CHAPTER VIII.
MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE MAKES LOVE, AND IS FRIGHTENED.
For two or three days Marmaduke and Sibyll were necessarily brought
much together. Such familiarity of intercourse was peculiarly rare in
that time, when, except perhaps in the dissolute court of Edward IV.,
the virgins of gentle birth mixed sparingly, and with great reserve,
amongst those of opposite sex. Marmaduke, rapidly recovering from the
effect of his wounds, and without other resource than Sibyll's society
in the solitude of his confinement, was not proof against the
temptation which one so young and so sweetly winning brought to his
fancy or his senses. The poor Sibyll--she was no faultless paragon,--
she was a rare and singular mixture of many opposite qualities in
heart and in intellect! She was one moment infantine in simplicity
and gay playfulness; the next a shade passed over her bright face, and
she uttered some sentence of that bitter and chilling wisdom, which
the sense of persecution, the cruelty of the world, had already taught
her. She was, indeed, at that age when the Child and the Woman are
struggling against each other. Her character was not yet formed,--a
little happiness would have ripened it at once into the richest bloom
of goodness. But sorrow, that ever sharpens the intellect, might only
serve to sour the heart. Her mind was so innately chaste and pure,
that she knew not the nature of the admiration she excited; but the
admiration pleased her as it pleases some young child; she was vain
then, but it was an infant's vanity, not a woman's. And thus, from
innocence itself, there was a fearlessness, a freedom, a something
endearing and familiar in her manner, which might have turned a wiser
head than Marmaduke Nevile's. And this the more, because, while
liking her young guest, confiding in him, raised in her own esteem by
his gallantry, enjoying that intercourse of youth with youth so
unfamiliar to her, and surrendering herself the more to its charm from
the joy that animated her spirits, in seeing that her father had
forgotten his humiliation, and returned to his wonted labours,--she
yet knew not for the handsome Nevile one sentiment that approached to
love. Her mind was so superior to his own, that she felt almost as if
older in years, and in their talk her rosy lips preached to him in
grave advice.
On the landing, by Marmaduke's chamber, there was a large oriel
casement jutting from the wall. It was only glazed at the upper part,
and that most imperfectly, the lower part being closed at night or in
inclement weather with rude shutters. The recess formed by this
comfortless casement answered, therefore, the purpose of a balcony; it
commanded a full view of the vicinity without, and gave to those who
might be passing by the power also of indulging their own curiosity by
a view of the interior.
Whenever he lost sight of Sibyll, and had grown weary of the peacock,
this spot was Marmaduke's favourite haunt. It diverted him, poor
youth, to look out of the window upon the livelier world beyond. The
place, it is true, was ordinarily deserted, but still the spires and
turrets of London were always discernible,--and they were something.
Accordingly, in this embrasure stood Marmaduke, when one morning,
Sibyll, coming from her father's room, joined him.
"And what, Master Nevile," said Sibyll, with a malicious yet charming
smile, "what claimed thy meditations? Some misgiving as to the
trimming of thy tunic, or the length of thy shoon?"
"Nay," returned Marmaduke, gravely, "such thoughts, though not without
their importance in the mind of a gentleman, who would not that his
ignorance of court delicacies should commit him to the japes of his
equals, were not at that moment uppermost. I was thinking--"
"Of those mastiffs, quarrelling for a bone. Avow it."
"By our Lady, I saw them not, but now I look, they are brave dogs.
Ha! seest thou how gallantly each fronts the other, the hair
bristling, the eyes fixed, the tail on end, the fangs glistening? Now
the lesser one moves slowly round and round the bigger, who, mind you,
Mistress Sibyll, is no dullard, but moves, too, quick as thought, not
to be taken unawares. Ha! that is a brave spring! Heigh, dogs,
Neigh! a good sight!--it makes the blood warm! The little one hath
him by the throat!"
"Alack," said Sibyll, turning away her eyes, "can you find pleasure in
seeing two poor brutes mangle each other for a bone?"
