II
IN THE HALLWAY
So this was Northern hospitality! This a Northern gentleman's home, withits cobwebbed ceiling, its little window-panes opaque with stain of rainand dust, its carpetless floors innocent of wax, littered with odds andends--here a battered riding-cane; there a pair of tarnished spurs;yonder a scarlet hunting-coat a-trail on the banisters, with skirts allmud from feet that mayhap had used it as a mat in rainy weather!
I leaned forward and picked up the riding-crop; its cane end was cappedwith heavy gold. The spurs I also lifted for inspection; they werebeautifully wrought in silver.
Faugh! Here was no poverty, but the shiftlessness of a sot, tramplinggood things into the mire!
I looked into the fireplace. Ashes of dead embers choked it; theandirons, smoke-smeared and crusted, stood out stark against the sootymaw of the hearth.
Still, for all, the hall was made in good and even noble proportion;simple, as should be the abode of a gentleman; over-massive, perhaps,and even destitute of those gracious and symmetrical galleries which weof the South think no shame to take pride in; for the banisters werebrutally heavy, and the rail above like a rampart, and for a newel-postsome ass had set a bronze cannon, breech upward; and it was green andbeautiful, but offensive to sane consistency.
Standing, the better to observe the hall on all sides, it came to methat some one had stripped a fine English mansion of fine but ancientfurniture, to bring it across an ocean and through a forest for theembellishment of this coarse house. For there were pictures in framesshowing generals and statesmen of the Ormond-Butlers, one even of thegreat duke who fled to France; and there were pictures of the Varicksbefore they mingled with us Irish--apple-cheeked Dutchmen, cadaverousyouths bearing match-locks, and one, an admiral, with star and sashacross his varnish-cracked corselet of blue steel, looking at me withpale, smoky eyes.
Rusted suits of mail, and groups of weapons made into star shapes andcircles, points outward, were ranged between the heavy pictures, eachcentred with a moth-ravaged stag's head, smothered in dust.
As I slowly paced the panelled wall, nose in air to observe theseneglected trophies, I came to another picture, hung all alone near thewall where it passes under the staircase, and at first, for thedarkness, I could not see.
Imperceptibly the outlines of the shape grew in the gloom from a deep,rich background, and I made out a figure of a youth all cased in armorsave for the helmet, which was borne in one smooth, blue-veined hand.
The face, too, began to assume form; rounded, delicate, crowned with amass of golden hair; and suddenly I perceived the eyes, and they seemedto open sweetly, like violets in a dim wood.
"What Ormond is this?" I muttered, bewitched, yet sullen to see suchfeminine roundness in any youth; and, with my sleeve of buckskin, Irubbed the dust from the gilded plate set in the lower frame.
"The Maid-at-Arms," I read aloud.
Then there came to me, at first like the far ring of a voice scarcelyheard through southern winds, the faint echo of a legend told me ere mymother died--perhaps told me by her in those drifting hours of achildhood nigh forgotten. Yet I seemed to see white, sun-drenched sandsand the long, blue swell of a summer sea, and I heard winds in thepalms, and a song--truly it was my mother's; I knew it now--and, of asudden, the words came borne on a whisper of ancient melody:
"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!"
Memory was stirring at last, and the gray legend grew from the past, howa maid, Helen of Ormond, for love of her cousin, held prisoner in hisown house at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, sheared off her hair, clothed her limbsin steel, and rode away to seek him; and how she came to the house atAshby and rode straight into the gateway, forcing her horse to the greathall where her lover lay, and flung him, all in chains, across hersaddle-bow, riding like a demon to freedom through the Desmonds, hisenemies. Ah! now my throat was aching with the memory of the song, andof that strange line I never understood--"Wearing the ghost-ring!"--and,of themselves, the words grew and died, formed on my silent lips:
"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!
"Though for all time the lords of Ormond be Butlers to Majesty, Yet shall new honors fall upon her Who, armored, rode for love to Ashby Farms; Let this her title be: A Maid-at-Arms!
"Serene mid love's alarms, For all time shall the Maids-at-Arms, Wearing the ghost-ring, triumph with their constancy. And sweetly conquer with a sigh And vanquish with a tear Captains a trembling world might fear.
"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!"
Staring at the picture, lips quivering with the soundless words, suchwretched loneliness came over me that a dryness in my throat set megulping, and I groped my way back to the settle by the fireplace and satdown heavily in homesick solitude.
"I SAT DOWN HEAVILY IN HOMESICK SOLITUDE".]
Then hate came, a quick hatred for these Northern skies, and thesestrangers of the North who dared claim kin with me, to lure me northwardwith false offer of council and mockery of hospitality.
