Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
which showed that the corridor, along which they went, was practised in
the wall. Full of renewed hope, and eager to see her scheme put in
execution, the lady descended the steps, and was about at once to knock
at the door, when her raised hand was stayed by hearing some one
speaking.
She felt faint, and her heart beat quickly, for she recognised her
brother's voice. Lucy listened, and distinctly heard the words--"I
believe you innocent, from my soul, Monthermer; and I would give my
right hand that you or I were a hundred miles hence this night."
A smile came upon her countenance. "He is preparing the way for me!"
she murmured to herself; and again she listened, but all was silent,
save a retreating step and a closing door.
"He is gone," said Lucy, turning to her maid. "Stay you here, Claude,
for a minute or two;" and without knocking, she gently opened the door
and looked in.
There was a small room before her, with a fire on the opposite side,
and three stools near it, but no one there; and entering with a
noiseless step, Lucy gazed round. A door appeared on either hand: that
on the right was closed, but through it she heard sounds of talking and
laughter: that on the left was in a slight degree ajar, but all was
silent within. Gliding up to it with no noise but the light rustle of
her garments, Lucy approached, and pushed it gently with her hand--so
gently that she saw before she was seen.
Nearly in the centre of the room stood he whom she loved, with his arms
folded on his broad chest, his fine head bent, his eyes fixed upon the
ground, and an expression both sorrowful and stern upon his lip and
brow. As the door moved farther open, it roused him from his reverie,
and he looked up; but what a sudden change came instantly upon his
countenance. An expression mingled of joy, surprise, and anxiety,
passed across his face, and exclaiming, "Lucy, dearest Lucy!" he sprang
forward to meet her.
Drawing her gently into the room, he closed the door, and then held her
for a moment to his bosom while both were silent; for the throbbing of
her heart left Lucy's tongue powerless, and Hugh dared not speak lest
it should dispel what seemed but too happy a dream.
"Dearest Lucy," he said, at length, "even while I thank and bless you
for coming, I must ask what brings you here? It was rash, dear girl--it
was rash! If you had sent to me, I would have been with you in a
moment. It is not a minute yet since your brother was here."
"I know it," replied Lucy--"I know it all, Hugh. I know it was rash to
come; but I am going to do everything that is rash to-night, and
this is but the beginning. It is in general that you men sue to us
women--till you are our masters, at least; now I come to sue to you."
"Oh, Lucy!" cried Hugh, with a sort of prescience of what she was about
to say--"what is that you are going to ask? Remember, Lucy--remember my
honour. If you love me, that honour ought to be dearer to you than my
life. Ask me nothing that may bring shame upon me."
"Listen to me--listen to me," she replied. "You must hear me, Hugh,
before you can judge. Your honour _is_ dearer to me than your life; and
oh, Hugh! you have yet to learn how dear that is to Lucy de Ashby;" and
as she spoke, the tears rose into her eyes, but she dashed them away,
and went on. "Yet it is not for your life I fear, dear as it is to me.
Oh, no! your heart is safe. Panoplied in innocence and strength, you go
but to conquer. It is for my brother that I fear--for my rash and hasty
brother--ay, and guilty, if you will--for he who brings a false
accusation against an innocent man is guilty. I tremble for him, Hugh;
I tremble for myself, too; I fear that Hugh de Monthermer will draw
upon his hand my brother's blood; and a hand so stained can never clasp
mine again."
"I know it," said Hugh; "but what can I do? I have no choice, Lucy, but
to live for misery or to die disgraced!"
"Yes," cried Lucy, eagerly--"yes, you have. Fly, Hugh de Monthermer!
give no reason to any one why you go. You are sure, ere long, to
establish your innocence.--appear not at the sound of the
trumpet--appear not till you can prove his guilt upon the foul wretch
who did the deed with which they charge you."
"What!" exclaimed Hugh de Monthermer--"to be condemned, not only as a
criminal, but as a coward and a recreant--to have my name pass from
mouth to mouth throughout all Europe as a byword--to have heralds say,
when they would point out a craven and a traitor--'He is like Hugh de
Monthermer!' Oh, Lucy, Lucy! think of my honour--think of my renown!"
"But your honour is safe, Hugh," answered Lucy, clinging to his arm.
"Alured himself admits your innocence. I heard him say but now----"
"Ay, in this room between him and me," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "but
to-morrow he goes into the lists, and calls God to witness that his
cause is just. To me he owns the falsehood of the charge, but to the
world upholds that it is true."
"Not so!" cried Lucy--"look here, Monthermer--see what he says to me
here!"--and she drew forth the paper which Alured had given her.
Hugh read it eagerly; and as he saw her brother's wish expressed, that,
if he fell, their hands might be united, he turned his eyes towards the
sweet girl beside him, with a look of tenderness and love deep and
unutterable; but then the moment after, waving his head with a
melancholy air, he said, "He knows you not as I know you, Lucy. His
wish is kind and generous--noble--most noble, and atones for all. But
would Lucy follow it?"
