St. George and St. Michael

by George MacDonald

  CHAPTER XV

  HUSBAND AND WIFE

  'What an old-fashioned damsel it is!' said lord Herbert when Dorothy hadleft the room.

  'She has led a lonely life,' answered lady Margaret, 'and has read amany old-fashioned books.'

  'She seems a right companion for thee, Peggy, and I am glad of it, for Ishall be much from thee--more and more, I fear, till this bitter weatherbe gone by.'

  'Alas, Ned! hast thou not been more than much from me already? Thou wiltcertainly be killed, though thou hast not yet a scratch on thy blessedbody. I would it were over and all well!'

  'So would I--and heartily, dear heart! In very truth I love fighting aslittle as thou. But it is a thing that hath to be done, though smallhonour will ever be mine therefrom, I greatly fear me. It is one ofthose affairs in which liking goes farther than goodwill, and as I say,I love it not, only to do my duty. Hence doubtless it comes that no luckattends me. God knows I fear nothing a man ought not to fear--he is mywitness--but what good service of arms have I yet rendered my king? Itis but thy face, Peggy, that draws the smile from me. My heart is heavy.See how my rascally Welsh yielded before Gloucester, when the rogueWaller stole a march upon them--and I must be from thence! Had I butbeen there instead of at Oxford, thinkest thou they would have laid downtheir arms nor struck a single blow? I like not killing, but I can kill,and I can be killed. Thou knowest, sweet wife, thy Ned would not run.'

  'Holy mother!' exclaimed lady Margaret.

  'But I have no good luck at fighting,' he went on. 'And how again atMonmouth, the hare-hearts with which I had thought to garrison the placefled at the bare advent of that same parliament beagle, Waller! By St.George! it were easier to make an engine that should mow down a thousandbrave men with one sweep of a scythe--and I could make it--than to putcourage into the heart of one runaway rascal. It makes me mad to thinkhow they have disgraced me!'

  'But Monmouth is thine own again, Herbert!'

  'Yes--thanks to the love they bear my father, not to my generalship! Thyhusband is a poor soldier, Peggy: he cannot make soldiers.'

  'Then why not leave the field to others, and labour at thy engines,love? If thou wilt, I tell thee what--I will doff my gown, and inwrapper and petticoat help thee, sweet. I will to it with bare arms likethine own.'

  'Thou wouldst like Una make a sunshine in the shady place, Margaret. Butno. Poor soldier as I am, I will do my best, even where good fortunefails me, and glory awaits not my coming. Thou knowest that at fourteendays' warning I brought four thousand foot and eight hundred horse againto the siege of Gloucester. It would ill befit my father's son to sparewhat he can when he is pouring out his wealth like water at the feet ofhis king. No, wife; the king shall not find me wanting, for in servingmy king, I serve my God; and if I should fail, it may hold that anhonest failure comes nigh enough a victory to be set down in thechronicles of the high countries. But in truth it presses on me sorely,and I am troubled at heart that I should be so given over to failure.'

  'Never heed it, my lord. The sun comes out clear at last maugre all theregion fogs.'

  'Thanks, sweet heart! Things do look up a little in the main, and if theking had but a dozen more such friends as my lord marquis, they wouldsoon be well. Why, my dove of comfort, wouldst thou believe it?--I didthis day, as I rode home to seek thy fair face, I did count up what sumshe hath already spent for his liege; and indeed I could not recollectthem all, but I summed up, of pounds already spent by him on hismajesty's behalf, well towards a hundred and fifty thousand! And thouknowest the good man, that while he giveth generously like the greatGiver, he giveth not carelessly, but hath respect to what he spendeth.'

  'Thy father, Ned, is loyalty and generosity incarnate. If thou be buthalf so good a husband as thy father is a subject, I am a happy woman.'

  'What! know'st thou not yet thy husband, Peggy?'

  'In good soberness, though, Ned, surely the saints in heaven will neverlet such devotion fail of its end.'

  'My father is but one, and the king's foes are many. So are hisfriends--but they are lukewarm compared to my father--the rich ones ofthem, I mean. Would to God I had not lost those seven great troop-horsesthat the pudding-fisted clothiers of Gloucester did rob me of! I needthem sorely now. I bought them with mine own--or rather with thine,sweet heart. I had been saving up the money for a carcanet for thy fairneck.'

  'So my neck be fair in thine eyes, my lord, it may go bare and be wellclad. I should, in sad earnest, be jealous of the pretty stones didstthou give my neck one look the more for their presence. Here! thoumay'st sell these the next time thou goest London-wards.'

  As she spoke, she put up her hand to unclasp her necklace of largepearls, but he laid his hand upon it, saying,

  'Nay, Margaret, there is no need. My father is like the father in theparable: he hath enough and to spare. I did mean to have the money ofhim again, only as the vaunted horses never came, but were swallowed upof Gloucester, as Jonah of the whale, and have not yet been cast upagain, I could not bring my tongue to ask him for it; and so thy neck isbare of emeralds, my dove.'

