The King's Smile.

Evening Post, Volume LXXX, Issue 20, 23 July 1910, Page 10

The King's Smile.

55 DOHA. GREENWELL McCHESNBY, Author on " Kathleen Clare," "The City of Quest," otc. (All Eights Reserved.)

Tremulous April sunlight, shining the more softly after rain., across the park and pleasance of Travers Manor, •nd a girl's voice singing in the stillness. "Come, my rose, my queen of flowers Spring was only made for this — Let the fairest of her hours Treasure thy compacted bliss. ■ Com*, my lose, to" bud and bloom, Crown art thou of all our Springs, Centring sweet of all perfume, Queen of flowers and flower of kings." The song dropped suddenly : something in the words, or some thought that lay behind the words, broke on the heedless, happy mood. There were many maidens in Engiand, those dark war .times, who had lost the heart for singing ; many homes which had forgotten how to echo any sound of mirth. But * over Lady Elizabeth Travers, as over "tier peaceful home, the storm seemed -to have • passed but lightly. If she - checked her music when those words — the flower of kings — brought back the thought of strife, it was with a wistful and 'wondering sadness, nofc the keen , pang wherewith some women beat time to every heart-throb. About Travers Manor wore no traces ©t war i no single tree had been untimely felled in those stately ranks of beeches, green already, for April that "year had come with unwonted warmthAnd along that avenue no father or lover had ridden forth into peril ; it was for no returning hoof-beats that Lady Elizabeth waited, as she leaned "on the broad grey balustrade of the ■ terrace, and looked across garden and ' (woodland to tho glimmering line of the far-off sea. So fair a world it seemed for wrong -and suffering to find a place — small won- " der that the maiden, musing in the, sunlight, could see such visions but dimly and afar off. And yet those visions had grown a little nearer and a little darker with each month that passed since first the war had swept over England. In the sheltered home where Lady Elizabeth, the last of ber race, ruled like a young queen, the stress of the time made little entrance. A ' crippled soldier might pause at Travels Manor, craving alms or harbourage ; a foraging party might halt for some brief space at its gates, and that was all. But still the tidings came, of siego, and rout, and rally, drifting into the quiet garden among the flowers. And the months grew years. The flowers in the borders budded, changed, and fell ; the leaves in the beech avenue put forth, and dropped, and were caoght away by the autumn wind. Lady Elizabeth loved her garden, and dreamed many dreams there through the long spring and summer, from the time when the crocuses lit their tips of flame, till the brave wallflowers smouldered dimly on the verge of winter. She marked the passing of the months in part by that procession of bloom, in part — sadly enough — by the war word from without. It had been in the blaze of high summer, when the carnations crimsoned all the garden and filled it with poignant sweetness, that the tid- '' Ings came of Marston Moor and the loss of the North. Another year, and through a June of roses broke the fatal cry of Naseby — ans the end of all. And now another spring had brightened, *aoan* the. ■ roses— rt.he royal flowers — ■"• would bloom again : but what of the -King? The King — he was still at Oxford, so ran the latest- noxvs j ' but there were daily rumours- of 'his .quitting the city,', round which the foe was drawing an '- ever-narrowing circle. And what then X — what next? Lady Elizabeth began to pace the terrace restlessly, looking down on the pleasance below with eyes '' that saw not. but were gazing in memory on the King's face, as she had seen it — once only — on his rido from Nottingham to Newark. She could not picture •it changed, that. gracious, kingly court' V. tenance ; she could not 6ee the lines 7 which time and sorrow must .have traced *• there. It had been shadowed even then, - veiled • rather, by a wistful melancholy. .' Tho first faint greyness of twilight, felt -•"rather than seen — such had been thesadness of King Charles's face, till across it there flashed suddenly the light of a smile scarce less sad — the Sing's .. smile, for'the hope or memory of which „ men did not find it hard to die. I Companioning with these thoughts and v with these memories, Lady Elizabeth ' passed down- tho low, broad steps leadl ing from the terrace to the park which ■* swept away from the front of the old - house. ' 1 Crossing the grass lightly, she struck i,* Into the great beech avenue and fol- - lowed it. The sun high in the heavens * cast clown flickering leaf shadows and ; sudden .glints of light on the gold of * her uncovered hair, and on her rich at- « tire. For all the war which had raged \ about her so long, the maiden was 'not ; troubled by any fear of possible violence * or invading peril, and as she moved slowly 2 on in her composed grace ancl fair *, regality of beauty, it seemed no rough- ¥ ness could approach her. When she 't reached the great gates — which by her ij guardian's caTeful order were kept £ closed but 'not barred, that none of * either party might assert that Travers * 'Manor was in a state of warlike defence h against them— she was seized with a *l,desire for a glimpse of the outer world. ■' Putting forth all her strength, she '. swung, the great grudging portals a litv tie- ajar, and pa&sed out between the couchant hounds of stone. It was so " fair around her ; she caught sight of 'the faint gold of a cluster of primroses, ..'.and the violets made sparks and flashes * of blue in the thick grass. All the air was sweet and astir with the sense of ," growing things. Wandering on heedlessly along the road; between the blossoming drifts of white-thorn, Lady Elizabeth noted not, for a little, how a change had swept - across the April day. The sky dimmed % with sudden clouds, the wind began a \ restless sighing, and at last a drop of ; rain on her forehead startled her. At that), she turned quickly, to retrace her ' ftcps, and the same moment saw, not many paces from her, a man advancing elowly. A little dismayed, yet too proud for flight, she stood with lifted ', head, and wide eyes fixed upon the ' stranger. Assuredly there was nothing '" to fear from this single unmounted wayt f arer, -walking with so slow and hesitant ' a step, ofc one in doubt or exceeding ■• weary/ No Cavalier, that much might "• be read even from afar in the fashion1 ing of his dark, plain clothes, some- - what worn and travel-stained; and - when he came nearer, tho same was de- * clared by his short hair and clean ; shaven face, since thim were accounted " signs denoting the stricter sect of Pun- . tans. Aftr her brief survey Lady Elizabeth turned away with a gentle vii difference nofc untouched by pity, for , the solitary figure suggested to her fancy one who had journeyed lonk and was yet far .from his resting-place. But .. m sh» would have gone, the stranger stayed her by a gesture of greeting or EumiDona,' and drawing near, asked of

