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} - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Lady Sybil's Choice" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Emily Sarah Holt" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1879" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="44115" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-11-05" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Lady Sybil's Choice A Tale of the Crusades" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Lady Sybil's Choice A Tale of the Crusades" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="sybil.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-11-05T18:59:21.357605+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/44115" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Emily Sarah Holt" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-11-05" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="lady-sybil-s-choice"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE</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: Lady Sybil's Choice -<br /> A Tale of the Crusades -<br /> -<br />Author: Emily Sarah Holt -<br /> -<br />Release Date: November 05, 2013 [EBook #44115] -<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>LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE</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: 79%" id="figure-19"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover art</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: 59%" id="figure-20"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Down the nave Sybil came.... It was evident that she knew perfectly well where he stood who was to wear the crown." P. 317" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Down the nave Sybil came.... It was evident that she knew perfectly well where he stood who was to wear the crown." P. </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">317</a></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics x-large">Lady Sybil's Choice</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics large">A Tale of the Crusades</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">EMILY SARAH HOLT</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "MISTRESS MARGERY," "SISTER ROSE," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"This Tale in ancient Chronicle,—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>In wording old and quaint,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>In classic language of the past,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>In letters pale and faint,—</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>This tale is told. Yet once again</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Let it be told to-day—</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The old, old tale of woman's love,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Which lasteth on for aye."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">NEW EDITION</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON -<br />JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. -<br />48 PATERNOSTER ROW -<br />1879</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">PREFACE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Why, seeing times are not hidden from the -Almighty, do they that know Him, not see His days?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the earliest ages of the world, the needs-be -of suffering has been a mystery. Down to the -latest, it will be a mystery still. Truly, the more -we "know Him," the less mystery it is to us: for -even where we cannot see, we can trust His love. -Yet there are human analogies, which may throw -some faint light on the dark question: and one of -these will be found in the following pages. "What -I do, thou knowest not now"—sometimes because -it is morally impossible,—our finite capacity could -not hold it: but sometimes, too, because we could -not be trusted with the knowledge. In their case, -there is one thing we can do—wait. "O thou of -little faith!—</span><em class="italics">wherefore</em><span> didst thou doubt?"</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh restful, blissful ignorance!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>'Tis blessed not to know.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>It keeps me still in those kind arms</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Which will not let me go,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And hushes my soul to rest</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>On the bosom that loves me so!</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"So I go on, not knowing,—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>I would not, if I might.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I would rather walk in the dark with God</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Than walk alone in the light;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I would rather walk with Him by faith,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Than walk alone by sight.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"My heart shrinks back from trials</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Which the future may disclose;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Yet I never had a sorrow</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But what the dear Lord chose:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>So I send the coming tears back</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>With the whispered word, 'He knows!'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#guy-takes-the-cross">GUY TAKES THE CROSS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#two-surprises-for-elaine">TWO SURPRISES FOR ELAINE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#all-is-not-gold-that-glitters">ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-journeyand-the-end-of-it">A JOURNEY—AND THE END OF IT</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#curious-notions">CURIOUS NOTIONS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-perversity-of-people">THE PERVERSITY OF PEOPLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-little-cloud-out-of-the-sea">A LITTLE CLOUD OUT OF THE SEA</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#as-good-as-most-people">AS GOOD AS MOST PEOPLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#elaine-finds-more-than-she-expected">ELAINE FINDS MORE THAN SHE EXPECTED</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#preparing-for-the-struggle">PREPARING FOR THE STRUGGLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-calm-before-the-storm">THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#will-she-give-him-up">WILL SHE GIVE HIM UP?</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#waiting-for-the-inevitable">WAITING FOR THE INEVITABLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sybil-s-choice">SYBIL'S CHOICE</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="guy-takes-the-cross"><span class="bold x-large">LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">GUY TAKES THE CROSS</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"But what are words, and what am I?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>An infant crying in the night;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>An infant crying for the light;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And with no language but a cry."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—TENNYSON.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Alix says I am a simpleton. I don't think it is -particularly pleasant. Sometimes she says I am -a perfect simpleton: and I cannot say that I like -that any better. Nor do I think that it is very civil -in one's sister to put her opinion on record in this -certainly perspicuous, but not at all complimentary -manner. Still, I have heard her say it so many -times that I might almost have come to believe it, if -she did not say so of anybody but me. But when—as -she did this morning—she says Guy is a -simpleton, that I cannot stand with any patience. -Because there is nobody like Guy in all the world. -He is the best, kindest, dearest brother that ever -a girl had or could have. And it is a shame of Alix -to say such things. I am sure of it.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The brothers in this family are historical persons; -the sisters fictitious.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I do not know how it is, but Alix seems vexed -that I should like Guy best of all my brothers. She -says I ought to make companions of Amaury and -Raoul, who are nearer me in age. But is that any -reason for liking people? At that rate, I ought to -love Alix least of all, because she is furthest off. -And—though I should not like her to know that I -said so—I am not at all sure that I don't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Being like you in character, it seems to me, is a -much better reason for choosing companions, than -being near you in age. And I think Guy is much -more like me than Amaury or Raoul either. They -don't care for the same things that I do, and Guy -does. Now, how can you like a man's company -when you can never agree with him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix says my tastes—and, of course, Guy's—are -very silly. I believe she thinks there is no sense in -anything but spinning and cooking and needlework. -But I think Amaury and Raoul are quite as foolish -as we are. Amaury admires everything that shines -and glitters, and he is not at all particular whether -it is gold or brass. I believe, this minute, he knows -more about samite, and damask, and velvet, than I -do. You would think the world was coming to an -end by the wail he sets up if his cap has a feather -less than he intended, or the border of his tunic is -done in green instead of yellow. Is that like being -a man? Guillot says Amaury should have been a -woman, but I think he should have stayed a baby. -Then Raoul cares for things that bang and clash. -In his eyes, everybody ought to be a soldier, and no -tale is worth hearing if it be not about a tournament -or the taking of a city.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now I do think Guy and I have more sense. -What we love to hear is of deeds really noble,—of -men that have saved their city or their country at -the risk of their own lives; of a mother that has -sacrificed herself for her child; of a lady who was -ready to see her true knight die rather than stain his -honour. When we were little children at old -Marguerite's knee, and she used to tell us tales as a -reward when we had been good,—and who ever -knew half so many stories as dear old -Marguerite?—while Raoul always wanted a bloody battle, and -Amaury a royal pageant, and Alix what she called -something practical—which, so far as I could see, -meant something that was not interesting—and -Guillot, he said, "Something all boys, with no girls -in it"—the stories Guy and I liked were just those -which our dear old nurse best loved to tell. There -was the legend of Monseigneur Saint Gideon, who -drove the heathen Saracens out of his country with -a mere handful of foot-soldiers; and that of -Monseigneur Saint David, who, when he was but a youth, -fought with the Saracen giant, Count Goliath, who -was forty feet high—Guillot and Raoul used to like -that too; and of Monseigneur Saint Daniel, who on -a false accusation was cast to the lions, and in the -night the holy Apostle Saint Peter appeared to him, -and commanded the lions not to hurt him; and the -lions came and licked the feet of Monseigneur Saint -Peter. The story that Amaury liked best of all was -about Madame Esther, the Queen of Persia, and how -she entreated her royal lord for the lives of certain -knights that had been taken prisoners; but he -always wanted to know exactly what Madame -Esther had on, and even I thought that absurd, for -of course Marguerite had to make it up, as the -legend did not tell, and he might have done that -for himself. Raoul best loved the great legend of -the wars of Troy, and how Monseigneur Achilles -dragged Monseigneur Hector at the wheels of his -chariot: which I never did like, for I could not help -thinking of Madame the Queen, his mother, and -Madame his wife, who sat in a latticed gallery -watching, and remembering how their hearts would -bleed when they saw it. The story Guy liked best -was of two good knights of Greece, whose names -were Sir Damon and Sir Pythias, and how they so -loved that each was ready and anxious to lay down -his life for the other: and I think what I best loved -to hear was the dear legend of Madame Saint -Magdalene, and how she followed the blessed steps of -our Lord wherever He went, and was the first to -whom He deigned to appear after His resurrection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wish, sometimes, that I had known my mother. -I never had any mother but Marguerite. If she -heard me, I know she would say, "Ha, my -Damoiselle does not well to leave out the Damoiselle -Alix." But I am sure Alix was never anything like -a mother. If she were, mothers must be queer -people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why don't I like Alix better? Surely the only -reason is not because she is my half-sister. Our -gracious Lord and father was twice married,—first -to the Lady Eustacie de Chabot, who was mother -of Alix, and Guillot, and Guy, and Amaury, and -Raoul: and then she died, soon after Raoul was -born; and the year afterwards Monseigneur married -my mother, and I was her only child. But that -does not hinder my loving Guy. Why should it -hinder my loving Alix?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most certainly something does hinder it,—and -some tremendous thing hinders my loving Cousin -Hugues de la Marche. I hate him. Marguerite -says "Hush!" when I say so. But Hugues is so -intensely hateable, I am sure she need not. He is -more like Guillot than any other of us, but rougher -and more boisterous by far. I can't bear him. And -he always says he hates girls, and he can't bear me. -So why should I not hate him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>O Mother, Mother! I wish you had stayed with me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow, I don't think of her as I do of any one -who is alive. I suppose, if she were alive, I should -call her "Fair Madame," and be afraid to move -in her presence. But being dead seems to bring -her nearer. I call her "Mother," and many a time -I say her pretty, gentle name, Clémence,—not aloud, -but in my thoughts. Would she have loved me if -she had stayed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Does she love me, where she is with God? They -say she was so gentle and pious, I am sure she must -be in Heaven. She stayed only a very little while -with us; I was not two years old when she died. -Marguerite says she used to carry me up and down -the long gallery, looking tenderly down at my baby -face, and call me her darling, her dove, her precious -Elaine. Oh, why could I not have heard her, to -remember it, only once?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is no need to ask why I feel lonely and -desolate, and muse on my dead mother, as I always -do when I am miserable. I can never be anything -else, now that Guy is gone. Monseigneur, our -gracious Lord and father, gave consent a month -since that Guy should take the holy cross, and -yesterday morning he set forth with a company -on his perilous journey. Was there no one in -all the world but my Guy to fight for our Lord's -sepulchre? And does our Lord think so very much -about it, that He does not care though a maiden's -heart be broken and her life desolate, if she give -up her best beloved to defend it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I suppose it is wrong to say that. The -good God is always good, of course. And I suppose -it is right that Guy should put the sepulchre before -me. He is the true knight, to sacrifice himself to -duty; and I am not the noble-hearted damsel, if -I wish he had done otherwise. And I suppose the -great tears that fell on that red cross while I was -broidering it, were displeasing to the good God. -He ought to have the best. Oh yes! I see that, -quite clearly. And yet I wonder why He wanted -my best, when He has all the saints and angels -round Him, to do Him homage. And I had only -Guy. I cannot understand it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear! I do get so puzzled, sometimes. I -think this is a very perplexing world to live in. -And it is of no use to say a word to Alix, because -she only calls me a simpleton, and that does not -explain anything: and Marguerite says, "Hush! -My Damoiselle would not speak against the good God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And neither of them helps me a bit. They do -not see that I never mean to speak against the -good God. I only want to understand. They do -not feel the same sort of want, I suppose, and so -they think it wicked in me to feel it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Does my mother understand it all? Must one -die, to understand? And if so, why?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy would let me ask him such questions. I -do not know that he saw the answer any better -than I did, but at least we could agree in feeling -them, and could try to puzzle the way out. But -Alix appears not even to see what I mean. And -it is disheartening, when one takes the trouble to -brace up one's courage to ask such questions from -somebody above one, of whom one feels ever so -little afraid, only to be told in reply what the same -person had told one a hundred times before—that -one is a simpleton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wish somebody would listen to me. If I could -have seen a saint,—some one who lived in perpetual -communion with our Lord, and knew all things! -But do saints know all things? If so, why could -not I be a saint myself, and then I should know too?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I have no doubt of the answer to that -question. For if I were a saint, I must first be a -nun; and that would mean to go away from home, -and never, never see Guy any more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh no! that would not do. So it is plain I can -never be a saint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I come to think about it, I doubt if there -ever were a saint in our family. Of course we are -one of the oldest families in Poitou, and indeed I -might say, in France; for Count Hugues I. lived -about nine hundred years after our Lord, and that -is nearly as far back as Charlemagne. And -Monseigneur has no one above him but our gracious -Lord the Count of Poitou, who is in his turn a -vassal of our suzerain, the King of England, and -he pays homage to the King of France.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I never did like that, and I don't now. I cannot -see why our King should pay homage to the King -of France for his dominions on this side of the -sea.[#] The French say there were Kings in France before -there ever were in England. Well, that may be -so: but I am sure it was not long before, and our -King is every bit as good as the King of France. -When Raoul wants to tease me, he says I am a -Frenchwoman. And I won't be called a Frenchwoman. -I am not a subject of King Louis. I am -a Poitevine, and a subject of the Lord Henry, King -of England and Count of Poitou, to begin with: and -under him, of his son the Lord Richard,[#] who is -now our young Count; and beneath him again, of -Monseigneur, my own father, who has as much -power in his own territory as the King himself.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This homage, exacted by the Kings of France, was always a sore -subject with the Kings of England, who took every opportunity of -evading that personal payment of it which it was the anxiety of the -French monarchs to secure.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Cœur-de-Lion.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is true, Monseigneur's territory is not very -large. But Father Eudes told us one day, when -he was giving us our Latin lessons, that the great -Emperor of Rome, Monseigneur Julius Cæsar, who -was such a wonderful man and a great magician, -used to say that he would rather be the first in a -village than the second in imperial Rome itself. -And that is just what I feel. I would rather be the -Damoiselle Elaine, daughter of Monseigneur the -Count of Lusignan, than I would be the niece or -cousin of the Queen of France. I do like to be at -the top of everything. And I would rather be at -the top of a little thing than at the bottom of a -big one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite smiles and shakes her head when I -say so to her. She says it is pleasanter down at -the bottom. It makes me laugh to hear her. It -is natural enough that she should think so, as she -is only a villein, and of course she is at the bottom. -And it is very well if she likes it. I could never -bear it. But then I am noble, and it could not be -expected that I should do so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though we never had a saint in our House, yet, -as every one knows, we sprang from a supernatural -source. The root of the House of Lusignan was -the Fairy Mélusine, who was the loveliest creature -imaginable, but half woman and half serpent. I do -not know when she lived, but it must have been -ages ago; and she built the Castle of Lusignan by -enchantment. Sometimes, on a still summer -evening, any one who is out alone will catch a glimpse -of her, bathing in the fountain which stands in the -pleasance.[#] I would not cross the pleasance after -dark on a summer evening—no, not to be made a -queen. I should be frightened to death of seeing -the Lady Mélusine. For when any one of our line -is about to die, she is sure to appear, so I should -think I was going to die if I saw her. She comes, -too, when any great calamity is threatening France. -Perhaps I should not be quite sure to die, but I -would rather not risk it. I never did see her, the -saints be thanked; and Marguerite says she never -did. I think she cannot have appeared for a long -time. About forty years ago, before the death of -the Lady Poncette, Countess of Angoulême, who -was a daughter of our House, Arlette, the mother -of our varlet Robert, thought she saw the Lady -Mélusine; but it was nearly dark, and there were -trees between them, and Arlette is near-sighted, so -it was not possible to be sure. But she says her -mother-in-law's niece's grand-aunt really did see -her, and no mistake at all about it. She was -bathing in the fountain, and she splashed her long -tail about till the maiden almost lost her wits from -the fright. And the very next year, Count Hugues -the Good was murdered by the Duke of Guienne's -people. Which shows plainly that there are such -things as ghosts.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Pleasure-grounds.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The night before Guy went away—can it be two -evenings since,—only two?—we crept into the long -gallery, as we two always do when we want a quiet -talk, and sat down in that window from which you -get the lovely view of the church spire through the -trees, across the river. That is always our favourite -window. Guy was trying to comfort me, and I am -rather afraid I was crying. And he said, drawing me -up to him, and kissing me,—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, my little Elaine, there have been tears -enough for once. I am not going to forget thee, -any more than thou meanest to forget me. When -I have fought the Saracens, and taken Saladin -captive, and brought him in chains to Jerusalem, -and the King has made me a Count, and given me -a beautiful lady for my wife, and everybody is -talking about me,"—of course I knew that was only -Guy's fun; he did not really expect all that,—"then," -he went on, "I will send home for Amaury -and my little pet, and you shall come to me in the -Holy Land. Monseigneur promised me that, thou -knowest. He said it would be an excellent thing -for thee; because thou wouldst not only have all -thy sins forgiven at the Holy Sepulchre, but very -likely I should have the chance of getting a good -husband for thee. And I have talked well to -Amaury about taking care of thee on the journey; -and Marguerite must attend thee. So look forward -to that, Lynette, and dry those red eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will be red till thou comest back, Guy!" -said I, with another burst of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I hope not!" he answered, laughing. -"They will be very ugly if they are; and then how -am I to get thee a husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care about one, I thank thee," said I -"So that does not signify."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is because thou art fourteen," said -Guy; "wait till thou art four-and-twenty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There, now! if I could have been vexed with my -own dear Guy, and just when he was going away for -ever—at least it looks very like for ever—but of -course I could not. But why will men—even the -very best of them—always fancy that a girl cares -more for a husband than anything else in this -world? However, I let it pass. How could I -quarrel with Guy?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guy," I said, "dost thou care very much about -having a beautiful lady for thy wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy takes the Cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, certainly!" replied Guy, pursing up his lips, -and pretending to be grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not like the idea one bit. I felt more inclined -to cry till Guy came back than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will she be like, Guy?" I asked, trying -not to show it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will be the loveliest creature in all the world," -said Guy, "with eyes as black as sloes, and hair like -a raven's plumage; and so rich that whenever she -puts her hand in her pocket thou wilt hear the -besants go chink, chink against each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou love her, Guy?" I said, gulping down -my thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To distraction!" replied Guy, casting up his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I knew all the while it was nonsense, but I -did feel so miserable I could not tell what to do. I -know Raoul and Guillot have a notion that they are -only fulfilling the ends of their being by teasing their -sisters; but it was something so very new for Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But thou wilt not give over loving </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, Guy?" -I wailed, and I am sure there were tears in my voice -as well as my eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, foolish little Lynette!" said Guy, half -laughing, and smoothing my hair; "dost thou not -know me any better than that? Why, I shall be -afraid of talking nonsense, or sense either, if thou -must needs take it to heart in that style."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt rather comforted, but I did not go on with -that. There was something else that I wanted to -ask Guy, and it was my last opportunity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guy," I said softly, after a moment's pause, -"canst thou remember my mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes, darling," he said. "I was eleven years -old when she died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst thou love her?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very dearly," he answered—quite grave now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I like her, Guy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy looked down on me, and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and no," he said. "The Lady Clémence -had lighter hair than thou; and her smile was very -sweet. Thine eyes are darker, too, and brighter—there -is something of the falcon in them: she had -the eyes of the dove. Yet there is a likeness, though -it is not easy to tell thee what."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Monseigneur love her very much, Guy?" I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More than he ever loved any other, I think," -answered Guy. "He was married to my mother -when both were little children, as thou knowest is -generally the case: but he married thine for love. -And—I don't know, but I always fancy that is the -reason why he has ever been unwilling to have us -affianced in infancy. When people are married as -babies, and when they grow up they find that they -do not like each other, it must be very disagreeable, -I should think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think it was just horrible, Guy," said I. -"But Alix and Guillot were affianced as babies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So they were," said he. "But I doubt if Guillot -ever cared about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, is Umberge one to care about?" I replied. -"There is nothing in her of any sort. Was Alix -very sorry, Guy, when her betrothed died? How -old was she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About ten years old," he said. "Oh no—not -she. I do not think she had seen him five times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I said, "I am very glad that I was not -treated in that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So we went on talking. I hardly know what we -talked about, or rather what we did not; for it was -first one thing and then another, as our thoughts led -that way. I asked Guy if he thought that our mothers -knew what befel us here on earth, and he said he -supposed they must, for how else could the saints -and angels hear us?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw old Marguerite at one end of the gallery, -and I am sure she was come to bid me go to bed: -but as soon as she caught sight of Guy and me -talking in the window, she made believe to be -about something else, and slipped away again. -She knew I wanted to have my talk out with Guy. -The last talk I may ever have with him for years!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now it is all over, and Guy is gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder how he will get on! Will he do some -grand, gallant deed, and be sent for to the Court of -the Holy Land, and made a Count or a Duke?—and -have all sorts of jewels and riches given him? -Perhaps the Queen will put a chaplet of flowers on -his head, and all the Princesses will dance with him, -and he will be quite a hero. But about that beautiful -lady,—I don't feel at all comfortable about her! -I cannot tell whether I should love her or hate her. -If she did not almost worship Guy, I am sure I -should hate her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then there is another side to the picture, -which I do not like to look at in the least. Instead -of all this, Guy may get taken prisoner, and may -languish out twenty years in some Saracen -dungeon—perhaps, all his life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear, dear! I don't know what to do! And -the worst of it is, that nothing I can do will make -any difference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why does the good God let there be any Saracens? -Marguerite says—and so does Father Eudes, -so it must be true—that God can do everything, and -that He wants everybody to be a good Christian. -Then why does He not make us all good Christians? -That is what I want to know. Oh, I cannot, cannot -make it out!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But then they all say, "Hush, hush!" and "Fie, -Damoiselle!" as if I had said something very -wicked and shocking. They say the good God -will be very angry. Why is the good God angry -when we want to know?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder why men and women were ever made -at all. I wonder why </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> was made. Did the good -God want me for something, that He took the pains -to make me? Oh, can nobody tell me why the -good God wanted me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He must be good, for He made all so beautiful. -And He might have made things ugly. But then, -sometimes, He lets such dreadful things happen. -Are there not earthquakes and thunderstorms? -And why does He let nice people die? Could -not—well, I suppose that is wicked. No, it isn't! -I may as well say it as think it.