St. George and St. Michael

by George MacDonald

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  THE DELIVERER.

  But she found some relief in applying her mind to the task which lordWorcester had set her; and many a night as she tossed sleepless on herbed, would she turn from the thoughts that tortured her, to brood uponthe castle, and invent if she might some new possible way, howeverdifficult, of getting out of it unseen: and many a morning after thenight thus spent, would she hasten, ere the household was astir, toexamine some spot which had occurred to her as perhaps containing thesecret she sought. One time it was a chimney that might have door andstair concealed within it; another, the stables, where she examinedevery stall in the hope of finding a trap to an underground way. Had anyone else been in question but Richard, the traitor, the roundhead, shemight have imagined an associate within the walls, in which case farthersolution would not have been for her; but somehow, she did not make itclear to herself how, she could not entertain the idea in connectionwith Richard. Besides, in brooding over everything, it had grown plainto her that both Richard and Marquis had that night been through themoat.

  Some who caught sight of her in the early dawn, wandering about andpeering here and there, thought that she was losing her senses; othersmore ingenious in the thinking of evil, imagined she sought to impressthe household with a notion of her innocence by pretending a search forthe concealed flaw in the defences.

  Ever since she had been put in charge of the water-works, she had beenin the habit of lingering a little on the roof of the keep as often asoccasion took her thither, for she delighted in the far outlook on theopen country which it afforded; and perhaps it was a proof of thegeneral healthiness of her nature that now in her misery, instead ofshutting herself up in her own chamber, she oftener sought the walkaround the reservoir, looking abroad in shadowy hope of some lurkingdeliverance, like captive lady in the stronghold of evil knight. On oneof these occasions, in the first of the twilight, she was leaning overone of the battlements looking down upon the moat and its white andyellow blossoms and great green leaves, and feeling very desolate. Heryoung life seemed to have crumbled down upon her and crushed her heart,and all for one gentle imprudence.

  'Oh my mother!' she murmured,--'an' thou couldst hear me, thou wouldsthelp me an' thou couldst. Thy poor Dorothy is sorely sad and forsaken,and she knows no way of escape. Oh my mother, hear me!'

  As she spoke, she looked away from the moat to the sky, and spread outher arms in the pain of her petition.

  There was a step behind her.

  'What! what! My little protestant praying to the naughty saints! Thatwill never do.'

  Dorothy had turned with a great start, and stood speechless andtrembling before lord Herbert.

  'My poor child!' he said, holding out both his hands, and taking thosewhich Dorothy did not offer--'did I startle thee then so much? I amtruly sorry. I heard but thy last words; be not afraid of thy secret.But what hath come to thee? Thou art white and thin, there are tears onthy face, and it seems as thou wert not so glad to see me as I thoughtthou wouldst have been. What is amiss? I hope thou art not sick--butplainly thou art ill at ease! Go not yet after my Molly, cousin, fortruly we need thee here yet a while.'

  'Would I might go to Molly, my lord!' said Dorothy. 'Molly would believeme.'

  'Thou need'st not go to Molly for that, cousin. I will believe thee.Only tell me what thou wouldst have me believe, and I will believe it.What! think'st thou I am not magician enough to know whom to believe andwhom not? Fye, fye, mistress! Thou, on thy part, wilt not put faith inthy cousin Herbert!'

  His kind words were to her as the voice of him that calleth for thewaters of the sea that he may pour them out on the face of the earth.The poor girl burst into a passion of weeping, fell on her knees beforehim, and holding up her clasped hands, cried out in a voice ofsob-choked agony--for she was not used to tears, and it was to her arending of the heart to weep--

  'Save me, save me, my lord! I have no friend in the world who can helpme but thee.'

  'No friend! What meanest thou, Dorothy?' said lord Herbert, taking hertwo clasped hands between his. 'There is my Margaret and my father!'

  'Alas, my lord! they mean well by me, but they do not believe me; and ifyour lordship believe me no more than they, I must go from Raglan. Yetbelieving me, I know not how you could any more help me.'

  'Dorothy, my child, I can do nothing till thou take me with thee. Icannot even comfort thee.'

  'Your lordship is weary,' said Dorothy, rising and wiping her eyes. 'Youcannot yet have eaten since you came. Go, my lord, and hear my talefirst from them that believe me not. They will assure you of nothingthat is not true, only they understand it not, and wrong me in theirconjectures. Let my lady Margaret tell it you, my lord, and then if youhave yet faith enough in me to send for me, I will come and answer allyou ask. If you send not for me, I will ride from Raglan to-morrow.'

