Part 4 (1/2)

II.

Londesborough was a beautiful place in the county of York, about sixteen miles from York city. Lord de Vesci had other and larger estates, but as his dignity of baron was limited to male heirs, his daughter could only inherit two of his possessions, and Londesborough was one of them, consequently young Henry de Clifford was its next heir in right of his mother. He knew this, yet so well had his mind been trained by that excellent parent, that he was content to live in a shepherd's cot outside its gates with Robin and Maud, whom he soon became accustomed to call father and mother. As they had come from Skipton, and brought with them two little children of their own, the people of the hamlet where they were now settled, did not know but that Henry was their eldest son, and the little ones were so young that they were easily taught to believe he was their brother. He wore a shepherd's frock of grey serge, fastened round the waist by a leather belt, with half-boots made of untanned deer-skin; and every morning he went out with his foster-father to mind the flocks, taking with him, in a little wallet slung over his shoulder, his mid-day meal, which he would eat as he sat on some gra.s.sy mound, or by the side of a rivulet, from which he could fill his horn cup with water. How different was this from the costly banquet in his father's hall, where he had servants to attend upon him, and drank out of a goblet of gold or silver. Yet he did not repine, but performed his duties with a willing spirit, and instead of thinking his lot was a hard one, he often reflected how much worse it would have been if he had fallen into the hands of his father's foes; still he could not help feeling melancholy at times, for he longed to see his dear mother again, and more than two months had pa.s.sed, yet she came not. There was no occasion now to stain his hands and face, for the sun had embrowned them quite enough, and his long curls had been suffered to grow again, for Maud said it was a great pity to cut them off, and she was proud of hearing her neighbours say what nice hair her boy had got, and she would answer--

”Ay, my goodman tells me I take over much pride in Henry's curly locks, but he is my eldest, and sure it is natural for a mother to take pleasure in the beauty of her child, and, though I say it, he is as pretty a boy, and as good too, as any in the village.”

One evening Henry had brought home the sheep, and having seen them safe in the fold, was sitting on the ground outside the cottage door eating his supper. One arm rested on the neck of a large dog, that was idly reposing by his side, as if tired with the toils of the day, for it was the shepherd's dog, and its duty was to guard the flocks as they were feeding in the fields, and warn his master if any danger seemed near them. At length the boy arose and walked slowly towards the entrance of a fair domain, where he stood gazing with tearful eyes through a long vista of tall oaks, on a n.o.ble mansion standing on the summit of a verdant slope, and his young heart was oppressed with unusual sadness as he looked wistfully on this his rightful home. He had stood there for some time when his foster-father came up and laid his hand kindly on his shoulder.

”Come, my boy, you are giving way to idle regrets. I do not like to see you here, Henry, for I know your thoughts are not what they should be.”

”I know it is wrong, father, but I cannot help it sometimes.”

”Whenever this feeling comes over you, Henry, try to drive it from you, and think of the past as if it had been but a dream. A dark prison, my boy, would have been a worse dwelling-place than a thatched cottage.

Think of that, and be content.”

”Indeed I am content, father, for you are very kind to me. But when, oh when, do you think my own dear mother will come?”

”Nay, I cannot tell; but let us hope it will not be, long first. And now, Henry, come home and go to your bed, for the sun is set, and you must be up betimes. See, here is Lion coming to meet us. Poor Lion! he does not like to lose sight of his master.”

Henry, who had dried his tears and was smiling again, sprang forward to caress the faithful dog, who frolicked round him as if he thought he had been long away, and was rejoiced at his return. Maud had put aside her spinning-wheel, for it was nearly dark; the two younger children were already asleep, and Henry was about to retire to rest, when the door was opened softly, and there entered one whose form was m.u.f.fled in a long dark cloak, the hood of which was drawn over the head to conceal the face from view. Robin and Maud trembled with fear as the idea struck them both that the boy's retreat had been discovered; but Henry, with the true instinct of affection, uttered the word ”mother!” and rushed into the arms of the mysterious visitant, who threw off her disguise, and clasped her boy fondly to her bosom.