—Would it not have -done as well if Alix had died, and my mother had -lived? It would have been so much nicer! And -what difference would it have made in Heaven—I -hope Alix would have gone there—where they have -all the angels, and all the saints? Surely they could -have spared my mother—better than I can.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I suppose—as Alix says when she wants -one to be quiet—"it is no use talking." Things -are so, and I cannot change them. And all my -tears will not give me Guy back. I must try to -think of the neuvaine[#] which he has promised to -offer for me at the Holy Sepulchre, and hope that -he won't be taken prisoner, and that he will be made -a Count, and—well, and try to reconcile myself to -that beautiful lady who is to have Guy instead of -me. Oh dear me!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Nine days' masses.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now, there is another thing that puzzles me. -(Every thing puzzles me in this world. I wish there -had been another to which I could have gone, where -things would not have puzzled me.) If God be -everywhere—as Father Eudes says—why should -prayers offered at the Holy Sepulchre be of more -value than prayers offered in my bedchamber? I -cannot see any reason, unless it were that God[#] loves -the Holy Land so very much, because He lived and -died there, that He is oftener there than anywhere -else, and so there is a better chance of getting Him -to hear. But how then can He be everywhere?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] In using this one of the Divine Names, -a mediæval Romanist -almost always meant to indicate the -Second Person of the Trinity only.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Why will people—wise people, I mean—not try -to answer such questions? Marguerite only says, -"Hush, then, my Damoiselle!" Alix says, "Oh, -do be quiet! When will you give over being so -silly?" And Monseigneur pats me on the head, -and answers, "Why should my cabbage trouble her -pretty little head? Those are matters for doctors -of the schools, little one. Go thou and call the -minstrels, or bind some smart ribbons in thine hair; -that is more fit for such maidens as thou."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Do </span><em class="italics">they</em><span> never want to know? And why should -the answers be only fit for learned men, if the -questions keep coming and worrying me? If I -could once know, I should give over wanting to -know. But how can I give over till I do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Either the world has got pulled into a knot, or -else I have. And so far from being able to undo -me, nobody seems to see that I am on a knot at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, Damoiselle, the Damoiselle Alix -wishes to know where your Nobleness put the maccaroons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, Héloïse! I forgot to make them. Can -she not do without them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, Damoiselle, your noble sister says -that the Lady Umberge will be here for the spice -this afternoon, and your Excellence is aware that she -likes maccaroons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, I am—better than I like her. I never did -see anybody eat so many at once as she does. -She will do for once with cheesecakes. I would -not mind staying up all night to make maccaroons -for Guy, but I am sure cheesecakes are good enough -for Umberge. And Alix does make good -cheese-cakes—I will give her that scrap of praise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Héloïse—I don't know. I really think -we should do. But I suppose—is there time to -make them now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please, Damoiselle, it is three o'clock by -the sundial."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is too late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I thought, but of course I did not say to -Héloïse,—How Alix will scold! I heard her step -on the stairs, and I fairly ran. But I did not lose -my lecture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Elaine!" cried Alix's shrill voice, "where are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix might be a perfect stranger, for the way in -which she always calls me </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. I came out. I -knew it was utterly useless to try to hide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where have you put those new maccaroons?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are not made, Alix," I said, trying to look -as if I did not care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not made? Saint Martin of Tours help us! -What can you have been doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, what were you doing?" demanded Alix, -with a stamp of her foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind. I forgot the maccaroons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If I had been speaking to any one but Alix, I -should have added that I was sorry. But she is -always so angry that it seems to dry up any regret -on my part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You naughty girl!" Alix blazed out. "You -very, very naughty girl! There is no possibility of -relying on you for one instant. You go dreaming -away, and forget everything one tells you. You -are silly, </span><em class="italics">silly</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tone that Alix put into that last word! It -was enough to provoke all the saints in the calendar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be plenty without them," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold your tongue, and don't give me any -impudence!" retorted Alix.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought I might have said the same. If Alix -would speak more kindly, I am sure I should not -get so vexed. I can't imagine what she would say -if I were to do something really wicked, for she -exhausts her whole vocabulary on my gathering the -wrong flowers, or forgetting to make cakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be cross, Alix," I said, trying to keep the -peace. "I really did forget them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, yes, I never doubted it!" answered Alix, -in that way of hers which always tries my patience. -"Life is sacred to the memory of Guy, but my -trouble and Umberge's likings are of no consequence -at all! And it does not matter that the Baron de -Montbeillard and his lady will be here, and that we -shall have a dish too little on the table. Not in the -least!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, really, Alix, I don't think it does much -matter," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not. And the Lady de Montbeillard -will not go home and tell everybody what a bad -housekeeper I am, and how little I care to have -things nice for my guests—Oh dear, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you treat her kindly, I should think her very -ungrateful if she did," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix flounced away with—"I wish you were gone -after Guy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so did I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at night, just before I dropped asleep, a new -idea came to me—an idea that never occurred to -me before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Do I try Alix as much as she tries me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear! I hope not. It cannot be. I don't -think it is possible. Is it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wish I had not forgotten those cakes. Alix -did seem so put out. And I suppose it was rather -annoying—perhaps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not like her saying that I was not to be -trusted. I don't think that was fair. And I cannot -bear injustice. Still, I did forget the cakes. And if -she had trusted me, it was only reasonable that she -should feel disappointed. But she did not need to -have been so angry, and have said such disagreeable -things. Well, I suppose I was angry too; but I -show my anger in a different way from Alix. I do -not know which of us was more wrong. I think -it was Alix. Yes, I am sure it was. She treats -me abominably. It is enough to make anybody angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those limes seem to come up and look reproachfully -at me, when I say that. I was not at all well—it -might be three years ago: rather feverish, and -very cross. And two travelling pedlars came to the -Castle gate. One sold rare and costly fruits, and -the other silken stuffs. Now I know that Alix had -been saving up her money for a gold-coloured -ribbon, for which she had a great fancy; and there was -a lovely one in that pedlar's stock—in fact, I have -never since seen one quite so pretty. Alix had just -enough to buy it. She could not get any more, -because the treasurer was away with Monseigneur -at the hawking. But she saw my wistful glances -at the limes in the other pedlar's panniers, and -she bought some for me. They were delicious: -but Alix went without her gold-coloured ribbon. -She had no other chance of it, for the pedlar was -on his way to the great Whitsuntide fair at Poictiers, -and he would not stay even one night.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] At the period of this story, -shops were nearly unknown except in -the largest towns. Country families—noble, -gentle, or peasant—had -to rely on laying in a stock of goods -at the great fairs, held at Easter, -Whitsuntide, Michaelmas, and Christmas; -and for anything wanted -between those periods, -recourse was had to travelling pedlars, who also -served as carriers and postmen when occasion demanded it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I wonder if it be possible that Alix really loves -me,—just one little bit! And I wonder if we could -give over rasping one another as we do. It would -be very difficult.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if I ever do follow Guy, I will bring back, -from Byzantium or Damascus, something beautiful -for Alix, to make up for that gold ribbon. It was -good of her. And I do wish I had remembered -those maccaroons!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-surprises-for-elaine"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">TWO SURPRISES FOR ELAINE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I feel within me</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A mind above all earthly dignities,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A still and quiet conscience."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—SHAKSPERE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I should like to know, if I could find out, what it -is that makes Alix have such a fancy for Lady -Isabeau de Montbeillard. I think she is just -abominable. She finishes off every sentence with -a little crackling laugh, which it drives me wild to -hear. It makes no difference what it is about. -Whether it be, "Dear Damoiselle, how kind you -are!" or "Do you not think my lord looks but -poorly?" they all end up with "Ha, ha, ha!" Sometimes -I feel as though I could shake her like -Lovel does the rats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Lady Isabeau were like Alix in her ways, I -would understand it better; but they are totally -unlike, and yet they seem to have a fancy for each -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for the Baron, I don't care a bit about him -any way. He is like Umberge in that respect—there -is nothing in him either to like or dislike. -And if there can be still less of anything than in -him, I think it is in his brother, Messire Raymond, -who sits with his mouth a little open, staring at one -as if one were a curiosity in a show.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix told me this morning that I was too censorious. -I am afraid that last sentence looks rather -like it. Perhaps I had better stop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Baron and his lady went with us to the -hawking, and so did Messire Raymond; but he -never caught so much as a sparrow. Then, after -we came back, I had to try on my new dress, which -Marguerite had just finished. It really is a beauty. -The under-tunic is of crimson velvet, the super-tunic -of blue samite embroidered in silver; the mantle of -reddish tawny, with a rich border of gold. I shall -wear my blue kerchief with it, which Monseigneur -gave me last New Year's Day, and my golden girdle -studded with sapphires. The sleeves are the -narrowest I have yet had, for the Lady de -Montbeillard told Alix that last time she was at the -Court, the sleeves were much tighter at the wrist than -they used to be, and she thinks, in another twenty -years or so, the pocketing sleeve[#] may be quite out -of fashion. It would be odd if sleeves were to be -made the same width all the way down. But the -Lady de Montbeillard saw Queen Marguerite[#] when -she was at Poictiers, and she says that the Queen -wore a tunic of the most beautiful pale green, and -her sleeves were the closest worn by any lady there.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] One of the most uncomely and inconvenient vagaries of fashion. -The sleeve was moderately tight from shoulder to elbow, and just -below the elbow it went off in a wide pendant sweep, reaching -almost to the knee. The pendant part was used as a pocket.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Daughter of Louis VII., King of France, and Constança of Castilla: -wife of Henry, eldest son of Henry II. of England. Her husband was -crowned during his father's life, and by our mediæval chroniclers is -always styled Henry the Third.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I wish I were a queen. It is not because I think -it would be grand, but because queens and -princesses wear their coronets over their kerchiefs -instead of under. And it is such a piece of business -to fasten one's kerchief every morning with the -coronet underneath. Marguerite has less trouble -than I have with it, as she has nothing to fasten -but the kerchief. And if it is not done to perfection -I am sure to hear of it from Alix.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Marguerite was braiding my hair this -morning, I asked her if she knew why she was -made. She was ready enough with her answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To serve you, Damoiselle, without doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why was I made, dost thou think, Marguerite? -To be served by thee—or to serve some one else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, while the Damoiselle is young and -at home, she will serve Monseigneur. Then, when -the cavalier comes who pleases Monseigneur and -the good God, he will serve the Damoiselle. And -afterwards,—it is the duty of a good wife to serve -her lord. And of course, all, nobles and villeins, -must serve the good God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thou hast settled it easier than I could do -it," said I. "But, Margot, dost thou never become -tired of all this serving?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now, Damoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What dost thou mean by that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, there was a time," said Marguerite, and -I thought a blush burned on her dear old face, -"when I was a young, silly maiden, and very, very -foolish, Damoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou think all maidens silly, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very few wise, Damoiselle. My foolish head -was full of envious thoughts, I know that—vain -wishes that I had been born a noble lady, instead -of a villein maiden. I thought scorn to serve, and -would fain have been born to rule."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How very funny!" said I. "I never knew -villeins had any notions of that sort. I thought -they were quite content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the noble Damoiselle always quite content? -Pardon me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, no," said I. "But then, Margot, I am -noble, and nobles may rightfully aspire. Villeins -ought to be satisfied with the lot which the good -God has marked out for them, and with the honour -of serving a noble House."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, Damoiselle! The Damoiselle has used a -deep, strong word. Satisfy! I believe nothing will -satisfy any living heart of man or woman,—except -that one thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What one thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am an ignorant villein, my Damoiselle. I do -not know the holy Latin tongue, as ladies do. But -now and then Father Eudes will render some words -of the blessed Evangel into French in his sermon. -And he did so that day—when I was satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it that satisfied thee, then, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were words, Father Eudes said, of the -good God Himself, when He walked on middle -earth among us men. 'Come unto Me,' He said, -'all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will -give you rest.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not understand, Marguerite. How did -those words satisfy thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The words did not, Damoiselle. But the thing -did. I just took the blessed Lord at His word, and -went to Him, and, thanks be to His holy Name, -He gave me rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What dost thou mean, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will the dear Damoiselle not come and try? -She will want rest, some day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had I not better wait till I am tired?" said I, -laughingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes! we never want rest till we are tired.—But -not wait to come to the merciful Lord. Oh no, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I cannot comprehend thee, Margot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my Damoiselle. She is not likely to know -how to come until she wants to do it. When she -does want it, the good God will hear the Damoiselle, -for He heard her servant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst thou entreat the intercession of Saint -Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no. I am but an ignorant old woman. The -dear Lord said, 'Come unto </span><em class="italics">Me</em><span>.' And I thought, -perhaps, He meant it. So I just went."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how couldst thou, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it please my Damoiselle, I did it. And if He -had been angry, I suppose He would not have heard me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how dost thou know He did hear thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the Damoiselle entreats Monseigneur to -give her a silver mark, and he opens his purse and -gives it, is it possible for her to doubt that he has -heard her? The good God must have heard me, -because He gave me rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand, Margot, what thou meanest -by rest. And I want to know all about it. Have -things given over puzzling thee? Is there some -light come upon them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me, Damoiselle, if I be not too bold -in speaking my poor thoughts"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," said I. "I want to know them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, my Damoiselle, it seems to me that there -are two great lights in which we may see every -thing in this world. The first is a fierce light, like the -sun. But it blinds and dazzles us. The holy angels -perchance can bear it, for it streams from the Throne -of God, and they stand before that Throne. But -we cannot. Our mortal eyes must be hidden in -that dread and unapproachable light. And if I -mistake not, it is by this light that the Damoiselle -has hitherto tried to see things, and no wonder that -her eyes are dazzled. But the other light soothes -and enlightens. It is soft and clear, like the -moonlight, and it streams from the Cross of Calvary. -There the good God paid down, in the red gold -of His own blood, the price of our redemption. It -must have been because He thought it worth while. -And if He paid such a price for a poor villein -woman like me, He must have wanted me. The -Damoiselle would not cast a pearl into the Vienne -for which she had paid a thousand crowns. And -if He cared enough about me to give His life for -me, then He must care enough to be concerned -about my welfare in this lower world. The -Damoiselle would not refuse a cup of water to him to -whom she was willing to give a precious gem. -Herein lies rest. What the good God, who thus -loves me, wills for me, I will for myself also."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Marguerite, it might be something that -would break thine heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would the blessed Lord not know that? But -I do not think He breaks hearts that are willing -to be His. He melts them. It is the hearts that -harden themselves like a rock which have to be -broken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But thou wouldst not like something which hurt thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not enjoy it—no, no. Did the Damoiselle -enjoy the verdigris plaster which the apothecary put -on her when she was ill three years ago? Yet she -did not think him her enemy, but her friend. Ah, -the good God has His medicine-chest. And it holds -smarting plasters and bitter drugs. But they are -better than to be ill, Damoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, I had no idea thou wert such a philosopher."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the noble Damoiselle is pleased to laugh -at her servant, who does not know what that hard -word means. No, there is nothing old Marguerite -knows, only how to come to the blessed Lord and -ask Him for rest. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> gave the rest. And He knew -how to do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if old Marguerite is not the truest -philosopher of us all. It is evident that things do -not puzzle her, just because she lets them alone, -and leaves them with God. Still, that is not -knowing. And I want to know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, I wish I could tell if it is wicked to want to -know!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if the truth be that there are things -which we cannot know:—things which the good God -does not tell us, not because He wishes us to be -ignorant, but because He could not possibly make -us comprehend them. But then why did He not -make us wiser?—or why does He let questions -perplex us to which we can find no answer?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think it must be that He does not wish us to -find the answer. And why? I will see what idea -Marguerite has about that. She seems to get hold -of wise notions in some unintelligible way, for of -course she is only a villein, and cannot have as -much sense as a noble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was that tiresome Messire Raymond in the -hall when I went down. He is noble enough, for his -mother's mother was a Princess of the Carlovingian[#] -blood: but I am sure he has no more sense than he -needs. The way in which he says "Ah!" when I tell -him anything, just exasperates me. The Baron, his -brother, is a shade better, though he will never wear -a laurel crown.[#] Still, he does not say "Ah!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A descendant of Charlemagne.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The prize of intellect.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I don't like younger brothers. In fact, I don't -think I like men of any sort. Except Guy, of -course—and Monseigneur. But then other men are not -like them. Guillot, and Amaury, and Raoul rank -with the other men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if women are very much better. I don't -think they are, if I am to look upon Alix and the -Lady de Montbeillard as samples.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear, I wonder why I hate people so! It must -be because they are hateful. Does anybody think -</span><em class="italics">me</em><span> hateful? How queer it would be, if they did!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I really do feel, to-night, as if I did not know -whether I was standing on my feet or on my head. -I cannot realise it one bit. Alix going to be -married! Alix going away from the Castle! And -I—I—to be the only mistress there!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monseigneur called me down into the hall, as I -stood picking the dead leaves from my rose-bushes -for a pot-pourri. There was no one in the hall but -himself. Well, of course there were a quantity of -servitors and retainers, but they never count for -anything. I mean, there was nobody that is -anybody. He bade me come up to him, and he drew -me close, kissed me on the forehead, and stroked -down my hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will my cabbage say to what I have to -tell her?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it something pleasant, Monseigneur?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, there thou posest me," he answered, "Yes,—in -one light. No,—in another. And in which of -the two lights thou wilt see it, I do not yet know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked up into his face and waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou like Messire Raymond de Montbeillard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monseigneur," I answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No? Ha! then perchance thou wilt not like -my news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire Raymond has something to do with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said I, I am afraid rather saucily, "so -long as he does not want to marry me, I do not -much care what he does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monseigneur pinched my ear, kissed me, and -seemed extremely amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thee? No, no! Not just yet, my little -cabbage. Not just yet! But suppose he wanted to -marry Alix?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he want to marry Alix?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And under your good leave, Monseigneur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, yes. I see no good reason to the contrary, -my little cat. He is a brave knight, and has a fine -castle, and is a real Carlovingian."[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Throughout France in the Middle Ages, the Carlovingian blood -was rated at an extravagant value.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"He is a donkey!" said I. "Real, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, hush, then!" replied Monseigneur, yet -laughing, and patting my cheek. "Well, well—perhaps -not overburdened with brains—how sharp -thou art, child, to be sure! (No want of brains in -that direction.) But a good, worthy man, my -cabbage, and a stalwart knight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when is it to be, Monseigneur?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a hurry to see the fine dresses?" demanded -my gracious Lord, and laughed again. "Nay, I -think not till after Christmas. Time enough then. -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am in no hurry to lose my housekeeper. Canst -thou keep house, my rabbit?—ha, ha! Will there -be anything for dinner? Ha, ha, ha, ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was half frightened, and yet half delighted. Of -course, I thought, if Alix goes away, Umberge will -come and reign here. Nobody is likely to think me -old enough or good enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under your Nobility's good leave, I will see to -that," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monseigneur answered by a peal of laughter. -"Ha, ha, ha! Showing her talons, is she? Wants -to rule, my cabbage—does she? A true woman, on -my troth! Ha, ha, ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it please you, Monseigneur, why should you -come short of dinner because I see about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My gracious Lord laughed more than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No reason at all, my little rabbit!—no reason at -all! Try thy hand, by all means—by all means! So -Umberge does not need to come? Ha, ha, ha, ha!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not for me," said I, rather piqued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seriously, my little cat," said he, and his face -grew grave. "Wouldst thou rather Umberge did -not come? Art thou not friends with her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, as to friends, so-so, là-là,"[#] said I. "But I -think I should get along quite as well without her."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Middling.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"But wouldst thou not weary for a woman's company?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never weary for any company but Guy's," I -answered; and I think the tears came into my eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it still Guy?" said he, smiling, but very kindly -now. "Always Guy? Well, well! When the time -comes—I promised the boy thou shouldst go out to -him. We must wait till he writes to say he is ready -to receive thee. So Guy stands first, does he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded, for my heart was too full to speak. -He patted my head again, and let me go. But I -thought he looked a little troubled; and I could not -tell why.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I came to undress, the same evening, I -asked Marguerite if she had heard the news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Damoiselle Alix was so gracious as to inform -me," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou like it, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my Damoiselle! What does it matter what -a villein old woman likes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It matters to me, or I should not have asked -thee," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I trust it will be for the noble Damoiselle's -welfare," said she; and I could get her to say no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Margot, tell me something else," said I. -"Why does the good God not make all things clear -to everybody? What sayest thou?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has not told me why, Damoiselle. Perhaps, -to teach my Damoiselle to trust Him. There could -be no trust if we always knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But is not knowing better than trusting?" I replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" responded Marguerite. "Does Monseigneur -always take my Damoiselle into his secrets, and -never require her to trust him? God is the great -King of all the world. Kings always have secret -matters. Surely the King of kings must have His -state secrets too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This seemed putting it on a new footing. I sat -and considered the matter, while Marguerite took off -my dove cote[#] and unbound my hair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The rich network which confined the hair; -often of gold and precious stones.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Still, I don't see why we may not know -everything," I said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle remember what stood in -the midst of the beautiful Garden of God, wherein -Adam and Eva were put to dwell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The tree of knowledge," said I. "True; but -that does not help me to the why. Why might -Adam and Eva not eat it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my Damoiselle pardon me? I think it -does help to the why; but not to the why of the -why—which is what she always wants to see. Why -Adam and Eva might not eat it, I suppose, was -because the good God forbade it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why, Marguerite?