CHAPTER XIX. OF THE PERPLEXITY OF THE LITTLE MAID.

"Bowerman!" said Magdalen, intensely astonished as well as relieved; "what could he have been doing here?"

However, there was no longer any cause for anxiety, either on the score of her father's safety or from the vague terrors of superstition.

With considerable difficulty the knight and his servant carried the senseless esquire over the plank and into the cave. On examination, it was found that the young man had cut his head against some point of rock in his fall, and had received other injuries, none of which, however, seemed severe.

"'Twas a marvellous chance," said the knight.

"Ay, truly: but now he's come, he'll be of rare use to us, an he getteth over this," said the seaman.

"Humph! he was of more use where he was," was the knight's comment.

Then, looking at his daughter and seeing she was listening eagerly, he added sharply,--

"Now, child, bestir thyself; get water and bandages, and give Master Bowerman a cup of wine."

With evident reluctance the girl obeyed her father, sighing to herself,--"Ah, me! why must my father take so much concern for this Bowerman, who, I know full well, tried to kill Master Lisle?"

It was not long before the wounded esquire opened his eyes and stared round him in amazement.

"Marry, Master Bowerman, thou knowest us not. Recall thy wits, and bethink thee of what hath happened," said the knight.

But Bowerman had not yet recovered the full use of his faculties.

"Newenhall, thou dolt!" he muttered, "what art cowering here for? why art not a man for once? The horse will never hurt thee. There, 'tis done--ah, he won't ride him for some time," and Bowerman chuckled mockingly.

"I knew it! I knew it!" cried the girl; "the cowardly caitiff. He hath confessed he lamed Black Tom."

"Silence, wench," said her father sternly. "Dost not see the lad raveth?"

Gradually the young man recovered his senses, but it was some time before he could be made to understand what had happened. At last he recognised the rough seaman, and then he knew who the other man was. He would have risen to do him reverence, but the knight restrained him.

"Nay, Master Bowerman, this is no time for idle courtesies; I know thy breeding. Take another draught of this, and turn thee to sleep; thou canst talk to-morrow morn, an thou art well enough."

The air of authority with which this was said helped to pacify the injured man even more than the draught, and he soon sank into a deep sleep.

The knight now turned to his daughter, and bid her retire to a recess in the cavern, where a couch, made of old sails and other lumber, served as a bed, before which a sail was hung as a curtain.

After the child had disappeared, the two men entered into a deep conversation in low tones.

"There be a story afloat of a new plot," said the man. "But there be naught in it, be there?"

"Maybe there is, but matters are not ripe yet. An we could only get Henry embroiled with France, we should have better help than from the Dowager of Burgundy. And I have hopes that he will send a force to aid the Bretons. But I can do naught until I have met Woodville."

"And when will that be, your worship?"

"Not for a few weeks, I fear me. He hath other matters, and this attack on his esquire hath put him out."

"Thou wast wondrous kind to the lad at the tilt. All men marvelled what could be the cause."

"A wish of my daughter's, as thou knowest. The lad was passing gentle to us as we came hither; and he is a good lad, and one of my own house too."

"But he's parlous sweet on Mistress Yolande, and there's them as says she means to marry him, and old Sir William is going to make him his heir."

The knight's face grew black.

"Enough! enough! I would I could get me to France. I hear the Lord Daubigny will be returning shortly. We must join him at Southampton. Dan has got the old boat mended?"

"Ay, ay; she'll do for us as far as Southampton, or, for that matter, we could make shift over to Barfleur in her ourselves."

"That's well; and now leave me, I would think awhile."

The next morning Magdalen was sent back to the cell at Appuldurcombe, much to her discontent. Before she left, however, she had the further dissatisfaction of learning that Master Bowerman was not only in a fair way of recovery, but that he so plausibly accounted for his being in hiding, and having run away from Carisbrooke Castle, that her father not only seemed to believe him quite guiltless of the attack on Ralph Lisle, but even appeared to look upon him with much favour as an injured man, and a sufferer by reason of his inclinations towards the exiled Yorkists.

It was important to make as many friends as possible, and the Bowermans were likely to become more influential in the island by reason of their recent alliances.

