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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1a53fd --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50557 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50557) diff --git a/old/50557-0.txt b/old/50557-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b255ced..0000000 --- a/old/50557-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7233 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Silver Cross - -Author: Mary Johnston - -Release Date: November 26, 2015 [EBook #50557] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -In this text version of “Silver Cross”, words in italics are marked -with _underscores_, and words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE. - -Variant spelling is retained, a very few changes have been made to -standardize punctuation and spelling. - - - - -SILVER CROSS - - - - - SILVER CROSS - - - _By_ - - MARY JOHNSTON - - - BOSTON - LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY - 1922 - - - - - _Copyright, 1922_ - - BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. - - - _All rights reserved_ - - Published March, 1922 - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -SILVER CROSS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Henry the Seventh sat upon the throne. - -The town of Middle Forest had long since pushed the forest from all -sides. Its streets, forked as lightning, ran up to the castle and -down to the river. The river here was near its mouth, and wide. The -bridge that crossed it had many arches. Below the bridge quite large -craft, white and brown and dull red, sailed or dropping sail, came to -anchor. Answering to hour and weather the water spread carnation, gold, -sapphire, jade, opal, lead and ebony. Now it slept glassy, and now wind -made of it a fretful, ridged thing. The note of the town was a bleached -grey, but with strong splashes of red and umber. A sharp, steep hill -upheld the castle that was of middle size and importance, built by the -lords Montjoy and held now by William of that name. - -Behind the town a downward sloping wood tied the castle hill to fields -and meadows. The small river Wander ran by these on its way to join -the greater stream. Up the Wander, two leagues or so, in a fertile -vale couched the Abbey of Silver Cross. Materially speaking, a knot -of stone houses for monks--Cistercians, White Monks--a stately stone -house for God and his Son and Mary; near-by a quite unstately hamlet, -timber, daub and thatch, grown haphazard by church and cloister; many -score broad acres, wood and field, stream and pasture, mill, forge, -weirs, and a tenant roll of goodly length,--such was Silver Cross. So -far as physical possessions went what in this region Montjoy did not -hold Silver Cross did and what the two did not hold Middle Forest had -managed to wrest from them in Henry Sixth’s time. Silver Cross had, -too, immaterial possessions. But once she had been wealthier here than -she was now. That time had been even with a time of material poverty. -Now she had goods, but she did not have so much sanctity. Yet there -were values still, marked with that other world’s seal; it is useless -to doubt that. - -The thorn in Silver Cross’ flesh was not now Montjoy nor Middle Forest, -with both of whom she had for years lived in amity. The thorn was -the Friary of Saint Leofric--Dominican--across the river from Middle -Forest, but tied to it by the bridge, holding its lands well away from -Montjoy and Silver Cross, but rival nevertheless, with an eye to king’s -favour, cardinal’s favour, and bidding latterly, with a distinctness, -for popular favour. That was the wretched, irritating thorn, likely to -produce inflammation! Prior Hugh of Saint Leofric--ah, the ambitious -one! - -Silver Cross possessed in a splendid _loculus_ the span-long silver -cross that the lips of Saint Willebrod, the martyr, had kissed after -head and trunk were parted. In ancient times it had worked many -miracles, but in this modern day the miraculous was grown drowsy. -Saint Leofric had the bones of Saint Leofric,--all, that is, save the -right hand and arm. That is, once and for ages these had lacked. But -now--this very Easter--the missing members had been found: miraculously -pointed out, miraculously found! There had been long pause in working -miracles, but now Saint Leofric was working them again. Middle Forest -talked more of Saint Leofric who was, as it were, a foreigner, being -across the river, lord of nothing on this side--than it talked of -Silver Cross that was its own. Not alone Middle Forest, but all this -slice of England. Silver Cross found the mounting bruit discordant, a -very peacock scream. Silver Cross slurred the fresh miracles of Saint -Leofric and detested Prior Hugh. Silver Cross’s own abbot, Abbot Mark, -said that Apollyon made somewhere a market. - -The river lay stretched and still, red with the sunset, deep blue where -the blue summer sky yet abided. “Like the Blessed Virgin’s robe and -cloak!” said Morgen Fay. “The bridge is her gemmed girdle.” - -Morgen Fay’s house was a river-side one, built up sheer indeed from the -river so that one might take welcomes, flung toys, from passing boats. -Morgen Fay took them, leaning from her window. Her voice floated down -in return; sometimes she flung a flower. She had a garden, large as -a kerchief, beside the house, hidden almost by a jut of the old town -wall. Here she gathered the flowers she flung. Sometimes he who had -been in the boat came again, walking, to her door that was discreet, -in the shadow of the wall. But he only gained entry if he were somehow -friend of a friend. And all alike must be _armiger_, or at least not -the least in the burgher world. And, logically, only those of these -entered who could be friends and pay. Would you have love for nothing? -She had an answer always ready to that. “I must live!” - -The sunset spread. There was more red than blue. “She is so close -wrapped in her mantle that you can hardly see the heavenly blue core of -her.--Oh, Mother and Mother and Mother--where are we and what are we?” - -Morgen Fay went into her garden. Company was coming for supper. Best -break a few more flowers. The flowers were June flowers, roses and -yellow lilies, larkspur and pinks. They had the sunset hues. The owner -of the garden broke them, tall herself as the lilies, white and vermeil -like the roses. - -The sunset died out and the river stretched first pearl and then lead -and then ebony. - -Morgen Fay had a little oaken room where boards were laid upon trestles -and covered with a fringed cloth, and dishes and flasks and goblets -set upon this. An old woman, large but light upon her feet, spread the -table, Morgen helping. The old woman’s son kept the street door. He was -a lazy lout but obedient, strong, too, of his fists and with a voice -that could summon, if need were, not the dead but the watch. His name -was Anthony, the old woman’s Ailsa, and Morgen Fay had known them since -she was a young child. Now they were in her employ. - -Said Ailsa, “’Tis Somerville’s company?” - -“Yes. You know that. How many candles? You’d best bring three more.” - -“Yes, I will. Is that the gown you’re going to wear?” - -“Yes. It’s my best.” - -“It’s not the one you like the best--so ’t isn’t your best after all, -is it? You don’t like Somerville as well as you did last Lady Day.” - -“What does it matter if I like him or don’t like him?” - -“Oh, you won’t keep him if you don’t like him! He’ll go as others have -gone. ‘Keep!’ Lord! With most of blessed women it’s the other way -’round!” - -She brought the candles. “Do you like Master Bettany?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“He’s richer than the knight--just as he’s younger. I say that -Somerville’s holding a light for his own house’s sacking!” - -“I say that I am tired. I like neither man nor woman, I nor thou.” - -“Are you cold? Will you have a little fire? Here, take wine!” - -“Joy from wine is falseness like the rest. Give it to me!” - -Morgen drank. “I’ll have just time to put on the other dress if you -think it sets me better.” - -She went and put it on, returning to the oak room. Ailsa regarded -results with eyes of a friendly critic. “It does! Montjoy knows how -to choose--learned it, I reckon, in France!” She stood with her hands -on her hips. She, too, had taken wine and now she loosed tongue, -regarding all the time the younger woman with a selfish and unselfish -affection, submitting to the wonder of her, but standing up for the -right by prescription of half-ruling the wonder. Morgen had a voice of -frankincense and music with a drop of clear oil. Ailsa had more of the -oil and a humbler music. “Say you ‘Falseness?’ Say you ‘Coldness?’ Say -you ‘Darkness!’ You’re a bright fool, Morgen-live-by-the-river!” - -“Granted I am a fool,” said Morgen, and kneeled on the window seat. - -The older woman’s voice rose. “Doesn’t fire warm you, and good sweet -sack? Don’t you lie soft? Don’t you have jewels and gold work and silk -of Cyprus? Don’t gentlemen and rich merchants come for your stroking? -Haven’t you got a garden where you can walk and a tight house, and a -pearl net for your hair, and a velvet shoe? Doesn’t Montjoy protect you -for old time’s sake--even though now the fool goes off after religion? -Religion! Don’t you go to Mass and give candles--wax ones--and -doesn’t Father Edwin, your cousin, make all safe for you in that -quarter? Oh, the Saints! There’s king’s power, and there’s priest’s -power, and there’s woman’s power! World slurs you and world loves -you, Morgen and Morgen! Go to! Fie on you! Shorten your long face! -Where’s falseness--anything to speak of, that is? Where’s coldness and -darkness? The world’s been a good world to you, mistress, ever since -you danced at the Great Fair here, and Warham House saw you and took -you and taught you! A pretty good world!” - -“As worlds go--poor, dumb things! Yes, I say they are poor, dumb -things! Light the candles!” - -The large woman drew close the curtains over the window that gave upon -the street and lighted the candles. There was wood laid within the -fireplace. She regarded this. “It’s a cool June--and, Our Lady! we seem -to need mirth here to-night! Fire and wine--wine and fire!” - -She left the room for the kitchen, and returning with a flaming brand, -struck it amid the cold wood. All took fire. “Better, isn’t it? I hear -company’s footfall!” - -The company thought the oak room shining to-night. They thought Morgen -Fay fair and joyous. Sir Robert Somerville was yet in love,--none of -her old loves went wholly out of love. But he was not so fathoms deep -in love as once he had been. He had left the miser stage and now he was -at the expansive, willing to feed pride by showing his easy wealth. -He moved a tall man of forty-odd, with a quick, odd grimacing face, -not unpleasing. He had a decisive voice and more gesture than was the -country’s custom. With him came a guest in his house to whom he wished -to show the oak casket and the gem it contained, a cousin from the -other side of England, Sir Humphrey Somerville, to wit,--and Master -Thomas Bettany, son and heir of the richest merchant in Middle Forest. -They kissed Morgen Fay who put on magic and welcomed them. It was as -though the river outside, that had been lead to ebony, ran now through -faint silver back to rose. - -There was a settle by the fire and Morgen sat here, and by her Sir -Robert, and Sir Humphrey opposite, and Master Bettany in a poorer chair -in front of the flames. Master Bettany was the youngest there,--a -great, blond boy with blue eyes of daring, with enormous desire for -adventure, experience, plots and mysteries. Salt and sugar must be -elaborately planned for, approached with a delicate, shivering sense of -danger, of play and play again and something to risk, or truly life was -not sugared nor salted! He was for islands said to be danger-circled -and with a witch for queen! He was likewise modest and kind-hearted, -and as he could not devise evil, the evil he believed in was highly -artificial. Sir Humphrey Somerville was as large for man as Ailsa was -for women. He had brown hair and a beak of a nose and the eyes of a -wag, but behind the waggery something formidable in his face. - -Such as they were, they had a merry evening, when the food was brought -and the wine was poured; and Morgen, too, turned merry, though, as -ever, she kept measure, for that was the way she ruled. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Up in the castle also was company to supper. William, Lord of Montjoy, -entertained his cousin, Abbot Mark from Silver Cross, and Prior Matthew -of Westforest, a dependent House further up the Wander. Montjoy showed -a small, dark, wistful man. The Abbot had too much flesh for comfort, -a great, handsome, egg-shaped face, and a manner that oozed bland, -undoubting authority. He had long ago settled that he was good and -wise. But, strangely, was left the struggle to be happy! It took a -man’s time! Just there, something or some one perpetually interfered! -But it was something to be sure that you served God and Holy Church. -Asked how he served, he might, after cogitation, have answered that he -served by his being. Moreover, as times went, he was scrupulous, gave -small houseroom to scandal, ruled monk and tenant, beautified the great -church of Silver Cross, bought Italian altar pictures. - -Matthew of Westforest was another sort. Tall and shrivelled and -reddish, he had another manner of wit. - -The three supped in the castle hall, at the upper end of a table -accommodating a half-score above the salt and thrice that number below. -Beside Montjoy sat Lady Alice, his wife. There were likewise a young -girl, his daughter Isabel, and his sister, also young, married and -widowed, Dame Elenore. - -Abbot Mark talked much to these three, benevolently, with gallantry -looking around corners. The Prior maintained silence here. The features -he secretly praised were the beautiful features of Outward Advancement. -Montjoy at supper talked little. After a life of apparent unconcern he -was beginning to think of soul’s life. Perhaps once a day he felt a -shift of consciousness. Now it came like a zephyr from some differing, -surely sweeter clime, and now like a clean dagger stroke. After these -events, which never took more time to happen than the winking of an -eye, he saw some great expanse of things differently. He was learning -to lie in wait for these instants. Laid one to another, they were -becoming the hub around which the day’s wheel ran. But truly they -were but instants and came but once in so often, taking him when it -pleased them. And the lightning might have showed him--perhaps did show -him--that there was an unknown number of things yet to change. They -might be very many. He knew in no wise definitely whence came the -fragrant air and the dagger strokes. - -At the moment when the chronicle opens, he had turned back, in his -questing, to the broad realm of Holy Church. Holy Church said that she -sat, acquiescent, wise, at the door through which such things came. In -fact, she said, she had the keys. Montjoy, being no fool, saw, indeed, -how much of the portress was lewd and drunken. But for all that surely -she had been given the keys! Given them once, surely she could not have -parted with them! He rebuked the notion. And truly he knew much that -was good of the portress, much that was very good. He thought, “I will -better serve Religion”--conceiving that to be Holy Church’s high name. -But he was bewildered between high name and low name, between the saint -there in the portress and the evident harlot. Between the goodness and -the evil! - -He was led by a longing for union and he only knew that it was not -for old unions that once had contented. He could have those at any -time if he willed them again. But he knew that they would not content. -The longing was larger and demanded a larger reciprocal. He was -knight-errant now in the interior land of romance, out to find that -reciprocal, visited with gleams from some presence, but wandering -often, turning in mistake now here, now there. - -Supper ended. Abbot Mark had come to the castle for counsel, or at -the least, for intelligent sympathy. It was too general in the hall. -The withdrawing room would be better. They went to this, but still -there was play, with a fire for a cool June evening, with lights and -musical instruments, Dame Elenore’s hands upon the virginals, young -Isabel’s fresh voice singing with a young knight, man of Montjoy’s, two -gentlewomen serving Lady Alice murmuring over a tapestry frame,--and -the Abbot soothed, happy, in the great chair near Dame Elenore. Prior -Matthew shook himself. “Business! Business!” was his true motto and -inner word. He spoke in a low voice to the Abbot, deferentially, for -the Priory deduced from the Abbey, but monitory also, perhaps even -minatory. Abbot and Prior alike knew that when it came to business the -Prior had the head. - -The Abbot sighed and turned from Dame Elenore to Montjoy who was -brooding, chin on fist, eyes on fire. “We must ride early to Silver -Cross, Montjoy! Counsel is good, they say, taken in the warm, still -hour before bedtime.” - -Dame Elenore lifted her hands from the virginals. Montjoy’s wife spoke -to her women and, the song being done, to her daughter. “We will go, -my lord. Give you good night! Your blessing, Lord Abbot!” She kneeled -for it, as did young Isabel and Dame Elenore and the two gentlewomen -and the young knight and Gilbert the page. The Abbot blessed; the -women and the young men took their departure. Montjoy and Silver Cross -and Westforest had the room and the fire and through the window the -view, did they choose to regard it, of the town roofs and twisting, -crack-like streets, and of the river, now under the gleaming of a -rising moon, and a line that was the bridge, and a mound on the farther -side crowned by a twinkling constellation, lights of Saint Leofric’s -monks. The Abbot did so look, walking heavily the room and pausing by -the window. It was with peevish face and gesture that he returned to -the great chair “Do you hear each day, Montjoy, louder news of what -Hugh is doing?” - -“Is it Prior Hugh, or is it Saint Leofric? If it be Hugh, I say that -long since we knew that he was ambitious and glory-covetous. If it be -the saint--how shall you war against him?” - -“If Saint Willebrod would arise to war--” - -“Would they war--two saints?” - -“Would he not come to aid of St. Robert, St. Bernard, St. Stephen -and Abbey of Silver Cross? Just as Montjoy would draw blade for his -suzerain? Chivalry, loyalty and fealty must hold in heaven,” said the -Abbot. - -“If there is One behind Saint Leofric--” - -“Never believe it!” The Prior spoke hastily. “Moreover, my son, it is -certainly not Leofric. It is Hugh!” - -Montjoy sat brooding. His guests watched him. Presently he spoke. “Two -days ago, returning from hawking in Long Fields, I met a man who had -sat and woven baskets from his youth because he could not walk, being -smitten in both feet. He was walking, he was skipping and running. -‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ he kept crying out, and those with him -cried, ‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ I halted one of them. ‘The right -hand and arm--the right hand and arm that were found, lord! He touched -but the little finger--and look how he leaps and runs!’” - -The Abbot groaned. - -“I rode on farther and I met a stream of folk on their way to the -bridge. They had made themselves into a procession and were chanting. I -remember easily and I can almost give you their chant. It ran something -like this.” - -He began to chant, but not loudly. - - “‘They were found through a dream, - They were shown to Brother Paul, - A saintly monk, - Where they rested - Under a stone - In a place prepared of old - In Saint Leofric’s great church! - The white bones, - The right arm and the right hand, - Miraculous! - In the monk’s dream - They shone through the stone - Making a pool of light. - Saint Leofric painted in the window - Came down and kneeled over it.’” - -Again the Abbot groaned. “So saith Hugh!” - - “‘Good Prior Hugh made to dig. - There in sweet earth, - In spices and linen, - The right hand and arm - At last! - Yea, it shineth forth-- - Saint Leofric smileth in his window!’” - -The Abbot groaned the third time. “Sathanas smileth!” - - “‘Now are the bones together, - They shine with a sunny light, - Working miracles!-- - From the four corners come - The sick and the sorrowful--’” - -“Aye! Bringing gifts!” - - “‘Saint Leofric’s name is in all mouths, - His glory encreaseth over Silver Cross!’” - -“I should not have said it--I should not have said it!” cried the -Abbot. “But with the inconstant and weak generality it doth! What is it -this part England rings with--yea, that the rest of England begins to -learn? Do we not hear that a pilgrimage comes from London itself? _The -missing bones of Saint Leofric have been found!_” - -“And have they not?” said Montjoy. - -There followed a pause. A log cracked and fell upon the hearth. Light -and shadow leaped about the room. The Prior spoke. “It is a matter of -observation,” he said, and seemed to study his ring, “that there are -cases when acts belief as belief, whether it be correctly addressed to -a reality or squandered before a falsity.” - -“I have met that witch,” answered Montjoy, “and she palsies me!” He -went to the window and stood looking out at the moon-silvered town -and river. Presently back he came. “Against what or whom do you shake -a lance? If it be against a saint and his true miracles, I lay the -quarrel down--” - -Abbot Mark spoke weightily. “And so should I, Montjoy, and so should -I! But if it be against falsity? If it be against Hugh and his frauds?” - -“Prove that!” - -The Abbot turned toward the Prior. The latter nodded and spoke. “We -brought with us two wandering friars--Franciscans. Westforest has known -them long. They are not the idle and greedy rogues that bring us down -with the people. They are right Mendicants, travelling from place to -place to do good. Will it please you have them summoned?” - -A silver bell stood upon the table. Montjoy struck it. His page -appeared, took commands and bowing vanished. Abbot Mark began to -speak of the church at Silver Cross and how he would make it so rich -and beautiful! Now Montjoy loved this church. Buried beneath it were -his parents, and buried his first young wife, the one whom he loved -as he did not love Dame Alice. It was she he had loved through and -beyond Morgen Fay, loving something of her in that sinner from whom, -in concern for his soul, he had parted. He listened to the Abbot. -Certainly Silver Cross was the highest, the most beauteous, and must be -kept so! He knew Silver Cross, church and cloister, in and out, when -he was a boy and after. He had love and concern for it--love almost of -a lover--jealous love. Prior Hugh and Saint Leofric must not go beyond -bounds! - -The two friars entered, Andrew and Barnaby, honest-looking men, Andrew -the more intelligent. They stood by the door with hands crossed and -Montjoy observed them. Given permission to advance and speak they came -discreetly, with modesty, into conclave. Without preamble, they began. - -The Abbot spoke. “My sons, the Lord Montjoy who hath ever been devout -toward Saint Willebrod and his Abbey of Silver Cross--yea, who hath -been, like his father before him, advocate and protector and enricher -of the same, bringing from overseas emeralds, rubies and sapphires -for that marvel the casket where lies that world’s marvel, the cross -of Saint Willebrod--the Lord Montjoy, my sons, would have from -your own lips that which you heard and saw in April, it now being -late June.--Question them, Matthew, so that they may show it forth -expeditiously.” - -The Prior squared himself to the task. “Where were you, my sons, two -weeks before Easter?” - -“Across the river, reverend father. The granddame of Brother Barnaby -here, living at Damson Lane, was breathing her last and greatly wishful -to see him. She died--may her soul rest--and we buried her. Then we -would go a little further, not having been upon yonder side for some -while.” - -“You did not go brawling along, nor fled into every alehouse as if -Satan were after you?” - -“Lord of Montjoy, we are not friars of that stripe. We are clean men -and sober, praise God and Our Lady!” - -“Aye, aye, they speak truth, Montjoy.--Well, you walked in country over -there, avoiding Friary and town--if one can call that clump of mud, -pebble and thatch a town!” - -“Why did you do that?” - -“Brother Barnaby, lord, had had a dream. In it a Shining One plucked up -towns like weeds and threw them one by one into a great and deep pit. -There was left alive only country road, heath and field and wood. So he -awoke quaking and said, ‘I go through never a town gate this journey!’” - -“That was a discomfortable dream!” - -The Abbot spoke. “I interpret it. The towns, one by one, are that one -which Hugh, dreaming and dreaming again, thinks to see rise beside -his Friary, built from pilgrims’ wealth, with hostels for pilgrims -and merchants to sell them goods, and a great house for nobles who -come!--But a Shining One, Hugh! topples them into ditches, yea, into -gulfs, as fast as you build them! Ha! Go on, my son!” - -“So we passed the town and we wandered, reverend father, until we came -to the chapel of Damson Hill, three miles from Saint Leofric’s, where -the dead country folk lie under green grass. Damson Wood is hard by, -where watches and prays the good hermit Gregory--” - -“Aye, aye, a good man!” said Montjoy. - -“By now the sun was setting. He gave us water and bread, and after -praying we lay down to sleep with only our gowns for bed and bedding. -Brother Barnaby and I slept, but on the middle of the night we waked. -Then saw we the hermit standing praying, and when he saw that we no -longer slept he said to us, ‘Misdoing is moving through this night. -Misdoing in high places!’ So he went to the door and stood a long time -looking out, then took his staff and strode forth, and Brother Barnaby -and I followed.” - -“I know that he is said to have the greater vision,” said Montjoy. -“Moreover, once in my life, he told me high truth.” - -“Where did the holy man go, my son?” - -“He went through the black night, reverend father, to Damson Hill and -to the great and ill-kept graveyard under the shadow. Brother Barnaby -and I followed him. He walked softly and he walked swiftly and he -walked silently, and when we came there we did not stop by the chapel -which truly is a ruin, but we went on to the far slope of the yard--” - -The Prior said, “Where they are buried who died long since, of the -plague that came in King Richard’s time.” - -“I know the place,” said Montjoy. - -“Reverend father, there are three yew trees, old, I reckon, as Damson -Hill, and thick. Like one who knows what he is about he passed within -the castle of these and we followed and made a place whence we looked -forth like eyes out of a skull. And we saw, across the dead field, a -little light burning blue and coming toward us. Arm of the hill hid it -from the road. But had any belated seen it he would most certainly have -thought, ‘A ghost among the graves!’ and taken to his heels.” - -“It came toward you. Who carried it?” - -“One of six, reverend father. We were there in the yew clump with -less noise than maketh a bat. They came closer and closer and at last -they came close, and now they did not shelter their lantern for they -thought, ‘The shoulder of the hill and the yew trees hide, and who -should be abroad in this place in the black and middle night, and who -should know of a villainy working?’” - -The Abbot brought his finger tips together. “It is ever -discovered!--They dig a pit and fall into it; they open a grave and -lift out their own perdition!” - -“They opened a grave?” - -“Yes, lord. A very ancient, sunken one.” - -“Some unknown,” said the Prior. “Some wretch of ancient time, seized -by the plague, dying--who knows?--unshriven, lazar mayhap or thief! -Proceed, my son!” - -“Two had spades. They spread a great cloth. They lay the green turf to -one side of this, and in the middle the earth of the grave. They work -hard and they work fast, and a monk directs--” - -“Monk of Saint Leofric’s?” - -“Aye, lord, Dominican. White-and-black. They open the grave and they -bring forth bones--the frame of that perished one.” - -The Abbot groaned. “Perished mayhap in his sins--yea, almost certainly -in his sins--and so no better than heathen or than sorcerer!” - -“They spread a second cloth, and having shaken forth the earth, they -put in it the bones of that obscure--yea, right arm and hand with the -rest--” - -“See you, Montjoy?” - -“Then, having that which they need, they fill in the grave with -care. They put over it the sod they had taken away. Rain and sun must -presently make it whole. And probably no man hath ever gone that way to -look. So the six went away as though they had moth wings, and now with -no light--” - -“Yet they give forth that right hand and arm doth shine, giving light -whereby a reading man may read! Wherefore--oh, Hugh!--shone it not by -Damson Hill?” - -Said Montjoy, “All this is enough to father Suspicion, but the child -must be named Certainty.” - -“Then listen further!--Proceed, my son. You two and the hermit -followed?” - -“We followed, reverend father. Under Damson Hill those six parted, and -three went by divers ways, belike to their own dwellings. But the three -with the bones they had digged went Saint Leofric’s road. We followed -Blackfriar and his fellows who would be lay brethren. The moon shone -out. We followed to Friary Gate and saw them enter.” - -“And then?” - -“Gregory the hermit turned and went again to Damson Wood, and we with -him. When we came to his cell there was red east.” - -“What did you think of what you had seen?” - -“We could conceive naught, lord. We did not know that which was to -be proclaimed in Easter week. But the hermit said thrice, ‘Villainy! -Villainy! Villainy! A shepherd hath turned villain!’” - -Brother Barnaby came in. “He said besides, ‘I see what you cannot see, -good brothers! But dimly, and I cannot explain to myself what I see.’” - -“I had forgot that.” - -“He said also. ‘Talk not, till you know of what you are talking,’ and -he took from us a promise of silence.” - -“I was coming to that, brother.--We are not gabblers, reverend father. -We left Damson Wood and came down to the bridge and crossed river to -our own side. We said naught, remembering, ‘Talk not till you know of -what you are talking.’ Two days went by, and then near Little Winching, -up the Wander, down lay Brother Barnaby with a fever, and I must nurse -him for a month. He, being very sick, forgot, and I being busy and -concerned, nigh forgot Damson Graveyard and Saint Leofric’s Gate. Then, -Brother Barnaby getting well and we walking in a fair morning to Little -Winching, there meets us all the bruit!” - -“And still”--Brother Barnaby came in again--“we said nothing. But it -burned our hearts. So said Brother Andrew, ‘We will go take this thing -to Prior Matthew of Westforest.’” - -“And so they did, according to right inner counsel,” said the Prior. He -turned in his chair. “You may go now, my sons. But on your obedience, -speak as yet to none other of these things!” - -Brother Andrew and Brother Barnaby craved blessing, received it and -vanished. There was pause, then, “If we check not Hugh,” said the -Abbot, “we shall have loss and shame, being no longer the first, the -pupil of the eye, to this part England!” - -“If they spoke,” said Montjoy, “none would believe them against the -miracles. Nor do I know if I would believe. Say that one saw the robbed -grave--what then? One travels not much further! I would believe, I -think, the hermit.” - -“Then will you ride, Montjoy, to Damson Wood?” - -“Yes, I will go there. But my believing and yours and Gregory’s and the -friars’ make not yet the people’s believing. Here is stuff for splendid -quarrel with Hugh--but in the meantime go the folk in rivers, touch the -relics and are healed!” - -“What we need,” said the Prior, and he spoke slowly and cautiously, “is -counter-miracle.” - -“Yes, but you cannot order the Saints!” - -“No.” - -It was again the Prior who spoke and apparently in agreement. The Abbot -sighed. “Well, let us to bed!--Go to Damson Wood, Montjoy, and then -ride to Silver Cross.” - -“I will do that. I see,” said Montjoy, “the mischief that this thing -does you--” - -Even as he spoke he had a vision of the Abbey church of Silver Cross. -He saw the tombs and the sculptured figure of Isabel whom he had -loved, and the great altar painting of Our Lady done in Italy. Under -the breath of his mind he thought that that form and face were like -Isabel’s. So like that almost she might have been in that Italian -painter’s mind when he painted this glorified woman standing buoyant, -in carnation and sapphire, among clouds that thinned into clear blue -that passed in its turn into light that blinded. He saw the glowing -glass in the great windows; he saw the gems--the gems that he had given -among them--sparkling in the golden box that held the silver cross. He -saw the people on holy days flooding the famous church. They warmed -with eyes of life the stone mother and father, the stone Isabel. The -many people’s bended knees, their recognition, helped to assure eternal -life in the Queen of Heaven pictured in the great painting,--and surely -so in Isabel, the picture was so like her! The more people the more -life--Isabel surely safely there in the eternal Bride and Mother--and -if Isabel then surely he, too, her lover and husband, he, too, -Montjoy! The people must flow there still, recognising life when they -saw it and as it were, giving life, increasing life. - -Anything that turned the people away from Silver Cross became in that -act the enemy of Montjoy; anything that kept them flowing there, that -made them more in number, the friend of Montjoy. - -But Abbot and Prior, lodged in connecting chambers and speaking -together before they laid themselves to sleep in huge beds, shook their -heads over him. Or rather the Abbot did so. The Prior was not liberal -with sighs and gestures. “He’ll agree to no shift that smacks of the -lie, however slight, necessary, simply defensive, pious it be--” - -“Are you sure? I am not,” answered Matthew. “But if he will not--keep -him blind like other men, blind and usable! He may indeed prove more -usable for being blind.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -That same night the monk, Richard Englefield, lay upon his pallet in -his cell at Silver Cross. The moon shone in at the small window. He -was addressed to observing with his mind’s eye a round of other places -upon which she shone. The grange where he had been born and had spent -childhood and somewhat of boyhood, rose softly. The mill water caught -light, the gable end of the house stood, a figure like a silver shield -enlarged,--shield of Arthur, shield of Tristram, shield of an old -enchanter! The fields spread in moonlight where he worked. He smelled -the upturned clods and the springing corn, and he smelled the sere -fields under October moon. The moon shone on the town, that was not -Middle Forest, where he had been apprenticed to a worker in gold. The -moon made the roofs that mounted with their windows, and the plastered -house with the criss-cross of timbers, into a rood screen for a giant’s -church. Beyond lay the sea, and the moon made for herself a path across -that. - -Stella Maris-- - -The sea under moon. He had been across the sea, to France and to -Italy, but that was after the rood-screen town. It was when he had -become a master workman, a skilled goldsmith, working for princes, -working as an artist works, and when he had come to books--to books--to -books.--The moon on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! - -The moon on the graves of kindred and friends,--the cold moon. The moon -above weariness and sighing--nights unsleeping, walkings abroad--plans -spun and plans torn apart and shredded to the winds. The moon upon -sins, the moon upon sorrows. - -The moon shining down on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! - -The moon upon the hours after work, when he read by the candle, when he -put it out and looked upon the night.--Moonlight streaming in at the -old room’s window, the window so high in the high roof of the tall, old -house. - -Thought and thought and thought!--Conviction that there was some -adventure-- - -Warfare, warring and sinning, lusting. Pride that beset him. Pride of -being proud. Very love of self-love. Very care of self-care. Self! - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -Men he had known, out of many men, and talk with them. The old priest. - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -The old priest.--Illness. Long illness when death’s door had seemed to -open. The priest still. Recovery--and still the priest. - -Wickedness again. Self-will and self-laudation. Self! Longing, longing -and discontent, and ashes in the mouth. Longing and naught to still it. -Not work and not thought! - -The priest again. Longing. One thing laid down and another taken up and -laid down. Hunger--hunger and thirst--cold and hunger and thirst. If -you were in warm taverns, if you were in palaces, yet cold and hunger -and thirst. You must hunt warmth, you must hunt bread, you must hunt -water. And when you thought you had found came the snow in at the door, -came the harpies and snatched the tables away! - -God--Christ and His Mother--heaven. They had the food--the water that -quenched thirst,--the inner fire. - -Where were you nearest, nearest? - -Work fallen away because he must hunt. Cronies and those whom he -thought friends estranged. - -Hunt and hunt and hunt. Dig inside, and outside serve-- - -Where was the outer land that was nearest inner? - -God and Christ and His Mother and heaven. They dwelled in the inner -that he was hunting. Holy Church was the nearest land. - -The moon on monastery fields--the moon on the coasts of Italy! - -The rising moon in the dark wood where he walked and tried to talk to -God and his soul--and at last shut his hands and buried his forehead -upon them against an oak tree, and said, “I become a monk.” - -The moon on the garden of herbs, the moon on Silver Cross cemetery. - -He had been thirty then, and the dark wood was six years ago. - -At first had seemed quenching--but now was cold, hunger and thirst -again! - -O God--O Christ--O Star of the Sea, shine forth! Oh, heaven, appear! - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -They were fair, with rock and olive, with gray and creamy and rose-hued -towns, and over the towns sky that was heart of blue, and in the towns -Italian life. - -He must tell in confession how all that was coming of late to haunt -him. When he plunged into these towns the hunger vanished for a time. -But it came again. And in his heart he knew that he wished it to come. -“O All-Knowledge and All-Beauty, let me not cease to be driven and to -be drawn until I find thee--until I find thee!” - -The bell rang for the office of the night. He rose and presently stood -chanting, with his brother monks, in the church of Silver Cross. The -candles burned, the windows were lead against the starry sky. He knew -the stars that were behind them, he saw them in their clusters. - -The candles showed in part the great painting of the Blessed among -women. He could piece out here also what they did not show. There was -splendour in the figure and face, a magic of beauty, and he loved it. - -The chanting filled the dark hollow of the church. - -The Abbot had dispensation from the night office. The sub-prior was in -his place. Moreover, the Abbot was away, having ridden on his white -mule, with attendants, to Middle Forest, to the castle of Montjoy. - -The office ended, the cell again and sleep. Dawn. Lauds. Breakfast. -The reader for the day reading from the life of a saint. “And an angel -came nightly to his cell and showed him the scenery of heaven and the -Blessed moving there. And his brethren began to know of this, for the -light shined out of his cell.” - -Brother Richard Englefield did not work in field or garden. He had -worked so for two years. Then Abbot Mark making discoveries, there had -been given him a stone room with a furnace, goldsmith’s tools and two -Brothers for helpers. If you had a master maker among your monks waste -him not in digging, sowing, weeding and gathering! Now he made lovely -things for the church, and for the Abbot’s table. He made presents for -the Abbot to send prelates and princes. The Abbot bragged of his work. -When great visitors came they were shown him in his smithy. - -Not only so, but because he was silent--brown-blond, tall and still, -like King David in the picture--and evidently a hunter after God, -and scrupulous to do all the Rule demanded, and all that it allowed -of austerity supererogative--he had fame as monk. Some of his brethren -wished him well and leaned upon his presence, taking as it were his -sunlight, valuing him in and for Silver Cross. Two or three who also -hunted God met him and understood him. Others found in him a reproach, -and others were indifferent or secretly laughed. Silver Cross was much -like the world. Brother Richard continued his struggle and his hunting, -under an exterior still as the church, stripped and simple. - -Work this day--work on a rich silver salt cellar for the Abbot to -give to a bishop. As he worked in his stone room with his hammers and -gravers it was coming across him with a breath of mockery--it was -coming with a breath of mockery like a wind from a foggy sea--“Above -and below the salt at a bishop’s table. Above and below the -salt--Christ’s table. Nicodemus above the salt--blind Bartimeus and the -woman of Samaria below?” - -He shook off phantasy. The Abbot was his spiritual father whom he -had undertaken to obey, not criticise. True monk must obey and not -question,--not question, not doubt, not compare, not judge. He -must kill Imagination, wagging so. Oh, Truth and Beauty--Truth and -Beauty--Truth and Beauty! - -The sun on Gethsemane. The sun on the Blessed among women sitting on -her doorstep, behind her the sound of the carpenters working. - -Sext. The chanting, and the windows ruby and emerald, sapphire and -amethyst glass, the glowing patterns, the rows of small figures. The -dark vault of the church and the shafts of gold dust. The cool, the -sense of suspension. The great picture burning forth--the Blessed among -women! - -For long now the picture had taken his heart. She was so glorious--she -was so sure--she was an ardent flame mounting with a golden passion -upward! And yet she was tender, compassionate. None might doubt that, -looking at her lips and the light and shadow, the modelling, beneath -the eyes. She was so tall--did she turn her head, so and so would be -the exquisite long line of the throat. Almost at times he thought she -turned her head. She was alive--splendidly so, with glory. “Blessed -among women--Blessed among women--hold me more fully--take me with you -into heaven--take me--!” - -Afternoon and work still. The sun going down. Vespers. The Magnificat. -The red-gold light on the picture, uncertain, making her to seem to -move. So would she stand in the round. “Blessed among women--Blessed -among women, I am here, thy child and lover! Make me whole--take me -with thee. Speak, speak to me!” - -Night. He did not sleep in the dormitory. There were six cells of -privilege, established when Abbot Reginald of old had made certain -alterations. Brother Oswald who was writing the Chronicle of Silver -Cross, Brothers Peter and Allen who illuminated the great Psalter, -Brother Timothy who had been longest monk of Silver Cross and was -growing like a child, Brother Norbert who was the Abbot’s kinsman had -the five, and Brother Richard who made wealthy things in gold and -silver the sixth. So was not the Rule, but in many things nowadays -abbots modified Rule. - -Compline. Night in his cell. “Ah, if the noble and rich visions were -but more real! Ah, if I had the power to move and make move! Ah, if the -picture would become Herself--for me, for me!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Montjoy rode through a dewy June morning. He crossed the bridge, his -horse’s hoofs sounding deeply, an air from the sea filling nostrils, -the light striking sails of fishing boats gliding away below the arches -where all widened. Montjoy was bound for Damson Wood. - -Montjoy rode homeward in the evening, after a day in the deep wood, -after a visit to Damson Hill graveyard. His two stout serving men, -riding the brown and the roan behind him, thought it a strange visit. - -Nearing the bridge Montjoy checked the black horse and turning -slightly, looked back at Saint Leofric’s mound. There was now full, -level flow of reddened light, and the mound was bathed in it. The -church stood up in that light, the cloister walls were made faery. - -“Oh, Hugh and Hugh! I walk in your heart and I see the dark engines, -and I walk in your mind and it is a hold for sorceries!” - -He put his horse into motion. “Such a plan and such a course could -never have come to Mark! Though it might have come to Prior Matthew.” - -He was upon the bridge. Others were crossing. Sir Robert Somerville he -caught up with. “Well met, Somerville!” - -“My lord Montjoy--” Somerville presented his kinsman riding beside him. -The sunset reddened and reddened. The waters glowed below the arches, -the boats moved, a barge slipped underneath, emerged and went up -stream, its rowers singing. The dark houses rose from the river bank. -One that was narrow and latticed, close to the old wall, drew their -eyes. The sunset made its windows to blaze. Somerville and Montjoy both -saw, without the physical eye, the courtesan, Morgen Fay. - -Somerville began to talk of where he had been. He had been to show his -kinsman Saint Leofric’s and a miracle. - -Said Sir Humphrey, “I have always desired to see a miracle.” - -“Saw you one?” - -“You gibe!” said Somerville. “But we did see one. It would not be wise, -even for Montjoy, to doubt to the throng that we saw one!” - -“What happened?” - -“A woman received her sight.” - -They left the bridge. The dying rose of the sun touched Middle Forest’s -High Street. Folk were yet abroad, going this way and going that; most -or all going home. Droning sound was in the air; then Saint Ethelred’s -bell began to ring. - -Somerville talked on. He lived so, with vivacity, like a quick sword -playing with joy in its own point and edge, like wine liking its own -sparkle from beaker to cup. To a certain depth he could read Montjoy. -Old rivalries, jealousies conflicts existed between Somerville and -Montjoy. Now all the sea above was calm, but those ancient tendencies -stayed like reefs below. Light-drawing boats could pass above them, but -greater craft might be in danger. - -Somerville’s quick and agreeable voice jetted on. His eye, quick as a -hawk’s, marked the small erect man riding the black horse. If Montjoy -in his nature had sensitive tracts, far be it from Somerville not to -touch these! Do it always, though with swordly skill, keeping one’s -self invisible, invulnerable! - -Montjoy, it was evident, did not like Saint Leofric’s miracles. Why? -Somerville, using wit, found part of it. All affairs were seesaw! You -go up; I go down. Up Saint Leofric; down Saint Willebrod. Up Dominican; -down Cistercian. Up Prior Hugh; down Abbot Mark, Montjoy’s kinsman. Up -Friary; down Silver Cross, enriched by, linked to, the castle on the -hill. Up neighbour’s glory; down my glory! If Montjoy, as apparently -was the case, identified his glory with that of Silver Cross--Why, or -to what extent, who cared? He did it, that was evident! His doing it -answered for Somerville’s cue. - -Somerville with malice dilated upon the throng at Saint Leofric’s and -the mounting excitement. He had a vigour and colour of speech that -lifted the scene bodily across the river and set it in the High Street. -He appealed for corroboration to his cousin. The latter, though he -could not guess all, guessed some motive and fell easily in with his -kinsman and host. Not only the great play over there, the singing and -weeping, the light in the church and the shout of joy--but he could -report the stir that was spreading through England. Indeed, it was said -that the Princess of Spain was coming-- - -Montjoy thought, “That Princess should give her presence to Silver -Cross. She should smooth Isabel’s tomb with her hand. Life should come -from her eyes to the picture.” - -Somerville was drawing comparisons, and yet he lived this side the -river, up the Wander indeed, where from any hilltop he might see Silver -Cross! - -“It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest!” said Montjoy, harshly. - -Somerville laughed and shot across a hawk glance. “But if it is true? -Look at Abbot Mark and then at Prior Hugh! The last ascetic, fired, -ever praying; the first--But he is your kinsman, Montjoy, and I touch -him not--” - -“I want truth,” said Montjoy, and his voice had an angry croak. - -“Then in truth is he one whose abbey would show miracles? Who says -great sanctity shows anywhere at Silver Cross? Is it carping to cry -out against sloth and indulgence? If they are near home, I believe in -confessing they are near home! Has Silver Cross one monk who may stand -with the Friar to whom hand and arm appeared?” - -“I could tell you--,” burst forth Montjoy, then checked himself. “I -know not of the monks,” he said, “though there be two or three--I know -not in these days of any place more or less slothful than another. We -are all drunken and dazed, we have sinned so long! But of old Silver -Cross was a saintly place!” - -“Oh, I’ll give you ‘of old’! Well, Saint Leofric may redeem the time! -And surely for that we must rejoice!” - -“If it be redeemer and not Iscariot--yes! But Saint Leofric’s miracles -are false miracles!” - -He spoke with an energy of passion, forgetting caution. He spoke louder -than his wont. They were passing through the market square and folk in -numbers were about. Montjoy’s voice reached the nearer circle of these. -There fell upon the centre of Middle Forest a pause, a hush. It was as -though the world had come to an end! Then like a bolt from the tawny -sky laced with blue and rose, fell a great voice, “You lie, lord of -Montjoy!” - -It was so thick, loud and startling that Montjoy himself, thrilling, -dragged his horse back upon haunches. Somerville, too, started. It -took a moment to see that the voice proceeded from a Black Friar, a -man with the frame of a giant, who had been climbing the stone stair -to the upper street. They were passing the stair foot; he heard and -turned. Now he was set as in a pulpit above them. His great bell voice -reached half the dwindled market. The folk were already looking Montjoy -and Somerville way. Those hearing Montjoy needed no explanation, but -explained to their fellows. Montjoy’s words ran around the market -place. With agitation a wave of folk lifted itself and began to flow -toward steps and toward checked horses. The Black Friar’s voice took -thunder tone. “Who discredits Saint Leofric discredits God and Our Lady -and Her Son!” - -A woman shrilled from a booth of earthenware and hats of plaited -straw. “Don’t ye anger the Saint and dry up his miracles, Montjoy! -Don’t ye! My dumb daughter is coming from up the Wander. Don’t ye!” - -“Don’t ye!” - -“My palsied brother is going!” - -“The morn I take my child--” - -“Don’t ye!” - -A mob was gathering. Above their heads the Dominican, great figure -in great pulpit, with point and energy recited as it were a rosary -of Saint Leofric’s deeds, and between them scarified doubt. Said -Somerville with an excited laugh, “Wasp’s nest was not empty, Montjoy!” - -Montjoy had power, Montjoy had his own kind of popularity. He was -thought a lord of his word and of generous notions, rather a godly -lord. He had the gift of shy and subtle loving, and so he loved Middle -Forest and it hurt him always when they differed.--Now what? He saw in -a grim flash of cold, uncaring light, that his world was not going to -have Saint Leofric’s miracles false. - -No use saying anything-- - -He must even recover if he could its liking, must render harmless to -himself Black Friar’s lightning. - -What to say? How positively to lie? Excuse stuck in his throat. At last -he managed to shout forth. “You know me, good folk. If I doubt, it is -not Saint Leofric that I doubt!” - -“Whom dost thou doubt? Prior Hugh, whose austerities, whose prayers and -fastings brought the blessing? What dost thou doubt? That the woman who -this morn was blind now sees?” - -“That you cannot doubt, Lord of Montjoy!” said Somerville in a loud -voice. “Sir Humphrey Somerville and I saw that wonder! The woman -_sees_--praise Our Lady and Saint Leofric!” - -Having cleared himself he found himself willing to aid in extricating -Montjoy. Give him the prick of being aided! “The sun is strong -to-day, and my lord Montjoy hath been long in saddle and is weary and -half-sick! So for one instant, good friends, the devil had his ear! It -is naught--he will shake the fiend off. Hurt him not by mistrusting -him! Presently will you see him on pilgrimage himself to Saint -Leofric’s!” - -Montjoy, dry-voiced, tried to speak. He was dark red, his voice broke -in his throat. Suddenly, sharply turning Black King, he touched him -with his heel and rode from the market place. “See you, he is really a -sick man!” cried Somerville and pushed his bay after him. Sir Humphrey -followed, and Montjoy’s two serving men. - -Middle Forest knew the lord of the castle for an encreasingly devout -man. It could not even now see him as scoffer. Sir Robert Somerville, -now, was much more like a scoffer than was Montjoy! For a moment folk -hung in the wind, then the larger number agreed to give Montjoy the -benefit of the doubt. Probably to-morrow he would come praising Saint -Leofric! Envious Satan did attack each one in turn! The buzz and hum -continued, but it left the key of anger. The Black Friar, having -vindicated the right, climbed triumphantly the stair to the upper -street. - -On castle road where the Wander road diverged Montjoy abruptly said -good night. His voice was moved, sonorous, thrilling with hurt pride. -He seemed eager to leave them, to mount to his old castle that was not -so large, not so threatening, after all! - -When he was gone Somerville laughed, and Sir Humphrey complaisantly -with him. They trotted on upon the Wander road, a great manor house -and supper before them, three miles up the vale. “When all’s spoken,” -said Somerville, “I have a back-handed liking for that lord that’s just -left us! I like him enough inwardly to quarrel with him, and frustrate -him, and make sure that he thinks not too well of himself! I preoccupy -myself with him. The day is stale when I run not somehow against him! -What miracle he decrys, will I cry up; or what he cries up, will I -decry!” - -He began to whistle, sweet and clear as a blackbird. - - “Lyken I wander - My love for to see-- - My love for to see - On a May morning, - Where she goes dressed - In cramoisie--” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Not on a May but on a June morning--five days in fact after his supper -at the house of Morgen Fay--Master Thomas Bettany found himself some -miles up the Wander, and with him, riding the gray mare, a bale of -sample cloths strapped to saddle, John Cobb the apprentice, with whom, -when he did not think to be stiff, he was upon the best of terms. He -was up the Wander upon business for his father, that rich merchant -who would one day leave him house and gear and trade. Then would he -himself, Thomas Bettany, be Middle Forest merchant,--who wanted only to -sail for the New World that one Columbus had recently discovered! - -He rode absorbed in discontent. Finally he again took up speech with -John Cobb. - -“It’s a dull life! I wish something would happen--anything!” - -“There be the miracles.” - -“I haven’t any hand in them. You can’t be interested unless you’re -doing something yourself.--I’d rather be a robber than just trotting -from shop and trotting back again.--Hist, John! What’s behind yon -tree?” - -“Where?” - -“There! A big, black man! Two--four, five! Draw your weapon, man!” - -John struck hand to the dirk at his waist. His eyes enlarged, his -lips clapped shut. Then, “They bain’t but little fir trees!--You’re -grinning!--Your pranking and mystery-playing’ll break you one day!” - -“I wish it had been Robin Hood--” - -They rode through the wood. It was a bright morn after rain. The trees -showered them with diamonds, the world smelled like a pomander box. -When they were out from the trees and amid tilled land every blade of -springing grain carried jewels. Far up in a light blue sky a lark was -singing. - -“By’re lady!” said John Cobb. “If I were taken up by Somerville and -went to sup with Morgen Fay, I’d not be saying life was dull!” - -“He nor no one else has ‘taken me up.’ His uncle married my -father’s cousin. Bettany’s a name that has sounded well since long -time. My father helped him, too, with monies--but that’s nothing -either!--Somerville and I are friends.” - -“Like you and me?” - -“No!--His being ‘Sir Robert’ and older doesn’t make any difference.” - -He was superbly sure of that and rode with his blond head up like a -youthful, adventurous king. “As for Morgen Fay, I’d think more of her -if I hadn’t seen last Candlemas--you know whom!” - -“That’s Mistress Cecily. She’s a fair one! But I don’t believe she’s -pricked your heart much either. You’re just for the New World and men -and adventure. It would make me proud though to sup with Morgen Fay.” - -“Oh, you’ll never, my poor John! I tell you what she’s like. She’s like -something you see in poetry. But Cecily walked in first, into my keep -and hold. Besides, I wouldn’t interfere with Robert.” - -“Robert!” John Cobb could but admire, while Master Thomas Bettany -tossed his clear whistle up to the lark singing. - -So many birds were singing! The two were now riding by the Wander, -through Westforest land. Mounting a little hill they saw below them -monastery walls and roofs, not a large place, set among trees by the -water’s side. Some of the old forest held here. - -Their business was with Westforest. The house of Bettany sold Silver -Cross and Westforest woollen cloth for monks’ gowns. Presently they -were at the gate. The porter opened to them, and the stable Brother -took their horses, and a third Brother carried them to the guest house -where they were set in a room. All was very grave and in order. Master -Thomas Bettany at the window heard bells and saw the monks pacing two -by two. He had never before been to Westforest. Saint Ethelred in -Middle Forest was his church. Neither with any sufficiency did he know -Silver Cross. He had been five times perhaps, when there was festival, -in the great church. Only this year was his father using him thus in -business. - -The monk reappeared and had them to the refectory where they -were served with ale and bread and cheese. Thence they went to a -business-like room where met them Brother Oswald, steward and purchaser -for the Priory. He gave Master Thomas Bettany good greeting, and John -Cobb a shorter one. John Cobb opened the bale of cloths. - -Business advanced. A Brother appeared to do duty as steward’s clerk. -Thomas Bettany turned into merchant not unshrewd. He did things with -his might, when he could be brought to do them at all. Now he pictured -and bargained and was not behind Brother Oswald in ability. - -The hour and more of marketing passed. Brother Oswald, straightening -himself from the table at last, paid his compliment. “No manner of -doubt, my son, but that you be merchant, son of merchant!” - -“If Westforest be not content--” - -“Oh, we are content.” - -“--and I have here,” said the younger Bettany, “the fine white wool--” - -“That is for reverend father the Prior to see. Let your man take it up -and we will go to the parlour.” - -They crossed the cloister to a large, well-windowed room that gave upon -walled garden. On a bench without sat a monk with book and rosary, and -he would get audience for them with reverend father. Presently the -inner door opened and Prior Matthew stood before them. Thomas Bettany -and John Cobb kneeled for his blessing, and when that was had John Cobb -spread the table with lengths of fine white cloth. The Prior chose, nor -was long about it. The Abbot of Silver Cross loved finery, dressing -much like a lord of this world. But Prior Matthew scorned all that and -kept near in apparel to ancient simplicities. - -Selection made, orders given and taken, the Prior leaned back in his -seat. His deep-set eyes surveyed the younger Bettany. “I know your -father for a sensible man. I have heard that you are a wild youth, a -will-o’-the-wisp, ready for God knoweth what plots and pranks!” - -If Thomas inwardly recognised large portion of himself he could -outwardly but lift deprecating, bright blue eyes. “I am changing what I -can change, reverend father.” - -“Ha! Let us hope it,” said the Prior. “Well, and what makes most ado -just now in Middle Forest?” - -“Reverend father, the miracles across the river.” - -Prior Matthew bit his nail. “That is as I supposed. It mounts and -mounts.--I would get from you, too, the cry after that burst of -wonders!--But there is the vesper bell. Go into church, my son! -afterwards I will talk with you in the garden.” - -The church at Westforest was not like the church of Silver Cross. That -was great, this was small. That had starry windows of rich glass, that -had tombs of lords and ladies, that had the great altar picture. This -was plain and cold of aspect. Yet was there an altar painting, and now -sunlight and candle light showed it for what it was,--copy, done half -as large, of the Silver Cross great picture. The Lady of Heaven lifted -a rich Italian face, rose toward heaven, toward God the Father and God -the Son, with a rich, Italian beauty, nobly done by the great Italian, -her painter,--rose with love and majesty, with memory of sorrow and of -earth-stain falling away, fading, falling, with height of joy opening; -rose with bliss and power, who yet understood, who knew children’s -crying and would answer; rose from world’s woe, from the dust, to -heaven. She was heaven, the Rose of Heaven. Yet had she been painted -in Italy from mortal woman. Queen of Heaven, but with framework of -likeness to earthly faces. “Like Isabel--like Isabel!” at this moment -Montjoy cried to himself, in the church of Silver Cross. - -In the small grey church at Westforest young Thomas Bettany had place -where he might well and plainly view the smaller picture, but well -copied from the first and greater. Light beat against draperies pure -red and pure blue and upon form and face, rising from darkness into -glory. He looked worshipfully, and he felt worship. - -But when vespers were done, and the Prior kept him alone with him -walking in the garden, John Cobb not here, only Prior Matthew and -Thomas Bettany pacing between the blue flags and the rose trees, he -burst out suddenly, very young and very bold. “Reverend father, did -ever you see Morgen Fay?” - -“God forbid! No!” - -“She is much like yonder picture.” - -“What picture?--Not the altar picture!” - -“Of course this is holy and heavenly--and she is only faery--” - -“‘Faery!’--She is an accursed woman!” - -The Prior stood still, his hand upon the espaliered pear tree -against the south wall. His thin face, his tall thin figure grew -extraordinarily alive. “Do you never tell that fancy!” His voice had a -fearful sternness. “Do you never tell that fancy to any living wight!” - -Thomas Bettany himself was afraid of it. “Jesu knows I would not do Our -Lady disrespect!” - -“It will be heinous disrespect if you say that that sinner hath her -face--” - -Bettany carefully made distinctions. “I meant not like Her--but like -the woman the painter must have used just for hint of form and face! -Once I saw a monk painting on a missal border where it said ‘Rose of -Sharon.’ But he had in a cup beside him which he looked often upon a -rose from the garden.” - -“Well, speak not of such things!” said the Prior impatiently. “The -generality understands them not. They think not that things are but -lifted or lowered, set in light or in darkness. You but hurt yourself!” - -“That is true enough!” thought the merchant’s son. - -They paced the walk to a stone bench set before fruit trees whose -shadow was now long upon the grass. The Prior, head sunk in cowl, -was thinking. He sat down, the young man standing before him. “The -miracles--” - -Bettany set sail upon that story. Last week a woman had received her -sight. Three days ago a man for years bedridden had walked. Yesterday -had come a shipmaster carrying his daughter in his arms. “Praise! -Praise!” shouted the people. It was like a Great Fair for numbers, at -Saint Leofric’s! At times bridge was thick with folk. - -And then midway in his recital to which he was warming, which he was -now colouring rightly, Prior Matthew, with a sudden start and jerk, -returned to the picture and had from him promise not to let pass his -lips to any other that sinful fancy. - -He promised, seeing himself that facts were not always for shouting. - -Morgen Fay who was merchant and sold herself, who had great beauty -and dark eyes, and who wore those reds and blues, might be picked--or -one like her might be picked--a common rose out of common garden, and -a painter might take her for line and feature and hue and sublimate -all--and yet the _Rosa Mystica_, the God Bride and Mother, be never -hurt, be never the worse for that, where she looked from high heaven, -pitying all and helping who would be helped,--pitying, perchance, -Morgen Fay! - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -June vanished, July rode in heat, August had golden armour, September -was russet clad and walked through crimson orchards and by wine -presses. In Italy, by wine presses! - -In the Abbey of Silver Cross more and more did note fall upon -Englefield. He was unaware of that. He had entered upon a stretch of -the inward way where the landscape was absorbing,--the inner landscape -and the inner encounters. Outwardly he grew more and more conformed -to the Abbey idea of fledgling saint, but he hardly held it in -consciousness that he did so. He was rapt to the inner land where he -hunted the Word, where he sought for the Grail. But he put his body in -the attitudes that the great adventurers, where they were monks, seemed -to have worn. He wished their assurances and blisses, and he imitated. - -Not having come to monastery from indolence and softness, he found -in this no especial difficulty. First artisan, then artist, he well -enough knew hard and spare living, vigil, concentered action, swift, -deep and still. He had that over many an one who would be saint, but -must first develop muscle. He had will, he had mind, though both were -restive beings, with wings that seemed between Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s. -Richard Englefield’s problem was to draw all the Lucifer into Gabriel. -As a detail in the achievement he conformed, with what absoluteness was -possible at Silver Cross, to the first hard discipline of the Order. -Where for long had been relaxation, his procedure here astonished and -here rebuked, pleased and displeased. He went on, in a preoccupation -too great to note that watching, hunting the Word. “Blessed among -women, help me toward it!” - -The great picture was become integral to his life. “Beauty like -that--Beauty with Holiness--I would Beauty and I would Holiness! I -would Power to make my Beauty and Holiness come true!” - -He prayed to the Blessed among women. “Blessed among women, show me -how! Bring me sunshine for my growth!” - -He worked in his stone room, with the precious metals that they gave -him. The furnace glowed. His long, strong and skilful fingers moved -with their old skill, as on a lute. But he worked scarce seeing the -beauty of what he made, with the taller man in him gone elsewhere, gone -out hunting, gone hawking for pure Wisdom, pure Beauty, pure Power. He -prayed in the church and the monks watched him. When he turned toward -the picture light seemed to pass from it to him. - -The Abbot noted him. The sub-prior brought the Abbot refectory talk, -talk of the brethren’s common room. He brought comment of Brother -Norbert whose cell was next Brother Richard’s. The Abbot heaved a sigh. -“Well, we have need of a saintly monk!” - -He was not silent upon the growing saintliness of Brother Richard. -Visitors of high degree, pausing at Silver Cross, heard him say, “Even -as Friar Paul of Saint Leofric’s--”Visitors pursuing their road, going, -it might well chance, straight to Saint Leofric’s, made mention of this -monk. The vale of Wander spoke of him. The Prior of Westforest said -in chapter house, “Had we one brother like Brother Richard of Silver -Cross--” Not only to his monks, but he said it to the country around, -“Brother Richard of Silver Cross--” - -Montjoy said “Brother Richard of Silver Cross,” but he said it very -differently from the Abbot and the Prior. He said with a kind of -passionate reverence and hope. He wished there to be true saints; he -wished there to arise one out of Silver Cross. He wished a saint, a -saint kneeling beside Isabel, kneeling with Isabel beneath the great -picture, whose form, whose face in which God was dawning, was like -Isabel. Isabel like Her, though maybe in that degree from Her--that was -Morgen Fay from Isabel whom surely, too, she resembled. - -Middle Forest had rumour of the monk at Silver Cross. - -Prior Hugh spoke of him at Saint Leofric’s but he spoke in scorn and -drew plans for greater and greater guest houses. - -Sir Robert Somerville, having need to see Silver Cross as to a bit -of debatable ground touching Abbey fields and manor wood, rode into -Abbey close upon a misty, pearly day. He had his talk in the Abbot’s -most comfortable parlour, sub-prior at hand to aid memory. The land -certainly leaned to the Abbey side of the wall, or had been brought -skilfully to lean by Abbey lawyers. Somerville saw that it were wisest -to leave it debatable, awaiting some more fortunate aspect of manor -stars. He slid from the subject, but with a sparkle in his eye. That -glint always came when he ticketed a grudge and put it somewhere for -safe keeping until it could be paid. - -And as he thought it would be unpleasing to the Abbot, he began -presently to talk of Saint Leofric’s, to whom by now great fame had -cleaved, by whose wall was building a town-- - -“Friar Paul--his visions--!” exclaimed the Abbot and broke off. There -was no good, as Montjoy had proved, in casting pebble or boulder of -discredit. The people were besotted, joined to their idol, this very -Dagon that Hugh had set up! If Contrariousness were not already in -possession then the hermit Gregory’s death in July had set her high on -throne! The Abbot covered his eyes with his hand, then said, “There is -a monk here that I hold to be holy as any living Dominican!” - -“Hath he vision?” - -“Yea,” said the Abbot, then in his heart. “He must have!” - -“It is not sufficient!” said Somerville. “Nothing now but revelations -and healings following will even Silver Cross! Greater revelations, -greater healings than Saint Leofric. You can’t go down the stair in -such things. You must go up.” - -He spoke with fine malice. Abbot Mark glanced at him and said smoothly, -“Very true, my son! but Heaven does not ask our will nor way in such -matters! If it smiles, it smiles. Nor can it be limited to one handful. -It may be that in this England we have touched a harvest week, as it -were, and that many a sheaf will be thrown down.” - -He rose. “Come! I will show you Brother Richard.” - -He whom they sought was standing at the table in the room where he -worked. Between his hands was a bowl of silver whereon he had wrought -vine leaves and grapes. He put down his work and kneeled before -the Abbot, then stood with crossed hands and lowered eyes. He was -brown-blond, tall and still, with a face of dimmed power, dimmed beauty. - -When they had gone away, said Somerville, “Lord Abbot, Friar Paul is -twice as thin and pale as yonder monk, and hath eyes that burn like -coals! He would never see within him nor bring forth, vine leaves -around a silver bowl! He sees but saints and martyrs filling his cell -and speaking to him out of glories!” He nodded as he finished. - -The staccato of his voice drummed like a rude heel upon the Abbot’s now -fevered desire. Said the Abbot’s will, deep down, “He shall see all -that is necessary. Oh, Hugh. I will oust you yet!” - -Somerville rode away. Halfway to his house, up the Wander, his mind -perceived something that made him laugh. “I am not prophet, yet will I -prophesy! Before spring there will be miracles at Silver Cross!” - -It was a foggy day, a grey pearl, with shadows that were trees. - - “Aha and Aho! - Mankind and its woe, - Children at their playing, - Straying, straying! - Little marsh fire - That the sun is, - Thou art a liar, - Little marsh fire!” - -Somerville often made poems as he rode. Now he made this one. - -The next day was foggy still, and the Abbot was not wont to ride abroad -in fog. Yet he called for his white mule and for two Brothers to attend -him, and rode, booted and wrapped warm, to Westforest. - -There may be imagined a chessboard, and Prior Matthew, with Abbot Mark -for backer, sitting studying, mouth covered by hand. He must play -against Prior Hugh, invisible there, or perhaps against mere cosmic -insensibility to advantages accruing from full streams of profit and -glory, fuller than the Wander, flowing down Wander vale. Chess takes -time and thought. If there come inspirational gleams take them as -evidence that Nature begins to lean with you--but continue your study, -mentally advancing now this piece and now that, going slow, going -sure, making your combinations with more than grey spider’s skill! So -Prior Matthew played. Abbot Mark was more impatient and would have -things without working for them, which is to say without deserving -them. In the mysterious cave of this world where all players must play, -failure always impended. If it did not fall, that was because you were -a good player. The Prior’s hollow cheek grew more hollow, his intent, -small, deep-set eyes more intent. - -On this day, folded as in wool, in the parlour that was warmed by -blazing logs on stone hearth, that gave upon the autumn garden, much -to-day like a ghost-garden, Prior indicated to Abbot move and then move -and then move again. - -“God pardon us!” breathed the Abbot. “That’s a bold thing!” - -“Bolder than Hugh? I think not so. Or if it is we need to be bolder -than he. Boldness hurts not, but the lack of skill in boldness. -Attain the miracles, and Silver Cross arises re-gilt. Streams of -pilgrims--nay, you may tap and dry up _his_ stream of pilgrims! Abbey -built and magnified for ages. Attain them not, and all is vain, for our -lifetime at least! We may go sleep, fogged and obscured forever, in the -vale of Wander! Both houses and in us the Order.” - -“I know that we need to be bolder than Hugh.” - -“We need more living colour to draw, and a louder drum.” - -The Abbot took for his own, saying of Somerville’s, “You cannot go down -the stair in such things. You must go up the stair. There’s too much -risk.” - -“Oh, yes, plenteous! So had Hugh risk. But when the fish had once -bitten no mortal man could get hook from its mouth!” - -“Meaning by the fish the people? Yes. But if Hugh and me and you, -Matthew, be all three taken in mortal sin?” - -“Has he hurt Saint Leofric? Or Saint Dominic his Order? Or the folk -whose bodies are healed? Does not glory go up to heaven like incense?” - -“It is true. If it be venial sin, then Our Lady, an altar of pure -silver to thee!” - -“That will be well! It will still more beautify the church. But cease,” -said Matthew, “to have this monk work at thy gold and silver! It goes -not with kneeling and fasting all day and vigil at night, with great -and sole visions and voices, and favour from the Saints!” - -“Very good. I will put him to his book and solitude.” - -The Prior took quill and drew upon a leaf of paper a plot of cells and -passageways. “You will empty these five cells.” - -“Aye. They shall go back to dormitory.” - -“Door is to be here and door there. To get it done, while masons are -upon it--and for other reasons as well--give your monk penance for some -fault, sending him out of Silver Cross to Westforest. Let me have him -for a month, no less.” - -“What will you do with him?” - -“I will indoctrinate him with expectancy.” - -“Do you know,” said Mark doubtfully, “he is one that might one day -become true saint.” - -“Think you so? Well, I wish him innocent and believing--even as I hold -Friar Paul across river may be innocent and believing!” - -“‘Innocent!’” The Abbot groaned. “But you and I and Hugh will not be -innocent!” - -“No. We shall be wise and bold for the glory of our heritage. -Choose--and choose now--which you will have!” - -The Abbot chose. The chess game went on. Outside the day folded in, -fold on fold of white wool and grey wool, fog coming up from the sea. