In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
—EDGAR ALLAN POE.
Rose Marie had told her father all that she feared, all that she, alas, knew to be true.
"We cannot go now, Father dear," she said with quivering voice, whilst her eyes burning with hot tears, looked down appealingly at her father, "we must surely hear what becomes of him."
"Nay, my child," said Papa Legros with a heavy sigh, "what can we do by remaining here? Your duty is to your husband. No doubt he, too, fears for his life, and would wish to leave this country ere suspicion fall upon him."
"But Father, methinks you do not understand. I know not if there hath been conspiracy or not, but this I do know, that the charge was preferred against my husband. Then why is my lord arrested?"
"I know not, my jewel," replied Papa Legros, deeply perplexed and miserable. "England seems to be a queer country just now. Mayhap all these gentlemen do conspire. God knows there always have been many conspiracies against our own most high and most Catholic King Louis, the ever victorious."
And Master Legros doffed his felt hat in token of deep respect.
"Thy husband waits, child," added the worthy man resignedly; "'tis him thou must obey."
Even as he spoke, Rupert's steps were heard once more along the corridor. He entered, still looking miserably anxious, but at sight of Rose Marie a blush of shame-facedness overspread his pale cheeks.
"Your pardon, Mistress," he said, striving to speak quietly, "methinks the coast is clear now. Will you deign to descend?"
He offered Rose Marie his arm. She felt like some wild creature trapped, looking round her with wild, terrified eyes as if for a means of escape. Her father gave her an appealing look, and Rupert reiterated his request with more distinct command in his tone. His eyes, wherein wrath, fear, and a certain look of shame were obviously fighting for mastery, seemed to dare her to disobey. He was her master after all, and a master of her own choosing. The bars of that cage against which she would henceforth for ever bruise her heart were fashioned by her own hands.
"Come, Mistress, I wait," said Rupert, and with a gesture which was almost rough in its peremptoriness, he took her hand and slipped it under his arm.
Papa Legros gathered the sundry small bags and parcels which formed his own and his daughter's hand luggage, and then he followed the young couple out of the room.
But Rose Marie once across the threshold and in the corridor soon disengaged her arm. This masterful appropriation of her person and of her will caused her an instinctive pang of fear. Good God! Was she going to hate this man whom through an impulse of loyalty and righteousness she had openly acknowledged as her lord, and to whom she almost wilfully had surrendered her whole young life, her hopes of happiness, her every thought and wish? Now with every look of unfettered admiration, with every word of command, he roused her numbed spirits into rebellion. Even now she could not bear to take his arm, she could not bear the touch of his hand on hers as he began to lead her along the corridor, as if already she were part of his goods and chattels, the obedient servant of his caprice.
When she withdrew her hand from his, he looked inquiringly on her face, then realising her motive, guessing her repugnance, he laughed a forced, ironical laugh and said with obvious intent to wound:
"Nay, Madam! I'm vastly sorry that even in this dark passage you cannot fancy that I am my cousin Michael. But you made your choice yourself 'twixt him and me, and therefore pray understand that 'tis too late to repent."
He walked, however, on ahead, keeping a little in front of her, and soon reached the door which gave on the yard.
His coach stood there all in readiness, the driver on the box holding the ribbons, the groom standing by the carriage holding open the door. But between the coach and the door through which Rupert with Rose Marie and Papa Legros had just stepped forth into the yard, there stood a group composed of three musketeers, one of whom was a little in advance of the others, and apparently in command.
Master Savage, landlord of the Bell Inn, was in close and voluble converse with the soldier, as Rupert with a peremptory voice called to his own driver to pull up a little closer.
At the sound, Master Savage turned, and the musketeer now came up to the little party in the door.
"Which of you two gentlemen," he said, looking from Rupert Kestyon to Master Legros, "is Master Legros, tailor-in-chief to His Majesty the King of France?"
Papa Legros, hearing his name thus mentioned, instinctively stepped forward, more fussy than ever, poor man, wondering indeed if some fresh misfortune was not coming his way. Rupert, pale to the lips, stood mutely staring at the musketeer.
