For Faith and Freedom

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XXX.

  A SLIGHT THING AT THE BEST.

  So I left Benjamin much frightened, and marvelling, both at hisviolent passion, and at the message which he sent to Madam.

  She was waiting for me at the lodging.

  'Madam,' I said, 'I have seen Benjamin. He is very angry. He bade mego home and ask you concerning his conditions. We must not anger ourbest friend, dear Madam.'

  She rose from her chair and began to walk about, wringing her handsas if torn by some violent emotion.

  'Oh! my child,' she cried; 'Alice, come to my arms--if it is for thelast time--my daughter. More than ever mine, though I must nevercall thee daughter.'

  She held me in her arms, kissing me tenderly. 'My dear, we agreedthat no sacrifice could be too great for the safety of our boy. Yes,we agreed to that. Let us kiss each other before we do a thing afterwhich we can never kiss each other again. No, never again.'

  'Why not again, Madam?'

  'Oh,' she pushed me from her, 'it is now eight of the clock, he willbe here at ten! I promised I would tell thee before he came! And allis in readiness.'

  'For what, Madam?'

  Why, even then I guessed not her meaning, though I might have doneso; but I never thought that so great a wickedness was possible!

  'No sacrifice should be too great for us!' she cried, clasping herhead with her hands and looking wildly about. 'None too great! Noteven the sacrifice of my own son's love--no; not that! Why, letus think of the sacrifices men make for their country, for theirreligion. Abraham was ready to offer his son, Isaac; Jephthahsacrificed his daughter; King Mesha slew his eldest son for a burntoffering. Thousands of men die every year in battle for theircountry. What have we to offer? If we give ourselves, it is but aslight thing that we offer at the best.'

  'Surely, Madam,' I cried, 'you know that we would willingly die forthe sake of Robin?'

  'Yes, Child; to die--to die were nothing. It is to live--we mustlive--for Robin.'

  'I understand not, Madam.'

  'Listen then--for the time presses, and if he arrives and finds thatI have not broken the thing to thee, he will perhaps ride back toExeter in a rage. When I left my son after the trial, being verywretched and without hope, I found Benjamin waiting for me at theprison gates. He walked with me to my lodging, and on the way hetalked of what was in my mind. First, he said, that for the bettersort there was little hope, seeing that the King was revengeful andthe Judge most wrathful, and in a mood which allowed of no mercy.Therefore, it would be best to dismiss all hopes of pardon or ofsafety either to these two or to the prisoners of Ilminster. Now,when he had said this a great many times, we being now arrived atmy lodging, he told me that there was in my case a way out of thetrouble--and one way only: that if we consented to follow that way,which, he said, would do no manner of harm to either of us or to ourprisoners, he would undertake and faithfully engage to secure thesafety of all our prisoners. I prayed him to point out this way,and, after much entreaty, he consented.'

  'What is the way?' I asked, having not the least suspicion. And yetthe look in her eyes should have told me what was coming.

  'Is it true, Child, that long ago you were betrothed to Benjamin?'

  'No, Madam, that is most untrue.'

  'He says that when you were quite a little child he informed you ofhis intention to marry you, and none but you.'

  'Why, that is true, indeed.' And now I began to understand the waythat was proposed; and my heart sank within me. 'That is true. Butto tell a child such a thing is not a betrothal.'

  'He says that only three or four years ago he renewed thatassurance.'

  'So he did, but I gave him no manner of encouragement.'

  'He says that he promised to return and marry you when he hadarrived at some practice, and that he engaged to become LordChancellor and make you a Peeress of the Realm.'

  'All that he said, and more. Yet did I never give him the leastencouragement, but quite the contrary, for always have I feared anddisliked Benjamin. Never at any time was it possible for me to thinkof him in that way. That he knows, and cannot pretend otherwise.Madam, doth Benjamin wish evil to Robin because I am betrothed tohim?'

  'He also says, in his rude way--Benjamin was always a rude andcoarse boy--that he had warned you, long ago, that if anyone elsecame in his way he would break the head of that man.'

