The Fifth of November Part 8

Again she answered: "Thou sayest it."

"O great G.o.d," he exclaimed, putting his hands to his head, "can this be real? Can this be the end of all our hopes? Is the world so bad and woman so low?"

She uttered not a word, but stood motionless.

"Vile deceiver!" he cried, turning to her as he staggered toward the door, "if it be happiness to know that thine infamy hath ruined my life, know it, then, and be glad."

She heard the portal close. He had gone from her forever. Then the full and terrible import of that which she had acknowledged herself to be overwhelmed her, and with a cry she fell unconscious to the floor.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE GARDEN OF THE GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER.

Upon reaching the open air, Effingston paused for a moment that the shock occasioned by the admission of Elinor might in some degree pa.s.s from him. He had gone to her prepared for tears, protests and womanly anger, and despite the suspicion which had seized his heart, it had not been in his nature to believe the words of his father would so soon find confirmation. He felt, indeed, as one about to lay his head upon the block,--that he must cry out, yet his heart was clutched as by a giant hand, benumbing all his faculties so that pain and lethargy paralyzed his will.

As he groped half blindly for the railing which flanked the narrow steps, the figure of a man confronted him, who, as he perceived the Viscount Effingston standing upon the threshold of Mistress Fawkes'

dwelling, drew back quickly, his face dark with anger. 'Twas Sir Thomas Winter.

In that instant all the calmness of the young n.o.bleman returned to him. The sight of Winter, in whom he saw the bitter enemy of his house, and whom he now hated for a double reason, turned his pain into contempt for her who had so illy used him. Pride came to his aid, and he would have pa.s.sed the other haughtily; but it was in no wise the purpose of Sir Thomas that the meeting should have so peaceful an ending.

Rumor had reached him that the Viscount Effingston was too frequent a visitor at the house of one for whom he fostered, if not love, at least a fierce pa.s.sion, and the presence of his rival, at the very door of the humble dwelling, aroused him to fury. With an angry frown distorting his features he advanced toward the spot where stood the Viscount, who, perceiving he had to deal with one in whom temper had overcome prudence, laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier. It was not the purpose of Winter, however, to come to blows thus openly with one who was known to be in favor with the King. He therefore contented himself with obstructing the way in so insolent a manner, and with such malice in his eyes, that it sent the blood to the cheeks of Effingston, and he returned the gaze unflinchingly, saying quietly:

"Come, if Sir Thomas Winter hath in mind aught to say to me, let it be done quickly, that I may go upon my way." At the same time he moved as though to pa.s.s.

"Nay! My Lord of Effingston!" replied Winter turning his eyes upon the hand which rested on the jeweled sword hilt. "Fear not that in a street of London I would draw sword against thee, traitor though thou art. Thy royal master----"

"Traitor!" cried Effingston, the red of his cheeks changing to the paleness of anger. "Traitor, sayest thou, Sir Winter?"

"Aye!" replied Winter. "All London knoweth."

The Viscount controlled himself by an effort.

"Thy purpose is clear to me," said he coldly, "thou wouldst force a quarrel; so be it. Traitor, sayest thou? Perchance, thy mirror hath shown one to thee so frequently that the word is ever on thy tongue."

"As to mirrors," replied Winter, "those in the King's chamber have revealed to thee their ways, then. Thinkest thou nothing is known concerning the purpose of my Lord Monteagle in instructing thee as to Puritanism."

Effingston bit his lip. "'Tis befitting thy manhood, Sir Winter, having bribed a dastardly servant to give false testimony of what was listened to from behind a curtain, that thou shouldst insult one whose cloak buckle thou art unworthy to loosen. 'Twas a fair representation of thy character, a good showing of thy principles. If it be in thy mind to prate further, get thee into the market place, where, mounted upon an a.s.s, thou mayst draw around thee certain of the populace whose wont it is to gather for such discourse."

This was spoken with a mock gallantry which the Viscount could well a.s.sume, and deprived the other for a moment of utterance. Overcome by anger, and surprised that the insults heaped upon the Viscount were met with contempt, he forgot himself so far as to bring the name of Mistress Fawkes into the quarrel.

"Thou dost but jest with me," he cried, taking a step nearer his rival; "perchance, having come from the arms of thy mistress, thy wits are so dulled that----"

The reply of Effingston was sudden and unexpected. Resolved to avoid an open quarrel with one whom he considered beneath him, he had sought to return words, only, to the other's insults, but the reference to one whom he had held most dear, fired his brain. Scarce had Winter uttered the base accusation when the young n.o.bleman s.n.a.t.c.hed off his heavy gauntlet and with it struck him across the face; so great was the force of the blow that the other staggered, lost his footing on the slippery street, and fell at the feet of his enemy.

Having thus given expression to his anger, Effingston calmly replaced the glove, and with hand upon hilt, awaited the arising of his companion.

Stunned for the moment by so st.u.r.dy a buffet, Winter remained motionless for a little s.p.a.ce, but soon regained his feet, and, with garments soiled and earth stained, with blood upon his face, drew his sword and made as though he would thrust the Viscount through.

Effingston drew also, and more serious results would have followed had not one in the crowd which had gathered to watch the ending of the quarrel, cried that the King's soldiers were approaching.

