Two notes, or, as they were then called, mots, upon his horn, formed the only signal that Robin Hood gave of his return; but in an instant those sounds brought forth a head from one of the windows, at the height of about twelve or thirteen feet from the ground. That it was apparently a human head, Hugh could distinguish, and also that it was a very large one, somewhat strangely shaped; but he was not a little surprised when the body began to follow after, with an extraordinary serpent-like suppleness, till the knees were brought upon the window sill; and then, the feet being swung over, the body was suddenly dropped, and hung against the side of the house, while one hand retained its hold of the stone work, and the other waved, what seemed to be, an odd-looking cap, round and round in the air. The next instant the being who had thought fit to employ this unusual method of descent, let go the grasp of its left hand, and came down upon its feet, bounding up again from the earth like a ball, and cutting a curious caper in the air.
Although well accustomed to all the monsters which were then much sought for in courts and castles, Hugh de Monthermer at first imagined that the creature before him was an enormous ape, so extraordinary was its agility, and such the pliancy of all its limbs. The arms, too, like those of the Simia tribe, were of an extraordinary length, and the one which attached it to the window as it hung from above, seemed to be longer than the whole body. The moment after it descended, however, the young knight was undeceived, for a human voice proceeded from the supposed ape, of remarkable sweetness.
"Ho! Robin, Ho!" it said in English.[3] "So you have come home at length, wicked wanderer. You have been feasting in the forest, I know, and carried off little Harry with you to pamper him on wine and comfits, and left Tangel behind with the women."
"Did I not take thee at Christmas," asked Robin, "and leave Harry behind? It was but fair, Tangel!"
"Ay, but he\'s the favourite," said the dwarf, "though he can\'t do half that I can. Pretty looks, Robin, pretty looks! You\'re like all the world, beauty\'s fool. Pretty looks are everything! But I\'ll comb him into worsted when he comes back again."
"Nay; thou wilt not hurt him," replied Robin; "thou lovest him as well as we do, Tangel."
"I love him!" exclaimed the dwarf. "Scurvy little monster of whiteness! I love him not--out upon him! I\'ll carve his pink cheeks for him, and bore a hole in each of his eyes. Take care what you do with him, Robin, and look well to your meat; for if I find you kinder to him than to me, I\'ll roast him before a slow fire, baste him in his own fat, and serve him up to you as a barbecued pig. Ha! ha! ha!--that will be fine sport!--Come, give me the horses.--Who have you got here in the purfled jerkin?--Give you good day, sir," and with his cap in his hand, he made a low and grotesque bow to the young lord.
"He will take your horse, my lord," said Robin. "Now let us in," and approaching the door, he shook it with his hand. It was locked, however, and the stout forester was obliged to have recourse to an instrument, in use during many centuries in England, which served the purpose of a knocker. It consisted merely of a large ring with sundry notches in it; and, a small iron bar, hanging beside it by a chain, being rapidly run over the indented surface, produced a sharp and unpleasant sound, which soon called the attention of those within, who enquired who was there.
The door was speedily thrown open at Robin\'s well-known voice, and Hugh de Monthermer followed his guide through a long dark passage into a room at the back of the house. There were lights in it, though it was vacant; and it was hung with tapestry, which was stained in some places as if with damp, though in general the colours were as fresh as when first the texture was wrought.
"Here, Cicely," said Robin Hood, pausing at the door after his guest had entered, and speaking to a pretty young woman who had given them admission--"Bid them prepare a chamber for this young lord; and hark! tell old Martha--"
The rest of the sentence was lost to the ears of the young gentleman, and after the girl had tripped away, the Outlaw remained upon the ground, apparently in a meditative mood, till at length the sound of some one singing seemed to rouse him from his reverie. It was a remarkably sweet voice, and the air was one but little known in England at the time, coming from those Southern lands where music had made greater progress than with us.
Robin listened for a moment or two, and then said aloud, though evidently speaking to himself--"It is scarcely just, after all, to punish the innocent for the guilty; and it must be a punishment, though she bears it lightly. I must speak with him first, however."
"Remember, you are not alone, good Robin," said Hugh of Monthermer, unwilling to be a partaker in the Outlaw\'s counsels.
Robin Hood laughed--"It was ever a fault of mine," he replied, "that my tongue was a false gaoler to my thoughts. One would sometimes fancy I was an old doating woman, to mumble to myself the fragments of half-digested purposes. But come, my lord, you have not supped, I have; and as there is much business to do, I must leave you for a time. I go to see a young friend of yours and mine, in order to hold with him some counsel of importance; and I beseech you, quit not this house till I return, which will be in about two hours\' time."
"I will not," answered Hugh, "and in the meantime, rather than sup, I will lie me down and take some rest, having first, with your good leave, seen to the accommodation of my horse."