  'Yes: I remember, now, that he threatened some violence.'

  'My dear'--Madam took my hand--'his time of revenge is come. He saysthat he has the life of the man whom you love in his own hands; andhe will, he swears, break his head for him, and so keep the promisemade to you by tying the rope round his neck. My dear, Benjamin hasalways been stubborn and obstinate from his birth. Stubborn andobstinate was he as a boy; stubborn and obstinate is he now. Hecares for nobody in the world except himself; he has no heart; hehas no tenderness; he has no scruples; if he wants a thing, he willtrample on all the world to get it, and break all the laws of God. Iknow what manner of life he leads. He is the friend and companion ofthe dreadful Judge who goeth about like a raging lion. Every nightdo they drink together until they are speechless and cannot stand.Their delight it is to drink, and smoke tobacco, with unseemly jestsand ribald songs which would disgrace the playhouse or the countryfair. Oh! 'tis the life of a hog that he delights in! Yet, for allthat, he is, like his noble friend, full of ambition. Nothing willdo but he must rise in the world. Therefore, he works hard at hisprofession--and'----

  'Madam--the condition!--what is the condition? For Heaven's saketell me quickly! Is it--is it!--oh! no--no--no! Anything but that!'

  'My child--my daughter'--she laid her hand upon my head. 'It is thatcondition--that, and none other. Oh! my dear, it is laid upon theeto save us!--it is to be thy work alone--and by such a sacrifice as,I think, no woman ever yet had to make! Nay, perhaps it is betternot to make it, after all. Let all die together, and let us liveout our allotted lives in sorrow. I thought of it all night, and itseemed better so--better even that thou wert lying in thy grave.His condition! Oh! he must be a devil thus to barter for the livesof his grandfather and his cousins--no human being, surely, woulddo such a thing: the condition, my dear, is that thou must marryhim--now: this very morning--and this once done, he will at oncetake such steps--I know not what they may be, but I take it that hisfriend the Judge will grant him the favour--such steps, I say, aswill release unto us all our prisoners.'

  At first I made no answer.

  'If not,' she added after a while, 'they shall all be surely hanged.'

  I remained silent. It is not easy at such a moment to collect one'sthoughts and understand what things mean. I asked her presently ifthere was no other way.

  'None,' she said: 'there was no other way.'

  'What shall I do? What shall I do?' I asked. 'God, it seems, hathgranted my daily prayer; but how? Oh! what shall I do?'

  'Think of what thou hast in thy power.'

  'But to marry him--to marry Benjamin--oh! to marry him! How should Ilive? How should I look the world in the face?'

  'My dear, there are many other unhappy wives. There are otherhusbands brutal and selfish; there are other men as wicked as mynephew. Thou wilt swear in church to love, honour, and obey him. Thylove is already hate; thy honour is contempt; thy obedience willbe the obedience of a slave. Yet death cometh at length, even to aslave and to the harsh task-master.'

  'Oh! Madam, miserable indeed is the lot of those whose only friendis death.'

  She was silent, leaving me to think of this terrible condition.

  'What would Robin say? What would Humphrey say? Nay, what would hisHonour himself say?'

  'Why, Child,' she replied, with a kind of laugh, 'it needs not awizard to tell what they would say. For one and all, they wouldrather go to the gallows than buy their lives at such a price. Thybrother Barnaby would mount the ladder with a cheerful heart ratherthan sell his sister to buy his life. That we know already. Nay, weknow more. For Robin will never forgive his mother who suffered theeto do such
a thing. So shall I lose what I value more than life--thelove of my only son. Yet would I buy his life at such a price. Mydear, if you lose your lover I lose my son. Yet, we will save himwhether he will or no.' She took my hands and pressed them in herown. 'My dear, it will be worse for me than for you. You will have ahusband, it is true, whom you will loathe; yet you will not see him,perhaps, for half the day at least; and, perhaps, he will leave theeto thyself for the other half. But for me, I shall have to endurethe loss of my son's affections all my life, because I am very sureand certain that he can never forgive me. Think, my dear! Shall theyall die?--all!--think of father and brother, and of your mother!--orwill you willingly endure a life of misery with this man for husbandin order that they may live?'