"No!" she replied, raising her head, firmly. "Were I to waste away my
life in hopeless regret and misery, my hand should never be given to
him who sheds my brother's blood. I vow it, so help me God at my utmost
need! But hear me; Hugh," she continued, her cheek, which had been very
pale during the last words, becoming crimson--"Hear me, Hugh! hear me,
my beloved!--hear me, and ho, grant my request! As eagerly, as fondly
as ever you have sued for this hand, I now beseech you to take it.--On
my knees, Hugh de Monthermer," and she sunk upon her knees before
him--"on my knees thus, bedewing your hand with my tears, I beseech you
to make Lucy de Ashby your wife."
"But how, dearest Lucy!" he cried, stooping to raise her. "What--what
do you mean? How--how is this to be!"
"Fly!" exclaimed Lucy--"fly _with me_ this night! Here is my brother's
full consent--here, also, is your justification--here, at the very
first, he proclaims your innocence!"
"Ah, no!" replied Hugh de Monthermer, shaking his head; "he says, but
that he doubts my guilt. Oh, Lucy! you will drive me mad to give me
such a precious sight in prospect, and then to sweep it all away. I
tell thee, my beloved, there is not an honest man in all the realm that
would not call me coward, if I fled."
"Is that all that stays you?" demanded Lucy. "What, if I show you that,
amongst the highest and most honourable of the land, there are those
who will exculpate and defend you?"
"You cannot do it, Lucy," replied Hugh. "You may think they would. They
may have said some chance words--that 'twere better to fly--that I
might avoid the combat for some days; but when the time came, their
voices would be raised with all the rest against me. You can shew me no
more than this, dear girl."
"I can!" answered Lucy. "There! read that; and if you hesitate a moment
more, 'tis that Hugh de Monthermer loves not his promised bride,
rejects her proffered hand, and scorns the rash and giddy girl, who for
the sake of any ungrateful man cast from her every thought but one--the
saving those she loves."
Hugh de Monthermer held the paper in his hand for a moment without
reading it, gazing upon the beautiful being beside him, as with her
eyes full of lustre and light, her cheek glowing, her lip quivering,
she addressed to him the only reproachful words which had ever fallen
from her lips.
"Lucy," he said, "I will not merit that reproach. You yourself have
told me that my honour is dearer to you than my life. Let it be dearer
than all other things, Lucy, and then tell me whether I can go with
honour. Whether, if I do, men will not cry coward on me?--whether
my renown will not suffer in the eyes of Europe? If you say yes, oh,
with what joy will I fly, with Lucy for my companion! With what
deep devotion will I strive through life to repay her generous
self-devotion, and to show her what I think of that heart which could
cast away all idle forms and ceremonies, set at nought empty opinion,
and entertain, as you say, but the one thought--the saving those she
loves."
As he spoke, he clasped his arms around her, and Lucy hid her eyes upon
his bosom, for they were running over with tears. But after a moment,
she raised them again, saying--"Read--read, Hugh, that will satisfy
you!"
Hugh de Monthermer approached nearer the lamp, and looking at the
paper, exclaimed--"Prince Edward's writing! What is this?--
"'Follow the plan of your fair lady, Monthermer. Fly with her as speedily
as may be--she will tell you more; but fear not for your honour--I will
be your warranty, and will say 'twas my command. You are my prisoner
still, remember, and as such, cannot fight without the consent of
"'EDWARD'"
"This changes all!" cried Hugh de Monthermer; "but why not give me this
before, dear Lucy?"
"Because the Prince required me so to act," replied Lucy--"only to use
this as a last resource; and she went on to tell him briefly but
clearly all that had occurred.
"Let us be quick," she said, "dear Hugh! There will be horses down at
the north gate by this time. My poor girl, Claude, is waiting on the
steps with a nun's gown for me, and some cunning disguise for herself.
Have you nothing that you could cast over these gay garments? for as
you are about to travel by night with a poor grey sister, 'twere as
well not to seem so much the courtly cavalier."
Poor Lucy's heart, relieved from the burden that had rested on it, beat
up high with renewed hope; but still the agitation which she suffered
remained, like the flying clouds that follow a summer's storm, and
filled her eyes with tears, while the jest was still upon her lips.
Hugh held her to his heart; and soothed her, and might have felt
inclined to spend a few minutes more in such a sweet employment, but
Lucy reminded him of how quickly moved the wings of time.
"Remember, Hugh," she said, "the minutes and my courage are not stable
things, and both are ebbing fast. My heart beats strangely quick and
fearfully, and I must not faint or lag behind till we have passed the
gates."
"Nor there either!" cried Hugh; "but your courage will rise, dear Lucy,
when the immediate danger is past. We had better not go quite alone,
however, for we may yet have to use the strong hand by the way. I will
send down Blawket and another to the gate with horses for themselves."
"But a disguise!" cried Lucy--"a disguise for you. Ere we quit the
castle, all this gold and silk will send the tale abroad to every
horse-boy in the place."
"I have one ready," answered Hugh; "the priest's gown, in which I
escaped before, may answer well a second time. Where Is this girl of
yours?"
"Upon the steps," replied Lucy. "I will call her."
"Nay, let me," said Hugh de Monthermer; and, opening the door of the
ante-room and then that which opened on the stairs, he whispered, "Come
in, my pretty maiden; bring the lamp with you--I will be back
directly;" and passing on into the outer room, as soon as the maid was
in his chamber and had shut the door, he called Blawket aside and gave
him orders. Then sitting down at a table, he wrote a few words on a
scrap of paper, which he entrusted to one of the armourers, saying, "Do