—why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! I am not the good God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not see it one bit," said I. "Surely -knowledge is a good thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Knowledge of good, ay,—which is knowledge -of God. The good Lord never forbids us that. He -commands it. But let me entreat my Damoiselle to -remember, that this was the tree of knowledge of -good </span><em class="italics">and evil</em><span>. That we should know evil cannot -be good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand why the good God ever let -Satan be at all," said I. "And I do not see how -Satan came to be Satan, to begin with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The blessed Lord knows all about it," said -Marguerite. "When my Damoiselle was a little child, -I am sure she did not understand why we gave her -bitter medicines. But the apothecary knew. Can -my Damoiselle not leave all her questions with the -good Lord?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want them answered, Margot!" I cried -impatiently. "If I knew that I should understand when -I am dead, I would not so much mind waiting. -But I don't know any thing. And I don't like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I do not know even that much," she -replied. "It may be so. I cannot tell. But the -good Lord knows—and He loves me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How knowest thou that, Marguerite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People don't die for a man, Damoiselle, unless -they love him very much indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how dost thou know that it was for thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was for sinners: and I am one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not for all sinners, Margot. A great many -sinners will go to perdition, Father Eudes says. -How canst thou tell if thou art one of them or not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that did perplex me at first. But one day -Father Eudes read out of the holy Gospel that all -who believed in our Lord should have life eternal: -so that settled it. The sinners that are lost must be -those who do not believe in our Lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite! don't we all believe in Him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the Damoiselle forgive me if I speak -foolishly. But there are two brothers among the -varlets in the hall—Philippe and Robert. Now, I -quite believe that they both exist. I know a good -deal about them. I know their father and mother, -Pierrot and Arlette: and I know that Philippe has -a large nose and black hair, and he is fond of -porpoise; while Robert has brown hair and limps a -little, and he likes quinces. Yet, if I wanted to send -a crown to my niece Perette, I should feel quite -satisfied that Robert would carry it straight to her, -while I should not dare to give it to Philippe, lest -he should go to the next cabaret and spend it in -wine. Now, don't I believe in Robert in a very -different way from that in which I believe in -Philippe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, thou meanest that Robert may be trusted, -but Philippe cannot be," said I. "But what has it -to do with the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the Damoiselle think a moment. Does she -simply believe that the good God is, or does she -trust Him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust Him!—with what?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With yourself, my Damoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With myself!" I exclaimed. "Nay, Margot, -what dost thou mean now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How does the Damoiselle trust Monseigneur? -Has she any care lest he should fail to provide her -with food and clothing suitable to her rank? Does -it not seem to her a matter of course that so long as -he lives he will always love her, and care for her, -and never forget nor neglect her? Has she ever -lain awake at night fretting over the idea that -Monseigneur might give over providing for her or -being concerned about her welfare?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a ridiculous notion!" I cried. "Why, -Margot, I simply could not do it. He is my father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does my Damoiselle read in the holy -Psalter? Is it not 'Like as a father pitieth his -children, even so the Lord pitieth them that fear -Him?' Is He not Our Father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course we expect the good God to take -care of us," I replied. "But then, Margot, it is a -different thing. And thou knowest He does not -always take care of us in that way. He lets all sorts -of things happen to hurt and grieve us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, when my Damoiselle is ill, and Monseigneur -sends off in hot haste for Messire Denys to -come and bleed her in the foot, he is </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> taking care -of her? It hurts her, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that has to be, Margot. As thou saidst, it -is better than being ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And—let my Damoiselle bear with her servant—is -there no 'must be' with the good God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't see why, Margot. He could make -us well all in a minute. Monseigneur cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet suppose it is better that my Damoiselle -should not be made well all in a minute, but should -learn by suffering to be patient in sickness, and -thankful for her usual good health? Did not -Monseigneur Saint David say, 'It is good for me -that I have been afflicted'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what a queer idea!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" quietly answered Marguerite. "I once -heard a young noble lady say, about three years -ago, that it was so delightful to feel well again after -being ill, that it really was worth while going through -the pain to reach it. And I think,—if I may be -pardoned the allusion,—I think they called her the -Damoiselle Elaine de Lusignan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not help laughing. "Well, I dare say I -did say something like it. But, Margot, it is only -when I am getting well that I think so. When I -am well, to begin with, I don't want to go through -the pain again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When my Damoiselle is truly well of the mortal -disease of sin, she will never need to go through the -pain again. But that will not be till the sin and the -body are laid down together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Till we die—dost thou mean that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Till we die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot! don't. I hate to think of dying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It is pleasanter to think of living. They -are well for whom all the dying comes first, and the -life is hereafter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I suppose I shall be all right," said I, -jumping into bed. "Monseigneur pays my Church dues, -and I hear the holy mass sung every day. I say -my prayers night and morning, and in all my life I -never was so wicked as to touch meat on a fast-day. -I think, on the whole, I am a very good girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my Damoiselle be angry if I ask her -whether the good Lord thinks the same?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Marguerite! how can I know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, if Father Eudes read it right, we do -know. 'There is none that doeth good, no, not one.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, how thou must listen to Father Eudes! -I hear him mumbling away, but I never bother my -head with what he is saying. He has got to say it; -and I have got to sit there till he has done; that is -all. I amuse myself in all sorts of ways—count the -bits of glass in the window, or watch the effect of -the crimson and blue light creeping over the stalls -and pillars, or think how Saint Agatha would look -in a green robe instead of a purple one. What -makes thee listen to all the stuff he says?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle sees that—saving her presence—I -am a little like her. I want to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Father Eudes never tells us anything worth -knowing, surely!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Pardon me, my Damoiselle. He reads the -true words of the good God from the holy Evangels. -Commonly they are in the holy Latin tongue, and -then I can only stand and listen reverently to the -strange sounds: the good God understands, not I. -But now and then I suppose the blessed Lord -whispers to Father Eudes to put it into French for a -moment: and that is what I am listening for all the -time. Then I treasure the words up like some -costly gem; and say them to myself a hundred -times over, so that I may never forget them any -more. Oh, it is a glad day for me when Father -Eudes says those dear words in French!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how thou dost care about it, Margot! I -suppose thou hast so few things to think of, and -delight in—I have more to occupy me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Damoiselle! The blessed Lord said -that His good word was choked up and brought no -fruit when the cares of other things entered into the -heart. No, I have not much to think of but my -work, and—three graves in a village churchyard, -and one——And I have not much to delight in save -the words of the blessed Lord. Yet—let my -Damoiselle bear with me!—I am better off than she."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot!" And I laughed till the tears came -into my eyes. It was so excessively absurd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite took up the lamp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May the good God and His angels watch over -my sweet Damoiselle," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then she tucked the silken coverlet round -me, and put out the lamp, that the light should not -keep me awake; and quietly undressed herself, and -got into the trundle-bed. And I was asleep almost -before she lay down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, Oh dear, how ridiculous! Marguerite better -off than I am! There is no harm in her fancying -it, dear old thing; but the comicality of the idea! -Why, I dress in velvet and diaper, and she in -unshorn wool; and I lie on a feather-bed, under -fustian blankets and satin coverlets, and she sleeps -on straw with a woollen rug over her; and I ride, -and hawk, and sing, and dance, and embroider,—and -she is hard at all sorts of rough work from -morning to night. Why, she cannot wear a jewel, -nor a bit of gold, nor have any sort of pleasure -except singing and dancing, and she is too old for -both. Of course, such things as nobles amuse -themselves with are not fit for villeins. But that a -villein should fancy for a moment that she is better -off than a noble—Oh, it is too absurd for any -thing!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, really!—better off than I am!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="all-is-not-gold-that-glitters"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"All things that can satisfy,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Having Jesus, those have I."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>So all is over, and Alix is really gone! It was a -grand wedding. The bride was in blue velvet, -embroidered in gold, with golden girdle, fermail,[#] and -aumonière; her mantle was of gold-coloured satin, -and her under-tunic of black damask. I thought -she chose her colours with very good taste (more -than Alix generally does); but one should look nice -on one's wedding-day, if one ever is to do. And -she did look nice, in her gemmed coronal, and no -hood, and all her hair flowing over her shoulders.[#] As -for Messire Raymond, I nearly went into fits -when I caught sight of him. The creature had -dressed himself in a yellow tunic, with a brick-red -super-tunic, and flesh-coloured hose. Then he had -green boots, striped in gold; and a sky-blue mantle -studded with golden stars. Raoul said he must -fancy that he was Jupiter, since he had clad himself -with the firmament: but Amaury replied that, with -all that flame-colour, he must be Vulcan, if he were -a Pagan deity of any kind. Father Eudes sang -the mass, and Father Gilbert, the Lord of -Montbeillard's chaplain, gave the nuptial benediction. -I was dressed in pale green and dark violet, and -Lady Isabeau in rose-coloured satin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Brooch.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The costume restricted to brides or to queens -at their coronation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then came the wedding-feast in the great hall, -for which Alix and I had been preparing a week -beforehand; (and after all, I am certain Héloïse -forgot to put any more sugar in the placentæ[#]): -and then the hall was cleared, and we danced till -supper-time. Then, after supper, the minstrels -played; and Lady Isabeau and I, with all the -other ladies there, went up and put the bride to -bed: and after throwing the stocking and all the -other ceremonies,—and I am glad to say it did not -hit me,[#] but that ugly Elise de la Puissaye,—we -came back into the hall, and danced again till it -was time to take up the posset.[#] Oh, I was tired -when I did get to bed at last! I should not like -to be at another wedding next week.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Cheesecakes.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The girl hit by the stocking was expected -to be married next.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] This serving of a posset to the newly-married pair -in the night was a purely French custom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Well, it really is a very good thing that Alix is -gone. I have had some peace these last two days. -And there! if the very last thing she did before -going was not to do me an ill turn! She went and -persuaded Monseigneur to invite Umberge to come -and take the reins. Oh, of course </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> could not be -expected to understand anything!—(what sort of -a compliment was that to her teaching?)—I was a -mere baby, full of nonsense,—and all on in that way. -And when Monseigneur was so good as to say that -I did not like the idea of Umberge's coming, and -he thought he would try what I could do, Alix fairly -laughed in his face. As if I were fit to decide!—the -baby that I was!—she said. Thank you very -much, Dame Alix de Montbeillard; perhaps I have -more sense than you suppose. At any rate, I am -very glad of one thing,—that we have got rid of </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear! I wonder whether any body ever thinks -that it would be nice to get rid of me? But then -I am not disagreeable, like Alix. I am sure I am not.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now, why is it that when one gets something -one has been wishing for a long while, one does -</span><em class="italics">not</em><span> feel satisfied with it? I have been fancying -for months how pleasant it would be when Alix -was gone, and there would be no one to find fault -with me. Yet it is not pleasant at all. I thought -it would be peaceful, and it is dull. And only this -afternoon Raoul was as cross with me as he could -be. Monseigneur took my part, as he well might, -because of course I was right; but still it was -disagreeable. Why don't I feel more happy?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought I would see what Marguerite would -say, and I asked her what she thought about it. -She only smiled, and said,—"Such is the way of -the world, my Damoiselle, since men forsook the -peaceful paths of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why do things look so much more delightful -beforehand than when they come?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Damoiselle has a vivid fancy. Does she -never find that things look more unpleasant at a -distance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I don't know—perhaps, sometimes," I -said. "But disagreeable things are always -disagreeable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose something in my face made Marguerite -answer—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the coming of the Lady Umberge disagreeable -to my Damoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, as to that, I don't care much about it," said -I. "But I do want to hear from Guy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, that is coming to be the cry in my heart -now. I want to hear from Guy! I want to know -where he is, and what he is doing, and whether -he is made a Count yet, and—Oh dear, dear!—whether -that dreadful beautiful lady, whom he is -to like so much better than me, has appeared. -That could not happen to me. I could never love -any body better than Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I should so like a confidante of my own rank and -age. Umberge would never do at all, and she is -quite fifteen years older than I am. If I had had -a sister, a year older or younger than myself, that -would have been about the right thing. Nobody -ever was my confidante except Guy. And I wander -about his chamber very much as Level does, and -feel, I should imagine, very much like him when he -holds up one paw, and looks up at me, and plainly -says with his dog-face,—"Where is he?—and is he -never coming back?" And I can only put my -cheek down on his great soft head, and stroke his -velvet ears, and feel with him. For I know so little -more than he does.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be dreadful for dogs, if they want to know!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here is Umberge at last. She came last night, -and Guillot with her, and Valence and Aline. They -are nice playthings, or would be, if I might have my -own way. But—I cannot quite understand it—the -Umberge who has come to live here seems quite a -different woman from the Umberge who used to -come for an afternoon. She used to kiss me, and -call me "darling," and praise my maccaroons. But -this Umberge has kept me running about the house -all morning, while she sits in a curule chair with a -bit of embroidery, and says, "Young feet do not -tire," and "You know where everything is, and you -are accustomed to the maids." It looks as if she -thought I was a superior sort of maid. Then, when -our gracious Lord comes in, she is all velvet, and -"dear Elaines" me, and tells him I am such a sweet -creature—ready to run about and do any thing for -any body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If there is one thing I do despise, it is that sort of -woman. Alix never served me like that. She was -sharp, but she was honest. If Monseigneur praised -the placentæ, she always told him when I had made -them, and would not take praise for what was not -her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall never be able to get along with Umberge, -if this morning is to be a specimen of every day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear! I wish Alix had not gone! And I wish, -I wish we could hear from Guy!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Things do not go on as smoothly as they used -to do. I think Monseigneur himself sees it now. -Umberge is not fond of trouble, and instead of -superintending every thing, as Alix did, always -seeing after the maids, up early and down late, she -just takes her ease, and expects things to go right -without any trouble on her part. Why, she never -rises in the morning before six, and she spends a -couple of hours in dressing. It is no good to tell -her of any thing that is wanted, for she seems to -expect every thing to mend itself. Yesterday -morning, one of the jacinths dropped out of the sheet on -my bed,[#] and I told Umberge—(Alix was always -particular about any thing of that kind being -reported to her directly)—but she only said, -"Indeed? Well, I suppose you can sleep as well -without it." But it was last night that Monseigneur -seemed vexed. We had guests to supper, and I am -sure I did my best to have things nice; but every -thing seemed to go wrong. Umberge apparently -thought the supper would order itself in the first -place, and cook itself in the second, for beyond -telling me to see that all was right, she took no care -about it at all, but sat embroidering. The dining-room -was only just ready in time, and the minstrels -were half an hour behind time; the pastry was -overbaked, and the bread quite cold. There was no -subtlety[#] with the third course, and the fresh rushes -would have been forgotten if I had not asked Robert -about them. I was vexed, for Alix was there -herself, and I knew what she would think,—to say -nothing of the other guests. I do think it is too bad -of Umberge to leave me all the cares and responsibilities -of mistress, while she calmly appropriates the -position and the credit, and then scolds me if every -thing is not perfection. Why, I must go and dress -some time; and was it my fault if Denise left the -pies in too long while I was dressing, or did not -attend to my order to have the bread hot[#] at the -last minute? I cannot be every where!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] How jewels were set in linen sheets is a mystery, -but there is abundant evidence of the fact.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Ornamental centre-piece.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] It was considered of consequence that the bread -at a feast should be as new as possible.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My gracious Lord did not blame me; he asked -Umberge and me together how it happened that all -these things were wrong: and I declare, if Umberge -did not say, "Elaine had the ordering of it; -Monseigneur will please to ask her." I am afraid I lost -my temper, for I said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monseigneur, I had the ordering of it, for -my fair sister took no care of any thing; and if I -could have had three pairs of hands, and been in six -places at once, perhaps things might have been right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monseigneur only laughed, and patted my head. -But this evening I heard him say to Guillot, just as -I was entering the hall—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Son, thy fair wife puts too much on the -child Elaine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guillot laughed, rubbed his forehead, and -answered—"Fair Father, it will take more than me -to stop her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! canst thou not rule thine own wife?" -demanded our gracious Lord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never tried, Monseigneur," said Guillot. "Too -late to begin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Monseigneur only said, with a sigh,—"I -wonder when we shall hear from Guy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guillot looked relieved, and (seeing me, I think) -they went on to talk of something else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But everything seems changed since they came. -Except for my gracious Lord and Amaury and -Raoul. It does not feel like home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix rode over this afternoon. I took her to my -bower in the turret, and almost directly she asked -me,—"How do you get on with our fair sister?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I said,—"O Alix! I wish thou wouldst come back!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed, and replied,—"What would my lord -say, child? I thought you were not very comfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What made thee think so, Alix? Was it Tuesday night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tuesday night—the supper? I guessed you had -seen to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?—was it so very bad?" said I, penitently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bad?—it was carelessness and neglect beyond -endurance," she said. "No, I saw the maids -wanted the mistress's eye; and Umberge evidently -had not given it; and I thought you had tried to -throw yourself into the gap, and—as such an -inexperienced young thing would—had failed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I really was pleased when Alix said that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then thou wert not vexed with me, Alix?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. You did your best. I was vexed -enough with Umberge. I knew she was lazy, but I -did not expect her to discredit the house like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She seems quite altered since she came here," -I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you never can tell how people will turn out -till you come to live with them," said Alix. "So -you are not so very glad, after all, to lose me, little -one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was startled, for I never supposed that Alix had -guessed that. I did not know what to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, child, did you think I had no eyes?" she -added. "You know you were glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did what I generally do—hesitated for a -moment, and then came out bluntly with the -truth—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Alix, I was glad. But I am not now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alix laughed. "That is right," she said; "always -tell the plain truth, Elaine. You will find many a -time, as you go through life, child, that the prettiest -pasties are not always the best flavoured, nor the -plainest say[#] the worst to wear."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A common quality of silk.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I suppose it is so. But I never should have -guessed that I should be wishing for Alix to come -back.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Marguerite," I said one morning as I was -dressing, "dost thou think it would be wrong if I -were to pray for a letter from Guy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot think it wrong to pray for anything," -she answered, "provided we are willing that the -good God should choose for us in the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, but I am not sure that I am willing to -have that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is my Damoiselle as wise as the good Lord?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, of course not! But still"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But still, my Damoiselle would like always to -have her own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I should, Margot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if there be one thing for which I am thankful -it is that the good Lord has not given me much of -my own way. It would have been very bad for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps, for a villein, it might," said I; "but -nobles are different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly, even for the nobles," said Marguerite, -"the good Lord might be the best chooser."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it seems to me, if we left everything in -that way, we should never pray at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. That we have -full trust in a friend's wisdom is scarcely a reason -why we should not ask his counsel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the friend cannot know what advice you -need. The Lord knows all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle never tell her thoughts to -Monseigneur Guy because he knows that she is -likely to think this or that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but it is such pleasure to tell one's thoughts -to Guy," I replied. "He generally thinks as I do; -and when he does not, he talks the thing over -with me, and it usually ends in my thinking as he -does. Then if I am sad, he comforts me; and if I -am rejoicing, he rejoices with me; and—O Margot! it -is like talking to another me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle," said Marguerite, with a -peculiar smile which I have seen on her lips before, -and never could understand—it is so glad and -sunny, yet quiet and deep, as if she were rejoicing -over some hidden treasure which she had all to -herself,—"My Damoiselle has said well. 'He that -is joined to the Lord is one spirit.' 'If we walk in -the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship -one with another.' My Damoiselle does not yet -know what it is to speak out freely all her thoughts -to One who is infinitely high and wise, and who -loves her with an infinite love. I am but a poor -ignorant villein woman: I know very little about -any thing. Well! I take my ignorant mind to Him -who knows all things, and who can foresee the end -from the beginning. I do not know any grand -words to pray with. I just say, 'Sir[#] God, I am -very much puzzled. I do not know what to do for -the best. Put the best thing into my head. Thou -knowest.' Every night, before I go to sleep, the -last thing, I say in my heart, 'Sir God, I do not -know what is good, and what is evil for me. Thou -knowest. Give me the good things to-night, and -keep the evil ones away.' I suppose, if I were -very wise and clever, I should not make such poor, -ignorant prayers. I should know then what would -be best to do. Yet I do not think I should be any -better off, for then I should see so much less of the -good Lord. I would rather have more of the good -God, and less of the quick wit and the ready tongue."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Though this title will certainly sound strange, -if not irreverent, to -modern ears, it was meant as the most reverent -epithet known to those who used it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It would be nice to feel as Margot does. I cannot -think where she got it But it would never do for -me, who am noble, to take pattern from a poor -villein. I suppose such thoughts are good for low, -ignorant people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What should I have done if I had been born a -villein? I cannot imagine what it would feel like. -I am very glad I was not. But of course I cannot -tell what it would feel like, because nobles have -thoughts and feelings of quite a different sort to -common people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose Guy would say that was one of my -queer notions. He always says more queer ideas -come into my head than any one else's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>O Guy, Guy!—when shall I see thee again? Two -whole years, and not a word from thee! Art thou -languishing in some Paynim dungeon? Hast thou -fallen in some battle? Or has the beautiful lady -come, and thy little Lynette is forgotten?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been asking Father Eudes to tell me -something about the Holy Land, for I want to be -able to picture to myself the place where Guy is. -And of course Father Eudes can tell, for he knows -all about every thing; and he had an uncle who was -a holy palmer, and visited the blessed Sepulchre, -and used to tell most beautiful legends, he says, -about the Holy Land. Beside which, his own father -fought for the Sepulchre in the second Crusade, and -dwelt in that country for several years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Father Eudes says it is nearly a hundred years -since the kingdom of Jerusalem was founded, for it -was in the year of our Lord 1099, at the time of -the first Crusade. The first King was the gallant -Count Godefroy of Boulogne, who was unanimously -chosen by all the Christian warriors after the Holy -City was taken: but he would never call himself -King, but only "Defender of the Holy Sepulchre." But, -alas!