CHAPTER XXXVIII

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MASTER TAYLOR AT CRAIG ARTHUR.

"The most powerful of the human passions is love in its mystical, ideal, spiritual fervour."--_Essay on_ BROWNING.

"It is foolish to be afraid of making our ties too spiritual, as if so we could lose any genuine love."--EMERSON.

So, being rid of the burden of so many weary weeks, Lady Shanno returned bravely to her solitary castle, and her knight to his humbler dwelling in the valley, looking for no higher joy than to know that some radiance might in God's mercy shine forth from their pure and holy lives athwart the darkness of the strife and bitterness, which, reigning throughout England, overflowed in no small share into the far-distant Welsh valleys. Scarce could any district in the principality follow the fortunes of the fallen king with more loyal enthusiasm and devotion than the fair vale of Gwynnon, roused by the gallant deeds of Sir Ivor Meredith and many another brave owner of those sturdy strongholds which crowned the rocky hill-tops, and above all by the devotion of the people to the memory of the brave but unfortunate Lord Bryn Afon, who had given his life for his sovereign, and expiated by a noble death his early deeds of sin and folly--the fatal inheritance of his forefathers. And in the year after his death the zeal of the simple folk was freshly kindled by the news that at the battle of Cardigan their favourite preacher and their beloved vicar's bosom friend, Master Jeremy Taylor, had been taken prisoner, whereupon much excitement ensued, and great sympathy was enlisted on his behalf, and finally, he being allowed his freedom, though deprived both of his chaplaincy to the royal forces and of his living in Rutlandshire, was induced by his noble friend the Earl of Carbery, who dwelt at the brave mansion of Gelli Aur, beyond the river, to seek retirement for a season in the valley he loved so well, and with the earl's help and patronage to earn a livelihood by opening a school at Craig Arthur, which noble mansion was generously thrown open to his use by Sir Tristram, during his own absence on the field of battle, his wife being safe the while within the walls of her English home. So on these fair wooded heights above the river good Master Taylor entered upon a new vocation, and it was not long ere many well-born youths of the neighbourhood flocked to his school-house, one among them being Sir Ivor's son, little Elidore of Caer Caradoc, Lady Shanno's gallant champion. And so glad were all those who knew the gifts of learning and piety possessed by this good and holy friend of Master Vere's to place their children under the care and influence of so rarely gifted a master, that the great man did not want for pupils during the years of his humble retirement, while the poor folk in the country villages received with pride the kindly word and smile he was wont to give them as he passed on his frequent walks between Craig Arthur and Cwmfelin Parsonage. For no door was so gladly opened to him as that of his old friend Percival Vere, whom his loving friendship and society greatly cheered in the labours and anxieties of his now somewhat turbulent parish, and with whom he was wont to take "sweet counsel" daily when his work was done, becoming himself too a member of that "League of the Holy Cross," which met week by week for prayer in the church on the hillside, and under Percival's direction laboured bravely, in spite of ridicule and obloquy, in the cause of temperance and sobriety throughout the neighbourhood.

A coffee-house, built by Lady Shanno close upon the riverside, became a frequent resort of many who had hitherto spent night after night at the village tavern or the inn at the cross-roads, and within its pleasant walls the sweet sounds of her wondrous harp strings, or of her own beautiful voice, might be often heard, ringing out into the still evening air, while lectures on the nature and evils of strong drink were made as interesting to the listeners as the learning and eloquence of Jeremy or Percival could make them, and were week by week thronged with eager men and women. At such gatherings the introduction of politics was rigorously excluded, such topics receiving during every other night in the week a share of attention, both at home and in the open street, which was not conducive to the peace of the parish. For in proportion to the zeal of the king's humble followers in the wild Welsh hamlets was the hatred and fanaticism of those who sided with his enemies or vaunted an independence their little country was powerless to maintain, so that party strife reigned supreme over hill and dale, and often in the hollows of the dark woods and lonely copses by the riverside there lurked wild spirits thirsting for vengeance on their foes, and in knowledge of whom Primrose often trembled for the safety of her faithful knight, who, intent upon his mission, passed continually on errands of love and mercy by night as well as by day along the unfrequented byways and over the wild hills, and was in frequent peril of rude attack and insult, if not of bodily injury from those who both in religious and civil matters opposed his teachings.

