\ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 JUDITH SHAKE SPE ABE
 
 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY 
 
 LIMITED 
 
 *t. filunjStan'd &0u£c 
 1893 
 
 [AM rights reserved]
 
 J S3 
 
 LONDON : 
 POINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. — An Assignation' 
 
 II. — SlGNIOIl ClUB-ArPLE 
 
 III. — The Planting of the Cii. 
 IV. — A Pageant 
 V. — In a Wooded Lane 
 VI. — Within-Dooks . 
 VII. — A Farewell 
 
 VIII.— A QUARREL 
 
 IX. — Through the Meadows 
 X. — A Playhouse . 
 XI. — A Remonstrance 
 XII. — Divided Ways . 
 XIII. — A Herald Mercury 
 
 XIV. — A TllIEWOMAN . 
 
 XV. — A First Performaxc 
 XVI. — By the Pi iyer . 
 XVII.— Wild Words . 
 XVIII. — A Conjecture . 
 XIX. — A Daughter of England 
 XX. — Varying Moods 
 XXI. — A Discovery 
 XXII. — Portents . 
 XXIII.— A Letter. 
 XXIV. — A Visitor. . 
 XXV.— An Appeal 
 
 ICI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 12 
 
 18 
 
 29 
 
 3-1 
 
 44 
 
 55 
 
 G3 
 
 74 
 
 8G 
 
 98 
 
 107 
 
 119 
 
 134 
 
 112 
 
 153 
 
 1G8 
 
 17G 
 
 191 
 
 199 
 
 215 
 
 22G 
 
 235 
 
 244 
 
 251
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 CHAT. 
 
 
 
 TACE 
 
 XXVI.— To London Town . 
 
 • • « 
 
 i • 
 
 265 
 
 XXVII.— Evil Tidings . 
 
 • • • 1 
 
 • 
 
 271 
 
 XXVIII. — Renewals. 
 
 • • • 4 
 
 ► • 
 
 282 
 
 XXIX. — " The Eose is from my 
 
 Garden Gone" . 
 
 • 
 
 291 
 
 XXX. — In Time op Xeed 
 
 • • • 
 
 » • 
 
 302 
 
 XXXI. — A Lost Arcadia 
 
 • • • 
 
 i • 
 
 314 
 
 XXXII. — A Resolve 
 
 • • » 
 
 > • 
 
 327 
 
 XXX I IL — Arrivals . 
 
 * • • 
 
 » • 
 
 340 
 
 XXXIV. — An Awakening . 
 
 • • 
 
 • 
 
 317 
 
 XXXV. — Towards the Light . 
 
 • 
 
 ■ . 
 
 360 
 
 XXX VI.— "Western Wind, when 
 
 WILL YOU BLOW? ' 
 
 . 
 
 369
 
 JUDITH SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN ASSIGNATION. 
 
 It was a fair, clear, and shining morning, in the sweet 
 May-time of the year, when a young English damsel went 
 forth from the town of Stratford-upon-Avon to walk in the 
 fields. As she passed along by the Guild Chapel and the 
 Grammar School, this one and the other that met her gave 
 her a kindly greeting ; for nearly every one knew her, and 
 she was a favourite ; and she returned those salutations 
 with a frankness which betokened rather the self-possession 
 of a young woman than the timidity of a girl. Indeed, she 
 was no longer in the first sensitive dawn of maidenhood — 
 having, in fact, but recently passed her five-and-twentieth 
 birthday ; but nevertheless there was the radiance of youth 
 in the rose-leaf tint of her cheeks, and in the bright cheer- 
 fulness of her eyes. Those eyes were large, clear, and gray, 
 with dark pupils and dark lashes ; and these are of a 
 dangerous kind ; for they can look demure and artless and 
 innocent when there is nothing in the mind of the owner of 
 them but a secret mirth ; and also — and alas ! — they can 
 effect another kind of concealment, and when the heart 
 within is inclined to soft pity and yielding, they can refuse 
 to confess to any such surrender, and can maintain, at the 
 bidding of a wilful coquetry, an outward and obstinate 
 coldness and indifference. For the rest, her hair, which 
 was somewhat short and curly, was of a light and glossy 
 brown, with a touch of sunshine in it ; she had a good 
 
 B
 
 2 J UDITH SHA KESPEARE 
 
 figure, for she came of a quite notedly handsome family ; 
 she walked with a light step and a gracious carriage ; and 
 there were certain touches of style and colour about her 
 costume which showed that she did not in the least under- 
 value her appearance. And so it was " Good-morrow to 
 you, sweet Mistress Judith," from this one and the other ; 
 and " Good-morrow, friend So-and-so," she would, answer ; 
 and always she had the brightest of smiles for them as they 
 passed. 
 
 Well, she went along by the church, and over the foot- 
 bridge spanning the Avon, and so into the meadows lying 
 adjacent to the stream. To all appearance she was bent 
 on nothing but deliberate idleness, for she strayed ,this way 
 and that, stooping to pick up a few wild flowers, and hum- 
 ming to herself as she went. On this fresh and clear 
 morning the air seemed to be filled with sweet perfumes 
 after the close atmosphere of the town ; and if it was 
 merely to gather daisies and cuckoo-flowers and buttercups 
 that she had come, she was obviously in no hurry about it. 
 The sun was warm on the rich green grass ; the swallows 
 were dipping and flashing over the river ; great buinble-b 
 went booming by ; and far away somewhere in the silver- 
 clear heavens a lark was sinpinp. And she also was singing, 
 as she strayed along by the side of the stream, picking here 
 and there a speedwell, and here and there a bit of self-heal, 
 or white dead-nettle ; if, indeed, that could be termed 
 singing that was but a careless and unconscious recalling 
 of snatches of old songs and madrigals. At one moment 
 it was — 
 
 " Whi/, say you so ? Oh no, no, no; 
 Young maids must never a-wooing go." 
 
 And again it was — 
 
 . 
 
 " Come, hlow thy lorn, hunter ! 
 Come, blow thy horn, hunter '. 
 Come, hlow thy horn, jolly hunter 1" 
 
 And again it was — 
 
 "For o morn in spring is the sieeetest thing 
 ' ■ Hi in all the year ! " 
 
 And in truth she could not have lit upon a sweeter morning 
 than this was ; just as a chance passer-by might have
 
 AN ASSIGNATION 3 
 
 said to himself that he had never seen a pleasanter sight 
 than this young English maiden presented as she went idly 
 along the river-side, gathering wild flowers the while. 
 
 But in course of time, when she came to a part of the 
 Avon from which the bank rose sharp and steep, and when 
 she began to make her way along a narrow and winding 
 footpath that ascended through the wilderness of trees and 
 bushes hanging on this steep bank, she became more circum- 
 spect. There was no longer any humming of songs ; the 
 gathering of flowers was abandoned, though here she might 
 have added a wild hyacinth or two to her nosegay ; she 
 advanced cautiously, and yet with an affectation of care- 
 lessness ; and she was examining, while pretending not to 
 examine, the various avenues and open spaces in the dense 
 mass of foliage before her. Apparently, however, this 
 world of sunlight and green leaves and cool shadow was 
 quite untenanted ; there was no sound but that of the 
 blackbird and the thrush ; she wandered on without meeting 
 any one. And then, as she had now arrived at a little dell 
 or chasm in the wood, she left the footpath, climbed up the 
 bank, gained the summit, and finally, passing from among 
 the bushes, she found herself in the open, at the corner of 
 a field of young corn. 
 
 Now if any one had noticed the quick and searching- 
 look that she flashed all around on the moment of her 
 emerging from the brushwood — the swiftness of lightning 
 was in that rapid scrutiny — he might have had some sus- 
 picion as to the errand that had brought her hither ; but in 
 an instant her eyes had recovered their ordinary look of 
 calm and indifferent observation. She turned to regard 
 the wide landscape spread out below her ; and the stranger, 
 if he had missed that quick and eager glance, would have 
 naturally supposed that she had climbed up through the 
 wood to this open space merely to have a better view. And. 
 indeed, this stretch of English-looking country was well 
 worth the trouble, especially at such a time of the year 3 
 when it was clothed in the fresh and tender colours of the 
 spring-time ; and it was with much seeming content that 
 this young English maiden stood there and looked abroad 
 over the prospect — at the placid river winding through the 
 lush meadows ; at the wooden spire of the church rising 
 
 B 2
 
 4 yUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 above the young foliage of the elms ; at here and there in 
 the town a red-tiled house visible among the thatched roofs 
 and gray walls and orchards — these being all pale and 
 ethereal and dream-like in the still sunshine of this quiet 
 morning. It was a peaceful, English-looking picture, that 
 ought to have interested her, however familiar it may have 
 been ; and perhaps it was only to look at it once more that 
 she had made her way up hither ; and also to breathe the 
 cool sweet air of the open, aud to listen to the singing of the 
 birds, that seemed to fill the white wide spaces of the sky as 
 far as ever she could hear. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware that some one was behind 
 her and near her, and, instantly turning, she found before 
 her an elderly man with a voluminous gray beard, who 
 appeared to affect some kind of concealment by the way he 
 wore his hat and his long cloak. 
 
 " God save you, sweet lady ! " he had said, almost before 
 she turned. 
 
 But if the stranger imagined that by his unlooked-for 
 approach and sudden address he was likely to startle this 
 young damsel out of her self-possession, he knew very little 
 with whom he had to deal. 
 
 "Give ye good-morrow, good Master Wizard," said she, 
 with perfect calmness, and she regarded him from head to 
 foot with nothing beyond a mild curiosity. Indeed, it was 
 rather he who was embarrassed, lie looked at her with a 
 kind of wonder — and admiration also ; and if she had been 
 sufficiently heedful and watchful she might have observed 
 that his eyes, which were singularly dark, had a good deal 
 of animation in them for one of his years. It was only 
 after a second or so of this bewildered and admiring con- 
 templation of her that he managed to say, in a grave and 
 formal voice, something in praise of her courage in thus 
 keeping the appointment he had Bought. 
 
 " Nay, good sir," said she, with much complacency, 
 '• trouble not yourself about me. There is no harm in goini;' 
 (nit to gather a few flowers in the held, surely. If there be 
 any danger it is rather you that have to fear it, for there is 
 the pillory for them that go about the country divining for 
 gold and silver." 
 
 "It is for no such vain and idle purposes that I use my
 
 AN ASSIGNATION 5 
 
 art," said he ; and he regarded her with such an intensity 
 of interest that sometimes he stumbled forgetfully in his 
 speech, as if he were repeating a lesson but ill prepared. 
 " It is for the revelation of the future to them that are born 
 under fortunate planets. And you are one of these, sweet 
 lady, or I would not have summoned you to a meeting that 
 might have seemed perilous to one of less courage and good 
 heart. If it please you to listen, I can forecast that that 
 will befall you " 
 
 " Nay, good sir," said she, with a smile, " I have heard it 
 frequently, though perhaps never from one so skilled. Tis 
 but a question between dark and fair, with plenty of money 
 and lands thrown in. For that matter I might set up in 
 the trade myself. But if you could tell me now " 
 
 " If I were to tell you — if by my art I could show you," 
 said he, with a solemnity that was at least meant to be 
 impressive (though this young maid, with her lips inclining 
 to a smile, and her inscrutable eyes, did not seem much awe- 
 stricken) — " if I could convince you, sweet lady, that you 
 shall marry neither dark nor fair among any of those that 
 would now fain win you — and rumour says there be several 
 of those — what then ? " 
 
 " Rumour ? " she repeated, with the colour swiftly mantling 
 in her face. But she was startled, and she said quickly, " What 
 do you say, good wizard ? Not any one that I know ? 
 "What surety have you of that ? Is it true ? Can you show 
 it to me ? Can you assure me of it ? Is your skill so great 
 that you can prove to me that your prophecy is aught but 
 idle guessing ? No one that I have seen as yet, say you ? 
 Why," she added, half to herself, " but that were good news 
 for my gossip Prue." 
 
 " My daughter," said this elderly person, in slow and 
 measured tones, " it is not to aU that the stars have been so 
 propitious at their birth." 
 
 "Good sir," said she, with some eagerness, "I beseech 
 you forgive me if I attend you not ; but — but this is the 
 truth now as to how I came in answer to your message to 
 me. I will speak plain. Perchance rumour hath not quite 
 belied herself. There may be one or two who think too 
 well of me, and would have me choose him or him to be my 
 lover ; and — and — do you see now ? — if there were of one
 
 6 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 those that I would fain have turn aside from idle thoughts 
 of me and show more favour to my dear cousin and gossip 
 Prudence Shawe — nay, but to tell the truth, good wizard, I 
 came here to seek of your skill whether it could afford some 
 charm and magic that would direct his heart to her. I 
 have heard of such things " 
 
 And here she stopped abruptly, in some confusion, for she 
 had in her eagerness admitted a half-belief in the possible 
 power of his witchcraft which she had been careful to conceal 
 before. She had professed incredulity by her very manner ; 
 she had almost laughed at his pretensions ; she had inti- 
 mated that she had come hither only out of curiosity ; but 
 now she had blundered into the confession that she had 
 cherished some vague hope of obtaining a love-philtre, or 
 some such thing, to transfer away from herself to her friend 
 the affections of one of those suitors whose existence seemed 
 to be so well known to the wizard. However, he soon 
 relieved her from her embarrassment by assuring her that 
 this that she demanded was far away beyond the scope of 
 his art, "which was strictly limited to the discovery and 
 revelation of such secrets as still lay within the future. 
 
 " And if so, good sir," said she, after a moment's reflection, 
 " that were enough, or nearly enough, so that you can con- 
 vince us of it." 
 
 " To you yourself alone, gracious lady," said he, " can I 
 reveal that which will happen to you. Nay, more, so for- 
 tunate is the conjunction of the planets that reigned at your 
 birth — the ultimum suppliciwn auri might almost have been 
 declared to you — that I can summon from the ends of the 
 earth, be he where he may, the man that you shall hereafter 
 marry, or soon or late I know not : if you will, you can 
 behold him at such and such a time, at such and such a 
 place, as the stars shall appoint." 
 
 She looked puzzled, half-incredulous and perplexed, inclined 
 to smile, blushing somewhat, and all uncertain. 
 
 ''It is a temptation — I were no woman else," said she, 
 with a laugh. " Nay, but if I can see him, why may not 
 others ? And if I can show them him who is to be my 
 worshipful lord and master, why, then, my gossip Prue may 
 have the better chance of reaching the goal where I doubt 
 not her heart is fixed. Come, then, to prove your skill, good
 
 AN A SSJGNA TION 7 
 
 sir. Where shall I see him, and when ? Must I use charms ? 
 Will he speak, think you, or pass as a ghost ? But if he be not 
 a proper man, good wizard, by my life I will have none of 
 him, nor of your magic either." 
 
 She was laughing now, and rather counterfeiting a kind 
 of scorn ; but she was curious ; and she watched him with 
 a lively interest as he took forth from a small leather bag a 
 little folded piece of paper, which he carefully opened. 
 
 " I cannot answer all your questions, my daughter," said 
 he ; " I can but proceed according to my art. Whether 
 the person you will see may be visible to others I know not, 
 nor can I tell you aught of his name or condition. Pray 
 Heaven he be worthy of such beauty and gentleness ; for I 
 had heard of you, gracious lady, but rumour had but poor 
 words to describe such a rarity and a prize." 
 
 " Nay," said she, in tones of reproof (but the colour had 
 mounted to a face that certainly showed no sign of dis- 
 pleasure), " you speak like one of the courtiers now." 
 
 " This charm," siad he, dropping his eyes, and returning 
 to his grave and formal tones, " is worth naught without a 
 sprig of rosemary ; that must you get, and you must place it 
 within the paper in a threefold manner — thus ; and then, 
 when Sol and Luna are both in the descendent — but I forget 
 me, the terms of my ait are unknown to you ; I must speak 
 in the vulgar tongue ; and meanwhile you shall see the 
 charm, that there is nothing wicked or dangerous in it, but 
 only the wherewithal to bring about a true lovers' meeting." 
 
 He handed her the open piece of paper ; but she, having 
 glanced at the writing, gave it him back again. 
 
 " I pray you read it to me," she said. 
 
 He regarded her for a second with some slight surprise ; but 
 he took the paper, and read aloud, slowly, the lines written 
 thereon — 
 
 " Dare you haunt our hallowed gre/nf 
 None but fairies here are seen. 
 Down and sleep, 
 Wake and weep, 
 Finch him black, and pinch him blue, 
 Tliat seeks to steal a lover true. 
 When you come to hear ws sing, 
 Or to tread our fairy ring, 
 Pinch him black, and pinch him blue — 
 Oh, thus our nails shall handle you! "
 
 8 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " "Why, 'tis like what my father wrote about Heme the 
 Hunter," said she, with a touch of indifference ; perhaps she 
 had expected to hear something more weird and unholy. 
 
 " Please you, forget not the rosemary ; nothing will come 
 of it else," he continued. " Then this you must take in 
 your hand secretly, and when no one has knowledge of your 
 outgoing ; and when Luna — nay, but I mean, when the 
 moon has risen to-night so that, standing in the churchyard, 
 you shall see it over the roof of the church, then must you 
 go to the yew-tree that is in the middle of the churchyard, 
 and there you shall scrape away a little of the earth from 
 near the foot of the tree, and bury this paper, and put the 
 earth firmly down on it again, saying thrice, Hieronymo ! 
 Hieronymo ! Hieronymo ! You follow me, sweet lady ? " 
 
 " 'Tis simple enough," said she, " but that on these fine 
 evenings the people are everywhere about ; and if one were 
 to be seen conjuring in the churchyard " 
 
 " You must watch your opportunity, my daughter," said 
 he, speaking with an increased assumption of authority. 
 " One minute will serve you ; and this is all that needs be 
 done." 
 
 " Truly ? Is this all ? " said she, and she laughed 
 lightly. " Then will my gallant, my pride o' the world, my 
 lord and master, forthwith spring out of the solid ground ? 
 God mend me, but that were a fearful meeting — in a 
 churchyard ! Gentle wizard, I pray you " 
 
 " Not so," he answered, interrupting her. " The charm 
 will work there ; you must let it rest ; the night dews shall 
 nourish it ; the slow hours shall pass over it ; and the 
 spirits that haunt these precincts must know of it, that they 
 may prepare the meeting. To-night, then, sweet lady, you 
 shall place this charm in the churchyard at the foot of the 
 yew-tree, and to-morrow at twelve of the clock " 
 
 " By your leave, not to-morrow," said she, peremptorily. 
 " Not to-morrow, good wizard ; for my father comes home 
 to-morrow ; and, by my life, I would not miss the going 
 forth to meet him for all the lovers between here and 
 London town ! " 
 
 " Your father comes home to-morrow, Mistress Judith ? " 
 said he, in somewhat startled accents. 
 
 " In truth he does ; and Master Tyler also, and Julius
 
 AN ASSIGNATION 9 
 
 Shawe — there will be a goodly company, I warrant you, 
 come riding to-morrow through. Shipston and Tredington 
 and Alderminster ; and by your leave, reverend sir, the 
 magic must wait." 
 
 " That were easily done," he answered, after a moment's 
 thought, " by the alteration of a sign, if the day following 
 might find you at liberty. Will it so, gracious lady ? " 
 
 " The day after ? At what time of the day ? " she asked. 
 
 " The alteration of the sign will make it but an hour 
 earlier, if I mistake not ; that is to say, at eleven of the 
 forenoon you must be at the appointed place " 
 
 " Where, good wizard ? " said she — " where am I to see 
 the wraith, the ghost, the phantom husband that is to own 
 me?" 
 
 " That know I not myself as yet ; but my aids and 
 familiars will try to discover it for me," he answered, taking 
 a small sun-dial out of his pocket, and adjusting it as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " And with haste, so please you, good sir," said she, " for 
 I would not that any chance comer had a tale of this 
 meeting to carry back to the gossips." 
 
 He stooped down and placed the sun-dial carefully on the 
 ground, at a spot where the young corn was but scant 
 enough on the dry red soil, and then with his forefinger he 
 traced two or three lines and a semicircle on the crumbling 
 earth. 
 
 " South by west," said he, and he muttered some words 
 to himself. Then he looked up. " Know you the road to 
 Bidford, sweet lady ? " 
 
 " As well as I know my own ten fingers," she answered. 
 
 " For myself, I know it not, but if my art is not misleading 
 there should be, about a mile or more along that road, 
 another road at right angles with it, bearing to the right, 
 and there at the junction should stand a cross of stone. 
 Is it so ? " 
 
 " 'Tis the lane that leads to Shottery ; well I know it," 
 she said. 
 
 " So it has been appointed, then," said he, " if the stars 
 continue their protection over you. The day after to- 
 morrow, at eleven of the forenoon, if you be within stone's 
 throw of the cross at the junction of the roads, there shall
 
 io JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 you see, or my art is strangely mistaken, the man or gentle- 
 man — nay, I know not whether he be parson or layman, 
 soldier or merchant, knight of the shire or plain goodman 
 Dick — I say there shall you see him that is to win you and 
 wear you ; but at what time you shall become his wife, and 
 where, and in what circumstances, I cannot reveal to you. 
 I have done my last endeavour." 
 
 " Nay, do not hold me ungrateful," she said, though there 
 was a smile on her lips, " but surely, good sir, what your 
 skill has done that it can also undo. If it have power to 
 raise a ghost, surely it has power to lay him. And truly, if 
 he be a ghost, I will not have him. And if he be a man, 
 and have a red beard, I will not have him. And if he be a 
 slape-face, I will have none of him. And if he have thin 
 legs, he may walk his ways for me. Good wizard, if I like 
 him not, you must undo the charm." 
 
 " My daughter, you have a light heart," said he gravely. 
 '• .May tin; favouring planets grant it lead you not into mis- 
 chief; there be unseen powers that are revengeful. And 
 now I must take my leave, gracious lady. I have given 
 you the result of much study and labour, of much solitary 
 communion with the heavenly bodies ; take it, and use it 
 with heed, and so fare you well." 
 
 He was going, but she detained him. 
 
 "Good sir, I am your debtor," said she, with the red 
 blood mantling in her forehead, for all through this inter- 
 view she had clearly recognised that she was not dealing 
 with any ordinary mendicant fortune-teller. "So much 
 lnhour and skill I cannot accept from you without becoming 
 a beggar. I pray you " 
 
 He put up his hand. 
 
 "Not so," saiil h'', with a certain grave dignity. "To 
 have set eyes on the fairest maid in Warwickshire — as I 
 have heard you named — were surely sufficient recompense 
 for any trouble ; and to have had speech of you, sweet lady, 
 is what many a one would venture much for. But I would 
 humbly kiss your hand ; and so again fare you well." 
 
 " God shield yon, most courteous wizard, and good-day," 
 said she, as Ik; left ; and for a second she stood looking 
 after him in a kind of wonder, for this extraordinary 
 courtesy and dignity of manner were certainly not what she
 
 AN ASSIGN A TION i r 
 
 had expected to find in a vagabond purveyor of magic. 
 But now he was gone, and she held the charm in her hand, 
 and so without further ado she set out for home again, 
 getting down through the brushwood to the winding path. 
 
 She walked quickly, for she had heard that Master 
 Bushell's daughter, who was to be married that day, meant 
 to beg a general holiday for the schoolboys ; and she knew 
 that "if this were granted, these sharp-eyed young imps 
 would soon be here, there, and everywhere, and certain to spy 
 out the wizard if he were in the neighbourhood. But when 
 she had got clear of this hanging copse, that is known as 
 the Wier Brake, and had reached the open meadows, so that 
 from any part around she could be seen to be alone, she had 
 nothing further to fear, and she returned to her leisurely 
 straying in quest of flowers. The sun was hotter on the 
 grass now ; but the swallows were busy as ever over the 
 stream ; and the great bees hummed loud as they went 
 past ; and here and there a white butterfly fluttered from 
 petal to petal ; and, far away, she could hear the sound of 
 children's voices in the stillness. She was in a gay mood. 
 The interview she had just had with one in league with the 
 occult powers of magic and witchery did not seem in the 
 least to have overawed her. Perhaps, indeed, she had not 
 yet made up her mind to try the potent charm that she had 
 obtained ; at all events the question did not weigh heavily 
 on her. For now it was — 
 
 " Oh, mistress mine, tvhere are you roaming f " 
 and asrain it was — ■ 
 
 "a 
 
 " For a morn in spring is the sweetest thing 
 Cometh in all the year 1 " 
 
 and always another touch of colour added to the daintily- 
 arranged nosegay in her hand. And then, of a sudden, as 
 she chanced to look ahead, she observed a number of the 
 schoolboys come swarming down to the footbridge ; and 
 she knew right well that one of them — to wit, young Willie 
 Hart — would think a holiday quite thrown away and 
 wasted if he did not manage to seek out and secure the 
 company of his pretty cousin Judith. 
 
 " Ah ! there, now," she was saying to herself, as she
 
 12 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 watched the schoolboys come over the bridge one by one 
 and two by two, " there, now, is my sweetheart of sweet- 
 hearts ; there is my prince of lovers ! If ever I have lover 
 as faithf ul and kind as he, it will go well. ' Nay, Susan,' 
 says he, ' I love you not ; you kiss me hard, and speak to 
 me as if I were still a child ; I love Judith better.' And 
 how cruel of my father to put him in the play, and to slay 
 him so soon ; but perchance he will call him to life again — 
 nay, it is a favourite way with him to do that ; and pray 
 Heaven he brings home with him to-morrow the rest of the 
 story, that Prue may read it to me. And so are you there, 
 among the unruly imps, you young Prince Mamillius ? 
 Have you caught sight of me yet, sweetheart blue-eyes ? 
 Why, come, then ; you will outstrip them all, I know, 
 when you get sight of Cousin Judith ; for as far off as you 
 are, you will reach me first, that I am sure of ; and then, 
 by my life, sweetheart Willie, you shall have a kiss as soft 
 as a dove's breast ! " 
 
 And so she went on to meet them, arranging the colours 
 of her straggling blossoms the while, with now and again a 
 snatch of careless song — 
 
 " Come, blow thy horn, hunter I 
 Come, blow thy horn, hunter ! 
 Come, bloio thy horn— jolly hunter I " 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SIGNIOR CRAB-APPLE. 
 
 There was much ado in the house all that day, in view 
 of the home-coming on the morrow, and it was not till 
 pretty late in the evening that Judith was free to steal out 
 for a gossip with her friend and chief companion, Prudence 
 Shawe. She had not far to go — but a couple of doors off, 
 in fact ; and her coming was observed by Prudence herself, 
 who happened to be sitting at the casementcd window for 
 the better prosecution of her needle-work, there being still 
 a clear glow of twilight in the sky. A minute or so there- 
 after the two friends were in Prudence's own chamber, 
 which was on the first floor, and looking out to the back 
 over barns and orchards ; and they had gone to the window,
 
 SIGN/OR CRAB-APPLE 13 
 
 to the bench there, to have their secrets together. This 
 Prudence Shawe was some two years Judith's junior — 
 though she really played the part of elder sister to her ; 
 she was of a pale complexion, with light straw-coloured 
 hair ; not very pretty, perhaps, but she had a restful kind 
 of face that invited friendliness and sympathy, of which she 
 had a large abundance to give in return. Her costume 
 was of a Puritanical plainness and primness, both in the 
 fashion of it and in its severe avoidance of colour ; and 
 that was not the only point on which she formed a marked 
 contrast to this dear cousin and wilful gossip of hers, who 
 had a way of pleasing herself (more especially if she thought 
 she might thereby catch her father's eye) in apparel as in 
 most other things. And on this occasion — at the outset 
 at all events — Judith would not have a word said about 
 the assignation of the morning. The wizard was dismissed 
 from her mind altogether. It was about the home-coming 
 of the next day that she was all eagerness and excitement ; 
 and her chief prayer and entreaty was that her friend 
 Prudence should go with her to welcome the travellers 
 home. 
 
 " Nay, but you must and shall, dear Prue ; sweet mouse, 
 I beg it of you ! " she was urging. " Every one at New 
 Place is so busy that they have fixed upon Signior Crab- 
 apple to ride with me ; and you know I cannot suffer him ; 
 and I shall not have a word of my father all the way back, 
 not a word ; there will be nothing but a discourse about 
 fools, and idle jests, and wiseman Matthew the hero of the 
 day " 
 
 " Dear Judith, I cannot understand how you dislike the 
 old man so," her companion said, in that smooth voice of 
 hers. " I see no garden that is better tended than yours." - 
 
 " I would I could let slip the mastiff at his unmannerly 
 throat ! " was the quick reply — and indeed for a second she 
 looked as if she would fain have seen that wish fulfilled. 
 " The vanity of him ! — the puffed-up pride of him !— he 
 thinks there be none in Warwickshire but himself wise 
 enough to talk to my father ; and the way he dogs his 
 steps if he be walking in the garden — no one else may have 
 a word with him — sure my father is sufficiently driven 
 forth by the preachers and the psalm-singing within-doors,
 
 14 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 that out of doors, in his own garden, he might have some 
 freedom of speech with his own daughter " 
 
 " Judith, Judith," her friend said, and she put her hand 
 on her arm, "you hare such wilful thoughts, and wild 
 words, too. I am sure your father is free of speech with 
 every one — gentle and simple, old and young, it matters 
 not who it is that approaches him." 
 
 " This Signior Crab-apple truly ! " the other exclaimed, 
 in the impetuosity of her scorn. " If his heart be as hvs 
 as a crab-apple, I greatly doubt ; but that it is of like 
 quality I'll be sworn. And the bitterness of his railing 
 tongue ! All women are fools — vools he calls them, rather 
 —first and foremost ; and most men are fools ; but of all 
 fools there be none like the fools of Warwickshire — that is, 
 because my worshipful goodman gardener comes all the way 
 from Bewdley. 'Tis meat and drink to him, he says, to 
 discover a fool, though how he should have any difficulty 
 in the discovering, seeing that we are all of us fools, passes 
 my understanding. Nay, but I know what set him after 
 that quarry ; 'twas one day in the garden, and my father 
 was just come home from London, and he was talking to 
 my uncle Gilbert, and was laughing at what his friend 
 Benjamin Jonson had said, or had written, I know not 
 which. ' Of all beasts in the world,' says he, ' I love 
 most the serious ass.' Then up steps goodman Matthew. 
 ' There be plenty of 'em about 'ere, zur,' says he, with a 
 grin on his face like that on a cat when a dog has her by 
 the tail. And my father, who will talk to any one, as you 
 say truly, and about anything, and always with the same 
 attention, must mods begin to challenge goodman Grab- 
 apple to declare the greatest fools that ever he had met 
 with ; and from that day to this the ancient sour-face hath 
 been on the watch — and it suits well with his opinion of 
 other people and his opinion of himself as the only wise 
 man in the world — I say ever since he hath been on the 
 watch for fools; and the greater the fool the greater his 
 wisdom, I reckon, that can find him out. A purveyor of 
 fools ! — a goodly trade ! I doubt not but that it likes him 
 butter than the tending of apricots when he has the free 
 range of the ale-houses to work on. He will bring a couple 
 of them into the garden when my father is in the summer-
 
 SIGNIOR CRAB-APPLE 15 
 
 house. 'Ere, zirr, please you come out and look 'ere, zur ; 
 'ere be a brace of rare vools.' And the poor clowns are 
 proud of it ; they stand and look at each other and laugh. 
 ' "We be, zur — we be.' And then my father will say no, 
 and will talk with them, and cheer them with assurance of 
 their wisdom ; then must they have spiced bread and ale 
 ere they depart ; and this is a triumph for Master Matthew 
 —the withered, shrivelled, dried-up, cankered nutshell that 
 he is !." 
 
 "Dear Judith, pray have patience — indeed, you are 
 merely jealous." 
 
 " Jealous ! " she exclaimed, as if her scorn of this ill-con- 
 ditioned old man put that well out of the question. 
 
 " You think he has too much of your father's company, 
 and you like it not ; but consider of it, Judith, he being in 
 the garden, and your father in the summer-house, and when 
 your father is tired for the moment of his occupation, what- 
 ever that may be, then can he step out and speak to this 
 goodman Matthew, that amuses him with his biting tongue, 
 and with the self-sufficiency of his wisdom — nay, I suspect 
 your father holds him to be a greater fool than any ho 
 makes sport of, and that he loves to lead him on." 
 
 " And why should my father have to be in the summer- 
 house but that in-doors the wool-spinning is hardly more 
 constant than the lecturing and the singing of psalms and 
 hymns ? " 
 
 " Judith ! Judith ! " said her gentle friend, with real 
 trouble on her face, " you grieve me when you talk like that 
 — indeed you do, sweetheart ! There is not a morning nor 
 a night passes that I do not pray the Lord that your "heart 
 may be softened and led to our ways— nay, far from that, 
 but to the Lord's own ways ; and the answer will come ; I 
 have faith ; I know it — and God send it speedily, for you 
 are like an own sister to me, and my heart yearns over you." 
 
 The other sat silent for a second. She could not fail to 
 be touched by the obvious sincerity, the longing kindness of 
 her friend, but she would not confess as much in words. 
 
 " As yet, sweet Prue," said she, lightly, " I suppose I am 
 of the unregenerate, and if it is wicked to cherish evil 
 thoughts of your neighbour, then am I not of the elect, for 
 I heartily wish that Tom Quiney and some of the youths
 
 16 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 would give Matthew gardener a sound ducking in a horse- 
 pond to tame his arrogance withal. But no matter. What 
 say you, dear Prue ? Will you go with me to-morrow, so 
 that we may have the lad Tookey in charge of us, and 
 Signior Crab-apple be left to his weeding and graffing and 
 railing at human kind ? Do, now " 
 
 " The maids are busy, Judith," said she, doubtfully. 
 
 " But a single day, sweetheart ! " she urged. " And if 
 we go early we may get as far as Shipston and await them 
 there. Have you no desire to meet your brother, Prudence 
 — to be the first of all to welcome him home ? Nay, that is 
 because you can have him in your company as often as you 
 wish ; there is no goodman-wiseman-fool to come between 
 you." 
 
 "Dear heart," said Prudence Shawe, with a smile, "I 
 know not what is the witchery of you, but there is none I 
 wot of that can say you nay." 
 
 " You will, then ? " said the other, joyfully. " Ah, look 
 now, the long ride home we shall have with my father, and 
 all the news I shall have to tell him ! And all good news, 
 Prue ; scarcely a whit or bit that is not good news : the 
 roan that he bought at Evesham is well of -her lameness — 
 good ; and the King's mulberry is thriving bravely (I wonder 
 that wiseman Matthew has not done it a mischief in the 
 night-time, for the King, bring above him in station, must 
 needs have nothing from him but sour and envious words) ; 
 and then the twenty acres that my father so set his heart 
 upon he is to have — I hear that the Combes have said as 
 much, and my father will be right well pleased ; and the 
 vicar is talking no longer of building the new piggery over 
 ;i<_ r ainst the garden— at hast for the present there is nothing 
 to be done : all good news ; but there is better still, as you 
 know ; for what will he say when he discovers that I have 
 taught Bess Hall to ride the mastiff ? " 
 
 " Pray you have a care, dear Judith," said her friend, 
 with some apprehension on her face, "'lis a dangerous- 
 looking beast." 
 
 " A lamb, a very lamb ! " was the confident answer. 
 "Well, now, and as we are riding home he will tell me of all 
 the things he has brought from London ; and you know he 
 has always something pretty for you, sweet Puritan,, though
 
 SIGNIOR CRAB-APPLE 17 
 
 you regard such adornments as snares and pitfalls. And 
 this time I hope it will be a silver brooch for you, that so 
 you must needs wear it and show it, or he will mark its 
 absence ; and for the others let us guess ; let us see. There 
 may be some more of that strange-fashioned Murana glass 
 for Susan, for as difficult as it is to carry ; and some silk 
 hangings or the like for my mother, or store of napery, per- 
 chance, which she prizeth more ; and be sure there is the 
 newest book of sermons from Paul's Churchyard for the 
 Doctor ; a greyhound, should he hear of a famous one on 
 the way, for Thomas Combe ; toys for the little Harts, that 
 is certain ; for my aunt Joan — what ? — a silver-topped jug, 
 or some perfumes of musk and civet ? — and what else — and 
 for whom else — well " 
 
 " But what for yourself, dear Judith ? " her friend said, 
 with a smile. " Will he forget you ? Has Matthew 
 gardener driven you out even from his recollection ? Will 
 he not have for you a pretty pair of rose shoe-strings, or one 
 of the new tasselled French hoods they are speaking of, or 
 something of the kind, that will turn the heads of all the 
 lads in Stratford twice further round ? You are a temptress 
 surely, sweetheart ; I half forget that such vanities should 
 displease me when I see the way you wear them ; and that 
 I think you must take from your father, Judith ; for no 
 matter how plain his apparel is — and it is plain indeed for 
 one that owns the Xew Place — he wears it with such an 
 ease and with such a grace and simplicity that you would 
 say a prince should wear it even so." 
 
 " You put me off, Prue," her friend said, with a sort of 
 good-natured impatience. " Why, I was showing you what 
 nicelings and delicates my father was bringing, and what I 
 had thought to say was this : that he may have this for one, 
 and that for the other, and many a one proud to be remem- 
 bered (as I shall be if he thinks of me), but this that I know 
 he is bringing for little Bess Hall is something worth all of 
 these, for it is nothiug less than the whole love of his heart. 
 Xay, but I swear it ; there is not a human creature in the 
 world to compare with her in his eyes ; she is the pearl that 
 he wears in his heart of hearts. If it were London town 
 she wanted, and he could give it to her, that is what ho 
 would bring for her."
 
 1 3 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " "What ! are you jealous of her too ? " said Prudence, 
 with her placid smile. 
 
 " By yea and nay, sweet Puritan, if that will content you, 
 I declare it is not so," was the quick answer. " Why, Bess 
 is my ally ! We are in league, I tell you ; we will have a 
 tussle with the enemy ere loug ; and, by my life, I think I 
 know that that will put goodman-wiseman's nose awry ! " 
 
 At this moment the secret confabulation of these two 
 friends was suddenly and unexpectedly broken in upon by 
 a message from without. Something white came fluttering 
 through the open casement, and fell, not quite into Judith's 
 lap, which was probably its intended destination, but down 
 toward her feet. She stooped and picked it up ; it was a 
 letter, addressed to her, and tied round with a bit of rose- 
 red silk ribbon that was neatly formed into a true lover's 
 knot. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM. 
 
 The embarrassment that ensued — on her part only, for the 
 pale and gentle face of her friend betrayed not even so rnuch 
 as surprise — was due to several causes. Judith could 
 neither read nor write. In her earlier years she had been a 
 somewhat delicate child, and had consequently been ex- 
 cused from the ordinary tuition, slight as that usually was 
 in the case of girls ; but when, later on, she grew into quite 
 firm and robust health, in her wilfulness and pride and 
 petulance she refused to re-transform herself into a child 
 and submit to be taught children's lessons. Moreover, Bhe 
 ! ad an acute and alert brain ; and she had a hundred 
 reasons ready to show that what was in reality a mere 
 I wardness on her part was the most wise and natural 
 thing in the world ; while her father, who had a great and 
 habitual tolerance for everything and everybody that came 
 within bia reach, laughed with her rather than at her, and 
 said she should do very well without book-learning so long as 
 those pink roses shone in her cheeks. But she had one 
 ]•■ ason that was not merely an excuse. Most of the printed 
 matter that reached the house was brought thither by this
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM 19 
 
 or that curate, or by this or that famous preacher, who, in 
 going through the country, was sure of an eager and respect- 
 ful welcome at New Place ; and perhaps it was not kindly 
 nor civilly done of them — though it may have been regarded 
 as a matter of conscience — that they should carry thither 
 and lead aloud, amongst other things, the fierce denuncia- 
 tions of stage-plays and stage-players which were common 
 in the polemical and Puritanical literature of the day. 
 Right or wrong, Judith resented this with a vehement 
 indignation ; and she put a ban upon all books, judging by 
 what she had heard read out of some ; nay, one day she 
 had come into the house and found her elder sister, who 
 was not then married, greatly distressed, and even in the 
 bitterness of tears ; and when she discovered that the 
 cause of this was a pamphlet that had been given to Susanna, 
 in which not only were the heinous wickednesses of plays 
 and players denounced, but also her own father named by 
 his proper name, Judith, with hot cheeks and flashing eyes, 
 snatched the pamphlet from her sister's hand and forth- 
 with sent it flying through the open window into the mud 
 without, notwithstanding that books and pamphlets were 
 scarce and valuable things, and that this one had been lent. 
 And when she discovered that this piece of writing had been 
 brought to the house by the pious and learned Walter 
 Blaise — a youthful divine he was who had a small living 
 some few miles from Stratford, but who lived in the town, 
 and was one of the most eager and disputatious of the 
 Puritanical preachers there — it in no way mitigated her 
 wrath that this worthy Master Blaise was regarded by many, 
 and even openly spoken of, as a suitor for her own hand. 
 
 " God mend me," said she, in her anger (and greatly to 
 the distress of the mild-spoken Prudence), " but 'tis a 
 strange way of paying court to a young woman to bring 
 into the house abuse of her own father ! Sir Parson may 
 go hang for me I " And for many a day she would have 
 nothing to say to him ; and steeled and hardened her heart 
 not only against him, but against the doctrines and ways of 
 conduct that he so zealously advocated ; and she would not 
 come into evening prayers when he happened to be present ; 
 and wild horses would not have dragged her to the parish 
 church on the Sunday afternoon that it was his turn to 
 
 c 2
 
 co JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 deliver the fortnightly lecture there. However, these things 
 abated in time. Master Walter Blaise was a civil-spoken 
 and an earnest and sincere young man, and Prudence Shawe 
 was the gentle intermediary. Judith suffered his presence, 
 and that was about all as yet ; but she would not look the 
 way of printed books. And when Prudence tried to entice 
 her into a study of the mere rudiments of reading and 
 writing, she would refuse peremptorily, and say, with a 
 laugh, that, could she read, the first thing she should read 
 would be plays, which, as sweet cousin Prue was aware, 
 were full of tribulation and anguish, and fit only for the 
 foolish Galatians of the world, the children of darkness and 
 the devil. But this obstinacy did not prevent her overcom- 
 ing her dear cousin Prue's scruples, and getting her to read 
 aloud to her in the privacy of their secret haunts this or the 
 other fragment of a play, when that she had adroitly 
 purloined a manuscript from the summer-house in New 
 Place ; and in this surreptitious manner she had acquired a 
 knowledge of what was going on at the Globe and the 
 Blackfriars theatres in London, which, had they but guessed 
 of it, would have considerably astounded her mother, her 
 sister, and good Parson Blaise as well. 
 
 In more delicate matters still, Prudence was her con- 
 fidante, her intermediary, and amanuensis ; and ordinarily 
 this caused her no embarrassment, for she wished for no 
 secrets with any of human kind. But in one direction she 
 had formed certain suspicions; and so it was that on this 
 occasion, when she stooped down and picked up the letter 
 that had been so deftly thrown in at the casement, her face 
 flushed somewhat. 
 
 " I know from whom it comes," said she, and she seemed 
 inclined to put it into the little wallet of blue satin that 
 bung at her side. 
 
 Then she glanced at Prudence's eyes. There was nothing 
 there in the least approaching displeasure or pique, only a 
 quiet amusement. 
 
 " It was cleverly done," said Prudence, and she raised her 
 head cautiously and peeped through one of the small panes 
 of pale green glass. But the twilight had sunk into dusk, 
 and any one outside could easily have made his escape un- 
 perceived through the labyrinth of barns and out-hou
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM i\ 
 
 Judith glanced at the handwriting again, and said, with 
 an affectation of carelessness — 
 
 " There be those who have plenty of time, surely, for 
 showing the wonders of their skill. Look at the twisting 
 and turning and lattice-work of it — truly he .is a most 
 notable clerk ; I would he spent the daylight to better pur- 
 pose. Eead it for me, sweet Prue." 
 
 She would have handed the letter — with much studied 
 indifference of look and manner — to her friend, but that 
 Prudence gently refused it. 
 
 " 'Tis you must undo the string ; you know not what 
 may be inside." 
 
 So Judith herself opened the letter, which contained 
 merely a sprig of rosemary, along with some lines written in 
 a most ornate caligraphy. 
 
 " "What does he say ? " she asked, but without any ap- 
 parent interest, as she gave the open letter to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 Prudence took the letter and read aloud — 
 
 " ' Rosemary is for remembrance 
 Between us day and night; 
 Wishing that I might always have 
 You present in my sight.' 
 
 This from your true well-wisher and one that icould be your loving 
 servant unto death, T. Q." 
 
 " The idle boy ! " she said, and again she directed a quick 
 and penetrating look of inquiry to her friend's face ; but 
 Prudence was merely regarding the elaborate handwriting. 
 There was no trace of wounded pride or anything of the 
 kind in her eyes ; nay, she looked up and said, with a 
 smile — 
 
 " For one that can wrestle so well, and play at football, 
 and throw the sledge as they say he can, he is master of a 
 most delicate handwriting." 
 
 " But the rosemary, Prue," Judith exclaimed suddenly, 
 and she groped about at her feet until she had found it. 
 " Why, now, look you, was ever anything so fortunate ? 
 Truly I had forgotten all about rosemary, aud my reverend 
 wizard, and the charm that is to be buried to-night ; and 
 you know not a word of the story. Shall I tell you, sweet
 
 22 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 mouse ? Is there time before the moon appears over the 
 roof of the church ? — for there I am summoned to fearful 
 deeds. Why, Prue, you look as frightened as if a ghost 
 had come into the room — you yourself are like a ghost 
 now in the dusk — or is it the coming moonlight that is 
 making you so pale ? " 
 
 " I had thought that better counsels would have prevailed 
 with you, Judith," she said anxiously. " I knew not you 
 had gone to see the man, and I reproach myself that I have 
 been an agent in the matter." 
 
 " A mouthpiece only, sweet Prue ! — a mere harmless, 
 innocent whistle that had nothing to do with the tune. 
 And the business was not so dreadful either ; there was no 
 cauldron nor playing with snakes and newts, no, nor whining 
 for money, which I expected most ; but a most civil and 
 courteous wizard, a most town-bred wizard as ever the sun 
 set eye on, that called me 'gracious lady' every other 
 moment, and would not take a penny for his pains. Marry, 
 if all the powers of evil be as well-behaved, I shall have less 
 fear of them ; for a more civil-spoken gentleman I have 
 never encountered ; and ' sweet lady ' it was, and ' gracious 
 lady,' and a voice like the voice of my lord bishop ; and 
 the assurance that the planets and the stars were holding me 
 in their kindest protection ; and a promise of a ghost 
 husband that is to appear that I may judge whether I like 
 him or like him not ; and all this and more — and he would 
 kiss my hand, and so farewell, and the reverend magician 
 makes his obeisance and vanishes, and I am not a penny the 
 poorer, but only the richer because of my charm ! There, 
 I will show it to you, cousin." 
 
 After a little search she found the tiny document ; and 
 Prudence Shawc glanced over it. 
 
 "Judith ! Judith ! " said she, almost in despair, " I know 
 not whither your wilfulness will carry you. But tell me 
 what happened. How came you by this paper ? And what 
 ghost husband do you speak of ? " 
 
 Then Judith related, with much circumstantiality, what 
 had occurred that morning ; not toning it down in the 
 least, but rather exaggerating here and there ; for she was 
 merry-hearted, and she liked to see the sweet Puritan face 
 grow more and more concerned. Moreover, the dull gray
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM 23 
 
 light outside, instead of deepening into dark, appeared to be 
 becoming a trifle clearer, so that doubtless the moon was 
 declaring itself somewhere ; and she was looking forward, 
 when the time came, to securing Prudence's company as far as 
 the churchyard, if her powers of persuasion were equal to that. 
 
 " But you will not go — surely you will not go, darling- 
 Judith," said Prudence, in accents of quite pathetic entreaty. 
 " You know the sin of dealing with such ungodly practices 
 — nay, and the danger, too, for you would of your own free 
 will go and seek a meeting with unholy things, whereas I 
 have been told that not so long ago they used in places to 
 carry a pan of frankincense round the house each night to 
 keep away witchcraft from them as they slept. I beseech 
 you, dearest Judith, give me the paper, and I will burn it ! " 
 
 "Nay, nay, it is but an idle tale, a jest ; I trust it not," 
 said her friend to reassure her. " Be not afraid, sweet 
 Prue. Those people who go about compelling the planets 
 and summoning spirits and the like have lesser power than 
 the village folk imagine, else would their own affairs thrive 
 better than they seem to do." 
 
 " Then give me the paper ; let me burn it, Judith ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, mouse," said she, withholding it ; and then she 
 added, with a sort of grave merriment or mischief in her 
 face : " Whether the thing be aught or naught, sure I 
 cannot treat so ill my courteous wizard ? He was no goose- 
 herd, I tell you, but a most proper and learned man ; and 
 he must have the chance of working the wonders he foretold. 
 Come now, think of it with reason, dear Prue. If there be 
 no power in the charm, if I go to Shottery for my morning 
 walk and find no one in the lane, who is harmed ? Why, 
 no one ; and Grandmother Hathaway is pleased, and will 
 show me how her garden is growing. Then, on the other 
 hand, should the charm work, should there be some one 
 there, what evil if I regard him as I pass from the other 
 side of the way ? Is it such a wonder that one should meet 
 a stranger on the Bidford road ? And what more ? Man 
 or ghost, he cannot make me marry him if I will not. He 
 cannot make me speak to him if I will not. And if he 
 would put a hand on me, I reckon Roderigo would speedily 
 have him by the throat, as I hope he may some day have 
 goodman Matthew."
 
 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 "But, Judith, such things are unlawful and forbidden 
 
 " To you, sweet saint — to you," said the other, with 
 much good humour. " But I have not learned to put aside 
 childish things as yet ; and this is only a jest, good Prue ; 
 and you, that are so faithful to your word, even in the 
 smallest trifle, would not have me break my promise to my 
 gentle wizard ? ' Gracious lady,' he says, and ' sweet lady,' 
 as it I were a dame of the court ; it were unmannerly of me 
 not to grant him this small demand " 
 
 " I wish I had misread the letter," said Prudence, so 
 occupied with her own fears that she scarcely knew what to 
 do. 
 
 " "What ! " exclaimed her friend, in tones of raillery ; " you 
 would have deceived me ? Is this your honesty, your 
 singleness of heart, sweet Puritan ? You would have sent 
 me on some fool's errand, would you ? " 
 
 " And if it were to be known you had gone out to meet 
 this conjurer, Judith, what would your mother and sister 
 say ? — and your father ? " 
 
 " My mother and sister — hum ! " was the demure reply. 
 " If he had but come in the garb of a preacher, with a Bible 
 under one arm and a prayer book under the other, I doubt 
 not that he would have been welcome enough at New Place 
 — ay, and everything in the house set before him, and a 
 Flanders jug full of Quiney's best claret withal to cheer the 
 good man. But when you speak of my father, dear Prue, 
 there you are wide of the mark — wide, wide of the mark ; 
 for the wizard is just such an one as he would be anxious to 
 know and see for himself. Indeed, if my mother and Susan 
 would have the house filled with preachers, my father would 
 rather seek his company from any strange kind of vagrant 
 cattle you could lind on the road — ballad-singers, strolling 
 players, pedlars, and the like ; and you should see him when 
 some ancient harper in his coat of green comes near the town 
 — nay, the constable shall not interfere with him, license or 
 no license ; my father must needs entertain him in the 
 garden ; and he will sit and talk to the old man ; and the 
 best in the house must be brought out for him ; and whether 
 he try his palsied fingers on the strings, or perchance 
 attempt a verse of ' Pastime with good comp.iny,' with his
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM 25 
 
 quavering old voice — that is according to his own good will 
 and pleasure ; nothing is demanded of him, but that he 
 have good cheer, and plenty of it, and go on his way the 
 merrier, with a groat or two in his pouch. Nay, I mind 
 me, when Susan was remonstrating with my father about 
 such things, and bidding him have some regard for the 
 family name — •' What ? ' says he, laughing ; ' set you up, 
 Madam Pride ! Know you not, then whence comes our 
 name ? And yet 'tis plain enough. Shades, these are but 
 vagrant, idle, useless fellows ; and then, we come to jpere, 
 that is, an equal and companion. There you have it 
 complete — Shaclcspere, the companion of strollers and 
 vagabonds, of worthless and idle fellows. What say you, 
 Madam Pride ? ' And, indeed, poor Susan was sorely dis- 
 pleased, insomuch that I said, ' But the spear in the coat 
 of arms, father — how came we by that ? ' — ' Why, there, 
 now,' says he, ' you see how regardless the heralds are of the 
 King's English. I warrant me- they would give a ship to 
 Shipston and a hen to Enstone.' Indeed, he will jest you 
 out of anything. When your brother would have left the 
 Town Council, Prue " 
 
 But here she seemed suddenly to recollect herself. She 
 rose quickly, thrust open the casement still wider, and put 
 out her head to discover whereabouts the moon was ; and 
 when she withdrew her head again there was mischief and 
 a spice of excitement in her face. 
 
 " No more talking and gossip now, Prue ; the time has 
 arrived for fearful deeds." 
 
 Prudence put her small white hand on her friend's arm. 
 
 " Stay, Judith. Be guided — for the love of me be guided, 
 sweetheart ! You know not what you do. The profaning 
 of sacred places will bring a punishment." 
 
 "Profaning, say you, sweet mouse? Is it anything' 
 worse than the children playing tick round the grave-stones ; 
 or even, when no one is looking, having a game of ' King 
 by your leave ' ? " 
 
 " It is late, Judith. It must be nine o'clock. It is not 
 seemly that a young maiden should be out-of-doors alone 
 at such an hour of the night." 
 
 " Marry, that say I," was the light answer. " And the 
 better reason that you should come with me, Prue."
 
 26 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " I ? " said Prudence, in affright. 
 
 " Wherefore not, then ? Nay, but you shall suffer no 
 harm through the witchery, good cousin ; I ask your 
 company no farther than the little swing gate. One minute 
 there, and I shall be back with you. Come now, for your 
 friend's sake ; get your hood and your muffler, dear Prue, 
 and no one shall know either of us from the witch of Endor, 
 so quickly shall we be there and back." 
 
 Still she hesitated. 
 
 " If your mother were to know, Judith " 
 
 " To know what, sweetheart ? That you walked with me 
 as far as the church and back again ? Why, on such a hue 
 and summcrlike night I dare be sworn now that half the 
 good folk of Stratford are abroad ; and it is no such journey 
 into a far country that we should take one of the maids 
 with us. Nay, come, sweet Prue ? We shall have a merry 
 ride to-morrow ; to-night, for your friendship's sake, you 
 must do me this small service." I 
 
 Prudence did not answer ; but somewhat thoughtfully, 
 and even reluctantly, she went to a small cupboard of boxes 
 that stood in the corner of the apartment, and brought 
 forth some articles of attire which (although she might not 
 have confessed it) were mostly for the better disguising of 
 herself, seeing that the night was fine and warm ; and then 
 Judith, having also drawn a muffler loosely round her 
 neck and the lower half of her face, was ready to go — and 
 was gone, in fact, as far as the door, when she suddenly 
 said : 
 
 " Why, now, I had nearly forgot the rosemary, and 
 without that the charm is naught. Did I leave it on the 
 window-shelf ? " 
 
 She went back and found it, and this time she took the 
 precaution of folding it within the piece of paper that she 
 was to bury in the churchyard. 
 
 "Is it fair, dear Judith ? " Prudence said reproachfully, 
 before she opened the door — "is it right that you should 
 take the bit of rosemary sent you by one lover and use it as 
 a charm to bring another ? " 
 
 "Nay, why should you concern yourself, good cousin?" 
 said Judith, with a quick glance ; hut indeed, at this end 
 of the room, it was too dark for her to see anything. " My
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE CHARM 27 
 
 lover, say you ? Let that be as the future may show. In 
 the meantime I am pledged to no one, nor anxious that I 
 should be so. And a scrap of rosemary, now, what is 
 it ? But listen to this, dear Prue : if it help to show me the 
 man I shall marry — if there be aught in his magic — will it 
 not be better for him that sent the rosemary that we should 
 be aware of what is in store for us ? " 
 
 " I know not — I scarcely ever know— whether you are in 
 jest or in earnest, Judith," her friend said. 
 
 " Why, then, I am partly in starched cambric, good mouse, 
 if you must know, and partly in damask, and partly in taffeta 
 of popinjay blue. But come now, let us be going ; the 
 awful hour approaches, Prue. Do you not tremble, like 
 Faustus in the cell ? "What was't he said ? — 
 
 ' It strikes; it strikes. Now, body, turn to air V 
 
 Come along, sweet Prue." 
 
 But she was silent as they left. Indeed, they went down 
 the dark little staircase and out at the front door with as 
 little noise as might be. Judith had not been mistaken : 
 the fine, clear, warm evening had brought out many people ; 
 and they were either quietly walking home or standing in 
 dusky little groups at the street corners talking to each other ; 
 whilst here and there came a laugh from a ruddy-windowed 
 ale-house ; and here and there a hushed sound of singing, 
 where a casement had been left a bit open, told that the 
 family within were at their devotional exercises for the 
 night. The half-moon was now clear and silvery in the 
 heavens. As they passed under the massive structure of 
 the Guild Chapel the upper portions of the tall windows had 
 a pale greenish glow shining through them that made the 
 surrounding shadows look all the more solemn. Whether it 
 was that their mufflers effectually prevented their being recog- 
 nised, or whether it was that none of their friends happened 
 to be abroad, they passed along without attracting notice 
 from any one ; nor was a word spoken between themselves 
 for some time. 
 
 But when they drew near to the church, the vast bulk of 
 which, towering above the trees around, seemed almost 
 black against the palely clear sky, the faithful Prudence
 
 28 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE^ 
 
 made bold to put in a final word of remonstrance and 
 dissuasion. 
 
 " It is wickedness and folly, Judith. Naught can come of 
 such work," she said. 
 
 " Then let naught come of it, and what harm is done ? " 
 her companion said gaily. " Dear mouse, are you so 
 timorous ? Nay, but you shall not come within the little 
 gate ; you shall remain without. And if the spirits come 
 and snatch me, as they snatched off Dr. Faustus, you shall 
 see all the pageant, and not a penny to pay. What was it 
 in the paper ? — 
 
 [.'Pinch him blade, and pinch him blue, 
 That seeks to steal a lover true.' 
 
 Did it not run so ? But they cannot pinch you, dear 
 Prue ; so stand here now, and hush ! — pray you do not 
 scream if you see them whip me off in a cloud of fire — and 
 I shall be with you again in a minute." 
 
 She passed through the little swinging gate and entered 
 the churchyard, casting therewith a quick glance around. 
 Apparently no one was within sight of her, either among 
 the gray stones or under the black-stemmed elms by the 
 river ; but there were people not far off, for she could hear 
 their voices — doubtless they were going home through the 
 meadows on the other side of the stream. She looked but 
 oucc in that direction. The open country was lying pale 
 and clear in the white light ; and under the wide branches 
 of the elms one or two bats were silently darting to and fro ; 
 but she could not see the people, and she took it for granted 
 that no one could now observe what she was about. So she 
 left the path, made her way through the noiseless grass, and 
 reached the small yew-tree standing there among the grave- 
 stones. The light was clear enough to allow her to open 
 the package and make sure that the sprig of rosemary was 
 within ; then she rapidly, with her bare hand, stooped down 
 and scooped a little of the earth away ; she embedded the 
 packet there, repeating meanwhile the magic words ; she 
 replaced the earth and brushed the long grass over it, so that, 
 indeed, as well as she could make out, the spot looked as if it 
 had not been disturbed in any manner. And then, with a 
 quick look toward the roof of the church to satisfy herself
 
 A PAGEANT 29 
 
 that all the conditions had been fulfilled, she got swiftly 
 back to the path again, and so to the little gate, passing 
 through the churchyard like a ghost. 
 
 " The deed is done, good Prue," said she gaily, but in a 
 tragic whisper, as she linked her arm within the arm of her 
 friend and set out homeward. " Now are the dark powers 
 of the earth at league to raise me up — what think you, 
 sweetheart ? — such a gallant as the world ne'er saw ! Ah ! 
 now, when you see him come riding in from Shottery, will 
 not the town stare ? None of your logget-playing, tavern- 
 jesting, come-kiss-me-Moll lovers, but a true-sworn knight 
 on his white war steed, in shining mail, with a golden 
 casque on his head and ostrich feathers, and on his silver 
 shield ' St, George and England ! ' " 
 
 "You are light-hearted, Judith," said the timid and 
 gentle-voiced Puritan by her side ; " and in truth there is 
 nothing that you fear. Well, I know not, but it will be in 
 my prayers that no harm come of this night." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A PAGEANT. 
 
 On the morning after the arrival of Judith's father he was 
 out and abroad with his bailiff at an early hour, so that she 
 had no chance of speaking to him ; and when he returned 
 to New Place he went into the summer-house in the 
 orchard, where it was the general habit and custom to 
 leave him undisturbed. And yet she only wished to ask 
 permission to take the mastiff with her as far as Shottery ; 
 and so, when she had performed her share of the domestic 
 duties, and got herself ready, she went out and through the 
 back court and into the garden, thinking that he would not 
 mind so brief an interruption. 
 
 It was a fresh and pleasant morning, for there had been 
 some rain in the night, and now there was a slight breeze 
 blowing from the south, and the air was sweet with the 
 scent of the lilac bushes. The sun lay warm on the pink 
 and white blossoms of the apple-trees and on the creamy 
 masses of the cherry ; martins were skimming and shooting
 
 30 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 this way and that, with now and again a rapid flight to the 
 eaves of the barn ; the bees hummed from flower to flower, 
 and everywhere there was a chirping, and twittering, and 
 clear singing of birds. The world seemed full of light and 
 colour, of youth, and sweet things, and gladness : on such 
 a morning she had no fear of a refusal, nor was she much 
 afraid to go near the summer-house that the family were 
 accustomed to hold sacred from intrusion. 
 _ But when she passed into the orchard, and came in 
 sight of it, there was a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. 
 She might have guessed — she might have "known. There, 
 blocking up the doorway of the latticed and green-painted 
 tenement, was the figure of goodman Matthew ; and the 
 little bandy-legged pippin-faced gardener was coolly resting 
 on his spade while he addressed his master within. Was 
 there ever (she asked herself) such hardihood, such audacity 
 and impertinence ? And then she rapidly bethought her 
 that now was a rare opportunity for putting in practice a 
 scheme of revenge that she had carefully planned. It 
 is true that she might have gone forward and laid her 
 finger on Matthew's arm (he was rather deaf), and so have 
 motioned him away. But she was too proud to do that. 
 She would dispossess and rout him in another fashion. 
 So she turned and went quickly again into the house. 
 
 Now at this time Dr. Hall was making a round of 
 professional visits at some distance away in the country ; 
 and on such occasions Susanna Hall and her little daughter 
 generally came to lodge at New Place, where Judith was 
 found to bo an eager and assiduous, if somewhat impatient 
 and unreasoning, nurse, playmate, and music-mistress. In 
 fact, the young mother had to remonstrate with her sister, 
 and to point out that, although baby Elizabeth was a 
 wonder of intelligence and cleverness - indeed, such a 
 wonder as had never hitherto been beheld in the world — 
 still, a child of two years and three months or so could 
 not be expected to learn everything all at once; and that 
 it was just as reasonable to ask her to play on the lute 
 to imagine that she could sit on the back of Don the 
 mastiff without being held. However, Judith was fond of 
 the child; and that incomp arable and astute small person 
 had a great liking lor her aunt (in consequence of benefits
 
 A PAGEANT 31 
 
 received), and a trust in her which the wisdom of maturer 
 years might have modified ; and so, whenever she chose, 
 Judith found no difficulty in obtaining possession of this 
 precious charge, even the young mother showing no anxiety 
 when she saw the two go away together. 
 
 So it was on this particular morning that Judith went 
 and got hold of little Bess Hall, and quickly smartened up 
 her costume, and carried her out into the garden. Then 
 she went to the barn, outside of which was the do«-'s 
 kennel ; she unclasped the chain and set free the huge, 
 slow-stepping, dun-coloured beast, that seemed to know as 
 well as any one what was going forward ; she affixed to 
 his collar two pieces of silk ribbon that did very well for 
 reins ; and then she placed little Bess Hall on Don 
 Roderigo's back, and gave her the reins to hold, and so 
 they set out for the summer-house. 
 
 On that May morning the wide and gracious realm of 
 England — which to some minds, and especially at that 
 particular season of the year, seems the most beautiful 
 country of any in the world — this rich and variegated 
 England lay basking in the sunlight, with all its lush 
 meadows, and woods, and hedges in the full and fresh 
 luxuriance of the spring ; and the small quiet hamlets were 
 busy in a drowsy and easy-going kind of fashion ; and far 
 away around the white coasts the blue sea was idly mur- 
 muring in ; but it may be doubted whether in all the 
 length and breadth of that fair land there was any fairer 
 sight than this that the wit of a young woman had devised. 
 She herself was pleasant enough to look on (and she was 
 always particularly attentive about her attire when her 
 father was at home), and now she was half laughing as 
 she thought of her forthcoming revenge ; she had dressed 
 her little niece in her prettiest costume of pink and white, 
 and pink was the colour of the silken reins ; while the 
 great slow-footed Don bore his part in the pageant with a 
 noble majesty, sometimes looking up at Judith as if to ask 
 whether he were going in the right direction. And so the 
 procession passed on between the white laden cherry-trees 
 and the redder masses of the apple-blossom ; and the 
 miniature Ariadne, sitting sideways on the back of the 
 great beast, betrayed no fear whatsoever ; while her aunt
 
 32 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Judith held her, walking by her, and scolding her for that 
 she would not sins*. 
 
 " Tant sing, Aunt Judith," said she. 
 
 " You can sing well enough, you little goose, if you try," 
 said her aunt, with the unreasoning impatience of an un- 
 married young woman. " What is the use of your going 
 hunting without a hunting song ? Come along now : 
 
 ' The hunt is up, the hunt is up, 
 And it is icell-nigh day.'. 
 
 Try it, Bess ! " 
 
 " Hunt is up, hunt is up," said the small rider ; but she 
 was occupied with the reins, and clearly did not want to 
 be bothered. 
 
 " No, no, that is not singing, little goose. Why, sing it 
 like this now : 
 
 ' The hunt is up, the hunt is up, 
 
 And it is well-nigh day ; 
 And Harry our king is gone hunting 
 To bring his deer to bay ! ' " 
 
 However, the music lesson came to an abrupt end. 
 They had by this time almost reached the summer-house. 
 Saturnine Matthew gardener, who still stood there, blocking 
 up the doorway, had not heard them approach, but his 
 master within had. The next instant goodman Matthew 
 suddenly found himself discarded, dismissed, and treated, 
 indeed, as if he were simply non-existent in the world ; for 
 Judith's father, having paused for a moment to regard 
 from the doorway the pretty pageant that had been arranged 
 for him (and his face lit up, as it were, with pleasure 
 at the sight), was the next minute down beside his little 
 granddaughter, with one knee on the ground, so that he 
 was just on a level with her outstretched hands. 
 
 " What, Bess ? " he said, as he caught her by both hands 
 and feet. "You imp, you inch, you elfin queen, you! — 
 would you go a-hunting, then ? " 
 
 "Send away Don — me want to ride the high horse," 
 said the small Bess, who had her own ideas as to what 
 was most comfortable and also secure. 
 
 " And so you shall, you sprite, you Ariel, you moonlight 
 wonder ! " he exclaimed, as he perched her on his shoulder, 
 and rose to his feet again, "The high horse, truly;
 
 A PAGEANT 33 
 
 indeed, you shall ride the high horse ! Come now, we 
 will go see how the King's mulberry thrives ; that is the 
 only tree we have that is younger than yourself, you 
 ancient, you beldame, you witch of Endor, you ! " 
 
 "Father," said Judith, seeing that he was going away 
 perfectly regardless of anybody or anything except his 
 granddaughter, " may I take the Don with me for an hour 
 or so ? " 
 
 " Whither away, wench — whither ? " he asked, turning 
 for a moment. 
 
 " To Shottery, father." 
 
 " Well, well," said he, and he turned again and went off. 
 
 " Come, Bess, you world's jewel, you, you shall ride with 
 me to London some day, and tell the King how his mul- 
 berry thrives ; that shall you, you fairy, you princess, you 
 velvet-footed maidiekin ! To London, Bess — to London !" 
 
 Judith did not stay to regard them further ; but she 
 could not help casting a look before she left at goodman 
 Matthew, who stood there discomfited, dispossessed, un- 
 heeded, annihilated, as it were. And then, calling the dog 
 after her, she went in by the back court and through the 
 house again (for Chapel Lane was in a sad condition after 
 the rain of the night, and was not a pleasant pathway even 
 in the best of times). And she was laughing to herself at 
 Matthew's discomfiture, and she was singing to herself as 
 she went out by the front door — 
 
 " Tliere's never a maid in all the town, 
 But ivell she knows that maWs come down." 
 
 And in the street it was "Good-morrow to you, Master 
 Jelleyman ; the rain will do good, will it not ? " and again, 
 " Give ye good-morrow, Neighbour Pike ; do you know that 
 my father is come home ? " and again, " Get you within the 
 doorway, little Parsons, else the waggon-wheels will be over 
 thee." And then, when she was in the freedom of the fields, 
 she would talk blithely to Don Roderigo, or snatch a butter- 
 cup here or there from among the long, lush, warm grass, 
 or return to her careless singing; : 
 
 " For malt's come down, and malt's come down — 
 well the knows that malt's come lawn !"
 
 34 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 m A WOODED LANE. 
 
 Now it would be extremely difficult to say with what 
 measure of faith or scepticism, of expectation or mere , 
 curiosity, she was now proceeding through these meadows 
 to the spot indicated to her by the wizard. Probably she 
 could not have told herself ; for what was really uppermost 
 in her mind was a kind of malicious desire to frighten her 
 timid Puritan friend with the wildness of such an adventure. 
 And then she was pretty safe. Ostensibly she was going to 
 Shottery to pay a visit to her grandmother ; to look at the 
 pansies, the wall-flowers, the forget-me-nots in the little 
 garden, and see how the currants and raspberries were 
 getting on. She could hardly expect a ghost to rise from 
 the ground in broad daylight. And if any mere strangers 
 happened to be coming along the lane leading in from the 
 Bidford road, Don Roderigo was a sufficient guardian. On 
 the other hand, if there was anything real and of verity in 
 this witchcraft— which had sought her, and not she it— was 
 it not possible that the wizard might on one point have 
 been mistaken? If her future husband were indeed to 
 appear, would it not be much more likely to be Parson 
 Blaise, or Tom Quiney, or young Jclleyman, or one or 
 other of them that she knew in everyday life ? But yet 
 she said to herself— and there was no doubt about her 
 absolute conviction and certainty on this point— that, even 
 if she were to meet one of those coming in from Evesham, 
 not all the magic and mystery and wizardry in the world 
 would drive her to marry him but of her own free good will 
 
 and choice. 
 
 When she had passed through the meadows, and got near 
 to the scattered cottages and barns and orchards of the 
 little hamlet, instead of going forward to these, she bore 
 away to the left, and eventually found herself in a wide and 
 wooded lane. She was less light of heart now ; she wished 
 the place were not so very still and lonely. It was a pretty 
 lane this ; the ruddy-gray road that wound between luxu- 
 riant hedges and tall elms was barred across hy alternate 
 sunlight and shadow ; and every now and again she had
 
 IN A WOODED LANE 35 
 
 glimpses of the rich and fertile country lying" around, with 
 distant hills showing an outline serrated by trees along the 
 pale, summer-like sky. But there was not a human being 
 visible anywhere, nor a sound to be heard but the soft 
 repeated note of the cnckoo. She wished that there were 
 some farm people near at hand, or a shepherd lad, or 
 anybody. _ She spoke to Eoderigo, and her voice sounded 
 strange — it sounded as if she were afraid that some one was 
 listening. Nay, she began, quite unreasonably, to be angry 
 with the wizard. What business had he to interfere with 
 her affairs, and to drive her on to such foolish enterprises ? 
 What right had he to challenge her to show that she was 
 not afraid ? She was not afraid, she assured herself. She 
 had as good a title to walk along this lane as any maid in 
 Warwickshire. Only she thought that as soon as she had 
 got as far as the cross at the meeting of the roads (this was 
 all that had been demanded of her) she would go back to 
 Stratford by the public highway rather than return by this 
 solitary lane, for 0:1 the public highway there would be 
 farm servants, and laden wains, and carriers, and such-like 
 comfortable and companionable objects. 
 
 The next minute— she had almost reached the cross— 
 her heart bounded with an unreasoning tremor of fear ■ 
 she had suddenly become aware that a stranger was enter- 
 ing the lane from the wide highway beyond. She had only 
 one glimpse of him, for instantly and resolutely she bent 
 her eyes on Don Eoderigo, and was determined to keep 
 them there until this person should have passed ; and yet 
 that one lightning-like glimpse had told her somewhat. 
 The stranger was young, and of a distinguished bearing 
 and presence ; and it certainly was a singular and unusual 
 thing that a gentleman (as he seemed to be, although his 
 travelling cloak couccaled most of his attire) should be going- 
 afoot and unattended. But her only concern was to let 
 him pass. Ghost or man as he might be, she kept her eyes 
 on the Don. And then, to her increased alarm, she found 
 that the stranger was approaching her. 
 
 " I beseech your pardon, lady," said he, in a most respect- 
 ful voice, " but know you one in this town of the name of 
 Master Shakespeare ? " 
 
 She certainly was startled, and even inwardly aghast ; 
 
 D 2
 
 36 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 but she had a brave will. She was determined that 
 nothing would drive her either to scream or to run away. 
 And indeed, when she looked up and said, rather breath- 
 lessly, " There be several of the name, sir," she was quickly 
 assured that this was no ghost at all, but a substantial and 
 living and breathing young man, tall and dark, of a pleasant 
 expression of face, though in truth there was nothing in 
 those singularly black eyes of his but the most ordinary and 
 matter-of-fact inquiry. 
 
 " One Master William Shakespeare," said he in answer to 
 her, " that is widely known." 
 
 " It is my father, sir, you speak of," said she, hastily, and 
 in fact somewhat ashamed of her fright. 
 
 At this news he removed his hat and made her a 
 gracious obeisance, yet simply, and with not too elaborate a 
 
 courtesy. 
 
 " Since I am so fortunate," said he, " may I beg you to 
 direct me how I shall find the house when I get to the 
 town ? I have a letter for him as you may see." 
 
 He took out a letter and held it so that, if she liked, she 
 might read the superscription—" To my loving good friend, 
 Master William Shakespeare: Deliver these." But Judith 
 merely glanced at the writing. 
 
 '"Tis from Master Ben Jonson— that you know of 
 doubtless, madam — commending me to your father. But 
 perhaps," he added, directing toward her a curious timid 
 look of inquiry, " it were as well that I did not deliver it ? " 
 
 " How so, sir ? " she asked. 
 
 " I am one that is in misfortune," said he, simply ; " nay, 
 
 in peril." 
 
 "Truly I am sorry for that, sir," said she, regarding him 
 with frank eyes of sympathy : for indeed there was a kind 
 
 of sadness in his air, that otherwise was distinguished enough, 
 and even noble. And then sin; added : " But surely that is 
 the greater reason you should seek my father." 
 
 "If I dared— if I knew," he said, apparently to himself. 
 And then he addressed her : " If 1 make so bold, sweet lady. 
 as to ask you if your father be of the ancient faith — or well 
 disposed toward that, even if lie do not openly profess it— 
 1 pray you set it down to my need and hard circumstances." 
 
 She did not seem to understand.
 
 IN A WOODED LANE 37 
 
 « 
 
 I would ask if he be not at heart with the Catholic 
 gentlemen that are looking for better times, — for indeed I 
 have heard it stated of him." 
 
 " Oh no, sir — surely not," said Judith in some alarm, for 
 she knew quite enough about the penal laws against priests 
 and recusants, and would not have her father associated in 
 any way with these, especially as she was talking with a 
 stranger. 
 
 "Nay, then, it werj better I did not deliver the letter," 
 said the young man, with just a touch of hopelessness in his 
 tone. " Under the protection of your father I might have 
 had somewhat more of liberty perchance ; but I am content 
 to remain as I am until I can get proofs that will convince 
 them in authority of my innocence ; or, mayhap, I may get 
 away from the country altogether and to my friends in 
 Flanders. If they would but set my good friend Walter 
 Raleigh free from the Tower that also were well, for he 
 and I might make a home for ourselves iti auother land. I 
 crave your pardon for detaining you, madam, and so bid 
 you farewell." 
 
 He raised his hat, and made her a most respectful obeisance, 
 and was about to withdraw. 
 
 " Stay, sir," said she, scarcely knowing what she said, but 
 with trouble and anxiety in her gentle eyes. 
 
 Indeed, she was somewhat bewildered. So sudden had 
 been the shock of surprise that she had forgotten, or very 
 nearly forgotten, all about ghosts and wizards, about possible 
 lovers or husbands, and only knew that here, in actual fact, 
 was a stranger — and a modest young stranger, too — that was 
 in great trouble, and yet was afraid to seek shelter and aid 
 from her father. That he had no reason to be thus afraid 
 she was certain enough ; and yet she dared not assume — she 
 had no reason for believing — that her father was secretly 
 inclined to favour those that were still hoping for the 
 re-establishment of the Catholic faith. The fact was that 
 her father scarcely ever spoke of such matters. He would 
 listen, if he happened to be in the house, to any theological 
 discussion that might be going on, and he would regard this 
 or that minister or preacher calmly, as if trying to under- 
 stand the good man and his opinions ; but he would take 
 no part in the talk ; and when the discussion became
 
 38 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 disputatious, as sometimes happened, and the combatants 
 grew warm, and took to making hot assertions, he would rise 
 and go out idly into the garden, and look at the young 
 apple-trees, or talk to Don Roderigo. Indeed, at this 
 precise moment, Judith was quite incapable of deciding foi 
 herself which party her father would most likely be in 
 sympathy with — the Puritans, who were sore at heart 
 because of the failure of the Hampton Court Conference, or 
 the Catholics, who were no less bitter on account of the 
 severity of the penal laws — and a kind of vague wish arose 
 in her heart that she could ask Prudence Shawe (who paid 
 more attention to such matters, and was, in fact, wrapped 
 up in them) before sending this young man away with his 
 letter of commendation unopened. 
 
 " Your brother-in-law, madam, Dr. Hall," said he, seeing 
 that she did not wish him to leave on the instant, " is well- 
 esteemed by the Catholic gentry, as I hear." 
 
 Judith did not answer that ; she had been rapidly 
 considering what she could do for one in distress. 
 
 " By your leave, sir, I would not have you . go away 
 without making further inquiry," said she. " I will myself 
 get to know how my father is inclined, for indeed he never 
 speaks of such matters to us ; and sure I am that, whatever 
 be his opinion, no harm could come to you through seeking 
 his friendship. That I am sure of. If you are in distress, 
 that is enough ; he will not ask you whence you come ; nor 
 has he censure for any one ; and that is a marvel in one 
 that is so good a man himself that he hath never a word of 
 blame for any one, neither for the highwayman that was 
 taken red-handed, as it were, last Sunday near to Oxford — 
 ' Why,' says my father, ' if he take not life, and be a 
 civil gentleman, I grudge him not a purse or two ' — nor 
 for a lesser criminal, my cousin "Willie Hart, that but 
 yesterday let the Portuguese singing-bird escape from its 
 rage. ' Well, well,' says my father, 'so much the better, 
 if only it can find food for itself.' Indeed, you need fear 
 naught but kindness and gentleness ; and sure I am that 
 he would be but ill pleased to know that one coming from 
 his friend Benjamin Jonson had been in the neighbourhood 
 and gone away without having speech of him." 
 
 " But this is no matter of conrtcsv. sweet lady," said he.
 
 IN A WOODED LANE 39 
 
 " It is of a more dangerous cast ; and I must be wary. If, 
 now, you were inclined to do as you say — to make some 
 discreet inquiry as to your good father's sentiments " 
 
 " Not from himself," said she quickly, and with some 
 colour mounting to her cheeks — " for he would but laugh 
 at my speaking of such things — but from my gossip and 
 neighbour I think I could gain sufficient assurance that 
 would set your fears at rest." 
 
 " And how should I come to know ? " he said, with some 
 hesitation — for this looked much like asking for another 
 meeting. 
 
 But Judith was frank enough. If she meant to confer a 
 kindness, she did not stay to be too scrupulous about the 
 manner of doing it. 
 
 " If it were convenient that you could be here this 
 evening," said she, after a moment's thought, " Willie Hart 
 and myself often walk over to Shottery after supper. Then 
 could I let you know." 
 
 " But how am I to thank you for such a favour ? " said he. 
 
 " Nay, it is but little," she answered, " to do for one that 
 comes from my father's friend." 
 
 " Rare Ben, as they call him," said he, more brightly. 
 " And now I bethink me, kind lady, that it ill becomes 
 me to have spoken of nothing but my own poor affairs on my 
 first having the honour of meeting with you. Perchance 
 you would like to hear something of Master Jonson, and 
 how he does ? May I accompany you on your homeward 
 way for a space, if you are returning to the town ? The 
 road here is quiet enough for one that is in hiding, as well 
 as for pleasant walking ; and you are well escorted, too," he 
 added, looking at the grave and indifferent Don. " With 
 such a master as your father, and snch a sweet mistress, I 
 should not wonder if he became as famous as Sir John 
 Harrington's Bungey that the Prince asked about. You 
 have not heard of him ?— the marvellous dog that Sir John 
 would entrust with messages all the way to the Court at 
 Greenwich, and he would bring back the answer without more 
 ado. I wonder not that Prince Henry should have asked 
 for an account of all his feats and doings." 
 
 Now insensibly she had turned and begun to walk toward 
 Shottery (for she would not ask this unhappy young man
 
 4 o JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 to court the light of the open highway), and as he respect- 
 fully accompanied her his talk became more and more 
 cheerful, so that one would scarcely have remembered that 
 he was in hiding, and in peril of his life perchance. And 
 he quickly found that she was most interested in Jonson as 
 being her father's friend and intimate. 
 
 " Indeed, I should not much marvel to hear of his being 
 soon in this very town of Stratford," said he, " for he has 
 been talking of late — nay, he has been talking this many a 
 day of it, but who knows when the adventure will take 
 place ? — of travelling all the way to Scotland on foot, and 
 writing an account of his discoveries on the road. And 
 then he has to mind to get to the lake of Lomond, to make 
 it the scene of a fisher and pastoral play, he says ; and his 
 friend Drummond will go with him ; and they speak of 
 getting still farther to the north, and being the guests of the 
 new Scotch lord, Mackenzie of Kintail, that was made a peer 
 last winter. Nay, friend Ben, though at times he gibes at 
 the Scots, at other times he will boast of his Scotch blood — 
 for his grandfather, as I have heard, came from Annandale — 
 and you will often hear him say that whereas the late 
 Queen was a niggard and close-fisted, this Scotch King is 
 lavish and a generous patron. If he go to Scotland, as is 
 his purpose, surely he will come by way of Stratford." 
 
 " It were ill done of him else," said Judith. But truly 
 this young gentleman was so bent on entertaining her with 
 tales of his acquaintance in London, and with descriptions 
 of the Court shows and pageants, that she had not to trouble 
 herself much to join in the conversation. 
 
 " A lavish patron the ,King has beeu to him truly," he 
 continued, stooping to pat the Don's head, as if he would 
 make friends with him too, "what with the masks, and 
 revels, and so forth. Their last tiltings at Prince Henry's 
 barriers exceeded everything that had gone before, as I 
 think — and I marvel not that Ben was found at his best, 
 seeing how the King had been instructing him. Nay, but 
 it was a happy conceit to have our young Lord of the Isles 
 addressed by the Lady of the Lake, and have King Arthur 
 hand him his armour out of the clouds " 
 
 " But where was it, good sir ? " said she (to show that she 
 was interested). And now he seemed so cheerful and
 
 IN A WOODED LANE 4 r 
 
 friendly that she ventured to steal a look at him. In truth, 
 there was nothing very doleful or tragic in his appearance. 
 He was a handsomely-made young man, of about eight-and- 
 twenty or so, with fine features, a somewhat pale and sallow 
 complexion (that distinguished him markedly from the 
 rustic red. and white and sun-brown she was familiar with), 
 and eyes of a singular blackness and fire that were exceed- 
 ingly respectful, but that could, as any one might see, easily 
 break into mirth. He was well habited too, for now he had 
 partly thrown his travelling cloak aside, and his slashed 
 doublet and hose and shoes were smart and clearly of a 
 town ifashion. He wore no sword ; in his belt there was 
 only a small dagger, of Venetian silver-work on the handle, 
 and with a sheath of stamped crimson velvet. 
 
 " Dear lady, you must have heard of them," he continued 
 lightly — "I mean of the great doings in the banqueting 
 house at Whitehall, when Prince Henry challenged so many 
 noble lords. 'Twas a brave sight, I assure you ; the King 
 and Queen were there, and the ambassadors from Spain and 
 Venice, and a great and splendid assemblage. And then, 
 when Ben's speeches came to be spoken, there was Cyril 
 Davy, that is said to have the best woman's voice in 
 London, as the Lady of the Lake, and he came forward and 
 said — 
 
 ' Lest any yet should doubt, or might mistake 
 What nymph lam, behold the ample lake 
 Of ichich I'm styled, and near it Merlin's tomb;' 
 
 and then King Arthur appeared, and our young Lord of the 
 Isles had a magic shield handed to him. Oh, 'twas a noble 
 sight, I warrant you ! And I heard that the Duke of 
 Lennox and the Earls of Arundel and Southampton and all 
 of them were but of one mind, that friend Ben had never 
 done better." 
 
 Indeed, the young man, as they loitered along the pretty 
 wooded lane in the hush of the warm still noon (there was 
 scarce enough wind to make a rustle in the great branching 
 elms), and as he talked of all manner of things for the 
 entertainment of this charming companion whom a happy 
 chance had thrown in his way, seemed to be well acquainted 
 with the Court and its doings, and all the busy life of London. 
 If she gathered rightly, he had himself been present when the
 
 42 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 King and the nobles went in the December of the previous 
 yeaAo Deptford to witness the launching of the great ship 
 of the East India Company— the Trade's Encrease, it was 
 call ed — fox- he described the magnificent banquet in the 
 chief cabin, and how the King gave to Sir Thomas Smith, 
 the Governor, a fine chain of gold, with his portrait set in a 
 jewel, and how angry his Majesty became when they found 
 that the ship could not be launched on account of the state 
 of the tide. But when he again brought in the name of 
 Jonson, and said how highly the King thought of his 
 writings, and what his Majesty had said of this or the other 
 device or masque that had been commanded of him, Judith 
 grew at length to be not so pleased ; and she said, with 
 some asperity : " But the King holds my father in honour 
 also, for he wrote him a letter with his own hand." 
 
 " I heard not of that," said he, but of course without 
 appearing to doubt her word. 
 
 " Nay, but I saw it," said she. " I saw the letter ; and I 
 did not think it well that my father should give it to Julius 
 Shawe, for there be some others that would have valued it 
 as much as he — yes, and been more proud of it, too." 
 " His own daughter, perchance ? " he said gently. 
 Judith did not speak. It was a sore subject with her ; 
 indeed, she had cried in secret, and bitterly, when she 
 learned that the letter had been casually given away, for her 
 father seemed to put no great store by it. However, that 
 had nothing to do with this unhappy young gentleman that 
 was in hiding. And soon she had dismissed it from her 
 mind, and was engaged in fixing the exact time at which, as 
 she hoped, she would be able to bring him that assurance or 
 that caution in the evening. 
 
 " I think it must be the province of women to be kind to 
 the unfortunate," said he, as they came in sight of the 
 cottages ; and lie seemed to linger and hesitate in his walk, 
 as if he were afraid of going farther. 
 
 "It is but a small kindness," said she; "and I hope il 
 will bring you and my father together. He is but just 
 returned from London, and you will not have much news to 
 give him from his friend • but you will be none the less 
 Avelcome, for all are welcome to him, but especially those 
 whom he can aid."
 
 IN A WOODED LANE 43 
 
 " If I were to judge of the father by the daughter, I 
 should indeed expect a friendly treatment," said he, with 
 much courtesy. 
 
 " Nay, but it is so simple a matter," said she. 
 
 "Then fare you well, Mistress Judith," said he; "if I 
 may make so bold as to guess at a name that I have heard 
 named in London." 
 
 " Oh no, sir ? " said she, glancing up with some inquiry. 
 
 " But indeed, indeed," said he, gallantly. " And who can 
 wonder ? 'Twas friend Ben that I heard speak of you ; I 
 marvel not that he carried your praises so far. But now, 
 sweet lady, that I see you would go — and I wish not to 
 venture nearer the village there — may I beseech of you at 
 parting a further grace and favour ? It is that you would 
 not reveal to any one, no matter what trust you may put in 
 them, that you have seen me or spoken with me. You 
 know not my name, it is true, though I would willingly 
 confide it to you ; — indeed it is Leofric Hope, madam ; but 
 if it were merely known that you had met with a stranger, 
 curious eyes might be on the alert." 
 
 " Fear not, sir," said she, looking at him in her frank 
 way — and there was a kind of friendliness, too, and sym- 
 pathy in her regard. " Your secret is surely safe in my 
 keeping. I can promise you that none shall know through 
 me that you are in the neighbourhood. Farewell, good sir. 
 I hope your fourtunes will mend speedily." 
 
 " God keep you, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, raising 
 his hat and bowing low, and not even asking to be allowed 
 to take her hand. " If my ill fortune should carry it so 
 that I see you not again, at least I will treasure in my 
 memory a vision of kindness and beauty that I trust wiil 
 remain for ever there. Farewell, gentle lady ; I am your 
 debtor." 
 
 And so they parted ; and he stood looking after her and 
 the great dog as they passed through the meadows ; and 
 she was making all the haste she might, for although, when 
 Judith's father was at home, the dinner hour was at twelve 
 instead of at eleven, still it would take her all the time to 
 be punctual, and she was scrupulous not to offend. He 
 stood looking after her as long as she was in sight, and 
 then he turned away, saying to himself :
 
 44 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " "Why, our Ben did not tell us a tithe of the truth ! — for 
 w hy ? — because it was with his tongue and not with his pen 
 that he described her. By heaven, she is a marvel !— and 
 I dare be sworn, now, that half the clowns in Stratford 
 imagine themselves in love with her." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WITHIX-DOOTCS. 
 
 When in the afternoon Judith sought out her gentle gossip, 
 and with much cautious tact and discretion began to unfold 
 her perplexities to her, Prudence was not only glad enough 
 to hear nothing further of the wizard — who seemed to have 
 been driven out of Judith's mind altogether by the actual 
 occurrences of the morning — but also she became possessed 
 with a secret wonder and joy ; for she thought that at last 
 her dearest and closest friend was awaking to a sense of 
 the importance of spiritual things, and that henceforth 
 there would be a bond of confidence between them far 
 more true and abiding than any that had been before. But 
 sunn she discovered that polities had a good deal to do 
 with these hesitating inquiries ; and at length the bewildered 
 Prudence found the conversation narrowing and narrowing 
 it self to this definite question: Whether, supposing there 
 were a voting man charged with complicity in a Catholic 
 plot, or perhaps having been compromised in some former 
 affair of the kind, and supposing him to appeal to her 
 father, would he, Judith's father, probably be inclined to 
 Bhelter him and conceal him, and give him what aid was 
 possible until he might get away from the country ? 
 
 "But what do you mean, Judith?" said Prudence, in 
 dismay. " Have you seen any one ? "What is't you mean ? 
 Have you seen one of the desperate men that were con- 
 cerned with < 'at<sby ?" 
 
 Inched, it was not likely that either of these two War- 
 wickshire maidens had already forgotten the terrible tidings 
 that rang through the land hut a few years before, when 
 the Gunpowder Treason was discovered ; nor how the con- 
 spirators fled into this very county; nor yet how, in the
 
 WITHIN-DOORS 45 
 
 following January, on a bitterly cold and snowy day, there 
 Avas brought into the town the news of the executions in 
 St. Paul's Churchyard and at Westminster. And, in truth, 
 when Prudence Shawe mentioned Catesby's name Judith's 
 cheek turned pale. It was but for an instant. She 
 banished the ungenerous thought the moment that it 
 occurred to her. No, she was sure that the unhappy 
 young man who had appealed to her compassion could not 
 have been concerned in any such bloody enterprise. His 
 speech was too gentle for that. Had he not declared that 
 he only wanted time to prove his innocence ? It is true, 
 he had said something about his friends in Flanders, and 
 often enough had she heard the Puritan divines denouncing 
 Flanders as the very hotbed of the machinations of the 
 Jesuits ; but that this young man might have friends 
 amongst the Jesuits did not appear to her as being in itself 
 a criminal thing, any more than the possibility of his being 
 a Catholic was sufficient of itself to deprive him of her 
 frank and generous sympathy. 
 
 " I may not answer you yea nor nay, sweet mouse," said 
 she ; " but assure yourself that I am not in league with 
 any desperate villain. I but put a case. We live in quiet 
 times now, do we not, good Prue ? and I take it that those 
 who like not the country are free to leave it. But tell me, 
 if my father were to speak openly, which of the parties 
 would he most affect ? And how stands he with the 
 King ? Nay, the King himself, of what religion is he at 
 heart, think vou ? " 
 
 " These be questions ! " said Prudence, staring aghast at 
 such ignorance. 
 
 " I but use my ears," said Judith indifferently, " and the 
 winds are not more variable than the opinions that one 
 listens to. Well you know it, Prue. Here is one that 
 says the King is in conscience a papist, as his mother was ; 
 and that he gave a guarantee to the Catholic gentry ere he 
 came to the throne ; and that soon or late we shall have 
 mass again ; and then comes another with the story that 
 the Pope is hot and angry because the King misuseth him 
 in his speech, calling him Antichrist and the like ; and 
 that he has complained to the French King on the matter, 
 and that there is even talk of excommunication. What can
 
 46 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 one believe ? How is one to know ? Indeed, good 
 mouse, you would have me more auxious about such 
 things, but why should one add to one's difficulties ? I 
 am content to be like my father, and stand aside from the 
 quarrel." 
 
 " Your wit is too great for me, dear Judith," her friend 
 said, rather sadly; "and I will not argue with you. But 
 well I know there may be a calmness that is of ignorance 
 and indifference, and that is slothful and sinful ; and there 
 maybe a calmness that is of assured wisdom and knowledge 
 of the truth, and that I trust your father has attained to. 
 That he should keep aside from disputes I can well 
 understand." 
 
 " But touching the King, dear cousin," said Judith, who 
 had her own ends in view. " How stands my father with 
 the King and his religion ? Nay, but I know, and every 
 one knows, that in all other matters they are friends ; for 
 your brother has the King's letter " 
 
 " That I wish you had yourself, Judith, since your heart 
 is set upon it," said her companion, gently. 
 
