LOVE IS STRONGER THAN HATE.
"True love's the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven:
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind."
Scott.
It is a lovely morning in August; the hush of perfect restfulness is in the air. The cattle have retired from the heat and glare of the sun, and are quietly chewing the cud beneath the sheltering foliage of the plantain trees; whilst here and there, through the long vistas between the trees, may be seen a tall stag with two or three hinds at his heels, venturing within sight of the haunts of men, as though timidly inviting man's protection against the foes of the forest. This lovely morning has tempted forth from the castle the two females who are directing their steps to a rustic house on the banks of the river, where there are housed a couple of boats. One boat is of delicate trim and dainty workmanship. The oars are small and carefully made, the handles having a rich silken covering, showing they are intended for delicate hands to wield.
This is Alice's favourite recreation, and dearly she loves to have a quiet hour on the still bosom of the river, with Jeannette to row, and she, book in hand, to sit and read or sit and muse in quiet rapture as she gazes on the noble scenery around. The dip and plash of the oars, as Jeannette beats up against the current, is as the soothing tones of delicate music. Then to float slowly and in perfect stillness down stream, beneath the tall trees that line the banks, where busy insects dance and sing, and where the trout leap to catch their prey; to catch the scents from the wooded bank, where breathing shrub, and plant, and flower, and tree, load the air with their perfumed exhalations. Truly to the lover of Nature the smell of a wood is "as the smell of a field which the Lord hath blessed!" On this day everything seems exceptionally lovely, and, slowly as Jeannette is pulling, the confines of the park are quickly overpassed, and the castle is cut off from view by embowering woods.
"We are already past the limits of the park, my lady," said Jeannette. "Shall I put the boat about now, and drift back with the stream?"
"Oh, no, not just yet, Jeannette. Let us go a little farther to-day. It is such a charming morning, and I have been longing for a great while to explore a little more of this delightful river."
"But you are forgetting the Count's express commands, my lady. You know he bade us be very careful not to go beyond sight of the castle."
"Never fear, Jeannette. I think we may safely venture a little farther. You know we have never so much as seen any human being in these excursions."
"No, my lady; but you know what horrid, wild people these Saxons are; and they may be lurking in the woods and shoot their arrows at us, and wound or kill us before the least help could reach us."
"I don't think we have any enemies amongst the Saxons, Jeannette. You and I, at least, do not merit their vengeance, and I am quite prepared to trust them."
"But it is really dangerous, my lady," remonstrated the maid. "And Paul Lazaire has told me that they really kill and eat people, do these horrid Saxons!"
"Fie, fie, Jeannette! What a coward you are, and a simpleton to boot, to believe all the silly tales you hear about the Saxons! Look how exquisitely lovely the river is ahead of us. Pull a little farther up stream."
Truly it was as Alice said, exquisitely lovely. The huge mountains on either side spread out their bases down to the water's edge, whilst deep, dense woods clothed the river's brink with well-nigh impenetrable depths of undergrowths and foliage. The huge trees on either side spread out their long arms across the river as though anxious to shake hands with their giant neighbours on the opposite bank. Ahead, each bend of the river through the tortuous hills was obscured from view; and it looked in the distance as though it was issuing from the bowels of the mountain promontory in front, through a thick bower of foliage, whilst here and there, as they voyaged on, the bare and frowning limestone crags jutted out through the slender covering of the green fir-tree tops which vainly strove to hide them—lonesome, fearsome, and grand, the solitude all around. The strange wildness and grandeur of the scene stirred the soul of Alice to its very depths, and it is needless to say she was perfectly oblivious to everything save the sweet voice of Nature.
As the boat and its occupants moved slowly up stream, numbers of water-hens rushed off into the impenetrable recesses of foliage and undergrowths, or dived hurriedly beneath the roots of trees or overhanging embankment.
Yonder in the distance, in the bared and tortuous roots of a huge tree overhanging the water, an otter is sitting, warily watching his finny prey disporting themselves beneath; but at sight of these unwelcome visitors he drops from the root of the tree on which he sits, with hasty plunge, leaving no trace of his whereabouts saving the streaming headline in the water indicating the direction in which he hastes for safety.
Fearlessly also, ahead, a flock of wild-duck are floating regally on the limpid waters, unconscious of danger, and gabbling in utmost glee and content; but at this unlooked-for intrusion they set up a startled cry, take hurriedly to wing, and are quickly lost in the distance.
