it was nearly a week later and lady betty’s chair was passing down the main street of newmarket when she espied denis at the corner of a lane that ran between a mercer’s shop and drake’s. she stopped her chair, and springing from it ran after him, ran quite regardless of the people in the street who stood gaping at the charming young woman running after a groom. she overtook him at the end of the lane; they were behind the mercer’s shop, and denis started at the sight of her and stood irresolute, eying her grimly. she snatched the vizard from her face.
“where is your master?” she demanded breathlessly, “where is lord clancarty?”
the irishman shut his lips stubbornly; he did not trust the daughter of lord sunderland.
“will you not tell me?” cried betty, in distress, “i know that he is wounded—i must see him! i will not be denied! i command[pg 197] you—nay,” she added, reading his inflexible face, “i beg and pray you,—give me news of him!”
denis eyed her closely, relenting just a little, and that little was enough.
“he’s very ill,” he said sullenly.
“is he in danger?” cried lady clancarty, tears gathering in her eyes, “tell me, man, tell me,” and she wrung her hands. “can’t gold tempt you? take me to him!”
denis made a strange motion; it seemed as if he would snatch her purse and then forbore to do it, but his eyes devoured it.
“faix, i don’t know av i can thrust ye,” he said, looking at her keenly; “ye’ve done him harm enough already.”
“but i trust you!” cried lady betty, “i am your master’s wife,—take me to him. see, i will go with you alone—can’t you trust me now?”
the man looked down yet a little while, in evident hesitation, and she watched him, trembling, not with fear, like another woman, but with hope.
“faix, i’ll take ye,” he said bluntly, “if ye’ll go alone. look ye, me lady, if ye bethray him, i’d as lief kill ye as not. i love me lord!”
[pg 198]the color rose in betty’s face, softly, sweetly, her eyes shone.
“and so do i!” she said; “lead on, i will follow—and alone.”
“come, thin,” he said at last, “’tis a long way an’ the place isn’t fit fer a foine lady, but he’s there—tho’, by the virgin, i don’t know what he’ll say ter me fer bringing ye!”
as he spoke he cast a glance back at the chair and its bearers waiting at the mouth of the lane, the men staring after their mistress, and with them a knot of idlers who had gathered to watch the countess. lady clancarty turned her back upon them.
“lead on!” she commanded, impatient and imperious.
denis led the way down the narrow lane, out of sight of the group at the mercer’s shop, and into another byway, and so on through the outskirts of newmarket. he did not take the public road but struck across the fields, passing close to the spot where lord clancarty had fought the duel. lady betty shuddered as they approached it. they were out of sight of the last straggling houses now, crossing the meadows; the sun shone as it had upon that day when she had walked first with clancarty, but there was more of a touch of[pg 199] autumn upon the scene. here, beyond the light green turf, was a field of stubble, and there, in the green hedgerow, were yellow leaves; and the stream, too, that flowed across the meadows, had brown depths and shadows where the pebbles lay thickest, and the purple distance took on gray.
they had left the open and were skirting a little woodland where the dry leaves rustled overhead, and once she heard the “kourre, kourre!” of the pigeons.
whither was he going? lady betty wondered. the place grew more and more solitary; they followed a path, but one so little used that briars fell across it and one of them tore her frock: but she went on fearlessly, for never did a braver heart throb in a woman’s bosom. her spirit was intrepid. she looked about her through the sparsely growing trees and saw long distances without a sign of life or habitation, and still denis plodded on and she followed, pity and love and remorse growing in her heart at every step. her lover and her husband in poverty and obscurity, a proscribed rebel, and she rich. nothing could have appealed so to her full heart. the thought stung her and the tears gathered on her dark lashes.
[pg 200]as denis had predicted, the walk was a long one, but she did not heed it, she kept steadily on behind him; and at last, through an opening in the trees, she saw two horses grazing in a little strip of greensward, and beyond, the lonely farmhouse. as her guide turned towards it betty caught her breath and stood still—for a single moment—the place was so poor, so dark, so uninviting, and the vicinity of newmarket swarmed with banditti; even when the king’s coach took the road it had to be strongly guarded. this old, weather-stained brown house, with half its window shutters broken, the green moss on its slanting gables, and the strong, iron-bound door, with the broken stone before it, was sad and forbidding enough without the silence and the woodland shadows that enfolded it. betty stood and stared at it apprehensively, and then she thought of clancarty. her hesitation was so soon over that the man, her guide, was scarcely aware of it. he went on steadily, hearing her light step rustling on the fallen leaves behind him, and at last he stopped at the door and waited.
