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  CHAPTER III

  THE PLANTAGENET LADY

  In the course of these years of adolescence, Godfrey Knight haddeveloped into a rather unusual stamp of youth. In some ways he wasclever, for instance at the classics and history which he had alwaysliked; in others and especially where figures were concerned, he wasstupid, or as his father called him, idle. In company he was apt to beshy and dull, unless some subject interested him, when to theastonishment of those present, he would hold forth and show knowledgeand powers of reflection beyond his years. By nature he was intenselyproud; the one thing he never forgot was a rebuff, or forgave, was aninsult. Sir John Blake soon found this out, and not liking the lad,whose character was antagonistic to his own in every way, never lost anopportunity of what he called "putting him in his place," perhapsbecause something warned him that this awkward, handsome boy wouldbecome a stumbling-block to his successful feet.

  Godfrey and Isobel were both great readers. Nor did they lack forbooks, for as it chanced there was a good library at Hawk's Hall, whichhad been formed by the previous owner and taken over like the pictures,when Mr. Blake bought the house. Also it was added to constantly, as anorder was given to a large London bookseller to supply all theimportant new works that came out. Although he never opened a bookhimself, Sir John liked to appear intellectual by displaying them aboutthe rooms for the benefit of his visitors. These publications Isobelread and lent to Godfrey; indeed they perused a great deal which youngpeople generally are supposed to leave alone, and this in variousschools of thought, including those that are known as "free."

  It was seldom that such studies led to unanimity between them, but toargument, which sharpened their intellects, they did lead, followedinvariably by a charitable agreement to differ.

  About the time of the addition of the name of John Blake to the roll ofBritish Chivalry, a book on Mars came their way--it was one by aspeculative astronomer which suggests that the red planet is the homeof reasoning beings akin to humanity. Isobel read it and was notimpressed. Indeed, in the vigorous language of youth, she opined thatit was all "made-up rot."

  Godfrey read it also and came to quite a different conclusion. The ideafired him and opened a wide door in his imagination, a quality withwhich he was well provided. He stared at Mars through the large Halltelescope, and saw, or imagined that he saw the canals, also thesnow-caps and the red herbage. Isobel stared too and saw, or swore thatshe saw--nothing at all--after which they argued until their throatswere dry.

  "It's all nonsense," said Isobel. "If only you'll study the rocks andbiology, and Darwin's 'Origin of Species,' and lots of other things,you will see how man came to develop on this planet. He is just anaccident of Nature, that's all."

  "And why shouldn't there be an accident of Nature on Mars andelsewhere?" queried Godfrey.

  "Perhaps, but if so, it is quite another accident and has nothing to dowith us."

  "I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes," here his voice became dreamyas it had a way of doing, "I think that we pass on, all of us, fromstar to star. At least I know I often feel as if I had done so."

  "You mean from planet to planet, Godfrey; stars are hot places, youknow. You should not swallow all that theosophical bosh which is basedon nothing."

  "There's the Bible," went on Godfrey, "which tells us the same thing,that we live eternally----"

  "Then we must always have lived, since eternity is a circle."

  "Why not, Isobel? That is what I was trying to say. Well, if we liveeternally, we must live somewhere, perhaps in those planets, or others,which it would be a waste to keep empty."

  "I daresay--though Nature does not mind waste, or what seems to bewaste. But why should you think of living eternally at all? Many peoplelive a great deal too long as it is, and it is horrible to believe thatthey go on for ever."

  "You see they might grow to something splendid in the end, Isobel. Youmust not judge them by what they are now."

  "Oh! I know, the caterpillar and the butterfly, and all the rest of it."

  "The Bible"--continued Godfrey imperturbably--when she cut him short.

  "Well, what of the Bible? How do you know that it is true?"

  "Because I do know it, though the truth in it may be different foreveryone. What is more, I know that one day you will agree with me."

  She looked at him curiously in the flashing way that was peculiar toher, for something in his tone and manner impressed her.

  "Perhaps. I hope so, Godfrey, but at present I often feel as though Ibelieved in nothing, except that I am I and you are you, and my fatheris--there he's calling me. Goodbye," and she was gone.

  This particular conversation, one of many, had, as it happened,important results on the lives of these two young creatures. Isobel, inwhom the love of Truth, however ugly it might be and howeverdestructive of hope, faith, charity and all the virtues, was a burning,inbred passion, took to the secret study of theology in order to findout why Godfrey was so convinced as to the teachings of the Bible. Shewas not old or mellowed enough to understand that the real reason mustbe discovered, not in the letter but in the spirit, that is in theesoteric meaning of the sayings as to receiving the Kingdom of Heavenlike a child and the necessity of being born again. Therefore with afierce intensity, thrusting aside the spirit and its promptings whichperhaps are shadows of the only real truths, she wrestled with theletter. She read the Divines, also much of the Higher Criticism, thelives of Saints, the Sacred Books themselves and many other things,only to arise bewildered, and to a great extent unbelieving.

