The White Gauntlet

“You will give me a promise, Henry?”

“Yes, Marion; any promise you may dictate to me.”

“Thanks! thanks! I know you will keep it. Come nearer, Henry! look into my eyes! ’Tis a poor light; but I need not much to see that yours are true. I know they are beautiful, Henry.”

Holtspur’s frame quivered under the searching scrutiny.

“What am I to promise?” he asked, in the hope of hiding his embarrassment.

“Do not be afraid, Henry! ’Tis not much I am going to ask of you. Not much to you; but all the world to me. Listen, and I will tell you. Since we met – I mean since I knew that you loved me – I have learnt one thing. It is: that I could not live, and be jealous. The torture I have endured for the last twelve hours has told me that. You will laugh at me, Henry; but I cannot help it. No. Let me be happy, or let me die!”

“Sweet life! why should you think of such a thing as jealousy? You need not fear that. If it should ever spring up between us, it will be my misfortune, not yours – all mine.”

“You jest, Henry! You know not the heart you have conquered. Its firstlings were yours. Though often solicited – pardon me for being so plain —it was never before surrendered to living man. O, Henry! you know not how I love you! Do not think it is the fleeting fancy of a romantic girl – that may change under the influence of a more matured age. I am a woman, with my girlhood gone by. Holtspur! – you have won me – you have won a woman’s love!”

Ecstasy to the soul of him thus addressed.

“Tell me sweet Marion!” cried he. “Forgive me the selfish question; but I cannot help asking it. Tell me why I am thus beloved? I do not deserve it. I am twice your age. I have lost those looks that once, perhaps, may have attracted the romantic fancy. O, Marion Wade! I am unworthy of a love like yours. ’Tis my consciousness of this that constrains me to make the enquiry: why do you love me?”

Marion remained silent – as if she hesitated to give the answer. No wonder. The question is one often asked, but to which it is most difficult to obtain a truthful reply.

There are reasons for this reticence – psychological reasons, which men cannot easily understand. A woman’s citadel is her heart; and its strength lies in keeping secret its conceptions. Of all its secrets the most sacred – the last to be divulged – is that constituting an answer to the question – “Why do you love me?”

No wonder that Henry Holtspur received not an immediate answer. Ardour – more than sincerity led him to press for it: —

“I am a stranger to your circle – if not to your class. The world will tell you, that I am an adventurer. I accept the appellation – qualified by the clause: that I adventure not for myself, but for my fellow-men – for the poor taxed slaves who surround me. Marion Wade, I weary you. Give answer to my question: Why do you love me?”

“Henry! I know not. A thousand thoughts crowd upon me. I could give you a thousand reasons, all comprised in one —I love you, because I love you!”

“Enough, dear Marion! I believe it. Do you need me to declare again? Can I plight my troth more truly?”

“No – no – Henry! I know that you love me now.”

“Now! now and for ever!”

“You promise it, Henry?”

“I promise it, Marion.”

“O, Henry! you will promise me something more. You have said you would.”

“What more, Marion?”

“I have told you that I would prefer death to jealousy. I only spoke the truth, Henry. I’ve heard say, that the heart sometimes changes, in spite of itself. I don’t believe it. I am sure mine can never change. Could yours, Henry?”

“Never! what do you wish me to promise? What is it you would bind me to?”

“I’ve now but one thing worth living for,” responded the daughter of Sir Marmaduke Wade, “and that is your love, Holtspur. Promise me that when you love me no more, you will tell me you do not, truly and without fear. Promise that, Henry: for then I shall be happier to die.”

“Nonsense, Marion! Why should I enter into such an idle condition? You know I shall love you, as long as I live.”

“Henry! Henry! Do not deny me what I have asked? What is there unreasonable in my request?”

“Nothing, dearest Marion. If you insist upon it, you shall have my promise – more than that, my oath. I swear I shall be candid and declare the truth. If ever my heart cease to love you, I shall tell you of its treason. How easily can I promise, what can never come to pass!”

