"Then I will go with you," said the Count.

"No, no, my lord!" replied the young knight; "you would but fill the boat, which is small enough. One man is better than a thousand there.

If I die, divide my goods amongst my men--send my ring to my sweet lady; and farewell."

Thus saying, he sped on to the very brink of the water, which, instead of decreasing, was still rising rapidly. There, he tried to make the people of the mill hear him, and they shouted from the cas.e.m.e.nt in reply, but the roaring of the torrent drowned their words; and hurrying up to the spot where he had seen the boat moored, he found it, now far out from the actual brink of the stream, swaying backwards and forwards with the eddies. The top of the post, to which it was attached by a chain, and which, an hour before, had been some yards on sh.o.r.e, was now just visible above the rushing waters; but, wading in, the young knight caught the chain, and drew the boat to him.

It was luckily flat, and somewhat heavy in its build; so that he managed to get in without upsetting it, but not without difficulty.

The only implements, however, which he found to guide its course, were one paddle and a large pole with an iron hook, such as he had seen in the hands of the people of the mill. But he had no hesitation,--no fear; and, throwing loose the chain, he guided the boat into the middle of the stream, where, though the current was stronger, the eddies were less frequent. There it was borne forward with terrible rapidity towards what had been the island, but was no longer to be distinguished from the rest of the stream but by the foaming ripple on either side, and the mill rising in the midst.

The bank of the river, on the eastern side, was crowded by his own attendants and the followers of the Count of St. Paul; the windows of the mill, and a little railed platform above the wheel, showed a mult.i.tude of anxious faces. No one spoke--no one moved, however, but two stout Englishmen, who were seen upon the sh.o.r.e, stripping off their arms and clothing; while the timbers of the mill, and the posts and stanchions of the platform, quivered and shook with the roaring tide as it whirled, red and furious, past them, lingering in a curling vortex round, as if unwilling to dash on without carrying every obstacle along with it.

Richard of Woodville raised not his eyes to look at those who hung between death and life; he turned not to gaze at his companions on the sh.o.r.e: he knew that every energy, every thought was wanted to accomplish the great object; and, if he suffered his mind to stray, for even a single instant to other things, it was but to think, "I will show those who have belied me that I can risk life, even for beings I do not know!" His eyes were fixed upon one spot, where the boiling of the tide evinced that the ground came near the surface; and there, he determined first to check the furious speed at which he was hurried down the stream. A little farther on, were the strong standards and braces of a mill of those days; and he thought that, if he could break the first rush of the boat at the shallow, he should be able more easily to bring her up under the cas.e.m.e.nts and the platform.

Now guiding with the paddle, now starting up to hold the boat-pike, he came headlong towards the shoal; but, fending off till the speed of the boat was checked, and she swung round with the torrent and drifted more slowly on, he caught at the thick uprights of the mill with the hook--missed the first--grappled the second; and, though almost thrown over with the shock, held fast till the boat swung heavily round, and struck with her broadside against the building. A rope was instantly thrown from above; and, tying it fast through a ring, which was to be found in the bow of all boats in those days, he relaxed his hold of the woodwork, and the skiff floated farther round.

Then first he looked up; and then first a feeling of deadly terror took possession of him. His cheek grew pale; his lips turned white; and, stretching out his arms, he exclaimed, "Oh, Mary!--oh, my beloved! is it you on whom such peril has fallen?--Quick, quick!" he continued, "lose not a moment. The stream is coming down more and more strong--the building cannot stand. Bear her down quick, Sir John."

"Poo! the building will stand well enough," said a man, in a rude jargon of the French tongue. "'Tis but that people are afraid."

"Fool!" cried Richard of Woodville, who saw the timbers quivering as if shaken by mortal agony: "if you would save your life, come down with the rest."

"Not I," answered the miller, with a laugh; "I have seen as bad floods before now. Here, lady, here--set a foot upon the wheel; it is made fast, and cannot move. Catch her, young gentleman:--nay, not so far, or you will upset the boat--that will do,--there she is;" and Richard of Woodville, receiving Mary Grey in his arms, seated her in the stern of the boat, and again advanced to aid her women and the old knight in descending. Two fair young girls, a young clerk in a black gown, and three armed servants formed the train, and they were the first to take refuge in the boat, leaving their horses behind them. There were three other men remained above, and laughed lightly at the thought of danger; but one young lad, of fifteen years of age, though he too said he would stay, bore a white cheek and a wandering eye.

"Send down the boy, at least," cried Richard of Woodville to the miller; "though you may be fool-hardy, there is no need to sacrifice his life."

"Go, go, Edme," said the miller; "you are as well there as here. You can do us no good."

The boy hesitated; but the increasing force of water made the mill tremble more violently than ever; and, hurrying on, he sprang into the boat.