“is he here?” she whispered.
denis nodded, opening the door and guiding her into the kitchen where the widow, clancarty’s hostess and nurse, stood before the[pg 201] hearth stirring a stew in a great pot that was suspended on a hook over blazing logs. at the sound of their entrance she turned sharply and stared at lady clancarty in grim amazement, not uttering a word. her stern, sad face and suspicious eye sent the hot blood up under her ladyship’s vizard, but even this, though it embarrassed her, could not hold her back. she stood an instant, though, in the centre of the bare kitchen, in her gay furbelows, holding up her skirts with one hand while the other involuntarily adjusted her mask. meanwhile, the widow continued to eye her sternly, even while she stirred the broth.
denis was quick enough to perceive the difficulty.
“’tis lady clancarty,” he said bluntly to the woman, indicating lady betty’s lovely figure with a backward sweep of the hand.
clancarty’s hostess courtesied profoundly, but the fair intruder felt that those stern eyes said plainly, “a likely story, the brazen hussy!”
“i have come to see my husband,” betty faltered, her voice trembling a little.
“very well, ma’am,” retorted the widow grimly, and turning her back deliberately, she began to flourish the huge spoon again.
[pg 202]the poor young wife, meanwhile, fled after denis across the kitchen, her heart beating wildly. he was waiting in the entry and led her down the hall to the opposite side of the house, before he finally halted at a closed door and waited. at a sign from her he let her enter alone. the place was poorly lighted by small windows, and as she entered and heard the door close behind her, her heart stood still. and then—
poor betty, her tears blinded her; she forgot the suspicious widow. the room was so poor, so bare, so wretched; the low, dark rafters, the stone floor, the miserable furniture. and stretched on the bed lay her husband, white as death; his head turned so that he could not see her, but she saw him, saw the pallor, the wasted cheek, the helpless figure. she did not move and he had not heard her enter, he seemed to be sleeping. she took off her mask and stood waiting. what would he say? for the first time her courage failed her, her knees trembled under her. would he hate her, and despise her for coming? she stirred and he heard the rustle and looked up. in a moment it seemed as if the sun had risen and shone full upon his face: it was glorified, but still she did not go nearer to him.
[pg 203]“ah,” he said, “i see it is but a dream! it has mocked me before. my fever must be upon me again, but, oh, sweet vision, stay with me this time, else i perish here of despair.”
“can you forgive me?” she sobbed, running to him and falling on her knees beside the bed, “oh, i have suffered too, the wound that hurt you pierced me also to the heart! forgive me!”
he put his arm around her, drawing her close, with all his feeble strength, and looking at her with hungry eyes.
“my darling!” he said tenderly, “’tis you—you in the flesh?—and you came to see me?—the beggar, the exile, the traitor—”
“don’t, don’t!” cried betty, in a passion of grief, “i never meant it—it was my tongue, my reckless, wicked tongue—oh, my lord, forgive me!”
he smiled; he was so weak that tears gathered in his eyes.
“what have i to forgive, ‘my own rosaleen’?” he asked tenderly; “i am not worthy of you—i am, indeed, an exile and a vagrant, my queen, and no mate for you.”
“you are my husband,” betty said, blushing divinely.
[pg 204]“betty,” he whispered soft and low, “you have never kissed me!”
“i have never kissed any man, my lord clancarty,” she replied softly, her face radiant, “i will never kiss any man—but the one i love best!”
he looked at her silently, his eyes glowing, holding her closer.
“betty,” he murmured, “do you love me?—your husband?”
betty did not reply in words. she put her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly, laying her soft cheek against his with a sob.
“my darling,” he said, after a pause, “it is too much to ask you to leave all and follow me—too much. i am only a beggar, betty, and an outcast!”
she looked up into his eyes and he thought her face had never been so beautiful.
“my husband,” she said.
his tears wet her cheek as he kissed her again and again.
“my best beloved,” he said, “‘my own rosaleen’! ‘until death us do part,’ do you remember? the bond was made in heaven, betty!”
she smiled through her tears.
[pg 205]“i love you,” she murmured, “and shall forever and forever.”
“will you leave all, betty?” he asked longingly, “all, and follow me into exile and poverty?”
“unto the ends of the earth, my lord and master,” she answered smiling, the old betty suddenly peeping out at him from her dark eyes; “if i have you i have all!” she whispered.
warm hearted, impulsive, careless lady betty was not one to give her heart unless she gave it royally.
after a moment she raised her face, rosy and tear-stained, but smiling.
“did you know me at first?” she asked, “in the woods at althorpe? did you divine who i was?”
he laughed softly, taking her face between his hands and holding it fondly, framed thus, so she could not hide it from him.
