William Shakespeare as He Lived: An Historical Tale

by Henry Curling

It far exceeds the descriptive power of our pen to paint the grief, horror, and despair of the good Sir Hugh and his nephew. For the moment they seemed stupified with excess of misery. They then threw themselves into each other's arms, and wept in their desolation, till the very violence of their grief in some sort relieved them.

'Tis extraordinary how the human mind, after a time, accommodates itself to the dispensations of Providence, however hard to bear. It was greatly in favour of the mourners that they had in each other subjects of anxiety. Each felt the hard lot of the other; and as each watched the deep sorrow of his companion, the very feelings and disposition to afford comfort, and urge patience and resignation, in some sort took from them the poignancy of their own feelings.

The old knight, after wandering about the house in a state of bewilderment for the first twenty-four hours after his arrival, became calmer, and seemed inclined to force himself to take an interest in his old occupations.

He visited, on the evening of the second day, the kennel and the falconry, accompanied by Arderne, and made the rounds of the different buildings and offices. Neither of them spoke much to each other, except an occasional word as they came upon some object of deep interest in connexion with her who was gone. "Look!" said Sir Hugh, as with quivering lips and tears rolling down his muscular cheeks and grey beard, he pointed to Charlotte's favourite hawk—a gallant bird, which sat and plumed itself upon its perch, "look!" said he, in tremulous accents——he could say no more; but in the utterance of that word what an agony of grief was expressed. Arderne, too, felt his chest heave, and the tears course each other down his cheeks, as he regarded the hawk. But the sight of the brave old knight struggling to master his grief for his sake, relieved the poignancy of his own sorrow. "Come, uncle," said he, "we must to the stables. Tarry not here. There is much to be looked after, and which wants your care. The attendants seem to have deserted their charge, and the stalls are for the most part empty;" and so they pursued their search around. When they came to the stable, if objects were wanting to produce the sharp pang of grief, here again they were to be found—objects peculiarly adapted to give the most intense feelings of sorrow, as they were associated with those accomplishments in his daughter, which the knight had held in the most estimation. There hung the gay trappings of her favourite steed, and there stood the steed itself, which the falconer had kept in its stall—a milk-white and perfect courser; and in the stable beside the manger, lay Charlotte's favourite hound—the dog, in her absence having apparently sought consolation in the companionship of the horse he had so often accompanied to the field.

The horse turned and neighed inquiringly, it appeared, to the old knight; and the dog shook himself clear of the straw, and bounding out of the stall, put his fore-legs upon Sir Hugh's breast, and seemed to ask for his mistress, and then it stood down, as if conscious of the fruitlessness of the query; and throwing up its great head, uttered a long melancholy howl.

The good knight regarded the dog for a moment in silence. He stepped up to the white steed; and as it put its nose affectionately in his face, he kissed it again and again. He then sought for his own saddle; and saddling and bridling the horse, he led it forth into the yard, followed by the hound.

As Walter observed the knight's movements, he quietly saddled his own steed, and they both set out together, and without a word took the road to Stratford. There was no necessity for Walter to inquire of his uncle their destination. He felt assured that the knight was about to visit his daughter's grave.

Although Sir Hugh had however endeavoured to resign himself to the decrees of Providence, and bear with fortitude the dire affliction which had visited his house, he found it impossible to pursue the usual tenor of his former life; the charm of existence seemed fled for ever—"life was as tedious as a twice-told tale." It seemed to him, that in the listless way in which he was pursuing his daily avocations, he was beginning over again. He rode forth without purpose, and pursued his route as chance or his steed directed.

Luckily this had been foreseen by a true industrious friend, one who, since the return of Sir Hugh to Clopton, had been sorely missed in his need by the good knight.

The faithful Martin, on his arrival in London, on finding that Sir Hugh had been liberated, and had returned to Clopton, was struck with dismay, inasmuch as he immediately surmised the shock the knight would be likely to receive on so immediately returning to his desolate home.