CHAPTER IX.
In a small cell, of size and proportion exactly similar to those ofthe nuns, though somewhat differently arranged and decorated, lay avery beautiful girl sound asleep. A light coif of network confined, orstrove to confine, the rich glossy curling hair; but still a longringlet struggled away from those bonds, and fell over a neck as whiteas ivory. The eyes, the bright, beautiful, speaking eyes, the soul'sinterpreters, were closed, with the long sweeping black eyelashesresting on the cheek; but still the beautiful and delicate line of thefeatures, in their quiet loveliness, offered as fair a picture as evermet mortal sight. Stretched beyond the bedclothes too, was thedelicate hand and rounded arm, with the loop, which fastened thenight-dress round the wrist, undone, and the white sleeve pushed backnearly to the elbow. One might have sworn it was the hand and arm ofsome marvellous statue, had it not been for the rosy tips of thedelicate fingers, and one small blue vein through which the flood ofyoung and happy life was rushing.
The dull and heavy tolling of the great bell woke her not, though thesound evidently reached her ear, and had some indistinct effect uponher mind, for the full rosy lips of her small mouth parted, showingthe pearly teeth beneath; and some murmuring sounds were heard, ofwhich the only word distinguishable was "matins."
The next instant, however, her slumber was broken, for the abbessstood beside her with a lamp in her hand, and shook her shoulder,saying "Iola, Iola!"
The fair girl started up and gazed in her aunt's face bewildered; andthen she heard the sullen tolling of the great bell, and various othersounds which told her that some unusual events were taking place.
"Quick, Iola," cried the abbess, "rise and dress yourself. I have atask for you to perform in haste, my child.--There, no care for yourtoilette. Leave your hair in the net. Lose not a moment; for this is amatter of life and death."
"What it is, my dear lady mother?" asked Iola, trying to gather hersenses together.
"It is to convey one, whom his persecutors have followed even hither,to a place of safety," replied the abbess. "Listen, my child, andreply not. The friar you saw this night is a high and holy man,unjustly persecuted by an usurping king. That he has taken refuge herehas been discovered. The abbey is menaced by a power we cannot resist.It would be searched, the sanctuary violated, and the good man tornfrom the altar, to imprisonment, or perhaps death, had I not the meansof conveying him beyond the walls--ay, and beyond the reach of danger.You must be his guide, Iola, for I must not reveal the secret to anyof the sisters; and if Constance is to take the veil, as has beenproposed, she must not know it either."
"Constance will not take the veil, dear aunt," replied Iola quietly;"but I am quite ready to do whatever you will, and to help to theutmost of my power. But cannot the good man find the way himself if hebe told, for I am as ignorant of it as he is?"
"He could find his way through the passage," replied the abbess,"easily enough, but not through the wood when he issues forth."
"Oh, I can guide him there, as well as Boyd's great hound Ban,"answered the gay girl, "but where am I to take him, dear aunt?"
"First to the cell of St. Magdalen," answered the elder lady, "andthence by the wood walks to Boyd's cottage. If you push the door thatcloses the end of the passage strongly, you will find that it opensone of the panels at the back of the shrine. Mind you leave it ajar,however, till you come back; for, once closed, you will not be able toopen it from that side. Then keep down the wood-road to the east, andmost likely you will meet Boyd; for he will be watching. If not, gostraight on to his house, and then return at once. I will let you intothe chapel as soon as the men are gone.--Now, child, are you ready?"
"One moment, dear aunt, one moment," answered Iola. "Where is myhood?--I cannot clasp this gorget."
"Let me try," cried the abbess; but her trembling hands would notperform the work; and at last Iola succeeded herself.
"There is your hood, child," cried her aunt. "Now come--come quick. Weshall have them at the gates before you are gone."
Hurrying along as fast as possible, she led her fair niece throughseveral of the long vaulted passages of the abbey, and thence, by herown private entrance, into the chapel. The door leading to the nuns'gallery was locked; but one of the keys at the abbess's girdle soonopened it; and, advancing to the grated screen, she looked down intothe choir before she ventured to descend.