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The fog wrapped the river. The bridge showed now a few arches and now -none. Boats were moths in a moth dimness and silence. Saint Leofric’s -mount across the water could not be seen. The walls of the houses on -this side stood chill and grey, or faded away into a dream. The garden -below barely lived, a wistful, faded place, no colour even to dream of -colour. - -Morgen Fay hated the day. “Miserable! I want to go live in the sun!” - -“Will you have your book? Will you have your tapestry frame?” - -“No!” - -The large woman, Ailsa, shrugged and went to Tony in the warm kitchen. -They talked there. “Now she is nightingale or moon in the sky--and now -she is lion-woman or panther-woman--and now she is just a slut that I -could whip--!” - -Up in the oak room Morgen Fay lay face down among the cushions of the -long window seat. Ennui was in the room like the fog. It was in her -veins, her mouth. “I am set face to a dead wall, and I shall be here -forever! Unless the wall is broken and my feet are let to move, I will -say that life is a naught, a nothing-wall restraining nothing from -nothing, a dead grin on a dead face!” - -“Nothing--nothing--nothing!” ran through her head and sat in her heart. -“Nothing--grey nothing--black nothing. I am come to that. I stick in -that. I go not up nor down, nor to nor fro. Nothing--nothing--nothing! -Nothing that yet is wretched, being nothing!” - -She lay with dark eyes hidden in bend of arm. “Oh, -something--something--something come to me!” - -She lay in the grey room in the world of grey fog. A pebble wrapped in -a glove, thrown from without, struck the glass of the window above her. -She knew that kind of sound, that kind of knock. “Ho, you within!” At -first she meant not to look, not to answer. It was all grey nothing--no -sun out there to lift the cloud. Habit, old, dull and very strong, at -last haled her from her pillows and set her face against the pane. She -could not see. She pressed the catch that opened the small square in -the larger square. Now the fog poured in, and the sound of the river. -She made out the small boat below, one man standing in it. - -He saw her face come out of the mist. Blue eyes looked into black eyes. -“Ah, so doleful is it in this fog!” cried young Thomas Bettany. - -“Aye, and aye again. I yawn with death up here!” - -“So grey it is none will see and steal my boat fastened here. Foot here -and foot there, and so I could climb--were the window opened more wide!” - -She opened it. He did as he had pictured and entered the oak room. “I -have been,” she said, “in two minds whether to hang myself or drown -myself. I want no kisses. I like you because you have blue speedwell -eyes and are truly gay. If you can sit and talk and make me who sit -inside gay, do it! If you cannot--back to the river!” - -“Your blue and red warm the grey cloud. Are you melancholy? Sometimes I -am so until I would give the world a buffet and depart.” - -“You are nineteen and a young king and know naught about it!” said -Morgen Fay. She took her seat by the small fire on the hearth and he -sat opposite. He had no amorous passion for her and she knew it. Once -she would have set herself to making him find it. Now she did not care. -She had not cared once this year. She felt no amorous movement toward -him, but she liked him. She was thirty-two. Now, sitting there, she -could have said “Son--” - -He nursed his knee, looking now at the blue and red flames and now at -Morgen Fay. - -“To get back a gay heart why not go to Saint Leofric’s?” - -“I don’t believe in miracles. If they are, they are for others, not for -me.” - -“Why don’t you believe?” - -“I don’t know. I know a deal of Morgen Fay and there’s a deal I do not -know. But neither what I know nor what I do not know creeps and prays -to a dead man’s bones. All that to me is a mockery! I laugh at it and -against it. Some are healed? Doubtless! Many! But believed they so of -it, a rose in my garden, so they smelled it, kissed it, believed it was -rooted in Paradise, would heal them! They heal themselves. Believing! -Believing! I would that I had it. So easy to cure one’s self! Oh, the -self is the wonder that is so dark and is so bright, so strong and so -feeble!” - -She looked at him sombrely, hunger in her face. - -“If you said all that outside--” - -“Aye, indeed, if I said it! Morgen Fay that has ’scaped sheet and -candle all these years might have them now, but for a different reason! -I’ll not say it outside--nor inside on a different day. To-day I would -tell the truth, for there is no sparkle in lying!” - -She brooded over the fire. “What is the truth? Now I believe what I -have said--and to-morrow I might go swimming toward a miracle! I have -swam so in the past--believed with the shoal there was food there. But -no! It shall not be again toward dead-white bone!” - -He began, blue-eyed, young and keen, to talk of travel that he wanted -so badly! He was talking as youth might talk to motherhood, who always -listened. Cathay and Ind by the western way! They hung over the fire, -the fog came about the house; they were far, far, far away! - -When it was growing dusk, before Ailsa brought the candles, he went -through the window and down as he had come to his boat,--and so off -like a moth. - -If he had not left Morgen Fay gay of heart, yet listening and speaking, -and never a caress between, liking this boy and travelling a bit -with him, her mood was less ashen, or began to glow amid its ashes. -She bent herself over the fire, she put her locked hands over her -forehead, she rocked herself; desire and mind went wandering together. -“Forest--forest deep and still. Landless sea, salt and clean. Solitude, -solitude--and out of it the Miracle rising--and Morgen Fay dead at its -feet--but I safe forever, healed forever! But it will not come, my -Miracle, it will not come, it will not come!” - -The dark increased. Ailsa brought the candles. - -The next eve brought Somerville,--alone, in mood of return but not -otherwise in good mood. A man of many levels, something had crossed -him and he perched to-day upon one of the lower levels of himself. -Morgen Fay’s mood to-night was soulless, hard and reckless. She was not -nightingale, nor moon in the sky, nor lion-woman nor panther-woman; she -was nearer the slut that Ailsa would have under her fingers. She drank -much wine with Somerville. - -When he was at this ebb and scurf of himself he liked so to loosen -her tongue, for she could then flay for him--skilfully as ever Apollo -flayed Marsyas--that breadth of living, that cluster of folk or that -individual that he chose to lead to her. Perhaps she knew them, or -perhaps she took them and their acts from his lips. Either way, with a -vigour of disdain, a vigour of hate, of anger against an universe that -was increasingly giving her now ennui and now whips of scorpions, she -drew from them and held aloft a skin of attributes and motives that -made dreadful laughter for the onlookers. She and Somerville were the -onlookers. - -In these moods he was her demon and she was his. They sat cheek by -jowl, in the lowest strata of themselves, drinking each the worst -of the other, poisoning and poisoned. When they came to embraces, -to a pitiful, animal revivification--thinking so to get light and -solace--that was the lesser harm. - -Somerville brought into their talk Brother Richard Englefield. “There -is a monk at Silver Cross. Watch for appearances and miracles there -also!” - -“What can church say to us? Where’s honesty? Here, Rob, here!” - -“He is a tall, brown-gold man that was a goldsmith once. He can still -make you lovely things in silver and gold.” - -“So he becomes cheating alchemist and all his gold is lead and brass!” - -“Much like thine own!” said a loud voice within Morgen Fay. She struck -at it, would not have it, poured to-night, being to-night a slut, muck -and mire upon it. - -“Let him cheat--and Silver Cross cheat, and Saint Leofric’s, and Prior -Hugh and Abbot Mark! I would have them cheat, bringing their inward -outward! It is there. Let the horn blow for the toad to come forth!” - -“I wish to see,” said Somerville, “the play they make! It will be -players and masquers worth the fee! There will be Saint Willebrod, or -who else they can impress, and Brother Richard, and a new Somewhat or -That Which that works miracles--or an old That Which working with youth -come again!” - -“We are fallen on evil times! No miracles save those we work ourselves! -And we are so clumsy!” - -“Abbot Mark may be clumsy. I hold that the Prior of Westforest will -marshal the play.” - -“And they are more safe than coiners in some forest cavern!” - -“That, sweetheart, is because we are so hungry for miracles. See how we -beg Saint Leofric for more! We are so lantern-jawed that we will take -marsh grain, so it be baked in a loaf!” - -She laughed. “All gaunt with hunger--getting wolf-toothed. I, too, have -whined and will whine again, for a miracle!” - -He poured her more wine. “It’s a wicked old world! The only way is to -grin and shove it along.” - -“Unless you stop it with a rope. If I were sure I _could_ stop it.” - -“Drink your wine. Here’s to Brother Richard--dog-monk noseing out the -unearthly!” - -She drank. “Here’s to Prior Matthew the marshal! If it’s to be a good -play, I would be a playgoer!” - -“Here’s to the rotten time--the hungry people!” - -“Here’s to the rotten time--the hungry people.” She drank, then set -slowly down the cup and put her crossed arms upon the table and bowed -her head upon them. She and Somerville were down, down, far down in -themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Richard Englefield listened to the Abbot’s assertion that making of -inner vessels of gold for heaven’s use was of more import than were -dishes for abbot’s table and for gifts. He agreed, but his mind said, -“Since when did you find that out?” - -Moreover, he would miss his work. He missed it. - -When he came to confession he met another change,--namely, severity in -penance. Heretofore he had been the severe one with himself. Now his -spiritual fathers took it over. “Why?” asked his mind, but his hunger -for holiness and his will harnessed to that hunger rebuked his mind. -“Have we not agreed that they are our masters in heavenly law? Then -learn the lessons they give! Cease to cavil and question! Did you so -with Godfrey the Master Smith?” - -He accepted penance, watched, fasted, scourged himself. He grew very -thin, less strong of frame than he had been. Sleeplessness, even when -he was given or gave himself leave to sleep, fastened itself upon him. -It was as though his soul ceaselessly walked a dungeon. “O God, where -is thy heaven? If I might see it or feel it!” - -The great picture in the church lost its mystery and enchantment and -power. It was a dead canvas to him. “O my soul, come thou forth!” - -He was kept solitary in his cell. Solitude did not appal him, seeing -that he had ever been artist, able to people it. But one day when a -strong sunbeam came through the window his mind said loudly, and as it -were it shook him by the shoulders. “Why this straitness with thee? -What are they about?” - -But he was afraid to listen,--Richard Englefield, fearing for his soul. -Fear, casting about for aid, found Vanity in a small hidden chamber, -sitting there with closed lids, somewhat faint and unnourished. He -brought her forth and sent her up, strengthening as she came. “It is -seen that I begin to light this monastery! They would trim the lamp.” - -Fear, Vanity, Pride and Old Credulity! - -At Martinmas the Abbot sent him to Westforest. It was heavy penance for -monk to go to Westforest that was small, hard and bare beside Silver -Cross, that had rude living, that owned a Prior could give tasks, set -one to heavy and distasteful work. Brother Richard Englefield was not -put to handwork, but again to watching, fasting, cries to all the -Saints, to Jesu and Mary Mother and God the Father. - -He fell ill at Westforest. He was not laid in hospital but left in -the Westforest penitential cell, though they spread a pallet for him -where had been bare stone. Prior Matthew visited him here. He came in -the day, and he came, taper in hand, by night. He had a medicine which -he gave Brother Richard. He himself dropped a few dark drops into -a cup of water or of milk and held it to the monk’s lips. “Drink!” -After the first time Richard Englefield tried to put it away. “On your -obedience!” said the Prior sternly. The monk drank. - -He began to recover from the illness that had prostrated him. But -something seemed to have gone from his life and something seemed to -have come into it. One night in this cell he heard a voice. “Richard! -Richard!” it cried. He could not tell whence it came; it seemed -above him. He sat up. “Who speaks?” But when it said “Willebrod, who -was martyred,” he stared incredulous. Sunshine and mind and his old -workshop in the old high-roofed town flooded back to him. “Is voice -from heaven twin pea to voice of earth? I have even heard better voices -of earth!” He seemed again to be working in the red, pleasant light of -his old furnace, knowing good and not-so-good when he met them. He -thought, “If I do not go to sleep I shall be seeing, hearing, like any -madman!” He turned, drew the scant covering over him and slept. - -But the next day Prior Matthew said that he was not so well, and, on -his obedience he drank again the dark medicine. The taste of it was -stronger, there was more of it. Again he heard voices. “Are they true -voices--or what?” But he was dull to them, uncaring of them. “Surely I -would know the ring of gold!” - -He grew better, rose from his pallet and moved about the cell, was -permitted now to go, when rang the bell, into church. Sent there for -penance one winter eve between vespers and compline, he suddenly, at -a turn of the stone corridor, dark, chill and deserted, saw what he -must suppose to be a vision. There was a great patch of light and in -it a man standing who must be Saint Willebrod because he was dressed -and coloured and more or less featured like Saint Willebrod in the -painting on the wall, and he carried a silver cross. Brother Richard -stood still. Then, making to advance, his foot struck some obstruction. -Weakened as he was, he stumbled and fell. When he could rise the vision -was gone. - -Only Vanity could explain why the Prior should become his confessor. -The fact of the voices and the vision was drawn forth. “You are -greatly honoured, my son! If greater favour yet comes to you, forget -not humility--” - -But he told of his own honesty how cold voices and vision left his -heart, how unamazed his mind, and that he could but think them dreams -of his sickness somehow bodied forth. The Prior looked sternly and -shook his head. “They come truly, we hold! But it is seen that thou art -as dull as ditch water--black ember that will not respond--tongue that -hath lost taste--soul that will not be fervent! Scourge thyself into -meekness to heaven--into that glow that will take whatever cometh!” - -Richard Englefield plied the scourge. He was weak now and his eyes -dazzled, and truly phantasies pageanted before him in sound and line -and colour. He saw images, and sometimes they were beautiful and -sometimes deadly. He heard sounds, and some were honey-sweet and others -grating or mocking. But still said his being, “They come from no High -Reality. Have I not, being artist, always in some sort heard and seen? -O God, O God! help thou me who am dead!” - -Prior Matthew regarded him darkly. Westforest rode one day to Silver -Cross, talked there with Abbot Mark. “There has been mistake! He is not -your Friar Paul kind!” - -The Abbot’s pride arose. “For three years Silver Cross hath seen him -one apart!” - -“Perhaps! He would not,” said Matthew sourly, “have far to go, as -monks are in these days, to stand apart and above. My point is that -you cannot make him ecstatic. So far it is beyond me to set the mill -running! He hath been ill, and his body hath arrived at emaciation. -I have given him that elixir you wot of. Usually it sets the fancy -skipping, brews a kind of wild readiness at seeing, hearing! And, if I -read him aright, he wants heaven to descend upon him. I provided him to -hear and see one who told him he was Saint Willebrod. Brother Anselm, -you know, whom I took from among the players, and is--God pardon -us!--as dog to my hand--” He spread out his hands. - -The Abbot groaned. “The end that we propose is good!” - -“Assuredly it is! It all goes into the homely bag of homely deceits -necessary in this poor world. But the end is that as yet we have done -naught!” - -The Abbot sighed. “Could we take him into counsel?” - -“No!” - -“Then what shall we do? You have heard that Saint Leofric healed the -French Knight? He gave candlesticks of pure gold. Shall we give it all -up, Matthew?” - -“Not yet. If I could find his true heart and mind--then might we beckon -appearances that corresponded. He seems interested in a far land and -in somehow going there--and going has to be bodily, all of him! What -appears will have to strike him down, like Saint Paul on Damascus -road--clean him of doubt, be a blaze to him, a burning bush!” - -The Abbot sighed. Prior Matthew sat fixed, with cloudy brows, seeking -inspiration. - -He returned to Westforest. The next day, sitting in Prior’s stall in -the cold, small church, he kept his eyes fast upon the monk Richard. He -noted his turning, he noted his uplifted, now bloodless face, and his -eyes directed to the copy of the Silver Cross picture. Prior Matthew -half closed his own eyes, covered, as was his wont when he was playing -chess, his mouth with his hand. - -Again the Prior sat as confessor. The kneeling monk met gathered -subtlety and old skill. Deep, recessed matters, loves and longings, -must come forth. - -The Prior listened, questioned, listened, and at both was skilfull. He -imposed penance, and in part it was to be performed at Silver Cross, -“--returning there as you do, my son, this week.” - -The monk bowed his head. He had not known when, or indeed if ever, -he should return to Silver Cross. It was among his efforts at -self-crucifixion not to care. As it was his effort here and at Silver -Cross to withdraw attention from outward happenings, outward talk. No -other of his brethren knew so little as he of the flare and clang about -Saint Leofric. - -He returned to Silver Cross. The bell rang for the noon office. -He went into church with his brethren. With them he bowed, stood, -chanted, kneeled. It was nigh to Christmas tide, a clear winter day. -The sun dwelled in each jewel pane of the windows and shot thence -arrows of love. The sun blessed nave and aisles and high groined -roof. The candles stood like angels, the great picture glowed. It was -a home-coming. Warmness wrapped his heart that had been naked and -desolate. All grew fair, honest, friendly. He was glad to see the -Brothers, even those he had most distasted, glad to see Abbot Mark, -cloister and church, all things! Out of topaz and amber a beam touched -the carven tomb of Montjoy’s wife. It warmed the Lady Isabel, lying -in robe and mantle with a half smile upon her face. Not Montjoy only, -but also Richard Englefield thought stone form and face had strange -likeness to those of the Glorified in the picture. Now the light warmed -her, too, the pale, golden lady, so still, so still, waiting for the -Resurrection. - -Amber light, topaz light. But on the great picture every heart-red, -every heavenly blue, every rose and every lily, the upward flowing -amethyst and the diamond light above, where no more might be seen. His -heart bowed, his heart grew alive. “Ah, Blessed among women, I am come -back!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -William, Lord of Montjoy, was ignorant of what machinations might be -in progress up the Vale of Wander. The Abbot had said, “Would he be -helpful? It is for the glory of Silver Cross church, which, truly, is -for him his lady whom he must serve!” - -The Prior shook his head. “No! No more than that monk himself! Let him -think naught save that there is holiness there!” - -Abbot Mark drew groaning breath. “There was--there is--there shall -be--!” - -Montjoy, in his castle yard, played for exercise at buffets with the -squire Ralph, then turned to castle wall, and with his arms resting -upon stone parapet, looked downward and outward, gargoyle-wise. But he -was not such; he was living knight, struggling to reach Heavenly City. - -It was snowing. Montjoy, wrapped in mantle, drew hood over head and let -it snow. The flakes fell thickly, large and white. Castle rock dropped -black to castle hill that was whitening. Hill met Middle Forest that -piled toward hill. The roofs were high, the roofs were steep. They were -brown, they were black, they were whitening. Where were chimneys rose -feathers of smoke. These were houses full and well-to-do. There were -chimneys unfeathered. - -Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, went Saint Ethelred’s bell. Sweet--sweet, -deep--deep, the bell of the Poor Clares. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, the -bell of the small Carmelite house. The snow was a veil, but he saw the -river and the whitening bridge. Across, Saint Leofric’s mount might -hardly be seen, might be guessed, as it were--cloud friary, cloud -church, cloud houses around, all set in a cloud. Thick, thick fell the -snow in great flakes. - -Sweet--sweet, deep--deep rang the bells. He thought he could hear -Saint Leofric’s. On a clear day when the wind was right, he could hear -from this wall, far and thin, the bells of Silver Cross. To-day it -could not be for this ever-passing, ever-present wall in white motion. -Yet he imaged the hearing. Silver Cross--Westforest up Wander--Saint -Leofric--Saint Ethelred--Poor Clares--Carmelite--they rang, and it was -Christmas season. - -Montjoy’s dark and serious eyes grew misty. “We strive and -buffet--cross joys, cross wills--yet, O true Lord, every bell is sweet! -Even Saint Leofric’s--” He gripped with energy the stone coping. “But -it is so despite thee, Hugh, despite thy lying that one day shall choke -thee!” - -Silver Cross bells swung to the inner sense. They chimed, they rang -unearthly clear and sweet, they rang clean. “Faulty is the time, and -Silver Cross has been faulty--but never and never and never has it been -nor will it be branded thief--as you, O Hugh, have branded that which -was given you in charge!” - -The snow fell, the snow fell. The roofs whitened, whitened. The smoke -feathers that had been pale against dark now were dark against pale. -The river and the bridge began to be hidden. - -There was a high-roofed house with more than one great chimney stack -out of which rose and waved full and plumy smoke feathers. Down chimney -great burning logs, flame wrapped and purring, made the house warm, it -being the house of the merchant Eustace Bettany. Alongside stood his -warehouse and his shop, and one passed by doors from the one into the -other. His house was clean, well-fitted. To-day, it being Christmas -tide, he had shut shop and given holiday, and was gone, he and his -wife and two daughters, to a kinsman’s house to dine and talk around -kinsman’s fire, and listen to some music from viols and rebecs. His -son, young Thomas, had turned wilful and would not go. Nor would he, -this day, go to seek a jolly crew in some tavern. He often enough -did that, but to-day his mood was indoors. Having house to himself, -he piled on wood and summoned John Cobb. “You’ve on your mad dreaming -cap!” said the latter. - -Thomas plied the ash stick. “If I have not a play to go to, must I not -make the play? I cannot sit still. I must run, dance, fly. I would a -witch would come down chimney and show me how!” - -John Cobb crossed himself. - -The fire burned, the fire sang. The snow fell, large flakes, white, -down coming with an intimate, cool grace. - -Somerville rode into town. He rode musingly, wrapped in a great grey -mantle, with a wide, grey, stiffened felt hat, keeping snow from him -much like a shed roof. He had ridden from manor to Silver Cross where -he had been entertained. Now he rode on to Middle Forest, and he rode -in a deep study. Certain muscles twitched in his odd, brown face. Upon -setting out he had not meant to go farther than Silver Cross. He hardly -knew why he should ride on down Wander. Perhaps he might think that he -wanted time to think. But below consciousness decisions were already -made, actions acted. That was what drew the muscles about mouth and -eyes and, sitting in his wrist, turned his big bay horse down Wander, -not up. He might think that he was thinking, but old life was acting -after old fashion. He rode through falling snow, and he rode not in the -mood of one night at Morgen Fay’s, but in a pleasanter, brisker mood. -He felt amused, speculative, genial, triumphant. It was well to find -human nature through and through the ancient, pleasant, faulty pattern! -He did not dislike it--marry, no! It strengthened, buttressed, warmed -and pleased his sense of himself to feel warp and woof so continuous. - -Silver Cross had this day withdrawn all claim to that debated good mile -of land. It had acknowledged Somerville’s right. Parchment crackled in -his pocket, parchment with Abbot Mark’s name and seal at bottom. Land -at last in his hand. Why? Somerville knew why. “I am bought for the -miracles.” Laughter played over his quick face. - -Prior Matthew had “chanced” to be at Silver Cross. “He is the puppet -master!” - -Nothing had been divulged as to form of puppets, or that there were -puppets, or for that matter miracles. Certainly nothing was said of -purchase. All had been warm, friendly, with an air of Yule. “But when -there are miracles--believe and cry aloud that it is so! Never bring -cold to wither them, snow to cover them! Be a friend, and in our camp!” -Somerville laughed. After an old habit, he hummed, he sang as he rode: - - “Turn thy coat-- - Turn thy coat, - Having the land, - Having the land. - So few know when they are bought! - But all are bought, - Few, few escape!” - -He looked through snow to castle rock. “Ha, Montjoy, do you escape?” - -For a moment a hand, as it were, wiped life from his face, leaving it -haggard and empty. But witches trooped at whistle, sardonic mirth came -back. “We buy and we are bought! Why not--if the world is Pennyworth -Fair? If little good is had, so is little harm. It’s an empty barn, -Montjoy, where the wind whistles! - - “Little good will come, - Little harm will come - Of Abbot Mark, - Of Silver Cross-- - While away the day with plucking at the lute’s three strings!” - -He rode through Middle Forest High Street and coming to the door of -Master Eustace Bettany, dismounted and knocked. John Cobb let him -in, and Thomas Bettany was most glad to see him. But he would not -tarry. He had stopped in passing to ask Thomas to make him a visit at -Somerville Hall. Thomas was blithe to say yes,--if his father could -spare him. - -“Oh, he will spare you!” said Somerville intelligently. - -His sworn follower laughed a little. In truth Somerville was important. -Merchants spared sons to visit knights. - -He mounted the big bay, he rode on down High Street. Thomas and John -Cobb watched from the door dwindling horse and man, taken into the snow -world and hidden there. Then they shook from their coats the flakes big -as guilders and returned to the fire. “Now you’ve got your pleasure and -your play! Did your witch bring him though?” - -“No!” His blue eyes regarded John Cobb with a bright and distant look. -“I’ll take you with me, John, for my man--” - -The snow fell. The roof, the streets all were white. Sound wrapped -itself in wool, in far time. The folk in the ways, the carts and -wagons, the strong horses, went in a wafted veil. It witched them, -witched the place and hour. As the snow fell fewer and fewer were -abroad. Somerville also heard the bells ring. - -Morgen Fay’s house watched the head of the old wall grow white, and -the bridge grow white, and the flakes melt in the river. A dusky plume -waved from the chimney. Below was burning wood, and Morgen Fay moved -from it to window and from window back again. - -She was glad to see Somerville. “If ever I needed counsel, I need it -now! What is Ailsa? She cannot give it, nor can Tony! What are the -others who come here? They have not thy wit, or they are too young or -too old. Montjoy has wiped me from his dear soul!” - -“Your eyes are red. Were you weeping for that?” - -“No! And I wept not much. It does no good. My cousin, Father Edwin, is -dead.” - -“I knew not that he ailed!” - -“Ay, he is dead. And there comes to me warning that Father Edmund will -preach against me in Saint Ethelred and at town cross.” - -“Can there arrive great harm? Middle Forest likes thee pretty well!” - -“Oh, once, I know, I might have sailed out of storm--” - -“Why not again?” - -“With the miracles--with Saint Leofric blazing there? Middle Forest is -become good! I tell you I see before me stoning and misery!” - -He studied the fire. He was inclined to agree with her that her hour -had struck. “Well! You have had years of down-lined nest--of merry -life!” - -“So wind will blow less cold and stones bruise less? Merry life? Oh, -aye, sometimes!” - -“What will you do to escape?” - -“Marry, tell me! Tell me, Rob!” - -She came and put her hand upon his breast. She felt him draw slightly -back from her. She stood away herself and her dark eyes pierced him; -she sighed. Presently she said, “Thou, too! thou, too! Well, out of -common decency, counsel me!” - -He cogitated. “While there is yet time you might get secretly away--to -London or elsewhere.” - -“Oh, I want not to go! This is home. I should miss my river and my -garden.” - -“Montjoy?” - -“In old days he might--because that I look like that Isabel who looked -like Our Lady in the Silver Cross picture. But now I know not that he -would shield, nor that he could. He hath put himself awry with all the -folk.” - -Somerville laughed. “Aye, I have seen that! Let him speak now against -rising zeal at his peril! Out upon him will rush the hive!” - -He sat regarding her with very bright eyes. “Man lives to learn! Until -this moment I knew not that of Montjoy, nor that you are like--as now I -see you are like--that picture! Why did you never tell me that?” - -“I know not. I have some grace--like a little star, far, far away!” - -He regarded her meditatively. “You are a mixture! A hand shakes the -phial until the dregs are on top.” - -“I wish they were skimmed off and thrown away. But all of me might then -be gone, oh, all of me! Tell me what I am to do, Robert!” - -Leaning back in his chair, he looked now at her and now at the fire. -“Priest against priest! Father Edwin dead. Seek afield. None at the -Carmelites, no! Saint Leofric gives no help. Silver Cross--” - -“Oh, Abbot Mark must trot his mule beside Zeal-for-goodness! Not else -can he keep apace with the time!” Morgen Fay burst into laughter. She -laughed, and then she sat silent with her head bowed upon the settle’s -arm. - -“If he preaches--Father Edmund--at town cross, best were it that you -disappear.” - -“Lock house against better days and vanish--aye, where?” - -“There’s many a place.” - -“Aye, far away. I do not will to go far away. May not I have true love -beside all the untrue?” - -“Poor wretch! It is nigh smothered!” said Somerville and laughed; after -which he sat in silence and all manner of odd and mocking lights played -in his face. “Well, disappear up Wander!” - -“How far up?” - -“Well, not as far as Somerville Hall. That may not be. But there is the -ruined farm that bears toward Silver Cross. Put on country dress and -darken your face, and David and his wife who live there will take you -in--Alice or Joan. I will speak to them. You may bide there until we -are less good.” - -There was silence. A red coal fell with a silken sound. Out of window -all was white and still. “I despair,” said Morgen Fay. “Not for this -danger nor for that but I--I myself. I despair.” - -“If there were any way to buy Silver Cross--” He sat and looked into -the fire. - -The snow fell thick, thick and white. It hid the bridge, it hid Saint -Leofric, it hid the castle of Montjoy. It wrapped the town. Dusk came -to help it. Snow and night wrapped the time and place. - -In the night it ceased to snow and cleared. Winter stars and purple -dawn and saffron day. The sun sprang up and beneath him lay a diamond -earth. Somerville, riding up Wander, pulled his hat over eyes, so -dazzling were the light shafts. - -Out from the road that turned aside to Silver Cross came upon his mule -the Prior of Westforest, attended by two monks. There was greeting. -“Ride on with me to Westforest, Sir Robert!” - -They rode together and when they came to Westforest Somerville -dismounted and went with Prior Matthew into his parlour. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Brother Anselm had been transferred, it seemed, from Westforest to -Silver Cross. Richard Englefield found him here, and in the cell that -had been Brother Oswald’s. The latter, with Brothers Peter, Allen and -Timothy, were gone into dormitory. Only Brother Norbert was left. In -the six cells dwelled Brother Anselm, Brother Norbert and himself. -There had been other changes. A great rood was put up in his cell. -Broad and dark, a poor wooden Christ hanging thereon, it overspread -a third of one side of the cell. It stood there, shadowy against a -shadowy wall, as all the cell was shadowy,--the thin winter light -stealing in by day, the one taper by night. - -Richard Englefield the goldsmith had seen many a great rood in England -and France and Italy. He had seen poor carving, rude and struggling -thought and unskilful hand, hardly attaining to truth, hardly to -strength, hardly to beauty. But beauty and strength and truth had been -longed for. This carving, this rood, showed him no such thing. “Not the -way it is done, but the dream is wrong.” It grew faintly horrible to -him. - -The long winter days, the knees upon stone. “O God, O God! Where is -light, where is meaning? In me is wold and thicket and bog and the -stars put out!” - -Only the picture stayed with him, made somehow significance, somehow -warmth. Now it paled and now it glowed. - -He ate little, slept little. He crucified his body. Like the insistent -sweet ringing of a bell, forever, forever, Silver Cross suggested, -suggested. Surely, in some sort, heaven should descend! He was earning -it. He began to have visions, but they were pale, confused, forms -without significance or with the significance hidden. They said naught -that might lift the Abbey of Silver Cross to a height that should equal -Saint Leofric’s mount. - -Twelfth night--Candlemas Day--Lent in sight--and Saint Leofric blazing -high! Not that only, but Middle Forest beginning to manifest holiness -and uncloak sin. Father Edmund of Saint Ethelred had no vision but the -vision of a rod for the wicked. But he had a preaching power! He stood -upon the steps of town cross and his white heat turned the icicles to -water. The sinner, Morgen Fay, was fled,--none knew whither. They said -likely to London town. They sacked her house, they drummed the old -woman and the youth, her servants, out of town. Both sides of river -and up Wander vale, enthusiasm gathered light in eyes, red in cheeks. -There began to be prophets and religious dancers. In Middle Forest High -Street appeared a band of flagellants. The air was taking fire. “Now, -now or never!” said Prior Matthew. - -The ruined farm, that had been small and poor even before fire had half -destroyed it, stood gaunt, blackened, sunk in loneliness behind winter -forest through which few walked. Margery and David, blear-eyed and -simple, living in the part that held together, found the helper-woman, -Joan, strong but moody, now ready to laugh at a little thing and now -dark as a tempest over the wood that shut out the world. Somerville the -master had said, “Take her!” They had obeyed, and if they speculated it -was sluggishly. - -Past the holly copse stretched land of Silver Cross, woodland with a -woodman’s path through. Somerville came by this. He talked with Joan or -with Morgen Fay under the hollies where the berries were so red and the -leaves so glossy and barbed. She said vehemently, “No!” and she said, -“No!” and “No!” again, but more dully, pettishly. - -“It’s sin. I’ve done much, but I haven’t done that!” - -“You choose then a powerful enemy--” - -She raised her arms above her head. “If you will show me where the -world is not wicked--!” - -“Psha! Do you remember a foggy night when we talked? Return to that -mood and say, ‘It is a play, and I can do it wonderfully!’ You -could--you can!” - -“I do not see that Abbot Mark can harm me more than I am harmed!” - -“Think you so? Should there come a band of monks to break the house -and hale you forth--strip you and fling you into Wander, or maybe into -fire? If Silver Cross but speaks to Saint Ethelred, Abbot Mark to -Father Edmund? If I withdraw my hand? Do not look like a queen in a -book! I mean only that in no wise can I save you further. Montjoy is -not powerful enough, even if he would, and I have here less power of -arm than has he. You must save yourself.” - -“I think that your Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew are devils!” - -“No. They are not. They are honest men trying to assure and increase -that which they hold to be their own. Human stuff, even as you and I!” - -“Human stuff! Well, I would choose another stuff if I might!” - -“No, you would not, poor Morgen Fay, by the chill Wander! You chose -this. Well, will you, or will you not?” - -“I will not.” - -“You think that you will not. However, you will. If you do not you are -lost.” - -“Lost to what?” - -“Well, to ease--to your own kind of command--finally perhaps to your -life.” - -She said in a strangled voice. “As I came here to this house so will I -walk on by day or by night and come to another town.” - -He turned quickly. “Try it!--or rather do not try it! You will find -that you cannot.” - -The holly berries were red, the leaves glossy and barbed. She looked -at the pale winter sky. “Is it sky? It seems to me a poor tent that we -have struggled to get up--poor, mean, low, ragged. I would it might -fall and kill us!” - -He smiled indulgently. “No, you do not so! Any day you could kill -yourself. But you love life. Go to, now! Look at the curious dance -of the time correctly! Mumming is no great sin. What! All the saints -and higher than the saints were on the market-place stage last Middle -Forest Fair. They talked and walked--even the Highest! Very good! It is -but Miracle Play again, and truly for no ill ends--” - -Red holly berries, barbed leaves. He won her to stand and listen, -though with heaving bosom and dark brows. Pale sky and voice of Wander -and birds of winter in naked oak and beech. The ruined farm--and her -house above the river and her garden turned against her. Father Edmund -preaching at town cross against the wicked time and each remaining -sin--and they had swept up her house and garden and drummed forth -Ailsa and Tony, who were God knew where! And Montjoy nor any cared any -longer! Barbed leaves and miserable world bent on injury! He won her to -nod her head and then to break into reckless laughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The monk Richard awoke, he knew not why. He woke widely, collectedly, -his forces drawn to a point of expectation. “Awake, awake! Look!” -seemed to echo in his soul that had suddenly grown quiet. When he had -slept his cell was flooded by the moon. Still there was her silver -light. He sat up. He was with absoluteness aware of a presence in the -cell. Never before, in his pale visions, had he had this sense of -startling, of reality,--not at Westforest, not here at Silver Cross. He -knew that there was a being in his cell. Neither could he nor did he -doubt it. A voice spoke to him, and it was golden-sweet and rich and -wonderful. “Richard!” - -He turned himself. Light that was not moonlight, though it blended with -the moonlight, and in it, _real_, the Blessed among women! - -Could he doubt? It was the great picture come alive! Could he doubt? -She spoke--and he had not uttered that dart of thought. “Not that that -painter could see me as I am in glory--but knowing that thou lovest me -so, I come to thee so! I come to thee as thou canst see me, Richard!” - -She was _real_, she was not tinted air. _Real_--oh, _real_! Soft -playing light was about her feet, her form, her head, her outspread and -glorious dark hair. Her eyes were books, her mouth upland meadows of -flowers; the blue and red of her dress, her mantle, trembled and was -alive. Life went out of her toward him, his life leaped to meet it. -Life at last, _life_! _life_! He sprang from his pallet, he kneeled in -his monk’s robe. He put his forehead to the stone. - -The voice came again--oh, the voice! “Richard, list to me!” - -All heaven was speaking to him and filling him--him, him who had been -so unhappy!--with joy and power. - -“Thou hast loved me well, and so thou hast drawn me, servant Richard, -knight Richard, my poet Richard! I love all places--but now I love this -place well and would do it good.” - -He found daring to speak. “Star of me--Bringer of me into full being--” - -“Thou canst not know all the counsel of heaven. I will come again, -renewing thy joy. But now hearken what thou art to do, unquestioning, -as thou lovest me! The morn comes. When rings the bell for lauds, when -thy brethren flock into church, haste thou, haste! Stand before them. -Cry, thou that lovest me. ‘This night hath the Blessed among women -appeared to me, Richard Englefield!’ And she saith, ‘Speak to all of -Silver Cross, and say thou for me, Of old I loved this place, and I -will love it again, for I see it returning to its first strength and -worship!’ Say thou, ‘I will give it room again in men’s minds. I will -return and show a thing whereby multitudes shall be healed and glory -shall come!’” - -There was pause, then “Be thou he, Richard, who loveth me well, through -whom I shall speak! Morn cometh. The bell begins to ring.” - -The soft, the playing light withdrew. He felt her still--oh, -_real_!--then in the darkness, into it, behind it as it were, she was -gone. He knew that she was gone into utter light. - -But here was vacancy, faint moonbeams, a cell of shadows. But the -comfort and the passion and the splendour were in his heart, his veins, -his blood, in the potent cells of his body! With power, with success, -they summoned the brain to do them service. He believed like a child, -and he was the impassioned lover. - -He felt more than man. A great lightness and gaiety, a rest upon -promise, held him one moment, and the next a longing, an agony,--and -all was huge and resonant, deep, wide and high; and all was fine and -small and subtle and profoundly at home! Time and space had radically -changed for him. - -He was yet kneeling when the bell for lauds began to ring. Rising, he -saw through the window the setting moon,--then he was gone. - -The candles were lighted. It was not Abbot Mark’s wont to be seated -there, in Abbot’s stall, for lauds. But he was here, picked out by the -light. The hollow of the church was all dark; the choir, the ranged -monks, thinly dyed with amber. When he passed the tomb of the Lady of -Montjoy he thought that a warmer light laved it, touching the stone -almost to life. But the great picture--ah, the great picture! He lifted -to it light-filled eyes. She was there--she was in heaven--she had -stood in his cell. His being was in her hands; he lay with the Babe in -her arms. - -He would give her message rightly! It seemed almost that the church -waited for it, the windows where the dawn was bringing faint, faint -colours. A great wave of feeling swept him, affection and pity for -Silver Cross. Once it had been saintly and a light for all wanderers. -Dear would it be, dear and rich and sweet if it all could come again, -the old, simple power! - -With that he heard his own voice, as it were the voice of another, -lifted but profound, too, a deep, a rushing music, since what he had -to tell was heaven’s music. The Abbot summoned him to stand upon the -step, lifted high above Silver Cross monks. He gave forth her words, -and the world seemed to him an altar, and the candles suns, and he felt -himself that he spoke like a strong angel. - -There were ejaculations, cries of praise, snatches of prayers. The -Abbot kneeled--the sub-prior--all! The picture seemed to glow, to bend -forward, to bless. In the faces of the simpler monks sat pure awe and -belief. Some wept. There were two or three ecstatic faces. Those who -had been lazy or proud or sensual or lying showed to his thinking -smitten. He had not liked them, but now they were like poor faulty -children to him, to be loved still, so brimming was his power! - -Brother Norbert, whom certainly he had not liked, cried aloud, “Now -Silver Cross shines again--shines brighter than the bones of Saint -Leofric!” - -Brother Norbert, too, stepped into the deep-throbbing inner Paradise. -While there arose a cry of “Praise Our Lady!”--while the Abbot kneeled -before her image--while, as though she had said “Sing!” the church -filled with singing, Brother Richard knew bliss. The dawn was in the -windows, the great sun struck through, there was golden day. But his -thought was, “Will she come to-night?” - -The day was on him, and it was unsupportable, with the fervour, with -the talking, with the restlessness of the Abbey-fold. He had longing to -go to his old workroom, to light the furnace, to take up work. But that -had been long forbidden. It was March. Lay Brothers and tenants were -plowing Abbey fields. He would have worked with them, but again was -forbidden. But he had at least permission to go forth under open sky. -He might walk in orchard or garden. Silence was enjoined. He felt no -sorrow as to that; silence was needed to talk with Heaven. - -The March day was bright, sunny, still, not cold. Two Abbey men were -pruning the fruit trees. Richard Englefield signed that he would help. -He worked for hours and the work was welcome. He must steady himself -in order to feel again and again and steadily--in order to know every -strange flower and divine essential thread! - -Long day went slow-footed by, and yet were its moments gems and -blossoms. He did not reason, he did not think; he only knew strange -bliss and strange pain and expected both to continue. - -Vespers--the picture--the Magnificat. Exalted as he was he knew that -there was exaltation about him, in the church. Did he care to bring it -before his mind he would have agreed that by now tidings of so great -import must have gone here, gone there. No more than incense or music -or light could it be kept at the starting point! Presently it would be -far and near. - -Prior Matthew of Westforest sat next the Abbot’s stall. That was to be -expected, Silver Cross and Westforest being mother and daughter. The -hollow of the church showed clusters of folk from Wander side. That, -too, was to be looked for. The Lord of Montjoy stood beside the tomb of -Isabel; often he came to Silver Cross, and it was not to be wondered at -that he was here to-day, summoned doubtless by Abbot Mark. Montjoy’s -dark face showed exaltation. It glowed; you would have said there was -personal triumph. Richard Englefield felt for Montjoy sudden kinship -and liking. - -What faces were turned to him, what looks were cast upon him, what -watchings, what judgments, hopes, he knew not. After the first habitual -sweep of the eye, after the first movement of spirit toward Montjoy, he -was the picture’s. - -The church grew wide as earth. The chanting went up long coloured lanes -to heaven’s gate. The setting sun sang, and the rising moon sang, and -the stars, as through the dusk they strode nearer. - -It was night. He was alone in his cell. Again he slept. He waked and -knew that he was in her presence. - -Softened glory, diminished that he might see her as he could see her. -Her red and her blue, her form, her face, her voice--kneeling, he -trembled with his joy as with a burden too great to bear. It was as -ocean wave to a babe. Vast, crested, it curved above him. His life -might go--he cared not for that, if on the other side of life he might -still adore! - -The voice! “Richard! Say thou for me to Silver Cross, ‘Go by the -orchard, go by the hill where feed the sheep. Go to where shines a fir -tree against the steep hill. Beside it you will find fallen earth and a -little cave made bare, and in the stone over the cave my name. Let the -Abbot of Silver Cross and the holiest among you enter. There shall you -find a little well of clear water, and by token beside it a rose. The -well hath been blessed by me and by all the host of heaven. Make you of -the grot a chapel. Set my image there; make it a place that I may love. -Make for the well a pool, and whosoever drinks of it and whosoever -bathes therein, if he have faith he shall be completely healed, be he -ill either of body or estate!’” - -The music fell, then rose again. “That is my task for thee, Richard! -That is the errand thou wilt do for me.” - -The voice ceased. He thought that the light began to go away, her form -to dim. He cried aloud, fear pushing him to wild utterance. “I will do -it! But wilt thou come again? I may not live unless thou wilt come!” - -There seemed pause, then said the voice like the balm of the world. -“I will come once again--and perhaps thereafter, so thou servest me -firmly!” And, as he bowed his head, as tears of sweetness, of exquisite -rest in her word, rushed to his eyes, she was gone. Darkness--and again -through the window the declining moon, and immediately the bell for the -dawn office. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Silver Cross went in procession. The Abbot with the Prior of Westforest -walked ahead and there followed chanting monks. Then came lay Brothers -and villagers and a quarter of the countryside and a half-score from -Middle Forest. The Lord of Montjoy walked. Bright was the morning, high -and crisp; white frost on ground. Rounding the hill they cried, “The -fir tree!” - -They knew not how it was, but the tree, the first confirmation, seemed -to spring before them, magical, mighty, a veritable tree of life. Many -may have noted it before, through the years, standing like a sentinel -before the hill, and thought only, “A great tree, with good shade for -shepherds in hot summer tide!” But now marvel clothed it. - -The wind began to play through the stretched wires of Imagination. The -harp was sounding. - -It was the Prior of Westforest who cried, “Lo, the fallen earth! Not -touched from without, but pushed from within!” - -It lay in truth, sod, earth and rock, to right and left, as though -Might would come forth and had done so. - -The procession broke from column into a throng as of bees, eyes toward -their queen. There was the opening into the hill like a door with a -great stone for lintel. The Abbot spoke to the monk Richard. “Read -thou!” A breath of assent ran like wind through wheat. “Aye, aye, the -one she came to!” - -Richard Englefield read the name cut there and gave it to the folk -as he had given in Silver Cross church the message. Tall, spare, -gold-brown, in daily seeming stripped to simplicity and quietude, but -now with that around him that made for catching of the breath, he stood -and read and turned and gave the name of the Blessed among women. - -The Abbot and the Prior of Westforest entered the small cavern. The -bright sun was there; it was light enough. With them they took the monk -Richard, and Brother Oswald whom all knew for right monk and Brother -Ralph. There entered, too, the Lord of Montjoy. At first he would not. -“She saith, Take the good--” But the Abbot drew him by the hand. There -went in likewise one from Middle Forest,--Father Edmund the Preacher. - -There was the well,--a little basin of clear water bubbling from the -farther rock. It was March and the world leafless. But close beside -the water lay a fresh rose, nor red nor white, of a colour like the -dawn. Stem and leaf and blossom it lay, and in the water appeared its -likeness. The Abbot stooped toward it. Montjoy laid hand on him. “No! -Let this man lift it!” He and Richard Englefield and Brothers Oswald -and Ralph saw a transfigured rose. It glowed, it beat; it was seen -through tears. - -Brother Richard kneeled before it, touched it with his forehead. Then -in his two hands he bore it through the opening of the grot and showed -it, lifted, to the folk. - -Out of the hushed throng rang a voice. “The cave and well of Our Lady -of the Rose!” - -“That is it! That is it! Our Lady of the Rose!” - -The Abbot lifted his hands. “It shall be kept for aye in reliquary. -Lord of Montjoy--” - -“I will give the reliquary!” Montjoy saw in imagination the rose -blooming for aye, sending through gold and precious stones light and -fragrance to Isabel. - -It seemed that the sub-prior had brought from the Abbot’s house a -silver dish and a square of fine white linen. Brother Richard laid the -rose in the silver thing that he himself had carved. - -Now all that might would press into the grot. At last order was had -and like links of a massy chain in and forth passed the throng. There -was a woman from Wander Mill, dumb for years, and it was known that -she had not won healing from Saint Leofric. Now she came, she stooped, -she lifted water in her hands and drank. She rose, she turned, she -stammered, made strange sounds, then burst forth clear. “Praise God! -Praise Blessed Lady!--Oh, children, I am speaking!” - -Tears were in all eyes. - -One other was healed that day,--a man whose fingers were bent into his -hand so that he could not straighten them nor work at his trade. - -There was a great Mass and high devotion at Silver Cross. There were -offerings for at once lining with fine stone the grotto of Our Lady of -the Rose, for providing a fair, wide basin for the well, for a glorious -image. - -Earth, water and air seemed servants to bear the news. The hum of it -was like wild bees through Wander vale. Middle Forest listened at -sunset to Father Edmund. “True--true, my children! We have preached -and wrought, scourging forth evil! This country wins a new name. From -accursed, it becomes blessed!” The river heard and the bridge and Saint -Leofric’s Mount and the Friary and Prior Hugh. The bells of Saint -Ethelred rang and of the Carmelites and the Poor Clares. The castle of -Montjoy heard. Somerville Hall heard, and the house of Master Eustace -Bettany. - -The ruined farm heard,--but so dull and trouble-bent were David -and Margery that they cared not. Little things only could get into -Margery’s mind, and a little thing was turning there. Joan, the -helper-woman, slept in a loft that was reached by an outside stair. -Margery had swimming in the head and feared this stair and rarely went -to loft. But this day Joan might be anywhere, but could not be found at -hand. Margery climbed the stair and peered about. Very blank up here, -with flock bed and ancient chest and some hanging things. But in the -window under the thatch, in the sunshine of a mild day, stood the tiny -rose tree that Joan had brought with her under her cloak when she came -to the ruined farm two months since. She said she brought it because -she loved it, and she begged an earthern jar and put in rich soil and -planted afresh that which she had taken from such a jar in order to -bring it so great a distance,--in short from the great port town twenty -leagues away. Now, at the ruined farm, she must have nourished it well -and kept it warm, for it was green and leafy. Margery, going over to -admire it, set herself to turn the jar that she might better see. The -jar fell and broke. The earth heaped itself on the floor, the stem and -leaves were bruised. “Alack!” cried Margery and hurried down stairs, -for she thought she heard Joan. Though in form she was the mistress -it was not so essentially. She explained volubly when, in another -hour, there confronted her Joan with a shard of the jar in her hand. -She would remember the loft and the little rose tree, but the news of -miracles at Silver Cross, brought by a straying shepherd, whistled -through like wind over grass that when the stir was gone forgot. - -The March sunset flared splendid. The dusk fell like violets. The -stars, advancing, were taper flames and an angel vast as all mankind -held each. The moon would not rise till late. “Come, oh, come, come, -Rose of Heaven!” So the monk Richard Englefield in his dark cell. - -He must sleep, he would sleep, he would trust, not clamor nor force. He -slept, he waked; she was there, she appeared to him. “Rose of Heaven, -Rose of Heaven--Voice of Heaven, Blessed One--My Lady!” - -She was there to confirm him in worship, to say, “Well done, thus far!” -to say, “Pray thou--praise thou--live thou, humble, obedient, shedding -holiness on Silver Cross!” - -“Wilt thou come again?” - -The voice that was music said, “Live in memory and live in hoping! But -now, Richard, farewell!” - -Darkness where had been light. The kneeling monk stretched his arms, -strained his eyes, but there was darkness. He heard no movement, but -she was not there! Empty cell, and a black cloud across the moon! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -She came no more. Night after night of dark,--only the star Memory and -the sapphire star of passionate hope that once again, once again he -would wake, clear, still, and know her there. “Even after years, oh, -heaven that holds her, oh, God that sustains her! Even after years -beyond counting.” - -She came no more. The nights were slow dark raindrops, heavy, full, one -after the other falling, slow falling, not to be counted. They made -rosaries, they would make rosaries for aye. “Then I must go to her. -Where is the eagle will show me the path?” - -March--April. The rose in reliquary, the cave stone lined, the well -widened into a fair pool with steps for going down, for coming up, one -in so many healed! April--May. Noise of Silver Cross like a waving -of forest trees, like a humming of all the bees in the meadows. Folk -coming, going; more folk and more folk coming! At the Abbey a greater -guest house in planning; in shambling village taverns, booths, houses -rising. Pilgrims on foot and pilgrims on horseback and in litter. A -bishop stayed three days in the Abbot’s house, there was rumour that -the cardinal might come. The bells of Silver Cross rang jubilee. - -Middle Forest relied now upon its own side of the river. Montjoy in -his castle looked younger by ten years. He looked like some crusading -Montjoy of long ago, long ago. The river murmured of both banks; the -bridge seemed to have two loves. But the mount of Saint Leofric, though -it said, “Praise for doubling!” seemed rather to wish to say, “Out upon -division!” Prior Hugh, though he spoke gracious words, looked warped -and wan and cogitative. - -Early May at the ruined farm and Somerville and the helping-woman Joan -in the forest, under a beech tree pale green and silver grey, springing -tall and stretching wide. “I will to go back to my house by the river! -All the world is joyous and grown softened--Oh, I hear it with the ear -inside of ear and I touch it with the touch inside of touch! Good was -done for all of the evil, was it not, Rob?” - -He laughed. “Oh, woman--! You can’t go back. Father Edmund has three -voices where he had one! Moreover--” - -“Moreover--?” - -“See you, Morgen, go up to London town.” - -“And why should I go to London town?” - -“Ask for that Westforest and Silver Cross.” - -Under the beech tree was carpet of last year’s leaves. She lifted and -crumbled them in her hands. “When I said that I would be secret, I -meant not telling! They have no call to fear me.” - -“Perhaps they tell themselves that. Or perhaps they see faint menace -every time they look this way!” - -“They promised that trouble should cease. I was going back to my own -house over my own garden, by the river that I like to hear by day, by -night. They said that Father Edmund should be checked. Presently I was -to find that I might slip back--” - -“What is promised is not easy sometimes to perform. They will give you -gold in London. London is rich, and you are Morgen Fay. Go, and be -powerful there!” - -“And you--and you? Oh, I remember that you go once in five years to -London!” - -“If you cried out in Middle Forest market place what was done not a -soul would believe you!” - -“No. It is too monstrous!” - -“Then and there the folk might tear you limb from limb for wild -blaspheming. They are truly quite safe.” - -She broke into high laughter. “Then let them leave me alone, and let -them keep promise! It irks me that they are so false! Here are two -months, and not yet may I go back! And Ailsa and Tony, where are they? -I see them begging or in gaol!” - -“You should be happy,” he said, “that you are not beggar nor in gaol.” - -There fell silence. The beech tree sprang light green and silver, the -sky was blue, the blackbirds talked, a thrush sang, wandering airs went -by. The world was sweet. But she crushed the dead leaves and sat still. - -“You must go. Need or no need, they will have it so! Nor can you -stay at the ruined farm forever. Something will happen endangering -you--endangering me.” - -She said. “Is life wicked--or are we wicked--or are we dull and -lifeless--stones, broken twigs, dead leaves? Many an one says that I -am wicked, and doubtless I am at times. I know it--I know it! And then -again I am not wicked. So if I say that you are so, poor Sir Robert -Somerville? Perhaps I am mistaken--perhaps I am right. It’s a weary way -to knowledge!” - -“Were you gentler,” he said, “had you not such a tongue, you would find -that the winds did not rock your nest so roughly!” - -He stood up. “Ah, go!” she said. “Go! I have seen it coming--now it -comes! Your road’s to John o’ Groat’s house and mine’s to Land’s End!” - -“You mock the wind,” he answered, “with your nest fixed so firm upon -the bough!” - -He went away by woodman’s path, and she to the ruined farm. “Eh, lass!” -said Margery at dusk. “You can work when your mind’s to it!” - -The third day from this Somerville and she were again in the wood. “I -am going. It is trudge! All of you make a north wind that I set my back -against and go! Nor will I cry for it, Somerville!” - -“You have no need to. They shall give you money. Walk or ride in a -cart from here through the later half of night, keeping disguise. Come -to the port in a day or so and find there the _King Arthur_ bound for -London. Find, too, upon the ship Ailsa--” - -Red flowed over her face. “Oh, the power that men, and honest men, own! -It is enough to make one willing to sell soul to devil!” - -He waved that aside. “It is for your own safety that you are going. -And were I wholly wicked I should not be here, nor Ailsa at the port -awaiting you--” - -She said. “That is true. I thank you there, Rob!” - -She broke a spray of hazel, set her teeth in the green wood, then threw -it away. “Shall we say good-by now, you and I?” - -“Not just yet. Something has arisen since we sat here the other day. I -have seen Prior Matthew.” - -“Aye?” - -“There is needed one more appearance. Question has arisen as to Saint -Willebrod--if he rests still or if actively he aids! There are some who -are devoted to him. Once more then!” - -“Oh, I will not!” - -His bright eyes dwelt upon her, all the lights played in his odd face. -“Why not, Morgen? Be good-natured! I nor none am doing badly by you.” - -“What do you get from this?” - -“The old debatable land--and a piece that was not debatable. I love -land! And I get playgoer’s enjoyment, watching from a good, quiet -seat--and comfort that we’re all fruit just pleasantly specked and -wasp-eaten--and some mirth from Montjoy’s ecstacy. So be good! -What! There are houses by Thames in London. You may have a garden -still--plant your rose tree there.” - -It was high May weather. As once before Thomas Bettany had errand up -the Wander,--merchant errand of account-to-be-paid. This time it was -with Oak Tree Grange beyond Silver Cross. He rode in the May tide and -with him rode John Cobb, and they had done the errand. Oak Tree Grange -lay out of the world, and now they were on a cart track, nothing more. - -Young Bettany rode light and happy on his big grey horse. May world was -a fair world, fair, sweet, gay, kind! He whistled clear and strong. “I -swear I saw God sitting on yon cloud!” - -Said John Cobb, “I’m going to Silver Cross to get this old scar taken -off my face.” - -“Silver Cross. I don’t know.” - -They were riding by a wood, old, uncut, dim. “This is Somerville’s land -now! He always claimed it, and now the Abbey allows it.” - -John Cobb looked about him. “I know now where we are. Over there, -a mile through, is a ruined farm. Lonely! It’s so lonely you lose -yourself--and there’s a ghost walks in the wood.” - -“Let’s go look.” - -John was not averse, being in the other’s company. They left cart track -and rode over yielding earth under old trees. There was no path and the -trees must be rounded. The way they had come sank from sight, almost -it might seem from mind, so quick the place took them. Bettany’s blue -eyes sparkled. He loved all this; he might come at any moment upon -wizard’s tower. What indeed they came upon was another faint track, -leading north and south. “Abbey is that way and Somerville Hall that -way, and over there is the turn to the road we left. They come in and -go out that way--but, Lord, there’s mortal little travel! You might say -it’s a witched place.” - -“That is what I like!” said the other. “Oh, if I might I would travel -far!” - -They rode as though it were bottom of the sea, it was so green and -silent. Bettany turned in his saddle and studied the lay of the place. -“When Somerville goes to Silver Cross I think he takes this way. It’s -not so far.” - -“Turn here to the ruined farm. David that lives here, I’ve heard my -mother say, was foster brother to Sir Robert’s father.” - -They rode on and now they saw the ruined farm between the trees. A -wreck it seemed, like a broken ship slipped down to sea floor. Then by -a thorn in bloom stood up Morgen Fay. - -“_Who are you?_” - -“_Who are you?_” - -In a moment she knew him and Bettany knew her for all her servant dress -and stained face. “How do you come here--how do you come here? You are -in London--” - -John Cobb crossed himself. “Like she be a sorceress, too--” - -Morgen stepped from the thorn to the side of the big grey horse. She -met blue eyes with dark eyes. Her lips smiled, her eyes and under her -eyes. “Oh, the saints!” she said. “I can but be glad to see you, lad! -You are no telltale! Can you teach your man to be none either?” - -“I can that. But Morgen Fay, how did you grow here?” - -He swung himself down from his horse and stood beside her. John Cobb -gaped. “Send him a little away,” she said, “but do not let him out of -sight. This world’s a danger-bush where the thorn is always near the -may!” - -They talked. “Do you remember that foggy day when you climbed through -window? I have not seen you since! I like you, though not the way that -all expect. I wish I might have had you for brother. Well, they would -stone me--burn me, maybe--in the market place, Father Edmund preaching -over me! I dwell at the ruined farm.” - -Intelligence flashed between them. “Somerville saved you--put you -here. I think the better of him!” He spoke sturdily, a young spiritual -adventurer. - -She looked at him with eyes that seemed to have considered a myriad -matters. She sighed--she stretched her arms in a yearning gesture in -the dim gulf of the world into which the wood seemed to have turned. -“It is away to London! Maybe I shall never again see you nor Somerville -nor Montjoy, who is too good now to be seen close, nor Middle Forest -High Street that I danced in when I was a little girl, nor my house -that I liked, though often was I wretched in it! Nor my garden that the -old wall mothered, nor river that I listened to and listened to. Well, -tide and time we run away! But where we run to, that is a question for -a wise man! They say that we run to heaven or to hell--and I shouldn’t -dare say my road was the first!” - -Without warning Thomas Bettany found himself priest. “If you’ve strayed -into wrong road, turn and take the other! You’ve got more than you -think of the other in you now. Turn, Morgen!” He regarded her with a -sudden startled face. “By the rood! It’s the Great Adventure.” - -She looked at him with more of the thorn in her face than the bloom. -From beyond an oak came John Cobb’s warning voice. “Some one’s coming! -Two or three!” - -“Go at once!” said Morgen Fay, and so meant it that she wrought their -going. Bettany, obeying her, rode without turning his head, straight -through the wood. The trees fell like fountains between the two and -the thorn bush. To the right lay the ruined farm, but they pushed on -and came after a mile to the narrow, little travelled road that led -at last to the highway that, passing Silver Cross, ran on to Middle -Forest. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -He turned his face from the wall to which it had been set. Light was in -the cell. He turned his body; he rose. “Oh, my Lady--” - -In the torrent rush of feeling he came close before he kneeled. The -light-swathed form stepped back from him. He knew overwhelming, aching, -bursting sense of felicity that yet was pain, was hunger. The float of -the red and blue drapery, the face that was the face of the picture, -the height, the sense of heaven in one Form-- - -On his knees he came nearer. His eyes were not hidden as before, -waiting for her to speak. He could not other; he did not think at all. -He would have put hands about her feet and with his eyes drink power -and beauty and love. - -She went back from him again. Something untoward happened. Her foot -and shoulder struck the great rood, pushed slightly forward from the -wall. It spun aside. Behind it showed in plain light a low and narrow -doorway, with door swinging outward, closed and hidden, all times but -this, by the great cross. Light showed the very rope and pulley by -which the masking wood was pushed forward and drawn back. Light showed -through into Brother Norbert’s cell; in the very opening showed Brother -Norbert and over his shoulder the white face of Brother Anselm. While -Richard Englefield rose to his feet, the shape that he had esteemed of -glory turned, bent itself and vanished through the opening. Light went -out. - -There was an effort to close the door but before it could be done -his knee and shoulder were there to prevent. There was a sound of -breathing, of muttering, then a hurry of feet. He broke through into -Brother Norbert’s cell and felt that it was empty. - -There was still a flickering light. It came from a great, thick candle, -almost a torch of wax, thrown into a corner but not yet extinguished. -He caught it up and the flame sprang whole again. It showed him much -of apparatus. There was the yet unclosed opening above, reached by a -short ladder, through which the shaft of light had been sent into his -cell. There were other things,--tools, cords, bits of candle, cloths, -what not. Mind light blazed. He saw why the cells had been emptied of -old occupants; he saw that these openings had been made while he was -at Middle Forest, he saw that they had used the great rood for mask. A -mantle lay upon the floor,--red, with blue and red linings. He lifted -it and saw that it was earthly cloth, though fine and thin. He saw the -jointed wires that could be stretched by the hand and so the tissues -be made to seem to float. He saw that they had put upon him a cheat. -He dropped the mantle but kept the torch in hand. The door of the cell -giving upon stone passage was swinging open. He burst through, he ran -down the passage. This way would have gone the whole complex monster, -to be overtaken and slain in fury. He ran, smoke and flame streaming -behind him, but at the bend of passage came upon half a dozen monks. -Of these, four seemed just awakened. But Brother Norbert and Brother -Anselm were wildly awake. He threw down the torch, he closed with -Brother Norbert. “Alas! Brother Richard! You are mad! Help!” - -Brother William that was a giant fell upon him. They pinned him down. -The sub-prior appeared with two or three more at his heels. “O Our -Lady! Hath he gone mad!” He fought with them all. “Robbers of souls!” -he shouted. They haled him into refectory that was near-by. One ran -for Brother Walter the leech. But Brother Norbert and Brother Anselm -vanished in the direction of the cell he had left. “You are cheats -and murderers!” he cried, to the true bewilderment of three or four. -Brother William, at a nod from the sub-prior, thrust cloth into his -mouth, wound and tied the gag. Brother Walter came. “What is wrong? -What is wrong? Doth he rave? They do so oft after so much hath come -to them!” He was haled down the passage to the cell he had left. All -was quiet there, ordered, still, plain monk’s cell, lighted only by -the lights they brought. The opening was closed and the great rood -in place. When he made to attack it, push it aside, they cried out -in horror and the sub-prior ordered his arms tied. Finally, perhaps -because he had ceased to struggle and seemed to be collecting his wits, -and a madman with wits was notoriously dangerous, they bound him with a -rope to the window stanchions and went off to put his case before the -Abbot. Brother Walter the leech would have stayed, but the sub-prior -sharply forbade. He seemed to hesitate whether or no to leave Brother -Norbert but at last signed him forth. The rope was strong, the man was -quiet. Let him be till council was taken! Solitude and none to hear was -regimen, time out of mind, for mad monk! - -They went. The cell was like a tomb, and he bound in it. It was dark, -with a faint sense of morning in the air. - -Despite all weakening Richard Englefield was yet strong of body. -And he had rage that came like a giant to possess him, and a will -that was now gathered, collected, and hurled through space to one -point. He broke the cord that bound his arms. This done he could free -himself from the gag and unknot at last the rope that bound him to -the stanchions. It was now to break stanchion and cross bar and clear -the window. He did this. He climbed through the window, held by his -hands, dropped to earth. It had been impossible to the sub-prior or -to Brother Norbert, but it was not impossible to him. It was all done -quickly. Stone rang beneath his feet. Light shone in the Abbot’s house. -Doubtless all were gathered there,--the thieves and murderers! Where -was that one, that painted fiend, who had given him cap and bells to -wear through life? Through life--through eternity! The church rose -dark. He looked at the stars above it, and they seemed to him sparks -from a mean and smoky fire. Now he was at Silver Cross outer wall. He -climbed it and came down upon the other side with cuts and bruises that -he did not feel. A palest light shone in the east. Behind him, over -him, he heard the bell for lauds. He knew where ran the highway down -Wander vale to Middle Forest. He went straight like a wild wind blowing -down. All since he had waked was done as it were in one moment. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -In Middle Forest it was market morning, high May weather and many -abroad. Country folk, town folk, folk from across river made a humming -and buzzing in High Street and the market place. The sun was an hour -up, and all thrifty marketers out of house. Saint Ethelred’s bells -rang, the Carmelites’, the Poor Clares’. Father Edmund walked about; -there were two of Leofric’s friars from over river. May sun struck -the castle, up the steep hill from market. The bells stopped. Eyes, -thoughts, turned this way and that. - -A Silver Cross monk sped like an arrow through the market place. He was -at town cross, on the lower step, on the upper step. He faced around. -“Middle Forest! Ho, Middle Forest!” - -They recognized him. All the countryside, flocking now to Silver Cross -church, had sought with their eyes for Brother Richard. Near or at -distance, he had been pointed out to many. A cry arose and spread. -“The monk of Silver Cross!” Those close at hand came closer; those -afar hastened to the thickening centre. He flung his arms out and up. -He seemed to appeal to Middle Forest, but also to high heaven,--or -he seemed to threaten high heaven. His voice rang and reached like -Montjoy’s trumpets. He told what he had to tell, and all those ears -drank it in and all those eyes stared and mouths gaped. He had power, -and now it was power at the top of its straining. As he told, what he -told they believed. - -He paused, gasping, his face working. From the step beside him sprang -forth another voice, that of Father Edmund, master-preacher and scourge -of the vices of the time. “Who alone, in all earth around us, would -dare so to blacken the Mother of God, the Bride of Heaven? Have I not -cried that she was never gone but hidden hereabouts--the harlot and -sorceress, Morgen Fay!” - -Richard Englefield heard. He knew not the name or its associations, -but his mind leaped fiercely upon it. Mind leapt like a famished wolf. -Then, straight up from a dark well, rose memory of a chance-heard talk -among the coarser sort, in the Brothers’ common room,--talk of Middle -Forest from which one had come. That day he had risen and gone away and -stopped his ears with work. So she was Morgen Fay, the harlot! - -Enormous commotion rose around him. There ran and jangled a multitude -of voices. Impossible to Middle Forest to forego the present -sensation! But the good and glory now flowing from Silver Cross! -Equally impossible to question and forego that! Out of it all burst -finally the great cry, “Is there no Blessed Well, no Cavern of -Our Lady, no Rose in reliquary? But we know there are the healed! -Here’s one was healed! The monk is mad!” Came like a bolt from Saint -Ethelred’s porch one whom all knew,--Friar Martin, the Black Friar. -He, too, stood on town cross steps,--and half Middle Forest was here! -The Black Friar’s eyes gleamed and that which gleamed in them was -love of the glory of Saint Leofric. Out poured the bull voice. “The -healed? They will stay healed! They need not fear! Their faith in good -made them--makes them whole! What! The stars are above the tavern -lights! But here, verily, hath been tavern lights, pothouse lights. But -healing! You shall not lack healing while stands Saint Leofric!” - -The place was grown like an angered hive. Father Edmund and Friar -Martin were a pair to change bewilderment into passion. Father Edmund -hunted sin calling itself Morgen Fay. The Black Friar had a pointing -finger for the leper spot in Silver Cross. Middle Forest grew to sound -of forest in tempest. So much swayed with Father Edmund, so much went -with Saint Leofric over Silver Cross, so much beat against the two, -asserting Silver Cross’s total innocence, save maybe for a monk’s -deceit and madness! So many held purely for self and sought out the -profit. Market place grew pandemonium. - -Out came a strong citizen voice, Master Eustace Bettany’s. “Have -Brother Richard up to the castle! Let Montjoy hear!” - -It was a channel and brought relief of pouring into channel. Hands were -upon the monk to urge him. “Montjoy! Yes, tell Montjoy!” - -The castle hill was sunny, the castle gate was dim, the castle court -sunny, the castle hall dim. So many folk buzzed on castle road, below -wall; so many were let into court and buzzed there, so many entered -hall. From castle hill, if you looked Silver Cross way, you might see -rapidly moving dust, growing larger, coming nearer. That was Abbot Mark -and Prior Matthew. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Montjoy--yes, Montjoy! - -A house that he had loved came down about Montjoy’s ears. A garden that -he had tended the swine rooted up. One came and threw filth against his -Love. - -He seemed to understand this monk and the monk to understand him. For -an instant they were brothers in suffering and rage. - -Sow it with salt--Silver Cross! - -Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew. Who best to send to cardinal and to Rome -on that business? Procure their degradation! Have them cursed with -bell, book and candle! - -The whore--let her be burned slowly until she was ashes! - -_O Isabel--Isabel--Isabel!_ - -O Kingdom of Heaven that hath suffered wrong! - -Montjoy sat with a working face. He sat in his great chair on the dais -in castle hall and his hands gripped the arms of the chair. At last he -spoke with voice of one underground who has fire still but has lost the -light of day. “Well, as for thee, monk--” - -“Give me, no more, that name!” cried the man addressed. “The monk is -dead. I am Richard Englefield, the Smith!” - -At that moment entered bruit of the arrival of Abbot and Prior. “Yes, -yes, let us see them!” said Montjoy, and who knows what hope sprang up -in his heart. He believed Richard Englefield, but there pressed against -his belief all the weight of old, loved Silver Cross, and the weight -of the priest and the weight of Mother Church. Things happened, vile -things, as they happened in Kingdom, in Nobility and Knighthood. But -for all that Knighthood was heroic and Holy Church holy. Child could -not go against mother, lover against beloved. Let us at any rate hear -what this Iscariot Abbot and Prior shall say! And with that rolled for -the first time upon Montjoy’s mind Saint Leofric, and he heard the joy -of Hugh who was not discovered. “That this vileness that he saith were -not true!” cried Montjoy within. “O Isabel, that it were not true!” - -_Morgen Fay!_ The Lord of Montjoy was dead ember there, and all the -breathing of Morgen Fay might not relume. “O High God, I would live -cleanly! That harlot, wherever she is, doth always only evil!” - -Silver Cross--Silver Cross! The church, Isabel’s tomb and the great -picture. He saw that Morgen Fay could have played it because she had -the height and faintly, faintly the face. Isabel was the true likeness -and Morgen Fay the false, the evil. “Let her burn, who deserveth it if -ever any did!” - -Silver Cross, and cold wretchedness and grinning, mocking Satan if it -were no better than Saint Leofric! Mark a kinsman, too. All honour -smirched! - -Again his eyes were for Richard Englefield. To have believed that -Heaven had singled you out--to have had vast raptures of mind and -heart, all fragrance, all flavour, all light, all music, all warmth, -all lifting--to have fallen at the feet of the Brightest Star, to -have had the honey of touch and the honey of word and the honey of -smile, and knowledge that all was immortal and holy, all was heavenly -true!--to have had that and believed it eternal--and then to have -fallen, fallen, gulf upon gulf, dreary world by dreary world, to last -mire and stubble, nay, past that into caverns of hell-- - -Abbot Mark came into the hall, he and Prior Matthew, and behind them -Brothers Anselm and Norbert with Walter the leech and six besides. Out -of these monks five at least knew only that the fiend had made sortie -against and taken and poured madness upon the holy man, yesterday the -pride, the boast, of Silver Cross. Abbot Mark--large, authoritative, -stately--showed pallor indeed, but also concern and innocency and high -unawareness that Silver Cross did or could stand in any danger. As for -Prior Matthew, he stood and moved, red, dry, cool, collected, always -a man with a head. Abbey monks, drawing together, looked trustingly -upon their Superiors and pityingly, it was seen, upon Brother Richard, -standing very gaunt and ghastly white, with blazing eyes. - -Montjoy faced that entry. All Silver Cross with long venerableness -and power, great church of Silver Cross, the jewel windows, the -picture, the sculptured Isabel upon her tomb entered also castle hall -and drowned it into vaster space and into significances otherwise -and potent. Something of rigidity went out of the lord of Montjoy. -Trust--trust! - -Friar Martin, the Black Friar, saw it go--clouds again mounting against -Saint Leofric. And all the hall full of people, hanging divided in -wish and thought! He felt it running through, “Was it not monstrous, -unthinkable--were there not explanations--was it reasonable now--and -if it was all a cheating show, where was Middle Forest? Why, left -holding a great bag of Loss!” The Black Friar felt, as though he were -Leofric’s Hugh, stricture about the heart. Good Chance was quitting, -the fickle jade! - -Yet when Montjoy stepped toward the Abbot, pale Accusation stepped -with him. “Lord Abbot--Lord Abbot, you are in time! You have fouled -Christendom--oh, if you have fouled Christendom!” - -But the Abbot seemed not to notice words and mien. He cried, “O -Montjoy, the holy man, good Brother Richard, hath gone mad! Yesterday -he broke into a frightful babbling, the fiend at his ear, the fiends -within him! The morn, Walter the leech leaving him awhile, thinking -that loneliness might do somewhat, he burst window, broke cloister! -Whereupon we ourselves follow him, not knowing what harm he doth to -himself and to all! For alas! he now doubteth the happening of the -Great Miracle and clamoureth that it was the demon. We know, alas! how -at times it happeneth! Overmuch light, the weak soul bending aside -from Heaven-grace, the fiends gathering to torment and perplex, and -were it possible, to defeat light! The warder faints. Madness enters. -Poor soul, alas! yet Heaven did use him! Heaven-grace and the miracle -persists, though for him be madman’s cell--” - -He stood, father Abbot, in his large face godly concern for all -awryness. He loomed. All Silver Cross seemed with him, Silver Cross -through the centuries. Three fourths in the hall turned that way. “He -crieth otherwise,” said Montjoy, and with a gesture set Brother Richard -and his Superior face to face. - -Cried Richard Englefield, “Thou shameless, false shepherd! Thou lying -Abbot of a rotted fold!” - -At which a young monk, Brother Wilfrid, so forgot himself, defending -good, shaming ill, that he rushed against the mad monk. “Son!” -thundered the Abbot and brought Brother Wilfrid to his knees, crying, -“Pardon!” - -Truly Richard Englefield maddened. He saw how it would end, and the -legion before him. His vision swam and darkened, light foam came about -his lips. He sent out a loud, hoarse and broken voice. “Fraud! Fraud! -Lord of Montjoy, come to Silver Cross and see!” - -The Black Friar, straining forward with the rest, caught at that word, -“Fraud!” He did not dare to echo it aloud, for now, in a moment as -it were, many a hundred year of Silver Cross, many a goodly deed and -use penetrated, reverberated here, large space entering somehow small -space, riving it apart. Old authority, long veneration, the great Abbey -church, Montjoy’s love for it, Middle Forest’s clinging to it--Friar -Martin had thundered one misty afternoon against Montjoy’s doubting of -Saint Leofric. Montjoy had had to down head and slink homeward. Now -Friar Martin wished to shout, “Fraud! Fraud!” and, “It began in envy of -Saint Leofric his great glory!” But he was afraid. There might be no -proof. If the monk were not already mad he would soon be so. - -Prior Matthew of Westforest moved a piece. Still, conclusive, calming, -entered his voice. “It is seldom well to take madman’s advice! But here -it seemeth to me well. Lord of Montjoy, you cannot do better than to -ride with us to Silver Cross.” - -Lean and strong, and a master chess player, he came to front of the -dais, and lifting voice, entered into explanation of Brother Richard’s -sad illness and of the ways of the fiend who for this time had -overthrown the saintly man. But he would recover--Prior Matthew had no -doubt of it--under Walter the leech’s care, amid his brethren at Silver -Cross, or at Westforest, where was smaller range, stricter solitude. He -should have tendance; he should have prayers. “As for that Presence -that did descend upon him. She the Blessed is not harmed! Men and women -of Middle Forest, the Rose still rests in reliquary, the Healing Well -still heals! Let them that are sick come prove it!” - -Edmund the Preacher cried out mightily. “If it be so, still hath the -devil compacted with the harlot, Morgen Fay! How else could the thought -of her, the form of her, enter here? The devil made her to be seen in -monastery cell, thrusting aside True Queen! Seek her out, bind her to -the stake by town cross and burn her! Never else will this countryside -be cleansed!” - -Prior Matthew looked with narrowed eyes. “There is truth in what -you say, Edmund the Preacher! Long hath she been great scandal!” He -thought, “Best that she have her cry quickly and be done with it! All -the poison out at once in one dish, not trailing forever, word here and -word there! She set sail, long ago, to come to this end. This year or -next, what matter?” - -And he saw that it would make diversion. Let her clamour what she would -of what she had done! It would be the fiend speaking. Silver Cross and -Matthew of Westforest against a mad monk and a harlot! - -Silver Cross and Westforest and Montjoy. He saw as in a scroll that -Montjoy would never wholly believe nor yet wholly disbelieve. - -Richard Englefield cried again, “Ride at once, Montjoy! They will have -burned ladder and ropes and cloaks and scarfs. But the door behind the -rood--they have not had time there--” - -“What is that? What?” cried the Abbot sharply. “Door behind rood?” - -“Where was none, door was made between my cell and yonder villain -monk’s! So you sent me for penance to Westforest, so it was done. -Then a great rood, great and black, was set before it. Yea, you used -Christ on the cross for mask! Dim was it in that cell--never had I -light in that cell! Now I have light--now it burns! Aside she pushed -salvation--in she stepped, mincing like a harlot, having taken sugar -for her voice--” - -Abbot Mark fairly shrieked with horror. “Oh, if we did not know that it -is Sathanas himself that speaketh, not the poor man whom he hath laid -in bonds! Door--door!” He summoned sub-prior. - -“Reverend father, door truly was made, it being once plan to take -the wall down wholly, making of two cells one and using it for an -infirmary. Then it was found that the light was not good, and the plan -was abandoned. Stone was set back in the opening, and true it is that -a rood being about that time placed in each cell, it was fastened, in -this man’s and in Brother Norbert’s, against that wall. Of all his -story it is the only truth! In his madness he must have torn the rood -aside and seen that once there was opening, though now stone-filled -and mortared. After that what Sathanas saith to him God forbid that we -should know or repeat!” - -“Shall I believe?” whispered Montjoy. “Shall I not believe? O Isabel--O -Lady near whom moveth Isabel--” - -Richard Englefield towered. He stretched his arms, he raised his face. -“O Christ, if thou be true--O Blissful One, Eternal Virgin, if thou be -real--” - -But summer sun shone on. - -It was Prior Matthew who summed up and delivered judgment in Montjoy’s -hall. “Ride with us now to Silver Cross, Montjoy--and do you come -also, Edmund the Preacher, and you, Master Eustace Bettany, and any and -all others who will! Yea, make throng and procession! What! Shall there -be division between Silver Cross and Middle Forest who have dwelled -together since the Confessor’s day? Sometimes eh, Middle Forest?