 Chapter 6 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksie This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Celtic City, U.T. Under the shadow of the Elms Her head full of romantic nonsense, well, perhaps that was the true keynote of Sue's character. Perhaps, too, it was that same romantic temperament which gave such peculiar charm to her personality. It was not mere beauty of which she had a plentiful share, nor yet altogether her wealth, which attracted so many courtiers to her feet. Men who knew her in those days at Acle and subsequently at court said that Lady Sue was magnetic. She compelled attention. She commanded admiration through that very romanticism of hers, which caused her eyes to glow at the recital of valor or sorrow or talent, which caused her to see beauty of thought and mind and character there where it lay most deeply hidden, there sometimes where it scarce existed. The dark figure of her guardian secretary had attracted her attention from the moment when she first saw him moving silently about the house and park. The first words she spoke to him were words of sympathy. His life story, brief and simple as it had been, had interested her. He seemed so different from these young and old country squires who frequented Acle Court. He neither would nor flattered her, yet seemed to find great joy in her company. His voice at times was harsh, his manner abrupt, and even rebellious. But at others it fell to infinite gentleness when he talked to her of nature and the stars, both of which he had studied deeply. He never spoke of religion, that subject which was on everybody's tongue, together with the free use of the most sacred names he rigorously avoided. Also politics and my Lord Protector's government, his dictatorship and ever-growing tyranny. But he knew the name of every flower that grew in Meadow or Woodland, the note of every bird as it trilled its song. There is no doubt that but for the advent of that mysterious personality into Acle Village, the deep friendship which had grown in Sue's heart for Richard Lambert would have warmed into a more passionate attachment. But she was too young to reflect, too impulsive to analyze her feelings. The mystery which surrounded the foreigner who lodged at the Quakerus's cottage had made strong appeal to her idealism. His first introduction to her notice in the woods beyond the park gate on that cold January evening, with the moon gleaming weirdly through the branches of the elms, his solitary figure leaning against a tree had fired her imagination and set it wildly galloping after mad fantasies. He had scarcely spoken on that first occasion, but his silence was strangely impressive. She made up her mind that he was singularly handsome, although she could not judge of that very clearly, for he wore a heavy mustache and a shade over one eye. But he was tall, above the average, and carried the elaborate habiliments which the Cavaliers still affected with consummate grace and ease. She thought, too, that the thick parochet became him very well, and his muffled voice, when he spoke, sounded singularly sweet. Since then she had seen him constantly at rare intervals at first, for maidenly dignity forbade that she should seem eager to meet him. He was ignorant of whom she was. Oh, of that she felt quite sure. She always wore a dark tippet round her shoulders and a hood to cover her head. He seemed pleased to see her just to hear her voice. Obviously he was lonely and in deep trouble. Then one night it was the first balmy evening after the winter frost. The moon was singularly bright and the hood had fallen back from her head, just as her face was tilted upwards and her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. Then she knew that he had learnt to love her, not through any words which he spoke, for he was silent. His face was in shadow, and he did not even touch her. Therefore it was not through any of her natural senses that she guessed his love, yet she knew it, and her young heart was overfilled with happiness. That evening when they parted he knelt at her feet and kissed the hem of her curdle, after which, when she was back again in her own little room at Acle Court, she cried for very joy. They did not meet very often. Once a week at most he had vaguely promised to tell her some day of his great work for the regeneration of France, which he was carrying out in loneliness and exile here in England. A work far greater and more comprehensive than that which had secured for England religious and political liberty. This work it was which made him a wanderer on the face of the earth and caused his frequent and lengthy absences from the cottage in which he lodged. She was quite content for the moment with these vague promises in her heart. She was evolving enchanting plans for the future when she would be his helpmate in this great and mysterious work. In the meanwhile, she was satisfied to live in the present, to console and comfort the noble exile, to lavish on him the treasures of her young and innocent love, to endow him in her imagination with all those mental and physical attributes which her romantic nature admired most. The spring had come, clothing the weird branches of the elms with a tender garb of green, the anemones in the woods yielded to the bluebells and these to carpets of primroses and violets. The forests of Thanet echoed with songs of linets and white-throats. She was happy and she was in love. With the lengthened days came some petty sorrows. He was obviously worried, sometimes even impatient. Their meetings became fewer and shorter, for the evening hours were brief. She found it difficult to wander out so late across the park, unperceived, and he would never meet her by daylight. This, no doubt, had caused him to fret. He loved her and desired her all his own. Yet, to her useless of assurity to ask Sir Marmaduke's consent to her marriage with her French prince, he would never give it, and until she came of age he had absolute power over her choice of a husband. She had explained this to him, and he had sighed and murmured angry words, then pressed her with increased passion to his heart. Tonight, as she walked through the park, she was conscious for the first time, perhaps, of a certain alloy mixed with her gladness. Yet she loved him, oh yes, just, just as much as ever. The halo of romance with which she had framed in his mystic personality was in no way dimmed. But, in a sense, she almost feared him, for at times his muffled voice sounded singularly vehement, and his words betrayed the uncontrolled violence of his nature. She had hoped to bring him some reassuring news annant Sir Marmaduke Dyshavis' intentions with regard to herself, but the conversation round the Skittle Alley, her guardian's cruel allusions to the foreign adventurer, had shown her how futile were such hopes. Yet, there were only three months longer of this weary waiting. Surely, he would curb his impatience until she was of age and mistress of her own hand. Surely, he trusted her. She sighed as this thought crossed her mind and nearly fell up against a dark figure which detached itself from among the trees. Master Lambert, she said, uttering a little cry of surprise, pressing her hand against her heart, which was palpitating with emotion, I had no thought of meeting you here, and I still less of seeing your ladyship, he rejoined coldly. How cross you are, she retorted with childish petulance, what have I done that you should be so unkind? Unkind? I had meant to speak to you of this ere now, but you always avoid me. You scarce will look at me, and I wished to ask you if I had offended you. They were standing on a soft carpet of moss, overhead the gentle summer breeze, stirred the great branches of the elms, causing the crisp leaves to mutter a long drawn hush in the stillness of the night. From far away came the appealing call of a blackbird chased by some marauding owl, while on the ground close by the creaking of tiny branches betrayed the quick scurrying of a squirrel. From the remote and infinite distance came the subdued roar of the sea, the peace of the woodland, the sighing of the trees, the dark evening sky above filled his heart with an aching longing for her. Offended me, he murmured, passing his hand across his forehead, for his temples throbbed, and his eyes were burning. Nay, why should you think so? You are so cold, so distant now, she said gently. We were such good friends, when first I came here. Then it is a strange country to me. It seems weird and unkind. The woods are dark and lonely. That persistent sound of the sea fills me with a strange kind of dread. My home was among the surrey hills, you know, it is far from here. I cannot afford to lose a friend. She sighed, a quaint, wistful little sigh, curiously out of place, he thought, in this exquisite mouth framed only four smiles. I have so few real friends, she added in a whisper, so low that he thought she had not spoken, and that the elms had sighed that pathetic phrase into his ear. Believe me, Lady Sue, I am neither cold nor distant, he said, almost smiling. Now, for the situation appeared strange indeed, that this beautiful young girl, rich, corded, surrounded by an army of sycophants, should be appealing to a poor dependent for friendship. I am only a little dazed, as any man would be, who had been dreaming, and saw that dream vanish away. Dreaming? Yes, we all dream sometimes, you know, and a penniless man like myself, without prospects or friends, is, me thinks, more prone to it than most. We all have dreams sometimes, she said, speaking very low, whilst her eyes sought to pierce the darkness beyond the trees. I too. She paused abruptly, and was quite still for a moment, almost holding her breath, he thought, as if she were listening. But not