Chapter XI: The Duke's Ring

I ARRIVED at Holworthy farm about noon, weary enough with my journey and all the excitement I had gone through, so that I was fain to go at once to my chamber. I was really too ill to take much notice of any thing for a day or two, and my aunt was a good deal alarmed for me, but by degrees, I recovered myself, and began to sit up and to go out into the sitting-room which had been fitted up for me.

I found it full of tokens of kindness from the friends I had left behind me. There was the clavichord which I had used at Sussex House, with a pile of music books beside it, my embroidery frame, and a heap of silks, and the like, books in Latin and French, and even a box of comfits and dried fruits from old Harry Cook—so good were they all in remembering me.

I found the farmer and his wife very little changed, save that Hannah's apple cheeks were a little wrinkled by the same frost which had whitened her husband's looks. Dolly was still at home, a widow now with a sweet little boy and girl, the pets and darlings of both gaffer and gammer. Matters had prospered with this good couple, and they were rich for people in their station, but they were content with their old simple ways, and did not ape the manners of their betters as is the fashion now-a-days. You would never find Hannah Yates lying in bed till after five of the clock and putting off her dinner hour till eleven. No; she was up and stirring, and had every one else busy by four, and the dinner was on the table before the stroke of nine—master and mistress, men and maids all eating together in the great kitchen, and gathering about the same hearth in the winter evenings. Hannah would fain have served us with a separate table, but this we would by no means allow, and I think she liked us, after all, better for the refusal.

I grew stronger every day, and began to go about house and out of doors, to help feed the fowls, and to gather greens, peas and herbs for the pottage; but mindful of his Grace's words, I did never stray far from home. My aunt staid with me a week, and then returned, but I heard from her not seldom, as the Duchess sent more than once to ask for me, and never without affording Master and Mistress Davis a chance of writing or sending by the same conveyance.

As my health returned, I began to miss the constant occupation I had been used to all my life. I had often been ready to yawn my head off from sheer weariness while standing behind my mistress's chair, but at other times I had found great entertainment in listening to the conversation which went on in the drawing-room. Then I had been promoted to the place of teacher to my Lady Frances, who was a delightful companion (if I may venture to use the word of so great a young lady), as was also her governess, Mrs. Wardour. I loved Mistress Curtis like a mother, and I missed them all, not to speak of another, on whom I dared not allow my thoughts to dwell.

I was fast sinking into a state of nerves and fancies, just for the want of aught else to do, when something happened to rouse me. It was not much—only a sermon from a stranger priest who visited our own parish Sir John, and preached for him. His subject was the bearing of the cross, and he repeated for his text the words of our Lord himself:

"Yf eny man will come after me, let hym denye hym silfe, and take
his crosse on hym dayly ād folowe me." *

It did seem to me that the good man's discourse had been written expressly for me. It was as plain as a mother's talk with her children; not full of Latin, nor yet of stories to make the people laugh, like those of the preaching friars in general.

* From Tyndale's translation.

The preacher showed how each one had his cross to bear, and that not of his own choosing, but of God's. The crosses we chose for ourselves were many times but painted crosses, while those which our Father in heaven laid upon us were real—hard and sharp oftentimes, but yet capable of being made into a blessing if we did but take them up and carry them according to His will and in his spirit. Much more he said which I will not try to repeat—about the little crosses of every day, the thwarting of our plans, the fault-findings and injustice of those we are trying our best to save, and other such like trials, which might all be turned—so said the preacher—from curses to crosses, if only met in the right spirit.

It was a very plain and simple discourse as I said, but it did me a great deal of good. It made me sensible that I had been repining and fretting over my cross instead of taking it up, and that I had thus missed the blessing which I might have found even in the bitter grief which had been darkening both heaven and earth for me.

"What think you of that sermon?" said Master Yates to one of his neighbors, as they lingered at the church door for the usual greeting and gossip.

"Humph! Call that a sermon!" answered the other. "Why, there was not a bit of Latin in it, and even a plain man like me could understand every word."

"Now that was the beauty of it, to my thinking," said Master Yates. "Where is the use of a sermon that nobody understands?"

"Yes, those are your new-fangled ways. What is the use of the blessed mass; I am sure nobody understood a word of that?"

"A good many folks would like to hear that riddle solved," said a decent man who stood near.

Whereat two or three laughed, and old Master Andrews moved away, muttering angrily that it was never a good world since these new notions came into it. A fine thing, indeed, when shepherds and plowmen took on them to think about such matters.

