CHAPTER XX.
THE TROTHPLIGHT.
Yet even now it is good to think,
While my few poor varlets grumble and drink,
In my desolate hall where the fires sink;
Of Dorothy sitting glorious there,
In glory of gold and glory of hair,
And glory of glorious face most fair;
Likewise to-night I make good cheer,
Because this battle draweth near,
For what have I to love or fear?
W. MORRIS (adapted).
John Manners sought out Dorothy as soon as the interview was concluded, and he was fortunate enough to find her alone.
Poor Dorothy; she had long expected this meeting, and she had tried to prepare herself to face it. Her love, subjected to such a terrible strain, had come like gold out of the refining fire. It had grown stronger and better, and as she saw her lover emerge from the room she realised for the first time how much she really loved him.
The tale was soon told, and as he poured into her ears the unwelcome tidings her tender heart was lacerated by each successive word.
"And now, my own sweet Dorothy," he concluded, "you know all. I have told thee all the pitiful story. Would to God it had been a pleasant tale I had to tell thee, but alas! I have told thee but the truth."
He looked fondly into her face, and wondered how often he would be permitted to see it more. It was deadly pale, and her lips quivered again as she endeavoured to keep them tightly closed.
"John," she murmured, "in any matter but this I should obey them; but—but——" She broke down under the mental strain. It was a terrible struggle between conflicting affections, and, unable to sustain it, she would have fallen in a faint upon the ground had not the strong arms of her lover supported her.
Manners laid her gently down upon the bank and sprinkled some water upon her, for they were on the slopes of the Wye, and in a few moments she mastered her feelings and opened her eyes.
"I am dizzy," she apologetically exclaimed, as she saw the form of her beloved bending over her. "I shall be better soon."
She fulfilled her prediction quickly, and when he would have led her back into the Hall she begged him to wait.
"Nay, nay, John," she said, "the Lady Maude will soon devise a plan for separating us, but let us remain together while we may."
"But, Doll, you are ill," he exclaimed, "and I must take good care of thee."
"I should be worse were I severed from thee," she sweetly replied, "and, John, I have somewhat to tell thee."
"Speak on then, sweet one."
"You will be true to me, John, whatever happens?" she asked.
She was timid to approach the subject, and blushed deeply at the sound of her own sweet voice. She had more than half a mind to take the words back lest they should strike a single pang into his heart, but they were spoken, and before she could enter into any explanation, he had bent down and kissed her.
"My precious darling!" he passionately exclaimed. "I never could forget thee; thy name is written on my heart; I shall never cease to love thee. The saints forfend me, Doll. I were a miscreant indeed were I to play traitor to thy love."
"I shall trust you, John," she replied, bestowing upon him a look of undisguised affection; "I do trust thee; I shall be happy in thy love. Whatever trouble comes I shall be happy, because I shall know your heart is trusty and true."
"That it shall be, Doll," he cried, "a right trusty heart—though they do make thee wed Edward Stanley."
"John!" she exclaimed quickly, flushing scarlet again, "have I not given my troth to thee? They shall not force me into it. You can trust me."
"O, Doll. My love, my darling, it would break my heart to give thee up; but I must do it for the sake of thy happiness."
Poor heart, he spoke but the truth, but he spoke it as bravely as he could.
"Hush, John," Dorothy hastily broke in; "you must not say such things."
"Alas! you little know, my sweet one, to what misery you would consign yourself if you proved staunch to me," he continued. "This fragile form was not made to suffer, but to recline in ease," he added, as he gazed fondly at the graceful form of the maiden.
"I have recked the cost," she simply replied. "You do not doubt me, do you, John?" she asked, looking up into his troubled face.
"Doubt thee, no;" he replied, "but I would save thee from a host of sorrows."
Dorothy held her head down in silence, and seeing that she did not answer. Manners continued.
"I must be frank with you, Doll. The husband they have chosen thee may be an earl in time to come, and is a Derby to boot. He is rich, and mayhap he may love thee, too, and I—and I——"
"Stop, John, stop," she commanded. "Would you thus trifle with my love? I have seen in thee a noble heart, a kind heart, a loving heart. I have refused many before thee. I have just refused one lord, and I shall refuse the other. You would not so dispraise yourself but to dissuade me; but you have yet to learn the constancy of a maiden's love."
"Are you resolved?" he asked, almost choked by the feelings of joy her words had caused.
"I am," she firmly replied; "I shall brave the worst, and be happy in your love. What more can I desire?"
