CHAPTER XXVII.
Let us return to the close of supper on the preceding night. The abbess and her two fair nieces, with some other ladies who had been congregated in the castle, retired, first, to a little hall, above that where they had supped, and then, after a short conversation, separated into various parties, and sought the chambers where they were to take repose. Iola, Constance, and their aunt, retired to the bed-room of the former, before they parted for the night, and sat and talked for a few minutes in a calm tone.
"My dear child, you look sad," said the abbess; "has any thing vexed you?"
"No, dear aunt, nothing more than usual," answered Iola, forcing a laugh. "I suppose a man may be merry enough, when he knows he is to be hanged at the end of a year; but the case alters when he finds himself at the day before the hanging."
"A hang dog simile, my child," said the abbess. "But fie, Iola, put away such thoughts. Marriage is an honourable state, though it lacks the sanctity of devotion; and I doubt not it is a very comfortable condition, though, good lack, I have never tried it, and never shall now;" and she laughed a little at the thought. "Well, well, methinks you ought to be content," she continued; "for, certainly he is a very fair and handsome young man."
"Is he?" said Iola, in an indifferent tone. "I thought he was dark."
"Well, his hair and eyes are dark," replied her aunt, "and his skin somewhat brownish; but what I meant was, that he is good-looking and manly. I do not think your fair men, with pink cheeks, handsome for my part, though I take but little heed to men's beauty--why should I? However, I say he is as handsome a young man for a husband as woman would wish to choose."
"I must have him for a husband whether I choose or not," answered Iola; "so, handsome or ugly, it comes to the same."
Constance thought for a moment, and then said, in a quiet tone, "I do not think he is so handsome as Lord Chartley;" and she gave a quick glance towards her cousin's face as she spoke.
Iola's cheek was crimson in a moment, but she said nothing; and the abbess exclaimed gaily, "Oh, this world, this world. I see it will steal your heart away from us, Constance. No more vows and veils for you now. Well, do as you like, my child. I have found a convent life a very happy one--perhaps, because there was no choice, and I resolved to make the best of it; and, if Iola would take her aunt's advice, she would look upon marriage as much the same, and make the best of it too."
With this piece of exceeding good counsel, the worthy lady rose and left her two fair companions; and, no sooner was she gone, than Constance moved closer to her cousin, and, laying her hand upon Iola's, looked tenderly into her face.
"Give me your heart, Iola," she said. "You have withdrawn your confidence from me, and your heart must have gone with it."
Iola bent down her forehead on her cousin's shoulder, and wept without reply.
"Nay, dear cousin," continued Constance, "if not for my sake--if not for old affection's sake, and for love, which, unlike the love of the world, can never weary or wax old--for your own sake, give me your confidence as in days of yore. Tell me your heart's feelings and your mind's thoughts; for, be sure that there are few, if any, situations in life, in which counsel cannot bring comfort."
"I will, I will, Constance," said Iola, wiping away the tears. "These foolish drops," she continued, "spring but from a momentary weakness, my Constance. I have borne up and struggled hard till now. It is kindness that shakes me."
"But then tell me," said her cousin, "tell me whence they spring, Iola. I see you are unhappy--miserable. I would fain help you, or, at least, console you; but I know not how."
"What would you have, dear Constance?" said Iola, mournfully. "You must see it--I love him not--I can never love him; and yet in a few days, I know not how soon, I must vow at the altar to love him for ever. Is not that a hard fate, dear Constance?"
"It might be worse," answered Constance. "How worse?" demanded Iola in surprise. "If you loved another," said her cousin, slowly and sorrowfully.
Again the crimson glow spread over Iola's brow and cheek, followed by a warm gush of tears; but Constance twined her arms round her saying:
"I have your secret now, dear Iola. That is over. Let us speak freely of all things. But first, for some comfort--though it be but a reprieve. My uncle told me, just before supper, that the king's consent to the celebration of the marriage has not been obtained; that Richard begs him to delay, till he and the queen can be present. It may be long first; for poor queen Ann, they declare, is gone mad upon the death of the prince. It must be some months; for they cannot be present at a marriage in mourning. But, what is very strange, my uncle seemed well satisfied with the delay."
Iola sat and gazed at her as she spoke, with a look of wonder, as if the tidings were so unexpected and incredible, even to hope, that she could hardly comprehend what she heard. The next instant, however, she started up and clapped her hands with a look of childlike joy.
"A reprieve!" she cried. "Oh, it is everything. It is everything. It is comfort. It is life. It is hope!" and then, casting herself upon her cousin's neck, she wept again, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Constance tried to calm her, but her words seemed not to reach Iola's mind; for, when the tears had had their way, she sprang up, clasping her hands again, and crying, with the same radiant look, "Months, did you say? Oh, moments were a blessing--who can tell what months may bring forth? They have sometimes swept away empires. Now, we shall have time to think, and speak, and act. Before, I thought it was useless to take counsel even with you, dear Constance; for what could counsel avail, when the event was hurrying on with such terrible rapidity. It seemed like one of those mountains of snow, which I have heard of, falling in the Alps, where, though they be seen thundering down, 'tis vain to fly, or move, or think; for their coming is too rapid, their extent too wide; and all that remains is to call upon the name of God and die."
