THE DEVOTEE IN THE CHAPEL OF THE DOMUS DEI.

Instead of proceeding to the Water-gate, near which a noisy throng was still assembled, Philip and his conductor turned off on the left, with the intention of making their exit from the town by the South-gate.

Passing through a Gothic archway, they entered a narrow sombre street, or alley, with old monastic looking buildings on either side. In this street stood, and still stands, the Domus Dei, or God’s House, a hospital founded in the reign of Henry III. by two brothers, Gervase and Protasius, merchants of Southampton, and dedicated by them to Saint Julian, the patron of travellers. Connected with this hospital, ancient even at the period of our history, was a beautiful little chapel, where, as we have already mentioned, the three conspiring lords were buried after their decapitation.

Vespers were being celebrated within the sacred pile as Philip and his conductor passed it; perceiving which, the Prince determined to go in and perform his devotions. Accordingly, they entered the little edifice.

Dimly lighted by the tapers burning at the altar, its massive round pillars, semicircular arches, small windows, and deeply-recessed doorway could only be imperfectly seen. Within the chancel, the arch of which was of great beauty, three black marble flags told where the traitorous nobles 54were laid. Here, also side by side, were recumbent statues of the founders of the fane, sculptured in alabaster.

Except the officiating priest and his assistants, there were only two female devotees in the chapel, both of whom were kneeling before the altar.

Philip took a place near them. For some minutes he was so absorbed in his devotions that he did not notice the person beside him, further than remarking that she was young; but as he raised his eyes, he caught sight of a face that at once riveted his attention. Never had he beheld features so exquisitely beautiful, or so sweet in expression. No nun could have a holier or purer look. A tender melancholy pervaded this angelic countenance, adding an inexpressible charm to it. The face was seen by the Prince in profile, but the attitude served to display the classic regularity of the lineaments, the noble brow, white as marble, the delicately-chiselled nose, the short upper lip, and rounded chin. The complexion of the lovely devotee was of dazzling fairness, which lent additional effect to her resplendent black eyes, her finely-pencilled brows and dusky and luxuriant tresses. Her figure was slender, and its perfect symmetry was defined by her black taffetas dress. From her girdle hung a silver rosary. A small ruff encircled her swan-like throat, and a velvet hood fastened to a coverchief lay at the back of her head.

Totally unconscious of the effect produced by her charms, she pursued her devotions, and it was only towards the close of the service, that she became aware of the Prince’s propinquity, and of the ardent gaze he fixed upon her. The discovery gave her evident annoyance. Whispering to her attendant, she arose hastily, with the design of quitting the chapel. She could not avoid Osbert, who was leaning against a pillar directly in her way. Young Clinton had been as much struck by her beauty as the Prince, and with looks betokening the extent of his admiration, he bowed to her respectfully as she passed. Coldly returning the salute, and drawing the hood over her head, she went forth, followed by her attendant.

Philip did not move till the fair devotee had quitted the chapel. He then arose, and with undisturbed gravity of deportment left the building. As he issued into the street, 55which we have stated was dark and narrow, the two females could nowhere be discerned. Yet, feeling confident they must have proceeded towards the main street, he speeded in that direction. Osbert went with him, but was not sorry to find, on reaching the archway opening into English Street, that nothing was to be seen of them.

“Whither can she have gone?” cried Philip, in a tone of fierce disappointment; and then, without waiting for an answer, he added, “But perhaps you know her.”

Osbert replied in the negative.

“I did not believe the world contained such a paragon,” cried Philip. “But to lose her would be intolerable. Stay! the priest can tell us who she is. Let us go back and question him.”

“Such a step would excite the holy man’s suspicions, and infallibly seal his lips,” replied Osbert, “To-morrow I will obtain information for your Highness.”

“But I must be satisfied to-night,” cried Philip. “I cannot rest till I feel sure I shall behold her again.”

