第 十九 章 · Chapter 19

. Chapter 19

As was said, perhaps a month passed; then Myles's visits came to an

abrupt termination, and with it ended, in a certain sense, a chapter of

his life.

One Saturday afternoon he climbed the garden wall, and skirting behind

a long row of rosebushes that screened him from the Countess's terrace,

came to a little summer-house where the two young ladies had appointed

to meet him that day.

A pleasant half-hour or so was passed, and then it was time for Myles

to go. He lingered for a while before he took his final leave, leaning

against the door-post, and laughingly telling how he and some of his

brother squires had made a figure of straw dressed in men's clothes, and

had played a trick with it one night upon a watchman against whom they

bore a grudge.

The young ladies were listening with laughing faces, when suddenly, as

Myles looked, he saw the smile vanish from Lady Alice's eyes and a wide

terror take its place. She gave a half-articulate cry, and rose abruptly

from the bench upon which she was sitting.

Myles turned sharply, and then his very heart seemed to stand still

within him; for there, standing in the broad sunlight without, and

glaring in upon the party with baleful eyes, was the Earl of Mackworth

himself.

How long was the breathless silence that followed, Myles could never

tell. He knew that the Lady Anne had also risen, and that she and her

cousin were standing as still as statues. Presently the Earl pointed to

the house with his staff, and Myles noted stupidly how it trembled in

his hand.

“Ye wenches,” said he at last, in a hard, harsh voice--“ye wenches, what

meaneth this? Would ye deceive me so, and hold parlance thus secretly

with this fellow? I will settle with him anon. Meantime get ye

straightway to the house and to your rooms, and there abide until I give

ye leave to come forth again. Go, I say!”

“Father,” said Lady Anne, in a breathless voice--she was as white as

death, and moistened her lips with her tongue before she spoke--“father,

thou wilt not do harm to this young man. Spare him, I do beseech thee,

for truly it was I who bade him come hither. I know that he would not

have come but at our bidding.”

The Earl stamped his foot upon the gravel. “Did ye not hear me?” said

he, still pointing towards the house with his trembling staff. “I bade

ye go to your rooms. I will settle with this fellow, I say, as I deem

fitting.”

“Father,” began Lady Anne again; but the Earl made such a savage gesture

that poor Lady Alice uttered a faint shriek, and Lady Anne stopped

abruptly, trembling. Then she turned and passed out the farther door of

the summerhouse, poor little Lady Alice following, holding her tight

by the skirts, and trembling and shuddering as though with a fit of the

ague.

The Earl stood looking grimly after them from under his shaggy eyebrows,

until they passed away behind the yew-trees, appeared again upon the

terrace behind, entered the open doors of the women's house, and were

gone. Myles heard their footsteps growing fainter and fainter, but he

never raised his eyes. Upon the ground at his feet were four pebbles,

and he noticed how they almost made a square, and would do so if he

pushed one of them with his toe, and then it seemed strange to him that

he should think of such a little foolish thing at that dreadful time.

He knew that the Earl was looking gloomily at him, and that his face

must be very pale. Suddenly Lord Mackworth spoke. “What hast thou to

say?” said he, harshly.

Then Myles raised his eyes, and the Earl smiled grimly as he looked his

victim over. “I have naught to say,” said the lad, huskily.

“Didst thou not hear what my daughter spake but now?” said the Earl.

“She said that thou came not of thy own free-will; what sayst thou to

that, sirrah--is it true?”

Myles hesitated for a moment or two; his throat was tight and dry.

“Nay,” said he at last, “she belieth herself. It was I who first came

into the garden. I fell by chance from the tree yonder--I was seeking

a ball--then I asked those two if I might not come hither again, and so

have done some several times in all. But as for her--nay; it was not at

her bidding that I came, but through mine own asking.”

The Earl gave a little grunt in his throat. “And how often hast thou

been here?” said he, presently.

Myles thought a moment or two. “This maketh the seventh time,” said he.

Another pause of silence followed, and Myles began to pluck up some

heart that maybe all would yet be well. The Earl's next speech dashed

that hope into a thousand fragments. “Well thou knowest,” said he, “that

it is forbid for any to come here. Well thou knowest that twice have men

been punished for this thing that thou hast done, and yet thou camest in

spite of all. Now dost thou know what thou wilt suffer?”

