CHAPTER III. RED AND WHITE ROSES.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2248, 4 December 1886, Page 2 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 111. RED AND WHITE ROSES.

A change from the quiet little village of Brentford. No shaay lanes, no moonlight walks. All was changed now. This was the camp of the Parliamentary forces, and it was a few days after the battle of Marston Moor. Ah ! the lists of tne wounded, the dead, and the dying — the news which brought a pang worse, far worse, than death, to many a loving heart— after this fatal battle. It was late in the afternoon ; most of the wounded men had been carefully attended to, and were now lying on their beds, in the tents set apart for their use. 'ridings had come to Brentford for Mistress Dorothy and for Madam Hampton. Together they set off on their journey to the camp, for Sir John Hampton and Master Giles Hanbury had both been wounded. So late on the radiant summer afternoon, the cheerful, sunny little matron aud the sweet young Puritan maiden arrived at the camp. Like a ray of pure sunshine was her calm, beautiful face to the dying men who saw her ; for, soon after her arrival, having removed her long cloak and hood, Mistress Dorothy leaving Faith with her husband, and finding her father asleep, went into the tent where the wounded men were. It seemed, to the men lying racked with pain and burning fever, that this Puritan maiden, with some flowers in her hand, was an angel come down from heaven to lighten their gloom and assuage their sufferings. , So she went on her way, pausing to rearrange a pillow, or raise a dying head ; now kneeling to whisper a few words of comfort to a departing soul, or placing a flower where it would cheer some weary, drooping heart. At the far end of the | tent was a bed a little removed fro n the others. A partial screen had been placed | round it, to separate it from the rest. For a moment Mistress Dorothy paused. Instinct seemed to tell her that the 1 beautiful Angel Death ' was very near the tent now. Then she gently passed within the screeu, with the summer flowers in her hand and words of consolation and comfort on her lips. Suddenly the flowers fell to the ground, and over Mistress Dorothy's face swept a wave of colour, dying so quickly away, and succeeded by an ashy whiteness. No sound escaped from her pale lips, but she moved nearer and nearer, and at last stood looking down at the form of her Royalist lover, poor Harry Vane ! His eyes were closed, and motionless he lay there— with every breath he drew his life strength ebbing fast away — setting out alone on the dark journey which must be taken by aalandl — and Dorothy knelt there by his side ; vainly she strove to whisper his name, but the unuttered accents died away on her lips. One low moan of intense pain escaped from the Puritan maiden, and she pressed her hands to her heart to still its wild beating. The dying man opened his eyes. They re3ted for a moment on the girl by his side, but without recognition. 1 The letter,' he faintly said. * Write f or ' With trembling hands she raised his head, and moistened his burning fevered lips. But she stood a little behind him, and he could not see her. 1 Shall I write for thee ?' she said at last, wondering as she spoke at the strange unwonted sound in her voice. 1 But once more Harry lay seemingly unconscious. For a second Mistress Dorothy fancied a fleeting expression crossed his face, as if a voice from the past were speaking to him, but it passed as suddenly as it came. From her little bag the maiden took some paper and a pencil, and waited for her lips to move again. The dull deep pain at her breaking heart seemed deadening all her senses. She felt the full presence and the might of death, but the time was not now for her grief to burst forth, and the training she had ever received from her Puritan father came to her now, and Mistre33 Dorothy grew strangely calm. Outside the glad sunshine flooded the earth, the joyous birds amoug the branches of the trees sang their love songs to each other. The corn fields ripening in the warm sunlight, and the scarlet poppies lifting their heads amidst the golden sheen. And inside a soul was speeding its upward flight. Fighting for his King and his country Harry Vane had met his death * ound, but more fortunate than some of his companions he had not been left to die alone and uncared for. Recognised by a Puritan to whom he had rendered a service, to his friendly care he owed it that his last hours were not solitary and deserted. And on the morning of the day when Dorothy hail come to the camp a fair lovely girl kept at Cromwell's feet pleading as for very life that the stern unbending commander would grant her