  'Back and sides go bare, go bare,'

  sang lady Margaret with a merry laugh;

  'Both foot and hand go cold;'

  here she paused for a moment, and looked down with a shiningthoughtfulness; then sang out clear and loud, with bold alteration ofbishop Stills' drinking song,

  'But, heart, God send thee love enough, Of the new that will never be old.'

  'Amen, my dove!'said lord Herbert.

  'Thou art in doleful dumps, Ned. If we had but a masque for thee, or aplay, or even some jugglers with their balls!'

  'Puh, Peggy! thou art masque and play both in one; and for thy jugglers,I trust I can juggle better at my own hand than any troop of them fromfurthest India. Sing me a song, sweet heart.'

  'I will, my love,' answered lady Margaret.

  Rising, she went to the harpsichord, and sang, in sweet unaffectedstyle, one of the songs of her native country, a merry ditty, with abreathing of sadness in the refrain of it, like a twilight wind in a bedof bulrushes.

  'Thanks, my love,' said lord Herbert, when she had finished. 'But Iwould I could tell its hidden purport; for I am one of those who thinkmusic none the worse for carrying with it an air of such sound as speaksto the brain as well as the heart.'

  Lady Margaret gave a playful sigh.

  'Thou hast one fault, my Edward--thou art a stranger to the tongue inwhich, through my old nurse's tales, I learned the language of love. Icannot call it my mother-tongue, but it is my love-tongue. Why, whenthou art from me, I am loving thee in Irish all day long, and thou neverknowest what my heart says to thee! It is a sad lack in thyall-completeness, dear heart. But, I bethink me, thy new cousin did singa fair song in thy own tongue the other day, the which if thou canstunderstand one straw better than my Irish, I will learn it for thy sake,though truly it is Greek to me. I will send for her. Shall I?'

  As she spoke she rose and rang the bell on the table, and a little page,in waiting in the antechamber, appeared, whom she sent to desire theattendance of mistress Dorothy Vaughan.

  'Come, child,' said her mistress as she entered, 'I would have thee singto my lord the song that wandering harper taught thee.'

  'Madam, I have learned of no wandering harper: your ladyship meansmistress Amanda's Welsh song! shall I call her?' said Dorothy,disappointed.

  'I mean thee, and thy song, thou green linnet!' rejoined lady Margaret.'What song was it of which I said to thee that the singer deserved, forhis very song's sake, that whereof he made his moan? Whence thou hadstit, from harper or bagpiper, I care not.'

  'Excuse me, madam, but why should I sing that you love not to hear?'

  'It is not I would hear it, child, but I would have my lord hear it. Iwould fain prove to him that there are songs in plain English, as hecalls it, that have as little import, even to an English ear, as theplain truth-speaking Irish ditties which he will not understand. I say"WILL not," because our bards
tell us that Irish was the language ofAdam and Eve while yet in Paradise, and therefore he could by instinctunderstand it an' he would, even as the chickens understand theirmother-tongue.'

  'I will sing it at your desire, madam; but I fear the worse fault willlie in the singing.'

  She seated herself at the harpsichord, and sang the following song withmuch feeling and simplicity. The refrain of the song, if it may be socalled, instead of closing each stanza, preluded it.

  O fair, O sweet, when I do look on thee, In whom all joys so well agree, Heart and soul do sing in me. This you hear is not my tongue, Which once said what I conceived, For it was of use bereaved, With a cruel answer stung. No, though tongue to roof be cleaved, Fearing lest he chastis'd be, Heart and soul do sing in me.

  O fair, O sweet, &c. Just accord all music makes: In thee just accord excelleth, Where each part in such peace dwelleth, One of other beauty takes. Since then truth to all minds telleth That in thee lives harmony, Heart and soul do sing in me.

  O fair, O sweet, &c. They that heaven have known, do say That whoso that grace obtaineth To see what fair sight there reigneth, Forced is to sing alway; So then, since that heaven remaineth In thy face, I plainly see, Heart and soul do sing in me.

  O fair, O sweet, &c. Sweet, think not I am at ease, For because my chief part singeth; This song from death's sorrow springeth, As to Swan in last disease; For no dumbness nor death bringeth Stay to true love's melody: Heart and soul do sing in me.

  'There!' cried lady Margaret, with a merry laugh. 'What says the Englishsong to my English husband?'

  'It says much, Margaret,' returned lord Herbert, who had been listeningintently; 'it tells me to love you for ever.--What poet is he who wrotethe song, mistress Dorothy? He is not of our day--that I can tell buttoo plainly. It is a good song, and saith much.'

  'I found it near the end of the book called "The Countess of Pembroke'sArcadia,"' replied Dorothy.

  'And I knew it not! Methought I had read all that man of men everwrote,' said lord Herbert. 'But I may have read it, and let it slip. Butnow that, by the help of the music and thy singing, cousin Dorothy, I amcome to understand it, truly I shall forget it no more. Where got'stthou the music, pray?'

