CHAPTER XL.
THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN.
"What outward form and feature are He guesseth but in part; But what within is good and fair He seeth with the heart."
Coleridge.
Through the woods with sure-footed fleetness their powerful horses boreOswald and Wulfhere on the fateful night of their visit to themonastery. Matters of most momentous importance to Oswald at least, aswell as to Alice and the Count her father, called for urgency, and wouldbrook no delay. Presently the pair stood together in the wood, hard bythe place of the mysterious passage. "Hold the horses, Wulfhere, andawait my return; our rest will be more welcome, and much sweeter when wehave brought peace unto others, and disburthened our minds of themomentous issues following on this day's work." So saying, he swunghimself aloft, and speedily disappeared in the cavernous recesses of thegiant oak.
Meanwhile, on the turret a lonely figure paced round and round itsbattlemented heights in the shivering cold, but all unconscious, andinsensible to its chilling influences. It was Alice De Montfort whowaited and watched in the loneliness of the night, hoping, yetdespairing of hearing the welcome voice, or seeing the welcome form ofher Saxon lover. Ever and anon, as she paced to and fro, she lifted upher tear-stained eyes in voiceless prayer to the heavens above her; butthe driving clouds as they scudded across the face of the sky, seemed toshut out hope, and all response from the vaulted blue, toward which shelooked for succour and for comfort. Then in mute agony she turned fromthe Omnipotent, whose form she could not see; and whose voice she couldnot hear, but who, though as yet there was no token, had neverthelessheard her prayer ere it was uttered, and in His own way was sendingfleet messengers of hope.
Was there hope and help in man? She mounted the parapet and peered longand anxiously over the bastions into the cheerless night, listening withstrained attention for sound of voice or human footfall. But the teethof the driving wind bit with piteous severity her wan cheek, and shesank down again beneath the shelter of the wall.
"Will he come to-night?" she yearningly asked of the empty air.
Her faint heart gave the answer to the question.
"No, he is a fugitive and a hunted Saxon; a wolfshead and an outlaw; andafter this day's vengeance he must hide himself as best he can. But Ilove him all the more for that, for he is brave and true, and I willgladly share poverty and exile with him. What would I not give thismoment to know that he is safe? to feel the grasp of his strong arm; tohear his voice, resolute as a hero's should be, yet withal so tender,that a little babe would be hushed to sleep by its gentleness, as though'twere a mother's lullaby. How danger seems to fly from me, and dark,overhanging fate is fronted by silver-winged hope when he is nigh! But,alas! vain are all my hopes, for he comes not. Perhaps already thetraitorous minions have avenged themselves in his blood, and I shallnever see him more. I must fain get me to my chamber and weep, and praythe night away, in the hope that with to-morrow's light there may comesome tidings of him. Just one last look from the bastion ere I descend."
So saying, she rose to her feet. Ah! a footstep on the stone stairarrests her attention. Some spy upon her movements--she is discovered!Her heart beats feverishly, and she sinks to the ground with the day'scarnage flitting indistinctly before her mental vision. Ah! what isthat? The tall form of the Saxon chieftain is outlined in the dim light,and with a cry of uncontrollable delight, and with supernatural energyshe bounds across the intervening space, and flings herself into hisstrong arms in sweet insensibility.
"You are my own now, sweetheart," said Oswald, folding her to hisbreast, and imprinting a kiss upon her cold brow. "You anxious one;whatever have you been doing? watching in this chill night air allalone, and so scantily clad too."
The ears into which he uttered his loving words were deaf; and the eyesinto which he vainly strove to look were closed.
"Poor child," said he, "this is too bad."
Then he folded her tightly in his arms and rested his warm cheek againsthers. Her eyes slowly unclosed, and for a moment she gazed up into hisface. Then slowly they closed again, and a sweet smile passed over herfeatures, the revulsion of feeling from despair to the joy of hope wasdelicious. Like a little child waking in agony from some horrid dream,and finding its mother's form bending over it, and forthwith droppingonce more into sleep, and peace, and rest.
For a minute or two she was perfectly passive, whilst the new joy seemedto be saturating her whole being.
"I am so glad you have come," she said, rousing herself. "I was filledwith most dreadful forebodings of disaster to you, to my father, and toall of us. Excuse my silence, but the joy was so great I could donothing but quietly drink it in. This horrid day has nearly killed me.Even now I am more afraid of the future. After you fled the Abbot boldlycharged my father with disloyalty, and with having planned the day'sslaughter of his brother. His rage and his threatenings were dreadful tohear, for he vowed that he would forthwith lay the matter before theking."
"Fear not, dearest, the worst is past. Everything has this day beenpurged away in blood. I care not to think about it, much less to talkabout it. But after all, only the barest justice has been done, and Iknow of nothing that calls for repentance. Has the Count retired torest?"
"No. I fear there will be little rest for him to-night. I left him sometime ago pacing his room in despair, and revolving in his mind variousplans for frustrating the malicious intentions of the Abbot."
"Other hands have already frustrated the evil designs of that mostwicked and loathsome representative of the Church. The avenger has methim face to face, and he is no more. Come, let us go down to the Count.I am the bearer of news which will make him look kindly upon even aSaxon outlaw. Come with me, one telling of the story will suffice."
So together they descended the turret stair and sought De Montfort'sroom. Alice gave a gentle knock upon the heavy oaken door, but there wasno response. Then she gently pushed open the door, and the pair enteredtogether. The Count was sat with his elbows on the oaken table, his faceburied in his hands, and totally oblivious of their entrance.
"Father!" said Alice gently.
The Count gave a start and raised his head, and immediately started tohis feet at the spectacle which met his sight; for the stalwart Saxononce more stood before him: his astonishment being still more inflamed,as he witnessed his fair daughter lovingly clinging to the outlawedchieftain's arm, and radiant with smiles.
