The House of Walderne | Page 9

in obedience to the prior's summons, and stood at first abashed before the great earl.
Yet he was not a lad wanting in self confidence; he was tall and slender, his features were regular, his hair and eyes light, his face a shapely oval; there was a winning expression on the features, and altogether it was a persuasive face.
"Dost thou remember me, my son?" asked the earl, as the boy knelt on one knee, and kissed his hand gracefully.
"It seems many years since thou didst leave me here, my lord."
"Ah! thy memory is good--hast thou been happy here? hast thou done thy duty?"
"It is dull for an eaglet to be brought up in a cave."
"Art thou the eaglet then, and this the cave? fie! Hubert."
"My father was a soldier of the cross."
"And wouldst thou be a soldier too, my boy? the paths of glory often lead to the grave; thou art safer far as an acolyte here; thou wilt perhaps be prior some day."
"I covet not safety, my lord. If my father loved thee, and thou didst love him, take me to thy castle and let me be thy page. There are no chivalrous exercises here, no tilt yard, only the bell which booms all day long; matins and lauds; prime, terce and sext; vespers and compline; and masses between whiles."
"My son, be not irreverent."
The boy lowered his eyes at the reproof.
"Thou shalt go with me. But, my boy, blame me not if some day thou grieve over the loss of this sweet peace."
"I love not peace--it is dull."
"How wonderful it is that the son should inherit the father's tastes with his form," said the earl to the prior. "When this lad's sire and I were young together he had just the same ideas, the same restless craving for excitement, and it led him at last to a soldier's grave. Well, what is bred in the bone will out in the flesh.
"Hubert, thou shalt go with me to Kenilworth, but it will be a hard and stern school for thee; there are no idlers there."
"I am not an idler, my good lord."
"Only over his books," said the prior.
"That is because I prefer the lance and the bow to pot hooks and hangers on parchment."
The boy spoke out fearlessly, almost pertly, like a spoiled child. Yet he had a winning manner, which reconciled his elders to his freedom.
"Now, go back to thy pot hooks and hangers, my boy, for the present," said the earl; "and tomorrow, perchance, I may take thee with me, if the storm abate.
"And now," said the earl, when Hubert was gone, "send for the other lad; the waif and stray from the forest."
So Hubert retired and Martin appeared. It was by no means an uninteresting face, that which the earl now scanned, but quite unlike the features of Hubert--a round face, contrasting with the oval outlines of the other--with twinkling eyes and curling hair; a face which ought to be lit up with smiles, but which was sad for the moment. Poor boy! he had just parted from his mother.
"Art thou willing to go away with me, my child?"
"Yes," said he sadly, "since she told me to go; but I love her."
"Thy name is Martin?"
"Yes; they call me so now."
"What is thy other name?"
"I know not. I have no other."
"Wouldst thou fear to return to the green wood?"
"Yes, for they might call me a traitor, and serve me as they served Jack, the shoe smith, when he betrayed their plans."
"And how was that?"
"Tied him to a tree and shot him to death with arrows. How he did scream!"
"What! didst thou see such a sight, a young boy like thee?"
"Yes," said Martin innocently; "why shouldn't I?"
There was a pause.
"Poor child," said the prior.
"My boy, thou should say 'my lord,' when addressing a titled earl."
"I did not know, my lord. I beg pardon, my lord, if I have been rude, my lord."
"Nay, thou hast already made up the tale of 'my lords.'"
"You will not let them get me again, my lord?"
"They couldn't get in here, and tomorrow, if the storm cease, I shall take thee away with me. Fear not, my poor boy. If thou hast for a while lost a mother, thou hast found a father."
The boy sighed. Affection is not so easily transferred; and the earl quite comprehended that sigh; as a strange interest, almost unaccountable, he thought, sprang up in his manly breast for the little nestling, thrown so strangely upon his protection and care.
Brave as a lion with the proud, gentle as a lamb with the weak and defenceless, such was Simon de Montfort, an embodiment of true greatness--the union of strength with love. Both Martin and Hubert were fortunate in their new lord.
"There sounds the vesper bell. Wilt thou with me to the chapel?" said