Manners was too much overcome to speak. He could only weakly articulate a fervent "God bless you, my love;" but if Dorothy had desired anything more to prove the intensity of his feelings, she would have found it had she looked to see it in his eyes.
While matters had been progressing thus at Haddon, Sir Henry de la Zouch had been gradually improving in health, until by now he had found himself almost as well as he had been of yore, and he had intimated that he was fast getting ready to return to Ashby Castle.
His passion for Dorothy had not abated one whit, and he was deeply mortified to find how rapidly Manners had been wooing and winning the maiden.
Yet, although his suit had been rebuffed at every point, he was not discouraged. Indeed, had his other qualities equalled his perseverance, he had richly merited a full and good reward; but, unfortunately, this was his only redeeming trait, and the baseness of that motive which prompted it poisoned that very virtue too.
He was neither dejected nor cast down, because he felt that he had within his power a mode of wooing the maiden which, were he but to use it, could not fail to insure complete success. The plan had its drawbacks, to be sure, but it was the only one at his command, and even as he lay upon the sick bed, tossing in agony from side to side, he was considering whether or no he should carry it out. When he was better he determined to put it into force upon the first opportunity, but every relapse undid his resolution, and made him pay attention to his conscience, which bade him reject the idea.
As a compromise he determined at last to ask Dorothy again for her hand, and he availed himself of an early opportunity of doing this. He used all his persuasive eloquence in vain. He pointed to his haggard face, and told her that a refusal would inevitably complete the work that Manners had begun, but she was firm; and seeing that nothing would shake her resolution, he resolved to put his plan into operation immediately upon his recovery.
It was a deeply-laid scheme, the scheme of a villain, and it revealed its author in its proper light. As he communicated his plan to his page, when the latter paid him his final visit, his face glowed with satisfaction, and he imagined the chagrin his dupes would feel when they found themselves within his power.
It was necessary, in the first place, to throw Manners off his guard, and, smarting under the humiliation of his defeat, De la Zouch determined that his victor should also come within the reach of his net; and, as he witnessed the growing familiarity which existed between his rival and Dorothy, he was more than ever determined to have vengeance upon him, and more jubilant at the prospect of attaining the consummation of his wish.
This was the motive which caused his readiness to meet Manners as a friend. He rightly judged that Manners once put off the scent, the rest would follow his example, so he appeared to accept Dorothy's refusal with a better grace, as a thing inevitable; and once face to face again with his gallant foe, nothing could exceed the extravagance of the language he employed to convince him that he regretted the follies of the past and to instil into his mind that he wished for the future to be counted as his friend.
It is a noticeable feature about villains that they almost always overreach themselves at some point or other—in story-books they always do—and to this characteristic De la Zouch proved no exception, for the very intensity of the words he chose, and the excessive flattery he employed, instead of gaining their object, aroused in John Manners' mind a feeling of suspicion of which he could in nowise dispossess himself. He would have communicated his fears to Dorothy, but he feared lest she should misjudge him and interpret it as an ebulition of jealousy, and there was none other except his friend Crowleigh in whom he could confide. Unwilling, however, to wound the susceptibilities of De la Zouch, who, after all, might have been actuated by the best of motives, he fairly met all his advances, and though he was all along mistrustful of his intentions, yet he was careful that Sir Henry should perceive no signs of it.
Lady Vernon soon gave Manners a hint that his visit to Haddon might terminate at any time he chose; but, although wounded in spirit by her words, he was in no great hurry to depart from Dorothy's side, and Sir George, eager to make amends for his dame's shortcomings, and ashamed that the traditional hospitality of his mansion should be so roughly contradicted while he was the lord of Haddon, appeared most anxious to prolong the visit, and endeavoured to make the enjoyment of his guest as complete as it could possibly be, the circumstances being duly considered.
To the surprise of them all, De la Zouch added his request to the baron's, declaring that he and Manners would depart together in a few days, and if his late antagonist did not offer any serious opposition to the plan, he intended to entertain him for a short time at Ashby, adding that he had already given commands that the castle should be prepared for their reception.
The request was couched in such a manner that Manners could do no other than accept it, but he immediately resolved to curtail his visit into Leicestershire as much as he possibly could, and he felt that it would be a relief to him when the visit was concluded.
The days swiftly passed; all too quickly for the two lovers. Sir Thomas Stanley had sent a messenger to inform them that his brother had met with an accident, and was too ill to travel then, and he feared he would be obliged to return to Haddon alone; but the letter brought the unwelcome news to Dorothy that Edward Stanley would come and claim her as his bride before the year had passed.