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authornfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 07:52:22 -0800
committernfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 07:52:22 -0800
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-<title>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</title>
-<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" />
-<meta name="PG.Title" content="Love Among the Ruins" />
-<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" />
-<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" />
-<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Warwick Deeping" />
-<meta name="DC.Created" content="1904" />
-<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="W. Benda" />
-<meta name="PG.Id" content="42284" />
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-<meta content="2013-03-09T19:10:52.429461+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" />
-<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" />
-<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" />
-<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42284" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" />
-<meta content="Warwick Deeping" name="DCTERMS.creator" />
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-<meta content="2013-03-09" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" />
-<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" />
-<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner &lt;webmaster@gutenberg.org&gt;" name="generator" />
-<style type="text/css">
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-</style>
-</head>
-<body>
-<div class="document" id="love-among-the-ruins">
-<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span></h1>
-
-<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet -->
-<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats -->
-<!-- default transition -->
-<!-- default attribution -->
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="clearpage">
-</div>
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span>
-included with this eBook or online at
-</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Love Among the Ruins
-<br />
-<br />Author: Warwick Deeping
-<br />
-<br />Release Date: March 09, 2013 [EBook #42284]
-<br />
-<br />Language: English
-<br />
-<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span><span> ***</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container coverpage">
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-46">
-<span id="cover"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">Cover</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container frontispiece">
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 88%" id="figure-47">
-<span id="flavian-of-gambrevault-stood-bound-before-her"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="&quot;FLAVIAN OF GAMBREVAULT STOOD BOUND BEFORE HER.&quot;" src="images/img-front.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">"FLAVIAN OF GAMBREVAULT STOOD BOUND BEFORE HER."</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container titlepage">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">LOVE
-<br />AMONG THE RUINS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY
-<br />WARWICK DEEPING</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "UTHER AND IGRAINE"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<!-- -->
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="center line"><span>Grim work, sirs; what would you!</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="center line"><span>War is the devil.</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. BENDA</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">New York
-<br />THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
-<br />LONDON: MACMILLAN &amp; CO., LTD.
-<br />1904</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container verso">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
-<br />THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1904.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Norwood Press
-<br />J. S. Cushing &amp; Co. -- Berwick &amp; Smith Co.
-<br />Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container dedication">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO
-<br />MY MOTHER AND FATHER
-<br />WITH ALL LOVE AND GRATITUDE</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="i"><span class="large">PART I</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">I</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The branches of the forest invoked the sky with the
-supplications of their thousand hands. Black, tumultuous,
-terrible, the wilds billowed under the moon, stifled with
-the night, silent as a windless sea. Winter, like a pale
-Semiramis of gigantic mould, stood with her coronet
-touching the steely sky. A mighty company of stars stared
-frost-bright from the heavens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A pillar of fire shone red amid the chaos of the woods.
-Like a great torch, a blazing tower hurled spears of light
-into the gloom. Shadows, vast and fantastic, struggled
-like Titans striving with Destiny in the silence of the
-night. Their substanceless limbs leapt and writhed
-through the gnarled alleys of the forest. Overhead, the
-moon looked down with thin and silver lethargy on the
-havoc kindled by the hand of man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In a glade, all golden with the breath of the fire,
-blackened battlements waved a pennon of vermilion flame
-above the woods. Smoke, in eddying and gilded clouds,
-rolled heavenwards to be silvered into snow by the light
-of the moon. The grass of the glade shone a dusky,
-yet brilliant green; the tower's windows were red as
-rubies on a pall of sables. About its base, cottages were
-burning like faggots piled about a martyr's loins.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tragedy had touched the place with her ruddy hand.
-There had been savage deeds done in the silence of the
-woods. Hirelings, a rough pack of mercenaries in the
-service of the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, had stolen
-upon the tower of Rual of Cambremont, slain him before
-his own gate, and put his sons to the sword. A feud had
-inspired the event, a rotten shred of enmity woven on
-Stephen's Eve in a tavern scuffle. The burning tower
-with its cracking walls bore witness to the extravagant
-malice of a rugged age.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Death, that flinty summoner, salves but the dead, yet
-wounds the living. It is sport with him to pile woe
-upon the shoulders of the weak, to crown with thorns the
-brows of those who mourn. Double-handed are his
-blessings--a balm for those who sleep, an iron scourge for the
-living. The quick bow down before his feet; only the dead
-fear him no more in the marble philosophy of silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On a patch of grass within the golden whirl of the
-fire lay the body of Rual of Cambremont, stiff and still.
-His face was turned to the heavens; his white beard
-tinctured with the dye of death. Beside him knelt a
-girl whose unloosed hair trailed on his body, dark and
-disastrous as a sable cloud. The girl's eyes were
-tearless, dry and dim. Her hands were at her throat, clenched
-in an ecstasy of despair. Her head was bowed down
-below her stooping shoulders, and she knelt like Thea over
-Saturn's shame.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Behind her in the shadow, his face grey in the
-uncertain gloom, an old man watched the scene with a
-wordless awe. He was a servant, thin and meagre,
-bowed under Time's burden, a dried wisp of manhood,
-living symbol of decay. There was something of the
-dog about his look, a dumb loyalty that grieved and gave
-no sound. Beneath the burning tower in the heat of the
-flames, these twain seemed to mimic the stillness of the
-dead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was other life in the glade none the less, a red
-relic evidencing the handiwork of the sword. A streak
-of shadow that had lain motionless in the yellow glare of
-the fire, stirred in the rank grass with a snuffling groan.
-There was a curt hint in the sound that brought Jaspar
-the harper round upon his heel. He moved two steps,
-went down on his knees in the ooze, turned the man's
-head towards the tower, and peered into his face. It
-was gashed from chin to brow, a grim mask of war,
-contorted the more by the uncertain palpitations of the
-flames.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar had a flask buckled at his girdle. He thrust
-his knee under the man's head, trickled wine between
-his lips, and waited. The limp hands began to twitch;
-the man jerked, drew a wet, stertorous breath, stared for a
-moment with flickering lids at the face above him. Jaspar
-craned down, put his mouth to the man's ear, and spoke
-to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The fellow's lips quivered; he stirred a little, strove
-to lift his head, mumbled thickly like a man with a palsied
-tongue. Jaspar put his ear to the bruised mouth and
-listened. He won words out of the grave, for his rough
-face hardened, his brows were knotted over the dying
-man's stumbling syllables. The harper shouted in his
-ear, and again waited.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gam--Gambrevault, Flavian's men, dead, all dead,"
-ran the death utterance. "Ave Maria, my lips
-burn--St. Eulalie--St. Jude, defend me----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A cough snapped the halting appeal. The man stiffened
-suddenly in Jaspar's arms, and thrust out his feet with
-a strong spasm. His hands clawed the grass; his jaw
-fell, leaving his mouth agape, a black circle of death.
-There was a last rattling stridor. Then the head fell
-back over Jaspar's knee with the neck extended, the eyes
-wide with a visionless stare.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A shadow fell athwart the dead man and the living,
-a shadow edged with the golden web of the fire. Looking
-up, Jaspar the harper saw the girl standing above him,
-staring down upon the dead man's body. The red tower
-framed her figure with flame, making an ebon cloud of
-her hair, her body a pillar of sombre stone. Her face
-was grey, pinched, and expressionless. Youth seemed
-frozen for the moment into bleak and premature age.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed down suddenly, her hair falling forward like
-a cataract, her eyes large with a tearless hunger.
-Pointing to the man on Jaspar's knee, she looked into the
-harper's face, and spoke to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, the truth. I fear it no longer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was toneless and hoarse as an untuned
-string. She beat her hands together, and then stood with
-her fists pressed over her heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man turned the body gently to the grass, and
-still knelt at the woman's feet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Jean," he said, with great quietness, "Jean the
-swineherd. He is dead. God rest his soul!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bent forward again with arm extended, her voice
-deep and hoarse in her throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, who is it that has slain my father?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes gleamed behind her hair as it fell dishevelled
-over her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest--Bertrand, my brothers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice appealed him with a gradual fear. Jaspar
-the harper bowed his face, and pointed to the tower. The
-girl straightened, and stood quivering like a loosened bow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God! In there! And Roland?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Again the harper's hand went up with the slow
-inevitableness of destiny. The flames, as beneath the
-incantations of a sibyl, leapt higher, roaring hungrily towards
-the heavens. The girl swayed away some paces, her
-lips moving silently, her hair fanned by the draught,
-blowing about her like a veil. She turned to the tower, thrust
-up her hands to it with a strong gesture of anguish and
-despair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A long while she stood in silence as in a kind of torpor,
-gazing at this red pyre of the Past, where memories leapt
-heavenwards in a golden haze of smoke. The roar of the
-fire was as the voice of Fate. She heard it dim and
-distant like the far thunder of a sea. Beyond, around, above,
-the gaunt trees clawed at the stars with their leafless talons.
-Night and the shadow of it were very apparent to the girl's
-soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar the harper stood and watched her with a dumb
-and distant awe. Her rigid anguish cowed him into
-impotent silence. The woman's soul seemed to soar far
-above comfort, following the saffron smoke into the silver
-æther of the infinite. The man stood apart, holding aloof
-with the instinct of a dog, from a sorrow that he could not
-chasten. He was one of those dull yet happy souls, who
-carry eloquence in their eyes, whose tongues are clumsy,
-but whose hearts are warm. He stood aloof therefore
-from Yeoland, dead Rual's daughter, pulling his ragged
-beard, and calling in prayer to the Virgin and the
-saints.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the girl turned very slowly, as one whose blood
-runs chill and heavy. Her eyes were still dry and crystal
-bright, her face like granite, or a mask of ice. The man
-Jaspar hid his glances from her, and stared at the sod. He
-was fearful in measure of gaping blankly upon so great a
-grief.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar," she said, and her voice was clear now as the
-keen sweep of a sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He crooked the knee to her, stood shading his eyes with
-his wrinkled hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We alone are left," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God's will, madame, God's will; He giveth, and taketh
-away. I, even I, am your servant."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes lightened an instant as though red wrath
-streamed strongly from her heart. Her mouth quivered.
-She chilled the mood, however, and stood motionless,
-save for her hands twining and twisting in her hair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Heaven mock me?" she asked him, with a level
-bitterness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How so, madame?" he answered her; "who would
-mock thee at such an hour?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who indeed?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even Death. I pray you be comforted. There is
-a balm in years."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They stood silent again in the streaming heat and
-radiance of the fire. A sudden wind had risen. They
-heard it crying far away in the infinite vastness of the
-woods. It grew, rushed near, waxed with a gradual
-clamour till the bare wilds seemed to breathe one great
-gathering roar. The flames flew slanting from the
-blackened battlements. The trees clutched and swayed,
-making moan under the calm light of the moon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sound thrilled the girl. Her lips trembled, her form
-dilated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," she said, thrusting up her hands into the
-night, "the cry of the forest, the voice of the winter
-wind. What say they but 'vengeance--vengeance--vengeance'?"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="ii"><span class="large">II</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn came vaguely in a veil of mist. A heavy dew lay
-scintillant upon the grass; a great silence covered the
-woods. The trees stood grim and gigantic with dripping
-boughs in a vapoury atmosphere, and there seemed no
-augury of sunlight in the blind grey sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A rough hovel under a fir, used for the storing of wood,
-had given Yeoland and the harper shelter for the night.
-The sole refuge left to them by fire, the hut had served its
-purpose well enough, for grief is not given to grumbling
-over externals in the extremity of its distress.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland was astir early with the first twitter of
-the birds in the boughs overhead. Jaspar had made her
-a couch of straw, and she had lain there tossing to and fro
-with no thought of sleep. The moon had sunk early over
-the edge of the world, and heavy darkness had wrapped her
-anguish close about her soul, mocking her with the staring
-of a dead face. The burning tower had ceased to torch
-her vigil towards dawn; yet there had been no fleeing
-from the pale candour of the night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A slim, white-faced woman she stood shivering in the
-doorway of the hovel. Her eyes were black and lustrous--swift,
-darting eyes full of dusky fire and vivid unrest.
-Her mouth ran a red streak, firm above her white chin.
-Her hair gleamed like sable steel. The world was cold
-about her for the moment, dead and inert as her own heart.
-As she stood there, fine and fragile as gossamer, the very
-trees seemed to weep for her with the dawning day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Some hundred paces from the hut, a cloud of smoke
-mingled with the mist that hung about the blackened walls
-of the forest tower. Its windows were blind and frameless
-to the sky; a zone of charred wood and reeking ashes
-circled its base. The mist hung above it like a ghostly
-memory. The place looked desolate and pitiful enough
-in the meagre light.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland watched the incense of smoke wreathing
-grey spirals overhead, melting symbolic--into nothingness.
-The pungent scent of the ruin floated down to her,
-and became a recollection for all time. This blackened
-shell had been a home to her, a bulwark, nay, a cradle.
-Sanguine life had run ruddy through its heart. How often
-had she seen its grey brow crowned with gold by the
-mystic hierarchy of heaven. She had found much joy there
-and little sorrow. A wrinkled face had taught her these
-many years to cherish the innocence of childhood. All
-this was past; the present found her bankrupt of such
-things. The place had become but a coffin, a
-charnel-house for the rotting bones of love.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she brooded in the doorway, the smite of a spade
-came ringing to her on the misty air. Terse and rhythmic,
-it was like the sound of Time plucking the hours from the
-Tree of Life. She looked out over the glade, and saw
-Jaspar the harper digging a shallow grave under an oak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She went and watched him, calmly, silently, with the
-utter quiet of a measureless grief. There was reason in
-this labour. It emphasised reality; helped her to grip the
-present. As the brown earth tumbled at her feet, she
-remembered how much she would bury in that narrow
-forest grave.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man Jaspar was a ruddy soul, like a red apple in
-autumn. His strong point was his loyalty, a virtue that
-had stiffened with the fibres of his heart. He could boast
-neither of vast intelligence, nor of phenomenal courage,
-but he had a conscience that had made gold of his whole
-rough, stunted body. Your clever servant is often a rogue;
-in the respect of apt villainy, the harper was a fool.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He ceased now and again from his digging, hung his
-hooked chin over his spade, and snuffed the savour of the
-clean brown earth. He thrust curt, furtive glances up
-into the girl's face as she watched him, as though desirous
-of reading her humour or her health.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are weary," she said to him anon, looking blankly
-into the trench.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man wagged his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye broken fast? There is bread and dried fruit
-in the hut, and a pitcher of water."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot eat--yet," she answered him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed and continued his digging. The pile of russet
-earth increased on the green grass at her feet; the trench
-deepened. Jaspar moistened his palms, and toiled on, grunting
-as he hove his libations of soil over his shoulder. Presently
-he stood up again to rest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do, madame?" he asked her, squinting
-at the clouds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ride out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And whither?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Towards Gilderoy--as yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, ah, a fair town and strong. John of Brissac is
-madame's friend. Good. Have we money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some gold nobles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They waxed silent again, and in a while the grave lay
-finished. 'Twas shallow, but what of that! It gave
-sanctuary enough for the dead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They went together, and gazed on the sleeping man's
-face. It was grey, but very peaceful, with no hint of
-horror thereon. The eyes were closed, and dew had starred
-the white hair with a glistening web. Yeoland knelt and
-kissed the forehead. She shivered and her hands trembled,
-but she did not weep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So they carried the Lord Rual between them, for he was
-a spare man and frugal of frame, and laid him in the grave
-beneath the oak. When they had smoothed his hair, and
-crossed his hands upon his breast, they knelt and prayed to
-the Virgin and the saints that in God's heaven he might
-have peace. The wind in the boughs sang a forest
-requiem.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Yeoland had looked long at the white face in the
-trench, she rose from her knees, and pointed Jaspar to his
-spade. The harper took the measure of her mind. When
-she had passed into the shadows of the trees, he mopped
-his face, and entered on his last duty to the dead. It was
-soon sped, soon ended. A pile of clean earth covered the
-place. Jaspar banked the grave with turf, shouldered his
-spade, and returned to the hovel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found the girl Yeoland seated on a fallen tree in the
-forest, her ebon hair and apple-green gown gleaming under
-the sweeping boughs. Her cheeks were white as windflowers,
-her eyes full of a swimming gloom. She raised her chin,
-and questioned the man mutely with a look that smouldered
-under her arched brows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you entered the tower?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's wrinkled face winced despite his years.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you have me go?" he asked her in a hoarse
-undertone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked into the vast mazes of the woods, shuddered
-in thought, and was silent. Her mouth hardened; the
-desire melted from her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said anon, turning her hood forward, and
-drawing a green cloak edged with sables about her, "what
-would it avail us? Let us sally at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A little distance away, their horses, that had been
-hobbled over night, stood grazing quietly on a patch of grass
-under the trees. One was a great grey mare, the other a
-bay jennet, glossy as silk. Jaspar caught them. He was
-long over the girths and bridles, for his hands were stiff,
-and his eyes dim. When he returned, Yeoland was still
-standing like a statue, staring at the blackened tower
-reeking amid the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly, they have burnt the anguish of it into my heart
-with fire," she said, as Jaspar held her stirrup.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God comfort you, madame!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us go, Jaspar, let us go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And whither, lady?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where revenge may lead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The day brightened as they plunged down into the forest.
-A light breeze rent the vapours, and a shimmer of sunlight
-quivered through the haze. The tree-tops began to glisten
-gold; and there was life in the deepening promise of the
-sky. The empty woods rolled purple on the hills; the
-greensward shone with a veil of gossamer; the earth grew
-glad.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pair had scant burden of speech upon their lips that
-morning. They were still benumbed by the violence of the
-night, and death still beckoned to their souls. Fate had
-smitten them with such incredible and ponderous brevity.
-On the dawn of yesterday, they had ridden out hawk on
-wrist into the wilds, lost the bird in a long flight, and turned
-homeward when evening was darkening the east. From a
-hill they had seen the tower lifting its flame like a red and
-revengeful finger to heaven. They had hastened on, with
-the glare of the fire spasmodic and lurid over the trees. In
-one short hour they had had speech with death, and came
-point to point with the bleak sword of eternity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What wonder then that they rode like mutes to a burial,
-still of tongue and dull of heart? Life and the zest thereof
-were at low ebb, colourless as a wintry sea. Joy's crimson
-wings were smirched and broken; the lute of youth was
-unstrung. A granite sky had drawn low above their heads,
-and to the girl a devil ruled the heavens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before noon they had threaded the wild waste of woodland
-that girded the tower like a black lagoon. They came
-out from the trees to a heath, a track that struck green and
-purple into the west, and boasted nought that could infringe
-the blue monotony of the sky. It was a wild region, swept
-by a wind that sighed perpetually amid the gorse and heather.
-By the black rim of the forest they had dismounted and
-partaken of bread and water before pushing on with a
-listless persistence that won many miles to their credit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man Jaspar was a phlegmatic soul in the hot sphere
-of action. He was a circumspect being who preferred
-heading for the blue calm of a haven in stormy weather,
-to thrusting out into the tossing spume of the unknown.
-The girl Yeoland, on the contrary, had an abundant spirit,
-and an untamed temper. Her black eyes roved restlessly
-over the world, and she tilted her chin in the face of Fate.
-Jaspar, knowing her fibre, feared for her moods with the
-more level prudence of stagnant blood. Her obstinacy
-was a hazardous virtue, hawk-like in sentiment, not given
-to perching on the boughs of reason. Moreover, being
-cumbered with a generous burden of pity, he was in mortal
-dread of wounding her pale proud grief.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By way of being diplomatic, he began by hinting that
-there were necessities in life, trivial no doubt, but inevitable,
-as sleep and supper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord John of Brissac is your friend," he meandered,
-"a strong lord, and a great; moreover, he hates those of
-Gambrevault, God chasten their souls! Fontenaye is no
-long ride from Gilderoy. Madame will lodge there till
-she can come by redress?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Madame had no thought of being beholden to the
-gentleman in question. Jaspar understood as much from
-a very brief debate. Lord John of Brissac was forbidden
-favour, being as black a pard when justly blazoned as any
-seigneur of Gambrevault. The harper's chin wagged on
-maugre her contradiction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have bread for a day," he chirped, dropping upon
-banalities by way of seeming wise. "The nights are cold,
-madame, damp as a marsh. As for the water-pot----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Water may be had--for the asking."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And bread?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we ride for Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The assumption was made with an excellent unction
-that betrayed the seeming sincerity of the philosopher.
-Yeoland stared ahead over her horse's ears, with a clear
-disregard for Jaspar and his discretion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are like leaves blown about in autumn," she said to
-him, "wanderers with fortune. You have not grasped my
-temper. I warrant you, there is method in me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar looked blank.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange method, madame, to ride nowhere, to
-compass nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned on him with a sudden rapid gleam out of her
-passionate eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing! You call revenge nothing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The harper appealed to his favourite saint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Jude forfend that madame should follow such a
-marsh fire," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had drawn towards the margin of the heath.
-Southwards it sloped to the rim of a great pine forest,
-that seemed to clasp it with ebonian arms. The place
-was black, mysterious, impenetrable, fringed with a
-palisading of dark stiff trunks, but all else, a vast undulation
-of sombre plumes. Its spires waved with the wind.
-There was a soundless awe about its sable galleries, a
-saturnine gloom that hung like a curtain. In the vague
-distance, a misty height seemed to struggle above the ocean
-of trees, like the back of some great beast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, keen of face, reined in her jennet, and pointed
-Jaspar to this landscape of sombre hues. There was an
-alert lustre in her eyes; she drew her breath more quickly,
-like one whose courage kindles at the cry of a trumpet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Black Wild," she said with a little hiss of
-eagerness, and a glance that was almost fierce under her
-coal-black brows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar shook his head with the cumbersome wit of an ogre.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, yes, madame, a bloody region, packed with
-rumours, dark as its own trees; no stint of terror, I
-warrant ye. See yonder, the road to Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl in the green cloak seemed strongly stirred
-by her own thoughts. Her face had a wild elfin look for
-the moment, a beautiful and daring insolence that deified
-her figure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Gilderoy?" she said abstractedly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy lies south-east; Gambrevault south-west
-many leagues. Southwards, one would find the sea, in due
-season. Eastwards, we touch Geraint, and the Roman
-road."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland nodded as though her mind were already
-adamant in the matter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We will take to the forest," ran her decretal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here was crass sentiment extravagantly in the ascendant,
-mad wilfulness pinioning forth like a bat into gloom.
-Jaspar screwed his mouth into a red knot, blinked and
-waxed argumentative with a vehemence that did his
-circumspection credit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A mad scheme."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What better harbour for the night than yonder trees?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who will choose us a road? I pray you consider it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland answered him quietly enough. She had set her
-will on the venture, was in a desperate mood, and could
-therefore scorn reason.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jaspar, my friend," she said, "I am in a wild humour,
-and ripe for the wild region. Peril pleases me. The
-unknown ever draweth the heart, making promise of
-greater, stranger things. What have I to lose? If you
-play the craven, I can go alone."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="iii"><span class="large">III</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The avenues of the pine forest engulfed the harper and
-the lady. The myriad crowded trunks hemmed them with
-a stubborn and impassive gloom. A faint wind moved in
-the tree-tops. Dim aisles struck into an ever-deepening
-mystery of shadow, as into the dark mazes of a dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The wild was as some primæval waste, desolate and
-terrible, a vast flood of sombre green rolling over hill and
-valley. Its thickets plunged midnight into the bosom of
-day. On the hills, the trees stood like traceried pinnacles,
-spears blood-red in the sunset, or splashed with the
-glittering magic of the moon. There were dells sunk deep
-beneath crags; choked with dense darkness, unsifted by
-the sun. Winding alleys white with pebbles as with the
-bones of the dead, wound through seething seas of gorse.
-In summer, heather sucked with purple lips at the tapestries
-of moss blazoning the ground, bronze, green, and gold. It
-was a wild region, and mysterious, a shadowland moaned
-over by the voice of a distressful wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland held southwards by the gilded vane of the sun.
-She had turned back her hood upon her shoulders, and
-fastened her black hair over her bosom with a brooch of
-amethysts. The girl was wise in woodlore and the
-philosophies of nature. The sounds and sights of the forest
-were like a gorgeous missal to her, blazoned with all
-manner of magic colours. She knew the moods of hawk and
-hound, had camped often under the steely stare of a winter
-sky, had watched the many phases of the dawn. Hers was
-a nature ripe for the hazardous intent of life. It was she
-who led, not Jaspar. The harper followed her with a
-martyred reason, having, for all his discontent, some faith
-in her keen eyes and the delicate decision of her chin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a steady dejection in the girl's mood--a
-dejection starred, however, with red wrath like sparks
-glowing upon tinder. She was no Agnes, no Amorette,
-mere pillar of luscious beauty. Her eyes were as
-blue-black shields, flashing with many sheens in the face of
-day. The flaming tower, the dead figure in the forest
-grave, had thrust the gentler part out of her being. She
-was miserable, mute, yet full of a volcanic courage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the harper, a rheumy dissatisfaction pervaded his
-temper. His blood ran cold as a toad's in winter weather.
-He blew upon his fingers, dreaming of inglenooks and hot
-posset, and the casual luxuries the forest did not promise.
-Yeoland considered not the old man's babblings. Her
-heart looked towards the dawn, and knew nothing of the
-twilight under the dark eaves of age.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had pressed a mile or more into the waste, and the
-day was waxing sere and yellow in the west. Before them
-ran a huge thicket, its floor splashed with tawny splendours,
-the sable plumes touched with gold by the sun. Its deep
-bosom hung full of purple gloom, dusted with amber, wild
-and windless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden "hist" from his lady's lips made the harper
-start in the saddle. Her hand had snatched at his bridle.
-Both horses came to a halt. The man looked at her as
-they sat knee to knee; she was alert and vigilant, her eyes
-bright as the eyes of a hawk.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Marked you that?" she said to him in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar gave her a vacant stare and shook his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Boughs swaying in the wind, no more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland enlightened him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tush. There's no wind moving. A glimmer of
-armour, yonder, up the slope."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Jude!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A flash, it has gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They held silent under the drooping boughs, listening,
-with noiseless breath. The breeze made mysterious
-murmurings with a vague unrest; now and again a twig
-cracked, or some forest sound floated down like a filmy
-moth on the quiet air. The trees were dumb and saturnine,
-as though resenting suspicion of their sable aisles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar, peering over his shoulder, jerked out a word of
-warning. Yeoland, catching the monosyllable from his
-lips, and following his stare, glanced back into the eternal
-shadows of the place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see nothing," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar answered her slowly, his eyes still at gaze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A shadow slipping from trunk to trunk."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see it no longer. The saints succour us!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's face was dead white under her hair; her
-mouth gaped like a circle of jet. She listened constantly.
-Her head moved in stately fashion on her slim neck, as
-she shot glances hither and thither into the glooms, her
-eyes challenging the world. She felt peril, but was no
-craven in the matter--a contrast to Jaspar, who shook as
-with an ague.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The harper's distress broke forth into petulant declaiming.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Trapped," he said; "I could have guessed as much,
-with all this fooling. These skulkers are like crows round
-carrion. Shall we lose much, madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gold, Jaspar, if they are content with such. What
-if they should be of Gambrevault!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The harper gave a quivering whistle, a shrill breath
-between his teeth, eloquent of the unpleasant savour of
-such a chance. It was beyond him for the moment
-whether he preferred being held up by a footpad, to being
-bullied by some ruffian of a feudatory. He had a mere
-bodkin of a dagger in his belt, and little lust for the letting
-of blood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a chance, madame," he said, with a certain lame
-sententiousness, "that had not challenged my attention.
-Say nothing of Cambremont; one word would send us to
-the devil."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I a fool? Since these gentlemen will not declare
-themselves, let us hold on and tempt their purpose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thinking to see the swirl of shadows under the trees,
-the glimmer of steel in the forest's murk, they rode on at
-a lifeless trot. Nothing echoed to their thoughts. The
-woods stood impassive, steeped in solitude. There was a
-strange atmosphere of peace about the place that failed to
-harmonise their fears. Yet like a prophecy of wind there
-stole in persistently above the muffled tramp of hoofs, a
-dull, characterless sound, touched with the crackling of
-rotten wood, that seemed to hint at movement in the
-shadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pair pressed on vigilant and silent. Anon they
-came to a less multitudinous region, where the trees
-thinned, and a columned ride dwindled into infinite gloom.
-Betwixt the black stems of the trees flashed sudden a
-streak of scarlet, torchlike in the shadows. An armed
-rider in a red cloak, mounted on a sable horse, kept vigil
-silently between the boles of two great firs. He was
-immobile as rock, his spear set rigid on his thigh, his red
-plume sweeping the green fringes of the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This solemn figure stood like a sanguinary challenge to
-Yeoland and the harper. Here at least was something
-tangible in the flesh, more than a mere shadow. The pair
-drew rein, questioning each other mutely with their eyes,
-finding no glimmer of hope on either face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they debated with their glances over the hazard, a
-voice came crying weirdly through the wood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pass on," it said, "pass on. Pay ye the homage of the
-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This forest cry seemed to loosen the dilemma. Certainly
-it bore wisdom in its counsel, seeing that it advised
-the inevitable, and ordered action. Yeoland, bankrupt of
-resource, took the unseen herald at his word, and rode on
-slowly towards the knight on the black horse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man abode their coming like a statue, his red cloak
-shining sensuously under the sombre green of the boughs.
-A canopy of golden fire arched him in the west. He sat
-his horse with a certain splendid arrogance, that puzzled
-not a little the conjectures of Yeoland and the harper.
-This was neither the mood nor the equipment of a
-vagabond soul. The fine spirit of the picture hinted briskly
-at Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pair came to a halt under the two firs. The man
-towered above them on his horse, grim and gigantic, a
-great statue in black and burnished steel. His salade with
-beaver lowered shone ruddy in the sun. His saddle was
-of scarlet leather, bossed with brass and fringed with sable
-cord. Gules flamed on his shield, devoid of all device, a
-strong wedge of colour, bare and brave.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl caught the gleam of the man's eyes through the
-grid of his vizor. He appeared to be considering her much
-at his leisure with a keen silence, that was not wholly
-comforting. Palpably he was in no mood for haste, or for
-such casual courtesies that might have ebbed from his
-soundless strength.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Full two minutes passed before a deep voice rolled
-sonorously from the cavern of the casque.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," it said, "be good enough to consider yourself
-my prisoner. Rest assured that I bring you no peril
-save the peril of an empty purse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a certain powerful complacency in the voice,
-pealing with the deep clamour of a bell through the silence
-of the woods. The man seemed less ponderous and sinister,
-giant that he was. The girl's eyes fenced with him
-fearlessly under the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Presumably," she said to him, "you are a notorious
-fellow; I have the misfortune to be ignorant of these
-parts and their possessors. Be so courteous as to unhelm
-to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her tone did not stir the man from his reserve of gravity.
-Her words were indeed like so many ripples breaking
-against a rock. The voice retorted to her calmly from
-the helmet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, leave matters to my discretion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled in his face despite herself, a smile half of
-petulance, half of relish.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You pretend to wisdom, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Forethought, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I your prisoner?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No new thing, madame; I have possessed you since
-you ventured into these shadows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He made a gesture with his spear, holding it at arm's
-length above his head, where it quivered like a reed in his
-staunch grip. A sound like the moving of a distant wind
-arose. The dark alleys of the wood grew silvered with
-a circlet of steel. The shafts of the sunset flickered on
-pike and bassinet, gleaming amid the verdured glooms.
-Again the man's spear shook, again the noise as of a wind,
-and the girdle of steel melted into the shadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is satisfied?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sucked in her breath through her red lips, and was
-mute.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave matters to my discretion. You there, in the
-brown smock, fall back twenty paces. Madame, I wait
-for you. Let us go cheek by jowl."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man wheeled his horse, shook his spear, hurled a
-glance backward over his shoulder into the woods. There
-was no gainsaying him for the moment. Yeoland, bending
-to necessity, sent Jaspar loitering, while she flanked
-the black destrier with her brown jennet. She debated
-keenly within herself whither this adventure could be
-leading her, as she rode on with this unknown rider into
-the wilds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the red cloak was wondrous mute at first,
-an iron pillar of silence gleaming under the trees. The
-girl knew that he was watching her from behind his salade,
-for she caught often the white glimmer of his stare. He
-bulked largely in the descending gloom, a big man deep
-of chest, with shoulders like the broad ledges of some
-sea-washed rock. He was richly appointed both as to his
-armour and his trappings; to Yeoland his shield showed
-a blank face, and he carried no crest or token in his helmet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had ridden two furlongs or more before the man
-stepped from his pedestal of silence. He had been
-studying the girl with the mood of a philosopher, had seen her
-stark, strained look, the woe in her eyes, the firm closure
-of her lips. The strong pride of grief in her had pleased
-him; moreover he had had good leisure to determine the
-character of her courage. His first words were neither
-very welcome to the girl's ears nor productive of great
-comfort, so far as her apprehensions were concerned.
-Bluntly came the calm challenge from the casque.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter of Rual of Cambremont, you have changed
-little these five years."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland gave the man a stare. Seeing that his features
-were screened by his helmet, the glance won her little
-satisfaction. She knew that he was watching her to his own
-profit, and her discovery, for the reflex look she had flashed
-at him, must have told him all he desired, if he had any
-claim to being considered observant. There was that also
-in the tone and tenor of his words that implied that he had
-ventured no mere tentative statement, but had spoken to
-assure her that her name and person were not unknown
-to him. Acting on the impression, she tacitly confessed to
-the justice of his charge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Palpably," she said, "my face is known to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Even so, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will you hold me at a disadvantage?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is ignorance burdensome?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She imagined of a sudden that the man was smiling
-behind his beaver. Being utterly serious herself, she
-discovered an illogical lack of sympathy in the stranger's
-humour. Moreover she was striving to spell Gambrevault
-from the alphabet of word and gesture, and to come
-to an understanding with the doubts of the moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," she began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he retorted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mere stone?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For answer he lapsed into sudden reflection.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is five years ago this Junetide," he said, "since the
-King and the Court came to Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the town, madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stared back upon a sudden vision of the past, a past
-gorgeous with the crimson fires of youth. That Junetide
-she had worn a new green gown, a silver girdle, a red rose
-in her hair. There had been jousting in the Gilderoy
-meadows, much braying of trumpets, much splendour,
-much pomp of arms. She remembered the scent and
-colour of it all; the blaze of tissues of gold and green,
-purple and azure. She remembered the flickering of a
-thousand pennons in the wind, the fair women thronging
-the galleries like flowers burdening a bowl. The vision
-came to her undefiled for the moment, a dream-memory,
-calm as the first pure pageant of spring.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, messire?" she said, with more colour of face
-and soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Rode in the King's train."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A noble?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I bulk for a cook or a falconer?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Yet you remember me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As it were yesterday, walking in the meadows at your
-father's side--your father, that Rual who carried the banner
-when the King's men stormed Gaerlent these forty years
-ago. Not, madame, that I followed that war; I was a mass
-of swaddling-clothes puking in a cradle. So we grow old."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's face had darkened again on the instant.
-The man in the red cloak saw her eyes grow big of
-pupil, her lips straightened into a colourless line. She
-held her head high, and stared into the purple gloom of
-the woods. Memories were with her. The present had
-an iron hand upon her heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Time changes many things," he said, with a discretion
-that desired to soften the silence; "we go from cradle to
-throne in one score years, from life to clay in a moment.
-Pay no homage to circumstance. The wave covers the
-rock, but the granite shows again its glistening poll when
-the water has fallen. A Hercules can strangle Fate. As
-for me, I know not whether I have soared in the estimation
-of heaven; yet I can swear that I have lost much of the
-vagabond, sinful soul that straddled my shoulders in the
-past."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a warm ruggedness about the man, a flippant
-self-knowledge, that touched the girl's fancy. He was
-either a strong soul, or an utter charlatan, posing as a
-Diogenes. She preferred the former picture in her heart,
-and began to question him again with a species of
-picturesque insolence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I presume, messire," she said, "that you have some
-purpose in life. From my brief dealings with you, I should
-deem you a very superior footpad. I gather that it is your
-intention to rob me. I confess that you seem a gentleman
-at the business."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of the red cloak laughed in his helmet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To be frank, madame," he said, "you may dub me a
-gatherer of taxes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Explain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Being unfortunates and outcasts from the lawful ways
-of life, my men and I seek to remedy the injustice of the
-world by levying toll on folk more happy than ourselves."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you condemn me as fortunate?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your defence, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl smiled with her lips, but her eyes were hard and
-bright as steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I might convince you otherwise," she said, "but no
-matter. Why should I be frank with a thief, even though
-he be nobly born?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, madame, the thief may be of service to the lady."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have little silver for your wallet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I nothing but a money-bag!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him with a straight stare; her voice
-was level, even imperious.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your vizor," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the black harness hesitated, then obeyed her.
-She could see little of his face, however, save that it was
-bronzed, and that the eyes were very masterful. She
-ventured further in the argument, being bent on fathoming the
-baser instincts of the business.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Knight of the red shield," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you an honest question. If you would serve me,
-speak the truth, and let me know my peril. Are you the
-Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, or no?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man never hesitated an instant. There was no
-wavering to cast doubt upon his sincerity, or upon his
-intelligence as a liar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, madame," he answered her, "I am not the Lord
-of Gambrevault and Avalon, and may I, for the sake of my
-own neck, never come single-handed within his walls. I
-have an old feud with the lords of Gambrevault, and when
-the chance comes, I shall settle it heavily to my credit. If
-you have any ill to say of the gentleman, pray say it, and
-be happy in my sympathy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha," she said, with a sudden flash of malice, "I would
-give my soul for that fellow's head."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So," quoth the man, with a keen look, "that would be a
-most delectable bargain."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="iv"><span class="large">IV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The stems thinned about them suddenly, and the sky
-grew great beyond a more meagre screen of boughs. To
-the west, breaking the blood-red canopy with an edge of
-agate, rocks towered heavenwards, smiting golden-fanged
-into a furnace of splendour. Waves of light beat in spray
-upon the billowy masses of the trees, dying in the east into
-a majestic mask of gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland and the man in red came forth into a little
-glade, hollowed by the waters of a rush-edged pool. A
-stream, a scolloped sheet of foam, stumbled headlong into
-the mere, vanishing beyond like a frail white ghost into
-the woods. A fire danced in the open, and under the
-trees stood a pavilion of red cloth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man dismounted and held the girl's stirrup. A
-quick glance round the glade had shown her bales of
-merchandise, littering the green carpet of the place, horses
-tethered in the wood, men moving like gnomes about the
-fire. Even as she dismounted, streaks of steel shone out
-in the surrounding shadows. Armed men streamed in,
-and piled their pikes and bills about the pines.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the western end of the glade, a gigantic fir, a forest
-patriarch, stood out above the more slender figures of
-his fellows. The grotesque roots, writhing like talons,
-tressled a bench of boughs and skins. Before the tree
-burnt a fire, the draught sweeping upwards to fan the
-fringe of the green fir's gown. The man in the black
-harness took Yeoland to the seat under the tree. The
-boughs arched them like a canopy, and the wood fire gave
-a lusty heat in the gloaming.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A boy had run forward to unhelm the knight in the red
-cloak. Casque and sword lay on the bench of boughs and
-skins. The girl's glance framed for the first time the
-man's face. She surveyed him at her leisure under drooping
-lids, with a species of reticent interest that escaped
-boldness. It was one of those incidents to her that stand
-up above the plain of life, and build individual history.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw a bronzed man with a tangle of tawny-red
-hair, a great beak of a nose, and a hooked chin. His eyes
-were like amber, darting light into the depth of life, alert,
-deep, and masterful. There was a rugged and indomitable
-vigour in the face. The mouth was of iron, yet not
-unkind; the jaw ponderous; the throat bovine. The mask of
-youth had palpably forsaken him; Life, that great chiseller
-of faces, had set her tool upon his features, moulding them
-into a strenuous and powerful dignity that suited his soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He appeared to fathom the spirit of the girl's scrutiny,
-nor did he take umbrage at the open and critical revision
-of her glances. He inferred calmly enough, that she
-considered him by no means blemishless in feature or in
-atmosphere. Probably he had long passed that age when the
-sanguine bachelor never doubts of plucking absolute favour
-from the eyes of a woman. The girl was not wholly
-enamoured of him. He was rational enough to read that
-in her glances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is in doubt," he said to her, with a glimmer of
-a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As to what, messire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My character."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You prefer the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I not a philosopher?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear the truth then, messire, I would not have you for
-a master."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man laughed, a quiet, soundless laugh through
-half-closed lips. There was something magnetic about his
-grizzled and ironical strength, cased in its shell of
-blackened steel. He had the air of one who had learnt to toy
-with his fellows, as with so many strutting puppets. The
-world was largely a stage to him, grotesque at some seasons,
-strenuous at others.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, a miracle indeed," he said, "a woman who can tell
-the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She ignored the gibe and ran on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name, messire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man spread his hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon the omission. I am known as Fulviac of the
-Forest. My heritage I judge to be the sword, and the
-shadows of these same wilds."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland considered him awhile in silence. The firelight
-flickered on his harness, glittering on the ribbed and
-jointed shoulder plates, striking a golden streak from the
-edge of each huge pauldron. Mimic flames burnt red
-upon his black cuirass, as in a darkened mirror. The
-night framed his figure in an aureole of gloom, as he sat
-with his massive head motionless upon its rock-like throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Five years ago," she said suddenly, "you rode as a noble
-in the King's train. Now you declare yourself a thief.
-These things do not harmonise unless you confess to a
-dual self."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he answered her, "I confess to nothing. If
-you would be wise, eschew the past, and consider the
-present at your service. I am named Fulviac, and I am an
-outlaw. Let that grant you satisfaction."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland glanced over the glade, walled in with the gloom
-of the woods, the stream foaming in the dusk, the armed
-men gathered about the further fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And these?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are mine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Outcasts also?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no hard things of them; they are folk whom the
-world has treated scurvily; therefore they are at feud with
-the world. The times are out of joint, tyrannous and
-heavy to bear. The nobles like millstones grind the poor
-into pulp, tread out the life from them, that the wine of
-pleasure may flow into gilded chalices. The world is
-trampled under foot. Pride and greed go hand in hand
-against us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him under her long lashes, with the zest
-of cavil slumbering in her eyes. Autocracy was a
-hereditary right with her, even though feudalism had slain her
-sire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would have the mob held in check," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And how? By cutting off a man's ears when he spits
-a stag. By splitting his nose for some small sin. By
-branding beggars who thieve because their children starve.
-Oh, equable and honest justice! God prevent me from
-being poor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with her great solemn eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He spread his arms with a half-flippant dignity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I, madame, I take the whole world into my bosom."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And play the Christ weeping over Jerusalem?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, your wit is excellent."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A spit had been turning over the large fire, a haunch of
-venison being basted thereon by a big man in the cassock
-of a friar. Certain of Fulviac's fellows came forward
-bearing wine in silver-rimmed horns, white bread and meat upon
-platters of wood. They stood and served the pair with a
-silent and soldierly briskness that bespoke discipline. The
-girl's hunger was as healthy as her sleek, plump neck,
-despite the day's hazard and her homeless peril.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Dusk had fallen fast; the last pennon of day shone an
-eerie streak of saffron in the west. The forest stood
-wrapped in the stupendous stillness of the night. An
-impenetrable curtain of ebony closed the glade with its
-rush-edged pool.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's servers had retreated to the fire, where a ring
-of rough faces shone in the wayward light. The sound of
-their harsh voices came up to the pair in concord with the
-perpetual murmur of the stream. Yeoland had shaken the
-bread-crumbs from her green gown. She was comforted
-in the flesh, and ready for further foining with the man who
-posed as her captor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sincerity is a rare virtue," she said, with a slight lifting
-of the angles of her mouth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can endorse that dogma."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you pretend to the same?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You love the poor, conceive their wrongs to be your own?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled in his eyes like a man pleased with his
-own thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I not said as much?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I revere my own image."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And fame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He commended her and unbosomed in one breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity," he said, "is often a species of splendid pride. We
-toil, we fight, we labour. Why? Because below all life
-and effort, there burns an immortal egotism, an eternal
-vanity. 'Liberty, liberty,' we cry, 'liberty and justice
-man for man.' Yet how the soul glows at the sound of
-its own voice! The human self hugs fame, and mutters,
-'Lo, what a god am I in the eyes of the world!'"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="v"><span class="large">V</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Silence fell between them for a season, a silence deep
-and intangible as the darkness of the woods. The man's
-mood had recovered its subtle calm, even as a pool that
-has been stirred momentarily by the plashing of a stone
-sinks into rippleless repose. He sat with folded arms
-before the flare of the fire, watching the girl under his heavy
-brows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was very fair to look upon, slim, yet spirited as a
-band of steel. Her ears shone out from her dusky hair
-like apple blossoms in a mist of leaves. Her lips were
-blood-red, sensitive, clean as the petals of a rose. Her
-great grief had chastened her. From the curve of her
-neck to the delicate strength of her white hands, she was
-as rich an idyll as a man could desire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac considered her with a thought that leant
-philosophically towards her beauty. He had grown weary of
-love in his time; the passions of youth had burnt to dry
-ashes; possibly he had been luckless in his knowledge of
-the sex. He had married a wife of irreproachable birth, a
-lady with a sharp nose and a lipless mouth, eyes of green,
-and a most unholy temper. She was dead, had been dead
-many years. The man had no delirious desire to meet her
-again in heaven. As for this girl, he had need of her for
-revolutionary reasons, and his mood to her was more that
-of a father. Her spirit pleased him. Moreover, he knew
-what he knew.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gazing at the flames, he spread his hands to them, and
-entered again on the confines of debate. His voice had
-the steady, rhythmic insistence of a bell pealing a curfew.
-Its tone was that of a man not willing to be gainsaid.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Therefore, madame, I would have you understand that
-I desire in some measure to be a benefactor to the human
-race."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take your word for it," she answered him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I am an ambitious man, somewhat vain towards
-fame, one that can glow in soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A human sun."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That loves to be thought great through warming the
-universe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, you are epigrammatic."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or enigmatic, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will," he answered her; "your womanhood
-makes you an enigma; it is your birthright. Understand
-that I possess power."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fifty cut-throats tied to a purse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider me a serious figure in the world's sum."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will, messire. You are an outlaw, a leader of
-fifty vagabonds, a man with ideals as to the establishing of
-justice. You are going to subvert the country. Very
-good. I have learnt my lesson. But how is all this going
-to help me out of the wood?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took his sword, and balanced it upon his wrist.
-The red light from the fire flashed on the swaying
-steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Our hopes are more near of kin, madame, than you imagine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault's raiders burnt your home,
-slew your father, exterminated your brethren. This
-happened but a day ago. You do not love this Flavian of
-Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her whole figure stiffened spasmodically as at the prick
-of a sword. Her eyes, with widely open pupils, flashed up
-to Fulviac's face. She questioned him through her set
-teeth with a passionate whisper of desire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His face mellowed; the arm bearing the sword was
-steady as the limb of an oak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am wiser in many ways than you imagine," he said.
-"Look at me, I am no longer young; I hate women; I
-patronise God. You are a mere child; to you life is dark
-and perilous as this wilderness of pines. Your trouble is
-known to me, because it is my business to know of such
-things. It was my deliberate intent that you should fall
-into my hands to-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was still rigidly astonied. She stared at him
-mutely with dubious eyes. The man and his philosophy
-were beyond her for the moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" she said to him with a quaver of entreaty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"First, you will honour me by saying that I have your
-trust."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How may I promise you that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I am surety for my own honour."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled in his face despite the occasion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem very sure of your own soul," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, it has taken me ten years to come by so
-admirable a state. Self-knowledge carried to the depths,
-builds up self-trust. I may take it for granted that you
-hate the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you ask that!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes echoed the mood of the flame. Fulviac, watching
-her, saw the strong wrack of wrath twisting her delicate
-features for the moment into pathetic ugliness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have courage," he said to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ample, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault is the greatest lord in the south."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am as wise."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"On that score, this Flavian and Fulviac of the Forest
-are irreconcilable as day and night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood his sword pommel upwards in the grass,
-and ran on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day I shall slay this same Flavian of Gambrevault.
-His blood will expiate the blood of these your
-kinsfolk. Therefore, madame, you will be my debtor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all?" she asked him with a wistfulness in her
-voice that was even piteous.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac looked long into the fire like a man whose
-thoughts channel under the crust of years. Pity for the
-girl had gone to the heart under the steel cuirass, a pity
-that was not the pander of desire. His eyes took a new
-meaning into their keen depths; he looked to have grown
-suddenly younger by some years. When he spoke again,
-his voice had lost its half-mocking and grandiose confidence.
-It was the voice of a man who strides generous and eager
-into the breach of fate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," he said to her, "I may tell you that your
-sorrow has armed my manhood. Give me my due; I am
-more than a mere vagabond. You have been cruelly dealt
-with; I take your cause upon the cross of my sword."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You, messire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Even so. I need a good woman, a brave woman.
-You please me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a necessity to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, messire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For a matter of religion and of justice. Trust to my
-honour. You shall learn more in due season."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, smitten with incredulity, stared at the man in
-mute surmise. Here was an amazing circumstance--robbery
-idealised, soul, body, purse, at one bold swoop. In
-her mystification, she could find nothing to say to the man
-for the moment, even though he had promised her a refuge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very sure of yourself," she said at length.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you leave me in ignorance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, we are to undertake great deeds together,
-great perils. I could hold up an astonishing future to your
-eyes, but for the present I keep silence. Rest assured
-that you shall be accorded such honour as the Virgin
-herself could desire. Remember that I give you promise of
-vengeance, and a home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl drew a deep breath, as though taking the spirit
-of the hour into her bosom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I refuse?" she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot refuse," came the level retort.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, messire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your consent, though pleasant, is not necessary in the
-matter. I have long ago determined to appropriate you to
-my ambition."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="vi"><span class="large">VI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac's lair lay deep within the waving wilderness of
-pines. Above the spires of the forest, a massive barrier of
-rock thrust up its rugged bartisans into the blue. East
-and west it stretched a mile or more, concavitated towards
-the north, and standing like a huge breakwater amid the
-sea of boughs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The rocky plateau above was peopled by pines and
-rowans, thatched also with a wild tangle of briar, whin, and
-heather. Crannies cleft into it; caves tunnelled its massive
-bosom; innumerable minarets of stone mingled with the
-wind-wracked trees. The cliffs rose like the walls of a
-castle donjon from the forest floor, studded with dwarf
-trees, bearded with ferns and grass. The plateau was
-inaccessible from the forest save by a thin rocky track, where
-the western slope of the cliff tailed off to merge into the
-trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The significance of the place to Fulviac lay in the
-existence of a cavern or series of caves piercing the cliff,
-and opening both upon the southern and northern facades
-of the mass. A wooden causeway led to the southern
-entry, bridging a small gorge where a stream foamed under
-the pines. The yawn of the southern opening had been
-built up with great blocks of stone, and the rough walls
-pierced by narrow squints, and a gate opening under a
-rounded arch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Within, the roof of the main cavern arched abruptly
-upwards, hollowing a great dome over the smooth floor
-beneath. This grotesque and rock-ripped hall served as
-guard-room and dormitory, a very various chamber.
