Part 54 (1/2)
Soon Madge's horse was led by a groom to the mounting block, and in a few minutes she emerged gropingly from the great door of Entrance Tower.
Dorothy was again a prisoner in her rooms and could not come down to bid me farewell. Madge mounted, and the groom led her horse to me and placed the reins in my hands.
”Is it you, Malcolm?” asked Madge.
”Yes,” I responded, in a voice husky with emotion. ”I cannot thank you enough for coming to say farewell. You have forgiven me?”
”Yes,” responded Madge, almost in tears, ”but I have not come to say farewell.”
I did not understand her meaning.
”Are you going to ride part of the way with me--perhaps to Rowsley?” I asked, hardly daring to hope for so much.
”To France, Malcolm, if you wish to take me,” she responded murmuringly.
For a little time I could not feel the happiness that had come upon me in so great a flood. But when I had collected my scattered senses, I said:--
”I thank G.o.d that He has turned your heart again to me. May I feel His righteous anger if ever I give you cause to regret the step you are taking.”
”I shall never regret it, Malcolm,” she answered softly, as she held out her hand to me.
Then we rode by the dove-cote, out from Haddon Hall, never to see its walls again.
We went to Rutland, whence after a fortnight we journeyed to France. There I received my mother's estates, and never for one moment, to my knowledge, has Madge regretted having intrusted her life and happiness to me. I need not speak for myself.
Our home is among the warm, sunlit, vine-covered hills of southern France, and we care not for the joys of golden streets so long as G.o.d in His goodness vouchsafes to us our earthly paradise. Age, with the heart at peace, is the fairest season of life; and love, leavened of G.o.d, robs even approaching death of his sting and makes for us a broad flower-strewn path from the tempestuous sea of time to the calm, sweet ocean of eternity.
CHAPTER XVI
LEICESTER WAITS AT THE STILE
I shall now tell you of the happenings in Haddon Hall during the fortnight we spent at Rutland before our departure for France.
We left Dorothy, you will remember, a prisoner in her rooms.
After John had gone Sir George's wrath began to gather, and Dorothy was not permitted to depart from the Hall for even a walk upon the terrace, nor could she leave her own apartments save when the queen requested her presence.
A few days after my departure from Haddon, Sir George sent Dawson out through the adjoining country to invite the n.o.bility and gentry to a grand ball to be given at the Hall in honor of Queen Elizabeth. Queen Mary had been sent a prisoner to Chatsworth.
Tom Shaw, the most famous piper of his times, and a choice company of musicians to play with him were hired for the occasion, and, in short, the event was so glorious that its wonders have been sung in minstrelsy throughout Derbys.h.i.+re ever since.
Dorothy's imprisonment saddened Leicester's heart, and he longed to see her, for her beauty had touched him nearly. Accordingly, the earl one day intimated to Sir George his wish in terms that almost bespoke an intention to ask for the girl's hand when upon proper opportunity the queen's consent might be sought and perchance obtained. His equivocal words did not induce Sir George to grant a meeting by which Dorothy might be compromised; but a robust hope for the ultimate accomplishment of the ”Leicester possibility” was aroused in the breast of the King of the Peak, and from hope he could, and soon did, easily step to faith. He saw that the earl was a handsome man, and he believed, at least he hoped, that the fascinating lord might, if he were given an opportunity, woo Dorothy's heart away from the hated scion of a hated race. Sir George, therefore, after several interviews with the earl, grew anxious to give his Lords.h.i.+p an opportunity to win her. But both Sir George and my lord feared Elizabeth's displeasure, and the meeting between Leicester and the girl seemed difficult to contrive. Sir George felt confident that Dorothy could, if she would, easily capture the great lord in a few private interviews; but would she? Dorothy gave her father no encouragement in the matter, and took pains to shun Leicester rather than to seek him.
As Dorothy grew unwilling, Leicester and Sir George grew eager, until at length the latter felt that it was almost time to exert his parental authority. He told Aunt Dorothy his feeling on the subject, and she told her niece. It was impossible to know from what source Dorothy might draw inspiration for mischief. It came to her with her father's half-command regarding Leicester.
Winter had again a.s.serted itself. The weather was bitter cold and snow covered the ground to the depth of a horse's fetlock.
The eventful night of the grand ball arrived, and Dorothy's heart throbbed till she thought surely it would burst.