For myself, I went home with plenty of subject for thought, and the result of my cogitations was that the next morning I offered to teach Dolly's children to read. She was very thankful for the offer, and I began with them on the criss-cross row that very day. Afterward I set myself a task of music and Latin, and even got out my Greek books, but the last I had to give up, finding myself unequal to the hard work.

I soon discovered that my head would not bear much study, so I set myself to learning the mysteries of farm-work. I fed the chickens and the calves, learned to make cheese and butter, and, in turn, taught Dolly and her mother how to make conserves of gooseberries and plums, and other such things as I had learned in the convent. I had the art of distilling—then by no means as common as it has since become—at my finger's ends.

Finding that there was a great deal of ague about us, I begged Mistress Curtis to send me a small still, and busied myself in making a certain bitter cordial from cherry bark and herbs, which used to be esteemed a specific in such cases at Dartford. Also, I made cough-mixture and other simple medicines, and carried them myself to the poor sick folks, together with broth and such matters. I have heard say that folks forget their own troubles in those of other people. I did not forget mine, but I certainly found a good deal of the bitterness taken out of them.

I believe I have said that there was a certain ruined chapel or cell on Master Yates his farm, which bore no good name, and was indeed reputed to be haunted by evil spirits. Nobody willingly went near it even in broad day, and I don't think the boldest man in the neighborhood would have passed it after dark for any reward you could offer. Indeed Master Yates had strictly forbidden any of his own family to approach the place, saying that there was no knowing what might happen.

I had been to the little hamlet near the church to visit and comfort a poor young thing dying of a waste. My mind was so full of what I had seen that I took the wrong turning, and found myself all of a sudden close in front of the ruined cell, with the sun setting and a sudden hard shower beginning to fall.

Still I did not really take a sense of my position, but seeing that the deep porch was the only shelter near, I fled under it to avoid the rain which promised to be of short duration, as the sun was already shining.

I was never a coward, and the poor little chapel looked so peaceful in its green ivy shroud, that I could not make up my mind to be afraid, but stood quietly waiting for the rain to cease. I was listening to the twittering of a pair of robins who had built in one of the windows, and thinking that the place could not be so very bad, since these pretty innocent creatures had chosen it for a place of abode, when I started as I had never done in all my life before, for I heard my name called.

I turned round in a hurry, and there in the dim arched doorway stood my uncle.

I was like one who has seen the Gorgon's head for a moment. Then as he smiled in his old way, I flew to him—I would have fallen at his feet, but he drew me into the cell, and then clasping me in his arms, he kissed and blessed me, calling me his own, his precious child, and weeping over me, more like a mother over her babe than a bearded man.

"But how did you come here, and why do you stay in this wretched place?" I asked, when he had told me that my Aunt Joyce was still living and that the twins were well. "Come to the house where Mistress Yates will make you right welcome."

"Nay, that the good woman hath done already, and the place is by no means so wretched as you think," said mine uncle. "I am not the first who hath found shelter in these walls. See here."

The ruin, like other places of that kind, was made up of a little chapel where the hermit said his daily office, and a room adjoining where he had lived. Mine uncle drew me into this cell, for it was little more, and showed me a decent truckle bed with blankets and a pillow, and a table whereon was set out a lamp, tumblers, and other requisites for a meal. On the hearth was a pile of firewood, and in a little cabinet were drinking cups, a small bottle of strong waters and a jug of oil for the lamp. In short, this ghost-haunted ruin was as comfortable a little lodging as one need ask for.

"But how came you here?" I asked.

"On my feet, sweetheart—and I came because I heard my child was here, and I could not rest without seeing her."

"But why must you hide, dear uncle?" I asked.

"For no cause, my child, unless it be that, 'after the way they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers.' I have been in my old home in London and must return thither in order to make my way back to Holland; but, as I said, I must needs see my child once more, and so I came down to this place which hath sheltered many a one fleeing from the snare of the fowler before now. But, Loveday, is it safe for you to tarry here? Will they not be looking for you?"

"It is true—I must go!" said I, awaking all at once to a sense of my situation. "But how shall I see you again?"

"Yates will come hither at midnight to bring me provisions, and you can come with him."

"Then he knows you are here!"

"He will know!" said mine uncle, smiling. "The very thing which will keep others away will bring him to succor the wanderer—See!"

I had before noticed some pipes, which looked like the remains of an old organ, on the wall behind the niche where I supposed the miraculous image had stood. My uncle blew into one of these, producing a most dolorous sound between a whistle and a scream. I understood the matter at once. That was the ghost whose shrieks, heard at night, had made the place so dreadful.

