may-day had not been kept with its usual festivity at hayslope this year, and so in this month of june it was proposed to have a junketing on the village green in honour of captain stanhope and his soldiers. maud, and many another as sad-hearted as she, were in no humour for revelry when their dear ones were away at the war, and bertram was quite indignant that mary should wish it if captain stanhope did, and loudly declared he would not join in the fun. the horns of ale passed freely from hand to hand that day, and the soldiers kept up the excitement among the villagers by occasionally giving them a fanfare from their trumpets, drinking with them, and telling them stories of "glorious war." it had the desired effect. before the night closed in half-a-dozen lads had enlisted, and among them master drury's trusty groom, roger.
this was rather more than the gentleman had bargained for, and he was very angry when he heard it, but he could not say much to captain stanhope, lest the sincerity of his principles should be doubted. but it seemed that roger was not the only prize the young soldier coveted, for the day following the revel he asked the hand of mary drury in marriage. master drury knew not what to say to this, for all the household had seen the marked attentions he paid to maud—attentions which she repelled with cold disdain.
it had been remarked by many in the village that mistress harcourt had kept aloof as much as possible from the revelry. she had been obliged to come down with the family, but instead of joining in the sport, she went about among those who were on the outskirts of the crowd—the mothers with babies in their arms, widows, whose lives this civil war had made desolate, and sad-eyed maidens widowed already in heart and affection through the intolerance of king charles. among these, maud had already made herself known, and now her rich robes of cherry-colour flowered satin might be seen in close neighbourhood with the blue serge and linsey-woolsey petticoats and linen jackets of her poorer neighbours. the children liked to look at her pretty dress—that of itself was a show to them—but the sad and sorrowful had began to love her for the kindly words and sympathy she gave them.
from these she heard that it was whispered she was likely to become mistress stanhope shortly—a rumour that annoyed her exceedingly. captain stanhope, it seems, had heard the same. some one had ventured to remark that the bride-elect did not join the dancers, and he resolved to speak to maud that very night, and ask her to become his wife, although he had received so little encouragement to hope for a favourable answer.
on his way back to the grange, therefore, he contrived to join her, and in a few words begged her to favour his suit. maud hardly knew whether to be angry or sorry, but she contrived to make him understand most clearly that it was useless to press her on that subject, and begged him not to allow any one else to know that he had asked her hand.
she need not have feared this. captain stanhope was too proud to let any one know of his rejection, and his chief annoyance arose from the fact that many had already seen and remarked his preference. musing on this, he saw mary and bertram at a little distance, and the idea at once entered his head that this annoyance could be got over by at once proposing to mary, when it would be thought he was only playing with maud, while in reality he was attached to mary. so he contrived to dismiss bertram from his sister's side, and in a gentle tone begged her to walk in the garden with him; and then when they reached the arbour he made the same proposal as he had made to maud but a few minutes before.
mary was surprised, but pleased; not that she loved the young soldier, she had not thought of such a thing. but he was handsome, and could be a pleasant companion; and then she had felt herself so disgraced since harry had gone away, that she would gladly exchange the name of drury for stanhope. she did not tell her lover this, she only said something about thinking he liked maud best, on which he muttered that maud was too proud and cold for him, when she shyly said he must speak to her father, when, if he gave his consent, she was willing to ratify it.
master drury hardly knew what to say when asked for his permission. in reality he felt the loss of his son more than he chose to own even to himself, and did not care to part with his eldest daughter just now, but he resolved to let mary decide the matter; and so, telling captain stanhope that he should receive his answer in the evening, he sent for mary.
the young lady blushed as she entered her father's presence, for she guessed what he wished to speak to her about.
"prithee now, tell me truly mary of this business with captain stanhope. dost thou wish to leave the old grange, my child?" he asked.
"i wish to change my name, father," said mary, with a deep blush.
"and wherefore art thou so anxious about this?"
"canst thou ask, when it has been so deeply disgraced?" said mary.
the old man bowed his head. truly his family pride was bearing bitter fruit, if he were to lose his children through it in this way. he saw that his daughter did not love the man that had sought her hand in marriage, and he did not believe that he loved her; but he was powerless to withhold his consent if mary wished it, which she evidently did. "it will be better so, my father," she said. "the stanhopes have ever been true and loyal, i have heard you say, and this marriage may help to wipe the traitor stain from our escutcheon."
"true, my daughter," said the old man, but it was said very sadly, for he knew it was not thus he had chosen her mother, or been accepted by her. but the matter seemed to have been settled by mary without his interference, and he yielded rather than gave his consent when captain stanhope came again in the evening.
after leaving her father mary went to inform maud of what had taken place. she had expected some surprise, but not the look of blank astonishment with which her news was received.
"mary, you cannot mean to do it," she uttered, as soon as she was able to speak.
"by my troth, i know not what you mean, maud," said mary, indignantly.
