The White Lady of Hazelwood Part 16

"Eh, to think of it!" cried enchanted Kate.

"And I would not part wid it but to my friend, and a maid so fair and delightsome. See you, how it shine! It shine better as de sun when it do catch him. You sleep in de prisoner's chamber?--yes?"

"Nay, I'm but a sub-chambermaid, look you--not even an upper. Mistress Perrote, she sleeps in the pallet whenas any doth; but methinks her Ladyship lieth alone at this present. Howbeit, none never seeth her save Mistress Perrote and Mistress Amphillis, and my Lady and Sir G.o.dfrey, of course, when they have need. I've ne'er beheld her myself, only standing behind the cas.e.m.e.nt, as she oft loveth to do. My Lady hath a key to her chamber door, and Mistress Perrote the like; and none save these never entereth."

Ivo drank in all the information which Kate imparted, while he only seemed to be carelessly tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a switch which he had pulled from a willow close at hand.

"They be careful of her, it should seem," he said.

"You may say that. They're mortal feared of any man so much as seeing her. Well, I reckon I should go now. I'm sure I'm right full indebted to you, Master Packman, for this jewel: only I don't feel as if I have paid you for it."

"You have me paid twice its value, to suffer me look on your beautiful face!" was the gallant answer, with a low bow. "But one more word, and I go, fair maid, and de sun go from me wid you. De porter, he is what of a man?--and has he any dog?"

"Oh ay, that he hath; but I can peace the big dog well enough, an' I did but know when it should be. Well, as for the manner of man, he's pleasant enough where he takes, look you; but if he reckons you're after aught ill, you'll not come round him in no wise."

"Ah, he is wise man. I see. Well, my fairest of maidens, you shall, if it please you, keep de big dog looking de oder way at nine o'clock of de even, de night Sir G.o.dfrey goes; and de Lady Princess have not so fair a crespine for her hair as you shall win, so to do. Dat is Monday night, trow?"

"Nay, 'tis Tuesday. Well, I'll see; I'll do what I can."

"Fair maid, if I t'ought it possible, I would say, de saints make you beautifuller! But no; it is not possible. So I say, de saints make you happier, and send you all dat you most desire! Good-night."

"Good even, Master Packman, and good befall you. You'll not forget that crespine?"

"Forget? Impossible! Absolute impossible! I bear your remembrance on mine heart all de days of my life. I adore you! Farewell."

When Meg, the next minute, joined Kate under the tree, there was no more sign of Ivo than if he had been the airy creature of a dream.

The little pedlar had escaped dexterously, and only just in time. He hid for a moment beneath the shade of a friendly shrub, and, as soon as he saw Meg's back turned, ran downwards into the Derby road as lithely as a cat, and took the way to that city, where he recounted to his companions, when other people were supposed to be asleep, the arrangement he had made to free the Countess.

"Thou art sore lacking in discretion, my son," said Father Eloy, whose normal condition was that of a private confessor in Bretagne, and whose temporary disguise was that of a horse-dealer. "Such a maid as thou describest is as certain to want and have a confidant as she is to wear that trumpery. Thou wilt find--or, rather, we shall find--the whole house up and alert, and fully aware of our intention."

Ivo's shoulders were shrugged very decidedly.

"_Ha, chetife_!" cried he; "she will want the crespine."

"Not so much as she will want to impart her secret," answered the priest. "Who whispered to the earth, 'Midas has long ears'?"

"It will not matter much to Ivo, so he be not taken," said the knight.

"Nor, in a sense, to you, Father, as your frock protects you. I shall come off the worst."

"You'll come off well enough," responded Ivo. "You made an excellent mercer this morrow. You only need go on chaffering till you have sold all your satins, and by that time you will have your pockets well lined; and if you choose your route wisely, you will be near the sea."

"Well and good! if we are not all by that time eating dry bread at the expense of our worthy friend Sir G.o.dfrey."

"Mind _you_ are not, Sir Roland," said Ivo. "Every man for himself. I always fall on my feet like a cat, and have nine lives."