-Winding ways smote from it into the black bowels of the cliff.
-The height of the main cavern dwindled as it tunnelled
-northwards into the rock. A second wall of stone
-partitioned the guard-room from a second and smaller chamber,
-lit always by a great lamp pendent from the ceiling, a
-chamber that served Fulviac as state-room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From Fulviac's parlour the cavern narrowed to a throat-like
-gallery that had been expanded by human craft into a
-third and smaller room. This last rock chamber was
-wholly more healthy and habitable than the others. Its
-walls stood squarely from floor to rocky roof, and it was
-blessed with a wide casement, that stared northwards over
-a vista of obeisant trees. A postern gave entry to the
-room from a narrow platform, and from this ledge a stairway
-cut in the flank of the cliff dwindled into the murk of
-the forest below.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A more romantic atmosphere had swept into the bleak
-galleries of the place that winter. Plundered stores were
-ransacked, bales of merchandise ungirded, caskets and chests
-pilfered as for the endowing of the chamber of a queen.
-The northern room in the cliff blossomed into the rich
-opulence of a lady's bower. Its stone walls were panelled
-with old oak carvings taken from some ancient manor.
-There were tapestries of green, gold, and purple; an
-antique bed with a tester of silver silk, its flanks blazoned
-with coloured escutcheons. Painted glass, azure, red, and
-gold, jewelled the casement, showing also Sebastian bound
-to his martyr's tree. A Jew merchant plundered on the
-road had surrendered a set of brazen ewers, a lute inlaid
-with pearl, a carpet woven on the looms of the purple East.
-There were mirrors of steel about the walls. A carved
-prayer-desk, an embroidery frame, a crucifix wrought in
-ivory: Fulviac had consecrated all these to Yeoland, dead
-Rual's daughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A white lily amid a horde of thistles! The girl's life
-had drawn under the black shadow of the cliff, and into the
-clanging torrent of these rough men of the sword. It was
-a wild age and a wild region. Fulviac's rogues were like
-wolves in a forest lair, keen, bloody, and relentless. There
-was a rude strain of violence running through the strenuous
-mood of the place, like the song of Norse rovers, piercing
-the roar of the sea. Mystery enveloped the girl, war, and
-the sound of the sword. She fumbled at the riddle of Fate
-with the trembling fingers of one who unbars a prison gate
-in the hush of night. It was all strange and fantastic
-beyond the riot of a dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," Fulviac had said to her when he had hung a
-key at her girdle, "I have bidden you trust me; remember
-that I trust you in turn. Take this room as your
-sanctuary. Lock me out when you will. I prepare, among
-other things, to perfect your vengeance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland suffered him and her necessity. She was
-shrewdly wise in the conviction that it would be useless
-to rebel against the man. Though over-masterful and
-secretive, his purpose appeared benignant in the opulence
-of its favour. Moreover, the forest was as a vast web
-holding her within the maze of the unknown.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no alternative," she said to him, "I am in your
-power. And yet, I believe you are no villain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your charity pleases me. I am a man with a strong
-purpose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For good?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I not need you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I then so powerful a person?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will learn anon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem something of a mystic," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he retorted, "trust my discretion. In due
-season I shall unfold to you certain aspects of life that
-will kindle your sympathies. I shall appeal to the woman
-in you. When you are wise you will commend my ambition."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak in riddles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait. As yet you see through a glass darkly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the mountainous north to the warm southern sea,
-from the wooded west to the eastern fens, the good King
-ruled, holding many great barons in feudal faith, and
-casting his fetters of gold over Church and State. Chivalry
-moved through the world to the clangour of arms and the
-songs of the troubadour. Lutes sounded on terrace and
-in garden, fair women bloomed like roses, bathed in a
-sensuous blaze of romance. Baron made war upon baron;
-glory and death were crowned together. The painter spread
-his colours in the halls of the great; the goldsmith and the
-carver wrought wondrous things to charm the eye. Church
-bells tolled. Proud abbots carried the sword, and made fine
-flutter among the women. Innumerable saints crowded the
-avenues to heaven. It was a fair age and very lovely, full
-of colour and desire, music and the odour of romance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the poor? Their lot hung largely on the humour
-of an overlord, or the state of a gentleman's stomach. They
-had their saints' days, their games, their pageants, their
-miracle plays. They had hovels of clay and wattle; labour
-in wind and rain; plagues and pestilences in the rotting
-filth of their city alleys. They marked the great folk go
-by in silks and cloth of gold, saw the pomp and opulence
-of that other life, remembered their own rags and their
-squealing children.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And yet, consider the broad inclinations of the world.
-To eat, to be warm, to satisfy the flesh, to ease a lust, to
-drink beer. There was no very vast gulf betwixt the rich
-man and the poor. The one feasted to music, the other
-scraped a bone to the dirge of toil. They had like appetites,
-like satisfactions, and hell is considered to be Utopian
-in the extreme. The poor man envied the rich; the rich
-man ruled the poor. Envy, that jingling demagogue, has
-made riotous profit out of such a stew since the world was
-young.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's cliff was shut out from the ken of man by
-leagues of woodland, moor, and waste. The great pine
-forest girded it in its inmost bosom. No wayfarers rode
-that way; no huntsman ranged so deep; the place had an
-evil rumour; many whom it had welcomed had never
-returned. Romancers had sung of it, the lay of Guingamor.
-Horror ruled black-browed over its pine-cumbered hills, its
-gloomy depths. Solitude abode there, as over a primæval
-sea, and there was no sound save the moan or storm-cry
-of the wind over its troubled trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>According to legend lore, Romulus peopled Rome with
-the offscourings of Italy. Fulviac had emulated the device
-with the state-craft of a strong conspirator. The forest
-stood a grand accomplice, abetting him with its myriad
-sentinels, who gossiped solely with the wind. The venture
-had been finely conceived, finely edificated. A cliff, a cave,
-five-score armed men. Not a vast power on the face of
-it to threaten a system or to shake a throne. Superficialities
-were fallacious, the surface false and fair as glistening
-ice. The forest hid more than a company of ruffians
-banded together to resist tyranny. Enthusiasm, genius,
-vigour, such torches, like a burning hovel, can fling a city
-into flame.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she was more than mocked by
-the swift vagaries of life. Two days of mordant realism
-had erased from her heart the dream visions of childhood.
-To be declared homeless, kinless, in one day; to be bereft
-of liberty the next! To what end? She stared round the
-richly-garnished room into which Fate had thrust her,
-fingered the pearl-set lute, gazed at her own face in the
-steel mirrors. She was the same woman, yet how
-differently circumstanced! Fulviac's mood had not hinted at
-love, or at any meaner jest. What power could he
-prophesy to his advantage in the mere fairness of her face?
-What was the gall of a woman's vengeance to a man who
-had conceived the downfall of a kingdom?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her knowledge of psychology was rustic in the extreme,
-and she had no wit for the unravelling of Fulviac's
-subtleties. There were certain convictions, however, that abode
-with her even in her ignorance. She could have taken oath
-that he was no mere swashbuckler, no captain of outlaws,
-no mere spoiler of men. Moreover, she believed him to be
-the possessor of some honour, and a large guerdon of virility.
-Lastly, pity appealed her as a sentiment not to be discarded.
-The man, whoever he might be, appeared desirous of
-putting his broad shoulders betwixt her and the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac grew perspicuous sooner than she could have
-prophesied. He had a fine, cloud-soaring way with him
-that seemed to ignore the mole-hills of common circumspection.
-He had wit enough also to impose his trust on
-others with a certain graceful confidence that carried bribery
-in the very generosity of its hardiness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>March was upon them like a spirit of discord, wild,
-riotous weather, with the wind thundering like storm-waves
-upon the cliff. The pines were buffeting each other in the
-forest, and reeling beneath the scourgings of the breeze.
-Fulviac came to the girl one windy noon, when the caverns
-were full of the breath of the storm. His manner to her
-seemed as a significant prelude, heralding the deep utterance
-of some human epic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took the girl by a winding stair leading from the
-guard-room--a stair that circled upwards in the thickness
-of the rock some hundred steps or more, and opened into a
-basin-shaped pit on the plateau above. Dwarf trees and
-briars domed the hollow, giving vision of a grey and hurrying
-sky. The pair climbed a second stair that led to a rock
-perched like a pulpit on the margin of the southern
-precipice. The wind swept gusty and tempestuous over the
-cliff. It tossed back the girl's hood, made her stagger; she
-would have fallen had not Fulviac gripped her arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Below stretched an interminable waste of trees, of bowing
-pine-tops, and dishevelled boughs. The dull green of the
-forest merged into the grey of the cloud-strewn sky. On
-either hand the craggy bulwarks of the cliffs stretched east
-and west, its natural bartisans and battlements topped by a
-cornice of mysterious pines. It was a superb scene, rich
-with a wild liberty, stirred by the wizard chanting of the
-wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac watched the girl as she stood limned against the
-grey curtain of the sky. Her hair blew about her white
-throat and shoulders in sombre streams; her eyes were very
-bright under their dusky lashes; and the wind had kissed a
-stronger colour into her cheeks. She was clad in a kirtle
-of laurel-green cloth, bound about the waist with a girdle
-of silver. A white kerchief lay like snow over her shoulders
-and bosom; her green sleeves were slashed and puffed with
-crimson.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wild country," he said, looking in her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wild as the sea."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a romanticist."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a curt laugh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"After what I have suffered!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Romance and sorrow go hand in hand. For the
-moment my words are more material. You see this cliff?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him and stood watching his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This cliff is the core of a kingdom. A granite wedge
-to hurl feudalism to ruins, to topple tyranny."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded slowly, with a grave self-reservation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have hinted that you are ambitious," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ambition would have stormed heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your ladder?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man made a strong gesture, like one who points a
-squadron to the charge. His eyes shone with a glint of
-grimness under his shaggy brows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The rabid discontent of the poor, fermenting ever under
-the crust of custom. The hate of the toiler for the fop
-and the fool. The iron that lies under the rusting
-injustice of riches. The storm-cry of a people's vengeance
-against the tyrant and the torturer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, solemn of face, groped diligently amid her
-surmises. The man was a visionary by his own showing;
-it was impossible to mistake him for a fool. Like all
-beings of uncommon power, he combined imagination
-with that huge vigour of mind that moves the world. A
-vast element of strength lay coiled in him, subtle, yet
-overpowering as the body of some great reptile. The girl felt
-the gradual magic of his might mesmerising her with the
-inevitableness of its approach.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have brought me here?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As I promised."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To tell you something of the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with a penetrating frankness that was
-in spirit--laudatory.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You put great trust in me," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I may trust the more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sat himself down on a ledge of rock, and proceeded
-to parade before her imagination such visions as were well
-conceived to daze the reason of a girl taken fresh from a
-forest hermitage. He spoke of riot, revolution, and
-revenge; painted Utopias established beneath the benediction
-of a just personal tyranny, a country purged of oppression,
-a kingdom cleansed of pride. He told of arms stored in the
-warrens of the cliff, of grain and salted meat sufficient for an
-army. He pointed out the vast strength of the place, the
-plateau approachable only by the stairway in the cliff, and the
-narrow causeway towards the west. He described it as
-sufficient for the gathering and massing of a great host.
-Finally, he swept his hand over the leagues of forestland,
-dark as the sea, isleting the place from the ken of the
-world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand me?" he said to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and waited with closed lips. He gazed at
-the horizon, and spoke in parables.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The King and the nobles are throned upon a pile of
-brushwood. A torch is plunged beneath; a tempest
-scourges the beacon into a furnace. The kingdom burns."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider me no mere visionary; I have the country at
-my back. For five years the work has gone on in secret. I
-have trusted nothing to chance. It needs a bold man to
-strike at a kingdom. I--Fulviac, am that man."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="vii"><span class="large">VII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The free city of Gilderoy climbed red-roofed up a rocky
-hill, a hill looped south-east and west by the blue breadth
-of the river Tamar. Its castle, coroneting the central
-rock, smote into the azure, a sheaf of glistening towers
-and turrets, vaned with gold. Lower still, the cathedral's
-sable crown brooded above a myriad red-tiled roofs and
-wooden gables. Many fair gardens blazoned the higher
-slopes of the city. Tall walls of grey stone ringed round
-the whole, grim and quaint with bartisan and turret. To
-the north, green meadows dipped to the billowy distance
-of the woods. The silver streak of the sea could be
-seen southwards from the platforms of the castle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gilderoy was a rich city and a populous, turbulent
-withal, holding honourable charters from the King,
-exceeding proud of its own freedom. Its Guilds were the
-wealthiest in all the south; the coffers of its Commune
-overflowed with gold. Nowhere was fairer cloth woven
-than in Gilderoy. Nowhere could be found more
-cunning smiths, more subtle armourers. The mansions
-of its rich merchant folk were wondrous opulent and
-great, bedight with goodly tapestry and all manner of rare
-furniture. Painters had gathered to it from the far south;
-its courtezans were the joy of the whole kingdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Two days after his confessions on the cliff, Fulviac
-took horse, mounted Yeoland on a white palfrey, and
-rode for Gilderoy through the forest. The man was
-upholstered as a merchant, in a plum-coloured cloak, a
-cap of sables, and a Venetian mail cape. Yeoland wore
-a light blue jupon edged with silver, a green kirtle, a
-cloak of brocaded Tartarin. She rode beside the man,
-demure as a daughter, her bridle of scarlet leather merry
-with silver bells. Two armed servants and some six
-packhorses completed the cavalcade.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had fallen into one of his silent moods that day.
-He was saturnine and enigmatic as though immersed in
-thought. The girl won nothing from him as to the
-purpose of their ride. They were for Gilderoy; thus much
-he vouchsafed her, and no more. She had a shrewd belief
-that he was for giving her tangible evidence of the
-hazardous schemes that were fermenting under the surface of
-silence, and that she was to learn more of the tempest
-that was gathering in the dark. Being tactful in her
-generation, she asked him no questions, and kept her
-conjectures to herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They broke their ride to pass the night at a wayside
-hostelry, where the road from Gambrevault skirted the
-forest. Holding on at their good leisure on the following
-day, they entered Gilderoy by the northern gate, towards
-evening, with the cathedral bell booming a challenge to
-the distant sea. Crossing the great square with its tall
-mansions of carved oak and chiselled stone, they plunged
-into a narrow highway that curled downhill under a
-hundred overhanging gables. Set back in a murky
-court, a tavern hung out its gilded sign over the cobbles,
-a Golden Leopard, that groaned in the wind on its rusty
-hinges. The inn's casements glowed red under the gloom
-of roof and bracket. Fulviac rode into its stone-paved
-court with its balustraded gallery, its carved stairways,
-its creaking lamps swaying under the high-peaked
-gables.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Their horses were taken by a lean groom, blessed with
-a most malevolent squint. On the lower step of the
-gallery stair stood a rotund little man, with a bunch of keys
-reposing on his stomach, the light from a lantern overhead
-shining on his bald pate, as on a half sphere of alabaster.
-He seemed to sweat beef and beer at every pore. Shuffling
-his feet, he tilted his double chin to the sky, as though he
-were conducting a monologue under the stars.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No brew yet," he hummed in a high falsetto, throaty
-and puling from so ponderous a carcase.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac set one foot on the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Prosper's wine, fat Jean," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The rotund soul turned his face suddenly earthwards,
-as though he had been jerked down by one leg out of heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, it is you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who else? What of the good folk of Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Packed like a crowd of rats in a drain. Will your
-honour sup?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood aside with a great sweep of the hand,
-and a garlic-ladened breath given full in Yeoland's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the lady, sire, a cup of purple; the roads are dry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac pushed up the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are late, and supped as we came. Your private
-cellar will suit us better."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of a truth, sire, most certainly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Send the men back with the horses; Damian has his
-orders, and your money-bag."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Rely on my dispatch, sire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, roll on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Jean, sweaty deity of pot and gridiron, took the keys
-from his girdle and a lantern from a niche in the wall.
-Going at a wheezy shuffle, he led them by a long passage
-and two circles of stairs to a cellar packed with hogsheads,
-tuns, and great vats of copper. From the first cellar a
-second opened, from the second, a third. In the last vault
-Jean rolled a cask from a corner, turned a flagstone on its
-side, showed them a narrow stairway descending into the dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took the lantern, made a sign to Jean, and passed
-down the stairway with Yeoland at his heels. The
-tavern-keeper remained above in the cellar, and closed the stone
-when the last gleam of the light had died down the stair.
-He rolled the cask back into its place, and felt his way
-back by cellar and stairway to the benignant glow of his
-own tavern room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac and the girl had descended the black well of the
-stair. Tunnels of gloom ran labyrinthine on every hand;
-a musty scent burdened the air, and fine sand covered the
-floor. Fulviac held the lantern shoulder-high, took
-Yeoland's wrist, and moved forward into a great gallery that
-sloped downwards into the depths of the rock. The place
-was silent as the death-chamber of a pyramid. The lantern
-fashioned fantastic shadows from the gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland held close to the man with an instinct towards
-trust that made her smile at her own thoughts. Fulviac
-had been in her life little more than a week; yet his
-unequivocating strength had won largely upon her liking--in
-no sentimental sense indeed, but rather with the calm
-command of power. Possibly she feared him a very little.
-Yet with the despair of a wrecked mariner she clung to
-him, in spirit, as she would have clung to a rock.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they passed down the gallery with the lantern swinging
-in Fulviac's hand, she began to question him with a
-quiet persistence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What place is this?" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For retort, Fulviac pointed her to the wall, and held the
-lantern to aid her scrutiny. The girl saw numberless
-recesses excavated in the rock; some had been bricked up
-and bore tablets; others were packed with grinning skulls.
-There were scattered paintings on the walls, symbolic
-daubs, or scenes from scriptural history. The place was
-meaningless to the girl, save that the dead seemed ever
-with them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled at her solemn face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The catacombs of the city of Gilderoy," he said;
-"yonder are the niches of the dead. These paintings were
-made by early folk, centuries ago. A veritable maze this,
-a gallery of skulls, a warren for ghosts to squeak in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland had turned to scan a tablet on the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We go to some secret gathering?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac laughed; the sound echoed through the passages
-with reverberating scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The same dark fable," he said, "telling of vaults and
-secret stairs, passwords and poniards, masks and murder.
-Remember, little sister, you are to be black and subtle to
-the heart's chords. This is life, not a romance or an
-Italian fable. We are men here. There is to be no strutting
-on the stage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl loitered a moment, as though her feet kept pace
-with her cogitations.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am content," she said, "provided I may eschew
-poison, nor need run a bodkin under some wretch's ribs."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be at peace on that score. I have not the heart to
-make a Rosamund of you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sudden out of a dark bye-passage, like a rat out of a
-hole, a man sprang at them and held a knife at Fulviac's
-throat. The mock merchant gave the password with great
-unconcern, putting his cap of sables back from off his face.
-The sentinel crossed himself, fell on one knee, and gave
-them passage. Turning a bluff buttress of stone, they
-came abruptly upon a short gallery that widened into a
-great circular chamber, pillared after the manner of a church.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A flare of torches harassed the shadowy vault, and played
-upon a thousand upturned faces that seemed to surge wave
-on wave out of the gloom. In the centre of the crypt
-stood an altar of black marble, and before it on the dais,
-a priest with a cowl down, a rough wooden crucifix in his
-hand. A knot of men in armour gleamed about the altar,
-ringing a clear space about the steps. Others, with drawn
-swords, kept the entries of the galleries leading to the
-cavern. A great quiet hung over the place, a silence solid as
-the rock above.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A group of armed men waited for Fulviac at the main
-entry to the crypt. He merged into their ranks, exchanging
-signs and words in an undertone with one who seemed
-in authority. The ring of figures pressed through the
-crowd towards the altar, Fulviac and Yeoland in their
-midst. Fulviac mounted the steps, and drew the girl up
-beside him. He uncovered his face to the mob with the
-gesture of a king uncovering to his people.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The press swayed suddenly like the black waters of a
-lake, stirred by the rush of flood water through a broken
-dam. The ring of armed men gave up the shout with a
-sweeping of swords and a clangour of harness. The great
-cavern took up the cry, reverberating it from its thundering
-vault. A thousand hands were thrust up, as of the dead
-rising from the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland watched the man's face with a mute kindling
-of enthusiasm. As she gazed, it beaconed forth a new
-dignity to her that she had never seen thereon before. A
-sudden grandeur of strength glowed from its weather-beaten
-features. The mouth and jaw seemed of iron; the eyes
-were full of a stormy fire. It was the face of a man
-transfigured, throned above himself on the burning pinnacle of
-power. He towered above the mob like some granite god,
-colossal in strength, colossal in courage. His manhood
-flamed out, a watch-fire to the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the cry dwindled, the priest, who still kept his cowl
-down over his face, held his crucifix on high, and broke
-into the strident cadence of a rebel ballad. The people
-followed as by instinct, knowing the song of old. Many
-hundred voices gathered strenuously into the flood, the
-massed roar rolling through the great crypt, echoing along
-the galleries like the sound of some subterranean stream.
-It was a deep chant and a stirring, strong with the strength
-of the storm wind, fanatic as the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The silence that fell at the end thereof was the more
-solemn in contrast to the thundering stanzas of the hymn.
-Under the flare of the torches, Fulviac stood forward to
-turn the task from the crucifix to the sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A billow of cheering dashed again to the roof.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man suffered the cry to die into utter silence,
-before leaping into a riot of words, a harangue that had more
-justification in it than appeal. His voice filled the cavern
-with its volume and depth. It was more the voice of a
-captain thundering commands to a squadron of horse than
-the declamatory craft of the orator. Fulviac knew the
-mob, that they were rough and turbulent, and loved a
-demagogue. Scholastic subtleties could never fill their
-stomachs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of Gilderoy, I come to you with the sword.
-Bombast, bombast, come hither all, I'll laden ye with
-devilry, puff you up with pride. Ha, who is for being
-strong, who for being master? Listen to me. Damnation
-and death, I have the kingdom in the palm of my
-hand. Liberty, liberty, liberty. We strike for the people.
-Geraint is ours; Gore is ours; all the southern coast
-waits for the beacons. Malgo of the Mountain holds the
-west like a storm cloud under his cloak. The east raves
-against the King. Good. Who is for the stronger side,
-for Fulviac, liberty, and the people?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He halted a moment, took breath, quieted all clamour
-with a sweep of the hand, plunged on again like a great
-carrack buffeting tall billows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are there spies here? By God, let them listen well,
-and save their skins. Go and tell what ye have heard.
-Set torch to tinder. Blood and fire, the country would
-be in arms before the King could stir. No, no, there are
-no spies in Gilderoy; we are all brothers here. By my
-sword, sirs, I swear to you, that before harvest tide, we
-shall sweep the nobles into the sea."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A great shout eddied up to answer him. Fulviac's
-voice pierced it like a trumpet cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Liberty, liberty, and the people!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sound can intoxicate as well as wine. The thunder of
-war, the bray of clarions, can fire even the heart of the
-coward. The mob swirled about the altar of black marble,
-vociferous and eager. Torches rocked to and fro in the
-cavern; shadows leapt grotesquely gigantic over the rough
-groinings of the roof. Yet Fulviac had further and fiercer
-fuel for the fire. At a sign from him, the circle of armed
-men parted; two peasants stumbled forward bearing a
-cripple in their arms. They carried him up the steps and
-set him upon the altar before all the people, supporting
-him as he stared round upon the sea of faces.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was a shrivelled being, yellow, black of eye, cadaverous.
-He looked like a man who had wallowed for years
-among toads in a pit, and had become as one of them.
-His voice was cracked and querulous, as he brandished
-a claw of a hand and screamed at the crowd.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at me, mates and brothers. Five years ago I
-was a tall man and lusty. I forbade the Lord of Margradel
-my wife. They racked and branded me, tossed me into a
-stinking pit. I am young, young. I shall never walk
-again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A woman rushed from the crowd, grey-haired, fat, and
-bloated. She climbed the altar steps, and stretched out her
-hands in a kind of frenzy towards the people.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at me, men of Gilderoy. Last spring I had a
-daughter, a clean wench as ever danced. Seek her from
-John of Brissac and his devils. Ha, good words these for
-a mother. Men of Gilderoy, remember your children."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's pageant gathered grimly before the mob. A
-blind man tottered up and pointed to his sightless eyes.
-A girl held up an infant, and told shrilly of its father's
-murder. One fellow displayed a tongueless mouth;
-another, a face distorted by the iron; a third had lost nose
-and ears; a fourth showed arms shrivelled and contracted
-by fire. It was a sinister appeal, strong yet piteous. The
-tyranny of the age showed in the bodies of these wronged
-and mutilated beings. They had been mere carrion tossed
-under the iron heel of power. The granite car of ruthless
-opulence and passion had crushed them under its reddened
-wheels.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At a gesture from Fulviac, the priest upon the steps
-threw back his cowl and stood forward in the torchlight.
-His face was the face of a zealot, fanatical, sanguine,
-lined with an energy that was prophetic of power. His
-eyes smouldered under their straight black brows. His
-hands, white and bony, quivered as he stretched them out
-towards the people.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They knew him on the instant; their clamour told as
-much. Often had the shadow of that thin figure fallen
-athwart the parched highways of stricken cities. Often
-had those hands tended death, those lips smitten awe into
-the souls of the drunkard and the harlot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Prosper, Prosper the Preacher!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There rang a rude, rough joy in the clamour that was
-spontaneous and eloquent. It was the heart's cry of the
-people, wild, trusting, and passionate. Men and women broke
-through the circle of armed men, cast themselves upon the
-altar steps, kissed the friar's gown, and fawned on him.
-He put them back with a certain awkward dignity, and a
-hot colour upon his almost boyish face. The man had a
-fine humility, though the strenuous ideals of his soul ran in
-fire to the zenith.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Anon he signed a benediction, and a hush descended on
-the place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God's peace to you, people of Gilderoy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The clamour revived.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Preach to us, preach to us!" came the cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar stretched forth his hands; his voice rang
-strong and strident over the packed upturned faces.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Children, what need have we of words! To-night
-have we not seen enough to scourge the manhood in us,
-to bear forth the Holy Cross of war? The evil beast is
-with us even yet; Mammon the Mighty treads you under
-foot. Ye saints, what cause more righteous since the
-martyrs fell? Look on these scars, these wrongs, these
-agonies. Preach! I am dumb beside such witnesses as
-these."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The crypt thundered to him when he lowered his hands.
-It was the cry of men bankrupt of liberty, thirsty for
-revenge. Fulviac grappled the climax, and stood forward
-with uplifted sword. His lion's roar sounded above the
-din.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, people of Gilderoy," he cried, "go--but
-remember. When castles burn, and bolts scream, when spears
-splinter, and armies crash to the charge, remember your
-children and your wrongs. Strike home for God, and for
-your liberty."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="viii"><span class="large">VIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The crowd had streamed from the cavern, swirling like
-black water under the tossing torches, the hollow galleries
-reverberating to the rush of many feet. Prosper had gone,
-borne away by the seditious captains of the Commune and
-the armed burghers who had guarded the entries. A great
-silence had fallen upon the crypt. Fulviac and the girl
-were left by the altar of black marble, their one lamp
-burning solitary in the gulf of gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had the air of a man whose favourite hawk had
-flown with fettle, and brought her quarry tumbling out of
-the clouds. He was warm with the zest of it, and his
-tawny eyes sparkled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"May the Virgin smile on us!" he said. "Gilderoy
-will serve our ends."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's eyes searched him gravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You make holy war," she charged him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my sister, it is well to profess a strong conviction
-in the justice of one's cause. Tell men they are heroes,
-patriots, martyrs, and you will make good fighting stuff.
-Applaud fanaticism, make great parade of righteousness,
-hail the Deity as patron, assemble all the saints under your
-banner. Ha, trust me, that is a way to topple a kingdom.
-Come, we must stir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By many labyrinthine passages, strange galleries of death,
-they passed together from the dark deeps of the catacombs.
-At one point the roof shone silvered as with dew, and the
-air stood damp as in a marsh on a winter's eve. The river
-Tamar flowed above them in its rocky bed, so Fulviac told
-the girl. Anon they came out by a narrow stair that
-opened by a briar-grown throat into a thicket of old oaks
-in the Gilderoy meadows. The stairhead was covered by
-a species of stone trap that could be covered and
-concealed by sods. In the thicket a man awaited them with
-the bridles of three horses over his arm. Fulviac held
-Yeoland's stirrup, and they rode out, the three of them,
-from under the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A full moon swam in a purple black sky amid a shower
-of shimmering stars. Gilderoy, with its climbing towers
-and turrets, stood out white under the moon. The city
-walls gleamed like alabaster in the magic glow. In the
-meadows the ringlets of the river glimmered. Far and
-distant rose the nebulous midnight of the woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had bared his head to an inconstant and torpid
-breeze. They were riding for the west along a bridle track
-that curled grey and dim through the sombre meadows.
-The calm, soundless vault of the world rose now in
-contrast to the canopies of stone and the passion-throes of the
-catacombs. Human moil and effort seemed infinitely little
-under the eternal scrutiny of the stars. So thought the
-man for the moment, as he rode with his chin sunk upon
-his breast, watching keenly the girl at his side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland was young. All the roses of youth were budding
-about her soul; idealism, like the essence of crushed
-violets, hovered heavy over the world. Her soul as yet
-was no frayed and listless lute, thrummed into discords by
-the bony hand of care. She was built for love, a temple
-of white marble, lit by lamps of rubeous glory. Colours
-flashed through the red sanctuaries of the flesh. Yet pain
-and great woe had smitten her. The grim destinies of
-earth seemed bent on thrusting an innocent pilgrim into
-the turbulent contradictions of life.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pageant in the catacombs that night had stirred her
-strangely beyond belief. The fantastic faces, the zeal, the
-hot words of gesturing enthusiasm, these were things new
-to her, therefore the more vivid and convincing. New
-worlds, new passions, seemed to burst into being under the
-stars. She was utterly silent as she rode, looking forth
-into the night. Her hood had fallen back; her face shone
-white and clear; her eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
-Fulviac, like a chess-player who had evolved some subtle
-scheme, rode and watched her with a smile deep in his
-eyes. For the moment he was content to leave her to the
-magic of her own thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At certain rare seasons in life, virgin light floods down
-into the heart, as from some oriel opened in heaven. The
-world stands under a grander scheme of chiaroscuro; men
-comprehend where they once scoffed. It was thus that
-Yeoland rose inspired, like a spiritual Venus from a sea of
-dreams. As molten glass is shaped speedily into fair and
-exquisite device, so the red wax of her heart had taken the
-impress of the hour. Gilderoy had stirred her like a
-blazoned page of romance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac caught the girl's half glance at him; read in
-measure the meaning of her mood. Her lips were half
-parted as though she had words upon her tongue, but still
-hesitated from some scruple of pride. He straightened in
-the saddle, and waited for her to unbosom to him with a
-confident reserve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said at length, since she still lingered in her
-silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How much one may learn in a day," she answered,
-drawing her white palfrey nearer to his horse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac agreed with her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The man on the end of the rope," he said, "learns in
-two minutes that which has puzzled philosophers since
-Adam loved Eve."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him with an eagerness that was almost
-passionate even in its suppressed vigour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How long was it before you came to pity your fellows?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some minutes, not more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the conversion?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall satisfy you one day. For the present I will
-buckle up so unsavoury a fable in my bosom. Tell me
-what you have learnt at Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland looked at the moon. The man saw great sadness
-upon her face, but also an inspired radiance that made
-its very beauty the more remarkable. He foresaw in an
-instant that they were coming to deeper matters.
-Superficialities, the mannerisms of life, were falling away. The
-girl's heart beat near to his; he felt a luminous sympathy
-of spirit rise round them like the gold of a Byzantine
-background.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said, with a burst of beneficence, "you are
-beginning to understand me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She jerked a swift glance at him, like the look of a
-half-tamed falcon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a man, for all your sneers and vapourings."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a heart once. Call me an oak, broken, twisted,
-aged, but an oak still."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland drew quite close to him, so that her skirt almost
-brushed his horse's flank. Fulviac's shadow fell athwart
-her. Only her face shone clear in the moonlight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have ceased," she said, "to look upon life as a stretch
-of blue, a laughing dawn."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have learnt that woe is the crown of years."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That life is full of violence and wrong."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A platitude. Yes. Life consists in learning platitudes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am only one woman among thousands."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A revelation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You jeer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so. Few women learn the truth of your proverb."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lastly, my trouble is not the only woe in the world.
-That it is an error to close up grief in the casket of
-self."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac flapped his bridle, and looked far ahead into the
-cavern of the night. He was silent awhile in thought.
-When he spoke again, he delivered himself of certain curt
-cogitations, characteristic confessions that were wholly
-logical.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a selfish vagabond," he said; "I appeal to Peter's
-keys whether all ambition is not selfish. I am an egotist
-for the good of others. The stronger my ambition, the
-stronger the hope of the land in generous justice. I live
-to rule, to rule magnanimously, yet with an iron sceptre.
-There, you have my creed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And God?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is a most useful subordinate."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not mean that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw again the mutilated beings in the catacombs,
-aye, even her own home flaming to the sky, and the white
-face of her dead father. Faith and devotion were great
-in her for the moment. Divine vengeance beaconed over
-the world, a torch borne aloft by the hand of Pity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is God's war," she said to him with a finer solemnity
-sounding in her voice; "you have stirred the woman in
-me. Is that enough?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough," he answered her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God shall make all plain in due season."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gilderoy had dwindled into the east; its castle's towers
-still netted the moonlight from afar. The meadowlands
-had ceased, and trees strode down in multitudes to guard
-the track. The night was still and calm, with a whisper
-of frost in the crisp, sparkling air. The world seemed
-roofed with a dome of dusky steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before them a shallow valley lay white in the light of
-the moon. Around climbed the glimmering turrets of the
-trees, rank on rank, solemn and tumultuous. The bare
-gable ends of a ruined chapel rose in the valley. Fulviac
-drew aside by a bridle path that ran amid rushes. To the
-left, from the broken wall of the curtilage, a great beech
-wood ascended, its boughs black against the sky, its floor
-ankle-deep with fallen leaves. The chapel stood roofless
-under the moon. Hollies, a sable barrier that glistened in
-the moonlight, closed the ruin on the south. Yews cast
-their gloom about the walls. A tall cross in the forsaken
-graveyard stretched out its mossy arms east and west.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The armed groom took the horses and tethered them
-under a clump of pines by the wall. Fulviac and the girl
-Yeoland passed up through weeds and brambles to the
-porch. A great briar rose had tangled the opening with a
-thorny web, as though to hold the ruin from the hand of
-man. The tiled floor was choked with grass; a rickety door
-drooped rotten on its rusty hinges.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac pushed through and beckoned the girl to follow.
-Within, all was ruinous and desolate, the roof fallen, the
-casements broken.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We must find harbour here," said the man, "our horses
-go far to-morrow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A cheerful hostel, this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Its wildness makes it safe. You fear the cold. I'll
-see to that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I am hungry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The high altar still stood below the small rose window
-in the east, where the rotting fragments of a triptych hid
-the stonework. There was a great carved screen of stone
-on either side, curiously recessed as though giving access to
-an ambulatory. The altar stood in dense shadow, with
-broken timber and a tangle of briars ringing a barrier about
-its steps. On the southern side of the nave, a patch of
-tiled flooring still stood riftless, closed in by two fallen
-pillars. The groom came in with two horse-cloaks, and
-Fulviac spread them on the tiles. He also gave her a small
-flask of wine, and a silver pyx holding meat and bread.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We crusaders must not grumble at the rough lodging,"
-he said to her; "wrap yourself in these cloaks, and play the
-Jacob with a stone pillow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled slightly in her eyes. The groom brought in
-a saddle, ranged it with a saddle cloth covering it, that it
-might rest her head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" she said to Fulviac.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Damian and I hold the porch."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will be cold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a thick hide. The Lady of Geraint give you
-good rest!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He threaded his way out amid the fallen stones and
-pillars, and closed the rickety gate. The groom, a tall
-fellow in a battered bassinet and a frayed brigantine, stood
-by the yew trees, as on guard. Fulviac gestured to him.
-The man moved away towards the eastern end of the
-chapel, where laurels grew thick and lusty about the walls.
-When he returned Fulviac was sitting hunched on a fallen
-stone in the corner of the porch, as though for sleep. The
-man dropped a guttural message into his master's ear, and
-propped himself in the other angle of the porch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An hour passed; the moon swam past the zenith towards
-the west; a vast quiet watched over the world, and no
-wind rippled in the woods. In the sky the stars shivered,
-and gathered more closely their silver robes. In the
-curtilage the ruined tombs stared white and desolate at the
-moon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An owl's cry sounded in the woods. Sudden and strange,
-as though dropped from the stars, faint music quivered on
-the frost-brilliant air. It gathered, died, grew again, with a
-mysterious flux of sweetness, as of some song stealing from
-the Gardens of the Dead. Flute, cithern, and viol were
-sounding under the moon, merging a wizard chant into the
-magic of the hour. Angels, crimson-winged, in green
-attire, seemed to descend the burning stair of heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden great radiance lit the ruin, a glory of gold
-streaming from the altar. Cymbals clashed; waves of
-shimmering light surged over the broken walls. Incense,
-like purple smoke, curled through the casements. The
-music rushed in clamorous rapture to the stars. A voice
-was heard crying in the chapel, elfin and wild, yet full of a
-vague rich sanctity. It ceased sudden as the brief moan of a
-prophecy. The golden glow elapsed; the music sank to
-silence. Nought save the moonlight poured in silver
-omnipotence over the ruin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the chapel came the sound of stumbling footsteps
-amid the stones. A hand clutched at the rotting door,
-jerked it open, as in terror. The girl Yeoland came out
-into the porch, and stood swaying white-faced in the
-shadow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was hoarse and whispering, strained as the
-overwrought strings of a lute. The man did not stir. She
-bent down, dragged at his cloak, calling to him with a quick
-and gathering vehemence. He shook himself, as from the
-thongs of sleep, stood up and stared at her. The groom
-still crouched in the dark corner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust her way through the briars into the moonlight.
-Her hood had fallen back, her hair loose upon her
-shoulders; her eyes were full of a supernatural stupor, and
-she seemed under the spell of some great shock of awe.
-She trembled so greatly, that Fulviac followed her, and held
-her arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak. What has chanced to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She still shook like some flower breathed upon by the
-oracular voice of God. Her hands were torn and bloody
-from the thorns.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin has appeared to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some ghost or phantom."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, hear me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stretched out her hands like one smitten blind, and
-took breath swiftly in sudden gasps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me, I was but asleep, woke, and heard music.
-The Virgin came out upon the altar, her face like the
-moon, her robes white as the stars. There was great light,
-great glory. And she spoke to me. Mother of God, what
-am I that I should be chosen thus!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak. Can this be true?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth, the truth!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac fell on his knees with a great gesture of awe.
-The girl, her face turned to the moon, stood quivering
-like a reed, her lips moving as if in prayer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Her message, child?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it was this: 'Go forth a virgin, and lead the hosts
-of the Lord.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's face was in shadow. He thrust up his hands
-to the heavens, but would not so much as glance at the
-girl above him. His voice rang out in the silence of the
-night:--</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gloria tibi, Sancta Maria! Gloria tibi, Domine!"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="ix"><span class="large">IX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Faith, golden crown of the Christian! Self-mesmerism,
-subtle alchemy of the mind! How the balance of belief
-swings between these twain!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A spiritual conception born in a woman's brain is as a
-savour of rich spices sweetening all the world. How great
-a power of obstinacy stirs in one small body! A pillar of
-fire, a shining grail. She will bring forth the finest gems
-that hang upon her bosom, the ruby of heroism, the
-sapphire of pity. She will cast all her store of gold into the
-lap of Fate. Give to her some radiant dream of hope, and
-she may prove the most splendid idealist, even if she do
-not prove a wise one. Remember the women who watched
-about the Cross of Christ.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There had been trickery in the miracle, a tinge of flesh
-in the vision. The Virgin, in the ruck of religion, had
-suffered herself to be personated by a clever little "player"
-from Gilderoy, aided and idealised by a certain notorious
-charlatan who dealt in magic, was not above aiding
-ecclesiastical mummeries on occasions, and conspiring for the
-solemn production of miracles. A priest's juggling box,
-a secret door at the back of the altar used in bygone days
-for the manipulation of a wonder-working image, musicians,
-incense, and Greek fire. These had made the portent
-possible. As for Fulviac, rugged plotter, he was as grave as
-an abbot over the business; his words were wondrous
-beatific; he spoke of the interventions of Heaven with bated
-breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a superstitious age, touched with phantasy and
-gemmed with magic. Relics were casketed in gold and
-silver; holy blood amazed with yearly liquefactions the
-souls of the devout; dreamers gazed into mirrors,
-crystals, finger-nails, for visions of heaven. Jewels were
-poured in scintillant streams at the white feet of the
-Madonna. It was all done with rare mysticism, colour,
-and rich music. The moon ruled marriage, corn, and
-kine. The saints, like a concourse of angels, walked
-with melancholy splendour through the wilds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she had the heart of a woman
-in the noblest measure, a red heart, pure yet passionate.
-The world waxed prophetic that shrill season. She was
-as full of dreams and phantasies as an astrologer's missal.
-Nothing amazed her, and yet all earth was mysterious.
-The wind spoke in magic syllables; the trees were
-oracular; the stars, white hands tracing symbols in the
-sky. She was borne above herself on the pinions of
-ecstasy, heard seraph wings sweep the air, saw the
-glimmer of their robes passing the portals of the night.
-Mysticism moved through the world like the sound of
-lutes over a moonlit sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One March morning, Fulviac came to her in the
-northern chamber of the cliff. Yeoland had masses of
-scarlet cloth and threads of gold upon her knees, for she
-was broidering a banner, the banner of the Maid of
-Gilderoy. Her eyes were full of violet shadow. She
-wore a cross over her bosom, emeralds set in silver; a
-rosary, dangling on her wrist, told how her prayers kept
-alternate rhythm with her fingers. Fulviac crooked the
-knee to the crucifix upon the wall, sat down near her on
-a rich bench of carved cedar wood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man was in a beneficent mood, and beamed on
-her like a lusty summer. He had tidings on his tongue,
-tidings that he hoarded with the craft of an epicure. It
-was easy to mark when the world trundled well with his
-humour. He put forth smiles like a great oak whose
-boughs glisten in the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tire yourself, little sister."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with one of her solemn glances, a
-glance that spoke of vigils, soul-searchings, and prayer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My fingers tire before my heart," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest, rest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I seem weary to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, you are fresh as the dawn."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He brushed back the tawny hair from off his forehead,
-and the lines about his mouth softened.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have news from the west."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We gather and spread like fire in a forest. The
-mountain men are with us, ready to roll down from the
-hills with hauberk and sword. In two months Malgo
-will have sent the bloody cross through all the west."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The golden thread ran through the girl's white fingers;
-the beads of her rosary rattled; she seemed to be
-weaving the destiny of a kingdom into the device upon her
-banner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How is it with us here?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a thousand stout men and true camped upon
-the cliff. Levies are coming in fast, like steel to a
-magnet. In a month we shall outbulk a Roman
-legion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gilderoy and Geraint will give us a score thousand
-pikemen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The stars fight for us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac took her lute from the carved bench and began
-to thrum the chords of an old song.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>"Spears crash, and swords clang,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Fame maddens the world.</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Come battle and love.</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>Iseult--</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="line"><span>Ah, Iseult."</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>He broke away with a last snap at the strings, and set the
-lute aside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bear with me," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her dark eyes questioned him over her banner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I offer you the first victim."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Flavian of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An indefinite shadow descended upon the girl's face.
-The inspired radiance seemed dimmed for the moment;
-the crude realism of her thoughts rang in discord to her
-dreams. She lost the glimmering thread from her needle.
-Her hands trembled a little as she played with the scarlet
-folds of the banner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A lad of mine bears news--a black-eyed rogue from
-the hills of Carlyath, sharp as a sword's point, quaint as
-an elf. I sent him gleaning, and he has done bravely.
-You would hear his tale from his own lips?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and seemed distraught.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Bring him in to me," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac left her, to return with a slim youth sidling in
-behind him like a shadow. The lad had a nut-brown
-skin and ruddy cheeks, a pair of twinkling eyes, a thatch
-of black hair over his forehead. Bred amid the hills of
-Carlyath, where the women were scarlet Eves, and the
-land a paradise, he had served in Gilderoy as apprentice
-to an armourer. Carlyath's wilds and the city's roguery
-had mingled in him fantastic strains of extravagant
-sentiment and cunning. Half urchin, half elf, he stood with
-bent knees and slouched shoulders, his black eyes alert on
-Fulviac, his lord.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man thrust him forward by the collar, with an
-eloquent gesture.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The whole tale. Try your wit."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Carlyath lad advanced one foot, and with an
-impudent southern smirk, remarked--</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This, madame, is an infatuated world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, sententiously delivered, he plunged into a declamation
-with a picturesque and fanciful extravagance that
-he had imbibed from the strolling romancers of his own land.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In the city of Gilderoy," he said, speaking very volubly
-and with many gestures, "there lives a lady of surpassing
-comeliness. Her eyes are as the sky, her cheeks as June
-roses, her hair a web of gold. She is a right fair lady, and
-daily she sits at her broad casement, singing, and plaiting
-her hair into shackles of gold. She has bound the Lord
-Flavian of Gambrevault in a net starred with poppies,
-scarlet poppies of the field, so that he ever dreams dreams of
-scarlet, and sees visions of lips warm as wine. Daily the
-Lord Flavian scours the country between Avalon and the
-fair city of Gilderoy, till the very dust complains of his
-fury, and the green grass curses his horse's heels. But the
-lady with the hair of gold compasses him like the sunset;
-she has stolen the eyes of heaven, and the stars are blind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smiled over the extreme subtlety of the rendering.
-It was a delicate matter, delicately handled. The
-Carlyath lad had wit, and a most seraphic tongue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What more?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is yet another lady at Avalon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A lady whose name is Duessa, a lady with black hair
-and a blacker temper. Lord Flavian has a huge horror of
-her tongue. Therefore he rides like a thief, without
-trumpets, to Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The lad spread his hands with an inimitable gesture,
-shrugged, and heaved a most Christian sigh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Duessa is the Lord Flavian's wife," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Therefore, sire, he is a coward."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The lad drew back with a bow and a scrape of the foot,
-keeping his eyes on the floor with the discretion of a
-veteran lackey. At a sign from Fulviac, he slipped away, and
-left Yeoland and the man alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl's hands were idle in her lap; the great scarlet
-banner trailed in rich folds about her feet. There was a
-white mask of thought upon her face, and her eyes searched
-the distance with an oblivious stare. All the strong
-discords of the past rushed clamorous to her brain; her
-consecrated dreams were as so many angels startled by the
-assaults of hell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rose from her chair, cast the casement wide, and
-stood gazing over the forest. Youth seemed in the breeze,
-and the clear voice of the Spring. The green woods surged
-with liberty; the strong zest of life breathed in their bosoms.
-In the distance the pines seemed to beckon to her, to wave
-their caps in windy exultation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had stood watching her with the calm scrutiny
-of one wise in the passionate workings of the soul. He
-suffered her to possess her thoughts in silence for a season,
-to come by a steady comprehension of the past. Presently
-he gathered the red banner, and hung it on the frame, went
-softly to her and touched her sleeve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall they kill him on the road?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She pondered a moment, and did not answer him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easy," he said, "and a matter of sheer justice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The words seemed to steel her decision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said, "let them bring him here--to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So be it," he answered her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac found her cold and taciturn, desirous of solitude.
-He humoured the mood, and she was still staring from the
-window when he left her. The woodland had melted
-before her into an oblivious mist. In its stead she saw a
-tower flaming amid naked trees, a white face staring
-heavenwards with the marble tranquillity of death.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="x"><span class="large">X</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Down through the woods of Avalon rode the Lord Flavian
-of Gambrevault, down towards the forest track in the grey
-face of the dawn. In the meadows and beyond the orchards,
-water shone, and towers stood mistily. The voice of Spring
-pulsed in the air, songs of green woods, the wild wine of
-violets, pavements of primrose gold. Birds piped lustily in
-wood and thicket, and the ascending sun lavished his
-glittering archery from the chariots of the clouds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord Flavian was inordinately cheerful that
-morning, as he rode in green and red through the prophetic
-woods. Heart and weather were in kindred keeping, and
-his youth sang like a brook after April rains. The woods
-danced in dew. Far on its rocky hill the towers of
-Gilderoy would soon beckon him above the trees. Beneath the
-shadow of the cathedral tower stood a gabled house with
-gilded vanes and roofs of generous red. There in Gilderoy,
-in a room hung with cloth of purple and gold, white arms
-waited, and the bosom of a golden Helen held love like a
-red rose in a pool of milky spikenard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Picture a slim but muscular man with the virile figure of
-a young David, a keen, smooth face, a halo of brown hair,
-eyes eloquent as a woman's. Picture a good grey horse
-trapped in red and green, full of fettle as a colt, burly as a
-bull. Picture the ermined borderings, the jewelled clasps,
-brigantine of quilted velvet, fur-lined bassinet bright as a
-star. Youth, clean, adventurous, aglow to the last finger-tip,
-impetuous to the tune of thirty breaths a minute. Youth
-with all its splendid waywardness, its generosities, its
-immense self-intoxications. Youth with the voice of a Golden
-Summer in its heart, and for its plume the gorgeous fires
-of eve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Wealth often breeds apathy and parsimonious instincts.
-It is the beggar whose purse bursts with joy, whose soul
-blazes generous red upon the clouds. As for Flavian of
-Gambrevault and Avalon, he was rich but no miser, proud
-yet not haughty, sanguine but not vicious. Like many a
-man inspired by an instinctive idealism, his heart ran before
-his reason: they not having come cheek by jowl as in later
-years. He was very devout, yet very worldly; very ardent,
-yet over hasty. Mark him then, a lovable fool in the eyes
-of philosophy; a cup of mingled wine, both white and red.
-He was a great lord; yet his serfs loved him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's parents, good folk, had been blessed
-with aspirations. Gambrevault and Avalon had bulked
-very gloriously under the steel-blue vault of pride.
