CHAPTER XXXIX

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THE WARNING FULFILLED.

"For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minutes at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!" --ROBERT BROWNING.

"Where there exists the most ardent and true Love, it is often better to be united in Death than separated in Life."--VALERIUS MAXIMUS.

The 30th of January of the year 1649 dawned dark and lowering in the vale of Gwynnon, and while those dark scenes which dyed Cromwell's hand in blood were being enacted in far-distant London, and the hearts of the murdered king's faithful followers in the hamlet of Bryn Afon were aching bitterly over the tragedy to be that day consummated, the wind raged and howled through the valley, and tore up the trees along the river-bank in its mad fury, while the rain fell in torrents of angry weeping, the very elements themselves lifting up as it were a wild cry of protestation against the deed of wickedness which was being perpetrated.

Within the walls of the castle the grey-headed old boatman spent the long dreary hours of that dreadful day in sore lamentation and weeping for the sovereign he had loved with unflagging loyalty through all the dark struggles of the past, and whose cause he had to the last firmly believed must surely triumph in the end; and by his side, soothing him as well as her own aching heart knew how, sat his granddaughter, longing throughout each weary hour for the safe return of Percival Vere, who had gone forth in the early forenoon on an errand of mercy, at some miles distant beyond the river, and whose homeward journey she feared might be fraught with danger, not so much from the stormy weather as from the lawless crowd, who, collected together by Master Jones from miles around, and incited by himself and his few followers in the village of Cwmfelin, had marched to and fro throughout the day, singing wild songs of vengeance upon the followers of the murdered king, and uttering openly their dark and as yet unfulfilled threats against Master Vere and his Papistical church on the hillside. Scarcely had their hands been restrained from violence, when just after midday, at the hour of the unhappy king's execution, the little building had been filled from end to end with his gallant subjects in the loyal little Welsh village, and its walls had resounded with their unrestrained weeping, as they joined with their beloved vicar and good Master Taylor in prayer and supplication for their murdered monarch. But some remnant of gentleness yet dwelling in Master Jones's lawless heart restrained him from striking a blow against the sacred building whilst the fair river-maiden knelt in prayer within its walls, and though he was capable of inciting any violence towards the person of the pure-hearted young priest whom he hated, he shrank from lifting a finger against him while she who loved him was by his side. So, his turbulent followers being restrained with difficulty from committing their evil deeds until a more convenient season, the little band of Cavaliers were permitted peacefully to join in the prayers offered to God by their vicar for their beloved sovereign and his cruelly bereaved family, and to hearken in quietness of spirit to the beautiful words afterwards spoken to them by Master Taylor from the pulpit, in which he exhorted them not to return "railing for railing," but to "suffer and be still," and prayed them to return quietly to their own homes, remembering the words of Holy Writ: "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."

Long were the brave and eloquent words spoken by Master Jeremy Taylor at that memorable hour treasured in the hearts of the simple village folk, and long they remembered with tears and sorely aching hearts the holy upturned faces of Primrose and the lily-knight, as they knelt in prayer side by side when the benediction had been pronounced, the light of another world--not long hence to illumine for ever their beautiful features--already shedding its gleams of coming glory upon their pure countenances. Slowly and with reverent step the gallant band had proceeded homewards, and Percival, leaving Primrose in safety within her own walls, had gone forth on his distant errand to a dying person, accompanied some part of the way, greatly to her relief and joy, by his friend Jeremy, who on this day clung to him with a feeling he could not analyse of being strangely loth to let him out of his sight. But Primrose knew that Master Taylor's own duties must call him homeward to Craig Arthur ere late in the day, and as twilight fell, and she began to anticipate her lover's lonely return through the darkness, her anxiety could with difficulty be controlled, and she sat at the casement, watching the raging of the storm with a beating heart, side by side with the old boatman, who, trembling with apprehension for the fate of his bridge, had for hours sat patiently at the little window immediately above it, fearing every moment to see it carried down the stream. At length, in the thickly gathering gloom, both bridge and river became invisible to his failing sight, and Primrose had scarcely persuaded him to exchange his seat for one closer to the crackling logs on the wide hearth, when, looking out herself from a window on the farther side of the room, she saw sudden flames leap up on the hillside, and at the same time wild shouts rent the air, and above the storm voices could be heard below, shrieking; "The church! the church! Where is Master Vere? The church is burning!"

