CHAPTER III

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THE STAR IN THE EAST.

"She has wit and song and sense, Mirth and sport and eloquence." --HUNGARIAN.

It was just six months after the arrival of the boatman's unexpected little guest, that very late one evening, when the long summer twilight had almost deepened to night, a mysterious horseman was seen by a few of the villagers, who had not yet closed their doors for the night, riding in the direction of Jack's riverside cot. Jack never retired to rest very early, and was still plying his shoemaking trade by the light of a solitary candle when he too heard the clatter of the horse's hoofs along the narrow road under the hill, and was somewhat startled when the sound suddenly ceased before his own door, which still stood open to let in the sweet summer breeze.

[Illustration: "HE WATCHED THE TALL HORSEMAN ENTER THE COTTAGE AND HOLD THE CANDLE OVER THE CRIB."]

He hastened forward with a strange sense of expectancy, not unmingled with dread, for the child had grown so dear to him, that while he had looked forward with real pleasure to the reward, which would enable him to do much for her comfort, he often dreaded lest in its place should come an intimation that the unknown mother was again ready to claim her child. A noble black horse was pawing the ground with impatience as Jack appeared in the doorway, and on his back sat a tall man in a long black riding-cloak, whose features were only dimly discernible in the uncertain light, but whose voice had a gravely pleasant ring, as he stooped from the saddle and placed a sealed packet in Jack's hand, saying, "The child's mother sends you greeting, with the promised reward for your care of her babe. She charged me that I should see her, and take back to her a faithful report of her growth and progress. And if it trouble you not at this late hour, I will for a brief moment dismount and look at the child." "My home is humble, good sir," said the boatman, "but methinks that must be already known to my kinswoman, who honours me with so strange a trust and acquaintance, while herself unknown to me. The child sleeps yonder in her cot. I will look to your steed while you see her." He watched the tall horseman enter the cottage and hold the candle over the crib, so that its light fell on the tiny face nestled on the white pillow, and lit up the halo of golden curls which surrounded it with a soft, gleaming radiance. The piercing eyes of the messenger softened as they dwelt upon the sweet picture of infant beauty and sleeping innocence, and he turned away with a sigh, saying, "She is wondrous fair--and you love her?" "As my own," answered Jack warmly. "She is the apple of my eye! Sir, I beg you to tell my kinswoman that hitherto I have done for the child all that love could do, and that her health and happiness have well repaid me; but that now it has pleased her to send me this gift, I will likewise do all that money shall make possible to increase her comfort and please her baby heart." "That is well," said the stranger. "I will assure her, on my part, that the child is in good keeping, and that she has not been deceived in the trust she placed in you. Nay, good Jack, no questions! I will be no mouthpiece for your kinswoman. Be faithful to your charge, and ask me nought that she does not herself reveal to you. Farewell; I must away." And hastily remounting his coal-black steed, he passed on down the narrow road by the riverside, crossed the ford just below the bridge, and was lost to view in the wooded lane beyond. Jack went to bed with feelings of mingled relief and perplexity. The possession of the money was pleasant; the continued possession of the child he realised to be even a greater joy than he had imagined in his already fond heart, but the whole subject was one of great perplexity, and the visit of the messenger had thrown no light whatever upon it. To stifle curiosity and live on from day to day in unquestioning enjoyment of his darling's sweet ways and ever-growing beauty was the only course open to him, and he fell asleep at last with only a pleasant sense of resignation uppermost in his mind.

To still the curiosity of his neighbours was, however, a harder task, for he had not been at his work many hours next day before he discovered that the ringing sound of the black steed's hoofs had been plainly heard in the stillness of the summer night, and that every one knew it was at his own door that the sound had ceased. But he had not much to tell, and his friends grumbled not a little at his dulness and want of natural curiosity. Had they been in his place, they one and all declared, the messenger should not have been suffered to depart in such haste, but should have been forced to give some account of himself and his errand. However, Jack looked stolid over the matter, and evidenced no desire whatever on his own part to discover what the child's relations chose to conceal from him, and declared that so long as he was allowed to keep her he was content. And in this happy, though withal, to them, highly unsatisfactory state of mind, they were obliged one by one to leave him.

Twice every year the mysterious black horse clattered over the village road and stopped at the boatman's cottage, and Little Miss Primrose was lifted up into the saddle and admired, and her little hand regretfully kissed by the gallant horseman; and then he rode away again, and no one was any the wiser, or any nearer the solution of the mystery. And Little Miss Primrose herself grew prettier and prettier, her hair more golden, and her dark eyes more deep and full of beautiful meaning; and in spite of her lowly bringing-up, her ways grew more and more like those of the little "Queen of the Flowers" Jack called her. She took very happily to her new ways of life; and while Jack was busy over his shoemaking, she would sit for hours at the little casement which overlooked the river, watching the water rushing below the bridge, and counting the ripples when she flung in pebbles from a cherished store kept for the purpose of disturbing the river's quietude, as it passed with more gentle flow beneath the window. When the summer came, she would take out her little stool and sit on the bridge, patiently holding a purse in her hand, sometimes for hours together, ready for the passers-by to drop in their toll-pennies as they crossed. She was very proud of being toll-keeper, and would willingly spend a whole afternoon on the bridge, with her doll for company, for the chance of bringing home just one bright penny to dad at the time of the evening meal. "I am the Queen of the Bridge!" she used to say proudly to those who asked her name as they passed. And she would add graciously, "I am Little Miss Primrose."