  "Why should I believe what I cannot prove?" she cried in her heart, andonce with her lips to Godfrey.

  He made her a very wise answer, although at the moment it did notstrike either of them in that light.

  "When you tell me of anything that you can really prove, I will showyou why," he said. To this he added a suggestion that was most unwise,namely, that she should consult his father.

  Now Mr. Knight was, it is true, a skilled theologian of a certain,narrow school and learned in his way. It is probable, however, that inall the wide world it would have been difficult to find any man lesssympathetic to a mind like Isobel's or more likely to antagonize hereager and budding intelligence. Every doubt he met with intolerantdenial; every argument with offensive contradiction; every query withreferences to texts.

  Finally, he lost his temper, for be it acknowledged, that this girl waspersistent, far from humble, and in a way as dogmatic as himself. Hetold her that she was not a Christian, and in her wrath she agreed withhim. He said that she had no right to be in church. She replied that ifthis were so she would not come and, her father being indifferent uponthe point (Lady Jane did not count in such matters), ceased herattendance. It was the old story of a strait-minded bigot forcing alarge-minded doubter out of the fold that ought to have been wideenough for both of them. Moreover, this difference of opinion onmatters of public and spiritual interest ended in a private and mundaneanimosity. Mr. Knight could never forgive a pupil of his own, whoseability he recognized, who dared to question his pontificalannouncements. To him the matter was personal rather than one ofreligious truth, for there are certain minds in whose crucibleseverything is resolved individually, and his was one of them. He wasthe largest matters through his own special and highly-magnifyingspectacles. So, to be brief, they quarrelled once and for all, andthenceforward never attempted to conceal their cordial dislike of eachother.

  Such was one result of this unlucky discussion as to the exactconditions of the planet Mars, god of war. Another was that Godfreydeveloped a strong interest in the study of the heavenly bodies andwhen some domestic debate arose as to his future career, announced withmild firmness that he intended to be an astronomer. His father, to whomthe heavenly bodies were less than the dust beneath his human feet andwho believed in his heart that they had been created, every one ofthem, to give a certain amount of light to the inhabitants of thisworld when there was no moon, was furious in his arctic fashion,especially as he was aware that
with a few distinguished exceptions,these hosts of heaven did not reward their votaries with either wealthor honour.

  "I intend you for my own profession, the Church," he said bluntly. "Ifyou choose to star-gaze in the intervals of your religious duties, itis no affair of mine. But please understand, Godfrey, that either youenter the Church or I wash my hands of you. In that event you may seekyour living in any way you like."

  Godfrey remonstrated meekly to the effect that he had not made up hismind as to his fitness for Holy Orders or his wish to undertake them.

  "You mean," replied his father, "that you have been infected by thatpernicious girl, Isobel. Well, at any rate, I will remove you from herevil influence. I am glad to say that owing to the fact that my littleschool here has prospered, I am in a position to do this. I will sendyou for a year to a worthy Swiss pastor whom I met as a delegate to therecent Evangelical Congress, to learn French. He told me he desired anEnglish pupil to be instructed in that tongue and general knowledge. Iwill write to him at once. I hope that in new surroundings you willforget all these wild ideas and, after your course at college, settledown to be a good and useful man in the walk of life to which you areso clearly called."

  Godfrey, who on such occasions knew how to be silent, made no answer,although the attack upon Isobel provoked him sorely. In his heartindeed he reflected that a year's separation from his parent would notbe difficult to bear, especially beneath the shadow of the Swissmountains which secretly he longed to climb. Also he really wished toacquire French, being a lad with some desire for knowledge andappreciation of its advantages. So he looked humble merely and took thefirst opportunity to slip from the presence of the fierce little manwith small eyes, straight, sandy hair and a slit where his lips shouldbe, through whose agency, although it was hard to believe it, he hadappeared in this disagreeable and yet most interesting world.

  In point of fact he had an assignation, of an innocent sort. Of courseit was with the "pernicious" Isobel and the place appointed was thebeautiful old Abbey Church. Here they knew that they would beundisturbed, as Mr. Knight was to sleep at a county town twenty milesaway, where on the following morning he had business as the examiner ofa local Grammar School, and must leave at once to catch his train. So,when watching from an upper window, he had seen the gig well on theroad, Godfrey departed to his tryst.

