It was in the small wooden house in the lower part of the town, to which we have seen Sir William Geary lead his worthy companion Guy de Margan, that unhappy Kate Greenly sat in the recess of a window which looked over the meadows, and through which a faint gleam of the autumnal sun was streaming in upon her. She was as beautiful as ever, perhaps more so, for her face was paler and more refined, and though she had lost the glow of rustic health, her countenance had gained a peculiar depth of expression which was fine, though sad to see.
Her eyes were fixed intently upon those autumnal fields, with a straining gaze, and a knitted brow; but it was not of them she thought--no, nor of any of the many things which they might recal to her mind. It was not of the happy days of innocence; it was not of the companions of her childhood; it was not of the sports of her youth; it was not of her father\'s house; it was not of the honest lover whose pure affection she had despised, whose generous heart she had well-nigh broken. No, no, it was of none of these things! It was of him who had wronged and betrayed her, it was of him who had trampled and despised, it was of him whom she now hated with a fierce and angry hate--ay, hated and feared, and yet loved--strange as it may seem to say so,--of him whom she had resolved to punish and destroy, and for whom she yet felt a yearning tenderness which made every act she did against him seem like plunging a knife into her own heart.
Oh! had Richard de Ashby then, even then, suffered his hard and cruel spirit to be softened towards the girl whom he had wronged, if he had soothed and tranquillized, and calmed her, if he had used but one tender word, one of all the arts which he had employed to seduce her, Kate Greenly would have poured forth her blood to serve him, and would have died ere she had followed out the stern course which she purposed to pursue. But he was all selfishness, and that selfishness was his destruction.
Hark, it is his step upon the stairs! But she no longer flies to meet him with the look of love and total devotion which marked her greeting in former days. The glance of fear and doubt crosses her countenance; she dare not let him see that she has been thoughtful; she snatches up the distaff and the wheel; she bends her head over the thread, and with a sickening heart she hears the coming of the foot, the tread of which was once music to her ear.
He entered the room, with a red spot upon his brow, with his teeth hard set, with his lip drawn down. There was excited and angry passion in every line of his face, there was a fierceness in his very step which made her grieve she had not avoided him. It was too late, however; for though he scarcely seemed to see her, she could not quit the room without passing by him. He advanced as if coming direct towards her, but ere he had much passed the middle of the chamber, he stopped and stamped his foot, exclaiming--"Curses upon it!" Then turning to the Unhappy girl, he cried--"Get thee to thy chamber! What dost thou idling here, minion? Prepare in a few days to go back to thy father--or, if thou likest it better," he added, with a contemptuous smile,--"to thy franklin lover; he may have thee cheaper now, and find thee a rare leman."
Kate stood and gazed at him for a moment; but for once passion did not master her, and she answered, well knowing that whatever seemed her wish would be rejected--"I am ready to go back to my father. I have made up my mind to it,--Thou treatest me ill, Richard de Ashby, I will live with thee no longer. I will go at once."
"No, by the Lord, thou shalt not!" he cried, resolved not to lose the object of his tyranny. "Get thee to thy chamber, I say; I will send thee back when I think fit--away! I expect others here!" And Kate Greenly, without reply, moved towards the door.
As she passed, he felt a strong desire to strike her, for the angry passion that was in his heart at that moment, called loudly for some object on which to vent itself. She spoke not, however; she did not even look at him; so there was no pretext; and biting his lip and knitting his brow, he remained gazing at her as she moved along, with a vague impression of her beauty and grace sinking into his dark mind, and mingling one foul passion with another.
When she was gone and the door was closed, Richard de Ashby clasped his hands together, and walked up and down the room, murmuring, "That idiot Mortimer!--When he had him in his hand--to leave him in his chamber which any child could scale!--Out upon the fool! With dungeons as deep as a well close by!--But he cares nought, so that he get the land. How is this step to be overleaped? Ha! here they come!"
In a moment or two after, the door of the room again opened, and four men came in; two dressed as noblemen of the Court, and two as inferior persons. Those, however, whose apparel taught one to expect that high and courteous demeanour for which the Norman nobleman was remarkable, when not moved by the coarse passions to which the habits of the time gave full sway, were far from possessing anything like easy grace, or manly dignity. There was a saucy swaggering air, indeed, an affected indifference, mingled with a quick and anxious turn of the eye, a restless furtive glance, which bespoke the low bred and licentious man of crime and debauchery, uncertain of his position, doubtful of his safety, and though bold and fearless in moments of personal danger, yet ever watchful against the individual enmity or public vengeance which the acts of his life had well deserved.