—the good King Godefroy only reigned -one year; and on his death the Princes all assembled -in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which they -also call the Temple, to elect a successor. And -because there were great contentions among them, -they resolved to decide the choice by lot: and they -stood around the tomb of our Lord, each holding a -long taper, and earnestly besought the good God -that He would cause the taper held by him who -ought to be King of Jerusalem to be lighted by -miracle. And when the prayer was ended, one of -the tapers was found to be burning. It was that -held by Duke Robert the Courthose, son of Lord -William the Norman, who conquered England. But -to the horror of all the Princes, Duke Robert blew -out the taper, and refused to be King. He said -that he was not worthy to wear a crown of gold in -that place where for his sins our Lord had worn -a crown of thorns. And I really have always felt -puzzled to know whether he acted very piously or -very impiously. So, in the end, the brother of King -Godefroy was chosen; but he also left no child, -though he reigned eighteen years. But the Lady -Ida, his sister, who was a very wise and preux[#] -lady, had a son, and he reigned after his uncle for -thirteen years: yet at his death he left four -daughters, and no son. And Father Eudes thinks -that this showed the displeasure of our Lord, who -had willed that the kingdom of Jerusalem should -belong to our Lords the Kings of England, and they -wickedly refused to receive it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Brave, noble, chivalrous.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For of course it is the bounden duty of all -Christian men to rescue the Holy Land out of the hands -of Paynims, Jews, and such horrible heretics, who -all worship the Devil, and bow down to stocks and -stones: since this land belonged to our Lord Jesus -Christ, who was King of it by holy Mary His -mother, and He died seised of the same. For which -reason all Christian men, who are the right heirs -of our said Lord, ought to recover their inheritance -in that land, and not leave it in the hands of wicked -heretics, who have no right to it at all, since they -are not the children and right heirs of Jesus Christ -our Lord.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This singular reasoning is borrowed from Sir -John Mandeville.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Well! when King Beaudouin II. was dead, the -Holy Land fell to the eldest of his four daughters, -who was named the Lady Melisende: and she wedded -Count Foulques of Anjou, and from her all the kings -since then have come: so now it seems settled in the -line of Anjou. I suppose our Lords the Kings of -England, therefore, have no right to it any more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot help feeling sorry that Duke Robert -blew out the taper. I would not have done it, if it -had been mine. I think to be the Queen of -Jerusalem would be the grandest thing in all the -world—even better than to be the Empress of -Monseigneur the Cæsar. Is it not the Land of God?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A letter at last!—a letter from Guy! And he -is high in the King's favour, and has won booty to -the amount of eighteen thousand golden crowns, -and he wants Amaury and me to go to him at -once. I keep dancing about and singing, I am so -delighted. And not one word of the beautiful -lady! That is best of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy says the King is a mesel,[#] and dwells in -chambers to himself; and he has never been -married, so there is no Queen, except the widow of the -late King his father; and she is of the high blood -of Messeigneurs the Cæsars,[#] but is not the mother -of the King. He is like Guy, for his own mother, -who was the Damoiselle de Courtenay, died when -he was very young: and he has one sister of the -whole blood, who is called the Lady Sybil; and -one sister of the half blood, who is called the Lady -Isabel. The Lady Sybil is a widow, though she is -younger than Alix: for she was the wife of -Monseigneur Guillaume, the Marquis of Montferrat, who -died about the time Guy reached the Holy Land; -and she has one child, Monseigneur Beaudouin, -named after the King his uncle. The Lady Isabel -is not yet married, and she is about fourteen years -old. Guy writes that the King, and the ladies his -sisters, and the old Queen, are all very good to -him, and he is prospering marvellously.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Leper.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] She was Maria, daughter (some writers say niece) -of the Emperor Manuel Comnemus.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Guy's letter was brought by a holy palmer, late -last night. I am sure the palmer must be a very -holy man, for he had scallops fastened to his -shovel-hat, and cross-keys embroidered on his bosom, and -bells upon his sleeve, and the holy cross upon his -shoulder.[#] His cross was green, so he must be a -Fleming.[#] And whenever I came near him, there -was such a disagreeable smell, that he must, I am -sure, be very holy indeed. He told Robert, and -Marguerite told me, that he had not changed his -clothes for three whole years. What a holy man -he must be! I was very glad when he gave me -his benediction, though I did try to keep as much -to windward of him as I could, and I put a sprig -of lavender in my handkerchief before I asked for -it. I am rather afraid Father Eudes would say it -was wicked of me to put that sprig of lavender in -my handkerchief. But really I think I should have -felt quite disgusted if I had not done so. And -why should it be holy not to wash one's self? Why -don't they always leave babies unwashed, if it be, -that they might grow up to be holy men and women?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The scallop-shell denoted a pilgrim -to the shrine of St. James of -Compostella; the cross-keys, to Rome; the bells, -to Canterbury (hence -the "Canterbury bell"); and the cross, -to the Holy Sepulchre.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The Flemings wore a green cross, the French a red, -the English a -white one. The proverbial "Red Cross Knight," -therefore, strictly -speaking, could not be an Englishman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I wonder if the angels like smells which we think -disagreeable. If they do, of course that would -account for it. Yet one cannot imagine an angel with -soiled feathers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose Guy would say that was another of -my queer ideas. Oh, I am so delighted that we -have heard from Guy!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monseigneur says I must have lots of new dresses -to take with me. I have been wishing, ever so long, -for a fine mantle of black cloth, lined with minever: -and he says I shall have it. And I want a golden -girdle, and a new aumonière.[#] I should like a -diaper[#] gown, too,—red and black; and a shot silk, -blue one way, and gold the other.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The bag which depended from the girdle.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] This term seems to have indicated stuff woven -in any small regular pattern, not flowers.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My gracious Lord asked me what gems I would -best like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, agate or cornelian, if it please your -Nobility," said I, "because they make people amiable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pinched my ear, and said he thought I was -amiable enough: he would give me a set of jacinths.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] These gems were believed to possess the properties -in question.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"What, to send me to sleep?" said I, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so," he answered. "Thou art somewhat too -wide-awake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you please to mean, Monseigneur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled, but then sighed heavily, and stroked -my head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my little Lynette!" he said. "If thy -blessed mother had but lived! I know not—truly -I know not—whether I act for thy real welfare or -not. The good God forgive our blunders, poor -blindlings that we are!" And he rose and went -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But of course it must be for my welfare that I -should go to Guy, and get some appointment in the -household of one of the Princesses, and see life, -and—well, I don't know about getting married. I -might not have so much of my own way. And I -like that dearly. Besides, if I were married I could -not be always with Guy. I think I won't, on the -whole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Marguerite to-night if she could tell -why holy people did not wash: and she said she -thought they did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said I, "but yonder holy palmer had -not taken his clothes off for three years; and I am -sure, Margot, he did not smell nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," said Marguerite, "under leave of my -Damoiselle, he would have been at least as holy if -he had changed them once a month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot! is not that heterodoxy?" asked I, -laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle pardon her servant—no! -Did not Monseigneur Saint Paul himself say that -men should wash their bodies with pure water?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I don't know," said I. "I always -thought, the holier you were, and the dirtier. And -that is one reason why I always thought, too, that -I could never be holy. I should want my hands -and face clean, at least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did my Damoiselle think she could never be holy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I did, Margot, and do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wherefore? Let her forgive her poor servant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, holiness seems to mean all sorts of -unpleasant things," said I. "You must not wash, nor lie -on a comfortable bed, nor wear anything nice, nor -dance, nor sing, nor have any pleasure. I don't want -to be holy. I really could not do with it, Margot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under my Damoiselle's leave, all those things -she has mentioned seem to me to be outside things. -And—unless I mistake, for I am but an ignorant -creature—holiness must be something inside. My -soul is inside of me; and to clean my soul, I must -have something that will go inside to it. The inside -principle will be sure to put all the outside things -straight, will it not? But I do not see what the -outside things can do to the inside—except that -sometimes they make us cross. But then it is we -who are wrong, not they."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou suppose it is wicked to be cross, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle, Father Eudes once read a list of the -good things that a true Christian ought to have in -his heart,—there were nine of them: 'love, joy, -peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, -meekness, temperance.' I think one cannot have -many of them when one is cross and peevish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then thou dost not think it sinful to delight in -fine clothes and jewels, and lie in a soft bed, and -have dainties for dinner?—for all those are outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! yes, my Damoiselle. Those are the world's -substitute for happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what dost thou mean, Margot?" laughed -I. "Have I not all these good things?—and am I -not happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All these,—ah, yes. But, happy? No, no. My -Damoiselle is not happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what wilt thou say next?" cried I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my Damoiselle permit her poor servant to -ask her a question?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes!—anything thou wilt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then is my Damoiselle quite certain—safely, -happily certain—what will become of her when she -shall die?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot, what an ugly question! I hate to -think of it Why, I suppose I shall go to Heaven—why -should I not? Don't all nobles go there, -except those who are very, very wicked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! She hates to think of it? Wherefore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, everybody does, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. Not I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thou art an old woman, and hast outlived -thy youth and its pleasures. No wonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle will find, as life goes on, that -the older she grows, the more distasteful that -thought becomes to her. That is, unless she should -learn to be happy, which may the good God grant!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not help laughing heartily. For a young -noble maiden like me, to take lessons of a forlorn -old creature like Margot, in the art of being happy, -did seem so very ridiculous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Damoiselle may laugh now," said -Marguerite in her quiet way; "but I have told the -sober truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear!" said I. "I think I had better sleep -on it.—Margot, art thou not very much pleased at -the thought of going to the Holy Land?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, my Damoiselle, very much. I would -dearly like to behold the earth which the feet of the -blessed Lord have trodden,—the lake on which He -walked, and the hill from which He went up. Ah! -'He shall so come'—'this same Jesus'!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at her in astonishment. The worn old -face and sunken eyes seemed alight with some -hidden rapture. I could not understand her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the Holy Sepulchre!" I said; for that is -holiest of all the holy places, as everybody knows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I should not so much care to see that," -answered Marguerite, to my surprise. "'He is not -there; He is risen.' If a dear friend of mine had -gone on a journey, I should not make a pet of the -saddle on which he rode away. I should rather -want not to see it, for it would always remind me -that he was gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite!" exclaimed I, "dost thou not know -that a neuvaine offered at the Holy Sepulchre -is of more efficacy than ten offered at any other -altar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my Damoiselle give me leave to wait till -I see it? Of course, if the good God choose to -have it so, there is an end of the matter. But I -think I would rather be sure. For me, I should like -to pray in the Church of the Nativity, to thank Him -for coming as a little babe into this weary world: -and in the Church of the Ascension, to beg Him to -hasten His coming again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the Church of the Ascension!" said I. -"There are pillars in that church, nearly close to -the wall; and the man who can creep between the -wall and the pillar has full remission of all his -sins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that in the holy Evangel?" asked -Marguerite; but I could not tell her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fancy there may be some mistake about that," -she added. "Of course, if it be in the holy -Evangel! But it does not look quite of a piece with -what Father Eudes reads. He read one day out of -the writing of Monseigneur Saint John, that the -blood of Jesus Christ, the blessed Lord, cleansed -us from all sin: and another time—I think he said -it was from the Evangel of Monseigneur Saint -Matthew—he read that if a man did but ask the -good God for salvation, it should be given him. -Well! I asked, and He gave it me. Could He give -me anything more?—or would He be likely to do it -because I crept between a wall and a pillar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Marguerite! Hast thou been listening to -some of those wicked Lyonnese, that go preaching -up and down? Dost thou not know that King -Henry the father hath strictly forbidden any man to -harbour one of that rabble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it please my Damoiselle, I know nothing at -all about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it is a merchant of Lyons, named Pierre -Waldo, and a lot more with him; they go up and -down the country, preaching, and corrupting people -from the pure Catholic faith. Hast thou listened -to any such preachers, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, my Damoiselle, what know I? There was -a Grey Friar at the Cross a few weeks since"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course, the holy brethren of Saint -Augustine are all right," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and last Sunday there was a man there, -not exactly in a friar's robe, but clad in sackcloth, -as if he were in mourning; but he said none but -very good words; they were just like the holy -Evangel which Father Eudes reads. Very comforting -words they were, too. He said the good Lord -cared even for the sparrows, poor little things!—and -very much more for us that trusted Him. I should -like to hear him preach again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take care how thou dost!" said I, as I lay -down in bed. "I am afraid, Margot, he is one of -those Lyonnese serpents."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said Marguerite, as she tucked me up, -"he had no sting, if he were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, the sting comes afterwards," said I. "And -thou art but a poor villein, and ignorant, and quite -unable to judge which is the true doctrine of holy -Church, and which the wicked heresy that we must -shut our ears against."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, my Damoiselle," said old Marguerite -meekly. "But to say that the dear, blessed Lord -cares for His poor servants—no, no!—that is no -heresy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is heresy?" said I. "And what is -truth? Oh dear! If one might know, one's own self!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Pilatus asked that of the good God, when -He stood before his judgment-seat. But he did not -wait for the answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish he had done!" I answered. "Then we -might have known it. But I suppose the good Lord -would have told him to submit himself to the -Church. So we should not have been much better -off, because we do know that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are better off, my Damoiselle," said old -Marguerite. "For though the good God did not -answer Pilatus—maybe he was not worthy—He did -answer the same question, asked by Monseigneur -Saint Thomas. Did not my Damoiselle hear Father -Eudes read that in French? It was only a few -weeks ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shook my head. I cannot imagine when or how -Marguerite does hear all these things. I never do. -But she went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was one day when the good Lord had told -Messeigneurs the Apostles that He was going to -ascend to Heaven: and He said, 'The way ye know.' But -Monseigneur Saint Thomas—ah! he was rather -like my Damoiselle; he wanted to know!—he -replied that they did not know the way. (If he had -not been a holy apostle, I should not have thought it -very civil to contradict his Seigneur, let alone the -good Lord.) But the good God was not angry: -He saw, I suppose, that Monseigneur Saint Thomas -did not mean anything wrong, but he wanted to -know, like a damoiselle of the House of Lusignan. -So He said, 'I am the way, and the truth, and the -life: no man cometh unto the Father but by Me.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not see what that means," said I. -"Truth cannot be a person,—a man cannot be a -way. Of course it is a figure of speech; but still I -do not see what it means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was very sleepy, and I fancy rather cross. -Marguerite stooped and kissed my hand, and then -turned and put out the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rest, my fair Damoiselle," she said, tenderly. -"And may the good God show my darling what it means!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-journeyand-the-end-of-it"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">A JOURNEY—AND THE END OF IT</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"A violet by a mossy stone,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Half hidden from the eye:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Fair as a star when only one</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Is shining in the sky."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—WORDSWORTH.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bound for the East Countrie! Ay, we are fairly -off at last, Amaury and I,—with old Marguerite, -and her niece Perette, and Bertrade, Robert's -daughter, and Robert himself, to wait upon me; and -an escort of armed men, and Amaury's attendants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet it was not all brightness when we came to -leave the Castle. Alix and Messire Raymond were -there to take leave of us: and I really fancied—it -must have been fancy!—that there were tears in -Alix's eyes when she kissed me. There were none -in Umberge's, nor in Guillot's. But Raoul cried -honestly; though Amaury said afterwards that he -believed three-quarters of Raoul's tears were due to -his having to stay behind. Father Eudes gave me -his blessing; and he wept too, poor old man! I -dare say he was sorry. He was here before I was -born. Then the maidens and servants came -forward, the women kissing my hand, and the men my -robe: and last of all I came to Monseigneur, our -father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He folded me close in his arms, and bent his head -down upon mine; and I felt two or three hot tears -on my brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My little Lynette!" he said. "My little, little -girl! The one bud of my one love! Must I let -thee go? Ha, well!—it is for thy welfare. The -good God bless thee, </span><em class="italics">mignonne</em><span>, and Messeigneurs -and Mesdames the saints. Please God, little maiden, -we shall meet in Jerusalem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meet in Jerusalem?" I said in surprise. This -was news to me—that Monseigneur meant to take -the cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," said he softly, "in the '</span><em class="italics">Syon Aurea, ut -clarior oro</em><span>.' There is an upper City, my child, -which is fairer than the lower. Jesu, of His mercy, -bring us both there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amen!" said Father Eudes. "Dame Mary, -pray for us poor sinners!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a great bustle after that, and noise, -and clashing; and I do not remember much -distinctly, till I got into the litter with Bertrade, and -then first Amaury set forth on his charger, with -his squires after him, and then Marguerite behind -Robert on horseback, and Perette behind Amaury's -varlet, who is a cousin of hers; and then my litter -moved forward, with the armed men around and -behind. I just saw them all clearly for one -moment—Alix with her lips set, looking at us, as if she -were determined not to say a word; and Messire -Raymond smoothing his moustache; and Guillot -with an old shoe poised in the air, which hit my -fore postilion the next minute; and Umberge with -that fair false smile with which she deludes every -one at first sight; and Monseigneur, with his arms -folded, and the tears fairly running down his cheeks, -and his lips working as if he were deeply grieved. -Just for one minute there they all stood; and I -think they will make a picture in my eyes till the -end of time for me. And then my litter was drawn -out of the Castle gate, and the horses tramped -across the drawbridge, and down the slope below: -and I drew the curtain of the litter aside, and looked -back to see my dear old home, the fair strong Castle -of Lusignan, growing less and less behind me every -moment, till at last it faded into a more dim speck -in the distance, and I felt that my long and -venturesome journey had begun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, why do people never let us know how much -they love us, until just as we unclasp hands and -part?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Do they always know it themselves?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I wonder whether dying is anything like -this. Do men go a long journey to God, with an -armed escort of angels, and do they see the world -go less and less behind them as they mount? I -will ask Margot what she thinks. She is but a -villein, in truth, but then she has such curious -fancies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have asked Marguerite, and she shakes her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! no, my Damoiselle. It can be no long -journey to God. Father Eudes said but last -Sunday, reading from the Breviary, in his sermon, -that 'He is not far from every one of us.' And the -good thief Ditmas, that was crucified with God, was -there in half a day. It can only be a little way to -Heaven. Ah! much less than half a day, it must -be; for did not Monseigneur Saint Gabriel, the holy -Archangel, begin to fly when Monseigneur Saint -Daniel began to pray?—and he was there before he -had finished his beads. It is a long while since Father -Eudes told us that; and I thought it so comforting, -because it showed that Heaven was not far, and -also that the good Lord listens so quickly when we -call. Ah! I have to say, 'Wait, Héloïse!—I am -listening to Perette:' but the good Lord does not -need to do that. He can hear my Lady the Queen, -and the Lady Alix, and Monseigneur Guy, and my -Damoiselle, and her servant Marguerite, all at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, I suppose it must be so, though I cannot -understand it. One has to believe so many things -that one cannot understand. Do we even know -how we live from day to day? Of course it is -known that we have certain organs in our bodies, -by which we breathe, and speak, and walk, and -digest food; but can any one tell </span><em class="italics">how</em><span> all they do -goes to make up what we call life? I do not believe it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We took our way by Poictiers, across the duchies -of Berry and Burgundy, and through Franche-Comté, -crossing some terrible mountains between Besançon -and Neufchatel. Then we travelled across -Switzerland—Oh, how beautiful it is! I felt as though I -should have been content to stay there, and never go -any farther. But Amaury said that was just like a -silly girl. What man, said he—with such an accent on -the </span><em class="italics">man</em><span>!—ever wanted to stop away from gorgeous -pageants and gallant deeds of arms, just to stare at -a big hill with some snow on it, or a pool of water -with some trees round it? How could any body -make a name in that foolish way?—said Messire -Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But old Marguerite thought with me. "Damoiselle," -she said, "I am very thankful I came on this -journey. Methinks I have a better notion what -Heaven will be like than I had before we left -Poitou. I did not know the good God was so rich. -There seems to be no end to the beautiful things -He can make. Oh, how beautiful He Himself -must be! And we shall see His face. Father -Eudes read it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever one says to Marguerite, she always -finds something to say in answer about the good -God. Surely she should have been a nun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We came into Italy through two great passes,—one -over the Julier mountain, so called from Julius -Cæsar, the great Emperor, who made the road by -help of the black art, and set up two pillars on the -summit to commemorate his deeds: and then, -passing through a beautiful valley, where all flowers -of the year were out together, and there was a lovely -chain of lakes,—(which naughty Amaury scornfully -called crocuses and dirty water!)—we wound up -hill after hill, until at last it really seemed as if we -must have reached the top of the world. Here -were two small lakes, at the foot of a drear slope of -ice, which in these parts they call a glacier: and -they call them the Black Lake and the White Lake. -We had two sturdy peasants as guides over the -mountains, and I should have liked dearly to talk -with them about their country, but of course it -would not have been seemly in a damsel of my -rank: </span><em class="italics">noblesse oblige</em><span>. But I got Marguerite to ask -them several questions, for their language is -sufficiently like the Langue d'Oc[#] for us to understand -them, though they speak very thickly and indistinctly. -They told Marguerite that their beautiful -valley is named the Val Engiadina,[#] and they were -originally a colony from Italy, who fled from a -persecution of the Saracens.[#] This pass is called -the Bernina, for </span><em class="italics">berne</em><span> in their tongue signifies a bear, -and there are many bears about here in winter. -And they say this mountain is the top of the world, -for here the waters separate, on the one side flowing -far away into Asia, near the place where Adam -dwelt in Paradise;[#] and on the other, into the great -western sea,[#] which we shall shortly have to cross. -And here, on the very summit of this mountain, -dwelt a holy hermit, who gave me a shelter in his -hut, while the men camped outside round great -fires; for though it was August, yet at this great -height it was quite cold. And so, through the pass, -we wound slowly down into Italy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Two cognate languages were at this time -spoken in France; north -of the Loire, the Langue d'Oil, and south, -the Langue d'Oc, both -words meaning </span><em class="italics small">yes</em><span class="small"> in the respective languages. -The more northern -language was the harsher, </span><em class="italics small">ch</em><span class="small"> being sounded as </span><em class="italics small">k</em><span class="small">, -just as </span><em class="italics small">church</em><span class="small"> in -England becomes </span><em class="italics small">kirk</em><span class="small"> in Scotland. </span><em class="italics small">Cher, chaise, chien</em><span class="small">, -therefore, -were pronounced </span><em class="italics small">ker, kaise, kien</em><span class="small">, in the Langue d'Oil.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The Engadine.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] All the evil done or doing in the world was -at this time attributed -to the Saracens. The colony is supposed -to have arisen from the flight -of a group of Christians in the persecution under Diocletian.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The Black Sea.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The Mediterranean.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Marguerite and Perette were both full of the beauty -they had seen in the great glacier, on which they -went with the guides: but it would not have done -for a damsel of my rank, and really I saw no beauty -in it from across the lake; it looked like a quantity -of very dirty ice, with ashes scattered over it. But -they said it was full of deep cracks or fissures, in -which were the loveliest colours that human eye -could see or heart imagine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I can guess now!" said Marguerite. "I -could not think what Monseigneur Saint John -meant when he said the city was gold like clear -crystal. I know now. Damoiselle, in the glacier -there are walls of light, the sweetest green shading -into blue that my Damoiselle can possibly imagine: -they must be like that, but golden. Ha! if my -Damoiselle had seen it! The great nobles have not -all the good things. It is well not to be so high up -that one cannot see the riches of the good God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She has the queerest notions!