"The second was on thy account, sweet Joan," said Raymond, with a curious vibration in his voice. "He saw us once together -- it is long ago now -- and he warned me how I meddled to thwart him again. I scarce understood him then, though I knew that he would fain have won this fair hand, but that thou didst resolutely withhold it. Now that I have reached man"s estate I understand him better. Joan, he is still bent upon having this hand. In my hearing he swore a great oath that by fair means or foul it should be his one day. He is a man of resolute determination, and, now that his father no longer lives, of great wealth too, and wealth is power. Thou hast thwarted him till he is resolved to humble thee at all cost. I verily believe to be avenged for all thou hast cost him would be motive enough to make him compa.s.s heaven and earth to win thee. What sayest thou? To withstand him may be perilous --"
"To wed him would be worse than death," said Joan, in a very low tone.
"I will never yield, if I die to save myself from him."
Unconsciously these two had lowered their voices. John had dropped asleep beside the fire with the ease of one exhausted by weakness and long watching. Joan and Raymond were practically alone together. There was a strange light upon the face of the youth, and into his pale face there crept a flush of faint red.
"Joan," he said, in low, firm tones that shook a little with the intensity of his earnestness, "when I saw thee first, and knew thee for a very queen amongst women, my boyish love and homage was given all to thee. I dreamed of going forth to win glory and renown, that I might come and lay my laurels at thy feet, and win one sweet answering smile, one kindly word of praise from thee. Yet here am I, almost at man"s estate, and I have yet no laurels to bring to thee. I have but one thing to offer -- the deep true love of a heart that beats alone for thee.
Joan, I am no knightly suitor, I have neither gold nor lands -- though one day it may be I may have both, and thy father would doubtless drive me forth from his doors did I present myself to him as a suitor for this fair hand. But, Joan, I love thee -- I would lay down my life to serve thee -- and I know that thou mayest one day be in peril from him who is also mine own bitter foe. Wilt thou then give me the right to fight for thee, to hold this hand before all the world and do battle for its owner, as only he may hope to do who holds it, as I do this moment, by that owner"s free will? Give me but leave to call it mine, and I will dare all and do all to win it. Sweet Mistress Joan, my words are few and poor; but could my heart speak for me, it would plead eloquent music.
Thou art the sun and star of my life. Tell me, may I hope some day to win thy love?"
Joan had readily surrendered her hand to his clasp, and doubtless this had encouraged Raymond to proceed in his tale of love.
He certainly had not intended thus to commit himself, poor and unknown and portionless as he was, with everything still to win; but a power stronger than he could resist drew him on from word to word and phrase to phrase, and a lovely colour mantled in Joan"s cheek as he proceeded, till at last she put forth her other hand and laid it in his, saying:
"Raymond, I love thee now. My heart is thine and thine alone. Go forth, if thou wilt, and win honour and renown -- but thou wilt never win a higher honour and glory than I have seen thee winning day by day and hour by hour here in this very house -- and come back when and as thou wilt. Thou wilt find me waiting for thee --ever ready, ever the same. I am thine for life or death. When thou callest me I will come."
It was a bold pledge for a maiden to give in those days of harsh parental rule; yet Joan gave it without shrinking or fear. That this informal betrothal might be long before it could hope to be consummated, both the lovers well knew; that there might be many dangers lying before them, they did not attempt to deny. It was no light matter to have thus plighted their troth, when Raymond was still poor and nameless, and Joan, in her father"s estimation, plighted to the Sanghurst. But both possessed brave and resolute spirits, that did not shrink or falter; and joyfully happy in the security of their great love, they could afford for a time to forget the world.
Raymond drew from within his doublet the half ring he had always carried about with him, and placed it upon the finger of his love. Joan, on her side, drew from her neck a black agate heart she had always worn there, and gave it to Raymond, who put it upon the silver cord which had formerly supported his circlet of the double ring.
"So long as I live that heart shall hang there," he said. "Never believe that I am dead until thou seest the heart brought thee by another. While I live I part not with it."
"Nor I with thy ring," answered Joan, proudly turning her hand about till the firelight flashed upon it.
And then they drew closer together, and whispered together, as lovers love to do, of the golden future lying before them; and Raymond told of his mother and her dying words, and his love, in spite of all that had pa.s.sed there, for the old house of Basildene, and asked Joan if they two together would be strong enough to remove the curse which had been cast over the place by the evil deeds of its present owners.
"Methinks thou couldst well do that thyself, my faithful knight,"
answered Joan, with a great light in her eyes; "for methinks all evil must fly thy presence, as night flies from the beams of day. Art thou not pledged to a high and holy service? and hast thou not proved ere now how n.o.bly thou canst keep that pledge?"
At that moment John stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. There was in them that slightly bewildered look that comes when the mind has been very far away in some distant dreamland, and where the weakened faculties have hardly the strength to rea.s.sert themselves.
"Joan," he said -- "Joan, art thou there? art thou safe?"
She rose and bent over him smilingly.
