University of Virginia Library

Dry-lipped with terror, o'er the broken flints
Stumbling I ran, my baby tightly held,
And of a sudden, coming from the wood,
Saw the low moon blood-dash the distant waves,
Felt the wet grass-slope of the cliff, and heard
The hungry clamor of the hidden sea,
Nor dared to stir, but waited for the dawn,
And prayed and wondered why the beast alone
Some certain instinct guided in its flight;
When, God be praised! I saw my Louis stand
With slant hand o'er his brow, this wise, at gaze—
Just a mere outline, none but I had seen,
Set 'gainst the flitting white caps of the sea.
Then I said softly, “Louis,” and he turned,
(I think that he would hear me were he dead).
But as he quickly drew across the cliff
I saw the sudden sadness of his face
Grow through the lessening night, and ere I moved
A strong arm caught me, while he cried in haste,
“Why didst thou add new sorrow to my flight?
Who hath betrayed it? Surely once again,
When these dark days are over, I had come
To fetch thee and my mother and the boy,
Where in free England we should find a home.”
“Home! Home!” I gasped. “Home! Mother!” for the words
Choked me as with a man's grip on the throat.
But he, hard breathing, held me fast and cried,
“Speak quickly,—death is near!” (but yet his hand
Put back my hair and soothed me). So I gasped,
“As from our preaching in the wood we rode
With Jacques the forester, as is his way,
He fell to singing Clement Marot's psalm,
For them God calleth to the axe or rack.
I, liking not the omen, bade him cease;
Then saw a-sudden, far above the hill
A tongue of flame leap upward, heard a shot,
And then another, till at last our Jacques,
Bidding me wait, rode on. An hour ago,
While yet the night was dark,—he came again,
And thrust our little one within my arms,
And sharply speaking, bade me urge my horse,
And on the way told all.”

“Told all,—told what?”

“The dear old house is burned, thy mother dead!”

“Dead, Marie?”

“Dead! one fierce pike-thrust, no more!
She did not suffer, Louis!”

“But the babe?”

“Jacques found him near the dial, in the maze,”
“My God! there's blood upon his little hands!”
“Ay! it is thought she had him in her arms,
(Thy mother's, Louis!) and it must have been
She crawled, blood-spent, to hide the little man,
And seeking somewhere help, fell down and died
Beside the fountain.”

“Oh, be quick! what more?”
“This Jacques to me, as hitherward we spurred,
For, as we came, a noise behind us grew,
And, haply, I have only brought you death.
'T was but one man, we guessed; the rest, misled,
Rode toward St. Malo, and Jacques leaving me—”

“Hush! listen!”

“Nay, I see the boat, my lord!”

“Be silent, Marie; kneel, here by the rock.
Let come what may, no word.” And so I knelt,
And trembling saw the fiery glow of morn
Shudder like some red judgment o'er the sea.
This while my dear lord bent and kissed the babe,
And then my cheek, my forehead, and my lips,
Unsheathed his sword, and gazing inland stood,
And slowly turned the ruffles from his wrist.
But then my heart beat fiercely in my breast,
For, on the sward between us and the verge,
Leapt of a sudden from the pines a man,
And paused a breath's time, for behind him dropped
An awful cliff wall to a stepless shore,
And steep the marge sloped to it, and before,
Close at his breast, he saw my Louis' blade,
Red like a viper's tongue, flash in the morn.
Then said my sweet lord, speaking tender low,
“Stir not, dear wife. It is the Duke, thank God!”
So, looking up I saw that traitor face,
With eyes of eager seeking, right and left,
Glance up the cliff, and then I heard a voice
Unlike my Louis', hollow, hoarse, and changed.
“Too late! They will not find thee. Quick, on guard!
The crows shall get thee graveyard room. On guard!”
Whereat the Duke turned short. No better blade:
Thrice have I seen him, in our happier days,
Disarm my Louis in the armory play.
Whence, for a moment, as the rapiers met,
Fear caught and held me, till I looked and saw
My Louis' face grow passionless and calm,
As one decreed by God to judge and slay.
I crept apart, yet could not help but gaze,
Because the thing was terrible to see.
For my dear lord, his face unstirred and cold,
Now touched him on the shoulder or the breast,
Then in the chest an inch deep as he shrank,
Till, with each wound, the traitor, shrinking back,
Felt the sloped margin crumble 'neath his feet,
Then wildly thrust, whereon the rapiers coiled
Like twin steel serpents, and the Duke's flew wide.
“My God!” I cried, “Save! Save him!” but my lord
In silence with his kerchief wiped his sword,
And coldly cast the good lace o'er the cliff.
Speechless, I saw the stiff knees giving way,
The long grass breaking in the hands' hard clutch,
Till on the brink—oh, that was terrible!—
A face—a cry—just “Marie!” that was all!
And then I heard my good lord sheathe his blade.
Ah, truly, that was very long ago,
And why, why would you have me tell the tale?
Sometimes at evening, underneath our oaks,
Here in our English home, I sit and think,
Stirred by the memory of a wild, white face.
Here come the boys you praised. My Louis'? No!
And this grave maid? These are my baby's babes!
You did not think I am a grand-dame. Well—
You're very good to say so.