Looking carefully, also, at the entrance of yon water-course, which comes tumbling over its rocky bed from the hills, a heron stands pensively watching for any incautious trout that, quitting the deep waters, comes to the lips of the mountain stream for food; but, disturbed, he utters a scream, and spreading out his long wings, with low and measured beat mounts into the air, probably to rest not until the far-away sea-coast is reached.
Kingfishers too—haunters of quiet river-stretches—in coats of the loveliest green and gold, flit over the bosom of the water with quiet assurance. Snipe, also, in goodly numbers, with swift, arrow-like flight, dart ahead up stream, or, rising high over the tops of the trees, circle back again to the rear of the boat.
Alice is in raptures, and Jeannette's cautions and remonstrances alike, fall on ears which are preoccupied with other sounds, and are quite deaf to everything but the peaceful harmonies of nature.
"Look, Jeannette, at those fine hazel nuts, which hang in ripe and ruddy clusters there! Pull to the side at once, and let us gather them!"
Jeannette's caution is completely upset at this tempting sight, and the order is scarcely given ere it is executed. Eagerly the pair stand up in the boat to reach the brown clusters, totally oblivious and regardless of danger and molestation. Presently, with increasing boldness, they fasten the boat's chain round the bole of a tree, and clamber upon the bank. With nimble feet and nimble fingers they rush from tree to tree, stripping them of their dainty burden, and coming again and again with their hands full of nuts, and showering them into the bottom of the boat.
But they would not have been so content and composed had they but known that two pairs of Saxon eyes had been watching intently the progress up stream of the frail bark, and the fair Norman women who occupied it. One, at least, has determined, if chance offers, he will have a word of thanks with them for his deliverance. These Saxons are Oswald and his almost inseparable comrade, Wulfhere. So the two slowly push aside the foliage and, unnoticed, emerge in close proximity to the eager nutters. Jeannette utters a scream, and narrowly escapes an attack of hysterics.
"Calm your fears, ladies," said Oswald. "We are too much your debtors to wish you ill. Allow me, fair lady, to tender to you on this, the first opportunity I have had, my undying gratitude for the life you so magnanimously gave me a while ago. Though we Saxons, I am afraid, must appear to you as rude and uncivilised islanders, I assure you we are not insensible to, or ungrateful for, any favours bestowed upon us—much less such favours as you have conferred on myself."
"Sir Knight," said Alice, much assured by the sincere and courteous tone in which the valiant and virtuous Saxon chieftain had addressed her, "we did but do what pity and admiration combined moved us to. Heaven made us two weak women, and we played a woman's part. But we have not repented in that we did an act prompted by those intuitions of mercy which are our woman's heritage."
"I am made a life-long debtor, fair lady, for that womanly act, and I trust I may find opportunity to repay so generous a loan."
"I am glad we have met a Saxon who is our debtor, or we should have fared badly for our boldness this morning."
"My people, lady, will not injure a hair of your head, nor permit any one else to do so. You may roam at will; far or near, you are perfectly safe."
"This river scenery is perfectly enchanting, Sir Knight. If I may presume upon the friendship and goodwill of your people, I should like to explore it thoroughly?"
"The river, lady, becomes even finer as you push into the solitudes. If that craft were not so frail, we two would give you a merry spin for a mile or two. Indeed, if you dare trust yourself with a Saxon, let me pull you up stream. I think I can promise you a rare treat. Wulfhere, my comrade, will take care of your maid until we return."
"I dare venture. It would not be knightly conduct to betray a woman's confidence. But will it be safe to leave Jeannette?"
"Perfectly! Wulfhere and the hound are a pair of faithful and valiant defenders."
"No, no!" almost shrieked Jeannette. "You must not go! You will be killed and eaten! I have heard for certain that these horrid Saxons eat people!"
"Nonsense, Jeannette! Don't be foolish, and don't listen to such silly tales!"
"Oh, dear! I shall be eaten if you aren't! Holy Mother protect me!" said she, crossing herself; and, pulling her rosary out of her bosom, she began counting her beads most violently.
"Come, my pretty," said Wulfhere, in his blandest tones. "If I were a cannibal I wouldn't eat you. Sit on this fallen tree; I and the hound will keep a respectful distance." So saying, he retreated half a dozen paces from her, and began putting the dog through some capers.
"If you eat Jeannette, Wulfhere, I shall call you to account when I come back," said Oswald laughingly, as the boat sped away.