"Here by thy side, good John, and perfectly safe. Where should I be?"
"And Raymond too?"
"Raymond too. What ails thee, John, that thou art so troubled?"
He smiled slightly as he looked round more himself.
"It must have been a dream, but it was a strangely vivid one. Belike it was our talk of a short while back; for I thought thou wast fleeing from the malice of the Sanghurst, and that Raymond was in his power, awaiting his malignant rage and vengeance. I know not how it would have ended -- I was glad to wake. I fear me, sweet Joan, that thou wilt yet have a hard battle ere thou canst cast loose from the toil spread for thee by yon bad man."
Joan threw back her head with a queenly gesture.
"Fear not for me, kind John, for now I am no longer alone to fight my battle. I have Raymond for my faithful knight and champion. Raymond and I have plighted our troth this very day. Let Peter Sanghurst do his worst; it will take a stronger hand than his to sunder love like ours!"
John"s pale face kindled with sympathy and satisfaction. He looked from one to the other and held out his thin hands.
"My heart"s wishes and blessings be with you both," he said. "I have so many times thought of some such thing, and longed to see it accomplished. There may be clouds athwart your path, but there will be sunshine behind the cloud. Joan, thou hast chosen thy knight worthily and well. It may be that men will never call him knight. It may be that he will not have trophies rich and rare to lay at thy feet. But thou and I know well that there is a knighthood not of this world, and in that order of chivalry his spurs have already been won, and he will not, with thee at his side, ever be tempted to forget his high and holy calling.
For thou wilt be the guiding star of his life; and thou too art dedicated to serve."
There was silence for a few moments in the quiet room. John lay back on his pillows panting somewhat, and with that strange unearthly light they had seen there before deepening in his eyes. They had observed that look often of late -- as though he saw right through them and beyond to a glory unspeakable, shut out for the time from their view. Joan put out her hand and took that of Raymond, as if there was a.s.surance in the warm human clasp. But their eyes were still fixed upon John"s face, which was changing every moment.
He had done much to form both their minds, this weakly scion of the De Brocas house, whose life was held by those who bore his name to be nothing but a failure. It was from him they had both imbibed those thoughts and aspirations which had been the first link drawing them together, and which had culminated in an act of the highest self-sacrifice and devotion. And now it seemed to him, as he lay there looking at them, the two beings upon earth that he loved the best (for Raymond was more to him than a brother, and Joan the one woman whom, had things gone otherwise with him, he would fain have made his wife), that he might well leave his work in their hands -- that they would carry on to completion the nameless labour of love which he had learned to look upon as the highest form of chivalry.
"Raymond," he said faintly.
Raymond came and bent down over him.
"I am close beside thee, John."
"I know it. I feel it. I am very happy. Raymond, thou wilt not forget me?"
"Never, John, never."
"I have been very happy in thy brotherly love and friendship. It has been very sweet to me. Raymond, thou wilt not forget thy vow? Thou wilt ever be true to that higher life that we have spoken of so oft together?"
Raymond"s face was full of deep and steadfast purpose.
"I will be faithful, I will be true," he answered. "G.o.d helping me, I will be true to the vow we have made together. Joan shall be my witness now, as I make it anew to thee here."
"Not for fame or glory or praise of man alone," murmured John, his voice growing fainter and fainter, "but first for the glory of G.o.d and His honour, and then for the poor, the feeble, the helpless, the needy. To be a champion to such as have none to help them, to succour the distressed, to comfort the mourner, to free those who are wrongfully oppressed, even though kings be the oppressors -- that is the true courage, the true chivalry; that is the service to which thou, my brother, art pledged."
Raymond bent his head, whilst Joan"s clasp tightened on his hand. They both knew that John was dying, but they had looked too often upon death to fear it now. They did not summon any one to his side. No priest was to be found at that time, and John had not long since received the Sacrament with one who had lately died in the house. There was no restlessness or pain in his face, only a great peace and rest. His voice died away, but he still looked at Raymond, as though to the last he would fain see before his eyes the face he had grown to love best upon earth.
His breath grew shorter and shorter. Raymond thought he made a sign to him to bend his head nearer. Stooping over him, he caught the faintly-whispered words:
"Tell my father not to grieve that I did not die a knight. He has his other sons; and I have been very happy. Tell him that -- happier, I trow, than any of them --"
There were a brief silence and a slight struggle for breath, then one whispered phrase:
"I will arise and go to my Father --"
Those were the last words spoken by John de Brocas.
CHAPTER XXII. THE BLACK VISOR.
"Brother, this is like old times," said Gaston, his hand upon Raymond"s shoulder as they stood side by side in the extreme prow of the vessel that was conveying them once again towards the sunny south of France.
The salt spray dashed in their faces, the hum of the cordage overhead was in their ears, and their thoughts had gone back to that day, now nigh upon eight years back, when they, as unknown and untried boys, had started forth to see the world together.
Gaston"s words broke the spell of silence, and Raymond turned his head to scan the stalwart form beside him with a look of fond admiration and pride.