  Arriving in the dim and beauteous old fane, the first thing he saw wasIsobel standing alone in the chancel, right in the heart of a shaft oflight that fell on her through the rich-coloured glass of the greatwest window, for now it was late in the afternoon. She wore a veryunusual white garment that became her well, but had no hat on her head.Perhaps this was because she had taken the fancy to do her plentifulfair hair in the old Plantagenet fashion, that is in two horns, which,with much ingenuity she had copied more or less correctly from thebrass of an ancient, noble lady, whereof the two intended to take animpression. Also she had imitated some of the other peculiarities ofthat picturesque costume, including the long, hanging sleeves. Inshort, she wore a fancy dress which she proposed to use afterwards at adance, and one of the objects of the rubbing they were about to make,was that she might study the details more carefully. At least, that washer object. Godfrey's was to obtain an impression of the crabbedinscription at the foot of the effigy.

  There she stood, tall and imposing, her arms folded on her youngbreast, the painted lights striking full on her broad, intellectualforehead and large grey eyes, shining too in a patch of crimson aboveher heart. Lost in thought and perfectly still, she looked strangethus, almost unearthly, so much so that the impressionable andimaginative Godfrey, seeing her suddenly from the shadow, halted,startled and almost frightened.

  What did she resemble? What might she not be? he queried to himself.His quick mind suggested an answer. The ghost of some lady dead agessince, killed, for there was the patch of blood upon her bosom,standing above the tomb wherein her bones crumbled, and dreaming ofsomeone from whom she had been divorced by doom and violence.

  He sickened a little at the thought; some dread fell upon him like ashadow of Fate's uplifted and pointed finger, stopping his breath andcausing his knees to loosen. In a moment it was gone, to be replaced byanother that was nearer and more natural. He was to be sent away for ayear, and this meant that he would not see Isobel for a year. It wouldbe a very long year in which he did not see Isobel. He had forgottenthat when his father told him that he was to go to Switzerland. Now thefact was painfully present.

  He came on up the long nave and Isobel, awakening, saw him.

  "You are late," she said in a softer voice than was usual to her."Well, I don't mind, for I have been dreaming. I think I went to sleepupon my feet. I dreamed," she added, pointing to the brass, "that I wasthat lady and--oh! all sorts of things. Well, she had her day no doubt,and I mean to have mine before I am as dead and forgotten as she is.Only I would like to be buried here. I'll be cremated and have my ashesput under that stone; they won't hurt her."

  "Don't talk like that," he said with a little shiver, for her wordsjarred upon him.

  "Why not? It is as well to face things. Look at all these monumentsabout us, and inscriptions, a lot of them to young people, though nowit doesn't matter if they were old or young. Gone, every one of themand quite forgotten, though some were great folk in their time. Goneutterly and for always, nothing left, except perhaps descendants in alabourer's cottage here and there who never even heard of them."

  "I don't believe it," he said almost passionately, I believe that theyare living for ever and ever, perhaps as you and I, perhaps elsewhere."

  "I wish I could," she answered, smiling, "for then my dream might havebeen true, and you might have been that knight whose brass is lost,"and she pointed to an empty matrix alongside that of the greatPlantagenet lady.

  Godfrey glanced at the inscription which was left when the Cromwellianstore up the brass.

  "He was her husband," he said, translating, "who died on the field ofCrecy in 1346."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Isobel, and was silent.

  Meanwhile Godfrey, quite undisturbed, was spelling out the inscriptionbeneath the figure of the knight's wife, and remarked presently:

  "She seems to have died a year before him. Yes, just after marriage,the monkish Latin says, and--what is it? Oh! I see, '_in sanguine_,'that is, in blood, whatever that may mean. Perhaps she was murdered. Isay, Isobel, I wish you would copy someone else's dress for your party."

  "Nonsense," she answered. "I think its awfully interesting. I wonderwhat happened to her."

  "I don't know. I can't remember anything in the old history, and itwould be almost impossible to find out. There are no coats of arms, andwhat is more, no surname is given in either inscription. The one says,'Pray for the soul of Edmundus, Knight, husband of Phillippa, and theother, 'Pray for the soul of Phillippa, Dame, wife of Edmundus.' Itlooks as though the surnames had been left out on purpose, perhapsbecause of some queer story about the pair which their relations wishedto be forgotten."

  "Then why do they say that one died in blood and the other on the fieldof Crecy?"

