CHAPTER I
On the tenth of May in the year sixteen hundred and twenty-seven, Irode from Temple Belwood to Crowle, as blithe and merry as any youngfellow in the world. For one thing, the day was the finest of an earlyseason, the air sweet with spring odours and glad with pleasant sounds.The laburnums and lilacs and hawthorn and the foreign chestnuts (inblossom for the first time at Temple Belwood that year) were full ofbloom. The hen-pheasants were whistling to their new-hatched broods;the fresh-shorn sheep were answering the bleating of their lambs; treesand bushes rang with the melody of small birds, and from the holms andislets of marsh and mere came a din of quacking, clanging, andchattering water-fowl, which distance mingled and softened into music.But what a pother I make! It was a fine spring day in Axholme. Thegreat reason for gladness was that I had received good news--news ofhard won victory from my father, then in London. For years the Islehad been threatened with invasion by one Cornelius Vermuijden, aDutchman, who had induced the King to grant him authority to drain themeres, embank and stop the rivers of the Isle, and transform thecountry at his pleasure, regardless of the rights of the Isle Commonerscovenanted in the Deed of Earl Mowbray. When the Dutchman hadcompleted his precious scheme, one third of the land reclaimed was tobecome the property of the King, another to be Vermuijden's, and theremaining third to be divided among the Commoners of the Isle, that is,the land-owners. This, without the consent of the land-owners, be itunderstood, and in nowise considering the ruin certain to befallhundreds of poorer folk, who lived by fishing, fowling, reed-cutting,egg-gathering, and the like crafts of marshmen.
When the first rumour of the plan came to Axholme, it was theme forlaughter. What man in his senses could believe that his Majesty wouldempower a foreigner to lord it over two hundred and fifty square milesof English soil, diverting rivers, cutting canals, turning pools andlakes into boggy ground, and of necessity (so said shrewd men, who hadknowledge of such matters, and as indeed proved to be the case),turning fruitful fields into marsh and swamp? But consternationquickly followed jesting, for the incredible thing was true. HisMajesty had great need of money, and the Dutchman held command ofinexhaustible treasure, so the Isle was to be given over to his will.Then gentle and simple alike turned to my father, Thomas Vavasour.They knew his courage and capacity and his public mind. Into his handsthey committed their cause, and he became "their Solicitor," as theyloved to call him, though he was no lawyer by profession, nor everreceived aught for his services. He had been in London on thisbusiness for some weeks, and now wrote to me that he had obtained ajudgment of the Court of Exchequer, confirming the rights of the IsleCommoners, and finally quashing the scheme of invasion. My father hadworsted the Dutchman--and his Majesty himself--and saved the Isle! Thenews would set the bells ringing in every steeple in Axholme; therewould be bonfires on every hill and mound, and feasting and merrymakingin every manor house and farm and cottage. I had been ready to caperand shout when I read the letter, but I suddenly bethought me that theannouncement should be made by "the Solicitor" himself, and that if itso pleased him, my coming of age that day week would be a fittingoccasion. It was hard to keep the tidings to myself, but it appearedright to me that my father, who had gained it, should publish hisvictory. In his letter he said nothing to guide me. I determined totake counsel of the Vicar of Crowle, my uncle by marriage with mymother's sister. But when I reached Crowle, it became doubtful whetherI should impart the great news even to Mr. Graves, who had a high senseof his importance as the parson of a parish, and might be unable toresist the temptation to be the first to announce the good news. Thenext day would be Sunday, I remembered. To think of this awhilelonger, I turned my horse into a track, which wound up a little hillthat over-topped the town. As soon as I gained the crown of the hill,a tumult of angry shouts and the noise of barking dogs came to my ears,and I rode down the track toward the spot from which the sounds arose.A thick growth of trees hindered my view until I came to an open glade,where a number of men and lads, perhaps two score, were gathered roundan old oak. They seemed to be threatening some one. As I drew nearer,I saw a young and beautiful woman, seated on a root of the old tree,her back against the trunk, and one arm partly folded in her cloak,round the neck of a fawn, huddled closely to her. The cloak had beentorn in two or three places, and through the rents showed the whitenessof her arm stained with blood. Her face was deathly pale, but her eyeswere bright and dauntless.