--we -have quarrelled, but not for long, have we? Ours, after all, one bed -and one hearth! Doth Silver Cross grow rich and great, it is for -Middle Forest. Doth Middle Forest increase, Silver Cross goes smiling. -Remember the saintly abbot--Abbot Robert--and how did he and his monks -when befell the Plague! Remember war, and we stood together. And now -Heaven blesseth both, and Holy Well, a thousand years from now, shall -still be Holy Well!” - -He had it now--Mark and he had it in their four hands! If they carried -it carefully, and they would do so, four hands obeying the Prior of -Westforest’s head. Now for the trouble maker, the crazed one who failed -to see or hear Interest though she shouted at him and pulled him by the -robe! Prior Matthew gave a short order to Silver Cross monks. “Take -him!” - -Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm, Brother Wilfrid and the others -fell upon Brother Richard. Short, hard struggle, and they had him. -Brother Norbert bound his arms with hempen girdle. As he still shouted -accusations, at the Prior’s nod they gagged him. “Not holy man who -may be holy man again, but Apollyon who now hath seized the tower and -speaketh from the gate!” - -Montjoy sat in his lord’s chair and looked straight before him. -Truth, truth--is it not profoundly likely to be here? Were it not -for Hugh of Saint Leofric, could ever he have doubted it? The monk’s -tale,--fantastic, like a romaunt! Say, darkly, it is true; what other -can cry Aye! and strengthen it, or No! and dash it into dreams? _Who -other but Morgen Fay?_ - -It formed in Montjoy’s mind that that harlot must be found. - -Prior Matthew, Brother Richard silenced, had present eyes for the Black -Friar there to one side, standing grimly for Saint Leofric. “Now and -here!” said within the Westforest chess player. Matthew spoke in his -dry, reasonable voice. - -“Ride you, too, with us, Friar Martin! You shall have mule. What! Saint -Leofric and Saint Willebrod, be sure they ride together! Shall we not -make England and Christendom ring for that all this corner of earth, -this side river, that side river, Silver Cross and Saint Leofric alike -are blessed? Bridge over river shall be to you and be to us, and I -see it built thick and high with booths and rooms for pilgrims! The -Princess of Spain goes to-day to Saint Leofric’s tomb, to-morrow to -Holy Well! To-day the Dauphin heareth mass in Silver Cross, to-morrow -goeth in procession around Saint Leofric his church! Both ways he -passeth through Middle Forest. Common good--common good! What else is -worth anything in this life? The more massive the bruit, the broader, -higher, shooteth the fame of all!” - -It was undeniable! Black Friar thought somewhat surlily, “If I go I -can at least take account of all to Prior Hugh. And there is something -in ‘If you can’t increase apart, increase together’!” - -Rested that fanatic, Father Edmund the Preacher. Better always have -Father Edmund preach for you, not against you! He could any time whip -calm sea into storm. The chess player considered him, to whom just now -Morgen Fay, the harlot, stood for all harlotry, whether of brain or -heart. When all heinousness was believed of Morgen Fay, then would the -countryside be roused at last, then would every man, woman and child -become huntsman! Father Edmund meant to continue to believe Brother -Richard’s story. Why not? She was capable of it. Certain abbeys of this -later time were capable. Father Edmund was one to cry under the Pope’s -great window, “Reform! Reform!” - -Prior Matthew saw the weather thickening. Presently from that quarter -lightning flash and thunder clap! “Boldness my wisdom!” he breathed. - -His dry voice, somehow powder red like his hair and tint, dry, rarely -loud but procuring attention, continued to hold all ears. “As to the -harlot, Morgen Fay, would you have my mind? It is quite likely she be -hidden somewhere within five leagues. Now Sathanas worketh underground -and taketh evil mind to evil mind, or often to weak mind, or to mind -that was Sathanas’ enemy against whom he useth every springe! So to my -thought it hath been here. Heaven permitteth--yes, to try faith, Heaven -permitteth! The fiend works what seemeth victory, good man turning -toward him. Whom doth he use? Yea, there is it! Harlot consenting, he -yesternight taketh her image and with it entereth neither by door nor -window cell of Brother Richard; yea, entereth his mind and his eye and -his ear, his will, his belief and his heart. Brother Richard thinketh, -‘It is the great True Pearl!’ And falleth upon his knees before empty -air, for the devil fixeth images within, not without. But the devil -gives never for proof Holy Well that healeth a score a week! And the -devil hath had only yesternight. Yea, moreover, midway Heaven sendeth -some aid and he that hath been holy man seeth that it is not she who -came before, but stained wax and that the devil cheateth him! Whereat -the devil, that harlot no doubt still aiding, leapeth, greatly angered, -upon his mind, teareth and bruiseth it tiger-wise and bringeth it for -this time into huge confusion and madness. Again Heaven suffereth it, -and suffereth him to cry and accuse as madmen ever cry and accuse, -that by trial of our faith we may all be brought clearer. But Heaven -willeth always that we defeat the fiend and his instruments. Aye, -search for these and grind them small and so grieve and weaken that -Evil One who rides invisible!” - -Father Edmund cried. “She said, ‘Aye, aye!’ or the devil could not -use her! Lord of Montjoy, town of Middle Forest, Abbey of Silver -Cross, Priory of Westforest and Priory of Saint Leofric, I, Edmund -the Preacher, summon you by souls’ welfare to join search for the -Plague-spot, the Witch-mark! When she is burned then may the monk -recover his mind, then may the True Pearl, the Very Rose, show again, -the toad be banished from the Holy Well, Saint Leofric and Saint -Willebrod be sworn brothers, Montjoy give again with joy to Silver -Cross, Middle Forest prosper, and all England and the Princess of Spain -and the Dauphin come in pilgrimage!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -When upon his knees he had come most close to her, when she felt his -hands, his brow, his breathing against her sandalled feet, she had -given back in a kind of terror. Then, all unluckiness! - -Flying, she had dropped her mantle. Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm and -their terrified white faces! Brother Anselm coming after her, out of -the cell, down the stone passage. Another coming after, great torch in -his hand, smoke and flame streaming backward his face like Death and -Judgment! Brother Anselm’s breathing on her cheek, his hand seizing, -pushing her, who needed no urging, for now she knew panic. - -The outward-giving porter’s cell that they used--the door, quick! -Through, clap it to behind, draw bolt across--opposite door, quick! -Short passage again, the little postern. Anselm had the key, Brother -Edward the porter sleeping elsewhere this night. Open--open! Morgen Fay -knew agony until she saw the stars over Abbey orchard. - -Wall and the ivy tods which made no ladder necessary. Up! and on wide -wall-top rest a moment, breathe and look back. Bell was ringing, -lights hurried here, hurried there in Abbey, but the orchard between -lay still, at peace and bathed in moonlight. Down the wall on forest -side, where footholds had been cunningly made. Brother Anselm spoke. “I -will work them over so that even they cannot be found.” - -“Through the poplar wood there is a path,” she said. “Go back, and I -will run alone to the ruined farm. Never--never--never more, Morgen -Fay!” - -They spoke in whispers. “Aye, it is better. God knoweth what trouble we -shall have now! But you, mistress, you will be dumb?” - -“Oh, aye! All night, on pallet, under eaves, in the ruined farm, I was -stretched so fast asleep! I dreamed only of my house by the river and -my garden where now are blooming pinks and marigold!” - -“Better that than dream of red flame!” said Anselm. “Haste now!” - -He slipped back over the wall; she was in poplar wood. - -The moon shone so that she could find her way. Thin wood gave into -deep wood, beech, oak. Her feet felt the slight path. A doe and fawn -started from her, hare bounded across, owl hooted, moon shone and light -was beaten by branch and leaf into thousands and thousands of silver -pieces. She ran; she felt drunken. - -There was near a league to go. Her pace slowed, she stood drawing -hard breath, then went on again but not running. None were after her; -she heard none after her. Here clung darkness, or cold, mysterious, -shifting light. The air hung cool, very still, with faint fragrances. -Her mind had wings, great dark ones, and now it beat in the passages -and cells of Silver Cross, and now at the ruined farm, and now about -and through Somerville Hall. It went also to Middle Forest and into -Montjoy’s castle. Back it beat to the ruined farm, and Somerville -to-morrow, in this wood, and then London road. London road! No doubt -now. London road! Her mind sought London town, but that hung distasted, -weary, drear and threatening. “O Morgen, why so? Will there not be -Montjoys and Somervilles there--aye, greater ones. Mayhap princely -ones!” But she hated London road and London town. “Oh, what are the -hands that hold me here--cannot hold but would hold!” To-morrow, -to-morrow, next day at latest, London road, London road! - -Going through the dark wood, she no longer felt panic. Perhaps it was -so and perhaps it was not so that all Silver Cross was roused, those -who knew and those who did not know. She knew that not twenty there -did know; and at first she had felt the hands of all those others, the -guiltless, upon her, against her. Almost she had felt their stoning. -But those who knew were foxes and serpents,--cunning, cunning! They -would provide safety for themselves and so for her, too, bound in the -same bundle with them. “With the foxes and serpents,” she thought. - -Now she walked steadily, about her mighty trees, overhead the moon, in -her ears the million small forest tongues, in her nostril the smell of -fern. The night did not terrify her, she was warm in her frieze cloak. -She saw the ruined farm sunk in dimness and sleep. By the outside stair -she would creep up to her room, Joan the serving-woman, so negligible a -soul. To-morrow would come Somerville. Morgen Fay, so negligible a soul. - -A voice went through her. “Who neglecteth? Soul, soul, who neglecteth?” - -She would not answer. She ran again under the moon, upon the forest -path. - -Forest broke away. The ruined farm all in the moonlight and Margery and -David sleeping like the long dead. The long dead--the long dead. “Am I -the long dead?” - -She crept up the stair and as she did so the cock was crowing. Here -was loft chamber, here straw bed cleanly covered. Frieze cloak dropped, -her body stood in moonlight, dressed in the colours and the fashion of -the great picture. Morgen Fay took off the raiment and folded it and -laid it upon the bench under the window. “As soon as it is light I will -burn it.” She felt fatigue, overpowering, extreme, and dropped upon the -bed and drew over her the cover and hid her face from the moonlight in -her arms, in her hair. - -But at first light she stood up. One might not sleep this morning, not -yet! She put on her dress of serving-woman, took up the raiment from -the bench, made it into a small bundle, covered it with her frieze -cloak and went down the stair. Margrey and David stirred in their -part of the house. She heard them talking, the woman screaming to the -man who was deaf. A tall, blooming lilac stood by the beehives. Here -she hid her bundle, went and returned with a brand from the hearth, -shielded in an earthenware pitcher. Taking it up again, she bore -all away from the house into stony field. Thorn trees springing up -presently hid her and her ways from the house. Here, in a corner was a -flat, hearth-like space. She gathered dead twigs, took her brand from -the pitcher and made fire. She opened the bundle and piece by piece -burned all, then with a thorn bough scattered the ashes. Mantle and -veil had been left in Norbert’s cell. “Fire there, too, last night,” -she thought. “Hiding fire, cleansing fire.” - -At the house door Margery cried to her, “Have you baked the cakes and -drawn the ale? Or have you been to Fairies’ Hill? There’s a witched -look about you!” - -She worked an hour and then another while Margery watched and grumbled, -then when the old woman’s back was turned away she slipped. “Joan! -Joan!” But she was gone to wood of beech and oak and ash. Somerville -must come soon, oh, no doubt of it! - -Oak and beech and ash wore the freshest green. Underneath spread -grasses and flowers. The sun came down in a golden dust, birds sang, -bees hummed, air held still and fine. She sat and nursed her knees, or -turning stretched fair body of Morgen Fay on summer earth. He did not -come, Somerville did not come. So weary was she that she slept for a -while. Waking, she found the sun at noon. She must go back to the house -and hear if anything had been heard. Nothing! it might as well have -been in dreamland, a thousand, thousand leagues from Wander side. - -She sat at the table with David and Margery, drank ale and broke bread. -The two quarrelled weakly, faded leaves on the edge of winter. She -felt suddenly that it was so with all things. As though it were the -greatest cloud that ever she had met or had dreamed, as though it were -night that made other nights light, blackness rolled over her. She -rose, pushed back her stool and quit the house. Certes, the sun shone. -It made no difference; she was night, night! Her feet took her to the -wood, anywhere, anywhere! She must have movement. But night, night, and -horror of the spirit. She groaned, she flung herself down under an oak -and pressed her forehead to its great root. She was leaf that had left -the tree, whirling down. - -Blackness, emptiness, nothingness--but not peace, no! The end, Morgen -Fay, the end, the end! - -It seemed to her that she swooned, and that then she came again. Now -there was evil grey, but grey. - -It seemed to her that she put out her hand and that it closed upon a -robe. It seemed to her that she put her forehead to this. She said, -“Mother!” It seemed to her that hands came down to her and touched her, -that there was a breathing, that a voice said, “O Thyself!” - -She lay against trees in darkness and in ache. - -Somerville found her here. “Asleep? Art asleep?” - -She sat up. “No. Awake. I have done a villain thing.” - -He regarded her with his odd, twitching face, somewhat pale to-day, and -the smile a dry grimace. “If thou hast so, thou art like to pay for it! -All came out. Your monk broke cloister and told it at town cross.” - -“Yea, did he? He has manhood.” - -“There was all town to hear. Father Edmund tossed thy name forth like a -ball.” - -She moistened her lips. “So?” - -“Then the monk told it in castle hall. Montjoy believed.” - -“Believed it of me? Well, I did it.” - -“Then arrive Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew, riding hard from Silver -Cross. Now comes about the strangest thing. I doff my cap, I lout my -knee to Westforest!” - -He told. She drew hard breath, then broke into terrible laughter. -“So, the monk is in the madhouse and they drive a stake for me by -town cross? But the Abbot and the Prior and the crew that worked for -them, and Sir Robert Somerville--oh, have you no little penance at all? -Must be that you are to say a hundred paternosters or give a tall wax -candle! Nothing? Scot free? If they take me, I will tell!” - -“If you do, it does you no good nor them any harm! Prior Matthew -usually spins without a fault.” - -“‘Us,’ Rob! Does ‘us’ no harm!” - -He jerked his shoulders. “‘Us’ then. I was at home. Thomas Bettany -brought me all this two hours agone. I came as soon as I could think -it out. Search is up already, Morgen! They course here and they course -there. Presently the ruined farm. I run high danger, standing talking -here.” - -“Begone, then! Quick, Rob, quick!” - -Somerville turned red under her tone. “Naturally, I am all thy care! -Thou bitter witch!” - -“Didst ever burn thy finger? It is not pleasant to burn finger. Well, -now, counsel!” - -“Counsel is to hide as deep and as soon as may be.” - -“Where?” - -“I thought of those thick alders by Wander brook--a mile of them. If -you lie close to the ground, and they have not dogs--” - -“Dogs!” - -“If search sweeps over, not finding, then to-night a wagon filled with -straw will cross Wander brook at the old bridge, going Londonward. This -is all that I can do. I do no more, by all the Saints!” - -“Why,” she said, “I do not after all wish thee to burn beside me! -Alders by Wander brook.” - -He said, “Hark!” raising his hand. - -They heard it, distant rout of voices. “Go!” he said. “Run! No time for -love-parting! I must return to the Hall.” - -“I wish no love-parting!” she answered. “That is dead. But -farewell--farewell, Rob! Now you go to the Hall but I to Wander brook.” - -He was listening. “They come louder!” When he turned his head, she -was gone. He saw her brown dress beyond ash stem and bough; now she -was deep in fern. He heard her movement, then silence. Still a brown -gleam, then that vanished. He stood still, he put hands to face and -drew a breath deep and long, then turning he walked rapidly through -the forest to his park and his hall. The ruined farm he had already -visited. David and Margery had their word. “A serving-wench? Yes, they -had had one--Joan. Country from toward Minchester. But she was gone--a -se’ennight since.” Somerville had climbed the steps into the loft room. -Little was here of Joan or Morgen Fay. But what was, he himself had -carried and given to hearth flame. There was one thing, a rose tree in -a great crock, and this most carefully he had destroyed. - -Now, walking fast toward Somerville Hall, he thought, “Have you done -wickedly, knight? Why, not so wickedly! A little here, a little there, -but no great amount anywhere. Even chance, they may not beat the -alders.” He made for himself a picture of London and a little house by -the Thames, and Robert Somerville coming to its door, it opening and -Ailsa saying, “Why, enter, knight! Flowers and candles and wine--” - -Morgen Fay crouched among rushes, beneath alders at the edge of a -wide brook. It was still and sunny, warm, the water singing drowsily. -Two dragon flies in blue mail. The reeds met over her head; it was -still as creation dawn. A trout leaped, clouds sailed overhead, -blue sky returned, vast, shining, deep as forever. A butterfly and -the dragon flies, a small tortoise among reeds, a blackbird in the -alders,--stillness, stillness, sun, remoteness. Her muscles relaxed. -She thought, “Oh, after all--” - -Then came the voices. She cowered, lay flat, looking only with terror -to see if she made chasm in the reeds. They waved above her. “Oh, -perhaps--perhaps--” She prayed. Then she heard the dogs, and they -opened cry. She heard a shout, “They’ve got her!” and as they came -with great bounds she rose from among the reeds. She would have run, -but could not. She raised her voice, “Call off the dogs, and I will -come to you!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Said Master Eustace Bettany to Thomas Bettany, his son: - -“Idle--thou art idle! Hadst as well be in the new Indies as in my -countinghouse! Paper costs--and there thou goest scrawling, scrawling, -and never a sum adding nor thinking out market!” He snatched the -whitey-brown sheet. “Waste makes want! What are you scribbling there? -‘I saw it in a flash--I saw it in a flash!’ What is it, prithee, that -you saw in a flash?” - -Thomas Bettany rubbed his eyes. “That the world’s a great merchant, -father, selling herself to herself and buying herself from herself.” - -The elder glanced suspiciously. “Will you be turning monk?” - -“No, though I think there be good monks, good abbots and good priors.” - -“Of course there be good monks, good abbots and good priors! God forbid -that you go believing witch’s story and mad monk’s tale!” - -“What would happen if I did, father?” - -“Madman’s whip and bread and water and a chain! Go to, Thomas, what is -wrong?” Suspicion sat in his eyes. “That’s a new thought and one I -like not! Were you among the reachers for flowers that grew by harlot -house? Were you?” - -Thomas Bettany shook his head. “I’ve told you I wanted Cecily.” He rose -from chair and desk. “Eh, father, also I would like a ship that sails -and sails away--with me, and Cecily! Now let me be going, for I told -Martin Adamson that I would come myself for his monies.” - -“Aye? Then go--and do you remember, Thomas, that you’re all the son I -have, and that I have been good to you!” - -Thomas Bettany went afoot through Middle Forest. “‘All the son I have, -and I have been good to you.’ ‘_All the life I have and I would not -burn. All the life I have and I would not burn._’ That’s Morgen Fay in -prison yonder.” - -The day was hot with a cloud drawing over. Hot and still with a green -light. Folk in the street looked upward. “Rain coming!” Thomas Bettany -meant to go to the house of the debtor. But there was no hurry. It was -a long day. Long day and short day. “Prison day must be long day, O -Saint John, long day! But short day, seeing that it pulleth and hasteth -toward death day--Friday. And now it is Monday.” - -Fascination drew him by the town cross. They would not set stake and -fagot till Thursday. “How doth it feel when the iron hoop goes round? -How doth the heart strive and choke when the torch comes to the straw? -I feel it in myself! Doth Somerville feel it in himself? Doth Montjoy?” - -Persons spoke to him in the market square. He was young and big and -gay and well liked. He answered enough to the point, and went on; -and now here was the prison, tall and black among ruinous, ancient, -steep-roofed houses, set under the castle hill with tower and wall -above, and over these and all that slate sky with greenish light. Deep -archway and iron door and men lounging. He went by Morgen Fay alone -in the dark, and he knew that what she had told to burgher and lord -and churchman was true--he had seen it in a flash--and a terrible and -wicked act had she done, meriting hell where she would burn forever! -But then, Somerville, but then the Abbot and the Prior? - -Thomas Bettany, who had owned a young, clean, gay heart, perceived that -the world had taken plague. - -He wandered. He would not go home, nor yet to the debtor’s house. Rain -held off, but the sky was covered, the light green, the air still and -hot. He went down to the river. The bridge,--there were pilgrims -upon it, a double line of them, chanting, coming from Saint Leofric. -To-morrow they would go to Silver Cross, and Holy Well would heal one -at least, maybe two or three. - -It made no difference what the monk of Silver Cross had cried nor what -Morgen Fay. Was healing then within one’s own mind and heart? Was there -the Holy Well? - -Thomas Bettany went down the watersteps, found boatmen and their craft -and hired a row-boat for an hour. He would row himself. “Storm coming, -master!” “Aye.” “If it were Friday now, it might put out fire, and -that would be sore pity! Saint Christopher knoweth the boats on this -river that have rowed to Morgen Fay’s house! Well, it used to be a fair -sight, her window and her garden, and all the time she was witch and -devil’s paramour! They do say Montjoy will walk barefoot to Canterbury -because in old times he was her fere!” - -Bettany rowed away. “She is a human being. Say it, and I think that you -say all.” - -River, river, and houses standing up, and on the other side willows. -“River, I wish you would drown fire. Fire is good where it should be, -but at times it acheth to be drowned. And then again water acheth for -the fire.” - -He rowed with long, slow strokes. Houses went by under the dull sky -and they seemed to look with menace. “That only can truly help that -hath not been truly harmed. That, too, I see,” said Thomas Bettany, “in -a flash.” - -A house by an old wall, brooding to it. Small houses and small garden. -The garden was turned wilderness. He caught colours that might be -flowers, but the weeds were thick and high. A window--and casement -slowly turning outward. All the garden trim, but shrouded in mist, the -houses shrouded in autumn mist, the river--and Morgen Fay looking out. - -Rowing away fast from that he shot up river and then to the other side, -and beneath willows shipped oars and sat head on hands, thinking first -how all impossible it was, and then, very wretchedly of Somerville. - -Sky darkened still further. With a long sigh, he took up his oars and -rowed slowly back to the bridge. Going up the water steps he had it now -in mind to ride, storm over, to Somerville Hall. It did not need, for -in High Street he came upon Somerville on his big bay horse. Somerville -saw him and waited until he crossed to bridle. “Aye, Thomas?” - -“I was going to ride to the Hall. Where can we speak together?” - -“Come to the Maid and Garland. And look more blithe! The Turks have -not entered England.” - -The Maid and Garland had a parlour for Sir Robert--oh, always! They -went into a little panelled room, and Somerville turned upon the -younger man, the burgher’s son. “Well?” - -“I saw it in a flash.” - -“Saw what?” - -“Much, Somerville! You held Morgen Fay in your hand there at the ruined -farm. Plotters to become as great at least as Saint Leofric could not -have gotten at her, she could not have joined with them without your -knowing! Oh, and I saw, too, that land that you got at last without -trouble, after years and years of trouble!” - -“Let me alone!” said Somerville hoarsely. “You young fool!” - -“From all that I can hear she has not said your name, not once! It was -of her own movement, once Abbey and Priory would promise her safety -and London town and gold. ‘Thou monstrous witch! Thou daughter of the -Father of Lies!’ crieth Silver Cross and Westforest and Middle Forest; -aye, even, I hear now, Saint Leofric. But for all that, Robert--” - -“‘Robert’?” - -“Sir Robert Somerville. But for all that I know, I think, where most -lying lies. Save for the Great Lie that she acted and made, and wicked -it was to do it! But if she is the wicked one, who else beside? And -though she be made of evil is she to burn without a word, who says no -word herself?” - -Somerville answered him. “Are you mad? What do you mean? When they -stoned her out of town I made it possible for her to hide at the ruined -farm. I am badly repaid, and I close my mouth, and if they ask me -there I will lie to them, pardie! Put her at the ruined farm, not I! -But who asketh? It is enough that she be pure Satan with Satan. Witch -found here, why easily found there! Who believes but what they wish to -believe? Who can save her from her burning? God, perhaps, if He chose -to do it!” - -“Then I will go pray,” said Thomas Bettany. “I was not her lover.” - -“Psha!” said Somerville. “She was a common lover.” - -The young merchant turned red. “Only great fright could make you say -that, Somerville!” - -“Were you noble,” answered Somerville, “I would take that up. As it is, -let us be better strangers.” - -“That bargain is made, merchant with ‘Sir’ to your name!” - -Somerville opened the parlour door. “Reckoning, host--and a cup of -sack!” When the younger man had gone, as he did go immediately, he -turned back to the room to sit at table with his wine and wait out the -storm which had now come pelting. Dusk was the air and a chill wind -came in at crevices. A boy arrived to lay and kindle a fire. The flames -reddened the room. Somerville, hand around cup, sat and watched them. - -Storm over, he left the Maid and Garland, mounted his big bay and rode -out of town. - - “Who can tell - The weird he drees? - Who can read - His shield that hangs - In hall above? - Parcel gilt, pied white and black. - Alas!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -As soon as might be, Montjoy would go that pilgrimage to Canterbury. -Had it been true, that frightful story, were Mark and Westforest -treacherous, Silver Cross down in the mire, evened and more than evened -with Hugh across the river, he would have gone not to Canterbury only, -but to Rome, to Palestine! Only there, in Gethsemane garden-- - -He sat, a slight, dark man with a worn, handsome face, beneath a cedar -in his castle garden. This was lord’s corner. A castle, God wot, is a -public place! But just here was retirement, appropriated long since and -possessed for long. Wall and ivy and cedar row, and hardly a narrow -window to overlook! Montjoy once had been quick for company, but now -for long he sighed toward solitariness. Solitariness that still should -be splendour! - -Silver Cross--Silver Cross--Silver Cross! The splendour must run -through it, bathing the tomb of Isabel, bathing the life-above-death -of Isabel! Bathing also Silver Cross, church and abbey, the old form, -antique, fair, one’s Lady, old yet young through the centuries! - -The soul. How to keep the soul in joy? If not in joy, at least in -humble peace. - -Montjoy saw himself a grey palmer, state and place laid down. His -daughter wedded come Martinmas to Effingham--another year and her son -born--then he might go and have word with his own suzerain. Palmer--the -road, the shrines, the houses of the religious; quiet, quiet, -unobstructed room for dreams of God. - -The sky was lead, the light greenish, the air hot and still. He would -be glad when the storm burst and the land was drenched. Afterward it -would smile once more. He thought, “The Flood is needed again, so -wicked is the earth! Oh, my God, am I of the family of Noah? Do I build -with gopher wood the Ark that saves? Do I enter Christ? Doth He enter -me?” - -The cedars clung dark, they darkened the day yet more. Montjoy looked -into a cell at Westforest and saw there Richard Englefield. Surely he -is mad, though he lies so still, with his face buried in his arms! - -_Brother Richard._ - -Montjoy looked into the prison under the castle hill and saw Morgen Fay. - -_Not for five years have I touched her, O Christ!_ - -The prison closed. The sky hung so still and hung so heavy! Lightning -and thunder would be welcome, rising wind and splash of rain. Friday -would be welcome. The bramble burned, the hindering, evil bramble, -harmful to the sheep, vexful to the shepherd--“O Christ, is there -hardness? But the field must be cleared of bramble. Aye, it is worse -than bramble. Mandrake and hemlock and helebore, and the children are -endangered!” - -Montjoy saw Holy Well and the great picture, and that fine, fine -reliquary of pure gold that rejoicing--Satan afar and all the mind in -health--Brother Richard had wrought for the Rose, Montjoy bringing the -gold. Yesterday Montjoy had gone to Silver Cross and to Holy Well. -There had been pilgrims a hundred, and they kneeled, praying and -singing. The day was fair as this was foul, and had bubbled and laughed -that crystal well, sunlight into sunlight! They had cups of silver and -of horn and of tree and of clay, and one by one they drank while the -singing rose around. He, Montjoy, had seen a cripple fling away his -crutch and stand and run, and a palsied man grow firm. “Who healeth -them? Thou, thou, who truly didst appear to Brother Richard!” - -Even now, in this oppressive day, under this dull sky, Montjoy felt -again that exaltation. He looked around him and up to the lowering -heaven. “Little, weak castle--murky roof of ignorance--yet is there -clear power!” - -The rain began to fall. - -In the night-time, waking, he found horror with him, something cold, -something forlorn and suspicious. It deepened. He left his great -bed and Montjoy’s wife sleeping, put thick gown around him and went -noiseless into the oratory opening from the great chamber, cold in the -beams of a moon growing old. No peace! At the turn of the night, when -afar he heard cock crow and his dogs bark, he determined that he would -go that morning to confession to Father Edmund at Saint Ethelred’s. -That was the sternest, the most dedicated, the most single of eye and -will! To him he would confess everything that he would if he could save -from her death the harlot and witch. - -Morning came and all the castle took up busy and talkative life. -Montjoy rode to Saint Ethelred’s. Father Edmund? Oh, aye! he would hear -him, and Father Edmund thought. “Time that lords give over slothful and -unwise confessors! Father Ambrosius hath forever done him hurt.” - -Montjoy was long upon his knees. He accepted heavy penance, took shrift -humbly, came forth from Saint Ethelred’s with a colourless face like a -gem. - -Riding back to the castle, when he came to prison street he turned his -black horse and rode slowly by the dark prison. He had told Father -Edmund all his thoughts and in the bale was the thought, “I will visit -her there in that dungeon before Friday. Is not that Christian, O -God, if my deepest heart that is now thine seems to bid me to go?” -But Father Edmund had been greatly stern. “Satan wrestleth for thy -deepest heart! Hear me now! It is forbidden! Go not to, speak not to -that All-Evil! If thou dost she will draw thee with her into hell! -Thou thinkest, ‘Once I was familiarly with her’, and cowardice and -heartlessness now only to think and never to say, ‘God have mercy upon -thee, poor soul!’ Son, son, that is devil’s bait! He will come and -stand and ask thee, ‘Is it knightly?’ It is his wile, to clothe himself -in light! As for the witch, she lacks not soul counsel! Since she was -taken, each day have I preached to her. I will hold the cross before -her chained to stake. She shall see it, lifted high, till flame takes -eyes. But thou, my son, I lay it upon thee, leaving here, to ride by -the prison, and to say as thou ridest. ‘Sin, I will no longer sin with -thee, nor come into thy company!’ Say it!” - -“Sin, I will no longer sin with thee, nor come into thy company.” - -“So! And son, thou wilt come with thy squires and thy men on Friday to -town cross.” - -So Montjoy rode by the prison. - -It was dark in there, fetid and dark, and Morgen Fay the sinner had -little to think of but her sins. She could not blink them that they -were many. - -Her sins and death, and after that the Judgment. Death and Judgment and -for her Hell, or at the best the direst corner of dire Purgatory and -the longest stay. Ages there, while souls of thieves and murderers left -her one by one and went upward, and never a word for the one who must -stay. At the best, the very best, and perhaps even that gleam had no -reality! Not Purgatory, but everlasting Hell. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Richard Englefield, in Westforest cell, might lie without movement, -head buried in arms, but that was when he must sleep in order to gain -and keep strength, or when Prior or Brother Anselm visited him, it -being posture good as another for a monk now in sooth going melancholy -mad. - -Once Brother Anselm, who had been taken from strollers playing in barns -and inns, said to the Prior, “He playeth!” Whereupon the Prior strictly -watched, but at last said, “Not so. Truth!” And then, like such chess -masters, because he had bent what he thought all his mind to it and -was assured, he obstinated in his opinion of the board and every piece -upon it. “No, it is truth! I have seen it before. Melancholy that -forgets how to speak and then after a time mere childishness that will -not stint from speaking, though it be only of green fields and cowslip -balls! Then silence again like an old sick hound and at last he dies!” - -Brother Anselm’s doubt had been but momentary. He agreed now with -Prior. Also he said, “One helpeth forth the sick hound.” - -The Prior of Westforest took his lean chin from his lean hand. “I have -heard that the Greeks writ over their temples, ‘Nothing too much.’ -Where the good of all is in question let the soul take necessary -burdens, but not unnecessary ones! This were unnecessary.” - -Richard Englefield was not going melancholy mad, though he played that -he was. He worked. He worked while he lay still upon the cold floor, -face hidden by stretched arms, or when he sat moveless, staring into -naught with empty, woe-begone face. “Think me melancholy mad, do! So -the sooner will you leave me the cell!” They went. For hours he had the -dim place to himself, and at night he had it. - -Monk of Silver Cross was gone, whirled away to the dark country behind -Chaos and there dead and buried peacefully. Here was Richard Englefield -the master goldsmith. And yet not that either. Here was one who had -risen behind goldsmith and monk, who had come up like a tree that was -not suspected. - -He worked, Richard the smith. He gained, no man knew how, two bits of -iron. The cell was grated. He filed through a bar and then another, -and in the night-time broke the whole away. Fortune or wonder or the -miraculous or some natural air into which he had broken was with him. -It might have been the last, his will was so awakened, so in action. -His fury towered, but it was still fury, very deep and dangerous, -bitter passion of a man with mind and will. He saw Success and drew her -to him as giants draw. In the dead night he got away. - -Westforest formed but a small House and it lay close to Wander. -Stripping off his robe he made it into a bundle and with rope girdle -tied it upon his shoulders. Then, naked, he plunged into the Wander and -swam a mile downstream. Coming to the bank he rested, then swam the -second mile, under the late risen moon. Cocks were crowing. He passed -grey meadow and dreaming corn and came to a forest where it overhung -the Wander. “Here is good place to leave!” He quit the water, shook his -body and dried it with fern, untied and unrolled monk’s gown and put it -on. “Brother Richard? Nay, monk is as will is! Richard Englefield, a -smith in gold and silver!” - -He was away now from Wander, in the forest, the morn pink above the -trees, violet among and beneath the branches. In yonder direction lay -Silver Cross and not so far, neither. Middle Forest! Could he get, -unmarked, to Middle Forest. Had he one friend there--but he had none. -Could he get to the shipping upon the river, below the bridge. Could -he find a boat that would take him to the sea and then he cared not -where! He saw Success. “Aye, I will!” But this robe must somehow be -changed for world-dress, and he must have a purse and money in it. Hard -to manage! But Success was his Moorish slave and would bring them. - -He strode on. He was going toward the town through what was left of the -ancient, all-covering forest. Hereabouts was yet a great wood with deer -and hare and bird and fox. Paths ran through but between them spread -bounteously the forest. First light gave way to gold light. He was -hungry. He took the crust of bread that he had saved from yesterday and -ate it as he walked. Also he found strawberries. When the sun was well -up he came to rest under an oak, to think it out. - -He had some hope that Westforest would hold that he had drowned -himself. Yesterday had been a hot and livid day, ending in storm. They -would be able to trace him to the water edge. Would they drag the -Wander, seeing that the Prior must wish to make sure? But the Wander -running swiftly might carry him down. Using Prior Matthew’s eyes he -saw monk caught among stones on Wander bottom, or, a log, shoved down -Wander length to greater river and so at last to sea, white bones -for merman’s children. He thought with Prior’s brain, “So, it is very -well!” And if Wander had him not, but he strayed on dry land, Brother -Richard of Silver Cross, mad now though once greatly blessed, there -would ensue some trouble of taking him, some explaining, but no more -than that! Richard Englefield saw the net, how strong and wide it was, -the fishers here being so much mightier than the fish. So mighty were -they that they could spare the fish even if it leapt clear. For if it -went and told all other fish and fishermen, what odds? Mind in all was -made up what to believe! Richard Englefield laughed, but his laughter -was worse to hear than had been sobbing. - -He tried to make a plan, but it was hard to plan out of this! Best -still trust Success. He took a pebble and tossed it, then followed -it. Narrow road little travelled. He walked upon this some way and -saw a horseman coming. Out of track into a hazel brake, wait and see -what like he might be! Sun glinted, boughs waved, birds sang, over all -things lay a pearly moisture after storm. - -Young Thomas Bettany, riding from town because town oppressed him, -taking idle way and ancient road because to-day bustle liked him not, -errandless and leaving John Cobb at home, rode through the old forest -with hanging head. He would mend the world if he knew how, but he did -not know how. - -Coming to brake his horse started aside. Thomas crossed himself. A monk -was standing there, seemed to have stepped forth from it. “Is it a -ghost? By Saint John, Brother! you look it and you do not look it!” - -He knew him now, having seen him at Silver Cross thrice, maybe, since -the finding of Holy Well. Thomas Bettany felt himself tremble a little. -_Brother Richard_--_if he were mad_--but then he remembered himself -that he was hardly so! They said he was mad, an Abbot and a Prior whose -deeds might not be scanned. Brother Richard! Though some were guilty -the monk was not. Again he saw things “in a flash.” The monstrous -disappointment--Heaven’s boon companion, then fall--fall--fall! How -sharp the stones and black the land! - -He spoke in a whisper. “Did you break last night from Westforest?” All -the countryside knew that Brother Richard, now alas! utterly mad, was -to be hidden there in a grated cell. - -Richard Englefield knew not why Success was here. He said, “You know me -then? Who are you?” - -“Thomas Bettany, merchant’s son.” - -“I greatly need,” said the man by the hazels, “burgher’s dress, a purse -of money, and to reach some ship in river that presently makes sail.” -Having spoken, he waited again upon Success. - -“I shall have to ride to Middle Forest and back,” said Thomas Bettany. -“Over yonder a mile lies a ruined farm. No one goes by wood that way. -Walk till you see the house through trees, then lie close till I come.” -Few words more and he turned horse and presently disappeared down the -leafy road. - -Englefield moved off into deep forest toward the ruined farm. It was -Success. It was of a piece with breaking free from Priory. Maybe there -were gods who said, “Thou touchedst nadir, now we let thee rise!” Maybe -it was the Will, so fulfilled and potent that it became magician. Trust -far enough, and the bird comes flying! But not trust like that at -Silver Cross--no! - -Deep wood, beech and ash and oak, very silent, very lonely. At last -it thinned and he saw through trees an old, small, ruinous farmhouse, -broken, neglected, haunted maybe. He made out a man slowly working in -a field. A grey horse grazed, a cock crew, but there seemed no dog to -bark. - -He drew back under trees, found a bed of leaf and moss and threw -himself down. He was tired, tired! Body was tired but not spirit. That -should not flag. No, no! said the will. But sleep--it was necessary to -sleep. - -He did so for a time, but then he waked clearly and suddenly. Where -he had been in dreams he did not know, nor where in the deep realm -behind dreams. But there had been large and happy stillness, full -ocean and serene sky. Whence--whence? From heaven, and had he mounted -there, the True Ones pitying? From heaven’s opposite? Then again -had come upon him that rapture that befell at Silver Cross--three -nights’ rapture--rapture at the feet of a harlot of harlots! Evil had -been the rapture through and through, that had seemed so heavenly -glorious, heavenly sweet! Never to have guessed--never to have -known--to have been incapable of knowledge! True and false alike to -him, hideousness and beauty alike, he who had thought he knew beauty! -Incapable--incapable. That had seemed Success--oh, high Success! - -The sun rode high and streamed in warmly. He found shadow and lay upon -his face, arms outstretched along the earth, hands breaking twigs with -which the ground was strewn. - -This part of earth looked full to sun, then glided from strongest -vision, then took it obliquely, beginning to think of cool, dark rest -from it, filled with memories. At three by country dials he heard -a horse brushing through the forest and presently saw Bettany with -merchant’s pack strapped before him, not a pack large and noticeable, -but sufficing to show that the House of Bettany attended to business -and was not too proud to attend in person. - -At four by dial Richard Englefield stood under the oak in good hosen, -shoon, shirt and doublet, with cap, with cloak, with leather belt and -knife, with leather purse and silver in it and hidden in bosom pocket -woollen purse with gold. Gaunt he was as any wolf, and overcast with -pallour, needing days of sun and air to bring him back to what he was -a year ago in Silver Cross, or further back to the gold-brown master -smith not unknown in cities and in princes’ courts. Just that smith -would never come back. This smith had himself been laid upon a Vulcan’s -anvil. The fire showed, the hammer showed. - -Thomas Bettany said, “Monk not again because of them hereabouts?” - -“Not so. Because of myself.” - -The other continued, “God wot there is not the old saintliness! I have -heard wise men cry that unless there came reform God will loose lions.” - -“Perhaps. But come as it may I am absolved from monastery.” - -“Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew be not everywhere. There are good abbots, -good, religious houses--” - -“Aye, I doubt not. Even at Silver Cross and Westforest are some true -pilgrims and finders. But I am absolved. Brother Richard lies drowned -in Wander. This is Richard Englefield, a smith in gold and silver. But -since it may not be wisdom to say that till I reach London port or -maybe France, then Richard Dawn, a traveller. What of ship?” - -“It is the _Vineyard_, lying in the pool and sailing day after -to-morrow at dawn. The master, a young man, Diccon Wright, is beholden -to me. I found him at the Golden Ship, and he will do it.” - -“Day after to-morrow at dawn.” - -“There is nothing for it,” said Bettany, “but that you should bide -where you are through to-night and to-morrow. Then at eve I will come -with a horse for you. Canst ride?” - -“Oh, aye!” - -“There is no moon. We make through country to pool side and find there -a boat that Diccon sends. So the _Vineyard_ and away.” - -“You are good to me, brother!” - -The other answered, “I somehow owe it. And not to you only. But here -only does it seem that I can pay.” - -He took from pack loaf of bread, pound of cheese and a bottle of ale. -“Here we be! Nay, I have had dinner. Well, I will eat a little to keep -you in countenance, Master Dawn!” - -They ate under the greenwood tree, close screened around with thorn -and fern. “It will be cold to-night sleeping here. There is a loft at -the farm. The old man and woman dodder and are blind and deaf. There -is a straw bed. But strange and elfin were it, I think,” said Bettany -slowly, “if you slept there.” - -“In old years I have slept out colder nights than this is like to be. -And a cell is cold.” - -“Well, the cloak is thick. Nay, drink! I may have my fill when I get -back to father’s house.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Sun came more and more slanting through the trees. Eating was done. The -two sat in forest light and coolness, and they went over plans step by -step so that there might rest no misunderstanding nor any happening -unprovided against. “The _Vineyard_ boat, and the word is ‘_Gold and -silver_.’ South around Middle Forest and then east. Leave the ruined -farm at dusk to-morrow.” - -“I have found a great hollow tree,” said Englefield and pointed to it. -“If any come, in I creep!” - -“Good! Unless there are dogs,” Bettany said. With that he fell into -silence. - -The other, half-reclining, also was silent. Gold light playing over him -showed how gaunt he was and his face how lined and smitten. - -Bettany spoke. “Dost think True Religion has taken any hurt?” - -“How should True Religion take hurt, having been all the time in -another country?” - -The young man mused. “To have thought one’s self Chosen out of all -the world because of one’s qualities--and then to be thrown back, past -one’s old dwelling, past, past, down past the whole world--” - -Richard Englefield spoke. “I looked on Medusa. Do you know what is -that, to look on Medusa? And looking, to open on the knowledge that you -yourself were the artist?” - -“Eh?” said Thomas Bettany. “But the first of it must have been -glorious! Honey and kingship and worship and safety for aye!” - -“_Honey and kingship and worship and safety for aye._ Just that! Then -the hair turned to snakes.” - -Silence in the forest. Bettany moved a little. “Friday. I suppose you -are glad of Friday?” - -“What happeneth Friday?” - -“She burns at town cross. Morgen Fay.” - -“_What have I to do with that?_” - -Forest silence filled with tongues. Bettany untied his horse and -strapped the empty leathern case before the saddle. He looked at the -discarded habit of monk of Silver Cross. “Put it in the hollow tree?” - -“No. In the deep sea to-morrow night.” - -“Better in river. Then if ’tis found, as like enough it may be, -surely--all say--you were drowned!” - -He stood, bridle in hand. “Morgen Fay. She had a house by the river -and a fair, small garden. Aye! she was harlot, but then what were -Montjoy and Somerville and others? It is a speckled earth. There is -other sale than that? Aye, she made it, and bought blackness and flame -and peril maybe for ever and ever. Because she was harlot and Father -Edmund preached mightily just then against her, they broke her house -and garden and stoned her forth from town. Then one that I know who is -speckled, too, hid her for a time. Then, as fate or somewhat would have -it, came to Prior Matthew knowledge that she had to certain eyes much -of outward face and form of the great picture, so that he who painted -might have set her before him for first model. That knowledge and that -she was still in Wander vale. So all followed. She thought she was -buying ransom--safety if not honey. Once I saw played at the Great Fair -_Faustus and the Devil_. Faustus thought he would buy happiness, and -here was to-day and perhaps would never come to-morrow and death! So -she thought. Safety and perhaps house and garden once more, and maybe -to-day will last! But _thy soul is required of thee_,--and she is in -prison waiting.” - -He mounted horse. “I will come ere sunset to-morrow. When you hear -_Otterbourne_ whistled, it is I.” - -“Should something happen,” said Englefield, “and all this go awry, -still have you done for me what if I had younger brother or dear -comrade or old fellow-worker with me in my craft, I might have hoped -for--” - -“I don’t know why I do it, but I must do it. For a time I thought of -you five times a day as most blessed. You were heaven’s courtier, you -were sailing on heaven’s ship! Now you are man like me, though older -than me, and I see you need a friend. You thought you had so great a -one--and then there was blackness! I’m nothing but Thomas Bettany, but -I’ll set you at least on the _Vineyard_. Let’s say no more!” - -The merchant rode away. The master goldsmith was left by the ruined -farm in Wander forest. - -He saw the red orb of the sun descend past boles of trees. It sank -beneath the earth. All the west hung fire red, then the colour faded. -“I will go now to sleep, and God knoweth I need it! When I come to -London, or rather, I think, to France--” - -Down he lay. Bettany’s cloak was thick, the leaves and moss a -pleasant bed, soft dusk around, the forest a cradle with cradle song. -“Sleep--sleep! Sleep--sleep!” - -But sleep was at the antipodes. “This place--what is this place?” - -“Bitter Shame, Very Anger, strengthen me! Let me not pity the witch! -Let me not feel her misery mine! Let me not long to see her face, touch -her, hold her!” - -“_Shall I desire the dragon that slew me? Shall I cherish Medusa?_ -Burning--burning!” - -He sprang to his feet and walked the wood, up and down, up and down. He -moved with disordered steps, twigs and boughs striking him. The long -June day left still a radiance. - -He threw himself down and lay with face buried. Time dropped away, drop -by drop, and each drop a world and an æon. - -Dark clear night, moonless but starlight. - -Thomas Bettany, returning to Middle Forest, found at his own door a -ship’s boy sent by Diccon Wright. The latter was again at the Golden -Ship and would see him there. He went and found that the matter was -that _Vineyard_ boat could not be at landing first planned. The -_Alan-a-Dale_ had come in and chosen to drop anchor just there. Best -now the old landing by the reeds. Bettany agreed. Old landing by the -reeds. - -Home again and preparing for bed he determined to rise early and ride -to the ruined farm. If at dusk aught happened and he did not reach the -man nor tell him of where now he was to go--then mischance enough! With -a long sigh he put himself into his comfortable merchant’s bed in -comfortable merchant’s room. He slept and waked, slept and waked and at -last an hour before dawn gave up sleeping and lay staring before him. -“Now it is Wednesday. To-morrow is Thursday, and then Friday.” - -Light stole into the chamber. He rose, moved softly, dressed quietly, -stole downstairs, unbarred the small door and was out in court and -across to merchant’s stable. Here he saddled his horse, Black Prince. -East was daffodil; morning star shone over the castle. Poor Clares’ -bell rang lauds, Black Prince went by the softer ways as though velvet -shod. So at peace was the land that town gates were no longer closed at -night. The industrious young merchant riding through rode off toward -Wander forest. - -Sun had risen when he came nigh to the ruined farm and began to whistle -“Otterbourne.” Beech and ash and oak, fern and thorn, and by a thorn -tree he who had been, but was no more Brother Richard. “Well, in these -days, many leave cloister-- - - ‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne - And wait there day is three; - And if I come not ere three day is end, - A fause knight ca’ ye me.’” - -Thomas Bettany, dismounted now, looked with wonder at the other who -stood tall and gold-brown and determined. A night had made a difference! - -“You must have slept well under oaken tree!” - -“No. I did not sleep.” - -“Then faery queen must have visited you! Truly you have the look of it!” - -“I longed for your coming, fellow worker, and that I should not have to -wait for it till eve! Who brought it about? Still that Success!” - -“_Vineyard_ boat cannot be at the landing I told you of. It is now the -old landing by the reeds. It seemed best to let you know without delay.” - -“Had you not come I might have stained my face and gone into town, -changing voice, changing step and figure--Richard Dawn, traveller with -gold in his purse, sending from the inn to Master Thomas Bettany--” - -“I think well that all the Folk in Green have been here! It is such a -place as they flock to. Morgen Fay hid here at the ruined farm.” - -“No! _She walked in this wood._” - -Green light and purple light and gold. Throstle and finch and cuckoo, -robin and lark. Fern up-growing, wild plants in bloom, the wood a -chalice of odours, censer swinging. Englefield put his hands to his -temples. “Friday!” - -“What is it, man?” - -The other moved to a tree whose great roots pushed above the soil. -“Come sit here, younger brother, and listen to me!” - -Thomas Bettany obeyed and he moved as one in a dream, or as though the -wood had grown a magic wood. “You have become leader here. Something -has come to bloom and to fruit in you in a night!” - -“I shall not go upon the _Vineyard_ unless there go two.” - -“Two?” - -“Unless she that lies in prison goes.” - -“Morgen Fay!” - -“Aye. Morgen Fay--Morgen Fay.” - -Bettany put hands to tree to steady himself. “What is here?” - -“Didst never read that man holds within himself autumn, winter, spring -and summer, the moon, the earth, the sun and the four kingdoms? Maybe -the fifth, but we have not come to that yet.” - -“Friday.” - -“Are you not willing that she should vanish from them, cheating the -cheaters? Friday. Death in flame!” - -“God, He knoweth. I think that she should live!” - -“Look at me!” - -Thomas Bettany looked. Again he steadied himself, he drew hard breath. - -“How could you get her out of prison? It is not to be done!” - -“Then no ship takes me to-night or to-morrow night! Friday. There will -I be by town cross!” - -“Not in two days could you save her!” - -“Suppose we try?” - -Thomas Bettany stared at an artist in daring. This gold-worker had -imaged, drawn and beaten out many a bold pattern, many an intricate -and subtle. Now he said, “Come, deliver what material you may! How -lies prison within and without? Who are there? Tell what you know. We -have to-day which is Wednesday and to-morrow which is Thursday. The -_Vineyard_ must not sail before cockcrow Friday.” - -“I could not buy Diccon there! I might beg him for love.” - -“However you do it, you will do it. I see in fine air within gross air -a ship that weighs anchor at dawn, Friday. Now, tell!” - -Bettany described with minuteness that prison and its economy. “I have -a man, John Cobb. His cousin Godfrey is gaoler.” - -“So, thou seest!” - -“But there is naught I know of that would buy Godfrey. Keys might be -melted in his hold but he would not give them up! Town, castle and -Church know Godfrey.” - -“Then let him not know that they are gone.” - -“That is not possible.” - -“It is possible, or I would not see the _Vineyard_ sailing Friday. -Everything is possible save her burning. Can your man sit with Godfrey, -drinking ale with him maybe, and come to handling and fingering keys -great and small, and questioning, ‘This is great door, this inner ward, -and this where she lies who burns a-Friday?’” - -“So much as that is possible.” - -Englefield, leaving him seated, staring, took himself three turns -between thorn and oak, by ash and beach. The forest was gold, the day -was gold, the morrow gold and he the smith. He returned. “Have you a -piece of wax, fine and smooth, such as might be held secretly in palm -of hand, softening just enough with heat of body?” - -Bettany gave an abrupt small laugh. “I’ve read of that in a book from -the Italian! But if John Cobb were bold enough and skilful enough to -take--Godfrey’s face being buried in tankard--impress of keys, what -then, beseech you, unless you had all the fairies?” - -“Sun is an hour high. If I could have that mould here ere he rises -again! But it must be well done, well taken, with pains. Our keys must -turn in our locks.” - -“In the greenwood? I know that Brother Richard made wondrous things! -But this were to make wondrously!” - -“I planned through the night--this plan, that and the other. But this -one is best. When the moon rose and again at first dawn I went softly -about that house yonder. None saw nor heard; they were sleeping. The -man has burned charcoal, and surely they have oven or hearth. Gold in -this purse may buy them, seeing they cannot know whom I am nor what we -do. You say they are old and losing wit.” - -“Furnace and fuel and print of keys in wax and smith--” - -“Do you bring me iron and the tools. I shall show you.” - -“Thou’rt a bold man!” - -“Thou’rt another!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Not John Cobb but Thomas Bettany, who knew whom here he could trust, -sat on a Wednesday afternoon in gaoler’s room, drank ale with Godfrey -and once more petitioned for one look at the witch. - -“Nay, nay!” said Godfrey and shook his huge head. “Rule is rule! Time -was I wouldn’t ha’ minded pleasuring you, Master Thomas, but word has -come and a downright word, too, from powers. ‘Look you, Godfrey, that -you do not open that door to any save Father Edmund who preaches to -witch so that it may not be said she goes to hell without preaching!’ -So I do not so. You are not the first gallant who hath come and said, -‘Godfrey, let me have a look at the witch!’ But no, says I to all. Rule -is rule!” He set down his can. “I could tell you, but I won’t. Not -just young will-o’-wisps like you, but one that’s older and should be -weightier! But I won’t call name.” - -“I can call it for you,” thought the other. “It was Somerville.” - -“Coming by night, too!” said Godfrey. - -Young Master Thomas Bettany made a pettish movement. “Saint John! -What’s the use of carrying that great bunch of keys if you cannot turn -them at your will! Let me weigh them now!” - -Godfrey, smiling broadly, laid the bunch on table. He was a giant, and -Thomas Bettany had been known to him since he was urchin and went by to -school. “Great key--inner ward--key you turn on her?” - -Godfrey nodded. “Eh, eh! She has been a fair woman, has she not, and -danced lightly? Marsh fire, will-o’-wisp! Now she lies all her length -on cold ground, and when I open the door she saith, ‘Is’t Friday?’” - -“Hark ye! Some one’s knocking.” - -Godfrey turned head. “It sounds as they were!” Rising from table, he -went to the door. “Nay, only noise in the street.” - -“I thought it was the other door.” - -Godfrey stepped from the room and walked a little way down the stone -passage. He returned. “‘Tis nothing! And William sits there to answer.” - -“If William wakes now how doth he keep awake by door yonder at night?” - -“He gets sleep enough. Prowling around, sometimes I find him sleeping -when he should be waking! But there be few in prison and little -trouble. In old times, when the kings were fighting together, it was -different!” - -He took up the keys and fastened them at his belt. “If any could bring -witch to confession you’d think it would be Father Edmund, wouldn’t ye? -But she’s like a block!” - -“Confess what?” - -“Just all the story of how the devil came to her and she sold him her -soul for ease and triumph. But he’s not a bargain-keeper--never was! -And how he flew with her through air and stone wall, and set her in -Brother Richard’s cell, in place of Queen of Heaven. What she said and -did, and how the devil, all of a sudden seeing that heaven had struck -Brother Richard with the knowledge, ‘This is not the Queen, this is not -the true bright one!’ went about to confuse all Brother Richard’s wits, -turning him into worse than Doubting Thomas, for now he doubts all -things both before and after. But she sticks to saying, ‘It was I from -the first, and the devil was Prior Matthew, Abbot Mark consenting.’ And -Father Edmund preacheth again. Eh, but Friday cometh and she will soon -be but a story! Morgen Fay and the devil.” - -Thomas Bettany rode once more with merchant’s pack to Wander forest, -having first gone to Golden Ship by the water side, where he met -Diccon Wright and bought him with love. It was again rose dawn. To one -who at edge of town stopped and questioned him, he said that he was -riding to Somerville Hall. - -“Do you not know Sir Robert has gone to London? He rode away yesterday -with three behind him.” - -“Oh, aye! But there was message left for me. One day I’ll travel -myself! View Rome and Constantinople and Cambalu.” - -“It’s in my mind that he did not wish to see Morgen Fay burn.” - -“Maybe so! I’d rather myself see fairies by moonlight or a fair still -garden.” - -Ruined farm and David and Margery to whom gentlemen were gentlemen, -whatever strange things they wished, and rose nobles were rose nobles. -“Oh, aye! Who is there for us to tattle to save it be Dobbin and the -cow? There’s naught doing like that Joan who turned to be a witch named -Morgen? We might ha’ had trouble there, but Somerville stepped in and -turned it aside. So you’ll ha’ to do, Master Bettany, if there’s any -mistaken doing here--” - -“Aye, I will. But there’s none.” - -This was a day of gold dust, still, warm, a haze and floating -stillness. Ruined farm and forest hereabouts might have had a hedge -around them like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. No ears heard -fine smithwork, for Philemon and Baucis were deaf, and went beside to -planted field. The fairies might have heard. - -Mid-afternoon Thomas Bettany returned to town. Near the old wall, now -on the high road, he overtook a string of pilgrims footweary and dusty. -The leader hailed him, handsome young burgher riding a fine horse. -“Canst tell us, master, what inn is best for us?” - -“Try the Joyful Mountain. Whence do you come?” - -From Minchester, it seemed. To Saint Leofric and Silver Cross. “And -we’ve just heard news about a fearful witch and that she’ll be burned -to-morrow. We shall see that first. Thank ye, and our blessing, master!” - -Thomas Bettany gave to his family the supper hour and showed himself -during it affectionate son and brother. “Eh, Thomas!” thought the old -merchant, and like the pilgrims he, too, gave him blessing, though an -inner one. - -Marian, his sister, who was a mouse for quietness, said suddenly, “Oh, -I would that to-morrow were gone by! If I were Morgen Fay to-night--” - -Master Eustace Bettany rated her. “Say naught like that even in jest!” - -“I was not jesting.” - -“Thou’rt so far from Morgen Fay that thou shalt not say, ‘If I were -Morgen Fay--’” - -“She is woman.” - -“Witches have left womanhood. Be silent!” - -Table was taken away. Eustace Bettany disappeared through the door -which led to countinghouse. Marian came to Thomas in the deep window. -“Stay awhile, Thomas, and read with me ‘Romaunt of the Rose!’ Cousin -hath sent us, too, ‘The Grey Damsel and Sir Launfal.’” - -But Thomas could not stay. He kissed her and went forth into the -sunset. By town cross they were piling wood. Saint Ethelred’s bells -rang. The young man stood and prayed. - -Dusk came over all like brooding wings. Stars brightened above the -castle. Up there Montjoy, seated in his great chair, listened to Prior -Matthew of Westforest. - -“Not to hear of it till now--!” - -“It is not yet three nights ago, Montjoy. And it seemed, and still -seemeth best to seek quietly. We have had, to my mind, too much indeed -of buzz and clatter! I wish for quiet to descend upon us.” - -“Ah, I also!” sighed Montjoy. “So the soul may return to her proper -work! But open--all things should be open!” - -“In reason, aye! But the world is idle and will make scandal if it may.” - -Montjoy pressed back of clasped hands over eyes. “The world is thistle -and precipice! I have fearful dreams at night. Welcome will it be to -me, oh Christ, when I may go my pilgrimage!” Rising from his chair he -walked to and fro, then returning to the table, laid touch upon a great -and splendidly bound book, fine work upon fine parchment, illuminated -head letters and borders. He touched it reverently. “See you, so -beautifully done, two hundred years ago! Chronicle of Silver Cross. -I have been reading as I have read a hundred times! Miracles then -a-plenty, and such goodness, such spiritual men, that all seemed grown -pure Nature! I thought the gloss and freshness were all back, but I do -not know--I do not know--I do not know!” - -Prior Matthew said quietly, “Until this madness Brother Richard was a -good and holy monk. How else should Heaven have found him as glass to -shine through? And now if, as we think, he lies drowned in Wander, it -does not seem to us self-murder. The mad are not accountable there. -Again, he may have slipped and fallen. So now Our Lord may clear his -mind, and his purgatory done, he will again be wise and holy.” - -“Purgatory lasteth long!” said Montjoy. “Thistle and mire pit, thirsty -desert, precipices! And what if he did not drown but roams at large, -telling with flaming eyes and tolling voice and large gesture his story -of not one but many Satans?” - -“The whole region knows that he is mad. Were he so abroad, how long -before we should have known it? Oh, we have questioners and seekers -out, but quietly! Hour by hour Wander grows to us the more certain. -Yesterday we dragged, but the water runs swiftly and may have carried -him down.” - -“Death. Well, who should tremble at that unless he be sold to -wickedness?” - -Through open windows they heard compline bell. “To-morrow draws on. -There will be a great concourse. Saint Leofric and Silver Cross and -Westforest, country folk and all the town, seamen and pilgrims. And -what to see? A woman burning.” - -The Prior spoke serenely, invisibly his hand making final move, -providing mate. “Nay, Montjoy, Good vindicated, Ill consumed, Warning -spread!” - -Thomas Bettany absented himself from Middle Forest. - -Dark night, clear and dark. Lights twinkled in tall houses, lantern -and torch twinkled and flared in narrow streets. Glowworm points -from those belated moved over the bridge. Night deepened. Lights went -out one by one, cluster by cluster. Now there were great spaces of -naught between twinklers and flarers. Dark space widened, twinklers -and flarers growing lonely, separated afar from one another. Ships -below the bridge had lanterns, but the ships were few. Lights lessened, -lessened, until you might say Middle Forest was in darkness. Lanterns -of the watch went slowly about, but wary eye might know where watch had -been and where it was now and where it would presently be. Cautious -foot might tread among the three. Of course, if shout were raised, -watch hearing it would come running. - -Midnight and after. - -Godfrey had good wine to-night, brought him by Master Thomas Bettany. -Godfrey thought, “Brought for present to soften me to let him look at -the witch!” He grinned and took the wine but kept to “Rule is rule!” -“Very fine Jerez sack,” explained the young merchant, “out of a lot -bought in London. And will you give a stoup to William and Diggory? -Diggory is a great fellow of his inches! I saw him Sunday wrestling in -long meadow.” - -Godfrey drank the Jerez wine with his supper, and he poured a great -cup for William and for Diggory. They drank. “Aye, aye! Bettany knows -how to choose the best!” - -Deep night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Deep night. Over the castle Pegasus, over town southward the Eagle, -walking down the west the Ploughman, low in the southwest the Scorpion, -due south the Archer, on the meridian the Lyre. - -Deep night in prison. Morgen Fay waked. “What use in sleeping? I shall -do no work to-morrow.” - -Memory. For some ease, take Memory by the hand, but go with her into -old countries, not into those near at hand! She remembered a forest -like to Wander forest, and she remembered an ocean with shells upon the -beach. So cool the air, and the water going over her, cool, cool and -restful! She remembered music. - -Once a grey-beard begging friar had told her that all things that ever -were or are or can be were but parts of music. “Listen, and you will -hear! Gather the notes and make them into strains. Put the strains -together--you will begin to have a notion! When you have lived long -enough you will come to hear the strains made of strains and how they -combine. All the jangle is imperfect music, music finding itself--” - -Music. So it was all music? A long way to-night to where you might see -that! - -Dancing. Once it had come to her herself, watching sunbeams and some -nodding, waving trees and a long ripple over wheat, and feeling a wind -that kept measure, that dancing was somehow a great and sweet idea -of some great Gayheart. “Shall I dance in prison and hear music, and -to-morrow flying this way?” - -Love. What is that? - -She thought. “I have never seen it. I know it not. Perhaps for garden -and Ailsa and little white rose tree. Ah, yes! But I have loved my way, -and fire on my hearth and wine on my table. Now I will have enough of -fire, and there is a wine they say of wrath. Love--love! What is it, -Morgen Fay? If there be such a country I shall not see it. Where do you -go to-morrow, Morgen Fay, and what anguish in the going?” - -“O God, O my God, make wider the little passage between me and thee!” - -So dark--so dark. Night and night and night! - -A little noise at the door, but not like Godfrey’s hand. She sat up, -being near the door, the place was so small. Stealthily, stealthily, a -sliding noise. She felt the door open and rose to her knees. “Who’s -there?” - -“Friends! Don’t make any noise.” One came in at the door and touched -her. “Morgen, it is Thomas Bettany. You are willing to follow me? Then -come at once.” - -She rose and followed. The door was shut behind her. The second man, -stooping, turned the key and withdrew it. A little way down the -passage with no more noise than moths--door of inner ward--through it, -too, turn key and take out, find cross passage. The second man who -had not spoken held the least, small light. A cresset, too, burned -dimly, swinging from a beam. A man lay sleeping by the wall,--Diggory, -Godfrey’s helper. It seemed that he was sleeping soundly. A turn, a -wider space, and the great door and William sleeping upon a bench. -Open, great door. Light showed a chain and a staple broken out of -wall--open! Out of prison. Starlight--the street--soft and swift like -moth and bat. Lanterns and footsteps of the watch. Press into angle of -Saint Ethelred’s porch and cease to breathe while they go by! Avoid -market place, cross High Street, softly, swiftly; find Saint Swithin’s -Street, narrow, steeply descending toward the river. River in the -ears, and the old disused water steps, and beside them a boat. Thomas -Bettany’s voice saying, “_Gold and silver_,” and the man in the boat -answering, “_Gold and silver in the Vineyard._ Step ye in!” - -Down the river, and by the house of Morgen Fay and into the widening of -water that was called the Pool. - -There were but three men, Bettany and the man with him and he who had -held the boat and who was called Diccon. The man who had opened doors -sat very silent. But so were all, saying nothing, rowing silently. And -Morgen Fay was still, still! Oh, the divine night air and the stars and -the cool water, cool and singing! A ship rose before them. It seemed -they were going there. - -Thomas spoke to her. “Your name is Alice now, not Morgen. Remember! -Alice--Alice Dawn. This ship is the _Vineyard_ and it touches at three -ports. You will be safely put ashore, and here is gold.” A purse slid -into her lap. - -Ecstacy of freedom, air and the stars. Alice--Alice Dawn! She put her -forehead upon her knees and laughed. “Oh, all of you, what will you -_not_ see to-morrow! Now you have your miracle!” - -The ship coming closer and closer, a tall ship and making ready to -sail. “Whither? And will I find Ailsa?” - -“I cannot tell as to that. Diccon Wright, the master there, is a -helpful man. And the Saints are above us. I do not fully know,” said -Thomas under breath, “what I have done!” - -The ship came near. “Ah, how dark it was in prison! Thank you and bless -you!” - -Andromeda lay across the northeast, the Crown was in the west, the Swan -overhead. “Ship oars,” said Diccon. “Here we are!” - -“You quit me now, Thomas?” - -“Aye. I must be at home and in bed if there come any calling!” - -“Are you endangered?” - -“No! They will call it again the devil. Where all have tender hands he -is the best one to pull the nuts from the fire!” - -“Good-by, then. I shall bless you every day and it shall not hurt you!” - -“I never thought that it would, Morgen Fay.” - -“No. Thou’rt clean! Good-by, good-by, good-by!” - -The ship overhung them,--bowsprit and carved sea goddess, body of ship -and high forecastle, masts, spars and rigging. And the stars shone -between, and men were up there making sail among the stars, and all the -air sang around and the water sang. Morgen Fay had her own courage. It -was coming to her from far and near. She felt like a child. Something -in her was crumbling away, or something within her, after long groping, -was painfully lifting itself into higher air. “_I have tasted evil, I -have tasted good; I like better the last taste._” - -The rowers ceased to row. A rope was flung, a manner of ladder of rope -slipped over the side. Master of the _Vineyard_ and Thomas Bettany -spoke low together, then the former mounted to his ship. “Now, Alice -Dawn--God bless you!” - -“God bless you.” - -She was light and strong. She climbed, she stood in the waist of the -_Vineyard_ and turning herself, looked to see the boat put off with -two. But the rower who had not spoken, the man who had been silent in -street and lane, who had opened doors silently in prison, was climbing -from boat to _Vineyard_ deck. Light from a lantern by the mast fell -upon him. Burgher’s dress, cap of blue, young beard of brown-gold upon -his face. “Where?--where?” - -Bodily there rose before her the cell at Silver Cross and all the -sudden lights, coloured by some old secret device, that bloomed about -her and her floating drapery, and this man upon his knees. With a cry -she turned to the boat. Two seamen had descended in Diccon’s place. It -was _Vineyard_ boat, it would put Bettany ashore and return, and no -boatmen at the main water steps have any tale to tell. Already the boat -was away from the ship. “Friend! friend!” - -Richard Englefield stood beside her. “He cannot return, nor help us -further, Morgen!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -London folk went up and down. Palace where sat a strong king, Tower -where traitors lay in ward, wall maintained through the centuries upon -the base the Romans laid, Aldgate, Newgate, Ludgate, Bishopsgate. -London Bridge, London Stone, Baynard Castle, old Temple without the -Templars, with the lawyers. Blackfriars, Whitefriars, Greyfriars, -Austin Friars, Crutched Friars, crowd of monasteries and nunneries, -great buildings of stone, lesser buildings of wood, churches and -churches, and a good way out of town Westminster, where the king was -building his great chapel with the wonderful roof. Sixty thousand, -maybe seventy thousand people in London. Learned men were there, -artists were there, merchants there, men of the Church, of the law, of -the sword. Hidden Wickliffites, hidden Lollards were there. Astrologers -and alchemists were there and men of the rosy cross. Navigators and -discoverers were there, striving to show Henry what to do to balance -or counter Ferdinand of Spain and Emmanual of Portugal. Mechanics and -artisans were there, many and many men of many crafts. Guilds and -guilds. London of the bells, of the Wall and the Thames; London outer, -London inner. - -Near the Old Jewry ran a narrow street where dwelled many workers in -metal--ironsmith, coppersmith, silversmith, goldsmith--not the great -known workers but the lesser ones that the great hired. A narrow street -of poor houses, dark and noisy, or dark and still. The children were -poured into the street, the women sat in the doors or clacked up and -down. From some houses came always the clink of metal upon metal, from -others the workers went away to other places of work. At night they -returned. Now the sun cleansed all, now the fog came dull-footed into -the street and the houses and stayed. - -Jankin, a worker for an armourer, opened the door of an old house. A -large room, which was a workshop, and four small rooms, and out of -the house had recently been carried a bier. The man who died had been -an old, independent metal worker. Here still were his furnace and his -tools. Whatever had been his family it was gone; apprentices who had -dwelled with him were away to other masters. “But his custom would come -back,” said Jankin. “The whole thing for so many pounds. Something -down, but the most could be worked out. ’Tis said there’s a ghost in -the house, and so they don’t sell or rent it easily.” - -The man with him said, “I rent it and buy the tools.” - -Jankin answered, “If you do the work you used to do, master, ’t will be -like planting a tree in a flowerpot!” - -“No. And ‘master’ me no more, Jankin!” - -“_Diccon Dawn._ It comes strange! But many a man and a great man is -in danger. Well, you were never much in London, master, and you’re -changed. Eh, those days I was with you in Paris! I hear them still -between hammer strokes, and they come around me like fairies. And -you’ll live here?” - -“Aye.” - -“The great vase you made for the cardinal! Tall as a man, and a wreath -of silver dancers! And he would have you to sup with him--and even I in -the hall had venison pasty and marchpane and such wine as Saint Vulcan -drinks!” - -“Let us go to the owner.” - -_Five days ago Wander Forest._ - -Owner of the house, heir of the dead man’s furnishings, was found. -Yes, yes! let and sell on easy terms, Jankin, who was responsible, -answering for Richard or Diccon Dawn, and the latter’s gold pieces also -answering. The long June day saw the whole completed, key in the hand -of Diccon Dawn, and still two hours lacking of sunset. - -Quoth Jankin, “I can get you plain work to start on.” - -He stood a middle-aged, surly, doggedly faithful man. “If you chose to -work with me again, Jankin--?” - -Jankin regarded workroom, regarded street through wide, low window. -“Well, I will! I’d like to watch tree break flowerpot!” - -Through the street alone, into the outer street near the river, a poor -street also, filled with a great clanging noise. Men-at-arms poured -by, going for some reason to the Tower. When they were passed he met a -country cart, two girls, sisters, seated and a boy walking beside the -horse. They had strawberries and they were crying them. “Strawberries! -Strawberries! Make you young again! Strawberries!” - -Down a cross street he saw the river and it was running sunset gold -with beds of violets. He entered a poor house where lodged sailors’ -wives, and here he sought and found Morgen Fay. “Come with me! I want -to show you something.” - -After a moment of silence she moved toward him and they went out -together. They went through the street, a tall man and a woman very -poorly clad, tall almost as he, and of a rich beauty. There was a great -sunset this eve, bathing London and Thames and these two. - -Diccon Dawn opened the door. They entered the workshop. “This place is -now mine. I do not know if you know it, but I am a smith in gold and -silver.” - -Jankin had brought and left upon the table a loaf and cheese, a pitcher -of ale and a platter heaped with strawberries. Moreover there was water -provided and candles in the stand and he had swept the room. All the -tools of this trade were about; at the back stood the furnace. The -room faced the south and the west, and through the window streamed the -glowing light. They entered, they drank a little water, then stood and -faced each the other. - -She spoke. “We came away upon the ship together, two mortals in the -most merciless danger. ‘That cannot be helped!’ I thought, after the -first astounding when all the blood went from my heart and my knees -bent under me. The _Vineyard_ shook us down together like two leaves -in London. ‘That cannot be helped,’ I thought, ‘but now the wind will -drive the one north and the other south!’ ‘Lodge at the Old Anchor,’ -says _Vineyard_ master. I go there, and I find you there before me. -Still the wind does not rise. But now it must!” - -“You have gold,” said the other. “I saw him to whom we owe more than -gold give it to you. There is still lodging at the Old Anchor. Return -there if you choose. I will walk with you. You shall lodge as you have -lodged, and I as I have lodged. But this house is now mine. Lodge here, -Morgen Fay!” - -“No! Now at last we speak together! Now at last!” - -“Now at last!” - -She stood away from the table, he nearer window. Gold and red sunset -was behind him, a gold and red pool upon the floor between them, and a -rosy light struck her--face, head and throat. - -It was again--it was again! - -She cried, “Cell at Silver Cross, and you on your knees before heaven, -and I the ape!” - -He put his hands before his face. “All heaven was mine!” - -“Dressed so, like the great picture, and with my fingers drawing or -slackening cords that made the blue mantle to wave and lights to -brighten. Oh, God--oh, God!” - -“It is so, yet they brighten.” - -She leaned against the wall, clasping her hands above her forehead. -“Through wickedness and mire and hell and silly paradises I could come -at times to her garden gate and feel her within, though ever was a -fence between us! Her the Blessed, Her the Mother, Mother of All! A -sweet song of her, a bright picture of her is that one who moved in -Bethlehem and went down into Egypt and came back to Nazareth! A little -song, a little story of her is the great picture in Silver Cross. All -songs and all stories have her in them! But what _I_ did, because I -thought I was in danger and because there was mire in me, was to choose -to clip the gold coin and take it from where it was needed and buy -perdition with it! I chose to lie and cheat, to mock and perjure, to -make her small and ugly--Her the Blissful, Her the Wholly Pure, Her the -Strong and Beautiful!” - -Richard Englefield turned to the window. Fiery light! The moon on the -coasts of Italy! Fiery light! - -Moments dropped, far apart, slowly, one after the other. Morgen Fay -spoke again, in a changed tone. “I am not going back to the old life. -To please myself I learned to make lace and I can make it rarely. There -is here a guild of sewing women and lace-makers. A sailor’s wife told -me.” - -“Work if you will, Morgen. But do you lodge here!” - -“Why--why?” - -They moved. Light seemed to pour over them, red light. A horn was blown -in the street. Again she cried out. “It is heaven that you love and -seek, far above this and all sinning! When I was ape I saw that, the -light falling on your face!” - -“Heaven, yes--heaven grown small maybe, but heaven that man -understands! Give me heaven!” - -She cried, “Oh, the ape has done murder!” - -“No! No murder was done. I thought so at first, and indeed it might -seem so, but it was not. _Diccon and Alice Dawn._ Lodge here, Morgen, -lodge here!” - -The fiery light, the music in the street. The brown-gold figure, the -smith in gold and silver, tall, like King David in the window of Saint -Ethelred. “Decide! It is for you to decide!” - -All her life seemed to come around her. All her life up to the ruined -farm and Wander forest, and then and for a long time Wander forest, -ruined farm. And then in full, sounding and lighted, Silver Cross. Four -times in all. Prison, the _Vineyard_ ship and the Old Anchor. Fire-red -and brown-gold and shreds and lines of blue. Horns in the street, -but somewhere a lute and a viol. _Build as build you can!_ _Vineyard_ -ship, Old Anchor, fiery street, house of the smith, colour and odour of -roses, viol, lute. She moved, she sat down by the table and buried her -face in her arms. Presently he lighted the candles. “Come, Morgen, come -and see the whole of it!” - -“No!” said Morgen Fay and rose to her height. She stood up. “No! It is -not little me thou art seeking--little me, little thee. Perhaps--it is -great daring to say it--perhaps I also who have been ape am seeker! -At any rate, I’ll not give thee tinsel who needeth gold! And now I am -going back to Old Anchor.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -Clink of metals striking together, hammer sound, sound of the wheel, -sound of the fed furnace, sound of voices among metals. Diccon Dawn, -worker in rich metals with Jankin to help and a boy to help Jankin. All -day were voices in the long room, footsteps to and fro, sound of the -craft. Richard Englefield beginning again to make beautiful things. - -As he worked he saw a lace-maker. Rich and beautiful lace. - -He saw Wander forest, he saw the ruined farm, he saw Middle Forest, the -prison there and the house by the river. - -He worked from dawn to dusk. Work,--let some ease come that way! He was -artist at work and some lightening came. One must love all. - -The nights at first brought him long and faintly terrible dreams. He -could not remember them in sequence, but some had horror and some had -beauty, and now and again his brain caught from them small, vivid -pictures. - -Then, one night, he saw, half he thought in dream and half not in -dream, a furnace and seated within it a man with a hammer and an anvil, -and on the anvil a man, and they were both the one man, only the man -with the hammer was the greater in aspect. - -Work, work, and at last, after terrible dreams, pray! But no set -prayers, only a wild cry upward to the man with the hammer. - -The street lay baked clay under the sun, the street darkened beneath -cloud. Rain poured down, cleansing and sweetening, making brooks of -gutters, pattering and driving, singing the clean and the fresh, -turning when out came the sun into uncounted glistening or rainbow -orbs. Wind swept the street, a great bellows quickening life. Fog stole -in, and the familiar became a foreigner, strange, remote, chill; surely -the world was dying! Then came the sun, and the world was not dying. - -He went to Old Anchor. The street of half ruinous houses was filled -with a crowd of voices of sea-going and from-sea-returning folk. A -woman with a child told him where to find her. She sat with bobbins in -her hand, at a lace pillow. “Thou’rt pale! Weave, weave like this all -day long!” - -“So I buy bread. I do well.” - -“So wretched a place! Morgen, come to my house. Richard and Alice -Dawn--brother and sister.” - -“No--no!” - -They talked, they parted. Old Anchor and Thames side and street of -the smiths. That night, lying awake, suddenly he saw her life; he -passed into a calm and wide and lifted moment and saw it spread from -childhood. Seeing so, it appeared his own experience,--not appeared, -but was. Something like a great shutter closed upon that moment, then -there opened another as wide and as deep. Space, there was space! “I -have standing and moving room again!” - -After a week he went once more to Old Anchor. “Morgen, I better -understand your life and my life. This place harms you. Come into the -smiths’ street and to the house where I am and where there is all room. -We have need to be together and to learn together.” - -“No--no!” - -Again he went away. The next day, suddenly, while he was turning in -his hands a bar of silver, his thoughts for a moment ran gold. He was -back with a certain day in his stone workroom at Silver Cross and he -was making a cup for Abbot Mark to give to a bishop. The great picture -was in his thoughts, the Blessed among women. There were rolling fields -and the villages of Palestine. Palestine? Everywhere she was, she was -everywhere! That day had been two years ago. Now again to-day he saw -that everywhere she was, that she was everywhere. Everywhere! In all -realms, upper and lower, afar and near, great and small. Everywhere. -Who had hurt her? No one and nothing. Naught! - -Who had hurt him? No one. - -That night he saw a great thorny field and two wanderers. Each had a -great burden on his shoulders and each a staff. There seemed a path of -pilgrimage. And now one came full upon it and pursued it and now the -other. But they were not together, and there seemed a desolateness. -Each fell away into the thorns and came again with toil. The mist -closed all away. Again Richard Englefield prayed. “If it be in God that -we are together--” - -Night passed, day passed. Night again in the street of the smiths. A -light through the window, a cry in the street, a bell that leaped into -clanging. Fire! Fire! - -Diccon Dawn hurrying on clothing, went with the rest. It seemed to be -on the water side and to the eastward,--a great fire. When they came -to the Thames they saw that it was a stretch of old buildings, a maze -where the poor lived, together with seafaring folk. So joined were the -houses that it might be one, or they might be ten. Old Anchor--Old -Anchor! - -The sky was murk and flame, any face might be read; the fire-ocean -leaped in breakers, roared, licked up and sucked under. All the air was -sound, all the bells were ringing, all the heart was bursting. Middle -Forest! A heap of fagots by town cross. - -Old Anchor, and many heroic things done that night by men and women and -children. But a man, a goldsmith, entered farthest, endured longest, -brought forth in his arms whom he had gone to seek, out of the heart -of it. “Is she dead? No! Dead with the smoke, and fire has touched -her arms and her breast and her sides. Who is she? The man’s sister. -Where will he take her? He will carry her through the street to his -house. Diccon Dawn, a goldsmith. He will nurse her there--oh, tenderly, -tenderly.” - -It was so. - -He nursed here there, oh, tenderly, and she came back to life and to -strength through much suffering. - -“It hurts? I would that I could take that!” - -“Oh, aye, it hurts sore! But I will keep it and bear it and see it -change.” - -“So much more I know about thee than I used to know! Thou hast -courage.” - -“So much more I know of thee. Thou hast strength, patience. If I moan -with the pain, it helps me to utter it.” - -“See thou, it is meant for us to be together.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Clink of metals striking together, hammer sound, sound of the wheel, -sound of the fed furnace, sound of voices among metals. Up and down -this was the strain of the smiths’ street. Summer, autumn, winter, -spring, round went the wheel. - -The street lay hot under the sun, the street stretched dim and -breathless under clouds. Rain poured down, freshness and song of the -sea drawn into the air. The wind sang his great song of vigour. Fog -came and shut the eyelids of the world, then passed away and one -started as from sleep. Snow fell in small flakes or in large flakes, in -few or in many. The street lay white, the roofs white. - -All day voices in the long workroom, footsteps to and fro, sound of the -craft, Diccon Dawn fashioning beautiful things. He had helpers, Jankin -and a boy, and also his sister, Alice Dawn. - -There was that which she could do and he showed her how. Those who came -that way in the smiths’ street saw a brother and sister, a tall pair, -working together. Beside this, she toiled like all the women in the -street. She kept the house clean, she bought the food and cooked it, -she took ewer and pail and went to the well. To and fro, to and fro. At -the well were women, in the street were women. She greeted and answered -greeting. Sometimes she was drawn into a knot of talkers. But she spoke -little herself. “Alice Dawn? Whence, then? The other end of England? -Thy brother does fine work, they say. When didst learn to work with -him? He has gotten thee a good gown and it sets thee like an earl’s -wife!” When she was gone they talked of her. “How old should you think? -She has too still ways for me! She looks like a queen. Nay, lass, to my -thinking like a quean!” - -Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smiths. Water from the well, -dashing over the stones, water brought home in great ewer or pail, -balanced so. - -Sometimes at sunset, go, the two of them, down to the river. Sunday -beyond the wall into green country, into sere autumn country, into -winter country. Mix and not mix with those about them, live and let -live, keeping observation as near as possible to ebb tide. Live--let -live! Live--let live! In this time the herb found some growing room. -Away from the smith’s street they saw the able king go by with his able -men, the queen with her ladies. They saw the cardinal and his train. -They heard of a Lollard burned, and they went not there; of a sorceress -burned and they went not there. They went somewhat silently and softly -that day. So long as they ran not foul of some one’s earthly ambition -or his jealousy or his fear, there was going room. Once they heard a -street preacher mourning that the time was so lax. A great time, an -active time, but lax, lax! What was this New Learning and crying that -Authority was within? Every day, somewhere, a monk broke from cloister -and a priest began to babble. For the bookmen, they were writing -perdition! Differers springing up like weeds, laughter rising, folk -prying into vain knowledge, conceiving a thing called “freedom.” - -Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smith. - -Diccon and Alice Dawn. Out of blind feeling there rose, they knew not -just when nor how, desire for that light which is comprehension. “Tell -me--” “Tell me--” - -Breadth by breadth, work of the day done, or on holidays, they unrolled -the bale of old life and regarded the figures, the outer figures and -the figures of thought and feeling. Each grew to be to the other a vast -and deep and fortunate object of study. She would say, “When you were -in France, tell me--” or “What like was thy mother?” And he, “Tell me, -Morgen, of thy childhood and thy girlhood.” Her childhood became his -and his became hers. The like with girlhood and boyhood. They learned, -orb of orb, ocean of ocean, sharing and growing richer by the sharing. -“I remember” and “I remember.” - -“I was a young girl, just over childness. I was dancing. My father -and mother watched. I do not know if they were truly my father and -mother, but I called them that. They watched me and they watched the -crowd watching. They always did that. If the crowd did not grow warm, -then afterwards in the booth they beat me. Oh, they beat me sore! So -I always thought _into_ the crowd as it were and willed it as hard as -I might, ‘Oh, love my dancing! Oh, love to look at me!’ I thought it -so hard that sometimes it seemed that the crowd and I were one, and I -beat their flame upward so that they, too, were dancing and liking it. -But I remember that day something beat my flame upward, too, far upward -and very wide! And the very earth and world was dancing, whirling -and rising like a golden ball in air, and great figures sat around, -laughing and applauding and crying, ‘You will do! You will do!’” - -“Once in Italy, with my master Andrew the Goldsmith, I was walking -alone by olive trees and blue sea. The sun was low, there was the -greatest beauty! Then gold Apollo walked with me. I saw him in lines of -pale gold, and I felt him a great god, calm and happy. Vulcan is for -the smiths, but I changed that day to Apollo. Not that I left Vulcan, -but Apollo, too. The next month I made for Andrew the Goldsmith a cup -which when he looked at he said, ‘Thou’rt accepted!’” - -“I remember--” - -“When thou rememberest me--and I remember thee--” - -“Will we come to remember all?” - -Up and down, to and fro in the smiths’ street. Snow was falling, great -flakes, softly, smoothly. Jankin looked out of window. “Here cometh a -great Blackfriar!” - -He walked along the street, a big Dominican out on his travels. Richard -Englefield glanced, but did not recognize him, though, a moment -afterwards, as he bent to his work, there rose in mind a picture of -Montjoy’s hall the day he stood there, bound and gagged, like to burst -in his rage and agony. Now he laid hand on graver’s tool and fell to -work. He was fashioning a silver dish like a shell. Jankin took his cap -and cloak and said good night, for the short day was closing. - -Morgen Fay crossed the street in the snow, returning to the house from -some errand. Reaching the doorstone, she stood there a little because -of delight in the great white flakes. A friar spoke to her, “Eh, my -sister, a white Christmas!” - -“Aye, Brother, they are coming like white butterflies.” - -He looked more fully upon her, “Push back your hood, woman!” - -She knew him. “Ah! Middle Forest!” Her heart stood still, then she -changed as she could expression of her face, roughened her voice. -“Whiter than last Christmas, Brother! That was a brown one here in -London.” - -“It was white in Middle Forest!” He stared in doubt. “What is your -name?” - -“Alice Dawn, Brother.” - -Still he stared, but she saw his uncertainty increase. - -“Did ever you have a sister who called herself Morgen Fay?” - -She shook her head. “I had one named Mercy.” - -“By Saint Thomas, likenesses are strange things!” said Friar Martin. -“There’s something that binds them together, if we could but get it -clear!” He looked up at the smith’s sign. “‘Diccon Dawn. Silver and -Gold.’ Alice Dawn! Well, you are like, all the same, so you had better -say your beads, my daughter, and keep from ill ways! _Benedicite!_” - -He went on through the snowy street. - -Diccon Dawn looked up from the fluted shell. “You are as pale as the -snow! What is it?” - -“Is Jankin gone, and the boy? Here is Friar Martin of Saint Leofric’s.” - -“Here!” - -“In the street. He has gone by. But I know that he will return.” - -Englefield rose from the silver work and they stood in the dusky room. -“Did he know you?” he asked. - -She told. - -He said, “It was chance his being here! He saw what he thought was -chance likeness. It will pass from his mind.” - -“It may and it may not. Will there be raised a cry against me--against -us? Look!” - -Hidden themselves, they looked through the window. Other side the -street, in the falling snow, stood Friar Martin, intent upon the -goldsmith’s house and sign. A man going by was stopped and questioned. -Alone once more, the friar gazed, dubitated, drew his picture. Diccon? -A Richard made silver dishes for Abbot Mark. June. He came into this -house in June, and none in these parts had known him before. And an -Alice Dawn like as a twin to Morgen Fay! - -The friar made a movement. “_If this be so, what gain to Saint -Leofric?_” But first it was to tell beyond peradventure of a doubt if -it were so! He crossed the smith’s street and with his staff knocked -upon the door of Diccon Dawn. - -“Shalt open to him?” - -“If I do he may find likeness. If I do not--” - -They stood in the dusky place, a long room with the red fire eye of the -small furnace dully winking, with the snow falling, falling. The friar -knocked again. “If we do not answer, then surely will he say, ‘Witch’s -house!’” - -Englefield moved toward the door, but Friar Martin, impatient and bold, -did not wait, but lifting the latch, pushed inward. It was dusk, beyond -seeing clearly. - -“Are you the smith?” - -“Aye, Brother. Can I serve you?” - -“I would see your work. But I cannot do so without light.” - -“Work hour and shop hour are over. Best come to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow we may all be dead. Canst not light candle?” - -“Aye, I can.” He took a brand from the fire and suited action to word. -“There is not much here.” He held the candle to the silver shell, -but Friar Martin, who helped himself through life, shot out his hand -and took the taper and held it to the smith. Diccon Dawn stood in the -light and formed face of London smith who knew that in these later days -friars upon their travels were what they were and must be taken so. -They had their whims! - -But Friar Martin said, “Did ever you wander by a stream called Wander? -Do you know a town named Middle Forest, and the Abbey of Silver Cross?” - -Diccon Dawn shook his head. “I stick to my work, Brother. It’s night -and snowing fast!” - -Light--light! It seemed to blaze around. “Didst never make silver -dishes for abbots?” - -“No. I have a humbler trade. It nears curfew, Brother!” - -“I met a woman upon your doorstep. Your wife or perhaps your sister?” - -“My sister,--Curfew, Brother!” - -The other was thinking, “I do not yet know wholly, but I guess, I -guess!” He said aloud, “Do smiths have visions? Doth heaven ever open -in this street?” - -“All streets are ways to that. Curfew, Brother!” - -It was dusk save for the one taper and the fire eye in the back of the -room. The friar was almost a giant, but the smith, too, was a strong -man, and somewhere in the house dwelled a witch! He had matter enough -to turn and twist this way and that, during the night, preparing the -vial of wrath. “Aye, it is late! I will go, having seen your silver -work!” - -He went. The street was snowy. His great sandalled foot made no sound. -Going, a little chime rang in his brain. “I see the gain of Saint -Leofric! I see the gain of Saint Leofric!” - -In the dusky room the two moved closer together. “Thy danger.” “Thine!” -“Ah, our danger!” - -“Act, then!” He looked from the window. “Out of gate ere it is quite -night!” - -They had warm mantles, good shoes. They made a packet of food, took -coin from the strong box. Englefield wrote a short letter and placed -it where Jankin should find it the first thing coming in, in the -morning,--find it, read it and burn it, though there was naught in it -that could harm Jankin. Jankin and the boy had had their wage paid that -day. Out quietly into the deep twilight, the snow falling. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -A cot at the side of a wood, and a woodchopper and his sister who -gathered faggots. The owner of the wood employing them, a miserly old -man in a manor house, kept little company, stirred little abroad, -neither hunted nor hawked. They had the still wood, the small cot. -Sometimes the steward of the place, sometimes a fellow servant dropped -in upon them, but by no means every day. Sound of axe, sound of falling -tree, sound of breaking branch and dead leaves underfoot and of March -wind. Hours of toil, then the cot, a fire on the hearth and homely fare. - -Before he became smith he had been lad of the farm. A cot like this, -work like this, was but an old chime chiming again. She had had a -hardy, difficult childhood. It rose again upon her at the ruined farm, -in Wander forest. Life of the hand, life of the arm and shoulder was -not new; it was old. - -Life of the passions; that was old. - -Life of the awakening mind--life of the slowly kindling soul--life -passing away from old life--that had a divine newness. - -The wind murmured and sought, and brought boughs to strike against -wall and roof. Fire burned on the hearth, light and shadow went around -the room. Some one knocked, then opened the door. “I am the charcoal -burner, I’ve got a child here who is ill!” - -He had him in his arms a thin and gasping six-year-old. - -“It’s his throat, and he’s burning in this cold wind! He’ll choke to -death.” - -They laid him on a bed. The charcoal burner was big and black with a -black that brushed off. “What can ye do to help?” - -They helped, but Morgen Fay the most, for she took the child upon her -knees and with long, fine fingers drew from his throat the stuff that -choked. Through the night she crooned to him, comforted him, and at the -dawn they wiled him to take a little broth that Richard made, after -which he slept, still in her arms. - -“Leave him here till he is well.” - -“I do not mind, if you do not mind. He will give ye a lot of trouble.” - -“Leave him!” - -They looked after this boy and he became a great light and play to -them. When he was better they took him with them, wrapped in a mantle, -into the wood and sat him in the sunshine. Diccon Dawn felled a tree -and hewed it into logs for the manor house, Alice Dawn brought -faggots, heaping together for the manor cart. When they must rest they -sat in the sun with the boy, and the great wind rushed and laughed and -clattered in the wood. - -“Tell me a story!” said the boy. Richard told saint’s legend, -Christ-child story. - -“Now you tell one!” Morgen told the story of the Great Good Elf. - -Afterwards Richard said, “We could not have told those stories if we -were not getting well.” - -In the cot at night, in the firelight, again the boy. “Tell me a -story--tell me a story!” - -“All our lives to make these stories. All our lives of us all!” - -“All!” - -The child slept, the little flame sang, bough of tree struck the cot. -They sat and seemed to look down and seemed to look up a road that went -forever. - -Wild flowers appeared. The child gathered them. Morgen wore a knot at -her bosom, Richard one in his cap. “Tell me a story--tell me a story!” - -The charcoal burner came and took away his son. He gave rude thanks and -said that henceforth they were friends. They missed the lad until they -found that they had him still. - -The wind pushed the high cloud ships and certain trees put on their -earliest touch of green. They rested in the wood from chopping and -gathering, and seated upon the felled tree, smelled the fragrance of -the world. - -“Tell me a story--tell me a story--” - -Again within the cot, and the wind fell at purple twilight, then -rose again roaring, and the flame bent this way and bent that. Quiet -together--still together. - -“What is fire?” - -“What is beauty?” - -“What is music?” - -April air, April wood. Rang the axe, bent and straightened the faggot -gatherer. Showers came up, but thick fir trees gave shelter. Rain -stopped. Being upon a little eminence in the wood they saw the great -bow, the seven-coloured bridge. - -April rain, April greenery, April sunshine. The axe rang, the tree -fell. They rested from toil, leaning against the sunken mass, and -waiting so, became aware of the movement of horses, coming nearer -through the wood, and presently of voices. Sit quietly behind branches -of felled tree, and let all go by, at a little distance, five or six of -them! - -But they came nearer and nearer, brushing through the wood, a hawking -party from a great house the other side a line of low hills, cutting -off a distance by leaving the road and crossing this piece of earth. -Nearer and nearer, and presently it was seen that they would pass the -felled tree. The woodchopper and the faggot gatherer sat still. - -A big man, no longer young, with a beak of a nose and a waggish yet -formidable mouth, a quite young man and a young woman, and the other -two falconer and helper, carrying the hawks. They would go pacing by. -But the big man always spoke, sitting his big horse, to woodchoppers -and ditchers and thatchers, charcoal burners and the like! It was as -though one stopped to observe a robin or wren or blackbird. “Cousin -bird, what have you to say to the so-much-more-than-bird observing -you?” So now he drew rein and gave greeting. - -“Hey, woodchopper, a fine day for felling!” - -“Aye, it is, your honour!” - -“You fell for old Master Cuddington? He should stir out, he should go -hawking! Is your mate there weeping or ugly that she sits turned away, -and her face in her hand?” - -“It is her way. She means nothing.” - -“She seems a fine lass--should not be in the dumps! Hey, my girl!--No?” - -“_Robins and wrens must not be perverse_,” the big man said sharply. -“Lift your head, woman, or I shall think you’re hiding the plague!” - -She turned upon him a twisted face. Brown she was and dressed after -another fashion than on a supper time in Middle Forest when the June -eve was cool and a fire crinkled on the hearth, and Ailsa brought more -wine, and Robert Somerville said, “Morgen Fay--and hath she not look of -the name?” Brown and dressed poorly and changed, and yet Sir Humphrey -Somerville stared. - -“I’ve seen you before, but where? Oh, now I know where! Well, and is it -so!” - -He laughed, he seemed about to descend from his horse and enter into -talk, and then to bethink himself, looking sidewise at his daughter -and her lover. At last it was, within himself, “I’ll think a while and -come quietly again. To-morrow, aye, to-morrow!” Aloud he said, “Flower -garden, and something about a witch--but all women are witches! And so -you live now on this side of the hills? And now I remember me something -of a letter from my cousin, and a great trouble you were in!” - -He looked from her to Richard Englefield, but having no knowledge -there, saw only a brown-gold woodchopper. Taking a noble from his pouch -he spun it down upon the ground between them. “Old Cuddington pays -poorly. Seest it? Vanish not between to-day and to-morrow, Egyptian!” - -He backed his big horse; he and his daughter and her lover and the -men with the hawks rode on through the wood. Drooping branches came -between; they were hidden, they were gone. - -“He thinks that I could not nor would. But I can and do!” - -She stood. “It is Somerville’s cousin. Once I feasted him in the house -by the river.” - -They looked deep into the deep wood, they looked to the cot from which -came a tranquil blue feather of smoke. Then said Englefield, “It is -naught but travel again! Beyond this wood runs the wold for a long way, -then we drop to the sea and to fishing villages. Come, then! The day is -good, the night is starry.” - -“Two Egyptians over the wold.” - -“We have been together, I think, upon many wolds, in woods and havens, -in Egypt and elsewhere. Come then, Morgen!” - -They left Master Cuddington’s axe and cords and cot and furnishing. -They took a loaf that she had baked and a bundle of clothing and what -coins were left from the smiths’ street, and at sunset fared forth. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -It stretched afar, the great wold. They were out upon it under the -moon. All wildness, all loneliness! If there were a track it was a -faint one. The ground rolled; all opened to the sky, a little lower -and a little higher; around and above was immensity sewn with points -of significance. They found bushes to shelter them from the murmuring -and seeking wind and slept deeply. The night turned toward day. Are you -awake?--Aye! - -In the east shone the palest light. Huge lay the wold, and the sky was -night save for that far illuming. Cool hung the air and still, still, -still. - -The wold began to colour. They ate of their loaf and took up their -bundle and trudged again. April in the world. They were well together, -with a great natural fitness. It did not matter if they talked or if -they walked a long way in silence. One was to the other; they accorded. -Once he said, “I have no knowledge how old we are. This wold is old, -our earliest forefathers trod it, but we were there!” - -“Aye! They and ourselves and all.” - -All lonely was the wold and yet it was filled. The noon sun turned it -gold. They felt a light warmth, a slight wind, a waving fragrance, a -multitudinous fine sounding. They rested; they went on again. - -A dog came limping toward them, yelping, in trouble. His paw was hurt, -half crushed, apparently, by some rolling, falling mass. Just here -lay hollow land, with the smallest stream gliding through. Englefield -bathed the paw, set it right, and they tore cloth and bound it up. The -dog’s wagging tail and his eyes said, “Friends! I am glad you came!” -For a time he kept with them, but his home was over the wold, and -with a final wag of the tail and lick of the hand, he left them. They -watched him growing smaller and smaller till he disappeared behind a -wavelet of earth. - -The wold hereabouts was wavy, ridged. They followed the thread of water -that had by it a faint path. Presently it ran beneath a high bank, a -steep, escarped hill. An uprooted tree caught their eye, then a great -heaped disorder of raw earth. “Look!” said Englefield. “The hillside -has caved and fallen. It was that that caught the dog.” - -The path was covered. They must cross the streamlet and go around the -broken mass. They had almost cleared it when they saw over the thread -of water a human figure, half buried, unconscious. - -They worked until he was free. A leg was broken, forehead bleeding from -a great cut. They dashed water upon him and he sighed and opened his -eyes, a young man roughly dressed, with the seeming of fisherman or -sailor. “The hill fell! I was thinking of gaffer and gammer that I was -going to see and the hill fell!” - -“Was there any one else?” - -“No. ’Tis a lonely place--a great wold. There was a dog running -about--not mine. I’m thankful to ye, but I think my leg’s broken, and -my head is singing, singing.” - -“Do you know the wold? Where is the house you were going to?” - -“It’s Gaffer Garrow, the shepherd. There’s the wold hostel, too--the -Good Man. But it’s not a good inn--they be robbers! My head is singing.” - -“Let’s see if canst stand. Now arms about shoulders. So!” - -Half carrying him, they followed the stream. When he failed, Englefield -carried him outright. So they went, very slowly, down the hollow land, -a long way, until they saw Gaffer Garrow’s furze heap and hut. An old -man and woman and a shepherd lad and a girl came forth to meet them. -“Alack and alack, and Jack, what’s happened?” - -Diccon Dawn, it seemed, could set a bone. When it was done and the -sailor on his straw bed, with gaffer and gammer and younger brother and -sister to his hand, Diccon and Alice Dawn went on over the wold. The -young girl walked a little way with them to show the way, seeing that -they were going to the sea. “You will come to the Good Man, but I would -not lodge there. Then you will come to three trees, then will be wold a -long way, then you will smell the sea.” - -At turning, she said. “Our Jack might have died there, earth over him! -Our Lady must have been walking before you. I see Her sometimes in the -even, walking the wold.” - -They walked it, the girl returning to her hut, and they seemed to be -alone, except for Silver Cross rising. - -The Good Man topped a low wave of the April earth. They saw it against -cool, blue sky, with an ash and an aspen pricked out above either end. -Men and women were in the doorway. Richard Englefield and Morgen Fay -went by, though the host called to them and an urchin came running -after. “Hey! This be the Good Man, the only hostel this half of wold!” - -Diccon Dawn shook his head. “We are in haste.” - -“I make guess that ye have not the reckoning!” The urchin grinned, -threw dry turf and pebble against them and ran away. - -Silence came down around them and upon them and within them. The -sun was westering, the wold growing purple. The stillness became -both fine and vast, a permeating and encirling hush within the hush. -_Wait--wait--wait!_ Out of it or into it pushed shadowy sorrows, -ancient poignancies. The wold grew peopled with these. - -The sun descended. The horizon rose up and took it; a chill and -mournful light spread evenly, then withdrew, evenly, slowly. It was -dusk. The wold was spectral; all was spectral. - -They came to a ring of ancient stones, placed there long ago by -long-ago inhabitants of that island and now grown about with whin and -thorn and furze. They like the wold, seemed now eternal, now going -away, fading away. It was to rest here and sleep here; it was the best -place. They lay down. There was silence, and still--faint, faint, in -dark lines and pallid silver lines--rose Silver Cross! - -Full night, and descending and climbing stars. Then the moon, silver, -great, mounting above the clean, sweeping wold-line, silvering the -wold, silvering all. Now the air was stillness wholly, and now there -came a sighing. Sleep, one must sleep, weary enough with travelling! -Yet sleep was not in the wold, with all else that was there. - -From above--from above--oh, from above come help! - -But it seemed there was only the wold and the air and the moon. Only -somehow sorrow. - -Deep in the night he perceived that Morgen Fay had risen from where she -was lying by a great stone and had moved without the ring. Presently -he saw her at some distance, standing in the open wold, very still, -regarding the heavens, then moving slowly, walking beneath the moon. -A light wave of the wold hid her from his sight. A momentary dart of -fear and loneliness went through him, as though the wold had taken -her, as though she would go on forever that way and he this. But no; -nothing would come of that, nothing would come that way! No--no! They -were together, together in this sadness of the wold, strangely together -in this separateness, together in the very hauntings and hostilities -of the past; together on this wold, this present night--together -now--together to-morrow and the next day and the day after, together -though walls of the night and the moonlight, or of the day and the -sunlight were between their bodies. - -The profound, the starry night. All the stars, all the moons and the -earths, aspects and moods of a Mighty One! Power, Wisdom, Goodness, -Beauty.-- - -Richard Englefield’s body sat still as a stone. Most is done, seen and -felt in a moment. The vastest takes no time, but the placing of that -moment took time. The wold changed, the night and day, the here and -there, the now and then, the you and I, all the opposites. - -At last he rose and moved out upon the wold. He did not know which way -Morgen had gone, but she was here, as he was here. He stood with a deep -and quiet heart, looking forth over the lonely and happy wold. The -moon shone, a light and musical wind rose and fell. He was aware of an -immense tranquility with something of awe running through like a clean -fragrance, like myrrh. It was so still, it was so wide and deep and -high. - -He turned slightly, as though a hand had drawn him. He saw on the wold -the great picture, the Blessed among women. - -Eyes ceased in light. Other eyes opened. - -Out of the quiet dark came Morgen Fay and kneeled beside him. “Let me -tell--for one instant--ah, the instant!--I saw us as the All. I saw -thee in light, and then I saw us as the All.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -It was still the wold when under pale fine sunshine they came to a -smithy, rude and poor, set beneath a long wave, where a road went by. -Lonely was the wold, lonely and lonely, yet folk did travel across it. -Here, too, horses must be shod and cart and wagon mended, though not -many nor often. But the place seemed dilapidated, the smith an old man. -He could not do, he said, what was needed to be done. Custom, if you -could call it custom, was dwindling; he needed a helper. He looked at -Englefield and said that he seemed a strong fellow now! “What might be -your name?” - -They had changed names when they left Master Cuddington, that seeming -wiser. “Godfrey the smith, and this is Joan.” - -“Smith, now! Can you do this--and this?” - -A middle aged woman called from the hut that adjoined. “Get them to -stay, father, get them to stay! There be pilgrims a-horseback, coming -by to-morrow!” - -“Where would we dwell?” - -The old man had a gnomish, elfin humour. “There’s a great empty palace -yonder, waiting king and queen!” He pointed with a shaking forefinger -to a hut a hundred yards away, close to the earth wave that rose in -pale gold, green and purple and held it as in a cup. Sky hung a deep -and serene blue, sunshine was sifted gold, spring flowerets bloomed on -the wold and all the bees in the land were humming there. Lonely and -could be well loved, the great wold! Godfrey the smith looked to Joan. - -“Aye, I will it if you will it!” - -Great wold and day and night, and the smithy with the older and the -younger smith, and the lubberly boy that helped, and the few travellers -and comers-by. Work done with satisfaction and the wold to rest in, -walk in, by times. Hut of the old man and his daughter and the lubberly -boy, hut of Joan and Godfrey, Emmy was the daughter’s name and she had -second sight. - -She took to Joan. “You’re eternal. He’s eternal, too. And so am I. -Eternity--Eternity--Eternity.” She went off upon the word into her own -visions. - -May and June. “And it was a good day when you came!” quoth the old man -in his throaty, under-earth voice. “Came to the palace, king smith and -queen lace-woman!” - -July, and the wold very rich, and the sunshine strong and the starry -nights soft, immense, musing, brooding, tender. The wold was a -world, away in space from sister worlds, yet throwing bridges across, -invisible as spider’s thread in sunshine. July--August. Gold on the -wold, gold in the sky, gold and sapphire. - -September. Said Emmy, “I see some one coming, riding a bay horse.” - -They were walking the wold. “Maybe ’tis to-morrow,” said Emmy, “maybe -next day, maybe next week. I cannot see his face but he means to ride -to the smithy on great wold.” - -The day was golden, golden September. Everything spread wider, -everything lifted higher. All things had their roots down, down, but -all things climbed and broadened, inviting the air and the wind and the -sun. - -“Ah, warmth in light! Ah, light in warmth!” - -“Aye, aye!” said Emmy. “The world’s no so bad if you take it large.” - -Back in a great amber twilight to smithy and huts. - -In the morning anvil and iron and hammer. Glow of fire, sweeping past -of wold wind. A man on a bay horse, a man behind him riding a black -mare, came to the smithy. Richard Englefield, looking up, met full the -eyes of Somerville. - -He knew him, remembering him with Abbot Mark, coming to view him at -work, at Silver Cross. He felt in his hands again a silver bowl, -around it silver vine leaves. Somerville drew his breath and moistened -his lips, then smiled with oddly twitching face. “Brother Richard--” - -“I am Richard Englefield, and here on the wold Godfrey the smith.” - -“When you were woodchopper, seven leagues yonder, it was Diccon Dawn.” - -“Aye, so.” - -“There was Alice Dawn, saith my cousin. Diccon and Alice Dawn. Is she -here?” - -Englefield, standing, looked afar over wold and then into the vast, -quiet blue sky. “Yes. Leave horse and man and come with us to the hill -yonder.” - -A tiny stream ran by the smithy. He kneeled and laved his face and -hands and arms, dried them, and moved with Somerville, dismounted, -toward the hut under gold and purple waves of the wold. - -“Morgen!” - -She came forth. Wold went into mist, reeled and was Wander forest and -ruined farm. Wander forest, ruined farm, Robert Somerville. - -“Morgen--Morgen Fay!” - -The wold came back, wold and sky and Richard the smith. More than that. -There came, as it were, a blue mantle around her; she felt an arm, a -breast, a face looking down, great as the sky and the earth, supernally -fair and filled with supernal love. “O Mother, All-Mother!” - -Richard was speaking, quickly, “Let us go, Morgen, we three, to the -hilltop and talk together there.” - -They went, climbing the earth-wave, to a level of grass and heath -whence one saw all the wold rippling afar. “Sit down--sit down!” The -sun shone, the wind went careering. Who will speak first? They let -Somerville do that, who sat with eyes now on Morgen and now on gold -specks afar in the wold. “Not-change and change--and which is the great -miracle perchance the Saints know! I seem to know the whence, Morgen, -but as to the where and the whither--” - -She said, “Listen, Somerville! There was a Morgen, there is a Morgen, -there will be a Morgen. ‘There will be’ is the ruler. Say that I died -by fire but that I live again pardoned!” - -He regarded her. A mist came over his eyes, the odd, grimacing face -worked. Up went a hand to cover it, then dropped. “Ah, Morgen Fay, I, -too, perchance, must do some dying! I had to come to find you, but you -are safe and safe enough, for all my finding!” - -She said, “Aye, Rob, do I not know that of you? Tell me, have you -heard aught of Ailsa?” - -No, he had not. But he told them this and that of Middle Forest and -Wander vale. Thomas Bettany? He was well and was wedding young Cecily -Danewood. Middle Forest, Castle, Saint Leofric, Silver Cross and -Westforest. Montjoy, having made one pilgrimage, was now, they said, -gone another. - -The wold rolled afar, sun shone, wind breathed. Blue sky had cloud -mountains. Blue sea, pearl mountains, and that invisible that held and -was both, and rising with both surpassed. The wind sang, the fragrance -ran. - -Richard Englefield told of his life. Boyhood and the goldsmith, France -and Italy, the tall houses, the seeking, the priest, Silver Cross. “Now -thine, Somerville!” - -Awhile ago Somerville would have thought this impossible, but now, -quietly reminiscently, he spread out for himself and for them -Somerville’s life, dark and light. And then there spoke Morgen Fay. The -clean wind, the dry light, went about the hill. - -“And all was changing all the time, changing and waking and learning, -through earth and air and water and fire! And now it begins to know -that it wakes and learns--and that is all, Rob--and now are we all born -again.” - -“Born again,” said Somerville? “Is that possible?” - -“It has happened.” Englefield was speaking. “And now Middle Forest is -dear again, and Silver Cross is dear again, and street of the smiths is -dear, and Cuddington wood and this wold. And you and me and Morgen and -Emmy yonder, and all.” - -“Is Abbot Mark dear? And is Prior Matthew, too?” - -Godfrey the smith laughed. “Why, when they wish it we can talk -together, being after all one!” - -“It is true we talk together,” said Somerville, “and I feel no anger -against you, and you seem to have none against me.” - -“I have none. And beautiful is this day and restful, here on the hill -top. And God is in the world and here.” - -The sun stood at noon. Clean air, dry air, autumn wealth and rest, -and beyond the autumn, across the winter, spring,--ever higher, ever -richer, ever with more music! They left the hill and came to smithy -and huts. They gave Somerville and his man bread and ale, and then the -three said farewell. - -Somerville on his bay horse rode over the wold. Old habit as he rode, -horses’ hoofs beating so, brought forth rhythm and words. - - “Who can tell - The road he’s led? - The glint of gold-- - In each that worth-- - That’s here, that’s there, - That vanisheth! - ‘It ne’er had birth!’ - Then comes again, - Daffodil from winter earth. - Star shining out, when storm lies dead!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -The wold hung November grey. “Snow in that cloud,” quoth the old smith. -“Elf of the world wants a white flower!” - -“Snowy night a year ago!” said Morgen Fay. - -Emmy spoke. “A many are coming by, hurrying, for they want to get -across the wold before air is white and ground is white.” - -So the smiths somewhat looked for many, but that day passed and the -night and part of the next day and none came. Snow, too, held off. Sky -pallid grey, earth grey, and all unearthly still. Then a packman came -by, going from a town south of the wold to a town north of it, and he -had news. He had ridden ahead of thirty who would stop for rest at the -Good Man. “Prior and his monks and so many lay brothers stoutly armed -and mounted. Great church folk changing visits.” - -“Beyond-Wold Abbey?” - -“Aye, going there. Have come a long way, they say, stopping at -friaries and castles. They’re Blackfriars. Ah, it is policy for men -to visit now and then, getting away from home, changing stories and -learning a bit! Prior’s a man like the rest of us! Tail man told me -when I walked beside him a bit. They’ve got a saint’s bone with them, -and a many poor souls have been healed in this town and that castle.” - -“What like is the prior?” - -“Tall bent man, thin as paper, very pale, with black eyes.” - -“That is not Westforest!” said Godfrey the smith, and looked over the -grey wold to see if they were coming. - -Morgen answered, “No, not Prior Matthew. But it hath a sound of another -I have seen going down High Street and by town cross.” - -“Saint Leofric’s Friary,” said the packman. “Other side England. Aye, -bone of Saint Leofric. Prior Hugh.” - -Through grey air a flake fell, then another and another. “Thirty with -him, do you say? Is there by chance a giant of a friar--you could not -miss him if he were there--Friar Martin?” - -“Oh, aye, I think I saw him,” said the packman. “There was a huge -brother bestriding the strongest horse! Well, I say, say I, black -friars, white friars, grey friars and brown friars are at times ill -as they’re sung, and at times good as they’re sung, and most times in -between the two! But I say for the most part England’s had good of -them. In the most and for the long run!” - -He was speaking to the brown-gold smith. That one agreed with him. “I -think so, too, brother--though I’ve had my buffets--for the most part -and in the long run!” - -The packman had his pony shod and was ready to depart. Snowflakes were -few; he would reach the end of the wold, the sea and his small haven -before night. He looked at the gold-brown smith, hesitated, then, “Come -ye apart for a word!” They moved out under the hill. “You’ve got a fair -woman with you. Do you remember a carter yesterday morn?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“Well, he saith at the Good Man that he saw you in London, you and the -woman there, though you did not see him. He saith a black friar raised -that quarter of London against you and the woman, but especially the -woman for she was a sorceress. But when they came to the house and beat -in the door, you were gone, the two of you. There was one Jankin, but -he knew naught. Well, Harry the carter told all that at the Good Man -yestereve. I thought you might like to know. I might not have told, but -she hath a great look of a sister of mine who’s dead. It is easy to cry -sorcery, and hard to down the cry!” - -“Aye, it is. Take our thanks, friend!” - -The packman mounted his pony and went away through the grey day, the -few flakes of snow. - -“Are you going, too?” asked Emmy. “I see you over wold and you do not -come back. But I wish you to come back and I must weep!” - -“We are pilgrims--we cannot stay! Some one has set us a pilgrimage.” - -In an hour they had parted with the old smith and with Emmy. Englefield -and Morgen Fay went over the wold, not by the road, but by a shepherds’ -path, running hereabouts over and between low hills. From the first of -these they looked back. They could see, almost closely, the smithy and -the hut under the hill. They had loved this place, loved the wold. - -“Love it still and take it with us! So I have the rose tree and Ailsa -and the garden. All things we love go with us, nor can we ever help -that.” - -“So who loveth most hath most treasure!” - -They looked back to the smithy and then to the road that ran almost -beneath them on this hill top. Now they could see approaching a mounted -company, thirty at least, still a good way off but growing larger with -a steady pacing movement. - -“Let us watch. They do not dream we are here. Move yonder and the furze -will hide.” - -Prior Hugh of Saint Leofric, with him a dozen monks and the rest stout -lay Brothers, rode thoughtfully, mounted on his white mule. Out of grey -day, athwart the gathering snow, pictures formed for him. The man and -woman above him, hidden on the hill brow, also saw pictures, vivid, -defined, one after the other. Friar Martin, huge on huge horse, looked -upward as he passed. They saw his great tanned face, his black beard -wagging ever for Saint Leofric. Loyalties--loyalties! - -There passed Prior Hugh and his following. Reaching the smithy they -halted and dismounted. - -Richard Englefield and Morgen Fay went on over the wold, taking faint, -broken paths of shepherds. The sky was grey and came close, they saw -not a living thing on the wold before them, the flakes began to fall a -little more thickly. An hour passed, and now they talked together and -now they were silent. - -Down came the flakes; the flakes came down. Now they were white and -many, steadily, steadily falling. Before long they seemed to quicken, -they became a soft vast multitude, they hid as with curtains the wold -all around. - -“This is the path?” - -“Aye, but there will be a great snow.” - -They walked as fast as they might, but the path ran up and down or -wound in the trough of the low waves of whitened earth. They could not -eat the leagues. And ever the snow came faster. “Three hours yet of -daylight. Time enough to reach Brighthaven. But if the snow covers the -path--” - -The snow covered it. An hour went by. - -“We have all the wold for path! But eastward there lies the sea. And by -my reckoning Grey Farm should be near.” - -“The snow cometh so we cannot be sure--” - -“Art warm?” - -“Aye.” - -Another hour and it was dusk and the snow came steadily, hugely, and -where was sea or east or west or north or south could no longer be told -with assurance. No house or hut, and now at last cold, great cold and -weariness. - -“Grey Farm may be yonder or yonder, but we cannot see. Lost is but -lost--never forever lost!” - -Night! Cold now and ever falling snow, and no path or all path. No -light, no shape other than the wold shape and the snow shape and the -night shape. - -“Art very weary?” - -“Yes, weary!” - -“If we lie down here and sleep it will be to part with life. Let us -try awhile longer. Just a fold of land may keep from us Grey Farm -light.” - -They tried, but no house or light arose. Only they heard something -after a time. - -“Hark to that! What is it?” - -“It is the sea!” - -It came to sound louder. No lights of haven, nor could they have seen -them, perhaps, behind the great moving veils and under woldside and -cliff. - -“I fear to go farther this way for the cliffs! We may fall--” - -“It roars, the sea, and there are lights in my eyes and a singing afar. -I must lie down. I cannot go farther.” - -“A little more--a little more. See! I can help thee so.” - -“Ah, I love thee! But I cannot--Do you not hear music playing?” - -“Here are bushes bent from the sea. Creep under--so! There--now if we -die we die together.” - -The falling, falling, falling snow, and at the base of rock the -sounding sea. - -“What art thou doing? Take thy cloak again!” - -“No, I am warm, warming thee.” - -The snow fell ceaselessly. - -“I am not afraid nor suffering now. No fear, no pain! And thou hast -none?” - -“None!” - -Snow falling--snow falling. The great sea sounding and sounding. - -“Richard, there are violets. It is Wander forest, but so changed.” - -In the night the snow ceased to fall. Dawn came like a white rose, the -shredded petals covering all the earth. - -A small and humble House of Carmelites, set upon a cliff a league from -Brighthaven, kept a goodly habit. After tempest, after snow on wold, -it sent out so many Brothers seeking if there were any harmed. So on -this morning as of fine white wool these at last came upon the cliff -brow and to a line of furze bushes mounded white. They would have -passed them by, for all the earth was heaped with snow and no footprint -anywhere save their own deep ones. But a young Brother saw a bit of -blue mantle. “Oh, here!” - -With their hands they beat away the snow and with their arms they -lifted. The man and woman moved feebly. They lived, though in an hour, -maybe, they would not have lived. The Brothers bore them to the House -and made for them warmth and cheer. Life flowed again, red came to the -lip, light to the eyes, strength to the frame. They rested through -that day and night in the guest house of the monastery. - -The Prior was a saintly man, big of frame, simple and wise. The second -morning the two stood before him to give him thanks and say farewell. -He looked at them somewhat long before speaking. “You are goodly to -look upon,” he said. “I see that you have been through much and will go -through more before heaven is complete. But you are bound for heaven -and Who dwells therein. Take and give blessing!” - -The wold was silver, the sea blue, the sky blue crystal. The road -shown, they went forth from the Carmelites to come to Brighthaven. They -walked hand in hand. “How beautiful is the world!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -The Lord of Montjoy returned from his second and greater pilgrimage. -This time he had seen Jerusalem. He was palmer. Bit of palm was wrought -into his sleeve, stitched into his hat. The Lady of Montjoy held his -castle for him, his son-in-law, young Isabel’s baron, giving advice -across five leagues. Montjoy had been gone nigh three years, for once, -taken prisoner by the Turks, he had been held three months in noisome -prison, and once fever had taken him captive, and once shipwreck and a -desert strand had held him long. Now, returning, he had come through -Italy and through France, alone and afoot, for that was his pilgrimage. -Now he moved across Brittany. There were many shrines in Brittany, and -it held him while he went from the one to the other. But he neared the -sea coast and the port where he would take ship for England. - -A slight dark man with earnest seeking eyes, wrapped in palmer’s grey -with palmer’s hat and staff and scrip, walked a Brittany road, and -pictures of his travels walked with him. They were many, as though a -lifetime had been spent between castle of Montjoy and Jerusalem wall -and back again. So many that they must come like a breadth of the -earth between him and the pictures of three years gone, or five years -gone, or more. That was true, but now and then breadth of earth became -cloud merely; cloud parted, and there were ancient pictures fresh again. - -Now for days they were English pictures. “Because I am nearing home! -They come out to meet and greet me.” But while they were clear they -came also into company of later pictures. His castle knew thousand -other castles, his town multitude of other towns; Silver Cross and -Westforest many and many abbeys and priories. And the palmer, having -grown, could in a measure hold all together and look out upon and -through them. So with the palmer’s whole life. - -Montjoy travelled seaward. The day was bright and Brittany had to him -a flavour of home. Moreover at dawn had come Isabel. She seemed now to -float by his side, her feet just above the grey road. Twice it had been -so in Italy, thrice in the Holy Land. It had been a small thought, that -holding her confined to castle there above Middle Forest, or to church -of Silver Cross where lay only her old robe, or to this or that faint -ring in time! She was everywhere and every time. She was living, she -was with him, here, now! - -“For I, too, change into that space and time,” thought Montjoy. - -Silver Cross, when he came to look at it, still was dear. He regarded -it tranquilly within and without. There sat Mark, yonder moved the -Brothers. The church filled, they chanted, windows became sheets of -jewels, the great picture glowed, light washed the sculptured tomb -beneath which lay, sunken into earth, that which was not Isabel. Here -moved her spirit, near him on Brittany road--enough, enough of her -spirit to make Promise into a glowing rose! - -Light washed Silver Cross that was five hundred years old and might -have five hundred more to live. In a thousand years there was good -and evil, but more good than evil. Even had that strange tale of -five years agone been found to have in it some truth--had there been -canker--still, still, not always had there been canker, nor would there -be always! Canker was never the last word. If there had been canker -there at Silver Cross, or more or less? He did not know, he could -not tell if it were so. His mind, pondering long, had seen certain -things--but he did not know. He must let it alone and, anyhow, go a -pilgrimage. - -Almost five years. The palmer had grown. He saw them now in a pattern, -Silver Cross and Saint Leofric and Westforest. Then light came through -the pattern and melted all into a stronger and finer thing. Just as -Isabel moved more golden, finer, more real, for all that when he put -forth hand, hand did not touch. Spirit touched. Just as in Bethlehem of -Judea, one starlight night, he had become aware that if the kingdom of -Heaven was within, then was within also the Supernal Mother and Bride, -within also the Christ. - -Montjoy, a grey figure, walked the grey road and thought he heard the -sea. It was early morn, and a rose stole into the world. As he walked -the pictures lifted, stood and passed. - -He had grown so that without any conscience pang at all he was glad -that Morgen Fay had not been burned there by town cross. They had -lighted the fagot pile, anyhow, for perchance it might make her suffer, -the witch flown away with the demon! It had burned away in smoke and -flame, but now for long he knew it had not harmed her. Harming and -healing were not just as men thought them! Morgen Fay. Where was she? -He saw her behind circumstance, like Isabel, like the great picture, -like herself, like Morgen Fay. And Morgen Fay, neither, had been just -as he thought her. Seeing further he might see her still more really, -as he now saw Montjoy and Silver Cross and all things else more really. - -The sea sounded, and he came over white road to sight of it. Below lay -a fishing village; he saw the nets and the boats. A small, poor place -it was, but it had the salt of the sea and the rose of the morning. -Montjoy, coming down to it, found himself on clean sand and the tide -coming in. Certain boats were up and away, he saw their deep-coloured -sails standing out between sand and horizon. Others for reasons bided -this day in haven. Two or three were drawn upon the beach, and here, -too, above the tide a new boat was making. About this was gathered a -small crowd of folk, perhaps a score in all. As Montjoy came near he -saw that they were listening to one who spoke, standing upon the sand -among the shavings and chips, underneath the clean bowsprit. Some were -from other boat or from work upon the nets or from the line of houses. -A score, perhaps, seated and standing, eyes turned to the speaker. - -The sea, ancient, youthful, made her everlasting song. Air breathed -salt and fresh, colour was rife. Boats, houses, the incoming wave, the -line of low cliff, fell into picture. Montjoy has seen so many! Could -he have painted he might paint forever and only begin. - -He heard a voice speaking, a voice with quality, that somehow stirred -the pictures. They trembled, pushed slightly by others behind. “Love -and understand! Lay hold where you can, begin where you will!” - -He asked a woman leaning against a boat near the new boat. “Who is it?” - -“It is the smith Richard. He dwelleth in town a league away, but at -times he cometh this way.” - -“Is he preaching?” - -“No. But he talketh to us at times.” - -“He uses your tongue well, but still I would say--” - -“Aye, he comes from over the water.” - -Montjoy moved into the ring of fisher folk. A great flapping hat of -palmer shadowed his face. Those about saw straying pilgrim and gave him -room. - -Richard a smith, not Breton but English. A tall, gold-brown, -simple-seeming man, strong enough, quiet enough, loving enough of -face--and now level ray of the morning sun lighted his face. - -_He did not drown in Wander!_ - -How much was true and how much was mistake of the much that the many -found to say? Like the thunder and murmur and waves of the sea rose -within voices and voices and yet voices. Abbot Mark’s voice Prior -Matthew’s, Prior Hugh’s, Friar Martin’s, Father Edmund’s, the Hermit -by the Old Burying Ground, Brothers Andrew and Barnaby, Anselm’s, -Norbert’s, Somerville’s voice, voice of Master Eustace Bettany and -of young Thomas Bettany, voice even of Godfrey the gaoler, voices of -pilgrims chanting, Middle Forest’s voice, voices of Silver Cross, -voices of his own squires and castle folk, voice of Westforest and -Wander vale. Voice of Morgen Fay. Further back, voice of Isabel, and -then again the heavy waves. “O God, _Thy_ voice!” - -The hubbub sank away. The tide came in with a quiet rhyme. Morning sand -shone in a great golden stillness. Village and sea and boats held in -contentment. The fisher folk sat or stood, listening. The speaker was -speaking, Montjoy a pilgrim, listening, agreeing. Quiet and the salt -air and the sun. Quietness and certitude. _I am, from everlasting to -everlasting._ - -The gold-brown man ceased his speaking or his answering questions, for -it had been largely questioning and answering. Lifting a bundle that -lay beside him he looked to a league-distant point striking out into -the sea, where seemed more houses than were here. One of the fishermen -spoke. “I’ll take you, master, in the _Nightingale_.” - -The small sailboat carried the palmer also,--the palmer and Richard the -smith and two boatmen. The latter were still for questions. “You have -been to Jerusalem? What like is it?” - -“It is so and so,” answered the palmer. “But I say with this man, ‘Let -us now build the New Jerusalem!’” - -The smith turned to him, “There is something in your voice, friend--” - -The red sail and the blue sea, the salt, and the divine fresh morning. -“Is there?” answered Montjoy. “And there is something in yours--” - -The other said in English, “Naught’s impossible ever! A long pilgrimage -from an English castle?” - -“Aye, brother! At Avignon I was shown a great cup made in Paris fifteen -years ago by the English goldsmith, Englefield.” - -The town in front of them was growing larger. The younger boatman had -still his questions about Galilee and Olivet. The fresh wind carried -the boat fast. Here was a long wharf and the town, and quitting the -_Nightingale_, and thanks and partings with the boatmen, then a street -and tall houses heaping toward a castle on the hill. “The lady of the -castle loveth pilgrims,” said Englefield. “And yonder is the great -house of the Franciscans.” - -“If I may I would go with you.” - -“As you wish, Montjoy.” - -Folk were about them, voices and movement. “Is there a quiet place?” - -“There is an old garden at the edge of the town, over the sea.” - -“Then let us go there.” - -They went. Pine trees sighed around, earth lay carpeted with purple -needles. They sat beneath a very great tree, and saw as from a window -azure ocean, and a great ship, white-sailed, making into the west. - -“I have been far, far without,” spoke Montjoy, “but farther, farther -within. When I used to watch you at Silver Cross I believed in you. -Again, listening by the boat yonder, I believed. I have made a journey -and come where I was not before. And still I journey. I can listen now -to whatever you may tell me. Listen, and maybe understand.” - -“I have made a journey, too, Montjoy, and come where I was not before.” -He took up a handful of purple needles and let slip quietly away while -he talked. He told their story,--his story and Morgen Fay’s. - -The pine grove stood above the sea, speaking always with a -multitudinous low voice. Far and far, deep and deep, stretched Mother -Ocean. The white ship, purposeful, still and sure, sped its way from -haven unto haven. The great vault of heaven held all. - -“You are together, you and Morgen Fay?” - -“Aye, together.” - -From the grove might be seen the high roofs of the town climbing to a -huge, four-towered castle. - -“I work again as goldsmith, making for who will buy. Yonder you may -see the roof of our house. An old workman of mine, now palsied and -helpless, lives with his brother in that fishing village. On a holiday, -as this is, I walk to see him. It has come about that I may talk to -folk here and there--in that fishing village and elsewhere.” - -“Is there no danger in that?” - -“Perhaps! But those who have lived and suffered and learned through -living and suffering, may help. So with Morgen Fay and so with me.” - -“I would see her if I might.” - -“Come then and sleep this night in the smith’s house.” - -They went there. A small, timbered house, one story overhanging -another, old, quiet, with the castle soaring above and the bell of the -church of the Franciscans ringing near. Within, in a dusky wide room, -rose from her book Morgen Fay, jewel-like, rose-like, flame-like. -Montjoy, looking, saw nothing that wounded Isabel, nor that wounded the -Reality behind the great picture at Silver Cross. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 50557-0.txt or 50557-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/5/5/50557/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Silver Cross - -Author: Mary Johnston - -Release Date: November 26, 2015 [EBook #50557] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1 class="faux">SILVER CROSS</h1> - -<div class="transnote"> - <h2 class="nopagebreak" title="">Transcriber’s Note</h2> - -<p>Variant spelling is retained, a very few changes have been made to -standardize punctuation and spelling.</p> -</div> - -<div class="cover"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter bordered"> - <div class="bordered"> - <p class="center title1">SILVER CROSS</p> - - <p class="center title2"><i>By</i></p> - - <p class="center title3">MARY JOHNSTON</p> - - <div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/title.jpg" alt="Silver Cross" /> - </div> - - <p class="center title4"><span class="smcap">BOSTON</span><br /> - LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br /> - 1922 - </p> - - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center space_above"> - <i>Copyright, 1922</i><br /> - <span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company.</span> -</p> -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center"> - <i>All rights reserved</i><br /> - Published March, 1922</p> - -<p class="printed"><span class="smcap">Printed in the United States of America</span></p> - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></p> - -<h2 title="CHAPTER I"><span class="main_heading">SILVER CROSS</span><br /> -CHAPTER <abbr title="1">I</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Henry the Seventh</span> sat upon the throne.</p> - -<p>The town of Middle Forest had long since -pushed the forest from all sides. Its streets, -forked as lightning, ran up to the castle and down -to the river. The river here was near its mouth, -and wide. The bridge that crossed it had many -arches. Below the bridge quite large craft, white -and brown and dull red, sailed or dropping sail, -came to anchor. Answering to hour and weather -the water spread carnation, gold, sapphire, jade, -opal, lead and ebony. Now it slept glassy, and -now wind made of it a fretful, ridged thing. The -note of the town was a bleached grey, but with -strong splashes of red and umber. A sharp, -steep hill upheld the castle that was of middle -size and importance, built by the lords Montjoy -and held now by William of that name.</p> - -<p>Behind the town a downward sloping wood -tied the castle hill to fields and meadows. The -small river Wander ran by these on its way to -join the greater stream. Up the Wander, two -leagues or so, in a fertile vale couched the Abbey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -of Silver Cross. Materially speaking, a knot of -stone houses for monks—Cistercians, White -Monks—a stately stone house for God and his -Son and Mary; near-by a quite unstately hamlet, -timber, daub and thatch, grown haphazard by -church and cloister; many score broad acres, -wood and field, stream and pasture, mill, forge, -weirs, and a tenant roll of goodly length,—such -was Silver Cross. So far as physical possessions -went what in this region Montjoy did not hold -Silver Cross did and what the two did not hold -Middle Forest had managed to wrest from them -in Henry Sixth’s time. Silver Cross had, too, -immaterial possessions. But once she had been -wealthier here than she was now. That time had -been even with a time of material poverty. Now -she had goods, but she did not have so much sanctity. -Yet there were values still, marked with that -other world’s seal; it is useless to doubt that.</p> - -<p>The thorn in Silver Cross’ flesh was not now -Montjoy nor Middle Forest, with both of whom -she had for years lived in amity. The thorn was -the Friary of Saint Leofric—Dominican—across -the river from Middle Forest, but tied to -it by the bridge, holding its lands well away from -Montjoy and Silver Cross, but rival nevertheless, -with an eye to king’s favour, cardinal’s favour, -and bidding latterly, with a distinctness, for popular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -favour. That was the wretched, irritating -thorn, likely to produce inflammation! Prior -Hugh of Saint Leofric—ah, the ambitious one!</p> - -<p>Silver Cross possessed in a splendid <i>loculus</i> the -span-long silver cross that the lips of Saint Willebrod, -the martyr, had kissed after head and trunk -were parted. In ancient times it had worked -many miracles, but in this modern day the miraculous -was grown drowsy. Saint Leofric had the -bones of Saint Leofric,—all, that is, save the -right hand and arm. That is, once and for ages -these had lacked. But now—this very Easter—the -missing members had been found: miraculously -pointed out, miraculously found! There -had been long pause in working miracles, but now -Saint Leofric was working them again. Middle -Forest talked more of Saint Leofric who was, as -it were, a foreigner, being across the river, lord -of nothing on this side—than it talked of Silver -Cross that was its own. Not alone Middle Forest, -but all this slice of England. Silver Cross found -the mounting bruit discordant, a very peacock -scream. Silver Cross slurred the fresh miracles -of Saint Leofric and detested Prior Hugh. Silver -Cross’s own abbot, Abbot Mark, said that -Apollyon made somewhere a market.</p> - -<p>The river lay stretched and still, red with the -sunset, deep blue where the blue summer sky yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -abided. “Like the Blessed Virgin’s robe and -cloak!” said Morgen Fay. “The bridge is her -gemmed girdle.”</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay’s house was a river-side one, built -up sheer indeed from the river so that one might -take welcomes, flung toys, from passing boats. -Morgen Fay took them, leaning from her window. -Her voice floated down in return; sometimes she -flung a flower. She had a garden, large as a -kerchief, beside the house, hidden almost by a -jut of the old town wall. Here she gathered the -flowers she flung. Sometimes he who had been in -the boat came again, walking, to her door that was -discreet, in the shadow of the wall. But he only -gained entry if he were somehow friend of a -friend. And all alike must be <i>armiger</i>, or at least -not the least in the burgher world. And, logically, -only those of these entered who could be friends -and pay. Would you have love for nothing? She -had an answer always ready to that. “I must -live!”</p> - -<p>The sunset spread. There was more red than -blue. “She is so close wrapped in her mantle that -you can hardly see the heavenly blue core of her.—Oh, -Mother and Mother and Mother—where -are we and what are we?”</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay went into her garden. Company -was coming for supper. Best break a few more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> -flowers. The flowers were June flowers, roses -and yellow lilies, larkspur and pinks. They had -the sunset hues. The owner of the garden broke -them, tall herself as the lilies, white and vermeil -like the roses.</p> - -<p>The sunset died out and the river stretched first -pearl and then lead and then ebony.</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay had a little oaken room where -boards were laid upon trestles and covered with a -fringed cloth, and dishes and flasks and goblets -set upon this. An old woman, large but light -upon her feet, spread the table, Morgen helping. -The old woman’s son kept the street door. He -was a lazy lout but obedient, strong, too, of his -fists and with a voice that could summon, if need -were, not the dead but the watch. His name was -Anthony, the old woman’s Ailsa, and Morgen -Fay had known them since she was a young child. -Now they were in her employ.</p> - -<p>Said Ailsa, “’Tis Somerville’s company?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. You know that. How many candles? -You’d best bring three more.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will. Is that the gown you’re going to -wear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s my best.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s not the one you like the best—so ’t isn’t -your best after all, is it? You don’t like Somerville -as well as you did last Lady Day.”</p> - -<p>“What does it matter if I like him or don’t like -him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you won’t keep him if you don’t like him! -He’ll go as others have gone. ‘Keep!’ Lord! -With most of blessed women it’s the other way -’round!”</p> - -<p>She brought the candles. “Do you like Master -Bettany?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“He’s richer than the knight—just as he’s -younger. I say that Somerville’s holding a light -for his own house’s sacking!”</p> - -<p>“I say that I am tired. I like neither man nor -woman, I nor thou.”</p> - -<p>“Are you cold? Will you have a little fire? -Here, take wine!”</p> - -<p>“Joy from wine is falseness like the rest. -Give it to me!”</p> - -<p>Morgen drank. “I’ll have just time to put on -the other dress if you think it sets me better.”</p> - -<p>She went and put it on, returning to the oak -room. Ailsa regarded results with eyes of a -friendly critic. “It does! Montjoy knows how -to choose—learned it, I reckon, in France!” -She stood with her hands on her hips. She, too, -had taken wine and now she loosed tongue, regarding -all the time the younger woman with a -selfish and unselfish affection, submitting to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -wonder of her, but standing up for the right by -prescription of half-ruling the wonder. Morgen -had a voice of frankincense and music with a drop -of clear oil. Ailsa had more of the oil and a humbler -music. “Say you ‘Falseness?’ Say you -‘Coldness?’ Say you ‘Darkness!’ You’re a -bright fool, Morgen-live-by-the-river!”</p> - -<p>“Granted I am a fool,” said Morgen, and -kneeled on the window seat.</p> - -<p>The older woman’s voice rose. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>“Doesn’t fire -warm you, and good sweet sack? Don’t you lie -soft? Don’t you have jewels and gold work and -silk of Cyprus? Don’t gentlemen and rich merchants -come for your stroking? Haven’t you got -a garden where you can walk and a tight house, -and a pearl net for your hair, and a velvet shoe? -Doesn’t Montjoy protect you for old time’s sake—even -though now the fool goes off after religion? -Religion! Don’t you go to Mass and -give candles—wax ones—and doesn’t Father -Edwin, your cousin, make all safe for you in that -quarter? Oh, the Saints! There’s king’s power, -and there’s priest’s power, and there’s woman’s -power! World slurs you and world loves you, -Morgen and Morgen! Go to! Fie on you! -Shorten your long face! Where’s falseness—anything -to speak of, that is? Where’s coldness -and darkness? The world’s been a good world -to you, mistress, ever since you danced at the -Great Fair here, and Warham House saw you -and took you and taught you! A pretty good -world!”</p> - -<p>“As worlds go—poor, dumb things! Yes, I -say they are poor, dumb things! Light the -candles!”</p> - -<p>The large woman drew close the curtains over -the window that gave upon the street and lighted -the candles. There was wood laid within the fireplace. -She regarded this. “It’s a cool June—and, -Our Lady! we seem to need mirth here to-night! -Fire and wine—wine and fire!”</p> - -<p>She left the room for the kitchen, and returning -with a flaming brand, struck it amid the cold -wood. All took fire. “Better, isn’t it? I hear -company’s footfall!”</p> - -<p>The company thought the oak room shining to-night. -They thought Morgen Fay fair and joyous. -Sir Robert Somerville was yet in love,—none -of her old loves went wholly out of love. But -he was not so fathoms deep in love as once he had -been. He had left the miser stage and now he was -at the expansive, willing to feed pride by showing -his easy wealth. He moved a tall man of forty-odd, -with a quick, odd grimacing face, not unpleasing. -He had a decisive voice and more gesture -than was the country’s custom. With him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -came a guest in his house to whom he wished to -show the oak casket and the gem it contained, a -cousin from the other side of England, Sir Humphrey -Somerville, to wit,—and Master Thomas -Bettany, son and heir of the richest merchant -in Middle Forest. They kissed Morgen Fay who -put on magic and welcomed them. It was as -though the river outside, that had been lead to -ebony, ran now through faint silver back to rose.</p> - -<p>There was a settle by the fire and Morgen sat -here, and by her Sir Robert, and Sir Humphrey -opposite, and Master Bettany in a poorer chair in -front of the flames. Master Bettany was the -youngest there,—a great, blond boy with blue -eyes of daring, with enormous desire for adventure, -experience, plots and mysteries. Salt and -sugar must be elaborately planned for, approached -with a delicate, shivering sense of danger, -of play and play again and something to risk, -or truly life was not sugared nor salted! He was -for islands said to be danger-circled and with a -witch for queen! He was likewise modest and -kind-hearted, and as he could not devise evil, the -evil he believed in was highly artificial. Sir -Humphrey Somerville was as large for man as -Ailsa was for women. He had brown hair and -a beak of a nose and the eyes of a wag, but behind -the waggery something formidable in his face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<p>Such as they were, they had a merry evening, -when the food was brought and the wine was -poured; and Morgen, too, turned merry, though, -as ever, she kept measure, for that was the way -she ruled.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="2">II</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Up</span> in the castle also was company to supper. -William, Lord of Montjoy, entertained his cousin, -Abbot Mark from Silver Cross, and Prior Matthew -of Westforest, a dependent House further -up the Wander. Montjoy showed a small, dark, -wistful man. The Abbot had too much flesh for -comfort, a great, handsome, egg-shaped face, and -a manner that oozed bland, undoubting authority. -He had long ago settled that he was good and -wise. But, strangely, was left the struggle to be -happy! It took a man’s time! Just there, something -or some one perpetually interfered! But -it was something to be sure that you served God -and Holy Church. Asked how he served, he -might, after cogitation, have answered that he -served by his being. Moreover, as times went, he -was scrupulous, gave small houseroom to scandal, -ruled monk and tenant, beautified the great -church of Silver Cross, bought Italian altar pictures.</p> - -<p>Matthew of Westforest was another sort. Tall -and shrivelled and reddish, he had another manner -of wit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>The three supped in the castle hall, at the upper -end of a table accommodating a half-score above -the salt and thrice that number below. Beside -Montjoy sat Lady Alice, his wife. There were -likewise a young girl, his daughter Isabel, and his -sister, also young, married and widowed, Dame -Elenore.</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark talked much to these three, benevolently, -with gallantry looking around corners. -The Prior maintained silence here. The features -he secretly praised were the beautiful features -of Outward Advancement. Montjoy at supper -talked little. After a life of apparent unconcern -he was beginning to think of soul’s life. Perhaps -once a day he felt a shift of consciousness. Now -it came like a zephyr from some differing, surely -sweeter clime, and now like a clean dagger stroke. -After these events, which never took more time -to happen than the winking of an eye, he saw -some great expanse of things differently. He was -learning to lie in wait for these instants. Laid -one to another, they were becoming the hub -around which the day’s wheel ran. But truly they -were but instants and came but once in so often, -taking him when it pleased them. And the lightning -might have showed him—perhaps did show -him—that there was an unknown number of -things yet to change. They might be very many.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -He knew in no wise definitely whence came the -fragrant air and the dagger strokes.