CHAPTER IV.

Peace, brother, peace! Speak not irreverently Of maiden bashfulness; it were to slander The breath of morn--the dew-drop on the bud-- The thousand, thousand evanescent sweets That mix in Nature's earliest incense.

_Unpublished Poems._

For the first few miles of her journey every step of the way called forth from the Lady Winifred fresh expressions of delight; at every inequality of the ground, she inquired whether these were yet the mountains of Wales, although at the same time she would have been disappointed had she received an answer in the affirmative, for her imagination had pictured something far more wild and sublime.

By degrees her questions became fewer, her exclamations less frequent. It was not that her wonder, or her delight, decreased; it was not that her mother was unkind; but there was no sympathy between the artless child, (for she was scarcely more than a child in experience,) and the aged and serious women, who had arrived nearly at the end of a career, in which they had witnessed the overthrow of the monarch to whom they were attached, the destruction of the religion they professed, and the blasting of the hopes of youth. All that remained of warmth of feeling in the Duchess of Powis was concentrated in the desire of once more seeing a Catholic king upon the throne; all the energies of a lofty and commanding spirit were devoted to that one object.

The innocent wonder, the simple delight of her young daughter, would have afforded to many a subject of pleasing interest: but her thoughts were upon weightier matters; and to a person engaged in secret negotiations for the restoration of a dynasty, such artless graces possessed no charm. The Lady Winifred's personal attractions were such that there was no reason to fear the Earl of Nithsdale would not gladly fulfil the engagement which was desired by his king; from the gentleness and duty of her child, no resistance to her wishes could be anticipated, and she was satisfied.

The duchess journeyed with her own horses, and from the state of the roads in those days there was leisure during their progress for much reflection. By the time the dark blue outlines of the mountains became visible, the Lady Winifred had learned to subdue her raptures, and to resume the staid and sober demeanour which had been usual to her in the convent, but which had in some measure given way under the excitement of her first arrival in England.

When once established in the castle, of which Lord Powis considered his mother as the mistress, and where he himself only occasionally resided, the Lady Winifred found her life nearly as monotonous as it had been at Bruges. She had the pleasure of looking upon the beauties of nature, it is true; but it was only from a distance. The duchess would have considered it improper and undignified for her daughter to have strayed beyond the terrace which surrounded two sides of the castle, or the pleasaunce, which, having been neglected during the years that the Herbert family passed in exile, now rather resembled a straggling orchard, and, although superior in extent, was very inferior in neatness and cultivation to the trim garden of the Augustine convent at Bruges.

There were moments when the Lady Winifred looked back with regret to her convent life--when she thought with painful tenderness of her beloved sister--when she keenly felt the want of congenial companions.

Her mother, serious and abstracted, would sometimes pass whole hours in unbroken silence. Seated in her carved arm-chair of black oak, with its high back and its velvet cushions, she industriously plied her needle at the elaborate piece of carpet-work which had occupied her fingers, though not her thoughts, for the last twelve years; while the Lady Winifred as patiently toiled at the delicate embroidery, in the execution of which persons brought up in foreign convents are usually so skilful.

An airing in the ponderous coach, through roads which would now be deemed impassable, constituted the only break in the routine of their life.

But even then, there was no one to whom she might exclaim upon the beauties of the Dovey, the rich interchange of meadow and mountain, wood and fields of waving grain, or admire the more majestic glories of Cader Idris; which, although inferior in height to Snowdon, strikes the eye as being more lofty, from its more abrupt and bolder outline.

The daughter of Rachael Evans had been appointed as the personal attendant of the Lady Winifred, and notwithstanding the difference in their birth, their condition, and their education, it was not long before the high-born Lady Winifred Herbert discovered in the humble Amy Evans a spirit as simple, as ardent, as unsophisticated, as her own.

Their young hearts warmed to each other. The want of sympathy in the other persons who surrounded her naturally led the Lady Winifred to an unconstrained communication with her waiting-woman; which, had Amy's mind been stamped in a common mould, might have produced disrespect or familiarity, but which, with a soul so true, so frank, as that of the Welsh girl, inspired the enthusiastic devotion which subsequently proved invaluable to her lady.

The Lady Winifred was one evening summoned from her walk upon the terrace, where she was calmly listening to the tinkling of the distant sheep-bells, and watching the sun as it gradually sank behind the blue mountains.

