The Miracle at St. Bruno's

The workers were fond of him. He was a good master to them; and he understood everything that he asked them to do. He would pick up a flail and thresh corn in the barn with the most humble of his workmen; I had seen him winnowing, shaking the flat fan-shaped basket in the wind; most of all I remembered his going out in the snow at lambing time to rescue young lambs and how he himself would nurse them and feed them. Sowing and reaping, growing the foods which supplied the household and selling the surplus, this had been Rupert's occupation and he could imagine no other.

Once when I was coming back from visiting the Abbey burial grounds I heard a voice call me. It was Rupert's.

"Damask," he cried, catching up with me, "you should not be out at this hour.”

"I will go out when I will," I replied impatiently.

"It is unsafe, Damask. There are robbers about.”

"I have no fear of them.”

"But it is dangerous.”

I turned impatiently away and he said: "Damask, don't go yet. I would like to talk to you.”

"Then talk," I said.

"I think often of the future. What will become of us all?”

"For that we must needs wait and see.”

"There will be changes. We have a new master of the household now.”

"He has made little changes so far, but doubtless that will come, after the marriage.”

"Then what, Damask? I have worked for your uncle for many years. He had promised me that part of the lands which I cultivated should one day be mine. He hoped of course that you and I would marry." He was a little wistful.

I said quickly: "He realized that marriages can only be made by two people-the two who are to become husband and wife. He would have been the first to say that they must both agree wholeheartedly.”

"And you do not feel that you could marry me?”

"I could not think of marriage. It is far from my mind.”

"I will tell you something. Lord Remus owns several estates and Kate swears that she will insist on his giving me a place of my own.”

"Then you have no need to be anxious about your future.”

"If you shared it, we could go from here together.”

I shook my head. He sighed and insisted: "Your father wished it.”

"He only wished for my happiness," I said.

"I would make you as happy as it is possible for you to be now that you have lost him. I would live solely for you. I would care for you, cherish you.”

"I know it," I said.

"Marry me, Damask. Let us go from here. You would be safer than you are now, because those who are related to a man who has been accused of treason are in constant danger.

One careless word... even a look could incriminate you. As my wife, you could lose your identity as your father's daughter.”

I turned on him angrily. "Do you think I want that? I am more proud of it than anything that has ever happened to me.”

I turned and ran from him up to my room. I shut myself in and I wept. My tears were mingled sorrow and anger. Would I never get over my loss? And how dared Rupert suggest that I would ever wish to hide the fact that I was my father's daughter. I considered Rupert then. He was good; he was kind; he had meant no harm. I went to my window and looked out toward the Abbey. I could just make out the gray tower. I thought of the burial ground-how ghostly it would look now with the faint moonlight shining on the tombstones above the graves of longdead monks.

There was talk now that the Abbey was haunted. One of the farm workers and his wife returning home at dusk declared they had seen a monk emerge from the Abbey wall.

The monk had appeared to pass through the stones; he had stood for a while, and they had been so frightened that they had run.

It was natural, was the verdict. How many of the monks had died because of what had happened? Think of those two who had hung in chains at the Abbey's Gate. There was he who had sought to escape to London with some of the Abbey treasures and had been caught and hanged; there was Brother Ambrose who had murdered Rolf Weaver. There was the Abbot who had died of a broken heart. Wasn't it natural that such men should be unable to rest in their graves and come back to haunt the place where they had lived and suffered?

People were afraid to go near the Abbey after dark. Even in daylight they liked to have a companion.

Strangely enough this had no effect on me. I could not feel afraid and I continued to visit my father's grave.

My mother had become Simon Caseman's wife. Now that the wedding was over I was aware of a change creeping over the household. It was subtle at first but none the less there. The servants were made aware of a different rule in the house. Simon was not going to be the lenient master my father had been. He walked with a certain swagger; the servants must always call him Master. The men must never forget to touch their forelocks and the maids must make sure they curtsied almost to the ground. He watched the household accounts with care. He dismissed a few of the servants as being unnecessary.