The story Bowerman gave was, that being outside the castle on the evening of the first tilt, he had heard of the mysterious assault on Ralph as he came back, and well knowing how he would be suspected, and being also--he could not deny it--disgusted with the favour shown that fortunate young man, he had determined to get away. He had had some previous relations with the other seaman, who had smuggled articles into the castle for him, and had been useful to him in many other ways before; and he had been already sounded on the subject of the late plot to annoy the Government, and had entered into correspondence with the Yorkist secret agents. Although he knew about the fugitives, he did not know where they were in hiding, the knight's two retainers being far too cautious and trusty to betray their secret. He, however, resolved to remain in concealment until he could get away, and for that purpose he had come over to the wildest part of the island, as being the safest place, and also where he was most likely to meet with Dan the fisherman.

The account he gave of his accident was, that having been hard pressed that day by some of the garrison of Carisbrooke who had been sent out to find him, he had climbed down the cliff and remained there until dusk. Hearing fresh steps, he had tried to get further round the face of the cliff, and had slipped on to the ledge where they found him. That he was partially stunned, and seeing the light in that awful place, he had thought they were spirits, and he had fainted away, as a result of physical exhaustion and supernatural dread.

It suited the knight's purpose to listen favourably to this tale, and with an air of belief, and he even went so far as to sympathise with Master Bowerman in his wrongs and grievances, and the accident to Ralph Lisle was never afterwards referred to.

Magdalen, who was allowed very often to see her father, whose secret appeared fully known to the Prioress of the little community, and who belonged to a well-known Yorkist house, was dismayed to find how very intimate Bowerman had become, and was still more embarrassed to discover that he was desirous of ingratiating himself with her. One morning, about a month after the tourney, when she had come over earlier than usual, the girl noticed a decided stir going on in the little cave. Armour was being burnished up, and a couple of stout lances were being critically examined by her father. There was never much effort at keeping matters secret from Magdalen, and the conversation, or rather few remarks which fell from her father, were hardly interrupted by the arrival of the young girl, who brought over a supply of fresh butter and eggs, with a few other necessaries. Magdalen had always to be very careful when she came near the gorge, lest any stray country folk should see her. But this part of the island was thinly populated, and she had never yet met with any one. The Hermit of St Catherine's knew her secret, and she looked upon the good old man as one of her best friends. While she was arranging the contents of her basket, she heard her father say,--

"Thou wilt see that all is ready, and in case of ill befalling, I trust to thy bearing this missive to Sir John Clifford. Dan will go with thee. The boat is all ready."

"In sooth, my lord, I will do thy bidding. But I fear no mischance. I have seen myself thy prowess, and heard more. He cannot stand before thee for one course even."

"Humph! 'Tis a good lance, and there are risks always; but I have my just cause, and I trust in the right."

"Thou wilt have Dan and Simon there also?"

"Ay, ay. They can come, and fully equipped, too; but they must take no part, whate'er betide."

Magdalen noticed a peculiar look in Master Bowerman's eye, and detected a meaning glance exchanged between him and the most sinister-looking of the seamen.

What could they be talking about? she wondered. She always dreaded some terrible fate befalling her father. She knew his stern, fearless disposition, and she also knew that he nursed the most inveterate hatred to the Captain of the Wight. He had never told her why, but if ever his name were mentioned, she noticed that he seemed to lose all control over himself, and would utter the most dreadful maledictions on his name and family.

"There is going to be some fearful fight, I know there is," she murmured. "Oh, if only I could find out when it takes place and where. Perhaps Bowerman would tell me. He seems to wish to please me; why, I don't know."

She little knew that if only the Yorkist party, whose hopes were centred on the imprisoned Earl of Warwick, could upset the present government, her father would be a person of great distinction, and she would be the heiress of the Lisle property. It was well worth Bowerman, or any other aspiring youth, doing all he could to win her favour. Besides these substantial worldly advantages, she was a very sweet girl, with a fair face and noble nature. Entirely unspoilt by luxury, and brought up in the severe school of poverty and hardship, she had often compared herself to the "Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green," and would shyly wonder if her fate would be like that of "pretty Bessie," and whether her adventures would end "with joy and delight," and she should have for a bridegroom "the gentle young knight

    "Who lived in great joy and felicitie,
    With his fair ladie, dear pretty Bessie."
    

