Earl Hubert's Daughter Part 43

"No,--it is very strange," replied the Countess, in a dubious tone.

"Jews do not seem to understand their position. It is odd. But dry thine eyes, my dear child; thou wilt make thyself ill. And really--"

The Countess was too kind to finish the sentence. But Beatrice could guess that she thought there was really nothing to weep over in the ma.s.sacre of a few scores of Jews. She found little sympathy among the younger members of the family party. Margaret said she was sorry, but it was evidently for the fact that her friend was in trouble, not for the event over which she was sorrowing. Eva openly expressed profound scorn of both the Jews and the sorrow.

Marie wanted to know if some friend of Beatrice were among the slain: because, if not, why should she care any thing about it? Doucebelle alone seemed capable of a little sympathy.

But before the evening was over, Beatrice found there was one Christian who could enter into all her feelings. She was slowly crossing the ante-chamber in the twilight, when she found herself intercepted and drawn into Bruno's arms.

"My darling!" he said, tenderly. "I am sent to thee with heavy tidings."

Poor Beatrice laid her tired head on her father's breast, with the feeling that she had one friend left in the world.

"I know it, dear Father. But it is such a comfort that you feel it with me."

"There are not many who will, I can guess," answered Bruno. "But, my child, I am afraid thou dost not know all."

"Father!--what is it?" asked Beatrice, fearfully.

"One has fallen in that ma.s.sacre, very dear to thee and me, my daughter."

"Delecresse?" She thought him the most likely to be in London of any of the family.

"No. Delecresse is safe, so far as I know."

"Is it Uncle Moss?--or Levi my cousin?"

"Beatrice, it is Abraham the son of Ursel, the father of us all."

The low cry of utter desolation which broke from the girl's lips was pitiful to hear.

"'My father, my father! the chariot of Israel, and the hors.e.m.e.n thereof!'"

Bruno let her weep pa.s.sionately, until the first burst of grief was over. Then he said, gently, "Be comforted, my Beatrice. I believe that he sleeps in Jesus, and that G.o.d shall bring him with Him."

"He was not baptised?" asked Beatrice, in some surprise that Bruno should think so.

"He was ready for it. He had spoken to a friend of mine--one Friar Saher de Kilvingholme--on the subject. And the Lord would not refuse to receive him because his brow had not been touched by water, when He had baptised him with the Holy Ghost and with fire."

Perhaps scarcely any priest then living, Bruno excepted, would have ventured so far as to say that.

"Oh, this is a weary world!" sighed Beatrice, drearily.

"It is not the only one," replied her father.

"It seems as if we were born only to die!"

"Nay, my child. We were born to live for ever. Those have death who choose it."

"A great many seem to choose it."

"A great many," said Bruno, sadly.

"Father," said Beatrice, after a short silence, "as a man grows older and wiser, do you think that he comes to understand any better the reason of the dark doings of Providence? Can you see any light upon them, which you did not of old?"

"No, my child, I think not," was Bruno's answer. "If any thing, I should say they grow darker. But we learn to trust, Beatrice. It is not less dark when the child puts his hand confidingly in that of his father; but his mind is the lighter for it. We come to know our Father better; we learn to trust and wait. 'What I do, thou knowest not now: but thou shalt know hereafter.' And He has told us that in that land where we are to know even as we are known, we shall be satisfied.

Satisfied with His dealings, then: let us be satisfied with Him, here and now."

"It is dark!" said Beatrice, with a sob.

"'The morning cometh,'" replied Bruno. "And 'in the morning is gladness.'"

Beatrice stood still and silent for some minutes, only a slight sob now and then showing the storm through which she had pa.s.sed. At last, in a low, troubled voice, she said--

"There is no one to call me Belasez now!"

Bruno clasped her closer.

"My darling!" he said, "so long as the Lord spares us to each other, thou wilt always be _belle a.s.sez_ for me!"

Note 1. She was the young widow of William, Earl of Pembroke, the eldest brother of the husband of Marjory of Scotland.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

AT LAST.

"Joy for the freed one! She might not stay When the crown had fallen from her life away: She might not linger, a weary thing, A dove with no home for its broken wing, Thrown on the harshness of alien skies, That know not its own land's melodies.

From the long heart-withering early gone, She hath lived--she hath loved--her task is done!"

_Felicia Hemans_.

"Now, Sir John de Averenches, what on earth dost _thou_ want?"

"Is there no room, Damsel?"

"Room! There is room enough for thee, I dare say," replied Eva, rather contemptuously. She looked down on Sir John supremely for four reasons, which in her own eyes at least were excellent ones. First, he was rather short; secondly, he was very silent; thirdly, he was not particularly handsome; and lastly (and of most import), he had remained proof against all Eva's attractions.

"I thank thee," was all he said now; and he walked into Margaret's bower, where he took a seat on the extreme end of the settle, and never said a word to any body whilst he stayed.

"The absurd creature!" exclaimed Eva, when he was gone. "What an absolute a.s.s he is! He has not an idea in his head."

"Oh, I beg thy pardon, Eva," interposed Marie, rather warmly. "He's plenty of ideas. He'll talk if one talks to him. Thou never dost."

"He is clever enough to please thee, very likely!" was the rather snappish answer.