The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century
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CHAPTER VII
THE STRANGER WITHIN THE GATES
Sue waited--expectant and still--until the last sound of the young man'sfootsteps had died away in the direction of the house.
Then with quick impulsive movements she ran to the gate; her handssought impatiently in the dark for the primitive catch which held it to.A large and rusty bolt! she pulled at it--clumsily, for her hands weretrembling. At last the gate flew open; she was out in the woods, peeringinto the moonlit thicket, listening for that most welcome sound, thefootsteps of the man she loved.
"My prince!" she exclaimed, for already he was beside her--apparently hehad lain in wait for her, and now held her in his arms.
"My beautiful and gracious lady," he murmured in that curiously muffledvoice of his, which seemed to endow his strange personality withadditional mystery.
"You heard? ... you saw just now? ..." she asked timidly, fearful ofencountering his jealous wrath, that vehement temper of his which shehad learned to dread.
Strangely enough he replied quite gently: "Yes ... I saw ... the youngman loves you, my beautiful Suzanne! ... and he will hate me now ..."
He had always called her Suzanne--and her name thus spoken by him, andwith that quaint foreign intonation of his had always sounded infinitelysweet.
"But I love you with all my heart," she said earnestly, tenderly, herwhole soul--young, ardent, full of romance, going out to him with allthe strength of its purity and passion. "What matter if all the worldwere against you?"
As a rule when they met thus on the confines of the wood, they wouldstand together by the gate, forming plans, talking of the future and oftheir love. Then after a while they would stroll into the park, heescorting her, as far as he might approach the house without being seen.
She had no thought that Richard Lambert would be on the watch. Nay! sowholly absorbed was she in her love for this man, once she was in hispresence, that already--womanlike--she had forgotten the young student'simpassioned avowal, his jealousy, his very existence.
And she loved these evening strolls in the great, peaceful park, atevening, when the birds were silent in their nests, and the greatshadows of ivy-covered elms enveloped her and her romance. From afar atiny light gleamed here and there in some of the windows of Acol Court.
She had hated the grim, bare house at first, so isolated in the midst ofthe forests of Thanet, so like the eyrie of a bird of prey.
But now she loved the whole place; the bit of ill-kept tangled garden,with its untidy lawn and weed-covered beds, in which a few standardrose-trees strove to find a permanent home; she loved the dark andmysterious park, the rusty gate, that wood with its rich carpet whichvaried as each season came around.
To-night her lover was more gentle than had been his wont of late. Theywalked cautiously through the park, for the moon was brilliant andoutlined every object with startling vividness. The trees here weresparser. Close by was the sunk fence and the tiny rustic bridge--only aplank or two--which spanned it.
Some thirty yards ahead of them they could see the dark figure ofRichard Lambert walking towards the house.
"One more stroll beneath the trees, _ma mie_," he said lightly, "you'llnot wish to encounter your ardent suitor again."
She loved him in this brighter mood, when he had thrown from him thatmantle of jealousy and mistrust which of late had sat on him so ill.
He seemed to have set himself the task of pleasing her to-night--ofmaking her forget, mayhap, the wooing of the several suitors who hadhung round her to-day. He talked to her--always in that mysterious,muffled voice, with the quaint rolling of the r's and the foreignintonation of the vowels--he talked to her of King Louis and his tyrannyover the people of France: of his own political aims to which he hadalready sacrificed fortune, position, home. Of his own brilliant past atthe most luxurious court the world had ever known. He fired herenthusiasm, delighted her imagination, enchained her soul to his: shewas literally swept off the prosy face of this earth and whirled into arealm of romance, enchanting, intoxicating, mystic--almost divine.
She forgot fleeting time, and did not even hear the church bell over atAcol village striking the hour of ten.
