Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
greater progress than with us.
Robin listened for a moment or two, and then said aloud, though
evidently speaking to himself--"It is scarcely just, after all, to
punish the innocent for the guilty; and it must be a punishment, though
she bears it lightly. I must speak with him first, however."
"Remember, you are not alone, good Robin," said Hugh of Monthermer,
unwilling to be a partaker in the Outlaw's counsels.
Robin Hood laughed--"It was ever a fault of mine," he replied, "that my
tongue was a false gaoler to my thoughts. One would sometimes fancy I
was an old doating woman, to mumble to myself the fragments of
half-digested purposes. But come, my lord, you have not supped, I have;
and as there is much business to do, I must leave you for a time. I go
to see a young friend of yours and mine, in order to hold with him some
counsel of importance; and I beseech you, quit not this house till I
return, which will be in about two hours' time."
"I will not," answered Hugh, "and in the meantime, rather than sup, I
will lie me down and take some rest, having first, with your good
leave, seen to the accommodation of my horse."
"Trust him to my people, trust him to my people," replied Robin
Hood--"and follow my advice. Take some supper: you may have to ride far
to-night, for aught you know; and meat and drink in moderation, is
strength, if not courage. Hunger is a sad tamer of stout limbs."
As he spoke, he lighted a small silver lamp at one of the candles,
which hung in a large polished brass sconce against the wall, and
bidding the young lord follow, he led the way through another of those
long narrow passages which occupied so much space in all ancient
houses. No doors appeared on either side till a sudden turn to the
right brought them to the foot of a heavy wooden staircase, the steps
of which seemed to be composed of solid blocks of wood, piled round a
common centre. There was a rope on either hand fastened by stanchions
of iron let into the stonework of the wall.
"There," said Robin Hood, giving the young lord the lamp, "if you go up
and open the door just before you, at the top, you will find some
supper ready. When you are tired, and wish to go to bed, call for
Cicely or Tangel, and they will show you the way. I must hasten away,
or I may miss my time."
Hugh de Monthermer took the lamp and bidding God speed him for the
present, ascended the stairs with a slow step. At the top he found
himself in a large sort of vestibule, lighted from one end, and
containing three doors; one immediately opposite to him, as Robin had
said; another a little farther down, and another upon his left hand;
but although the directions of the Outlaw had been very distinct, Hugh
de Monthermer paused and hesitated, for he heard the sound of voices
speaking within, and the tongues seemed those of women.
Although he was by no means averse to the society of the fair, the
young knight imagined that there must be some mistake, as the Outlaw
had given him no cause to suppose that any one was waiting for him.
After a moment of suspense, however, he approached and knocked; and a
voice answered, "Come in, for we have no means of keeping any one out."
The sight that presented itself to Hugh de Monthermer made him pause
suddenly in surprise not unmingled with pleasure. The room was a small
low-roofed chamber, covered with dark-coloured painted cloth instead of
arras, but well lighted, and with a blazing log on the hearth, which
might be needed in that old dwelling, notwithstanding the month being
May. Although the furniture was ancient even in those times, yet
everything was most comfortable according to the usages of the day. The
floor was thickly strewed with dry rushes, and a table was in the
midst, on which pretty Cicely was arranging, in haste, a number of
dishes, and plates, and drinking-cups.
But it was neither on the maid nor on the table that the eyes of Hugh
rested, for in a chair, at some distance from the fire, sat a fair
lady, amusing herself with an old embroidery frame, while on two seats
somewhat lower, engaged in winding and unwinding silks, sat two girls
of about the same age as their mistress, one of whom was evidently the
person who had spoken, as her eyes were fixed upon the door, and her
pretty little lips still apart.
If the surprise of Hugh de Monthermer was great, that of the party
within seemed not less so. The lady at once dropped the embroidery
frame, started up and ran towards him with her hands extended, as if
she would have cast herself into his arms, exclaiming, with a glowing
cheek and sparkling eye--"Hugh!" Then, suddenly stopping herself, she
turned her eyes to the ground, and the colour became still brighter in
her face than before. She recovered herself in a moment; but neither of
the maids of Lucy de Ashby ever jested with their mistress afterwards
upon her wearing the colours of the House of Monthermer.
Hugh, however, did not hesitate, but advancing, with a quick step, took
the hand that was held out to him, and pressed his lips upon it.
"Lucy!" he cried, "have I then found you at last?"
"Have you been seeking me, my lord?" asked Lucy de Ashby, glancing her
eyes timidly towards the two maids; "I trust you are come to deliver
us--though, to say sooth," she added, with a gay look, "we have been so
well treated in the forest, and so thoroughly despaired of gaining our
freedom, that we had well-nigh chosen ourselves husbands from the bold
rangers."
"You might do worse, Lady," said Cicely, scarcely liking the subject to
be jested with; "there are honest hearts in the forest!"