</p> - -<p>At the moment when the chronicle opens, he -had turned back, in his questing, to the broad -realm of Holy Church. Holy Church said that -she sat, acquiescent, wise, at the door through -which such things came. In fact, she said, she -had the keys. Montjoy, being no fool, saw, indeed, -how much of the portress was lewd and -drunken. But for all that surely she had been -given the keys! Given them once, surely she -could not have parted with them! He rebuked -the notion. And truly he knew much that was -good of the portress, much that was very good. -He thought, “I will better serve Religion”—conceiving -that to be Holy Church’s high name. -But he was bewildered between high name and -low name, between the saint there in the portress -and the evident harlot. Between the goodness -and the evil!</p> - -<p>He was led by a longing for union and he only -knew that it was not for old unions that once had -contented. He could have those at any time if he -willed them again. But he knew that they would -not content. The longing was larger and demanded -a larger reciprocal. He was knight-errant -now in the interior land of romance, out -to find that reciprocal, visited with gleams from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -some presence, but wandering often, turning in -mistake now here, now there.</p> - -<p>Supper ended. Abbot Mark had come to the -castle for counsel, or at the least, for intelligent -sympathy. It was too general in the hall. The -withdrawing room would be better. They went -to this, but still there was play, with a fire for a -cool June evening, with lights and musical instruments, -Dame Elenore’s hands upon the virginals, -young Isabel’s fresh voice singing with a young -knight, man of Montjoy’s, two gentlewomen serving -Lady Alice murmuring over a tapestry frame,—and -the Abbot soothed, happy, in the great -chair near Dame Elenore. Prior Matthew shook -himself. “Business! Business!” was his true -motto and inner word. He spoke in a low voice -to the Abbot, deferentially, for the Priory deduced -from the Abbey, but monitory also, perhaps -even minatory. Abbot and Prior alike knew that -when it came to business the Prior had the head.</p> - -<p>The Abbot sighed and turned from Dame -Elenore to Montjoy who was brooding, chin on -fist, eyes on fire. “We must ride early to Silver -Cross, Montjoy! Counsel is good, they say, -taken in the warm, still hour before bedtime.”</p> - -<p>Dame Elenore lifted her hands from the virginals. -Montjoy’s wife spoke to her women and, -the song being done, to her daughter. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>“We will -go, my lord. Give you good night! Your blessing, -Lord Abbot!” She kneeled for it, as did -young Isabel and Dame Elenore and the two -gentlewomen and the young knight and Gilbert -the page. The Abbot blessed; the women and the -young men took their departure. Montjoy and -Silver Cross and Westforest had the room and -the fire and through the window the view, did -they choose to regard it, of the town roofs and -twisting, crack-like streets, and of the river, now -under the gleaming of a rising moon, and a line -that was the bridge, and a mound on the farther -side crowned by a twinkling constellation, lights -of Saint Leofric’s monks. The Abbot did so look, -walking heavily the room and pausing by the window. -It was with peevish face and gesture that -he returned to the great chair “Do you hear each -day, Montjoy, louder news of what Hugh is doing?”</p> - -<p>“Is it Prior Hugh, or is it Saint Leofric? If -it be Hugh, I say that long since we knew that he -was ambitious and glory-covetous. If it be the -saint—how shall you war against him?”</p> - -<p>“If Saint Willebrod would arise to war—”</p> - -<p>“Would they war—two saints?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Would he not come to aid of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Robert, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> -Bernard, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Stephen and Abbey of Silver Cross? -Just as Montjoy would draw blade for his suzerain? -Chivalry, loyalty and fealty must hold in -heaven,” said the Abbot.</p> - -<p>“If there is One behind Saint Leofric—”</p> - -<p>“Never believe it!” The Prior spoke hastily. -“Moreover, my son, it is certainly not Leofric. -It is Hugh!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy sat brooding. His guests watched -him. Presently he spoke. “Two days ago, returning -from hawking in Long Fields, I met a -man who had sat and woven baskets from his -youth because he could not walk, being smitten in -both feet. He was walking, he was skipping and -running. ‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ he -kept crying out, and those with him cried, ‘Saint -Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ I halted one of them. -‘The right hand and arm—the right hand and -arm that were found, lord! He touched but the -little finger—and look how he leaps and runs!’”</p> - -<p>The Abbot groaned.</p> - -<p>“I rode on farther and I met a stream of folk -on their way to the bridge. They had made themselves -into a procession and were chanting. I remember -easily and I can almost give you their -chant. It ran something like this.”</p> - -<p>He began to chant, but not loudly.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“‘They were found through a dream,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></div> - <div class="p_line">They were shown to Brother Paul,</div> - <div class="p_line">A saintly monk,</div> - <div class="p_line">Where they rested</div> - <div class="p_line">Under a stone</div> - <div class="p_line">In a place prepared of old</div> - <div class="p_line">In Saint Leofric’s great church!</div> - <div class="p_line">The white bones,</div> - <div class="p_line">The right arm and the right hand,</div> - <div class="p_line">Miraculous!</div> - <div class="p_line">In the monk’s dream</div> - <div class="p_line">They shone through the stone</div> - <div class="p_line">Making a pool of light.</div> - <div class="p_line">Saint Leofric painted in the window</div> - <div class="p_line">Came down and kneeled over it.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Again the Abbot groaned. “So saith Hugh!”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“‘Good Prior Hugh made to dig.</div> - <div class="p_line">There in sweet earth,</div> - <div class="p_line">In spices and linen,</div> - <div class="p_line">The right hand and arm</div> - <div class="p_line">At last!</div> - <div class="p_line">Yea, it shineth forth—</div> - <div class="p_line">Saint Leofric smileth in his window!’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>The Abbot groaned the third time. “Sathanas -smileth!”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“‘Now are the bones together,</div> - <div class="p_line">They shine with a sunny light,</div> - <div class="p_line">Working miracles!—</div> - <div class="p_line">From the four corners come</div> - <div class="p_line">The sick and the sorrowful—’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aye! Bringing gifts!”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“‘Saint Leofric’s name is in all mouths,</div> - <div class="p_line">His glory encreaseth over Silver Cross!’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>“I should not have said it—I should not have -said it!” cried the Abbot. “But with the inconstant -and weak generality it doth! What is it this -part England rings with—yea, that the rest of -England begins to learn? Do we not hear that a -pilgrimage comes from London itself? <em>The -missing bones of Saint Leofric have been -found!</em>”</p> - -<p>“And have they not?” said Montjoy.</p> - -<p>There followed a pause. A log cracked and fell -upon the hearth. Light and shadow leaped about -the room. The Prior spoke. “It is a matter of -observation,” he said, and seemed to study his -ring, “that there are cases when acts belief as -belief, whether it be correctly addressed to a -reality or squandered before a falsity.”</p> - -<p>“I have met that witch,” answered Montjoy, -“and she palsies me!” He went to the window -and stood looking out at the moon-silvered town -and river. Presently back he came. “Against -what or whom do you shake a lance? If it be -against a saint and his true miracles, I lay the -quarrel down—”</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark spoke weightily. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>“And so should -I, Montjoy, and so should I! But if it be against -falsity? If it be against Hugh and his frauds?”</p> - -<p>“Prove that!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot turned toward the Prior. The latter -nodded and spoke. “We brought with us two -wandering friars—Franciscans. Westforest has -known them long. They are not the idle and -greedy rogues that bring us down with the people. -They are right Mendicants, travelling from place -to place to do good. Will it please you have them -summoned?”</p> - -<p>A silver bell stood upon the table. Montjoy -struck it. His page appeared, took commands -and bowing vanished. Abbot Mark began to -speak of the church at Silver Cross and how he -would make it so rich and beautiful! Now Montjoy -loved this church. Buried beneath it were -his parents, and buried his first young wife, the -one whom he loved as he did not love Dame Alice. -It was she he had loved through and beyond Morgen -Fay, loving something of her in that sinner -from whom, in concern for his soul, he had -parted. He listened to the Abbot. Certainly -Silver Cross was the highest, the most beauteous, -and must be kept so! He knew Silver Cross, -church and cloister, in and out, when he was a -boy and after. He had love and concern for it—love -almost of a lover—jealous love. Prior -Hugh and Saint Leofric must not go beyond -bounds!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> - -<p>The two friars entered, Andrew and Barnaby, -honest-looking men, Andrew the more intelligent. -They stood by the door with hands crossed and -Montjoy observed them. Given permission to -advance and speak they came discreetly, with -modesty, into conclave. Without preamble, they -began.</p> - -<p>The Abbot spoke. “My sons, the Lord Montjoy -who hath ever been devout toward Saint -Willebrod and his Abbey of Silver Cross—yea, -who hath been, like his father before him, advocate -and protector and enricher of the same, -bringing from overseas emeralds, rubies and -sapphires for that marvel the casket where lies -that world’s marvel, the cross of Saint Willebrod—the -Lord Montjoy, my sons, would have from -your own lips that which you heard and saw in -April, it now being late June.—Question them, -Matthew, so that they may show it forth expeditiously.”</p> - -<p>The Prior squared himself to the task. -“Where were you, my sons, two weeks before -Easter?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Across the river, reverend father. The -granddame of Brother Barnaby here, living at -Damson Lane, was breathing her last and greatly -wishful to see him. She died—may her soul -rest—and we buried her. Then we would go a -little further, not having been upon yonder side -for some while.”</p> - -<p>“You did not go brawling along, nor fled into -every alehouse as if Satan were after you?”</p> - -<p>“Lord of Montjoy, we are not friars of that -stripe. We are clean men and sober, praise God -and Our Lady!”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye, they speak truth, Montjoy.—Well, -you walked in country over there, avoiding Friary -and town—if one can call that clump of mud, -pebble and thatch a town!”</p> - -<p>“Why did you do that?”</p> - -<p>“Brother Barnaby, lord, had had a dream. In -it a Shining One plucked up towns like weeds and -threw them one by one into a great and deep pit. -There was left alive only country road, heath and -field and wood. So he awoke quaking and said, -‘I go through never a town gate this journey!’”</p> - -<p>“That was a discomfortable dream!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot spoke. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>“I interpret it. The towns, -one by one, are that one which Hugh, dreaming -and dreaming again, thinks to see rise beside his -Friary, built from pilgrims’ wealth, with hostels -for pilgrims and merchants to sell them goods, -and a great house for nobles who come!—But a -Shining One, Hugh! topples them into ditches, -yea, into gulfs, as fast as you build them! Ha! -Go on, my son!”</p> - -<p>“So we passed the town and we wandered, reverend -father, until we came to the chapel of Damson -Hill, three miles from Saint Leofric’s, where -the dead country folk lie under green grass. -Damson Wood is hard by, where watches and -prays the good hermit Gregory—”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye, a good man!” said Montjoy.</p> - -<p>“By now the sun was setting. He gave us -water and bread, and after praying we lay down -to sleep with only our gowns for bed and bedding. -Brother Barnaby and I slept, but on the middle -of the night we waked. Then saw we the hermit -standing praying, and when he saw that we no -longer slept he said to us, ‘Misdoing is moving -through this night. Misdoing in high places!’ -So he went to the door and stood a long time looking -out, then took his staff and strode forth, and -Brother Barnaby and I followed.”</p> - -<p>“I know that he is said to have the greater -vision,” said Montjoy. “Moreover, once in my -life, he told me high truth.”</p> - -<p>“Where did the holy man go, my son?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He went through the black night, reverend -father, to Damson Hill and to the great and ill-kept -graveyard under the shadow. Brother Barnaby -and I followed him. He walked softly and -he walked swiftly and he walked silently, and -when we came there we did not stop by the chapel -which truly is a ruin, but we went on to the far -slope of the yard—”</p> - -<p>The Prior said, “Where they are buried who -died long since, of the plague that came in King -Richard’s time.”</p> - -<p>“I know the place,” said Montjoy.</p> - -<p>“Reverend father, there are three yew trees, -old, I reckon, as Damson Hill, and thick. Like -one who knows what he is about he passed within -the castle of these and we followed and made a -place whence we looked forth like eyes out of a -skull. And we saw, across the dead field, a little -light burning blue and coming toward us. Arm -of the hill hid it from the road. But had any belated -seen it he would most certainly have -thought, ‘A ghost among the graves!’ and taken -to his heels.”</p> - -<p>“It came toward you. Who carried it?”</p> - -<p>“One of six, reverend father. We were there -in the yew clump with less noise than maketh a -bat. They came closer and closer and at last they -came close, and now they did not shelter their lantern -for they thought, ‘The shoulder of the hill -and the yew trees hide, and who should be abroad -in this place in the black and middle night, and who -should know of a villainy working?’”</p> - -<p>The Abbot brought his finger tips together. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>“It is ever discovered!—They dig a pit and fall -into it; they open a grave and lift out their own -perdition!”</p> - -<p>“They opened a grave?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, lord. A very ancient, sunken one.”</p> - -<p>“Some unknown,” said the Prior. “Some -wretch of ancient time, seized by the plague, dying—who -knows?—unshriven, lazar mayhap -or thief! Proceed, my son!”</p> - -<p>“Two had spades. They spread a great cloth. -They lay the green turf to one side of this, and in -the middle the earth of the grave. They work -hard and they work fast, and a monk directs—”</p> - -<p>“Monk of Saint Leofric’s?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, lord, Dominican. White-and-black. -They open the grave and they bring forth bones—the -frame of that perished one.”</p> - -<p>The Abbot groaned. “Perished mayhap in his -sins—yea, almost certainly in his sins—and so -no better than heathen or than sorcerer!”</p> - -<p>“They spread a second cloth, and having shaken -forth the earth, they put in it the bones of that obscure—yea, -right arm and hand with the -rest—”</p> - -<p>“See you, Montjoy?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then, having that which they need, they fill in -the grave with care. They put over it the sod -they had taken away. Rain and sun must presently -make it whole. And probably no man hath -ever gone that way to look. So the six went away -as though they had moth wings, and now with no -light—”</p> - -<p>“Yet they give forth that right hand and arm -doth shine, giving light whereby a reading man -may read! Wherefore—oh, Hugh!—shone it -not by Damson Hill?”</p> - -<p>Said Montjoy, “All this is enough to father -Suspicion, but the child must be named Certainty.”</p> - -<p>“Then listen further!—Proceed, my son. -You two and the hermit followed?”</p> - -<p>“We followed, reverend father. Under Damson -Hill those six parted, and three went by divers -ways, belike to their own dwellings. But the -three with the bones they had digged went Saint -Leofric’s road. We followed Blackfriar and his -fellows who would be lay brethren. The moon -shone out. We followed to Friary Gate and saw -them enter.”</p> - -<p>“And then?”</p> - -<p>“Gregory the hermit turned and went again to -Damson Wood, and we with him. When we -came to his cell there was red east.”</p> - -<p>“What did you think of what you had seen?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We could conceive naught, lord. We did not -know that which was to be proclaimed in Easter -week. But the hermit said thrice, ‘Villainy! Villainy! -Villainy! A shepherd hath turned villain!’”</p> - -<p>Brother Barnaby came in. “He said besides, -‘I see what you cannot see, good brothers! But -dimly, and I cannot explain to myself what I -see.’”</p> - -<p>“I had forgot that.”</p> - -<p>“He said also. ‘Talk not, till you know of -what you are talking,’ and he took from us a -promise of silence.”</p> - -<p>“I was coming to that, brother.—We are not -gabblers, reverend father. We left Damson -Wood and came down to the bridge and crossed -river to our own side. We said naught, remembering, -‘Talk not till you know of what you are -talking.’ Two days went by, and then near Little -Winching, up the Wander, down lay Brother -Barnaby with a fever, and I must nurse him for a -month. He, being very sick, forgot, and I being -busy and concerned, nigh forgot Damson Graveyard -and Saint Leofric’s Gate. Then, Brother -Barnaby getting well and we walking in a fair -morning to Little Winching, there meets us all -the bruit!”</p> - -<p>“And still”—Brother Barnaby came in again—“we -said nothing. But it burned our hearts. -So said Brother Andrew, ‘We will go take this -thing to Prior Matthew of Westforest.’”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> -<p>“And so they did, according to right inner -counsel,” said the Prior. He turned in his chair. -“You may go now, my sons. But on your obedience, -speak as yet to none other of these things!”</p> - -<p>Brother Andrew and Brother Barnaby craved -blessing, received it and vanished. There was -pause, then, “If we check not Hugh,” said the -Abbot, “we shall have loss and shame, being no -longer the first, the pupil of the eye, to this part -England!”</p> - -<p>“If they spoke,” said Montjoy, “none would -believe them against the miracles. Nor do I know -if I would believe. Say that one saw the robbed -grave—what then? One travels not much further! -I would believe, I think, the hermit.”</p> - -<p>“Then will you ride, Montjoy, to Damson -Wood?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will go there. But my believing and -yours and Gregory’s and the friars’ make not yet -the people’s believing. Here is stuff for splendid -quarrel with Hugh—but in the meantime go the -folk in rivers, touch the relics and are healed!”</p> - -<p>“What we need,” said the Prior, and he spoke -slowly and cautiously, “is counter-miracle.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but you cannot order the Saints!”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>It was again the Prior who spoke and apparently -in agreement. The Abbot sighed. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>“Well, -let us to bed!—Go to Damson Wood, Montjoy, -and then ride to Silver Cross.”</p> - -<p>“I will do that. I see,” said Montjoy, “the -mischief that this thing does you—”</p> - -<p>Even as he spoke he had a vision of the Abbey -church of Silver Cross. He saw the tombs and -the sculptured figure of Isabel whom he had loved, -and the great altar painting of Our Lady done in -Italy. Under the breath of his mind he thought -that that form and face were like Isabel’s. So like -that almost she might have been in that Italian -painter’s mind when he painted this glorified -woman standing buoyant, in carnation and sapphire, -among clouds that thinned into clear blue -that passed in its turn into light that blinded. He -saw the glowing glass in the great windows; he -saw the gems—the gems that he had given -among them—sparkling in the golden box that -held the silver cross. He saw the people on holy -days flooding the famous church. They warmed -with eyes of life the stone mother and father, the -stone Isabel. The many people’s bended knees, -their recognition, helped to assure eternal life in -the Queen of Heaven pictured in the great painting,—and -surely so in Isabel, the picture was so -like her! The more people the more life—Isabel -surely safely there in the eternal Bride and -Mother—and if Isabel then surely he, too, her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>lover and husband, he, too, Montjoy! The -people must flow there still, recognising life when -they saw it and as it were, giving life, increasing -life.</p> - -<p>Anything that turned the people away from -Silver Cross became in that act the enemy of -Montjoy; anything that kept them flowing there, -that made them more in number, the friend of -Montjoy.</p> - -<p>But Abbot and Prior, lodged in connecting -chambers and speaking together before they laid -themselves to sleep in huge beds, shook their -heads over him. Or rather the Abbot did so. -The Prior was not liberal with sighs and gestures. -“He’ll agree to no shift that smacks of the -lie, however slight, necessary, simply defensive, -pious it be—”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure? I am not,” answered Matthew. -“But if he will not—keep him blind like -other men, blind and usable! He may indeed -prove more usable for being blind.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="3">III</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> same night the monk, Richard Englefield, -lay upon his pallet in his cell at Silver Cross. -The moon shone in at the small window. He was -addressed to observing with his mind’s eye a -round of other places upon which she shone. The -grange where he had been born and had spent -childhood and somewhat of boyhood, rose softly. -The mill water caught light, the gable end of the -house stood, a figure like a silver shield enlarged,—shield -of Arthur, shield of Tristram, shield of -an old enchanter! The fields spread in moonlight -where he worked. He smelled the upturned -clods and the springing corn, and he smelled the -sere fields under October moon. The moon shone -on the town, that was not Middle Forest, where -he had been apprenticed to a worker in gold. The -moon made the roofs that mounted with their -windows, and the plastered house with the criss-cross -of timbers, into a rood screen for a giant’s -church. Beyond lay the sea, and the moon made -for herself a path across that.</p> - -<p>Stella Maris—</p> - -<p>The sea under moon. He had been across the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>sea, to France and to Italy, but that was after the -rood-screen town. It was when he had become a -master workman, a skilled goldsmith, working for -princes, working as an artist works, and when he -had come to books—to books—to books.—The -moon on the sea, on the coasts of Italy!</p> - -<p>The moon on the graves of kindred and friends,—the -cold moon. The moon above weariness -and sighing—nights unsleeping, walkings -abroad—plans spun and plans torn apart and -shredded to the winds. The moon upon sins, the -moon upon sorrows.</p> - -<p>The moon shining down on the sea, on the -coasts of Italy!</p> - -<p>The moon upon the hours after work, when he -read by the candle, when he put it out and looked -upon the night.—Moonlight streaming in at the -old room’s window, the window so high in the -high roof of the tall, old house.</p> - -<p>Thought and thought and thought!—Conviction -that there was some adventure—</p> - -<p>Warfare, warring and sinning, lusting. Pride -that beset him. Pride of being proud. Very love -of self-love. Very care of self-care. Self!</p> - -<p>The moon on the coasts of Italy!</p> - -<p>Men he had known, out of many men, and talk -with them. The old priest.</p> - -<p>The moon on the coasts of Italy!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> -<p>The old priest.—Illness. Long illness when -death’s door had seemed to open. The priest still. -Recovery—and still the priest.</p> - -<p>Wickedness again. Self-will and self-laudation. -Self! Longing, longing and discontent, -and ashes in the mouth. Longing and naught to -still it. Not work and not thought!</p> - -<p>The priest again. Longing. One thing laid -down and another taken up and laid down. Hunger—hunger -and thirst—cold and hunger and -thirst. If you were in warm taverns, if you were -in palaces, yet cold and hunger and thirst. You -must hunt warmth, you must hunt bread, you -must hunt water. And when you thought you -had found came the snow in at the door, came the -harpies and snatched the tables away!</p> - -<p>God—Christ and His Mother—heaven. -They had the food—the water that quenched -thirst,—the inner fire.</p> - -<p>Where were you nearest, nearest?</p> - -<p>Work fallen away because he must hunt. -Cronies and those whom he thought friends estranged.</p> - -<p>Hunt and hunt and hunt. Dig inside, and outside -serve—</p> - -<p>Where was the outer land that was nearest -inner?</p> - -<p>God and Christ and His Mother and heaven. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>They dwelled in the inner that he was hunting. -Holy Church was the nearest land.</p> - -<p>The moon on monastery fields—the moon on -the coasts of Italy!</p> - -<p>The rising moon in the dark wood where he -walked and tried to talk to God and his soul—and -at last shut his hands and buried his forehead -upon them against an oak tree, and said, “I -become a monk.”</p> - -<p>The moon on the garden of herbs, the moon on -Silver Cross cemetery.</p> - -<p>He had been thirty then, and the dark wood was -six years ago.</p> - -<p>At first had seemed quenching—but now was -cold, hunger and thirst again!</p> - -<p>O God—O Christ—O Star of the Sea, shine -forth! Oh, heaven, appear!</p> - -<p>The moon on the coasts of Italy!</p> - -<p>They were fair, with rock and olive, with gray -and creamy and rose-hued towns, and over the -towns sky that was heart of blue, and in the towns -Italian life.</p> - -<p>He must tell in confession how all that was -coming of late to haunt him. When he plunged -into these towns the hunger vanished for a time. -But it came again. And in his heart he knew that -he wished it to come. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>“O All-Knowledge and -All-Beauty, let me not cease to be driven and to -be drawn until I find thee—until I find thee!”</p> - -<p>The bell rang for the office of the night. He -rose and presently stood chanting, with his -brother monks, in the church of Silver Cross. The -candles burned, the windows were lead against -the starry sky. He knew the stars that were behind -them, he saw them in their clusters.</p> - -<p>The candles showed in part the great painting -of the Blessed among women. He could piece out -here also what they did not show. There was -splendour in the figure and face, a magic of -beauty, and he loved it.</p> - -<p>The chanting filled the dark hollow of the -church.</p> - -<p>The Abbot had dispensation from the night -office. The sub-prior was in his place. Moreover, -the Abbot was away, having ridden on his -white mule, with attendants, to Middle Forest, to -the castle of Montjoy.</p> - -<p>The office ended, the cell again and sleep. -Dawn. Lauds. Breakfast. The reader for the -day reading from the life of a saint. “And an -angel came nightly to his cell and showed him the -scenery of heaven and the Blessed moving there. -And his brethren began to know of this, for the -light shined out of his cell.”</p> - -<p>Brother Richard Englefield did not work in -field or garden. He had worked so for two years. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>Then Abbot Mark making discoveries, there had -been given him a stone room with a furnace, goldsmith’s -tools and two Brothers for helpers. If -you had a master maker among your monks waste -him not in digging, sowing, weeding and gathering! -Now he made lovely things for the church, -and for the Abbot’s table. He made presents for -the Abbot to send prelates and princes. The Abbot -bragged of his work. When great visitors -came they were shown him in his smithy.</p> - -<p>Not only so, but because he was silent—brown-blond, -tall and still, like King David in the -picture—and evidently a hunter after God, and -scrupulous to do all the Rule demanded, and all -that it allowed of austerity supererogative—he -had fame as monk. Some of his brethren wished -him well and leaned upon his presence, taking as -it were his sunlight, valuing him in and for Silver -Cross. Two or three who also hunted God met -him and understood him. Others found in him a -reproach, and others were indifferent or secretly -laughed. Silver Cross was much like the world. -Brother Richard continued his struggle and his -hunting, under an exterior still as the church, -stripped and simple.</p> - -<p>Work this day—work on a rich silver salt -cellar for the Abbot to give to a bishop. As he -worked in his stone room with his hammers and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>gravers it was coming across him with a breath -of mockery—it was coming with a breath of -mockery like a wind from a foggy sea—“Above -and below the salt at a bishop’s table. Above and -below the salt—Christ’s table. Nicodemus above -the salt—blind Bartimeus and the woman of -Samaria below?”</p> - -<p>He shook off phantasy. The Abbot was his -spiritual father whom he had undertaken to obey, -not criticise. True monk must obey and not question,—not -question, not doubt, not compare, not -judge. He must kill Imagination, wagging so. -Oh, Truth and Beauty—Truth and Beauty—Truth -and Beauty!</p> - -<p>The sun on Gethsemane. The sun on the -Blessed among women sitting on her doorstep, behind -her the sound of the carpenters working.</p> - -<p>Sext. The chanting, and the windows ruby and -emerald, sapphire and amethyst glass, the glowing -patterns, the rows of small figures. The dark -vault of the church and the shafts of gold dust. -The cool, the sense of suspension. The great picture -burning forth—the Blessed among women!</p> - -<p>For long now the picture had taken his heart. -She was so glorious—she was so sure—she was -an ardent flame mounting with a golden passion -upward! And yet she was tender, compassionate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -None might doubt that, looking at her lips -and the light and shadow, the modelling, beneath -the eyes. She was so tall—did she turn her head, -so and so would be the exquisite long line of the -throat. Almost at times he thought she turned -her head. She was alive—splendidly so, with -glory. “Blessed among women—Blessed among -women—hold me more fully—take me with you -into heaven—take me—!”</p> - -<p>Afternoon and work still. The sun going -down. Vespers. The Magnificat. The red-gold -light on the picture, uncertain, making her to -seem to move. So would she stand in the -round. “Blessed among women—Blessed among -women, I am here, thy child and lover! Make me -whole—take me with thee. Speak, speak to -me!”</p> - -<p>Night. He did not sleep in the dormitory. -There were six cells of privilege, established when -Abbot Reginald of old had made certain alterations. -Brother Oswald who was writing the -Chronicle of Silver Cross, Brothers Peter and -Allen who illuminated the great Psalter, Brother -Timothy who had been longest monk of Silver -Cross and was growing like a child, Brother Norbert -who was the Abbot’s kinsman had the five, -and Brother Richard who made wealthy things in -gold and silver the sixth. So was not the Rule, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>but in many things nowadays abbots modified -Rule.</p> - -<p>Compline. Night in his cell. “Ah, if the noble -and rich visions were but more real! Ah, if I -had the power to move and make move! Ah, if -the picture would become Herself—for me, for -me!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="4">IV</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Montjoy</span> rode through a dewy June morning. -He crossed the bridge, his horse’s hoofs sounding -deeply, an air from the sea filling nostrils, the -light striking sails of fishing boats gliding away -below the arches where all widened. Montjoy -was bound for Damson Wood.</p> - -<p>Montjoy rode homeward in the evening, after -a day in the deep wood, after a visit to Damson -Hill graveyard. His two stout serving men, riding -the brown and the roan behind him, thought -it a strange visit.</p> - -<p>Nearing the bridge Montjoy checked the black -horse and turning slightly, looked back at Saint -Leofric’s mound. There was now full, level flow -of reddened light, and the mound was bathed in it. -The church stood up in that light, the cloister -walls were made faery.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Hugh and Hugh! I walk in your heart -and I see the dark engines, and I walk in your -mind and it is a hold for sorceries!”</p> - -<p>He put his horse into motion. “Such a plan -and such a course could never have come to -Mark! Though it might have come to Prior -Matthew.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> -<p>He was upon the bridge. Others were crossing. -Sir Robert Somerville he caught up with. -“Well met, Somerville!”</p> - -<p>“My lord Montjoy—” Somerville presented -his kinsman riding beside him. The sunset reddened -and reddened. The waters glowed below -the arches, the boats moved, a barge slipped underneath, -emerged and went up stream, its rowers -singing. The dark houses rose from the river -bank. One that was narrow and latticed, close to -the old wall, drew their eyes. The sunset made -its windows to blaze. Somerville and Montjoy -both saw, without the physical eye, the courtesan, -Morgen Fay.</p> - -<p>Somerville began to talk of where he had been. -He had been to show his kinsman Saint Leofric’s -and a miracle.</p> - -<p>Said Sir Humphrey, “I have always desired -to see a miracle.”</p> - -<p>“Saw you one?”</p> - -<p>“You gibe!” said Somerville. “But we did -see one. It would not be wise, even for Montjoy, -to doubt to the throng that we saw one!”</p> - -<p>“What happened?”</p> - -<p>“A woman received her sight.”</p> - -<p>They left the bridge. The dying rose of the -sun touched Middle Forest’s High Street. Folk -were yet abroad, going this way and going that;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -most or all going home. Droning sound was in -the air; then Saint Ethelred’s bell began to ring.</p> - -<p>Somerville talked on. He lived so, with vivacity, -like a quick sword playing with joy in its -own point and edge, like wine liking its own -sparkle from beaker to cup. To a certain depth -he could read Montjoy. Old rivalries, jealousies -conflicts existed between Somerville and Montjoy. -Now all the sea above was calm, but those -ancient tendencies stayed like reefs below. Light-drawing -boats could pass above them, but greater -craft might be in danger.</p> - -<p>Somerville’s quick and agreeable voice jetted -on. His eye, quick as a hawk’s, marked the small -erect man riding the black horse. If Montjoy in -his nature had sensitive tracts, far be it from -Somerville not to touch these! Do it always, -though with swordly skill, keeping one’s self invisible, -invulnerable!</p> - -<p>Montjoy, it was evident, did not like Saint Leofric’s -miracles. Why? Somerville, using wit, -found part of it. All affairs were seesaw! You -go up; I go down. Up Saint Leofric; down Saint -Willebrod. Up Dominican; down Cistercian. -Up Prior Hugh; down Abbot Mark, Montjoy’s -kinsman. Up Friary; down Silver Cross, enriched -by, linked to, the castle on the hill. Up -neighbour’s glory; down my glory! If Montjoy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -as apparently was the case, identified his glory -with that of Silver Cross—Why, or to what extent, -who cared? He did it, that was evident! -His doing it answered for Somerville’s cue.</p> - -<p>Somerville with malice dilated upon the throng -at Saint Leofric’s and the mounting excitement. -He had a vigour and colour of speech that lifted -the scene bodily across the river and set it in the -High Street. He appealed for corroboration to -his cousin. The latter, though he could not guess -all, guessed some motive and fell easily in with -his kinsman and host. Not only the great play -over there, the singing and weeping, the light in -the church and the shout of joy—but he could -report the stir that was spreading through England. -Indeed, it was said that the Princess of -Spain was coming—</p> - -<p>Montjoy thought, “That Princess should give -her presence to Silver Cross. She should smooth -Isabel’s tomb with her hand. Life should come -from her eyes to the picture.”</p> - -<p>Somerville was drawing comparisons, and yet -he lived this side the river, up the Wander indeed, -where from any hilltop he might see Silver -Cross!</p> - -<p>“It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest!” said -Montjoy, harshly.</p> - -<p>Somerville laughed and shot across a hawk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -glance. “But if it is true? Look at Abbot Mark -and then at Prior Hugh! The last ascetic, fired, -ever praying; the first—But he is your kinsman, -Montjoy, and I touch him not—”</p> - -<p>“I want truth,” said Montjoy, and his voice -had an angry croak.</p> - -<p>“Then in truth is he one whose abbey would -show miracles? Who says great sanctity shows -anywhere at Silver Cross? Is it carping to cry -out against sloth and indulgence? If they are -near home, I believe in confessing they are near -home! Has Silver Cross one monk who may -stand with the Friar to whom hand and arm -appeared?”</p> - -<p>“I could tell you—,” burst forth Montjoy, -then checked himself. “I know not of the -monks,” he said, “though there be two or three—I -know not in these days of any place more or less -slothful than another. We are all drunken and -dazed, we have sinned so long! But of old Silver -Cross was a saintly place!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll give you ‘of old’! Well, Saint Leofric -may redeem the time! And surely for that -we must rejoice!”</p> - -<p>“If it be redeemer and not Iscariot—yes! -But Saint Leofric’s miracles are false miracles!”</p> - -<p>He spoke with an energy of passion, forgetting -caution. He spoke louder than his wont. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -were passing through the market square and folk -in numbers were about. Montjoy’s voice reached -the nearer circle of these. There fell upon the -centre of Middle Forest a pause, a hush. It was -as though the world had come to an end! Then -like a bolt from the tawny sky laced with blue and -rose, fell a great voice, “You lie, lord of Montjoy!”</p> - -<p>It was so thick, loud and startling that Montjoy -himself, thrilling, dragged his horse back upon -haunches. Somerville, too, started. It took a -moment to see that the voice proceeded from a -Black Friar, a man with the frame of a giant, -who had been climbing the stone stair to the upper -street. They were passing the stair foot; he -heard and turned. Now he was set as in a pulpit -above them. His great bell voice reached half -the dwindled market. The folk were already -looking Montjoy and Somerville way. Those -hearing Montjoy needed no explanation, but explained -to their fellows. Montjoy’s words ran -around the market place. With agitation a wave -of folk lifted itself and began to flow toward steps -and toward checked horses. The Black Friar’s -voice took thunder tone. “Who discredits Saint -Leofric discredits God and Our Lady and Her -Son!”</p> - -<p>A woman shrilled from a booth of earthenware<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -and hats of plaited straw. “Don’t ye anger -the Saint and dry up his miracles, Montjoy! -Don’t ye! My dumb daughter is coming from up -the Wander. Don’t ye!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t ye!”</p> - -<p>“My palsied brother is going!”</p> - -<p>“The morn I take my child—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t ye!”</p> - -<p>A mob was gathering. Above their heads the -Dominican, great figure in great pulpit, with point -and energy recited as it were a rosary of Saint -Leofric’s deeds, and between them scarified -doubt. Said Somerville with an excited laugh, -“Wasp’s nest was not empty, Montjoy!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy had power, Montjoy had his own kind -of popularity. He was thought a lord of his word -and of generous notions, rather a godly lord. He -had the gift of shy and subtle loving, and so he -loved Middle Forest and it hurt him always when -they differed.—Now what? He saw in a grim -flash of cold, uncaring light, that his world was -not going to have Saint Leofric’s miracles false.</p> - -<p>No use saying anything—</p> - -<p>He must even recover if he could its liking, -must render harmless to himself Black Friar’s -lightning.</p> - -<p>What to say? How positively to lie? Excuse -stuck in his throat. At last he managed to shout -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>forth. “You know me, good folk. If I doubt, it -is not Saint Leofric that I doubt!”</p> - -<p>“Whom dost thou doubt? Prior Hugh, whose -austerities, whose prayers and fastings brought -the blessing? What dost thou doubt? That the -woman who this morn was blind now sees?”</p> - -<p>“That you cannot doubt, Lord of Montjoy!” -said Somerville in a loud voice. “Sir Humphrey -Somerville and I saw that wonder! The woman -<em>sees</em>—praise Our Lady and Saint Leofric!”</p> - -<p>Having cleared himself he found himself willing -to aid in extricating Montjoy. Give him the -prick of being aided! “The sun is strong to-day, -and my lord Montjoy hath been long in saddle -and is weary and half-sick! So for one instant, -good friends, the devil had his ear! It is naught—he -will shake the fiend off. Hurt him not by -mistrusting him! Presently will you see him on -pilgrimage himself to Saint Leofric’s!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy, dry-voiced, tried to speak. He was -dark red, his voice broke in his throat. Suddenly, -sharply turning Black King, he touched him with -his heel and rode from the market place. “See -you, he is really a sick man!” cried Somerville -and pushed his bay after him. Sir Humphrey -followed, and Montjoy’s two serving men.</p> - -<p>Middle Forest knew the lord of the castle for -an encreasingly devout man. It could not even -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>now see him as scoffer. Sir Robert Somerville, -now, was much more like a scoffer than was -Montjoy! For a moment folk hung in the wind, -then the larger number agreed to give Montjoy -the benefit of the doubt. Probably to-morrow he -would come praising Saint Leofric! Envious -Satan did attack each one in turn! The buzz and -hum continued, but it left the key of anger. The -Black Friar, having vindicated the right, climbed -triumphantly the stair to the upper street.</p> - -<p>On castle road where the Wander road diverged -Montjoy abruptly said good night. His -voice was moved, sonorous, thrilling with hurt -pride. He seemed eager to leave them, to mount -to his old castle that was not so large, not so -threatening, after all!</p> - -<p>When he was gone Somerville laughed, and Sir -Humphrey complaisantly with him. They trotted -on upon the Wander road, a great manor house -and supper before them, three miles up the vale. -“When all’s spoken,” said Somerville, “I have -a back-handed liking for that lord that’s just left -us! I like him enough inwardly to quarrel with -him, and frustrate him, and make sure that he -thinks not too well of himself! I preoccupy myself -with him. The day is stale when I run not -somehow against him! What miracle he decrys, -will I cry up; or what he cries up, will I decry!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> -<p>He began to whistle, sweet and clear as a blackbird.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Lyken I wander</div> - <div class="p_line">My love for to see—</div> - <div class="p_line">My love for to see</div> - <div class="p_line">On a May morning,</div> - <div class="p_line">Where she goes dressed</div> - <div class="p_line">In cramoisie—”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="5">V</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> on a May but on a June morning—five -days in fact after his supper at the house of Morgen -Fay—Master Thomas Bettany found himself -some miles up the Wander, and with him, riding -the gray mare, a bale of sample cloths -strapped to saddle, John Cobb the apprentice, with -whom, when he did not think to be stiff, he was -upon the best of terms. He was up the Wander -upon business for his father, that rich merchant -who would one day leave him house and gear and -trade. Then would he himself, Thomas Bettany, -be Middle Forest merchant,—who wanted only -to sail for the New World that one Columbus had -recently discovered!</p> - -<p>He rode absorbed in discontent. Finally he -again took up speech with John Cobb.</p> - -<p>“It’s a dull life! I wish something would happen—anything!”</p> - -<p>“There be the miracles.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t any hand in them. You can’t be interested -unless you’re doing something yourself.—I’d -rather be a robber than just trotting from -shop and trotting back again.—Hist, John! -What’s behind yon tree?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“There! A big, black man! Two—four, -five! Draw your weapon, man!”</p> - -<p>John struck hand to the dirk at his waist. His -eyes enlarged, his lips clapped shut. Then, -“They bain’t but little fir trees!—You’re grinning!—Your -pranking and mystery-playing’ll -break you one day!”</p> - -<p>“I wish it had been Robin Hood—”</p> - -<p>They rode through the wood. It was a bright -morn after rain. The trees showered them with -diamonds, the world smelled like a pomander box. -When they were out from the trees and amid -tilled land every blade of springing grain carried -jewels. Far up in a light blue sky a lark was singing.</p> - -<p>“By’re lady!” said John Cobb. “If I were -taken up by Somerville and went to sup with Morgen -Fay, I’d not be saying life was dull!”</p> - -<p>“He nor no one else has ‘taken me up.’ His -uncle married my father’s cousin. Bettany’s a -name that has sounded well since long time. My -father helped him, too, with monies—but that’s -nothing either!—Somerville and I are friends.”</p> - -<p>“Like you and me?”</p> - -<p>“No!—His being ‘Sir Robert’ and older -doesn’t make any difference.”</p> - -<p>He was superbly sure of that and rode with his -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>blond head up like a youthful, adventurous -king. “As for Morgen Fay, I’d think more of -her if I hadn’t seen last Candlemas—you know -whom!”</p> - -<p>“That’s Mistress Cecily. She’s a fair one! -But I don’t believe she’s pricked your heart much -either. You’re just for the New World and men -and adventure. It would make me proud though -to sup with Morgen Fay.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’ll never, my poor John! I tell you -what she’s like. She’s like something you see in -poetry. But Cecily walked in first, into my keep -and hold. Besides, I wouldn’t interfere with -Robert.”</p> - -<p>“Robert!” John Cobb could but admire, -while Master Thomas Bettany tossed his clear -whistle up to the lark singing.</p> - -<p>So many birds were singing! The two were -now riding by the Wander, through Westforest -land. Mounting a little hill they saw below them -monastery walls and roofs, not a large place, set -among trees by the water’s side. Some of the old -forest held here.</p> - -<p>Their business was with Westforest. The -house of Bettany sold Silver Cross and Westforest -woollen cloth for monks’ gowns. Presently -they were at the gate. The porter opened to -them, and the stable Brother took their horses, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>and a third Brother carried them to the guest -house where they were set in a room. All was -very grave and in order. Master Thomas Bettany -at the window heard bells and saw the monks -pacing two by two. He had never before been to -Westforest. Saint Ethelred in Middle Forest -was his church. Neither with any sufficiency did -he know Silver Cross. He had been five times -perhaps, when there was festival, in the great -church. Only this year was his father using him -thus in business.</p> - -<p>The monk reappeared and had them to the refectory -where they were served with ale and -bread and cheese. Thence they went to a business-like -room where met them Brother Oswald, steward -and purchaser for the Priory. He gave Master -Thomas Bettany good greeting, and John -Cobb a shorter one. John Cobb opened the bale -of cloths.</p> - -<p>Business advanced. A Brother appeared to do -duty as steward’s clerk. Thomas Bettany turned -into merchant not unshrewd. He did things with -his might, when he could be brought to do them -at all. Now he pictured and bargained and was -not behind Brother Oswald in ability.</p> - -<p>The hour and more of marketing passed. -Brother Oswald, straightening himself from the -table at last, paid his compliment. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>“No manner -of doubt, my son, but that you be merchant, son -of merchant!”</p> - -<p>“If Westforest be not content—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we are content.”</p> - -<p>“—and I have here,” said the younger Bettany, -“the fine white wool—”</p> - -<p>“That is for reverend father the Prior to see. -Let your man take it up and we will go to the parlour.”</p> - -<p>They crossed the cloister to a large, well-windowed -room that gave upon walled garden. On -a bench without sat a monk with book and rosary, -and he would get audience for them with reverend -father. Presently the inner door opened and -Prior Matthew stood before them. Thomas Bettany -and John Cobb kneeled for his blessing, and -when that was had John Cobb spread the table -with lengths of fine white cloth. The Prior chose, -nor was long about it. The Abbot of Silver Cross -loved finery, dressing much like a lord of this -world. But Prior Matthew scorned all that and -kept near in apparel to ancient simplicities.</p> - -<p>Selection made, orders given and taken, the -Prior leaned back in his seat. His deep-set eyes -surveyed the younger Bettany. “I know your -father for a sensible man. I have heard that you -are a wild youth, a will-o’-the-wisp, ready for God -knoweth what plots and pranks!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> -<p>If Thomas inwardly recognised large portion -of himself he could outwardly but lift deprecating, -bright blue eyes. “I am changing what I can -change, reverend father.”</p> - -<p>“Ha! Let us hope it,” said the Prior. “Well, -and what makes most ado just now in Middle -Forest?”</p> - -<p>“Reverend father, the miracles across the -river.”</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew bit his nail. “That is as I supposed. -It mounts and mounts.—I would get -from you, too, the cry after that burst of wonders!—But -there is the vesper bell. Go into -church, my son! afterwards I will talk with you -in the garden.”</p> - -<p>The church at Westforest was not like the -church of Silver Cross. That was great, this -was small. That had starry windows of rich -glass, that had tombs of lords and ladies, that had -the great altar picture. This was plain and cold of -aspect. Yet was there an altar painting, and now -sunlight and candle light showed it for what it -was,—copy, done half as large, of the Silver -Cross great picture. The Lady of Heaven lifted -a rich Italian face, rose toward heaven, toward -God the Father and God the Son, with a rich, -Italian beauty, nobly done by the great Italian, her -painter,—rose with love and majesty, with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>memory of sorrow and of earth-stain falling -away, fading, falling, with height of joy opening; -rose with bliss and power, who yet understood, -who knew children’s crying and would answer; -rose from world’s woe, from the dust, to heaven. -She was heaven, the Rose of Heaven. Yet had -she been painted in Italy from mortal woman. -Queen of Heaven, but with framework of likeness -to earthly faces. “Like Isabel—like -Isabel!” at this moment Montjoy cried to himself, -in the church of Silver Cross.</p> - -<p>In the small grey church at Westforest young -Thomas Bettany had place where he might well -and plainly view the smaller picture, but well -copied from the first and greater. Light beat -against draperies pure red and pure blue and upon -form and face, rising from darkness into glory. -He looked worshipfully, and he felt worship.</p> - -<p>But when vespers were done, and the Prior -kept him alone with him walking in the garden, -John Cobb not here, only Prior Matthew and -Thomas Bettany pacing between the blue flags -and the rose trees, he burst out suddenly, very -young and very bold. “Reverend father, did -ever you see Morgen Fay?”</p> - -<p>“God forbid! No!”</p> - -<p>“She is much like yonder picture.”</p> - -<p>“What picture?—Not the altar picture!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> -<p>“Of course this is holy and heavenly—and -she is only faery—”</p> - -<p>“‘Faery!’—She is an accursed woman!”</p> - -<p>The Prior stood still, his hand upon the espaliered -pear tree against the south wall. His thin -face, his tall thin figure grew extraordinarily -alive. “Do you never tell that fancy!” His -voice had a fearful sternness. “Do you never tell -that fancy to any living wight!”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany himself was afraid of it. -“Jesu knows I would not do Our Lady disrespect!”</p> - -<p>“It will be heinous disrespect if you say that -that sinner hath her face—”</p> - -<p>Bettany carefully made distinctions. “I meant -not like Her—but like the woman the painter -must have used just for hint of form and face! -Once I saw a monk painting on a missal border -where it said ‘Rose of Sharon.’ But he had in -a cup beside him which he looked often upon a -rose from the garden.”</p> - -<p>“Well, speak not of such things!” said the -Prior impatiently. “The generality understands -them not. They think not that things are but -lifted or lowered, set in light or in darkness. You -but hurt yourself!”</p> - -<p>“That is true enough!” thought the merchant’s son.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> -<p>They paced the walk to a stone bench set before -fruit trees whose shadow was now long upon the -grass. The Prior, head sunk in cowl, was thinking. -He sat down, the young man standing before -him. “The miracles—”</p> - -<p>Bettany set sail upon that story. Last week a -woman had received her sight. Three days ago -a man for years bedridden had walked. Yesterday -had come a shipmaster carrying his daughter -in his arms. “Praise! Praise!” shouted the -people. It was like a Great Fair for numbers, -at Saint Leofric’s! At times bridge was thick -with folk.</p> - -<p>And then midway in his recital to which he was -warming, which he was now colouring rightly, -Prior Matthew, with a sudden start and jerk, returned -to the picture and had from him promise -not to let pass his lips to any other that sinful -fancy.</p> - -<p>He promised, seeing himself that facts were -not always for shouting.</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay who was merchant and sold herself, -who had great beauty and dark eyes, and -who wore those reds and blues, might be picked—or -one like her might be picked—a common -rose out of common garden, and a painter might -take her for line and feature and hue and sublimate -all—and yet the <i>Rosa Mystica</i>, the God -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>Bride and Mother, be never hurt, be never the -worse for that, where she looked from high -heaven, pitying all and helping who would be -helped,—pitying, perchance, Morgen Fay!</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="6">VI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">June</span> vanished, July rode in heat, August had -golden armour, September was russet clad and -walked through crimson orchards and by wine -presses. In Italy, by wine presses!</p> - -<p>In the Abbey of Silver Cross more and more -did note fall upon Englefield. He was unaware -of that. He had entered upon a stretch of the -inward way where the landscape was absorbing,—the -inner landscape and the inner encounters. -Outwardly he grew more and more conformed to -the Abbey idea of fledgling saint, but he hardly -held it in consciousness that he did so. He was -rapt to the inner land where he hunted the Word, -where he sought for the Grail. But he put his -body in the attitudes that the great adventurers, -where they were monks, seemed to have worn. -He wished their assurances and blisses, and he -imitated.</p> - -<p>Not having come to monastery from indolence -and softness, he found in this no especial difficulty. -First artisan, then artist, he well enough knew -hard and spare living, vigil, concentered action, -swift, deep and still. He had that over many -an one who would be saint, but must first develop -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>muscle. He had will, he had mind, though both -were restive beings, with wings that seemed between -Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s. Richard Englefield’s -problem was to draw all the Lucifer into -Gabriel. As a detail in the achievement he conformed, -with what absoluteness was possible at -Silver Cross, to the first hard discipline of the -Order. Where for long had been relaxation, his -procedure here astonished and here rebuked, -pleased and displeased. He went on, in a preoccupation -too great to note that watching, hunting -the Word. “Blessed among women, help me -toward it!”</p> - -<p>The great picture was become integral to his -life. “Beauty like that—Beauty with Holiness—I -would Beauty and I would Holiness! I -would Power to make my Beauty and Holiness -come true!”</p> - -<p>He prayed to the Blessed among women. -“Blessed among women, show me how! Bring -me sunshine for my growth!”</p> - -<p>He worked in his stone room, with the precious -metals that they gave him. The furnace glowed. -His long, strong and skilful fingers moved with -their old skill, as on a lute. But he worked scarce -seeing the beauty of what he made, with the -taller man in him gone elsewhere, gone out hunting, -gone hawking for pure Wisdom, pure Beauty, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>pure Power. He prayed in the church and the -monks watched him. When he turned toward -the picture light seemed to pass from it to him.</p> - -<p>The Abbot noted him. The sub-prior brought -the Abbot refectory talk, talk of the brethren’s -common room. He brought comment of Brother -Norbert whose cell was next Brother Richard’s. -The Abbot heaved a sigh. “Well, we have need -of a saintly monk!”</p> - -<p>He was not silent upon the growing saintliness -of Brother Richard. Visitors of high degree, -pausing at Silver Cross, heard him say, “Even as -Friar Paul of Saint Leofric’s—”Visitors pursuing -their road, going, it might well chance, -straight to Saint Leofric’s, made mention of this -monk. The vale of Wander spoke of him. The -Prior of Westforest said in chapter house, “Had -we one brother like Brother Richard of Silver -Cross—” Not only to his monks, but he said it to -the country around, “Brother Richard of Silver -Cross—”</p> - -<p>Montjoy said “Brother Richard of Silver -Cross,” but he said it very differently from the -Abbot and the Prior. He said with a kind of -passionate reverence and hope. He wished there -to be true saints; he wished there to arise one out -of Silver Cross. He wished a saint, a saint kneeling -beside Isabel, kneeling with Isabel beneath -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>the great picture, whose form, whose face in -which God was dawning, was like Isabel. Isabel -like Her, though maybe in that degree from Her—that -was Morgen Fay from Isabel whom -surely, too, she resembled.</p> - -<p>Middle Forest had rumour of the monk at Silver -Cross.</p> - -<p>Prior Hugh spoke of him at Saint Leofric’s -but he spoke in scorn and drew plans for greater -and greater guest houses.</p> - -<p>Sir Robert Somerville, having need to see Silver -Cross as to a bit of debatable ground touching -Abbey fields and manor wood, rode into Abbey -close upon a misty, pearly day. He had his talk -in the Abbot’s most comfortable parlour, sub-prior -at hand to aid memory. The land certainly -leaned to the Abbey side of the wall, or had been -brought skilfully to lean by Abbey lawyers. -Somerville saw that it were wisest to leave it debatable, -awaiting some more fortunate aspect -of manor stars. He slid from the subject, but -with a sparkle in his eye. That glint always came -when he ticketed a grudge and put it somewhere -for safe keeping until it could be paid.</p> - -<p>And as he thought it would be unpleasing to the -Abbot, he began presently to talk of Saint -Leofric’s, to whom by now great fame had -cleaved, by whose wall was building a town—</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> -<p>“Friar Paul—his visions—!” exclaimed the -Abbot and broke off. There was no good, as -Montjoy had proved, in casting pebble or boulder -of discredit. The people were besotted, joined -to their idol, this very Dagon that Hugh had set -up! If Contrariousness were not already in possession -then the hermit Gregory’s death in July -had set her high on throne! The Abbot covered -his eyes with his hand, then said, “There is a -monk here that I hold to be holy as any living Dominican!”</p> - -<p>“Hath he vision?”</p> - -<p>“Yea,” said the Abbot, then in his heart. “He -must have!”</p> - -<p>“It is not sufficient!” said Somerville. “Nothing -now but revelations and healings following -will even Silver Cross! Greater revelations, -greater healings than Saint Leofric. You can’t -go down the stair in such things. You must go -up.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with fine malice. Abbot Mark -glanced at him and said smoothly, “Very true, my -son! but Heaven does not ask our will nor way -in such matters! If it smiles, it smiles. Nor can -it be limited to one handful. It may be that in this -England we have touched a harvest week, as it -were, and that many a sheaf will be thrown -down.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> -<p>He rose. “Come! I will show you Brother -Richard.”</p> - -<p>He whom they sought was standing at the table -in the room where he worked. Between his hands -was a bowl of silver whereon he had wrought -vine leaves and grapes. He put down his work -and kneeled before the Abbot, then stood with -crossed hands and lowered eyes. He was brown-blond, -tall and still, with a face of dimmed power, -dimmed beauty.</p> - -<p>When they had gone away, said Somerville, -“Lord Abbot, Friar Paul is twice as thin and -pale as yonder monk, and hath eyes that burn like -coals! He would never see within him nor bring -forth, vine leaves around a silver bowl! He sees -but saints and martyrs filling his cell and speaking -to him out of glories!” He nodded as he -finished.</p> - -<p>The staccato of his voice drummed like a rude -heel upon the Abbot’s now fevered desire. Said -the Abbot’s will, deep down, “He shall see all -that is necessary. Oh, Hugh. I will oust you -yet!”</p> - -<p>Somerville rode away. Halfway to his house, -up the Wander, his mind perceived something -that made him laugh. “I am not prophet, yet -will I prophesy! Before spring there will be -miracles at Silver Cross!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> -<p>It was a foggy day, a grey pearl, with shadows -that were trees.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Aha and Aho!</div> - <div class="p_line">Mankind and its woe,</div> - <div class="p_line">Children at their playing,</div> - <div class="p_line">Straying, straying!</div> - <div class="p_line">Little marsh fire</div> - <div class="p_line">That the sun is,</div> - <div class="p_line">Thou art a liar,</div> - <div class="p_line">Little marsh fire!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Somerville often made poems as he rode. Now -he made this one.</p> - -<p>The next day was foggy still, and the Abbot was -not wont to ride abroad in fog. Yet he called for -his white mule and for two Brothers to attend -him, and rode, booted and wrapped warm, to -Westforest.</p> - -<p>There may be imagined a chessboard, and Prior -Matthew, with Abbot Mark for backer, sitting -studying, mouth covered by hand. He must -play against Prior Hugh, invisible there, or perhaps -against mere cosmic insensibility to advantages -accruing from full streams of profit and -glory, fuller than the Wander, flowing down -Wander vale. Chess takes time and thought. If -there come inspirational gleams take them as -evidence that Nature begins to lean with you—but -continue your study, mentally advancing now -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>this piece and now that, going slow, going sure, -making your combinations with more than grey -spider’s skill! So Prior Matthew played. Abbot -Mark was more impatient and would have things -without working for them, which is to say without -deserving them. In the mysterious cave of this -world where all players must play, failure always -impended. If it did not fall, that was because you -were a good player. The Prior’s hollow cheek -grew more hollow, his intent, small, deep-set eyes -more intent.</p> - -<p>On this day, folded as in wool, in the parlour -that was warmed by blazing logs on stone hearth, -that gave upon the autumn garden, much to-day -like a ghost-garden, Prior indicated to Abbot -move and then move and then move again.</p> - -<p>“God pardon us!” breathed the Abbot. -“That’s a bold thing!”</p> - -<p>“Bolder than Hugh? I think not so. Or if it -is we need to be bolder than he. Boldness hurts -not, but the lack of skill in boldness. Attain the -miracles, and Silver Cross arises re-gilt. Streams -of pilgrims—nay, you may tap and dry up <em>his</em> -stream of pilgrims! Abbey built and magnified -for ages. Attain them not, and all is vain, for -our lifetime at least! We may go sleep, fogged -and obscured forever, in the vale of Wander! -Both houses and in us the Order.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> -<p>“I know that we need to be bolder than Hugh.”</p> - -<p>“We need more living colour to draw, and a -louder drum.”</p> - -<p>The Abbot took for his own, saying of Somerville’s, -“You cannot go down the stair in such -things. You must go up the stair. There’s too -much risk.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, plenteous! So had Hugh risk. But -when the fish had once bitten no mortal man could -get hook from its mouth!”</p> - -<p>“Meaning by the fish the people? Yes. But -if Hugh and me and you, Matthew, be all three -taken in mortal sin?”</p> - -<p>“Has he hurt Saint Leofric? Or Saint -Dominic his Order? Or the folk whose bodies -are healed? Does not glory go up to heaven like -incense?”</p> - -<p>“It is true. If it be venial sin, then Our Lady, -an altar of pure silver to thee!”</p> - -<p>“That will be well! It will still more beautify -the church. But cease,” said Matthew, “to have -this monk work at thy gold and silver! It goes -not with kneeling and fasting all day and vigil at -night, with great and sole visions and voices, and -favour from the Saints!”</p> - -<p>“Very good. I will put him to his book and -solitude.”</p> - -<p>The Prior took quill and drew upon a leaf of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>paper a plot of cells and passageways. “You -will empty these five cells.”</p> - -<p>“Aye. They shall go back to dormitory.”</p> - -<p>“Door is to be here and door there. To get it -done, while masons are upon it—and for other -reasons as well—give your monk penance for -some fault, sending him out of Silver Cross to -Westforest. Let me have him for a month, no -less.”</p> - -<p>“What will you do with him?”</p> - -<p>“I will indoctrinate him with expectancy.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Mark doubtfully, “he -is one that might one day become true saint.”</p> - -<p>“Think you so? Well, I wish him innocent -and believing—even as I hold Friar Paul across -river may be innocent and believing!”</p> - -<p>“‘Innocent!’” The Abbot groaned. “But -you and I and Hugh will not be innocent!”</p> - -<p>“No. We shall be wise and bold for the glory -of our heritage. Choose—and choose now—which -you will have!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot chose. The chess game went on. -Outside the day folded in, fold on fold of white -wool and grey wool, fog coming up from the sea.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="7">VII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> fog wrapped the river. The bridge -showed now a few arches and now none. Boats -were moths in a moth dimness and silence. Saint -Leofric’s mount across the water could not be -seen. The walls of the houses on this side stood -chill and grey, or faded away into a dream. The -garden below barely lived, a wistful, faded place, -no colour even to dream of colour.</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay hated the day. “Miserable! I -want to go live in the sun!”</p> - -<p>“Will you have your book? Will you have -your tapestry frame?”</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p>The large woman, Ailsa, shrugged and went -to Tony in the warm kitchen. They talked there. -“Now she is nightingale or moon in the sky—and -now she is lion-woman or panther-woman—and -now she is just a slut that I could whip—!”</p> - -<p>Up in the oak room Morgen Fay lay face down -among the cushions of the long window seat. -Ennui was in the room like the fog. It was in her -veins, her mouth. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>“I am set face to a dead wall, -and I shall be here forever! Unless the wall is -broken and my feet are let to move, I will say -that life is a naught, a nothing-wall restraining -nothing from nothing, a dead grin on a dead -face!”</p> - -<p>“Nothing—nothing—nothing!” ran through -her head and sat in her heart. “Nothing—grey -nothing—black nothing. I am come to that. I -stick in that. I go not up nor down, nor to nor -fro. Nothing—nothing—nothing! Nothing -that yet is wretched, being nothing!”</p> - -<p>She lay with dark eyes hidden in bend of arm. -“Oh, something—something—something come -to me!”</p> - -<p>She lay in the grey room in the world of grey -fog. A pebble wrapped in a glove, thrown from -without, struck the glass of the window above her. -She knew that kind of sound, that kind of knock. -“Ho, you within!” At first she meant not to -look, not to answer. It was all grey nothing—no -sun out there to lift the cloud. Habit, old, dull -and very strong, at last haled her from her pillows -and set her face against the pane. She could -not see. She pressed the catch that opened the -small square in the larger square. Now the fog -poured in, and the sound of the river. She made -out the small boat below, one man standing in it.</p> - -<p>He saw her face come out of the mist. Blue -eyes looked into black eyes. “Ah, so doleful is it -in this fog!” cried young Thomas Bettany.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> -<p>“Aye, and aye again. I yawn with death up -here!”</p> - -<p>“So grey it is none will see and steal my boat -fastened here. Foot here and foot there, and so -I could climb—were the window opened more -wide!”</p> - -<p>She opened it. He did as he had pictured and -entered the oak room. “I have been,” she said, -“in two minds whether to hang myself or drown -myself. I want no kisses. I like you because you -have blue speedwell eyes and are truly gay. If -you can sit and talk and make me who sit inside -gay, do it! If you cannot—back to the river!”</p> - -<p>“Your blue and red warm the grey cloud. Are -you melancholy? Sometimes I am so until I -would give the world a buffet and depart.”</p> - -<p>“You are nineteen and a young king and know -naught about it!” said Morgen Fay. She took -her seat by the small fire on the hearth and he sat -opposite. He had no amorous passion for her -and she knew it. Once she would have set herself -to making him find it. Now she did not care. -She had not cared once this year. She felt no -amorous movement toward him, but she liked -him. She was thirty-two. Now, sitting there, -she could have said “Son—”</p> - -<p>He nursed his knee, looking now at the blue -and red flames and now at Morgen Fay.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> -<p>“To get back a gay heart why not go to Saint -Leofric’s?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe in miracles. If they are, they -are for others, not for me.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you believe?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I know a deal of Morgen Fay -and there’s a deal I do not know. But neither -what I know nor what I do not know creeps and -prays to a dead man’s bones. All that to me is a -mockery! I laugh at it and against it. Some -are healed? Doubtless! Many! But believed -they so of it, a rose in my garden, so they smelled -it, kissed it, believed it was rooted in Paradise, -would heal them! They heal themselves. Believing! -Believing! I would that I had it. So -easy to cure one’s self! Oh, the self is the wonder -that is so dark and is so bright, so strong and so -feeble!”</p> - -<p>She looked at him sombrely, hunger in her face.</p> - -<p>“If you said all that outside—”</p> - -<p>“Aye, indeed, if I said it! Morgen Fay that -has ’scaped sheet and candle all these years might -have them now, but for a different reason! I’ll -not say it outside—nor inside on a different day. -To-day I would tell the truth, for there is no -sparkle in lying!”</p> - -<p>She brooded over the fire. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>“What is the truth? -Now I believe what I have said—and to-morrow -I might go swimming toward a miracle! I have -swam so in the past—believed with the shoal -there was food there. But no! It shall not be -again toward dead-white bone!”</p> - -<p>He began, blue-eyed, young and keen, to talk -of travel that he wanted so badly! He was talking -as youth might talk to motherhood, who -always listened. Cathay and Ind by the western -way! They hung over the fire, the fog came -about the house; they were far, far, far away!</p> - -<p>When it was growing dusk, before Ailsa -brought the candles, he went through the window -and down as he had come to his boat,—and so -off like a moth.</p> - -<p>If he had not left Morgen Fay gay of heart, yet -listening and speaking, and never a caress between, -liking this boy and travelling a bit with -him, her mood was less ashen, or began to glow -amid its ashes. She bent herself over the fire, -she put her locked hands over her forehead, she -rocked herself; desire and mind went wandering -together. “Forest—forest deep and still. Landless -sea, salt and clean. Solitude, solitude—and -out of it the Miracle rising—and Morgen Fay -dead at its feet—but I safe forever, healed forever! -But it will not come, my Miracle, it will not -come, it will not come!”</p> - -<p>The dark increased. Ailsa brought the candles.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> -<p>The next eve brought Somerville,—alone, in -mood of return but not otherwise in good mood. -A man of many levels, something had crossed him -and he perched to-day upon one of the lower levels -of himself. Morgen Fay’s mood to-night was -soulless, hard and reckless. She was not nightingale, -nor moon in the sky, nor lion-woman nor -panther-woman; she was nearer the slut that -Ailsa would have under her fingers. She drank -much wine with Somerville.</p> - -<p>When he was at this ebb and scurf of himself -he liked so to loosen her tongue, for she could -then flay for him—skilfully as ever Apollo flayed -Marsyas—that breadth of living, that cluster -of folk or that individual that he chose to lead to -her. Perhaps she knew them, or perhaps she took -them and their acts from his lips. Either way, -with a vigour of disdain, a vigour of hate, of -anger against an universe that was increasingly -giving her now ennui and now whips of scorpions, -she drew from them and held aloft a skin of attributes -and motives that made dreadful laughter -for the onlookers. She and Somerville were the -onlookers.</p> - -<p>In these moods he was her demon and she was -his. They sat cheek by jowl, in the lowest strata -of themselves, drinking each the worst of the -other, poisoning and poisoned. When they came -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>to embraces, to a pitiful, animal revivification—thinking -so to get light and solace—that was the -lesser harm.</p> - -<p>Somerville brought into their talk Brother -Richard Englefield. “There is a monk at Silver -Cross. Watch for appearances and miracles -there also!”</p> - -<p>“What can church say to us? Where’s honesty? -Here, Rob, here!”</p> - -<p>“He is a tall, brown-gold man that was a goldsmith -once. He can still make you lovely things -in silver and gold.”</p> - -<p>“So he becomes cheating alchemist and all his -gold is lead and brass!”</p> - -<p>“Much like thine own!” said a loud voice -within Morgen Fay. She struck at it, would not -have it, poured to-night, being to-night a slut, -muck and mire upon it.</p> - -<p>“Let him cheat—and Silver Cross cheat, and -Saint Leofric’s, and Prior Hugh and Abbot -Mark! I would have them cheat, bringing their -inward outward! It is there. Let the horn blow -for the toad to come forth!”</p> - -<p>“I wish to see,” said Somerville, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>“the play -they make! It will be players and masquers -worth the fee! There will be Saint Willebrod, -or who else they can impress, and Brother Richard, -and a new Somewhat or That Which that -works miracles—or an old That Which working -with youth come again!”</p> - -<p>“We are fallen on evil times! No miracles -save those we work ourselves! And we are so -clumsy!”</p> - -<p>“Abbot Mark may be clumsy. I hold that the -Prior of Westforest will marshal the play.”</p> - -<p>“And they are more safe than coiners in some -forest cavern!”</p> - -<p>“That, sweetheart, is because we are so hungry -for miracles. See how we beg Saint Leofric for -more! We are so lantern-jawed that we will take -marsh grain, so it be baked in a loaf!”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “All gaunt with hunger—getting -wolf-toothed. I, too, have whined and will -whine again, for a miracle!”</p> - -<p>He poured her more wine. “It’s a wicked old -world! The only way is to grin and shove it -along.”</p> - -<p>“Unless you stop it with a rope. If I were -sure I <em>could</em> stop it.”</p> - -<p>“Drink your wine. Here’s to Brother Richard—dog-monk -noseing out the unearthly!”</p> - -<p>She drank. “Here’s to Prior Matthew the -marshal! If it’s to be a good play, I would be a -playgoer!”</p> - -<p>“Here’s to the rotten time—the hungry people!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> -<p>“Here’s to the rotten time—the hungry people.” -She drank, then set slowly down the cup -and put her crossed arms upon the table and -bowed her head upon them. She and Somerville -were down, down, far down in themselves.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="8">VIII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Richard Englefield</span> listened to the Abbot’s -assertion that making of inner vessels of gold for -heaven’s use was of more import than were dishes -for abbot’s table and for gifts. He agreed, but -his mind said, “Since when did you find that -out?”</p> - -<p>Moreover, he would miss his work. He -missed it.</p> - -<p>When he came to confession he met another -change,—namely, severity in penance. Heretofore -he had been the severe one with himself. -Now his spiritual fathers took it over. “Why?” -asked his mind, but his hunger for holiness and -his will harnessed to that hunger rebuked his -mind. “Have we not agreed that they are our -masters in heavenly law? Then learn the lessons -they give! Cease to cavil and question! -Did you so with Godfrey the Master Smith?”</p> - -<p>He accepted penance, watched, fasted, scourged -himself. He grew very thin, less strong of frame -than he had been. Sleeplessness, even when he -was given or gave himself leave to sleep, fastened -itself upon him. It was as though his soul ceaselessly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> -walked a dungeon. “O God, where is thy -heaven? If I might see it or feel it!”</p> - -<p>The great picture in the church lost its mystery -and enchantment and power. It was a dead canvas -to him. “O my soul, come thou forth!”</p> - -<p>He was kept solitary in his cell. Solitude did -not appal him, seeing that he had ever been artist, -able to people it. But one day when a strong sunbeam -came through the window his mind said -loudly, and as it were it shook him by the shoulders. -“Why this straitness with thee? What -are they about?”</p> - -<p>But he was afraid to listen,—Richard Englefield, -fearing for his soul. Fear, casting about -for aid, found Vanity in a small hidden chamber, -sitting there with closed lids, somewhat faint and -unnourished. He brought her forth and sent her -up, strengthening as she came. “It is seen that I -begin to light this monastery! They would trim -the lamp.”</p> - -<p>Fear, Vanity, Pride and Old Credulity!</p> - -<p>At Martinmas the Abbot sent him to Westforest. -It was heavy penance for monk to go to -Westforest that was small, hard and bare beside -Silver Cross, that had rude living, that owned a -Prior could give tasks, set one to heavy and distasteful -work. Brother Richard Englefield was -not put to handwork, but again to watching, fasting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -cries to all the Saints, to Jesu and Mary -Mother and God the Father.</p> - -<p>He fell ill at Westforest. He was not laid in -hospital but left in the Westforest penitential cell, -though they spread a pallet for him where had -been bare stone. Prior Matthew visited him here. -He came in the day, and he came, taper in hand, -by night. He had a medicine which he gave -Brother Richard. He himself dropped a few -dark drops into a cup of water or of milk and held -it to the monk’s lips. “Drink!” After the first -time Richard Englefield tried to put it away. “On -your obedience!” said the Prior sternly. The -monk drank.</p> - -<p>He began to recover from the illness that had -prostrated him. But something seemed to have -gone from his life and something seemed to have -come into it. One night in this cell he heard a -voice. “Richard! Richard!” it cried. He -could not tell whence it came; it seemed above -him. He sat up. “Who speaks?” But when it -said “Willebrod, who was martyred,” he stared -incredulous. Sunshine and mind and his old workshop -in the old high-roofed town flooded back to -him. “Is voice from heaven twin pea to voice of -earth? I have even heard better voices of -earth!” He seemed again to be working in the -red, pleasant light of his old furnace, knowing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>good and not-so-good when he met them. He -thought, “If I do not go to sleep I shall be seeing, -hearing, like any madman!” He turned, drew -the scant covering over him and slept.