a sound came to disturb the silence of the woods. Blackbird and Owl had ceased their fight for life. The squirrel had gone to rest. The evening air was filled only by the great murmur of the distant sea. Tell me your dream, she said abruptly. Alas, it is too foolish, too mad, too impossible. But you said once that you would be my friend, and would try to cheer my loneliness. So I will, with all my heart, and you will permit. Yet is there no friendship without confidence, she retorted. Tell me your dream. What were the use, you would only laugh, and justly too. I should never laugh at that which made you sad, she said gently. Sad, he rejoined with a short laugh, which had something of his usual bitterness in it. Sad, may have, yet I hardly know, think you that the poor peasant lad would be sad, because he had dreamed that the very princess whom he had seen from afar in her radiance was sweet and gracious to him one midsummer's day. It was only a dream, remember, when he awoke she had vanished, gone out of his sight, hidden from him by a barrier of gold, in front of this barrier stood his pride, which perforce would have to be trampled down and crushed ere he could reach the princess. She did not reply, only bent her sweet head, lest he should perceive the tears which had gathered in her eyes. All round them the woods seemed to have grown darker and more dense, whilst from afar the weird voice of that distant sea murmured of infinity and of the relentlessness of fate. They could not see one another very clearly, yet she knew that he was gazing at her with an intensity of love and longing in his heart, which caused her own to ache with sympathy, and he knew that she was crying, that there was something in that seemingly brilliant and happy young life which caused the exquisite head to droop as if under a load of sorrow. A broken sigh escaped her lips, or was it the sighing of the wind in the elms? He was smitten with remorse to think that he should have helped to make her cry. Sue, my little beautiful Sue, he murmured, himself astonished at his own temerity, and thus daring to address her. It was her grief which had brought her down to his level, the instinct of chivalry, of protection, of friendship which had raised him up to hers. Will you ever forgive me, he said, I had no right to speak to you as I have done. And yet he paused, and she repeated his last two words gently and courageingly, and yet, good master, yet at times when I see the crowd of young empty-headed, fortune-seeking jackenapes who dare to aspire to your ladyship's hand, I have asked myself whether, per chance, I had the right to remain silent, whilst they poured their ferrogo of nonsense into your ear. I love you, Sue. No, no, good master, she ejaculated hurriedly, while a nameless, inexplicable fear seemed suddenly to be holding her in its grip, as he uttered those few very simple words which told the old, old tale. But those words once uttered, Richard felt that he could not now draw back, the jealously guarded secret had escaped his lips, passion refused to be held longer in check, a torrent of emotion overmastered him, he forgot where he was, the darkness of the night, the lateness of the hour, the melancholy murmur of the wind in the trees, he forgot that she was rich, and he, a poor dependent, he only remembered that she was exquisitely fair, and that he, poor fool, was mad enough to worship her. It was very dark now, for a bank of clouds hid the glory of the evening sky, and he could see only the mere outline of the woman whom he so passionately loved, the small head with the fluttering curls fanned by the wind, the graceful shoulders and arms folded primely across her bosom. He put out his hand and found hers, oh, the delight of raising it to his lips, by the heaven above us, Sue, by all my hopes of salvation, I swear to you that my love is pure and selfless, he murmured tenderly, all the while that her fragrant little hand was pressed against his lips. But for your fortune I had come to you long ago, and said to you, let me work for you, my love will help me to carve a fortune for you, which it shall be my pride to place at your feet. Every nameless child, so to say, may be a king's son, and I, who have no name, that I can of verity call my own, no father, no kith or kindred, I would conquer a kingdom, Sue, if you but loved me too. His voice broke in a sob, ashamed of his outburst, he tried to hide his confusion from her, by sinking on one knee on that soft carpet of moss, from the little village of Acol, beyond the wood, came the sound of the church bell, striking the hour of nine. Sue was silent and absorbed, intensely sorrowful, to see the grief of her friend. He was quite lost in the shadows at her feet now, but she could hear the stern efforts which he made to resume control over himself and his voice. Richard, good Richard, she said soothingly, believe me, I am very, very sorry for this, I, I vow I did not know, I had no thought, how could I have, that you cared for me like, like this? You believe me, good master, do you not, she entreated? Say that you believe me, when I say that I would not willingly have caused you such grief. I believe that you are the most sweet and pure woman in all the world, he murmured fervently, and that you are as far beyond my reach as are the stars. Nay, nay, good master, you must not talk like that, truly, truly, I am only a weak and foolish girl and quite unworthy of your deep devotion, and you must try, indeed, indeed you must, to forget what happened under these trees tonight. Of that I pray you have no fear, he replied more calmly, as he rose and once more stood before her, a dark figure in the midst of the dark wood, immovable, almost impassive, with head bent and arms folded across his chest. Nath Les tis foolish for a nameless peasant even to talk of his honor, yet tis mine honor, Lady Sue, which will ever help me to remember that a mountain of gold and vast estates stand between me and the realization of my dream. No, no, she rejoined earnestly, it is not that only. You are my friend, good Richard, and I do not wish to see you eating out your heart in vain and foolish regrets. What you, what you wish, could never, never be. Good master, if you were rich tomorrow, and I penniless, I could never be your wife. You mean that you could never love me? He asked. She was silent, a fierce wave of jealousy, mad, insane, elemental jealousy, seemed suddenly to sweep over him. You love someone else, he demanded brusquely. What right have you to ask? The right of a man who would gladly die to see you happy. He spoke harshly, almost brutally, jealousy had killed all humility in him. Love, proud, passionate, and defiant, stood up for its just claims, for its existence, its right to dominate, its desire to conquer. But even as he thus stood before her, almost frightening her now by the violence of his speech, by the latent passion in him which no longer would bear to be held in check, the bank of clouds which up to now had obscured the brilliance of the summer sky finally swept away eastwards, revealing the luminous firmament and the pale crescent moon which now glimmered coldly through the branches of the trees, a muffled sound as of someone treading cautiously the thick bed of moss and the creaking of tiny twigs caused Richard Lambert to look up momentarily from the form of the girl whom he so dearly loved, and to peer beyond her into the weirdly-allumed density of the wood. Not twenty yards from where they were, a low wall divided the park itself from the wood beyond, which extended down to Acle Village. At an angle of the wall there was an iron gate, also the tumble-down pavilion, ivy-grown and desolate, with stone steps leading up to it, through the cracks of which weeds and moss sprouted up a pace. A man had just emerged from out the thicket, and was standing now to the farther side of the gate, looking straight at Lambert and at Sue, who stood in the full light of the moon. A broad-brimmed hat, such as cavaliers affected, cast a dark shadow over his face. It was a mere outline, only vaguely defined against the background of trees, but in that outline Lambert had already recognized the mysterious stranger who lodged in his brother's cottage down in Acle. The fixed intensity of the young man's gaze caused Sue to turn and to look in the same direction. She saw the stranger, who, encountering two pairs of eyes fixed on him, raised his hat with a graceful flourish of the arm, then, with a short, ironical laugh, went his way and was once more lost in the gloom. The girl instinctively made a movement as if to follow him, whilst a quickly smothered cry, half of joy and half of fear, escaped her lips. She checked the movement as well as the cry, but not before Richard Lambert had perceived both. With the perception came the awful, overwhelming certitude. That adventurer, he exclaimed involuntarily, oh my God! But she looked him full in the face and threw back her head with a gesture of pride and of wrath. Master Lambert, she said haughtily, me thinks toward needless to remind you that, since I inadvertently revealed my most cherished secret to you, it were unworthy of a man of honor to betray it to any one. My lady, Sue, he said, feeling half dazed, bruised and crushed by the terrible moral blow which he had just received. I do not quite understand. Will you deign to explain? There is not to explain. She retorted coldly. Prince Amade de Orleans loves me, and I have plighted my troth to him. Nay, I entreat your ladyship, he said, feeling, knowing the while, how useless it was to make an appeal against the infatuation of a hotheaded and impulsive girl, yet speaking with the courage which, off times, is born of despair. I beg of you on my knees to listen, this foreign adventurer. Silence, she