THE SONG OF THE THRUSH
The morning sun already poured into her room, when Mora opened her eyes, waking suddenly with that complete wide-awakeness which follows upon profound and dreamless slumber.
Even as she woke, her heart said: "Our bridal day! The day I give myself to Hugh! The day he leads me home."
She stretched herself at full length upon the couch, her hands crossed upon her breast, and let the delicious joy of her love sweep over her, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.
The world without lay bathed in sunshine; her heart within was flooded by the radiance of this new and perfect realisation of her love for Hugh.
She lay quite still while it enveloped her.
Ten days ago, our Lady had given her to Hugh.
Eight days ago, the Bishop, voicing the Church, had done the same.
But to-day she--she herself--was going to give herself to her lover.
This was the true bridal! For this he had waited. And the reward of his chivalrous patience was to be, that to-day, of her own free will she would say; "Hugh, my husband, take me home."
She smiled to remember how, riding forth from the city gates of Warwick, she had planned within herself that, once safely established in her own castle, she would abide there days, weeks, perhaps even, months!
She stretched her arms wide, then flung them above her head.
"Take me home," she whispered. "Hugh, my husband, take me home."
A thrush in the coppice below, whistled in liquid notes: "_Do it now!
Do it now! Do it now!_"
Laughing joyously, Mora leapt from her bed and looked out upon a sunny summer"s day, humming with busy life, fragrant with scent of flowers, thrilling with songs of birds.
"What a bridal morn!" she cried. "All nature says "Awake! Arise!" Yet I have slept so late. I must quickly prepare myself to find and to greet my lover."
"_Do it now!_" sang the thrush.
Half an hour later, fresh and fragrant as the morn, Mora left her chamber and made her way to the great staircase.
Hearing shouting in the courtyard, and the trampling of horses" feet, she paused at a cas.e.m.e.nt, and looked down.
To her surprise she saw the well-remembered figure of Brother Philip, mounted; with him three other hors.e.m.e.n wearing the Bishop"s livery, and Martin Goodfellow leading Hugh"s favourite steed, ready saddled.
Much perplexed, she pa.s.sed down the staircase, and out on to the terrace where she had bidden them to prepare the morning meal.
From the terrace she looked into the banqueting hall, and her perplexity grew; for there Hugh d"Argent, booted and spurred, ready for a journey, strode up and down.
For two turns she watched him, noting his knitted brows, and the heavy forward thrust of his chin.
Then, lifting his eyes as he swung round for the third time, he saw her, outside in the sunlight; such a vision of loveliness as might well make a man"s heart leap.
He paused in his rapid walk, and stood as if rooted to the spot, making no move toward her.
For a moment, Mora hesitated.
"_Do it now!_" sang the thrush.
CHAPTER XLVI
"HOW SHALL I LET THEE GO?"
Mora pa.s.sed swiftly into the banqueting hall.
"Hugh," she said, and came to him. "Hugh, my husband, this is our bridal day. Will you take me to our home?"
His eyes, as they met hers, were full of a dumb misery.
Then a fierce light of pa.s.sion, a look of wild recklessness, flashed into them. He raised his arms, to catch her to him; then let them fall again, glancing to right and left, as if seeking some way of escape.
But, seeing the amazement on her face, he mastered, by a mighty effort, his emotion, and spoke with calmness and careful deliberation.
"Alas, Mora," he said, "it is a hard fate indeed for me on this day, of all days, to be compelled to leave thee. But in the early morn there came a letter which obliges me, without delay, to ride south, in order to settle a matter of extreme importance. I trust not to be gone longer than nine days. You, being safely established in your own home, amongst your own people, I can leave without anxious fears. Moreover, Martin Goodfellow will remain here representing me, and will in all things do your bidding."
"From whom is this letter, Hugh, which takes you from me, on such a day?"
"It is from a man well known to me, dwelling in a city four days"
journey from here."
"Why not say at once: "It is from the Bishop, written from his Palace in the city of Worcester"?"
Hugh frowned.
"How knew you that?" he asked, almost roughly.
"My dear Knight, hearing much champing of horses in my courtyard, I looked down from a cas.e.m.e.nt and saw a lay-brother well known to me, and three other hors.e.m.e.n wearing the Bishop"s livery. What can Symon of Worcester have written which takes you from me on this day, of all days?"
"That I cannot tell thee," he made answer. "But he writes, without much detail, of a matter about which I must know fullest details, without loss of time. I have no choice but to ride and see the Bishop, face to face. It is not a question which can be settled by writing nor could it wait the pa.s.sing to and fro of messengers. Believe me, Mora, it is urgent. Naught but exceeding urgency could force me from thee on this day."
"Has it to do with my flight from the Convent?" she asked.
He bowed his head.
"Will you tell me the matter on your return, Hugh?"
"I know not," he answered, with face averted. "I cannot say." Then with sudden violence: "Oh, my G.o.d, Mora, ask me no more! See the Bishop, I must! Speak with him, I must! In nine days at the very most, I will be back with thee. Duty takes me, my beloved, or I would not go."
Her mind responded instinctively to the word "duty," "Go then, dear Knight," she said. "Settle this business with Symon of Worcester. I have no desire to know its purport. If it concerns my flight from the Convent, surely the Pope"s mandate is all-sufficient. But, be it what it may, in the hands of my faithful Knight and of my trusted friend, the Bishop, I may safely leave it. I do but ask that, the work accomplished, you come with all speed back to me."