he knew notwhether the ceremonies of the church--often in those days performedbetween mere children, and looked upon, when once performed, as asacrament, merely requiring an after benediction to be full andcomplete--had or had not taken place between her and Lord Fulmer. Hisreason might teach him that such espousals, where neither the heartnor the judgment were consulted, were in themselves wicked anddangerous; but his mind had not yet reached the point of consideringthem quite invalid. He had been brought up as a strict Roman Catholic.It was the only religion tolerated in his native land; and, althoughhe could not but see that gross corruptions had crept into the churchto which he belonged, and that many of the grossest of thosecorruptions had been made the foundation of dogmas even more dangerousthan themselves, yet, not having met with any of the followers ofWickliffe, he had never heard the heresies, the idolatries, or theusurpations of the Roman church fully exposed--nor indeedattacked--till passing through Bohemia, in his return from the East,he had met with some of the disciples of Huss at a small road-sideinn. The conversation had been free; for, far from large towns, thedoctrines which the council of Constance could not suppress were moreboldly spoken; and Chartley heard words which shook his faith in theinfallibility of Rome, and made him, determine to inquire and judgefor himself at an after period. He had not yet inquired, however; and,even while he gave way to the impulses of the heart, he felt doubtful,fearful of his own conduct. Had such not been the case, the passion inhis breast would have found open and undisguised utterance. Dangersand difficulties he would have set at nought; impediments he wouldhave overleaped, with the knowledge that he was loved in return. Butnow he doubted, as I have said, hesitated, suffered his love to beseen, rather than declared it openly.
The abbess sat embroidering at one end of the hall, while Iola andChartley stood together in the oriel window at the other; and SirWilliam Arden, with the right knee thrown across the left, and hishead bent, pored over the miniatures in a richly illuminatedmanuscript of Mo
nstrelet, lifting his eyes from time to time, with athoughtful look, towards Chartley and Iola, and thinking, if the truthmust be told, that Constance was somewhat long absent. The glow of theevening sun, poured full through the window at which the lovers werestanding, concentrated upon them by the stone work; and, both sobeautiful and full of grace, they looked in that haze of golden beamslike the old pictures of saints in glory. Just at that momentConstance entered the hall with a light step, and a more cheerful lookthan usual. She too had been reading; and she had found what shesought, truth--truth, which came home to her own heart, and dispelledevery doubt and shadow within it. She looked up at the window, as shecrossed the hall, and said, in a low sweet voice:
"What a fair evening! The sunset must look beautiful from theramparts."
"So it must!" exclaimed Iola. "Let us go out and enjoy it. Will youcome, dear lady mother?" she added, raising her voice to reach the earof the abbess.
"No, dear child, no," replied the elder lady, "I must finish thiscat's head. I never saw such a troublesome puss in my life;" and shelaughed merrily. "I cannot get her whiskers in, all I can do. When Imake them black, they look like a spot of ink, and when I make themwhite, they look like a drop of cream. But go, my children, go. Theevening is beautiful; and sunsets and sunrises, and such sort ofthings, do young people good. Forget not to tell your beads, Iola, ashe goes down; for no one can ever tell what his rising may look upon."
Without any other covering of the head than that which they wore inthe house, the two girls went forth with Chartley, Sir Williamstarting up and following. It need not be asked how the party divideditself. Ah, it is a pleasant number, four. It does not admit of muchvariety; but, on most occasions, it is perfect in itself. Happy Iola,how gaily she walked on by Chartley's side, round those same wallswhich she had trod some evenings before, with a pale cheek and anxiouseye, and a heart well nigh despairing. Now all the scene was brightand beautiful, on the one side spreading out the purple glow ofevening, on the other, the pale primrose of the west growing fainterat the approach of night, and the golden hills all round crowningthemselves with the beams of the departing sun. As if to leave themfree room to say all that might be sweet, yet dangerous, to say, SirWilliam Arden and Constance lingered a good way behind, paused often,once or twice sat down, till Iola and Chartley, circling all round thewalls, came back to them again.
What was Sir William Arden doing? I verily believe he was making lovein his own peculiar way; for, every now and then, in the midst ofsmiles at some odd frank speech, a faint blush fluttered overConstance's fair cheek, as if she felt that, in his warmer words,there was an allusion to herself.
Chartley and Iola passed them by, each party so full of their ownthoughts as not to notice the other.
"It was indeed," said Chartley, "a night ever to be remembered--atleast by me--a night full of sensations new, and deep, and thrilling;sensations known but once in a whole lifetime. Nor do I think that youwill ever forget it. Did I not tell you, that it was one of thosepoints of time which raise their heads above the waste of the past,and are seen like a mountain peak, till man is at the end of hisjourney?"