 Judith did not answer that. 
 
 "But as regards religion, sweet Prue, what think you my 
 father would most favour, were there a movement any way ? 
 — a change to the ancient faith, perchance ? " 
 
 She threw out tin; question with a kind of studied 
 carelessness, as if it were a nure matter of speculation ; 
 hut there was a touch of warmth in Prudence's answer : 
 
 "What, then, Judith ? You think he would disturb the 
 peace of the land, and give us over agaiu to the priests and 
 their idol worship ? I trow not." Then something seemed 
 to occur to her suddenly. "But if you have any doubt, 
 Judith, I can set your mind at rest — of a surety I can." 
 
 " Bow, thru, gossip ? " 
 
 "I will tell you the manner of it. No longer ago than 
 yesterday evening 1 was seated at the window reading — it 
 was the \olume that Dr. Hall brought me from Worcester, 
 and that 1 value more and more the longer I read it — and 
 your father came into the house asking for Julius. So I 
 put the hook on I he table, with the face downward, and 
 away 1 went to seek for my brother. Well, then, when I 
 came back to the room, there was your father standing at
 
 WITH1N-D00RS 47 
 
 the window reading the book that I had left, and I would 
 not disturb him ; and when he had finished the page, he 
 turned, saying, ' Good bishop ! good bishop ! ' and putting 
 down the book on the table just as he had found it. Dear 
 Judith, I hope you will think it no harm and no idle 
 curiosity that made me take up the book as soon as my 
 brother was come in, and examine the passage, and mark 
 it " 
 
 " Harm ! — bless thee, sweetheart ! " Judith exclaimed. 
 And she added eagerly : " But have you the book ? Will 
 you read it to me ? Is it. about the King ? Do, dear 
 cousin, read to me what it was that my father approved. 
 Beshrew me ! but I shall have to take to school lessons 
 after all, lest I outlive even your gentle patience." 
 
 Straightway Prudence had gone to a small cupboard of 
 boxes in which she kept all her most valued possessions, 
 and from thence she brought a stout little volume, which, 
 as Judith perceived, had a tiny book-mark of satin project- 
 ing from the red-edged leaves. 
 
 "Much comfort, "indeed, have I found in these 'Com- 
 fortable Notes,' " said she. " I wish, Judith, you, that can 
 think of everything, would tell me how I am to show to 
 Dr. Hall that I am more and more grateful to him for his 
 goodness. "What can I do ? — words are such poor tilings ! " 
 
 " But the passage, good Prue — what was't he read ? I 
 pray you let me hear," said Judith, eagerly ; " for here, 
 indeed, might be a key to many mysteries." 
 
 " Listen, then," said her companion, opening the book. 
 " The Bishop, you understand, Judith, is speaking of the 
 sacrifices the Jews made to the Lord, and he goes on to 
 say: 
 
 " ' Thus had this people their peace-offerings ; that is, 
 duties of thankfulness to their God for the peace and 
 prosperity vouchsafed unto them. And most fit it was that 
 He should often be thanked for such favours. The like 
 mercies and goodness remain to us at this day : are we 
 either freed from the duty or left without means to perform 
 it ? No, no ; but as they had oxen and kine, and sheep 
 and goats, then appointed and allowed, so have we the 
 calves of our lips and the sacrifice of thanksgiving still 
 remaining for us, and as strictly required of us as these (in
 
 48 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 those days) were of them. Offer them up, then, with a free 
 heart and with a feeling soul. Our peace is great ; our 
 prosperity comfortable ; our God most sweet and kind ; 
 and shall we not offer ? The public is sweet, the private 
 is sweet, and forget you to offer ? We lay us down and 
 take our rest, and this our God maketh us dwell in safety. 
 Oh, where is your offering ? We rise again and go to our 
 labour, and a dog is not heard to move his tongue among 
 us : Owe we no offering ? Lord, Lord, make us 
 thankful to Thee for these mercies ; the whole state we live 
 in, for the common and our several souls, for several 
 mercies now many years enjoyed. touch us ; turn us 
 from our fearful dulness, and abusing of this so sweet, so 
 long, and so happy peace ! Continue thy sacred servant ' 
 
 surely you know, Judith, whom he means — ' the chiefest 
 
 means under Thee of this our comfort, and ever still furnish 
 him with wise helps, truly fearing Thee, and truly loving 
 him. Let our heads go to the grave in this peace, if it 
 may be Thy blessed pleasure, and our eyes never see the 
 change of so happy an estate. Make us thankful and full 
 of peace-offeriugs ; be Thou still ours, and ever merciful. 
 Amen ! Amcu ! '" 
 
 " And what said he, sweet Prue— what said my father ? 
 Judith asked, though her eyes were distant and thoughtful. 
 
 "'Good bishop! good bishop!' said he, as if he were 
 right well pleased, and he put down the book on the table. 
 Nay, you may be certain, Judith, that your father would 
 have naught to do with the desperate men that would fain 
 upset the country, and bring wars among us, and hand us 
 over to the Pope again. I have heard of such; I have 
 heard that many of the great families have but a lip loyalty, 
 and have malice at their heart, and would willingly plunge 
 the land in blood if they could put the priests in power over 
 us again. Be sure your father is not of that mind." 
 
 " But if one were in distress, Prudence," said the other, 
 absently, " perchance with a false charge hanging over him 
 that could be disproved— say that one were in hiding— and 
 only anxious to prove his innocence, or to get away from 
 the country, is my father likely to look coldly on such a one 
 in misfortune ? No, no, surely ! " 
 
 •■ But of whom do you speak, Judith?" exclaimed her
 
 WITH1N-D00RS 49 
 
 friend, regarding her with renewed alarm. " It cannot be 
 that you know of such a one ? Judith, I beseech you 
 speak plainly ! You have met with some stranger that is 
 unknown to your own people ? You said you had but put 
 a case, but now you speak as if you knew the man. I 
 beseech you, for the love between us, speak plainly to me, 
 Judith ! '" 
 
 " I may not," said the other, rising. And then she added, 
 more lightly, " Nay, have no fear, dear Prue ; if there be 
 any danger it is not that I run it, and soon there will be no 
 occasion for my withholding the secret from you, if secret 
 there be." 
 
 " I cannot understand you, Judith," said her friend, with 
 the pale, gentle face full of a tender wistfulness and 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Such timid eyes ! " said Judith, laughing good-naturedly. 
 " Indeed, Prudence, I have seen no ghost, and goodman 
 Wizard has failed me utterly ; nor sprite nor phantom has 
 been near me. In sooth I have buried poor Tom's bit of 
 rosemary to little purpose. And now I must get me home, 
 for Master Parson comes this afternoon, and I will but 
 wait the preaching to hear Susan sing : 'tis worth the 
 penance. Farewell, sweet mouse ; get you rid of your alarm. 
 The sky will clear all in good time." 
 
 So they kissed each other, and she left ; still in much 
 perplexity, it is true, but nevertheless resolved to tell the 
 young man honestly and plainly the result of her inquiries. 
 
 As it turned out, she was to hear something more about 
 the King and politics and religion that afternoon, for when 
 she got home to New Place Master Blaise was already there, 
 and he was eagerly discussing with Judith's mother and her 
 sister the last news that had been brought from London ; 
 or rather he was expounding it, with emphatic assertions 
 and denunciations that the women folk received for the 
 most part with a mute but quite apparent sympathy. He 
 was a young man of about six-and-twenty, rather inclined 
 to be stout, but with strongly-lined features, fair complexion 
 and hair, an intellectual forehead, and sharp and keen gray 
 eyes. The one point that recommended him to Judith's 
 favour — which he openly and frankly, but with perfect 
 independence, sought — was the uncompromising manner in 
 
 E
 
 50 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 which he professed his opinions. These frequently angered 
 her, and even at times roused her to passionate indignation ; 
 and yet, oddly enough, she had a kind of lurking admiration 
 for the very honesty that scorned to curry favour with her 
 by means of any suppression or evasion. It may be that 
 there was a trace of the wisdom of the serpent in this 
 attitude of the young parson, who was shrewd-headed as 
 well as clear-eyed, and was as quick as any to read the fearless 
 quality of Judith's character. At all events, he would not 
 yield to any of her prejudices ; he would not stoop to flatter 
 her ; he would not abate one jot of his protests against the 
 vanity and pride, the heathenish show and extravagance, of 
 women ; the heinousness and peril of indifferentism in 
 matters of doctrine ; and the sinfulness of the life of them 
 that countenanced stage plays and such like devilish iniqui- 
 ties. It was this last that was the real stumbling-block and 
 contention between them. Sometimes Judith's eyes burned. 
 Once she rose and got out of the room. " If I were a man, 
 blaster Parson," she was saying to herself, with shut teeth, 
 " by the life of me I would whip you from Stratford town to 
 Warwick ! " And indeed there was ordinarily a kind of 
 armed truce between these two, so that no stranger or 
 acquaintance could very easily decide what their precise 
 relations were ; although every one knew that Judith's 
 mother and sister held the young divine in great favour, 
 and would fain have had him of the family. 
 
 At the moment of Judith's entrance he was much 
 exercised, as has been said, on account of the news that was 
 but just come from London — how that the King was 
 driving at still further impositions because of the Commons 
 begrudging him supplies ; and naturally blaster Blaise 
 warmly approved of the Commons, that had been for 
 granting the liberties to the Puritans which the King had 
 refused. And net only was this the expression of a general 
 opinion on the subject, hut he maintained as an individual — 
 and as a very cmphai LC individual, too — that the prerogatives 
 of the Crown, the wardship; and purveyances and what not, 
 weremonstrou- and abominable, and a way of escape from the 
 just restraint of Parliament, and lie declared with a sudden 
 vehemence that lie would rather perish at the stake than 
 contribute' a single benevolence to the royal purse. Judith's
 
 WITHIN-DOORS 5 1 
 
 mother, a tall, slight, silver-haired .woman, with eyes that 
 had once been of extraordinary beauty, but now were grown 
 somewhat sad and worn, and her daughter Susanna Hall, 
 who was darker than her sister Judith as regarded hair and 
 eyebrows, but who had blue-gray eyes of a singular clearness 
 and quickness and intelligence, listened and acquiesced ; but 
 perhaps they were better pleased when they found the young 
 parson come out of that vehement mood ; though still he was 
 sharp of tongue and sarcastic, saying as an excuse for the 
 King that now be was revenging himself on the English 
 Puritans for the treatment he had received at the hands of 
 the Scotch Presbyterians, who had harried him not a 
 little. 
 
 He had not a word for Judith ; he addressed his discourse 
 entirely to the other two. And she was content to sit 
 aside, for indeed this dissatisfaction with the Crown on the 
 part of the Puritans was nothing strange or novel to her, 
 and did not in the least help to solve her present per- 
 plexity. 
 
 And now the maids (for Judith's father would have no 
 serving-men, nor stablemen, nor husbandmen of any grade 
 whatever come within doors ; the work of the house was 
 done entirely by women folk) entered to prepare the long 
 oaken table for supper, seeing which Master Blaise suggested 
 that before that meal it might be as well to devote a space 
 to divine worship. So the maids were bidden to stay their 
 preparations, and to remain, seating themselves dutifully on 
 a bench brought crosswise, and the others sat at the table 
 in their usual chairs, while the preacher opened the large 
 Bible that had been fetched for him, and proceeded to read 
 the second chapter of the Book of Jeremiah, expounding 
 as he went along. This running commentary was, in fact, 
 a sermon applied to all the evils of the day, as the various 
 verses happened to offer texts ; and the ungodliness and the 
 vanity and the turning away from the Lord that Jeremiah 
 lamented were attributed in no unsparing fashion to the. 
 town of Stratford and the inhabitants thereof : " Hear ye 
 the word of the Lord, house of Jacob, and all the 
 families of the house of Israel : thus saith the Lord, What 
 iniquity have your fathers found in me, that they are gone 
 far from me, and have walked after vanity, and are become 
 
 e 2
 
 5 2 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 vain ? " Nor did he spare himself and his own calling : 
 " The priests said not, Where is the Lord ? and they that 
 should minister the law knew me not : the pastors also 
 offended against me, and the prophets prophesied in Baal, 
 and went after things that did not profit." And there were 
 bold paraphrases and inductions, too : " What hast thou now 
 to do in the way of Egypt, to drink the waters of Nilus ? 
 or what makest thou in the way of Asshur, to drink the 
 waters of the river ? " Was not that the seeking of strange 
 bj cc t s _of baubles, and jewels, and silks, and other instru- 
 ments of vanity — from abroad, from the papist land of 
 France, to lure the eye and deceive the senses, and turn away 
 the mind from the dwelling on holy things ? " Can a maid 
 forget her ornament, or a bride her attire ? yet my people 
 have forgotten me days without number." This was, indeed, 
 a fruitful text, and there is no doubt that Judith was 
 indirectly admonished to regard the extreme simplicity of 
 her mother's and sister's attire ; so that there can _ be no 
 excuse whatever for her having in her mind at this very 
 moment some vague fancy that as soon as supper was over 
 she would go to her own chamber and take out a certain 
 beaver hat. She did not often wear it, for it was a present 
 that her father had once brought her from London, and it 
 was ranked among her most precious treasures ; but surely 
 on this evening (she was saying to herself) it was fitting 
 that she should wear it, not from any personal vanity, but 
 to the end that this young gentleman, who seemed to 
 know several of her father's acquaintances in London, 
 should understand that the daughter of the owner of New 
 Place was no mere country wench, ignorant of what was 
 in the fashion. It is grievous that she should have been 
 concerned with such frivolous thoughts. However, the 
 chapter came to an end in due time. 
 
 Then good Master Blaise said that they would sing the 
 One hundred and thirty-seventh Psalm ; and this was 
 truly what Judith had been waiting for. She herself was 
 hut an indifferent singer. She could do little more than 
 hum such snatches of old songs as occurred to her during 
 her careless rambles, and that only for her private ear; 
 but her Bister Susanna had a most noble, pure, and clear 
 contrilto voice that could at any time bring tears to Judith's
 
 WITHIN-DOORS 53 
 
 eyes, and that, when she joined in the choral parts of the 
 service in church, made many a young man's heart to 
 tremble strangely. In former days she used to sing to the 
 accompaniment of her lute ; but that was given over now. 
 Once or twice Judith had brought the discarded instrument 
 to her, and said : 
 
 " Susan, sweet Susan, for once — for once only — sing to 
 me ' The rose is from my garden gone.'' " 
 
 " Why, then — to make you cry, silly one ? " the elder 
 sister would answer. ' What profit those idle tears, child, 
 that are but a luxury and a sinful indulgence ? " 
 
 " Susan, but once ! " Judith would plead (with the tears 
 almost ready in her eyes) — " once only, ' The rose is from 
 my garden gone.'' There is none can sing it like you." 
 
 But the elder sister was obdurate, as she considered 
 was right ; and Judith, as she walked through the meadows 
 in the evening, would sometimes try the song for herself, 
 thinking, or endeavouring to think, that she could hear in 
 it the pathetic vibration of her sister's voice. Indeed, at 
 this moment the small congregation assembled around the 
 table would doubtless have been deeply shocked had they 
 known with what a purely secular delight Judith was now 
 listening to the words of the Psalm. There was but one 
 Bible in the house, so that Master Blaise read out the 
 two first lines (lest any of the maids might have a lax 
 memory) — 
 
 " WJien as we sat in Babylon 
 Tlie rivers round about "— 
 
 and that they sang ; then they proceeded in like manner : 
 
 "And in remembrance of Sion, 
 The tears for grief burst out ; 
 We hanged our harps and instruments 
 
 The willow trees upon ; 
 For in that place men for their use 
 Had planted many a one." 
 
 It is probable, indeed, that Judith was so wrapped up in 
 her sister's singing that it did not occur to her to ask 
 herself whether this psalm, too, had not been chosen with 
 gome regard to the good preacher's discontent with those in
 
 54 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 power. At all events, he read out, and they sang, no farther 
 than these two verses — 
 
 " Then they to whom we prisoners were 
 Said to us tauntingly: 
 
 Now let us hear your Hebrew songs 
 
 And pleasant melody. 
 Alas I {said toe) who can once frame 
 
 His sorrowful heart to sing 
 The praises of our loving God 
 
 Thus under a strange king? 
 
 u But yet if I Jerusalem 
 
 Out of my heart let slide, 
 Tlun let my fingers quite forget 
 
 The wanting harp to guide; 
 An>l let my tongue icithinmy mouth 
 
 Be tied for ever fast, 
 If that I joy before I see 
 
 Thy full deliverance past." 
 
 Then there was a short and earnest prayer ; and, that. 
 over, the maids set to work to get forward the supper ; 
 and young "Willie Hart was called in from the garden — 
 Judith's father being away at "Wilnecote on some important 
 business there. In due course of time, supper being 
 finished, and a devout thanksgiving said, Judith was free ; 
 and instantly she fled away to her own chamber to don her 
 bravery. It was not vanity (she again said to herself) ; it 
 was that her father's daughter should show that she knew 
 what was due to him and his standing in the town ; and, 
 indeed, as she now regarded herself in the little mirror — she 
 wore a half-circle farthingale, and had on one of her 
 smartest ruffs — and when she set on her head of short brown 
 curls this exceedingly pretty hat (it was of gray beaver 
 above, and underneath it was lined with black satin, and all 
 around the rim was a row of hollow brass beads that 
 tinkled like small bells) she was quite well satisfied with 
 her appearance, and that she was fairly entitled to be. 
 Then she went down and summoned her sweetheart "Willie 
 to act as her companion and protector and ally ; and 
 together these two passed forth from the house — into the 
 golden clear evening.
 
 A FAREWELL 55 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 Always, when she got out into the open air, her spirits 
 rose into a pure content ; and now, as they were walking 
 westward through the peaceful meadows, the light of the 
 sunset was on her face ; and there was a kind of radiance 
 there, and careless happiness, that little Willie Hart scarce 
 dared look upon, so abject and wistful was the worship 
 that the small lad laid at his pretty cousin's feet. He was 
 a sensitive and imaginative boy ; and the joy and crown of 
 his life was to be allowed to walk out with his cousin Judith, 
 her hand holding his ; and it did not matter to him whether 
 she spoke to him, or whether she was busy with her private 
 thinking, and left him to his own pleasure and fancies. He 
 had many of these ; for he had heard of all kinds of great 
 and noble persons — princesses and empresses and queens ; 
 but to him his cousin Judith was the Queen of queens ; he 
 could not believe that any one ever was more beautiful — or 
 more gentle and lovable, in a magical and mystical way — 
 than she was ; and in church, on the quiet Sunday mornings, 
 when the choir was singing, and all else silence, and when 
 dreams were busy in certain small brains, if there were any 
 far-away pictures of angels in white and shining robes, 
 coming towards one through rose-red celestial gardens,. be 
 sure they had Judith's eyes and the light and witchery of 
 these ; and that, when they spoke (if such wonderful 
 creatures vouchsafed to speak) it was with the softness of 
 Judith's voice. So it is not to be conceived that 
 Judith, who knew something of this mute and secret 
 adoration, had any malice in her heart when, on this 
 particular evening, she began to question the boy as to the 
 kind of sweetheart he would choose when he was grown up : 
 the fact being, that she spoke from idleness — and a wish to 
 be friendly and companionable — her thoughts being really 
 occupied elsewhere. 
 
 " Come now, Willie, tell me," said she, " what sort of one 
 you will choose, some fifteen or twenty years hence, when 
 you are grown up to be a man, and will be going abroad 
 from place to place. In Coventry, perchance, you may
 
 56 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 find her, or over at Evesham, or in Warwick, or Worcester, 
 or as far away as Oxford : in all of thern are plenty of pretty 
 maidens to be had for the asking, so you be civil-spoken 
 enough, and bear yourself well. Now tell me your fancy, 
 sweetheart ; what shall her height be ? " 
 
 " Why, you know, Judith," said he, rather shamefacedly. 
 " Just your height." 
 
 '• My height ? " she said carelessly. " Why, that is 
 neither the one way nor the other. My father says I am 
 just as high as his heart ; and with that I am content. 
 Well, now," her hair — what colour of hair shall she have ? " 
 
 " Like yours, Judith ; and it must come round about her 
 ears like yours," said he, glancing up for a moment. 
 
 " Eyes : must they be black, or gray, or brown, or blue : 
 nay, you shall have your choice, sweetheart Willie ; there be 
 all sorts, if you go far enough afield and look around you. 
 AVhat eyes do you like, now ? " 
 
 " You know well, Judith, that no one has such pretty eyes 
 as you ; these are the ones I like, and no others." 
 
 " Bless the boy ! — would you have her to be like me ? " 
 
 "Just like you, Judith— altogether," said he, promptly ; 
 and he added more shyly, " For you know there is none as 
 pretty, and they all of them say that." 
 
 " Marry, now ! " said she, with a laugh. " Here be news. 
 AVhat ? When you go choosing your sweetheart, would you 
 pick out one that had as large hands as these ? " 
 
 She held forth her hands, and regarded them ; and yet 
 with some complacency, for she had put on a pair of scented 
 gloves which her father had brought her from London, and 
 these were beautifully embroidered with silver, for he knew 
 her tastes, and that she was not afraid to wear finery, what- 
 ever the preachers might say. 
 
 " AVhy, you know, Judith," said he, " that there is none 
 has such pretty hands as you, nor so white, nor so soft." 
 
 " Heaven save us, am I perfection, then ? " she cried (but 
 she was pleased). " Must she be altogether like me ? " 
 
 "Just so, cousin Judith; altogether like you; and she 
 must, wear pretty things like you, and walk as you walk, and 
 Bpeak like you, else I shall not love her nor go near her, 
 though she were the Queen herself." 
 
 " Well said, sweetheart AVillie ! — you shall to the Court
 
 A FAREWELL 57 
 
 some day, if you can speak so fair ! And shall I tell you, 
 now, how you must woo and win such an one ? " she con- 
 tinued lightly. " It may be you shall find her here or there 
 — in a farmhouse, perchance ; or she may be a great lady 
 w r ith her coach ; or a wench in an ale-house ; but if she be 
 as you figure her, this is how you shall do : you must not 
 grow up to be too nice and fine and delicate-handed ; you 
 must not bend too low for her favour ; but be her lord and 
 governor ; and you must be ready to fight for her, if need 
 there be — yes, you shall not suffer a word ;to be said in 
 dispraise of her ; and for slanderers you must have a cudgel 
 and a stout arm withal ; and yet you must be gentle with 
 her, because she is a woman ; and yet not too gentle, for 
 you are a man ; and you must be no slape-face, with 
 whining through the nose that we are all devilish and 
 wicked and the children of sin ; and you must be no 
 tavern-seeker, with oaths and drunken jests and the like ; 
 and when you find her you must be the master of her — and 
 yet a gentle master ; marry, I cannot tell you more ; but, as 
 I hope for Heaven, sweet "Willie, you will do well and fairly 
 if she love thee half as much as I do ! " 
 
 And she patted the boy's head. What sudden pang was 
 it that went through his heart ? 
 
 " They say you are going to marry Parson Blaise, Judith," 
 said he, looking up at her. 
 
 " Do they, now ! " said she with a touch of colour in her 
 face. " They are too kind that would take from me the 
 business of choosing for myself." 
 
 " Is it true, Judith ? " 
 
 " It is but idle talk ; heed it not, sweetheart," said she, 
 rather sharply. " I would they were as busy with their 
 fingers as with their tongues ; there would be more wool 
 spun in Warwickshire ! " 
 
 But here she remembered that she had no quarrel with 
 the lad, who had but innocently repeated the gossip he had 
 heard ; and so she spoke to him in a more gentle fashion ; 
 and, as they were now come to a parting of the ways, she 
 said that she had a message to deliver, and bade him go on 
 by himself to the cottage, and have some flowers gathered 
 for her from out of the garden by the time she should 
 arrive. He was a biddable boy ; and went on without
 
 5 8 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 further question. Then she turned off to the left, and in a 
 few minutes was in the wide and wooded land where she 
 was to meet the young gentleman that had appealed to her 
 friendliness. 
 
 And there, sure enough, he was ; and as he came forward, 
 hat in hand, to greet her, those eloquent black eyes of his 
 expressed so much pleasure (and admiration of a respectful 
 kind) that Judith became for a moment a trifle self- 
 conscious, and remembered that she was in unusually brave 
 attire. There may have been something else : some quick 
 remembrance of the surprise and alarm of the morning ; and 
 also — in spite of her determination to banish such unworthy 
 fancies — some frightened doubt as to whether, after all, 
 there might not be a subtle connection between her meeting 
 with this young gentleman and the forecasts of the wizard. 
 This was but for a moment ; but it confused her in what she 
 had intended to say (for, in crossing the meadows, she had 
 been planning out certain speeches as well as talking idly 
 to Willie Hart), and she was about to make some stumbling 
 confession to the effect that she had obtained no clear 
 intelligence frorn her gossip Prudence Shawe when the young 
 gentleman himself absolved her from all further difficulty. 
 
 " I beseech your pardon, sweet lady," said he, " that 1 
 have caused you so much trouble, and that to no end ; for I 
 am of a mind now not[to carry the letter to your father, what- 
 ever hopes there might be of his sympathy and friendship." 
 
 She stared in surprise. 
 
 " Nay, but, good sir," said she, " since you have the letter, 
 and are so near to Stratford, that is so great a distance from 
 London, surely it were a world of pities you did not see my 
 father. Not that I can honestly gather that he would have 
 any favour for a desperate enterprise upsetting the peace of 
 the land " 
 
 " I am in none such, Mistress Judith, believe me," said 
 he, quickly. " But it behoves mc to be cautious ; and I 
 have heard that within the last few hours which summons 
 me away. If I were inclined to run the risk, there is no 
 time, at this present ; and what 1 can do now is to try to 
 thank you for the kindness you have shown to one tint has 
 no habit of forgetting." 
 
 " You are going away forthwith ? " said she.
 
 A FAREWELL 59 
 
 There was no particular reason why she should be sorry 
 at his departure from the neighbourhood, except that he 
 was an extraordinarily gentle-spoken young man, and of a 
 courteous breeding, whom her father, as she thought, would 
 have been pleased to welcome as being commended from his 
 friend Ben Jonson. Few visitors came to New Place ; the 
 faces to be met with there were grown familiar year after 
 year. It seemed a pity that this stranger — and so fair- 
 spoken a stranger, moreover — should be close at hand 
 without making her father's acquaintance. 
 
 " Yes, sweet lady," said he, in the same respectful way, 
 '• it is true that I must quit my present lodging for a time ; 
 but I doubt whether I could find anywhere a quieter or 
 securer place — nay, I have no reason to fear you, I will tell 
 you freely that it is Bassfield Farm, that is on the left 
 before you go down the hill to Bidford ; and it is like 
 enough I may come back thither when that I see how 
 matters stand with me in London." 
 
 And then he glanced at her, with a certain diffidence. 
 
 " Perchance I am too daring," said he, " and yet your 
 courtesy makes me bold. Were I to communicate with you 
 when I return " 
 
 He paused ; and his hesitation well became him ; it was 
 more eloquent in its modesty than many words. 
 
 "That were easily done," said Judith, at once, and with 
 her usual frankness ; " but I must tell you, good sir, that 
 any written message you might send me I should have to 
 show to my friend and gossip, Prudence Shawe, that reads 
 and writes for me, being so skilled in that ; and when you 
 said that to no one was the knowledge to be given that you 
 were in this neighbourhood " 
 
 " Sweet lady," said he, instantly, with much gratitude 
 visible in those handsome dark eyes, "if I may so far 
 trespass on your goodness, I would leave that also within 
 your discretion. One that you have chosen to be your 
 friend must needs be trustworthy ; nay, I am sure of that." 
 
 " But my father, too, good sir " 
 
 " Nay, not so," said he, with some touch of entreaty in 
 his voice. " Take it not ill of me, but one that is in peril 
 must use precautions for his safety, even though they savour 
 of ill manners and suspicion."
 
 Co JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 "As you will, sir, as you will's I know little of such 
 matters," Judith said. " But yet I know that you do wrong 
 to mistrust my father " 
 
 " Nay, dearest lady," he said quickly, " it is you that do 
 me wrong to use such words. I mistrust him not ; but 
 indeed I dare not disclose to him the charge that is brought 
 against me until I have clearer proofs of my innocence ; 
 and these I hope to have in time, when I may present 
 myself to yonr father without fear. Meanwhile, sweet 
 Mistress Judith, I can but ill express my thanks to you that 
 you have vouchsafed to lighten the tedium of my hiding 
 through these few words that have passed between us ; did 
 you but know the dulness of the days at the farm — for sad 
 thoughts are but sorry companions — you would understand 
 my gratitude towards you " 
 
 "Nay, nothing, good sir, nothing," said she; and then 
 she paused, in some difficulty. She did not like to bid him 
 farewell without any reference whatsoever to the future ; 
 for in truth she wished to hear more of him, and how his 
 fortunes prospered. And yet she hesitated about betraying 
 so much interest — of however distant and ordinary a kind— 
 in the affairs of a stranger. Her usual frank sympathy 
 conquered ; besides, was not this unhappy young man the 
 friend of her father's friend ? 
 
 " Is it to the farm that you return when you have been to 
 London ? " she asked. 
 
 " I trust so ; better security I could not easily find 
 elsewhere j and my well-wishers have means of com- 
 munication with me, so that I can get the news there. 
 Pray Heaven I may soon be quit of this skulking in cor- 
 ners ; I like it not : it is not the life of a free man." 
 
 " I hope yonr fortunes will mend, sir ; and speedily," 
 said she ; and there was an obvious sincerity in her voice. 
 
 " Why," said he, with a laugh— for, indeed, this young 
 man, to be one in peril of his life, bore himself with a 
 singularly free and undaunted demeanour ; and he was not 
 looking around him in a furtive manner, as if he feared to 
 be observed ; but was allowing his eyes to rest on Judith's 
 eyes, and on the details of her costume (which he seemed 
 to approve) in a quite easy and unconcerned manner — 
 " the birds and beasts we hunt are allowed to rest at times ;
 
 A FAREWELL 61 
 
 but a man in hiding has no peace nor freedom from week's 
 end to week's end — no, nor at any moment of the day or 
 night. And if the good people that shelter him are not 
 entirely of his own station ; and if he cares to have but 
 little speech with them ; and if the only book in the house 
 be the family Bible, then the days are like to pass slowly 
 with him. Can you wonder, sweet Mistress Judith," he 
 continued, turning his eyes to the ground, in a modest 
 manner, " that I shall carry away the memory of this 
 meeting with you as a treasure, and dwell on it, and recall 
 the kindness of each word you have spoken ? " 
 
 " In truth, no, good sir," said she, with a touch of colour 
 in her cheeks — that caught the warm golden light shining 
 over from the west. " I would not have you think them of 
 any importance, except the hope that matters may go well 
 with you." 
 
 " And if they should," said he ; " or if they should go ill, 
 and if I were to presume to think that you cared to know, 
 then, when I return to Bassfield I might make so bold as 
 to send you some brief tidings through your friend Mistress 
 Prudence Shawe, that I am sure must be discreet, since she 
 has won your confidence. But why should I do so ? " he 
 added after a second. "Why should I trouble you with 
 news of one whose good or evil fortune cannot concern 
 you ? " 
 
 "Nay, sir, I wish you well," said she, simply ; " and would 
 fain hear better tidings of your condition. If you may not 
 come at present to New Place, where you would have better 
 counsel than I can give you, at least you may remember 
 that there is one in the household there that will be glad 
 when she hears of your welfare, and better pleased "still 
 when she learns that you are free to make her father's 
 friendship." 
 
 This was clearly a dismissal ; and after a few more 
 words of gratitude on his part (he seemed almost unable 
 to take away his eyes from her face, or to say all that he 
 would fain say of thanks for her gracious intervention and 
 sympathy) they parted ; and forthwith Judith— now with a 
 much lighter heart, for this interview had cost her not a 
 little embarrassment and anxiety — hastened away back 
 through the lane in the direction of the barns and gardens
 
 62 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of Shotteiy. All these occurrences of the day had happened 
 so rapidly that she had had but little time to reflect over 
 them ; but now she was clearly glad that she should be 
 able to talk over the whole affair with Prudence Shawe. 
 There would bo comfort in that and also safety ; for, if the 
 truth must be told, that wild and bewildering fancy that 
 perchance the wizard had prophesied truly would force 
 itself on her mind in a disquieting manner. But she 
 strove to reason herself and laugh herself out of such 
 imaginings. She had plenty of courage and a strong will ; 
 from the first she had made light of the wizard's pretensions ; 
 she was not going to alarm herself about the possible future 
 consequences of this accidental meeting. And indeed, when 
 she recalled the particulars of that meeting, she came to 
 think that the circumstances of the young man could not 
 be so very desperate. He did not speak nor look like one 
 in eminent peril ; his gay description of the masques and 
 entertainments of the Court was not the talk of a man 
 seriously and really in danger of his life. Perhaps he had 
 been in some thoughtless escapade ; and was waiting for 
 the bruit of it to blow over ; perhaps he was unused to 
 confinement, and may have exaggerated (for this also 
 occurred to her) somewhat in order to win her sympathy. 
 But anyhow, he was in some kind of misfortune or trouble ; 
 and she was sorry for him ; and she thought that if Prudence 
 Shawe could see him, and observe how well-bred, and civil- 
 spoken, and courteous a young gentleman lie seemed to be 
 — she, too, would pity the dulness of the life he must be 
 leading at the farm, and be glad to do anything to relieve 
 such a tedium. In truth, by the time Judith was drawing 
 near her grandmother's cottage, she had convinced herself 
 that there was no very dark mystery connected with this 
 young man ; that she had not been holding converse with 
 any dangerous villain or conspirator ; and that soon every- 
 thing would be cleared up, and perhaps he himself present 
 himself at New Place, with Ben Jonson's letter in his hand. 
 So sin' was in a cheerful enough frame of mind when she 
 ui rived at the cottage. 
 
 This was ;i picturesque little building of brick and timber, 
 with a substantial roof of thatch, and irrcgnlarly-placcd 
 small windows ; and it was prettily set in front of a wild
 
 A QUARREL 63 
 
 and variegated garden ; and of course all the golden glow 
 of the west was now flooding the place with its beautiful 
 light, and causing the little rectangular panes in the open 
 casements to gleam like jewels. And here, at the wooden 
 gate of the garden, was Willie Hart, who seemed to have 
 been using the time profitably ; for he had a most diverse 
 and sweet-scented gathering of flowers and herbs of a 
 humble and familiar kind — forget-me-nots, and pansies, and 
 wallflower, and mint, and sweet briar, and the like — to 
 present to his pretty cousin. 
 
 " Well done, sweetheart, and are all these for me ? " said 
 she, as she passed within the little gate, and stood for a 
 moment, arranging and regarding them. " What, then, 
 what is this ? — what mean you by it, cousin Willie ? " 
 
 " By what, cousin Judith ? " said the small boy, looking 
 up with his wondering and wistful eyes. 
 
 " Why," said she, gaily, " this pansy that you have put 
 fair in the front — know you not the name of it ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I know it not, cousin Judith." 
 
 " Ah, you cunning one : well you know it, I'll be sworn ; 
 why, 'tis one of the chiefest favourites everywhere — did 
 you never hear it called ' Kiss-me-at-the-gate ' ? Marry, 
 'tis an excellent name ; and if I take you at your word, 
 little sweetheart ? " 
 
 And so they went into the cottage together ; and she had 
 her arm lying lightly round his neck. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A QUARREL. 
 
 But instantly her manner changed. Just within the door- 
 way of the passage that cut the rambling cottage into two 
 halves, and attached to a string that was tied to the handle 
 of the door, lay a small spaniel-gentle, peacefully snoozing ; 
 and well Judith knew that the owner of the dog (which she 
 had heard, indeed, was meant to be presented to herself) 
 was inside. However, there was no retreat possible, if 
 retreat she would have preferred ; for here was the aged 
 grandmother — a little old woman, with fresh pink cheeks,
 
 64 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 silver-white hair, and keen eyes — come out to see if it were 
 Judith's footsteps she had heard ; and she was kindly in 
 her welcome of the girl ; though usually she grumbled a 
 good deal about her, and would maintain that it was pure 
 pride and wilfulness that kept her from getting married. 
 
 " Here be finery ! " said she, stepping back as if to gain a 
 fairer view. " God a mercy, wench, have you come to your 
 senses at last ? — be you seeking a husband ? — would you 
 win one of them ? — they have waited a goodly time for the 
 bating of your pride ; but you must after them at last — ay, 
 ay, I thought 'twould come to that." 
 
 " Good grandmother, you give me no friendly welcome," 
 said Judith. " And AVillie here ; have you no word for him, 
 that he is come to see how you do ? " 
 
 " Nay, come in, then, sweetings both ; come in and sit ye 
 down ; little Willie has been in the garden long enough, 
 though you know I grudge you not the flowers, wench. 
 Ay, ay, there is one within, Judith, that would fain be a 
 nearer neighbour, as I hear, if you would but say yea ;!and 
 bethink ye, wench, an apple may hang too long on the 
 bough — your bravery may be put on to catch the eye when 
 it is over late " 
 
 " I pray you, good grandmother, forbear," said Judith, 
 with some asperity. " I have my own mind about such 
 things." 
 
 " All's well, wench, all's well," said the old dame, as she 
 led the way into the main room of the cottage. It was a 
 wide and spacious apartment, with heavy black beams over- 
 head ; a mighty fireplace ; here or there a window cut in 
 the walls just as it seemed to have been wanted ; and in the 
 middle of the floor a plain oak table, on which were placed 
 a jug and two or three horn tumblers. 
 
 Of course Judith knew whom she had to expect ; the 
 presence of the little spaniel-gentle at the door had told her 
 that. This young fellow that now quickly rose from his 
 chair and came forward to meet her — " (iood even to you, 
 Judith," said he, in a humble way, and his eyes seemed to 
 beseech her favour — was as yet but in his two-and-twentieth 
 year, but his tall and lithe and muscular figure had already 
 the firm set of manhood on it. He was spare of form, and 
 square-shouldered ; his head smallish, his brown hair short ;
 
 A QUARREL 65 
 
 his features were regular, and the forehead, if not high, was 
 square and firm ; the general look of him was suggestive of 
 a sculptured Greek or Roman wrestler, but that this 
 deprecatiug glance of the eyes was not quite consistent. 
 And to tell the truth, wrestling and his firm-sinewed figure 
 had something to do with his extreme humility on this 
 occasion. He was afraid that Judith had heard something. 
 To have broken the head of a tapster was not a noble 
 performance, no matter how the quarrel was forced on him ; 
 and this was but the most recent of several squabbles ; for 
 the championship in the athletic sports of a country 
 neighbourhood is productive of rivals who may take many 
 ways of provoking anger. " Good even to you, Judith," 
 said he, as if he really would have said, " Pray you, believe 
 not all the ill you hear of me ! " Judith, however, did not 
 betray anything by her manner, which was friendly enough 
 in a kind of formal way, and distinctly reserved. She sate 
 down, and asked her grandmother what news she had of the 
 various members of the family, that now were widely 
 scattered throughout Warwickshire. She declined the cup 
 of merry-go-down that the young man civilly offered to her. 
 She had a store of things to tell about her father ; and about 
 the presents he had brought ; and about the two pieces of 
 song-music that Master Eobert Johnson had sent, that her 
 father would have Susan try over on the lute ; and the other 
 twenty acres that were to be added ; and the talk there had 
 been of turning the house opposite New Place, at the corner 
 of Chapel Street and Scholars Lane, into a tavern ; and how 
 that had happily been abandoned — for her father wanted no 
 tavern revelry within hearing ; and so forth ; but all this was 
 addressed to the grandmother. The young man got scarce 
 a word ; though now and again he would interpose gently, 
 and, as it were, begging her to look his way. She was far 
 kinder to Willie Hart, who was standing by her side ; for 
 sometimes she would put her hand on his shoulder or stroke 
 his long yellow-brown hair. 
 
 " Willie says he will have just such another as I, grand- 
 mother," said she, when these topics were exhausted, "to be 
 his sweetheart when he grows up ; so you see there be some 
 that value me." 
 
 " Look to it that you be not yourself unmarried then, 
 
 F
 
 66 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Judith," said the old dame, who was never done grumbling 
 on this account. " I should not marvel ; they that refuse 
 when they are sought come in time to wonder that there 
 are none to seek — nay, 'tis so, I warrant you. You are 
 hanging late on the bough, wench ; see you be not for- 
 gotten " 
 
 " But, good grandmother," said Judith, with some colour 
 in her cheeks (for this was an awkward topic in the presence 
 of this youth), " would you have me break from the rule 
 of the family ? My mother was si x-and -twenty when she 
 married, and Susan four-and-twenty ; and indeed there 
 might come one of us who did not perceive the necessity of 
 marrying at all." 
 
 " In God's name, if that be your mind, wench, hold to 
 it 1 Hold to it, I say ! " And then the old dame glanced 
 with her sharp eyes at the pretty costume of her visitor. 
 " But I had other thoughts when I saw such a fine young 
 madam at the door ; in truth, they befit you well, these 
 braveries ; indeed they do ; though 'tis a pity to have them 
 decking out one that is above the marrying trade. But 
 take heed, wench, take heed lest you change your mind 
 when it is too late ; the young men may hold you to your 
 word ; and you find yourself forsaken when you least 
 expected it." 
 
 " Give ye thanks for your good comfort, grandmother," 
 said Judith, indifferently. And then she rose. " Come, 
 Willie, 'tis about time we were going through the fields to 
 the town. What message have you, grandmother, for my 
 father? lie is busy from morning till night since his 
 coming home ; but I know he Avill be over to visit you soon. 
 The flowers, Willie — did you leave them on the bench 
 outside ? " 
 
 But Bhe was not allowed to depart in this fashion. The 
 old dame's discontents with her pretty granddaughter — 
 that was now grown into so fair and blithe a young woman 
 
 were never of a lasting nature ; and now she would 
 have both Judith and little Willie taste of some ginger- 
 bread of her own baking, and then Judith had again to 
 refnse a sup of the ale that stood on the table, preferring 
 :i lit tin water instead. Moreover, when they had got out 
 into the garden, behold ! this yonng man would come.
 
 A QUARREL 67 
 
 also, to convoy them home on their way across the fields. 
 It was a gracious evening, sweet and cool ; there was a 
 clear twilight shining over the land ; the elms were dark 
 against the palely luminous sky. And then, as the three of 
 them went across the meadows towards Stratford town, 
 little Willie Hart was entrusted with the care of the spaniel- 
 gentle — that was young and wayward, and possessed with a 
 mad purpose of hunting sparrows — and as the dog kept him 
 running this way and that, he was mostly at some little 
 distance from these other two, and Judith's companion, 
 young Quiney, had every opportunity of speaking with her. 
 
 " I sent you a message, Judith," said he, rather timidly, 
 but anxiously watching the expression of her face all the 
 time, — "a token of remembrance — I trust it did not 
 displease you ? " 
 
 "You should have considered through whose hands it 
 would come," said she, but without regarding him. 
 
 " How so ? " he asked in some surprise. 
 
 " Why, you knew that Prudence would have to read it." 
 
 " And why not, Judith ? Why should she not ? She 
 is your friend ; and I care not who is made aware that— 
 that — well, you know what I mean, dear Judith, but I fear 
 to anger you by saying it. You were not always so hard to 
 please." 
 
 There was a touch of reproach in this that she did not 
 like. Besides, was it fair ? Of course, she had been kinder 
 to him when he was a mere stripling — -when they were boy 
 and girl together ; but now he had put forth other preten- 
 sions ; and they stood on a quite different footing ; and 
 in his pertinacity he would not understand why she was 
 always speaking to him of Prudence Shawe, and extolling 
 her gentleness and sweet calm wisdom and goodness. 
 " The idle boy," she would say to herself, " why did God 
 give him such a foolish head that he must needs come 
 fancying me ? " And sometimes she was angry because of 
 his dulness and that he would not see ; though, indeed, she 
 could not speak quite plainly. 
 
 "You should think," said she, on this occasion with 
 some sharpness, " that these idle verses that you send me 
 are read by Prudence. Well, doubtless, she may not heed 
 that ." ' 
 
 ? 2
 
 68 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Why should she heed, Judith ? " said he. " 'Tis but 
 an innocent part she takes in the matter — a kindness, 
 merely." 
 
 She dared not say more ; and she was vexed with him 
 for putting this restraint upon her. She turned upon him 
 with a glance of sudden and rather unfriendly scrutiny. 
 
 " What is this now that I hear of you ? " said she. 
 " Another brawl ! A tavern brawl ! I marvel you have 
 escaped so long with a whole skin ! " 
 
 " I know not who carries tales of me to you, Judith," 
 said he, somewhat warmly, " but if you yourself were more 
 friendly you would take care to choose a more friendly 
 messenger. It is always the worst that you hear. If 
 there was a brawl, it was none of my seeking. And if my 
 skin is whole, I thank God I can look after that for myself : 
 I am not one that will be smitten on one cheek and turn 
 the other — like your parson friend." 
 
 This did not mend matters much. 
 
 " My parson friend ? " said she, with some swift colour in 
 her cheeks. " My parson friend is one that has respect for 
 his office, and has a care for his reputation, and lives a 
 peaceable, holy life ; would you have him frequent ale- 
 houses and fight with drawers and tapsters ? Marry and 
 amen ; but 1 find no fault with the parson's life." 
 
 " Nay, that is true, indeed," said he, bitterly ; " you can 
 find no fault in the parson — as every one says. But there 
 be others who see with other eyes and would tell you in 
 what he might amend " 
 
 " I care not to know," said she. 
 
 "It were not amiss," said he, for he was determined 
 to speak, " it were not amiss if Sir Parson showed a little 
 more honesty in his daily walk— that were not amiss, for 
 one thing." 
 
 " In what is he dishonest , then ? " said she, instantly, and 
 she turned ;ind faced him with indignant eyes. 
 
 Well, he did not quail. His blood "was up. Tins 
 championship of the parson, that he had scarce expected of 
 her, only fired anew certain secret suspicions of his ; and he 
 had no mind to spare his rival, whether he were absent 
 or no. 
 
 ■ Why, then, does he miscall the King, and eat the King's
 
 A QUARREL 69 
 
 bread ? " said he, somewhat hotly. " Is it honest to con- 
 form in public, and revile in private ? I say, let him go 
 forth, as others have been driven forth, if the state of 
 affairs content him not. I say, that they who speak 
 against the King — marry, it were well done to chop the 
 rogue's ears off ! — I say they should be ashamed to eat the 
 King's bread 1 " 
 
 " He eats no King's bread ! " said Judith — and alas I her 
 eyes had a look in them that pierced him to the heart : it 
 was not the glance he would fain have met with there. 
 " He eats the bread of the Church, that has been despoiled 
 of its possessions again and again by the Crown and the 
 lords ; and why should he go forth ? He is a minister ; 
 is there harm that he should wish to see the services 
 reformed ? He is at his post ; would you have him desert 
 it, or else keep silent ? No, he is no such coward, I 
 warrant you. He will speak his mind ; it were ill done of 
 him else I " 
 
 " Nay, he can do no harm at all — in your judgment," 
 said he, somewhat sullenly, " if all be true that they say." 
 
 " And who is it, then, that should speak of idle tales and 
 the believing of them ? " said she, with indignant reproach. 
 " You say I welcome evil stories about you ? And you ? 
 Are you so quick to put away the idle gossip they bring you 
 about me ? "Would you not rather believe it ? I trow you 
 would as lief believe it as not ! That it is to have friends ! 
 That it is to have those who should defend you in your 
 absence, but would rather listen to slander against you ! 
 But when they speak about women's idle tongues, they 
 know little ; it is men who are the readiest to listen and to 
 carry evil report and lying ! " 
 
 "I meant not to anger you, Judith," said he, more 
 humbly. 
 
 " Yes, but you have angered me," said she (with her lips 
 becoming tremulous, but only for a se.-ond). " What concern 
 have I with Parson Blaise ? I would they that speak 
 against him were as good men and honest as he " 
 
 " Indeed, they speak no ill of him, Judith," said he (for 
 he was grieved that they were fallen out so, and there was 
 nothing he would not have retracted that so he might win 
 back to her favour again, in however small a degree),
 
 /O JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " except that he is disputatious, and would lead matters no 
 one knows whither. 'Tis but a few minutes ago that your 
 grandmother there was saying that we should never have 
 peace and quiet in church affairs till the old faith was 
 restored " 
 
 Here, indeed, she pricked up her ears ; but she would 
 Bay no more ; she had not forgiven him yet ; and she was 
 proud and silent. 
 
 " And though I do not hold with that — for there would 
 be a bloody struggle before the Pope could be master in 
 England again — nevertheless, I would have the ministers 
 men of peace, as they profess to be, and loyal to the King, 
 who is at the head of the Church as well as of the realm. 
 However, let it pass. I wish to have no quarrel with you, 
 Judith " 
 
 " How does your business ? " said she, abruptly changiug 
 the subject. 
 
 " Well, excellently well ; it is not in that direction that I 
 have any anxiety about the future " 
 
 " Do you give it your time ? — you were best take heed, 
 for else it is like to slip away from you," she said ; and he 
 thought she spoke rather coldly, and as if her warning were 
 meant to convey something more than appeared. 
 
 And then she added : 
 
 " You were at Wilnecote on Tuesday ? " 
 
 " You must have heard why, Judith," he said ; " old 
 Pike was married again that day, and they would have me 
 over to the wedding. 1 ' 
 
 "And on the Wednesday what was there at Bidford, 
 then, that you must needs be gone when my mother sent to 
 you ? " 
 
 " At Bidford ? " said he (and he was sorely puzzled as to 
 whether he should rejoice at these questions as betraying a 
 friendly interest in his affairs, or rather regard them as 
 conveying covert reproof and expressing her dissatisfaction 
 with him and distrust of him). " At Bidford, Judith, — well, 
 there was business as well as pleasure there. For you must 
 know that Daniel Ilutt is come home for a space from the 
 DfiW settlements in Virginia, and is for taking back with 
 him a number of labourers that are all in due time to make 
 their fortunes there : marry, 'tis a good chance for some of
 
 A QUARREL 71 
 
 them, for broken men are as welcome as any, and there are 
 no questions asked as to their having been intimate with 
 the constable and the justice. So there was a kind of 
 merry-meeting of Daniel's old friends that was held at the 
 Falcon at Bidford — and the host is a good customer of mine, 
 so it was prudent of me to go thither ; and right pleasant 
 was it to hear Daniel Hutt tell of his adventures by sea and 
 shore ; and he gave as some of the tobacco that he had 
 brought with him ; and to any that will go back with him 
 to Jamestown he promises allotments of land, though at 
 first there will be tough labour, as he says honestly. Oh, a 
 worthy man is this Daniel Hutt, though as yet his own 
 fortune seems not so secure." 
 
 " With such junketings," said she, with ever so slight a 
 touch of coldness, " 'tis no wonder you could not spare the 
 time to come and see my father on the evening of his getting 
 home." 
 
 " There now, Judith ! " he exclaimed. " Would you have 
 me break in upon him at such a busy season when even you 
 yourselves are careful to refrain ? It had been ill-mannered 
 of me to do such a thing ; but 'twas no heedlessness that led 
 to my keeping away, as you may well imagine." 
 
 "It is difficult to know the reasons when friends hold 
 aloof," said she. " You have not been near the house for 
 two or three weeks, as I reckon." 
 
 And here again he would have given much to know 
 whether her speech— which was curiously reserved in tone 
 — meant that she had marked these things out of regard for 
 him or that she wished to reprove him. 
 
 " I can give you the reasons for that, Judith," said this 
 tall and straight young fellow, who, from time to time, 
 regarded his companion's face with some solicitude, as if he 
 fain would have found some greater measure of friendli- 
 ness there. " I have not been often to New Place of late 
 because of one I thought I might meet there who would be 
 no better pleased to see me than I him ; and — and — perhaps 
 because of another — that I did not know whether she might 
 be the better pleased to have me there or find me stay 
 away " 
 
 " Your reasons are too fine," said she, " I scarce under- 
 stand them."
 
 72 Judith shakespeare 
 
 " That is because you won't understand ; I think I have 
 spoken plain enough ere now, Judith, I make bold to say." 
 
 She flushed somewhat at this ; but it was no longer in 
 anger. She seemed willing to be on good terms with him, 
 but always in that measured and distant way. 
 
 " Willie ! " she called. " Come hither, sweetheart ! " 
 
 With some difficulty her small cousin made his way back 
 to her, dragging the reluctant spaniel so that its head seemed 
 to be in jeopardy. 
 
 " He mill go after the birds, cousin Judith ; you will 
 never teach him to follow you." 
 
 " I ? " she said. 
 
 " Willie knows I want you to have the little dog, Judith," 
 her companion said quickly. " I got him for you when I 
 was at Gloucester ; 'tis a good breed — true Maltese, I can 
 warrant him ; and the fashionable ladies* will scarce stir 
 abroad without one to follow them, or to carry with them in 
 their coaches when they ride. Will you take him, Judith ? " 
 
 She was a little embarrassed. 
 
 '"Tis a pretty present," said she, "but you have not 
 chosen the right one to give it to." 
 
 " What mean you ? " said he. 
 
 " Nay, now, have not I the Don ? " she said, with greater 
 courage. " He is a sufficient companion if I wish to walk 
 abroad. Why should you not give this little spaniel to one 
 that has no such companion — I mean to Prudence Shawe ?" 
 
 " To Prudence ! " said he, regarding her ; for this second 
 introduction of Judith's friend seemed strange, as well as the 
 notion that he should transfer this prized gift to her. 
 
 " There, now, is one so gentle and kind to every one and 
 everything that she would tend the little creature with care," 
 she continued. "It would be more fitting for her than for 
 me." 
 
 " You could be kind enough, Judith — if yon chose," said 
 he, under his breath, for Willie Hart was standing by. 
 
 " Nay, I have the Don," said she, " that is large, and 
 worldly, and serious, and clumsy withal. Give this little 
 playfellow to Prudence, who is small and neat and gentle 
 like itself ; surely that were litter." 
 
 " I bad hoped you would have accepted the little spaniel 
 from me, Judith," said he, with very obvious disappointment.
 
 A QUARREL 73 
 
 " Moreover," said she, lightly, " two of a trade would never 
 agree ; we should have this one and the Don continually 
 quarrelling ; and sooner or later the small one would lose its 
 head in the Don's great jaws." 
 
 " Why, the mastiff is always chained, and at the barn-gate, 
 Judith," said he. " This one would be within-doors, as your 
 playfellow. But I care not to press a gift." 
 
 " Nay, now, be not displeased," said she, gently enough. 
 " I am not unthankful ; I think well of your kindness ; 
 but it were still better done if you were to change your in- 
 tention and give the spaniel to one that would have a gentler 
 charge over it, and think none the less of it, as I can vouch 
 for. Pray you, give it to Prudence." 
 
 " A discarded gift is not worth the passing on," said he ; 
 and as they were now come quite near to the town, where 
 there was a dividing of ways, he stopped as though he would 
 shake hands and depart. 
 
 " Will you not go on to the house ? You have not seen 
 my father since his coming home," she said. 
 
 " No, not to-night, Judith," he said. " Doubtless he is 
 still busy ; and I have affairs elsewhere." 
 
 She glanced at him with one of those swift keen looks of 
 hers. 
 
 " Where go you to spend the evening, if I may make so 
 bold ? " she said. 
 
 "Not at the ale-house, as you seem to suspect," he 
 answered, with just a trifle of bitterness ; and then he took 
 the string to lead away the spaniel ; and bade her farewell — 
 in a kind of half-hearted and disappointed and downcast 
 way — and left. 
 
 She looked after him for a second or so, as she fastened 
 a. glove button that had got loose. And then she sighed as 
 she turned away. 
 
 " Sweetheart Willie," said she, putting her hand softly on 
 the boy's shoulder, as he walked beside her, " I think you 
 said you loved me ? " 
 
 " Why, you know I do, cousin Judith," said he. 
 
 " What a pity it is, then," said she, absently, " that you 
 cannot remain always as you are — and keep your ten years 
 for ever and a day — so that we should always be friends as 
 we are now ! "
 
 74 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 He did not quite know what she meant ; but he was 
 sufficiently well pleased and contented when he was thus 
 close by her side ; and when her hand was on his shoulder 
 or on his neck it was to him no burden but a delight. And 
 so walking together, and with some gay and careless prattle 
 between them, they went on and into the town. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS. 
 
 Some two or three days after that, and towards the evening, 
 Prudence Shawe was in the churchyard ; and she was alone, 
 save that now and again some one might pass along the 
 gravelled pathway ; and these did not stay to interrupt her. 
 She had with her a basket, partly filled with flowers ; also, 
 a small rake and a pair of gardener's shears ; and she was 
 engaged in going from grave to grave, here putting a few 
 fresh blossoms to replace the withered ones, and there 
 removing weeds, or cutting the grass smooth, and generally 
 tending those last resting-places with a patient and loving 
 care. It was a favourite employment with her when she 
 had a spare afternoon ; nor did she limit her attention to 
 the graves of those whom she had known in life ; her charge 
 was a general one ; and when they who had friends or rela- 
 tives buried there came to the church of a Sunday morning, 
 and perhaps from some distance, and when they saw that 
 some gentle hand had been employed there in the interval, 
 they knew right well that that hand was the hand of 
 Prudence Shawe. It was a strange fancy on the part of one 
 who was so averse from all ornament or decoration in 
 ordinary life that nothing was too beautiful for a grave. 
 She herself would not wear a flower ; but her best — and the 
 best she could beg or borrow anywhere — she freely gave to 
 those that were gone away ; she seemed to have some vague 
 imagination that our poor human nature was not worthy of 
 this beautifying care until it had become sanctified by the 
 s;ul mystery of death. 
 
 It was a calm, golden-white evening, peaceful and silent ; 
 the rooks were cawing in the dark elms above her ; the 
 swallows <li|i]iing and darting under the boughs ; the sniooth- 
 flowing yellow river was like glass, save that now and again
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS 75 
 
 the perfect surface was broken by the rising of a fish. 
 Over there in the wide meadows beyond the stream a 
 number of boys were playing at rounders or prisoner's base 
 or some such noisy game ; but the sound of their shouting 
 was softened by the distance ; so quiet was it here, as she 
 continued at her pious task, that she might almost have 
 heard herself breathing. And once or twice she looked 
 up, and glanced towards the little gate as if expecting some 
 one. 
 
 It was Judith, of course, that she was expecting ; and 
 at this moment Judith was coming along to the churchyard 
 to seek her out. What a contrast there was between these 
 two — this one pale and gentle and sad-eyed, stooping over 
 the mute graves in the shadow of the elms ; that other 
 coming along through the warm evening light, with all her 
 usual audacity of gait, the peach-bloom of health on her 
 cheek, carelessness and content in her clear shining eyes, 
 and the tune of " Green Sleeves " ringing through a 
 perfectly idle brain. Indeed, what part of her brain may 
 not have been perfectly idle was bent solely on mischief. 
 Prudence had been away for two or three days, staying 
 with an ailing sister. All that story of the adventure with 
 the unfortunate young gentleman had still to be related to 
 her. And again and again Judith had pictured to herself 
 Prudence's alarm and the look of her timid eyes when she 
 should hear of such doings, and had resolved that the tale 
 should lose nothing in the telling. Here, indeed, was some- 
 thing for two country maidens to talk about. The even 
 current of their lives was broken but by few surprises ; but 
 here was something more than a surprise — something with 
 suggestions of mystery and even danger behind it. This 
 was no mere going out to meet a wizard. Any farm-wench 
 might have an experience of that kind ; any ploughboy 
 deluded by the hope of digging up silver in one of his 
 master's fields. But a gentleman in hiding — one that had 
 been at Court — one that had seen the King sitting in his 
 chair of state, while Ben Jonson's masque was opened out 
 before the great and noble assemblage — this was one to 
 speak about, truly ; one whose fortunes and circumstances 
 were like to prove a matter of endless speculation and 
 curiosity.
 
 7 6 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But when Judith drew near to the little gate of the 
 
 churchyard, and saw how Prudence was occupied, her heart 
 
 smote her. 
 
 " Green-sleeves was all my joy, 
 Green -sleeves was my delight" 
 
 went clean out of her head. There was a kind of shame on 
 her face ; and when she went along to her friend she could 
 not help exclaiming — 
 
 " How good you are, Prue ! " 
 
 " I ? " said the other, with some touch of wonder in the 
 upturned face. " I fear that cannot be said of any of us, 
 Judith." 
 
 " I would I were like you, sweetheart," was the answer — 
 with a bit of a sigh. 
 
 " Like me, Judith ? " said Prudence, returning to her task 
 (which was nearly ended now, for she had but few more 
 flowers left). " Nay, what makes you think that ? I wish 
 I were far other than I am." 
 
 " Look now," Judith said, " how you are occupied at this 
 moment. Is there another in Stratford that has such a 
 general kindness ? How many would think of employing 
 their time so — how many would come away from their own 
 affairs ? " 
 
 " It may be that I have more idle time than many," said 
 Prudence, with a slight flush. " But I commend not myself 
 for this work ; in truth, no ; 'tis but a pastime ; 'tis for my 
 own pleasure." 
 
 " Indeed, then, good Prue, you are mistaken ; and that 
 I know well," said the other, peremptorily. " Your own 
 pleasure ? Is it no pleasure, then, think you, for them that 
 come from time to time, and are right glad to see that some 
 one has been tending the graves of their friends or kinsmen ? 
 And do you think, now, it is no pleasure to the poor people 
 themselves — I mean them that are gone — to look at you as 
 you are engaged so, and to think that they are not quite 
 forgotten ? Surely it must be a pleasure to them. Surely 
 they cannot have lost all their interest in what happens 
 here— in Stratford— where they lived; and surely they 
 must be grateful to you for thinking of them, and doing 
 them this kindness ? I say it were ill done of them else.
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS -]-] 
 
 I say they ought to be thankful to you. And no doubt 
 they are, could we but learn." 
 
 " Judith, Judith, you have such a bold way of regarding 
 what is all a mystery to us," said her gentle-eyed friend. 
 " Sometimes you frighten me." 
 
 " I would I knew now," said the other, looking absently 
 across the river to the boys that were playing there, 
 " whether my little brother Hamnet — had you known him 
 you would have loved him as I did, Prudence — I say I 
 wish I knew whether he is quite happy and content where 
 he is, or whether he would not rather be over there now 
 with the other boys. If he looks down and sees them, 
 may it not make him sad sometimes ? — to be so far away 
 from us. I always think of him as being alone there ; and 
 he was never alone here. I suppose he thinks of us some- 
 times. Whenever I hear the boys shouting like that at their 
 play I think of him ; but indeed he was never noisy and 
 unruly ; my father used to call him the girl-boy : but he 
 was fonder of him than of all us others ; he once came all 
 the way from London when he heard that Hamnet was lying 
 sick of a fever." 
 
 She turned to see how Prudence was getting on with her 
 work ; but she was in no hurry ; and Prudence was patient 
 and scrupulously careful ; and the dead, had they been able 
 to speak, would not have bade her cease and go away, for a 
 gentler hand never touched a grave. 
 
 "I suppose it is Grandmother Hathaway who will go 
 next," Judith continued, in the same absent kind of way ; 
 " but indeed she says she is right well content either to go or 
 to stay, for now, as she says, she has about as many kinsfolk 
 there as here, and she will not be going among strangers. 
 And well I know she will make for Hamnet as soon as she 
 is there ; for like my father's love for Bess Hall was her 
 love for the boy while he was with us. Tell me, Prudence, 
 has he grown up to be of my age ? You know we were 
 twins. Is he a man now, so that we should see him as 
 some one different ? Or is he still onr little Hamnet, just 
 as we used to know him ? " 
 
 " How can I tell you, Judith ? " the other said, almost in 
 pain. " You ask such bold questions ; and all these things 
 are hidden from us and behind a veil.
 
 78 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " But those are what one would like to know," said 
 Judith, with a sigh. "Nay, if you could but tell me of 
 such things, then you might persuade me to have a greater 
 regard for the preachers ; but when you come and ask 
 about such real things they say it is all a mystery ; they 
 cannot tell ; and would have you be anxious about schemes 
 of doctrine, which are but strings of words. My father, 
 too : when I go to him — nay, but it is many a day since 1 
 tried — lie would look at me and say, ' What is in your 
 brain now ? To your needle, wench, to your needle ! ' " 
 
 " And naturally, Judith ! such things are mercifully 
 hidden from us now ; but they will be revealed when it is 
 fitting for us to know them. How could our ordinary life 
 be possible if we knew what was going on in the other 
 world ? We should have no interest in the things around 
 us ; the greater interest would be so great." 
 
 "Well, well, well," said Judith, coming with more 
 practical eyes to the present moment, " are you finished, 
 sweet mouse, and will you come away ? What, not satisfied 
 yet ? I wonder if they know the care you take. I wonder 
 if one will say to the other, ' Come and see ; she is there 
 again. We are not quite forgotten.' And will you do 
 that for me, too, dear Prue ? Will you put some pansies 
 on my grave, too ? — and I know you will say out of your 
 charity, 'Well, she was not good and pious, as I would 
 have had her to be ; she had plenty of faults ; but at least 
 she often wished to be better than she was.' Nay, I 
 forgot," she added, glancing carelessly over to the church, 
 "they say we shall lie among the great people, since my 
 father bought the tithes — that we have the right to be 
 buried in the chancel ; but indeed I know I would an 
 hundred times liefer have my -ia\c in the open here among 
 the grass ami tic trees." 
 
 •• Yon are too young to have such thoughts as these, 
 Judith," said her companion as she rose and shut down the 
 lei of the now empty basket. " Come, shall we go ? " 
 
 " Let us cross the foot-bridge, True," Judith said, "and 
 go through the meadows and round by Clopton's bridge 
 and so home; for I have that to tell you will take some 
 lime: pray Beaven it startle you not of your Seiis's 
 withal r'
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS 79 
 
 It was not, however, until they had got away from the 
 churchyard and were out in the clear golden light of the 
 open that she began to tell her story. She had linked her 
 arm within that of her friend. Her manner was grave ; 
 and if there was any mischief in her eyes, it was of a 
 demure kind, not easily detected. She confessed that it 
 was out of mere wanton folly that she had gone to the spot 
 indicated by the wizard ; and without any very definite 
 hope or belief. But as chance would have it, she did 
 encounter a stranger — one, indeed, that was coining to 
 her father's house. Then followed a complete and minute 
 narrative of what the young man had said — the glimpses he 
 had given her of his present condition, both on the occasion 
 of that meeting and of the subsequent one ; and how she 
 had obtained his permission to state these things to this 
 gentle gossip of hers. Prudence listened in silence, her 
 eyes cast down ; Jndith could not see the gathering concern 
 on her face. Nay, the latter spoke rather in a tone of 
 raillery ; for, having had time to look back over the young 
 gentleman's confessions, and his manner and so forth, she 
 had arrived at a kind of assurance that he was in no such 
 desperate case. There were many reasons why a young 
 man might wish to lie perdu for a time ; but this one had 
 not talked as if any very imminent danger threatened him ; 
 at least, if he had intimated as much, the impression 
 produced upon her was not permanent. And if Judith 
 now told the story with a sort of careless bravado — as if 
 going forth in secret to meet this stranger was a thing of 
 risk and hazard — it was with no private conviction that 
 there was any particular peril in the matter, but rather with 
 the vague fancy that the adventure looked daring and 
 romantic, and would appear as something terrible in the 
 eyes of her timid friend. 
 
 But what now happened startled her. They were going 
 up the steps of the footbridge, Prudence first ; and Judith, 
 following her, had just got to the end of her story. 
 Prudence suddenly turned round, and her face, now opposed 
 to the westering light, was, as Judith instantly saw, quite 
 aghast. 
 
 "But, Judith, you do not seem to understand!" she 
 exclaimed. " Was not that the very stranger the wizard
 
 So J UDITH SHA KESPEA RE 
 
 said you would meet ? — the very hour, the very place ? In 
 good truth, it must have been so ! Judith, what manner of 
 man have you been in company with ? " 
 
 For an instant a flush of colour overspread Judith's face ; 
 and she said, with a sort of embarrassed laugh — 
 
 " Well, and if it were so, sweet mouse ? If that were the 
 appointed one, what then ? " 
 
 She was on the bridge now. Prudence caught her by 
 both hands ; and there was an anxious and piteous appeal 
 in the loving eyes. 
 
 " Dear Judith, I beseech you, be warned ! Have nothing 
 to do with the man ! Did I not say that mischief would 
 come of planting the charm in the churchyard, and shaming 
 a sacred place with such heathenish magic ? And now, 
 look already — here is one that you dare not speak of to 
 your own people ; he is in secret correspondence with you ; 
 Heaven alone knows what dark deeds he may be bent upon, 
 or what ruin he may bring upon you and yours. Judith, 
 you are light-hearted and daring and you love to be venture- 
 some, but 1 know you better than you know yourself, 
 sweetheart ; you would not willingly do wrong, or bring 
 harm on those that love you ; and for the sake of all of us 
 — Judith ! — have nothing to do with this man." 
 
 Judith was embarrassed, and perhaps a trifle remorseful : 
 she had not expected her friend to take this adventure so 
 very seriously. 
 
 " Dear Prue, you alarm yourself without reason," she 
 said (but there was still some tell-tale colour in her face). 
 " Indeed, there is no magic or witchery about the young 
 man. Had I seen a ghost I should have been frightened, 
 no doubt, for all that Don Roderigo was with me ; and had 
 I met one of the Strai lord youths at the appointed place I 
 should have said that perhaps the good wizard had gues n i 
 well; but this was merely a stranger coming to see my 
 father; and the chance that brought us together — well, 
 what magic was in that ? — it would have happened to you 
 had you been walking in the lane: do you see that, dear 
 mouse ? -ii would have happened to yourself had you been 
 walking in the lane, and he would have asked of you the 
 quot ion that he asked of me! Nay, banish that fancy, 
 good gossip, else I should be ashamed to do anything
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS 81 
 
 further for the young man, that is unfortunate, and very 
 grateful withal for a few words of friendliness. And so 
 fairly-spoken a young man, too ; and so courtly in his 
 bearing ; and of such a handsome presence " 
 
 " But, dear Judith, listen to me ! — do not be led into 
 such peril. Know you not that evil spirits can assume 
 goodly shapes — the Prince of Darkness himself " 
 
 She could not finish what she had to say — her imagina- 
 tion was so filled with terror. 
 
 " Sweet Puritan," said Judith, with a smile, " I know well 
 that he goeth about like a raging lion, seeking whom he 
 may devour ; I know it well ; but believe me it would not 
 be worth his travail to haunt such a lonely and useless 
 place as the lane that goes from Shottery to the Bidford 
 road. Nay, but I will convince you, dear mouse, by the 
 best of all evidence, that there is nothing ghostly or evil 
 about the young man ; you shall see him, Prue — indeed 
 you must and shall — when that he comes back to his hiding 
 I will contrive that you shall see him and have speech with 
 him, and sure you will pity him as much as I do. Poor 
 young gentleman, that he should be suspected of being 
 Satan ! Nay, how could he be Satan, Prue, and be 
 admitted to the King's Court ? Hath not our good King 
 a powerful insight into the doings of witches and wizards 
 and the like ; and think you he would allow Satan in person 
 to come into the very banqueting hall to see a masque ? " 
 
 " Judith, Judith," said the other piteously, " when yOu 
 strive against me with your wit, I annot answer you ; but 
 my heart tells me you are in exceeding danger. I would warn 
 you, dear cousin ; I were no true friend to you else." 
 
 " But you are the best and truest of friends, you dearest 
 Prue," said Judith, lightly, as she released her hands from 
 her companion's earnest grasp. " Come, let us on — or wc 
 shall go supperless for the evening." 
 
 She passed along and over the narrow bridge, and down 
 the steps on the other side. She did not seem much 
 impressed by Prudence's entreaties ; indeed, she was singing 
 aloud : 
 
 u Hey, good fellow, I drink to thee, 
 Pardonnez mot, je vons en prie ; 
 To all good fellows where'er then he. 
 With never a penny of monie ! " 
 
 G
 
 82 yi/DITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Prudence overtook her. 
 
 " Judith," said she, " even if he be not of that fearful 
 kind — even if he be a real man, and such as he represents 
 himself, bethink you what you are doing ! There may be 
 another such gathering as that at Dimchurch ; and would 
 you be in correspondence with a plotter and murderer ? 
 Nay, what was't you asked of me the other day ? " she added 
 suddenly ; and she stood still to confront her friend, with a 
 new alarm in her eyes. " Did you not ask whether your 
 father was well affected towards the Papists ? Is there 
 another plot ? — another treason against the King ? — and 
 you would harbour one connected with such a wicked, 
 godless, and bloodthirsty plan ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, sweet mouse ! Have I not told you ? He 
 declares he has naught to do with any such enterprise ; and 
 if you would but see him, Prudence, you would believe 
 him. Sure I am that you would believe him instantly. 
 AVhy, now, there be many reasons why a young gentleman 
 might wish to remain concealed — «—" 
 
 " None, Judith, none ! " the other said, with decision. 
 " "Why should an honest man fear the daylight ? " 
 
 " Oh, as for that," was the careless answer, " there be 
 many an honest man that has got into the clutches of the 
 twelve-in-thc-hundred rogues ; and when the writs are out 
 against such an one, I hold it no shame that he would 
 liit her be out of the way than be thrown among the wretches 
 in Bocardo. I know well what I speak of ; many a time 
 have I heard my father and your brother talk of it ; how 
 the rogues of usurers will keep a man in prison for twelve 
 years for a matter of sixteen shillings — what is it they call 
 it ? — making dice of his bones ? And if the young gentle- 
 man fear such treatment and the horrible company of the 
 prisons, I marvel not that he should prefer the fresh air of 
 Bidford, howsoever dull the life at the farm may be." 
 
 "And if that were all, why should he fear to bring the 
 letter to your father ? " the other said, with a quick glance 
 of suspicion ; she did not like the way in which Judith's 
 ready brain could furnish forth such plausible conjectures 
 and excuses. " Answer me that, Judith. Is your father 
 one likely to call aloud and have the man taken, if that be 
 all that is against him ? Why should he be afraid to bring
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS S3 
 
 the letter from your father's friend ? Kay, why should he 
 be on the way to the house with it, and thereafter stop 
 short and change his mind ? There be many a mile 
 bewixt London and Stratford ; 'tis a marvellous thing he 
 should travel all that way and change his mind within a few 
 minutes of being in the town. I love not such dark ways, 
 Judith ; no good thing can come of them, but evil ; and it 
 were ill done of you — even if you be careless of danger to 
 yourself , as I trow you mostly are — I say it is ill done of 
 you to risk the peace of your family by holding such 
 dangerous converse with a stranger and one that may bring 
 harm to us all." 
 
 Judith was not well pleased ; her mouth became rather 
 proud. 
 
 " Marry, if this be your Christian charity I would not 
 give a penny ballad for it ! " said she, with some bitterness 
 of tone. " I had thought the story had another teaching 
 — I mean the story of him that fell among thieves and 
 was beaten and robbed and left for dead»; and that we 
 were to give a helping hand to such, like the Samaritan. 
 But now I mind me 'twas the Priest that passed by on the 
 other side — yes, the Priest and the Levite — the godly ones 
 who would preserve a whole skin for themselves and let 
 the other die of his wounds for aught they cared ! And 
 here is a young man in distress — alone and friendless — 
 and when he would have a few words of cheerfulness, or a 
 message, or a scrap of news as to what is going on in 
 
 the world No, no, say the Priest and the Levite — go 
 
 not near him — because he is in misfortune he is dangerous 
 — because he is alone he is a thief and a murderer — ■ 
 perchance a pirate, like Captain Ward and Dansekar, or 
 even Catesby himself come alive again. I say God keep us 
 all from such Christian charity ! " 
 
 "You use me ill, Judith," said the other, and then was 
 silent. 
 
 They walked on through the meadows, and Judith was 
 watching the play of the boys. As she did so, a leather 
 ball, struck a surprising distance, came rolling almost to 
 her feet, and forthwith one of the lads came running after 
 it. She picked it up and threw it to him — threw it awk- 
 wardly and clumsily as a girl throws, but nevertheless she 
 
 G 2
 
 84 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 saved liim some distance and time, and she was rewarded 
 with many a loud " Thank you ! — thank you ! " from the 
 side who were out. But when they got past the players 
 and their noise, Prudence could no longer keep silent ; 
 she had a forgiving disposition, and nothing distressed her 
 so much as being on unfriendly terms with Judith. 
 
 "You know I meant not that, dear Judith," said she. 
 " I only meant to shield you from harm." 
 
 As for Judith, all such trivial and temporary clouds of 
 misunderstanding were instantly swallowed up in the warm 
 and radiant sunniness of her nature. She broke into a 
 laugh. 
 
 " And so you shall, dear cousin," said she, gaily, " you 
 shall shield me from the reproach of not having a common 
 and ordinary share of humanity ; that shall you, dear 
 Prue, should the unfortunate young gentleman come into 
 the neighbourhood again ; for you will read to me the 
 message that he sends me ; and together we will devise 
 somewhat on his behalf. No ? Are you afraid to go 
 forth and meet the pirate Dansekar ? Do you expect to 
 find the ghost of Gamaliel Ratsey walking on the Evesham 
 road ? Such silly fears, dear Prue, do not become you ; 
 you are no longer a child." 
 
 "You are laying too heavy a burden on me, Judith," 
 the other said, rather sadly. " I know not what to do ; 
 and you say I may not ask counsel of any one. And if I 
 do nothing, I am still taking a part." 
 
 " What part, then, but to read a few words and hold 
 your peace ? " said her companion lightly. " What is that ? 
 Put I know you will not stay there, sweet mouse. No, 
 no ; your heart is too tender ; I know you would not 
 willingly do any one an injury, or harbour suspicion and 
 slander ; you shall come and see the young gentleman, 
 L r ood Prue, as I say ; and then you will repent in sack- 
 cloth and ashes for all that you have urged against him. 
 And perchance it may be in New Place that you shall see 
 him » 
 
 "Ah, Judith, that were well 1 " exclaimed the other, with 
 a brighter light on her face. 
 
 " "What ? Would you desire to see him, if he were to 
 pay as a visit ? " Judith said, regarding her with a smile.
 
 THROUGH THE MEADOWS 85 
 
 " Surely, surely, after what you have told me : why not, 
 Judith ? " was the placid answer. 
 
 " There would be nothing ghostly about him then ? " 
 
 "There would be no secret, Judith," said Prudence, 
 gravely, " that you have to keep back from your own people." 
 
 " Well, well, we will see what the future holds for as," 
 said Judith, in the same careless fashion. "And if the 
 young gentleman come not back to Stratford, why, then, 
 good fortune attend him wherever he may be ; for one 
 that speaks so fair and is so modest sure deserves it. And 
 if he come not back, then shall your heart be all the lighter, 
 dear Prue ; and as for mine, mine will not be troubled — 
 only, that I wish him well, as I say, and would fain hear of 
 his better estate. So all is so far happily settled ; and you 
 may go in to supper with me with untroubled eyes and a 
 free conscience : marry, there be need for that, as I bethink 
 me, for Master Parson comes this evening, and you know 
 you must have a pure and joyful heart with you, good Pru- 
 dence, when you enter into the congregation of the saints." 
 
 " Judith, for my sake ! " 
 
 " Nay, I meant not to offend, truly ; it was my wicked idle 
 tongue, that I must clap a bridle on now — for listen ! " 
 
 They were come to New Place. There was singing 
 going forward within, and one or two of the casements 
 were open ; but perhaps it was the glad and confident 
 nature of the psalm that led to the words being so clearly 
 heard without : 
 
 " Tlie man is blest that hath not bent 
 
 To ivieked rede his ear; 
 Nor led his life as sinners do, 
 
 Nor sat in scorner's chair. 
 But in the law of God the Lord 
 
 Doth set his whole delight; 
 And in that law doth exercise 
 
 Himself both day and night. 
 
 "He shall be lilce the tree that groweth 
 
 Fast by the river side; 
 Which bringeth forth most j^'dsant fruit 
 
 In her due time and tide; 
 Whose leaf shall never fade nor fall, 
 
 But flourish still and stand: 
 Even so all things shall prosper w>il 
 
 That this man tahes in hapd"
 
 86 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 And so, having waited until the singing ceased, they 
 entered into the house, and found two or three neighbours 
 assembled there ; and Master Walter was just about to 
 begin his discourse on the godly life, and the substantial 
 comfort and sweet peace of mind pertaining thereto. 
 
 Some few days after this, and towards the hour of noon, 
 the mail-bearer came riding post-haste into the town ; and 
 in due course the contents of his saddle-bags were distri- 
 buted among the folk entitled to them. But before the 
 news-letters had been carefully spelled out to the end a 
 strange rumour got abroad. The French king was slain, 
 and by the hand of an assassin. Some, as the tidings passed 
 quickly from mouth to mouth, said the murderer was 
 named Ravelok, others Havelok ; but as to the main fact 
 of the fearful crime having been committed there was no 
 manner of doubt. Naturally the bruit of this affair pre- 
 sently reached Julius Shawe's house ; and when the timid 
 Trudence heard of it— and when she thought of the man 
 who had been in hiding, and who had talked with Judith, 
 and had been so suddenly and secretly summoned away — 
 her face grew even paler than its wont, and there was a 
 sickly dread at her heart. She would go to see Judith at 
 once ; and yet she scarcely dared to breathe even to herself 
 the terrible forebodings that were crowding in on her mind. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A PLAYIIOUSK. 
 
 But Judith laughed aside these foolish fears : as it hap- 
 pened, far more important matters were just at this moment 
 occupying her mind. 
 
 She was in the garden. She had brought out some 
 after-dinner fragments for the Don ; and while the great 
 dnn-coloured beast devoured these, she had turned from 
 him to regard Matthew gardener ; and there was a sullen 
 resentment on her face ; for it seemed to her imagination 
 that he kept doggedly and persistently near the summer- 
 house, on which she had certain dark designs. However,
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 87 
 
 the instant she caught sight of Prudence her eyes bright- 
 ened up, and, indeed, became full of an eager animation. 
 
 " Hither, hither, good Prue ! " she exclaimed hurriedly. 
 " Quick, quick ! I have news for you ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Judith ! " said the other ; and at the same 
 moment Judith came to see there was something wrong — 
 the startled pale face and frightened eyes had a story to tell. 
 
 " Why, what is to do ? " said she. 
 
 " Know you not, Judith ? Have you not heard ? The 
 French king is slain — is murdered by an assassin ! " 
 
 To her astonishment the news seemed to produce no 
 effect whatever. 
 
 " Well, I am sorry for the poor man," Judith said, with 
 perfect self-possession. " They that climb high must risk 
 a sudden fall. But why should that alarm you, good 
 gossip ? Or have you other news that comes more nearly 
 home ? " 
 
 And then, when Prudence almost breathlessly revealed 
 the apprehensions that had so suddenly filled her mind, 
 Judith would not even stay to discuss such a monstrous 
 possibility. She laughed it aside altogether. That the 
 courteous young gentleman who had come with a letter 
 from Ben Jonson should be concerned in the assassination 
 of the King of France was entirely absurd and out of the 
 question. 
 
 "Nay, nay, dear Prue," said she, lightly, "you shall 
 make him amends for these unjust suspicions ; that you 
 shall, all in good time. But listen now : I have weightier 
 matters ; I have eggs on the spit, beshrew me else ! Can 
 you read me this riddle, Prue ? Know you by these tokens 
 what has happened ? My father comes in to dinner to- 
 day in the gayest of humours ; there is no absent staring 
 at the window, and forgetting of all of us ; it is all merri- 
 ment this time ; and he must needs have Bess Hall to sit 
 beside him ; and he would charge her with being a witch ; 
 and reproach her for our simple meal, when that she might 
 have given us a banquet like that of a London Company, 
 with French dishes, and silver flagons of Theologicum, 
 and a memorial to tell each of us what was coming. And 
 then he would miscall your brother — which you know, dear 
 Prudence, he never would do were he in earnest — and said
 
 88 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 he was chamberlain now, and was conspiring to be made 
 alderman, only that he might sell building materials to the 
 corporation and so make money out of his office. And I 
 know not what else of jests and laughing ; but at length 
 he sent to have the Evesham roan saddled; and he said 
 that when once he had gone along to the sheep-wash to 
 see that the hurdles were rightly up for the shearing, he 
 would give all of the rest of the day to idleness — to idle- 
 ness wholly ; and perchance he might ride over to Broad- 
 way to see the shooting-match going forward there. Now, 
 you wise one, can you guess what has happened ? Know 
 you what is in store for us ? Can you read me the 
 riddle ? " 
 
 " I see no riddle, Judith," said the other, with puzzled 
 eyes. " I met your father as I came through the house, 
 and he asked if Julius were at home : doubtless he would 
 have him ride to Broadway with him ! " 
 
 " Good gossip, is that your skill at guessing ? But listen, 
 now" — and here she dropped her voice as she regarded 
 Aviseman Matthew, though that personage seemed busily 
 enough occupied with his watering-can, — " this is what has 
 happened : I know the signs of the weather. Be sure he 
 has finished the play — the play that the young Prince 
 Mamillius was in : you remember, Prudence ? — and the 
 large fair copy is made out and locked away in the little 
 cupboard, against my father's next going to London ; and 
 the loose sheets are thrown into the oak chest along with 
 the others. And now, good Prue, sweet Prue, do you know 
 what you must manage ? Indeed I dare not go near the 
 summer-house while that ancient wiseman is loitering 
 about ; and you must coax him ; you must get him away ; 
 sometimes I see his villain eyes watching me, as if he had 
 suspicion in his mind " 
 
 " 'Tis your own guilty conscience, Judith," said Pru- 
 dence, but with a smile ; for she had herself connived at 
 this offence ere now. 
 
 " By fair means or foul, sweetheart, you must get him 
 away to the other end of the garden," said she, eagerly ; 
 "for now the Don has nearly finished his dinner, and good- 
 man-wiseman-fool will wonder if we stay longer here. Nay, 
 I have it, cousin ; you must get him along to the conn r
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 89 
 
 where my mother grows her simples ; and you must keep 
 him there for a space, that I may get out the right papers; 
 and this is what you must do : you will ask him for some- 
 thing that sounds like Latin — no matter what nonsense it 
 may be ; and he will answer you that he knows it right 
 well, but has none of it at the present time ; and you will 
 say that you have surely seen it among my mother's 
 simples, and thus you will lead him away to find it, and 
 the longer you seek the better. Do you understand, good 
 Prue ? — and quick, quick ! " 
 
 Prudence's pale face flushed. 
 
 " You ask too much, Judith. I cannot deceive the poor 
 man so." 
 
 " Nay, nay, you are too scrupulous. A trifle — a mere 
 trifle ! " 
 
 And then Prudence happened to look up, and she met 
 Judith's eyes ; and there was such frank self-confidence and 
 audacity in them, and also such a singular and clear-shining 
 beauty, that the simple Puritan was in a manner bedazzled. 
 She said, with a quiet smile, as she turned away her head 
 again — 
 
 " "Well, I marvel not, Judith, that you can bewitch the 
 young men, and bewilder their understanding. 'Tis easy 
 to see — if they have eyes and regard you, they are lost ; 
 but how you have your own way with all of us, and how 
 you override our judgment, and do with us what you please, 
 that passes me. Even Dr. Hall : for whom else would he 
 have brought from Coventry the green silk stockings and 
 green velvet shoes ? — you know such vanities find little 
 favour in his own home " 
 
 " Quick, quick, sweetheart, muzzle me that gaping 
 ancient ! " said Judith, interrupting her. " The Don has 
 finished ; and I will dart into the summer-house as I carry 
 back the dish. Detain him, Prue ; speak a word or two of 
 Latin to him ; he will swear he understands you right well, 
 though you yourself understand not a word of it " 
 
 " I may not do all you ask, Judith," said the other, after 
 a moment's reflection (and still with an uneasy feeling that 
 she was yielding to the wiles of a temptress), " but I will 
 ask the goodman to show me your mother's simples and 
 how they thrive,"
 
 9 o JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A rninute or two thereafter Judith had swiftly stolen 
 iiito the summer-house — which was spacious and sub- 
 stantial of its kind, and contained a small black cupboard 
 fixed up in a corner of the walls, a table and chair, and a 
 long oak chest on the floor. It was this last that held the 
 treasure she was in search of ; and now, the lid having been 
 raised, she was down on one knee, carefully selecting from 
 a mass of strewn papers (indeed there were a riding-whip, 
 a sword and sword-belt, and several other articles mixed 
 up in this common receptacle) such sheets as were without 
 a minute mark which she had invented for her own private 
 purposes. These secured and hastily hidden in her sleeve, 
 she closed the lid, and went out into the open again ; 
 calling upon Prudence to come to her, for that she was 
 going into the house. 
 
 They did not, however, remain within-doors at New 
 Place, for that might have been dangerous ; they knew of 
 a far safer resort. Just behind Julius Shawe's house, and 
 between that and the garden, there was a recess formed by 
 the gable of a large barn not quite reaching the adjacent 
 wall. It was a three-sided retreat, overlooked by no 
 window whatsoever ; there was a frail wooden bench on two 
 sides of it ; and the entrance to it was partly blocked up 
 by an empty cask that had been put there to be out of the 
 way. For outlook there was nothing but a glimpse of the 
 path going into the garden, a bit of greensward, and two 
 apple-trees between them and the sky. It was not a noble 
 theatre, this little den behind the barn ; but it had pro- 
 duced for these two many a wonderful pageant ; for the 
 empty barrel and the bare barn wall and the two trees 
 would at one time be transformed into the forest of Arden, 
 and Rosalind would be walking there, in her pretty page 
 costume, and laughing at the love-sick Orlando ; and again 
 they would form the secret haunts of Queen Titania and 
 her court, with the jealous Oberon chiding her for her 
 refusal ; and again they would become the hall of a great 
 northern castle, with trumpets and cannon sounding 
 without as the King drank to Hamlet. Indeed, the elder of 
 these two young women had an extraordinarily vivid 
 imagination ; she saw the things and people as if they were 
 actually there before her; she realised their existence so
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 
 
 91 
 
 intensely that even Prudence was brought to sympathise 
 with them, and to follow their actions now with hot 
 indignation and now with triumphant delight over good 
 fortune come at last. There was no stage-carpenter there to 
 distract them with his dismal expedients ; no actor to 
 thrust his physical peculiarities between them and the 
 poet's ethereal visions ; the dream-world was before them, 
 clear and filled with light ; and Prudence's voice was gentle 
 and of a musical kind. Nay, sometimes Judith would leap 
 to her feet. " You shall not ! — you shall not ! " she would 
 exclaim, as if addressing some strange visitant that was 
 showing the villainy of his mind ; and tears came quickly 
 to her eyes if there was a tale of pity ; and the joy and 
 laughter over lovers reconciled brought warm colour to her 
 face. They forgot that these walls that enclosed them were 
 of gray mud ; they forgot that the prevailing odour in the 
 air was that of the malt in the barn ; for now they were 
 regarding Romeo in the moonlight, with the dusk of the 
 garden around, and Juliet uttering her secrets to the 
 honeyed night ; and again they were listening to the awful 
 voices of the witches on the heath, and guessing at the 
 sombre thoughts passing through the mind of Macbeth ; 
 and then again they were crying bitterly when they saw 
 before them an old man, gray-haired, discrowned, and 
 witless, that looked from one to the other of those standing 
 by, and would ask who the sweet lady was that sought with 
 tears for his benediction. They could hear the frail and 
 shaken voice — 
 
 " Methinks I should know you, and know this man, 
 Yet I am doubtful : — for I am mainly ignorant 
 ~\Yliat place this is ; and all the skill I have 
 Remembers not these garments; nor I know not 
 Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia." 
 
 And now, as they had retired into this sheltered nook, 
 and Prudence was carefully placing in order the scattered 
 sheets that had been given her, Judith was looking on with 
 some compunction. 
 
 "Indeed I grieve to give you so much trouble, sweet-
 
 92 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 heart," said she. " I would I could get at the copy that my 
 father has locked away " 
 
 " Judith ! " her friend said reproachfully. " You would 
 not take that ? Why, your father will scarce show it even 
 to Julius, and sure I am that none in the house would put 
 a hand upon it " 
 
 " If it were a book of psalms and paraphrases they might 
 be of another mind," Judith said ; but Prudence would not 
 hear. 
 
 "Nay," said she, as she continued to search for the 
 connecting pages, " I have heard your father say to Julius 
 that there is but little difference ; and that 'tis only when 
 he has leisure here in Stratford that he makes this copy writ 
 out fair and large j in London he takes no such pains. 
 Truly, I would not that either my brother or any of his 
 acquaintance knew of my fingering in such a matter ; what 
 would they say, Judith ? And sometimes, indeed, my mind 
 is ill at ease with regard to it — that I should be reading to 
 you things that so many godly people denounce as wicked 
 and dangerous " 
 
 " You are too full of fears, cousin," said Judith, coolly ; 
 " and too apt to take the good people at their word. Nay, 
 I have heard, they will make you out everything to be 
 wicked and sinful that is not to their own minds ; and they 
 are zealous among the saints ; but I have heard, — I have 
 heard." 
 
 " "What, then ? " said the other, with some faint colour in 
 her face. 
 
 "No matter," said Judith, carelessly. "Well, I have 
 heard that when they make a journey to London they are as 
 fond of claret-wine and oysters as any ; but no matter : in 
 truth the winds carry many a thing not worth the listening 
 to. But as regards this special wickedness, good gossip, in- 
 deed you are innocent of it ; 'tis all laid to my charge ; I am 
 the sinner and temptress; be sure you shall not Buffer one 
 jot through my iniquity. And now have you got them 
 altogel her ? Arc you ready to begin ? " 
 
 " But you must tell me where the story ceased, dear 
 Judith, when last we had it ; for indeed you have a 
 marvellous memory, even to the word and the letter. The 
 poor babe that was abandoned on the sea-shore had just
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 93 
 
 been found by the old shepherd — went it not so ? — and he 
 was wondering at the rich bearing-cloth it was wrapped in. 
 Why, here is the name — Perdita — " she continued, as she 
 rapidly scanned one or two of the pages — " who is now 
 grown up, it appears, and in much grace ; and this is a 
 kind of introduction, I take it, to tell you all that has 
 happened since your father last went to London — I mean 
 since the story was broken off. And Florizel — I remember 
 not the name — but here he is so named as the son of the 
 King of Bohemia— — " 
 
 A quick laugh of intelligence rose to Judith's eyes ; she 
 had an alert brain. 
 
 " Prince Florizel ? " she exclaimed. " And Princess Per- 
 dita ! That were a fair match, in good sooth, and a way 
 to heal old differences ! But to the beginning, sweetheart, 
 I beseech you ; let us hear how the story is to be ; and 
 pray Heaven he gives me back my little Mamillius, that 
 was so petted and teased by the Court ladies." 
 