  'It shall be as thou sayest, Dorothy. An' it be not fit for the judge tohear both sides of the tale, or an' it boots the innocent which side hefirst heareth, then were he no better judge than good king James, ofblessed memory, when he was so sore astonished to find both sides in theright.'

  'A king, my lord, and judge foolishly!'

  'A king, my damsel, and judged merrily. But fear me not; I trust in Godto judge fairly even betwixt friend and foe, and I doubt not it will benow to the lightening of thy trouble, my poor storm-beaten dove.'

  It startled Dorothy with a gladness that stung like pain, to hear theword he never used but to his wife thus flit from his lips in thetenderness of his pity, and alight like the dove itself upon her head.She thanked him with her whole soul, and was silent.

  'I will send hither to thee, my child, when I require thy presence; andwhen I send come straight to my lady's parlour.'

  Dorothy bowed her head, but could not speak, and lord Herbert walkedquickly from her. She heard him run down the stair almost with theheadlong speed of his boy Henry.

  Half an hour passed slowly--then lady Margaret's page came lightly upthe steps, bearing the request that she would favour his mistress withher presence. She rose from the battlement where she had seated herselfto watch the moon, already far up in the heavens, as she brightenedthrough the gathering dusk, and followed him with beating heart.

  When she entered the parlour, where as yet no candles had been lighted,she saw and knew nothing till she found herself clasped to a bosomheaving with emotion.

  'Forgive me, Dorothy,' sobbed lady Margaret. 'I have done thee wrong.But thou wilt love me yet again--wilt thou not, Dorothy?'

  'Madam! madam!' was all Dorothy could answer, kissing her hands.

  Lady Margaret led her to her husband, who kissed her on the forehead,and seated her betwixt himself and his wife; and for a space there wassilence. Then at last said Dorothy:

  'Tell me, madam, how is it that I find myself once more in the garden ofyour favour? How know you that I am not all unworthy thereof?'

  'My lord tells me so,' returned lady Margaret simply.

  'And whence doth my lord know it?' asked Dorothy, turning to lordHerbert.

  ''An' thou be not satisfied of thine own innocence, Dorothy, I will askthee a few questions. Listen to thine answers, and judge. How came theyoung puritan into the castle that night? But stay: we must havecandles, for how can I, the judge, or my lady, the jury, see into theheart of the prisoner save through the window of her face?'

  Dorothy laughed--her first laugh since the evil fog had ascended andswathed her. Lady Margaret rang the bell on her table. Candles werebrought from where they stood ready in the ante-chamber, and as soon asthey began to burn clear, lord Herbert repeated his question.

  'My lord,' answered Dorothy, 'I look to you to tell me so much, forbefore God I know not.'

  'Nay, child! thou need'st not buttress thy words with an oath,' said hislordship. 'Thy fair eyes are worth a thousand oaths. But to thequestion: tell me wherefore didst thou not let the young man go whenfirst thou spied him? Wherefore didst ring the alarm-bell? Thou sawesthe was upon his own
mare, for thou knewest her--didst thou not?'

  'I did, my lord; but he had no business there, and I was of my lordWorcester's household. Here I am not Dorothy Vaughan, but my lady'sgentlewoman.'

  'Then why didst thou go to his room thereafter? Didst thou not know itfor the most perilous adventure maiden could undergo?'

  'Perilous it hath indeed proved, my lord.'

  'And might have proved worse than perilous.'

  'No, my lord. Other danger was none where Richard was,' returned Dorothywith vehemence.

  'It beareth a look as if mayhap thou dost or mightst one day love theyoung man!' said lord Herbert in slow pondering tone.

  'My spirit hath of late been driven to hold him company, my lord. Itseemed that, save Caspar, I had no friend left but him. God help me! itwere a fearful thing to love a fanatic! But I will resist the devil.'

  'Truly we are in lack of a few such devils on what we count the honestside, Dorothy!' said lord Herbert, laughing. 'Not every man that thinksthe other way is a rogue or a fool. But thou hast not told me why thoudidst run the heavy risk of seeking him in the night.'

  'I could not rest for thinking of him, my lord, with that terrible woundin the head I had as good as given him, and from whose effects I hadlast seen him lie as one dead. He was my playmate, and my mother lovedhim.'

  Here poor Dorothy broke down and wept, but recovered herself with aneffort, and proceeded.

  'I kept starting awake, seeing him thus at one time, and at anotherhearing him utter my name as if entreating me to go to him, until atlast I believed that I was called.'

