While Katherine thus struggled with necessity, Monina was given up to patience. The present hour had fulfilled its fear; her busy thoughts fashioned a thousand plans for his escape, or tremblingly painted a dark futurity. He was a part of her being, though no portion of herself was claimed by him. She was not his, as a lover or a wife, but as a sister might be; if in this ill world such heart's concord could exist: a sharing of fate and of affection, combined with angelic purity. As easily might she fancy animal life to survive in her body after the soul had fled, as soon imagine that the beating of her heart could continue when the living impulse which quickened its palpitations was still, as that he, her childhood's playfellow, the golden dream of her youth, the shrine at which she had sacrificed that youth, should die, and she live on in the widowed world without him.
The stars glittered over their gentle heads, and the moon went down in the west; fitful, thread-like rays were shed upon the raging sea, whose heady billows foamed and roared at their feet: both these fair, gentle creatures remained, careless of the wild wind that swept their limbs, or the spray which, high as they stood, besprent their hair: both young, both lovely, both devoted to one, yet confiding in the reality of virtue and purity, trusting fully each other, the one accepting the heart's sacrifice which the other unreservedly made, they watched for the Adalid, which, a plaything of the waves, was carried afar. Day dawned before they could resolve to quit this spot; then they took refuge in the near monastery, and from its towers looked out over the sea.
A few anxious hours brought the dreaded consummation of their fears. The ascent of a troop of horse up the steep, told Katherine that she was discovered. Their sudden appearance before her proved that she was a prisoner. For the first time she saw the White and Red Rose entwined; the earl of Oxford was announced to her as their leader, and he soon appeared to claim his prize.
Katherine received him with dignified sweetness; she conquered her ill fate by smiling at its blows, and looked a queen, as she yielded herself a slave. The watching of the night had all disordered her dress, and deranged her golden tresses; but her wondrous fairness, the soft moulding of her face, her regal throat, and arched open brow, bending over her intelligent, yet soft, blue eyes; her person majestic, even in its slim beauty, were tokens of a spirit, that in destitution must reign over all who approached it.
Her first words, to ease the awe-struck earl, were an entreaty to be conducted to the king. She showed more earnest desire than he to present herself to her royal victor. In a very few hours they had descended the Mount, and hastened out of hearing of the roar of the ocean, which had so cruelly deceived her hopes. In her eyes could only be read the mastery she had obtained over her thoughts; no lurking weakness betrayed fear, or even disappointment, Surely yet she cherished some dear expectation; yet how, lost to liberty, could she hope to attain it?
But thus we are, while untamed by years. Youth, elastic and bright, disdains to be compelled. When conquered, from its very chains it forges implements for freedom; it alights from one baffled flight, only again to soar on untired wing towards some other aim. Previous defeat is made the bridge to pass the tide to another shore; and, if that break down, its fragments become stepping-stones. It will feed upon despair, and call it a medicine which is to renovate its dying hopes.
CHAPTER XLIX
RICHARD SURRENDERS
For, when Cymocles saw the foul reproach
Which him appeached, prick'd with noble shame
And inward grief, he fiercely 'gan approach;
Resolved to put away that loathly blame,
Or die with honour and desert of fame.
SPENSER.