Sir Thomas was really angry with his son. A few words of withering scorn made that young gentleman--afraid of his father for the first time--a.s.sist with his own courtly hands in pushing the plank across the ice.

The relief reached those endangered just in time.

Blanche was carried home in her father's arms, and delivered to Rachel to be nursed; while Feversham, the moment that he recognised himself to be no longer responsible for her safety, fainted where he lay. He was borne to the house by Sim and d.i.c.k--Master Jack following in a leisurely manner, with his gentlemanly hands in his pockets.

When all was safely over, Sir Thomas put his hand on Jack's shoulder.

For the first time that the father could remember, the son looked slightly abashed.

"Jack, which was the coward?"

And Jack failed to answer.

John Feversham joined the party again at supper. He looked very pale, but otherwise maintained his usual imperturbable demeanour, though scarcely seeming to like the expressions of admiration which were showered upon him.

"Metrusteth, Jack," said Rachel cuttingly to her nephew, "next time thou wilt do thy best not to mistake a hero for a coward. I should not marvel, trow, if the child's going on yon ice were some mischievous work of thine."

"'Twas a gallant deed, in very sooth, Master Feversham,--without you can swim," said Lady Enville faintly. She had gone into hysterics on hearing of the accident, and considered herself deserving of the deepest commiseration for her sufferings. "I am thankful Blanche wear but her camlet."

"Canst thou swim, lad?" asked Sir Thomas of John.

"No," he answered quietly.

"Were you not afeared, Master Feversham?" said Rachel.

"Ay, a little--lest I should be full spent ere help could come. But for that I trusted G.o.d. For aught else--nay: it was no time to think thereof."

"Methinks, Jack Feversham," said Sir Thomas affectionately, "none shall call thee a coward any more."

Feversham smiled back in answer.

"Sir Thomas," he said, "I fear G.o.d, and I love her. This was G.o.d's work, and her great peril. How could I have held back?"

Sir Thomas glanced at his son; but Jack was twirling his moustache, and intently contemplating one of the stags' heads which decorated the hall.

After that day, there was a great change in Blanche Enville. She had come so near death, and that so suddenly, that she was sobered and softened. G.o.d in His mercy opened her eyes, and she began to ask herself,--What is the world worth? What, after all, is anything worth, except to please G.o.d, and win His blessing, and inherit His glory?

Her opinion was changed, too, as it respected John Feversham. There was no possibility of mistaking him for a coward any longer. And whatever he had been, she could scarcely have failed to cherish some kindly feeling towards the man who had risked his life for hers.

The two Johns left Enville Court together on the following Tuesday. And after reaching London, Jack began to write letters home pretty regularly, for that time,--always gay, airy, and sanguine.

Jack's first letter conveyed the information that he was absolutely certain of obtaining the monopoly. Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir Walter Raleigh had both promised their interest, and any thought of failure after that was quite out of the question.

The second letter brought the news that Sir Christopher was very ill--(in fact, he was dying)--and that, by some unfortunate mistake (with Jack, any want of capacity to see his immense value, was always a mistake), the monopoly had been granted to young Philip Hoby. But there was no reason for disappointment. Jack had had an unusual run of good luck that week at the gaming-table. It was quite Providential. For Jack, like some other gentlemen of his day, dealt largely in religious phrases, and did not trouble himself about religion in any other way.

The third letter stated that Jack had not been able to obtain the grant of a wardship. That was another unfortunate mistake. But his good luck as a gamester still kept up, and my Lord of 'Bergavenny was his very good lord. These items, also, were most Providential.

The fourth letter informed his father that all his difficulties were at last surmounted. Providence had rewarded his merits as they deserved.

He was on the eve of marriage.

"To whom?" asked Lady Enville, with languid curiosity.

"To seven thousand pounds," said Sir Thomas dryly; "that is as much as I can make out of the lad's letter."

The fifth epistle condescended to rather mere detail. Jack's _fiancee_ was the daughter of an Earl, and the niece by marriage of a Viscount.

She had a fortune of seven thousand pounds--that was the cream and chorus of the whole. But still it did not apparently occur to Jack that his friends at home might be interested to know the name of his beloved.

"What must we call her?" asked Blanche. "We know not her name."

"And we cannot say 'Mistress Jack,' sith she hath a t.i.tle," added Sir Thomas.

"'My Lady Jack,'" laughingly suggested Rachel.

And "Lady Jack" the bride was dubbed from that day forth.

The sixth letter was longer in coming. But when it came it was short and sweet. Jack's nuptials were to be solemnised on the following day, and he and his bride would start three days later for Enville Court.

There was a general flutter through the family.

"Dear heart! how was Jack donned? I would give a broad shilling to know!" said Rachel satirically. "In white satin, trow, at the very least, with a mighty great F on his back, wrought in rubies."

"F, Aunt Rachel!" repeated Blanche innocently. "You mean E, surely.

What should F spell?"

"Thou canst spell aught thou wilt therewith, child," said Rachel coolly, as she left the room.

"Sir Thomas, I pray you of money," said Lady Enville, rousing up. "We have nought fit to show."

Sir Thomas glanced at his wife's flowing satin dress, trimmed with costly lace, and, like an unreasonable man, opined that it was quite good enough for anything; "This!" exclaimed Lady Enville. "Surely you cannot mean it, Sir Thomas. This gown is all rags, and hath been made these four years."

Sir Thomas contemplated the dress again, with a rather puzzled face.

"I see not a patch thereon, Orige. Prithee, be all thy gowns rags?--and be Clare and Blanche in rags likewise?"

"Of course--not fit to show," said the lady.

"It seemeth me, Orige, thou shouldst have had money aforetime. Yet I cannot wholly conceive it,--we went not to church in rags this last Sunday, without somewhat ail mine eyes. If we be going thus the next, prithee lay out in time to avoid the same."

"Gramercy, Sir Thomas!--how do you talk!"

"Rachel," said her brother, as she entered, "how many new gowns dost thou need to show my Lady Jack?"

"I lack no new gowns, I thank thee, Tom. I set a new dowlas lining in my camlet but this last week. I would be glad of an hood, 'tis true, for mine is well worn; but that is all I need, and a mark [13 shillings and 4 pence] shall serve me."

"Then thy charges be less than Orige, for she ensureth me that all her gowns be but rags, and so be Clare's, and the like by Blanche."

"Lack-a-daisy!" cried Rachel. "Call me an Anabaptist, if she hath not in her coffers two velvet gowns, and a satin, and a kersey, and three camlets--to say nought of velvet kirtles and other habiliments!"