CHAPTER XXXVI

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THE CURSE UNDONE.

"So, let him wait God's instant, men call years; Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul, Do out the duty! Through such souls alone God, stooping, shows sufficient of His light For us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise." --ROBERT BROWNING.

"The castle gate stands open now, And the wanderer is welcome to the hall." --JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

So a year passed away, and the sturdy stronghold of Caer Caradoc still remained closed while Lady Rosamond stayed at Bryn Afon, faithful to her self-imposed charge of her fair young friend, whom she cheered with an unfailing flow of spirits and a wild enthusiasm in the king's cause, which latter feeling Primrose indeed shared to the full. And already the infant heir of Caradoc would gallantly wield his sword in his king's defence, and slay many an imaginary Cromwell in the dark corners of the corridors, in which he roamed at will through the long hours of those anxious days. And when Sir Ivor wrote word to his wife how in London even the ladies were taking spade in hand to help in digging the entrenchments around the city, the boy's brave mother and Primrose could scarcely be restrained from setting off then and there to work with them, regretting nothing so greatly as, that in the remote solitude of Wales no opportunity was like to occur for women to show their heroism. But Lady Shanno was called upon to show her own after another fashion sooner than she anticipated, for at Newbery, in September of the year 1643, the gallant Black Horseman fell at his master's side, shot through the heart, and scarce had Primrose hushed her first outburst of grief at the loss of so beloved and faithful a friend than her tears were caused to flow with yet greater bitterness by the departure of her lover, who, at her own urgent entreaty, as well as from his own sense of duty and responsibility, left his cure once more for a season in the hands of the aged Master Rhys, and following the call of his chaplaincy, joined the earl on the battlefield, in fulfilment of Lady Bryn Afon's sacred trust, which, on the death of the brave Rhiwallon, now devolved upon himself alone.

Many a night of sleepless watch and prayer did the Lady Shanno keep during the long dreary months of that sad winter, and none but God knew the struggle it cost her to bear unmurmuringly that bitter separation from him whose presence was her very life, and whose absence might now, in one short moment, amid the rage of battle, be turned into the absence of death. One moment and Rhiwallon's fierce black eyes had been closed in their last sleep, and their penetrating vision had pierced into the mystic land beyond the grave. His gallant, stalwart form in one moment had been stretched motionless upon the blood-stained earth. What chance bullet might not suddenly strike Percival's breast, and lay him too, stiff and cold, upon the ground? It was strange, the girl often mused in her tortured anxiety, how little, with all her love for her father and Rhiwallon, she had reckoned upon any one of those stray bullets hurting them; yet now her imagination saw at every moment of the day each bullet fired from every gun of the enemy to be whizzing through the air with deadly aim at that one breast, which was Percival's, and every sword bared but to strike at his brave heart! Yet Rhiwallon had already fallen, and the chaplain laboured on unhurt at his ministrations to the sick and dying, and in his brave support of the earl against that deadly weakness ever ready to ensnare him in its toils; while Primrose prayed day by day within her castle walls for strength to make her sacrifice of her friend more willingly, to offer him, if need be, even to death upon the battlefield for her father's sake--yet every day feeling his image to grow in absence ever dearer to her heart.