"It cannot be forgot, indeed," replied Iola, and cast her eyes downthoughtfully.
"Strange words you spoke that night," continued Chartley; "words thatto me were then like the mysterious figures upon Egyptian stones, ofwhich I could interpret nothing. Now, alas, I have got the key."
"What words?" demanded Iola. "What words of mine can even from memoryproduce so sad a tone?" and she looked up in his face, with thefeeling of her heart but too plainly written in her eyes.
"You spoke," replied Chartley, "words that have rung in my ear eversince, 'Happy are those who have no ties to bind them!' I now knew ofwhat ties you spoke--" and he added, almost vehemently, "Oh that Icould rend them, and scatter them to the winds."
"Chartley!" said Iola, pausing for an instant, and then immediatelyresuming her walk.
"Forgive me!" said Chartley. "I know I am wrong. I know it is verywrong, even to feel what I feel, and that to speak it is worse.Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive," replied Iola, in a very low tone. "Youhave done no wrong, that I know of."
"Oh yes, I have," answered Chartley. "I have agitated and alarmed youby my rash words. You tremble, even now."
"Every wind will move a willow," answered Iola. "If I tremble,Chartley, it is not from what you think; but, I say you have done nowrong, and I mean it."
"What, not to acknowledge love to the wife of another?" said Chartley.
"I, I, his wife!" said Iola, with a start. "No, no, I am not, andnever will be. The sin were, if I vowed to love where I cannot love,if I promised what cannot be performed;" and, casting her eyes to theground again, she clasped her hands together, and walked on by hisside in silence.
"What then," said Chartley, after a moment's thought, "has not thechurch's sanction of your contract been pronounced?"
She remained silent for about a minute, ere she answered; and the manychanges which passed over her beautiful countenance, during that shortspace, are impossible to describe. Then she looked up again, with oneof those bright and glorious looks, in which a happy spirit seems tospeak out, triumphing over dark thoughts or memories; but still therewere drops in her eyes.
"Hear what there exists," she said. "I had little knowledge of itmyself till I came here; but this, I now learn, is all. There is acold parchment, contracting in marriage one Iola St. Leger to oneArnold Lord Fulmer. To it are signed the names of Calverly, Talbot,Bouchier, Savage, and other peers and gentlemen, having someguardianship over, or interest in, those two persons mentioned. But,above all," she added, with a faint smile and a rueful shake of thehead, "are two crosses, somewhat crooked, shaken, and unseemly; for,in truth, I think our little hands must have been guided in the makingof them, which, as at the side it is testified in clerkly hand, arethe signatures of Arnold Lord Fulmer and Iola St. Leger. This is all,Lord Chartley."
"Then you are mine," said Chartley, in a low, deep, eager tone; "thenyou are mine. Tell me not of obstacles, think me not over bold. Iolawould never have uttered what she has, had her heart not been ready tosay, Yea; and as for obstacles, I will devour them like a flame."
Iola now trembled more than before.
"Hush, hush!" she said, "Do not speak so vehemently; you frighten me,Chartley. I must beseech you to do nothing rashly. Say nothing to anyone at present--nay, not a word. I must entreat, I must beg--and"resuming in a degree her gay tone, she added: "more, I must command,that you interfere not in the least. You are my servant, are you not?Well then, servant, I order you to take no part in this whatever. Fearnothing, Chartley. Light as I seem, gay, as I am, gentle as I wouldfain be to all, I can be as firm as iron, where I am sure I have righton my side, as I am sure here. I cannot love him. I will not marryhim; but the refusal must come from my own lips, and not be spoken byanother."
"But they may find means to overbear your will," said Chartley,"unless you have some support--ay, and that support must be a strongarm, a stout heart, and powerful means."
"Should the time ever come when I need it," said Iola, "you shallhave instant notice."
"But they may force you into a convent," said Chartley. "That, Ibelieve, is within their power to do. At least, I have heard ofseveral instances where it has been done."
"They would find it difficult with me," replied Iola. "They mightforce me into a prison, it is true; but vows against my conscience Iwill never take, to mortal man or to the altar. One thing, perhaps,they can do; for of that I know little. They may take from me thesebroad lands, and the goodly heritage which my father possessed andforfeited. I am reputed to be their heiress; but doubtless my unclecan take them from me, if I obstinately oppose his will."
"That is not worth a thought," answered Chartley. "Wealth hasundoubtedly its value, my Iola; but it is not happiness, and only asmall ingredient therein. Let us speak of things of more importance. Icannot but fear you calculate too much upon your strength, you
rcourage, and your power of resistance. But leave the matter to me, andI will contrive to cut the gordian knot of all difficulties, in a veryshort space of time. There is a plan before my eyes, even now, whichcould hardly fail us."
