The Tavern Knight Read online

  CHAPTER XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH

  When the morrow came, however, Sir Crispin showed no signs of carryingout his proposal of the night before, and departing from CastleMarleigh. Nor, indeed, did he so much as touch upon the subject, bearinghimself rather as one whose sojourn there was to be indefinite.

  Gregory offered no comment upon this; through what he had done forKenneth they were under a debt to Galliard, and whilst he was a fugitivefrom the Parliament's justice it would ill become Gregory to hasten hisdeparture. Moreover, Gregory recalled little or nothing of the wordsthat had passed between them in their cups, save a vague memory thatCrispin had said that he had once known Roland Marleigh.

  Kenneth was content that Galliard should lie idle, and not call upon himto go forth again to lend him the aid he had pledged himself to renderwhen Crispin should demand it. He marvelled, as the days wore on, thatGalliard should appear to have forgotten that task of his, and that heshould make no shift to set about it. For the rest, however, it troubledhim but little; enough preoccupation did he find in Cynthia's dailyincreasing coldness. Upon all the fine speeches that he made her sheturned an idle ear, or if she replied at all it was but petulantly tointerrupt them, to call him a man of great words and small deeds. Allthat he did she found ill done, and told him of it. His sober, godlygarments of sombre hue afforded her the first weapon of scorn wherewithto wound him. A crow, she dubbed him; a canting, psalm-chantinghypocrite; a Scripture-monger, and every other contumelious epithet oflike import that she should call to mind. He heard her in amazement.

  "Is it for you, Cynthia," he cried out in his surprise, "the child of aGod-fearing house, to mock the outward symbols of my faith?"

  "A faith," she laughed, "that is all outward symbols and naught besides;all texts and mournings and nose-twangings."

  "Cynthia!" he exclaimed, in horror.

  "Go your ways, sir," she answered, half in jest, half in earnest. "Whatneed hath a true faith of outward symbols? It is a matter that liesbetween your God and yourself, and it is your heart He will look at,not your coat. Why, then, without becoming more acceptable in His eyes,shall you but render yourself unsightly in the eyes of man?"

  Kenneth's cheeks were flushed with anger. From the terrace where theywalked he let his glance roam towards the avenue that split the park intwain. Up this at that moment, with the least suspicion of a swaggerin his gait, Sir Crispin Galliard was approaching leisurely; he wore aclaret-coloured doublet edged with silver lace, and a grey hat deckedwith a drooping red feather--which garments, together with the restof his apparel, he had drawn from the wardrobe of Gregory Ashburn.His advent afforded Kenneth the retort he needed. Pointing him out toCynthia:

  "Would you rather," he cried hotly, "have me such a man as that?"

  "And, pray, why not?" she taunted him. "Leastways, you would then be aman."

  "If, madam, a debauchee, a drunkard, a profligate, a brawler be yourconception of a man, I would in faith you did not account me one."

  "And what, sir, would you sooner elect to be accounted?"

  "A gentleman, madam," he answered pompously.

  "I think," said she quietly, "that you are in as little danger ofbecoming the one as the other. A gentleman does not slander a man behindhis back, particularly when he owes that man his life. Kenneth, I amashamed of you."

  "I do not slander," he insisted hotly. "You yourself know of the drunkenexcess wherewith three nights ago he celebrated his coming to CastleMarleigh. Nor do I forget what I owe him, and payment is to be made ina manner you little know of. If I said of him what I did, it was but inanswer to your taunts. Think you I could endure comparison with such aman as that? Know you what name the Royalists give him? They call himthe Tavern Knight."

  She looked him over with an eye of quiet scorn.

  "And how, sir, do they call you? The pulpit knight? Or is it the knightof the white feather? Mr. Stewart, you weary me. I would have a man whowith a man's failings hath also a man's redeeming virtues of honesty,chivalry, and courage, and a record of brave deeds, rather than one whohas nothing of the man save the coat--that outward symbol you lay suchstore by."

  His handsome, weak face was red with fury.