It was Rachael Evans, whose tall and stately form approached through the twilight. From the circumstances before alluded to, she had been associated with those in a class above her, till she had acquired manners, as well as sentiments, beyond her station. She now wished to prepare the Lady Winifred's mind for the unresisting compliance to her mother's wishes, which she knew would be expected from her; but she was too really well-bred ever to lose, in the freedom of the trusted companion, the respect due from a menial to her superiors--while at the same time the affection she felt for one whom she had nursed in infancy, though it tempered the sternness of her character, was but secondary to her devotion to her lady, and the cause her lady had espoused.

There was respect, affection, and decision in Rachael Evans's tone as she thus accosted Lady Winifred:--"Her grace requests your presence in the oak-chamber, madam: she has matters of high importance to communicate to your ladyship. You remember, my dear young lady, what I once told you, that your honoured mother had chosen for you a gentleman of noble lineage and undoubted honour; and I trust that my dear young mistress will show herself, as I know she is, a dutiful and grateful child."

"Oh, Evans! you do not mean--that my mother is really about to speak to me of the gentleman you mentioned--now!--this evening?"

The Lady Winifred clasped her hands and trembled.

"Yes, madam, assuredly is she. And from whom can a young lady more properly receive the first intimation of her approaching marriage, than from her parent--her only remaining parent? But I thought I would prepare you for what you were about to hear, lest you should at first look strange upon her grace; and you know full well that the lady duchess is not one of those who could brook an undutiful word, or a look of disobedience. Ever since his grace's death--Heaven rest his soul!--my mistress has been used to rule everything; and nobly has she contended with adverse fortune, and well is she entitled to observance and respect from all around her!"

"Certainly, Evans. Full well do I know that it is the first duty of a child to honour and obey her parents: still I cannot but feel uneasy and alarmed."

"Compose yourself, my sweet child. I know you are dutiful, although somewhat timid. Do not linger on the way, but hasten to her grace; she is in the oak-room,--and see! the tapers are already lighted. Hasten, lest the supper may be served, and her grace may not be pleased if you are absent."

The Lady Winifred followed old Rachael's injunctions, neither did she venture to question her any farther. Though kinder and less stern than when she had formerly opened the subject, still Rachael's manner was firm and uncommunicative, and she feared to show a curiosity which might be deemed forward or unbecoming. In ages and in countries where marriages are arranged and contracted by parental authority, love, whether lawful or unlawful, is equally treated as a feeling improper to be indulged.

With trembling hands the Lady Winifred turned the lock of the high and massive door. The apartment was brilliant from the wax tapers in heavy silver sconces which illuminated it. The venerable lady was content to live in retirement; but though she inhabited only a few rooms of the rambling old castle, in those she would not dispense with any of the state to which her youth had been accustomed.

She was, as usual, employed upon her carpet-work. How many serious and lofty thoughts--how many ambitious, proud, and melancholy feelings--how many sad and tender recollections--how many aspiring and loyal hopes--had passed through the mind of the noble embroideress, while her fingers had been employed in tracing the unconscious leaves and fruits!--if unrolled, it would have been to her as a journal of past thoughts and feelings!

The Lady Winifred gently closed the door behind her, and timidly approached her mother.

"I sent Rachael Evans to bid you hither, my child," said the duchess, as Lady Winifred stood before her: "be seated, Winifred; I have much to say to you. I have just received a letter from your brother, informing me that he will be here to-morrow by mid-day, and with him the Earl of Nithsdale, who accompanies him from Scotland. He is a nobleman of undoubted loyalty and gallant bearing, and one to whom I shall feel proud and happy in committing the welfare of my child. He is to become your husband, my dear Winifred; your king, your surviving parent, and your brother, have chosen him for you: so prepare yourself to receive him with such maidenly attention as may be fitting in one of your noble birth."

The Lady Winifred answered not; but the tears stood in her eyes, and at length flowed down her cheeks.

"What mean these tears?" resumed the duchess, when she observed them.

"Oh, nothing, madam; only the news is sudden, and I scarcely know----"

"You scarcely know what, my child?"

"I scarcely know how I should comport myself on such an occasion. Is he--is the Earl of Nithsdale--a person--such a person--is he a good man?" the Lady Winifred faltered forth.

"Assuredly is he. Does my daughter think I would wed her to a person who was mean in character--a heretic, a coward, or a profligate? No; not even to fulfil the commands of my king would I peril the immortal soul of my child!" answered the lady, with a proud reliance on her own integrity of purpose.

"Oh, no! my honoured mother, I never imagined such a thing: only----" but she durst frame no other question. If in her secret bosom she wished to know whether he was in outward appearance, and in manners, such as might win a youthful heart, she scarcely ventured to acknowledge to herself any anxiety upon subjects concerning which both her mother and Rachael Evans had appeared to consider it unbecoming in her to inquire.