The fellows parted right and left as I rode up, and some of them seemedhalf ashamed of themselves before I spoke.
"What devilry is this?" I shouted. "You vile cowards! To set yourdogs on a woman!"
A stout fellow, whose face bore many scars of old wounds, nicknamedStride-a-mile from his skill in stilt-walking, answered me boldlyenough--
"The devilry is none of ours. The foreign woman has bewitched thefawn, and won't give it up. How could we hinder the dogs snapping ather?"
"You lie, you rascal," I replied. "The curs are harmless enough nowthat you are not hissing them on."
Half a dozen mongrel hounds were whimpering and snarling and growlinground the lady, but not attempting to bite.
"Maybe I am a liar and a coward and a devil, Master Vavasour," saidStride-a-mile; "but the fawn is ours, and we mean to have it. We foundit and the doe yonder"--pointing to a carcase which lay on the groundthirty yards off--"out of forest bounds, and we've chased it, and 'tisours." The fellow looked round on his comrades, some of whom answeredthe look by gripping cudgels, displaying their big knives, or settingtheir crossbows.
Boiling with rage at what I deemed the fellow's insolence, andforgetting the odds against me, and what might happen to the lady, if Ishould be overborne, I raised my riding-whip, and touched Trueboy'sside with my heel, when an oldish man, whom I did not know, steppedbetween me and Stride-a-mile, saying--
"A parley, squire. 'Twould be a bad day's work if harm came to you;and venison isn't worth any man's life. Maybe the lady will explain toyou why she wants the whole fawn. It would go bad long before shecould eat it all. If she would be satisfied with a haunch, now, wewon't say her nay."
Angry though I was, I could not forbear laughing that the lady shouldbe suspected of so inordinate desire of venison, but I knew no morethan the fat fellow himself what her reason was for keeping their gamefrom the rabble. I looked at her inquiringly.
She spoke in a clear, sweet voice. "When its mother fell, and the dogssprang upon her, the poor little creature ran straight to me, and itsdear, brown eyes said, 'Save me,' as well as eyes can speak. How couldI be so cruel as to refuse its suppliant plea?"
As her own fawn-like eyes were lifted to me, I wished I could paint thebeautiful face as a picture of the Mother of Pity.
"Will the men take money for the fawn, if they wish to eat it?" sheasked, holding out a piece of gold between thumb and finger.
Most of the men brightened at the suggestion, but Stride-a-mileanswered--
"Who's to say 'tis good? No foreign tokens for us. For aught we know'tis witches' money, and will turn to cinder."
"Oh, if that's your objection," said I, "here's a twenty-shillinglaurel," which I tossed to him.
The magic of money! The sulky clowns were happy on the instant. Theygave a cheer for the "young Squire of Belwood," and hurried off to pickup the doe, and then, doubtless, to the ale-house.
Dismounting, I inquired whether the lady had friends at hand to whosecare I might take her.
"My father and I are lodging at the inn of the White Hart," she said,rising to her feet, but immediately sinking again, with a little moan."I am afraid walking is out of my power," she said. "My ankle isdisabled. If you will do me the kindness to acquaint my father, DoctorGoel, with my position, he will know what to do."
"Pardon me, but that would be waste of time, and time is precious," Ianswered. "Your hurts should be seen to without delay. If you canmanage to sit my horse, I will lead him gently."
A faint smile crossed her face, drawn with pa
in though it was.
"I have never ridden a horse, and should probably fall; for, to tellthe truth, I have some fear that I may swoon."
She was so pale, and such a dimness had come into her eyes that Ifeared so, too.
"Then we must needs ride double," said I, jumping into the saddle. "Iwill take you in front of me, and there will be no risk of yourfalling."
"But the little deer," she cried. "We cannot leave the poor littlebeast."
I was ready to curse the "little beast," but there was no gainsayingthe lady, so I leaped down again, took up the fawn, and scrambling upon the roots of the old oak, which was hollow, thrust it through agreat hole, and let it drop inside.
Regaining my saddle, I said, "The fawn will be safe, until we haveleisure to return. Now for the White Hart."