  "Since that is so, madam," he choked, "I leave you to your swaggering,ruffling Cavalier."

  And, without so much as a bow, he swung round on his heel and left her.It was her turn to grow angry now, and well it was for him that he hadnot tarried. She dwelt with scorn upon his parting taunt, bethinkingherself that in truth she had exaggerated her opinions of Galliard'smerits. Her feelings towards that ungodly gentleman were rather of pitythan aught else. A brave, ready-witted man she knew him for, as muchfrom the story of his escape from Worcester as for the air that clungto him despite his swagger, and she deplored that one possessing theseennobling virtues should have fallen notwithstanding upon such evil waysas those which Crispin trod. Some day, perchance, when she should cometo be better acquainted with him, she would seek to induce him to mendhis course.

  Such root did this thought take in her mind that soon thereafter--andwithout having waited for that riper acquaintance which at first she hadheld necessary--she sought to lead their talk into the channels of thisdelicate subject. But he as sedulously confined it to trivial matterwhenever she approached him in this mood, fencing himself about with awall of cold reserve that was not lightly to be overthrown. In thishis conscience was at work. Cynthia was the flaw in the satisfaction hemight have drawn from the contemplation of the vengeance he was there towreak. He beheld her so pure, so sweet and fresh, that he marvelled howshe came to be the daughter of Gregory Ashburn. His heart smote him atthe thought of how she--the innocent--must suffer with the guilty, andat the contemplation of the sorrow which he must visit upon her. Out ofthis sprang a constraint when in her company, for other than stiff andformal he dared not be lest he should deem himself no better than theIscariot.

  During the first days he had spent at Marleigh, he had been impatient forJoseph Ashburn's return. Now he found himself hoping each morning thatJoseph might not come that day.

  A courier reached Gregory from Windsor with a letter wherein his brothertold him that the Lord General, not being at the castle, he was gone onto London in quest of him. And Gregory, lacking the means to inform himthat the missing Kenneth was already returned, was forced to possess hissoul in patience until his brother, having learnt what was to be learntof Cromwell, should journey home.

  And so the days sped on, and a week wore itself out in peace at CastleMarleigh, none dreaming of the volcano on which they stood. Each nightCrispin and Gregory sat together at the board after Kenneth and Cynthiahad withdrawn, and both drank deep--the one for the vice of it, theother (as he had always done) to seek forgetfulness.

  He needed it now more than ever, for he feared that the consideration ofCynthia might yet unman him. Had she scorned and avoided him and havingsuch evidences of his ways of life he marvelled that she did not--hemight have allowed his considerations of her to weigh less heavily. Asit was, she sought him out, nor seemed rebuffed at his efforts to evadeher, and in every way she manifested a kindliness that drove him almostto the point of despair, and well-nigh to hating her.

  Kenneth, knowing naught of the womanly purpose that actuated her,and seeing but the outward signs, which, with ready jealousy, hemisconstrued and magnified, grew sullen and churlish to her, toGalliard, and even to Gregory.

  For hours he would mope alone, nursing his jealous mood, as though inthis clownish fashion matters were to be mended. Did Cynthia but speakto Crispin, he scowled; did Crispin answer her, he grit his teeth at thecovert meaning wherewith his fancy invested Crispin's tones; whilst didthey chance to laugh together--a contingency that fortunately for hissanity was rare--he writhed in fury. He was a man transformed, and attimes there was murder in his heart. Had he been a swordsman of morethan moderate skill and dared to pit himself against the Tavern Knight,blood would have been shed in Marleigh Park betwixt them.

  It seemed at las
t as if with his insensate jealousy all the evilhumours that had lain dormant in the boy were brought to the surface,to overwhelm his erstwhile virtues--if qualities that have bigotry for aparent may truly be accounted virtues.

