CHAPTER IV

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THE EARL'S VISIT.

"Wine above all things doth God's stamp deface." --GEORGE HERBERT.

"Nay, do not fear, or for a moment dream The bridge will fall! These stays, though slight they seem, Will steadfast, when our suns have set, still stand. Yes, they will safely bear, at eve, at morn, The feet of merry children yet to be; Who, in their turn, shall, crossing, pause to see The River hurrying by as if in scorn...." --JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD.

The old castle on the hill had for many years been left desolate, the last known visit of its mysterious owners having taken place on the occasion of the coming of age of the heir and only surviving child, now about eight years ago. There had been grand doings then at the castle: illuminations, feasting and dancing, visitors coming and going from the neighbouring castles, lights burning brilliantly night after night in all the mullioned windows, for on this great occasion no less a guest had been entertained at Bryn Afon than King James himself. Among several Welsh favourites, none held so high a place in the king's esteem and regard as Lord Bryn Afon, who spent much time about the Court, and but seldom cared to dwell among his own people in his riverside stronghold, about whose grim grey walls, fast succumbing under the ravages of time and neglect, there clung the dark and dreadful curse, which none dared name but in hushed whispers, but which had for generations past only too surely held fast each successive earl in its dread toils, each having in his turn to fight his way to the grave through its unknown horrors, beckoned by its relentless finger from the pleasures of the Court or the gay scenes of foreign travel, back to its hideous clutches on the desolate hillside, there to pass away, long ere his threescore years and ten were reached, in a shadow of gloom and mystery which none dared try to penetrate, and whose dark veil no gossiping retainer had ever been known to lift to the outside world.

But hardly were the rejoicings over the kingly visit ended, and the last guests departed, than there came a time now only spoken of in hushed whispers by the villagers. They told tales of shriekings and wailings heard night after night within the castle, of a lady who walked evening after evening through the dusky avenue which led to the entrance-gates of the castle on the farther side of the hill, weeping and wringing her hands, and hardly had the mysterious sounds been for a few days hushed, than the bell had tolled out from the little church on the hill, and the country-folk around said to one another, with pale faces, that they had expected that sound, for that, for generations past, shrieks and wailings from the castle had always been the warning of the approaching death of its lord. There was a stately funeral, and the young earl, only surviving child of the Bryn Afons, stood at the grave, with his handsome boyish face bowed upon his hands, and the bystanders shook their heads and whispered to one another, that for all his strength and beauty, the curse of the castle must fall upon him, and that he too would be laid in his grave ere he was fifty years old. There had never been any one to explain the mystery, for no doctor or clergyman from the neighbourhood was ever called in to minister bodily or spiritual comfort to the dying Bryn Afons, and the servants had for many years past been foreigners, unable to breathe, if they would, a word in explanation of the strange family history of their masters.

It was said that the young earl had declared he would never visit the castle again after his father's death, and that he had gone abroad with his mother directly after the funeral. Certain it was that no one in the neighbourhood had seen or heard of him since. His mother's remains had been laid in the family grave a year after those of her husband, but the funeral had taken place quite suddenly, and with no stately ceremonies, so that most of the villagers had not even heard of her death till all was over, and whether her son had returned to his own country or not, or whether or no he had since wooed and won a fair bride, none could say. It was a saying in the valley that the Bryn Afons only came to the castle to die, and the fine old building was already half in ruins from neglect during the past two or three hundred years.

Consequently it created considerable surprise and excitement, when, early in the summer--when Little Miss Primrose was just past five years old--news came suddenly to the village that the young earl was coming to spend the summer at the castle. The report proved true, and once more lights shone out at night from the windows, and parties of merry riders passed to and fro along the riverside, day after day, and the villagers stood on their thresholds to see them pass, and held their breath in mingled awe and admiration, as they recognised the earl himself, gay and handsome as ever, riding with graceful ease, and chatting carelessly with one and another of the friends around him. He had a pleasant word and smile in return for every carefully-lifted hat and well-dropped curtsey with which his people greeted him, and more than this none of them expected. None of the late lords of Bryn Afon had ever shown any more personal interest in them than this courteous acknowledgment of their homage, always faithfully tendered, at however long intervals. The only favoured exception to this rule was Jack the boatman, but no one was jealous of him, for as owner of the only boats which could be hired up the river for a considerable distance, and as master of the Bryn Afon fishing, he held an important position, and had been more than ever revered since he had out of his own pocket built the bridge, which had proved such a blessing to the neighbourhood. A man who had saved enough money to build a bridge at the cost of £60 or £70, was a man to be respected. So no one was jealous when it was rumoured that young Lord Bryn Afon had resumed his boyhood's acquaintance with the boatman, and went out boating or fishing with him every day, as he had been wont to do in those few and far-between summers when the late earl had brought him--a handsome, curly-headed boy--to the castle for occasional visits. For the late earl had frequented the castle rather more than his predecessors, and Jack could recall three bright summer weeks in different years when the boy had been his daily companion for a few merry days, and the hero of his now departed wife and daughter.

