Men of Iron

  CHAPTER 21

  There are now and then times in the life of every one when new andstrange things occur with such rapidity that one has hardly time tocatch one's breath between the happenings. It is as though the old werecrumbling away--breaking in pieces--to give place to the new that issoon to take its place.

  So it was with Myles Falworth about this time. The very next day afterthis interview in the bed-chamber, word came to him that Sir James Leewished to speak with him in the office. He found the lean, grizzled oldknight alone, sitting at the heavy oaken table with a tankard of spicedale at his elbow, and a dish of wafers and some fragments of cheese on apewter platter before him. He pointed to his clerk's seat--a joint stoolsomewhat like a camp-chair, but made of heavy oaken braces and with aseat of hog-skin--and bade Myles be seated.

  It was the first time that Myles had ever heard of such courtesy beingextended to one of the company of squires, and, much wondering, heobeyed the invitation, or rather command, and took the seat.

  The old knight sat regarding him for a while in silence, his one eye,as bright and as steady as that of a hawk, looking keenly from under thepenthouse of its bushy brows, the while he slowly twirled and twistedhis bristling wiry mustaches, as was his wont when in meditation. Atlast he broke the silence. "How old art thou?" said he, abruptly.

  "I be turned seventeen last April," Myles answered, as he had theevening before to Lord Mackworth.

  "Humph!" said Sir James; "thou be'st big of bone and frame for thineage. I would that thy heart were more that of a man likewise, and lessthat of a giddy, hare-brained boy, thinking continually of naught butmischief."

  Again he fell silent, and Myles sat quite still, wondering if it wason account of any special one of his latest escapades that he had beensummoned to the office--the breaking of the window in the Long Hall bythe stone he had flung at the rook, or the climbing of the South Towerfor the jackdaw's nest.

  "Thou hast a friend," said Sir James, suddenly breaking into hisspeculations, "of such a kind that few in this world possess. Almostever since thou hast been here he hath been watching over thee. Canstthou guess of whom I speak?"

  "Haply it is Lord George Beaumont," said Myles; "he hath always beenpassing kind to me.

  "Nay," said Sir James, "it is not of him that I speak, though methinkshe liketh thee well enow. Canst thou keep a secret, boy?" he asked,suddenly.

  "Yea," answered Myles.

  "And wilt thou do so in this case if I tell thee who it is that is thybest friend here?"

  "Yea."

  "Then it is my Lord who is that friend--the Earl himself; but see thatthou breathe not a word of it."

  Myles sat staring at the old knight in utter and profound amazement, andpresently Sir James continued: "Yea, almost ever since thou hast comehere my Lord hath kept oversight upon all thy doings, upon all thy madpranks and thy quarrels and thy fights, thy goings out and comings in.What thinkest thou of that, Myles Falworth?"

  Again the old knight stopped and regarded the lad, who sat silent,finding no words to answer. He seemed to find a grim pleasure in theyoungster's bewilderment and wonder. Then a sudden thought came toMyles.

  "Sir," said he, "did my Lord know that I went to the privy garden as Idid?"

  "Nay," said Sir James; "of that he knew naught at first until thy fatherbade thy mother write and tell him."

  "My father!" ejaculated Myles.

  "Aye," said Sir James, twisting his mustaches more vigorously than ever."So soon as thy father heard of that prank, he wrote straightway tomy Lord that he should put a stop to what might in time have bredmischief."

  "Sir," said Myles, in an almost breathless voice, "I know not how tobelieve all these things, or whether I be awake or a-dreaming."

  "Thou be'st surely enough awake," answered the old man; "but there areother matters yet to be told. My Lord thinketh, as others of us do--LordGeorge and myself--that it is now time for thee to put away thy boyishfollies, and learn those things appertaining to manhood. Thou hast beenhere a year now, and hast had freedom to do as thou might list; but,boy,"--and the old warrior spoke seriously, almost solemnly--"upon theedoth rest matters of such great import that did I tell them to thee thoucouldst not grasp them. My Lord deems that thou hast, mayhap, promisebeyond the common of men; ne'theless it remaineth yet to be seen an hebe right; it is yet to test whether that promise may be fulfilled. NextMonday I and Sir Everard Willoughby take thee in hand to begin trainingthee in the knowledge and the use of the jousting lance, of arms, and ofhorsemanship. Thou art to go to Ralph Smith, and have him fit a suit ofplain armor to thee which he hath been charged to make for thee againstthis time. So get thee gone, think well over all these matters, andprepare thyself by next Monday. But stay, sirrah," he added, as Myles,dazed and bewildered, turned to obey; "breathe to no living soul whatI ha' told thee--that my Lord is thy friend--neither speak of anythingconcerning him. Such is his own heavy command laid upon thee."

  Then Myles turned again without a word to leave the room. But as hereached the door Sir James stopped him a second time.

  "Stay!" he called. "I had nigh missed telling thee somewhat else. MyLord hath made thee a present this morning that thou wottest not of. Itis"--then he stopped for a few moments, perhaps to enjoy the full flavorof what he had to say--"it is a great Flemish horse of true breed andright mettle; a horse such as a knight of the noblest strain might beproud to call his own. Myles Falworth, thou wert born upon a lucky day!"

  "Sir," cried Myles, and then stopped short. Then, "Sir," he cried again,"didst thou say it--the horse--was to be mine?"

  "Aye, it is to be thine."

  "My very own?"

  "Thy very own."

  How Myles Falworth left that place he never knew. He was like one insome strange, some wonderful dream. He walked upon air, and his heartwas so full of joy and wonder and amazement that it thrilled almost toagony. Of course his first thought was of Gascoyne. How he ever foundhim he never could tell, but find him he did.

  "Come, Francis!" he cried, "I have that to tell thee so marvellous thathad it come upon me from paradise it could not be more strange."

  Then he dragged him away to their Eyry--it had been many a long daysince they had been there--and to all his friend's speeches, to all hiswondering questions, he answered never a word until they had climbed thestairs, and so come to their old haunt. Then he spoke.

  "Sit thee down, Francis," said he, "till I tell thee that which passethwonder." As Gascoyne obeyed, he himself stood looking about him. "Thisis the last time I shall ever come hither," said he. And thereupon hepoured out his heart to his listening friend in the murmuring solitudeof the airy height. He did not speak of the Earl, but of the wonderfulnew life that had thus suddenly opened before him, with its goldenfuture of limitless hopes, of dazzling possibilities, of heroicambitions. He told everything, walking up and down the while--for hecould not remain quiet--his cheeks glowing and his eyes sparkling.

  Gascoyne sat quite still, staring straight before him. He knew that hisfriend was ruffling eagle pinions for a flight in which he could neverhope to follow, and somehow his heart ached, for he knew that this mustbe the beginning of the end of the dear, delightful friendship of theyear past.