"Doubtless, my good girl," replied Lucy; "but you forget, we have not
tried them yet. Now, my good Lord Hugh, let us know, in a word, whether
you are come to deliver us or not.--On my life, one would think that he
was the man who goes about preaching patience: to keep a lady one whole
minute without an answer!"
"Nay," replied Hugh, "I am so surprised to find you here, that my
wonder must have time to cool. But, in reply to your question, fairest
lady, I must own, though I certainly came into Sherwood to seek you, I
came not here to deliver you."
"Why, how is that, Sir Knight?" demanded Lucy, a shade of
disappointment coming over her bright countenance, at the thought of
being detained longer in the forest; for, however gaily we may bear it,
the loss of liberty is always painful, and the exercise of that gift
which has brought so much misery to every man--our own free will--is
not the less dear under any circumstances--"Why, how is that? Surely,
if you came to seek me, you came to deliver me! You speak in riddles
but to tease me a little longer."
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, "that I should tease
you at all! But, to explain what I mean, I must tell you the whole
story."
"Oh, tell it, tell it then!" cried the lady; "that is quite according
to every ballad in the land! The knight always finds the lady in the
wood, and then narrates his lamentable history."
"Mine shall be a short one, at all events," said Hugh, and he
proceeded, as briefly as possible, to relate all that had occurred to
him during the last six-and-thirty hours.
Every one, of course, in this world tells his story in his own way, and
his manner of telling it is not alone modified by his own peculiar
character, but by the circumstances in which he is placed, and the
passions that are within him at the moment. This truism may be trite
enough, but it was applicable to the case of Hugh de Monthermer, for
his own sensations at the time affected the method of telling his tale
even more than any of the peculiarities of his own nature. The feelings
that he entertained towards Lucy de Ashby--the difficulty of
restraining those feelings, and yet the fear of suffering them to
appear too openly, circumstanced as he then was, all modified his
history, and made it very different from what it would have been had he
been indifferent to the person whom he addressed. Love, however, has
ever been considered a skilful teacher of oratory, and without any
actual intention of doing so, every word that Hugh de Monthermer
uttered showed the fair girl beside him something more of the passion
which she already knew was in his heart.
He paused but little upon the anxiety of her father, or the indignation
of her brother, but he detailed at length the whole of his own course
while seeking her, the grief he had felt, the apprehensions he had
entertained, and the disappointment he had experienced when frustrated
in his endeavours; and, although there appeared from time to time
flashes of his own gay and sparkling disposition--though he told his
tale jestingly, with many a light figure and playful illustration,
there was an undertone of deep tenderness running through the whole,
which showed Lucy that the sportive tone was but as a light veil cast
over the true feelings of his heart.
The reader need hardly be told, after the traits that we have
given--which, though they be few, were significant enough--that Lucy
was not by any means displeased with the discoveries which she made in
Hugh de Monthermer's bosom. That she loved him we have not attempted to
conceal, but the history of her love is somewhat curious, and worth
inquiring into, as it displays some of the little secrets of the human
heart.
Lucy de Ashby was by no means a coquette; her nature was too
tender--too sensitive, her mind too imaginative for cold arts. She knew
that she was beautiful, it is true; indeed she could not doubt it, for
she saw it in every mirror, and heard it from every tongue; but she was
far less anxious for admiration than for love. Indeed, to persons not
naturally vain, who aim at higher objects than merely to please the
eye, personal admiration, although they may know that they deserve it,
may sometimes become even burdensome. Lucy, for one, was tired of
hearing that she was beautiful, and to tell her that she was so, in
whatever courtly forms the intimation might be conveyed, was no way of
winning her favour. It was the general mode, however adopted by the
young nobles who frequented the Court of England, and were admitted to
her father's house. They thought they could never too much praise her
loveliness or extol her grace. It was the custom of the day, the only
mode of winning lady's love then known; and the world were much
surprised to find that for one or two years she remained very cold and
insensible to all who strove by such means to raise a warmer feeling in
her bosom.
During the greater part of that time the House of Monthermer had been
at open enmity with that of Ashby, and Hugh himself was the object of
many a bitter and an angry speech on the part both of her father and
her brother. Now it may seem that the fair lady was a little animated
by the spirit of contradiction, when we acknowledge that the hatred
which her family entertained towards the young Lord Hugh was one of the
first causes that created in Lucy's bosom a feeling in his favour. But
the reader must not forget, Lucy had no reason to suppose that the
animosity of her family was well-founded, or their harsh censure just.
On the contrary, from every indifferent person whom she was inclined to
respect and esteem, she heard the highest praises of him whom her
father and brother delighted to decry. She saw, also, that they
themselves had no slight difficulty in finding matter for blame in the
conduct of the rival house; and when occasionally the two families met,
either at the Court or at any of the chivalrous pageants of the day, it
seemed to her that in demeanour, at least, Hugh de Monthermer was very
different from that which the voice of angry passion represented him.
All these things sunk into her mind; and although she said nothing upon