Belasez would gladly have avoided that question.

"Different subjects," she said, evasively.

"Tell me what he said when he first met thee."

"He seemed much distressed, I knew not at what, and murmured that my face painfully reminded him of somebody."

"Ah!--Belasez, didst thou know whom?"

"Not till I came home," she said in a low tone.

"_Ay de mi_! What hast thou heard since thy coming home?"

Belasez resolved to speak the truth. She had been struck by her father's hints that some terrible mischief had come from not speaking it; and she thought that perhaps open confession on her part might lead to confidence on his.

"I overheard you and my mother talking at night," she said. "I gathered that the somebody whom I was like was my sister, and that her name was Anegay; and I thought she had either become a Christian, or had wedded a Christian. Father, may I know?"

"My little Belasez," he said, with deep feeling, "thou knowest all but the one thing thou must not know. There was one called Anegay. But she was not thy sister. Let the rest be silence to thee."

It seemed to cost Abraham immense pain to say even so much as this. He sat quiet for a moment, his face working pitifully.

"Little Belasez," he said again, "didst thou like that man?"

"I think I loved him," was her soft answer.

Abraham's gesture, which she thought indicated despair and anguish, roused her to explain.

"Father," she said hastily, "I do not mean anything wrong or foolish. I loved Father Bruno with a deep, reverential love--such as I give you."

"Such as thou givest me--O Belasez!"

Belasez thought he was hurt by her comparison of her love for him to that of her love for a mere stranger.

"Father, how shall I explain? I meant--"

"My poor child, I need no explanation. Thou hast been more righteous than we. Belasez, the truth is hidden from thee because thou art too near it to behold it. My poor, poor child!" And suddenly rising, Abraham lifted up his arms in the att.i.tude of prayer. "O Thou that doest wonders, Thou hast made the wrath of man to praise Thee. How unsearchable are Thy judgments, and Thy ways past finding out!" Then he laid his hand upon Belasez's head.

"It is Adonai," he said. "Let Him do what seemeth Him good. He said unto Shimei, Curse David. Methinks He hath said to thee, Love Bruno.

The Holy One forbid that I should grudge the love of--of our child, to the desolate heart which we made desolate. Adonai knows, and He only, whether we did good or bad. Pray to Him, my Belasez, to forgive that one among us who truly needs His forgiveness!"

And Abraham hurried from the room, as if he were afraid to trust himself, lest if he stayed he should say something which he might afterwards regret bitterly.

Note 1. Priest. All Jews named Cohen are sons of Aaron.

CHAPTER NINE.

PAYING THE BILL.

"'Tis hard when young heart, singing songs of to-morrow, Is suddenly met by the old hag, Sorrow."

_Leigh Hunt_.

Father Bruno was walking slowly, with his hands one in the other behind him, about a mile from Bury Castle. It was a lovely morning in April, and, though alone, he had no fear of highwaymen; for he would have been a bold sinner indeed who, in 1236, meddled with a priest for his harm.

An absent-minded man was Father Bruno, at all times when he was free to indulge in meditation. For to him:--

"The future was all dark, And the past a troubled sea, And Memory sat in his heart Wailing where Hope should be."

He was given to murmuring his thoughts half aloud when in solitude; and he was doing it now. They oscillated from one to the other of two subjects, closely a.s.sociated in his mind. One was Belasez: the other was a memory of his sorrowful past, a fair girl-face, the likeness to which had struck him so distressingly in hers, and which would never fade from his memory "till G.o.d's love set her at his side again."

"What will become of the maiden?" he whispered to himself. "So like, so like!--just what my Beatrice might have been, if--nay, Thou art wise, O Lord! It is I who am blind and ignorant. Ay, and just the same age!

She must be the infant of whom Licorice spoke: she was then in the cradle, I remember. She said that if Beatrice had lived, they might have been like twin sisters. Well, well! Ay, and it is well. For Anegay has found her in Heaven, safe from sin and sorrow, from tempest and temptation, with Christ for evermore.

"'_O mea, spes mea, O Syon aurea, ut clarior oro_!'

