The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (room on the broom read aloud TXT) 📕

is not quite strange to me,” added the old man with a perplexed look. “Surely I have heard it before?”

“Ay, Beniah, you know my voice and have seen my face,” said the woman, suddenly removing her shawl and revealing to the astonished eyes of the old man the pretty head and face of Branwen with her wealth of curling auburn hair.

“Child,” exclaimed the Hebrew, rising and letting fall his roll, while he took her hand in both of his, “what folly have you been guilty of, for surely nothing but folly could move you thus to forsake the house of your friends?”

“Ay, father, you say truth,” returned the girl, her courage returning as she noted the kindly tone of the old man’s voice. “Folly is indeed the cause of it, but it is the folly of man, not of women.”

Branwen then gave him a detailed account of the duel between Bladud and Gunrig, as well as of the subsequent proceedings of the latter, with regard to herself.

The face of the old man elongated as she proceeded with her narration, and as it was long by nature—the face, not the narration—its appearance when she had concluded was solemnising in the extreme.

“Assuredly you are right, my child, for it is amazing folly in such a man as Gunrig to suppose he is a fitting mate for you,—though it is no folly in him to wish to get you for a wife,—and it is no folly in you to flee from such an undesirable union. But how to help you in this matter is more difficult to conceive than anything that has puzzled my brain since the day I left Tyre.”

“Can you not conceal me here till we have time to think what is best to be done?” asked Branwen simply, “for I will die rather than wed this—this monster Gunrig!”

The Hebrew smiled pitifully, for he saw in the maiden’s face and bearing evidence of a brave, resolute spirit, which would not condescend to boasting, and had no thought of using exaggerated language.

“Truly I will conceal you—for a time. But I cannot leave you here alone when I go on my wanderings. Besides, the king will send out his hunters all over the land—men who are trained to note the slightest track of bear, deer, and wolf, and they will find it easy work to discover your little footprints. No doubt, near the town, and even here where many wanderers come and go, they will fail to pick up the trail, but if you venture into the lonely woods the footmarks will certainly betray you, and if I go with you, my doom will be fixed, for my big sandal is as well known to the king’s hunters as the big nose on my face, or the white beard on my chin.”

Poor Branwen became, and looked, very miserable on hearing this, for the idea of hunters and footprints had not once occurred to her.

“Oh what, then, is to be done?” she asked with a helpless yet eager look.

For some time the old man sat in silence, with closed eyes as if in meditation. Then he said, with a sad smile, that he supposed there was nothing for it but to reveal one of his secrets to her.

“I have not many secrets, Branwen,” he said, “but the one which I am about to reveal to you is important. To make it known would be the ruin of me. Yet I feel that I may trust you, for surely you are a good girl.”

“No, I’m not,” cried Branwen, with a look of firmness, yet of transparent honesty, that amused her companion greatly; “at least,” she continued in a quieter tone, “I don’t feel good, and the queen often tells me that I am very naughty, though I sometimes think she doesn’t mean it. But when I think of that—that monster and his insult to my dear Hafrydda, and his impudence in wanting me. Oh! I could tear him limb from limb, and put the bits in the fire so that they could never come together again!”

“My dear child,” returned Beniah remonstratively, while she paused with flashing eyes and parted lips, as though she had not yet given vent to half her wrath, “whatever other folk may say or think of you, you are good enough in my esteem, but it is wrong to give way thus to wrath. Come, I will reveal my little secret, and it behoves us to be quick, for they will soon miss you and send the hunters on your track.”

As he spoke the Hebrew led the refugee through his hut and into the cave beyond, the darkness at the further end of which was so great, that it would have been impossible to see but for a stone lamp which stood in a recess in the wall. This revealed the fact that the place was used as a kitchen.

“That is my chimney,” said Beniah, taking up the lamp and holding it so that a large natural hole or crack could be seen overhead, it formed an outlet to the forest above—though the opening was beyond the reach of vision. The same crack extended below in the form of a yawning chasm, five or six feet wide. There seemed to be nothing on the other side of this chasm except the wall of the cliffs; but on closer inspection, a narrow ledge was seen with a small recess beyond. Across the chasm lay a plank which rested on the ledge.

“This is my secret—at least part of it,” said the Hebrew, pointing to the plank which bridged the chasm. “Give me your hand; we must cross it.”