Now the earl entertained his guests with many a river-excursion, and these were fine times for Little Miss Primrose, for he and his friends liked nothing better than to take her with them on their expeditions, to amuse them with her baby prattle, and keep them awake when they moored their boats, and lay back dreamily on their cushions, with half-closed eyes, sheltering themselves beneath the friendly willows from the hot sun. They were all charmed with the beauty and dignified demeanour of the little Queen of the Flowers, whose mysterious committal to Jack's charge he thought it unnecessary to acquaint them with, saying only that she was the child of a distant relative, who had entrusted him for a time with her guardianship. So the little lady's lofty airs, which mingled humorously with her sweet winning ways, excited no troublesome questionings, while they afforded endless amusement to the castle party. She was worthy of admiration when she ran, with her bright curls tossing in the wind, and her dark eyes shining with glee, to toss handfuls of sweet woodland blossoms at dad's feet, or with sudden half-shy boldness ran to the prostrate figure of the young earl, and dropped her spoils one by one over his face, as he lazily reclined on some mossy bank in the wood, while the boats lay moored below. Jack was infinitely proud of his darling, and while himself keeping at a respectful distance from the merry company on these occasions, prided himself secretly, as he watched her with fond eyes, on the fearless ease of her demeanour with her lordly friends, yet ever and anon saying to himself with a sigh; "Surely the time will come when she will fret against the rough ways of the old boatman, and sorely desire to tread some other path, whither his clumsy feet may scarce hope to follow!" Only once did he venture to interfere with the company on behalf of his child, when one morning the young earl was giving a lunch-party in the woods near the river, and the ladies having as usual called Little Miss Primrose to their side, he took his glass of wine and held it to her rosy lips. Then Jack, who from his retreat at a modest distance had been watching every movement of his darling, started forward, and almost snatching the glass from his young master's hand, exclaimed; "Nay, my lord! Pardon my boldness, but never a drop of strong drink shall my child taste! I have never been a man for drink, as you know, and I would fain bring up the child to follow in my steps at the least in that respect." A murmur of indignation at his interference ran round among the guests, but the earl only laughed satirically. "You know the evil that lurks in the cup, do you, my friend?" he said, while for a moment a dark shadow clouded his sunny face. "Well, every man has a right to his own opinion, but in mine, you don't know half the pleasure of life! There, take the child away--perhaps the sight of the evil thing may be enough to harm her!" "Perchance it may, indeed, my lord," said the boatman thoughtfully. "Forgive me, my lord, but it is a strong point with me, and I must keep to it whatever."

