Red Hand

Front matter

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT

The Pastime Series. — Issued monthly. By subscription, $3.00 per annum. No. 100, May, 1893. Entered at Chicago P. O. as second-class matter.

RE.D HAND or the, ^

Chapter I

CASTLE VANE. A YOUNG FISHERMAN.

O N the shore of the Sussex, there is no object that fills with a deeper interest the eye of the tourist, both on account of its picturesque aspect and its historical associa¬ tions, than Castle Vane. At the present time it is a stately ruin, but majestic in decay. Time, while rending its mas¬ sive towers, has also bound them together with a strong net-work of vines of ivy and creeping plants, so that they stand like venerable age supported by the entwining arm of charity and filial love.

The prospect from the eminence on which stands this noble ruin is varied and wide-extended. Northwardly, the green vales and pleasant uplands of “ Merry England ” retire away till softly lost in the dissolving distance. To the east and west are seen turreted towns and ports with anchored shipping and defending fortress. To the south is outspread the shining blue waters of the channel, broad and mirror-like, and bounded in the far southern horizon by the faint azure-gray line of the coast of Normandy. The glim¬ mering sheen of the sun-lit channel is spotted with innumer¬ able specks, some white as snowflakes, others black, as they hed hakd.

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i present their illumined or shadowy side to the eye. There are vessels of all sizes and characters, steering every one on a different course, some on errands of commerce, others hearing messages of war. Here and there among them goes a dark, mastless craft, trailing a long cloud of opaque smoke after her along the air, and passing ship aftei ship with a speed that mocks them.

Such is the present aspect of the scenery visible from the cliff on which stands Castle Vane, on any bright morning in summer. But at the period of our tale, its features were somewhat different. Ho steamers then ploughed the chan¬ nel, and fewer vessels were seen dotting its expanse; while Castle Vane, instead of being a ruin, lifted its walls and towers and bristling battlements as high and proudly as any lordly castle in the land of England.

Almost overhung by the castle was the small fishing port of Brighthelmstone, a hamlet of threescore huts, where dwelt a rude but honest class of men, who subsisted by fishing in the channel. From the terrace of the castle one could toss a penny into the chimney-tops of two or three of the nearest cottages, though the dwellings were generally some distance apart, following the windings of a street around the curving shore of the cove. There was an air of neatness and thrift about most of the habitations, each having a small gardenpatch and a yard in front wherein to dry their nets and fish. If there were any superiority in the appearance of either of these cabins over the other, it was to be claimed by one which stood near the foot of the cliff, and close to the path which wound from the beach to its summit. This superiority consisted in its being whitewashed, and in having vines growing over the narrow doorway in imitation of an arch, beneath which were two wooden benches, from which persons seated upon them had a pleasant view of the channel with its moving craft. That spot, also, wherein the other fisher¬ men dried their nets, was by the proprietor of this abode made a flower-garden, while on the surrounding rocks were spread his nets and sun-dried fish.

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One evening in May, in the year 1650, about half an hour before sunset, a fishing-boat came sailing into the cove from the channel, and steered directly for the rude landing in front of the cottage we have described. Its bow was shattered, and it was evidently leaking freely, and kept from sinking only by the extraordinary exertions of a young fish¬ erman, its sole occupant, who was bailing out water con¬ stantly as he approached the shore. At length the smack touched the beach, and with an exclamation of satisfaction the young man leaped on shore.

The danger in which the boat had been was apparent to more than one in the village, and encouraging shouts had been sent to the young man’s ear, to keep up his strength and not lose his courage. Therefore, on reaching the land in safety, he found himself in the midst of some score of a group, composed of the fishers’ wives, of maidens, and of such old men as had given over active service. Th^ looked at the shattered bow of the boat with surprise, and' while some congratulated him with having got safely to land, others eagerly inquired how he got so badly wrecked.

“ It is of no consequence, friends,” answered the young man, as he secured the boat to one of the posts of the pier; “accidents will happen at sea, you know.”

This was said with a pleasant laugh; but his mother, who drew near to welcome him after the danger she conceived he had been in from drowning—for he had been seen by her a league at sea, struggling to save his boat, which he had so gallantly brought in—knew that the smile was forced and unnatural to his usually frank and open face.

“ There is something in this,” she said, shaking her head, and turning to two of her particular gossips, “ there is something in this matter more than Guilford sees fit to tell.”

