CHAPTER XIII.
Let us Act freely, carelessly, and capriciously, as if our veins Ran with quicksilver.--Ben Jonson.
Renown'd metropolis, With glistening spires and pinnacles adorn'd.--Milton.
It is strange, in the life of man, always fluctuating as he is betweenhope and fear, gratification and disappointment, with nothing fixed inhis state of existence, and uncertainty surrounding him on every side,that suspense should be to him the most painful of all situations. Onewould suppose that habit would have rendered it easy for him to bear;and yet, beyond all questions, every condition of doubt, fromuncertainty respecting our fate, to mere indecision of judgment, areall, more or less, painful in their degree. Who is it that has notoften felt irritated, vexed, and unhappy, when hesitating between twodifferent courses of action, even when the subject of deliberationinvolved but a trifle?
Lady Katrine Bulmer, as has been already said, was grave and pensivewhen she reached Gravesend; and then, without honouring the knightwith her company even for a few minutes, as he deemed that in simplecourtesy she might have done, she retired to her chamber, and,shutting herself up with her two women, the only communication whichtook place between her and Sir Osborne was respecting the hour oftheir departure the next morning.
The knight felt hurt and vexed; for though he needed no ghost to tellhim that the lovely girl he was conducting to the court was ascapricious as she was beautiful, yet her gay whims and graceful littlecoquetry, had both served to pique and amuse him, and he could almosthave been angry at this new caprice, which deprived him of her societyfor the evening.
The next morning, however, the wind of Lady Katrine's humour seemedagain to have changed; and at the hour appointed for her departure shetripped down to her horse all liveliness and gaiety. Sir Osborneproffered to assist her in mounting, but in a moment she sprang intothe saddle without aid, and turned round laughing, to see the slow anddifficult man[oe]uvres by which her women were fixed in their seats.The whole preparations, however, being completed, the cavalcade setout in the same order in which it had departed from the abbey the daybefore, and with the same number of persons; the poor priest whom theyhad delivered from the hands of the rioters being left behind, too illto proceed with them to London.
"Well, sir knight," said the gay girl as they rode forward, "I mustreally think of some guerdon to reward all your daring in my behalf. Ihope you watched through the livelong night, armed at all points, lestsome enemy should attack our castle?"
"Faith, not I!" answered Sir Osborne; "you seemed so perfectlysatisfied with the security of our lodging, lady, that I e'en followedyour good example and went to bed."
"Now he's affronted!" cried Lady Katrine. "Was there ever such acreature? But tell me, man in armour, was it fitting for me to comeand sit with you and your horsemen in the tap-room of an inn, eating,drinking, and singing, like a beggar or a ballad-singer?"
The knight bit his lip, and made no reply.
"Why don't you answer, Sir Osborne?" continued the lady, laughing.
"Merely because I have nothing to say," replied the knight, gravely;"except that at Sittenbourne, where you did me the honour of eatingwith me, though not with my horsemen, I did not perceive thatLady Katrine Bulmer was, in any respect, either like a beggar orballad-singer."
"Oh! very well, sir knight; very well!" she said. "If you choose to beoffended I cannot help it."
"You mistake me, lady," said Sir Osborne, "I am not offended."
"Well then, sir, I am," replied Lady Katrine, making him a cold stiffinclination of the head. "So we had better say no more upon thesubject."
At this moment Longpole, who with the rest of the attendants followedat about fifty paces behind, rode forward, and put a small foldedpaper into Sir Osborne's hands. "A letter, sir, which you dropped,"said he aloud; "I picked it up this moment."
The knight looked at the address, and the small silken braid whichunited the two seals; and finding that it was directed to Lord Darbyat York House, Westminster, was about to return it to Longpole, sayingit was none of his, when his eye fell upon Lady Katrine, whose head,indeed, was turned away, but whose neck and ear were burning with sodeep a red, that Sir Osborne doubted not she had some deep andblushing interest in the paper he held in his hand. "Thank you,Longpole! thank you," he said, "I would not have lost it for a hundredmarks;" and he fastened it securely in the foldings of his scarf.
Though he could willingly have punished his fair companion for herlittle capricious petulance, the knight could not bear to keep her inthe state of agitation under which, by the painful redness of hercheek and the quivering of her hand on the bridle, he very evidentlysaw she was suffering. "I think your ladyship was remarking," said he,calmly, "that it was the height of dishonour and baseness to takeadvantage of anything that happens to fall in our power, or any secretwith which we become acquainted accidentally. I not only agree withyou so far, but I think even that a jest upon such a subject is hardlyhonourable. We should strive, if possible, to be as if we did not knowit."
Lady Katrine turned her full sunny face towards him, glowing like afair evening cloud when the last rays of daylight rest upon it: "Youare a good, an excellent creature," she said, "and worthy to be aknight. Sir Osborne Maurice," she continued, after a moment's pause,"your good opinion is too estimable to be lightly lost, and topreserve it I must speak to you in a manner that women dare seldomspeak. And yet, though on my word, I would trust you as I would abrother, I know not how----I cannot, indeed I cannot. And yet I must,and will, for fear of misconstruction. You saw that letter. You canguess that he to whom it is addressed is not indifferent to thewriter. They are affianced to each other by all vows, but those vowsare secret ones; for the all-powerful Wolsey will not have it so, andwe must needs seem, at least, to obey. Darby has been some time absentfrom the court, and I was sent to the abbey. What would you have more?I promised to give instant information of my return; and last night Ispent in writing that letter, though now I know not in truth how tosend it, for my groom is but a pensioned spy upon me."
