For God and Gold

by Julian Stafford Corbett

CHAPTER XIII

The ways were very foundrous, and night closed in upon us while we were still on our flight. Ere Harry had returned we had departed and were making for the farm to which little Fulke had been sent with his foster-mother. It was a good distance from Ashtead, being the farthest part of Harry's estate inland, and detached from the rest by a large space. For that reason it had been chosen by him for his boy, that he might be as far as possible away from the marshes, which were held to be pestilent in the spring.

Mrs. Waldyve was riding pillion behind me. A sort of calm had settled upon us with the night, and I picked my way as well as I could through the mud, content to feel her soft arm about me, and know that it was her sweet form that leaned upon me.

Darker and darker gathered the night, and deeper grew the mire. I could no longer see where my horse trod, and had to leave him with loosened rein to find his way as best he could. I think the unwonted weight upon his back must have wearied him, for all at once he stumbled, and we found him stuck up to the girths in a slough.

There was nothing to be done but dismount and lift Mrs. Waldyve off. I sank almost over my boots as I took her in my arms, but managed nevertheless to set her safely on a firm bank by the side of the road. My next care was to get my horse clear, which at last, with great toil, I did.

Still, we were in a sorry plight. My horse had so laboured in the slough that by the time I had got him free he was strained and weary past all going. Moreover, the clouds had gathered above us in great masses, so that not only was the darkness almost impenetrable, but I had great fear of a heavy downpour of rain.

I know not what would have befallen us had it not been that I was aware of a little inn not far distant, which was used by travellers passing from Rochester towards Maidstone and Tunbridge.

That I could reach it with my horse I did not doubt, but was fearful for Mrs. Waldyve. When, however, I told her how things stood with us I found her so resolved and courageous that I determined to set out forthwith, and in a shorter time than I had hoped we saw the lights of the inn in front of us.

No sooner had we reached shelter than the rain came down in torrents. During the happy dream in which I had ridden, and afterwards in the labour with my horse, I had hardly realised what we were doing. I was reckless, not caring what came so long as I was with her on our journey, away from my old mournful life, as it now seemed to me.

It was clear we must pass the night in the inn. To go on was not to be thought of. I know not what Mrs. Waldyve thought, but to me it seemed quite natural and easy, though, I confess, it was with no little comfort that I found there were no travellers there besides ourselves.

Perhaps it is well I cannot write down each thing we said and all that passed that night; yet I would do it if I could. It seems to me now like a faint dream of some other man's life; and, try how I will, I can remember little but the bustling hostess setting our supper to a tune of chattering gossip, and after it was cleared leaving us with a cheery 'Good-night to your gentilities.'

I know we sat side by side in the great chimney corner, my arm about her, her hand in mine, talking low, with such soft speech as none but a villain would suffer to pass between him and another man's wife. I know the rain had ceased and the new-risen moon was shining gloriously in between the mullions of the broad low lattice window, almost darkening the dancing firelight, and making a large chequer pattern on the rush-strewn floor.

How long we sat so I cannot tell, no more than how long we should have sat had we not heard the plash of horses' feet in the mud outside. The shadow of a cloaked horseman passed across the bright chequer pattern on the floor, and then another.

We heard them stop, and then a voice that made our hearts stand still hailed the house.

'Hola, house! Hola, within!' it cried.

'What would ye, gentles?' cried the voice of the hostess.

''Slight, to come in, woman. Open quickly,' said the traveller.

'Despatch, despatch, Jem,' cried the landlady. 'See you not it is a gentleman and his gentleman servant? In good time, your worship. My goodman is in bed. Be patient till he make shift, that we be not shamed, and he shall let you in. Will Ostler, Will Ostler, wake up, you loon, and take the horses! Was ever such luck? Mass! but I knew we should have travellers ever since last Tuesday, when I could not sleep for dreaming of green rushes, and that's for strangers.'

I could not speak, or stir, or think, but only stand by the hearth and stupidly mark what the shrill voice of the hostess said. Yet I had strength to resolve, come what might, I would not draw my blade.

It seemed an age of silence, broken only by muttered words for a moment without, and then the door burst open, and Harry, covered with mud, strode in with his rapier drawn in his hand and his cloak about his left arm. Culverin followed at his heels, and, slamming the door after him, stood solidly in front of it, while Harry advanced towards us.

There seemed no anger in his face, but rather sorrow and set purpose, as he came quickly forward. I stood where I was, hoping in a moment to feel his point and have an end to all; but Mrs. Waldyve made a sudden movement, half of horror, half as though to protect me.

Harry stopped in a moment with lowered point, and looked at her with a face in which was such a constant love and unspeakable pain as tears my heart to this hour to think on. Then, setting hard his teeth, he lifted his rapier on high and flung it with all his might crashing through the window into the yard outside.

I heard the clang of the broken glass. I heard the Sergeant's great broadsword come screaming from its sheath. I saw Harry stand trembling with set face, trying in vain to speak with steady voice; and the Sergeant, rigid as a column, at the door with his drawn sword, his naked dagger, and his bristling moustache.

A choking sound came at last from Harry's lips, in which there seemed no trace of his own clear, ringing voice.

'For God's sake, Jasper, bring her back. You know not what you do. You love her not as I do.'

That was all. I think he would have said more, but could not. For a moment he seemed to struggle for words, and then turned and was gone. The Sergeant sheathed his sword with an angry clang, turned on his heel rudely, without a word or salute, and we were alone again in the moonlight.