retorted proudly, and drawing back from him, for of a truth he had sunk on his knees before her, and you desire to be my friend, you must not breathe one word of slander against the man I love. Then, as he said nothing, realizing, indeed, how futile would be any effort or word from him, she said with growing enthusiasm whilst her glowing eyes fixed themselves upon the gloom, which had enveloped the mysterious apparition of her lover. Prince Amade de Orleans is the grandest, most selfless patriot this world hath ever known. For the sake of France, of tyrannized, oppressed France, which he adores, he has sacrificed everything, his position, his home, his wealth, and vast estates. He is owned kinsmen to King Louis, yet he is exiled from his country whilst a price is set upon his head. Because he cannot be mute whilst he sees tyranny and oppression grind down the people of France, he could return to Paris today, a rich and free man, a prince among his kindred, if he would but sacrifice that for which he fights so bravely the liberty of France. Sue, my adored lady, he entreated in the name of heaven, listen to me. You do believe, do you not, that I am your friend? I would give my life for you. I swear to you that you have been deceived and tricked by this adventurer who, praying upon your romantic imagination. Silence, master, and you value my friendship, she commanded, I will not listen to another word. Nay, you should be thankful that I deal not more harshly with you, that I make allowances for your miserable jealousy. Oh, why did you make me say that? She added with one of those swift changes of mood, which were so characteristic of her, and with sudden contrition, for an involuntary moan had escaped his lips in the name of heaven. Go, go now, I entreat, leave me to myself, lest anger betray me into saying cruel things. I am safe, quite safe, I entreat you to let me return to the house alone. Her voice sounded more and more broken, as she spoke. Sobs were evidently rising in her throat. He pulled himself together, feeling that it were unmanly to worry her now, when emotion was so obviously overmastering her. Forgive me, sweet lady, he said quite gently, as he rose from his knees. I said more than I had any right to say. I entreat you to forgive the poor, presuming peasant, who hath dared to raise his eyes to the fairy princess of his dreams. I pray you to try and forget all that hath happened tonight, beneath the shadows of these elms, and to remember one thing, that my life, my lonely, humble, unimportant life, is yours, to serve or help you, to worship or comfort you, if need be, and that there could be no greater happiness for me than to give it for your sweet sake. He bowed very low, until his hand could reach the hem of her curdle, which he then raised to his lips. She was infinitely sorry for him, all her anger against him had vanished. He was very reluctant to go, for this portion of the park was some distance from the house, but she had commanded, and he quite understood, that she wished to be alone. Love such as that, which he felt for his sweet lady, is ever watchful, yet ever discreet, was it not natural that she did not care to look on him after he had angered her so. She seemed impatient too, and although her feelings towards him had softened, she repeated somewhat nervously, I pray you go, good master, I would be alone. Lambert hesitated a while longer, he looked all round him, as if suspicious of any marauders that might be lurking about. The hour was not very late, and had she not commanded him to go? Nor would he seem to pry on her movements, having once made up his mind to obey, he did so without reserve, having kissed the hem of her curdle, he turned towards the house. He meant to keep on the tiny footpath which she would be bound to traverse after him, when she returned, he felt sure that something would warn him if she really needed his help. The park and woodland were still, only the mournful hooting of an owl, the sad sighing of the wind in the old elms broke the peaceful silence of this summer's night. And of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Sutleck City, Utah. The stranger within the gates Sue waited expectant and still until the last sound of the young man's footsteps had died away in the direction of the house. Then, with quick impulsive movements, she ran to the gate. Her hands sought impatiently in the dark for the primitive catch which held it to. A large and rusty bolt she pulled at it clumsily, for her hands were trembling. At last the gate flew open. She was out in the woods, peering into the moonlit thicket, listening for that most welcome sound the footsteps of the man she loved. My prince, she exclaimed, for already he was beside her. Apparently he had lain in wait for her and now held her in his arms. My beautiful and gracious lady, he murmured in that curiously muffled voice of his, which seemed to endow his strange personality with additional mystery. You heard, you saw just now, she asked timidly, fearful of encountering his jealous wrath, that vehement temper of his which she had learned to dread. Strangely enough, he replied quite gently, Yes, I saw the young man loves you, my beautiful Suzanne, and he will hate me now. He had always called her Suzanne, and her name, thus spoken by him, and with that quaint, foreign intonation of his had always sounded infinitely sweet. But I love you with all my heart, she said earnestly, tenderly, her whole soul, young, ardent, full of romance, going out to him with all the strength of its purity and passion. What matter if all the world were against you? As a rule, when they met, thus on the confines of the wood, they would stand together by the gate, forming plans, talking of the future, and of their love. Then after a while they would stroll into the park, he escorting her as far as he might approach the house without being seen. She had no thought that Richard Lambert would be on the watch. Nay, so wholly absorbed was she in her love for this man, once she was in his presence, that already womanlike, she had forgotten the young student's impassioned avowal, his jealousy, his very existence. And she loved these evening strolls in the great peaceful park at evening, when the birds were silent in their nests, and the great shadows of ivy-covered elms enveloped her and her romance. From afar a tiny light gleamed here and there in some of the windows of Acle Court. She had hated the grim bear house at first, so isolated in the midst of the forests of Thanet, so like the eerie of a bird of prey. But now she loved the whole place, the bit of ill-kept tangled garden, with its untidy lawn, and weed-covered beds, in which a few standard rose-trees strove to find a permanent home. She loved the dark and mysterious park, the rusty gate, that wood with its rich carpet, which varied as each season came around. Tonight her lover was more gentle than had been his want of late. They walked cautiously through the park, for the moon was brilliant, and outlined every object with startling vividness. The trees here were sparser, close by was the sunk fence, and the tiny rustic bridge, only a plank or two, which spanned it. Some thirty yards ahead of them they could see the dark figure of Richard Lambert walking towards the house. One more stroll beneath the trees, mommier, he said lightly. You'll not wish to encounter your ardent suitor again. She loved him in this brighter mood, when he had thrown from him that mantle of jealousy and mistrust, which of late had sat on him so ill. He seemed to have set himself the task of pleasing her tonight, of making her forget, may have the wooing of the several suitors who had hung around her today. He talked to her, always in that mysterious muffled voice, with the quaint rolling of the oars and the foreign intonation of the vowels. He talked to her of King Louis and his tyranny over the people of France, of his own political aims to which he had already sacrificed fortune, position, home, of his own brilliant past at the most luxurious court the world had ever known. He fired her enthusiasm, delighted her imagination, and chained her soul to his. She was literally swept off the prosy face of this earth, and whirled into a realm of romance, enchanting, intoxicating, mystic, almost divine. She forgot fleeting time, and did not even hear the church bell over at a coal village, striking the hour of ten. He had to bring her back to earth and to guide her reluctant footsteps again towards the house, but she was too happy to part from him so easily. She forced him to escort her over the little bridge under the pretense of terror at the lateness of the hour. She vowed that he could not be perceived from the house since all the lights were out, and everyone indeed must be a bed. Her guardian's windows, moreover, gave on the other side of the house, and he, of assurity, would not be moon or stargazing at this hour of the night. Her mood was somewhat reckless, the talk with which he had filled her ears had gone to her brain like wine. She felt intoxicated with the atmosphere of mystery of selfless patriotism, of great and fallen fortunes, with which he knew so well how to surround himself. May have that in her innermost heart now there was a scarce conscious desire to precipitate a crisis, to challenge discovery, to step boldly before her guardian, avowing her love, demanding the right to satisfy it. She refused to bid him adieu save at the garden door. Three steps led up straight into the dining room, from the flagged pathway which skirted the house. She ran up these steps silently and swiftly as a little mouse, and then turned her proud and happy face to him. Good night, sweet prince, she whispered, extending her delicate hand to him. She stood in the full light of the