  He cast off, not abruptly, but piecemeal, those outward symbols--hissombre clothes. First 'twas his hat he exchanged for a feather-trimmedbeaver of more sightly hue; then those stiff white bands that reeked ofsanctity and cant for a collar of fine point; next it was his coat thattook on a worldly edge of silver lace. And so, little by little, stepby step, was the metamorphosis effected, until by the end of the weekhe came forth a very butterfly of fashion--a gallant, dazzling Cavalier.Out of a stern, forbidding Covenanter he was transformed in a few daysinto a most outrageous fop. He walked in an atmosphere of musk that hehimself exhaled; his fair hair--that a while ago had hung so straightand limp--was now twisted into monstrous curls, a bunch of which weregathered by his right ear in a ribbon of pale blue silk.

  Galliard noted the change in amazement, yet, knowing to what folliesyouth is driven when it woos, he accounted Cynthia responsible for it,and laughed in his sardonic way, whereat the boy would blush and scowlin one. Gregory, too, looked on and laughed, setting it down to thesame cause. Even Cynthia smiled, whereat the Tavern Knight was driven toponder.

  With a courtier's raiment Kenneth put on, too, a courtier's ways; hegrew mincing and affected in his speech, and he--whose utterance a whileago had been marked by a scriptural flavour--now set it off with some ofGalliard's less unseemly oaths.

  Since it was a ruffling gallant Cynthia required, he swore that aruffling gallant should she find him; nor had he wit enough to seethat his ribbons, his fopperies, and his capers served but to make himridiculous in her eyes. He did indeed perceive, however, that in spiteof this wondrous transformation, he made no progress in her favour.

  "What signify these fripperies?" she asked him, one day, "any more thandid your coat of decent black? Are these also outward symbols?"

  "You may take them for such, madam," he answered sulkily. "You liked menot as I was--"

  "And I like you less as you are," she broke in.

  "Cynthia, you mock me," he cried angrily.

  "Now, Heaven forbid! I do but mark the change," she answered airily."These scented clothes are but a masquerade, even as your coat of blackand your cant were a masquerade. Then you simulated godliness; nowyou simulate Heaven knows what. But now, as then, it is no more than asimulation, a pretence of something that you are not."

  He left her in a pet, and went in search of Gregory, into whose earhe poured the story of his woes that had their source in Cynthia'sunkindness. From this resulted a stormy interview 'twixt Cynthia and herfather, in which Cynthia at last declared that she would not be weddedto a fop.

  Gregory shrugged his shoulders and laughed cynically, replying that itwas the way of young men to be fools, and that through folly lay theroad to wisdom.

  "Be that as it may," she answered him with spirit, "this follytranscends all bounds. Master Stewart may return to his Scottishheather; at Castle Marleigh he is wasting time."

  "Cynthia!" he cried.

  "Father," she pleaded, "why be angry? You would not have me marryagainst the inclinations of my heart? You would not have me wedded to aman whom I despise?"

  "By what right do you despise him?" he demanded, his brow dark.

  "By the right of the freedom of my thoughts--the only freedom that awoman knows. For the rest it seems she is but a chattel; of no moreconsideration to a man than his ox or his ass with which the Scripturesrank her--a thing to be given or taken, bought or sold, as others shalldecree."

  "Child, child, what know you of these things?" he cried. "You areoverwrought, sweetheart." And with the promise to wait until a calmerframe of mind in her should be more propitious to what he wished to sayfurther on this score, he left her.

  She went out of doors in quest of solitude among the naked trees ofthe park; instead she found Sir Crispin, seated deep in thought upon afallen trunk.

  Through the trees she espied him as she approached, whilst the rustleof her gown announced to him her coming. He rose as she drew nigh, and,doffing his hat, made shift to pass on.

  "Sir Crispin," she called, detaining him. He turned.

  "Your servant, Mistress Cynthia."

  "Are you afraid of me, Sir Crispin?"

  "Beauty, madam, is wont to inspire courage rather than fear," heanswered, with a smile.

  "That, sir, is an evasion, not an answer."

  "If read aright, Mistress Cynthia, it is also an answer."

  "That you do not fear me?"

