The White Gauntlet
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Whether soothing, or saddening, she was permitted to indulge only a short time in silent reflection. A heavy footfall – evidently that of a man – was heard approaching along the path, and shuffling among the crisp leaves with which it was bestrewed.
The sounds grew louder and drew nearer; until he who was causing them came in sight – a rustic making his way through the wood.
Marion knew the man – the woodman Walford.
She knew him only by sight, and but slightly. She had no words for such as he – especially in an hour like that.
She moved not. Her eyes were averted. The intruder might have passed on, without receiving from her even a nod of recognition, had such been his wish.
It was only on hearing her own name pronounced, and seeing the man advance towards her, that the young lady took note of his presence.
“Mistress Wade!” muttered he, awkwardly uncovering his head, and making a bow of doubtful politeness.
“What want you with me, sir?” asked Marion, in a tone that betrayed both annoyance and astonishment.
“I’ve been follerin’ thee, mistress, all the way frae the big house. I wanted to see thee alone.”
“Alone! And for what purpose, sirrah?”
The interrogatory was uttered in a voice that betokened indignation not unmingled with alarm. No wonder. He to whom it was addressed was not the man, with whom a timid woman would elect to hold an interview, alone, and in the heart of a wood.
Was the rustic intruding himself with an evil intention?
The apprehensions, thus quickly conceived were as speedily dissipated by the woodman declaring himself to have come in the capacity of a messenger.
“I ha’ brought thee a package, Mistress Wade,” said he, drawing something from under the skirt of his doublet. “It be a small ’un, I trow; but for all that I darn’t gie it ye afore company – for I had orders not to, by him as sent me.”
“Who sent you?” hastily inquired the lady, at the same time taking the packet from the hand of the cautious carrier.
“Master Holtspur,” bluntly replied the man.
“I darn’t stay here aside ye,” continued he. “Some of them may come this way, an’ see us thegither. I’ve only to tell you that Master Holtspur be safe; an’ that it be all right atween him an his wife. They be reconciled agin. But I needn’t be tellin’ ye that: I s’pose it’s all wrote inside the package. Now, mistress, I must away, an’ get back to him as sent me. Good mornin’.”
With another grotesque attempt at polite salutation, the deliverer of the message walked hurriedly away; and was soon lost to the sight of its trembling recipient.
Marion had listened to his words without knowing their wicked design – without even suspecting that they were false. But, false or true, she did not imagine there could be a new pang conveyed in their meaning. She had already felt the sting, as she supposed, – in all its black bitterness! She did not believe that in the same quiver, there was another arrow, bearing upon its point a still more potent poison.
She felt it, as with trembling fingers she broke the seal, and tore open the envelope of that tiny parcel. To her heart’s core she felt it, as her eyes rested upon the contents. Her token returned to her – that fatal gift —the White Gauntlet! The glove dropped to the ground; and, with a suppressed scream – that sounded like the knell of a shattered heart – sank Marion Wade beside it! For some moments she lay along the grass, like some beautiful statue struck down from its pedestal.
She was not unconscious – only unnerved, and rendered powerless by a strong, quick spasm of despair.
Beyond the stifled scream, that escaped her as she fell, no sound passed from her lips. Hers was a despair that speech was incapable of relieving. There was nothing on which hope could hinge itself. The restored token told the tale in all its sad reality. A letter – a volume could not have conveyed the information more fully. Holtspur no longer loved her!
There was even a more fell reflection. He had never loved her: else how could he have changed so soon?
The paroxysm at length passed; and the prostrate form once more stood erect. Erect, but not triumphant. Sad and subdued was the spirit that animated it – almost shivered by that fearful shock.
In silent agony she turned to go homeward. She no more remembered the errand that had summoned her forth. It was no longer of any importance. The information she would have sought had met her on the way – had been communicated, with a fullness and surety that left nothing to be added. Holtspur loved her no more. With that thought in her mind, what mattered it whether he were married or no? But the words of the messenger had equally ended all doubt of this. If there might be any lingering uncertainty, as to what she had heard, there could be none as to what she saw. There lay the White Gauntlet under her eyes – down among the weeds. It lay neglected as if without an owner – no more to be regarded by Marion Wade; or only as the cause of a life-long anguish.
