CHAPTER XII

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A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.

"To have an ideal is in some sort to ennoble life. Nothing ... can be more dreary or more debasing than to drift through life without one."--KNOX-LITTLE.

"And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, Who reverenced his conscience as his king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd to it; Who loved one only, and who clave to her." --TENNYSON.

Long and dreary seemed the winter months to Jack the boatman in his lonely cottage by the river, with no bright young voice or light sound of bounding footsteps to break the stillness of the long hours--no sweet and loving companion to cheer his daily rambles when work was done, or to share the peaceful warmth and comfort of the fireside, when the dark days crept on apace, and the long evenings must needs be spent within doors. And scarcely less was the loss felt by the old vicar, who had so long been used to the merry voice and quick girlish tread which had been wont almost daily to wake the echoes in the long ghostly passages of the old Monastery Vicarage; and many a time, weary of the unaccustomed silence within his walls, did good old Master Rhys sally forth to seek the company of his friend the boatman, often meeting him half-way down the narrow road between Cwmfelin and the river, bound on the same errand, equally in need of consolation. The first letter sent by Primrose after her departure was hailed with great joy by her faithful guardian, and gave such proof of her happiness and enjoyment that he could but rejoice in her good fortune. She told him of her journey towards London in the care of the Lady Rosamond and the Black Horseman, and of the warm welcome given her on her arrival by the Lady Bryn Afon, and also by the earl himself, who had commended his wife to her care with many amusing sayings and pretty compliments. And she told of all the wonders of the great city--of the fine shops, where such beautiful attire as she had never dreamed of had been purchased for her; of the theatre, where the earl himself had more than once insisted on taking her, to see some of the renowned plays of the great Master Shakespeare; and of the Court, where she had, in spite of her youth, as Jack had truly foretold, been presented to their royal majesties in company with many other beautiful maidens, and where the king had been pleased to pay gracious compliments to the beauty of the Welsh damsels, even inquiring whether another so fair a maid-in-waiting might not be found for his queen in the beautiful vale of Gwynnon by much searching! And how he had spoken with much affection, in her hearing, of the earl's most noble father, saying that he had ever been his own royal father's most faithful friend, so that she had felt herself even more highly honoured than before, in being chosen for the service of so greatly favoured a family. And next, after another week or so had elapsed, there came another letter, written from the noble castle of Ludlow, whither, at the invitation of the Earl of Bridgewater, who was at that time President of Wales, the earl and his lady had been persuaded to repair, much to her own delight and joy, in order to be present at the first representation of the wonderful mask of "Comus," lately writ by Master John Milton of rising fame and repute, whom Primrose had already been privileged to meet at a banquet ere her friends had left town. Much she wrote of this beautiful play, and of the cleverness with which the earl's children took their several parts in its representation, earning for themselves much praise thereby from the writer, whom she described as a grave and somewhat austere-looking person, but of a most beautiful countenance, and so wondrously learned in his conversation that all were wont to listen to him still-bound. "Though," she added, in a burst of loyalty and enthusiasm for those gracious personages whom she had so recently seen face to face and heartily loved, "Master Milton does not wholly please me, in spite of my pleasure in his beautiful play, and the admiration I must needs give to his noble face and marvellous talents, for he has but little love for the king and queen, and were he in our little Gwynnon Valley I do verily believe he would walk hand in hand with Master Jones, our grievous enemy, and shake his learned head sadly over our beloved little church on the hillside! Yet it would seem a shame to cherish even this grievance against him, for so skilled is he in verse-making that my Lord Bridgewater prophesies great things for him in the future, saying that if he mistake not his name will presently vie with that of the great Master Shakespeare in renown." And having further described at length the beauties of the castle and of the neighbourhood, this second letter concluded with loving words which assured Jack's hungry heart that in the midst of her new pleasures and delights he was by no means yet forgotten for a moment by his foster-child.

