CHAPTER XXVII.
The hall was lighted by three large sconces hung against that part ofthe wall nearest to the table; but still the extent of the chamberrendered the light feeble, except immediately under the burners. Itcannot be said that the appearance of Edward Langdale and his companionswas very prepossessing. Edward himself wore his hat and plume, which hadbeen thrown off before he plunged into the water; but his dress wassoiled as well as wet. The stranger whom he had saved was in a stillworse plight: his hat, of course, had been lost in his struggle with thetorrent, and his forehead and part of his face were covered withdripping locks of long black hair. His sword, which had remained in thesheath, was the only distinguishing mark of a gentleman about him.Pierrot and Jacques Beaupre looked far more like bravos than thefollowers of an English gentleman of those days; and the two ill-favoredblacksmiths, one armed with a half-extinguished lantern and the otherwith a sledge-hammer, did not add to the beauty or respectability of thegroup.
No wonder, then, that several of the gentlemen at the table laid theirhands upon their swords; and the one who had been speaking advanced astep or two, exclaiming, in a threatening tone, "What is this? Whatmeans this ill-mannered intrusion? Who are you, sirs, and what seek youhere?"
"Shelter from the storm, and food, if it can be procured," said Edward:"we know not upon whom----"
But, before he could finish the sentence, the gentleman to whom it wasaddressed started forward and caught him by the hand, exclaiming, "What!Ned, my boy! How came you to seek me here?"
"I did not seek you here, my lord," replied Edward, "and, to say truth,if I had known you were here, I should not have come. I was on my way toAix to join your lordship, according to your commands; but the road isimpassable. Some of us have been half drowned; and, though this is adesolate-looking place, we said, 'Any port in a storm.'"
"But who are these gentlemen with you?" asked Lord Montagu, stillspeaking in French, but running his eye somewhat doubtfully over thegroup of five persons who had advanced some way from the door.
"Those two," answered Edward, in the same gay tone, which was generallyaffected by pages of noble houses,--"those two are my servants, orrather your lordship's, the renowned and reformed Pierrot la Grange andthe facetious Jacques Beaupre. Those two--the one with the lantern andthe other with the hammer--are two respectable blacksmiths andhorse-doctors, who have joined themselves on to me and mine and did goodservice in curing one of my horses. They profess to be Savoyardsreturning to their own country."
"They shall be welcome," said Lord Montagu, smiling,--"most welcome, forI have no less than five good horses sick of some distemper at Chambery.But who is the other,--that gentleman who seems half drowned?"
"He was half drowned a few minutes ago, my lord," replied the youth,"and so was I; but he will probably tell you more of himself if you willask him. His horse leaped with him into the river, and it was a hardmatter to get him out."
"I hold it but courteous in these bad times," said Lord Montagu, "tofollow the old knightly rule and ask no stranger any questions,--beforehe has cut your throat; and therefore we will invite him to sup, andleave him to explain himself. He seems a gentleman."
"Yes, my lord," was all Edward's reply; but a very peculiar expressioncrossed his countenance as he uttered those three words, which, had LordMontagu seen it, might have caused more inquiry. That nobleman, however,had turned to speak for a moment with the gentlemen who had been seatedwith him; and he then advanced to the stranger, inviting him courteouslyto be seated and take some refreshment, and expressing sorrow for theaccident which had befallen him. He also bade the other four sit downand eat; and, there being no place for so many at the table, filled asit was, most of those who had already supped rose and gathered togetherat the end of the board, Edward taking his place amongst them withouttouching any thing.
Lord Montagu introduced him to the rest in kind terms, saying, "My pageand young friend, Monsieur Edward Langdale, Monsieur le Prince de ----,Monsieur le Comte de ----, Monsieur l'Abbe Scaglia, the Duke of Savoy'sprime minister. We came here on a little party of pleasure, Ned, and satlong over our cups, in truth, hardly hearing that the storm was stillgoing on. Come, my good youth, sit down and eat. You must be well wearyof all the adventures which the fair duchess writes me you have gonethrough. Eat, boy! eat!"
"Your pardon, my lord," said Edward, gravely: "I will take a cup of winehere standing: that is all. I have much to tell your lordship."
"By-and-by, by-and-by," said Lord Montagu, "we shall have plenty of timeand plenty to talk of. Well, drink if you will not eat."
Edward Langdale advanced to the table, filled himself a goblet of wine,and returned with it to Lord Montagu's side. Before he could raise it tohis lips, however, the stranger whom he had saved from drowning turnedround his head, saying, with a polite smile, "Let me have the pleasureof drinking with you, young gentleman, in memory of the service yourendered me. I do not know your name, though your face is very familiarto me."