The Duchess of Powis presently resumed. "The young earl" (the word young was not lost upon Lady Winifred) "was at Bruges when your sister Lucy took the veil; indeed, he has not been many months returned from Flanders. When there, he was fortunate enough to obtain a secret interview with our gracious king."

"Did he indeed?" asked Lady Winifred with eagerness; for the loyalty in which she had been nurtured invested every thing that appertained to the exiled monarch with interest in her eyes.

"Yes; it was when King James was serving in the King of France's army. His retinue, alas! was scarcely equal to that of a private gentleman; and his gracious majesty was suffering so severely from ill-health, that he was shortly obliged to return to St. Germain's; but he received the earl most graciously, and accepted his homage and devotion. Colonel Hook, who has since been sent from St. Germain's to Scotland, has been for some time in communication with the earl, and it is through him that the king has expressed a wish that the loyal family of the Maxwells should form an alliance with that of the Herberts."

The servant now entered to announce that supper was served, and the Lady Winifred offered her supporting arm to conduct her mother into the adjoining apartment, although perhaps at that moment the daughter more needed a stay to her footsteps than the parent, who was pleased and satisfied at the successful termination which she anticipated to the plans she had long been forming.

The repast was silent. The Lady Winifred felt as if the gray-headed butler and the two serving-men must all be aware that she was a destined bride, and she blushed for the agitation which prevented her being able to touch any of the viands placed before her.

It was the custom of the ladies to retire to rest soon after supper; and when the young girl had carefully folded and arranged all belonging to her mother's work, and had dutifully lighted her to her apartment, the duchess gave her a more tender and fondling embrace than was usual, according to the formal manners of the time, and the cold bearing of the person we have described.

This temporary unbending on the part of the parent roused all the smothered feelings in the bosom of the daughter.

"Give me your blessing, dearest mother," she exclaimed, with an emotion her mother had never yet witnessed: "Bless me before I leave you, and pray that I may make a good wife to the stranger I am to marry."

"I do indeed bless you, my good child; nor can I doubt that you will prove the virtuous wife that is a crown of glory to her husband. None of your race and lineage have failed, nor will you, my gentle daughter. Heaven bless you, and preserve you, my Winifred, to be an honour to your family and to your sex!"

Amy Evans was surprised, when her young lady had closed the door of her sleeping-apartment, to see her suddenly throw herself into a chair and burst into convulsive sobs. She was greatly alarmed, and prescribed such simple nostrums for hysterics as occurred to her. She knelt by her side; she patted her lady's hands; she bathed her temples with distilled waters.

"I am not ill, dear Amy! I shall be better in a moment; but--but, I am going to be married, Amy!"

"Indeed, my lady! You do not say so? I hope it is to a worthy gentleman."

"Oh, yes: my mother says he is in every respect most worthy, and was almost angry with me that I could doubt it."

"And is he young?"

"I think the word young escaped my mother's lips."

"And handsome, I hope?"

"Nay, of that I know nothing."

"How! my lady, not know?"

"I have never seen him, and these are questions it would not have been fitting for me to ask."

"Oh! I thank my kind stars I am not a lady," exclaimed Amy, "to be married to some ugly old man one knows nothing of."

"Alas! is he indeed old and ugly? Oh, Amy! would I were an humble country-girl! But," she added, after a moment's pause, with a gentle dignity and firmness of resolve--"but, being what I am, I must do that which my station requires. I must obey my mother, even though he may be as old and as disagreeable as you say."

"Nay, my dear, dear lady, do not look so sad! I know not that he is old and ugly; I was only thinking it would be a sore trial to be married to some old stranger, when--when----" It was now Amy's turn to blush, and to look confused, for she was betrothed to the son of a tenant of the Duke of Powis's. "But with you, my lady, it is quite different. Who knows but your future husband may prove as dear to you, as--as--David is to me?" she added, half-blushing, but half-smiling also, for her engagement was an acknowledged thing.

"Perhaps you may have seen him, Amy? He is a friend of my brother's,--the Earl of Nithsdale."

"No, my sweet lady, I have never seen him; but the name is a marvellous well-sounding name; so do not look sorrowful, but hope for the best. If your lady mother has chosen him, and if your brother loves him, why should not you love him also?"

"And the king, Amy--the king approves of him, and confides in him; and the king wishes for this union!"

"His majesty!" exclaimed Amy with awe; "then it must be right! And yet," she added, "I know not how it would fare with me, if the king was to send his commands from beyond the seas, that David was not to be my husband, but that I was to marry some one he chose for me! Ah, well! it is all as it should be! You are a lady, and I am a country maiden; and it is all for the best!"