Later on there came at intervals long letters from Rome, whither, after a sad parting between the Lord and Lady Bryn Afon at the close of their stay at Ludlow Castle, she, with her young charge and their attendants, had travelled by slow stages, on account of her great delicacy of health, and where they would remain until the spring. And all they had seen by the way Primrose described so cleverly that Jack could almost feel as though he had himself been with her, and might henceforth pass as a man of travel among his neighbours, since he could discourse upon the marvels of London and Rome, not to speak of many other places of lesser note, with such assurance and in so masterly a manner! In his loneliness he derived much consolation from the esteem and increased reverence with which he began to find himself regarded by his neighbours, Master Jones alone causing him much indignation of spirit by his sour words against those in high places, and his evil forebodings for all such as a good Providence had made young and beautiful. For all which hard and ill-natured sayings Jack revenged himself by a particular application towards him each Sunday morning of all such sentences in the Litany or elsewhere as bore upon heresy and schism, and so felt comforted.

During these months some excitement was caused in the valley, of which Jack wrote a full account to his foster-child, by certain preachings against the sin of drunkenness, delivered in towns and villages, in the form of lectures, held in barns and outhouses or on the open village green, by a certain youth of learned parts and eloquent address, reputed to be a Cambridge student and a guest at some one or other of the castles in the vale,--some said Caer Caradoc, others Gelli Aur, beyond the river, which latter house he had been seen to enter in company with young Master Jeremy Taylor, known to be a frequent guest of the Lord Carbery, its owner. But none knew the name of the strange youth, and since he could discourse with equal zeal and eloquence in either the Welsh or English tongue, it was a matter of dispute whether he were or no a native of the Principality, most persons, however, inclining to believe him such, since the English rarely showed themselves capable of grappling so successfully with the Welsh tongue. It was but for a few weeks at the time of Easter that he appeared, but the country-side soon rang with his fame, and the people flocked from miles around to hear him, so powerful was his eloquence and so winning his manner and his countenance. Ringing words did he speak in town and hamlet against the sin and shame of the drinking habits so prevalent in the fair vale of Gwynnon, which he indeed confessed was no worse a part of the world in this respect than many others, yet spoke of it as that special region in which he felt called upon by God to lift up his own voice against the evil and point out a better way. Wherefore he was by some blamed for youthful imprudence, and by others for fanatical zeal and contempt of God's good creatures, while some few spoke of him as a prophet raised up to do a mighty work in the country, and some even, speaking with reverence of his beautiful countenance and high and holy living, were ready to believe him an angel sent from Heaven. "In none of which lights," wrote Jack to Primrose, "I may as yet regard him myself, not having had as yet the privilege of seeing or hearing him. Yet I can but regard him as a godly and right-minded youth, and I pray that he may rid us of the evil against which I myself have long testified."

But the hope which Primrose secretly indulged, of perchance meeting with this impersonation of her favourite hero (for that he was the youth so beloved by Lady Rosamond and her husband she had no doubt), was not realised on her return to the vale of Gwynnon, for the brave young lecturer had already returned to his studies at Cambridge, and the summer months brought him no more to the valley, nor was further news heard of him throughout the year, though his words were not forgotten, and his new and strange doctrines upon the subject of strong liquors were the talk of all the country-folk, and a matter of much dispute among the more thinking ones among them, whereby some beginning of good worked surely in certain hearts, if unconfessed.