“But you may be far away, Henry? Enemies may be between us? You may not be able to see me? Then – ”

“Then, what would you have me do, dear Marion?”

“Return the token I have given you. Send me back my glove – the White Gauntlet. When I see that, ’twill tell me that he to whom I had given it – and along with it my heart – that he who once prized the gift, esteems it no more. That would be a gentler way than words – for your words telling me that bitter truth, might be the last to which I should ever listen.”

“If it please you, dearest, I promise to comply with you conditions – however idle I may deem them. Ah Marion! you shall never get that glove again – never from me. I prize the white gauntlet too much, ever to part with it; more than aught else in the world – excepting the white hand which it once shielded, and which, God willing, shall yet be mine!”

As Holtspur uttered this impassioned speech, he raised the “white hand” to his lips; and imprinted upon it a fond, fervent kiss.

It was the parting salute – though not intended as such. The lightning flashed at that moment, displaying two forms in an attitude that proclaimed them lovers who had made mutual surrender of their souls.

A third form might have been seen by the same light, standing outside the verandah, scarce ten paces distant. It was a female figure, with the face of a young girl – uncoifed, uncloaked, despite the pelting of the pitiless storm.

The lovers, absorbed in their own sweet thoughts, might not have noticed this intruder, but for a slight scream that escaping from her lips, attracted their attention to her. When the lightning blazed forth again, she was gone!

“Oh!” cried Marion, “it was like the shadow of some evil thing. Away, Henry! there is danger! Away! away!”

Without resistance Holtspur yielded to the solicitation. Rapidly recrossing through the shrubbery, he sprang down into the moated ditch, and glided on towards the rear of the dwelling.

Volume Three – Chapter Five

Bet Dancey it was, whose presence revealed by that ghastly gleam, moving like an ill-omened shadow among the shrubbery, had caused the lovers to bring their interview to such a sudden ending.

On his second supplicant gliding silently past him, the facile sentry had followed with equal alertness – this time not with any intention to plead for a promised kiss; but simply to show his respect to the lady by gallantly conducting her beyond the bounds of his jurisdiction.

He had already satisfied himself how profuse had been her gratitude – prepaid as it was.

On reaching the wicket, he was once more doomed to disappointment. Like the first, his second visitor had also disappeared. He remained some moments, gazing after; but, soon feeling disconsolate in the darkness, he determined on returning to the store-room for his lamp.

Amidst the many surprises of the night he was now to experience the greatest of all.

On entering within the apartment, and raising the lanthorn to the level of his eyes – in order to assure himself of his prisoner’s safety – his astonishment scarce equalled his consternation; when, instead of the cavalier lying bound along the bench, Bet Dancey stood boldly before him! He no longer thought of claiming that promised kiss. A sudden perception of his own stupidity had driven all amorous inclinations out of his mind.

His first impulse was to rush out, and give the alarm to his comrades of the guard. In obedience to this impulse he hurried off into the yard; but, in the confusion of ideas caused by his surprise, he neglected to close the store-room door; and, while he was absent upon his errand, the substitute for the patriot prisoner quietly slipped out; and gliding along the dark archway, emerged through the wicket without let or interruption.

She had faced towards the rear of the house, with the intention of taking her departure; when an unlucky idea prompted her to turn in the opposite direction. She remembered Marion’s visit to the prison. Had her lady rival yet gone to rest? Might they by some chance – perhaps by design – might they have come together?

Under the influence of this suspicion the girl glided along the wall towards the western front of the mansion.

A low murmur of voices guided her to the verandah – a few stealthy steps brought her within sight of two figures in juxtaposition – a flash of lightning revealed who they were – at the same time disclosing a sight that scorched her heart to its very core.

Her first thought was to spring forward and interrupt the interview – to revile – upbraid – anything for the satisfaction of her jealous vengeance.