"Trust him to my people, trust him to my people," replied Robin Hood--"and follow my advice. Take some supper: you may have to ride far to-night, for aught you know; and meat and drink in moderation, is strength, if not courage. Hunger is a sad tamer of stout limbs."
As he spoke, he lighted a small silver lamp at one of the candles, which hung in a large polished brass sconce against the wall, and bidding the young lord follow, he led the way through another of those long narrow passages which occupied so much space in all ancient houses. No doors appeared on either side till a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a heavy wooden staircase, the steps of which seemed to be composed of solid blocks of wood, piled round a common centre. There was a rope on either hand fastened by stanchions of iron let into the stonework of the wall.
"There," said Robin Hood, giving the young lord the lamp, "if you go up and open the door just before you, at the top, you will find some supper ready. When you are tired, and wish to go to bed, call for Cicely or Tangel, and they will show you the way. I must hasten away, or I may miss my time."
Hugh de Monthermer took the lamp and bidding God speed him for the present, ascended the stairs with a slow step. At the top he found himself in a large sort of vestibule, lighted from one end, and containing three doors; one immediately opposite to him, as Robin had said; another a little farther down, and another upon his left hand; but although the directions of the Outlaw had been very distinct, Hugh de Monthermer paused and hesitated, for he heard the sound of voices speaking within, and the tongues seemed those of women.
Although he was by no means averse to the society of the fair, the young knight imagined that there must be some mistake, as the Outlaw had given him no cause to suppose that any one was waiting for him. After a moment of suspense, however, he approached and knocked; and a voice answered, "Come in, for we have no means of keeping any one out."
The sight that presented itself to Hugh de Monthermer made him pause suddenly in surprise not unmingled with pleasure. The room was a small low-roofed chamber, covered with dark-coloured painted cloth instead of arras, but well lighted, and with a blazing log on the hearth, which might be needed in that old dwelling, notwithstanding the month being May. Although the furniture was ancient even in those times, yet everything was most comfortable according to the usages of the day. The floor was thickly strewed with dry rushes, and a table was in the midst, on which pretty Cicely was arranging, in haste, a number of dishes, and plates, and drinking-cups.
But it was neither on the maid nor on the table that the eyes of Hugh rested, for in a chair, at some distance from the fire, sat a fair lady, amusing herself with an old embroidery frame, while on two seats somewhat lower, engaged in winding and unwinding silks, sat two girls of about the same age as their mistress, one of whom was evidently the person who had spoken, as her eyes were fixed upon the door, and her pretty little lips still apart.
If the surprise of Hugh de Monthermer was great, that of the party within seemed not less so. The lady at once dropped the embroidery frame, started up and ran towards him with her hands extended, as if she would have cast herself into his arms, exclaiming, with a glowing cheek and sparkling eye--"Hugh!" Then, suddenly stopping herself, she turned her eyes to the ground, and the colour became still brighter in her face than before. She recovered herself in a moment; but neither of the maids of Lucy de Ashby ever jested with their mistress afterwards upon her wearing the colours of the House of Monthermer.
Hugh, however, did not hesitate, but advancing, with a quick step, took the hand that was held out to him, and pressed his lips upon it. "Lucy!" he cried, "have I then found you at last?"
"Have you been seeking me, my lord?" asked Lucy de Ashby, glancing her eyes timidly towards the two maids; "I trust you are come to deliver us--though, to say sooth," she added, with a gay look, "we have been so well treated in the forest, and so thoroughly despaired of gaining our freedom, that we had well-nigh chosen ourselves husbands from the bold rangers."
"You might do worse, Lady," said Cicely, scarcely liking the subject to be jested with; "there are honest hearts in the forest!"
"Doubtless, my good girl," replied Lucy; "but you forget, we have not tried them yet. Now, my good Lord Hugh, let us know, in a word, whether you are come to deliver us or not.--On my life, one would think that he was the man who goes about preaching patience: to keep a lady one whole minute without an answer!"
"Nay," replied Hugh, "I am so surprised to find you here, that my wonder must have time to cool. But, in reply to your question, fairest lady, I must own, though I certainly came into Sherwood to seek you, I came not here to deliver you."
"Why, how is that, Sir Knight?" demanded Lucy, a shade of disappointment coming over her bright countenance, at the thought of being detained longer in the forest; for, however gaily we may bear it, the loss of liberty is always painful, and the exercise of that gift which has brought so much misery to every man--our own free will--is not the less dear under any circumstances--"Why, how is that? Surely, if you came to seek me, you came to deliver me! You speak in riddles but to tease me a little longer."
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, "that I should tease you at all! But, to explain what I mean, I must tell you the whole story."
