The Knight of the Golden Melice Part 34

"Be a.s.sured, also, on that head. He will not venture into Boston during our absence, and will so carefully keep out of the way as to allow no opportunity for violence."

How mistaken was the Knight, is already known; but the most consummate tact and profoundest wisdom are not able to guard against every possible emergency.

With conversations of this kind did the two companions beguile the way, on their journey homeward, which occupied somewhat less time than it took to reach the Indian village. It was early in the morning--that is to say, the sun had just risen--when they stood on the edge of the clearing within which stood the Knight's habitation. Here they were met by an Indian, who, to Sir Christopher's inquiry if all was well, answered, sententiously, "All well." On arriving at the house, they found the soldier, Philip, who manifested his joy at seeing them again in a manner contrasting somewhat with that of the phlegmatic native.

After the demonstrations of welcome, Philip said, "I know not, Sir Christopher, whether you have not got away from one danger, only to fall into another. According to my thinking, a man of any spirit may better trust himself with the salvages, whom I find nice, reasonable people enough, who will not interfere with him if he will let them alone, than with the meddlesome, crop-eared knaves down on the Bay."

"Remember in whose presence you are speaking, Philip," said the Knight, "and that it becomes not me to hear those whose amba.s.sador I am, evil spoken of."

"I crave pardon," said Philip; "but, if all tales be true, they deserve no such forbearance. It was out of no friendship, they sent you to be murdered by them Taranteens, nor will they fire a culverin at your return."

"Out with thy news, at once," cried the impatient Arundel, "nor stand there hanging fire, like a musket when the priming is wet. What hast to tell?"

"Ill news, Master Arundel, folk say can travel a mile, while good is putting on his boots; but you seem not to be contented with its haste.

Nay," added Philip, noticing that the Knight began to show impatience, "an' you will have it. It is little less than treason, I fear, they are charging against Sir Christopher. It is a kind of Guy-Fawks plot they are accusing him of hatching--that is to say, that he means to make himself king of both colonies."

"Is that all, Philip," said the Knight, laughing. "By our lady, I have heard worse stories about myself many a time, since I lived in these woods."

"I tell thee, Sir Christopher," said the soldier, earnestly, "this is no laughing matter. If I were in thy place, I would either fall back on Sa.s.sacus and his tribe of Pequots, or gather me forthwith a few hundred salvages, under arms, if you mean to stand your ground. It is true, bows and arrows are beggarly things against muskets, in a fight at arms-length, but at close quarters, knives and tomahawks can do somewhat."

"But, good Philip," said the Knight, "thy words convey little information. Canst not be more precise?"

"All I know," said the soldier, "is, that they say the trouble comes from certain letters which have just arrived from England, charging you, Sir Christopher, with I know not what horrid crimes. The person who told me was sure they were very bad; but what they were, knew, forsooth, no better than I."

"Perhaps the Lady Geraldine will be able to clear up the mystery,"

said the Knight to Arundel. "Let us dismiss all thought of it for the present. There will be time enough hereafter to disquiet ourselves."

"And I will hie me presently," said Arundel, "to Boston, to inform the Governor of your arrival, and to discover, if that be possible, what means the nonsense that has taken possession of Philip, unless Lady Geraldine can explain it, which will save me the trouble. Is it your pleasure to accompany me, or remain you later?"

"I have some trifling duties to attend to," answered Sir Christopher, "and shall remain. It will be enough for thee, with all convenient dispatch, to inform him of the successful issue of our mission."

They now entered the house together, and the Knight went immediately to seek the lady. He was absent but a short time, and, on his return, stated that the only information she had was derived from the soldier.

"She bade me say," he added, "that her prayers have been earnest on thy behalf, and that she welcomes thee again to thy friends."

The young man, (who, meanwhile, had been listening to a communication from Philip,) as was meet, returned thanks, and desired his dutiful service to be presented to the lady.

Upon parting, Sir Christopher instructed him respecting his message.

"Present to the Governor," he said, in conclusion, "my congratulations on the successful issue of our enterprise. Now may the husbandman, fearless, sow his seed, and his wife and little ones look with confidence for his return. Midnight treachery and savage cruelty shall not be known, but each one expect with a joyful heart the rising of the sun. But I counsel no attempt at nearer approach. It is better that the English and the Taranteens should avoid one another. Only therein is safety. Say also that I purpose, after needful rest, to wait upon him tomorrow, to enjoy once more the charm of his gracious society, and to possess him more fully of our deeds."

With these parting words, he waived adieu, and, turning, sought the apartment of Lady Geraldine.

The door was opened, as before, by the little Indian girl, Neebin, who, as soon as she had admitted the Knight, ran to the side of the lady, and, falling on her knees, began with curious eyes to examine a book which the lady held in her lap.

The Knight looked affectionately at the child, and, approaching her, placed his hand upon the raven hair that fell low upon the shoulders, and, caressing the bent head, said gently:

"Good little Neebin! Has she learned all about the pretty pictures?"

The girl turned up to him her bright eyes, and, in better English than that commonly used by the Indians, and even with a p.r.o.nunciation that approached correctness, replied:

"No--Neebin knows very little now, but the lady says the book will talk to her by and by."