"Good Heaven, what an image!" exclaimed Constance; "and have you really suffered all this, my poor Iola?--But now tell me what has passed between you and Lord Chartley?"
"Nothing," replied Iola; and, be it remarked that, at every word she uttered, her spirits seemed to revive more and more, as if nothing but the intolerable burden which had been cast upon them had been able to keep them down, and that, as soon as it was removed, they sprang up again fresher than ever. "Nothing at all, but what I have told you, dear Constance. For the world, I would not have told you a falsehood."
"Then, nothing has been said to make you think he loves you as you love him!" asked Constance.
Iola blushed a little, and looked down; but, there was an expression of arch meaning about her smiling lips; and she replied:--
"Nothing has been said, it is true, dear Constance; but a good deal has been looked. How the tone, how the eyes change the whole meaning of cold words: I have not loved, unbeloved, I hope--I trust--I believe. Men are deceivers, you will say, and in nought more deceitful than their looks. Perhaps you will tell me too that Chartley, this very night, was gay and joyful, that he laughed and talked with those around him, not at all like a disappointed lover. But he was not joyful at his heart, Constance. I watched and saw it all. I saw that the laugh was forced, the merriment unreal. I marked the sudden fit of thought, the gloomy look that chequered the smile, the head held high, and the curling lip which scorned the words the tongue uttered."
"Alas, that you should have watched so closely," answered Constance; and, after a moment's thought, she added; "but, as we are to have confidence in each other, dear Iola, I must feign nothing with you; and I do believe that it is as you say. Nay, more. There is another, who knows him better than I do, who thinks so too."
"Who? Who?" demanded Iola, eagerly.
"None other than good Sir William Arden," answered Constance; and she went on to give her cousin a sketch of the conversation which had taken place between herself and her companion at supper.
"I saw you talking very busily," replied Iola, with a smile; "but in truth, dear Constance, I almost fancied you and the good knight had better subjects of conversation than the fate of Iola and Chartley. Well, thank Heaven, we have got another in the plot, who can give us good help too, in the hour of need, perhaps."
"A plot!" said Constance, with a look of apprehension. "What plot do you intend to form, Iola?"
"Now she is frightened out of her wits!" cried Iola, laughing as merrily as ever. "No plot, dearest cousin. I spoke in my wild way, and gave it a wild name. Only this, Constance, be sure of, that if there be a means of escape--and what may not this respite produce--I will not give my hand to Lord Fulmer--no, even though a convent should be my only refuge, though Heaven knows, thinking as I think, that would be bad enough."
"Thinking as you think--I do not understand what you mean, Iola," said her cousin in some surprise.
Iola thought gravely for a moment or two, before she spoke; but at length she replied:
"Perhaps I am not so devout as you are, Constance, and yet, in some things more devout. There is another enigma for you; but I know a convent would not suit me. You will say, I seemed happy enough in one; but yet I have come to the belief that they are not truly holy or good institutions. To take the vows I should have to take, were I to enter one, to live according to all the rules and ordinances, to go through all the ceremonies, and to make all the professions, I should be a hypocrite, Constance. But to marry this Lord Fulmer, to vow that I will love him when I love another, would make me worse than a hypocrite."
Constance gazed at her with a bewildered look; for, though her words were not very plain, yet they created doubts.
"I do not know what to think of your language, Iola," she answered. "Holy men, fathers of the church, successors of the apostles, have founded convents, and blessed them. Surely they cannot be evil institutions with such a sanction."
Iola laughed, seeming not inclined to grapple with the question; and then, with a playful gesture of the hand, she asked abruptly--
"Would you like now, now as you sit here, to devote yourself for life to one of them?"
"That is not a fair question," answered Constance, with a blush and a smile; "but now, let us think, Iola, of what must be your conduct between these two men. To one you are bound by a contract, valid it seems in the eye of the law, and from which you cannot escape, although it was entered into when you had no power to assent or to refuse. To the other you are linked by ties of affection, which are even less easily broken, I do believe."
"Most mathematically put, dear cousin," answered Iola, in her old gay tone; "but yet I can hardly reply. I must seek advice of some one who knows more of the world's ways than either you or I do."
"My aunt?" suggested Constance. "She will say, there is but one thing to be done--to yield, and make the best of it."
"No, no. Not to her will I apply," said Iola. "Of the world's ways, dear Constance, of its laws and rules, she knows but little--hardly more than we do. She can deal with foresters and bailiffs, sell timber or wheat, collect the abbey dues, regulate its expenses, rule her nuns wisely, though not strictly, and make devotion cheerful, without depriving it of reverence; but there is a wide, wide circle beyond all this, of which she knows nothing--nor I either, but that it exists."
