| | |
AS soon as Hendon and the king were out of sight of the constable,
his majesty was instructed to hurry to a certain place outside the
town, and wait there, whilst Hendon should go to the inn and settle
his account. Half an hour later the two friends were blithely
jogging eastward on Hendon's sorry steeds. The king was warm and
comfortable now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the
second-hand suit which Hendon had bought on London Bridge.
Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; he judged
that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal measures of sleep
would be bad for his crazed mind, while rest, regularity, and moderate
exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure; he longed to see the
stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions driven out
of the tormented little head; therefore he resolved to move by easy
stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished, instead of
obeying the impulse of his impatience and hurrying along night and
day.
When he and the king had journeyed about ten miles, they reached a
considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a good inn.
The former relations were resumed; Hendon stood behind the king's
chair while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was
ready for bed; then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept
athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket.
The next day, and the next day after, they jogged lazily along
talking over the adventures they had met since their separation, and
mightily enjoying each other's narratives. Hendon detailed all his
wide wanderings in search of the king, and described how the archangel
had led him a fool's journey all over the forest, and taken him back
to the hut finally, when he found he could not get rid of him. Then-
he said- the old man went into the bed-chamber and came staggering
back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that
the boy had returned and lain down in there to rest, but it was not
so. Hendon had waited at the hut all day; hope of the king's return
died out then, and he departed upon the quest again.
'And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your Highness came
not back,' said Hendon; 'I saw it in his face.'
'Marry, I will never doubt that!' said the king- and then told his
own story; after which Hendon was sorry he had not destroyed the
archangel.
During the last day of the trip, Hendon's spirits were soaring.
His tongue ran constantly. He talked about his old father, and his
brother Arthur, and told of many things which illustrated their high
and generous characters; he went into loving frenzies over his
Edith, and was so glad-hearted that he was even able to say some
gentle and brotherly things about Hugh. He dwelt a deal on the
coming meeting at Hendon Hall; what a surprise it would be to
everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and delight there
would be.
It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the
road led through broad pasture-lands whose receding expanses, marked
with gentle elevations and depressions, suggested the swelling and
subsiding undulations of the sea. In the afternoon the returning
prodigal made constant deflections from his course to see if by
ascending some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch a
glimpse of his home. At last he was successful, and cried out
excitedly:
'There is the village, my prince, and there is the Hall close
by! You may see the towers from here; and that wood there- that is
my father's park. Ah, now thou'lt know what state and grandeur be! A
house with seventy rooms- think of that!- and seven and twenty
servants! A brave lodging for such as we, is it not so? Come, let us
speed- my impatience will not brook further delay.'
All possible hurry was made; still, it was after three o'clock
before the village was reached. The travelers scampered through it,
Hendon's tongue going all the time. 'Here is the church- covered
with the same ivy- none gone, none added.' 'Yonder is the inn, the old
Red Lion- and yonder is the market-place.' 'Here is the Maypole, and
here the pump- nothing is altered; nothing but the people, at any
rate; ten years make a change in people; some of these I seem to know,
but none know me.' So his chat ran on. The end of the village was soon
reached; then the travelers struck into a crooked, narrow road, walled
in with tall hedges, and hurried briskly along it for a half-mile,
then passed into a vast flower-garden through an imposing gateway
whose huge stone pillars bore sculptured armorial devices. A noble
mansion was before them.
'Welcome to Hendon Hall, my king!' exclaimed Miles. 'Ah, 'tis a
great day! My father and my brother and the Lady Edith will be so
mad with joy that they will have eyes and tongue for none but me in
the first transports of the meeting, and so thou'lt seem but coldly
welcomed- but mind it not; 'twill soon seem otherwise; for when I
say thou art my ward, and tell them how costly is my love for thee,
thou'lt see them take thee to their breasts for Miles Hendon's sake,
and make their house and hearts thy home forever after!'
The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before the great door,
helped the king down, then took him by the hand and rushed within. A
few steps brought him to a spacious apartment; he entered, seated
the king with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man
who sat at a writing-table in front of a generous fire of logs.
'Embrace me, Hugh,' he cried, 'and say thou'rt glad I am come
again! and call our father, for home is not home till I shall touch
his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!'
But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary surprise, and
bent a grave stare upon the intruder- a stare which indicated somewhat
of offended dignity at first, then changed, in response to some inward
thought or purpose, to an expression of marveling curiosity, mixed
with a real or assumed compassion. Presently he said, in a mild voice:
'Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou hast
suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world's hands; thy
looks and dress betoken it. Whom dost thou take me to be?'
