However, Sir Payan had long foreseen that a time would come when the young heir of Chilham Castle might wrench his heritage from the hand that usurped it, and he resolved at all hazards to strike where the blow would be most effectual. Several painful indignities had induced the aged Earl of Fitzbernard to drop a title and a name to the splendour of which his means no longer were proportioned; and burying himself, as we have before said, in Wales, he devoted his whole time to endowing his son both with those elegant and warlike accomplishments which he fondly hoped would one day prove the means of re-instating his family in the halls of their ancestors. "Fulbert de Douvres," he said, "the founder of our family in England, won the lands and lordships of Chilham at the point of his lance, and why should not Osborne Darnley, the only descendant of Rose de Douvres, his daughter, regain his patrimony by his good sword?"
Happily, his very poverty had removed the old earl from any county where the influence of Sir Payan Wileton might be felt, or where his machinations could be carried on successfully. Yet more than one attempt had been made to carry off the young heir of Chilham Castle, and little doubt could be entertained in regard to whose hand had directed them. All, however, had been frustrated by the extraordinary foresight with which the old earl guarded his son, seeming to have an intuitive knowledge of the time when any such attack was likely to take place, and to be always prepared to avoid or repel it.
At length, however, the time came when the young Osborne Maurice (as he was now called) was to encounter alone all that his enemies could do against him; but it seemed as if his father had now lost all fear, and bidding him resume his real name when he joined the army, he sent him forth unhesitatingly to win renown. How he acquitted himself we have in some measure seen, and will now proceed with the circumstances that followed immediately upon his return to his native country, after five years of arduous military service.
The bosom of Sir Payan Wileton, during his absence from the house where he had left his prisoner, was agitated by a thousand various passions. Triumph--malice--pride--fear that he might yet, by some unforeseen circumstance, escape from his hands--newer and vaster projects of ambition, still, as he made one step sure, seeking to place another still higher--the feeling of a difficult enterprise accomplished--the heart-stealing preparation for a fresh crime, and mingled still withal an unwonted thrilling of remorse, that, like sounds of music amidst cries of riot and tumult, made discord more discordant--all occupied the void place of thought, and made him gallop quickly on, communicating to even his corporeal actions the hurried agitation of his feelings.
Thus he proceeded for some way; but when he had ridden on for such a time as he computed that Lady Constance would remain at his dwelling, he turned his horse, and prepared to return home, having by his time striven to remove from his face all trace of any emotion, and having also, in some degree, reduced his feelings to their usual calm, determined action. Yet, nevertheless, there was a strange sensation of horror tugging at his heart, when he thought of the near accomplishment of his long-entertained designs. "He is too like his mother," muttered Sir Payan. "But yet I am not a woman to halt in my purposes for the weak memory of an idle passion, which disappointment and rejection should long have turned into revenge; and yet I wish he were not so like his mother."
As he returned he checked the speed with which he had set out, and was proceeding leisurely on the road, when he heard the cantering of a horse coming up behind; and, turning round, perceived the somewhat curious figure of Sir Cesar the astrologer. It was one, however, well known to Sir Payan, who (as too often is the case) was destitute of religion, but by no means emancipated from superstition, and who, while he rejected the light of revelation, could not refrain from often yielding to the wild gleams of a dark imagination.
In the still agitated state of his mind, too, when a sort of feverish excitement stimulated him to seek from any source knowledge of what would be the future consequences of his meditated actions, he looked upon the coming of Sir Cesar as a benefit at the hands of Fortune, and prepared to take advantage of it.
Doffing low, therefore, his plumed hat as the old knight rode up, and bowing almost to his saddle-bow, "Welcome, worthy Sir Cesar," he said; "any news from your splendid friend his Grace of Buckingham?"
Sir Cesar touched his palfrey between the ears with his small baton to make it slacken its pace; and then, after regarding Sir Payan with his keen dark eyes, as was usual with him on first encountering any one he knew, he replied, "Welcome, fortunate Sir Payan Wileton! Your star is in the ascendant!" And while he spoke there was a sort of cynical sneer on his countenance, which seemed hardly to wish well to him that he congratulated.
"It is," replied Sir Payan; "but condescend, good Sir Cesar, to ride to my dwelling and pass one day with me, and I will tell you more."