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The Tavern Knight

Chapter 7 THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY

Word Count: 4005    |    Released on: 29/11/2017

bed, and flung himself full length upon it. The only chair that dismal room con

his brows contracted in the frown of one who collects his thoughts. At length he began, speaking in calm, unem

th hope. Those, Kenneth, were my illusions. They are the illusions of youth; they are youth itself, for when our illusions are gone we are

er humour, "that such illusions as I have I shal

k twenty years, and to-morrow was none so near." He laughed so

ever lived-the heir to an ancient, honoured name, and to a c

. Never was there a brighter dawn than that of my life; neve

hundred years and more. Puritans they were, stern and haughty in their ungodly righteousness. They held

to check their ways, and holding, mayhap, herself, views not altogether puritanical. They discarded the sober black their forbears had worn for generations, and donned gay Cavalier garments. They let their love-locks grow; set plumes in thei

ther had despised their father for a bigot, and they guessing or knowing by instinct what was in my mind held me in deeper rancour even than their ancestors had done mine. And more galling still and yet a sharper spu

her forgot the traditions of the names we bore. And as at first we had met by chance, so did we meet later by contrivance, not once or twice, but many times. God, how sweet she was! How sweet was all the world! Ho

uent fervour that is but of youth-youth that loves-my father cursed no more. His thoughts went back maybe to the days of his own youth, and he bade me rise and go a-wooing as I list

was his face when I met him on the castle steps on his return. In burning words he told me of the insult they had put upon him, then silently he pointed to the Toledo that two years before he had brought me out of Spain, and left me. But I had understood. Softly I unsheathed that virgin blade and read the Spanish inscription, th

sigh escaped him, followe

lose friends in life, but my companion has been a blade of coarser make, carr

n he fell a-musing, till K

story,

the youth, he was unable to make out his features; but his tone had been eager, and

the dishonour they had put upon my house. Will you believe, Kenneth, that they denied me? They sheltered their craven lives behind a shi

rom my mind all thought or hope of union with their cousin, and though I made him no answer at the time, yet in my heart I promised to obey him in that, too. But I was young-scarce twenty. A week without sight of my mistress and I grew sick with despair. Then at length I came upon her, pale and tearful, one eveni

s. Thither I now implored her to repair with me. I would find a priest to wed us, and there we should live a while in happiness, in solitude,

ust-we lived and loved, and for a season, brief as all happiness is doomed to be, we were happy. Her cousins had no knowledge of that farm of mine, and though they searched the country for many a mile around, they s

he chase; my man was gone a journey to the nearest town, whence he would not return until the morrow. Oft have I cursed

a dull foreboding in my heart that I sprang through the open door. Within-O God, the anguish of it!-stretched on the floor I beheld my love, a gaping sword-wound in her side, and the ground all bloo

encountered then her cousins, my blood seemed on the instant curdled in my veins; my teeth were set hard; my nerves and sinews knotted; my hands instinctively shifted

e swung high above my head. And, as God lives, Kenneth, I had sent them straight to hell ere they could have raised a hand or made a cry to stay me. But as I spran

, seeing me fallen, haply those cowards would seize the chance to make an end of me as I lay. I wished it so in that moment's frenzy, for I made no atte

thought it swayed and that the walls were tottering; there was a buzz of sound in my ears, then a piercing cry in a baby voice. At the sound of it I vaguely wished f

h shud

ut you were avenged, Sir Crispin," h

their foul deed. What I did I know not. I have tried to urge my memory along from the point of my awakening, but in vain. By what miracle I crawled forth, I cannot tel

oyous, vigorous lad, who had set out, fowling-piece on shoulder, one fine morning a year agone. There was grey in my hair, as much as there is now, though I was but twenty-one; my face was seared a

ur enemies were gone to France; it would seem they had thought it better to remain absent for a while. He had learnt that they were in Paris, and hither I determined forthwith to follow them. Vainly did my father remonstrate with me; vai

was he of several that I have sent whither I am going to-morrow. The affair was like to have cost me my life, but by another of those miracles which have prol

unto those that had wrecked my life-my body and my soul. I did live, and I did return. The Civil War had broken ou

th their cousin, since dead, and through my own death, there being no next of kin, they were the heirs-at-law. The Parliament allowed their claim, and they were installed. But when I came they were away, following the fortunes of the Parliament that had s

I, whose life was wrecked beyond salvation; who only lived that I might slit the throats of those that had so irreparably wronged me. Think you still that it was so vicious a thing, so unpardonable an offe

t there was a certain restraint that caught the Tavern Knight's ear. He turned his head and bent his ey

ighty battles. At length came the council of Breda and the invitation to Charles the Second to receive the crown of Scotland. I set out again to follow his fortunes as I had followed his father's, realizing that by so doing I followed my own, and that did he p

o men sat, both breathing heavily in t

my story, Kennet

Crispin, and God

He had looked even to hear the lad suing for pardon for the harsh opinions wherein he had held him. Strange was this yearning of his f

nder word that came not; then-so urgen

hem to dub me the Tavern Knight after the King conferred upon me the honour of knighthood for that stand of mine in Fifeshire?

spin. I pity you with all my hear

s every man may judge his fellowman. You mean it is not yo

he trials it brings to some and the temptations to which they were not human did they not succumb-it seemed that vice was not to be excused by misfortune. Out of mercy then he paused, and for a moment he had it even in his m

in life must weigh heavily against you." Had this immaculate bigot, this churlish milksop been as candid with himself as he was with Crispin, he must have recogn

"to defile your soul and risk its eternal damnation

one in pain, and for a moment after all was

ur cassock to don a cuirass. Here is a text for you who deal in texts, my brave Jack Presbyter-'Judge you your neighbour as you would yoursel

Crispin sought comfort in sleep. His l

h, and also mayhap into some fear that hereafter he should find little mercy for his own lack

tter I rejoice that I was no

art. More than that, so deeply do I feel, so great a loathing and indignation has your story sown in my heart, tha

ged the tone rather than th

d mockingly. "Where are your doctrines? '

pregnant with contempt and bitter

d himself. He must die

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