“He is not dead,” said the Franciscan, “but he is still grievously sick of his wounds; yet may we hope that he will soon recover as thou dost.”
“Thank God, he is not dead,” cried Hepborne with energy; “thank God, there is hope of his recovery.”
“Nay, this good Friar John will keep him alive, as he hath done thee,” said Assueton.
“Strange,” said Hepborne, “to see thee, my truest friend, Assueton, thus in league with the man whom I did esteem my bitterest foe; wonderful to learn from thee that he hath exerted himself to recall me from death. Of a truth, then, I must [[618]]of needscost yield me to conviction so strong, and pray him and God to forgive me for the hatred I did harbour against him.”
“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the Franciscan, “of a truth much hatred and misjudging doth need forgiveness on both our parts, and I do grieve most sincerely and heavily for mine, as well as for the mischief it hath occasioned.”
“But I do earnestly entreat thee to clear up my way through this strange wilderness of perplexity in which I am still involved,” said Sir Patrick.
“That will I most readily do for thee, Sir Knight,” replied the Franciscan; “but anxiety for thy certain and speedy return to health would lead me to urge thee to postpone thy curiosity, until thou shalt have gained further strength.”
“Nay,” said Sir Patrick, “of a truth I shall have more ease and repose of body after that my mind shall have been put at rest.”
“In truth, what thou hast said hath good reason in it,” replied the Franciscan; “then shall I no longer keep thee in suspense, but briefly run over such circumstances as it may be necessary for thee to know.
“My brother, the Lord of Dirleton, hath told me that thou art already possessed by him of the story of the loss of his first-born infant daughter. It was I, John de Vaux, his brother, to whom he did ever play the part of a kind benefactor and an affectionate father—it was I who repaid all the blessings I received from him by robbing him of his child. My mother (’tis horrible to be compelled thus to allow it) was the worst of her sex. I was young and violent of temper, and not being at that time aware of her infamy, I was hurt by the neglect with which she was treated, and, instigated by her, I boldly attempted to force her into the hall of my brother’s Castle, then thronged by all the nobility and chivalry of the neighbourhood, to witness the ceremonial baptism of the little Beatrice. My brother was justly enraged with mine impudence; he did incontinently turn both of us forth with disgrace, and in doing so he struck me a blow. Stung with the affront, I gave way to the full fury of my passion, and vowed to be revenged. My mother wickedly fostered mine already too fiery rage, till it knew no bounds. She urged me to watch mine occasion to murder the child; and although my young soul revolted at a crime so horrible, yet did her proposal suggest a plan of vengeance, which, with less of guilt to me, should convey as much of misery to my brother, and especially to his wife, against whom we had a peculiar hatred. [[619]]