"Love is a great lord--"
"By Heaven, do I not love you?"
He could have sworn he did; but Isoult knew better.
"Yesterday my lord loved me not; to-morrow he will not love me. I am his servant--his page."
"Isoult, you know that you are my wife."
"I am your servant, lord," said Isoult. "Listen."
As he stood hiding his face in his hand, this tall and lordly youth, Isoult took up her parable, but so low you could hardly hear it.
"Lord," she said, "when you wed me in the cottage it was for honour and to save my body from hanging. And when you had saved my body you showed me soul"s salvation, and taught me how to pray, saying, Deal justly, live cleanly, breathe sweet breath. And when you went away from Gracedieu saying you would come again, I waited for you there, doing all that you had taught me. So I did when I was made a prisoner in the dark tower, and so I would do now that I am blest with sight of you and service. But when I cried for you at Gracedieu you came not, and when I came to warn you of your peril you hoped for Roy, and seeing me your looks fell. And I knew this must be so, and would have gone back to Gracedieu had you told me. For then I should still have been rich with what you had given me once. Now even I will go, asking but one thing of you for a mercy, that you do not send me away beggared of what you gave me before."
"And what did I give you, Isoult?" he whispered.
""Twas your honour to keep, my lord," said the girl.
He had been looking at her long before she made an end, but not before she had gathered strength from her theme. When he did look he saw that her eyes were large and dark; honesty and clear courage burned steadily there; the candles reflected in them showed no flickering.
She had her hands crossed over her bosom as if to hold a treasure close: her treasures were her ring and her faithful heart. He knew now that he could not gain her for this turn, wife or no wife; in this great mood of hers she would have killed herself sooner than let him touch her; and when she had ended her say he knew that she had spoken the truth, a truth which put him to shame. Like a spoilt boy rather than a rogue he began to plead, nevertheless. He went on his knees, unbound her two hands and held them, trying to win his way by protestations of love and desire. The words, emptied of all fact by this time (for the boy was honest enough), rang hollow. She looked down at him sadly, but very gently, denying him against all her love.
The fool went on, set on his own way. At last she said--
"Lord, such love as thou hast for me Galors hath also. And shall I let my looks undo me with thee, and thee with me? I will follow thee as a servant, and never leave thee without it be thy will. I beseech of thee deface not thine own image which I carry here. Now let me go."
She touched herself upon the breast. This was how she drove the evil spirit out of him. He got up from his knees and thanked her gruffly.
His words came curt and sharp, with the old order in the tone of them; but she knew that he was really ordering himself. She held out her hand, rather shyly--for, the battle won, the conquered had resumed command--he took and kissed it. She turned to go. The evil spirit within him lifted up a bruised head.
"By G.o.d!" cried he, "you shall lie in the bed and I at the door."
And so it was, and so remained, while High March held the pair of them. By which it will appear that the evil spirit was disposed in pious uses.
CHAPTER XVIII
BOY"S LOVE
Maulfry did not appear at High March either the next day, or the next.
In fact, a week pa.s.sed without any sign from her, which sufficed Isoult to avoid the tedious attentions of the maids, and to attract those of the Countess of Hauterive. This great lady had been prepared to be gracious to the page for the sake of the master. She had not expected the master to show his appreciation of her act by leaving her alone. The two of them were very much together; Prosper was beginning to court his wife. The Countess grew frankly jealous of Roy; and the more she felt herself slipping in her own esteem, the more irritated with the boy did she grow. She had long admitted to herself that Prosper pleased her as no man had ever done, since Fulk de Breaute was stabbed on the heath. In pursuance of this she had waived the ten years of age between herself and the youth. It seemed the prerogative of her rank. If she thought him old enough, he was old enough, pardieu. If she went further, as she was prepared to do; if she said, "You are old enough, Prosper, for my throne. Come!" and he did not come, she had a sense that there was _lese majeste_ lurking where there should only be an aching heart. The fact was, that she began to hate Roy very heartily; it would not have been long before she took steps to be rid of him, had not fortune saved her the trouble, as must now be related. Isoult, it is to be owned, saw nothing of all this.