 However, as speedily appeared, she had anticipated too 
 easy a continuation and conclusion. The young Prince 
 Florizel proved to be enamoured, not of one of his own 
 station, but of a simple shepherdess ; and, although she 
 instantly guessed that this shepherdess might turn out to 
 be the forsaken Perdita, the conversation between King 
 Polixenes and the good Camillo still left her in doubt. As 
 for the next scene — the encounter between Autolycus and 
 the country clown — Judith wholly and somewhat sulkily 
 disapproved of that. She laughed, it is true ; but it was 
 sorely against her will. For she suspected that goodman 
 Matthew's influence was too apparent here ; and that, were 
 he ever to hear of the story, he would in his vanity claim 
 this part as his own ; moreover, there was a kind of 
 familiarity and everyday feeling in the atmosphere — why, 
 she herself had been rapidly cpuestioned by her father about 
 the necessary purchases for a sheep-shearing feast, and 
 Susan, laughing, had struck in with the information as to 
 the saffron for colouring the warden pies. But when the 
 sweet-voiced Prudence came to the scene between Prince 
 Florizel and the pretty shepherdess, then Judith was right 
 well content. 
 
 "Oh, do you see, now, how her gentle birth shines
 
 94 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 through her lowly condition ! " she said quickly. " And 
 when the old shepherd finds that he has been ordering a 
 king's daughter to be the mistress of the feast — ay, and 
 soundly rating her, too, for her bashful ways — what a fright 
 will seize the good old man ! And what says she in 
 answer ? — again, good Prue — let me hear it again — marry, 
 now, I'll be sworn she had just such another voice as 
 yours ! " 
 
 " To the King Polixenes," Prudence continued, regarding 
 the manuscript, " who is in disguise, you know, Judith, she 
 says — . 
 
 'Sir, welcome; 
 It is my father 1 8 will I should take on me 
 The hostess-ship o 1 the day: you're welcome, sir.' 
 
 And then to both the gentlemen : 
 
 ' Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, 
 For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming and savour all the winter long: 
 Grace and remembrance be to you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing. 1 " 
 
 "Ah, there, now, will they not be won by her gentle- 
 ness ? " she cried eagerly. " Will they not suspect and 
 discover the truth ? It were a new thing for a prince to 
 wed a shepherdess, but this is no shepherdess, as an owl 
 might see ! What say they, then, Prue ? Have they no 
 suspicion ? " 
 
 So Prudence continued her patient reading — in the 
 intense silence that was broken only by the twittering of 
 the birds in the orchard, or the crowing of a cock in some 
 neighbouring yard ; and Judith listened keenly, drinking 
 in every varying phrase. But when Florizel had addressed 
 his speech to the pretty hostess of the day, Judith could 
 no longer forbear : she clapped her hands in delight. 
 
 " There, now, that is a true lover ; that is spoken like 
 a true lover ! " she cried, with her face radiant and proud. 
 " Again, good Prue, let us hear wKat he says — ay, and 
 before them all, too — I warrant me he is not ashamed of 
 her I "
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 95 
 
 So Prudence had to read once more Florizel's praise of 
 his gentle mistress — 
 
 * " What you do 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you do it ever; when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; 
 Pray so ; and for the ordering of your affairs, 
 To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish ycu 
 A icave 0' the sea, that you might ever do 
 Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function. Each your doing 
 So singular in each particular, 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds 
 That all your acts be queens ! ' " 
 
 " In good sooth, it is spoken like a true lover ! " Judith 
 said, with a light on her face as if the speech had been 
 addressed to herself. " Like one that is well content with 
 his sweetheart ; and is proud of her ; and approves ! 
 Marry, there be few of such in these days ; for this one is 
 jealous and unreasonable, and would have the mastery too 
 soon ; and that one would frighten you to his will by 
 declaring you are on the highway to perdition ; and 
 another would have you more civil to his tribe of kinsfolk. 
 But there is a true lover, now ; there is one that is 
 courteous and gentle ; one that is not afraid to approve : 
 there may be such in Stratford, but God wot, they would 
 seem to be a scarce commodity ! Nay, I pray your pardon, 
 dear Prue : to the story, if it please you — and is there aught 
 of the little Mamillius forthcoming ? " 
 
 And so the reading proceeded ; and Judith was in much 
 delight that the old King seemed to perceive something- 
 unusual in the grace and carriage of the pretty Perdita. 
 
 " What is't he says ? What are the very words ? " 
 
 " ' This is the %> r etticst low-born lass that ever 
 
 Ban on the greensward; nothing she does or seems 
 But smacls of something greater than herself, 
 Too noble for this place.' " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " she exclaimed quickly. " And sees he 
 not some likeness to the Queen Hermione ? Surely he 
 must remember the poor injured Queen, and see that this 
 is her daughter ? Happy daughter, that has a lover that 
 thinks so well of her ! And now, Prue ! "
 
 9 Q JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But when, in the course of the hushed reading - , all these 
 fair hopes came to be cruelly shattered ; when the pastoral 
 romance was brought to a sudden end ; when the King, 
 disclosing himself, declared a divorce between the unhappy 
 lovers, and was for hanging the ancient shepherd, and 
 would have Perdita's beauty scratched with briers ; and 
 when Prudence had to repeat the farewell words addressed 
 to the Prince by his hapless sweetheart — 
 
 " ' Will't please you, sir, he gone f 
 I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, 
 Of your own state talce care. This dream of mine, 
 Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, 
 But milk my ewes; and weep '" 
 
 — there was something very like tears in the gentle reader's 
 eyes ; but that was not Judith's mood ; she was in a 
 tempest of indignation. 
 
 " God's my life ! " she cried, " was there ever such a fool 
 as this old King ? He a king ! He to sit on a throne ! 
 Better if he sate in a barn and helped madgehowlet to 
 catch mice ! And what says the Prince ? Kay, I'll be 
 sworn he proves himself a true man, and no summer play- 
 fellow ; he will stand by her ; he will hold to her, let the 
 ancient dotard wag his beard as he please ! " 
 
 And so, in the end, the story was told, and all happily 
 settled ; and Prudence rose from the rude wooden bench 
 with ;i kind of wistful look on her face, as if she had been 
 far away and seen strange things. Then Judith— pausing 
 for a minute or so as if she would fix the whole thing in her 
 memory, to be thought over afterwards — proceeded to tie 
 the l lives together for the better concealment of them on 
 her way home. 
 
 " And the wickedness of it ! " said she, lightly. 'Where- 
 in lies the wickedness of such a reading, sweet mouse ? " 
 
 Prudence was somewhat shamefaced on such occasions ; 
 she could not honestly say that she regretted as she ought 
 to have done giving way to Judith's importunities. 
 
 " Some would answer you, Judith," she said, " that we had 
 but ill used time that was given us for more serious purposes." 
 
 " And for what more serious purposes, cousin ? For 
 the repeating of idle talcs about our neighbours ? Or the 
 spending of the afternoon in sleep, as is the custom with
 
 A PLAYHOUSE 
 
 97 
 
 many ? Are we all so busy, then, that we may not pass a 
 few minutes in amusement ? But, indeed, dear Prue," said 
 she, as she gave a little touch to her pretty cap and snow-white 
 ruff, to put them right before she went out into the street, 
 " I mean to make amends this afternoon. I shall be busy 
 enough to make up for whatever loss of time there has been 
 over this dangerous and godless idleness. For, do you 
 know, I have everything ready now for the new Portugal 
 receipts that you read to me ; and two of them I am to try 
 as soon as I get home ; and my father is to know nothing of 
 the matter — till the dishes be on the table. So fare you well, 
 sweetheart ; and give ye good thanks, too : this has been 
 but an evil preparation for the church-going of the morrow, 
 but remember, the sin was mine — you are quit of that." 
 
 And then her glance fell on the roll of papers that she 
 held in her hand. 
 
 " The pretty Perdita ! " said she. " Her beauty was not 
 scratched with briers after all. And I doubt not she was 
 in brave attire at the Court ; though methinks I better like 
 to remember her as the mistress of the feast, giving the 
 flowers to this one and that. And happy Perdita, also, to 
 have had the young Prince come to the sheep-shearing, and 
 say so many sweet things to her ! Is't possible, think you, 
 Prue, there might come such another handsome stranger to 
 our sheep-shearing that is now at hand ? " 
 
 " I know not what you mean, Judith." 
 
 "Why, now, should such things happen only in Bohe- 
 mia ? " she said gaily, to the gentle and puzzled Prudence. 
 " Soon our shearing will begin, for the weather has been 
 warm, and I hear the hurdles are already fixed. And there 
 will be somewhat of a merry-making, no doubt ; and — and 
 the road from Evesham hither is a fair and goodly road, 
 that a handsome young stranger might well come riding 
 along. What then, good mouse ? If one were to meet 
 him in the lane that crosses to Shottery — and to bid him to 
 the feast — what then ? " 
 
 " Oh, Judith, surely you are not still thinking of that 
 dangerous man ! " the other exclaimed. 
 
 But Judith merely looked toward her for a second — with 
 the clear-shining eyes now become quite demure and in- 
 scrutable.
 
 98 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 Next morning was Sunday ; and Judith, having got 
 through her few domestic duties at an early hour, and 
 being dressed in an especially pretty costume in honour of 
 the holy day, thought she need no longer remain within- 
 doors, but would walk along to the churchyard, where she 
 expected to find Prudence. The latter very often went 
 thither on a Sunday morning, partly for quiet reverie and 
 the recalling of this one and the other of her departed but 
 not forgotten friends, whose names were carven on the 
 tombstones, and partly — if this may be forgiven her — to 
 see how the generous mother earth had responded to her 
 week-day labours in the planting and tending of the graves. 
 But when Judith, idly and carelessly as was her wont, 
 reached the churchyard, she found the wide, silent space 
 quite empty ; so she concluded that Prudence had probably 
 been detained by a visit to some one fallen sick ; and she 
 thought she might as well wait for her ; and with that 
 view — or perhaps out of mere thoughtlessness — she went 
 along to the river-side, and sate down on the low wall 
 there, having before her the slowly-moving yellow stream, 
 and the fair, far-stretching landscape beyond. 
 
 There had been some rain during the night ; the roads 
 she had come along were miry ; and here the grass in the 
 churchyard was dripping with the wet ; but there was a 
 kind of suffused rich light abroad that bespoke the gradual 
 breaking through of the sun ; and there was a warmth in 
 the moist atmosphere that seemed to call forth all kinds of 
 sweet odours from the surrounding plants and flowers. 
 Not that she needed these ; for she had fixed in her bosom 
 u little nosegay of yellow-leaved mint, that was quite 
 sufficient to sweeten the scarcely-moving air. And as she 
 sate there, in the silence, it seemed to her as if all the world 
 were awake — and had been awake for hours— but that all 
 the human beings were gone out of it. The rooks were 
 cawing in the elms above her, the bees hummed as they 
 Hew l>y into the open light over the stream, and far away
 
 A REMONSTRANCE 99 
 
 she conld hear the lowing of the cattle on the farms ; but 
 there was no sound of any human voice, nor any glimpse of 
 any human creature in the wide landscape. And she grew 
 to wonder what it would be like if she were left alone in 
 the world ; all the people gone from it ; her own relatives 
 and friends no longer here and around her, but away in the 
 strange region where Hamnet was, and perhaps, on such a 
 morning as this, regarding her, not without pity, and even, 
 it might be, with some touch of half-recalled affection. 
 Which of them all should she regret the most ? "Which of 
 them all would this solitary creature — left alone in Strat- 
 ford — in an empty town — most crave for, and feel the want 
 of ? Well, she went over these friends and neighbours and 
 companions and would-be lovers ; and she tried to imagine 
 what, in such circumstances, she might think of this one 
 and that ; and which of them she would most desire to 
 have back on the earth and living with her. But right 
 well she knew in her heart that all this balancing and 
 choosing was but a pretence. There was but the one ; the 
 one whose briefest approval was a kind of heaven to her, 
 and the object of her secret and constant desire, the one 
 who turned aside her affection with a jest ; who brought 
 her silks and scents from London as if her mind were set 
 on no other things than these. And she was beginning to 
 wonder whether, in those imagined circumstances, he might 
 come to think differently of her, and to understand her 
 somewhat ; and indeed, she was already picturing to herself 
 the life they might lead — these two, father and daughter — 
 together in the empty and silent, but sunlit and sufficiently 
 cheerful town — when her idle reverie was interrupted. 
 There was a sound of talking behind her ; doubtless the 
 first of the people were now coming to church, for the 
 doors were already open. 
 
 She looked round, and saw that this was Master Walter 
 Blaise who had just come through the little swinging gate, 
 and that he was accompanied by two little girls, one at 
 each side of him and holding his hand. Instantly she 
 turned her head away, pretending not to have seen him. 
 
 " Bless the man," she said to herself, " what does he here 
 of a Sunday morning ? Why is so diligent a pastor not in 
 charge of his own flock ? " 
 
 H 2
 
 iOo JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But she felt secure enough. Not only was he accom- 
 panied by the two children, but there was this other safe- 
 guard that he would not dare to profane the holy day by 
 attempting anything in the way of wooing. And it must 
 be said that the young parson had had but few opportunities 
 for that — the other members of the household eagerly 
 seeking his society when he came to New Place ; and 
 Judith sharp to watch her chances of escape. 
 
 The next moment she was startled by hearing a quick 
 footstep behind her. She did not move. 
 
 " Give you good-morrow, Judith," said he, presenting 
 himself, and regarding her with his keen and confident 
 gray eyes. " I would crave a word with you ; and I trust 
 it may be a word in season and acceptable to you." 
 
 He spoke with an air of cool authority which she re- 
 sented. There was nothing of the clownish bashfulness of 
 young Jelleyman about him, nor yet of the half-timid, half- 
 sulky jealousy of Tom Qniney ; but a kind of mastery ; as 
 if his office gave him the right to speak, and commanded 
 that she should hear. And she did not think this fair : 
 and she distinctly wished to be alone ; so that her face had 
 but little welcome in it, and none of the shining radiance of 
 kindness that Willie Hart so worshipped. 
 
 " I know you like not hearing of serious things, Judith," 
 said he (while she wondered whither he had sent the two 
 little girls : perhaps into the church ?), " but I were no true 
 friend to you, as I desire to be, if I feared to displease you 
 when there is need." 
 
 " What have I done then ? In what have I offended ? 
 T know we are all miserable sinners, if that be what you 
 mean," said she, coldly. 
 
 " I would not have you take it that way, Judith," said 
 he, and there really was much friendliness in his voice. " I 
 meant to speak kindly to yon. Nay ; I have tried to 
 understand you ; and perchance I do in a measure. You 
 are in the enjoyment of such health and spirits as fall to 
 the lot of few ; you arc well content with your life and the 
 passing moment ; you do not like to be disturbed, or to 
 think of the future. But the future will come, neverthe- 
 L 3 ; and it may be with altered circumstances ; your light- 
 heartedness may cease ; sorrow and sickness may fall upon
 
 A REMONSTRANCE 101 
 
 you ; and then you may wish you had learned earlier to 
 seek for help and consolation where these alone are to be 
 found. It were well that you should think of such things 
 now, surely ; you cannot live always as you live now — I 
 had almost said a godless life, but I do not wish to offend ; 
 in truth I would rather lead you in all kindliness to what I 
 know is the true pathway to the happiness and peace of the 
 soul. I would speak to you, Judith, if in no other way, 
 as a brother in Christ ; I were no true friend to you else ; 
 nay, I have the command of the Master whom I serve, 
 to speak and fear not." 
 
 She did not answer, but she was better content now. So 
 long as he only preached at her, he was within his province, 
 and within his right. 
 
 "And bethink you, Judith," said he, with a touch of 
 reproach in his voice, " how and why it is you enjoy such 
 health and cheerfulness of spirits : surely through the Lord 
 in His loving-kindness answering the prayers of your pious 
 mother. Your life, one might say, was vouchsafed in 
 answer to her supplications ; and do you owe nothing of 
 duty and gratitude to God, and to God's Church, and to 
 God's people ? Why should you hold aloof from them ? 
 Why should you favour worldly things, and walk apart 
 from the congregation, and live as if to-morrow were always 
 to be as to-day, and as if there were to be no end to life, no 
 calling to account as to how we have spent our time here 
 upon earth ? Dear Judith, I speak not unkindly ; I wish 
 not to offend ; but often my heart is grieved for you ; and 
 I would have you think how trifling our present life is in 
 view of the great eternity whither we are all journeying ; 
 and I would ask you, for your soul's sake, and for your 
 peace of mind here and hereafter, to join with us, and 
 come closer with us, and partake of our exercises. Indeed 
 you will find a truer happiness. Do you not owe it to us ? 
 Have you no gratitude for the answering of your mother's 
 prayers ? " 
 
 "Doubtless, doubtless," said she (though she would 
 rather have been listening in silence to the singing of the 
 birds, that were all rejoicing now, for the sun had at length 
 cleared away the morning vapours, and the woods and the 
 meadows and the far uplands were all shining in the
 
 io2 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 brilliant new light). " I go to church as the others do ; 
 and there we give thanks for all the mercies that have been 
 granted." 
 
 "And is it enough, think you?" said he — and as he 
 stood, while she sate, she did not care to meet those clear, 
 keen, authoritative eyes that were bent on her. "Does 
 your conscience tell you that you give sufficient thanks for 
 what God in His great mercy has vouchsafed to you ? 
 Lip-service every seventh day !— a form of words gone 
 through before you take your afternoon walk ! Why, if a 
 neighbour were kind to you, you would show him as much 
 gratitude as that ; and this is all you offer to the Lord of 
 heaven and earth for having in His compassion listened to 
 your mother's prayers and bestowed on you life and health 
 and a cheerful mind ? " 
 
 " What would you have me do ? I cannot profess to be 
 a saint while at heart I am none," said she, somewhat 
 sullenly. 
 
 It was an unlucky question. Moreover, at this moment 
 the bells in the tower sent forth their first throbbing peals 
 into the startled air ; and these doubtless recalled him to 
 the passing of time, and the fact that presently the people 
 would be coming into the churchyard. 
 
 " I will speak plainly to you, Judith ; I take no shame 
 to mention such a matter on the Lord's day ; perchance the 
 very holiness of the bour, and of the spot where I have 
 chanced to meet you, will the better incline your heart. 
 You know what I have wished ; what your family wish ; 
 and indeed you cannot be so blind as not to have seen. 
 It is true I am but a humble labourer in the Lord's vine- 
 yard, but I magnify my office ; it is an honourable work — ■ 
 the saving of souls, the calling to repentance, the carrying 
 of the gospel to the poor and stricken ones of the earth — I 
 say that is an honourable calling, and one that blesses them 
 that partake in it, and gives a peace of mind far beyond 
 what the worldlings dream of. And if I have wished that 
 you might be able and willing — through God's merciful 
 inclining of your heart — to aid me in this work — to become 
 my helpmate — was it only of my own domestic slate I was 
 thinking ? Surely not. I have seen you from day to day 
 — careless and content with the trifles and idle things of
 
 A REMONSTRANCE 103 
 
 this vain and profitless world ; but I have looked forward 
 to what might befall in the future ; and I have desired 
 with all my heart — yea, and with prayers to God for the 
 same — that you should be taught to seek the true haven 
 in time of need. Do you understand me, Judith ? " 
 
 He spoke with little tenderness — and certainly with no 
 show of lover -like anxiety ; but he was in earnest ; and she 
 had a terrible conviction pressing upon her that her wit 
 might not be able to save her. The others she could easily 
 elude when she was in the mind ; this one spoke close and 
 clear ; she was afraid to look up and face his keen acquisi- 
 tive eyes. 
 
 "And if I do understand you, good Master Blaise," said 
 she, desperately ; " if I do understand you — as I confess I 
 have gathered something of this before — but — but surely — 
 one such as I — such as you say I am — might she not 
 become pious — and seek to have her soul saved— without 
 also having to marry a parson ? — if such be your meaning, 
 good Master Blaise." 
 
 It was she who was in distress and in embarrassment, 
 not he. 
 
 "You are not situated as many others arc," said he. 
 " You owe your life, as one may say, to the prayers of God's 
 people ; I but put before you one way in which you could 
 repay the debt — by labouring in the Lord's vineyard, and 
 giving the health and cheerfulness that have been bestowed 
 on you to the comfort of those less fortunate " 
 
 " I ? Such an one as I ? Nay, nay, you have shown 
 me how all unfit I were for that," she exclaimed, glad of 
 this one loophole. 
 
 " I will not commend you, Judith, to your face," said he, 
 calmly, " nor praise such worldly gifts as others, it may 
 be, over-value ; but in truth I may say you have a way of 
 winning people towards you ; your presence is welcome to 
 the sick ; your cheerfulnes.; gladdens the troubled in heart ; 
 a«idyou have youth and strength and an intelligence beyond 
 that of many. Are all these to be thrown away ?— to wither 
 and perish as the years go by ? Nay, I seek not to urge 
 my suit to you by idle words of wooing, as they call it, or 
 by allurements of flattery ; these are the foolish devices of 
 the ballad-mongers and the players ; and are well-fitted, I
 
 io4 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 doubt not, for the purposes of the master of these, the 
 father of lies himself ; rather would I speak to you words 
 of sober truth and reason ; I would show you how you can 
 make yourself useful in the garden of the Lord, and so 
 offer some thanksgiving for the bounties bestowed on you. 
 Pray consider it, Judith ; I ask not for yea or nay at this 
 moment ; I would have your heart meditate over it in your 
 own privacy, when you can bethink you of what has hap- 
 pened to you and what may happen to you in the future. 
 Life has been glad for you so far ; but trouble might come ; 
 your relatives are older than you ; you might be left so that 
 you would be thankful to have one beside you whose arm you 
 could lean on in time of distress. Think over it, Judith ; and 
 may God incline your heart to what is right and best for you." 
 
 But at this moment the first of the early comers began 
 to make their appearance — strolling along towards the 
 churchyard, and chatting to each other as they came ; and 
 all at once it occurred to her that if he and she separated 
 thus, he might consider that she had given some silent 
 acquiescence to his reasons and arguments, and this possi- 
 bility alarmed her. 
 
 " Good Master Blaise," said she, hurriedly, " pray mistake 
 me not. Surely, if you arc choosing a helpmate for such 
 high and holy reasons, if were well that you looked farther 
 afield. I am all unworthy for such a place — indeed, I 
 know it ; there is not a maid in Stratford that would not 
 better become it; nay, for my own part, I know several 
 that I could point out to you, though your own judgment 
 were best in such a matter. I pray you think no more of 
 me in regard to such a position; God help me, I should 
 make a parson's wife such as all the neighbours would stare 
 at ; indeed, I know there be many you could choose from — 
 if their heart were Bet in that direction — that are far better 
 than I." 
 
 And with this protest she would have fain got away; 
 and she was all anxiety to catch a glimpse of Prudence, 
 whose appearance would afford her a fair excuse. How 
 delightful would be the silence of the great building and 
 the security of the oaken pew ; with what a peace of mind 
 would she regard the soft-coloured beams of light streaming 
 into the chancel ; and listen to the solemn organ-music ;
 
 A REMONSTRANCE 105 
 
 and wait for the silver-clear tones of Susanna's voice. But 
 good Master Walter would have another word with her ere 
 allowing her to depart. 
 
 " In truth you misjudge yourself, Judith," said he, with a 
 firm assurance, as if he could read her heart far better than 
 she herself ; " I know more of the duties pertaining to such 
 a station than you ; I can foresee that you would fulfil 
 them worthily and in a manner pleasing to the Lord. 
 Your parents, too : will you not consider their wishes before 
 saying a final nay ? " 
 
 "My parents?" she said, and she looked up with a 
 quick surprise. " My mother, it may be " 
 
 " And if your father were to approve also ? " 
 
 For an instant her heart felt like lead ; but before this 
 sudden fright had had time to tell its tale in her eyes she 
 had reassured herself. This was not possible. 
 
 " Has my father expressed any such wish ? " said she — 
 but well she knew what the reply would be. 
 
 " No, he has not, Judith," he said distinctly, " for I have 
 not spoken to him. But if I were to obtain his approval, 
 would that influence you ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " I should not despair of gaining that," said he with a 
 calm confidence that caused her to lift her eyes and regard 
 him for a second — with a kind of wonder, as it were, for 
 she knew not what this assurance meant. " Your father," 
 he continued, " must naturally desire to see your future 
 made secure, Judith. Think what would happen to you 
 all if an accident befell him on his journey ings to London. 
 There would be no man to protect you and your mother. 
 Dr. Hall has his own household and its charges ; and two 
 women left by themselves would surely feel the want of 
 guidance and help. If I put these worldly considerations 
 before you, it is with no wish that you should forget the 
 higher duty you owe to God and His Church, and the care 
 you should have of your own soul. Do I speak for myself 
 alone ? I think not. I trust it is not merely selfish hopes 
 that have bidden me appeal to you. And you will reflect, 
 Judith ; you will commune with yourself, before saying the 
 final yea or nay ; and if your father should approve " 
 
 " Good Master Blaise," said she, interrupting him — and
 
 106 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 she rose and glanced towards the straggling groups now 
 approaching the church ; " I cannot forbid you to speak to 
 my father, if it is your wish to do that ; but I would have 
 him understand that it is through no desire of mine ; and — 
 and, in truth, he must know that I am all unfit to take the 
 charge you would put upon me. I pray you hold it in 
 kindness that I say so : — and there, now," she quickly added, 
 " is little Willie Ilart, that I have a message for, lest he 
 escape me when we come out again." 
 
 Ho could not further detain her ; but he accompanied 
 her as she walked along the path towards the littlo swinging 
 gate ; for she could see that her small cousin, though he 
 had caught sight of her, was shyly uncertain as to whether 
 he should come to her, and she wished to have his hand as 
 far as the church-door. And then — alas ! that such things 
 should befall — at the very same moment a number of the 
 young men and maidens also entered the churchyard ; and 
 foremost among them was Tom Quiney. One rapid glance 
 that he directed towards her and the parson was all that 
 passed ; but instantly in her heart of hearts she knew the 
 suspicion that he had formed. An assignation ? — and on a 
 Sunday morning, too ! Nay, her guess was quickly con- 
 firmed, lie did not stay to pay her even the ordinary 
 courtesy of a greeting. He went on with the others; he 
 was walking with two of the girls ; his laughter and talk 
 were louder than any. Indeed, this unseemly mirth was 
 continued to within a yard or two of the church-door — per- 
 haps it was meant for her to hear ? 
 
 Little AVillie Hart, as he and his cousin Judith went 
 hand-in-hand through the porch, happened to look up at 
 her. 
 
 " Judith," said he, " why are you crying ? " 
 
 "I am not!" she said angrily. And with her hand she 
 dashed aside those quick tears of vexation. 
 
 The boy did not pay close heed to what now went on 
 within the hushed building. He was wondering over what 
 had occurred — for these mysteries were beyond his years. 
 But at hast he knew that his cousin Judith was no longer 
 angry with him ; for she had taken him into the pew with 
 her ; and her arm, that was interlinked with his, was soft 
 and warm and gentle to the touch ; and once or twice,
 
 DIVIDED WAYS 107 
 
 when the service bade them to stand up, she had put her 
 hand kindly on his hair. And not only that, but she had 
 at the outset taken from her bosom the little nosegay of 
 mint, and given it to him ; and the perfume of it (for it was 
 Judith's gift, and she had worn it near her heart, and she 
 had given it him with a velvet touch of her fingers) seemed 
 to him a strange and sweet and mystical thing — something 
 almost as strange and sweet and inexplicable as the beauty 
 and shining tenderness of her eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DIVIDED WAYS. 
 
 Some few weeks passed quite uneventfully, bringing them 
 to the end of June ; and then it was that Mistress 
 Hathaway chanced to send a message into the town that 
 she would have her granddaughter Judith come over to see 
 her roses, of which there was a great show in the garden. 
 Judith was nothing loth ; she felt she had somewhat 
 neglected the old dame of late ; and so, one morning — or 
 rather one mid-day it was, for the family had but finished 
 dinner — found her in her own room, before her mirror, 
 busy with an out-of-door toilet, with Prudence sitting 
 patiently by. Judith seemed well content with herself and 
 with affairs in general on this warm summer day ; now she 
 spoke to Prudence, again she idly sang a scrap of some 
 familiar song, while the work of adornment went on apace. 
 
 " But why such bravery, Judith ? " her friend said, with 
 a quiet smile. " Why should you take such heed about a 
 walk through the fields to Shottery ? " 
 
 " Truly I know not," said Judith, carelessly ; " but well 
 I wot my grandmother will grumble. If I am soberly 
 dressed she says I am a sloven, and will never win me a 
 husband ; and if I am pranked out, she says I am vain and 
 will frighten away the young men with my pride. In 
 Hearen's name let them go, say I ; I can dc excellent well 
 without them. What think you of the cap, good Prue ?— 
 'twas but last night I finished it ; and the beads I had 
 from Warwick."
 
 ioS JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 She took it up, and regarded it, humming the while — 
 
 " say, my Joan, say, my Joan, will not that do ? 
 I cannot come every day to icoo." 
 
 " Is't not a pretty cap, good gossip ? " 
 
 Prudence knew that she ought to despise such frivoli- 
 ties ; which truly were a snare to her, for she liked to look 
 at Judith when she was dressed, as she was now, and she 
 forgot to condemn these pretty colours. On this occasion 
 Judith was clad in a gown of light gray or rather buff ; 
 with a petticoat of pale blue taffeta, elaborately quilted 
 with her own handiwork ; the small ruff she wore, which 
 was open in front, and partly showed her neck, was snow- 
 white and stiffly starched ; and she was now engaged in 
 putting on her soft brown hair this cap of gray velvet, 
 adorned witli two rows of brass beads, and with a bit of 
 curling feather at the side of it. Prudence's eyes were 
 pleased, if her conscience bade her disapprove ; nay, some- 
 times she had to confess that at heart she was proud to sec 
 her dear gossip wear such pretty things, for that she became 
 them so well. 
 
 " Judith," said she, " shall I tell you what I heard your 
 father say of you last night ? He was talking to Julius ; 
 and they were speaking of this one and that, and how they 
 did ; and when you were mentioned, ' Oh yes,' says your 
 father, ' the wench looks bravely well ; 'tis a pity she 
 cannot sell the painting of her checks : there be many a, 
 dame at the Court would buy it of her for a goodly sum.' ' 
 
 Judith gave a quick short laugh ; this was music in her 
 ears — coming from whence it did. 
 
 " I Jut, Judith," said her friend, with a grave inquiry in 
 her face, "what is't thai you have done to Tom Quiney, 
 that he comes no longer near the house — nay, he will avoid 
 you when he happens to see you abroad, for that I have 
 observed myself, and more than once ? What is the 
 matter ? ]I«v have you offended him ? " 
 
 "What have I done ?" she said ; and there was a swift 
 and angry colour in her face. " Let him ask what his own 
 evil imaginings have done 1 Not that I care, in good 
 BOOtt !" 
 
 " But what is it, Judith ? There must be a reason."
 
 DIVIDED WAYS 109 
 
 "Why," said Judith, turning indignantly to her, "you 
 remember, sweetheart, the Sunday morning that Mrs. Pike's 
 little boy was taken ill, and you were sent for, and did not 
 come to church ? — Well, I had gone along to the church- 
 yard to seek you, and was waiting for yon, when who must 
 needs make his appearance but the worthy Master Blaise — 
 nay, but I told you, good Prue, the honour he woidd put 
 upon me ; and thank Heaven he hath not returned to it, 
 nor spoken to my father yet, as far as I can learn. Then, 
 when the good parson's sermon was over — body o' me, he 
 let me know right sharply I was no saint ; though a saint 
 I might become, no doubt, were I to take him for my 
 master — as I say, the lecture he gave me was over, and we 
 were walking to the church-door, when who should come 
 by but Master Quiney and some of the others. Oh, well I 
 know my gentleman ! The instant he clapped eyes on me, 
 he suspected there had been a planned meeting ; I could 
 see it well ; and off he goes in high dudgeon, and not a 
 word nor a look — before the others, mind you, before the 
 others, good Prue ; that was the slight he put upon me ; 
 marry, I care not ! — whither he has gone there he may 
 stay ! " 
 
 She spoke rapidly and with warmth ; despite the scorn 
 that was in her voice it was clear that that public slight had 
 touched her deeply. 
 
 " Nay, Judith," said her gentle companion, " 'twere surely 
 a world of pity you should let an old friend go away like 
 that — through a mischance merely " 
 
 " An old friend ? " said she. " I want none of such 
 friends, that have ill thoughts of you ere you can speak ! 
 Let him choose his friends elsewhere, say I ; let him keep 
 to his tapsters and his ale-house wenches — there he will 
 have enough of pleasure, I doubt not, till his head be 
 broke in a brawl some night ! " 
 
 Then something seemed to occur to her. All at once 
 she threw aside the bit of ribbon she had in her fingers, 
 and dropped on her knee before her friend, and seized hold 
 of Prudence's hands. 
 
 " I beseech your pardon, dearest heart ! — indeed, indeed, 
 I knew not what I said — they were but idle words — dear 
 True, I pray you heed them not ! He may have reasons
 
 no JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 for distr listing me ; and in truth I complain not ; 'tis a 
 small matter ; but I would not have you think ill of him 
 through these idle words of mine ! Nay, nay, they tell me 
 he is sober and diligent ; that ;his business prospers ; that 
 he makes many friends, and that the young men regard 
 him as the chief of them all, whether it be at merriment or 
 aught else." 
 
 " I am right glad to hear you speak so of the young 
 man, Judith," Prudence said, in her gentle way, and yet 
 mildly wondering at this sudden change of tone. " If he 
 has displeased you, be sure he will be sorry for it, when 
 he knows the truth." 
 
 " Nay, nay, sweet mouse," Judith said, rising, and re- 
 suming her careless manner, as she picked up the ribbon 
 she had thrown aside. " 'Tis of no moment. I wish the 
 young man well. I pray you speak to none of that I 
 have told you ; perchance 'twas but an accident, and he 
 meant no slight at all ; and then — and then," she added, 
 with a kind of laugh, " as the good parson seems determined 
 that willy-nilly I must wed him and help him in his charge 
 of souls, that were a good ending, sweet cousin ? " 
 
 She was now all equipped for setting forth, even to 
 the feather fan that hung from her girdle by a small silver 
 cord. 
 
 " But I know he hath not spoken to my father yet, 
 else I should have heard of it, in jest or otherwise. Come, 
 mouse, shall we go ? or the good dame will have a scolding 
 for us." 
 
 Indeed this chance reference to the slight put upon her 
 in the churchyard seemed to have left no sting behind it. 
 Bhe was laughing as she went down the stair at some odd 
 saying of Bess Hall's that her father had got hold of. 
 When they went outside she linked her arm within that of 
 her friend, and nodded to this or the other passer-by, and 
 had a merry or a pleasant word for them, accordingly as 
 they greeted her. And 
 
 u Green-sleeves was all my joy, 
 Green-sleeves was my delight," 
 
 came naturally into her idle brain ; for the day seemed a 
 lit one for holiday-making ; the skies were clear, with large
 
 DIVIDED WAYS in 
 
 white clouds moving slowly across the blue ; and there was 
 a fair west wind to stir the leaves of the trees aud the 
 bushes, and to touch warmly and softly her pink-hucd 
 cheek and pearly neck. 
 
 "Ah me," said she, in mock desolation, "why should 
 one go nowadays to Shottery ? What use is in't, sweet 
 Prue, when all the magic and enticement is gone from it ? 
 Aforetime I had the chance of meeting with so gracious a 
 young gentleman, that brought news of the King's Court, 
 and spoke so soft you would think the cuckoo in the 
 woods was still to listen. That were something to expect 
 when one had walked so far — the apparition — a trembling 
 interview — and then so civil and sweet a farewell ! But 
 now he is gone away I know not whither ; and he has 
 forgotten that ever he lodged in a farmhouse, like a king- 
 consorting with shepherds ; and doubtless he will not seek 
 
 to return. Well " 
 
 " You have never heard of him since, Judith," her friend 
 said, with a rapid look. 
 
 " Alas, no I " she said, in the same simulated vein. " And 
 sometimes I ask myself whether there ever was such a 
 youth — whether the world did ever produce such a courtly 
 gentleman, such a paragon, such a marvel of courtesy — or 
 was it not but a trick of the villain wizard. Think of it, 
 good Prue — to have been walking and talking with a ghost, 
 with a thing of air — and that twice, too : is't not enough 
 to chill the marrow in your bones? Well, I would. that 
 all ghosts were as gentle and mannerly — there woidd be 
 less fear of them among the Warwickshire wenches. But 
 do you know, good Prue," she said, suddenly altering her 
 tone into something of eagerness, "there is a matter of 
 more moment than ghosts that concerns us now ? By this 
 time, or I am mistaken quite, there must be a goodly bulk 
 of the new play lying in the oaken chest ; and again and 
 again have I tried to see whether I might dare to carry 
 away some of the sheets ; but always there was some one 
 to hinder. My father, you know, has been much in the 
 summer-house, since the business of the new twenty acres 
 was settled ; and then again, when by chance he has gone 
 away with the bailiff somewhere, and I have had my eye on 
 the place, there was goodman Matthew on the watch, or
 
 1 1 2 JUDITH SHA K ESP RARE 
 
 else a maid would come by to gather a dish of green goose- 
 berries for the baking, or Susan would have me seek out a 
 ripe raspberry or two for the child, or my mother would 
 call to me from the brew-house. But 'tis there, Prue, be 
 sure ; and there will come a chance, I warrant ; I will out- 
 wit the ancient Matthew " 
 
 " Do you never bethink you, Judith, what your father 
 would say were he to discover ? " her friend said, glancing 
 at her, as they walked along the highway. 
 
 Judith laughed, but with some heightened colour. 
 
 " My father ? " said she. " Truly, if he alone were to 
 discover, I should have easy penance. Were it between 
 himself and me, methinks there were no great harm done ; 
 a daughter may fairly seek to know the means that has 
 gained for her father the commendation of so many of 
 the great people, and placed him in such good estate in his 
 own town. Marry, I fear not my father's knowing, were I 
 to confess to himself ; but as for the others — were they to 
 Learn of it — my mother, and Susan, and Dr. Hall, and the 
 pious Master Walter — I trow there might be some stormy 
 weather abroad! At all events, good Prue, in any such 
 mischance, you shall not suffer ; 'tis I that will bear the 
 blame, and all the blame ; for indeed I forced you to it, 
 sweet mouse ; and you are as innocent of the wickedness 
 as though you had ne'er been born." 
 
 And now they were just about to leave the main road 
 for the footpath leading to SI lottery when they heard the 
 sound of some one coming along on horseback ; and, turn- 
 ing for a second, they found it was young Tom Quiney, 
 who was on a smart galloway nag, and coming at a goodly 
 pace. As he passed them, he took off his cap and lowered 
 it with formal courtesy. 
 
 l> <!ive ye good-day!" said he ; but he scarcely looked 
 at them ; nor did he pull up for further talk or greeting. 
 
 " We are in such haste to be rich nowadays," said Judith, 
 with a touch of scorn in her voice, as the two maidens set 
 forth to wiillc through the meadows, " that we have scarce 
 time to be civil to our friends ! " 
 
 Knt she bore away no ill-will ; the day was too fine for 
 thai. The soft west wind was tempering the heat and 
 stirring the Leaves of the elms; red and white wild roses
 
 DIVIDED WAYS 113 
 
 were sprinkled among the dark green of the hedges ; there 
 was a perfume of elder-blossom in the air ; and perhaps, 
 also, a faint scent of hay, for in the distance they could see 
 the mowers at work among the clover, and could see the 
 long sweep of the scythe. The sun lay warm on the grass 
 and the wild flowers around them ; there was a perfect 
 silence but for the singing of the birds ; and now and again 
 they could see one of the mowers cease from his work, and 
 a soft clicking sound told them that he was sharpening the 
 long curving blade. They did not walk quickly : it was 
 an idle day. 
 
 Presently some one came up behind them and overtook 
 them ; it was young Master Quiney, who seemed to have 
 changed his mind, and was now on foot. 
 
 " You are going over to Shottery, Prudence ? " said he. 
 
 Prudence flushed uneasily : why should he address her, 
 and have no word for Judith ? 
 
 " Yes," said she, " Mistress Hathaway would have us see 
 her roses ; she is right proud of them this year/' 
 
 " 'Tis a good year for roses," said he, in a matter-of-fact 
 way, and as if there were no restraint at all on any of the 
 party. 
 
 And then it seemed to occur to him that he ought to 
 account for his presence. 
 
 " I guessed you were going to Shottery," said he, indiffer- 
 ently, and still addressing himself exclusively to Prudence ; 
 " and I got a lad to take on the nag and meet me at the 
 cross-road ; the short cut through the meadows is pleasant 
 walking. To Mistress Hathaway's, said you ? I dare 
 promise you will be pleased with the show ; there never was 
 such a year for roses ; and not a touch of blight anywhere, 
 as I have heard. And a fine season for the crops, too ; just 
 such weather as the farmers might pray for ; look at that 
 field of rye over there, now — is't not a goodly sight ? " 
 
 He was talking with much appearance of self-possession ; 
 it was Prudence who was embarrassed. As for Judith, she 
 paid no heed ; she was looking before her at the hedges 
 and the elms, at the wild flowers around, and at the field 
 of bearded rye, that bent in rustling gray-green undulations 
 before the westerly breeze. 
 
 " And how does your brother, Prudence ? " he continued. 
 
 1
 
 1 14 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " 'Tis well for him his business goes on from year to year 
 •without respect of the seasons ; he can sleep o' nights 
 without thinking of the weather. It is the common 
 report that the others of the Town Council hold him in 
 great regard, and will have him become alderman ere long ; 
 is it not so ? " 
 
 " I have heard some talk of it," Prudence said, with her 
 eyes cast down. 
 
 At this moment they happened to be passing some patches 
 of the common mallow, that were growing by the side of 
 the path ; and the tall and handsome youth who was walking 
 with the two girls (but who never once let his eyes stray in 
 the direction of Judith) stooped down and pulled one of the 
 brightest clusters of the pale lilac blossoms. 
 
 " You have no flower in your dress, Prudence," said he, 
 offering them to her. 
 
 " Nay, I care not to wear them," said she ; and she 
 would rather have declined them ; but as he still offered 
 them to her, how could she help accepting them and carry- 
 ing them in her hand ? And then, in desperation, she 
 turned and addressed the perfectly silent and impassive 
 .Judith. 
 
 " Judith," said she, " you might have brought the mastiff 
 with you for a run." 
 
 " Truly I might, sweetheart," said Judith, cheerfully, 
 "but that my grandmother likes him not in the garden ; 
 his ways are over rough." 
 
 "Now that reminds me," said lie, quickly (but always 
 addressing Prudence), "of the little spaniel-gentle that I 
 have. Do you know the dog, Prudence ? 'Tis accounted 
 ;: great beauty; and of the true Maltese breed. Will you 
 accept him from me ? In truth, I will hold it a favour if 
 you n ill take the little creature." 
 
 " 1 ? " said Prudence, with much amazement ; for she had 
 Bomehow vaguely heard that the dog had been purchased 
 and brought to Stratford for the very purpose of being 
 presented to Judith. 
 
 "I assure you 'tis just such an one as would make a 
 pleasanl companion for you," said he; " a gentle creature 
 as ever was, and affectionate too — a most pleasant and 
 frolicsome playfellow. Will you take it, Prudence ?— for
 
 DIVIDED WAYS n S 
 
 what can I do with the little beast ? — I have no one to look 
 after it." 
 
 " I had thought you meant Judith to have the spaniel ! " 
 said she, simply. 
 
 " Nay, how would that do, sweetheart ? " said Judith, 
 calmly. " Do you think the Don would brook such inva- 
 sion of his domain? "Would, you have the little thing 
 killed ? You should take it, good cousin ; 'twill be com- 
 pany for you should you be alone in the house." 
 
 She had spoken quite as if she had been engaged in the 
 conversation all the way through ; there was no appearance 
 of anger or resentment at his ostentatious ignoring of her 
 presence ; whatever she felt she was too proud to show. 
 
 " Then you will take the dog, Prudence," said he. " I 
 know I could not give it into gentler hands, for you could 
 not but show it kindness, as you show to all." 
 
 " Give ye good thanks," said Prudence, with her pale face 
 flushing with renewed embarrassment, " for the offer of the 
 gift ; but in truth I doubt if it be right and seemly to waste 
 such care on a dumb animal when there be so many of our 
 fellow-Creatures that have more pressing claims on us. And 
 there are enough of temptations to idleness without our 
 wilfully adding to them. But I thank you for the intention 
 of your kindness — indeed I do." 
 
 "Nay, now, you shall have it, good Prudence, whether 
 you will or no," said he, with a laugh. " You shall bear 
 with the little dog but for a week, that I beg of you ; and 
 then if it please you not — if you find no amusement in its 
 tricks and antics — I will take it back again. 'Tis a bargain ; 
 but as to your sending of it back, I have no fears ; I warrant 
 you 'twill overcome your scruples, for 'tis a most cunning 
 and crafty playfellow, and merry withal ; nor will it hinder 
 you from being as kind and helpful to those around you 
 as you have ever been. I envy the dog that is to have so 
 gentle a guardian." 
 
 They were now come to a parting of the ways ; and he 
 said he would turn off to the left, so as to reach the lane 
 at the end of which his nag was awaiting him. 
 
 " And with your leave, Prudence," said he, " I will bring 
 the little spaniel to your house this evening — for I am only 
 going now as far as Bidford ; and if your brother be at 
 
 I 2
 
 1 1 6 J UDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 home he may have half-an-hour to spare, that we may have 
 a chat about the Corporation, and the new ordinances they 
 propose to make. And so fare you well, and good wishes 
 go with you ! " 
 
 And with that he departed, and was soon out of sight. 
 
 " Oh, Judith," Prudence exclaimed, almost melting into 
 tears, " my heart is heavy to see it 1 " 
 
 " "What, then, good cousin ?." said Judith, lightly. 
 
 " The quarrel " 
 
 " The quarrel, dear heart ! Think of no such thing. 
 In sober truth, dear Prudence, I would not have matters 
 other than they are ; I would not ; I am well content ; 
 and as for Master Quiney, is not he improved ? Did ever 
 mortal hear him speak so fair before ? Marry, he hath 
 been learning good manners, and profited well ! Put there 
 it is : you are so gentle, sweetheart, that every one, no 
 matter who, must iind you good company ; while I am 
 fractious, and ill to bear with : and do I marvel to see any 
 one prefer your smooth ways and even disposition ? And 
 when he comes to-night, heed you, you must thank him 
 right civilly for bringing you the little spaniel ; 'tis a 
 great favour ; the dog is one of value that many would 
 prize " 
 
 " I cannot take it — I will not have it ! 'Twas meant 
 for you, Judith, as well you know," the other cried, in real 
 distress. 
 
 "But yon must and shall accept the gift ! " her friend 
 said, with decision. "Ay, and show yourself grateful for 
 his having singled you out withal. Neither himself nor 
 his spaniel would go long a-begging in Stratford, I warrant 
 you : give him friendly welcome, sweetheart." 
 
 " He went away without a word to you, Judith ! " 
 
 " I am content." 
 
 " Put why should it be thus ? " Prudence said, almost 
 piteously. 
 
 "Why? Dear mouse, T have (old you ! He and I 
 
 never did agree; 'twas ever something wrong on one side 
 
 t the oilier ; and wherefore should not he look around for 
 
 nil' v companion ? 'Twere a wonder should he do aught 
 
 else; and now he hath shown more wisdom than ever I 
 
 laid to his credit."
 
 DIVIDED WAYS 117 
 
 " But the ungraciousness of his going, Judith " said 
 
 the gentle Prudence, who could in no wise understand the 
 apparent coolness with which Judith seemed to regard the 
 desperate thing that had taken place. 
 
 " Heaven have mercy, why should that trouble you, if it 
 harm not me ? " was the instant answer. " My spirits are 
 not like to be dashed down for want of a ' fare-you-well ' ; 
 in good sooth he had given you so much of his courtesy 
 and fair speeches that perchance he had none to spare for 
 others ! " 
 
 By this time they were come to the little wooden gate 
 leading into the garden ; and it was no wonder they should 
 pause in passing through that to regard the bewildering and 
 glowing luxuriance of foliage and blossom, though this was 
 but a cottage enclosure, and none of the largest. The air 
 seemed filled with the perfume of this summer abundance ; 
 and the clear sunlight shone on the various masses of colour 
 — roses red and white, pansies, snapdragon, none-so-prctty, 
 sweet-williams of every kind, to say nothing of the clustering 
 honeysuckle that surrounded the cottage door. 
 
 " Was't not worth the trouble, sweetheart ? " Judith said. 
 " Indeed the good dame does well to be proud of such a 
 pageant." 
 
 As she spoke her grandmother suddenly made her 
 appearance, glancing sharply from one to the other of 
 them. 
 
 " Welcome, child, welcome," she said, " and to you, sweet 
 Mistress Shawe." 
 
 And yet she did not ask them to enter the cottage ; there 
 was some kind of hesitation about the old dame's manner 
 that was unusual. 
 
 " Well, grandmother," said Judith, gaily, " have you no 
 grumbling ? My cap I made myself ; then mast it be out 
 of the fashion. Or I did not make it myself ; then must 
 it have cost a mint of money. Or what say you to my 
 petticoat— does not the colour offend you? Shall I ever 
 attain to the pleasing of you, think you, good grandmother ? " 
 
 " Wench, wench, hold your peace ! " the old dame said 
 in a lower voice. " There be one within that may not like 
 the noise of strangers — though he be no stranger to you as 
 he saith "
 
 n8 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " What, grandmother ? " Judith exclaimed, and involun- 
 tarily she shrank back a little, so startled was she. " A 
 stranger ? — in the cottage ? You do not mean the young 
 gentleman that is in hiding — that I met in the lane " 
 
 " The same, Judith, the same," she said, quickly ; " and I 
 know not whether he would wish to be seen by more than 
 needs be " 
 
 She glanced at Judith, who understood : moreover, the 
 latter had pulled together her courage again. 
 
 " Have no fear, good grandmother," said she, and she 
 turned to Prudence : " You hear, good Prue, who is 
 within " 
 
 " Yes," the other answered, but she was somewhat 
 breathless. 
 
 " Now, then, is such an opportunity as may ne'er occur 
 again," Judith said. " You will come with me, good Prue ? 
 Nay, but you must ! " 
 
 " Indeed I shall not ! " Prudence exclaimed, stepping 
 back in affright. " Not for worlds, Judith, would I have 
 aught to do with such a thing ! And you, Judith, for my 
 sake, come away ! Wo will go back to Stratford ! — we will 
 look at the garden some other time ! In truth I can see 
 your grandmother is of my mind too. Judith, for the love 
 of me, come ! — let us get away from this place ! " 
 
 Judith regarded her with a strange kind of smile. 
 
 " I have had such courtesy and fair manners shown me 
 to-day, dear heart," said she, with a sort of gracious calm- 
 ness, " that I am fain to seek elsewhere for some other 
 treatment, lest I should grow vain. Will it please you wait 
 for mo in the garden, then ? Grandmother, I am going in 
 with you to help you give your guest good welcome. 
 
 " Judith 1 " tho terrified Prudence exclaimed, in a kind 
 of despair. 
 
 But Judith, with her head erect, and with a perfect and 
 proud self-possession, had followed her grandmother into 
 the house.
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 119 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A HERALD MERCURY. 
 
 The distance between this luxuriant garden, all radiant and 
 glowing in light and colour, and the small and darkened 
 inner room of the cottage, was but a matter of a few 
 yards ; yet in that brief space, so alert was her brain, she 
 had time to consider much. And with her, pride or anger 
 was always of short duration — the sunny cheerfulness of her 
 nature refusing to harbour such uncongenial guests. Why, 
 she asked herself, should she take umbrage at the somewhat 
 too open neglect that had just been shown her ? Was it 
 not tending in the very direction she had herself desired ? 
 Had she not begged and prayed Quiney to give Prudence 
 the little spaniel-gentle ? Nay, had she not wilfully gone 
 and buried in the churchyard the bit of rosemary that he 
 had sent her to keep — putting it away from her with the 
 chance of its summoning an unknown lover ? So now, she 
 said to herself, she would presently come out again to the 
 poor affrighted Prudence, and would reassure her, and 
 congratulate her, moreover, with words of good cheer and 
 comfort for the future. 
 
 And then again, in this lightning-like survey of the 
 situation, she was conscious that she was becomingly 
 dressed — and right glad, indeed, that she had chanced" to 
 put on the gray velvet cap with the brass beads and the 
 curling feather ; and she knew that the stranger gentleman 
 would be courteous and civil, with admiring eyes. More- 
 over, she had a vague impression that he was somewhat too 
 much given to speak of Ben Jonson ; and she hoped for 
 some opportunity to let him understand that her father was 
 one of good estate, and much thought of by every one 
 around, whose daughter knew what was due to his position, 
 and could conduct herself not at all as a country wench. 
 And so it was that the next minute found her in the 
 twilight of the room ; and there, truly enough, he was, 
 standing at the small window. 
 
 " Give ye good welcome, sir," said she. 
 
 " What ! fair Mistress Judith ? " he said, as he quiokly
 
 120 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 turned round. And lie would have come forward and 
 kissed her hand, perchance, but that a moment's hesitation 
 prevented him. 
 
 " It may be that I have offended you," said he, diffidently. 
 
 " In what, good sir ? " 
 
 She was quite at her ease : the little touch of modest 
 colour in her face could scarcely be attributed to rustic 
 shyness ; it was but natural, and it added to the gentleness 
 of her look. 
 
 "Nay, then, sweet lady, 'twas but a lack of courage, 
 that I would ask you to pardon," said he — though he did 
 not seem conscious of heavy guilt, to judge by the way in 
 which his black and eloquent eyes regarded Judith's face 
 and the prettiness of her costume. " There was a promise 
 that I should communicate with you if I returned to this 
 part of the country, but I found myself not bold enough to 
 take advantage of your kindness. However, fortune has 
 been my friend, since again I meet you ; 'tis the luckiest 
 chance ; I but asked your good grandmother here for a 
 cup of water as I passed, and she would have me take a cup 
 of milk instead ; and then she bade me to come in out of 
 the heat for a space — which I was nothing loth to do, as 
 you may guess ; and here have I been taking up the good 
 lady's time with I know not what of idle gossip " 
 
 " But sit ye down, grandchild," the good dame said ; 
 "and you, sir, pray sit you down. Here, wencki" — she 
 called to the little maid that was her sole domestic. " Go 
 fill this jug from the best barrel." 
 
 And then she herself proceeded to get down from the 
 high wooden rail some of the pewter trenchers that shone 
 there like a row of white moons in the dusk ; and these she 
 placed on the table with one or two knives ; and then she 
 began to get forth cakes, a cheese, a ham, some spiced 
 bread, the half of a cold gooseberry-tart, and what not. 
 
 " 'Tis not every day we come by a visitor in these quiet 
 parts," said she ; " ay, good sir, and one that is not afraid 
 to speak out his mind. Nay, nay, grandchild, I tell thee 
 sit thee down ; thou art too line a madam this morning to 
 meddle wi' kitchen matters. Tell the gentleman I be rather 
 deaf ; but I thank him for his good company. Sit ye 
 down, sweeting ; sooth, you look bravely this morning."
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 121 
 
 " Have I pleased you at last, grandmother ? 'tis a 
 miracle, surely ! " she said, with a smile ; and then she 
 turned gravely to entertain the old dame's visitor. " I 
 hope your fortunes have mended, sir," said she. 
 
 " In a measure— somewhat — but still I am forced to take 
 heed " 
 
 " Perchance you have still the letter to my father ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Nay, madam, I considered it a prudent thing to destroy 
 it — little as that was in my heart." 
 
 " I had thought on your next coming to the neighbour- 
 hood that you would have taken the chance to make my 
 father's friendship," said she ; and not without some secret 
 disappointment ; for she was anxious that this acquaintance 
 of Ben Jonson's should ses the New Place, with all its 
 tapestries and carved wood and silver-gilt bowls ; with its 
 large fair garden, too, and substantial barns and stables. 
 Perhaps she would have had him carry the tale to London ? 
 There were some things (she considered) quite as fine as 
 the trumpery masques and mummeries of the Court that 
 the London people seemed to talk about. She would have 
 liked him to see her father at the head of his own table, 
 with her mother's napery shining, and plenty of good 
 friends round the board, and her father drinking to the 
 health of Bess Hall out of the silver-topped tankard that 
 Thomas Combe, and Bussell, and Sadler, and Julius Shawe, 
 and the rest of them, had given him on his last birthday. 
 Or perchance she would have had him see her father riding 
 through the town of Stratford with some of these good 
 neighbours (and who the handsomest of all the company ? 
 she would make bold to ask), with this one and that 
 praising the Evesham roan, and the waggoners as they 
 passed touching their caps to " worthy Mahster Shacksper." 
 Ben Jonson ! Well, she had seen Ben Jonson. There was 
 not a maid in the town would have looked his way. 
 Whereas, if there were any secret enchantments going 
 forward on Hallowmas-eve (and she knew of such, if the 
 ministers did not), and if the young damsels were called on 
 to form a shape in their brain as they prayed for the 
 handsome lover that was to be sent them in the future, she 
 was well aware what type of man they would choose from
 
 122 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 amongst those familiar to them ; and also, it had more 
 than once reached her ears that the young fellows would 
 jokingly say among themselves that right well it was that 
 Master Shakespeare was married and in safe keeping, else 
 they would never have a chance. In the meanwhile, and 
 with much courtesy, this young gentleman was endeavouring 
 to explain to her why it was he dared not go near Stratford 
 town. 
 
 "Truly, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, in his suave 
 voice, and with modestly downcast eyes, " it is a disappoint- 
 ment to me in more regards than one ; perchance I dare 
 not say how much. But in these times one has to see that 
 one's own misfortunes may not prove harmful to one's 
 friends ; and then again, ever since the French king's 
 murder, they are becoming harder and harder against any 
 one, however innocent he may be, that is under, suspicion. 
 And whom do they not suspect ? The Parliament have 
 entreated the King to be more careful of his safety ; and 
 the recusants — as they call those that have some regard 
 for the faith they were brought up in — must not appear 
 within ten miles of the Court. Nay, they are ordered to 
 betake themselves to their own dwellings ; and by the last 
 proclamation all Roman priests, Jesuits, and seminaries, are 
 banished the kingdom ; — I wonder not your good grand- 
 mother should have a word of pity for them that are 
 harried this way and that for conscience sake." 
 
 " I say naught, I say naught ; 'twere well to keep a still 
 tongue,' the old dame said, being still busy with the table. 
 " But I have heard there war more peace and quiet in 
 former days when there wur but one faith in the laud ; ay, 
 and good tending of the poor folk by the monks and the 
 rich houses." 
 
 However, the chance reference to tho French king had 
 suddenly recalled to Judith that Prudence was waiting her 
 in the garden, and her conscience smote her for her neglect ; 
 while she was determined that so favourable an opportunity 
 should not be lost of banishing once and for ever her deal 
 gossip's cruel suspicions. So she rose. 
 
 ' I crave your pardon, good sir," said she, " if I leave 
 you for a moment to seek my gossip Prudence Shawe that 
 was to wait for me in the garden. I would have you ac-
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 123 
 
 quainted with each other ; but pray you, sir, forbear to say 
 anything against the Puritan section of the church, for she 
 is well inclined that way, and she has a heart that is easily 
 wounded." 
 
 " And thank you for the caution, fair Mistress Judith," 
 said he, and he rose, and bowed low ; and stood hat in 
 hand until she had left the apartment. 
 
 At first, so blinding was the glare of light and colour, 
 she could hardly see ; but presently, when her eyes were 
 less dazzled, she looked everywhere, and found the garden 
 quite empty. She called ; there was no answer. She went 
 down to the little gate ; there was no one in the road. 
 And so, taking it for granted that Prudence had sought 
 safety in flight, and was now back in Stratford town, or on 
 the way thither, she returned into the cottage with a light 
 heart, and well content to hear what news was abroad. 
 
 " Pray you, sir," said old Mistress Hathaway, " sit in to 
 the table ; and you, grandchild, come your ways. If the 
 fare be poor, the welcome is hearty. What, then, Judith ? 
 Dined already, say'st thou ? Body o' me, a fresh-coloured 
 young wench like you should be ready for your dinner at 
 any time. "Well, well, sit thee in, and grace the tablo ; 
 and you shall sip a cup of claret for the sake of good 
 company." 
 
 Master Leofric Hope, on the other hand, was not at all 
 backward in applying himself to this extemporised meal ; 
 on the contrary, he did it such justice as fairly warmed 
 the old dame's heart. And he drank to her, moreover, 
 bending low over his cup of ale; but he did not do the 
 like by Judith — for some reason or another. And all the 
 while he was telling them of the affairs of the town ; as to 
 how there was much talking of the new river that was to 
 bring water from some ten or twelve miles off, and how 
 one Middleton was far advanced with the cutting of it, 
 although many were against it, and would have the project 
 overthrown altogether. Of these and similar matters he 
 spoke right pleasantly, and the old dame was greatly inte- 
 rested ; but Judith grew to think it strange that so much 
 should be said about public affairs, and what the people 
 were talking about, and yet no mention made of her 
 father. And so it came about, when he went on to tell
 
 124 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 theni of the new ship of war that so many were going to 
 see at Woolwich, and that the King made so much of, she 
 said — 
 
 " Oh, my father knows all about that ship. 'Twas but 
 the other day I heard him and Master Combe speak of it ; 
 and of the King too ; and my father said, ' Poor man, 'tis 
 a far smaller ship than that he will make his last voyage 
 in."' 
 
 " Said he that of the King ? " 
 
 She looked up in quick alarm. 
 
 " But as he would have said it of me or of you or of any 
 one," she exclaimed. "Nay, my father is well inclined 
 towards the King, though he be not as much at the Court 
 as some, nor caring to make pageants for the Court ladies 
 and their attendants and followers." 
 
 If there were any sarcasm in this speech he did not 
 perceive it, for it merely led him on to speak of the new 
 masque that Ben Jonson was preparing for the Prince 
 Henry ; and incidentally he mentioned that the subject was 
 to be Oberon the Fairy Prince. 
 
 " Oberon ? " said Judith, opening her eyes. " Why, my 
 father hath writ about that ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, as we all know," said he courteously ; " but 
 there will be a difference " 
 
 " A difference ? " said she. " By my life, yes ! There 
 will be a difference. I wonder that Master Jonson was 
 not better advised." 
 
 " Nay, in this matter, good Mistress Judith," said he, 
 "there will be no comparison. I know 'tis the fashion to 
 compare them " 
 
 " To compare my father and Master Jonson ? " she said, 
 as if she had not heard aright. " Why, what comparison ? 
 In what way ? Pray you remember, sir, I have seen Master 
 Ben Jonson. I have seen him, and spoken with him. 
 And as for my father, I'll be bound there is not his fellow 
 for a handsome presence and gracious manners in all 
 Warwickshire — no, nor in London town neither, I'll be 
 sworn ! " 
 
 "I meant not that, sweet lady," said he, with a smile; 
 ami In' added grimly : " I grant you our Ben looks as if he 
 had been in the wars ; he hath had a tussle with Bacchus
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 125 
 
 on many a merry night, and bears the scars of these noble 
 combats. No, 'tis the fashion to compare them as wits " 
 
 " I'd as lief compare them as men, good sir," said she, 
 with a touch of pride, " and I know right well which should 
 have my choice." 
 
 " When it is my good fortune, dear lady," said the young 
 man, " to have Master William Shakespeare's daughter 
 sitting before me, I need no other testimony to his grace 
 and bearing, even had I never set eyes on him." And with 
 that he bowed low ; and there was a slight flush on her 
 face that was none of displeasure, while the old dame said — 
 
 " Ay, ay, there be many a wench in Warwickshire worse- 
 favoured than she ; pray heaven it turn not her head ; the 
 wench is a good wench, but ill to manage ; and 'twere no 
 marvel if the young men got tired of waiting." 
 
 To escape from any further discussion of this subject 
 Judith proposed that they should go out and look at her 
 grandmother's roses and pansies, which was in truth the 
 object of her visit ; and she added that if Master Hope 
 (this was the first time she had named him by his name) 
 were still desirous of avoiding observation, they could go 
 to the little bower at the upper hedgerow, which was 
 sufficiently screened from the view of any passer-by. The 
 old dame was right willing, for she was exceedingly proud 
 of this garden that had no other tending than her own ; 
 and so she got her knitting-needles and ball of wool, and 
 preceded them out into the warm air and the sunlight.' 
 
 " Dear, dear me," said she, stopping to regard two small 
 shrubs that stood withered and brown by the side of the 
 path. " There be something strange in that rosemary now, 
 in good sooth there be ; try as I may, I cannot bring them 
 along ; the spring frost makes sure to kill them." And 
 then she went on again. 
 
 "Strange, indeed," said the young man to his companion, 
 these two being somewhat behind, "that a plant that is 
 so iichle and difficult to hold should be the emblem of 
 constancy." 
 
 "I know not what they do elsewhere," said Judith, 
 carelessly pulling a withered leaf or two to see if they 
 were quite inodorous, "but hereabouts they often use a bifc 
 of rosemary for a charm and the summoning of spirits."
 
 126 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 He started somewhat, and glanced at her quickly and 
 curiously. But there was clearly no subtle intention in the 
 speech. She idly threw away the leaves. 
 
 " Have you faith in such charms, Mistress Judith ? " said 
 he, still regarding her. 
 
 " In truth I know not," she answered, as if the question 
 were of but little moment. " There be some who believe 
 in them, and others that laugh. But strange stories are 
 told ; marry, there be some of them that are not pleasant 
 to hear of a winter's night, when one has to change the 
 warm chimney-corner for the cold room above. There is 
 my grandmother, she hath a rare store of them ; but they 
 lit not well with the summer-time and with such a show as 
 this." 
 
 " A goodly show indeed," said he ; and by this time they 
 were come to a small arbour of rude lattice-work mostly 
 smothered in foliage ; and there was a seat within it, and 
 also a tiny table ; while in front they were screened from 
 the gaze of any one going along the road by a straggling 
 and propped-up wall of peas that were now showing their 
 large white blossoms plentifully among the green. 
 
 " 'Tis a quiet spot," said he, when they were seated, and 
 the old dame had taken to her knitting ; " 'tis enough to 
 make one pray never to hear more of the din and turmoil 
 of London." 
 
 " I should have thought, sir," said Judith, " you would 
 have feared to go near London, if there be those that 
 would fain get to know of your whereabout." 
 
 " Truly," said he, " I have no choice. I must run the 
 risk. Prom time to time I must seek to see whether the 
 cloud that is hanging over me gives signs of hrcaking. And 
 Barely such musi now be the case, when fortune hath been 
 so kind bo me as to place me where I am at this moment — 
 in such company — with such a quiet around. 'Tis like the 
 work of a magician ; though from time to time I remind me 
 
 A \ should rise and Leave, craving your pardon for 
 intruding on you withal." 
 
 " Trouble not yourself, young sir," the old dame said, in 
 her matter-of-fact way, as she looked up from her knitting, 
 " if the place cntcnt yon, 'tis right well ; we be in no such 
 hurry in these country parte ; we let the day go by as it
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 127 
 
 lists, and thank God for a sound night's rest at the end 
 of it." 
 
 " And you have a more peaceful and happy life than the 
 London citizens, I'll be bound," said he, "with all their 
 feasts and gaieties and the noise of drums and the like." 
 
 " "We hear but the murmur of such things from a far 
 distance," Judith said. " Was there not a great to-do on 
 the river when the citizens gave their welcome to the 
 Prince ? " 
 
 " Why, there, now," said he, brightening up at this chance 
 of repaying in some measure the courtesy of his entertainers ; 
 " there was as wonderful a thing as London ever saw. A 
 noble spectacle, truly ; for the Companies would not be out- 
 done ; and such bravery of apparel, and such a banqueting 
 in the afternoon ! And perchance you heard of it but 
 through some news-letter ? Shall I tell you what I saw on 
 my own part ? " 
 
 " If it be not too troublesome to you, good sir." 
 
 He was glad enough ; for he had noticed, when he was 
 describing such things, that Judith's eyes grew absent, and 
 he could gaze at them without fear of causing her to start 
 and blush. Moreover, it was a pretty face to tell a story 
 to ; and the day was so still and shining ; and all around 
 them there was a scent of roses in the air. 
 
 " Why, it was about daybreak, as I should think," he said, 
 " that the citizens began to come forth ; and a bright, fair 
 morning it was ; and all of them in their best array. And 
 you may be sure that when the Companies learned that 
 the whole of the citizens were minded to show their love 
 for the Prince Henry on his coming back from Pdchinond, 
 they were not like to be behindhand ; and such prepara- 
 tions had been made as you would scarce believe. Well, 
 then, so active were they in their several ways that by eight 
 of the clock the Companies were all assembled in their 
 barges of state to wait the Lord Mayor and Aldermen ; 
 and such a sound of drums and trumpets and fifes was 
 there ; and the water covered with the fleet, and the banks 
 all crowded with them that had come down to sec. Then 
 the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen being arrived, the great 
 procession set forth in state ; and such a booming of cannon 
 there was, and cheering from the crowd. 'Twas a sight,
 
 128 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 on my life ; for they bore the pageant with them — that was 
 a huge whale and a dolphin ; and on the whale sate a fair 
 and lovely nymph, Corinea she was called, the Queen of 
 Cornwall ; and she had a coronet of strange sea-shells, and 
 strings of pearls around her neck and on her wrists ; and 
 her dress was of crimson silk, so that all could make her 
 out from a distance ; and she had a silver shield slung on 
 to her left arm and in her right hand a silver spear — oh, a 
 wonderful sight she was ; I marvel not the crowd cheered 
 and cheered again. Then on the other animal — that is 
 the dolphin — sate one that represented Amphion — he was 
 the father of music, as yon must know ; and a long beard 
 he wore, and he also had a wreath of sea-shells on his head, 
 and in his hand a harp of gold that shone in the sun. 
 Well, away they set towards Chelsea ; and there they 
 waited for the Prince's approach " 
 
 "And the young Prince himself," Judith said, quickly 
 and eagerly, " he bears himself well, does he not ? lie 
 bears himself like a prince? He would match such a 
 pageant right royally, is't not so ? " 
 
 " Why, lie is the very model and mirror of princehood ! 
 — the pink of chivalry ! — nor is there one of them at the 
 Court that can match him at the knightly exercises," said 
 this enthusiastic chronicler, who had his reward in seeing 
 how interested she was. "Well, when the young Prince 
 was come to Chelsea, there he paused, and the Qnecn 
 Corinea addressed him in a speech of welcome — truly, I 
 could not hear a word of it. there being such a noi 
 among the multitude, but I was told thereafter that it 
 presented him with their love and loyal duty; and then 
 they all Bet forth towards Whitehall again. By this time 
 'twas later in the day ; and no man would have believed so 
 many dwelt in the neighbourhood of our great river ; and 
 that again was as naught to the crowd assembled when 
 they were come again to the town. And here as it must 
 have been arranged beforehand, doubtless— the fleet of 
 barges separated, and formed two long lines, so as to make 
 a lane tor the Prince to pass through, with great cheering 
 and shouting, so that when they were come to the Court 
 steps he was at the head of them all. And now it was 
 that the dolphin approached, and Amphion, that was riding
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 129 
 
 on his back, bid the Prince a loyal farewell in the name 
 of all the citizens ; and at the end of the speech — which, 
 in truth, the people guessed at rather than heard — there 
 was such a tumult of huzzas, and a firing of cannon, and 
 the drums and the trumpets sounding, and on every hand 
 you could hear nothing but " Long live our Prince of 
 Wales, the Royal Henry ! ' " 
 
 " And he bore himself bravely, I'll dare be sworn ! " she 
 exclaimed. " I have heard my father speak of him — he is 
 one that will uphold the honour of England when he comes 
 to the throne ! " 
 
 "And there was such a feasting and rejoicing that 
 evening," he continued, " within-doors and without ; and 
 many an honest man, I fear me, transgressed, and laid the 
 train for a sore distracted head next day. Then 'twas some 
 two or three evenings after that, if I remember aright, that 
 we had the great water-fight and the fireworks — but per- 
 chance you heard of these, sweet Mistress Judith ? " 
 
 " In truth, good sir," she answered, " I heard of these 
 as of the welcome you speak of, but in so scant a way as 
 to be of no avail. 'Tis not a kind of talking that is 
 encouraged at our house ; unless, indeed, when Julius 
 Shawe and Master Combe and some of them come in of an 
 evening to chat with my father ; and then sometimes 
 I contrive to linger, with the bringing in of a flagon of 
 Rhenish or the like — -until I am chid and sent forth. I 
 pray you, good sir, if I do not outwear your patience, to tell 
 us of the water-fight, too." 
 
 " 'Tis I that am more like to outwear your patience, fair 
 Judith," said he. " I would I had a hundred fights to tell 
 you of. But this one — well, 'twas a rare and goodly 
 pageant ; and a vast crowd was come clown to the water's 
 edge to see what was going forward, for most of the busi- 
 ness of the day was over, and both master and prentice 
 were free. And very soon we saw how the story was 
 going ; for there was a Turkish pirate, with fierce men 
 with blackened faces ; and they would plunder two English 
 merchantmen and make slaves of the crews. This was 
 but the beginning of the fight ; and there was great firing 
 of guns and manoeuvring of the vessels ; and the mer- 
 chantmen were like to fare badly, not being trained to arms
 
 1 30 JUDITH SHA KESPEA RE 
 
 like the pirate. In sooth they were sore bestead ; but 
 presently up came two ships of war to the rescue, and then 
 the coil began in good earnest, I warrant you ; for there 
 was boarding and charging and clambering over the 
 bulwarks — ay, and many an honest man on both sides 
 knocked into the sea — until in the end they had killed or 
 secured all the pirates, and then there was naught to do but 
 to blow up the pirate ship into the air, with a noise like 
 thunder, and scarce a rag or spar of him remaining. 'Twas 
 a right good ending, I take it, in the minds of the worthy 
 citizens ; doubtless they hoped that every Turkish rogue 
 would be served the like. And then it was that the 
 blowing up of the pirate ship was a kind of signal for the 
 beginning of the fireworks ; and it had grown to dusk 
 now ; so that the blazes of red light and blue light and the 
 whizzing of the squibs and what not seemed to till all the 
 air. 'Twas a rare climax to the destruction of the Turkish 
 thieves ; and the people cheered and cheered again when 
 'twas well done ; and then at the end came a great 
 discharge of guns and squibs and showers of stars that one 
 would have thought the whole world was set on fire. Sure 
 I am that the waters of the Thames never saw such a sight 
 before. And the people went home right well content ; and 
 I doubt not drank to the confusion of all pirates, as well as 
 to the health of the young Prince, that is to preserve the 
 realm to us in years to come." 
 
 They talked for some time thereafter about that and other 
 matters, and about his own condition and occupations at the 
 farm ; and then he rose, and there was a smile on bis face. 
 
 "You know, fair Mistress Judith," said he, "that a wise 
 man is careful not to outstay his welcome, lest it be not 
 offered to him again ; and your good grandmother has 
 afforded me so pleasant an hour's gossip and good company 
 thai 1 would fain look forward bo some other chance' of the 
 Bame in the future;'' 
 
 "Must you go, good sir ? " said .Judith, also rising. " I 
 trusl we have not overtaxed your patience. We country 
 Folk are hungry listeners." 
 
 "To have been awarded so much of your time, Bweet 
 Mistress Judith," said lie, bowing very low, "is an honour 
 1 am nut likely to forget."
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 131 
 
 And then he addressed the old dame, who had missed 
 something of this. 
 
 " Give ye good thanks for your kindness, good Mistress 
 Hathaway," said he. 
 
 " Good fortune attend ye, sir," said the old dame con- 
 tentedly, and without ceasing from her knitting. 
 
 Judith was standing there, with her eyes cast down. 
 
 " Sweet lady, by your leave," said he, and he took her 
 hand and raised it and just touched her fingers with his lips. 
 Then he bowed low again and withdrew. 
 
 " Fare you well, good sir," Judith had said at the same 
 moment, but without any word as to a future meeting. 
 Then she returned into the little arbour and sate down. 
 
 "Is't not like a meteor, grandmother, shooting across 
 the sky ? " said she, merrily. " Beshrew me, but the day 
 has grown dark since he left ! Didst ever hear of such a 
 gallymawfrey of dolphins and whales, and prince's barges, 
 and the roaring of cannon, and fireworks ? Sure 'tis well 
 we live in the country quiet — our ears would be riven in 
 twain else. And you, grandmother, that was ever preaching 
 about prudent behaviour, to be harbouring one that may 
 be an outlaw — a recusant — perchance he hath drawn his 
 sword in the King's presence " 
 
 " What know you of the young gentleman, Judith ? " 
 the old dame said sharply. 
 
 "Marry, not a jot beyond what he hath doubtless told 
 to yourself, good grandmother. But see you any harm in 
 him ? Have you suspicion of him ? Would you have me 
 think — as Prudence would fain believe — that there be 
 witchcraft about him ? " 
 
 "Truly I see no harm in the young gentleman," the 
 old grandmother was constrained to say. "And he be 
 fair spoken, and modest withal. But look you to this, 
 wench : should you chance to meet him again while he 
 bideth here in this neighbourhood — I trow 'twere better 
 you did not — but should that chance, see you keep a 
 still tongue in your head about Church and King and 
 Parliament. Let others meddle who choose : 'tis none 
 of your affairs ; do you hear me, child ? These be parlous 
 times, as the talk is ; they do well that keep the byways, 
 and let my lord's coaches go whither they list." 
 
 K 2
 
 132 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Gra?idmother," said Judith, gravely, "I know there 
 be many things in which I cannot please you, but this sin 
 that you would lay to my charge — nay, dear grandam, when 
 have you caught me talking about Church and King and 
 Parliament ? Truly I wish them well ; but I am content 
 if they go their own way." 
 
 The old dame glanced at her to see what this demure 
 tone of speech meant. 
 
 " Thou ? " she said in a sort of grumble. " Thy brain 
 be filled with other gear, I reckon. 'Tis a bit of ribbon 
 that hath hold of thee ; or the report as to which of the 
 lads shot best at the match ; or perchance 'tis the purchase 
 of some penny ballads, that you may put the pictures on 
 your chamber- wall, as if you were a farm- wench just come 
 in from the milking-pail." 
 
 " Heaven have pity on me, good grandmother," said 
 she, with much penitence, and she looked down at her 
 costume, "but I can find no way of pleasing you. You 
 scold me for being but a farm-wench ; and truly this petti- 
 coat, though it be pretty enough, methinks might have 
 been made of a costlier stuff ; and my cap — good grand- 
 mother, look at my cap " 
 
 She took it off, and smoothed the gray velvet of it, 
 and arranged the beads and the feather. 
 
 " Ts the cap also too much of the fashion of a farm- 
 wench ? or have 1 gone amiss tlie other way, and become 
 too like a city dame ? Would that I knew how to please 
 you, grandam ! " 
 
 ••(in thy ways, child ; get thee home!" the old woman 
 said, but only half-angrily. "Thy foolish head hath been 
 turned by hearing of those Court gambols. (Jet you to 
 your needle ; be your mother's napery all so well mended 
 i hat you can spend the whole day in idleness ? " 
 
 " Nay, but you are in the right there, good grandmother," 
 said Judith, drawing closer to her, and taking her thin and 
 wrinkled hand in her own warm, white soft ones. "But 
 not to the needle — not to the needle, good grandam ; I have 
 other egga on the spit. Did not I tell you of the Portugal 
 receipt? that Prudence got for me — in good sooth I did ; 
 well, the dishes were made ; ;tnd next day at dinner my father 
 was righl well pleased. 'Tis little heed he pays to such
 
 A HERALD MERCURY 133 
 
 matters, and we scarce thought of asking him how he liked 
 the fare, when all at once he said : ' Good mother, you 
 must give my thanks to Jane cook ; 'twill cheer her in her 
 work ; nay, I owe them.' Then says my mother : ' But 
 these two dishes were not prepared by the cook, good 
 husband ; 'twas one of the maids.' ' One of the maids ? ' 
 he says. ' Well, which one of the maids ? — truly, 'tis 
 something rare to be found in a country house.' And 
 then there was a laughing amongst all of them ; and he 
 fixes his eyes on me. ' What ? ' he says, ' that saucy 
 wench ? Is she striving to win her a husband at last ? ' 
 And so you see, good grandmother, I must waste no more 
 time here ; for Prudence hath one or two more of these 
 receipts, and I must try them to see whether my father 
 approves or not." 
 
 And so she kissed the old dame, and bade her farewell, 
 refusing at the same time to have the escort of the small 
 maid across the meadows to the town. 
 
 All the temporary annoyance of the morning was now 
 over and forgotten ; she was wholly pleased to have had 
 this interview, and to have heard minutely of all the great 
 doings in London. She walked quickly ; a careless glad- 
 ness shone in her face ; and she was lightly singing to 
 herself — as she went along the well-beaten path through 
 the fields — 
 
 " Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 
 Men were deceivers ever." 
 
 But it was not in the nature of any complaint against the 
 inconstancy of man that this rhyme had come into her 
 head. Quite other thoughts came as well. At one moment 
 she was saying to herself : 
 
 " Why, now, have I no spaniel-gentle with me to keep 
 me company ? " 
 
 And then the next minute she was saying, with a sort 
 of laugh : 
 
 " God help me, I fear I am none of the spaniel-gentle 
 kind ! " 
 
 But there was no deep smiting of conscience even when 
 she confessed so much. Her face was radiant and content ; 
 she looked at the cattle — or the trees, or the children, as it
 
 134 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 chanced — as if she knew them all, and knew that they 
 were friendly towards her ; and then again the idle air 
 would come into her brain — 
 
 " Then sigh not so, but let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny; 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into hey, nonny, nonny!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 A TIREWOMAN. 
 
 It was not until after supper that evening that Judith was 
 free to seek out her companion who had fled from her in 
 the morning ; and when she did steal forth — carrying a 
 small basket in her hand — she approached the house with 
 much more caution than was habitual with her. She 
 glanced in at the lower windows, but could see nothing. 
 Then, instead of trying whether the latch was left loose, 
 she formally knocked at the door. 
 
 It was opened by a little rosy-cheeked girl of eleven or 
 twelve, who instantly bobbed a respectful curtsey. 
 
 " Is Mistress Prudence within, little Margery ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes, if it please you," said the little wench, and she 
 stood aside to let Judith pass. 
 
 But Judith did not enter ; she seemed listening. 
 
 " Where is she ? " 
 
 " In her own chamber, if it please you." 
 
 " Alone, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, if it please you, Mistress Judith." 
 
 Judith patted the little maid in requital of her courtesy, 
 and then stole noiselessly upstairs. The door was open. 
 Prudence was standing before a small table ironing a pair 
 of snow-white cuffs ; the while she was repeating to herself 
 verses of a psalm. Her voice, low as it was, could be heard 
 distinctly : 
 
 " Ojien thou my lips, Lord, and my mouth shall shcio forth thy 
 prai 
 
 For tluiu desirest no sacrifice, though I tcould give it ; thou dilightcst 
 not in burnt-offi ring.
 
 A TIREWOMAN 135 
 
 The sacrifices of God are a contrite spirit ; a contrite and a broken 
 heart, God, thou wilt not desj)ise. 
 
 Be favourable unto Zionfor thy good pleasure; build the walls of 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 Then shalt thou accept the sacrifices of righteousness, even the burnt- 
 offering and oblation; then shall they offer calves upon thine altar." 
 
 She happened to turn her head ; and then she uttered a 
 slight cry of surprise, and came quickly to Judith, and 
 caught her by the hand. 
 
 " What said he ? " she exclaimed, almost breathlessly. 
 " You saw him ? 'Twas the same, was it not ? How came 
 he there ? Judith, tell me ! " 
 
 " You timid mouse that ran away ! " the other said, with 
 a complacent smile. " Why, what should he say ? But 
 prithee go on with the cuffs, else the iron will be cold. 
 And are you alone in the house, Prudence ? There is no 
 one below ? " 
 
 " None but the maids, I trow ; or Julius, perchance, if 
 he be come in from the malt-house." 
 
 " Quick, then, with the cuffs," Judith said, " and get them 
 finished. Nay, I will tell thee all about the young gentle- 
 man thereafter. Get thee finished with the cuffs, and put 
 them on " 
 
 " But I meant them not for this evening, Judith," said 
 she, with her eyes tinned away. 
 
 " 'Tis this evening, and now, you must wear them," her 
 friend said peremptorily. " And more than these. See I 
 have brought you some things, dear gossip, that you must 
 wear for my sake — nay, nay, I will take no denial — you 
 must and shall — and with haste, too, must you put them 
 on, lest any one should come and find the mistress of the 
 house out of call. Is not this pretty, good Prudence ? " 
 
 She had opened the basket and taken therefrom a plaited 
 ruff that the briefest feminine glance showed to be of the 
 finest cobweb-lawn, tinged a faint saffron hue, and tied with 
 silken strings. Prudence, who now divined the object of 
 her visit, was overwhelmed with confusion. The fair and 
 pensive face became rose-red with embarrassment ; and she 
 did not even know how to protest. 
 
 " And this," said Judith, in the most matter-of-fact way, 
 taking something else out of the basket, " will also become
 
 136 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 you well — nay, not so, good mouse, you shall be as prim 
 and Puritanical as you please to-morrow ; to-night you shall 
 be a little braver ; and is it not handsome, too ? — 'twas a 
 gift to my mother — and she knows that I have' it — though 
 I have never worn it." 
 
 This second article that she held out and stroked with 
 her fingers was a girdle of buff-coloured leather, em- 
 broidered with flowers in silk of different colours, and 
 having a margin of filigree silverwork both above and below, 
 and a broad silver clasp. 
 
 " Come, then, let's try " 
 
 "Nay, Judith," the other said, retreating a step, "I 
 cannot — indeed, I cannot " 
 
 " Indeed, you must, silly child ! " Judith said, and she 
 caught hold of her angrily. " I say you shall. What know 
 you of such things ? Must I teach you manners ? " 
 
 And when Judith was in this authoritative mood Prudence 
 had but little power to withstand her. Her face was still 
 burning with embarrassment ; but she succumbed in silence ; 
 while Judith whipped off the plaiu linen collar that her 
 friend wore, and set on in its stead this small but handsome 
 ruff. She arranged it carefully, and smoothed Prudence's 
 soft fair hair, and gave a finishing touch to the three-cornered 
 cap ; then she stepped back a pace or two to contemplate 
 her handiwork. 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed (pretending to see nothing of 
 Prudence's blushes). " A princess ! On my life, a princess ! 
 And now for the girdle — but you must cast aside that 
 housewife's pouch, sweetheart, and I will lend thee this 
 little pomander of mine ; in truth 'twill suit it well " 
 
 " No, no, dear Judith ! " the other said, almost piteously, 
 " indeed I cannot prank me out in these borrowed plumes. 
 If you will have it so, I will wear the ruff ; but not the 
 girdle — not the girdle, dear cousin — that all would see was 
 none of mine " 
 
 " "What's that ? " Judith exclaimed suddenly, for there 
 was a noise below. 
 
 " 'Tis Julius come in from the barn," Prudence said. 
 
 4i M< rcy on us," the other cried, with a laugh, " I thought 
 'twas the Bpaniel-gentle come already. So you will not 
 wear the girdle ? Well, the ruff becomes you right fairly :
 
 A TIREWOMAN 137 
 
 and — and those roses in your cheeks, good Prue — why, 
 what is the matter ? Is there aught wonderful in oue of 
 Julius's friends coming to see him in the evening ? And as 
 the mistress of the house you must receive him well and 
 courteously ; and be not so demure of speech, and distant 
 in manner, dearest heart, for youth must have a little merri- 
 ment, and we cannot always he at our prayers." 
 
 " I know not what you mean, Judith, unless it he some- 
 thing that is far away from any thought or wish of mine." 
 
 There was a touch of sincerity in this speech that 
 instantly recalled Judith from her half-jibing ways. The 
 truth was, that while she herself was free enough in con- 
 fiding to this chosen gossip of hers all about such lovers 
 or would-be lovers as happened to present themselves, 
 Prudence had never volunteered any similar confidence in 
 return ; and the very fact that there might be reasons for 
 this reticence was enough to keep Judith from seeking to 
 remove the veil. Judith herself was accustomed to make 
 merry over the whole matter of sweethearts and rhymed 
 messages and little tender gifts ; but Prudence was sensitive, 
 and Judith was careful not to wound her by indiscreet 
 questioning. And at this moment, when Prudence was 
 standing there confused and abashed, some compunction 
 seized the heart of her friend. She took her hand. 
 
 " In good sooth, I meant not to tease you, sweetheart," 
 said she, in a kindly way ; " and if I advise you in aught 
 'tis but that you should make your brother's house a 
 pleasant resort for them that would be friendly with him 
 and visit him. "What harm can there be in receiving such 
 with a cheerful welcome ? — and having a pretty house- 
 mistress and all things neat and conformable ? Dear 
 mouse, you so often lecture me that I must have my turn ; 
 and I do not find fault or cause of quarrel ; 'tis but a wish 
 that you would be less severe in your ways, and let your 
 kind heart speak more freely. Men, that have the burden 
 of the world's fight to bear, love to meet women-folk that 
 have a merry and cheerful countenance — 'twere a marvel 
 else ; and of an evening, when there is idleness, and some 
 solace after the labours of the day, why should one be glum, 
 and thinking ever of that next world that is coming soon 
 enough of its own accord ? Look you, now, how well the
 
 138 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ruff becomes you ; and what sin is in it ? The girdle too 
 — think you my mother would have worn it had there been 
 aught of evil in a simple piece of leather and embroidery ? " 
 . " 'Tis many a day since she put it aside, as I well re- 
 member," Prudence said — but with a smile, for she was 
 easily won over. 
 
 " Truly," said Judith, with a touch of scorn, " the good 
 preachers are pleased to meddle with small matters when 
 they would tell a woman what she should wear, and order 
 a maiden to give up a finger-ring or a bit of lace, on peril 
 of losing her soul. These be marvellous small deer to be 
 so hunted and stormed about with bell, book, and candle. 
 But now, good Prudence, for this one evening I would have 
 you please your visitor and entertain him ; and the spaniel- 
 gentle — that, indeed, you must take from him " 
 
 . " I cannot, dear Judith — 'twas meant for you ! " Prudence 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " You cannot go back from your promise, good cousin," 
 Judith said coolly, and with some slight inattention to 
 facts. " 'T would be unmannerly of you to refuse the gift, 
 or to refuse ample thanks for it either. And see you have 
 plenty on the board, for men like good fare along with good 
 company ; and let there be no stint of wine or ale as they 
 may choose, for your brother's house, Prudence, must not 
 be niggard, were it only for appearance sake." 
 
 " But you will stay, dear Judith, will you not ? " the other 
 said anxiously. " In truth you can entertain them all, 
 wherever you go ; and always there is such heart in the 
 company " 
 
 " Nay, I cannot, sweet mouse," Judith said lightly. 
 " There is much for me to do now in the evenings, since 
 Susan has gone back to her own home. And now I must 
 go, lest your visitor arrive and find you unprepared : marry, 
 you must wear the cuffs as they are, since I have hindered 
 you in the ironing." 
 
 " But you cannot go, Judith, till you have told me what 
 happened to-day at the cottage," the other pleaded. 
 
 " What happened ? Why, nothing 1 " Judith said 
 brightly. " Only that my grandmother is of a miud with 
 myself, that a fairer-spoken young gentleman seldom comes 
 into these parts, and that, when he does, he should be made
 
 A TIREWOMAN 139 
 
 welcome. Bless thy heart, hadst thou but come in and 
 seen how attentive the good dame was to him ; and she 
 would press him to have some claret-wine, but he said no — 
 perchance he guessed that good grandam had but small store 
 of that. Nay, but you should have come in, Prudence — 
 then would you assuredly have been conscience-smitten 
 about all your dark surmisings. A murderer forsooth ! — a 
 ghost ! — a phantom ! — why, so civil was his manner that he 
 but asked for a cup of water in passing, and my grandmother 
 must needs have him come in out of the sun, and rest him, 
 and have some milk. Was that like a ghost ? I warrant 
 you there was naught of the ghost about him when she put 
 a solid repast before him on the table ; ghosts make no such 
 stout attacks on gooseberry-tart and cheese, else they be 
 sore belied." 
 
 " But who and what is this man, Judith ? " 
 
 " Why, who can tell what any man is ? " said the other. 
 " They all of them are puzzles, and unlike other human 
 creatures. But this one — well, he hath a rare store of 
 knowledge as to what is going forward at the Court— and 
 among the players, too ; and as we sate in the little bower 
 there you would have sworn you could see before you the 
 river Thames with a wonderful pageant on it — dolphins and 
 whales, and crowned sea-queens and the like ; and in the 
 midst of them all the young Prince Henry. ' Long live the 
 young Prince Henry ! ' they cried ; and there was such a 
 noise of drums and cannons and trumpets that you could 
 scarce hear my grandmother's bees among the flowers. I 
 warrant you the good dame was well repaid for her enter- 
 tainment, and right well pleased with the young gentleman : 
 I should not marvel to find him returning thither, seeing 
 that he can remain there in secrecy, and have such gossip 
 as pleases him." 
 
 " But, Judith, you know not what you do ! " her friend 
 protested anxiously. "Do you forget — nay, you cannot 
 forget — that this was the very man the wizard prophesied 
 that you should meet ; and, more than that, that he would 
 be your husband ! " 
 
 " My husband ? " said Judith, with a flush of colour, and 
 she laughed uneasily. " Nay, not so, good Prudence. He 
 is not one that is likely to choose a country wench. Nay,
 
 140 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 nay, the juggler knave failed me — that is the truth of it ; 
 the charm was a thing of naught ; and this young gentleman, 
 if I met him by accident, the same might have happened 
 to you, as I showed you before. Marry, I should not much 
 crave to see him again, if anything like that were in the 
 wind ; this is Stratford town, 'tis not the forest of Arden ; 
 and in this neighbourhood a maiden may not go forth to 
 seek her lover and coax him into the wooing of her. My 
 father may put that into a play, but methinks if he heard 
 of his own daughter doing the like the key would quickly be 
 turned on her. Nay, nay, good Prue, you shall not fright 
 me out of doing a civil kindness to a stranger, and one 
 that is in misfortune, by flaunting his lovership before my 
 eyes. There be no such thing : do not I know the tokens ? 
 By my life, this gentleman is too courteous to have a lover's 
 mind within him ! " 
 
 " And you will go and see him again, Judith ? " her 
 friend asked quickly. 
 