  'Oh, Madam,' I said, 'as for the misery--any other kind of miseryI would willingly endure; but it is marriage--marriage! Yet who amI that I should choose my sacrifice? Oh, if good works were of anyavail, then would the way to heaven be opened wide for me by suchan act and such a life! Oh, what will Robin say of me? What will hethink of me? Will he curse me and loathe me for being able to dothis thing? Should I do it? Is it right? Doth God command it? Yet tosave their dear lives--only to set them free--to send that good oldman back to his home--to suffer my father to die in peace!--I mustdo it--I must do it! Yet Robin could never forgive me. Oh! he toldme that betrothal was a sacrament. I have sworn to be his. Yet, tosave his life, I cannot hesitate. If it is wrong, I pray that Robinwill forgive me. Tell him--oh, tell him that it is I who am to dieinstead of him. Perhaps the Lord will suffer me to die quickly. Tellhim that I loved him, and only him; that I would rather have died;that for his life alone I would not have done this thing, because hewould not have suffered it. But it is for all--it is for all! Oh! hemust forgive me! Some day you will send me a message of forgivenessfrom him. But I must go away and live in London, far from all ofyou; never to see him or any one of you again--not even my ownmother. It is too shameful a thing to do. And you will tell hisHonour, who hath always loved me and would willingly have called mehis granddaughter. It was not that I loved not Robin--God knoweththat; but for all--for him and Robin and all--to save his grey hairsfrom the gallows, and to send him back to his home. Oh! tell himthat'----

  'My dear--my dear,' she replied, but could say no more.

  Then for a while we sat in silence, with beating hearts.

  'I am to purchase the lives of five honest men,' I said presently,'by my own dishonour. I know very well that it is by my dishonourand my sin that their lives are to be bought. It doth not save mefrom dishonour that I am first to stand in the church and be marriedaccording to the Prayer Book. Nay, does it not make the sin greaterand the dishonour more certain that I shall first swear what Icannot ever perform--to love and honour that man?'

  'Yes, girl--yes!' said Madam. 'But the sin is mine more than yours.Oh! let me bear the sin upon myself.'

  'You cannot, it is my sin and my dishonour; nay, it is a mostdreadful wicked thing that I am to do. It is all the sins in one:I do not honour my parents in thus dishonouring myself; I killmyself--the woman that my Robin loved; I steal the outward formwhich belonged to Robin and give it to another; I live in a kind ofadultery. It is truly a terrible sin in the sight of Heaven. Yet Iwill do it!--I must do it! I love him so that I cannot let him die;rather let me be overwhelmed with shame and reproach if only he canlive!'

  'Said I not, my dear, that we two could never kiss each other again?When two men have conspired together to commit a crime they consortno more together, it is said, but go apart and loathe each other. Soit is now with us.'

  * * * * *

  So I promised to do this thing. The temptation was beyond mystrength. Yet had I possessed more faith I should have refused.And then great, indeed, would have been my reward. Alas! how was Ipunished for my want of faith! Well, it was to save my lover. Lovemakes us strong for evil as well as strong for good.

  And all the time, to think that we never inquired or proved hispromises! To think that we never thought of doubting or of askinghow he, a young barrister, should be able to save the lives of fouractive rebels, and one who had been zealous in the cause! That twowomen should have been so simple is now astonishing.

  When the clock struck ten I saw Benjamin walking across thechurchyard. It was part of the brutal nature of the man that heshould walk upon the graves, even those newly-made and not coveredup with turf. He swung his great burly form, and looked up at thewindow with a grin which made Madam tremble and shrink back. Butfor me, I was not moved by the sight of him, for now I was strongin resolution. Suppose one who hath made up her mind to go to thestake for her religion, as would doubtless have happened unto manyhad King James been allowed to continue in his course, do you thinkthat such a woman would begin to tremble at the sight of herexecutioner? Not so. She would arise and go forth to meet him, withpale face, perhaps (because the agony is sharp), but with a steadyeye. Benjamin opened the door, and stood looking from one to theother.

