Volume I Part 43 (1/2)
”My betters! and who be they, maiden? Thou knowest me not, _perdie_.
Hath not Sir John Finett shorn his love-locks and eschewed thy service after leaving thy bower the other night?”
This taunt raised her indignation to a blaze--her bosom swelled at the rebuke.
Still he retained her hand--with the other she clung to a withered tree, whose roots held insecurely by the rock. Making another effort, she sprang from his grasp; but the tree was rent from its hold, and she fell with it to the edge of the precipice. Ere the Silver Knight could interpose, a faint shriek announced her descent: a swift crash was heard amongst the boughs and underwood--a groan and a rebound. He saw her disappear behind a crag. Then came one thrilling moment of terror, one brief pause in that death-like stillness, and a heavy plunge was heard in the gulf below! He listened--his perceptions grew more acute--eye and ear so painfully susceptible, and their sensibility so keen, that the mind scarcely distinguished its own reactions from realities--from outward impressions on the sense. He thought he heard the gurgle and the death-throe. Then the pale face of the maiden seemed to spring out from the abyss. He rushed down the precipice. Entangled in the copsewood and bushes, some time elapsed ere he gained the narrow path below. He soon found, as in most other situations, the shortest road the longest--that the beaten track would have brought him quicker to his destination; but these nice calculations were forgotten. All pranked out and bedizened as he was, the puissant knight plunged into the gulf; but his exertions were fruitless, and he gave up the search. His love for the maiden living and breathing did not prompt him to drown himself for her corpse. With hasty steps he regained the Tower, where he doffed his dripping garments un.o.bserved.
Sir John Finett, by advice from his friend Weldon, determined on acquainting their host with the lady's disappearance. They had a shrewd suspicion that Buckingham was the contriver of this daring outrage; though from his great power, influence, and audacity, they had everything to fear and but little to hope from the result. Yet no time should be lost in the attempt.
As they entered the hall, Sir Gilbert Hoghton and several of the guests were still making merry after the feast. Calling him aside, they communicated the dismal tidings.
”Grace Gerard amissing, say ye?”
”'Tis even so,” said Sir John; ”we have yet no clue to the search; but this night shall not pa.s.s without the attempt, at any rate. In the morning we will to the king with our complaint.”
”Boy,” said the baronet to his little henchman, ”go to the woman's suite, and rouse Grace Gerard's maid.”
”The woman was in the kitchen some half hour agone, conveying her mistress a warm draught, or some such puling diet,” said the page.
”Haste,” cried Sir John impatiently, marvelling at this unexpected intelligence,--”the lad is blinded by some misapprehension. I'll forfeit my best jewel she is not in her chamber. This interlude works i' the plot--part of the trickery now enacting.”
But the page made a quick return.
”What news?” said Finett.
”The lady is gone to rest; something discomposed, though, and out of spirits. So says her maiden, whom I would have questioned more straitly, but she rebuked me sharply for my impertinence.”
”Pray you send and question her,” said Sir John.
”Nay,” returned Sir Gilbert, smiling, ”I'll be bound the lady is safe; and her maiden has other guess-matters to look to than letting out the secrets of her mistress's chamber.”
They were obliged to rest satisfied, or rather unsatisfied, with this answer. But the mystery was more and more inexplicable. Either some laughable mistake or some deep-laid villany was intended. Sir John dared not pursue the subject to this extremity. He felt a.s.sured of her purity and honour. Her manners, so confiding and unsuspicious, showed a heart unacquainted with guile.
After a sleepless night Sir John arose, feverish and unrefreshed. He threw open the window of his chamber, which looked into the courtyard.
Near a side postern stood a grey palfrey, caparisoned for a lady's use, and impatiently awaiting its burden. The hour was too early for morning rambles, but the beast was evidently equipped for a journey. Two other steeds were now led forth, as if for the attendants. He caught a glimpse of Grace Gerard's maid, who seemed, by her dress, to be of the party whose movements he was so anxious to ascertain. He suspected this sudden departure was for the purpose of escaping without his observance. He hurried towards the stairs: just entering the corridor, he met Grace Gerard. She was evidently confused at his appearance. It was but for a moment; her spirit grappled with the occasion; and she replied firmly, and with becoming dignity, to his questions.
”Whither away, our beauteous queen?” said he, bowing almost to the ground. ”Are you bound for some isle of the Western Ind, getting the start of Phoebus in his nightly race to those gem-bearing climes?
Methinks the sun is departing from us, though but just risen.”
”'Tis my purpose to depart, Sir John. This clime is too bright, and its beams too fervid, for a lady's eye.”
”One word in sober speech:--Wherefore?”
”I know your question, Sir John. Time hastens, and I reply. Your knight of the silver mantle I proclaim a recreant, as treacherous as he is base. Sir John, for my--no, for your own sake”----
”Another stole into his place,” said he, interrupting her with great eagerness. ”A base-born changeling!--some villain, who, under this disguise, abused our honourable intent; but say, peerless princess, to whose prowess we owe your rescue.”
”'Tis my first venture into the unhallowed limits of your licentious court; and through the grace that hath preserved me harmless, I here resolve it shall be my last. By your instructions, Sir John, I relied implicitly on the protection of your friend. He would fain have abused his trust, but I escaped from the offered insult. Struggling to free my hand from his grasp, by yonder hill-side, I lost my footing. I fell down the steep unhurt. Fear lent me unwonted strength, and I escaped unseen, round the narrow pathway. My discourteous knight thought, doubtless, I had tumbled into the roaring abyss; for the night mist hung below, and I heard a huge fragment of rock, loosened in my descent, plunge into the dimly-rolling waters. Now, hear me: my resolve is taken, and no earthly influence or persuasion shall stay me. 1 was bewildered, yet flattered by your follies: foolish and thoughtless enough to frolic and flutter on the very brink of a precipice. I was dazzled by the glittering but dangerous excitement. Conscience spoke, but I durst not listen. My course of life hitherto has been through scenes of gentleness and peace, and I could not look on your bustle and dissipation without alarm. Yet was I persuaded to mingle in your sports yesterday--that day hallowed by the last fiat of its Creator, wherein the soul, freed awhile from the cares of earth, may prostrate itself in homage before Him who said, 'It is mine!' Justly punished for trifling with my better thoughts, my escape shall not be without its acknowledgment.”
Sir John was silent. She stood before him like some purer, brighter thing than could be deemed akin to this polluted earth.