“She appears to have made a great impression upon your Highness,” observed Osbert, in a tone that slightly evinced his dissatisfaction.

“More than I like to confess,” rejoined the Prince. “I am not accustomed to be thwarted. I must find out who she is, and that without delay.”

“I see not how your desire can be gratified,” said Osbert. “We have lost all traces of her for the moment.”

“You seem reluctant to do my bidding, Sir,” said Philip. “Are you smitten with her yourself? Take heed! I will endure no rival.”

“Far be it from me to dream of rivalry with your Highness,” rejoined Osbert. “I am ready to execute any orders you may deign to give me, but I cannot blind myself to the risk of continuing this quest.”

“You are too young to talk of risk, Sir,” said Philip. “Difficulties and dangers only add zest to an affair of this kind.”

“That would be quite true, were I alone concerned in it,” rejoined Osbert. “But it is risk to your Highness, and not to myself that I dread. You would not care to have it known that you have privily visited Southampton to-night. 56Yet it may become so, without due caution. Even now methinks, we are watched. Cast your eyes across the street, and beneath the gate of yonder convent of Grey Friars you will perceive the party of tipsy revellers from whom we have but just escaped. Unless I am mistaken, they are playing the spy upon us.”

“By Heaven you are right!” cried Philip, looking in the direction indicated, and remarking the group beneath the convent gate. “If we go on, we shall have those fellows at our heels, or they will join us, which will be worse.”

“Not a doubt of it,” replied Osbert. “And to speak truth, I am not without uneasiness on another score. That sudden exclamation of a passer-by would seem to indicate that you were recognised—perhaps by an enemy. If I may be so bold, I would counsel your instant return to the ship.”

“And leave this adventure unfinished!” exclaimed Philip. “It goes against my inclination. ’Tis not the custom with us Spaniards to halt on the threshold of a love affair. But I yield to the prudence of your suggestion.”

“Heaven be thanked!” mentally ejaculated Osbert. “He shall never behold her again, if I can help it.”

On this, they once more tracked the dark and narrow street. In another moment they were near the little chapel, and Osbert would have hurried on, but the Prince paused to consider the locality. Possibly the damsel might be still thereabouts, or she might have entered the hospital which adjoined the chapel, and indeed was connected with it. A lateral passage led to a small quadrangular court, and down this passage Philip went, hoping to make some discovery. Nor was he this time destined to disappointment. On gaining the court, he found that the fair object of his search was advancing towards him with her attendant. She had evidently just left the hospital, as the door was being closed at the moment by an ancient porter, carrying a lamp.

“At last I have found you, Madam!” exclaimed the Prince, springing towards her. “I have looked for you everywhere in vain. But I thought fortune would not present such a treasure to my view, only to rob me of it instantly.”

“Let me pass, I entreat you, Sir,” cried the terrified maiden.

57“Not till I have told you of the passion which your charms have inspired in my breast,” pursued Philip, detaining her. “You must—you shall hear me.”

“Not another word,” cried the damsel, haughtily; “I command you to let me go. You will repent this rudeness. Know you whom you thus insult?”

“Pray Heaven she do not tell him who she is!” said Osbert, internally.

“I know you for the fairest creature I have ever beheld,” said Philip, “and if I offend you by my speech, blame me not for it, but rather blame your own charms, which compel me to give utterance to my feelings. Did I but know your name, I would at once release you.”

“Then learn to your confusion, forward Sir,” interposed the old attendant, “that my young lady is Mistress Constance, daughter of Master Tyrrell, the rich merchant of English Street, whom you must know by repute.”

“What! the Pearl of Southampton!” exclaimed the Prince. “By my faith, the title is well bestowed. She does not belie her reputation.”

“Ay, the Pearl of Southampton,” cried the old woman. “And a pearl she is, above all price, I can tell you, and not to be meddled with by profane gallants like you, when she is engaged on works of charity.”

“What goodly work has your fair mistress been employed in?” inquired Philip.