  'Well,' he said to Madam, roughly, 'you have by this time told herthe condition?'

  'I have told her--alas! I have told her, and already I repent methat I have told her.'

  'Doth she consent?'

  'She does. It shall be as you desire.'

  'Ha!' Benjamin drew a long breath. 'Said I not, Sweetheart'--heturned to me--'that I would break the head of any who came betweenus? What? Have I not broken the head of my cousin when I take awayhis girl? Very well, then. And that to good purpose. Very well,then. It remains to carry out the condition.'

  'The condition,' I said, 'I understand to be this. If I become yourwife, Benjamin, you knowing full well that I love another man and amalready promised to him'----

  'Ta--ta--ta!' he said. 'That you are promised to another man mattersnot one straw. That you love another man I care nothing. What! Ipromise, Sweetheart, that I will soon make thee forget that otherman. And as for loving any other man after marrying me, that, d'yesee, my pretty, will be impossible. Oh! thou shalt be the fondestwife in the Three Kingdoms.'

  'Nay: if such a thing cannot move your heart, I say no more. If Imarry you, then all our prisoners will be enlarged?'

  'I swear'--he used a great round oath, very horrid from the lips ofa Christian man--'I swear that, if you marry me, the three--Robin,Humphrey, and Barnaby--shall all save their lives. And as for SirChristopher and thy father, they also shall be enlarged. Can I sayaught in addition?'

  I suspected no deceit. I understood, and so did Madam, that thispromise meant the full and free forgiveness of all. Yet therewas something of mockery in his eyes, which should have made ussuspicious. But I, for one, was young and ignorant, and Madam wascountry-bred and truthful.

  'Benjamin,' I cried, falling on my knees before him, 'think whatit is you ask! Think what a wicked thing you would have me do!--tobreak my vows, who am promised to your cousin! And would you leaveyour grandfather to perish all for a whim about a silly girl?Benjamin, you are playing with us. You cannot--you could not sellthe lives--the very lives of your grandfather and your cousins forsuch a price as this! The play has gone far enough, Benjamin. Tellus that it is over, and that you never meant to be taken seriously,and we will forgive you the anguish you have caused us.'

  'Get up,' he said, 'get up, I say, and stop this folly.' He thenbegan to curse and to swear. 'Playing, is it? You shall quicklydiscover that it is no play, but serious enough to please you all,Puritans though you be. Playing! Get up, I say, and have done.'

  'Then,' I said, 'there is not in the whole world a more inhumanmonster than yourself.'

  'Oh! my dear--my dear, do not anger him!' cried Madam.

  'All is fair in love, my pretty,' said Benjamin with a grin. 'Beforemarriage call me what you please--inhuman monster--anything that youplease. After marriage my wife will have to sing a different tune.'

  'Oh! Benjamin, treat her kindly,' Madam cried.

  'I mean not otherwise. Kindness is my nature, I am too kind formy own interests. Obedience I expect, and go
od temper and a civiltongue, with such respect as is due to one who intends to be LordChancellor. Come, Child, no more hard words. Thou shalt be thehappiest woman, I say, in the world. What? Monmouth's rebellion wasonly contrived to make thy happiness. Instead of a dull countryhouse thou shalt have a house in London; instead of the meadows,thou shalt have the parks; instead of skylarks, the singers at theplayhouse; in due course thou shalt be My Lady'----

  'Oh! stop--stop; I must marry you since you make me, but the partnerin your ambitions will I never be.'

  'My dear,' Madam whispered, 'speak him fair. Be humble to him.Remember he holds in his hands the lives of all.'

  'Yes,' Benjamin overheard her. 'The lives of all. The man who daresto take my girl from me--mine--deserves to die. Yet so clement,so forgiving, so generous am I, that I am ready to pardon him. Heshall actually save his life. If, therefore, it is true that (beforemarriage) you love that man and are promised to him, come to churchwith me, out of your great love to him, in order to save his life;but if you love him not, then you can love me, and, therefore, cancome to please yourself, willy nilly. What! am I to be thwarted insuch a trifle? Willy nilly, I say, I will marry thee. Come--we wastethe time.'

