The Last of the Barons — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (reading an ebook .TXT) 📖

Thus reasoning with himself, his soul faced the solitude. Meanwhile Marmaduke regained the courtyard, where, as we have said, he had been detained in conferring with some of the gentlemen in the king’s service, who, hearing that he brought important tidings from the earl, had abstained from rest till they could learn if the progress of the new rebellion would bring their swords into immediate service. Marmaduke, pleased to be of importance, had willingly satisfied their curiosity, as far as he was able, and was just about to retire to his own chamber, when the cry of Anne had made him enter the postern-door which led up the stairs to Adam’s apartment, and which was fortunately not locked; and now, on returning, he had again a new curiosity to allay. Having briefly said that Master Warner had taken that untoward hour to frighten the women with a machine that vomited smoke and howled piteously, Marmaduke dismissed the group to their beds, and was about to seek his own, when, looking once more towards the casement, he saw a white hand gleaming in the frosty moonlight, and beckoning to him.

The knight crossed himself, and reluctantly ascended the stairs, and re-entered the wizard’s den.

The Lady Anne had so far recovered herself, that a kind of unnatural calm had taken possession of her mind, and changed her ordinary sweet and tractable nature into one stern, obstinate resolution,—to escape, if possible, that unholy palace. And as soon as Marmaduke re-entered, Anne met him at the threshold, and laying her hand convulsively on his arm, said, “By the name you bear, by your love to my father, aid me to quit these walls.”

In great astonishment, Marmaduke stared, without reply. “Do you deny me, sir?” said Anne, almost sternly.

“Lady and mistress mine,” answered Marmaduke, “I am your servant in all things. Quit these walls, the palace!—How?—the gates are closed. Nay, and what would my lord say, if at night—”

“If at night!” repeated Anne, in a hollow voice; and then pausing, burst into a terrible laugh. Recovering herself abruptly, she moved to the door, “I will go forth alone, and trust in God and Our Lady.”

Sibyll sprang forward to arrest her steps, and Marmaduke hastened to Adam, and whispered, “Poor lady, is her mind unsettled? Hast thou, in truth, distracted her with thy spells and glamour?”

“Hush!” answered the old man; and he whispered in Nevile’s ear.

Scarcely had the knight caught the words, than his cheek paled, his eyes flashed fire. “The great earl’s daughter!” he exclaimed. “Infamy—horror—she is right!” He broke from the student, approached Anne, who still struggled with Sibyll, and kneeling before her, said, in a voice choked with passions at once fierce and tender,—

“Lady, you are right. Unseemly it may be for one of your quality and sex to quit this place with me, and alone; but at least I have a man’s heart, a knight’s honour. Trust to me your safety, noble maiden, and I will cut your way, even through yon foul king’s heart, to your great father’s side!”

Anne did not seem quite to understand his words; but she smiled on him as he knelt, and gave him her hand. The responsibility he had assumed quickened all the intellect of the young knight. As he took and kissed the hand extended to him, he felt the ring upon his finger,—the ring intrusted to him by Alwyn, the king’s signet-ring, before which would fly open every gate. He uttered a joyous exclamation, loosened his long night-cloak, and praying Anne to envelop her form in its folds, drew the hood over her head; he was about to lead her forth when he halted suddenly.

“Alack,” said he, turning to Sibyll, “even though we may escape the Tower, no boatman now can be found on the river. The way through the streets is dark and perilous, and beset with midnight ruffians.”

“Verily,” said Warner, “the danger is past now. Let the noble demoiselle rest here till morning. The king dare not again—”

“Dare not!” interrupted Marmaduke. “Alas! you little know King Edward.”

At that name Anne shuddered, opened the door, and hurried down the stairs; Sibyll and Marmaduke followed her.

“Listen, Sir Marmaduke,” said Sibyll. “Close without the Tower is the house of a noble lady, the dame of Longueville, where Anne may rest in safety, while you seek Lord Warwick. I will go with you, if you can obtain egress for us both.”

“Brave damsel!” said Marmaduke, with emotion; “but your own safety—the king’s anger—no—besides a third, your dress not concealed, would create the warder’s suspicion. Describe the house.”

“The third to the left, by the river’s side, with an arched porch, and the fleur-de-lis embossed on the walls.”

“It is not so dark but we shall find it. Fare you well, gentle mistress.”

While they yet spoke, they had both reached the side of Anne. Sibyll still persisted in the wish to accompany her friend; but Marmaduke’s representation of the peril to life itself that might befall her father, if Edward learned she had abetted Anne’s escape, finally prevailed. The knight and his charge gained the outer gate.

“Haste, haste, Master Warder!” he cried, beating at the door with his dagger till it opened jealously,—“messages of importance to the Lord Warwick. We have the king’s signet. Open!”

The sleepy warder glanced at the ring; the gates were opened; they were without the fortress, they hurried on. “Cheer up, noble lady; you are safe, you shall be avenged!” said Marmaduke, as he felt the steps of his companion falter. But the reaction had come. The effort Anne had hitherto made was for escape, for liberty; the strength ceased, the object gained; her head drooped, she muttered a few incoherent words, and then sense and life left her. Marmaduke paused in great perplexity and alarm. But lo, a light in a house before him! That house the third to the river,—the only one with the arched porch described by Sibyll. He lifted the light and holy burden in his strong arms, he gained the door; to his astonishment it was open; a light burned on the stairs; he heard, in the upper room, the sound of whispered voices, and quick, soft footsteps hurrying to and fro. Still bearing the insensible form of his companion, he ascended the staircase, and entered at once upon a chamber, in which, by a dim lamp, he saw some two or three persons assembled round a bed in the recess. A grave man advanced to him, as he paused at the threshold.

“Whom seek you?”

“The Lady Longueville.”

“Hush?”

“Who needs me?” said a faint voice, from the curtained recess.

“My name is Nevile,” answered Marmaduke, with straightforward brevity. “Mistress Sibyll Warner told me of this house, where I come for an hour’s shelter to my companion, the Lady Anne, daughter of the Earl of Warwick.”

Marmaduke resigned his charge to an old woman, who was the nurse in that sick-chamber, and who lifted the hood and chafed the pale, cold hands of the young maiden; the knight then strode to the recess. The Lady of Longueville was on the bed of death—an illness of two