Slowly and sadly she retraced the forest path; slowly and sadly she re-entered the gateway of the park; slowly and sadly walked back along that avenue, once trodden by her with a bosom filled with supremest joy.
Volume Three – Chapter Fourteen
The course which Scarthe was pursuing may seem strange. He now knew that for the hand of Marion Wade, Holtspur could not be his rival. What then could be his motive for sending back the glove: for motive there must have been?
There was one; though to say the truth it was not very definite.
He was still uncertain as to the state of Marion’s heart – still in doubt whether the white gauntlet had or had not been a guage d’amour. If the former, then the restoring of it as designed by him might produce a revulsion of feeling in his own favour; if not, no evil could result to him from the act.
On his side the sending back, of the glove was a mere conjectural experiment – made under a vague fancy that it might, to some little extent, further his interests. If in the mind of Marion Wade there existed a partiality for the patriot conspirator, a slight such as that should crush out every vestige of the feeling, and create a reaction in favour of the first fresh lover who might present himself – Richard Scarthe more likely than any other. Little did he anticipate the terrible effect which that returned token, with the message that accompanied it, would have upon her who was to receive it. He knew nothing of the strange conditions which the lovers had arranged at their last parting.
He had too much experience in the heart of woman to have reasoned thus – had he not been purblind with his own passion. In this condition, however, he gave way to a fancy, that, under other circumstances, he would have instantly rejected.
He was also influenced by considerations of a very different kind. The hand of Marion Wade was almost as desirable as her heart – or rather the fortune that should accompany it. The cuirassier captain possessed but his pay – along with proud patronage it is true – but, neither was anything to make him, what he should become as the son-in-law of Sir Marmaduke Wade.
The crisis had arrived to attempt bringing about this desired relationship. It must not be delayed. The power he possessed for its accomplishment might at any moment pass out of his hands. The times were uncertain; and procrastination might imperil his chances of success.
The sending of the glove was the first move in the matrimonial scheme he had concocted. It was to be followed by an offer of his hand. If the offer should be accepted, well; if not, then stronger measures were to be adopted.
Such was the programme that had passed through the mind of Richard Scarthe, and was still before it, as he paced the floor of his apartment, an hour after having dismissed the messenger Walford.
“I wonder,” said he, as he reflected upon the importance of time, “when the fellow Walford will succeed in delivering his false message? He’s but a dull-brained dolt; though knave enough for that, or anything else. I hope he won’t be so stupid as to bring it back to the house; or give it her in the presence of any one. Surely he will have understood my instructions about that? I told him to watch for her till she walked abroad, and alone. But when may that be? Perhaps not to-day; nor to-morrow; nor for many days? I’m burning with impatience to bring the business to a conclusion. What, after all my well-conceived strategy, if – Ho! who comes yonder? By Heaven! ’tis Walford! What brings the brute back? From the grin upon that hideous countenance of his – intended no doubt for a smile – one might fancy he had already accomplished his errand. I must go forth and meet him – before he shows himself in front of the windows. It’s early yet, and I see no one abroad; still some of them may be astir inside? He must not be seen coming here.”
With this reflection, Scarthe seized his beaver; and, flinging it upon his head, sallied forth from the house.
In the thick of the shrubbery he encountered the returning envoy.
“Well, Walford,” said he, “what has brought you back so soon? Has anything miscarried?”
“Not as I knows on, Master capten. Only as bein’ an early bird this mornin’ I ha’ picked up the early wurum.”
“Ah! what mean you by that?”
“I gin it to her.”
“Gin it to her? What, and to whom?”
“The packidge – to the young lady.”
“What, you don’t say that you have seen – ”
“Mistress Marion? Sartintly I do, Master capten. Seed her; gied her the packidge; an’ sayed, what you told me to say.”
“When? Where?”
“For the first – it han’t been gone a half-hour since the words passed out o’ my mouth; and as to the where, that war ’bout a mile from heear – on the wood road as runs from the Park to Stone Dean.”