  He seized my wrist as if he would have dragged me towards the door.

  'Benjamin,' cried Madam, 'be merciful! she is but a girl, andshe loves my poor boy--be merciful! Oh! it is not yet too late.'She snatched me from his grasp and stood between us, her armsoutstretched. 'It is not too late; they may die and we will go insorrow, but not in shame. They may die. Go! murderer of thy kithand kin! Go, send thy grandfather to die upon the scaffold; but, atleast, leave us in peace.'

  'No, Madam,' I said. 'With your permission, if there be no otherway, I will save their lives.'

  'Well, then,' Benjamin said sulkily, 'there must be an end of thistalk and no further delay; else, by the Lord! I know not what mayhappen. Will Tom Boilman delay to prepare his cauldron of hot pitch?If we wait much longer, Robin's arms and legs will be seething inthat broth! Doth the Judge delay with his warrant? Already he signsit--already they are putting up the gibbet on which he will hang!Come, I say.'

  * * * * *

  Benjamin was sure of his prey, I suppose, because we found theclergyman waiting for us in the church, ready with surplice andbook. The clerk was standing beside him, also with his book, open atthe Service for Marriage. While they read the Service Madam threwherself prostrate on the Communion steps, her head in her hands, asone who suffers the last extremities of remorse and despair for sintoo grievous to be ever forgiven. Let us hope that sometimes we mayjudge ourselves more harshly than Heaven itself doth judge us.

  The clerk gave me away, and was the only witness of the marriagebesides that poor distracted mother.

  'Twas a strange wedding. There had been no banns put up; the bridewas pale and trembling; the bridegroom was gloomy; the only otherperson present wept upon her knees while the parson read throughhis ordered prayer and psalm and exhortation; there was no sign ofrejoicing.

  'So,' said Benjamin, when all was over, 'now thou art my wife. Theyshall not be hanged therefor. Come, wife, we will this day rideto Exeter, where thou shalt thyself bear the joyful news of thymarriage and their safety to my cousins. They will own that I am aloving and a careful cousin.'

  He led me, thus talking, out of church. Now, as we left thechurchyard, there passed through the gates--oh, baleful omen!--fourmen carrying between them a bier. Upon it was the body of anotherpoor prisoner, dead of jail fever. I think that even the hard heartof Benjamin--now my husband!--oh! merciful Heavens! he was myhusband!--quailed, and was touched with fear at meeting this mostsure and certain sign of coming woe, for he muttered something inhis teeth, and cursed the bearers aloud for not choosing anothertime.

  My husband, then--I must needs call him my husband--told me,brutally, that I must ride with him to Exeter, where I should myselfbear the joyful news of their safety to his cousins. I did not takethat journey, nor did I bear the news, nor did I ever after thatmoment set eyes upon him again, nor did I ever speak to him again.His wife I remained, I suppose, because I was joined to him inchurch. But I never saw him after that morning. And the reason whyyou shall now hear.

  At the door of our lodging, which was, you know, hard by the church,stood Mr. Boscorel himself.

  'What means this?' he asked, with looks troubled and confused. 'Whatdoth it mean, Benjamin? What hath happened, in the name of God?'

  'Sir,' said Benjamin, 'you know my character. You will acknowledgethat I am not one of those who are easily turned from theirpurpose. Truly, the occasion is not favourable for a wedding, butyet I present to you my newly-married wife.'

  '_Thy_ wife! Child, _he_ thy husband? Why, thou art betrothedto Robin! Hath the world gone crazy? Do I hear aright? Isthis--this--this--a time to be marrying? Hast thou not heard? Hastthou not heard, I say?'

  'Brother-in-law,' said Madam, 'it is to save the lives of all thatthis is done.'

  '"To save the lives of all?"' Mr. Boscorel repeated. 'Why--why--hathnot Benjamin, then, told what hath happened, and what hath beendone?'