 " Nay, I said not that," Judith answered, with some com- 
 placence. " 'Tis not the forest of Arden — would to heaven 
 it were, for then life would move to a pleasanter music ! I 
 said not that I would go forth and seek him — that were not 
 maidenly ; and belike there would come a coil of talking 
 among the gossips, or soon or late ; but at this time of the 
 year, do you see, dear cousin, the country is fair to look 
 upon ; and the air is sweeter in the meadows than it is 
 here in the town ; and if a lone damsel, forsaken by all 
 else, should be straying silent and forlorn along the path- 
 way or by the river-side, and should encounter one that hath 
 but lately made her acquaintance, why should not that 
 acquaintance be permitted in all modesty and courtesy to 
 ripen into friendship? The harm, good Prue — the harm 
 of it ? Tush, your head is filled with childish fears of the 
 wizard — that is the truth ; and had you but come into the 
 house to-day, and bad but five minutes' speech of the 
 young gentleman, you would have been as ready as any one 
 to help in the beguilcment of the tedium of his hiding, if 
 that be possible to two or three silly women. And, bethink 
 you, was't not a happy chance that I wore my new velvet 
 cap i \\\< morning ? " 
 
 Bat she had beeE speaking too carelessly and jestingly.
 
 A TIREWOMAN 141 
 
 This was a slip ; and instantly she added — with some touch 
 of confusion — 
 
 " I mean that I would fain have my father's friends in 
 London know that his family are not so far out of the 
 world or out of the fashion." 
 
 " Is he one of your father's friends, Judith ? " Prudence 
 said gravely. 
 
 " He is a friend of my father's friends, at least," said she ; 
 "and some day, I doubt not, he will himself be one of 
 these. Truly that will be a rare sight, some evening at 
 New Place, when we confront you with him, and tell him 
 how he was charged with being a ghost, or a pirate, or an 
 assassin, or something of the like." 
 
 " Tour fancy runs free, Judith," her friend said. " Is't 
 a probable thing, think you, that one that dares not come 
 forth into the day, that is hiding from justice, or perchance 
 scheming in Catholic plots, should become the friend of 
 your house ? " 
 
 " You saw him not at my grandmother's board, good 
 Prue," said Judith, coolly. " The young gentleman hath 
 the trick of making himself at home wherever he cometh, 
 I warrant you. And when this cloud blows away, and he 
 is free to come to Stratford, there be none will welcome 
 him more heartily than I ; for methinks he holdeth Master 
 Benjamin Jonson in too high consideration ; and I would 
 have him see what is thought of my father in the town, 
 and what his estate is, and that his family, though they live 
 not in London, are not wholly of Moll-the-milkmaid kind. 
 And I would have Susan come over, too ; and were she to 
 forget her preachers and her psalms for but an evening, and 
 were there any merriment going forward, the young gentle- 
 man would have to keep his wits clear, I'll be bound. There 
 is the house, too, I would have him see ; and the silver- 
 topped tankard with the writing on it from my father's 
 good friends ; nay, I warrant me Julius would not think 
 of denying me the loan of the King's letter to my father — 
 were it but for an hour or two " 
 
 But here they were startled into silence by a knocking 
 below ; then there was the sound of a man's voice in the 
 narrow passage. 
 
 " 'Tis he, sweetheart," Judith said quickly, and she
 
 142 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 kissed her friend, and gave a final touch to the ruff and 
 the cap. "Get you down and welcome him ; I will go out 
 when that you have shut the door of the room. And he 
 merry, good heart, be nierry — be brave and merry, as you 
 love me ! " 
 
 She almost thrust her out of the apartment, and listened 
 to hear her descend the stairs ; then she waited for the 
 shutting of the chamber-door, and finally she stole noise- 
 lessly down into the passage and let herself out, without 
 waiting for the little maid Margery. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A FIRST PERFORMANCE. 
 
 " Nay, zur," said the sour-visaged Matthew, as he leaned 
 his chin and both hands on the end of a rake, and spoke in 
 his slow-drawling grumbling fashion ; " nay, zur, this 
 country be no longer the country it wur ; no, nor never 
 will be again." 
 
 "Why, what ails the land?" said Judith's father, 
 turning from the small table in the summer-house, and 
 lying back in his chair, and crossing one knee over the 
 other, as if he would give a space to idleness. 
 
 -> Xot the land, zur," rejoined goodman Matthew, ora- 
 cularly. "Not the land; it be the men that live in it; 
 and that are all in such haste to make wealth, with plun- 
 dering of the poor and of each other, that there's naught 
 but lying and cheating and roguery— fiod a mercy, there 
 never wur the loikc in any country under the sun. Why, 
 zur, in my father's time, a pair o' shoes would wear you 
 through all weathers for a year; but now, with their half- 
 tanned leather, and their horse-hide, and their cat-skin for 
 the inner sole, 'tis a marvel if the rotten leaves come not 
 asunder within a month. And they be all aloike ; the 
 devil would have no choice among 'cm ; the clothmaker 
 In hideth his bad wool wi' liquid stuff ; and tin,' tailor, no 
 matter whether it be doublet, cloak, or hose, he will filch 
 von his quarter of the doth ere you see it again ; and the 
 chandler h<' be no I" bter than the rest — he will make you 
 his wares of Btinking offal that will splutter and run over
 
 A FIRST PERFORMANCE 143 
 
 arid do aught but give good light ; and the vintner, marry, 
 who knoweth not his tricks and knaveries of mixing and 
 blending, and the selling of poison instead of honest liquor ! 
 The rogue butcher, too, he will let the blood soak in, ay, 
 and puff wind into the meat — meat, quotha ! — 'tis as like 
 as not to have been found dead in a ditch ! " 
 
 "A bad case, indeed, good Matthew, if they be all 
 preying on each other so." 
 
 " 'Tis the poor man pays for all, zur," said Matthew, 
 continuing his growlings (which, indeed, were for the most 
 part but echoes of Stubbes, that had reached him through 
 the Puritan preachers). " Though how he liveth to pay no 
 man can tell, what with the landlords racking the rents, 
 and enclosing the commons and pasturages — nay, 'tis a 
 noble pastime the making of parks and warrens, and 
 shutting the poor man out, that used to have his cow there 
 and a pig or two ; but no, now shall he not let a goose 
 stray within the fence. And what help hath the poor 
 man ? May he go to the lawyers, with their leases and 
 clauses that none can understand — ay, and their fists that 
 must be well greased ere they set to the business ? 'Tis 
 the poor man pays for all, zur, I warrant ye ; nor must he 
 grumble when the gentleman goes a-hunting and breaks 
 down his hedges and tramples his corn. Corn ? 'Tis the 
 last thing they think of, beshrew me else ! They are 
 busiest of all in sending our good English grain — ay, and 
 our English beef, and bacon, and tallow — beyond the seas ; 
 and to bring back what ? — baubles of glass beads and 
 amber, fans for my ladies, and new toys from Turkey ! 
 The proud dames — I would have their painted faces 
 scratched ! " 
 
 "What, what, good Matthew?" Judith's father said, 
 laughing. " What know you of the city ladies and their 
 painting ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, zur, the Lundon tricks be spread abroad, I 
 warrant ye ; there's not a farmer's wife nowadays but must 
 have her French hood and her daughter a taffeta cap — 
 marry, and a grogram gown lined through with velvet ! 
 And there be other towns in the land than London, to 
 learn the London tricks ; 1 have heard of the dames and 
 their daughters ; set them up with their pinching and
 
 : . - JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 girling with whalebone, to get a small waist withal ! — ay, 
 and the swallowing of ashes and candles and whatever will 
 spoil their stomach to give them a pale-bleak colour. Lord, 
 what a thing 'tis to be rich and in the fashion ! — let the 
 poor man suffer as he may. Corn, i'faith ! — there be 
 plenty of corn grown in the land, God wot ; but 'tis main 
 too dear for the poor man ; the rack-rents for him, and a 
 murrain on him ; the corn for the f ore-stallers and the 
 merchants and gentlemen, that send it out of the country ; 
 
 her painted crew 
 
 " God have mercy on us, man ! " Judith's father ex- 
 claimed, and he drove him aside, and got out into the 
 sunlight. At the same moment he caught sight of Judith 
 herself. ** Come hither, wench, come hither ! n he called 
 to her. 
 
 She was nothing loth. She had merely been taking 
 some scraps to the Don ; and seeing Matthew in possession 
 there, she had not even stayed to look into the summer- 
 house. But when her father came out and called to her, 
 she went quickly towards him ; and her : bright 
 
 enough — on this bright morning. 
 '•That would you, father ': 
 
 For answer he plucked off her cap and threw it aside, 
 and took hold of her by a bunch of her now loosened and 
 short sunbrown curls. 
 
 •• F_tL -he protested (but with no great anger). 
 
 *• There be twenty minute*' work undone ! * 
 
 •• Where bought you those roses ? n said he, sternly. 
 me, wench 1 
 
 •• I bought no roses, father 
 
 *• The pair. -r, not painted ? Where got you such a 
 
 face, madam '- 
 
 " Father, you have undone my hair ; and the parson is 
 coming to dinner. 
 
 "Nay, Til be sworn 'tis as honest a face as m- 
 nature ever made. This goodman Matthew hath belied 
 yw: 
 
 hat said he of me ? " she asked, with a flash of anger 
 in her 
 
 r father put his hand on her neck, and led her aw
 
 '•£a::c1 :-\ 
 
 
 ■:,i;;. 
 
 * — — 
 
 -i:i-r :izri -.7. 
 
 :* ~i :: :>•= "1.:- r:e= : -"--Vc r; -,- :; 
 
 ..-; >-- 
 
 • "t •■
 
 146 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Then wake again, and ever give God praise, 
 Content icith hips and haws and bramble-berry ; 
 
 In contemplation spending all his days, 
 
 And change of holy thoughts to make him merry ; 
 
 Where, ivhen he dies, his tomb may be a bush, 
 Wliere harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush.' " 
 
 " Is it that you are writing now, father ? " 
 " Nay, indeed," said he slowly, and a cloud came over his 
 face. " That was written by one that was my good friend 
 in bygone days ; by one that was betrayed and 'done to 
 death by lying tongues, and had but sorry favour shown 
 him in the end by those he had served." 
 
 He turned away. She thought she heard him say " My 
 noble Essex ! " but she was mutely following him. And 
 then he said — ■ 
 
 " Come, lass ; come pick me the berries ! " 
 He kept walking up and down by himself, while her 
 nimble fingers were busy with the bushes ; and when she 
 had collected a sufficiency of the fruit and brought it to 
 him, she found that he appeared to be in no hurry this 
 morning, but was now grown cheerful again, and rather 
 inclined to talk to her. And she was far from telling him 
 that her proper place at this moment was within-doors, to 
 see that the maids were getting things forward : and if she 
 bestowed a thought of any kind on the good parson, it was 
 to the effect that both he and the dinner would have to 
 wait. Her father had hold of her by the arm. He was 
 talking to her of all kinds of things, as they slowly walked 
 up and down the path — but of his friends in Stratford 
 mostly, and their various ways of living : and this she 
 conceived to have some reference to his project of with- 
 drawing altogether from London and settling down for 
 good amongst them. Indeed, so friendly and communica- 
 tive was he on this clear morning — in truth, they were 
 talking like brother and sister — that when at last he went 
 into the summer-house she made bold to follow ; and when 
 he chanced to look at some sheets lying on the table, she 
 said — 
 
 '• Father, what is the story of the man with the devices?" 
 For an instant he did not understand what she meant ; 
 then he lamrhed.
 
 A FIRST PERFORMANCE 147 
 
 " Nay, pay you no heed to such things, child." 
 
 " And why should not I, father, seeing that they bring you 
 so great honour ? " 
 
 " Honour, say you ? " — but then he seemed to check 
 himself. This was not Julius Shawe, to whom he could 
 speak freely enough about the conditions of an actor's life 
 in London. " Well, then, the story is of a banished Duke, 
 a man of great wisdom and skill, and he is living on a 
 desert island with his daughter — a right fair maiden she is, 
 too, and she has no other companion in the world but him- 
 self " 
 
 " But he is kind to her and good ? " she said quickly. 
 
 " Truly." 
 
 "What other companion would she have, then ? Is she 
 not content — ay, and right well pleased withal ? " 
 
 "Methinks the story would lag with but these," her 
 father said, with a smile. " Would you not have her fur- 
 nished with a lover — a young Prince and a handsome — one 
 that would play chess with her, and walk with her while her 
 father was busy ? " 
 
 " But how on a desert island ? How should she find such 
 an one ? " Judith said — with her eyes all intent. 
 
 " There, you see, is where the magic comes in. What if 
 her father have at his command a sprite, a goblin, that can 
 work all wonders — that can dazzle people in the dark, and 
 control the storm, and whistle the young Prince to the very 
 feet of his mistress ? " 
 
 Judith sighed, and glanced at the sheets lying on the 
 table. 
 
 " Alas, good father, why did you aid me in my folly, and 
 suffer me to grow up so ignorant ? " 
 
 " Folly, fond wench ! " said he, and he caught her by the 
 shoulders, and pushed her out of the summer-house. 
 " Thank God you have naught to do with any such stuff. 
 There, go you and seek out Prudence, and get you into the 
 fields, and give those pink roses in your cheeks an airing. 
 Is't not a rare morning ? And you would blear your eyes 
 with books, silly wench ? Get you gone — into the meadows 
 with you — and you may gather me a nosegay if your lingers 
 would have work." 
 
 " T must go indoors, father ; good Master Blaise is coming; 
 
 L 2
 
 148 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 to dinner," said she, " but I will bring you the nosegay in 
 the afternoon, so please you. So fare you well," she added ; 
 and she glanced at him, " and pray you, sir, be kind to the 
 young Prince." 
 
 He laughed and turned away ; and she hurried quickly 
 into the house. In truth, all through that day she had 
 plenty to occupy her attention ; but whether it was the 
 maids that were asking her questions, or her mother seeking 
 her help, or good Master Walter paying authoritative court 
 to her, her eyes were entirely distraught. For they saw 
 before them a strange island, with magic surrounding it, 
 and two young lovers, and a grave and elderly man regard- 
 ing them ; and she grew to wonder how much more of 
 that story was shut up in the summer-house, and to lament 
 her misfortune in that she could not go boldly to her father 
 and ask him to be allowed to read it. She felt quite 
 certain that, could she but sit down within there and 
 peruse these sheets for herself he would not say her nay ; 
 and from that conclusion to the next — that on the first 
 chance she would endeavour to borrow the sheets and 
 have them read to her — was but an obvious step, and one 
 that she had frequently taken before. Moreover, on this 
 occasion, the chance came to her sooner than she could 
 have expected. Towards dusk in the evening her father 
 went out, saying that he was going along to see how the 
 Harts were doing. Matthew gardener was gone home. The 
 parson had left hours before, and her mother was in the 
 brew-house and out of hearing. Finally, to crown her good 
 fortune she discovered that the key had been left in the door 
 of the summer-house ; and so the next minute found her 
 inside and on her knees. 
 
 It was a difficult task. There was scarcely any light, 
 for she dared not leave the door open ; and the mark that 
 she put on the sheets, to know which she had carried to 
 Prudence, was minute. And yet the sheets seemed to have 
 been tossed into this receptacle in fairly regular order ; and 
 when at length, and after much straining of her eyes, she 
 had got down to the marked ones, she was rejoiced to find 
 that there remained above these ;i large bulk of unperused 
 matter ; and the question was as to how much it would be 
 prudent to carry off. Further, she had to discover where
 
 A FIRST PERFORMANCE 149 
 
 there was some kind of division, so that the story should not 
 abruptly break off ; and she had acquired some experience in 
 this direction. In the end, the portion of the play that she 
 resolved upon taking with her was modest and small ; there 
 would be the less likelihood of detection ; and it was just 
 possible that she would have no opportunity of returning the 
 sheets that night. 
 
 And then she quickly got indoors, and put on her hood 
 and muffler, and slipped out into the dusk. She found 
 Prudence alone in the lower room, sitting sewing, the 
 candles on the table being already lit ; and some distance 
 off, curled up and fast asleep on the floor, lay the little 
 spaniel-gentle. 
 
 " Dear heart," said Judith brightly, as she glanced at the 
 little dog, " you have shown good sense after all ; I feared 
 me you would fall away from my wise counsel." 
 
 "My brother was well inclined to the little creature," 
 Prudence said, with some embarrassment. 
 
 " And you had a right merry evening, I'll be bound," 
 Judith continued blithely. " And was there singing ? — nay, 
 he can sing well when he is in the mood — none better. 
 Did he give you 
 
 * There is a garden in her face 
 Where roses and white lilies grow.' 
 
 — for Julius is more light-hearted in such matters than you 
 are, dear mouse. And was there any trencher-business ? — 
 and wine ? I warrant me Julius would not have his guest 
 sit dry-throated. 'Twas a merry evening, in good sooth, 
 sweetheart ? " 
 
 " They talked much together," Prudence said, with her 
 eyes cast down. 
 
 " They talked ? Mercy on us, were you not civil to him ? 
 Did you not thank him prettily for the little spaniel ? " 
 
 "In a measure I think 'twas Julius took the little 
 creature from him," Prudence said bashfully. 
 
 " Beshrew me now, but you know better ! — 'twas given 
 to you, you know right well : a spaniel-gentle for your 
 brother — as soon would he think of a farthingale and a 
 petticoat ! And what did he say ? Had he aught special to 
 say to you, gossip ? "
 
 ISO JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " He would have me look at an ancient book he had, 
 with strange devises on the leaves," Prudence said. " Truly, 
 'twas strange and wonderful, the ornamentation of it in 
 gold and colours, though I doubt me 'twas the work of 
 monks and priests. He would have me take it from him," 
 she added, with a faint blush. 
 
 " And you would not, silly one ? " Judith exclaimed 
 angrily. 
 
 " Would you have me place such Popish emblems along- 
 side such a book as that that Dr. Hall gave me ? Dear 
 Judith, 'twould be a pollution and a sin ! " 
 
 " But you gave him thanks for the offer, then ? " 
 
 " Of a surety ; 'twas meant in friendship." 
 
 " Well, well ; right glad am I to see the little beast lying 
 there ; and methinks your gentleness hath cast a spell o'er 
 it already, or 'twould not rest so soundly. And now, dear 
 mouse, I have come to tax your patience once more : see, 
 here is part of the new play ; and we must go to your 
 chamber, dear Prue, lest some one come in and discover 
 us." 
 
 Prudence laughed in her oiuiet fashion. 
 
 " I think 'tis you that casteth spells, Judith, else I should 
 not be aiding thee in this perilous matter." 
 
 But she took one of the candles in her hand nevertheless, 
 and led the way upstairs ; and then, when they had care- 
 fully bolted the door, Judith placed the roll of sheets on 
 the table, and Prudence sate down to arrange and decipher 
 them. 
 
 " But this time," Judith said, " have I less weight on my 
 conscience, for my father hath already told me part of the 
 story ; and why should not I know the rest ? Nay, but 
 it promises well, I do assure thee, sweetheart ; 'tis a rare 
 beginning — the desert island, and the sprite that can work 
 wonders, and the poor banished Duke and his daughter. 
 Ay, and there comes a handsome young Prince, too ; 
 marry, your shall hear of marvels ! For the sprite is one 
 that can work magic at the bidding of the Duke, and be 
 
 ii like a lire in the dark, and can lead a storm whither 
 ue li-t i " 
 
 ""lis with a storm that it begins," Prudence said, for 
 now she had arranged the sheets.
 
 A FIRST PERFORMANCE 151 
 
 And instantly Judith was all attention. It is true, she 
 seemed to care little for the first scene and the squabbles 
 between the sailors and the gentlemen ; she was anxious to 
 get to the enchanted island ; and when, at length, Prudence 
 introduced Prospero and Miranda, Judith listened as if a 
 new world were being slowly opened before her. And yet 
 not altogether with silence ; for sometimes she would utter 
 a few words of quick assent, or even explanation ; but 
 always so as not to interfere with the gentle-voiced reader. 
 By and by, when the banished Duke had come to the end 
 of his story, and when he had caused slumber to fall upon 
 his daughter's eyes, and was about to summon Ariel, 
 Judith interposed to give the patient reader a rest. 
 
 " And what say you, Prudence ? " said she eagerly. " Is't 
 not a beautiful story ? Is she not a sweet and obedient 
 maiden, and he a right noble and gentle father ? Ah, 
 there, now, they may talk about their masques and pageants 
 of the Court, and gods, and goddesses dressed up to saw 
 the air with long speeches : see you what my father can 
 tell you in a few words, so that you can scarcely wait but 
 must on to hear the rest. And do I hurry you, good Prue ? 
 Will you to it again ? For now the sprite is summoned 
 that is to work the magic." 
 
 " Indeed 'tis no heavy labour, Judith," her friend said, 
 with a smile. " And now here is your Ariel." She con- 
 tinued the reading. 
 
 " And hath he not done well, that clever imp ! " Judith 
 cried. "Nay, but my father shall reward him — that he 
 shall — 'twas bravely done and well. And now to bring the 
 Prince to the maiden that hath never seen a sweetheart — 
 that comes next, good Prue ? — I marvel now what she will 
 say?" 
 
 "'Tis not yet, Judith," her friend said, and she went on 
 with her task, while Judith sate and regarded the dusky 
 shadows beyond the flame of the candle as if the wonder- 
 world were shining there. Then they arrived at Ariel's 
 song, " Come unto these yellow sands," and all the hushed 
 air around seemed filled with music ; but it was distant 
 somehow, so that it did not interfere with Prudence's gentle 
 voice. 
 
 " But would he take her away ? " said Judith, presently
 
 152 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 (but to herself, as it were). " Nay, never so ! They must 
 remain on the island — the two happy lovers — with Ariel to 
 wait on them : surely my father will so make it ? " 
 
 Then, as it appeared, came trouble to check the too swift 
 anticipations of the Prince, though Judith guessed that the 
 father of Miranda was but feigning in his wrath ; and when 
 Prudence finally came to the end of such sheets as had been 
 brought her, and looked up, Judith's eyes were full of 
 confidence and pride — not only because she was sure that 
 the story would end happily, but also because she would 
 have her chosen gossip say something about what she had 
 read. 
 
 " Well ? " said she. 
 
 " 'Tis a marvel," Prudence said, with a kind of sigh, 
 " that shapes of the air can so take hold of us." 
 
 Judith smiled ; there was something in her manner that 
 Prudence did not understand. 
 
 "And Master Jonson, good Prue — that they call Ben 
 Jonson — what of him ? " 
 
 " I know not what you mean, Judith." 
 
 " Sure you know they make so much of him at the Court 
 — and of his long speeches about Greece and Kome and the 
 like — and when one comes into the country with news of 
 what is going forward, by my life you'd think that Master 
 Jonson were the only writer in the land ! "What say you, 
 good Prue : could worthy Master Jonson invent you a scene 
 like that ? " 
 
 " In truth I know not, Judith ; I never read aught of 
 his writing." 
 
 Judith took over the sheets and carefully rolled them up. 
 
 " Why," said she, " 'twas my father brought him forward ; 
 and had his first play taken in at the theatre ! " 
 
 "Put your father and he arc great friends, Judith, as I 
 am told ; why should you speak against him ? " 
 
 " I speak against him ? " said Judith, as she rose ; and 
 there was an air of calm indifference on her face. " In 
 truth I have naught to say against the good man. 'Tis 
 w<ll that the Court ladies are pleased with Demogorgons and 
 such idle stuff ; and 'tis passing well that he knows the 
 trade. Now give ye good-night and sweet dreams, dear 
 mouse ; and good thanks, too, for the reading,"
 
 BY THE RIVER 
 
 1*3 
 
 Bat at the door below — Prudence having- followed her 
 with the candle — she turned and said, in a whisper — 
 
 " Now, tell me true, good cousin : think you my father 
 hath ever done better than this magic island, and the sweet 
 Miranda, and the rest ? " 
 
 " You know I am no judge of such matters, Judith," her 
 friend answered. 
 
 " But, dear heart, were you not bewitched by it ? Were 
 you not taken away thither ? Saw you not those strange 
 things before your very eyes ? " 
 
 "In good sooth, then, Judith," said the other, with a 
 smile, "for the time being I knew not that I was in Strat- 
 ford town, nor in our own country of England either." 
 
 Judith laughed lightly and quickly, and with a kind 
 of pride too. And when she got home to her own room, 
 and once more regarded the roll of sheets before bestowing 
 them away in a secret place, there was a fine bravery of 
 triumph in her eyes. " Ben Jonson ! " she said, but no 
 longer with any anger — rather with a sovereign contempt. 
 Then she locked up the treasure in her small cupboard of 
 boxes, and went downstairs again to seek out her mother ; 
 and now her heart was quite recovered from its envy, and 
 was beating warm and equably in its disposition towards 
 all mankind ; and her mind was full of a proud and perfect 
 confidence. " Ben Jonson 1 " she said. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BY THE RIVER. 
 
 The next morning she was unusually demure, and yet 
 merry withal. In her own chamber, as she chose out a 
 petticoat of pale blue taffeta, and laid on the bed her girdle 
 of buff -coloured leather, and proceeded to array herself in 
 these and other braveries, it was to the usual accompani- 
 ment of thoughtless and quite inconsequent ballad-singing. 
 At one moment it was " Green-sleeves was all my joy," and 
 again, " Fair, fair, and twice so fair," or perhaps — 
 
 "in ambling nag, and a-doicn, a-down, 
 We have borne her aicay to Darqison,"
 
 1 5 4 JUDITH SHA KESPEA RE 
 
 But when she came to take forth from the cupboard of 
 boxes the portion of the play she had locked up there the 
 night before, and when she carefully placed that in a 
 satchel of dark blue velvet that she had attached to the 
 girdle, she was silent ; and when she went downstairs, and 
 encountered her mother there was a kind of anxious 
 innocence on her face. The good parson (she explained) 
 had remained so late on the previous afternoon, and there 
 were so many things about the house she had to attend 
 to, that she had been unable to get out into the fields, as 
 her father had bade her, to bring him home some wild 
 flowers. Besides, as every one knew, large dogs got weak 
 in the hind legs if they were kept chained up too con- 
 tinously ; and it was absolutely necessary she should take 
 Don Boderigo out for a run with her through the meadows 
 if her father would permit. 
 
 " There be plenty of flowers in the garden, surely," her 
 mother said, who was busy with some leather hangings, and 
 wanted help. 
 
 " But he would liefer have some of the little wildlings, 
 good mother," said Judith. " That I know right well, for 
 he is pleased to see them lying on the table before him ; 
 and sometimes, too, he puts the names of them in his 
 writing." 
 
 " How know you that ? " was the immediate and sharp 
 question. 
 
 " As I have heard, good mother," Judith said, with calm 
 equanimity. 
 
 And then she went to the small mirror to see that her 
 gray velvet cap and starched ruff were all right. 
 
 " What can your father want with wild flowers if he is 
 to remain the whole day at Warwick ?" her mother said. 
 
 " Is my father going to Warwick ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 " If he be not already set forth." 
 
 She glanced at the window; there was neither horse 
 nor serving-man waiting there. And then she hastily went 
 out and through the backyard into the garden, and there, 
 sure enough, was her father, ready booted for the road, and 
 giving a few parting directions to his baililT. 
 
 "Well, wench," he said, when he had finished with the 
 man, " what would you ? "
 
 BY THE RIVER 155 
 
 She had taken from her purse all the money she could 
 find there. 
 
 " Good father," said she, " will you do this errand for 
 me at Warwick ? " 
 
 " More vanities ? " said he. " I wonder you have no 
 commissioner to despatch to Spain and Flanders. What 
 is't then ? — a muff of satin — a grimmal ring " 
 
 " No, no, not so, father ; I would have you buy for me 
 a clasp-knife — as good a one as the money will get ; and 
 the cutler must engrave on the Made, or on the handle, I 
 care not which, a message — an inscription, as it were ? — 
 'tis but three words — For Judith's Sweetheart. Could 
 you remember that, good father ? — is't too much of a 
 trouble ? " 
 
 " How now ? " said he. " For whom do you wish me 
 to bring you such a token ? " 
 
 "Nay, sir," said she, demurely, "would you have me 
 name names ? The gift of a sweetheart to a sweetheart is 
 a secret thing." 
 
 " You are a mad wench," said he (though doubtless he 
 guessed for whom the knife was intended), and he called to 
 Matthew gardener to go round and see if Master Shawe 
 were not yet ready. " But now I bethink me, child, I have 
 a message for thee. Good Master Walter spoke to me 
 yesternight about what much concerns him — and you." 
 
 Instantly all her gay self-confidence vanished ; she be- 
 came confused, anxious, timid ; and she regarded him as if 
 she feared what his look or manner might convey. 
 
 " Yes, sir ? " she said, in rather a low voice. 
 
 " Well, you know what the good man wishes," her father 
 said, "and he speaks fairly, and reasoneth well. Your 
 mother, too, would be right well pleased." 
 
 " And you, sir ? " she said, rather faintly. 
 
 " I ? " said he. " Nay, 'tis scarce a matter that I can say 
 aught in. Tis for yourself to decide, wench ; but were 
 you inclined to favour the young parson I should be well 
 pleased enough — indeed 'tis so — a good man and honest, 
 as I take him to be — of fair attainment, and I know of 
 none that bear him ill will, or have aught to say against 
 him. Nay, if your heart be set that way, wench, I see no 
 harm ; you are getting on in years to be still in the
 
 156 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 unmarried state ; and, as he himself says, there would be 
 security in seeing you settled in a home of your own, and 
 your future no longer open and undecided. Nay, nay, I 
 see no harm, He reasons well." 
 
 " But, father, know you why he would have me become 
 his wife ? " Judith said, with a wild feeling overcoming her 
 that she was drowning and must needs throw out her hands 
 for help. " 'Tis for no matter of affection that I can make 
 out — or that he might not as well choose any other in the 
 town — but 'tis that I should help him in his work — and — 
 and — labour in the vineyard, as he saith. In truth I am 
 all unfit for such a task — there be many another far better 
 fitted than I ; my mother must know that right well. 
 There is little that I would not do to please her ; but 
 surely we might all of us have just as much of the good 
 man's company without this further bond. But what say 
 you, father ? What is your wish ? " she added humbly. 
 " Perchance I could bring my mind to it if all were anxious 
 that it should be so." 
 
 " Why, I have told thee, wench, thou must choose for 
 thyself. 'T would please your mother right well, as I say ; 
 and as for the duties of a parson's wife — nay, nay, they are 
 none so difficult. Have no fears on that score, good lass ; 
 I dare be sworn you are as honest and well-minded as most, 
 though perchance you make less profession of it." (The 
 gratitude that sprang to her eyes, and shone there, in spite 
 of her downcast face !) " Nor must you think the good 
 parson has but that end in view ; 'tis not in keeping with 
 his calling that he should talk the language of romances. 
 Consider it, wench, consider. And there is more for you to 
 think of. Even if Master Blaise be no vehement lover, as 
 some of the young rattlepatcs might be, that is but a tem- 
 porary thing ; 'tis the long years of life that weigh for the 
 most ; and all through these you would be in an honourable 
 station, well thought of and respected. Nay, there be 
 many, I can tell thee, lass, that might look askance now at 
 the player's daughter, who would bo right glad to welcome 
 the parson's wife." 
 
 " What say you, father ? " said she— and she was so 
 startled that the blood forsook her lips for a moment. 
 "That — that — there lie those — who scorn the player's
 
 BY THE RIVER 157 
 
 daughter — and would favour the parsou's wife ? " And 
 then she instantly added, " I pray you, sir, did not you say 
 that I was to decide for myself ? " 
 
 " Truly, child, truly ! " said he, somewhat wondering at 
 her manner, for her face had grown quite pale. 
 
 " Then I have decided, father." 
 
 " And how ? What answer will you have for Master 
 Walter?" 
 
 She spoke slowly now, and with a distinctness that was 
 almost harsh. 
 
 "This, so please you, sir — that the player's daughter 
 shall not, and shall never, become the parson's wife, God 
 helping her ! " 
 
 "Why, how now, what a coil is this!" he exclaimed. 
 " Good lass, 'twas not the parson that said aught of the 
 kind. Lay not that to his charge, in fair honesty ! " 
 
 " I have decided," she said proudly and coldly. " Father, 
 the horses are brought round — I can hear them. You 
 will not forget the knife, and the message on the blade ? " 
 
 He looked at her and laughed — but in a kindly way ; 
 and he took her by the shoulder. 
 
 " Nay, now, wench, thou shalt not throw over the good 
 man for a matter that was none of his bringing forward. 
 And why should you wish to have less than the respect of 
 all your neighbours, all and sundry, whatever be their 
 views ? In good sooth I meant to speak for the parson, 
 and not to harm him ; and when I have more time I must 
 undo the ill that I have done him. So soften your heart, 
 you proud one, and be thankful for the honour he would 
 do you, and think over it, and be civil and grateful." 
 
 " Nay, I will be civil enough to the good minister," said 
 she, with a return to her ordinary placid humour, " if he 
 speak no more of making me his wife." 
 
 " He will win you yet, for as stubborn as you are," her 
 father said, with a smile. " He hath a rare gift of reason ; 
 do not say nay too soon, wench, lest you have to recall your 
 words. Fare you well, lass, fare you well ! " 
 
 " And forget not the knife, good father. ' With Judith's 
 love,'* or ' For Judith's Sweetheart' or what you will." 
 And then she added daringly : " 'Tis for the young Prince 
 Mamilius, if you must know, good sir."
 
 153 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 He was just going away, but this caused him to stop for 
 a second ; and he glanced at her with a curious kind of 
 suspicion. But her eyes had become quite inscrutable. What- 
 ever of dark mischief was within them was not to be made 
 out but by further questioning, and for that he had now no 
 time. So she was left alone, mistress of the field and rather 
 inclined to laugh at her own temerity, until it occurred to 
 her that now she could go leisurely forth for her stroll along 
 the banks of the Avon, taking the great dog with her. 
 
 Indeed her anger was always short-lived. Or perhaps 
 it was the feeling that this danger was got rid of — that the 
 decision was taken, and the parson finally and altogether 
 left behind her — that now raised her spirits. At all events, 
 as she went along the thoroughfare and cheerfully greeted 
 those that met her, the neighbours said 'twas little wonder 
 that Master William Shakespeare's second daughter put off 
 the choosing of a mate for herself, for that she seemed to 
 grow younger and more winsome every day. And she 
 knew all the children by name, and had a word for them — 
 scolding or merry as the case might be — when that she 
 pissed them by; and what with the clear sunlight of 
 the morning, and the fresher atmosphere as she got out of 
 the town, it seemed to herself as if all the air were filled 
 with music. 
 
 " Then sigh not so, but 1> t them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny" 
 
 she said or sang to herself ; and she had not a trace of ill 
 will in her mind against the parson (although she did not 
 fail to recollect that she was a player's daughter) ; and she 
 was admonishing the Don to take good care of her, for that 
 phantom conspirators and such like evil creatures might 
 he about. And so she got down to the river-side ; but she 
 did not cross ; she kept along by the path that followed 
 the windings of the stream, between the wide meadows and 
 the luxurious vegetation that overhung the current. 
 
 This English-looking landsc roe avus at its fairest on this 
 fair morning, for some heavy rain in the night had washed 
 the atmosphere clear ; everything seemed sharp and lumin- 
 ous : and the rows of trees along the summits of the distant 
 an 1 low-lying hills were almost black againsi the white and
 
 BY THE RIVER 159 
 
 blue sky. Nearer her all the foliage of the wide-branching 
 
 elms was stirring and rustling before a soft westerly breeze ; 
 the flooded river was of a tawny brown, while its banks 
 were a wilderness of wild flowers between the sterns of the 
 stunted willows— straggling rose-bushes of white and red, 
 tall masses of goose-grass all powdered over with cream- 
 white blossom, a patch of fragrant meadow-sweet here and 
 there, or an occasional blood-red poppy burning among 
 the dark dull greens. And as for companions ? Well, she 
 caught a glimpse of a brood of ducks sidling along by the 
 reeds, and tried to follow them, but the bushes shut them 
 out from her sight. A mare and her foal, standing under 
 the cool shadow of the trees, gazed blankly at her as she 
 passed. Farther off there were some shorn sheep in the 
 meadows, but she could see no shepherd. The harsh note 
 of the corn-crake sounded somewhere in the long grass ; 
 and the bees were busy ; and now and again a blue-backed 
 swallow would swoop by her and over the stream ; while 
 all around there was a smell of clover sweetening the 
 westerly wind. At this moment she convinced herself she 
 bore no ill will at all against the good parson : only that 
 she had it in her mind that she would be well content to 
 remain a player's daughter. Her condition, she imagined, 
 was one that she did not desire to have bettered. Why, 
 the air that touched her cheek was like velvet ; and there 
 could be nothing in the world fairer than the pink and 
 white roses bestarring the bushes there ; and the very 
 pulse of her blood seemed to beat to an unheard and 
 rythmical and subtle tune. What was it her father had 
 said ? "I dare be sworn you are as honest and well-minded 
 as most, though perchance you make less profession of it." 
 She laughed to herself, with a kind of pride. And she was 
 so well content that she wished she had little Willie Hart 
 here that she might put her hand on his shoulder, and pet 
 him, and convey to him some little of that satisfaction that 
 reigned within her own bosom. No matter, he should have 
 the clasp-knife — "with Judith's tore," — and right proud he 
 would be of that, she made sure. And so she went idly on 
 her way, sometimes with — 
 
 " Fair, fair, and twice so fair. 
 And fair as any may be,"
 
 i6d JUDlTtt SHAKESPEARE 
 
 coming uncalled for into her head ; and always with an eye 
 to the various \vild flowers, to see what kind of a nosegay 
 she would be able to gather on her homeward walk. 
 
 But by and by her glances began to go farther afield. 
 Master Leofric Hope, in his brief references to his own 
 habits and condition at the farm, had incidentally remarked 
 that of all his walks abroad he preferred the following of 
 the path by the river-side, for there he was most secure from 
 observation. Nay, he said that sometimes, after continued 
 solitude, a longing possessed him to see a town — to see a 
 populated place filled with a fair number of his fellow- 
 creatures — and that he would come within sight of Stratford 
 itself and have a look at the church, and the church spire, 
 and the thin blue smoke rising over the houses. That, he 
 said, was safer for him than coming over such an exposed 
 thoroughfare as Bardon Hill ; and then again, when he was 
 of a mind to read— for this time he had brought one or two 
 books with him — he could find many a sheltered nook by 
 the side of the stream, where even a passer-by would not 
 suspect his presence. Nor could Judith, on this fresh, warm, 
 breezy morning, conceal from herself the true object of her 
 coming forth. If she had tried to deceive herself the con- 
 tents of the blue velvet satchel would have borne crushing 
 testimony against her. In truth, she was now looking with 
 some eagerness to find whether, on such a pleasant morning, 
 it was possible that he could have remained within-doors, 
 and with the very distinct belief that sooner or later she 
 would encounter him. 
 
 Nor was she mistaken, though the manner of the meeting 
 was unexpected. The mastiff happened to have gone on a 
 yard or two in front of her, and she was paying but little 
 attention to the beast, when all of a sudden it stopped, 
 became rigid, and uttered a low growl. She sprang forward 
 and seized it by the collar. At the same instant she caught 
 Bight of some one down by the water's edge, where, but for 
 this occurrence, he would doubtless have escaped observa- 
 tion. It was Leofric Hope without a doubt; for now he 
 was clambering up through the bushes, and she saw that he 
 had u small lunik in his hand. 
 
 " My good fortune pursues me, fair Mistress Judith," said 
 lie (but with ;i watchful eye on the dog), " that I should so
 
 BY THE RIVER 161 
 
 soon again have an opportunity of meeting with you. But 
 perchance your protector is jealous ? He likes not 
 strangers ? " 
 
 " A lamb, sir, a very lamb ! " .Judith said, and she patted 
 the dog, and coaxed him, and got him into a more friendly 
 — or, at least, neutral and watchful — frame of mind. 
 
 " I marvel not you have come forth on such a morning," 
 said he, regarding the fresh colour in her face. " 'Tis a rare 
 morning, and 'tis a rare chance for one that is a prisoner, as 
 it were, that his dungeon is not four walls, but the wide 
 spaces of Warwickshire. Will you go farther ? May I 
 attend you ? " 
 
 " Nay, sir," said she, " I but came forth to look at the 
 country and see what blossoms I could carry back to my 
 father. I will go as far as the stile there and rest a few 
 minutes, and return." 
 
 " 'Tis like your kindness, sweet lady, to vouchsafe me a 
 moment's conversation ; a book is but a dull companion," 
 said he, as they walked along to the stile that formed part 
 of a boundary edge. And when they reached it she seated 
 herself on the wooden bar with much content, and the 
 mastiff lay down, stretching out his paws, while the young 
 gentleman stood idly — but not carelessly — by. He seemed 
 more than ever anxious to interest his fair neighbour, and 
 so to beguile her into remaining. 
 
 " A dull companion," he repeated, " it is ; one would 
 rather hear the sound of one's voice occasionally. When I 
 came along here this morning I should have been right glad 
 even to have had a she shepherd say, ' Good-morrow ' to 
 me " 
 
 " A what, good sir ? " she asked. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis a book the wits in London have much merri- 
 ment over just now — a guide-book for the use of foreigners 
 coming to this country — and there be plenty of them at 
 present, in the train of the ambassadors. Marry, the good 
 man's English is none of the best. ' For to ask the way 1 
 is a chapter of the book ; and the one traveller says to the 
 other, ' Ask of that she shepherd 1 — in truth, the phrase hath 
 been caught up by the town. But the traveller is of a 
 pleasant and courteous turn ; when that he would goto bed, 
 
 M
 
 162 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 he says to the chambermaid : ' Draw the curtains, and pin 
 them with a pin. My she friend, kiss me once, and I shall 
 sleep the better. I thank you, fair maiden.' Well, their 
 English may be none of the best, but they have a royal way 
 with them, some of those foreigners that come to our Court. 
 When the Constable of Castile was at the great banquet 
 at Whitehall — doubtless you heard of it, sweet Mistress 
 Judith ? — he rose and drank the health of the Queen from 
 a cup of agate of extraordinary value, all set with diamonds 
 and rubies, and when the King had drunk from the same 
 cup the Constable called a servant, and desired that the cup 
 should be placed on his Majesty's buffet, to remain there : 
 was't not a royal gift ? And so likewise he drank the health 
 of the King from a beautiful dragon-shaped cup of crystal 
 all garnished with gold ; but he drank from the cover only, 
 for the Queen, standing up, drank the pledge from the cup 
 itself ; and then he would have that in turn transferred to 
 her buffet, as he had given the other one to the King." 
 
 "My father," said she, with much complaeent good- 
 nature — for she had got into the way of talking to this 
 young gentleman with a marvellous absence of restraint or 
 country shyness — " hath a tankard of great age and value, 
 and on the silver top of it is a tribute engraved from many 
 of his friends — truly, I would that you could come and see 
 it, good sir — and — and — my father, too, he would make you 
 welcome, I doubt not. And what book is it," she continued, 
 with a smile, " that you have for companion, seeing that 
 there be no she shepherd for you to converse withal ? " 
 
 " 'Tis but a dull affair," said he, scarce looking at it, for 
 Judith's eyes were more attractive reading. " And yet if 
 the book itself be dull, there is that within its boards that 
 is les3 so. Perchance you have not heard of one Master 
 Browne, a young Devonshire gentleman, that hath but late 
 come to London, and that only for a space, as I reckon ? " 
 
 " No, sir " she said hesitatingly. 
 
 " The young man bath made some stir with his poems," 
 he continued, "though there be none of them in the book- 
 Bellers' hands as yet. And as it has been my good fortune 
 to see one or two of them — marry, I am no judge, but I 
 would call them excellent and of much modesty and grace 
 — I tool; occasion to pencil down a few of thu lines, inside
 
 BY THE RIVER 163 
 
 the cover of this little book. May I read them to you, 
 Mistress Judith ? " 
 
 " If it please you, good sir." 
 
 He opened the book, and she saw that there were some 
 lines pencilled on the gray binding ; but they must have 
 been familiar to him, for he scarce took his eyes from 
 Judith's face as he repeated them. 
 
 " They are a description," said he, " of one that must 
 have been fair indeed : 
 
 'Her cheeks, the wonder of what eye beheld, 
 
 Begot betwixt a lily and a rose, 
 In gentle rising plains divinely swelled, 
 
 Where all the graces and the loves repose. 
 Nature in this piece all her works excelled, 
 
 Yet showed herself imperfect in the close, 
 For she forgot (rvhen she so fair did raise her) 
 To give the tvorld a wit might duly praise her. 
 
 ' When that she spoke, as at a voice from heaven 
 On her sweet words all ears and hearts attended ; 
 
 When that she sung, they thought the jjlanets seven 
 By her sweet voice might well their tunes have mended; 
 
 When she did sigh, all were of joy bereaven; 
 And when she smiled, heaven had them all befriended : 
 
 If that her voice, sighs, smiles, so many thrilled, 
 
 0, had she kissed, how many had she killed I ' " 
 
 " 'Tis a description of a lady of the Court ? " Judith 
 asked timidly. 
 
 " No, by heavens," he said, with warmth, " the bonniest 
 of our English roses are they that grow in the country 
 air ! " — and his glance of admiration was so open and un- 
 disguised, and the application of his words so obvious, that 
 her eyes fell, and, in spite of herself, the colour mounted to 
 her cheeks. In her embarrassment she sought safety in the 
 blue velvet satchel. She had contemplated some other way 
 of introducing this latest writing of her father's ; but now 
 that had all fled from her brain. She knew that the town 
 gentlemen were given to flattery ; but then she was not 
 accustomed to it. And she could not but swiftly surmise 
 that he had written down these lines with the especial object 
 of addressing them to her, when he should have the chance. 
 
 " Good sir," said she, endeavouring to hide this brief em- 
 barrassment by assuming a merry air, " a fair exchange, they 
 
 M 2
 
 164 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 say, is no robbery. Methinks you will find something here 
 that will outweigh good Master Browne's verses — in bulk, if 
 not in merit." 
 
 He gazed in astonishment at the parcel of sheets she 
 handed to him, and he but glanced at the first page when 
 he exclaimed — ■ 
 
 " Why, I have heard naught of this before." 
 
 "Nay, sir," said she, with a calm smile, "the infant is 
 but young — but a few weeks, as I take it — it hath had but 
 little chance of making a noise in the world as yet ? Will 
 you say what you think of it ? " 
 
 But now he was busy reading. Then by and by she 
 recollected something of the manner in which she had 
 meant to introduce the play. 
 
 " You see, sir, my father hath many affairs on his hands ; 
 'tis not all his time he can give to such things. And yet I 
 have heard that they be well spoken of in London — if not 
 by the wits, perchance, or by the Court ladies, at least by 
 the common people and the prentices. We in these parts 
 have but little skill of learning ; but — but methinks 'tis a 
 pretty story — is it not, good sir ?■ — and perchance as in- 
 teresting as a speech from a goddess among the clouds ? " 
 
 " In truth, it is a rare invention," said he, but absently, 
 for his whole and rapt attention was fixed on the sheets. 
 
 She, seeing him so absorbed, did not interfere further. 
 She sate still and content — perhaps with a certain sedate 
 triumph in her eyes. She listened to the rustling of the elms 
 overhead, and watched the white clouds slowly crossing the 
 blue, and the tawny-hued river lazily and noiselessly stealing 
 by below the bushes. The corn-crake was silent now — 
 there was not even that interruption ; and when the bell in 
 the church-tower began to toll, it was so soft and faint and 
 distant that she thought it most likely he would not even 
 hear it. And at what point was he now ? At the story of 
 how the sweet Miranda came to grow up in exile ? Or 
 listening to Ariel's song ? Or watching the Prince 
 approach this new wonder of the magic island ? Her eyes 
 were full of triumph. " Ben Jonson ! " she had said. 
 
 But suddenly he closed the sheets together. 
 
 "It were unmannerly so to keep you waiting," said he. 
 
 " Nay, heed not that, good sir," she said instantly. " I
 
 BY THE RIVER 165 
 
 pray you go on with the reading. How like you it ? 'Tis 
 a pretty story, methinks ; but my father hath been so busy 
 of late — what with acres, and tithes, and sheep, and malt, 
 and the like — that perchance he hath not given all his mind 
 to it " 
 
 " It is not for one such as I, fair Mistress Judith," said 
 he, with much modesty, " to play the critic when it is your 
 father's writing that comes forward. Beshrew me, there be 
 plenty of that trade in London, and chiefly the feeble folk 
 that he hath driven from our stage. No, sweet lady ; 
 rather consider me one of those that crowd to see each new 
 piece of his, and are right thankful for aught he pleaseth 
 to give us." 
 
 " Is that so ? " said she ; and she regarded him with much 
 favour, which he was not slow to perceive. 
 
 " Why," said he, boldly, " what needs your father to heed 
 if some worshipful Master Scoloker be of opinion that the 
 play of the Prince Hamlet belongeth to the vulgar sort, 
 and that the Prince was but moon-sick ; or that some one 
 like Master Greene — God rest his soul, wherever it be ! — 
 should call him an upstart crow, and a Johannes factotum, 
 and the like ? 'Tis what the people of England think that 
 is of import ; and right sure am I what they would say — 
 that there is no greater writer than your father now living 
 in the land." 
 
 " Ah, think you so ? " she said quickly, and her face grew 
 radiant, as it were, and her eyes were filled with gratitude. 
 
 " This Master Greene," he continued, " was ever jibing 
 at the players, as I have heard, and bidding them be more 
 humble, for that their labour was but mechanical, and they 
 but attracting notice through wearing borrowed plumes. 
 Nay, he would have it that your father was no more than 
 that — poor man, he lived but a sorry life, and 'twere ill done 
 to cherish anger against him ; but I remember to have seen 
 the apology that he that published the book made there- 
 after to your father — in good truth, it was fitting and right 
 that it should be printed and given to the world ; and, 
 though I forget the terms of it, 'twas in fair praise of Master 
 William Shakespeare's gentle demeanour, and his upright- 
 ness of conduct, and the grace of his wit." 
 
 " Could you get that for me ? good sir ? " said she, eagerly.
 
 1 66 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Is't possible that I could get it ? " And then she stopped 
 in some embarrassment, for she remembered that it was not 
 becoming she should ask this stranger for a gift. " Nay, 
 sir, 'twould be of little use to me, that have no skill of 
 reading." 
 
 " But I pray you, sweet Mistress Judith, to permit me to 
 bring you the book — 'twill be something, at least, for you 
 to keep and show to your friends " 
 
 " If I might show it to Prudence Shawe, I could return 
 it to you, good sir," said she ; and then she added : " Not 
 that she — no, nor any one in Stratford town — would need 
 any such testimony to my father's qualities, that are known 
 to all." 
 
 " At least they seem to have won him the love and 
 loyalty of his daughter," said he, gallantly ; " and they know 
 most about a man who live nearest him. Nay, but I will 
 beg you to accept the book from me when I can with safety 
 get to London again ; 'twill be a charge I am not likely to 
 forget. And in return, fair Mistress Judith, I would take 
 of you another favour, and a greater." 
 
 " In what manner, gentle sir ? " 
 
 " I have but glanced over this writing, for fear of de- 
 taining you, and but half know the value of it," said he. 
 " I pray you let me have it with me to my lodging for an 
 hour or two, that I may do it justice. When one hath such 
 a chance come to him, 'tis not to be lightly treated ; and I 
 would give time and quiet to the making out the beauties 
 of your father's latest work." 
 
 She was at first somewhat startled by this proposal ; and 
 almost involuntarily was for putting forth her hand to 
 receive the sheets again into safe keeping ; but then she 
 asked herself what harm there could be in acceding to his 
 request. She was eagerly anxious that he should under- 
 stand how her father — even amidst those multifarious 
 occupations that were entailed on him by his prominent 
 position in the town — could, when he chose, sit down and 
 v, rite a talc far exceeding in beauty and interest any of the 
 niuinmerics that the Court people seemed to talk about. 
 Why should not he have a few hours' time to study this 
 fragment withal ? Her father was gone to Warwick for the 
 day. Nay, more, she had taken so small a portion of what
 
 BY THE RIVER 167 
 
 had been cast aside that she knew the absence of it wonld 
 not be noticed, however long it might be kept. And then 
 this young gentleman, who was so civil and courteous, and 
 who spoke so well of her father, was alone, and to be pitied 
 for that he had so few means of beguiling the tedium of 
 his hiding. 
 
 " In the afternoon," said he, seeing that she hesitated, " I 
 could with safety leave it at your grandmother's cottage ; 
 and then, perchance, you might send some one for it. Nay, 
 believe me, sweet Mistress Judith, I know the value of that 
 I ask ; but I would fain do justice to such a treasure." 
 
 " You would not fail me, sir, in leaving it at the cottage ? " 
 said she. 
 
 " You do me wrong, Mistress Judith, to doubt — in good 
 sooth you do. If you can find a trusty messenger " 
 
 " Nay, but I will come for it myself, good sir, and 
 explain to my grandmother the nature of the thing, lest she 
 suspect me of meddling with darker plots. Let it be so, 
 then, good sir — for now I must get me back to the town. 
 I pray you, forget not to leave the package ; and so — fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 " But my thanks to you, dear lady " 
 
 "Nay, sir," said she, with a bright look of her eyes, 
 " bethink you you have not yet fairly made out the matter. 
 Tarry till you have seen whether these sheets be worth the 
 trouble — whether they remind you in aught of the work of 
 your friend Master Jonson — and then your thanks will be 
 welcome. Give ye good-day, gentle sir ! " 
 
 There was no thought in her mind that she had done 
 anything imprudent in trusting him with this portion of the 
 play for the matter of an hour or two ; it was but a small 
 equivalent, she recollected, for his promise to bring her from 
 London the retractation or apology of one of those who had 
 railed at her father, or abetted in that, and found himself 
 constrained by his conscience to make amends. And now 
 it occurred to her that it would look ill, if, having come 
 out to gather some wild flowers for the little table in the 
 summer-house, she returned with empty hands ; so, as she 
 proceeded to walk leisurely along the winding path leading 
 back to the town, she kept picking here and there such 
 blossoms as came within her reach. If the noseg;iy pro-
 
 1 68 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 raised to be somewhat large and straggling, at least it would 
 be sweet-scented ; and she felt pretty sure that her father 
 would be well content with it. At first she was silent, 
 however ; her wonted singing was abandoned ; perchance 
 she was trying to recall something of the lines that Master 
 Leofric Hope had repeated to her — with so marked an 
 emphasis. 
 
 " And what said he of our English roses ? " she asked 
 herself, with some faint colour coming into her face at the 
 mere thought of it. 
 
 But then she forcibly dismissed these recollections — 
 feeling that that was due to her own modesty — and busied 
 herself with her blossoms and sprays ; and presently, as she 
 set out in good earnest for the town, she strove to convince 
 herself that there was nothing more serious in her brain 
 than the tune of Green-sleeves — 
 
 " Green-sleeves, now fareivell, adieu, 
 Clod I pray to prosper thee; 
 For I am still thy lover true — 
 Come once again and love me ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WILD WORDS. 
 
 Her light-heartcdness did not last long. In the wide clear 
 landscape a human figure suddenly appeared, and the 
 briefest turn of her head showed her that Tom Quiney was 
 rapidly coining towards her across the fields. For a second 
 her heart stood still. Had he been riding home from 
 Ludington ? Or from Bidford ? Was it possible that he 
 had come over Bardon Hill, and from that height espied 
 the two down by the river? She could not even tell 
 whether that was possible — or what he had done with his 
 horse — or why lie had not interfered sooner, if he was benb 
 on interfering ; but she had an alarmed impression that this 
 rapid approach of his boded trouble, and she had not long 
 to wait before that fear was confirmed. 
 
 " Judith, who is that man ? " he demanded, with a fury 
 that was but half held in. 
 
 She turned and faced him,
 
 WILD WORDS 169 
 
 " I knew not," she said, coldly and slowly, " that we were 
 on a speaking platform." 
 
 " 'Tis no time to bandy words," said he — and his face 
 was pale, for he was evidently striving to control the passion 
 with which his whole figure seemed to quiver from head to 
 heel. " Who is that man, I ask ? Who is he, that you 
 come here to seek him, and alone ? " 
 
 " I know not by what right you put such questions to 
 me," she said — but she was somewhat frightened. 
 
 " By what right ? And you have no regard, then, for 
 your good name ? " 
 
 There was a flash in her eyes. She had been afraid : she 
 was no longer afraid. 
 
 " My good name ? " she repeated. " I thank God 'tis in 
 none of your keeping ! " 
 
 In his madness he caught her by the wrist. 
 
 " You shall tell me " 
 
 " Unhand me, sir ! " she exclaimed, and she threw off his 
 grasp, while her cheeks burned with humiliation. 
 
 " Nay, I quarrel not with women," said he. " I crave 
 your pardon. But, by God, I will get to know that man's 
 name and purpose here if I rive it from his body ! " 
 
 So he strode off — in the direction that Leofric Hopo 
 had taken ; and for a moment she stood quite terror- 
 stricken and helpless, scarcely daring to think of what 
 might happen. A murder on this fair morning ? This 
 young fellow, that was quite beside himself in his passion 
 of jealous anger, was famed throughout the length and 
 breadth of Warwickshire for his wrestling prowess. And 
 the other — would he brook high words ? These things 
 flashed across her mind in one bewildering instant and in 
 her alarm she forgot all about her pride. She called to 
 him. 
 
 " I pray you — stay ! " 
 
 He turned and regarded her. 
 
 " Stay," said she, with her face afire. " I — I will tell 
 you what I know of him — if you will have it so." 
 
 He approached her — with seeming reluctance, and with 
 anger and suspicion in his lowering look. He was silent, 
 too. 
 
 " Indeed there is no harm," said she (and still with her
 
 170 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 face showing her mortification that she was thus forced to 
 defend herself). " Tis a young gentleman that is in some 
 trouble — his lodging near Bidford is also a hiding, as it 
 •were— and — and I know but little of him beyond his name, 
 and that he is familiar with many of my father's friends in 
 London." 
 
 " And how comes it that you seek him out here, alone ? " 
 said he. " That is a becoming and maidenly thing ! " 
 
 " I promised you I would tell you what I know of the 
 young gentleman," said she, with scornful lips. " I did not 
 promise to stand still and suffer your insolence." 
 
 " Insolence ? " he exclaimed, as if her audacity bewildered 
 him. 
 
 " How know you that I sought him out ! " she said, in- 
 dignantly. " May not one walk forth of a summer morning 
 without being followed by suspicious eyes — I warrant me, 
 eyes that are only too glad to suspect ! To think evil is 
 an easy thing, it seems, with many : I wonder, sir, you are 
 not ashamed ! " 
 
 " You brave it out well," said he, sullenly ; but it was 
 evident that her courage had impressed him, if it still left 
 him angered and suspicious. 
 
 And then he asked — • 
 
 " How comes it that none of your friends or your family 
 know aught of this stranger ? " 
 
 " I marvel you should speak of my family," she retorted. 
 " I had thought you were inclined to remain in ignorance of 
 them of late. But had you asked of Prudence Shawe, she 
 might have told you something of this young gentleman ; or 
 
 i you thought fit to call in at my grandmother's cottage, 
 you might perchance have found him seated there, and a 
 welcome guest at her board. Many, 'tis easier far to keep 
 aloof and to think evil, as one may sec ! " 
 
 And then Bhe added — 
 
 " Well, sir, are you satisfied ? May I go home without 
 further threats ? " 
 
 "I threatened you not, Judith," said he, rather more 
 humbly. " I would have my threats kept for those that 
 M harm you." 
 
 " I know of none such," she said distinctly. " And as 
 Cor this young gentleman — that is in misfortune — such as
 
 WILD WORDS 171 
 
 might happen to any one — and not only in hiding, but 
 having entrusted his secret to one or two of us that pity 
 him and see no harm in him — I say it were a cruel and 
 unmanly thing to spy out his concealment, or to spread the 
 rumour of his being in the neighbourhood " 
 
 " Nay, you need not fear that of me, Judith," said he. 
 " Man to man is my way, when there is occasion. But can 
 you marvel if I would have you for your own sake avoid 
 any further meetings with this stranger ? If he be in hiding 
 let him remain there, in God's name ; I for one will set no 
 beagles to hunt him out. But as for you, I would have 
 you hold aloof from such dangerous traps." 
 
 " Good sir," said she, " I have my conduct in my own 
 keeping, and can answer to those that have the guardian- 
 ship of me." 
 
 He did not reply to this rebuke. He said — 
 
 " May I walk back to the town with you, Judith ? " 
 
 " You forget," she said coldly, " that if we were seen 
 together the gossips might say I had come out hither to 
 seek you, and alone." 
 
 But he paid no heed to this taunt. 
 
 " I care not," said he, with an affectation of indifference, 
 " what the gossips in Stratford have to talk over. Stratford 
 and I are soon to part." 
 
 " What say you ? " said she, quickly — and they were 
 walking on together now, the Don leisurely following at 
 their heels. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis nothing," said he, carelessly ; " there are wider 
 lands beyond the seas where a man can fight for his own 
 and hold it." 
 
 " And you ? " said she. " You have it in your mind to 
 leave the country ? " 
 
 " Marry, that have I ! " said he, gaily. " My good friend 
 Daniel Hutt hath gotten together a rare regiment, and I 
 doubt not I shall be one of the captains of them ere many 
 years be over." 
 
 Her eyes were downcast, and he could not sec what im- 
 pression this piece of news had made upon her — if, indeed, 
 he cared to look. They walked for some time in silence. 
 
 " It is no light matter," said she at length, and in rather 
 a low voice, " to leave one's native land.'
 
 172 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " As for that," said he, " the land will soon be not worth 
 the living in. Why, in former times, men spoke of the 
 merry world of England. A merry world ? — I trow the 
 canting rogues of preachers have left but little merriment 
 in it ; and now they would seek to have all in their power, 
 and to flood the land with their whining and psalm-singing, 
 till we shall have no England left us, but only a vast con- 
 venticle. Think you that your father hath any sympathy 
 with these ? I tell you no ; I take it he is an Englishman, 
 and not a conventicle-man. 'Tis no longer the England of 
 our forefathers, when men may neither hawk nor hunt, and 
 women are doomed to perdition for worshipping the false 
 idol starch, and the very children be called in from their 
 games of a Sunday afternoon. God-a-mercy, I have had 
 enough of Brother Patience-in-suffering, and his dominion 
 of grace ! " 
 
 This seemed to Judith a strange reason for his going 
 away, for he had never professed any strong bias one way 
 or the other in these religious dissensions ; his chief concern, 
 like that of most of the young men in Stratford, lying rather 
 in the direction of butt-shooting, or wrestling, or having a 
 romp with some of the wenches to the tune of Packington's 
 Pound. 
 
 " Nay, as I hear," said he, " there be some of them in 
 such discontent with the King and the Parliament that 
 they even talk of transplanting themselves beyond seas, like 
 those that went to Holland : 'twere a goodly riddance if the 
 whole gang of the sour-faced hypocrites went, and left to us 
 our own England. And a fair beginning for the new 
 country across the Atlantic — half of them these puritanical 
 rogues, with their fastings and preachments ; and the other 
 half the constable's brats and broken men that such as Hutt 
 are drafting out ; a right good beginning, if they but keep 
 from seizing each other by the throat in the end ! No 
 matter : we .should have our England purged of the double 
 Bcum 1" 
 
 "But," said Judith, timidly, "methought you said you 
 were going out with these same desperate men ?" 
 
 " I can take my life in my hand as well as another," said 
 he, gloomily ; and then he added : " They be none so 
 desperate, after all. Broken men there may be amongst
 
 Wild words ij% 
 
 them, and many against whom fortune would seem to have 
 a spite ; perchance their affairs may mend in the new 
 country." 
 
 " But your affairs are prosperous," -Judith said — though 
 she never once lifted her eyes. " Why should you link 
 yourself with such men as these ? " 
 
 " One must forth to see the world," said he ; and he went 
 on to speak in a gay and reckless fashion of the life that lay 
 before him, and of its possible adventures and hazards and 
 prizes. " And what," said he, " if one were to have good 
 fortune in that far country, and become rich in land, and 
 have good store of corn and fields of tobacco ; what if one 
 were to come back in twenty years' time to this same town 
 of Stratford, and set up for the trade of gentleman ? " 
 
 " Twenty years ? " said she, rather breathlessly. " 'Tis a 
 long time ; you would find changes." 
 
 "None that would matter much, methinks," said he 
 indifferently. 
 
 " There be those that will be sorry for your going away," 
 she ventured to say — and she forced herself to think only of 
 Prudence Shawe. 
 
 " Not one that will care a cracked three-farthings ! " was 
 the answer. 
 
 " You do ill to say so — indeed you do ! " said she, with 
 just a touch of warmth in her tone. " You have many 
 friends ; you serve them ill to say they would not heed 
 your going." 
 
 " Friends ? " said he. " Yes, they will miss me at the 
 shovel-board, or when there is one short at the catches." 
 
 " There be others than those," said she, with some little 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Who, then ? " said he. 
 
 " You should know yourself," she answered. " Think you 
 that Prudence, for one, will be careless as to your leaving 
 the country ? " 
 
 " Prudence ? " said he, and he darted a quick glance at 
 her. " Nay, I confess me wrong there ; for there is one 
 that hath a gentle heart, and is full of kindness." 
 
 " Right well I know that — for who should know better 
 than I ? " said Judith. " xVs true a heart as any in Christen- 
 dom, and a prize for him that wins it, I warrant you. If
 
 174 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 it be not won already," she added quickly. " As to that, I 
 know not." 
 
 They were now nearing the town — they could hear the 
 dull sound of the mill, and before them was the church 
 spire among the trees, and beyond that the gray and red 
 huddled mass of houses, barns, aud orchards. 
 
 " And when think you of going ? " she said, after a while. 
 
 " I know not, and I care not," said he, absently. " When 
 I spoke of my acquaintances being indifferent as to what 
 might befall me, I did them wrong, for in truth there be 
 none of them as indifferent as I am myself." 
 
 " Tis not a hopeful mood," said she, " to begin the 
 making of one's fortunes in a new country withal. I 
 pray you, what ails this town of Stratford, that you are not 
 content ? " 
 
 " It boots not to say, since I am leaving it," he answered. 
 " Perchance in times to come, when I am able to return to 
 it, I shall be better content. And you ? " 
 
 " And I ? " she repeated, with some surprise. 
 
 "Nay, you will be content enough," said he, somewhat 
 bitterly. " Mother Church will have a care of you. You 
 will be in the fold by then. The faithful shepherd will have 
 a charge over you to keep you from communication with the 
 children of anger and the devil, that rage without like lions 
 seeking to destroy." 
 
 " I know not what you mean," said she with a hot face. 
 
 " Right well you know," said he, coolly ; but there was an 
 angry resentment running through his affected disdain as 
 he went on : " There be those that protest, and go forth 
 from the Church. And there be those that protest, and 
 remain within— eating the fat things, and well content 
 with the milk and the honey, and their stores of corn and 
 oil. Marry, you will be well provided for — the riches of 
 the next world laid up in waiting for you ; and a goodly 
 share of the things of this world to beguile the time withal. 
 Kay, I marvel not ; 'tis the wisdom of the serpent along 
 with the innocence of the dove. "What matters the sur- 
 plice, the cross in baptism, and the other relics of Popery, 
 if conformity will keep the larder full ? Better that than 
 starvation in Holland, or seeking a home beyond the 
 Atlantic — where belike the children of the devil might
 
 WILD WORDS 175 
 
 prove over-rude companions ! I marvel not, I ; 'tis a 
 foolish bird that forsakes a warm nest." 
 
 And now she well knew against whom his bitter speech 
 was levelled ; and some recollection of the slight he had 
 put upon her in the churchyard came into her mind, with 
 the memory that it had never been atoned for. And she 
 was astounded that he had the audacity to walk with her 
 now and here, talking as if he were the injured one. The 
 sudden qualm that had filled her heart when he spoke of 
 leaving the country was put aside ; the kindly reference to 
 Prudence was forgotten ; she only knew that this sarcasm 
 of his was very much out of place, and that this was far 
 from being the tone in which he had any right to address 
 her. 
 
 " I know not," said she, stiffly, " what quarrel you may 
 have with this or that section of the Church ; but it con- 
 cerns me not. I pray you attack those who are better able 
 to defend themselves than I am, or care to be. Methinks 
 your studies in that line have come somewhat late." 
 
 " 'Tis no greater marvel," said he, " than that you should 
 have joined yourself to the assembly of the saints : it was 
 not always so with you." 
 
 " I ? " she said ; but her cheeks were burning, for well 
 she knew that he referred to his having seen her with the 
 parson on that Sunday morning, and she was far too proud 
 to defend herself. " Heaven help me, now, but I thought I 
 was mistress of my own actions ! " 
 
 " In truth you are, Mistress Judith," said he, humbly, 
 (and this was the first time that he had ever addressed her 
 so, and it startled her, for it seemed to suggest a final separa- 
 tion between them— something as wide and irrevocable as 
 that twenty years of absence beyond the seas). And then 
 he said : " I crave your pardon if I have said aught to 
 offend you, and would take my leave." 
 
 " God be wi' you," said she, civilly ; and then he left — 
 striking across the meadows towards the Bidford road, and, 
 as she guessed, probably going to seek his horse from whom- 
 soever he had left it with. 
 
 And as she went on and into the town she was wonder- 
 ing what Prudence had said to him that should so suddenly 
 drive him to think of quitting the country. All had seemed
 
 175 yUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 going well. As for Master Leofric Hope, his secret was 
 safe ; this late companion of hers seemed to have forgotten 
 him altogether in his anger against the good parson. And 
 then she grew to think of the far land across the ocean 
 that she had heard vaguely of from time to time, and to 
 think how twenty years could be spent there, and what 
 Stratford would be like when that long space was over. 
 
 " Twenty years," she said to herself, with a kind of sigh. 
 "There are many things will be settled ere that time be 
 passed, for good or ill. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A CONJECTURE. 
 
 Whek she got back to New Place she found the house in 
 considerable commotion. It appeared that the famous 
 divine, Master Elihu Izod, had just come into the town, 
 being on his way towards Leicestershire, and that he had 
 been brought by the gentleman whose guest he was to pay 
 a visit to Judith's mother. Judith had remarked erenow 
 that the preachers and other godly persons who thus 
 honoured the New Place generally made their appearance 
 a trifling time before the hour of dinner ; and now, as she 
 reached the house, she was not surprised to find that 
 Prudence had been called in to entertain the two visitors — 
 who were at present in the garden — while within-doors her 
 mother and the maids were hastily making such prepara- 
 tions as were possible. To this latter work she quickly 
 lent a helping hand ; and in due course of time the board 
 was spread with a copious and substantial repast, not 
 forgetting an ample supply of wine and ale for those that 
 were that way inclined. Then the two gentlemen were 
 called in ; Prudence was easily persuaded to stay ; and, 
 after a lengthened grace, the good preacher fell to, season- 
 in-- his food with much pious conversation. 
 
 At such times Judith had abundant opportunities for 
 i i irie, and for a general review of the situation of her own 
 affairs. In fact, on this occasion, she seemed in a manner 
 to be debarred from participation in these informal services 
 at the very outset. Master tzod, who was a tall, thin, dark,
 
 A CONJECTURE 177 
 
 melancholy-visaged man — unlike his companion Godfrey 
 Buller, of the Leas, near to Hinckley, who, on the contrary, 
 was a stout yeoman-like person, whose small gray absent 
 eyes remained motionless and vacant in the great breadth 
 of his rubicund face — had taken for his text, as it were, a 
 list he had found somewhere or other of those characters 
 that were entitled to command the admiration and respect 
 of all good people. These were : a young saint ; an old 
 martyr ; a religious soldier ; a conscionable statesman ; a 
 great man courteous ; a learned man humble ; a silent 
 woman ; a merry companion without vanity ; a friend not 
 changed with honour ; a sick man cheerful ; a soul depart- 
 ing with comfort and assurance. And as Judith did not 
 make bold to claim to be any one of these — nor, indeed, to 
 have any such merits or excellences as would extort the 
 approval of the membership of the saints — she gradually 
 fell away from listening ; and her mind was busy with 
 other things ; and her imagination, which was vivid enough, 
 intent upon other scenes. One thing that had struck her 
 the moment she had returned was that Prudence seemed in 
 an unusually cheerful mood. Of course, the arrival of two 
 visitors was an event in that quiet life of theirs ; and no 
 doubt Prudence was glad to be appointed to entertain the 
 strangers — one of them, moreover, being of such great 
 fame. But so pleased was she, and so cheerful in her 
 manner, that Judith was straightway convinced there had 
 been no quarrel between her and Tom Quiuey. Nay, when 
 was there time for that ? He could scarcely have seen her 
 that morning ; while the night before there had certainly 
 been no mention of his projected migration to America, 
 else Prudence would have said as much. What, then, had 
 so suddenly driven him to the conclusion that England was 
 no longer a land fit to live in ? And why had he paid 
 Prudence such marked attention — why had he presented 
 her with the spaniel-gentle and offered her the emblazoned 
 missal — one evening, only to resolve the next morning that 
 he must needs leave the country ? Nay, why had he so 
 unexpectedly broken the scornful silence with which he had 
 recently treated herself ? ne had given her to understand 
 that, as far as he was concerned, she did not exist. He 
 seemed determined to ignore her presence. And yet she 
 
 N
 
 178 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 could not but remember that, if this contemptuous silence 
 on his part was broken by the amazement of his seeing her 
 in the company of a stranger, his suspicions in that direc- 
 tion were very speedily disarmed. A few words, and they 
 fled. It was his far more deadly jealousy of the parson 
 that remained, and was like to remain ; for she certainly 
 would not stoop to explain that the meeting in the church- 
 yard was quite accidental. But why should he trouble Ins 
 head about either her or the parson ? Had he not betaken 
 himself elsewhere — and that with her right good will ? 
 Nay, on his own confession, he had discovered how kind 
 and gentle Prudence was : there was a fit mate for him — ■ 
 one to temper the wildness and hot-headedness of his youth. 
 Judith had never seen the sea, and therefore had never seen 
 moonlight on the sea ; but the nearest to that she could go, 
 in thinking of what Prudence's nature was like, in its 
 restful and sweet and serious beauty, was the moonlight she 
 had seen on the river Avon, in the calm of a summer's 
 night, the water unbroken by a ripple, and not a whisper 
 among the reeds. Could he not perceive that, too, and 
 understand ? 
 
 As for herself, she knew that she could at any moment 
 cut the knot of any complications that might arise by 
 allowing Master AY alter to talk her over into marrying him. 
 Her father hud assured her that the clear-headed and 
 energetic young parson was quite equal to that. Well, it 
 was about time she should abandon the frivolities and 
 coquetries of her youth; and her yielding would pie 
 many good people, especially her mother and sister; and 
 obtain for herself a secure and established position, with an 
 end to all these quarrels, and jealousies, and uncertainties. 
 Moreover, (here would be safety there. For, if the truth 
 must he told, she was becoming vaguely and uncomfortably 
 conscious that her relations with this young gentleman who 
 bad come secretly into the neighbourhood were no longer 
 what they had been at first. Their friendship had ripened 
 rapidly; for be was an audacious person, with plenty of 
 :-eli-;i iurance ; and, with all his professions of modesty, 
 ind di fi rencc, be ei m< 'I bo I now ver} well that he could 
 make his society agreeable. Then those lines he had re- 
 peated : why, her face grew warm now as she thought oi
 
 A CONJECTURE 179 
 
 them. She could not remember them exactly, hut she 
 remembered their purport ; and she remembered, too, the 
 emphasis with which he had declared that the bonniest of 
 our English roses were those that grew in the country air. 
 Now a young man cut off from his felloAVS as he was might 
 well be grateful for some little solace of companionship, or 
 for this or the other little bit of courtesy ; but he need not 
 (she considered) show his gratitude just in that way. 
 Doubtless, his flattery might mean little ; the town gentle- 
 men, she understood, talked in that strain ; and perhaps it 
 was only by an accident that the verses were there in the 
 book ; but still she had the uneasy feeling that there was 
 something in his manner and speech that, if encouraged, or 
 suffered to continue without check, might lead to embarrass- 
 ment. That is to say, if she continued to see him ; and 
 there was no need for that. She could cut short this ac- 
 quaintance the moment she chose. But on the one hand 
 she did not wish to appear uncivil ; and on the other she 
 was anxious that he should see the whole of this play that 
 her father had written — thrown off, as it were, amid the 
 various cares and duties that occupied his time. If Master 
 Leofric Hope talked of Ben Jonson when he came into the 
 country, she would have him furnished with something to 
 say of her father when he returned to town. 
 
 These were idle and wandering thoughts ; and in one 
 respect they were not quite honest. In reality she was 
 using them to cloak and hide, or to drive from her mind 
 altogether, a suspicion that had suddenly occurred to her 
 that morning, and that had set her brain afire in a wild 
 way. It was not only the tune of Green-sleeves that was 
 in her head as she set off to walk homo, though she was 
 trying to force herself to believe that. The fact is this : 
 when Master Leofric Hope made the pretty speech about 
 the country roses he accompanied it, as has been said, by a 
 glance of only too out-spoken admiration ; and there was 
 something in this look — apart from the mere flattery of it 
 — that puzzled her. She was confused, doubtless ; but in 
 her confusion it occurred to her that she had met that too 
 eloquent glance somewhere before. She had no time to 
 pursue this fancy further; for, in order to cover her em- 
 barrassment, she had betaken herself to the sheets in her 
 
 N 2
 
 i So JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 satchel ; and thereafter she was so anxious that he should 
 think well of the play that all her attention was fixed on 
 that. But after leaviug him, and having had a minute or 
 two to think over what had happened, she recalled that 
 look, and wondered why there should be something strange 
 in it. And then a startling fancy flashed across her mind 
 — the wizard ! Was not that the same look — of the same 
 black eyes — that she had encountered up at the corner of 
 the field above the Wier Brake ? — a glance of wondering 
 admiration, as it were ? And if these two were one and 
 the same man ? Of course, that train being lit ran rapidly 
 enough : there were all kinds of parallels — in the elaborate 
 courtesy, in the suave voice, in the bold and eloquent eyes. 
 And she had no magical theory to account for the trans- 
 formation — it did not even occur to her that the wizard 
 could have changed himself into a young man — there was 
 no dismay or panic in that direction — she instantly took it 
 for granted that it was the young man who had been 
 personating the wizard. And why ? — to what end, if this 
 bewildering possibility were to be regarded for an instant ? 
 The sole object of the wizard's coming was to point out to 
 her her future husband. And if this young man were 
 himself the wizard ? A trick to entrap her ? 
 
 Ariel himself could not have flashed from place to place 
 more swiftly than this wild conjecture ; but the next 
 moment she had collected herself. Her common-sense 
 triumphed. She bethought her of the young man she had 
 just left — of his respectful manners — of the letter he had 
 liroiight for her father — of the circumstances of his hiding. 
 It was not possible that he had come into the neighbour- 
 hood for the deliberate purpose of making a jest of her. 
 Kid he look like one that would play such a trick; that 
 would name himself as her future husband ; that would 
 cozen her into meeting him ? She felt ashamed of herself 
 for harbouring such a thought for a single instant. Her 
 wits had gone wool-gathering ! Or was it that Prudence's 
 fears had so far got hold of her brain that she could not 
 regard the young man but as something other than an 
 ordinary mortal ? In fair justice, Bhe would dismiss this 
 ib iir<] surmise from her mind forthwith; and so she pro- 
 ceeded with her gathering of the Bowers : and when she
 
 A CONJECTURE 1S1 
 
 did set forth for home, she had very nearly convinced 
 herself that there was nothing in her head but the tune of 
 Green-sleeves. Nay, she was almost inclined to be angry 
 with Prudence for teaching her to be so suspicious. 
 
 Nevertheless, during this protracted dinner, while good 
 Master Izod was enlarging upon the catalogue of persons 
 worthy of honour and emulation, Judith was attacked once 
 more by the whisperings of the demon. For a while she 
 fought against these, and would not admit to herself that 
 any further doubt remained in her mind ; but when at last 
 she found herself, despite herself, going back and back to 
 that possibility, she took heart of grace and boldly faced it. 
 What if it were true ? Supposing him to have adopted the 
 disguise, and passed himself off as a wizard, and directed 
 her to the spot where she should meet her future husband 
 — what then ? "What o Light she to do ? How ought she 
 to regard such conduct ? As an idle frolic of youth ? Or 
 the device of one tired of the loneliness of living at the 
 farm, and determined at all hazards to secure companion- 
 ship ? Or a darker snare still — with what ultimate aims 
 she could not divine ? Or again (for she was quite frank) 
 if this were merely some one who had seen her from afar, 
 at church or fair or market, and considered she was a good 
 looking maid, and wished to have further acquaintance, and 
 could think of no other method than this audacious prank ? 
 She had heard of lovers' stratagems in plenty ; she knew of 
 one or two of such that had been resorted to in this same 
 quiet town of Stratford. And supposing that this last was 
 the case, ought she to be indignant ? Should she resent 
 his boldness in hazarding such a stroke to win her ? And 
 then, when it suddenly occurred to her that, in discussing 
 this possibility, she was calmly assuming that Master Leofric 
 Hope was in love with her — he never having said a word 
 in that direction, and being in a manner almost a stranger 
 to her — she told herself that no audacity on his part could 
 be greater than this on hers ; and that the best thing she 
 could do would be to get rid once and for ever of such un- 
 maidenly conjectures. No ; she would go back to her 
 original position. The facts of the case were simple 
 enough, lie would have brought no letter to her father 
 had he been bent on any such fantastic enterprise. "Was
 
 1 3 2 J UDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 it likely he would suffer the thraldom of that farmhouse, 
 and live away from his friends and companions, for the 
 mere chance of a few minutes' occasional talk with a 
 Stratford wench ? As for the similarity between his look 
 and that of the wizard, the explanation lay no doubt in her 
 own fancy, which had been excited by Prudence's super- 
 stitious fears. And if in his courtesy he had applied to 
 herself the lines written by the young Devonshire poet — 
 well, that was bat a piece of civility and kindness for which 
 she ought to be more than usually grateful, seeing that she 
 had not experienced too much of that species of treatment 
 of late from one or two of her would-be suitors. 
 
 She was awakened from these dreams by the conversation 
 suddenly ceasing ; and in its place she heard the more 
 solemn tones of the thanksgiving offered up by Master 
 Izod : 
 
 " The God of glory and peace, who hath created, redeemed, and 
 pre i atly fed us, be blessed for ever and ever. So be it. The I k>d of 
 all power, who hath called from death that great pastor of the sheep, 
 our Lord Jesus, comfort and defend the flock which lie hath redeemed 
 by the blood of the eternal testament ; increase the number of true 
 preachers; repress the rage of obstinate tyrants ; mitigate and lighten 
 the hearts of the ignorant; relieve the pains of such as be afflicted, 
 but specially of those that sutler for the testimony of thy truth; and 
 finally, confound Satan by 1»he power of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 Amen." 
 
 And then, as the travellers were continuing their journey 
 forthwith, they proposed to leave ; and Master Buller 
 expressed his sorrow that Judith's father had not been at 
 home to have made the friendship of a man so famous as 
 Master Izod ; and the good parson, in his turn, as they 
 departed, solemnly blessed the house and all that dwelt 
 therein, whether present or absent. As soon as they were 
 gone Judith besought her mother for the key of the 
 summer-house, for she wished t'> lay on her father's table 
 ill e wild flowers she had brought ; and, having obtained it, 
 rried Prudence with her into the garden; and there 
 tiny found themselves alone, for goodinan Matthew had 
 home for his dinn< r. 
 
 "Dear mouse," said she, (piickly, "what is it hath 
 i pened to Tom Quiney ?" 
 
 •• 1 know not, Judith, the other said, in some surprise.
 
 A CONJECTURE 183 
 
 " It is in his mind to leave the country I " 
 
 " I knew not that." 
 
 "I dare be sworn you did not, sweetheart," said she, 
 "else surely you would have told me. But why ? What 
 drives him to such a thing ? His business prospers well, 
 as I hear them say ; and yet must he forsake it for the 
 company of those desperate men that are going away to 
 fight the Indians beyond seas. Nothing will content him. 
 England is no longer England ; Stratford is no longer 
 Stratford : mercy on us, what is the meaning of it all ? " 
 
 " In truth I know not, Judith." 
 
 Then Judith glanced at her. 
 
 " Good cousin, I fear me you gave him but a cold 
 welcome yesternight." 
 
 " I welcomed him as I would welcome any of my brother's 
 friends," said Prudence, calmly and without embarrassment. 
 
 " But you do not understand ! " Judith said, with a touch 
 of impatience. "Bless thy heart, young men are such 
 strange creatures ; and must have all to suit their humours ; 
 and are off and away in their peevish fits if you do not 
 entertain them, and cringe, and say your worship to every 
 sirrah of them ! Oh, they be mighty men of valour in 
 their own esteem ; and they must have us poor hand- 
 maidens do them honour ; and if all be not done to serve, 
 'tis boot and spur and off to the wars with them, and many 
 a fine tale thereafter about the noble ladies that were kind 
 to them abroad. Marry, they can crow loud enough ; 'tis 
 the poor hens that durst never utter a word ; and all must 
 give way before his worship ! What, then ? What did you 
 do ? Was not the claret to his liking ? Did not your 
 brother offer him a pipe of Trinidado ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Judith, it cannot be through aught that hap- 
 pened last night, if he be speaking of leaving the country," 
 Prudence said. " I thought he was well content, and right 
 friendly in his manner." 
 
 " But you do not take my meaning," Judith said. 
 " Dear heart, bear me no ill will ; but I would have you a 
 little more free with your favours. You are too serious, 
 sweet mouse ; could you not pluck up a little of the spirit 
 that the pretty Rosalind showed — do you remember ? — 
 when she was teasimr Orlando in the forest ? In truth 
 
 "•0
 
 1 84 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 these men are fond of a varying mood ; when they play 
 with a kitten they like to know it has claws. And again, 
 if yon he too civil with them, they presume, and would 
 hecome the master all at once ; and then must everything 
 he done to suit their lordship's fantasies, or else 'tis up and 
 away with them, as this one goes." 
 
 " I pray you, Judith," her friend said, and now in great 
 embarrassment, " forbear to speak of such things ; in truth 
 my heart is not set that way. Eight well I know that if he 
 be leaving the country 'tis through no discontent with me — 
 nor that he would heed in any way how I received him. 
 Nay, 'tis far otherwise ; it is no secret whom he would 
 choose for wife ; if you are sorry to hear of his going 
 away from his home you know that a word from you would 
 detain him." 
 
 "Good mouse, the folly of such thoughts ! " Judith ex- 
 claimed. "Why, when he will not even give me a 'good- 
 day to you, wench ! ' " 
 
 "You best know what reasons he had for his silence, 
 Judith ; I know not." 
 
 " Reasons ? " said she, with some quick colour coming 
 to her face. "We will let that alone, good gossip. I 
 meddle not with any man's reasons, if he choose to be 
 uncivil to me ; God help us, the world is wide enough for 
 all ! " 
 
 " Did you not anger him, Judith, that he is going away 
 from his home and his friends ? " 
 
 " Anger him ? Perchance his own suspicions have 
 angered him!" was the answer; and then she said, in a 
 gentler tone : " But in truth, sweetheart, I hope he will 
 change his mind. Twenty years — for so he speaks — is a 
 long space to be away from one's native land ; there would 
 be many changes ere he came back. Twenty years, he said." 
 
 Judith rather timidly looked at her companion ; but 
 indeed there was neither surprise nor dismay depicted on 
 the pale and gentle face. Her eyes were absent, it is true ; 
 hut they did not seem to crave for sympathy. 
 
 "'Tis strange," said she, "he said naught of such a 
 scheme last night, though he and Julius spoke of this very 
 matter of the men who were preparing to cross the seas. 
 I know not what can have moved him to such a purpose."
 
 A CONJECTURE 185 
 
 "Docs he imagine, think you," said Judith, "that we 
 shall all be here awaiting him at the end of twenty years, 
 and as we are now ? Or is he so sure of his own life ? — 
 they say there is great peril in the new lands they have 
 taken possession of beyond sea, and that there will be 
 many a bloody fight ere they can reap the fruit of their 
 labours in peace. Nay, I will confess to thee, sweet 
 mouse, I like not his going. Old friends are old friends, 
 even if they have wayward humours ; and fain would I 
 have him remain with us here in Stratford — ay, and settled 
 here, moreover, with a sweet Puritan wife by his side, that 
 at present must keep everything hidden. Well, no matter," 
 she continued lightly. "I seek no secrets — except those 
 that be in the oaken box within here." 
 
 She unlocked the door of the summer-house, and entered, 
 and put the flowers on the table. 
 
 " Tell me, Prue," said she, " may we venture to take some 
 more of the play, or must I wait till I have put back the 
 other sheets ? " 
 
 " You have not put them back ? " 
 
 " In truth, no," said Judith, carelessly. " I lent them to 
 the young gentleman, Leofric Hope." 
 
 " Judith ! " her friend exclaimed, with frightened eyes. 
 
 " What, then ? " 
 
 " To one you know nothing of ? You have parted with 
 these sheets — that are so valuable ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, good gossip," said she, " you know the sheets 
 are cast away as useless. And I but lent them to him for 
 an hour or two, to lighten the tedium of his solitude. Nor 
 was that all, good Prue, if I must tell thee the truth : I 
 would fain have him know that my father can do something 
 worth speaking of, as well as his friend Ben Jonson, and 
 perchance even better : what think you ? " 
 
 " You have seen him again, then ? — this morning ? " 
 
 " Even so," Judith answered calmly. 
 
 " Judith, why will you run into such danger ? " her friend 
 said, in obvious distress. " In truth I know not what 'twill 
 come to. And now there is this further bond in this secret 
 commerce — think you that all this can remain unknown ? 
 Your meeting with him must come to some one's knowledge 
 — indeed it must, sweetheart."
 
 1 86 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Nay, but this time you have hit the mark," said Judith, 
 complacently. " If you would assure yourself, good Prue, 
 that the young gentleman is no grisly ghost or phantom, 
 methinks you could not do better than ask Tom Quiney, 
 who saw him this very morning — and saw us speaking 
 together, as I guess." 
 
 " He saw you ? " Prudence exclaimed. " And what said 
 he ? " 
 
 " He talked large and wild for a space," said Judith 
 coolly, " but soon I persuaded him there was no great harm 
 in the stranger gentleman. In sooth his mind was so full 
 of his own affairs — and so bitter against all preachers, 
 ministers, and pastors — and he would have it that England 
 was no longer fit to live in — marry, he told me so many 
 things in so few minutes that I have half forgotten them ! " 
 
 And then it suddenly occurred to her that this fantasy 
 that had entered her mind in the morning, and that had 
 haunted her during Master Elihu Izod's discourse, would 
 1)3 an excellent thing with which to frighten Prudence. 
 'Twas but a chimera, she assured herself ; but there was 
 enough substance in it for that. And so, when she had 
 carefully arranged the flowers on the table, and cast another 
 longing look at the oaken chest, she locked the door of the 
 summer-house, and put her arm within the arm of her 
 friend, and led her away for a walk in the garden. 
 
 " Prudence," said she, seriously, " I would have you give 
 me counsel. Some one hath asked me what a young 
 maiden should do in certain circumstances that I will put 
 before you ; but how can I tell — how can I judge of any- 
 thing, when my head is in a whirligig of confusion with 
 parson's arguments, and people leaving the country, and I 
 know not what else ? But you, good mouse — your mind is 
 ever calm and equable — you can speak sweet words in 
 Israel — you are as Daniel that was so excellent a judge 
 even in his youth " 
 
 "Judith!" the other protested; but indeed Judith's 
 eyes were perfectly grave and apparently sincere. 
 
 "Well, then, sweetheart, listen : let us say that a young 
 man has seen a young maiden that is not known to him 
 bin by name — perchance at church it may have been, or as 
 she was walking home to her own door. And there may
 
 A CONJECTURE 187 
 
 be reasons why he should not go boldly to her father's 
 house, though he would fain do so ; his fancy being taken 
 with her in a small measure, and he of a gentle disposition, 
 and ready to esteem her higher than she deserved. And 
 again it might be that he wished for private speech with 
 her— to judge of her manners and her inclinations — before 
 coming publicly forward to pay court to her ; but alack, I 
 cannot tell the story as my father would ; 'tis the veriest 
 skeleton of a story ; and I fear me you will scarce under- 
 stand. But let us say that the young man is bold and 
 ingenious, and bethinks him of a stratagem whereby to 
 make acquaintance with the damsel. He writes to her as 
 a wizard that has important news to tell her ; and begs her 
 to go forth and meet him ; and that on a certain morning 
 he will be awaiting her at such and such a place. Now 
 this maiden that I am telling you of has no great faith in 
 wizards, but being curious to see the juggling, she goes 
 forth to meet him as he asks " 
 
 " Judith, I pray you, speak plain ; what is't you mean ? " 
 Prudence exclaimed ; for she had begun to suspect. 
 
 "You must listen, good cousin, before you can give 
 judgment," said Judith, calmly ; and she proceeded : 
 " Now you must understand that it was the young gentle- 
 man himself whom she met, though she knew it v not ; for 
 he had dressed himself up as an ancient wizard, and he had 
 a solemn manner, and Latin speech, and what not. Then 
 says the wizard to her, I can show you the man that is to 
 be your lover and sweetheart and husband ; that will win 
 you and wear you in the time coming ; and if you would 
 see him go to such and such a cross-road and he will appear. 
 Do you perceive, now, good Prue, that it was a right safe 
 prophecy, seeing that he had appointed himself to be the 
 very one who should meet her ? " 
 
 Prudence had gradually slipped her arm away from that 
 of her friend, and now stood still, regarding her breath- 
 lessly ; while Judith, with eyes quite placid and inscrutable, 
 continued her story. 
 
