CHAPTER XLII.
A NEW SOLDIER.
Moments had scarcely passed after Dorothy left him at the fountain, ereScudamore grievously repented of having spoken to her in such a manner,and would gladly have offered apology and what amends he might.
But Dorothy, neither easily moved to wrath, nor yet given to thenourishing of active resentment, was not therefore at all the readier toforget the results of moral difference, or to permit any nearer approachon the part of one such as her cousin had shown himself. As long as hecontinued so self-serene and unashamed, what satisfaction to her or whatgood to him could there be in it, even were he to content himself withthe cousinly friendship which, as soon as he was capable of it, she waswilling to afford him? As it was now, she granted him only distantrecognition in company, neither seeking nor avoiding him; and as to allopportunity of private speech, entirely shunning him. For some time, inthe vanity of his experience, he never doubted that these were onlyfeminine arts, or that when she judged him sufficiently punished, shewould relax the severity of her behaviour and begin to make him amends.But this demeanour of hers endured so long, and continued so uniform,that at length he began to doubt the universality of his experience, andto dread lest the maiden should actually prove what he had never foundmaiden before, inexorable. He did not reflect that he had given her noground whatever for altering her judgment or feeling with regard to him.But in truth her thoughts rarely turned to him at all, and while hiswere haunting her as one who was taking pleasure in the idea that shewas making him feel her resentment, she was simply forgetting him, busyperhaps with some self-offered question that demanded an answer, orperhaps brooding a little over the past, in which the form of Richardnow came and went at its will.
So long as Rowland imagined the existence of a quarrel, he imaginedtherein a bond between them; when he became convinced that no quarrel,only indifference, or perhaps despisal, separated them, he began againto despair, and felt himself urged once more to speak. Seizing thereforean opportunity in such manner that she could not escape him withoutattracting very undesirable attention, he began a talk upon the oldbasis.
'Wilt thou then forgive me nevermore, Dorothy?', he said humbly.
'For what, Mr. Scudamore?'
'I mean for offending thee with rude words.'
'Truly I have forgotten them.'
'Then shall we be friends?'
'Nay, that follows not.'
'What quarrel then hast thou with me?'
'I have no quarrel with thee; yet is there one thing I cannot forgivethee.'
'And what is that, cousin? Believe me I know not. I need but to know,and I will humble myself.'
'That would serve nothing, for how should I forgive thee for beingunworthy? For such thing there is no forgiveness. Cease thou to beunworthy, and then is there nothing to forgive. I were an unfriendlyfriend, Rowland, did I befriend the man who befriendeth not himself.'
'I understand thee not, cousin.'
'And I understand not thy not understanding. Therefore can there be nocommunion between us.'
So saying Dorothy left him to what consolation he could find in suchchina-pastoral abuse as the gallants of the day would, with the aid ofpoetic penny-trumpet, cast upon offending damsels--Daphnes and Chloes,and, in the mood, heathen shepherdesses in general. But, fortunately forhimself, how great soever had been the freedom with which he had lostand changed many a foolish liking, he found, let his hopelessness or hisoffence be what it might, he had not the power to shake himself freefrom the first worthy passion ever roused in him. It had struck rootbelow the sandy upper stratum of his mind into a clay soil beneath,where at least it was able to hold, and whence it could draw a littleslow reluctant nourishment.
During his poetic anger, he wrote no small amount of fair verse, triedby the standard of Cowley, Carew, and Suckling, so like theirs indeedthat the best of it might have passed for some of their worst, althoughthere was not in it all a single phrase to remind one of their best. Butwhen the poetic spring began to run dry, he fell once more into a sortof wilful despair, and disrelished everything, except indeed his foodand drink, so much so that his master perceiving his altered cheer, oneday addressed him to know the cause.
'What aileth thee, Rowland?' he said kindly. 'For this se'en-night past,thou lookest like one that oweth the hangman his best suit.'
'I rust, my lord,' said Rowland, with a tragic air of discontent.
The notion had arisen in his foolish head that the way to soften theheart of Dorothy would be to ride to the wars, and get himself slain,or, rather severely but not mortally wounded. Then he would be broughtback to Raglan, and, thinking he was going to die, Dorothy would nursehim, and then she would be sure to fall in love with him. Yes--he wouldride forth on the fellow Heywood's mare, seek him in the field ofbattle, and slay him, but be himself thus grievously wounded.
'I rust, my lord,' he said briefly.
'Ha! Thou wouldst to the wars! I like thee for that, boy. Truly the kingwanteth soldiers, and that more than ever. Thou art a good cupbearer,but I will do my best to savour my claret without thee. Thou shalt tothe king, and what poor thing my word may do for thee shall not bewanting.'
Scudamore had expected opposition, and was a little nonplussed. He hadjudged himself essential to his master's comfort, and had even hoped hemight set Dorothy to use her influence towards reconciling him to remainat home. But although self-indulgent and lazy, Scudamore wasconstitutionally no coward, and had never had any experience to give himpause: he did not know what an ugly thing a battle is after it is over,and the mind has leisure to attend to the smarting of the wounds.
