Part 32 (1/2)
”Nay, I shall not say that--but--whenever thou dost wish it.”
”Of a surety? When I name the hour, wilt thou not gainsay?”
”Nay, my lord. I will not gainsay.”
”Then--at eleven, Katherine.” She caught her breath quickly and cried forth,--
”This day, Sir Julian! Indeed, thou art in haste, I--I--”
”Thou hast given thy word. At eleven, Katherine.”
”By sands or dial?”
”Ah, sweet Katherine, both shall have a bridal favour. We will confer with each. When the golden sand runs out at the eleventh hour, the dial will be alone and in shadow; for if it please thee, we must be wed secretly and in haste. I noticed but awhile ago how beautiful the dial was. So the sands shall give us the hour, the dial the altar, and the nightingale the nuptial ma.s.s.”
”But the priest, Sir Julian--”
”He shall give us the blessing--”
”Nay, nay; where wilt thou find a priest?” This was not an unexpected question, and Sir Julian was ready for it.
”Lord Cedric's Chaplain can wed us as securely as one of thy church, and as there is no one else, he will serve, will he not, Katherine?”
”Until we find a better.”
”Then, not to arouse suspicion, to-night at eleven thou wilt come to the sun-dial and I will meet thee at the foot of the stair that leads from thy chamber to the terrace, and then--'twill be soon over and thou, thou, Katherine, will be--wife. Wilt not regret it,--art sure?”
he repeated as she shook her head negatively.
”But why do all men appear in such haste to wed? I would have time to at least think upon it.”
”Dost forget that at any moment may come a courier from the King to recall thee; and if so, thou wouldst be obliged to go and be separated from us, perhaps forever? Thou dost not know what may befall thee at any moment. Thou dost belong to France, and art hostage to England--thou wilt be ready at eleven?”
”Aye, at eleven.”
”We will be cautious and not speak above a whisper. The Chaplain will speak low, too; but he is a good soul and would make us fast wed whether we heard him or not.” Again he kissed her forehead; she turned rose-red and ran from him hastily. She thought not once of Cedric. Had she done so, 'tis possible she never would have gone to the dial that summer night. She flew to her chamber aflame with this new thing she thought was love. And felt relief that soon Sir Julian, the strong and brave, would take away all her discomfort. He would fight her battles for her, go with her to the King and stand by her side and his Majesty would not dare to offer her insult. It would be a sweet task to convert Sir Julian to her faith. He would became a great Catholic leader. Her breast fairly swelled with pride in antic.i.p.ation.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ESPOUSAL
Night had come richly laden with the perfume of many flowers, that the darkness seemed to make more pungent, and more distinct to the ear the night sounds. There was no moon, and the thick foliage produced a deep, dark density, mysterious and sweet. The grand terraces about the castle were still, save for the buzz of summer insects and the low, sleepy twittering of birds. There was not a star to be seen and only the glow-worm lent an occasional lilliputian effulgence to the great, dark world. All within the castle appeared to have retired earlier than usual; perhaps for the purpose of an earlier awakening, as their Graces of Ellswold were to set out early on the morrow morning, aiming to make some great distance on their journey before the heat of midday. At a quarter after the hour of ten Janet had kissed her mistress, leaning over her pillow with even more affection than usual.
”Good-night, my Lambkin, my child, my precious maid--good-night and G.o.d bless thee!” then snuffed the candles and left her.
Katherine gave no thought to regret, indeed she went so far as to smile at Janet's consternation, when she should find out that for once her ”Lambkin” had fooled her. Quickly she leapt from her bed and dressed herself for the first time alone. Though her fingers were deft and skillful at the tapestry frame, and neat and clever at limning, they were slow and bungling when drawing together the laces of her girdle, indeed 'twas very insecurely done, and when she was dressed she had forgotten her stays, and but for the lateness of the hour would have disrobed and donned them. It seemed like an endless task to try and dress again by the poor light of the single candle, screened by her best sunshade in the far corner of the room. She had donned a pale, s.h.i.+mmering brocade. About her neck she twined her mother's pearls, and took up the opal shoulder knot of Cedric's mother's and was about to fasten it when some subtle thought stole the desire from her, and she laid it back in the casket with a sigh. Instead, she placed a bunch of jasmine as her shoulder-brooch, and extinguis.h.i.+ng the light went forth to meet her husband by the sun-dial.
She pa.s.sed out by the door that led on to a small balcony and a-down the flight of outside stairs that were covered with vines in purple bloom. Although the darkness was almost impenetrable, she could distinguish a form waiting at the foot of the stair. For an instant she paused and whispered timourously,--
”Who art thou?”