As the best way of conquering all scruples, he treated them lightly from that moment; quickened his horse's pace, stopped to sup and sleep about fifteen miles from London, and presented himself at the gates of the palace at an early hour next morning. There he was kept waiting for some time, as the King was at council; but at length he was admitted to the monarch's presence, and, in answer to questions, which evidently showed that he had been sent into Hampshire to collect information of a more definite character than had previously reached Henry's ears, in regard to the death of Catherine Beauchamp, he gave his sovereign at full all the tidings he had gained from Dame Julian, the reeve's wife, from brother Clement, and from two or three other persons, whom he had seen before he met with those I have mentioned. Of brother Martin, however, he said not a word; and Henry mused for several minutes without observation.
"Well," he said at length, "refresh yourself and your horse, Ned; and then go back and join your new lord. Here is largess for your service, though I am sorry you have been able to gain no more clear intelligence;" and at the same moment he poured the contents of a small leathern purse, which had been lying on the table, into his hand.
The amount was far larger than Ned Dyram had expected;--for Henry was one of the most open-handed men on earth--and he paused, looked from the gold to the monarch, and seemed about to speak. At that moment, however, the door of the room opened, and a young gentleman entered in haste. By the stern and somewhat contracted, but high forehead--by the quick, keen eye, and by the compressed lips, Ned Dyram instantly recognised Prince John of Lancaster; and, at a sign from the King, he bowed low and quitted the presence.
CHAPTER XVI.
[THE NEW FRIENDS.]
Ella Brune sat on a stool at the feet of Mary Markham, on the day after Richard of Woodville's departure from London, and certainly a more beautiful contrast was seldom seen than between the fair lady and the minstrel girl, as the one told and the other listened to, the tale of the old man's death, and all that had since occurred. The eyes of both were full of tears, which did not run over, indeed, but hung trembling on the eyelid, like drops of summer dew in the cup of a flower; and Mary Markham, with the kind, familiar impulse of sympathy, stretched forth her fair hand twice, and pressed that of her less fortunate companion, as she told the tale of her sorrows, and her sufferings. The poor girl's heart yearned towards her gentle friend, as she remarked her sympathy for all she felt,--her grief at the death of the poor old man, her pleasure at the conduct of Ella's generous protector, her indignation at the persecution she had suffered from a man whom she herself scorned and despised. But one thing is to be remarked. The name of Sir Simeon of Roydon, Ella spoke plainly, and repeated often, during her narrative; but that of Richard of Woodville, from some latent feeling in her own heart, she shrunk from pronouncing. It might be, that the meaning looks and smiles of the people of the inn where she had visited him, made her believe that others would entertain the suspicions or fancies which she imagined that those looks implied. It might be that she doubted her own heart, or that she knew there really were therein sensations which she dreaded to acknowledge to herself, and still more to expose to the eyes of others. Thus she gave him any other designation than his own name. She called him "the noble gentleman who had befriended her," "her protector," "her benefactor,"--everything, in short, but Richard of Woodville.
Mary Markham observed this reserve; and, as woman's heart, even in the most simple and single-minded, is always learned in woman's secrets, Mary judged, and judged rightly, that gratitude was growing up in Ella's bosom into love. She could very well understand that it should be so; she thought it natural--so natural, that it could scarce be otherwise; and what she felt within herself would have made her very lenient to passion in others, even had she been more harsh and severe than she was. She took a deep interest in the poor girl and her whole history, and not less in her grateful love than in any other part thereof; so that she was anxious to learn who and what this unnamed benefactor was, in order that she might judge whether there was the least hope or chance of Ella's tenderness meeting due return.
"He was a generous and noble-hearted knight, indeed," she said; "more like the ancient chivalry, my poor girl, than the heartless nobility of the present day."
"He is not a knight," answered Ella, timidly; "but I am sure he soon will be, for he well deserves his spurs."
"And he is young and handsome, of course, Ella?" said Mary Markham, with a smile.