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well!—we travelled on through Lombardy, and -tarried a few days at Milan, whence we journeyed to -Venice, which is the strangest place I ever saw or -dreamed of, for all the streets are canals, and one -calls for one's boat where other people order their -horses. The Duke of Venice, who is called the -Doge, was very kind to us. He told us at supper a -comical story of a Duchess of Venice who lived -about a hundred years ago. She so dearly loved -ease and luxury that she thought it too much -trouble to eat with her fingers like everybody else; -and she actually caused her attendants to cut her -meat into little pieces, like dice, and then she had a -curious instrument with two prongs,[#] made of gold, -with which she picked up the bits and put them in -her dainty mouth. Only fancy!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The first fork on record.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At Venice we embarked, and sailed to Messina, -where most of the pilgrims for the Holy Land -assemble, as it is the most convenient port. We did -not go overland, as some pilgrims do, through the -dominions of the Byzantine Cæsar;[#] but we sailed -thence to Crete. I was rather sorry to miss -Byzantium,[#] both on account of the beautiful stuffs which -are sold there, and the holy relics: but since I have -seen a spine of the crown of thorns, which the Lady -de Montbeillard has—she gave seven hundred -crowns for it to Monseigneur de Rheims[#]—I did -not care so much about the relics as I might otherwise -have done. Perhaps I shall meet with the same -kind of stuffs in Palestine; and certainly there will -be relics enough.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The Eastern Emperor; his dominions in Europe extended over -Greece and Turkey.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Constantinople.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The Archbishop.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>From Crete we sailed to Rhodes, and thence to -Cyprus. They all say that I am an excellent sailor, -for I feel no illness nor inconvenience at all; but -poor Bertrade has been dreadfully ill, and Marguerite -and Perette say they both feel very uncomfortable -on the water. At Cyprus is an abbey of monks, on -the Hill of the Holy Cross; and here Amaury and -his men were housed for the night, and I and my -women at a convent of nuns not far off. At the -Abbey they have a cross, which they say is the very -cross on which our Lord suffered, but some say it is -only the cross of Ditmas, the good thief. I was -rather puzzled to know whether, there being a doubt -whether it really is the holy cross, it ought to be -worshipped. If it be only a piece of common wood, -I suppose it would be idolatry. So I thought it -more right and seemly to profess to have a bad -headache, and decline to mount the hill. I asked -Amaury what he had done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! worshipped it, of course," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how if it were not the true cross?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister, wouldst thou have a knight thus -discourteous? The monks believe it true. It would -have hurt their feelings to show any doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Amaury, it would be idolatry!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha, bah!" he answered. "The angels will see it -put to the right account—no doubt of that. Dear -me!—if one is to be for ever considering little -scruples like that, why, there would be no end to -them—one would never do any thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I asked Marguerite if she went up to worship -the holy cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Damoiselle," said she. "The Grey Friar -said we worship not the cross, but the good God that -died thereon. And I suppose He is as near to us at -the bottom of the hill as at the top."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, it does look reasonable, I must say. But it -must be one of Marguerite's queer notions. There -would be no good in relics and holy places if that -were always true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This island of Cyprus is large and fair. It was of -old time dedicated by the Paynims to Venus, their -goddess of beauty: but when it fell into Christian -hands, it was consecrated anew to Mary the holy -Mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From Cyprus we sailed again, a day and a half, to -Tyre; but we did not land there, but coasted southwards -to the great city of Acre, and there at last we -took land in Palestine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here we were lodged in the castle, which is very -strong: and we found already here some friends of -Amaury, the Baron de Montluc and his two sons, -who had landed about three weeks before us. Hence -we despatched a letter to Guy. I was the writer, of -course, for Amaury can write nothing but his name; -but he signed the letter with me. Messire Renaud -de Montluc, who was setting out for the Holy City, -undertook to see the letter safe. We were to follow -more slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We remained at Acre about ten days. Then we set -forth, Amaury and I, the Baron de Montluc and his -son Messire Tristan, and several other knights who -were waiting for a company, with our respective -trains; and the Governor of Acre lent us an -additional convoy of armed men, to see us safe to the -Holy City.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was my first experience of tent life; and very -strange it felt, and horribly insecure. I, accustomed -to dwell within walls several feet thick, with -portcullis and doors guarded by bolts and bars, in a -chamber opening on an inner court, to have no more -than one fold of goats' hair canvas between me and -the outside world! True, the men-at-arms were -camped outside; but that was no more than a castle -garrison: and where was the castle?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot," said I, "dost thou not feel horribly -frightened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For of course, she, a villein, would be more -accessible to fear than a noble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, my Damoiselle," she said very quietly. -"Is it not in the holy Psalter that 'the Angel of the -Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, -and delivereth them'? We are as safe as in the -Castle of Lusignan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is a very good thing for Marguerite and the -maidens that I am here. Because, of course, the holy -angels, who are of high rank, would never think of -taking care of mere villeins. It must mean persons -of noble blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We journeyed on southwards slowly, pausing at -the holy places—Capernaum, where Messeigneurs -Saint Peter and Saint Andrew dwelt before they -followed our Lord; and where Monseigneur Saint -Peter left Madame his wife, and his daughter, -Madame Saint Petronilla, when he became our -Lord's disciple. Of course, he was obliged to leave -them behind, for a holy apostle could not have a -wife. (Marguerite says that man in sackcloth, who -preached at the Cross at Lusignan, said that in the -early ages of the Church, priests and even bishops -used to be married men, and that it would have been -better if they had continued to be so. I am afraid he -must be a very wicked person, and one of those -heretical Waldenses.) We also tarried a while at -Cæsarea, where our Lord gave the keys to -Monseigneur Saint Peter, and appointed him the first -Bishop of Rome; and Nazareth, where our Lady -was born and spent her early life. Not far from -Neapolis,[#] anciently called Sychem, they show the -ruins of a palace, where dwelt King Ahab, who was -a very wicked Paynim, and had a Saracen to his -wife. At Neapolis is the well of Monseigneur Saint -Jacob, on which our Lord once sat when He was -weary. This was the only holy place we passed -which old Marguerite had the curiosity to go and see.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Nablous.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Now, what made thee care more for that than -any other?" I asked her. "Of course it was a -holy place, but there was nothing to look at save -a stone well in a valley. Our Lady's Fountain, at -Nazareth, was much prettier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Damoiselle is young and blithe!" she -said, and smiled. "It is long, long since I was a -young mother like our Lady, and longer still since -I was a little child. But the bare old well in the -stony valley—that came home to me. He was -weary! Yet He was God. He is rested now, on -the throne of His glory: yet He cares for me, that -am weary still. So I just knelt down at the old -well, and I said to Him, in my ignorant way,—'Fair -Father,[#] Jesu Christ, I thank Thee that -Thou wert weary, and that by Thy weariness thou -hast given me rest.' It felt to rest me,—a visit to -the place where He sat, tired and hungry. But -my Damoiselle cannot understand."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] "Bel Père"—one of the invocations then usual.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"No, Margot, I don't at all," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no! It takes a tired man to know the -sweetness of rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three days' journey through the Val de Luna, -which used to be called the Vale of Ajalon, brought -us to the city of Gran David, which was of old -named Gibeon. The valley is styled De Luna -because it was here that Monseigneur Saint Joshua -commanded the sun and moon to stand still while -he vanquished the Paynims. From Gran David it -is only one day's journey to the Holy City.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow, Margot!" said I, in great glee. -"Only to-morrow, we shall see the Holy Sepulchre!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Thanks be to the good God. And we need -not wait till to-morrow to see Him that rose from it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Marguerite, dost thou ever have visions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Visions? Oh no! Those are for the holy -saints; not for a poor ignorant villein woman like me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what didst thou mean, just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Damoiselle cannot understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, I don't like that. Thou art always -saying it. I want to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she must ask the good God to show her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that is all I can get out of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Short of a league from the Holy City is the -little hill called Mont Joie, because from it the -palmers catch the first glimpse of the blessed -Jerusalem. We were mounting, as it seemed to me, a -low hillock, when Amaury rode up beside me, and -parting the curtains, said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Elaine, look out, for we are on the Mont -Joie. Wilt thou light down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," I answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Amaury stopped the litter, and gave me his -hand, and I jumped out. He took me to the place -where the palmers kneel in thanksgiving for being -brought thus far on their journey: and here I had -my first sight of the Holy City.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is but a small city, yet strongly fortified, having -three walls. No Paynim is permitted to enter it, -nor of course any heathen Jew. I cannot imagine -how it was that the good God ever suffered the -Holy City, even for an hour, to be in the hands of -those wicked people. Yet last night, in the tent, -if Marguerite did not ask me whether Monseigneur -Saint Paul was not a Jew! I was shocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, no!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard somebody say so," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think it was some Paynim," said I. -"Why, of course none of the holy Apostles were -Jews. That miscreant Judas Iscariot, and Pontius -Pilatus, and all those wicked people, I suppose, were -Jews: but not the holy Apostles and the saints. -It is quite shocking to think of such a thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what were they, if my Damoiselle pleases?" -said Marguerite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they were of some other nation," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For really, I do not know of what nation they -were,—only that they could never have been Jews.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amaury said that we must first visit the Holy -Sepulchre; so, though I was dying to have news -of Guy, I comforted myself with the thought that -I should hereby acquire so much more merit than -if I had not cared about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We entered the Holy City by the west gate, just -as the dusk was beginning; and passing in single -file along the streets, we descended the hill of Zion -to the Holy Sepulchre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this church are kept many holy relics. In -the courtyard is the prison where our Lord was -confined after His betrayal, and the pillar to which -He was bound when scourged: and in the portico -the lance which pierced His side. The stone which -the Angel rolled away from the sepulchre is now -broken in two. Here our Lady died, and was -buried in the Church of Saint Mary, close by. In -this church is kept the cup of our Lord, out of -which He habitually drank: it is of silver, with a -handle on each side, and holds about a quart. Here -also is the sponge which was held to His mouth, -and the crown of thorns. (By a miracle of the -good God, one half of the crown is also at -Byzantium.) The tomb of our Lord is seven feet long, -and rises three palms from the floor; fifteen golden -lamps burn before it, day and night. I told the -whole Rosary at the holy tomb, or should have -done, for I felt that the longer I waited to see -Guy, the more merit I should heap up: but Amaury -became impatient, and insisted on my coming when -a Pater and eight Aves were still to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then we mounted the hill of Zion again, passing -the church built in honour of the Prince of the -Apostles, on the spot where he denied our Lord: -and so we reached the King's Palace at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amaury sprang from his horse, and motioned my -postilion to draw up in front of the chief gate. I -heard him say to the porter—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Sir Guy de Lusignan here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My gracious Lord, the Count of Joppa and -Ascalon, is here, if it like you, noble Sir," replied -the porter. "He is at this moment in audience of -my Lady the Queen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was so glad to hear it. Then Guy had really -been created a Count! He must be in high favour. -One half of his prophecy was fulfilled. But what -about the other?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray you," said Amaury to the porter, "do my -Lord Count to wit that his brother, Sir Amaury de -Lusignan, and his sister, the Lady Elaine, are before -the gate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hardly know how I got through the next ten -minutes. Then came quick steps, a sound of speech, -a laugh, and then my curtains were pushed aside, -and the voice I loved best in all the world said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lynette! Lynette, my darling!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, it was my own Guy who came back to me. -Changed?—no, not really changed at all. A little -older; a little more bronzed; a little longer and -fuller in the beard:—that was all. But it was my -Guy, himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come! jump out," he said, holding his hand, -"and let me present thee to the Lady Queen. I -long to see my Lynette the fairest ornament of her -Court. And how goes it with Monseigneur, our fair -father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, talking all the way, I walked with Guy, -hand in hand, up the stairs, and into the very -bower of the imperial lady who bears the crown -of all the world, since it is the flower of all the -crowns.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can assure thee," said Guy, "the Lady Queen -has often talked of thee, and is prepared to welcome -thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a beautiful room, though small, decorated -with carved and fragrant cedar-work, and hung with -blue and gold. Round the walls were blue and gold -settles, and three curule chairs in the midst. There -were only three ladies there,—but I must describe them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Queen, who sat in one of the curule chairs, -was rather short and stout, with a pleasant, motherly -sort of look. She appeared to be between forty and -fifty years of age. Her daughter, the Lady Isabel, -who sat in another chair, busied with some -embroidery, was apparently about eighteen; but Guy told -me afterwards that she is only fifteen, for women -ripen early in these Eastern lands, and grow old fast. -She has luxuriant black hair and dark shining eyes. -On the settle was a damsel a little older than the -Princess, not quite so dark, nor so handsome. She, -as I afterwards found, was the Damoiselle Melisende -de Courtenay,[#] a distant relative of the King, who -dwells with the Princesses. Guy led me up to the -Queen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A fictitious person. Millicent is the -modern version of this old -Gothic name. It comes from Amala-suinde, and signifies -</span><em class="italics small">heavenly-wisdom</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Madam," said he, "your Highness has heard me -often speak of my younger sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! the little Damoiselle Helena?"[#] replied the -Queen, smiling very kindly. "Be welcome, my -child. I have indeed heard much of you; this -brother of yours thinks nobody like you in the -world,—not even one, eh, Sir Count?—Isabel! I -desire thee to make much of the Damoiselle, and let -her feel herself at home. And,—Melisende! I pray -thee, give order for her lodging, and let her women -be seen to. Ah!—here comes another who will be -glad to be acquainted with you."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Helen is really quite distinct from Ellen, -of which lost Elaine is -the older form. The former is a Greek name -signifying </span><em class="italics small">attractive, -captivating</em><span class="small">. The latter is the feminine -of the Celtic name -Alain,—more generally written -Alan or Allan,—and means </span><em class="italics small">bright-haired</em><span class="small">. -Eleanor (it is a mistake as regards philology -to write Elinor) is simply -an amplification of Ellen by the addition -of "or," </span><em class="italics small">gold</em><span class="small">. It denotes, -therefore, </span><em class="italics small">hair bright as gold</em><span class="small">. -Annora is a corruption of Eleanor, and -Nora or Norah a further contraction of Annora.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I turned round to see at whom the Queen was -looking. An inner door of the chamber had just -opened, and two ladies were coming into the room. -At the one I scarcely looked, save to see that she -was old, and wore the garb of a nun. The other -fixed my eyes in an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shall I say she was beautiful? I do not know. -She has a face about which one never thinks whether -it is beautiful or not. She is so sweet, so sweet! -Her hair is long, of a glossy golden hue: her eyes -are dark grey, and all her soul shines out in them. -Her age seemed about twenty. And Guy said -behind me, in a whisper—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Sybil of Montferrat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something in Guy's tone made me glance suddenly -at his face. My heart felt for a moment as if it -stopped beating. The thing that I feared was come -upon me. The whole prophecy was fulfilled: the -beautiful lady stood before me. I should be first -with Guy no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I did not feel so grieved as I expected. And -when Lady Sybil put her arms round me, and kissed -me, and told me I should be her dear little -sister,—though I felt that matters must have gone very far -indeed, yet somehow I was almost glad that Guy -had found a heart to love him in this strange land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old nun proved to be a cousin of the Queen, -whom they call Lady Judith.[#] She is an eremitess, -and dwells in her cell in the very Palace itself. I -notice that Lady Sybil seems very fond of her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A fictitious person.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Damoiselle Melisende showed me a nice -bed-chamber, where I and my three women were to -lodge. I was very tired, and the Queen saw it, and -in her motherly way insisted on my having some -supper, and going to bed at once. So I did not even -wait to see Amaury again, and Guy went to look for -him and bring him up to the Queen. The King, -being a mesel, dwells alone in his own rooms, and -receives none. When Guy has to communicate with -him, he tells me that he talks with him through -a lattice, and a fire of aromatic woods burns between -them. But I can see that Guy is a very great -man here, and has the affairs of the State almost -in his own hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said to Marguerite as I was undressing,—"Margot, -I think Count Guy is going to marry somebody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if it please my Damoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From the way he looks at Lady Sybil, and—other -things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your gracious pardon, but—is he less loving -to my Damoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no!—more loving and tender than ever, -if that be possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is all right," said Marguerite. "He -loves her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What dost thou mean, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When a man marries, my Damoiselle, one of -three things happens. Either he weds from policy, -and has no love for his lady; but Monseigneur -Guy loves to look at her, so it is not that. Or, -he loves himself, and she is merely a toy which -ministers to his pleasure. Then he would be -absorbed in himself and her, and not notice whether -any other were happy or unhappy. But if he loves -her, with that true, faithful, honourable love, which -is one of God's best gifts, then he will be courteous -and tender towards all women, because she is one. -And especially to his own relatives, being women, -who love him, he will be very loving indeed. That -is why I asked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot, Margot!" I said, laughing. "Where -on earth dost thou find all thy queer notions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not all on earth, my Damoiselle. But, for -many of them, all that is wanted is just to keep -one's eyes open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are my eyes open, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle had better shut them now," -replied Marguerite, a little drily. "She can open -them again to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I went to sleep, and dreamed that Guy married -Lady Judith, in her nun's attire, and that I was -in great distress at the sacrilege, and could do -nothing to avert it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="curious-notions"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">CURIOUS NOTIONS</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt><span class="small">"The soul, doubtless, is immortal—where a soul can be discerned."</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last pfirst"><span class="small">—ROBERT BROWNING.</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For the last few weeks, since we reached -Jerusalem, I have been very busy going about with the -Damoiselle Melisende, and sometimes the Lady -Isabel, with Amaury as escort. We have now -visited all the holy places within one day's -journey. I commanded Marguerite to attend me, for -it amuses me afterwards to hear what she has to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We went to the Church of Saint Mary, in the -Valley of Jehoshaphat, which is built in a round -form; and in it is the empty tomb in which our -Lady was buried. So some say, and that the angels -carried her body away in the night: but other some -say, that while the holy Apostles were carrying her -to her burial, the angels came down and bore her -away to Paradise. I asked Margot (as she always -listens) if she had heard Father Eudes read about it -from the holy Evangel: but she said he had never -read the story of that, at least in French. In this -church there is a stone in the wall, on which our -Lord knelt to pray on the night of His betrayal; -and on it is the impression of His knees, as if the -stone were wax. There is no roof to the church, -but by miraculous provision of the good God, the -rain never falls on it. Here also, our Lord's body, -when taken down from the cross, was wrapped and -anointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We also visited the Church of the Holy Ghost, -where is the marble table at which our Lord and -the holy Apostles ate the Last Supper, and they -received the Holy Sacrament at His hands. There -is also a chapel, with an altar whereat our Lord -heard mass sung by the angels; and here is kept -the vessel wherein our Lord washed the feet of His -disciples. All these are on Mount Zion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite was very much interested in the vessel -in which the holy Apostles' feet were washed: but -she wanted to know which of them had put it by -and kept it so carefully. This, of course, I could not -tell her. Perhaps it was revealed by miracle that -this was the vessel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well!" she said, turning away at last, with -a contented face. "It does not much matter, if -only the good God wash our feet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that cannot be, Margot!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith was with us that day, and she laid -her hand on my arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Child," said she gently, "'if He wash thee not, -thou hast no part with Him.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And," said Marguerite, "my Lady will pardon -me,—if He wash us, we have part with Him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," answered Lady Judith. "'Heirs of God, -joint-heirs with Christ.' Thou knowest it, my -sister?—thou hast washed? Ay, 'we believers enter -into rest.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wondered what they were talking about. Lady -Judith—of the Cæsars' purple blood, and born in a -palace at Constantinople; and old Marguerite,—a -villein, born in a hovel in Poitou,—marvel to -relate! they understood each other perfectly. They have -seemed quite friendly ever since. It can hardly be -because they are both old. There must be some -mystery. I do not understand it at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another day, we went to the Church of the -Ascension, which is on the summit of Mount Olivet. -This also has an open roof. When our Lord -ascended, He left the impression of His feet in the -dust; and though palmers are constantly carrying -the holy dust away by basketsful, yet the -impression never changes. This seemed to me so -wonderful that I told Marguerite, expecting that it would -very much astonish her. But she did not seem to -think much about it. Her mind was full of something else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Damoiselle," she said, "they did well -that built this church, and put no roof on it. For -He is not here; He is gone up. And He will come -again. Thank God! He will come again. 'This -same Jesus'—the same that wore the crown of -thorns, and endured the agony of the cross,—the -same that said 'Weep not' to the bereaved mother, -and 'Go in peace' to the woman that was a sinner—the -very same, Himself, and none other. I marvel -if it will be just here! I would like to live and die -here, if it were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot!" said I, laughing, "thou dost not -fancy it will be while thou art alive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only the good God knows that," she said, still -looking up intently through the roof of the church,—or -where the roof should have been—into the sky. -"But I would it might. If I could find it in my -heart to envy any mortal creature, it would be them -who shall look up, maybe with eyes dimmed by -tears, and see Him coming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot comprehend thee, Margot," said I. "I -think it would be just dreadful. I can hardly -imagine a greater shock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose, at this moment, my Damoiselle were -to look behind her, and see Monseigneur Count Guy -standing there, smiling on her,—would she think it -a dreadful shock?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot! How can the two be compared?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only love can compare them," answered the old -woman softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite! Dost thou—canst thou—love our -Lord as much as I love Guy? It is not possible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thousand times more, my Damoiselle. Your -Nobility, I know, loves Monseigneur very dearly; -yet you have other interests apart from him. I -have no interest apart from my Lord. All my -griefs, all my joys, I take to Him; and until He has -laid His hand on them and blessed them, I can -neither endure the one nor enjoy the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if Lady Judith feels like that! I -should like to ask her, if I could take the liberty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite was looking up again into the sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only think what it will be!" she said. "To -look up from the cradle of your dying child, with -the anguish of helplessness pressing tight upon your -heart—and see Him! To look up from your own -sick bed, faint and weary beyond measure—and see -Him! From the bitter sense of sin and failure—from -cruel words and unkind looks—from loneliness -and desolation—from hunger and cold and -homelessness—to look up, and see Him! There will be -some suffering all these things when He comes. -Oh, why are His chariot-wheels so long in coming? -Does not He long for it even more than we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was silent. She looked—this old villein -woman—almost like one inspired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows!" she added softly. "He knows. He -can wait. Then we can. Surely I come quickly. -Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!"'