The young man, having secured the craft high upon the beach, and furled the sails, shouldered a pair of oars, and with flushed brow and a proud, defiant air, strode up towards the cottage, without regarding his friends, whom he left

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examining the boat and wondering how it could have been so shattered unless it had been run into.

“ That is it,” asserted an old fisherman, who had carefully examined the broken shearing; “ she ha’ been run into, an’ by a heavier craft than hersel’.”

The young fisherman, having deposited his oars in the becket above one of the cottage windows, on the outside of the house, instead of going in, began to pace up and down in the shell-covered walk before it. His eyes were restless and fiery, his attitude erect and warlike, and his heavy steps seemed to fall to the sound of a trumpet. Something evidently had occurred to rouse in the bosom of the young fisherman all the pride, independence, and haughty resent¬ ment of the man; for beneath the fustian jacket may beat as much pride and sense of honor as beneath the ermine of a born noble.

The appearance of the young fisherman was superior to that of young men in his class and occupation. This superiority did not consist in dress, for his clothing was as coarse and rude as that of any of his fellows; nor in the symmetry of his person, for there were in the hamlet as well-shaped young men as he; but it was in the noble expression of his whole form and face. He looked like one born rather to command those with whom he daily asso¬ ciated, than to be merely their equal. This innate power in him they recognized, though it was never demanded by him, for he seemed wholly unconscious of a superiority of which all others in the hamlet were instinctively conscious. His face was handsome, and perhaps not less so for being browned by the sea winds till it was almost as dark as the Arabian. His eyes were black, and filled with intelligence and courage. As a seaman he had no equal on the Sussex coast, of his age, all men acknowledged. As a fisherman he was skilled in the craft in all its details, so that no one ever surpassed him in success. If other boats came back empty, Guilford Graham’s was sure to contain some fruits of his skill an,d patience. In trials of strength and agility in those holiday

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sports which the youths of the hamlet used to indulge in, challenging to competition some inland village, he always came off victor. For filial obedience in supporting a wid¬ owed mother, for manly protection of his beautiful cousin, Anne Grey, for his fast abiding as a friend, and his reverence for holy things, Guilford was an example to all the young men on the coast. His popular manners, his constant cheer¬ fulness and good nature, made him a general favorite; and many a pretty maiden sighed in her heart for the love of the handsome Guilford.

“ What aileth thee, my son ? ” asked his mother. ‘‘ Some¬ thing hath gone across thy temper, and made thee vexed; tell me, what is the matter with thee ? ”

He stopped in his fierce walk, turned, and taking both her hands in his, he pressed them in affectionate respect, and, looking her in the face, would have spoken, but some strong emotion rising, checked his utterance, and tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He released her hands, dashed the glittering drops from his face, and would have walked away, when she gently held him.

“Nay, Guilford, you must come and sit down in the porch, and tell me what has happened. Tears in my brave boy’s eyes I Ah, something heavy has pressed upon thy soul this day, to force tears from thee I ”

“ Come and sit down, mother, and I will tell thee,” he said, after a moment’s internal struggle. “ You are wise and discreet, and may be able to advise me. But you will not despise me when you shall know all my rash folly ? ”

“You must first prove to me that you have been rash or foolish, who were never known to be so,” said his mother, who, though humble in station and poorly attired, seemed to be, as he had said, a wise and discreet woman, being a person of that plain common sense so much oftener found in low conditions of life than in the more artificial circles of society; and to her influence was owned, doubtless, his superiority,—for it is the woman that forms the character of the growing man.

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Chapter II. A Narrative Of Interest

The young man had led his mother to the wooden bench beneath the green arch that spanned the humble doorway, and there, sheltered by the growing foliage, he said to her:—

“ Mother, when you have heard what I have to say, give me your wisest counsel. If I were to act, led only by my own impulses, I can see plainly that I should do a greater evil than has been done to me. You remember with what buoyancy I left this morning, to go on my daily fishing cruise ? ”

“ Yes, and spoke of it to Anne before she went to the castle. Methinks I never saw you look handsomer or appear happier.”

“And well might I have looked happy, dear mother; I had just seen and spoken with Lady Catharine I ”

“ Yes, it always makes one cheerful to see her sunny face, boy.”

“ Ah, dear mother, you know not how the sunshine of her face penetrates to and warms my heart. In her presence I feel a joy—a bliss—a happiness—that I experience at no other time. The sound of her voice thrills to my inmost soul. I feel that I could worship her, and adore the very flower crushed by her footstep.”

“You should not speak thus, my boy; it is a sin to worship only God.”