And so the tiny golden-haired tax-collector came to be well known in the country-side, and was missed greatly when the winter winds blew cold through the valley, and she had to be kept indoors. Then her bright little face was anxiously looked for by her old friends at the casement; and she would look out and wave her tiny hands, and tap loudly on the window-pane if they forgot to look for her.

Jack's dwelling underwent great changes during the first year or two after his adoption of the child, for with the money brought by the Black Horseman, he not only improved and beautified the original structure till it was scarcely recognisable, but added a little room for the sole and especial use of his darling, which he fitted up with every comfort and luxury that she could possibly need for years to come. No little lady of distinction could have slept in a daintier cot than the one Jack chose for his little guest, and his lady neighbours were astonished at the taste and discretion he displayed in the furnishing and adornment of the baby's state apartment. Certainly it appeared that he was not considering her by any means as a "poor relation," or thinking of bringing her up as the descendant of relatives presumably sunk very low in the social scale. But since the money had been paid in so regularly, Jack's theory of the low estate of his distant kinsfolk had somewhat fallen through, and he confessed that in the lapse of years they might possibly have done far better for themselves than he himself had done.

It was on a dark Christmas Eve, when Little Miss Primrose was, according to Jack's idea, about four years and a half old, that, as she sat at the parlour window gazing out into the darkness at the big castle on the hill, and trying to coax Jack into a promise to take her some day to its frowning summit, she suddenly made the startling announcement; "Dad, dad, I can see the Star in the East! Come quick, and look!" Now Jack, who knew well that it was snowing fast, and that no stars were visible, and who, moreover, was very busy finishing off a new pair of boots for a customer to wear on Christmas morning, did not look up from his work, and believing that the Bible stories he had told Primrose on the previous evening had turned her small brain, took no notice, beyond saying in an abstracted tone; "There are no stars to-night, my pretty. Come away from the window; 'tis cold for you to be standing there, whatever." "Dad," said the child, drawing herself up with dignity, "Little Miss Primrose can see the star--a bright red star, up on the hill. You mustn't contradict Primrose--and you've told a story!" This terrible reproof drew the boatman to her side with a laugh, and sure enough she was right, for far away in the blackness in which the Castle Hill was shrouded a bright red star shone steadily, gleaming straight down upon the river, and, as it were, gazing fixedly in at Jack's little window. "There!" said the child triumphantly. "The Star in the East, dad! You told me Christmas was coming to-morrow. Let us go up quick, dad, and find the little cradle. Would the little Baby be inside it yet, do you think?" "Bless thy little heart, my precious!" said Jack humbly. "You always speak the truth, and your old dad didn't know what he was talking about. Yes, there is a star indeed, and I'm sorry I contradicted you, Primrose;" and he gave her an apologetic embrace. "Well, come and find the little Baby, dad," urged the child, quite satisfied, and tugging at his hand impatiently. "Come quick!" "It was Christmas morning He came, my pretty," said Jack; "very, very early Christmas morning, while you and I would be asleep in our beds. It wouldn't be any use for us to go up now, Primrose. You shall sit and look at the star awhile, and then you must be fain to shut those great wondering eyes, and to go to sleep as fast as you can. Then it will be quite Christmas when you wake in the morning, and dad will tell you all over again about the little Baby." "And we will go and see Him?" said Primrose eagerly. "We'll see," said Jack, "we'll see. Maybe it will snow too hard. Look how the snow comes down. Verily it is a cold night." And having succeeded in diverting the baby's mind from her impossible request, he turned his own to the subject of supper, muttering, as he prepared it, "'Tis a pretty fancy of the child's, but for all that it's nothing but a light in one of the castle windows, and that is passing strange, for who is there to light it? 'Tis never likely the young earl has come suddenwise at this time of the year; and if he had so done, the lights would surely shine from many a window, not one only. Cheerful, indeed, it would be to see them; and I would he indeed thought fit to come to the old place and stir up the love of his people! No, that star is a riddle to my understanding. Verily, they do tell strange tales about the castle, and maybe the gipsy witch would tell us that some unquiet spirit burns a lamp up there alone in some darksome chamber. 'Tis long since she last came wandering around, with her malicious rhymes. Ah, it is indeed well she is a woman, for I have at times found it hard not to lay my hands upon her. Well, Primrose, my darling, you must let the star shine by itself awhile, and come to your supper." "The star looks at me, dad," said Primrose, quitting the window seat lingeringly. "It looks straight in at me through the window. You look at it, dad, when I am in bed, and tell me if God puts it out." And when she was comfortably tucked up in her warm bed, and the long lashes had nearly fallen over the big grey eyes, she murmured sleepily; "Is my star put out yet, dad?" and fell fast asleep before Jack could answer. No, it was not put out, and when Jack himself went to rest, some hours later, it still shone through the gloom as brightly as ever. Little Miss Primrose awoke with her mind full of her new discovery, and Jack was much relieved to find the snow still falling thick and fast, when he found that her desire to climb the Castle Hill and look for the Holy Child's cradle had only revived with greater force in the morning light. He succeeded at last in persuading her that such an attempt was impossible, and consoled her with the promise that, if the snow cleared off, he would carry her in the afternoon to the little church on the hillside; "for," said he to himself stoutly, "I can verily never bring my mind to hear Master Jones discourse this morning at the chapel. He hath too much spoken, in my hearing, against the king and the Prayer Book; and though I would fain feel peace and goodwill towards him, as becomes a Christian on Christmas morn, I must needs close my ears to his doctrines." So Jack and his little charge spent a very quiet Christmas morning, watching the snow-flakes fall, and talking much of the star and its story; and in the afternoon, when the storm had ceased, he carried her, according to promise, to the tiny ivy-covered church, a mile away on the snowy hillside, where, since the day he had discovered from the Black Horseman to be her fourth birthday, he had taken her regularly Sunday after Sunday, in order that she should grow up a loyal church-woman and faithful subject to King James; "for I can at least train her up in the way she should go," he was wont to say to his neighbours. "And," he would add with a sigh and a certain vagueness of exact meaning, "if she should depart from it when she is old, I fear it may be her mother that will see it, and not I." When the twilight fell again over the valley, and the star shone out once more from the black hill-top, Jack found himself almost as much interested in its reappearance as the child herself, who shouted and clapped her hands for joy. "But it can't be the Star in the East, you know, Primrose," he said, when she again demanded to follow it, "because it did not come any more when Christmas Day was over. This must be another star, and we'll sit at home and watch it every night, and maybe in time we will be able to find out its name." "It is my Star in the East," would Miss Primrose answer decisively; but seeing at last some wisdom in Jack's oft-repeated explanations, she expressed herself content to watch it only from the window, and it became a habit of theirs to draw close to the little casement every evening, as soon as twilight fell, to look for the star's appearing, and watch it shine till they were tired. Every night it shone out regularly, as soon as darkness crept over the Castle Hill, and always was still shining when Jack drew down his window-blind and went to bed. Once he forgot to draw it down, and happening to wake as the clock struck twelve, he saw the red light still burning steadily, and lay and watched it, wondering who the mysterious occupant of the castle might be, till between one and two in the morning, when it was suddenly extinguished. He made a few casual inquiries next day among the villagers, as to whether any of them had heard of the arrival of the young earl or his servants at the castle, but no one had heard such a report, or believed for a moment that he was likely to visit Bryn Afon at this wintry season, and Jack let the matter rest; for knowing that the "star" could not be seen from any house but his own, he thought it wiser to keep this fresh mystery to himself. And about a month after its first appearance it vanished entirely, greatly to Little Miss Primrose's disappointment.