A dark cloud gathered upon Edward Langdale's brow, and he answered, notsharply, but with stern, cold bitterness, "I neither eat with you nordrink with you, sir."
The stranger started up with his face all on fire, and exclaimed, withhis hand upon the hilt of his sword, "Do you mean to insult me, sir?"
"I mean to tell you, sir," said the youth, boldly, "that I am EdwardLangdale,--your father's son; and that you have robbed me of that towhich neither he nor you had any right,--my sweet mother's estates."
"Robbed? robbed?" cried Sir Richard Langdale, furiously drawing hissword.
"Ay, robbed,--swindled, if you like it better," said Edward. "Put upyour sword, or sheathe it here," he continued, throwing his arms wideopen and exposing his chest. "I do not fight with my brother."
The other rushed upon him like a madman.
"What is this? what is this?" cried the Abbe Scaglia, running forward.
"Back, madman!" exclaimed Lord Montagu, seizing Richard Langdale by thecollar.
Pierrot la Grange also darted forward and tried to push between. But allwere too late. Edward fell to the ground with a heavy fall, and hisbrother withdrew his sword all dripping with blood.
The burly blacksmith advanced toward him with his hammer raised in theact to strike him on the head, exclaiming, in very good French, "Themurdering villain! He has killed the man who saved his life at the riskof his own, not an hour ago!"
But Lord Montagu caught his arm, saying, "Stand back. This must beinquired into by justice. No more slaughter here. Sir, give up yoursword! You are a prisoner."
"Aid, all men, to arrest him!" cried the Abbe Scaglia. "I command you inthe duke's name!"
Sir Richard Langdale moved not a muscle, but stood gazing at the fallenform of his brother with a face as pale as marble and bloodless lips.Such sudden changes of feeling will often take place in terriblecircumstances. When the dreadful deed, prompted by the fierce fire ofpassion, is once done, we know all its horrors; but not before. Theconsummation is like the lightning-flash upon a corpse, showing everyghastly feature more livid and frightful from the remorse-like glarethat darts across it. Suddenly he started, raised his hands to his head,tearing his long black hair, and exclaiming, "Curse the lands! Curse theriches!"
"Here!" cried Lord Montagu, "take him away, you two. Guard him safely,but do him no hurt. You stout fellow, aid us to raise this poor lad,and let us see if nothing can be done for him. On my life, I would assoon have lost my brother!"
"Let me tend him, sir," said the blacksmith with the lantern: "I havecured many a horse as bad hurt as he; and a horse and a man are much thesame thing."
"Not quite," said Lord Montagu, who even at that moment could notaltogether resist the joking spirit of his times and his party. "Heaven!how he bleeds! Gentlemen, he was the noblest lad--the promptest withhand and head and heart--I ever saw. Poor Edward! can we do nothing foryou?"
As he spoke, they raised the youth and laid him on the table, and theblacksmith tore open his vest. The movement seem
ed to awaken him alittle; and, probably with thoughts far distant, he exclaimed, in afaint voice, "No, never! no, not with life!" But the rough hands stayednot their work; and, after gazing for an instant at his wounded side,the man turned to his companion, saying, "Ivan, run down and bring upthe pack, quick! We can stop this bleeding. Do you not see? it does notjerk. Then, if none of the vitals be touched----"
"A hundred crowns if you save him till we can get to Aix," said LordMontagu.
"I think I can save him altogether," said the man. "The thing is, peoplewill not treat man as if he were a beast; and so they kill him. Man andbeast are only flesh, and all flesh is grass."
But it is needless to discuss or to display any further the views andprinciples of Edward's somewhat rough doctor, or to detail the treatmenthe underwent. There was the usual amount of bustle and confusion, andthe much talking and the recommendation of many remedies which could notbe procured and would have done no good if they had been there. Sufficeit that the bleeding was soon stayed, and that Edward recovered from thefainting-fit into which the wound, probably penetrating some verysensitive part, had thrown him. The blacksmith by no means wantedmother-wit, and his treatment was probably based upon the soundprinciple of merely aiding nature. The lad spoke a few words, and theytried to impose silence upon him; but he would not hold his peace tillthose around assured him that no one had hurt his brother and that hewas safe in another chamber.
All Lord Montagu's anxiety seemed to be to get him to Aix; and he wentout himself and sent out more than once to see if the storm was over.Luckily for Edward, it continued all night and part of the next morning;I say luckily, for the hands in which he was were probably bettercalculated to bring about his recovery than any which could have beenfound in a small town in Savoy, as medical science went in those times.