“ And the Virgin ? ”

“That is not so certain, my boy,” she said, gravely but doubtingly; “ but if we may worship the blessed Mary, we may not worship earthly maidens.”

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“ I can see no harm in adoring one so fair and good as the Lady Catharine, dear mother,” answered the young fisher¬ man, with enthusiasm.

“ You should not think of her, my son, for your words and looks make me fear.”

“ No evil can come of honoring and delighting in Lady Catharine, dear mother. She always speaks to me so gra¬ ciously I The day, you remember, when I succeeded in saving the noblemen who wer^ driven on the coast in a French bark, she told me she only wished that she could have had a brother who could have done this; and ever since then, although it is a year ago, she has always seemed to speak to me with a peculiar kindness.”

“ One of them you saved was her uncle. Sir Harry Yane, and she feels grateful. My son, do not think of the great; their words are air, and their smiles deceit and guile. If you go on thinking so much about every smile and word a noble lady gives you, you will do some foolish thing. Forget the Lady Catharine, boy; and if you must think of fair maidens, which is natural enough for a youth of four-andtwenty, let it be of those of thine own station.”

“ There are tales of noble maidens being loved and won by lowly youths, mother,” answered Guilford, with a certain light of hope and daring speaking in his fine eyes.

“ And only in tales are they won—never in reality and truth, my son.”

‘‘ We will not talk of this now, mother. Hear what I have to say to thee touching what hath happened to-day.”

“ That is what I would most listen to.”

“After I had embarked this morning for the channel grounds to fish, and when I had got out to the rocks over which we cast our lines, I lowered my sails and proceeded to fish as usual. It was a cloudless day, and the fish swam too deep for my hooks; and so I lay back listlessly in ray boat, and amused myself, as I love to do when I am rocking alone in my boat out on the bounding sea, with gazing about me. A hundred craft similar to my own were riding

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gently upon the undulating waves; and here and there could be seen a tall ship with triple towers of white canvas, cross¬ ing from England to France, or from France to England. But those objects soon wearied my eyes, which very shortly rested upon the cliff and lordly towers that soar above our little hamlet. Its castellated angles and battlements were figured in strong, dark lines against the blue sky, and it seemed the proper home of the noble lord who dwells there.”

“ You speak of our Castle Vane, my son ? ”

“ Yes, mother. As my eye rested upon it, I could not but recall its fairest inmate, for I never behold it that I do not think less of every one it contains than of the Lady Catharine. To my imagination she seemed the only dweller there. Nay, do not frown, mother. As I was gazing on the castellated pile, I recalled, not only the lovely face and form of Lady Catharine, but the time when we first met. Do you remember it, dear mother ? ”

“ Nay, I do not mind such little matters. It was so long ago thou shouldst scarce remind it.”

“ I shall never forget it. It is a delight for me to recall it, and a joy to talk of it. It was five years ago only. I was then nineteen, and it was my birthday fete; and on that occasion you had presented me with a new jacket, and Cousin Anne had ’broidered for me a gay cap.”

“ Ah, well do I recollect the jacket and cap, and how gallant you looked in them, my boy.”

“ After supper I was going to a dance at Tim Dowlin’s in honor of his pretty daughter Peggy’s marriage, when, as I was crossing the road that leads from the beach round by the mill, in order to reach Tim’s before dark, I saw a horse com¬ ing towards me at full speed along the old Sussex road. On it was a young girl, who had lost all command of the animal, which, with the reins flying, was evidently running away with her. She did not shriek, nor speak a word, but, as she approached me, she cast on me such looks of appeal for succor, that, regardless of danger, I threw myself with both

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hands upon the horse’s head, and, dropping to the ground, let him drag me several yards before he could be checked. At every leap forward he made, I expected to feel his iron hoofs crushing into my chest; but the beauty and imploring looks of the lovely girl, which seemed to appeal to me as her last and only hope of life, gave me courage and strength; and at length I brought the horse’s head and knees to the ground, and held him, with a power of muscle that I have never felt the possession of since, until she got from the saddle unharmed. I then released my hold of the horse, who furiously bounded away like the wind. My next thought was of the young girl I had been instrumental in saving. She sprang towards me, grasped me by both hands in the warmest manner, and with eyes filled with tears, and smiling with gratitude, she said, with emotion:—

“ ‘ How can words thank youl How can anything I can express, young stranger, recompense you for the risk of life you have run for me! ’

“ ‘ I need no thanks, lady,’ I said to her; ‘ the consciousness of your safety is all the reward I can ask or wish for.’