"Every one down and motionless!" cried Richard of Woodville, without exchanging even a word with those who were most dear; and, casting off the rope, he steered as well as the paddle would permit towards the bank. But, hurried rapidly forward down the stream, with scarcely any power of direction, he saw that the frail bark must pa.s.s the ruined bridge. It was a moment of terrible anxiety, for the eddies showed that the foundations of the piers were left beneath the waters. By impulse, the instinct of great peril, he guided the boat over the most violent gush of the stream, between two of the half-checked whirlpools; and she shot clear down, falling into another vortex below, which carried her completely round twice; and then, broken by the blade of the paddle, let her float away into the stream.

The whole band of the Count of St. Paul were running down by the side of the river; and, as the course of the skiff became more steady, Richard of Woodville turned his eyes towards them. They had got what seemed a rope in their hands; and, ever and anon, one of his own archers held it up, and made signs, as if he would have thrown it, had they been nearer.

"Some one be ready to catch the rope!" cried Woodville, "I cannot quit the steering;" and he guided the boat gently and gradually towards the sh.o.r.e. The young clerk sprang at once into the bow; the women sat still in breathless expectation. Sir John Grey advanced slowly and steadily to aid the youth; and when, at the distance of a few yards, a band, formed of the sword-belts of the troop tightly tied together, was thrown on board, the young man and the old knight caught it, but were pulled down by the shock. Some of the others aided to hold it fast; but, in spite of all Woodville's efforts, the boat swung round, struck the rocky sh.o.r.e violently, and began to fill.

There were now many to aid, however: one after another was supported to the land; and Richard of Woodville springing out the last, caught his sweet Mary to his heart, and blessed the G.o.d of all mercies for her preservation in that hour of peril.

As he did so, a faint and distant cry, and a rushing sound, different--very different, either from the roar of the stream or the growling of the thunder, caught the ear. All turned round towards the mill, and gazed. It was gone!--a black ma.s.s floated on the tide, struck against the sunken piers of the fallen bridge, obstructed for a moment the torrent which instantly poured over it in a white cataract, and then, broken into innumerable fragments, rushed past, darkening the red waters. Woodville ran to the brink, and gazed; but no trace of the rash men who had chosen to remain appeared, and their bodies were not found for many days, when they floated to the sh.o.r.e far down the then subsided stream.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

THE RECOMPENCE.

Oh, what a moment it was when, after seeing the wreck of the mill drift by, Richard of Woodville again held Mary Grey to his heart! He cared not who witnessed his emotions, he thought not of the crowd around, he thought not of her father's presence, or of the letter he had received on the preceding night. All he remembered, all he felt, was, that she was saved; and the knowledge of the dreadful death that had just overtaken those who had perished by their own obstinacy, added to the joy of that overpowering feeling, notwithstanding the horror of their fate.

Bearing her rather than leading her, her lover brought Mary to the shelter of the trees; for though the storm had somewhat abated, the rain was still coming down heavily; and there, while the tears poured fast from her beautiful eyes, one or two of the stout English archers, who had known her well at Dunbury, came quietly up and kissed her hand. The Count of St. Paul and his men stood looking on; Sir John Grey gazed upon the lover and the lady with a silent smile; and they themselves spoke not for many minutes, so intense were the emotions of their hearts.

At length, however, after a few low words of explanation with the Count of St. Paul, the old knight advanced to Woodville's side and took his hand, saying, "What, not a word to me, Richard?"

The young knight put his hand to his brow, and gazed at Mary's father in surprise, so different seemed his tone from that of the letter he had received.

"The surprise of seeing you here, n.o.ble knight," he answered, in a confused manner; "the joy of having been brought, as it were, by Heaven's own hand to save this dear lady, when I least expected to meet with her--all confounds me and takes away my words."

"Surprise at seeing us!" repeated Sir John Grey, in a tone of astonishment. "When you least expected to meet with her!--Have you not received my letter by the post of the Count of Charolois?"

"One letter, sir knight, I did receive," replied Woodville; "but it gave me no thought that I should see you here."

The knight gazed at him for an instant, with a look that seemed expressive of doubt as well as wonder. "Here is some mistake," he said. "I trust, my young friend, this catastrophe has not shaken your brain. But one letter have I written, and therein I besought you to meet us at Givet or at Dinant."

Richard of Woodville replied not, but beckoned to his page; and when the boy hurried up, took from him the gibeciere which hung over his shoulder. With a hand hasty and agitated, he unfastened the three b.u.t.tons and loops which closed it, and drew forth a paper, which in silence he placed in the hands of Sir John Grey.

The knight took it, gazed on the superscription, examined the seal, and then turned to the contents; but instantly exclaimed, as he read, "This is not mine! This is a fraud! I never wrote these words. The outside is from my hand; the seal, too, is seemingly my own; but not one of these harsh terms did I indite."

