"It is very still, my lord. Wilt thou not let me watch for a little?"
she asked.
Prosper laughed. "There are many things a man"s wife can do for him, my dear," he said, "but she cannot fight dogs or men. And she cannot sleep with one eye open Eat what you have, and then shut your pair of eyes. You are not afraid for me?"
Isoult looked at him quickly. Then she said--"My lord is--," and stopped confused.
"What is thy lord, my girl?" asked he.
"He is good to his servant," she whispered in her low thrilled voice.
They ate what bread was left, and drank a little water. Before all was finished Isoult was nodding. Prosper bestirred himself to do the best he could for her; he collected a heap of dried leaves, laid his cloak upon them, and picked up Isoult to lay her upon the cloak. His arms about her woke her up. Scarce knowing what she did, dreaming possibly of her mother, she put up her face towards his; but if Prosper noticed it, no errant mercy from him sent her to bed comforted. He put her down, covered her about with the cloak, and patted her shoulder with an easy--"Good-night, my la.s.s." This was cold cheer to the poor girl, who had to be content with his ministry of the cloak. It was too dark to tell if he was looking at her as he stooped; and ah, heavens! why should he look at her? The dark closed round his form, stiffly erect, sitting on the root of the great tree which made a tent for them both, and then it claimed her soul. She lost her trouble in sleep; he kept the watch all night.
CHAPTER X
FOREST ALMS
Towards the grey of the morning, seeing that the whole forest was at peace, with no sign of dogs or men all that night, and now even a rest from the far howling of the wolves, Prosper"s head dropt to his breast. In a few seconds he slept profoundly. Isoult awoke and saw that he slept: she lay watching him, longing but not daring. When she saw that he looked blue and pinched about the cheekbones, that his cheeks were yellow where they should be red, and grey where they had been white, she knew he was cold; and her humbleness was not proof against this justification of her desires. She crept out of her snug nest, crawled towards her lord and felt his hands; they were ice.
"Asleep he is mine," she thought. She picked up the cloak, then crept again towards him, seated herself behind and a little above him, threw the cloak over both and snuggled it well in. She put her arms about him and drew him close to her bosom. His head fell back at her gentle constraint; so he lay like a child at the breast. The mother in her was wild and throbbing. Stooped over him she pored into his face. A divine pity, a divine sense of the power of life over death, of waking over sleep, drew her lower and nearer. She kissed his face--the lids of his eyes, his forehead and cheeks. Like an unwatched bird she foraged at will, like a hardy sailor touched at every port but one.
His mouth was too much his own, too firm; it kept too much of his sovereignty absolute. Otherwise she was free to roam; and she roamed, very much to his material advantage, since the love that made her rosy to the finger-tips, in time warmed him also. He slept long in her arms.
She began to be very hungry.
"He too will be hungry when he wakes," she thought; "what shall I do?
We have nothing to eat." She looked down wistfully at his head where it lay pillowed. "What would I not give him of mine?" The thought flooded her. But what could she do?
She heard the pattering of dry leaves, the crackle of dry twigs snapt, and looking up, saw a herd of deer feeding in a glade not very far off.
Idly as she watched them, it came home to her that there were hinds among them with calves. One she noticed in particular feed a little apart, having two calves near her which had just begun to nibble a little gra.s.s. Vaguely wondering still over her plight, she pictured her days of shepherding in the downs where food had often failed her, and the ewes perforce mothered another lamb. That hind"s udder was full of milk: a sudden thought ran like wine through her blood. She slid from Prosper, got up very softly, took her cup, and went towards the browsing deer. The hind looked up (like all the herd) but did not start nor run. A brief gaze satisfied it that here was no enemy, neither a stranger to the forest walks; it fell-to again, and suffered Isoult to come quite close, even to lay her hand upon its neck. Then she stood for a while stroking the red hind, while all the herd watched her. She knelt before the beast, clasping both arms about its neck; she fondled it with her face, as if asking the boon she would have. Some message pa.s.sed between them, some a.s.surance, for she let go of the hind"s neck and crawled on hands and knees towards the udder.