“ As I made her this answer, I looked, dear mother, with wonder upon the extraordinary beauty of her face. I had never imagined there was such loveliness on earth. She was about fifteen years of age, but with the charming rich¬ ness of form of one two or three years older. Her eyes were a soft azure, that rivalled the bending blue of a summer sky on the sea. Her hood was thrown back, and her golden tresses dishevelled by the swiftness with which her horse had sped with her in his mad flight, and I was completely bewildered with the glory of her beauty.

“ ‘ Will you tell me,’ she said, in tones that have never ceased to echo muscially in my soul, ‘ to whom I am indebted for saving me from a painful accident, or perhaps a dreadful death ? ’

“ ‘ It is no matter, lady; my name is nothing; it is humble, and, if spoken, will be forgotten by one so noble as thou art.’

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“ ‘ Dost thou know me, then ? ’ she asked, with a smile of surprise. ‘ I have not been here before since I was a very little child.’

I do not know thy name, lady, but I see that thou art of the high born of the land. I would, for thy sake, that he who has served thee to-day had been thy equal. Shall I remain near thee, as it is growing late, till thy party comes up ? ’ I asked of her, gloomily too, I fear; for I then, for the first time, my mother, felt what it was to be born of low degree. To gaze upon one so fair and good, and so made to be loved, and feel that I could never be more to her than a common hind—this—this made my cheek kindle and my very heart sink.”

“ Guilford, thou art too ambitious; be content to be what thou art, or thou wilt be a miserable man. Thou canst not change thy nature. Nobles are born nobles—fishermen are born fishermen. Do thy duty in what thou art.”

“ It is well to talk, mother, but that does not make one’s wretchedness and consciousness of debasement the less.”

“ Go on with thy story, for I never heard all this before.”

“ No, nor other ear, save that of Cousin Anne; and she listened to it with but little interest to what thou dost, mother.”

“ Who was this maiden ? Am I right in guessing her to be the Lady Catharine, on the day she came up to the castle from London, where she had lived since she was a child ? ”

“ Yes, mother. When I at length told her my name, she answered that hers was Kate Vane.

“ ‘ Lady Kate, you mean ? ’

“ ‘ No,’ she said, ‘ plain Kate Vane; ’ and this, with the pretty way she spoke it, made me like her. I saw she was not proud, although I told her I was a fisherman; for when she asked me to show her the way to the castle, and we walked on together, she asked me a great many questions about the sea, and the fishes, and the way I caught them; and said, of all things she should like to go out some day in ray boat, fishing with me. After half an hour’s walk—tho

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pleasantest half hour of my life—we reached the castle gate. The day had already closed, and the moon was shining brightly. The castle was in a scene of confusion and distress; and just as we entered, several persons with torches, on foot and on horseback, were coming forth, talking so loudly that we understood from their words that the horse which Lady Kate had ridden had reached the castle, and that it was supposed she had been thrown and killed. But when she was seen and recognized, who shall describe the joy! I was quite overlooked in the first outburst of the surprise and delight of all, and instantly withdrew. As I descended the path, I heard my name called by some one from the gate who had been sent for me, doubtless after Lady Kate had time to tell them to whom she had been indebted for her escape; but, as I had no wish to be thanked by any other than Lady Catharine, I quickened my pace, and soon reached the road on the beach. Instead of going home, I continued nSy original route to Tim’s; and as I passed the spot where I had stopped the horse, 1 paused to recall the scene, her face and voice. As I did so, my eyes were attracted by some¬ thing which sparkled in the moonlight. I picked it up from the ground, and with pleasure discovered that it was a broken ring. It had evidently been broken by her strong grasp upon the bridle, and dropped in two pieces from her finger when she alighted. It was a diamond set in a circle

of pearls. I pressed it to my lips and ”-

“Daring boy!” said the mother, half pleased at his gallantry, yet half disapproving, knowing as she did the dangerous tendency of such emotions when once awakened in the bosom of a lowly-born youth towards a high-born maiden. She sighed while she smiled; but the smile passed, leaving a troubled air upon her calm and sensible face. “ You returned the ring, of course, Guilford ? ”

“ When next I saw her; but she bade me keep it, or rather offered me one in its place, as she saw I valued it as a memento; but when I told her I would prefer the broken one, found ou tbe spot where I had first the happiness of

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seeing her, she told me that I might keep it if I would wish to.”