Long letters Percival sent on every opportunity to cheer her, and in the following spring he gladdened her greatly by the news that his friend Jeremy Taylor was constantly at his side, much comforting both himself and the earl with his company, he having been appointed chaplain to the royal forces, and finding in active service some small solace in his recent sad bereavement--the death of his fair wife, which great sorrow now bound him in yet closer union to the friend of his boyhood than heretofore. And Primrose, on hearing of his sad grief and loss, feeling a deep pity for his three motherless boys, sent for them into Wales, greatly to the little Elidore's delight, and lovingly cherished them within her own walls during several months, both herself and Lady Rosamond finding in their care for the children some forgetfulness of their worst anxieties, and rejoicing to hear the ancient corridors ring with the sound of their young voices. So with some few weeks spent at intervals at Caer Caradoc, that long lonely year wore away, and in the autumn the earl, not destined to follow to the end the fortunes of his unhappy sovereign, was brought back to his ancient stronghold by his faithful chaplain, grievously wounded in battle, weak and weary unto death, yet rejoicing that at last a Bryn Afon should be counted worthy to die an honourable death. With him came also Sir Ivor Meredith and Sir Tristram Ap Thomas, and Lady Rosamond and her son departed with her husband to their own home, there to spend his leave of absence in mutual rejoicing over their happy reunion, while Sir Tristram, after once again pleading his unalterable devotion to the fair Lady Shanno, and finding her heart to be only more wholly than ever given to his rival, whom nevertheless she would never marry, came to the conclusion that his case was hopeless, and departed sulkily to the wooded heights of Craig Arthur, whither, it may be as well at once to relate, seeing that we shall have but little further dealing with him, he brought, after some few months, a fair English bride, with whom he lived happily many years.

Meanwhile the earl lingered during the space of a year in much suffering of body, but in a peace of mind which was but at rare intervals broken by the memory of the curse upon his house or by its actual influences, from which it seemed that the presence of his loved daughter had a special power to protect him, aided by the holy influences of him whose love for herself and her fallen house grew deeper day by day, and whose one earnest prayer and desire was, that her father might pass away from this world in a peace unknown to his forefathers, free at last from the blight of that horrible curse which his own luckless ancestor had pronounced. Many hours the chaplain spent in reading and prayer with the wounded earl, whose careless, pleasure-loving nature, deepened and softened by the hardships of the battlefield and by his present bed of sickness, drank in new strength and vigour from its constant contrast with one whose daily life was a renewed sacrifice of all life's dearest hopes. And when the old evil gained the mastery, and, like Saul, he was for a time as one possessed with a demon, it was the chaplain with his organ, or Primrose with her harp, who, like David, soothed him and brought him back to reason by their wonderful gift of music; and as the old halls rang with the sweet sound of those harpstrings, his troubled soul grew still, and Percival listened like one entranced to the heavenly strains, and saw visions of the harpers ever "harping with their harps" around the throne of God, and of that white-robed throng who have "come out of great tribulation," in whose pure midst he and Primrose might perchance in the mercy of God one day forget their present sorrows in a mutual service of love and worship which should know no ending.

As the days went by, and it was gradually made known in the village that the earl lay in his dying illness, a great hush of mysterious awe and dread expectancy fell upon the village, and even Master Jones forbore to stir up strife, while all listened breathlessly for the sounds of woe and horror which by day and night had ever been heard from within the walls of the ill-fated castle, as each of its lords had in bygone days lain a-dying. Never once for many a long generation had the mysterious and horrid sounds failed at such times to strike terror into the hearts of the villagers, and even Jack the boatman, who had never throughout his life countenanced idle tales and gossip, willingly, about the family he served, had ever been fain to confess that this tale was a true one, which could not be gainsayed, and moreover, that the apparition of the lady, who walked the long avenue, weeping and wringing her hands, had been no phantom of a disordered imagination, but a fearsome reality. But now peace reigned about the grim grey walls, and men might walk by the riverside, under the shadow of the ancient battlements, which frowned from the hilltop, with no fear lest sudden shrieks rending the still night air should strike terror to their hearts; and sheep and cattle grazed confidently upon the steep, grassy hillsides, which sloped sharply upwards from the river to the castle walls, and showed no fear.

Some said that the old gipsy had laid the castle under a spell during the days of King Arthur, she having in those days had ill dealings with Merlin the necromancer, whose name yet clings to certain localities in the vale of Gwynnon and neighbourhood of Caer Caradoc, she herself having been possessed of a charmed life, granted her by the Evil One for the express purpose of seeing her wicked spell fulfilled, and in the strength of which she had survived through many long generations, until the chaplain, Percival Vere, whom all regarded as holy beyond all ordinary men, had been specially sent by providence to bring her wickedness to an end and break the spell.

