One Snowy Night Part 51

It's nought to me; so long as she makes thee a good wife I care nought who she is; but if I know nothing, I can say nothing. Only, if I knew thou wouldst as lief hold thy peace o'er it, I would not ask thee again."

"She is the best wife and the best woman that ever breathed," replied Stephen earnestly: "and you are right, old man--I don't want to tell it."

"Then keep thine own counsel," answered his brother. "Farewell, and G.o.d speed thee!"

Stephen turned back, and Osbert stood for a moment looking after him.

"If I thought it possible," said the porter to himself,--"but I don't see how it could be any way--I should guess that the name of Stephen's wife began and ended with an _e_. I am sure he was set on her once--and that would account for any reluctance to name her: but I don't see how it could be. Well! it doesn't matter to me. It's a queer world this."

With which profoundly original and philosophical remark, Osbert turned round and went home.

"Well, what is it?" cried Anania, the moment he entered.

"Let me unlade my brains," said Osbert, "for I'm like a basket full of apples; and if they are not carefully taken out, they'll be bruised and good for nought. Stephen's children are called Edild, Agnes, Osbert, and Derette--"

"But his wife! it's his wife I want to know about."

"Dear, now! I don't think he told me that," said Osbert with lamb-like innocence, as if it had only just occurred to him.

"Why, that was what you went for, stupid!"

"Well, to be sure!" returned Osbert in meek astonishment, which he acted to perfection. "He told me the cat's name, if that will suit you instead."

"I wish the cat were inside you this minute!" screamed Anania.

"Thank you for your kind wishes," replied Osbert with placid amiability.

"I'm not sure the cat would."

"Was there ever any mortal thing in this world so aggravating as a man?"

demanded Anania, in tones which were not placid by any means. "Went down to Kepeharme Lane to find something out, and came back knowing ne'er a word about it! Do you think you've any brains, you horrid tease?"

"Can't say: never saw them," answered Osbert sweetly.

"I wonder if you have your match in the county!"

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that."

"Well, at any rate, first thing to-morrow morning, if you please, back you go and ask him. And mind you don't let him slip through your fingers this time. He's as bad as an eel for that."

"First thing! I can't, Anania. The Earl has sent word that he means to fly the new hawks at five o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Bother the--hawks! Couldn't you go again to-night?"

"No, they'll be gone to bed by now. Why, wife, what on earth does it matter to thee?"

Anania's reply to this query was so sharp a snarl that Osbert let her alone thereafter.

The next morning, when released from his duties, he went again to Kepeharme Lane--to hear that Stephen had set out on his return journey half-an-hour before. "Well, now, it's plain to me what _that_ means!"

announced Anania solemnly, when this distressing fact was communicated to her. "He's married somebody he's ashamed of--some low creature, quite beneath him, whom he doesn't care to own. That must be the explanation. She's no better than she should be; take my word for it!"

"That's quite possible," said Osbert drily. "There's another or two of us in that predicament."

Anania flounced over on her couch, thereby making herself groan.

"You are, and no mistake!" she growled.

"Father Vincent said, when he married us, that you and I were thenceforth one, my dearest!" was the pleasing response.

"What in the name of wonder I ever wished to marry you for--!"

"I will leave you to consider it, my darling, and tell me when I come back," said Osbert, shutting the door and whistling the _Agnus_ as he went up Castle Street.

"Well, if you aren't the worst, wickedest, aggravatingest man that ever worrited a poor helpless woman," commented Anania, as she turned on her uneasy couch, "my new boots are made of pear jelly!"

But it did not occur to her to inquire of what the woman was made who habitually tormented that easy-tempered man, nor how much happier her home might have been had she learnt to bridle her own irritating tongue.

Note 1. Close Roll, 32 Henry Third. About 5 pence per loaf according to modern value.

Note 2. The Bishop of Lincoln who sat on the Council of Oxford was Robert de Chesney. He died on January 26th, 1168, and was succeeded by the King's natural son, Geoffrey Plantagenet, a child of only nine years of age. Such were the irregularities in the "apostolical succession"

during the "ages of faith!"

Note 3. Even Wycliffe taught that no man could know whether he were elected to salvation or not.

Note 4. The Blue Boar in Saint Aldate's Street really belongs to a later date than this.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

REUNITED.

"With mercy and with judgment My web of time He wove, And ay the dews of sorrow Were l.u.s.tred with His love: I'll bless the hand that guided, I'll bless the heart that planned, When throned where glory dwelleth, In Immanuel's land."

Mrs Cousins.

It was a very tiny house in Tower Street, at the corner of Mark Lane.

There were but two rooms--above and below, as in Isel's house, but these were smaller than hers, and the lower chamber was made smaller still by a panel screen dividing it in two unequal parts.

The front division, which was a very little one, was a jeweller's shop; the back was larger, and was the family living-room. In it to-night the family were sitting, for business hours were over, and the shop was closed.

The family had a singular appearance. It consisted of four persons, and these were derived from three orders of the animate creation. Two were human. The third was an aged starling, for whose convenience a wicker cage hung in one corner; but the owner was hopping in perfect freedom about the hearth, and occasionally varying that exercise by pausing to give a mischievous peck to the tail of the fourth, a very large white and tan dog. The dog appeared so familiarised with this treatment as scarcely to notice it, unless the starling gave a harder peck than usual, when he merely moved his tail out of its way, accompanying the action in specially severe cases by the most subdued of growls, an action which seemed to afford great amus.e.m.e.nt to that impertinent and irrepressible fowl.

The relationship of the human inhabitants of the little chamber would not have been easy to guess. The elder, seated on a cushioned bench by the fire, was one whose apparent age was forty or perhaps rather more.

She was a woman of extremely dark complexion, her hair jet-black, her eyes scarcely lighter--a woman who had once been very handsome, and whose lost youth and beauty now and then seemed to flash back into her face, when eagerness, anger, or any other strong feeling lent animation to her features. The other was a young man about half her years, and as unlike her as he well could be. His long flaxen hair waved over a brow as white as hers was dark, and his eyes were a light clear blue. He sat on a stool in front of the fire, gazing into the charred wooden embers with intent fixed eyes. The woman had glanced at him several times, but neither had spoken for above half an hour. Now she broke the silence.

"Well, Ralph?"

"Well, Mother?" echoed the youth with a smile. Both spoke in German--a language then as unfamiliar in England as Persian.