Part 37 (1/2)

”Love of woman leads us to strange issues,” he said to himself, with a wintry smile. ”Cavalier, Puritan, and poor Jack here, we all love the same lady, and here be two of us clapping palms together to kill the third.”

x.x.xI

HALFMAN DISPOSES

Brilliana came in from the garden. Halfman heard her step and turned.

She was pale with many emotions; he never had seen her more beautiful.

”The King has gone, friend,” she said; ”G.o.d bless him for his clemency.”

”My heart does not sing because a Puritan lives,” Halfman answered, sourly. He stared into the fire again and saw burning towns between the dogs. Brilliana paused for a moment and then came a little closer to him.

”We have ever been friends,” she said, softly. There was a note of timidity in her voice, new to Halfman, and he turned in surprise.

”Indeed,” he said, roundly.

”We have been fellow-soldiers,” Brilliana went on, still with that curious hesitancy that sat so strangely upon her. ”We have shared a siege. I have a secret to tell you.”

Halfman felt a sudden uncanny warning of danger. ”A secret,” he repeated, staring at her.

Brilliana was outblus.h.i.+ng all things red--peony, poppy, flamingo, anything.

”You have always loved me, Hobbin?” she asked, half timorously.

”I have always loved you,” he answered, slowly, with a rigid face.

”Then you will be glad of what I have to tell,” she said. ”There will be no change here. For I love this gentleman even as this gentleman loves me, and we are to wed when this meddling war is ended.”

”You love him?” Halfman echoed, dully. ”You wed an enemy to the King?”

Brilliana sighed.

”Love is the greatest power in all the world,” she said; ”greater than kings, greater than emperors, greater than popes. But I will wed no enemy to the King. If these wars were to endure forever, then forever my dear friend and I would remain unwed and bear our single souls to heaven.”

Her voice was low and dreary; suddenly it brightened.

”But these wars will not endure forever. The King will be in London in a few days; the Parliament will be at his feet; my friend will be no more a rebel, for all rebellion will have ceased to be.”

”How if your friend be killed before the King reaches London?”

Halfman asked her, hoa.r.s.ely. ”The wheels of war do not turn from the path of a lover.”

”If he be killed,” she said, simply, ”I do not think I shall long outlive him. My heart does not veer like a vane for every breath of praise or pa.s.sion. First and last, I have found my mate in the world; first and last, I will be loyal while I live. But if he die, I hope G.o.d will deal gently with me, nor suffer me to grow gray in sorrow.”

She turned away from Halfman that he might not see the tears in her eyes, and so turning did not see the tears that stood in his. She moved towards the harpsichord and dropped into the chair that served it. Her fingers fluttered over the keys and a tinkling music answered them and underlined the words she sang:

”You ride to fight, my dearest friend, I bide at home and sigh; G.o.d only knows what G.o.d may send, To test us, by-and-by.

If 'tis decreed that you must die, So comes my world to end; And I will seek beyond the sky The features of my friend.

Come back from fight, my dearest friend, The idol of my eye, That hand in hand ourselves may bend Before G.o.d's altar high.