CHAPTER XXXIV.

It was night; and in the castle of Nottingham sat the Princess Eleanor,

with one or two ladies working at their embroidery near. Each had a

silver lamp beside her; and while they plied the busy needle, they

spoke in low tones, sometimes of the rumours of the day, sometimes of

the colours of this or that flower, that grew up beneath their hands

upon the frame. The princess was differently employed; for though an

embroidery frame stood near her also, she had turned away from it, and

by the light of a taper at her side was reading attentively a paper

which she held in her hand. There was a pleased smile upon her

countenance, the high and noble expression of which was seldom what may

be called very cheerful, though rarely very sad; for as yet she never

had cause for actual sadness; and even during the imprisonment of her

beloved husband, amidst the wild chances of civil war, and the daily

dangers of faction and strife, her heart had been lighted by high hope

and confidence in the all-protecting hand of Heaven.

In every countenance that is at all capable of displaying what is

passing in the mind--every countenance, except the dull, unlettered

book, where mere animal desires appear written in their unvarying

coarseness--there are two expressions; the one permanent, pervading

every change and indicating the natural disposition--the inherent

qualities of the spirit within; the other, altering with every

affection of the mind, brightening with joy or hope, growing dark under

sorrow and disappointment, but still receiving a peculiar character

from the permanent expression, as the sunshine and the cloud cast

different light and shade upon the brown masses of the wood and the

wild waters of the sea.

The permanent expression of Eleanor's countenance was calm, and full of

that thoughtfulness which approaches, in some degree, the bounds of

melancholy; and yet the transient expression was often gay and happy in

a very high degree; for that very thoughtfulness and sensibility of

character which produced the former, enabled her to love, and hope, and

enjoy, with the high zest which sparkled in the latter. And now, upon

her countenance was a look of well-pleased relief, as if something had

grieved her and was taken away; and after she had read the paper, she

suffered her hand to drop over the arm of the chair, looking up, with

her large, dark eyes, towards heaven, as noble minds generally do when

the heart is busy with high and elevating thoughts.

"I was sure," she murmured to herself--"I was sure that young man was

not guilty of that crime with which they charged him; and I am

convinced also that he is as little guilty of this that they now lay to

his account."

A page stood near the door, as if waiting for some reply, now fixing

his eyes upon the ground, now stealing a furtive glance at the pretty

faces bending over their embroidery. To him Eleanor now beckoned,

saying, "Come hither; take the letter back to my dear lord, and say I

thank him for the sight of it. Tell him I would fain speak with him

when his leisure serves; and that I beseech him, when the Lady Lucy

comes, to send her to me, that I may accompany her to the presence of

the king. She will need a friend beside her."

The boy took the letter, bowed, and retired; and Eleanor resumed her

work, pausing, from time to time, as if to think, and then busying her

hands again, though her mind went on with other things. In about a

quarter of an hour the door opened, and Edward entered, with a brow

somewhat sad and gloomy. Nor did that expression altogether pass away,

though the accustomed smile cheered it for a moment, as he met her whom

he so deeply loved.

"She cannot be long," he said, after a few words of greeting. "This is

a strange as well as a dark affair."

"But you do not think him guilty?" demanded Eleanor.

"Assuredly not," replied the Prince; "but it has so happened--all has

been so arranged, that I fear he will seem guilty though he be not. You

read that letter, and you saw how easily he explained all that appeared

suspicious in his former conduct; and yet a body of barons, Mortimer

amongst the rest, were ready enough to urge my father to put him to

death, without those forms and circumstances of customary law which are

the only safeguards of men's liberty."

"Do you think they would have executed him?" demanded Eleanor.

"They would have murdered him," replied the Prince, "for such a death

without law is murder."

Eleanor put her hands before her eyes, and after a moment's pause,

added, "And yet he was innocent, clearly innocent--oh! I never doubted

it, Edward! I have seen him, when you knew it not, gaze upon the

countenance of my noble prince; and in his face, as in a

moving picture, rise up a thousand images of kindly thoughts

within;--affection, gratitude, esteem, and admiration; and I could have

sworn that he would never plot against your father's throne, however

reckless be the men of this world, of faith and honesty."

