For Faith and Freedom

  CHAPTER XII.

  HUMPHREY.

  Presently my father came in, the Bible in his hand. By hiscountenance it was plain that he had been already engaged inmeditation, and that his mind was charged as with a message.

  Alas! to think of the many great discourses that he pronounced(being as a dog who must be muzzled should he leave the farm-yard)to us women alone. If they were written down the world would liftup its hands with wonder, and ask if a prophet indeed had beenvouchsafed to this unhappy country. The Roman Church will havethat the time of Saints did not end with the last of the Apostles;that may be, and yet a Saint has no more power after death thanremains in his written words and in the memory of his life. Shall wenot, however, grant that there may still be Prophets, who see andapprehend the meaning of words and of things more fully than otherseven as spiritually minded as themselves? Now, I say, consideringwhat was immediately to befall us, the passage which my father readand expounded that morning was in a manner truly prophetic. It wasthe vision of the Basket of Summer Fruit which was vouchsafed to theProphet Amos. He read to us that terrible chapter--everybody knowsit, though it hath but fourteen verses.

  'I will turn your feasts into mourning and all your songs intolamentation.... I will send a famine in the land; not a famine ofbread nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord.'

  He then applied the chapter to these times, saying that theScriptures and the prophecies apply not only to the Israel of thetime when Amos or any other prophet lived, but to the people of Godin all ages, yet so that sometimes one prophet seems to deliverthe message that befits the time and sometimes another. All thesethings prophesied by Amos had come to pass in this country of GreatBritain; so that there was, and had now been for twenty-five years,a grievous famine and a sore thirst for the words of the Lord. Hecontinued to explain and to enlarge upon this topic for nearly anhour, when he concluded with a fervent prayer that the famine wouldpass away and the sealed springs be open again for the children ofgrace to drink and be refreshed.

  This done, he took his breakfast in silence, as was his wont,loving not to be disturbed by any earthly matters when his mindwas full of his morning discourse. When he had eaten the bread andmeat and taken the cup of cider, he arose and went back to his ownroom, and shut the door. We should have no more speech of him untildinner-time.

  'I will speak with him, my dear,' said my mother. 'But not yet. Letus wait till we hear from Sir Christopher.'

  'I would that my father had read us a passage of encouragement andpromise on this morning of all mornings,' I said.

  My mother turned over the leaves of the Bible. 'I will read you averse of encouragement,' she said. 'It is the word of God as much asthe Book of the Prophet Amos.' So she found and read for my comfortwords which had a new meaning to me:--

  'My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one,and come away. For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over andgone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing ofbirds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. Thefig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tendergrape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.'

  And again, these that follow:--

  'Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: forlove is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coalsthereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Manywaters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it. If a manwould give all the substance of his house for love it would utterlybe contemned.'

  In these gracious, nay, these enraptured words, doth the Bible speakof love; and though I am not so ignorant as not to know that it isthe love of the Church for Christ, yet I am persuaded by my ownspiritual experience--whatever Doctors of Divinity may argue--thatthe earthly love of husband and wife may be spoken of in these verywords as being the type of that other and higher love. And in thismatter I know that my mother would also confirm my judgment.

  It might have been between nine and ten that Humphrey came. Surelyhe was changed more than Robin: for the great white periwig which hewore (being now a physician) falling upon his shoulders did partlyhide the deformity of his wry shape, and the black velvet coat didalso become him mightily. As for his face, that was not changed atall. It had been grave and serious in youth; it was now more graveand more serious in manhood. He stood in the doorway, not seeingme--I was making a pudding for dinner, with my sleeves rolled up andmy arms white with flour.

  'Mistress Eykin,' he said, 'are old friends passed out of mind?'

  'Why,' my mother left her wheel and gave him her hand, ''tisHumphrey! I knew that we should see thee this morning, Humphrey. Isthy health good, my son, and is all well with thee?'

  'All is well, madam, and my health is good. How is my master--thyhusband?'

  'He is always well, and--but thou knowest what manner of life heleads. Of late he hath been much disquieted; he is restless--hismind runs much upon the prophecies of war and pestilence. It is thenews from London and the return of the Mass which keeps him uneasy.Go in and see him, Humphrey. He will willingly suffer thee todisturb him, though we must not go near him in his hours of study.'