"This pipe was a part, no doubt, of the machinery by which the miraculous virgin was made to play her part," said mine uncle. "But go you now, since the way is clear, and at midnight we will meet again."

I hurried home, but mistook my path again in the perturbation of my spirits, and came near getting bogged in a stream which I had to cross. However, I reached home at last, and was met at the door by Cicely, our old dairy maid—

"Dear me, Mistress Corbet, I wonder you dare be abroad so late. Why, Hodge heard a scream from the old cell, not an hour ago, which sent him home shaking like an ague. You are over venturesome, and will get a good fright some day, but, indeed, you look as if you had had that already."

"That I did, and lost my way, so I had to ford the Black brook, and a fine pickle I am in!" said I, showing her my wet feet and skirts. "I must change my hosen directly."

"That you must, but why did you not go back—only I dare say you were afraid!" said Cicely, being one of those convenient persons who always answer their own questions. "There, run up to your room, like a good young lady, and I will bring you a mug of hot drink, and tell the mistress you are safe, for she has been worrying about you. Had you not best go to your warm bed?"

"Oh no!" I answered. "I will but change my clothes, and I shall be none the worse. I dare say the mistress's ankle needs bandaging again."

For Mistress Yates had had the misfortune to wrench her ankle, and I had been trying my surgical skill thereon with very good results.

"Well, you are a good maid—young lady, I should say!" said Cicely, correcting herself, for she had lived in a great family, and prided herself on her knowledge of manners. "You are not one as thinkst first and always of herself. But don't you be out after dark—there's a good maid, and above all, don't go near the old chapel."

I hastened to change my dress, and to attend to my patient, who was doing well. Then seeking out Master Yates, I told him of my adventure.

"Ay, I heard the signal and saw the light, and guessed it was my good old landlord who needed help!" said Master Yates, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "I had word by a sure hand that he was to be expected, and had all things in readiness, and I was studying to advertise you of the same. I did not like to tell you till I was sure, for fear of a disappointment. To-night, then, at midnight we will seek the place, if you be not afraid—but I see I need not talk of that!" he added, smiling.

"No indeed!" said I. "At midnight, then, I will be ready."

The chime of midnight from the church-tower found me well wrapped up and clinging to Master Yates's arm, making our way across the stack-yard and along the edge of the standing corn to the ruined cell. We found mine uncle asleep, but a word roused him.

"Now I can give you three hours for your converse," said Master Yates. "The nights are longer than they were, but the stroke of three must be the signal for parting. I dare not make it later lest some one should be stirring."

So saying, he took a rug from the truckle bed, and throwing himself on a heap of straw in the outer room, he soon gave audible tokens of being sound asleep.

"There lies one of the best men ever made!" said mine uncle. "But for him and his good wife, many a man would be but a heap of charred bones and white ashes who is now preaching the word."

"He said he had word of your coming beforehand," said I; "how was that?"

My uncle smiled. "That I may hardly tell you, only I may say as much as this, that they of the new religion, as folks call it, have secret intelligence one with another, whereby many a precious life hath been saved both here and abroad, mine own and that of my good son Winter, Katherine's husband, among the number."

"Then Katherine is married?" said I.

"Oh yes, and well married, though not brilliantly as regards this world's goods. Her husband is pastor of the English reformed congregation at Middleburg. You must remember him—Arthur Winter, whose father lived in the Minories."

"But he was a priest!" said I.

My uncle smiled. "Read your Bible from beginning to end, child, and if you can find one word which makes it unlawful for a priest to marry, I give you free leave to call my Katherine by the worst name you can think of."

Somehow these words did seem like a gleam of light on a dark night; but I had no time to dwell on them just now.

"And Avice—?"

"Avice is a widow, or so we fear!" said he. "She married a good man, a merchant, and rich in this world's goods. His business took him to Madrid a year ago, and we have never heard of him since. Avice hopes still, and will hope to the end of her days, I think, but I fear she will never see her husband again till meets him where the wicked cease from troubling."

"And yourself, dear uncle? We heard that you had lost much through the treachery of an agent."

"Ay, and came near losing mine own life also, but I escaped and got safe to Rotterdam, where the family joined me after awhile. I cannot guess how it is that Master Davis hath received none of my letters, save that letters are so very uncertain. I am not so rich as when I was in London, yet have I enough to make myself and my family comfortable. But now tell me of yourself and how you have fared all these long years, and why we never heard from you. Ah, my child, I have had many a bitter draught prepared for me by mine own hasty temper, but never a worse than I brewed for myself when I put my brother's orphan child into such hands."