  'It says in the book it was fitted to a certain Spanish tune, the nameof which I knew not, and yet know not how to pronounce; but I had thelook of the words in my head, and when I came upon some Spanish songs inan old chest at home, and, turning them over, saw those words, I knew Ihad found the tune to sir Philip's verses.'

  'Tell me then, my lord, why you are pleased with the song,' said ladyMargaret, very quietly.

  'Come, mistress Dorothy,' said lord Herbert, 'repeat the song to mylady, slowly, line by line, and she will want no exposition thereon.'

  When Dorothy had done as he requested, lady Margaret put her arm roundher husband's neck, laid her cheek to his, and said,

  'I am a goose, Ned. It is a fair and sweet song. I thank you, Dorothy.You shall sing it to me another time when my lord is away, and I shalllove to think my lord was ill content with me when I called it a foolishthing. But my Irish was a good song too, my lord.'

  'Thy singing of it proves it, sweet heart.--But come, my fair minstrel,thou hast earned a good guerdon: what shall I give thee in return forthy song?'

  'A boon, a boon, my lord!' cried Dorothy.

  'It is thine ere thou ask it,' returned his lordship, merrily followingup the old-fashioned phrase with like formality.

  'I must then tell my lord what hath been in my foolish mind ever sincemy lady took me to the keep, and I saw his marvellous array of engines.I would glady understand them, my lord. Who can fail to delight in suchinventions as bring about that which before seemed impossible?'

  Here came a little sigh with the thought of her old companion Richard,and the things they had together contrived. Already, on the mist ofgathering time, a halo had begun to glimmer about his head, puritan,fanatic, blasphemer even, as she had called him.

  Lord Herbert marked the soundless sigh.

  'You shall not sigh in vain, mistress Dorothy,' he said, 'for anything Ican give you. To one who loves inventions it is easy to explain them. Ihoped you had a hankering that way when I saw you look so curiously atthe cross-bow ere you discharged it.'

  'Was it then charged, my lord?'

  'Indeed, as it happened, it was. A great steel-headed arrow lay in thegroove. I ought to have taken that away when I bent it. Some passinghorseman may have carried it with him in the body of his plungingsteed.'

  'Oh, my lord!' cried Dorothy, aghast.

  'Pray, do not be alarmed, cousin: I but jested. Had anything happened,we should have heard of it. It was not in the least likely. You will notbe long in this house before you learn that we do not speak by the cardhere. We jest not a little. But in truth I was disappointed when I foundyour curiosity so easily allayed.'

  'Indeed, my lord, it was not allayed, and is still unsatisfied. But Ihad no thought who it was offered me the knowledge I craved. Had Iknown, I should never have refused the lesson so courteously offered.But I was a stranger in the castle, and I thought--I feared I'

  'You did even as prudence required, cousin Dorothy. A young maidencannot be too chary of unbuckling her enchanted armour so long as thecountry is unknown to her. But it would be hard if she were to sufferfor her modesty. You shall be welcome to my cave. I trust you will notfind it as the cave of Trophonius to you. If I am not there--and it isnot now as it has been, when you might have found me in it every day,and almost every hour of the day; but if I be not there, do not fearCaspar Kaltoff, who is a worthy man, and as my right hand to do thethings my brain deviseth. I will speak to him of thee. He is full oftrust and worthiness, and, although not of gentle blood, is sprung froma long race of artificers, the cloak of whose gathered skill seems tohave fallen on him. He hath been in my service now for many years, butyou will be the first lady, gentle cousin, who has ever in all that timewished us good speed in our endeavours. How few know,' he went onthoughtfully, after a pause, 'what a joy lies in making things obeythoughts! in calling out of the mind, as from the vasty-deep, andsetting in visible presence before the bodily eye, that which till thenhad neither local habitation nor name! Some such marvels I have toshow--for marvels I must call them, although it is my voice they haveobeyed to come; and I never lose sight of the marvel even while amusingmyself with the merest toy of my own invention.'

  He paused, and Dorothy ventured to speak.

  'I thank you, my lord, with all my heart. When have I leave to visitthose marvels?'

  'When you please. If I am not there, Caspar will be. If Caspar is notthere, you will find the door open, for to enter that chamber withoutpermission would be a breach of law such as not a soul in Raglan woulddare be guilty of. And were it not so, there are few indeed in the placewho would venture to set foot in it if I were absent, for it is notoutside the castle walls only that I am looked upon as a magician. Thearmourer firmly believes that with a word uttered in my den there, Icould make the weakest wall of the castle impregnable, but that it wouldbe at too great a cost. If you come to-morrow morning you will find mealmost certainly. But in case you should find neither of us--do nottouch anything; be content with looking--for fear of mischance. Enginesare as tickle to meddle with as incantations themselves.'

  'If I know myself, you may trust me, my lord,' said Dorothy, to which hereplied with a smile of confidence.