 " 'Twas a noteworthy stratagem, and successful withal ; 
 for the maiden goes to the cross-road, and there she meets 
 the young gentleman — now in his proper costume. But 
 she has no great faith in magic ; she regards him not as a
 
 1 88 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ghost summoned by the wizard ; she would rather see iu 
 this meeting an ordinary accident, and the young man, 
 being most courteous and modest and civil-spoken, they 
 become friends. Do you follow the story ? You see, 
 Prudence, there is much in his condition to demand 
 sympathy and kindness — he being in hiding, and cut off 
 from his friends ; and she, not being too industrious, and 
 fond rather of walking in the meadows and the like, meets 
 him now here, now there, but with no other thought than 
 friendliness. I pray you, bear that in mind, sweetheart ; 
 for though I esteem her not highly, yet would I do her 
 justice : there was no thought in her mind but friendliness, 
 and a wish to be civil to one that seemed grateful for any 
 such communion. And then, one morning, something 
 happens — beshrew me if I can tell thee how it happened, 
 and that is the truth — but something happens — an idea 
 jumps into her head — she suspects that this young gentle- 
 man is no other than the same who was the wizard, and 
 that she has been entrapped by him, and that he, having 
 played the wizard, would now fain play the lover " 
 
 " Judith, is't possible ? Is't possible ? " 
 
 " Hold, cousin, hold ; your time is not yet. I grant 
 you 'tis a bold conjecture, and some would say not quite 
 seemly and becoming to a maiden, seeing that he had 
 never spoken any word to her of the kind ; but there it 
 was in her head — the suspicion that this young gentleman 
 had tricked her, for his own amusement, or perchance to 
 secure her company. Now, sweet judge in Israel, for your 
 judgment ! And on two points, please you. First, sup- 
 posing this conjecture to be false, how is she to atone to 
 the young gentleman ? And how is she to punish herself ? 
 And how is she to be anything but uneasy should she 
 chance to see him again ? Nay more, how is she to get 
 this evil suspicion banished from her mind, seeing that she 
 dare not go to him and confess, and beg him for the 
 assurance that he had never heard of the wizard? Then 
 the second point : supposing the conjecture to be true, 
 ought she to be very indignant ? How should she demean 
 herself ? Should she go to him and reproach him with his 
 treachery ? She would never forgive it, dear mouse, would 
 she, even as a lover's stratagem ? "
 
 A CONJECTURE 189 
 
 " Judith, I cannot understand you : I cannot understand 
 how you can even regard such a possibility and remain 
 content and smiling " 
 
 " Then I ought to be indignant ? — good cousin, I but 
 asked for your advice ! " Judith said. " I must be angry ; 
 I must fret and fnme, and use hot language, and play the 
 tragedy part ? In good sooth, when I think on't, 'twas a 
 piece of boldness to put himself forward as my future 
 husband — it was indeed — though 'twas cunningly contrived. 
 Marry, but I understand now why my goodman wizard 
 would take no money from me ; 'twas myself that he would 
 have in payment of his skill ; and ' gracious lady ' and 
 ' sweet lady ' — these were the lures to lead me on ; and 
 his shepherd's dial placed on the ground ! Then off go 
 beard and cloak ; and a couple of days thereafter he is a 
 gay young gallant ; and 'sweet lady' it is again — or 'fair 
 lady,' was't ? — ' know you one Master Shakespeare in the 
 town ? ' And such modesty, and such downcast eyes, and 
 an appeal for one in misfortune : heaven save us, was it 
 not well done ? Modesty ! By my life, a rare modest 
 gentleman ! He comes down to Stratford, armed with his 
 London speech and his London manners, and he looks 
 around. Which one, then ? which of all the maidens will 
 his lordship choose for wife ? ' Oh,' saith he, ' there is 
 Judith Shakespeare ; she will do as well as another ; 
 perchance better, for New Place is the fairest house in the 
 town, and doubtless she will have a goodly marriage 
 portion. So now how to secure her ? how to charm her 
 away from any clownish sweetheart she may chance to 
 have ? Easily done, i' faith ! — a country wench is sure to 
 believe in magic ; 'tis but raising my own ghost out of the 
 ground, and a summons to her, and I have her sure and 
 safe, to win and to wear, for better or worse ! ' " She 
 looked at Prudence. " Heaven's blessings on us all, good 
 Prue, was there ever poor maiden played such a scurril 
 trick ? " 
 
 " Then your eyes are opened, Judith," said Prudence, 
 cagei-y ; "you will have naught more to do with such a 
 desperate villain ! " 
 
 Again Judith looked at her, and laughed. 
 
 "I but told a story to frighten thee, dear heart," said
 
 i go JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 she. " A desperate villain ? Yes, truly, but 'tis I am the 
 desperate villain to let such rascal suspicions possess me 
 for an instant. Nay, good gossip, think of it ! — is't possible 
 that one would dare so much fur so poor a prize ? That 
 the young gentleman hath some self-assurance, I know ; 
 and he can quickly make friends ; but do you think, if 
 any such dark design had been his, he would have entered 
 my grandmother's cottage, and ate and drank there, and 
 promised to renew his visit ? Sweet judge in Israel, your 
 decision on the other point, I pray you ! What penance 
 must I do for letting such cruel thoughts stray into my 
 brain ? How shall I purge them away ? To whom must 
 I confess ? Nay, methinks I must go to the young gentle- 
 man himself and say : ' Good sir, I have a friend and 
 gossip that is named Prudence Shawe, who hath a strange 
 belief in phantom-men and conspirators. I pray you pardon 
 me that through her my brain is somewhat distraught ; and 
 that I had half a mind to accuse you of a plot for stealing 
 me away — me, who have generally this stout mastiff with 
 me. I beseech you, sir, steal me not — nay, forgive me that 
 I ever dreamed of your having any such purpose. 'Tis our 
 rude country manners, good sir, that teach a maid to 
 believe a man may not speak to her without intent to marry 
 her. I pray you pardon me — my heart is kneeling to you, 
 could you but sec it — and give me such assurance that you 
 meditated no such thing as will bring me back my scattered 
 senses.' Were not that well done ? Shall that be my 
 penatice, good mouse ?" 
 
 " Dear Judith, tell me true," her friend said, almost 
 piteously, "do you suspect him of having played the wizard 
 to cheat you and entrap you ? " 
 
 '•<!ood cousin," said she, in her frankest manner, " I 
 confess : I did suspect — for an instant. I know not what 
 put it into my head. But sure I am I have done him wrong 
 
 many, 'twere, no such deadly sin even had he been guilty 
 of such a, brick ; hut I believe it nol nay, he is too civil 
 and gentle for a jc I of I he kind. When I scr him again, I 
 must make him amends lor my evil thinking: do not 1 owe 
 him as much, Bweel heart ? " 
 
 This was all she could say at present, for iMatlhew 
 gardener here made his appearance, and that was I he signal
 
 A DA UGHTER OF ENGLAND 191 
 
 for their withdrawing into the house. But that afternoon, 
 as Judith bethought her that Master Lcofric Hope would be 
 coming to her grandmother's cottage with the manuscript he 
 had. promised to return, she became more and more anxious 
 to see him again. Somehow she thought she could more 
 effectually drive away this disquieting surmise if she could 
 but look at him, and regard his manner, and hear him 
 speak. As it turned out, however, it was not until some- 
 what late on in the evening that she found time to seek out 
 little Willie Hart, and propose to him that he should walk 
 with her as far as Shottery. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND. 
 
 " Sweetheart Willie," she said — and her hand lay 
 lightly on his shoulder as they were walking through the 
 meadows in the quiet of this warm golden evening — " what 
 mean you to be when you grow up ? " 
 
 He thought for a second or two, and then he rather 
 timidly regarded her. 
 
 " What would you have me to be, cousin Judith ? " he 
 said. 
 
 " Why, then," said she, " methinks I would have you be 
 part student and part soldier, were it possible, like the 
 gallant Sir Philip Sidney, that Queen Elizabeth said was 
 the jewel of her reign. And yet you know, sweetheart, that 
 we cannot all of us be of such great estate. There be those 
 that live at the Court, and have wealth and lands, and ex- 
 peditions given them to fit out, so that they gain fame ; 
 that is not the lot of every one ; and I know not whether 
 it may be yours — though for brave men there is ever a 
 chance. But this I know I would have you ready to do, 
 whether you be in high position or in low, and that is to 
 fight for England if needs be, and defend her, and cherish 
 her. Why," she said, " what would you think, now, of one 
 brought up by a gentle mother, one that owes ids birth and 
 training to this good mother, and because there is something 
 amiss in the house, and because everything is nut to his 
 mind — he ups and says he must go away and forsake her ?
 
 192 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Call you that the thought of a loyal son and one that is 
 grateful ? I call it the thought of a peevish, froward, 
 fractious child. Because, forsooth, this thing or the other 
 is not to his worship's liking — or all the company not such 
 as he would desire — or others of the family having different 
 opinions, as surely, in God's name, they have a right to have 
 — why, he must needs forsake the mother that bore him, 
 and be off and away to other countries ! Sweetheart Willie, 
 that shall never be your mind, I charge you. No, you shall 
 remain faithful to your mother England, that is a dear 
 mother and a good mother, and hath done well by her sons 
 and daughters for many a hundred years ; and you shall be 
 proud of her, and ready to fight for her, ay, and to give your 
 life for the love of her, if ever the need should be ! " 
 
 He was a small lad, but he was sensitive and proud- 
 spirited ; and he loved dearly this cousin Judith who had 
 made this appeal to him, so that for a second the blood 
 seemed to forsake his face. 
 
 " I am too young as yet to do aught, cousin Judith," said 
 he, in rather a low voice — for his breath seemed to catch ; 
 " but — but when I am become a man I know that there will 
 be one that will sooner die than see any Spaniard or French- 
 man seize the country." 
 
 " Bravely said, sweetheart, by my life ! " she exclaimed 
 (and her approval was very sweet to his ears). "That is 
 the spirit that women's hearts love to hear of, I can tell 
 thee."' Ami she stooped and kissed him in reward. " Hold 
 to that faith. Be not ashamed of your loyalty to your 
 mother England ! Ashamed ? Heaven's mercy, where is 
 there such another country to be proud of ? And where is 
 there another mother that hath bred such a race of sons? 
 Why, times without number have I heard my father say 
 that neither Greece nor Borne nor Carthage nor any of them 
 wire such a race of men as these in this small island, nor 
 had done such great things, Dor earned so great a fame, in 
 all parts of the world and beyond the seas. And mark you 
 this, too : 'tis the men who are fiercest to fight with men 
 that hit gentlest to women ; they make no slaves of their 
 women : they make companions of them ; ami in honouring 
 them they honour themselves, as I reckon. Why, now, 
 could 1 but remember what my father hath written about
 
 A DA UGHTER OF ENGLAND 193 
 
 England 'twould stir your heart, I know ; that it would ; 
 for you are one of the true stuff, I'll be sworn ; and you will 
 grow up to do your duty by your gracious mother England 
 — not to run away from her in peevish discontent ! " 
 
 She cast about for some time : her memory, that she could 
 not replenish by any book-reading, being a large and some- 
 what miscellaneous storehouse. 
 
 '"Twas after this fashion," said she, "if I remember 
 aright — 
 
 ' This royal throne of Icings, this sceptred isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This fortress, built by nature for herself, 
 Against infestion, and the hand of war: 
 This happy breed of men, this little world; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea — 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
 Against the envy of less happier lands — 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!' 
 
 Mark you that, sweetheart ? — is't not a land worth fighting 
 for ? Ay, and she hath had sons that could fight for her ; 
 and she bath them yet, I dare be sworn, if the need were to 
 arise. And this is what you shall say, cousin Willie, when 
 you are a man and grown — 
 
 ' Come the three comers of the world in arms, 
 And we shall shock them: Naught shall make us rue 
 If England to itself do rest but true ! ' " 
 
 These quotations were but for the instruction of this 
 small cousin of hers ; and yet her own face was proud. 
 
 " Shall I be a soldier, then, cousin Judith ? " the boy said. 
 " I am willing enough. I would be what you would wish 
 me to be ; and if I went to the wars you would never have 
 need to be ashamed of me." 
 
 " That know I right well, sweetheart," said she, and she 
 patted him on the head. " But 'tis not every one's duty to 
 follow that calling. You must wait and judge for yourself. 
 But whatever chances life may bring you, this must you 
 ever remain — if you would have my love, Sweetheart, and 
 that I hope you shall have always — you must remain a good 
 and loyal son to your mother England ; one not easily 
 discontented with small discomforts and sent forth in a 
 

 
 194 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 peevish fit. Where is there a fairer country ? Marry, 
 I know of none. Look around — is't not a fair enough 
 country ? " 
 
 And fair indeed on this quiet evening was that wide 
 stretch of Warwickshire — with its hedges and green 
 meadows and low-lying wooded hills bathed in the warm 
 sunset light. But it was the presence of Judith that made 
 it all magical and mystical to him. Whatever she regarded 
 with her clear-shining and wondrous eyes was beautiful 
 enough for him — while her hand lay on his shoulder or 
 touched his hair. He was a willing pupil. He drank in 
 those lessons in patriotism : what was it he would not do 
 for his cousin Judith ? What was it he would not believe 
 if it, were she who told him — in that strange voice of hers, 
 that thrilled him, and was like music to him, whether she 
 spoke to him in this proud, admonitory way, or was in a 
 teasing mood, or was gentle and affectionate towards him ? 
 Yes, this Warwickshire landscape Avas fair enough under 
 the calm sunset sky ; but he knew not what made it all so 
 mystical and wonderful, and made the far golden clouds 
 seem as the very gateways to heaven. 
 
 " Or is there one with a prouder story ? " she continued. 
 "Or a land of greater freedom ? Why, look at me now. 
 Here am T, a woman, easily frightened, helpless if there 
 were danger, not able to fight any one. Why, you yourself, 
 cousin Willie, if you were to draw a dagger on me, I declare 
 to thee I would run and shriek and hide. Well, look at 
 me as I stand here : all the might and majesty of England 
 cannot harm me — I am free to go or to stay — what needs 
 one more ? None durst put a hand on me ; my mind is 
 as free as my footsteps ; I may go this way or that as I 
 choose ; and that no one may command me to believe this, 
 that, or the other. W hat more ? And this security — think 
 you it had not to be fought for ? — think you it was not 
 worth the fighting for ? Or think you we should forget to 
 give good thanks to the men that faced the Spaniards, and 
 drove them by sea and shore, and kept our England to 
 ourselves ? Or think you we should forget our good Queen 
 Bess, that I warrant me had .is much spirit as they, and 
 was as much a man as auy of them ? " 
 
 She laughed
 
 A DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND 195 
 
 " Perchance you never heard, sweetheart, of the answer 
 that she made to the Spanish ambassador ? " 
 
 " No, Judith," said he — but something in her manner 
 told him that there had been no cowardice in that answer. 
 
 " Well," she said, " I will tell thee the story of what 
 happened at Deptford. And now I bethink me, this must 
 you do, Cousin Willie, when you are grown to be a man ; 
 and whether you be soldier or sailor, or merchant or 
 student, 'tis most like that some day or other you will be 
 in London ; and then must you not fail to go straightway 
 to Deptford to see the famous ship of Sir Francis Drake 
 lying there. I tell thee, 'twas a goodly thought to place it 
 there ; that was like our brave Queen Bess ; she would 
 have the youth of the country regard with honour the ship 
 that had been all round the world and chased the Spaniards 
 from every sea. Nay, so bad is my memory that I cannot 
 recall the name of the vessel — perchance 'twas the Judith 
 — at least, I have heard that he had one of that name : but 
 there it lies, to signal the glory of England and the routing 
 of Spain." 
 
 " The Judith," said he, with wondering eyes. " Did he 
 name the ship after you, cousin ? " 
 
 " Bless the lad, all that I am going to tell thee happened 
 ere I was born ! " 
 
 " No matter," said he, stoutly, " the first thing I will ask 
 to see, if ever I get to London, is that very ship." 
 
 " Well, then, the story," she continued, shaping the thing 
 in her mind (for being entirely destitute of book-learning, 
 historical incidents were apt to assume a dramatic form in 
 her imagination, and also to lose literal accuracy of outline). 
 " You must know the Spaniards were sore vexed because of 
 the doings of Francis Drake in all parts of the world, for 
 he had plundered and harried them, and burned their ships 
 and their towns, and made the very name of England a 
 terror to them. "lis no marvel if they wished to get hold 
 of him ; and they declared him to be no better than a pirate ; 
 and they would have the Queen — that is, our last Queen — ■ 
 deliver him over to them that they might do with him what 
 they willed. Marry, 'twas a bold demand — to make of 
 England ! And the Queen — how does she take it, think 
 you ? — how is she moved to act in such a pass ? Why, she 
 
 2
 
 196 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 goes down to Deptford, to this very ship that I told thee of 
 — she, and all her nobles and ladies — for they would see the 
 famous ship. Then they had dinner on board, as I have 
 heard the story ; and the Queen's Majesty asked many par- 
 ticulars of his voyages from Master Drake ; and received 
 from him certain jewels as a gift, and was right proud to 
 wear them. Then says she aloud to them all : ' My lords, 
 is this the man the Spaniards would Lave me give over to 
 them ? ' Eight well she knew he was the man ; but that 
 was her way, and she would call the attention of all of them. 
 ' Your Majesty,' they said, ' 'tis no other.' Then she swore 
 a great oath that the Queen of England knew how to make 
 answer to such a demand. ' Come hither, Master Drake,' 
 says she, in a terrible voice. ' Kneel ! ' Then he knelt on 
 his knee before her. 'My Lord,' says she to one of the 
 noblemen standing by, 'your sword! ' And then, when 
 she had the sword in her hand, she says, in a loud voice : 
 'My Lords, this is the man that Spain would have us give 
 up to her ; and this is the answer of England : Arise, Sir 
 Francis ! ' — and with that she taps him on the shoulder — 
 which is the way of making a knight, cousin Willie, and I 
 pray you may be brave and valiant, and come to the same 
 dignity, so that all of us here in Stratford shall say — ' There, 
 now, is one that knew how to serve faithfully his fair mother 
 England ! ' But that was not all, you must know, that 
 happened with regard to Sir Francis Drake. For the 
 Spanish ambassador was wroth with the Queen; ay, and 
 went the length even of speaking with threats. ''Twill 
 come to the cannon,' says he. ' What ? ' says she, turning 
 upon him. ' Your Majesty,' says he, ' I fear me this matter 
 will come to the cannon.' And guess you her answer ? — 
 nay, they say she spoke quite calmly, and regarded him from 
 head to foot, and that if there were anger in her heart there 
 was none in her voice. ' Little man, little man,' says she, 
 ' if I hear any more such words from thee, by God I will 
 clap thee straight into a dungeon ! ' " 
 
 .Judith laughed in a proud kind of way. 
 
 "That was the answer that England gave," said she. 
 '" and that she is like to give again, if the Don or any other 
 of them would seek to lord it over her ! " 
 
 Three-fourths of these details were of her own invention ;
 
 A DAUGHTER OP ENGLAND 197 
 
 or rather — for it is scarcely fair to say that — they had 
 unconsciously grown up in her mind from the small seed 
 of the true story. But little Willie Hart had no distrust of 
 any legend that his cousin Judith might relate to him. 
 Whatever Judith said was true — and also luminous in a 
 strange kind of fashion : something beautiful and full of 
 colour, to be thought over and pondered over. And now 
 as they walked along towards the village — idly and lazily 
 enough, for she had no other errand than to fetch back the 
 manuscript that would be lying at the cottage — his eyes 
 were wistful. His fancies were far away. What was it, 
 then, that he was to do for England — that Judith should 
 approve in the after years ? And for how long should he 
 be away — in the Spanish Main, perchance, of which he had 
 heard many stories, or fighting in the lowlands of Holland, 
 or whatever he was called to do — and what was there at 
 the end ? Well, the end that he foresaw and desired — the 
 reward of all his toil — was nothing more nor less than this : 
 that he should be sitting once again in a pew in Stratford 
 church, on a quiet Sunday morning, with Judith beside 
 him as of old, they listening to the singing together. He 
 did not think of his being grown up, or that she would be 
 other than she was now. His mind could form no other 
 or fairer consummation than that — that would be for him 
 the final good — to come back to Stratford town, to find 
 Judith as she had ever been to him, gentle, and kind, and 
 soft-handed, and ready with a smile from her beautiful and 
 lustrous eyes. 
 
 " Yes, sweetheart Willie," said she, as they were Hearing 
 the cottages, " look at the quiet that reigns all around, and 
 no priests of the Inquisition to come dragging my poor old 
 grandmother from her knitting. What has she to do but 
 look after the garden, and scold the maid, and fetch milk 
 for the cat ? And all this peace of the land that we enjoy 
 Ave may have to fight for again ; and then, if the King's 
 Majesty calls, either for men or for money, you shall have 
 no word but obedience. Heard you never of the Scotch 
 knight, Sir Patrick Spens ? — that the Scotch King would 
 send away to Norroway at an evil time of the year ? Did 
 he grumble ? Did he say his men were ill-content to start 
 at such a time ? Nay, as I have heard, when he read the
 
 198 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 King's letter the tears welled in his eyes ; but I'll be sworn 
 that was for the companions he was taking with him to 
 face the cruel sea. 
 
 * The King's daughter from Norroway, 
 'Tis we must fetch her home,' 
 
 he says ; and then they up with their sails, and set out 
 from the land that they never were to see more. What of 
 that ? They were brave men ; they did what was demanded 
 of them ; though the black seas of the north were too 
 strong for them in the end. 'Twas a sad tale, in good 
 sooth — 
 
 ' Jang, lang may the ladies sit, 
 
 W% the fans into their hand, 
 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Come sailing to the strand! 
 
 1 And lang, lang may the maidens^ sit, 
 Wi' their gold combs in their hair, 
 All waiting for their ane dear loves, 
 For them they'll see nae mair. 
 
 1 Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, 
 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, 
 And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.' 
 
 But what, then ? I tell thee, sweetheart, any maiden that 
 would be worth the winning would a hundred times liefer 
 wail for a lover that had died bravely than welcome him 
 back safe and sound as a coward. You shall be no coward, 
 I warrant me, when you are grown up to be a man ; and 
 above all— as I say— shall you be gentle and forgiving with 
 your mother England, even if your own condition be not all 
 you wish ; and none the less for that shall you be willing 
 to fight for her, should she be in trouble. Nay, I'll answer 
 for thee, lad : I know thee well." 
 
 "But, Judith," said he, "who are they you speak of, 
 that are discontented, and would go away and leave the 
 country ? " 
 
 Well, it is probable she might have found some embar- 
 rassment in answering this question (if she had been pressed 
 to name names) but that what she now beheld deprived 
 her of the power of answering altogether. She had como
 
 VARYING MOODS igg 
 
 over from the town with no other thought than to pay a 
 brief visit to her grandmother and fetch back the portion 
 of the play, and she had not the slightest expectation of 
 encountering Master Leofric Hope. But there unmistakably 
 he was — though he did not see her, for he was standing at 
 the gate of her grandmother's cottage, and talking to the 
 old dame, who was on the other side. There was no 
 pretence of concealment. Here he was in the public path, 
 idly chatting, his hand resting on the gate. And as Judith 
 had her cousin Willie with her, her first thought was to 
 hurry away in any direction in order to escape an interview : 
 but directly she saw that this was impossible, for her grand- 
 mother had descried her if Leofric Hope had not. The 
 consequence was that, as she went forward to the unavoid- 
 able meeting, she was not only surprised and a trifle 
 confused and anxious, but also somewhat and vaguely 
 resentful ; for she had been intending, before seeing him 
 again, to frame in her mind certain tests which might 
 remove or confirm one or two suspicions that had caused her 
 disquietude. And now — and unfairly, as she thought — she 
 found herself compelled to meet him without any such 
 legitimate safeguard of preparation. She had no time to 
 reflect that it was none of his fault. "Why had not he left 
 the play earlier, she asked herself ? Why had not he 
 departed at once ? Why, with all his professions of secrecy, 
 should he be standing in the open highway, carelessly 
 talking ? And what was she to say to little Willie Hart 
 that would prevent his carrying back the tale to the school 
 and the town ? When she went forward it was with 
 considerable reluctance ; and she had a dim hurt sense of 
 having been imposed upon or somehow or another injured. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 VARYING MOODS. 
 
 But the strange thing was that the moment he turned and 
 saw her — and the moment she met the quick look of 
 friendliness and frank admiration that came into his face 
 and his eloquent dark eyes — all her misgivings, surmises, 
 suspicions, and half -meditated safeguards instantly vanished.
 
 2oa JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 She herself could not have explained it ; she only knew 
 that, face to face with him, she had no longer any doubt as 
 to his honesty : and consequently that vague sense of injury 
 vanished also. She had been taken unawares, but she did 
 not mind. Everything, indeed, connected with this young 
 man was of a startling, unusual character ; and she was 
 becoming familiar with that, and less resentful at being 
 surprised. 
 
 " Ah, fair Mistress Judith," said he, " you come oppor- 
 tunely : I would thank you from the heart for the gracious 
 company I have enjoyed this afternoon, through your good 
 will ; in truth, I was loath to part with such sweet friends, 
 and perchance detained them longer than I should." 
 
 " I scarce understand you, sir," said she, somewhat 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Not the visions that haunt a certain magic island ? " 
 said he. 
 
 Her face lit up. 
 
 " Well, sir ? " she asked, with a kind of pride ; but at 
 this point her grandmother interposed, and insisted — some- 
 what to Judith's surprise — that they should come in and 
 sit down, if not in the house, at least in the garden. He 
 seemed willing enough, for without a word he opened the 
 gate to let Judith pass ; and then she told him who her 
 cousin was ; and in this manner they went up to the little 
 arbour by the hedge. 
 
 •• Well, good sir, and how liked you the company ? " said 
 she, cheerfully, when she had got within and sate down. 
 
 Her grandmother had ostensibly taken to her knitting : 
 but she managed all the same to keep a sharp eye on the 
 young man ; for she was curious, and wanted to know 
 something further of the parcel that he had left with her. 
 it was not merely hospitality or a freak of courtesy that had 
 caused her to give him this sudden invitation. Her grand- 
 daughter Judith was a self-willed wench and mischievous : 
 she would keep an eye on her, too ; she would learn more of 
 this commerce between her and the young gentleman who 
 had apparently dropped, as it were, from the skies. As for 
 little Willie Hart, he remained outside, regarding the 
 stranger with no great goodwill; but perhaps more with 
 wonder than with anger, for he marvelled to hear Judith
 
 VARYING MOODS 201 
 
 talk familiarly with this person, of whom he had never 
 heard a word, as though she had known him for years. 
 
 " Tis not for one such as I," said Master Leofric Hope, 
 modestly — and with such a friendly regard towards Judith 
 that she turned away her eyes and kept looking at this and 
 that in the garden — " to speak of the beauties of the work ; 
 I can but tell you of the delight I have myself experienced. 
 And yet how can I even do that ? How can I make you 
 understand that — or my gratitude, either, sweet Mistress 
 Judith — unless you know something of the solitude of the 
 life I am compelled to lead ? You would have yourself to 
 live at Bassfield Farm, and watch the monotony of the days 
 there, and be scarcely able to pass the time : then would 
 you know the delight of being introduced to this fair region 
 that your father hath invented, and being permitted to hear 
 those creatures of his imagination speak to each other. Nay, 
 but 'tis beautiful ! I am no critical judge, but I swear 
 'twill charm the town ! " 
 
 " You think so, sir ? " said she, eagerly, and for an instant 
 she withdrew her eyes from the contemplation of the flowers. 
 But immediately she altered her tone to one of calm in- 
 difference. " My father hath many affairs to engage him, 
 you must understand, good sir ; perchance, now, this play 
 is not such as he would have written had he leisure — and — 
 and had he been commanded by the Court — and the like. 
 Perchance, 'tis too much of the human kind for such 
 purposes ? " 
 
 " I catch not your meaning, sweet lady," said he. 
 
 " I was thinking," said she, calmly, " of the masques you 
 told ^ us _ of — at Theobalds and elsewhere— that Master 
 Benjamin Jonson has written, and that they all seem to 
 prize so highly : perchance these were of a finer stuff than 
 my father hath time to think of, being occupied, as it were, 
 with so many cares. 'Tis a rude life, having regard to 
 horses, and lands, and malt, and the rest ; and — and the 
 Court Ladies — they would rather have the gods and goddesses 
 marching in procession, would they not ? My father's 
 writing is too much of the common kind, is it not, good 
 sir ? — 'tis more for the prentices, one might say, and such as 
 these ? " 
 
 He glanced at her. He was not sure of her.
 
 202 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " The King, sweet lady," said he, " is himself learned, and 
 would have the Court familiar with the ancient tongues : 
 and for such pageants 'tis no wonder they employ Master 
 Jonson, that is a great scholar. But surely you place not 
 such things — that are but as toys — by the side of your 
 father's plays, that all marvel at and applaud, and that have 
 driven away all others from onr stage ! " 
 
 " Say you so ? " she answered, with the same indifferent 
 demeanour. "Nay, I thought that Master Scoloker — was 
 that his worship's name ? — deemed them to be of the vulgar 
 sort. But perchance he was one of the learned ones. The 
 King, they say, is often minded to speak in the Latin. "What 
 means he by that, good sir, think you ? Hath he not yet 
 had time to learn our English speech ? " 
 
 " "Wench, what would you ? " her grandmother interposed 
 sharply. " Nay, good sir, heed her not ; her tongue be an 
 unruly member, and maketh sport of her, as I think ; but 
 the wench meaneth no harm." 
 
 " The King is proud of his learning, no doubt," said he ; 
 and he would probably have gone on to deprecate any com- 
 parison between the Court masques and her father's plays 
 but that she saw here her opportunity, and interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " I know it," she said, " for the letter that the King sent 
 to my father is writ in the Latin." 
 
 " Nay, is it so ? " said he. 
 
 She affected not to observe his surprise. 
 
 '" 'Twas all the same to my father," she continued calmly, 
 " whether the letter was in one tongue or the other. He 
 hath one book now — how is it called ? — 'tis a marvellous 
 heap of old stories — the Jests ? " 
 
 " Not the Qesta Romanorum ? " he said. 
 
 "The same, as I think. Well, he hath one copy that is 
 in English, and of our own time, as I am told ; but he hath 
 also another and a very ancient copy, that is in the Latin 
 tongue ; and this it is — the Latin one, good sir — that my 
 father is fondest of ; and many a piece of merriment he will 
 get out of it when Julius Shawc is in the house of an 
 aing." 
 
 " But the Qesta are not jests, good Mistress Judith," said 
 he, looking somewhat puzzled.
 
 VARYING MOODS 203 
 
 " I know not ; I but hear them laughing," said she 
 placidly. " Auft as for the book itself, all I know of it is 
 the outside ; but that is right strange and ancient, and 
 beautiful withal : the back of it white leather stamped with 
 curious devices ; and the sides of parchment printed in 
 letters of red and black ; and the silver clasps of it with each 
 a boar's head. I have heard say that that is the crest of the 
 Scotch knight that gave the volume to my father when they 
 were all at Aberdeen ; 'twas when they made Laurence 
 Fletcher a burgess ; and the knight said to my father, 
 ' Good sir, the honour to your comrade is a general one, 
 but I would have you take this book in particular, in the 
 way of thanks and remembrance for your wit and pleasant 
 company ' — that, or something like that, said he ; and my 
 father is right proud of the book, that is very ancient and 
 precious ; and often he will read out of it — though it be in 
 the Latin tongue. Oh, I assure you, sir," she added, with 
 a calm and proud air, " 'tis quite the same thing to him. 
 If the King choose to write to him in that tongue, well and 
 good. Marry, now I think of it, I make no doubt that 
 J alius Shawe would lend me the letter did you care to 
 see it." 
 
 He looked up quickly and eagerly. 
 
 " Goes you goodness so far, sweet Mistress Judith ? 
 Would you do me such a favour — and honour ? " 
 
 "Nay, young sir," the grandmother said, looking up 
 from her knitting, " tempt not the wench ; she be too 
 ready to do mad things out of her own mind. And you, 
 grandchild, see you meddle not in your father's affairs." 
 
 " Why, grandam," Judith cried, " 'tis the common 
 property of Stratford town ! Any one that goeth unto 
 Julius Shawe's house may see it. And why Julius Shawe's 
 friends only ? Beshrew me, there are others who have as 
 good a title to that letter — little as my father valueth it ! " 
 
 "Nay, I will forego the favour," said he, at once, 
 " though I owe you none the less thanks, dear lady, for the 
 intention of your kindness. In truth, I know not how to 
 make you sensible of what I already owe you ; for having 
 made acquaintance with those fair creations, how can one 
 but long to hear of what further befel them ? My prayer 
 would rather go in that direction — if I might make so bold."
 
 204 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 He regarded her now with a timid look. "Well, she had 
 not undertaken that he should see the whole of the play, 
 nor had she even hinted to him of any such possibility ; 
 but it had been in her mind ; and for the life of her she 
 could not see aDy harm in this brief loan of it. Harm ? 
 Had not even this small portion of it caused him to speak 
 of her father's creations as if they were of a far more 
 marvellous nature than the trumpery Court performances 
 that had engrossed his talk when first she met him ? 
 
 " There might be some difficulty, good sir," said she, 
 " but methinks I could obtain for you the further portions, 
 if my good grandmother here would receive them and hand 
 them to you when occasion served." 
 
 " What's that, wench ? " her grandmother said, instantly. 
 
 " Tis but a book, good grandam, that I would lend 
 Master Hope to lighten the dulness of his life at the farm 
 withal : you cannot have any objection, grandmother ? " 
 
 " 'Tis a new trade to find thee in, wench," said her 
 grandmother. " I'd a thought thou wert more like to have 
 secret commerce in laces and silks." 
 
 " I am no peddler, good madam," said he, with a smile, 
 "else could I find no pleasanter way of passing the time 
 than in showing to you and your fair granddaughter my 
 store of braveries. Nay, this that I would beg of you is 
 but to keep the book until I have the chance to call for it ; 
 and that is a kindness you have already shown in taking 
 charge of the little package I left for Mistress Judith 
 here." 
 
 ""Well, well, well," said the old dame, "if 'tis anything 
 belonging to her father, see you bring it back, and let not 
 the wench get into trouble." 
 
 " I think you may trust me so far, good madam," said 
 he, with such simplicity of courtesy and sincerity that even 
 the old grandmother was satisfied. 
 
 In truth she had been watching the two of them with 
 some sharpness during these few minutes to see if she could 
 detect anything in their manner that might awaken sus- 
 picion. There was nothing. No doubt the young gentle- 
 man regarded Judith with an undisguised wish to be 
 friendly with her, and say pretty things ; but was that to 
 be wondered at ? 'Twas not all the lads in Stratford that
 
 VARYING MOODS 205 
 
 would be so modest in showing their admiration for a win- 
 some lass. And this book-lending commerce was but 
 natural in the circumstances. She would have been well 
 content to hear that his affairs permitted him to leave the 
 neighbourhood — and that would happen in good time ; 
 meanwhile there could be no great harm in being civil to 
 so well-behaved a young gentleman. So now, as she had 
 satisfied herself that the leaving of the package meant 
 nothing dark or dangerous, she rose and hobbled away in 
 search of the little maid, to see that some ale was brought 
 out for the refreshment of her visitor. 
 
 " Sweetheart Willie," Judith called, " what have you 
 there ? Come hither ! " 
 
 Her small cousin had got hold of the cat ; and was 
 vainly endeavouring to teach it to jump over his clasped 
 hands. He took it up in his arms, and brought it with 
 him to the arbour — though he did not look in the direction 
 of the strange gentleman. 
 
 " We shall be setting forth for home directly," said she. 
 " Wilt thou not sit down and rest thee ? " 
 
 " 'lis no such distance, cousin," said he. 
 
 He seemed unwilling to come in ; he kept stroking the 
 cat, with his head averted. So she went out to him and 
 put her arm round his neck. 
 
 " This, sir," said she, " is my most constant companion, 
 next to Prudence Shawe ; I know not to what part of all 
 this neighbourhood we have not wandered together. And 
 such eyes he hath for the birds' nests ; when I can see 
 naught but a cloud of leaves he will say, why, 'tis so and 
 so, or so and so ; and up the tree like a squirrel, and down 
 again with one of the eggs, or perchance a small naked 
 birdling to show me. But we always put them back, 
 sweetheart, do we not ? — we leave no bereft families, nor 
 sorrowing mother-bird to find an empty nest. We do as 
 we would be done by ; and 'tis no harm to them that we 
 should look at the pretty blue eggs, or take out one of the 
 small chicks with its downy feathers and its gaping bill. 
 And for the fishing, too — there be none cleverer at setting 
 a line, as I hear, or more patient in watching : but I like 
 not that pastime, good cousin Willie, for or soon or late 
 you are certain to fall through the bushes into the river, as
 
 206 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 happened to Dickie Page last week, and there may not be 
 some one there to haul you out, as they hauled out him." 
 
 " And how fares he at the school ? " said the young 
 gentleman in the arbour. 
 
 " Oh, excellent well, as I am told," said she, " although I 
 be no judge of lessons myself. Marry, I hear good news 
 of his behaviour ; and if there be a bloody nose now and 
 again — why, a boy that's attacked must hold his own and 
 give as good as he gets — 'twere a marvel else — and 'tis no 
 use making furious over it, for who knows how the quarrel 
 began ? Nay, I will give my cousin a character for being 
 as geutle as any and as reasonable ; and if he fought with 
 Master Crutchley's boy, and hit him full score, I fear 
 between the eyes — well, having heard something of the 
 matter, I make no doubt it served young Crutchley right, 
 and that elder people should have a care in condemning 
 when they cannot know the beginning of the quarrel. 
 Well, now I bethink me, sweetheart, tell me how it began, 
 for that I never heard. How began the quarrel ? " 
 
 " Nay, 'twas nothing," he said shamefacedly. 
 
 " Nothing ? Nay, that will I not believe. I should not 
 wonder now if it were about some little wench ? What ? 
 Xay, I'll swear it now ! 'Twas about the little wench 
 that has come to live at the Vicarage — what's her name ? — 
 Minnie, or Winnie ? " 
 
 '"Twas not, then, Judith," said he. "If you must 
 know, I will tell you ; I had liefer say naught about it. 
 But 'twas not the first time he had said so — before all of 
 them — that my uncle was no better than an idle player, 
 that ought to be put in the stocks and wdiipt." 
 
 " Why, now," said she, " to think that the poor lad's 
 nose should be set a-bleeding for nothing more than that ! " 
 
 " It had been said more than once, cousin Judith ; 'twas 
 time it should end," said he, simply. 
 
 At this moment Master Leofrio Hope called to him. 
 
 " Come hither, my lad," said he, " I would hear how you 
 get on at school." 
 
 The small lad turned and looked at him, but did not 
 hudgc His demeanour was entirely changed. With Judith 
 lie was invariably gentle, submissive, abashed : now, as he 
 looked at the stranger, he seemed to resent the summons.
 
 VARYING MOODS 207 
 
 " Come hither, my lad." 
 
 " Thank you, no, sir, 1 ' he said, " I would as lief be here." 
 
 " Sweetheart, be these your manners ? " Judith said. 
 
 But the young gentleman only laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 " Didst thou find any such speeches in the Sentmtice 
 Pneriles ? " said he. " They were not there when I was at 
 school." 
 
 " "When go we back to Stratford, Judith ? " said the boy. 
 
 " Presently, presently," said she (with some vague im- 
 pression that she could not well leave until her grand- 
 mother's guest showed signs of going also). See here is 
 my grandam coming with various things for us ; and I 
 warrant me you shall find some gingerbread amongst 
 them." 
 
 The old dame and the little maid now came along, 
 bringing with them ale and jugs and spiced bread and 
 what not, which were forthwith put on the small table ; 
 and though Judith did not care to partake of these — and 
 was rather wishful to set out homeward again — still, in 
 common courtesy, she was compelled to enter the arbour 
 and sit down. Moreover, Master Hope seemed in no hurry 
 to go. It was a pleasant evening, the heat of the day 
 being over ; the skies were clear, fair, and lambent, with 
 the declining golden light ; why should one hasten away 
 from this quiet bower, in the sweet serenity and silence, 
 with the perfume of roses all around, and scarce a breath of 
 air to stir the leaves ? He but played with this slight 
 refection ; nevertheless, it was a kind of excuse for the 
 starting of fresh talk ; and his talk was interesting and 
 animated. Then he had discovered a sure and easy way 
 of pleasing Judith, and instantly gaining her attention. 
 When he spoke of the doings in London, her father was no 
 longer left out of these : nay, on the contrary, he became a 
 central figure ; and she learned more now of the Globe and 
 Blackfriar's theatres than ever she had heard in her life 
 before. Nor did she fail to lead him on with questions. 
 Which of her father's friends were most constant attendants 
 at the theatre ? Doubtless they had chairs set for them on 
 the stage ? AVas there any one that her father singled out 
 for especial favour ? When they went to the tavern in the 
 evening, what place had her father at the board ? Did any
 
 2oS JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of the young lords go with thern ? How late sate they ? 
 Did her father outshine them all with his wit and merri- 
 ment, or did he sit quiet and amused — for sometimes it was 
 the one and sometimes the other with him here in Stratford. 
 Did they in London know that he had such a goodly house, 
 and rich lands, and horses ? And was there good cooking 
 at the tavern — Portugal dishes, and the like ? Or per- 
 chance (she asked, with an inquiring look from the beauti- 
 ful, clear eyes) it was rather poor ? And the napery now : 
 it was not always of the cleanest ? And instead of neat- 
 handed maids, rude serving-men, tapsters, drawers, and so 
 forth ? And the ale — she could be sworn 'twas no better 
 than the Warwickshire ale ; no, nor was the claret likely 
 to be better than that brought into the country for the 
 gentlefolk by such noted vintners as Qniney. Her father's 
 lodging — that he said was well enough, as he said every- 
 thing was well enough, for she had never known him utter 
 a word of discontent with anything that happened to him — 
 perchance 'twas none of the cleanliest ? — For she had heard 
 that the London housewives were mostly slovens, and would 
 close you doors and windows against the air so that a 
 countryman going to that town was like to be sickened. 
 And her father — did he ever speak of his family when he 
 was in London ? Did they know he had belongings ? 
 Nay, she was certain he must have talked to his friends and 
 familiars of little Bess Hall — for how could he help that ? 
 
 " You forget, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, in his 
 pleasant way, " that I have not the honour of your father's 
 friendship, nor of his acquaintance even, and what I have 
 told you is all of hearsay, save with regard to the theatre, 
 where I have seen him often. And that is the general 
 consent: that this one may have more learning, and that 
 one more sharpness of retort, but that in these encounters 
 he hath a grace and a brilliancy far out-vying them all, and, 
 moreover, with such a gentleness as earns him the general 
 good will. Such is the report of him ; I would it had been 
 in my power to speak from my own experience." 
 
 •• But that time will come, good sir," said she, " and soon, 
 1 trust." 
 
 "In the meanwhile," said he, " bethink you what a favour 
 it is that I should be permitted to come into communion
 
 VARYING MOODS ioq 
 
 with those fair creations of his fancy ; and I would remind 
 you once more of your promise, sweet Mistress Judith ; and 
 would beseech your good grandmother to take charge of 
 anything you may leave for me. Nay, 'twill be for no 
 longer than an hour or two that I would detain it ; but that 
 brief time I would have free from distractions, so that the 
 mind may dwell on the picture. Do I make too bold ? 
 Or does your friendship go so far ? " 
 
 " In truth, sir," she answered readily, " if I can, I will 
 bring you the rest of the play — but perchance in portions, 
 as the occasion serves ; 'twere no great harm should you 
 carry away with you some memory of the Duke and his fair 
 daughter on the island." 
 
 " The time will pass slowly until I hear more of them," 
 said he. 
 
 " And meanwhile, good grandmother," said she, " if you 
 will tell me where I may find the little package, methinks I 
 must be going." 
 
 At this he rose. 
 
 " I beseech your pardon if I have detained you, Mistress 
 Judith," said he, with much courtesy. 
 
 " Nay, sir, I am indebted to you for welcome news," she 
 answered, " and I would I had longer opportunity of hearing. 
 And what said you — that he outshone them all ? — that it 
 was the general consent ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? " he said gallantly. 
 
 " Nay, sir, we of his own household — and his friends in 
 Stratford — we know and see what my father is : so well 
 esteemed, in truth, as Julius Skawe saith, that there is not 
 a man in "Warwickshire would cheat him in the selling of a 
 horse — which they are not slow to do, as I hear, with others. 
 But I knew not he had won so wide and general a report 
 in London, where they might know him not so well as we." 
 
 " Let me assure you of that, dear lady," he said, " and 
 also that I will not forget to bring or send you the printed 
 tribute to his good qualities that I spoke of, when that I 
 may with safety go to London. 'Tis but a trifle, bnt it 
 may interest his family ; marry, I wonder he hath not him- 
 self spoken of it to you." 
 
 " He speak of it ? " said she, regarding him with some 
 surprise as if he ought to have known better. " We scarce 
 
 P
 
 210 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 know aught of what happeneth to him in London. When 
 he comes home to Warwickshire it would seem as if he had 
 forgotten London and all its affairs, and left them behind 
 for good." 
 
 " Left them behind for good, say you, wench ? " the old 
 dame grumbled, mostly to herself, as she preceded them 
 down the path. " I would your father had so much sense. 
 What hath he to gain more among the players and dicers 
 and tavern-brawlers and that idle crew ? Let him bide at 
 home, among respectable folk. Hath he not enough of 
 gear gathered round him, eh ? It be high time he slipped 
 loose from those mummers that play to please the cut-purses 
 and their trulls in London. Hath he not enough of gear ? " 
 
 " AVhat say you, grandmother ? You would have my 
 father come away from London and live always in Warwick- 
 shire ? Well, now, that is nearer than you think, or my 
 guesses are wrong." 
 
 But her grandmother had gone into the cottage ; and 
 presently she returned with the little package. Then there 
 was a general leave-taking at the gate ; and Leofric Hope — 
 after many expressions of his thanks and good will — set out 
 on his own way ; Judith and her cousin taking the path 
 through the meadows. 
 
 For some time they walked in silence ; then, as soon as 
 the stranger was out of earshot, the lad looked up and 
 said — 
 
 " Who is that, Judith ? " 
 
 " Why," said she, lightly, " I scarcely know myself ; but 
 that he is in misfortune and hiding, and that he knoweth 
 certain of my father's friends, and that he seems pleased to 
 have a few words with one or other of us to cheer his soli- 
 tude. You would not begrudge so much, sweetheart ? 
 Xay, there is more than that I would have you do : his 
 safety depends on there being no talk about him in the 
 town ; and I know you can keep a secret, Cousin Willie ; so 
 you must not say a word to any one — whether at school, or 
 at home, or at New Place — of your having seen him. You 
 will do as much for my sake, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but why for your sake, cousin ? " said the boy, 
 looking up. " Why should you concern yourself ? " 
 
 " Nay, call it for anybody's sake, then," said she. " But
 
 VARYING MOODS 211 
 
 I would not have him betrayed by any one that I had aught 
 to do with — and least of all by you, sweetheart, that I 
 expect to show nothing but fair and manly parts. Nay, I 
 trust you. You will not blab." 
 
 And then as they walked on, it occurred to her that 
 this young gentleman's secret — if he wished it kept — was 
 becoming somewhat widely extended in his neighbourhood. 
 In her own small circle how many already knew of his 
 presence ? — her grandmother, Prudence Shawe, herself, 
 Tom Quiney, and now this little Willie Hart. And she 
 could not but- remember that not much more than half an 
 hour ago she had seen him at the garden-gate, carelessly 
 chatting, and apparently not heeding in the least what 
 passers-by might observe him. But that was always the 
 way : when she left him, when she was with her own 
 thoughts, curious surmises would cross her mind ; whereas, 
 when she met him, these were at once discarded. And so 
 she took to arguing with herself as to why she should be so 
 given to do this young man injustice in his absence, when, 
 every time she encountered him face to face, she was more 
 than ever convinced of his honesty. Fascination ? Well, 
 she liked to hear of London town and the goings on there ; 
 and this evening she had been particularly interested in 
 hearing about the Globe Theatre, and the spectators, and 
 the tavern to which her father and his friends repaired for 
 their supper; but surely that would not blind her if she 
 had any reason to think that the young man was other than 
 he represented ? And then, again, this evening he had 
 been markedly deferential. There was nothing in his 
 manner of that somewhat too open gallantry he had dis- 
 played in the morning when he made his speech about 
 the English roses. Had she not wronged him, then, in 
 imagining even for a moment that he had played a trick 
 upon her in order to make her acquaintance ? It is true, 
 she had forgotten to make special remark of his eyes, as to 
 whether they were like those of the wizard ; for, indeed, 
 the suspicion had gone clean out of her mind. But now 
 she tried to recall them ; and she could not fairly say to 
 herself that there was a resemblance. Nay, the wizard was 
 a solemn person, who seemed to rebuke her light- hear ted- 
 ness ; he spoke gravely and slow ; whereas this young 
 
 p 2
 
 2 1 2 JUDITH SUA KESPEA RE 
 
 man, as any one could see, had a touch of merriment in 
 his eye, that was ready to declare itself on further ac- 
 quaintance, only that his deference kept him subdued ; 
 while his talk was light and animated and rapid. No, she 
 would absolve him from this suspicion ; and soon, indeed, 
 as she guessed, he would absolve himself, by removing from 
 the neighbourhood ; and probably she would hear no more 
 of him, unless, perchance, he should remember to send her 
 that piece of print concerning her father. 
 
 And then her thoughts went far afield. She had heard 
 much of London that evening ; and London, in her mind, 
 was chiefly associated with her father's plays, or such as 
 she knew of them ; and these again were represented to 
 her by a succession of figures, whose words she thought of, 
 whose faces she saw, when, as now, her fancies were distant. 
 And she was more silent than usual as they went on their 
 way across the meadows ; and scarce addressed a word to 
 her companion ; insomuch that at last he looked up into 
 her face, and said : 
 
 " Judith, why are you so sad this evening ? " 
 
 " Sad, sweetheart ? Surely no," she answered, and she 
 put her hand on his head. " What makes thee think so ? " 
 
 " Did Dame Hathaway speak harshly to you ? " said he. 
 " Methought I heard her say something. Another time I 
 will bid her hold her peace." 
 
 " Nay, nay, not so," said she ; and as they were now 
 come to a stile, she paused there, and drew the boy towards 
 her. 
 
 Not that she was tired ; but the evening was so quite 
 and still ; and the whole world seemed falling into a gentle 
 repose. There was not a sound near them ; the earth was 
 hushed as it sank to sleep; far away they could hear the 
 voices of children going home with their parents, or the 
 distant barking of a dog. It was late ; and yet the skies 
 seemed full of light ; and all the objects around them were 
 strangely distinct and vivid. Behind them the north- 
 western heavens were of a pale luminous gold ; overhead 
 and in front of them the great vault was of a beautiful lilae- 
 giav, deepening to blue in the sombre east ; and into this 
 lambent twilight the great black elms rose in heavy masses. 
 The wide meadows still caught some of the dying radiance ;
 
 VARYING MOODS 213 
 
 and there was a touch of it on the westward-looking 
 gables of one or two cottages ; and then through this 
 softened glow there came a small keen ray of lemon-yellow 
 — a light in one of the far-off windows, that burned there 
 like a star. So hushed this night was, and so calm and 
 beautiful, that a kind of wistfulness fell over her mind — 
 scarcely sadness, as the boy had imagined — but a dull 
 longing for sympathy, and some vague wonder as to what 
 her life might be in the years to come. 
 
 " Why, sweetheart," said she, absently, and her hand lay 
 affectionately on his shoulder, " as we came along here this 
 evening we were speaking of all that was to happen to you 
 in after-life ; and do you never think you would like to 
 have the picture unrolled now, and see for yourself, and 
 have assurance ? Does not the mystery of it make you 
 impatient, or restless, or sad — so that you would fain have 
 the years go by quick, and get to the end ? Nay, I trow 
 not ; the day and the hour are sufficient for thee ; and 'tis 
 better so. Keep as thou art, sweetheart ; and pay no heed 
 to what may hereafter happen to thee." 
 
 " "What is't that troubles you, Judith ? " said he, with an 
 instinctive sympathy, for there was more in her voice than 
 in her words. 
 
 " Why, I know not myself," said she, slowly, and with 
 her eyes fixed vacantly on the darkening landscape. " No- 
 thing, as I reckon. 'Tis but beating one's wings against 
 the invisible to seek to know even to-morrow. And in the 
 further years some will have gone away from Stratford, and 
 some to far countries, and some will be married, and some 
 grown old ; but to all the end will be the same ; and I 
 dare say now that, hundreds of years hence, other people 
 will be coming to Stratford, and they will go into the 
 churchyard there, and walk about and look at the names 
 — that is, of you and me and all the rest of us — and they 
 will say, ' Poor things, they vexed themselves about very 
 small matters while they were alive, but they are all at 
 peace at last.' " 
 
 " But what is it that troubles you, Judith ? " said he — 
 for this was an unusual mood with her, who generally was 
 so thoughtless, and merry, and high-hearted. 
 
 (l Why, nothing, sweetheart, nothing ! " said she, seeming
 
 214 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 to rouse herself. " 'Tis the quiet of the night that is so 
 strange ; and the darkness corning. Or will there be 
 moonlight ? In truth, there must be ; and getting near 
 to the full, as I reckon. A night for Jessica ! Heard 
 you ever of her, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " No, Judith." 
 
 "Well, she was a fair maiden, that lived long ago, 
 somewhere in Italy, as I think. And she ran away with 
 her lover, and was married to him, and was very happy ; 
 and all that is now known of her is connected with music, 
 and moonlight, and an evening such as this. Is not that 
 a fair life to lead after death : to be in all men's thoughts 
 always as a happy bride, on such a still night as this is 
 now ? And would you know how her lover spoke to 
 her ? — this is what he says : 
 
 'How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this hank I 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica. Look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patins of bright gold: 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou helioldst 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But, lohilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Both grossly close it in, we cannot hear it 
 Come, ho! and wake Biana with a hymn; 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear 
 And draw her home with music' 
 
 Is not that a gentle speech ? And so shall you speak to 
 your bride, sweetheart, in the years to come, when you 
 have wooed her and won her. And then you will tell her 
 that if she loves you not — ay, and if she loves you not 
 dearly and well — then she is not like one that you knew 
 long ago, and that was your cousin, and her name Judith 
 Shakespeare. Come, sweetheart," said she, and she rose 
 from the stile, and took his hand in hers. " Shall I draw 
 thee home ? But not with sweet music, for I have not 
 Susan's voice. I would I had, for thy sake." 
 
 " You have the prettiest voice in the whole world, cousin 
 Judith," said he. 
 
 And so they walked on and in to the town, in silence
 
 A DISCOVERY 215 
 
 mostly. The world had grown more solemn now : here 
 and there in the lilac-gray deeps overhead a small silver 
 point began to appear. And sure he was that whatever 
 might happen to him in the years to come, no sweetheart 
 or any other would ever crush out from his affection or 
 from his memory this sweet cousin of his ; for him she 
 would always be the one woman, strange and mystical 
 and kind ; there never would be any touch like the touch 
 of her hand, so gentle was it as it rested on his hair ; and 
 there never would be anything more wonderful and gracious 
 to look forward to than the old and familiar sitting in the 
 church pew by Judith's side, with the breathless fascination 
 of knowing that she was so near, and the thrill of hearing 
 her join (rather timidly, for she was not proud of her 
 voice) in the singing of the choir. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 fl That be so as I tell ye, zur," said Matthew gardener, as 
 he slowly sharpened a long knife on the hone that he held 
 in his hand, " it all cometh of the pampering of queasy 
 stomachs nowadays that cannot hold honest food. There 
 be no such folk now as there wur in former days, when 
 men wur hardy, and long-lived, and healthy ; and why, 
 zur ? — why, but that they wur content wi' plain dishes of 
 pulse or herbs, and for the most worshipful no more than a 
 dish of broth and a piece of good wholesome beef withal. 
 But nowadays, Lord, Lord ! — dish after dish, with each 
 his several sauce ; and this from Portugal and that from 
 France, so that gluttony shall have its swing, and never 
 a penny be kept for the poor. Nay, I tell ye, zur, rich 
 and poor alike wur stronger and healthier when there wur 
 no such waste in the land ; when a man would wear his 
 frieze coat and hozen of the colour of the sheep that bore 
 them ; and have his shirt of honest hemp or flax ; and 
 could sleep well with his head on a block of wood and 
 a sheepskin thrown o'er it. But nowadays must he have 
 his shirt of fine lawn and needlework ; ay, and his soft
 
 2 1 6 JUDITH SUA KESPEARE 
 
 pillow to lie on, so that his lily-white body shall come to 
 no scratching ; nor will he drink any longer small drink, 
 no, nor water, but heavy ales and rich wines ; and all 
 goeth to the belly and naught to his poorer neighbour. 
 And what cometh of this but tender stomachs, and riot, 
 and waste ? — and lucky if Bocardo be not at the end of 
 it all ? " 
 
 As it chanced on this fine morning, Judith's father had 
 strolled along to look at some trained apple-trees at the 
 farther end of the garden, and finding goodman Matthew 
 there, and having a mind for idleness, had sate down on 
 a bench to hear what news of the condition of the land 
 Matthew might have to lay before him. 
 
 " Nay, but, good Matthew," said he, " if these luxuries 
 work such mischief, 'tis the better surely that the poor have 
 none of them. They, at least, cannot have their stomachs 
 ruined with sauces and condiments." 
 
 " Lord bless ye, zur," said the ancient, with a wise smile, 
 " 'tis not in one way but in all ways that the mischief is 
 done ; for the poorest, seeing such waste and gluttony 
 everywhere abroad, have no continence of their means, but 
 will spend their last penny on any foolishness. Lord* 
 Lord, they be such poor simple creatures ! — they that have 
 scarce a rag to their backs will crowd at the mops and fairs, 
 and spend their money — on what ? Why, you must ha' 
 witnessed it, zur — the poor fools ! — emptying their pouches 
 to see a woman walking on a rope, or a tumbler joining 
 his hands to his heels, or a hen with two heads ! The 
 poor simple creatures! — and yet I warrant (me they be 
 none so poor but that the rascal doctor can make his 
 money out o' them : 'tis a foine way o' making a fortune 
 that — going vagrom about the country with his draughts 
 and pills — not honest medicines that a body might make 
 out o' wholesome herbs, but nauseous stinking stuff that 
 robs a man of his breath in the very swallowing of it. And 
 the almanac makers, too — marry, that, now, be another 
 thriving trade ! — the searching of stars, and the prophesying 
 of dry or wet weather ! Weather ? what know they of the 
 weather, the town-bred rogues, that lie and cheat to get at 
 the poor countryfolks' money ? God-a-mercy, a whip to 
 their shoulders would teach them more o' the weather than
 
 A DISCOVERY 217 
 
 ever they are like to get out of the stars ! And yet the 
 poor fools o' countrymen — that scarce know a B from a 
 battledore — will sit 0' nights puzzling their brains o'er the 
 signs o' the heavens ; and no matter what any man with 
 eyes can see for himself — ay, and fifty times surer, as I take 
 it — they will prophesy you a dry month or a wet month, 
 because the almanac saith so ; and they will swear to you 
 that Taurus — that is a lion— and the virgin scales have 
 come together, therefore there must be a blight on the 
 pear-trees ! Heard you ever the like, zur — that a man in 
 Lunnon, knowing as much about husbandry and farm-work 
 as a cat knows about quoit-throwing, is to tell me the 
 weather down here in Warwickshire ? God help us, they 
 be poor weak creatures that think so ; I'd liefer look at 
 the cover of a penny ballad, if I wanted to know when 
 there was to be frost 0' nights." 
 
 At this juncture the old man grinned as if some secret 
 joke were tickling his fancy. 
 
 " Why, zur," said he, looking up from the hone, " would 
 you believe this, zur — they be such fools that a rogue 
 will sell them a barren cow for a milch-cow if he but 
 put a strange calf to her ? 'Tis done, zur, 'tis done, I 
 assure ye." 
 
 " In truth, a scurvy trick ! " Judith's father said. He 
 was idly drawing figures on the ground with a bit of stick 
 he had got hold of. Perhaps he was not listening atten- 
 tively; but at all events he encouraged Matthew to talk. 
 " But surely with years comes wisdom. The most foolish 
 are not caught twice with such a trick." 
 
 " What of that, zur ? " answered Matthew. " There be 
 plenty of other fools in the land to make the trade of 
 roguery thrive. 'Tis true that a man may learn by his 
 own experience ; but what if he hath a son that be growing 
 up a bigger fool than himself ? And that's where 'tis now- 
 adays, zur ; there be no waiting and prudence, but every 
 saucy boy must match on to his maid and marry her ere 
 they have a roof to put over their heads. "Tis a fine 
 beginning, surely ! No waiting, no prudence — as the rich 
 are wasteful and careless, so are the poor heedless of the 
 morrow ; and the boy and the wench, they must have their 
 cottage at the lane end, run up of elder poles, and forth-
 
 218 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 with begin the begetting of beggars to swarm over the land. 
 A rare beginning ! — body o' me, do they think they can 
 live on nettles and grass, like Nebuchadnezzar ? " 
 
 And so the old man continued to rail, and grumble, 
 and bemoan, sometimes with a saturnine grin of satisfaction 
 at his own wit coming over his face ; and Judith's father 
 did not seek to controvert ; he listened, and drew figures 
 on the ground, and merely put in a word now and again. 
 It was a pleasant morning — fresh, and clear, and sunny ; 
 and this town of Stratford was a quiet place at that hour, 
 with the children all at school. Sometimes Judith's father 
 laughed, but he did not argue ; and goodman Matthew, 
 having it all his own way, was more than ever convinced, 
 not only that he was the one wise man among a generation 
 of fools, but also that he was the only representative and 
 upholder of the Spartan virtues that had characterised his 
 forefathers. It is true that on more than one occasion he 
 had been found somewhat overcome with ale ; but this, 
 when he had recovered from his temporary confusion, 
 he declared was entirely due to the rascal brewers of those 
 degenerate days — and especially of Warwickshire — who 
 put all manner of abominations into their huff-cap, so that 
 an honest Worcestershire stomach might easily be caught 
 napping, and take no shame. 
 
 And meanwhile what had been happening in another 
 part of the garden ? As it chanced, Judith had been sent 
 by her mother to carry to the summer-house a cup of wine 
 and some thin cates ; and, in doing so, she of course saw 
 that both her father and goodman Matthew were at the 
 farther end of the garden, and apparently settled there for 
 the time being. The opportunity was too good to be lost. 
 She swiftly went back to the house, seemed the portion of 
 the play that was secreted there, and as quickly coming 
 out again, exchanged it for an equal number of new sheets. 
 It was all the work of a couple of minutes ; and in another 
 second she was in her own room, ready to put the precious 
 prize into her little cupboard of boxes. And yet she could 
 not forbear turning over the sheets and examining them 
 curiously ; and she was saying to herself : " You cruel 
 writing, to have such secrets, and refuse to give them 
 up 1 If it were pictures now, I could make out something,
 
 A DISCOVERY 219 
 
 with a guess ; but all these little marks, so much alike, 
 what can one make of them ? — all alike — with here and 
 there a curling, as if my father had been amusing himself 
 — and all so plain and even, too, with never a blot ; marry, 
 1 marvel he should make the other copy, unless with intent 
 to alter as he writes. And those words with the big letters 
 at the beginning, these be the people's names — Ferdinand, 
 and sweet Miranda, and the Duke, and the ill beast that 
 would harm them all. Why, in Heaven's mercy, was I so 
 fractious ? I might even now be learning all the story — 
 here by myself- — the only one in the land — I might all by 
 myself know the story that will set the London folk agog 
 in the coming winter. And what a prize were this, now, 
 for Master Ben Jonson ! Could one but go to him and 
 say, ' Good sir, here be something better than your masques 
 and mummeries, your Greeks and clouds and long speeches ; 
 put your name to it, good sir — nay, my father hath abund- 
 ant store of such matter, and we in Warwickshire are no 
 niggards — put your name to it, good sir, and you will get 
 the Court ladies to say you have risen a step on the ladder, 
 else have they but a strange judgment ? ' What would the 
 goodman do ? Beshrew me, Prudence never told me the 
 name of the play ! but let us call it The Magic Island. 
 The Magic Island, ly Master Benjamin Jonson. What 
 would the wits say ? " 
 
 But here she heard some noise on the stair ; so she 
 quickly hid away the treasure in the little drawer, and 
 locked it up safe there until she should have the chance of 
 asking Prudence to read it to her. 
 
 That did not happen until nearly nightfall ; for Prudence 
 had been away all day helping to put the house straight of 
 a poor woman that was ill and in bed. Moreover, she had 
 been sewing a good deal at the children's clothes, and her 
 eyes looked tired — or perhaps it was the wan light that yet 
 lingered in the sky that gave her that expression, the candles 
 not yet being lit. Judith regarded her, and took her hands 
 tenderly, and made her sit down. 
 
 " Sweet mouse," said she, " you are wearing yourself out 
 in the service of others ; and if you take such little heed of 
 yourself you will yourself fall ill. And now must I demand 
 of you further labour ? Or will it be a refreshment for you
 
 220 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 after the fatigue of the day ? See, I have brought them 
 all with me — the sprite Ariel, and the sweet Prince, and 
 Miranda ; but in good sooth I will gladly wait for another 
 time if you are tired " 
 
 " Nay, not so, Judith," she answered. " There is nothing 
 I could like better — but for one thing." 
 
 " What, then ? " 
 
 " Mean you to show this also to the young gentleman 
 that is at Bidford ? " 
 
 " And wherefore not, good Prue ? He hath seen so 
 much of the story 'twere a pity he should not have the rest. 
 And what a small kindness — the loan but for an hour or 
 two — and I need not even see him, for I have but to leave 
 it at my grandmother's cottage. And if you heard what he 
 says of it, and how grateful he is ; marry, it all lies in this, 
 sweet Prue, that you have not seen him, else would you be 
 willing enough to do him so small a favour." 
 
 By this time Prudence had lit the candles ; and presently 
 they made their way upstairs to her own room. 
 
 "And surely," said Judith, as her gentle gossip was 
 arranging the manuscript, " the story will all end well and 
 merrily for the sweet maiden, seeing how powerful her 
 father is ? Will he not compel all things to her happiness 
 — he that can raise storms and that has messengers to fly 
 round the world for him ? " 
 
 "And yet he spoke but harshly to the young man 
 when last we saw them," Prudence said. ""Why, what's 
 
 this ? " 
 
 She had run her eye down the first page, and now she 
 
 began reading — 
 
 "'Enter Fekdixaxd, bearing a log. 
 
 Ferdinand. There be some sports are painful, and their labour 
 Delight in them sets off. This my mean task 
 Would be as heavy to me as odious, but 
 The mistress which I serve quickens tchat's d<ad 
 And makes my lalwurs pleasures. Oh, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, 
 And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs and pile them up 
 Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me -work, and sai/s. *i»-h haseneM 
 Had never like executor! "
 
 A DISCOVERY 22i 
 
 Judith's face had gradually fallen. 
 
 " Why, 'tis cruel," said she ; " and 'tis cruel of my father 
 to put such pain on the sweet Prince, that is so gentle and 
 so unfortunate withal." 
 
 But Prudence continued the reading — 
 
 '"Enter Miranda. 
 
 Miranda. Alas, now, pray you 
 
 Work not so hard : I would the lightning had 
 Burnt up those logs that you are enjoined to pile I 
 Pray, set it down and rest you; ichen this burns 
 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father 
 Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these three hours. 
 
 Ferdinand. most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set before I shall discharge 
 ~\Vliat I must strive to do. 
 
 Miranda. If you 11 sit down, 
 
 Til bear your logs the while: pray, give me that— 
 ril carry it to the pile.' " 
 
 At this point Judith's eyes grew proud and grateful (as 
 though Miranda had done some brave thing), but she did 
 not speak, and the gentle reader went on. 
 
 " Nay, is she not fair and modest ? " Judith exclaimed, 
 when Miranda had timidly avowed her admiration for this 
 new friend ; and, as the reading proceeded, she began to 
 think of how Master Leofric Hope would regard such a 
 maiden. Would he not judge her to be right gentle, 
 womanly withal, and frank in her confiding ? And he — 
 supposing that he were the young Prince — what would he 
 think of such an one ? Was it too submissive that she 
 should offer to carry the logs ? Ought she to so openly 
 confess that she would fain have him to be her companion ? 
 And then at last, when the two lovers had declared their 
 love, Judith clapped her hands and laughed — in delight 
 and triumph. 
 
 " Why, sure, her father will relent ! " she cried. 
 
 " But Judith, Judith, stay," Prudence said, quickly, and 
 with scarce less gladness. " "lis so set down ; for this is 
 what her father says — 
 
 'So glad of this as they I cannot be, 
 Who are surprised vntlial; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more.'
 
 222 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Nay, I take it he will soon explain to us why he was 
 so harsh with the young Prince — perchance to try his 
 constancy ? " 
 
 Well, after that the reading went on as far as the sheets 
 that Judith had brought ; but ever her mind was returning 
 to the scene between the two lovers, and speculating as 
 to how Leofric Hope would look upon it. She had no 
 resentment against Ben Jonson now ; her heart was full 
 of assurance and triumph, and was therefore generous. 
 Her only vexation was that the night must intervene before 
 there could be a chance of the young London gentleman 
 calling at the cottage ; and she looked forward to the 
 possibility of seeing him some time or other with the 
 determination to be more demure than ever. She would 
 not expect him to praise this play. Perchance 'twas good 
 enough for simple Warwickshire folk, but the London wits 
 might consider it of the vulgar kind ? And she laughed to 
 herself at thinking how awkward his protests would be if 
 she ventured to hint anything in that direction. 
 
 Prudence put the sheets carefully together again. 
 
 " Judith, Judith," she said, with a quiet smile, " you lead 
 me far astray. I ought to find such things wicked and 
 horrible to the ear ; but perchance 'tis because I know your 
 father — and see him from day to day — that I find them 
 innocent enough. They seem to rest the mind when one 
 is sorrowful." 
 
 " Beware of them, good Prue ; they are the devil himself 
 come in the guise of an angel to snatch thee away. Nay, 
 but, sweetheart, why should you be sorrowful ? " 
 
 "There is Martha Grimes," said she, simply, "and her 
 children, nigh to starving ; and I cannot ask my brother 
 for more " 
 
 Judith's purse was out in an instant. 
 
 "Why," said she, "my father did not. use half of what I 
 gave him for the knife he bought at Warwick — marry, I 
 reckon he paid for it mostly himself ; but what there is here 
 you shall have, and welcome." 
 
 And she emptied the contents on to the table, and 
 poshed them over to her friend. 
 
 " You do not grudge it, Judith ? " said Prudence. " Nay, 
 J will not ask thee that. Nor can I refuse it either, for the
 
 A DISCOVERY 223 
 
 children are in sore want. But why should you not give it 
 to them yourself, Judith ? " 
 
 " Why ? " said Judith, regarding the gentle face with 
 kindly eyes. " Shall I tell thee why, sweetheart ? Tis but 
 this : that if I were in need, and help to be given me, I 
 would value it thrice as much if it came from your hand. 
 There is a way of doing such things, and you have it : 
 that is all." 
 
 " I hear Julius is come in," Prudence said, as she took 
 up the two candles. "Will you go in and speak with 
 him ? " 
 
 There was some strange hesitation in her manner, and 
 she did not go to the door. She glanced at Judith some- 
 what timidly. Then she set the candles down again. 
 
 "Judith," said she, "your pity is quick, and you are 
 generous and kind ; I would you could find it in your 
 heart to extend your kindness." 
 
 " How now, good cousin ? " Judith said, in amazement. 
 " What's this ! " 
 
 Prudence glanced at her again, somewhat uneasily, and 
 obviously in great embarrassment. 
 
 " You will not take it ill, dear Judith ? " 
 
 "By my life, I will not ! Not from you, dear heart, 
 whatever it be. But what is the dreadful secret ? " 
 
 " Tom Quiney has spoken to me," she said diffidently. 
 
 Judith eagerly caught both her hands. 
 
 " And you ? What said you ? 'Tis all settled, then ! " 
 she exclaimed, almost breathlessly. 
 
 " It is as I imagined, Judith," said Prudence, calmly — 
 and she withdrew her hands, with a touch of maidenly 
 pride, perhaps, from what she could not but imagine to be 
 a kind of felicitation. " He hath no fault to find with the 
 country. If he goes away to those lands beyond seas, 'tis 
 merely because you will say no word to hold him back." 
 
 " I ? " said Judith, impatiently ; and then she checked 
 herself. " But you, sweetheart, what said he to you ? " 
 
 Prudence's cheeks flushed red. 
 
 "He would have me intercede for him," she said, 
 timidly. 
 
 " Intercede ? With whom ? " 
 
 " Why, you know, Judith ; with whom but yourself ?
 
 224 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Nay, but be patient — have some kindness. The young 
 man opened his heart to me, and I know he is in trouble. 
 'Twas last night as we were coming home from the lecture ; 
 and he would have me wait till he left a message at his 
 door, so that thus we fell behind ; and then he told me 
 why it was that Stratford had grown distasteful to him, and 
 not to be borne, and why he was going away. How could 
 I help saying that that would grieve you ? — sure I am you 
 cannot but be sorry to think of the young man banishing 
 himself from his own people. And he said that I was 
 your nearest friend : and would I speak for him ? And I 
 answered that I was all unused to such matters, but that if 
 any pleading of mine would influence you I would right 
 gladly do him that service ; and so I would, dear Judith — 
 for how can you bear to think of the youth going away 
 with these godless men, and perchance never to return 
 to his own land, when a word from you would restrain 
 him ? " 
 
 Judith took both her hands again, and looked with a 
 kindly smile into the timid pleading eyes. 
 
 " And 'tis you, sweet mouse, that come to me with such 
 a prayer. Was there ever so kind a heart ? But that is 
 you ever and always — never a thought for yourself, every- 
 thing for others. And so he had the cruelty to ask you — ■ 
 you — to bring this message ? " 
 
 " Judith," said the other, with the colour coming into her 
 face again, " you force me to speak against my will. Nay, 
 how can I hide from myself, dear friend, that you have 
 plans and wishes — perchance suspicions — with regard to 
 me ? And if what I guess be true — if that is your meaning 
 — indeed 'tis all built on a wrong foundation : believe me, 
 Judith, it is so. I would have you assured of it, sweetheart. 
 You know that Hike not speaking of such matters ; 'tis not 
 seemly and becoming to a maiden ; and fain would I have 
 my mind occupied with far other things ; but, Judith, this 
 time I must speak plain ; and I would have you put away 
 from you all such intentions and surmises — dear heart, you 
 do me wrong ! " 
 
 "In good sooth am I all mistaken ? " Judith said, 
 glancing keenly at her. 
 
 " Do you doubt my word, Judith ? " said she.
 
 A DISCOVERY 225 
 
 " And yet," her friend said, as if to herself, and musingly 
 " there were several occasions : there was the fortune-teller 
 at Hampton Lucy that coupled you, and Quiney seemed 
 right merry withal ; and then again, when he would have 
 us play kiss-in-the-ring on the evening after Mary Sadler's 
 marriage, and I forbade it chiefly for your sake, then 
 methought you seemed none over-pleased with my inter- 
 ference " 
 
 But here she happened to look at Prudence, and she 
 could not fail to see that the whole subject was infinitely 
 distressing to her. There was a proud, hurt expression on 
 the gentle face, and a red spot burning in each cheek. So 
 Judith took hold of her and kissed her. 
 
 " Once and for ever, dearest heart," said she, " I banish 
 all such thoughts. And I will make no more plans for 
 thee, nor suspect thee, but let thee go in thine own way, in 
 the paths of charity and goodness. But I mean not to give 
 up thy friendship, sweet Prue ; if I cannot walk in the same 
 path at least I may stretch a hand over to thee ; and if I 
 but keep so near so true a saint, marry, I shall not go so 
 far wrong." 
 
 She took up one of the candles. 
 
 " Shall we go down and see Julius ? " said she. 
 
 " But Tom Quiney, Judith — what shall I say ? " Prudence 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 "Why, say nothing, sweetheart," was the immediate 
 answer. " 'Twas a shame to burden you with such a task. 
 When he chooses he can at any moment have speech of 
 me, if his worship be not too proud — or too suspicious. In 
 Stratford we can all of us speak the English tongue, I 
 hope." l ° ' 
 
 "But, Judith," said the other, slowly and wistfully, 
 " twenty years is a long space for one to be away from his 
 native land." 
 
 "Marry is it, sweet mouse," Judith answered, as she 
 opened the door and proceeded to go down the narrow 
 wooden steps, j' 'Tis a long space indeed ; and at the end 
 of it many a thing that secmeth of great import and con- 
 sequence now will be no better than an old* tale, idle and 
 
 half-forgotten." 
 
 Q
 
 226 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PORTENTS. 
 
 It was somewhat hard on little Bess Hall that her aunt 
 Judith was determined she should grow up as fearless as 
 she herself was, and had, indeed, charged herself with this 
 branch of her niece's education. The child, it is true, was 
 not more timid than others of her age, and could face with 
 fair equanimity beggars, schoolboys, cows, geese, and other 
 dangerous creatures ; while as for ghosts, goblins, and 
 similar nocturnal terrors, Judith had settled all that side of 
 the question by informing the maids of both families, in 
 the plainest language, that any one of them found even 
 mentioning such things to this niece of hers would be 
 instantaneously and without ceremony shot forth from the 
 house. But beyond and above all this Judith expected 
 too much ; and would flout and scold when Bess Hall 
 declined to perform the impossible ; and would threaten to 
 go away and get a small boy out of the school to become her 
 playmate in future. At this moment, for example, she was 
 standing at the foot of the staircase in Dr. Hall's house. 
 She had come round to carry off her niece for the day ; 
 and she had dressed her up like a small queen ; and now 
 she would have her descend the wide and handsome stair- 
 case in noble state and unaided. Bess Hall, who had no 
 ambition to play the part of a queen, but had, on the other 
 hand, a wholesome and instinctive fear of breaking her 
 neck, now stood on the landing, helpless amid all her finery, 
 and looking down at her aunt in a beseeching sort of 
 way. 
 
 "I shall tumbic down, Aunt Judith; I know I shall," 
 said she : and budge she would not. 
 
 "Tumble down, little stupid ! Why, what should make 
 you tumble down ? Are you going for ever to be a baby ? 
 Any baby can crawl downstairs by holding on to the 
 balusters ! " 
 
 " I know I shall tumbie down, Aunt Judith — and then I 
 Bhal] cry." 
 
 But even this threat was of no avail. 
 
 " Come along, little goose ; 'tis easy enough when you
 
 PORTENTS 227 
 
 try it. Bo you think I have dressed you up as a, grown 
 woman, to see you crawl like a baby ? A fine woman — 
 you ! Come along, I say ! " 
 
 But this lesson, happily for the half -frightened pupil, 
 was abruptly brought to an end. Judith was standing with 
 her face to the staircase and her back to the central hall 
 and the outer door, so that she could not see any one 
 entering ; and indeed, the first intimation she had of the 
 approach of a stranger was a voice behind her. 
 
 " Be gentle with the child, Judith." 
 
 And then she knew that she was caught. For some 
 little time back she had very cleverly managed to evade the 
 good parson, or, at least, to secure the safety of company 
 when she saw him approach. But this time she was as 
 helpless as little Bess herself. Dr. Hall was away from home ; 
 Judith's sister was ill of a cold and in bed ; there was no 
 one in the house, besides the servants, but herself. The 
 only thing she could do was to go up to the landing, swing 
 her niece on to her shoulder, and say to Master Walter that 
 they were going round to New Place, for that Susan was ill 
 in bed and unable to look after the child. 
 
 " I will walk with you as far," said he, calmly, and indeed 
 as if it were rather an act of condescension on his part. 
 
 She set out with no good will. She expected that he 
 would argue ; and she had an uncomfortable suspicion that 
 he would get the best of it. And if she had once or twice 
 rather wildly thought that in order to get rid of all perplexi- 
 ties, and in order to please all the people around her, she 
 would in the end allow Master "Walter Blaise to win her 
 over into becoming his wife, still she felt that the time was 
 not yet. She would have the choosing of it for hers£lf. 
 And why should she be driven into a corner prematurely ? 
 Why be made to confess that her brain could not save her ? 
 She wanted peace. She wanted to play with Bess Hall, or 
 to walk through the meadows with Willie Hart, teaching 
 him what to think of England ; she did not want to be 
 confronted with clear, cold eyes, and arguments like steel, 
 and the awful prospect of having to labour in the vineyard 
 through the long, long, gray and distant years. She grew 
 to think it was scarcely fair of her father to hand her over. 
 He, at least, might have been on her side. But he seemed 
 
 Q 2
 
 2:3 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 as willing as any that she should go away among the saints, 
 and forsake for ever (as it seemed to her) the beautiful, 
 free, and clear-coloured life that she had been well content 
 to live. 
 
 And then, all of a sudden, it flashed upon her mind that 
 she was a player's daughter ; and a kind of flame went to 
 her face. 
 
 " I pray you, good Master Blaise," said she, with a lofty 
 and gracious courtesy, " bethink you, ere you give us your 
 company through the town." 
 
 " What mean you, Judith ? " said he, in some amazement. 
 
 "Do you forget, then, that I am the daughter of a 
 player ? — and this his granddaughter ? " said she. 
 
 " In truth, I know not what you mean, Judith," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Why," said she, " may not the good people who are the 
 saints of the earth wonder to see you consort with such as 
 we ? — or rather, with one such as I, who am impenitent, 
 and take no shame that my father is a player — nay, God's 
 my witness, I am wicked enough to be proud of it, and 
 I care not who knows it, and they that hope to have me 
 change my thoughts on that matter will have no lack of 
 waiting." 
 
 Well, it was a fair challenge, and he answered it frankly, 
 and with such a reasonableness and charity of speech that, 
 despite herself, she could not but admit that she was 
 pleased, and also, perhaps, just a little bit grateful. He 
 would not set up to be any man's judge, he said ; nor was 
 he a Pharisee ; the Master that he served was no respecter 
 of persons — He had welcomed all when He was upon the 
 earth — and it behoved His followers to beware of pride and 
 the setting up of distinctions ; if there was any house in 
 the town that earned the respect of all it was New Place ; 
 he could only speak of her father as he found him, here, 
 in his own family, among his own friends — and what that 
 was, all men knew; and so forth. lb' spoke well, and 
 modestly ; and Judith was so pleased to hear what he said 
 of her father that she forgot to ask whether all this was 
 «|uite consistent with his usual denunciations of plays and 
 players, his dire prophecy as to the fate of those who were 
 not of the Saints, and his sharp dividing and shutting olf
 
 PORTENTS 229 
 
 of these. He did not persecute her at all. There was no 
 argument. What he was mostly anxious about was that 
 she should not tire herself with carrying Bess Hall on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Nay, good sir," said she, quite pleasantly, " 'tis a trick 
 my father taught me ; and the child is but a feather- 
 weight." 
 
 He looked at her — so handsome, and buxom, and full 
 of life and courage ; her eyes lustrous ; the rose-leaf tint 
 of health in her cheeks ; and always at the corner of her 
 mouth what could only be called a disposition to smile, as 
 if the world suited her fairly well, and that she was ready 
 at any moment to laugh her thanks. 
 
 " There be many, Judith," said he, " who might envy you 
 your health and good spirits." 
 
 ""When I lose them 'twill be time enough to lament 
 them," said she, complacently. 
 
 " The hour that is passing seems all-in-all to you ; and 
 who can wonder at it ? " he continued. " Pray heaven your 
 carelessness of the morrow have reason in it. But all are 
 not so minded. There be strange tidings in the land." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ; and to what end ? " said she. 
 
 " I know not whether these rumours have reached your 
 house," he said, "but never, at any time I have read of, 
 have men's minds been so disturbed — with a restlessness 
 and apprehension of something being abowt to happen. 
 And what marvel ? The strange things that have been 
 seen and heard of throughout the world of late — meteors, 
 and earthquakes, and visions of armies fighting in the 
 heavens. Even so was Arma-gedon to be foreshadowed. 
 Nay, I will be honest with you, Judith, and say that it is 
 not clear to my own mind that the great day of the Lord 
 is at hand ; but many think so ; and one man's reading of 
 the Book of Revelation is but a small matter to set against 
 so wide a belief. Heard you not of the vision that came 
 to the young girl at Chipping Camden last Monday ? " 
 
 " Indeed no, good sir." 
 
 "I marvel that Prudence has not heard of it, for all 
 men are speaking of it. 'Twas in this way, as I hear. 
 The maiden is one of rare piety and grace, given to fasting 
 and nightly vigils and searching of the heart. 'Twas on
 
 230 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the night of Sunday last — or perchance towards Monday 
 morning — that she was awakened out of her sleep by 
 finding her room full of light ; and looking out of the 
 window she beheld in the darkness a figure of resplendent 
 radiance — shining like the sun, as she said, only clear white, 
 and shedding rays around ; and the figure approached the 
 window, and regarded her ; and she dropped on her knees 
 in wonder and fear, and bowed her head and worshipped. 
 And as she did so she heard a voice say to her : " Watch 
 and pray : Behold, I come quickly." And she durst not 
 raise her head, as she says, being overcome with fear and 
 joy ; but the light slowly faded from the room ; and 
 when at last she rose she saw something afar off in the 
 sky, that was now grown dark again. And ever since she 
 has been trembling with the excitement of it, and will take 
 no food ; but from time to time she cries in a loud voice : 
 " Lord Jesus, come quickly ; Lord Jesus, come quickly ! " 
 Many have gone to see her, as I hear, and from all parts 
 of the country ; but she heeds them not ; she is intent 
 with her prayers ; and her eyes, the people say, look as if 
 they had been dazzled with a great light, and are dazed 
 and strange. Nay, 'tis but one of many things that are 
 murmured abroad at present ; for there have been signs in 
 the heavens seen in sundry places, and visions ; and men's 
 minds grow anxious." 
 
 " And what think you yourself, good sir ? — you are one 
 that should know." 
 
 " I ? " said he. " Nay, I am far too humble a worker to 
 take upon myself the saying ay or no at such a time ; I 
 can but watch and pray and wait. But is it not strange 
 to think that we here, at this moment, walking along this 
 street in Stratford, might within some measurable space — 
 say a year or half a dozen years or so — that we might be 
 walking by the pure river of water that John saw, flowing 
 from the throne of God and of the Lamb ? Do you not 
 remember how the early Christians, with such a possibility 
 before their eyes, drew nearer to each other, as it were, 
 and rejoiced together, parting with all their possessions, 
 and living in common, so that the poorest were even as 
 the rich ? 'Twas no terror that overtook them, but a 
 happiness ; and they drew themselves apart from the world,
 
 PORTENTS 231 
 
 and lived in their own community, praying with each other, 
 and aiding each other. ' All that believed,' the Bible tells 
 us, ' were in one place, and had all things common. And 
 they sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to 
 all men, as every one- had need. And they continued 
 daily in the Temple, and, breaking bread at home, did 
 eat their meat together with gladness and singleness of 
 heart, praising God, and had favour with all the people ; 
 and the Lord added to the Church from day to day, such 
 as should be saved.' Such a state of spiritual brotherhood 
 and exaltation may come among us once more ; methinks I 
 see the symptoms of its approach even now ; blessed are 
 they who will be in that communion with a pure soul and 
 a humble mind, for the Lord will be with them as their 
 guide, though the waters should arise and overflow, or fire 
 consume the earth." 
 
 " Yes, but, good sir," said she, " when the early Christians 
 you speak of thought the world was near to an end they 
 
 were mistaken ? And these, now, of our day ? " 
 
 "Whatever is prophesied must come to pass," said he, 
 " or soon or late ; though it is possible for our poor human 
 judgment to err as to the time. But surely we ought to 
 be prepared ; and what preparation, think you, is sufficient 
 for so great and awful a change ? Joy there may be in 
 the trivial things of this world — in the vanities of the hour, 
 that pass away, and are forgotten ; but what are these 
 things to those whose heart is set on the new Jerusalem — 
 the shining city ? The voice that John heard proclaimed 
 no he ; 'twas the voice of the Lord of heaven and earth ; 
 a promise to them that wait and watch for His coming. 
 1 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and 
 there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, neither crying, 
 neither shall there be any more pain : for the first things 
 are passed. . . . And there shall be no more curse : but the 
 throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and His 
 servants shall serve Him. And they shall see His face ; 
 and His name shall be in their foreheads. And there 
 shall be no night there ; and they need no candle, neither 
 light of the sun ; for the Lord God giveth them light, and 
 they shall reign for evermore.' " 
 She sighed,
 
 232 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " 'Tis too wonderful a thing for poor sinful creatures to 
 expect," she said. 
 
 But by this time they were at the house, and he could 
 not say anything further to her ; indeed, when he proposed 
 that she should come into the sitting-room, and that he 
 would read to her a description of the glories of the New 
 Jerusalem out of the Book of Eevelation, she excused 
 herself by saying that she must carry Bess Hall to see her 
 father. So he went in and sate down, waiting for Judith's 
 mother to be sent for ; while aunt and niece went out and 
 through the back-yard to the garden. 
 
 " Bess," said Judith, on the way, " heardst thou aught of 
 a white figure ? " 
 
 " No, Judith," said the child, who had been engaged all 
 the way in examining the prettiness of her aunt's velvet 
 cap, and ruff, and what not. 
 
 " That is well," said she. 
 
 When she got into the garden she could see that good- 
 man Matthew eyed their approach with little favour — for 
 Bess Hall, when her grandfather had charge of her, was 
 allowed to tear flowers, and walk over beds, or do anything 
 she chose ; but Judith did not mind that much. On the 
 other hand, she would not go deliberately and disturb her 
 father. She would give him his choice — to come forth or 
 not as he pleased. And so, quite noiselessly, and at a 
 little distance off, she passed the summer-house. There 
 was no sign. Accordingly, she went on idly to the farther 
 end of the garden, and would doubtless have remained there 
 (rather than return within-doors) amusing the child some- 
 how, but that the next minute her father appeared. 
 
 " Come hither, Bess ! Come hither, wench ! " he called. 
 
 Nay, he came to meet them ; and as he lifted the child 
 down from Judith's shoulder, something — perhaps it was 
 the touch of the sunlight on the soft brown of her curls — 
 seemed to attract his notice. 
 
 " Why, wench," said he to Judith, " methinks your hair 
 grows prettier every day. And yet you keep it over short — 
 yes 'tis over short — would you have them think you a boy ? " 
 
 " I would I were a man," said she, glancing at him rathei 
 timidly. 
 
 " How then ? What now ? "
 
 PORTENTS 233 
 
 " For then," said she, " might I help you in your work, 
 so please you, sir." 
 
 He laughed and said : 
 
 " My work ! What know you of that, wench ? " 
 
 The blood rushed to her face. 
 
 " Nay, sir, I but meant the work of the fields — in going 
 about with the bailiff and the like. The maids say you 
 were abroad at five this morning." 
 
 "Well, is't not the pleasantest time of the day in this 
 hot weather ? " he said — and he seemed amused by her 
 interference. 
 
 " But why should you give yourself so many cares, good 
 father ? " she made bold to say (for she had been meditating 
 the saying of it for many a day back). " You that have 
 great fame, and land, and wealth. We would fain see you 
 rest a little more, father ; — and 'tis all the harder to us that 
 we can give you no help, being but women-folk." 
 
 There was something in the tone of her voice — or 
 perhaps in her eyes — that conveyed more than her words. 
 He put his hand on her head. 
 
 " You are a good lass," said he. " And listen. You can 
 do something for me that is of far more value to me than 
 any help in any kind of work ; nay, I tell thee 'tis of 
 greater value to me than all of my work ; and 'tis this : 
 keep you a merry heart, wench — let me see your face right 
 merry and cheerful as you go about — that is what you can 
 do for me ; I would have you ever as you are now, as 
 bright and glad as a summer day." 
 
 " 'Tis an easy task, sir, so long as you are content to be 
 pleased with me," she managed to answer ; and then little 
 Bess Hall — who could not understand why she should 
 have been so long left unnoticed — began to scramble up 
 his knees, and was at last transferred to his arms. 
 
 Judith's heart was beating somewhat quickly, with a 
 kind of pride and gladness that was very near bringing 
 tears to her eyes ; but, of course, that was out of the 
 question, seeing that he had enjoined her to be cheerful. 
 And so she forced herself to say, with an odd kind of smile : 
 
 " I pray you, sir, may I remain with you for a space — 
 if Bess and I trouble you not ? " 
 
 " Surely," said he, looking at her ; " but what is it, then ? "
 
 234 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " "Why," said she, pulling herself together, " good Master 
 Blaise is within-doors, and his last belief is enough to 
 frighten a poor maiden — let alone this small child. He 
 says the world is nigh unto its end." 
 
 " Nay, I have heard of some such talk being abroad," 
 said he, " among the country folk. But why should that 
 frighten thee ? Even were it true, we can make it nor 
 1 utter nor worse." 
 
 "Only this, father," said she, and she looked at him 
 with the large, clear-shining gray eyes no longer near to 
 tears, but rather suggesting some dark mystery of humour, 
 " that if the end of the world be so nigh at hand 'twould 
 be an idle thing for the good parson to think of taking him 
 a wife." 
 
 "I ask for no secrets, wench," her father said — as he 
 placed little Bess Hall on the branch of an apple-tree. 
 
 " Nay, sir, he but said that as many were of opinion 
 that something dreadful was about to happen we should 
 all of us draw nearer together. That is well, and to be 
 understanded ; but if the world be about to end for all of 
 us, surely 'twere a strange thing that any of us should think 
 of taking husband or wife ? " 
 
 " I meddle not," her father said. " Go thine own ways. 
 I have heard thou hast led more than one honest lad in 
 Stratford a madcap dance. Take heed ; take heed — as 
 thy grandmother saith — lest thou outwear their patience." 
 
 And then something — she could scarce tell what — 
 came into her head : some wild wish that he would remain 
 always there at Stratford : would she not right willingly 
 discard all further thoughts of lovers or sweethearts if only 
 he would speak to her sometimes as he had just been 
 speaking ; and approve of her hair ; and perchance let her 
 become somewhat more of a companion to him ? But 
 she durst not venture to say so much. She only said, 
 very modestly and timidly — 
 
 "I am content to be as I am, sir, if you are content 
 that I should bide with you." 
 
 " Content ? " said he, with a laugh that had no unkind- 
 ness in it. " Content that thou shouldst bide with us ? 
 Keep that pretty face of thine merry and glad, good lass— 
 and have no fear."
 
 A LETTER 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A LETTER. 
 
 Whex she should get back from Master Leofric Hope the 
 last portion of the yet unnamed play, there remained (as 
 she considered) but one thing more — to show him the 
 letter written by the King to her father, so that, when the 
 skies should clear over the young gentleman's head, and 
 he be permitted to return among his friends and acquaint- 
 ances, he might have something else occasionally to talk 
 of than Ben Jonson and his masques and his favour at 
 Court. Nor had she any difficulty in procuring the letter ; 
 for Prudence was distinctly of opinion that by right it be- 
 longed to Judith, who had coveted it from the beginning. 
 However, Judith only now wanted the loan of it for a day 
 or two, until, in her wanderings, she might encounter 
 Master Hope. 
 