It was in the month of May that Primrose journeyed once more into far South Wales in the good Black Horseman's charge, he having received orders from her mother to await her arrival in London, and convey her safely to her guardian's care. Yet, glad though she truly was to return to her home and her beloved foster-father, she left the Lady Bryn Afon with many tears, for the lady herself was greatly overcome at parting from her, assuring her that during their few months' sojourn together she had grown to love her as a dear daughter, and would sorely miss her. And so tenderly had she indeed treated her that Primrose heartily re-echoed her wish that they might ere long meet again, and returned to the home of her childhood feeling that she had left some large portion of her heart in her new friend's keeping; though it needed but one glimpse of the shining river and the dear old cottage, with the boatman's figure in the doorway, to bring back all the old love into her heart, and make her feel almost ashamed at having been so happy away from him. If she had gone away beautiful, she had returned to him ten times more so, Jack thought, when the first greetings were over, and he stood a little way off from her, and surveyed her from head to foot, with eyes of wondering admiration. She still wore her golden locks curling over her shoulders in sunny profusion, and every year her dark eyes of blue-grey hue seemed to deepen and glow with greater wealth of unspoken thought beneath their heavy lashes, which, much darker than her hair, swept over her cheeks in marked contrast to their dazzling fairness. Surely, thought Jack, there could be no maiden on earth more beautiful or more unconscious of her loveliness than this sweet Primrose of the valley, who had been so strangely and mysteriously wafted by unknown winds into his garden, that under his care she might attain such perfection! So once more the young girl took up the threads of her old life, her rambles by the riverside, and frequent visits to the little church on the hilltop, and her studies in the old library at Cwmfelin, not forgetting much poring over the history of King Arthur and his knights, who played so great a part in her imagination, nor her dreams of Sir Galahad, the ideal hero of a pure maiden's thoughts. And since the mysterious world of love must needs unfold itself to her in some form or other, for good or ill, it was well for a maiden so curiously circumstanced as she was that her mind should be filled with so high an ideal of masculine perfections, and thus dwell so far above the coarse admiration of the country-folk that their vain compliments passed unheeded. For by this time there would come many young strangers across the bridge on a summer's evening, paying toll ungrudgingly for the sake of but one glimpse of the old boatman's beautiful foster-daughter, who might chance to be walking along the banks, or sitting with her book in some shady nook by the water's edge. And though fair Shanno noticed none of them even by so much as the lifting of an eyelid, hearing but the tramp of some sturdy young miller over the footway, or the rough tones of some worthy young farmer who must needs cross the bridge to talk of the crops with a friend in the hamlet, yet Jack received their toll with but a surly countenance, and did they linger to talk of the weather, casting meanwhile curious glances along the riverside, he would threaten sudden rain and storms, and counsel them to hurry on to their friends an they would not get a sorry wetting. These young men, however, would brave much for one sight of Primrose's shining eyes and golden locks, and though she took no heed of them, Jack thought it prudent to discourse to her much in private upon the vanity of mere earthly beauty, ever holding up as a warning his own lost daughter, to whose light-hearted folly and vanity of spirit he attributed her tragic fate, blaming himself greatly that her exceeding beauty had led him to spoil her overmuch, and neglect that care for her soul for which he was responsible.

"Methinks, dad," said Primrose seriously one day when he had been thus discoursing for some length of time; "methinks you have been much in the company of Master Jones of late, and have had some secret thoughts of turning Puritan like him, for your talk has grown sad and solemn, and you seem to fear that because these golden locks, which you say are so beautiful, have been bestowed upon your Primrose, she must needs be in fear of turning into a yellow butterfly. Think you then that I am indeed so vain and frivolous, and so much in danger of singeing my wings?" "Nay," said Jack fondly; "I know thou art as good as thou art beautiful, sweetheart, and I will not thou shouldst liken me to Master Jones whatever. But I would have you beware of the rude youths of the country-side, three of whom have had the presumption within this last week to ask my permission to sue for your hand." "Is it so?" said Primrose wonderingly. "Poor youths; are there not maidens enough beyond the river to please them? Bid them not pay toll for so vain an object, dear dad, and tell them this hand would fain be free for many a year to come. Why, I am but sixteen years old, and scarce account myself yet to be grown-up, much less fit to be sought in marriage. I fear me, dad, likewise, that it might not be my mother's wish to see me a miller's wife, riding to market on a Saturday morn upon my sacks of flour, nor yet behind some stalwart farmer upon a stout grey nag, to sell my wares in tall hat and white apron in the open street! Tell the youths I thank them for their courtesy, but do not think of marrying yet awhile; and when I do----"