  'Presently; but where is my old playfellow--where is Alice?'

  'She is behind you, Humphrey.'

  He turned, and his pale face flushed when he saw me.

  'Alice?' he cried. 'Is this truly Alice? Nay, she is changed indeed!I knew not--I could not expect--nay, how could one expect'----

  'There is no change,' said my mother, sharply. 'Alice was a child,and is now a woman; that is all.'

  'Humphrey expects,' I said, 'that we should all stop still whileTime went on. You were to become a Bachelor of Medicine, sir, and aFellow of All Souls' College, and to travel in Italy and France, andto come back in a velvet coat, and a long sword, and a periwig overyour shoulders; and I was to be a little girl still.'

  Humphrey shook his head.

  'It is not only that,' he said; 'though I confess that one didnot make due allowance for the flight of Time. It is that thesweet-faced child has become'----

  'No, Humphrey,' I said, 'I want no compliments. Go now, sir, andspeak with my father. Afterwards you shall tell me all that you havebeen doing.'

  He obeyed, and opened my father's door.

  'Humphrey!' My father sprang to his feet. 'Welcome, my pupil! Thoubringest good news? Nay; I have received thy letters: I read thegood news in thy face--I see it in thine eyes. Welcome home!'

  'Sir, I have, indeed, great news,' said Humphrey.

  Then the door was closed.

  He stayed there for half an hour and more; and we heard from withinearnest talk--my father's voice sometimes uplifted, loud and angry,but Humphrey's always low, as if he did not wish us to overhearthem. So, not to seem unto each other as if we were listening,mother and I talked of other things, such as the lightness of thepudding, and the quantity of suet which should be put into it, andthe time it should boil in the pot, and other things, as women canwhose hearts are full, yet they must needs be talking.

  'Father hath much to say to Humphrey,' I said, after a time; 'hedoth not use to like such interruption.'

  'Humphrey's conversation is no interruption, my dear. They think thesame thoughts and talk the same language. Your father may teachand admonish us, but he can only converse with a scholar such ashimself. It is not the least evil of our oppression that he hathbeen cut off from the society of learned men, in which he used totake so much delight. If Humphrey remains here a little while youshall see your father lose the eager and anxious look which hath oflate possessed him. He will talk to Humphrey, and will clear hismind. Then he will be contented again for a while, or, at least,resigned.'

  Presently Humphrey came forth. His face was grave and serious. Myfather came out of the room after him.

  'Let us talk more,' he said; 'let us resume our talk. Join me onthe hillside, where none can hear us. It is, indeed, the Vision ofthe Basket of Summer Fruit that we read this morn
ing.' His facewas working with some inward excitement, and his eyes were fullof a strange light as of a glad conqueror, or of one--forbid thethought!--who was taking a dire revenge. He strode down the gardenand out into the lanes.

  'Thus,' said my mother, 'will he walk out, and sometimes remain inthe woods, walking, preaching to the winds, and swinging his armsthe whole day long. Art thou a physician, and canst thou heal him,Humphrey?'

  'If the cause be removed, the disease will be cured. Perhaps beforelong the cause will be removed.'

  'The cause--oh! the cause--what is the cause but the tyranny ofthe Law? He who was ordered by Heaven itself to preach hath been,perforce, silent for five-and-twenty years. His very life hath beentaken from him. And you talk of removing the cause!'

  'Madam, if the Law suffer him once more to preach freely, would thatsatisfy him--and you?'

  My mother shook her head. 'The Law,' she said, 'now we have a Papiston the throne is far more likely to lead my husband to the stakethan to set him free.'

  'That shall we shortly see,' said Humphrey.

  My mother bent her head over her wheel as one who wishes to talk nomore upon the subject. She loved not to speak concerning her husbandto any except to me.

  * * * * *

  I went out into the garden with Humphrey. I was foolish. I laughedat nothing. I talked nonsense. Oh! I was so happy that if a pipeand tabor had been heard in the village I should have danced to themusic, like poor Barnaby the night before he ran away. I regardednot the grave and serious face of my companion.

  'You are merry, Alice,' said Humphrey.