I was on my feet again in a flash, hot with anger, ready with insult tomeet insult, for I meant to go ere I had greeted my host--an insult,indeed, and a deadly one among us. Furious, I bent to snatch my riflefrom the settle where it lay, and, as I flung it to my shoulder,wheeling to go, my eyes fell upon a figure stealing down the stairwayfrom above, a woman in flowered silk, bare of throat and elbow, fingersscarcely touching the banisters as she moved.
She hesitated, one foot poised for the step below; then it fellnoiselessly, and she stood before me.
Anger died out under the level beauty of her gaze. I bowed, just as Icaught a trace of mockery in the mouth's scarlet curve, and bowed thelower for it, too, straightening slowly to the dignity her mischievouseyes seemed to flout; and her lips, too, defied me, all silently--nay,in every limb and from every finger-tip she seemed to flout me, and theslow, deep courtesy she made me was too slow and far too low, and herrecovery a marvel of plastic malice.
"My cousin Ormond?" she lisped;--"I am Dorothy Varick."
We measured each other for a moment in silence.
There was a trace of powder on her bright hair, like a mist of snow ongold; her gown's yoke was torn, for all its richness, and a wisp of lacein rags fell, clouding the delicate half-sleeve of China silk.
Her face, colored like palest ivory with rose, was no doll's face, forall its symmetry and a forgotten patch to balance the dimple in herrounded chin; it was even noble in a sense, and, if too chaste forsensuous beauty, yet touched with a strange and pensive sweetness, like'witched marble waking into flesh.
Suddenly a voice came from above: "Dorothy, come here!"
My cousin frowned, glanced at me, then laughed.
"Dorothy, I want my watch!" repeated the voice.
Still looking at me, my cousin slowly drew from her bosom a huge,jewelled watch, and displayed it for my inspection.
"We were matching mint-dates with shillings for father's watch; I wonit," she observed.
"Dorothy!" insisted the voice.
"Oh, la!" she cried, impatiently, "will you hush?"
"No, I won't!"
"Then our cousin Ormond will come up-stairs and give you what Paddy gavethe kettle-drum--won't you?" she added, raising her eyes to me.
"And what was that?" I asked, astonished.
Somebody on the landing above went off into fits of laughter; and, as Ireddened, my cousin Dorothy, too, began to laugh, showing an edge ofsmall, white teeth under the red lip's line.
"Are you vexed because we laugh?" she asked.
My tongue stung with a retort, but I stood silent. These Varicks mightforget their manners, but I might not forget mine.
She honored me with a smile, sweeping me from head to foot with herbright eyes. My buckskins were dirty from travel, and the thrums inrags; and I knew that she noted all t
hese matters.
"Cousin," she lisped, "I fear you are something of a macaroni."
Instantly a fresh volley of laughter rattled from the landing--suchclear, hearty laughter that it infected me, spite my chagrin.
"He's a good fellow, our cousin Ormond!" came a fresh young voice fromabove.
"He shall be one of us!" cried another; and I thought to catch a glimpseof a flowered petticoat whisked from the gallery's edge.
I looked at my cousin Dorothy Varick; she stood at gaze, laughter in hereyes, but the mouth demure.
"Cousin Dorothy," said I, "I believe I am a good fellow, even thoughragged and respectable. If these qualities be not bars to your society,give me your hand in fellowship, for upon my soul I am nigh sick for awelcome from somebody in this unfriendly land."
Still at gaze, she slowly raised her arm and held out to me a fresh,sun-tanned hand; and I had meant to press it, but a sudden shynessscotched me, and, as the soft fingers rested in my palm, I raised themand touched them with my lips in silent respect.
"You have pretty manners," she said, looking at her hand, but notwithdrawing it from where it rested. Then, of an impulse, her fingersclosed on mine firmly, and she looked me straight in the eye.
"You are a good comrade; welcome to Varicks', cousin Ormond!"
Our hands fell apart, and, glancing up, I perceived a group of youthfulbarbarians on the stairs, intently watching us. As my eyes fell on themthey scattered, then closed in together defiantly. A red-haired lad ofseventeen came down the steps, offering his hand awkwardly.
"I'm Ruyven Varick," he said. "These girls are fools to bait men of ourage--" He broke off to seize Dorothy by the arm. "Give me that watch,you vixen!"
His sister scornfully freed her arm, and Ruyven stood sullenly clutchinga handful of torn lace.
"Why don't you present us to our cousin Ormond?" spoke up a maid ofsixteen.
"Who wants to make your acquaintance?" retorted Ruyven, edging againtowards his sister.