Others lamented sorely the death of the learned Rhiwallon on the battlefield, believing that in his hands lay the secret of the removal of the curse, he, as descendant of one of the renowned physicians of Glyn Melen, having succeeded to all the wisdom and secret knowledge vouchsafed to them by their mystic mother, the Maiden of the Pool. Had a few more years of life been granted him, said some, the curse would verily have been removed during the earl's lifetime, and another proof been given of the supernatural lore of the Brethren, which some were bold enough to deny in these modern times. But the physician had been taken away at the very critical moment--just when his master verged upon the age of fifty years--and anxiety and excitement waxed stronger and stronger in the village as that birthday, which none of his forefathers had for generations lived to see, drew actually near. There was much recalling to mind among the village folk of the wild rhymes of the ancient gipsy, in which she had foretold that the day would come when the curse should be removed from the castle, but that with its removal the last heir should perish and the walls crumble to dust, which prophecy, said they, but betrayed the extreme malignancy of her spirit, since that were verily no true removal at all. And since the Fair Maid of Gwynnon, renouncing all earthly bliss, had vowed to be herself its last heir, the simple folk, who worshipped her very shadow as it fell across their path, prayed daily that the dark sayings of the wild woman might have no power to hurt her, but that she might long be spared to dwell among them, to free her noble father's memory from all past shame by the influence of her own sweet and pure life.

Slowly the dark days of winter passed by, and when the early spring-time of a new year dawned the earl might often be seen, treading with slow and feeble footstep, as he leaned upon his daughter's arm, the narrow footpath across the fields to the little church on the hillside, from whose steeple the bells called merrily to Evensong, and within whose walls, as the light from the beautiful stained window he had erected in the chancel to the memory of the wife who had suffered so many things for his sake, fell in many-coloured shadows on the pavement at his feet, his spirit once more held communion with hers, and the past sorrows of their troubled life together rolled away from his burdened memory as the peace of that holy sanctuary filled his soul. And it was not till the chilly winds of autumn began to blow through the valley that the halting footsteps ceased to pass to and fro, and that those among the village folk who had loved to linger on a warm summer's evening on the hillside, to catch the earl's kindly smile as he passed, began to venture for the first time in the memory of the oldest among them within the great iron gates, which had so long shut off the dark avenue from the outer world, to the very door of the castle, to bring some humble offering to him whom their loyal hearts had ever been ready to love an he would have let them, and to crave from their golden-haired idol, Lady Shanno, one word of assurance with her own lips that her father yet lived and was in peace. The year had been an exciting one to the staunch little band of Cavaliers in the remote Welsh valley, and whether for the fugitive king himself or for their own beloved earl, his faithful friend and servant, they were ready to dare all things, and many of them in their enthusiasm to commit any wild extravagance of loyalty. The execution of Archbishop Laud in the early spring had aroused their most stormy feelings, and mightily increased the violence of their animosity towards the Roundhead party in the village and neighbourhood, of whom Master Jones was a more valiant leader than ever. Not a man among them but felt that bloody deed to be a personal insult to himself, for had not the good archbishop been formerly bishop of their own St. David's, and ever the friend and benefactor of that holy and learned friend of their vicar's, Master Jeremy Taylor, to whom they were well-nigh as loyal in devotion as to Percival Vere himself? Hardly could Percival restrain his flock within peaceable limits, and protect the person, goods, and chattels, and whitewashed conventicle of his brother preacher from the indignation of the gallant Cavaliers! And side by side with their political excitement ran that on behalf of the earl, the anxiety with which they anticipated his now possible realisation of his fiftieth birthday growing keener day by day, until when at length, early in the month of October, that long-prayed-for yet much-dreaded day arrived and found him still living, their enthusiasm carried them in one body, men, women, and children, to the hillside, where such a ringing of Percival's new peal of bells sounded out for hours over hill and dale as brought men running eagerly from the neighbouring hamlets to ask if the traitor Cromwell's head were indeed off at last! And at her father's bedside Shanno wept in mingled joy and pain at the merry pealing of the bells, and the earl himself lay quietly listening with a smile of mingled amusement and gratitude to the noisy demonstration of his devoted villagers. "And my people indeed cross my accursed threshold day after day to ask for me?" he said wistfully. "Then if so, the curse is verily passing away from my house, and I may indeed hope to die of these wounds, honourably, for my king. Death is not far from me, but each day I dread lest my sin may yet find me out, and bring me to the horrible end of my forefathers! I would fain be remembered in the prayers of the poor, whom I have to my shame so neglected in the past, and go hence with the thought that they no longer shun my walls as the enclosure of dark and dreadful horrors!"