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amaury called me, and I left her there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wanted to creep through the columns, and -wished me to try first, as I am slimmer than he. I -managed it pretty well,—so now all my sins are -remitted, and I do feel so good and nice! Lady -Isabel could hardly do it; and Amaury, who has -been growing fatter of late, could not get through -at all. He was much disappointed, and very cross -in consequence. Damoiselle Melisende would not -try. She said, laughing, that she was quite sure -she could not push through, and she must get her -sins forgiven some other way. But she mischievously -ran and fetched old Marguerite, and putting -on a grave face, proposed to her to try the feat. -Now I am quite certain Marguerite could never -have done it; for though she is not stout, she is a -large-built woman. But she looked at the place for -a moment, and then said to Melisende—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the Damoiselle pleases, what will follow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thou wilt have all thy sins forgiven," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank the Damoiselle," answered Marguerite, -and turned quietly away. "Then it would be to no -good, for my sins are forgiven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a strange old woman!" exclaimed Lady Isabel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Marguerite is very queer," said I. "She -amuses me exceedingly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she quite right in her head, do you think?" -demanded the Princess, eyeing Margot with rather a -doubtful expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed, and Amaury said, "Oh yes, as bright -as a new besant. She is only comical."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then we went into the Church of Saint John, -where a piece of marble is kept on which our Lord -wrote when the heathen Jews desired to know His -judgment on a wicked woman. Marguerite seemed -puzzled with this. She said she had heard Father -Eudes read the story, and the holy Evangel said that -our Lord wrote on the ground. How did the -writing get on that marble?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said I, "the marble must have been down -below, and it pleased the good God that it should -receive the impress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The good God can do all things," assented -Margot. "But—well, I am an ignorant woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Coming down, on the slope of Olivet, the place -is shown where our Lady appeared to Monseigneur -Saint Thomas, who refused to believe her assumption, -and gave him her girdle as a token of it. This -girdle is kept in an abbey in England, and is famous -for easing pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That same afternoon, at the spice in the Queen's -presence-chamber, were Messire de Montluc and his -sons. And we fell in talk—I remember not how—upon -certain opinions of the schoolmen. Messire -Renaud would have it that nothing is, but all things -only seem to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, truly, Messire," said I, laughing; "I am -sure I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me—not at all!" he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that cedar-wood fire is," said Damoiselle -Melisende.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By no means," replied Messire Renaud. "It -exists but in your fancy. There is no such thing as -matter—only mind. My imagination sees a fire -there: your imagination sees a fire:—but there is no -fire,—such a thing does not exist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put your finger into this fire which does not -exist, if you please, Messire," remarked the Queen, -who seemed much amused; "I expect you will -come to a different conclusion within five minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I humbly crave your Highness' pardon. My -finger is an imagination. It does not really exist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the pain of the burn—would that be imagination -also?" she inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Undoubtedly, Lady," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what is to prevent your imagining that there -is no pain?" pursued Her Highness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he answered. "If I did imagine that, -there would be none. There is no such thing as -matter. Mind—Soul—is the only existence, Lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense is the boy talking!" growled the -Baron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, I pray you, Messire Renaud," said I, "if I -do not exist, how does the idea that I do exist get -into my head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do I have a head for it to get into?" added Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stuff and nonsensical rubbish!" said the Baron. -"Under leave of my Lady Queen,—lad, thou hast -lost thy senses. No such thing as matter, quotha! -Why, there is nothing but matter that is in reality. -What men call the soul is simply the brain. Give -over thy fanciful stuff!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a Realist, Messire?" asked Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call me what name you will, Sir Count," returned -the Baron. "I am no such fool as yon lanky -lad of mine. I believe what I see and hear, and -there I begin and end. So does every wise man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not a little odd," inquired Guy, "that -everybody should think all the wise men must believe as -he does?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Odd? No!" said the Baron. "Don't you think -so yourself, Sir Count?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy laughed. "But there is one thing I should -like to know," said he. "I have heard much of -Realists and Nominalists, but I never before met one -of either. I wish to ask each of you, Messires,—In -your system, what becomes of the soul after death?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, if there be no soul, what can become of -it?" put in Damoiselle Melisende.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pure foy!" cried the Baron. "I concern myself -about nothing of that sort. Holy Church teaches -that the soul survives the body, and it were unseemly -to gainsay her teaching. But—ha! what know I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For me," said Messire Renaud, a little -grandiloquently, "I believe that death is simply the -dissolution of that which seems, and leaves only the pure -essence of that which is. The modicum of spirit—of -that essence—which I call my soul, will then be -absorbed into the great soul of the Universe—the -Unknowable, the Unknown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have a name for that, Messire," said Guy -reverently. "We call it—God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely," answered Messire Renaud. "You—we—holy -Church—personify this Unknowable -Essence, which is the fountain of all essence. The -parable—for a parable it is—is most beautiful. But -It—He—name it as you will—is none the less the -Unknown and the Unknowable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy must have a fever, and the delirium -is on him," said the Baron. "Get a leech, lad. Let -out a little of that hot blood which mystifies thy -foolish brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence for a minute, and it was broken -by the low, quiet voice of Lady Judith, who sat -next to the Lady Queen, with a spindle in her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'And this is life eternal, that they should </span><em class="italics">know -Thee</em><span>.'" She added no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beautiful words, truly," responded Messire -Renaud. "But you will permit me to observe, Lady, -that they are—like all similar phrases—symbolical. -The soul that has risen the nearest to this ineffable -Essence—that is most free from the shell of that -which seems—may, in a certain typical sense, be said -to 'know' this Essence. Now there never was a soul -more free from the seeming than that of Him whom -we call our Lord. Accordingly, He tells us -that—employing one of the loveliest of all types—He -'knew the Father.' It is perfectly charming, to an -enlightened mind, to recognise the force, the beauty, -the hidden meaning, of these exquisite types."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lad, what is the length of thine ears?" growled -the Baron. "What crouched ass crammed all this -nonsense into thee? 'Enlightened mind'—'exquisite -types'—'charming symbolism'! I am not -at all sure that I understand thee, thou exquisite -gander! But if I do, what thou meanest, put in -plain language, is simply that there is no God. Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Father, under your good leave, I would -choose other words. God—what we call God—is -the Unknowable Essence. Therefore, undoubtedly -there is God, and in a symbolic sense, He is the -Creator of all things, this Essence being the source -out of which all other essences are evolved. -Therefore, parabolically speaking"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll lay my stick about thy back, thou -parabolical mud-puddle!" cried the Baron. "Let me -be served up for Saladin's supper if I understand a -word of thy foolery! Art thou a true son of holy -Church or not? That is what I want to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Undoubtedly, fair Sir!" said Messire Renaud. -"God forbid that I should be a heretic! Our holy -Mother the Church has never banned the Nominalists."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is high time she did!" retorted the -Baron. "I reckon she thinks they will do nobody -much harm, because no mortal being can understand -them. But where, in the name of all the Seven -Wonders of the World, thou gattest such moonshine -sticking in thy brains, shoot me if I know. It was -not from my Lady, thy fair mother; and I am sure -it was not from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Messire Renaud made no answer beyond a laugh, -and the Lady Queen quickly introduced a different -subject. I fancy she saw that the Baron was losing -his temper. But when Messire Renaud was about -to take leave, Lady Judith arose, as quietly as she -does everything, and glided to his side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Sir," she said gently, "I pray you, pardon -one word from an old woman. You know years -should teach wisdom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust me, Lady, to listen with all respect," said -he courteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Sir," she said, "when you stand face to face -with death, you will find </span><em class="italics">It</em><span> does not satisfy your -need. You will want </span><em class="italics">Him</em><span>. You are not a thing, but -a person. How can the thing produced be greater -than that which produces it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your pardon, fair Lady and holy Mother!" -interposed Messire Renaud quickly. "I do not object to -designate the Unknowable Essence as Him. Far -from it! I do but say, as the highest minds have -said,—We cannot know. It maybe Him, It, Them:—we -cannot know. We can but bow in illimitable -adoration, and strive to perfect, to purify and -enlighten, our minds, so that they shall grow nearer -and nearer to that ineffable Possibility."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very sad look passed over Lady Judith's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My son," she said, "'if the light that is in thee -be darkness, how great is that darkness!' These -are not my words, but His that died for thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And without another word, she glided back to -her seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot," said I, when she came to undress me, -"is my body or my soul me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To fall and bruise yourself, Damoiselle, would -tell you the one," said she; "and to receive some -news that grieved you bitterly would show you the -other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire Renaud de Montluc says that only my -soul is me; and that my body does not exist at -all,—it only seems to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he say the same of his own body?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes; of all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till he has fleshed his maiden sword," said -Margot. "If he come into my Damoiselle's hands -for surgery[#] with a broken leg and a sword-cut on -the shoulder, let her ask him, when she has dressed -them, whether his body be himself or not."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] All ladies were taught surgery, and practised it, -at this date.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Oh, he says that pain is only imagination," said -I. "If he chose to imagine that he had no pain, it -would stop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good," said Marguerite. "Then let him -set his broken leg with his beautiful imagination. -If he can cure his pain by imagining he has none, -what must he be if he do not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I know what I should think him. But -his father, the Baron de Montluc, will have it just -the opposite—that there is no soul, nor anything -but what we can see and hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! they will both find out their mistakes -when they come to die," said Margot. "Poor blind -things! The good God grant that they may find -them out a little sooner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Guy if he did not think the Baron's -notion a very dangerous one. But while he said -"yes," he added that he thought Messire Renaud's -much more so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is so much more difficult to disprove," said -he. "It may look more absurd on the surface, but -it is more subtle to deal with, and much more profound."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They both look to me very silly," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish they were no worse," was Guy's answer.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To-day we have been to the Church of the Nativity, -at Bethlehem. This is a little city, nearly -two leagues from Jerusalem, that is, half a day's -ride. The way thither is very fair, by pleasant -plains and woods. The city is long and narrow, and -well walled, and enclosed with good ditches on all -sides. Between the city and the church lies the -field Floridus, where of old time a certain maiden -was brought to the burning, being falsely accused. -But she, knowing her innocence, prayed to our Lord, -and He by miracle caused the lighted faggots to turn -into red roses, and the unlighted into white roses; -which were the first roses that were ever in the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The place where our Lord was born is near the -choir of the church, down sixteen steps, made of -marble and richly painted; and under the cloister, -down eighteen steps, is the charnel-house of the -holy Innocents. The tomb of Saint Jerome is -before the holy place. Here are kept a marble -table, on which our Lady ate with the three Kings -that came from the East to worship our Lord; and -the cistern into which the star fell that guided them. -The church, as is meet, is dedicated to our Lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite wanted to know if I were sure that -the table was marble. Because, she said, our Lady -was a poor woman—only imagine such a fancy!—but -she insisted upon it that she had heard Father -Eudes read something about it. As if the Queen -of Heaven, who was, moreover, Queen of the land, -could have been poor! I told Marguerite I was -sure she must be mistaken, for our Lady was a -Princess born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be, of blood," said she; "but she -was poor. Our Lord Himself, when on earth, was -but a villein."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was dreadfully shocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Marguerite!" I cried. "What horrible sacrilege! -Art thou not afraid of the church falling on thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would not alter that if it did," said she drily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our Lord a villein!" exclaimed I. "How is -such a thing possible? He was the King of Kings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is the King of Kings," said Marguerite, so -reverently that I was sure she could mean no ill; -"and He was of the royal blood of Monseigneur -Saint David. That is the Evangel of the nobles. -But He was by station a villein, and wrought as a -carpenter, and had no house and no wealth. That -is the Evangel of the villeins. And the villeins need -their Evangel, Damoiselle; for they have nothing else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not tell what to answer. It is rather -puzzling. I suppose it is true that our Lord was -reputed the son of a carpenter; and he must have -wrought as such,—Monseigneur Saint Joseph, I -mean,—for the Lady de Montbeillard, who is fond -of picking up relics, has a splinter of wood from a -cabinet that he made. But I always thought that it -was to teach religious persons[#] a lesson of humility -and voluntary poverty. It could not be that He -was </span><em class="italics">poor</em><span>!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] By this term a Romanist does not mean what -a Protestant does. -The only "religious persons," in the eyes of the former, -are priests or monks.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then our Lady,—I have seen a scrap of her tunic, -and it was as fine stuff as it could be; and I have -heard, though I never saw it, that her wedding-ring -is set with gems. I said this to Marguerite. How -could our Lady be poor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All that may be," she replied, with quiet -perverseness. "But I know, for all that, Father Eudes -read that our Lord was born in a cratch, or laid in -one, because there was no room in the inn. And -they do not behave in that way to kings and nobles. -That is the lot of the villein. And He chose the -villein's lot; and I, a villein, have been giving Him -thanks for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And nothing that I could say would disturb her -calm conviction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Damoiselle Melisende told me some interesting -things as we rode back to the Holy City. As,—that -Jerusalem is very badly supplied with water, -and the villeins collect and drink only rain-water. -Of course this does not affect the nobles, who drink -wine. About two leagues from Jerusalem, towards -the north, is a little village called Jericho, where -the walls of the house of Madame Saint Rahab are -still standing. She was a great lady who received -into her house certain spies sent by Monseigneur -Saint Joshua, and hid them behind the arras. (Now, -there again!—if that stupid old Marguerite would -not have it that Madame Saint Rahab kept a -cabaret. How could a great lady keep a cabaret? I -wish she would give over listening, if it makes her -take such fancies.) Damoiselle Melisende also told -me that Adam, our first father, was buried in the -place where our Lord was crucified; and our Lord's -blood fell upon him, and he came to life again, and -so did many others. And Adam wept for his son -Abel one hundred years. Moreover, there is a rock -still standing in the place where the wicked Jews -had their Temple, which was in the holiest place -of all; and here our Lord was wont to repose whilst -His disciples confessed themselves to Him.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] All these legends may be found in the -Travels of Sir John Mandeville.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Coming home, we passed by the Golden Gate, -which is the gate whereby our Lord entered the -Holy City on the ass, and the gate opened to Him -of its own accord. Damoiselle Melisende bade me -observe three marks in the stone where the ass had -set his feet. The marks I certainly saw, but I could -not have told that they were the print of an ass's -hoofs. I suppose I was not worthy to behold them -quite distinctly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Guy called me to him this evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little Lynette," he said, "I have something to -tell thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me spare thee the pains, Guy," answered I -mischievously. "Dost thou think I have no eyes? -I saw it the first night we came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Saw what?" asked Guy, with an astonished look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That thy beautiful lady had appeared," I replied. -"Thou art going to wed with Lady Sybil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What fairy whispered it to thee, little witch?" -said Guy, laughing. "Thou art right, Lynette. The -King hath bestowed on me the regency of the -kingdom, and the hand of his fair sister. To-morrow, -in presence of the nobles, I am to be solemnly -appointed Regent: and a month hence, in the -Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I wed with the -Lady Sybil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If thou art happy, Guy, I am very glad," said I; -and I said it honestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Happy? I should think so!" cried he. "To -be Regent of the land of all lands! And she, -Lynette—she is a gem and a treasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure of that, Guy," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, my news is not finished, little sister," -said he. "The King has given Amaury a wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, poor thing!—who is it?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy laughed till his eyes were full of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor thing!—who?" said he. "Amaury or his bride?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the bride, of course," said I. "Amaury won't -care a straw for her, and she will be worried out of -her life if she does not dress to please him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us hope that she will, then," answered Guy, -still laughing. "It is the Damoiselle Eschine -d'Ibellin, daughter of Messire de Rames. Thou -dost not know her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou?—what is she like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, most women are like one another," said -Guy—(what a falsehood!). "Except my fair Lady, -and thee, little Lynette, and the Lady Clémence, -thy fair mother,—a woman is a woman, and that -is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, indeed!" said I, rather indignantly. "A -man is a man, I suppose, and that is all! Guy, I -am astonished at thee. If Amaury had said such -a thing, I should not have wondered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are different, of course," answered Guy. -"But a woman's business is to look pretty and be -attractive. Everybody understands that. Nobody -expects a woman to be over wise or clever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hadst better be quiet, Guy, if thou dost -not want thine ears boxed," said I. "If that is not -a speech enough to vex any woman, I never heard -one. You men are the most aggravating creatures. -You seem to look upon us as a kind of pretty -animal, to be kept for a pet and plaything; and -if you are not too obtuse yourselves to find out -that your plaything occasionally shows signs of a -soul within it, you cry out, 'Look here! This -toy of mine is actually exhibiting scintillations of -something which really looks almost like human -intellect!' Let me tell you, Sir Count, we have -as much humanity, and sense, and individuality, -as yourselves; and rather more independence. -Pretty phrases, and courtly reverences, and professions -of servitude, may sound very well in your ears; -and of those you give us plenty. Does it never -occur to you that we should thank you a great -deal more for a little genuine respect and -consideration? We are </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> toys; we are not pet -animals; we are not pretty pictures. We are human -creatures with human feelings like yourselves. We -can put up with fewer compliments to our complexions, -if you please, and a little more realisation -of our separate consciences and intellects."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ha, Lusignan!'" cried Guy, looking half ashamed -and half amused. "'Sainte Marguerite for Poitou!' Upon -my word, Lynette, I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> had a lecture. I -shall not forget it in a hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said I, "and thou feelest very much as -if Lady Isabel's pet monkey had opened its mouth, -and uttered some wise apothegms upon the rights -of apes. Not that thou hast an atom more respect -for the rights of apes in general, but that thou art -a little astonished and amused with that one ape -in particular."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy went off laughing: and I returned to my embroidery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Really, I never did see any thing like these men. -"Nobody expects a woman to be wise," forsooth! -That is, of course, no man. A woman is nobody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not believe that men like a woman to be wise. -They seem to take it as a personal insult—as though -every spark of intellect added to our brains left -theirs duller. And a woman's mission in life is, </span><em class="italics">of -course</em><span>, to please the men,—not to make the most -of herself as an individual human soul. That is -treason, usurpation, impertinence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They will see what they will see. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can live -without them. And I mean to do.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-perversity-of-people"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">THE PERVERSITY OF PEOPLE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Do one good'! Is it good, if I don't want it done?</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Now do let me grumble and groan:</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>It is all very well other folks should have fun;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But why can't they let me alone?"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Damoiselle Melisende and I have been busy all -morning in laying out dried herbs under the -superintendence of Lady Judith. The herbs of this land -are not like those of Poitou. There was cassia,—of -which one variety,[#] Lady Judith says, is taken -as medicine, to clear the system and purify the -blood,—and garlic, which they consider an antidote -to poison,—and the wild gourd,[#] which is medicine -for the liver,—and hyssop, spikenard, wormwood (a -cure for vertigo), and many others. Two curious -fruits they have here which I never heard of in -Poitou; the one is a dark, fleshy stone-fruit, very -nice indeed, which they call plums or damascenes;[#] -they grow chiefly at Damascus. The other grows -on trees around the Dead Sea, and is the apple of -Sodom, very lovely to the eye, but as soon as you -bite it, you find nothing but a mouthful of ashes. I -was so amused with this fruit that I brought some -home and showed them to Marguerite.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Senna.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Colocynth.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] Introduced into Europe by the Crusaders.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Ah, the world is full of those!" she said, when -she had tried one, and found out what sort of thing -it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art quite mistaken, Margot," said I. -"They are found but in this country, and only in -one particular spot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those that can be seen, very likely," said she. -"But the unseen fruit, my Damoiselle, grows all -over the world, and men and women are running -after it all their lives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I saw what she meant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They have no apples here at all; but citrons and -quinces, which are not unlike apples. The golden -citron[#] is a beautiful fruit, juicy and pleasant; and -Lady Judith says some people reckon it to be the -golden apples of the Hesperides, which were guarded -by dragons, and likewise the "apples of gold," of -which Monseigneur King Solomon speaks in Holy -Writ. There are almonds, and dates, and cucumbers, -and large, luscious figs, and grapes, and melons, -and mulberries, and several kinds of nuts, and olives, -and pomegranates. Quinces are here thought to -make children clever. They make no hay in this -country.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Oranges.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As for their stuffs, there are new and beautiful -ones. Here they weave byssus,[#] and a very fine -transparent stuff called muslin. Crape comes from -Cyprus, and damask from Damascus, whence it is -named. But the fairest of all their stuffs is the -baudekyn, of which we have none in Europe,—especially -the golden baudekyn, which is like golden -samite. I have bought two lovely pieces for Alix, -the one gold-colour, the other blue.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Cotton.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Some very curious customs they have here, which -are not common in Europe. Instead of carrying -lanterns when one walks or rides at night, they hang -out lanterns in the streets, so that all are lighted -at once. It seems to me rather a good idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy has been telling us some strange things -about the Saracens. Of course I knew before that -they worship idols,[#] and deal in the black art; but -it seems that Saladin, when he marches, makes -known his approach by a dreadful machine produced -by means of magic, which roars louder than a lion,[#] -and strikes terror into every Christian ear that is so -unhappy as to be within hearing. This is, of course, -by the machinations of the Devil, since it is -impossible that any true Catholic could be frightened of -a Saracen otherwise.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] All mediæval Christians thought this.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The first drum on record.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We are all very busy preparing for the weddings. -There are to be three, on three successive days. On -the Saturday, Amaury is to be married to Damoiselle -Eschine. (Poor thing!—how I pity her! I -would not marry Amaury to be Empress.) On the -Sunday, Guy weds with Lady Sybil. And on -Monday, Lady Isabel with Messire Homfroy de Tours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think Lady Sybil grows sweeter and sweeter. -I love her,—Oh, so much! She asked me if Guy -had told me the news. I said he had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And dost thou like it, Lynette?" she asked shyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very much indeed," said I,—"if you love him, Lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love him!" she said. And she covered her -face with her hands. "O Lynette, if thou knewest -how well! He is my first love. I was wedded to -my Lord of Montferrat when both of us were little -children; we never chose each other. I hope I did -my best to make him a good and dutiful wife; I -know I tried to do so. But I never knew what love -meant, as concerned him. Never, till </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> came -hither."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I am sure Guy loves her. But—shall I own -to having been the least bit disappointed with what -he said the other day about women?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I should not have cared if Amaury had said it. -I know he despises women—I have noticed that -brainless men always do—and I should not have -expected any thing better. But I did not look for -it from Guy. Several times in my life, dearly as I -love him, Guy has rather disappointed me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why do people disappoint one in that way? Is -it that one sets up too high a standard, and they -fall short of it? I think I will ask Lady Judith -what she thinks. She has lived long enough to know.