CHAPTER XL.
Midsummer days dawn early; and, even in that class of life where it isnot customary to pass the greater part of night in study or amusement,it rarely happens that the rising sun finds many ready to rise withhim. The hour at which the labours of the abbey garden begun, insummer time, was five o'clock. But long ere that hour had arrived, onan early day of August, the door of one of the cottages on the abbeygreen was opened, and a stout good-looking young man came forth,taking great care to make his exit without noise. He looked around himtoo, in the grey twilight; for the air was still thickened with theshades of night. But every window had up its shutters of rudeboarding; and he passed along upon his way without fear. His step waslight, his countenance frank and good-humoured; and, though hisclothes were very coarse, they were good and clean, betokening alabourer of the better class. He had soon crossed the green, passedbetween the houses which had been left standing at the time of thefire, and those which were in course of reconstruction; and then,following the road down the hill, he reached the bank of the stream,along which the troops had marched when coming to search for doctorMorton. He did not, however, pursue the road towards Coleshill; but,turning sharp away to the left, along a path through some meadowswatered by a small rivulet, he kept, between himself and the abbey, arow of tall osiers, which screened the path from the hamlet. At thedistance of about half a mile was a coppice of some four or fivehundred acres; and from beyond that might be seen, with an interval oftwo or three undulating fields, a much more extensive wood, though itdid not deserve the name of a forest. Towards the edge of the latterthe young man bent his steps, following still the little path, whichseemed rarely beaten by the busy tread of men's feet; for the greenblades of grass, though somewhat pressed down and crushed, by no meanssuffered the soil to appear.
Indeed, it was a wild and solitary scene, with just sufficientcultivation visible to render the loneliness more sensible. The youngman, however, seemed to know all the paths right well; for though theysometimes branched to the one hand, and sometimes to the other, andsometimes could hardly be traced amongst the grass, yet he walked onsteadily, without any doubt or hesitation, and at length entered thewood, near a spot where stood a tall red post.
He had nearly a mile farther to go, after this point was reached; andhis course led him through many a wild glade and bowery avenue, tillat length he came to a spot highly cultivated, which seemed to havebeen reclaimed from the wood. Immediately in front of him, and at theother side of this patch of cultivated ground, was a neat woodenhouse, of one story in height, but with glass windows, and even twochimneys; great rarities in those days. The whole front was coveredwith wild honeysuckle, rich in its unceasing blossoms; and everywindow, as well as the door, looked like a pleasant bower. Approachingwith a light step, through a number of rose bushes, which were plantedin front of the house, the young man knocked hard at the door with hisknuckles; and in a moment after it was opened, and he went in.
He did not see or remark, however, that he had been followed on histrack. When he first came forth from the house upon the green, therehad been protruded, beyond the angle of a new building on the oppositeside, a face very nearly black in hue, and surmounted by a turban. Itwas instantly withdrawn; but when the young man hurried down towardsthe stream, a figure, clad almost altogether in white, glided frombehind the new houses; and bending almost to the ground, in a positionwhich it would be difficult for European limbs to assume, the swarthywatcher marked with a keen and flashing eye the course the youth took,and, the moment he disappeared behind the osiers, darted down with thespeed of lightning, leaped a low enclosure, went straight through thelittle rivulet, though it was more than knee-deep, and followed italong its course, keeping the opposite bank to that which was pursuedby the person he was watching. When he had come within about ten yardsof the end of the row of osiers, he paused, and, bending his head,listened attentively. A footfall met his ear. It was upon soft greenturf; but yet he heard it; and he remained perfectly still andmotionless for a minute or two, then waded through the rivulet oncemore, and creeping gently in amongst the willows, gazed eagerly up theside of the hill. The young man's figure was there before him, atabout fifty yards distance; and from that sheltered spot the otherwatched him nearly to the edge of the wood. As soon as he disappeared,his pursuer crept softly out, and, bending low, hurried up to theslope where the figure had been lost to his eyes.
There was a gentle dip in the ground at that point; but when the Arablifted his head, and gazed around, nothing was to be seen but thegreen branches of the wood, about a couple of hundred yards inadvance, and three small paths, separating a few feet from where hestood, and then leading amongst the trees at points considerablydistant from each other. Instantly, however, the Arab knelt down uponthe ground, and seemed to examine the grass upon the path, with a keenand searching eye, and on his hands and knees advanced slowly to wherethe point of separation came. There he paused, scrutinized that to theright, and that to the left, and then that in the middle, following iton, in the same position, for several yards. Then, starting on hisfeet, he bounded forward along it like a deer, and entered the wood.There the ground was sandy; and though the little paths were many andintricate, a long line of foot prints guided him on aright till hereached the little cultivated farm, just at the very moment the youngman was entering the house.