-Moreover, their daughter was a sensuous being, who panted for
-poetic surroundings, and lived to music. A boy of twenty;
-a passionate, dark-eyed, big-bosomed houri of twenty and
-five; bell, book, and ring--such had been the bridal
-bargain consummated on church principles five years ago or
-more. A youth of twenty is not supremely wise concerning
-the world, or his own heart. The Lord Flavian's
-marriage had not proved a magic blessing to him. Parentally
-sealed marriage deeds are the edicts of the devil.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quickly are the mighty fallen, and the chalices of love
-broken. It was no mere chance ambuscade that waited
-open-mouthed for Flavian, Lord of Gambrevault and
-Avalon, Warden of the Southern Marches, Knight of the Order
-of the Rose, as he rode that morning to Gilderoy, a
-disciple of Venus. In a certain perilous place, the road ran
-betwixt walls of rock, and under the umbrage of overhanging
-trees. Twenty men with pike and gisarme swarming
-out of the woods; a short scuffle and a stabbed horse; a
-gag in the mouth, a bandage over the eyes, a mule's back,
-half a dozen thongs of stout leather. That same evening
-the Lord Flavian was brought like a bale of merchandise
-into Fulviac's guard-room, and tumbled on a heap of straw
-in a corner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were grim men, these forest rangers, not given
-to pity, or the light handling of a feud. A poniard point
-was their pet oath, a whip of the sword the best word with
-an enemy. They bit their thumb nails at creation, and
-were not gentle in the quest of a creed. Fulviac heard
-their news, and commended them. They were like the
-ogres of the old fables; the red blood of a lusty aristocrat
-smelt fresh for the sword's supper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland was at her prayer-desk with a
-blazoned breviary under her fingers, when Fulviac came to
-her with tidings of the day's capture. She knelt with her
-hands crossed upon her bosom, as Fulviac stood in the
-darkened doorway. To the man she appeared as the
-Madonna in some picture of the Annunciation, the yellow
-light from the lamp streaming down upon her with a lustre
-of sanctity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They have brought the boar home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay; but his corpse candle walks the cavern."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For the girl it was a descent from spiritual themes to
-the stark realism of life. She left her prayer-desk with a
-little sigh. Her hands trembled as she drew a scarlet cloak
-about her, and fastened it with a girdle of green leather.
-Her eyes dwelt on Fulviac's face with a species of dusky
-pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Whither?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To judge him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not before all, not in the guard-room."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave it to me," he said. "Be forewarned. We deal
-with no mere swashbuckler."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They went together to Fulviac's parlour, where a great
-brazen lamp hung from the roof, and a book bound in
-black leather lay chained on the table. Yeoland took the
-man's carved chair, while he stood behind her leaning on
-the rail. She was paler than was her wont. Now and
-again she pressed a hand to her breast, as though to stay
-the too rapid beating of her heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Two guards bearing partisans came in from the guard-room
-with a man bound and blindfold between them. A
-third followed, bearing a two-handed sword naked over his
-shoulder. He was known as Nord of the Hammer, an
-armourer like to a Norse Volund, burly, strong as a bear.
-The door was barred upon them. One of the guards
-plucked the cloth from the bound man's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the malicious imagery of thought, Yeoland had often
-pictured to herself this Flavian of Gambrevault, a coarse,
-florid ruffian, burly and brutal, a fleshly demigod in the
-world of feudalism. So much for conjecture. What she
-beheld was a straight-lipped, clean-limbed man, slim as a
-cypress, supple as good steel. The face was young yet
-strong, the grey eyes clear and fearless. Moreover there
-was a certain lonely look about him that invoked pity, and
-angered her in an enigmatic way. She was wrath with
-him for being what he was, for contradicting the previous
-imaginings of her mind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian of Gambrevault stood bound before her, an
-aristocrat of aristocrats, outraged in pride, yet proud beyond
-complaint. The self-mastery of his breeding kept him a
-stately figure despite his tumbling and his youth, one
-convinced of lordship and the powerful splendour of his name.
-The whole affair to him was illogical, preposterous,
-insolent. A gentleman of the best blood in the kingdom could
-not be hustled out of his dignity by the horse-play of a
-bevy of cut-throats.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Possibly the first vision to snare the man's glance was
-the elfin loveliness of the girl, who sat throned in the great
-chair as on a judgment seat. He marked the rose-white
-beauty of her skin, her sapphire eyes gleaming black in
-certain lights, her ebon hair bound with a fillet of sky-blue
-leather. Moreover, it was plain to the man in turn that
-this damoisel in the red gown was deciphering his features
-in turn with a curiosity that was no vapid virtue. As for
-Fulviac, he watched them both with his amber-brown eyes,
-eyes that missed no movement in the mask of life. To
-him the scene under the great brazen lamp was a study in
-moods and emotions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The aristocrat was the first to defy the silence. He had
-stared round the room at his leisure, and at each of its
-motionless figures in turn. The great sword, slanted in
-gleaming nakedness over Nord's shoulder, appeared to
-fascinate him for the moment. Despite his ambiguous
-sanctity, he showed no badge of panic or distress.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Ignoring the woman, he challenged Fulviac, who leant
-upon the chair rail, watching him with an enigmatic
-smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodman in the red doublet," quoth he, "when you
-have stared your fill at me, I will ask you to read me
-the moral of this fable."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stroked his chin with the air of a man who
-holds an adversary at some subtle disadvantage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," he said, "address yourself to madame--here;
-you are her affair in the main."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Warden of the Southern Marches bowed as by
-habit. His grey eyes reverted to Yeoland's face, searching
-it with a certain courteous curiosity that took her beauty
-for its justification. The woman was an enigma to him,
-a most magical sphinx whose riddle taunted his reason.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stiffened in her chair at the word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You hold me at a disadvantage, seeing that I am
-ignorant of sin or indiscretion against you. If it is a
-question of gold----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He swept her exclamation suavely aside and ran on
-mellifluously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If it is a question of gold, let me beseech you to be
-frank with me. I will covenant with you instanter. My
-seneschal at Gambrevault will unbolt my coffers, and ease
-your greed. Pray be outspoken. I will renounce the
-delight of lodging here for a purse of good rose nobles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was the faintest tinge of insolence in the man's
-voice, an insolence that exaggerated to the full the charge
-of plunder in his words. Whether he hinted at blood
-money or no, there was sufficient poison in the sneer to
-fire the brain and scorch the heart to vengeance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman had risen from her chair, and stood gripping
-the carved woodwork with a passion that set her arms
-quivering like bands of tightened steel. The milk-white
-calm had melted from her face. Wrath ran riot in her
-blood. So large were her pupils that her eyes gleamed red.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, messire, I bring you to justice, and you offer me gold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stared; his eyes did not quail from hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice, madame! Of what sin then am I accused?
-On my soul, I know not who you are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She calmed herself a little, shook back her hair from her
-shoulders, fingered her throat, breathing fast the while.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My name, messire? Ha, you shall have it. I am
-Yeoland, daughter of that Rual of Cambremont whom
-you slaughtered at the gate of his burning house. I--am
-the sister of those fair sons whom you did to death.
-Blood money, forsooth! God grant, messire, that you are
-in honest mind for heaven, for you die to-night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man had bent to catch her words. He straightened
-suddenly like a tree whose throat is loosed from the grim
-grip of the wind. He went grey as granite, flushed red
-again as a dishonoured girl. The words had touched him
-with the iron of truth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me," he said to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you would lie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By Heaven, no; give me an hour's justice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Murderer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, you wrong me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stood with twitching lips, shackled hands twisting
-one within the other. For the instant words eluded him,
-like fruit jerked from the mouth of a thirst-maddened
-Tantalus. Anon, his manhood gathered in him, rushed
-forth redly like blood from a stricken throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter of Rual, hear me, I tell you the truth. I,
-Flavian of Gambrevault, had in my pay a company of hired
-'spears,' rough devils from the north. The braggarts
-served me against John of Brissac, were half their service
-drunk and mutinous. When Lententide had come, their
-captain swore to me, 'Lording, pay us and let us go.
-We have spilt blood near Gilderoy,' scullion blood he
-swore, 'give us good bounty, and let us march.' So at
-his word I gave them largesse, and packed them from
-Gambrevault with pennons flying. Methought they and
-their brawlings were at an end. Before God and the saints,
-I never knew of this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland considered him, strenuous as he seemed towards
-truth. He was young, passionate, sanguine; for one short
-moment she pitied him, and pondered his innocence in her
-heart. It was then that Fulviac plucked at her sleeve,
-spoke in her ear, words that hardened her like a winter
-frost.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stared in the man's eyes, as she gave him his
-death-thrust with the sureness of hate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood for blood," were her words to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this justice!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have spoken."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monstrously. Hear me----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, make your peace with Heaven, I give you till
-daylight."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stumbled against the table, white as the moon.
-Youth strove in him, the crimson fountain of life's wine,
-the wild cry of the dawn. His eyes were great with a
-superhuman hunger. Fulviac's strong voice answered him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hence, hence. At dawn, Nord, do your duty."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xi"><span class="large">XI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Give doubt the password, and the outer battlements are
-traitorously stormed. Parley with pity, and the white
-banner flutters on the keep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Provided her emotions inspire her, a woman is strong;
-let her take to logic, and she is a rushlight wavering in
-the wind. In her red heart lies her divinity; her feet are
-of clay when reason rules her head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl Yeoland took doubt to her chamber that night,
-a malicious sprite, sharp of wit and wild of eye. All the
-demons of discord were loosed in the silence of the night.
-Pandora's box stood open, and the hours were void of
-sleep; faces crowded the shadows, voices wailed in the
-gloom. Her thoughts rioted like frightened bats fluttering
-and squeaking round a torch. Sleep, like a pale Cassandra,
-stood aloof and watched the mask of these manifold
-emotions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Turn and twist as she would amid her fevered pillows,
-a wild voice haunted her, importunate and piteous. As
-the cry of one sinking in a stormy sea, it rang out with
-a passionate vehemence. Moreover, there was a subtle
-echo in her own heart, a strong appeal that did not spare
-her, toss and struggle as she would. Decision fluttered
-like a wounded bird. Malevolence rushed back as an
-ocean billow from the bastion of a cliff that emblemed
-mercy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With a beating of wings and a discordant clamour, a
-screech-owl buffeted the casement. A lamp still burnt
-beneath the crucifix; the glow had beaconed the bird out
-of the night. Starting up with a shiver of fear, she
-quenched the lamp, and crept back to bed. The darkness
-seemed to smother her like a cloak; the silence took
-to ghostly whisperings; a death-watch clicked against the
-wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The night crawled on like a funeral cortège. Baffled,
-outfaced, sleepless, she rose from her tumbled bed, and
-paced the room as in a fever. Still wakefulness and a
-thousand dishevelled thoughts that hung about her like her
-snoodless hair. Again and again, she heard the distant
-whirr and rattle of wheels, the clangour of the wire, as
-the antique clock in Fulviac's chamber smote away the
-hours of night. Each echo of the sound seemed to spur
-to the quick her wavering resolution. Time was flying,
-jostling her thoughts as in a mill race. With the dawn,
-the Lord Flavian would die.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she flung the casement wide and stared out into
-the night. A calm breeze moved amid the masses of ivy,
-and played upon her face. She bared her breast to its
-breath, and stood motionless with head thrown back, her
-white throat glimmering amid her hair. Below, the
-sombre multitudes of the trees showed dim and ghostly,
-deep with mystery. A vague wind stirred the branches;
-the dark void swirled with unrest, breaking like a midnight
-sea upon a cliff. A few straggling stars peeped through
-the lattice of the sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She leant against the sill, rested her chin upon her
-palms, and brooded. Thoughts, fierce, passionate, and
-clamorous, came crying like gusts of wind through a ruined
-house. Death and dead faces, blood, the yawn of
-sepulchres, life and the joy of it, all these passed as visions
-of fire before her fancy. Vengeance and pity agonised her
-soul. She answered yea and nay with the same breath;
-condemned and pardoned with contradicting zeal. Youth
-lifted up its face to her, piteous and beautiful. Death
-reached out a rattling hand into her bosom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently, a far glow began to creep into the sky; a
-gradual greyness absorbed the shadows of the night. The
-day was dawning. From the forest, the trembling orisons
-of the birds thrilled like golden light into the air.
-Unutterable joy seemed to flood forth from the piping throats.
-Even the trees seemed to quiver to the sound. With a
-rush of bitter passion, she closed the casement, cast herself
-upon her bed, and strove to pray.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Again came the impotent groping into nothingness. A
-dense mist seemed to rise betwixt her soul and the white
-face of the Madonna. Aspiration lessened like an afterglow,
-and dissolved away into a dark void of doubt. Prayer
-eluded her; the utterances of her heart died in a miserable
-endeavour, and she could not think.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The spiritual storm wore itself away as the dawn
-streamed in with a glimmer of gold. Yeoland lay and
-stared at the casement, and the figure of Sebastian rendered
-radiant by the dawn, the whiteness of his limbs tongued
-with dusky rills of blood, where the barbs had smitten into
-the flesh. Sombre were the eyes, and shadowy with suffering.
-A halo of gold gilded the youthful face. The painted
-glass about him blazed like a shower of gems.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Sebastian of the casement recalled to her with
-wizard power the face of the man whom death claimed at
-dawn. The thought woke no new passion in her. The
-night's vigil had left her reason like a skein of tangled silk,
-and with the day she verged towards a wearied apathy.
-The voice of pity in her waned to an infrequent whisper
-that came like the rustling of leaves on a summer night.
-She realised that it had dawned an hour or more; that the
-man had knelt and fallen to Nord's sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the silence was snapped by a far outcry sounding
-in the bowels of the cliff. Gruff voices seemed to
-echo and re-echo like breakers in a cavern. A horn blared.
-She heard the thudding of a door, the shrilling of mail, the
-clangour of iron steps passing up the gallery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Shivering, she raised herself upon her elbow to listen.
-Were they bringing her the man's head, grey and blood-dabbled,
-with closed lids and mangled neck? She fell back
-again upon her pillows, pressed her hands to her face with
-a great revulsion of pity, for the image had burnt in upon
-her brain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The clangour of harness drew near, with an iron rhythm
-as of the march of destiny. It ceased outside the door. A
-heavy hand beat upon the panelling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knocks?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her own voice, strained and shrill, startled her like an
-owl's hoot. Fulviac's deep bass answered her from the
-passage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unbar to me, I must speak with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started up from the bed in passionless haste, ran to
-a closet, drew out a cloak and wrapped it about her
-shoulders. Her bare feet showed white under her night-gear
-as she slid the bolt from its socket, and let the man
-in. He was fully armed save for his salade, which he
-carried in the hollow of his arm. His red cloak swept his
-heels. A tower of steel, there was a clangorous bluster
-about him that bespoke action.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl had drawn apart, shivering, and gathering her
-cloak about her, for in the gloom of the place she had
-thought for an instant that Fulviac carried a mangled head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A rider has brought news," he said to her. "John of
-Brissac's men have taken Prosper the Preacher, to hang
-him, as their lord has vowed, over the gate of Fontenaye.
-They are on the march home from Gilderoy, ten lances
-and a company of arbalestiers. I ride to ambuscado them.
-Prosper shall not hang!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood with her back to the casement, and looked at
-him with a restless stare. Her thoughts were with the
-man whose grey eyes had pleaded with her through the
-night. Her fears clamoured like captives at the gate of a
-dungeon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is more, this vagabond of Avalon has been begging
-twelve hours' grace to scrape his soul clean for Peter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said, with a sudden stark earnestness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will give him till sunset----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I suffer it----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The dog has spirit. I would thrust no man into the
-dark till he has struck a bargain with his own particular
-saints."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drew back, sank down into a chair with her hair
-half hiding her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right in being merciful," she said very slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Magic riddle of life; rare roseate rod of love. Was it
-youth leaping towards youth, the cry of the lark to the
-dawn, the crimson flowering of a woman's pity? The air
-seemed woven through with gold. A thousand lutes had
-sounded in the woods. Voiceless, she sat with flickering
-lids, amazed at the alchemy that had wrought ruth out of hate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had drawn back into the gloom of the gallery.
-He turned suddenly upon his heel, and his scabbard smote
-and rang against the rock.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take all the men I have," he said to her, "even the
-dotard Jaspar, for he knows the ways. Gregory and
-Adrian I leave on guard; they are tough gentlemen, and
-loyal. As for the lordling, he is well shackled."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland was still cowering in her chair with the mysterious
-passions of the moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will return?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By nightfall, if we prosper; as we shall."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He moved two paces, stayed again in his stride, and
-flung a last message to her from the black throat of the
-passage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, there is no recantation over this business.
-The man is my affair as well as yours. He is a power in
-the south, and would menace us. Remember, he must die."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and left her without more palaver. She
-heard him go clanging down the gallery, heard the thunder
-of a heavy door, the braying of a horn. A long while she
-sat motionless, still as stone, her hands lying idle in her
-lap. When an hour had passed, the sun smote in, and
-found her kneeling at her prayer-desk, her breviary dewed
-with tears.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xii"><span class="large">XII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac passed away that morning into the forest, a shaft
-of red amid the mournful glooms. Colour and steel streamed
-after him fantastically. The great cliff, silent and desolate,
-basked like a leviathan in the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Of the daylight and its crown of gold, the girl Yeoland
-had no deep joy. When she had ended her passion over
-the blazoned pages of her breviary, and mopped her tears
-with a corner of her gown, she rose to realism, and turned
-her mood to the cheating of the dues of time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The hours lagged with enough monotony to degenerate
-a saint; Yeoland was very much a woman. The night
-had left her a legacy of evil. She had shadows under
-her eyes, and a constant swirl of thoughts within her
-brain that made solitude a torture-house, full of prophetic
-pain. There was her lute, and she eschewed it, seeing
-that her fingers seemed as ice. As for her embroidery,
-the stitches wandered haphazard, wrought grotesque
-things, or lost all method in a stupor of sloth. She
-threw the banner aside in a fume at last, and let her
-broodings have their way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The forenoon crawled, like a beggar on a dusty
-high-road in the welt of August. Time seemed to stand and
-mock her. Hour by hour, she was tortured by the
-vision of steel falling upon a strong young neck, of a
-white face lying in a pool of blood, of a dripping carcase
-and a sweating sword. Though the vision maddened
-her, what could her weak hands do? The man was
-shackled, and guarded by men with whom she dared not
-tamper. Moreover, she remembered the last look in
-Fulviac's keen eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Towards evening she grew rabid with unrest, fled from
-the cave by the northern stair, and took sanctuary amid the
-tall shadows of the forest. The pine avenues were ever
-like a church to her, solemn, stately, sympathetic as night.
-There was nought to anger, nought to bring discord, where
-the croon of the branches soothed like a song.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was as she played the nun in this forest cloister,
-that a strange thought challenged her consciousness under
-the trees. It was subtle, yet full of an incomprehensible
-bitterness, that made her heart hasten. Even as she
-considered it, as a girl gazes at a jewel lying in her palm,
-the charm flashed magic fire into her eyes. This victim
-for the sword lay shackled to the wall in the great
-guard-room. She would go and steal a last glance at him before
-Fulviac and death returned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Stairway, bower, and gallery were behind her. She
-stood in Fulviac's parlour, where the lamp burnt dimly,
-and harness glimmered on the walls. The door of the
-room stood ajar. She stole to it, and peered through the
-crack left by the clumsy hingeing, into the lights and
-shadows of the room beyond.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the lower end of a long table the two guards sat
-dicing, sprawling greedily over the board, the lust of
-hazard writ large in their looks. The dice kept up a
-continuous patter, punctuated by the intent growls of
-the gamesters. By the sloping wall of the cavern,
-palleted on a pile of dirty straw, lay the Lord Flavian of
-Gambrevault, with his hands shackled to a staple in the
-rock. He lay stretched on his side, with his back turned
-towards the light, so that his face was invisible to the girl
-behind the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She watched the man awhile with a curious and dark-eyed
-earnestness. There was pathos in the prostrate
-figure, as though Hezekiah-like the man had turned to
-the bare rock and the callous comfort despair could give.
-Once she imagined that she saw a jerking of the shoulders,
-that hinted at something very womanish. The thought
-smote new pity into her, and sent her away from the
-cranny, trembling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland withdrew into Fulviac's room, and thence into
-the murk of the gallery leading to her bower. A sudden
-sense of impotence had flooded into her heart; she even
-yearned for some shock of Fate that might break the very
-bonds that bound her to her vengeance, as to a corpse.
-On the threshold of her room, a sudden sound brought her
-to a halt like a hand thrust out of the dark to clutch her
-throat. She stood listening, like a miser for thieves, and
-heard much.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A curse came from the guard-room, the crash of an
-overturned bench, the tingling kiss of steel. She heard
-the scream as of one stabbed, a smothered uproar, an
-indiscriminate scuffling, then----silence. She stood a
-moment in the dark, listening. The silence was heavy
-and implacable as the rock above. Fear seized her, a
-lust to know the worst. She ran down the gallery into
-Fulviac's room. The door was still ajar; she thrust it
-open and entered the great cavern.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her doubts elapsed in an instant. At the long table,
-a man sat with his head pillowed on his arms. A red
-rivulet curled away over the board, winding amid the
-drinking horns, isleting the dice in its course. On the
-floor lay the second guard, a smudge of crimson oozing
-from his grey doublet, his arms rigid, his hands clawing
-in the death-agony. At the end of the table stood the
-Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, free.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Three cubits of steel had tangled the plot vastly in the
-passing of a minute. The climax was like a knot of silk
-thrust through with a sword. The two stood motionless
-a moment, staring at each other across the length of the
-table, like a couple of mutes over a grave. The man was
-the first to break the silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said, with a certain grand air, and a
-flippant gesture, "suffer me to condone with you over
-the lamentable tricks of Fortune. But for gross selfishness
-on my part, I should still be chastening myself for the
-unjust balancing of our feud. God wills it, seemingly,
-that I should continue to be your debtor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Despite her woman's wit, the girl was wholly puzzled
-how to answer him. She was wickedly conscious in her
-heart of a subtle gratitude to Heaven for the sudden
-baulking of her malice. The man expected wrath from her,
-perhaps an outburst of passion. Taking duplicity to her
-soul, she stood forward on the dais and tilted her chin at
-him with dutiful defiance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank my irresolution, messire," she said, "for this
-reprieve of fortune."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He came two steps nearer, as though not unminded to
-talk with her in open field.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At dawn I might have had you slain," she continued,
-with some hastening of her tongue; "I confess to having
-pitied you a little. You are young, a mere boy, weak and
-powerless. I gave you life for a day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man reddened slightly, glanced at the dead men,
-and screwed his mouth into a dry smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Most harmless, as you see, madame," he said. "For
-your magnanimity, I thank you. </span><em class="italics">Deo gratias</em><span>, I will be as
-grateful as I may."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood considering him out of her dark, long-lashed
-eyes. The man was good to look upon, ruddy and clean
-of lip, with eyes that stared straight to the truth, and a pose of
-the head that prophesied spirit. The sunlight of youth played
-sanguine upon his face; yet there was also a certain shadow
-there, as of premature wisdom, born of pain. There were
-faint lines about the mouth and eyes. For all its sleek and
-ruddy comeliness, it was not the face of a boy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire," she said to him at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He who lurks over long in the wolf's den may meet
-the dam at the door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her, a frank flash of sympathy that was
-not devoid of gratitude.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Haste would be graceless," he said to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Madame Yeoland, have I not watched my arms
-at night before the high altar at Avalon? Have I not
-sworn to serve women, to keep troth, and to love God?
-You judge me hardly if you think of me as a butcher
-and a murderer. For the death of your kinsfolk I hold
-myself ashamed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a fine light upon his face, a power of truth
-in his voice that was not hypocritic. The girl stared
-him over with a certain critical earnestness that boasted
-a gleam of approval.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair words," she said to him; "you did not speak
-thus to me last eve."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" he cried, beaming on her, "I was cold as a
-corpse; nor could I whine, for pride."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your shackles?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed and held up both hands; the wrists were
-chafed and bloody.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was ever a jest against me," he said, "that I had
-the hands of a woman, white and meagre, yet strong with
-the sword. Your fellows thrust a pair of wristlets on me
-fit for a Goliath, strong, but bulky. My hands have
-proved my salvation. I pulled them through while the
-guards diced, crept for a sword, gained it, and my
-freedom."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded, and was not markedly dismal, though the
-wind had veered against her cause. The man with the grey
-eyes was a being one could not quarrel with with easy
-sincerity. Probably it did not strike her at the moment that
-this friendly argument with the man she had plotted to
-slay was a contradiction worthy of a woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon meanwhile had drawn still nearer
-to the girl upon the dais. His grey eyes had taken a
-warmer lustre into their depths, as though her beauty
-had kindled something akin to awe in his heart. He set
-the point of the sword on the floor, his hands on the hilt,
-and looked up at the white face medallioned in the black
-splendour of its hair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," he said very gravely, "it is the way of the
-world to feel remorse when such an emotion is expedient,
-and to fling penitence into the bottomless pit when the
-peril is past. I shall prove to you that mine is no such
-April penitence. Here, on the cross of my sword, I swear
-to you a great oath. First, that I will build a chapel in
-Cambremont glade, and establish a priest there. Secondly,
-I will rebuild the tower, refit it royally, attach to it cottars
-and borderers from mine own lands. Lastly, mass shall be
-said and tapers burnt for your kinsfolk in every church in
-the south. I myself will do such penance as the Lord
-Bishop shall ordain for my soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man was hotly in earnest over the vow--red as a
-ruby set in the sun. Yeoland looked down upon him with
-the glimmer of a smile upon her lips as he kissed the cross
-of the sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem honest," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, on this sword I swear it. It is hard to
-believe any good of an enemy. Behold me then before
-you as a friend. There is a feud betwixt us, not of my
-willing. By God's light I am eager to bridge the gulf
-and to be at peace."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head and looked at him with a sudden
-mysterious sadness. Such a pardon was beyond belief,
-the man's pure ardour, nothing but seed cast upon sand.
-Fulviac, a tower of steel, seemed to loom beyond
-him--an iron figure of Fate, grim and terrible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This can never be," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes were honestly sorrowful.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is madame so implacable?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" she said, "you do not understand me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stood a moment in thought, as though casting
-about in his heart for the reason of her sternness. Despite
-her wrongs, he was assured by some spirit voice that it
-was not death that stalked betwixt them like an angel of
-doom. As he stood and brooded, a gleam of the truth
-flashed in upon his brain. He went some steps back
-from her, as though destiny decreed it that they should
-sever unabsolved.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, madame," he said to her; "the riddle
-is plain to me. I no longer grope into the dark. This
-man, here, is your husband."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She went red as a rose blushing on her green throne
-at the coming of the dawn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I am no wife," she said to him. "God knows
-but for this man I should be friendless and without home.
-He has spread honour and chivalry before my feet like a
-snow-white cloak. Even in this, my godless vengeance,
-he has served me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man strode suddenly towards the dais, with his face
-turned up to hers. A strange light played upon it, half
-of passion, half of pity. His voice shook, for all its
-sanguine strength.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, madame, tell me one thing before I go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I your pardon?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you love life, messire, leave me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I your pardon?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go! ere it is too late."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Like a ghostly retort to her appeal came the sound of
-armed men thundering over the bridge. Their rough
-voices rose in the night's silence, smitten through with
-the clash and clangour of arms. Fulviac had caught
-John of Brissac's company in the woods by Gilderoy.
-There had been a bloody tussle and much slaughter.
-Triumphant, they were at the gate with Prosper the
-Preacher in their midst.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pair in the cavern stared at each other with a mute
-appeal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac," said the girl in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The door!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is barred."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were silent and round-eyed, as children caught
-in the midst of mischief. Mailed fists and pike staves
-were beating upon the gate. A babel of impatience
-welled up without.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Adrian, Gregory!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lazy curs!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unbar, unbar!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mocking silence leered in retort. Yeoland and the
-Lord of Avalon were still as mice. The din slackened
-and waned, as though Fulviac's men were listening for
-sound of life within. Then came more blows upon the
-gate; fingers fumbled at the closed grill. The man
-Gregory lay and stared at the rocky roof; Adrian sat
-with his face pooled by his own blood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A fiercer voice sounded above the clamour. It was
-Fulviac's. The girl shivered as she stood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, there, Gregory, Adrian; what's amiss with ye?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Still silence, mocking and implacable. The lull held for
-the moment; then the storm gathered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Break down the gate," roared the voice; "by God,
-we will see the bottom of this damned silence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord Flavian of Avalon had stood listening with
-the look of a man cooped in a cavern, who hears the sea
-surging to his feet. He glanced at the dead guards, and
-went white. To save his soul from purgatory it behoved
-him to act, and to act quickly. A single lamp still burnt
-in the oratory of hope. He went near to the girl on the
-dais, and held up the crossed hilt of his sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By the Holy Cross, mercy!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She cast a frightened glance into his eyes, and continued
-mute a moment. The thunder grew against the gate, the
-crash of steel, a rending din that went echoing into all the
-pits and passage-ways of the place. Fulviac's men had
-dragged the trunk of a fallen pine up the causeway, and
-were charging the gate till the timber groaned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man, with his sword held like a crucifix, stood and
-pleaded with his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mercy!" he said; "you know this warren and can save me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a craven?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Craven? before God, no, only desperate. What hope
-have I unharnessed, one sword against fifty?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For yet another moment she appeared irresolute, dazed
-by the vision of Fulviac's powerful wrath. He was a stark
-man and a terrible, and she feared him. The timbers of
-the gate began to crack and gape. Flavian of Avalon
-lifted up his voice to her with a passionate outburst of
-despair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God, madame, I cannot die. I am young, look at me,
-life is at its dawn. By your woman's mercy, hide me.
-Give me not back to death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His bitter agitation smote her to the core. She looked
-into his eyes; they were hungry as love, and very piteous.
-There could be no sinning against those eyes. Great fear
-flooded over her like a green billow, bearing her to the
-inevitable. In a moment she was as hot to save him as if
-he had been her lover.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said, "quick, before the gate gives."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She led him like the wind through Fulviac's parlour, and
-down the gallery to her own bower. It was dark and
-lampless. She groped to the postern, fumbled at the latch
-and conquered it. Night streamed in. She pushed the
-man out and pointed to the steps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The forest," she said, "for your life; bear by the stars
-for the north."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A full moon had reared her silver buckler in the
-sky. The night was sinless and superb, drowned in
-a mist of phosphor glory. The man knelt at her
-feet a moment, and pressed his lips to the hem of her gown.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin bless you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall remember."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He descended and disappeared where the trees swept up
-with wizard glimmerings to touch the cliff. When he had
-fled, Yeoland passed back into the cavern, and met Fulviac
-before the splintered gate with a lie upon her lips.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xiii"><span class="large">PART II</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Fra Balthasar rubbed his colours in the chapel of Castle
-Avalon, and stared complacently upon the frescoes his fingers
-had called into being.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A migratory friar, Fra Balthasar had come from the
-rich skies, the purple vineyards, the glimmering orange
-groves of the far south. Gossip hinted that a certain
-romantic indiscretion had driven him northwards over
-the sea. A "bend sinister" ran athwart his reputation as
-a priest. Men muttered that he was an infidel, a
-blasphemous vagabond, versed in all the damnable heresies of
-antiquity. Be that as it may, Fra Balthasar had come
-to Gilderoy on a white mule, with two servants at his
-back, an apt tongue to serve him, and much craft as a
-painter and goldsmith. He had set up a </span><em class="italics">bottega</em><span> at
-Gilderoy, and had cozened the patronage of the magnates
-and the merchants. Moreover, he had netted the favour
-of the Lord Flavian of Avalon, and was blazoning his
-chapel for him with the lavish fancy of a Florentine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar stood in a cataract of sunlight, that
-poured in through a painted window in the west. He
-wore the white habit of Dominic and the long black
-mantle. A golden mist played about his figure as he
-rubbed his palette, and scanned with the egotism of the
-artist the </span><em class="italics">Pietà</em><span> painted above the Lord Flavian's state
-stall. That gentleman, in the flesh, had established
-himself on a velvet hassock before the altar steps, thus
-flattering the friar in the part of a sympathetic patron. The
-Lord of Avalon had dedicated his own person to art as
-an Eastern King in the splendour of Gothic arms, kneeling
-bare-headed before the infant Christ.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar was a plump man and a comely, black
-of eye and full of lip. His shaven chin shone blue as
-sleek velvet. He had turned from the </span><em class="italics">Pietà</em><span> towards the
-altar, where a triptych gleamed with massed and brilliant
-colour. The Virgin, a palpitating divinity breathing stars
-and gems from her full bosom, gazed with a face of
-sensuous serenity at the infant lying in her lap. She
-seemed to exhale an atmosphere of gold. On either wing,
-angels, transcendant girls in green and silver, purple and
-azure, scarlet and white, made the soul swim with visions
-of ruddy lips and milk-white hands. Their wings gleamed
-like opals. They looked too frail for angels, too human
-for heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon sat on his scarlet hassock, and
-stared at the Madonna with some measure of awe. She
-was no attenuated, angular, green-faced fragment of
-saintliness, but by every curve a woman, from plump
-finger to coral lip.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are no Byzantine," quoth the man on the hassock,
-with something of a sigh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The priest glanced at him and smiled. There were
-curves in lip and nostril that were more than indicative
-of a sleek and sensuous worldliness. Fra Balthasar was
-much of an Antinous, and doted on the conviction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I paint women, messire," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His lordship laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Divinities?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar flourished his brush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Divine creatures, golden flowers of the world. Give
-me the rose to crush against my mouth, violets to burn
-upon my bosom. Truth, sire, consider the sparkling
-roundness of a woman's arm. Consider her wine-red lips,
-her sinful eyes, her lily fingers dropping spikenard into
-the soul. I confess, sire, that I am a man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar's opulent extravagance of sentiment suited the
-litheness of his look. Balthasar had enthroned himself in
-his own imagination as a species of Apollo, a golden-tongued
-seer, whose soul soared into the glittering infinitudes of art.
-An immense egotist, he posed as a full-blooded divinity,
-palpitating to colour and to sound. He had as many
-moods as a vain woman, and was a mere fire-fly in the
-matter of honour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Reverend sire," quoth the man on the footstool with
-some tightening of the upper lip, "you bulk too big for
-your frock, methinks."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar touched a panel with his brush; cast a glance
-over his shoulder, with a cynical lifting of the nostril.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My frock serves me, sire, as well as a coat of mail."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you believe the things you paint?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man swept a vermilion streak from his brush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An ingenuous question, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ever ingenuous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A perilous habit."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you have not answered me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar tilted his chin like a woman eyeing herself in
-a mirror.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Religion is full of picturesque incidents," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And is profitable."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, you shame Solomon. There are ever many rich
-and devout fools in the world. Give me a gleaming Venus,
-rising ruddy from the sea, rather than a lachrymose
-Magdalene. But what would you? I trim my Venus up in
-fine apparel, put a puling infant in her lap. </span><em class="italics">Ecce--Sancta
-Maria</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the footstool smiled despite the jester's
-theme, a smile that had more scorn in it than sympathy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You verge on blasphemy," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There can be no blasphemy where there is no belief."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are over subtle, my friend."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, I have come by that godliness of mind when
-man discovers his own godhead. Let your soul soar, I
-say, let it beat its wings into the blue of life. Hence with
-superstition. Shall I subordinate my mind to the prosings
-of a mad charlatan such as Saul of Tarsus? Shall I, like
-each rat in this mortal drain, believe that some god cares
-when I have gout in my toe, or when I am tempted to bow
-to Venus?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the hassock grimaced, and eyed the friar
-much as though he had stumbled on some being from the
-underworld. He was a mystic for all his manhood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God pity your creed," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God, the inflated mortal----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This man god of yours who tosses the stars like so
-many lemons."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough, sir friar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Defend me from your mass of metaphor, your relics
-of barbarism. We, the wise ones, have our own hierarchy,
-our own Olympus."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"On my soul, you are welcome to it," quoth the man
-by the altar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar's hand worked viciously; he was strenuous
-towards his own beliefs, after the fashion of dreamers
-delirious with egotism. The very splendour of his infidelity
-took its birth from the fact that it was largely of his own
-creating. His pert iconoclasm pandered to his own vast
-self-esteem.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me for what you live," said the man by the altar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For beauty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the senses?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Colours, odours, sounds. To breathe, to burn, and
-to enjoy. To be a Greek and a god."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And life?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is a great fresco, a pageant of passions."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon sprang up and began to pace the
-aisle with the air of a man whose blood is fevered. For
-all his devoutness and his mystical fidelity, he was in too
-human and passionate a mood to be invulnerable to
-Balthasar's sensuous shafts of fire. The Lord Flavian had
-come by a transcendental star-soaring spirit, an inspiration
-that had torched the wild beacon of romance. He was
-red for a riot of chivalry, a passage of desire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Turning back towards the altar, he faced the Madonna
-with her choir of angel girls. Fra Balthasar was watching
-him with a feline sleekness of visage, and a smile that
-boasted something of contempt. The friar considered spirituality
-a species of magician's lanthorn for the cozening of
-fools.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What quip have you for love?" said the younger man,
-halting by the altar rails.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar stood with poised brush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some sincerity in the emotion," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are experienced?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, consider my 'habit.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar's mock horror was surprising, an excellent jest
-that fell like a blunted bolt from the steel of a vigorous
-manhood. The Lord Flavian ran on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I fence with an infidel?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, a man may be a man without the creed of
-Athanasius."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How much of me do you understand?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar cleared his throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Duessa, sire, is a rose of joy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monk!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, it was your dictum that you are ever
-ingenuous. I echo you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Need I confess to you on such a subject?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, you have the inconsistency of a poet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, one can sniff rotten apples without opening
-the door of the cupboard."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The younger man jerked away, and went striding
-betwixt the array of frescoes with something of the wild
-vigour of a blind Polyphemus. Balthasar, subtle sophist,
-watched him from the angle of his eye with the sardonic
-superiority of one well versed in the contradictions of the
-world. He had scribbled a shrewd sketch of the passions
-stirring in his patron's heart. Had he not heard from the
-man's own lips of the white-faced elf of the pine woods
-and her vengeance? And the Lady Duessa! Fra Balthasar
-was as wise in the gossip of Gilderoy as any woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire," he said, as the aristocrat turned in his stride, "I
-ask of you a bold favour."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Suffer me to paint your mood in words."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stared, shrugged his shoulders, smiled
-enigmatically.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Try your craft," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar began splashing in a foreground with irritable
-bravado.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, you were a fool at twenty," were his words.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A thrice damned fool," came the echo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar chuckled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, messire, a golden chain makes a Tantalus
-of you. Life crawls like a sluggish river. You chafe,
-you strain, you rebel, feed on your own heart, sin to assert
-your liberty. Youth slips from you; the sky narrows
-about your ears. Well, well, have I not read aright?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak on," quoth the man by the altar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, it is the old tale. They have cramped up
-your youth with book and ring; shut you up in a moral
-sarcophagus with a woman they call your wife. You burn
-for liberty, and the unknown that shines like a purple streak
-in a fading west. Ah, sire, you look for that one marvellous
-being, who shall torch again the youth in your heart,
-make your blood burn, your soul to sing. That one woman
-in the world, mysterious as the moon, subtle as the night,
-ineffably strange as a flaming dawn. That woman who
-shall lift you to the stars; whose lips suck the sap of the
-world; whose bosom breathes to the eternal swoon of all
-sweet sounds. She shall light the lust of battle in your
-heart. For her your sword shall leap, your towers totter.
-Chivalry should lead you like a pillar of fire out of the
-night, a heroic god striving for a goddess."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon stood before the high altar as one
-transfigured. Youth leapt in him, red, glorious, and
-triumphant. Balthasar's tongue had set the pyre aburning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, it is the truth," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar gathered his brushes, and took breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast thou found thy Beatrice, O my son?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I gazed into heaven?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar's voice filled the chapel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Live, sire, live!" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be mad! Drink star wine, and snuff the odours of
-all the sunsets! Live, live! You can repent in comfort
-when you are sixty and measure fifty inches round the
-waist."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xiv"><span class="large">XIV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Dame Duessa had come to Avalon, having heard certain
-whisperings of Gilderoy, and of a golden-haired Astarte
-who kept house there. Dame Duessa was a proud woman
-and a passionate, headstrong as a reformer, jealous as a
-parish priest. She boasted a great ancestry and a great
-name, and desires and convictions in keeping. She was a
-woman who loved her robe cupboard, her jewel-case, and
-her bed. Moreover, she pretended some affection for the
-Lord Flavian her husband, perhaps arrogance of ownership,
-seeing that Dame Duessa was very determined to keep him
-in bonded compact with herself. She suspected that the
-man did not consider her a saint, or worship her as such.
-Yet, termagant that she was, Dame Duessa could suffer
-some trampling of empty sentiment, provided Fate did not
-rob her of her share in the broad demesne and rent-roll of
-Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Avalon was a castle of ten towers, linked by a strong
-curtain wall, and built about a large central court and
-garden. A great moat circled the whole, a moat broad
-and silvery as a lake, with water-lilies growing thick in
-the shallows. Beyond the moat, sleek meadows tufted
-with green rushes swept to the gnarled piers of the old
-oaks that vanguarded the forest. The black towers
-slumbered in a mist of green, girded with sheeny water,
-tented by the azure of a southern sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Dame Duessa, being a lady of silks and tissues, did not
-love the place with all her soul. Avalon of the Orchards
-was dull, and smacked of Arcady; it was far removed from
-that island of fair sin, Lauretia, the King's city. Moreover,
-the Lord Flavian and his ungallant gentlemen held rigorously
-to the northern turrets, leaving her to lodge ascetically
-in her rich chamber in a southern tower.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband contrived to exile himself as far as Castle
-Avalon could suffer him. If the pair went to mass, they
-went separately, with the frigid hauteur of an Athanasius
-handing an Aryus over to hell. When they hunted they
-rode towards opposite stars. No children had chastened
-them, pledges of heaven-given life. The Lady Duessa
-detested ought that hinted at caudle, swaddling-clothes,
-and cradles. Moreover, all Avalon seemed in league with
-the Lord Flavian. Knights, esquires, scullions, horse-boys
-swore by him as though he were a Bayard. Dame Duessa
-could rely solely on a prig of a page, and a lady-in-waiting
-who wore a wig, and perhaps on Fra Balthasar, the
-Dominican.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, the Lord of Avalon had been putting forth
-his penitence in stone and timber, and an army of
-craftsmen from Geraint. The glade in Cambremont wood rang
-to the swing of axes and the hoarse groaning of the saw.
-The tower had been purged of its ashes, its rooms
-retimbered, its casements filled with glass. A chapel was
-springing into life under the trees; the cleverest masons of
-the south were at work upon its pillars and its arches. Fra
-Balthasar, the Dominican, held sway over the whole, subtle
-in colour and the carving of stone. Flavian could have
-found no better pander to his penitence. Rose nobles had
-been squandered. Frescoes, jewel bright, were to blaze out
-upon the walls. The vaulted roof was to be constellated
-with glimmering gold stars, shining from skies of purple
-and azure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To turn to Fulviac's great cliff hid in the dark depths of
-the forest of pines. The disloyal chaff of the kingdom
-was wafted thither day by day, borne on the conspiring
-breeze. The forest engulfed all comers and delivered
-them like ghosts into Fulviac's caverns. An army might
-have melted into the wilds, and the countryside have been
-none the wiser. Amid the pines and rocks of the cliffs
-there were marchings and countermarchings, much
-shouldering of pikes and ordering of companies. Veterans who
-had fought the infidels under Wenceslaus, drilled the raw
-levies, and inculcated with hoarse bellowings the rudiments
-of military reason. They were rough gentlemen, and
-Fulviac stroked them with a gauntlet of iron. They were
-to attempt liberty together, and he demonstrated to them
-that such freedom could be won solely by discipline and
-soldierly concord. The rogues grumbled and swore behind
-his back, but were glad in their hearts to have a man for
-master.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To speak again of the girl Yeoland. That March night
-she had met Fulviac over the wreckage of the broken gate,
-and had made a profession of the truth, so far, she said, as
-she could conjecture it. She had been long in the forest,
-had returned to the cliff to find the guards slain, and the
-Lord Flavian gone. By some device he had escaped from
-his shackles, slain the men, and fled by the northern
-postern. The woman made a goodly pretence of vexation of
-spirit over the escape of this reprobate. She even taunted
-Fulviac with foolhardiness, and lack of foresight in so
-bungling her vengeance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's escape from the cliff roused Fulviac's energies
-to full flood. The aristocrat of Avalon was ignorant
-of the volcano bubbling under his feet, yet any retaliatory
-meddling on his part might prove disastrous at so critical
-an hour. Fulviac thrust forward the wheels of war with a
-heavy hand. The torrents of sedition and discontent were
-converging to a river of revolt, that threatened to crush
-tyranny as an avalanche crushes a forest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Virgin with her moon-white face still inspired
-Yeoland with the visionary behest given in the ruined
-chapel. The girl's fingers toiled at the scarlet banner;
-she spent half her days upon her knees, devout as any
-Helena. She knew Fulviac's schemes as surely as she did
-the beads on her rosary. The rough rangers of the forest
-held her to be a saint, and knelt to touch her dress as she
-passed by.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yet what are dreams but snowflakes drifting from the
-heavens, now white, now red, as God or man carries the
-lamp of love? The girl's ecstasy of faith was but a potion
-to her, dazing her from a yet more subtle dream. A faint
-voice summoned her from the unknown. She would hear
-it often in the silence of the night, or at full noon as she
-faltered in her prayers. The rosary would hang idle on
-her wrist, the crucifix melt from her vision. She would
-find her heart glowing like a rose at the touch of the sun.
-Anon, frightened, she would shake the human half of
-herself, and run back penitent to her prayers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was springtide and the year's youth, when memories
-are garlanded with green, and romance scatters
-wind-flowers over the world. Many voices awoke, like the
-chanting of birds, in Yeoland's heart. She desired, even
-as a swallow, to see the old haunts again, to go a pilgrim
-to the place where the dear dead slept. Was it yearning
-grief, or a joy more subtle, the cry of the wild and the
-voice of desire? Mayhap white flowers shone on the
-tree of life, prophetic of fruit in the mellow year. Jaspar
-the harper heard her plea; 'twas wilful and eager, but what
-of that! Fulviac, good man, had ridden to Gilderoy.
-The girl had liberty enough and to spare. She took it
-and Jaspar, and rode out from the cliff.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Threading the sables of the woods, they came one noon
-to the open moor. It was golden with the western sun,
-solitary as the sea. The shadows were long upon the
-sward when Cambremont wood billowed out in its valley.
-There was no hope of their reaching the tower before
-dusk, so they piled dead bracken under a cedar, where the
-shelving eaves swept to the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were astir early upon the morrow, a sun-chastened
-wind inspiring the woodlands, and sculpturing grand friezes
-from the marbles of the sky. The forest was full of the
-glory of Spring, starred with anemones and dusted with the
-azure campaniles of the hyacinth horde. Primroses lurked
-on the lush green slopes. In the glades, the forest
-peristyles, green gorse blazed with its constellations of gold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To the dolt and the hag the world is nothing but a fat
-larder; only the unregenerate are blind of soul. Beauty,
-Diana-like, shows not her naked loveliness to all. The
-girl Yeoland's eyes were full of a strange lustre that May
-morning. Many familiar landmarks did she pass upon the
-way, notched deep on the cross of memory. There stood
-the great beech tree where Bertrand had carved his name,
-and the smooth bark still bore the scars where the knife
-had wantoned. She forded the stream where Roland's
-pony had once pitched him into the mire. Her eyes grew
-dim as she rode through the sun-steeped woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The day had drawn towards noon when they neared
-the glade in the midst of Cambremont wood. Heavy wain
-wheels had scarred the smooth green of the ride, and the
-newly-sawn pedestals of fallen oaks showed where
-woodmen had been felling timber. To Jaspar the harper these
-signs were more eloquent of peril than of peace. He began
-to snuff the air like an old hound, and to jerk restless
-glances at the girl at his side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"See where wheels have been," he began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And axes, my friend."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What means it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one rebuilds the tower."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The harper wagged his head and half turned his horse
-from the grass ride.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hide in the woods if you will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rode on with a triumphant wilfulness and he followed her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the glade, the noise of axe and hammer
-floated on the wind, and they saw the scene flicker towards
-them betwixt the great boles of the trees. The tower stood
-with battlements of fresh white stone; its windows had been
-reset, the blasting touch of fire effaced from the walls. The
-glade was strewn with blocks of stone and lengths of
-timber; the walls of a chapel were rising from the grass. Men
-were digging trenches for the foundations of the priest's
-cell. Soldiers idled about gossiping with the masons.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a smile in the girl's eyes and a deeper tint
-upon her cheeks as she stared betwixt the trees at the
-regarnished tower. Those grey eyes had promised the
-truth in Fulviac's cavern. She was glad in her heart of
-the man's honour, glad with a magic that made her colour.
-As for the harper, he stroked his grey beard and was mute.
-He lacked imagination, and was no longer young.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On a stump of an oak tree at the edge of the wood sat a
-man in a black mantle and a habit of white cloth. He had
-a panel upon his knee, and a small wooden chest beside him
-on the grass. His eyes were turned often to the rolling
-woods, as his plump hand flourished a brush with nervous
-and graceful gestures.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Seeing the man's tonsure, and his dress that marked him
-a Dominican, Yeoland rode out from the trees, casting her
-horse's shadow athwart his work. The man looked up
-with puckered brow, his keen eye framing the girl's figure
-at a glance. It was his destiny to see the romantic and
-the beautiful in all things.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The priest and the girl on the horse eyed each other a
-moment in silence. Each was instinctively examining the
-other. The churchman, with an approving glint of the
-eye, was the first to break the woodland silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace be with you, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His tone hinted at a question, and the girl adopted
-therewith an ingenuous duplicity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My man and I were of a hunting party," she said;
-"we went astray in the wood. You, Father, will guide us?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has not discovered to me her desire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We wish for Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar rose and pointed with his brush towards the
-ride by which they had come. He mapped the road for
-them with sundry jaunty flourishes, and much showing of
-his white teeth. Yeoland thanked him, but was still
-curious.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Father, whither have we wandered?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Men call it Cambremont wood, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And these buildings? A retreat, doubtless, for holy men."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar corrected her with much unction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord Flavian of Avalon builds here," he said,
-"but not for monks. I, madame, am his architect, his
-pedagogue in painting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland pretended interest. She craned forward over
-her horse's neck and looked at the priest's panel. The act
-decided him. Since she was young and comely, Balthasar
-seized the chance of a chivalrous service. The girl had
-fine eyes, and a neck worthy of a Venus.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has taste. She would see our work?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Madame appeared very ready to grant the favour.
-Balthasar put his brushes aside, held the girl's stirrup, and,
-unconscious of the irony of the act, expatiated to Yeoland
-on the beauties of her own home. At the end of their
-pilgrimage, being not a little bewitched by such eyes and
-such a face, he begged of her the liberty of painting her
-there and then. 'Twas for the enriching of religious art,
-as he very properly put it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Dead Rual's grave was not ten paces distant, and Jaspar
-was standing by it as in prayer. Thus, Yeoland sat to Fra
-Balthasar, oblivious of him indeed as his fingers brought her
-fair face into being, her shapely throat and raven hair.
-His picture perfected, he blessed her with the unction of a
-bishop, and stood watching her as she vanished down the
-southern ride, graceful and immaculate as a young Dian.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xv"><span class="large">XV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Hardly had an hour passed, and Fra Balthasar was still
-touching the study he had made of Yeoland's face, when
-a company of spears flashed out by the northern ride
-into the clearing. At their head rode a knight in harness
-of burnished steel, a splendid figure flashing chivalry in the
-eyes of the sun. On his shield he bore "a castle, argent,
-with ports voided of the field, on a field vert," the arms of
-the house of Gambrevault. His surcoat was diapered
-azure and green with three gold suns blazoned thereon.
