The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Moyle Sherer

  CHAP. VII.

  Love is a kind of superstition, Which fears the idol which itself hath framed. SIR THOMAS OVERBURY.

  Cuthbert was awakened at midnight by pain:--the glimmer of the nightlamp in the little room adjoining cast a dim light into the chamberwhere he lay; and the breathing of the aged female servant, who satthere in watch, told him that she had been overcome by sleep. He carednot to disturb her, and made an effort to reach the cup of water onthe little table by his side, but he found that he was no longer equalto the slightest exertion--he could not even change his posture. Heendured his thirst, and tried to collect his thoughts, and gather upall that had passed in the hall, but he could not: he was dizzy withthe sense of having been pushed to the very brink of eternity, andsnatched back again. A gleam shone upon the portrait of Luther whichhung opposite. "Though he slay me yet will I trust him," was now hisown whispered act of confidence in God, and he lay passive, silent,and hopeful. Not only was he heavily oppressed with bodily anguish,but his mind, after undue excitement, and proportionate depression andexhaustion, had sunk into a state of torpor. At the moment when SirCharles Lambert made the insidious speech to Sir Oliver, whichCuthbert truly discerned to be aimed at his suspected principles, andstill more basely at a supposed line of conduct which he had far toohigh a sense of integrity to pursue.

  At that moment it seemed to him as if it was but fair and honourableto make open avowal of his true sentiments; but in the same quickglance of the mind he saw the first bitter and inevitable consequence.He must quit Milverton immediately, and for ever. Sir Oliver could nolonger have retained in his family a man openly admiring the causeand the course of that party in the kingdom which opposed the crown.

  The collision in his mind of this fear of separation from so much thathe loved, and of the honest impulse to do what was right, begat amomentary desperation; and thus it was, that he rose upon thatoccasion with so unbecoming a want of calmness, and that he was aboutto preface his statement by exhibiting his unmeasured scorn for thebase assailant of his character, but the too sure destroyer of hispresent happiness.

  By the strange and bloody interruption of his purpose, the avowal ofhis political opinions was checked: his expression of contempt for SirCharles had found utterance, and had been followed by a consequence,carrying with it, indeed, a severe rod of rebuke to himself for hisrashness, but punishment in a tenfold degree more insupportable to hisproud and brutal enemy; and, as a crowning consolation to Cuthbert,his sojourn beneath the blessed roof of Milverton was at least, forvery many weeks to come, perfectly secure. He had felt no sorrow whenhe heard the surgeon pronounce his case as one that would betedious--and that it must be long before he could be safely moved.

  He would have had a stronger reason for joy and thankfulness, could hehave known that he had been the cause of producing such a developementof the fierce and cruel temper of Sir Charles Lambert as savedKatharine Heywood, if not from actually accepting him as a husband, towhich she would never have consented, at least from all the presentpersecution of his attentions, as well as from all expression of theblind but yet obstinate wishes of her otherwise indulgent father.

  As Katharine lay wakeful on her pillow, believing and hoping that thelife of Cuthbert would be spared, and no permanent injury would affecthis future health or usefulness, she could not regret the occurrenceof the morning.

  Certainly she would have died rather than have gone to the altar withSir Charles, but she would have remained continually exposed to hisselfish addresses; and this match having been the favourite plan ofher father from her earliest girlhood would have been perpetuallyurged upon her by him in those many indirect and distressing ways inwhich affectionate and obedient children are sometimes long andungenerously tormented by covetous or ambitious parents.

  One thing, when she first heard of the catastrophe, found a briefadmission into her mind, and till she was made fully acquainted bothby her father and by Juxon of all that had passed, and of the wordswhich had been uttered at the time, was not entirely dismissed. Thiswas no less than a fear, faint, indeed, and most reluctantly viewed aspossible, that the quarrel might have arisen out of some feelings onboth sides connected with herself. Nothing was farther removed fromthe true dignity of her noble character than the desire of making animpression upon any one; and it would have very seriously pained her,if those kind attentions, by which she had sought to make Cuthbert athome in the family, should have given birth in his breast to anywarmer sentiment than that of respectful friendship.

  Her humility and her modesty were so genuine that she was quiteunconscious of her own personal attractions, and, though alive to thebeauty of many of her female friends, she regarded it as a quality soinferior, and secondary in its power of interesting the heart, orwinning the homage of the mind, as to give little advantage to itspossessor in the daily intercourse of society. This opinion being inher sincere and rooted, her charms were worn with a grace and ease sonatural, that her influence over all who came within their sweet andmagic circle was irresistible.

