CHAPTER XXXI.
THE TOKEN.
And whilst the feast progressed apace,
The music swelled in joyous strain;
But midst the group was one fair face
That scarcely hid the look of pain.
And ever and anon she looked away;
And when the others went she turned to stay.
Early next morning, as Manners was engaged in collecting faggots for the hungry fires at the Hall, he was startled to hear himself addressed by his proper name.
He turned round aghast, but was reassured when he saw that it was none other than Lettice's lover who stood by his side.
"Hush, Will," he said, "call me Hubert still; it were dangerous for my name to be overheard. But thou hast news for me, I can read it in thy face."
"Aye," replied the youth, "Mistress Dorothy sent Lettice with a message for thee, but old Roger knew not where thou would'st be found."
"Where is it?" cried the lover, impatiently, "let me see it; 'tis the answer, I'll warrant me."
"Nay, I have it not. Lettice awaits thee at the hut; she would not even let me bring it to thee, for her mistress, she says, charged her to tell it to none but thee."
"At the hut," repeated Manners, as he started to return. Is she there now?"
"She is awaiting thee; but, Master Manners, let me crave a favour first."
"Quick, then," was the hasty reply, "tell me what it is, for I cannot wait."
"Lettice has been rating me well," returned the downcast lover, as he started to return with Manners. "She is angered against me that I followed thee last night. She will not look at me now, and if I open my mouth about it she swears she will speak to me no more. A word from thee, good sir, would set the matter right again, else I fear me I have lost her favour, and there be many round about who would gladly take my place."
"Oh," laughed Manners, "I will see to that, and happen you may do me some good service in return?"
"Aye, master, that I will," he replied, mightily relieved.
Manners said no more; his mind was too much occupied, his thoughts were bubbling within him in furious turmoil. Leaving his companion behind, he rushed hastily on, and never stayed his course until he had reached his destination.
"The letter, Lettice, the letter," he cried, as he entered the hut.
"Nay, I have no letter, Master Manners," replied the maid. "My lady bid me tell it thee instead."
"What is it? Is it yes, or no?" he cried.
"Neither, yet. My mistress went all through the weary night, and thought of naught else but thee and the answer she should give."
"Poor Doll," ejaculated her lover, tenderly. "'Tis time all this was ended, Lettice; she is fading away, yes, fading away, and what will come of it all, if she says me nay, I tremble to think."
"She will not say thee nay, though, Master Manners," replied Lettice.
"I shall lose my mistress soon. She has told me all."
"Told thee all?" he echoed. "She will not say me nay, and yet she consents not! You speak in riddles. Come, explain it all."
"She knoweth not her mind as yet," explained the maiden, "but I can plainly see which way it will all end. Even as she poured her story out to me I could see it; I could read it in her sobs and sighs. She had not wept so long had she not loved thee so well; and her love for thee is stronger than her other loves, else she had obeyed my lord the baron by now. It needs no astrologer to tell all this."
"Heaven grant it may be so," replied Manners, fervently; "but what did my Dorothy bid thee say? Thy words have made a sore commotion in my heart, fair Lettice."
Lettice hung down her head and blushed at the unexpected compliment.
"Thou art to come to the feast to-night," she replied, "and my lady will give thee answer there."
"I shall be there, Lettice," he promptly returned. "Tell her I shall not fail her. But how shall I see her, has she thought of that?"
"We have arranged it all, good sir; thou hast but to do her bidding, and all will go well."
She did not say that Dorothy had been too distracted in mind to make any arrangements whatever, but, as a matter of fact, this duty had devolved entirely upon the maid, for her mistress had done little more than nod assent through her tears to all the propositions of her companion. It was the ready wit of Lettice which had proposed everything at just the time when Dorothy was quite unable to suggest anything for herself.
"The wedding ceremony will take place in four more days," Lettice continued, "and the feasting begins to-night."
Manners was aware of the fact, and he bowed his head in silent acquiescence.