-His baldric, a splendid streak of scarlet silk, slashed his
-surcoat as with blood. His troop, men in half armour,
-rode under the Pavon Vert of the demesne of Avalon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They thundered into the open stretch of grass with a
-clangorous rattle of steel. Flavian, bare-headed, for his
-salade hung at his saddle-bow and he wore no camail,
-scanned the glade with a keen stare. Seeing Fra Balthasar
-seated under a tree, he turned his horse towards him, and
-smiled as the churchman put his tools aside and gave him
-a benediction. The man made a fine figure; judged by
-the flesh, Balthasar might have stood for an Ambrose or a Leo.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Herald of heaven, how goes the work?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we emulate Pericles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you there, a woman's head, some rare Madonna?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar showed his white teeth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A pretty pastoral, messire. The study of a lady who
-had lost her way hunting, and craved my guidance this
-morning. A woman with the face and figure of a Dian."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, rogue of the brush, let us see it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar passed the parchment into the other's hand.
-Flavian stared at it, flushed to the temples, rapped out an
-ejaculation in ecclesiastic Latin. His eyes devoured the
-sketch with the insatiable enthusiasm of a lover; words
-came hot off his tongue.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, man, quick, is this true to life?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As ruby to ruby."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"None of your idealisations?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, but an hour ago that girl was sitting her
-horse where your destrier now stands."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you sketched this at her desire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At my own, sire; it was courtesy for courtesy: I had
-shown her our handiwork here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You showed her this tower and chapel?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, sire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She seemed sad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, merry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is romance!" He lifted the little picture at
-arm's length to the sun, kissed it, and put it in his bosom.
-His face was radiant; he laughed as though some golden joy
-rang and resounded in his heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A hundred golden angels for this face!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar was in great measure mystified. The
-Lord of Avalon seemed an inflammable gentleman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you are ever generous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Man, man, you have caught the one woman in the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Madonna of the Pine Forest, the Madonna of
-Mercy; she whose kinsfolk were put to the sword by
-my men; even the daughter of Rual whose tower stands
-yonder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The priest comprehended the whole in a moment.
-The dramatic quaintness of the adventure had made him
-echo Flavian's humour. He laughed and shrugged his
-shoulders.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Romance, romance! By all the lovers who ever
-loved, by Tristan and the dark Iseult, by Launcelot and
-Guinivere, follow that picture."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way went she?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By the southern ride, towards Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man was in heroic humour; his sword flashed out
-and shook in the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, I'll see her face again, and yet again, though
-I burn in hell for it. Roland, Godamar, come, men,
-come, throw away your spears. Ride, ride, we chase the
-sunset. Life and desire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang away on his great bay horse, a shimmering
-shaft of youth--youth that flashed forth chivalry into the
-burgeoning green of Spring. The sunlight webbed his
-hair with gold; his face glowed like a martyr's. Balthasar
-watched him with much poetic zest, as he swept away
-with his thundering knights into the woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The friar settled to his work again, but it was fated that
-he was to have no lasting peace that morning. He was
-painting in a background, a landscape, to a small
-Crucifixion. His hand was out of touch, however; the subject
-was not congenial. A pale face and a pair of dusky eyes
-had deepened a different stream of thought in the man.
-Themes hypersensuous held his allegiance; from prim
-catholic ethics, he reverted to his glorious paganism with
-an ever-broadening sense of satisfaction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was interrupted once more, and not unpleasantly,
-by a lady, with two armed servants at her back, riding in
-from the forest by the northern ride. The woman was
-clad in a cloak of damask red, and a jupon of dark green,
-broidered with azure scroll work. Her hood, fallen back,
-showed her purple black hair bound up in a net of gold.
-Her large dark eyes flashed and smouldered under their
-long lashes. She had high cheek-bones, a big nose, lips
-full as an over-ripe rose. She was big of body, voluptuous
-to look upon, as an Eastern odalisque, a woman of great
-passions, great appetites.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar tumbled his brushes and paints aside, and
-went to meet her as she rode over the grass. There
-was a smile on the man's lips, a flush upon his sleek face,
-as he walked with a courtly and debonair vanity. The
-woman caught sight of him and wheeled her horse in his
-direction. The autumn splendour of her cheeks told of
-hard riding, and her horse dropped foam from his black
-muzzle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar crossed himself with much meekness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good greeting, Madame Duessa," were his words, as
-he kept his eyes on the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman scanned the glade with the strenuous spirit
-of a Boadicea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But is here no longer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"These buildings?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are the Lord Flavian's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am his architect."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Morally, messire monk?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I do not edificate souls."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman stared him over with a critical comprehensiveness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Balthasar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man half glanced at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look me in the face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a sigh, made a gesture with his hands,
-looked melancholy and over-ecstasied to the point of
-despair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, there are thoughts beyond one's liberty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are women, a woman, one dares not look
-upon. There are eyes, well--well, that are too bright.
-Pardon me, I would serve you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She took a deep breath, held out her hand to him, a
-big, warm hand, soft and white. The man's lips
-burnt upon it. She touched his cheek and saw him colour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian is not here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But has been. Where now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Away hunting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, what do men hunt and burn for?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes a stag, a hare, a standard, a woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes--a woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar, looking slantwise under half-closed lids, saw
-her eyes flash and her lips tighten.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The southern ride, towards Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa shook her bridle, and threw one look into
-Balthasar's eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember," she said, "remember, a woman loves a
-friend, a true friend, who can tell a lie, or keep a secret."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar watched her ride away. He stood and
-smiled to himself, while his long fingers played with the
-folds of his mantle. Red wine was bounding in his blood,
-and his imagination revelled. He was a poetic person,
-and a poet's soul is often like tinder, safe enough till the
-spark falls.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Gloria</em><span>," he said to himself with a smirk, "here's
-hunting with a vengeance. Two women and a man!
-The devil is loose. Soul of Masaccio, that woman has
-fine eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That day, when the sky was growing red over the
-woods, Flavian and his troop drew close on the heels of
-Yeoland and the harper. The man, for all his heat, had
-kept his horse-flesh well in hand. Once out of
-Cambremont wood, they had met a charcoal-burner, who had seen
-Yeoland and her follower pass towards the west. They
-had hunted fast over fell and moor. While not two miles
-behind came Duessa of the Black Hair, biting her lips and
-giving her brute lash and spur with a woman's viciousness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, halting on a slope above the pine woods,
-looked back and saw something that made her crane her
-neck and wax vigilant. Out of the wine-red east and the
-twilight gloom came the lightning of harness, the galloping
-gleam of armed men. Jaspar's blear eyes were unequal to
-the girl's. The men below were riding hard, half under
-the lea of the midnight pines, whose tops touched the
-sunset. A half-moon of steel, their crescent closed wood and
-moor. They had the lead in the west; they were mounting
-the slope behind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jaspar saw them at last. He was for galloping.
-Yeoland held him in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool, we are caught. Sit still. We shall gain nothing
-by bolting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A knight was coming up the slope at a canter.
-Yeoland saw his shield, read it and his name. She
-went red under her hood, felt her heart beating, wondered
-at its noise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Youth, aglitter in arms, splendid, triumphant! A face
-bare to the west, eyes radiant and tender, a great horse
-reined in on its haunches, a mailed hand that made the sign
-of the cross!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, your pardon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He drew Balthasar's picture from his bosom and held it
-before her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My torch," he said, "that led me to see your face again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was silent. Her head was thrown back, her
-slim throat showing, her face turned heavenwards like the
-face of a woman who is kissed upon the lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have seen your home?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God pardon me your sorrow. You see I am no
-hypocrite. I keep my vows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, let me be forgiven; you have trusted one
-man, trust another."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her horse suddenly and began to ride towards
-the black maw of the forest. Her lips were tightly closed,
-and she looked neither to the right nor the left. Flavian,
-a tower of steel, was at her side. Armed men ranged in a
-circle about them. They opened ranks at a sign from
-their lord, and gave the woman passage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to be forgiven?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was mute a moment, as in thought. Then she spoke
-quietly enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, for a vow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell it me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will never see my face again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with a great smile, drew his sword,
-and held the point towards her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then give me hate."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate, not forgiveness, hate, utter and divine, that I
-may fight and travail, labour and despair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate me, hate me, with all the unreason of your
-heart. Hate me a hundred times, that I may but leap
-a hundred times into your life. Bar me out that I may
-storm your battlements again and again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a fool?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A glorious, mad, inspired fool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were quite near the trees. Their black masses
-threw a great shadow over the pair. Higher still the sky
-burnt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, whither do you go?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where you may not venture, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God, I know no such region."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She flashed round on him with sudden bitterness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to your wife. Go back to your wife,
-messire; remember her honour."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a home-thrust, but it did not shame or weaken
-him. He sheathed his sword, and looked at her sadly
-out of his grey eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What a world is this," he said, "when heaven comes
-at last, hell yawns across the path. When summer
-burns, winter lifts its head. Even as a man would grow
-strong and pure, his own cursed shackles cumber him.
-To-night I say no more to you. Go, madame, pray for
-me. You shall see my face again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He let life vanish under the pines, and rode back with
-the sunset on his armour, his face staring into the rising
-night. His men came round him, silent statues of steel.
-He rode slowly, and met his wife.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were turbulent, her lips red streaks of scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, sire, I have found you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I trust you are well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They looked at each other askance like angry dogs,
-as they rode side by side, and the night came down.
-The men left them to themselves, and went on ahead.
-A wind grew gusty over the moor.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 86%" id="figure-48">
-<span id="they-looked-at-each-other-askance-like-angry-dogs"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="&quot;THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS.&quot;" src="images/img-116.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">"THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER ASKANCE LIKE ANGRY DOGS."</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, I have borne enough from you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, is it fault of mine?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His whole soul revolted from her with an immensity
-of hate. She cumbered, clogged, crushed him. Mad
-brutality leapt in his heart towards her. He could have
-smitten the woman through with his sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Five years ago----" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You did the wooing. Damnation, we have been
-marvellously happy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bit her lip and was white as the moon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care, messire, have a care."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Threats, threats."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at my shield. Have I quartered your arms
-with mine? God's blood, there is nothing to erase."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have no children."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall send gold and an embassage to the Pope."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She clenched her hands and could not speak for the
-moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You dare do this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare ten thousand greater things than this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, woman, am I going down to hell because
-you are my wife!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She grew quiet very suddenly, a dangerous move in a woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she said, "try it, dear lord. I am no fool.
-Try it, I am as strong as you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so they rode on towards Avalon together.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xvi"><span class="large">XVI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It is impossible for two persons of marked individuality to
-be much together without becoming more or less faceted
-one towards the other. We appeal by sympathy, and
-inspire by contrast. What greater glory falls to a man's lot
-than to be chastened by the warm May of some girl's pure
-heart! Yeoland had felt the force of Fulviac's manhood;
-the more eternal and holier instincts were being stirred in
-him by a woman's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's life had been a transmigration. In his
-younger days the world had banqueted him; new poignancies
-had bubbled against his lips in the cup of pleasure.
-Later had come that inevitable weariness, that distaste of
-pomp, the mood that discovers vanity in all things. Finally
-he had set his heart upon a woman, a broken reed indeed,
-and had discovered her a hypocrite, according to the
-measure of her passions. There had been one brief burst of
-blasphemy. He had used his dagger and had disappeared. There
-had been much stir at the time. A ruby had fallen from
-the King's crown. Some spoke of Palestine, others of a
-monastery, others of a cubit of keen steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had begun life over again. He had fallen back
-upon elemental interests--had gone hungry, fought for
-his supper, slept many a storm out under a tree. The
-breath of the wilderness had winnowed out luxury; rain
-had scourged him into philosophic hardihood. He had
-learnt in measure that nothing pleases and endures like
-simplicity. Even his ambition was simple in its audacious
-grandeur.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now the eyes of the daughter of Rual were like the eyes
-of a Madonna, and she stood in a circle of white lilies like
-the spirit of purity. Fulviac had begun to believe in her a
-little, to love her a little. She stood above all other women
-he had known. The ladies of the court were superb and
-comely, and marvellously kind, but they loved colour and
-contemned the robe of white. They were like a rich posy
-for a man to choose from, scarlet and gold, azure, damask
-or purple. You could love their bodies, but you could not
-trust their souls.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, she was very devout, very
-enthusiastic, but no Agnes. Her rosary had little rest, and
-with the suspicions of one not utterly sure of herself, she
-had striven to make religion and its results satisfy her soul.
-In some measure she had succeeded. Yet there is ever
-that psychic echo, that one mysterious being, subtle as the
-stars, that may come before Christ in the heart.
-Transcendent spirit of idolatry! And yet it is often
-heaven-sent, seeing that it leads many a soul to God.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It had become Yeoland's custom to walk daily in the
-pine wood at the foot of the stairway leading from the
-northern room. She had discovered a quaint nook, a mile
-or more from the cliff, a nook where trees stood gathered
-in a dense circle about a grassy mound capped by a square
-of mouldering stone. It was a grave, nameless and
-without legend. Perhaps a hermit had crumbled away there
-under the sods, or the bones of some old warrior slept
-within rusty harness. None knew, none cared greatly.
-Fulviac's men had hinted at treasure, yet even they were
-kept from desecrating the place by a crude and superstitious
-veneration for the dead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had wandered here one day and had settled herself
-on the grassy slope of the grave. The ribbon of her lute
-lay over her shoulder. A breeze sang fitfully through the
-branches, and a golden haze shimmered down as from
-the clerestory windows of a cathedral. Her lute seemed
-sad when it made answer to her fingers. Thought was
-plaintive and not devotional, if one might judge by the
-mood of the music, and the notes were wayward and
-pathetically void of discipline.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was while the girl thrummed idly at the strings that
-a vague sound floated down to her with the momentary
-emphasis born of a fickle wind. It was foreign to the
-forest, or it would not have roused her as it did. As she
-listened the sound came again from the west. It was
-neither the distant bay of a hound nor a horn's solitary
-note. There was something metallic about it, something
-musical. When it disappeared, she listened for its
-recurrence; when she heard it again, she puzzled over its nature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sound grew clearer at gradual intervals, and then
-ceased utterly. The girl listened for a long while to no
-purpose, and then prepared to forget the incident. The
-decision was premature. She was startled anon by the
-sound breaking out at no great distance. There was no
-doubt as to its nature: it was the clanging of a bell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland wondered who could be carrying such a thing
-in such a place. Possibly some of Fulviac's men were
-coming home with stolen cattle, and an old bell-wether
-from some wild moorland with them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of the bell came very near; it seemed
-close amid the circling ranks of pines. Twigs were
-cracking too, and she heard the beat of approaching
-footsteps. Then her glance caught something visible, a
-streak of white in the shadows, moving like a ghost.
-The thing went amid the trees with the bell mute. The
-girl's doubts were soon set at rest as to whether she had
-been seen or no. The figure in grey slipped between
-the pines, and came out into the grass circle about the
-grave, cowled, masked, bell at girdle, a leper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stared at it with a cold flutter at her heart.
-The thing stood under the boughs motionless as stone.
-The bell gave never a tinkle; a white chin poked
-forward from under the hood; the masked face was in
-shadow. Then the bell jangled, and a gruff voice came
-from the cowl.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unclean, unclean!" it said; "avoid the white death,
-and give alms."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland obeyed readily enough, put a portion of the
-grave betwixt herself and the leper, fumbled in her pouch
-and threw the man a piece of silver. He came forward
-suddenly into the light, fell on his knees, put his hood
-back, plucked off the mask.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was the face of the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stood and stared at him with unstinted
-astonishment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You," she said, "you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I said that you should see my face again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She conceived a sudden impetuous desire to turn and
-leave him on his knees, but some inner potency of
-instinct restrained her. She looked down at the man,
-with no kindling kindness upon her face. She did not
-know what to say to him, how to tune her mood. The
-first thought that rushed into her mind was seized upon
-and pressed into service, discretion or no discretion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madman, they will kill you if they find you here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No woman ever loved a coward."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake, go away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He rose from his knees and lifted up his frock. The
-girl saw harness and a sword beneath it. This young
-leopard of the southern shores had fettle enough, and
-spirit. He was a mixture of imperturbable determination
-and sanguine Quixotism, as he faced her under the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This dress is privileged; my bell warns folk away;
-who would fall foul of a miserable leper? If this frock
-fails me, I have my sword."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him with the solemnity of a child, hand
-folded in hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot understand you," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you the man whose life I saved? That breath of
-death on your brow, messire, should have made you
-thoughtful of your soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me plead a moment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My honour."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why your honour?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I want you to believe that I have a soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was vastly earnest, and his eyes followed her, as
-though she were some being out of heaven. She had never
-seen such a look in a man's eyes before; it troubled her.
-She questioned her own heart, laughed emptily, and gave in
-to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are both mad," she said, "but go on. I will
-listen for one minute. Keep watch lest any one should
-come upon us suddenly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down on the grass bank, while he stood before
-her, holding his lazar bell by the clapper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at this dress," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is how I feel in soul when I look at you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She frowned visibly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you wax personal, messire, I shall leave you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, I will keep to my own carcase, and play the
-egotist. Well, I will be brief. Look at me, I am the first
-lord in the south, master of an army, one of the twelve
-knights of the Order of the Rose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was twenty years old, certain clever people
-found me a wife, a woman five years my senior in time,
-twenty years my superior in knowledge of the world.
-Well, six months had not passed before I hated her, hated
-her with my whole soul. My God, what a thing for a
-boy to begin life with a woman who made him half the
-bounden vassal of the devil!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem generous. The faults were all on her side."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I say nothing against the woman, only that
-she had no soul. We were incompatible as day and night,
-fire and water. The thing crushed the youth out of me,
-made me desperate, and worse, made me old beyond my
-years. I have done my best. I have groped along like a
-man in the dark, knowing nothing, understanding nothing,
-save that I had a warm heart in me, and that life seemed
-one grim jest. The future had no fire for me; I drank
-the wine of the present, strove to please my senses, plunged
-into the abysses of the world. Sometimes I tried to pray.
-Sometimes I played the cynic. The eternal beacon of love
-had gone out of my life. I had no sun, no inspiration for
-my soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sprang up suddenly, breathing fast like one who is
-near tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you speak to me of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was utterly lonely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I to you? You have hardly seen me three
-hours in your life. Why do you speak to me of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put a hand to his throat, and did not look at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, there are people who come near our hearts in
-one short hour, people who are winter to us to eternity.
-Do not ask me to explain this truth; as Christ's death,
-I know it to be true. I trust you. All the logicians of
-the world could not tell me why. I do not know that I
-could bring forward one single reason out of my own
-soul, save that you showed me great mercy once. And
-now--and now----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He broke down suddenly, and could not speak. Yeoland
-appealed to him out of the quickness of her fear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, messire, your promise."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me speak, or I stifle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, for God's sake, go!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He flung his hands towards her with a great outburst of
-passion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven and God's throne, you shall hear me to the
-end. Woman, woman, my soul flows to you as the sea
-ebbs to the moon; deep in the sky a new sun burns;
-the stars are dust, dust blown from the coffins of the
-dead who loved. Life leaps in me like another chaos.
-All my heart glows like an autumn orchard, and I burn.
-The world is red with a myriad roses. God's in the
-heaven, Christ bleeds on quaking Calvary."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She ran to him suddenly and seized his wrist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"GO----!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are coming, I hear them in the woods, they will
-kill you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear them too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, go, for my sake and for God's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed her sleeve, pulled his cowl down, and fled
-away into the woods.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xvii"><span class="large">XVII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lady Duessa stood in the chapel of water-girded
-Avalon, with Fra Balthasar the Dominican beside her.
-She had slipped in without his noticing her, and had
-watched him awhile in silence at his work. The jingling
-of her chatelaine had brought him at last to a consciousness
-of her presence. Now they stood together before
-the high altar and looked at the Madonna seated on her
-throne of gold, amid choirs of angel women.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's intelligence had waxed critical on
-the subject.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have altered the Virgin's face," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar stared at his handiwork and nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The former has been erased, the latter throned in her
-stead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The words had more significance for the lady than
-the friar had perhaps intended. A better woman would
-have snubbed him for his pains. As it was, he saw her
-go red, saw the tense stare of her dark eyes, the
-tightening of the muscles of her jaw. She had a wondrous
-strong jaw, had the Lady Duessa. She was no mere
-puppet, no bright-eyed, fineried piece of plasticity. Fra
-Balthasar guessed the hot, passionate power of her soul;
-she was the very woman for the rough handling of a
-cause, such as the Lord Flavian her husband had roused
-against her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," she said, "this alteration was a matter of
-art, Balthasar?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A matter of heart, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Flavian commanded it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yonder face is taken from life?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I leave the inference to your charity."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed a deep, cynical laugh, and went wandering
-round the chapel, looking at the frescoes, and swinging a
-little poniard by the chain that linked it to her girdle.
-Balthasar made a pretence of mixing colours on his palette.
-Worldly rogue that he was, he knew women, especially
-women of the Lady Duessa mould. He had a most shrewd
-notion as to what was passing in her mind. Morally, he
-was her abettor, being a person who could always take
-a woman's part, provided she were pretty. He believed
-women had no business with religion. To Balthasar, like
-fine glass, their frailty was their most enhancing characteristic.
-It gave such infinite scope to a discreet confessor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa strolled back again, and stood by the
-altar rails.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I such a plain woman?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have never painted me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are people above the artist's brush."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you paint the Madonna."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, the Madonna is anybody's property."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God forbid that a poet should speak lightly of beauty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again, and touching her hair with her fingers,
-scanned herself in a little mirror that she carried at her
-girdle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me frankly, am I worth painting?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, that purple hair, those splendid eyes, the superb
-colour of those cheeks, would blaze out of a golden
-background as out of heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a musical little titter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven, heaven, ha--ha."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be grateful for so transcendent a chance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would do me justice?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where inspiration burns, there art soars."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would be true?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the chiselling of a coral ear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And discreet?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the curve of a lip."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And considerate?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My hands are subtle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your heart?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is ingenuous as a little child's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again, and held out her hands. Balthasar
-kissed the white fingers, crowded with their gems. His
-eyes were warm as water in the sun; the colours and the
-glimmering richness of the chapel burnt into his brain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall paint me," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, madame, here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my own bower is pleasanter. You can reach it
-by my Lord Flavian's stair in the turret. Here is the key;
-he never uses it now. Avalon has not seen him these six
-days."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, I will paint you as man never painted woman
-before."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Dame Duessa's bower was a broad chamber on the
-western walls, joining the south-western tower. A great
-oriel, jewelled with heraldic glass, looked over the mere
-with its dreaming lilies, over the green meadows to the
-solemn silence of the woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Calypso's grotto! The bower of a luxurious lady in
-a luxurious age! The snuff of Ind and Araby tingled in
-Balthasar's nostrils. The silks of China and Bagdad,
-the cloths of Italy, bloomed there; flowers crowded the
-window, the couches, every nook. Blood-red hangings
-warmed the walls.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa sat to Balthasar in the oriel, with
-her lute upon her bosom. She was in azure and violet,
-with neck and bosom showing under a maze of gossamer
-gold. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, white, gleaming
-arms, subtle, sinuous, voluptuous. Her hair had been
-powdered with gold. Her lips were wondrous red, her
-eyes dark as wells. Musk and lavender breathed from her
-samites; her girdle glowed with precious stones.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fra Balthasar sat on a stool inlaid with mother-of-pearl
-and ivory. An embroidery frame served him as an easel.
-The man was living under the many-constellationed vault
-of beauty. All the scent and floweriness of the room
-played on his brain; all the wealth of it pandered to his
-art; all the woman's splendour made molten wax of his
-being.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he painted she sang to him, an old lay of Arthurian
-love, so that he might catch the music in her eyes, and
-watch the deep notes gathering in her throat. He saw
-her bosom sway beneath her lace, saw the inimitable
-roundness of her arms. Often his brush lingered. He
-might gaze upon the woman as he would, drink her
-beauty like so much violet wine, open his soul to the
-opulent summer of her power. His heart was in a
-sunset mood; he lived the life of a poet.</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>"And the green spring grew subtle," sang the dame,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>"With song of birds and laughter, and the woods</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Were white for maying. So fair Guinivere</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Loosed her long hair like rivulets of gold</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>That stream from the broad casement of the dawn.</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>And her sweet mouth was like one lovely rose,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>And her white bosom like a bowl of flowers;</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>So wandered she with Launcelot, while the wind</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Blew her long tresses to him, and her eyes</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Were as the tender azure of the night."</span></div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Of such things sang Duessa, while the friar spread his
-colours.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then she questioned him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Love you the old legends, Balthasar?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, as I love life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! they could love in those old days."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, men can love even now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put her lute aside, and knelt upon the couch before
-the window, with her elbows on the cushioned sill. Her
-silks swept close upon her shapely back, her shoulders
-gleamed under her purple hair. In the west the world
-grew red; the crimson kisses of the sunset poured upon
-the ecstasied green woods. The mere was flaked with a
-myriad amber scales. The meadows broidered their broad
-laps with cowslips, as with dust of gold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Balthasar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look yonder at the sunset. You must be tired of
-gazing on my face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He rose up like one dazed--intoxicated by colours,
-sounds, and odours. Duessa's hand beckoned him. He
-went and knelt on the couch at her side, and looked out
-over the flaming woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other woman?" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The other woman?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This Madonna of my lord's chapel."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She amuses me; I am not jealous; what is jealousy
-to me? Tell me about her, Balthasar; no doubt it is a
-pretty tale, and you know the whole."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I, madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I, Duessa."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are my Lord Flavian's friend; he was ever a man
-to be garrulous: he has been garrulous to you. Tell me
-the whole tale."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Duessa!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Better, better, my friend."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hands upon his shoulders, and stared straight
-into his eyes. Her lips overhung his like ripe red fruit.
-Her arms were fragrant of myrrh and violet; her bosom
-was white as snow under the moon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you refuse me this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God, madame, I can refuse you nothing."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xviii"><span class="large">XVIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The girl Yeoland saw nothing of the leper for a season.
-For several days she did not venture far into the pine
-forest, and the nameless grave heard not the sound of her
-lute. The third night after the incident, as she lay in
-her room under her canopy of purple cloth, she heard
-distinctly the silver clangour of a bell floating up through
-the midnight silence. She lay as still as a mouse, and
-scarcely drew breath, for fear the man in grey should
-venture up the stairway. The casement was open, with
-a soft June air blowing in like peace. The bell
-continued to tinkle, but less noisily, till it vanished into
-silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Other folk from the cliff had seen the leper, and
-Yeoland could not claim to have monopolised the
-gentleman. One of Fulviac's fellows had seen him one
-morning near the cliff, gliding like a grey ghost among the
-pines. Another had marked him creeping swiftly away
-through the twilight. It was a superstitious age and
-a superstitious region. The figure in grey seemed to
-haunt the place, with the occasional and mournful
-sounding of its bell. Men began to gossip, as the ignorant
-always will. Fulviac himself grew uneasy for more
-material reasons, and contemplated the test of a clothyard
-shaft or a bolt upon the leper's body. The man might
-be a spy, and if the bolt missed its mark it would
-at least serve as a sinister hint to this troublesome
-apparition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that Yeoland took alarm into her woman's
-heart. There was great likelihood of the man ending his
-days under the tree with a shaft sticking fast between his
-shoulders. Though he was something of a madman, she
-did not relish such a prospect. The day after she had
-heard the bell at midnight near the stair she haunted the
-forest like a pixie, keeping constant watch between the
-cliff and the forest grave. Fulviac had ridden out on a
-plundering venture, and she was free of him for the day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not till evening that she heard the faint signal of
-the bell, creeping down through the gold-webbed boughs
-like the sound of a distant angelus. The sound flew from
-the north, and beckoned her towards the forest grave.
-Fearful of being caught, she followed it as fast as her feet
-could carry her, while the deepening clamour led her on.
-Presently she called the man by name as she ran. His grey
-frock and cowl came dimly through the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At last you are merciful," was his greeting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood still and twisted her gown restlessly between
-her two hands. Anarchy showed in her face; fear, reason,
-and desire were calling to her heart. The intangible touch
-of the man's soul threw her being into chaos. She feared
-greatly for him, stood still, and could say nothing. Flavian
-put his cowl back, and stood aloof from her, looking in her
-face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Seemingly we are both embarrassed," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She made a petulant little gesture. He forestalled her in
-speech.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is best to be frank when life runs deep. I will
-speak the truth to you, and you may treat me as you will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland leant against a tree, and began to pull away the
-brittle scales of the bark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you stay here longer, messire----" she began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, madame, what then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will be shot like a dog; you are suspected; they
-are going to try your leper's gown with a crossbow bolt."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man smiled optimistically.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you came to tell me this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The wind moved through the trees; a fir-cone came
-pattering through the branches and fell at their feet. On
-the cliff a horn blared; its throaty cry came echoing faintly
-through the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian looked towards the gold of the west. His mood
-was calm and deliberate; he had his enthusiasms in leash
-for the moment, for there were more mundane matters in
-his mind--matters that were not savoury, however
-crimson shone the ideal years.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thrown down the glove," he said, "for good or
-evil, honour or dishonour. I will tell you the whole truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, watching his face, felt her impatient dreads
-goad her to the quick.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you talk for ever?" she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take the core then. I am going to rend my bonds as
-I would rend flax. I have appealed to the Church; I have
-poured out gold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the point, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall divorce my wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He threw his head back, and challenged the world in
-her one person. Her good favour was more to him than
-the patronage of Pope or King. It was in his mind that
-she should believe the worst of him from the beginning, so
-that in some later season he might not emulate Lucifer,
-toppled out of the heaven of her heart. She should have
-the truth from the first, and build her opinion of him on no
-fanciful basis. Even in this justice to the more sinister
-side of his surroundings, he was an idealist, thorough and
-enthusiastic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So you must understand, madame, that I am not
-without blemishes, not without things that I myself would
-rather see otherwise. With me it is a question of going to
-hell for a woman, or getting rid of her. Being an egotist,
-I choose the latter alternative."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland still evaded his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the woman loves you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not an atom; she only cares to be called the Lady of
-Gambrevault, Signoress of Avalon, the first dame in the
-south."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you tell me this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, have I need of more words? It is for this:
-that you might not picture me as I am not, or form any
-false conception of me. I have bared my moral skeleton
-to you. Perhaps you will never know what it costs a man
-at times to make his mind as glass to the woman he
-honours above the whole world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is because I honour you that I have goaded myself
-to tell you the whole truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her verdict was more sudden and more human than he
-might have expected.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you are a brave man," she said; "I believe I
-am beginning to trust you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sky flamed into sunset; the tracery of the trees
-seemed webbed with gold into shimmering domes and fans of
-quivering light. In the distance, the great cliff stood out
-darkly from the scarlet caverns of the west. The pine tops
-rose like the black spires of some vast city. Above, floated
-clouds, effulgent mounts of fire, hurled from the abysmal
-furnace of the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian came two steps nearer to the woman, leaning
-against the tree.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me my due," he said; "I have uncovered the
-difficult workings of my heart, I have shown you the inner
-man in his meaner mould. Suffer me to speak of my
-manhood in godlier words. I have shown you Winter; let me
-utter forth Spring."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland turned and faced him at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have risked your life and my honour long enough,"
-she said, "I am going back to the cliff."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I with you, as far as the stairway."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the threshold of death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What care I if I tread it at your side?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned homewards with obstinate intent, and the
-mild hauteur of a good woman. The man followed her,
-went with her step for step, looking in her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear my confession," he said; "you shall have it
-before you leave me. For the sake of your honour, I hold
-my soul by the collar. But--but, I shall win liberty,
-liberty. When I am free, ah, girl, girl, I shall flash golden
-wings in the face of the sun. I shall soar to you that I
-may look into your eyes, that I may touch your hands, and
-breathe the warm summer of your soul. I want God, I
-want purity, I want the Eternal peace, I want your heart.
-I have said the whole; think of me what you will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Twilight had gathered; all the violet calmness of the night
-came down upon the world. Under the shadows of the tall
-trees, the girl was deeply stirred beyond her own compassion.
-She halted, hesitated, went suddenly near the man with her
-face turned heavenwards like a new-spread flower. Her
-eyes were very wistful, and she spoke almost in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have told me the whole truth, you have shown
-me your whole soul?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As I serve you, madame, I have kept nothing back."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, messire, I will speak to you the truth in turn.
-God be merciful to me, but you have come strangely
-near my heart. These are bitter words for my soul.
-Ah, messire, if you have any honour for me, trust me
-that I aspire to heaven. I cannot suffer you to come
-deeper into my life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man held out his hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because in following me, you go innocently to your
-death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted up his arms, and leapt into heroics like an
-Apollo leaping into a blood-red sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What care I; you speak in riddles; can I fear death?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, messire, it is the woman who fears. I tell
-you this, because, because--God help me----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She fled away, but that night he did not follow her.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xix"><span class="large">XIX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>As a wind sweeps clamorous into a wood, so Modred
-and his fellows, household knights, streamed into the great
-hall of Avalon, where the Lord Flavian sat at supper.
-Bearers of angry steel, fulminators of vengeance,
-vociferous, strong, they poured in through the screens like a
-mill race, bearing a tossed and impotent figure in their
-midst. Their swords yelped and flashed over this bruised
-fragment of humanity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A gauntlet of steel was dashed often into the white face.
-Hands clawed his collar, clutched his body. Dragged,
-jerked onwards, buffeted, beaten to his knees, he sank
-down before the Lord Flavian's chair, blood streaming
-from his mouth and nostrils, specking his white habit,
-drabbling the floor. Then only did the flashing, growling
-circle recede like waves from a fallen rock.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred, a black man, burly, a bigot to honour, stood
-out a giant before his fellows. His great sword quivered
-to the roof; his deep voice shook the rafters.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blood, sire, blood."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the white habit quailed, and held up his
-hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me smite him as he kneels."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs, give me the courtesy of silence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian started from his chair and looked at the man,
-who knelt, huddled into himself, at his feet. It was a
-scene replete with the grim cynicism of life. Here was
-a man of mind and genius, cowering, quivering before
-the strong wrath of a dozen muscular illiterates. Here
-was the promulgator of bold truths, an utter dastard when
-the physical part of him was threatened with dissolution.
-Not that this event was any proof against the moral power
-of pagan self-reliance. Not that there was any cause for
-the bleating of sanctimonious platitudes, or the pointing
-of a proverb. A true churchman might have carved a
-fine moral fable out of the reality. It would have been
-a fallacy. Fra Balthasar was a coward. He had none of
-the splendid mental anatomy of a Socrates. He would
-have played the coward even under the eye of Christ.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Silence had fallen. Far away, choked by the long throats
-of gallery and stair, rose the wild, passionate screaming of
-a woman. It had the rebellious, blasphemous agony of one
-flung into eternal fire. Without modulation, abatement, or
-increase, malevolent, impotent, ferocious, piteous, it pealed
-out in long, tempestuous bursts that swept into the ears
-like some unutterable discord out of hell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The kneeling man heard it, and seemed to contract, to
-shrink into himself. His white habit was rent to the
-middle; his ashy face splashed over with blood. He tottered
-and shook, his hands clasped over the nape of his neck, for
-fear of the sword. His tongue clave to his palate; his eyes
-were furtively fixed on the upreared yard of steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Torches and cressets flared. Servants stared and
-shouldered and gaped in the screens; all the castle underlings
-seemed to have smelt out the business like the rats they
-were. Modred's knights put them out with rough words
-and the flat of the sword. The doors were barred. Only
-Flavian, the priest, and Modred and his men took part in
-that tribunal in the hall of Avalon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stood and gazed on Balthasar, the man of tones
-and colours. The Lord of Gambrevault was calm,
-unhurried, and dispassionate, yet not unpleased. The man's
-infinite abasement and terror seemed to arrest him like
-some superb precept from the lips of a philosopher. He
-had the air of a man who calculates, the look of a diplomat
-whose scheme has worked out well. From Balthasar he
-looked to Modred the Strong, the torchlight lurid on his
-armour, his great sword quivering like a falcon to leap
-down upon its prey. The distant screaming, somewhat
-fainter and less resolute, still throbbed in his ears. He
-thought of Dante, and the </span><em class="italics">bolgias</em><span> of that superhuman singer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Going close to the Dominican, he spoke to him in
-strong, yet not unpitying tones. Balthasar dared not look
-above the Lord Flavian's knees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my friend, where is all your fine philosophy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man cringed like a beggar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are all your sonorous phrases, your pert blasphemies,
-your subtleties, your fine tinsel of intellect and
-vanity?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar had no word.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your godliness, my friend, where your
-glowing and superhuman soul? Have we found you out, O
-Satanas; have we shocked your pagan heroism? Be a
-man. Stand up and face us. You could hold forth
-roundly on occasions. Even that Saul of Tarsus was not
-afraid of a sword."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar cowered, and hid his face behind his hands.
-He began to whimper, to rock to and fro, to sob. The
-grim men round him laughed, deep-chested, iron, scoffing
-laughter. Modred pricked the priest's neck with the point
-of his sword. It was then that Balthasar fell forward upon
-his face, senseless from sheer terror.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian abandoned philosophic irony, and addressed
-himself to Modred and his knights.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your swords, sirs; this man shall go free."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, sire!" came the massed cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust my discretion. The fellow has done me the
-greatest service of my life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has given me liberty. He has gnawed the shackles
-from my soul. You are all my witnesses in this, and may
-count upon my gratitude. But this man here, he has
-danced to my whim like a doll plucked by a string. For
-my liberty has he sinned; out of Avalon shall he go
-scatheless."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The men still murmured. Modred shot home his sword
-into its scabbard with a vicious snap. Flavian read their
-humour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not imagine, gentlemen," he said, "that your
-vigilance and your loyalty to my honour can go unrewarded.
-Modred, your lands are heavily mortgaged, I free you at a
-word, with this my signet. To you, Bertrand, I give the
-Manor of Riesole to keep and hold for you and yours. To
-all you, good friends, I give a hundred golden angels, man
-and man. And now, sirs, as to madame, my wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They gathered round him in curious conclave, Balthasar
-lying in their midst.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Modred, you will order out my state litter, set the
-Lady Duessa therein, and have her borne with all courtesy
-to Gilderoy, to her father's house. Then you will take
-these gentlemen who are my true friends and witnesses, and
-you will ride to Lauretia, to make solemn declaration before
-Bishop Hilary. He has already received my earlier embassage.
-After this affair, we have no need of ethical subtleties
-and clerical conveniences. You will obtain a dispensation
-at his hands. </span><em class="italics">Ex vinculo matrimonii</em><span>. Nothing less than that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They bowed to him and his commands, like the loyal
-gentlemen they were. Modred pointed to the prostrate
-Balthasar, who was already squirming back to consciousness,
-with his fingers feeling at his throat, as though to discover
-whether it was still sound or no.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And this fellow, sire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pick him up."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar had found his tongue at last. He was jerked
-to his feet, and held up by force, with the handle of a
-poniard rammed into his mouth to stem his garrulity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian read him an extemporary lecture. There was
-something like a smile hovering about his lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to your missal, man, and forswear women.
-They are like strong wine, too much for your flimsy brain.
-I have more pity for you than censure. Say to yourself,
-when you patter your prayers, 'Flavian of Gambrevault
-saved me from the devil once.' And yet, my good saint,
-I have a shrewd notion that you will be just as great a fool
-two months hence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man gave a scream of delight, and attempted to
-throw himself at Flavian's feet. His superlative joy was
-almost ludicrous. Half a dozen hands dragged him back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him away--who cares for such gratitude!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they marched him off, he broke like an imbecile into
-hysterical laughter. Tears streamed from his eyes. He
-mopped his face with the corner of his habit, laughed and
-snivelled, and sang snatches of tavern ditties. So, with
-many a grim jest, they cuffed Fra Balthasar out of Avalon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of the drama, Flavian called for tapers, and
-marched in state to the chapel. He knelt before the altar
-and prayed to the Madonna, whose face was the face of
-the girl Yeoland.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xx"><span class="large">XX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Fulviac, I cannot fasten all these buckles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man waited at the door of her room, and looked at
-her with a half-roguish smile in his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood by the window in Gothic armour of a grandly
-simple type, no Maximilian flutings, no Damascening, the
-simple Gothic at its grandest, nothing more. Her
-breast-plate, with salient ridge, was blazoned over with golden
-fleur-de-lis. The pauldrons were slightly ridged;
-vam-brace and rere-brace were beautifully jointed with most
-quaint elbow-pieces. She wore a great brayette, a short
-skirt of mail, but no tassets. In place of cuishes, jambs,
-and solerets, she had a kirtle of white cloth, and laced
-leather shoes. It was light work and superbly wrought;
-Fulviac had paid many crowns for it from an armourer at
-Geraint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her beauty, mailed and cased in steel, seemed to shine
-upon the man with a new glory. When he had played the
-armourer, she stood and looked at him with a most
-conscious modesty, a warm colour in her cheeks, eyes full of
-tremulous light, her masses of dark hair rolling down over
-her blazoned cuirass. A hand and a half sword in a gilded
-scabbard, a rich baldric, and a light bassinet lay on the oak
-table. Fulviac took the sword, and belted it to her, and
-slung the baldric over her shoulder. His hands moved
-through her dark hair. For a moment, her eyes trembled
-up at him under their long lashes. He gave the helmet
-into her hands, but she did not wear it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden gust of youth seized the man, an old strain of
-chivalry woke in his heart. Grizzled and gaunt, he went
-on his knees in front of her and held up his hands as in
-prayer. There was a warm light in his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Mother Virgin keep you, little woman. May all
-peril be far from your heart, all trouble far from your soul.
-May my arm ever ward you, my sword guard your womanhood.
-All the saints watch over you; may the Spirit of
-God abide with you in my heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a true prayer, though Fulviac stumbled up from
-his knees, looking much like an awkward boy. He was
-blushing under his tanned skin, blushing, scarred and
-battered worldling that he was, for his heart still showed gold
-to the knife of Time. Yeoland thought more of him that
-moment than she had done these four months. A shadow
-passed over her face, and she touched her forehead with her
-hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, a far-away look in his eyes, was furling her
-great scarlet banner upon its staff. Yeoland spoke to him
-over her shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am in your hands," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac smoothed out a crease.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your will, you have not yet enlightened me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her gravely for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are ours," he said, "a woman given to us by
-heaven," he hesitated, as over a lie; "you are to shine out
-a star, a pillar of fire before the host; every man who
-follows you will know your story; every man who follows
-you will worship you in his heart. You will inspire us as
-no mere man could inspire; your blood-red banner will
-wave on heroes, patriots. You will play the comet with
-an army for your tail."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Some sudden emotion seemed to sweep over her. She
-stood motionless with clasped hands, looking at her crucifix.
-There was a strange sadness upon her face, a tragic
-sanctity, as on the face of a woman who renounces the world,
-and more. For a long while she was silent, as though
-suffering some lustre light out of heaven to stream into her
-heart. Presently she answered Fulviac.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God help me to be strong," she said, "God help me
-to bear the burden He has put upon my soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Amen, little woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Prosper is preaching to all our men upon the cliff.
-He is telling them your story. I take you now to set you
-before them all, that they may look upon a living Saint.
-I leave the rest to your soul. God will tell you how to
-bear yourself in the cause of the people. Come, let us
-pray a moment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They knelt down side by side before the crucifix, like
-effigies on a tomb. Fulviac's face was in shadow;
-Yeoland's turned heavenward to the Cross. It was her
-renunciation. Then they arose; Fulviac took up the scarlet
-banner, and they passed out together from the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Traversing parlour and guard-room, finding them empty
-and silent as a church, they came by the winding stairway
-in the rock to the hollow opening upon the platform above.
-Two sentinels stood by the rough door. Above and
-around, great stones had been piled up so as to form a
-species of natural battlement. Fulviac, bearing the banner,
-climbed the rocks, and signed to Yeoland to follow. They
-were still within a kind of rude tower, walled in by heaped
-blocks of stone on every side. They were alone save for
-the two sentinels. Above, they saw Prosper the Preacher
-standing on a great square mass of rock, his tall figure
-outlined against the sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They could see that the man was borne along by the
-strong spirit of the preacher. His arms tossed to the sky
-as he bent forward and preached to those invisible to
-Fulviac and the girl. His oratory was of a fervid,
-strenuous type, like fire leaping in a wind, fierce, mobile,
-passionate. They could see him stride to and fro on his
-platform, gesticulate, point to heaven, smite his bosom,
-strike attitudes of ecstasy. His voice rang out the while,
-full of subtle modulations, the pathetic abandonments, the
-supreme outbursts of the orator. Much that he said fell
-deep into the girl's heart. The man had that strange
-power, that magnetic influence that exists in the individual,
-defying analysis, yet real as the stirring witchery of great
-music, or as the voice of the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Anon they saw him fall upon his knees, and lift his
-hands to the heavens. He had cast a quick glance
-backward over his shoulder. Prosper had soared to his zenith;
-he had his men listening as for the climax of some great epic.
-Fulviac thrust Yeoland forward up the slope. She
-understood the dramatic pause in an instant. Prosper's words
-had been like the orisons of birds preluding the dawn. She
-climbed the rocks, and stepped out at the kneeling monk's side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The scene below dazed her for the moment. Many
-hundred faces were turned to her from the slopes at her
-feet. Innumerable eyes seemed fixed upon her with a
-mesmeric stare. She saw the whole cliff below her packed
-with men, every rock crowned with humanity, even the
-pine trees had their living burden. She saw swords waving
-like innumerable streaks of light; she had a confused
-vision of fanaticism, exultation, power. Deep seemed calling
-unto deep; a noise like the noise of breakers was in her ears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then the whole grew clear on the instant. The sky
-seemed strangely luminous; every outline in the
-landscape took marvellous and intelligent meaning. Strange
-Promethean fire flashed down into her brain. She felt
-her heart leaping, her blood bounding through her body,
-yet her mind shone clear as a crystal grael.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Below her, she had humanity, plastic, inflammable, tinder
-to her touch. An infinite realisation of power seemed to leap
-in her as at the beck of some spirit wand. She felt all the dim
-heroism of dreams glowing in her like wine given of the gods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Holy fire burnt on her forehead and her tongue was
-loosed. She stood out on the great rock, her armour
-flashing in the sun, her face bright as the moon in her
-strength. Her voice, clear and silvery, carried far over cliff
-and wood, for the day was temperate and without a wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look upon me well. I tell you the truth. I am she
-to whom the Madonna appeared from heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Great silence answered her, the silence of awe, not of
-disbelief or disapprobation. Her voice rang solitary as the
-voice of a wood-fay in the wilderness. The huddled men
-below were silent as children whose solemn eyes watch a
-priest before the altar. She spoke on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am she whose tale you have heard. God has given me
-to the cause of the poor. To your babes and to your womenfolk
-I lift my hands; from the Mother of Jesus I hold my
-command. Men of the land, will you believe and follow my
-banner?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A thousand hands leapt to the sun, yet hardly a voice broke
-the silence, the calm as of supreme revelation. All the simple
-mediæval faith shone in the rough faces; all the quaint
-reverence, the unflinching fidelity, of the unlettered of the age
-shone in their hearts. They were warm earth to the seed
-of faith.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Men of the land, I hear great noise of violence and
-wrong, of hunger and despair. Your lords crush you;
-your priests go in jewels and fine linen, and preach not
-the Cross. Your babes are slaves even before they see the
-light. Your children, like brute beasts, are bound to the
-soil. Men of the land, give me your strength, give me
-your strength for the cause of God."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drew her sword from its sheath, pressed the blade to her
-lips, held it up to heaven. Her voice rang over rock and tree.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice and liberty!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her shrill hail seemed to lift the silence from a thousand
-throats. The human sea below gave up its soul to her
-with thundering surges and vast sound of faith. As roar
-followed roar, she stood a bright, silvery pinnacle above
-the black fanaticism beneath, transcendent Hope holding
-her sword to the eternal sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Behind her, Fulviac unwrapped the great scarlet banner
-she had wrought. Its cross of gold gleamed out as he
-lifted the staff with both hands. Prosper, erect and
-exultant, stood pointing to its device. Then, in sight of all
-men, he bowed down before the girl and kissed her feet, as
-though she had been some rare messenger out of heaven.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxi"><span class="large">XXI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The day had done gloriously till noon, but the sky's mood
-changed as evening advanced. Clouds were huddled up in
-grey masses by a gathering and gusty wind, and the June
-calm took flight like a girl in a new gown when rain
-threatens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By nightfall, a storm held orgy over the cliff. Billow
-upon billow of wind came roaring over the myriad trees.
-The pines were sweeping a murky sky with their black
-brooms, creaking and moaning in chorus. Rain rattled
-heavily, and over the cliff the storm thundered and cried
-with the long wail of the wind over rock and tree.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In Yeoland's chamber the lamp flared and smoked, and
-the postern clattered. Rain splashed upon the shivering
-casement; the carpet breathed restlessly with the draught
-under the door. It was late, yet the girl was still at her
-devotions. Her thoughts were dishevelled and full of
-discords, while between her fingers the beads of her rosary
-moved listlessly, and her prayers were broken by the
-anathemas of the storm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dual distractions of life had come in her to grappling
-point again. She could boast no omnipotence in her own
-heart, and could but give countenance to one of the two
-factions that clamoured for her favour. As her mood
-changed like the mood of a fickle despot none too sure of
-his throne, so tumult and despair were let loose time after
-time into the echoing courts and alleys of her soul. She
-had neither the courage nor the force of will for the
-moment to compel herself either to satisfy her womanhood
-or sacrifice her instincts to a religious conviction.
-Man and God held each a half of her being. The man's
-face outstared God's face; God's law overshadowed the
-man's.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had been carried into the palpitating azure of
-religious exaltation. The world had rolled at her feet. She
-had bathed her forehead in the infinite forethought of
-eternity; she had heard the stupendous sounding of the
-spheres. Then some mischievous sprite had plucked the
-wings from her shoulders, and she had fallen far into an
-abyss. After spiritual exaltation comes physical depression.