"Will you trust it to me?" said the knight. The lady paused. "Do youdoubt me?" he asked.
"Not in the least," she said; "not in the least. My only doubt iswhether I shall send it at all."
"Is there a hesitation?" demanded the knight in some surprise.
"Alas! there is," answered she. "You must know all: I see it. Since Ihave been at the abbey they have tried to persuade me that Darbyyields himself to the wishes of the cardinal; and is about to wedanother. I believe it false! I am sure it is false! And yet, andyet----" and she burst into tears. "Oh, Sir Osborne!" she continued,drying her eyes, "I much need such a friend as you describedyesterday."
"Let me be that friend, then, so far as I may be," said Sir Osborne."Allow me to carry the letter to London, whither I go after I haveleft you at the court at Greenwich. I will ascertain how Lord Darby issituated. If I find him faithful (which doubt not that he is, till youhear more), I will give him the letter; otherwise I will return ittruly to you."
"But you must be quick," said Lady Katrine, "in case he should hearthat I have returned, and have not written. How will you ascertain?"
"There are many ways," answered the knight; "but principally by aperson whom I hope to find in London, and who sees more deeply intothe hidden truth than mortal eyes can usually do."
"Can you mean Sir Cesar?" demanded Lady Katrine.
"I do," answered the knight. "Do you know that very extraordinarybeing?"
"I know him as every one knows him," answered Lady Katrine; "that is,without knowing him. But if he be in London, and will give you theinformation, all doubt will be at an end; for what he says is sure:though, indeed, I often used to tease the queer little old man, bypretending not to believe his prophecies, till our royal mistress,whom God protect! has rated me for plaguing him. He was much afavourite of hers, and I somewhat a favourite of his; for those oddmagical hop-o'-my-thumbs, I believe, lov
e those best who cross them alittle. He gave me this large sapphire ring when he went away lastyear, bidding me send it back to him if I were in trouble: quitefairy-tale like. So now, Sir Osborne, you shall carry it to him, andhe will counsel you rightly. Put it in your cap, where he may see it.There now! it looks quite like some lady's favour; but don't go andtilt at every one who denies that Katrine Bulmer is the loveliestcreature under the sun."
"Nay, I must leave that to my Lord Darby," answered Sir Osborne.
"Now, that was meant maliciously!" cried Lady Katrine. "But I don'tcare! Wait a little; and if there be a weak point in all your heart,sir knight, I'll plague you for your sly look."
Lady Katrine Bulmer's spirits were of that elastic quality not easilyrepressed; and before ten minutes were over, all her gaiety returnedin full force, nor did it cease its flow till their arrival inGreenwich.
For his part, Sir Osborne strove to keep pace with her liveliness, andperhaps even forced his wit a little in the race, that he might not bebehindhand. Heaven knows what was passing in his mind! whether itreally was an accession of gaiety at approaching the court, or whetherit was that he wished to show his fair companion that the discovery hehad made of her engagements to Lord Darby did not at all mortify him,notwithstanding the little coquetry that she might have exercised uponhimself.
They now, however, approached the place of their destination, underthe favourable auspice of a fair afternoon. The most pardonable sortof superstition is perhaps that which derives its auguries from theface of nature, leading us to fancy that the bright golden sunshine,the clear blue heaven, the soft summer breeze, and the cheerful songof heaven's choristers, indicate approaching happiness to ourselves;or that the cloud, the storm, and the tempest, come prophetic of eviland desolation. At least both hope and fear, the two great movers inall man's feelings, lend themselves strangely to this sort ofdivination, combining with the beauty of the prospect, or thebrightness of the sky, to exalt our expectations of the future; orlending darker terrors to the frown of nature, and teaching us todread or to despair.
When Sir Osborne and his party arrived at the brow of Shooter's Hill,the evening was as fair and lovely as if it had been summer: one ofthose sweet sunsets that sometimes burst in between two wintry days inthe end of March or the beginning of April: a sort of heralds toannounce the golden season that comes on. The whole country round, asfar as they could see, whether looking towards Eltham and Chiselhurst,or northwards towards the river, was one wide sea of waving boughs,just tinged with the first green of the spring; while the oblique raysof the declining sun, falling upon the huge bolls of the old oaks andbeeches, caught upon the western side of each, and invested its giantlimbs as with a golden armour. Every here and there, too, the beams,forcing their way through the various openings in the forest, castacross the road bright glimpses of that rich yellow light peculiar towood scenery, and, alternated with the long shadows of the trees,marked the far perspective of the highway descending to the wide heathbelow. The eye rested not on the heath, though it, too, was glowingwith the full effulgence of the sky; but passing on, caught a smallpart of the palace of Greenwich, rising above the wild oaks whichfilled the park; and then still farther turning towards the west,paused upon the vast metropolis, with its red and dizzy atmosphere,high above which rose the heavy tower and wooden spire of Old Paul'sChurch; while to the left, beyond the influence of the smoke, was seenstanding almost alone, in solemn majesty, the beautiful pile of theWest Minster.
Sir Osborne Maurice impulsively reined in his horse, and seemed as ifhe could scarcely breathe when the whole magnificent scene rushed atonce upon his view. "So this is London!" cried he; "the vast, thewealthy, and the great; the throne of our island monarchs, from whencethey sway a wide and powerful land. On! on!" and striking his horsewith his spurs, he darted down the road, as if he were afraid that thegreat city would, before he reached it, fade away like the splendidphantasms seen by the Sicilian shepherds, showing for a moment a hostof castles, and towers, and palaces, and then fleeting by, and leavingnought but empty air!
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