Stories of Enchantment 8

Stories of Enchantment 8

“What will my little baby’s life be,—happy or sad?” questioned the

mother. “Oh, dear All-Father, if I might know!” thus she prayed. And

while she asked and wondered, a soft rustle by her bedside caused her to

glance up. Above her and the sleeping baby leaned a tall bright angel,

in garments soft and white like snow, with folded wings like the petals

of some great white lily. “What is it,” wondered the mother; and a soft

voice answered: “I am your baby’s angel. Your prayer has been heard.

Look.” And the mother, following the angel’s glance, saw at the foot of

the bed three gray shapes, three mysterious woman forms. There they sat,

solemnly regarding the little one. In the hands of one was what the

mother knew to be a distaff; from it, a fine thread passed to the baby’s

hand. “Ah, that is why you clasp your hands so tightly, my darling, lest

you lose the thread,” said the mother.

 

The next sister held a pair of shears in her hand; her eyes were sad and

downcast. The last one had empty hands, but she spoke with authority,

and she said: “Sisters, this new soul is bound for the city on the

heights of Peace. How shall she reach it?”

 

Then spoke the one with the distaff: “Ah, sister, she is little and

weak. She is a woman child. May she not go by the way that leads through

the valley, where there is pleasant shade, and the birds sing all day

long?”

 

The eldest answered: “Who that takes that route reaches the city? Do

they not wander away into the defiles of the mountains, and the heights

are lost to them? Nay, sisters, she shall go by the way of tears till

she come to the wayside cross.”

 

Then the pitying one raised the shears to cut the tiny thread of life,

but the other stayed her hand. “Let me read to you her destiny,” she

said.

 

The angel bent low over the mother and child. “Be strong, be

courageous,” he whispered; and the mother’s fears were stilled.

 

Then spoke the Fate: “This soul shall early be acquainted with sorrow;

and the angel of pain shall walk hand in hand with her. But close beside

shall walk the angel of patience. Her little feet shall be pierced with

thorns and bruised with cruel rocks. But beside the stony path sweet

flowers will bloom. She will hear the lark sing up in the blue, and at

every turn in the path she will look backward and see that she is

climbing higher. Sometimes, to strengthen her, shall be given her

glimpses of the wonderful city. And always her guardian angel shall be

with her to minister to her.

 

“As the years go by, she will not journey alone. She will be happy, for

love will lighten the way. Then suddenly shall she come to the wayside

cross. There a great horror of darkness shall settle over her, her

strength shall be taken from her, and she shall lie with her face in the

dust.

 

“But at the cross, the clouds will separate, the mists roll away, and

she will find her journey almost accomplished. For behold, from it a

wonderful stairway of pearl and gold leads up into the heart of the

city; and her loved ones will hasten to greet her, and stretch out their

hands to help her on her way. She will have gained the heights of Peace,

and will be an inhabitant of that wonderful country, a citizen of the

golden city.”

 

Then the mother, weeping tears of sorrow and of joy, was satisfied, and

the tiny baby stirred in its sleep, and nestled closer to her heart.

 

 

 

 

VIII.

IN QUEST OF THE DARK.

 

 

Little Gene, up at the castle, was missing. The night had come on, and

the woods that inclosed the cliff on which the castle stood, and that

swept down the valley and up the opposite heights, were hushed and

still, or sighing dolefully in the summer wind. The servants were out

with torches, calling, and running in every direction. Some one

suggested letting out the dogs; but that, the lady would not allow. She

would not have the child torn to pieces by the great wolf-hounds, she

said. She sat in her room and wrung her hands in despair. For the

twentieth time she questioned the weeping nurse, who grew more

frightened and confused with each question.

 

“Most noble lady, I saw him last in the courtyard. He called to me and

said: ‘Nursie, I will run away out into the deep wood;’ and I answered

that the Dark would catch him if he did, and then he could never get

home again; and he said: ‘I am not afraid of the Dark. I will find him,

and tell him so; and I like the Dark.’ And then—I brought him into the

play-room, and I—”

 

“Stop right there!” cried the mother. “You did not bring him in. You

intended to do so; but in talking with the men-at-arms and other idlers,

you forgot my son; and now, he is either in the grasp of that robber

chief Montfort, or the wolves have found him.”

