XXI
OXENFORD'S DAUGHTER
Constans had now spent nearly a fortnight in the valley of the Swiftwater, and, while he had been hospitably received and entertained, he made but small progress in his mission; it seemed as though this second propaganda were also doomed to failure. There was neither unanimity nor enthusiasm among these rustic seigneurs; they were content to leave well enough alone, and the rest of the world could shift for itself, as in the past.
"Doom will not trouble us, and why should we concern ourselves about the flaying of a few fat burghers. Mayhap a little blood-letting now and then is efficacious in warding off the falling sickness, and in the end the churls get it back out of us. Your own worthy uncle, Messer Hugolin, has squeezed me more than once. As for your ideal republic, stuff of dreams, lad! Take an old man's word for it."
Piers Major, of the River Barony, spoke decidedly, yet withal not unkindly, for he had been blood-brother to Constans's father, and he liked the boy for his own sake. Constans had gone; to him last of all; unconsciously he had been counting upon his support, whatever else failed, and to be repulsed in this quarter was bitter indeed. The old man looked into the clouded face before him and continued, earnestly:
"A dream, I tell you. Let the morning wind scatter these vapors; you are young, and the world is before you. Harkee, lad, for I speak for your own good—nothing less. There is the Greenwood Keep, and it still remains 'no man's land.' True, the house was badly gutted by the fire, but there is plenty of good timber in the forest, and every man among us will be glad to lend a hand to the reconstruction of your fortunes. Finally, there is your tall cousin Alexa, 'Red' Oxenford's daughter. Methinks she looks upon you not unkindly, and she bade me be sure to bring you to her coming of age to-day. The whole country-side will be present, and you may bag all your birds with one fairly shot bolt. What say you?"
Constans was silent; for the moment he was conscious of being allured by an offer so well and kindly meant. To restore the old home, to find himself again among his kinsmen and friends, contentedly sharing their simple, wholesome life, to plough his own acres and see the smoke curling upward from his own hearthstone—were not these things, after all, the actualities of life?—was he to be always turning his back upon them to grasp at clouds mirrored in running water, shadows that ever eluded his grasp? His cousin Alexa—undoubtedly she was a pretty girl, with her rose-leaf complexion and bright, gray eyes. He had met her on two or three occasions, and he was not wholly unaware of her shy pleasure in his companionship, impersonal as it had hitherto been. He might, indeed, stop and consider.
Yet the temptation passed as quickly as it had presented itself. There was that other work in the world to-day, and who was to take it up if he drew back? Others might be of gifts more competent, but at least he had come to know himself through hard experience, and knowledge so bought was not to be lightly flung away.
"It cannot be," he said, shortly. "Believe me, that I am not ungrateful, but my own way is plain, and I must take it." He hesitated. "You are of my father's covenant," he continued, slowly.
"The blood-bond is between us," assented the other, heartily enough, and yet knitting his brows as he spoke.