After a time came one morning, and when Sabia came to the nest, in place of the fair smooth eggs, five ugly little naked souls with gaping mouths sat all together upon her ring. Sabia went home vexed that day.
“Their looks disgust me, Nurse Phaire,” said she. “I never saw young birds so ugly. They have got no feathers on. Their mouths are as large as their bodies, and they all squeak together. I do not like them to be sitting on my ring. I had a mind to have it out again.”
Nurse Phaire shook her head wisely upon the ignorant girl. “Mistress Sabia is proud this morning, and handsome,” said she. “But I remember a Mistress Sabia that was given into my hands one morning, seventeen years ago, who was no handsomer nor wiser than these little birds. Ah, God knows the young are scornful, but an old woman like me knows what goes before and behind them and is never proud at all.”
Sabia stood pouting and bending her brows on her old nurse. The old woman could not bear to see her cross; she reached out her hand and pulled the young girl on to her knee.
“There, there, child of my heart, sure I never meant to vex you. Handsome you are and proud you may be, and have a good right; but not too proud to love the poor old woman that nursed you. The ring is doing finely. It will be holding the better love surely now, for the pity of love will be in it, and it will be strong against sorrow and sickness and age.”
Sabia kissed her back again and next day returned to the wood. As she watched the parent birds at their hard labours of devotion, she learned the pity and the service of love. Her tears dropped down that morning as she thought on suffering and age and death, and pride left her heart. Then with a better wisdom, she began to think again of Estercel. Below her, the lake shone. In waving lines along its face, the edges of the ripples caught the light, till it seemed as though rows of diamond lamps were being lit, bright as the spirit in those eyes that had troubled her peace. If only, she was thinking, her nurse's charm taught Estercel to look kindly upon her, her feet and her hands should be his servants till the last hour of age should bring her death.
Day by day, the feathers grew upon the young ones in the nest; day by day, the red breast and the brown laboured ceaselessly from dawn till dark to keep them satisfied. And in the labour seemed to be their pleasure, too, for the song from the beech-tree, though less frequent, was as loud as ever. At length came a morning when the first young bird, full-feathered, very round and fat, most pretty now to Sabia's eyes, sat on the edge of the nest. Many times, the short wings quivered and lifted, like living creatures that themselves desired the air, only to be folded once more. At length, with a mighty effort they rose again, and father and mother shrieked for joy as the first young bird fluttered over the edge of the nest and tumbled on to the moss below.
Another followed, and another, till only one was left in the nest. Then Sabia rose up and went over, for she feared lest her ring should be left cold. One young bird she lifted up, so round and sweet and short-tailed that she must needs kiss his downy feathers before she drew out her ring. It was quite warm and shining bright. Her fingers thrilled as she held it; her heart beat as she hid the charmed gold in her bosom. For a moment longer she lingered to gaze at the wonder of the unsoiled nest that had been the house of such delight, and that so soon now would be left cold. But, once she turned, it was very fast she ran up through the wood to carry her treasure to her wise nurse, who awaited her.
As Sabia ran up the castle slope, she began to worry. “Oh, nurse,” she cried, as she gained the upper room, “what are we going to do? I have taken the ring back again; it is quite warm. But how in the world will we get my cousin Estercel to put it on his finger? I wonder I never thought of that till now.”
“Where have you got the ring, my lamb!” asked the nurse, and Sabia gave it to her.
The old woman closed her eyes and held it tight in the palm of her hand. “It is indeed quite warm,” she said, presently. “God bless the little birds for as innocent as they are. But see here now; I have a chain for you, Mistress Sabia, that I found in the box.”
And she strung the ring upon a light-linked chain and fastened it round Sabia's neck.
“There, my lamb,” she said. “Keep it close and wear it night and day. The bird's charm is in it safe enough.”
But the girl's mind had returned to its care. “But, nurse,” she said, “what about my cousin Estercel? The ring may hang round my neck for a twelve-month, for all the boldness or power I have to get it on to his finger.”