'I thank your lordship with all my heart,' he said, putting on an air ofgreater satisfaction than he felt, 'and with your lordship's leave wouldprefer a further request.'
'Say on, Rowland. I owe thee something for long and faithful service.An' I can, I will.'
'Give me the roundhead's mare that I may the better find her master.'
For Lady was still within the walls. The marquis could not restore her,but neither could he bring himself to use her, cherishing the hope ofbeing one day free to give her back to a reconciled subject. But alas!there were very few horses now in Raglan stalls.
'No, Rowland,' he said, 'thou art the last who ought to get any good ofher. It were neither law nor justice to hand the stolen goods to thethief.'
He sat silent, and Rowland, not very eager, stood before him in silencealso, meaning it to be read as indicating that to the wars except onthat mare's back he would not ride. But the thought of the marquis hadnow taken another turn.
'Thou shalt have her, my boy. Thou shalt not rust at home for the sakeof a gouty old man and his claret. But ere thou go, I will write outcertain maxims for thy following both in the field and in quarters. Erethou ride, look well to thy girths, and as thou ridest say thy prayers,for it pleaseth not God that every man on the right side should live,and thou mayst find the presence in which thou standest change suddenlyfrom that of mortal man to that of living God. I say nothing oforthodoxy, for truly I am not one to think that because a man hath beenborn a heretic, which lay not in his choice, and hath not been of hisparents taught in the truth, that therefore he must howl for ever. Notwhile blessed Mary is queen of heaven, will all the priests inChristendom persuade me thereof. Only be thou fully persuaded in thineown mind, Rowland; for if thou cared not, that were an evil thingindeed. And of all things, my lad, remember this, that a weak blow wereever better unstruck. Go now to the armourer, and to him deliver my willthat he fit thee out as a cuirassier for his majesty's service. I cangive thee no rank, for I have no regiment in the making at present, butit may please his majesty to take care of thee, and give thee a place inmy lord Glamorgan's regiment of body-guards.'
The prospect thus suddenly opened to Scudamore of a wider life andgreater liberty, might have dazzled many a nobler nature than his. LordWorcester saw the light in his eyes, and as he left the room gazed afterhim with pitiful countenance.
'Poor lad
! poor lad!' he said to himself; 'I hope I see not the last ofthee! God forbid! But here thou didst but rust, and it were a vile thingin an old man to infect a youth with the disease of age.'
Rowland soon found the master of the armoury, and with him crossed tothe keep, where it lay, above the workshop. At the foot of the stair hetalked loud, in the hope that Dorothy might be with the fire-engine,which he thought he heard at work, and would hear him. Having chosensuch pieces as pleased his fancy, and needed but a little of thearmourer's art to render them suitable, he filled his arms with them,and following the master down, contrived to fall a little behind, sothat he should leave the tower before him, when he dropped them all witha huge clatter at the foot of the stair. The noise was sufficient, forit brought out Dorothy. She gazed for a moment as, pretending not tohave seen her, he was picking them up with his back towards her.
'Do I see thee arming at length, cousin?' she said. 'I congratulatethee.'
She held out her hand to him. He took it and stared. The reception ofhis noisy news was different from what he had been vain enough to hope.So little had Dorothy's behaviour in the capture of Rowland enlightenedhim as to her character!
'Thou wouldst have me slain then to be rid of me, Dorothy?' he gasped.
'I would have any man slain where men fight,' returned Dorothy, 'ratherthan idling within stone walls!'
'Thou art hard-hearted, Dorothy, and knowest not what love is, elsewouldst thou pity me a little.'
'What! art afraid, cousin?'
'Afraid! I fear nothing under heaven but thy cruelty, Dorothy.'
'Then what wouldst thou have me pity thee for?'
'I would, an' I had dared, have said--Because I must leave thee. Butthou wouldst mock at that, and therefore I say instead--Because I shallnever return; for I see well that thou never hast loved me even alittle.'
Dorothy smiled.
'An' I had loved thee, cousin,' she rejoined, 'I had never let theerest, or left soliciting thee, until thou hadst donned thy buff coat andbuckled on thy spurs, and departed to be a man among men, and no more aboy among women.'
So saying she returned to her engine, which all the time had beenpumping and forcing with fiery inspiration.
Scudamore mounted and rode, followed by one of the grooms. He found theking at Wallingford, presented the marquis's letter, proffered hisservices, and was at once placed in attendance on his majesty's person.
In the eyes of most of his comrades the mare he rode seemed too lightfor cavalry work, but she made up in spirit and quality of muscle forlack of size, and there was not another about the king to match inbeauty the little black Lady. Sweet-tempered and gentle although nervousand quick, and endowed with a rare docility and a faith which suppliedcourage, it was clear, while nothing was known of her pedigree, bothfrom her form and her nature, that she was of Arab descent. No feelingof unreality in his possession of her intruding to disturb hissatisfaction in her, Scudamore became very fond of her. Having joinedthe army, however, only after the second battle of Newbury, he had nochance till the following summer of learning how she bore herself in thefield.