Agincourt (Historical Novel). G. P. R. James

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      CHAPTER IX.

       THE SICK MIND.

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      We must return, dear reader, for a short time, to the scenes in which our tale first began, and to the old hall of the good knight of Dunbury. Richard of Woodville and Sir Henry Dacre had been absent for two days upon their journey to another part of Hampshire, where we have shown somewhat of their course; and Sir Philip Beauchamp sat by the fire meditating, while his daughter Isabel, and fair Mary Markham, were seated near, plying busily the needle through the embroidery frame, and not venturing to disturb his reverie even by whispered conversation. From time to time, the old man muttered a few sentences to himself, of which the two ladies could only catch detached fragments, such as, "They must know by this time,--Dacre could not but do so,--I am sure 'tis for that--," and several similar expressions, showing that his mind was running upon the expedition of his nephew and his friend, in regard to the object of which, neither Isabel nor Mary had received any information.

      It must not be said, however, that they did not suspect anything; for the insinuations of Sir Simeon of Roydon had been told them; and, though neither weak nor given to fear--a knight's daughter, in a chivalrous age--Isabel could not help looking forward with feelings of awe, and an undefinable sinking of the heart, to the events which were likely to follow. She fully believed that she experienced, and had ever experienced, towards Sir Henry Dacre, but one class of sensations--regard for his high character and noble heart, and pity for the incessant grief and anxiety which her cousin's conduct had brought upon him from his early youth. But such feelings are very treacherous guides, and lead us far beyond the point at which they tell us they will stop. With her, too, they had had every opportunity of so doing, for she trusted to them in full confidence. Hers had been the task, also, of soothing and consoling him under all he had suffered--a dangerous task, indeed, for one young, kind, gentle, and enthusiastic, to undertake towards a man whom she admired and respected. But then, they had known each other from infancy, she thought; they had grown up together like brother and sister, and the tie between them had only been brought nearer by the betrothing of Dacre to her cousin.

      Had a doubt ever entered into Isabel's mind, since Catherine's death, it may be asked, in regard to her own feelings towards Dacre? Perhaps it might; but, if so, it had been banished instantly; and she looked upon the very thought as a wrong to her own motives. She would never suffer such a thing, she fancied, to trouble her again. "Dacre had loved Catherine--surely he had loved her; and yet--" but fresh doubts arose; and Isabel, willing to be blind, still turned to other meditations.

      Mary Markham, on the other hand, with less cause for anxiety, and no motive for shutting her eyes, saw more clearly, and judged more accurately. She knew that Isabel Beauchamp loved Harry Dacre, and believed she had loved him long; though she did her full justice, and was confident that her fair companion was as ignorant of what was in her own bosom, as of the treasures beneath the waves. But Mary felt certain that such was not the case with Dacre in regard to his own sensations. She had marked his eye when it turned upon Isabel, had seen the faint smile that came upon his lip when he spoke to her, and had observed the struggle which often took place, when inclination led him to seek her society, and the thought of danger and of wrong held him back--a struggle in which love had been too often victorious. She doubted not, that he was gone to call upon Simeon of Roydon to come forward with proof of his charges, or to sustain them with the lance; and, though she entertained little doubt of the issue of such a combat, if it took place, she felt grieved and anxious both for Isabel and Dacre.

      There are some men whose native character, notwithstanding every artifice to conceal it, will penetrate through all disguises, and produce sensations which seem unreasonable, even to those who feel them without being able to trace them to their source. Such a one was Sir Simeon of Roydon. He had never been seen by any of Sir Philip Beauchamp's family to commit any base or dishonest act; and yet there was not one in all that household, from the old knight to the horse-boy, who did not internally believe him to be capable of every crafty knavery. His insinuations, therefore, in regard to Sir Henry Dacre, passed by as empty air, at least for the time; but all had, nevertheless, a strong conviction on their minds, that the doubts he had attempted to raise would rankle deep in the heart of their unhappy object, and poison the whole course of his existence, unless some fortunate event were to bring to light the real circumstances of poor Catherine Beauchamp's death.

      The whole party, then, were in a sad and gloomy mood; and even the gay, young spirit of Mary Markham was clouded, as they sat round the fire in the great hall, on one of those April evenings when, after a day of summer sunshine, chilly winter returns with his fit companion, night.

      As they were thus seated, however, each busy with his own thoughts, the sound of horses' feet in the court was heard, and, in a minute after, Dacre himself entered. He mounted the steps at the end of the pavement with a slow pace, and every eye was turned to his countenance to gather some indication from his look of the state of mind in which he returned. The old knight rose and grasped his hand, asking, in a low voice, "What news, Harry? Nay, boy, you need not strive to conceal it from me--I know what you went for. Will the slanderer do battle?"

      "No, my noble friend," replied Dacre; "he is coward, too, as well as scoundrel. There is his craven answer; you may read it aloud. The matter is now over, and that hope is gone."

      "You should not have done this, Harry, without consulting me," said Sir Philip; "I have some experience in such things. At the very last that was fought between any two gentlemen of rank and station, I was judge of the field, and know right well what appertains to knightly combat."

      "Of that I was full sure," answered Dacre, pressing his hand; "and to you I should have applied for counsel and aid, as soon as I had brought him to the point; but I thought it best to be silent till that was done. I was vain, perhaps, Sir Philip, to think that these dear ladies might take some interest in such a matter--might feel anxious even for me; СКАЧАТЬ