"Would you cut that knot, like the Macedonian, with your sword?" saidIola, gazing at him with a meaning look. "No, Chantey, that must notbe. If you love me as you say, you will not attempt it. Nay, more, youwill trust to me, and to the promise which I make, to call upon you atonce, in the moment of need, whenever that moment comes."
"But I may be absent. You may have no means," replied Chartley.
"Ah, I have means and messengers that you know not at," answered Iolagaily, "fairies that will fly like swallows with my messages, elves ofthe green wood that will track you for me through their darkestbowers. Nay, I am serious, Chartley. What would you think if I were totell you that even in the midnight, with doors all bolted, barred, andlocked, the keys lying by the heavy porter's head, and all the warderssnoring in their beds, I can pass forth from this castle, and sportupon the lawns and slopes around, as if it had no walls--nay, that Ihave done it."
"Then you are a fairy yourself," answered Chartley, "as I have beenhalf inclined to think ere now. But I have your promise; your solemnpromise, that nothing shall ever force you, to this detested marriage,and that you will send to me, or give me notice, the moment that myaid is needful--and not delay too long."
"I will," she answered, emphatically. "Methinks you would not find itdifficult to guard me once more through the green forest, as you didone night we both remember; and should it be needful, Chartley, so todo, I will then trust as implicitly to your honour as I did before;for Iola will be wholly at your mercy. But I must have promise forpromise, and vow for vow. You must assure me that, whatever you see,whatever you hear, you will remain quiescent, and leave the wholedecision to myself."
"Then if that youth returns," answered Chartley, "I must shut myselfup in my dull tower, and make myself a prisoner indeed."
Iola smiled, saying in a low tone--
"It might perhaps be better--if Chartley cannot rule Chartley. Buthappily there is no chance of my being pressed on this sad subjectsfor weeks or months to come, as I learn from Constance that the kinghas refused to give an immediate consent; for which I could almostsay, Heaven bless him."
"That is happy news indeed," answered Chartley; "and yet, Iola, Icould wish that if a struggle is to be made, it might be soon made;for nothing is so painful as uncertainty."
"All men are alike in that, I see," replied Iola; "we women love toput off the evil day."
"It may indeed, in this instance, be as well," answered Chartley, "forit gives time for preparation; and that I will commence at once."
"Preparation for what?" demanded Iola in some surprise.
"For any thing that may occur," replied Chartley; "but for one thingwe must both be prepared, sweet Iola--for flight--ay, flight todistant lands, love; for think not that if we venture to unite ourfate by the dearest and the holiest rite, against the consent of yourfamily, in defiance of their contract, and without the king'spermission, this land will be safe for us thenceforward. Richard iswell fitted to find treason in such acts; and, if he cannot part youfrom your husband, to take your husband's head. My preparationtherefore must be, not only to secure a refuge in another land, but toprovide means there, to keep us from poverty or dependence. But thatwill be easily accomplished. Will you regret it, Iola? Will you shrinkfrom it--to pass some few years with Chartley on a foreign shore, andleave this fair land and all the memories of home behind you?"
"No, oh no!" she answered; "I will neither shrink nor regret. My homewill ever be with my heart--" she paused, and the crimson spread gentlyover her cheek, as she felt how much her words implied. Her eyes too,sunk under the warm, and tender, and grateful gaze which was bent uponher; but the next moment she asked, in her low sweet tones--"Will younever regret, Chartley? Will you never think that you have paid forIola's hand too dear a price, when memory turns back to your nativeland, high station, wealth, ambition, all sacrificed for her?"
"Never," answered Chartley; "were it to cost me all, and leave us buta cabin and bare food, I would not hesitate now, or regret hereafter.I do but change dross for a jewel of inestimable price, and I willvalue it ever as I do now."
They were both silent for several minutes; and then, as they turnedthe north western angle of the walls, they saw the sun setting in thesplendour of scattered clouds, and Constance and Sir William Antonadvancing towards them. Iola perceived that her cousin's step wantedits quiet steadiness; and when her eye fixed on her face, a blush rosein Constance's cheek.
"There is the sun setting and your uncle rising, lady," said SirWilliam Arden, in a gay voice, pointing with his hand in the directionof the road across the park, upon which several horsemen might be seenadvancing--"we shall soon have the light of his countenance, thoughthe star goes down."
"Let us go in," said Iola, in a hurried tone; "perhaps we have alreadystaid out too long; but the evening has been so beautiful."
"And the conversation so sweet," said Arden, almost in a whisper toConstance; "so should close the phrase both with Chartley and with me,if I had aught of the court in my nature. I will study, dear lady--Iwill study, and rub off the rust which has gathered between my armourand my skin."
"No--Be ever, what you are," answered Constance.