The Chaplet of Pearls by Charlotte M. Yonge (i am reading a book .txt) 📕

he muttered. ‘Who would dare build such a defenceless house over yonder?’—pointing south.

‘Our hearts are guarded now,’ said Philip, proudly. Berenger half smiled, as he was wont to do when he meant more than he could conveniently utter, and presently he asked, in the same languid, musing tone, ‘Lucy, were you ever really affrighted?’

Lucy questioned whether he could be really in his right mind, as if the bewilderment of his brain was again returning; and while she paused, Annora exclaimed, ‘Yes, when we were gathering cowslips, and the brindled cow ran at us, and Lucy could not run because she had Dolly in her arm. Oh! we were frightened then, till you came, brother.’

‘Yes,’ added Bessie; ‘and last winter too, when the owl shrieked at the window—-’

‘And,’ added Berenger, ‘sister, what was your greatest time of revelry?’

Annora again put in her word. ‘I know, brother; you remember the fair-day, when my Lady Grandame was angered because you and Lucy went on dancing when we and all then gentry had ceased. And when Lucy said she had not seen that you were left alone, Aunt Cecily said it was because the eyes of discretion were lacking.’

‘Oh, the Christmas feast was far grander,’ said Bessie. ‘Then Lucy had her first satin farthingale, and three gallants, besides my brother, wanted to dance with her.’

Blushing deeply, Lucy tried to hush the little ones, much perplexed by the questions, and confused by the answers. Could he be contrasting the life where a vicious cow had been the most alarming object, a greensward dance with a step-brother the greatest gaiety, dye of the elder juice the deepest stain, with the temptations and perils that had beset one equally young? Resting his head on his hand, his elbow on his knee, he seemed to be musing in a reverie that he could hardly brook, as his young brow was knitted by care and despondency.

Suddenly, the sounds in the village rose from the quiet sleepy summer hum into a fierce yell of derisive vituperation, causing Philip at once to leap up, and run across the court to the entrance-gate, while Lucy called after him some vain sisterly warning against mingling in a fray.

It seemed as if his interposition had a good effect, for the uproar lulled almost as soon as he had hurried to the scene of action; and presently he reappeared, eager and breathless. ‘I told them to bring him up here,’ he said; ‘they would have flogged him at the cart’s-tail, the rogues, just because my father is out of the way. I could not make out his jargon, but you can, brother; and make that rascal Spinks let him go.’

‘What should I have to do with it?’ said Berenger, shrinking from the sudden exposure of his scarred face and maimed speech. ‘I am no magistrate.’

‘But you can understand him; he is French, the poor rogue something abut a letter, and wanting to ask his way. Ah! I thought that would touch you, and it will cost you little pains, and slouching it over his face, rose, and, leaning upon Annora’s shoulder, stepped forward, just as the big burly blacksmith-constable and small shriveled cobbler advanced, dragging along, by a cord round the wrists, a slight figure with a red woolen sailor’s shirt, ragged black hosen, bare head, and almost bare feet.

Doffing their caps, the men began an awkward salutation to the young Lord on his recovery, but he only touched his beaver in return, and demanded, ‘How now! what have you bound him for?’

‘You see, my Lord,’ began the constable, ‘there have been a sort of vagrants of late, and I’ll be bound’ twas no four-legged fox as took Gaffer Shepherd’s lamb.’

The peroration was broken off, for with a start as if he had been shot, Berenger cried aloud, ‘Mericour! the Abbe!’

‘Ah, Monsieur, if you know me,’ cried the young man, raising his head, ‘free me from this shame—aid me in my mission!’

‘Loose him, fellows,’ shouted Berenger; ‘Philip, a knife—Lucy, those scissors.’

‘Tis my duty, my Lord,’ said Spinks, gruffly. ‘All vagabonds to be apprehended and flogged at the cart’s-tail, by her Grace’s special commands. How is it to be answered to his Honour, Sir Marmaduke?’

‘Oaf!’ cried Philip, ‘you durst not have used such violence had my father been at home! Don’t you see my brother knows him?’

With hands trembling with haste, Berenger had seized the scissors that, house-wife like, hung at Lucy’s waist, and was cutting the rope, exclaiming in French, ‘Pardon, pardon, friend, for so shameful a reception.’

‘Sir,’ was the reply, without a sign of recognition, ‘if, indeed, you know my name, I entreat you to direct me to the chateau of Le Sieur Tistefote, whose lady was once Baronne de Ribaumont.’

‘My mother! Ah, my friend, my friend! what would you?’ he cried in a tone of tremulous hope and fear, laying one hand on Mericour’s shoulder, and about to embrace him.

Mericour retreated from him; but the high-spirited young man crossed his arms on his breast, and gazing at the group with indignant scorn, made answer, ‘My message is from her who deems herself a widow, to the mother of the husband whom she little imagines to be not only alive, but consoled.’

‘Faithful! Faithful!’ burst out Berenger, with a wild, exultant, strangely-ringing shout. ‘Woe, woe to those who would have had me doubt her! Philip—Lucy—hear! Her truth is clear to all the world!’ Then changing back again to French, ‘Ten thousand blessings on you, Mericour! You have seen her! Where—how?’

Mericour still spoke with frigid politeness. ‘I had the honour to part with Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont in the town of La Sablerie, among humble, Huguenot guardians, to whom she had fled, to save her infant’s life—when no aid came.’

He was obliged to break off, for Berenger, stunned by the sudden rush of emotion, reeled as he stood, and would have fallen but for the prompt support of Lucy, who was near enough to guide him back to rest upon the bench, saying resentfully in French as she did so, ‘My brother is still very ill. I pray you, sir, have a care.’

She had not half understood the rapid words of the two young men, Philip comprehended them far less, and the constable and his crew of course not at all; and Spinks pushed forward among the group as he saw Berenger sink back on the bench; and once more collaring his prisoner, exclaimed almost angrily to Philip, ‘There now, sir, you’ve had enough of the vagabond. We’ll keep him tight ere he bewitches any more of you.’

This rude interference proved an instant restorative. Berenger sprang up at once, and seizing Spink’s arm, exclaimed, ‘Hands off, fellow! This is my friend—a gentleman. He brings me tidings of infinite gladness. Who insults him, insults me.’

Spinks scarcely withdrew his hand from Mericour’s neck; and scowling, said, ‘Very odd gentleman—very queer tidings, Master Berenger, to fell you like an ox. I must be answerable for the fellow till his Honour comes.’

‘Ah! Eh