But there were still few in the hamlet itself who would not have cheerfully laid down their lives for their vicar, such love and devotion had he awakened in their rough yet warm and tender hearts; and had any lawless spirit of the country-side ventured an actual attack upon him, but sorry treatment would he have received at their hands. Indeed scarcely less was their love for him than for the Lady Shanno herself, the radiance of whose youthful beauty her many sorrows had but changed into a more chastened and ethereal charm, touching her face and form with lightly-reverent fingers, as though loth to mar a thing so fair. From far and wide the poor thronged to her castle gates, with their tales of woe or pleadings for help and guidance, no longer remembering with any dread that curse which had till but lately held back their trembling feet as with some strong spell from venturing within a stone's-throw of those grim grey walls, but conscious only that within those frowning battlements and mouldering stones dwelt one whose praises were sung throughout the quiet vale, whose very shadow was blessed by old and young, and the sound of her footsteps welcomed like the tread of an angel, and for the sake of whose loving smile and tender word of sympathy the most superstitious believer in the old tales of horror would bravely cross the once-dreaded threshold, and even pass fearlessly along the dim resounding corridors to reach the sanctum from which the meanest among them would not be turned away without a hearing.

It was also Shanno's great delight to throw open her doors to the lads of Master Taylor's school, especially to his own three motherless boys and their inseparable friend little Elidore of Caer Caradoc, and on many a holiday afternoon the old halls would ring with the merry boyish voices till twilight would draw them by common consent to Lady Shanno's boudoir, where clustering round the glowing fire they would coax the old boatman, seated in his old oak chair in the ingle-nook, to tell them tales of his own boyish days, specially delighting to hear him recount the history of the building of his beloved bridge, on which he could expatiate for hours together, telling of hairbreadth escapes from drowning in connection therewith and of adventures at flood-time such as are ever dear to the boyish soul. And often while his flock were safe in the charge of their heroine, to whom they vied with each other in devotion, Master Taylor, with books under each arm, would gladly slip away to Cwmfelin Parsonage, to enjoy a few quiet hours with his friend Percival Vere in the old wainscotted library, where already the vicar could boast of shelves of books hardly less noteworthy than those of his aged friend and predecessor good Master Rhys. There the two young clergymen were wont to spend many a delightful hour in literary conversation and pursuits, Master Taylor bringing with him precious manuscripts of his own, and reading aloud to his friend passages from the works on which he was diligently engaged in his leisure moments between school-hours, and on which he delighted to receive Percival's ever-ready sympathy, and such advice as his humility could be prevailed upon to give to one whom he regarded as of infinitely greater learning than himself. Especially did the friends take counsel together upon the production of Master Taylor's _Golden Grove_, written, among other books, during this time of exile, and with much interest Percival awaited its completion, feeling with Jeremy himself that the day was not far off when the use of the Book of Common Prayer would be surely prohibited for a season, and that in such a deprivation this work of his friend's would be of greatest value and comfort. Indeed the young vicar was beginning to feel that ere long he too might share Master Taylor's fate in losing his cure and being forced to hide his head till the storms of increasing religious agitation had blown over, and he often contemplated with pain and dread the day when his beloved little church on the hillside should in its turn be desecrated by the sacrilegious hand of Cromwell. Such a grievous calamity seemed indeed only too perilously near, when Caer Cynau itself was invaded by the Republican army in the year 1648, and the country-side rang for months with the wild excitement of the sieges of Pembroke and Tenby castles. Indeed it was but just across the river, beyond the wooded hills which ran along its farther shore, that, on the lonely heights of Glascoed, Oliver himself encamped for a time, during which season party feeling rose to boiling-point at Cwmfelin, and enough arrows were aimed across the Gwynnon at those distant heights from the cross-bows of Master Taylor's pupils on the battlements of Craig Arthur, to have slain a score of Cromwells, had the "field of tents" been within the range of these gallant young Cavaliers. Then, during the sieges of those brave old strongholds of Pembroke and Tenby the fair vale of Gwynnon sent the flower of her youth to their defence, and for three months they held out bravely under their valiant defenders, among whom Sir Ivor of Caer Caradoc and the gay Sir Tristram of Craig Arthur were not the least noteworthy. But the Roundhead forces were too strong, and the surrender of Tenby in June was followed by that of Pembroke in July, and the brave youths and gallant knights returned sad at heart to the valley.

Meanwhile the little church at Cwmfelin still stood bravely, and the peace of the village remained uninterrupted throughout this stormy season except by its own internal warfare and strife of tongues, which day by day waxed more bitter and clamorous.