All was still and quiet. The glimmering light from the shrine of St.Clare afforded a view up and down the church, and no human form was tobe seen. Neither was any sound heard, except the swinging of the greatbell, as it continued to pour forth its loud vibrating call forassistance over the whole country round. Through the richly ornamentedwindows, however, came flitting gleams of many-coloured light, aslanterns and torches were carried across the court, between the chapeland the portal; and once or twice the sounds of voices were heard; butthe abbess distinguished the tongue of the porter, speaking with thepeasants as they hurried in.
"I cannot see him," whispered the abbess, after looking down for amoment or two into the body of the church. "There can be surely nomistake."
Iola took a step forward, and put her face to the grate. "He may bebehind that pillar," she said. "Yes, don't you see, dear aunt? Thelight from the shrine casts the shadow of something like a man uponthe pavement?"
"Let us go down, let us go down," answered the abbess. "If he be notthere, nobody else is, so we need not be afraid;" and, opening thedoor, leading to the lower part of the chapel, she descended thespiral staircase which was concealed in one of the large columns thatsupported both the roof of the building, and the gallery in which theyhad been standing. The light foot of Iola made little sound upon thepavement of the nave, as they proceeded towards the high altar; butthe less elastic tread of the abbess in her flat-soled sandal sooncalled from behind the pillar a figure in a friar's gown and cowl.
In a calm and not ungraceful attitude, the old man waited for theircoming; and when the light of the abbess's lamp shone upon his face,it displayed no signs of fear or agitation. "I have locked the door,sister," he said, "as you desired me; but I almost feared I had madesome mistake, when I found you did not come; for I have been here fromthe moment the bell began to toll."
"I had to wake my niece to guide you, reverend and dear lord," repliedthe abbess; "but now let us hasten; for no time is to be lost. I amterrified for your safety. To stay were ruin, and there is even perilin flight."
"There was as much in the flight from Brecknock," answered the bishopcalmly; "but I am ready, my sister; lead the way.--And so you are tobe my guide, my fair child?" he continued, as they followed theabbess. "Are you not frightened?"
"No, father," answered Iola quietly. "God will, I trust, protect me;and I think there is more danger here than in the forest."
By this time they had passed round the great altar, and through a doorin the screen, which separated the choir from the lady chapel behind.Immediately facing them was a large sort of flat pilaster, coveredhalf way up, as was all that part of the building, with old oakpanelling, in many places ornamented with rude sculptures. By a verysimple contrivance the panelling, with which the pilaster was covered,was made to revolve upon hinges, concealed in the angle, where itjoined the wall. The abbess found some difficulty indeed, amongst allthe heads of dragons, and monkeys, and cherubim, and devils, withwhich the woodwork was richly but grotesquely ornamented, to discoverthat which served as a sort of handle. When she had found it, however,the whole of the lower part of the panelling moved back easily enough,and a door was seen behind on the face of the pilaster. It was low andnarrow, suffering only one person to pass at once, and that with abowed head. It was locked also at the moment; but the abbess took thekey from her girdle, and the bishop opened the door easily with hisown hands.
"And now, father, God speed you on your way," cried the abbess, "for Imust go no further. There is the beacon bell ringing, which shows thatthese knaves are in sight. Here, take the lamp with you, Iola. Thepassage is long and dark."
"Heaven's benison be upon you, sister," said the bishop, "and may Godprotect you from all evil consequences of your Christian charitytowards me. Well have you repaid the little kindness I once showedyour brother in times long past, and leave me a debt of gratitudebesides."
"Nay, nay, I beseech you be quick, dear lord," said the lady; and,passing through the doorway, the prelate and his fair guide foundthemselves in a small vaulted chamber, with the end of a long darkpassage open before them. As soon as they had entered, the door wasclosed, and they could hear the screen of panelling which covered itroll back into its place. Iola led the way on through the passagebefore them; and the bishop, after gazing round the vaulted room foran instant, followed with a slower step and in silence. At the end ofsome fifteen or sixteen yards, a small descending flight of stairspresented itself; and Iola ran lightly down, holding the lamp at thebottom, till the bishop descended. He gazed on her beautiful face andfigure with a fatherly smile, as, lifting the lamp above her head, shestood with the light falling on her fair forehead and graceful limbs.