moon, dominating him from the top of the steps, an exquisite vision of youth and beauty and romance. He took off his broad-brimmed hat, but his face was still in shadow, for the heavy parochet fell in thick dark curls covering both his cheeks. He bent very low and kissed the tips of her fingers. When shall we meet again, my prince, she asked, this day weak, and it please you, my queen, he murmured, and then he turned to go. She meant to stand there and watch him cross the tangled lawn and the little bridge, and to see him lose himself amidst the great shadows of the park. But he had scarce gone a couple of steps when a voice issuing from the doorway close behind her caused her to turn in quick alarm. Sue, in the name of heaven, what doth your ladyship hear and at this hour? The crisis which the young girl had almost challenged had indeed arrived. Mistress de Chavas, carrying a lighted and guttering candle, was standing close behind her. At the sound of her voice and Sue's little cry of astonishment rather than fear, Prince Amade de Orleans, too, had paused with a muttered curse on his lips, his foot angrily tapping the flagstones. But it were unworthy a gallant gentleman of the most chivalrous court in the world to beat a retreat when his mistress was in danger of an unpleasant quarter of an hour. Sue was more than a little inclined to be defiant. Mistress de Chavas, she said quietly, will you be good enough to explain by what right you have spied on me tonight? Hath my guardian, perchance, set you to dog my footsteps? There was no thought in my mind of spying on your ladyship, rejoined Mistress de Chavas coldly. I was troubled in my sleep and came downstairs because I heard a noise and feared those midnight marauders of which we have heard so much of late. I myself had locked this door and was surprised to find it unlatched. I opened it and saw you standing there. Then we'll all to bed, fair Mistress, rejoined Sue gaily. She was too happy, too sure of herself and of her lover, to view this sudden discovery of her secret with either annoyance or alarm. She would be free in three months and he would be faithful to her. Love proverbially laughs at bars and bolts, and even if her stern guardian, apprised of her evening wanderings, prevented her from seeing her prince for the next three months, jaw a hundred days at most, and nothing could keep her from his side. Good night, fair prince, she repeated tenderly, extending her hand towards her lover once more, while throwing a look of proud defiance to Mistress de Chavas. He could not help but return to the foot of the steps any pusillanimity on his part at this juncture, any reluctance to meet Aditha face to face, or to bear the brunt of her reproaches and of her sneers, might jeopardize the romance of his personality in the eyes of Sue. Therefore he boldly took her hand and kissed it with mute fervor. She gave a happy little laugh and added pertly, Good night, Mistress, I'll leave you to make your own adieu to Monsignor Le Prince de Orleans. I'll warrant that you and he, despite the lateness of the hour, will have much to say to one another. And without waiting to watch the issue of her suggestion, her eyes dancing with Mistrov, she turned and ran singing and laughing into the house. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Prince Amidae de Orleans. At first it seemed as if the stranger meant to beat a precipitate and none to dignified retreat, now that the adoring eyes of Lady Sue were no longer upon him. But Mistress de Chivas had no intention of allowing him to extricate himself quite so easily from an unpleasant position. One moment, Master, she said loudly and peremptorily, Prince, or whatever you may wish to call yourself, ere you show me a clean pair of heels, I pray you to explain your presence here on Sir Marmaduke's doorstep at ten o'clock at night and in company with his ward. For a moment, a second or two only, the stranger appeared to hesitate. He paused with one foot still on the lowest of the stone steps, the other on the flagged path, his head bent, his hand upraised in the act of readjusting his broad-brimmed hat. Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. He threw back his head, gave a short laugh as if he were pleased with this new thought, then turned, meeting Mistress de Chivas's stern gaze squarely and folly. He threw his hat down upon the steps and crossed his arms over his chest. One moment, Mistress, he said with an ironical bow, I do not need one moment. I have already explained—explained how she retorted, Nay, I'll not be trifled with, Master, and me thinks you will find that Sir Marmaduke de Chivas will expect some explanation, which will prove unpleasant to yourself for your unwarrantable impudence in daring to approach his ward. He put up his hand in gentle deprecation. Impudence? Oh, Mistress, he said reproachfully, let me assure you, Master, she continued with relentless severity that you were wise and you returned straightway to your lodgings now, packed your worldly goods and betook yourself and them to anywhere you please. Ah, he sighed gently, that is impossible. You would dare, she retorted, I would dare remain there where my humble presence is most desired, beside the gracious lady who honors me with her love. You are insolent, Master, and Sir Marmaduke. Oh, he rejoined lightly, Sir Marmaduke doth not object. There, I fear me, you are in error, Master, and in his name I now forbid you ever to attempt to speak to Lady Susanna Aldmarsh again. This command, accompanied by a look of withering scorn, seemed to afford the stranger vast entertainment. He made the wrathful lady a low, ironical bow, and clapped his hands together, laughing and exclaiming, brava, brava, of a truth, but this is excellent. Pray, Mistress, you will deign to tell me, if in this your bidding you have asked Sir Marmaduke for his opinion. I need not to ask him, I ask you to go. Go, wither, he asked, blandly. Out of my sight and off these grounds at once, ere I rouse the servants and have you whipped off like a dog. She said, angered beyond measure at his audacity, his irony, his manner, suggestive of insolent triumph. His muffled voice, with its curious foreign accent, irritated her, as did the shadow of his parouquet over his brow, and the black silk shade which he wore over one eye. Even now in response to her violent outburst, he broke into renewed laughter. Better and better, ah, Mistress, he said, with a shake of the head, of a truth, you are more blind than I thought. You are more insolent, Master, than I had thought possible. Yet me seems, fair lady, that in the lonely and mysterious stranger you might have remembered your humble and devoted servant, he said, drawing his figure up towards her. You, an old friend, she said contemptuously, I have never set eyes on you in my life before. To think that the moon should be so treacherous, he rejoined imperturbably. Will you not look a little closer, fair Mistress, the shadows are somewhat dark may have. She felt his one eye fixed upon her, with cold intentness, a strange feeling of superstitious dread suddenly crept over her from head to foot. Like a bird fascinated by a snake, she came a little nearer down the steps towards him. Her eyes, too, riveted on his face, that curious face of his surrounded by the heavy parouquet hiding ears and cheeks. The mouth overshadowed by the dark moustache, one eye concealed beneath the black silk shade. He seemed amused at her terror, and as she came nearer to him he, too, advanced a little until their eyes met, his mocking, amused, restless, her's intent and searching. Thus they gazed at one another for a few seconds, whilst silence reigned around, and the moon peered down cold and chaste from above, illuminating the old house, the neglected garden, the vast park with its innumerable dark secrets and the mysteries which it hid. She was the first to step back, to recoil before the ironical intensity of that fixed gaze. She felt as if she were in a dream, as if a nightmare assailed her, which in her wakeful hours would be dissipated by reason, by common sense, by sound and sober fact. She even passed her hand across her eyes, as if to sweep away from before her vision a certain image which fancy had conjured up. His laugh, strident and mocking, roused her from this dreamlike state. I—I do not understand, she murmured. Yet it is so simple, he replied. Did you not ask me a while ago, if nothing could be done? Who—who are you? she whispered, and then repeated once again. Who are you? I am his royal highness, Prince Amadeus de Orleans, said Sir Marmadude de Chavasse lightly, the kinsman of his majesty, King Louis of France, the mysterious foreigner who works for the religious and political freedom of his country, and on whose head Le Roy Swallet hath set a price, and who, moreover, hath inflamed the romantic imagination of a beautiful young girl, thus winning her ardent love in the present and in the near future together with her vast fortune and estates. He made a movement as if to remove his parouquet, but she stopped him with a gesture. She had understood, and in the brilliant moonlight a complete revelation of his personality might prove dangerous. Lady Sue herself might still, for ought they knew, be standing in the dark room behind, unseen yet on the watch. He seemed vastly amused at her terror, and boldly took the hand with which she had arrested his act of total revelation. Nay, do you recognize your humble servant at last, fair Aditha? he queried, on my honor, Madame. Lady Sue is deeply enamored of me. What do you think of my chances now? You, you, she repeated at intervals, mechanically, dazed still, lost in a whirl of conflicting emotions wherein fear, amazement, and a certain vein of superstitious horror fought a hard battle in her dizzy brain. The risks, she murmured more coherently, Bah, if she discover you before, before, before she is legally my wife, Shah, then of a truth my scheme will come to naught. But will you not own, Aditha, that tis worth the risk? Afterwards, she asked, afterwards, afterwards, mistress, he rejoined enigmatically, afterwards sits on the knees of the gods. And with a flourish of his broad-brimmed hat, he turned on his heel and anon was lost in the shadows of the tall you hedge. How long she stood there watching that spot whereon he had been standing, she could not say. Presently she shivered. The night had turned cold. She heard the cry of some small bird attacked by a midnight prowler. Was it the sparrow-hawk after its prey? From the other side of the house came the sound of slow and firm footsteps, then the opening and shutting of a door. Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse had played his part for tonight, silently as he had gone, so he returned to his room, whilst in another corner of the sparrow-hawk's nest a young girl slept, dreaming dreams of patriots and heroes, of causes nobly one, of poverty and obscurity gloriously endured. Mistress de Chevasse, with a sigh half of regret, half of indifference, finally turned her back on the moonlit garden and went within. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Nest of the Sparrow-Hawk by Emma Orksy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Jines, Salt Lake City, Utah. Secret service. Master Hymn of Prey's busy was excessively perturbed. Matters at the court were taking a curious turn. That something of unusual moment had happened within the last few days he was thoroughly convinced, and still having it in his mind that he was especially qualified for the lucrative appointments in my Lord Protector's Secret Service, he thought this an excellent opportunity for perfecting himself in the art of investigation, shrewdly conducted, which he understood to be most essential for the due fulfillment of such appointments. Thus we see him some days later, on a late afternoon, with back bent nearly double, eyes fixed steadily on the ground, and his face a perfect mirror of thoughtful concentration within, slowly walking along the tiny footpath which wound in and out the groups of majestic elms in the park, musing and meditating at times uttering strange and enigmatic exclamations. He reached the confines of the private grounds, the spot where the surrounding wall gave place to a low iron gate, where the disused pavilion stood out gray and forlorn looking in the myths of the soft green of the trees, and where through the woods beyond the gate could just be perceived the tiny light which issued from the blacksmith's cottage the most outlying one in the village of Ecole. Master Him of Praise leaned thoughtfully against the ivy-covered wall, his eyes roaming, searching, restless, pride all around him. Footprints he mused, footprints which of assurity must mean that human foot hath lately trod this moss, footprints, moreover, which lead up the steps to the door of that pavilion wherein, to my certain knowledge, no one hath had access of late. Something, of course, was going on at Ecole Court, that strange and inexplicable something which he had tried to convey by covert suggestion to mistress charity's female, therefore inferior brain. Sir Marmaduke's temper was more sour and ill even than of yore, and there was still an unpleasant sensation in the lumbar regions of Master Busy's spine whenever he sat down, which recalled a somewhat vigorous outburst of his master's ill humor. Mistress de Chivas went about the house like a country wench, frightened by a ghost, and mistress charity avered that she seldom went to bed now before midnight. Certain it is that Master Busy himself had met the lady wandering about the house, candle in hand, at an hour when all respectable folk should be a bed. And when she almost fell up against him of praise in the dark, she gave a frightened scream as if she had suddenly come face to face with the devil. Then there was her young ladyship. She was neither ill-tempered, nor yet under the ban of fear, but Master Busy vowed unto himself that she was suffering from ill-concealed melancholy, from some hidden secret or wild romance. She seldom laughed, she had spoken with discourtesy and impatience to Squire Pinchion, who rode over the other day on purpose to bring her a bunch of sweet marjoram, which grew in great profusion in his mother's garden. She markedly avoided the company of her guardian, and wandered about the park alone at all hours of the day. A proceeding which in a young lady of her rank was quite unseemly. All these facts neatly docketed in Master Busy's orderly brain disturbed him not a little. He had not yet made up his mind as to the nature of the mystery which was surrounding the court and its inmates, but vaguely he thought of abductions and elopements which the presence of the richest eras in the south of England, in the house of the poorest Squire in the whole country, more than foreshadowed. This lonely, somewhat eerie corner of the park appeared to be the center around which all the mysterious happenings revolved, and Master Hymn of Praise had found his way hither on this fine July afternoon because he had distinct hopes of finding out something definite. Certain facts which he then could place before Squire Boatfield, who was Major General of the District, and who would then doubtless commend him for his ability and shrewdness in forestalling what might prove to be a terrible crime. The days were getting shorter now. It was little more than eight o'clock, and already the shades of evening were drawing closely in. The last rays of this setting sun had long disappeared in a glowing haze of gold, and the fantastic branches of the old elms intertwined with the parasitic ivy looked grim and threatening, silhouetted against the lured afterglow. Master Busy liked neither the solitude nor yet the silence of the woods. He had just caught sight of a bat circling over the dilapidated roof of the pavilion, and he hated bats. Though he belonged to a community which denied the angels and ignored the saints, he had a firm belief in the existence of a tangible devil, and somehow he could not dissociate his ideas of hell and of evil spirits from those which related to the mysterious flutterings of bats. Moreover, he thought that his duties in connection with the science of secret investigation had been sufficiently fulfilled for the day, and he prepared to wend his way back to the house, when the sound of voices once more aroused his somnolent attention. Someone, he murmured within himself the eras and the abductor may have. This might prove the opportunity of his life, the chance which would place him within the immediate notice of the major general, perhaps of his highness the protector himself. He felt that to vacate his post of observation at this moment would be unworthy the moral discipline which an incipient servant of the commonwealth should impose upon himself. Striving to smother a sense of terror or to disguise it even to himself under the mask of officiousness, he looked about for a hiding place, a post of observation, as he called it. A tree with invitingly forked branches seemed to be peculiarly adapted to his needs. Him of praise was neither very young nor very agile, but dreams of coming notoriety lent nimbleness to his limbs. By the time that the voices drew nearer, the sober butler of Acle Court was installed astride an elm-bow hidden by the dense foliage and by the leaf-laden strands of ivy, enfolded by the fast gathering shadows of evening, supremely uncomfortable physically, none too secure on his perch, yet proud and satisfied in the consciousness of fulfilled duty. The next moment he caught sight of Mistress Charity. Mistress Charity, so please you, who had plighted her troth to him, walking arm in arm with master courage, too good, as impudent, insolent, and botched a young jackenapes as ever defaced the forests of Thanet. Mistress, fair Mistress, he was sighing and murmuring in her ear the most beautiful and gracious thing on God's earth when I hold you pressed thus against my beating heart. Apparently his feelings were too deep to be expressed in the words of his own vocabulary, for he paused a while, sighed audibly, and then asked anxiously, Do you hear my heart beating, Mistress? Do you not? She blushed, for she was not but a female baggage, and though Master Bizzie's impassioned protestations of less than half an hour ago must be still ringing in her ears, she declared emphatically that she could hear the throbbing of that young vermin's heart. Master Bizzie up aloft was quite sure that what she heard was a few sheep and cattle of Sir Marmaduke's who were out to grass in a field close by and had been scared into a canter. What went on for the next moment or two the saintly man on the elm tree branch could not rightly perceive, but the next words from Mistress Charity's lips sent a thrill of indignation through his heart. Oh, Master Courage, she said, with a little cry, you must not squeeze me so. I vow you have taken the breath out of my body. The Lord love you, child. Think you I can stay here all this while and listen to your nonsense. Just one minute longer, fair Mistress entreated the young reprobate. The moon is not yet up. The birds have gone to their nests for sleep. Will ye not tarry a while here with me? That old fool Bizzie will never know. It is a fact that at this juncture the saintly man well-knife fell off his perch, and when Master Courage amidst many coy shrieks from the fickle female managed to drag her down beside him upon the carpet of moss immediately beneath the very tree whereon him of praise was holding watch, the unfortunate