Myles picked with nervous fingers at a crack in the oaken post against

which he leaned. “Mayhap thou wilt kill me,” said he at last, in a dull,

choking voice.

Again the Earl smiled a grim smile. “Nay,” said he, “I would not slay

thee, for thou hast gentle blood. But what sayest thou should I shear

thine ears from thine head, or perchance have thee scourged in the great

court?”

The sting of the words sent the blood flying back to Myles's face again,

and he looked quickly up. “Nay,” said he, with a boldness that surprised

himself; “thou shalt do no such unlordly thing upon me as that. I be thy

peer, sir, in blood; and though thou mayst kill me, thou hast no right

to shame me.”

Lord Mackworth bowed with a mocking courtesy. “Marry!” said he.

“Methought it was one of mine own saucy popinjay squires that I caught

sneaking here and talking to those two foolish young lasses, and lo! it

is a young Lord--or mayhap thou art a young Prince--and commandeth

me that I shall not do this and I shall not do that. I crave your

Lordship's honorable pardon, if I have said aught that may have galled

you.”

The fear Myles had felt was now beginning to dissolve in rising wrath.

“Nay,” said he, stoutly, “I be no Lord and I be no Prince, but I be as

good as thou. For am I not the son of thy onetime very true comrade and

thy kinsman--to wit, the Lord Falworth, whom, as thou knowest, is poor

and broken, and blind, and helpless, and outlawed, and banned? Yet,”

cried he, grinding his teeth, as the thought of it all rushed in upon

him, “I would rather be in his place than in yours; for though he be

ruined, you--”

He had just sense enough to stop there.

The Earl, gripping his staff behind his back, and with his head a little

bent, was looking keenly at the lad from under his shaggy gray brows.

“Well,” said he, as Myles stopped, “thou hast gone too far now to draw

back. Say thy say to the end. Why wouldst thou rather be in thy father's

stead than in mine?”

Myles did not answer.

“Thou shalt finish thy speech, or else show thyself a coward. Though thy

father is ruined, thou didst say I am--what?”

Myles keyed himself up to the effort, and then blurted out, “Thou art

attainted with shame.”

A long breathless silence followed.

“Myles Falworth,” said the Earl at last (and even in the whirling of his

wits Myles wondered that he had the name so pat)--“Myles Falworth, of

all the bold, mad, hare-brained fools, thou art the most foolish. How

dost thou dare say such words to me? Dost thou not know that thou makest

thy coming punishment ten times more bitter by such a speech?”

“Aye!” cried Myles, desperately; “but what else could I do? An I did not

say the words, thou callest me coward, and coward I am not.”

“By 'r Lady!” said the Earl, “I do believe thee. Thou art a bold,

impudent varlet as ever lived--to beard me so, forsooth! Hark'ee; thou

sayst I think naught of mine old comrade. I will show thee that thou

dost belie me. I will suffer what thou hast said to me for his sake, and

for his sake will forgive thee thy coming hither--which I would not do

in another case to any other man. Now get thee gone straightway, and

come hither no more. Yonder is the postern-gate; mayhap thou knowest the

way. But stay! How camest thou hither?”

Myles told him of the spikes he had driven in the wall, and the Earl

listened, stroking his beard. When the lad had ended, he fixed a sharp

look upon him. “But thou drove not those spikes alone,” said he; “who

helped thee do it?”

“That I may not tell,” said Myles, firmly.

“So be it,” said the Earl. “I will not ask thee to tell his name. Now

get thee gone! And as for those spikes, thou mayst e'en knock them out

of the wall, sin thou drave them in. Play no more pranks an thou wouldst

keep thy skin whole. And now go, I say!”

Myles needed no further bidding, but turned and left the Earl without

another word. As he went out the postern-gate he looked over his

shoulder, and saw the tall figure, in its long fur-trimmed gown, still

standing in the middle of the path, looking after him from under the

shaggy eyebrows.

As he ran across the quadrangle, his heart still fluttering in his

breast, he muttered to himself, “The old grizzle-beard; an I had not

faced him a bold front, mayhap he would have put such shame upon me

as he said. I wonder why he stood so staring after me as I left the

garden.”

Then for the time the matter slipped from his mind, saving only that

part that smacked of adventure.