Drawing back at once, the Arab concealed himself amongst the tangledbushes, and slowly and quietly made an aperture, by pulling off theleaves, so as to have the door of the building full in his sight. Thenkneeling down, with his arms crossed upon his chest, he kept his eyes,motionless and hardly winking, upon the front of the house, for wellnigh twenty minutes. At the end of that time, the door opened, and theyoung man came forth again, with what seemed a written paper in hishand; and, behind him, the watcher saw a fair and well-rememberedface. The door was shut immediately again; and Ibn Ayoub bent himselfdown, till he was completely covered by the bushes. A moment or twoafter, the son of the abbey gardener passed by the place of the Arab'sconcealment, and as soon as there had been time for him to make someprogress on his homeward way, Ibn Ayoub rose and followed slowly.
Some four or five hours later in the day, Chartley sat in the smallchamber of an inn, with his head resting upon his hand, and his eyesbent gloomily down. It was not a usual mood with him; butdisappointment after disappointment will sink the lightest heart. Aman feels a feather no weight, but yet he may be smothered with many.
"There is Arden," he thought, as he heard the sound of horses' feetbelow; "and he is happy. All consenting, all rejoicing, to think thata fair penniless girl has won the heart of one of the richest andnoblest men in England; while I--as careless to the full of money orstate as he, am made wretched because this sweet Iola is an heiress.Curse on this wealth! Would there were none of it; we should all behappier then. But am I envious? That is not right. Well, well, Icannot help it. He must not see it, however. Well, Arden, what news?You have of course seen Constance. Has she had any tidings?"
"Yes, as before," said Arden; "a few words found on her table. 'Tellhim I am well, and safe,' so ran the writing; 'bid him be of goodheart. I will keep my word, and send if there be danger.' That wasall, but it was in her own writing. Methinks, Chartley, it were aswell to give up this pertinacious search. If you discover her, may itnot draw other eyes too upon her place of refuge? The king, dependupon it, has us closely watched."
"I do not think it," answered Chartley; "and, besides, how can I feeleasy, not knowing in what direction she may need my aid, When she doesneed it? One mistake might ruin all our hopes. Oh, could I butdiscover her, Arden, my tongue would soon find words to win her toinstant flight, as the only means of safety--as the only means ofinsuring that she is not forced into this loathed marriage, and I amnot driven to cut Fulmer's throat or my own. Ha, Ibn Ayoub, where hastthou been all day?"
"On my lord's business," said the Arab, and was silent again, seatinghimself quietly on the floor in the corner of the room; a custom whichh
e had whenever he wished to talk with his master privately. On theseoccasions, nothing would induce him to speak openly; for, though aslave, Ibn Ayoub had a will of his own end exercised it; and Chartleywell knew that it was in vain to bid him give his tidings, or ask hisquestion in Arden's presence. The good knight, however, soon retiredto his own chamber; and Chartley, fixing his eyes upon the Arab, whoremained perfectly silent, demanded what he had been doing.
"Seeking that which is lost," replied the slave, rising and standingbefore his master.
"And hast thou found it?" asked Chartley, with his heart beating; forthere was an air of grave importance about the man, from which he, whohad known him well for some three or four years, argued aconsciousness of success.
"I have, my lord," replied Ibn Ayoub. "Thou once didst pour balm intomy wounds, and hold cool water to my thirsty lips. I can now do thesame for thee. She whom thou hast lost is found. I heard theeinquiring how it could be, that the lady sent letters to the otherlady. From what I had seen, at the castle of the old man, I guessedthe secret messenger, tracked him, and saw the lady's face. Now, thoucan'st go thither when thou wilt?"
"Did she see thee, Ibn Ayoub?" demanded Chartley, adding, in the samebreath, "What did she say?"
"She saw me not," replied the Arab. "I was hidden from her sight."
Farther explanations ensued; but, as so often happens with every manin the course of life, the first step thus taken in advance broughtits doubts and difficulties with it. But Chartley was impetuous, andhe felt it impossible to refrain. As to telling him the name of theplace where Iola had found refuge, or describing it, so that hehimself could judge exactly where it was, that the Arab could not do;but he offered to guide his lord thither, whenever he pleased,averring truly that he had noted every step of the way so well hecould make no mistake.
"How far?" demanded Chartley.
"One hour, with fleet horses," answered the man.
