"There is no 'perhaps,' my lord," replied Master Evelyn, interrupting him, but with a civil and courteous tone, and a deprecatory bow; "I know quite well what you would say: that perhaps your mind is not made up how to act; but all which I mean to urge is, that it is necessary to be fully prepared to act in any way that you may think fit at a moment's notice. Here is your father's declaration in regard to his marriage, drawn up and sworn to. It is now expedient to take the declaration of Mistress Bertha, and swear her thereunto before the magistrates, as well as to employ every means of obtaining further proof and information. You may act afterwards as you think fit."
Langford readily agreed that the lawyer was in the right, although he felt a repugnance at that moment to follow, with even apparent eagerness, his claim to the heritage of him who was just dead. He returned, however, to the Rectory, where Bertha had still remained, and she soon appeared in answer to his summons.
There were traces of tears upon her cheeks; and when Langford, speaking some soothing and consoling words, explained to her his object in sending for her, she replied, "You have done well, sir. You have done well; for I feel that I shall not live long; and what I have to say had better be rightly taken down. I feel that I shall not live long, I say, because, for the first time for thirty years, I have shed tears. It is a weakness that I did not expect to fall upon me again; but now that the last of those who have been connected with my fate is gone into the tomb, I feel that the time is come for me to take my departure also; and these tears, I suppose, are a few drops of rain ere the dark night sets in."
"I trust not. Bertha," said Langford, kindly. "I trust not, indeed. The last being connected with your fate has not departed; for surely my fate has been strongly and strangely connected with yours, and I have so much to thank you for, that I would fain show my gratitude, and make the last days of your life pass happily away."
"You have, perhaps, something to thank me for," replied Bertha, "but more to blame and hate me for. But you know I am not a person of many words; and if I am to tell all that I know of you and yours, let me do it now, and as shortly as may be."
"In the first place," said Mr. Evelyn, "we had better send for another magistrate; the lady can make her declaration in the meanwhile and swear to it afterwards."
"Do not call me the lady, Master Lawyer," said Bertha, with her usual cold sharpness; "I am no lady. I am Bertha, the housekeeper. But send for what magistrate you like. I will say nothing that I will not swear to."
A messenger was accordingly sent off for Sir Matthew Scrope, and in the meanwhile Bertha went on with her tale.
"I was born on the beautiful coast of Brittany;" she said; "my father was a small holder under the Lords of Beaulieu, his mother's ancestors," and she pointed to Langford. "The chateau stood upon a high rock, crowned with thick woods above the sea; for in those sweet shores the green leaves dip themselves in the green waters. At fifteen years of age, I went to attend upon the Lady Eugenie--his mother--who was some two years older than myself. The Lords of Beaulieu were fathers to all beneath them, and she was as a sister to me. She found out that even at that early age I loved, and that there was little hope of him I loved ever being able to win my father's consent, for my father was wealthy for a peasant. She told her father and her brother, and prayed their help; they gave it; and so well did they do for my happiness, that ere two summers were over, Henri Kerouet was the prosperous owner of a small trading ship. My father's consent was given, the day was appointed, and two days before, I saw from the windows of the castle my father, my two brothers, and my lover, put out to sea in a fine boat, to buy things at Quimperle for the wedding. I watched them from the windows of my young mistress's room with the eyes of love, and saw them skim for half a mile over the waters, as if it had been a thing of their own; but then, I know not how or why, the sail flapped upon the water, the boat upset, and all that were in it disappeared. One of them rose again for a moment, and clung to the side of the boat. I think it was Henri; but ere my screams called attention, and other boats could put off, his hold had given way, and he too was beneath the waters.
"There is in every woman's breast a history; and this is mine. I had but one brother left; every other relation was gone, and he I loved also. My heart was shut up from that hour, never to open again. My young mistress was all kindness, and tenderness, and benevolence; she kept me with her, she strove to soothe and to console; but she had soon need of consolation and soothing herself, for her father died suddenly as he sat at breakfast beside her, and she remained an orphan in the castle of her ancestors for several weeks, till her brother, who was with the army, could obtain permission to return to his estates. When he did come, he brought with him one whom I remember well, as he then crossed the threshold, in all the graces, the powers, and the fiery passions of youth; one whom you have all seen bent and worn by age and care, and by the punishment of those passions indulged; one who lies within a few steps of us even now, in the cold and marble stiffness of death, with all the stormy impulses of his nature passed away. He was then like a fiery war-horse, full of beauty, and strength, and danger, for there was nothing on earth that he dared not do; there were but too few things, also, which, with such a mind and such a body, he could not accomplish. He loved my mistress, and my mistress loved him, ere many weeks of his sojourn with us passed away.