The letter was dated: "Sion Hill, Clifton, near Bristol," and began:

"If I have delayed sending you an expression of my sympathy in your trouble, dear Miss Falconer, it has been that I feared to intrude upon you in your grief, and feared, too, that I should touch it with too rough a hand. But I remember your parting words, your kind promise not to forget me. Thus I venture to tell you that I bear you ever in my mind, and that the time may come, _will_ come, when I shall beg you to hear more from me than I can say now, and grant me a very earnest pet.i.tion. But not now would I speak of myself or of my hopes and fears. Rather would I tell you how I pray G.o.d to comfort you for the loss of a father, whom I count it an honour to have known. I would ask you to believe that I, who have had the privilege of watching the happy home-life--now, alas! so sadly broken up--can, at least, understand what the wreck must be. Please present my regards and sympathy to Mrs. Falconer, and a.s.sure her of my remembrance of her kindness to me while her guest at Fair Acres, if indeed you think I may venture so far.

"I remain, dear Miss Falconer, "Your very faithful and true "GILBERT DECOURCY ARUNDEL."

There was a postscript written on the blank part of the sheet of Bath post, which was folded over.

"My mother is likely to visit the Palace, at Wells, in November. I have charged her, if possible, to see you at Fair Acres. I have heard nothing from your brother, but I am well satisfied that he is out of England, for reasons which you know.--G. DeC. A."

The reserved style of this letter, so different from the random shots of the present day, when young men and maidens seem to think the form of a telegram the most appropriate way of expressing their thoughts, may provoke a smile, and be p.r.o.nounced priggish and formal. But in Joyce's eyes it was a perfect letter, and she felt it to be a support and comfort to her in her loneliness. Words which come from the heart seldom miss their aim; and Joyce felt that, underlying those carefully written lines, there was the certainty that if her promise to him was fulfilled, and that she thought, even in her sorrow, of him continually, _he_, on his part, did not forget her.

In the simplicity of her young heart, she had never dreamed that Gilbert could really care for her, and his long silence had made her think of him only as of someone who had pa.s.sed out of her life, and was to be in future but a memory. Now the fluttering hope became almost a certainty, and she repeated to herself many times that evening, as a bird repeats its song over and over with the same rapture of content--

"I bear you ever in my mind, and the time may come, _will_ come, when I will beg you to hear more from me than I dare to say now, and grant me a very earnest pet.i.tion."

"The time _will_ come--the time _will_ come, and, meanwhile, I can wait," she thought. "Yes, the time will come, and I can wait."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER X.

THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.

There are exceptions to every rule, and this applies to cities as well as to individuals. The meek man may be excited to fierce anger, the quietest and most undemonstrative, may suddenly be moved to enthusiasm.

So with Wells, that little city of peace, under the Mendips; had anyone visited it for the first time on the fifth of November, in the year of grace eighteen hundred and twenty-four, they must have been struck by the uproar and confusion which reigned in the usually quiet streets.

Although Mrs. Arundel had been warned by her courteous host, the Bishop, not to be alarmed if the sound of a tumultuous crowd should even reach the seclusion of the palace itself, neither he nor she were at all prepared for the hubbub and uproar, which, beginning before the sun was well above the horizon, lasted till midnight, and, indeed, into the early hours of the next day.

It was the Bishop's first year at Wells, and therefore his first experience of the great demonstration of the fifth of November in his cathedral town; and neither he nor his son had been at all aware that the only place of safety for the whole day, would be within the battlemented walls of the palace, outside of which the tumult and shouting gathered force hour by hour, till the supreme moment of the bull-baiting in the market-place arrived.

The bull-baiting was stopped in 1839, but the fifth of November was for many years later marked in Wells, by the most extravagant expressions of Protestant zeal. Enough gunpowder was let off in the market-place to blow up Bishop, Deans, and Canons! A huge bonfire was piled up in the market-square, saturated with tar, of which large barrels were rolled to the scene of the conflagration from time to time during the day, kindled at last as the final outburst of enthusiastic hatred, which the people of Wells thus showed of that ill-contrived plot, which was to have made an end with one fell swoop of the sagacious King James, and his parliament.

It always seemed a strange form for such zeal to take; for the law-abiding folk in the little city suffered greatly during the demonstration. The windows overlooking the market-place were boarded up at dusk, and all business suspended in the latter part of the day. The whole population seemed to be gathered in the market-square. Effigies of Guy Fawkes were paraded about the streets, accompanied by those of any persons, who had unhappily incurred public displeasure during the year; to be consigned to the flames with shouts and execrations as soon as the big bonfire was lighted.