"prithee, tell me it is not true, dear; that it is all a fable about your marrying captain stanhope," said maud, soothingly.
"marry, but it is true—true as that your name is maud harcourt," replied mary.
maud rose from her seat and paced up and down the room, and mary, looking at her, could only think that she was disappointed. "tell me, when did this take place?" said maud, pausing in her walk and looking earnestly in mary's face.
"marry, but i know not why you should ask this question," said mary, indignantly. "did he propose to you?" she asked, in a tone of bitter sarcasm.
maud blushed crimson and turned away, but only for a minute. "tell me when he asked you this?" she cried. "prithee, tell me, mary. i wish not to vex you, but this i would know."
"marry, you may know, it was last night," said mary, speaking calmly.
"as he walked from the village?" asked maud.
"nay, in the garden, after bertram had left me," said mary. "i saw him walking with you from the village," she added.
"then it must have been after i came indoors," said maud.
mary bowed her head. "even so," she replied. maud resumed her walk up and down the room, and mary sat gazing at her until maud came and threw herself on a cushion at her feet, and, forgetting the bitter words that had been spoken only a minute or two before, she stooped and kissed mary's hands. this touched the proud girl's heart, and she said, "i hope i have not offended you, maud."
"prithee, no," said maud. "but i want you to tell me, mary, do you love this captain stanhope?" mary drew back.
"why do you ask this question?" she said.
"marry, because i greatly fear he loves not you," said maud, slowly.
"but tell me does he love you?" said mary, in a tone of sarcasm.
maud did not reply to this. she expected the young lady would be angry, but she was determined to do what she believed to be her duty. "mary, sweetheart, we have been as sisters," she said, "and i would you knew how much i loved you; and by my faith, it is because of this i would bid you be not too hasty in binding yourself to this captain stanhope! it is pride, not love, that has made him seek you."
"marry, then we are even," said mary, with a bitter laugh. "i thank you, mistress maud, for telling me of this," she said, with a mock reverence, "for you have removed the last scruple i had in accepting him." whether this was true, or whether the gay manner was only put on, maud could not tell, but it made her very unhappy, and instead of going down to the keeping-room, to be watched by mistress mabel, she went to pay her usual visit to dame coppins at once, instead of later on in the day.
as she reached the blacksmith's corner she saw a little crowd gathered round, and heard the sound of women crying; and when she drew near she found it was the soldiers leaving with the spoil of the previous day's revel—the six men who had taken service for the king.
she had heard of it before she left home; but the thought that roger might meet and fight against the young master whom he loved almost overcame her now, and she could hardly restrain her tears when the downcast-looking man ventured to say farewell as she was passing.
"farewell roger, and godspeed to you, and quickly bring this war to a close, and you back to us. you will not forget to be kind to master harry if ever he should need it," added maud; for it might be that as a royalist soldier roger would have that power some day, she thought; and then she rode on down the lane, while the poor fellows who were going away bade wives and sisters cheer up and take example by mistress maud, whose lover would soon have to go to the wars too, for the villagers had quite settled the affair for captain stanhope to their own satisfaction.
as maud went on to the cottage she wondered when the marriage was to take place between mary and captain stanhope. it could not be for some time, she thought—not until this dreadful war was over, and then she sighed as she thought of the misery this was causing.
when she reached the cottage she found the old woman looking very weak and ill, and so feeble she could hardly speak. maud was alarmed. "what is the matter," she said; "are you ill?"
the poor old creature shook her head—"not ill," she gasped, "but, oh, so hungry." maud ran to the cupboard; there was not a bit of anything in the shape of food, but a little pile of halfpence in one corner.
maud took these into her hand. "why did you not buy yourself a rye loaf?" she said. dame coppins shook her head. "they will not sell anything to me," she said.
it was true enough; the villagers had determined to starve out the witch if they could not drown her, and so every one had refused to supply her with food, until the poor creature was brought to the verge of starvation.
to remedy this, maud now had either to bring the old woman's food from the grange, or make her purchases herself in the village, so that a day seldom passed without her being seen near the blacksmith's shed.
one day when she was passing, a stranger rode up whose horse had lost a shoe, and he was obliged to stop to get the damage repaired. the man looked travel-stained and tired, and the blacksmith, with his usual love of gossip, wanted him to drink a horn of ale before he shod the horse.
"nay, that may not be, friend blacksmith, for i bear tidings of weighty import. there has been a great battle in yorkshire." maud, pausing to speak to a child close by, heard these words.
"a battle, sir traveller: can you tell me aught about it?" she asked.
"marry, and i should be able, seeing i was in it, and fought with lieutenant cromwell's ironsides," said the man. "is not this hayslope?" he asked.
the stranger at the smithy.
the blacksmith nodded. "but we be all king charles's men here," he said.
"marry, that may be, so all who are here," said the traveller. "but one harry drury cometh from hayslope, and he fought right bravely with the parliament men at marston moor, and now lieth sorely wounded and grievously sick."