"By Saint Dunstan! doth it matter what may be the cause of quarrel, so
long as dog or man bears himself bravely, with a due sense of honour
and derring-do? See! the big one is up again. Ah, foul fall the
butcher, who drives them away! Those seely mechanics know not the
joyaunce of fair fighting to gentle and to hound. For a hound, mark
you, hath nothing mechanical in his nature. He is a gentleman all
over,--brave against equal and stranger, forbearing to the small and
defenceless, true in poverty and need where he loveth, stern and
ruthless where he hateth, and despising thieves, hildings, and the
vulgar as much as e'er a gold spur in King Edward's court! Oh,
certes, your best gentleman is the best hound!"
"You moralize to-day; and I know not how to gainsay you," returned
Sibyll, as the dogs, reluctantly beaten off, retired each from each,
snarling and reluctant, while a small black cur, that had hitherto sat
unobserved at the door of a small hostelrie, now coolly approached and
dragged off the bone of contention. "But what sayst thou now? See!
see! the patient mongrel carries off the bone from the gentleman-
hounds. Is that the way of the world?"
"Pardie! it is a naught world, if so, and much changed from the time
of our fathers, the Normans. But these Saxons are getting uppermost
again, and the yard measure, I fear me, is more potent in these
holiday times than the mace or the battle-axe." The Nevile paused,
sighed, and changed the subject: "This house of thine must have been a
stately pile in its day. I see but one side of the quadrangle is
left, though it be easy to trace where the other three have stood."
"And you may see their stones and their fittings in the butcher's and
baker's stalls over the way," replied Sibyll.
"Ay!" said the Nevile, "the parings of the gentry begin to be the
wealth of the varlets."
"Little ought we to pine at that," returned Sibyll, "if the varlets
were but gentle with our poverty; but they loathe the humbled fortunes
on which they rise, and while slaves to the rich, are tyrants to the
poor."
This was said so sadly, that the Nevile felt his eyes overflow; and
the humble dress of the girl, the melancholy ridges which evinced the
site of a noble house, now shrunk into a dismal ruin, the remembrance
of the pastime-ground, the insults of the crowd, and the broken
gittern, all conspired to move his compassion, and to give force to
yet more tender emotions.
"Ah," he said suddenly, and with a quick faint blush over his handsome
and manly countenance,--"ah, fair maid--fair Sibyll--God grant that I
may win something of gold and fortune amidst yonder towers, on which
the sun shines so cheerly. God grant it, not for my sake,--not for
mine; but that I may have something besides a true heart and a
stainless name to lay at thy feet. Oh, Sibyll! By this hand, by my
father's soul, I love thee, Sibyll! Have I not said it before? Well,
hear me now,--I love thee!"
As he spoke, he clasped her hand in his own, and she suffered it for
one instant to rest in his. Then withdrawing it, and meeting his
enamoured eyes with a strange sadness in her own darker, deeper, and
more intelligent orbs, she said,--
"I thank thee,--thank thee for the honour of such kind thoughts; and
frankly I answer, as thou hast frankly spoken. It was sweet to me,
who have known little in life not hard and bitter,--sweet to wish I
had a brother like thee, and, as a brother, I can love and pray for
thee. But ask not more, Marmaduke. I have aims in life which forbid
all other love."
"Art thou too aspiring for one who has his spurs to win?"
"Not so; but listen. My mother's lessons and my own heart have made
my poor father the first end and object of all things on earth to me.
I live to protect him, work for him, honour him; and for the rest, I
have thoughts thou canst not know, an ambition thou canst not feel.
Nay," she added, with that delightful smile which chased away the
graver thought which had before saddened her aspect, "what would thy
sober friend Master Alwyn say to thee, if he heard thou hadst courted
the wizard's daughter?"