-Neither is a normal state; neither strictly sane to the
-intellect. Peter-like, she had trod the waves; faith had played
-her false; the waters had gone over her soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she knelt brooding before her crucifix, under the
-wavering lamp, she was smitten into listening immobility,
-her rosary idle in her hand. A cry had come to her amid
-the multitudinous voices of the storm, a cry like a hail from
-a ship over a tumbling sea at night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She waited and wondered. Again the cry rose above
-the babel of the wind. Was it from Fulviac's room; or a
-sentinel's shout from the cliff, seized upon and carried by
-the wind with distorting vehemence? Midnight covered
-the world, and the girl was in an impressionable mood. She
-took the lamp from its bracket and, opening the door,
-peered down the gallery that led to Fulviac's room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden sinister sound made her start back into the
-room, the lamp flashing tremulous beams upon the walls,
-and striking confusion into the shadows. A hand was
-beating heavily upon the postern.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She set the lamp in its bracket, crept to the door, put
-her ear to the lock and listened. The knocking had
-ceased, and in a momentary lulling of the wind she even
-fancied she could hear the sound of deep breathing. Her
-heart was hurrying, but suspense emboldened her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's there?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden gust made such a bluster that her voice died
-almost unheard in the night. There was a vague clangour
-without, as of arms, and the knocking re-echoed sullenly
-through the room. A lull came again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knocks?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This time an answer came back to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I--Flavian."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught her breath and shivered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want at midnight, and in such a
-storm?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me in. Open to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No--no."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Open to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you still mad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Silence held a moment. Then the voice rose again,
-with the hoarse moan of the wind for an underchant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Liberty, liberty, I am free, I am free."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank aside against the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The night gave me my chance; I have men in the
-wood. Let me in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I plead for love and my own soul. I come to give
-you life, sword, all. I cannot leave you; I am in outer
-darkness; you are in heaven. Let me in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood swaying like a reed in a breeze. Her brain
-glowed like some rich scheme of colour, some sun-ravished
-garden. The massed moan of a hundred viols seemed
-to sweep over her soul. God, for the courage to be weak!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland! Yeoland! have you no word for me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her hand trembled to the door; her fingers closed upon
-the key. She hesitated and her dangling rosary caught
-her glance; sudden revulsions of purpose flooded back;
-she stumbled away from the door like one about to faint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, I cannot," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will break down the door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The threat inspired her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, not thus can you win me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will break in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Attempt it, and I will call the guard. You will lose
-hope of me for ever. I swear it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice rang true and strong as a sword. With her
-judgment, silence fell again, and ages seemed to crawl
-over the world. When the man spoke again, his voice
-was less masterful, more pathetic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you no hope for me?" it said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given you life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is life without love?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed very bitterly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire, you do not understand," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you are a riddle to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A riddle that you may read anon; time will show you
-the truth. I tell you I am given to God. Only in one
-way can you win me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you solemn over this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Solemn as death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me that only way."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Only by breaking the bonds about my soul, by
-liberating me from myself, by battle and through perils that
-you cannot tell."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"War and the sword!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet not to-night. You would need ten thousand men
-to take me from this cliff. I advise you for your good.
-Only by great power and the sword can you win your
-desire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By God, then, let it be war."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An utter sense of loneliness flooded over her. She
-sobbed in her throat, leant against the door, listened,
-waited. The wind roared without, the rain beat upon the
-quaking casement, and she heard the multitudinous moaning
-of the pines. No voice companioned her, and the night
-was void.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden access of passion prompted her. She
-twisted at the key, tore the bolts aside, flung the door
-open. The stairway was empty. Rain whirled in her
-face, as she stood out in the wind, and called the
-man many times by name. It was vain and to no
-purpose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she re-entered the room, very slowly, and barred
-the door. Her rosary rolled under her feet. She picked
-it up suddenly and dashed it away into a corner. The face
-on the crucifix seemed to leer at her from the wall.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxii"><span class="large">PART III</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XXII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Aurelius, physician of Gilderoy, flourished on the fatness
-of a fortunate reputation. He was a rubicund soul, clean
-and pleasant, with a neatly-trimmed beard, and a brow that
-seemed to dome a very various and abundant wisdom. He
-combined a sprightly humour and an enlivening presence with
-the reverent solemnity necessary to his profession.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the ladies of Gilderoy, they reverenced Master
-Aurelius with a loyalty that became perhaps less remarkable
-the more one considered the character of the worthy
-charlatan. Aurelius was an Æsculap in court clothing. He
-was ignorant, but as no one realised the fact, the soul of
-Hippocrates would have been wasted in his body. Discretion
-was his crowning virtue. He was so sage, so
-intelligent, so full of a simple understanding for the ways of
-women, that the frail creatures could not love him enough.
-The confidences granted to a priest were nothing compared
-to the truths that were unmasked to his tactful ken. The
-physician is the priest of the body, a privileged person,
-suffered to enter the bed-chamber before the solemn rites of
-the toilet have been performed. He sees many strange
-truths, beholds fine and wonderful transfigurations,
-presides over the confessional of the flesh. And Aurelius never
-whispered of these mysteries; never displayed astonishment;
-always discovered extraordinary justification for the
-quaintest inconsistencies, the most romantic failings. He
-carried a sweet and sympathetic air of propriety about with
-him, like a perfume that exhaled a most comfortable odour
-of religion. His salves were delectable to a degree, his
-unguents and cosmetics remarkable productions. Dames
-took his potions in lieu of Malmsey, his powders in place
-of sweetmeats. Never did a more pleasant, a more tactful
-old hypocrite pander to the failings of an unregenerate
-world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius stood in his laboratory one June morning,
-balancing a money-bag in his chubby pink palm. He seemed
-tickled by some subtlety of thought, and wonderfully well
-pleased with his own good-humour. He smiled, locked the
-money-bag in a drawer that stood in a confidential cupboard,
-and, taking his cap and walking-staff, repaired to the street.
-Pacing the narrow pavement like a veritable potentate,
-pretentious as any peacock, yet mightily amiable from the
-superb self-satisfaction that roared in him like a furnace,
-he acknowledged the greetings of passers-by with the
-elevation of a hand, a solemn movement of the head. It was
-well to seem unutterably serious when under the eyes of the
-mob. Only educated folk can properly understand levity
-in a sage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the Erminois, a stately highway that ran northwards
-from the cathedral, he halted before a mansion whose
-windows were rich with scutcheons and proud blazonry.
-Aurelius prospered with the rich. The atmosphere of the mean
-quarters was like a miasma to him; he loved sunlight and
-high places where he might bask like a lizard. He passed
-by a great gateway into the inner court, and was admitted
-into the house with that ready deference that speaks of
-familiarity and respect.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius climbed the broad stairway, and sailed like a
-stately carrack into my lady's chamber. A dame in blue
-and silver greeted him from an oriel. The compounder of
-cosmetics bowed, disposed his staff and velvet cap upon a
-table, and appropriated the chair the lady had assigned to
-him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Superb weather, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Too sultry, though I am a warm-souled person."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True, madame, true, Gilderoy would be fresher if there
-were no mean folk to stifle up the streets like weeds. The
-alleys send up such an unpleasant stench upon the breeze,
-that it makes the cultured sense revolt from poverty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa's lips curled approvingly,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Poverty, poverty, my dear Aurelius, is like a carcase,
-fit only for quicklime. If I had the rule of the place, I
-would make poverty a crime, and cram all our human
-sweepings into lazar quarters."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic nodded for sympathy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly so, madame, but one would have to deal with
-the inevitable religious instinct."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That would be simple enough," she simpered. "I
-should confine religion to shadows and twinkling tapers,
-lights streaming in through enamelled casements upon
-solemn colours bowing before dreamy music; pardons and
-absolutions bought with a purse of gold. It is sad, Aurelius,
-but who doubts but that religion makes scavengers of us
-all? Away with your smug widows, your frouzy burgher
-saints, your yellow-skinned priest-hunters! I would rather
-have picturesque sin than vulgar piety."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of herbs sighed like an organ pipe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything can be pardoned before coarseness," he
-said; "give me a dirty heart before a dirty face, provided
-the sinner be pretty. I trust that madame was satisfied
-with my endeavours, that the perfumes were such as she
-desired, the oil of Arabia pleasant and fragrant?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Magical, my Æsculap. The oil makes the skin like
-velvet, and the drugs are paradisic and full of languors.
-Ah, woman, set the tray beside Master Aurelius' chair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's eyes glistened over the salver and the cup.
-He bowed to his hostess, sniffed, and pursed his lips over
-the wine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame knows how to warm the heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Truth to you. Who have you been renovating of
-late? What carcase have you been painting, you useful
-rogue?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, my profession is discreet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see your work everywhere. There is the little
-brown-faced thing who is to marry John of Brissac. Well, she
-needed art severely. Now the lady has a complexion like
-apple-blossom."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The old man's eyes twinkled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame is pleased to jest," he said, "and to think her
-fancies--realities. Were all ladies as fresh as Madame
-Duessa, what, think you, would become of my delectable
-art, my science of beauty? I should be a poor bankrupt
-old man, ruined by too much comeliness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius always had the wit to say the pleasantest thing
-possible, and to press the uttermost drop of honey from the
-comb of flattery. A surly tongue will break a man, a glib
-intelligence ensure him a fortune. Aurelius earned many
-a fee by a pretty speech, or a tactful suggestion. Then of
-course he was never hindered by sincerity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Dominic," laughed the lady, "I have proved a
-good patron to you in many ways."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I trust I shall always deserve madame's trust."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A discreet tongue and a comfortable obedience are
-sweet things to a woman, Aurelius."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame's voice recalls Delphi."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the Greeks were poets; they knew how to fit their
-religion to their pleasures. 'Tis only we, poor fools, who
-measure sin by a priest's pardon. Give me a torch before
-an aspergill."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic sipped his wine, cogitating over it
-with Jovian wisdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The chief aim in life, madame," he said, "should be
-the perfecting of one's own comfort. 'Tis my contention
-that a fat bishop is a finer Christian than a lean friar.
-The truism is obvious. Is not my soul the more mellifluous
-and benign if its shell is gilded and its vest of velvet?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa chuckled, and flipped her chin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a warm bed," she laughed, "and I will pity
-creation. The world's saints are plump and comely; the
-true goddess has a supple knee. Am I the worse for being
-buxom!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame," said the sage with great unction, "only
-beggars denounce gold, and heaven is the dream of
-diseased souls. The cult of pleasure is the seal of health.
-Discontent is the seed of religion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened a few inches, and there was the sound
-of voices in muffled debate in the gallery. The Lady
-Duessa listened, rose from her chair, appeared restless.
-The man of physic comprehended the situation, and with
-that tact that characterised him, declared that he had
-patronage elsewhere to assuage. The lady did not detain
-him, but dismissed him with a smile--a smile that on
-such a face as hers often took the place of words. So
-Master Aurelius took his departure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Five minutes later Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy,
-occupied the vacant chair in the oriel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There are many ways to fame. By the broad, embattled
-gate where the Cerberus of War crouches; by the
-glistening stair of glass where all the beauty of the world
-gleams as in a thousand mirrors; by the cloaca of
-diplomacy and cunning, that tunnels under truth and honour.
-Sforza of Gilderoy was a man who never took his finger
-off a guinea till he had seen ten dropped into the other
-palm. He was a narrow-faced, long-whiskered rat, ever
-nibbling, ever poking his keen snout into prospective
-prosperity. He had no real reverence for anything under the
-sun. To speak metaphorically, he would as soon steal
-the sacrificial wafer from the altar as the cheese from a
-burgher's larder. When he lived in earnest, he lived in
-moral nebulosity, that is to say, he had no light save his
-own lantern. Publicly, he appeared a sleek, dignified
-person, quick with his figures, apt at oratory, a man who
-could quote scripture by the ell and swear by every saint
-in the calendar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy, sat and faced Dame
-Duessa over a little table that held wine and a bowl of
-roses. His large hands rested on the carved arms of the
-chair. He had a debonair smirk on his face, a mask of
-complacency that suffered him to be vigilant in a polite
-and courteous fashion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has considered my proposition?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman leant back in her chair and worked her full
-lower lip against her teeth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I recognise your infallibility, Gonfaloniere."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Only to the level of human foresight, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a longer nose than most men."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take the insinuation as a compliment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He contemplated her awhile in silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How am I to know that you are sincere?" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you disbelieve me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my custom to disbelieve in everybody."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Till they have satisfied you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa looked out of the window, and played with her
-chatelaine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know women?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would never lay claim to such an arrogance of cunning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless you are no fool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no fool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you imagine my protestations are not sincere,
-even after what I have suffered?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her most cunningly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You want proof?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not like unsigned documents."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started forward in her chair with a strangely
-strenuous look on her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fanatic fools have often made some show of fortitude,"
-she said, "by thrusting a hand into the fire, or the like.
-See now if I am a liar or a coward."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before he could stay her she drew a small stiletto from
-her belt, spread her left hand on the table, and then smote
-the steel through the thick of the palm, and held it there
-without flinching as the blood flowed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My signature," she said, with her cheeks a shade paler.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, you have spirit."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you believe in me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I may say so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will include me in your schemes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember our mutual bargain?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She withdrew the stiletto and wrapped her bleeding
-hand in her robe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will initiate me--at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow, madame, you shall go with me to the council."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiii"><span class="large">XXIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Castle Gambrevault stood out on a great cliff above
-the sea, like a huge white crown on the country's brow.
-It was as fine a mass of masonry as the south could show,
-perched on its great outjutting of the land, precipiced on
-every side, save on the north. Hoary, sullen, stupendously
-strong, it sentinelled the sea that rolled its blue to the black
-bastions of the cliffs. Landwards, green downs swept with
-long undulations to the valleys and the woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That Junetide Gambrevault rang with the clangour of
-arms. The Lord Flavian's riders had spurred north, east,
-and west to manor and hamlet, grange and lone moorland
-tower. There had been a great burnishing of arms, a
-bending of bows through all the broad demesne. Steel had
-trickled over the downs towards the tall towers of
-Gambrevault. Knights, with esquires, men-at-arms, and yeomen,
-had ridden in to keep feudal faith. The Lord Flavian had
-swept the country for a hundred miles for mercenary troops
-and free-lances. His coffers poured gold. He had pitched
-a camp in the Gambrevault meadows; some fifteen hundred
-horse and two thousand foot were gathered under his
-banner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the hills cattle were herded in, and heavy wains
-laden with flour creaked up to the castle. There was
-much victualling, much blaring of trumpets, much blowing
-of pennons, much martial stir in the meadows. It seemed
-as though the Lord Flavian had a strenuous campaign in
-view, and there was much conjecture on the wind. The
-strange part of it was, that none save Sir Modred had any
-knowledge for what or against whom they were to fight.
-It might be John of Brissac, Gambrevault's mortal enemy;
-it might develop into a demonstration against the
-magistracy of Gilderoy. Blood was to be spilt, so ran the
-current conviction. For the rest, Flavian's feudatories
-were loyal, and left the managing of the business to
-their lord.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The men had been camped a week, and yet there
-was no striking of tents, no plucking up of pennons.
-Sir Modred had ridden out to bring in a body of five
-hundred mercenaries from Geraint. The Lord Flavian
-himself, with a troop of twenty spears, was lodged for
-a few days in Gilderoy, in the great Benedictine
-monastery, where his uncle held rule as abbot. He was
-negotiating for arms, fifty bassinets, two hundred
-gisarmes, a hundred ranseurs, fifty glaives, and a number
-of two-handed swords. He had found the Armourer's
-Guild peculiarly insolent, and disinclined to serve him.
-He had little suspicion that Gilderoy was seething under
-the surface like so much lava.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, while the Lord Flavian was preparing for his
-march into the great pine forest, Fulviac had completed
-his web of revolt. He had heard of the gathering at
-Gambrevault, and had hurried on his schemes in
-consequence. Five thousand men were ready at his back.
-He would gain ten thousand men from Gilderoy; seven
-thousand from Geraint. These outlaw levies, free-lances,
-and train-bands would give him the nucleus of the vast
-host that was to spring like corn from every quarter of
-the land. Malgo was to head the rising in the west,
-and to concentrate at Conan, a little town in the
-mountains. In the east, Godamar was to gather a great camp
-in Thorney Isle amid the morasses of the fens. Fulviac
-would himself overthrow the lords of the south. Then
-they were to converge and to gather strength for the
-march upon Lauretia, proud city of the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It would be a great war and a bitter, full of fanatical
-fierceness and revenge. Fulviac had given word to take,
-pillage, and burn all strong places. Destiny stood with
-wild hands to the heavens, a bosom of scarlet, and hair
-aghast. If the horde conquered, the seats of the mighty
-would reek amid flame; there would be death, and a great
-silence over proud cities.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiv"><span class="large">XXIV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>In an antechamber in the palace of Sforza of Gilderoy
-stood the Lady Duessa, watching the day die in the west over
-a black chaos of spires and gables. Before her, under the
-casement, lay the palace garden, a pool of perfume, banked
-with tall cypresses, red with the fire of a myriad roses.
-As night to the sunset, so seemed this antechamber to the
-garden, panelled with black oak, a dark square of gloom
-red-windowed to the west. The place had a sullen,
-iron-mouthed look, as though its walls had developed through
-the years a sour and world-wise silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa was not a woman who could trail
-tamely in anterooms. A restless temper chafed her pride
-that evening, and kept her footing the polished floor like a
-love-lorn nun treading a cloister. The casements were
-open to the garden, and the multitudinous sounds of the
-city flooded in--the thunder of the tumbrils in the
-narrow streets, the distant blare of trumpets from the
-castle, the clangour of the cathedral bells. A solitary
-figure companioned the Lady Duessa in the anteroom,
-cloaked and masked as was the dame herself. It was
-Balthasar the Dominican, who followed her now in
-secular habit, having forsworn his black mantle and
-taken refuge in her service. From time to time the two
-spoke together in whispering undertones; more than once
-their lips touched.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Duessa turned and stood by a casement with
-her large white hands on the sill. She appeared to grow
-more restive as the minutes passed, as though the antique
-clock on the mantle clicked its tongue at her each gibing
-second.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is insolence," she said anon, "holding us idling
-here like ragged clients."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar joined her, soft-footed and debonair, his black
-eyes shining behind his mask.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Peter kept Paul before the gate of heaven," quoth
-he, with a curl of the lip. "Sforza is a meddler in many
-matters, a god-busied Mercury. As for me, I am content."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Their hands touched, and intertwined with a quick
-straining of the fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pah," said the woman with a shiver, "this room is
-like a funeral litter; it chills my marrow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Balthasar sniggered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"See, the sky burns," he said; "yon garden is packed
-with colour. We could play a love chase amid those
-dark hedges of yew."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She pressed her flank to his; her eyes glittered like
-amethysts; her breath hastened.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My mouth, man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She pouted out her full red lips to his; suffered his
-arms to possess her; they kissed often, and were out of
-breath. A door creaked. The two started asunder in
-the shadows with an impatient stare into each other's eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza the Gonfaloniere stood on the threshold, clad
-plainly in a suit of black velvet, with a sword buckled at
-his side. He bowed over Duessa's hand, kissed her finger
-tips, excusing himself the while for the delay. He was
-very suave, very facile, as was his wont. The Lady
-Duessa took his excuses with good grace, remembering
-their compact, and the common purpose of their ambitions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gonfaloniere, we wait our initiation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza's eyes were fixed on Balthasar with a keen and
-ironical glitter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember; Lord Flavian's head, that is to be my
-guerdon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, we will remember it. And this gentleman?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the friend of whom I spoke."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A most loyal friend, methinks?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Gonfaloniere coughed behind his fingers, and spoke
-in his half-husky tenor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are ready to risk everything?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa reassured him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Expect no blood and thunder ceremonial," he said to
-them; "we are grim folk, but very simple. Your presence
-will incriminate you both. Be convinced of that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He led them by a little closet into the state-room of the
-palace, a rich chamber lit by many tapers, its doorway held
-by a guard of armed men. Statues in the antique gleamed
-in the alcoves. The panelling shone with gem-brilliant
-colouring. Armoires and carved cabinets stood against the
-walls. The ceiling was of purple, with the signs of the
-Zodiac in gold thereon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the centre of the room, before a slightly raised dais,
-stood a round table inlaid with diverse-coloured stones.
-Scrolls, quills, and inkhorns covered it. Some twoscore
-men were gathered round the table, staring with masked
-faces at a map spread before them--a map showing all
-the provinces of the south, with towns and castles marked
-in vermilion ink thereon. A big man in a red cloak stood
-conning the parchment, pointing out with a long forefinger
-certain marches to the masked folk about him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza pointed Duessa and Balthasar to a carved bench
-by the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have the patience to listen for an hour," he said,
-turning to join the men about the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A silver bell tinkled, and a priest came forward to patter
-a few prayers in Latin. At the end thereof, the masked
-Samson in the red cloak stood forward on the dais with
-uplifted fist. Instant silence held throughout the room.
-The man in red began to speak in deep, full-throated tones
-that seemed to vibrate from his sonorous chest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His theme was the revolt, his arguments, the grim bleak
-facts that bulked large in the brain of a leader of men. He
-dealt with realism, with iron detail, and the strong suggestions
-of success. Revolt, in the flesh, bubbled like lava at
-a crater's brim, seething to overflow and scorch the land.
-It was plain that the speaker had great schemes, and a will
-of adamant. His ardour ran down like a cataract, smiting
-into foam the duller courage of the multitude.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he had ended his heroic challenge to the world,
-he took by the hand a girl who stood unmasked at his side.
-She was clad all in white with a cross of gold over her
-bosom, and her face shone nigh as pallid as her mantle.
-The men around the table craned forward to get the better
-view of her. Nor was it her temporal beauty alone that
-set the fanatical chins straining towards her figure. There
-was a radiance as of other worlds upon her forehead, a
-glamour of sanctity as though some sacred lamp shed a
-divine lustre through all her flesh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment that the man in the red mask had
-drawn the girl forward beside him on the dais, Balthasar,
-with a stifled cry, had plucked the Lady Duessa by the
-sleeve. She had started, and stared in the friar's face as he
-spoke to her in a whisper, a scintillant malice gathering in
-her eyes. Balthasar held her close to him by the wrist.
-They were observed of none save by Fulviac, whose care
-it was to watch all men.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As Balthasar muttered to her, Duessa's frame seemed
-to straighten, to dilate, to stiffen. She did not glance at
-the friar, but sat staring at the girl in white upon the dais.
-The Madonna of the chapel of Avalon had risen before
-her as by magic; her dispossessor stood before her in the
-flesh. Balthasar's tongue bore witness to the truth. In
-the packed passion of a moment, Duessa remembered her
-shame, her dishonour, her hunger for revenge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl upon the dais had been speaking to the men
-assembled round her with the simple calm of one whose
-soul is assured of faith. For all her fierce distraction
-each word had fallen into Duessa's brain like pebbles into
-a well. A mocking, riotous scorn chuckled and leapt in
-her like the laughter of some lewd faun. She heard not
-the zealous mutterings that eddied through the room. Her
-eyes were fixed on the man in the red cloak, as he bent to
-kiss the girl's slim hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw Fulviac turn and point to a roll of parchment
-on the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We swim, sirs, or sink together," were his words;
-"there can be no traitors to the cause. In three days
-we hoist our banner. In three days Gilderoy shall rise.
-Sign, gentlemen, sign, in the name of God and of our Lady."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The leaders of Gilderoy crowded about the table where
-Prosper the Preacher waited with quill and testament,
-Sforza standing with drawn sword beside him. Fulviac
-had headed those who took the oath, and had drawn back
-from the press on to the dais. Meanwhile Duessa, with
-Balthasar muttering discretions in her ear, had skirted the
-black knot of conspirators and come close upon Fulviac.
-While Sforza and the rest were intent upon the scroll, she
-plucked the man in red by the sleeve, and spoke to him in
-an undertone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A word with you in an alcove."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stared, but drew aside from the group none the
-less and followed her. She had moved to an oriel and sat
-down on the cushioned seat, her black robe sweeping the
-crimson cloth. Fulviac stood and faced her, thus closing
-her escape from the oriel. Midway between them and
-the table, Balthasar stood biting his nails in sullen vexation,
-ignorant of where the woman's headstrong passions might
-be bearing them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa soon had Fulviac at the tongue's point.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are the first man in this assemblage?" she had
-asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, that is so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a truth to make known."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unmask to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, then obeyed him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly I am known to you," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stood back a step, and looked at her as a man
-might look at an old love. A knot of wrinkles showed
-on his forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Duessa of the Black Hair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, in the old days."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you now, madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see your face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You hold me at a disadvantage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well. Tell me this tale of yours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was cold as a frost, and there was an
-inclement look about him that should have warned the woman
-had she been less blinded by her own malice. She had
-lost her cunning in her fuming passion, and denounced
-when she should have suggested, blurted the whole when
-a hint would have sufficed her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault's wife," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That man!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That devil!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac drew a deep breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The fellow has divorced me; I will tell you why. You
-are the man they call Fulviac. It was you who took the
-Lord Flavian in an ambuscade, to kill him, for the sake of
-Yeoland of Cambremont, who stands yonder. The whole
-tale is mine. It was that girl who let the Lord Flavian
-escape out of your hands. A fine fool she is making of you,
-my friend. A saint, forsooth! Flavian of Avalon might
-sing you a strange song."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa took breath. She had prophesied passion, a
-volcanic outburst. Fulviac leant against the wainscotting with
-folded arms, his masked face impenetrable, and calm as
-stone. He stirred never a muscle. Duessa had ventured
-forth into the deeps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man thrust a question at her suddenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can prove the truth of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Duessa pointed him to Fra Balthasar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The priest can bear out my tale. I will beckon him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Sforza know of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"None know it, save I and yonder priest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I uncover to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He jerked his mask away, and stood half stooping towards
-her with a peculiar lustre in his eyes. Duessa stared at
-him as at one risen from the dead. Her face blanched and
-stiffened into a bleak, gaping terror, and she could not
-speak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your tale dies with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smote her suddenly in the bosom with his poniard,
-smote her so heavily that the blow dragged her to her knees.
-She screamed like a trapped hare, pressed her hands over
-her bosom, blood oozing over them. A last malevolence
-leapt into her eyes; she panted and strove to speak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, sirs, hear me----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, standing over her like a Titan, smote her again
-to silence, and for ever. With arms thrust upwards, she
-fell forward along the floor, her white face hidden by her
-hood. A red ringlet curled away over the polished oak.
-Fulviac had sprung away with jaw clenched, his face as
-stone. He drew his sword, plucked Balthasar by the
-throat, hurled him back against the wainscotting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A spy, poniard him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The great room rushed into uproar; the guards came
-running from the door. Fulviac had passed his sword
-through Balthasar's body. The friar rolled upon the floor,
-yelping, and clutching at the swords that stabbed him. It
-was soon over; not a moan, not a whimper. Sforza, white
-as a corpse, gripped Fulviac by the shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Know you whom you have killed?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well enough, Gonfaloniere."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What means it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I am a brave man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza quailed from him and ran to the oriel, where
-several men had lifted the woman in their arms. Her lustrous
-hair fell down from under her hood; her hands, stained
-with her own blood, trailed limply on the floor. She was
-a pathetic figure with her pale, fair face and drooping lids.
-The men murmured as they held her, like some poor bird,
-still warm and plastic, with the life but half flown from her
-body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac stood and looked down into her face. His
-sword still smoked with Balthasar's blood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs," he said, and his strong voice shook, "hear me,
-I will tell you the truth. Once I loved that woman, but
-she was evil, evil to the core. To-night she came
-bringing discord and treachery amongst us. I have done
-murder before God for the sake of the cause. Cover her
-face; it was ever too fair to look upon. Heaven rest her
-soul!"</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxv"><span class="large">XXV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Two days had passed since the secret assembly in the
-house of Sforza, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy. They had
-buried Duessa and Balthasar by night in the rose garden,
-by the light of a single lantern, with the fallen petals for
-a pall. It was the evening before the day when the land
-should rise in arms to overthrow feudal injustice and
-oppression. On the morrow the great cliff would be
-desolate, its garrison marching through the black pine woods on
-Avalon and Geraint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Towards eve, when the sky was clear as a single
-sapphire, Fulviac came from his parlour seeking Yeoland, to
-find her little chamber empty. A strange smile played
-upon his face as he looked round the room with crucifix,
-embroidery frame, and prayer-desk, with rosary hung
-thereon. He picked up her lute, thrummed the strings,
-and broke broodingly into the sway of some southern song:</span></p>
-<blockquote>
-<div>
-<div class="line-block outermost">
-<div class="line"><span>"Ah, woman of love,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>With the stars in the night,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>I see thee above</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>In a circlet of light.</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>On the west's scarlet scutcheon</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>I mark thy device;</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>And the shade of the forest</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>Makes gloom of thine eyes,</span></div>
-<div class="line"><span>God's twilight</span></div>
-<div class="inner line-block">
-<div class="line"><span>To me."</span></div>
-<div class="line"> </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>He ended the stanza, kissed the riband, and set the lute
-down with a certain quaint reverence. The postern stood
-open and admonished him. He passed out down the cliff
-stairway to the forest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An indescribable peace pervaded the woods, a supreme
-silence such as the shepherd on the hills knows when the
-stars beckon to his soul. Fulviac walked slowly and
-thought the more. He felt the altitude of the forest
-stillness as of miles of luminous, windless æther; he felt the
-anguishing pathos of a woman's face; he felt the strangeness
-of the new philosophy that appealed to his heart.
-Nothing is more fascinating than watching a spiritual
-upheaval in one's own soul; watching some great power
-breaking up the crust of custom and habit; pondering the
-while on the eternal mysteries that baffle reason.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found Yeoland amid the pines. She had been to the
-forest grave and was returning towards the cliff when the man
-met her. She seemed whiter than was her wont, her dark
-eyes looking solemn and shadowy under their sweeping
-lashes. She seemed marvellously fair, marvellously
-pure and fragile, as she came towards him under the trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Something in Fulviac's look startled her. Women are
-like the sea to the cloudy moods of men, in that they catch
-every sun-ray and shadow. An indefinite something in
-the man's manner made her restless and apprehensive.
-She went near to him with questioning eyes and laid her
-hand upon his arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have had bad news?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something has troubled you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him pensively, a suspicion of reproach,
-pity, and understanding in her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it remorse, your conscience?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My conscience? Have I had one!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a strong conscience."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Deo gratias</em><span>. Then you have unearthed it, madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A vein of infinite bitterness and melancholy seemed to
-glimmer in his mood. It was a moment of self-speculation.
-The girl still looked up into his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you kill that woman?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Her dead face haunts me, I see it everywhere; there
-is some strange shadow over my soul. O that I could
-get her last cry from my ears!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, with a sudden burst of cynicism, broke into
-grim laughter, a sound like the rattling of dry bones in a
-closet. The girl shrank away with her lips twitching.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why cannot you trust me with the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Truth is not always beneficent. It was a matter of
-policy, of diplomacy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Discords are bad at the eleventh hour. That woman
-could have half-wrecked our cause. It was policy to
-silence her and the man. I made sure of it by killing
-them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's face had a shadow of repugnance upon it;
-her eyes darkened. The man seemed in a callous, scoffing
-humour; it was mere glittering steel over the bitterness
-within.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will tell me her name?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She haunts me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have the truth if you will. She was the wife of the
-Lord Flavian of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stood motionless for a moment; then swayed
-away several steps from Fulviac under the trees. One
-hand was at her throat; her voice came in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did she tell you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Many things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, do they touch me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac choked an oath, and played with his sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then there was some truth in her?" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl grew imperious.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I command you to tell me all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame, the woman declared you were a traitress, and
-that this lordling, this Flavian of Gambrevault, loved you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you killed her----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For your sake and the cause. She might have cast
-our Saint out of heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland went back from him and leant against a tree,
-with her hands over her eyes. Sunlight splashed down upon
-her dress; she shivered as in a cold wind, and could not
-speak. Fulviac's voice, level and passionless, questioned
-her as she stood and hid her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You let the Lord Flavian escape?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you seen him since?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks for the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her responses had come like chords smitten from the
-strings of a lute. She started away from the tree and began
-to walk up and down, wringing her hands. Her face was
-like the face of one in torture, and she seemed to struggle
-for breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, I could not kill the man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The words came like a wail.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He was young, and he besought me when your men
-were breaking down the gate. What could I do, what
-could I do? He was young, and I let him go by the
-postern and told you a lie. God help me, I told you a lie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man watched her with arms folded. There was a
-look of deep melancholy upon his face, as of one wounded
-by the truth. His voice was sad but resolute.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rest?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rallied suddenly and came to him with truth in her
-eyes; they were wonderfully piteous and appealing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows I have been loyal to you. The man
-tempted me, but I withstood him; I kept my loyalty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you told him----?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, nothing; he is as innocent as a child."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac looked down at her with a great light in his
-eyes. He spoke slowly and with a deeper intonation in
-his voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have dealt with many bad women," he said, "but I
-believe you are speaking the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take it as such; you have been too much a woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if you could only forgive."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stepped forward suddenly, took her hands, and looked
-down at her with a vast tenderness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman, if I told you I loved you, would you
-still swear that you have spoken the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God judge me, Fulviac, I have been loyal."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A strange light played upon his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I, ye heavens, have I learnt my lesson in these
-later days? Girl, you are above me as the stars; I may
-but kiss your hands, no more. You are not for worldly
-ways, or for me. Battered, war-worn veteran, I have come
-again by the heart of a boy. Fear me not, little woman,
-there is no anger in a great love, only deep grieving and
-unalterable honour."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvi"><span class="large">XXVI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It was dawn; mists covered the forest; not a wind stirred
-or sobbed amid the boughs. A vast grey canopy seemed to
-tent the world, a mysterious veil that tempered the sun and
-spread a spiritual gloom over rock and tree.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The noise of horns played through the misty aisles--horns
-many-tongued, faint, clamorous, like the trumpeting
-of forest elves. There was the dull, rhythmic onrush
-of many thousand feet, the hurrying, multitudinous tramp
-of men marching. Armour gleamed through the glooms;
-casque and bassinet, salade and cap of steel flowed on and
-on as phosphorescent ripples on a subterranean stream.
-Pike, glaive, gisarme shone like stubble over the forest
-slopes. The sullen tramp of men, the clashing clamour
-of arms, the blaring of a solitary clarion, such were songs
-of the great pine forest on that July morning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, rebel lady and saint, on a great white horse,
-rode at Fulviac's side in full armour, save for her helmet.
-Her horse was cased in steel--chamfron, crinet, gorget,
-poitrel, croupiere gleaming like burnished silver. She
-made a fine and martial figure enough, a glittering dawn
-star for a heroic cause. About her rode her guard, the
-pick of Fulviac's men, some fifty spears in all, masses of
-steel, each bearing a scarlet cross blazoned upon his white
-jupon. Nord of the Hammer bore the red banner
-worked by the girl's own hands. They were hardy men
-and big of bone, sworn to keep and guard her to the death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac and Yeoland rode side by side like brothers in
-arms. All about them were rolling spears and rocking
-helmets moving among the myriad trees. The sound of
-arms surged round them like the ominous onrush of a sea.
-War followed like a thunder-cloud on their heels.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac was in great spirits, somewhat solemn and
-philosophic, but full of the exultation of a man who feels
-his ship surging on the foaming backs of giant billows.
-His eyes were proud enough when they scanned the girl
-at his side. His heart thundered an echo to the grim
-tramp of his men on the march.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day," he said, making grandiose flourishes with his
-sword, "the future unrobes to us. We plunge like Ulysses
-into the unknown. This is life with a vengeance!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had a smile on her lips and a far-away look in her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you love me," she said, "be merciful."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are always a woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are many women such as I am; there are
-many hearts that may be wounded; there are many
-children."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her meditatively, as though her words were
-both bitter and sweet in his mouth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must play the philosopher, little woman; remember
-that we work for great ends. I will have mercy when
-mercy is expedient. But we must strike, and strike terror,
-we must crush, we must kill."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet be merciful."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"War is no pastime; men grip with gauntlets of iron,
-not with velvet gloves. Fanaticism, hate, revenge,
-patriotism, lust of plunder, and the rest, what powers are
-these to let loose upon a land! We have the oppression
-of centuries red in our bosoms. War is no mere subtle
-game of chess; the wolf comes from the wilderness; the
-vulture swings in the sky. Fire, death, blood, rapine, and
-despair, such are the elements of war."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To purge a field, we burn the crop. To convert, we
-set swords leaping. To cleanse, we let in the sea. To
-move the fabrics of custom and the past, a man must play
-the Hercules. God crushes great nations to insure the
-inevitable evolution of His will. To move the world, one
-must play the god."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was noon when the vanguard cleared the trees, and
-spread rank on rank over the edge of a moor. A zealous
-sun shone overhead, and the world was full of light and
-colour, the heather already a blaze of purple, the bracken
-still virgin, the dense dark pines richly green against the
-white and azure of the sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, Yeoland, and her guards rode out to a hillock
-and took station under the banner of the Cross. The forest
-belched steel; rank on rank swept out with pikes glittering;
-shields shone, and colours juggled mosaics haphazard.
-Horse and foot rolled out into the sun, and gathered in
-masses about the scarlet banner and the girl in her silvery
-harness on the great white horse. The forest shadows
-were behind them, they had cast off its cloak; the world
-lay bare to their faces; they were hurling their challenge in
-the face of Fate. Every man in the mass might well have
-felt the future glowing upon his brain, might well conceive
-himself a hero and a patriot. It was a deep, sonorous shout
-that rolled up, when a thousand points of steel smote
-upwards to the heavens. Yeoland, amid her guards, had dim
-visions of the power vested in her slender sword. Where
-her banner flew, there brave men would toss their pikes
-with a cheer for the charge home. Where her sword
-pointed, a thousand blades would leap to do her bidding.
-Even as she pondered these things, the trumpets sounded
-and the men of the forest marched on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's plans had been matured but a week. His
-opening of the campaign was briefly as follows. He was
-bearing north-west towards Geraint, and Geraint was to
-rise that night, massacre the King's garrison, and come
-out to him. Avalon lay in Fulviac's path. He was to
-smite a blow at it on his march, surprise the place if
-possible, and then hold on for Geraint. The same night,
-Gilderoy would rise; the castellan, who was with the
-townsfolk, would open the gates of the castle and deliver
-up all arms and the siege train that was kept there. From
-Geraint, Fulviac trusted to ride on with a single troop to
-take command at Gilderoy, leaving Nord, Prosper, and the
-girl Yeoland in command at Geraint. With his numbers
-raised to some twenty thousand men, he would have his
-force divided into two bodies--ten thousand at Gilderoy,
-ten thousand at Geraint. These two bodies would sweep
-up by forced marches, converge on Gambrevault, crush the
-Lord Flavian's small armament, shut him up in his castle.
-Assault or leaguer would do the rest. Meanwhile the
-peasantry would rise and flock in to the standard of the people.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Free of the forest, Fulviac sent on a troop of horse
-towards Geraint to warn the townsfolk of his advance.
-With the main mass of the foot, he held northwards over
-hill and dale, and towards evening touched the hem of the
-oak woods that wrapped the manor of Avalon. The place
-was but feebly garrisoned, as the Lord Flavian had
-withdrawn most of his men to Gambrevault, dreaming little of
-the thunder-storm that was shadowing the land.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had his plan matured. Fifty men-at-arms in
-red and green, the Gambrevault colours, were to advance
-with a forged pennon upon the place, as though sent
-as a reinforcement from Gambrevault. The main body
-would follow at a distance and lie ambushed in the woods.
-If the ruse answered, and it was an old trick enough, the
-barbican and gate could be held till Fulviac came up and
-made matters sure. Thus Avalon would fall, proto-martyr
-on the side of feudalism.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nor were Fulviac's prognostications at fault. There
-were not sixty men in Avalon, and Fulviac's fifty gained
-footing in the place and held their ground till the rest
-came up. The affair was over, save for some desultory
-slaughter on the turrets, when Fulviac galloped forward
-over the meadows with Yeoland and her guard. The
-man kept the girl on the further side of the moat, and
-did not suffer her to stumble too suddenly on the realities
-of war. He feared wisely her woman's nature, and did
-not desire to overshock her senses. The butchery was
-over when they neared the walls. They heard certain
-promiscuous yelpings, and saw half a dozen men-at-arms,
-who had made a last stand on a tower, tumbled headlong
-over the battlements into the moat below. Fulviac did
-not suffer the girl to cross the bridge. What passed
-within was hidden by the impenetrable massiveness of the
-sullen walls.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Avalon, fair castle of the woods and waters, sent
-out her wistful prophecy to the land. In her towers and
-galleries men lay dead, bleak and stiff, contorted into
-fantastic attitudes, with pike or sword sucking their vitals.
-Blood crept down the stairs; dead men cumbered the beds
-and jammed the doors. There had been much screaming
-among the women; even Fulviac's orders could not cool
-the passions of the mob; it was well indeed that he kept
-Yeoland innocent in the meadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fanaticism, ignorance, lust were loose in Avalon like
-evil beasts. All its fairness was defamed in one short
-hour. Hangings were torn down, furniture wrecked and
-shattered, chests and cupboards spoiled of all their
-store. In the chapel, where refugees had fled to the
-altar, there had been slaughter, merciless and brutal.
-Bertrand, the old knight and seneschal, lay dead on the
-altar steps, with a broken sword and fifty rents in his
-carcase. Men were breaking the images, defacing the
-frescoes, strewing all the place with blood and riot. Nord
-of the Hammer stood over the cellar door with his great
-mace over his shoulder, and kept the men from the wine.
-Elsewhere the mob rooted like a herd of swine in the
-rich chambers, and worked to the uttermost its swinish will.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the day was past, Fulviac and his men, as hounds
-that have tasted blood, marched on exultantly towards
-Geraint. Night and great silence settled down over
-Avalon. The woods watched like a host of plaintive
-mourners over the scene. The moon rose and shone on
-the glimmering mere and swooning lilies, and streamed in
-through shattered casements on men sleeping in their
-blood, on ruin, and the ghastly shape of death.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvii"><span class="large">XXVII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Gilderoy had risen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was midnight. A great bell boomed and clashed over
-the city, with a roar of many voices floating on the wind,
-like the sullen thunder of a rising sea. Torches flashed
-and ebbed along the streets, with hundreds of scampering
-shadows, and a glinting of steel. Knots of armed men
-hurried towards the great piazza, where, by the City Cross,
-Sforza the Gonfaloniere and his senators had gathered
-about the red and white Gonfalon of the Commune. All
-the Guild companies were there with their banners and
-men-at-arms. "Fulviac," "Saint Yeoland," "Liberty
-and the Commune": such were the watchwords that filled
-the mouths of the mob.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Cressets had burst into flame on the castle's towers,
-lighting a lurid firmament; while from the steeps of the
-city, where stood the palaces of the nobles, smoke and
-flame began to rush ominously into the night. Waves of
-hoarse ululations seemed to sweep the city from north,
-south, east, and west. Trumpets were clanging in the
-castle, drums beating, fifes braying. Through the
-indescribable chaos the great bell smote on, throbbing through
-the minutes like the heart of a god.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It will be remembered that the Lord Flavian was in
-Gilderoy for the purchasing of arms. At midnight you
-would have found him in his state bed-chamber in the
-abbot's palace, tugging at his hose, fumbling at his points
-and doublet, buckling on his sword. He was hardly awake
-with the single taper winking in the gloom. The shrill
-ululations of the mob sounded through the house, with the
-clash of swords and the crash of hammers. The Lord
-Flavian craned from the window, saw what he could, heard
-much, and wondered if hell had broken loose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac and the Commune!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Saint Yeoland!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Down with the lords, down with the priests!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man at the window heard these cries, and puzzled
-them out in his peril. Certainly he was a lord; therefore
-unpopular. And Yeoland! Wherefore was that name
-sounding on the tongues of brothel-mongers and cooks!
-Was he still dreaming? Certes, these rallying-cries
-carried a certain blunt hint, advising him that he would have
-to care for his own skin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Malise, his page, knelt at the door with his ear to the
-key-hole. The boy was in his shirt and breeches, and
-trembling like an aspen. Flavian stood over him. They
-heard a rending sound as of a gate giving, a roar as of
-water breaking through a dam, a yelp, a scream or two, a
-confused medley of many voices.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian told Malise to open the door and look out into
-the gallery. He did so. A man, more zealous than the
-rest, sprang out of the dark and stabbed at the lad's
-throat. He fell with a whimper. Flavian plunged his
-sword home, dragged Malise within, barred the door again.
-Very tenderly he lifted the boy in his arms. Malise's
-hands clung about his lord's neck; he moaned a little, and
-was very white.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Save yourself, messire!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian bore him towards a door that stood open in
-the panelling. He felt the lad's blood soaking through
-his doublet; entreaties were poured into his ears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I die, I die; oh, the smart, the burn of it! Leave
-me, messire; let me lie still!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is no use; I have it deep, the man's knife went home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian felt the lad's hands relax, saw his head droop
-on his shoulder. He turned and put him down on the
-bed, and knelt there, while Malise panted and strove to
-speak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go--messire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian was trying to staunch the flow from the boy's
-neck with a corner of the sheeting. His own doublet was
-drenched with blood. In a minute he saw the futility
-of such unconscious heroism; the flickering taper by the
-bed told that Malise's life would ebb before its own light
-would be gutted. Blows were being dealt upon the door.
-Flavian kissed the lad, took the taper, and passed out by the
-panel in the wainscotting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A stairway led him to a little gate that opened on the
-abbot's garden. He more than thought to find the passage
-disputed, but the place stretched quiet before him as he
-came out with sword drawn. The scent of the flowers
-and fragrant shrubs was heavy on the night air, and the
-shouts of the mob sounded over the black roofs, and rang
-in his ears with an inspiriting fury.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a gate at the far end of the garden, opening
-through a stone wall into a narrow alley, and Flavian, as
-he scoured the paths, could see pike points bobbing
-above the wall, and a flare of torches. Men were
-breaking in even here, and he was caught like a rat in a
-corner. In an angle of the wall he found a big
-marrow bed, and crawling under the leaves like a worm, he
-smeared dirt over his face and clothes and awaited
-developments. In another minute the garden gate fell
-away, and a tatterdemalion rout poured in, strenuous
-and frothy as any tavern pack. They spread over the
-garden towards the house, shouting and blaspheming
-like a herd of satyrs. Flavian saw his chance, plunged
-from his dark corner, and joined the mob of moving
-figures. Dirty face and dirtier clothes were in kindred
-keeping. He shouted as lustily as any, and by dint of
-gradual and discreet circumlocutions, edged to the gate
-and escaped into the now-deserted alley.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Running on, he skirted the abbey and came out into
-the square that flanked the abbey church, and the great
-gate. A hundred torches seemed moving behind the
-abbey windows. The square teemed and smoked with
-riot. Flavian went into the crowd with drawn sword,
-screeching out mob cries like any huckster, smiting men
-on the back, laughing and swearing as in excellent
-humour. His gusto saved him. As he passed through
-the mob he saw heads, gory and mangled, dancing upon
-pikes; he saw women drunk with beer and violence,
-waving a severed foot or hand, kissing men, hugging
-each other, mouthing unutterable obscenities in the mad
-delirium of the hour. He saw whelps of boys scrambling
-and struggling for some ghastly relic; scavengers and
-sweeps dressed up in the habits of the Benedictines they
-had slain. One man carried in his palm an eye that had
-been torn from its socket, which he held with a leer in
-the faces of his fellows. Further still, he saw half a dozen
-beggars dragging the dead body of a lady over the stones
-by cords fastened to the ankles, while dogs worried and
-tore at the flesh. He learnt afterwards that it was the
-body of his own cousin, a young girl who had been
-lately betrothed. Last of all, he saw a carcase dangling
-from a great iron lamp bracket in the centre of the
-square, and understood from the crowd that it was the
-body of the abbot, his uncle. Men and women were
-pelting it with offal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he, an aristocrat of aristocrats, dirty and dishevelled,
-rubbed shoulders with the scourings of the gutter, shouted
-their shouts, echoed their exultation. At first the grim
-humour of the thing smote him in grosser farcical fashion;
-but the mood was not for long. He remembered Malise,
-whimpering and quivering in his arms; he remembered the
-body dragged about the square and worried by dogs; he
-remembered the carcase swinging by the rope; he remembered
-the dripping heads and the fragments of flesh tossed
-about by the maddened and intoxicated mob. It was then
-that his eyes grew hot with shame and his blood ran like
-lava through his veins. It was then that the spirit of a
-vampire rushed into his heart, and that he swore great
-solemn oaths by all the bones and relics of the saints. God
-give him a hale body out of Gilderoy, and this city scum
-should be scourged with iron and roasted by fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He got across the square by dint of his noisy hypocrisy,
-and turned morosely into a dark alley that led towards the
-walls. Hot-hearted gentleman, the mere panic-stricken
-thirst for existence had cooled out of him, and he was in a
-fine, rendering passion to his finger-tips, a striding,
-blasphemous temper, that longed to take the whole city by the
-throat and beat a fist in its bloated face. He wondered
-what had become of his knights, esquires, and men-at-arms.
-It was told him in later days how they died fighting in the
-abbey refectory, died with the Benedictines at their side,
-and a rare barrier of corpses to tell of the swing of their
-swords.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian dodged into a dark porch to consider his
-circumstances and the baffling influence of the same. He
-had caught enough from the mob to comprehend what had
-occurred, and what was to follow. Certainly for many
-months he had heard rumours, but, like other demigods, he
-had turned a deaf ear and smiled like a Saturn. The
-largeness of the upheaval stupefied him at first; now, as he
-pondered it, it gave a more heroic colour to his passions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To be free of Gilderoy: that was the necessity. He
-guessed shrewdly enough that the gates would be well
-guarded. And the walls! He smote his thigh and
-remembered where the river coursed round the rocky
-foundations, and washed the walls. A big plunge, a swim, and
-he would have liberty enough and to spare.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He set off instanter down alleys and byways, through the
-most poverty-stricken quarter of the city. The place had
-a hundred stenches on a hot summer night. Naturally
-enough, such haunts were deserted, save for a few hags
-garrulous at the doorways, and a few fragments of dirt,
-called by courtesy, children. The rats had gone
-marauding, leaving their offal heaps empty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Keen as a fox, he threaded on, and came before long to
-the walls, a black mass, rising above the hovels packed like
-pigsties to the very ramparts. Avoiding a tower, he held
-along a lane that skirted the wall, looking for one of the
-many stairways leading to the battlements. It was here, in
-the light of a tavern window, that he came plump upon two
-sweaty artisans, rendered somewhat more gross and insolent
-by the fumes of liquor. The men challenged Flavian with
-drunken arrogance; they had their password, to the devil.
-All the accumulated viciousness of an hour tingled in his
-sword arm. He fell upon the men like a Barak, kicked
-one carcase into the gutter, and ran on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was soon up a stairway, and on the walls, finding
-them absolutely deserted. The city stretched behind him,
-a black chaos, emitting a grim uproar, its dark slopes
-chequered here and there with angry flame. Before him
-swept the river, and he heard it swirling amid the reeds.
-Further still, meadows lay open to the stars, and in the
-distance stood solemn woods and heights, touched with the
-silver of the sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He moved on to where a loop of the river curled up to
-wash the walls. The water was in full flood at the place,
-and he heard it gurgling cheerily against the stones.
-Flavian took a last look at Gilderoy, its castle red with
-burning cressets, its multitudinous roofs, its uproar like the
-noise of a nest of hornets. He shook his fist over the
-city, climbed the battlements, jumped for it, plunged like a
-log, came up spluttering to strike out for the further bank.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the meadows the townsfolk kept horses at graze.
-Flavian, aglow to the finger-tips, with water squelching
-from his shoes, caught a cob that was hobbled in a field
-hard by the river. He unhobbled the beast, hung on by
-the mane, mounted, and set off bare-back for the road to
-Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxviii"><span class="large">XXVIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn climbing red over pinewoods piled on the hills;
-dawn optimistic yet ominous, harbinger of war and such
-perils as set the heart leaping and the blood afire; dawn
-that cried unto the world, "Better one burst of heroism
-and then the grave, than a miserable monotony of nothingness,
-a domestic surfeiting of the senses with a wife and a
-fat larder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Out of the east climbed the man on the stolen horse,
-riding out of the dawn with the lurid phantasms of the
-night still running riot in his brain. No sleep had
-smoothed the crumpled page, or touched the memory with
-unguent to assuage the smart. Maledictions, vengeances,
-prophecies of fire and sword rushed with the red dawn over
-the hills.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With forty miles behind him, he came on his jaded,
-sweaty beast towards his own castle of Gambrevault,
-forded his own stream, saw his mills gushing foam, heard
-the thunder of the weir. How eternally peaceful
-everything seemed in the dewy amber light of the dawn!