man had need of all his strength of mind and of purpose not to jump down with both feet upon the lying face of that young limb of Satan. But he felt that the discovery of his somewhat undignified position by these two evil doers would not at this moment be quite opportune. So he endeavored to maintain his equilibrium at the cost of supreme discomfort and the loud cracking of the branch on which he was perched. Mistress Charity gave a cry of terror. What was that? Nothing, nothing, Mistress, I swear, rejoined Courage reassuringly. There are always noises in old elm-trees. The ivy hangs heavy, and I have heard it said of late that the pavilion is haunted. She murmured under her breath. No, not haunted, Mistress, I vowed to sput the crackling of loose branches, and there is that which I would whisper in your ear. But before Master Courage had the time to indulge in this, the desire of his heart, something fell upon the top of his lean head, which certainly never grew on the elm-tree overhead. Having struck his lanky hair, the object fell straight into his lap. It was a button, an ordinary brown, innocent enough looking button, but still a button. Master Courage took it in his hand and examined it carefully, turning it over once or twice. The little thing certainly wore a familiar air. Master Courage of a truth had seen such and one before. That thing never grew up there, Master, said Mistress Charity, in an agitated whisper. No, he rejoined emphatically, nor yet doth a button form part of the habiliments of a ghost. But not a sound came from above, and though Courage and Charity peered upwards with ever-increasing anxiety, the fast-gathering darkness effectually hid the mystery which lurked within that elm. I vowed that there's something up there, Mistress, said the youth, with sudden determination. Could it be bats, Master? She queried with a shudder. Nay, but bats do not wear buttons, he replied sententiously. Yet of assurity I mean to make an investigation of the affair, as that old, full hymn of praise would say. Whereupon heedless of Mistress Charity's ever-growing agitation, he ran towards the boundary wall of the park, and vaulted the low gate with an agile jump, even as she uttered a pathetic appeal to him not to leave her alone in the dark. Fear had rooted the girl to the spot. She dared not move away, fearful lest her running might entice that mysterious owner of the brown button to hurry in her track. Yet she would have loved to follow Master Courage and to put at least a gate and wall between herself and those terrible elms. She was just contemplating a comprehensive and vigorous attack of hysterics when she heard Master Courage's voice from the other side of the gate. Hissed, hissed, Mistress, quick! She gathered up what shreds of valor she possessed, and ran blindly in the direction whence came the welcome voice. I pray you take this, said the youth, who was holding a wooden bucket out over the gate, whilst I climb back to you. But what is it, Master? she asked, as obeying him mechanically, she took the bucket from him. It was heavy, for it was filled almost to the brim with a liquid which seemed very evil-smelling. The next moment Master Courage was standing beside her. He took the bucket from her and then walked as rapidly as he could with it back towards the elm tree. It will help me to dislodge the bats, Mistress, he said enigmatically, speaking over his shoulder as he walked. She followed him, excited but timorous, until together they once more reached the spot where Master Courage's amorous declarations had been so rudely interrupted. He put the bucket down beside him and rubbed his hands together, whilst uttering certain sounds which betrayed his glee. Then only did she notice that he was carrying under one arm a long, curious-looking instrument round and made of tin with a handle at one end. She looked curiously into the bucket and at the instrument. Tis the tar water used for syringing the cattle, she whispered, ye must not touch it, Master. Where did you find it? Just by the wall he rejoined. I knew it was kept there. They washed the sheep with it to destroy the vermin in them. This is the squirt for it, he added calmly, placing the end of the instrument in the liquid, and I will may help destroy the vermin which is lodged in that elm tree. A cry of terror issuing from above froze the very blood in Mistress Charity's veins. Stop, stop, you young limb of Satan, came from Master Busy's nearly choking throat. It's evildoers or evil spirits, Master, cried Mistress Charity in an agony of fear. Whatever it be, Mistress, this should destroy it, said Master Courage philosophically, as turning the syringe upwards, he squirted the whole of its contents straight into the fork of the ivy-covered branches. There was a cry of rage, followed by a cry of terror. Then Master Hymn of Praise Busy, with a terrific clatter of breaking bows, fell in a heap upon the soft carpet of moss. Master Courage, be it said, to the eternal shame of venturesome youth, took incontinently to his heels, leaving Mistress Charity to bear the brunt of the irate saintly man's wrath. Master Busy, we must admit, had but little saintliness left in him now. Let us assume that, as he explained afterwards, he was not immediately aware of Mistress Charity's presence, and that his own sense of propriety and of decorum had been drowned in a cataract of tar water. Certain it is that a volley of oaths which would have surprised Sir Marmaduke himself escaped his lips. Had he not every excuse, he was dripping from head to foot, spluttering, blinded, choked, and bruised. He shook himself like a wet spaniel, then hearing the sound of a smothered exclamation, which did not seem altogether unlike a giggle, he turned round savagely and perceived the dim outline of Mistress Charity's dainty figure. The Lord loved the Master Hymn of Praise. She began somewhat nervously, but you have made yourself look a sight. And by God I'll make that young Jackenapes look a sight ere I take my hand off him. He retorted savagely. But what were you, Hymn, what were thou doing up in the elm tree, friend Hymn of Praise? She asked demurely. Thee me know thou, he said, with enigmatic pompousness, followed by a distinctly vicious snarl. Master Busy will be my name in future for a saucy wench like thee. He turned towards the house, Mistress Charity following meekly, somewhat subdued, for Master Busy was her off-fianced husband, and she had no mind to mar her future through any of young Courage's daredevil escapades. Thou wouldst wish to know what I was doing up in that forked tree. He asked her with calm dignity after a while, when the hedges of the flower garden came in sight. I was making a home for thee according to the commands of the Lord. Not in the elm trees of a Charity, Master Busy, I was making a home for thee. He repeated, without heeding her flippant observation, by rendering myself illustrious. I told thee, wench, did I not, that something was happening within the precincts of Acole Court, and that it is my duty to lie in wait and to watch the heiress is about to be abducted, and it is my task to frustrate the evil designs of the mysterious criminal. She looked at him in speechless amazement. He certainly looked strangely weird in the semi-darkness with his lanky hair plastered against his cheeks. His collar have torn from round his neck, the dripping oily substance flowing in rivulets from his garments down upon the ground. The girl had no longer any desire to laugh, and when Master Busy strode majestically across the rustic bridge, then over the garden paths to the kitchen quarter of the house, she followed him without a word, odd by his extraordinary utterances, vaguely feeling that in his dripping garments he somehow reminded her of Jonah and the Whale. CHAPTER 10 OF THE NEST OF THE SPARROHawk by Emma Orksy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Avowed and Metis The pavilion had been built some fifty years ago by one of the Spantons of Acol who had a taste for fanciful architecture. It had been proudly held by several deceased representatives of the family to be the reproduction of a Greek temple. It certainly had columns supporting the portico and steps leading fence to the ground. It was also circular in shape and was innocent of windows, deriving its sole light from the door when it was open. The late Sir Jeremy, I believe, had been very fond of the place being of a somewhat morose and taciturn disposition. He liked the seclusion of this lonely corner of the park. He had a chair or two put into the pavilion and was said that he indulged there in the smoking of that fragrant weed which, of late, had been more generously imported into this country. After Sir Jeremy's death, the pavilion fell into disuse. Sir Marmaduke openly expressed his dislike of the Four Lorne Hole as he was wont to call it. He caused the door to be locked and since then no one had entered the little building. The key it was presumed had been lost. The lock certainly looked rusty. The roof too soon fell into disrepair and no doubt within. The place soon became the prey of damp and mildew. The nest of homing birds or the lair of timid beasts. Very soon the proud copy of an archaic temple took on that miserable and Four Lorne look peculiar to uninhabited spots. From an air of abandonment to that of eeriness was but a step and now the building towered in splendid isolation in this remote corner of the park at the confines of the wood with a reputation for being the abode of ghosts, of bats and witches and other evil things. When Master Bizzy sought for tracks of imaginary criminals bent on abducting the heiress, he naturally drifted to this lonely spot. When Master Courage was bent on whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the