"By my faith," exclaimed Marmaduke, "thou art a very April,--smiles
and clouds in a breath! If what thou despisest in me be my want of
bookcraft, and such like, by my halidame I will turn scholar for thy
sake; and--"
Here, as he had again taken Sibyll's hand, with the passionate ardour
of his bold nature, not to be lightly daunted by a maiden's first
"No," a sudden shrill, wild burst of laughter, accompanied with a
gusty fit of unmelodious music from the street below, made both maiden
and youth start, and turn their eyes; there, weaving their immodest
dance, tawdry in their tinsel attire, their naked arms glancing above
their heads, as they waved on high their instruments, went the
timbrel-girls.
"Ha, ha!" cried their leader, "see the gallant and the witch-leman!
The glamour has done its work! Foul is fair! foul is fair! and the
devil will have his own!"
But these creatures, whose bold license the ancient chronicler
records, were rarely seen alone. They haunted parties of pomp and
pleasure; they linked together the extremes of life,--the grotesque
Chorus that introduced the terrible truth of foul vice and abandoned
wretchedness in the midst of the world's holiday and pageant. So now,
as they wheeled into the silent, squalid street, they heralded a
goodly company of dames and cavaliers on horseback, who were passing
through the neighbouring plains into the park of Marybone to enjoy the
sport of falconry. The splendid dresses of this procession, and the
grave and measured dignity with which it swept along, contrasted
forcibly with the wild movements and disorderly mirth of the timbrel-
players. These last darted round and round the riders, holding out
their instruments for largess, and retorting, with laugh and gibe, the
disdainful look or sharp rebuke with which their salutations were
mostly received.
Suddenly, as the company, two by two, paced up the street, Sibyll
uttered a faint exclamation, and strove to snatch her hand from the
Nevile's grasp. Her eye rested upon one of the horsemen, who rode
last, and who seemed in earnest conversation with a dame, who, though
scarcely in her first youth, excelled all her fair companions in
beauty of face and grace of horsemanship, as well as in the costly
equipments of the white barb that caracoled beneath her easy hand. At
the same moment the horseman looked up and gazed steadily at Sibyll,
whose countenance grew pale, and flushed, in a breath. His eye then
glanced rapidly at Marmaduke; a half-smile passed his pale, firm lips;
he slightly raised the plumed cap from his brow, inclined gravely to
Sibyll, and, turning once more to his companion, appeared to answer
some question she addressed to him as to the object of his salutation,
for her look, which was proud, keen, and lofty, was raised to Sibyll,
and then dropped somewhat disdainfully, as she listened to the words
addressed her by the cavalier.
The lynx eyes of the tymbesteres had seen the recognition; and their
leader, laying her bold hand on the embossed bridle of the horseman,
exclaimed, in a voice shrill and loud enough to be heard in the
balcony above, "Largess! noble lord, largess! for the sake of the lady
thou lovest best!"
The fair equestrian turned away her head at these words; the nobleman
watched her a moment, and dropped some coins into the timbrel.
"Ha, ha!" cried the tymbestere, pointing her long arm to Sibyll, and
springing towards the balcony,--
"The cushat would mate
Above her state,
And she flutters her wings round the falcon's beak;
But death to the dove
Is the falcon's love!
Oh, sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak!"
Before this rude song was ended, Sibyll had vanished from the place;
the cavalcade had disappeared. The timbrel-players, without deigning
to notice Marmaduke, darted elsewhere to ply their discordant trade,
and the Nevile, crossing himself devoutly, muttered, "Jesu defend us!
Those she Will-o'-the-wisps are eno' to scare all the blood out of
one's body. What--a murrain on them!--do they portend, flitting round
and round, and skirting off, as if the devil's broomstick was behind
them! By the Mass! they have frighted away the damozel, and I am not
sorry for it. They have left me small heart for the part of Sir
Launval."
His meditations were broken off by the sudden sight of Nicholas Alwyn,
mounted on a small palfrey, and followed by a sturdy groom on
horseback, leading a steed handsomely caparisoned. In another moment,
Marmaduke had descended, opened the door, and drawn Alwyn into the
hall.
