The Lion's Whelp. Barr Amelia E.
fort, our bulwark, and our shield.
And had not Thou our Captain been,
To lead us on and off again;
This happy day, we had not seen,
But in the bed of death had lain."
CHAPTER IV
SO SWEET A DREAM
"To judge events, or actions, without connecting them with their causes, is manifestly unjust and untruthful. Such judgments may make inflexible justice to appear tyranny; righteous retribution to wear the guise of cruelty; and virtue itself to have the likeness of vice."
"All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever."
Peace was now confidently predicted, but hope outruns events, and the winter slowly settled down over the level dreariness of the land without any apparent change in the national situation. People grew tired of expecting, and turned almost sullenly to the daily duties of life. For in the North, the winter weather would certainly bring the winter truce, and they must bear the inaction and suspense as well as they were able.
In de Wick, the situation was pitiably forlorn and desolate. The great trees around it stood with dripping leaves motionless in the thick fog; the long grasses lay withered and brown; the livid waters of the lake were no longer enlivened by the scream of the kingfishers, and about the house were silence and desolation. Matilda would gladly have escaped its depressing atmosphere for a little while every day, but she could not, for the roads leading from it were almost quagmires unless steadied by frost, and it was only rarely on such occasions that the horses could be spared to take her as far as Swaffham. These visits were eagerly expected by both girls, and yet were usually regretted; for Matilda could not help saying many hard things, and Jane could not conscientiously quite pass them over. Much was excused for the sake of her sorrow and loss and visible poverty, but even these excuses had limitations and every interview brought with it many sharp words not quite washed out by reconciling tears and promised forgetfulness.
Even the atmosphere of Swaffham, though grateful and cheering, was exasperating to the poor royalist lady. There was such cheerfulness in its comfortable rooms, such plenty of all the necessaries of life, such busy service of men and maids, such active, kindly hospitality to herself, and such pleasant companionship between Jane and her mother, that Matilda could not help a little envious contrasting, a little backward thought of the days when her own home had been the light of its neighbourhood, and her father and mother had entertained in splendid fashion nobles and beauties and famous men whose names were familiar as household words to all England. In those happy days the rooms had shone with a hundred lights; her handsome mother had moved as a queen in them, and her father and brothers had made the place joyful with all the masculine stir of hunting and hawking, the racket of balls in the bowling-alley and tennis court, the excitement of the race, the laughter and love-making of the ballroom. All these, and far sweeter and dearer things, had been cast into the gulf of civil war, and Matilda spent her days counting the cost of such sacrifices – a terrible sum total which she always reckoned with one reflection: "if only mother had been left! I could bear all the rest."
One day, near Christmas, the roads were hard and clean and the sky blue above them, and in spite of the cold Matilda resolved to walk over to Swaffham. She had an abundance of rich clothing, but as she went through it, she saw that its very splendour was only another sign of her poverty, for neither her own nor her mother's wardrobe contained the plain, scant skirt suitable for walking; – plenty of carriage robes, and dinner and dancing dresses; plenty of gold and silver tissues, and satin and velvet, and rich lace, but she would have given the richest of the costumes for a short cloth skirt and coat, such as Jane trod the miry ways in with comfort and cleanliness. However, she made the wisest choice possible, and when she stood before her father drawing on her white gloves and saying all manner of cheerful words, no one could have desired any change in her apparel. She held the train of her black velvet skirt over her left arm; her shoulders were covered with a tippet of minever, her large hat of black beaver was drooping with plumes. In her cheeks there was a faint rose colour, and her large brown eyes were full of feeling. She looked like some lovely princess exiled from her state and condition, but retaining, nevertheless, all the personal insignia of her royal birth.
As she left her father she kissed him affectionately, and then curtseyed to the Chaplain, who did not notice her attention, being happily and profitably lost in a volume by good Dr. Thomas Fuller, who was that moment saying to him, in one of his garrison sermons, "A Commonwealth and a King are no more contrary than the trunk of a tree and the top branch thereof; there is a republic included in every monarchy."
Matilda walked rapidly, and the clear cold air blew hope and cheerfulness into her heart. "Perhaps, after all, the King might come to his own – Cromwell had not reaped all that was anticipated from Dunbar victory, he was still obliged to remain in Scotland and watch the King; and if the King's position needed this watch, there must still be strength and hope in it. I will take what the Swaffhams say with a large allowance," she thought; and then she suddenly remembered that they had had no news from the royalist camp, and knew nothing on which any good likelihood could be built.
"It is very cruel of Stephen," she sighed; "if I were with the King I would get word to my father and sister of the King's condition – but it is either drawing the sword or shaking the dice, and while they gamble away the hours and the gold pieces, father and I fret life away in waiting and watching for the news that never comes."
The sight of Swaffham restored her. There was something so hearty and sincere in the very aspect of the house. As she went through the garden she saw a monthly rose in bloom, and she plucked it; and with the fair sweet flower in her hand entered the Swaffham parlour. No wonder she had missed Jane at the large casement where she usually sat at her work! Jane was sitting at the table serving Lord Cluny Neville, who was eating and drinking and leaning towards her with a face full of light and pleasure. Mrs. Swaffham sat on the hearth; it was Jane who was pouring out the Spanish wine and cutting the game pasty, and into Jane's face the young Lord was gazing with eyes whose expression there was no mistaking.
Matilda saw the whole picture in a glance, and she set her mood to match it. Dropping her gown, she let the open door frame her beauty for a moment. She was conscious that she was lovely, and she saw the swift lifting of Neville's eyelids, and the look of surprised delight which came into his eyes. She was resolved to be charming, and she succeeded. She let Jane help her to remove her hat and tippet. She let Mrs. Swaffham make much of her, and when she said,
"Draw to table, my dear, and have a mouthful, for walking is hungry work, as well as pleasant," Matilda laughed and answered,
"Indeed, madame, I cannot tell wherein the pleasure of walking lies; I have sought it till I am weary, and cannot find it. However, I confess I am hungry with the search."
Then she sat down by Neville, and he cut her a slice of the pasty, and Jane filled her wine-glass, and Neville touched his own against it, and wished her health and happiness. And by an unspoken agreement they said not a word about the war, but eat their meal to such cheerful thoughts and conversation as made the meat and drink wholesome and joyful. Then they sang some madrigals, and as the shades of evening gathered, Neville began to tell them wild, weird stories of the Border-Land; and Jane had her traditions of Swaffham, and Matilda of de Wick, and they sat in the twilight pleasantly afraid of the phantoms they had themselves conjured up, drawing close together and speaking with a little awe, and finding even the short silences that fell upon them very eloquent and satisfying.
There was then no question of Matilda returning that night to de Wick, and very soon Mrs. Swaffham joined them, and the servants began to build up the fire and spread the table for the evening meal.
"Time wears on," she said. "I thought I would take a nap of ten minutes, but instead of shutting my eyes in a dog sleep, I dropped oft till candle-lighting. Why are you all looking so yonderly? I hope Lord Neville has not been a Job's postman; for as far as I can see, Satan does just as barefaced cruelties now as he did thousands of years ago."
"We have been talking of fairies,