“ And when and where did you meet her, my son ? ”

“ Only the next week after. I was coming in from the channel, and steered my boat closer under the castle than usual, for I thought I saw the form of a young girl on the white beach. I was not deceived. It was the Lady Kate, gathering shells. Upon recognizing me sailing past, she beckoned to me to land. I did so, for I wished to return the ring. She at once began playfully to chide me for leaving the castle so abruptly, without waiting to be thanked by her father and brother and her friends for what I had done. I told her I did not wish to be thanked at all; but if anyone were to thank me, one word from her was a world of thanks. She then told me that she had been riding with her brother, who was an Oxford student then at home on a visit, ahead of her party, when a shot fired by him from his saddle at a heron had caused her horse to take fright and run off with her. ‘ My brother,’ she said, ‘ followed me, but as I turned to the left, while he took to the right, he missed me; and but for you I should have been killed, for I could not have kept my saddle three minutes longer, as I was fast losing all presence of mind. You must come up to the castle and let my father know you,’ she added. But I told her that I was too lowly to be noticed by nobles, and too proud to be com¬ pelled to feel their superiority. At this, she looked at me with a stare of beautiful surprise, and, shaking her head, she said, archly:—

“ ‘ I fear you will be too proud to speak to me by and by.’

“ ‘ Oh, nol you don’t understand me, lady.’

“ ‘ Yes I do, and, what is more, 1 respect you for your feeling,’ she added. ‘ I can conceive how one like you must feel when you are compelled to endure the superiority of others, who may, in reality, be your inferiors. But you will not find my father such a nobleman. He knows how to appreciate merit; and as for my brother, I heard him say that he should find you out to thank you,’

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. n

“ I then offered to her the ring, which, as I said, she permitted me to retain. Seeing that she liked the beautiful shells which were scattered on the beach, of which she had a basketful, but of indifferent value, I offered to bring her others, from the king’s rock beach, where they are to be found of such rare colors. I then sailed to the beach and landed, to take her basket, for our conversation had taken place while I was standing in my boat, about ten yards from the land, when a young man, clad as a hunter, followed by a couple of dogs, came round a jutting angle of the cliff. He was of the middle height, well made, with long flaxen hair flowing on his shoulders, a brown moustache, and a fair, red-and-white complexion. He was exceedingly handsome; but an air of angry surprise which he put on, upon discover¬ ing us, increased the disagreeable impression his naturally haughty bearing made upon me.

“ I saw at a glance that he was a noble, and the exclama¬ tion of Lady Kate, ‘ My brother! ’ told me who he was without further introduction.”

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CHAPTER III. A IIAUanTY INTERRUPTION

‘‘The young nobleman,” resumed Guilford, continuing his narrative to his mother, in the green embowered porch of the cottage, “ stood for an instant regarding first one and then the other of us without a word. He then strode up and said haughtily:—

“ ‘ Who and what are you, that are so familiar as to hold converse with this lady, and with thy cap on, fellow ? ’ With these words he struck off my cap to my feet, and one of his dogs, taking it up, carried it off, tearing it with his teeth.

“ ‘ Wilmot, how can you be so rash ? ’ exclaimed Lady Catharine, with a mingled expression of pain for me and anger against him. ‘This is the young man, Guilford Graham.’

“‘And who, pray, is Guilford Graham?’ he repeated, sarcastically.

“ ‘ Have you forgotten the name of the brave youth, who, at the risk of his own life, saved mine ? ’

“‘How should one remember every hind’s name? So, young man, you are the clown that risked your life and broke the jaw of the best horse in my father’s stud ? for the horse came to the castle with his jaw broken as with a sledge-hammer, and we had to shoot him. You have a hand like Samson. But you did the thing well, though it cost a horse worth a thousand guineas.’

“ ‘ Brother, how can you speak of such a trifie, when my life was at stake ? ’

“ ‘ True, but a discreet person should save the one and not destroy the other. There, fellow, are four guineas. I dare

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swear that thou hast not seen so much gold together before, and that it would take a year’s fishing to give to thee in hand the same amount.’

“ As he spoke, he threw the gold at my feet. I did not notice it. I had felt insulted by his manner as well as by his words and by this act. I did not deign to glance towards him, but I looked in the face of Lady Catharine. Her eyes were alight with just resentment. She felt that I had been insulted, peasant as I was.

“ ‘ Wilmot, why do you reward courage in such a strange fashion ? One would fancy you had found in this young man a foe, rather than one to whom you owe a debt of gratitude.’