CHAPTER XLII.
"Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength."
Shakespeare.
The breakfast next morning had been ordered at an early hour, on account of the intended departure of the royal guests; and, to the surprise of some, Charles was one of the first to make his appearance. He had received the note and the basket of violets. Madame de Soissons was next, and her flattery and entreaties amply confirmed his resolution.
"You will permit me, however," said Charles, "to take my breakfast first."
"Certainly," replied Marie; "it will be most politic,—you will then be in a better humour. Who is it that says a favour should never be asked till after dinner?—and your substantial English breakfast will answer nearly as well."
The meal passed in solemn silence. Lord Avonleigh felt that he ought not to talk in his character of an afflicted father. Buckingham was equally obliged to discretion as an anxious lover. De Joinville gave up speaking when he found nobody listened—their not answering he might have excused; and Madame de Soissons was quiet from pure impatience.
"Really, there is such a dead calm," at last exclaimed the Duke, "that I begin to be apprehensive of a storm: it is quite ominous. Who among us are likely to quarrel first?" glancing at the corner of the table where Hortense and Meilleraye were seated, as usual, talking in whispers, and as indifferent as they well could be to the very existence of the rest of the company.
"Quarrels!" said Charles; "do not use so disagreeable a word. I am thinking of nothing but the thanks I owe Lord Avonleigh for his hospitality"—Lord Avonleigh bent to the very edge of the table—"and the favours I am about to ask."
"It is coming," thought Marie.
"Now, your Lordship," continued Charles, "must not send me away a disappointed guest; pray allow Lady Francesca to be summoned hither. I am aware," added he, interrupting her father's attempt to speak, that "the lady's only illness is your displeasure. Sufficient cause, I am sure; but one which I hope to remove."
Lord Avonleigh looked aghast, and, never very ready with his own resources, endeavoured to catch Buckingham's eye, but in vain. The Duke's attention was fixed on Madame de Soissons; their eyes met, and both laughed. His volatile temper was already caught with the absurdity of having been so outwitted, and Lord Avonleigh's consternation was ample recompense. He resolved he should get through it as he could.
"May we take your silence for consent?" asked Charles, after a pause.
"Your Grace has been strangely deceived—the Lady Francesca is too ill to leave her room." Lord Avouleigh had not tact enough to perceive that the truth would now have been his best policy.
"Nay," replied Charles, gravely, "this is carrying your anger too far. Allow me to mediate between you. I must entreat, nay, I command, the Lady Francesca's presence."
"Your Grace's commands are absolute," said Lord Avonleigh, as he perceived that Buckingham would not come to his assistance, and found, as he could not trust to the Duke, he must trust to chance. "Take the key of the south gallery," he said to an attendant, "And tell the Lady Francesca that it is the King's wish to see her, and that she has my permission to leave her apartment."
Lord Avonleigh had decided on taking refuge in wounded dignity, when he was again addressed by the King.
"The castle holds another prisoner, to whom I intend extending the best prerogative of my crown—mercy. Will you order Robert Evelyn to be brought before me?"
Lord Avonleigh bowed in sullen silence, and, turning to his page, bade him desire that the prisoner might forthwith be conducted to the royal presence.
"Avonleigh is more puzzled than I am," whispered Buckingham, who had drawn to Madame de Soissons' side. "I can assure you that my anger is merged in admiration."
"Suppose," said Marie, "that we make peace? and, as a reward, I will tell you the whole history."
The Duke answered, "Agreed."
When the prisoner was brought into the room, Charles looked for a moment admiringly on the graceful figure and noble bearing of the youth who entered, and then said, "Give him his sword —Mr. Evelyn, you are free: I pardon you for the sake of others, and will consider their intercession sufficient pledge for your loyalty."
Evelyn, bewildered by the sudden change, sunk on his knee and silently kissed the King's extended hand; he strove to speak his thanks, the words died upon his lips; but attention was drawn from his emotion by the entrance of Francesca. She was dressed in her black novice's robe, whose large loose folds suited so well the simple dignity of her air. Her hair was just parted on her forehead, and gathered up in a single knot behind. She was pale as marble; but her large eyes had an unnatural and feverish brightness; and when she came into the room, and perceived Evelyn, a crimson flush for a moment passed over her countenance, but left it even paler than before. She hesitated, and he was that instant at her side. He took her hand, and led her, scarce conscious, across the room. "Kneel, my bride, my beloved!" said he, in a whisper, "and thank our Sovereign for a life which is indeed precious for your sake."
Francesca sank at the King's feet; but before she could speak, he raised her from the ground, and said, "Why, this is strange bridal attire, my beautiful nun!"
"My sad and solemn garb is a custom of my country," replied Francesca. "What can be so fitting as a religious dress for a time of tribulation, sorrow, and farewell?"
"No talk of farewell now," exclaimed Madame de Soissons, cordially embracing her friend. "I am sure your father will consent."
"I have really been so little consulted," answered Lord Avonleigh, "that any opinion of mine it is as superfluous to ask as to offer."
"Nay," said the King, "we have done with authority now; we shall only beg that you will add your pardon to our own."
"My father!" exclaimed Francesca, "I implore you, part from me not with an unkindly feeling. I entreat you to recollect that Robert Evelyn loved me as the lonely and neglected orphan; that our affection has been tried in every way; and that, for my sake, he has risked liberty and life. My father, had he perished on the scaffold, the same grave would have held us both!"
"Come, Lord Avonleigh," said Charles, "the house of Evelyn is as noble as your own, and a portion of the estate shall be restored."
"Thank you," said Buckingham, in a low tone, to Madame de Soissons.
"Pray," answered she, "do not let a little miserable earth interfere with our newly formed friendship."
"I thank your Grace," said Evelyn; "but I ask no boon beyond the life, whose gratitude can end but with itself. Let my father's house pass from me, even as I am about to pass away from my father's land. When yonder dearest maiden stood with me before the altar, she knew that she wedded one whose future lot was cast in another place—that I was an exile and a wanderer. The plan which I formed thoughtfully, I adhere to steadily. I am still bound to my brave companions; far across the ocean we will seek an altar and a home. For the faith which we profess we are ready to encounter every danger. We go in the name of God, and we believe he will guide us in safety through the wilderness. To-night we sail!"
"He is mad!" exclaimed Lord Avonleigh. "At all events, you, Francesca, will not go with him?"
She answered by placing her hand in Evelyn's, and standing in silence at his side.