-Away rolled the downs, billows of glorious green, into the
-west. Gambrevault's towers rose against the blue; he
-saw the camp in the meadows; his own banner blowing to
-the breeze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The meadows that morning were quiet as a graveyard,
-as the Lord Flavian rode through to the great gate of
-Gambrevault. Soldiers idling about, stiffened up, saluted,
-stared in astonishment at the grim, morose-faced man, who
-rode by on a foundered horse, looking neither to the right
-hand nor the left. He cut something of a figure, as though
-he had been in a tavern brawl, and had spent the night
-snoring in a cow-house. Yet there was an indescribable
-power and dignity in the tatterdemalion rider for all his
-tumbled look. The compressed lips, knotted brow,
-smouldering eyes spoke of phenomenal emotions, phenomenal
-passions. Not a man cheered, and the silence was
-yet more eloquent than clamour. He rode in by the great
-gate, and parrying the blank glances and interrogations of his
-knights, called for two esquires, and withdrew to his own
-state rooms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His first trouble was to acknowledge such necessities
-as hunger and cleanliness. He contrived to compass both
-at once, eating ravenously even while he was in the bath.
-His next command was for his harness, and his esquires
-armed him, agog for news, even waxing inquisitive, to be
-snubbed for their pains.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Assemble my knights and gentlemen in the great hall,"
-ran his order, and after praying awhile in his own private
-oratory, he passed down to join the assemblage, solemn
-and soul-burdened as a young Jove.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There is a certain vain satisfaction in being the possessor
-of some phenomenal piece of news, wherewith to astonish
-a circle of friends. The dramatic person blurts it out like
-a stage duke; the real epicure lets it filter through his
-teeth in fragments, watching with a twinkling satisfaction
-its effect upon his hearers. The Lord Flavian's revelations
-that morning were deliberate and gradual, leisurely in the
-extreme. Many a man waxes flippant or cynical when his
-feelings are deep and sincere, and he is disinclined to bare
-his heart to the world. Flavian addressed his assembled
-knights with a certain stinted and pedantic courtliness;
-when they had warmed to his level, then he could indulge
-his sympathies to the full. The atmosphere about those
-who wait to hear our experiences or opinions is often like
-cold water, somewhat repellent till the first plunge has been
-tried.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen," he said, "I regret to inform you that
-the Abbot Porphyry, my uncle, is numbered with the saints."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So much for the first confession; it elicited a
-sympathetic murmur from those assembled, a very proper and
-respectable expression of feeling, but nothing passionate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I also have to inform you, with much Christian resignation,
-that Sir Jordan and Sir Kay, Malise, my page, and
-some twenty men-at-arms are in all human probability dead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This time some glimmer of light pervaded the hall.
-There was still mystification, silence, and an exchanging
-of glances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Finally, gentlemen, I may confess to you that a great
-insurrection is afoot in the land; that Gilderoy has
-declared against the King and the nobility; that the scum
-of a populace has made a great massacre of the magnates;
-that I, gentlemen, by the grace of God, have escaped to
-preach to you of these things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A chorus of grim ejaculations came from the knights
-and the captains assembled. Astonishment, and emotions
-more durable, showed on every face. Flavian gained heat,
-and let his tongue have liberty; at the end of ten minutes
-of fervid oratory, the men were as wise as their lord and
-every wit as vicious. Gilderoy had signalised her rising
-in blood; mob rule had been proclaimed; the peasantry
-and townsfolk had thrown down the glove to the nobles.
-These were bleak, plain facts, that touched to the quick
-the men who stood gathered in the great hall of
-Gambrevault. Not a sword was in its scabbard when Modred's
-deep voice gave the cry--</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God and St. Philip--for the King."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then like a powder bag flung into a fire came the news
-of the storming and wrecking of Avalon. A single
-man-at-arms had escaped the slaughter, escaped by crawling down
-an offal shoot and hiding till the rebels evacuated the place
-and marched under cover of night for Geraint. The man
-had crept out and fled on foot from the stricken place for
-Gambrevault. It was a tramp of ten leagues, but he had
-stuck to it through the night like a Trojan, and, knowing
-the road well, had reached Gambrevault before the sun was
-at noon. They brought him before Flavian and the rest,
-fagged to the fifth toe, and hardly able to stand. He told
-the whole tale, as much as he knew of it, in a blunt yet
-dazed way. His senses appeared numbed by the deeds that
-had been done that night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian leant back in his escutcheoned chair, and gnawed
-at his lip. This last thrust had gone home more keenly
-than the rest. That castle of lilies, Avalon the fair, was
-but a friend of wood and stone, yet a friend having
-wondrous hold upon his heart. He had been born there, and
-under the shadows of its towers his mother had taken her
-last sacrament. Men can love a tree, a cottage, a stream;
-Flavian loved Avalon as being the temple of the unutterable
-memories of the past. Desolation and ruin! Bertrand, his
-old master at arms, slain! He sprang up like an Achilles
-with the ghost of Patroclus haunting his soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, shall these things pass? Hear me, God
-and the world, hear my oath sworn in this my castle of
-Gambrevault. May I never rest till these things are
-reprieved in blood, till there are too few men to bury the
-dead. Though my walls fall, and my towers totter, though
-I win ruin and a grave, I swear by the Sacrament to do such
-deeds as shall ring and resound in history."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So they went all of them together, and swore by the
-body and blood of the Lord to take such vengeance as
-the sword alone can give to the hot passions of mankind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That noon there was much stir and life in Gambrevault.
-The camp hummed like a wasp's nest when violence
-threatens; the men were ready to run to arms on the
-first sounding of the trumpet. Armourers and farriers
-were at work. Flavian had sent out two companies of
-light horse to reconnoitre towards Gilderoy and Geraint.
-They had orders not to draw rein till they had sure view
-of such rebel voices as were on the march; to hang on the
-horizon; to watch and follow; to send gallopers to
-Gambrevault; on no account to give battle. Companies were
-despatched to drive in the cattle from the hills, and to
-bring in fodder. The Gambrevault mills were emptied of
-flour, and burnt to the ground, in view of their being of
-use to the rebels in case of a siege. Certain cottages and
-outhouses under the castle walls were demolished to leave
-no cover for an attacking force. The cats, tribocs,
-catapults, and bombards upon the battlements were overhauled,
-and cleared for a siege.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Towards evening, human wreckage began to drift in
-from the country, bearing lamentable witness to the
-thoroughness of Fulviac's incendiarism. Gambrevault might
-have stood for heaven by the strange scattering of folk who
-came to seek its sanctuary. Fire and sword were abroad
-with a vengeance; cottars, borderers, and villains had risen
-in the night; treachery had drawn its poniard; even the
-hound had snapped at its master's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Many pathetic figures passed under the great arch of
-Gambrevault gate that day. First a knight came in on
-horseback, a baby in his arms, and a woman clinging
-behind him, sole relics of a home. Margaret, the
-grey-haired countess of St. Anne's, was brought in on a litter
-by a few faithful men-at-arms; her husband and her two
-sons were dead. Young Prosper of Fountains came in on
-a pony; the lad wept like a girl when questioned, and told
-of a mother and a sire butchered, a home sacked and burnt.
-There were stern faces in Gambrevault that day, and looks
-more eloquent than words. "Verily," said Flavian to
-Modred the Strong, "we shall have need of our swords,
-and God grant that we use them to good purpose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So night drew near, and still no riders had come from
-the companies that had ridden out to reconnoitre towards
-Gilderoy and Geraint. Flavian had had a hundred duties on
-his hands: exercising his courtesy to the refugees, condoling,
-reassuring; inspecting the defences and the siege train;
-superintending the victualling of the place. He had
-ordered his troops under arms in the meadows, and had
-spoken to them of what had passed at Gilderoy, and what
-might be looked for in the future. There seemed no lack
-of loyalty on their part. Flavian had ever been a
-magnanimous and a generous overlord, glad to be merciful, and
-no libertine at the expense of his underlings. His
-feudatories were bound to him by ties more strong than mere
-legalities. They cheered him loudly enough as he rode
-along the lines in full armour, with fifty knights following
-as his guard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Night came. Outposts had been pushed forward to the
-woods, and a strong picket held the ford across the river.
-On the battlements guards went to and fro, and clarions
-parcelled out the night, and rang the changes. In the east
-there was a faint yellowish light in the sky, a distant glare
-as of a fire many miles away. In the camp men were
-ready to fly to arms at the first thunder of war over the
-hills.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian held a council in the great hall, a council
-attended by all his knights and captains. They had a great
-map spread upon the table, a chart of the demesnes of
-Gambrevault and Avalon, and the surrounding country.
-Their conjectures turned on the possible intentions of the
-rebels, whether they would venture on a campaign in the
-open, or lie snug within walls and indulge in raids and
-forays. And then--as to the loyalty of their own troops?
-On this point Flavian was dogmatic, having a generous
-and over-boyish heart, not quick to credit others with
-treachery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would take oath for my own men," he said; "their
-fathers have served my fathers; I have never played the
-tyrant; there is every reason to trust their loyalty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An old knight, Sir Tristram, had taken a goodly share in
-the debate, a veteran from the barons' wars, and a man of
-honest experience, no mere pantaloon. His grey beard
-swept down upon his cuirass; his deep-set eyes were full
-of intelligence under his bushy brows; the hands that
-were laid upon the table were clawed and deformed by gout.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen," he said, "I have not the fitness and
-youth of many of you, but I can lay claim to some
-wisdom in war. To my liege lord, whom, sirs, I honour as a
-man of soul, I would address two proverbs. First, despise
-not, sire, your enemies."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred laughed in his black beard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Reverence the scum of Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, man, if we are well advised, these folk have been
-breathed upon by fanaticism. I tell you, I have seen a
-meanly-born crowd make a very stubborn day of it with
-some of the best troops that ever saw service. Secondly,
-sire, I would say to you, turn off your mercenaries if the
-sky looks black; never trust your neck to paid men when
-any great peril threatens."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, out of his good sense, agreed with Tristram.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your words are weighty," he said. "So long as we are
-campaigning, I will pay them well and keep them. If
-it comes to a siege, I will have no hired bravos in
-Gambrevault. And now, gentlemen, it is late; get what sleep
-you may, for who knows what may come with the morrow.
-Modred and Geoffrey, I leave to you the visiting of the
-outposts to-night. Order up my lutists and flute-players; I
-shall not sleep without a song."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He passed alone to the outer battlements, and let the
-night expand about his soul, the stars touch his
-meditations. From the minstrels' gallery in the hall came the
-wail of viols, the voices of flute, dulcimer and bassoon
-keeping a mellow under-chant. He heard the sea upon
-the rocks, saw it glimmering dimly to end in a fringe of foam.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So his thoughts soared to the face of one woman in the
-world, the golden Eve peering out of Paradise, whose
-soul seemed to ebb and flow like the moan of the distant
-music. He fell into deep forecastings of the future.
-He remembered her words to him, her mysterious warnings,
-her inexplicable inconsistencies, her appeal to war.
-Gilderoy had taught him much, and some measure of
-truth shone like a dawn spear in the east. A gulf of
-war and vengeance stretched from his feet. Yet he let
-his soul circle like a golden moth about the woman's
-beauty, while the wail of the viols stole out upon his ears.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxix"><span class="large">XXIX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Little store of sleep had the Lord of Gambrevault that
-night. War with all its echoing prophecies played through
-his thought as a storm wind through the rotting casements
-of a ruin. He beheld the high hills red with beacons, the
-valleys filled with the surging steel of battle. Gilderoy
-and its terrors flamed through his brain. Above all, like
-the moon from a cloud shone the face of Yeoland, the
-Madonna of the Forest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was up and armed before dawn, and on the topmost
-battlements, eager for the day. The sun came with
-splendour out of the east, hurling a golden net over the
-woods piled upon the hills. Mists moved from off the
-sea, that shimmered opalescent towards the dawn. Brine
-laded the breeze. The waves were scalloped amber and
-purple, fringed with foam about the agate cliffs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The hours were void to the man till riders should come
-in with tidings of how the revolt sped at Gilderoy and
-Geraint. The prophetic hints that had been tossed to
-him from the tongues of the mob had served to discover
-to him his own invidious fame. Gambrevault, on its
-rocky headland, stood, the strongest castle in the south, a
-black mass looming athwart the perilous path of war.
-The rebels would smite at it. Of that its lord was
-assured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At noon he attended mass in the chapel, with all his
-knights, solacing his impatience with the purer aspirations
-of the soul. It was even as he left the chapel that Sir
-Modred met him, telling how a galloper had left the
-woods and was cantering over the meadows towards the
-headland. The man was soon under the arch of the great
-gate, his sweating horse smiting fire from the stones,
-dropping foam from his black muzzle. The rider was
-Godamar, Flavian's favourite esquire, a ruddy youth, with the
-heart of a Jonathan.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred brought him to the banqueting-hall, where
-Flavian awaited him in full harness, two trumpeters at his
-back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, Geraint has risen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are marching on Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your news, on with it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Godamar told how the troop had neared Geraint at eve
-and camped in the wood over night. At dawn they had
-reconnoitred the town, and seen, to their credit, black
-columns of "foot" pouring out by all the gates. The
-Gambrevault company had fallen back upon the woods
-unseen, and had watched the Gerainters massing in the
-city meadows about a red banner and one in armour upon
-a white horse. Godamar had lain low in a thicket and
-watched the rebels march by in the valley. They had
-passed between two hundred paces of him, and he swore
-by Roland the Paladin that it was a woman who rode the
-great white horse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian had listened to the man with a golden flux of
-fancy that had divined something of the esquire's meaning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Godamar," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You rode with me that day when we tracked a certain
-lady from Cambremont glade towards the pine forest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, you forestall me in thought."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I could even swear upon my sword that it is Yeoland
-of Cambremont who rides with the Gerainters."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian coloured and commended him. Godamar ran on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I threaded the thicket, sire, made a detour, galloped
-hard and rejoined our company. The Gerainters were
-blind as bats; they had never a scout to serve them. We
-kept under cover and watched their march. They came
-due west in three columns, one following the other. Six
-miles from Geraint, Longsword gave me a spare horse and
-sent me spurring to bring you the news."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stroked his chin and brooded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Their numbers?" he asked anon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten thousand men, sire, we guessed it such."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before Godamar had ended his despatch, a second
-galloper came in breathless from Gilderoy. He had left
-Fulviac's rebels massing in the meadows beyond the river,
-and had kept cover long enough to see the foremost
-column wheel westwards and take the road for
-Gambrevault. The scout numbered the Gilderoy force at
-anything between eight and twelve thousand pikes. Fulviac
-had been on the march three hours.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Avalon stood forward in the oriel in the
-full light of the sun. Sea, hill, and woodland stretched
-before him under a peerless sky. There was the scent of
-brine in the breeze, the banner of youth was ablaze upon
-the hills. A red heart beat under his shimmering cuirass,
-red blood flushed his brain. It was a season of romance
-and of lusty daring, an hour when his manhood shone
-bright as his burnished sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thoughts were tumbling, moving over his mind like
-water over a wheel. Geraint stood ten leagues from
-Gambrevault, Gilderoy thirteen. The Geraint forces had
-been on the march six hours or more, the men of Gilderoy
-only three. Hence, by all the craft of Araby, they of Geraint
-were three hours and three leagues to the fore. Bad
-generalship without doubt, but vastly prophetic to the man
-figuring in the oriel, his fingers drumming on the stone
-sill.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Strategy stirred in him, and waxed like a dragon created
-from some magic crystal into the might of deeds. The
-Lord of Gambrevault caught the strong smile of chivalry.
-A great venture burnt upon his sword. It was no
-uncertain voice that rang through the hall of Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, to horse! Trumpets, blow the sally! Let
-every man who can ride, mount and follow me to-day.
-Blow, trumpets, blow!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The brazen throats brayed from the walls, their shrill
-scream echoing and echoing amid the distant hills. Their
-message was like the plunging of a boulder into a pool,
-smiting to foam and clamour the camp in the meadows.
-Swords were girded on, spears plucked from the sods,
-horses saddled and bridled in grim haste. In one short,
-stirring hour Flavian rode out from Gambrevault with
-twelve hundred steel-clad riders at his back. Those on
-the walls watched this mass of fire and colour
-thundering over the meadows, splashing through the ford,
-smoking away to the east with trumpets clanging, banneroles
-adance. There was to be great work done that day.
-The sentinels on the walls gossiped together, and swore by
-their lord as he had been the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gambrevault and its towers sank back against the skyline,
-its banner waving heavily above the keep. Flavian's
-mass of knights and men-at-arms held over the eastern
-downs that rolled greenly above the black cliffs and the
-blue mosaics of the sea. A brisk breeze laughed in their
-faces, setting plumes nodding, banneroles and pensils aslant.
-Their spears rose like the slim masts of many sloops in a
-harbour. The sun shone, the green woods beckoned to
-the glittering mass with its forest of rolling spears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's pride whimpered as he rode in the van with
-Modred, Godamar, who bore the banner of Gambrevault,
-and Merlion d'Or, his herald. The man felt like a Zeus
-with a thunderbolt poised in his hand. A word, the flash
-of a sword, the cry of a trumpet, and all this splendid
-torrent of steel would leap and thunder to work his will.
-The star of chivalry shone bright in the heavens. As
-for this woman on the white horse, the Madonna of the
-Pine Forest, God and the saints, he would charge the
-whole world, hell and its legions, to win so rich a prize.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Turning northwards, with scouts scattered in the far
-van, they drew to wilder regions where the dark and
-saturnine outposts of the great pine forest stood solemn upon
-the hills. Dusky were the thickets against the sapphire
-sky, the cloud banners trailing in the breeze. The very
-valleys breathed of battle and sudden peril of the sword.
-Rounding a wood, they saw riders flash over the brow of a
-hill and come towards them at a gallop. The men drew
-rein before the great company of spears. Their leader
-saluted his lord, and glanced round grimly upon the sea of
-steel dwindling over the green slopes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we are well-fortuned."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Say on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten thousand rebels from Geraint are on the march
-two miles away. Godamar has given you the news. We
-are on the crest of the wave."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian tightened his baldric.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good ground to the east, Longsword?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellent for 'horse,' sire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To our advantage?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Half a mile further towards Geraint there lies a grass
-valley, a league long, four furlongs from wood to wood.
-The rebels will march through it, or I am a dotard.
-There stands your chance, sire. We can roll down on
-them like a torrent."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian took time by the throat, and called on his man
-of the tabard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Make me this proclamation," quoth he: "'Gentlemen
-of Gambrevault, strike for King and chivalry. Let
-vengeance dye your swords. As for the lady riding upon
-the white horse, mark you, sirs, let her be as the Virgin out
-of heaven. We ride to take her and her banner. For
-the rest, no quarter and no prisoners. We will teach this
-mob the art of war.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of the tabard proclaimed it as he was bidden.
-The iron ranks thundered to him like billows foaming about
-a rock. Modred claimed silence with uplifted sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough, gentlemen, enough. No bellowing. Muzzle
-your temper. We make our spring in silence, that we
-may claw the harder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A line of hills lay before them, heights crowned with
-black pine woods, save for one bare ridge like a great
-scimitar carving the sky. Flavian advanced his companies
-up the slopes, halted them in a broad hollow under the
-brow of the hill. A last galloper had ridden in with hot
-tidings of the rebels. The Lord of Gambrevault, with Sir
-Modred and Longsword, cantered on to reconnoitre. They
-drew to a thicket of gnarled hollies on the hilltop, and
-looked down upon a long grass valley bounded north and
-south by woods.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Half a mile away came the rebel vanguard, a black mass
-of footmen plodding uphill, their pikes and bills shining in
-the sun. Pennons and gonfalons danced here and there,
-while in the thick of the column flew the red banner of the
-Forest, girt about by the spears of Yeoland's guard. She
-could be seen on her white horse in the midst of the press.
-The Gerainters were split into three columns, the second
-column half a mile behind the first, the third somewhat
-closer upon the second. They were marching without
-outriders, as though thoroughly assured of their own safety.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred chuckled grimly through his black beard, and
-smote his thigh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fools, fools!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Devilish generalship," quoth Longsword under his
-beaver. "We can crush their van like a wheatfield before
-the rest can come up. What say you, sire, fewtre spears,
-and at them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian had already turned his horse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No sounding of trumpets, sirs," he said; "we will
-deal only with their van. Call up our companies. God
-and St. Philip for Gambrevault!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Over the bare ridge, with its barriers of sun-steeped
-trees, steel shivered and spears bristled, rank on rank, wave
-on wave. With a massed rhythm of hoofs, the flood
-crested the hill, plunged down at a gallop with fewtred
-spears. Knee to knee, flank to flank, a thousand streaks
-of steel deluged the hillside. Their trumpets throated now
-the charge; the iron ranks clashed and thundered, rocked
-on with a rush of glittering shields.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As dust rolling before a March wind, so the horsemen
-of Gambrevault poured down on the horde of wavering
-pikes. The storm had come sudden as thunder out of a
-summer sky. Before the hurtling impact of that bolt of
-war, the palsied ranks of foot crumbled like rotten timber.
-The Gerainters were too massed and too amazed to
-squander or give ground, to stem with bill and bow the
-rolling torrent of death. They were rent and trampled,
-trodden like straw under the stupendous avalanche of steel
-that crushed and pulverised with ponderous and invincible
-might.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God and Gambrevault, kill, kill!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Such was the death-cry thundered out over the rebel
-van. The column broke, burst into infinite chaos.
-Yeoland's guards alone stood firm, a tough core of oak
-amid rotten tinder. Over the trampled wreckage the
-fight swirled and eddied, circling about the knot of steel
-where the red banner flapped in the vortex of the storm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland sat dazed on her white horse, as one in the
-grip of some terrific dream. Nord was at her side,
-snarling, snapping his jaw like a wolf, his great iron
-mace poised over his shoulder. The red banner flapped
-prophetic above their heads. Around them the fight
-gathered, a whirlwind of contorted figures and stabbing
-steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's eyes were on one figure in the press, a man
-straddling a big bay horse, smiting double-handed with
-his sword, his red plume jerking in the hot rush of the
-fight. She saw horse and man go down before him;
-saw him buffet his way onward like a galley ploughing
-against wind and wave. His leaping sword and tossing
-plume came steady and strenuous through the girdle of
-death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fear, pride, a hundred battling passions played like the
-battle through the woman's mobile brain. She watched
-the man under the red plume with an intensity of feeling
-that made her blind to all else for the moment. Love
-seemed to struggle towards her in bright harness through
-the fight. She saw the last rank of the human rampart
-pierced. The man on the bay horse came out before her
-like some warrior out of an old epic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>None save Nord stood between them, shaggy and grim
-as a great Norse Thor. She watched the iron mace
-swing, saw it fall and smite wide. Flavian stood in the
-stirrups, both hands to the hilt, his horse's muzzle rammed
-against the opposing brute's chest. The blow fell, a
-great cut laid in with all the culminating courage of an
-hour. The sword slashed Nord's gorget, buried its blade
-in the bull-like neck. He clutched at his throat, toppled,
-slid out of the saddle and rolled under his horse's hoofs.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 86%" id="figure-49">
-<span id="the-sword-slashed-nord-s-gorget-buried-its-blade-in-the-bull-like-neck"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="&quot;THE SWORD SLASHED NORD'S GORGET, BURIED ITS BLADE IN THE BULL-LIKE NECK.&quot;" src="images/img-202.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">"THE SWORD SLASHED NORD'S GORGET, BURIED ITS BLADE IN THE BULL-LIKE NECK."</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's hand snatched at the girl's bridle; he
-dragged her and her horse out of the press. She had a
-confused vision of carnage, of stabbing swords and
-trampling hoofs. She saw her banner-bearer fall forward on his
-horse's neck, thrust through with a sword, while Modred
-seized the banner staff from his impotent hand. The
-rebel column had deliquesced and vanished. In its stead
-she was girdled by grim and exultant horsemen whose
-swords flashed in the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Trumpets blew the retreat. A thousand glittering
-riders swarmed about her and the knight with the red
-plume. She had his words confusedly in her ears, strong,
-passionate words, heroic, yet utterly tender. They rode
-uphill together amid the clangour of his men. In a
-minute they had won the ridge, and were swinging down
-the further slope with their faces towards Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxx"><span class="large">XXX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Paris and Helen have been dead centuries, yet in that
-universal world of the mind they still live, young and glorious
-as when the Grecian galleys ploughed foam through the blue
-Ægean. The world loves a lover. Troilus stages our own
-emotions for us in godlier wise than we poor realists can
-hope to do. We owe an eternal gratitude to those who
-have stood for love in history. All men might well desire
-to play the Tristan to Iseult of the Irish eyes. We forget
-Gemma Donati, and follow with Dante's wistful idealism
-the gleaming figure of Beatrice in Paradise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now the Lord Flavian was one of those happy persons
-who seem to stumble into heaven either by prodigious
-instinct or remarkable good-fortune. God gives to many
-men gold; to others intellect; to some truth; to few, a
-human echo, a harmony in the spirit, the right woman in
-the world. Many of us are such unstable folk that we
-vibrate vastly to a beautiful face and hail heaven in a pair
-of violet eyes. The chance is that such a business turns
-out miserably. It is a wise rule to search the world through
-to find your Beatrice, or bide celibate to the end. Happy
-is the man whose instinctive choice is ratified by all the
-wisest poetry of heaven. Happy is he who finds a ruby as
-he rakes the ephemeral flower-gardens of life, a gem eternally
-bright and beautiful, durable, unchanging, flashing light ever
-into the soul. It is given to few to love wisely, to love
-utterly, to love till death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That summer day Flavian saw life at its zenith, as he
-rode through the woods on the way to Gambrevault. The
-horse had dropped to a trot, and the man had taken off his
-helmet and hung it at his saddle-bow. He was still red
-from the mêlée; his eyes were bright and triumphant.
-The girl at his side looked at him half-timidly, a tremor
-upon her lip, her glances clouded. The terrific action of
-the last hour still seemed to weigh upon her senses, and she
-seemed fated to be the sport of contending sentiments. No
-sooner had she struggled to some level of saintliness than
-love rushed in with burning wings, and lo, all the tinsel of
-her religion fell away, and she was a mere Eve, a child
-of Nature.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian watched her with the tenderness of a strong
-man, who is ready to give his life for the woman he
-serves. Love seemed to rise from her and play upon him
-like perfume from a bowl of violets; her eyes transfigured
-him, and he longed to touch her hair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At last."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Treat me as a man, I hate that epithet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a great signor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are titles, testaments, etiquettes to us! I am
-only great so long as you trust and honour me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your power might appear precarious."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet war is loose!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked round upon the sea of men that rolled on
-every hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And war at its worst. I have seen enough in three
-days to make me loathe your partisans and their principles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a wicked and inhuman business."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do with me?" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Remove you from the hands of butchers and offal-mongers;
-put you like a pearl in a casket in my own
-castle of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You incur the greater peril."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I not told you that no woman loves a coward?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent awhile, with her eyes wistful and
-melancholy, as though some spiritual conflict were passing in her
-mind. Bitterness escaped in the man's words for all his
-tenderness and chivalry. He needed an answer. Anon
-she capitulated and appeared to surrender herself absolutely
-to circumstance. She began to tell Flavian of her
-adoption by Fulviac, of her vision in the ruined chapel, of the
-part assigned to her as a woman ordained by heaven. He
-heard her in silence, finding quaint pleasure in listening to
-her voice, having never heard her talk at such length
-before. Her voice's modulations, its pathos, its many tones,
-were more subtle to him than any music, and seemed to
-steep in oblivion the grim realities of the last few days.
-He watched the play of thought upon her face, sun and
-shadow, calm and unrest. He began to comprehend the
-discords he had flung into her life; she was no longer a
-riddle to him; her confessions portrayed her soul in warm
-and delicate colouring--colouring pathetic and heroically
-pure. He had a glorious sense of joy in an instinctive
-conviction that this girl was worthy of all the highest
-chivalry a man's heart can conceive of.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Though he had a strong suspicion that he could
-humanise her Madonna for her, he refrained from argument,
-refrained from dilating on the iniquities her so-called crusades
-had already perpetrated. Moreover, the girl had opened
-her heart to him with a delicious and innocent ingenuousness.
-He felt that the hour had blessed him sufficiently;
-that personalities would be gross and impertinent in the
-light of that sympathy that seemed suddenly to have
-enveloped them like a golden cloud. The girl appeared to have
-surrendered herself spiritually into his keeping, not sorry
-in measure that a strong destiny had decided her doubts
-for her. They were to let political considerations and the
-ephemeral turmoils of the times sink under their feet. It
-was sufficient for them to be but a man and a woman, to
-forget the forbidden fruit, and the serpent and his lore.
-God walked the world; they were not ashamed to hear
-His voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So they came with their glittering horde of horsemen
-to Gambrevault, and rode over the green downs with
-towers beckoning from the blue. The Gilderoy forces
-were still miles away, and could not have threatened the
-retreat on Gambrevault had they been wise as to the
-event. Yeoland rode close at Flavian's side. He touched
-her hand, looked in her eyes, saw the colour stream to her
-cheeks, knew that she no longer was his enemy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yonder stands Gambrevault," were his words; "its
-walls shall bulwark you against the world. Trust me and
-my eternal faith to you. I shall see God more clearly for
-looking in your eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He lodged her in a chamber in the keep, a room that
-had been his mother's and still held the furniture, books,
-and music she had used. Its window looked out on the
-castle garden, and over the double line of walls to the
-meadows and woods beyond. Maud, the castellan's wife,
-was bidden to wait upon her. Flavian gave her the keys
-of his mother's chests, where silks, samites, sarcenets galore,
-lace and all manner of golden fripperies, were stored. The
-ewers of the room were of silver, its hangings of violet
-cloth, its bed inlaid with ivory and hung with purple velvet.
-It had a shelf full of beautifully illumined books, a prayer-desk
-and a small altar, a harp, a lute, an embroidery frame,
-and numberless curios. Thus by the might of the sword
-Yeoland was installed in the great castle of Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Duessa and Balthasar were dead. The girl had told
-Flavian what had passed in Sforza's palace; the news
-shocked him more than he would have dreamed. The
-dead wound us with their unapproachableness and the
-mute pathos of their pale, imagined faces. They are
-like our own sins that stare at us from the night sky,
-irrevocable and beyond us for ever. Flavian ordered
-tapers to be burnt and masses said in the castle chapel
-for the souls of these two unfortunates. He himself
-spent more than an hour in silent prayer before he
-confessed, received penance and absolution.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That evening, at Flavian's prayer, Yeoland came down
-to meet him in the castle garden, with the castellan's two
-girls to serve her as maids of honour. She had put aside
-her armour, and was clad in a jacket of violet cloth,
-fitting close to the figure, and a skirt of light blue silk.
-In the old yew walk, stately and solemn, amid the bright
-parterres and stone urns gushing colour, the two children
-slipped away and left Yeoland and the man alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to have lost much of her restraint, much
-of her independence, of her reserve, in a few short hours.
-Her mood inclined towards silence and a certain delightful
-solemnity such as a lover loves. Her eyes met the
-man's with a rare trust; her hands went into his with all
-the ideal faith he had forecast in his dreams.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They stood together under the yews, full of youth and
-innocent joy of soul, timid, happily sad, content to be
-mere children. Flavian touched her hands as he would
-have touched a lily. She seemed too wonderful, too pure,
-too transcendent to be fingered. A supreme, a godly
-timidity possessed him; he had such love in his heart as
-only the strong and the pure can know, such love as
-makes a man a saint unto himself, a being wrapped round
-with the rarest chivalry of heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Their words were very simple and infrequent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking," said the girl.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How war seems ever in the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How else should I have won you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed and looked up over his shoulder at the
-sunlight glimmering gold through the yews.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking how I bring you infinite peril.
-They will not lose me easily. What if I bring you to
-ruin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take everything to myself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They believe me a saint."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My conscience will reproach me, but now----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am too happy to remember."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Their eyes met and flashed all the unutterable truths
-of the soul. Flavian kissed her hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Forget it all," he said, "save the words I spoke to you
-over that forest grave. Whatever doom may come upon
-me, though death frown, I care not; all the sky is at
-sunset, all the world is full of song. I could meet God
-to-morrow with a smile, since you have shown me all
-your heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From a little stone pavilion hidden by laurels the
-voices of flutes and viols swirled out upon the air. The
-west grew faint, and twilight increased; night kissed
-and closed the azure eyes of the day. Under the yew
-boughs, Flavian and Yeoland walked hand in hand; the
-music spoke for them; the night made their faces pale
-and spiritual under the trees. They said little; a tremor
-of the fingers, a glance, a sigh were enough. When the
-west had faded, and the last primrose streak was gone,
-Flavian kissed the girl's lips and sent her back to the two
-children, who were curled on a bench by the laurels,
-listening sleepily to the music of flute and viol.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's soul was too scintillant and joyous to shun
-the stars. He passed up on to the battlements, and
-listened to the long surge of the summer sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And as he paced the battlements that night, he saw red,
-impish specks of flame start out against the black
-background of the night. They were the rebel watchfires
-burning on the hills, sinister eyes, red with the distant
-prophecy of war.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxi"><span class="large">XXXI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It would be difficult to describe the thundercloud of
-thought that came down upon Fulviac's face when news
-was brought him of the capture of the girl Yeoland and the
-decimation of the vanguard from Geraint. There was
-something even Satanic upon his face for the moment. He
-was not a pleasant person when roused, and roused he was
-that day like any ogre. His tongue ran through the whole
-gamut of blasphemy before he recovered a finer dignity and
-relapsed into a grim reserve. His men spoke to him with
-great suavity. He had decreed that Nord of the Hammer
-should be hanged for negligence, but the decree was
-unnecessary, since Flavian's sword had already settled the
-matter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Gilderoy forces therefore turned northwards, with
-their great baggage and siege train, and in due course came
-upon the Gerainters bivouacking on the ridge where the
-battle had taken place. The green slopes were specked
-with dark motionless figures, dead horses, and the
-wreckage of war. Men were burying the dead upon the
-battlefield. Yeoland's guard had been slaughtered almost to a
-man; and the whole affair had damped very considerably
-the ardour of certain of the less trustworthy levies.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Fulviac was not the man to sit and snivel over a
-defeat; he knew well enough that he had good men behind
-him, tough fighting stuff, fired by fanaticism and a long
-sense of wrong. He harangued his whole force, black-guarded
-with his lion's roar those concerned in the march
-from Geraint, treating them to such a scourging with
-words that they snarled and clamoured to be led on at once
-to prove their mettle. Their leaders had been at fault,
-nor did Fulviac keep their spirits cooling in the wind.
-The power of his own personality was great, and he had
-twenty thousand men at his back, who knew that to fail
-meant death and torture. They had received a check from
-the Lord of Gambrevault; it was absolutely essential to
-the cause that they should wipe out the defeat, recapture
-their Saint and sacred banner, crush Gambrevault once and
-for ever. To this strenuous tune they marched on
-towards the sea, and that night lit their fires on the hills
-that ringed Gambrevault on the north.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the sun climbed up and spread a curtain of gold over
-down and upland, those on the walls of Gambrevault saw
-steel glinting on the hills, the pikes and casques of Fulviac's
-horde. Yeoland saw them from her casement, as she stood
-and combed her hair. Flavian, watching with certain
-knights on the keep, confronted the event with a merry
-smile. The shimmering line of silver on the hills had
-broadened to a darker band, splashed lavishly with steel.
-The rebel host was coming on in a half moon, with each
-horn to the sea. Its centre held towards the ford and the
-dismantled Gambrevault mills, positions strongly held on
-the southern bank by a redoubt and stockaded trenches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The criticisms delivered by those watching from the
-keep were various and forcible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jeremy--a rare mob!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let them grip at Gambrevault," said Modred, "and
-they shall clutch at a cactus. Look at that long baggage
-train in the rear. Damn them, I guess they have the
-siege train from Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall sweat a trifle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quoth Tristram, "They have little time to spare for a
-leaguer, rotting in trenches, if they are to make the
-country rise. They'll not leaguer us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian watched the advance under his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fortunately or unfortunately, gentlemen," he said,
-"we have taken their Saint, their oracle, and their sacred
-banner. I imagine they will do their best to dispossess us.
-It is time we made for the meadows; I reckon we shall
-have hot work to-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When leaving the keep, Flavian crossed the castle
-garden, and caught under the tunnel of yews the flutter of a
-woman's gown. Sunlight glimmered through and wove a
-shimmering network in the air. Green and violet swept
-the stones; a white face shone in the shadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He went to her and kissed her hands. His eyes were
-brave and joyous as she looked into them, and there was
-no shadow of fear upon his face. Trumpets were blowing
-in the meadows, piercing the confused hum of men running
-to arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"War, ever war!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac has the whole kingdom at his back."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If he led the world, I should not waver."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"With me it is different; I am a woman and you know
-my heart."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So well that I seek to know nothing else in the world,
-I desire no greater wisdom than my love. You are with
-me, and my heart sings. No harm can come to you
-whatever doom may fall on Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Think you my thoughts are all of my own safety?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, golden one, never fear for me. What is life? a
-little joy, a little pain, and then eternity. I would
-rather have an hour's glory in the sun than fifty years
-of grey monotony. It is something to fight, and even
-to die, for the love of a woman. There is no shadow
-over my soul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a great heroism in his voice, and her eyes
-caught the light from his. She touched his cuirass with
-her slim white fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, I do not smell of earth to-day, nor dream of
-requiems."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you will come back to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me your scarf."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She took the green silk and knotted it about his arm;
-a rich colour shone in her cheeks, her eyes were warm
-and wonderfully luminous.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So he kissed her lips and left her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The rebel horde had rolled down in their thousands
-from the hills. Flavian saw their black masses moving
-from the woods, as he rode down from the great gate.
-It was evident to him that Fulviac would try and force
-the ford and win his way to the open meadows beyond.
-The river ran fast with a deep but narrow channel, and
-there was only one other ford some nine miles upstream.
-His own men were under arms in the meadows. With
-his knights round him, Flavian rode down to the redoubt
-and trenches by the river-bank, packed as they already
-were with archers and men-at-arms. He was loudly
-cheered as he reined in and scanned the rebel columns
-moving over the downs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac had ridden forward with a company of spears
-to reconnoitre. He saw the captured banner of The
-Maid hoisted derisively on Gambrevault keep; he saw
-the redoubt and the stockades covering the ford; the
-foot massed in the meadows; Flavian's mounted men-at-arms
-drawn up under the castle walls. Sforza and several
-captains of note were with Fulviac. The man was in a
-grim mood, a slashing Titanic humour. The passage of
-the river was to be forced, Flavian's men engaged in the
-meadows. He would drive them into Gambrevault before
-nightfall. Then they would cast their leaguer, bring up
-the siege train taken from Gilderoy, and batter at
-Gambrevault till they could storm the place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Early in the day Fulviac detached a body of two
-thousand men under Colgran, a noted free-lance, to march
-upstream, cross by the upper ford, and threaten Flavian
-on the flank. The fighting began at ten of the clock,
-when Fulviac's bowmen scattered along the river and
-opened fire upon the stockades. Flavian's archers and
-arbalisters responded. A body of five thousand rebels advanced
-with great mantlets upon wheels to the northern bank and
-entrenched themselves there. A second body, with waggons
-laden with timber and several flat-bottomed boats, poured
-down to the river a mile higher up, and began to throw
-a rough, raft-like bridge across the stream. At half-past
-ten masses of men-at-arms splashed through the water at
-the ford, under cover of a hot fire from the archers lining
-the bank, and began an assault upon the redoubt and the
-stockades.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By twelve o'clock the bridge higher up the stream had
-been completed, and a glittering line of pikes poured across,
-to be met on the southern bank by Geoffrey Longsword
-and a body of men-at-arms. It was hand to hand, and
-hot and strenuous as could be. Men grappled, stabbed,
-hacked, bellowed like a herd of bulls. Flavian had
-reinforced the defenders of the ford, who still held Fulviac at
-bay, despite a heavy archery fire and the almost continuous
-assaults poured against the stockades. Yet by one o'clock
-Fulviac's levies had forced the passage of the bridge and
-gained footing on the southern bank. Longsword's men,
-outnumbered and repulsed, were falling back before the
-black masses of foot that now poured into the meadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The situation was critical enough, as Flavian had long
-seen, as he galloped hotly from point to point. Fulviac's
-rebels had shown more valour than he had ever prophesied.
-Flavian packed all his remaining foot into the trenches, and
-putting himself at the head of his knights and mounted
-men-at-arms, rode down to charge the troops who had
-crossed by the pontoons. Here chivalry availed him to the
-full. By a succession of tremendous rushes, he drove the
-rebels back into the river, did much merciless slaughter, cut
-the ropes that held the bridge to the southern bank, so that
-the whole structure veered downstream. The peril seemed
-past, when he was startled by the cry that the redoubt had
-been carried, and that Fulviac held the ford.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Looking south, he saw the truth with his own eyes. His
-troops were falling back in disorder upon Gambrevault,
-followed by an ever-growing mass, that swarmed exultantly
-into the meadows. The last and successful assault had
-been led by Fulviac in person. Flavian had to grip the
-truth. The rebels outnumbered him by more than five to
-one; and he had underrated their discipline and fighting
-spirit. He was wiser before the sun went down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, gentlemen, we shall beat them yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we charge them, sire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blow bugles, follow me, sirs; I am in no mood for defeat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That afternoon there was grim work in the Gambrevault
-meadows. Five times Flavian charged Fulviac's columns,
-hurling them back towards the river, only to be repulsed in
-turn by the fresh masses that poured over by the ford. He
-made much slaughter, lost many good men in the mad,
-whirling mêlées. Desperate heroism inspired on either
-hand. Once he stood in great peril of his own life,
-having been unhorsed and surrounded by a mob of rebel pikes.
-He was saved by the devotion and heroism of Modred and
-his household knights. With the chivalry of a Galahad, he
-did all that a man could to keep the field. Colgran's flanking
-column appeared over the downs, and Fulviac had his whole
-host on the southern bank of the river. The masses advanced
-like one man, pennons flying, trumpets clanging. Flavian
-would have charged again, but for the vehement dissuasion
-of certain of his elder knights. He contented himself with
-covering the retreat of his foot, while the great gate of
-Gambrevault opened its black maw to take them in. Many
-of his mercenaries had deserted to the rebels. So stubborn
-and bloody had been the day, that he had lost close upon half
-his force by death and desertion; no quarter had been given
-on either side. He heard the surging shouts of exultation
-from the meadows, as he rode sullen and wearied into
-Gambrevault. The great gates thundered to, the portcullises
-rattled down. Fulviac had his man shut up in Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxii"><span class="large">XXXII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The leaguer was drawn that night about the towers of
-Gambrevault, and the castle stood clasped betwixt the
-watch-fires and the sea. Fulviac's rebels, toiling from
-evening until dawn, banked and staked a rampart to close
-the headland. From the north alone could Gambrevault
-be approached, precipices plunging south, east, and west
-to front the sea. Athwart the grassy isthmus Fulviac drew
-his works, running from cliff to cliff, brown earth-banks
-bristling with timber. Mortars, bombards, basilics, and
-great catapults had been brought from Gilderoy to batter
-the walls. Redoubts, covered by strong mantlets, were
-established in the meadows. Several small war galleys
-guarded the castle on the side of the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was this labour permitted to pass unrebuked before
-the leaguered folk upon the headland. There were sallies,
-assaults, bloody tussles in the trenches, skirmishes upon
-the causeway. Yet these fiercenesses brought no flattering
-boon to the besieged. The knights and men-at-arms were
-masterful enough with an open field to serve them, but
-behind their barricades Fulviac's rebels held the advantage.
-The command went forth from Modred the seneschal that
-there were to be no more sorties delivered against the
-trenches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the second day of the leaguer the cannonade began.
-Bombard and mortar belched flame and smoke; the huge
-catapults strove with their gigantic arms; arbalisters
-wound their windlasses behind the ramparts. Shot
-screamed and hurtled, crashed and thundered against the
-walls, bringing down mortar and masonry in rattling
-showers. The battlements of Gambrevault spouted flame;
-archers plied their bows in bartisan and turret. A shroud
-of dust and smoke swirled about the place, the chaotic
-clamour of the siege sending the gulls wheeling and
-wailing from the cliffs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the very second day Flavian was brought low by a
-shot hurling a fragment of masonry upon his thigh and
-bruising it to the bone. Stiff and faint, he was laid abed
-in his own state room, unable to stir for the twinging
-tendons, loth enough to lie idle. Modred, bluff, lusty smiter,
-took the command from him, and walked the walls. Hourly
-he came in to his lord's chamber to tell of the cannonade
-and the state of the castle. Even Flavian from his
-cushions could see that the man's black face looked grim
-and sinister.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do they vex us?" was his question, as the
-thunder came to them from the meadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred clinked his heels against the wainscotting of
-the window seat, and strove to sweeten his looks. He was
-not a man given to blandishing the truth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Their damned bombards are too heavy for us. We are dumb."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we shall have to hold Gambrevault by the sword."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the bed started up on his elbow, only to
-fall back again with a spasmodic twitching of the forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And our bombards?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are toppled off their trunnions."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For the rest, sire, I have ordered our men to keep
-cover. The bowmen shoot passably. The outer
-battlements are swept."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the walls?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred grimaced and stroked his beard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are cracks in the gate-house," quoth he, "that
-I could lay my fist in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What goodlier fortune for a man than to lie bruised
-when Love bears to him the bowl of dreams! What
-softer balm than the touch of a woman's hand! What
-more subtle music than her voice! The girl Yeoland had
-betrayed a new wilfulness to the world, in that she now
-claimed as her guerdon the care of the man's heart. She
-was in and about his room, a shadow moving in the
-sunlight, a shaft of youth, supple and very tender. Her eyes
-had a rarer lustre, her face more of the dawn tint of the
-rose. Love stirred within her soul like the sound of angels
-psaltering on the golden battlements of heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat often beside him, Flavian won the whole
-romance from her, gradual as glistening threads of silk
-drawn from a scarlet purse. She waxed very solemn over
-her tale, was timid at times, and exceeding sorrowful for
-all her passion. Some shadowy fear seemed to companion
-her beside the couch, some wraith prophetic of a tragic
-end. She loved the man, yet feared her love, even as it
-had been a sword shimmering above his head. Peril
-compassed them like an angry sea; she heard the bombards
-thundering in the meadows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire," she said to him one morning, as she thrust
-the flowers she had gathered in the garden into a brazen
-bowl, "I am heavy at heart. Who shall pity me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned towards her on his cushions with a smile that
-was not prophetic of the tomb.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I weary you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah no, not that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why then are you sad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She held up a white hand in the gloom of the room,
-her hair falling like a black cloud upon her bosom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not deaf."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The thunder of war."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, my heart, should I fear it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I who fear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," he said, taking her hand into his bosom, "put
-such fears far from you. We shall not end this year in dust."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A week passed and the man was on the walls again,
-bold and ruddy as a youthful Jove. Seven days had gone,
-swelling with their hours the great concourse in the
-meadows. Pikes had sprouted on the hills like glistening
-corn, to roll and merge into the girding barrier of
-steel. The disloyal south had gathered to Fulviac before
-Gambrevault like dust in a dry corner in the month of
-March. A great host teemed betwixt the river and the
-cliffs. Through all, the rack and thunder of the siege
-went on, drowning the sea's voice, flinging a storm-cloud
-over the stubborn walls. In Gambrevault men looked
-grim, and muttered of succour and the armies of the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yet Flavian was content. He had taken a transcendent
-spirit into his soul; he lived to music; drank love and
-chivalry like nectar from the gods. The woman's
-nearness made each hour a chalice of gold. He possessed her
-red heart, looked deep into her eyes, put her slim hands
-into his bosom. Her voice haunted him like music out
-of heaven. He was a dreamer, a Lotos-eater, whose brain
-seemed laden with all the perfumes of the East. Ready
-was he to drain the purple wine of life even to the dregs,
-and to find death in the cup if the Fates so willed it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Fulviac?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>War had held a poniard at his throat, turning him to the
-truth with the threat of steel. Grim and implacable, he
-stalked the meadows, bending his brows upon the towers
-of Gambrevault. This girl of the woods was no more a
-dream to him, but supple love, ardent flesh, blood-red
-reality. Lean, leering thoughts taunted the lascivious fears
-within his brain. His moods were silent yet tempestuous.
-Gambrevault mocked him. Vengeance burnt in his palm
-like a globe of molten iron.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His dogged temper roused his captains to strenuous
-debate. Fifty thousand men were idle before the place, and
-the siege dragged like a homily. Their insinuations were
-strong and strident. The countryside was emptying its
-broad larder; Malgo and Godamar of the Fens were
-marching from east and west. Ten thousand men could
-leaguer Gambrevault. It behoved Fulviac to pluck up
-his spears and march on Lauretia, proud city of the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a season Fulviac was stubborn as Gambrevault
-itself. His yellow eyes glittered, and he tossed back his
-lion's mane from off his forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Till the place is ours," so ran his dogma, "I stir never
-a foot. See to it, sirs, we will put these skulkers to the
-sword."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His captains were strenuous in retort.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mar the cause," said Sforza over the council-board,
-thin-lipped and subtle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me ten thousand men," quoth Colgran the free-lance,
-"by my bones I will take the place and bring the
-Maid out scatheless."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Prosper the Priest put in his plea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are our torch," he said, "our beacon. Malgo is
-on the march; Godamar has massed behind the creeks of
-Thorney Isle. The country waits for you. Leave
-Gambrevault to Colgran."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And again the free-lance made his oath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me ten thousand men," quoth he, "by Peter's
-blood the place shall tumble in a month."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That same evening, as a last justification of his stubborn
-will, Fulviac sent forward a trumpeter under a white flag
-to parley with the besieged. The herald's company drew
-to the walls as the sun sank over the sea, setting the
-black towers in a splendour as of fire. Fulviac's troops
-were under arms in the meadows, their pikes glittering with
-sinister meaning into the purple of the coming night. The
-Lord of Gambrevault, in full harness, met the white flag,
-his knights round him, a crescent of steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac's trumpeter proclaimed his terms. They were
-insolently simple, surrender absolute with the mere blessings
-of life and limb, a dungeon for the lords, a proffer of
-traitorous service to the men. Yeoland the Saint was to
-be sent forth scatheless. The castle was to be garrisoned
-and held by the rebels.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian laughed at the bluff insolence of the demand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, sirs," he said, "we are the King's men here.
-Get you gone before my gate. Say to yonder traitor in the
-meadows, 'We quail not before scullions and at the frowns
-of cooks.'"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, under the red canopy of the warring west, ended
-the parley at the gate of Gambrevault. The white flag
-tripped back behind the trenches; the castle trumpets blew
-a fanfare to grace its flight. Yeoland the Saint heard it,
-and her lamp of hope burnt dim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That night Fulviac paced the meadows, his eyes scanning
-the black mass upon the cliffs. Dark as was his humour,
-reason ruled him at the climax, powerful to extort the
-truth. Primæval instincts were strong in him, yet he put
-them back that hour out of his heart. Robust and vigorous,
-he trampled passion under foot. At dawn his orders
-went forth to the captains and the council.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Colgran shall command. Ten thousand men shall
-serve him. Let him storm the place, grant no terms,
-spare Yeoland the Maid alone. Let him butcher the
-garrison, and let the ruin rot. When all have been put to
-the sword, let him march and join me before the city of
-Lauretia."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiii"><span class="large">XXXIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>So Fulviac with his host passed northwards from Gambrevault,
-leaving Colgran and his ten thousand to guard the
-trenches. Flavian saw the black columns curl away over
-the green slopes, their pikes glittering against the blue
-fringe of the horizon, their banners blowing to the breeze.