With some difficulty, I drew the lady on to Trueboy's back, and puttingone arm round her waist, set off at a canter. Happily, she did notswoon, and in ten minutes we arrived at the inn, where the stouthostess and Nancy the maid received the lady into their arms, andcarried her to an inner room, making a great outcry of pity andastonishment, and asking twenty questions in a breath. CommittingTrueboy to Mat the ostler, I followed, in time to catch a glimpse ofthe lady laid on a squab, and of a tall, spare man of sixty orthereabout bending over her. Then the door was closed, and I seatedmyself in the common room, and waited, while Mistress Hind and her maidbustled about with jugs and basins of water, hot and cold, and towelsand clean rags, shaking their heads, and sighing and exclaiming afterthe manner of their kind. Growing impatient of the noise they made, Iwalked out into the inn yard, and remembering that the fawn was stillin the wood, and that the lady would be concerned about the creature, Idespatched Mat with a handcart, rope, et cetera, to bring it to the inn.
When I re-entered the house, the old man came to the door of the innerchamber, and making a sweeping bow, addressed me in French, signifyingthat his daughter wished to have speech with me. I returned his bow,and followed into the room, where the lady lay, a little colour now inher cheeks, and in her eyes a mirthful light. I thought I had neverseen woman half so lovely, and I think so still.
"Be seated, sir, if you please," she said. "I have yet to thank youfor your courage and kindness."
I interrupted her. "Are the wounds likely to be healed soon? Is thereno peril of lameness, or enduring mischief?" I asked, half turning toher father.
"My father has little English," said she. "Perhaps you speak French?"
I shook my head; for, though I knew something of the tongue, I muchpreferred to converse through the charming interpreter.
"To set your mind at rest," she continued, with a glance bright andwarm as a sunbeam, "my father tells me that a few scars will be theworst consequences of what he calls my folly--and the barbarism of yourcountrymen."
"Barbarism, assuredly," I answered; "but it is to be said for them thatthe fawn was their game, and they did not understand your behaviour.You ran great risk by defending it. Why did you not offer them moneyfor it?"
"Because the heart is quicker than the head." Then she added archly,"You were not much wiser. It did not occur to you to buy our safety.You were for fighting, one against fifty, with riding-whip againstbludgeons and crossbows and guns."
"Perhaps I was more foolish than valiant," said I.
"Nay, I meant no flout," answered the lady, and her eyes were dewy asshe looked at me.
"The fat old fellow must have the praise for our deliverance," I said.
"Not from me," smiled the lady.
The gratitude she so expressed drove me to say, hoping to divert hermind--
"By this time, Mat will have brought your fawn."
"How kind of you to take such pains! But _my_ fawn it is not, sinceyour money purchased it from the hunters."
"Honour me by acceptance of it, then."
"A trifle additional to my life. With pleasure. I did not understandperfectly why the man would not take my coin. Said he not something ofwitchcraft?"
"Only an idle word. The ruffian spoke in amazement that the fawn hadtaken refuge at your feet."
"It was wonderful to me; the more so that I had never seen such acreature in my life. We have no deer in the Netherlands."
"You are from the Netherlands?"
"My father"--looking fondly and proudly toward the old man, who wasdeep in a book--"until three years ago, was not the least famousprofessor in the University of Leyden, the intimate friend of the greatOldenbarneveldt, and of the renowned Van Groot."
"My good old tutor, Mr. Butharwick, will hasten to pay his respect toDoctor Goel. He calls Grotius the second and greater Erasmus,lamp-bearer of learning, the glory of Europe, and I know not whatbesides."
Mistress Goel turned to her father, and spoke to him in their owntongue, mighty well pleased, as I guessed, to tell him that an admirerof his friend lived so near. The doctor drew himself up in his chair,his wrinkled face transfigured by a radiant smile. His daughtercontinued--
"My father's enemies, envious of his learning and repute, laidaccusation against him of being privy to the conspiracy to murderPrince Maurice. He was thrown into prison at the same time as hisfriend. Not to prolong my tale to tedious length, he escaped toFrance. We left Paris three months ago for London, where he met an oldacquaintance, Vermuijden by name, who is about to begin greatdrainage-works in this part of the country, as you probably know."
"He _was_ about to do so," I answered; "but the scheme has come tonothing. The highest court of law in England has made void the King'sgrant to Vermuijden."