  "It is not a habit of mine."

  "Why, then, have you avoided me these three days past?"

  Despite himself Crispin felt his breath quickening--quickening witha pleasure that he sought not to account for--at the thought that sheshould have marked his absence from her side.

  "Because perhaps if I did not," he answered slowly, "you might come toavoid me. I am a proud man, Mistress Cynthia."

  "Satan, sir, was proud, but his pride led him to perdition."

  "So indeed may mine," he answered readily, "since it leads me from you."

  "Nay, sir," she laughed, "you go from me willingly enough."

  "Not willingly, Cynthia. Oh, not willingly," he began. Then of a suddenhe checked his tongue, and asked himself what he was saying. With ahalf-laugh and a courtier manner, he continued, "Of two evils, madam, wemust choose the lesser one."

  "Madam," she echoed, disregarding all else that he had said. "It is anugly word, and but a moment back you called me Cynthia."

  "Twas a liberty that methought my grey hairs warranted, and for whichyou should have reproved me."

  "You have not grey hairs enough to warrant it, Sir Crispin," sheanswered archly. "But what if even so I account it no liberty?"

  The heavy lids were lifted from her eyes, and as their glance, frank andkindly, met his, he trembled. Then, with a polite smile, he bowed.

  "I thank you for the honour."

  For a moment she looked at him in a puzzled way, then moved past him,and as he stood, stiffly erect, watching her graceful figure, he thoughtthat she was about to leave him, and was glad of it. But ere she hadtaken half a dozen steps:

  "Sir Crispin," said she, looking back at him over her shoulder, "I amwalking to the cliffs."

  Never was a man more plainly invited to become an escort; but he ignoredit. A sad smile crept into his harsh face.

  "I shall tell Kenneth if I see him," said he.

  At that she frowned.

  "But I do not want him," she protested. "Sooner would I go alone."

  "Why, then, madam, I'll tell nobody."

  Was ever man so dull? she asked herself.

  "There is a fine view from the cliffs," said she.

  "I have always thought so," he agreed.

  She inclined to call him a fool; yet she restrained herself. She had animpulse to go her way without him; but, then, she desired his company,and Cynthia was unused to having her desires frustrated. So finding himimpervious to suggestion:

  "Will you not come with me?" she asked at last, point-blank.

  "Why, yes, if you wish it," he answered without alacrity.

  "You may remain, sir."

  Her offended tone aroused him now to the understanding that he wasimpolite. Contrite he stood beside her in a moment.

  "With your permission, mistress, I will go with you. I am a dull fellow,and to-day I know not what mood is on me. So sorry a one that I fearedI should be poor company. Still, if you'll endure me, I'll do my best toprove entertaining."

  "By no means," she answered coldly. "I seek not the company of dullfellows." And she was gone.

  He stood where she had left him, and breathed a most ungallant prayer ofthanks. Next he laughed softly to himself, a laugh that was woeful withbitterness.

  "Fore George!" he muttered, "it is all that was wanting!"

  He reseated himself upon the fallen tree, and there he set himself
toreflect, and to realize that he, war-worn and callous, come to CastleMarleigh on such an errand as was his, should wax sick at the verythought of it for the sake of a chit of a maid, with a mind to make amock and a toy of him. Into his mind there entered even the possibilityof flight, forgetful of the wrongs he had suffered, abandoning thevengeance he had sworn. Then with an oath he stemmed his thoughts.

  "God in heaven, am I a boy, beardless and green?" he asked himself. "AmI turned seventeen again, that to look into a pair of eyes should makeme forget all things but their existence?" Then in a burst of passion:"Would to Heaven," he muttered, "they had left me stark on WorcesterField!"

  He rose abruptly, and set out to walk aimlessly along, until suddenly aturn in the path brought him face to face with Cynthia. She hailed himwith a laugh.

  "Sir laggard, I knew that willy-nilly you would follow me," she cried.And he, taken aback, could not but smile in answer, and profess that shehad conjectured rightly.