"And what does it matter for me, during these few and evil days that are left of this lower life? True, the wilderness is painful: but it will be over soon. True, my spirit is worn and weary: but the rest of the New Jerusalem will soon restore me. True, I am weak, poor, blind, ignorant, lonely, sorrowful: but my Lord is strength, wealth, light, wisdom, love, and joyfulness. Never canst thou be loveless, Bruno de Malpas, while the deathless love of Christ endureth; never canst thou be lonely and forlorn, whilst thou hast His company who is the sunlight of Heaven. Perhaps it would not have been good for me, had my beloved stayed with me. Nay, since He saw it good, it can be no perhaps, but a certainty. I suppose I should have valued Him less, had my jewel-casket remained full. Ay, Thou hast done well, my Lord! Pardon Thy servant if at times the journey grows very weary to his weak human feet, and he longs for a draught of the sweet waters of earthly love which Thou hast permitted to dry up. Grant him fresh draughts of that Living Water whereof he that drinketh shall thirst no more. Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe!

"Was I right in refusing to baptise the maiden? Verily, it would have been rich revenge on Licorice. I had no right, as I told her, to suffer the innocence of her chrism to be soiled with the evil pa.s.sions which were sin in me. Yet had I any right to deny her the grace of holy baptism, because I was not free from evil pa.s.sions? Oh, how hard it is to find the straight road!

"Poor little maiden! What will become of her now? I fear the impressions that have been made on her will soon be stifled in the poisonous atmosphere into which she is gone. And I cannot bear to think of her as a lost soul, with that face so like my Anegay, and that voice--

"Now, shame upon thee, Bruno de Malpas! Is Belasez more to thee than to Him that died for her? Canst thou not trust Him who giveth unto His sheep eternal life, not to allow this white lamb to be plucked out of His hand? O Lord, increase my faith!--for it is very low. I am one of the very weakest of Thy disciples. Yet I am Thine. Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee!"

During the time occupied by these reflections, Bruno had been instinctively approaching the Castle, and he looked up suddenly as he was conscious of a clang of arms and a confused medley of voices, not in very peaceful tones, breaking in upon his meditations. He now perceived that the drawbridge was thronged with armed men, the portcullis drawn up, and the courtyard beyond full of soldiers in mail.

"What is the matter, friend William?" asked Bruno of the porter at the outer gate.

"Nay, the saints wot, good Father, not I: but of this am I very sure, that some mischance is come to my Lord. You were a wise man if you kept away."

"Not so," was Bruno's answer, as he pa.s.sed on: "it is the hireling, not the shepherd, that fleeth from the wolf, and leaveth the sheep to be scattered."

He made his way easily into the hall, for no one thought of staying a priest. The lower end was thronged with soldiers. On the dais stood Sir Piers de Rievaulx and half-a-dozen more, confronting Earl Hubert, who wore an expression of baffled amazement. Just behind him stood the Countess, evidently possessed by fear and anguish; Sir John de Burgh, with his hand upon his sword; Doucebelle, very white and frightened; and furthest in the background, Sir Richard de Clare, who clasped in his arms the fainting form of Margaret, and bent his head over her with a look of agonised tenderness.

"Words are fine things, my Lord of Kent," was the first sentence distinguishable to Father Bruno, and the spokesman was Sir Piers. "But I beg you to remember that it is of no earthly use talking to _me_ in this strain. If you can succeed in convincing my Lord the King that you had no hand in this business, well!"--and Sir Piers' shoulders went up towards his ears, in a manner which indicated that result to be far from what he expected. "But those two young fools don't attempt to deny it, and their faces would give them the lie if they did. As for my Lady--"

The Countess sprang forward and threw herself on her knees, clinging to the arm of her husband, while she pa.s.sionately addressed herself to both.

"Sir Piers, on my life and honour, my Lord knew nothing of this! It was done while he was away with the Lord King at Merton.--It was my doing, my Lord, mine! And it is true, what Sir Piers tells you. My daughter has gone too far with Sir Richard de Clare, ever to be married to another." [Note 1.]

Sir Piers stood listening with a rather amused set of the lips, as if he thought the scene very effective. To him, the human agony before his eyes was no more than a play enacted for his entertainment. Of course it was in the way of business; but Sir Piers' principle was to get as much diversion out of his business as he could.

"Very good indeed, Lady," said that worthy Minister. "Your confession may spare you some annoyance. But as to your Lord, it will do nothing.

You hardly expect us to swallow this pretty little fiction, I suppose?

If you do, I beg you will undeceive yourself.--Officers, do your duty."

The officers had evidently received previous instructions, for they at once laid their hands on the shoulders of Earl Hubert and Sir Richard.

The half-insensible Margaret was roused into life by the attempt to take her bridegroom from her. With a cry that might have touched any heart but that of Sir Piers de Rievaulx, she flung her arms around him and held him close.