Part 24 (2/2)

It was hours, however, before the lumbering equipages were pried out and started on. The light beyond had paled as dawn broke. They were once more upon the causeway, and the horses' feet beating with loud and even step upon the wet road.

Constance had calmed, and with the other occupants slept through the long delay. Nor did she wake until they had entered a thick wood where the branches of the trees swept tumultuously against the window. Then she opened her eyes with a start and saw Katherine still sleeping, her head pillowed on Janet's bosom. Her limbs were stiff from their cramped position. Vainly she essayed to stretch, and cried out as a rheumatic pain took her. She swore roundly and vowed she would alight at the first hut they should come upon.

It seemed hours before they came to a long, low stone building, evidently an old-time lodge. It was covered with ivy that trembled and glistened in the wind and rain.

The chaises stopped at the door, which was thrown open by an outrider who knocked up the locker with his whip handle.

The opening disclosed great, high-backed pews and an altar and pulpit.

It was indeed a place of refuge to the weary travellers. It was dry and clean and afforded rest. Katherine stepped inside first, and immediately knelt and crossed herself. Monmouth did the same, knowing that the maid's eyes were upon him.

They took seats not far from the altar and settled themselves comfortably; for the servants had gone to find food and fresh horses.

Katherine was stirred by the sacredness of the day and place, and took little part in the conversation that was becoming more and more animated, as the Dukes and Constance drank heavily of wine brought from Monmouth's box in the chaise. And when meat, bread and cheese were brought and more wine was drank, her ladys.h.i.+p became maudlin and cast her eye about for diversion.

It fell upon the pulpit, and she tripped up to it, pa.s.sing over the sacred altar in vulgar _insouciance_.

It pained Katherine to see the place so lightly esteemed, and she gave a little cry of ”Oh!” as Constance threw open the Bible and began to preach in mockery of the Methody parson.

Buckingham's face was as stolid as Janet's; Monmouth's bearing a smile that was b.a.s.t.a.r.d of mirth.

Hardly was her ladys.h.i.+p started, when a tall form, strong boned and sinewy, strode through the open door. His ruddy face disclosed what appeared to be a stern and rough temper. His forehead was high; his nose well set over a mouth moderately large. His habit was plain and modest. The rain dripped from his red hair and the bit of mustachio that he wore on his upper lip. His quick, sharp eye noted the men and women that sat apart, and then turned like a flash upon the woman in the pulpit.

As Constance saw the man full in the face, there was a bathos in her zeal, and she stopped, open-mouthed, and closed the book.

Neither Buckingham nor Monmouth could see the countenance of him that entered, so they held quiet and wondered at her ladys.h.i.+p's behaviour.

Katherine had bent her head upon the back of the seat.

The tall man proceeded up the aisle, his eyes upon the t.i.tled woman whose face was now covered with a genuine blush. For the first time in her life she felt ashamed. She felt a presence near her that was not altogether of this earth's mould.

At last regaining a semblance of her usual _aplomb_, she stepped from the pulpit and made toward the door, where others were entering. She looked back when half-way down the aisle and beckoned to the others of her party to follow. As she did so, there came from the pulpit a voice so rich and sweet, so penetrating the soul, the woman trembled and listened.

It was the ”Kyrie Eleison” sung in a new tune with clear, strong English words, and they rung and rung in Constance' ears, as they continued to do for the rest of her days.

”He is a Ranter. Let us stay and hear him?” Monmouth said.

”Nay,” said Katherine; ”I am without covering for my head. Let's begone, the meeting is gathering. What a glory is in his countenance, and his voice is like music!”

”The lack of a bonnet need not hinder. Thou art a lady and privileged.”

”Nay, nay. I would know who he is?” Monmouth plucked the sleeve of a pa.s.ser-by and inquired. The man answered with a question put in a whisper,--

”Hast never read 'Pilgrim's Progress'?” The Duke threw back a glance at the form in the pulpit, then strode forward and jumped into the chaise.

CHAPTER XXII

TELLS OF THE DOINGS OF ALL CONCERNED

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