Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1898-01-08
bid them set out"

bid them set out"
| OF our journey I will say no more. There
| is nothing in it that 1 take pleasure in
| telling, and to write its history were to
| accuse either Barbara or myself. For days
we Travelled together she in her coach,
on horseback Come to London we were both
| told that my lord was at Hatchstead: hav-
| ing dispatched our borrowed equipage and
| servants to their mistress and with them
| the amount of my debt and a most grateful
| message, we proceeded on our way, Bar
| bara in a chaise, 1 again riding. All the
! way Barab ara Stunned me as though !
| had the plague, and 1 on my side showed
| no desire to be with companion averse
| to my society. On my life l was driven
! half mad and had that night at Canter
| bury come again-well, heavens be thank
| ed that temptation comes sometimes at
| moments when virtue also has attractions
| or which of Us would stand? And the night
we spent on the road decorum forbade that
| we should so much speak, much less
| sup, together, and the night We lay in
! London l spent at one end of the town
| and she at the other. At least l showed no
| forwardness; to that 1 was sworn and ad-
| hered most obstinately. Thus We came to
| Hatchstead better strangers than ever we
had left Dover, and although safe and
| sound from bodily perlS and those wiles
! of princes that had of late so threatened
our tranquility. yet both of us as i'll in
| temper as could be conceived. Defend me
| from any such journey again, But there
| is no likelihood of such trial now, alas!
| Yes. there was a pleasure in it; it was d
battle, and, by my faith, it was close drawn
| between us.
| The chaise stopped at the manor gates
| end l rode up to the door Of it, cap in hand.
| Here was to be cur parting.
| Il thank you heartily SIR said Barbara
| In a low voice. with a bow of her head and
| a quick glance that would not dwell on my
| sullen face.
MY happiness has been to serve you
n, adame,' l returned. Il grieVe only that
| nv escort has hpeD irkSOme
| No. said Barbara, and she said no
| more, but rolled up the avenue in her
| chaiSe, leaving ne to find my way alone t
| MY mothers house.
l sat few moments on my horse watch
| irg her 60. Then with an oath 1 turned
| away. The sight of the gardeners cottage
| sent my thoughts whiring back to the
| old days when Cydaria came and caught
| my heart in her butterfly net 1t was just
| there. In the meadow by the avenue, that
l had kissed her. A kiss is a thing lightly
| that kiss which Barbara had seen from
| the window, and great debate had arisen
| on it, Lightly given, yet leading on to
| much that 1 did not see Lightly taken,
yet perhaps mother to some fancies that
| men would wonder to find in Mistress Gwyn.
J I'm heartily glad to be here / cried
| loosing the Wears hand and f1inging my
| self into the high armchair in the chimney
| corner.
| My mother received this exclamation as
a tribute of tilial affection, the vicar treated
| IL as an evidence OF friendship, my sister
| Mary saw in 1t a Thanksgiving for deliver
ance from the perils and temptations of
| London and the court. Let them take it
| how they would in truth it was inspired in
none OF these ways, but was purely an eX-
| preston of relief, first at having brought
| Mistress Barbara safe to the manor, in the
second place at being quit of her society.
| Il am mighty curious to learn Simon"
| SAID the vicar. drawing his chair near mine
| and laying his hand upon my knee what
| passed ct Dover. For it seems to me that
| there, if at any place in the world, the pro-
phecy which Betty Nasroth spoke concern
| ing you-''
You shall know all in good time sir"
1 cried. impatiently.
| Should find its fulfillment," ended the
| vicar placidy.
| Are We not finished with that folly YETI"
| asked my mother.
! Simon must .ell us that smiled the
| vicar
| I'm good time, in good time" 1 cried
again. But tell me first. when did my lord
come here from London?"
| Why, a week ago. My lady was sick
| and the physician prescribed the air of the
| country for her. But my lord stayed four
| days only, and then was gone again"
| | started ard sat upright in my seat.
| What isn't he here now?" / asked
| eagerly.
| why, Simon" said my good mother
| with a laugh, we looked to get news from
| you, and now we have news to give you
| The king has sent for my lord 1 saw his
| message. 1t was most fiattering. and spoke
| OF some urgent and great business on which
! the king desired my lords immediate pres
| ence and counsel. SO he set out two days
| ago to join the king with a large train of
| servants. leaving behind my lady who was
| too sick to travel
was surprised at these tidings and fell
| INTO deep consideration. What need had
| the king of my lords counsel and so sud
| denly? What had been done at Dover
| would not be opened to Lord Quinton's
ears. was he summoned as lord OF coun-
i.11s T.ar' f..
now the king must know certain matters
| respecting my lords daughter and a hum
bic gentleman who had Striven to serve her
| as far as his station enabled him and with
| out undue forwardness. We might well
| nave passed my lords coach the road
| and not remarked it among the many that
met US as we drew near to London in the
| evening. had not observed his Iveries
| but that went for nothing. L took heed OF
| little or that journey save the bearing of
Mistress Barbara. Where lay the meaning
OF my lords summons? 1t came into my
| mind that NJ de Perrencourt had sent mes
J sengcrs from Calais. and that the king
| might be seeking to fulfill in another way
| the bargain whose accomplishment l had
| thWarted. The thought was new life to
me- If my work were not finished-I broke
| off: the wears hand was on my knee again
Touching the prophecy" he began.
Indeed, sir, in good time you shall know
| all. 1t is fulfilled
."Fulflled"' he cried rapturously. "Then,
| Simon, fortune smiles?"
| Nay. retorted, she frowns most dam
| nably."
| To swear is a sin, to swear before ladies
is bad manners, to swear in talking to a
| clergyman is worst of all. Yet, while my
| mother and my sister drew away in offense
(and hereby tender them an apology never
yet made), the vicar only smiled.
"A plague on such prophecies said
| sourly.
Yet If 1t be fulfilled he murmured For
| he held more by that than by any good
fortune of mine. me he loved. but his magic
was dearer to him. You must indeed tell
| me- he urged.
My mother approached somewhat ti1nidIy.
| YOU are come to stay with US, Simon?'
| she asked.
For the term of my life, so far as 1
| know, madame" said l.
Thanks to God" she murmured softly.
CTo be continued)