“Leave it to me, my jewel,” said the old nurse, “leave it to me. Have patience, and I will find a way.”
All the summer through, Sabia waited, and she had the more patience because she felt always the secret of the ring next her heart; and because she believed in it and in the wonder that would come of it, she had begun to fear. She was content to put off her happy days and keep before her this promise of wonder that glorified all her future, like a rainbow that crosses a spring sky.
Sabia had the more leisure for her dreams, since serious matters occupied the attention of her father and of those gentlemen who were his friends. The north under Tyrone* was daring once more to lift up its head and stare across at the great Elizabeth who sat angry on her throne, composing splendid sentences of vituperation which she hurled cross the sea. Robert Cecil** was secretly casting his nets, a wide throw. The whole country was full of those uneasy rumours of threatening wars that send men riding and speaking much secretly together. Therefore Sabia, who was accounted by her father as still a child, and who, moreover, had no sister nor near kinswoman, was left much alone.
(* County Tyrone in North Ireland; ** Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury (1563 – 1612), statesman, spy-master and minister to Queen Elizabeth I.)
So it passed till, with the mists of October, Tyrone went hunting the stag. At the dawn, Sabia's father rode away, and Sabia beside him to keep him company for the first miles of the way; then she must needs turn her horse's head and ride home again, for the hunt was too far and too fast for her, and, moreover, there were to be other matters on foot besides the stag. Towards dusk, the young girl stood by one of the hall windows watching the narrow road that wound down from the castle gate. The October mists were rising and cloaking the colours of the autumn trees. For an hour and more, she stood dreaming and listening to the robins' song that came up from below. At last, with the deepening of the evening, colour and song together faded away, and the silence was for a while complete.
Then with a start, she lifted up her head, for she heard the sound of jaded, stumbling hoofs. Surely, it was the sound of more men than rode out behind her father in the morning. While she listened, out of the dusk appeared figures, two horsemen that rode the winding white track and seemingly talked together, and one bigger than the others who rode a white horse a little way behind, and at the back of him again two serving-men. As they reached the foot of the steep castle slope, she could hear the breathing of the sorely blown horses. Then she saw that the tallest of the horsemen dismounted and led his horse up to the castle, speaking kindly to him.
Sabia saw that it was Estercel. Like an arrow, she flew from the hall and up the stairway to her chamber above, for the ring seemed to burn her bosom. From her chamber, she heard a tramping and a shouting, and a running to and fro of serving men and women, and all the noise and open-air clamour that the return of gentlemen at the close of a day brings to a silent house.
An hour and more passed, and no one had been to seek Sabia. She felt herself forgotten. The tears were standing in her eyes, when suddenly the door was pushed open, and Nurse Phaire came in. The old woman saw the figure of Sabia against the dusky window where she waited.
“Mistress Sabia! Mistress Sabia! The master has been calling for you! What have you been doing not to come down? There was I must find the linen and put those lazy girls to set two chambers ready for the gentlemen with him, for their horses are over-ridden, and they can go no farther tonight. Ah, but if you had known who was here with his Honour, you would ha
ve run down fast enough, I promise you. But come now, my lamb; I have a sight for you to see.”
She took the reluctant girl by the hand and pulled her from the window and out into the dark passage, where a lighted candle stood. Without allowing her time to pause, the nurse hurried her along till they came to a narrow passage where one could hardly pass, at the end of which was a tiny flight of steps and a narrow door. This the nurse opened with a key, and in another moment, the two stood in a narrow dark gallery that ran along the north end of the hall. Laying her hand upon Sabia's mouth, the old woman drew her silently forward into the centre of the gallery.
Below in the hall, a huge fire of logs was burning on the flat hearthstone, and the flames with a galloping sound were rushing up the great black chimney. The dark hall was full of their light; they and the quivering radiances that streamed from them leaped and fought and played with a gaiety more brilliant than is shown by any children of the summer sun. Sideways, over against the fire, was a black oaken seat heaped with skins and furs. Upon them, carelessly stretched, lay a man in his first youth, sleeping sound. His whole attitude expressed the healthful weariness of the day's hunting and the pleasure of rest. He was dressed in a suit of light homespun cloth. The strong curling locks of hair upon his head and neck had the colour of the flame-light; but for all this grace of youth, his face was that of a man, and his limbs, so negligently thrown down to sleep, appeared lengthy and strong.