Sobered by the danger which threatened him, for the arrest of a Catholic with sword in hand was like to bring evil consequence, Winter made haste to sheathe his blade, which example the Viscount quickly followed. However, it was a false alarm, and raised only for the pleasure of seeing two fine gentlemen thrown into confusion. The crowd, catching the spirit of the varlet, straightway raised a tumult, showering the n.o.bles with sundry jibes and insulting remarks, considering it rare sport to have at their mercy those of high degree.

The commotion turned for a moment the mind of Winter from his first grievance, and he bethought himself of the sorry figure he must show with dress awry, face soiled and blood-stained, and, worse than all, insulted dignity. Therefore he made haste to leave a company so unappreciative, and dest.i.tute of sympathy. To Effingston, the thought that against his better judgment he had been drawn into a public brawl, caused his face to glow with pa.s.sion, and his desire to leave the locality was not less than that of the other. The lookers on, finding their sport ended, did not follow, but took themselves to other ways, and the two gentlemen, who had hurried blindly, without attention or knowledge as to direction, soon found themselves in a quiet street somewhat remote from the neighborhood which had witnessed Sir Thomas Winter's discomfiture.

"My Lord of Effingston!" cried he, as he gathered together his disturbed senses, noting the presence of his companion. "Thou hast grievously insulted me, therefore----"

"When thou wilt!" the Viscount interrupted. "My sword is ever at thy service."

"'Tis well!" said Winter, drawing his cloak about him; "one hour from now in the garden of Thomas Percy, whom, methinks, is known to thee.

Yet if thou dost fear----"

Effingston shrugged his shoulders. "In Sir Percy's garden," repeated he haughtily, and turning upon his heel left Sir Thomas in the roadway.

The garden of the official dwelling occupied by the Gentleman-Pensioner consisted of perhaps a quarter of an acre of sward, fringed by a sorry row of leafless trees, and surrounded by a high wall, beyond the top of which shone the metal gables of half a score of straight-backed dwellings. 'Twas no uncommon thing for the parties to a dispute to settle the same by force of arms, but they carried on the affair with all secrecy, lest the report thereof reach the ears of those in authority, as it was contrary to the King's wish that a private quarrel should end in the killing of an English gentleman. Such being the fact, those gardens which adjoined the houses of certain n.o.bles, and by reason of their privacy precluded the presence of prying eyes, were oft turned into duelling grounds, and the square of sward flanking the dwelling of Thomas Percy was well adapted for a contest in which the evenness of the ground, as well as others matters, was of much consequence to the combatants.

To this garden the Viscount Effingston, accompanied by Sir Francis Tillinghurst and another, who bore beneath his cloak a case of instruments, presented himself at the hour appointed for his meeting with Sir Thomas Winter. Having gained admittance by a gate set in the wall, the three found awaiting them, Sir Thomas, my Lord of Rookwood, the Gentleman-Pensioner and a surgeon summoned by the latter to look to the welfare of the challenger.

As the gate clicked behind the Viscount and his companions, Lord Rookwood, who was in close converse with the others at the further side of the garden, advanced haughtily, bowing to Sir Francis, whom he perceived represented the interests of the young n.o.bleman. The two, withdrawing from the others, made haste to arrange the preliminaries of the meeting.

"Thy promptness is most commendable," said Rookwood, casting a look upward at the cold gray of the sky, "and 'twere well that our princ.i.p.als do quickly that which has brought them hither. Methinks a storm is brewing, and a fall of snow might end the matter illy."

A few white flakes upon his doublet bore witness to the correctness of his prophecy. Sir Francis bowed a.s.sent.

"Thou canst perceive," continued Rookwood, pointing to the strip of sward, "that good Thomas Percy has had a care to have no element of fairness lacking. Hast any objection to the spot chosen?"

"I can see no catch or fault in it," replied Tillinghurst, casting his eyes over the ground, "the light is good, and there seemeth to be no advantage in position."

"'Tis well!" said Rookwood, "wilt measure swords that the contest be in all fairness?"

Tillinghurst complied, and the princ.i.p.als, casting aside their cloaks, stepped forward to the strip of sward prepared for them.

The demeanor of the Viscount was serious; he well knew that in Sir Thomas Winter he had no unskilled swordsman, but a man of much experience, with wrist of steel, and a trick of fence acquired by long practice in foreign service. The face of Winter was darkened by a frown in which was blended a shadow of anxiety. The Lord of Monteagle was a famous swordsman, and it might well be that the son had learned from a good master.

"Gentlemen, are you ready?" cried Rookwood drawing his rapier, as also did Sir Francis, that they might interfere should need arise.

The princ.i.p.als saluted, stood at guard, and awaited the signal; when it was given, their blades crossed with a clash which rang out sharp and clear on the cold winter air.

The hate and jealousy with which Winter regarded his young rival were intensified by the tingling blow dealt him an hour before, and from which he still suffered,--and as he was confident beyond doubt of his skill as a swordsman, he attacked with a fury which pressed his younger adversary back toward the wall, and those witnessing the contest thought to see Effingston speedily thrust through.

The Viscount was, however, too adroit a fencer to yield readily to such a fate. Careful, at first, only to defend himself, he met each thrust and pa.s.s with a parry which deepened the frown on Winter's brow, and having retreated to the edge of the duelling ground, he there held his position despite the fierceness of the onslaught.

Suddenly Winter's blade darted serpent-like beneath the guard of his adversary. A red stain appeared on Effingston's shoulder, and the seconds interposed their swords.

The Viscount waved them back, as also he did the surgeon, who hastened to perform his office.