I protested that I did; and Dorothy, with mock empressement, presentedme to Cecile Butler, a slender, olive-skinned girl with pretty, darkeyes, who offered me her hand to kiss in such determined manner that Ibowed very low to cover my smile, knowing that she had witnessed mysalute to my cousin Dorothy and meant to take nothing less for herself.
"And those boys yonder are Harry Varick and Sam Butler, my cousins,"observed Dorothy, nonchalantly relapsing into barbarism to point themout separately with her pink-tipped thumb; "and that lad on the stairsis Benny. Come on, we're to throw hunting-knives for pennies. Canyou?--but of course you can."
I looked around at my barbarian kin, who had produced hunters' knivesfrom recesses in their clothing, and now gathered impatiently aroundDorothy, who appeared to be the leader in their collective deviltries.
"All the same, that watch is mine," broke out Ruyven, defiantly. "I'llleave it to our cousin Ormond--" but Dorothy cut in: "Cousin, it wasdone in this manner: father lost his timepiece, and the law is thatwhoever finds things about the house may keep them. So we all ran tothe porch where father had fallen off his horse last night, and I thinkwe all saw it at the same time; and I, being the older and stronger--"
"You're not the stronger!" cried Sam and Harry, in the same breath.
"I," repeated Dorothy, serenely, "being not only older than Ruyven by ayear, but also stronger than you all together, kept the watch, spite ofyour silly clamor--and mean to keep it."
"Then we matched shillings for it!" cried Cecile.
"It was only fair; we all discovered it," explained Dorothy. "But Ruyvenmatched with a Spanish piece where the date was under the reverse, andhe says he won. Did he, cousin?"
"Mint-dates always match!" said Ruyven; "gentlemen of our age understandthat, Cousin George, don't we?"
"Have I not won fairly?" asked Dorothy, looking at me. "If I have not,tell me."
With that, Sam Butler and Harry set up a clamor that they and Cecile hadbeen unfairly dealt with, and all appealed to me until, bewildered, Isat down on the stairs and looked wistfully at Dorothy.
"In Heaven's name, cousins, give me something to eat and drink beforeyou bring your lawsuits to me for judgment," I said.
"Oh," cried Dorothy, biting her lip, "I forgot. Come with me, cousin!"She seized a bell-rope and rang it furiously, and a loud gong filled thehall with its brazen din; but nobody came.
"Where the devil are those blacks?" said Dorothy, biting off her wordswith a crisp snap that startled me more than her profanity. "Cato! Whereare you, you lazy--"
"Ahm hyah, Miss Dorry," came a patient voice from the kitchen stairs.
"Then bring something to eat--bring it to the gun-roominstantly--something for Captain Ormond--and a bottle of Sir Lupus's ownclaret--and two glasses--"
"Three glasses!" cried Ruyven.
"Four!" "Five!" shouted Harry and Cecile.
"Six!" added Samuel; and little Benny piped out, "Theven!"
"Then bring two bottles, Cato," called out Dorothy.
"I want some small-beer!" protested Benny.
"Oh, go suck your thumbs," retorted Ruyven, with an elder brother'sbrutality; but Dorothy ordered the small-beer, and bade thenegro hasten.
"We all mean to bear you company, Cousin," said Ruyven, cheerfully,patting my arm for my reassurance; and truly I lacked something ofassurance among these kinsmen of mine, who appeared to lack none.
"You spoke of me as Captain Ormond," I said, turning with a smile toDorothy.
"Oh, it's all one," she said, gayly; "if you're not a captain now, youwill be soon, I'll wager--but I'm not to talk of that before thechildren--"
"You may talk of it before me," said Ruyven. "Harry, take Benny and Samand Cecile out of earshot--"
"Pooh!" cried Harry, "I know all about Sir John's new regiment--"
"Will you hush your head, you little fool!" cut in Dorothy. "Servantsand asses have long ears, and I'll clip yours if you bray again!"
The jingling of glasses on a tray put an end to the matter; Cato, theblack, followed by two more blacks, entered the hall bearing silversalvers, and at a nod from Dorothy we all trooped after them.
"Guests first!" hissed Dorothy, in a fierce whisper, as Ruyven crowdedpast me, and he slunk back, mortified, while Dorothy, in a languidvoice and with the air of a duchess, drawled, "Your arm, cousin," andslipped her hand into my arm, tossing her head with a heavy-lidded,insolent glance at poor Ruyven.
And thus we entered the gun-room, I with Dorothy Varick on my arm, andbehind me, though I was not at first aware of it, Harry, gravelyconducting Cecile in a similar manner, followed by Samuel and Benny,arm-in-arm, while Ruyven trudged sulkily by himself.
The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel Page 4