"By order of His Majesty the King!" resumed the soldier now addressing Legros, and presenting a paper to him, which the worthy tailor, hopelessly bewildered and not a little frightened, now took from him.
"My orders are to intimate to Master Legros, tailor-in-chief to His Majesty the King of France, that he is not to leave his present place of abode without express permission from the Lord Chief Justice of England."
"Qu'est ce qu'il dit?" queried Papa Legros, turning helplessly toward his daughter.
"That we may not leave England just now," she said, feeling not a little bewildered, too, for this was so unexpected. "Let me see that paper, Father dear."
Rupert, whom this incident had thrown into a well-nigh unbearable state of fear, had kept silent all this while, longing yet not daring to question the officer closer. But the latter seemed in no way concerned with him, his errand was apparently solely confined to these peremptory orders to Master Legros.
Rose Marie read the paper through, then she looked inquiringly on Rupert.
"What are we to do, sir," she asked coldly.
"You have no option," he said, as he took hold of her wrist and quietly drew her back under the shadow of the doorway.
"There is no doubt," he continued in an agitated whisper, "that if your father attempts to disobey the order, he would be stopped more forcibly, and his situation would then become more uncomfortable. Does this paper state on what grounds your father is thus forbidden to go away?"
"Yes," she replied calmly; "it says that by order of the king, Master Legros, tailor of Paris, is required to give evidence on behalf of the Crown in the forthcoming trial of the Earl of Stowmaries and Rivaulx, for conspiracy and treason."
"He is summoned as a witness. He has no option—he must stay—they would stop him if he attempted to go," reiterated Rupert Kestyon, whose trembling voice scarce contrived to pass from his dry throat through his parched lips.
"Then with your permission," she rejoined, "I will stay with my father."
"As you please," he said hurriedly.
Rose Marie bent her head in token of farewell. She felt more like a puppet moving and acting mechanically than like a sentient woman. She suffered such an agony of mind and heart at thought of what had occurred, what she visualized and what she guessed, that the mere act of speaking and of moving seemed no part of her present existence. She was called upon to act and to decide for herself and for her father—but as Rupert Kestyon very properly said, there was no option. Nor had Rose Marie anything to fear for her father; it was difficult for her to imagine how the present situation had come about, and why the King of England should desire Master Legros to be a witness for the Crown against the Earl of Stowmaries and Rivaulx, accused of conspiracy and treason, nor did she quite understand what being a witness for the Crown really meant, but for her own part she was conscious of an intense sense of relief when she saw Rupert Kestyon—her husband—turning on his heel, and without looking either to right or left, making his way somewhat hurriedly to his coach.
She went back to her father's side, and taking his arm in order to assure him that all was well, she turned to the musketeer.
"Sir," she said to him, "are there any further orders which you have to transmit to my father?"
"No, Mistress, none," replied the soldier. "Your father must understand that he is free to come and go as he pleases, so long as he remains in the city. Strong measures would only be taken if he attempted to go."
"My father understands all that, sir," she said with a haughty little toss of the head; "though we are strangers, we respect the laws of your country just as we in France would expect you to respect ours. My father understands the order as set forth in this paper, and he will not leave this city until His Majesty the King of England hath no longer any need of his services. Come, Father dear," she whispered, in her own mother tongue and with gentle pressure trying to lead the good man away, "I will explain everything to you when we are alone."
"But thy husband, child!" urged Papa Legros, whose bewilderment had reached its veriest climax. "Thy husband!"
Without giving direct reply, Rose Marie pointed to the coach, just ahead of them both, in the middle of the yard. Papa Legros, following his daughter's glance, saw Rupert Kestyon in the act of stepping into the carriage, and the groom closing the door in after him.
"He goes to France without us, Father dear," she said simply.
And for the first time for many days now, a real smile lit up the girl's eyes, and chased away the miserable, haggard look from her young face.
She bowed graciously to the musketeer officer, who saluted her with utmost deference. Then she led her father away. The soldier's eyes followed her graceful form with undisguised admiration. At the door she turned back and gave him a final little bow of farewell.
For Rose Marie in the midst of her great sorrow and of her agonizing fear, looked on that young musketeer as a deliverer and was grateful to him, too, for the good news which he had brought.