“It is satisfactory to reflect that the earl has long been prepared to quit this world,” observed Rutter, “and having relinquished all his great estates and power has nothing to tie him to earth.”
“No, he has long done with the world and its vanities,” said Lord Strange. “My beloved mother’s death was a severe blow to him, and he has never recovered from it. I marvel not at it, for a better wife and better mother than Elizabeth Vere, Countess of Derby, never existed. The earl, my father, has never been himself since he lost her. His interest in life was gone—his sole desire being to join her in heaven. No recluse could dwell in greater retirement than he has done, ever since this sad bereavement in his house on the banks of the Dee near Chester. But his sorrows seem now drawing to a close.”
“Where grief is incurable, the grave appears the only refuge,” said Rutter. “Under such circumstances prolongation of life is scarcely to be desired.”
“True,” said Lord Strange. “But we must await the fatal stroke without impatience, and my father, amid all his sufferings, has been perfectly resigned to the will of Heaven. His motive for surrendering his estates to me during his lifetime was that he might pass the remainder of his days in solitude and prayer. He then firmly believed that his life would not be long, and though he was mistaken, he has never regretted the step. Had he done so, I would have restored everything to him. But he had formed a resolution, like that of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, when he chose a retreat in the monastery of Saint Just, and entirely renounced the world, its business, pleasures, and troubles.”
“But he did not, like Charles the Fifth, practise all the rigours of a monastic life,” observed Doctor Rutter.
“He has performed no act of penance, for that is no part of his faith,” replied Lord Strange; “but he has spent much of his time in religious meditation and prayer. I would I were as well prepared for eternity as my father.”
“Your lordship has not much cause for self-reproach,” said Doctor Rutter.
“I strive to do right, but I often fall short in my endeavours,” replied Lord Strange. “It may be that some day I shall retire altogether from the world like my father.”
“That day, I hope, is far distant, my lord,” said Doctor Rutter.
Just then footsteps were heard in the adjoining gallery, and immediately afterwards a serving-man made his appearance.
“What wouldst thou, Cuthbert?” demanded Lord Strange.
“An it please your lordship,” replied the servant, “a messenger has just arrived from Chester—from the Earl of Derby.”
“A messenger from the earl, my father—at this hour!” exclaimed Lord Strange, uneasily. “What news brings he?”
“I cannot say, my lord,” replied the man. “He did not deliver his message to me. But I fear he does not bring good news.”
“You alarm me, Cuthbert,” cried Lord Strange. “Where is the messenger?”
“Without—in the gallery, my lord. ‘Tis Captain Standish.”
“Captain Standish! Bid him come in at once.”
The order was obeyed, and next moment a tall and remarkably handsome young man, about two or three and twenty, was ushered into the closet.
The new-comer wore a buff coat embroidered with lace, a short cloak, funnel-topped boots of supple leather ascending above the knee, and carried in his hand a broad-leaved Flemish beaver hat, adorned with a rich band and a plume of feathers.
The long dark locks falling upon his shoulders at once proclaimed him a Cavalier—the Puritans being already distinguished by their closely cropped hair. His manner and looks were highly prepossessing. Though he had ridden far and fast, he did not seem fatigued by the journey.
On the entrance of Captain Standish, Lord Strange rose to greet him, and looking inquiringly into his face, said:
“Keep me not in suspense, Frank. How is the earl, my father? Does he still live?”
“He does, my lord,” replied Captain Standish. “At all events, he was alive when I left him some three hours ago, and Doctor Gerard assured me that he is in no immediate danger, though he cannot last long.”