'Take thee? Prithee, for whom else than whom thou art? I take thee
to be Hugh Hendon,' said Miles, sharply.
The other continued, in the same soft tone:
'And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?'
'Imagination hath naught to do with it! Dost thou pretend thou
knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hendon?'
An expression of pleased surprise flitted across Hugh's face,
and he exclaimed:
'What! thou art not jesting! can the dead come to life? God be
praised if it be so! Our poor lost boy restored to our arms after
all these cruel years! Ah, it seems too good to be true, it is too
good to be true- I charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with me!
Quick- come to the light- let me scan thee well!'
He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began
to devour him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this way
and that, and stepping briskly around him and about him to prove him
from all points of view; whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow
with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying:
'Go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou'lt find nor limb nor
feature that cannot bide the test. Scour and scan me to thy content,
my dear old Hugh- I am indeed thy old Miles, thy same old Miles, thy
lost brother, is't not so? Ah, 'tis a great day- I said 'twas a
great day! Give me thy hand, give me thy cheek- lord, I am like to die
of very joy!'
He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but Hugh put up
his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his breast,
saying with emotion:
'Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous
disappointment!'
Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he found his
tongue, and cried out:
'What disappointment? Am I not thy brother?'
Hugh shook his head sadly, and said:
'I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the
resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear me the letter spoke
but too truly.'
'What letter?'
'One that came from oversea, some six or seven years ago. It
said my brother died in battle.'
'It was a lie! Call thy father- he will know me.'
'One may not call the dead.'
'Dead?' Miles's voice was subdued, and his lips trembled. 'My
father dead!- oh, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered now.
Prithee, let me see my brother Arthur- he will know me; he will know
me and console me.'
'He, also, is dead.'
'God be merciful to me, a stricken man! Gone- both gone- the
worthy taken and the worthless spared in me! Ah! I crave your
mercy!- do not say the Lady Edith-'
'Is dead? No, she lives.'
'Then God be praised, my joy is whole again! Speed thee,
brother- let her come to me! An she say I am not myself- but she
will not; no, no, she will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring
her- bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.'
'All are gone but five- Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, and
Margaret.'
So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing awhile, then
began to walk the floor, muttering:
'The five arch villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal
and honest- 'tis an odd thing.'
He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he
had forgotten the king entirely. By and by his majesty said gravely,
and with a touch of genuine compassion, though the words themselves
were capable of being interpreted ironically:
'Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world
whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. Thou hast
company.'
'Ah, my king,' cried Hendon, coloring slightly, 'do not thou
condemn me- wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor- she will say
it; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an
impostor? Why I know this old hall, these pictures of my ancestors,
and all these things that are about us, as a child knoweth its own
nursery. Here was I born and bred, my lord; I speak the truth; I would
not deceive thee; and should none else believe, I pray thee do not
thou doubt me- I could not bear it.'
'I do not doubt thee,' said the king, with a childlike
simplicity and faith.
'I thank thee out of my heart!' exclaimed Hendon, with a
fervency which showed that he was touched. The king added, with the
same gentle simplicity:
'Dost thou doubt me?'
A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was grateful that
the door opened to admit Hugh, at that moment, and saved him the
necessity of replying.
A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her
came several liveried servants. The lady walked slowly, with her
head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. The face was unspeakably
sad. Miles Hendon sprang forward, crying out:
'Oh, my Edith, my darling-'
But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady:
'Look upon him. Do you know him?'
At the sound of Miles's voice the woman had started slightly,
and her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling now. She stood still,
during an impressive pause of several moments; then slowly lifted up
her head and looked into Hendon's eyes with a stony and frightened
gaze; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing
remained but the gray pallor of death; then she said, in a voice as
dead as the face, 'I know him not!' and turned, with a moan and
stifled sob, and tottered out of the room.
Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his
hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants:
'You have observed him. Do you know him?'
They shook their heads; then the master said:
'The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake. You
have seen that my wife knew you not.'
'Thy wife!' In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an
iron grip about his throat. 'Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all!
Thou'st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods
are its fruit. There- now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honorable
soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a manikin!'
Hugh, red-faced and almost suffocated, reeled to the nearest
chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous
stranger. They hesitated, and one of them said:
'He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.'
'Armed? What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, I say!'
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added:
'Ye know me of old- I have not changed; come oh, an it like you.'
This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they still held
back.
'Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the
doors, while I send one to fetch the watch,' said Hugh. He turned,
at the threshold, and said to Miles, 'You'll find it to your advantage
to offend not with useless endeavours at escape.'
'Escape? Spare thyself discomfort, an that is all that troubles
thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall and all its
belongings. He will remain- doubt it not.'
|