Primrose clasped her hands for a moment in wild despair. Already had her own warders and serving-men been some hours since despatched to the defence of the sacred building, together with a brave band of the stoutest and sturdiest villagers, and no other help was at hand. From the distant din of voices which reached her ear as she flung open the window and leaned out breathless with terror into the darkness, it was evident that the whole village had flocked to the scene of the riot, and the horrid glare of the leaping flames proved only too surely that the enemy had been too strong for the brave Bryn Afon guard. She turned from the window and glanced at her grandfather, and seeing by his peaceful countenance that his deaf ears had failed to catch the cry from below, or even her own startled exclamations of dismay, her resolution was quickly taken. No one but herself should break the news of this awful sacrilege to her lover, whose heart would well-nigh break at the hearing of such a deed. He had assured her he should return to the castle before nightfall, that she might know of his safety ere he took his way to the parsonage. She herself would slip out quietly under cover of the storm, and await him by the boatman's bridge, and break gently to him this act of wickedness ere other ruder tongues could reveal it. His way lay along the valley and through the dark woodlands the other side of the river. There was but little chance of his seeing the dreadful flames until he had crossed the bridge, since the greater height of the steep on which Bryn Afon stood would hide the farther hillside from his view.

"Grandfather," she whispered in the old man's ear, "the rain has cleared a little, and ere it grows later I will steal down to the riverside and see that your bridge is safe for any night passers-by who chance to cross it. Percival must needs pass that way, and I fear somewhat for him, lest the storm should have worked damage, and rendered the footing dangerous. Ere long I will return. Do not fear for me, for the crowds have passed along to the other side of the village, and I shall meet no foe in the darkness. See, if you have need of aught, you have but to sound this gong which I leave at your side, and the maidens will wait on you. But prithee tell them not I have quitted the house, else they will fall into foolish terrors. Anon Percival and I will once more be at your side."

And kissing him tenderly, she left him, half slumbering in his quiet corner, and slipped quietly out of the castle, while the flames ever leaped higher on the hill, and the distant roar of voices grew every moment wilder. To venture to the scene of the tumult was impossible. All the men it was safe to spare from the castle were already there, doing, she well knew, their very utmost to quell the fury of the flames and drive back the foe. But the enemy was in possession, and with a bitter pang she was forced to realise that the little church, in which she and Percival had vowed their vows of love and so often prayed together, and without whose walls her beloved parents lay sleeping, was doomed to swift destruction.

Her feet sped with a swiftness borne of love towards the bridge, which swung to and fro across the raging, foaming waters, as though each moment it must be dashed by the furious wind into a thousand pieces. Hardly could she keep her footing along the narrow roadway, but the bridge was reached at last, and she bravely walked half-way across it, trembling and giddy in the darkness; then--oh, horror!--in the dim, fast-decreasing light, she suddenly beheld at her very feet a black chasm, where, in the fury of the storm, several boards had been dashed from the footway at the very centre of the bridge, leaving a gap far too wide for her to pass, and for Percival barely possible by a skilful leap. A cold shiver passed through her frame as she saw the deadly danger he must run were he to cross alone later in the evening, in yet deeper darkness. She gazed around--no human being stirred in the dim distance. She called, but no voice answered. All were watching, far away on the hillside, with fascinated eyes those lurid flames, which now, in face of this new danger to her beloved, Primrose forgot utterly. She crept back to the bank, and searched eagerly up and down in the darkness for a boat or raft--anything by means of which she could row herself across the torrent and bring back Percival in safety. But there was no raft, however rude, in sight. The boat-house was locked, and the boatman, Jack's successor, was far away on the hillside, as Primrose knew, one of the chosen band for the defence of the ill-fated church. She must stay on the bridge and watch for Percival--it was all she could do--and in her anxiety for him the stormy wind and driving rain were trifles she hardly noticed as she eagerly strained her eyes across the swaying bridge into the blackness beyond, to catch the first glimpse of his figure. And as the long moments dragged themselves away, and she remained a lonely sentinel in the ever-gathering gloom of night, a vision came to her like those of her childish dreams--a vision of King Arthur's knights of old, pacing to and fro on their brave palfreys along the winding road by the riverside, and this time they rode stately and slow, and at their head, on snow-white steed, rode, with pure and reverent countenance and eyes which seemed to gaze far away into distant worlds, Sir Galahad, the "Lily Knight," bearing aloft the Holy Grail. And as she gazed in rapture upon him who wore the very image of her own true love, his face and form faded gradually into an ethereal shape of silvery whiteness, on whose head there gleamed a faintly shining crown of gold, and by his side she seemed to see her own shadow standing; and as a crown like his was likewise placed upon her head, a voice like sweetest music whispered through the rippling of the waters; "These are they which have come out of great tribulation." And then she saw and heard no more, only around her a yet deeper gloom and a yet fiercer raging of wind and water, so that she was fain to cling for very life to the frail handrail of the quivering bridge, lest she should be swept into the roaring current below.