her in a troubled tone — hesitant, that also — whether she could give him guidance to the nearest town. He had lost his companions, he said, casting a' helpless "glance .round, but was assured that a. friend waited him hard by ; h© was not certain of his road, v tfeing strange to those Eastern counties. Ho spoke with an anxiety, a constraint, which would have roused a man to instant and keen suspicion, but the girl looked in his face and saw naught there to fear. A face that must in youth have been very fair, having in it something both of gentleness and pride ; not young now, though it was not easy to tell the sbranger's age, since trouble a 9 well as tims might have worn the hollows in cheek and temple, and touched the hair %vith grey. Yes, trouble had not failed, if there was truth in the message of those sad grey eyes, which sought and yet escaped her own. Rebel or traitor, let the man be what h» might, Lady Elizabeth could not gainsay her pity. She answered his questions courteously, then paused : in those wild days it was most perilous to harbour an unknown guest, yet she could not forbear to add: "But the storm draws on; you will scarce reach shelter ere it breaks." He glanced up at the darkening sky. _ "Nay," he answered with a stifling sigh, "nay," 'tis no matter ; this storm I do not fear." .> But she had conquered her hesitation. "My home is near," she said gently, "if it will please you to take shelter there." ! He gave her a a questioning glance, almost one of distrust, she could have fancied. "In these distempered days — " he said, then checked himself , v"I will very gladly come," he ended, "for I am, in truth, weary, most weary." They went on in silence then, and entered the great gates together. It did not seem fitting to Lady Elizabeth that she should seek to know more of her guest than he chose himself to tell. Along the avenue, then round by the pleasance, she led the way." Suddenly the stranger stopped : he was looking, not at the house before them, noble structure though it was, nor at the far, fair prospect ; his glance dwelt on a frail, unfolded rose — a crimson rose — on the south wall hard by. "A sheltered garden," she said softly, as in unconscious musing, "a sheltered garden — where April roses bloom." 'men, indeed, he lifted his eyes, sweeping with a long wistful gaze all the ' peaceful scene. The girl watched him wonderingly ; could a Puritan, then, be so moved by a flower's fairness? Puritan or no, how homeless a look was his. Swayed by a sudden gentle impulse she stepped forward, and gathering the rose, readied it to him without a word. The stranger thanked her with a smile, no more ; a sad, brief smile which scarce stirred his lips, yet touched the face with light : as swift as sweet, that passing gleam transfigured for an instant the wan, tired countenance. With a low cry of wonder. Lady Elizabeth Travers sank to her knees at the feet of the wayworn stranger. "The King !" she cried, in a passion of loyal tenderness and pain. "It is the King's smile." And then she bowed her head before him in silence. The strange pause was quickly broken. "Hush — arise !" he said in a hurried whisper. "This may be seen — ah, what more miserable than a fugitive princa. whom even loyalty may undo?" She rose obediently, and strove to calm herself. "Sire," she said, "if these rebellious days forbid me to receive my sovereign aright, yet deign to accept what I still may offer. None shall know the secret of my guest." He shook his head. ''Not sp," he replied, "not so. Whilst that I was still unknown to you there was but little peril in my seeking rest here for an hour, but now — know you not the proclamation of Parliament, threatening with instant death those that shall offer so much as a crust of bread to their King? Enough have perished for me — ah, too many — I will go straightway hence." But she barred his way as he turned. "Am I counted so unworthy," she ploaded, "as that I should be forbiddcti to serve my King and, if need be, suffer for him? I beseech you, Sire, do me ■this honour, enter my poor house! Let me prove that Elizabeth Travers is not a name too base to be writ amongst those of your true subjects." "Elizabeth — " repeated the King, "I havo a daughter so named — " "In her name, then, grant mo my will !" she urged ; till at length, half loth, he yielded. "So be it : I trust I do you no wrong. I will follow." Some hours later King Charles sat in the oak parlour looking across the pleasance. The late light filled the chamber, and, outside, the woods and garden lay in the stillness of eventide. Lady Elizabeth had won his leave to despatch an old and most trusted servant to seek out Dr. Hudson — that friend whom he had missed — deliver a word unwritten in cypher,' and bring back an answer. While ne waited, not knowing whither it was safe to turn, the King yielded himself to the sense of rest and shelter. His gaze dwelt sometimes on the flickering nre on the hearth — for the Spring day grew chill at the close — and travelled sometimes through the casement to that far silver line. "The sea," he said, "it hath seemed sometimes as though I must turn thither for safety, so hath disallegiance pursued mo ; but I would not forsake my own country — nay, 1 love it well, and I do , think there is more love for me in Eng- J land than would commonly appear ; the peoplo are misled. I have doubted even, of late, whether to journey to the Scots' camp, or turn, instead, to London." i "It would seem, Sire, to my poor thought," ventured Lady Elizabeth, "that there in your own capital and court you should find surest safety." "I know not," he said uncertainly. "There be many questions and many counsellors, 'tis not easy to judge which to choose. I set forth from Whitehall in dark days — ah — " he pressed his hand above his eyes, "days the very memory whereof is dark. It seemcth efttimes that the storm which hath shut in about me will not suffer my return unto that port wherefrom I first put forth." Ho fell silent ; then, as' the calm around him made itself felt, the troubled lines of his face relaxed. Leaning back in the great chair, one hand idly touching the silver goblet which Lady Elizabeth, acting as his cupbearer, had filled, he seemed to put from him, for the time, his burdening cares. The maiden beside him moved in a strange and rapt content : she might serve and minister to him ; her home, for that brief hour, was his court, his kingdom, and her love and loyalty circled him round with peace. "How fair," he said at length; "your pleaßance, sweet lady, calleth to mind the garden at Hampton Court where I walked with my children and," his voice softened, "my wife. I would fain think those days might soon return. Assuredly, I and this my realm have borne chastening ; an hour, even, peaceful a 8 this, is strange to me." "May it be the pledge, Sire, of peaceful years to come," she said softly. "Ay," he made answer, looking from the ordered fairness without to the fire