  Godfrey shook his head because he did not know. Nor indeed was he everable to find out. That secret was lost hundreds of years ago. Then theconversation died away and they got to their work.

  At length the rubbing, as it is termed technically, was finished andthe two prepared to depart out of the gloom of the great church whichhad gathered about them as the evening closed in. Solitary and smallthey looked in it surrounded by all those mementoes of the dead,enveloped as it were in the very atmosphere of death. Who has not feltthat atmosphere standing alone at nightfall in one of our ancientEnglish churches that embody in baptism, marriage and burial the hopes,the desires, and the fears of unnumbered generations?

  For remember, that in a majority of instances, long before the Crossrose above these sites, they had been the sacred places of faith afterfaith. Sun-worshippers, Nature-worshippers, Druids, votaries of Joveand Venus, servants of Odin, Thor and Friga, e
arly Christians who werehalf one thing and half another, all have here bowed their brows toearth in adoration of God as they understood Him, and in these hallowedspots lies mingled the dust of every one of them.

  So Godfrey felt in that hour and the same influences impinged upon andaffected even the girl's bold, denying soul. She acknowledged them toherself, and after a woman's way, turned and almost fiercely laid theblame upon her companion.

  "You have infected me with your silly superstitions," she said,stamping her foot as they shut and locked the door of the church. "Ifeel afraid of something, I don't know what, and I was never afraid ofanything before."

  "What superstitions?" he asked, apologetically. "I don't remembermentioning any."

  "There is no need for you to mention them, they ooze out of you. Asthough I could not read your mind! There's no need for you to talk totell me what you are thinking of, death--and separations which are asbad, and unknown things to come, and all sorts of horrors."

  "That's odd," he remarked, still without emotion, for he was used tothese attacks from Isobel which, as he knew, when she was upset, alwaysmeant anything but what she said, "for as a matter of fact I wasthinking of a separation. I am going away, Isobel, or rather, my fatheris sending me away."

  He turned, and pointing to the stormy western sky where the day died insplendour, added simply in the poetic imagery that so often springs tothe lips of youth:

  "There sets our sun; at least it is the last we shall look upontogether for a whole year. You go to London to-morrow, don't you?Before you come back I shall be gone."

  "Gone! Why? Where? Oh! what's the use of asking? I knew something ofthe sort was coming. I felt it in that horrible old church. And afterall, why should I mind? What does it matter if you go away for a yearor ten years--except that you are the only friend I have--especially asno doubt you are glad to get out of this dreadful hole? Don't standthere looking at me like a moon-calf, whatever that may be, but tell mewhat you mean, or I'll, I'll----" and she stopped.

  Then he told her--well, not quite everything, for he omitted hisfather's disparaging remarks about herself.

  She listened in her intent fashion, and filled in the gaps withoutdifficulty.

  "I see," she said. "Your father thinks that I am corrupting you aboutreligion, as though anybody could corrupt you when you have got an ideainto your stupid head; at least, on those subjects. Oh! I hate him,worse even than I do my own, worse than you do yourself."

  Godfrey, thinking aloud, began to quote the Fourth Commandment. She cuthim short:

  "Honour my father!" she said. "Why should we honour our fathers unlessthey are worthy of honour? What have we to thank them for?"

  "Life," suggested Godfrey.

  "Why? You believe that life comes from God, and so do I in a way. Ifso, what has a father to do with it who is just a father and no more?With mothers perhaps it is different, but you see I love my mother andhe treats her like--like a dog, or worse," and her grey eyes filledwith tears. "However, it is your father we are talking of, and there isno commandment telling me to honour _him_. I say I hate him and hehates me, and that's why he is sending you away. Well, I hope you won'tfind anyone to contaminate you in Switzerland."

  "Oh! Isobel, Isobel," he broke out, "don't be so bitter, especially asit is of no use. Besides after all you have got everything that a girlcan have--money and position and looks----"

  "Looks!" she exclaimed, seizing on the last word, "when you know I amas ugly as a toad."

  He stared at her.

  "I don't know it; I think you beautiful."

  "Wait till you see someone else and you will change your mind," shesnapped, flushing.

  "And you are going to come out," he went on hastily.

  "Yes, at a fancy ball in this Plantagenet lady's dress, but I almostwish I was--to go out instead--like her."

  "And I daresay you will soon be married," he blurted, losing his headfor she bewildered him.

  "Married! Oh! you idiot. Do you know what marriage means--to a woman?Married! I can bear no more of this. Goodbye," and turning she walked,or rather ran into the darkness, leaving him amazed and alone.