In the meantime, Jeannette sat rocking herself in great distress, watching the receding boat, and telling her beads at a great pace, whilst Wulfhere continued his play with the hound, quite oblivious—or apparently oblivious—of the tearful maiden. But nothing to this pretty Frenchwoman was so insupportable as to be ignored. So, after bemoaning her distressing circumstances without finding any special calamity happening, she began casting furtive glances at her Saxon comrade, and she gradually dropped her cries and tears, at his nonchalant behaviour, and her beads began to pass much more slowly through her fingers. To her coquettish fancy there was something piquant in the indifference of this stalwart Saxon. Her curiosity was excited, and this speedily passed into admiration for the muscular limbs and well-developed frame of Wulfhere. For it is not in the disposition of many daughters of Eve—much less in such as this coquettish Frenchwoman was—to look upon such a fine piece of muscular anatomy as Wulfhere's, without falling into admiration of it. This did not pass unmarked by him, despite the hypocritical indifference which he had assumed. Presently he turned his gaze upon Jeannette, and a good-humoured grin spread over his features, developing into a broad smile, as he ventured to break the silence.
"I say, pretty one, you'll not run away whilst I'm gathering a few sticks to make the fire with, will you, eh?"
"Fire!" exclaimed Jeannette, clutching her beads, which had dropped into her lap. "What do you want a fire for?"
"Want a fire for! Why, I couldn't think of eating you raw!" and he twirled on his heel, to laugh.
Jeannette uttered an inimitable little scream. "You horrid man, I shall jump into the water if you stir! I'm sure I shall!" Then, bursting into a little laugh, all the more bewitching as it came, rainbow-like, betwixt smiles and tears, she said, "You are trying to frighten me, I know; but all the same you Saxons do eat people. I've heard it said hundreds of times. And once, as we came along, we saw a pile of bones, and Paul Lazaire said they were the bones of people whom the Saxons had eaten. So you see we know all about you."
"Oh, but that's all fudge, pretty one. You shall be my sweetheart, and then you'll soon learn quite different."
"But I'm not going to be your sweetheart. So you see. I wouldn't have any one for a sweetheart with hair and beard as long as yours. Normans have more sense than to wear horrid beards."
"Oh, but you shall cut my hair, and trim my beard; and I would try to look like a little Norman ninny of five feet six. Then you wouldn't be frightened in the least, would you?"
Jeannette thought to herself she would rather take him as he was, though she kept the matter to herself. The upshot of the whole was this: Wulfhere found himself sitting by her side on the fallen tree, with the hound in front, and neither party very anxious for the return of the boat and its occupants.
"So they say we eat such as you, do they, sweetheart?"
"Yes, they do. And they don't call me 'Sweetheart,' either. And don't you think I don't know you, for I saw you fighting on that wall."
"Well, don't be offended now; but what do they call you?"
"They call me Jeannette—and that's nothing to you."
"Oh dear, no! nothing whatever. And do they really say that we eat such as you?"
"Yes, they do! And it's quite true besides! for everybody says so."
"Well, that's dreadful, anyhow. And how many do you suppose I shall have eaten like you?"
"You wouldn't have to eat one like me. If you did, Paul Lazaire would kill you for it."
"Paul Lazaire? Oh, I suppose Paul Lazaire will be a sweetheart of yours. Is that so, Jeannette dear?"
"Yes, he is my sweetheart. But I'm not going to marry him for all that! So you see."
"No, I wouldn't have him, I'm sure. Tell him you have got a better now—a Saxon."
"Fancy! That is fine, to be sure! Don't you think it! I'm not going to have a husband at all. They are horrid things, for they are never happy but when they are swilling ale. Just to think of my marrying a Saxon! That would be fine indeed!"
"Really now, my pretty Jeannette, I really am over head and ears in love with you; and if you were my wife, why, I should take great care of you."
"Wife, to be sure! The wife of a Saxon? Just think of it! I suppose I should have to run about in the woods all day, clothed in sheepskins; then I suppose I should have to creep into a hole in the earth at night. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
Wulfhere burst into a horse-laugh. "Perhaps you would prefer sleeping up a tree to creeping into a hole, would you?"
"I'm not going to do either. Besides, I daresay you have got a Saxon wife somewhere, for you are all deceitful—Norman and Saxon alike."
"Nonsense, Jeannette! I have no wife, or sweetheart either, and I have made up my mind now, that my wife shall be Norman—just such a wife as yourself, Jeannette."
"Why, what would such a giant as you want a wife like me for?"