lover's release. Too late was fair Beatrice Seldon' pleading. Harry Vane's release was at hand, but the order was signed by no earthly ruler, and the angel with the wreath of asphodels was drawing very near now. Mistress Dorothy bent lower and lower over the man ©he loved, and again she heard the words so low, so faint. • The letter, 1 whispered the dying man ; then with one last effort he seemed to collect all his strength for the few last words, for the cruel words that fell like sharp stabs of pain on the girl who listened, crushing out her last hope ; destroying for ever her one remaining ray of happiness. She bent her dark head, waiting- for the message, for her own name, which, per chance, his lips would utter once again. IMy Beatrice 'he dictated faintly. Beatrice, not Dorothy. Ah ! he was wandering he did not know what he was paying 1 ; but the weak voice went on, •I am dying, but my last thought is for you— fo>* you— Beatrice ' No more. The last words w^re a whisper, so faint as almost to escape the eager listening ears. A long deep sigh. A full perfect light of recognition onco more shining in the deep blue eyes, and Miss Dorothy fell on her knees by his side. ' Harry! — it is j I — Dorothy— dost thon know me V No answer ; the words did not reach his j ears. j 'The King !'he cried. 'The King— is coming !' Then he fell back, and his eyes closed. Yes ; the King bad come ! The young Royn list's life was ended. He had passed from the world of shadows into the Great Unseen. And Mistress Dorothy, now that he was dead, ki-sed with quivering lips the white brow ; and as she pushed back the fair hair with trembling fingers, she felt, poor child, that her heart was broken. Then she rose, and taking up the cluster of white roses that she had dropped, hhe laid them on his breast. And even as she did so, »he heard voices and footsteps, someone Baying, in a sweet, low voice, « I will go alone, thank you.' A moment later, there came inside the screen a tall, lovely woman, with the hood fallen back from her golden head, and a bunch of red roses in her hand. She looked at the silent form, at the half- { finished letter, and then at the pale, quiet girl, with the soft, clinging grey j gown, and eyes full of misery. " His release," she said, as if not yet understanding that Harry Vane was dead. " I have brought his release, signed by Cromwell himself !" Then Mistress Dorothy spoke, very slowly and quietly, "Thou art tod lateMaster Vane hath been called away " Neither spoke, but Mistress Beatrice Seldon buripd her fac« in her hands and sobbed bitterly, Prtovutly she felt a

soft, cool hand laid upon hers. "Madam," said Mistress Dorothy, gently, as she gave the letter into the hands of the weeping girl, ' Be comforted — 7r sent yon this message.' Yes ; there was some comfort for Beatrice Seldon — his last thought had been for her. Ah ! tie bitter anguish that filled poor Mistress Dorothy's heart, as she thought of this ! The fair weeping woman read the words the Puritan maiden had written. Then, lifting her head, she laid her hand on Mistress Dorothy's shoulder. " Yon loved him too ?" she whispered. Mistress Dorothy turned her pale face and tearless eyes towards her rival. "Loved? 1 she said. "Nay, madam, say not loved— I— l love him now." Then she took one long, last look at her lover's dead face. "Farewell!" she whispered, and turned away. And Beatrice Seldon was left alone. Red and white roses lay on his broat-t, and were still there when they buried him. Harry Vane's short career soon ended. Two women mourned for him, for he had won the love of both. Beatrice Seldon married a few years later, but Mistress Dorothy had spoken the truth when she fcaid, ' Say not loved I love him now.' She went back to Brentford with her father, loving and dutiful as of old. Her life-dream was over. All was ended now— the hope, the fear, and the sorrow —the wearing aching of heart — all was ended. A calm, gentle woman was Mistress Dorothy, as time with its softening influence moved on. Ever ready to listen to the joys and the sorrows of others. The maidens of Brentford confided their love stories to her, wondering oftentimes how it was that she herself did not wed. They knew not her own sad story— knew not that the love of her life lay buried in a soldier's grave, and that she felt eho could never love again. Some dead roses, some crumpled leaves — tenderly cherished and wept over —these were Mistress Dorothy's lore letters — tokens of a neverdying affection, purified through Buffering, and ever increasing and strengthening until the time, prayed sweefc Dorothy, when the shadows of earth shall all roll away, and I may see all things in the full and perfect light that shines only from above.