"Well, then, to-morrow at daybreak, we will set out," replied hismaster. "Say nought to any one, but have our horses prepared, and wewill away with the first ray of dawn."
This course was followed; and, while Arden was still quietly sleepingin his bed, Chartley and the Arab were on their way towards the houseof the old franklin, Elias Ames. With the certainty of a dog trackinga deer, Ibn Ayoub led his master along every step of the way which thegardener's son had pursued on the preceding day, except in as much ashe circled round the foot of the little rise on which the abbey stood,and reached the end of the row of osiers by crossing the meadows. Thewhole journey occupied as near as possible an hour; and at the end ofthat time Chartley had the franklin's house, and the cultivated landaround it, before him.
"There," said Ibn Ayoub, pointing with his hand. "She dwells there."
"Well then," said Chartley, springing to the ground, "lead the horsesin amongst the trees, where they cannot be seen. I will give thesignal when I come out. She may be angry," he thought; "but womenlittle know, I believe, the eager impatience which a man who lovestruly feels to see again the lady of his heart, after a long absence."
Thus saying, he walked along the path, and approached the house. Thewindows were all closed with their wooden shutters; and he circled itall round, without finding means of entrance.
"It may alarm her, if I rouse the house suddenly," he thought; and,retreating to the edge of the wood again, he remained watching forabout half an hour longer. Then the old man himself and a stout womanservant came forth from the door, and took down the boards from thewindows; and when that was done, the good franklin walked away down alittle dell to the right, as if to superintend his own affairs for theday. Chartley waited till he was gone; and by that time the woman hadre-entered the house; but he heard, or fancied he heard, the tones ofa sweet well-known voice speaking to her as she went in. He thencrossed the space between, hesitated for a moment as to whether heshould knock at the door or not, but at length laid his hand upon thelatch, and opened it without farther ceremony.
The passages in the house formed a cross, dividing it into four equalparts. Before him, all was vacant; and he could see clear through, bya door at the back, into a little orchard behind; but he heard awoman's voice speaking on the left, and now he was sure that she wasanswered in the tones of Iola. Walking on then, he turned up thepassage on that side, and saw the woman servant coming forth from thedoor of a room. She closed the door suddenly behind her, when shebeheld a man in the passage, and demanded sharply what he wanted.
"I wish to speak with the lady in that room," replied Chartley. "Whenshe knows who it is, she will see me, I am sure."
"Nonsense, nonsense, young man," replied the woman. "There is no ladythere. That is a store room."
"Then your stores speak, my good woman," answered Chartley; "for Iheard a voice which I know right well talking to you."
"Go away, go away," replied the woman, who, in the dark passage whereChartley stood, could not see his dress, or judge of his station. "Goaway, or I will call in the men to make you."
"All the men in the neighbourhood would not make me," answeredChartley aloud. "At least, not till I see that lady. Tell her it isLord Chartley. If she bids me go, I will."
The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the door through whichthe woman had just passed was thrown open, light suddenly streamedinto the passage, and Iola herself ran out, exclaiming: "Chartley, isthat you? Nay, nay, you are rash indeed. You should not have come."
"But, now I have come, you will not bid me go," said Chartley, takingher hand, and kissing it. He put some restraint upon himself to keephis lips from hers.
"I cannot bid you go at once," answered Iola, bending her eyes down,with the colour rising in her cheek; "but you must go soon, and notreturn again, unless I send."
"This is hard," answered Chartley; "but still, I shall not feel it somuch now I know where you are, and can hover round the neighbourhood,like a dove over its nest, watching the treasure of its love."
"Nay, Chartley, you are no dove," answered Iola, with a smile. "Openthat other door, Catherine, and watch well from the windows that noone approaches. Come in hither, Chartley," she continued, as the womanopened the door of a room opposite to that from which she had come."Here is my little hall. No grand reception room, yet sweet andpleasant."
A floor of dried and hard beaten clay, a low roof with all the raftersshown, walls covered with mere whitewash, an unpolished oaken table,and seats of wood, did not make the room seem less bright and sweet toChartley when Iola was there. She herself was dressed as a merecottage girl, and doubtless, when the mantle and hood, then worn inthe middle and lower ranks of life, were added, an unobserving eyemight hardly have recognized her; but she did not look less lovely tothe eyes of him who sat beside her.
They were sweet, sweet moments which those two passed together; and,perchance, it were hardly fair to tell all that they said and did.Iola owned that it was sweet to see him once again, after so long aseparation and so much anxiety and care; but yet she told himearnestly that he must not come again.