"All right," said the earl carelessly, "you and I are old friends, Jack, and we won't quarrel over a glass of wine!" He tossed off the contents of the glass, followed it by another, and said, as the company rose and dispersed into the sunny glades; "Here, sit down, Jack, and partake, with Little Miss Primrose, judiciously, of such relics of the feast as you may think to be free from the pernicious juice of the grape. You never approved my taste for it in those old days when you and I went salmon-fishing. Why, I remember as it were yesterday, how you stole a bottle of brandy I had in my pocket, ready against any emergency, and flung it into the river, while I was asleep in the boat!" And he laughed at the recollection. "And if I did, my lord," said the boatman, "I meant no disrespect to your lordship. It was my duty, for in truth I was fearful for you, when I found what taste you had for such things at your tender years." "And if I had----" begun the young earl eagerly. "Well, Jack," he continued in an altered tone, "how goes the curse on yon castle? Have the foolish tales yet died out, or do you all cheerfully doom me to the fate of my forefathers?" "I pray God, sir, you may be spared to threescore years and ten," answered Jack, "and to outlive these ill rumours, which yet grow apace, and pass from mouth to mouth among us, with none to say them nay. In truth, my lord, I am glad you have seen fit to come thus and show your face among your people for a season, and I would you were more often with us, for then it might be that these idle tales would after a while die out. But, my lord, you must indeed own that it is seemingly mysterious, when the earls of Bryn Afon, owning this noble old castle, must needs leave it year after year to rot and ruin, scarce dwelling therein at any time for more than two or three days together, except when they come to die. And then, my lord, an I may mention it without offence, there is doubtless good reason for us to say it is haunted." A perceptible shudder ran through the earl's frame, but he said carelessly; "Imagination, good Jack, is generally at the bottom of these foolish stories of ghosts and haunted dwellings. An owl, screeching night after night on the hill-top becomes the shriek of a murdered person, and so the tale goes from one to another of yon credulous villagers. What form has the popular mystery taken in their simple minds? Is there one among them who has ever dared to frame a credible story out of so much imaginary material?" "Nay, my lord," answered Jack; "it would ill befit any of us simple folk to spread abroad false tales of matters concerning the House of Bryn Afon, and indeed a spirit of fear moves our people to quietness, for ghosts are fearsome things to deal with, and it is not well to talk over-much of them." "Aha!" laughed the earl, "I like your wisdom, good Jack, and am well content that my retainers should 'let sleeping dogs lie.' But confess now, that it is a dull place for a man, haunted or not, and you cannot much wonder that we have never greatly loved it. I am here only to please my wife, for I own to have but little love for Bryn Afon." And again a dark look crossed for an instant the careless face. "Your wife, my lord!" exclaimed the boatman. "You are indeed married? Surely, I have oft wondered who the fair lady might be that my young master would take for his bride." "She is in truth passing fair," said the earl, "but the blessing of good health has for some time past been denied her, and it was to humour her sick fancy that I came to the castle. But it is but little enjoyment this fair neighbourhood can give her, since she has not yet once set foot without the castle walls." "Indeed, my lord, I am grieved to hear you say so," said Jack, "and fain would I look upon her sweet face! If I am not too bold whatever--have you been long married, my lord, and have you children?" "Seven years married, good Jack," answered the young earl; "I married some few months after the death of my mother. No, we have no children, and for my wife's part, it is a circumstance upon which she congratulates herself, for this foolish tale about the curse doth verily so frighten her, that she is for ever telling me she can but hope we shall be its last victims. For my own part, I confess that I should find good cheer in the presence of some such golden-haired fairy as yon Primrose! However, the gods do not favour all alike with their gifts! By the way, honest Jack, does that old gipsy still haunt the country-side with her horrid rhymes? I believe she is at the bottom of half the nonsense that is afloat." "Her tales are but the same as those our forefathers have handed down to us," said Jack, thoughtfully, "yet she has indeed added to them detestable rhymes of her own, for which a ducking in the river should be her portion, an she were not a weak woman! It is long now since she has been seen hereabouts, and indeed, since she must verily have reached by now her threescore years and ten, I can but hope it may have pleased Providence to release her! What think you, my lord? It was her last crazy fancy to go about the country abusing my bridge, and prophesying its destruction! Why, indeed, she so took away the people's faith therein, that for a long season many refused to cross it in rough weather. But the folly hath passed, and my bridge showeth yet no sign of decay!" "Ah!" said the earl, "your bridge looks certainly but a light structure, but you are doubtless a fitter judge of its strength than a cantankerous old woman." "I trust so, my lord," said the boatman, "and I have every confidence that your lordship's children (whom may it please God to send to you and your gracious lady) will run many a time across my bridge in safety, and their children after them." "I echo your wish," said the earl, with a laugh. "Whence came to you this lucky thought, old friend, of building a bridge?" "When my daughter was but a little child, my lord," answered Jack, "and I asked her on one of her birthdays what I should do for her, she said to me, 'Build me a bridge over the river, father,' not thinking but that I could do aught she set her heart upon, and having had long since some childish fancy to run to and fro across the river on a bridge of her own. So when she was dead and gone, and I had nought left in the world on which to spend my savings, her words came back to me, and though her feet would ne'er walk over it, I made up my mind to build a bridge for love of her, and surely it was just the making of it whatever that kept this poor brain of mine from turning at the loss of her!" "Well?" said the earl, as the boatman paused. "She died a victim to her curiosity, my lord," said Jack, with a heavy sigh. "I hold that curiosity hath been the downfall of woman since the days of our first parent, but that my own pretty lamb should fall a victim to the sin was indeed ever far from my thoughts!" and Jack brushed away a tear with his rough hand. "She lost her mother, you see, my lord, when she was but a young child, and perchance it may have been from my scarce knowing the best way to train her, that she grew up so high-spirited, and was wild and wilful in her ways. But indeed, I doubt not that she forgot her father's warning, and meant no disobedience, when she went, poor pretty little thing, to her death." "Well?" said the earl again, as Jack paused, fearing lest he were making too free with his noble friend. "You know the underground passage, my lord," said Jack, "which leads from Bryn Afon to Caer Caradoc yonder, passing likewise through Craig Arthur on its way? My daughter was wont at times to pass some few weeks at Caer Caradoc with a friend of her poor mother's, who was housekeeper to the family--for they were ofttimes at the Court, or in foreign parts, and she was pleased to have my little girl with her for company,--and so the child heard all manner of foolish tales from the servants about the wonderful passage, and her poor silly little head became full of the notion that she must needs some day venture therein by herself, and explore its secrets, unknown to them all. I forbade her ever to do such a thing, on pain of such displeasure as she had never yet seen from her father; but some seven years gone by, when she had but just turned her twenty-first birthday, and was over young and giddy for her years, she went again to the castle, and alas, my lord, her curiosity then did verily get the better of her, and forgetting her old dad's warning, she went, unknown to any in the house, into the dark passage. She never had fear in her heart of aught you could name, and doubtless she thought it would be a fine thing to go through to Bryn Afon, and tell us all in triumph of what she had done. Poor little maid! My lord, one day they sent from Caer Caradoc to tell me they had sought for her in the tunnel, and had found her bonnet, caught on a ledge just below the mouth of the old well, which goes sheer down, as you know, my lord, to a depth that none may fathom, and which, as you may likewise call to mind, is in a far corner of the passage, where it takes a sudden sharp turn, and where no doubt her foot had slipped unwarily, and she had fallen.