 That opportunity soon arrived ; for whether it was that 
 the young gentleman kept a sharp look-out for her, or 
 whether she was able to make a shrewd guess as to his 
 probable whereabout at certain hours of the day, she had 
 scarcely ever failed to meet him when she went over to 
 Shottery for the successive instalments of the play that he 
 had left for her there. On this occasion she had found 
 the last of these awaiting her at the cottage ; and when 
 she had put it into her velvet satchel, and bade good-bye 
 to her grandmother, she set out for home with a pretty 
 clear foreknowledge that sooner or later the young gentle- 
 man woidd appear. Was it not his duty ? — to say what he 
 thought of all this romance that he had been allowed to 
 see ; and to thank her, and say farewell ? For she had 
 a vague impression that she had done as much as could 
 reasonably be expected of her in the way of cheering the 
 solitude of one in misfortune ; and she had gathered, 
 moreover, that he was likely soon to leave the neighbour- 
 hood. But she would not have him go without seeing the 
 King's letter. 
 
 Well, when he stepped forth from behind some trees 
 she was not surprised ; and even the Don had grown 
 accustomed to these sudden appearances.
 
 236 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Give ye good-day, sweet lady," said he. 
 
 " And to you, sir," she said. " I thank you for your care 
 in leaving rue these pages ; I would not have had any harm 
 come to them, even though my father will in time throw 
 them away." 
 
 " And my thanks to you, sweet Mistress Judith," said he, 
 — " how can I express them ? " — and therewith he entered 
 upon such an eulogy of the story he had just been reading 
 as she was not likely to hear from any Stratford-born 
 acquaintance. Indeed he spoke well, and with obvious 
 sincerity ; and although she had intended to receive these 
 praises with indifference (as though the play were but a 
 trifle that her father had thrown off easily amid the pressure 
 of other labours) she did not quite succeed. There was a 
 kind of triumph in her eyes ; her face was glad and proud ; 
 when he quoted a bit of one of Ariel's songs she laughed 
 lightly. 
 
 " He is a clever musician, that merry imp, is he not ? " 
 said she. 
 
 " I would I had such a magic-working spirit to serve 
 me," said he, looking at her. " One could shape one's own 
 course then. ' Under the blossom that hangs on the 
 bough ' would be my motto ; there would be no going back 
 to London or any other town. And what think you : 
 might he not find out for me some sweet Miranda ? — not 
 that I am worthy of such a prize, or could do aught to 
 deserve her, except in my duty and humble service to her. 
 The Miranda, I think, could be found," he said, glancing 
 timidly at her, " nay, I swear I know myself where to find 
 just such a beautiful and gentle maiden ; but where is the 
 Ariel that would charm her heart and incline her to pity 
 and kindness ? " 
 
 " Here, sir," said she, quickly, " is the letter I said I 
 would bring you, that the King wrote to my father." 
 
 He did not look at the blue velvet satchel ; he looked 
 at her — perhaps to see whether he had gone too far. But 
 she did not show any sign of confusion or resentment ; at 
 all events she pretended not to be conscious ; and, for ono 
 thing, her eyes were lowered, for the satchel seemed for a 
 second or so difficult to open. Then she brought forth th** 
 
 1' Mcr,
 
 A LETTER 237 
 
 t; Perchance you can tell ine the English of it, good sir ?" 
 said she. " 'Tis soihe time since Master Blaise read it for 
 us, and I would hear it again." 
 
 " Nay, I fear my Latin will scarce go so far," said he, 
 " 'tis but little practice in it I have had since my school- 
 days ; but I will try to make out the sense of it." 
 
 She carefully opened the large folded sheet of paper 
 and handed it to him. This was what he found before 
 him : 
 
 "Jacobus D. G. Rex Anglorum et Scotorura poetse nostro fideli et 
 bene dilecto Gulielmo Shakespeare, S. P. D. 
 
 "Cum nuper apud Londinium commorati comoediam tuam nobis 
 inductara spectassemus, de manu viri probi Eugenii Collins fabulsa 
 libro accepto, operam dediums ut earn diligenter perlegeremus. Sub- 
 tilissiiua ilia quidem, multisque ingenii luminibus et artis, multis etiam 
 animi oblectanientis, excogitata, nimis tamen accommodata ad caechi- 
 nationem movendam vulgi imperiti, politioris bumanitatis expertis. 
 Quod vero ad opera tua futura attinet, amicissime te admoneruus ut 
 multa commentatione et meditatione exemplaria verses antistitum 
 illorum artis comcedicje, Menandri scilicet Atbeniensis et Plauti et 
 Terentii Romani, qui minus vulgi plausum captabaut quam vitiis tan- 
 quam flagellis castigandis studebant. Qui optirni erant arte et gumma 
 bonestate et utilitate, qualem te etiam esse volumus ; virtutum artium 
 et exercitationum doctores, atque illustrium illorum a Deo ad populum 
 regendum prsepositorum adminicula. Quibus i'ac ne te minorem 
 prasstes ; neque tibi nee familiaribus tuis unquam deerimus quin, quum 
 fiat occasio, munere rcgali fungamur. Te interea Deus opt. max. 
 feliciter sospitet. 
 
 " Datum ex regia nostra apud Greenwich X. Kal. Jim."' 
 
 He began his translation easily — ■ 
 
 " ' Toour trusty and well-beloved poet, William Shake- 
 speare : Health and Greeting.' " But then he began to 
 stammer. " ' When formerly — when recently — tarrying in 
 
 London — thy comedy — thy comedy " nay, fair Mistress 
 
 Judith, I beseech your pardon ; I am grown more rusty 
 than I thought, and would not destroy your patience. 
 Perchance, now, you would extend your favour once more, 
 and let me have the letter home with me, so that I might 
 spell it out in school-boy fashion." 
 
 She hesitated, but only for a second. 
 
 "Nay, good sir, I dare not. These sheets of the play 
 were thrown aside, and so far of little account ; but this—
 
 238 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 if aught were to come amiss to this letter, how should I 
 regard myself ? If my father value it but slightly there be 
 others who think more of it ; and — and they have entrusted 
 it to me ; I would not have it go out of my own keeping, 
 so please you, and pardon me." 
 
 It was clear that she did not like to refuse this favour 
 to so courteous and grateful a young gentleman. However, 
 her face iustantly brightened. 
 
 " But I am in no hurry, good sir," said she. " Why 
 should you not sit you on the stile there, and take time to 
 master the letter, while I gather some wild flowers for my 
 father ? In truth, I am in no hurry ; and I would fain 
 have you know what the King wrote." 
 
 " I would I were a school-boy again for five minutes," 
 said he, with a laugh ; but he went obediently to the stile, 
 and sate down, and proceeded to pore over the contents of 
 the letter. 
 
 And then she wandered off by herself (so as to leave 
 him quite undisturbed) and began to gather here and there 
 a wild rose from the hedge, or a piece of meadow-sweet 
 from the bank beneath, or a bit of yarrow from among the 
 grass. It was a still, clear, quiet day, with some rainy 
 clouds in the sky ; and beyond these, near to the horizon, 
 broad silver shafts of sunlight striking down on the woods 
 and the distant hills. It looked as if a kind of mid-day 
 sleep had fallen over the earth ; there was scarce a sound ; 
 the birds were silent ; and there was not even enough wind 
 to make a stirring through the wide fields of wheat or in 
 the elms. The nosegay grew apace, though she went about 
 her work idly — kneeling here, and stretching a hand there ; 
 and always she kept away from him, and would not even 
 look in his direction ; for she was determined that he 
 should have ample leisure to make out the sense of the 
 letter, of which she had but a vague recollection, only that 
 she knew it was complimentary. 
 
 Even when he rose and came towards her she pretend • <1 
 not to notice. She would show him she was in no hurry. 
 She was plucking the heads of red clover, and sucking 
 them to get at the honey ; or she was adding a buttercup 
 or two to her nosegay ; or she was carelessly humming to 
 herself —
 
 A LETTER 239 
 
 44 stay and hear ; your true love's coming 
 That can sing both high and low," 
 
 "Well, now, Mistress Judith," said he, with an air of 
 apology, "methinks I have got at the meaning of it, 
 however imperfectly ; and your father might well be proud 
 of such a commendation from so high a source — the 
 King, as every one knows, being a learned man, and 
 skilled in the arts. And I have not heard that he has 
 written to any other of the poets of our day " 
 
 " No, sir ? " said she, quickly. " Not to Master Jonson ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of, sweet lady," said he, " though 
 he hath sometimes messages to send, as you may suppose, 
 by one coming from the Court. And I marvel not that 
 your father should put store by this letter, that speaks 
 well of his work " 
 
 "Your pardon, good sir, but 'tis not so," said Judith, 
 calmly. " Doubtless if the King commend my father's 
 writing, that showeth that His Majesty is skilled and 
 learned, as you say ; and my father was no doubt pleased 
 enough — as who would not be ? — by such a mark of 
 honour ; but as for setting great value on it, I assure you 
 he did not : nay, he gave it to Julius Shawe. And will 
 you read it, good sir ? — I remember me there was some- 
 thing in it about the ancients." 
 
 " 'Tis but a rough guess that I can make," said he, 
 regarding the paper. " But it seems that the King had 
 received at the hands of one Eugene Collins the book of 
 a comedy of your father's that had been presented before 
 His Majesty when he was recently in London. And very 
 diligently, he says, he has read through the same ; and 
 finds it right subtly conceived, with many beauties and 
 delights, and such ornaments as are to be approved by 
 an ingenious mind. It is true, His Majesty hints, that 
 there may be parts of the play more calculated than might 
 be to move the laughter of the vulgar ; but you would not 
 have a critic have nothing but praise ? — and the King's 
 praise is high indeed. And then he goes on to say that, 
 as regards your father's future work, he would in the most 
 friendly manner admonish him to study the great masters 
 of the comic art, that is, Menander the Athenian, and the
 
 240 yUDlTH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Eomans Plautus and Terentius, who — who — what says the 
 King ? — less studied to capture the applause of the vulgar 
 than to lash the vices of the day as with whips. And 
 these he highly commends as being of great service to 
 the State ; and would have your father be the like : 
 teachers of virtue, and also props and aids to those whom 
 God hath placed to rule over the people. He would 
 have your father be among these public benefactors ; and 
 then he adds that, when occasion serves, he will not fail 
 to extend his royal favour to your father and his associates ; 
 and so commends him to the protection of God. Nay, 
 'tis a right friendly letter ; there is none in the land that 
 would not be proud of it ; 'tis not every day nor with 
 every one that King James would take such trouble and 
 play the part of tutor." 
 
 He handed her the letter ; and she proceeded to fold 
 it up carefully again, and put it in her satchel. She said 
 nothing ; but she hoped that these phrases of commendation 
 would remain fixed in his mind when that he was returned 
 to London. 
 
 And then there was a moment of embarrassment — or, 
 at least, of constraint. He had never been so near the 
 town with her before (for his praise of her father's comedy, 
 as they walked together, had taken some time), and there 
 before them were the orchards and mud walls, and farther 
 off the spire of the church among the trees. She did not 
 like to bid him go; and he seemed loath to say farewell ; 
 he probably having some dim notion that, now he had 
 seen the end of the play and also this letter, there might 
 be some difficulty in finding an excuse for another 
 meeting. 
 
 " When do you return to London ? " said she, for 
 the sake of saying something. " Or may you return ? I 
 hope, good sir, your prospects are showing brighter ; it 
 must be hard for one of your years to pass the time in 
 idleness." 
 
 " The time that I have spent in these parts," said he, 
 " has been far more pleasant and joyful to me than I could 
 have imagined — you may easily guess why, dear Mistress 
 Judith. And now, when there is some prospect of my 
 being able to go, I like it not ; so many sweet hours have
 
 A LETTER 241 
 
 been passed here, the very fields and meadows around 
 have acquired a charm " 
 
 " Nay, but, good sir," said she, a little breathlessly, 
 " at your time of life, you would not waste the days in 
 idleness " 
 
 " In truth it has been a gracious idleness ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " At your time of life," she repeated quickly, " why, to 
 be shut up in a farm " 
 
 " The Prince Ferdinand," said he, " though I would not 
 compare myself with him, found the time pass pleasantly 
 and sweetly enough, as I reckon, though he was shut up 
 in a cave. But then there was the fair Miranda to be his 
 companion. There is no Ariel to work such a charm for 
 me, else do you think I could ever bring myself to leave 
 so enchanting a neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " Good sir," said she (in some anxiety to get away), " I 
 may not ask the reason of your being in hiding, though I 
 wish you well ; and would fain hear there was no further 
 occasion for it. And I trust there may be none when 
 next you come to Warwickshire ; and that those of our 
 household who have a better right to speak for it than I 
 will have the chance of entertaining you. And now I 
 would bid you farewell." 
 
 " No, dear Judith ! " he exclaimed, with a kind of en- 
 treaty in his voice. " Not altogether ? Why, look at the 
 day ! — would you have me say farewell to you on such a 
 day of gloom and cloud ? Surely you will let me take 
 away a brighter picture of you, and of Warwickshire, and 
 of our brief meetings in these quiet spots — if go I must. 
 In truth I know not what may happen to me ; I would 
 speak plainer, but I am no free agent ; I can but beg of 
 you to judge me charitably, if ever you hear aught of 
 me " 
 
 And here he stopped abruptly ; and paused, considering, 
 and obviously irresolute and perplexed. 
 
 " Why," said he, at length, and almost to himself, " why 
 should I go away at all ? I will carry logs — if needs bo- 
 or anything. Why should I go ? " 
 
 She knew instantly what he meant ; and knew, also, 
 that it was high time for her to escape from so perilous a 
 situation. 
 
 B
 
 242 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " I pray you pardon me, good sir ; but I must go 
 Come, Don " 
 
 "But one more meeting, sweet Mistress Judith," he 
 pleaded, "on a fairer day than this — you will grant as 
 much ? " 
 
 " I may not promise," said she, "but indeed I leave with 
 you my good wishes — and so, farewell ! " 
 
 " God shield you, dearest lady," said he, bowing low ; 
 " you leave with me also a memory of your kindness that 
 will remain in my heart." 
 
 Well, there was no doubt that she felt very much 
 relieved when she had left him and was nearing the town ; 
 and yet she had a kind of pity for him too, as she thought 
 of his going away by himself to that lonely farm — one so 
 gentle, and so grateful for company, being shut up there 
 on this gloomy day. Whereas she was going back to a 
 cheerful house ; Prudence was coming round to spend the 
 afternoon with them and help to mark the new napery ; 
 and then in the evening the whole of them, her father 
 included, were going to sup at Dr. Hall's, who had pur- 
 chased a dishful of ancient coins in one of his peregrina- 
 tions, and would have them come and examine them. 
 Perhaps, after all, that reference to Miranda was not meant 
 to apply to her ? It was but natural he should speak of 
 Miranda, having just finished the play ? And carrying 
 logs : he could not mean carrying logs for her father ? — 
 that would be a foolish jest. No, no ; he would remain 
 at the farm and spend the time as best he might ; and 
 then, when this cloud blew over, he would return to 
 London, and carry with him (as she hoped) some discreet 
 rumour of the new work of her father's that he had 
 praised so highly, and perchance some mention of the 
 compliments paid by the King ; and if, in course of time, 
 the young gentleman should make his way back to Strat- 
 ford again, and come to see them at New Place, and if his 
 pleasant manner and courtesy proved to be quite irresist- 
 ible, so that she had to allow the wizard's prophecy to 
 come true in spite of herself, why, then, it was the hand of 
 fate, and none of her doing, and she would have to accept 
 her destiny with as good a grace as might be. 
 
 As she was going into the town she met Tom Quiney,
 
 A LETTER 243 
 
 He was on the other side of the roadway, and, after one 
 swift glance at her, he lowered his eyes, and would have 
 passed on without speaking. And then it suddenly oc- 
 curred to her that she would put her pride in her pocket. 
 She knew quite well that her maidenly dignity had been 
 wounded by his suspicions, and that she ought to let him 
 go his own way, if he chose. But on the other hand (and 
 this she did not know), there was in her nature an odd 
 element of what might be called boyish generosity — of 
 frankness, and common sense, and good comradeship. 
 And these two had been very staunch comrades in former 
 days, each being in a curious manner the protector of the 
 other ; for while she many a time came to his aid — being 
 a trifle older than he, and always ready with her quick 
 feminine wit and ingenuity when they were both of them 
 likely to get into trouble — he, on his side, was her shield 
 and bold champion by reason of his superior stature, and 
 his strength, and his terrible courage in face of bulls or 
 barking dogs and the like. For the moment she only 
 thought of him as her old companion ; and she was a good- 
 natured kind of creature — and frank and boyish in her 
 ways ; and so she stepped across the road — though there 
 was some mud about. 
 
 " Why can't we be friends ? " said she. 
 
 " You have enough of other friends," said he. 
 
 It was a rebuff ; but still — she would keep down, her 
 girlish pride. 
 
 " I hope you are not going away from the country," said 
 she. 
 
 He did not meet her look ; his eyes were fixed on the 
 ground. 
 
 " What is there to keep me in it ? " was his answer. 
 
 " Why, what is there to keep any of us in it ? " she said. 
 " Heaven's mercy, if we were all to run away when we found 
 something or another not quite to our liking what a fine 
 thing that would be ! Nay, I hope there is no truth in 
 it," she continued, looking at him, and not without some 
 memories of their escapades together, when they were boy 
 and girl. " 'Twould grieve many — indeed it would. I pray 
 you think better of it. If for no other, for my sake ; we 
 used to be better friends." 
 
 E 2
 
 244 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 There were two figures now approaching. 
 
 " Oh, here come Widow Clemms and her daughter," she 
 said ; " a rare couple — 'twill be meat and drink to them 
 to carry back a story. No matter. Now, fare you well — 
 but pray think better of it ; there be many that would 
 grieve if you went away." 
 
 He stole a look at her as she passed on : perhaps there 
 was a trifle more than usual of colour in her radiant and 
 sunny face because of the approach of the two women. It 
 was a lingering kind of look that he sent after her ; and 
 then he, too, turned and went on his way — cursing the 
 parson. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A VISITOR. 
 
 Master Leofric Hope, on leaving Judith, returned to the 
 farm, but not to the solitude that had awakened her 
 commiseration. When he entered his room, which was at 
 the back of the house, and facing the southern horizon 
 (that alone showed some streaks of sunlight on this gloomy 
 day) he found a stranger there — and a stranger who had 
 evidently some notion of making himself comfortable, for 
 he had opened the window, was now sitting on the sill, and 
 had just begun to smoke his pipe. His hat, his sword, and 
 sword-belt he had flung on to the table. 
 
 For a second the proper owner of the apartment knew 
 not who this new tenant might be — he being dark against 
 the light ; but the next second he had recognised him, and 
 that with no good grace. 
 
 " What the devil brings you here ? " said he, sulkily. 
 
 " A hearty welcome, truly," the other said, with much 
 complacency. " After all my vexation in finding thee out ! 
 A goodly welcome for an old friend ! But no matter, Jack 
 — come, hast naught to offer one to drink ? I have ridden 
 from Banbury this morning, and the plague take me if I 
 had not enough trouble ere I found the hare in her form. 
 But 'tis snug — 'tis snug. The place likes me, though I 
 thought by now you might have company, and entered with 
 care. Come, man, be more friendly ! Will you not ask
 
 A VISITOR 245 
 
 me to sit ? Must I call the landlady — or the farmer's wife 
 —myself, and beg for a cup of something on so hot a day ? 
 Where be your manners, Gentleman Jack ? " 
 
 " What the devil brings you into Warwickshire ? " the 
 other repeated, as he threw his hat on the table and dropped 
 into a chair, and stretched out his legs without a further 
 look at his companion. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis what the devil keeps thee here ? — that is the 
 graver question — though I know the answer right well. 
 Come, Jack, be reasonable I Tis for thy good I have 
 sought thee out. What, man, would you ruin us both ? — 
 for I tell thee the end is pressing and near." 
 
 Seeing that his unwilling host would not even turn his 
 eyes towards him he got down from the window-sill and 
 came along to the table and took a chair. He was a short, 
 stout young man, of puffy face and red hair, good-natured 
 in look, but with a curious glaze in his light blue-gray eyes 
 that told of the tavern and himself being pretty close 
 companions. His dress had some show of ornament about 
 it, though it was rather travel-stained and shabby ; he wore 
 jewelled rings in his ears ; and the handkerchief which he 
 somewhat ostentatiously displayed, if the linen might have 
 been whiter, was elaborately embroidered with thread of 
 Coventry blue. For the rest, he spoke pleasantly and 
 good-humouredly, and was obviously determined not to take 
 offence at his anything but hearty reception. 
 
 " Hoy-day," said he, with a laugh, " what a pother I had 
 with the good dame here, that would scarce let me come in ! 
 For how knew I what name you might be dancing your 
 latest galliard in ? — not plain Jack Orridge, I'll be bound ! 
 What is't — your worship ? — or your lordship, perchance ? — 
 nay, but a lord would look best in the eyes of a daughter 
 of Will Shakespeare, that loveth to have trumpets and 
 drums going, and dukes and princes stalking across his 
 boards. But 'fore Heaven, now, Jack," said he, interrupt- 
 ing himself and sending an appealing look round the room, 
 " have you naught to drink in the house ? Came you ever 
 to my lodging and found such scurvy entertainment ? " 
 
 The reluctant host left the apartment for a second or two, 
 and presently returned, followed by the farmer's wife, who 
 placed on the table a jug of small beer and some bread
 
 246 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and cheese. The bread and cheese did not find much favour 
 with the newcomer ; but he drank a large horn of the beer, 
 and took to his pipe again. 
 
 " Come, Jack, be friendly," said he, " 'tis for thine own 
 good I have sought thee out." 
 
 " I would you would mind your own business," the other 
 said, with a sullen frown remaining on his face. 
 
 " Mine and yours are one, as I take it, good coz," his 
 companion said coolly, and then he added, in a more 
 friendly way : " Come, come, man, you know we must 
 sink or swim together. And sinking it will be, if you give 
 not up this madcap chase. Nay, you carry the jest too far, 
 mon ami. 'Twas a right merry tale at the beginning — the 
 sham wizard, and your coquetting with Will Shakespeare's 
 daughter to while away the time ; 'twas a prank would 
 make them roar at the Cranes in the Vintry ; and right 
 well done, I doubt not— for, in truth, if you were not such 
 a gallant gentleman you might win to a place in the 
 theatres as well as any of them ; but to come back here 
 again — to hide yourself away again — and when I tell you 
 they will no longer forbear, but will clap thee into gaol if 
 they have not their uttermost penny— why, 'tis pure moon- 
 shine madness to risk so much for a jest ! " 
 
 " I tell thee 'tis no jest at al^ I " the other said angrily. 
 " In Heaven's name, what brought you here ? " 
 
 " Am I to have no care of myself, then, that am your 
 surety, and have their threats from hour to hour ? " 
 
 He laughed in a stupid kind of way, and filled out some 
 more beer and drank it off thirstily. 
 
 " "We had a merry night, last night, at Banbury," said he, 
 " I must pluck a hair of the same wolf to-day. And what 
 say you ? No jest ? Nay, you look sour enough to be 
 virtuous, by my life, or to get into a pulpit and preach a 
 sermon against fayles and tick-tack, as wiles of the devil. 
 No jest ? Have you been overthrown at last — by a country 
 wench ? Must you take to the plough, and grow turnips ? 
 Why, I should as soon expect to see Gentleman Jack 
 consort with the Finsbury archers, or go a-ducking to 
 Islington ponds ! Our Gentleman Jack a farmer ! The 
 price of wheat, goodman Dickon ?— how fatten your pigs ?— - 
 will the fine weather last, think you ? Have done with this
 
 A VISITOR 247 
 
 foolery, man ! If all comes to the worst, 'twere better we 
 should take to the road, you and I, and snip a purse when 
 chance might serve." 
 
 " You ? " said his companion, with only half-concealed 
 contempt. "The first click of a pistol would find you 
 behind a hedge." 
 
 "Why, old lad," said the other (who did not seem to 
 have heard that remark, during his pouring out of another 
 hornf ul of beer), " I know you better than you know your- 
 self. This time, you say, 'tis serious— ay, but how many 
 times before hast thou said the same ? And ever the 
 wench is the fairest of her kind, and a queen ! For how 
 long ? — a fortnight ! — perchance three weeks. 0, the 
 wonder of her ! And 'tis all a love-worship ; and the 
 praising of her hands and her ankles ; and Tom Morely's 
 ditty about a lover and his lass 
 
 ' That through the green corn-fields did pass 
 In the pretty Spring-time, 
 Bing-a-ding-ding ! ' 
 
 Ay, for a fortnight ; and then Gentleman Jack discovers 
 that some wench of the Bankside hath brighter eyes and 
 freer favours than the country beauty, and you hear no 
 more of him until he has ne'er a penny left, and comes 
 begging his friends to be surety for him, or to write to his 
 grandam at Oxford, saying how virtuous a youth he is, and 
 in how sad a plight. Good Lord, that were an end ! — 
 should you have to go back to the old dame at last, and 
 become tapster — no more acting of your lordship and 
 worship — what ho, there ! thou lazy knave, a flask of 
 Rhenish, and put speed into thy rascal heels ! " 
 
 The cloud on his companion's face had been darkening. 
 
 " Peace, drunken fool ! " he muttered — but between 
 his teeth, for he did not seem to wish to anger this 
 stranger. 
 
 " Come, come, man," the other said jovially, " unwitch 
 thee — unwitch thee ! Fetch back thy senses. What ?— 
 would'st thou become a Jest and byword for every tavern 
 table between the Temple and the Tower ? Nay, I cannot 
 believe it of thee, Jack. Serious ? Ay, as thou hast been 
 twenty times before. Lord, what a foot and ankle ! — and
 
 248 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 she the queen o' the world — the rose and crown and queen 
 o' the world ? — and the sighing o' moonlight nights : 
 
 ' Mignonne, tant je vous aime, 
 Mais vous ne m'aimez pas' 
 
 — and we are all to be virtuous and live cleanly for the rest 
 of our lives ; but the next time you see Gentleman Jack,lo, 
 you, now ! — 'tis at the Bear-house ; his pockets lined with 
 angels wrung from old Ely of Queenhithe ; and as for his 
 company — Lord, Lord 1 And as it hath been before, so 
 'twill be again, as said Solomon the wise man ; only that 
 this time — mark you now, Jack — this time it were well if 
 you came to your senses at once ; for I tell thee that Ely 
 and the rest of them have lost all patience, and they know 
 this much of thy Stratford doings, that if they cannot 
 exactly name thy whereabout, they can come within a 
 stone's-cast of thee. And if I come to warn thee— as is 
 the office of a true friend and an old companion — why 
 shouldst thou sit there with a sulky face, man ? Did I 
 ever treat thee so in Fetter Lane ? " 
 
 While he had been talking, a savoury odour had begun 
 to steal into the apartment ; and presently the farmer's wife 
 appeared and proceeded to spread the cloth for dinner. 
 Her lodger had given no orders, but she had taken his 
 return as sufficient signal ; and naturally she assumed that 
 his friend would dine with him. Accordingly, in due course 
 there was placed on the board a smoking dish of cow-heel 
 and bacon, with abundance of greens and other garnishings ; 
 and as this fare seemed more tempting to the newcomer 
 than the bread and cheese, he needed no pressing to draw 
 in his chair to the table. It was not a sumptuous feast, 
 but it had a beneficial effect on both of them— sobering the 
 one, and rendering the other somewhat more placable. 
 Master Leofric Hope— as he had styled himself— was still 
 in a measure taciturn ; but his guest — whose name, it 
 appeared, was Francis Lloyd — had ceased his uncomfortable 
 banter ; and indeed all his talk now was of the charms and 
 wealth of a certain widow who lived in a house near to 
 Gray's Inn, on the road to Hampstead. He had been 
 asked to dine with the widow ; and he gave a magniloquent 
 description of the state she kept— of her serving-men, and
 
 A VISITOR 249 
 
 her furniture, and her plate, and the manner in which she 
 entertained her friends. 
 
 " And why was I," said he, — " why was poor Frank Lloyd 
 —that could scarce get the wherewithal to pay for a rose 
 for his ear — why was he picked out for so great a favour ? 
 AVhy, but that he was known to be a friend of handsome 
 Jack Orridge. 'Where be your friend, Master Orridge, 
 now ? ' she says, for she hath sometimes a country trick in 
 her speech, hath the good lady. 'Business, Madam — 
 affairs of great import,' I say to her, ' keep him still in the 
 country.' "Would I tell her the wolves were waiting to 
 rend yon, should you be heard of anywhere within London 
 city ? ' Handsome Jack, they call him, is't not so ? ' says 
 she. Would I tell her thou wert called ' Gentleman Jack,' 
 as if thou hadst but slim right to the title ? Then says she 
 to one of the serving men : ' Fill the gentleman's cup.' 
 Lord, Jack, what a sherris that was ! — 'twas meat and drink 
 — a thing to put marrow in your bones — cool and clear it 
 was, and rich withal — cool on the tongue and warm in the 
 stomach — 'fore Heaven, Jack, if thou hast not ever a cup 
 of that wine ready for me when I visit thee I will say thou 
 hast no more gratitude than a toad. And then says she to 
 all the company (raising her glass the while), 'Absent 
 friends ! ' — but she nods and smiles to me, as one would 
 say : ' We know whom we mean ; we know.' Lord, that 
 sherris, Jack ! — I have the taste of it in my mouth now ; I 
 dream 0' nights there is a jug of it by me." 
 
 " Dreaming or waking, there is little else in thy head," 
 said the other, " nor in thy stomach either." 
 
 " Is't a bargain, Jack ? " he said, looking up from his 
 plate, and regarding his companion with a fixed look. 
 
 "A bargain?" 
 
 " I tell thee 'tis the only thing will save us now," this 
 Frank Lloyd said, with more seriousness than he had 
 hitherto shown. " Heavens, man, you must cease this 
 idling ; I tell thee they are not in the frame for further 
 delay. Tis the Widow Becket or the King's highway — 
 one or t'other — if you would remain a free man ; and as for 
 the highway, why, 'tis an uncertain trade, and I know that 
 Gentleman Jack is no lover of broken heads. What else 
 would you ? Live on in a hole like this ? Nay, but they
 
 250 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 would not suffer you ; I tell you they are ready to hunt you 
 out at this present moment. Go beyond seas ? Ay, and 
 forsake the merry nights at the Cranes and the Silver Hind ? 
 "When thy old grandani is driven out of all patience, and 
 will not even forth with a couple of shillings to buy you 
 wine and radish for your breakfast, 'tis a bad case : wouldst 
 go down to Oxford and become tapster ? — Gentleman Jack, 
 that all of them think hath fine fat acres in the west 
 country, and a line of ancestors reaching back to Noah 
 the sailor or Adam gardener. Come, man, unwitch thee ! 
 Collect thy senses. If this sorry jest of thine be growing 
 serious — and I confess I had some thought of it, when you 
 would draw on Harry Condell for the mere naming of the 
 wench's name — then o' Heaven's sake come away and get 
 thee out of such foolery ! I tell thee thou art getting near 
 an end — o' one way or another ; and wouldst thou have 
 me broken, too, that have ever helped thee and shared my 
 last penny with thee ? " 
 
 " Broken ? " said his friend, with a laugh. " If there be 
 any in the country more broken than you and I are at this 
 moment, Frank, I wish them luck of their fortunes. But 
 still there is somewhat for you. You have not pawned 
 those jewels in your ears yet. And your horse — you rode 
 hither, said you not ? — well, I trust it is a goodly beast, for 
 it may have to save thee from starvation ere long." 
 
 " Nay, ask me not how I came by the creature," said he, 
 " but 'tis not mine, I assure ye." 
 
 " Whose, then ? " 
 
 Master Frank Lloyd shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " If you cannot guess my errand," said he, " you cannot 
 guess who equipped me." 
 
 '• Nay," said his friend, who waB now in a much better 
 humour, " read me no riddles, Frank ; I would fain know 
 who knew thee so little as to lend thee a horse and see thee 
 ride forth with it. Who was't, Frank ? " 
 
 His companion looked up and regarded him. 
 
 " The Widow Becket," he answered coolly. 
 
 " What ? " said the other, laughing. " Art thou so far 
 in the good dame's graces, and yet would have me to go 
 to London and marry her ? " 
 
 " "lis no laughing matter, Master Jack, as you may find
 
 A VISITOR 251 
 
 out ere long," the other said. " The good lady lent me the 
 horse, 'tis true ; else how could I have come all the way 
 into Warwickshire ? — ay, and lent me an angel or two, to 
 appease the villain landlords. I tell thee she is as bountiful 
 as the day. Lord, what a house ! — I'll take my oath 
 that Master butler hath a good fat capou and a bottle of 
 claret each evening for his supper — if he have not, his face 
 belieth him. And think you she would be niggard with 
 Haudsome Jack ? Nay, but a gentleman must have his 
 friends ; ay, and his suppers at the taveru when the play is 
 over ; and store of pieces in his purse to make you good 
 company. AVhy, man, thy fame would spread through the 
 Blackfriars, I warrant you ; where is the hostess that would 
 not simper and ogle and court'sy to Gentleman Jack, 
 when that he came among them slapping the purse in his 
 pouch ? " 
 
 " 'Tis a fair picture," his friend said. " Thy wits have 
 been sharpened by thy long ride, Frank. And think you 
 the buxom widow would consent were one to make bold and 
 ask her ? Nay, nay ; 'tis thy dire need hath driven thee 
 to this excess of fancy." 
 
 For answer Master Lloyd proceeded to bring forth a 
 small box which he opened, and took therefrom a finger- 
 ring. It was a man's ring, of massive setting ; the stone of 
 a deep blood-red, and graven with an intaglio of a Eoman 
 bust. He pushed it across the table. 
 
 " The horse was lent," said he, darkly. " That — if it 
 please you — you may keep and wear." 
 
 " What mean you ? " Leofric Hope said, in some sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " ' I name no thing, and I mean no thing,' " said he, 
 quoting a phrase from a popular ballad. " If you under- 
 stand not, 'tis a pity. I may not speak more plainly. But 
 bethink you that poor Frank Lloyd was not likely to have 
 the means of purchasing thee such a pretty toy — much as 
 he would like to please his old friend. Nay, canst thou 
 not see, Jack ? 'Tis a message, man ! More I may not 
 say. Take it and wear it, good lad ; and come back boldly 
 to London, and we will face the harpies, and live as free 
 men, ere a fortnight be over. What ? — must I speak ? Nay, 
 an' you understand not, I will tell no more."
 
 2 5 2 JUDITH SHA KESPEA RE 
 
 He understood well enough, and he sate for a second 
 or two moodily regarding the ring ; but he did not take it 
 up. Then he rose from the table and began to walk up 
 and down the room. 
 
 " Frank," said he, " couldst thou but see this 
 wench " 
 
 " Nay, nay, spare me the catalogue," his friend answered 
 quickly. " I heard thee declare that Ben Jonson had no 
 words to say how fair she was : would you better his de- 
 scription and overmaster him ? And fair or not fair 'tis all 
 the same with thee ; any petticoat can bewitch thee out of 
 thy senses ; Black Almaine or New Almaine may be the 
 tune, but 'tis ever the same dance ; and such a heaving of 
 sighs and despair ! — 
 
 ' Thy gown was of the grassy green, 
 
 Thy sleeves of satin hanging by; 
 Which made thee be our harvest queen~ 
 And yet thou wouldst not love me.' 
 
 Tis a pleasant pastime, friend Jack ; but there comes an 
 end. I know not which be the worse, wenches or usurers, 
 for landing a poor lad in gaol ; but both together, Jack — 
 and that is thy case — they are not like to let thee escape. 
 'Tis not to every one in such a plight there cometh a talis- 
 man like that pretty toy there — beshrew me, what a thing it 
 is in this world to have a goodly presence ! " 
 
 He now rose from the table and went to the door, and 
 called aloud for some one to bring him a light. When that 
 was brought and his pipe set going, he sate him down 
 on the bench by the empty fireplace, for the seat seemed 
 comfortable ; and there he smoked with much content, 
 while his friend continued to pace up and down the apart- 
 ment meditating over his own situation, and seemingly not 
 over well pleased with the survey. 
 
 Presently something in one of the pigeon-holes over the 
 fireplace attracted the attention of the visitor ; and, having 
 nothing better to do (for he would leave his friend time to 
 ponder over what he had said), he rose and pulled forth a 
 little bundle of sheets of paper that opened in his hand as 
 he sate down again. 
 
 "What's this, Jack?" said he. "Hast become play-
 
 A VISITOR 253 
 
 wright ? — surely all of this preachment is not in praise of 
 the fair damsel's eyebrows ? " 
 
 His friend turned round, saw what he had got hold of, 
 
 and laughed. 
 
 " That, now," said he, " were something to puzzle the 
 wits with, were one free to go to London. I had some such 
 jest in mind ; but perchance 'twas more of idleness that 
 made me copy out the play." 
 
 " Tis not yours, then ? "Whose ? " said Master Frank 
 Lloyd, looking over the pages with some curiosity. 
 
 " "Whose ? Why, 'tis by one Will Shakespeare, that you 
 may have heard of. Would it not puzzle them, Frank ? 
 Were it not a good jest, now, to lay it before some learned 
 critic and ask his worship's opinion ? Or to read it at the 
 Silver Hind as of thy writing ? Woidd not Dame Marjory 
 weep with joy ? Out upon the Mermaid ! — have we not 
 poets of our own ? " 
 
 He had drawn near, and was looking down at the sheets 
 that his friend was examining. 
 
 " I tell thee this, Jack," the latter said, in his cool way, 
 " there is more than a jest to be got out of a play by Will 
 Shakespeare. Would not the booksellers give us the price 
 of a couple of nags for it if we were pressed so far ? " 
 
 " Mind thine own business, fool ! " was the angry re- 
 joinder ; and ere he knew what had happened his hands 
 were empty. 
 
 And at that same moment, away over there in Stratford 
 town, Judith was in the garden, trying to teach little Bess 
 Hall to dance, and merrily laughing the while. And when 
 the dancing lesson was over, she would try a singing lesson ; 
 and now the child was on Judith's shoulder, and had hold 
 of her bonny sun-brown curls. 
 
 " Well done, Bess ; well done ! Xow again,— 
 
 ' The hunt is up — the hunt is up — 
 
 Aicalce my lady, dear! 
 Oh, a morn in Spring is the sweetest thing 
 Cometh in all the year ! ' 
 
 Well done, indeed ! Will not my father praise thee, lass ; 
 and what more wouldst thou have for all thy pains ? "
 
 254 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AN APPEAL. 
 
 Great changes were in store. To begin with, there were 
 rumours of her father being about to return to London. 
 Then Dr. Hall was summoned away into Worcestershire by 
 a great lady living there, who was continually fancying 
 herself at the brink of death, and manifesting on such 
 occasions a terror not at all in consonance with her pro- 
 fessed assurance that she was going to a happier sphere. 
 As it was possible that Dr. Hall would seize this opportunity 
 to pay several other professional visits in the neighbouring 
 county, it was proposed that Susan and her daughter 
 should come for a while to New Place, and that Judith 
 should at the same time go and stay with her grandmother 
 at Shottery, to cheer the old dame somewhat. And so it 
 happened, on this July morning, that Judith's mother 
 having gone round to see her elder daughter about all these 
 arrangements, Judith found herself not only alone in the 
 house, but — as rarely chanced — with nothing to do. 
 
 She tried to extract some music from her sister's lute, 
 but that was a failure ; she tried half a dozen other things ; 
 and then it occurred to her — for the morning was fine and 
 clear, and she was fond of the meadows, and of open air 
 and sunlight — that she would walk round to the Grammar 
 School and beg for a half -holiday for Willie Hart. He, as 
 well as Bess Hall, was under her tuition ; and there were 
 things she could teach him of quite as much value (as she 
 considered) as anything to be learned at a desk. At the 
 same time, before going to meet the staring eyes of all those 
 boys, she thought she might as well repair to her own room 
 and smarten up her attire — even to the extent, perhaps, of 
 putting on her gray beaver hat, with the row of brass beads. 
 
 That was not at all necessary. Nothing of the kind was 
 needful to make Judith Shakespeare attractive and fascin- 
 ating and wonderful to that crowd of lads. The fact was, 
 the whole school of them were more or less secretly in love 
 with her ; and this, so far from procuring Willie Hart such 
 bumps and thrashings as he might have received from a 
 solitary rival, gained for him, on the contrary, a mysterious
 
 AN APPEAL 255 
 
 favour and goodwill that showed itself in a hundred subtle 
 ways. For he was in a measure the dispenser of Judith's 
 patronage. When he was walking along the street with her 
 he would tell her the name of this one or that of his com- 
 panions (in case she had forgotten), and she would stop and 
 speak to him kindly, and hope he was getting on well with 
 his tasks. Also the older lads, on the strength of Willie 
 Hart's intermediation, would now make bold to say with great 
 politeness, " Give ye good-morrow, Mistress Judith," when 
 they met her ; and sometimes she would pause for a moment, 
 and chat with one of them, and make some inquiries of him 
 as to whether her cousin did not occasionally need a little 
 help in his lessons from the bigger boys. Then there was 
 a kind of fury of assistance instantly promised ; and the 
 youth would again remember his good manners, and bid her 
 formally farewell, and go on bis way, with his heart and his 
 cheeks alike afire and his brain gone a-dancing. Even that 
 dread being, the head-master, had no frown for her when 
 she went boldly up to his desk, in the very middle of the 
 day's duties, to demand some favour. Nay, he would 
 rather detain her with a little pleasant conversation, and 
 would at times become almost facetious (at sight of which 
 the spirits of the whole school rose into a seventh heaven 
 of equanimity). And always she got what she wanted ; and 
 generally, before leaving, she would give one glance down 
 the rows of oaken benches, singling out her friends here 
 and there, and alas ! not thinking at all of the deadly 
 wounds she was thus dealing with those lustrous and 
 shining eyes. 
 
 Well, on this morning she had no difficulty in rescuing 
 her cousin from the dull captivity of the schoolroom ; and 
 hand-in-hand they went along and down to the river-side 
 and to the meadows there. But seemingly she had no wish 
 to get much farther from the town ; for the truth was that 
 she lacked assurance as yet that Master Leofric Hope had 
 left that neighbourhood ; and she was distinctly of a mind 
 to avoid all further communications with him until, if ever, 
 he should be able to come forward openly and declare 
 himself to the small world in which she lived. Accordingly 
 she did not lead Willie Hart far along the river-side path ; 
 they rather kept to seeking about the banks and hedgerows
 
 2 5 6 JUDITH SNA KESPEA RE 
 
 for wild flowers — the pink and white bells of the bindweed 
 she was mostly after, and these did not abound there — ■ 
 until at last they came to a stile ; and there she sate down, 
 and would have her cousin sit beside her, so that she 
 should give him some further schooling as to all that he 
 was to do, and think, and be in the coming years. She 
 had far other things than Lilly's Grammar to teach him. 
 The Sententm Pueriles contained no instructions as to how, 
 for example, a modest and Avell-conducted youth should 
 approach his love-maiden to discover whether her heart was 
 well inclined towards him. And although her timid-eyed 
 pupil seemed to take but little interest in the fair creature 
 that was thus being provided for him in the future, and 
 was far more anxious to know how he was to win Judith's 
 approval, either now or then, still he listened contentedly 
 enough, for Judith's voice was soft and musical. Nay, he 
 put that imaginary person out of his mind altogether. It 
 was Judith, and Judith alone, whom he saw in these 
 forecasts. Would he have any other supplant her in his 
 dreams and visions of what was to be ? This world around 
 him — the smooth-flowing Avon, the wooded banks, the 
 wide white skies, the meadows and fields, and low-lying 
 hills : was not she the very spirit, and central life, and 
 light of all these ? Without her, what would these be ? 
 — dead things ; the mystery and wonder gone out of them ; 
 a world in darkness. But he could not think of that ; the 
 world he looked forward to was filled with light ; for Judith 
 was there — the touch of her hand as gentle as ever ; her 
 eyes still as kind. 
 
 " So must you be accomplished at all points, sweetheart," 
 she was continuing, " that you shame her not in any 
 company, whatever the kind of it may be. If they be 
 grave, and speak of the affairs of the realm, then must you 
 know how the country is governed, as becomes a man 
 (though, being a woman, alack, I cannot help you there) ; 
 and you must have opinions about what is best for England, 
 and be ready to uphold them too. Then, if the company 
 be of a gayer kind, again you shall not shame her, but take 
 part in all the merriment ; and if there be dancing, you 
 shall not go to the door, and hang about like a booby ; 
 you must know the new dances, every one ; for would you
 
 AN APPEAL 257 
 
 have your sweetheart dance with others, and you standing 
 by ? That were a spite, I take it, for both of you ! — nay, 
 would not the wench be angry to be so used ? Let me 
 see, now — what is the name of it ? — the one that is danced 
 to the tune of The Merchant's Daughter went over the 
 Field ? — have I shown you that, sweetheart ? " 
 
 "I know not, cousin Judith," said he. 
 
 " Come, then," said she, blithely ; and she took him by 
 the hand, and placed him opposite her in the meadow. 
 "Look you, now, the four at the top cross hands — so — 
 you must imagine the other two, sweetheart — and all go 
 round once— so ; and then they change hands, and go 
 back the other way — so ; and then each takes his own 
 partner, and away they go round the circle, and back to 
 their place. Is it not simple, cousin ? Come, now, let us 
 try properly." • 
 
 And so they began again ; and for music she lightly 
 hummed a verse of a song that was commonly sung to the 
 same tune : 
 
 " Maid will you love me, yes or no f 
 Tell me the truth ci7id let me go." 
 
 " The other hand, Willie— quick 1 " 
 
 " It can be no less than a sinful deed 
 {Trust me truly), 
 To linger a lover that looks to speed 
 {In due time duly)." 
 
 " "Why, is it not simple ! " she said, laughing. " But now, 
 instead of crossing hands, I think it far the prettier way 
 that they should hold their hands up together — So ; shall we 
 try it, sweetheart ? " 
 
 And then she had to sing another verse of the ballad : 
 
 " Consider, sweet, what siglts and sobs, 
 Do nip my heart with cruel throbs. 
 And all, my drar, for the love of you 
 
 {Trust me truly) : 
 But I hope that you will some mercy show 
 {In due time duly)." 
 
 " And then," she continued, when they had finished that 
 laughing rehearsal, " should the liddles begin to squeal and 
 
 S
 
 258 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 screech — which is as much as to say, ' Now, all of you, kiss 
 your partners ! ' — then shall you not hounce forward and 
 seize the wench by the neck — as if you were a ploughboy 
 besotted with ale — and have her hate thee for destroying 
 her head-gear and her hair. No ; you shall come forward 
 ih this manner, as if to do her great courtesy ; and you 
 shall take her hand and bend one knee ; and make partly 
 a jest of it, but not altogether a jest, and then you shall kiss 
 her hand, and rise and retire. Think you the maiden will 
 not be proud that you have shown her so much honour and 
 respect in public ? — ay, and when she and you are thereafter 
 together by yourselves, I doubt not but that she may be 
 willing to make up to you for your forbearance and courteous 
 treatment of her. Marry, with that I have naught to do ; 
 'tis as the heart of the wench may happen to be inclined, 
 though you may trust me she will be well content that you 
 show her other than ale-house manners : and if 'tis but a 
 matter of a kiss that you forego — because you would pay 
 her courtesy in public — why, then, as I say, she may 
 make that up to thee, or she is no woman else. I wonder, 
 now, what the Bonnvbel will be like — or tall, or dark, or 
 fair » 
 
 " I wish never to see her, Judith," said he, simply. 
 
 However, there was to be no further discussion of this 
 matter, nor yet green-sward rehearsals of dancing ; for they 
 now descried coming to them the little maid who waited on 
 Judith's grandmother. She seemed in a hurry, and had a 
 basket over her arm. 
 
 " How now, little Cicely ? " Judith said, as she drew 
 near. 
 
 " I have sought you everywhere, so please you, Mistress 
 Judith," the little maid said, breathlessly, " for I was 
 coming into the town — on some errands — and — and I met 
 the strange gentleman that came once or twice to the 
 house, and — and he would have me carry a message to 
 you " 
 
 "Prithee, good lass," said Judith, instantly, and with 
 much composure, " go thy way back home. I wish for no 
 message." 
 
 " He seemed in sore distress," the little maid said diffi- 
 dently.
 
 AN APPEAL 259 
 
 " How, then ? Did a gentleman of his tall inches seek 
 help from such a mite as thou ? " 
 
 " He would fain see you, sweet mistress, and but for a 
 moment," the girl answered, being evidently desirous of 
 getting the burden of the message off her mind. " He bid 
 me say he would be in the kne going to Bidford, or there- 
 about for the next hour or two, and would crave a word 
 with you — out of charity, the gentleman said, or something 
 of the like — and that it might be the last chance of seeing 
 you ere he goes, and that I was to give his message to you 
 very secretly." 
 
 Well, she scarcely knew what to do. At their last 
 interview he had pleaded for another opportunity of saying 
 farewell to her, and she had not definitely refused ; but, on 
 the other hand, she would much rather have seen nothing 
 further of him in these present circumstances. His half- 
 reckless references to Prince Ferdinand undergoing any 
 kind of hardship for the sake of winning the fair Miranda 
 were of a dangerous cast. She did not wish to meet him 
 on that ground at all, even to have her suspicions removed. 
 But if he were really in distress ? And this his last day 
 in the neighbourhood ? It seemed a small matter to 
 grant. 
 
 " "What say you, cousin Willie ? " said she, good- 
 naturedly. " Shall we go and see what the gentleman 
 wouuld have of us ? I cannot, unless with thee as my 
 shield and champion." 
 
 " If you wish it, cousin Judith," said he : what would he 
 not do that she wished ? 
 
 " And Cicely — shall we all go ? " 
 
 " Nay, so please you, Mistress Judith," the girl said ; " I 
 have to go back for my errands. I have been running 
 everywhere to seek you." 
 
 "Then, Willie, come along - ," said she, lightly ; "we must 
 get across the fields to the Evesham road." 
 
 And so (he apple-cheeked little maiden trudged back to 
 the town with her basket, while Judith and her companion 
 went on their way across the meadows. There was a kind 
 of good-humoured indifference in her consent, though she 
 felt anxious that the interview should be as brief as 
 possible. 
 
 S 2
 
 260 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 She had had more time of late to think over all the 
 events that had recently happened — startling events enough 
 in so quiet and even a life ; and occasionally she bethought 
 her of the wizard, and of the odd coincidence of her meet- 
 ing this young gentleman at the very spot that had been 
 named. She had tried to laugh aside certain recurrent 
 doubts and surmises ; and was only partially successful. 
 And she had a vivid recollection of the relief she had 
 experienced when their last interview came to an end. 
 
 " You must gather me some flowers, sweetheart," said 
 she, " while I am speaking to this gentleman ; perchance 
 he may have something to say of his own private affairs." 
 
 " I will go on to your grandmother's garden," said he, 
 " if you wish it, cousin Judith, and get you the flowers 
 there." 
 
 " Indeed, no," she answered, patting him on the shoulder. 
 " "Would you leave me without my champion ? Nay, but 
 if you stand aside a little that the gentleman may speak 
 in confidence, if such should be his pleasure — surely that 
 will be enough." 
 
 They had scarcely entered the lane when he made his 
 appearance ; and the moment she set eyes on him she saw 
 that something had happened. His face seemed haggard 
 and anxious — nay, his very manner was changed. Where 
 was the elaborate courtesy with which he had been wont to 
 approach her ? 
 
 " Judith," said he, hurriedly, " I must risk all now. I 
 must speak plain. I — I scarce hoped you would give me 
 the chance." 
 
 But she was in no alarm. 
 
 " Now, sweetheart," said she, calmly, to the little lad, 
 " you may get me the flowers, and if you find any more of 
 the bindweed bells and the St. John's wort so much the 
 better." 
 
 Then she turned to Master Leofric Hope. 
 
 " I trust you have had no ill news," said she, but in a 
 kind way. 
 
 " Indeed, I have. Well, I know not which way to take 
 it," he said, in a sort of desperate fashion. " It might be 
 good news. But I am hard pressed ; 'twill be sink or 
 swim with me presently. Well, there is one way of safety
 
 AN APPEAL 261 
 
 open to me ; 'tis for you to say whether I shall take it or 
 not." 
 
 " I, sir ? " she said ; and she was so startled that she 
 almost recoiled a step. 
 
 " Nay, but first I must make a confession," said he, 
 quickly, " whatever comes of it. Think of me what you 
 will, I will tell you the truth. Shall I beg for your forgive- 
 ness beforehand ? " 
 
 He was regarding her earnestly and anxiously ; and 
 there was nothing but kindness and a certain expression of 
 concern in the honest frank face and in the beautiful eyes. 
 
 " No, I will not," he said. " Doubtless you will be angry, 
 and with just cause ; and you will go away. Well, this is 
 the truth. The devils of usurers were after me ; I had 
 some friends not far from here ; I escaped to them ; and 
 they sought out this hiding for me. Then I had heard of 
 you — you will not forgive me, but this is the truth — I had 
 heard of your beauty ; and Satan himself put it into my 
 head that I must see you. I thought it would be a pastime, 
 to while away this cursed hiding if I could get to know you 
 without discovering myself. I sent you a message. I was 
 myself the wizard. Heaven is my witness that when I saw, 
 you at the corner of the field up there, and heard you speak, 
 and looked on your gracious and gentle ways, remorse went 
 to my heart ; but how could I forego seeking to see you 
 again ? It was a stupid jest. It was begun in thoughtless- 
 ness ; but now the truth is before you ; I was myself the 
 wizard ; and — and my name is not Leofric Hope, but John 
 Orridge — a worthless poor devil that is ashamed to stand 
 before you." 
 
 Well, the colour had mounted to her face ; for she saw 
 clearly the invidious position that this confession had placed 
 her in ; but she was far less startled than he had expected ; 
 she had already regarded this trick as a possible thing ; and 
 she had also fully considered what she ought to do in such 
 circumstances. Now when the circumstances were actually 
 laid before her, she made no display of wounded pride, or 
 of indignant anger, or anything of the kind. 
 
 " I pray you," said she, with a perfect and simple dignity, 
 " pass from that. I had no such linn belief in the wizard's 
 prophecies. I took you as you represented yourself to be,
 
 262 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a stranger, met by chance, one who was known to my 
 father's friends, and who was in misfortune ; and if I have 
 done aught beyond what I shoidd have done in such a pass, 
 I trust you will put it down to our country manners, that 
 are perchance less guarded than those of the town." 
 
 For an instant — there was not the slightest doubt of it — 
 actual tears stood in the young man's eyes. 
 
 " By heavens," he exclaimed, " I think you must be the 
 noblest creature God ever made ! You do not drive me 
 away in scorn — you have no reproaches ? And I — to be 
 
 standing here — telling you such a tale " 
 
 . " I pray you, sir, pass from that," said she. " "What of 
 your own fortunes ? You are quitting the neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " But how can you believe me in anything," since you 
 know how I have deceived you ? " said he — as if he could 
 not understand how she should make no sign of her 
 displeasure. 
 
 " 'Twas but a jest, as you say," she answered good- 
 naturedly (but still with a trifle of reserve). " And no harm 
 has come of it. I would leave it aside, good sir." 
 
 " Harm ? " said he, looking at her with a kind of anxious 
 timidity. " That may or may not be, sweet lady, as time 
 will show. If I dared but speak to you — well, bethink you 
 of my meeting you here from day to day — in these quiet 
 retreats — and seeing such a sweetness and beauty and 
 womanliness as I have never met with in the world before 
 — such a wonder of gentleness and kindness " 
 
 " I would ask you to spare me these compliments," said 
 she, simply. " I thought 'twas some serious matter you had 
 in hand." 
 
 " Serious enough, i' faith ! " he said, in an altered tone, 
 as if she had recalled him to a sense of the position in 
 which he stood. " But there is the one way out of it, after 
 all. I can sell my life away, for money to pacify those 
 fiends ; nay, besides that, I should live in abundance, 
 doubtless, and be esteemed a most fortunate gentleman, 
 and one to be envied. A gilded prison-house and slavery ; 
 but what would the fools think of that if they saw me with 
 a good fat purse at the tavern ? " 
 
 Again he regarded her. 
 
 " There is another way yet, however ; if I must needa
 
 AN APPEAL 263 
 
 trouble you, dear Mistress Judith, with my poor affairs. 
 What if I were to break with that accursed London alto- 
 gether, and go off and fight my way in another country, 
 as many a better man hath done ; ay, and there be still 
 one or two left who would help me to escape if they saw 
 me on the way to reform, as they would call it. And what 
 would I not do in that way — ay, or in any way — if I could 
 hope for a certain prize to be won at the end of it all ? " 
 
 " And that, good sir ? " 
 
 " That," said he, watching her face — " the reward that 
 would be enough, and more than enough, for all I might 
 suffer would be just this — to find Judith Shakespeare 
 coming to meet me in this very lane." 
 
 " Oh no, sir," was her immediate and incoherent ex- 
 clamation ; and then she promptly pulled herself together, 
 and said, with some touch of pride : "-Indeed, good sir, 
 you talk wildly. I scarce understand how you can be in 
 such grave trouble." 
 
 " Then," said he— and he was rather pale, and spoke 
 slowly— " it would be no manner of use for any poor 
 Ferdinand of these our own days to go bearing logs or 
 suffering any hardships that might arise ? There would be 
 no Miranda waiting for him, after all ? " 
 
 She coloured deeply ; she could not affect to misunder- 
 stand the repeated allusion ; and all she had in her mind 
 now was to leave him and get away from him — and yet 
 without unkindness or anger. 
 
 " Good sir," said she, with such equanimity as she could 
 muster, " if that be your meaning — if that be why you 
 wished to see me again — and no mere continuance of an 
 idle jest, plain speech will best serve our turn. I trust no 
 graver matters occupy your mind ; as for this, you must 
 put that away. It was with no thought of any such thing 
 that I — that I — met you once or twice — and — and — lent 
 you such reading as might pass the time for you. And 
 perchance I was too free in that, and in my craving to hear 
 of my father and his friends in London, and the rest. But 
 what you say now — if I understand you aright — well, 
 I had no thought of any such thing — indeed, good sir> if I 
 have done wrong in listening to you about my father's 
 friends — 'twas in the hope that or soon or late you would
 
 264 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 continue the tale in my father's house. But now — what 
 you say — bids me to leave you — and yet in no anger — 
 for in truth I wish you well." 
 
 She gave him her hand ; and he held it for a moment. 
 
 " Is this your last word, Judith ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed," she answered, rather breathlessly 
 and earnestly. " 1 may not see you again. I pray heaven 
 your troubles may soon be over : and perchance you may 
 meet my father in London, and become one of his friends ; 
 then might I hear of your better fortunes. 'T would be 
 welcome news, believe me. And now fare you well." 
 
 He stooped to touch her hand with his lips ; but he 
 said not a word ; and she turned away without raising her 
 eyes. He stood there, motionless and silent, watching her 
 and the little boy as they walked along the lane towards 
 the village — regarding them in an absent kind of way, and 
 yet with no great expression of sadness or hopelessness in 
 his face. Then he turned and made for the highway to 
 Bidford ; and he was saying to himself as he went along — 
 
 "Well, there goes one chance in life for good or ill. 
 And what if I had been more persistent ? What if she 
 had consented, or even half-consented, or said that in the 
 future I might come back with some small modicum of 
 hope ? Nay the devil only knows where I should get 
 logs to carry for the winning of so fair a reward. Frank 
 Lloyd is right. My case is too desperate. So fare you 
 well, sweet maiden ; keep you to your quiet meadows and 
 your wooded lanes ; and the clown that will marry you 
 will give you a happier life than ever you could have had 
 with Jack Orridge and his broken fortunes." 
 
 Indeed, he seemed in no downcast mood. As he 
 walked along the highway he was absently watching the 
 people in the distant fields, or idly whistling the tune of 
 Galen o Custure me. But by and by, as he drew near the 
 farm, his face assumed a more sombre look ; and when, 
 coming still nearer, he saw Frank Lloyd calmly standing 
 at the door of the stables, smoking his pipe, there was a 
 sullen frown on his forehead that did not promise well for 
 the cheerfulness of that journey to London which Master 
 Lloyd had sworn he would not undertake until his friend 
 was ready to accompany him.
 
 TO LONDON TOWN 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TO LONDON TOWN. 
 
 But that was not the departure for London which was 
 soon to bring Judith a great heaviness of heart, and cause 
 many a bitter fit of crying when that she was lying awake 
 o' nights. She would rather have let all her lovers go, and 
 welcome, a hundred times over. But as the days passed, it 
 became more and more evident, from certain preparations, 
 that her father was about to leave Stratford for the south ; 
 and finally the very moment was fixed. Judith strove to 
 keep a merry face (for so she had been bid), but again and 
 again she was on the point of going to him and falling on 
 her knees and begging him to remain with them. She 
 knew that he would laugh at her ; but did he quite know 
 what going away from them meant ? And the use of it ? 
 Had they not abundance ? Still, she was afraid of being 
 chid for meddling in matters beyond her ; and so she went 
 about her duties with as much cheerfulness as she could 
 assume ; though, when in secret conclave with Prudence, 
 and talking of this and what the house would be like when 
 he was gone, quiet tears would steal down her face in the 
 dusk. 
 
 To suit the convenience of one or two neighbours, who 
 were also going to London, the day of departure had been 
 postponed ; but at last the fatal morning arrived. Judith, 
 from an early hour, was on the watch, trying to get some 
 opportunity of saying good-bye to her father by herself 
 (and not before all the strangers who would soon be 
 gathering together), but always she was defeated, for he 
 was busy in-doors with many things, and every one was 
 lending a helping hand. Moreover, she was in an excited 
 and trembling state ; and more than once she had to steal 
 away to her chamber and bathe her eyes with water, lest 
 that they should tell any tale when he should see her. 
 But the climax of her misfortunes was this. When the 
 hour of leaving was drawing nigh she heard him go out 
 and into the garden, doubtless with the intention of locking 
 up the cupboard in the summer-house ; and so she presently 
 and swiftly stole out after him, thinking that now would
 
 266 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 be her chance. Alas ! the instant she had passed through 
 the back-court door, she saw that Matthew gardener had 
 forestalled her ; and not only that, but he had brought a 
 visitor with hini — the master constable, Grandfather Jeremy, 
 whom she knew well. Anger filled her heart ; but this 
 was no time to stand on her dignity. She would not 
 retire from the field. She walked forward boldly, and 
 stood by her father's side, as much as to say — " Well, this 
 is my place. What do you want ? Why this intrusion at 
 such a time ? " 
 
 Grandfather Jeremy was a little, thin, round-shouldered 
 ancient, with long straggling gray hair, and small, shrewd, 
 ferret-like eyes, that kept nervously glancing from Judith's 
 father to goodman Matthew, who had obviously introduced 
 him on this occasion. Indeed, the saturnine visage of the 
 gardener was overspread with a complacent grin, as though 
 he were saying — " Look you there, zur, there be a rare 
 vool." Judith's father, on the other hand, showed no 
 impatience over this interruption ; he kept waiting for the 
 old man to recover his power of speech. 
 
 " Well now, master constable, what would you ? " he 
 said gently. 
 
 " Why can't 'ee tell his worship, Jeremy ? " Matthew 
 gardener said, in his superior and facetious fashion. " Pas- 
 sion o' me, man, thy tongue will wag fact enough at Mother 
 Tooley's ale-house." 
 
 "It wur a contrevarsie, so please your worship," the 
 ancient constable said, but with a kind of vacant stare, 
 as if he were half -lost in looking back into his memory. 
 - " Ay, and with whom ? " said Judith's father, to help 
 him along. 
 
 "With my poor old woman, so please your worship. 
 She be a poor mean creature in your honour's eyes, I 
 make no doubt, but she hath wisdom, she hath, and a 
 strength in contrevarsie past most. Lord, Lord, why be 
 I standing here now — and holding your worship — and 
 your worship's time and necessities — but that she saith, 
 ' Jeremy, put thy better leg avore : ' ' speak out,' saith 
 she, "twur as good for thee as a half -ox in a pie, or a 
 score of angels in thy pouch.' 'Speak out,' she saith, 
 ' and be not afraid, Jeremy.' "
 
 TO LONDON TOWN 267. 
 
 " But, master constable," said Judith's father, " if your 
 good dame be such a Mary Ambree in argument, she 
 should have furnished you with fewer words and more 
 matter. What would you ? " 
 
 "Nay, zur, I be as bold as most," said the constable, 
 pulling up his courage, and also elevating his head some- 
 what with an air of authority. " I can raise hue and cry 
 in the hundred, that can I ; and if the watch bring me 
 a rogue he shall lie by the heels, or I am no true man. 
 But, Lord, zur, have pity on a poor man that be put 
 forward to speak for a disputation. When they wur talking 
 of it at furst, your worship — this one and the other, and 
 all of them to once — and would have me go forward to 
 speak for them— 'Zure,' says I, 'I would as lief go to 
 a brideale with my legs swaddled in wisps as go avore 
 Mahster Shaksper without a power o' voine words.' But 
 Joan, she saith, 'Jeremy, fear no man, howsoever great, 
 for there be but the one Lord over us all ; perzent thyself 
 like a true countryman and an honest officer ; take thy 
 courage with thee,' saith she ; ' and remember thou speak- 
 est vor thy friends as well as vor thyself. "lis a right 
 good worshipful gentleman,' she saith, meaning yourself, 
 sweet Mahster Shaksper ; ' and will a not give us a share ? ' " 
 
 " In heaven's name, man," said Judith's father, laughing, 
 " what would you ? Had Joan no clearer message to give 
 you ? " 
 
 " I but speak her words, so please your worship," said 
 the ancient constable, with the air of one desperately trying 
 to recall a lesson that had been taught him. "And all 
 of them — they wur zaying as how she hath a power o' 
 wisdom — and ' Jeremy,' she saith, ' be not over bold with 
 the worthy gentleman ; 'tis but a share ; and he be a right 
 worthy and civil gentleman ; speak him fair, Jeremy,' she 
 saith, ' and put thy better leg avore, and acquit thee as 
 a man. Nay, be bold,' she saith, ' and think of thy 
 vriends that be waiting without for an answer. Think of 
 them, Jeremy,' she saith, 'if thy speech fail thee ; 'tis but 
 a share ; 'tis but a share ; and he a right worshipful and 
 civil gentleman.' " 
 
 Judith's father glanced at the sundial on the gable of 
 the barn.
 
 268 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " My good friend," said he, " I hear that your wife Joan 
 is ailing ; 'tis through no lack of breath, I warrant me. 
 An' you come not to the point forthwith, I must be gone. 
 What would you ? Or what would your good dame have of 
 me — for there we shall get to it more quickly." 
 
 " So please you, zur," said Matthew, with his complacent 
 grin, " the matter be like this now : this worthy master 
 constable and his comrades of the watch, they wur laying 
 their heads together like ; and they have heard say that 
 you have written of them, and taken of their wisdom the 
 couple o' nights they wur brought into supper ; and they 
 see as how you have grown rich, so please you, zur, with 
 such writing " 
 
 " A vast o' money — a vast o' money and lands," the 
 other murmured. 
 
 " And now, zur, they would make bold to ask for their 
 share, for the help that they have given you. Nay, zur," 
 continued Matthew gardener, who was proud of the ease 
 with which he could put into words the inarticulate desires 
 of this good constable, " be not angry with worthy Jeremy : 
 he but speaketh for the others — and for his wife Joan, too, 
 that be as full of courage as any of them, and would 
 have come to your worship but that she be sore troubled 
 with an ague. Lord, zur, I know not how much the 
 worthy gentlemen want. Perchance good Jeremy would 
 be content wi' the barn and the store of malt in the malt- 
 house " 
 
 At this the small deep eyes of the ancient began to 
 twinkle nervously ; and he glanced in an anxious way from 
 one to the other. 
 
 " And the watch, now," continued Matthew, grinning, 
 and looking at the old constable, " why, zur, they be poor 
 men ; 'twould go well with them to divide amongst them 
 the store of good wine in the cellar, and perchance also the 
 leather hangings that be so much talked of in the town. 
 But hark you, good Jeremy, remember this now — that 
 whoever hath the garden and orchard fall to his lot must 
 pay me my wages, else 'tis no bargain." 
 
 For the first time in her life Judith saw her father in a 
 passion of anger. His colour did not change ; but there 
 was a strange look about his mouth, and his eyes blazed.
 
 TO LONDON TOWN 269 
 
 " Thou cursed fool," he said to the gardener, " 'tis thou 
 hast led these poor men into this folly." And. then he 
 turned to the bewildered constable, and took him by the 
 arm. " Come, good friend," said he, in a kindly way, " come 
 into the house, and I will explain these matters to thee. 
 Thou hast been misled by this impudent knave— by my 
 life I will settle that score with him ere long ; and, in truth, 
 the aid that you and your comrades have given me is 
 chiefly that we have passed a pleasant evening or two 
 together, and been merry or wise as occasion offered. And 
 I would have you spend such another to-night, among 
 yourselves, leaving the charges at the ale-house to me ; and 
 for the present, if I may not divide my store of wine among 
 you, 'tis no reason why you and I should not have a parting 
 cup, ere I put hand to bridle " 
 
 That was all that Judith heard ; and then she turned to 
 the ancient wiseman and said, coolly — 
 
 " Were I in thy place, good Matthew, I would get me 
 out of this garden, and out of Stratford town too, ere my 
 father come back." And Matthew was too frightened to 
 answer her. 
 
 The outcome of all this, however, was that Judith's 
 father did not return to the garden ; and when she went 
 into the house she found that he had taken such time to 
 explain to Jeremy constable how small a share in his 
 writings had been contributed by these good people that 
 certain of the members of the expedition bound for London 
 had already arrived. Indeed, their horses and attendants 
 were at the door ; and all and everything was in such a 
 state of confusion and uproar that Judith saw clearly she 
 had no chance of saying a quiet good-bye to her father all 
 by herself. But was she to be again balked by goodman 
 Matthew ? She thought not. She slipped away by the 
 back-door, and disappeared. 
 
 There was quite a little crowd gathered to see the 
 cavalcade move off. Dr. Hall was not there, but Tom 
 Quiney was — bringing with him, as a parting gift for 
 Judith's father, a handsome riding-whip— and the worthy 
 Parson Blaise had also appeared, though there was no 
 opportunity for his professional services amid so much 
 bustle. And then there were hand-shakings, and kissings,
 
 270 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and farewells ; and Judith's father was just about to put 
 his foot in the stirrup when Susanna called out — 
 
 " But where is Judith ? Is she not coming to say good- 
 bye to my father ? " 
 
 Then there were calls for Judith here, there, and every- 
 where — but no answer ; and her mother was angry that 
 the girl should detain all this assemblage. But her father, 
 not having mounted, went rapidly through the house, and 
 just opened the door leading into the garden. The briefest 
 glance showed him that the mastiff was gone. Then he 
 hurried back. 
 
 " 'Tis all well, good mother," said he, as he got into the 
 saddle. " I shall see the wench ere I go far. I know her 
 tricks." 
 
 So the company moved away from the house, and 
 through the streets, and down to Clopton's bridge. Once 
 over the bridge, they struck to the right, taking the Oxford 
 road by Shipston and Enstone ; and ere they had gone far 
 along the highway, Judith's father, who seemed less to join 
 in the general hilarity and high spirits of the setting out 
 than to be keeping a watch around, perceived something in 
 the distance — at a corner where there was a high bank 
 behind some trees — that caused him to laugh slightly, and 
 to himself. When they were come near this corner the 
 figure that had been on the sky-line had disappeared ; but 
 down by the roadside was Judith herself — looking very 
 tremulous and ashamed as all these people came along — 
 and the great Don standing by her. Her father, who had 
 some knowledge of her ways, bade them all ride on ; and 
 then he turned his horse, and sprang down from the 
 saddle. 
 
 " Well, wench," said he, and he took her by the shoulders, 
 " what brings you here ? " 
 
 In answer she could only burst into tears, and hide her 
 face in his breast. 
 
 " Why, lass," said he, " what is a journey to London ? 
 And have you not enough left to comfort you ? Have you 
 not sweethearts a plenty ? " 
 
 But she could not speak ; she only sobbed, and sobbed. 
 
 " Come, come, lass, I must be going," said he, stroking 
 the soft brown hair. " Cheer up^ Wouldst thou spoil the
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 271 
 
 prettiest eyes in Warwickshire ? Nay, and thou have not 
 a right merry and beaming face when I am come again I 
 will call thee no daughter of mine." 
 
 Then she raised her head — for still she could not speak 
 • — and he kissed her. 
 
 " Heaven's blessings on thee, good wench ; I think 'tis 
 the last time I shall ever have the courage to leave thee. 
 Fare you well, sweetheart : keep your eyes bright and your 
 face happy — to draw me home again." 
 
 Then she kissed him on each cheek ; and he got into 
 the saddle and rode on. She climbed up to the top of the 
 bank, and watched him and his companions while they 
 were still in sight, and then she turned to go slowly home- 
 ward. 
 
 And it seemed to her when she came in view of Stratford, 
 and looked down on the wide meadows, and the placid 
 river, and the silent homesteads, that a sort of winter had 
 already fallen oven the land. That long summer had been 
 very beautifnl to her — full of sunlight and colour and the 
 scents of flowers ; but now a kind of winter was come, and 
 a sadness and loneliness, and the days and days that would 
 follow each other seemed to have no longer any life in 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 EVIL TIDIXGS. 
 
 But a far sharper winter than any she had thought of was 
 now about to come upon her ; and this was how it befell. 
 
 After the departure of her father, good Master Walter 
 Blaise became more and more the guide and counsellor of 
 these women-folk ; and, indeed, New Place was now given 
 over to meetings for prayer and worship, and was also 
 become the headquarters in the town for the entertainment 
 of travelling preachers, and for the institution of all kinds 
 of pious and charitable undertakings. There was little else 
 for the occupants of it to do ; the head of the house was in 
 London ; Judith was at Shottery with her grandmother ; 
 Susanna was relieved from much of her own domestic cares 
 by the absence of her husband in AVorcestershire ; and the 
 bailiff looked after all matters pertaining to the farm.
 
 272 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Indeed, so constant were these informal services and 
 ininisterings to pious travellers that Julius Shawe (though 
 not himself much given in that direction, and perhaps 
 mostly to please his sister) felt bound to interfere and 
 offer to open his house on occasion, or pay part of the 
 charges incurred through this kindly hospitality. Nay, he 
 went privately to Master Blaise and threw out some vague 
 hints as to the doubtful propriety of allowing a wife, in the 
 absence of her husband, to be so ready with her charity. 
 Now Master Blaise was an honest and straightforward man ; 
 and he met this charge boldly and openly. He begged of 
 Master Shawe to come to New Place that very afternoon, 
 when two or three of the neighbours were to assemble to 
 hear him lecture ; and both Prudence and her brother went. 
 But before the lecture the parson observed that he had a 
 case of conscience put before him— as to the giving of alms 
 and charity, by whom, for whom, and on whose authority 
 — which he would not himself decide. The whole matter, 
 he observed, had been pronounced upon in the holiday 
 lectures of that famous divine, Master William Perkins, 
 who was now gone to his eternal reward, these lectures 
 having recently been given to the world by the aid of one 
 Thomas Pickering, of Emanuel College, Cambridge. And 
 very soon it appeared, as the young parson read from the 
 little parchment-covered book, that the passages he quoted 
 had been carefully chosen and were singularly pertinent. 
 For, after a discourse on the duty of almsgiving as enjoined 
 by Scripture (and it was pointed out that Christ himself 
 had lived on alms—" not by begging, as the Papists affirm, 
 but by the voluntary ministration and contribution of some 
 to whom he preached"), Master Blaise read on, with an 
 occasional glance at Julius Shawe— '"It may be asked, 
 whether the wife may give alms without the consent of her 
 husband, considering that she is in subjection to another, 
 and therefore all that she hath is another's, and not her 
 own. Answer. The wife may give alms of some things, 
 but with these cautions : as first, she may give of those 
 goods that she hath excepted from marriage. Secondly, 
 she may give of those things which are common to them 
 both, provided it be with her husband's consent, at least 
 general and implicit. Thirdly, she may not give without
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 273 
 
 or against the consent of her husband. And the reason is, 
 because both the law of nature and the Word of God 
 command her obedience to her husband in all things. If it 
 be alleged that Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod's steward, 
 with others, did minister to Christ of their goods, Luke 
 viii. 3, I answer : It is to be presumed that it was not done 
 without all consent. Again, if it be said that Abigail 
 brought a present to David, for the relief of him and his 
 youug men, whereof she made not Xabal her husband 
 acquanted, I Sam. xxv. 19, I answer, It is true, but mark 
 the reason. Nabal was generally of a churlish and un- 
 merciful disposition, whereupon he was altogether un- 
 willing to yield relief to any, in how great necessity soever ; 
 whence it was, that he railed on the young men that came 
 to him, and drove them away, ver. 14. Again, he was a 
 foolish man and given to drunkenness, so as he was not fit 
 to govern his house or to dispense his alms. Besides that, 
 Abigail was a woman of great wisdom in all her actions, 
 and that which she now did was to save Nabal's and her 
 own life, yea, the lives of his whole family : for the case was 
 desperate, and all that they had were in present hazard. 
 The example, therefore, is no warrant for any woman to 
 give alms, unless it be in the like case.' " And then he 
 summed up in a few words ; saying, in effect, that as 
 regards the question which had been put before him, it was 
 for the wife to sav whether she had her husband's general 
 and implied consent to her pious expenditure, and to rule 
 her accordingly. 
 
 This completely and for ever shut Julius Shawe's mouth. 
 For he knew, and they all knew, that Judith's father was 
 well content that any preachers or divines coming to the 
 house should be generously received ; while he, on his part, 
 claimed a like privilege in the entertainment of any vagrant 
 person or persons (especially if they were making a shift to 
 live by their wits) whom he might chance to meet. Strict 
 economy in all other things was the rule of the household ; 
 in the matter of hospitality the limits were wide. And if 
 Judith's mother half guessed, and if Susanna Hall shrewdly 
 perceived why this topic had been introduced— and why Julius 
 Shawe had been asked to attend the lecture— the subject 
 was one that brought no sting to their conscience. If the 
 
 T
 
 274 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 whole question rested on the general and implied consent of 
 the husband, Judith's mother had naught to tax herself with. 
 After that there was no further remonstrance (of how- 
 ever gentle and underhand a kind) on the part of Julius 
 Shawe ; and more and more did Parson Blaise become the 
 guide, instructor, and mainstay of the household. They 
 were women-folk, some of them timid, all of them pious ; 
 and they experienced a sense of comfort and safety in sub- 
 mitting to bis spiritual domination. As for his disinter- 
 estedness, there could be no doubt of that ; for now Judith 
 was away at Shottery, and he could no longer pay court to 
 her in that authoritative fashion of his. It seemed as if he 
 were quite content to be with these others ; bringing them 
 the news of the day, especially as regarded the religious 
 dissensions that were everywhere abroad ; arranging for the 
 welcoming of this or that faithful teacher on his way 
 through the country ; getting up meetings for prayer and 
 profitable discourse in the afternoon ; or sitting quietly 
 with them in the evening, while they went on with their 
 tasks of dressmaking or embroidery. 
 
 And so it came about that Master Walter was in the 
 house one morning — they were seated at dinner, indeed, 
 and Prudence was also of the company — when a letter was 
 brought in and handed to Judith's mother. It was an 
 unusual thing ; and all saw by the look of it that it was from 
 London ; and all were eager for the news — the good parson 
 as well as any. There was not a word said as Judith's 
 mother — with fingers that trembled a little from mere 
 anticipation — opened the large sheet, and began to read to 
 herself across the closely-written lines. And then as they 
 waited, anxious for the last bit of tidings about the King or 
 the Parliament or what not, they could not fail to observe 
 a look of alarm come into the reader's face. 
 
 "Oh, Susan, she said, in a way that startled them, 
 " what is this ? " 
 
 She read on, breathless and stunned, her face grown 
 quite pale now ; and at last she stretched out her shaking 
 hand with the letter in it. 
 
 " Susan, Susan, take it. I cannot understand it. I can- 
 not read more. Susan, what has the girl clone ? " 
 
 And she turned aside her chair, and began to cry
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 275 
 
 stealthily ; she was not a strong-nerved woman ; and she 
 had gathered but a vague impression that something terrible 
 and irrevocable had occurred. 
 
 Susan was alarmed, no doubt, but she had plenty of 
 self-command. She took the letter, and proceeded, as 
 swiftly as she could, to get at the contents of it. Then she 
 looked up, in a frightened way, at the parson, as if to judge 
 in her own mind as to how far he should be trusted in this 
 matter. And then she turned to the letter again — in a 
 kind of depair. 
 
 " Mother," said she, at last, " I understand no more than 
 yourself what should be done. To think that all this 
 should have been going on, and we knowing naught of it ! 
 But you see what my father wants ; that is the first thing. 
 Who is to go to Judith ? " 
 
 At the mere mention of Judith's name a flash of dismay 
 went to Prudence's heart. She knew that something must 
 have happened ; she at once bethought her of Judith's inter- 
 views with the person in hiding ; and she was conscious of 
 her own guilty connivance and secrecy ; so that the blood 
 rushed to her face, and she sate there dreading to know 
 what w T as coming. 
 
 " Mother," Susan said again, and rather breathlessly, " do 
 you not think, in such a pass, we might beg Master Blaise 
 to give us of his advice ? The doctor being from home, 
 who else is there ? " 
 
 " Nay, if I can be of any service to you or yours, good 
 Mistress Hall, I pray you have no scruple in commanding 
 me," said the parson — with his clear and keen gray eyes 
 calmly waiting for information. 
 
 Judith's mother was understood to give her consent, 
 and then Susan (after a moment's painful hesitation) took 
 up the letter. 
 
 " Indeed, good sir," said she, with an embarrassment that 
 she rarely showed, "you will see there is reason for our 
 perplexity, and— and — I pray you be not too prompt to 
 think ill of my sister. Perchance there maybe explanations 
 — or the story wrongly reported— in good truth, sir, my 
 father writes in no such passion of anger as might be ex- 
 pected in such a pass, though 'tis but natural he should be 
 
 sorely troubled and vexed " 
 
 T 2
 
 276 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Again she hesitated — being somewhat unnerved and 
 bewildered by what she had just been reading. She was 
 trying to recall things, to measure possibilities, to overcome 
 her amazement — all at once. And then she knew that the 
 parson was coolly regarding her, and she strove to collect 
 her wits. 
 
 " This, good sir, is the manner of it," said she, in as calm 
 a way as she could assume, " that my father and his 
 associates have but recently made a discovery that concerns 
 them much, and is even a disaster to them ; 'tis no less 
 than that a copy of my father's last written play — the very 
 one, indeed, that he finished ere leaving Stratford — hath 
 lately been sold, they scarce know by whom as yet, to a 
 certain bookseller in London ; and that the bookseller ia 
 either about to print it and sell it, or threatens to do so. 
 They all of them, my father says, are grievously annoyed 
 by this, for that the publishing of the play will satisfy many 
 who will read it at home instead of coming to the theatre, 
 and that thus the interests of himself and his associates 
 will suffer gravely. I am sorry, good sir, to trouble 
 you with such matters," she added, with a glance of 
 apology, " but they come more near home to us than you 
 might think." 
 
 "I have offered to you my service in all things — that 
 befit my office," said Master "Walter ; but with a certain 
 reserve, as if he did not quite like the course that matters 
 were taking. 
 
 " And then," continued Susan, glancing at the writing 
 before her, " my father says that they were much perplexed 
 (having no right at law to stop such a publication) ; and 
 made inquiries as to how any such copy could have found 
 its way into the bookseller's hands ; whereupon he dis- 
 covered that which hath grieved him far more than the 
 trouble about the play. Prudence, you are her nearest 
 gossip ; it cannot be true ! " she exclaimed, and she turned 
 to the young maiden, whose face was no longer pale and 
 thoughtful, but rose-coloured with shame and alarm. 
 
 " For he says 'tis a story that is now everywhere abroad 
 in London — and a laugh and a jest at the taverns — how 
 that one Jack Orridge came down to Warwickshire, and 
 made believe to be a wizard, and cozened Judith — Judith,
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 277 
 
 Prudence, our Judith ! — heard ye ever the like ? — into a 
 secret love affair ; and that she gave him a copy of the 
 play as one of her favours " 
 
 " Truly, now, that is false on the face of it," said Master 
 Blaise, appositely. " That is a tale told by some one who 
 knows not that Judith hath no skill of writing." 
 
 " Oh, 'tis too bewildering ! " Susan said, as she turned 
 again to the letter in a kind of despair. " But to have 
 such a story going about London — about Judith — about my 
 sister Judith — how can you wonder that my father should 
 write in haste and in anger ? That she should meet this 
 young man day after day at a farmhouse near to Bidford, 
 and in secret j and listen to his stories of the Court, 
 believing him to be a worthy gentleman in misfortune ! A 
 worthy gentleman, truly ! — to come and make sport of a 
 poor country maiden, and teach her to deceive her father 
 and all of us — not one of us knowing — not one •" 
 
 " Susan — Susan ! " Prudence cried, in an agony of grief, 
 " 'tis not as you think I 'Tis not as it is written there ! I 
 will confess the truth. I myself knew of the young man 
 being in the neighbourhood, and how he came to be 
 acquainted with Judith. And she never was at any farm- 
 house to meet him, that know I well, but — but — he was 
 alone — and in trouble, he said — and she was sorry for him, 
 and durst not speak to any one but me. Nay, I know if 
 there be aught wrong, 'twas none of her doing, that I 
 know ; as to the copy of the play, I am ignorant — but 
 'twas none of her doing — Susan, you think too harshly, 
 indeed you do ! " 
 
 " Sweetheart, I think not harshly," said the other, in a 
 bewildered way. " I but tell the story as I find it." 
 
 " 'Tis not true, then. On her part, at least, there was 
 no whit of any secret love affair, as I know right well ! " 
 said Prudence, with a vehemence near to tears. 
 
 " I but tell thee the story as my father heard it. Poor 
 wench, whatever wrong she may have done, I have no 
 word against her," Judith's sister said. 
 
 "I pray you continue," interposed Master Blaise, with 
 his eyes calmly fixed on the letter ; he had scarcely uttered 
 a word. 
 
 " Oh, my father goes on to say that this Orridge — this
 
 278 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 person representing himself as familiar with the Court, and 
 the great nobles, and the like — is none other than the 
 illegitimate son of an Oxfordshire gentleman who became 
 over well acquaint with the daughter of an innkeeper in 
 Oxford town ; that the father meant to bring up the lad, 
 and did give him some smattering of education, but died ; 
 that ever since he hath been dependent on his grand- 
 mother, a widow, who still keeps the inn ; and that he 
 hath lived his life in London, in any sort of company he 
 could impose upon by reason of his fine manners. These 
 particulars, my father says, he hath had from Ben Jonson, 
 that seems to know something of the young man, and 
 maintains that he is not so much vicious or ill-disposed 
 as reckless and idle, and that he is as likely as not to end 
 his days with an noose round his neck. This, writes my 
 father, is all that he can learn ; and he would have us 
 question Judith as to the truth of the story, and as to how 
 the copy of the play was made, and whether 'twas this 
 same Orridge that carried it to London. And all this he 
 would have inquired into at once, for his associates and 
 himself are in great straits because of the matter, and have 
 urgent need to know as much as can be known. Then 
 there is this further writing towards the end — ' I cannot 
 explain all to thee at this time, but 'tis so that we have no 
 remedy against the rascal publisher. Even if they do not 
 register at the Stationers' Company, they but offend the 
 Company ; and the only punishment that might at the best 
 befall them would be His Grace of Canterbury so far 
 misliking the play as to cause it to be burnt — a punish- 
 ment that would fall heavier on us, I take it, than on them ; 
 and that is in no case to be anticipated.' " 
 
 " I cannot understand these matters, good sir," Judith's 
 mother said, drying her eyes. " 'Tis my poor wench that 
 I think of. I know she meant no harm, whatever comes 
 of it. And she is so gentle and so proud-spirited that a 
 word of rebuke from her father will drive her out of her 
 reason. That she should have fallen into such trouble, 
 poor wench, poor wench ! — and you, Prudence, that was 
 ever her intimate, and seeing her in such a coil — that you 
 should not have told us of it ! " 
 
 Prudence sate silent under 'this reproach ; she knew not
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 279 
 
 how to defend herself — perhaps she did not care, for all her 
 thoughts were about Judith. 
 
 " Saw you ever the young man ? " Susan said, scarcely 
 concealing her curiosity. 
 
 " Nay, not I," was Prudence's answer. " But your grand- 
 mother hath seen him, and that several times." 
 
 " My grandmother ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " For he used to call at the cottage," said Prudence, 
 " and pass an hour or two — being in hiding, as he said, and 
 glad to have a little company. And he greatly pleased, the 
 old dame, as I have heard, because of his gracious courtesy 
 and good breeding ; and when they believed him to be in 
 sad trouble, and pitied him, who would be the first to 
 speak and denounce a stranger so helpless ? Nay, I know 
 that I have erred. Had I had more courage I should 
 have come to you, Susan, and begged you to draw Judith 
 away from any further communication with the young 
 man ; but — I — I know not how it came about — she hath 
 such a winning and over-persuading way, and is herself so 
 fearless." 
 
 " A handsome youth, perchance ? " said Susan, who 
 seemed to wish to know more about this escapade of her 
 sister's. 
 
 " Eight handsome, as I have heard ; and of great courtesy 
 and gentle manners," Prudence answered. "But well I 
 know what it was that led Judith to hold communication 
 with him after she would fain have had that broken off." 
 And then Prudence, with such detail as was within her 
 knowledge, explained how Judith had come to think that 
 the young stranger talked over much of Ben Jonson. and 
 was anxious to show that her father could write as well as 
 he (or better, as she considered). And then came the story 
 of the lending of the sheets of the play ; and Prudence had 
 to confess how that she had been Judith's accomplice on 
 many a former occasion in purloining and studying the 
 treasures laid by in the summer-house. She bold all that 
 she knew, openly and simply and frankly ; and if Bhe was 
 in distress, it was with no thought of herself ; it was in 
 thinking of her dear friend and companion away over there 
 at Shottery, who was all in ignorance of what was about to 
 befall her.
 
 28o JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Then the three women, being somewhat recovered from 
 their first dismay, but still helpless and bewildered, and 
 not knowing what to do, turned to the parson. He had 
 sate calm and collected, silent for the most part, and 
 reading in between the lines of the story his own interpre- 
 tation. Perhaps, also, he had been considering other 
 possibilities ? — as to the chances that such an occasion 
 offered for gathering back to the fold an errant lamb ? 
 
 " What your father wants done, that is the first thing, 
 sweetheart," Judith's mother said, in a tremulous and dazed 
 kind of fashion. "As to the poor wench, we will see about 
 her afterwards. And not a harsh word will I send her ; 
 she will have punishment enough to bear — poor lass, poor 
 lass ! So heedless and so headstrong she hath been always, 
 but always the quickest to suffer if a word were spoken to 
 her ; and now if this story be put about, how will she hold 
 up her head — she that was so proud ? But what your 
 father wants done, Susan, that is the first thing— that is the 
 first thing — see what you can do to answer the letter as he 
 wishes — you are quicker to understand such things than I." 
 
 And then the parson spoke, in his clear, incisive, and 
 authoritative way. 
 
 " Good madam, 'tis little I know of these matters in 
 London ; but if you would have Judith questioned — and 
 that might be somewhat painful to any one of her relatives 
 — I will go and see her for you, if you think fit. If she 
 have been the victim of knavish designs, 'twill be easy for 
 her to acquit herself ; carelessness, perchance, may be the 
 only charge to be brought against her. And as 1 gather 
 from Prudence that the sheets of manuscript lent to the 
 young man were in his possession for a certain time, I 
 make no doubt that the copy — if it came from this neigh- 
 bourhood at all — was made by himself on those occasions, 
 and that she had no hand in the mischief save in over- 
 trusting a stranger. Doubtless your husband, good madam, 
 is desirous of having clear and accurate statements on these 
 and other points ; whereas, if you, or Mistress Hall, or even 
 Prudence there, were to go and see Judith, natural affection 
 and sympathy might blunt the edge of your inquiries. You 
 would be so anxious to excuse (and who would not, in your 
 place ?) that the very information asked for by your hus-
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 28 r 
 
 band would be lost sight of. Therefore I am willing to do 
 as you think fitting. I may not say that my office lends 
 any special sanction to such a duty, for this is but a worldly 
 matter ; but friendship hath its obligations, and if I can be 
 of service to you, good Mistress Shakespeare, 'tis far from 
 repaying what I owe of godly society and companionship to 
 you and yours. These be rather affairs for men to deal with 
 than for women, who know less of the ways of the world ; 
 and I take it that Judith, when she is made aware of her 
 father's wishes, will have no hesitation in meeting me with 
 frankness and sincerity." 
 
 It was this faculty of his of speaking clearly and well 
 and to the point that in a large measure gave him such an 
 ascendency over those women ; he seemed always to see a 
 straight path before him, to have confidence in himself, and 
 a courage to lead the way. 
 
 " Good sir, if you would have so much kindness ! " 
 Judith's mother said. " Truly, you offer us help and guid- 
 ance in a dire necessity. And if you will tell her what it 
 is her father wishes to know, be sure that will be enough ; 
 the wench will answer you, have no fear, good sir." 
 
 Then Susan said, when he was about to go — 
 
 " Worthy sir, you need not say to her all that you have 
 heard concerning the young man. I would liefer know 
 what she herself thought of him, and how they came 
 together, and how he grew to be on such friendly terms 
 with her. For hitherto she hath been so sparing of her 
 favour, though many have wished her to change her name 
 for theirs ; but always the wench hath kept roving eyes. 
 Handsome was he, Prudence ? And of gentle manners, 
 said you ? Nay, I warrant me 'twas something far from 
 the common that led Judith such a dance." 
 
 But Prudence, when he was leaving, stole out after him ; 
 and when he was at the door, she put her hand on his arm. 
 He turned and saw that the tears were running down her 
 face. 
 
 " Be kind to Judith," she said, not heeding that he saw 
 her tears, and still clinging to his arm ; " be kind to Judith, 
 from my heart I beg it of you ! — I pray you be kind and 
 gentle with her, good Master Blaise ; for indeed she is like 
 an own sister to me 1 "
 
 282 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 RENEWALS. 
 