other man's betrothed, he enticed her to that corner of the park where he was leased like to meet the heavy booted saint. Thus it was that these three met on the one spot where as a rule at a late hour of the evening Prince Amidae de Orleans was wont to commence his wanderings sure of being undisturbed and with the final disappearance of Master Bizzy and Mistress Charity the place was once more deserted. The bats once more found delight in this loneliness and from all around came that subdued murmur, that creaking of twigs, that silence so full of subtle sounds which betrays the presence of animal life on the prowl. And on there came the harsh noise of a key grating in a rusty lock. The door of the pavilion was cautiously opened from within and the mysterious French Prince bewigged, booted and had it emerged into the open. The night had drawn a singularly dark mantle over the woods. Banks of cloud obscured the sky. The tall elm trees with their ivy covered branches and their impenetrable shadows beneath formed a dense wall which the sight of human creatures was not keen enough to pierce Sir Marmadu de Chivas in spite of this darkness which he hailed gleefully, peered cautiously and intently round as he descended the steps. He had not met Lady Sue in the capacity of her romantic lover since that evening a week ago when his secret had been discovered by Mistress de Chivas. The last vision he had had of the young girl was one redolent of joy and love and trust sufficient to reassure him that all was well with her in regard to his schemes. But on that same evening a week ago he had gazed upon another little scene which had not filled him with either joy or security. He had seen Lady Sue standing beside a young man whose personality, to say the least, was well-nigh as romantic as that of the exiled scion of the House of Orleans. He had seen rather than heard a young and passionate nature pouring into girlish ears the avowal of an unselfish and ardent love which had the infinite merit of being real and true. However, while he himself might play his part of selfless hero and of vehement lover, there always lurked the danger that the falseness of his protestations would suddenly ring a warning note to the subtle sense of the confiding girl. Were it not for the intense romanticism of her disposition which beautified and exalted everything with which it came in contact, she would of assurity have detected the lie ere this. He had acted his dual role with consummate skill, the contrast between the surly puritanical guardian with his round cropped head and shaven face and the elegantly dressed cavalier with a heavy mustache and enormous parochet and a shade over one eye was so complete that even Mistress de Chevasse, alert, suspicious, holy and romantic, had been momentarily deceived and would have remained so but for his voluntary revelation of himself. But the watchful and disappointed young lover was the real danger, a danger complicated by the fact that the Prince Amidae de Orleans actually dwelt in the cottage owned by Lambert's brother the blacksmith. The mysterious prince had perforced to dwell somewhere else whenever spied by a laborer or wench from the village, he would have excited still further comment and his movements may have would have been more persistently dogged. For this reason, Sir Marmaduke had originally chosen Adam Lambert's cottage to be his headquarters. It stood on the very outskirts of the village and as he had only the wood to traverse between it and the pavilion where he affected his change of personality, he ran thus but few risks of meeting prying eyes. Moreover, Adam Lambert the blacksmith and the old woman who kept house for him both belonged to the new religious sect which Judge Bennett had so pertinently dubbed the Quakers and they kept themselves very much aloof from gossip and the rest of the village. True, Richard Lambert often visited his brother and the old woman but did so always in the daytime when Prince Amidae de Orleans carefully kept out of the way. Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse had all the true instincts of the beast or bird of prey. He prowled about in the dark and laid his snares for the seizure of his victim under cover of the night. This evening certain new schemes had found birth in his active mind. He was impatient that the victim tarried when his brain was alive with thoughts of how to effect a more speedy capture. He leaned against the wall close by the gate as was his want when awaiting Sue smiling grimly to himself at thought of the many little subterfuges she would employ to steal out of the house without encountering as she thought her watchful guardian, a voice close behind him speaking none too kindly, broke in on his meditations causing him to start almost to crouch like a frightened cat. The next moment he had recognized the gruff and nasal tones of Adam Lambert. Apparently the blacksmith had just come from the wood through the gate and had almost stumbled in the dark against the rigid figure of his mysterious lodger. Friend, what does thou hear? He asked peremptorily, but already Sir Marmaduke had recovered from that sudden sense of fear which had caused him to start an alarm. I would ask the same question of you, my friend. He retorted eerily speaking in the muffled voice and with the markedly foreign accent which he had assumed for the role of the prince. Might I inquire what you are doing here? I have to see a sick mayor down Minster Way replied Lambert curtly. This is a shortcut thither and Sir Marmaduke hath granted me leave but he liketh not strangers loitering in his park. Then Friend rejoined the other lightly when Sir Marmaduke doth object to my strolling in his garden he will doubtless apprise me of the fact without interference from you. Adam Lambert after his uncivil grating of his lodger had already turned his back on him loathe to have further speech with a man whom he hated and despised. Like the majority of country folk these days the blacksmith had a wholesale contempt for every foreigner and more particularly for those who hailed from France that country in the estimation of all puritans, dissenters, and republicans being the happy abode of every kind of immorality and debauchery. Prince Amidae de Orleans as he styled himself with his fantastic clothes his heirs and graces and long curly hair was an object of special aversion to the Quaker even though the money which the despised foreigner paid for his lodging was passing welcome these hard times. Adam resolutely avoided speech with the prince whenever possible but the latter's provocative and sarcastic speech roused his dormant hatred like a dog who has been worried he now turned abruptly round and faced Sir Marmaduke stepping close up to him his eyes glaring with vindictive rage a savage snarl rising in his throat take notice friend he said hoarsely that I'll not bear thine impudence thou mayest go and bully the old woman at the cottage when I am absent oh I've heard thee he added with unbridled savagery ordering her about as if she were thy serving wench but let me tell thee that she is no servant of thine nor I so have done my fine prince dust understand prithee friend do not excite yourself said Sir Marmaduke blandly drawing back against the wall as far as he could to avoid close proximity with his antagonist I have never wished to imply that mistress Lambert was odd but my most obliging most amiable landlady nor have I to my certain knowledge overstepped the privileges of a lodger I trust that your worthy aunt hath no cause for complaint mistress Lambert is your aunt he added superciliously is she not that is nothing to thee muttered the other if she be my aunt or no as far as I can see surely not I asked in a spirit of polite inquiry but apparently this subject was one which had more than any other the power to rouse the blacksmith's savage temper he fought with it for a moment or two for anger is the lords and strict quaker discipline forbade such unseemly wrangling but adam was a man of violent temperament which his strict religious training had not altogether succeeded in holding in check the sneers of the foreign prince his calm supercilious attitude broke the curb which religion had set upon his passion I thou art mighty polite to me my fine gentleman he said vehemently thou knowest what I think of thy lazy foreign ways why dost thou not do a bit of honest work instead of hanging around her ladyship skirts if I were to say a word to sir marmaduke twid be mightily unpleasant for thee and I mistake not oh I know what thou art after with thy fine ways and thy romantic lying talk of liberty and patriotism the eras a friend that is thy design I am not blind I tell thee I have seen thee and her sir marmaduke laughed lightly shrugging his shoulders in token of indifference quite so quite so good master he said suavely do ye not waste your breath in speaking thus loudly I understand that your sentiments towards me do not partake of that Christian charity of which ye and yours do pray at times so loudly but I'll not detain you doubtless worthy mistress Lambert will be awaiting you or is it the sick mayor down minster way that hath first claim on your amiability I'll not detain you he turned as if to go but Adams hard grip was on his shoulder in an instant nay thou will not detain me tis I am detaining thee said the blacksmith hoarsely for I desired to tell thee that thy ugly French face is abhorrent to me I do not hold with princes for a prince is none better than another man nay he is worse and he loaves and steals after eras is and their gold and will not do a bit of honest work work makes the man work and prayer not your titles and fine as states this is a republic now understand no king no house of lords please the lord neither clergyman