-The red pavilion stood no longer in the meadows; the
-man on the black horse rode no more behind the barricades.
-Ominous was the marching of the host over the hills, a
-prophecy of many battles before the King's men could
-succour Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The gate-house stood in ruins, a shattered pile of
-masonry barriering the causeway from the meadows. The
-outer curtain wall on the north had been pierced between
-two towers; the stone-work crumbled fast, opening a
-gradual breach to the rebel sea dammed behind the trenches.
-The battlements were rent and ruinous; many a turret
-gaped and tottered. Still the bombards thundered, hurling
-their salvos of shot against the place, belching flame even
-through the night, while the arms of the great slings toiled
-like giant hands in the dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for the girl Yeoland, her joy was dim and flickering,
-mocked with constant prophecies of woe. The sounds of
-the siege haunted her perpetually. Shafts wailed and
-whistled, bombards roared, the walls reeked and cracked.
-A corner in the garden under the yew walk was the single
-nook left her open to the blue hope of heaven. The
-clamour of the leaguer woke a hundred echoes in her
-heart. Above all shone the man's strong face and
-passionate eyes; above the moon, the stars, the blue vault of
-day, death spread his sable wings, a cloud of gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the sixteenth day of the siege, Colgran made an
-assault in force upon the ruins of the gate-house. Despite
-its chaotic state, Flavian clung to the ruin, and held the
-stormers at bay. Thrice Colgran's rebels advanced to the
-attack, and came hand-to-hand with the defenders over the
-crumbling piles of stone; thrice they were beaten back and
-driven to retreat upon their trenches. Colgran renounced
-the gate-house as impregnable; the slings and bombards
-were turned upon the outer wall to widen the breach
-already made therein.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was plain enough even to Yeoland that the siege was
-bearing slowly yet surely against Gambrevault. More
-than half a month had passed, and still no succouring
-spears shone upon the hills, no sail upon the sea. Poor
-food and summer heat, the crowding of the garrison had
-opened a gate to fever and disease. She saw the stern and
-moody faces of the soldiery, their loyalty that took fresh
-and hectic fire from the courage of their lord. She saw
-the broken walls and ruined battlements, and heard the
-rebels shouting in their trenches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the man's peril grew more real and significant, a
-fear more vehement entered into her heart. Sleep left
-her; she began to look white and weary, with dark
-shadows under her eyes. The man's warm youth accused
-her like a tree that should soon be smitten by the axe.
-His fine heroism was a veritable scourge, making the
-future full of discords, a charnel-house glimmering with
-bleached bones. She began to know how closely their
-lives were mingled, even as wine in a cup of gold. He
-was lord and husband to her in the spirit. Her red heart
-quaked for him like the shivering petals of an autumn rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the day of the assault upon the gate-house, he
-came back to her wounded in the arm and shoulder. He
-was faint, but brave and even merry. She would suffer
-none to come in to him, as he sat in a carved chair in her
-room that opened on the garden. The sight of blood
-when harness and gamboison were taken from the caked
-wounds quickened her fears into a fever of self-torture.
-She bathed the wounds and dressed them with fragrant
-oil and linen. Twilight filled the room, and it was not
-till her tears fell upon his hand that the man found that
-she was weeping.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her towards him with sudden great tenderness,
-as she knelt and looked into his face. Her eyes swam
-with tears, her lips quivered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My life, why do you weep?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started away from him with sudden strength, and
-stood by the window, trembling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me my armour and my banner," she said; "let
-me ride to the trenches and barter terms by my surrender.
-Sire, let me go, let me go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her sadly under his brows, with forehead
-wrinkled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would leave me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah yes, to save you from the sword. Is it easy for
-me to ask you this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You crave more than I can give."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot surrender you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And for love, you would doom all Gambrevault!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" he cried, "I am wounded, and you would
-wound me the more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a whimper of pain, ran to him, and crept into
-his arms. As her sobs shook her, he bent many times and
-kissed her hair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Weep not for me," he said; "even when the end
-comes no harm can touch you. I cannot parley with
-these wolves; there are women and children under my
-roof; should I open my gates to a savage mob?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is your doom," she said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I take it, child, from heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She wept no more, for a richer heroism took fire within
-her heart. She knelt to the man while he held her
-face betwixt his hands, bent over her, and kissed her
-forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, courage, what is death!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, to lose you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, am I not flesh and blood? God knows, I
-would rather have death than give you to these vultures."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She knelt before him with her face transfigured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And death, death can touch me also."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxiv"><span class="large">XXXIV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>August came in with storm and rain, and a dreary wind
-blew from the south-west, huddling masses of cloud over
-a spiritless sky. Southwards, the sea tumbled, a grey
-expanse edged with foam, its great breakers booming
-dismally upon the cliffs. The wind swept over
-Gambrevault, moaning and wailing over battlement and tower,
-driving the rain in drifting sheets. The bombards still
-belched and smoked under their penthouses, and the arms
-of the catapults rose and fell against the sullen sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The eighteenth night of the siege came out of the east
-like a thunder bank, and the grey shivering ghost of the
-day fled over the western hills. When darkness had fallen,
-the walls of Gambrevault were invisible from the trenches.
-Here and there a light shone out like a spark in tinder;
-the sky above was black as a cavern, unbroken by the
-crack or cranny of a star.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, fully armed, kept watch upon the breach with
-a strong company of men-at-arms. He had taken the ugly
-measure of the night to heart, and had prepared accordingly.
-Under the shelter of the wall men slept, wrapped in their
-cloaks, with their weapons lying by them. The sentinels
-had been doubled on the battlements, though little could
-be seen in the blank murk, and even the keep had to be
-looked for before its mass disjointed itself from the
-background of the night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was treacherous weather, and just the season for an
-adventurous enemy to creep from the trenches and attempt
-to rush the breach. Flavian leant upon his long sword,
-and brooded. The black ends of the broken wall stood up
-hugely on either hand; rubble and fallen masonry paved
-the breach, and a rough rampart of debris had been piled
-along the summit. Around him shone the dull armour of
-his men, as they stood on guard in the rain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The storm deadened soul and body, yet kept Flavian
-vigilant with its boisterous laughter, a sound that might
-stifle the tramp of stormers pouring to the breach. He
-was not lonely, for a lover can do without the confidences
-of others, when he has a woman to speak with in his heart.
-In fancy he can lavish the infinite tenderness of the soul,
-caress, quarrel, kiss, comfort, with all the idealisms of the
-imagination. The spirit lips we touch are sweeter and
-more red than those in the flesh. To the true man love is
-the grandest asceticism the world can produce.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's figure straightened suddenly as it leant bowed
-in thought upon the sword. He was alert and vigilant,
-staring into darkness that baffled vision and hid the
-unknown. A dull, characterless sound was in the air.
-Whether it was the wind, the sea, or something more sinister,
-he could not tell. Calling one of his knights to his
-side, they stood together listening on the wreckage of the
-wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A vague clink, clink, came in discord to the wind, a
-sound that suggested the cautious moving of armed men.
-A hoarse voice was growling warily in the distance, as
-though giving orders. The shrilling noise of steel grew
-more obvious each moment; the black void below appeared
-to grow full of movement, to swirl and eddy like a lagoon,
-whose muddy waters are disturbed by some huge reptile at
-night. The sudden hoarse cries of sentinels rose from the
-walls. Feet stumbled on the debris at the base of the
-breach; stormers were on the threshold of Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A trumpet blared in the entry; the guard closed up on
-the rampart; sleeping men started from the shadows of the
-wall, seized sword and shield as the trumpets' bray rang in
-their ears. Colgran's stormers, discovered in their purpose,
-cast caution to the winds, and sent up a shout that should
-have wakened all Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the darkness and the driving rain, neither party could
-see much of the other. The stormers came climbing blindly
-up the pile of wreckage in serried masses. Flavian and
-his knights, who held the rampart, big men and large-hearted,
-smote at the black tide of bodies that rolled to their
-swords. It was grim work in the dark. It was no sleepy,
-disorderly rabble that held the breach, but a tense line of
-steel, that stemmed the assault like a wall. The stormers
-pushed up and up, to break and deliquesce before those
-terrible swords. Modred's deep voice sounded through the
-din, as he smote with his great axe, blows that would have
-shaken an oak. There was little shouting; it was
-breathless work, done in earnest. Colgran's men showed pluck,
-fought well, left a rampart of dead to their credit, a
-squirming, oozing barrier, but came no nearer forcing the breach.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had lost the propitious moment, and the whole
-garrison was under arms, ready to repulse the attacks made
-at other points. Scaling ladders had been jerked forward
-and reared against the walls; men swarmed up, but the
-rebels gained no lasting foothold on the battlements. They
-were beaten back, their ladders hurled down, masonry
-toppled upon the mass below. Many a man lay with neck
-or back broken in the confused tangle of humanity at the
-foot of the castle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Colgran ordered up fresh troops. It was his policy to
-wear out the garrison by sheer importunity and the stress
-of numbers. He could afford to lose some hundred men;
-every score were precious now to Flavian. It was a
-system of counter barter in blood, till the weaker vessel ran
-dry. The Lord of Gambrevault understood this rough
-philosophy well enough, and husbanded his resources. He
-could not gamble with death, and so changed his men when
-the opportunity offered, to give breathing space to all.
-Conscious of the strong stimulus of personal heroism, he
-kept to the breach himself, and fought on through every
-assault with Modred's great axe swinging at his side. He
-owed his life more than once to those gorilla-like arms
-and that crescent of steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the outer court, certain of the women folk with
-Yeoland dealt out wine and food, and tended the wounded. In
-the chapel, tapers glimmered, lighting the frescoes and the
-saints, the priest chanting at the altar, the women and
-children who knelt in the shadowy aisles praying for those
-who fought upon the walls. Panic hovered over the pale
-faces, the fear, the shivering, weeping, pleading figures.
-There was little heroism in Gambrevault chapel, save the
-heroism of supplication. While swords tossed and men
-groped for each other in the wind and rain, old Peter the
-cellarer lay drunk in a wine bin, and lame Joan, who tended
-the linen, was snivelling in the chapel and fingering the gold
-angels sewn up in her tunic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Five times did Colgran's men assault the breach that
-night, each repulse leaving its husks on the bloody
-wreckage, its red libations to the swords of Gambrevault. The
-last and toughest tussle came during the grey prologue
-before dawn. The place was so packed with the dead and
-stricken, that it was well-nigh impassable. For some
-minutes the struggle hung precariously on the summit of
-the pass, but with the dawn the peril dwindled and elapsed.
-The stormers revolted from the shambles; they had fought
-their fill; had done enough for honour; were sick and
-weary. No taunt, command, or imprecation could keep
-them longer in that gate of death. Colgran's rebels
-retreated on their trenches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And with the dawn Flavian looked round upon the
-breach, and saw all the horror of the place in one brief
-moment. Cloven faces, hacked bodies, distortions,
-tortures, blood everywhere. He looked round over his own
-men; saw their meagre ranks, their weariness, their wounds,
-their exultation that lapsed silently into a kind of desperate
-awe. Some tried to cheer him, and at the sound he felt an
-unutterable melancholy descend upon his soul. The men
-were like so many sickly ghosts, a wan and battered flock,
-a ragged remnant. He saw the whole truth in a moment,
-as a man sees life, death, and eternity pass before him in
-the flashing wisdom of a single thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And this was war, this cataclysm of insatiate wrath!
-His men were too few, too bustled, to hold the breach
-against such another storm. His trumpets blared the
-retreat, a grim and tragic fanfare. They dragged out their
-wounded, abandoned the pile of rubbish for which they had
-fought, and withdrew sullenly within the inner walls.
-Colgran, though repulsed, had taken the outer ward of
-Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As one stumbling from a dream, Flavian found himself
-in the castle garden. The place was full of the freshness
-that follows rain; and it was not till the scent of flowers
-met him like an odour of peace, that he marked that the
-sky was blue and the dawn like saffron. The storm-clouds
-had gone, and the wind was a mere breeze, a moist breath
-from the west, bearing a curious contrast to the furious
-temper of the night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian, looking like a white-faced debauchee, limped
-through the court, and climbed the stairway of the keep
-to the banqueting hall and his own state chambers.
-Several of his knights followed him at a distance and in
-silence. He felt sick as a dog, and burdened with
-unutterable care, that weighed upon him like a prophecy. He
-had held the breach against heavy odds, and he was brooding
-over the cost. There was honour in the sheer physical
-heroism of the deed; but he had lost old friends and
-tried servants, had sacrificed his outer walls; there was
-little cause for exultation in the main.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stumbled into the banqueting hall like a man into a
-tavern.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wine, wine, for the love of God."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A slim figure in green came out from the oriel, and a
-pair of dark eyes quivered over the man's grey face and
-blood-stained armour. The girl's hands went out to him,
-and she seemed like a child roused in the night from the
-influence of some evil dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are wounded."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She took him by the arm and shoulder, and was able to
-force him into a chair, so limp, so impotent, was he for the
-moment. His face had the uncanny pallor of one who was
-about to faint; his eyes stared at her in a dazed and wistful
-way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, you are not going to die!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head, smiled weakly, and groped for her
-hand. She broke away, brought wine, and began to
-trickle it between his lips. Several of his knights came
-in, and looked on awkwardly from the doorway at the
-girl leaning over the man's chair, with her arm under his
-head. Yeoland caught sight of them, coloured and called
-them forward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's faintness had passed. He saw Modred and
-beckoned him to his chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take her away," in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland heard the words, started round, and clung to
-his hand. There was a strange look upon her face.
-Flavian spoke slowly to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Girl, I am not a savoury object, fresh from the
-carnage of a breach. Leave me to my surgeon. I would
-only save you pain. As for dying, I feel like an Adam.
-Go to your room, child; I will be with you before long."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She held both his hands, looked in his eyes a moment,
-then turned away with Modred and left him. She was
-very pale, and there was a tremor about her lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Irrelevant harness soon surrendered to skilled fingers.
-No great evil had been done, thanks to the fine temper
-of Flavian's armour; the few gashes, washed, oiled, and
-dressed, left him not seriously the worse for the night's
-tussle. Wine and food recovered his manhood. He was
-barbered, perfumed, dressed, and turned out by his
-servants, a very handsome fellow, with a fine pallor and
-a pathetic limp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His first care was to see his own men attended to, the
-wounded properly bestowed, a good supply of food and
-wine dealt out. He had a brave word and a smile for
-all. As he passed, he found Father Julian the priest
-administering the Host to those whose dim eyes were
-closing upon earth and sky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred, that iron man, who never seemed weary, was
-stalking the battlements, and getting the place prepared
-for the next storm that should break. Flavian renounced
-responsibilities for the moment, and crossed the garden to
-Yeoland's room. He entered quietly, looked about him,
-saw a figure prostrate on the cushions of the window seat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He crossed the room very quickly, knelt down and
-touched the girl's hair. Her face was hidden in the
-cushions. She turned slowly on her side, and looked at
-him with a wan, pitiful stare; her eyes were timid, but
-empty of tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, girl, what troubles you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She did not look at him, though he held her hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you angry with me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke very slowly, in a suppressed and toneless voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you tell me the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her as though she were a saint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had a horrible thought in my heart, and it has
-wounded me to death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell it me, tell it me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That you had repented all----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Repented!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of all the ruin I am bringing upon you; that you were
-beginning to think----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a deep cry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You believed that!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She lay back on the cushions with a great sigh. Flavian
-had his arms about her, as he bent over her till their lips
-nearly touched.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you fear!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so much a woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And something is all the world to me, even though----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would die happy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He understood her whole heart, and kissed her lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman, I had come here to this room to ask
-you one thing more. You can guess it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Father Julian."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drew his head down upon her shoulder, and he knelt
-a long while in silence, with her bosom rising and falling
-under his cheek.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am happy," he said at last; "child-wife, child-husband,
-let us go hand in hand into heaven."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxv"><span class="large">XXXV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>So with Colgran and his rebels beating at the inner gate,
-Flavian of Gambrevault took Yeoland to wife, and was
-married that same eve by Father Julian in the castle
-chapel. There was pathetic cynicism in the service,
-celebrating as it did the temporal blending of two bodies
-who bade fair by their destinies to return speedily to dust.
-The chant might have served as a requiem, or a dirge for
-the fall of the mighty. It was a tragic scene, a solemn
-ceremony, attended by grim-faced men in plated steel, by
-frightened women and sickly children. Famine, disease,
-and death headed the procession, jigged with the torches,
-danced like skeletons about a bier. Trumpets and cannon
-gave an epithalamium; bones might have been scattered
-in lieu of flowers, and wounds espoused in place of favours.
-For a marriage pageant war pointed to the grinning
-corpses in the breach and the clotted ruins. It was such
-a ceremony that might have appealed to a Stoic, or to a
-Marius brooding amid the ruins of Carthage.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Peril chastens the brave, and death is as wine to the
-heart of the saint. Even as the sky seems of purer crystal
-before a storm, so the soul pinions to a more luminous
-heroism when the mortal tragedy of life nears the
-"explicit." As the martyrs exulted in their spiritual
-triumph, or as Pico of Mirandola beheld transcendent
-visions on his bed of death, when the Golden Lilies of
-France waved into luckless Florence, so Flavian and
-Yeoland his wife took to their hearts a true bridal beauty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the door was closed on them that night, a
-mysterious cavern, a spiritual shrine of gold, came down
-as from heaven to cover their souls. They had no need
-of the subtleties of earth, of music and of colour, of
-flowers, or scent, or song. They were the world, the sky,
-the sea, the infinite. Imperishable atoms from the alembic
-of God, they fused soul with soul, became as one fair gem
-that wakes a thousand lustres in its sapphire unity. To
-such a festival bring no fauns and dryads, no lewd and
-supple goddess, no Orphean flute. Rather, let Christ hold
-forth His wounded hands, and let the wings of angels
-glimmer like snow over the alchemy of souls.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian knelt beside the bed and prayed. He had the
-girl's hand in his, and her dark hair swept in masses over
-the pillow, framing her spiritual face as a dark cloud holds
-the moon. Her bed-gown was of the whitest lace and
-linen, like foam bounding the violet coverlet that swept
-to her bosom. The light from the single lamp burnt
-steadily in her great dark eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian lifted up his face from the coverlet and looked
-long at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear heart, have no fear of me," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled wonderfully, and read all the fine philosophy
-of his soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God be thanked, you are a good man."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, child, you are so wonderful that I dare not touch
-you; I have such grand awe in my heart that even your
-breath upon my face makes me bow down as though an
-angel touched my forehead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All good and great love is of heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pure as the lilies in the courts of God. Every
-fragment of you is like to me as a pearl from the lips of
-angels; your flesh is of silver, your bosom as snow from
-Lebanon, girded with the gold of truth. Oh, second
-Adam, thanks be to thee for thy philosophy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put out her hands and touched his hair; their eyes
-were like sea and sky in summer, tranquil, tender, and
-unshadowed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you for this purity, ah, more and more than I
-can tell."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True love is ever pure."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And for me, such love as yours. Never to see the
-wolfish stare, the flushed forehead, and the loosened lip;
-never to feel the burning breath. God indeed be thanked
-for this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have no fear of me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, like a white gull into a blue sky, like water into a
-crystal bowl, I give myself into your arms."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxvi"><span class="large">XXXVI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>A week had passed, and the Gambrevault trumpets blew
-the last rally; her drums rumbled on the battlements of
-the keep where the women and children had been gathered,
-a dumb, panic-ridden flock, huddled together like sheep in
-a pen. The great banner flapped above their heads with a
-solemn and sinuous benediction. The sun was spreading
-on the sea a golden track towards the west, and the shouts
-of the besiegers rose from the courts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the stairs and in the banqueting hall the last
-remnant of the garrison had gathered, half-starved men,
-silent and grim as death, game to the last finger. They
-handled their swords and waited, moving restlessly to
-and fro like caged leopards. They knew what was to
-come, and hungered to have it over and done with. It
-was the waiting that made them curse in undertones.
-A few were at prayer on the stone steps. Father Julian
-stood with his crucifix at the top of the stairway, and began
-to chant the "Miserere"; some few voices followed him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the inner court Colgran's men surged in their
-hundreds like an impatient sea. They had trampled down the
-garden, overthrown the urns and statues, pulped the
-flowers under their feet. On the outer walls archers
-marked every window of the keep. In the inner court
-cannoneers were training the gaping muzzle of a bombard
-against the gate. A sullen and perpetual clamour sounded
-round the grey walls, like the roar of breakers about a
-headland.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian stood on the dais of the banqueting hall and
-listened to the voices of the mob without. Yeoland,
-in the harness Fulviac had given her, held at his side.
-The man's beaver was up, and he looked pale, but calm
-and resolute as a Greek god. That morning his own
-armour, blazoned with the Gambrevault arms, had disappeared
-from his bed-side, a suit of plain black harness
-left in its stead. No amount of interrogation, no
-command, had been able to wring a word from his
-knights or esquires. So he wore the black armour now
-perforce, and prepared to fight his last fight like a
-gentleman and a Christian.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland's hand rested in his, and they stood side by
-side like two children, looking into each other's eyes.
-There was no fear on the girl's face, nothing but a calm
-resolve to be worthy of the hour and of her love, that
-buoyed her like a martyr. The man's glances were
-very sad, and she knew well what was in his heart when
-he looked at her. They had taken their vows, vows that
-bound them not to survive each other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid, little wife?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I am content."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange that we should come to this. My heart
-grieves for you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never grieve for me; I do not fear the unknown."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall go out hand in hand."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the shore of that eternal sea; and I feel no wind,
-and hear no moaning of the bar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The stars are above us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Eternity."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No mere glittering void."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the face of God."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A cannon thundered; a sudden, sullen roar followed,
-a din of clashing swords, the noise of men struggling in
-the toils.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They have broken in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian's grasp tightened on her wrist; his face was
-rigid, his eyes stern.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be strong," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Virgin bless you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The uproar increased below. The rebels were storming
-the stairway; they came up and up like a rising tide in the
-mazes of a cavern. A wave of struggling figures surged
-into the hall: men, cursing, stabbing, hewing, writhing on
-the floor, a tangle of humanity. Flavian's knights in the
-hall ranged themselves to hold the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that Flavian saw his own state armour
-doing duty in the press, its blazonings marking out
-the wearer to the swords of Colgran's men. It was
-Godamar, Flavian's esquire, who had stolen his lord's
-harness, and now fought in it to decoy death, and
-perhaps save his master. The mute heroism of the deed
-drew Flavian from the dais.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would speak with Godamar," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not leave me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! dear heart; when the last wave gathers I shall be
-at your side."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland, with her poniard bare in her hand, stood and
-watched the tragic despair of that last fight, the struggling
-press of figures at the door--the few holding for a while
-a mob at bay. Her eyes followed the man in the black
-harness; she saw him before the tossing thicket of pikes
-and partisans; she saw his sword dealing out death in
-that Gehenna of blasphemy and blood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A crash of shattered glass came unheard in the uproar.
-Men had planted ladders against the wall, and broken in by
-the oriel; one after another they sprang down into the hall.
-The first crept round by the wainscotting, climbed the dais,
-seized Yeoland from behind, and held her fast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As by instinct the poniard had been pointed at her own
-throat; the thing was twisted out of her hand, and tossed
-away along the floor. She struggled with the man in a
-kind of frenzy, but his brute strength was too stiff and stark
-for her. Even above the moil and din Flavian heard her
-cry to him, turned, sprang back, to be met by the men who
-had entered by the oriel. They hemmed him round and
-hewed at him, as he charged like a boar at bay. One, two
-were down. Swords rang on his harness. A fellow dodged
-in from behind and stabbed at him under the arm. Yeoland
-saw the black figure reel, recover itself, reel again, as
-a partisan crashed through his vizor. His sword clattered
-to the floor. So Colgran's men cut the Lord Flavian down
-in the sight of his young wife.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The scene appeared to transfer itself to an infinite
-distance; a mist came before the girl's eyes; the uproar
-seemed far, faint, and unreal. She tried to cry out, but no
-voice came; she strove to move, but her limbs seemed as
-stone. A sound like the surging of a sea sobbed in her
-ears, and she had a confused vision of men being hunted
-down and stabbed in the corners of the hall. A mob of
-wolf-like beings moved before her, cursing, cheering,
-brandishing smoking steel. She felt herself lifted from her feet,
-and carried breast-high in a man's arms. Then oblivion
-swept over her brain.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxvii"><span class="large">PART IV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">XXXVII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Fortune had not blessed the cause of the people with that
-torrential triumph toiled for by their captains. The flood
-of war had risen, had overwhelmed tall castles and goodly
-cities, yet there were heights that had baulked its frothy
-turmoil, mountains that had hurled it back upon the valleys.
-Victory was like a sphere of glass tossed amid the foam of
-two contending torrents.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the west, Sir Simon of Imbrecour, that old leopard
-wise in war, had raised the royal banner at his castle of
-Avray. The nobles of the western marches had joined
-him to a spear; many a lusty company had ridden in, to
-toss sword and shield in faith to the King. From his castle
-of Avray Sir Simon had marched south with the flower of
-the western knighthood at his heels. He had caught Malgo
-on the march from Conan, even as his columns were
-defiling from the mountains. Sir Simon had leapt upon the
-wild hillsmen and rebel levies like the fierce and shaggy
-veteran that he was. A splendid audacity had given the
-day as by honour to the royal arms. Malgo's troops had
-been scattered to the winds, and he himself taken and
-beheaded on the field under the black banner of the house of
-Imbrecour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the east, Godamar the free-lance lay with his troops
-in Thorney Isle, closed in and leaguered by the warlike
-Abbot of Rocroy. The churchman had seized the dyke-ways
-of the fens, and had hemmed the rebels behind the
-wild morasses. As for the eastern folk, they were poor
-gizardless creatures; having faced about, they had declared
-for the King, and left Godamar to rot within the fens.
-The free-lance had enough ado to keep the abbot out. His
-marching to join Fulviac was an idle and strategetical
-dream.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Last of all, the barons of the north--fierce, rugged
-autocrats, had gathered their half-barbarous retainers, and were
-marching on Lauretia to uphold the King. They were
-grim folk, flint and iron, nurtured amid the mountains and
-the wild woods of the north. They marched south like
-Winter, black and pitiless, prophetic of storm-winds, sleet,
-and snow. Some forty thousand men had gathered round
-the banner of Sir Morolt of Gorm and Regis, and, like the
-Goths pouring into Italy, they rolled down upon the
-luxurious provinces of the south.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fortune had decreed that about Lauretia, the city of the
-King, the vultures of war should wet their talons. It was
-a rich region, gemmed thick with sapphire meres set in
-deep emerald woods. Lauretia, like a golden courtesan, lay
-with her white limbs cushioned amid gorgeous flowers.
-Her bosom was full of odours and of music; her lap littered
-with the fragrant herbs of love. No perils, save those
-of moonlit passion, had ever threatened her. Thus it
-befell that when the storm-clouds gathered, she cowered
-trembling on her ivory couch, the purple wine of pleasure
-soaking her sinful feet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In a broad valley, five leagues south of the city, Fulviac's
-rebels fought their first great fight with Richard of the Iron
-Hand. A warrior's battle, rank to rank and sword to sword,
-the fight had burnt to the embers before the cressets were
-red in the west. Fulviac had headed the last charge that
-had broken the royal line, and rolled the shattered host
-northwards under the cloak of night. Dawn had found
-Fulviac marching upon Lauretia, eager to let loose the lusts
-of war upon that rich city of sin. He was within three
-leagues of the place, when a jaded rider overtook him, to
-tell of Malgo's death and of the battle in the west. Yet
-another league towards the city his outriders came galloping
-back with the news that the northern barons had marched
-in and joined the King. Outnumbered, and threatened on
-the flank, Fulviac turned tail and held south again, trusting
-to meet Godamar marching from the fens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He needed the shoulders of an Atlas those September
-days, for rumour burdened him with tidings that were
-ominous and heavy. Godamar lay impotent, hedged in
-the morasses; Malgo was dead, his mountaineers scattered.
-Sir Simon of Imbrecour was leading in the western lords
-to swell the following of the King. Vengeance gathered
-hotly on the rebel rear, as Fulviac retreated by forced
-marches towards the south.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was at St. Gore, a red-roofed town packed on a
-hill, amid tall, dreaming woods, that Colgran, with the
-ten thousand who had leaguered Gambrevault, drew to the
-main host again. Fulviac had quartered a portion of his
-troops in the town, and had camped the rest in the
-meadows without the crumbling, lichen-grown walls. He
-had halted but for a night on the retreat from Lauretia,
-and had taken a brief breath in the moil and sweat of the
-march. His banner had been set up in the market-square
-before a rickety hostel of antique tone and temper. His
-guards lounged on the benches under the vines; his
-captains drank in the low-ceilinged rooms, swore and argued
-over the rough tables.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was evening when Colgran's vanguard entered the
-town by the western gate. His men had tramped all day
-in the sun, and were parched and weary. None the less,
-they stiffened their loins, and footed it through the streets
-with a veteran swagger to show their mettle. Fulviac
-came out and stood in the wooden gallery of the inn,
-watching them defile into the market-square. They tossed
-their pikes to him as they poured by, and called on him by
-name--</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, Fulviac!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was glad enough of their coming, for he needed
-men, and the rough forest levies were in Colgran's ranks.
-Ten thousand pikes and brown bills to bristle up against
-the King's squadrons! There was strength in the glitter
-and the rolling dust of the columns. Yet before all, the
-man's tawny eyes watched for a red banner, and a woman
-in armour upon a white horse, Yeoland, wife of Flavian
-of Gambrevault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In due season he saw her, a pale, spiritless woman, wan
-and haggard, thin of neck and dark of eye. The bloom
-seemed to have fallen from her as from the crushed petals
-of a rose. The red banner, borne by a man upon a black
-horse, danced listlessly upon its staff. She rode with slack
-bridle, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left,
-but into the vague distance as into the night of the past.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Around her tramped Colgran's pikemen in jerkins of
-leather and caps of steel. The woman moved with them
-as though they were so many substanceless ghosts, stalking
-like shadows down the highway of death. Her face was
-bloodless, bleached by grievous apathy and chill pride. The
-bronzed faces round her were dim and unreal, a mob of
-masks, void of life and meaning. Sorrow had robed her
-in silent snow. The present was no more propitious to
-her than a winter forest howling under the moon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before the hostelry the column came to a halt with
-grounded pikes. The woman on the white horse stirred
-from her stupor, looked up, and saw Fulviac. He was
-standing with slouched shoulders in the gallery above her,
-his hands gripping the wooden rail. Their eyes met in
-a sudden mesmeric stare that brought badges of red to
-the girl's white cheeks. There was the look upon his
-face that she had known of old, when perilous care
-weighed heavy upon his stubborn shoulders. His eyes
-bewildered her. They had a light in them that spoke
-neither of anger nor reproach, yet a look such as Arthur
-might have cast upon fallen Guinivere.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They took her from her horse, and led her mute and
-passive into the steel-thronged inn. Up a winding stair
-she was brought into a sombre room whose latticed
-casements looked towards the west. By an open window
-stood Fulviac, chin on chest, his huge hands clasped
-behind his back. Colgran, in dusky harness, was speaking
-to him in his rough, incisive jargon. The woman knew
-that the words concerned her heart. At a gesture from
-Fulviac, the free-lance cast a fierce glance at her, and
-retreated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man did not move from the window, but stood
-staring in morose silence at the reddening west. Hunched
-shoulders and bowed head gave a certain powerful pathos
-to the figure statuesque and silent against the crimson
-curtain of the sky. The very air of the room seemed
-burdened and saturated with the gloomy melancholy of
-the man's mood. War, with its thousand horrors,
-furrowed his brow and bowed his great shoulders beneath
-its bloody yoke. Her woman's instinct told her that he
-was lonely, for the soul that had ministered to him breathed
-for him no more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned on her suddenly with a terse greeting that
-startled her thoughts like doves in a pine wood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome to you, Lady of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a bluff bitterness in his voice that forewarned
-her of his ample wisdom. Colgran had surrendered her,
-heart and tragedy in one, to Fulviac's mercy. A looming
-cloud of passion shadowed the man's face, making him
-seem gaunt and rough to her for the moment. She remembered
-him standing over Duessa's body in Sforza's palace at
-Gilderoy. Life had too little promise for her to engender
-fear of any man, even of Fulviac at his worst.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I trust, Madame Yeoland, that you are merry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The taunt touched her, yet she answered him listlessly
-enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do what you will; scoff if it pleases you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac shrugged his shoulders, and tossed his lion's mane
-from his broad forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a grim world this," he said; "when thrones
-burn, should we seek to quench them with our tears!
-Whose was the fault that God made you too much a
-woman? Red heart, heart of the rose, a traitorous
-comrade art thou, and an easy foe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had no answer on her lips, and he turned and
-paced the room before her, darting swift glances into her
-face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So they killed him?" he said, more quietly anon;
-"poor child, forget him, it was the fate of war. Even to
-the grave he took the love I might never wear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered and hid her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, have pity!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pity?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a judgment, God help my soul!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A judgment?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For serving my own heart before the Virgin's words."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stopped suddenly in his stride, and looked at
-her as though her words had touched him like a bolt
-betwixt the jointings of his harness. There was still the
-morose frown upon his face, the half closure of the lids
-over the tawny eyes. He gripped his chin with one of
-his bony hands, and turned his great beak of a nose upwards
-with a gesture of self-scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since the damned chicanery of chance so wills it," he
-said, "I will confess to you, that my confession may ease
-your conscience. The Madonna in that forest chapel was
-framed of flesh and blood."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of flesh and blood, my innocent, tricked out to work
-my holy will. We needed a Saint, we cleansers of Christendom;
-ha, noble justiciaries that we are. Well, well, the
-Virgin served us, and tripped back to a warm nest at
-Gilderoy, reincarnated by high heaven."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland stood motionless in the shadows of the room,
-like one striving to reason amid the rush of many thoughts.
-She showed no wrath at her betrayal; her pale soul was
-too white for scarlet passion. The significance of life had
-vanished in a void of gloom. She stood like Hero striving
-to catch her lover's voice above the moan of the sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac unbuckled his sword and threw it with a crash
-upon the table. He thrust his arms above his head,
-stretched his strong sinews, took deep breaths into his
-knotted throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth is out," he said to her; "come, madame,
-confess to me in turn."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland faced him with quivering lips, and a tense
-straining of her fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have I to tell?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Save that I loved the Lord Flavian, and that he is dead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are avenged," she said, "you have crushed my
-heart; may the thought comfort you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her parched apathy seemed to elapse of a sudden, and
-she lost her calmness in an outburst of passion. She was
-athirst for solitude, to be cloistered from the rough cavil of
-the world. Colour glowed upon her sunken cheeks as she
-stretched out her arms to the man with a piteous vehemence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac----"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Girl."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, for God's love, end now this mockery. Take
-this armour from me, for it burns my bosom. Let me go,
-that I may hide my wounds in peace."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace!" he said, with a twinge of scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac, can you not pity me? I am broken and
-bruised, men stare and jeer. Oh, my God, only to be out
-of sight and alone!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood by the window looking out into the sky
-with lowering brows. The west burnt red above the
-house-tops; from the street came the noise of men marching.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not kill yourself," he said with laconic brevity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is truth in the suspicion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, what is life to me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We Christians still have need of you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man's seeming scorn scourged her anguish to a
-shrill despair. The hot blood swept more swiftly through
-her worn, white body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Cursed be your ambition," she said to him; "must you
-torture me before the world?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I renounce this lying part."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you will, madame; it will only make you look the
-greater fool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are brutal."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to her with the look of one enduring
-unuttered anguish in the spirit. His strong pride throttled
-passion, twisting his rough face into tragic ugliness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, believe it not," he said; "I desire even for your
-heart's sake that you should make the best of an evil
-fortune. Learn to smile again; pretend to a zest in life.
-I have fathomed hell in my grim years, and my words are
-true. Time loves youth and recovers its sorrow. Know
-this and ponder it: 'tis better to play the hypocrite than to
-suffer the world to chuckle over one's tears."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxviii"><span class="large">XXXVIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The royal host had massed about the walls of Lauretia,
-and marched southwards to surprise Fulviac at St. Gore.
-Half the chivalry of the land had gathered under the
-standard of the King. Sir Simon of Imbrecour had come
-in from the west with ten thousand spears and five thousand
-bowmen. The Northerners under Morolt boasted
-themselves twoscore thousand men, and there were the loyal
-levies of the midland provinces to march under "The
-Golden Sun" upon the south. Never had such panoply
-of war glittered through the listening woods. Their march
-was as the onrush of a rippling sea; the noise of their
-trumpets as the cry of a tempest over towering trees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Chivalry, golden champion of beauty, had much to
-avenge, much to expurgate. The peasant folk had plunged
-the land into ruin and red war. Castles smoked under the
-summer sky; the noble dead lay unburied in the high places
-of pride. To the wolf cry of the people there could be no
-answer save the hiss of the sword. Before the high altar
-at Lauretia, the King had sworn on relics and the
-Scriptures, to deal such vengeance as should leave the land
-cowering for centuries in terror of his name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Southwards from St. Gore there stretched for some
-fifteen leagues the province of La Belle Forêt, a region
-of rich valleys and romantic woods, green and quiet under
-the tranquil sky. Its towns were mere gardens, smothered
-deep in flowers, full of cedars and fair cypresses. Its
-people were simple, happy, and devout. War had not set
-foot there for two generations, and the land overflowed
-with the good things of life. Its vineyards purpled the
-valleys; its pastures harboured much cattle. Its houses
-were filled with rich furniture and silks, chests laden
-with cloth of gold, caskets of gems, ambries packed with
-silver plate. The good folk of La Belle Forêt had held
-aloof from the revolt. Peace-loving and content in their
-opulence, they had no fondness for anarchy and war.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was into this fair province that Fulviac led his arms
-on the march south for Gilderoy and the great forest by
-the sea. Belle Forêt, neutral and luxurious, was spoil for
-the spoiler, stuff for the sword. Plundering, marauding,
-burning, butchering, Fulviac's rebels poured through like
-a host of Huns. Strength promised licence; there was
-little asceticism in the cause, though the sacred banner
-flew in the van with an unction that was truly pharisaical.
-From that flood of war, the provincials fled as from a
-plague. It was Fulviac's policy to devastate the land, to
-hinder the march of the royal host. Desolation spread
-like winter over the fields; Fulviac's ravagers left ruin
-and despair and a great silence to mark their track.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The march became a bloody parable before three days
-had passed. Fulviac had taken burning faggots upon his
-back, and the iron collar of war weighed heavy on him
-that autumn season. It was a grim moral and a terrible.
-He had called up fiends from hell, and their antics mocked
-him. Storm as he would, even his strong wrath was like
-fire licking at granite. Death taunted him, and Murder
-rode as a witness at his side. The mob of mad humanity
-was like a ravenous sea, hungry, pitiless, and insatiate.
-Even his stout heart was shocked by the bestial passions
-war had roused. His men were mutinous to all restraint.
-Fight they would when he should marshal them; but for
-their lusts they claimed a wolf-like and delirious liberty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland the Saint rode on her white horse through La
-Belle Forêt, like a pale ghost dazed by the human miseries
-of war. A captive, she had surrendered herself to Fate;
-her heart was as a sea-bird wearied by long buffetings in
-the wind. There was no desire in her for life, no spark of
-passion, no hope save for the sounding of a convent bell.
-She imagined calmly the face of death. Her grave
-stretched green and quiet to her fancy, under some forest tree.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Even her hebetude of soul gave way at last before the
-horrors of that bloody march. She saw towns smouldering
-and flames licking the night sky, heard walls crack
-and roofs fall with a roar and an uprushing of fire. She
-saw the peasant folk crouching white and stupefied about
-their ruined homes. She heard the cry of the children, the
-wailing of women, the cracked voices of old men cursing
-Fulviac as he rode by. She saw the crops burnt in the
-fields; cattle slaughtered and their carcases left to rot in
-the sun.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The deeds of those grim days moved in her brain with
-a vividness that never abated. War with all its ruthlessness,
-its devilry, its riotous horror, burnt in upon her soul.
-The plash of blood, the ruin, the despair, appalled her till
-she yearned and hungered for the end. Life seemed to
-have become a hideous purgatory, flaming and shrieking
-under the stars.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She appealed to Fulviac with the vehemence of despair.
-The man was obdurate and moody, burdened by the
-knowledge that these horrors were beyond him. His
-very impotence was bitterness itself to his strong spirit.
-In the silent passion of his shame, he buckled a sullen
-scorn about his manhood, scoffed and mocked when the
-woman pleaded. He was like a Titan struggling in the
-toils of Fate, flinging forth scorn to mask his anguish.
-He had let war loose upon the land, and the riot mocked
-him like a turbulent sea.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One noon they rode together through a town that had
-closed its gates to them, and had been taken by assault.
-On the hills around stood the solemn woods watching
-in silence the scene beneath. Corpses stiffened in the
-gutters; children shrieked in burning attics. By the cross
-in the market-square soldiers were staving in wine casks,
-the split lees mingling with the blood upon the cobbles.
-Ruffians rioted in the streets. Lust and violence were
-loose like wolves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac clattered through the place with Yeoland and
-his guards, a tower of steel amid the reeking ruins. He
-looked neither to the right hand nor the left, but rode with
-set jaw and sullen visage for the southern gate, and the
-green quiet of the fields. His tawny eyes smouldered
-under his casque; his mouth was as stone, stern yet
-sorrowful. He spoke never a word, as though his
-thoughts were too grim for the girl's ears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland rode at his side in silence, shivering in thought
-at the scenes that had passed before her eyes. She was as
-a lily whose pure petals quailed before the sprinkling plash
-of blood. Her soul was of too delicate a texture for the
-rude blasts of war.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned on Fulviac anon, and taunted him out of the
-fulness of her scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is your crusade for justice," she said to him;
-"ah, there is a curse upon us. You have let fiends loose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He did not retort to her for the moment, but rode
-gazing into the gilded glories of the woods. Even earth's
-peace was bitter to him at that season, but bitterer far was
-the woman's scorn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"War is war," he said to her at last; "we cannot leave
-the King fat larders."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And all this butchery, this ruin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blame war for it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And brutal men."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mark you," he said to her, with some deepening of
-his voice, "I am no god; I cannot make angels of devils.
-The sea has risen, can I cork it in a bottle, or tie the
-storm wind up in a sack? Give me my due. I am human,
-not a demi-god."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She understood his mood, and pitied him in measure,
-for he had a burden on his soul sufficient for a Hercules.
-His men were half mutinous; they would fight for him,
-but he could not stem their lusts. He was as a stout ship
-borne upon the backs of riotous waves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well would it have been," she said, "if you had never
-raised this storm."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easy to be wise at the eleventh hour," he answered her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you not stay it even now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Woman, can I stem the sea!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The blood of thousands dyes your hands."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He twisted in the saddle as though her words gored him
-to the quick. His face twitched, his eyes glittered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, keep silence!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Taunt me no longer. Have I not half hell boiling in
-my heart?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Fulviac and his rebels passed on spoiling towards
-Gilderoy and the sea, where Sforza lay camped with forces
-gathered from the south. The great forest beckoned them;
-they knew its trammels, and hoped for strategies therein.
-Like a vast web of gloom it proffered harbour to the wolves
-of war, for they feared the open, and the vengeful onrush
-of the royal chivalry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, the armies of the King came down upon
-Belle Forêt, a great horde of steel. From its black ashes
-the country welcomed them with the dumb lips of death.
-Ruin and slaughter appealed them on the march; the
-smoke of war ascended to their nostrils. Fierce was the
-cry for vengeance in the ranks, as the host poured on like
-a golden dawn treading on the dark heels of night.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xxxix"><span class="large">XXXIX</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>In a cave whose narrow mouth cut a rough cameo from
-the snow and azure of the sky, a man lay sleeping upon a
-bed of heather. The surge of the sea rose from the
-bastions of the cliff, where foam glittered and swirled over
-the black rocks that thrust their dripping brows above the
-tide. Gulls were winging over the waves, whose green
-crests shone brilliant under the sun. On a distant
-headland, bleak and sombre, the towers of a castle broke the
-turquoise crescent of the heavens.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In one corner of the cave a feeble fire flickered, the
-smoke therefrom curling along the roof to vanish in a
-thin blue plume of vapour. Beside the bed lay a pile of
-armour, with a broken casque like a cleft skull to crown
-it. Dried herbs and a loaf of rye bread lay on a flat
-boulder near the fire. The figure on the heather was
-covered by a stained yet gorgeously blazoned surcoat,
-that seemed an incongruous quilt for such a couch. Near
-the cave's entry a great axe glittered on the floor, an axe
-whose notched edge had tested the metal of many a bassinet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Down a rough path cut in the face of the cliff scrambled
-a gaunt, hollow-chested figure, doubleted in soiled scarlet,
-battered shoes on feet, a black beard bristling on the
-stubborn chin. A red cloth was bound about the man's head.
-He breathed hard as he clambered down the cliff, as though
-winded by fast running. Sweat stood on his forehead.
-Beneath him ran the sea, a pit of foam, swirling and
-muttering amid the rocks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He reached the entry of the cave and dived therein like
-a fox into an "earth." Standing by the bed, he looked for
-a moment at the unconscious figure with the air of one
-unwilling to wake a weary comrade from his sleep. At
-last he went down on his knees by the heather, and
-touched the sleeping man's cheek with the gentle gesture
-of a woman. The figure stirred at the touch; two thin
-hands groped over the green and azure quilt. The kneeling
-man gripped them in his great brown paws, and held
-them fast.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The voice was toneless, husky, and without spirit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, these waking moments. It had been better if
-you had let me rot in Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, sire, you wake to a better fortune."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is new life in your voice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The King has come at last."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the heather raised himself upon one elbow.
-His face looked grey and starved in the half gloom of the
-cave. He lifted up one hand with a gesture of joy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The King!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred of the black beard smiled at him like a father.
-His hands trembled as he put the man back gently on the
-heather, and smoothed the coverlet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie still, sire."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, this is life, once more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Patience, patience. Let us have no woman's moods,
-no raptures. Ha, I am a tyrannous dog. Did I drag you
-for dead out of Gambrevault to let you break your heart
-over Richard of Lauretia! Lie quiet, sire; you have no
-strength to gamble with as yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man on the heather reached out again for Modred's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The rough dog should have been born a woman," he
-said to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a great heart under that hairy chest of yours."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The moist mutterings of the sea came up to them from
-the rocky shore beneath. Clouds in white masses pressed
-athwart the arch of day. Modred, seated on a boulder
-beside the bed, eyed the prostrate figure thereon with a gaunt
-and tender pity. He was a stark man and strenuous, yet
-warm of heart for all his bull's strength and steely sinew.
-Youth lay at his feet, thin and impotent, a white willow
-wand quivering beside a black and knotty oak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred rose up and stood by the opening of the cave,
-his broad shoulders well-nigh filling the entry as he looked
-out over the sea. Far over the amethystine waters, a
-hundred pearl-white sails glimmered beyond the cliffs of
-Gambrevault. The sun smote on gilded prow and blazoned
-bulwark, and upon a thousand streamers tonguing to the
-breeze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred stretched out his great arms and smiled, a grim
-shimmer of joy over his ruffian's face. Standing at the
-mouth of the cave, he began to speak to the man couched
-in the inner gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yonder, beyond Gambrevault," he said, "I see a hundred
-sails treading towards us over the sea. They are the
-King's ships: God cherish them; their bulwarks gleam in
-the sun."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flavian twisted restlessly amid the heather.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A grand sight, old friend."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred stood silent, fingering his chin. His voice
-broke forth again with a bluff exultation that seemed to
-echo the roar of the waves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"St. Philip, that is well."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"More ships?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sire, they raise the royal banner on the keep of
-Gambrevault. I see spears shine. Listen to the shouting.
-The King's men hold the headland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This time the voice from the cave was less eager,
-and tinged with pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred, old friend, I lie here like a stone while the
-trumpets call to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, say not so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, for an hour's youth again, one day in the sun,
-one moment under the moon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, I would change with you if God would grant it me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless you, old friend; I would not grant it you if I
-were God."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A trumpet cried to them from the cliff, sudden, shrill,
-and imperious. Modred, leaning against the rock with his
-hand over his eyes, started from the cave, and began to
-climb the path. He muttered and swore into his beard as
-he ascended, queer oaths, spasmodic and fantastic. His
-black eyes were hazy for the moment. Contemptuous
-and fervid, he brushed the tears away with a great brown hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the green downs above him rolling to the peerless
-sky, he saw armour gleam and banners blush. A fanfare
-of trumpets rolled over the sea. It was Richard the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred bent at the royal stirrup, and kissed the jewelled
-hand. Above him a keen, steely-eyed visage looked out
-from beneath a gold-crowned bassinet. It was the face of
-a soldier and a tyrant, handsome, haughty, yet opulently
-gracious. The red lips curled under the black tusks of
-the long moustache. The big, clean-shaven jaw was a
-promontory of marble thrust forth imperiously over the
-world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, man, what of our warden?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred crossed himself, pointed to the cliff, muttered a
-few words into the King's ear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So," came the terse response, "that was an evil
-fortune. So splendid a youth, a bright beam of chivalry.
-Come, lead me to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The royal statue of steel dismounted and stalked down
-with knights and heralds towards the cliff. Leaning upon
-Modred's shoulder, Richard of the Iron Hand trod the
-rough path leading to the little cave. He bowed his
-golden crown at the entry, stooped like a suppliant, stood
-before the Lord Flavian's bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The gloom troubled him for a moment. Anon, he saw
-the recumbent figure on the heather, the pile of harness,
-the brown loaf, and the meagre fire. He throned himself
-on the boulder beside the bed, and laid a white hand on
-the sick man's shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lie still," he said, as Flavian turned to rise; "to-day,
-my lord, we can forego ceremony."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Courtesy is the golden crown of power, forged from a
-poet's song, and the wisdom of the gods. The royal
-favour donned its robe of red that day, proffered its
-gracious signet to the lips of praise, held forth the sceptre
-of a radiant pity. Even the iron of truth becomes as
-silver on the lips of kings. Justice herself flatters, when
-ranged in simple white before a royal throne.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord of Gambrevault," quoth Richard of the Iron
-Hand, "be it known to you that your stout walls have
-saved my kingdom. You held the barbican of loyalty till
-true friends rallied to the country's citadel. Bravely have
-you sounded your clarions in the gate of fame. My lord,
-I give to you the gratitude of a king."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flattery strutted in the cave, gathering her robes with
-jewelled hand, gorgeous as an Eastern queen. Concerning
-the fate of a certain rebel Saint, the royal pardon
-waxed patriarchal in laconic phrases.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no more, my lord; the boon is yours. Have I
-not a noble woman queening it beside me on my throne,
-flinging the beams of her bright eyes through all my life?