</p> - -<p>But the next day Prior Matthew said that he -was not so well, and, on his obedience he drank -again the dark medicine. The taste of it was -stronger, there was more of it. Again he heard -voices. “Are they true voices—or what?” -But he was dull to them, uncaring of them. -“Surely I would know the ring of gold!”</p> - -<p>He grew better, rose from his pallet and moved -about the cell, was permitted now to go, when -rang the bell, into church. Sent there for penance -one winter eve between vespers and compline, he -suddenly, at a turn of the stone corridor, dark, -chill and deserted, saw what he must suppose to -be a vision. There was a great patch of light -and in it a man standing who must be Saint Willebrod -because he was dressed and coloured and -more or less featured like Saint Willebrod in the -painting on the wall, and he carried a silver cross. -Brother Richard stood still. Then, making to -advance, his foot struck some obstruction. Weakened -as he was, he stumbled and fell. When he -could rise the vision was gone.</p> - -<p>Only Vanity could explain why the Prior -should become his confessor. The fact of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>voices and the vision was drawn forth. “You -are greatly honoured, my son! If greater favour -yet comes to you, forget not humility—”</p> - -<p>But he told of his own honesty how cold voices -and vision left his heart, how unamazed his mind, -and that he could but think them dreams of his -sickness somehow bodied forth. The Prior looked -sternly and shook his head. “They come truly, -we hold! But it is seen that thou art as dull as -ditch water—black ember that will not respond—tongue -that hath lost taste—soul that will not -be fervent! Scourge thyself into meekness to -heaven—into that glow that will take whatever -cometh!”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield plied the scourge. He was -weak now and his eyes dazzled, and truly phantasies -pageanted before him in sound and line and -colour. He saw images, and sometimes they were -beautiful and sometimes deadly. He heard -sounds, and some were honey-sweet and others -grating or mocking. But still said his being, -“They come from no High Reality. Have I not, -being artist, always in some sort heard and seen? -O God, O God! help thou me who am dead!”</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew regarded him darkly. Westforest -rode one day to Silver Cross, talked there -with Abbot Mark. “There has been mistake! -He is not your Friar Paul kind!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> -<p>The Abbot’s pride arose. “For three years -Silver Cross hath seen him one apart!”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps! He would not,” said Matthew -sourly, “have far to go, as monks are in these -days, to stand apart and above. My point is that -you cannot make him ecstatic. So far it is beyond -me to set the mill running! He hath been ill, and -his body hath arrived at emaciation. I have given -him that elixir you wot of. Usually it sets the -fancy skipping, brews a kind of wild readiness at -seeing, hearing! And, if I read him aright, he -wants heaven to descend upon him. I provided -him to hear and see one who told him he was Saint -Willebrod. Brother Anselm, you know, whom I -took from among the players, and is—God pardon -us!—as dog to my hand—” He spread -out his hands.</p> - -<p>The Abbot groaned. “The end that we propose -is good!”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly it is! It all goes into the homely -bag of homely deceits necessary in this poor -world. But the end is that as yet we have done -naught!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot sighed. “Could we take him into -counsel?”</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then what shall we do? You have heard -that Saint Leofric healed the French Knight? -He gave candlesticks of pure gold. Shall we give -it all up, Matthew?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet. If I could find his true heart and -mind—then might we beckon appearances that -corresponded. He seems interested in a far land -and in somehow going there—and going has to -be bodily, all of him! What appears will have to -strike him down, like Saint Paul on Damascus -road—clean him of doubt, be a blaze to him, a -burning bush!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot sighed. Prior Matthew sat fixed, -with cloudy brows, seeking inspiration.</p> - -<p>He returned to Westforest. The next day, sitting -in Prior’s stall in the cold, small church, he -kept his eyes fast upon the monk Richard. He -noted his turning, he noted his uplifted, now -bloodless face, and his eyes directed to the copy -of the Silver Cross picture. Prior Matthew half -closed his own eyes, covered, as was his wont -when he was playing chess, his mouth with his -hand.</p> - -<p>Again the Prior sat as confessor. The kneeling -monk met gathered subtlety and old skill. Deep, -recessed matters, loves and longings, must come -forth.</p> - -<p>The Prior listened, questioned, listened, and at -both was skilfull. He imposed penance, and in -part it was to be performed at Silver Cross, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>“—returning there as you do, my son, this -week.”</p> - -<p>The monk bowed his head. He had not known -when, or indeed if ever, he should return to Silver -Cross. It was among his efforts at self-crucifixion -not to care. As it was his effort here and -at Silver Cross to withdraw attention from outward -happenings, outward talk. No other of his -brethren knew so little as he of the flare and clang -about Saint Leofric.</p> - -<p>He returned to Silver Cross. The bell rang -for the noon office. He went into church with his -brethren. With them he bowed, stood, chanted, -kneeled. It was nigh to Christmas tide, a clear -winter day. The sun dwelled in each jewel pane -of the windows and shot thence arrows of love. -The sun blessed nave and aisles and high groined -roof. The candles stood like angels, the great -picture glowed. It was a home-coming. Warmness -wrapped his heart that had been naked and -desolate. All grew fair, honest, friendly. He -was glad to see the Brothers, even those he had -most distasted, glad to see Abbot Mark, cloister -and church, all things! Out of topaz and amber -a beam touched the carven tomb of Montjoy’s -wife. It warmed the Lady Isabel, lying in robe -and mantle with a half smile upon her face. Not -Montjoy only, but also Richard Englefield thought -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>stone form and face had strange likeness to those -of the Glorified in the picture. Now the light -warmed her, too, the pale, golden lady, so still, so -still, waiting for the Resurrection.</p> - -<p>Amber light, topaz light. But on the great picture -every heart-red, every heavenly blue, every -rose and every lily, the upward flowing amethyst -and the diamond light above, where no more might -be seen. His heart bowed, his heart grew alive. -“Ah, Blessed among women, I am come back!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="9">IX</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">William</span>, Lord of Montjoy, was ignorant of -what machinations might be in progress up the -Vale of Wander. The Abbot had said, “Would -he be helpful? It is for the glory of Silver Cross -church, which, truly, is for him his lady whom he -must serve!”</p> - -<p>The Prior shook his head. “No! No more -than that monk himself! Let him think naught -save that there is holiness there!”</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark drew groaning breath. “There -was—there is—there shall be—!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy, in his castle yard, played for exercise -at buffets with the squire Ralph, then turned to -castle wall, and with his arms resting upon stone -parapet, looked downward and outward, gargoyle-wise. -But he was not such; he was living knight, -struggling to reach Heavenly City.</p> - -<p>It was snowing. Montjoy, wrapped in mantle, -drew hood over head and let it snow. The flakes -fell thickly, large and white. Castle rock dropped -black to castle hill that was whitening. Hill met -Middle Forest that piled toward hill. The roofs -were high, the roofs were steep. They were -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>brown, they were black, they were whitening. -Where were chimneys rose feathers of smoke. -These were houses full and well-to-do. There -were chimneys unfeathered.</p> - -<p>Sweet—sweet, deep—deep, went Saint Ethelred’s -bell. Sweet—sweet, deep—deep, the bell -of the Poor Clares. Sweet—sweet, deep—deep, -the bell of the small Carmelite house. The snow -was a veil, but he saw the river and the whitening -bridge. Across, Saint Leofric’s mount might -hardly be seen, might be guessed, as it were—cloud -friary, cloud church, cloud houses around, -all set in a cloud. Thick, thick fell the snow in -great flakes.</p> - -<p>Sweet—sweet, deep—deep rang the bells. -He thought he could hear Saint Leofric’s. On a -clear day when the wind was right, he could hear -from this wall, far and thin, the bells of Silver -Cross. To-day it could not be for this ever-passing, -ever-present wall in white motion. Yet he -imaged the hearing. Silver Cross—Westforest -up Wander—Saint Leofric—Saint Ethelred—Poor -Clares—Carmelite—they rang, and it was -Christmas season.</p> - -<p>Montjoy’s dark and serious eyes grew misty. -“We strive and buffet—cross joys, cross wills—yet, -O true Lord, every bell is sweet! Even Saint -Leofric’s—” He gripped with energy the stone -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>coping. “But it is so despite thee, Hugh, despite -thy lying that one day shall choke thee!”</p> - -<p>Silver Cross bells swung to the inner sense. -They chimed, they rang unearthly clear and sweet, -they rang clean. “Faulty is the time, and Silver -Cross has been faulty—but never and never and -never has it been nor will it be branded thief—as -you, O Hugh, have branded that which was given -you in charge!”</p> - -<p>The snow fell, the snow fell. The roofs -whitened, whitened. The smoke feathers that -had been pale against dark now were dark against -pale. The river and the bridge began to be hidden.</p> - -<p>There was a high-roofed house with more than -one great chimney stack out of which rose and -waved full and plumy smoke feathers. Down -chimney great burning logs, flame wrapped and -purring, made the house warm, it being the house -of the merchant Eustace Bettany. Alongside -stood his warehouse and his shop, and one passed -by doors from the one into the other. His house -was clean, well-fitted. To-day, it being Christmas -tide, he had shut shop and given holiday, and was -gone, he and his wife and two daughters, to a -kinsman’s house to dine and talk around kinsman’s -fire, and listen to some music from viols -and rebecs. His son, young Thomas, had turned -wilful and would not go. Nor would he, this day, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>go to seek a jolly crew in some tavern. He often -enough did that, but to-day his mood was indoors. -Having house to himself, he piled on wood and -summoned John Cobb. “You’ve on your mad -dreaming cap!” said the latter.</p> - -<p>Thomas plied the ash stick. “If I have not a -play to go to, must I not make the play? I cannot -sit still. I must run, dance, fly. I would a witch -would come down chimney and show me how!”</p> - -<p>John Cobb crossed himself.</p> - -<p>The fire burned, the fire sang. The snow fell, -large flakes, white, down coming with an intimate, -cool grace.</p> - -<p>Somerville rode into town. He rode musingly, -wrapped in a great grey mantle, with a wide, grey, -stiffened felt hat, keeping snow from him much -like a shed roof. He had ridden from manor to -Silver Cross where he had been entertained. Now -he rode on to Middle Forest, and he rode in a deep -study. Certain muscles twitched in his odd, -brown face. Upon setting out he had not meant -to go farther than Silver Cross. He hardly knew -why he should ride on down Wander. Perhaps -he might think that he wanted time to think. But -below consciousness decisions were already made, -actions acted. That was what drew the muscles -about mouth and eyes and, sitting in his wrist, -turned his big bay horse down Wander, not up. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>He might think that he was thinking, but old life -was acting after old fashion. He rode through -falling snow, and he rode not in the mood of one -night at Morgen Fay’s, but in a pleasanter, brisker -mood. He felt amused, speculative, genial, triumphant. -It was well to find human nature -through and through the ancient, pleasant, faulty -pattern! He did not dislike it—marry, no! It -strengthened, buttressed, warmed and pleased -his sense of himself to feel warp and woof so -continuous.</p> - -<p>Silver Cross had this day withdrawn all claim -to that debated good mile of land. It had acknowledged -Somerville’s right. Parchment crackled -in his pocket, parchment with Abbot Mark’s name -and seal at bottom. Land at last in his hand. -Why? Somerville knew why. “I am bought -for the miracles.” Laughter played over his -quick face.</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew had “chanced” to be at Silver -Cross. “He is the puppet master!”</p> - -<p>Nothing had been divulged as to form of puppets, -or that there were puppets, or for that matter -miracles. Certainly nothing was said of purchase. -All had been warm, friendly, with an air -of Yule. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>“But when there are miracles—believe -and cry aloud that it is so! Never bring cold to -wither them, snow to cover them! Be a friend, -and in our camp!” Somerville laughed. After -an old habit, he hummed, he sang as he rode:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Turn thy coat—</div> - <div class="p_line">Turn thy coat,</div> - <div class="p_line">Having the land,</div> - <div class="p_line">Having the land.</div> - <div class="p_line">So few know when they are bought!</div> - <div class="p_line">But all are bought,</div> - <div class="p_line">Few, few escape!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>He looked through snow to castle rock. “Ha, -Montjoy, do you escape?”</p> - -<p>For a moment a hand, as it were, wiped life -from his face, leaving it haggard and empty. But -witches trooped at whistle, sardonic mirth came -back. “We buy and we are bought! Why not—if -the world is Pennyworth Fair? If little -good is had, so is little harm. It’s an empty barn, -Montjoy, where the wind whistles!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Little good will come,</div> - <div class="p_line">Little harm will come</div> - <div class="p_line">Of Abbot Mark,</div> - <div class="p_line">Of Silver Cross—</div> - <div class="p_line">While away the day with plucking at the lute’s three strings!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>He rode through Middle Forest High Street -and coming to the door of Master Eustace Bettany, -dismounted and knocked. John Cobb let -him in, and Thomas Bettany was most glad to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>see him. But he would not tarry. He had -stopped in passing to ask Thomas to make him a -visit at Somerville Hall. Thomas was blithe to -say yes,—if his father could spare him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he will spare you!” said Somerville intelligently.</p> - -<p>His sworn follower laughed a little. In truth -Somerville was important. Merchants spared -sons to visit knights.</p> - -<p>He mounted the big bay, he rode on down High -Street. Thomas and John Cobb watched from -the door dwindling horse and man, taken into the -snow world and hidden there. Then they shook -from their coats the flakes big as guilders and returned -to the fire. “Now you’ve got your pleasure -and your play! Did your witch bring him -though?”</p> - -<p>“No!” His blue eyes regarded John Cobb -with a bright and distant look. “I’ll take you -with me, John, for my man—”</p> - -<p>The snow fell. The roof, the streets all were -white. Sound wrapped itself in wool, in far time. -The folk in the ways, the carts and wagons, the -strong horses, went in a wafted veil. It witched -them, witched the place and hour. As the snow -fell fewer and fewer were abroad. Somerville -also heard the bells ring.</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay’s house watched the head of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>old wall grow white, and the bridge grow white, -and the flakes melt in the river. A dusky plume -waved from the chimney. Below was burning -wood, and Morgen Fay moved from it to window -and from window back again.</p> - -<p>She was glad to see Somerville. “If ever I -needed counsel, I need it now! What is Ailsa? -She cannot give it, nor can Tony! What are the -others who come here? They have not thy wit, -or they are too young or too old. Montjoy has -wiped me from his dear soul!”</p> - -<p>“Your eyes are red. Were you weeping for -that?”</p> - -<p>“No! And I wept not much. It does no good. -My cousin, Father Edwin, is dead.”</p> - -<p>“I knew not that he ailed!”</p> - -<p>“Ay, he is dead. And there comes to me warning -that Father Edmund will preach against me -in Saint Ethelred and at town cross.”</p> - -<p>“Can there arrive great harm? Middle -Forest likes thee pretty well!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, once, I know, I might have sailed out of -storm—”</p> - -<p>“Why not again?”</p> - -<p>“With the miracles—with Saint Leofric blazing -there? Middle Forest is become good! I -tell you I see before me stoning and misery!”</p> - -<p>He studied the fire. He was inclined to agree -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>with her that her hour had struck. “Well! You -have had years of down-lined nest—of merry -life!”</p> - -<p>“So wind will blow less cold and stones bruise -less? Merry life? Oh, aye, sometimes!”</p> - -<p>“What will you do to escape?”</p> - -<p>“Marry, tell me! Tell me, Rob!”</p> - -<p>She came and put her hand upon his breast. She -felt him draw slightly back from her. She stood -away herself and her dark eyes pierced him; she -sighed. Presently she said, “Thou, too! thou, -too! Well, out of common decency, counsel -me!”</p> - -<p>He cogitated. “While there is yet time you -might get secretly away—to London or elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I want not to go! This is home. I -should miss my river and my garden.”</p> - -<p>“Montjoy?”</p> - -<p>“In old days he might—because that I look -like that Isabel who looked like Our Lady in the -Silver Cross picture. But now I know not that -he would shield, nor that he could. He hath put -himself awry with all the folk.”</p> - -<p>Somerville laughed. “Aye, I have seen that! -Let him speak now against rising zeal at his peril! -Out upon him will rush the hive!”</p> - -<p>He sat regarding her with very bright eyes. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>“Man lives to learn! Until this moment I knew -not that of Montjoy, nor that you are like—as -now I see you are like—that picture! Why did -you never tell me that?”</p> - -<p>“I know not. I have some grace—like a little -star, far, far away!”</p> - -<p>He regarded her meditatively. “You are a -mixture! A hand shakes the phial until the dregs -are on top.”</p> - -<p>“I wish they were skimmed off and thrown -away. But all of me might then be gone, oh, all -of me! Tell me what I am to do, Robert!”</p> - -<p>Leaning back in his chair, he looked now at her -and now at the fire. “Priest against priest! -Father Edwin dead. Seek afield. None at the -Carmelites, no! Saint Leofric gives no help. -Silver Cross—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Abbot Mark must trot his mule beside -Zeal-for-goodness! Not else can he keep apace -with the time!” Morgen Fay burst into laughter. -She laughed, and then she sat silent with -her head bowed upon the settle’s arm.</p> - -<p>“If he preaches—Father Edmund—at town -cross, best were it that you disappear.”</p> - -<p>“Lock house against better days and vanish—aye, -where?”</p> - -<p>“There’s many a place.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aye, far away. I do not will to go far away. -May not I have true love beside all the untrue?”</p> - -<p>“Poor wretch! It is nigh smothered!” said -Somerville and laughed; after which he sat in -silence and all manner of odd and mocking lights -played in his face. “Well, disappear up -Wander!”</p> - -<p>“How far up?”</p> - -<p>“Well, not as far as Somerville Hall. That -may not be. But there is the ruined farm that -bears toward Silver Cross. Put on country dress -and darken your face, and David and his wife who -live there will take you in—Alice or Joan. I -will speak to them. You may bide there until we -are less good.”</p> - -<p>There was silence. A red coal fell with a silken -sound. Out of window all was white and still. -“I despair,” said Morgen Fay. “Not for this -danger nor for that but I—I myself. I despair.”</p> - -<p>“If there were any way to buy Silver -Cross—” He sat and looked into the fire.</p> - -<p>The snow fell thick, thick and white. It hid -the bridge, it hid Saint Leofric, it hid the castle -of Montjoy. It wrapped the town. Dusk came to -help it. Snow and night wrapped the time and -place.</p> - -<p>In the night it ceased to snow and cleared. -Winter stars and purple dawn and saffron day. -The sun sprang up and beneath him lay a diamond -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>earth. Somerville, riding up Wander, pulled his -hat over eyes, so dazzling were the light shafts.</p> - -<p>Out from the road that turned aside to Silver -Cross came upon his mule the Prior of Westforest, -attended by two monks. There was greeting. -“Ride on with me to Westforest, Sir -Robert!”</p> - -<p>They rode together and when they came to -Westforest Somerville dismounted and went with -Prior Matthew into his parlour.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="10">X</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Brother Anselm</span> had been transferred, it -seemed, from Westforest to Silver Cross. Richard -Englefield found him here, and in the cell that -had been Brother Oswald’s. The latter, with -Brothers Peter, Allen and Timothy, were gone -into dormitory. Only Brother Norbert was left. -In the six cells dwelled Brother Anselm, Brother -Norbert and himself. There had been other -changes. A great rood was put up in his cell. -Broad and dark, a poor wooden Christ hanging -thereon, it overspread a third of one side of the -cell. It stood there, shadowy against a shadowy -wall, as all the cell was shadowy,—the thin winter -light stealing in by day, the one taper by night.</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield the goldsmith had seen -many a great rood in England and France and -Italy. He had seen poor carving, rude and struggling -thought and unskilful hand, hardly attaining -to truth, hardly to strength, hardly to beauty. But -beauty and strength and truth had been longed -for. This carving, this rood, showed him no -such thing. “Not the way it is done, but the -dream is wrong.” It grew faintly horrible to -him.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> -<p>The long winter days, the knees upon stone. -“O God, O God! Where is light, where is meaning? -In me is wold and thicket and bog and the -stars put out!”</p> - -<p>Only the picture stayed with him, made somehow -significance, somehow warmth. Now it -paled and now it glowed.</p> - -<p>He ate little, slept little. He crucified his body. -Like the insistent sweet ringing of a bell, forever, -forever, Silver Cross suggested, suggested. -Surely, in some sort, heaven should descend! He -was earning it. He began to have visions, but -they were pale, confused, forms without significance -or with the significance hidden. They -said naught that might lift the Abbey of Silver -Cross to a height that should equal Saint -Leofric’s mount.</p> - -<p>Twelfth night—Candlemas Day—Lent in -sight—and Saint Leofric blazing high! Not -that only, but Middle Forest beginning to manifest -holiness and uncloak sin. Father Edmund -of Saint Ethelred had no vision but the vision of -a rod for the wicked. But he had a preaching -power! He stood upon the steps of town cross -and his white heat turned the icicles to water. -The sinner, Morgen Fay, was fled,—none knew -whither. They said likely to London town. They -sacked her house, they drummed the old woman -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>and the youth, her servants, out of town. Both -sides of river and up Wander vale, enthusiasm -gathered light in eyes, red in cheeks. There began -to be prophets and religious dancers. In Middle -Forest High Street appeared a band of flagellants. -The air was taking fire. “Now, now or -never!” said Prior Matthew.</p> - -<p>The ruined farm, that had been small and poor -even before fire had half destroyed it, stood -gaunt, blackened, sunk in loneliness behind winter -forest through which few walked. Margery and -David, blear-eyed and simple, living in the part -that held together, found the helper-woman, Joan, -strong but moody, now ready to laugh at a little -thing and now dark as a tempest over the wood -that shut out the world. Somerville the master -had said, “Take her!” They had obeyed, and -if they speculated it was sluggishly.</p> - -<p>Past the holly copse stretched land of Silver -Cross, woodland with a woodman’s path through. -Somerville came by this. He talked with Joan -or with Morgen Fay under the hollies where the -berries were so red and the leaves so glossy and -barbed. She said vehemently, “No!” and she -said, “No!” and “No!” again, but more dully, -pettishly.</p> - -<p>“It’s sin. I’ve done much, but I haven’t done -that!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> -<p>“You choose then a powerful enemy—”</p> - -<p>She raised her arms above her head. “If you -will show me where the world is not wicked—!”</p> - -<p>“Psha! Do you remember a foggy night -when we talked? Return to that mood and say, -‘It is a play, and I can do it wonderfully!’ You -could—you can!”</p> - -<p>“I do not see that Abbot Mark can harm me -more than I am harmed!”</p> - -<p>“Think you so? Should there come a band of -monks to break the house and hale you forth—strip -you and fling you into Wander, or maybe -into fire? If Silver Cross but speaks to Saint -Ethelred, Abbot Mark to Father Edmund? If -I withdraw my hand? Do not look like a queen -in a book! I mean only that in no wise can I -save you further. Montjoy is not powerful -enough, even if he would, and I have here less -power of arm than has he. You must save yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I think that your Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew -are devils!”</p> - -<p>“No. They are not. They are honest men -trying to assure and increase that which they hold -to be their own. Human stuff, even as you -and I!”</p> - -<p>“Human stuff! Well, I would choose another -stuff if I might!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> -<p>“No, you would not, poor Morgen Fay, by the -chill Wander! You chose this. Well, will you, -or will you not?”</p> - -<p>“I will not.”</p> - -<p>“You think that you will not. However, you -will. If you do not you are lost.”</p> - -<p>“Lost to what?”</p> - -<p>“Well, to ease—to your own kind of command—finally -perhaps to your life.”</p> - -<p>She said in a strangled voice. “As I came here -to this house so will I walk on by day or by night -and come to another town.”</p> - -<p>He turned quickly. “Try it!—or rather do -not try it! You will find that you cannot.”</p> - -<p>The holly berries were red, the leaves glossy -and barbed. She looked at the pale winter sky. -“Is it sky? It seems to me a poor tent that we -have struggled to get up—poor, mean, low, -ragged. I would it might fall and kill us!”</p> - -<p>He smiled indulgently. “No, you do not so! -Any day you could kill yourself. But you love -life. Go to, now! Look at the curious dance of -the time correctly! Mumming is no great sin. -What! All the saints and higher than the saints -were on the market-place stage last Middle Forest -Fair. They talked and walked—even the Highest! -Very good! It is but Miracle Play again, -and truly for no ill ends—”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> -<p>Red holly berries, barbed leaves. He won her -to stand and listen, though with heaving bosom -and dark brows. Pale sky and voice of Wander -and birds of winter in naked oak and beech. The -ruined farm—and her house above the river and -her garden turned against her. Father Edmund -preaching at town cross against the wicked time -and each remaining sin—and they had swept up -her house and garden and drummed forth Ailsa -and Tony, who were God knew where! And -Montjoy nor any cared any longer! Barbed -leaves and miserable world bent on injury! He -won her to nod her head and then to break into -reckless laughter.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="11">XI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> monk Richard awoke, he knew not why. -He woke widely, collectedly, his forces drawn to -a point of expectation. “Awake, awake! -Look!” seemed to echo in his soul that had suddenly -grown quiet. When he had slept his cell -was flooded by the moon. Still there was her silver -light. He sat up. He was with absoluteness -aware of a presence in the cell. Never before, in -his pale visions, had he had this sense of startling, -of reality,—not at Westforest, not here at Silver -Cross. He knew that there was a being in his -cell. Neither could he nor did he doubt it. A -voice spoke to him, and it was golden-sweet and -rich and wonderful. “Richard!”</p> - -<p>He turned himself. Light that was not moonlight, -though it blended with the moonlight, and -in it, <em>real</em>, the Blessed among women!</p> - -<p>Could he doubt? It was the great picture come -alive! Could he doubt? She spoke—and he -had not uttered that dart of thought. “Not that -that painter could see me as I am in glory—but -knowing that thou lovest me so, I come to thee -so! I come to thee as thou canst see me, Richard!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> -<p>She was <em>real</em>, she was not tinted air. <em>Real</em>—oh, -<em>real</em>! Soft playing light was about her feet, -her form, her head, her outspread and glorious -dark hair. Her eyes were books, her mouth upland -meadows of flowers; the blue and red of her -dress, her mantle, trembled and was alive. Life -went out of her toward him, his life leaped to -meet it. Life at last, <em>life</em>! <em>life</em>! He sprang from -his pallet, he kneeled in his monk’s robe. He put -his forehead to the stone.</p> - -<p>The voice came again—oh, the voice! “Richard, -list to me!”</p> - -<p>All heaven was speaking to him and filling -him—him, him who had been so unhappy!—with -joy and power.</p> - -<p>“Thou hast loved me well, and so thou hast -drawn me, servant Richard, knight Richard, my -poet Richard! I love all places—but now I -love this place well and would do it good.”</p> - -<p>He found daring to speak. “Star of me—Bringer -of me into full being—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Thou canst not know all the counsel of -heaven. I will come again, renewing thy joy. -But now hearken what thou art to do, unquestioning, -as thou lovest me! The morn comes. -When rings the bell for lauds, when thy brethren -flock into church, haste thou, haste! Stand before -them. Cry, thou that lovest me. ‘This night -hath the Blessed among women appeared to me, -Richard Englefield!’ And she saith, ‘Speak to -all of Silver Cross, and say thou for me, Of old -I loved this place, and I will love it again, for I -see it returning to its first strength and worship!’ -Say thou, ‘I will give it room again in men’s -minds. I will return and show a thing whereby -multitudes shall be healed and glory shall -come!’”</p> - -<p>There was pause, then “Be thou he, Richard, -who loveth me well, through whom I shall speak! -Morn cometh. The bell begins to ring.”</p> - -<p>The soft, the playing light withdrew. He felt -her still—oh, <em>real</em>!—then in the darkness, into -it, behind it as it were, she was gone. He knew -that she was gone into utter light.</p> - -<p>But here was vacancy, faint moonbeams, a cell -of shadows. But the comfort and the passion and -the splendour were in his heart, his veins, his -blood, in the potent cells of his body! With -power, with success, they summoned the brain to -do them service. He believed like a child, and he -was the impassioned lover.</p> - -<p>He felt more than man. A great lightness and -gaiety, a rest upon promise, held him one moment, -and the next a longing, an agony,—and all was -huge and resonant, deep, wide and high; and all -was fine and small and subtle and profoundly at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>home! Time and space had radically changed -for him.</p> - -<p>He was yet kneeling when the bell for lauds -began to ring. Rising, he saw through the window -the setting moon,—then he was gone.</p> - -<p>The candles were lighted. It was not Abbot -Mark’s wont to be seated there, in Abbot’s stall, -for lauds. But he was here, picked out by the -light. The hollow of the church was all dark; the -choir, the ranged monks, thinly dyed with amber. -When he passed the tomb of the Lady of Montjoy -he thought that a warmer light laved it, touching -the stone almost to life. But the great picture—ah, -the great picture! He lifted to it light-filled -eyes. She was there—she was in heaven—she -had stood in his cell. His being was in her hands; -he lay with the Babe in her arms.</p> - -<p>He would give her message rightly! It seemed -almost that the church waited for it, the windows -where the dawn was bringing faint, faint colours. -A great wave of feeling swept him, affection and -pity for Silver Cross. Once it had been saintly -and a light for all wanderers. Dear would it be, -dear and rich and sweet if it all could come again, -the old, simple power!</p> - -<p>With that he heard his own voice, as it were the -voice of another, lifted but profound, too, a deep, -a rushing music, since what he had to tell was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>heaven’s music. The Abbot summoned him to -stand upon the step, lifted high above Silver -Cross monks. He gave forth her words, and the -world seemed to him an altar, and the candles -suns, and he felt himself that he spoke like a -strong angel.</p> - -<p>There were ejaculations, cries of praise, -snatches of prayers. The Abbot kneeled—the -sub-prior—all! The picture seemed to glow, -to bend forward, to bless. In the faces of the simpler -monks sat pure awe and belief. Some wept. -There were two or three ecstatic faces. Those -who had been lazy or proud or sensual or lying -showed to his thinking smitten. He had not liked -them, but now they were like poor faulty children -to him, to be loved still, so brimming was his -power!</p> - -<p>Brother Norbert, whom certainly he had not -liked, cried aloud, “Now Silver Cross shines -again—shines brighter than the bones of Saint -Leofric!”</p> - -<p>Brother Norbert, too, stepped into the deep-throbbing -inner Paradise. While there arose a -cry of “Praise Our Lady!”—while the Abbot -kneeled before her image—while, as though she -had said “Sing!” the church filled with singing, -Brother Richard knew bliss. The dawn was in -the windows, the great sun struck through, there -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>was golden day. But his thought was, “Will she -come to-night?”</p> - -<p>The day was on him, and it was unsupportable, -with the fervour, with the talking, with the restlessness -of the Abbey-fold. He had longing to go -to his old workroom, to light the furnace, to take -up work. But that had been long forbidden. It -was March. Lay Brothers and tenants were -plowing Abbey fields. He would have worked -with them, but again was forbidden. But he -had at least permission to go forth under open -sky. He might walk in orchard or garden. -Silence was enjoined. He felt no sorrow as to -that; silence was needed to talk with Heaven.</p> - -<p>The March day was bright, sunny, still, not -cold. Two Abbey men were pruning the fruit -trees. Richard Englefield signed that he would -help. He worked for hours and the work was welcome. -He must steady himself in order to feel -again and again and steadily—in order to know -every strange flower and divine essential thread!</p> - -<p>Long day went slow-footed by, and yet were -its moments gems and blossoms. He did not reason, -he did not think; he only knew strange bliss -and strange pain and expected both to continue.</p> - -<p>Vespers—the picture— the Magnificat. Exalted -as he was he knew that there was exaltation -about him, in the church. Did he care to bring it -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>before his mind he would have agreed that by now -tidings of so great import must have gone here, -gone there. No more than incense or music or -light could it be kept at the starting point! Presently -it would be far and near.</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew of Westforest sat next the Abbot’s -stall. That was to be expected, Silver Cross -and Westforest being mother and daughter. The -hollow of the church showed clusters of folk -from Wander side. That, too, was to be looked -for. The Lord of Montjoy stood beside the tomb -of Isabel; often he came to Silver Cross, and it -was not to be wondered at that he was here to-day, -summoned doubtless by Abbot Mark. Montjoy’s -dark face showed exaltation. It glowed; -you would have said there was personal triumph. -Richard Englefield felt for Montjoy sudden kinship -and liking.</p> - -<p>What faces were turned to him, what looks -were cast upon him, what watchings, what judgments, -hopes, he knew not. After the first habitual -sweep of the eye, after the first movement of -spirit toward Montjoy, he was the picture’s.</p> - -<p>The church grew wide as earth. The chanting -went up long coloured lanes to heaven’s gate. -The setting sun sang, and the rising moon sang, -and the stars, as through the dusk they strode -nearer.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> -<p>It was night. He was alone in his cell. Again -he slept. He waked and knew that he was in her -presence.</p> - -<p>Softened glory, diminished that he might see -her as he could see her. Her red and her blue, her -form, her face, her voice—kneeling, he trembled -with his joy as with a burden too great to bear. -It was as ocean wave to a babe. Vast, crested, it -curved above him. His life might go—he cared -not for that, if on the other side of life he might -still adore!</p> - -<p>The voice! “Richard! Say thou for me to -Silver Cross, ‘Go by the orchard, go by the hill -where feed the sheep. Go to where shines a fir -tree against the steep hill. Beside it you will -find fallen earth and a little cave made bare, and -in the stone over the cave my name. Let the Abbot -of Silver Cross and the holiest among you -enter. There shall you find a little well of clear -water, and by token beside it a rose. The well -hath been blessed by me and by all the host of -heaven. Make you of the grot a chapel. Set my -image there; make it a place that I may love. -Make for the well a pool, and whosoever drinks -of it and whosoever bathes therein, if he have -faith he shall be completely healed, be he ill either -of body or estate!’”</p> - -<p>The music fell, then rose again. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>“That is my -task for thee, Richard! That is the errand thou -wilt do for me.”</p> - -<p>The voice ceased. He thought that the light -began to go away, her form to dim. He cried -aloud, fear pushing him to wild utterance. “I -will do it! But wilt thou come again? I may -not live unless thou wilt come!”</p> - -<p>There seemed pause, then said the voice like -the balm of the world. “I will come once again—and -perhaps thereafter, so thou servest me -firmly!” And, as he bowed his head, as tears -of sweetness, of exquisite rest in her word, rushed -to his eyes, she was gone. Darkness—and again -through the window the declining moon, and immediately -the bell for the dawn office.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="12">XII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Silver Cross</span> went in procession. The Abbot -with the Prior of Westforest walked ahead and -there followed chanting monks. Then came lay -Brothers and villagers and a quarter of the countryside -and a half-score from Middle Forest. The -Lord of Montjoy walked. Bright was the morning, -high and crisp; white frost on ground. -Rounding the hill they cried, “The fir tree!”</p> - -<p>They knew not how it was, but the tree, the -first confirmation, seemed to spring before them, -magical, mighty, a veritable tree of life. Many -may have noted it before, through the years, -standing like a sentinel before the hill, and -thought only, “A great tree, with good shade for -shepherds in hot summer tide!” But now -marvel clothed it.</p> - -<p>The wind began to play through the stretched -wires of Imagination. The harp was sounding.</p> - -<p>It was the Prior of Westforest who cried, “Lo, -the fallen earth! Not touched from without, -but pushed from within!”</p> - -<p>It lay in truth, sod, earth and rock, to right and -left, as though Might would come forth and had -done so.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> -<p>The procession broke from column into a -throng as of bees, eyes toward their queen. There -was the opening into the hill like a door with a -great stone for lintel. The Abbot spoke to the -monk Richard. “Read thou!” A breath of -assent ran like wind through wheat. “Aye, aye, -the one she came to!”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield read the name cut there and -gave it to the folk as he had given in Silver Cross -church the message. Tall, spare, gold-brown, in -daily seeming stripped to simplicity and quietude, -but now with that around him that made for -catching of the breath, he stood and read and -turned and gave the name of the Blessed among -women.</p> - -<p>The Abbot and the Prior of Westforest entered -the small cavern. The bright sun was there; it -was light enough. With them they took the monk -Richard, and Brother Oswald whom all knew for -right monk and Brother Ralph. There entered, -too, the Lord of Montjoy. At first he would not. -“She saith, Take the good—” But the Abbot -drew him by the hand. There went in likewise -one from Middle Forest,—Father Edmund the -Preacher.</p> - -<p>There was the well,—a little basin of clear -water bubbling from the farther rock. It was -March and the world leafless. But close beside -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>the water lay a fresh rose, nor red nor white, of a -colour like the dawn. Stem and leaf and blossom -it lay, and in the water appeared its likeness. -The Abbot stooped toward it. Montjoy laid hand -on him. “No! Let this man lift it!” He and -Richard Englefield and Brothers Oswald and -Ralph saw a transfigured rose. It glowed, it -beat; it was seen through tears.</p> - -<p>Brother Richard kneeled before it, touched it -with his forehead. Then in his two hands he bore -it through the opening of the grot and showed it, -lifted, to the folk.</p> - -<p>Out of the hushed throng rang a voice. “The -cave and well of Our Lady of the Rose!”</p> - -<p>“That is it! That is it! Our Lady of the -Rose!”</p> - -<p>The Abbot lifted his hands. “It shall be kept -for aye in reliquary. Lord of Montjoy—”</p> - -<p>“I will give the reliquary!” Montjoy saw in -imagination the rose blooming for aye, sending -through gold and precious stones light and fragrance -to Isabel.</p> - -<p>It seemed that the sub-prior had brought from -the Abbot’s house a silver dish and a square of -fine white linen. Brother Richard laid the rose -in the silver thing that he himself had carved.</p> - -<p>Now all that might would press into the grot. -At last order was had and like links of a massy -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>chain in and forth passed the throng. There was -a woman from Wander Mill, dumb for years, and -it was known that she had not won healing from -Saint Leofric. Now she came, she stooped, she -lifted water in her hands and drank. She rose, -she turned, she stammered, made strange sounds, -then burst forth clear. “Praise God! Praise -Blessed Lady!—Oh, children, I am speaking!”</p> - -<p>Tears were in all eyes.</p> - -<p>One other was healed that day,—a man whose -fingers were bent into his hand so that he could -not straighten them nor work at his trade.</p> - -<p>There was a great Mass and high devotion at -Silver Cross. There were offerings for at once -lining with fine stone the grotto of Our Lady of -the Rose, for providing a fair, wide basin for the -well, for a glorious image.</p> - -<p>Earth, water and air seemed servants to bear -the news. The hum of it was like wild bees -through Wander vale. Middle Forest listened at -sunset to Father Edmund. “True—true, my -children! We have preached and wrought, -scourging forth evil! This country wins a new -name. From accursed, it becomes blessed!” The -river heard and the bridge and Saint Leofric’s -Mount and the Friary and Prior Hugh. The bells -of Saint Ethelred rang and of the Carmelites and -the Poor Clares. The castle of Montjoy heard. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>Somerville Hall heard, and the house of Master -Eustace Bettany.</p> - -<p>The ruined farm heard,—but so dull and -trouble-bent were David and Margery that they -cared not. Little things only could get into Margery’s -mind, and a little thing was turning there. -Joan, the helper-woman, slept in a loft that was -reached by an outside stair. Margery had swimming -in the head and feared this stair and rarely -went to loft. But this day Joan might be anywhere, -but could not be found at hand. Margery -climbed the stair and peered about. Very blank -up here, with flock bed and ancient chest and some -hanging things. But in the window under the -thatch, in the sunshine of a mild day, stood the -tiny rose tree that Joan had brought with her -under her cloak when she came to the ruined farm -two months since. She said she brought it because -she loved it, and she begged an earthern jar -and put in rich soil and planted afresh that which -she had taken from such a jar in order to bring it -so great a distance,—in short from the great -port town twenty leagues away. Now, at the -ruined farm, she must have nourished it well and -kept it warm, for it was green and leafy. Margery, -going over to admire it, set herself to turn -the jar that she might better see. The jar fell and -broke. The earth heaped itself on the floor, the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>stem and leaves were bruised. “Alack!” cried -Margery and hurried down stairs, for she thought -she heard Joan. Though in form she was the mistress -it was not so essentially. She explained -volubly when, in another hour, there confronted -her Joan with a shard of the jar in her hand. She -would remember the loft and the little rose tree, -but the news of miracles at Silver Cross, brought -by a straying shepherd, whistled through like -wind over grass that when the stir was gone -forgot.</p> - -<p>The March sunset flared splendid. The dusk -fell like violets. The stars, advancing, were taper -flames and an angel vast as all mankind held each. -The moon would not rise till late. “Come, oh, -come, come, Rose of Heaven!” So the monk -Richard Englefield in his dark cell.</p> - -<p>He must sleep, he would sleep, he would trust, -not clamor nor force. He slept, he waked; she -was there, she appeared to him. “Rose of -Heaven, Rose of Heaven—Voice of Heaven, -Blessed One—My Lady!”</p> - -<p>She was there to confirm him in worship, to -say, “Well done, thus far!” to say, “Pray thou—praise -thou—live thou, humble, obedient, -shedding holiness on Silver Cross!”</p> - -<p>“Wilt thou come again?”</p> - -<p>The voice that was music said, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>“Live in memory -and live in hoping! But now, Richard, farewell!”</p> - -<p>Darkness where had been light. The kneeling -monk stretched his arms, strained his eyes, but -there was darkness. He heard no movement, -but she was not there! Empty cell, and a black -cloud across the moon!</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="13">XIII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> came no more. Night after night of dark,—only -the star Memory and the sapphire star of -passionate hope that once again, once again he -would wake, clear, still, and know her there. -“Even after years, oh, heaven that holds her, oh, -God that sustains her! Even after years beyond -counting.”</p> - -<p>She came no more. The nights were slow dark -raindrops, heavy, full, one after the other falling, -slow falling, not to be counted. They made -rosaries, they would make rosaries for aye. -“Then I must go to her. Where is the eagle will -show me the path?”</p> - -<p>March—April. The rose in reliquary, the -cave stone lined, the well widened into a fair pool -with steps for going down, for coming up, one in -so many healed! April—May. Noise of Silver -Cross like a waving of forest trees, like a humming -of all the bees in the meadows. Folk coming, -going; more folk and more folk coming! -At the Abbey a greater guest house in planning; -in shambling village taverns, booths, houses rising. -Pilgrims on foot and pilgrims on horseback -and in litter. A bishop stayed three days in the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>Abbot’s house, there was rumour that the cardinal -might come. The bells of Silver Cross rang -jubilee.</p> - -<p>Middle Forest relied now upon its own -side of the river. Montjoy in his castle looked -younger by ten years. He looked like some crusading -Montjoy of long ago, long ago. The river -murmured of both banks; the bridge seemed to -have two loves. But the mount of Saint Leofric, -though it said, “Praise for doubling!” seemed -rather to wish to say, “Out upon division!” -Prior Hugh, though he spoke gracious words, -looked warped and wan and cogitative.</p> - -<p>Early May at the ruined farm and Somerville -and the helping-woman Joan in the forest, under -a beech tree pale green and silver grey, springing -tall and stretching wide. “I will to go back -to my house by the river! All the world is joyous -and grown softened—Oh, I hear it with the ear -inside of ear and I touch it with the touch inside -of touch! Good was done for all of the evil, was -it not, Rob?”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “Oh, woman—! You can’t go -back. Father Edmund has three voices where he -had one! Moreover—”</p> - -<p>“Moreover—?”</p> - -<p>“See you, Morgen, go up to London town.”</p> - -<p>“And why should I go to London town?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> -<p>“Ask for that Westforest and Silver Cross.”</p> - -<p>Under the beech tree was carpet of last year’s -leaves. She lifted and crumbled them in her -hands. “When I said that I would be secret, I -meant not telling! They have no call to fear -me.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they tell themselves that. Or perhaps -they see faint menace every time they look -this way!”</p> - -<p>“They promised that trouble should cease. I -was going back to my own house over my own -garden, by the river that I like to hear by day, by -night. They said that Father Edmund should be -checked. Presently I was to find that I might -slip back—”</p> - -<p>“What is promised is not easy sometimes to -perform. They will give you gold in London. -London is rich, and you are Morgen Fay. Go, -and be powerful there!”</p> - -<p>“And you—and you? Oh, I remember that -you go once in five years to London!”</p> - -<p>“If you cried out in Middle Forest market place -what was done not a soul would believe you!”</p> - -<p>“No. It is too monstrous!”</p> - -<p>“Then and there the folk might tear you limb -from limb for wild blaspheming. They are truly -quite safe.”</p> - -<p>She broke into high laughter. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>“Then let them -leave me alone, and let them keep promise! It -irks me that they are so false! Here are two -months, and not yet may I go back! And Ailsa -and Tony, where are they? I see them begging -or in gaol!”</p> - -<p>“You should be happy,” he said, “that you are -not beggar nor in gaol.”</p> - -<p>There fell silence. The beech tree sprang light -green and silver, the sky was blue, the blackbirds -talked, a thrush sang, wandering airs went by. -The world was sweet. But she crushed the dead -leaves and sat still.</p> - -<p>“You must go. Need or no need, they will -have it so! Nor can you stay at the ruined farm -forever. Something will happen endangering you—endangering -me.”</p> - -<p>She said. “Is life wicked—or are we wicked—or -are we dull and lifeless—stones, broken -twigs, dead leaves? Many an one says that I am -wicked, and doubtless I am at times. I know it—I -know it! And then again I am not wicked. -So if I say that you are so, poor Sir Robert Somerville? -Perhaps I am mistaken—perhaps I am -right. It’s a weary way to knowledge!”</p> - -<p>“Were you gentler,” he said, “had you not -such a tongue, you would find that the winds did -not rock your nest so roughly!”</p> - -<p>He stood up. “Ah, go!” she said. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>“Go! I -have seen it coming—now it comes! Your -road’s to John o’ Groat’s house and mine’s to -Land’s End!”</p> - -<p>“You mock the wind,” he answered, “with -your nest fixed so firm upon the bough!”</p> - -<p>He went away by woodman’s path, and she to -the ruined farm. “Eh, lass!” said Margery at -dusk. “You can work when your mind’s to it!”</p> - -<p>The third day from this Somerville and she -were again in the wood. “I am going. It is -trudge! All of you make a north wind that I set -my back against and go! Nor will I cry for it, -Somerville!”</p> - -<p>“You have no need to. They shall give you -money. Walk or ride in a cart from here -through the later half of night, keeping disguise. -Come to the port in a day or so and find there the -<i>King Arthur</i> bound for London. Find, too, upon -the ship Ailsa—”</p> - -<p>Red flowed over her face. “Oh, the power -that men, and honest men, own! It is enough -to make one willing to sell soul to devil!”</p> - -<p>He waved that aside. “It is for your own -safety that you are going. And were I wholly -wicked I should not be here, nor Ailsa at the port -awaiting you—”</p> - -<p>She said. “That is true. I thank you there, -Rob!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> -<p>She broke a spray of hazel, set her teeth in the -green wood, then threw it away. “Shall we say -good-by now, you and I?”</p> - -<p>“Not just yet. Something has arisen since we -sat here the other day. I have seen Prior Matthew.”</p> - -<p>“Aye?”</p> - -<p>“There is needed one more appearance. Question -has arisen as to Saint Willebrod—if he rests -still or if actively he aids! There are some who -are devoted to him. Once more then!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will not!”</p> - -<p>His bright eyes dwelt upon her, all the lights -played in his odd face. “Why not, Morgen? -Be good-natured! I nor none am doing badly by -you.”</p> - -<p>“What do you get from this?”</p> - -<p>“The old debatable land—and a piece that was -not debatable. I love land! And I get playgoer’s -enjoyment, watching from a good, quiet -seat—and comfort that we’re all fruit just pleasantly -specked and wasp-eaten—and some mirth -from Montjoy’s ecstacy. So be good! What! -There are houses by Thames in London. You -may have a garden still—plant your rose tree -there.”</p> - -<p>It was high May weather. As once before -Thomas Bettany had errand up the Wander,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>merchant -errand of account-to-be-paid. This time -it was with Oak Tree Grange beyond Silver -Cross. He rode in the May tide and with him -rode John Cobb, and they had done the errand. -Oak Tree Grange lay out of the world, and now -they were on a cart track, nothing more.</p> - -<p>Young Bettany rode light and happy on his big -grey horse. May world was a fair world, fair, -sweet, gay, kind! He whistled clear and strong. -“I swear I saw God sitting on yon cloud!”</p> - -<p>Said John Cobb, “I’m going to Silver Cross to -get this old scar taken off my face.”</p> - -<p>“Silver Cross. I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>They were riding by a wood, old, uncut, dim. -“This is Somerville’s land now! He always -claimed it, and now the Abbey allows it.”</p> - -<p>John Cobb looked about him. “I know now -where we are. Over there, a mile through, is a -ruined farm. Lonely! It’s so lonely you lose -yourself—and there’s a ghost walks in the -wood.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go look.”</p> - -<p>John was not averse, being in the other’s company. -They left cart track and rode over yielding -earth under old trees. There was no path -and the trees must be rounded. The way they -had come sank from sight, almost it might seem -from mind, so quick the place took them. Bettany’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -blue eyes sparkled. He loved all this; he -might come at any moment upon wizard’s tower. -What indeed they came upon was another faint -track, leading north and south. “Abbey is that -way and Somerville Hall that way, and over there -is the turn to the road we left. They come in and -go out that way—but, Lord, there’s mortal little -travel! You might say it’s a witched place.”</p> - -<p>“That is what I like!” said the other. “Oh, -if I might I would travel far!”</p> - -<p>They rode as though it were bottom of the sea, -it was so green and silent. Bettany turned in his -saddle and studied the lay of the place. “When -Somerville goes to Silver Cross I think he takes -this way. It’s not so far.”</p> - -<p>“Turn here to the ruined farm. David that -lives here, I’ve heard my mother say, was foster -brother to Sir Robert’s father.”</p> - -<p>They rode on and now they saw the ruined farm -between the trees. A wreck it seemed, like a -broken ship slipped down to sea floor. Then by -a thorn in bloom stood up Morgen Fay.</p> - -<p>“<em>Who are you?</em>”</p> - -<p>“<em>Who are you?</em>”</p> - -<p>In a moment she knew him and Bettany knew -her for all her servant dress and stained face. -“How do you come here—how do you come -here? You are in London—”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> -<p>John Cobb crossed himself. “Like she be a -sorceress, too—”</p> - -<p>Morgen stepped from the thorn to the side of -the big grey horse. She met blue eyes with dark -eyes. Her lips smiled, her eyes and under her -eyes. “Oh, the saints!” she said. “I can but -be glad to see you, lad! You are no telltale! -Can you teach your man to be none either?”</p> - -<p>“I can that. But Morgen Fay, how did you -grow here?”</p> - -<p>He swung himself down from his horse and -stood beside her. John Cobb gaped. “Send him -a little away,” she said, “but do not let him out -of sight. This world’s a danger-bush where the -thorn is always near the may!”</p> - -<p>They talked. “Do you remember that foggy -day when you climbed through window? I have -not seen you since! I like you, though not the -way that all expect. I wish I might have had you -for brother. Well, they would stone me—burn -me, maybe—in the market place, Father Edmund -preaching over me! I dwell at the ruined -farm.”</p> - -<p>Intelligence flashed between them. “Somerville -saved you—put you here. I think the better -of him!” He spoke sturdily, a young spiritual -adventurer.</p> - -<p>She looked at him with eyes that seemed to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>have considered a myriad matters. She sighed—she -stretched her arms in a yearning gesture in -the dim gulf of the world into which the wood -seemed to have turned. “It is away to London! -Maybe I shall never again see you nor Somerville -nor Montjoy, who is too good now to be seen -close, nor Middle Forest High Street that I -danced in when I was a little girl, nor my house -that I liked, though often was I wretched in it! -Nor my garden that the old wall mothered, nor -river that I listened to and listened to. Well, tide -and time we run away! But where we run to, -that is a question for a wise man! They say -that we run to heaven or to hell—and I shouldn’t -dare say my road was the first!”</p> - -<p>Without warning Thomas Bettany found himself -priest. “If you’ve strayed into wrong road, -turn and take the other! You’ve got more than -you think of the other in you now. Turn, Morgen!” -He regarded her with a sudden startled -face. “By the rood! It’s the Great Adventure.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him with more of the thorn in -her face than the bloom. From beyond an oak -came John Cobb’s warning voice. “Some one’s -coming! Two or three!”</p> - -<p>“Go at once!” said Morgen Fay, and so meant -it that she wrought their going. Bettany, obeying -her, rode without turning his head, straight -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>through the wood. The trees fell like fountains -between the two and the thorn bush. To the right -lay the ruined farm, but they pushed on and came -after a mile to the narrow, little travelled road -that led at last to the highway that, passing Silver -Cross, ran on to Middle Forest.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="14">XIV</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> turned his face from the wall to which it -had been set. Light was in the cell. He turned -his body; he rose. “Oh, my Lady—”</p> - -<p>In the torrent rush of feeling he came close -before he kneeled. The light-swathed form -stepped back from him. He knew overwhelming, -aching, bursting sense of felicity that yet was -pain, was hunger. The float of the red and blue -drapery, the face that was the face of the picture, -the height, the sense of heaven in one Form—</p> - -<p>On his knees he came nearer. His eyes were -not hidden as before, waiting for her to speak. -He could not other; he did not think at all. He -would have put hands about her feet and with his -eyes drink power and beauty and love.</p> - -<p>She went back from him again. Something -untoward happened. Her foot and shoulder -struck the great rood, pushed slightly forward -from the wall. It spun aside. Behind it showed -in plain light a low and narrow doorway, with -door swinging outward, closed and hidden, all -times but this, by the great cross. Light showed -the very rope and pulley by which the masking -wood was pushed forward and drawn back. Light -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>showed through into Brother Norbert’s cell; in -the very opening showed Brother Norbert and -over his shoulder the white face of Brother Anselm. -While Richard Englefield rose to his feet, -the shape that he had esteemed of glory turned, -bent itself and vanished through the opening. -Light went out.</p> - -<p>There was an effort to close the door but before -it could be done his knee and shoulder were there -to prevent. There was a sound of breathing, of -muttering, then a hurry of feet. He broke -through into Brother Norbert’s cell and felt that -it was empty.</p> - -<p>There was still a flickering light. It came from -a great, thick candle, almost a torch of wax, -thrown into a corner but not yet extinguished. -He caught it up and the flame sprang whole -again. It showed him much of apparatus. There -was the yet unclosed opening above, reached by -a short ladder, through which the shaft of light -had been sent into his cell. There were other -things,—tools, cords, bits of candle, cloths, what -not. Mind light blazed. He saw why the cells -had been emptied of old occupants; he saw that -these openings had been made while he was at -Middle Forest, he saw that they had used the -great rood for mask. A mantle lay upon the -floor,—red, with blue and red linings. He lifted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>it and saw that it was earthly cloth, though fine -and thin. He saw the jointed wires that could be -stretched by the hand and so the tissues be made -to seem to float. He saw that they had put upon -him a cheat. He dropped the mantle but kept -the torch in hand. The door of the cell giving -upon stone passage was swinging open. He burst -through, he ran down the passage. This way -would have gone the whole complex monster, to -be overtaken and slain in fury. He ran, smoke -and flame streaming behind him, but at the bend -of passage came upon half a dozen monks. Of -these, four seemed just awakened. But Brother -Norbert and Brother Anselm were wildly awake. -He threw down the torch, he closed with -Brother Norbert. “Alas! Brother Richard! -You are mad! Help!”</p> - -<p>Brother William that was a giant fell upon -him. They pinned him down. The sub-prior appeared -with two or three more at his heels. “O -Our Lady! Hath he gone mad!” He fought -with them all. “Robbers of souls!” he shouted. -They haled him into refectory that was near-by. -One ran for Brother Walter the leech. But -Brother Norbert and Brother Anselm vanished in -the direction of the cell he had left. “You are -cheats and murderers!” he cried, to the true -bewilderment of three or four. Brother William, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>at a nod from the sub-prior, thrust cloth into his -mouth, wound and tied the gag. Brother Walter -came. “What is wrong? What is wrong? -Doth he rave? They do so oft after so much -hath come to them!” He was haled down the -passage to the cell he had left. All was quiet -there, ordered, still, plain monk’s cell, lighted only -by the lights they brought. The opening was -closed and the great rood in place. When he -made to attack it, push it aside, they cried out in -horror and the sub-prior ordered his arms tied. -Finally, perhaps because he had ceased to struggle -and seemed to be collecting his wits, and a -madman with wits was notoriously dangerous, -they bound him with a rope to the window stanchions -and went off to put his case before the -Abbot. Brother Walter the leech would have -stayed, but the sub-prior sharply forbade. He -seemed to hesitate whether or no to leave Brother -Norbert but at last signed him forth. The rope -was strong, the man was quiet. Let him be till -council was taken! Solitude and none to hear -was regimen, time out of mind, for mad monk!</p> - -<p>They went. The cell was like a tomb, and he -bound in it. It was dark, with a faint sense of -morning in the air.</p> - -<p>Despite all weakening Richard Englefield was -yet strong of body. And he had rage that came -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>like a giant to possess him, and a will that was -now gathered, collected, and hurled through space -to one point. He broke the cord that bound his -arms. This done he could free himself from the -gag and unknot at last the rope that bound him -to the stanchions. It was now to break stanchion -and cross bar and clear the window. He did this. -He climbed through the window, held by his -hands, dropped to earth. It had been impossible -to the sub-prior or to Brother Norbert, but it -was not impossible to him. It was all done -quickly. Stone rang beneath his feet. Light -shone in the Abbot’s house. Doubtless all were -gathered there,—the thieves and murderers! -Where was that one, that painted fiend, who had -given him cap and bells to wear through life? -Through life—through eternity! The church -rose dark. He looked at the stars above it, and -they seemed to him sparks from a mean and -smoky fire. Now he was at Silver Cross outer -wall. He climbed it and came down upon the -other side with cuts and bruises that he did not -feel. A palest light shone in the east. Behind -him, over him, he heard the bell for lauds. He -knew where ran the highway down Wander vale -to Middle Forest. He went straight like a wild -wind blowing down. All since he had waked -was done as it were in one moment.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="15">XV</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Middle Forest it was market morning, high -May weather and many abroad. Country folk, -town folk, folk from across river made a humming -and buzzing in High Street and the market -place. The sun was an hour up, and all thrifty -marketers out of house. Saint Ethelred’s bells -rang, the Carmelites’, the Poor Clares’. Father -Edmund walked about; there were two of -Leofric’s friars from over river. May sun struck -the castle, up the steep hill from market. The -bells stopped. Eyes, thoughts, turned this way -and that.</p> - -<p>A Silver Cross monk sped like an arrow -through the market place. He was at town cross, -on the lower step, on the upper step. He faced -around. “Middle Forest! Ho, Middle Forest!”</p> - -<p>They recognized him. All the countryside, -flocking now to Silver Cross church, had sought -with their eyes for Brother Richard. Near or at -distance, he had been pointed out to many. A -cry arose and spread. “The monk of Silver -Cross!” Those close at hand came closer; those -afar hastened to the thickening centre. He -flung his arms out and up. He seemed to appeal -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>to Middle Forest, but also to high heaven,—or -he seemed to threaten high heaven. His voice -rang and reached like Montjoy’s trumpets. He -told what he had to tell, and all those ears drank -it in and all those eyes stared and mouths gaped. -He had power, and now it was power at the top -of its straining. As he told, what he told they -believed.</p> - -<p>He paused, gasping, his face working. From -the step beside him sprang forth another voice, -that of Father Edmund, master-preacher and -scourge of the vices of the time. “Who alone, -in all earth around us, would dare so to blacken -the Mother of God, the Bride of Heaven? Have -I not cried that she was never gone but hidden -hereabouts—the harlot and sorceress, Morgen -Fay!”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield heard. He knew not the -name or its associations, but his mind leaped -fiercely upon it. Mind leapt like a famished wolf. -Then, straight up from a dark well, rose memory -of a chance-heard talk among the coarser sort, -in the Brothers’ common room,—talk of Middle -Forest from which one had come. That day he -had risen and gone away and stopped his ears -with work. So she was Morgen Fay, the harlot!</p> - -<p>Enormous commotion rose around him. There -ran and jangled a multitude of voices. Impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -to Middle Forest to forego the present sensation! -But the good and glory now flowing from -Silver Cross! Equally impossible to question -and forego that! Out of it all burst finally the -great cry, “Is there no Blessed Well, no Cavern -of Our Lady, no Rose in reliquary? But we -know there are the healed! Here’s one was -healed! The monk is mad!” Came like a bolt -from Saint Ethelred’s porch one whom all knew,—Friar -Martin, the Black Friar. He, too, stood -on town cross steps,—and half Middle Forest -was here! The Black Friar’s eyes gleamed and -that which gleamed in them was love of the glory -of Saint Leofric. Out poured the bull voice. -“The healed? They will stay healed! They -need not fear! Their faith in good made them—makes -them whole! What! The stars are -above the tavern lights! But here, verily, hath -been tavern lights, pothouse lights. But healing! -You shall not lack healing while stands Saint -Leofric!”</p> - -<p>The place was grown like an angered hive. -Father Edmund and Friar Martin were a pair to -change bewilderment into passion. Father Edmund -hunted sin calling itself Morgen Fay. The -Black Friar had a pointing finger for the leper -spot in Silver Cross. Middle Forest grew to -sound of forest in tempest. So much swayed with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>Father Edmund, so much went with Saint Leofric -over Silver Cross, so much beat against -the two, asserting Silver Cross’s total innocence, -save maybe for a monk’s deceit and madness! -So many held purely for self and sought out the -profit. Market place grew pandemonium.</p> - -<p>Out came a strong citizen voice, Master -Eustace Bettany’s. “Have Brother Richard up -to the castle! Let Montjoy hear!”</p> - -<p>It was a channel and brought relief of pouring -into channel. Hands were upon the monk to -urge him. “Montjoy! Yes, tell Montjoy!”</p> - -<p>The castle hill was sunny, the castle gate was -dim, the castle court sunny, the castle hall dim. -So many folk buzzed on castle road, below wall; -so many were let into court and buzzed there, so -many entered hall. From castle hill, if you looked -Silver Cross way, you might see rapidly moving -dust, growing larger, coming nearer. That was -Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="16">XVI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Montjoy</span>—yes, Montjoy!</p> - -<p>A house that he had loved came down about -Montjoy’s ears. A garden that he had tended -the swine rooted up. One came and threw filth -against his Love.</p> - -<p>He seemed to understand this monk and the -monk to understand him. For an instant they -were brothers in suffering and rage.</p> - -<p>Sow it with salt—Silver Cross!</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew. Who best -to send to cardinal and to Rome on that business? -Procure their degradation! Have them cursed -with bell, book and candle!</p> - -<p>The whore—let her be burned slowly until -she was ashes!</p> - -<p><em>O Isabel—Isabel—Isabel!</em></p> - -<p>O Kingdom of Heaven that hath suffered -wrong!</p> - -<p>Montjoy sat with a working face. He sat in -his great chair on the dais in castle hall and his -hands gripped the arms of the chair. At last he -spoke with voice of one underground who has -fire still but has lost the light of day. “Well, as -for thee, monk—”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> -<p>“Give me, no more, that name!” cried the -man addressed. “The monk is dead. I am -Richard Englefield, the Smith!”</p> - -<p>At that moment entered bruit of the arrival of -Abbot and Prior. “Yes, yes, let us see them!” -said Montjoy, and who knows what hope sprang -up in his heart. He believed Richard Englefield, -but there pressed against his belief all the weight -of old, loved Silver Cross, and the weight of the -priest and the weight of Mother Church. Things -happened, vile things, as they happened in Kingdom, -in Nobility and Knighthood. But for all -that Knighthood was heroic and Holy Church -holy. Child could not go against mother, lover -against beloved. Let us at any rate hear what -this Iscariot Abbot and Prior shall say! And -with that rolled for the first time upon Montjoy’s -mind Saint Leofric, and he heard the joy of -Hugh who was not discovered. “That this vileness -that he saith were not true!” cried Montjoy -within. “O Isabel, that it were not true!”</p> - -<p><em>Morgen Fay!</em> The Lord of Montjoy was dead -ember there, and all the breathing of Morgen Fay -might not relume. “O High God, I would live -cleanly! That harlot, wherever she is, doth always -only evil!”</p> - -<p>Silver Cross—Silver Cross! The church, -Isabel’s tomb and the great picture. He saw that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>Morgen Fay could have played it because she had -the height and faintly, faintly the face. Isabel -was the true likeness and Morgen Fay the false, -the evil. “Let her burn, who deserveth it if ever -any did!”</p> - -<p>Silver Cross, and cold wretchedness and grinning, -mocking Satan if it were no better than -Saint Leofric! Mark a kinsman, too. All honour -smirched!</p> - -<p>Again his eyes were for Richard Englefield. -To have believed that Heaven had singled you -out—to have had vast raptures of mind and -heart, all fragrance, all flavour, all light, all music, -all warmth, all lifting—to have fallen at the -feet of the Brightest Star, to have had the honey -of touch and the honey of word and the honey of -smile, and knowledge that all was immortal and -holy, all was heavenly true!—to have had that -and believed it eternal—and then to have fallen, -fallen, gulf upon gulf, dreary world by dreary -world, to last mire and stubble, nay, past that into -caverns of hell—</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark came into the hall, he and Prior -Matthew, and behind them Brothers Anselm and -Norbert with Walter the leech and six besides. -Out of these monks five at least knew only that -the fiend had made sortie against and taken and -poured madness upon the holy man, yesterday -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>the pride, the boast, of Silver Cross. Abbot -Mark—large, authoritative, stately—showed -pallor indeed, but also concern and innocency and -high unawareness that Silver Cross did or could -stand in any danger. As for Prior Matthew, he -stood and moved, red, dry, cool, collected, always -a man with a head. Abbey monks, drawing together, -looked trustingly upon their Superiors -and pityingly, it was seen, upon Brother Richard, -standing very gaunt and ghastly white, with -blazing eyes.</p> - -<p>Montjoy faced that entry. All Silver Cross -with long venerableness and power, great church -of Silver Cross, the jewel windows, the picture, -the sculptured Isabel upon her tomb entered also -castle hall and drowned it into vaster space and -into significances otherwise and potent. Something -of rigidity went out of the lord of Montjoy. -Trust—trust!</p> - -<p>Friar Martin, the Black Friar, saw it go—clouds -again mounting against Saint Leofric. -And all the hall full of people, hanging divided in -wish and thought! He felt it running through, -“Was it not monstrous, unthinkable—were -there not explanations—was it reasonable now—and -if it was all a cheating show, where was -Middle Forest? Why, left holding a great bag -of Loss!” The Black Friar felt, as though he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>were Leofric’s Hugh, stricture about the heart. -Good Chance was quitting, the fickle jade!</p> - -<p>Yet when Montjoy stepped toward the Abbot, -pale Accusation stepped with him. “Lord Abbot—Lord -Abbot, you are in time! You have -fouled Christendom—oh, if you have fouled -Christendom!”</p> - -<p>But the Abbot seemed not to notice words and -mien. He cried, “O Montjoy, the holy man, -good Brother Richard, hath gone mad! Yesterday -he broke into a frightful babbling, the fiend at -his ear, the fiends within him! The morn, -Walter the leech leaving him awhile, thinking -that loneliness might do somewhat, he burst window, -broke cloister! Whereupon we ourselves -follow him, not knowing what harm he doth to -himself and to all! For alas! he now doubteth -the happening of the Great Miracle and clamoureth -that it was the demon. We know, alas! how -at times it happeneth! Overmuch light, the -weak soul bending aside from Heaven-grace, the -fiends gathering to torment and perplex, and -were it possible, to defeat light! The warder -faints. Madness enters. Poor soul, alas! yet -Heaven did use him! Heaven-grace and the -miracle persists, though for him be madman’s -cell—”</p> - -<p>He stood, father Abbot, in his large face godly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>concern for all awryness. He loomed. All Silver -Cross seemed with him, Silver Cross through -the centuries. Three fourths in the hall turned -that way. “He crieth otherwise,” said Montjoy, -and with a gesture set Brother Richard and -his Superior face to face.</p> - -<p>Cried Richard Englefield, “Thou shameless, -false shepherd! Thou lying Abbot of a rotted -fold!”</p> - -<p>At which a young monk, Brother Wilfrid, so -forgot himself, defending good, shaming ill, that -he rushed against the mad monk. “Son!” -thundered the Abbot and brought Brother Wilfrid -to his knees, crying, “Pardon!”</p> - -<p>Truly Richard Englefield maddened. He saw -how it would end, and the legion before him. His -vision swam and darkened, light foam came about -his lips. He sent out a loud, hoarse and broken -voice. “Fraud! Fraud! Lord of Montjoy, -come to Silver Cross and see!”</p> - -<p>The Black Friar, straining forward with the -rest, caught at that word, “Fraud!” He did -not dare to echo it aloud, for now, in a moment -as it were, many a hundred year of Silver Cross, -many a goodly deed and use penetrated, reverberated -here, large space entering somehow small -space, riving it apart. Old authority, long veneration, -the great Abbey church, Montjoy’s love -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>for it, Middle Forest’s clinging to it—Friar -Martin had thundered one misty afternoon -against Montjoy’s doubting of Saint Leofric. -Montjoy had had to down head and slink homeward. -Now Friar Martin wished to shout, -“Fraud! Fraud!” and, “It began in envy of -Saint Leofric his great glory!” But he was -afraid. There might be no proof. If the monk -were not already mad he would soon be so.</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew of Westforest moved a -piece. Still, conclusive, calming, entered his -voice. “It is seldom well to take madman’s advice! -But here it seemeth to me well. Lord of -Montjoy, you cannot do better than to ride with -us to Silver Cross.”</p> - -<p>Lean and strong, and a master chess player, he -came to front of the dais, and lifting voice, entered -into explanation of Brother Richard’s sad -illness and of the ways of the fiend who for this -time had overthrown the saintly man. But he -would recover—Prior Matthew had no doubt -of it—under Walter the leech’s care, amid his -brethren at Silver Cross, or at Westforest, where -was smaller range, stricter solitude. He should -have tendance; he should have prayers. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>“As for -that Presence that did descend upon him. She -the Blessed is not harmed! Men and women of -Middle Forest, the Rose still rests in reliquary, -the Healing Well still heals! Let them that are -sick come prove it!”</p> - -<p>Edmund the Preacher cried out mightily. “If -it be so, still hath the devil compacted with the -harlot, Morgen Fay! How else could the -thought of her, the form of her, enter here? -The devil made her to be seen in monastery cell, -thrusting aside True Queen! Seek her out, bind -her to the stake by town cross and burn her! -Never else will this countryside be cleansed!”</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew looked with narrowed eyes. -“There is truth in what you say, Edmund the -Preacher! Long hath she been great scandal!” -He thought, “Best that she have her cry quickly -and be done with it! All the poison out at once -in one dish, not trailing forever, word here and -word there! She set sail, long ago, to come to -this end. This year or next, what matter?”</p> - -<p>And he saw that it would make diversion. Let -her clamour what she would of what she had -done! It would be the fiend speaking. Silver -Cross and Matthew of Westforest against a mad -monk and a harlot!</p> - -<p>Silver Cross and Westforest and Montjoy. -He saw as in a scroll that Montjoy would never -wholly believe nor yet wholly disbelieve.</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield cried again, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>“Ride at once, -Montjoy! They will have burned ladder and -ropes and cloaks and scarfs. But the door behind -the rood—they have not had time there—”</p> - -<p>“What is that? What?” cried the Abbot -sharply. “Door behind rood?”</p> - -<p>“Where was none, door was made between my -cell and yonder villain monk’s! So you sent me -for penance to Westforest, so it was done. Then -a great rood, great and black, was set before it. -Yea, you used Christ on the cross for mask! -Dim was it in that cell—never had I light in that -cell! Now I have light—now it burns! Aside -she pushed salvation—in she stepped, mincing -like a harlot, having taken sugar for her -voice—”</p> - -<p>Abbot Mark fairly shrieked with horror. “Oh, -if we did not know that it is Sathanas himself -that speaketh, not the poor man whom he hath -laid in bonds! Door—door!” He summoned -sub-prior.