“In ministering to the sick within this hospital,” replied the old woman. “But she is always occupied in good works, and hath no time for idle vanities. You would do well to follow her example. When the Prince of Spain arrived in the harbour this evening, and all the town flocked to the quay to welcome him, what did my pious darling do but hie to yon little chapel to return thanks to Heaven for giving him a safe voyage.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Philip. “The Prince ought to be much beholden to her. I thank you in his name, Madam,” he added to Constance.

“You are a Spaniard, then, Sir?” said Constance, for the first time raising her eyes towards him.

“One of his Highness’s suite,” replied Philip. “I am sure it will delight the Prince that one so fair should take an 58interest in him. I trust you will again remember him in your prayers.”

“I have prayed for him,” said Constance—“prayed that having arrived here in safety, he may escape all danger from the disaffected—prayed that his marriage with our Queen may be fraught with happiness to both of them, and conduce to the welfare of the realm, and the benefit of religion.”

“I rejoice to hear such sentiments fall from your lips. I have heard few like them since I landed. You wish well to the Prince of Spain?”

“I wish well to him because he is to be the Queen’s husband, and she has no more loyal subject than myself. I could not wish him better than to be the chosen spouse of so excellent a Princess.”

“He might be better pleased, Madam, if her Majesty resembled you,” observed Philip.

“The Prince cannot be of your opinion, Sir,” returned Constance, “for I hear he is singularly devout. He will require no other graces in her Majesty save those of her mind and heart.”

“You have been rightly informed as to the Prince’s zeal in religious matters, Madam,” said Philip. “He is as strict as you appear to be; but he is by no means indifferent to beauty, and I am certain he could not behold you unmoved.”

“You do him wrong, Sir,” said Constance. “The Queen must now exclusively occupy his heart. A thought of any other would be sinful, and a pious prince would never indulge such a thought.”

“A very pertinent remark. I trust he may profit by it,” muttered Osbert.

“The sin being involuntary, would lie lightly on his conscience,” observed Philip. “But I must prevail on the Prince to mention your name to the Queen. She ought to be made acquainted with your merits, and might, possibly, find some place for you near her royal person.”

“I pray you, Sir, do not. I have no desire to emerge from my present obscurity. But for my father, I should embrace the life of a cloister. That is my real vocation.”

“It must not be, Madam!” exclaimed Osbert, unable to 59restrain himself. “You would do a wrong to society to deprive it of its chief ornament.”

“You see, Madam, that this gentleman is as much opposed to the step as I myself should be,” observed Philip. “You must not quit a world you are so well calculated to adorn. No, no; you must be one of her Majesty’s attendants—you must grace a court.”

“I grace a court!” exclaimed Constance. “I am not fit for it. But you are mocking me, Sir.”

“By Saint Iago I am not!” cried Philip. “I was never more serious in my life. I will prove to you I am in earnest——”

“Nay, I desire no such proof, Sir,” interrupted Constance, alarmed by his impassioned tone. “I must go. Do not detain me. I have stayed too long already discoursing with a stranger.”

“It will be your own fault if I continue a stranger to you, sweet Constance,” said Philip. “Rather than you should doubt my sincerity, I will declare myself.”

“Hold!” exclaimed Osbert. “Pardon me,” he added to the Prince; “I feel it my duty to interpose.”

“It would avail me nothing to know your name and quality, Sir,” said Constance. “Henceforth we must be entire strangers to each other.”

“Not so!—not so! sweet Constance!” cried the Prince. “Will you not suffer me to attend you to your home?”

“I am too well known to need an escort,” she rejoined. “Nay, I am peremptory,” she added, seeing the Prince meant to accompany her. “You will not, I am sure, disoblige me. Come, Dorcas. Fare you well, Sir.”

“Adieu, sweet Constance!” exclaimed the Prince; adding, as she disappeared with her attendant, “notwithstanding your interdiction, we shall meet again.”