"I was sure also," answered Edward, "for I know him well, and am

convinced that when, with a mistaken zeal, he was once found in arms

against us, 'twas that he thought duty and honour called him to do that

which wounded his own heart even in the doing.--But 'twas not alone

that conviction which made me think the late accusation false," he

continued, in a lower tone, that the women near might not catch his

words--"I knew the men who made it, Eleanor: I knew Mortimer to be

cruel and treacherous; I knew Pembroke to be cold, and hard, and

selfish. And now I find," he added, with a smile, "they were to divide

his lands between them. Here was Guy de Margan, too--a thing so light

and frail, one would scarce think that such a delicate vessel could

hold strong passions and fierce hatreds; yet 'tis evident to me that

there was no slight rancour there."

"Oh! I know, I know!" replied Eleanor. "One night, when Lucy and her

lover--with my connivance, I will own--walked by the moonlight under

the southern cloisters at Eltham, this Guy de Margan, with some three

or four other young idlers of the court, would have stopped her by

force as she was returning to me, when the knight, whom she had just

left, came up, and felled him with a blow. But hark! she is coming,

Edward. See if that be the Lady Lucy, Alice."

One of the ladies who sat near, rose, went to the door, and returned

immediately, bringing Lucy de Ashby with her. She was pale and very

sad, but not less beautiful than ever; and as she came forward to the

Princess, and knelt down upon the cushion at her feet to kiss her hand,

she kept her dark eyes fixed upon the ground, as if she feared that,

should she open them, the fountain of tears, which had so lately sprung

up, would well over.

"The King has sent for you, fair lady," said Prince Edward, after

Eleanor had spoken a few words of consolation to her--"the King has

sent for you to ask you some questions with his own voice upon a matter

very painful to you in all respects, I fear. But be comforted; the

bitter loss you have sustained is one that every child who lives the

ordinary length of life must undergo. The death of those we love is a

salutary preparation for our own; and, as to the other cause of the

anxiety and pain which may mingle with your feelings to-night, be

assured that the noble lord who has fallen under some wrongful

suspicion has now a friendly voice near to do him justice, and be

raised in his behalf. We are confident of his innocence, and will

maintain him to be guiltless till he can appear in person and defend

his own cause."

The Prince paused, as if for an answer; but Lucy would not trust her

voice with many words, merely replying, "I thank you deeply, my most

gracious lord."

"I will go then to the King," continued Edward, "who has been expecting

your arrival for some time. The Princess will accompany you to his

presence, when he is ready to receive you. So be calm, dear lady, and

firm; and, ever before you reply, think well what you are saying."

The Prince quitted the room, and Eleanor proceeded to give that womanly

comfort to her fair young friend which was better calculated to support

and calm her than even the Prince's encouraging tone; for whatever may

be the wisdom and the strength of man's exhortations, there is a

roughness in them far different from that soothing balm which was given

to the lips of woman to enable her to tranquillize and console.

But little time, however, was afforded them for conversation, a summons

being almost immediately received for the lady Lucy to appear before

the King; and drawing the fair girl's arm through her own, Eleanor led

her to the hall where Henry was seated. The first glance of the King's

countenance shewed that he was in an irritable state of mind. Weak and

vacillating, as well as oppressive, he yielded, it is true, to the

influence of his wiser and nobler son, but not without impatience and

resistance.

The Prince was now standing on his right hand, a circle of nobles was

formed in front, and next to Edward appeared Alured de Ashby--his brows

bent, his eyes cast down upon the ground, and his left hand resting

upon the hilt of his sword. He gave no glance towards his sister as she

entered, but remained stern and gloomy, without moving a feature or a

muscle. The Princess seated herself in a chair beside the King, but

still holding Lucy's hand, and drawing her gently close to her side.

"Lady," said Henry, smoothing down his look, and affecting a tone of

sadness, "we have been compelled to send for you, even though we

thereby break in upon the sanctity of your sorrow; for it becomes

necessary immediately, or at least as speedily as may be, to ascertain

the author of a terrible crime, which has deprived you of a father, and

us of a loving subject and faithful friend. Speak, then, and tell us

what you know of this matter."

"Sire, I know nothing," replied Lucy, "but that my poor father left me

in health some short time before the hour of three yesterday, and that

long after, while I was speaking with my cousin Richard, who had just

arrived from Nottingham, news came that my father was murdered."

"Nay," said the King, "we must hear what took place previously

regarding the gentleman accused of this offence."

"I know not who is accused, sire," replied Lucy, looking up with an air

of surprise; "I have not heard that the murderer was discovered."

"The gentleman on whom strong suspicion lights," rejoined the King, in

a stern tone, "is an escaped prisoner from this castle, Hugh de

Monthermer."