"And so thy name is Iola, my fair daughter," said the bishop, when hereached her side; "and thou art the niece of our good sister theabbess. Which of her brothers is thy father?"
"She has but one still living, my lord," replied Iola. "My father isno more."
"Then you must be the daughter of Richard St. Leger Lord Calverly,"said the bishop; "I knew him well."
"The same, my lord," replied Iola; "and methinks I have heard thatyour lordship once saved his life. If I understood my aunt's wordsrightly but now, and you are the Lord Bishop of Ely, I have heard myuncle, the present Lord Calverly, say that the bishop of Ely had savedhis brother's life, what time the red rose was broken from the stalk."
"I was not the Bishop of Ely then, daughter, but merely RobertMorton," replied the prelate; "one of King Edward's privy council, butone who took no share in policy or party strife, and only strove tomitigate the bloody rigour of a civil war, by touching men's heartswith mercy, when the moment served. The time will come, perhaps, whenmen will marvel that I, who faithfully once served King Henry, shouldserve, when he was dead, as faithfully his great opponent; but I hadpondered well the course before me, and feel my conscience clear. Iasked myself how I might do most good to men of every faction and tomy country; and I can boldly say, my child, that I have saved moresubjects for the crown of England--good honest men too, misled byparty zeal--by interposing to stay the lifted hand of vengeance, thanwere slain by any of the mighty nobles who took part with either sidein these horrible wars. I never changed my faction, daughter, for Inever had one. And now the hatred of the reigning king has pursued me,because he knew right well that I would raise my voice against thewrong he did his brother's children."
To a mind well versed in the world's affairs, the fact of the goodbishop entering into such apologetical explanations, at such a moment,and with such a companion, would have been sufficient to show that hedid not feel quite sure his conduct was without reproach; for wealways put our armour where we know we are weak. But Iola was tooyoung and simple to suspect or to doubt; and she only looked upon himas the good and kind prelate, who, in times of intestine strife, hadinterposed to save her father's life. Joyful then at the task imposedupon her, she walked onward by his side; and the conversation, thusbegun, proceeded in a somewhat lighter tone. The bishop asked her ofher state, her future, her hopes, her wishes, and seemed to forget hisown perilous situation in speaking and thinking of her. He was indeeda very fearless man, not with the rash, bold, enterprising courage ofsome, but with that calm tranquil abiding of results which can neverexist without high hope and confidence in God. He had his faults, asall men have; but still he had many virtues, and, in an age when fewwere religious, felt the truths of Christianity, and knew religion toconsist in something more than forms.
Once their conversation was interrupted by the sound of horses' feet,beating the ground immediately above them; and Iola started and lookedup with an expression of fear.
"They will not break through, my child," said the prelate, with asmile, lifting his eyes to the solid masonry above. "That arch isthick and strong, depend upon it; but I suppose, by those sounds, weare already beyond the abbey walls?"
"I do not know," answered Iola, "for I have never been here before;but the lady abbess tells me, this passage will lead us out into St.Magdalen's cell, and thence I know the way well.
"How far is it?" asked the bishop.
"Oh, a long way," answered the fair girl, by his side, "nearly amile."
She thought only of its distance by the ordinary path, which, as Ihave before said, took various turnings to avoid the ravine and therivulet; but the passage that they were now pursuing, sunk by thesteps which they had descended to a level below all such obstacles,abridged the distance by nearly one half. It is true that the bottomof the bed of the rivulet itself was somewhat lower than the top ofthe arched vault; but nevertheless the latter had been carriedstraight on and cemented, so as to be impervious to the water, whilebroken rocks and stones had been piled up above, concealing themasonry, and forming a little cascade in the stream. Thus, when theyreached that spot, the rush and murmur of the waterfall was heard,and, turning her bright eyes to the prelate's face, Iola said:
"We must be passing under the river, I think."