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I found an opportunity for a chat with Lady -Judith the very next day. We were busy broidering -Lady Sybil's wedding-dress, the super-tunic of which -is to be white baudekyn, diapered in gold, and -broidered with deep red roses. She wears white, on -account of being a widow. Lady Isabel will be in -gold-coloured baudekyn, and my new sister Eschine -in rose damask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have said nothing about Eschine, though she is -here. It was because I had not any thing to say. -Her eyes, hair, and complexion are of no colour in -particular; she is not beautiful—nor ugly: she is -not agreeable—nor disagreeable. She talks very -little. I feel absolutely indifferent to her. I should -think she would just do for Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well!—we were broidering the tunic, Lady -Judith doing the gold, and I the red; and Damoiselle -Melisende had been with us, working the green -leaves, but the Lady Queen sent for her, and she -went away. So Lady Judith and I were left alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother," said I, "give me leave to ask -you a question."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, my child," said she; "any one thou wilt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, holy Mother,—do people ever disappoint -you? I mean, when you fancy you know a man, -does he never surprise you by some action which -you think unworthy of him, and which you would -not have expected from him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's first answer was an amused smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has been disappointing thee, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nobody in particular," said I hastily; for -how could I accuse Guy? </span><em class="italics">Loyauté d'amour</em><span> forbid! -"But I mean in general."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Generals are made of particulars, Helena. But -I have not answered thy question. Yes, certainly -I have known such a feeling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, if it please you, holy Mother, what is the -reason of it?" said I. "Does one set up one's -standard of right, truth, and beauty, too high?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not possible, my child. I should rather -think thou hast set up the man too high."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said I deprecatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast thou ever heard a saying, Helena, that 'a -man sees only that which he brings eyes to see'? -There is much truth in it. No man can understand -a character which is higher or broader than his -own. Admire it he may; enter into it, he cannot. -Human character is a very complicated thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then one may be too low to see a man's character?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True; and one may be too high. A single eye -will never understand a double one.—Or they may -be too far asunder. A miser and a spendthrift are -both in the wrong, but neither of them can feel with -the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But where the temperaments are alike—?" said -I; for I always think Guy and I were cast in the -same mould.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They never are quite alike," she replied. "As -in a shield borne by two brothers, there is always a -difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray you, holy Mother, do you think my brother -Guy and me alike?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alike, yet very different," she said, and smiled. -"Cast from one mould,—yet he on the one side of -it, and thou on the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think is the difference, holy -Mother? May I know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldst thou like to know, Helena?" she said, -and smiled again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I think I can bear to hear my faults," said -I. "My pride is not of that sort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said; "but thou art very proud, little one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said I; "I am noble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith looked suddenly up at me, with a -kind of tender look in her grey eyes, which are so -like, and yet so unlike, Lady Sybil's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little maid, tell me one thing; is thine heart -at rest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never been at rest, holy Mother. I do -not know how to get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear heart; thy shoulder is not under the -yoke. Listen to the words of the Master—thy Lord -and mine. 'Take My yoke upon you, and learn of -Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye -shall find rest unto your souls.' Little maiden, wilt -thou not come and learn of Him? He is the only -one in Heaven or earth who will never disappoint thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rather bitter tears were filling my eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know how!" I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear heart; He knows </span><em class="italics">how</em><span>," said Lady -Judith. "Only tell Him thou art willing to learn -of Him—if thou art willing, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had some thoughts of going into the -cloister," said I. "But—I could not leave Guy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear child, canst thou not learn the lessons of -God, without going into the cloister?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought not," said I. "One cannot serve the -good God, and remain in the world,—can one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, what is the world?" said Lady Judith. -"Walls will not shut it out. Its root is in thine -own heart, little one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—your pardon, holy Mother!—you yourself -have chosen the cloister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my child. I do not say I might not have -done so. But, in fact, it was chosen for me. This -veil has been upon my head, Helena, since I was five -years old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet you would not deny, holy Mother, that a -nun is better than a wife?"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] I trust that I shall not be misunderstood, -or supposed to express -any approbation of conventual life. -At the date of this story, an -unmarried woman who was not a nun was a -phenomenon never seen, and -no woman who preferred single life had any choice -but to be a nun. -In these early times, also, nuns had more liberty, -and monasticism, as -well as religion in general, was free from some -corruptions introduced -in later years. The original nunneries were -simply houses where single -women could live together in comfort and safety, -and were always -seminaries of learning and charitable institutions. -Most of them were -very different places at the date of the dissolution.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Better? I am not so sure. Happier,—yes, I -think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most people would say just the opposite, would -they not?" said I, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most men, and some women," she answered, -with a smile. "But Monseigneur Saint Paul thought -a woman happier who abode without marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I should like best: but how can I, -without being a nun? Perhaps, if I were an eremitess, -like your Nobility, I might still get leave from -my superiors to live with Guy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is always Guy with thee," remarked Lady -Judith, smiling. "Does Guy never disappoint thee, -my child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was on my lips to say, "Oh no!"—but I felt -my cheeks grow hot, and I did not quite like to tell -a downright lie. I am sure Lady Judith saw it, but -she kindly took no notice. However, at this point, -Damoiselle Melisende came back to her leaves, and -we began to talk of something else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Marguerite, at night, if people disappointed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did my Damoiselle expect never to be disappointed?" -she answered, turning the question on -myself at once. (Old people do. They seem to -think one always means one's self, however careful -one may be.) "Then I am afraid she will be disappointed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why?" said I. "Why don't people do -right, as one expects them to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does one always know what is right? As to -why,—there are the world, the flesh, and the Devil, -against it; and if it were not for the grace of the -good God, any one of them would be more than enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The world, the flesh, and the Devil! The -world,—that is other people; and they do provoke one, -and make one do wrong, terribly, sometimes. But -the flesh,—why, that is me. I don't prevent -myself doing right. Marguerite must be mistaken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, what is grace? One hears a great deal -about it; but I never properly understood what it -was. It certainly is no gift that one can see and -handle. I suppose it must be something which the -good God puts into our minds; but what is it? I -will ask Lady Judith and Marguerite. Being old, -they seem to know things; and Marguerite has a -great deal of sense for a villein. Then, having been -my nurse, and always dwelt with nobles, she is not -quite like a common villein; though of course the -blood must remain the same.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I wonder what it is about Lady Isabel which I -do not like. I have been puzzling over it, and I -am no nearer. It feels to me as if there were -something slippery about her. She is very gracious and -affable, but I should never think of calling her -sweet—at least, not sweet like her sister. She -seems just the opposite of Lady Judith, who never -stops to think whether it is her place to do any -thing, but just does it because it wants doing. Lady -Isabel, on the contrary, seems to me to do only -what </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> wants doing. In some inexplicable -manner, she slides out of every thing which she does -not fancy; and yet she so manages it that one -never sees she is doing it at the time. I never -can fathom people of that sort. But I do not like -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for darling Lady Sybil, I love her better and -better every day. I do not wonder at Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of Guy himself I see very little. He is Regent of -the kingdom, and too busy to attend to any thing.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Marguerite," I said, "what is grace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle mean the grace of the good God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it is help," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what sort of help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sort we need at the minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not quite understand," said I. "We -get grace when we receive the good Lord; but we -do not get help. Help for what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If my Damoiselle does not feel that she needs -help, perhaps that is the reason why she does not -get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but we do get it in the holy mass. Can we -receive our Lord, and not receive grace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do we always, and all, receive our Lord?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot! Is not that heresy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! I do not know. If it be truth, it can hardly be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But does not holy Church teach, that whenever -we eat the holy bread, the presence of our Lord -comes down into our hearts?"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Holy Church had gone no further than this in 1183. Bare -transubstantiation was not adopted by authority -till about thirty years later.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I suppose He will come, if we want Him," said -Marguerite thoughtfully. "But scarcely, I should -think, if we ate that bread with our hearts set on -something else, and not caring whether He came -or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was rather afraid to pursue the question with -Margot, for I keep feeling afraid, every now and -then, when she says things of that sort, whether -she has not received some strange, heretical notion -from that man in sackcloth, who preached at the -Cross, at Lusignan. I cannot help fancying that -he must be one of those heretics who lately crept -into England, and King Henry the father had -them whipped and turned out of doors, forbidding -any man to receive them or give them aid. It -was a very bitter winter, and they soon perished of -hunger and cold, as I suppose such caitiffs ought. -Yet some of them were women; and I could not -but feel pity for the poor innocent babes that one -or two had in their arms. And the people who -saw them said they never spoke a bitter word, -but as soon as they understood their penalty, and -the punishment that would follow harbouring them, -they begged no more, but wandered up and down -the snowy streets in company, singing—only fancy, -singing! And first one and then another dropped -and died, and the rest heaped snow over them -with their hands, which was the only burial they -could give; and then they went on, singing,—always -singing. I asked Damoiselle Elisinde de -Ferrers,—it was she who told me,—what they sang. -She said they sang always the holy Psalter, or else -the Nativity Song of the angels,—"Glory to God -in the highest,—on earth peace towards men of -good-will."[#] And at last they were all dead under -the snow but one,—one poor old man, who survived -last. And he went on alone, singing. He tottered -out of the town,—I think it was Lincoln, but I am -not sure,—and as far as men's ears could follow, -they caught his thin, quavering voice, still -singing,—"Glory to God in the highest!" And the next -morning, they found him laid in a ditch, not -singing,—dead. But on his face was such a smile as a -saint might have worn at his martyrdom, and his -eyes gazing straight up into heaven, as if the angels -themselves had come down to help him to finish -his song.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Vulgate version.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] This is the first persecution on record in England -of professing Christians, by professing Christians.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Oh, I cannot understand! If this is heresy and -wickedness, wherein lies the difference from truth -and holiness?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must ask Lady Judith.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Oh dear, why </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> people?—I do think it is too -bad. I never thought of such a thing. If it had -been Amaury, now,—But that Guy, of all people -in all this world—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Come, I had better tell my story straight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was coming down the long gallery after dinner, -to the bower of the Lady Queen, where I meant -to go on with my embroidery, and I thought I -might perhaps get a quiet talk with Lady Judith. -All at once I felt myself pulled back by one of my -sleeves, and I guessed directly who had caught me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Guyon! I have not seen thee for an age!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I want to see thee for a small age," -answered he, laughing. "How many weddings are -there to be next week, Lynette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, three," said I. "Thou wist as well as I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What wouldst thou say to four?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wish them good fortune, so I am not the bride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but suppose thou wert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cry my eyes out, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hitherto Guy had spoken as if he were jesting. -Now he changed his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seriously, Elaine, I am thinking of it. Thou -knowest thou camest hither for that object."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> came hither for that!" cried I in hot indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou wert sent hither, then," answered Guy, half -laughing at my tone. "Do not be so hot, little one. -Monseigneur expects it, I can assure thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art thou going to wed me against my will? O -Guy! I never thought it of thee!" exclaimed I -pitifully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For that was the bitterest drop—that Guy should -be willing to part with me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, my darling Lynette!" said Guy, taking -my hands in his. "Thou shalt not be wed against -thy will, I do assure thee. If thou dost not like -the knight I had chosen, I will never force him upon -thee. But it would be an excellent match,—and -of course I should be glad to see thee comfortably -settled. Thou mightest guess that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Might I! That is just what I never should have -guessed. Do men ever understand women?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Settled,' Guy!" I said. "What dost thou -mean by 'settled'? What is there about me that -is unsettled?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, that is one of thy queer notions," answered -Guy. "Of course, no woman is considered settled -till she marries."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think it was just the most unsettling -thing in the world," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lynette, thou wert born in the wrong age!" -said Guy. "I do not know in what age thou wert -born, but certainly not this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And thou wouldst be glad to lose me, Guy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not glad to lose thee, little one"—I think -Guy saw that had hurt me—"but glad for thine -own sake. Why, Lynette, crying? For what, dear -foolish child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could hardly have told him. Only the world -had gone dark and dreary. I know he never meant -to be unkind. Oh no! I suppose people don't, -generally. They do not find out that they have -hurt you, unless you scream. Nor perhaps then, if -they are making a noise themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear little sister," said Guy again,—and very -lovingly he said it,—"why are all these tears? No -man shall marry thee without thy leave. I am -surprised. I thought women were always ready to -be married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, that was it. He did not understand!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And thou art not even curious to hear whom it -should have been?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would that matter?" said I, trying to -crush back a few more hundreds of tears which -would have liked to come. "But tell me if thou -wilt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Messire Tristan de Montluc," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It flashed on me all at once that Messire Tristan -had tried to take the bridle of my horse,[#] when we -came from the Church of the Nativity. I might -have guessed what was coming.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Then a tacit declaration of love to a lady.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Does that make any difference?" asked Guy, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said I; "none."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the poor fellow is to break his heart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare say it will piece again," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy laughed, and patted me on the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, dry all those tears; there is nothing to -cry about. Farewell!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And away he went, whistling a troubadour song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing to cry about! Yes, that was all he knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went to my own chamber, sent Bertrade out -of it, and finished my cry. Then I washed my face, -and when I thought all traces were gone, I went -down to my embroidery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith was alone in the bower. She looked -up with her usual kind smile as I took the seat -opposite. But the smile gave way in an instant -to a graver look. Ah! she saw all was not right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was silent, and went on working. But in a -minute, without any warning, Lady Judith was -softly singing. The words struck me.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Art thou weary, art thou languid,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Art thou sore distressed?</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Come to Me,' saith One, 'and, coming,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Be at rest.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Hath He marks to lead me to Him,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>If He be my Guide?'</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'In His feet and hands are wound-prints,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And His side.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Is there diadem, as monarch,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>That His brow adorns?'</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Yea, a crown, in very surety,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But of thorns.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"If I find Him, if I follow,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>What His guerdon here?'</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Many a sorrow, many a labour,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Many a tear.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'If I still hold closely to Him,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>What hath He at last?'</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Sorrow vanquished, labour ended,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Jordan past.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'If I ask Him to receive me,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Will He say me nay?'</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Not till earth, and not till heaven,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Pass away.'"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Oh! Your pardon, holy Mother, for interrupting -you," said Damoiselle Melisende, coming in -some haste; "but the Lady Queen sent me to ask -when the Lady Sybil's tunic will be finished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her leaves are finished, but not my roses, nor -Lady Judith's gold diapering. I felt much obliged -to her, for something in the hymn had so touched -me that the tears were very near my eyes again. -Lady Judith answered that she thought it would -be done to-morrow; and Melisende ran off again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast thou heard that hymn before, Helena?" -said Lady Judith, busy with the diaper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never, holy Mother," said I, as well as I could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did it please thee now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It brought the tears into my eyes," said I, not -sorry for the excuse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They had not far to come, had they, little one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked up, and met her soft grey eyes. And—it -was very silly of me, but—I burst into tears -once more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is always best to have a fit of weeping out," -said she. "Thou wilt feel better for it, my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I had—had it out—once," sobbed I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, not quite," answered Lady Judith. "There -was more to come, little one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems so foolish," I said, wiping my eyes at -last. "I do not exactly know why I was crying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those tears are often bitter ones," said Lady -Judith. "For sometimes it means that we dare not -look and see why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought that was rather my position. For -indeed the bitter ingredient in my pain at that -moment was one which I did not like to put into -words, even to myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not that Guy did not love me. Oh no! -I knew he did. It was not even that I did not -stand first in his love. I was ready to yield that -place to Lady Sybil. Perhaps I should not have -been quite so ready had it been to any one else. -But—there was the sting—he did not love me as I -loved him. He could do without me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I could have no comfort from sympathy. -Because, in the first place, the only person whose -sympathy would have been a comfort to me was -the very one who had distressed me; and in the -second place, I had a vague idea underlying my -grief that I had no business to feel any; that every -body (if they knew) would tell me I was -exceedingly silly—that it was only what I ought to have -expected—and all sorts of uncomfortable consolations -of that kind. Was I a foolish baby, crying -for the moon?—or was I a grand heroine of romance, -whose feelings were so exquisitely delicate and -sensitive that the common clay of which other people -were made could not be expected to understand -me? I could not tell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, why must we come out of that sweet old -world where we walked hand in hand, and were all -in all to each other? Why must we grow up, and -drift asunder, and never be the same to one another -any more?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was I wicked?—or was I only miserable?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About the last item at any rate there was no -doubt. I sat, thinking sad thoughts, and trying to -see my work through half-dimmed eyes, when Lady -Judith spoke again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena," she said, "grief has two voices; and -many only hear the upper and louder one. I shall -be sorry to see thee miss that lower, stiller voice, -which is by far the more important of the two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, holy Mother?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear heart," she said, "the louder voice, which -all must hear, chants in a minor key, 'This world is -not your rest.' It is a sad, sad song, more especially -to those who have heard little of it before. But -many miss the soft, sweet music of the undertone, -which is,—'Come unto Me, and I will give you -rest.' Yet it is always there—if we will only listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a thing which is done cannot be undone," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she answered. "It cannot. But can it -not be compensated? If thou lose a necklace of -gilt copper, and one give thee a gold carcanet -instead, hast thou really sustained any loss?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" I answered, almost astonished at my own -boldness. "If the copper carcanet were a love-gift -from the dead, what gold could make up to me for -that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my child!" she replied, with a quick change -in her tone. It was almost as if she had said,—"I -did not understand thee to mean </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>!"—"For -those losses of the heart there is but one remedy. -But there is one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Costly and far-fetched, methinks!" said I, sighing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Costly, ay, in truth," she replied; "but far-fetched? -No. It is close to thee, if thou wilt but -stretch forth thine hand and grasp it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice sank to a low and very reverent tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot!" I sobbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thou couldst not," she said quietly, "until -thou lovest the will of Him that died for thee, better -than thou lovest the will of Hélène de Lusignan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O holy Mother!" I cried. "I could not set up -my will against the good God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldst thou not?" was all she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I done that?" I faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask thine own conscience," replied Lady Judith. -"Dear child, He loved not His will when He came -down from Heaven, to do the will of God His -Father. That will was to save His Church. Little -Helena, was it to save thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I know, holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is worth knowing," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is worth knowing," said I, "but how can -we know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What wouldst thou give to know it? Not that it -can be bought: but what is it worth in thine eyes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought, and thought, but I could not tell -wherewith to measure any thing so intangible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldst thou give up having thine own will for -one year?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know not what might happen in it," said I, -with a rather frightened feeling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, I might marry, or be ill, or die. Or Guy -might give over loving me altogether, in that year. -Oh, I could not, could not will that! And a year -is such a long, long time. No, I could not—for such -a time as that—let myself slip into nothing, as it -were.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena," she said, "suppose, at this moment, -God were to send an angel down to thee from -Heaven. Suppose he brought to thee a message -from God Himself, that if thou wouldst be content -to leave all things to His ordering for one year, and -to have no will at all in the matter, He would see -that nothing was done which should really harm -thee in the least. What wouldst thou say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, then I should dare to leave it!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, if thou art of His redeemed, He has -said it—not for one short year, but for all thy life. -</span><em class="italics">If</em><span>, Helena!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah,—if!" I said with a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith wrought at her gold diapering, and -I at my roses, and we were both silent for a season. -Then the Lady Queen and the Lady Isabel came -in, and there was no further opportunity for quiet -conversation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-little-cloud-out-of-the-sea"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">A LITTLE CLOUD OUT OF THE SEA</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Coming events cast their shadows before."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—CAMPBELL.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is Monday night, and I am,—Oh, so tired!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three grand weddings are over. Very beautiful -sights they were; and very pleasant the feasts -and the dances; but all is done now, and if Messire -Renaud feels any doubt to-night about his body -being himself, I have none about mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine made a capital bride, in the sense in -which a man would use the words. That is, she -looked very nice, and she stood like a statue. I do -not believe she had an idea in her head beyond -these: that she was going to be married, that it was -a very delightful thing, and that she must look well -and behave becomingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Is that the sort of woman that men like? It is -the sort that some men seem to think all women are.