"A few days now," she said, "must determine everything. There arerumours busy in the land, Chartley, and which reach even my ears, thatthere will be a fresh struggle for the throne. Let us not call theeyes of the watchful king upon us, nor by any rash act run the risk offalling into his power. I am told that he has spies in everydirection--even here; and I feel by no means sure that he has notdiscovered more than we could wish. But one thing is certain, that, ifwe wait till he finds himself assailed upon the throne, the hurry andconfusion which must prevail will give us opportunities which we donot now possess. Then, Chartley, I will redeem my plighted word toyou, and, whenever I know the moment, will let you hear, and stake thehappiness of my life upon your faith and truth. But, even then, I mustmake some conditions."
Chartley mused; and Iola thought it was the word "conditions" whichsurprised and made him thoughtful; but it was not so.
"These reasonings on the passing events must have been prompted toher," he thought. "They are not
those of Iola herself."
She went on, however, under the impression I have stated, and that ina gayer tone, because she thought the stipulations she was going tomake were not likely to be refused.
"My conditions are very hard ones," she said, "and may well plunge youin a reverie, noble lord. They are that, when I am your wife, I may benever asked, why I go not to confession--"
She looked up in his face with a smile, and added:
"The truth is, I have so many and such heinous sins, that I fear toconfess to the priest, lest I should not be able, or willing, toperform the penance."
Chartley laughed, saying: "You shall confess them all to me, dear one;and I shall only thank Heaven that the secrets of your heart are toldto none but your husband and your God."
"Oh, you are a heretic, Chartley!" cried Iola, with a gay and meaninglook in his face. "So men would think you, at least, if they heardsuch words. Perhaps I may think differently. Moreover, you shall notcall me to account if I neglect some other ceremonial parts of what weare taught to believe religious duties."
Now she looked somewhat timidly at him, as if she did not know how farshe could venture to go; and Chartley's face had certainly becomegraver than she had ever seen it. He pressed her hand tenderly betweenhis own, however, and said, "Dear Iola, I will covenant generally withyou, in no degree to meddle with such things. Your words may surpriseme and take me unaware; but this I promise, that I will interfere innought which concerns your religious belief; for I think I understandyou, though how all this has come about I cannot, and do not, divine.One thing, however, my Iola, may be decided upon between us at once.If you are searching for truth, let me search with you. Let our mindsbe bent together to the same great object; but, at the same time, forour own sakes, and each for the sake of the other, let us be carefulin all these matters; for I have already arrived at this conclusion,that those who rule in every spiritual matter would shut out lightfrom us, and bar the way with the faggot, and the cord, and the sword,against all who do seek for truth."
A look of bright, almost angelic, joy had come upon Iola's countenanceas he spoke; and she answered in a low but solemn tone:
"I have found it, Chartley--that truth which you mention."
"Where?" asked Chartley, eagerly.
"I will show you," she replied, "when, with my husband by my side, Ican pour out to him, pledged and plighted to me for ever, all thethoughts of a heart which shall never be opened to any other mortalbeing. Your words, Chartley, have been to me a blessing and anassurance. Oh, God, I thank thee. My last fear and doubt are removed!Now let us talk of other things; for you must go indeed. Tell me whereyou will fix your abode for the next few days. Then I shall not needto watch you; for I have been obliged to place spies upon you, inorder to know where to find you in case of need."
"I will fix my quarters at Atherston," answered Chartley. "But are youa little queen, that you have spies at will, and messengers over allthe land, with castle gates flying open before you, and means oftravelling invisible to human eyes. How was it, in Heaven's name, youescaped from Chidlow castle; for I have heard nothing more than themere assurance which you sent Constance the day after, that you werein safety."
"I must not tell you all," answered Iola, gravely, "at least, not yet,Chartley; but this much I may say, though it will sound very strangeto your ears, that there are many, very many--ay, thousands uponthousands--of people in this land, all linked together by ties themost sacred, who have been forced, by long and bitter persecutions, toestablish means of communicating with each other, and of aiding andassisting each other in time of need. They are to be found in thecourts of princes, in the mart, the church, and the camp; but they areknown only to each other, and not always even that. They are innocentof all offence, peaceable, blameless; yet, if they be discovered,death is the punishment for the mere thoughts of the mind. I tell youthey are many, Chartley. They are increasing daily, in silence and insecret; but the time will come, and that ere long, when their voicewill be heard, aloud and strong; and no man shall dare to bid itcease. To them I owe much help. But now indeed we must part."
The parting lasted well nigh as long as the interview; and, though ithad its pain, yet Chartley went with a happier heart, and with hopeand expectation once more burning as bright as ever.