Having once settled herself on the old footing with her lord and master, wherein, if there was nothing to gain, there was also nothing to lose, the humble soul set to work to forget her late rebellion, and to be as happy as the shadow of Maulfry and the uncompromising shifts of the enamoured Melot would allow. As for Prosper"s courting, it shall be at once admitted that she discerned it as little as the Countess"s malevolent eye. He hectored her rather more, expected more of her, and conversed with her less often and less cheerfully than had been his wont. It is probable that he was really courting his wounded susceptibilities.
About a week after the adventure of the bed-chamber, as she was waiting in the hall with the crowd of lacqueys and retainers, some one caught her by the arm. She turned and saw Vincent.
He was hot, excited, and dusty, but very much her servant, poor lad.
"Dame Maulfry is here," he whispered her.
"Where?"
"You will see her soon. She is tricked in the figure of a dancing woman, an Egyptian. She will come telling fortunes and shameful tales.
And she means mischief, but not to you."
"Ah! How do you know that, Vincent?"
"She talked very often to herself when we were in the forest. We have been to many places--Wanmeeting, Waisford. There is no doubt at all.
"Kill the buck and you have the doe": she said it over and over again.
We have seen the sick man. He is quite well now, and very strong. She is to kill your lord and take you alive. She seems to hate him. I can"t tell you why. Which is your lord of all those on the dais?"
"Hush. There he sits on the right hand of the Countess. He is talking to her now. Look, she is laughing."
"Oh, he is tall. He looks light and fierce, like a leopard. How high he carries his head! As if we were of another world."
"So we are," said Isoult.
Vincent sighed and went on with his story. "I have run away from Maulfry. She left me to wait for her at the end of the avenue, with three horses, just as I was at Gracedieu--do you remember? But I could never do that again. Now I must hide somewhere."
"Come with me. I will hide you."
She took him to the b.u.t.tery and gave him over to the cook-maids. She told Melot that this was a fellow of hers who must be tended at all costs. Melot made haste to obey, sighing like a gale of wind. Isoult had rather asked any other, but time pressed. She hurried back to the hall to take her proper place at table, and going thither, made sure that her dagger slid easily in and out. She was highly excited, but not with fear--elated rather.
Supper pa.s.sed safely over. The Countess withdrew to the gallery, and Prosper followed her as his duty bound him. He was still thoughtful and subdued, but with a pa.s.sing flash now and again of his old authority, which served to make a blacker sky for the love-sick lady.
The sounds of music came gratefully to Isoult; for once she was glad to be rid of him. She sped back to Vincent, enormously relieved that the field of battle was to be narrowed. Maulfry would have been awkward in the open; she knew she could hold her in the pa.s.sages.
There were two things to be prevented, observe. The knife must not discover Prosper, nor Maulfry Isoult. The latter was almost as important on Prosper"s account as the former. Isoult knew that. She knew also that it must be risked of the two; but in the pa.s.sages she could deal with it.
Vincent was sitting by the fire between Melot and Jocosa, another of the maids. Melot bit her lip, and edged away from him as Isoult came in.
"Girls," said the redoubtable Roy, with scant ceremony, "I have to speak to my mate."
Melot bounced out of the room. Jocosa loitered about, hoping for a frolic. A chance look at Master Roy seemed to convince her that she too had better go.
As soon as they were alone Isoult made haste to eat and drink. Between the mouthfuls she said--
"She has not come yet."
"No," said Vincent, "but she will come soon. There is time enough for what she has to do. She had to wait till it was dark. She never works in daylight."
"We are safe now," Isoult said.
"How is that--safe?"
"She will never see my lord except through me. The doorward will bring her to me, or me to her. Then I shall be sent to my lord."
"And will you go, Isoult?"
"Never."