Part 13 (2/2)
The sun arose; but upon no sadder sight than this man, who plodded wearily homeward--warring forces within, and a desert all about. On his way through the silent streets, made more desolate by the cheerless light of coming day, he saw for a moment a mirage of an honorable love and happiness. In the fair city of his dream he beheld a bright and happy home, made so and adorned by the girl whose kiss was still upon his lips. There, always awaited him a heart which, through its love, added to each blessing, and dulled every sorrow.
Ever on the portal stood a being he wors.h.i.+ped, who, with her fair arms wreathed a welcome of love about him. They pa.s.s within; a bright face offers itself for a kiss; fondly he stoops, but the dream vanishes;--in the breaking of the morn he stands alone;--hope dead within his breast.
CHAPTER XIII.
AT ”THE SIGN OF THE LEOPARD.”
Winter waited long for his servant's return. He walked restlessly up and down the chamber, ever and anon pausing, either for recourse to the flagon on the table, or to draw aside the curtains and gaze out upon the street. At last, sinking into a chair with a muttered curse at the long delay, he fell into deep sleep, overcome by the wine in which he had so freely indulged. Dawn broke gray and cheerless. The first rays of the sun penetrated into the chamber and fell upon the sleeper,--his position was unchanged since the small hours of the night. Gradually, as the light increased, he stirred uneasily, awoke, and rubbing his eyes, looked about as though not sure of the surroundings. His eye rested upon the flagon, then slowly traveled toward the window. The recollection of the last night, however, flashed before him, and springing from the chair, he dashed out into the corridor.
”Richard!” he called. No answer followed his summons.
”Richard,” he repeated, in a still louder tone. The only response was the echo of his own voice.
”What mad business be this?” exclaimed he, retracing his steps and looking wildly about the apartment. ”By this cursed drink have I brought ruin to our hopes and cause. Out upon thee,” he cried in a transport of pa.s.sion, suddenly seizing the flagon, and flinging it with all his might across the room. The heavy piece of metal struck the wall, sending out a deluge of wine, and falling with a crash, shattered into fragments an ivory crucifix resting upon a small table.
Winter stood aghast at the havoc wrought.
”An omen,” he whispered, white to the lips, glancing about with frightened looks, then kneeling to take up the broken cross.
”See,” he cried, holding with trembling fingers the image of the crucified Savior which had escaped the wreck, and now dripped with wine;--”Christ's wounds do open their red mouths and bleed afresh at my awful deeds.” The man arose, crossed himself, and thrust the image into his doublet, then wiping the sweat from his brow sank into a chair.
”'Tis not by these tremblings, or vain regrets, that I may fortify myself, or mend what's done,” he exclaimed. ”I must bethink me, and let reason check the consequences of my folly. The girl a.s.severated that she heard all which transpired at her house last night. Oh, most unfortunate chance which gave the words into her ear! What foul fiend did raise the cup to my lips and leave my wit too weak to turn the deadly stroke? Nay,” he continued, after several moments, shaking his head, ”she'll not make known the purport of our speech, for the love she bears her father is a potent hostage for her silence, and if I be judge, Mistress Elinor will make scant mention of her visit yesternight. Even if there be small love in her heart for me, a most wholesome fear doth take its place, and for my present purpose one will serve as fittingly as the other. Marry,” he continued, with a smile, seemingly relieved by his reflections, ”thy ready wit hath at last returned; but by St. Paul! what hath become of that varlet Richard? 'Tis more than likely the open door of some pot house spoke more strongly to him than my command, and 'tis most providential if my surmise be true; I must have been mad indeed to trust the rogue on such a mission. Small doubt but that he heard all which transpired here last night, for he hath a most willing ear to listen, and a tongue given to wag. 'Twould be a heaven-sent deed if something would occur to silence his speech, for his knowledge, if he hath the wit to know its value, may be a deadly menace to our cause. When he returns I'll give the knave silver to quit the country; or, perchance,” he added, a hard, cunning look coming into his eyes as he put his hand upon a small dagger at his side, ”if that will not suffice, 'twill be necessary for our safety to introduce him to more st.u.r.dy metal.”
The man arose and proceeded to efface the marks of dissipation, and set his disordered dress to rights, saying as he finished, ”I must to my appointment with Garnet. Marry,” he added, donning hat and mantle, ”I hope he is safely housed, and that my letter to Giles Martin, which the worthy prelate was to present, did insure him some extra attention, as a pot house, at its best, must be a poor refuge for a priest.”
It was early in the morning and few people were astir.
”Gramercy,” quoth Winter, when he had proceeded some distance on his way, ”would that some person were abroad that I might enquire the direction to 'The Sign of the Leopard;' I swear,” he added, glancing about, ”it must be in this neighborhood, but I can illy guess where.”
Looking, he perceived a group of men a little distance down the street. ”There be some worthies,” exclaimed he, ”who can perhaps direct me to the hostelry.” As he approached he saw they were regarding a figure lying upon the ground.
”Nay, Master Alyn,” said one, ”thou hadst best do naught but let it await removal by the King's guard; if thou disturb the body surely questions might be asked which 'twould bother thy head to answer.”
”Beshrew my heart,” exclaimed the man addressed, who, judging from his appearance, was a small tradesman, ”I can ill afford to have this evil thing lying upon my step, preventing what little trade might drift this way.”
Winter now came up with the group, and as they turned at the sound of his footsteps, he could see that the object of their remarks was a man lying face downward on the flagging, and his att.i.tude of relaxation showed that death had overtaken him.
”What hast thou here, my men?” Sir Thomas exclaimed, ”some victim of a drunken brawl?”
”That we cannot make out,” answered the first speaker, touching his hat, on perceiving--by his dress and manner--that the questioner was a gentleman, possibly one in authority, ”but for truth, he has been stuck as pretty as a boar at Yule-tide. Thou mayst look for thyself,”
he added, with some little pride, as of a showman exhibiting his stock, and laying hold of the body by the shoulders he turned it over, so that the distorted face gazed up at the sky.
Winter started at the sight, unable to repress a cry, for before him was the body of his servant. His wish had indeed been fulfilled; those silent lips would tell no tales.
”What, good sir!” cried he who seemed to be the spokesman of the party, on noting the white face of the other; ”doth thy stomach turn so readily?”
”Nay,” replied Winter, raising a gauntlet to hide his emotion, ”but they who meet death suddenly are seldom sweet to look upon, and--and--for truth, I have not yet broke my fast; canst direct me to a certain hostelry in this neighborhood known as 'The Sign of the Leopard?'”
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