"I went myself, my lord, and they let me down by the longest ropes that could be had, into the black darkness, but my feet never touched the bottom. They always said the well was verily like unto the bottomless pit itself, but I had never believed it till then! My lord, my soul grew just as dark within me as that underground tunnel, and I cursed myself day and night for ever letting her out of my sight. God forgive me, if I cursed Him too in my misery! The housekeeper, that had been a friend of my wife's from their youth upwards, fretted herself into her last illness for not taking better care of the child, and for having suffered her unawares to get possession of the key; but I had never the heart to blame her myself, for there were few that could ever say my pretty daughter nay! The woman died, poor soul, of the shock, and I--well, my lord, I scarce can tell how I lived through my wretchedness of heart, till the thought came to me to build the bridge. I was down by the river one summer evening, watching the stream running by, and listening to the swish the wind was making among the trees on the other side, when all at once the rippling water seemed as it passed to take the sound of my daughter's voice, saying as clear as I now speak myself: 'Build me a bridge over the river, father! Build me a bridge over the river!' You know, my lord, there is a tale in our valley that the river speaks out the thoughts of those who listen to its flow, and whether or no it was so then with myself, I know not--save only that it was the tones of my own little girl I heard clearly as it rippled over the stones at my feet; and then and there, sir, I marked out the spot where my bridge should be, and I warrant you not many days were gone by before the neighbours came gaping around to watch what they were pleased to call 'the boatman's folly,' though, look you, the first time they walked over the bridge they sang a different song! I put my heart and soul into that bridge, my lord, and begrudged not a penny it cost me, for it was for the child I built it, and what use to save my money when she was dead?" "It was a brave thought, good Jack," said the earl; "and think you it will some day repay your outlay?" "I make no doubt of it, my lord," answered Jack, proudly. "I take much toll on market-days, and in the summer many visitors are wont to pass through our beautiful Gwynnon Valley, and across my bridge. But e'en should it never repay me fully, I care not, for it was verily for the benefit of my country I built it, and I take pride in the thought that I was not mistaken. But that any old gipsy-woman should take upon herself to prophesy its destruction, is too much for my sufferance!" "You take her idle words too seriously, good friend," said the earl with a laugh. "A fig for the old witch and her evil sayings! But, Jack, you have seen much trouble. I am not a religious man, and know no text whereon to preach you a sermon on resignation, but honestly I hope that time has softened this blow?" "I verily learned resignation hardly, my lord," answered the boatman, "and the Evil One oft bade me, like the wife of Job, curse God and die. But I was fain at last to learn that 'whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth,' and that doubtless He saw what was good for the little maid better than I did."