  'Called by whom, Dorothy?'

  'I thought--I thought, my lord, it might be the same that called Samuel,who had opened my ears to hear Richard's voice.'

  'And it was indeed therefore thou didst go?'

  'I think so, my lord. I am sure, at least, but for that I would not havegone. Yet surely I mistook, for see what hath come of it,' she added,turning to lady Margaret.

  'We must not judge from one consequence where there are a thousand yetto follow,' said his lordship. '--And thou sayest, when thou didst enterthe room thou didst find no one there?'

  'I say so, my lord, and it is true.'

  'That I know as well as thou. What then didst thou think of the matter?'

  'I was filled with fear, my lord, when I saw the bedclothes all in aheap on the floor, but upon reflection I hoped that he had had thebetter in the struggle, and had escaped; for now at least he could do noharm in Raglan, I thought. But when I found the door was locked,--I darehardly think of that, my lord; it makes me tremble yet.'

  'Now, who thinkest thou in thy heart did lock the door upon thee?'

  'Might it not have been Satan himself, my lord?'

  'Nay, I cannot tell what might or might not be where such a one is soplainly concerned. But I believe he was only acting in his usualfashion, which, as a matter of course, must be his worst--I mean throughthe heart and hands of some one in the house who would bring thee intotrouble.'

  'I would it were the other way, my lord.'

  'So would I heartily. In his own person I fear him not a whit. But hastthou no suspicion of any one owing thee a grudge, who might be glad onsuch opportunity to pay it thee with interest?'

  'I must confess I have, my lord; but I beg of your lordship not toquestion me on the matter further, for it reaches only to suspicion. Iknow nothing, and might, if I uttered a word, be guilty of grievouswrong. Pardon me, my lord.'

  Lord Herbert looked hard at his wife. Lady Margaret dropped her head.

  'Thou art right, indeed, my good cousin!' he said, turning again toDorothy; 'for that would be to do by another as thou sufferest so sorelyfrom others doing by thee. I must send my brains about and make adiscovery or two for myself. It is well I have a few days to spend athome. And now to the first part of the business in hand. Hast thou anyspecial way of calling thy dog? It is a moonlit night, I believe.'

  He rose and went to the window, over which hung a heavy curtain ofFlemish tapestry.

  'It is a three-quarter old moon, my lord,' said Dorothy, 'and verybright. I did use to call my dog with a whistle my mother gave me when Iwas a child.'

  'Canst thou lay thy hand upon it? Hast thou it with thee in Raglan?'

  'I have it in my hand now, my lord.'

  'What then with the moon and thy whistle, I think we shall not fail.'

  'Hast lost thy wits, Ned?' said his wife. 'Or what fiend wouldst thouraise to-night?'

  'I would lay one rather,' returned lord Herbert. 'But first I woulddiscover this same perilous fault in the armour of my house. Is thygenet still in thy control, Dorothy?'

  'I have no reason to think otherwise, my lord. The frolicker he, themerrier ever was I.'

  'Darest thou ride him alone in the moonlight--outside the walls.'

  'I dare anything on Dick's back--that Dick can do, my lord.'

  'Doth thy dog know Caspar--in friendly fashion, I mean?'

  'Caspar is the only one in the castle he is quite friendly with, mylord.'

  'Then is all as I would have it. And now I will tell thee what I wouldnot have: I would not have a soul in the place but my lady here knowthat I am searching with thee after this dog-and-man hole. Therefore Iwill saddle thy little horse for thee myself, and--'

  'No, no, my lord!' interrupted Dorothy. 'That _I_ can do.'

  'So much the better for thee. But I am no boor, fair damsel. Then shaltthou mount and ride him forth, and Marquis thy mastiff shall see thee gofrom the yard. Then will I mount the keep, and from that point ofvantage look down upon the two courts, while Caspar goes to stand by thydog. Thou shalt ride slowly along for a minute or two, until thesepreparations shall have been made; then shalt thou blow thy whistle, andset off at a gallop to round the castle, still ever and anon blowing thywhistle; by which means, if I should fail to see thy Marquis leave thecastle, thou mayest perchance discover at least from which side of thecastle he comes to thee.'

  Dorothy sprang to her feet.

  'I am ready, my lord,' she said.

  'And so am I, my maiden,' returned lord Herbert, rising. 'Wilt go to thetop of the keep, wife, and grant me the light of eyes in aid of themoonshine? I will come thither presently.'

  'Thou shalt find me there, Ned, I promise thee. Mother Mary speed thyquest?'