It was one of those illuminated missals on which, for want of other occupation, and sometimes with a feeling of superst.i.tious piety, the monks spent incredible pains, and often a capricious and wonderful ingenuity, which the half-reclaimed little savage was looking at. As if unable to satisfy her curiosity fast enough, she turned the leaves over with childish impatience, uttering now and then a cry of delight as she beheld the figure of a bird or of a quadruped, while her eyes would sadden as they fell upon the mournful face of the crucified Saviour, whose image was delineated in several parts of the book.

"She knows all her letters," said Sister Celestina, whose true character as a Catholic and a nun the reader has long ago divined "and I permit her, as a reward, to look at the missal whenever she has been diligent."

"Your task is something like taming a young hawk," said the Knight.

"Neebin is not a hawk!" exclaimed the child. "Hawks do not wear clothes, nor yellow chains, nor can they say _Pater noster_ and _Ave Maria_."

"No," said the lady; "nor have they a soul to be saved, like Neebin."

"What is a soul?" inquired the girl.

Tears dimmed the eyes of Sister Celestina at the question, and, before she could reply, the Knight said:

"Thou hast asked a question, Neebin, which puzzles wiser heads; but it is something which lives when the body becomes dust."

"O, yes," said the child. "I have heard the lady (for so she had been taught to call Sister Celestina) talk about it. How does it look?"

"There thou askest a question beyond the boundaries of knowledge. No one has returned from the grave to answer it," said the Knight.

"I know," said the child; "my mother told me. It is Neebin's soul which looks at her when she bends over a clear spring; it lives in the water."

"I have tried," said the lady, "to impart the idea, but it seems only to begin to dawn upon her mind. I trust, by Heaven's grace, (crossing herself,) it will grow and bear fruit to the glory of sweet Jesus's name."

"What magnificent results do flow from seemingly insignificant causes!" said Sir Christopher. "A spark shall light a conflagration of a mighty city; an acorn shall bear an oak to waft armies over oceans to conquest; and the conversion of a child to the true faith may change the destinies of nations. It may be thy blessed lot, Celestina, to plant a seed which shall grow into a tree, whose branches shall cover earth with grateful shade, and reach to heaven. There was a time when, influenced by the example of a king or queen, whose mind divine grace had illuminated, whole mult.i.tudes rushed to be laved in the saving waters of baptism. Wherefore should not those days return? Now doth the suffering Church mourn like a pelican in the wilderness, and though she gives her blood in streams from her torn bosom--alas! how flows that crimson river, as if in vain!"

"Not all in vain," said the lady. "Cheering accounts of the progress of our missionaries in the Southern portions of this vast continent reach us from time to time, and the prayers of the Church are sanctifying the land from the flood of the Mississippi to the forests of Canada. But tell me now, Sir Christopher, of thine adventures."

The Knight looked significantly at the Indian girl.

"Neebin," said the lady, "take the book and examine it by thyself. Sir Christopher and I desire to be alone. But beware that thou show it to no one, for all are not privileged like thee to see its beautiful pictures."

The child took the missal, but lingered, as if unwilling to depart, and it was not until after a more decided repet.i.tion of the command, that, with a pout, she left the room.

"Whom of the holy fathers saw you?" inquired Sister Celestina, after the door was shut.

"Only Father Le Vieux," answered Sir Christopher, "and he charged me with a commission which I now discharge." So saying, he took from his bosom the letter which the Jesuit missionary had entrusted him with, and handed it to the lady.

Sister Celestina took it, and, imprinting a kiss upon the epistle which had come from the holy father's hand, laid it on the table.

"Let my presence be no restraint," said the Knight. "I have nought to say, which can be of equal importance with anything that comes from Father Le Vieux."

"Thanks for your courtesy," said the lady; and, taking up the letter, she broke the wrapper wherein it was contained, and which was fastened together by means of some unknown cement or gum, and commenced its perusal.

Perhaps the Knight had some design in desiring her to open it in his presence, for, during the whole time while she was engaged in reading, he watched her countenance, as if he expected to see the contents of the letter there; and though her training had been as complete as his own, yet, by reason of her more delicate organization, she was unable so to conceal her emotion that it should be entirely un.o.bserved. The faintest possible color suffused her face as she proceeded, and when she raised her eyes at the conclusion, they had in them a look which, though it baffled the sagacity of her keen observer, betrayed a something which he did not like. It was not triumph, nor despondency, nor joy, nor grief, but, according to the fancy of Sir Christopher, a strange mingling of them all. The two had been in the habit, on their arrival in the country, and for some time thereafter, to show to each other their letters--a custom from which the Knight had never departed, but which, of late, had been observed with less scrupulousness by the lady; and he noticed now, that, instead of handing the epistle to him, as formerly, she hid it in her bosom.

Something, indeed, she said about its being from her confessor, but the explanation, though natural, did not satisfy. He made no remark, however, but proceeded to give an account of what had befallen him and his companion. He told her how, by an arrangement with Mesandowit, (who had been sent by the Taranteens to inquire of him whether their second, viz., their hostile emba.s.sy, would be in danger from the English, and which, in consequence of Sir Christopher's a.s.surances, had been ventured upon,) they had been taken prisoners--of the conversation which pa.s.sed between himself and Father Le Vieux, and of the means resorted to, in order to remove Arundel from the Indian village. The lady listened with a pleased ear to the recital, and, at its conclusion, expressed her gratification at the dexterity with which the business had been managed, and the success which had crowned it.