Volume I Part 36 (1/2)
Holt, though of a stout and resolute temper, was yet daunted by this bold and unlooked-for address. He trembled as he gazed on the mysterious being before him, gifted, as it seemed, with some supernatural endowments. His unaccountable appearance, the nature of his communications, together with his manner and abrupt mode of speech, would have shaken many a firmer heart unprepared for these disclosures.
”What is thy business with me?” he inquired, with some hesitation.
”To warn thee;--to warn thy daughter. She hath seen me. Ay, to-night.
And how runs the prophecy? Let her beware. I have looked on her beforetime. Looked on her! ay, until these glowing orbs have become dim, dazzled with excess of brightness. I have looked on her till this stern bosom hath become softer than the bubbling wax to her impression; but I was concealed, and the maiden pa.s.sed unharmed by the curse. To-night I have saved her life. A resistless impulse! And she hath looked on me.”
He smote his brow, groaning aloud in the agony he endured.
It may be supposed this revelation did not allay the apprehensions of the listener. Bewildered and agitated, he turned towards the window. The pale moon was glimmering through the quiet leaves, and he saw a dark and m.u.f.fled figure in the avenue. It was stationary for a while; it then slowly moved towards the adjoining thicket and was lost to his view.
Holt turned to address his visitor, but he had disappeared. It was like the pa.s.sing of a troubled dream, vague and indistinct, but fraught with horrible conceptions. A cloud seemed to gather on his spirit, teeming with some terrible but unknown doom. Its nature even imagination failed to conjecture. His first impulse was to visit his daughter. He found the careful nurse by her bedside. As he entered the room, Agnes raised one finger to her lips, in token of silence. The anxious father bent over his child. Her sleep was heavy, and her countenance flushed. A tremor pa.s.sed over her features. A groan succeeded. Suddenly she started up.
With a look of anguish he could never forget, she cried--
”Help! O my father!” She clung around his neck. In vain he endeavoured to soothe her. She sobbed aloud, as if her heart were breaking. But she never told that dream, though her haggard looks, when morning rose on her anxious and pallid countenance, showed the disturbance it had created.
Days and weeks pa.s.sed by. The intrusion of the bold outlaw was nigh forgotten. The father's apprehensions had in some degree subsided, but Constance did not resume her wonted serenity. Her earliest recollections were those of the old nursery rhymes, with which Agnes had not failed to store her memory. But the giant killers and their champions now failed to interest and excite. Other feelings than those of terror and of wonder were in operation, requiring a fresh cla.s.s of stimulants for their support--tales of chivalry and of love, that all-enduring pa.s.sion, where maidens and their lovers sighed for twice seven years, and all too brief a trial of their truth and constancy! As she listened, her soul seemed to hang on the minstrel's tongue; that erratic troubadour, Gaffer Gee, being a welcome and frequent visitor at Grislehurst.
One night he had tarried late in the little chamber, where she was wont to give him audience. She seemed more wishful to protract his stay than heretofore.
”Now for the ballad of Sir Bertine, the famous Lancas.h.i.+re knight, who was killed at St Alban's, fighting for the glorious red rose of Lancaster.”
Nothing loth, he commenced the following ditty:--
”The brave Sir Bartine Entwisel Hath donned his coat of steel, And left his hall and stately home, To fight for Englond's weal.
”To fight for Englond's weal, I trow, And good King Harry's right, His loyal heart was warm and true, His sword and buckler bright.
”That sword once felt the craven foe, Its hilt was black with gore, And many a mother's son did rue His might at Agincourt.
”And now he stately steps his hall, 'A summons from the king?
My armour bright, my casque and plume, My sword and buckler bring.
”'Blow, warder, blow. Thy horn is shrill, My liegemen hither call, For I must away to the south countrie, And spears and lances all.'
”'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'
His lady weeping said; 'Oh, go not to the battle-field, For I dreamed of the waters red!'
”'Oh, go not to the south countrie!'
Cried out his daughter dear; 'Oh, go not to the b.l.o.o.d.y fight, For I dreamed of the waters clear!'
”Sir Bertine raised his dark visor, And he kissed his fond lady; 'I must away to the wars and fight For our king in jeopardy!'
”The lady gat her to the tower, She clomb the battlement; She watched and greet, while through the woods The glittering falchions went.
”The wind was high, the storm grew loud, Fierce rose the billowy sea; When from Sir Bertine's lordly tower The bell boomed heavily!
”'O mother dear, what bodes that speech From yonder iron tongue?'
''Tis but the rude, rude blast, my love, That idle bell hath swung.'
”Upon the rattling cas.e.m.e.nt still The beating rain fell fast; When creeping fingers wandering thrice Across that window pa.s.sed.
”'O mother dear, what means that sound Upon the lattice nigh?'
''Tis but the cold, cold arrowy sleet, That hurtles in the sky.'