Ella Brune did as he bade her, and related to him all that had occurred to her since he had left London. As she spoke, her eye was generally averted; but sometimes it glanced to his countenance, especially when she either referred to Sir Simeon of Roydon, or to Mary Markham; and she saw with pleasure the flush upon her young protector's cheek, the knitted brow, and flashing eye, when she told the outrage she had endured, and the look of generous satisfaction which lighted up each feature, when she spoke of the protection she had received from good Sir Philip Beauchamp and the King.
"Ah! my noble uncle!" he said; "he is, indeed, somewhat harsh and rash when the warm blood stirs within him, as all these old knights are, Ella; but there never was a man more ready to draw the sword, or open the purse, for those who are in need of either, than himself. And so the King befriended you, too? He is well worthy of his royal name, and has done but justice on this arch knave."
"Not half justice," answered Ella Brune, with a sudden change of tone; "but no matter for that, the hand of vengeance will reach him one of these days. He cannot hide his deeds from God!--But you speak not of your sweet lady:--was she not kind to the poor minstrel girl?"
"She is always kind," answered Richard of Woodville. "God's blessing on her blithe heart! She would fain give the same sunshine that is within her own soft bosom, to every one around her."
"That cannot be," answered Ella Brune; "there are some made to be happy, some unhappy, in this world. Fortune has but a certain store, and she parts it unequally, though, perhaps, not blindly, as men say. But there's a place where all is made equal;" and, resuming quickly her lighter tone, she went on, dwelling long upon every word that Mary Markham had said to her, seeming to take a pleasure in that, which had in reality no small portion of pain mingled with it. Such is not infrequently the case, indeed, with almost all men; for it is wonderful how the bee of the human heart will contrive to extract sweets from the bitter things of life; but, perhaps, there might be a little art in it--innocent art, indeed--most innocent; for its only object was to hide from the eyes of Richard of Woodville that there was any feeling in her bosom towards him but deep gratitude and perfect confidence. She dwelt then upon her he loved, as if the subject were as pleasing to her as to himself; and, though she spoke gaily--sometimes almost in a jesting tone--yet there were touches of deep feeling mingled every now and then with all she said, which made him perceive that, as she herself had told him, the lightness was in manner alone, and not in the mind.
At all events, her conduct had one effect which she could have desired: it removed all doubt and hesitation from the mind of Richard of Woodville, if any such remained, in regard to his behaviour towards her;--it did away all scruple as to guarding and protecting her on the way, as far as their roads lay together.
One point, indeed, in her account puzzled him, and excited his curiosity--which was the sudden departure of his uncle and Mary from Westminster. "Well," he thought, "I never loved the task of discovering mysteries, and have ever been willing to leave Time to solve them, else I should have troubled my brain somewhat more about my sweet Mary's fate and history than I have done;" and, after pondering for a few moments more, he turned again to other subjects with Ella Brune. Pleased and entertained by her conversation, he scarcely turned his eyes back towards the coast of England, till the cliffs had become faint and grey, like a cloud upon the edge of the sky; while the sun setting over the waters seemed to change them into liquid fire. In the meantime, wafted on by the light breeze, the ship continued her slow way; and, as the orb of day sank below the horizon, the moon, which had been up for some little time, poured her silver light upon the water--no longer outshone by the brighter beams. The sky remained pure and blue; the stars appeared faint amidst the lustre shed by the queen of night; and the water, dashing from the stern, looked like waves of molten silver as they flowed away. Nothing could be more calm, more grand, more beautiful, than the scene, with the wide expanse of heaven, and the wide expanse of sea, and the pure lights above and the glistening ripple below, and the curtain of darkness hanging round the verge of all things, like the deep veil of a past and future eternity.
Neither Ella Brune nor Richard of Woodville could help feeling the influence of the hour, for the grand things of nature raise and elevate the human heart, whether man will or not. They lived in a rude age, it is true; but the spirit of each was high and fine; and their conversation gradually took its tone from the scene that met their eyes on all sides. They might not know that those stars were unnumbered suns, or wandering planets, like their own; they might not know that the bright broad orb that spread her light upon the waves was an attendant world, wheeling through space around that in which they lived; they had no skill to people the immensity with miracles of creative power; but they knew that all they beheld was the handiwork of God, and they felt that it was very beautiful and very good. Their souls were naturally led up to the contemplation of things above the earth; and while Richard of Woodville learned hope and confidence in Him who had spread the heaven with stars and clothed the earth in loveliness, Ella Brune took to her heart, from the same source, the lesson of firmness and resignation.
They gazed, they wondered, they adored; and each spoke to the other some of the feelings which were in their hearts; but some only, for there were many that they could not speak.
"I remember," said Ella, at length, in a low voice, "when I was at a town called Innsbruck, in the midst of beautiful mountains, hearing the nuns chant a hymn, which I caught up by ear; and the poor old man and I turned it, as best we might, into English, and used often in our wanderings to console ourselves with singing it, when little else had we to console us. It comes into my mind to-night more than ever."