"They come daily to ask for your health," said Percival, "and to offer you the love they have long stored up for you in their faithful hearts. And all their dread of crossing your threshold is indeed past--driven from their minds by the knowledge that one so fair and sweet as your loved Shanno has herself now long dwelt within these grim old walls, and that from her pure presence every accursed thing must needs have fled away. She has undone the curse of your house, my lord, and if I have been privileged to help her with the efforts to which my love for yourself and her has prompted me I am thankful to God for it, as I am also thankful from my inmost heart to your brave physician, our dear Rhiwallon--God rest his soul!--whose life was so nobly given to the same end! Ap Gryffyth's words shall have no further power to harm you, my dear lord and father! Let their sting be for ever forgotten, and the thought that you are about to die for your loved sovereign of the wounds which you have so bravely suffered on his behalf banish for aye from your mind all recollection of the sin of your erring forefather."

"Think you my love may atone for his treachery?" said the earl eagerly. "Fain would I think so! I have been wild in my youth, and cowardly in doing no more valiant battle against the curse laid upon me, but I have ever loved my king and been true to his cause. Fain would I have fought a longer fight for him, but it has been otherwise willed, and in the comfort of his gracious message sent me yestere'en in good Master Taylor's letter, I can die content. His 'faithful friend' he calls me; ay, so I have ever been! Not even you, Percival, nor my dear and honoured physician who has tended me in my wildest frenzies, and gone before me to reap the reward of his faithful service, have e'er heard me breathe a word against my sovereign!"

"Nay," said Shanno proudly, "it shall ever be said of the last of the Bryn Afons, that he was a valiant soldier and gallant defender of his king and country, and that, shaking off at last the cruel fetters which had bound so many generations, he died bravely of honourable wounds, a willing victim to his love for his friend."

"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,'" said the chaplain gently. "Rejoice, my lord, that in this you have been counted worthy to follow in the steps of One who spake such noble words, and shrank not from putting them into yet nobler action." A beautiful light shone in the earl's blue eyes, in which the old restlessness had during these months of illness been slowly giving place to a look of quiet peace, and he looked from his young chaplain's earnest face--already glowing with that vision of God which is promised to the "pure in heart"--to the sweet countenance of his daughter, with ineffable love and tenderness.

"In that none can be closer followers of Him than you, my children," he said with a sad smile; "for you, rather than bring ill upon unknown generations, have given up all that this life holds most dear, and for Him have in truth 'laid down your lives!' The thought that I must die and leave no heir to my ancient name has been to me a grievous sorrow, and such is the vanity of earthly ambition that I have but on this my dying bed been able to acquiesce cheerfully in your self-sacrifice. But now let a father's blessing bid you each God-speed on your long path of duty, and ever cheer you with the knowledge that he too with enlarged vision can now look with you beyond this fleeting world and its passing joys, and realise the immortal bliss which awaits his suffering children in the world to come." ... And when, not many days later, they closed his eyes and knelt beside his worn-out frame in silent prayer and tears, the lovers felt that by his words another link had been forged in that golden chain which bound them; and their grief at his loss, like that of his ever-faithful villagers, was soothed to thankful quietness by the thought that at last a Bryn Afon had passed to his last home in peace.

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