  'It is because you are come back again--you and Robin. Oh! the timehas been long and dull--and now you have come back we shall all behappy again. Yes; my father will cease to fret and rage; he willtalk Latin and Greek with you; Sir Christopher will be happy onlyin looking upon you; Madam will have her son home again; and Mr.Boscorel will bring out all the old music for you. Humphrey, it is ahappy day that brings you home again.'

  'It may be a happy day also for me,' he said; 'but there is much tobe done. When the business we have in hand is accomplished'----

  'What business, Humphrey?' For he spoke so gravely that it startledme.

  ''Tis business of which thy father knows, child. Nay; let us nottalk of it. I think and hope that it is as good as accomplished nowbefore it is well taken in hand. It is not of that business that Iwould speak. Alice, thou art so beautiful and so tall'----

  'Nay, Humphrey. I must not be flattered.'

  'And I so crooked.'

  'Humphrey, I will not hear this talk. You, so great a scholar, thusto speak of yourself!'

  'Let me speak of myself, my dear. Hear me for a moment.' I declarethat I had not the least thought of what he was going to say, mymind being wholly occupied with the idea of Robin.

  'I am a physician, as you doubtless know. I am Medicinae Doctor ofOxford, of Padua, Montpellier, and Leyden. I know all--I may fairlysay, and without boasting--that may be learned by one of my age fromschools of medicine and from books on the science and practice ofhealing. I believe, in short, that I am as good a physician as canbe found within these seas. I am minded, as soon as tranquillity isrestored, to set up as a physician in London, where I have alreadymany friends, and am assured of some support. I think, humblyspeaking, that reasonable success awaits me. Alice--you know thatI have loved you all my life--will you marry me, crooked as I am?Oh! you cannot but know that I have loved you all my life. Oh!child,' he stretched forth his hands, and in his eyes there was aworld of longing and of sadness which moved my heart. 'My dear, thecrooked in body have no friends among men; they cannot join in theirrough sports, nor drink with them, nor fight with them. They haveno chance of happiness but in love, my dear. My dear, give me thatchance. I love thee! Oh! my dear, give me that chance?'

  Never had I seen Humphrey so moved before. I felt guilty and ashamedin the presence of this passion of which I was the most unworthycause.

  'Oh! Humphrey, stop--for Heaven's sake stop!--because I am but thisvery morning promised to Robin, who loves me, too--and I love Robin,Humphrey.' He sank back, pale and disordered, and I thought that hewould swoon, but he recovered. 'Humphrey, never doubt that I loveyou, too. But oh! I love Robin, and Robin loves me.'

  'Yes, dear--yes, child--yes, Alice,' he said in broken accents. 'Iunderstand. Everything is for Robin--everything for Robin. Why, Imight have guessed it! For Robin, the straight and comely figure;for Robin, the strength; for Robin, the inheritance; for Robin,happy love. For me, a crooked body; for me, a feeble frame; for me,the loss of fortune; for me, contempt and poverty; for me, the lossof love--all for Robin--all for Robin!'

  'Humphrey, surely thou wouldst not envy or be jealous of Robin!'Never had I seen him thus moved, or heard him thus speak.

  He made no answer for a while. Then he said, slowly and painfully:--

  'Alice, I am ashamed. Why should not Robin have all? Who am I that Ishould have anything? Forgive me, child. I have lived in a paradisewhich fools create for themselves. I have suffered myself to dreamthat what I ardently desired was possible and even probable. Forgiveme. Let me be as before--your brother. Will you forgive me, dear?'

  'Oh, Humphrey! there is nothing for me to forgive.'

  'Nay, there is much for me to repent of. Forget it then, if there isnothing to forgive.'

  'I have forgotten it already, Humphrey.'

  'So'--he turned upon me his grave, sweet face (to think of it makesme yearn with tenderness and pity)--'so, farewell, fond dream! Donot think, my dear, that I envy Robin. 'Twas a sweet dream! Yet,I pray that Heaven in wrath may forget me if ever I suffer thispassion of envy to hurt my cousin Robin or thyself!'

  So saying, he burst from me with distraction in his face. PoorHumphrey! Alas! when I look back and consider this day, there is adoubt which haunts me. Always had I loved Robin: that is most true.But I had always loved Humphrey: that is most true. What if it hadbeen Humphrey instead of Robin who had arisen in the early morningto find his sweetheart in the garden when the dew was yet upon thegrass?