 As yet she was all unconscious ; and indeed the dulness 
 following her father's departure was for her considerably- 
 lightened by this visit to her grandmother's cottage, where 
 she found a hundred duties and occupations awaiting her. 
 She was an expert needlewoman, and there were many 
 arrears in that direction to be made up ; she managed the 
 cooking, and introduced one or two cunning dishes, to the 
 wonder of the little Cicely ; she even tried her hand at car- 
 pentering, where a shelf or the frame of a casement had got 
 loose ; and as a reward she was occasionally invited to assist 
 her grandmother in the garden. The old dame herself 
 grew wonderfully amiable and cheerful in the constant 
 association with this bright young life ; and she had a great 
 store of ballads with which to beguile the tedium of sewing ; 
 though, in truth, these were for the most part of a mono- 
 tonous and mournful character, generally reciting the woes 
 of some poor maiden in Oxfordshire or Lincolnshire who 
 had been deceived by a false lover, and yet was willing to 
 forgive him even as she lay on her death-bed. As for 
 Judith, she took to this quiet life quite naturally and 
 happily ; and if she chanced to have time for a stroll along 
 the wooded lanes or through the meadows, she was now 
 right glad that there was no longer any fear of her being 
 confronted by Master Leofric Hope — or Jack Orridge, as 
 he had called himself. Of course she thought of him often, 
 and of his courteous manners, and his eloquent and yet 
 modest eyes ; and she hoped all was going well with him, 
 and that she might perchance hear of him through her 
 father. Nor could she forget (for she was but human) 
 that the young man, when disguised as a wizard, had said 
 that he had heard her named as the fairest maid in War- 
 wickshire ; and subsequently, in his natural character, that 
 he had heard Ben Jonson speak well of her looks ; and she 
 hoped that, if ever he recalled these brief interviews, be 
 would consider that she had maintained a sufficiency of 
 maidenly dignity, and had not betrayed the ignorance or
 
 RENEWALS 283 
 
 awkwardness of a farm-bred wench. Nay, there were certain 
 words of his that she put some store by — as coming from a 
 stranger. For the rest, she was in no case likely to under- 
 value her appearance ; her father had praised her hair, and 
 that was enough. 
 
 One morning she had gone down to the little front gate, 
 for some mischievous boys had lifted it off its hinges, and 
 she wanted to get it back again on the rusty iron spikes. 
 But it had got jammed somehow, and would not move ; 
 and, in her pulling, some splinter of the wood ran into her 
 hand, causing not a little pain. Just at this moment — 
 whether he had come round that way on the chance of 
 catching a glimpse of her, it is hard to say — Tom Quiney 
 came by, but on the other side of the road, and clearly with 
 no intention of calling at the cottage. 
 
 " Good-morrow, Judith," said he, in a kind of uncertain 
 way ; and would have gone on. 
 
 Well, she was vexed and impatient with her fruitless 
 efforts, and her hand smarted not a little, so she looked at 
 him and said, half-angrily — 
 
 " I wish you would come and lift this gate." 
 
 It was but a trifling task for the tall and straight-limbed 
 young fellow who now strode across the highway. He 
 jerked it up in a second, and then set it down again on the 
 iron spikes, where it swung in its wonted way. 
 
 " But your hand is bleeding, Judith ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 "'Tis nothing," she said. "It was a splinter. I have 
 pulled it out." 
 
 But he snatched her hand, peremptorily, before she could 
 draw it away, and held it firmly, and examined it. 
 
 " Why, there's a bit still there — I can see it." 
 
 " I can get it out for myself," said she. 
 
 " No, you cannot," he answered. " 'Tis far easier for some 
 one else. Stay here a second, and I will fetch out a needle." 
 
 He went into the cottage, and presently reappeared, not 
 only with a needle, but also with a tin vessel holding water, 
 and a bit of linen and a piece of thread. Then he took 
 Judith's soft hand as gently as he could in his muscular 
 fingers ; and began to probe for the small fragment of wood 
 just visible there. He seemed a long time about it ; per- 
 haps he was afraid of giving her pain.
 
 284 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Do I hurt you, Judith ? " he said. 
 
 " No," she answered, with some colour of embarrassment 
 in her face. " Be quick." 
 
 " But I must be cautious," said he. " I would it were 
 my own hand ; I would make short work of it." 
 
 " Let me try myself," said she, attempting to get away 
 her hand from his grasp. 
 
 But he would not allow that, and in due time he managed 
 to get the splinter out. Then he dipped his fingers in the 
 water, and bathed the small wound in that way ; and then 
 he must needs wrap the piece of linen round her hand — very 
 carefully, so that there should be no crease — and thereafter 
 fasten the bandage with the bit of thread. He did not look 
 like one who could perform a surgical operation with ex- 
 ceeding delicacy ; but he was as gentle as he could ; and she 
 thanked him — in an unwilling kind of way. 
 
 Then all at once her face brightened. 
 
 " Why," said she, " I hear that you gave my father a 
 riding-whip on his going." 
 
 " Did you not see it, Judith ? " he said, with some dis- 
 appointment. " I meant you to have seen it. The handle 
 was of ivory, and of a rare carving." 
 
 " I was not at the door when they went away — I met my 
 father as they passed along the road," said she. " But I 
 shall see it, doubtless, when he comes home again. And 
 what said he ? Was he pleased ? He thanked you right 
 heartily, did he not ? " 
 
 " Yes, truly ; but 'twas a trifling matter." 
 
 " My father thinks more of the intention than of the 
 value of such a gift," said she, " as I would." 
 
 It was an innocent and careless speech ; but it seemed to 
 suddenly inspire him with a kind of wild wish. 
 
 "Ah," said he, regarding her, "if you, Judith, now, 
 would but take some little gift from me — no matter what 
 ■ — that would be a day I should remember all my life." 
 
 " Will you not come into the house ? " said she, quickly. 
 " My grandam will be right glad to see you." 
 
 She would have led the way ; but he hesitated. 
 
 " Nay, I will not trouble your grandmother, Judith," said 
 he. " I doubt not but that she hath had enough of visitors 
 since you came to stay with her."
 
 RENEWALS 285 
 
 "Since I came?" she said, good-naturedly— for she 
 refused to accept the innuendo. "Why, let me consider 
 now. The day before yesterday my mother walked over, 
 to see how Ave did ; and before that — I think the day 
 before that — Mistress Wyse came in to tell us that they had 
 taken a witch at Abbots Morton ; and then yesterday 
 Farmer Bowstead called to ask if his strayed horse had 
 been seen anywhere about these lanes. There now, three 
 visitors since I have come to the cottage : 'tis not a 
 multitude ? " 
 
 " There has been none other ? " said he, looking at her 
 with some surprise. 
 
 "Not another foot has crossed the threshold to my 
 knowledge," said she, simply, and as if it were a matter of 
 small concern. 
 
 But this intelligence seemed to produce a very sudden 
 and marked alteration in his manner. Not only would he 
 accompany her into the house, but he immediately became 
 most solicitous about her hand. 
 
 " I pray you be careful, Judith," said he, almost as if he 
 would again take hold of her wrist. 
 
 " 'Tis but a scratch," she said. 
 
 " Nay, now, if there be but a touch of rust it might work 
 mischief," said he, anxiously. " I pray you be careful ; 
 and I would bathe it frequently, and keep on the bandage 
 until you are sure that all is well. Nay, I tell you this, 
 Judith ; there are more than you think of that would 
 liefer lose a finger than that you should have the smallest 
 hurt." 
 
 And indoors, moreover, he was most amiable and gentle 
 and anxious to please ; and bore some rather sharp sayings 
 of the old dame with great good-nature ; and whatever 
 Judith said, or suggested, or approved of — that was right, 
 once and for all. She wished to hear more of the riding- 
 whip also. AVhere was the handle carved ? Had her father 
 expressed any desire for such ornamentation ? 
 
 " Truly 'twas but a small return for his kindness to us 
 the other day," said the young man, who was half -bewildered 
 with delight at finding Judith's eyes once more regarding 
 him in the old, frank, and friendly fashion, and was desper- 
 ately anxious that they should continue so to regard him
 
 286 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 (with no chilling shadow of the parson intervening). " For 
 Cornelius Greene being minded to make one or two more 
 catches," he continued — and still addressing those eyes that 
 were at once so gentle and so clear and so kind — " he would 
 have me go to your father and beg him to give us words for 
 these, out of any books he might know of. Not that we 
 thought of asking him to write the words himself — far from 
 that — but to choose them for us ; and right willingly he did 
 so. In truth, I have them with me," he added, searching 
 for and producing a paper with some written lines on it. 
 " Shall I read them to you, Judith ? " 
 
 He did not notice the slight touch of indifference with 
 which she assented ; for when once she had heard that 
 these compositions (whatever they might be) were not of 
 her father's writing, she was not anxious to become ac- 
 quainted with them. But his concern, on the other hand, 
 was to keep her interested and amused and friendly ; and 
 Cornelius Greene and his doings were at least something to 
 talk about. 
 
 " The first one we think of calling ' Fortune's Wheel,' " 
 said he ; " and thus it goes : 
 
 ' Trust not too much, if prosperous times do smile ; 
 Nor yet despair of rising, if thou fall : 
 The Fatal Lady mingleth one with W other, 
 And lets not fortune stay, but round turns all.' 
 
 And the other one — I know not how to call it yet — but 
 Cornelius takes it to be the better of the two for his pur- 
 pose ; thus it is : 
 
 ' Merrily sang the Ely monks 
 When rowed thereby Canute the King. 
 "Bow near, my Knights, row near the land, 
 "That we may hear the good monks sing."' 
 
 See you now how well it will go, Judith — Merrily sang — 
 merrily sang — the Ely monies — the Ely monies — when rowed 
 thereby — Canute the King ! " said he, in a manner 
 suggesting the air. " 'Twill go excellent w r ell for four 
 voices ; and Cornelius is already begun — in truth, 'twill be 
 
 something new at our merry-meetings " 
 
 "Ay, and what have you to say of your business, good 
 Master Qniney ? " the old dame interrupted sharply. " Be
 
 RENEWALS 287 
 
 you so busy with your tavern-catches and your merry- 
 makings that you have no thought of that ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I have enough regard for that, Mistress 
 Hathaway," said he, in perfect good humour ; " and it goes 
 forward safely enough. But mcthinks you remind me that 
 I have tarried here as long as I ought ; so now I will get me 
 back to the town." 
 
 He half expected that Judith would go to the door with 
 him ; and when she had gone so far, he said — ■ 
 
 " "Will you not come a brief way across the meadows, 
 Judith ? — 'tis not well you should always be shut up in the 
 cottage — you that are so fond of out-of-doors." 
 
 He had no cause for believing that she was too much 
 within-doors ; but she did not stay to raise the question ; 
 she good-naturedly went down the little garden-path with 
 him, and across the road, and so into the fields. She had 
 been busy at work all the morning : twenty minutes' idleness 
 would do no harm. 
 
 Then, when they were quite by themselves, he said, 
 seriously — 
 
 " I pray you, take heed, Judith, that you let not the blood 
 flow too much to your hand, lest it inflame the wound, how- 
 ever slight you may deem it. See now, if you would but 
 hold it so, 'twould rest on mine, and be a relief to you." 
 
 He did not ask her to take his arm, but merely that 
 she should rest her hand on his ; and this seemed to her 
 easy to do, and natural, so long as he was not tired). 
 But also it seemed very much like the time when they 
 used to go through those very meadows as boy and girl 
 together, the tips of their lingers intertwined ; and so 
 she spoke in a gentle and friendly kind of fashion to him. 
 
 " And how is it with your business, in good sooth ? " she 
 asked. " I hope there be no more of these junketings, and 
 dancings, and brawls." 
 
 " Dear Judith," said he, " I know not who carries such 
 tales of me to you. If you knew but the truth I am never 
 in a brawl of mine own making or seeking ; but one must 
 hold one's own, and the more that is done the less are any 
 likely to interfere. Nay," he continued, with a modest 
 laugh, " I think I am safe for quiet now with any in 
 Warwickshire ; 'tis only a strange lad now and again that
 
 288 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 may come among us, and seek cause of quarrel ; and 
 surely 'tis better to have it over and done with, and either 
 he or we know our place ? I seek no fighting for the love of 
 it, my life on that ; but you would not have any stranger 
 come into Stratford a-swaggering, and biting his thumb at 
 us, and calling us rogues of fiddlers ? " 
 
 " Mercy on us, then," she cried, " are you champion for 
 the town — or perchance for all of "Warwickshire ? A goodly 
 life to look forward to ! And what give they their watch- 
 dog ? Truly they must reward him that keeps such guard 
 and will do battle for them all ? " 
 
 "Nay, I am none such, Judith," said he ; "I but take 
 my chance like the others." 
 
 He shifted her hand on his that it might rest the more 
 securely — and his touch was gentle. 
 
 " And your merchandise — pray you who is so kind as to 
 look after that when you are engaged in those pastimes ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I have no fault to find with my merchandise, Judith," 
 said he. " That I look after myself. I would I had more 
 inducement to attend to it and to provide for the future. 
 But it goes well, indeed it does." 
 
 " And Daniel Hutt ? " 
 
 " He has left the country now." 
 
 " And his vagabond crew ; have they all made their 
 fortunes ? " 
 
 " Why, Judith, they cannot have reached America yet," 
 said he. 
 
 " I am glad that you have not gone," she remarked simply. 
 
 " "Well," he said, why should I strive to push my fortunes 
 there more than here ? To what end ? There be none 
 that I could serve either way." 
 
 And then it seemed to him that this was an ungracious 
 speech ; and he was anxious to stand well with her, seeing 
 that she was disposed to be friendly. 
 
 " Judith," he said suddenly, " surely you will not remain 
 over at Shottery to-morrow, with all the merriment of the 
 Fair going on in the town ? Nay, but you must come over 
 — I could fetch you at any hour that you named, if it so 
 pleased you. There is a famous juggler come into the 
 town, as I hear, that can do the most rare and wonderful
 
 RENEWALS 289 
 
 tricks, and hath a dog as cunning as himself ; and you will 
 hear the new ballads, to judge which you would have ; and 
 the peddlers would show you their stores. Now, in good 
 sooth, Judith, may not I come for you ? — why, all the 
 others have some one to go about with them ; and she will 
 choose this or that posy or ribbon, and wear it for the jest 
 of the day ; but I have no one to walk through the crowd 
 with me, and see the people, and hear the bargainings and 
 the music. I pray you, Judith, let me come for you. It 
 cannot be well for you always to live in such dulness as is 
 over there at Shottery." 
 
 " If I were to go to the Fair with you," said she — and 
 not unkindly, " methinks the people would stare, would 
 they not ? "We have not been such intimate friends of 
 late." 
 
 " You asked me not to go to America, Judith," said he. 
 
 "Well, yes," she admitted. "Truly I did so. Why 
 should you go away with those desperate and broken men ? 
 Surely 'tis better you should stay among your own people." 
 
 " I stayed because you bade me, Judith," said he. 
 
 She flushed somewhat at this ; but he was so eager not to 
 embarrass or offend her that he instantly changed the 
 subject. 
 
 " May I, then, Judith ? If you would come but for an 
 hour ! " he pleaded, for he clearly wanted to show to every- 
 body that Judith was under his escort at the Fair ; and 
 which of all the maidens (he asked himself) would compare 
 beside her ? " Why, there is not one of them but hath his 
 companion, to buy for her some brooch, or pretty coif, or 
 the like " 
 
 " Are they all so anxious to lighten their purses ? " said 
 she, laughing. " Nay, but truly I may not leave my grand- 
 mother, lest the good dame should think that I was 
 wearying of my stay with her. Pray you, get some other 
 to go to the Fair with you — you have many friends, as I 
 know, in the town " 
 
 " Oh, do you think 'tis the Fair I care about ? " said he 
 quickly. " Nay, now, Judith, I would as lief not go to the 
 Fair at all — or but for a few minutes, if you will let me 
 bring you over some trinket in the afternoon. Nay, a 
 hundred times would I rather not go, if you would grant 
 
 u
 
 290 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 me such a favour — 'tis the first I have asked of you for 
 many a day." 
 
 "Why," she said, with a smile, "you must all of you be 
 prospering in Stratford, since you are all so eager to cast 
 abroad your money. The peddlers will do a rare trade to- 
 morrow as I reckon." 
 
 This was almost a tacit permission ; and he was no such 
 fool as to press for more. Already his mind ran riot — he 
 saw himself ransacking all the packs and stalls in the town. 
 
 " And now," she said, as she had come within sight of the 
 houses, " I will return now, or the good dame will wonder." 
 
 " But I will walk back with you, Judith," said he 
 promptly. 
 
 She looked at him — with those pretty eyes of hers clearly 
 laughing. 
 
 " Methought you came away from the cottage," said she, 
 " because of the claims of your business ; and now you 
 would walk all the way back again ? " 
 
 " Your hand, Judith," said he, shamefacedly, — " you 
 must not let it hang down by your side." 
 
 " Nay, for such a dangerous wound," said she, with her 
 eyes gravely regarding him, " I will take precautions ; but 
 cannot I hold it up myself — so — if need were ? " 
 
 He was so well satisfied with what he had gained that 
 he would yield to her now as she wished. And yet he took 
 her hand once more — gently and timidly — and as if un- 
 willing to give up his charge of it. 
 
 " I hope it will not pain you, Judith," he said. 
 
 " I trust it may not lead me to death's door," she 
 answered seriously ; and if her eyes were laughing it was 
 with no unkindness. 
 
 And then they said good-bye to each other ; and she walked 
 away back to Shottery, well content to have made friends 
 with him again, and to have found him for the time being 
 quit of his dark suspicions and jealousies of her ; while as 
 for him, he went on to the town in a sort of fore-knowledge 
 that all Stratford Fair would not have anything worthy to 
 be offered to Judith ; and wondering whether he could not 
 elsewhere and at once, and by any desperate effort, procure 
 something fine and rare and beautiful enough to be placed 
 in that poor wounded hand.
 
 " FROM MY GARDEN GONE » 29 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 "the rose is from my garden gone." 
 
 Now when Parson Blaise set forth upon the mission that 
 had been entrusted to him there was not a trace of anger 
 or indignation in his mind. He was not even moved by 
 jealous wrath against the person with whom Judith had 
 been holding these clandestine communications ; nor had he 
 any sense of having been himself injured by her conduct. 
 For one thing, he knew enough of Judith's pride and self- 
 reliance to be fairly well satisfied that she was not likely to 
 have compromised herself in any serious way ; and for 
 another, his own choice of her, from among the Stratford 
 maidens, as the one he wished to secure for helpmate, was 
 the result not so much of any overmastering passion as of 
 a cool and discriminating judgment. Nay, this very com- 
 plication that had arisen — might he not use it to his own 
 advantage ? Might it not prove an argument more power- 
 ful than any he had hitherto tried ? And so it was that he 
 set out, not as one armed to punish, but with the most 
 placable intentions ; and the better to give the subject full 
 consideration, he did not go straight across the meadows to 
 the cottage, but went through the town, and away out the 
 Alcester road, before turning round and making for 
 Shottery. 
 
 Nor did it occur to him that he was approaching this 
 matter with any mean or selfish ends in view. Far from 
 that. The man was quite honest. In winning Judith 
 over to be his wife, by any means whatever, was he not 
 adding one more to the number of the Lord's people? 
 Was he not saving her from her own undisciplined and 
 wayward impulses, and from all the mischief that might 
 arise from these ? What was for his good was for her 
 good, and the good of the Church also. She had a winning 
 way ; she was friends with many who rather kepi aloof 
 from the more austere of their neighbours ; she would be a 
 useful go-between. Her cheerfulness, her good temper, 
 nay, her comely presence and bright ways — all these would 
 be profitably employed. Nor did he forget the probability 
 
 D 2
 
 292 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of a handsome marriage-portion ; and the added domestic 
 comfort and serenity that that would bring himself. Even 
 the marriage-portion (which he had no doabt would be a 
 substantial one) might be regarded as coming into the 
 Church in a way ; and so all would work together for good. 
 
 When he reached the cottage he found the old dame in 
 the garden, busy with her flowers and vegetables, and was 
 told that Judith had just gone within-doors. * Indeed, she 
 had but that minute come back from her stroll across the 
 fields with Quiney, and had gone in to fetch a jug so that 
 she might have some fresh water from the well in the 
 garden. He met her on the threshold. 
 
 " I would say a few words with you, Judith — and. in 
 private," said he. 
 
 She seemed surprised, but was in no ill-humour ; so she 
 said, " As you will, good sir," and led the way into the 
 main apartment, where she remained standing. 
 
 " I pray you be seated," said he. 
 
 She was still more surprised ; but she obeyed him — ■ 
 taking her seat under the window, so that her face was in 
 shadow ; while the light from the small panes fell full on 
 him, sitting opposite her. 
 
 " Judith," said he, " I am come upon a serious errand ; 
 and yet would not alarm you unnecessarily. Nay, I think 
 that when all is done, good may spring out of the present 
 troubles " 
 
 " "What is it ? " she said quickly. " Is any one ill — my 
 mother ? " 
 
 " No, Judith," he said. " Tis no trial of that kind you 
 are called to face. The Lord hath been merciful to you 
 and yours these several years ; while others have borne the 
 heavy hand of affliction and lost their dearest at untimeous 
 seasons, you have been spared for many years now all but 
 such trials as come in the natural course : would I could 
 see you as thankful as you ought to be to the Giver of all 
 good. And yet I know not but that grief over such afflic- 
 tions is easier to bear than grief over the consequences of 
 our own wrong-doing ; memory preserves this last the 
 longer ; sorrow is not so enduring, nor cuts so deep, as 
 remorse. And then to think that others have been made 
 to suffer through our evil-doing — that is an added sting :
 
 "FROM MY GARDEN GONE" 293 
 
 when those who have expected naught but filial obedience 
 and duty — and the confidence that should exist between 
 children and their parents " 
 
 But this phrase about filial obedience had struck her with 
 a sudden fear. 
 
 " I pray you what is it, sir ? What have I done ? " she 
 said, almost in a cry. 
 
 Then he saw that he had gone too fast and too far. 
 
 " Nay, Judith," he said, " be not over alarmed. 'Tis 
 perchance but carelessness and a disposition to trust your- 
 self in all circumstances to your own guidance that have 
 to be laid to your charge. I hope it may be so ; I hope 
 matters may be no worse ; 'tis for yourself to say. I come 
 from your mother and sister, Judith," he continued in 
 measured tones. " I may tell you at once that they have 
 learned of your having been in secret communication with 
 a stranger who has been in these parts ; and they would 
 know the truth. I will not seek to judge you beforehand, 
 nor point out to you what perils and mischances must ever 
 befall you, so long as you are bent on going your own way, 
 without government or counsel : that you must now per- 
 ceive for yourself — and I trust the lesson will not be 
 brought home to you too grievously." 
 
 " Is that all ? " Judith had said quickly to herself, and 
 with much relief. 
 
 " Good sir," she said to him, coolly, " I hope my good 
 mother and Susan are in no bewilderment of terror. 'Tis 
 true, indeed, that there was one in this neighbourhood 
 whom I met and spoke with on several occasions ; if there 
 was secrecy, 'twas because the poor young gentleman was 
 in hiding ; he dared not even present the letter that he 
 brought commending him to my father. Nay, good Master 
 Blaise, I pray you comfort my mother and sister, and 
 assure them there was no harm thought of by the poor 
 young man." 
 
 " I know not that, Judith," said he, with his clear, 
 observant eyes trying to read her face in the dusk. " But 
 your mother and sister would fain know what manner of 
 man he was, and what you know of him, and how he came 
 to be here." 
 
 Then the fancy flashed across her mind that this inter-
 
 294 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 vention of his was but the prompting of his own jealousy, 
 and that he was acting as the spokesman of her mother and 
 sister chiefly to get information for himself. 
 
 " Why, sir," said she, lightly, " I think you might as 
 well ask these questions of my grandmother, that knoweth 
 about as much as I do concerning the young man, and was 
 as sorry as I for his ill fortunes." 
 
 " I pray you take not this matter so heedlessly, Judith," 
 he said, with some coldness. " Tis of greater moment 
 than you think. No idle curiosity has brought me hither 
 to-day ; nay, it is with the authority of your family that I 
 put these questions to you ; and I am charged to ask 
 you to answer them with all of such knowledge as you may 
 have." 
 
 " "Well, well," said she, good-naturedly ; " his name " 
 
 She was about to say that his name was Leofric Hope ; 
 but she checked herself, and some colour rose to her face- 
 though he could not see that. 
 
 " His name, good sir, as I believe, is John Orridge," she 
 continued, but with no embarrassment ; indeed, she did not 
 think that she had anything very serious either to conceal 
 or to confess ; " and I fear me the young man is grievously 
 in debt, or otherwise forced to keep away from those that 
 would imprison him ; and being come to Warwickshire, he 
 brought a letter to my father, but was afraid to present it. 
 He hath been to the cottage here certain times, for my 
 grandmother, as well as I, was pleased to hear of the 
 doings in London ; and right civil he was, and well- 
 mannered ; and 'twas news to us to hear about the theatres 
 and my father's way of living there. But why should my 
 mother and Susan seek to know aught of him ? — surely 
 Prudence hath not betrayed the trust I put in her ? — for 
 indeed the young man was anxious that his being in the 
 neighbourhood should not be known to any in Stratford. 
 However, as he is now gone away, and that some weeks 
 ago, 'tis of little moment, as I reckon ; and if ever he come 
 back here I doubt not but that he will present himself at 
 New Place, that ^they may judge of him as they please. 
 That he can spealc for himself, and to advantage and goodly 
 showing, I know right well." 
 
 " xlnd that is all you can say of this man, Judith," said
 
 " FROM MY GA RDEN GONE » 295 
 
 he, with some severity in his tone, " — with this man that 
 you have been thus familiar with ? " 
 
 "Marry is it!" she said lightly. "But I have had 
 guesses, no doubt ; for first I thought him a gentleman of 
 the Court, he being apparently acquainted with all the 
 doings there ; and then methought he was nearer to the 
 theatres, from his knowledge of the players. But you 
 would not have had me ask the young man as to his 
 occupation and standing, good sir ? 'Twould have been 
 unseemly in a stranger, would it not ? Could I dare 
 venture on questions, he being all unknown to any of us ? " 
 
 And now a suspicion flashed upon him that she was 
 merely befooling him ; so he came at once and sharply to 
 the point. 
 
 " Judith," said he, endeavouring to pierce with his keen 
 eyes the dusk that enshrouded her, " you have not told me 
 all. How came he to have a play of your father's in his 
 possession ? " 
 
 " Now," said she, with a quick anger, " that is ill clone of 
 Prudence I No one but Prudence knew ; and for so harm- 
 less a secret — and that all over and gone, moreover — and 
 the young man himself away I know not where — nay, by 
 my life, I had not thought that Prudence would serve me 
 so. And to what end ? Why, good sir, I myself lent the 
 young man the sheets of my father's writing — they were 
 the sheets that were thrown aside — and I got each and all 
 of them safely back, and replaced them. Prudence knew 
 what led me to lend him my father's play ; and where was 
 the harm of it ? I thought not that she would go and 
 make trouble out of so small a thing." 
 
 By this time the good parson had come to see pretty 
 clearly how matters stood — what with Prudence's explana- 
 tions and Judith's present confessions. And he made no 
 doubt that this stranger — whether from idleness, or for 
 amusement, or with some more sinister purpose, he had 
 no means of knowing — had copied the play when he had 
 taken the sheets home with him to the farm ; while as to 
 the appearance in London of the copy so taken, it was 
 sufficiently obvious that Judith was in complete ignorance, 
 and could afford no information whatever. So that now 
 the first part of his mission was accomplished. He asked
 
 296 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 her a few more questions, and easily discovered that she 
 knew nothing whatever about the young man's position in 
 life, or whether he had gone straight from the farm to 
 London, or whether he was in 'London now. As to his 
 being in possession, or having been in possession of a copy 
 of her father's play, it was abundantly evident that she had 
 never dreamed of any such thing. 
 
 And now he came to the more personal part of his 
 mission ; that was for him much more serious. 
 
 " Judith," said he, " 'tis not like you should know what 
 sad and grievous consequences may spring from errors 
 apparently small. How should you ? You will take no 
 heed or caution. The advice of those who would be 
 nearest and dearest to you is of no account with you. 
 Xpu will go your own w T ay — as if one of your years and 
 inexperience could know the pitfalls that lie in a young 
 maiden's path. The whole of life is but a jest to you — ■ 
 a tale without meaning — something to pass the hour withal. 
 And think you that such blindness and wilfulness brings 
 no penalty ? Nay, sooner or later the hour strikes ; you 
 look back and see what you have done ; — and the offers 
 of safe guidance that you have neglected or thrust aside." 
 
 " I pray you, sir, what is it now ? " she said, indifferently 
 (and with a distinct wish that he would go away, and 
 release her, and let her get out into the light again). 
 " Methought I had filled up the measure of my iniquities." 
 
 "Thus it is — thus it will be always," said he, with a 
 kind of hopelessness, " so long as you harden your heart, 
 and have no thought but for the vanities of the moment." 
 And then he addressed her more pointedly. " But even 
 now methinks I can tell you what will startle you out of 
 your moral sloth, which is an offence in the eyes of the 
 Lord, as it is a cause for pity and almost despair to all 
 who know you. It was a light matter, you think, that you 
 should hold this secret commerce with a stranger — careless 
 of the respect due to your father's house, careless of the 
 opinion and the anxious wishes of your friends, careless, 
 even, of your good name " 
 
 " My good name ? " said she, quickly and sharply. " I 
 pray you, sir, have heed what you say." 
 
 " Have heed to what I have to tell you, Judith," said he,
 
 "FROM MY GARDEN GONE* 297 
 
 sternly. •' Ay, and take warning by it. Think you that I 
 have pleasure in being a bearer of evil tidings ? " 
 
 " But what now, sir ? What now ? Heaven's mercy on 
 us, let us get to the end of the dreadful deeds I have 
 done ! " she exclaimed, with some anger and impatience. 
 
 " I would spare you, but may not," said he, calmly. 
 " And now, what if I were to tell you that this young man 
 whom you encouraged into secret conversation — whose 
 manners seemed to have had so much charm for you — was 
 a rascal thief and villain ? How would your pride bear it 
 if I told you that he had cozened you with some foolish 
 semblance of a wizard ? " 
 
 " Good sir, I know it," she retorted. " He himself told 
 me as much." 
 
 " Perchance. Perchance 'twas part of his courteous 
 manners to tell you as much ! " was the scornful rejoinder. 
 " But he did not tell you all ? — he did not tell you that he 
 had copied out every one of those sheets of your father's 
 writing ; that he was about to carry that stolen copy to 
 London, like the knave and thief that he was ; that he was 
 to offer it for money to the booksellers ? He did not tell 
 you that soon your father and his associates in the theatre 
 would be astounded by learning that a copy of the new- 
 play had been obtained in some dark fashion and sold ; 
 that it was out of their power to recover it ; that their 
 interests would be seriously affected by this vile conspiracy ; 
 or that they would by and by discover that this purloined 
 play which was like to cause them so much grievous loss 
 and vexation of mind had been obtained here— in this 
 very neighbourhood — and by the aid of no other than your 
 father's daughter." 
 
 " Who— told — you — this ? " she asked in a strange, 
 stunned way ; her eyes were terror-stricken — her hands all 
 trembling. 
 
 " A good authority," said he. " Your father. A letter 
 is but now come from London." 
 
 She uttered a low, shuddering cry ; it was a moan 
 almost. 
 
 "See you now," said he (for he knew that all her bravery 
 was struck down, and she entirely at his mercy), " what 
 must ever come of your wilfulness and your scorn of those
 
 298 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 who would aid and guide you ? Loving counsel and 
 protection are offered you — the natural shield of a woman ; 
 but you must needs go your own way alone. And to what 
 ends ? Think you that this is all ? Not so. For the 
 woman who makes to herself her own rule of conduct 
 must be prepared for calumnious tongues. And bethink 
 you what your father must have thought — of you — the 
 only daughter of his household now — when he learned the 
 story of this young man coming into "Warwickshire, and 
 befooling you with his wizard's tricks, and meeting you 
 secretly, and cozening' you of the sheets of your father's 
 play. These deeds that are done in the dark soon reach 
 to day-light ; and can you wonder, when your father found 
 your name abroad in London — the heroine of a common 
 jest — a byword — that his vexation and anger should over- 
 master him ? What marvel that he should forthwith send 
 to Stratford, demanding to know what further could be 
 learned of the matter — perchance fondly trusting, who 
 knows, to find that rumour had lied ? But there is no 
 such hope for him — nor for you. "What must your mother 
 say in reply ? What excuse can she offer ? Or how make 
 reparation to those associates of your father who suffer 
 with him ? xlnd how get back your good name — that is 
 beinsr bandied about the town as the heroine of a foolish 
 jest ? Your father may regain possession of his property — 
 I know not whether that be possible or no — but can he 
 withdraw the name of his daughter from the ribald wit of 
 the taverns ? And I know which he valueth the more 
 highly, if his own daughter know it not." 
 
 He had struck hard ; he knew not how hard. 
 
 " My father wrote thus ? " she said ; and her head was 
 bent, and her hands covering her face. 
 
 " I read the letter no more than an horn* ago," said he. 
 " Your mother and sister would have me come over to see 
 whether such a story could be true ; but Prudence had 
 already admitted as much " 
 
 "And my father is angered," she said — in that low 
 strange voice. 
 
 " Can you wonder at it ? " he said. 
 
 Again there came an almost inarticulate moan — like 
 that of an animal stricken to death.
 
 11 FROM MY GARDEN GONE" 299 
 
 As for him, he had now the opportunity of pouring 
 forth the discourse to her that he had in a measure pre- 
 pared as he came along the highway. He knew right well 
 that she would be sorely wounded by this terrible dis- 
 closure ; that the proud spirit would be in the dust ; that 
 she would be in a very bewilderment of grief. And he 
 thought that now she might consent to gentle leading, and 
 would trust herself to the only one (himself, to wit) capable 
 of guiding her through her sorrows ; and he had many 
 texts and illustrations apposite. She heard not one word. 
 She was as motionless as one dead ; and the vision that 
 rose before her burning brain was the face of her father as 
 she had seen it — for a moment — in the garden, on the 
 morning of his departure. That terrible swift look of 
 anger towards old Matthew she had never forgotten — the 
 sudden lowering of the brows, the flash in the eyes, the 
 strange contraction of the mouth ; and that was what she 
 saw now — that was how he was regarding her — and that, 
 she knew, would be the look that would meet her always 
 and always as she lay and thought of him in the long 
 wakeful nights. She could not go to him. London was 
 far away. She could not go to him, and throw herself 
 at his feet, and beg and pray with outstretched and trem- 
 bling hands for but one word of pity. The good parson 
 had struck hard. 
 
 And yet in a kind of way he was trying to administer 
 consolation — at all events, counsel. He was enlarging on 
 the efficacy of prayer. And he said that if the Canaanitish 
 woman of old had power to intercede for her daughter, 
 and win succour for her, surely that would not be denied 
 to such an one as Judith's mother, if she sought for her 
 daughter strength and fortitude in trouble where alone 
 these could be found. 
 
 " The Canaanitish woman," said he, " had but the one 
 saving grace — but that an all-powerful one — of faith ; and 
 even when the disciples would have her sent away, she 
 followed worshipping, and saying, ' Lord help me.' And 
 the Lord himself answered and said : ' It is not good to 
 take the children's bread, and to cast it to whelps.' But 
 she said, " Truth, Lord, yet indeed the whelps eat of the 
 crumbs which fall from their master's table.' Then our
 
 300 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Lord answered and said, ' woman, great is thy faith : be 
 it to thee as thou desirest.' And her daughter was made 
 whole at that hour." 
 
 Judith started up — she had not heard a single word. 
 
 "I pray you, pardon me, good sir," she said — for she 
 was in a half-frantic state of misery and despair — "my — 
 my grandmother will speak with you — I — I pray you 
 pardon me " 
 
 She got up into her own little chamber — she scarce 
 knew how. She sat clown on the bed. There were no 
 tears in her eyes ; but there was a terrible weight on her 
 chest that seemed to stifle her ; and she was breathless, 
 and could not think aright, and her trembling hands were 
 clenched. Sometimes she wildly thought she wanted 
 Prudence to come to her ; and then a kind of shudder 
 possessed her — and a wish to go away — she cared not 
 where — and be seen no more. That crushing weight in- 
 creased, choking her ; she could not rest ; she rose and 
 went quickly clown the stair and through the garden into 
 the road. 
 
 " Judith, wench ! " called her grandmother, who was 
 talking to the parson. 
 
 She took no heed. She went blindly on ; and all these 
 familiar things seemed so different now. How coidd 
 the children laugh so ? She got into the Bidford road ; 
 she did not turn her eyes towards any whom she met, to 
 see whether she knew them or no ; there was enough 
 within her own brain for her to think of. She made her 
 way to the summit of Bardon hill, and there she looked 
 over the wide landscape ; but it was towards London that 
 she looked — and with a strange and trembling fear. And 
 then she seemed anxious to hide away from being seen, 
 and went down by hedgerows and field-paths, and at last 
 she was by the river. She regarded it, flowing so stealthily 
 by, in the sad and monotonous silence. Here was an 
 easy means of slipping away from all this dread thing that 
 seemed to surround her and overwhelm her — to glide away 
 as noiselessly and peacefully as the river itself, to any un- 
 known shore, she cared not what. And then she sate 
 clown, still looking vaguely and absently at the water, and 
 began to think of all that had happened to her on the banks
 
 11 FROM MY GARDEN GONE" 301 
 
 of this stream ; and she looked at these visionary pictures 
 and at herself in them as if they were apart and separated 
 from her, and she never to be like that again. Was it 
 possible that she ever could have been so careless and 
 so happy — with no weight at all resting on her heart — but 
 singing out of mere thoughtlessness, and teaching her 
 cousin "Willie the figures of dances, herself laughing the 
 while ? It seemed a long time ago now, and that he was 
 cut off from her too, and all of them, and that there was to 
 be no expiation for evermore for this that she had done. 
 
 How long she sate there she knew not. Everything 
 was a blank to her but this crushing consciousness that 
 what had happened could never be recalled ; that her father 
 and she were for ever separated now — and his face regard- 
 ing her with the terrible look she had seen in the garden ; 
 that all the happy past was cut away from her, and she an 
 outcast and a byword and a disgrace to all that knew her. 
 And then she thought, in the very weariness of her misery, 
 that if she could only walk away anywhere — anywhere alone, 
 so that no one should meet her or question her — until she 
 was broken and exhausted with fatigue, she would then go 
 back to her own small room and lie down on the bed and 
 try if sleep would procure some brief spell of forgetfulness, 
 some relief from her aching head and far heavier heart. 
 But when she rose she found that she was trembling from 
 weakness ; and a kind of shiver as of cold went through 
 her, though the autumn day was warm enough. She 
 walked slowly, and almost dragged herself, all the way 
 home. Her hand shook so that she could scarce undo the 
 latch of the gate. She heard her grandmother in the inner 
 apartment ; but she managed to creep noiselessly upstairs 
 into her own little chamber ; and there she sank down on 
 the bed, and lay in a kind of stupor, pressing her hands on 
 her throbbing brow. 
 
 It was some two hours afterwards that her grandmother, 
 who did not know that Judith had returned, was walking 
 along the little passage and was startled by hearing a low 
 moaning above — a kind of dull cry of pain, so slight that 
 she had to listen again ere she could be sure that it was 
 not mere fancy. Instantly she went up the few wooden steps 
 and opened the door. Judith was lying on the bed, with all
 
 3 o2 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 her things on, just as she had seen her go forth. And 
 then — perhaps the noise of the opening of the door had 
 wakened her — she started up, and looked at her grand- 
 mother in a wild and dazed kind of way, as if she had just 
 shaken off some terrible dream. 
 
 " Oh, grandmother," she said, springing to her and cling- 
 ing to her like a child, " it is not true — it is not true — it 
 cannot be true ! " 
 
 But then she fell to crying — crying as if her heart would 
 break. The whole weight of her misery came back upon 
 her, and the hopelessness of it, and her despair. 
 
 " Why, good lass," said her grandmother, smoothing the 
 sun-brown hair that was buried in her bosom, and trying to 
 calm the violence of the girl's sobbing, " thou must not take 
 on so. Thy father may be angered, 'tis true, but there 
 will come brighter days for thee. Nay, take not on so, 
 good lass ! " 
 
 " Oh, grandmother, you cannot understand," she said, 
 and her whole frame was shaken with her sobs. " You 
 cannot understand. Grandmother, grandmother, there 
 was — there was but the one rose — in my garden — and that 
 is gone now." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 m TIME OF NEED. 
 
 Late that night, in the apartment below, Tom Quiney was 
 seated by the big fireplace, staring moodily into the chips 
 and logs that had been lit there — the evenings having 
 grown somewhat chill now. There was a little parcel lying 
 unopened and unheeded on the table. He had not had 
 patience to wait for the Fair of the morrow ; he had ridden 
 all the way to Warwick to purchase something worthy of 
 Judith's acceptance ; and he had come over to the cottage 
 in high hopes of her being still in that kindly mood — that 
 reminded him of other days. Then came the good dame's 
 story of what had befallen ; and how that the parson had 
 been over, bringing with him these terrible tidings; and 
 how that since then Judith would not hear of any one 
 being sent for, and would take no food, but was now lying
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 303 
 
 there, alone in the dark, moaning to herself at times. And 
 the good dame — as this tall young fellow sate there listen- 
 ing to her, with his fists clenched, and the look on his face 
 ever growing darker — went on to express her fear that the 
 parson had been over hard with her grandchild ; that prob- 
 ably he could not understand how her father had been 
 the very idol of her life-long worship ; that the one thing 
 she was ever thinking of was how to win his approval, to 
 be rewarded by even a nod of encouragement. 
 
 " Nay, I liked not the manner of his speaking, when he 
 "wur come to me in the garden," the old dame continued. 
 " 1 liked it not. He be sharp of tongue, the young pahr- 
 son ; and there wur too much to my mind of discipline, and 
 chastening of proud spirits and the like o' that. To my 
 mind he have not years enough to be placed in such 
 authority." 
 
 " The Church is behind him," said this young fellow, 
 almost to himself, and his eyes were burning darkly as he 
 spoke. " I may not put hand on him. The Church is 
 behind him. Marry, 'tis a goodly shelter for men that be 
 of the woman kind." 
 
 Then he looked up quickly, and his words were savage. 
 
 "What think you, good grandmother— were one to 
 seize him by neck and heel and break his back on the rail 
 of Clopton's bridge ? Were it not well done ? — by my life, 
 I think it were well done ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, now/' said she, quickly, for she was somewhat 
 alarmed, seeing his face set hard with passion and his eyes 
 afire. " I would have no brawling. There be plenty of 
 harm done already. Perchance the good pahrson hath not 
 spoken so harshly after all. In good sooth, now, none but 
 her own people can understand how the wench hath ever 
 looked up to her father — for a word or a nod commending 
 her, as I say — and when she be told now that she hath 
 wrought mischief, and caused herself to be talked about, 
 and her father vexed, and all the rest of the tale, why 'tis 
 like to drive her out of her mind. And now this be all her 
 cry — that she may see no one of her people any more ; she 
 would bide with me here; 'Grandmother, grandmother/ 
 she saith, 'I will bide with you, if you will Buffer me. 1 
 will show myself in iStratford no more ; they shall have no
 
 304 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 shame through me,' Nay, but the wench be half out of 
 her senses, as I think ; and saith wild things — that she 
 would go and sell herself to be a slave in the Indies, could 
 she restore the money to her father or bring him back this 
 that he hath lost. 'Tis a terrible plight for the poor wench ; 
 and always she saith, ' Grandmother, grandmother, let me 
 bide with you ; I will never go back to New Place ; grand- 
 mother, I can work as well as any ; and you will let me 
 bide with you.' Poor lass — poor lass ! " 
 
 " But how came the parson to interfere ? " Quiney said, 
 hotly. " I'll be sworn Judith's father did not write to him. 
 How came he to be preaching his discipline and chastise- 
 ment ? How came he to be entrusted with the task of 
 abusing her and crushing the too proud spirit ? By 
 heavens, now, there may be occasiou ere long to tame some 
 one's proud spirit — but not the spirit of a defenceless young 
 maid — marry, that is work fit only for parsons. Man to 
 man is the better way — and it will come ere long." 
 
 " Nay, softly, softly, good Master Quiney," said the old 
 dame, in her gentlest tones. " Would you mar all the good 
 opinion that Judith hath of you ? "Why, to-day, now, just 
 ere the parson came, I war in the garden, putting things 
 straight a bit, and as she came through, she says to me 
 quite pleasant-like, ' I have just been across the fields, 
 grandmother, with Master Quiney' — or Tom Quiney, as 
 she said, being friendly and pleasant-like — ' and I hear 
 less now of his quarrelling and fighting among the young 
 men ; and his business goeth on well ; and to-morrow, 
 grandmother, he is going to buy me something at the 
 Fair.' " 
 
 " Said she all that ? " he asked quickly — and with a flush 
 of colour rushing to his face. 
 
 " Marry, did she ; and looked pleased, for 'tis a right 
 friendly wench and good-natured withal," the old dame said 
 — glad to see that these words had for the moment 
 scattered his wrath to the winds ; and she went on for some 
 little time talking to him in her garrulous easy fashion about 
 Judith's frank and honest qualities, and her good-hearted 
 ways, and the pretty daintiness of her coaxing when she 
 was so inclined. It was a story he was not loth to listen 
 to ; and yet it seemed so strange ; they were talking of her
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 305 
 
 almost as of one passed away — as if the girl lying there in 
 that darkened room, instead of torturing her brain with 
 incessant and lightning-like visions of all the harm she had 
 caused in London, were now far removed from all such 
 troubles, and hushed in the calm of death. 
 
 He went to the table and opened the box, and took out 
 the little present he had brought for Judith. It was a pair 
 of lace cuffs, with a slender silver circle at the wrist ; the 
 lace going back from that in a succession of widening leaves. 
 It was not only a pretty present, it was also (in proportion 
 to his means) a costly one — as the old dame's sharp eyes 
 instantly saw. 
 
 " I think she would have been pleased with them," he 
 said absently. 
 
 And then he said — 
 
 " Good grandmother, it were of no use to lay them near 
 her in the morning — on a chair or at the window — that 
 perchance she might look at them ? " 
 
 "Nay, nay," the grandmother said, shaking her head, 
 " 'tis no child's trouble that hath befallen the poor weneh, 
 that she can be comforted with pretty trifles." 
 
 "I meant not that," said he, flushing somewhat. "'Tis 
 that I would have her know that — that there were friends 
 thinking of her all the same — those that would rather have 
 her gladdened and tended and made much of rather than 
 — than — chidden with any chastisement." 
 
 This word chastisement seemed to recall his anger. ■ 
 
 " I say that Judith hath done no wrong at all," he said, 
 as if he were confronting some one not there ; " and that 
 I will maintain ; and let no man in my hearing say aught 
 else. Why, now, the story as you tell it, good grandmother 
 — 'tis as plain as daylight — a child can see it — all that she 
 did was done to magnify her father and his writing ; and if 
 the villain sold the play — or let it slip out of his hands — was 
 that her doing ? Doubtless it is a sore mischance ; but 1 
 see not that Judith is to be blamed for it ; and right well 1 
 know that if her father were to hear how she is smitten 
 down with grief, he would be the flrst to say : " Good lass, 
 there is no such harm done. A greater harm would be 
 your falling sick ; get you up and out ; seek your friends 
 again ; and be happy as you were before." That is what 
 
 x
 
 3 o6 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 he would say, I will take my oath of it ; and if the parson 
 and his chastisements were to come across him, by my life 
 I would not seek to he in the parson's shoes ! " 
 
 " I must make another trial with the poor wench," said 
 the good grandmother, rising, " that hath eaten nothing all 
 the day. In truth her only cry is to he left alone now, and 
 that hereafter I am to let her bide with me. It be a poor 
 shelter, I think, for one used to live in a noble house ; but 
 there 'tis, so long as she wisheth it." 
 
 "Nay, but this cannot be suffered to go on, good 
 Mistress Hathaway," said he, as he rose and got his cap. 
 " For if Judith take no food, and will see no one, and be 
 alone with her trouble, of a surety she will fall ill. Now 
 to-morrow morning I will bring Prudence over. If any 
 can comfort her, Prudence can ; and that she will be right 
 willing I know. They have been as sisters." 
 
 "That be well thought of, Master Quiney," said the 
 grandmother, as she went to the door with him. " Take 
 care o' the ditch the other side of the way ; it be main 
 dark o' nights now." 
 
 " Good-night to you, good grandmother," said he, as he 
 disappeared in the blackness. 
 
 But it was neither back home nor yet to Stratford town 
 that Tom Quiney thought of going all that long night. He 
 felt a kind of constraint upon him (and yet a constraint 
 that kept his heart warm with a secret satisfaction) that he 
 should play the part of watch-dog, as it were — as if Judith 
 were sorely ill, or in danger, or in need of protection some- 
 how ; and he kept wandering about in the dark, never at 
 any great radius from the cottage. His self-imposed task 
 was easier now that as the black clouds overhead slowly 
 moved before the soft westerly wind, gaps were opened, 
 and here and there clusters of stars were visible, shedding 
 a faint light down on the sombre roads and fields and 
 hedges. Many strange fancies occurred to him during that 
 long and silent night, as to what he could do, or would like 
 to do, for Judith's sake. Breaking the parson's neck was 
 the first and most natural and the most easily accomplished ; 
 but fleeing the country, which he knew must follow, did 
 not seem so desirable a thing. He wanted to do something 
 — he knew not what. He wished he had been less of a
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 307 
 
 companion with the young men, and less careful to show 
 with them, that Stratford town and the county of Warwick 
 could hold their own against all comers. If he had been 
 more considerate and gentle with Judith, perhaps she would 
 not have sought the society of the parson ? He knew he 
 had not the art of winning her over like the parson. He 
 could not speak so plausibly. Nor had he the authority of 
 the Church behind him. It was natural for women to 
 think much of that, and to be glad of the shelter of 
 authority. Parsons themselves (he considered) were a kind 
 of half-women, being in women's secrets, -and entitled to 
 speak to them in ghostly confidence. But if Judith now — 
 if she wanted some one to do something for her — no matter 
 what — in his rough and ready way — well, he wondered 
 what that could be that he would refuse. And so the 
 dark hours went by. 
 
 With the gray of the dawn he began to cast his eyes 
 abroad — as if to see if any one was stirring, or approaching 
 the cluster of cottages nestled down there among the trees. 
 The daylight widened and spread up in the trembling east ; 
 the fields and the woods became clear ; here and there a 
 small tuft of blue smoke began to arise from a cottage 
 chimney. And now he was on Bardon Hill, and could 
 look abroad over the wide landscape lying between Shottery 
 and Stratford town ; and if any one — any one bringing 
 lowering brows and further cruel speech to a poor maid 
 already stricken down and defenceless — had been in sight, 
 what then ? Watchfully and slowly he went down from the 
 hill, and back to the meadows lying between the hamlet 
 and Stratford, there to interpose, as it were, and question 
 all comers. And well it was, for the sake of peace and 
 charity, that the good parson did not chance "to be early 
 abroad on this still morning ; and well it was for the young 
 man himself. There was no wise-eyed Athene to descend 
 from the clouds and bid this wrathful Achilles calm his 
 heart. He was only an English country lad — though 
 sufficiently Greek-like in form ; and he was hungry and 
 gray-faced with his vigil of the night, and not in a placable 
 mood. Nay, when a young man is possessed with the 
 consciousness that he is the defender of some one behind 
 him — some one who is weak, and feminine, and Buffering 
 
 x 2
 
 3oS JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 — he is apt to prove a dangerous antagonist ; and it was 
 well for all concerned that he had no occasion to pick a 
 quarrel on this morning in these quiet meadows. In truth 
 he might have been more at rest had he known that the 
 good parson was in no hurry to follow up his monitions of 
 the previous day ; he wished these to sink into her mind 
 and take root ; so that thereafter might spring up such 
 wholesome fruits as repentance, and humility, and the desire 
 of godly aid and counsel. 
 
 By and by he slipped away home ; plunged his head 
 into cold water to banish the dreams of the night ; and 
 then, having swallowed a cup of milk to stay his hunger, 
 he went along to Chapel Street, to see if he could have 
 speech of Prudence. He found that not only were all 
 of the household up and doing, but that Prudence herself 
 was ready to go out, being bent on one of her charitable 
 errands. And it needed but a word to alter the direction of 
 her kindness : of course she would at once go to see Judith. 
 
 " Truly I had fears of it," said she as they went through 
 the fields, her pale calm face having grown more and more 
 anxious as she listened to all that he had to tell her. " Her 
 father was as the light of the world to her. With the others 
 of us she hath ever been headstrong in a measure and care- 
 less — and yet so lovable withal and merry that I for one 
 could never withstand her ; nay, I confess I tried not 
 to withstand her, for never knew I of any wilfulness of hers 
 springing from anything but good-nature and her kind 
 and generous ways. But that she was ever ready to brave 
 our opinions, I know ; and perchance make light of our 
 anxieties, we not having her courage ; and in all things she 
 seemed to be a guide unto herself, and to walk sure, and 
 have no fear. In all things but one. Indeed 'tis true 
 what her grandmother told you, and who should know 
 better than I, who was always with her ? The slightest 
 wish of her father's — that was law to her. A word of 
 commending from him— and she was happy for days. 
 And think what this must be now — she that was so proud 
 of his approval — that scarce thought of aught else. Nay, 
 for myself I can see that they have told him all a wrong 
 story in London, that know I well ; and tis no wonder that 
 he is vexed and angry ; but Judith — poor Judith "
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 309 
 
 She could say no more just then ; she turned aside her 
 face somewhat. 
 
 " Do you know what she said to her grandmother, 
 Prudence, when she fell a-crying — that there had been but 
 the one rose in her garden, and that was gone now." 
 
 " 'Tis what Susan used to sing," said Prudence, with 
 rather trembling lips. " ' The rose is from my garden gone,' 
 'twas called. Ay, and hath she that on her mind now ? 
 Truly I wish that her mother and Susan had let me break 
 this news to her ; none know as well as I what it must be 
 to her." 
 
 And here Tom Quiney quickly asked her whether it was 
 not clear to her that the parson had gone beyond his mission 
 altogether ; and that in a way that would have to be dealt 
 with afterwards, when all these things were amended ? 
 Prudence, with some faint colour in her pale face, defended 
 Master Blaise to the best of her power ; and said she 
 knew he could not have been unduly harsh ; nay, had 
 she not herself, just as he was setting forth, besought him 
 to be kind and considerate with Judith ? Hereupon 
 Quiney rather brusquely asked what the good man could 
 mean by phrases about discipline and chastenings and 
 chastisements ; to which Prudence answered gently that 
 these were but separate words, and that she was sure 
 Master Blaise had fulfilled what he undertook in a merci- 
 ful spirit, which was his nature. After that there was a 
 kind of silence between these two; perhaps Quiney con- 
 sidered that no good end could be served at present by 
 stating his own ideas on that subject. The proper time 
 would come in due course. 
 
 At length they reached the cottage. Bat here to their 
 amazement, and to the infinite distress of Prudence, when 
 Judith's grandmother came down the wooden steps again, 
 she shook her head, saying that the wench would see no one. 
 
 " I thought as 'twould be so," she said. 
 
 "But me, good grandmother! Me!" Prudence cried, 
 with tears in her eyes. " Surely she will not refuse to see 
 me ! " 
 
 " No one, she saith," was the answer. " Poor wench, her 
 head do ache so bad. And when one would cheer her or 
 comfort her a morsel, 'tis another fit of crying — that will
 
 310 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 wear her to skin and bone, if she do not pluck up better 
 heart. She hath eaten naught this morning neither ; 'tis 
 for no wilfulness, poor lass, for she tried an hour ago ; and 
 now 'tis best as I think to leave her alone." 
 
 " By your leave, good grandmother," said Prudence, with 
 some firmness, " that will I not. If Judith be in such 
 trouble, 'tis not likely that I should go away and leave her. 
 It has never been the custom between us two." 
 
 "As you will, Prudence," the grandmother said. 
 "Youn? hearts have their confidences among themselves. 
 Perchance you may be able to rouse her." 
 
 Prudence went up the stairs silently, and opened the 
 door. Judith was lying on the bed — her face turned away 
 from the light ; her hands clasped over her forehead. 
 
 " Judith ! " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Judith," said her friend, going near, " I am come to 
 see you." 
 
 There was a kind of sob — that was all. 
 
 " Judith, is your head so bad ? Can I do nothing for 
 you ? " 
 
 She put over her hand — the soft and cool and gentle 
 touch of which had comforted many a sickbed — and she 
 was startled to find that both Judith's hands and forehead 
 were burning hot. 
 
 " No, sweetheart," was the answer, in a low and broken 
 voice, " you can do nothing for me now." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Judith, take heart," Prudence said, and she 
 gently removed the hot fingers from the burning forehead, 
 and put her own cooler hand there, as if to dull the throb- 
 bing of the pain. " Sweetheart, be not so cast do\vn ! 
 'Twill be all put right in good time." 
 
 "Never — never," the girl said — without tears, but with 
 an abject hopelessness of tone. " It can never be undone 
 now. He said my name was become a mockery among my 
 father's friends. For myself, I would not heed that — nay, 
 they might say of me what they pleased — but that my 
 father should hear of it — a mockery and scorn — and they 
 think I cared so little for my father that I was ready to 
 give away his papers to any one pretending to be a sweet- 
 heart and befooling me — and my father to know it all, and
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 311 
 
 to hear such things said — no, that can never be undone 
 now. I used to count the weeks and the days and the very 
 hours when I knew he was coming back ; that was the joy 
 of my life to me ; and now, if I were to know that he were 
 coming near to Stratford I should fly, and hide some- 
 where — anywhere — in the river aslief as not. Nay, I make 
 no complaint. "lis my own doing ; and it cannot be 
 undone now." 
 
 " Judith, Judith, you break my heart ! " her friend cried. 
 " Surely to all troubles there must come an end." 
 
 " Yes, yes," was the answer — in a low voice, and almost 
 as if she were speaking to herself. " That is right. There 
 will come an end. I would it were here now." 
 
 All Prudence's talking seemed to be of no avail. She 
 reasoned and besought — often-times with tears in her eyes ; 
 but Judith remained quite listless and hopeless ; she seemed 
 to be in a stunned and dazed condition after the long sleep- 
 lessness of the night ; and Prudence was afraid that further 
 entreaties would only aggravate her headache. 
 
 " I will go and get you something to eat now," said she. 
 "Your grandmother says you have had nothing since 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Do not trouble ; 'tis needless, sweetheart," Judith said ; 
 and then she added, with a brief shiver : " But if you could 
 fetch a thick cloak, dear Prudence, and throw it over me — 
 surely the day is cold somewhat." 
 
 A few minutes after (so swift and eager was everybody in 
 the house) Judith was warmly wrapped up ; and by the side 
 of the bed, on a chair, was some food the good grand- 
 mother had been keeping ready, and also a flask of wine 
 that Quiney had brought with him. 
 
 " Look you, Judith," said Prudence, " here is some wine 
 that Thomas Quiney hath brought for you — 'tis of a rare 
 quality, he says — and you must take a little — nay, you must 
 and shall, sweetheart ; and then perchance you may be able 
 to eat." 
 
 She sipped a little of the wiue — it was but to show her 
 gratitude and send him her thanks. She could not touch 
 the food. She seemed mostly anxious for rest and quiet ; 
 and so Prudence noiselessly left her, and stole down the 
 stairs again.
 
 312 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Prudence was terribly perplexed, and in a kind of despair 
 almost. 
 
 " I know not what to do," she said. " I would bring 
 over her mother and Susan, but that she begs and prays me 
 not to do that — nay, she cannot see them, she says. And 
 there is no reasoning with her. It cannot be undone now 
 — that is her constant cry? What to do I cannot tell. For 
 surely, if she remain so, and take no comfort, she will fall 
 ill." 
 
 " Ay, and if that be so, who is to blame ? " said Quiney, 
 who was walking up and down in considerable agitation. 
 " I say that letter should never have been put into the 
 parson's hands. Was it meant to be conveyed to Judith ? — 
 I warrant me it was not ! Did her father say that he 
 wished her chidden ; did he ask any of you to bid the 
 parson go to her with his upraidings ; would he himself 
 have been so quick and eager to chasten her proud spirit ? 
 I tell you no. He is none of the parson kind. Vexed he 
 might have been ; but he would have taken no vengeance. 
 What ? — on his own child ? By heavens, I'll be sworn now 
 that if he were here, at this minute, he would take the girl 
 by the hand, and laugh at her for beiug so afraid of his 
 anger — ay, I warrant me he would — and would bid her be 
 of good cheer, and brighten her face, that was ever the 
 brightest in Warwickshire, as I have heard him say. That 
 would he — my life on it ! " 
 
 "Ah," said Prudence, wistfully, "if you could only 
 persuade Judith of that ! " 
 
 " Persuade her ? " said he. " Why, I would stake my 
 life that is what her father would do ! " 
 
 "You could not persuade her," said Prudence, with a 
 hopeless air. " No ; she thinks it is all over now between 
 her father and her. She is disgraced and put away from 
 him. She hath done him such injury, she says, as even his 
 enemies have never done. W T hen he comes back again, she 
 says, to Stratford, she will be here ; and she knows that he 
 will never come near this house ; and that will be better 
 for her, she says, for she could never again meet him face 
 to face." 
 
 Well, all that day Jucl ith lay there in the solitary room ; 
 desiring only to be left alone ; taking no food ; the racking
 
 IN TIME OF NEED 313 
 
 pains in her head returning from time to time ; and now 
 and again she shivered slightly as if from cold. Tom 
 Quiney kept coming and going to hear news of her, or to 
 consult with Prudence as to how to rouse her from this 
 hopelessness of grief ; and as the day slowly passed, he grew 
 more and more disturbed and anxious and restless. Could 
 nothing be done ? — could nothing be done ? — was his 
 constant cry. 
 
 He remained late that evening ; and Prudence stayed all 
 night at the cottage. In the morning he was over again 
 early ; and more distressed than ever to hear that the girl 
 was wearing herself out with this agony of remorse — 
 crying stealthily when that she thought no one was near ; 
 and hiding herself away from the light ; and refusing to be 
 comforted. 
 
 But during the long and silent watches he had been 
 taking counsel with himself. 
 
 " Prudence," said he, regarding her with a curious look, 
 " do you think now if some assurance were come from her 
 father himself — some actual message from him — a kindly 
 message — i-ome token that he was far indeed from casting 
 her away from him — think you Judith would be glad to 
 have that ? " 
 
 " 'Twould be like giving her life back to her," said the 
 girl, simply. " In truth I dread what may come of this : 
 'tis not in human nature to withstand such misery of mind. 
 My poor Judith, that was ever so careless and merry ! " 
 
 He hesitated for a second or two ; and then he said, 
 looking at her, and speaking in a cautious kind of way : 
 
 " Because when next I have need to write to London, I 
 might beg of some one — my brother Dick, perchance, that 
 is now in Bucklersbury, and would have small trouble in 
 doing such a service — I say I might beg of him to go and 
 see Judith's father, and tell him the true story, and show 
 him that she was not so much to blame. Nay, for my part 
 I see not that she was to blame at all, bub for over kindness 
 and confidence, and the wish to exalt her father. The mis- 
 chief that hath been wrought is the doing of the scoundrel 
 and villain on whose head I trust it may fall ere long ; 
 'twas none of hers. And if her father were to have all that 
 now put fairly and straight before him, tliink you he would
 
 3U JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 not be right sorry to hear that she had taken his anger so 
 much to heart, and was lying almost as one dead at the very 
 thought of it ? I tell you, now, if all this be put before 
 him, and if he send her no comfortable message — ay, and 
 that forthwith and gladly — I have far misread him. And 
 as for her, Prudence — 'twould be welcome, say you ? " 
 
 " 'Twould be of the value of all the world to her," 
 Prudence said, in her direct and earnest way. 
 
 "Well, he almost immediately thereafter left (seeing that 
 he could be of no further help to these women-folk) and 
 walked quickly back to Stratford and to his house, which 
 was also his place of business. He seemed to hurry through 
 his affairs with speed ; then he went upstairs and looked 
 out some clothing ; he took down a pair of pistols and put 
 some fresh powder in the pans ; and made a few other pre- 
 parations. Next he went round to the stable ; and the 
 stout little Galloway nag whinnied when she saw him at the 
 door. 
 
 " Well, Maggie, lass," said he, going into the stall, and 
 patting her neck, and stroking clown her knees, " what 
 sayst thou ? Wouldst like a jaunt that would carry thee 
 many a mile away from Stratford town ? Nay, but if you 
 knew the errand, I warrant me you would be as eager as 
 I ! What, then — a bargain, lass ? By my life, you shall 
 have many a long day's rest in clover when this sharp work 
 is done ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A LOST ARCADIA. 
 
 It was on this same morning that Judith made a desperate 
 effort to rouse herself from the prostration into which she 
 had fallen. All through that long darkness and despair 
 she had been wearily and vainly asking herself whether 
 she could do nothing to retrieve the evil she had wrought. 
 Her good name might go — she cared little for that now ; 
 but was there no means of making up to her father the 
 actual money he had lost ? It was not forgiveness she 
 thought of ; but restitution. Forgiveness was not to be 
 dreamed of ; she saw before her always that angered face 
 she had beheld in the srarden ; and her wish was to hide
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 
 
 iiS 
 
 away from that, and be seen of it no more. Then there 
 was another thing : if she were to be permitted to remain 
 at the cottage, ought she not to show herself willing to take 
 a share of the humblest domestic duties ? Might not the 
 good dame begin to regard her as but a useless encum- 
 brance ? If it were so that no work her ten fingers could 
 accomplish would ever restore to her father what he had 
 lost through her folly, at least it might win for her her 
 grandmother's forbearance and patience. And so it was 
 that on the first occasion of her head ceasing to ache quite 
 so badly she struggled to her feet (though she was so 
 languid and listless and weak that she could scarcely stand) 
 and put round her the heavy cloak that had been lying on 
 the bed, and smoothed her hair somewhat, and went to the 
 door. There she stood for a minute or two, listening ; for 
 she would not go down if there were any strangers about. 
 
 The house seemed perfectly still. There was not a sound 
 anywhere. Then, quite suddenly, she heard little Cicely 
 begin to sing to herself — but in snatches, as if she were 
 occupied with other matters — some well-known rhymes to 
 an equally familiar tune — 
 
 11 By the moon ice sport and play, 
 
 With the night begins our thty ; 
 As we drink the dew doth full, 
 
 Trip it, dainty urchins all! 
 Lightly as the little bee, 
 
 Two by two, and three by three, 
 And about go we, go we." 
 
 — and she made no doubt that the little girl was alone in 
 the kitchen. Accordingly, she went down. Cicely, who 
 was seated near the window, and busily engaged in pluckiog 
 a fowl, uttered a slight cry when she entered, and started up. 
 
 "Dear Mistress Judith," she said, "can I do aught for 
 you ? Will you sit down ? Dear, dear, how ill vou do 
 look ! " 
 
 " I am not at all ill, little Cicely," said Judith, as cheer- 
 fully as she could, and she sate down. " Give me the fowl 
 — I will do that for you ; and you can go and help my 
 grandmother in whatever she is at." 
 
 "Nay, not so," said the little maid, definitely refusin"-. 
 " Why should you ? "
 
 o 
 
 1 6 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " But I wish it," Judith said. " Do not vex mc, now — 
 go and seek my grandmother, like a good little lass." 
 
 The little maid was thus driven to go ; but it was with 
 another purpose. In about a couple of minutes she had 
 returned, and preceding her was Judith's grandmother. 
 
 " What, art come down, wench ? " the old dame said, 
 patting her kindly on the shoulder. " That be so far well 
 — ay, ay, I like that now — that be better for thee than lying- 
 all alone. But what would you with the little maid's work, 
 that you would take it out of her hands ? " 
 
 " Why, if I am idle and do nothing, grandmother, you 
 will be for turning me out of the house," the girl answered, 
 looking up w T ith a strange kind of smile. 
 
 " Turn thee out of the house ? " said her grandmother, 
 who had just caught a better glimpse of the wan and tired 
 face. Ay, that will I — and now. Come thy ways, w T ench ; 
 'tis time for thee to be in the fresh air. Cicely, let be the 
 fowl now. Put some more wood on the fire, and hang on 
 the pot — there's a clever lass. And thou, grandchild, come 
 thy ways with me into the garden ; and I warrant me when 
 thou comest back a cupful of barley broth will do thee no 
 harm." 
 
 Judith obeyed, though she would fain have sate still. 
 And then, when she reached the front door, what a bewil- 
 derment of light and colour met her eyes ! She stood as 
 one dazed for a second or two. The odours of the flowers 
 and the shrubs were so strange, moreover, — pungent, and 
 strange, and full of memories. It seemed so long a time 
 since she had seen this wonderful glowing world — and 
 breathed this keen air — that she paused on the stone flag 
 to collect her senses, as it were. And then a kind of faint- 
 ness came over her, and perhaps she might have sank to the 
 ground, but that she laid hold of her grandmother's arm. 
 
 " Ay, ay, come thy ways and sit thee down, dearie," the 
 old dame said, imagining that the girl was but begging for 
 a little assistance in her walking. " I be main glad to see 
 thee out again. I liked not that lying there alone — nay, I 
 wur feared of it, and I bade Prudence send your mother 
 and Susan to see you " 
 
 " No, no, good grandmother, no, no ! " Judith pleaded, 
 with all the elfort that remained to her,
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 37 
 
 " But yea, yea ! " her grandmother said sharply. " Foolish 
 wench, that would hide away from them that can best aid 
 thee! Ay, and knowest thou how the new disease, as they 
 call it, shows itself at the beginning ? — why, with a pinching 
 of the face and sharp pains in the head. Wouldst thou 
 have me let thee lie there, and perchance go from bad to 
 worse, and not send for them — ay, and for Susan's husband, 
 if need were ? Nay, but let not that fright thee, good 
 wench," she said in a gentler way. " 'Tis none so bad as I 
 thought, else you would not be venturing down the stairs — 
 nay, nay, there be no harm done as yet, I warrant me — 'tis 
 a breath of fresh air to sharpen thee into a hungry fit that 
 will be the best doctor for thee. Here, sit thee down and 
 rest now ; and when the barley-broth be warm enough 
 Cicely shall bring thee out a dish of it. Nay, I see no harm 
 done. Keep up thy heart, lass ; thou wert ever a brave 
 one ; ay, what was there ever that could daunt thee ? — and 
 not the boldest of the youths but was afraid of thy laugh 
 and thy merry tongue ! Heaven save us, that thou should 
 take on so ! And if you would sell yourself to work in 
 slavery in the Indies, think you they would buy a poor weak 
 trembling creature ? Nay, nay, we will have to fetch back 
 the roses to your cheeks ere you make for that bargain, I 
 warrant me ! " 
 
 They were now seated in the little arbour. On entering 
 Judith had cast her eyes round it in a strange and half- 
 frightened fashion ; and now, as she sate there, she was 
 scarcely listening to the good-natured garrulity of the old 
 dame, which was wholly meant to cheer her spirits. 
 
 " Grandmother," said she, in a low voice, " think you 
 'twas really he that took away with him my father's 
 play?" 
 
 " I know not how else it could have been come by," said 
 the grandmother, " but I pray you, child, heed not that for 
 the present. What be done and gone cannot be helped — 
 let it pass — there, there, now, what a lack of memory have 
 I, that should have shown thee the pretty lace cull's that 
 Thomas Quiney left for thee — fit for a queen, they bo, to be 
 sure— ay, and the fine lace of them, and the silver too. He 
 hath a free hand, he hath ; 'tis a fair thing for any that will 
 be in life-partnership with him ; 'twill not away, marry
 
 3 1 8 JUDITH SHA KESPEA RE 
 
 'twill not ; 'twill bide in his nature — that will never out of 
 the flesh that's bred in the bone, as they say ; and I like to 
 see a young man that be none of the miser kind, but ready 
 forth with his money where 'tis to -please them he hath a 
 fancy for. A brave lad he is too, and one that will hold his 
 own ; and when I told him you were pleased that his 
 business went forward well, why, saith he, as quick as quick : 
 ' Said she that ? ' — and if my old eyes fail me not, I know of 
 one that setteth greater share by your good word than you 
 imagine, wench." 
 
 She but half heard ; she was recalling all that had 
 happened in this very summer-house. 
 
 "And think you, grandmother," said she, slowly, and 
 with absent eyes, " that when he was sitting here with us, 
 and telling us all about the Court doings, and about my 
 father's friends in London, and when he was so grateful to 
 us — or saying that he was so — for our receiving of him here, 
 think you that all the time he was planning to steal my 
 father's play and to take it and sell it in London ? Grand- 
 mother, can you think it possible ? Could any one be such 
 a hypocrite ? I know that he deceived me at the first ; but 
 'twas only a jest ; and he confessed it all, and professed his 
 shame that he had so done. But, grandmother, think of 
 him — think of how he used to speak — and ever so modest 
 and gentle ; is't possible that all the time he was playing 
 the thief, and looking forward to the getting away to London 
 to sell what he had stolen ? " 
 
 " For love's sake, sweetheart, heed that man no more ! — 
 'tis all done and gone — there can come no good of vexing 
 thyself about it," her grandmother said. " Be he villain or 
 not, 'twill be well for all of us that we never hear his name 
 more. In good sooth I am as much to blame as thou 
 thyself, child, for the encouraging him to come about, and 
 listening to his gossip— beshrew me, that I should have 
 meddled in such matters, and not bade him go about his 
 business ! But 'tis all past and gone now, as I say — there 
 be no profit in vexing thyself " 
 
 " Past and gone, grandmother ! " she exclaimed, and yet 
 in a listless way. " Yes, but what remains ? Good grand- 
 mother, perchance you did not hear all that the parson said. 
 'Tis past and gone, truly — and more than you think."
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 319 
 
 The tone in which she uttered these words somewhat 
 startled the good dame, who looked at her anxiously. 
 And then she said — 
 
 " Why, now, I warrant me the barley-broth will be hot 
 enough by this time : I will go fetch thee a cupful, wench 
 - — 'twill put warmth in thy veins, it will — ay, and cheer thy 
 heart too." 
 
 " Trouble not, good grandmother," she said. " I would 
 as lief go back to my room now. The light hurts my eyes 
 strangely." 
 
 " Back to your room ? — that shall you not ! " was the 
 prompt answer, but not meant unkindly. " You shall wait 
 here, wench, till I bring thee that will put some colour in 
 thy white face — ay, and some of Thomas Quiney's wine 
 withal ; and if the light hurt thee, sit farther back, then — ■ 
 of a truth 'tis no wonder after thou hast hid thyself like a 
 dormouse for so long." 
 
 And so she went away to the house. But she was 
 scarcely gone when Judith — in this extreme silence that 
 the rustling of a leaf would have disturbed — heard certain 
 voices ; and listening more intently she made sure that the 
 newcomers must be Susan and her mother, whom Prudence 
 had asked to walk over. Instantly she got up, though she 
 had to steady herself for a moment by resting her hand on 
 the table ; and then, as quickly as she could, and as noise- 
 lessly, she stole along the path to the cottage, and entered, 
 and made her way up to her own room. She fancied she had 
 not been heard. She would rather be alone. If they had 
 come to accuse her, what had she to answer ? Why, 
 nothing : they might say of her what they pleased now — it 
 was all deserved ; only, the one denunciation of her that she 
 had listened to — the one she had heard from the parson — 
 seemed like the ringing of her death-knell. Surely there was 
 no need to repeat that ? They could not wish to repeat it, 
 did they but know all it meant to her. 
 
 Then the door was quietly opened, and her sister appeared, 
 bearing in one hand a small tray. 
 
 " I have brought you some food, Judith, and a little wine, 
 and you must try and take them, sweetheart," said she. 
 " 'Twas right good news to us that you had come down and 
 gone into the garden for a space. In truth, making your-
 
 3^0 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 self ill will not mend matters ; and Pr adence was in great 
 alarm." 
 
 She put the tray on a chair, for there was no table in the 
 room ; but Judith — finding that her sister had not come to 
 accuse her, but was in this gentle mood — said quickly and 
 eagerly — 
 
 " Oh, Susan, you can tell me all that I would so fain 
 know ! You must have heard, for my father speaks to you 
 of all his affairs ; and at your own wedding von must have 
 heard, when all these things were arranged. Tell me, Susan 
 — I shall have a marriage portion, shall I not ? — and how 
 much, think you ? Perchance not so large as yonrs, for you 
 are the elder, and Doctor Hall was ever a favourite with my 
 father. But I shall have a marriage portion, Susan, shall I 
 not ? — nay, it may already be set aside for me ? " 
 
 And then the elder sister did glance somewhat reproach- 
 fully at her. 
 
 " I wonder you should be thinking of such things, 
 Judith," said she. 
 
 " Ah, but 'tis not as you imagine," the girl said, with the 
 same pathetic eagerness. " 'Tis in this wise now : would my 
 father take it in a measure to repay him for the ill that I 
 have done ? "Would it make up the loss, Susan, or a part 
 of it ? Would he take it, think you ? Ah, but if he would 
 do that ! " 
 
 "Why, that were an easy way out of the trouble, 
 assuredly ! " her sister exclaimed. ' ; To take the marriage- 
 portion that is set aside for thee — and if I mistake not, 'tis 
 all provided — ay, and the house and garden in Dead Lane, 
 which will fall to thee, if they are not thine already : — ■ 
 truly 'twere a wise thing to take these to make good this 
 loss, and then, when you marry, to have to give you your 
 marriage-portion all the same ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, not so, Susan ! " her sister cried quickly. 
 " What said you ? The house and garden in the lane as 
 well ? and perchance mine already ? Susan, would they 
 make good the loss ? Would all taken together make good 
 the loss ? For, as heaven is my witness, I will never marry 
 — nor think of marrying — but rejoice all the days of my 
 life if my father would but take these to satisfy him of the 
 injury I have done him. Nay, but is't possible, Susan ?
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 321 
 
 Will he do that for me ? — as a kindness to me ? I have no 
 right to ask for such — but — but if only he knew — if only he 
 knew ! " 
 
 The tears were running down her face ; her hands were 
 clasped in abject entreaty. 
 
 "Sweetheart, you know not what you ask," her sister 
 said, but gently. " When you marry your marriage-portion 
 will have to be in accordance with our position in the town ; 
 my father would not have it otherwise ; were you to sur- 
 render that now, would he let one of his daughters go forth 
 from his house as a beggar, think you ? Or what would 
 her husband say to be so treated ? You might be willing 
 to give up these ; but my father could not ; and your 
 husband would not." 
 
 " Susan, Susan, I wish for no marriage," she cried ; " I 
 will stay with my grandmother here ; she is content that I 
 should bide with her ; and if my father will take these, 'twill 
 be the joy of my life ; I shall wish for no more ; and New 
 Place shall come to no harm by me ; 'tis here that I am to 
 bide. Think you he would take them, Susan — think you he 
 would take them ? " she pleaded ; and in her excitement she 
 got up and tried to walk about a little, but with her hands 
 still clasped. " If one were to send to London now — a mes- 
 sage — or I would walk every foot of the way did I but think 
 he would do this for me — oh, no ! no ! no ! I durst not — • 
 I durst never see him more — he has cast me off — and — and 
 I deserve no less ! " 
 
 Her sister went to her and took her by the hand. 
 
 "Judith, you have been in sore trouble, and scarce know 
 what you say," she said, in that clear, calm way of hers. 
 " But this is now what yeu must do. Sit down and take 
 some of this food. As I hear you have scarce tasted any- 
 thing these two days. You have always been so wild and way- 
 ward : now must you listen to reason and suffer guidance.'" 
 
 She made her sit down. The girl took a little of the 
 broth, some of the spiced bread, and a little of the wine; 
 but it was clear that she was forcing herself to it. Her 
 thoughts were elsewhere. And scarcely had she finished 
 this make-believe of a repast when she turned to her sister 
 and said, with a pathetic pleading in her voice — 
 
 " And is it not possible, Susan ? Surely I can do- somc- 
 
 Y
 
 322 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 thing ! It is so dreadful to think of my father imagining 
 that I have done him this injury, and gone on the same way 
 careless of "what has happened. That terrifies me at night ! 
 — oh, if you but knew what it is in the darkness, in the long 
 hours, and none to call to, and none to give you help ; and 
 to think that these are the thoughts he has of me — that 
 it was all for a sweetheart I did it — that I gave away his 
 writing to please a sweetheart — and that I care not for what 
 has happened, but would do the like again to-morrow ! It 
 is so dreadful in the night." 
 
 " I would comfort you if I could, Judith," said her sister, 
 " but I fear me you must trust to wise] 1 counsel than mine. 
 In truth I know not whether all this can be undone, or how 
 my father regards it at the moment ; for at the time of the 
 writing they were all uncertain. But surely now you would 
 do well to be ruled by some one better able to guide you 
 than any of us women-folk ; Master Blaise has been most 
 kind and serviceable in this as in all other matters, and has 
 written to your father, in answer to his letter, so that we 
 have had trust and assurance in his direction. And you 
 also — why should you not seek his aid and counsel ? " 
 
 At the mere mention of the parson's name Judith shivered 
 instinctively, she scarce knew why. 
 
 " Judith," her sister continued, regarding her watchfully, 
 " to-moirow, as I understand, Master Blaise is coming over 
 here to see you." 
 
 " May not I be spared that ? He has already brought his 
 message," the girl said, in a low voice. 
 
 " Xay— he comes but in kindness — or more than kindness, 
 if I guess aright. Bethink you, Judith," she said, " 'tis 
 not only the loss of the money — or great or small I know 
 not — that has distressed my father. There was more than 
 that. Nay, do not think I am come to reproach you ; but 
 will it not be ever thus, so long as yon v. ill be ruled by 
 none, but must always go your own way ? There was more 
 than merely concerned money-affairs in my father's letter, 
 as doubtless Master Blaise hath told you ; and then think of 
 it, Judith, how 'twill be when the bruit of the story comes 
 down to Stratford " 
 
 '• 1 care not," was the perfectly calm answer. " That is 
 lor me to bear. Can Master Blaise tell me how I may
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 323 
 
 restore to my father this that he has lost ? Then his visit 
 might be more welcome, Susan." 
 
 " Why will you harden your heart so ? " the elder sister 
 said, with some touch of entreaty in her tone. " Nay, 
 think of it, Judith ! Here is an answer to all. If you but 
 listen to him, and favour him, you will have one always 
 with you as a sure guide and counsellor ; and who then 
 may dare say a word against you ? " 
 
 " Then he comes to save my good name ? " the girl said, 
 with a curious change of manner. " Nay, I will give him 
 no such tarnished prize." 
 
 And here it occurred to the elder sister — who was suffi- 
 ciently shrewd and observant — that her intercession did 
 not seem to be producing good results ; and she con- 
 sidered it better that the parson should speak for himself. 
 Indeed she hoped she had done no mischief ; for this that 
 she now vaguely suggested had for long been the dream and 
 desire of both her mother and herself ; and at this moment, 
 if ever, there was a chance of Judith's being obedient aud 
 compliant. Not only did she forthwith change the subject, 
 but also she managed to conquer the intense longing that 
 possessed her to learn something further about the young 
 man who (as she imagined) had for a time captured 
 Judith's fancies. She gave her sister what news there was 
 in the town. She besought her to take care of herself, aud 
 to go out as much as possible — for that she was looking far 
 from well. And finally, when the girl confessed that she 
 was fain to lie down for a space (having slept so little 
 during these two nights), she put some things over her, 
 and quietly left, hoping that she might soon get to sleep. 
 
 Judith did not rest long, however. The question whether 
 the sacrifice of her marriage-portion might not do some- 
 thing towards retrieving the disaster she had caused was 
 still harassing her mind ; and then again there was the 
 prospect of the parson coming on the morrow. By and by 
 — when she was certain that her mother and sister were 
 gone — she went downstairs, and began to help in doinu' 
 this or the other little thing about the house. Her grand- 
 mother was out-of-doors, and so did not know to interfere, 
 though the small maidservant remonstrated as best she 
 might. Luckily, however, nature was a more imperative 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 monitress ; and again and again the girl had to sit down 
 from sheer physical weakness. 
 
 But there came over a visitor in the afternoon who 
 restored to her something of her old spirit. It was little 
 Willie Hart, who, having timidly tapped at the open door 
 without, came along the passage, and entered the dusky 
 chamber where she was. 
 
 " Ah, sweetheart," said she (but with a kind of sudden 
 sob in her throat), " have you come to see me ? " 
 
 " I heard that you were not well, cousin," said he, and 
 he regarded her with troubled and anxious eyes as she 
 stooped to kiss him. 
 
 " Nay, I am well enough," said she, with as much cheer- 
 fulness as she could muster. " Fret not yourself about 
 that. And what a studious scholar you are, cousin Willie, 
 to be sure, that must needs bring your book with you ! 
 Were I not so ignorant myself I should hear you your 
 tasks ; but you would but laugh at me " 
 
 " 'Tis no task book, Judith," said he diffidently. " 'Twas 
 Prudence who lent it to me." 
 
 And then he hesitated, through shyness. 
 
 " Why, you know, Judith," he said, " you have spoken to 
 me many a time about Sir Philip Sidney ; and I was asking 
 this one and the other, at times ; and Prudence said she 
 would show me a book he had written, that belongs to her 
 brother. And then to-day when I went to her, she bade 
 me bring the book to you, and to read to you, for that you 
 were not well, and might be pleased to hear it, she not 
 being able to come over till the morrow." 
 
 " In truth, now, that was well thought of and friendly," 
 said she, and she put her hand in a kindly fashion on his 
 shoulder. "And you have come all the way over to read 
 to me — see you how good a thing it is to be wise and in- 
 structed ! Well, then, we will go and sit by the door, that 
 you may have more of light ; and if my grandmother catch 
 us at such idleness you shall have to defend me — you shall 
 have to defend me, sweetheart — for you are the man of us 
 two, and I must be shielded." 
 
 So they went to the door and sate down on the step — 
 the various-coloured garden, and the trees, and the wide 
 heavens all shining before them.
 
 A LOST ARCADIA 325 
 
 " And what is the tale, cousin Willie ? " said she, quite 
 pleasantly (for indeed she was glad to see the boy, and to 
 chat with one who had no reproaches for her, who knew 
 nothing against her, but was ever her true lover and slave). 
 "Nay, if it be by Sir Philip Sidney, 'twill be of gallant and 
 noble knights assuredly." 
 
 " I know not, cousin Judith," said he ; "I but looked at 
 the beginning as I came through the fields. And this is 
 how it goes." 
 
 He opened the book, and began to read — 
 
 " It was in the time that the Earth begins to put on her 
 new apparel against the approach of her lover, and that the 
 sun running a most even course becomes an indifferent 
 arbiter between the night and the day, when the hopeless 
 shepherd Strephon was come to the sands which lie against 
 the island of Cithera, where, viewing the place with a 
 heavy kind of delight, and sometimes casting his eyes to the 
 isleward, he called his friendly rival the pastor Claius unto 
 him ; and, setting first down in his darkened countenance 
 a doleful copy of what he would speak, ' my Claius,' 
 said he " 
 
 Thus he went on ; and as he read, her face grew more 
 and more wistful. It was a far-off land that she heard of, 
 and beautiful it was ; it seemed to her that she had been 
 dwelling in some such land, careless and all unknowing. 
 
 " The third day after," she vaguely heard him say, 
 " in the time that the morning did strew roses and violets 
 in the heavenly floor against the coming of the sun, the 
 nightingales, striving one with the other which could in 
 most dainty variety recount their wrong-caused sorrow, 
 made them put off their sleep ; and, rising from under a 
 tree, which that night had been their pavilion, they went 
 on their journey, which by and by welcomed Musidorus' 
 eyes with delightful prospects. There were hills which 
 garnished their proud heights with stately trees ; humble 
 valleys whose base estate seemed comforted with the re- 
 freshing of silver rivers ; meadows enamelled with all sorts 
 of eye-pleasing flowers ; thickets which, being lined with 
 most pleasant shade, were witnessed so to, by the cheerful 
 disposition of many well-tuned birds ; each pasture stored 
 with sheep, feeding with sober security, while the pretty
 
 326 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dams' comfort ; 
 here a shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be 
 old ; there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal sing- 
 ing : and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to 
 work, and her hands kept time to her voice-music." 
 
 Surely she had herself been living in some such land of 
 pleasant delights, without a thought that ever it would end 
 for her, but that each following day would be as full of 
 mirth and laughter as its predecessor. She scarcely listened 
 to the little lad now. She was looking back over the years. 
 So rare and bright and full of light and colour were they — 
 and always a kind of music in them — and laughter at the 
 sad eyes of lovers. She had never known how happy she 
 had been. It was all distant now — the idle flower-gather- 
 ing in the early spring-time ; the afternoon walking in the 
 meadows, she and Prudence together (with the young lads 
 regarding them askance) ; the open casements on the moon- 
 lit nights, to hear the madrigal-singing of the youths going 
 home ; or the fair and joyous mornings that she was 
 allowed to ride away in the direction of Oxford, to meet her 
 father and his companions coming in to Stratford town. 
 And now — when next he should come — to all of them — and 
 all of them welcoming him — even neighbours and half- 
 strangers — and he laughing to them all, and getting off his 
 horse, and calling for a cup of wine as he strode into the 
 house : where should she be ? Not with all of these — not 
 laughing and listening to the merry stories of the journey — 
 but away by herself, hiding herself as it were, and thinking, 
 alone. 
 
 " Dear Judith, but why are you crying ? " said the little 
 lad as he chanced to look up ; and his face was of an 
 instant and troubled anxiety. 
 
 " Why, 'tis a fair land — oh, indeed, a fair land," said she, 
 with an effort at regarding the book, and pretending to be 
 wholly interested in it. " Nay, I would hear more of 
 Musidorus, sweetheart, and of that pretty country. I pray 
 you continue the reading — continue the reading, sweet- 
 heart Willie. Nay, I never heard of a fairer country, I 
 assure thee, in all the wide world 1 "
 
 A RESOLVE 327 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A RESOLVE. 
 
 Then that night, as she lay awake in the dark, her in- 
 cessant imaginings shaped themselves towards one end. 
 This passion of grief she knew to be unavailing and 
 fruitless. Something she would try to do if but to give 
 evidence of her contrition ; for how could she bear that her 
 father should think of her as one having done him this 
 harm and still going on light-hearted and unconcerned ? 
 The parson was coming over on the morrow. And if she 
 were to put away her maidenly pride (and other vague 
 dreams that she had sometimes dreamed), and take it that 
 her consent would re-establish her in the eyes of those who 
 were now regarding her askance, and make her peace with 
 her own household ? And if the surrender of her marriage- 
 portion and her interest in the Chapel Lane property 
 (whatever it might be) were in a measure to mitigate her 
 father's loss ? It was the only thing she could think of. 
 And if at times she looked forward with a kind of shudder 
 (for in the night-time all prospects wear a darker hue) to 
 her existence as the parson's wife, again there came to her 
 the reflection that it was not for her to repine. Some 
 sacrifice was due from her. And could she not be as 
 resolute as the daughter of the Gileadite ? Oftentimes 
 she had heard the words read out in the still afternoon : 
 " Now when Iphtah came to Mizpeh unto his house, behold 
 his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and 
 dances : which was his only child ; he had none other son 
 nor daughter. And when he saw her he rent his clothes, 
 and said, Alas, my daughter, thou hast brought me low, 
 and art of them that trouble me." The Jewish maiden 
 had done no ill, and yet was brave to suffer ; why should 
 she repine at any sacrifice demanded of her to atone for 
 her own wrong-doing ? What else was there ? She hoped 
 that Susan and her mother would be pleased now ; and 
 that her father and his friends in London would not 
 have any serious loss to regret. There was but the one 
 way, she said to herself again and again. She was almost
 
 328 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 anxious for the parson to come over, to see if he would 
 approve. 
 
 With the daylight her determination became still more 
 clear, and also she saw more plainly the difficulties before 
 her. For it could not be deemed a very seemly and 
 maidenly thing, that she, on being asked to become a bride 
 (and she had no doubt that was his errand), should begin 
 to spsak of her marriage-portion. But would he under- 
 stand ? Would he help her over her embarrassment ? 
 Nay, she could not but reflect, here was an opportunity for 
 his showing himself generous and large-minded. He had 
 always professed, or at least intimated, that his wish to 
 have her for wife was based mostly on his care for herself 
 and his regard for the general good of the pious community 
 to which he belonged. She was to be a helpmate for one 
 labouring in the Lord's vineyard ; she was to be of service 
 in the Church ; she was to secure for herself a constant 
 and loving direction and guidance. And now if he wished 
 to prove all this — if he wished to show himself so noble 
 and disinterested as to win for himself her lifelong gratitude 
 —what if he were to take over all her niarriage-portion, as 
 that might be arranged, and forthwith and chivalrously 
 hand it back again, so that her grievous fault should so far 
 be condoned ? If the girl had been in her usual condition 
 of health and spirits it is probable that she would have 
 regarded this question with a trifle of scepticism (for she was 
 about as shrewd in such matters as Susan herself) nay, it 
 is just probable that she might have experienced a malicious 
 joy in putting him to the proof. But she was in despair ; 
 her nerves were gone through continual wakefulness and 
 mental torture ; this was the only direction in which she 
 saw light before her ; and she regarded it, not with her 
 ordinary faculty of judgment, but with a kind of pathetic 
 hope. 
 
 Master Blaise arrived in the course of the morning. 
 His reception was not auspicious, for the old dame met him 
 at the gate and made more than a show of barring the way. 
 
 " Indeed, good sir," said she, firmly, " the wench be far 
 from well now, and I would have her left alone." 
 
 He answered that his errand was of some importance, 
 and that he must crave a few minutes' interview. Both
 
 A RESOLVE 329 
 
 her mother and sister, he said, were aware he was coming 
 over to see her, and had made no objection. 
 
 " No, no, perchance not," the grandmother said, though 
 without budging an inch, " but she be under my care now, 
 and I will have no harm befall her " 
 
 " Harm, good Mistress Hathaway ? " said he. 
 
 " Well, she be none so strong as she were — and — and 
 perchance there hath been overmuch lecturing of the poor 
 lass. Nay, I doubt not 'twas meant in kindness, but there 
 hath been overmuch of it, as I reckon, and what I say is, 
 if the wench have done amiss, let those that have the right 
 to complain come to her. Nay, 'twas kindness, good sir ; 
 'twas well meant, I doubt not, and 'tis your calling belike 
 to give counsel and reproof ; I say naught against that, but 
 I am of a mind to have my grandchild left alone at 
 present." 
 
 "If you refuse me, good Mistress Hathaway," said he, 
 quite courteously and calmly, " there is no more to be said. 
 But I imagine that her mother and sister will be surprised. 
 And as for the maiden herself — go you by her wishes ? " 
 
 "Nay, not I," was the bold answer. "I know better 
 than all of them together. For to speak plain with you, 
 good Master parson, your preaching must have been over 
 sharp when last you were within here, and was like to have 
 brought the wench to death's door thereafter — marry, she 
 be none so far recovered as to risk any further of such 
 treatment. Perchance you meant no harm ; but she is 
 proud and high-spirited, and, by your leave, good sir, we 
 will see her a little stronger and better set up ere she have 
 any more of the discipline of the Church bestowed on her." 
 
 It was well that Judith appeared at this juncture, for 
 the tone of the old dame's voice was growing more and 
 more tart. 
 