Lucy clasped her hands with a start, and turned as pale as death. But

the next instant, the blood rushed glowing into her face, and throwing

back her head with a sparkling eye and a curling lip, she cried--"It is

false! my lord the King--it is false!--I know whence this foul

suspicion has arisen. Ay, and perhaps art may have overdone itself. I

have gained a light I never thought of till now, which may yet perhaps

bring the felon to justice."

The King seemed somewhat surprised at the sudden energy which had taken

possession of the fair and gentle being before him.

"Pray tell me," he said, after gazing at her for a moment "whence you

think this suspicion has arisen, since you say you know."

"It has sprung, sire," replied Lucy, in a calmer tone--"it has sprung

from a letter which was given to my father shortly before his death. He

was with me at the time. We were speaking of him who is now accused of

a deed that he never dreamed of, and my father showed me the letter,

saying, it came from him. I answered instantly that it was not his

writing, which I have often seen. My father replied that he must have

made some clerk write for him, as is so common. The explanation

satisfied me, and I thought no more of it till this moment; but now I

see that letter was a forgery to lure my poor father to his death."

"You read the letter, then?" enquired the King.

"I did," replied Lucy.

"Can you repeat what it contained?" asked Edward, with a look of keen

anxiety.

"The matter, not the words," answered Lucy, her voice slightly

faltering. "It told my father that Hugh de Monthermer, doomed to death

unheard, though innocent, had escaped from the castle of Nottingham,

leaving behind his fair fame undefended; and it besought the Earl to

meet him alone at the place called the Bull's hawthorn."

"The very place where he was murdered," said a voice from the circle.

"Peace, Sir Guy de Margan," cried Prince Edward, turning suddenly upon

him; "you are a known enemy of the man accused."

"I, my lord!" exclaimed Guy de Margan.

"Ay, sir," replied the Prince, "we know more than you suppose. You hate

him for chastising your insolence towards a lady; and we little doubt

that you were well aware the friar whom you accused of carrying

treasonable communications between him and Sir John Lemwood, had only

been sent by the old Earl of Monthermer to beseech Sir John not to risk

the life and honour of his friends by hopeless rebellion. I have it,

sir, under the knight's own hand, and have also reason to believe you

knew it when you made the charge. Let me not discover that you are

bringing other false accusations, for there is a punishment for such

offences."

"Go on, lady," said the King, as Guy de Margan shrunk back from the

stern eye of the Prince. "Go on. What more did the letter say?"

"I think it promised, sire," replied Lucy, "to give my father full

proof of the innocence of the Lord Hugh, and it besought him to come

alone, not even bringing a page with him. But I assert now, my lord,

that letter was a forgery of some one to decoy my poor father to his

death."

"May it not," asked the King, "have been the letter of an angry and

disappointed man, seeking means to wreak his vengeance upon one who had

denied him his daughter's hand, and disappointed his hopes? Here it is

proved, fair lady that your lover and your father quarrelled, and that

the Earl promised to meet him--wherefore, or when, no one knows,--and

that as soon as this young stubborn lord makes his escape from this

castle of Nottingham, your father receives a letter from him, calling

upon him to come alone to a secluded place. Your father is there found

murdered; the boy that bears the letter is bidden to tell no one that

it comes from Hugh de Monthermer; it wants but the letter to be in his

writing to make the whole case clear enough."

"My lord," replied Lucy, earnestly, "clear your mind from the false

tales of deceitful men. Hugh and my father did not quarrel; though

natural disappointment regarding one whom he loved--though scarcely

worthy of such love--might make the friend of your noble son speak loud

and hasty words, even to the father of his promised wife. But they did

not quarrel, sire. My father saw him go, in the full hope that he would

prove his innocence before your Majesty, and induce you to withdraw the

bar you had placed against our union--He came and told me so, the

moment Hugh was gone. Then, sire, as to the promised meeting, I can

tell you, wherefore, and when, and where, from my dead parent's lips.

It was to be here in this presence; it was to be at one hour after noon

yesterday it was to hear him fully exculpate himself of the charge then

made against him, not only in the presence of your Majesty, but in the

presence of Prince Edward also; and the noble Prince himself knows that

my father sent a messenger to him, calling him to Nottingham with all

speed, lest the voice of many enemies without one friend might prevail

even with your majesty."

"It is true," replied Edward, "the messenger came, and had he not been

kept from me somewhat foolishly, I should have been here shortly after

noon this day."

"He did wrong," said the King, "to suspect that we would not do him

justice."