"Oh, tell it, tell it then!" cried the lady; "that is quite according to every ballad in the land! The knight always finds the lady in the wood, and then narrates his lamentable history."
"Mine shall be a short one, at all events," said Hugh, and he proceeded, as briefly as possible, to relate all that had occurred to him during the last six-and-thirty hours.
Every one, of course, in this world tells his story in his own way, and his manner of telling it is not alone modified by his own peculiar character, but by the circumstances in which he is placed, and the passions that are within him at the moment. This truism may be trite enough, but it was applicable to the case of Hugh de Monthermer, for his own sensations at the time affected the method of telling his tale even more than any of the peculiarities of his own nature. The feelings that he entertained towards Lucy de Ashby--the difficulty of restraining those feelings, and yet the fear of suffering them to appear too openly, circumstanced as he then was, all modified his history, and made it very different from what it would have been had he been indifferent to the person whom he addressed. Love, however, has ever been considered a skilful teacher of oratory, and without any actual intention of doing so, every word that Hugh de Monthermer uttered showed the fair girl beside him something more of the passion which she already knew was in his heart.
He paused but little upon the anxiety of her father, or the indignation of her brother, but he detailed at length the whole of his own course while seeking her, the grief he had felt, the apprehensions he had entertained, and the disappointment he had experienced when frustrated in his endeavours; and, although there appeared from time to time flashes of his own gay and sparkling disposition--though he told his tale jestingly, with many a light figure and playful illustration, there was an undertone of deep tenderness running through the whole, which showed Lucy that the sportive tone was but as a light veil cast over the true feelings of his heart.
The reader need hardly be told, after the traits that we have given--which, though they be few, were significant enough--that Lucy was not by any means displeased with the discoveries which she made in Hugh de Monthermer\'s bosom. That she loved him we have not attempted to conceal, but the history of her love is somewhat curious, and worth inquiring into, as it displays some of the little secrets of the human heart.
Lucy de Ashby was by no means a coquette; her nature was too tender--too sensitive, her mind too imaginative for cold arts. She knew that she was beautiful, it is true; indeed she could not doubt it, for she saw it in every mirror, and heard it from every tongue; but she was far less anxious for admiration than for love. Indeed, to persons not naturally vain, who aim at higher objects than merely to please the eye, personal admiration, although they may know that they deserve it, may sometimes become even burdensome. Lucy, for one, was tired of hearing that she was beautiful, and to tell her that she was so, in whatever courtly forms the intimation might be conveyed, was no way of winning her favour. It was the general mode, however adopted by the young nobles who frequented the Court of England, and were admitted to her father\'s house. They thought they could never too much praise her loveliness or extol her grace. It was the custom of the day, the only mode of winning lady\'s love then known; and the world were much surprised to find that for one or two years she remained very cold and insensible to all who strove by such means to raise a warmer feeling in her bosom.
During the greater part of that time the House of Monthermer had been at open enmity with that of Ashby, and Hugh himself was the object of many a bitter and an angry speech on the part both of her father and her brother. Now it may seem that the fair lady was a little animated by the spirit of contradiction, when we acknowledge that the hatred which her family entertained towards the young Lord Hugh was one of the first causes that created in Lucy\'s bosom a feeling in his favour. But the reader must not forget, Lucy had no reason to suppose that the animosity of her family was well-founded, or their harsh censure just. On the contrary, from every indifferent person whom she was inclined to respect and esteem, she heard the highest praises of him whom her father and brother delighted to decry. She saw, also, that they themselves had no slight difficulty in finding matter for blame in the conduct of the rival house; and when occasionally the two families met, either at the Court or at any of the chivalrous pageants of the day, it seemed to her that in demeanour, at least, Hugh de Monthermer was very different from that which the voice of angry passion represented him. All these things sunk into her mind; and although she said nothing upon the subject, but remained equally silent when he was condemned or praised, the conviction forced itself upon her that he was the object of injustice; and where is the woman\'s heart without that latent chivalry which instantly takes arms in favour of the oppressed?
Thus went on the history of Lucy\'s love till that reconciliation was brought about between the families, of which we have already spoken. Circumstances then led them into frequent communication, and a great change took place in her father\'s opinion of the young lord. He made no longer any difficulty of acknowledging that Hugh was one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the day; and though her brother Alured did not forget his enmity so easily--for in his case there was a touch of envious jealousy in it--yet he suffered the motives too plainly to appear; and Lucy, seeing, esteeming, and admiring, had always ready a champion in her own breast to defend the cause of Hugh de Monthermer. Had anything been wanting to lead her onward to that state in which the whole heart is given--where there is no retreat, and where all other sensations are swallowed up in love--some of the events of the first few months succeeding the reconciliation of the two families would have speedily furnis............