“Mistress Sabia,” whispered the nurse, “see how he's sleeping — for all the world like an innocent child. Thank your nurse, my lamb, for she had him washed and dressed and got him down before the rest of them. Take up your gown now, child of my heart, and run down as quick as the wind, and as quiet, and clap the ring upon him while he's sleeping. Holy saints, bless the boy; he's tired out.”
“Oh, I cannot, nurse; I am afraid. If he wakened and caught me, I should be lost,” whispered Sabia, in great fear.
“Give me the ring, then, silly child,” said the old woman, crossly. “You can go quick, and I go slow, and someone may be coming into the hall. Stay there, then, and watch, if you are afraid.” Grumbling under her breath, the old woman hobbled along to the gallery door.
Sabia waited a moment, gazing down upon the young man's heavy sleep, while she wrung her hands together in distress. To her nurse, her cousin Estercel was but a splendid child; to her, he was the burning spirit of life itself, at once terrible and beautiful, offering her sharp arrows and an enchanted cup. She could hear that her nurse was near the bottom of the winding stone stair; she could not bear to see her approach the young man with the ring. As though her feet were winged, she fled back through the dark passages to her own chamber and cast herself in an agony of shame upon the floor.
“Oh, I am a very bold girl,” she cried to herself. “How could I think to do such a thing? If he finds it out, he will despise me for ever, and then I shall die in earnest.”
Presently, in came her nurse, laughing and carrying two wax lights with her. “Get up, get up, Mistress Sabia,” she cried. “What is it you're doing lying there on the floor? And nothing but the best of good fortune in store for you now from this out. The ring is on his finger, and he's fast yet. He never stirred, no more than the wolf that owned the skin that's under him. Quick now, child, come and let me dress you. His Honour has sent word you are to come to the table tonight, and I have got some things out of the box for you. Let me dress you and make you as handsome as the heavenly stars.”
According to long use and wont, the nurse took hold of her charge, undressed and bathed her, combed her thick curls while Sabia fretted; put on her an under-dress of white homespun wool, and over it a garment of white silk, the piece of which had been brought over from France but five years before. If Sabia had any pleasure in the toilet, her nurse had twenty times as much. Sabia had grown tall enough now to reach for the fruit that grows on the boughs of the tree of life; her lips were ready for tasting it; and the old nurse felt that she could lie down in peace, once she saw her darling satisfied.
But Sabia herself knew care and dread. How could she bear to see the open sign of her long-cherished secret, under the eyes of all, upon a careless hand?
When at length she was fully dressed, she stood before the brazen mirror, and the old woman bound round her head the narrow golden band with the white beryl-stone in the centre that shed a pale lustre upon her forehead. Sabia looked in the mirror, that gave back an uncertain reflection like one seen in water. But she took no pleasure in what she saw, neither in her eyes, which were like a dark night of stars with a round white moon riding above, nor in her gown of silk, nor her thick locks. She only thought, “Oh, if I had but hair the colour of the sunlight and eyes like Estercel's, he would not turn away from me.”
But as she thought it, a knock came to her door, and a voice in the passage to say that supper was served in the hall. Sabia had no courage to set out by herself; her face was pale, and her nurse had to take her by the hand and lead her down to the door of the hall, as she had been long ago used to do. But when no escape was possible, and she must needs go in through the lit arch of the doorway, she cast away her fears and entered like a true daughter of her father's house. The nurse, for as long as she could see in her corner by the door, watched her crossing the lower end of the hall in her streaming white garments, with her head well uplifted. As soon as the doorway's edge had hidden her, the old woman turned and, smiling to herself, hobbled back to the upper chamber. Then sitting down to rest in the chair, she fell fast asleep, for she was very old, and Sabia's father, too, had been a babe in her arms.