The colour came into Edward's cheek, and he bent down his eyes upon the

ground, feeling the ridicule of his father talking of justice, when so

gross an act as the late condemnation of Hugh de Monthermer had just

been committed. But Henry went on to cross-question poor Lucy, to whom

zeal and anxiety for her lover had given a temporary strength which was

now failing rapidly.

"You said, lady," he continued, "that the explanation which your father

gave of this letter being written in another hand satisfied you

completely at the time. What makes you think now that it is a

forgery?--Has love nothing to do with the defence?"

The colour mounted into Lucy's cheek, and Eleanor was about to

interpose, to shield her from such questions, before such an assembly.

But the poor girl gained courage both from the depth and strength of

her own feelings, and from the discourteous mockery of the King.

She raised her eyes, bright and sparkling, to his face, and

answered--"Perhaps love has, my lord. But has hate no part in the

accusation?--God in his mercy grant that it may have none in the

judgment!"

A dead silence succeeded for a moment to this bold reply; and then

Lucy, turning pale again and dropping her eyes, went on to say--"You

asked me why I think it forged, my lord? Because I now see a motive for

the forgery, which I did not see before--because I perceive no cause

why Hugh de Monthermer should not write with his own hand--because he

could have had still, less to kill the father of her beloved--because

he did not even sign the letter; for the name was not his

writing--because not even the seal was, from his signet. These are

strong reasons, sire--even," she added, with the tears rising into her

eyes--"even if there were not a reason stronger still:--that he has

ever been honest, honourable, and true; that no mean, dark act lies

chronicled against him; that his whole life gives the lie to the

accusation; and that he has never taken advantage of any opportunity to

do a thing that he thought to be wrong, even when the opinion of the

world might have extolled the act."

She wiped the tears from her yes, for they were now running; over fast,

and Eleanor rose from her seat, saying, "I beseech you, sire, let her

depart. She is grieved and faint--I see it."

"One more question," rejoined Henry, "and she shall go. You say, lady,

that you see a motive for the forgery;--is it that you have any

suspicion of another having done this deed?" Lucy ran her eye round all

the circle, suffering it to pause for a moment upon the face of Richard

de Ashby, which turned pale under her glance. She carried it round to

the other extreme, however, and then replied, "I have a strong

suspicion, sire."

"Of whom?" demanded the King, eagerly.

"Forgive me, gracious lord," answered Lucy; "though strong, it is but

suspicion, and I, for one, will not make a charge upon suspicion alone.

But let me warn my brother Alured, who is too noble to doubt and too

brave to be prudent, that those who have destroyed the father may not

have any greater tenderness for the son."

Again her words were followed by a silent pause, and Eleanor, taking

advantage of it, drew Lucy away, saying, "We have your leave, sire--is

it not so?"

The King bowed his head; and the moment the Princess, her fair

companion, and her attendants, had departed, a buzz ran round the room,

while the Prince and the King spoke in a low tone together.

The young Earl of Ashby, let it be remarked, had not uttered one word

during the whole of his sister's interrogation, and had scarcely moved

a muscle from the time she entered, excepting changing his hand

occasionally from the pommel of his sword to the hilt of his dagger.

But he now stepped forward, as soon as Edward raised his head, saying,

"Sire, this is a doubtful case, which, without farther evidence, cannot

be tried by an ordinary court. Perhaps Lucy is right, and Hugh de

Monthermer innocent. She loves him, and I love him not; but still I

will do justice to him, and own that the case is not proved against

him, so far as to warrant his peers in condemning him; but there is an

eye that sees, though ours be blinded--there is a Judge to decide,

though mortal judges are debarred of proof. To that great Judge I will

appeal the cause, and my body against his try, under God's decision,

whether this man be guilty or not guilty. A son must not sit quiet,

even under a doubt concerning his father's murderer; and I do beseech

you, sire, to cause proclamation to be made over the whole land, that

Hugh de Monthermer stands charged with the murder of William, Earl of

Ashby, and is bound to appear and clear himself within fourteen days of

this time."

"I must not refuse," replied the King; "the request is just and

lawful."

"I must, moreover, entreat you, my lord," continued the young Earl,

"not to proclaim the name of the accuser. I say it in no vanity, for,

though my lance be a good one, there is not a better in all Christendom

than that of Hugh de Monthermer. But yet I doubt that he would meet me

in the field, on such a quarrel as this. For his love's sake, he would

not bar himself for ever from Lucy's hand, by risking the death of her

brother--that is to say, if he be innocent."

"That is fair, too," replied the King; "Lord Pembroke, see such

proclamation made!--and now to more cheerful thoughts! for, by my

faith, our time passes here but gravely."