"It is not unlikely, daughter," replied the bishop. "In other lands,which you most likely have never seen, I have beheld vast structuresfor carrying rivers from hill to hill, raised on high arches,underneath which the busy world of men passed to and fro, while thestream flowed overhead."
"I have heard of such things," replied Iola; "and oh, how I long tosee those lands and to dream of all that mighty men have done informer days. How strange it is that such arts have not come down tous. Here we see nothing between the huge castle with its frowningtowers, or the lordly church with its spires and pinnacles, and thewood cottage of the peasant, or the humble abode of the franklin."
"The bishop smiled at her.
"You have been but little in cities, my child," he said; "but yourobservation is just. It is strange that the arts of other ages havenot descended to us; for one would suppose, if anything on earth couldbe permanent, it would be that knowledge and that skill which tend tothe elevation, the protection, and the comfort of the human race,especially when the wonders they have performed, and the monumentsthey have raised, are still before our eyes, although in ruins. Butbirth, life, death, and corruption are the fate of nations, as well asof men, of systems as well as creatures, of the offsprings of thehuman mind as well as of the inheritors of the corporeal frame. As inthe successions of the human race, however, we see the numbers of thepopulation still increasing, notwithstanding periods of devastationand destruction; as those who are born and die give birth to more thantheir own decease subtracts, so probably the loss of the arts, thesciences, even the energies which one nation or one epocha hasproduced, is succeeded by the production of arts, sciences, energies,more numerous, if not more vigorous, in the nation or epocha whichfollows. But these have again their childhood, their maturity, theirdecay; and society with us, my daughter, is perhaps still in itsinfancy--I believe indeed it is."
Iola gazed at him surprised, and somewhat bewildered, for he had ledher mind beyond its depth; and the good prelate read the expressionaright, and replied to it--
"You are surprised at such reasonings," he said, "because you are notaccustomed to them; but I believe those people above would be moresurprised, if they knew that, at the very moment they are seeking meto destroy me, I am walking along calmly beneath their feet, talkingphilosophy with a fair young creature like yourself."
He spoke with a smile, and then cast down his eyes in a musing mood,but, still that high intelligent smile remained upon his lips, as ifhe found some amusement in watching the working of his own mind,amidst the strange circumstances with which fate surrounded him.
The moment after, the passage began to ascend, not exactly by steps,though the broad flat stones with whi
ch it was paved rose a little,one above the edge of the other, rendering the path somewhat rough anddifficult. This lasted not long, however, and the bishop, raising hiseyes, observed--
"There seems a door before us. Have you got the key?"
"It will open, on being pressed hard," replied Iola; "but I cannotthink we have reached the cell yet. The way has seemed so short."
So it proved however; and approaching the door, she attempted to pushit open, but it resisted her efforts. The bishop however aided; thedoor moved back; and, holding it open, he desired Iola to pass throughinto the cell which was now before them. It was a low vaulted Gothicchamber, opening on the side of the hill, by an arch with an irongrate, and having on one side a shrine and little altar. The bishopfollowed his fair guide into this small chapel; but Iola herself hadforgotten her aunt's injunction regarding the door. The bishop let itslip from his hand, as he passed through; and it closed at once,leaving no trace of its existence in the old woodwork of the walls.Had Iola recollected the difficulty she might have in returning, shewould certainly have been alarmed; and the sudden close of the doorwould probably have brought her aunt's warning to her remembrance, hadnot a sight been presented to her, immediately on entering the chapel,which at once occupied all her attention. Through the low archwaywhich I mentioned appeared the walls and towers of the abbey, lightedup by the flame of the beacon, and by a blaze, red and smoky as ifproceeding from torches both in the great courtyard between the chapeland the portal, and on the little green before the great gates. Thegreen itself, was partly hidden by the priest's house and thecottages; but under the walls, to the north and west of the building,were seen several groups of men on horseback; and the sounds of loudvoices speaking, and of men calling to one another, were borne to theear distinctly, for the great bell by this time had ceased to toll,and there was no other sound to interrupt the murmur of the voicesfrom the abbey.