At last, after what had seemed to be many weary hours, she felt the bridge tremble beneath the weight of a new footstep, and cried in mingled joy and terror: "Percival, Percival, come no farther at your peril!" as the darkly-clad figure of the chaplain, scarcely discernible in the blackness of the night, stopped short on the very verge of the yawning chasm. "Primrose!" he exclaimed in a voice of deep gladness, yet mingled with surprise and anxiety,--"sweetheart--what brings you hither in such wild weather? Ah, you have braved alone these fearful elements, to tell me of yon flames on the hillside? Yes, I have seen their glare upon the blackness of the sky, and too well I know their meaning. Dear one----" "Come not a step farther, if you love me, Percival!" she cried in terror, as he moved nearer in the darkness. "Betwixt you and me there yawns a black depth, where the boards have been torn from the footpath in the storm! Ah, you have already seen the flames and guessed their import? Yes, dear heart, I came to break the news gently to you, as I hoped, trusting yon castle-heights had hid them from your sight as you passed along the wooded valley; and finding the bridge had thus given way, I waited for you, dreading lest alone in such thick darkness you should come to harm. Think you you can leap the chasm, Percival? Oh, I fear terribly, lest as you leap, your weight should bring the whole bridge down and hurl you into the water!"

[Illustration: "THE BLINDING SPRAY DASHED UP AND COVERED THEM."]

Percival tried the distance between them with his stick, and for a moment paused irresolute. "The words of the gipsy are verily being fulfilled," he said musingly. "The river-spirit is indeed let loose in the valley, and is running riot! It is but now an old shepherd told me there had been no such storms or floods in the valley within the memory of man! Well, I will not be rash. 'Twere vain to try to swim across such a foaming torrent! I must e'en risk the leap. But, Shanno--sweetheart--you must first leave the bridge, and let me know you safe on yonder bank, for my weight alone will sorely try the strength of these rotting timbers!" "I sought for a boat, Percival," said the girl, trembling from head to foot, "but none are left out in such weather, and Morgan, who keeps the keys of the boat-house, is away amid yon riotous crowd, where he and our brave men have striven in vain to save our church! Methought I could have crossed the river had there been some craft at hand, and we could have so returned together." "I am glad you found no craft, sweetheart!" he answered earnestly, "for you must verily have been dashed to pieces ere you reached the other side! Nay, the leap is my only chance. Have no fear for me.--Shanno, you must obey me! Till you call to me that you are safe on yon bank I will never risk it!" Primrose shuddered, hesitating with a wild fear of putting any yet greater distance between herself and him she loved; then, her trustful spirit of obedience gaining the mastery, she boldly crept to land, and called to him to follow. He leaped, and such a wild crash followed, that Shanno rushed madly forward, and had but just thrown her arms around him before the footway along which she had passed was torn asunder and tossed into a thousand fragments; and clasped in each other's arms they two stood alone above the raging torrent on the few planks which yet remained firm upon their strong posts in the very midst of the stream. On either side of them a black gulf yawned deep and dreadful, and the blinding spray dashed up and covered them as the river boiled and seethed beneath their feet in its mad fury. "Dear love, you have waited long hours for me," said Percival, "and you are cold and wet. How can I save you? You should have let me die here alone! Did I not bid you stay on the bank in safety?" "I was cold and wet," said Primrose dreamily, "but my heart was warm. Sweetheart, life without you would be death! A grave beside you here in this dark river is sweeter far than life. In the dark river--you remember what the gipsy sang?--'In the dark river the Primrose and Lily shall sleep!' Farewell, my lily-knight! We have loved faithfully on earth through much suffering, and God will never part us in heaven!" And in the blackness of the storm the chaplain commended his own soul and hers into the hands of Him who "holds the waters in the hollow of His hand, and metes them whithersoever He will;" and as the lips of the lovers met in one long last kiss, a crash, heard above the roaring of the wind by the terrified servants within the castle walls above, rent the air with horrible sound, and in a few moments nought remained of Jack the boatman's bridge but a few broken spars, which the angry torrent flung upon the banks as it whirled the fragments hither and thither in its rage. And the Primrose and the Lily, whom no mad, revengeful river-spirit had power to sever, rising unharmed to the surface, floated gently down the stream, tightly clasped in each other's arms, towards a quiet pool beneath an overhanging willow, whose bare, leafless branches bowed down, weeping, over their beautiful lifeless bodies, and where the angry current swept by, leaving them unharmed, to sleep their last long sleep together, the fair Lady Shanno's golden hair floating out around them both on the silent surface of the still pool like a halo of glory.

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