  This being her character, it was a great relief to her to be persuadedthat there was not the slightest ground for the apprehensions, whichshe had slowly admitted. She was now surprised at herself for havingentertained them even for a moment. She saw in the conduct of Cuthbertnothing more than a burst of human pride irritated into violence bythe haughty insults of a worthless superior. Thus all her suspicionsof the truth were lulled to sleep; and to alleviate the sufferings ofCuthbert during his confinement, and to cheer his convalescence whenthe hour of it should arrive, was to her plain judgment a simple and apleasing duty.

  Sir Oliver himself passed a weary and feverish night,--all thingsseemed out of joint: one of his most favourite schemes wasbroken,--and his prospects of a peaceful and indolent old age, underthe shadow of his own trees, were somewhat shaken. The trumpet of warhad not, indeed, as yet sounded in the heart of England, thoughEnglish blood had been already spilled freely on the borders. The fewtall yeomen, with their goodly steeds, sent by himself to join theKing's forces in the north, had marched fast and far only to meet anearly end, and to swell the loss and the discredit of the ridiculousexpedition against the Scots. With Sir Charles Lambert for ason-in-law, he would have felt better able to meet and take share inthe coming troubles; and he reflected on the difficulties before himwith dismay. Of battle or of death he had no fear,--though at his timeof life, and with his habits, it was small service beyond that of aready example of devotion which he could render in a camp; but when hethought of Katharine, and of Arthur in his boyhood, and of his agedsister, his household presented but a defenceless aspect. However,after the scene of yesterday, he could not ever directly encourage anyfuture addresses of Sir Charles to his daughter; and it could not butsuggest itself plainly to his own mind, as a gentlemen of a trueEnglish spirit, as far as personal bravery was concerned, that littledependence could be placed upon the courage or firmness of a mancapable of the cruel and dastardly assault which he had yesterdaywitnessed. He had yet to learn the moral energies and the latentheroism of his noble daughter, and to discover the strength and thewisdom of a woman's mind, when the love of father and of country guideit in the path of duty and of honour. Some time was to elapse beforethe days of trial; and, indulging that love of ease which was habitualto him, he strove to stifle or put away from him the unwelcomeconviction that come they must, and could not be averted. Thereforeit was with no common sense of comfort, that, when he came forth intothe gallery the next morning, he found Katharine, and his sister, andArthur, already there, waiting to receive him with the kisses of fondcongratulation, and saw his own portrait and that of his departedwife, who had been to him as an angel gently leading him for good, andever watchful to guard him from error, framed, as it were, with choiceand dewy flowers. He gazed at the portrait of his wife and then atKatharine, alternately, and was melted into a gush of gratefultenderness. All fears, difficulties, and troubles seemed to vanish ina present feeling of thankful
ness and delight. He went instantly on tothe chamber of Cuthbert: Juxon had been there from an early hour, andthe surgeon was engaged at the moment in dressing his wound.

  The sight of the amiable young man, lying pale and helpless, bandagedand in pain, greatly moved Sir Oliver. He took Cuthbert by the hand,and spoke to him in that warm and feeling language of condolence whichis balm to a sufferer's mind. The benevolent surgeon took a livelyinterest in his patient, and spoke most confidently of effecting acomplete cure,--although he repeated, that the case would prove verytedious, and many weeks must elapse before he could be permitted, orindeed be able, to quit the recumbent posture. He gave directions thathe should be kept particularly quiet in his actual state, and not bespoken with or disturbed throughout the day, except to give himnecessary refreshment or medicine.

  At the earnest invitation of Sir Oliver, Juxon consented to remain atMilverton till the evening. The day passed pleasantly away. The worthyknight recovered his usual spirits; Mistress Alice her composure; andKatharine Heywood, having much secret content and thankfulness atheart, looked like some gracious angel of peace and goodness.

  It was a day of bliss to Juxon:--one never forgotten, but marked whitefor ever. He was one of those men who felt a reverence and tendernessfor woman; and, whenever he addressed them, his eyes, his voice, hiswhole manner plainly manifested respect. He expected in the femalecharacter gentleness, purity, and charity; and yet, by some strangeinconsistency, he shunned the society of women, was seldom to be seenin those gay and glittering circles where they shone, and where hemight have been soon disenchanted of his cherished illusions.

  His residence in a sequestered parish in the country afforded him fewopportunities of visiting where ladies were to be met; and being fondof all sports and manly exercises, and so ripe a scholar as to findstudy and the chase a pleasant relief to each other, he had not as yetbeen careful to seek opportunities of increasing his femaleacquaintance.