By a natural impulse, Iola clasped her fair hands together, anduttered a low exclamation of fear; but the bishop gazed calmly forthfor a moment, and then said--
"We had better hasten on our way, my child. Extinguish the lamp--Here,set it down here. We must not show ourselves more than we we can help,lest any eye should be turned this way."
"We must pass through the grate," said Iola, recalled to herself bythe prelate's words; "for there is no other way out; but if we runquickly round to the back of the building, no one will see us."
"Let us go one at a time," said the bishop. "It is well to take everyprecaution, though I do not think the light is sufficiently strong toshow us to those on the opposite side of the valley."
"Turn sharp to the right," said Iola, opening the iron grate, for theprelate to pass through; and, as soon as he was gone, she followed andrejoined him at the back of the building. "Now this way, this way,"she continued hastily, anxious to lead him away from dangers, theimminence of which seemed now for the first time to strike her; andguiding him along one of the forest paths, she hurried on with a quickstep, saying with one of her gay short laughs:
"They would not easily find us here. I could lead them through such alabyrinth that they would not know which way to turn to get out."
"You seem to know the forest well, daughter," said the bishop, in agood-humoured tone. "I fear me you have been fonder of rambling in thewoods than conning dry lessons in the abbey of St. Clare."
He spoke in a gay and kindly manner, which conveyed no reproof; butIola blushed a little while she answered--
"Surely! My dear aunt has not been very severe with me; and every day,when the sun was bright and the skies blue, I have gone out--sometimeswith my girl Alice, sometimes alone, sometimes on foot, sometimes on amule, sometimes to bear a message to woodman or tenant, sometimes forpure idleness. And yet not pure idleness either, my lord; for I do notknow why, but amidst these old trees and upon the top of the hill,where I catch a view of all the woods and fields and rivers below,bright and beautiful and soft, it seems as if my heart rose up toHeaven more lightly than under the vault of the chapel and amongst itstall columns of stone. Then sometimes I sit beneath a spreading oak,and look at its giant limbs, and compare them with the wild anemonethat grows at its foot, and lose myself in musing over the everlastingvariety that I see. But hark! those voices are very loud. They cannotbe coming nearer, surely."
"You are brave at a distance, daughter," said the bishop calmly; "butbe not alarmed. They are only raised a little higher."
"Oh, no," she answered; "I am no coward; and you would see, if theydid come near, I should not lose my wits."
Almost as she spoke, a voice exclaimed, in a one not very loud--
"Who goes there?" and Iola started, and laid her hand on the bishop'sarm, as if to keep him back.
"It is Boyd the woodman's voice, I think," she said in a whisper."Slip in behind that great tree, and I will go on and see."
"Who goes there?" repeated the voice again raised higher; and Iola,taking a step or two forward, demanded--
"Who is it that asks?"
"Is that you, Lady Iola?" said the voice, as soon as the woman's tonewas distinguished.
"Yes," answered Iola. "Is it Boyd who speaks?"
"The same," answered the woodman. "Have you brought him? Where is he?Is he safe?"
"He is here, he is here," answered Iola. "Father, this is Boyd thewoodman, in whom you can fully trust."
"Ah, lady, lady," murmured the woodman, coming forward, "where is theman in whom you can fully trust?"
Advancing towards him, Iola and the prelate found that he had beenstanding in a small open space at the angle of two roads, both ofwhich led more or less directly to St. Magdalen's cell. The light onthe spot was faint, but the woodman's tall and powerful figure was notto be mistaken; and, having resigned her charge to him, Iola turned tothe prelate, saying,
"Now I will go back as fast as possible, father."
"Stay a moment, my child," replied the bishop. "May the Almighty blessand protect you, and guide you in safety unto all peace;" and he laidhis hand tenderly on her head.