-This quest shall be heralded to the host; I will offer
-gold for the damsel's capture. Take this ring from me, no
-pledge as betwixt Jews, but as a talisman of good to come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So spoke the royal gratitude. When the King had
-gone, Modred returned to carry his lord heavenwards to
-the meadows. He found him prone upon the heather,
-covering his eyes with his thin hands as the western
-sunlight streaked the gloom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire," said Modred, kneeling down beside the bed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The effigy on the heather stirred itself and reached out a
-hand into Modred's bosom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Man, man, I am in great darkness of soul. Who shall
-comfort me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred bent to him, laid a great palm on the white forehead.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, sire, courage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the pity of it, to lie here like a log when swords
-ring and peril threatens her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, we shall win her back again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God, only to touch her hands once more, to feel
-the warmth of her pure bosom, and the thrill of her rich hair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall win her, sire. Doubt it not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All life is a doubt."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, I swear it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Modred!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Before God, I swear it!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang up, thrust out his arms till the sinews
-cracked, filled his great chest with the breath of the sea.
-Suddenly he stopped, strained at a rock lying at the cave's
-mouth, lifted it, and hurled it from him, saw it smite
-foam from the water beneath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fate, take my gauge," he cried, with a fierce glorying
-in his strength; "come, sire, put your hands about my
-neck. I will bear you to your castle of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xl"><span class="large">XL</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Fulviac and his rebels had plunged into the great pine
-forest for refuge from the multitudinous glitter of the royal
-spears. The wilderness engulfed them, throwing wide its
-sable gates to take the war wolves in. The trees moaned
-like tall sibyls burdened with prophetic woe. The gold
-had long fallen from the gorse; the heather's purple hills
-were dim. Mystery abode there; a sound as of tragedy
-rose with the hoarse piping of the autumn wind.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From the north and from the west the royal "arms"
-had drawn as a glittering net towards the sea of pines.
-A myriad splendid warriors streaked the wilds, like rich
-rods flowering at some magic trumpet cry. The King's
-host swept the hills, their banners blazing towards the
-solemn woods. Gambrevault was theirs, and Avalon of
-the Mere. Morolt's northerners had marched upon
-Geraint, to find it a dead city, empty of life and of human
-sound. Only Gilderoy stood out for Fulviac. The King
-had failed to leaguer it as yet, for reasons cherished in his
-cunning brain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Some twoscore thousand men had marched with Fulviac
-into the forest's sanctuary. Over the hills the royal horse
-had pressed them hard, cutting down stragglers, hanging on
-their rear. Fulviac's host was a horde of "foot"; he had
-not a thousand riders to hurl against the chivalry of the
-King. On the bold, bleak uplands of the north and west
-the royal horsemen would have whelmed him like a sea.
-Necessity turned strategist at that hour. Fulviac and his
-rebels poured with their stagnant columns into the wilds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The thickets teemed with steel; the myriad pike points
-glittered like silver moths through the dense green gloom.
-Once more the great cliff echoed to the clangour of war
-and the sword. Fulviac had drawn thither and camped
-his men upon the heights, and under the shadow of its
-mighty walls. Watch-fires smoked on the hills. Every
-alley had its sentinel, a net of steel thrown forth to await
-the coming of the King. Fulviac had gathered his cubs
-into this lair, trusting to trammel the nobles in the
-labyrinths of the forest. It was a forlorn hope, the cunning
-purpose of despair. The spoilers of Belle Forêt were wise
-in their generation; little mercy would they win from the
-Iron Hand of Richard of Lauretia.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Like a pale pearl set in ebony, Yeoland the Saint had
-been established again in her bower of stone. The room
-was even as she had left it that misty summer dawn.
-Prayer-desk, lute, and crucifix were there, mute relics of
-a passionate past. How much had befallen her in those
-packed weeks of peril; how great a guerdon of woe had
-been lavished on her heart! Love was as the last streak
-of gold in a fading west; only the stars recalled the
-unwavering lamps of heaven.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The cliff-room and its relics tortured her very soul.
-She would glance at the Sebastian of the casement, and
-remember with a shuddering rush of woe the man in
-whose arms she had slumbered as a wife. Death had
-deified him in her heart. She remembered his grey eyes,
-his splendid youth, his passion, his pure chivalry. He
-gazed down on her like a dream hero from a gloom of
-dusky gold. The bitter ecstasy of the past spoke to her
-only of the infinite beneficence of death. The grave
-yearned for her, and she had no hope to live.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Those drear days she saw little of Fulviac. The man
-seemed to shirk her pale, sad face and brooding eyes.
-Her grief stung him more fiercely than all the flames
-nurtured in the glowing pit of war. Moreover, he was
-cumbered with the imminent peril of his cause, and the
-facing of a stormy fortune. His one hope lay in some
-great battle in the woods, where the King's mailed chivalry
-would be cumbered by the trees. He made many a feint
-to tempt the nobles to this wild tussle. The cliff stood as
-adamant, a vast bulwark to uphold the rebels. Yet
-Nature threatened him with other arguments. His stores
-were meagre, his mouths many. Victory and starvation
-dangled upon the opposing beams of Fate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If Fulviac feared procrastination, Richard of Lauretia
-favoured the same. Wise sluggard that he was, he curbed
-the vengeance of his clamorous soldiery, content to
-temporise with the inevitable trend of fortune. His light horse
-scoured the country, garnering food and forage from the fat
-lands north of Geraint. Time fought for him, and the
-starving wolves were trapped. Sufficient was it that he
-held his crescent of steel upon the hills, leaving unguarded
-the barren wilds that rolled on Gilderoy towards the east.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A week passed, dull and lustreless. The forest waved
-dark and solemn under the autumn sky; no torrents of steel
-gushed from its sable gates; no glittering squadrons plunged
-into its shadows. The King's men lay warm about their
-watch-fires on the hills, fattening on good food, tingling for
-the trumpet cry that should herald the advance. Richard
-of the Iron Hand smiled and passed the hours at chess in
-his great pavilion pitched on the slopes towards Geraint.
-Simon of Imbrecour held the southern marches; Morolt
-and his northerners guarded the west.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was grey weather, sullen and storm-laden, eerie of
-voice. The Black Wild tossed like a sombre sea over hill
-and valley, its spires rocking under the scurrying sky, its
-myriad galleries shrill with the cry of the wind. There
-was no rest there, no breathless silence under the frail moon.
-The trees moaned like a vast choir wailing the downfall of
-a god. The wild seemed full of death, and of the dead, as
-though the souls of those slaughtered in the war screamed
-about Fulviac's lair. The sentinels, grey figures in a
-sombre atmosphere, watched white-faced in the thickets.
-The clarions of the storm might mask the onrush of the
-royal chivalry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Yeoland the Saint lay full length upon a carved settle
-before a dying fire. She was listening to the wind as it
-roared over the cliff, amid the shrill clamour of the trees.
-It was such an eve as when Flavian had rattled at the
-postern to offer her love, and a throne at Avalon. She had
-spoken of war, and war had sundered them, given death to
-desire, and a tomb to hope. The glow of the fire played
-upon the girl's face and shone in her brooding eyes. Night
-was falling, and the gloom increased.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She heard footsteps in the gallery, the clangour of a
-scabbard against the rock. The door swung back, and Fulviac
-stood in the entry, clad in full harness save for his casque.
-There were deep furrows upon his forehead. His lids
-looked heavy from lack of sleep, and his eyes were bloodshot.
-The tinge of grey in his tawny hair had increased
-to a web of silver.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He came in without a word, set his hands on the back
-of the settle, and stared at the fire. Yeoland had started
-up; she sat huddled in the angle, looking in his face with
-a mute surmise. Fulviac's face was sorrowful, yet strong
-as steel; the lips were firm, the eyes sullen and sad. He
-was as a man who stared ruin betwixt the brows, nor
-quailed from the scrutiny though death stood ready on
-the threshold.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Cloak yourself," he said to her at last; "be speedy;
-buckle this purse to your girdle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sprang up as the leather pouch rattled on the settle,
-and stood facing Fulviac with her back to the fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Whither do we ride?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I send you under escort to Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled, tightened his sword belt with a vicious
-gesture, and still stared at the hearth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My lot lies here," he said to her; "I meet my doom
-alone. What need to drag you deeper into the dark?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She understood him on the instant, and the black thoughts
-moving in his mind. Disasters thickened about the cliff;
-perils were clamorous as the wind-rocked trees. Fulviac
-feared the worst; she knew that from his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You send me to Gilderoy?" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have so determined it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And why?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you doubt my discretion?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The flames flashed and gleamed upon his breastplate,
-and deepened the shadows upon his face. His eyes were
-sorrowful, yet full of a strenuous fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The sky darkens," he said to her, "and the King's
-hosts watch the forest. I had thought to draw them into
-the wilds, but the fox of Lauretia has smelt a snare. Our
-stores lessen; we are in the last trench."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She moved away into a dark corner of the room, raised
-the carved lid of a chest, and began to draw clothes
-therefrom, fingering them listlessly, as though her thoughts
-wavered. Fulviac leant with folded arms upon the settle,
-seemed even oblivious of her presence under the burden of
-his fate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac," she said at last, glancing at him over a
-drooping shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his head and looked at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I go then to Gilderoy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The road is open," he answered, with no obvious
-kindling of his sympathy; "there will be bloody work here
-anon; you will be safer behind stone walls."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the King?" she asked him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened suddenly, like a man tossing some great
-burden from off his soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, girl! are you blind as to what shall follow?
-Richard of the Iron Hand waits for us with fivescore
-thousand men. We shall fight--by God, yes!--and make a
-bloody end; there will be much slaughter and work for the
-sword. The King will crush us as a falling rock crushes
-a scorpion. There will be no mercy. Death waits. Put
-on that cloak of thine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stood motionless a moment, listening to the moaning
-of the wind. The man's grim spirit troubled her.
-She remembered that he had bulwarked her in her homeless
-days, had dealt her much pity out of his rugged heart.
-He was alone now, and shadowed by death. Thus it
-befell that she cast the cloak aside upon the bed, and stood
-forward with quivering lips before the fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Little sister."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! God pardon me; I have been a weak and graceless
-friend. You have been good to me, beyond my gratitude.
-The past has gone for ever; what is left to me
-now? Shall I not meet death at your side?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stood back from her, looking in her eyes, breathing
-hard, combating his own heart. He loved the girl in his
-fierce, staunch way; she was the one light left him in the
-gathering gloom. Now death offered him her soul. He
-tottered, stretched out his hands to her, snatched them back
-with a great burst of pride.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, this cannot be."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have dared the storm; alone will I fall beneath its
-vengeance. You shall go this night to Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She thrust out her hands to him, but he turned away his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! little sister, this war was conceived for God, but
-the devil leavened it. I have gambled with fire, and the
-ashes return upon my head. I give you life; 'tis little I
-may give. Come now, obey me, these are my last words."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned from him very quietly in the shadow,
-hiding her face with her arm. Picking up her cloak, she
-drew it slowly about her shoulders, Fulviac watching her,
-a pillar of steel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They wait for you in the forest," he said; "go down
-the stair. Colgran rides with you to Gilderoy. He is
-to be trusted."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drooped her head, staggered to the door, darted back
-again with a low cry and a gush of tears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fulviac."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Little woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God keep you! Kiss me, this once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He bent to her, touched her forehead with his lips, thrust
-her again towards the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, my child."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she went forth slowly from him, weeping, into the night.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xli"><span class="large">XLI</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The prophecies of the King proved the power of their
-pinions before fourteen suns had passed over the Black
-Wild's heart. Richard of Lauretia had plotted to starve
-Fulviac into giving him battle, or into a retreat from the
-forest upon Gilderoy. The royal prognostications were
-pitiless and unflinching as candescent steel. It was no
-mere battle-ground that he sought, but rather an
-amphitheatre where he might martyr the rebel host like a mob
-of revolted slaves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever tidings may have muttered on the breeze,
-riders came in hotly to the royal pavilion towards the
-noon of the fourteenth day. There was soon much stir
-on the hills hard by Geraint. Knights and nobles
-thronged the royal tent, captains clanged shoulders,
-gallopers rode south and west with fiery despatches to
-Morolt and Sir Simon of Imbrecour. Battle breathed
-in the wind. Before night came, the King's pavilion
-had vanished from the hills; his columns were winding
-round the northern hem of the forest, to strike the road
-that ran from Geraint to Gilderoy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The royal scouts and rangers had not played their
-master false. A river of steel was curling through the
-black depths of the wild, threading the valleys towards
-the east. The King's scouts had caught the glimmer of
-armour sifting through the trees. They had slunk about
-the rebel host for days while they lay camped in their
-thousands about the cliff. Colgran and his small company
-had passed through unheeded, but they were up like hawks
-when the whole host moved.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That midnight Fulviac's columns rolled from the outstanding
-thickets of the wild, and held in serried masses
-for the road to Gilderoy. The King's procrastination had
-launched them on this last desperate venture. They
-would have starved in the forest as Fulviac had foreseen;
-their hopes lay in reaching Gilderoy, which was well
-victualled, throwing themselves therein, making what terms
-they could, or die fighting behind its walls. Thus under
-cover of night they slipped from the forest, trusting to
-leave the King's men guarding an empty lair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The brisk forethought of Richard of Lauretia had
-out-gamed the rebels, however, in the hazardous moves of war.
-They were answering to his opening like wild duck paddling
-towards a decoy. Ten miles west of Gilderoy there
-stretched a valley, walled southwards by tall heights, banded
-through the centre by the river Tamar. At its eastern
-extremity a line of hills rolled down to touch the river.
-The road from Geraint ran through the valley, hugging
-the southern bank of the river after crossing it westwards
-by a fortified bridge. Fulviac and his host would follow
-that road, marching betwixt the river and the hills. It
-was in this valley that Richard of Lauretia had conceived
-the hurtling climax of the war.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Forewarned in season, Sir Simon of Imbrecour and
-his bristling squadrons were riding through the night on
-Gilderoy, shaping a crescent course towards the east.
-Morolt and the giants of the north were striding in his
-track, skirting the southern spires of the forest, to press
-level with the rebel march, screened by the hills. The
-King and his Lauretians came down from Geraint.
-They were to seize the bridge across the Tamar, pour
-over, and close the rebels on the rear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was near dawn when Fulviac's columns struck the
-highroad from Geraint, and entered the valley where the Tamar
-shimmered towards Gilderoy. Mist covered the world,
-shot through with the gold threads of the dawn. The
-river gleamed and murmured fitfully in the meadows;
-the southern heights glittered in the growing day; the
-purple slopes of the Black Wild had melted dimly into the
-west.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The mist stood dense in the flats where the Geraint
-road bridged the river. The northern slopes seemed
-steeped in vapoury desolation, the road winding into a
-waste of green. Fulviac and his men marched on, chuckling
-as they thought of the royal troops watching the empty
-alleys of the forest. Fulviac took no care to secure the
-bridge across the Tamar. With the line of hills before
-them breasted, they would see the spires of Gilderoy,
-glittering athwart the dawn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The columns were well in the lap of the valley before
-two light horsemen came galloping in from the far van,
-calling on Fulviac, who rode under the red banner, that
-the road to Gilderoy had been seized. Fulviac and
-Sforza rode forward with a squadron of horse to
-reconnoitre. As they advanced at a canter, the mists cleared
-from the skirts of the encircling hills. Far to the east,
-on the green slopes that rolled towards the Tamar, they
-saw the sun smite upon a thousand points of steel.
-Pennons danced in the shimmering atmosphere, shields flickered,
-armour shone. A torrent of gems seemed poured from the
-dawn's lap upon the emerald bosoms of the hills. They were
-the glittering horsemen of Sir Simon of Imbrecour, who had
-ridden out of the night and seized on the road to Gilderoy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac halted his company, and standing in the stirrups,
-scanned the hillside under his hand. He frowned, thrust
-forth his chin, turned on Sforza who rode at his side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Trapped," he said with a twist of the lip; "Dick of
-the Iron Hand has fooled us. 'Twas done cunningly,
-though it brings us to a parlous passage. They hold the road."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Gonfaloniere tugged at his ragged beard, and looked
-white under the arch of his open salade.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Better advance on them," he said; "I would give good
-gold to be safe in the streets of Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sneered, and shook his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are ten thousand spears on yonder slopes, the
-lustiest blood in the land. Count their banners and their
-pennons, the stuff tells an honest tale. Pah, they would
-drive our rapscallions into the river. Send back and bid our
-banners halt."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They wheeled and cantered towards the long black
-columns plodding through the meadows. Far to the west
-over the green plain they saw spears flash against the sun,
-a glimmering tide spreading from the river. The
-Lauretians had crossed the bridge and were hurrying on the
-rebels' heels. Fulviac's trumpets sounded the halt. He
-thundered his orders to his captains, bade them mass their
-men in the meadows, and hedge their pikes for the crash
-of battle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A shout reached him from his squadrons of horse who
-had marched on the southern wing. They were pointing
-to the heights with sword and spear. Fulviac reined round,
-rode forward to some rising ground, and looked southwards
-under his hand. The heights bounding the valley shone
-with steel. A myriad glistening stars shimmered under the
-sun. Morolt's northerners had shown their shields; the
-hills bristled with their bills and spears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac shrugged his shoulders, lowered his beaver, and
-rode back towards his men. He saw Yeoland the Saint's
-red banner waving above the dusky squares. He remembered
-the girl's pale face and the hands that had toyed with
-the gilded silks in the dark chamber upon the cliff. Though
-the sun shone and the earth glistened, he knew in his heart
-that he should see that face no more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Richard of Lauretia had forged his crescent of steel.
-South, east, and west the royal trumpets sounded;
-northwards ran the Tamar, closing the meadows. Fulviac and
-his men were trapped in the green valley. A golden girdle
-of chivalry hemmed the mob in the lap of the emerald
-meadows. All about them blazed the panoply of war.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac, pessimist that he was, took to his heart that
-hour the lofty tranquillity of a Scandinavian hero. His
-courage was of that stout, sea-buffeting fibre that stiffened
-its beams against the tide of defeat. He set forth his shield,
-tossed up his sword, rode through the ranks with the spirit
-of a Roland. Life leapt the stronger in him at the
-challenge of the Black Raven of death. His captains could
-have sworn that he looked for victory in the moil, so bluff
-and strenuous was his mood that day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sforza came cringing to him, glib-lipped and haggard,
-to speak of a parley. Fulviac shook his shield in the man's
-white face, set his ruffians to dig trenches in the meadows,
-and to range the waggons as a barricade.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Parley, forsooth," quoth he; "talk no more to me of
-parleys when I have twoscore thousand smiters at my back.
-Let Dick of the Iron Hand come down to us with the
-sword. Ha, sirs, are we stuffed with hay! We will rattle
-the royal bones and make them dance a fandango to the devil."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His spirit diffused itself through the ranks of the rough
-soldiery. They cheered wheresoever he went, kindling
-their courage like a torch, and tossed their pikes to him
-with strenuous insolence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My children," he would roar to them as he passed,
-"the day has come, we have drawn these skulkers to a
-tussle. See to it, sirs, let us maul these velvet gentlemen,
-these squires of the cushion. By the Lord, we will feast
-anon in Gilderoy, and rifle the King's baggage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Richard of the Iron Hand, he was content to
-claim the arduous blessings of the day. He held his men
-in leash upon the hills, resting them and their horses after
-the marchings of the night. Wine was served out;
-clarions and sackbuts sounded through the ranks; the King
-made his nobles a rich feast in his pavilion pitched by Sir
-Morolt's banner. As the day drew on, he thrust strong
-outposts towards the meadows, ordered his troops to sleep
-through the long night under arms. Their watch-fires
-gemmed a lurid bow under the sky, with Tamar stringing
-it, a chord of silver. In the meadows the rebel masses
-lay a black pool of gloom under the stars.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sat alone in his tent at midnight, his drawn
-sword across his knees. His captains had left him, some
-to watch, others to sleep on the grass in their armour,
-Sforza the Gonfaloniere to sneak in the dark to the King's
-lines. Silence covered the valley, save for the voices of
-the sentinels and the sound of the royal trumpets blowing
-the changes on the hills. Their watch-fires hung athwart
-the sky like a chain of flashing rubies.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac sat motionless as a statue, staring out into the
-night. Death, like a grey wraith, stood beside his chair;
-the unknown, a black and unsailed sea, stretched calm and
-imageless beneath his feet. Life and the ambition thereof
-tottered and crumbled like a quaking ruin. Love quenched
-her torch of gold. The man saw the stars above him,
-heard in the silence of thought a thousand worlds surging
-through the infinitudes of the heavens. What then was
-this mortal pillar of clay, that it should grudge its dust to
-the womb of the world?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And ambition? He thought of Yeoland and her wounded
-heart; of Gambrevault and Avalon; of La Belle Forêt
-smoking amid its ruins. He had torched fame through the land,
-and painted his prowess in symbols of fire. Now that death
-challenged him on the strand of the unknown, should he,
-Fulviac, fear the unsailed sea!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His heart glowed in him with a transcendent insolence.
-Lifting his sword, he pressed the cold steel to his lips,
-brandished it in the faces of the stars. Then, with a
-laugh, he lay down upon a pile of straw and slept.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xlii"><span class="large">XLII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Dawn rolled out of the east, red and riotous, its crimson
-spears streaming towards the zenith. Over the far towers
-of Gilderoy swept a roseate and golden mist, over the
-pine-strewn heights, over Tamar silvering the valley. A wind
-piped hoarsely through the thickets, like a shrill prelude to
-the organ-throated roar of war.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The landscape shimmered in the broadening light, green
-tapestries arabesqued with gold. To the east, Sir Simon's
-multitudinous squadrons ran like rare terraces of flowers,
-dusted with the scintillant dew of steel. Westwards
-dwindled the long ranks of the Lauretians. On the
-heights, Morolt's shields flickered in the sun. About a
-hillock in the valley, the rebel host stood massed in a great
-circle, a whorl of helmets, bills, and pikes; Fulviac's red
-pavilion starred the centre like the red roof of a church
-rising above a town.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the southern heights, Richard of Lauretia had
-watched the dawn rise behind the towers of Gilderoy.
-He was on horseback, in full panoply of war, his gorgeous
-harness and trappings dazzling the sun. Knights, nobles,
-trumpeters were round him, a splendid pool of chivalry,
-while east and west stretched the ranks of the grim and
-gigantic soldiery of the north.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Hard by the royal standard with its Sun of Gold, a
-corpse dangled from the branch of a great fir. It swayed
-slightly in the wind, black and sinister against the gilded
-curtain of the dawn. It was the body of Sforza the
-adventurer from the south, Gonfaloniere of Gilderoy,
-whom the King had hanged to grace his double treachery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the light increased, sweeping along the glittering
-frieze of war, Morolt of Gorm and Regis stood forward
-before the King. He was a lean man, tall and vigorous
-as a bow of steel, his black eyes darting fire under his
-thatch of close-cropped hair. The nobles had put him
-forward that morning as a man born to claim a boon upon
-the brink of battle. Fierce and virile, he bared his sword
-to the sun, and pointed with mailed hand to the rebel host
-in the valley.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire, a boon for your loyal servants."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The King's face was as a mask of steel heated to white
-heat, ardent and pitiless. He had the spoilers of his
-kingdom under his heel, and was not the man to flinch at
-vengeance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Say on, Morolt, what would ye?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are men, sire, and these wolves have slaughtered
-our kinsfolk."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I held to be a lamb, sirs!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A rough laugh eddied up. Morolt shook his sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give them into our hand, sire," he said; "there shall
-be no need of ropes and dungeons."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The iron men cheered him. Richard the King lifted
-up his baton; his strong voice swept far in the hush of the
-dawn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirs," he said to them, "take the Black Leopard of
-Imbrecour for your pattern, rend and slay, let none escape
-you. Every man of my host wears a white cross on his
-sword arm. Let that badge only stay your vengeance.
-As for these whelps of treason, they have butchered our
-children, shamed our women, clawed and torn at their
-King's throne. To-day who thinks of mercy! Go down,
-sirs, to the slaughter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A roar of joy rose from those rough warriors; they
-tossed their swords, gripped hands and embraced, called on
-the saints to serve them. Strong passions were loose,
-steaming like the incense of sacked cities into heaven.
-There was much to avenge, much to expurgate. That
-day their swords were to drink blood; that day they were
-to crush and kill.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the valley, Fulviac's huge coil of humanity lay sullen
-and silent, watching the spears upon the hills. Their
-russets and sables contrasted with the gorgeous colouring
-of the feudalists. The one shone like a garden; the other
-resembled a field lying fallow. The romance and pomp
-of war gathered to pour down upon the squalid realism of
-mob tyranny. Beauty and the beast, knight and scullion
-faced each other on the stage that morning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gallopers were riding east and west bearing the King's
-commands to Sire Julian, Duke of Layonne, who headed
-the Lauretians, and to Simon of Imbrecour upon the hills.
-The King would not tempt the moil that day, but left the
-sweat and thunder of it to his captains, content to play the
-Cæsar on the southern heights. His commands had gone
-forth to the host. The first assault was to be made by
-twenty thousand northmen under Morolt, and a like force
-under Julian of Layonne. The whole crescent of steel
-was to contract upon the meadows, and consolidate its iron
-wall about Fulviac and his rebels. Simon of Imbrecour
-was to leash his chivalry from the first rush of the fight.
-His knights should ride in when the rebel ranks were broken.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An hour before noon, the royal trumpets blew the
-advance, and a great shout surged through the shimmering
-ranks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Black Leopard of Imbrecour."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Golden Sun of Lauretia."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Advance, Grey Wolf of the North."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With clarions and fifes playing, drums beating, banners
-blowing, the whole host closed its semilune of steel upon
-the dusky mass in the meadows. The northerners were
-chanting an old Norse ballad, a grim, ice-bound song of the
-sea and the shriek of the sword. Sir Simon's spears were
-rolling over the green slopes, their trumpets and bugles
-blowing merrily. From the west, the Lauretians were
-coming up with their pikes dancing in the sun. The
-thunder of the advance seemed to shake the hills.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac watched the feudalists from beneath his banner
-in the meadows. His captains were round him, grim men
-and silent, girding their spirits for the prick of battle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By St. Peter," said the man under the red flag,
-"these fireflies come on passably. A fair host and a
-splendid. If their courage suits their panoply, we shall have
-hot work to-day."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," quoth Colgran, who had returned from
-Gilderoy, "I would rather sweep a flower-garden than a
-muck-heap. We are good for twice their number, massed as we
-are like rocks upon a sea-shore."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To your posts, sirs," were Fulviac's last words to
-them; "whether we fall or conquer, what matters it if we
-die like men!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Billows of red, green, and blue, dusted with silver,
-Morolt and his Berserkers rolled to the charge. They
-had cast aside their pikes, and taken to shield and axe, such
-axes as had warred in the far past for the faith of Odin.
-Fulviac's rebels had massed their spears into a hedge of
-steel, and though Morolt's men came down at a run, the
-spear points stemmed the onrush like a wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Despite this avalanche of iron, the rebel ring stove off
-the tide of war. They were stout churls and hardy,
-these peasant plunderers; death admonished them; despair
-tightened their sinews and propped up their shields.
-The shimmering flood swirled on their spear points like
-tawny billows tossing round a rock. It lapped and eddied,
-rushed up in spray, seeking an inlet, yet finding none.
-The Lauretian feudatories had swarmed to the charge.
-Fulviac withstood them, and held their panoply at bay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Richard the King watched the battle from the southern
-heights. He saw Morolt's men roll down, saw the fight
-seethe and glitter, swirl in a wild vortex round the rebel
-spears. The war wolves gathered, the tempest waxed,
-and still the black ring held. Like steel upon a granite
-rock the onslaughts sparked on it, but clove no breach.
-Under the late noon sun the valley reeked with dust and
-din. The royal host was as a dragon of gold, gnashing
-and writhing about an iron tower.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that the King smote his thigh, plucked off
-his signet, sent it by Bertrand his herald to Sir Simon and
-his knights.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go down at the gallop," ran the royal bidding, "cleave
-me this rock, and splinter it to dust. Spare neither man nor
-horse. Cleave in or perish."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The black banner of Imbrecour flapped forth; the
-trumpets clamoured. Sir Simon's knights might well
-have graced Boiardo's page, and girded Albracca with
-their stalwart spears. They tightened girths, set shields
-for the charge, and rode down nobly to avenge or fall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As a great ship sails to break a harbour boom, so did
-the squadrons of the King crash down with fewtred spears
-on Fulviac's host. They rode with the wind, leaping
-and thundering like an iron flood. No slackening was
-there, no wavering of this ponderous bolt. It rushed
-like a huge rock down a mountain's flank, smoking and
-hurtling on the wall of spears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The corn was scythed and trodden under foot. Ranks
-rocked and broke like earth before a storm-scourged sea.
-The spears of Imbrecour flashed on, smote and sucked
-vengeance, cleaving a breach into the core of war. The
-knights slew, took scarlet for their colour, and made
-the moment murderous with steel. Into the breach the
-King's wolves followed them; Morolt's grim axemen
-stumbled in, rending and hurling the black mass to shreds.
-Battle became butchery. The day was won.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What boots it to chronicle the scene that travelled as
-a forest fire in the track of Sir Simon's chivalry? The
-iron hand of the King closed upon the wrecked victims
-in the valley. Knight and noble trampled the peasantry;
-rapine and lust were put to the sword. The Blatant
-Beast was slain by the spear of Romance. The boor and
-the demagogue were trodden as straw before the threshing-floor
-of vengeance. The fields were a shroud of scarlet;
-Tamar ran like wine; thorn and bramble were fruited
-red with blood. On the heights the tall pines waved
-over the splendid masque of death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was late in the day when Morolt and his hillsmen,
-with certain of Sir Simon's knights, forced their way
-through the wreckage of the fight, to the hillock where
-stood the banner of the Saint. South, east, and west the
-rout bubbled into the twilight, a riot of slaughter
-seething to the distant woods. About Yeoland's banner had
-gathered the last of the Forest brotherhood, grey wolves
-red to the throat with battle. Sullen and indomitable,
-they had gathered in a dusky knot of steel as the day sped
-into the kindling west. Even Morolt's fierce followers
-stood still, like hounds that had brought the boar to bay.
-Simon of Imbrecour spurred out before the spears, lifted
-a shattered sword, and called on Fulviac by name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Traitor, we challenge ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A burly figure in harness of a reddish hue towered up
-beneath the fringe of the banner of the Saint. He carried
-an axe slanted over his shoulder, as he stood half a head
-above the tallest of his men. As Sir Simon challenged
-him, he lifted his salade, and bared his face to the war dogs
-who hemmed him in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Black Leopard of the West, we meet again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord of Imbrecour peered at him keenly from
-under his vizor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, sirs, and end it," quoth the man in red, "buffet
-for buffet, and sword to sword. I fling ye a gauge to
-death and the devil. Come, sirs, let us end it; I bide
-my time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Morolt sprang forward with sword aloft.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Traitor and rebel, I have seen your face before."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Fulviac laughed, a brave burst of scorn. He tossed his
-axe to them, and spread his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Morolt, I have foined with ye of old. Saints and
-martyrs, have I avenged myself upon the lap-dogs of the
-court! Here will we fight our last battle. Bury me, sirs,
-as Fulk of Argentin, the King's brother, whom men
-thought dead these seven years."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden silence hovered above that remnant of a beaten
-host. The red banner drooped, hung down about its staff.
-Morolt, uttering a strange cry, smote his bosom with his
-iron hand. Old Simon crossed himself, turned back and
-rode thence slowly from the field.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Morolt's voice, gruff and husky, sounded the charge.
-When he and his war dogs had made an end, they took
-Fulviac's head and bore it wrapped in Yeoland's banner to
-the King.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xliii"><span class="large">XLIII</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Under the starry pall of night, the last cry of the clarion
-of tragedy sounded over wood and meadow. Gilderoy,
-proud city of the south, had closed her gates against the
-royal host, wise at the eleventh hour as to the measure of
-the King's mercy. The wreckage from the battle in the
-valley had washed on Tamar's bosom past the walls,
-corpses jostling each other in the stream of death.
-Vultures had hovered in the azure sky. There was no doom
-for Gilderoy save the doom of the sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The moon rose red amid a whorl of dusky clouds, veiled
-as with scarlet for the last orgies of war. Gilderoy had
-been carried by assault. Morolt's barbarians were pouring
-through the streets; the gates yawned towards the night;
-bells boomed and clashed. The townsfolk were scurrying
-like rats for the great square where the remnant of the
-garrison had barricaded the entries, gathering for a
-death-struggle under the umbrage of the cathedral towers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Richard the King had ridden into Gilderoy by the
-northern gate with Sir Simon of Imbrecour and a strong
-guard of knights and men-at-arms. Fulviac's head danced
-on a spear beside the Golden Banner of Lauretia. The
-citadel had opened its gates to Sire Julian of Layonne. In
-the square before the ruined abbey of the Benedictines the
-King and his nobles gathered to await the judgment of
-the hour.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A great bell boomed through the night, a deep panting
-sound in the warm gloom. Torrents of steel clashed
-through the narrow streets, gleaming under the torch flare,
-bubbling towards the last rampart of revolt. From the
-cathedral square arose a wild, whimpering outcry, the
-wailing of women mingling with the hoarse clamour of the
-last assault.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Word was brought to the King by one of Morolt's
-esquires, that the townsfolk were holding the great square
-behind their barricades, and pouring a hot fire from the
-houses upon his troops. Morolt desired the King's ring
-and his commands before taking to the resource of the
-sword. Richard of the Iron Hand was in no mood for
-mercy. His decree went forth from before the gate of the
-ruined abbey.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Consider no church as a sanctuary. Fire the houses
-about the square. Gilderoy shall burn."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The city's doom was sealed by those iron words. The
-torch took up the handiwork of the sword. A gradual
-glow began to rise above the house-tops; smoke billowed
-up, black and voluminous, dusted with a myriad ruddy
-stars. Flames rose from casement and from gable, from
-chimney, spirelet, roof, and tower. The houses were faced
-with wood, dry as tinder, crisp for the torch as a
-summer-bleached prairie. The flames ran like a red flood from
-roof to roof, with a roar as from huge reptiles battling in a
-burning pit. The great square, with the glittering
-pinnacles of its cathedral, was girded in with fire and sword.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Men were stabbing and hewing upon the barricades
-where Morolt's feudatories had stormed up from the
-gloom of the streets. Beneath the light of the burning
-houses, swords were tossed, the dead forgotten and trodden
-under foot. It was not long before the barriers were
-carried by assault and the avengers of Belle Forêt poured
-pitiless into the great square.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The citizens of Gilderoy had packed their women and
-children into the sanctuary of the cathedral choir. They
-were penned there amid the gorgeous gildings of the place,
-a shivering flock swarming in the frescoed chapels, huddled
-beneath the painted figures of the saints. The glow of
-the burning city beat in through the jewelled glass, building
-the huge aisles in a glittering cavern windowed with living
-gems. Darkness and dawn struggled and fought under the
-thundering vaults. From without came the wild babel, the
-hoarse death-moan of a people.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the great square the fight went on, a ruthless mêlée,
-strong and terrible. Gilderoy had slaughtered her noblesse.
-She made expiation for the deed that night with the heart's
-blood of her children. Vengeance and despair grappled
-and swayed in that great pit of death. The blazing streets
-walled in a red inferno, where passions ran like Satanic
-wine. Gilderoy, proud city of the south, quivered and
-expired beneath the iron gauntlet of the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred of Gambrevault moved through the press with
-Morolt of the North fighting at his side. They had a
-common quest that night, a common watchword, chastening
-the vengeance of their men.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Seek the Saint. Save Yeoland of Gambrevault."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was as a hoarse shout, feeble and futile amid the bluster
-of a storm. What hope was there for this pale-faced
-Madonna amid the burning wreck of Gilderoy? She was
-as a lily in a flaming forest. Modred sought for her with
-voice and sword, thinking of Flavian and the vow upon the
-cliff. Though the city lightened, black Modred's heart
-was steeped in gloom. Death and despair seemed armed
-against his hope.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the eastern quarter a little court stood back from the
-great square. A fountain played in the centre, the
-water-jet, thrown from a mermaid's bosom, sparkling like a plume
-of gems. The walls of the court were streaked with flame,
-its casements tawny with yellow light. The breath of the
-place was as the breath of a furnace; a quaking crowd
-filled it, driven to bay by the swords shining in the square.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Modred was a tall man, a pine standing amid hollies.
-Staring into the murk of the court wreathed round with a
-garland of fire, he saw, above the heads of the crowd, a
-woman standing on the steps of the fountain, leaning
-against the brim of the basin. Her hair blew loose from
-under her open bassinet; her white face like a flower was
-turned mutely to the night. A cuirass glimmered under
-her cloud of hair. Modred, when he saw her, sent up a
-shout like that of a wrecked mariner sighting a sail over
-tumbling waves. He tossed his sword, charged forward
-into the court, began to buffet his way towards the figure
-by the fountain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A knot of soldiery, taking his shout as a rallying cry,
-stormed after him into the court. There was a great crush
-in the entry, men tumbling in, and using their swords as
-poniards. The townsfolk were scattered like blown leaves
-towards the burning houses. In the hot turmoil of the
-moment the girl was swept from the fountain steps, and
-carried by a struggling bunch of figures towards a corner
-of the court. Modred lost sight of her for the moment, as
-he ploughed forward through the press.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Flames were rushing from casement and from roof; the
-breath of the place was as the breath of a burning desert.
-The Gilderoy rebels pent in the court were being put to
-the sword. Through the swirl of the struggle Yeoland's
-bassinet shone out again. Modred saw her standing alone,
-shading her face with her hands like some wild, desperate
-thing, knowing not whither to escape. He pushed on,
-calling her by name. Before he could reach her the
-gabled front of a house undermined by the fire lurched
-forward, tottered, and came down with a roar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A blazing brand struck Modred on the helmet. He
-staggered, beheld a shower of sparks, felt a scorching wind
-upon his face. The stones were littered with crackling
-woodwork, glowing timber, reeking tiles. He was stunned
-for a moment as by the blow of a mace. Flames were
-leaping heavenwards from the houses, wiping out the mild
-faces of the stars with their ruthless hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With a great cry Modred had started forward like a
-charging bull. He dragged aside the smouldering wreckage
-of gable and roof, tore the rafters aside, nor heeded the
-heat, for his harness helped him. His great body quivered
-as he drew the girl out and lifted her from the stones. Her
-green kirtle was alight, and with the strong instinct of the
-moment he ran with her to the fountain and plunged her
-bodily in the broad basin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Panting, he bore her across the great square in his arms.
-Yeoland was making a little moaning whimper, but for all
-else lay quiet as a half-dead bird. Modred dared not look
-into her face; the scent of her scorched hair beat up into
-his nostrils. He ground his teeth and cursed Fate as he ran.
-Was it for this that they had bulwarked Gambrevault?</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xliv"><span class="large">XLIV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Autumn had cast her scarlet girdle about Avalon; the
-woods were aflame with the splendours of the dying year.
-The oaks stood pavilions of green and gold; the beeches
-domes of burnished bronze; from their silver stems, birches
-fountained forth showers of amber. It was a season of
-crystal skies, of cloud galleons, bulwarked with gold, sailing
-the wine-red west. Wild Autumn wandered in the ruined
-woods, her long hair streaking the gilded gloom, her voice
-elfin under the stars. Even as she passed, the crisp leaves
-swirled and fell, a pall for the dying year.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Avalon slumbered amid her lilies and the painted woods,
-gorgeous as rare tapestries, curtaining her meadows. Her
-mere laughed and glimmered amid the flags and lily leaves,
-and lapped at the lichened bases of her towers. Avalon
-had arisen from her desolation. No longer were her
-chambers void, her gates broken, her courts the haunt of
-death. The bat and the screech-owl had fled from her
-towers. She had lifted up her face to the dawn, like a
-mourner who turns from the grave to gaze again upon
-the golden face of joy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Time with his scythe of silver rested on the hills. The
-black dragon of war had crawled sated to the labyrinths of
-the past; the red throne of ambition had been consumed
-by fire. Peace came forth with her white-faced choir,
-swinging their golden censers, shedding a purple perfume
-of hope over the blackened land. The death wolves had
-slunk to the wilds, the vultures had soared from the fields.
-A splendid calm had descended upon the land, a silence
-as of heaven after the hideous masque of war. The
-cloud-wrack and thunder had passed from the sky. Men heard
-again the voice of God.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Six weeks had gone since the sacking of Gilderoy, and
-dead Duessa's bower in Avalon had been garnished for a
-second mistress. A white rose lurked in a whorl of green.
-The oriel, with its re-jewelled glass, looked out upon the
-transient splendours of the woods. Tapestry clothed the
-walls, showing knights and maidens wandering through
-flowering meads. Rare furniture had been taken from the
-wrecked palaces of Gilderoy and given to the Lord Flavian
-by the King.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That autumntide Modred played seneschal in Avalon.
-He had cleansed and regarnished the castle by his lord's
-command, and garrisoned it with men taken from the
-King's own guard. Moreover, in Gilderoy he had found
-an old man groping miserlike amid the ruins, filthy and
-querulous. The pantaloon when challenged had confessed
-to the name of Aurelius, and the profession of Medicine
-by royal patent in that city. The townsfolk had spared
-his pompous neck for the sake of the benefits of his craft.
-From the fat, proud, prosperous worthy he had cringed
-into a wrinkled, flap-cheeked beggar. Him Modred had
-caught like a veritable pearl from the gutter, and brought
-with other household perquisites into Avalon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In this rich refuge Aurelius awoke as from an unsavoury
-and penurious dream. He regained some of his plump, sage
-swagger, his rotund phraseology, his autocratic dogmatism
-in matters Æsculapian. The atmosphere of Avalon agreed
-with his gullet. Above all things, he was held to be a man
-of tact.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In dead Duessa's bower there still hung her mirror of
-steel, whose sheeny surface had often answered to her
-languorous eyes and moon-white face. Duessa's hair had
-glimmered before this good friend's flattery. Gems,
-necklet, broideries, and tiars had sunk deep into its magic
-memory. The mirror could have told truths and expounded
-philosophies, had there been some Merlin to conjure with
-the past.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius of Gilderoy played the necromancer under
-more rational auspices. He was a benignant soul, subtle,
-sympathetic to the brink of dotage. His professional hint
-was that dead Duessa's mirror should be exiled from the
-bower of Avalon. The oracle spoke with much beneficence
-as to the delusions of the sick, and the demoniac
-influence of melancholy upon the brain. Yet his wisdom
-was withstood in the very quarter where he had trusted to
-find obedience and understanding. Dead Duessa's mirror
-still hung in the Lady Yeoland's bower.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One calm evening, when the west stood a great arch of
-ruddy gold, a slim girl knelt in the oriel with her face
-buried in her hands. She was clad in a gown of peacock
-blue, fitting close to her slight figure, and girded about the
-hips with a girdle of green leather. Her black hair poured
-upon her shoulders, clouding her face, yet leaving bare the
-base of her white neck where it curved from her pearly
-shoulders. She drooped her head as she knelt before the
-casement, where the light entered to her, azure and green,
-vermilion and purple, silver and rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she rose softly, turned towards the mirror hanging
-on the wall, gazed into its depths with a species of
-bewitched fear. One glance given, she turned away with
-a shudder, hid her face in her hands, walked the room in
-a mute frenzy of self-horror. Presently she knelt again
-before the window-seat, struggled in prayer, turning her face
-piteously to an open casement where the golden woods
-stood under the red wand of the west. The light waned a
-little. She rose up again from her knees, shook her hair
-forward so that it bathed her face, trod slowly towards the
-mirror, stared at herself therein.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The crystal bowl was broken, the ivory throne
-dishonoured! The blush of the rose had faded, the gleam of
-the opal fallen to dust. Youth and its sapphire shield had
-passed into the gloom of dreams. The stars and the moon
-were magical no more.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She wavered away from the window to a dark corner,
-hid her face in the arras. The same wild cry rang like a
-piteous requiem through her brain. The man lived and
-loved her, and she had come to this! Burning Gilderoy
-had stolen her beauty, made her a mockery of her very self.
-God, that Fate should compel her to lift her scars to the
-eyes of love!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the gathering dusk, she went again to the mirror,
-peered therein, with strained eyes and a tremor of the lip.
-The twilight softened somewhat the bitterness of truth.
-She shook her hair forward, saw her eyes gleam, fingered
-her white throat, and smiled a little. Presently she lit a
-taper, held it with wavering hand, peered at the steel panel
-once again. She cried out, jerked away, and crushed the
-frail light under her foot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Darkness increased, seeming to clothe her misery. She
-wandered through the room, twisting her black hair about
-her wrist, moaning and darting piteous glances into the
-gloom. Once she took a poniard from a table, fingered
-the point, pressed her hand over her heart, threw the knife
-away with a gesture of despair. On the morrow the man
-would come to her. What would she see in those grey
-eyes of his? Horror and loathing, ah God, not that!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Anon she grew calmer and less distressed, prayed
-awhile, lit a lamp, delved in an ambry built in the wall.
-That night her hands worked zealously, while the moon
-shimmered on the mere, setting silver wrinkles on its agate
-face. The woods were still and solemn as death, deep
-with the voiceless sympathy of the hour. Black lace hung
-upon Yeoland's hands; the sable thread ran through and
-through; her white fingers quivered in the light of the lamp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her few hours of sleep that night were wild and feverish,
-smitten through with piteous dreams. On the morrow she
-bound a black fillet about her brows, and let the dusky
-mask of lace fall over face and bosom. She prayed a long
-while before her crucifix, but she did not gaze again into
-dead Duessa's mirror.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That same evening Modred the seneschal blasphemed
-Aurelius in the garden of Avalon. The man of the sword
-was in no easy humour; his convictions emerged from his
-hairy mouth with a vigour that was not considerate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dotard, you have no more wit than a pelican."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, I embrace truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn truth; what eyes have you for a goodly close!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius spread his hands with the air of a martyr.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The physician, my lord," he said, "should ever deserve
-the confidence of his patron."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For retort, Modred shouldered him into the thick of a
-rose bush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pedant," quoth he, "crab-apple, say a word on this
-matter, and I will drown you in the moat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Aurelius gathered his robes and still ruffled it like an
-autocrat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbarity, sir, is the argument of fools."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bag of bones, rot in your wrinkled hide, keep your
-froth for sick children."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have as much soul as a rat in a sewer. Come,
-list to me, breathe a word of this, and I'll starve you in
-our topmost turret. Leave truth alone, gaffer, with your
-rheumy, broken-kneed wisdom. You have no wit in these
-matters, no, not a crust. Blurt a word, and I pack you
-off to grovel in Gilderoy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man of physic shrugged his shoulders, seemed
-grieved and incredulous, prepared to wash his hands of the
-whole business.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have your way, my lord; you are too hot-blooded for
-me; I will meddle no further."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Master Gallipot, you shall acknowledge anon
-that I have a soul."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="xlv"><span class="large">XLV</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Trumpets were blowing in Avalon of the Twelve
-Towers, echoing through the valley where the sun shone
-upon the woods, the sere leaves glittering like golden
-byzants as they fell. The sky was a clear canopy, drawn as
-blue silk from height to height, tenting the green meadows.
-Avalon's towers rose black and strong above the sheen of
-her quiet waters.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From Gambrevault came the Lord Flavian to claim his
-wife once more. Through the brief days of autumn
-Aurelius of Gilderoy had decreed him an exile from the
-Isle of Orchards, pleading for the girl's frail breath and her
-lily soul that might fade if set too soon in the noon of love.
-In Gambrevault the Lord Flavian had moped like a prisoned
-falcon, listening to the far cry of the war, hungry for
-the touch of a woman's hand. Modred had snatched the
-Madonna of the Pine Forest from burning Gilderoy. She
-had been throned at last above the tides of violence and
-wrong.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That day the Lord Flavian rode in state for Avalon,
-even as an Arthurian, prince coming with splendour from
-some high-souled quest. The woods had blazoned their
-banners for his march. Trumpets hailed him from the
-towers and battlements. The sun, like a great patriarch,
-smoothed his gold beard and beamed upon the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Over the bridge and beneath the gate, Modred led his
-master's horse. The garrison had gathered in the central
-court; they tossed their swords, and cheered for
-Gambrevault. Trumpets set the wild woods wailing. Bombards
-thundered from the towers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the court, amid the panoply of arms, Flavian
-dismounted, took Modred's hand, leant upon the great man's
-shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Old friend, is she well?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sire, youth turns to youth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my minstrels play below the stair some old song
-of Tristan and Iseult. And now I go to her. Lead on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In dead Duessa's bower a drooping figure knelt before a
-crucifix in prayer. Foreshadowings of misery and woe
-were stirring in the woman's heart. She had heard the
-bray of trumpets on the towers, the thunder of cannon, the
-shouts of strong men cheering in the court. She heard lute,
-viol, and flute strike up from afar a mournful melody sweet
-with an antique woe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Time seemed to crawl like a wounded snake in the
-grass. The figures on the arras gestured and grimaced;
-the jewelled glass in the oriel burnt in through the dark
-lattice of her veil. She heard footsteps on the stairs;
-Modred's deep voice, joyous and strangely tender. A hand
-fumbled at the latch. Starting up, she ran towards the
-shadows, and hid her face in the folds of the arras.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door had closed and all was silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The cry smote through her like joy barbed with bitterness.
-She shuddered and caught her breath, swayed as she
-stood with the arras hiding her face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wife, wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With sudden strength, compelling herself, she peered
-round, and saw a figure standing in the shadow, a man with
-white face turned towards the light, his hands stretched out
-like a little child's. She stood motionless, breathing fast
-with short, convulsive breaths, her lips quivering beneath
-her veil.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here," she said to him, husky, tremulous, and faint.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear your voice; come near to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She wavered forward three steps into the room, stood
-staring strangely at the figure by the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland, are you near?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I give myself to you, a broken man. Ah, where are
-your hands?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Sudden comprehension seized her; she went very near
-to him, gazing in his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wife, I shall never see the sky again, nor watch the
-stars at night, nor the moon, nor the sea. I shall never
-look on Avalon, her green woods and her lilies, and her
-sleeping mere. I shall never behold your face again. I am
-blind, I am blind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a great cry, tore the veil from her face, and
-cast it far from her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Husband, I come to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His hands were groping in the dark, groping like souls
-that sought the light. She went near him, weeping, caught
-his fingers, kissed them with her lips. The man's arms
-circled her; she hung therein, and buried her head in his
-bosom.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 87%" id="figure-50">
-<span id="his-hands-were-groping-in-the-dark"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="&quot;HIS HANDS WERE GROPING IN THE DARK.&quot;" src="images/img-294.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">"HIS HANDS WERE GROPING IN THE DARK."</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My love, my own."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am blind; your hair bathes my face."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you are blind, mine eyes are yours, and I your
-wife will be your sun. No more pain shall compass you;
-there shall be no more grieving, no more tears."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeoland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Husband."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God in heaven, I give Thee thanks for this."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em">
-</div>
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="backmatter">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOVE AMONG THE RUINS</span><span> ***</span></p>
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