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Reverend father, door truly was made, it -being once plan to take the wall down wholly, -making of two cells one and using it for an infirmary. -Then it was found that the light was not -good, and the plan was abandoned. Stone was -set back in the opening, and true it is that a rood -being about that time placed in each cell, it was -fastened, in this man’s and in Brother Norbert’s, -against that wall. Of all his story it is the only -truth! In his madness he must have torn the -rood aside and seen that once there was opening, -though now stone-filled and mortared. After -that what Sathanas saith to him God forbid that -we should know or repeat!”</p> - -<p>“Shall I believe?” whispered Montjoy. -“Shall I not believe? O Isabel—O Lady near -whom moveth Isabel—”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield towered. He stretched his -arms, he raised his face. “O Christ, if thou be -true—O Blissful One, Eternal Virgin, if thou -be real—”</p> - -<p>But summer sun shone on.</p> - -<p>It was Prior Matthew who summed up and delivered -judgment in Montjoy’s hall. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>“Ride with -us now to Silver Cross, Montjoy—and do you -come also, Edmund the Preacher, and you, Master -Eustace Bettany, and any and all others who -will! Yea, make throng and procession! -What! Shall there be division between Silver -Cross and Middle Forest who have dwelled together -since the Confessor’s day? Sometimes -eh, Middle Forest?—we have quarrelled, but -not for long, have we? Ours, after all, one bed -and one hearth! Doth Silver Cross grow rich -and great, it is for Middle Forest. Doth Middle -Forest increase, Silver Cross goes smiling. Remember -the saintly abbot—Abbot Robert—and -how did he and his monks when befell the Plague! -Remember war, and we stood together. And now -Heaven blesseth both, and Holy Well, a thousand -years from now, shall still be Holy Well!”</p> - -<p>He had it now—Mark and he had it in their -four hands! If they carried it carefully, and -they would do so, four hands obeying the Prior -of Westforest’s head. Now for the trouble -maker, the crazed one who failed to see or hear -Interest though she shouted at him and pulled -him by the robe! Prior Matthew gave a short -order to Silver Cross monks. “Take him!”</p> - -<p>Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm, Brother -Wilfrid and the others fell upon Brother Richard. -Short, hard struggle, and they had him. -Brother Norbert bound his arms with hempen -girdle. As he still shouted accusations, at the -Prior’s nod they gagged him. “Not holy man who -may be holy man again, but Apollyon who now -hath seized the tower and speaketh from the -gate!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy sat in his lord’s chair and looked -straight before him. Truth, truth—is it not -profoundly likely to be here? Were it not for -Hugh of Saint Leofric, could ever he have -doubted it? The monk’s tale,—fantastic, like -a romaunt! Say, darkly, it is true; what other -can cry Aye! and strengthen it, or No! and dash -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>it into dreams? <em>Who other but Morgen Fay?</em></p> - -<p>It formed in Montjoy’s mind that that harlot -must be found.</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew, Brother Richard silenced, had -present eyes for the Black Friar there to one -side, standing grimly for Saint Leofric. “Now -and here!” said within the Westforest chess -player. Matthew spoke in his dry, reasonable -voice.</p> - -<p>“Ride you, too, with us, Friar Martin! You -shall have mule. What! Saint Leofric and -Saint Willebrod, be sure they ride together! -Shall we not make England and Christendom ring -for that all this corner of earth, this side river, -that side river, Silver Cross and Saint Leofric -alike are blessed? Bridge over river shall be -to you and be to us, and I see it built thick and -high with booths and rooms for pilgrims! The -Princess of Spain goes to-day to Saint Leofric’s -tomb, to-morrow to Holy Well! To-day the -Dauphin heareth mass in Silver Cross, to-morrow -goeth in procession around Saint Leofric -his church! Both ways he passeth through Middle -Forest. Common good—common good! -What else is worth anything in this life? The -more massive the bruit, the broader, higher, -shooteth the fame of all!”</p> - -<p>It was undeniable! Black Friar thought somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> -surlily, “If I go I can at least take account -of all to Prior Hugh. And there is something -in ‘If you can’t increase apart, increase together’!”</p> - -<p>Rested that fanatic, Father Edmund the -Preacher. Better always have Father Edmund -preach for you, not against you! He could any -time whip calm sea into storm. The chess player -considered him, to whom just now Morgen Fay, -the harlot, stood for all harlotry, whether of -brain or heart. When all heinousness was believed -of Morgen Fay, then would the countryside -be roused at last, then would every man, -woman and child become huntsman! Father -Edmund meant to continue to believe Brother -Richard’s story. Why not? She was capable -of it. Certain abbeys of this later time were -capable. Father Edmund was one to cry under -the Pope’s great window, “Reform! Reform!”</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew saw the weather thickening. -Presently from that quarter lightning flash and -thunder clap! “Boldness my wisdom!” he -breathed.</p> - -<p>His dry voice, somehow powder red like his -hair and tint, dry, rarely loud but procuring attention, -continued to hold all ears. “As to the -harlot, Morgen Fay, would you have my mind? -It is quite likely she be hidden somewhere within -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>five leagues. Now Sathanas worketh underground -and taketh evil mind to evil mind, or often -to weak mind, or to mind that was Sathanas’ -enemy against whom he useth every springe! -So to my thought it hath been here. Heaven permitteth—yes, -to try faith, Heaven permitteth! -The fiend works what seemeth victory, good man -turning toward him. Whom doth he use? Yea, -there is it! Harlot consenting, he yesternight -taketh her image and with it entereth neither by -door nor window cell of Brother Richard; yea, -entereth his mind and his eye and his ear, his will, -his belief and his heart. Brother Richard -thinketh, ‘It is the great True Pearl!’ And -falleth upon his knees before empty air, for the -devil fixeth images within, not without. But the -devil gives never for proof Holy Well that healeth -a score a week! And the devil hath had only -yesternight. Yea, moreover, midway Heaven -sendeth some aid and he that hath been holy man -seeth that it is not she who came before, but -stained wax and that the devil cheateth him! -Whereat the devil, that harlot no doubt still aiding, -leapeth, greatly angered, upon his mind, -teareth and bruiseth it tiger-wise and bringeth -it for this time into huge confusion and madness. -Again Heaven suffereth it, and suffereth him to -cry and accuse as madmen ever cry and accuse, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>that by trial of our faith we may all be brought -clearer. But Heaven willeth always that we defeat -the fiend and his instruments. Aye, search -for these and grind them small and so grieve and -weaken that Evil One who rides invisible!”</p> - -<p>Father Edmund cried. “She said, ‘Aye, aye!’ -or the devil could not use her! Lord of Montjoy, -town of Middle Forest, Abbey of Silver -Cross, Priory of Westforest and Priory of Saint -Leofric, I, Edmund the Preacher, summon you by -souls’ welfare to join search for the Plague-spot, -the Witch-mark! When she is burned then may -the monk recover his mind, then may the True -Pearl, the Very Rose, show again, the toad be -banished from the Holy Well, Saint Leofric and -Saint Willebrod be sworn brothers, Montjoy give -again with joy to Silver Cross, Middle Forest -prosper, and all England and the Princess of -Spain and the Dauphin come in pilgrimage!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="17">XVII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> upon his knees he had come most close -to her, when she felt his hands, his brow, his -breathing against her sandalled feet, she had -given back in a kind of terror. Then, all unluckiness!</p> - -<p>Flying, she had dropped her mantle. Brother -Norbert, Brother Anselm and their terrified -white faces! Brother Anselm coming after her, -out of the cell, down the stone passage. Another -coming after, great torch in his hand, smoke and -flame streaming backward his face like Death and -Judgment! Brother Anselm’s breathing on her -cheek, his hand seizing, pushing her, who needed -no urging, for now she knew panic.</p> - -<p>The outward-giving porter’s cell that they -used—the door, quick! Through, clap it to -behind, draw bolt across—opposite door, quick! -Short passage again, the little postern. Anselm -had the key, Brother Edward the porter sleeping -elsewhere this night. Open—open! Morgen -Fay knew agony until she saw the stars over -Abbey orchard.</p> - -<p>Wall and the ivy tods which made no ladder -necessary. Up! and on wide wall-top rest a moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -breathe and look back. Bell was ringing, -lights hurried here, hurried there in Abbey, but -the orchard between lay still, at peace and bathed -in moonlight. Down the wall on forest side, -where footholds had been cunningly made. -Brother Anselm spoke. “I will work them over -so that even they cannot be found.”</p> - -<p>“Through the poplar wood there is a path,” -she said. “Go back, and I will run alone to the -ruined farm. Never—never—never more, -Morgen Fay!”</p> - -<p>They spoke in whispers. “Aye, it is better. -God knoweth what trouble we shall have now! -But you, mistress, you will be dumb?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, aye! All night, on pallet, under eaves, -in the ruined farm, I was stretched so fast asleep! -I dreamed only of my house by the river and my -garden where now are blooming pinks and marigold!”</p> - -<p>“Better that than dream of red flame!” said -Anselm. “Haste now!”</p> - -<p>He slipped back over the wall; she was in poplar -wood.</p> - -<p>The moon shone so that she could find her way. -Thin wood gave into deep wood, beech, oak. Her -feet felt the slight path. A doe and fawn started -from her, hare bounded across, owl hooted, moon -shone and light was beaten by branch and leaf -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>into thousands and thousands of silver pieces. -She ran; she felt drunken.</p> - -<p>There was near a league to go. Her pace -slowed, she stood drawing hard breath, then went -on again but not running. None were after her; -she heard none after her. Here clung darkness, -or cold, mysterious, shifting light. The air hung -cool, very still, with faint fragrances. Her mind -had wings, great dark ones, and now it beat in -the passages and cells of Silver Cross, and now -at the ruined farm, and now about and through -Somerville Hall. It went also to Middle Forest -and into Montjoy’s castle. Back it beat to the -ruined farm, and Somerville to-morrow, in this -wood, and then London road. London road! -No doubt now. London road! Her mind -sought London town, but that hung distasted, -weary, drear and threatening. “O Morgen, why -so? Will there not be Montjoys and Somervilles -there—aye, greater ones. Mayhap princely -ones!” But she hated London road and London -town. “Oh, what are the hands that hold -me here—cannot hold but would hold!” To-morrow, -to-morrow, next day at latest, London -road, London road!</p> - -<p>Going through the dark wood, she no longer -felt panic. Perhaps it was so and perhaps it -was not so that all Silver Cross was roused, those -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>who knew and those who did not know. She -knew that not twenty there did know; and at -first she had felt the hands of all those others, -the guiltless, upon her, against her. Almost she -had felt their stoning. But those who knew were -foxes and serpents,—cunning, cunning! They -would provide safety for themselves and so for -her, too, bound in the same bundle with them. -“With the foxes and serpents,” she thought.</p> - -<p>Now she walked steadily, about her mighty -trees, overhead the moon, in her ears the million -small forest tongues, in her nostril the smell of -fern. The night did not terrify her, she was -warm in her frieze cloak. She saw the ruined -farm sunk in dimness and sleep. By the outside -stair she would creep up to her room, Joan the -serving-woman, so negligible a soul. To-morrow -would come Somerville. Morgen Fay, so -negligible a soul.</p> - -<p>A voice went through her. “Who neglecteth? -Soul, soul, who neglecteth?”</p> - -<p>She would not answer. She ran again under -the moon, upon the forest path.</p> - -<p>Forest broke away. The ruined farm all in the -moonlight and Margery and David sleeping like -the long dead. The long dead—the long dead. -“Am I the long dead?”</p> - -<p>She crept up the stair and as she did so the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>cock was crowing. Here was loft chamber, here -straw bed cleanly covered. Frieze cloak dropped, -her body stood in moonlight, dressed in the colours -and the fashion of the great picture. Morgen -Fay took off the raiment and folded it and -laid it upon the bench under the window. “As -soon as it is light I will burn it.” She felt fatigue, -overpowering, extreme, and dropped upon -the bed and drew over her the cover and hid her -face from the moonlight in her arms, in her -hair.</p> - -<p>But at first light she stood up. One might not -sleep this morning, not yet! She put on her dress -of serving-woman, took up the raiment from the -bench, made it into a small bundle, covered it -with her frieze cloak and went down the stair. -Margrey and David stirred in their part of the -house. She heard them talking, the woman -screaming to the man who was deaf. A tall, -blooming lilac stood by the beehives. Here she -hid her bundle, went and returned with a brand -from the hearth, shielded in an earthenware -pitcher. Taking it up again, she bore all away -from the house into stony field. Thorn trees -springing up presently hid her and her ways -from the house. Here, in a corner was a flat, -hearth-like space. She gathered dead twigs, took -her brand from the pitcher and made fire. She -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>opened the bundle and piece by piece burned all, -then with a thorn bough scattered the ashes. -Mantle and veil had been left in Norbert’s cell. -“Fire there, too, last night,” she thought. -“Hiding fire, cleansing fire.”</p> - -<p>At the house door Margery cried to her, “Have -you baked the cakes and drawn the ale? Or -have you been to Fairies’ Hill? There’s a -witched look about you!”</p> - -<p>She worked an hour and then another while -Margery watched and grumbled, then when the -old woman’s back was turned away she slipped. -“Joan! Joan!” But she was gone to wood -of beech and oak and ash. Somerville must come -soon, oh, no doubt of it!</p> - -<p>Oak and beech and ash wore the freshest -green. Underneath spread grasses and flowers. -The sun came down in a golden dust, birds sang, -bees hummed, air held still and fine. She sat -and nursed her knees, or turning stretched fair -body of Morgen Fay on summer earth. He did -not come, Somerville did not come. So weary -was she that she slept for a while. Waking, she -found the sun at noon. She must go back to the -house and hear if anything had been heard. -Nothing! it might as well have been in dreamland, -a thousand, thousand leagues from Wander -side.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> -<p>She sat at the table with David and Margery, -drank ale and broke bread. The two quarrelled -weakly, faded leaves on the edge of winter. She -felt suddenly that it was so with all things. As -though it were the greatest cloud that ever she -had met or had dreamed, as though it were night -that made other nights light, blackness rolled -over her. She rose, pushed back her stool and -quit the house. Certes, the sun shone. It made -no difference; she was night, night! Her feet -took her to the wood, anywhere, anywhere! She -must have movement. But night, night, and -horror of the spirit. She groaned, she flung -herself down under an oak and pressed her forehead -to its great root. She was leaf that had -left the tree, whirling down.</p> - -<p>Blackness, emptiness, nothingness—but not -peace, no! The end, Morgen Fay, the end, the -end!</p> - -<p>It seemed to her that she swooned, and that -then she came again. Now there was evil grey, -but grey.</p> - -<p>It seemed to her that she put out her hand and -that it closed upon a robe. It seemed to her that -she put her forehead to this. She said, -“Mother!” It seemed to her that hands came -down to her and touched her, that there was a -breathing, that a voice said, “O Thyself!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> -<p>She lay against trees in darkness and in ache.</p> - -<p>Somerville found her here. “Asleep? Art -asleep?”</p> - -<p>She sat up. “No. Awake. I have done a -villain thing.”</p> - -<p>He regarded her with his odd, twitching face, -somewhat pale to-day, and the smile a dry -grimace. “If thou hast so, thou art like to pay -for it! All came out. Your monk broke cloister -and told it at town cross.”</p> - -<p>“Yea, did he? He has manhood.”</p> - -<p>“There was all town to hear. Father Edmund -tossed thy name forth like a ball.”</p> - -<p>She moistened her lips. “So?”</p> - -<p>“Then the monk told it in castle hall. Montjoy -believed.”</p> - -<p>“Believed it of me? Well, I did it.”</p> - -<p>“Then arrive Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew, -riding hard from Silver Cross. Now comes -about the strangest thing. I doff my cap, I lout -my knee to Westforest!”</p> - -<p>He told. She drew hard breath, then broke -into terrible laughter. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>“So, the monk is in the -madhouse and they drive a stake for me by town -cross? But the Abbot and the Prior and the -crew that worked for them, and Sir Robert -Somerville—oh, have you no little penance at -all? Must be that you are to say a hundred paternosters -or give a tall wax candle! Nothing? -Scot free? If they take me, I will tell!”</p> - -<p>“If you do, it does you no good nor them -any harm! Prior Matthew usually spins without -a fault.”</p> - -<p>“‘Us,’ Rob! Does ‘us’ no harm!”</p> - -<p>He jerked his shoulders. “‘Us’ then. I was -at home. Thomas Bettany brought me all this -two hours agone. I came as soon as I could think -it out. Search is up already, Morgen! They -course here and they course there. Presently the -ruined farm. I run high danger, standing talking -here.”</p> - -<p>“Begone, then! Quick, Rob, quick!”</p> - -<p>Somerville turned red under her tone. “Naturally, -I am all thy care! Thou bitter witch!”</p> - -<p>“Didst ever burn thy finger? It is not pleasant -to burn finger. Well, now, counsel!”</p> - -<p>“Counsel is to hide as deep and as soon as may -be.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“I thought of those thick alders by Wander -brook—a mile of them. If you lie close to the -ground, and they have not dogs—”</p> - -<p>“Dogs!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If search sweeps over, not finding, then to-night -a wagon filled with straw will cross Wander -brook at the old bridge, going Londonward. -This is all that I can do. I do no more, by all -the Saints!”</p> - -<p>“Why,” she said, “I do not after all wish -thee to burn beside me! Alders by Wander -brook.”</p> - -<p>He said, “Hark!” raising his hand.</p> - -<p>They heard it, distant rout of voices. “Go!” -he said. “Run! No time for love-parting! I -must return to the Hall.”</p> - -<p>“I wish no love-parting!” she answered. -“That is dead. But farewell—farewell, Rob! -Now you go to the Hall but I to Wander brook.”</p> - -<p>He was listening. “They come louder!” -When he turned his head, she was gone. He saw -her brown dress beyond ash stem and bough; now -she was deep in fern. He heard her movement, -then silence. Still a brown gleam, then that -vanished. He stood still, he put hands to face -and drew a breath deep and long, then turning -he walked rapidly through the forest to his park -and his hall. The ruined farm he had already -visited. David and Margery had their word. -“A serving-wench? Yes, they had had one—Joan. -Country from toward Minchester. But -she was gone—a se’ennight since.” Somerville -had climbed the steps into the loft room. Little -was here of Joan or Morgen Fay. But what was, -he himself had carried and given to hearth flame. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>There was one thing, a rose tree in a great crock, -and this most carefully he had destroyed.</p> - -<p>Now, walking fast toward Somerville Hall, he -thought, “Have you done wickedly, knight? -Why, not so wickedly! A little here, a little -there, but no great amount anywhere. Even -chance, they may not beat the alders.” He made -for himself a picture of London and a little house -by the Thames, and Robert Somerville coming -to its door, it opening and Ailsa saying, “Why, -enter, knight! Flowers and candles and -wine—”</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay crouched among rushes, beneath -alders at the edge of a wide brook. It was still -and sunny, warm, the water singing drowsily. -Two dragon flies in blue mail. The reeds met -over her head; it was still as creation dawn. A -trout leaped, clouds sailed overhead, blue sky -returned, vast, shining, deep as forever. A butterfly -and the dragon flies, a small tortoise among -reeds, a blackbird in the alders,—stillness, stillness, -sun, remoteness. Her muscles relaxed. -She thought, “Oh, after all—”</p> - -<p>Then came the voices. She cowered, lay flat, -looking only with terror to see if she made chasm -in the reeds. They waved above her. “Oh, perhaps—perhaps—” -She prayed. Then she -heard the dogs, and they opened cry. She heard -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>a shout, “They’ve got her!” and as they came -with great bounds she rose from among the reeds. -She would have run, but could not. She raised -her voice, “Call off the dogs, and I will come to -you!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="18">XVIII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Said</span> Master Eustace Bettany to Thomas Bettany, -his son:</p> - -<p>“Idle—thou art idle! Hadst as well be in the -new Indies as in my countinghouse! Paper costs—and -there thou goest scrawling, scrawling, and -never a sum adding nor thinking out market!” -He snatched the whitey-brown sheet. “Waste -makes want! What are you scribbling there? -‘I saw it in a flash—I saw it in a flash!’ What -is it, prithee, that you saw in a flash?”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany rubbed his eyes. “That the -world’s a great merchant, father, selling herself -to herself and buying herself from herself.”</p> - -<p>The elder glanced suspiciously. “Will you be -turning monk?”</p> - -<p>“No, though I think there be good monks, good -abbots and good priors.”</p> - -<p>“Of course there be good monks, good abbots -and good priors! God forbid that you go believing -witch’s story and mad monk’s tale!”</p> - -<p>“What would happen if I did, father?”</p> - -<p>“Madman’s whip and bread and water and a -chain! Go to, Thomas, what is wrong?” Suspicion -sat in his eyes. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>“That’s a new thought -and one I like not! Were you among the -reachers for flowers that grew by harlot house? -Were you?”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany shook his head. “I’ve told -you I wanted Cecily.” He rose from chair and -desk. “Eh, father, also I would like a ship that -sails and sails away—with me, and Cecily! Now -let me be going, for I told Martin Adamson that I -would come myself for his monies.”</p> - -<p>“Aye? Then go—and do you remember, -Thomas, that you’re all the son I have, and that -I have been good to you!”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany went afoot through Middle -Forest. “‘All the son I have, and I have been -good to you.’ ‘<em>All the life I have and I would -not burn. All the life I have and I would not -burn.</em>’ That’s Morgen Fay in prison yonder.”</p> - -<p>The day was hot with a cloud drawing over. -Hot and still with a green light. Folk in the -street looked upward. “Rain coming!” -Thomas Bettany meant to go to the house of -the debtor. But there was no hurry. It was a -long day. Long day and short day. “Prison -day must be long day, O Saint John, long day! -But short day, seeing that it pulleth and hasteth -toward death day—Friday. And now it is -Monday.”</p> - -<p>Fascination drew him by the town cross. They -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>would not set stake and fagot till Thursday. -“How doth it feel when the iron hoop goes round? -How doth the heart strive and choke when the -torch comes to the straw? I feel it in myself! -Doth Somerville feel it in himself? Doth Montjoy?”</p> - -<p>Persons spoke to him in the market square. He -was young and big and gay and well liked. He -answered enough to the point, and went on; and -now here was the prison, tall and black among -ruinous, ancient, steep-roofed houses, set under -the castle hill with tower and wall above, and -over these and all that slate sky with greenish -light. Deep archway and iron door and men -lounging. He went by Morgen Fay alone in the -dark, and he knew that what she had told to -burgher and lord and churchman was true—he -had seen it in a flash—and a terrible and wicked -act had she done, meriting hell where she would -burn forever! But then, Somerville, but then -the Abbot and the Prior?</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany, who had owned a young, -clean, gay heart, perceived that the world had -taken plague.</p> - -<p>He wandered. He would not go home, nor yet -to the debtor’s house. Rain held off, but the sky -was covered, the light green, the air still and hot. -He went down to the river. The bridge,—there -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>were pilgrims upon it, a double line of them, -chanting, coming from Saint Leofric. To-morrow -they would go to Silver Cross, and Holy -Well would heal one at least, maybe two or three.</p> - -<p>It made no difference what the monk of Silver -Cross had cried nor what Morgen Fay. Was -healing then within one’s own mind and heart? -Was there the Holy Well?</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany went down the watersteps, -found boatmen and their craft and hired a row-boat -for an hour. He would row himself. -“Storm coming, master!” “Aye.” “If it -were Friday now, it might put out fire, and that -would be sore pity! Saint Christopher knoweth -the boats on this river that have rowed to Morgen -Fay’s house! Well, it used to be a fair sight, -her window and her garden, and all the time she -was witch and devil’s paramour! They do say -Montjoy will walk barefoot to Canterbury because -in old times he was her fere!”</p> - -<p>Bettany rowed away. “She is a human being. -Say it, and I think that you say all.”</p> - -<p>River, river, and houses standing up, and on -the other side willows. “River, I wish you would -drown fire. Fire is good where it should be, but -at times it acheth to be drowned. And then again -water acheth for the fire.”</p> - -<p>He rowed with long, slow strokes. Houses -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>went by under the dull sky and they seemed to -look with menace. “That only can truly help -that hath not been truly harmed. That, too, I -see,” said Thomas Bettany, “in a flash.”</p> - -<p>A house by an old wall, brooding to it. Small -houses and small garden. The garden was -turned wilderness. He caught colours that might -be flowers, but the weeds were thick and -high. A window—and casement slowly turning -outward. All the garden trim, but shrouded in -mist, the houses shrouded in autumn mist, the -river—and Morgen Fay looking out.</p> - -<p>Rowing away fast from that he shot up river -and then to the other side, and beneath willows -shipped oars and sat head on hands, thinking -first how all impossible it was, and then, very -wretchedly of Somerville.</p> - -<p>Sky darkened still further. With a long sigh, -he took up his oars and rowed slowly back to the -bridge. Going up the water steps he had it now -in mind to ride, storm over, to Somerville Hall. -It did not need, for in High Street he came upon -Somerville on his big bay horse. Somerville saw -him and waited until he crossed to bridle. “Aye, -Thomas?”</p> - -<p>“I was going to ride to the Hall. Where can -we speak together?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come to the Maid and Garland. And look -more blithe! The Turks have not entered England.”</p> - -<p>The Maid and Garland had a parlour for Sir -Robert—oh, always! They went into a little -panelled room, and Somerville turned upon the -younger man, the burgher’s son. “Well?”</p> - -<p>“I saw it in a flash.”</p> - -<p>“Saw what?”</p> - -<p>“Much, Somerville! You held Morgen Fay -in your hand there at the ruined farm. Plotters -to become as great at least as Saint Leofric could -not have gotten at her, she could not have joined -with them without your knowing! Oh, and I -saw, too, that land that you got at last without -trouble, after years and years of trouble!”</p> - -<p>“Let me alone!” said Somerville hoarsely. -“You young fool!”</p> - -<p>“From all that I can hear she has not said -your name, not once! It was of her own movement, -once Abbey and Priory would promise her -safety and London town and gold. ‘Thou monstrous -witch! Thou daughter of the Father of -Lies!’ crieth Silver Cross and Westforest and -Middle Forest; aye, even, I hear now, Saint -Leofric. But for all that, Robert—”</p> - -<p>“‘Robert’?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sir Robert Somerville. But for all that I -know, I think, where most lying lies. Save for -the Great Lie that she acted and made, and wicked -it was to do it! But if she is the wicked one, -who else beside? And though she be made of -evil is she to burn without a word, who says no -word herself?”</p> - -<p>Somerville answered him. “Are you mad? -What do you mean? When they stoned her out -of town I made it possible for her to hide at the -ruined farm. I am badly repaid, and I close my -mouth, and if they ask me there I will lie to them, -pardie! Put her at the ruined farm, not I! But -who asketh? It is enough that she be pure Satan -with Satan. Witch found here, why easily found -there! Who believes but what they wish to believe? -Who can save her from her burning? -God, perhaps, if He chose to do it!”</p> - -<p>“Then I will go pray,” said Thomas Bettany. -“I was not her lover.”</p> - -<p>“Psha!” said Somerville. “She was a common -lover.”</p> - -<p>The young merchant turned red. “Only great -fright could make you say that, Somerville!”</p> - -<p>“Were you noble,” answered Somerville, “I -would take that up. As it is, let us be better -strangers.”</p> - -<p>“That bargain is made, merchant with ‘Sir’ -to your name!”</p> - -<p>Somerville opened the parlour door. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>“Reckoning, -host—and a cup of sack!” When the -younger man had gone, as he did go immediately, -he turned back to the room to sit at table with -his wine and wait out the storm which had now -come pelting. Dusk was the air and a chill wind -came in at crevices. A boy arrived to lay and -kindle a fire. The flames reddened the room. -Somerville, hand around cup, sat and watched -them.</p> - -<p>Storm over, he left the Maid and Garland, -mounted his big bay and rode out of town.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Who can tell</div> - <div class="p_line">The weird he drees?</div> - <div class="p_line">Who can read</div> - <div class="p_line">His shield that hangs</div> - <div class="p_line">In hall above?</div> - <div class="p_line">Parcel gilt, pied white and black.</div> - <div class="p_line">Alas!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="19">XIX</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> soon as might be, Montjoy would go that -pilgrimage to Canterbury. Had it been true, -that frightful story, were Mark and Westforest -treacherous, Silver Cross down in the mire, -evened and more than evened with Hugh across -the river, he would have gone not to Canterbury -only, but to Rome, to Palestine! Only there, in -Gethsemane garden—</p> - -<p>He sat, a slight, dark man with a worn, handsome -face, beneath a cedar in his castle garden. -This was lord’s corner. A castle, God wot, is a -public place! But just here was retirement, appropriated -long since and possessed for long. -Wall and ivy and cedar row, and hardly a narrow -window to overlook! Montjoy once had been -quick for company, but now for long he sighed toward -solitariness. Solitariness that still should be -splendour!</p> - -<p>Silver Cross—Silver Cross—Silver Cross! -The splendour must run through it, bathing the -tomb of Isabel, bathing the life-above-death of -Isabel! Bathing also Silver Cross, church and -abbey, the old form, antique, fair, one’s Lady, old -yet young through the centuries!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> -<p>The soul. How to keep the soul in joy? If -not in joy, at least in humble peace.</p> - -<p>Montjoy saw himself a grey palmer, state and -place laid down. His daughter wedded come -Martinmas to Effingham—another year and her -son born—then he might go and have word -with his own suzerain. Palmer—the road, the -shrines, the houses of the religious; quiet, quiet, -unobstructed room for dreams of God.</p> - -<p>The sky was lead, the light greenish, the air -hot and still. He would be glad when the storm -burst and the land was drenched. Afterward it -would smile once more. He thought, “The Flood -is needed again, so wicked is the earth! Oh, my -God, am I of the family of Noah? Do I build -with gopher wood the Ark that saves? Do I -enter Christ? Doth He enter me?”</p> - -<p>The cedars clung dark, they darkened the day -yet more. Montjoy looked into a cell at Westforest -and saw there Richard Englefield. Surely -he is mad, though he lies so still, with his face -buried in his arms!</p> - -<p><em>Brother Richard.</em></p> - -<p>Montjoy looked into the prison under the castle -hill and saw Morgen Fay.</p> - -<p><em>Not for five years have I touched her, O -Christ!</em></p> - -<p>The prison closed. The sky hung so still and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>hung so heavy! Lightning and thunder would -be welcome, rising wind and splash of rain. Friday -would be welcome. The bramble burned, the -hindering, evil bramble, harmful to the sheep, -vexful to the shepherd—“O Christ, is there -hardness? But the field must be cleared of -bramble. Aye, it is worse than bramble. Mandrake -and hemlock and helebore, and the children -are endangered!”</p> - -<p>Montjoy saw Holy Well and the great picture, -and that fine, fine reliquary of pure gold that rejoicing—Satan -afar and all the mind in health—Brother -Richard had wrought for the Rose, -Montjoy bringing the gold. Yesterday Montjoy -had gone to Silver Cross and to Holy Well. There -had been pilgrims a hundred, and they kneeled, -praying and singing. The day was fair as this -was foul, and had bubbled and laughed that crystal -well, sunlight into sunlight! They had cups -of silver and of horn and of tree and of clay, -and one by one they drank while the singing rose -around. He, Montjoy, had seen a cripple fling -away his crutch and stand and run, and a palsied -man grow firm. “Who healeth them? Thou, -thou, who truly didst appear to Brother Richard!”</p> - -<p>Even now, in this oppressive day, under this -dull sky, Montjoy felt again that exaltation. He -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>looked around him and up to the lowering -heaven. “Little, weak castle—murky roof of -ignorance—yet is there clear power!”</p> - -<p>The rain began to fall.</p> - -<p>In the night-time, waking, he found horror -with him, something cold, something forlorn and -suspicious. It deepened. He left his great bed -and Montjoy’s wife sleeping, put thick gown -around him and went noiseless into the oratory -opening from the great chamber, cold in the -beams of a moon growing old. No peace! At -the turn of the night, when afar he heard cock -crow and his dogs bark, he determined that he -would go that morning to confession to Father -Edmund at Saint Ethelred’s. That was the sternest, -the most dedicated, the most single of eye and -will! To him he would confess everything that -he would if he could save from her death the harlot -and witch.</p> - -<p>Morning came and all the castle took up busy -and talkative life. Montjoy rode to Saint Ethelred’s. -Father Edmund? Oh, aye! he would -hear him, and Father Edmund thought. “Time -that lords give over slothful and unwise confessors! -Father Ambrosius hath forever done -him hurt.”</p> - -<p>Montjoy was long upon his knees. He accepted -heavy penance, took shrift humbly, came forth -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>from Saint Ethelred’s with a colourless face like -a gem.</p> - -<p>Riding back to the castle, when he came to -prison street he turned his black horse and rode -slowly by the dark prison. He had told Father -Edmund all his thoughts and in the bale was the -thought, “I will visit her there in that dungeon -before Friday. Is not that Christian, O God, if -my deepest heart that is now thine seems to bid -me to go?” But Father Edmund had been -greatly stern. “Satan wrestleth for thy deepest -heart! Hear me now! It is forbidden! Go -not to, speak not to that All-Evil! If thou dost -she will draw thee with her into hell! Thou -thinkest, ‘Once I was familiarly with her’, and -cowardice and heartlessness now only to think -and never to say, ‘God have mercy upon thee, -poor soul!’ Son, son, that is devil’s bait! He -will come and stand and ask thee, ‘Is it -knightly?’ It is his wile, to clothe himself in -light! As for the witch, she lacks not soul counsel! -Since she was taken, each day have I -preached to her. I will hold the cross before her -chained to stake. She shall see it, lifted high, till -flame takes eyes. But thou, my son, I lay it upon -thee, leaving here, to ride by the prison, and to -say as thou ridest. ‘Sin, I will no longer sin with -thee, nor come into thy company!’ Say it!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> -<p>“Sin, I will no longer sin with thee, nor come -into thy company.”</p> - -<p>“So! And son, thou wilt come with thy -squires and thy men on Friday to town cross.”</p> - -<p>So Montjoy rode by the prison.</p> - -<p>It was dark in there, fetid and dark, and Morgen -Fay the sinner had little to think of but her -sins. She could not blink them that they were -many.</p> - -<p>Her sins and death, and after that the Judgment. -Death and Judgment and for her Hell, -or at the best the direst corner of dire Purgatory -and the longest stay. Ages there, while souls -of thieves and murderers left her one by one and -went upward, and never a word for the one who -must stay. At the best, the very best, and perhaps -even that gleam had no reality! Not Purgatory, -but everlasting Hell.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="20">XX</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Richard Englefield</span>, in Westforest cell, -might lie without movement, head buried in arms, -but that was when he must sleep in order to gain -and keep strength, or when Prior or Brother -Anselm visited him, it being posture good as -another for a monk now in sooth going melancholy -mad.</p> - -<p>Once Brother Anselm, who had been taken -from strollers playing in barns and inns, said -to the Prior, “He playeth!” Whereupon the -Prior strictly watched, but at last said, “Not so. -Truth!” And then, like such chess masters, because -he had bent what he thought all his mind -to it and was assured, he obstinated in his opinion -of the board and every piece upon it. “No, it is -truth! I have seen it before. Melancholy that -forgets how to speak and then after a time mere -childishness that will not stint from speaking, -though it be only of green fields and cowslip -balls! Then silence again like an old sick hound -and at last he dies!”</p> - -<p>Brother Anselm’s doubt had been but momentary. -He agreed now with Prior. Also he said, -“One helpeth forth the sick hound.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> -<p>The Prior of Westforest took his lean chin -from his lean hand. “I have heard that the -Greeks writ over their temples, ‘Nothing too -much.’ Where the good of all is in question let -the soul take necessary burdens, but not unnecessary -ones! This were unnecessary.”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield was not going melancholy -mad, though he played that he was. He worked. -He worked while he lay still upon the cold floor, -face hidden by stretched arms, or when he sat -moveless, staring into naught with empty, woe-begone -face. “Think me melancholy mad, do! -So the sooner will you leave me the cell!” They -went. For hours he had the dim place to himself, -and at night he had it.</p> - -<p>Monk of Silver Cross was gone, whirled away -to the dark country behind Chaos and there dead -and buried peacefully. Here was Richard Englefield -the master goldsmith. And yet not that -either. Here was one who had risen behind goldsmith -and monk, who had come up like a tree that -was not suspected.</p> - -<p>He worked, Richard the smith. He gained, no -man knew how, two bits of iron. The cell was -grated. He filed through a bar and then another, -and in the night-time broke the whole away. Fortune -or wonder or the miraculous or some natural -air into which he had broken was with him. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>It might have been the last, his will was so -awakened, so in action. His fury towered, but it -was still fury, very deep and dangerous, bitter -passion of a man with mind and will. He saw -Success and drew her to him as giants draw. In -the dead night he got away.</p> - -<p>Westforest formed but a small House and it -lay close to Wander. Stripping off his robe he -made it into a bundle and with rope girdle tied -it upon his shoulders. Then, naked, he plunged -into the Wander and swam a mile downstream. -Coming to the bank he rested, then swam the second -mile, under the late risen moon. Cocks were -crowing. He passed grey meadow and dreaming -corn and came to a forest where it overhung the -Wander. “Here is good place to leave!” He -quit the water, shook his body and dried it with -fern, untied and unrolled monk’s gown and put -it on. “Brother Richard? Nay, monk is as -will is! Richard Englefield, a smith in gold and -silver!”</p> - -<p>He was away now from Wander, in the forest, -the morn pink above the trees, violet among and -beneath the branches. In yonder direction lay -Silver Cross and not so far, neither. Middle -Forest! Could he get, unmarked, to Middle -Forest. Had he one friend there—but he had -none. Could he get to the shipping upon the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>river, below the bridge. Could he find a boat that -would take him to the sea and then he cared not -where! He saw Success. “Aye, I will!” But -this robe must somehow be changed for world-dress, -and he must have a purse and money in it. -Hard to manage! But Success was his Moorish -slave and would bring them.</p> - -<p>He strode on. He was going toward the town -through what was left of the ancient, all-covering -forest. Hereabouts was yet a great wood with -deer and hare and bird and fox. Paths ran -through but between them spread bounteously the -forest. First light gave way to gold light. He -was hungry. He took the crust of bread that he -had saved from yesterday and ate it as he walked. -Also he found strawberries. When the sun was -well up he came to rest under an oak, to think it -out.</p> - -<p>He had some hope that Westforest would -hold that he had drowned himself. Yesterday -had been a hot and livid day, ending in storm. -They would be able to trace him to the water -edge. Would they drag the Wander, seeing that -the Prior must wish to make sure? But the -Wander running swiftly might carry him down. -Using Prior Matthew’s eyes he saw monk -caught among stones on Wander bottom, or, a -log, shoved down Wander length to greater river -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>and so at last to sea, white bones for merman’s -children. He thought with Prior’s brain, “So, -it is very well!” And if Wander had him not, -but he strayed on dry land, Brother Richard of -Silver Cross, mad now though once greatly -blessed, there would ensue some trouble of taking -him, some explaining, but no more than that! -Richard Englefield saw the net, how strong and -wide it was, the fishers here being so much -mightier than the fish. So mighty were they -that they could spare the fish even if it leapt clear. -For if it went and told all other fish and fishermen, -what odds? Mind in all was made up what -to believe! Richard Englefield laughed, but his -laughter was worse to hear than had been sobbing.</p> - -<p>He tried to make a plan, but it was hard to -plan out of this! Best still trust Success. He -took a pebble and tossed it, then followed it. Narrow -road little travelled. He walked upon this -some way and saw a horseman coming. Out of -track into a hazel brake, wait and see what like -he might be! Sun glinted, boughs waved, birds -sang, over all things lay a pearly moisture after -storm.</p> - -<p>Young Thomas Bettany, riding from town -because town oppressed him, taking idle way and -ancient road because to-day bustle liked him not, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>errandless and leaving John Cobb at home, rode -through the old forest with hanging head. He -would mend the world if he knew how, but he -did not know how.</p> - -<p>Coming to brake his horse started aside. -Thomas crossed himself. A monk was standing -there, seemed to have stepped forth from it. “Is -it a ghost? By Saint John, Brother! you look it -and you do not look it!”</p> - -<p>He knew him now, having seen him at Silver -Cross thrice, maybe, since the finding of Holy -Well. Thomas Bettany felt himself tremble a -little. <em>Brother Richard</em>—<em>if he were mad</em>—but -then he remembered himself that he was hardly -so! They said he was mad, an Abbot and a -Prior whose deeds might not be scanned. -Brother Richard! Though some were guilty the -monk was not. Again he saw things “in a -flash.” The monstrous disappointment—Heaven’s -boon companion, then fall—fall—fall! -How sharp the stones and black the land!</p> - -<p>He spoke in a whisper. “Did you break last -night from Westforest?” All the countryside -knew that Brother Richard, now alas! utterly -mad, was to be hidden there in a grated cell.</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield knew not why Success was -here. He said, “You know me then? Who are -you?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> -<p>“Thomas Bettany, merchant’s son.”</p> - -<p>“I greatly need,” said the man by the hazels, -“burgher’s dress, a purse of money, and to reach -some ship in river that presently makes sail.” -Having spoken, he waited again upon Success.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to ride to Middle Forest and -back,” said Thomas Bettany. “Over yonder -a mile lies a ruined farm. No one goes by wood -that way. Walk till you see the house through -trees, then lie close till I come.” Few words more -and he turned horse and presently disappeared -down the leafy road.</p> - -<p>Englefield moved off into deep forest toward -the ruined farm. It was Success. It was of a -piece with breaking free from Priory. Maybe -there were gods who said, “Thou touchedst -nadir, now we let thee rise!” Maybe it was the -Will, so fulfilled and potent that it became magician. -Trust far enough, and the bird comes -flying! But not trust like that at Silver Cross—no!</p> - -<p>Deep wood, beech and ash and oak, very silent, -very lonely. At last it thinned and he saw -through trees an old, small, ruinous farmhouse, -broken, neglected, haunted maybe. He made out -a man slowly working in a field. A grey horse -grazed, a cock crew, but there seemed no dog -to bark.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> -<p>He drew back under trees, found a bed of leaf -and moss and threw himself down. He was tired, -tired! Body was tired but not spirit. That -should not flag. No, no! said the will. But sleep—it -was necessary to sleep.</p> - -<p>He did so for a time, but then he waked clearly -and suddenly. Where he had been in dreams he -did not know, nor where in the deep realm behind -dreams. But there had been large and happy stillness, -full ocean and serene sky. Whence—whence? -From heaven, and had he mounted -there, the True Ones pitying? From heaven’s -opposite? Then again had come upon him that -rapture that befell at Silver Cross—three -nights’ rapture—rapture at the feet of a harlot -of harlots! Evil had been the rapture through -and through, that had seemed so heavenly glorious, -heavenly sweet! Never to have guessed—never -to have known—to have been incapable of -knowledge! True and false alike to him, hideousness -and beauty alike, he who had thought he -knew beauty! Incapable—incapable. That -had seemed Success—oh, high Success!</p> - -<p>The sun rode high and streamed in warmly. -He found shadow and lay upon his face, arms -outstretched along the earth, hands breaking -twigs with which the ground was strewn.</p> - -<p>This part of earth looked full to sun, then glided -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>from strongest vision, then took it obliquely, beginning -to think of cool, dark rest from it, filled -with memories. At three by country dials he -heard a horse brushing through the forest and -presently saw Bettany with merchant’s pack -strapped before him, not a pack large and noticeable, -but sufficing to show that the House of Bettany -attended to business and was not too proud -to attend in person.</p> - -<p>At four by dial Richard Englefield stood under -the oak in good hosen, shoon, shirt and doublet, -with cap, with cloak, with leather belt and knife, -with leather purse and silver in it and hidden in -bosom pocket woollen purse with gold. Gaunt he -was as any wolf, and overcast with pallour, needing -days of sun and air to bring him back to what -he was a year ago in Silver Cross, or further back -to the gold-brown master smith not unknown in -cities and in princes’ courts. Just that smith -would never come back. This smith had himself -been laid upon a Vulcan’s anvil. The fire showed, -the hammer showed.</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany said, “Monk not again because -of them hereabouts?”</p> - -<p>“Not so. Because of myself.”</p> - -<p>The other continued, “God wot there is not the -old saintliness! I have heard wise men cry that -unless there came reform God will loose lions.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> -<p>“Perhaps. But come as it may I am absolved -from monastery.”</p> - -<p>“Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew be not everywhere. -There are good abbots, good, religious -houses—”</p> - -<p>“Aye, I doubt not. Even at Silver Cross and -Westforest are some true pilgrims and finders. -But I am absolved. Brother Richard lies -drowned in Wander. This is Richard Englefield, -a smith in gold and silver. But since it may not -be wisdom to say that till I reach London port -or maybe France, then Richard Dawn, a traveller. -What of ship?”</p> - -<p>“It is the <i>Vineyard</i>, lying in the pool and sailing -day after to-morrow at dawn. The master, -a young man, Diccon Wright, is beholden to me. -I found him at the Golden Ship, and he will -do it.”</p> - -<p>“Day after to-morrow at dawn.”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing for it,” said Bettany, “but -that you should bide where you are through to-night -and to-morrow. Then at eve I will come -with a horse for you. Canst ride?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, aye!”</p> - -<p>“There is no moon. We make through country -to pool side and find there a boat that Diccon -sends. So the <i>Vineyard</i> and away.”</p> - -<p>“You are good to me, brother!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> -<p>The other answered, “I somehow owe it. And -not to you only. But here only does it seem that -I can pay.”</p> - -<p>He took from pack loaf of bread, pound of -cheese and a bottle of ale. “Here we be! Nay, -I have had dinner. Well, I will eat a little to -keep you in countenance, Master Dawn!”</p> - -<p>They ate under the greenwood tree, close -screened around with thorn and fern. “It will -be cold to-night sleeping here. There is a loft -at the farm. The old man and woman dodder -and are blind and deaf. There is a straw bed. -But strange and elfin were it, I think,” said Bettany -slowly, “if you slept there.”</p> - -<p>“In old years I have slept out colder nights -than this is like to be. And a cell is cold.”</p> - -<p>“Well, the cloak is thick. Nay, drink! I may -have my fill when I get back to father’s house.”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="21">XXI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sun</span> came more and more slanting through the -trees. Eating was done. The two sat in forest -light and coolness, and they went over plans step -by step so that there might rest no misunderstanding -nor any happening unprovided against. “The -<i>Vineyard</i> boat, and the word is ‘<em>Gold and silver</em>.’ -South around Middle Forest and then -east. Leave the ruined farm at dusk to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“I have found a great hollow tree,” said -Englefield and pointed to it. “If any come, in I -creep!”</p> - -<p>“Good! Unless there are dogs,” Bettany -said. With that he fell into silence.</p> - -<p>The other, half-reclining, also was silent. Gold -light playing over him showed how gaunt he was -and his face how lined and smitten.</p> - -<p>Bettany spoke. “Dost think True Religion -has taken any hurt?”</p> - -<p>“How should True Religion take hurt, having -been all the time in another country?”</p> - -<p>The young man mused. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>“To have thought -one’s self Chosen out of all the world because of -one’s qualities—and then to be thrown back, past -one’s old dwelling, past, past, down past the whole -world—”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield spoke. “I looked on -Medusa. Do you know what is that, to look on -Medusa? And looking, to open on the knowledge -that you yourself were the artist?”</p> - -<p>“Eh?” said Thomas Bettany. “But the first -of it must have been glorious! Honey and kingship -and worship and safety for aye!”</p> - -<p>“<em>Honey and kingship and worship and safety -for aye.</em> Just that! Then the hair turned to -snakes.”</p> - -<p>Silence in the forest. Bettany moved a little. -“Friday. I suppose you are glad of Friday?”</p> - -<p>“What happeneth Friday?”</p> - -<p>“She burns at town cross. Morgen Fay.”</p> - -<p>“<em>What have I to do with that?</em>”</p> - -<p>Forest silence filled with tongues. Bettany untied -his horse and strapped the empty leathern -case before the saddle. He looked at the discarded -habit of monk of Silver Cross. “Put it -in the hollow tree?”</p> - -<p>“No. In the deep sea to-morrow night.”</p> - -<p>“Better in river. Then if ’tis found, as like -enough it may be, surely—all say—you were -drowned!”</p> - -<p>He stood, bridle in hand. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>“Morgen Fay. She -had a house by the river and a fair, small garden. -Aye! she was harlot, but then what were Montjoy -and Somerville and others? It is a speckled -earth. There is other sale than that? Aye, she -made it, and bought blackness and flame and peril -maybe for ever and ever. Because she was harlot -and Father Edmund preached mightily just then -against her, they broke her house and garden and -stoned her forth from town. Then one that I -know who is speckled, too, hid her for a time. -Then, as fate or somewhat would have it, -came to Prior Matthew knowledge that she -had to certain eyes much of outward face and -form of the great picture, so that he who painted -might have set her before him for first model. -That knowledge and that she was still in Wander -vale. So all followed. She thought she was buying -ransom—safety if not honey. Once I saw -played at the Great Fair <i>Faustus and the Devil</i>. -Faustus thought he would buy happiness, and -here was to-day and perhaps would never come -to-morrow and death! So she thought. Safety -and perhaps house and garden once more, and -maybe to-day will last! But <em>thy soul is required -of thee</em>,—and she is in prison waiting.”</p> - -<p>He mounted horse. “I will come ere sunset -to-morrow. When you hear <i>Otterbourne</i> -whistled, it is I.”</p> - -<p>“Should something happen,” said Englefield,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -“and all this go awry, still have you done for -me what if I had younger brother or dear comrade -or old fellow-worker with me in my craft, I -might have hoped for—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why I do it, but I must do it. -For a time I thought of you five times a day as -most blessed. You were heaven’s courtier, you -were sailing on heaven’s ship! Now you are man -like me, though older than me, and I see you need -a friend. You thought you had so great a one—and -then there was blackness! I’m nothing but -Thomas Bettany, but I’ll set you at least on the -<i>Vineyard</i>. Let’s say no more!”</p> - -<p>The merchant rode away. The master goldsmith -was left by the ruined farm in Wander -forest.</p> - -<p>He saw the red orb of the sun descend past -boles of trees. It sank beneath the earth. All -the west hung fire red, then the colour faded. -“I will go now to sleep, and God knoweth I need -it! When I come to London, or rather, I think, -to France—”</p> - -<p>Down he lay. Bettany’s cloak was thick, the -leaves and moss a pleasant bed, soft dusk around, -the forest a cradle with cradle song. “Sleep—sleep! -Sleep—sleep!”</p> - -<p>But sleep was at the antipodes. “This place—what -is this place?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> -<p>“Bitter Shame, Very Anger, strengthen me! -Let me not pity the witch! Let me not feel her -misery mine! Let me not long to see her face, -touch her, hold her!”</p> - -<p>“<em>Shall I desire the dragon that slew me? -Shall I cherish Medusa?</em> Burning—burning!”</p> - -<p>He sprang to his feet and walked the wood, -up and down, up and down. He moved with disordered -steps, twigs and boughs striking him. -The long June day left still a radiance.</p> - -<p>He threw himself down and lay with face -buried. Time dropped away, drop by drop, and -each drop a world and an æon.</p> - -<p>Dark clear night, moonless but starlight.</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany, returning to Middle Forest, -found at his own door a ship’s boy sent by Diccon -Wright. The latter was again at the Golden -Ship and would see him there. He went and -found that the matter was that <i>Vineyard</i> boat -could not be at landing first planned. The <i>Alan-a-Dale</i> -had come in and chosen to drop anchor -just there. Best now the old landing by the reeds. -Bettany agreed. Old landing by the reeds.</p> - -<p>Home again and preparing for bed he determined -to rise early and ride to the ruined farm. -If at dusk aught happened and he did not reach -the man nor tell him of where now he was to go—then -mischance enough! With a long sigh he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>put himself into his comfortable merchant’s bed -in comfortable merchant’s room. He slept and -waked, slept and waked and at last an hour before -dawn gave up sleeping and lay staring before -him. “Now it is Wednesday. To-morrow is -Thursday, and then Friday.”</p> - -<p>Light stole into the chamber. He rose, moved -softly, dressed quietly, stole downstairs, unbarred -the small door and was out in court and across -to merchant’s stable. Here he saddled his horse, -Black Prince. East was daffodil; morning star -shone over the castle. Poor Clares’ bell rang -lauds, Black Prince went by the softer ways as -though velvet shod. So at peace was the land -that town gates were no longer closed at night. -The industrious young merchant riding through -rode off toward Wander forest.</p> - -<p>Sun had risen when he came nigh to the ruined -farm and began to whistle “Otterbourne.” -Beech and ash and oak, fern and thorn, and by -a thorn tree he who had been, but was no more -Brother Richard. “Well, in these days, many -leave cloister—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne</div> - <div class="p_line_i4">And wait there day is three;</div> - <div class="p_line">And if I come not ere three day is end,</div> - <div class="p_line_i4">A fause knight ca’ ye me.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Thomas Bettany, dismounted now, looked with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>wonder at the other who stood tall and gold-brown -and determined. A night had made a -difference!</p> - -<p>“You must have slept well under oaken tree!”</p> - -<p>“No. I did not sleep.”</p> - -<p>“Then faery queen must have visited you! -Truly you have the look of it!”</p> - -<p>“I longed for your coming, fellow worker, and -that I should not have to wait for it till eve! Who -brought it about? Still that Success!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Vineyard</i> boat cannot be at the landing I told -you of. It is now the old landing by the reeds. -It seemed best to let you know without delay.”</p> - -<p>“Had you not come I might have stained my -face and gone into town, changing voice, changing -step and figure—Richard Dawn, traveller with -gold in his purse, sending from the inn to Master -Thomas Bettany—”</p> - -<p>“I think well that all the Folk in Green have -been here! It is such a place as they flock to. -Morgen Fay hid here at the ruined farm.”</p> - -<p>“No! <em>She walked in this wood.</em>”</p> - -<p>Green light and purple light and gold. Throstle -and finch and cuckoo, robin and lark. Fern up-growing, -wild plants in bloom, the wood a chalice -of odours, censer swinging. Englefield put his -hands to his temples. “Friday!”</p> - -<p>“What is it, man?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> -<p>The other moved to a tree whose great roots -pushed above the soil. “Come sit here, younger -brother, and listen to me!”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany obeyed and he moved as one -in a dream, or as though the wood had grown a -magic wood. “You have become leader here. -Something has come to bloom and to fruit in you -in a night!”</p> - -<p>“I shall not go upon the <i>Vineyard</i> unless there -go two.”</p> - -<p>“Two?”</p> - -<p>“Unless she that lies in prison goes.”</p> - -<p>“Morgen Fay!”</p> - -<p>“Aye. Morgen Fay—Morgen Fay.”</p> - -<p>Bettany put hands to tree to steady himself. -“What is here?”</p> - -<p>“Didst never read that man holds within himself -autumn, winter, spring and summer, the -moon, the earth, the sun and the four kingdoms? -Maybe the fifth, but we have not come to that -yet.”</p> - -<p>“Friday.”</p> - -<p>“Are you not willing that she should vanish -from them, cheating the cheaters? Friday. -Death in flame!”</p> - -<p>“God, He knoweth. I think that she should -live!”</p> - -<p>“Look at me!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> -<p>Thomas Bettany looked. Again he steadied -himself, he drew hard breath.</p> - -<p>“How could you get her out of prison? It is -not to be done!”</p> - -<p>“Then no ship takes me to-night or to-morrow -night! Friday. There will I be by town -cross!”</p> - -<p>“Not in two days could you save her!”</p> - -<p>“Suppose we try?”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany stared at an artist in daring. -This gold-worker had imaged, drawn and beaten -out many a bold pattern, many an intricate and -subtle. Now he said, “Come, deliver what material -you may! How lies prison within and without? -Who are there? Tell what you know. -We have to-day which is Wednesday and to-morrow -which is Thursday. The <i>Vineyard</i> must not -sail before cockcrow Friday.”</p> - -<p>“I could not buy Diccon there! I might beg -him for love.”</p> - -<p>“However you do it, you will do it. I see in -fine air within gross air a ship that weighs anchor -at dawn, Friday. Now, tell!”</p> - -<p>Bettany described with minuteness that prison -and its economy. “I have a man, John Cobb. -His cousin Godfrey is gaoler.”</p> - -<p>“So, thou seest!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But there is naught I know of that would -buy Godfrey. Keys might be melted in his hold -but he would not give them up! Town, castle -and Church know Godfrey.”</p> - -<p>“Then let him not know that they are gone.”</p> - -<p>“That is not possible.”</p> - -<p>“It is possible, or I would not see the <i>Vineyard</i> -sailing Friday. Everything is possible save her -burning. Can your man sit with Godfrey, drinking -ale with him maybe, and come to handling -and fingering keys great and small, and questioning, -‘This is great door, this inner ward, and this -where she lies who burns a-Friday?’”</p> - -<p>“So much as that is possible.”</p> - -<p>Englefield, leaving him seated, staring, took -himself three turns between thorn and oak, by ash -and beach. The forest was gold, the day was -gold, the morrow gold and he the smith. He returned. -“Have you a piece of wax, fine and -smooth, such as might be held secretly in palm of -hand, softening just enough with heat of body?”</p> - -<p>Bettany gave an abrupt small laugh. “I’ve -read of that in a book from the Italian! But if -John Cobb were bold enough and skilful enough -to take—Godfrey’s face being buried in tankard—impress -of keys, what then, beseech you, unless -you had all the fairies?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sun is an hour high. If I could have that -mould here ere he rises again! But it must -be well done, well taken, with pains. Our keys -must turn in our locks.”</p> - -<p>“In the greenwood? I know that Brother -Richard made wondrous things! But this were -to make wondrously!”</p> - -<p>“I planned through the night—this plan, that -and the other. But this one is best. When the -moon rose and again at first dawn I went -softly about that house yonder. None saw nor -heard; they were sleeping. The man has burned -charcoal, and surely they have oven or hearth. -Gold in this purse may buy them, seeing they cannot -know whom I am nor what we do. You say -they are old and losing wit.”</p> - -<p>“Furnace and fuel and print of keys in wax -and smith—”</p> - -<p>“Do you bring me iron and the tools. I shall -show you.”</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt a bold man!”</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt another!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="22">XXII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> John Cobb but Thomas Bettany, who -knew whom here he could trust, sat on a Wednesday -afternoon in gaoler’s room, drank ale -with Godfrey and once more petitioned for one -look at the witch.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay!” said Godfrey and shook his -huge head. “Rule is rule! Time was I wouldn’t -ha’ minded pleasuring you, Master Thomas, but -word has come and a downright word, too, from -powers. ‘Look you, Godfrey, that you do not -open that door to any save Father Edmund who -preaches to witch so that it may not be said she -goes to hell without preaching!’ So I do not so. -You are not the first gallant who hath come and -said, ‘Godfrey, let me have a look at the witch!’ -But no, says I to all. Rule is rule!” He set -down his can. “I could tell you, but I won’t. Not -just young will-o’-wisps like you, but one that’s -older and should be weightier! But I won’t call -name.”</p> - -<p>“I can call it for you,” thought the other. “It -was Somerville.”</p> - -<p>“Coming by night, too!” said Godfrey.</p> - -<p>Young Master Thomas Bettany made a pettish -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>movement. “Saint John! What’s the use of -carrying that great bunch of keys if you cannot -turn them at your will! Let me weigh them -now!”</p> - -<p>Godfrey, smiling broadly, laid the bunch on -table. He was a giant, and Thomas Bettany had -been known to him since he was urchin and went -by to school. “Great key—inner ward—key -you turn on her?”</p> - -<p>Godfrey nodded. “Eh, eh! She has been a -fair woman, has she not, and danced lightly? -Marsh fire, will-o’-wisp! Now she lies all her -length on cold ground, and when I open the door -she saith, ‘Is’t Friday?’”</p> - -<p>“Hark ye! Some one’s knocking.”</p> - -<p>Godfrey turned head. “It sounds as they -were!” Rising from table, he went to the door. -“Nay, only noise in the street.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it was the other door.”</p> - -<p>Godfrey stepped from the room and walked -a little way down the stone passage. He returned. -“‘Tis nothing! And William sits there to -answer.”</p> - -<p>“If William wakes now how doth he keep -awake by door yonder at night?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He gets sleep enough. Prowling around, -sometimes I find him sleeping when he should be -waking! But there be few in prison and little -trouble. In old times, when the kings were fighting -together, it was different!”</p> - -<p>He took up the keys and fastened them at his -belt. “If any could bring witch to confession -you’d think it would be Father Edmund, wouldn’t -ye? But she’s like a block!”</p> - -<p>“Confess what?”</p> - -<p>“Just all the story of how the devil came to her -and she sold him her soul for ease and triumph. -But he’s not a bargain-keeper—never was! -And how he flew with her through air and stone -wall, and set her in Brother Richard’s cell, in -place of Queen of Heaven. What she said and -did, and how the devil, all of a sudden seeing that -heaven had struck Brother Richard with the -knowledge, ‘This is not the Queen, this is not the -true bright one!’ went about to confuse all -Brother Richard’s wits, turning him into worse -than Doubting Thomas, for now he doubts all -things both before and after. But she sticks to -saying, ‘It was I from the first, and the devil was -Prior Matthew, Abbot Mark consenting.’ And -Father Edmund preacheth again. Eh, but Friday -cometh and she will soon be but a story! -Morgen Fay and the devil.”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany rode once more with merchant’s -pack to Wander forest, having first gone -to Golden Ship by the water side, where he met -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>Diccon Wright and bought him with love. It -was again rose dawn. To one who at edge of -town stopped and questioned him, he said that he -was riding to Somerville Hall.</p> - -<p>“Do you not know Sir Robert has gone to -London? He rode away yesterday with three -behind him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, aye! But there was message left for me. -One day I’ll travel myself! View Rome and Constantinople -and Cambalu.”</p> - -<p>“It’s in my mind that he did not wish to see -Morgen Fay burn.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe so! I’d rather myself see fairies by -moonlight or a fair still garden.”</p> - -<p>Ruined farm and David and Margery to whom -gentlemen were gentlemen, whatever strange -things they wished, and rose nobles were rose -nobles. “Oh, aye! Who is there for us to tattle -to save it be Dobbin and the cow? There’s naught -doing like that Joan who turned to be a witch -named Morgen? We might ha’ had trouble -there, but Somerville stepped in and turned it -aside. So you’ll ha’ to do, Master Bettany, if -there’s any mistaken doing here—”</p> - -<p>“Aye, I will. But there’s none.”</p> - -<p>This was a day of gold dust, still, warm, a haze -and floating stillness. Ruined farm and forest -hereabouts might have had a hedge around them -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. No ears -heard fine smithwork, for Philemon and Baucis -were deaf, and went beside to planted field. The -fairies might have heard.</p> - -<p>Mid-afternoon Thomas Bettany returned to -town. Near the old wall, now on the high road, -he overtook a string of pilgrims footweary and -dusty. The leader hailed him, handsome young -burgher riding a fine horse. “Canst tell us, master, -what inn is best for us?”</p> - -<p>“Try the Joyful Mountain. Whence do you -come?”</p> - -<p>From Minchester, it seemed. To Saint Leofric -and Silver Cross. “And we’ve just heard news -about a fearful witch and that she’ll be burned -to-morrow. We shall see that first. Thank ye, -and our blessing, master!”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany gave to his family the supper -hour and showed himself during it affectionate -son and brother. “Eh, Thomas!” thought the -old merchant, and like the pilgrims he, too, gave -him blessing, though an inner one.</p> - -<p>Marian, his sister, who was a mouse for quietness, -said suddenly, “Oh, I would that to-morrow -were gone by! If I were Morgen Fay to-night—”</p> - -<p>Master Eustace Bettany rated her. “Say -naught like that even in jest!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> -<p>“I was not jesting.”</p> - -<p>“Thou’rt so far from Morgen Fay that thou -shalt not say, ‘If I were Morgen Fay—’”</p> - -<p>“She is woman.”</p> - -<p>“Witches have left womanhood. Be silent!”</p> - -<p>Table was taken away. Eustace Bettany disappeared -through the door which led to countinghouse. -Marian came to Thomas in the deep window. -“Stay awhile, Thomas, and read with me -‘Romaunt of the Rose!’ Cousin hath sent us, -too, ‘The Grey Damsel and Sir Launfal.’”</p> - -<p>But Thomas could not stay. He kissed her and -went forth into the sunset. By town cross they -were piling wood. Saint Ethelred’s bells rang. -The young man stood and prayed.</p> - -<p>Dusk came over all like brooding wings. Stars -brightened above the castle. Up there Montjoy, -seated in his great chair, listened to Prior Matthew -of Westforest.</p> - -<p>“Not to hear of it till now—!”</p> - -<p>“It is not yet three nights ago, Montjoy. And -it seemed, and still seemeth best to seek quietly. -We have had, to my mind, too much indeed of -buzz and clatter! I wish for quiet to descend -upon us.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I also!” sighed Montjoy. “So the soul -may return to her proper work! But open—all -things should be open!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> -<p>“In reason, aye! But the world is idle and -will make scandal if it may.”</p> - -<p>Montjoy pressed back of clasped hands over -eyes. “The world is thistle and precipice! I -have fearful dreams at night. Welcome will it -be to me, oh Christ, when I may go my pilgrimage!” -Rising from his chair he walked to and -fro, then returning to the table, laid touch upon -a great and splendidly bound book, fine work upon -fine parchment, illuminated head letters and -borders. He touched it reverently. “See you, so -beautifully done, two hundred years ago! Chronicle -of Silver Cross. I have been reading as I -have read a hundred times! Miracles then -a-plenty, and such goodness, such spiritual men, -that all seemed grown pure Nature! I thought -the gloss and freshness were all back, but I do -not know—I do not know—I do not know!”</p> - -<p>Prior Matthew said quietly, “Until this madness -Brother Richard was a good and holy monk. -How else should Heaven have found him as glass -to shine through? And now if, as we think, he -lies drowned in Wander, it does not seem to us -self-murder. The mad are not accountable there. -Again, he may have slipped and fallen. So now -Our Lord may clear his mind, and his purgatory -done, he will again be wise and holy.”</p> - -<p>“Purgatory lasteth long!” said Montjoy. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>“Thistle and mire pit, thirsty desert, precipices! -And what if he did not drown but roams at large, -telling with flaming eyes and tolling voice and -large gesture his story of not one but many -Satans?”</p> - -<p>“The whole region knows that he is mad. -Were he so abroad, how long before we should -have known it? Oh, we have questioners and -seekers out, but quietly! Hour by hour Wander -grows to us the more certain. Yesterday we -dragged, but the water runs swiftly and may have -carried him down.”</p> - -<p>“Death. Well, who should tremble at that -unless he be sold to wickedness?”</p> - -<p>Through open windows they heard compline -bell. “To-morrow draws on. There will be a -great concourse. Saint Leofric and Silver Cross -and Westforest, country folk and all the town, -seamen and pilgrims. And what to see? A -woman burning.”</p> - -<p>The Prior spoke serenely, invisibly his hand -making final move, providing mate. “Nay, -Montjoy, Good vindicated, Ill consumed, Warning -spread!”</p> - -<p>Thomas Bettany absented himself from Middle -Forest.</p> - -<p>Dark night, clear and dark. Lights twinkled -in tall houses, lantern and torch twinkled and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>flared in narrow streets. Glowworm points from -those belated moved over the bridge. Night -deepened. Lights went out one by one, cluster -by cluster. Now there were great spaces of -naught between twinklers and flarers. Dark -space widened, twinklers and flarers growing -lonely, separated afar from one another. Ships -below the bridge had lanterns, but the ships were -few. Lights lessened, lessened, until you might -say Middle Forest was in darkness. Lanterns of -the watch went slowly about, but wary eye might -know where watch had been and where it was -now and where it would presently be. Cautious -foot might tread among the three. Of course, -if shout were raised, watch hearing it would come -running.</p> - -<p>Midnight and after.</p> - -<p>Godfrey had good wine to-night, brought him -by Master Thomas Bettany. Godfrey thought, -“Brought for present to soften me to let him look -at the witch!” He grinned and took the wine -but kept to “Rule is rule!” “Very fine Jerez -sack,” explained the young merchant, “out of a -lot bought in London. And will you give a stoup -to William and Diggory? Diggory is a great -fellow of his inches! I saw him Sunday wrestling -in long meadow.”</p> - -<p>Godfrey drank the Jerez wine with his supper, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>and he poured a great cup for William and for -Diggory. They drank. “Aye, aye! Bettany -knows how to choose the best!”</p> - -<p>Deep night.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="23">XXIII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Deep</span> night. Over the castle Pegasus, over -town southward the Eagle, walking down the -west the Ploughman, low in the southwest the -Scorpion, due south the Archer, on the meridian -the Lyre.</p> - -<p>Deep night in prison. Morgen Fay waked. -“What use in sleeping? I shall do no work to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>Memory. For some ease, take Memory by the -hand, but go with her into old countries, not into -those near at hand! She remembered a forest -like to Wander forest, and she remembered an -ocean with shells upon the beach. So cool the air, -and the water going over her, cool, cool and restful! -She remembered music.</p> - -<p>Once a grey-beard begging friar had told her -that all things that ever were or are or can be -were but parts of music. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>“Listen, and you will -hear! Gather the notes and make them into -strains. Put the strains together—you will begin -to have a notion! When you have lived -long enough you will come to hear the strains -made of strains and how they combine. All the -jangle is imperfect music, music finding itself—”</p> - -<p>Music. So it was all music? A long way to-night -to where you might see that!</p> - -<p>Dancing. Once it had come to her herself, -watching sunbeams and some nodding, waving -trees and a long ripple over wheat, and feeling -a wind that kept measure, that dancing was somehow -a great and sweet idea of some great Gayheart. -“Shall I dance in prison and hear music, -and to-morrow flying this way?”</p> - -<p>Love. What is that?</p> - -<p>She thought. “I have never seen it. I know -it not. Perhaps for garden and Ailsa and little -white rose tree. Ah, yes! But I have loved my -way, and fire on my hearth and wine on my table. -Now I will have enough of fire, and there is a -wine they say of wrath. Love—love! What is -it, Morgen Fay? If there be such a country I -shall not see it. Where do you go to-morrow, -Morgen Fay, and what anguish in the going?”</p> - -<p>“O God, O my God, make wider the little passage -between me and thee!”</p> - -<p>So dark—so dark. Night and night and -night!</p> - -<p>A little noise at the door, but not like Godfrey’s -hand. She sat up, being near the door, the place -was so small. Stealthily, stealthily, a sliding -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>noise. She felt the door open and rose to her -knees. “Who’s there?”</p> - -<p>“Friends! Don’t make any noise.” One -came in at the door and touched her. “Morgen, -it is Thomas Bettany. You are willing to follow -me? Then come at once.”</p> - -<p>She rose and followed. The door was shut behind -her. The second man, stooping, turned the -key and withdrew it. A little way down the passage -with no more noise than moths—door of -inner ward—through it, too, turn key and take -out, find cross passage. The second man who -had not spoken held the least, small light. A -cresset, too, burned dimly, swinging from a beam. -A man lay sleeping by the wall,—Diggory, Godfrey’s -helper. It seemed that he was sleeping -soundly. A turn, a wider space, and the great -door and William sleeping upon a bench. Open, -great door. Light showed a chain and a staple -broken out of wall—open! Out of prison. -Starlight—the street—soft and swift like moth -and bat. Lanterns and footsteps of the watch. -Press into angle of Saint Ethelred’s porch and -cease to breathe while they go by! Avoid market -place, cross High Street, softly, swiftly; find -Saint Swithin’s Street, narrow, steeply descending -toward the river. River in the ears, and the -old disused water steps, and beside them a boat. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>Thomas Bettany’s voice saying, “<em>Gold and silver</em>,” -and the man in the boat answering, “<em>Gold -and silver in the Vineyard.</em> Step ye in!”</p> - -<p>Down the river, and by the house of Morgen -Fay and into the widening of water that was -called the Pool.</p> - -<p>There were but three men, Bettany and the -man with him and he who had held the boat and -who was called Diccon. The man who had opened -doors sat very silent. But so were all, saying -nothing, rowing silently. And Morgen Fay was -still, still! Oh, the divine night air and the stars -and the cool water, cool and singing! A ship -rose before them. It seemed they were going -there.</p> - -<p>Thomas spoke to her. “Your name is Alice -now, not Morgen. Remember! Alice—Alice -Dawn. This ship is the <i>Vineyard</i> and it touches -at three ports. You will be safely put ashore, -and here is gold.” A purse slid into her lap.</p> - -<p>Ecstacy of freedom, air and the stars. Alice—Alice -Dawn! She put her forehead upon her -knees and laughed. “Oh, all of you, what will -you <em>not</em> see to-morrow! Now you have your -miracle!”</p> - -<p>The ship coming closer and closer, a tall ship -and making ready to sail. “Whither? And will -I find Ailsa?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> -<p>“I cannot tell as to that. Diccon Wright, the -master there, is a helpful man. And the Saints -are above us. I do not fully know,” said Thomas -under breath, “what I have done!”</p> - -<p>The ship came near. “Ah, how dark it was in -prison! Thank you and bless you!”