"Do not go in rashly, lady," said the woodman, "but stay in the littlevaulted chamber at the end of the passage, till you hear matins sungin the chapel. The place will not be free of these rovers till then.If you hear not matins or prime, you may suppose that they still keeppossession. In that case, you had better come away to me, dearlady--you know that I will take care of you."
"Oh, I know that well, Boyd," replied Iola. "Good night, goodnight--see to this reverend father's safety before all things."
"Ay, that will take two good hours at least," said the woodman, "or Iwould go back with you myself, dear lady; but I think you are safeenough alone."
"I have no fear," answered Iola; and she tripped lightly away,retreading the path back towards the cell.
That path led along the rising ground just at the verge of the forest,where the trees were thin and the undergrowth scanty, so that thesounds from the abbey continued to reach the fair girl's ears as shepursued it. She thought she heard the sound of horses' feet somewhatnearer, also, as if coming from the road that led up through theforest. At the same time it seemed to her that a redder glare, and abroader light spread over the sky, reflected thence upon the littlefootway which she trod. "They must have piled more wood upon thebeacon," she thought; but yet she felt some degree of alarm.
Hurrying on, she at length reached the spot where the path passed atthe back of the cell, and turning quickly round the little building,the abbey, with the slight rise on which it stood, was once morebefore her sight. What was her terror and surprise at that moment,when she saw the beacon light extinguished, but a still wider and morefearful glare rising up from the little green, the houses surroundingwhich were all in flames. Several of the wooden cottages were alreadydown, the still burning beams and rafters lying in piles upon theground, like huge bonfires casting up a cloud of sparks into theflickering fiery air above; and across the glare might now be seen anumber of dark figures moving about upon the green, some on horsebac
k,some on foot. From the house of the priests and choristers was risingup a tall spire of flame, sometimes clear and bright, sometimesobscured by a cloud of smoke and sparks; but the abbey itself wasstill unfired, and stood out dark and solemn in the midst of theblaze, with the light gleaming here and there upon the walls andpinnacles.
The first sight startled and horrified her; but she did not pause togaze at it, till she had entered the chapel and closed the iron gate,as if for protection; but then she stood and watched the flames for amoment or two, and at length asked herself what she should do.
"I will go back," she answered, after a moment's thought. "I will notbe absent from my poor aunt's side at such a moment;" and she turnedto seek the door into the passage. Then, for the first time, sheperceived that it was closed, and recollected the warning of theabbess to leave it ajar. She now felt really terrified; and that needof protection and help, that want of something to lean upon and totrust in, which most women experience in the hour of danger, madeitself terribly felt.
"What will become of me? Where shall I go? What shall I do?" shemurmured anxiously; and then, again and again, cast a timid glance atthe burning buildings on the opposite side of the dell. "I will go toBoyd's house," she said at length. "I can find protection there."
But suddenly she remembered what he had said, in regard to the time heshould be occupied in providing for the safety of the bishop; but herdetermination was at length expressed--"I shall be more safe therethan here at all events. I will go;" and, without further hesitation,she crept back into the path again.
Iola now knew for the first time in life, perhaps, what it is to fear,and how the imagination is excited by apprehension. The sight of theburning buildings had shaken her nerves. She crept along as stealthilyas if she feared that every tree was an enemy. She thought she heardsounds too, near at hand as she went on, and then tried to persuadeherself that it was but the waving of the trees in the wind. Then shefelt sure that somebody must be near; she quickened her pace to reacha path which turned suddenly to the right; but at the very entrance,when she reached it, there was standing a figure, the form of whichshe could not distinctly see; but it seemed tall and thin, andgarmented all in white, according to the popular idea of a phantom.She recoiled in terror, and would have fled back again; but theredirectly in her way was another figure; and a voice exclaimed, as shewas turning once more to fly--
"Lady, lady, whither away? Stay yet a moment--stay, it is a friend."
She thought she knew the tones; but, as the stranger approached, shereceded, asking--
"Who is it? Who is it?"
"It is Lord Chartley," he said. "Stay, stay! You are running upondanger."
The last words were needless; for, before they were fully uttered,Iola had not only stopped but sprung forward to meet him.