"Well, Jack," said the young earl, rising and stretching himself, "I am glad you found comfort in your own way. After all, death is surely preferable to a life of unhappiness? Which would you have chosen for your daughter?" "It may be I would never have been called upon to make such a choice, my lord," answered the boatman thoughtfully. "So far as my eye could see, there was as happy a life in store for my little lass as falls to the lot of most of us whatever. But if there were to be hard things in store for her, why then I am glad indeed for the Lord to have taken her." "Beshrew me, if there are not hard things in store for all of us sooner or later!" said the earl. "For my part, I confess that I find this the greatest solace for the troubles of life. To the long preservation of your bridge, Jack!" and he tossed off a glass of wine carelessly. "I thank you humbly, my lord," said Jack, "but I would have put more confidence in the toast if you had drunk it in water." "Very good, Jack!" laughed the earl. "Verily thou art a man of principle! Well, I am playing the part of a poor host, leaving my guests to roam yon sunny glades alone, while I gossip with you! Have the boat ready in an hour's time, good Jack, to row us homewards." And turning on his heel, he strolled off into the woods, waving a kiss to Little Miss Primrose, who, leaning against Jack's knee, condescended to raise for a moment her dark-fringed eyes from the grapes she was engrossed with, to say, "Good-bye, Mr. Earl!" in the most dignified of baby voices, giving him at the same time, with a dismissing flourish of her tiny white hand, a gracious permission to depart.

A few days later the castle was again deserted by its gay inmates, and Jack in his secret heart was not sorry, for though it made his heart swell with pride to see his darling in such imminent danger of being spoilt by the grand folks' petting, yet he had a strong suspicion that more than once the baby lips had tasted the forbidden drink when his back was turned, and what with the mysterious warning on the subject from her unknown mother, and his own strong principles, this was a matter which gave him some concern. With his love for the young earl, a deep pity was mingled in the boatman's heart, for he saw only too well that he had become a slave to the love of strong drink, for which even in his boyhood he had shown a craving. But the boatman was above all men loyal to the old House of Bryn Afon, and spoke no ill of the earl among his neighbours, who were never tired of praising his fine face and form, as he rode by, and who talked hopefully of better days for the castle now that the master had once more begun to visit it, and indulged in many hopes, which, alas, were day after day ungratified, of seeing the fair young wife whom he had chosen. And the following summer the earl himself was looked for in vain, and through the long bright months the old castle again remained deserted. This was perhaps not to be greatly wondered at, however, since Lord Bryn Afon was well known to be as special a favourite of King Charles as his father had been of James I., and the young king having succeeded to the throne in the March of this year, it might be reasonably expected that he would desire the earl's presence about his royal person at this beginning of his new dignities.

And the honest folk of the Gwynnon Valley, being no whit behind the rest of their compatriots in their loyalty and devotion to the House of Stuart, rejoiced in the knowledge of the royal favour bestowed upon more than one proud owner of those ancient and lordly castles which crowned the summits of their fair hills, and at whose feet the river flowed humbly through the shining meadows, rippling its graceful homage in musical murmur as it passed. And Jack, who with all his loyalty had not been able to shut his ears to the current tales of drunkenness and dissipation which had too often disgraced the Court of his late Majesty, rejoiced in the prospect of a purer atmosphere henceforth for his beloved young lord and master, Bryn Afon, and took pleasure in the thought that the pure and temperate life of the new king could not fail to counteract in great measure those evil tendencies in his friend which his royal father's influence and example had too unhappily fostered.

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