</p> - -<p>Andromeda lay across the northeast, the Crown -was in the west, the Swan overhead. “Ship -oars,” said Diccon. “Here we are!”</p> - -<p>“You quit me now, Thomas?”</p> - -<p>“Aye. I must be at home and in bed if there -come any calling!”</p> - -<p>“Are you endangered?”</p> - -<p>“No! They will call it again the devil. Where -all have tender hands he is the best one to pull the -nuts from the fire!”</p> - -<p>“Good-by, then. I shall bless you every day -and it shall not hurt you!”</p> - -<p>“I never thought that it would, Morgen Fay.”</p> - -<p>“No. Thou’rt clean! Good-by, good-by, -good-by!”</p> - -<p>The ship overhung them,—bowsprit and -carved sea goddess, body of ship and high forecastle, -masts, spars and rigging. And the stars -shone between, and men were up there making -sail among the stars, and all the air sang around -and the water sang. Morgen Fay had her own -courage. It was coming to her from far and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>near. She felt like a child. Something in her was -crumbling away, or something within her, after -long groping, was painfully lifting itself into -higher air. “<em>I have tasted evil, I have tasted -good; I like better the last taste.</em>”</p> - -<p>The rowers ceased to row. A rope was flung, -a manner of ladder of rope slipped over the side. -Master of the <i>Vineyard</i> and Thomas Bettany -spoke low together, then the former mounted to -his ship. “Now, Alice Dawn—God bless -you!”</p> - -<p>“God bless you.”</p> - -<p>She was light and strong. She climbed, she -stood in the waist of the <i>Vineyard</i> and turning -herself, looked to see the boat put off with two. -But the rower who had not spoken, the man who -had been silent in street and lane, who had opened -doors silently in prison, was climbing from boat -to <i>Vineyard</i> deck. Light from a lantern by the -mast fell upon him. Burgher’s dress, cap of blue, -young beard of brown-gold upon his face. -“Where?—where?”</p> - -<p>Bodily there rose before her the cell at Silver -Cross and all the sudden lights, coloured by some -old secret device, that bloomed about her and her -floating drapery, and this man upon his knees. -With a cry she turned to the boat. Two seamen -had descended in Diccon’s place. It was <i>Vineyard</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -boat, it would put Bettany ashore and return, -and no boatmen at the main water steps -have any tale to tell. Already the boat was away -from the ship. “Friend! friend!”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield stood beside her. “He cannot -return, nor help us further, Morgen!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="24">XXIV</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">London</span> folk went up and down. Palace where -sat a strong king, Tower where traitors lay in -ward, wall maintained through the centuries upon -the base the Romans laid, Aldgate, Newgate, -Ludgate, Bishopsgate. London Bridge, London -Stone, Baynard Castle, old Temple without the -Templars, with the lawyers. Blackfriars, Whitefriars, -Greyfriars, Austin Friars, Crutched -Friars, crowd of monasteries and nunneries, -great buildings of stone, lesser buildings of -wood, churches and churches, and a good way -out of town Westminster, where the king -was building his great chapel with the wonderful -roof. Sixty thousand, maybe seventy -thousand people in London. Learned men were -there, artists were there, merchants there, men of -the Church, of the law, of the sword. Hidden -Wickliffites, hidden Lollards were there. Astrologers -and alchemists were there and men of the -rosy cross. Navigators and discoverers were -there, striving to show Henry what to do to balance -or counter Ferdinand of Spain and Emmanual -of Portugal. Mechanics and artisans were -there, many and many men of many crafts. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>Guilds and guilds. London of the bells, of the -Wall and the Thames; London outer, London -inner.</p> - -<p>Near the Old Jewry ran a narrow street where -dwelled many workers in metal—ironsmith, coppersmith, -silversmith, goldsmith—not the great -known workers but the lesser ones that the great -hired. A narrow street of poor houses, dark -and noisy, or dark and still. The children -were poured into the street, the women sat in the -doors or clacked up and down. From some -houses came always the clink of metal upon metal, -from others the workers went away to other -places of work. At night they returned. Now -the sun cleansed all, now the fog came dull-footed -into the street and the houses and stayed.</p> - -<p>Jankin, a worker for an armourer, opened the -door of an old house. A large room, which was -a workshop, and four small rooms, and out of -the house had recently been carried a bier. The -man who died had been an old, independent metal -worker. Here still were his furnace and his tools. -Whatever had been his family it was gone; apprentices -who had dwelled with him were away -to other masters. “But his custom would come -back,” said Jankin. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>“The whole thing for so -many pounds. Something down, but the most -could be worked out. ’Tis said there’s a ghost -in the house, and so they don’t sell or rent it -easily.”</p> - -<p>The man with him said, “I rent it and buy the -tools.”</p> - -<p>Jankin answered, “If you do the work you used -to do, master, ’t will be like planting a tree in a -flowerpot!”</p> - -<p>“No. And ‘master’ me no more, Jankin!”</p> - -<p>“<em>Diccon Dawn.</em> It comes strange! But many -a man and a great man is in danger. Well, you -were never much in London, master, and you’re -changed. Eh, those days I was with you in -Paris! I hear them still between hammer -strokes, and they come around me like fairies. -And you’ll live here?”</p> - -<p>“Aye.”</p> - -<p>“The great vase you made for the cardinal! -Tall as a man, and a wreath of silver dancers! -And he would have you to sup with him—and -even I in the hall had venison pasty and marchpane -and such wine as Saint Vulcan drinks!”</p> - -<p>“Let us go to the owner.”</p> - -<p><em>Five days ago Wander Forest.</em></p> - -<p>Owner of the house, heir of the dead man’s -furnishings, was found. Yes, yes! let and sell -on easy terms, Jankin, who was responsible, answering -for Richard or Diccon Dawn, and the -latter’s gold pieces also answering. The long -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>June day saw the whole completed, key in the -hand of Diccon Dawn, and still two hours lacking -of sunset.</p> - -<p>Quoth Jankin, “I can get you plain work to -start on.”</p> - -<p>He stood a middle-aged, surly, doggedly faithful -man. “If you chose to work with me again, -Jankin—?”</p> - -<p>Jankin regarded workroom, regarded street -through wide, low window. “Well, I will! I’d -like to watch tree break flowerpot!”</p> - -<p>Through the street alone, into the outer street -near the river, a poor street also, filled with a -great clanging noise. Men-at-arms poured by, -going for some reason to the Tower. When they -were passed he met a country cart, two girls, sisters, -seated and a boy walking beside the horse. -They had strawberries and they were crying -them. “Strawberries! Strawberries! Make -you young again! Strawberries!”</p> - -<p>Down a cross street he saw the river and it -was running sunset gold with beds of violets. -He entered a poor house where lodged sailors’ -wives, and here he sought and found Morgen -Fay. “Come with me! I want to show you -something.”</p> - -<p>After a moment of silence she moved toward -him and they went out together. They -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>went through the street, a tall man and a woman -very poorly clad, tall almost as he, and of a rich -beauty. There was a great sunset this eve, bathing -London and Thames and these two.</p> - -<p>Diccon Dawn opened the door. They entered -the workshop. “This place is now mine. I do -not know if you know it, but I am a smith in gold -and silver.”</p> - -<p>Jankin had brought and left upon the table a -loaf and cheese, a pitcher of ale and a platter -heaped with strawberries. Moreover there was -water provided and candles in the stand and he -had swept the room. All the tools of this trade -were about; at the back stood the furnace. The -room faced the south and the west, and through -the window streamed the glowing light. They -entered, they drank a little water, then stood and -faced each the other.</p> - -<p>She spoke. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>“We came away upon the ship together, -two mortals in the most merciless danger. -‘That cannot be helped!’ I thought, after the -first astounding when all the blood went from -my heart and my knees bent under me. The <i>Vineyard</i> -shook us down together like two leaves in -London. ‘That cannot be helped,’ I thought, -‘but now the wind will drive the one north and -the other south!’ ‘Lodge at the Old Anchor,’ -says <i>Vineyard</i> master. I go there, and I find you -there before me. Still the wind does not rise. -But now it must!”</p> - -<p>“You have gold,” said the other. “I saw him -to whom we owe more than gold give it to you. -There is still lodging at the Old Anchor. Return -there if you choose. I will walk with you. You -shall lodge as you have lodged, and I as I have -lodged. But this house is now mine. Lodge -here, Morgen Fay!”</p> - -<p>“No! Now at last we speak together! Now -at last!”</p> - -<p>“Now at last!”</p> - -<p>She stood away from the table, he nearer window. -Gold and red sunset was behind him, a -gold and red pool upon the floor between them, -and a rosy light struck her—face, head and -throat.</p> - -<p>It was again—it was again!</p> - -<p>She cried, “Cell at Silver Cross, and you on -your knees before heaven, and I the ape!”</p> - -<p>He put his hands before his face. “All heaven -was mine!”</p> - -<p>“Dressed so, like the great picture, and with -my fingers drawing or slackening cords that made -the blue mantle to wave and lights to brighten. -Oh, God—oh, God!”</p> - -<p>“It is so, yet they brighten.”</p> - -<p>She leaned against the wall, clasping her hands -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>above her forehead. “Through wickedness and -mire and hell and silly paradises I could come at -times to her garden gate and feel her within, -though ever was a fence between us! Her the -Blessed, Her the Mother, Mother of All! A -sweet song of her, a bright picture of her is that -one who moved in Bethlehem and went down into -Egypt and came back to Nazareth! A little song, -a little story of her is the great picture in Silver -Cross. All songs and all stories have her in -them! But what <em>I</em> did, because I thought I was -in danger and because there was mire in me, was -to choose to clip the gold coin and take it from -where it was needed and buy perdition with it! -I chose to lie and cheat, to mock and perjure, to -make her small and ugly—Her the Blissful, Her -the Wholly Pure, Her the Strong and Beautiful!”</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield turned to the window. -Fiery light! The moon on the coasts of Italy! -Fiery light!</p> - -<p>Moments dropped, far apart, slowly, one after -the other. Morgen Fay spoke again, in a changed -tone. “I am not going back to the old life. To -please myself I learned to make lace and I can -make it rarely. There is here a guild of sewing -women and lace-makers. A sailor’s wife told -me.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> -<p>“Work if you will, Morgen. But do you lodge -here!”</p> - -<p>“Why—why?”</p> - -<p>They moved. Light seemed to pour over them, -red light. A horn was blown in the street. Again -she cried out. “It is heaven that you love and -seek, far above this and all sinning! When I -was ape I saw that, the light falling on your -face!”</p> - -<p>“Heaven, yes—heaven grown small maybe, -but heaven that man understands! Give me -heaven!”</p> - -<p>She cried, “Oh, the ape has done murder!”</p> - -<p>“No! No murder was done. I thought so at -first, and indeed it might seem so, but it was not. -<em>Diccon and Alice Dawn.</em> Lodge here, Morgen, -lodge here!”</p> - -<p>The fiery light, the music in the street. The -brown-gold figure, the smith in gold and silver, -tall, like King David in the window of Saint -Ethelred. “Decide! It is for you to decide!”</p> - -<p>All her life seemed to come around her. All -her life up to the ruined farm and Wander forest, -and then and for a long time Wander forest, -ruined farm. And then in full, sounding and -lighted, Silver Cross. Four times in all. Prison, -the <i>Vineyard</i> ship and the Old Anchor. Fire-red -and brown-gold and shreds and lines of blue. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>Horns in the street, but somewhere a lute and a -viol. <em>Build as build you can!</em> <i>Vineyard</i> ship, -Old Anchor, fiery street, house of the smith, colour -and odour of roses, viol, lute. She moved, -she sat down by the table and buried her face in -her arms. Presently he lighted the candles. -“Come, Morgen, come and see the whole of it!”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Morgen Fay and rose to her -height. She stood up. “No! It is not little me -thou art seeking—little me, little thee. Perhaps—it -is great daring to say it—perhaps I also -who have been ape am seeker! At any rate, I’ll -not give thee tinsel who needeth gold! And now -I am going back to Old Anchor.”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="25">XXV</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clink</span> of metals striking together, hammer -sound, sound of the wheel, sound of the fed furnace, -sound of voices among metals. Diccon -Dawn, worker in rich metals with Jankin to help -and a boy to help Jankin. All day were voices in -the long room, footsteps to and fro, sound of the -craft. Richard Englefield beginning again to -make beautiful things.</p> - -<p>As he worked he saw a lace-maker. Rich and -beautiful lace.</p> - -<p>He saw Wander forest, he saw the ruined farm, -he saw Middle Forest, the prison there and the -house by the river.</p> - -<p>He worked from dawn to dusk. Work,—let -some ease come that way! He was artist at -work and some lightening came. One must love -all.</p> - -<p>The nights at first brought him long and faintly -terrible dreams. He could not remember them -in sequence, but some had horror and some had -beauty, and now and again his brain caught from -them small, vivid pictures.</p> - -<p>Then, one night, he saw, half he thought in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>dream and half not in dream, a furnace and -seated within it a man with a hammer and an -anvil, and on the anvil a man, and they were both -the one man, only the man with the hammer was -the greater in aspect.</p> - -<p>Work, work, and at last, after terrible dreams, -pray! But no set prayers, only a wild cry upward -to the man with the hammer.</p> - -<p>The street lay baked clay under the sun, the -street darkened beneath cloud. Rain poured -down, cleansing and sweetening, making brooks -of gutters, pattering and driving, singing the -clean and the fresh, turning when out came the -sun into uncounted glistening or rainbow orbs. -Wind swept the street, a great bellows quickening -life. Fog stole in, and the familiar became a -foreigner, strange, remote, chill; surely the world -was dying! Then came the sun, and the world -was not dying.</p> - -<p>He went to Old Anchor. The street of half -ruinous houses was filled with a crowd of voices -of sea-going and from-sea-returning folk. A -woman with a child told him where to find her. -She sat with bobbins in her hand, at a lace pillow. -“Thou’rt pale! Weave, weave like this all day -long!”</p> - -<p>“So I buy bread. I do well.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<p>“So wretched a place! Morgen, come to my -house. Richard and Alice Dawn—brother and -sister.”</p> - -<p>“No—no!”</p> - -<p>They talked, they parted. Old Anchor and -Thames side and street of the smiths. That -night, lying awake, suddenly he saw her life; he -passed into a calm and wide and lifted moment -and saw it spread from childhood. Seeing so, it -appeared his own experience,—not appeared, -but was. Something like a great shutter closed -upon that moment, then there opened another as -wide and as deep. Space, there was space! “I -have standing and moving room again!”</p> - -<p>After a week he went once more to Old Anchor. -“Morgen, I better understand your life and my -life. This place harms you. Come into the -smiths’ street and to the house where I am and -where there is all room. We have need to be together -and to learn together.”</p> - -<p>“No—no!”</p> - -<p>Again he went away. The next day, suddenly, -while he was turning in his hands a bar of silver, -his thoughts for a moment ran gold. He was -back with a certain day in his stone workroom -at Silver Cross and he was making a cup for Abbot -Mark to give to a bishop. The great picture -was in his thoughts, the Blessed among women. -There were rolling fields and the villages of Palestine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -Palestine? Everywhere she was, she -was everywhere! That day had been two years -ago. Now again to-day he saw that everywhere -she was, that she was everywhere. Everywhere! -In all realms, upper and lower, afar and -near, great and small. Everywhere. Who had -hurt her? No one and nothing. Naught!</p> - -<p>Who had hurt him? No one.</p> - -<p>That night he saw a great thorny field and -two wanderers. Each had a great burden on his -shoulders and each a staff. There seemed a path -of pilgrimage. And now one came full upon it -and pursued it and now the other. But they were -not together, and there seemed a desolateness. -Each fell away into the thorns and came again -with toil. The mist closed all away. Again Richard -Englefield prayed. “If it be in God that we -are together—”</p> - -<p>Night passed, day passed. Night again in the -street of the smiths. A light through the window, -a cry in the street, a bell that leaped into clanging. -Fire! Fire!</p> - -<p>Diccon Dawn hurrying on clothing, went with -the rest. It seemed to be on the water side and -to the eastward,—a great fire. When they came -to the Thames they saw that it was a stretch of -old buildings, a maze where the poor lived, together -with seafaring folk. So joined were the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>houses that it might be one, or they might be ten. -Old Anchor—Old Anchor!</p> - -<p>The sky was murk and flame, any face might -be read; the fire-ocean leaped in breakers, roared, -licked up and sucked under. All the air was -sound, all the bells were ringing, all the heart was -bursting. Middle Forest! A heap of fagots -by town cross.</p> - -<p>Old Anchor, and many heroic things done that -night by men and women and children. But a -man, a goldsmith, entered farthest, endured longest, -brought forth in his arms whom he had gone -to seek, out of the heart of it. “Is she dead? -No! Dead with the smoke, and fire has touched -her arms and her breast and her sides. Who is -she? The man’s sister. Where will he take -her? He will carry her through the street to his -house. Diccon Dawn, a goldsmith. He will -nurse her there—oh, tenderly, tenderly.”</p> - -<p>It was so.</p> - -<p>He nursed here there, oh, tenderly, and she -came back to life and to strength through much -suffering.</p> - -<p>“It hurts? I would that I could take that!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, aye, it hurts sore! But I will keep it -and bear it and see it change.”</p> - -<p>“So much more I know about thee than I used -to know! Thou hast courage.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> -<p>“So much more I know of thee. Thou hast -strength, patience. If I moan with the pain, it -helps me to utter it.”</p> - -<p>“See thou, it is meant for us to be together.”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="26">XXVI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clink</span> of metals striking together, hammer -sound, sound of the wheel, sound of the fed furnace, -sound of voices among metals. Up and down -this was the strain of the smiths’ street. -Summer, autumn, winter, spring, round went -the wheel.</p> - -<p>The street lay hot under the sun, the street -stretched dim and breathless under clouds. Rain -poured down, freshness and song of the sea -drawn into the air. The wind sang his great song -of vigour. Fog came and shut the eyelids of the -world, then passed away and one started as from -sleep. Snow fell in small flakes or in large flakes, -in few or in many. The street lay white, the -roofs white.</p> - -<p>All day voices in the long workroom, footsteps -to and fro, sound of the craft, Diccon Dawn fashioning -beautiful things. He had helpers, Jankin -and a boy, and also his sister, Alice Dawn.</p> - -<p>There was that which she could do and he -showed her how. Those who came that way in -the smiths’ street saw a brother and sister, a tall -pair, working together. Beside this, she toiled -like all the women in the street. She kept the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>house clean, she bought the food and cooked it, -she took ewer and pail and went to the well. To -and fro, to and fro. At the well were women, in -the street were women. She greeted and answered -greeting. Sometimes she was drawn into -a knot of talkers. But she spoke little herself. -“Alice Dawn? Whence, then? The other end -of England? Thy brother does fine work, they -say. When didst learn to work with him? He -has gotten thee a good gown and it sets thee like -an earl’s wife!” When she was gone they talked -of her. “How old should you think? She has -too still ways for me! She looks like a queen. -Nay, lass, to my thinking like a quean!”</p> - -<p>Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smiths. -Water from the well, dashing over the stones, -water brought home in great ewer or pail, balanced -so.</p> - -<p>Sometimes at sunset, go, the two of them, down -to the river. Sunday beyond the wall into green -country, into sere autumn country, into winter -country. Mix and not mix with those about them, -live and let live, keeping observation as near as -possible to ebb tide. Live—let live! Live—let -live! In this time the herb found some growing -room. Away from the smith’s street they -saw the able king go by with his able men, the -queen with her ladies. They saw the cardinal and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>his train. They heard of a Lollard burned, and -they went not there; of a sorceress burned and -they went not there. They went somewhat -silently and softly that day. So long as they ran -not foul of some one’s earthly ambition or his -jealousy or his fear, there was going room. Once -they heard a street preacher mourning that the -time was so lax. A great time, an active time, -but lax, lax! What was this New Learning and -crying that Authority was within? Every day, -somewhere, a monk broke from cloister and a -priest began to babble. For the bookmen, they -were writing perdition! Differers springing up -like weeds, laughter rising, folk prying into vain -knowledge, conceiving a thing called “freedom.”</p> - -<p>Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smith.</p> - -<p>Diccon and Alice Dawn. Out of blind feeling -there rose, they knew not just when nor how, -desire for that light which is comprehension. -“Tell me—” “Tell me—”</p> - -<p>Breadth by breadth, work of the day done, or -on holidays, they unrolled the bale of old life and -regarded the figures, the outer figures and the -figures of thought and feeling. Each grew to be -to the other a vast and deep and fortunate object -of study. She would say, “When you were in -France, tell me—” or <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>“What like was thy -mother?” And he, “Tell me, Morgen, of thy -childhood and thy girlhood.” Her childhood became -his and his became hers. The like with girlhood -and boyhood. They learned, orb of orb, -ocean of ocean, sharing and growing richer by -the sharing. “I remember” and “I remember.”</p> - -<p>“I was a young girl, just over childness. I was -dancing. My father and mother watched. I do -not know if they were truly my father and mother, -but I called them that. They watched me and -they watched the crowd watching. They always -did that. If the crowd did not grow warm, then -afterwards in the booth they beat me. Oh, they -beat me sore! So I always thought <em>into</em> the -crowd as it were and willed it as hard as I might, -‘Oh, love my dancing! Oh, love to look at me!’ -I thought it so hard that sometimes it seemed that -the crowd and I were one, and I beat their flame -upward so that they, too, were dancing and liking -it. But I remember that day something beat my -flame upward, too, far upward and very wide! -And the very earth and world was dancing, whirling -and rising like a golden ball in air, and great -figures sat around, laughing and applauding and -crying, ‘You will do! You will do!’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Once in Italy, with my master Andrew the -Goldsmith, I was walking alone by olive trees and -blue sea. The sun was low, there was the greatest -beauty! Then gold Apollo walked with me. I -saw him in lines of pale gold, and I felt him a -great god, calm and happy. Vulcan is for the -smiths, but I changed that day to Apollo. Not -that I left Vulcan, but Apollo, too. The next -month I made for Andrew the Goldsmith a cup -which when he looked at he said, ‘Thou’rt accepted!’”</p> - -<p>“I remember—”</p> - -<p>“When thou rememberest me—and I remember -thee—”</p> - -<p>“Will we come to remember all?”</p> - -<p>Up and down, to and fro in the smiths’ street. -Snow was falling, great flakes, softly, smoothly. -Jankin looked out of window. “Here cometh a -great Blackfriar!”</p> - -<p>He walked along the street, a big Dominican -out on his travels. Richard Englefield glanced, -but did not recognize him, though, a moment -afterwards, as he bent to his work, there rose in -mind a picture of Montjoy’s hall the day he stood -there, bound and gagged, like to burst in his rage -and agony. Now he laid hand on graver’s tool -and fell to work. He was fashioning a silver dish -like a shell. Jankin took his cap and cloak and -said good night, for the short day was closing.</p> - -<p>Morgen Fay crossed the street in the snow, returning -to the house from some errand. Reaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -the doorstone, she stood there a little because -of delight in the great white flakes. A friar -spoke to her, “Eh, my sister, a white Christmas!”</p> - -<p>“Aye, Brother, they are coming like white butterflies.”</p> - -<p>He looked more fully upon her, “Push back -your hood, woman!”</p> - -<p>She knew him. “Ah! Middle Forest!” Her -heart stood still, then she changed as she could -expression of her face, roughened her voice. -“Whiter than last Christmas, Brother! That -was a brown one here in London.”</p> - -<p>“It was white in Middle Forest!” He stared -in doubt. “What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Alice Dawn, Brother.”</p> - -<p>Still he stared, but she saw his uncertainty increase.</p> - -<p>“Did ever you have a sister who called herself -Morgen Fay?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “I had one named -Mercy.”</p> - -<p>“By Saint Thomas, likenesses are strange -things!” said Friar Martin. “There’s something -that binds them together, if we could but get -it clear!” He looked up at the smith’s sign. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>“‘Diccon Dawn. Silver and Gold.’ Alice -Dawn! Well, you are like, all the same, so you -had better say your beads, my daughter, and -keep from ill ways! <i>Benedicite!</i>”</p> - -<p>He went on through the snowy street.</p> - -<p>Diccon Dawn looked up from the fluted shell. -“You are as pale as the snow! What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Is Jankin gone, and the boy? Here is Friar -Martin of Saint Leofric’s.”</p> - -<p>“Here!”</p> - -<p>“In the street. He has gone by. But I know -that he will return.”</p> - -<p>Englefield rose from the silver work and they -stood in the dusky room. “Did he know you?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>She told.</p> - -<p>He said, “It was chance his being here! He -saw what he thought was chance likeness. It -will pass from his mind.”</p> - -<p>“It may and it may not. Will there be raised -a cry against me—against us? Look!”</p> - -<p>Hidden themselves, they looked through the -window. Other side the street, in the falling -snow, stood Friar Martin, intent upon the goldsmith’s -house and sign. A man going by was -stopped and questioned. Alone once more, the -friar gazed, dubitated, drew his picture. Diccon? -A Richard made silver dishes for Abbot -Mark. June. He came into this house in June, -and none in these parts had known him before. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>And an Alice Dawn like as a twin to Morgen -Fay!</p> - -<p>The friar made a movement. “<em>If this be so, -what gain to Saint Leofric?</em>” But first it was -to tell beyond peradventure of a doubt if it were -so! He crossed the smith’s street and with his -staff knocked upon the door of Diccon Dawn.</p> - -<p>“Shalt open to him?”</p> - -<p>“If I do he may find likeness. If I do not—”</p> - -<p>They stood in the dusky place, a long room with -the red fire eye of the small furnace dully winking, -with the snow falling, falling. The friar -knocked again. “If we do not answer, then -surely will he say, ‘Witch’s house!’”</p> - -<p>Englefield moved toward the door, but Friar -Martin, impatient and bold, did not wait, but -lifting the latch, pushed inward. It was dusk, -beyond seeing clearly.</p> - -<p>“Are you the smith?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, Brother. Can I serve you?”</p> - -<p>“I would see your work. But I cannot do so -without light.”</p> - -<p>“Work hour and shop hour are over. Best -come to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow we may all be dead. Canst not -light candle?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, I can.” He took a brand from the fire -and suited action to word. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>“There is not much -here.” He held the candle to the silver shell, but -Friar Martin, who helped himself through life, -shot out his hand and took the taper and held it -to the smith. Diccon Dawn stood in the light -and formed face of London smith who knew -that in these later days friars upon their travels -were what they were and must be taken so. They -had their whims!</p> - -<p>But Friar Martin said, “Did ever you wander -by a stream called Wander? Do you know a -town named Middle Forest, and the Abbey of -Silver Cross?”</p> - -<p>Diccon Dawn shook his head. “I stick to my -work, Brother. It’s night and snowing fast!”</p> - -<p>Light—light! It seemed to blaze around. -“Didst never make silver dishes for abbots?”</p> - -<p>“No. I have a humbler trade. It nears curfew, -Brother!”</p> - -<p>“I met a woman upon your doorstep. Your -wife or perhaps your sister?”</p> - -<p>“My sister,—Curfew, Brother!”</p> - -<p>The other was thinking, “I do not yet know -wholly, but I guess, I guess!” He said aloud, -“Do smiths have visions? Doth heaven ever -open in this street?”</p> - -<p>“All streets are ways to that. Curfew, -Brother!”</p> - -<p>It was dusk save for the one taper and the fire -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>eye in the back of the room. The friar was almost -a giant, but the smith, too, was a strong man, -and somewhere in the house dwelled a witch! He -had matter enough to turn and twist this way and -that, during the night, preparing the vial of -wrath. “Aye, it is late! I will go, having seen -your silver work!”</p> - -<p>He went. The street was snowy. His great -sandalled foot made no sound. Going, a little -chime rang in his brain. “I see the gain of Saint -Leofric! I see the gain of Saint Leofric!”</p> - -<p>In the dusky room the two moved closer together. -“Thy danger.” “Thine!” “Ah, -our danger!”</p> - -<p>“Act, then!” He looked from the window. -“Out of gate ere it is quite night!”</p> - -<p>They had warm mantles, good shoes. They -made a packet of food, took coin from the strong -box. Englefield wrote a short letter and placed it -where Jankin should find it the first thing coming -in, in the morning,—find it, read it and burn it, -though there was naught in it that could harm -Jankin. Jankin and the boy had had their wage -paid that day. Out quietly into the deep twilight, -the snow falling.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="27">XXVII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">A cot</span> at the side of a wood, and a woodchopper -and his sister who gathered faggots. The owner -of the wood employing them, a miserly old man -in a manor house, kept little company, stirred little -abroad, neither hunted nor hawked. They -had the still wood, the small cot. Sometimes the -steward of the place, sometimes a fellow servant -dropped in upon them, but by no means every day. -Sound of axe, sound of falling tree, sound of -breaking branch and dead leaves underfoot and -of March wind. Hours of toil, then the cot, a fire -on the hearth and homely fare.</p> - -<p>Before he became smith he had been lad of -the farm. A cot like this, work like this, was but -an old chime chiming again. She had had a -hardy, difficult childhood. It rose again upon -her at the ruined farm, in Wander forest. Life -of the hand, life of the arm and shoulder was not -new; it was old.</p> - -<p>Life of the passions; that was old.</p> - -<p>Life of the awakening mind—life of the -slowly kindling soul—life passing away from -old life—that had a divine newness.</p> - -<p>The wind murmured and sought, and brought -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>boughs to strike against wall and roof. Fire -burned on the hearth, light and shadow went -around the room. Some one knocked, then opened -the door. “I am the charcoal burner, I’ve got a -child here who is ill!”</p> - -<p>He had him in his arms a thin and gasping -six-year-old.</p> - -<p>“It’s his throat, and he’s burning in this cold -wind! He’ll choke to death.”</p> - -<p>They laid him on a bed. The charcoal burner -was big and black with a black that brushed off. -“What can ye do to help?”</p> - -<p>They helped, but Morgen Fay the most, for she -took the child upon her knees and with long, fine -fingers drew from his throat the stuff that choked. -Through the night she crooned to him, comforted -him, and at the dawn they wiled him to take a -little broth that Richard made, after which he -slept, still in her arms.</p> - -<p>“Leave him here till he is well.”</p> - -<p>“I do not mind, if you do not mind. He will -give ye a lot of trouble.”</p> - -<p>“Leave him!”</p> - -<p>They looked after this boy and he became a -great light and play to them. When he was better -they took him with them, wrapped in a mantle, -into the wood and sat him in the sunshine. Diccon -Dawn felled a tree and hewed it into logs -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>for the manor house, Alice Dawn brought faggots, -heaping together for the manor cart. When -they must rest they sat in the sun with the boy, -and the great wind rushed and laughed and clattered -in the wood.</p> - -<p>“Tell me a story!” said the boy. Richard told -saint’s legend, Christ-child story.</p> - -<p>“Now you tell one!” Morgen told the story of -the Great Good Elf.</p> - -<p>Afterwards Richard said, “We could not have -told those stories if we were not getting well.”</p> - -<p>In the cot at night, in the firelight, again the -boy. “Tell me a story—tell me a story!”</p> - -<p>“All our lives to make these stories. All our -lives of us all!”</p> - -<p>“All!”</p> - -<p>The child slept, the little flame sang, bough of -tree struck the cot. They sat and seemed to look -down and seemed to look up a road that went -forever.</p> - -<p>Wild flowers appeared. The child gathered -them. Morgen wore a knot at her bosom, Richard -one in his cap. “Tell me a story—tell me a -story!”</p> - -<p>The charcoal burner came and took away his -son. He gave rude thanks and said that henceforth -they were friends. They missed the lad -until they found that they had him still.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> -<p>The wind pushed the high cloud ships and certain -trees put on their earliest touch of green. -They rested in the wood from chopping and gathering, -and seated upon the felled tree, smelled the -fragrance of the world.</p> - -<p>“Tell me a story—tell me a story—”</p> - -<p>Again within the cot, and the wind fell at purple -twilight, then rose again roaring, and the -flame bent this way and bent that. Quiet together—still -together.</p> - -<p>“What is fire?”</p> - -<p>“What is beauty?”</p> - -<p>“What is music?”</p> - -<p>April air, April wood. Rang the axe, bent and -straightened the faggot gatherer. Showers came -up, but thick fir trees gave shelter. Rain stopped. -Being upon a little eminence in the wood they saw -the great bow, the seven-coloured bridge.</p> - -<p>April rain, April greenery, April sunshine. -The axe rang, the tree fell. They rested from -toil, leaning against the sunken mass, and waiting -so, became aware of the movement of horses, -coming nearer through the wood, and presently -of voices. Sit quietly behind branches of felled -tree, and let all go by, at a little distance, five or -six of them!</p> - -<p>But they came nearer and nearer, brushing -through the wood, a hawking party from a great -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>house the other side a line of low hills, cutting off -a distance by leaving the road and crossing this -piece of earth. Nearer and nearer, and presently -it was seen that they would pass the felled tree. -The woodchopper and the faggot gatherer sat -still.</p> - -<p>A big man, no longer young, with a beak of a -nose and a waggish yet formidable mouth, a quite -young man and a young woman, and the other -two falconer and helper, carrying the hawks. -They would go pacing by. But the big man -always spoke, sitting his big horse, to woodchoppers -and ditchers and thatchers, charcoal -burners and the like! It was as though one -stopped to observe a robin or wren or blackbird. -“Cousin bird, what have you to say to the so-much-more-than-bird -observing you?” So now -he drew rein and gave greeting.</p> - -<p>“Hey, woodchopper, a fine day for felling!”</p> - -<p>“Aye, it is, your honour!”</p> - -<p>“You fell for old Master Cuddington? He -should stir out, he should go hawking! Is your -mate there weeping or ugly that she sits turned -away, and her face in her hand?”</p> - -<p>“It is her way. She means nothing.”</p> - -<p>“She seems a fine lass—should not be in the -dumps! Hey, my girl!—No?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Robins and wrens must not be perverse</em>,” the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>big man said sharply. “Lift your head, woman, -or I shall think you’re hiding the plague!”</p> - -<p>She turned upon him a twisted face. Brown -she was and dressed after another fashion than -on a supper time in Middle Forest when the June -eve was cool and a fire crinkled on the hearth, -and Ailsa brought more wine, and Robert Somerville -said, “Morgen Fay—and hath she not look -of the name?” Brown and dressed poorly and -changed, and yet Sir Humphrey Somerville -stared.</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen you before, but where? Oh, now I -know where! Well, and is it so!”</p> - -<p>He laughed, he seemed about to descend from -his horse and enter into talk, and then to bethink -himself, looking sidewise at his daughter and her -lover. At last it was, within himself, “I’ll think -a while and come quietly again. To-morrow, aye, -to-morrow!” Aloud he said, “Flower garden, -and something about a witch—but all women -are witches! And so you live now on this side -of the hills? And now I remember me something -of a letter from my cousin, and a great trouble -you were in!”</p> - -<p>He looked from her to Richard Englefield, but -having no knowledge there, saw only a brown-gold -woodchopper. Taking a noble from his -pouch he spun it down upon the ground between -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>them. “Old Cuddington pays poorly. Seest it? -Vanish not between to-day and to-morrow, -Egyptian!”</p> - -<p>He backed his big horse; he and his daughter -and her lover and the men with the hawks rode -on through the wood. Drooping branches came -between; they were hidden, they were gone.</p> - -<p>“He thinks that I could not nor would. But -I can and do!”</p> - -<p>She stood. “It is Somerville’s cousin. Once -I feasted him in the house by the river.”</p> - -<p>They looked deep into the deep wood, they -looked to the cot from which came a tranquil blue -feather of smoke. Then said Englefield, “It is -naught but travel again! Beyond this wood runs -the wold for a long way, then we drop to the sea -and to fishing villages. Come, then! The day is -good, the night is starry.”</p> - -<p>“Two Egyptians over the wold.”</p> - -<p>“We have been together, I think, upon many -wolds, in woods and havens, in Egypt and elsewhere. -Come then, Morgen!”</p> - -<p>They left Master Cuddington’s axe and cords -and cot and furnishing. They took a loaf that -she had baked and a bundle of clothing and what -coins were left from the smiths’ street, and at sunset -fared forth.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="28">XXVIII</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> stretched afar, the great wold. They were -out upon it under the moon. All wildness, all -loneliness! If there were a track it was a faint -one. The ground rolled; all opened to the sky, a -little lower and a little higher; around and above -was immensity sewn with points of significance. -They found bushes to shelter them from the murmuring -and seeking wind and slept deeply. The -night turned toward day. Are you awake?—Aye!</p> - -<p>In the east shone the palest light. Huge lay -the wold, and the sky was night save for that far -illuming. Cool hung the air and still, still, still.</p> - -<p>The wold began to colour. They ate of their -loaf and took up their bundle and trudged again. -April in the world. They were well together, -with a great natural fitness. It did not matter if -they talked or if they walked a long way in -silence. One was to the other; they accorded. -Once he said, “I have no knowledge how old we -are. This wold is old, our earliest forefathers -trod it, but we were there!”</p> - -<p>“Aye! They and ourselves and all.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> -<p>All lonely was the wold and yet it was filled. -The noon sun turned it gold. They felt a light -warmth, a slight wind, a waving fragrance, a -multitudinous fine sounding. They rested; they -went on again.</p> - -<p>A dog came limping toward them, yelping, in -trouble. His paw was hurt, half crushed, apparently, -by some rolling, falling mass. Just -here lay hollow land, with the smallest stream -gliding through. Englefield bathed the paw, set -it right, and they tore cloth and bound it up. The -dog’s wagging tail and his eyes said, “Friends! -I am glad you came!” For a time he kept with -them, but his home was over the wold, and with -a final wag of the tail and lick of the hand, he -left them. They watched him growing smaller -and smaller till he disappeared behind a wavelet -of earth.</p> - -<p>The wold hereabouts was wavy, ridged. They -followed the thread of water that had by it a faint -path. Presently it ran beneath a high bank, a -steep, escarped hill. An uprooted tree caught -their eye, then a great heaped disorder of raw -earth. “Look!” said Englefield. “The hillside -has caved and fallen. It was that that caught -the dog.”</p> - -<p>The path was covered. They must cross the -streamlet and go around the broken mass. They -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>had almost cleared it when they saw over the -thread of water a human figure, half buried, unconscious.</p> - -<p>They worked until he was free. A leg was -broken, forehead bleeding from a great cut. -They dashed water upon him and he sighed and -opened his eyes, a young man roughly dressed, -with the seeming of fisherman or sailor. “The -hill fell! I was thinking of gaffer and gammer -that I was going to see and the hill fell!”</p> - -<p>“Was there any one else?”</p> - -<p>“No. ’Tis a lonely place—a great wold. -There was a dog running about—not mine. I’m -thankful to ye, but I think my leg’s broken, and -my head is singing, singing.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know the wold? Where is the house -you were going to?”</p> - -<p>“It’s Gaffer Garrow, the shepherd. There’s -the wold hostel, too—the Good Man. But it’s -not a good inn—they be robbers! My head is -singing.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s see if canst stand. Now arms about -shoulders. So!”</p> - -<p>Half carrying him, they followed the stream. -When he failed, Englefield carried him outright. -So they went, very slowly, down the hollow land, -a long way, until they saw Gaffer Garrow’s furze -heap and hut. An old man and woman and a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>shepherd lad and a girl came forth to meet them. -“Alack and alack, and Jack, what’s happened?”</p> - -<p>Diccon Dawn, it seemed, could set a bone. -When it was done and the sailor on his straw -bed, with gaffer and gammer and younger brother -and sister to his hand, Diccon and Alice Dawn -went on over the wold. The young girl walked a -little way with them to show the way, seeing that -they were going to the sea. “You will come to -the Good Man, but I would not lodge there. Then -you will come to three trees, then will be wold -a long way, then you will smell the sea.”</p> - -<p>At turning, she said. “Our Jack might have -died there, earth over him! Our Lady must have -been walking before you. I see Her sometimes in -the even, walking the wold.”</p> - -<p>They walked it, the girl returning to her hut, -and they seemed to be alone, except for Silver -Cross rising.</p> - -<p>The Good Man topped a low wave of the April -earth. They saw it against cool, blue sky, with -an ash and an aspen pricked out above either end. -Men and women were in the doorway. Richard -Englefield and Morgen Fay went by, though the -host called to them and an urchin came running -after. “Hey! This be the Good Man, the only -hostel this half of wold!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> -<p>Diccon Dawn shook his head. “We are in -haste.”</p> - -<p>“I make guess that ye have not the reckoning!” -The urchin grinned, threw dry turf and -pebble against them and ran away.</p> - -<p>Silence came down around them and upon them -and within them. The sun was westering, the -wold growing purple. The stillness became both -fine and vast, a permeating and encirling hush -within the hush. <em>Wait—wait—wait!</em> Out of -it or into it pushed shadowy sorrows, ancient -poignancies. The wold grew peopled with these.</p> - -<p>The sun descended. The horizon rose up and -took it; a chill and mournful light spread evenly, -then withdrew, evenly, slowly. It was dusk. The -wold was spectral; all was spectral.</p> - -<p>They came to a ring of ancient stones, placed -there long ago by long-ago inhabitants of that -island and now grown about with whin and -thorn and furze. They like the wold, seemed -now eternal, now going away, fading away. It -was to rest here and sleep here; it was the best -place. They lay down. There was silence, and -still—faint, faint, in dark lines and pallid silver -lines—rose Silver Cross!</p> - -<p>Full night, and descending and climbing stars. -Then the moon, silver, great, mounting above the -clean, sweeping wold-line, silvering the wold, silvering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> -all. Now the air was stillness wholly, and -now there came a sighing. Sleep, one must sleep, -weary enough with travelling! Yet sleep was -not in the wold, with all else that was there.</p> - -<p>From above—from above—oh, from above -come help!</p> - -<p>But it seemed there was only the wold and the -air and the moon. Only somehow sorrow.</p> - -<p>Deep in the night he perceived that Morgen -Fay had risen from where she was lying by a -great stone and had moved without the ring. -Presently he saw her at some distance, standing -in the open wold, very still, regarding the heavens, -then moving slowly, walking beneath the moon. -A light wave of the wold hid her from his sight. -A momentary dart of fear and loneliness went -through him, as though the wold had taken her, -as though she would go on forever that way and -he this. But no; nothing would come of that, -nothing would come that way! No—no! They -were together, together in this sadness of the -wold, strangely together in this separateness, together -in the very hauntings and hostilities of the -past; together on this wold, this present night—together -now—together to-morrow and the next -day and the day after, together though walls of -the night and the moonlight, or of the day and -the sunlight were between their bodies.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> -<p>The profound, the starry night. All the stars, -all the moons and the earths, aspects and moods -of a Mighty One! Power, Wisdom, Goodness, -Beauty.—</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield’s body sat still as a stone. -Most is done, seen and felt in a moment. The -vastest takes no time, but the placing of that -moment took time. The wold changed, the night -and day, the here and there, the now and then, -the you and I, all the opposites.</p> - -<p>At last he rose and moved out upon the wold. -He did not know which way Morgen had gone, -but she was here, as he was here. He stood with -a deep and quiet heart, looking forth over the -lonely and happy wold. The moon shone, a light -and musical wind rose and fell. He was aware -of an immense tranquility with something of awe -running through like a clean fragrance, like -myrrh. It was so still, it was so wide and deep -and high.</p> - -<p>He turned slightly, as though a hand had -drawn him. He saw on the wold the great picture, -the Blessed among women.</p> - -<p>Eyes ceased in light. Other eyes opened.</p> - -<p>Out of the quiet dark came Morgen Fay and -kneeled beside him. “Let me tell—for one -instant—ah, the instant!—I saw us as the All. -I saw thee in light, and then I saw us as the All.”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="29">XXIX</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was still the wold when under pale fine sunshine -they came to a smithy, rude and poor, set -beneath a long wave, where a road went by. -Lonely was the wold, lonely and lonely, yet folk -did travel across it. Here, too, horses must be -shod and cart and wagon mended, though not -many nor often. But the place seemed dilapidated, -the smith an old man. He could not do, -he said, what was needed to be done. Custom, if -you could call it custom, was dwindling; he needed -a helper. He looked at Englefield and said that -he seemed a strong fellow now! “What might -be your name?”</p> - -<p>They had changed names when they left Master -Cuddington, that seeming wiser. “Godfrey -the smith, and this is Joan.”</p> - -<p>“Smith, now! Can you do this—and this?”</p> - -<p>A middle aged woman called from the hut that -adjoined. “Get them to stay, father, get them -to stay! There be pilgrims a-horseback, coming -by to-morrow!”</p> - -<p>“Where would we dwell?”</p> - -<p>The old man had a gnomish, elfin humour. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>“There’s a great empty palace yonder, waiting -king and queen!” He pointed with a shaking -forefinger to a hut a hundred yards away, close -to the earth wave that rose in pale gold, green -and purple and held it as in a cup. Sky hung a -deep and serene blue, sunshine was sifted gold, -spring flowerets bloomed on the wold and all the -bees in the land were humming there. Lonely -and could be well loved, the great wold! Godfrey -the smith looked to Joan.</p> - -<p>“Aye, I will it if you will it!”</p> - -<p>Great wold and day and night, and the smithy -with the older and the younger smith, and the -lubberly boy that helped, and the few travellers -and comers-by. Work done with satisfaction -and the wold to rest in, walk in, by times. Hut -of the old man and his daughter and the lubberly -boy, hut of Joan and Godfrey, Emmy was the -daughter’s name and she had second sight.</p> - -<p>She took to Joan. “You’re eternal. He’s -eternal, too. And so am I. Eternity—Eternity—Eternity.” -She went off upon the word into -her own visions.</p> - -<p>May and June. “And it was a good day when -you came!” quoth the old man in his throaty, -under-earth voice. “Came to the palace, king -smith and queen lace-woman!”</p> - -<p>July, and the wold very rich, and the sunshine -strong and the starry nights soft, immense, musing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -brooding, tender. The wold was a world, -away in space from sister worlds, yet throwing -bridges across, invisible as spider’s thread in sunshine. -July—August. Gold on the wold, gold -in the sky, gold and sapphire.</p> - -<p>September. Said Emmy, “I see some one coming, -riding a bay horse.”</p> - -<p>They were walking the wold. “Maybe ’tis to-morrow,” -said Emmy, “maybe next day, maybe -next week. I cannot see his face but he means to -ride to the smithy on great wold.”</p> - -<p>The day was golden, golden September. Everything -spread wider, everything lifted higher. All -things had their roots down, down, but all things -climbed and broadened, inviting the air and the -wind and the sun.</p> - -<p>“Ah, warmth in light! Ah, light in warmth!”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye!” said Emmy. “The world’s no -so bad if you take it large.”</p> - -<p>Back in a great amber twilight to smithy and -huts.</p> - -<p>In the morning anvil and iron and hammer. -Glow of fire, sweeping past of wold wind. A man -on a bay horse, a man behind him riding a black -mare, came to the smithy. Richard Englefield, -looking up, met full the eyes of Somerville.</p> - -<p>He knew him, remembering him with Abbot -Mark, coming to view him at work, at Silver -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>Cross. He felt in his hands again a silver bowl, -around it silver vine leaves. Somerville drew his -breath and moistened his lips, then smiled with -oddly twitching face. “Brother Richard—”</p> - -<p>“I am Richard Englefield, and here on the -wold Godfrey the smith.”</p> - -<p>“When you were woodchopper, seven leagues -yonder, it was Diccon Dawn.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, so.”</p> - -<p>“There was Alice Dawn, saith my cousin. -Diccon and Alice Dawn. Is she here?”</p> - -<p>Englefield, standing, looked afar over wold -and then into the vast, quiet blue sky. “Yes. -Leave horse and man and come with us to the -hill yonder.”</p> - -<p>A tiny stream ran by the smithy. He kneeled -and laved his face and hands and arms, dried -them, and moved with Somerville, dismounted, -toward the hut under gold and purple waves of -the wold.</p> - -<p>“Morgen!”</p> - -<p>She came forth. Wold went into mist, reeled -and was Wander forest and ruined farm. Wander -forest, ruined farm, Robert Somerville.</p> - -<p>“Morgen—Morgen Fay!”</p> - -<p>The wold came back, wold and sky and Richard -the smith. More than that. There came, as -it were, a blue mantle around her; she felt an -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>arm, a breast, a face looking down, great as the -sky and the earth, supernally fair and filled with -supernal love. “O Mother, All-Mother!”</p> - -<p>Richard was speaking, quickly, “Let us go, -Morgen, we three, to the hilltop and talk together -there.”</p> - -<p>They went, climbing the earth-wave, to a level -of grass and heath whence one saw all the wold -rippling afar. “Sit down—sit down!” The -sun shone, the wind went careering. Who will -speak first? They let Somerville do that, who -sat with eyes now on Morgen and now on gold -specks afar in the wold. “Not-change and -change—and which is the great miracle perchance -the Saints know! I seem to know the -whence, Morgen, but as to the where and the -whither—”</p> - -<p>She said, “Listen, Somerville! There was a -Morgen, there is a Morgen, there will be a Morgen. -‘There will be’ is the ruler. Say that I -died by fire but that I live again pardoned!”</p> - -<p>He regarded her. A mist came over his eyes, -the odd, grimacing face worked. Up went a hand -to cover it, then dropped. “Ah, Morgen Fay, I, -too, perchance, must do some dying! I had to -come to find you, but you are safe and safe -enough, for all my finding!”</p> - -<p>She said, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>“Aye, Rob, do I not know that of -you? Tell me, have you heard aught of Ailsa?”</p> - -<p>No, he had not. But he told them this and that -of Middle Forest and Wander vale. Thomas -Bettany? He was well and was wedding young -Cecily Danewood. Middle Forest, Castle, Saint -Leofric, Silver Cross and Westforest. Montjoy, -having made one pilgrimage, was now, they said, -gone another.</p> - -<p>The wold rolled afar, sun shone, wind breathed. -Blue sky had cloud mountains. Blue sea, pearl -mountains, and that invisible that held and was -both, and rising with both surpassed. The wind -sang, the fragrance ran.</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield told of his life. Boyhood -and the goldsmith, France and Italy, the tall -houses, the seeking, the priest, Silver Cross. -“Now thine, Somerville!”</p> - -<p>Awhile ago Somerville would have thought -this impossible, but now, quietly reminiscently, he -spread out for himself and for them Somerville’s -life, dark and light. And then there spoke Morgen -Fay. The clean wind, the dry light, went -about the hill.</p> - -<p>“And all was changing all the time, changing -and waking and learning, through earth and air -and water and fire! And now it begins to know -that it wakes and learns—and that is all, Rob—and -now are we all born again.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> -<p>“Born again,” said Somerville? “Is that -possible?”</p> - -<p>“It has happened.” Englefield was speaking. -“And now Middle Forest is dear again, and Silver -Cross is dear again, and street of the smiths -is dear, and Cuddington wood and this wold. And -you and me and Morgen and Emmy yonder, and -all.”</p> - -<p>“Is Abbot Mark dear? And is Prior Matthew, -too?”</p> - -<p>Godfrey the smith laughed. “Why, when they -wish it we can talk together, being after all one!”</p> - -<p>“It is true we talk together,” said Somerville, -“and I feel no anger against you, and you seem to -have none against me.”</p> - -<p>“I have none. And beautiful is this day and -restful, here on the hill top. And God is in the -world and here.”</p> - -<p>The sun stood at noon. Clean air, dry air, -autumn wealth and rest, and beyond the autumn, -across the winter, spring,—ever higher, ever -richer, ever with more music! They left the hill -and came to smithy and huts. They gave Somerville -and his man bread and ale, and then the -three said farewell.</p> - -<p>Somerville on his bay horse rode over the wold. -Old habit as he rode, horses’ hoofs beating so, -brought forth rhythm and words.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="p_line">“Who can tell</div> - <div class="p_line">The road he’s led?</div> - <div class="p_line">The glint of gold—</div> - <div class="p_line">In each that worth—</div> - <div class="p_line">That’s here, that’s there,</div> - <div class="p_line">That vanisheth!</div> - <div class="p_line">‘It ne’er had birth!’</div> - <div class="p_line">Then comes again,</div> - <div class="p_line">Daffodil from winter earth.</div> - <div class="p_line">Star shining out, when storm lies dead!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="30">XXX</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> wold hung November grey. “Snow in -that cloud,” quoth the old smith. “Elf of the -world wants a white flower!”</p> - -<p>“Snowy night a year ago!” said Morgen Fay.</p> - -<p>Emmy spoke. “A many are coming by, hurrying, -for they want to get across the wold before -air is white and ground is white.”</p> - -<p>So the smiths somewhat looked for many, but -that day passed and the night and part of the next -day and none came. Snow, too, held off. Sky -pallid grey, earth grey, and all unearthly still. -Then a packman came by, going from a town -south of the wold to a town north of it, and he -had news. He had ridden ahead of thirty who -would stop for rest at the Good Man. “Prior -and his monks and so many lay brothers stoutly -armed and mounted. Great church folk changing -visits.”</p> - -<p>“Beyond-Wold Abbey?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aye, going there. Have come a long way, -they say, stopping at friaries and castles. They’re -Blackfriars. Ah, it is policy for men to visit -now and then, getting away from home, changing -stories and learning a bit! Prior’s a man like -the rest of us! Tail man told me when I walked -beside him a bit. They’ve got a saint’s bone with -them, and a many poor souls have been healed in -this town and that castle.”</p> - -<p>“What like is the prior?”</p> - -<p>“Tall bent man, thin as paper, very pale, with -black eyes.”</p> - -<p>“That is not Westforest!” said Godfrey the -smith, and looked over the grey wold to see if they -were coming.</p> - -<p>Morgen answered, “No, not Prior Matthew. -But it hath a sound of another I have seen going -down High Street and by town cross.”</p> - -<p>“Saint Leofric’s Friary,” said the packman. -“Other side England. Aye, bone of Saint -Leofric. Prior Hugh.”</p> - -<p>Through grey air a flake fell, then another and -another. “Thirty with him, do you say? Is -there by chance a giant of a friar—you could -not miss him if he were there—Friar Martin?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, aye, I think I saw him,” said the packman. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>“There was a huge brother bestriding the -strongest horse! Well, I say, say I, black friars, -white friars, grey friars and brown friars are at -times ill as they’re sung, and at times good as -they’re sung, and most times in between the two! -But I say for the most part England’s had -good of them. In the most and for the long -run!”</p> - -<p>He was speaking to the brown-gold smith. -That one agreed with him. “I think so, too, -brother—though I’ve had my buffets—for the -most part and in the long run!”</p> - -<p>The packman had his pony shod and was ready -to depart. Snowflakes were few; he would reach -the end of the wold, the sea and his small haven -before night. He looked at the gold-brown smith, -hesitated, then, “Come ye apart for a word!” -They moved out under the hill. “You’ve got a -fair woman with you. Do you remember a carter -yesterday morn?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he saith at the Good Man that he saw -you in London, you and the woman there, though -you did not see him. He saith a black friar raised -that quarter of London against you and the -woman, but especially the woman for she was a -sorceress. But when they came to the house and -beat in the door, you were gone, the two of you. -There was one Jankin, but he knew naught. -Well, Harry the carter told all that at the Good -Man yestereve. I thought you might like to -know. I might not have told, but she hath a great -look of a sister of mine who’s dead. It is easy to -cry sorcery, and hard to down the cry!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> -<p>“Aye, it is. Take our thanks, friend!”</p> - -<p>The packman mounted his pony and went away -through the grey day, the few flakes of snow.</p> - -<p>“Are you going, too?” asked Emmy. “I see -you over wold and you do not come back. But I -wish you to come back and I must weep!”</p> - -<p>“We are pilgrims—we cannot stay! Some -one has set us a pilgrimage.”</p> - -<p>In an hour they had parted with the old smith -and with Emmy. Englefield and Morgen Fay -went over the wold, not by the road, but by a -shepherds’ path, running hereabouts over and between -low hills. From the first of these they -looked back. They could see, almost closely, the -smithy and the hut under the hill. They had -loved this place, loved the wold.</p> - -<p>“Love it still and take it with us! So I have -the rose tree and Ailsa and the garden. All -things we love go with us, nor can we ever help -that.”</p> - -<p>“So who loveth most hath most treasure!”</p> - -<p>They looked back to the smithy and then to the -road that ran almost beneath them on this hill -top. Now they could see approaching a mounted -company, thirty at least, still a good way off but -growing larger with a steady pacing movement.</p> - -<p>“Let us watch. They do not dream we are -here. Move yonder and the furze will hide.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> -<p>Prior Hugh of Saint Leofric, with him a dozen -monks and the rest stout lay Brothers, rode -thoughtfully, mounted on his white mule. Out -of grey day, athwart the gathering snow, pictures -formed for him. The man and woman above -him, hidden on the hill brow, also saw pictures, -vivid, defined, one after the other. Friar Martin, -huge on huge horse, looked upward as he -passed. They saw his great tanned face, his black -beard wagging ever for Saint Leofric. Loyalties—loyalties!</p> - -<p>There passed Prior Hugh and his following. -Reaching the smithy they halted and dismounted.</p> - -<p>Richard Englefield and Morgen Fay went on -over the wold, taking faint, broken paths of shepherds. -The sky was grey and came close, they -saw not a living thing on the wold before them, -the flakes began to fall a little more thickly. An -hour passed, and now they talked together and -now they were silent.</p> - -<p>Down came the flakes; the flakes came down. -Now they were white and many, steadily, steadily -falling. Before long they seemed to quicken, they -became a soft vast multitude, they hid as with -curtains the wold all around.</p> - -<p>“This is the path?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, but there will be a great snow.”</p> - -<p>They walked as fast as they might, but the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>path ran up and down or wound in the trough -of the low waves of whitened earth. They could -not eat the leagues. And ever the snow came -faster. “Three hours yet of daylight. Time -enough to reach Brighthaven. But if the snow -covers the path—”</p> - -<p>The snow covered it. An hour went by.</p> - -<p>“We have all the wold for path! But eastward -there lies the sea. And by my reckoning -Grey Farm should be near.”</p> - -<p>“The snow cometh so we cannot be sure—”</p> - -<p>“Art warm?”</p> - -<p>“Aye.”</p> - -<p>Another hour and it was dusk and the snow -came steadily, hugely, and where was sea or east -or west or north or south could no longer be told -with assurance. No house or hut, and now at last -cold, great cold and weariness.</p> - -<p>“Grey Farm may be yonder or yonder, but we -cannot see. Lost is but lost—never forever -lost!”</p> - -<p>Night! Cold now and ever falling snow, and -no path or all path. No light, no shape other -than the wold shape and the snow shape and the -night shape.</p> - -<p>“Art very weary?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, weary!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If we lie down here and sleep it will be to part -with life. Let us try awhile longer. Just a fold -of land may keep from us Grey Farm light.”</p> - -<p>They tried, but no house or light arose. Only -they heard something after a time.</p> - -<p>“Hark to that! What is it?”</p> - -<p>“It is the sea!”</p> - -<p>It came to sound louder. No lights of haven, -nor could they have seen them, perhaps, behind -the great moving veils and under woldside and -cliff.</p> - -<p>“I fear to go farther this way for the cliffs! -We may fall—”</p> - -<p>“It roars, the sea, and there are lights in my -eyes and a singing afar. I must lie down. I cannot -go farther.”</p> - -<p>“A little more—a little more. See! I can -help thee so.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I love thee! But I cannot—Do you not -hear music playing?”</p> - -<p>“Here are bushes bent from the sea. Creep -under—so! There—now if we die we die together.”</p> - -<p>The falling, falling, falling snow, and at the -base of rock the sounding sea.</p> - -<p>“What art thou doing? Take thy cloak -again!”</p> - -<p>“No, I am warm, warming thee.”</p> - -<p>The snow fell ceaselessly.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> -<p>“I am not afraid nor suffering now. No fear, -no pain! And thou hast none?”</p> - -<p>“None!”</p> - -<p>Snow falling—snow falling. The great sea -sounding and sounding.</p> - -<p>“Richard, there are violets. It is Wander -forest, but so changed.”</p> - -<p>In the night the snow ceased to fall. Dawn -came like a white rose, the shredded petals covering -all the earth.</p> - -<p>A small and humble House of Carmelites, set -upon a cliff a league from Brighthaven, kept a -goodly habit. After tempest, after snow on wold, -it sent out so many Brothers seeking if there were -any harmed. So on this morning as of fine white -wool these at last came upon the cliff brow and to -a line of furze bushes mounded white. They -would have passed them by, for all the earth was -heaped with snow and no footprint anywhere -save their own deep ones. But a young Brother -saw a bit of blue mantle. “Oh, here!”</p> - -<p>With their hands they beat away the snow and -with their arms they lifted. The man and woman -moved feebly. They lived, though in an hour, -maybe, they would not have lived. The Brothers -bore them to the House and made for them -warmth and cheer. Life flowed again, red came -to the lip, light to the eyes, strength to the frame. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>They rested through that day and night in the -guest house of the monastery.</p> - -<p>The Prior was a saintly man, big of frame, -simple and wise. The second morning the two -stood before him to give him thanks and say -farewell. He looked at them somewhat long before -speaking. “You are goodly to look upon,” -he said. “I see that you have been through -much and will go through more before heaven is -complete. But you are bound for heaven and -Who dwells therein. Take and give blessing!”</p> - -<p>The wold was silver, the sea blue, the sky blue -crystal. The road shown, they went forth from -the Carmelites to come to Brighthaven. They -walked hand in hand. “How beautiful is the -world!”</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CHAPTER <abbr title="31">XXXI</abbr></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Lord of Montjoy returned from his second -and greater pilgrimage. This time he had -seen Jerusalem. He was palmer. Bit of palm -was wrought into his sleeve, stitched into his hat. -The Lady of Montjoy held his castle for him, his -son-in-law, young Isabel’s baron, giving advice -across five leagues. Montjoy had been gone nigh -three years, for once, taken prisoner by the -Turks, he had been held three months in noisome -prison, and once fever had taken him captive, and -once shipwreck and a desert strand had held him -long. Now, returning, he had come through -Italy and through France, alone and afoot, for -that was his pilgrimage. Now he moved across -Brittany. There were many shrines in Brittany, -and it held him while he went from the one to the -other. But he neared the sea coast and the port -where he would take ship for England.</p> - -<p>A slight dark man with earnest seeking eyes, -wrapped in palmer’s grey with palmer’s hat and -staff and scrip, walked a Brittany road, and pictures -of his travels walked with him. They were -many, as though a lifetime had been spent between -castle of Montjoy and Jerusalem wall and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>back again. So many that they must come like a -breadth of the earth between him and the pictures -of three years gone, or five years gone, or more. -That was true, but now and then breadth of earth -became cloud merely; cloud parted, and there -were ancient pictures fresh again.</p> - -<p>Now for days they were English pictures. -“Because I am nearing home! They come out to -meet and greet me.” But while they were clear -they came also into company of later pictures. -His castle knew thousand other castles, his town -multitude of other towns; Silver Cross and Westforest -many and many abbeys and priories. And -the palmer, having grown, could in a measure -hold all together and look out upon and through -them. So with the palmer’s whole life.</p> - -<p>Montjoy travelled seaward. The day was -bright and Brittany had to him a flavour of home. -Moreover at dawn had come Isabel. She seemed -now to float by his side, her feet just above the -grey road. Twice it had been so in Italy, thrice -in the Holy Land. It had been a small thought, -that holding her confined to castle there above -Middle Forest, or to church of Silver Cross -where lay only her old robe, or to this or that -faint ring in time! She was everywhere and -every time. She was living, she was with him, -here, now!</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> -<p>“For I, too, change into that space and time,” -thought Montjoy.</p> - -<p>Silver Cross, when he came to look at it, still -was dear. He regarded it tranquilly within and -without. There sat Mark, yonder moved the -Brothers. The church filled, they chanted, windows -became sheets of jewels, the great -picture glowed, light washed the sculptured tomb -beneath which lay, sunken into earth, that which -was not Isabel. Here moved her spirit, near him -on Brittany road—enough, enough of her spirit -to make Promise into a glowing rose!</p> - -<p>Light washed Silver Cross that was five hundred -years old and might have five hundred more -to live. In a thousand years there was good and -evil, but more good than evil. Even had that -strange tale of five years agone been found to -have in it some truth—had there been canker—still, -still, not always had there been canker, -nor would there be always! Canker was never -the last word. If there had been canker there at -Silver Cross, or more or less? He did not know, -he could not tell if it were so. His mind, pondering -long, had seen certain things—but he did -not know. He must let it alone and, anyhow, -go a pilgrimage.</p> - -<p>Almost five years. The palmer had grown. -He saw them now in a pattern, Silver Cross and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>Saint Leofric and Westforest. Then light came -through the pattern and melted all into a stronger -and finer thing. Just as Isabel moved more golden, -finer, more real, for all that when he put -forth hand, hand did not touch. Spirit touched. -Just as in Bethlehem of Judea, one starlight -night, he had become aware that if the kingdom -of Heaven was within, then was within -also the Supernal Mother and Bride, within also -the Christ.</p> - -<p>Montjoy, a grey figure, walked the grey road -and thought he heard the sea. It was early morn, -and a rose stole into the world. As he walked the -pictures lifted, stood and passed.</p> - -<p>He had grown so that without any conscience -pang at all he was glad that Morgen Fay had not -been burned there by town cross. They had -lighted the fagot pile, anyhow, for perchance it -might make her suffer, the witch flown away -with the demon! It had burned away in smoke -and flame, but now for long he knew it had not -harmed her. Harming and healing were not just -as men thought them! Morgen Fay. Where -was she? He saw her behind circumstance, like -Isabel, like the great picture, like herself, like -Morgen Fay. And Morgen Fay, neither, had -been just as he thought her. Seeing further he -might see her still more really, as he now saw -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>Montjoy and Silver Cross and all things else -more really.</p> - -<p>The sea sounded, and he came over white -road to sight of it. Below lay a fishing village; -he saw the nets and the boats. A small, poor place -it was, but it had the salt of the sea and the rose -of the morning. Montjoy, coming down to it, -found himself on clean sand and the tide coming -in. Certain boats were up and away, he saw -their deep-coloured sails standing out between -sand and horizon. Others for reasons bided this -day in haven. Two or three were drawn upon the -beach, and here, too, above the tide a new boat was -making. About this was gathered a small crowd -of folk, perhaps a score in all. As Montjoy came -near he saw that they were listening to one who -spoke, standing upon the sand among the shavings -and chips, underneath the clean bowsprit. -Some were from other boat or from work upon -the nets or from the line of houses. A score, perhaps, -seated and standing, eyes turned to the -speaker.</p> - -<p>The sea, ancient, youthful, made her everlasting -song. Air breathed salt and fresh, colour -was rife. Boats, houses, the incoming wave, the -line of low cliff, fell into picture. Montjoy has -seen so many! Could he have painted he might -paint forever and only begin.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> -<p>He heard a voice speaking, a voice with quality, -that somehow stirred the pictures. They trembled, -pushed slightly by others behind. “Love -and understand! Lay hold where you can, begin -where you will!”</p> - -<p>He asked a woman leaning against a boat near -the new boat. “Who is it?”</p> - -<p>“It is the smith Richard. He dwelleth in town -a league away, but at times he cometh this way.”</p> - -<p>“Is he preaching?”</p> - -<p>“No. But he talketh to us at times.”</p> - -<p>“He uses your tongue well, but still I would -say—”</p> - -<p>“Aye, he comes from over the water.”</p> - -<p>Montjoy moved into the ring of fisher folk. A -great flapping hat of palmer shadowed his face. -Those about saw straying pilgrim and gave him -room.</p> - -<p>Richard a smith, not Breton but English. A -tall, gold-brown, simple-seeming man, strong -enough, quiet enough, loving enough of face—and -now level ray of the morning sun lighted his -face.</p> - -<p><em>He did not drown in Wander!</em></p> - -<p>How much was true and how much was mistake -of the much that the many found to say? -Like the thunder and murmur and waves of the -sea rose within voices and voices and yet voices. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>Abbot Mark’s voice Prior Matthew’s, Prior -Hugh’s, Friar Martin’s, Father Edmund’s, the -Hermit by the Old Burying Ground, Brothers -Andrew and Barnaby, Anselm’s, Norbert’s, Somerville’s -voice, voice of Master Eustace Bettany -and of young Thomas Bettany, voice even of -Godfrey the gaoler, voices of pilgrims chanting, -Middle Forest’s voice, voices of Silver Cross, -voices of his own squires and castle folk, voice of -Westforest and Wander vale. Voice of Morgen -Fay. Further back, voice of Isabel, and then -again the heavy waves. “O God, <em>Thy</em> voice!”</p> - -<p>The hubbub sank away. The tide came in with -a quiet rhyme. Morning sand shone in a great -golden stillness. Village and sea and boats held -in contentment. The fisher folk sat or stood, -listening. The speaker was speaking, Montjoy -a pilgrim, listening, agreeing. Quiet and the salt -air and the sun. Quietness and certitude. <em>I am, -from everlasting to everlasting.</em></p> - -<p>The gold-brown man ceased his speaking or -his answering questions, for it had been largely -questioning and answering. Lifting a bundle -that lay beside him he looked to a league-distant -point striking out into the sea, where seemed -more houses than were here. One of the fishermen -spoke. “I’ll take you, master, in the <i>Nightingale</i>.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> -<p>The small sailboat carried the palmer also,—the -palmer and Richard the smith and two boatmen. -The latter were still for questions. “You -have been to Jerusalem? What like is it?”</p> - -<p>“It is so and so,” answered the palmer. “But -I say with this man, ‘Let us now build the New -Jerusalem!’”</p> - -<p>The smith turned to him, “There is something -in your voice, friend—”</p> - -<p>The red sail and the blue sea, the salt, and the -divine fresh morning. “Is there?” answered -Montjoy. “And there is something in yours—”</p> - -<p>The other said in English, “Naught’s impossible -ever! A long pilgrimage from an English -castle?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, brother! At Avignon I was shown a -great cup made in Paris fifteen years ago by the -English goldsmith, Englefield.”</p> - -<p>The town in front of them was growing larger. -The younger boatman had still his questions about -Galilee and Olivet. The fresh wind carried the -boat fast. Here was a long wharf and the town, -and quitting the <i>Nightingale</i>, and thanks and -partings with the boatmen, then a street and tall -houses heaping toward a castle on the hill. “The -lady of the castle loveth pilgrims,” said Englefield. -“And yonder is the great house of the -Franciscans.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> -<p>“If I may I would go with you.”</p> - -<p>“As you wish, Montjoy.”</p> - -<p>Folk were about them, voices and movement. -“Is there a quiet place?”</p> - -<p>“There is an old garden at the edge of the -town, over the sea.”</p> - -<p>“Then let us go there.”</p> - -<p>They went. Pine trees sighed around, earth -lay carpeted with purple needles. They sat beneath -a very great tree, and saw as from a window -azure ocean, and a great ship, white-sailed, -making into the west.</p> - -<p>“I have been far, far without,” spoke Montjoy, -“but farther, farther within. When I used -to watch you at Silver Cross I believed in you. -Again, listening by the boat yonder, I believed. -I have made a journey and come where I was not -before. And still I journey. I can listen now to -whatever you may tell me. Listen, and maybe -understand.”</p> - -<p>“I have made a journey, too, Montjoy, and -come where I was not before.” He took up a -handful of purple needles and let slip quietly away -while he talked. He told their story,—his story -and Morgen Fay’s.</p> - -<p>The pine grove stood above the sea, speaking -always with a multitudinous low voice. Far and -far, deep and deep, stretched Mother Ocean. The -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>white ship, purposeful, still and sure, sped its -way from haven unto haven. The great vault of -heaven held all.</p> - -<p>“You are together, you and Morgen Fay?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, together.”</p> - -<p>From the grove might be seen the high roofs -of the town climbing to a huge, four-towered -castle.</p> - -<p>“I work again as goldsmith, making for who -will buy. Yonder you may see the roof of our -house. An old workman of mine, now palsied -and helpless, lives with his brother in that fishing -village. On a holiday, as this is, I walk to see -him. It has come about that I may talk to folk -here and there—in that fishing village and elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Is there no danger in that?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps! But those who have lived and suffered -and learned through living and suffering, -may help. So with Morgen Fay and so with me.”</p> - -<p>“I would see her if I might.”</p> - -<p>“Come then and sleep this night in the smith’s -house.”</p> - -<p>They went there. A small, timbered house, one -story overhanging another, old, quiet, with the -castle soaring above and the bell of the church -of the Franciscans ringing near. Within, in a -dusky wide room, rose from her book Morgen -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>Fay, jewel-like, rose-like, flame-like. Montjoy, -looking, saw nothing that wounded Isabel, nor -that wounded the Reality behind the great picture -at Silver Cross.</p> - -<p class="center space_above">THE END</p> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 50557-h.htm or 50557-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/5/5/50557/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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