"They were kind hands enough, dear uncle, and, save that they kept your letters from me, I have naught whereof to blame them," said I, and with that I gave him a short history of my life up to the present time.

"And you think your master and mistress would be willing to have you return with me, if it could be contrived?" said he.

"I am sure of it!" I answered. "His Grace said he wished he could send me to you."

"I must have speech of his Grace, and I think I see my way there," said my uncle. "I have brought him a token from a Flemish lord, a friend of his, and a small offering on mine own account. I will see him, and lay the matter before him. His nobleness is well-known as a protector of the oppressed children of God. I will go back to London to-morrow, and do you remain here till you have certain news from us."

I told him what his Grace had said about sending the ring.

"That is well thought of. I will take the best counsel on the matter, and, meantime, keep you quiet and trust that all will yet be well."

We talked and talked till the stroke of three from the church-tower warned us it was time to part. Master Yates was awakened and we separated. The farmer and myself made our way home while the first streaks of dawn were reddening the Eastern sky, and reached the farmhouse door without meeting any body.

"Now, go you to rest, my young lady, and trust my dame to make your excuses," said the good man. "It is not very healthful for young maids to breathe the night air."

I went to my room, but not to rest. I had something to settle before I could sleep. The bitterest drop in my cup had been the feeling that I had been guilty of a great and dreadful sin in loving Walter, because he was a priest. Such a love, I had been taught to think, was a horrible sacrilege. It had been a misery to me that, try as I would, I could not feel such contrition as I thought my wickedness demanded, and I had at times been tempted to think myself abandoned of Heaven for this reason. My uncle's words concerning Katherine's marriage had thrown a gleam of light upon the matter. It was like a sun-blink to a traveler lost among fogs and fens. It seemed to show me for one moment the safe path, and I could not rest till I made the matter sure.

That day I read the New Testament straight through from beginning to end, and when, at midnight, I laid it down and sought my much needed rest, it was with the comfortable conviction that though my love for Walter was hopeless, there was no guilt in it—that I might even (though with due submission to His will) ask my Heavenly Father for His blessing thereon. And then, even though we never met in this world again, was there not that other home in the Paradise of God? I do not think any one now can estimate the weight which that reading took from my heart and conscience. I wondered how I could have been so blinded, having before mine eyes the facts—that St. Peter and St. James, and other apostles were married, and took their wives with them on their apostolic journeys—that Paul asserted his right to do the same if he found it convenient, and that he permitted, if he did not absolutely commend, the new bishops of the Church should be married men.

Oh, it is an evil and bitter thing to burden tender consciences by making that to be sin which God never made so, and they will have much to answer for who do it. Neither is it a thing confined to Papists. There are people in these days who make as much of a young maid's wearing of a starched ruff, or a farthingale, or reading a chapter of Master Sidney's "Arcadia"—yea, of keeping of Christmas, or eating of pancakes on a Shrove Tuesday—as ever Mother Joanna did of not believing in the jaw-bone of St. Lawrence.

Master Stubbes his new book, which Philippa sent me last week, is a fine example of this kind of sin-making. Marry, she swallows every word of it, and one might as well laugh at the Miracle of Cana as at the tale of the black cat found in the coffin of the poor young lady which was "setting of great ruffs and frizzing of hair to the great feare and trouble of believers." *

* See Phillip Stubbes' "Anatomic of Abuses." This wonderful tale
is quoted at length in Dr. Drake's excellent and agreeable book,
"Shakespeare and His Times."

It was with a much lightened heart that I said my prayers, and sought the sleep I so much needed, nor did I open my eyes till the sun was high in the heavens next morning.

"Well, my dear, you have had a good sleep, and I am sure you are well rested," said Dame Yates, as I bade her good morning in the dairy, which was to her what his study is to a Dutch painter. "But now, what will you have to eat, for dinner is long done."

"Is it as late as that?" I asked in some dismay. "You should not have let me sleep so long."

"Oh it is the best medicine for young things, and you have had a trying time—" and then she whispered in my ear—"He you wot of is safe on his way, and bids you be ready for a sudden start; so you must eat and drink and be strong. I shall bring you a fresh egg and a cup of cream directly."