Some hours later she was suddenly awakened, and there was Sabia waiting at her knees, in a young ecstasy, her face like a dark rose for its wreath of smiles.
“Oh, nurse,” she cried, clasping her hands together, “it is true, indeed it is, the charm of the ring. When I was got in the hall and had given my father goodnight, Estercel came straight across to me and said, 'Will you sit by me at supper, Cousin Sabia?' And I was so glad. And all through the supper, he talked to me and told me of the day's hunting and many matters besides. And when my father desired me to leave them, he bade me good-night most kindly, saying, 'Shall we meet again, Cousin Sabia?' And I am so glad. And many times he looked down at the ring upon his hand, and I could see he was thinking of it; and he asked me if I believed in the fairies, and whether I had seen them, and if there was any hurt in fairy gold. And, oh, nurse, charm or not, I feel now I should never have done it, for I cannot bear to deceive.”
“Tut, tut, and nonsense!” said the old nurse, crossly, for she hated to be awakened from her sleep. “Where's the deceiving? Get up from there, Mistress Sabia, take off your silk dress and get into your bed. I'm perished sitting here.”
Chapter III. - Flummery* and Cream
(* Sweet soft pudding made of stewed fruit and thickened with cornstarch.)
Fair mild weather was come in March. Snows and rough winds might be waiting but a week away. On the hill-slope below Ardhoroe Castle, young Sabia sat sewing very finely at her embroidery. Queen Elizabeth sewing with her ladies that very minute in London town could not sew finer than she, for she had been over the sea to be lessoned in France, and that was more than Queen Elizabeth had ever been allowed to do.
Sabia was dressed in a brown gown, sober and neat. As she sat like a quiet brown bird on the hill, you might not have cared to look at her twice. But if you had looked twice, you would have looked a third time, and then perhaps again: for the finger of mystery that smooths the velvet coat of the field mouse and paints each feather of the lark, had touched and moulded her small face into beauty and curled the spirals of her dark hair. And the breath of mystery breathed also in the young girl's soul.
From time to time, she would hold her work aside and turn her head to look upon a pleasant sight. On the short grass of a little hollow near the bottom of the hill, which the sunshine filled as though it were a cup, lay an enormous and truly splendid young man. Beside him, couched
like a hound, a white stallion of great size and strength. The head of the stallion was stretched out towards the young man, whose hand played with the rippled locks on his forehead and neck. From the woods around the castle, hill rose up the songs of birds, and from the castle itself came the noise of the screaming of old women, while strange objects flew from the open door.
“Listen to them now!” said the young man. “They are doing great execution there above.”
Sabia bent her sad eyes down the hill and sidled along the grass a little way.
“And not on the hall alone, Estercel,” said she, “but on the whole place inside and out. It is no life for me, this three days past. There are fifteen of them and all grandmothers; oh, they are happy together! Not a mouse, nor a spider, nor an earwig will be left in the castle by nightfall. Scarcely one of them has a tooth left, so I get nothing for my food but flummery and cream.”
“Flummery and cream is very good food,” said Estercel. “Do you suppose there is any of it now in the house?”
“That I will soon discover,” answered the girl; and lifting up her voice, she called on a high clear note: “Phaire, Nurse Phaire!”
A shrill scream answered her, and the bent old woman with a coloured head-wrap appeared at the door and hobbled down the slope.
“Is it wanting me you are, my brown dove?” said she. “Ah, ha, and so they are come, the two beauties of the world!” and tottering down a few steps further she fell to contemplating the young man and his horse with rapture.
“Estercel is hungry, Nurse Phaire,” said Sabia. “Is there anything to eat above at the house?”
“Is there anything to eat at Ardhoroe Castle and the O'Neill himself coming here the morrow's morn? Anything to eat? Great are the preparations. Are there not twelve three-year-old bullocks that have breathed their last, and as many sheep, and one hundred quarters of wheat, and as much oaten meal, and the full of a barrack of honey?”
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