"Then to whom can you apply?" asked Constance; and Iola, rising, laid her hands upon her cousin's, with a grave smile.
"I will apply to one who will advise me well," she said; "but here, dearest Constance, I must--however unwillingly--hold back a part of my confidence from you. Were it my own alone, you should have it all, fully and at once; but there is another, whose confidence I must not break. Rest satisfied with this, that, as far as Chartley and I are concerned, every secret of my heart, every act that I perform, propose, or think of, shall be told to you at once. You shall see into my breast, as if it were your own."
"But yet there will be one dark spot," said Constance, almost reproachfully.
"Not concerning myself," answered Iola. "I tell you I am going to seek advice. What that advice is, you shall know. Where I ask it, who gives it, you must not know. This shall be the only reserve."
"And you will not act in anything without speaking to me?" asked Constance anxiously.
"Certainly not," replied Iola; "but, you must promise in return, Constance, that my confidence will never be violated, that no notions which you may have imbibed of duty or propriety, or anything else on earth--no, not of religion itself--shall make you ever betray to man or woman that which I shall tell you."
Constance seemed to hesitate; and Iola added, firmly, but sadly--
"You must promise, Constance, or there can be no confidence. My heart must hide itself from you, as from the rest of the world, unless I know that its secrets are as safe with you as with myself. Will you promise, without any reservation, remembering, that I shall look upon no consideration of 'my own good,' as it is called, as an excuse for your violating that engagement. I know you will keep your promise when you have given it."
"Assuredly I will," replied Constance; and, after a moment's thought, she added; "and I will give the promise too, Iola. If I did not, you could easily withhold your confidence from me; and I do think that it will be better for you to have some one, of whose love you can have no doubt, to consult with and rely on. Remember I do not know and cannot divine who this secret adviser is, nor how he or she should have followed you hither, to give you counsel on any sudden occasion. Surely you would not rely upon your maid, in preference to your cousin."
Iola laughed gaily.
"Nay, Heaven forbid," she cried, waving her hand. "Besides, what knows she of the world? Poor Susan's utmost experience reaches but to know, that Harry Smith, the abbey gardener's son, bought her pink ribbons at Tamworth fair, and asked her to marry him at Shrovetide next. No, no, dear Constance. All my confidence you shall have--that is to say, all my own. I will only keep from you the confidence of others; and now your promise is given, is it not--fully and without reservation?"
"It is," answered Constance. "I know you have always hated that doctrine of mental reservation, and called it unchristian and uncandid. I do not like it, and will never act upon it, though very good men say that it is sometimes needful."
"Fie on them!" cried Iola, warmly. "Those who would teach that would teach any other kind of falsehood. But now, my own dear cousin, now for a petition. Will you help your Iola to seek this advice?"
"How can I help you? What would you have me do?" asked Constance.
"'Tis but to endure imprisonment for an hour," said Iola, "to stay here and watch till I come back, and, if any one comes to the door, merely to answer, 'You cannot come in!'"
"That is easily accomplished," replied her cousin; "and I may as well perform my devotions for the night here, as in my own chamber hard by."
"Quite as well," answered Iola, with a smile. "But now I must clear the way;" and, opening the door into the ante-room, she said--"Here, Susan. Have the guests left the hall?"
"Oh yes, lady," replied the rosy country girl, who appeared in answer to her summons. "They did not sit long to-night. They have all gone to their chambers some time."
"Well then, I shall not want you for an hour," said Iola; and she added, with a laugh--"I know there is some one whom you want to talk with. But be discreet, Susan; and you shall have a present on my marriage, to furnish house with."
The girl blushed, and simpered, and retired.
"And now," said Iola, "I must cover over these gay robes;" and, opening one of those large cupboards, which, from the use that they were sometimes applied to, retained, for many years, and still do in some parts of Europe, the name of armoury, she drew forth a white serge gown and hood, which she threw over her other apparel.
"But where are you going?" demanded Constance, in a tone of alarm. "Surely not beyond the castle walls. Your wanderings round the abbey used to frighten me sometimes, when the broad daylight shone upon you; but now you make me fear still more."
"Fear not, and ask no questions," answered Iola. "I shall not be without protection in case of need."
"Oh, Iola, Iola, think well of what you are doing!" exclaimed her cousin, detaining her by the hand.
"I have thought," answered the lady. "See how the moon shines; and, hark, there is my summons."
Constance looked out and listened; and, faint upon her ear, the closed casement dulling the sound, came the same strain of music which Fulmer had heard from a different part of the castle. Gently disengaging her hand, Iola glided into the ante-room, and opened the door leading into the passage. She returned the moment after, however, saying--
"There is some one moving. I must wait a little;" but, ere two minutes more were over, she went out again, and closed the doors behind her.
Constance remained where her cousin left her, listening with anxious ears, for several moments, but Iola returned not; and, locking the door, her cousin cast herself upon her knees, and prayed fervently.