"And thou art to come to the Hall," pursued the maid. "Thou art skilful on the lute, my mistress says."
"I can play the lute," he answered, "but what of that? Will she pipe me an answer back?"
"Nay, Master Manners, listen. Thou art to be a musician for the once, and must join the minstrels in the gallery."
"In the banqueting-room! Then I must seek a fresh disguise," he said. "Hey, Lettice, I would it were night already, the day will drag wearily enough for me, I trow; but I shall look for my reward to-night. Thou art sure of what thou hast told me, Lettice, for were she to refuse me after all, it were hard indeed!"
"Trust me, I am not like to be deceived; she wears her heart upon her sleeve. Unless she changes, I have told thee aright, but my lady never changes in her love. Ah, me, I shall lose my mistress soon, and I am sad to think of it."
"Nay, Lettice," interposed Manners, "thou shalt marry honest Will, and he shall be my chamberlain. Thou shalt be near Dorothy yet."
The maid's countenance flushed with joy at the prospect of such bliss.
"That were happiness, indeed," she cried, "for or! Master Manners, I love her; I cannot help it—who could? I love her dearly; to part from her—"
"Aye," interrupted Manners, "who could help it indeed. Tell her I shall see her, I shall be there."
"And if it be 'yes,' my mistress will drop her fan upon the floor," went on Lettice; "but if the answer is 'no' she will tie a black ribbon on it. Thou must watch well, but it will surely fall."
"Amen," said Manners. "Then I should be the happiest man on all the earth."
"But happen my lady will not be there," the maid went on.
The lover groaned at the thought, and interrupted the maiden by so doing.
"Well, then," she continued, "either will I give thee a letter, or, if that cannot be, thou must go to Bakewell Church to-morrow eve, and thou shalt find the letter squeezed behind the font. But there, I must away; the day will pass all too quickly for me, for I have much to do."
"Stay," he exclaimed, and plucking a sprig of holly from the bush which grew beside the door, he placed it in the maiden's hand.
"Give her this," he said, "and tell her it came from me. Bid her keep a stout heart within her; she must smile to-night."
Lettice took the little bunch of green and red, and making a reverential curtsey to her lady's lover, she hastened away towards the Hall; and, as Manners watched her retreating figure, he saw the form of a man step out from among the bushes and join her company. It was her lover, who had waited with an anxious heart to discover the effect of the promised mediation.
True to his promise, Manners presented himself at the appointed time at the door of the orchestra, though not without inward misgivings as to the character of the reception in store for him. He need, however, have had no apprehension on that score, for everything had been conveniently arranged. The leader of the musicians (they were principally hired Derby men) had been bribed, and when the esquire presented himself for admittance he was warmly greeted.
"Well, Ralph!" exclaimed that worthy as he almost wrung Manners' hands off in the heartiness of his embrace; "thou hast come to thy old friend again, eh? We must cement the friendship this time with a tankard of Haddon-brewed ale, and if thou hast not greatly altered since I knew thee last, thou'lt not be averse to that."
"Of course not," replied Manners, readily; "and these are all fresh men? I cannot see one of the old faces among them all."
"They are good fellows, though," returned their leader, proudly, "and they play right well. Ha! here comes a messenger."
The musicians, most of whom had until now been idly leaning over the balcony, gazing, with an interest of which they were not fully aware, at the servants below as they were putting the finishing strokes to the preparation of the feast, immediately took their allotted places, and Manners found himself at the end of the row within the shadow of the wall, and separated from the rest by the intervening body of the leader.
"The baron sends this for the musicians," said the page, as he deposited a large pitcher of ale upon the gallery floor. "They are coming now, and he would like some merry tunes."
Even as the lad spoke the guests came pouring into the room; laughing, joking, talking; almost all of them in the merriest possible mood.