"Alice!"
"Father, give this noble Saxon a hearty welcome, for he richly meritsit. A long time since I unwittingly gave him my heart, or rather he tookit, and he has proved himself our bravest and truest friend. He isbearer also to-night, I believe, of most welcome news."
So saying, she led her Saxon lover to the Count, and Oswald, dropping onone knee, said,--
"Noble sir, your lovely daughter some time ago, in pure pity, gave me mylife. On the night of the taking of this castle she opened the prisondoors, and with her own hands undid my shackles----"
"Alice, I little thought that it was your doing!"
"Wait, father, till you hear this noble Saxon's story, and you willchide me no more for that act of mercy."
"Noble sir," said Oswald, "we Saxons never permit a debt of honour to gounrequited. I have endeavoured as best I could to discharge the debt ofhonour so nobly laid upon me; but the fair creditor has taken possessionof my heart. I cannot eject her, if I would; and I would not, if Icould, eject so lovely and so winsome a tenant."
"Pray be seated, Saxon; I confess I do not understand the language usedby either you or my daughter, nor do I know how far it is permissiblefor me to hold friendly intercourse with one whom my king expects me tobe at deadly enmity with. But Saxon or not, you deported yourself to-dayas a brave man and a true knight should do. The disguise was wellplanned and complete, and your advent timely. It was most daring, butwhat its purpose was I am at a loss to know."
"Its purpose was to rid you and yours of a most deadly viper, and to ridour race of a blood-thirs
ty tyrant."
"I divine thou knowest more of my concerns than it is meet a strangershould. But, be that as it may, I know not whether I am indebted to theeor not, for one viper laid low has given birth to others, whose venom Idread even more, and whom I have no means of appeasing.
"It is better I should explain, sire. It is true I became possessed ofyour secret, but the gratitude I owed to your daughter for the lifegiven back to me from the jaws of death, as well as for the love I boreher, also for the fierce retribution I and my people owed to thebrothers Vigneau, for numberless cruelties and outrages dealt out to ourpeople, caused me to watch with scrupulous care, that I might serve youand yours and rid my people of a deadly terror. I have news for you,sire. Not only is Baron Vigneau dead, but also the Abbot, his brother,has fallen by the avenging hand of an outraged countryman of mine, andhas been carried to his burial in the silent woods. Furthermore, hereare the fatal letters," said Oswald, drawing them from his bosom andhanding them to the Count.
"No living man, save ourselves, I believe, is aware of the nature ofthem, so it is easy to end their potency for mischief."
At the sight of the fatal letters which had for so long a time hung overhim like the sword of Damocles, the countenance of the Count lighted upas though it were by magic, and, reading them over carefully, one byone, he ejaculated, "Thank God!" Then rising from his seat he walked tothe huge fireplace, in which were the smouldering remains of a woodfire, and he dropped them into the embers, and watched the quick flameas it sped up the chimney. After this he most carefully raked over thefilmy remains a pile of burning charcoal; then he returned to the table,and turned a satisfied and kindly look upon Oswald.
"Did I understand you to say, Saxon, that the Abbot was dead also?"
"Yes, sire, I knew well that the work was but half done and thedeliverance half accomplished whilst the Abbot lived. I knew also thatthe least delay would be fatal, so I and a few followers made bold toforce an entrance to the monastery, where we found the Abbot in closeconsultation with one Pierre, whom doubtless you have met."
"Yes, yes, Pierre--I know him well--a brave man, but an arrant villainwithal. I trust he is not acquainted with this foolish act of mine."
"We found the Abbot communicating the whole matter to him, and by bribesand promises inciting him to proceed at once to London, and lay theletters before William. He hoped to bring down upon you the King'svengeance, and then to possess himself of your lands and possessions."
"And what of Pierre? then, is he at large, and in possession of thisinformation?"
"No, sire. The stalwart fellow who acted the part of squire to me in thetournament had cause of quarrel with him personally, as well as a longcatalogue of crimes against our people to avenge. He challenged Pierre,and single-handed, and in fair fight slew him; so he also is no more."
"Saxon, 'tis well done, whilst I have been moping and irresolute how toact, you have planned and executed. It is well done, as I have said, andI am a life-long debtor to you. But what is this betwixt yourself and mydaughter? I am bewildered. Alice, are you two lovers?"
"Yes, father."
"And this thing has been going on for some time evidently, and under myvery nose, and I as blind as a bat. This is passing strange; I confess,almost with shame, my obtuseness."
Alice rose from her seat, threw her arms about her father's neck, andaffectionately imprinted a kiss upon his cheek, saying,
"Forgive us, father; we meant you no wrong, and we dared not confessuntil the circumstances were favourable; but all the while have we beencarefully planning how we might extricate you from the power of yourenemy."
"I have nothing to forgive, truly, you silly child. But was it wise toturn your heart adrift like a rudderless boat on a tempestuous sea, andleave the errant winds to drive it into port whenever they listed. Akindly providence, however, has watched over you, and you deserved it.Blindly, humanly speaking, your love has been placed, but it has beenwell placed, in the keeping of a brave man and true, though he be not ofour race. But whither will all this tend, and how will imperious Williamreceive the tidings--that the daughter of De Montfort has a Saxonlover?"
"Father, let us have patience and faith; all fear of disaster is nowremoved. This valiant Saxon lover of mine can wait the pleasure of ourliege lord; and I--my happiness is so complete, I scarcely know whetherI shall be, happiest as a lover or a wife. There remains much to bedone, and I doubt not but William will know how to estimate the value ofan ally and friend, who is at once wise and brave, even though he be aSaxon."