The deer never moved, though it turned its head to watch her. She took the teat in her mouth, sucked and drew milk. The herd stood all about her motionless; the hind nuzzled her as if she had been one of its own calves; so she was filled.
Next she had to fill her cup. This was much more difficult. The hind must be soothed and fondled again, there must be no shock on either side. She started the flow with her mouth; then she knelt against the animal with her head pressed to its side, took the teat in her hand and succeeded. She filled the cup with Prosper"s breakfast. She got up, kissed the hind between the eyes, stroked its neck many times, and went tiptoe back to her lord and master. She found him still sound asleep, so sat quietly watching him till he should wake, with the cup held against her heart to keep it warm.
Broad daylight and a chance beam of sun through the trees woke him at last. It would be about seven o"clock. He stretched portentously, and sat up to look about him; so he encountered her tender eyes before she had been able to subdue their light.
"Good-morning, Isoult," said he. "Have I been long asleep?"
"A few hours only, lord."
"I am hungry. I must eat something."
"Lord, I have milk for thee."
He took the cup she tendered, looking at her.
"Drink first, my child," he said.
"Lord, I have drunk already."
He drained the cup without further ado.
"Good milk," he said when he had done. He took these things, you see, very much as they came.
His next act was to kneel face to the sun and begin his prayers.
Something made him stop; he turned him to his wife.
"Hast thou said thy prayers, Isoult?"
"No, lord," said she, reddening.
"Come then and pray with me. It is a good custom."
She obeyed him so far as to kneel down by his side. He began again.
She had nothing to say, so he stopped again.
"Dost thou forget thy prayers since thou art a wife, Isoult?"
"Lord, I know none," said she with a shameful face.
"Thou art not a Christian then?"
"If a Christian prays, my lord, I am not a Christian."
"But thou hast been baptized?"
"Yes, lord."
"How knowest thou?"
"The Lord Abbot once reproached me before my parents that I had disgraced Holy Baptism; and my father beat me soundly for it, saying that of all his afflictions that was the hardest to bear. This he did in the presence of the Lord Abbot himself. Therefore I know that I have been beaten for the sake of my baptism."
Prosper was satisfied.
"It is enough, Isoult. Thou art certainly a Christian. Nevertheless, such an one should pray (and women as well as men), even though it may very well be that he knows not what he is saying. Prayer is a great mystery, look you. Yet this I know, that it is also a great comfort.
For remember that if a Christian prays--knowing or not knowing the meaning of the act and the upshot of it--he is very sure it is acceptable to Saint Mary, and through her to G.o.d Almighty Himself. So much so, indeed, that he is emboldened thereafter to add certain impertinences and urgent desires of his own, which Saint Mary is good enough to hear, and by her intercession as often as not to win to be accepted. Some add a word or two to their saint or guardian, others invoke all the saints in a body; but it is idle to do one or any of these things without you have prayed first. So you must by all means learn to pray. Sit down by me here and I will teach you."
She sat as close to him as she dared on the trunk of the beech, while he taught her to say after him, _"Pater noster qui es in coelis"_, and _"Ave Maria gratia plena."_ In this way they spent a full hour or more, going over and over the Latin words till she was as perfect as he. In the stress of the task, which interested Prosper vastly, their hands met more than once; finally Prosper"s settled down over hers and held it. In time he caught the other.
Isoult"s heart beat wildly; she had never been so happy. When she had all the words pat they knelt down and prayed together, with the best results.
"Now, child," said Prosper, "you may add what you choose of your own accord; and be sure that our Lady will hear you. It is a great merit to be sure of this. The greater the Christian the surer he is. I also will make my pet.i.tion. You have no patron?"
"No, lord, I have never heard of such an one."
"I recommend you to Saint Isidore. His name is the nearest to yours that I can remember. For the rest, he is very strong. Ask, then, what you will now, my child, and doubt nothing."
Isoult bent her head and shut her eyes for the great essay. What could she say? What did she want? She was kneeling by Prosper"s side, his hand held hers a happy prisoner.