  'No, Sir, I have not,' said his son. 'I had other fish to fry.'

  'Not told them? Is it possible?'

  'Benjamin hath promised to save all their lives if this child wouldmarry him. To save their lives hath Alice consented, and I with her.He will save them through his great friendship with Judge Jeffreys.'

  'Benjamin to save their lives? Sirrah'--he turned to his son withgreat wrath in his face--'what villainy is this? Thou hast promisedto save their lives? What villainy, I say, is this? Sister-in-law,did he not tell you what hath been done?'

  'He has told us nothing. Oh! is there new misery?'

  'Child'--Mr. Boscorel spoke with the tears running down hischeeks--'thou art betrayed--alas! most cruelly and foully betrayed.My son--would to God that I had died before I should say so--is avillain! For, first, the lives of these young men are already saved,and he hath known it for a week and more. Learn, then, that with thehelp of certain friends I have used such interests at Court that forthese three I have received the promise of safety. Yet they will notbe pardoned. They are given, among other prisoners, to the courtiersand the ladies-in-waiting. One Mr. Jerome Nipho hath received andentered on his list the names of Robin and Humphrey Challis andBarnaby Eykin; they will be sold by him, and transported to Jamaicaor elsewhere for a term of years.'

  'They were already saved!' cried Madam. 'He knew, then, when theywere tried and sentenced, that their lives were already spared. Oh,child! poor child! Oh, Alice! Oh, my daughter! what misery have webrought upon thee!'

  Benjamin said nothing. On his face lay a scowl of obstinacy. As forme, I was clinging to Madam's arm. This man was my husband--andRobin was already saved--and by lies and villainy he had cheated us!

  'They were already saved,' Mr. Boscorel continued. 'Benjaminknew it--I sent him a letter that he might tell his cousins. Myson--alas!--I say again, my only son--my only son--my son is avillain!'

  'No one shall take my girl,' said Benjamin sullenly. 'What? All isfair in love.'

  'He has not told you, either, what hath happened in the prison? Thouhadst speech, I hear, with Barnaby, early this morning, Child. Theother prisoners'--he lowered his voice and folded his hands, as inprayer--'they have since been enlarged.'

  'How?' Madam asked. 'Is Sir Christopher free?'

  'He hath received his freedom--from One who never fails to set poorprisoners free. My father-in-law fell dead in the courtyard at nineo'clock this morning--weep not for him. But, Child, there is muchmore; about that same time thy father breathed his last. He, too,is dead; he, too, hath his freedom, Benjamin knew of this as well,Alice, my child'--the kindly tears of compassion rolled down hisface. 'I have loved thee always, my dear; and it is my son who hathwrought this wickedness--my own son--my only son'----he shook hiscane in Benjamin's face. 'Oh, villain!' he cried; 'oh, villain!'

  Benjamin made no reply; but his face was black and his e
yesobstinate.

  'There is yet more--oh! there is more. Alas! my child, there ismore. Thou hast lost thy mother as well. For at the sight of herhusband's death, his poor, patient wife could no longer bear thetrouble, but she, too, fell dead--of a broken heart; yea, she felldead upon his dead body--the Lord showed her this great and crowningmercy--so that they all died together. This, too, Benjamin knew. Oh!villain! villain!'

  Benjamin heard unmoved, except that his scowl grew blacker.

  'Go,' his father continued, 'I load thee not, my son, with afather's curse. Thy wickedness is so great that thy punishment willbe exemplary. The judgments of God descend upon the most hardened.Get thee gone out of my sight. Let me never more behold thee untilthou hast felt the intolerable pangs of remorse. Get thee hence Isay! begone!'

  'I go not,' said Benjamin, 'without my loving wife. I budge not, Isay, without my tender and loving wife. Come, my dear.'

  He advanced with outstretched hands, but I broke away and fledshrieking. As I ran, Mr. Boscorel stood before his son and barredthe way, raising his right hand.

  'Back, boy! Back!' he said, solemnly. 'Back, I say! Before thoureachest thy most unhappy wife, first shalt thou pass over thyfather's body!'