"Well, what then, dear heart?" asked Jack, with a laugh at the thought of his darling in market costume; "who would be worthy of my daughter's hand?" "Nay, it is but an unworthy hand," she answered with a blush; "and I hope it is not in pride and wickedness that I spurn the poor youths, who I doubt not are each worthy of a far better maiden than I. But I would fain have a beautiful marriage, dear dad, with one whose like I have never yet seen, or none at all, and so I will stay by your side, and think no more of such matters, if you will pray the youths to stay beyond the river and marry whom they will." So those poor young men came no more over the boatman's bridge at eventide, and his bag lost many a toll-penny, while they rode round to market another way, that they might see no dazzling vision upon the riverside to cause them a needless heartache. And the colour came again to the cheeks of the poor country maidens when they found that the Queen of the Bridge would have none of their sweethearts, and they repented that they should ever have asked the old wandering gipsy woman to cast upon her a wicked spell or an evil eye, or aught else that might mar her loveliness. For still from time to time the old woman came forth from her unknown haunts in the mountains, and tramped from village to village, chanting her rude rhymes and muttering her vengeful threats against the bridge, nothing daunted when the old boatman reminded her that she had uttered them for twenty years or more in vain, and that his bridge still bestrode the angry winter torrents bravely.

"The day will come," she would mutter, her black eyes burning with a glittering light. "The castle is doomed, and none may save it, and doomed likewise is the boatman's bridge. For there is none living that shall withstand the power of the dread curse nor stay the roar of the waters when the river-spirit bursts his bonds and is let loose upon the valley. Woe, woe to the House of Bryn Afon! For the curse shall but cease when the walls crumble to dust, and the last heir sleeps a long last sleep in the black waters. And woe to the bridge that shall bring the last heir of the doomed race to destruction!" And as she passed on and was lost to sight her quavering, high-pitched tones would be heard in the distance, singing that rhyme which always brought Jack's wrath to boiling-point--

"And in the dark river together The Primrose and Lily shall sleep."

Why should the old witch dare thus to bring his darling's name into her rude songs, Jack would angrily ejaculate, but to annoy and terrify a poor innocent maiden, who had nought, and never should have aught, to do with the old castle and its ill-starred race! But Primrose laughed at his wrath, saying she had long since known that the old gipsy had destined her to an ill fate, since she would not confess what she had read in the lines of her hand, and that for her part she was far more inclined to wonder who might be the Lily, the partner of her woe, than to trouble her mind as to whether such woe were ever likely to befall herself. "For," said she with a smile, "since there would seem to be some in this world who must needs dwell side by side through a long lifetime with those they love not, methinks to die beside one I love would be far sweeter, and a fate to be craved in preference. What think you, dad?" "Thy life has been so sheltered, sweetheart," answered Jack; "what know you of life and its unhappy ones?" "I am growing old, dad," she answered, shaking her golden locks with an air of wisdom, "and since I have travelled with the Lady Bryn Afon I have learned many things I knew nought of before, and heard some few tales of this naughty world, by which I have seen that all in it is not so fair as I have thought, and that it is truly as our Prayer Book hath it, a 'troublesome world, full of waves and storms,' which words I have before often wondered over, finding it so little troublesome in this beautiful valley, full of flowers and birds and sunshine, and the love of so good a guardian!" "The waves and storms are for the wicked," said Jack, drowning, in his urgent desire to banish all shadows from his child's pathway, certain misgivings as to the truth of his theology. "I pray they may never buffet you, my darling!" But Primrose shook her head. "Our dear vicar preaches different doctrine, dad," she said seriously, "and says that such ills must needs afflict the righteous, that they may be chastened and purified like gold in the fire. And since I have thought of these things, it has seemed to me that I would fain not for ever dwell myself in the sunshine, since such may not be the lot of all, but that I would rather be chosen to side with the weak and sorrowful. And also I have feared lest, were I ever in the sunlight, it should be a sign to me that I must needs be counted unworthy to share in the sufferings of our Lord." Her voice fell reverently, and as Jack watched her and saw the dreamy, far-off look in those beautiful eyes, in which he noted every changing expression, a shiver passed over him, he scarce knew why, save that he could not bear the thought of any possible pain or sorrow in store for one so young and wondrous fair. "Methinks thou art already one of God's saints, my child!" he said fondly, yet half in sadness; "and thou hast surely been surrounded from thy cradle upwards by His good angels, who shall keep thee from all spells of the Evil One, and from the vain threats of his crafty messengers. But let not the old witch cross my path yet awhile, lest the old Adam rise up within me and bid me give her such a ducking in yon river as would doubtless rid us of her for ever, and bring her blood upon my head! 'Tis well she is a weak woman, or my hands would verily have been long since laid upon her in wholesome correction!"

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