A Forgotten Hero Part 5

"I warrant he'll be a priest," said Elaine.

"He will have fair hair and soft manners," remarked Olympias.

"Nay, he shall have such hair as shall please G.o.d," said Heliet, more gravely. "But he must be gentle and loving, above all to the weak and sorrowful: a true knight, to whom every woman is a holy thing, to be guarded and tended with care. He must put full affiance in G.o.d, and love Him supremely: and next, me; and below that, all other. He must not fear danger, yet without fool-hardiness; but he must fear disgrace, and fear and hate sin. He must be true to himself, and must aim at making of himself the best man that ever he can. He must not be afraid of ridicule, or of being thought odd. He must have firm convictions, and be ready to draw sword for them, without looking to see whether other men be on the same side or not. His heart must be open to all misery, his brain to all true and innocent knowledge, his hand ready to redress every wrong not done to himself. For his enemies he must have forgiveness; for his friends, unswerving constancy: for all men, courtesy."

"And that is thy model man? _Ha, jolife_!" cried Elaine. "Why, I could not stand a month of him."

"I am afraid he would be rather soft and flat," said Diana, with a curl of her lip.

"No, I don't think that," answered Roisia. "But I should like to know where Heliet expects to find him."

"Do give his address, Heliet!" said Elaine, laughing.

"Ah! I never knew but one that answered to that description," was Heliet's reply.

"_Ha, jolife_!" cried Elaine, clapping her hands. "Now for his name! I hope I know him--but I am sure I don't."

"You all know His name," said Heliet, gravely. "How many of us know _Him_? For indeed, I know of no such man that ever lived, except only Jesus Christ our Lord."

There was no answer. A hush seemed to have fallen on the whole party, which was at last broken by Olympias.

"Well, but--thou knowest we cannot have Him."

"Pardon me, I know no such thing," answered Heliet, in the same soft, grave tone. "Does not the Psalmist say, '_Portio mea, Domine_'? [Note 1] And does not Solomon say, '_Dilectus meus mihi_?' [Note 2.] Is it not the very glory of His infinitude, that all who are His can have all of Him?"

"Where did Heliet pick up these queer notions?" said Diana under her breath.

"She goes to such extremes!" Elaine whispered back.

"But all that means to go into the cloister," replied Olympias in a discontented tone.

"Nay," said Heliet, taking up her crutches, "I hope a few will go to Heaven who do not go into the cloister. But we may rest a.s.sured of this, that not one will go there who has not chosen Christ for his portion."

"Well," said Diana, calmly, a minute after Heliet had disappeared, "I suppose she means to be a nun! But she might let that alone till she is one."

"Let what alone?" asked Roisia.

"Oh, all that parson's talk," returned Diana. "It is all very well for priests and nuns, but secular people have nothing to do with it."

"I thought even secular people wanted to go to Heaven," coolly put in Elaine, not because she cared a straw for the question, but because she delighted in taking the opposite side to Diana.

"Let them go, then!" responded Diana, rather sharply. "They can keep it to themselves, can't they?"

"Well, I don't know," said Elaine, laughing. "Some people cannot keep things to themselves. Just look at Olympias, whatever she is doing, how she argues the whole thing out in public. 'Oh, shall I go or not? Yes, I think I will; no, I won't, though; yes, but I will; oh, can't somebody tell me what to do?'"

Elaine's mimicry was so perfect that Olympias herself joined in the laugh. The last-named damsel carried on all her mental processes in public, instead of presenting her neighbours, as most do, with results only. And when people wear their hearts upon their sleeves, the daws will come and peck at them.

"Now, don't tease Olympias," said Roisia good-naturedly.

"Oh, let one have a bit of fun," said Elaine, "when one lives in a convent of the strictest order."

"I suspect thou wouldst find a difference if thou wert to enter one,"

sneered Diana.

Elaine would most likely have fought out the question had not Mistress Underdone entered at that moment with a plate of gingerbread in her hand smoking hot from the oven.

"Oh, Mistress, I am so hungry!" plaintively observed that young lady.

Mistress Underdone laughed, and set down the plate. "There, part the spice-cake among you," said she. "And when you be through, I have somewhat to tell you."

"Tell us now," said Elaine, as well as a mouthful of gingerbread allowed her to speak.

"Let me see, now--what day is this?" inquired Mistress Underdone.

All the voices answered her at once, "Saint Dunstan's Eve!" [May 13th].

"So it is. Well--come Saint Botolph, [June 17th] as I have but now learned, we go to Whitehall."

"_Ha, jolife_!" cried Diana, Elaine, and Roisia at once.

"Will Heliet go too?" asked Clarice, softly.

"Oh, no; Heliet never leaves Oakham," responded Olympias.

Mistress Underdone looked kindly at Clarice. "No, Heliet will not go,"

she said. "She cannot ride, poor heart." And the mother sighed, as if she felt the prospective pain of separation.

"But there will be dozens of other maidens," said Elaine. "There are plenty of girls in the world beside Heliet."

Clarice was beginning to think there hardly were for her.

"Oh, thou dost not know what thou wilt see at Westminster!" exclaimed Elaine. "The Lord King, and the Lady Queen, and all the Court; and the Abbey, with all its riches, and ever so many maids and gallants. It is delicious beyond description, when the Lady is away visiting some shrine, and she does that nearly every day."

Roisia's "Hus.h.!.+" had come too late.

"I pray you say that again, my mistress!" said the well-known voice of the Lady Margaret in the doorway. "Nay, I will have it.--Fetch me the rod, Agatha.--Now then, minion, what saidst? Thou caitiff giglot! If I had thee not in hand, that tongue of thine should bring thee to ruin.

What saidst, hussy?"

And Elaine had to repeat the unlucky words, with the birch in prospect, and immediately afterwards in actuality.

"I will lock thee up when I go visiting shrines!" said the Countess with her last stroke. "Agatha, remember when we are at Westminster that I have said so."

"Ay, Lady," observed Mistress Underdone, composedly.

And the Lady Margaret, throwing down the birch, stalked away, and left the sobbing Elaine to resume her composure at her leisure.

In a vaulted upper chamber of the Palace of Westminster, on a bright morning in June, four persons were seated. Three, who were of the n.o.bler s.e.x, were engaged in converse; the last, a lady, sat apart with her embroidery in modest silence. They were near relatives, for the men were respectively husband, brother-in-law, and uncle of the woman, and they were the most prominent members of the royal line of England, with one who did not belong to it.