Then there burst upon me in dazzling light, that seemed to scorch my very soul, the horror of my sin. I saw in a moment how blind I had been. A mad rage at Heaven and all that had made my life seized me. Was it for this I had striven, and denied myself, and lived the life of a monk, when others were dancing, and dicing, and drinking in full content? Was this, after all my toil and wasted youth, the place where my religion had brought me?

So, in wild reaction, my long-pent thoughts, their bonds burst in sunder, ran riot through my brain, till I heard a horseman dash away through the mud. In hate of Heaven, in hate of myself, I went forth, not knowing what I did.

The cool night air and the pure, soft moonlight seemed to soothe my fever as I stepped into the yard. There lay Harry's rapier, where it had fallen, the hilt buried in the mire, the blade glittering like hope in the silver light.

I know not how the fancy seized me, unless, unknown to myself, I was infected with a foretaste of that sweet sense which since has flowed in such full and tuneful flood from the honeyed lips of Mr. Spenser.

Yet I know, as that rapier lay there so keen and shining, I saw in it a mirror of perfect courage and gentleness, wherein I could look for every rule of life. I saw in it, as it were, the embodied presentment of that noble spirit I had so foully wronged, and I clutched at it in forlorn hope to save me amidst the dark waste of waters that had flowed over every landmark I had known before, and every path I had painfully learned to tread.

Yes, many may think it folly, yet to me it was the devoutest act of my life. I drew my own stained blade, and, setting my foot upon it, snapped it across, and then flung it into the mire as the weapon of a felon knight.

So I kneeled down, and picking up Harry's rapier, like a holy thing, I put it to my lips. For I had an oath to swear, and I swore it aloud on that unsullied blade, that, come what might, in joy and sorrow, by land and sea, in life and death, I would never, by the help of Harry's memory, do an act that would disgrace the weapon which he had hallowed by true faith, and love, and courtesy, and every knightly virtue.

I kissed the blade again, and, rising up, I put it in my own scabbard. It fitted easily, as though it shunned not its new resting-place. As I looked up I was suddenly aware of Sergeant Culverin standing by my side. His posture was as different as could be from that in which I had last seen him. Soldierly he was as ever, yet the childlike look was on his face behind the fierce moustache, and he was saluting me.

'Has your worship any use for me ere I go?' he said, very respectfully, and drawn up stiffly to his full height.

I could have easily embraced the grim soldier for that salute and those words. In the depth of my degradation, when I so loathed myself that I felt I should never dare to look an honest man in the face again, I found this steadfast soul did not wholly despise me. It seemed to me he was a sign sent, I cannot say from God, for God was no more to me now, but sent by some mysterious power of good that by hazard I had conjured, to bid me hope my vow would be fulfilled.

'Is your horse strong enough to go back to Ashtead?' said I.

'Yes, your worship,' he answered; 'and as far again in a good cause.'

'Then set the pillion saddle on him,' said I. The Sergeant's childlike look grew very apparent and smiling as I spoke. I thought at first he was about to seize my hand, but he restrained himself and only rigidly saluted as he went to do my bidding. So, hopefully and with hardened heart, I went back to the guest chamber of the inn.

She had left the place where I had seen her last, and was sitting in the window, as though she had gone there to look after Harry or me, I knew not which. How beautiful she shone in the moonlight! I can think of it quietly now. The silver flood fell full upon her, and illumined her lovely face and form with so heavenly a radiance in the dark chamber that she seemed to me like some poor angel, weary of worship, who had strayed from heaven. It was as though the eye of some great spirit far away was turned upon her to draw her back to the realms she had left; as though she saw the golden gate whence she came, and, weighed down by the thick and cloying vapours of earth, knew not how to take wing back to the life she had loved and lost.

'Will you go back to-night,' said I, 'or wait for the morning?'

She started then from her reverie, and turned on me her sweet brown eyes, so wistfully and full of reproach as almost to undo me.

'Must we go back, Jasper?' she said at last, so submissively and in such beseeching tones that my head swam and my breath came thick. Many a struggle I have had in my changeful life, but never one like that. It was only my new guardian that won the strife for me. I clapped my hand to Harry's rapier, and, pressing it mighty hard, found strength to say firmly, 'Yes!'

I think she saw what I did, for she stood up with that stony calm which to me is far more terrible than the wildest passion. Once she pressed her little white hands to her eyes, and then drew them slowly away, while I stood watching and waiting for my answer.

'We will go now, Jasper,' she said at last. 'You are right; we must go; but I can never have been to you what you have been to me.'

Her words cut me like the hangman's lash on the back of prisoner unjustly condemned. It was more than I could bear to see her. It was past my strength after these scourging words to choose the path that was so hard and bitter before the one that was so easy and sweet. I felt driven towards her. I sprang forwards to take her tender form in my arms, and cover her reproachful face with passionate kisses; to show her what she had done; to show her what she was to me—more than honour, more than duty, more than all the world; to show her that I loved her.

I was at her side with arms wide open to enfold her; in one last strife with myself I paused, and like a thunderclap to my strained wits the Sergeant's knock rattled out on the door, and I was saved. Clutching the rapier by my side once more, I turned to see the soldier's tall form appear in the doorway.

'Your bidding is done, sir,' said he.

'Then help Mrs. Waldyve to the saddle,' said I; 'we will walk by her side.'

With hanging head, and never a glance to me, she went with tottering steps to the Sergeant, who lifted her with loving gentleness into the saddle. Then we set forward through the moonlight. Not a word was spoken as we toiled along; not a sound broke the stillness of the night, save the suck of our boots and the horse's feet in the mire. So in silence, each communing with his own thoughts, we came in the first gray glimmer of the dawn to Ashtead, and in silence parted.