"Then I thank G.o.d!" replied Richard of Woodville, grasping his hand eagerly. "Nay, more, I thank the man who wrote it, though it may seem strange, n.o.ble knight. But perchance, had it not been for this and the despair it brought with it, I might have listened to the kind friends who would fain have persuaded me not to risk my life, or, as they thought, to lose it, for men who were strangers to me."

"What, then," cried Mary, rising from the ground on which she had been seated, "did you not recognise us?"

"I knew not when I left the sh.o.r.e," replied Richard of Woodville, "that there was one being on that miserable islet, whom I had ever beheld before. I merit no guerdon, dear one, for saving you, for I knew not what I did."

"A thousand and a thousand thanks, Richard," she answered, laying her fair hand upon his arm; "and far more thanks do I give you, than if you had perilled more to save me knowingly; for by such a deed, done for a mere stranger, you show my father that his child has not spoken of you falsely."

"Nay, dear Mary, I doubt it not," replied Sir John Grey; "by calumny and malice, all men may be for a time misled; but henceforth, my child, no one shall do him better justice than myself. You judged from acts that you had often seen and known; I had none such to judge by.

But should he need defence hereafter, let him appeal to me. This must seem strange to you, my good lord," he continued, turning to the Count of St. Paul; "but we will explain it all hereafter. All, at least, that we can explain--for here is something that we must inquire into as best we may. This letter has been forged for some base end; but by whom, or for what, remains a mystery, though perhaps we may all suspect."

"Everything else seems clear enough," said the Count, with a smile; "though I understand but half you have said, yet I guess well, here has been love, and, as so often happens with love, love's traverses; and, in the end, the happy meed which attends due knightly service to a fair lady. As soon as my n.o.ble cousin appears, though by my faith he is somewhat long in coming--"

"I see his train, my lord, or I am blind," said the old man-at-arms, called Carloman. "Do you not perceive a long black line winding on there down from the hills, near a league distant, like a lean serpent?"

"No very sweet comparison for a Prince's train," exclaimed the Count of St. Paul, laughing; "but faith, I see it not. Ah--yes--I catch it now. 'Tis he, 'tis doubtless he. Then when he comes, sir knight, we will on to Charleville, where, having dried our dripping clothes, we will tell the tale of this day's adventure over a pleasant meal: and will inquire how this deceit has taken place. Has yon young novice nought to do with it?" he continued, dropping his voice; "he holds aloof; and though he seems to murmur something to his rosary from time to time, yet, good faith, I put but small trust in the honesty of mumbling friars."

"No, no," replied Mary Grey, with a smile, "I will answer for him."

"Ah, ha!" cried the Count, laughing loud, with the rude jocularity of the day, "look to your lady, Sir Richard, or you may lose her yet. She answers for the honesty of a monk! By my fay, sweet lady, I would rather beard John the Bold in his house at Dijon, than do so rash a thing."

"But I can answer for him, too," replied Sir John Grey, gravely; "for, though he be now my clerk, he was not with me there, and so had no occasion to deceive me, even had he been disposed. But yonder, a.s.suredly, comes the Count. I can see banners and pennons through the dim shower; but how we are to journey on with you to Charleville I hardly know, my good lord: for all but what we have brought in our pouches--horses and clothes and arms, and many a trinket, have gone down in that poor mill."

"I saw no horses in the stream," said Woodville.

"They were in the court on the other side," replied one of Sir John Grey's men; "and it had a stone wall. The water was up to the girths when we got into the second story, and I saw my poor beast, with bended head and open nostrils, snuffing the tide as it rose whirling round him. He soon drowned, I fear."

"'Tis but a league to Charleville, or not much more," said the Count, answering the English knight; "we will dismount some of our men, and make a litter for the lady and her maidens. Hark ye, Peterkin, ride back like light to the castle. In the Florence chamber you will find store of your lady's gear. My good wife is not here, sir knight; but she has left much of her apparel behind, which, though she be somewhat fatter than this fair dame, G.o.d wot, will serve to clothe her for the nonce. Ride away fast, boy; bring it to Charleville, and lose no time.

Now to build a litter. Lances may serve for more purposes than one; and green boughs be curtains as well as canopies. Quick, my men, quick; let us see if ye be dexterous at such trades."

In about half an hour an advanced party of the Count of Charolois'

band approached the bank of the river; but it was still so swollen, that though the Count of St. Paul and the two English knights went down as far as they could, and the rain by this time had well nigh ceased, the distance across, and the roaring of the stream, prevented their voices from being heard at the other side. While they were still striving to make the men comprehend that the bridge had been carried away, and that they must ride farther down the river, the young Count himself and the Lord of Croy, with a number of other knights and n.o.blemen, appeared; and by signs, as words were vain, the Lord of St.