As she grew in years the child's health and growth were yet on each visit more carefully noted by the Black Horseman, who appeared well satisfied both with her physical and mental progress. One day he brought with him a mysterious phial containing a liquid, which he informed Jack was, by her mother's instructions, to be administered to the child at stated intervals, and of which he should himself see that she was unfailingly supplied. He affirmed it to be a herbal elixir of wondrously strengthening properties and of absolute harmlessness, and to be one of those ancient and pricelessly-valued prescriptions of the far-famed physicians of Glyn Helen, known in all the country-side some centuries gone by for their marvellous powers of healing and wondrous discoveries, and still regarded by all honest folk as supreme benefactors to the human race, and their prescriptions to be of undying value. He assured Jack that the elixir prescribed by her mother for Little Miss Primrose had been bestowed upon her by a living descendant of the Mystic Brethren, who still practised their ancient arts, and was equally well versed with his ancestors in all their wondrous lore of plants and herbs, and that the child's mother placed an unfailing trust in the skill of this great physician. Therefore Jack, than whom no one was a more faithful believer in the ancient legends of his country, more especially in the deserved fame of these learned doctors of renown, unhesitatingly administered the prescribed elixir at the required seasons, though not without some secret wondering as to the nature of the weakness or disease which the unknown mother would appear, by enjoining its use, to wish to avert from her little daughter. But the child showing every sign of perfect health both of body and mind as she grew out of her babyhood and daily increased in loveliness, her fond foster-father began to regard this daily antidote to an unknown ill as but the whim of an over-anxious parent, and the elixir soon began to be both administered and taken as mechanically and with as little thought as the child's daily bread, though always without the knowledge of any of the neighbours, the Black Horseman having warned Jack that the prescriptions of the famous physicians of old were ever held sacred, nor permitted to be revealed to the careless public.

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