A Gentleman Player Part 24

From one tune they went to another, and then to a third and fourth. At first it was she that led in the transition; but, at length, having ventured with some trepidation to pa.s.s, of his own initiative, from one piece to another, he had the delight of being immediately accompanied by her. There was in her first note, it was true, an instant's dragging, as if she hesitated under the protest of certain feelings, but finally the yielding was complete, the accompaniment in perfect accord. Thereafter it was he that led, she that followed.

What might he infer from this? Aught beyond the mere outward appearance, the mere indifferent willingness to join in a musical performance for the sake of the aural pleasure? Or was there signified an inner, perhaps unconscious, yielding of the woman's nature to the man's? Was his domination over her, begun, and hitherto maintained, by physical force, at last obtaining the consent of her heart? Marryott dared not think so; he recoiled in horror from the thought, when he saw himself, with her eyes, as her brother's supposed slayer. And then, still viewing himself with her eyes, he was fascinated by that very situation from which he had recoiled. It was, of course, as she must regard it, a tragic situation; in that circ.u.mstance lay both its horror and its fascination.

But did this situation exist? When he remembered that the mere attraction of the one woman for the one man, or the one man for the one woman, ofttimes annihilates all opposing considerations, he knew that this situation was not impossible. To be loved by this woman, even across the abyss of blood she saw between them! The idea possessed and repossessed him, though again and again he put it from him as horrible, or improbable, or both. Perhaps he spoke his thoughts in the notes he drew from his viol; perhaps she spoke thoughts of her own in the language of the virginal; perhaps they spoke unconsciously to each other's deepest hidden comprehension; neither could outwardly a.n.a.lyze an impression received from the other's playing, or certainly know whether that impression had been intended.

The day faded. The snow fell between the window and the trees of the park; fell as thick as ever, but more slowly and gently now, the wind being at less unrest. The firelight danced oddly on the tapestry, the shadows deepened in its brighter radiance. Not a word was uttered. Only the viol and the virginal spoke.

This strange concert was interrupted, at last, by the return of Anthony and Oliver, with a supply of cheese, spice-cakes, and apples, a bottle of wine, a large pot of ale, and a bag of feed for the horses. Marryott caused the wine and a part of the food to be brought to the room in which he sat. The ale and other provisions were served to the men in the hall. Anthony, after supping, and seeing the horses fed, was to keep the usual vigil on the road, as approaching hors.e.m.e.n might not be seen from the window after dark, and as the Puritan had slept the previous night.

"Will you sup in your chamber, or with me at this table?" Hal asked his prisoner.

Without speaking she pointed to the table on which Oliver Bunch had set the eatables. It was that on which the cards and draughts-board were. As the viands, with the gla.s.ses and plate that Bunch had furnished, occupied only the table's end next the fire, the draughts-board was not disturbed. Captor and captive sat opposite each other, as they had sat in the inn near the Newark cross-road. Tom and Francis, having lighted a candle-end brought by Oliver, stood to wait on them; but Hal, handing them a platter on which was a good portion of the supper, bade them go to another part of the room and wait on themselves. He gave them also a gla.s.s of the wine, reserving the rest, with a single gla.s.s, for his prisoner and himself.

The meal went in silence. Darkness fell over the outer world. The candle added little light to that of the fire; hence much of the room was shadowy. Only the table near the fire, where the two sat, was in the glow. Marryott would have spoken, but a spell had fallen upon him like that which had locked his lips on the first day of their travelling.

Sometimes he sighed, and looked at her wistfully. When his eyes met hers, she would glance downward, but without disdain or dislike.

What was in her thoughts? What was her mind toward him? He sought answer in her face, but in vain. When it came to drinking from the same gla.s.s he used, she did so, in obedience to custom, with no sign of antipathy or scruple.

Supper over, Marryott idly turned to the cards lying near at hand. Three of them faced upward. He grasped these, and held them between thumb and forefinger in the light. It was strange. They were the knave of hearts, the queen of spades, the eight of clubs,--a fair man, a dark woman, a battle. Mistress Hazlehurst gave him a glance signifying that she noted the coincidence. He reached for one of the cards that lay face downward, thinking it might foretell the issue of the battle. It was the nine of clubs,--more battle. He smiled amusedly, and looked at her; but her face told nothing. He turned to the draughts-board, which was portable, and carefully drew it nearer without displacing any of the pieces. There were four of each color left on the board. At first glance one could not see that either side had advantage. Hal observed, under his lashes, that Mistress Hazlehurst's look had fallen, with slight curiosity, upon the board. He made a move, with one of the white pieces, and waited. She continued gazing at the board. At length she placed a delicate finger on one of the black pieces, and moved. Hal soon replied.

Thus was the game, left unfinished by players now self-exiled to foreign lands, and who little imagined at this moment by what a strangely matched pair it was taken up, carried on.

And, after all, it ended as a drawn game.