It was a fine time for the boys at Craig Arthur, who, lying in deadly ambush through many a long summer's afternoon upon the wooded slopes beneath their ancient school-house, made at twilight many an exciting escape from their bushy hiding-places by means of boats moored below, in which they would row with all the hushed secrecy of dread reality to the boatman's bridge, Master Taylor himself being at the helm, and conclude their exploit by scaling the steep greensward of Bryn Afon and startling its young mistress by showers of blows upon the ancient oaken doors of her fastness. Or, as a reward for exceptionally good conduct and studious behaviour, a privileged few might sometimes be seen wending their way with slow, laborious step and bowed and aching back along the rude subterranean passage which, on its way from the distant Caer Caradoc to Bryn Afon, passed by Craig Arthur and was an altogether too tempting mode of access to Lady Shanno's domains to be wholly forbidden. And there was not a boy in the school but vowed that he would at any time make the journey through the secret passage alone at midnight, just for the sake of seeing the Lady Shanno's beautiful face and golden hair, since to each of them she was not only the impersonation of all graces and virtues, but also surrounded in their imagination with a halo of romance such as made of her the fairy princess of an enchanted castle, or the very Queen Guinevere of olden times, re-incarnated in the pure and holy form of a saint! But of all her champions none equalled in chivalrous devotion little Elidore of Caer Caradoc, who spent much time at the castle, his mother being so frequent a visitor, and again taking up her abode with Primrose during her husband's absence at the siege of Pembroke; and of his own particular favour with his heroine he made no small capital among his envious schoolmates. A beautiful boy was young Elidore, bidding fair to be a worthy successor to his father's ancient name and estate, and in his black velvet suit and deep point-lace collar, over which his thick auburn curls clustered, and with his handsome features and bright brown eyes, a picturesque occupant of the ancient halls he dearly loved to frequent. Born many years after their marriage, he was the idol of his parents' hearts, and Primrose loved the boy with scarcely less devotion. "When I am grown up I shall marry you, Primrose," he remarked one day, as he lay at full length upon the hearthrug playing with her favourite spaniel. "I think it is very unkind of all these brave knights in the valley not to have married you long ago!"

"Perhaps she would have none of them, my son," said Lady Rosamond, glancing at Master Vere, who had been engrossed in deep conversation with Lady Shanno, but started with a look of mingled amusement and pain at the boy's speech, and clasped his hand tenderly round the slender fingers which sought his. "Perchance they are all at this very moment dying for love of her and she will but say them nay! Be not over bold, my son, for it may be Primrose doth not choose to marry." "She will marry me," said the boy confidently. "And I shall give her dresses of gold and silver, as many dresses as the great Queen Elizabeth, and she shall go out hunting with me in the forest with a falcon on her wrist! How all the boys will envy Sir Elidore of Caer Caradoc! Unless," and he suddenly glanced suspiciously at the chaplain, and his voice took a tone of anxiety--"unless Master Vere marries her first! If you very much want to marry her, Master Vere," he added magnanimously, though with a sigh, "you may have her, for it will be rather long before I am a man, and perhaps she may get tired of waiting. Master Taylor says one must never keep a lady waiting!" A shout of laughter at this climax covered the blushing discomfiture of Primrose, who said gently; "You shall ever be my own gallant champion, Elidore; but do you see these grey hairs on my head? By the time you have your falcon ready for my wrist I shall be too old to go a-hunting, and my hairs will all be white. Then you will perchance not love me quite as now?"

"I shall love you when you are as white as the boatman," answered the child promptly; "and I know you are not yet old at all, although you have so many silvery hairs. Master Vere has many of them too, and he is not old either, for Master Taylor has told me that he is himself just one year older than you, Master Vere, and he is but thirty-five! Indeed, mother, he will not chide me for telling, for it was but yesterday that he wrote for me in my copy-book, 'Age is honourable.' So if I tell an age I must be 'honourable' too!"

"I am verily none so sure of that," answered Lady Rosamond with a laugh. "But I would have my son honourable in all things, sweet Elidore, and that I trow good Master Taylor will not fail to make thee. Now prithee hold thy prattling tongue, and list to what tidings this letter brings us of thy brave father, and meanwhile Master Vere may have time to consider his acceptance of thy noble relinquishment of the Lady Shanno's hand!"

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So, with her home enlivened by the innocent wiles of children, and cheered by the daily visits of the poor and suffering to whom she loved to minister, the Lady Shanno saw at last her ancestral halls free from the stain and reproach of the past; and knowing the name of her father's ancient house to be blessed in all the country-side, she bore the self-imposed burden of her life with brave cheerfulness, ever sustained and comforted by the unselfish devotion of her ideal knight, whose name "Sir Galahad" had never been more truly deserved than during these years of their mutual self-sacrifice.

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