He had to bring her back to earth, and to guide her reluctant footstepsagain towards the house. But she was too happy to part from him soeasily. She forced him to escort her over the little bridge, under thepretense of terror at the lateness of the hour. She vowed that he couldnot be perceived from the house, since all the lights were out, andeveryone indeed must be abed. Her guardian's windows, moreover, gave onthe other side of the house; and he of a surety would not be moon orstar gazing at this hour of the night.
Her mood was somewhat reckless. The talk with which he had filled herears had gone to her brain like wine. She felt intoxicated with theatmosphere of mystery, of selfless patriotism, of great and fallenfortunes, with which he knew so well how to surround himself. Mayhap,that in her innermost heart now there was a scarce conscious desire toprecipitate a crisis, to challenge discovery, to step boldly before herguardian, avowing her love, demanding the right to satisfy it.
She refused to bid him adieu save at the garden door. Three steps ledup straight into the dining-room from the flagged pathway which skirtedthe house. She ran up these steps, silently and swiftly as a littlemouse, and then turned her proud and happy face to him.
"Good-night, sweet prince," she whispered, extending her delicate handto him.
She stood in the full light of the moon dominating him from the top ofthe steps, an exquisite vision of youth and beauty and romance.
He took off his broad-brimmed hat, but his face was still in shadow, forthe heavy perruque fell in thick dark curls covering both his cheeks. Hebent very low and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"When shall we meet again, my prince?" she asked.
"This day week, an it please you, my queen," he murmured.
And then he turned to go. She meant to stand there and watch him crossthe tangled lawn, and the little bridge, and to see him lose himselfamidst the great shadows of the park.
But he had scarce gone a couple of steps when a voice, issuing from thedoorway close behind her, caused her to turn in quick alarm.
"Sue! in the name of Heaven! what doth your ladyship here and at thishour?"
The crisis which the young girl had almost challenged, had indeedarrived. Mistress de Chavasse--carrying a lighted and guttering candle,was standing close behind her. At the sound of her voice and Sue'slittle cry of astonishment rather than fear, Prince Amede d'Orleans too,had paused, with a muttered curse on his lips, his foot angrily tappingthe flagstones.
But it were unworthy a gallant gentleman of the most chivalrous Court inthe world to beat a retreat when his mistress was in danger of anunpleasant quarter of an hour.
Sue was more than a little inclined to be defiant.
"Mistress de Chavasse," she said quietly, "will you be good enough toexplain by what right you have spied on me to-night? Hath my guardianperchance set you to dog my footsteps?"
"There was no thought in my mind of spying on your ladyship," rejoinedMistress de Chavasse coldly. "I was troubled in my sleep and camedownstairs because I heard a noise, and feared those midnight maraudersof which we have heard so much of late. I myself had locked this door,and was surprised to find it unlatched. I opened it and saw you standingthere."
"Then we'll all to bed, fair mistress," rejoined Sue gayly. She was toohappy, too sure of herself and of her lover to view this suddendiscovery of her secret with either annoyance or alarm. She would befree in three months, and he would be faithful to her. Love proverbiallylaughs at bars and bolts, and even if her stern guardian, apprised ofher evening wanderings, prevented her from seeing her prince for thenext three months, pshaw! a hundred days at most, and nothing could keepher from his side.
"Good-night, fair prince," she repeated tenderly, extending her handtowards her lover once more, while throwing a look of proud defiance toMistress de Chavasse. He could not help but return
to the foot of thesteps; any pusillanimity on his part at this juncture, any reluctance tomeet Editha face to face or to bear the brunt of her reproaches and ofher sneers, might jeopardize the romance of his personality in the eyesof Sue. Therefore he boldly took her hand and kissed it with mutefervor.
She gave a happy little laugh and added pertly:
"Good-night, mistress ... I'll leave you to make your own adieux toMonseigneur le Prince d'Orleans. I'll warrant that you and he--despitethe lateness of the hour--will have much to say to one another."
And without waiting to watch the issue of her suggestion, her eyesdancing with mischief, she turned and ran singing and laughing into thehouse.