“She there at this hour? You must be mistaken, my man?”
“No mistake about it, Master capten; I seed her, and spoke to her, as you bid me. I’ve seed her a many a time along that road. It be a favourite ride wi’ her; but she bean’t a horseback this mornin’. She be afut.”
“And alone, you say?”
“Sartinly, Master: else how could I ha’ gied her the packidge? You told me to let no one see me handin’ it to her.”
“This is strange,” muttered Scarthe to himself. “You are sure there was no one near her?”
“I seed ne’er a creetur.”
“What was she doing?”
“Nothin’, Capten; only standing under a tree – the big beech as grows in the middle o’ the road. I went up to her pretty quick, lest she might gi’ me the slip. After I put the packidge in her hand, and sayed what you told me, I coomed directly away.”
“You left her there?”
“Left her, just as I found her – under the big beech.”
“And you met no one, as you returned along the road?”
“Neither met nor passed a sinner.”
“You think she may be there still? You say you came direct?”
“Straight as the road ’ud let me, Capten. I won’t say she be theear still – that are, under the tree; but she ain’t got home as yet: for I coomed as fast as my legs ’ud carry me. I knew you didn’t want me seen about here, and thought I would be safest to coom up afore the sarvints were stirrin’. She beean’t got home yet, nor half o’ the way – even supposin’ she set off right after me.”
“The road to Stone Dean, you say?”
“That as gooes through Stampwell’s wood, an’ over the hills. It strikes off from the King’s highway, a leetle beyont the gates o’ the park.”
“I know – I know. There, my man! Something to get you your morning dram. Away at once; and don’t let yourself be seen in my company. Go where you like now; but be in your own nest at night: I may want you.”
The messenger took the money; and along with it his instant departure.
“What the deuce can she be doing out at this hour?” inquired Scarthe of himself, as he strode nervously across the parterre.
“Ha! the place – the forest road leading to Stone Dean! Can it be possible that he – The fiends! If it be so, I may yet be in time to take him. Ho, there!” he cried to the guard corporal, who had just appeared outside the courtyard gate. “A dozen men to horse. Quick, corporal! Let them not lose a moment. I shall be out before they have time to strap on their saddles.”
And, having delivered these orders, he turned back into his room; and commenced encasing his body in the steel armour, that lay in pieces around the apartment.
In less than ten minutes’ time he was armed cap-à-pied. Staying only to quaff off a cup of wine – which he hurriedly filled from a decanter that stood upon the side table – he passed out of his apartment; and strode clanking along the stone-flagged corridor that communicated with the rear of the dwelling.
Emerging into the courtyard, he mounted his horse – already caparisoned to receive him; and, giving the word of command to the cuirassiers, who had climbed to their saddles, he galloped out of the court – on toward the entrance of the park that opened in the direction of Stone Dean.
It was a short gallop – ending almost as soon as it had begun. It came to a termination, at the head of the hill – down which trended the long avenue skirted with chestnut trees.
There Scarthe suddenly checked his steed – at the same time giving his followers the order to bait.
Naturally enough, the troopers were a little surprised at this sudden interruption of their ride; but they were altogether astonished at a second order – following quick upon the first – which enjoined upon them to wheel round, and return to their stables!
They obeyed, though not without, a show of reluctance. They would much rather have continued their excursion – supposing it to have been intended for some foraging expedition that promised pleasure and plunder.
They were not entirely ignorant of what had caused the countermand. As they were wheeling upon the path, they had caught sight of an object at the other end of the avenue, whose motions betrayed it to be animate. Though but dimly seen through the dawn, and under the shadow of the chestnuts, they could tell what it was – the figure of a woman.
“A sail in sight!” muttered one, who had seen saltwater service. “The captain’s going to hail the craft; and don’t want us Jack-tars on the quarter deck.”
“’Tis she!” muttered Scarthe to himself, as his followers retired. “Even if he has been with her, ’twould be of little use going after him now. He would scarce be such a fool as to remain upon the ground. ’Tis impossible she can have seen any one, since Walford left her? There has not been time for an interview such as that. She may have been with him before? If so, the sham message will result in my own discomfiture. Or she may have been expecting him, and he has not come? If so, the parcel would be just in time. I can scarce look for such a lucky combination of circumstances!”