”My honoured lady!” exclaimed Maud, as she recognised the beautiful, but pale and careworn countenance of her mistress.

”Hus.h.!.+ Maud, hus.h.!.+” said the lady; ”are you sure we are quite safe?”

”Yes, madam, we are safe,” answered Robin, ”there is no one within hearing, and I will fasten the door, so that none shall enter without giving notice.”

And so saying he proceeded to make all secure, whilst Henry laughed and wept by turns in the excess of his joy, and, amidst kisses and embraces, asked many questions about his brother and sister.

”I hope they are both well, my darling. Elizabeth I have seen lately, but I have not heard of Richard since his arrival in the Low Countries.

Nevertheless, I trust he is safe and well. But how fares it with you, my best and dearest? Can you make yourself happy in this new life?”

”As happy as I can be away from you, dear mother. I do not mind the sort of life I lead so much as I thought I should; for I am getting used to it now.”

”In truth he takes to it bravely, my lady,” said Robin. ”I only hope my own lad will be as good a shepherd as Henry, when he is as old.”

Lady Margaret sighed deeply, for although the worthy man did not mean to give her pain, but rather pleasure, by this rough applause, she could not help feeling how very low the fortunes of De Clifford's son had fallen. But she did not make this thought apparent, she folded him closer to her heart, and whispered words of encouragement and praise.

”You have shown yourself a true hero, Henry, for nothing is more n.o.ble than to bear misfortune n.o.bly, and this you have done. I am proud of my son, and should you ever be permitted by Providence to take your own name again, you will be doubly worthy of it.”

”And that time will come, my lady,” said Maud, fervently, ”as sure as there are stars in yonder heavens!”

”We will hope so, Maud. And how shall I thank you for the care you have taken of my treasure? he looks well; the bloom of health is on his cheek. I would fain give you some token of my grat.i.tude, if I durst do so.”

”Better not, my lady,” said Robin in his blunt way. ”Besides it is for us, not you, lady, to talk of grat.i.tude, since we owe all that we possess to your goodness. Even this cottage we live in, was it not your gift? It would be hard, then, if your child should meet with aught but kindness beneath its roof.”

Lady Clifford did not stay long, fearing that her absence from her own abode might be discovered, and lead to suspicion; but she said she was going to stay some time at Londesborough, and should pay a visit to the cottage whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so without risk. For a few weeks she often came at nightfall without attracting the notice of the villagers; but at length she was obliged to leave Londesborough, and Henry saw her no more for a very long while. By degrees, however, he grew reconciled to her absence, and, as time wore on, the events of his early life were less distinctly remembered, until he could almost believe that his former grandeur had never been a reality. He often thought of his brother, and wondered where he was, and whether he was living like a peasant too, for he did not know till long afterwards that poor little Richard died soon after he was sent out of England.

When Henry was about fourteen, the death of his grandfather, Lord de Vesci, brought new dangers upon him, for a rumour got spread abroad that he was still live and in England, and, as he was the rightful heir to all the estates as well as the honours of the Bromfletes, the king's emissaries began to inquire into the matter, and make search in different parts of the country, where it was supposed he might be concealed. This alarming intelligence was first conveyed to his mother by the faithful Rolf, who, you remember, was one of the old Lord de Vesci's people, and devotedly attached to Lady Clifford. But she was not Lady Clifford now, for she was married to a n.o.ble knight named Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, whose domain was in the mountainous part of c.u.mberland, and was called Threlkeld. He was a kind-hearted, n.o.ble gentleman, and, as he had not taken an active part in the wars, he had been left in possession of his lands and dignities, and was living quietly on his own estate, when he offered his hand to the widowed Lady Clifford, who consented to become his wife because she knew he would be a friend to her dear boy, and they were married soon after the lady went away from Londesborough.

As soon as they heard that King Edward had inst.i.tuted a search for the young heir, Sir Lancelot proposed to his lady to remove Robin the shepherd, with all his family, including Henry, from Londesborough to the hills of c.u.mberland, and settle them as near as possible to Threlkeld.