  Whatever there was of silent and maidenly reserve in sweet Katharineherself towards common strangers, and upon ordinary occasions,vanished at a time like this, in the presence of so manly, so modest,and so frank a man as George Juxon. As the family sat that day attable, not a shade of embarrassment was visible in any of theparty:--Sir Oliver was in high good humour; the boy Arthur looked attheir guest with those honest eyes which, in boyhood, fear not toshow either like or dislike; and the little girl Lily, permitted thatday to dine in the hall, sat without shyness opposite to Juxon, andshunned not his smile or his word of notice.

  The day wore on:--he walked with the ladies upon the verdant andvelvet paths in the flower garden,--he paced the terrace with SirOliver,--and his presence was felt by them all as a strength and acomfort.

  The shade upon the dial had stole silently, but swiftly, forwards, andtouched upon seven in the evening, when he ran up to the chamber ofCuthbert to press his hand at parting; and having afterwards said hisfarewell to the ladies on the lawn, he descended to the court-yard,accompanied by Sir Oliver and the boy Arthur, mounted the gallant roangelding upon which he had hunted his way down on the morning ofyesterday, and again shaking the hand of his host, and accepting awarm invitation to repeat his visit soon and often, George Juxon rodeout of the gates at Milverton with a very new and strange feeling.

  The free animal, on which he rode, was impatiently checked as often asit broke from the measured walk at which it was now the pleasure ofhis master to travel homewards; and, whatever might be the cause, hewas not allowed to perform in less than two hours a distance to bevery easily accomplished within one. The reverie of Juxon was unbrokenduring the whole ride. The evening was mild, and the hedgerows weregreen, and the air was perfumed here with the scent of violets, therewith the fragrance of cottage gardens or blushing orchards, and uponthe woody or open parts of the road with the rich incense of thefresh-blown May.

  The news of Sir Charles Lambert's violence had reached his parsonagebefore him; and in the stone porch his old housekeeper met him as soonas he had dismounted, with as much anxiety as if he had narrowlyescaped murder himself. The good old body, with that genuinephilanthropy of feeling which is as natural as their breathing tokindly natures, learned the safety of Cuthbert, whom she had neverseen or heard of before, with a lively expression of motherly joy;and Juxon was roused to remember how very narrowly the youth hadmissed an early and melancholy fate. Truth to say, so much of pleasurehad grown up within these two days from the very circumstances arisingout of the assault on Cuthbert, for her young master now to dwell on,and there seemed to open before him so pleasant a prospect in futureintercourse with the family at Milverton, that, perhaps, he hardlyfelt enough for the present sufferings of the unfortunate patient.

  His thoughts, however, were soon diverted from Milverton, and fromhimself, by the entrance of his old gardener, to say the May-crown,which was kept in the summer-house, had been taken away, and that hehad found a written paper on the shelf where it stood. This the oldman handed to his master, saying he could not read it, but guessed itboded no good for the coming holyday, and that he had been gatheringflowers to dress out the old May-pole to little purpose. George Juxontook the paper, upon which, in a stiff, quaint hand, were writtenthese lines:--

  "This head in a crown, and that without ears, Is the pleasure of prelates, of courtiers, and peers. Dance, revel, and sing, ye butterflies gay; The time is at hand you shall weep, fast, and pray. One holdeth the war-dogs, all ready to slip; Pleasure's cup shall be spilled, and dashed from the lip. To me is committed this message of woe: The tears of the proud ones unpitied shall flow."

  He no sooner read it, than, quitting his supper, he went out into thevillage to ascertain if any copy of it had been left at any otherplace; and found, to his vexation, that one had been fastened to theMay-pole, and had been taken down and read to half the people.Determined, however, that the customary sports should be neitherhindered nor damped, he took home with him the village carpenter, setfairly to work, and in two hours, by the aid of lath, and pasteboard,and Dutch gilding, they finished off a crown far more splendid thanthe one stolen; and he wrote underneath it, with prompt good humour,--

  "The preacher hath said it--For all things a time-- For fasting, for feasting, for dancing, for rhyme:-- No rhymes without reason shall hinder our pleasure; We'll crown the old May-pole, and tread the old measure."

  This done, he again thought of Cuthbert's bed of suffering, andremembered him in his prayers. This little cross occurrence in hisparish neither drove away his own sleep for a second nor delayed onthe morrow the sports of his parishioners. Here, as in many otherplaces, the popular and wise course of the minister preserved a goodand happy understanding among the people. There is no social statemore truly desirable than that of a well-ordered village population,where the miseries of the lane and the alley cannot reach; labour isperformed in the open air; festivals are days of thanksgiving, dancedthrough upon a green sward, to the nodding heads of merry musicians;and they see no crowns but such as are woven with roses for theirMay-queen, and know no sceptre but a white wand wreathed about withfragrant flowers.