Manners scrutinised their faces keenly, and he thought with regret of the time not long ago, when he too had been one of the happiest of all the merry guests of just such another party. But where was Doll? He could not see her anywhere, and so intent was he on searching for his beloved, that the blast of the trumpets by his side startled him and made him fairly jump with surprise.
Mechanically he took his instrument up. The tune was simple and he knew it well, but even as he played his eye wandered from the sheet before him to scan the merry throng below.
Ha! there she was. He discovered her at last, but her gait was lively and her dress was amongst the gayest of the gay; and as she entered leaning upon Sir Edward Stanley's arm she wore a smile upon her face. His heart misgave him at the sight. Had Lettice deceived him? For a moment he entertained the thought, and he cursed the hope which she had planted in his heart, and then in a fear of anxiety he lay the lute down and looked to find the fatal bow of black.
What was it he saw? His gaze was rivetted upon her dress, by the side of which hung the long fan. His eyes seemed to dance about, his head swam, and, before he could determine the question, Dorothy had passed by and taken her place at the table.
Father Nicholas asked a blessing which was even longer and more wearisome than his predecessor had indulged in, and the occupants of the gallery took advantage of the long interval to quaff the greater portion of the refreshing beverage which Sir George, with characteristic generosity, had sent up to them.
The prayer had a conclusion though, and when the good father reached it the fact was signalised by an unanimous, if not very sincere "amen" from the guests, while the band struck up another lively tune.
Throughout the meal the musicians had little rest. One tune was played and immediately another was struck up to take its place, and the gay company at the tables laughed and chattered the while with the utmost vivacity and glee.
For Manners it was a weary time! There appeared to be no end to the succession of dishes, and he impatiently waited for the time when the signal would be given which would give him unbounded joy or doom him to perpetual misery. To him, at least, the time dragged wearily along, the tunes were lifeless, the courses were inordinately long, and it was a positive relief to him when Nicholas rose up again and pronounced a benediction, equally as long and dreary as the opening grace.
The feast was over now, and as the guests defiled out of the room, another air took the place of the one just concluded. As for Manners, all his efforts were concentrated on watching Dorothy's every movement. He ceased to play, for he had not the heart to continue, and, without making any pretence to be playing his instrument, he laid his lute down and watched with eager eyes.
He noticed that his rival sat by her side, nor did she repel him. When she arose he rose too, and together they started to go out of the chamber. Dorothy lingered; Stanley lingered too. What, O what could she be lingering for? In his anxiety Manners stood up to see the better. His pulse moved in jerks and bounds; his heart rose to his throat, and he gasped for very breath.
The lively tune pursued the even tenour of its way; the burly form of the leader screened him well from view, and that functionary was too much engrossed in the execution of the piece to remark the peculiar conduct of his companion.
Dorothy lingered to look at the pictures she knew so well; but Sir Edward tarried at her side. It was evident he was not at all disposed to leave her, and Dorothy herself at last gave up all hopes of his doing so.
Sir Edward said something to her, but the noise drowned the sound of his voice, and Manners could not hear what it was he had said, but the next moment she permitted Stanley to lead her towards the door. The poor minstrel's heart sank at the sight. Was this, then, the fulfilment of Lettice's promise? Had he so misjudged the character of his beloved? He dismissed the thought, for he could not believe it even then.
No, it was not so. Dorothy paused and turned back. Manners involuntarily stood up and followed her with his eyes. Margaret and her betrothed were behind, and to them she went. His spirits revived again.
She laughingly raised her fan and pointed to the carving on the wall.
Was the black knot on? He gasped for breath as he anxiously looked to see. It surely was not there. At all events he could not see it, but then his eyes might be deceiving him, for she was at the further end of the room. Ah! would she only drop the fan which was held up in her trembling hand, and then—
With a clatter the fan dropped upon the pavement. Sir Edward gallantly stooped down and returned it to its fair owner, but Manners waited to see no more. She was his; the signal had been given, and picking up his instrument he set to and contributed as good a share to the gladsome melody as any of his fellows.