And nothing would serve, but she must purvey me a dainty meal, though I could as well have waited on myself; but she was one of those to whom service was ever a pleasure. I ate what she provided, and then, seeing the wisdom of mine uncle's advice, I arranged my jewels—of which, thanks to Mrs. Patience, I had good store—so that I could easily conceal them about me, and did up a bundle of necessary clothing, and a few books, which I could not make up my mind to leave behind me, namely, my Bible, my Latin Imitation, and the Book of Hours, which dear mother prioress had given me at our sorrowful parting. Ah, how far-away did that parting seem now. The rest of my things I left in Dame Yates's charge, for Dolly's little maiden in case she never heard of me again. Thanks to the liberality of my mistress, I had quite a sum of ready money—enough to keep me in comfort for some time, even without the need of selling my jewels.

I never passed such a time of suspense as during the next four days. I dared not go from home lest the messenger might come in my absence; and probably that was as well, for an old enemy, even that very Betty Wilkins who had been the means of my disgrace about the red flowers, was plotting against me. She being abroad the night of the shower, had seen me take refuge in the porch of the haunted cell, not five minutes, as she alleged, before the screams and groans were heard from within; and she even declared that watching and listening, she had heard my voice talking with the evil spirit and had seen me afterward issue from the ruin, and fly across the fields without touching the ground. The dread of witches was as rife then as now, though people in general strove to conciliate instead of persecuting them. Betty and her mother had themselves no good name in this respect, and I suppose they were glad to have a story to tell of some one else.

I heard nothing of this matter, however; and it was just as well, for I had enough to bear without it. At last, I bethought me that this anxious care and suspense was a distrusting of Providence and a direct disobedience to His commands who hath forbidden us to be anxious about the morrow. I carried my trouble to the right place, and asking for grace to submit myself in all things to His Holy will, I strove to set myself with all diligence about my usual occupations; a course I have ever found the best under the like circumstances. So I heard the children's lessons—I grieved that I had not begun them before—finished a muffler I was working for Dame Yates, and played over all my music lessons diligently, wishing to have them at my fingers' ends, seeing I did not know when I should over touch an instrument again.

I was busied thus, one evening between daylight and dark. It was now the latter end of August, and the evenings were somewhat chilly. But no one had yet thought of lighting a fire. Master Yates was dozing in his great chair, and his wife and daughter sat together on the settee. They were both fond of music, and Dolly indeed, was herself no mean performer upon the viol. *

It was growing quite dark, so that I could hardly see the keys, and Dame Hannah was talking of lighting the lamp, when I heard the hasty tramp of a horse outside in the court. It was nothing strange, for Master Yates's hospitality was well-known; and many a traveler stopped with us for the night, but that odd kind of prescience which hath accompanied me all my life, told me in a minute that this was no belated guest. Master Yates rose and went to the door, and Dame Hannah hasted to strike a light.

* The English were the most musical people in Europe in those days,
and a man was hardly accounted educated who could not sing at sight.

In a moment I heard the former returning, and, by the light of the lamp, I saw behind him a man whose figure I seemed dimly to remember. He came straight up to me with scarce a passing salutation to the others, and held out to me the token I had been expecting, the Duke's own seal-ring.

"Must I go?" I asked, involuntarily. It did seem to me somehow like a supernatural summons; as if a token had been brought me from another world to bid me be gone.

"You must, and instantly!" answered the messenger in a half whisper. "Time passes, and must not be spent in delay."

I flew to my chamber, and was quickly arrayed in such a riding dress as country dames are wont to wear to church and market, and which, with Dame Hannah's help, I had prepared for this very occasion. It could not have been ten minutes that I was absent, yet when I returned, I found my conductor seemingly chafing at even that short delay.

"It is well!" said he, and his tone was to me as great a puzzle as his figure and bearing. His face I could not see, as he kept on his beaver, and his cloak was wrapped about his chin. "Have you no more to carry than this?"

"No more!" I answered.

"Come, then, let us begone."

"Oh, Mistress Loveday, dare you trust yourself to him?" asked Dolly, in a terrified whisper. "Are you not scared? What if it should be the evil one himself?"

The stranger overheard her and laughed—a very short laugh.

"Have no fears, good woman. I am a Christian like yourself, and your friend is safe with me. Bid farewell in few words, mistress. It is time we were away."

I kissed the weeping women, and shook Master Gates his hand. The stranger had a powerful black horse with a pillion for mine accommodation. He raised me in his arms and set me in my place, sprung to the saddle before me, and bidding me hold fast by his belt, he struck his spurs into his horse's side, and off we went.