"Why? Well, I can hardly answer that question, I declare. But something must be put down to your pretty face, something to your slender waist, and a good deal to something I can't explain; but I never felt anything like it before, for no sooner did I set eyes upon that pretty face of yours than I felt I should like to kiss it."
"Oh, you horrid, naughty man!" said Jeannette, slipping her slender hand into Wulfhere's huge paw, and unconsciously hitching closer to him on the log, "to try and deceive me with such nonsense! I know you are deceiving me! Why, where should we live? I don't know where you live now. I should die if I had to live in the woods, and had no home. I should like a home of my own, where I could play my guitar and spin my wool, and make you some better garments than those coarse ones you wear."
"Oh, you shall not be my wife until I can find you a home, and protect you! We shall probably have to teach the Normans another lesson or two. Then they will listen to reason. When we have got a settlement of our own, then you shall be my wife, Jeannette."
"Oh, but I dare not! I should be frightened to live amongst the Saxons. But you wouldn't harm a little woman like me? That would be cowardly."
"I think it would, Jeannette," said Wulfhere, passing his arm around her slim waist, drawing her to him, and planting a kiss on her sunny cheek. "When I go to war I should like a sturdier foe to wreak my vengeance on."
"But would you be a serf, and wear one of those horrid iron collars the serfs wear? I shouldn't like a husband who was a bondman."
"No, my pretty one, I have never been a bondman; and, what is more, I never shall. I am a Saxon freeman."
"A 'freeman'? What is a 'freeman'?"
"A freeman is one who tills his own land, and is no man's vassal or bondman. I shall remain a freeman, and my sons shall be freemen after me."
At this juncture the hound gave a start, and threw back his head, at the same time giving utterance to a low, fierce growl. Presently a footstep is heard, not approaching stealthily, but crashing through the trees and underwood. Wulfhere springs to his feet; his bow is unslung, and an arrow affixed in a moment. The hound also starts to his feet, his eyeballs glitter, and the veins of his neck and body are distended almost to bursting. The low branches are put aside, and the burly form of Sigurd, the dispossessed viking chieftain, emerges before them. His lowering brow and impetuous manner tell but too plainly that there is a tempest raging within him.
"Wulfhere," said he, "what does this mean?"
"What does what mean, my lord?"
"Why, the drivelling folly I have witnessed for the last half hour or more! Fitter stuff for a Norman libertine than for a Saxon freeman, and one who makes pretence of valour!"
"I am at a loss to know what you mean, my lord."
"I mean? Why, I mean that whilst I and others of thy countrymen are lurking near the haunts of these French dogs, that we may have revenge upon them, thou and thy master are toying and fooling with their women. But enough of this! Make an end of this woman, and an end of thy folly at a blow, and thou hast then made amends."
"Indeed I shall do no such thing. This maiden and her noble mistress gave my chief his life, and it will be woe to the man who dares injure either the one or the other."
"What care I for thy master's scruples? These Normans owe us satisfaction for a thousand Saxon lives they have taken. So stand aside; I'll do my own business."
"Indeed you will do no such thing, until you have disposed of me;" and Wulfhere threw himself boldly in front of Sigurd.
"Ah, art thou insolent into the bargain, dog? I will chastise thy bravado out of thee if thou stand not aside;" and he grasped the hilt of his sword.
Wulfhere, seeing the movement, and having no sword, sprang upon him and dealt him a stinging blow with his clenched fist. So violently was this given that, sturdy as he was, Sigurd reeled back several paces.
"Ah, is that it, my buck? Then I'll have thee with thine own weapon, for I do not need to take any advantage of a varlet like thyself!"
So saying, he rushed on Wulfhere, with intent to come to close quarters. But Wulfhere knew well the great personal strength of his bulky antagonist, so he dodged with great agility every effort Sigurd made to grapple with him. And he did not fail to deal him repeatedly heavy blows with his clenched fists. This so exasperated Sigurd that he was as furious as a mad bull, and for a considerable time it seemed to be a battle between brute force and agility, the balance being much in favour of the more agile. Unfortunately, a trip on the part of Wulfhere, over the root of a tree, gave Sigurd the chance he had been vainly striving for. Ere he could recover himself, Sigurd gripped him in his powerful embrace, and gathering him up as though he were a child, he hurled him to the ground, exclaiming, "Now I will kill thee, churl!" and he grasped him by the throat. The hound, which had been dancing round the combatants during the fray, with many furious and irresolute darts at Sigurd, seeing Wulfhere in such desperate straits, sprang upon Sigurd, and buried his teeth in the fleshy part of his arm.