which made clear within, and the young face in its glow, "if God will, so may it be, and your rose — a good gift, is it not England's flower? — fnay serve — " He paused suddenly: in speaking; ho had lifted the rose, and a shower of loosened petals drifted 'downward, and lay crimson on tho dark boards. The King smiled sorrowfully. " 'Tjs ill to trust in omens," he said; "this is not the first — " Steps sounded without, and Lady Elizabeth sprang to the door to meet her messenger. "Foucsi you the gentleman r she asked. "Please your Ladyship, yes, returned the man, "he made demur at me at first, then gave me this slip of parchment, andl"bade me ride for my life." Left alone, she brought the missive to the King, . who drew a long, quivering sigh as he broke the seal. "Hudson writes there is danger — he prayeth me to meet him without delay, he will be some three miles hence on the road," he sand wearily. " "Twill be the Scots' camp, then; there is no other way. I Had boped to strike through to my brave Montrose — but I know not — ill fortune attenfleth all who fight for me sinee — since Wentworth. So it must be. The Scots at Newark are not my friends, yet will they deal honourably." "Yield not to foes, your Majesty!" pleaded the girl. "There is none among your true subjects out would gladly die ere that should be.. A steed is ready, Sire, if you will n>seds go forth when night is gathering : .but, oh, trust yourself rather to them that love you — go not so!" The King stood sile Tit, irresolute : the peace of the brief resp Ue was past, and as he looked into the gathering greyness he saw no light iSeyond. In the approaching gloom wha\ l . peril might lurk: what grim shadows lifted, dark even on the darkness? King Charles looked out with haunted >vyes, and then moved . from the rest and shelter of the quiet room to follow whither his errant fate might lead him. He held out his hand to the maiden, who, as she kissed it, looked up and saw his face — wan in the fading light — and caught his farewell glance. A moment later hoofs ran\g on the stillness. He had passed into the shadows, and Elizabeth Travers's Royal hour was at end. Kneeling, where he had stood, in the solitary chamber while the gloaming fell, she kept .is her treasure and her portion, only tl,\e scattered crimson rose leaves and the memory of the King's smile.