Mistress Hazlehurst, perceiving that one piece of each color was left on the board as a result of an exchange which she had thought would leave two blacks and one white, gave a little shrug of the shoulders; then rose, and walked toward her chamber.

Marryott swiftly seized the candle, and offered it to her, saying:

"We set forth again at midnight. I will knock at your door a little before."

She took the candle, and went from the room; but on her threshold she turned for a moment, and said, softly:

"Good night!"

Marryott stood in a glow of incredulous joy. Her tone, her gracious look, the mere fact of her uttering the civility, or of her volunteering a speech to him, could not but mean that she had softened. Had she come to doubt whether he was indeed her brother's slayer? Or had her heart come to incline toward him despite the supposed gulf of bloodshed that parted them? Either conjecture intoxicated him; the first as with an innocent bliss, the second as with a poignant ecstasy darkly tinged with horror and guilt.

Francis and Tom had fallen asleep where they had sat at supper. Anthony, as Marryott knew, had long since ridden out to keep his cold and lonely watch. Kit and the other men in the hall were asleep, for the sounds of their supper merriment had ceased to come up from below. The horses were in the stables, resting, in readiness for a swift departure. The fire crackled; the wind, having risen again, wailed around the turrets and gables of Foxby Hall, and the snow beat against the window. Marryott took a large book from the case, put it on a chest as a pillow, wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay down with his new and delicious dreams.

From waking dreams, they soon became dreams indeed. For the first night in three, he slept.

CHAPTER XVII.

A WOMAN'S VICTORY

"My heart hath melted at a lady's tears."--_King John._

A shrill whistle roused Marryott from his sleep. He sprang to his feet.

The fire was quite low now; some hours must have pa.s.sed. The whistle was repeated; it came from outside the house, beneath the window. Marryott threw open the cas.e.m.e.nt, letting in a dash of wind and snow, and leaned out. Below him, in the snowy darkness, was Anthony, on horseback.

"How now, Anthony?"

"A score of men have rid into Harmby, from the south. I saw them from this side of the town. I had gone so far back to keep warmth in my horse. 'Tis bitter cold. They stopped at the inn there, these men; whether to pa.s.s the night, or to get fresh horses, I wot not."

"Are they Barnet's men, think you?"

"There is no knowing. The darkness and snow make all men look alike at a distance. They might be the pursuivant's men, or they might be Captain Bottle's friends."

By "Captain Bottle's friends" the Puritan meant Rumney and his robbers.

"Harmby is but four miles away," said Marryott. "An they came on to-night, they would stop here to inquire of our pa.s.sing. Or if they asked further on, and found we had not pa.s.sed, they would soon hound us out. 'Tis well you brought the news forthwith. Anthony!"

"Why, as for that, 'twas eleven by Harmby clock when I turned my back on't. So it must be near starting-time now."

"Then go you to the hall and call the men, and bring the horses to the door. We shall ride by the road, if we can, to leave the trace there.

But if these fellows by chance come up too soon, we shall use the way through the park."

"What of the wounded men, sir?"

"Those that cannot go with us may lie close in some outhouse loft here, with John Hatch to care for them. I'll give him money for their needs.

Look to it all, Anthony. I'll meet you at the hall door."

The Puritan rode off, to round the corner of the wing. Marryott, not waiting to close the cas.e.m.e.nt, awoke Tom Cobble and Francis, and sent them to join the men in the hall, the apprentice still in charge of the page. When these two had gone, Marryott knocked at Mistress Hazlehurst's door.

He waited. Nothing was heard but the wind, and the beating of flakes upon the window. He knocked again.

By roundabout ways came faint and indistinct sc.r.a.ps of the noise attendant upon Anthony's awakening the men.

"Mistress Hazlehurst!" called Marryott, softly. "It is time for us to go."

In the ensuing silence, a vague fear grew within him,--fear for his mission, fear for her. Could aught have befallen her?

"Madam!" he said, a little louder and faster. "I must bid you rise. We must set forth."

Marryott's heart was beating wildly. His was not a time of, nor this the moment for, false delicacy. He flung open the door, and strode into her chamber.

There was yet a little firelight left in the room. It shone upon the bed, of which the curtains were apart. Mistress Hazlehurst lay there, wrapped loosely in her cloak, the hood not up. Her eyes were wide open.

Their depths reflected the red glow of the embers.

She sprang up, and stood beside the bed, her gaze meeting Marryott's. An instant later, she moved as if to step toward him, but seemed to lose her powers, and staggered.

He reached out to catch her, lest she should fall. But she avoided him, and hastened with swift but uncertain steps toward the door. Having neared it, she leaned against the post for support, and raised her hand to her forehead, uttering at the same time a low moan of pain.

"What is the matter?" asked Marryott, going quickly after her.

She moved, as by a desperate summoning of what small strength remained to her, into the outer room. She went as far as to the table near the fireplace. On this table she placed her hands, as if to prevent her sinking to the floor.

"What is the matter?" repeated Marryott, reaching her side in three steps, and putting his arms around her just in time to uphold her from falling.