nor nobleman soon I work with my hands and am not ashamed the lord savior was a carpenter and not a prince my brother is a student and a gentleman as good as any prince understand ten thousand times as good as thee he relaxed his grip which had been hard as steel on Sir Marmaduke's shoulder it was evident that he had been nursing hatred and loathing against his lodger for some time and that tonight the floodgates of his pent-up wrath had been burst asunder through the mysterious prince's taunts and insinuations and net the cloud and secrecy which hung round the Lambert's parentage though his shoulder was painful and bruised under the pressure of the blacksmith's rough fingers Sir Marmaduke did not wince he looked his avowed enemy boldly in the face with no small measure of contempt for the violence displayed his own enmity towards those who thwarted him was much more subtle silent and cautious he would never storm and rage show his enmity openly and caution his antagonist through an outburst of rage adam Lambert still glaring into his lodger's eye encountered nothing therein but irony and indulgent contempt religion forbade him to swear yet was he sorely tempted and we may presume that he cursed inwardly for his enemy refused to be drawn into wordy warfare and he himself had exhausted his vocabulary of sneering abuse even as he had exhausted his breath perhaps in his innermost heart he was ashamed of his outburst after all he had taken this man's money and had broken bread with him his hand dropped to his side and his head fell forward on his breast even as with a pleasant laugh the prince carelessly turned away and with an affected gesture brushed his silken doublet there where the blacksmith's hard grip had marred the smoothness of the delicate fabric had adam Lambert possessed that subtle sixth sense which hears and sees that which goes on in the mind of others he had perceived a thought in his lodger's brain cells which might have caused him to still further regret his avowal of open enmity for as the blacksmith finally turned away and walked off through the park skirting the boundary wall sir marmaduke looked over his shoulder at the ungainly figure which was soon lost in the gloom and muttered around oath between his teeth an exceedingly unpleasant person he vowed within himself you will have to be removed good master and you get too troublesome end of chapter 10 chapter 11 of the nest of the sparrow hawk by emma orksie this libra vox recording is in the public domain recording by dion giants celic city utah surrender but this interview with the inimical quaker had more than strengthened sir marmaduke's design to carry his bold scheme more rapidly to its successful issue the game which he had played with grave risks for over three months now had begun to be dangerous the mysterious patriot from france could not afford to see prying enemies at his heels anon when the graceful outline of lady sue's figure emerged from out the surrounding gloom sir marmaduke went forward to meet her and clasp her to him in a passionate embrace my gracious lady my beautiful sue he murmured whilst he covered her hands her brow her hair with ardent kisses you have come so late and i have been so weary of waiting waiting for you he led her through the gardens to wear one gigantic elm grander than its fellows had thrown out huge gnarled roots which protruded from out the ground one of these moss covered green and soft formed a perfect resting place he drew her down begging her to sit she obeyed scared somewhat as was her want when she found him so unfettered and violent he stretched himself at full length at her feet extravagant now in his acts and gestures like a man who no longer can hold turbulent passion in check he kissed the edge of her curdle then her cloak and the tips of her little shoes it was cruel to keep me waiting gracious lady it was cruel he murmured in the intervals between these ardent caresses i am so sorry amade she repeated grieving to see him so sorrowful not a little frightened at his vehemence trying to withdraw her hands from his grasp i was detained detained he rejoined harshly detained by someone else someone who had a greater claim on your time than the poor exile nay tis unkind thus to grieve me she said with tender reproach as she felt the hot tears gather in her eyes you know as i do that i am not my own mistress yet yes yes forgive me my gracious sweet sweet lady i am mad when you are not nigh me you do not know how could you what torments i endure when i think of you so beautiful so exquisite so adorable surrounded by other men who admire you desire you may have oh my god but you need have no fear she protested gently you know that i gave my whole heart willingly to you my prince nay but you cannot know he persisted violently sweet gentle creature that you are you cannot guess the agonies which a strong man endures when he is nod by ruthless insane jealousy she gave a cry of pain amade for she felt hurt deeply wounded by his mistrust of her when she had so holy so fully trusted him i know i know he said with quick transition of tone fearful that he had offended her striving to master his impatience to find words which best pleased her young romantic temperament nay but you must think me mad may have you despise me he added with a gentle note of sadness oh god may have you will turn from me now no no yet do i worship you my saint my divinity my susanne you are more beautiful more adorable than any woman in the world and i am so unworthy you unworthy she retorted laughing gaily through her tears you my prince my king say that once more my susanne he murmured with infinite gentleness oh the exquisite sweetness of your voice which is like dream music in my ears oh to hold you in my arms thus forever until death sweeter than life came to me in one long passionate kiss she allowed him to put his arms round her now glad that the darkness hid the blush on her cheeks thus she loved him thus she had first learned to love him ardent oh yes but so gentle so meek yet so great and exalted in his selfless patriotism tis not of death you should speak sweet prince she said ineffably happy now that she felt him more subdued more trusting and fond rather should you speak of life with me your own susanne of happiness in the future when you and i hand in hand will work together for that great cause you hold so dear the freedom and liberties of france ah yes he sighed in utter dejection when that happy time comes but you do not trust me she asked reproachfully with all my heart my susanne he replied but you are so beautiful so rich and other men there are no other men for me she retorted simply i love you will you prove it to me how can i be mine mine absolutely he urged eagerly with passion just sufficiently subdued to make her pulses throb be my wife my princess let me feel that no one could come between us but my guardian would never consent she protested surely your love for me can dispense with sir marmaduke's consent a secret marriage she asked terrified at this strange vista which his fiery imagination was conjuring up before her you refuse he asked hoarsely no no but then you do not love me susanne the coolness in his tone struck a sudden chill to her heart she felt the clasp of his arms round her relax she felt rather than saw that he withdrew markedly from her ah forgive me forgive me she murmured stretching her little hands out to him in a pathetic and childlike appeal i have never deceived anyone in my life before how could i live a lie married to you yet seemingly a girl whilst in three months she paused in her eagerness for he had jumped to his feet and was now standing before her a rigid statuesque figure with head bent and arms hanging inert by his side you do not love me susanne he said with an infinity of sadness which went straight to her own loving heart else you would not dream of thus condemning me to three months of exquisite torture i have had my answer farewell my gracious lady not mine alas but another man's and may heaven grant that he love you well not as i do for that were impossible his voice had died away in a whisper which obviously was half choked with tears she too had risen while he spoke all her hesitation gone her heart full of reproaches against herself and of love for him what do you mean she asked trembling that i must go he replied simply since you do not love me oh how thankful she was that this merciful darkness and wrapped her so tenderly she was so young so innocent and pure that she felt half ashamed of the expression of her own great love which went out to him in a veritable wave of passion when she began to fear that she was about to lose him no no she cried vehemently you shall not go you shall not her hands sought his in the gloom and found them clung to them with ever-growing ardor she came quite close to him trying to peer into his face and to let him read in hers all the pathetic story of her own deep love for him i love you she murmured through her tears and again she repeated i love you see she added with sudden determination i will do even as you wish i will follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth i i will marry you secretly and you wish welcome darkness that hid her blushes she was so young so ignorant of life and of the world yet she felt that by her words her promise her renunciation of her will she was surrendering something to this man which she could never never regain did the first thought of fear or misgiving cross her mind at this moment it were impossible to say the darkness which to her was so welcome was had she but guessed it infinitely cruel too for it hid the look of triumph of rapacity of satisfied ambition which at her selfless surrender had involuntarily crept into marmaduke's eyes end of chapter 11