“What shall I do?” he continued, after a pause. “If she has not met him, it is a splendid opportunity for my proposal! The events are ominous of success. Shall I make it now – this moment?”
“There is danger in delay,” he muttered, as the old adage came into his mind. “She may have some means of communicating with him; and the glove trick may be discovered? I shall trust no longer to chance. This uncertainty is insufferable. Within the hour I shall put an end to it, and find out my fate, one way or the other. If accepted, then shall Richard Scarthe play traitor to his king, and the good knight Sir Marmaduke may conspire to his heart’s content. If rejected, then – in that contingency – ah – then – the old rebel will risk the losing of his head.”
“Now, Mistress Marion Wade,” apostrophised he, as he watched the advancing figure. “On thine answer there is much depending: your father’s head and my happiness. I hope you will be gracious, and give security to both. If you refuse me, then must I make use of that power, with which a lucky chance has provided me. Surely thy father’s danger will undo your objections? If you resist, let the ruin fall – let him suffer his doom!”
“I must dismount and meet her,” he continued, as he saw Marion coming on with slow steps. “A declaration in the saddle would never do. It must be made on foot – or still more humbly on bended knee; and so shall it, if that be necessary to secure success. Ha! ha! what would they say at Court? The invincible Scarthe, who has made conquest of a queen, kneeling in humble suit at the feet of a country maiden – the daughter of a rank rebel – begging for her heart, and worse still, bargaining for her hand! Ha! ha! ha!”
While uttering this laugh, he flung himself from his horse; and, tossing the rein of his bridle over the branch of a tree, he commenced descending the hill.
Although advancing towards the interview, with all the nonchalance he was capable of assuming, he was at the same time trembling with apprehension as to the result.
He met the maiden at the bottom of the hill – under the sombre shadow of the chestnuts.
He encountered a look of cold surprise, accompanied by a simple nod of recognition.
Such a reception might have turned him from his purpose; but it did not. He had made up his mind to propose; and, without much circumlocution, he proceeded to carry out the intention.
“Mistress Marion Wade!” said he, approaching her with an air of profound respect, and bowing low as he drew near, “if you be not offended by my intruding upon you at this early hour, I shall thank the fate that has favoured me.”
“Captain Scarthe, this interview is unexpected.”
“By me it has been sought. I have been for some time desirous of an opportunity to speak with you alone.”
“To speak with me alone? I am at a loss to know, sir, what you can have to say that requires such a condition.”
“You shall know, Mistress Wade; if, indeed, you have not divined my purpose already. Need I tell you that I am in love?”
“And why, Sir, have you chosen me for this confidence? I should think that was a secret to be communicated only to her whom it concerns?”
“And to her alone has it been communicated. Surely I need not name the object of my love. You cannot have been blind to emotions – to sufferings – I have been unable to conceal. I can be silent no longer. O Marion Wade! I love you with all the fondness of a true affection – all the fervour of an admiration that knows no limits. Do not be angry at me for thus declaring myself. Do not frown upon my suit. O, beautiful Marion! say that I may hope?”
Scarthe had dashed his helmet to the ground, and flung himself on his knees in the attitude of an humble suppliant. With eyes upturned to her face, he tremblingly awaited the reply.
She was silent. Her features betrayed no sign of gladness, as she listened to that earnest declaration. Scarce, even, did they show surprise. Whatever of this she may have felt was concealed under the cloud of chagrin, that, springing from a very different cause, still overspread her countenance.
The kneeling suitor waited some moments for a response; but none was given. She to whom he was making suit remained proudly silent.