A company of guests met at the Bishop's hospitable breakfast table on this particular fifth of November, amongst whom were Mrs. Arundel, on the Bishop's right hand, and Gratian Anson, who was levelling her shafts at the chaplain, and declaring her delight at having been so fortunate as to be in Wells at the time of the bull-baiting.

"You were so kind to invite us to see it, my lord," she said; "for, of course, I mean to see it."

"My dear young lady, I am sure you must not venture forth to-day. We must make the time pa.s.s as pleasantly as we can, within the precincts of the palace, unless you like to step over to the cloister-door and attend the cathedral service."

"And do you mean to say, my lord, _you_ are not going to see the bull-baiting? Why, Mr. Dacres tells me that the last Dean used to a.s.semble a large party on purpose to see the spectacle; I _must_ see it!"

The gentle bishop seemed a little taken aback by Gratian's determination to have her own way.

"Well," he said, "I leave you in the hands of your guardian, Mrs.

Arundel, and you could not be in better keeping."

"Mr. Dacres, Mr. Law, you will take me. I should so love to see the fun, and I can't go alone."

"Gratian," Mrs. Arundel said, "it is not safe to think of it. There will be such a crowd, you must not attempt it."

Gratian smiled, and, turning to Mr. Dacres, said:

"I mean to go; it will be like a scene in Spain."

How the discussion would have ended, and whether Gratian would have carried her point or not, I do not know, had not the bishop's servant approached him with a card, which was followed almost immediately by Lord Maythorne.

"Pray pardon an early visit, my lord, but I am come to see my sister, and conduct her to the bull-baiting, for which, I hear, your city is celebrated."

Mrs. Arundel coloured with vexation as the bishop rose from his chair at the head of the table, and said, reading the name on the card:

"Pardon me, my lord, I have not the honour of your acquaintance."

"My step-brother, my lord." Mrs. Arundel hastened to say. "I do not know whether you ever heard of my father's second marriage."

"My sister will give you my imprimatur, you see, my lord, if _not_ a welcome."

This was said with the insolent a.s.surance which the courtly bishop at once discerned.

"My lord," he said, "any relation of my dear friend, Mrs. Arundel, is welcome to the palace. Now, ladies, will you adjourn to the gallery; for I have some pressing matters of business to-day after cathedral service, for which a special form is provided; but if you desire to brave the tumults without, horses and carriages are at your disposal."

Gratian meantime had gone up to Lord Maythorne, saying:

"The very thing I wanted. I will go and prepare for the bull-baiting now. Come, Miss Dacres, come, Mrs. Pearsall," turning to two quietly dressed ladies, "won't you come with us?"

"Well, we must be quick if we want to secure our places. The windows are commanding a good price, I a.s.sure you," said Lord Maythorne.

"I wish you had not come here, Maythorne;" Mrs. Arundel said, "you gave me no warning of your intention."

"My dear Bella, I never give any warning about anything. I thought you knew that. I suppose I have as much right to look at a bull-baiting as his lordship. Evidently he is not going to offer me hospitality. What a party of old fogies he has a.s.sembled; no one worth looking at!

By-the-bye, does not Gilbert's innamorata live near Wells?"

Mrs. Arundel evaded a reply by turning to Gratian, who had speedily got ready for the expedition.

"I fear it is very imprudent, Gratian, to go out in the crowd. Mr.

Dacres thinks so."

"Well, if under good care, I do not know that there is much fear," said Mr. Dacres, "in fact; I will accompany Miss Anson, if she will allow me, and just point out the best place to see the bull pa.s.s down under the Chain Gate from East Wells."

"Ah! I _thought_ you would not be able to resist it, Mr. Dacres,"

Gratian said. "I _knew_ you wanted to see the fun, though you were afraid to say so."

"Really," began poor Mr. Dacres; "really, I--I am only desirous of being of service."

"Of course, I know that," Gratian said, laughing. "Good-bye, Aunt Bella;" and away she tripped, Lord Maythorne following, and Mr. Dacres leading the way under Penniless Porch to the Cathedral-green, where all kinds of people were congregated by the wall, separating the green from the road along which the bull was to pa.s.s. The rabble were at this time collected in East Wells, and the more respectable part of the spectators were admitted here. The bell was chiming for service, and as Mr. Dacres ambled across the gra.s.s, the Dean, preceded by his verger, was coming out of his gate to the cathedral. Unlike his predecessor, Dean Lukin, who is reported to have made the bull-baiting a festal occasion at the Deanery, even inviting guests to be present at it, the Dean demurred a little at the bull pa.s.sing under the Chain Gate at all, thus entering the precincts of the cathedral.