“did i know the sun when it shone?” he asked. “ah, my little witch, i knew you! i had been watching you for two days and more, whenever i could catch a glimpse of you. did you know me, madam?”
she smiled adorably and tried to hide her blushes in his hands.
“i felt it,” she whispered, “i think i knew[pg 206] you by intuition—from that first moment—but afterwards—”
“but afterwards?” he asked relentlessly.
she laughed, her eyes shining. “you tried to deceive me,” she said, “in the garden—you remember?—for a little while, i thought you couldn’t be you, and—” her voice trailed off, her face was as scarlet as any poppy.
“and?” he persisted gleefully, holding her still.
“i thought—i thought that i had given my heart to a stranger—and i was married—and—” she broke off, she could not speak for his kisses.
“would you have divorced the beggar for me?” he whispered maliciously.
“o donough!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck in the very ecstasy of her joy at her escape from such a dilemma, “o donough, it would have broken my heart if you hadn’t been—you!”
again a silence and then,—
“why did you put your foot on the shamrock?” he whispered.
she hid her face on his neck. “i wanted it,” she confessed, in a smothered tone, “i wanted it to keep! where is it?”
he drew it from his breast, a withered sprig[pg 207] folded in a piece of paper, and she seized upon it and kissed it.
“nay,” he said, “that you shall not—not even my shamrock shall share your kisses with me! that is one stolen from me, madam, give me the shamrock.”
“never!” she defied him, clasping it to her own bosom, “never—’tis mine to wear for your sake.”
his eyes shone. “my irish beauty,” he said, “roisin bheag dubh!—if i may not have the shamrock i must have the kiss back.”
“why did you treat me so that last night?” he went on, “you perverse witch, you tormentor, you deserve to suffer for flouting your lord and master.”
“that was it,” she said, “you came in with the air of a conquering hero; i thought you would not woo me, that you claimed me too much like a master; that, perhaps, you didn’t love me, but only felt that you were my husband.”
he laughed quietly. “you coquette!” he said fondly, “you knew i loved you—you saw it in my eyes, for i know they devoured you—you felt it!”
betty hung her head guiltily. “i could not help it,” she said, with a little sob, “i loved[pg 208] you,—and suddenly i thought you knew it, and were careless of it!”
he kissed her hands softly. “you knew i loved you!” he exclaimed reproachfully.
she looked up through her tears. “i love to hear you say it,” she murmured rapturously.
after awhile she looked around the miserable room.
“my love,” she cried, “can’t i take you away from this awful place? it breaks my heart to have you here! with that female dragon, too.”
“nay, grieve not, betty,” he answered smiling, “it shines with you in it. how i shall picture you here—in your white and pink gown, with the little hood on your head—the house is a palace, dear! it is too good for a poor man now.”
“and you are poor!” she exclaimed, her tears breaking out afresh, “you are poor and i—i have everything!”
“nay,” he replied, “i am rich in having you!”
but her tears fell. she could not leave him so, she cried, clinging to him; the thought of that poor place would break her heart! and it took all his persuasion and caresses to win a smile from her again.
[pg 209]“and i must go,” she said at last, showing an april face, smiles and tears together, “i must go, or else they will miss me, and if spencer found you here, i know not what he would do; he hates a jacobite! but, oh, my darling, ’twill not be long ere i shall send some token to you, or have some message from you.”
“not long,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “not long, dear betty! as soon as i can walk—a plague upon this wound—as soon as i can move i will come to you! i can’t die now!”
“oh, the risk of it!” she cried, but her face shone, and then suddenly, “donough,” she said, “why had you to fight my lord savile? and after all i did to prevent it!”
“he insulted me, my love,” clancarty replied, “and—and, well, dear heart, after that night i thought you might care for him and not for me, and it drove me mad.”
betty smiled enchantingly.
“you were jealous,” she said, “jealous of me!”
“i was mad with it, betty,” he declared passionately; “and here i lie, curse this wound, like a log, and other men are near you, bask in your smiles, kiss your hand! it drives me to destruction!”
[pg 210]and she looking down at him in his weakness, thin and fever flushed,—she fell upon her knees again beside him, holding her soft cheek against his, and saying only two words—softly, sweetly, with adorable tenderness—“my husband!”
afterwards, in the loneliness of the woodland, betty pressed a full purse into denis’s unreluctant hand.
“not a word to your lord—on your life!” she charged him; “but get all he needs and come to me for more—and we must move him to some comfortable refuge at once. mind you, everything he needs and instantly.”
denis’s face widened into a seraphic smile as he pressed the purse fondly.
“by the virgin, my lady,” he said, “i shall have to be afther telling him a legend—faix, he’ll think i’ve found an angel of a jew, yer ladyship!”
