Philip was the first to spring to his rein, exclaiming, 'Father, it is a Frenchman whom Spinks would have flogged at the cart's-tail; but it seems he is a friend of Berenger's, and has brought him tidings. I know not what-about his wife, I believe-any way he is beside himself with joy.'
'Sir, your Honour,' shouted Spinks, again seizing Mericour, and striving to drag him forward, 'I would know whether the law is to be hindered from taking its course because my young Lord there is a Frenchman and bewitched.'
'Ah,' shrieked Lady Thistlewood, 'I knew it. They will have sent secret poison to finish him. Keep the fellow safe. He will cast it in the air.'
'Ay, ay, my Lady,' said Spinks, 'there are plenty of us to testify that he made my young Lord fall back as in a swoon, and reel like one distraught. Pray Heaven it have not gone further.'
'Sir,' exclaimed Berenger, who on the other side held his friend's hand tight, 'this is a noble gentleman-the brother of the Duke de Mericour. He has come at great risk to bring me tidings of my dear and true wife. And not one word will these demented rascals let me hear with their senseless clamour.'
'Berenger! You here, my boy!' exclaimed Sir Marmaduke, more amazed by this than all the rest.
'He touches him-he holds him! Ah! will no one tear him away?' screamed Lady Thistlewood. Nor would Spinks have been slow in obeying her if Sir Marmaduke had not swung his substantial form to the ground, and stepping up to the prisoner, rudely clawed on one side by Spinks, and affectionately grasped on the other side by Berenger, shouted-
'Let go, both!' does he speak English? Peace, dame! If the lad be bewitched, it is the right way. He looks like the other man. Eh, lad, what does your friend say for himself?'
'Sir,' said Berenger, interpreting Mericour's words as they were spoken, 'he has been robbed and misused at sea by Montgomery's pirate crews. He fled from court for the religion's sake; he met her-my wife' (the voice was scarcely intelligible, so tremulously was it spoken), 'in hiding among the Huguenots-he brings a letter and a token from her to my mother.'
'Ha! And you know him? You avouch him to be what he represents himself?'
'I knew him at court. I know him well. Father, make these fellows cease their insults! I have heard nothing yet. See here!' holding out what Mericour had put into his hand; 'this you cannot doubt, mother.'
'Parted the pearls! Ah, the little minx!' cried the lady, as she recognized the jewels.
'I thought he had been robbed?' added Sir Marmaduke.
'The gentleman doubts?' said Mericour, catching some of the words. 'He should know that what is confided in a French gentleman is only taken from him with his life. Much did I lose; but the pearl I kept hidden in my mouth.'
Therewith he produced the letter. Lady Thistlewood pronounced that no power on earth should induce her to open it, and drew off herself and her little girls to a safe distance from the secret poison she fancied it contained; while Sir Marmaduke was rating the constables for taking advantage of his absence to interpret the Queen's Vagrant Act in their own violent fashion; ending, however, by sending them round to the buttery-hatch to drink the young Lord's health. For the messenger, the good knight heartily grasped his hand, welcoming him and thanking him for having 'brought comfort to you poor lad's heart.'
But there Sir Marmaduke paused, doubting whether the letter had indeed brought comfort; for Berenger, who had seized on it, when it was refused by his mother, was sitting under the tree-turning away indeed, but not able to conceal that his tears were gushing down like rain. The anxious exclamation of his step-father roused him at length, but he scarce found power or voice to utter, as he thrust the letter into the knight's hand, 'Ah! see what has she not suffered for me! me, whom you would have had believed her faithless!'
He then grasped his friend's arm, and with him disappeared into the house, leaving Sir Marmaduke holding the letter in a state of the utmost bewilderment, and calling by turns on his wife and daughter to read and explain it to him.
And as Lucy read the letter, with her mother could not yet prevail on herself to touch, she felt at each word more grateful to the good Aunt Cecily, whose influence had taught her always to view Berenger as a brother, and not to condemn unheard the poor young wife. If she had not been thus guarded, what distress might not this day of joy to Berenger have brought to Lucy! Indeed, Lady Thistlewood was vexed enough as it was, and ready to carry her incredulity to the most inconsistent lengths. 'It was all a trick for getting the poor boy back, that they might make an end of him altogether. Tell her they thought him dead.-'Tilley-valley! It was a mere attempt on her own good-nature, to get a little French impostor on her hands. Let Sir Duke look well to it, and take care that her poor boy was not decoyed among them. The Frenchman might be cutting his throat at that moment! Where was he? Had Sir Duke been so lost as to let them out of sight together? No one had either pity or prudence now that her poor father was gone;' and she began to weep.
'No great fear on that score, dame,' laughed the knight. 'Did you not hear the lad shouting for "Phil, Phil!" almost in a voice like old times? It does one good to hear it.'
Just at twilight, Berenger came down the steps, conducting a graceful gentleman in black, to whom Lady Thistlewood's instinct impelled her to make a low courtesy, before Berenger had said, 'Madam, allow me to present to you my friend, the Abbe de Mericour.'
'Is it the same?' whispered Bessie to Annora. 'Surely he is translated!'
'Only into Philip's old mourning suit. I know it by the stain on the knee.
'Then it is translated too. Never did it look so well on Philip! See, our mother is quite gracious to him; she speaks to him as though he were some noble visitor to my Lord.'
Therewith Sir Marmaduke came forward, shook Mericour with all his might by the hand, shouted to him his hearty thanks for the good he had done his poor lad and assured him of a welcome from the very bottom of his heart. The good knight would fain have kept both Berenger and his friend at the Manor, but Berenger was far too impatient to carry home his joy, and only begged the loan of a horse for Mericour. For himself, he felt as if fatigue or dejection would never touch him again, and he kissed his mother and his sisters, including Lucy, all round, with an effusion of delight.
'Is that indeed your step-father?' said Mericour, as they rode away together. 'And the young man, is he your half-brother?'
'Brother wholly in dear love,' said Berenger; 'no blood relation. The little girls are my mother's children.'
'Ah! so large a family all one? All at home? None in convents?'
'We have no convents.'
'Ah, no. but all at home! All at peace! This is a strange place, your England.'
CHAPTER XXII. DEPARTURE
It is my mistress!
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad.-CYMBELINE
Mericour found the welcome at Hurst Walwyn kindly and more polished than that at Combe Manor. He was more readily understood, and found himself at his natural element. Lord Walwyn, in especial, took much notice of him, and conversed with him long and earnestly; while Berenger, too happy and too weary to exert himself to say many words, sat as near Cecily as he could, treating her as though she, who had never contradicted in his trust in Eustacie, were the only person who could worthily share his infinite relief, peace, and thankfulness.
Lord Walwyn said scarcely anything to his grandson that night, only when Berenger, as usual, bent his knee to ask his blessing on parting for the night, he said, gravely, 'Son, I am glad of your joy; I fear me you have somewhat to pardon your grandsire. Come to my library so soon as morning prayers be over; we will speak then. Not now, my dear lad,' he added, as Berenger, with tears in his eyes, kissed his hand, and would have begun; 'you are too much worn and spent to make my dear ears hear. Sleep, and take my blessing with you.'