Branwen possessed a steady as well as a pretty head. Placing her hand unhesitatingly in that of her guide, she quickly stood on the ledge, close to a short narrow passage, by which they reached a smaller cave or natural chamber in the solid rock. Here, to the girl’s intense surprise, she found herself surrounded by objects, many of which she had never seen before, while others were familiar enough. Against the wall were piled webs of cloth of brilliant colours, and garments of various kinds. In one corner was a heap of bronze and iron weapons, shields and other pieces of Eastern armour, while in a recess lay piled in a confused heap many Phoenician ornaments of gold, silver, and bronze, similar to those which were worn by the warriors and chief men of King Hudibras’ court. It was, in fact, the stock in trade of the Hebrew—the fount at which he replenished his travelling pack; a pack which was a great mystery to most of his friends, for, however much they might purchase out of it, there seemed to be no end to its inexhaustible power of reproduction.

“Here,” said Beniah, amused at the girl’s gaze of astonishment, “ye will be safe from all your foes till a Higher Power directs us what shall be done with you, for, to say truth, at this moment my mind is a blank. However, our present duty is not action but concealment. Water and dried fruit you will find in this corner. Keep quiet. Let not curiosity tempt you to examine these things—they might fall and cause noise that would betray us. When danger is past, I will come again. Meanwhile, observe now what I am about to do, and try to imitate me.”

He returned to the entrance, and, taking up the plank-bridge, drew it into the passage, guiding its outer end on a slight branch, which seemed to have fallen across the chasm accidentally, but which in reality had been placed there for this purpose. Then, sliding it out again, he refixed it in position.

“Is that too hard for you? Try.”

Branwen obeyed, and succeeded so well, that old Beniah commended her on her aptitude to learn.

“Now be careful,” he added, when about to re-cross the bridge. “Your life may depend on your attention to my instructions.”

“But what if I should let the plank slip?” said she in sudden anxiety.

“There is another in the cave on the floor. Besides, I have two or three planks in the forest ready against such a mishap. Fear not, but commit yourself to the All-seeing One.”

He crossed over alone, leaving the girl on the other side, and waited till she had withdrawn the bridge, when he returned to the mouth of the outer cave, and sat down to continue the perusal of his roll. Branwen meanwhile returned to the inner cave, or store, and sat down to meditate on thoughts which had been awakened by the Hebrew’s reference to the All-seeing One. She wondered if there was an All-seeing One at all, and, if there was, did He see all the wickedness that was done by men—ay, and even by women! and did He see the thoughts of her mind and the feelings of her heart?

It will be gathered from this, that the maiden was considerably in advance of the uncivilised age in which she lived, for the ancient inhabitants of Albion were not addicted to the study of theology, either natural or speculative.

“If I but knew of such an All-seeing One,” she murmured, “I would ask Him to help me.”

Raising her eyes as she spoke, she observed the goods piled round the walls, and the light of the lamp—which had been left with her—glittered on the trinkets opposite. This was too much for her. It must be remembered that, besides living in a barbarous age, she was an untutored maiden, and possessed of a large share of that love for “pretty things,” which is—rightly or wrongly—believed to be a peculiar characteristic of the fair sex. Theology, speculative and otherwise, vanished, she leaped up and, forgetting her host’s warning, began to inspect the goods.

At first conscience—for she had an active little one—remonstrated.

“But,” she replied, silently, with a very natural tendency to self-justification, “although Beniah told me not to touch things, I did not promise not to do so?”

“True, but your silence was equivalent to a promise,” said something within her.

“No, it wasn’t,” she replied aloud.

“Yes, it was,” retorted the something within her in a tone of exasperating contradiction.

This was much too subtle a discussion to be continued. She brushed it aside with a laugh, and proceeded to turn over the things with eager admiration on her expressive face. Catching up a bright blue-and-scarlet shawl, large enough to cover her person, she threw it over her and made great, and not quite successful, efforts to see her own back. Suddenly she became motionless, and fixed her lustrous brown eyes on the roof with almost petrified attention.

A thought had struck her! And she resolved to strike it back in the sense of pursuing it to a conclusion.

“The very thing,” she said, recovering from petrification, “and I’ll do it!”

The preliminary step to doing it seemed to be a general turn over of the Hebrew’s shawls, all of which, though many were beautiful, she rejected one after another until she found an old and considerably worn grey one. This she shook out and examined with approving nods, as if it were the finest fabric that ever had issued from the looms of Cashmere. Tying her luxuriant hair into a tight knot behind, and smoothing it down on each side of her face, and well back so as not to be obtrusive, she flung the old shawl over her head, induced a series of wrinkles to corrugate her fair brow; drew in her lips so as to conceal her teeth, and, by the same action, to give an aquiline turn to her nose; bowed her back, and, in short, converted herself into a little old woman!

At court, Branwen had been celebrated for her powers of mimicry, and had been a source of great amusement to her companions in the use—sometimes the abuse—of these powers; but this was the first occasion on which she had thought of personating an old woman.

Having thus metamorphosed herself, she looked eagerly round