Becoming sensible of a certain ludicrousness in the situation, Scarthe impatiently continued: – “Oh! do not deny me! At least, vouchsafe an answer. If it be favourable, I promise – I swear – that my heart – my hand – my soul – my sword – my life – all will be yours – yours for any sacrifice you may summon me to make. O Marion! – beautiful Marion Wade! – I know I am not worthy of you now. Think not of me as I am; but rather what I shall be. I may one day be more deserving of your esteem – perhaps your love. I have hopes of preferment – high hopes. I may be excused for saying, they are founded on the patronage of a queen. With one like you for my bride – my wife – highborn, gifted, lovelier than all others, these hopes would soon be realised. To be worthy of loving you – to have the pleasure of illustrating you – of making you happy by the highest fame – I could accomplish anything. Fear not, Marion Wade! He who sues to you, if now humble, may hope for higher rank. Ere long shall I obtain the much-coveted title of Lord. It matters little to me. Only for your sake should I prize it. But oh! hapless lord should I be, if not the lord of your heart! A word, Marion Wade! – one word! Tell me I may hope?”
Marion turned her eyes upon the eloquent suppliant. His attitude, the expression of his countenance, and the fervent tone in which he had declared himself, were evidence that he was in earnest. She could not fail to perceive that he loved her. Whatever may have been the deceit of his nature, in other respects, there could be no doubt that he was honest in his admiration for herself.
Perhaps it was this thought that restrained her from making an indignant reply. Why should she be offended at one thus humbly suing – one who was willing to become her slave?
The expression in her eye, called up by the attitude of the suitor, seemed to speak of pity, rather than indignation.
It soon passed away; and was succeeded by the same calm look of indifference – with which she had hitherto regarded him.
Misinterpreting that momentary glance of kindness, Scarthe for an instant fancied himself successful.
Only for an instant. His heart fell as he noted the change of countenance that succeeded; and it needed not for Marion to signify her refusal in speech. Words could not have more plainly told him, that his suit was rejected.
In words, however, he was told it; and with a laconism that left him no alternative, but to rise from his kneeling attitude, place his helmet once more upon his head, and bid Marion Wade good-morning.
Alone the lady pursued her homeward way – Scarthe standing silent and statue-like, till she had passed out of sight. Then his features suddenly changed expression; his true temper, for the time restrained, escaped from the control in which he had been keeping it; and both voice and gesture testified to the terrible conflict of emotions that convulsed his soul.
“I shall seek no more to sue her,” muttered he, as he detached his bridle from the branch. “’Tis not the mode to deal with this proud damsel. Force, not favour, is the way to win her – at least her hand – ah! and maybe her heart? I’ve known such as she before. Are there not hundreds in history? Did the Sabine women continue to despise their bold abductors? No; they became loving wives: loving them for the very act, that, in the fancy of fools, should have excited their hatred! By Heaven! I shall imitate those Roman ravishers – if driven to the dernier resort. Thank fortune! there’s another arrow in my quiver. And now to place it to the string. By this time Sir Marmaduke should be stirring; though it seems he keeps not so early hours as his charming child! Curses! what can have carried her abroad? No doubt, I shall discover in time; and if it be, that – ”
He interrupted himself, as if some conception, painful beyond common, had caused a sudden suspension of his breath.
“If it be that —a mistress, instead of a wife, shall I make of Marion Wade!”
With this vile threat, he sprang nervously to the back of his horse; and, deeply driving in the spurs, forced the animal into a rapid gallop, homeward against the hill.
Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen
Sir Marmaduke was in his library – not busied with his books, but his thoughts.
It is unnecessary to say that these were of a serious nature. They were more than serious – they were melancholy. The cause has been already, or may be easily, guessed.
In the circumstances that surrounded him, the noble knight had more than one source of anxiety. But there was one now paramount – an apprehension for his own personal safety – which of course, included the welfare of those dear to him.
He had reason to be thus apprehensive. He knew that he had committed himself – not only by his presence among the conspirators of Stone Dean, but by various other acts that would not bear the scrutiny of the Star Chamber.
Conjectures, referring to the midnight meeting at Holtspur’s house, were at that moment more particularly before his mind. The arrest of Holtspur himself upon the following morning – so close on the breaking up of the assemblage – had an ominous significance. It suggested – in fact, almost proclaimed – the presence of a spy.
If such had been among them – and Sir Marmaduke could come to no other conclusion – then would his life be worth no more, than that of a man already attainted, tried, condemned, and standing by the side of the block!