 " Grandmother," said she, " I would speak with Master 
 Blaise." 
 
 " Get thee within-doors at once, I tell thee, wench;" was 
 the peremptory rejoinder. 
 
 " No, good grandmother, so please you," Judith said, " I 
 must speak with him. There is much of importance that 
 I have to say to him. Good sir, will you step into the 
 garden ? "
 
 33o JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The old dame withdrew, sulky and grumbling, and 
 evidently inclined to remain within earshot, lest she should 
 deem it necessary to interfere. Judith preceded Master 
 Blaise to the door of the cottage, and asked the little maid 
 to bring out a couple of chairs. As she sate down, he 
 could not but observe how wan and worn her face was, and 
 how listless she was in manner ; but he made no comment 
 on that ; he only remarked that her grandmother seemed 
 in no friendly mood this morning, and that only the fact 
 that his mission was known to Susan and her mother had 
 caused him to persist. 
 
 It was clear that this untoward reception had discon- 
 certed him somewhat, and it was some little time before he 
 could recover that air of mild authority with which he was 
 accustomed to convey his counsels. At first he confined 
 himself to telling Judith what he had done on behalf of her 
 mother and Susan — in obedience to their wishes ; but by 
 and by he came to herself and her own situation, and he 
 hoped that this experience through which she had passed, 
 though it might have caused her bitter distress for the time, 
 would eventually make for good. If the past could not be 
 recalled, at least the future might be made safe. Indeed, 
 one or two phrases he had used sounded as if they had done 
 some previous service ; perhaps he had consulted with Mrs. 
 Hall ere making this appeal ; but in any case Judith was 
 not listening so particularly as to think of that— she seemed 
 to know beforehand what he had to say. 
 
 To tell the truth, he was himself a little surprised at her 
 tacit acquiescence. He had always had to argue with 
 Judith ; and many a time he had found that her subtle 
 feminine wit was capable of extricating herself from what he 
 considered a defenceless position. But now she sate almost 
 silent. She seemed to agree to everything. There was not 
 a trace left of the old audacious self-reliance, nor yet of 
 those saucy rejoinders which were only veiled by her pro- 
 fessed'respect for his cloth. She was at his mercy. 
 
 And so, growing bolder, he put in his own personal 
 claim. He said little that he had not said or hinted on 
 previous occasions ; but now all the circumstances were 
 changed ; this heavy misfortune that had befallen her was 
 but another and all too cogent reason why she should accept
 
 A RESOLVE 331 
 
 his offer of shelter and aid and counsel, seeing into what 
 pitfalls her own unguided steps were like to lead her. 
 
 " I speak the words of truth and soberness," said he, as 
 he sate and calmly regarded her downcast face, " and make 
 no appeal to the foolish fancies of a young and giddy-headed 
 girl, for that you are no longer, Judith. The years are 
 going by. There must come a time in life when the enjoy- 
 ment of the passing moment is not all in all ; when one 
 must look to the future, and make provision for sickness 
 and old age. Death strikes here and there ; friends fall 
 away ; what a sad thing it were to find oneself alone — the 
 dark clouds of life thickening over, and none by to help 
 and cheer ! Then your mother and sister, Judith " 
 
 " Yes, I know," she said, almost in despair. " I know 
 'twould please them." 
 
 And then she reflected that this was scarcely the manner 
 in which she should receive his offer, that was put before 
 her so plainly and with so much calm sincerity. 
 
 " I pray you, good sir," said she, in a kind of languid 
 way, "forgive me if I answer you not as frankly as might 
 be. I have been ill ; my head aches now ; perchance I 
 have not followed all you said. But I understand it — I 
 understand it — and in all you say there is naught but good 
 intention." 
 
 " Then it is yes, Judith ? " he exclaimed ; and for the first 
 time there was a little brightness of ardour — almost of 
 triumph — in this clearly conceived and argued wooing. 
 
 " It would please my mother and sister," she repeated 
 slowly. "They are afraid of some story coming from 
 London about — about — what is passed. This would be an 
 answer, would it not ? " 
 
 " Why, yes ! " he said confidently, for he saw that she 
 was yielding (and his own susceptibilities were not likely to 
 be wounded in that direction). " Think you we should 
 heed any tavern scurrility ? I trow not ! There would be 
 the answer plain and clear — if you were my wife, Judith ! " 
 
 " They would be pleased," again she said, and her eyes 
 were absent. And then she added : "I pray you pardon 
 me, good sir, if I speak of that which you may deem out of 
 p] ace — but — but if you knew — how I have been striving to 
 think of some means of repairing the wrong I have done
 
 332 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 my father, you would not wonder that I should be anxious, 
 and perchance indiscreet. You know of the loss I have 
 caused him and his companions. How could I ever make 
 that good with the work of my own hands ? That is not 
 possible ; and yet when I think of how he hath toiled for 
 all of us — late and early, as it were — why, good sir, I have 
 myself been bold enough to chide him — or to wish that I 
 were a man to ride forth in the morning in his stead and 
 look after the land ; and then that his own daughter should 
 be the means of taking from him what he hath earned so 
 hardly — that I should never forget ; 'twould be on my 
 mind year after year ; even if he were himself to try to 
 forget it." 
 
 She paused for a second ; the mere effort of speaking 
 seemed to fatigue her. 
 
 " There is but the one means, as I can think, of showing 
 him my humble sorrow for what has been done— of making 
 him some restitution. I know not what my marriage-portion 
 may be — but 'twill be something — and Susan says there is 
 the house in Dead Lane also, that would fall to me ; now, 
 see you, good Master Blaise, if I were to give these over to 
 my father in part quittance of this injury — or if belike — 
 my — my — husband would do that — out of generosity and 
 nobleness — would not my father be less aggrieved ? " 
 
 She had spoken rather quickly and breathlessly (to get 
 over her embarrassment), and now she regarded him with 
 a strange anxiety, for so much depended on his answer ! 
 Would he understand her motives ? Would he pardon 
 her bluntness ? Would he join her in this scheme of 
 restitution ? 
 
 He hesitated only for a moment. 
 
 " Dear Judith," he said, with perfect equanimity, " such 
 matters are solely within the province of men, and not at 
 the disposition of women, who know less of the affairs of 
 the world. Whatever arrangements your father may have 
 made in respect of your marriage-portion — truly I have 
 made no inquiry in that direction — he will have made with 
 due regard to his own circumstances, and with regard to 
 the family and to your future. Would he be willing to up- 
 set these in order to please a girlish fancy ? Why, in all 
 positions in life, pecuniary losses must happen ; and a man
 
 A RESOLVE 333 
 
 takes account of these ; and is he likely to recover himself 
 at the expense of his own daughter ? " 
 
 " Nay, but if she he willing ! If she would give all that 
 she hath, good sir ! " she cried quickly. 
 
 " 'Twould be but taking it from one pocket to put it in 
 the other," said he, in his patient and forbearing way. " I 
 say not, if a man were like to become bankrupt, that his 
 family might not forego their expectations in order to save 
 him ; but your father is one in good position. Think you 
 that the loss is so great to him ? In truth it cannot be." 
 
 The eagerness fell away from her face. She saw too 
 clearly that he could not understand her at all. She did 
 not reckon her father's loss in proportion to his wealth — in 
 truth, she could not form the faintest notion of what that 
 loss might be : all her thought was of her winning back (in 
 socie remote day, if that were still possible to her) to her 
 father's forgiveness, and the regarding of his face as no 
 longer in dread wrath against her. 
 
 " Why," said he, seeing that she sate silent and distraught 
 (for all the hope had gone out of her), " in every profession 
 and station in life a man must have here or there a loss, 
 as I say ; but would he rob his family to make that good ? 
 Surely not. Of what avail might that be ? 'Tis for them 
 that he is working ; 'tis not for himself ; why should he 
 take from them to build up a property which must in due 
 course revert and become theirs ? I pray you put such 
 fancies out of your head, Judith ? Women are not accus- 
 tomed to deal with such matters ; 'tis better to have them 
 settled in the ordinary fashion. Were I you I would leave 
 it in your father's hands." 
 
 " And have him think of me as he is thinking now ! " 
 she said, in a kind of wild way. " Ah ! good sir, you know 
 not ! — yon know not ! Every day that passes is but the 
 deeper misery — for — he will be hardened in the belief — 
 'twill be fixed in his mind for ever — that his own daughtf r 
 did him this wrong ; and went on lightly — not heeding — • 
 perchance to seek another sweetheart. This he is thinking 
 now ; and I — what can I do ? — being so far away — and 
 none to help ! " 
 
 "In truth, dear Judith," said he, "you make too much 
 of your share in what happened. 'Tis not to you your
 
 334 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 father should look for reparation of his loss, but to the 
 scoundrel who carried the play to London. What punish- 
 ment would it be for him — or what gain to your father — ■ 
 that your father should upset the arrangements he has made 
 for the establishment and surety of his own family ? Nay, 
 I pray you put aside such a strange fancy, dear heart ; and 
 let such things take their natural course." 
 
 " In no wise, in no wise ! " she exclaimed, almost in 
 despair. "In truth, I cannot. 'Twould kill me were 
 nothing to be done to appease my father's anger ; and I 
 thought that if he were to learn that you had sought me in 
 marriage — and — and agreed that such restitution as I can 
 make should be made forthwith — or afterwards, as might 
 be decided — but only that he should know now that I give 
 up everything he had intended for me — then I should have 
 greater peace of mind." 
 
 " Indeed, Judith," said he, somewhat coldly, " I could 
 be no party to any such foolish freak — nay, not even in 
 intention, whatever your father might say to it. The very 
 neighbours would think I was bereft of my senses. And 
 'twould be an ill beginning of our life together — in which 
 there must ever be authority and guidance as well as 
 dutiful obedience — if I were to yield to what every one 
 must perceive to be an idle and fantastic wish. I pray 
 you consult your own sober judgment ; at present you are 
 ailing and perturbed : rest you a while until these matters 
 have calmed somewhat, and you will see them in their true 
 light." 
 
 " No, no," she said, hurriedly and absently. " No, no, 
 good sir ; you know not what you ask. Kest ? Nay, one 
 way or the other this must be done, and forthwith. I 
 know not what he may have intended for me ; but be it 
 large or small 'tis all that I have to give him — I can do 
 no more than that — and then — then there may be some 
 thoughts of rest." 
 
 She spoke as if she were scarcely aware of the good 
 parson's " presence ; and in truth, though he was not one 
 to allow any wounded self-love to mar his interests, he 
 could not conceal from himself that she was considering 
 the proposal he had put before her mainly, if hot wholly, 
 with a view to the possible settlement of these troubles
 
 A RESOLVE 335 
 
 and the appeasing of her friends. Whether, in other 
 circumstances, he might not have calmly overlooked this 
 slight, needs not now be regarded ; in the present circum- 
 stances — that is to say, after her announced determination 
 to forego every penny of her marriage-portion — he did take 
 notice of it, and with some sharpness of tone, as if he were 
 truly offended. 
 
 " Indeed you pay me no compliment, Judith," said he. 
 " I come to offer you the shelter of an honest man's home, 
 an honourable station as his wife, a lifelong guidance and 
 protection ; and what is your answer ? — that perchance you 
 may make use of such an offer to please your friends and 
 to pay back to your father what you foolishly think you 
 owe him. If these be the only purposes you have in view 
 — and you seem to think of none other — 'twould be a 
 sorry forecast for the future, as I take it. At the very 
 beginning an act of madness ! Nay, I could be no party to 
 any such thing. If you refuse to be guided by me in great 
 matters, how could I expect you to be guided in small ? " 
 
 These words, uttered in his clear and precise and 
 definite manner, she but vaguely understood (for her head 
 troubled her sorely, and she was tired, and anxious to be 
 at rest) to be a withdrawal of his proposal ; but that was 
 enough, and perhaps she even experienced some slight sense 
 of relief. As for his rebuking of her, she heeded not that. 
 
 ' ; As you will, sir, as you will," she said listlessly ; and she 
 rose from her chair. 
 
 And he rose too. Perhaps he was truly offended, per- 
 haps he only appeared to be ; but at all events he bade her 
 farewell in a cold and formal manner, and as if it were he 
 who had brought this interview to an end, and that for 
 good. 
 
 " What said he, wench, what said he ? " her grandmother 
 asked (who had been pretending all the time to be gathering 
 peas, and now came forward). " Nay, I caught but little — 
 a word here or there — and yet methinks 'tis a brave way of 
 wooing they have nowadays, that would question a maid 
 about her marriage-portion ! Heaven's mercy, did ever any 
 hear the like ? 'Twas not so when I was young — nay, a 
 maid would have bade him go hang that brought her such 
 a tale. Oh, the good parson ! — his thoughts be not all
 
 336 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 bent on heaven, I warrant me ! Ay, and what said he ? 
 And what saidst thou, wench ? Truly you be in no fit state 
 to answer him ; were you well enough, and in your usual, 
 the good man would have his answer — ay, as sharp as need 
 be. But I will say no more ; Master Quiney hath a venge- 
 ful spirit, and perchance he hath set me too much against 
 the good man ; but as for thyself, lass, there bo little cause 
 for talking further of thy offences, if 'tis thy marringe- 
 portion the parson be after now ! " 
 
 " Good grandmother, give me your arm," Judith said, in 
 a strange way. " My head is so strange and giddy. I know 
 not what I have said to him — I scarce can recollect it — if 
 I have offended bid him forgive me — but — but I would 
 have him remain away." 
 
 "As I am a living woman," said the old dame (forgetting 
 her resolve to speak smooth words), "he shall not come 
 within the door nor yet within that gate while you bide with 
 me and would have him kept without ! What, then ? 
 More talk of chastenings ? Marry, now, Thomas Quiney 
 shall hear of this — that shall he — by my life he shall ! " 
 
 " No, no, no, good grandmother, pray you blame no one," 
 the girl said — and she was trembling somewhat. " 'Tis I 
 that have done all the harm — to every one. But I know 
 not what I said — I — I — would fain lie down, grandmother, 
 if you will give me your arm so far — 'tis so strangely cold 
 — I understand it not — and I forget what was't he said to 
 me — but I trust I offended him not " 
 
 " Nay, but what is it, then, my dearie ? " the old woman 
 said, taking both the girl's hands in hers. " What is it that 
 you should fret about ? Nay, fret not, fret not, good 
 wench ; the parson be well away, and there let him bide. 
 And would you lie down ? — well, come, then ; but sure you 
 shake as if 'twere winter. Come, lass ! — nay, fret not, we 
 will keep the parson away, I warrant, if 'tis that that vexes 
 thee ! " 
 
 " No, grandmother, 'tis not so," the girl said, in a low 
 voice. " Twas down by the river, as I think — 'twas chilly 
 there — I have felt it ever since from time to time — but 
 'twill pass away when I am lain down and become warm 
 again." 
 
 " Heaven grant it be no worse," the old dame said to
 
 A RESOLVE 337 
 
 herself, as she shrewdly looked at the girl ; but of course 
 her outward talk, as she took her within-doors, was osten- 
 sibly cheerful. " Come thy ways, then, sweeting, and we 
 shall soon make thee warm enough. Ay, ay, and Prudence 
 be coming over this afternoon, as I hear ; and no doubt 
 Thomas Quiney too ; and thou must get thyself dressed 
 prettily, and have supper with us all, though 'tis no treat to 
 offer to a man of his own wine. Nay, I warrant me he will 
 think naught of that, so thou be there with a pleasant look 
 for him ; he will want nor wine nor aught else if he have 
 but that, and a friendly word from thee, as I reckon ; ay, 
 and thou shalt put on the lace cuffs, now, to do him fair 
 service for his gift to thee— that shalt thou, and why not ? 
 — I swear to thee, my brave lass, they be fit for a 
 queen ! " 
 
 And she would comfort her, and help her (just as if this 
 granddaughter of hers, that always was so bright, and gay, 
 and radiant, so self-willed and self-reliant, with nothing but 
 laughter for the sad eyes of the stricken youths, was now 
 but a weak and frightened child, that had to be guarded, 
 and coaxed, and caressed) and would talk as if all her 
 thinking was of that visit in the afternoon ; but the only 
 answer was^ 
 
 " Will you send for Prudence, grandmother ? Oh, grand- 
 mother, my head aches so ! I scarce know what I said." 
 
 Swiftly and secretly the old dame sent across to the 
 town ; and not to Prudence only, but also (for she was 
 grown anxious) to Mistress Hall, to say that if her husband 
 were like to return soon to Stratford he might come over 
 and see Judith, who was far from well. As for Prudence, a 
 word was sufficient to bring her ; she was there straightway. 
 
 She found Judith very much as she had left her ; but 
 somewhat more restless and feverish perhaps ; and then 
 again hopelessly weak and languid ; and always with those 
 racking pains in the head. She said it was nothing — it 
 would soon pass away ; it was but a chill she had caught 
 in sitting on the river-bank : would not Prudence now go 
 back to her duties and her affairs in the house ? 
 
 " Judith," said her friend, leaning over her and speaking 
 low, " I have that to tell thee will comfort thee, mcthinks." 
 
 " Nay, I cannot listen to it now," was the answer — and 
 
 z
 
 333 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 it was a moan almost. " Dear mouse, do not trouble about 
 me — but my head is so bad that I — that I care not now. 
 And the parson is gone away thinking that I have wronged 
 him also — 'tis ever the same now — oh, sweetheart, my head, 
 my head ! " 
 
 " But listen, Judith," the other pleaded. " Nay, but you 
 must know what your friends are ready to do for you — this 
 surely will make thee well, sweetheart. Think of it, now: 
 do you know that Quiney is gone to see your father ? " 
 
 " To my father ? " she repeated, and she tried to raise 
 her head somewhat, so that her eyes might read her friend's 
 face. 
 
 " I am almost sure of it, dear heart," Prudence said, 
 taking her hot hand in hers. " Nay, he would have naught 
 said of it. None of his family know whither he is gone, 
 and I but guess. But this is the manner of it, dear Judith 
 — that he and I were talking ; and sorely vexed he was 
 that your father should be told a wrong story concerning 
 you ; ay, and sorry to see you so shaken, Judith, and 
 distressed ; and, said he, ' What if I were to get a message 
 to her from her father — that he was in no such mood of 
 anger, and had not heard the story aright, and that he was 
 well disposed to her, and grieved to hear she had taken it 
 so much to heart — would not that comfort her ? ' he said. 
 And I answered that assuredly it would, and even more 
 perchance than he thought of ; and I gathered from him 
 that he would write to some one in London to go and see 
 your father and pray him to send you assurance of that 
 kind. But now — nay, I am certain of it, dear Judith — I 
 am certain that he himself is gone all the way to London 
 to bring thee back that comfort ; and will not that cheer 
 thee now, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " He is doing all that for me ? " the girl said, in a low 
 voice, and absently. 
 
 " Ah, but you must be well and cheerful, good mouse, 
 to give him greeting when he comes back," said Prudence, 
 striving to raise her spirits somewhat. " Have I not read 
 to thee many a time how great kings were wont to reward 
 the messengers that brought them good news ? — a gold 
 chain round their neck, or lands perchance. And will you 
 have no word of welcome for him ? Will you not meet
 
 A RESOLVE 339 
 
 him with a glad face ? Why, think of it now — a journey 
 to London, and the perils and troubles by the way — and 
 all done to please thee. Nay, he would say naught of it 
 to any one, lest they might wonder at his doing so much 
 for thee, belike ; but when he comes back 'twere a sorry 
 thing that you should not give him a good and gracious 
 welcome." 
 
 Judith lay silent and thinking for a while ; and then she 
 said — but as if the mere effort to speak were too much for 
 her : 
 
 " Whatever happens, dear Prudence — nay, in truth I 
 think I am very ill — tell him this — that he did me wrong 
 — he thought I had goue to meet the parson that Sunday 
 morning in the churchyard — 'twas not so —tell him it was 
 not so — 'twas but a chance, dear heart — I could not help 
 it " 
 
 " Judith, Judith," her friend said, " these be things for 
 thine own telling. Nay, you shall say that to himself ; 
 and you must speak him fair ; ay, and give him good 
 welcome and thanks that hath done so much for thee." 
 
 Judith put her head down on the pillow again — 
 languidly ; but presently Prudence heard her laugh to 
 herself in a strange way. 
 
 " Last night," she said, " 'twas so wonderful, dear Prue. 
 I thought I was going about in a strange country, looking 
 for my little brother Hamnet, and I knew not whether he 
 would have any remembrance of me. Should I have to 
 tell him my name, I kept asking myself ? And ' Judith, 
 Judith,' I said to him, when I found him, but he scarce 
 knew ; I thought he had forgotten me, 'tis so long ago now. 
 ' Judith, Judith,' I said ; and he looked up, and he was 
 so strangely like little Willie Hart that I wondered whether 
 it was Hamnet or no " 
 
 But Prudence was alarmed by these wanderings, and 
 did her best to hush them. And then, when at length the 
 girl lay silent and still, Prudence stole downstairs again 
 and bade the grandmother go to Judith's room, for that 
 she must at once hurry over to Stratford to speak with 
 Susan Hall. 
 
 z 2
 
 3io JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AREIVALS. 
 
 Some few mornings after that two travellers were standing 
 in the spacious archway of the inn at Shipston, chatting to 
 each other, and occasionally glancing towards the stable- 
 yard, as if they were expecting their horses to be brought 
 round. 
 
 " The wench will thank thee for this service done her," 
 the elder of the two said ; and he regarded the younger 
 man in a shrewd and not unkindly way. 
 
 " Nay, 1 am none well pleased with the issue of it all," 
 the young man said moodily. 
 
 " What, then ? " his companion said. " Can nothing be 
 done and finished but with the breaking of heads ? Must 
 that ever crown the work ? Mercy on us ! — how many 
 would you have slaughtered ? Now 'tis the parson that 
 must be thrown into the Avon ; again it is Gentleman Jack 
 you would have us seek out for you ; and then it is his 
 friend — whose very name Ave know not— that you would 
 pursue through the dens and stews of London town. A 
 hopeful task, truly, for a Stratford youth ! What know you 
 of London, man ? And to pursue one whose very name 
 you know not— and all for the further breaking of heads, 
 that never did any good anywhere in the world." 
 
 " You are right, sir," the younger man said, with some 
 bitterness. " I can brag and bluster as well as any. But I 
 see not that much comes of it. 'Tis easy to break the 
 heads of scoundrels — in talk. Their bones are none the 
 
 worse." 
 
 " And better so," the other said gravely. " I would have 
 no blood shed. What, man, are you still fretting that I 
 would not leave you behind in London ? " 
 
 " Nay, sir, altogether I like not the issue of it," he said, 
 but respectfully enough. "I shall be told, I doubt not, 
 that I might have minded my own business. They will 
 blame me for bringing you all this way, and hindering your 
 affairs." 
 
 " Heaven bless us," said the other, laughing, " may not a
 
 ARRIVALS 341 
 
 man come to see his own daughter without asking leave of 
 the neighbours ? " 
 
 " 'Tis as like as not that she herself will be the first 
 to chide me," the younger man answered. " A message to 
 her was all I asked of you, sir. I dreamt not of hindering 
 your affairs so." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Judith's father, good-naturedly. " I 
 can make the occasion serve me well. Trouble not about 
 that, friend Quiney. If we can cheer up the wench and 
 put her mind at rest — that will be a sufficient end of the 
 journey ; and we will have- no broken heads withal, so 
 please you. And if she herself should have put aside 
 these idle fears, and become her usual self again, why, 
 then, there is no harm done either. I mind me that some 
 of them wondered that I should ride down to see my little 
 Hamnet when he lay sick ; for 'twas no serious illness that 
 time as it turned out ; but what does that make for now ? 
 Now, I tell you, I am right glad I went to see the little 
 lad ; it cheered him to be made so much of ; and such 
 small services or kindnesses are pleasant things for ourselves 
 to think of when those that are dearest to us are no longer 
 with us. So cease your fretting, friend Quiney. For the 
 hindering of my affairs I take it that I am answerable to 
 myself, and not to the good gossips of Stratford town. 
 And if 'tis merely to say a kind word to the lass — if that 
 is all that needs be done — well, there are many things that 
 are of different value to different people ; and the wench 
 and I understand each other shrewdly well." 
 
 The horses were now brought round ; but ere they 
 mounted, Judith's father said — again regarding the youth 
 in that observant way 
 
 " Nay, I see how it is with you, good lad ; you are 
 anxious as to how Judith may take this service you have 
 doue her — is't not so ? " 
 
 "Perchance she may be angry that I called you away, 
 sir," he said. 
 
 " Have no fear. 'Twas none of thy doing. 'Twas but a 
 whim of mine own — nay, there be other and many reasons 
 for my coming — that need not to be explained to her. 
 What, must I make apology to my own daughter ? She is 
 not the guardian of Stratford town ? I am no rogue ; she
 
 342 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 is no constable. May not I enter ? Nay, nay, have no 
 fear, friend Quiney ; when that she comes to understand 
 the heavy errand you undertook for her, she will give you 
 her thanks, or I know nothing of her. Her thanks ? — 
 marry, yes ! " 
 
 He looked at the young man again. 
 
 " But let there be no broken heads, good friend, I 
 charge you," said he, as he put his foot in the stirrup. 
 "If the parson have been over-zealous we will set all 
 matters straight without hurt or harm to any son of 
 Adam." 
 
 And now as they rode on together, the younger man's 
 face seemed more confident and satisfied ; and he was 
 silent for the most part. Of course he would himself be 
 the bearer of the news ; it was but natural that he should 
 claim as much. And as Judith's father intended to go 
 first to New Place, Quiney intimated to him that he would 
 rather not ride through the town ; in fact, he wanted to get 
 straightway (and unobserved if possible) to Shottery, to see 
 how matters were there. 
 
 When he arrived at the little hamlet, Willie Hart was in 
 the garden, and instantly came down to the gate to meet 
 him. He asked no questions of the boy, but begged of him 
 to hold the bridle of his horse for a few minutes ; then he 
 went into the house. 
 
 Just within the threshold he met Judith's sister. 
 
 " Ah," said he, quickly — and even joyously, " I have 
 brought good news. Where is Judith ? May I see her ? 
 I want to tell her that her father is come, and will be here 
 to see her presently " 
 
 And then something in the scared face that was re- 
 garding him struck him with a sudden terror. 
 
 " What is it ? " he said, with his own face become about 
 as pale as hers. 
 
 " Judith is very ill," was the answer. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said eagerly, " and that she was when I 
 left. But now that her father is come, 'twill be all different 
 — 'twill be all set right now. And you will tell her, then, if 
 I may not ? Nay, but may not I see her for a moment — 
 but for a moment — to say how her father is come all the 
 way to see her — ay, and hath a store of trinkets for her.
 
 ARRIVALS 343 
 
 and is come to comfort her into assurance that all will go 
 well. Why, will not such a message cheer her ? " 
 
 " Good Master Quiney," Susan said, with tears welling 
 into her eyes, " if you were to see her she would not know 
 you — she knows no one — she knows not that she is ill — ■ 
 but speaks of herself as some other " 
 
 " But her father ! " he exclaimed in dismay, " will she 
 not know him ? Will she not understand ? Nay, surely 
 'tis not yet too late ! " 
 
 But here Doctor Hall appeared ; and when he was told 
 that Judith's father was come to the town and would 
 shortly be at the cottage, he merely said that perchance 
 his presence might soothe her somewhat, or even lead her 
 delirious wanderings into a gentler channel, but that she 
 would almost certainly be unable to recognise him. Nor 
 was the fever yet at its height, he said, and they could do 
 little for her. They could but wait and hope. As for 
 Quiney, he did not ask to be admitted to the room. He 
 seemed stunned. He sate down in the kitchen- — heeding 
 no one— and vaguely wondering whether any lengthening 
 of the stages of the journey would have brought them in 
 better time. Nay, had he not wasted precious hours in 
 London in vainly seeking to find himself face to face with 
 Jack Orridge ? 
 
 Prudence chanced to come downstairs. As she entered 
 the kitchen he forgot to give her any greeting ; he only 
 said quickly — 
 
 " Think you she will not understand that her father is 
 come to see her ? Surely she must understand so much, 
 Prudence ! You will tell her, will you not ? — and if she 
 sees him standing before her ? " 
 
 " I know not, I am afraid," said Prudence, anxiously. 
 " Perchance it may frighten her the more ; for ever she 
 says that she sees him, and always with an angry face 
 towards her ; and she is for hiding herself away from him 
 — and even talking of the river — good lack, 'tis pitiful— 
 that she should be so struck down — and almost at death's 
 door — and all we can do of so little avail." 
 
 " Prudence," said he, starting to his feet, " there is her 
 father just come ; I hear him ; now take him to her — and 
 you will see — you will see. I may not go ; a strange face
 
 344 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 might frighten her ; but I know she will recognise him — 
 and understand — and he will tell her to have no longer 
 any fear of him ■" 
 
 Prudence hurried away to meet Judith's father, who was 
 in the doorway, getting such information as was possible 
 from the doctor. And then they all of them (all but Quiney) 
 stole gently upstairs ; and they stood at the door in absolute 
 silence ; while Judith's father went forward to the bed — so 
 quietly that the girl did not seem to notice his approach. 
 
 The grandmother was there, sitting by the bedside, and 
 speaking to her in a low voice. 
 
 " Hush thee now, sweeting, hush thee now," she was say- 
 ing, and she patted her hand. " Nay, I know 'twas ill done ; 
 'tis quite right what thou sayst ; they treated her not well ; 
 and the poor wench anxious to please them all. But have 
 no fear for her ; nay, trouble not thy head with thoughts of 
 her ; she be safe at home again, I trust. Hush thee, now, 
 sweeting ; 'twill go well with her, I doubt not ; I swear to 
 thee her father be no longer angry with the wench ; 'twill 
 all go well with her, and well. Have no fear ! " 
 
 The girl looked at her steadily, and yet with a strange 
 light in her eyes, as if she saw distant things before her, or 
 was seeking to recall them. 
 
 " There was Susan too," she said, in a low voice, " that 
 ?ang so sweet— oh, in the church io was so sweet to hear 
 her — but when it was ' The rose is from my garden gone] 
 she would not sing that — though that was ever in her 
 sister's mind after she went away down to the river-side — I 
 cannot think why they would not sing it to her — perchance 
 the parson thought 'twas wicked — I know not now. And 
 when she herself would try it with the lute, nothing would 
 come right — all went wrong with her — all went wrong — and 
 her father came angry and terrible to seek her — and 'twas 
 the parson that would drag her forth — the bushes were not 
 thick enough — good grandam, why should the bushes in the 
 garden be so thin that the terrible eyes peered through them, 
 and she tried to hide, and could not ? " 
 
 " Nay, I tell thee, sweetheart," said the grandmother, 
 whispering to her, " that the poor wench you speak of went 
 home ; and all were well content with her ; and her father 
 was right pleased — indeed, indeed 'twas so."
 
 ARRIVALS 315 
 
 " Poor Judith, poor Judith," the girl murmured to 
 herself ; and then she laughed slightly. " She was ever the 
 stupid one ; naught would go right with her ; ay, and evil- 
 tempered she was, too, for Quiney would ride all the way to 
 London for her, and she thanked him with never a word or 
 a look — never a word or a look, and he going all the way 
 to please her. Poor wench, all went wrong with her some- 
 how ; but they might have let her go ; she was so anxious 
 to hide ; and then to drag her forth — from under the 
 bushes — grandam, it was cruelly done of them, was it 
 not ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, but hush thee, now, dearie," her grandmother 
 said, as she put a cool cloth on the burning forehead. " 'Tis 
 quite well now with the poor wench you speak of." 
 
 Her father drew nearer, and took her hand quietly. 
 
 "Judith," said he, " poor lass, I am come to see you." 
 
 For an instant there was a startled look of fear in her 
 eyes ; but that passed, and she regarded him, at first, with 
 a kind of smiling wonder, and thereafter with a contented 
 satisfaction, as though his presence was familiar. Nay, she 
 turned her attention altogether towards him now, and 
 addressed him — not in any heart-broken way, but cheerfully, 
 and as if he had been listening to her all along. It was 
 clear that she did not in the least know who he was. 
 
 "There, now, lass," said he, "knowest thou that Quiney 
 and I have ridden all the way from London to see thee ; 
 and thou must lie still and rest ; and get well again, ere we 
 can carry thee out into the garden." 
 
 She was looking at him with those strangely brilliant 
 eyes. 
 
 " But not into the garden," she said, in a vacant kind of 
 way. " That is all gone away now — gone away. 'Twas long 
 ago — when poor Judith used to go into the garden — and 
 right fair and beautiful it was — ay, and her father would 
 praise her hair, and the colour of it — until he grew angry, 
 and drove her away far from him — and then — and then- 
 she wandered down to the river — and always Susan's song 
 was in her mind — or the other one, that was near as sad as 
 that, about the western wind, was it not ? How went it 
 now ? — • 
 
 " Western wind, when will you hhw ? "
 
 346 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Nay, I cannot recall it— 'tis gone out of my head, grandam, 
 and there is only fire there — and fire— and fire — 
 
 " Western ivind, wlien icill you How?" 
 
 it went — and then about the rain next, what was it ? — 
 
 " So weary falls the rain ! " 
 Ay, ay, that was it now— I remember Susan singing it — 
 
 " Western wind, when will you blowl 
 So weary falls the rain I 
 if my love were in my arms, 
 Or I in my bed again ! " 
 
 And here she turned away from them and fell a-crying, 
 and hid from them, as it were, covering her face with both 
 her hands. 
 
 "Grandmother, grandmother," they could hear her say 
 through her sobbing, " there was but the one rose in my 
 garden — and that is gone now — they have robbed me of 
 that— and what cared I for aught else ? And Quiney is 
 gone too, without a word or a look — without a word or a 
 look— and here he be come back— well, I shall be away by 
 th en — he will have no need to quarrel with me and think 
 ill of me that I chanced to meet the parson. "lis all over 
 now, grandmother, and done with, and you will let me abide 
 with you for just a little while longer— a little while, grand- 
 mother ; 'tis no great matter for so little a while, though I 
 cannot help you as I would— but Cicely is a good lass— 
 and 'twill be for a little while— for last night again I found 
 Hamnet — ay, ay, he hath all tilings in readiness now— all 
 
 in readiness " And then she uttered a slight cry — or 
 
 moan rather. "Grandmother, grandmother, why do you 
 not keep the parson away from me ! — you said that you 
 would ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush, child," the grandmother said, bending over 
 her and speaking softly and closely. "You are over-con- 
 cerned about the poor lass that was treated so ill. Take 
 heart now ; I tell thee all is going well with her ; her father 
 hath taken her home again, and she is as happy as the day 
 is long. Nay, I swear to thee, good wench, if thou lie still
 
 AN AWAKENING 347 
 
 and restful, I will take thee to see her some of these days. 
 Hush thee now, dearie ; 'tis going right well with the lass 
 now." 
 
 The doctor touched the arm of Judith's father, and they 
 both withdrew. 
 
 " She knew you not," said he. " And the fewer people 
 around her the better — they set her fancies wandering." 
 
 They went downstairs to where Quiney was awaiting 
 them ; and the sombre look on their faces told its own 
 tale. 
 
 " She is in danger ! " he said quickly. 
 
 The doctor was busy with his own thoughts, but he 
 glanced at the young man, and saw the burning anxiety of 
 his eyes. 
 
 " The fever must run its course," said he, " and Judith 
 hath had a brave constitution these many years that I fear 
 not will make a good fight. 'Twas a sore pity that she 
 was so distressed and stricken down in spirits, as I hear, 
 ere the fever seized her." 
 
 Quiney turned to the window. 
 
 " Too late — too late," said he. " And yet I spared not 
 the nag." 
 
 " You have done all that man could do," her father said, 
 going to him. " Nay, had I myself guessed that she was in 
 such peril — but 'tis past recall now." 
 
 And then he took the young man by the hand and 
 grasped it firmly. 
 
 " Good lad," said he, " this that you did for us was a right 
 noble act of kindness, and I trust in heaven's mercy that 
 Judith herself may live to thank yon. As for me, my 
 thanks to you are all too poor and worthless : I must be 
 content to remain your debtor — and your friend." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AN AWAKENING. 
 
 It was going ill with her. Lute one night Quiney, who 
 had kept hovering about the house, never able to sit 
 patiently and watch the anxious coming and going within- 
 doors, and never able to tear himself away but for a few
 
 348 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 hundred yards, wandered out into the clear starlit darkness. 
 His heart was full. They had told him the crisis was near 
 at hand. And almost it seemed to him that it was already 
 over. Judith was going away from them. And those 
 stars overhead — he knew but little of their names, he under- 
 stood but little of the vast immensities and deeps that lay 
 between them ; they were to him but as grains of light on 
 a darkened floor ; and far above that floor rose the wonder- 
 ful shining city that he had heard of in the Book of Keve- 
 lation. And already — so wild and unstrung were his 
 fancies — he could see the four square walls of Jasper, and. 
 the gates of pearl, and the wide white steps leading up to 
 these ; and who was that who went all alone — giving no 
 backward thought to any she was leaving behind — up those 
 shining steps, with a strange light on her forehead and on 
 her trembling hands ? He saw her slowly kneel at the 
 gate, her head meekly bowed, her hands clasped. And 
 when they opened it, and when she rose, and made to 
 enter, he could have cried aloud to her for one backward 
 look, one backward thought, towards Stratford town and 
 the friends of her childhood and her youth. Alas ! there 
 was no such thing. There was wonder on her face, as 
 she turned to this side and to that ; and she went hesitat- 
 ingly ; and when they took her hands to lead her forward, 
 she regarded them — this side and that — pleased, and 
 wondering, and silent ; but there was never a thought 
 of Stratford town. Could that be Judith that was going 
 away from them so — she that all of them had known so 
 dearly ? And to leave her own friends without one word 
 of farewell ! Those others there — she went with them 
 smiling and wondering, and looking in silence from one to 
 the other — but she knew them not. Her friends were 
 here — here — with breaking hearts because she had gone 
 away and forgotten them, and vanished within those far- 
 shining gates. 
 
 And then some sudden and sullen thought of the future 
 would overtake him. The injunctions laid on him by 
 Judith's father could not be expected to last for ever. 
 And if this were to be so — if the love and desire of his 
 youth were to be stolen away from him — if her bright 
 young life, that was so beautiful a thing to all who knew
 
 AN A WA KENING 3 49 
 
 her, was to be extinguished and leave instead but a blank- 
 ness and an aching memory through the long years — 
 then there might arrive a time for a settlement. The 
 parson was still coming about the house — for the women- 
 folk were comforted by his presence ; but Judith's father 
 looked at him darkly, and had scarce ever a word for him. 
 As for Quiney, he moved away or left the house, when the 
 good man came near : it was safer so. But in the future ? 
 When one was freer to act ? For those injunctions could 
 not be expected to last for ever ; and what greater joy 
 could then be secured than the one fierce stroke of justice 
 and revenge ? He did not reason out the matter much ; it 
 was a kind of flame in his heart whenever he thought of it. 
 
 And in truth that catastrophe was nearly occurring now. 
 He had been wandering vaguely along the highways — 
 appealing to the calmness of the night, as it were, and the 
 serenity of the starlit heavens, for some quieting of his 
 terrible fears ; and then in his restlessness he walked back 
 towards the cottage, anxious for further news and yet scarcely 
 daring to enter and ask. He saw the dull red light in the 
 window, but could hear no sound. And would not his 
 very footfall on the path disturb her ? They all of them 
 went about the house like ghosts. And were it not better 
 that he should remain here, so that the stillness dwelling 
 around the place should not be broken even by his 
 breathing ? So quiet the night was, and so soundless, he 
 could have imagined that the wings of the angel of mercy 
 were brooding over the little cottage, hushing it, as it were, 
 and bringing rest and sleep to the sore-bewildered brain. 
 He would, not go near. These were the precious hours. 
 And if peace had at last stolen into the sick chamber, and 
 closed the troubled eyelids, were it not better to remain 
 away, lest even a whisper should break the charm ? 
 
 Suddenly he saw the door of the cottage open, and in 
 the dull light a dark figure appeared. He heard footsteps 
 on the garden path. At first his heart felt like stone, and 
 he could not move, for he thought it was some one coming 
 to seek him with evil news ; but presently, in the clear 
 star-light he knew who this was that was now approaching 
 him. He lost his senses. All the black night went red. 
 
 "So, good rjarson," said he (but he clenched his fists
 
 350 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 together so that he should not give way), " art satisfied 
 with thy handiwork ? " 
 
 There was more of menace in the tone than in the 
 taunt ; at all events with some such phrase as " Out of the 
 way, tavern-brawler ! " the parson raised his stick, as if 
 to defend himself. And then — the next instant — he was 
 gripped — firm as in a vice ; the stick was twisted from his 
 grasp and whirled away far into the dark ; and forthwith — ■ 
 for it all happened in a moment — five fingers had him by 
 the back of the neck. 
 
 There was one second of indecision — what it meant to 
 this young athlete, who had his eyes afire and his mind afire 
 with thoughts of ill that had been done to the one he loved 
 the dearest, can well be imagined. But he flung his enemy 
 from him — forward — into the night, 
 
 " Take thy dog's life, and welcome — coward and woman- 
 striker ! " 
 
 He waited ; there was no answer. And then — all 
 shaking from the terrible pressure he had put on himself, 
 and still hungering and athirst to go back and settle the 
 matter then and there — he turned and walked along the 
 road, avoiding the cottage, and still with his heart aflame, 
 and wondering whether he had done well to let the hour of 
 vengeance go. 
 
 But that did not last long. What cared he for this man, 
 that any thought of him should occupy him at such a 
 moment ? All his anxieties were elsewhere — in that hushed 
 small chamber, where the lamp of life was flickering low, and 
 all awaiting with fear and trembling what the dawn might 
 bring. And if she were to slip away so — escaping from 
 them, as it were — without a word of recognition ? It 
 seemed so hard that the solitary figure, going up those far, 
 wide steps should have no thought for them she had left 
 behind. As he saw her there, content was on her face, 
 and a mild radiance, and wonder ; and her new com- 
 panions were pleasant to her. She would go away with 
 them ; she was content to be with them ; she would 
 disappear amongst them and leave no sign. And Sunday 
 morning after Sunday morning he would look in vain for 
 her corning through the churchyard, under the trees ; and 
 there would be a vacant place in the pew ; no matter who
 
 AN A WAKENING 351 
 
 might be there, one face would be wanting ; and in the 
 afternoon the wide meadows would be empty. Look 
 where he might — from the foot-bridge over the river, from 
 Bardon Hill, from the Wier Brake — there would be no 
 more chance of his descrying Judith walking with Prudence 
 — the two figures that he could make out at any distance 
 almost. And what a radiance there used to be on her face 
 — not that mild wonder that he saw as she passed away with 
 her companions within the shining gates — but a happy, 
 audacious radiance, so that he could see she was laughing 
 long ere he came near her. That was Judith — that was 
 the Judith he had known — laughing, radiant — in summer 
 meadows as it seemed to him — careless of the young men, 
 though her eyes would regard them — and always with her 
 chief secrets and mystifications for her friend Prudence. 
 That was Judith — not this poor worn sufferer, wandering- 
 through darkened ways, the frail lamp of her life going 
 down and down, so that they dared not speak in the room. 
 And that message that she had left for him w : ith Prudence 
 — was it a kind of farewell ? They were about the last 
 words she had spoken ere her speech lost all coherence 
 and meaning — a farewell before she entered into that dark 
 and unknown realm. And there w r as a touch of reproach 
 in them too — " Tell him he did me wrong to think I had 
 gone to meet the parson in the churchyard ; 'twas but a 
 chance." The Judith of those former days was far too 
 proud to make any such explanations ; but this poor 
 stricken creature seemed anxious to appease every one and 
 make friends. And was he to have no chance of begging 
 her forgiveness for doing her that wrong ; and of telling 
 how little she need regard it ; and how that she might 
 dismiss the parson from her mind altogether, as he had 
 done ? The ride to London ; she knew nothing of that ; 
 she knew nothing of her father having come all the way to 
 see her. Why, as they came riding along, by Uxbridgc, 
 and Wycombe, and Woodstock, and Enstone, many a time 
 he looked forward to telling Judith of what he had done ; 
 and he hoped that she would go round to the stable and 
 have a word for the Galloway nag and pat the good beast's 
 neck. But all that was over now ; and only this terrible 
 darkness, and the silence of the roads and the trees : and
 
 352 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 always the dull, steady, ominous light in the small window. 
 And still more terrible that vision overhead — the far and 
 mystic city ; and Judith entering with those new and 
 strange companions ; regarding this one and that, and ever 
 with a smile on her face and a mild Jsvonder in her eyes ; 
 they leading her away by the hand ; and she timid, and 
 looking from one to the other, but pleased to go with 
 them, into the strange country. And as for her old 
 friends, no backward look or backward thought for them ; 
 for them only the sad and empty town ; the voiceless 
 meadows ; the vacant space in the pew, to which many an 
 eye would be turned, as week by week came round. And 
 there would be a grave somewhere, that Prudence would 
 not leave untended. 
 
 But with the first gray light of the dawn there came a 
 sudden trembling joy — that was so easily and eagerly 
 translated into a wild audacious hope ! Judith had fallen 
 into a sound sleep — a sleep hushed and profound, and no 
 longer tortured with moanings and dull low cries as if for 
 pity. A slumber profound and beneficent ; with calmer 
 breathing and a calmer pulse. If only on the awakening 
 she might show that the crisis was over, and she started on 
 the road — however long and tedious that might be — towards 
 the winning back of life and health ! 
 
 It was Prudence who brought him the news. She looked 
 like a ghost in the wan light, as she opened the door and 
 came forth. She knew he would not be far away ; indeed 
 his eyes were more accustomed to this strange light than 
 hers, and ere she had time to look about and search for him 
 he was there. And when she told him this news he could 
 not speak for a little while ; for his mind rushed forward 
 blindly and wildly to a happy consummation ; he would have 
 no misgivings ; this welcome sleep was a sure sign Judith was 
 won back to them ; not yet was she to go away all alone up 
 those wide, sad steps. 
 
 "And you, Prudence," said he — or rather he whispered 
 it eagerly, that no sound should disturb the profound quiet 
 of the house — " now you must go and lie down — you are 
 worn out — why, you are all trembling " 
 
 " The morning air is a little cold," said she ; but it was 
 not that that caused her trembling.
 
 AN A WAKENING 353 
 
 " You must go and lie down and get some sleep too," 
 said he (but glancing up at the window as if all his thoughts 
 were there). " What a patient watcher you have been ! 
 And now when there is this chance — do, dear Prudence, go 
 within and lie down for a while " 
 
 " Oh, how could I ? How could I ? " she said ; and 
 unknown to herself she was wringing her hands — not from 
 grief, but from mere excitement and nervousness. " But 
 for this sleep now the doctor was fearing the worst. I know 
 it, though he would not say it. And she is so weak ! 
 Even if this sleep calm her brain — or if she come out of it 
 in her right mind — one never knows — she is so worn away 
 — she might waken only to slip away from us." 
 
 But he would not hear of that. No, no ; this happy 
 slumber was but the beginning of her recovery. Now that 
 she was on the turn, Judith's brave constitution would fight 
 through the rest. He knew it ; he was sure of it ; had 
 there ever been a healthier or happier wench — or one with 
 such gallant spirits and cheerfulness ? 
 
 " You have not seen her these last two days," Prudence 
 said, sadly. 
 
 " Nay, I fear not now — I know she will fight through," 
 said he, confidently (even with an excess of confidence, so 
 as to cheer this patient and gentle nurse). " And what a 
 spite it is that I can do nothing ? Did you ask the doetor, 
 Prudence? Is there nothing that I can fetch him from 
 Warwick ?— ay, or from London, for that matter ? Tis 
 well for you that can do so much for your friend ; what 
 can I do but wait about the lanes ? I would take a 
 message anywhere, for any of you, if you would but tell 
 me ; 'tis all that I can do. But when she is getting better, 
 that will be different— that will be all different then ; I 
 shall be able to get her many things, to please her and 
 amuse her ; and— and — think of this, Prudence," said he, 
 his fancies running away with him in his eagerness, " do 
 you not think, now, that when she is well enough to be 
 carried into the garden — do you not think that Pleydell 
 and I could devise some kind of couch, to be put on 
 wheels, see you, and slung on leather bands, so that it 
 would go easily ? — why, I swear it could be made ! — 
 and might be in readiness for her ; what think vou 
 
 2 A
 
 354 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Prudence ? No one could object if we prepared it — 
 ay, and we should get it to go as smooth as velvet, so 
 that she could be taken along the lanes, or through the 
 meadows." 
 
 " I would there were need of it," Prudence said, wistfully. 
 " You go too fast. Nay, but if she come well out of this 
 deep sleep, who knows ? Pray heaven there be need for all 
 that you can do for her." 
 
 The chirping of a small bird close by startled them — it 
 was the first sound of the coming day. 
 
 And then she said, regarding him — ■ 
 
 " Would you like to see Judith — for a moment ? 'Twould 
 not disturb her." 
 
 He stepped back, with a sudden look of dismay on his face. 
 
 " What mean you, Prudence ? " he said quickly. " You 
 do not think that — that there is fear ? that I should look 
 at her now ? " 
 
 " Nay, not so ; I trust not," she said simply. " But if 
 you wished, you might slip up the stair — 'twould do no 
 harm." 
 
 He stooped and took off his shoes and threw them 
 aside ; then she led the way into the house, and they went 
 stealthily up the short wooden stair. The door was open 
 an inch or two ; Prudence opened it still farther, but did 
 not go into the room. Nor did he ;• he remained at the 
 threshold ; for Judith's mother, who was sitting by the 
 bedside, and who had noticed the slight opening of the 
 door, had raised her hand quietly, as if in warning. And 
 was this Judith, then, that the cold morning light, entering 
 by the small casement, showed him — worn and wasted, 
 the natural radiance of her face all fled, and in place of 
 that a dull hectic tone that in nowise concealed the ravages 
 of the fever ? But she slept sound. The bent arm that 
 she had raised to her head ere she fell asleep lay absolutely 
 still. No, it was not the Judith he had known — so gay 
 and radiant and laughing in the summer meadows ; but 
 the wasted form still held a precious life, and he had no 
 mistrust ; he would not doubt ; there was there still what 
 would win back for him the Judith that be had known — ay, 
 if they had to wait all through the winter for the first silver- 
 white days of spring.
 
 AN AW A KENING 3 5 5 
 
 They stole downstairs again and went to the front 
 door. All the world was awaking now ; the light was 
 clear around them ; the small birds were twittering in 
 the bushes. 
 
 " And will you not go and get some sleep now, Prudence ? " 
 said he. " Surely you have earned it, and now there is the 
 chance." 
 
 " I could not," she said simply. " There will be time 
 for sleep by and by. But now, if you would do us a 
 service, will you go over to the town and tell Susan that 
 Judith is sleeping peacefully, and that she need not hurry 
 back, for there be plenty of us to watch and wait. And 
 Julius would Like to hear the good news, that I know. 
 Then you yourself — do you not need rest ? — why " 
 
 ''Heed not for me, dear Prudence," said he, quickly, 
 as if it were not worth while wasting time on that topic. 
 " But is there naught else I can do for you ? Naught that 
 I can bring for you — against her getting well again ? " 
 
 " Nay, 'tis all too soon for that," was Prudence's answer. 
 " I would the occasion were here, and sure." 
 
 Well, he went away over to the town and told his tale 
 to those that were astir, leaving a message for those who 
 were not ; and then he passed on to his own house and 
 threw himself on his bed. But he could not rest. It was 
 too far away, while all his thoughts were concentrated on 
 the small cottage over there. So he wandered back thither, 
 and again had assurance that Judith was doing well ; and 
 then he went quietly up to the summer-house and sate 
 down there ; and scarcely had he folded his arms on the 
 little table, and bent forward his head, than he was in a 
 deep sleep — nature claiming her due at last. 
 
 The hours passed ; he knew nothing of them. lie was 
 awakened by Judith's father; and he looked around him 
 strangely ; for he saw by the light that it was now after- 
 noon. 
 
 " Good lad," said he, " I make no scruple of rousing you. 
 There is better news. She is awake, and quite calm and 
 peaceable, and in her right mind — though sadly weak and 
 listless, poor wench." 
 
 " Have you seen her — have you spoken with her ? " he 
 said eagerly. 
 
 2 a 2
 
 356 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Nay, not yet," Judith's father said. " I am doubtful. 
 She is so faint and weak. I would not disturb her " 
 
 " I pray you, sir, go and speak with her ! " Quiney 
 entreated. " Nay, I know what will give her more peace 
 of mind than anything. And if she begin to recall what 
 happened ere she fell ill — I pray you, sir, of your kindness 
 go and speak with her ! " 
 
 Judith's father went away to the house, slowly, and with 
 his head bent in meditation. He spoke to the doctor for 
 a few minutes. But when, after some deliberation, he went 
 upstairs, and into the room, it was his own advice, his own 
 plan, he was acting on. 
 
 He went forward to the bedside, and took the chair that 
 the old grandmother had instantly vacated, and sate down 
 just as if nothing had occurred. 
 
 " Well, lass, how goes it with thee ? " he said with an air 
 of easy unconcern. " Bravely well, I hear. Thou must 
 haste thee now ; for soon we shall be busy with the 
 brewing." 
 
 She regarded him in a strange way — perhaps wondering 
 whether tins was another vision. And then she said 
 faintly : 
 
 " Why are you come back to Stratford, father ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have many affairs on hand," said be ; " and yet 
 I like not the garden to be so empty. I cannot spare thee 
 over here much longer. Tis better when thou art in the 
 garden, and little Bess with thee — nay, I swear to thee thou 
 disturbest me not — and so must thou get quickly well and 
 home again." 
 
 He took her hand — the thin, worn, white hand — and 
 pitted it. 
 
 " Why," said he, " I hear they told thee some foolish 
 story about me. Believe them not, lass. Thou and I are 
 old friends, despite thy saucy ways, and thy laughing at the 
 young lads about, and thy lecturing of little Bess Hall — oh, 
 thou hast thy faults — a many of them too — but heed no 
 idle stories, good lass, that come between me and thee. 
 Nay, I will have a sharp word for thee an thou do not as 
 the doctor bids ; and thou must rest thee still and quiet ; 
 and trouble not thy head, for we want thee back to us at 
 New Place. Why, I tell thee I cannot have the garden
 
 AN A WAKENING 357 
 
 left so empty : wouldst have me with none to talk with but 
 goodman Matthew ? So now farewell for the moment, 
 good wench : get what sleep thou canst, and take what the 
 doctor bids thee ; why, knowest thou not of the ribbons 
 and gloves I have brought thee all the way from London ? 
 — I warrant me they will please thee ! " 
 
 He patted her hand again, and rose and left — as if it 
 were all a matter of course. For a minute or two after the 
 girl looked dazed and bewildered, as if she were trying to 
 recall many things ; but always she kept looking at the hand 
 that he had held, and there was a pleased light in her sad 
 and tired eyes. She lay still and silent — for so she had 
 been enjoined. 
 
 But by and by she said — in a way that was like the 
 ghost of Judith's voice of old — ■ 
 
 " Grandmother — I can scarce hold up my hand — will 
 you help me ? — what is this that is on my head ? " 
 
 " Why, 'tis a pretty lace cap that Susan brought thee," the 
 grandmother said, " and we would have thee smart and neat 
 ere thy father came in." 
 
 But she had got her hand to her head now ; and then 
 the truth became known to her. She began to cry bitterly. 
 
 "Oh, grandmother, grandmother," she said, or sobbed, 
 " they have cut off my hair, and my father will never look 
 with favour on me again. 'Twas all he ever praised ! ." 
 
 " Dearie, dearie, thy hair will grow again as fair as ever 
 — ay, and who ever had prettier ? " the old grandmother 
 said. " Why, surely ; and the roses will come to thy cheeks, 
 too, that were ever the brightest of any in the town. Thy 
 father ? — heardest thou not what he said a moment ago — 
 that he could not bear to be without thee ? Nay, nay, fret 
 not, good lass, there be plenty that will right gladly wait for 
 the growing of thy hair again — ay, ay, there be plenty and 
 to spare that will hold thee in high favour and think well 
 of thee — and thy father most of all of them — have no 
 fear ! " 
 
 And so the grandmother got her soot lied and hushed ; 
 and at last she lay still and silent. But she had been 
 thinking. 
 
 " Grandmother," said she, regarding her thin, wasted 
 hand, " is my face like that ? "
 
 358 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 " Hush thee, child, thou must not speak more now, or 
 the doctor will be scolding me." 
 
 " But tell me, grandmother," she pleaded. 
 
 "Why, then," she answered, evasively, "it be none so 
 plump as it were — but all that will amend — ay, ay, good 
 lass, 'twill mend surely." 
 
 Again she lay silent for a while ; but her mind was busy 
 with its own fears. 
 
 " Grandmother," she said, " will you promise me this — to 
 keep Quiney away ? You will not let him come into the 
 room, good grandmother, should he ever come over to the 
 cottage ? " 
 
 "Ay, and be this thy thanks, then, to him that 
 rode all the way to London town to bring thy father to 
 thee ? " said the old dame, with some affectation of re- 
 proach. " Were I at thy age I would have a fairer message 
 for him." 
 
 " A message, grandmother ? " the girl said, turning her 
 languid eyes to her with some faint eagerness. " Ay, that 
 I would send him willingly. He went to London for me, 
 that I know ; Prudence said so. But perchance he would 
 not care to have it, would he, think you ? " 
 
 The old dame listened, to make sure that the doctor 
 was not within hearing — for this talking was forbidden ; 
 but she was anxious to have the girl's mind pleased 
 and at rest ; and so she took Judith's hand and whispered 
 to her — 
 
 "A message? Ay, I warrant me the lad would think 
 more of it than of aught else in the world. Why, sweet- 
 heart, he hath been never away from the house all this 
 time — watching to be of service to any one — night and 
 day it hath been so — and that he be not done to death 
 passes my understanding. Ay, and the riding to London, 
 and the bringing of thy father, and all — is't not worth a 
 w T ord of thanks ? Nay, "the youth hath won to my favour, 
 I declare to thee ; if none else will speak for him, I will ; 
 a right good honest youth, I warrant. But there, now, 
 sweeting, hush thee ; I may not speak more to thee, else 
 the doctor will be for driving me forth." 
 
 There was silence for some time ; then Judith said, 
 wistfully —
 
 AN A WAKENING 359 
 
 " What flowers are in the garden now, grandmother ? " 
 
 The old dame went to the window — slowly — it was an 
 excuse for not having too much talking going on. 
 
 " The garden be far past its best now," said she, " but 
 there be marigolds, and Michaelmas daisies " 
 
 " Could you get me a bit of rosemary, grandmother ? " 
 the girl asked. 
 
 " Rosemary ? " she cried in affright — for the mention of 
 the plant seemed to strike a funeral note. " Foolish wench, 
 thou knowest I can never get the rosemary bushes through 
 the spring frosts. Rosemary, truly ! "What wantest thou 
 with rosemary ? " 
 
 " Or a pansy, then ? " 
 
 "A pansy, doubtless — ay, ay, that be better now — we 
 may find thee a pansy somewhere — and a pleuty of other 
 things, so thou lie still and get well." 
 
 "Nay, I want but the one, grandmother," she said 
 slowly. "You know I cannot write a message to him; 
 and yet I would send him some token of thanks for all 
 that he hath done. And would not that do, grandmother ? 
 —could you but find me a pansy — if there be one left 
 anywhere — and a small leaf or two ; and if 'twere put in a 
 folded paper, and you could give it him from me, and no 
 one knowing ? I would rest the happier, grandmother, 
 for I would not have him think me ungrateful — no, 
 no, he must not think me that. And then, good grand- 
 mother, you will tell him that I wish him not to see 
 me ; only — only, the little flower will show him that I 
 am not ungrateful ; for I would not have him think 
 me that." 
 
 " Rest you still now, then, sweeting," the old dame said. 
 " I warrant me we will have the message conveyed to him ; 
 but rest you still — rest you still — and ere long you will not 
 be ashamed to show him the roses coming again into your 
 cheeks."
 
 360 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 TOWARDS THE LIGHT. 
 
 This fresh and clear morning — with a south wind blowing, 
 and a blue sky overhead — made even the backyard of 
 Quiney's premises look cheerful, though the surroundings 
 were mostly empty barrels and boxes. And he was 
 singing, too, as he went on with his task ; sometimes — ■ 
 
 ' riay on, minstrel, play on, minstrel, 
 My lady is mine only girl,' 
 
 and sometimes — 
 
 'J bought thee petticoats of the best, 
 The cloth so fine as fine might be; 
 I gave thee jewels for thy chest, 
 And all this cost I spent on thee,' 
 
 or, again, he would practise his part in the new catch — 
 
 1 Merrily sang — the Ely monhs — 
 When rou-ed thereby— Canute the King!' 
 
 And yet this that he was so busy about seemed to 
 have nothing to do with his own proper trade. He had 
 chalked up on the wall a space about the size of an ordinary 
 cottage-window ; at each of the upper corners he had 
 hammered in a nail ; and now he was endeavouring to 
 suspend from these supports — so that it should hang 
 parallel with the bottom line — an oblong basket roughly 
 made of wire, and pretty obviously of his own construction. 
 His dinner — of bread and cheese and ale— stood untouched 
 and unheeded on a bench hard by. Sometimes he whistled, 
 sometimes he sang ; for the morning air was fresh and 
 pleasant, and the sunlight all about was enlivening. 
 
 Presently Judith's father made his appearance ; and 
 the twisting and shaping of the wire hooks instantly 
 ceased. 
 
 " She is still going on well ? " the lad said, with a rapid 
 and anxious glance. 
 
 " But slowly — slowly," her father answered. " Nay, we 
 must not demand too much. If she but hold her own now,
 
 TOWARDS THE LIGHT 361 
 
 time is on our side ; and the doctor is more than ever hope- 
 ful that the fever hath left no serious harm behind it. When 
 that she is a little stronger they talk of having her carried 
 downstairs — the room is larger — and the window hath a 
 pleasant outlook." 
 
 " I heard of that," said Quiney, glancing at the oblong 
 basket of wire. 
 
 " I have brought you other news this morning," Judith's 
 father said — taking out a letter and handing it to Quiney. 
 " But I pray you say nothing of it to the wench ; her mind 
 is at rest now ; we will let the past go." 
 
 " Nay, I can do no harm in that way," said the younger 
 man, in something of a hurt tone, " for they will not let me 
 see her." 
 
 " No, truly ? Why, that is strange, now," her father said, 
 affecting to be surprised, but having a shrewd guess that 
 this was some fancy of the girl's own. " But they would 
 have her kept quiet, I know." 
 
 Quiney was now reading the letter. It was from one of 
 Judith's father's companions in London ; and the beginning 
 of it was devoted to the imparting of certain information, 
 that had apparently been asked from him touching nego- 
 tiations for the purchase of a house in Blackfriars. Quiney 
 rightly judged that this part had naught to do with him, 
 and scanned it briefly ; and as he went on he came to that 
 which had a closer interest for him. 
 
 The writer's style was ornate and cumbrous and confused, 
 but his story in plainer terms was this : The matter of the 
 purloined play was now all satisfactorily ascertained and 
 settled, except as regarded Jack Orridge himself, whom a 
 dire mischance had befallen. It appeared that, having 
 married a lady possessed of considerable wealth, his first 
 step was to ransom — at what cost the writer knew not — the 
 play that had been sold to the booksellers, not by himself, 
 but by one Francis Lloyd. It was said that this Lloyd had 
 received but a trifle for it — and had, in truth, parted with it 
 in the course of a drunken frolic ; but that Gentleman Jack, 
 as they called him, had to disburse a goodly sum ere he could 
 get the manuscript back into his own hands. That fort It- 
 he had come to the theatre, and delivered up the play, with 
 such expressions of penitence and shame that they could not
 
 362 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 forbear to give hirn full quittance for his fault. But that 
 this was not all ; for having heard that Francis Lloyd had 
 in many quarters been making a jest of the matter, and 
 telling of Orridge's adventures in Warwickshire, and naming 
 names, the young man had determined to visit him with 
 personal chastisement, but had been defeated in this by 
 Lloyd being thrust into prison for debt. That thereafter 
 Lloyd being liberated from gaol was sitting in a tavern, with 
 certain companions ; and there " Gentleman Jack " found 
 him, and dealt him a blow on the face with the back of his 
 hand, with a mind to force the duello upon him. But that 
 here again Orridge had ill-fortune ; for Lloyd being in his 
 cups would fight then and there, and flung himself on him 
 without or sword or anything as they thought ; but that 
 presently in the struggle Orridge uttered a cry " I am 
 stabbed," and fell headlong ; and they found him, with a 
 dagger wound in his side, bleeding so that they thought he 
 would have died ere help came. And that in truth he had 
 been nigh within death's door ; and was not yet out of the 
 leech's hands ; while as for Lloyd he had succeeded in 
 making good his escape — and was now in Flanders, as some 
 reported. This was the gist of the story as far as Quiney 
 was interested ; thereafter came chiefly details about the 
 theatre ; and the writer concluded with wishing his corres- 
 pondent all health and happiness, and bidding him ever 
 remember " his true loving friend Henry Condell." 
 
 Quiney handed back the letter. 
 
 " I wish the dagger had struck the worser villain of the 
 two," said he. 
 
 " 'Tis no concern of ours," Judith's father said. " And 
 I would have the wench hear never a word more of the 
 matter. Nay, I have already answered her that 'twas all 
 well and settled in London, and no harm done ; and the 
 sooner 'tis quite forgotton the better. The young man 
 hath made what amends he could ; I trust he may soon be 
 well of his wound again. And married, is he ? — perchance 
 his hurt may teach him to be more of a stay-at-home." 
 
 Judith's father put the letter in his pocket, and was for 
 leaving, when Quiney suggested that if he were going to 
 the cottage he would accompany him, as some business 
 called him to Bidford. And so they set out together —
 
 TOWARDS THE LIGHT 363 
 
 the younger man having first of all made a bundle of the 
 wire basket, and the nails and hooks and what not, so that 
 he could the more easily carry them. 
 
 It was a clear and mild October day ; the wide country 
 very silent ; the woods turning to yellow and russet now ; 
 and here and there golden leaves fluttering down from the 
 elms. So quiet and peaceful it all was in the gracious 
 sunlight ; the steady ploughing going on ; groups of people 
 gleaning in the bean-fields ; but not a sound of any kind 
 reaching them, save the cawing of some distant rooks. 
 And when they drew near to Shottery, Quiney had an eye 
 for the cottage-gardens, to see what flowers or shrubs were 
 still available ; for of course the long wire basket, when 
 it was hung outside Judith's window, must be filled — ay, 
 and filled freshly at frequent intervals. If the gardens or 
 the fields or the hedgerows would furnish sufficient store, 
 there would be no lack of willing hands for the gathering. 
 
 They went first to the front door (the room that Judith 
 was to be moved into looked to the back) ; and, here, ere 
 they had crossed the threshold, they beheld a strange 
 thing. The old grandmother was standing at the foot of 
 the wooden stair, with a small looking-glass in her hand ; 
 she had not heard them approach ; and it was with some 
 amazement that they saw her deliberately let fall the glass 
 on to the stone passage, where naturally it was smashed 
 into a hundred fragments. And forthwith she began to 
 scold and rate the little Cicely ; and that in so loud a 
 voice that her anger must have been plainly heard in the 
 sick-room above. 
 
 " Ah, thou mischief, thou imp, thou idle brat, that must 
 needs go break the only looking-glass in the house ! A 
 handy wench, truly, that can hold nothing with thy silly 
 fingers, but must break cup, and platter, and pane ; and 
 now the looking-glass — 'twere well done to box thine ears, 
 thou mischief ! " 
 
 And with that she patted the little girl on the shoulder, 
 and shrewdly winked, and smiled, and nodded her head ; 
 and then she went up the stair, again and loudly bewailing 
 her misfortune. 
 
 " What a spite be this now ! " they could hear her say at 
 the door of Judith's room. " The only looking-glass in the
 
 364 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 house — and just as thou wouldst have it sent for I That 
 mischievous idle little wench — heard you the crash, sweet- 
 heart ? Well, well, no matter ; I must still have the tiring 
 of thee — against any one coming to see thee ; ay, and I 
 would have thee brave and smart, when thou art able to sit 
 up a bit — ay, and thy hair will soon be grown again,' 
 sweeting, — and then the trinkets that thy father brought, 
 and the lace cuffs that Quiney gave thee — these and all 
 thou must wear. Was ever such a spite, now — our only 
 looking-glass to be broken so ; but thou shalt not want it, 
 sweetheart— nay, nay, thou must rest in my hands — I will 
 have thee smart enough ; when any would come to see 
 thee " 
 
 That was all they heard — for now she shut the door; 
 but both of them guessed readily enough why the good 
 dame had thrown down and smashed the solitary mirror of 
 the house. 
 
 Then they went within, and heard from Prudence that 
 Judith was going on well but very slowly ; and that_ her 
 mind was in perfect calm and content, only that at times 
 she seemed anxious that her father should return to London, 
 lest his affairs should be hindered. 
 
 " And truly I must go ere long," said he, " but not yet. 
 Not until she is more fairly on the highway." 
 
 They were now in the room that was to be given up to 
 Judith, because of its larger size. 
 
 " Prudence," said Quiney, " if the bed were placed so — 
 by the window — she might be propped up so ; that when 
 she chose she could look abroad. Were not that a simple 
 thing, and cheerful for her ? And I have arranged a small 
 matter so that every morning she may find some fresh 
 blossoms awaiting her — and yet not disturbing her with any 
 one wishing to enter the room. Methinks one might better 
 fix it now, ere she be brought down, so that the knocking 
 may not harm her." 
 
 " I would she were in a fit state to be brought down," 
 Prudence said, rather sadly. " For never saw I any one so 
 weak and helpless." 
 
 All the same he went away to see whether the oblong 
 basket of wire and the fastenings would fit ; and although 
 (being a tall youth) he could easily reach the foot of the
 
 TOWARDS THE LIGHT 365 
 
 window with his hands, he had to take a chair with him in 
 order to gain the proper height for the nails. Prudence 
 from within saw what he was after ; and when it was all 
 fixed up, she opened one of the casements to speak to him, 
 and her face was well pleased. 
 
 "Truly, now, that was kindly thought of," said she. 
 " And shall I tell her of this that you have contrived for 
 her ? " 
 
 " Why, 'tis in this way, Prudence," said he, rather shame- 
 facedly, " she need not know whether 'tis this one or that 
 that puts a few blossoms in the basket — 'twill do for any 
 one — any one that is passing along the road or through the 
 meadows, and picks up a pretty thing here and there. 'Twill 
 soon be hard to get such things — save some red berries or 
 the like— but when any can stop in passing and add their 
 mite, 'twill be all the easier, for who that knows her but 
 hath good will towards her ? " 
 
 " And her thanks to whom ? " said Prudence, smiling. 
 
 "Why to all of them," said he, evasively. "Nay, I 
 would not have her even know that I nailed up the little 
 basket — perchance she might think I was too officious." 
 
 " And can you undo it ? " she asked. " Can you take it 
 down ? " 
 
 " Surely," he answered : and he lifted the basket off the 
 hooks to show her. 
 
 " For," said she, " if you would bring it round, might we 
 not put a few flowers in it, and have them carried up to 
 Judith, to show her what you have designed for her ? In 
 truth it would please her." 
 
 He was not proof against this temptation. He carried 
 the basket round ; and they fell to gathering such blossoms 
 as the garden afforded — marigolds, monthly roses, Michael- 
 mas daisies, and the like — with some scarlet hips from the 
 neighbouring hedges, and some broad green leaves to serve 
 as a cushion for all of these. But he did not stay to hear 
 how his present was received. He was on his way to 
 Bidford — and on foot, for he had kept his promise with the 
 Galloway nag. So he bade Prudence farewell, and said he 
 would call in again on his way back in the evening. 
 
 The wan, sad face lit with something like pleasure when 
 Judith saw this little present brought before her ; it was
 
 366 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 not the first by many of similar small attentions that he 
 had paid her — tokens of a continual thoughtfulness and 
 affection ; though he was not even permitted to see her, 
 much less to speak with her. How his business managed 
 to thrive during this period they could hardly guess ; only, 
 that he seemed to find time for everything. Apparently, 
 he was content with the most haphazard meals ; and seemed 
 able to get along with scarcely any sleep at all ; and always 
 he was the most hopeful one in the house ; and would not 
 admit that Judith's recovery seemed strangely slow ; but 
 regarded everything as happening for the best, and tending 
 towards a certain and happy issue. One result of his being 
 continually in or about the cottage was this — that Master 
 Walter Blaise had not looked near them since the night on 
 which the fever reached its crisis. The women-folk sur- 
 mised that, now there was a fair hope of Judith's recovery, 
 he perchance imagined his ministrations to be no longer 
 necessary ; and was considerately keeping out of the way, 
 seeing that he could be of no use. At all events, they did 
 not discuss the subject much ; for more than one of them 
 had perceived that, whenever the parson's name was men- 
 tioned, Judith's father became reticent and reserved — which 
 was about his only way of showing displeasure — so that they 
 got into the habit of omitting all mention of Master Blaise 
 for the better preserving and maintaining the serenity of 
 the domestic atmosphere. 
 
 And yet Master Blaise came to be talked of — and to 
 Judith herself — this very morning. When Prudence went 
 into the room, carrying Quiney's flowers, the old grand- 
 mother said she would go down and see how dinner was 
 getting forward (she having more mouths to feed than 
 usual), and Prudence was left in her place, with strict 
 injunctions to see that Judith took the small portions of 
 food that had been ordered her at the proper time. 
 Prudence sate down by the bedside. These two had not 
 had much confidential chatting of late ; for Judith had 
 been forbidden to talk much, and was indeed far too weak 
 and languid for that ; while generally there was some third 
 person about, in attendance. But now they were alone ; 
 and Prudence had a long tale to tell of Quiney's constant 
 watchfulness and care, and of all the little things he had
 
 TOWARDS THE LIGHT 367 
 
 thought of aud arranged for her, up to the construction of 
 the wire flower-basket. 
 
 " But what he hath done, Judith, to anger Parson Blaise, 
 I cannot make out," she continued ; " ay, and to anger him 
 sorely ; for yesternight, when I went over to see how my 
 brother did, I met Master Blaise, and he stayed me and 
 talked with me for a space. Nay, he spoke too harshly of 
 Quiney, so that I had to defend him, and say what I had 
 seen of him — truly, I was coming near to speaking with 
 warmth — and then he went away from that. And think 
 you what he came to next, Judith ? " 
 
 The pale, quiet face of the speaker was overspread with a 
 blush ; and she looked timidly at her friend. 
 
 " What then, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " Perchance I should not tell you," she said, with some 
 hesitation, and then she said, more frankly : " nay, why 
 should there be any concealment between us, Judith ? And 
 he laid no charge of secrecy on me — in truth I said that I 
 would think of it, and might even have to ask for counsel 
 and guidance. He would have me be his wife, Judith." 
 
 Judith betrayed no atom of surprise : nay, she almost 
 instantly smiled her approval — it was a kind of friendly 
 congratulation, as it were — and she would have reached out 
 her hand, only that she was so weak. 
 
 " I am glad of that, dear mouse," said she, as pleasantly 
 as she could. " There would you be in your proper place, 
 is't not so ? And what said you ? — what said you, sweet- 
 heart ? — ah, they all would welcome you, be sure — and a 
 parson's wife — a parson's wife, Prudence — would not that 
 be your proper place ? — would you not be happy so ? " 
 
 " I know not," the girl said, and she spoke wistfully, and 
 as if she were regarding distant things. " He had nearly 
 persuaded me, good heart, for indeed there is such power 
 and clearness in all he says ; and it was almost put before 
 me as a duty, and something incumbent on me, for the 
 pleasing of all of them, and the being useful and serviceable 
 to so many ; and then — and then " 
 
 There was another timid glance; and she took Judith's 
 hand ; and her eyes were downcast as she made the 
 confession : 
 
 "Nay, I will tell thee the truth, sweetheart. Had he
 
 368 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 spoken to me earlier — I — I might not have said him nay — 
 so good a man and earnest withal — and not fearing to give 
 offence if he can do true service to the Master of us all ; 
 Judith, if it he unmaidenly, blame me not, but at one time 
 I had thoughts of him ; and sometimes, ashamed, I would 
 not go to your house when that he was there in the after- 
 noon, though Julius wondered, seeing that there was 
 worship and profitable expounding. But now — now 'tis 
 different." 
 
 " Why, dear mouse, why ? " Judith said, with some 
 astonishment ; " you must not flout the good man. 'Tis an 
 honourable offer." 
 
 Prudence was looking back on that past time. 
 
 " If he had spoken then," said she, absently, " my heart 
 would have rejoiced ; and well I know 'twould have been 
 no harm to you, dear Judith, for who could doubt how you 
 were inclined— ay, through all your quarrels and misunder- 
 standings ? And if 'twas you the good parson wished for 
 in those days " 
 
 " Prudence," her friend said reproachfully, " you do ill to 
 go back over a bygone story. If you had thoughts of him 
 then, when as yet he had not spoken, why not now when he 
 would have you be his wife ? 'Tis an honourable offer, as I 
 say, and you — were you not meant for a parson's wife, 
 sweetheart ? " 
 
 Then Prudence regarded her with her honest eyes. 
 
 " I should be afraid, Judith. Perchance I have listened 
 overmuch to your grandmother's talking, and to Quiney's ; 
 they are both of them angered and set hard against him. 
 They say he wrought you ill, and was cruel when he should 
 have been gentle with you, and was over proud of his office. 
 Nay, I marked that your father had scarce ever a word for 
 him when he was coming over to the cottage, but would 
 get away somehow, and leave him. And — and methinks I 
 should be afraid, Judith ; "'tis no longer as it used to be in 
 former days ; and then, without perfect confidence, how 
 should one dare venture on such a step ? No, no, Judith, 
 I should be afraid." 
 
 " In truth I cannot advise thee, then, dear Prudence," 
 her friend said, looking at her curiously. " For more than 
 any I know should you marry one that would be gentle
 
 "WESTERN WIND" 369 
 
 with you and kind. And think you that the parson would 
 overlord it ? " 
 
 " I know not — I know not," she said, in the .same absent 
 way. " But with doubt — with hesitation — without perfect 
 confidence — how could one take such a step ? " 
 
 And then she bethought her. 
 
 " Why, now, all this talking over rny poor affairs ! " she 
 said more cheerfully. " A goodly nurse I am proving 
 myself ! "lis thy affairs are of greater moment, and thou 
 must push forward, sweetheart, and get well more rapidly, 
 else they will say we are careless and foolish that cannot 
 bring thee into firmer health." 
 
 " But I am well content," said Judith, with a perfectly 
 placid smile. 
 
 " Content ? but you must not be content ! " Prudence 
 exclaimed. " Would you remain within-doors until your 
 hair be grown ? Vanity is it, then ? Ah, for shame — you 
 that always professed to be so proud, and careless of what 
 they thought ! Content, truly ! Look at so thin a hand — 
 are you content to remain so ? " 
 
 " I am none so ill," Judith said pleasantly. " The days 
 pass well enough, and everyone is kind." 
 
 " But I say you must not be content ! " Prudence again 
 remonstrated. " Did ever any one see such a poor "weak 
 white hand as that ? Look at the thin, thin veins." 
 
 " Ah, but you know not, sweetheart," Judith said, and 
 she herself looked at those thin blue veins in the white 
 hand ; " they seem to me to be running full of music and 
 happiness ever since I came out of the fever and found my 
 father talking to me in the old way." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "WESTERN WIND, WHEN WILL YOU BLOW?" 
 
 There was much laughing among the good folk of Stratford 
 town, or rather among those of them allowed to visit 
 Quiney's backyard, over the nondescript vehicle that he and 
 his friend Pleydell were constructing there. But that was 
 chiefly at the first, when the neighbours would call it a 
 coffin on wheels or a grown-up cradle ; afterwards, when it 
 
 2 B
 
 370 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 grew into shape, and began to exhibit traces of decoration 
 (the little canopy at the head, for example, was covered 
 over with bjue taffeta, that made a shelter from the sun), 
 they moderated their ridicule ; and at last declared it a 
 most ingenious and useful contrivance, and one that went 
 as easily on its leather bands as any king's coach that ever 
 was built. And they said they hoped it would do good 
 service ; for they knew it was meant for Judith ; and she 
 had won the favour and good-will of many in that town — 
 in so far as an unmarried young woman was deemed worthy 
 of consideration. 
 
 But that was an anxious morning when Quiney set forth 
 with this strange vehicle for the cottage. Little Willie 
 Hart was there, and Quiney had flung him inside, saying 
 he would give him a ride as far as Shottery ; but thereafter 
 he did not speak a word to the boy. For this was the 
 morning on which he was to see Judith for the first time 
 since the fever had left her ; and not only that, but he had 
 been appointed to carry her downstairs to the larger room 
 below. This was by the direct instructions of the doctor. 
 Judith's father was now in London again ; the doctor was 
 not a very powerful man ; the staircase was over narrow to 
 let two of the women try it between them : who, therefore, 
 was there but this young athlete to gather up that precious 
 charge and bear her gently forth ? But when he thought 
 of that first meeting with Judith, he trembled ; and dismay 
 and apprehension filled his heart lest he should show 
 himself in the smallest way shocked by her appearance. 
 Careless as she might have been of other things, she had 
 always put a value on that ; she knew that see had good 
 looks ; and she liked to show herself pretty and dainty, 
 and to wear becoming and pretty things. And again and 
 again he schooled himself, and argued with himself. He 
 must be prepared to find her changed — nay, had he not 
 already had one glimpse of her, as she lay asleep, in the 
 cold light of the dawn ? — he must be prepared to find the 
 happy and radiant face no longer that, but all faded and 
 white and worn ; the clear shining eyes no longer laughing, 
 but sunken and sad ; and the beautiful sun-brown hair — 
 that was her chiefest pride of all — no longer clustering 
 round her neck. Not that he himself cared : Judith was
 
 " WESTERN WIND" 371 
 
 for him always and ever Judith, whatever she might be 
 like ; but his terror was lest he should betray — in the 
 smallest fashion — some pained surprise. He knew how 
 sensitive she was ; and as an invalid she would be even 
 more so ; and what a fine thing it would be if her eyes 
 were suddenly to fill with tears on witnessing his disappoint- 
 ment ? And so he argued and argued, and strove to think 
 of Judith as a ghost — as anything rather than her former 
 self ; and when he reached the cottage, he asked whether 
 Judith was ready to be brought down, in so matter-of-fact 
 a way that he seemed perfectly unconcerned. 
 
 Well, she was not ready ; for her grandmother had the 
 tiring of her, and the old dame was determined that (if she 
 had her way) her grandchild should look none too like an 
 invalid. If the sun-brown curls were gone, at least the cap 
 that she wore should have pretty blue ribbons where it met 
 under the chin. And she would have her wear the lace 
 cuffs, too, that Quiney had brought her from Warwick : 
 did not she owe it to him to do service for the gift ? And 
 when all that was done, she made Judith take a little wine 
 and water — to strengthen her for the being carried down- 
 stairs — and then she sent word that Quiney might come up. 
 
 He made his appearance forthwith — a little pale, perhaps, 
 and hesitating and apprehensive as he crossed the thres- 
 hold. And then he came quickly forward, and there, was 
 a sudden wonder of joy and gladness in his eyes. 
 
 " Judith," he exclaimed, quite involuntarily, and forget- 
 ting everything, " why, how well you are looking ! — indeed, 
 indeed you are ! — sweetheart, you are not changed at all ! " 
 
 For this was Judith : not any of the spectral phantoms 
 he had been conjuring up — but Judith herself, regarding 
 him with friendly (if yet timid) eyes ; and her face, as he 
 looked at her in this glad way, was no longer pale, but had 
 grown rose-red as the face of a bride. Her anxiety and 
 nervousness had been far greater than she dared to tell any 
 of them ; but now his surprise and delight wore surely real ; 
 and then — for she was very weak — and she had been 
 anxious and full of fear — and this joy of seeing him — of 
 seeing a strange face — that belonged to the former happy 
 time — was too much for her. Her lips were tremulous ; 
 tears rose to her eyes ; and she would have turned away to 
 
 2 b 2
 
 372 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 hido her crying But that all at once he recalled his 
 
 scattered senses ; and inwardly cursed himself for a fool ; 
 and forthwith addressed her in the most cheerful and 
 simple way. 
 
 " Why, now, what stories they have been telling me, 
 Judith ! I should scarce know you had been ill ! You 
 are thinner — oh yes, you are a little thinner ; and if you 
 went to the woods to gather nuts I reckon you would not 
 bring home a heavy bag ; but that will all mend in time. 
 In honest truth, dear Judith, I am glad to see you looking 
 none so ill ; now I marvel not at your father going away to 
 see after his affairs, so sure he must have been." 
 
 " I am glad that he went, I was fretting so," she said 
 (and it was so strange to hear Judith's voice — that always 
 stirred his heart, as if with the vibration of Susan's singing), 
 and then she added, timidly glancing at him : " And you, 
 I have caused you much trouble also." 
 
 He laughed ; in truth he was so bewildered with the 
 delight of seeing this real living Judith before him that he 
 scarce knew what he said. 
 
 " Trouble ! — yes, trouble, indeed, that I could do nothing 
 for you, and all the others waiting with you and cheering 
 you. But now, dear Judith, I have something for you 
 — oh, you shall see it presently ; and you may laugh, but 
 I warrant me you will find it easy and comfortable when 
 that you are allowed to go forth into the garden. "lis a 
 kind of couch, as it were, but on wheels — nay, you may 
 call it your chariot, Judith, if you would be in state ; and 
 if you may not go farther than the garden at first, why, 
 then you may lie in it, and have some one read to you ; 
 and there is a small curtain if you would shut them all out 
 and go to sleep ; ay, and when the time comes for you to 
 go along the lanes, then you may sit up somewhat, for there 
 are pillows for your head and for your back. As for the 
 drawing of it, why, little Willie Hart can pull me when I 
 am in it, and surely he can do the same for you, that are 
 scarce so heavy as I, as I take it. Oh, I warrant me, you 
 will soon get used to it ; and 'twill be so much pleasanter 
 for you than being always within-doors — and the fresher 
 air — the fresher air will soon bring back your colour, 
 Judith."
 
 "WESTERN WIND" 373 
 
 For now that the first flush of embarrassment was gone 
 he could not but see (though still he talked in that cheerful 
 strain) how pale and worn was her face ; and her bauds, 
 that lay listlessly on the coverlet, with the pretty lace cuffs 
 going back from the wrists, were spectral hands, so thin 
 and white were they. 
 
 "Master Quiney," said the old dame, coming to the 
 door, "it be all ready now below, if you can carry the 
 wench down. And take time — take time — there be no 
 hurry." 
 
 " You must come and help me, good grandmother," said 
 he, " to get her well into my arms." 
 
 In truth he was trembling with very nervousness as he 
 set about this task. Should some mischance occur ? — 
 some stumble ? — and then he found himself all too strong 
 and uncouth and clumsy, with her so frail and delicate 
 and weak. But her grandmother lifted the girl's hand to 
 his shoulder — or rather to his neck — and bade her hold 
 on so, as well as she might ; and then he got his arms 
 better round her ; and with slow and careful steps made 
 his way down to the room below. There the bed was 
 near the window, and when he had geutly placed her on it, 
 and propped up her head and shoulders, so that she was 
 almost sitting, the first thing that she saw before her was 
 the slung box of flowers and leaves, outside the little case- 
 ment. She turned to him, and smiled, and looked her 
 thanks with grateful eyes ; he sought for no more than that. 
 
 Of course they were all greatly pleased at this new state 
 of affairs ; it seemed a step on the forward way, a hopeful 
 thing. Moreover, there was a brighter animation in the 
 girl's look ; whether that was owing to the excitement of 
 the change or the pleasure at seeing the face of an old 
 friend. And as the others seemed busy anions themselves, 
 suggesting small arrangements and the like, Quiney judged 
 it was time for him to go ; his services were no longer 
 needed. 
 
 He went forward to her. 
 
 " Judith " said, he, " I will bid you good-day now. If 
 you but knew how glad I am to have seen you ; ay, and to 
 find you going on so well ! I will take away a lighter heart 
 with me."
 
 374 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 She looked up at him, hesitating and timid ; and then she 
 gathered courage. 
 
 " But why must you go ? " said she, with some touch of 
 colour in the pale face. 
 
 He glanced at the others. 
 
 " Perchance they may not wish me to stay ; they may 
 fear your being tired with talking." 
 
 " But if I wish you to stay ? " she said gently. " If your 
 business call you not ? " 
 
 " My business ! " he said. " My business must shift for 
 itself on such a day as this ; think you 'tis nothing for me 
 to speak with you again, Judith, after so long a time ? " 
 
 " And my chariot," she said brightly : " may not I see my 
 chariot ? " 
 
 " Why, truly ! " he cried. " Willie Hart is in charge of it 
 without. We will bring it along the passage and you will 
 see it at the door : and you must not laugh, dear Judith — 
 'tis a rude-made thing, I know — but serviceable — you shall 
 have comfort from it, I warrant you." 
 
 They wheeled it along the passage, but could not get it 
 within the apartment ; however, through the open door 
 she could see very easily the meaning and construction of 
 it. And when she observed with what care and pretty 
 taste it had been adorned for her, even to the putting 
 ribbons at the front corners of the little canopy (but this 
 was not the work of men's fingers ; it was Prudence who 
 had contributed these), she was not in the least inclined to 
 laugh at the efforts of these good friends to be of use to 
 her and to gratify her. She beckoned him to come to her. 
 
 " "Pis but a patchwork thing to look at," said he, rather 
 shamefacedly, " but I hope you will find it right comfort- 
 able when you use it. I hope soon to hear of your trying- 
 it, Judith." 
 
 " Give me your hand," said she. 
 
 She took his hand and kissed it. 
 
 " I cannot speak my thanks to you," she said, in a low 
 voice, " for not only this but all that you have done for 
 
 me." 
 
 There were tears in her eyes ; and he was so bewildered, 
 and his heart so wildly aflame, that he could only touch her 
 shoulder and say —
 
 "WESTERN WIND" 375 
 
 " Be still now, Judith. Be still and quiet ; and per- 
 chance they may let me remain with you a Little space 
 further." 
 
 Well, it was a long and a weary waiting. She seemed 
 too content with her "feeble state ; there were so many who 
 were kind to her ; and her father sending her messages from 
 London;. and Quiney coming every morning to put some 
 little things — branches of evergreens or the like, when 
 flowers were no longer to be had — in the little basket out- 
 side the window. He could reach to that easily ; and 
 when she happened to hear his footsteps coming near, 
 even when she could not see him, she would tap with her 
 white fingers on the window-panes — that was her thanks to 
 him, and morning greeting. 
 
 It was a bitter winter ; and ever they were looking for- 
 ward to the milder weather to see when they might risk 
 taking her out-of-doors, swathed up in her chariot, as she 
 called it ; but the weeks and weeks went by hard and 
 obdurate ; and at last they found themselves in the new 
 year. But she could get about the house a little now in 
 a quiet way ; and so it was that one morning she and 
 Quiney were together standing at the front window look- 
 ing abroad over the wide white landscape. Snow lay every- 
 where thick and silent ; the bushes were heavy with it ; 
 and far beyond those ghostly meadows — though they could 
 not see it — they knew that the Avon was fixed and hard 
 in its winter sleep, under the hanging banks of the Wier 
 Brake. 
 
 " ' Western wind, when will you blow ? " ' she said, and 
 yet not sadly, for there was a placid look in her eyes : she 
 was rather complaining, with a touch of the petulance of 
 the Judith of old. 
 
 The hand of her lover was resting lightly on her shoul- 
 der — she was strong enough to bear that now ; and did not 
 resent the burden. And she had got her soft sunny-brown 
 curls again, though still they were rather short ; and her 
 face again showed something of its beautiful curves ; and 
 her eyes, if they were not so cruelly audacious as of old, 
 were yet clear-shining and gentle, and with abundance of
 
 376 JUDITH SHAKESPEARE 
 
 kind messages for all the world, but with tenderer looks for 
 only one. 
 
 " ' Western wind,' " she repeated, with that not over-sad 
 complaint of injury, " ' when will you blow — when will you 
 blow ? ' " 
 
 "All in good time, sweetheart, all in good time," said 
 he ; and his hand lay kindly on her shoulder, as if she were 
 one to whom some measure of gentle tending and cheer- 
 ing words were somehow due. " And guess you now what 
 they mean to do for you when the milder weather comes ? 
 — I mean the lads at the school. Why, then, 'tis a secret 
 league and compact — I doubt not that your cousin Willie 
 may have been at the suggesting of it — but 'twas some of 
 the bigger lads who came to me. And 'tis all arranged 
 now ; and all for the sake of you, dear heart. For when 
 the milder weather comes, and the year begins to wake 
 again, why, they are all of them to keep a sharp and an 
 eager eye here and there — in the lanes or in the woods — 
 for the early peeping up of the primroses. And then 'tis 
 to be a grand whole holiday that I am to get for them, as 
 it appears ; and all the school is to go forth to search the 
 hedgerows and the woods and the banks — all the country- 
 side is to be searched and searched — and for what, think 
 you ? — why, to bring you a spacious basketful of the very 
 first primroses of the spring ! See you, now, what it is to 
 be the general favourite ! — nay, I swear to you, dear Judith, 
 that you are the sweetheart of all of them ; and what a 
 shame it is that I must take you away from them all I " 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LOllfEP; 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 The following is a complete list of the new Ualf-Crown Edition 
 of Mr. Black's Novels, and the probable order of their 
 monthly issue beginning January 1892. 
 
 A Daughter of Heth. (Beady.) 
 The Strange Adventures of a 
 
 Phaeton. (Heady.) 
 A Princess of Thule. (Beady.) 
 In Silk Attire. (Ready.) 
 Kilmeny. (Ready.) 
 Madcap Violet. (Heady.) 
 Three Feathers. (Heady.) 
 The Maid of Killeana. (Beady.) 
 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 
 
 (Beady.) 
 Maeleod of Dare. (Beady.) 
 Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart. 
 
 (Beady.) 
 White Wings. (Beady.) 
 
 Sunrise. (Beady.) 
 The Beautiful Wretch. 
 
 (Beady.) 
 Shandon Bells. (Beady.) 
 Adventures in Thula. (Beady.) 
 Yolande. (Beady.) 
 Judith Shakespeare. (Beady.) 
 The Wise Women of Inverness. 
 White Heather. 
 Sabina Zembra. 
 The Strange Adventures of a 
 
 House Boat. 
 In Far Lochaber. 
 The Penance of John Logan. 
 Prince Fortunatus. 
 
 Loxdos: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, Limited, 
 St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane. 
 
 2 c
 
 A
 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.A.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 611 504 2
 
 
 Wm 
 
 ■ ■•■■' 
 
 MSi