 

Here the mother’s and the nurse’s outcries blended; and if the nurse’s

shrieks were loudest, there may have been cause; for a noble dame’s

white hand could strike heavily, in those days.

 

The whole night through, the mother and the nurse mingled their tears

for their darling, while the search went on. The men-at-arms and

servants loved the boy, not only that he was the son of their lord but

for his own quaint ways and bonny face.

 

Early in the morning the seekers came straggling in, tired and hungry;

no trace had been found of the child. All feared to tell their lady of

their fruitless quest. She had not ceased, all night, to walk the floor,

weeping, and asking herself how she would dare tell her husband that

their boy was gone. The nurse crouched by the door, trembling, and in

sore distress; while the seekers asked of each other who was to tell

their mistress. While they lingered, a shout from the valley caused all

to hasten to the castle wall. A horse and rider came rapidly toward them

from under the trees; clasped in the rider’s arms was little Gene; his

yellow curls glistened against the man’s black armor.

 

Placing the child on the ground, the stranger bowed low to the lady,

turned his horse, and disappeared into the forest. The mother scarcely

saw him; her eyes were on her boy. She reached out her arms to him.

 

“Gene, little Gene, my dearest, come.” The little fellow kissed his hand

and waved it to her. Soon he was in her arms; and she held him close,

while she questioned him.

 

“Where have you been, Gene, and who was yon dark man who brought you

home?”

 

“That was the Dark, mamma. Nurse does always tell me that the Dark will

catch me; and when I say that I do not fear, she threatens to send me to

him. I asked her where he lived, and she said, ‘In the day-time, in the

great vaults under the castle;’ and I asked her where he lived at night,

and she said, ‘In the deep woods.’ So I said I would find him, and tell

him I did not fear him.”

 

“Did you think to frighten his father’s son with such baby lore?” asked

the lady of the nurse, scornfully.

 

“But continue, my son; tell me, how went you out from the castle?”

 

“There is a little door through which—but dear mamma, I cannot tell you

what is known only to the men-at-arms.”

 

The lady glanced round darkly. “This castle needeth its master sorely,”

she said. The men drew back abashed. The boy continued,—

 

“When I came out into the woods, I left the path that leads

away—away,”—he spread out his dimpled arms and looked far off,—“I know

not whither it goes, but I left it, and sought the deep wood. The

shadows are heavy there, and it is very still. While I stood under a

tree, uncertain which way to go, suddenly down toward me, through the

trees, came the Dark.”

 

“Holy Mary! it was some robber,” exclaimed the mother.

 

“No, mamma, I tell you, it was the Dark. He was very black; his armor

was black, and so were his beard and his eyes. He looked at me as though

he wanted to eat me. But I said, ‘Are you the Dark? I come to find you

and to tell you that I do not fear you.’ And then I looked at him, and

he laughed, and I said, ‘I think I am going to like you;’ and he said,

‘Who are you? Have you strayed from Fairyland?’

 

“So I told him who I was, and he frowned and said, ‘Careless woman, to

guard such a treasure so slackly.’ Who did he mean, mamma?”

 

The lady’s face flushed. “Continue, my son; did he harm you?”

 

“Oh, mamma, no. He found me some berries and a drink from a spring; and

then he showed me how, at his coming, the little birds went to sleep in

the trees, and the deer beneath them. And he showed me the stars, coming

out in the deep sky. And when I grew sleepy, he held me in his arms, and

sang of the white moths, and the glowworms; and the bird that sings at

night sang with him; and then I went to sleep. But when morning came he

found a great black horse, which was his; and so he brought me home, and

made me promise never to seek for him again. I did not want to promise,

only his eyes looked so that I feared him; so I promised; and he gave me

this keepsake, for my mamma.”

 

Here little Gene drew forth from his sleeve a piece of parchment, which

he handed to his mother.

 

The lady was obliged to call to her aid the priest, who read slowly:—

 

“Thou careless woman, guard this treasure more securely, lest he fall a

second time into the hands of Montfort.”

 

“Holy St. Denis! it was that fierce robber,” said the lady.