When she had neatly put all the things away on some ledges of the cave which served for shelves, she went to the entrance and looked out. She noticed that the old boat, which was usually hidden under a deep cleft in the rock, out of reach of the highest tides, was now hauled down, and lying ready for launching, and that there were sundry kegs and bundles in it, looking as if there were preparations for an expedition.

The salt smell of the sea came up fresh and keen from the tumbling waves below, and the girl looked wistfully towards the south.

She felt very lonely, more so now than ever, for her father, always preoccupied before, seemed gloomier of late, and to notice her less than he used. There had been much going to and fro on the part of the seamen, and Magdalen had herself brought a missive from the Hermit only the day before, which had caused a great display of feeling on the part of her father, a flush of fierce joy passing over his countenance, as he muttered, after reading the cartel,--

"At last! Thank the saints! the matter will be settled once for all."

While Magdalen stood looking down the strange water-worn chasms, she was startled by hearing Bowerman say in a scoffing voice, but in an undertone, to Simon,--

"Marry, Simon, we are to take no part in the fray, eh?"

And then he laughed derisively, while the seaman added gruffly,--

"Not us! Well, I never; that be a good 'un. But I'll have some of their fine harness and gew-gaws, if I swing for it."

"Tush, man! thou canst have them easy enough; but 'tis their lives first we must have. He's sure to be there. He makes such a stir about him; all the more since this wound of his. Curse the weak stroke! why couldn't it have gone home?" broke off the esquire bitterly.

"Ay, ay, 'twas a bungling business that. He was but a greenhorn at that sort of work, whoever he was," said the seaman, eyeing Bowerman with a grim twinkle in his bleared eyes, as he went on furbishing up a steel breastpiece. "But he's a fine youth, that I will say," he added.

Magdalen changed her position so as to get a view of the faces of the speakers, but trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She noticed a flush pass over Bowerman's face as he bit his lip, but said nothing, only he felt the edge of a sword he had been scouring.

"We'll make better work of it, Simon, this time--eh?"

"Faith we will, or you may call me landlubber for the rest of my days. I owe him a grudge for having had me put in the stocks for nothing at all. 'Tis a chance will never come again. Think of his being such a fool as to trust hisself alone in a fight with our master. But he won't live long to repent it, if I get this knife into him," added the man, with an ugly "job" of the blade into a balk of timber on which he was sitting.

Magdalen shuddered. What were they talking about? She dreaded to think. There was something terrible going to take place. How should she find out? She resolved to ask her father. She stepped past the two men, and entered the cave. She found her father busied with the unusual and difficult operation of writing. He took no notice of her, and she sat still by his side, watching him laboriously forming his awkward letters.

"Father, can't I help you?" she ventured to say at last.

"What, little wench, you here still? I thought you were gone long since. What will the worthy Prioress say?"

"Oh, she won't mind; she bid me stay as long as I could help thee. But Sister Agnes looks most after me."

"Ay, and who is Sister Agnes? But there," seeing the child was going to enter upon a long account of her doings at the nunnery, "I am parlous busy now. Thou canst stay an thou mindest, and in the evening Bowerman can see thee on thy way home."

This was not at all to Magdalen's taste.

"But may I not aid thee now, father? Thou knowest I can write; and I have become a better scribe lately?"

"Hast thou so, my little wench?" said her father, stroking her head. "But these are matters beyond thee." He paused, and then went on. "Magdalen, my child, thou wilt always be a good girl, and do what the worthy Prioress tells thee. If aught taketh me away, thou wilt mind what I have said, and there will be those who will care for thee. Thou must learn to look kindly on Master Bowerman, and thy fortunes may one day be happier than now seemeth likely. But leave me now; I must settle these matters, and the time is not over long."

Magdalen, well knowing the reserved nature of her father, and not caring for the escort of Master Bowerman, especially after what she had overheard, resolved to go back to the nunnery; but she also made up her mind she would see the Hermit of St Catherine's on her way, and tell him of her anxiety.

She therefore took leave of her father, who seemed more affectionate than usual; and declining Bowerman's offer of accompanying her, she climbed the difficult path up the cliff, and disappeared over the brow of the gorge.