"Well, Dickon," cried the first who entered, "we have thought of the matter well.--But what makes thee look so dull? Has the Prior of St. Peter\'s made love to thy paramour? Or the king won thy money at cross and pile, or----"
"Pshaw! no nonsense, Ellerby," exclaimed Richard de Ashby; "I am in a mood that will bear no jesting. What is the matter with me? By my faith, not a little matter. Here, my bitterest enemy--you know Hugh of Monthermer.--He was in Mortimer\'s hands, doomed to death, his head was to be struck off this morning at daybreak. Mortimer and Pembroke were to divide his lands; and I and Guy de Margan to have revenge for our share----"
"I would have had a slice of the lands too," interrupted Ellerby, "or a purse or two of the gold, had I been in your place.--Well?"
"Well! Ill I say," replied Richard de Ashby. "What would you? the fool Mortimer, instead of plunging him into a dungeon where no escape was possible, leaves him in his chamber, thinking he cannot get out, because the window is some twenty or thirty feet from the top of the wall, with a sentry pacing underneath. Of course the man who knows his life is gone if he stays, may well risk it to fly, and when the door is opened this morning, the prisoner is gone; while on the wall of the room, written with charcoal, one reads--\'My Lord the Prince,--Taking advantage of the permission you gave, in case the base falsehood of my enemies should prevail against me, and having been condemned to death unheard, ere you could return to defend me, I have escaped from this chamber, but am ever ready to prove my innocence in a lawful manner, either by trial in court, or by wager of battle against any of my accusers. Let any one efface this ere the Prince sees it, if he dare.\'--With this brag he ended; and now Guy de Margan raves--but Mortimer and Pembroke laugh, believing that they shall still share the lands! I threw some salt into their mead, however, telling them that as they had left him with his head on, he had a tongue in it that would soon clear him at the Prince\'s return, and as he had saved his life would save his lands, also.--Is it not enough to drive one mad, to see such fools mar such well-laid schemes?"
"No, no," replied the man who had followed Ellerby, "nothing should drive one a whit madder than the drone of a bagpipe drives a turnspit dog.--Give a howl and have done with it, Sir Richard."
"I will tell you what, Dighton," said Richard de Ashby; "you men wear away all your feelings as the edge of a knife on a grindstone----"
"That sharpens," interrupted Dighton.
"Ay, if held the right way," replied Richard, "but you have never known hate such as I feel."
"Perhaps not," answered Dighton, with a look of indifference, "for I always put a friend out of the way before I hate him heartily.--It is better never to let things get to a head. If on the first quarrel which you have with a man, you send him travelling upon the long road which has neither turning nor returning, you are sure never to have a difference with him again, and I have found that the best plan."
"But suppose you cannot?" asked Richard de Ashby. "You may be weaker less skilful, may not have opportunity--suppose you cannot, I say?"
"Why then employ a friend who can!" replied the bravo. "There are numbers of excellent good gentlemen who are always ready, upon certain considerations, to take up any man\'s quarrel; and it is but from the folly of others who choose to deal with such things themselves, that they have not full employment. Here is Ellerby tolerably good, both at lance and broadsword; and I," he continued, looking down with a self-sufficient air at the swelling muscles of his leg and thigh--"and I do not often fail to remove an unpleasant companion from the way of a friend. Then if secrecy be wanting, we are as wise as we are strong--are we not, Ellerby?"
"To be sure," answered Ellerby, in the same swaggering manner, "we are perfect in everything, and fit for everything--as great statesmen as De Montfort, as great soldiers as Prince Edward, as great generals as Gloucester, as great friends as Damon and Pythias."
"And as great rogues," added Richard de Ashby, who was not to be taken in by swagger--"and as great rogues, Ellerby, as--But no, I will not insult you by a comparison. You are incomparable in that respect at least, or only to be compared to each other."
"Very complimentary, indeed," said Ellerby, "especially when we come here to do you a favour."
"Not without your reward present and future," replied Richard de Ashby; "You come not to serve me without serving yourselves too.............