In the mean while, the party assembled made themselves as comfortable asthey could in disagreeable circumstances of many kinds; and the heavytread of Sir Richard Langdale was heard through the night beatingincessantly the floor of the room above. Toward morning that wearisomefootfall ceased, and Lord Montagu, who sat by Edward's side and wasstill awake, said to himself, "That poor wretch has found sleep atlength. Now, which is the happiest?--he, or poor Ned here? I wouldrather be that boy than the man who has killed his own brother. They saythat Edward saved his life, too, not an hour before. Very likely! He isfit for any gallant act. Heaven! what must that man's thoughts be?"
Soon after, the Abbe Scaglia roused himself in the corner where he hadensconced him, and, moving quietly up, talked in a low tone for sometwenty minutes with Lord Montagu. They then roused the rest of the partywho had been supping there, and went down into the court-yard, wherethey found the horses of Edward Langdale and his companions. Their ownwere hidden in one of those deep vaults under the great tower which werecommon in most feudal castles, especially in border-districts, as a safeand silent receptacle of stolen cattle and horses.
Though it was still raining, most of the party mounted and rode away,promising to send up a litter and a surgeon as soon as the road waspassable. Lord Montagu himself said he would remain with the poor lad,and reascended to the chamber where he had left him.
All was silent there: the wounded youth had fallen into a sleep whichseemed calm, and the two blacksmiths were nodding beside him. TheEnglish nobleman then went up to the floor above, where he found JacquesBeaupre asleep across the door, and Pierrot sitting up, but rubbing hiseyes as if he had not been long awake.
In answer to the nobleman's questions, Pierrot detailed all that hadoccurred upon the road, and dwelt upon the gallant conduct of his youngmaster. "He little thought," said the man, "that he was risking his ownlife to save the very man who would kill him. But I have often heard saythat it is unlucky to rescue a man from drowning. As to this man inhere, sir, I believe he is mad; for he has been walking about allnight,--sometimes talking to himself, sometimes groaning as if his heartwould break. I had better wake him, perhaps."
"No, no! Let him sleep if he can," said Lord Montagu, quickly. "Well mayhe groan! Pray Heaven neither of us may ever have such cause, my man.When you hear him move, get him some wine. There is still somedown-stairs. Till then, let him alone. If he sleeps, it is the bestthing for him."
Thus saying, he went down again, and, finding every thing as before,approached the window and gazed at the morning light, still pale andblue, spreading up from the mountain-edges into the rainy sky. Afterabout half an hour, Edward turned painfully and asked for some water.His lord gave it to him with a kindly word or two, and the blacksmithswoke up and examined the wound. They seemed satisfied with itsappearance, and one of them said, loud enough for Edward to hear, "Hewill get well, sir."
Oh, what a blessed thing is hope! Those few words were a better balmthan any druggist could have supplied. They brought with them, too, thethought of Lucette; and, beckoning to Lord Montagu to hold down hishead, he whispered, "If I should die, my lord, I beseech you to write afew lines to the old Marquise de Lagny, to tell her the fact. She willbe with the court of France, wherever that may be."
"No, no; you will get well, Ned," said Lord Montagu, in a cheerful tone."I do not intend to part with you yet. But now you must positively besilent if you would not increase the evil."
Some four or five hours passed. The rain cleared away, the sun brokeout, and Lord Montagu looked anxiously from the windows which wereturned toward the road, in expectation of the promised litter. All hecould see, however, was a large party of Savoyard peasantry workinghard, apparently, to remove some obstruction from the highway.
He was still gazing forth, when Pierrot appeared at the door, and,finding all still, beckoned to him.
"My lord," he said, in a low voice, when Montagu had joined him, "I canhear nothing of that man above, nor Jacques either. He could not get outof the windows; and I should not wonder if he has hanged himself."
Lord Montagu started and instantly ran up-stairs, thinking theconclusion at which Pierrot had jumped not at all improbable. He openedthe door gently and looked around. The sun was shining full into theroom, but Sir Richard Langdale was not there. The only thing that couldindicate the mode of his escape was a pair of large riding-boots, verywet, which lay on the floor; and it is probable that, opening the doorcautiously while the two men were asleep, he had stepped lightly overthem and then gone down the stairs.
"What a thing is the love of life!" thought Lord Montagu. "This manwould rather live miserable than risk the grave. However, I cannot besorry; and I believe poor Ned will be glad."
He entered the room below as silently as possible; but Edward, who hadheard his rapid step running up the stairs, turned his head, asking, "Isthere any thing the matter above?"
"Only that your brother has escaped," said his lord.
"Thank God!" said the young man, with a smile. "Pray, do not pursue him,my lord."
"I will not," replied Montagu: "make your mind easy, Ned."
"Here come some people with a litter up the hill," said one of theblacksmiths.
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