"Nine lives come to an end some day," replied Sir Roland, grimly.

"On what art thou a-thinking thus busily, Phyllis?"

"Your pardon, Mistress Perrote; I was thinking of you."

"Not hard to guess, when I saw thine eyes look divers times my ways.

What anentis me, my maid?"

"I cry you mercy, Mistress Perrote; for you should very like say that whereon I thought was none of my business. Yet man's thoughts will not alway be ruled. I did somewhat marvel, under your pleasure, at your answer to yon pedlar that asked how you came to be hither."

"Wherefore? that I told him no more?"

"Ay; and likewise--"

"Make an end, my maid."

"Mistress, again I cry you mercy; but it seemed me as though, while you sore pitied our Lady, you had no list to help her forth of her trouble, an' it might be compa.s.sed. And I conceived [Note 1] it not."

"It could not be compa.s.sed, Phyllis; and granting it so should, to what good purpose? Set in case that she came forth this morrow, a free woman--whither is she to wend, and what to do? To her son? He will have none of her. To her daughter? Man saith she hath scantly more freedom than her mother in truth, being ruled of an ill husband that giveth her no leave to work. To King Edward? It should but set him in the briars with divers other princes, the King of France and the Duke of Bretagne more in especial. To my Lady Princess? Verily, she is good woman, yet is she mother of my Lady d.u.c.h.ess; and though I cast no doubt she should essay to judge the matter righteously, yet 'tis but like that she should lean to her own child, which doubtless seeth through her lord's eyes; and it should set her in the briars no less than King Edward. Whither, then, is she to go for whom there is no room on middle earth [Note 2], and whose company all men avoid? Nay, my maid, for the Lady Marguerite there is no home save Heaven; and there is none to be glad of her company save Him that was yet more lonely than she, and whose foes, like hers, were they of His own house."

"'Tis sore pitiful!" said Amphillis, looking up with the tears in her eyes.

"'Pitiful'! ay, never was sadder case sithence that saddest of all in the Garden of Gethsemane. Would G.o.d she would seek Him, and accept of His pity!"

"Surely, our Lady is Christian woman!" responded Amphillis, in a rather astonished tone.

"What signifiest thereby?"

"Why she that doth right heartily believe Christ our Lord to have been born and died, and risen again, and so forth."

"What good should that do her?"

Amphillis stared, without answering.

"If that belief were very heartfelt, it should be life and comfort; but meseemeth thy manner of belief is not heartfelt, but headful. To believe that a man lived and died, Phyllis, is not to accept his help, and to affy thee in his trustworthiness. Did it ever any good and pleasure to thee to believe that one Julius Caesar lived over a thousand years ago?"

"No, verily; but--" Amphillis did not like to say what she was thinking, that no appropriation of good, nor sensation of pleasure, had ever yet mingled with that belief in the facts concerning Jesus Christ on which she vaguely relied for salvation. She thought a moment, and then spoke out. "Mistress, did you mean there was some other fashion of believing than to think certainly that our Lord did live and die?"

"Set in case, Phyllis, that thou shouldst hear man to say, 'I believe in Master G.o.dfrey, but not in Master Matthew,' what shouldst reckon him to signify? Think on it."

"I suppose," said Amphillis, after a moment's pause for consideration, "I should account him to mean that he held Master G.o.dfrey for a true man, in whom man might safely affy him; but that he felt not thus sure of Master Matthew."

"Thou wouldst not reckon, then, that he counted Master Matthew as a fabled man that was not alive?"

"Nay, surely!" said Amphillis, laughing.

"Then seest not for thyself that there is a manner of belief far beside and beyond the mere reckoning that man liveth? Phyllis, dost thou trust Christ our Lord?"

"For what, Mistress? That He shall make me safe at last, if I do my duty, and pay my dues to the Church, and shrive me [confess sins to a priest] metely oft, and so forth? Ay, I reckon I do," said Amphillis, in a tone which sounded rather as if she meant "I don't."