Men of Iron by Howard Pyle (recommended books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: Howard Pyle
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Meantime the other lay back upon the cylindrical bolsters, looking thoughtfully at him. “How old art thou?” said he at last.
“Seventeen last April,” answered Myles.
“Then thou art old enough to have some of the thoughts of a man, and to lay aside those of a boy. Haply thou hast had foolish things in thy head this short time past; it is time that thou put them away. Harkee, sirrah! the Lady Alice is a great heiress in her own right, and mayst command the best alliance in England—an Earl—a Duke. She groweth apace to a woman, and then her kind lieth in Courts and great houses. As for thee, thou art but a poor lad, penniless and without friends to aid thee to open advancement. Thy father is attainted, and one whisper of where he lieth hid would bring him thence to the Tower, and haply to the block. Besides that, he hath an enemy, as Sir James Lee hath already told thee—an enemy perhaps more great and powerful than myself. That enemy watcheth for thy father and for thee; shouldst thou dare raise thy head or thy fortune ever so little, he would haply crop them both, and that parlously quick. Myles Falworth, how dost thou dare to lift thine eyes to the Lady Alice de Mowbray?”
Poor Myles stood silent and motionless. “Sir,” said he at last, in a dry choking voice, “thou art right, and I have been a fool. Sir, I will never raise mine eyes to look upon the Lady Alice more.”
“I say not that either, boy,” said the Earl; “but ere thou dost so dare, thou must first place thyself and thy family whence ye fell. Till then, as thou art an honest man, trouble her not. Now get thee gone.”
As Myles crossed the dark and silent courtyards, and looked up at the clear, still twinkle of the stars, he felt a kind of dull wonder that they and the night and the world should seem so much the same, and he be so different.
The first stroke had been given that was to break in pieces his boyhood life—the second was soon to follow.
CHAPTER 21
There are now and then times in the life of every one when new and strange things occur with such rapidity that one has hardly time to catch one's breath between the happenings. It is as though the old were crumbling away—breaking in pieces—to give place to the new that is soon to take its place.
So it was with Myles Falworth about this time. The very next day after this interview in the bed-chamber, word came to him that Sir James Lee wished to speak with him in the office. He found the lean, grizzled old knight alone, sitting at the heavy oaken table with a tankard of spiced ale at his elbow, and a dish of wafers and some fragments of cheese on a pewter platter before him. He pointed to his clerk's seat—a joint stool somewhat like a camp-chair, but made of heavy oaken braces and with a seat of hog-skin—and bade Myles be seated.
It was the first time that Myles had ever heard of such courtesy being extended to one of the company of squires, and, much wondering, he obeyed the invitation, or rather command, and took the seat.
The old knight sat regarding him for a while in silence, his one eye, as bright and as steady as that of a hawk, looking keenly from under the penthouse of its bushy brows, the while he slowly twirled and twisted his bristling wiry mustaches, as was his wont when in meditation. At last he broke the silence. “How old art thou?” said he, abruptly.
“I be turned seventeen last April,” Myles answered, as he had the evening before to Lord Mackworth.
“Humph!” said Sir James; “thou be'st big of bone and frame for thine age. I would that thy heart were more that of a man likewise, and less that of a giddy, hare-brained boy, thinking continually of naught but mischief.”
Again he fell silent, and Myles sat quite still, wondering if it was on account of any special one of his latest escapades that he had been summoned to the office—the breaking of the window in the Long Hall by the stone he had flung at the rook, or the climbing of the South Tower for the jackdaw's nest.
“Thou hast a friend,” said Sir James, suddenly breaking into his speculations, “of such a kind that few in this world possess. Almost ever since thou hast been here he hath been watching over thee. Canst thou guess of whom I speak?”
“Haply it is Lord George Beaumont,” said Myles; “he hath always been passing kind to me.
“Nay,” said Sir James, “it is not of him that I speak, though methinks he liketh thee well enow. Canst thou keep a secret, boy?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yea,” answered Myles.
“And wilt thou do so in this case if I tell thee who it is that is thy best friend here?”
“Yea.”
“Then it is my Lord who is that friend—the Earl himself; but see that thou breathe not a word of it.”
Myles sat staring at the old knight in utter and profound amazement, and presently Sir James continued: “Yea, almost ever since thou hast come here my Lord hath kept oversight upon all thy doings, upon all thy mad pranks and thy quarrels and thy fights, thy goings out and comings in. What thinkest thou of that, Myles Falworth?”
Again the old knight stopped and regarded the lad, who sat silent, finding no words to answer. He seemed to find a grim pleasure in the youngster's bewilderment and wonder. Then a sudden thought came to Myles.
“Sir,” said he, “did my Lord know that I went to the privy garden as I did?”
“Nay,” said Sir James; “of that he knew naught at first until thy father bade thy mother write and tell him.”
“My father!” ejaculated Myles.
“Aye,” said Sir James, twisting his mustaches more vigorously than ever. “So soon as thy father heard of that prank, he wrote straightway to my Lord that he should put a stop to what might in time have bred mischief.”
“Sir,” said Myles, in an almost breathless voice, “I know not how to believe all these things, or whether I be awake or a-dreaming.”
“Thou be'st surely enough awake,” answered the old man; “but there are other matters yet to be told. My Lord thinketh, as others of us do—Lord George and myself—that it is now time for thee to put away thy boyish follies, and learn those things appertaining to manhood. Thou hast been here a year now, and hast had freedom to do as thou might list; but, boy,”—and the old warrior spoke seriously, almost solemnly—“upon thee doth rest matters of such great import that did I tell them to thee
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