University of Virginia Library

3. III.
HARRY AND I.

Queen Mary rode across the wolds to Malton, and
thence towards York, persisting still in her brave resolution
to share the hardships of her soldiers.

She would enter no chariot; paid attention neither
to wind nor sun nor storm; ate the rude fare of the
men, in bivouac among them,—and they came to adore
her almost. This delicate woman, lapped in down from
her childhood, and accustomed to all luxuries, cheerfully
—even gayly—endured every hardship, and marched,
and slept, and ate, and was ready to fight too, like the
humblest trooper of her forces.

The queen sat one evening in the doorway of her
small tent, which had been pitched beneath a large oak,
beside the road, in sight of the great camp. Around
her majesty were grouped the ladies and gentlemen of
her suite, and a number of officers, including the gallant
Montrose.

All at once the queen stopped eating her hard bread,
and fixed her eyes on some object in the distance. It
was a horseman coming at full speed; and in five minutes
he had approached within a hundred yards of the
tent, when he threw himself from the saddle, affixed
his bridle to a bough, and, drawing near, doffed his
plumed hat, making a profound inclination.

I recognized Harry. He had evidently ridden hard;
and, as he came, he drew from his breast a packet.

“For your majesty,” he said, bending his knee, and
presenting the packet.

The queen caught it eagerly, and said,—

“You come from his majesty, Mr. Cecil?”

Harry blushed with pleasure at this recognition, and
bowed low.

“He is well?”

“Quite well, your majesty.”

“God be thanked!”

She had torn open the letter, and now read it by
the last rays of sunset. As she read, her face flushed.
Finishing, she raised her head, and her eyes were full
of indignation and martial fire. “Do you know the
ultimatum of the parliament, my lord?” she said to
Montrose.

“Submission, doubtless, your majesty,” replied the
soldier, coolly.

“You have guessed correctly, my lord. Yes, submission.
The Earl of Northumberland, the kinsman
of Lady Carlisle, who betrayed me, has had the courage
and the want of shame to visit his majesty as the commissioner
of parliament; and here is the narrative of
his errand!”

She struck the paper with her finger.

“They demand but little!—they are moderate, these
good gentlemen! They simply request that his majesty
shall abolish episcopacy and the Church of England,
and give up to their tender mercies all who have aided
him in his rebellion against them.”

A growl from the circle saluted these words. All
faces darkened. The queen looked around her.

“You see, gentlemen, there is no retreat now for me
or for you. We are to die on Tower Hill, or on the
field of battle, fighting bravely. Which do you choose,
messieurs?”

The words raised a tumult. The queen listened with
glowing eyes to the hoarse noise around her. Suddenly
she caught, from the ground near, a small dress-sword,
and drew it. She wrapped a scarf around the hilt of
the bright steel weapon, and attached it to her slender
waist. Then, rising, she threw the scabbard from her
violently, and exclaimed,—

“Here is my answer!”

Two hours afterwards, I was riding towards Oxford
beside Harry, who bore back the queen's reply. I
had solicited and obtained this favor: to live beside
Frances Villiers had become an agony to me. We
had scarce interchanged more than a few words of
common politeness since the evening at Helvoetsluys:
to be near her, even, was wretchedness to me, and I
embraced the first opportunity to leave her.

And this voluntary absence from her side now made
it necessary to explain all to Harry. To his laughing
demand how it was possible that I had courage to separate
from the young lady, I replied,—

“Little courage is requisite, Harry. I live in a
dream, yonder, near her,—in alternate torpor and
fever.”

“You have—”

“Yes, and she has rejected me; but that is the least
of it.”

“Rejected you? Oh, Ned!—my poor Ned!”

“Don't pity me, Harry. I am a man, and hearts
don't break in our family on such occasions. Something
more than a love-disappointment fevered me
yonder.”

“More?”

“The thought that you looked upon me, perchance,
as a poor weak creature that loved a woman more than
I loved my brother or my honor!”

“Your meaning, Ned! Who dares to say that you
love not your honor?”

“None, thank Heaven! You least of all must think
that, Harry. But listen! you shall know all. 'Tis
but recently that I learned the truth. You sacrificed
your love to me,—well, I sacrifice mine to you. She
told me all. Shame burned in me like fire, brother,
when I thought of your last words after Edgehill. Do
you think I'll let my brother break his heart for me?
I swear I will not! Go and love Frances Villiers more
than ever, and tell your love. Women are weather-cocks.
For myself, Harry, I'll go no more. My game
is played,—I have lost her; but I have your love,
Harry, and that's enough!”

I think a groan came as I finished. Harry leaned
over and put his arm on my shoulder. His eyes shone
through a sort of mist.

“Didn't I say that night that I'd back Ned Cecil
for a brother against any man in England? Well,
brother, we are left to each other. For myself, I've
done with the fair Frances, who'll no more look at me
than at you, Ned. What bad taste! Well, court
her or not, as you fancy,—but remember one thing,
brother, she's not going to have an opportunity again
of becoming Mrs. Harry Cecil.”

I knew what the words meant,—that my brother
would not stand in my way; and I swore to myself that
I would not stand in his. I raised my head, after this
resolution, and looked at Harry, smiling.

“Miss Villiers won't be annoyed, it seems, by the
importunate Cecil family hereafter,” I said; and then,
by common consent, we spoke of other things, riding
on through the night.

Running the gauntlet of my lord Essex's cavalry
parties between York and Oxford, we finally reached
the latter place, and in one of the grand palaces of the
grand city saw his majesty again. He was pleased to
give me his hand to kiss, and to ask after the health
of my father. My detention in Holland had been
explained in the queen's dispatches; and now, losing
sight of me and all else, his majesty read the queen's
response to his letter.

As he read, the pale and melancholy face flushed red,
and the eyes grew soft. I see the king's face now,—
long, covered with the pallor of trouble, the lips surmounted
by the delicate mustache, the royale long and
pointed beneath the chin, and the eyes sometimes cold
and austere, but oftener full of brooding sadness.
“Doomed” was written on that countenance; 'twas

only when he thought of the queen that fire came to
the eyes, and they flashed.

“My brave wife!” he murmured, as he refolded the
letter: “here at least is one heart that does not
despair.”

He turned to Harry and myself.

“Thanks, gentlemen,” he said; “'tis my happiness
to have near me friends so faithful as the Cecils. Faithful
hearts are pure gold in my eyes, and I lean upon
them. The times are dark, gentlemen, the issue of
this struggle doubtful; but, if we fall, let us fall with
honor,—as gentlemen should fall. That is my resolve.
My enemies are bitter. They hate my brave queen even
more than they hate me, and were she to fall into their
power their mad passion might lead them to take her
life, as they may take my own. Well, so let it be: the
more need that we should act like brave men. For
myself, I mean not to falter. As king, I defend my
crown; as gentleman, I defend my wife.”

As the king spoke, the door opened, and Viscount
Falkland entered, sad, with his air of gracious dignity
mixed with melancholy.

“A last proposition, your majesty,” he said. “I have
just received this note from Mr. Hampden, and beg to
lay it before your majesty.”