"A court of law has annulled a royal decree!" she exclaimed.
"It is even so," I replied. "The laws of England are not to beoverridden at the King's will."
Hereupon followed much converse between father and daughter, of which Imade out no more than that they were greatly astonished and in doubt,as if my news had deeply concerned themselves.
Their colloquy ended, Mistress Goel asked me many questions, promptedby the doctor, respecting the rights of the Commoners and theiropposition to the drainage of the Isle, repeating my answers to herfather, who seemed much disquieted thereby. Hitherto, he had believedthat the scheme met with favour from all the inhabitants, exceptingsome few of the baser sort, and I gathered that he had invested moneyin the purchase of shares in an undertaking which he supposed to be ofunquestioned public advantage, and likely to yield no small gain to theparticipants.
His anxiety was somewhat relieved when he heard that the Commoners hadno rights in the King's Chace at Hatfield, which formed part of thearea under Vermuijden's plan.
Suddenly remembering that I had overstaid the limits of decorum and ofkindness, Mistress Goel suffering as she must be, I rose to take leave.
"You will not forget to bring your friend to see my father," said she,flushing a little, or so I fancied.
As I withdrew into the common room, Lord Sheffield entered by the frontdoor, and gave order in his imperious style to the obsequious hostessthat his presence should be signified to Doctor Goel. He and Iexchanged the distant bow of ceremony, for there was no love lostbetween us two. His ten-years younger brother, Edmund, and I had beendear comrades until Edmund's death; and, indeed, my hatred of the eldergrew out of my love for the younger, to whom my Lord Sheffield behavedever with bitterness and cruelty. Not caring to remain in the sameroom with "my Lord Arrogancy," as we of the Isle were wont to call him,I went out into the yard to bid Mat bring my horse, and, as Mat hadmany questions to ask concerning the treatment of the fawn, some timepassed before Trueboy was led out of stable. Just as I lifted foot tostirrup, his lordship came out of the back door, toying with his sword.It was one of his whims, or part of his cowardice, never to go unarmed.
"You have a good horse, Master Frank," said he.
I nodded, knowing that he had not come out to praise my horse.
"If you should want a purchaser for him, I would make you a bid," hecontinued.
"I have no present purpose of se
lling him," I replied.
"No immediate purpose, but when your father has flung away hispatrimony in suits at law against the King, you may be glad to know ofa buyer, who will give you your price."
"When that event befalls, I will remember your lordship's promise."
"Do. My friends, Doctor Goel and his fair daughter, tell me you havebeen exceedingly kind in bribing a rabble crew to call off their dogsfrom the lady. Pray accept my thanks. It will give you comfort toknow that she will not again be exposed to annoyance by the scoundrelsof the neighbourhood. To-morrow they remove to our poor castle ofButterwick."
I bowed an acknowledgment of his information, mounted, and rode away.A heedless rider I was, leaving Trueboy to choose the manner of ourgoing. I saw nothing but, now the pale face with steadfast lookconfronting the threatening crowd, now the face aflush with tenderpity, now the arch-light in the brown eyes as she talked with me in theroom. And this was one of our invaders! A conquering invader, rightsurely! A Dutchwoman! Nay, an angel!
How flowingly and trippingly she spoke our English tongue! Howdivinely she endured her pain! How daintily she mingled raillery andsweetness! No such woman had ever lived on earth before. And one dayshe could call me Frank, and be my own. Some foreboding that my fatherand I might be divided by my love, I felt, but none the less determinedthat she should be mine. That sneering villain, Sheffield, had markedher as his prey, but I had no fear of him. She would know him for thelibertine and coward that he was. Why had he told me that to-morrowshe would be removed to his father's house? Ten to one, he lied to me,perhaps that he might hinder me from going to the White Hart again.Ha, ha, what a thrice sodden fool to think _that_! Or it might be thathe had some other mischief in his head. Whatever it might be, I wouldbe too strong for him.
For all the way I rode there rang in my ears to the sweetest tune, "Youwill not forget to bring your friend to see my father." No, I shouldnot forget. To-morrow, early, I would bring my friend.
How long, long ago is it since that bright day of May? And I rememberall I felt, and thought better than I remember yesterday.