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Amaury! If ever I did see a creature more -absurd than he, I do not know who it was. He -fidgetted over Eschine's bridal dress precisely as if -he had been her milliner. At the very last minute, -the garland had to be altered because it did not -suit him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most charming of all the weddings was Guy's. -Dear Lady Sybil was so beautiful, and behaved so -perfectly, as I should judge of a bride's behaviour,—a -little soft moisture dimming her dark eyes, and -a little gentle tremulousness in her sweet lips. Her -dress was simply enchanting,—soft and white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Lady Isabel made the most splendid-looking -bride of the three; for her dress was gorgeous, -and while Lady Sybil's style of beauty is by -far the more artistic and poetical, Lady Isabel's is -certainly the more showy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far as I could judge, the three brides -regarded their bridegrooms with very different eyes. -To Eschine, he was an accident of the rite; a -portion of the ceremony which it would spoil the show -to leave out. To Lady Isabel, he was a new horse, -just mounted, interesting to try, and a pleasant -triumph to subdue. But to Lady Sybil, he was the -sun and centre of all, and every thing deserved -attention just in proportion as it concerned him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I almost hope that Eschine does not love Amaury, -for I feel sure she will be very unhappy if she do. -As to Messire Homfroy de Tours, I do not think -Lady Isabel will find him a pleasant charger. He -is any thing but spirited, and seems to me to have -a little of the mule about him—a creature who -would be given at times to taking the bit in his -teeth, and absolutely refusing to go a yard further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now it is all over,—the pageants, and the -feasts, and the dancing. And I cannot tell why I -am sad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How is it, or why is it, that after one has enjoyed -any thing very much, one always does feel sad?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think, except to the bride and bridegroom, a -wedding is a very sorrowful thing. I suppose Guy -would say that was one of my queer notions. But -it looks to me so terribly like a funeral. There is -a bustle, and a show; and then you wake up, and -miss one out of your life. It is true, the one can -come back still: but does he come back to be yours -any more? I think the instances must be very, -very few in which it is so, and only where both are, -to you, very near and dear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think Marguerite saw I looked tired and sad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There have been light hearts to-day," she said; -"and there have been heavy ones. But the light -of to-day may be the heavy of to-morrow; and the -sorrow of to-night may turn to joy in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do feel sorrowful, Margot; but I do not know why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle is weary. And all great joy -brings a dull, tired feeling after it. I suppose it is -the infirmity of earth. The angels do not feel so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to be an angel," said I. "It must -be so nice to fly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I," said Marguerite; "but not for that -reason. I should like to have no sin, and to see the -good God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear!" said I. "That is just what I should -not like. In the sense of never doing wrong, it -might be all very well: but I should not want never -to have any amusement, which I suppose thou -meanest: and seeing the good God would frighten -me dreadfully."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle remember the time when -little Jacquot, Bertrade's brother, set fire to the -hay-rick by playing with lighted straws?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes, very well. Why, what has that to do -with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does she recollect how he shrieked and struggled, -when Robert and Pierre took him and carried him -into the hall, for Monseigneur himself to judge him -for his naughtiness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes, Margot. I really felt sorry for the -child, he was so terrified; and yet it was half -ludicrous—Monseigneur did not even have him -whipped."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet, if I remember rightly, my Damoiselle was -standing by Monseigneur's side at the very time; -and she did not look frightened in the least. Will -she allow her servant to ask why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I, Margot? I had done nothing wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why is my Damoiselle more like Jacquot -than herself, when she comes to think of seeing the -good God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!—thou wouldst like me to say, Because I -have done wrong, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but I think there was another reason as well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle is Monseigneur's own child. -She knows him. He loves her, and she knows it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we are all children of the good God, Margot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will my Damoiselle pardon me? We are all -His creatures: not all His children. Oh no, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot!" said I suddenly, "didst thou note -that tall, dark, handsome knight, who stood on -Count Guy's left hand,—Count Raymond of Tripoli?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He in the mantle lined with black sable, and -gold-barred scarlet hose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the man I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw him. Why, if it please my Damoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst thou like him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle did not like him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite is very fond of answering one question -by another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not; and I could not tell why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I. But I could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then tell me, Margot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle, every man has a mark upon his -brow which the good God and His angels can see. -But few men see it, and in some it is not easy to -see. Many foreheads look blank to our eyes. But -sooner or later, one of the two marks is certain to -shine forth—either the holy cross of our Lord, or the -badge of the great enemy, the star that fell from -heaven. And what I saw on that man's lofty -brow was not the cross of Christ, but the star of Satan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, thy queer fancies!" said I, laughing. -"Now tell me, prithee, on whose forehead, in this -house, thou seest the cross."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Judith," she answered without the -least hesitation; "and I think, the Lady Sybil. -Let my Damoiselle pardon me if I cannot name -any other, with certainty. I have weak eyes for -such sights. I have hope of Monseigneur Count -Guy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, Margot!" cried I. "Thou uncharitable -old creature, only three! What, not the Lady -Queen, nor the Lady Isabel, nor the holy Patriarch! -Oh, fie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle pardon her servant. The -Lady Queen,—ah, I have no right to say. She -looks blank, to me. The cross may be there, and -I may be blind. But the Patriarch—no! and the -Lady Isabel—the good God forgive me if I sin, but -I believe I see the star on her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And on me?" said I, laughing to hide a curious -sensation which I felt, much akin to mortification. -Yet what did old Marguerite's foolish fancies -matter?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was surprised to see her worn old eyes suddenly -fill with tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sweet Damoiselle!" she said. "The good -God bring out the holy cross on the brow that I love -so well! But as yet,—if I speak at all, I must -speak truth—I have not seen it there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not make out why I did not like the -Count of Tripoli. He is a very handsome man,—even -my partial eyes must admit, handsomer than -Guy. But there is a strange look in his eyes, as if -you only saw the lid of a coffer, and beneath, inside -the coffer, there might be something dark and -dangerous. Guy says he is a splendid fellow; but Guy -always was given to making sudden friendships, and -to imagining all his friends to be angels until he -discovered they were men. I very much doubt the -angelic nature of Count Raymond. I do not like him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But what a queer fancy this is of old Marguerite's—that -Satan puts marks on some people! Yet I -cannot help wishing she had not said that about me. -And I do not think it was very respectful. She -might have said something more civil, whatever she -thought. Marguerite always will speak just as she -thinks. That is like a villein. It would never do -for us nobles.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Guy has now been Regent of the Holy Land for -half a year. Some people seem to fancy that he is -rather too stern. Such a comical idea!—and of -Guy, of all people. I think I know how it is. Guy -is very impulsive in enterprise, and very impetuous -in pursuing it. And he sees that during the King's -illness every thing has gone wrong, and fallen into -disorder; and of course it will not do to let things -go on so. People must be governed and kept in -their places. Of course they must. Why, if there -were no order kept, the nobles and the villeins -would be all mixed up with each other, and some of -the more intelligent and ambitious of the villeins -might even begin to fancy themselves on a par with -the nobles. For there is a sort of intelligence in -some of those people, though it must be of quite a -different order from the intellect of the nobles. I -used to think villeins never were ambitious. But I -have learned lately that some of them do entertain -some such feeling. It must be a most dangerous -idea to get into a villein's head!—though of course, -right and proper enough for a noble. But I cannot -imagine why villeins cannot be contented with their -place. Did not Providence make them villeins?—and -if they have plenty of food, and clothing, and -shelter, and fire, and a good dance now and then on -the village green, and an extra holiday when the -Seigneur's daughter is married, or when his son -comes of age,—what can they possibly want more?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said so to Marguerite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is all the nobles know!" she answered, -quietly enough, but with some fire in the old eyes. -"They do not realise that we are men, just as they -are. God sent us into His world, with just as much, -body and soul, as He did them. We have intellects, -and hearts, and consciences, just like them. ('Just -like'—only fancy!) I trust the good God may not -have to teach it them through pain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they ought to be satisfied," said I. "I am -perfectly content with my place in the world. Why -are they not contented?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easier to be content with velvet than duffle," -said Marguerite more calmly. "It looks better, and -feels softer, too. If my Damoiselle were to try the -duffle for a day, perhaps she would complain that it -felt harsh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To me, very likely," said I. "But a villein would -not have a fine skin like mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The finest skin does not always cover the finest -feelings," said Marguerite in her dry way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a very silly idea! Of course those people -cannot have such feelings as I have. It would be -quite absurd to think so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do think, however, that what vexed me most -of any thing, was that Amaury—that silly little -boy!—should take it into his head to lecture Guy on -the way he chose to govern. As if he could know -anything about it! Why, he is two whole years -younger than Guy. I told him so, feeling really -vexed at his impudence; and what should he say -but that I was seven years younger than he. I -know that, but I am a woman; and women have -always more sense than men. At least, I have -more sense than Amaury. I should be an idiot if -I had not.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have made a discovery to-day which has -astonished me. Lady Judith has a whole Bible, and -Psalter too, of her own, not written in Latin, but -in her own tongue in which she was born,—that is, -Greek. And she says that a great part of the -Bible—all the holy Evangels, and the writings of -Messeigneurs the holy Apostles—were originally -written in Greek. I always thought that holy -Scripture had been written in Latin. I asked her -if Latin were not the language the holy angels -spoke, and our Lord, when He was upon earth. -She answered, that she did not think we knew what -language the holy angels spoke, and she should -doubt if it were any tongue spoken on earth: but -that the good God, and Messeigneurs the holy -Apostles, she had no doubt at all, spoke Greek. It -sounds very strange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Isabel has had a violent quarrel with her -lord, and goes about with set lips and her head -erect, as if she were angry with every one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I almost think Eschine improves upon acquaintance. -Not that I find her any cleverer than I -expected, but I think she is good-natured, and seems -to have no malice in her. If Amaury storms—as -he does sometimes—she just lets the whirlwind -blow over her, and never gives him a cross word. I -could not do that. I suppose that is why I admire -it in Eschine.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A young nun came this morning to visit Lady -Judith—one of her own Order. I could not quite -understand their conversation. Sister Eudoxia—for -that is her name—struck me as being the -holiest religious person I have ever seen. She spoke -so beautifully, I thought, about the perfection one -could attain to in this life: how one's whole heart -and soul might be so permeated with God, that one -might pass through life without committing any -deed of sin, or thinking any evil thought. Not, of -course, that I could ever attain to such perfection -But it sounded very beautiful and holy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was quite surprised to see how constrained, and -even cool, Lady Judith was. It was only yesterday -that she assented warmly to old Marguerite's -saying that no one who served God could love any -kind of sin. But with Sister Eudoxia—who spoke -so much more charmingly on the same subject—she -sat almost silent, and when she did speak, it -seemed to be rather in dissent than assent. It -puzzled me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Sister Eudoxia was gone, Lady Sybil said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what happiness, if one could attain to the -perfection of living absolutely without sin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall," answered Lady Judith. "But it will -not be in this world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Sister Eudoxia says it might be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my poor Sister Eudoxia!" said Lady -Judith sadly. "She has taken up with a heresy -nearly as old as Christianity itself, and worse than -than that of Messire Renaud de Montluc, because -it has so much more truth in it. Ay, so much -mixture of truth, and so much apparent loveliness, -that it can be no wonder if it almost deceive the -very elect. Beware of being entangled in it, my -children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heresy, holy Mother!" cried Lady Sybil, with -a shocked look. "I thought I had never heard any -one ascribe more of the glory of our salvation to -God than she did. For she said that every thing -was done for us by the good Lord, and that even -our perfection was wrought by Him for us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And not by Him in us," said Lady Judith. -"The very point of the heresy, my child. Eudoxia -sees no distinction between the righteousness done -for us, which is our ground of justification before -God, and the holiness wrought in us, which is our -conformity to His image. The first was finished -on the rood, eleven centuries ago: the second goes -on in the heart of every child of God, here and -now. She is one of those who, without intending -it, or even knowing that they do it, do yet sadly fail -to realise the work of the Holy Ghost.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how much she spoke of the blessed Spirit!" -objected Lady Sybil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My daughter," said Lady Judith, with a smile, -"hast thou not yet found out the difference between -names and things? There are many men who -worship God most devoutly, but it is a God they -have made to themselves. Every man on earth is -ready to love and serve God with his whole heart,—if -he may set up God after his own pattern. And -what that really means is, a God as like as possible -to himself: who will look with perfect complacency -on the darling sins which he cherishes, and may -then be allowed to condemn with the utmost sternness -all evil passions to which he is not addicted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> shocking, holy Mother!" said -Lady Sybil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are all liable to the temptation," replied -Lady Judith, "and are apt to slide into it ere we -know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We all wrought for a little time in silence, when -Lady Sybil said, "What do you call that heresy, -holy Mother, into which you say that Sister -Eudoxia has fallen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If thou wilt look into the vision of the Apostle, -blessed John, called the Apocalypse," answered -Lady Judith, "thou wilt see what Christ our Lord -calls it. 'This thou hast, that thou rejectest the -teaching of the Nicolaitanes, which I hate."'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I thought," said Lady Sybil, looking rather -surprised, "that those Nicolaitanes, who were -heretics in the early Church, held some very horrible -doctrines, and led extremely wicked lives? The -holy Patriarch was speaking of them, not long ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my child," said Lady Judith, "men do not -leap, but grow, into great wickedness. Dost thou -not see how the doctrine works? First, it is -possible to live and do no sin. Secondly, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can live -and do no sin. Thirdly, I do live and not sin. -Lastly, when this point is reached,—Whatever my -spiritual instinct does not condemn—I being thus -perfect—cannot be sin. Therefore, I may do what -I please. If I lie, murder, steal—which would be -dreadful sins in another—they are no sins in me, -because of my perfection. And is this following -Christ?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly not! But does Sister Eudoxia really -imagine that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no!" responded Lady Judith. "She has -not reached that point. Comparatively few get so -far on the road as that. But that is whither the -road is leading them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what is the root of the heresy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That which I believe lies at the root of every -heresy—rejecting God's Word, that we may keep -our own traditions. The stem may perhaps consist -of two things; the want of sufficient lowliness, and -the want of a right knowledge of sin. It is not -enough realised that a man's conscience, like all else -in him, has been injured by the fall, but conscience -is looked on as a heavenly judge, still in its original -purity. This, as thou mayest guess, leads to -depreciation of the Word of God, and exaltation of the -conscience over the Word. And also, it is not -properly seen that while a man lives, the flesh shall -live with him, and the flesh and the renewed spirit -must be in perpetual warfare to the end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we know——" said Lady Sybil,—and there -she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'We know'!" repeated Lady Judith, with a -smile. "Ah, my child, we think we know a great -deal. And we are like children playing on the -seashore, who fancy that they know all that is in the -sea, because they have scooped up a little sea-water -in their hands. There are heights and depths in -God's Word and in God's purposes, which you and -I have never reached yet,—which perhaps we shall -never reach. 'For as the heaven is high above the -earth, so are His ways higher than our ways, and -His thoughts than our thoughts.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was curious to know what Marguerite would -say: she always agrees so strangely with Lady -Judith, even when they have not talked the matter -over at all. So I said, when I went up to change -my dress—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, dost thou commit sin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle thinks me so perfect, then?" -said she, with a rather comical look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not help laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, not quite, when thou opposest my will," -said I; "but dost thou know, there are some people -who say that they live without sin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be, when to contradict the holy -Evangels is a mark of perfection," said Marguerite -drily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what hast thou heard about that in thy -listening, Margot?" said I, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The first thing I heard perplexed me," said she. -"It was of Monseigneur Saint John, who said that -he that is born of God doth not commit sin: and it -troubled me sorely for a time, since I knew I did -sin, and feared lest I was therefore not born of God. -But one day, Father Eudes read again, from the -very same writing, that 'If any man sin, we have an -Advocate with the Father,' and likewise that if we -say we have no sin, we are liars. So then I thought, -Well! how is this? Monseigneur the holy Apostle -would not contradict himself. But still I could not -see how to reconcile them, though I thought and -thought, till my brain felt nearly cracked. And all -at once, Father Eudes read—thanks be to the good -God!—something from Monseigneur Saint Paul, -which put it all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I could not get it by heart. It was too -difficult, and very long. But it was something like -this: that in a Christian man there are two hearts, -of which the one, which is from God, does not sin -at all; and the other, which is the evil heart born -in us, is always committing sin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Margot, which of thy two hearts is thyself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! I cannot answer such questions. The good -God will know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But art thou sure those are not wicked people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, no. Monseigneur Saint Paul said 'I' -and 'me' all through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but, Margot!—he could not have meant himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he had not meant what he said, I should think -he would have mentioned it," said Marguerite in her -dry, quaint style.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, a holy Apostle is different, of course," said -I. "But it looks very odd to me, that anybody -living now should fancy he never does wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the poor soul!" said Marguerite. "The -good God knows better, if he do not."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="as-good-as-most-people"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">AS GOOD AS MOST PEOPLE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">The best way to see Divine light is to put out your own candle.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This morning the Lady Princess of Antioch visited -the Lady Queen, and remained for the day, taking -her departure only just before the gates were closed, -for she preferred to camp out at night. She is quite -young, and is a niece of the Lady Queen. After -she was gone, we were talking about her in the -bower, and from her we came to speak of the late -Princess, her lord's mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray do not talk of her!" said Lady Isabel. -"She made herself a bye-word by her shameless -behaviour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only thoughtless," remonstrated Lady Sybil -gently. "I never thought she deserved what was -said of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no!—you never think anybody does," sneered -her sister. "I could not have associated with such -a woman. She must have known what was said of -her. I wonder that she was brazen enough to show -herself in public at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But think, Isabel! I do not believe she did -know. You know she was not at all clever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was half-witted, or not much better," was -the answer. "Oh yes, I know that. But she must -have known."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think she did!" said Lady Sybil earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she ought to have known!" sharply replied -Lady Isabel. "I wonder they did not shut her -up. She was a pest to society."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Isabel!" deprecated her sister. "She was -very good-natured."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sybil, I never saw any one like you! You would -have found a good word for Judas Iscariot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly," said Lady Sybil, just as gently as -before. "But perhaps I might have helped finding -evil ones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are pearl-gatherers and dirt-gatherers," -quietly remarked Lady Judith, who had hitherto -listened in silence. "The latter have by far the -larger cargo, but the handful of the former outweighs -it in value."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, holy Mother?" inquired -Lady Isabel, turning quickly to her—rather too -sharply, I thought, to be altogether respectful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only 'let her that thinketh she standeth, take -heed lest she fall,'" said Lady Judith, with a quiet -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" said Lady Isabel, with a world of meaning -in her tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child," was the reply, "they that undertake -to censure the cleanness of their neighbours' robes, -should be very careful to avoid any spot on the -purity of their own. Dost thou not remember our -Lord's saying about the mote and the beam?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Lady Isabel, bringing her scissors -together with a good deal of snap, "I think that -those who associate with such people as the Princess -Constantia bring a reflection on their own characters. -Snow and soot do not go well together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The soot defiles the snow," responded Lady -Judith. "But it does not affect the sunbeam."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand you," said Lady Isabel bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those who confide in their own strength and -goodness, Isabel, are like the snow,—very fair, until -sullied; but liable to be sullied by the least speck. -But those who take hold of God's strength, which is -Christ our Lord, are the sunbeam, a heavenly -emanation which cannot be sullied. Art thou the snow, -or the sunbeam, my child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear! I cannot deal with tropes and figures, -in that style," answered she, rising. "And my work -is finished; I am going now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I fancied she did not look very sorry for it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Great events are happening. The Lord King, -finding his malady grows rather worse than better, -has resolved to abdicate, in favour of his nephew, -Lady Sybil's baby son. So to-morrow Beaudouin V. is -to be proclaimed throughout the Holy City, and -on the Day of Saint Edmund the King,[#] he will be -crowned in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. They -say the Lord King was a very wise man before he -became a mesel; and he will still give counsel when -needed, the young King being but three years old.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Nov. 20.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I do not quite see what difference the abdication -will make. Guy must still remain Regent for -several years, and the only change is that he will -govern for his step-son instead of his brother-in-law. -And I feel a little jealous that Lady Sybil should -be passed by. She, not her son, is the next heir of -the crown. Why must she be the subject of her own -child, who ought to be hers? I really feel vexed -about it; and so does Guy, I am sure, though he -says nothing—at least to me. As to Lady Sybil -herself, she is so meek and gentle, that if a beggar in -the street were put over her head, I believe she -would kneel to do her homage without a cloud on -her sweet face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, I felt at liberty to say what I thought -to Amaury, though I seldom do it without being -annoyed by his answer. And certainly I was now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She! She's a woman," said Messire Amaury. -"What does a woman know about governing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does a baby know?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but he will be a man some day," answered -Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Guy will govern in either case," I replied, -trying not to be angry with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He is so silly, and he thinks himself so supremely -wise! I do believe, the more foolish people are, the -wiser they think themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" said he. "Saving your presence, Damoiselle -Elaine, I am not so sure that Guy knows much -about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amaury, thou art an idiot!" cried I, quite -unable to bear any longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe thou hast told me that before," he -returned with provoking coolness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dashed away, for I knew I might as well talk -to Damoiselle Melisende's pet weasel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not like the Count of Tripoli. The more -I see of him, the less I like him. And I do not -like his fawning professions of friendship for Guy. -Guy does not see through it a bit. I believe he -only means to use Guy as a ladder by which to -climb himself, and as soon as he is at the top, he -will kick the ladder down behind him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Did I not say that Amaury was an idiot? And -is it not true? Here is our sister Eschine the -mother of a pretty little baby, and instead of being -thankful that Eschine and the infant are doing -well, there goes Amaury growling and grumbling -about the house because his child is a girl. Nay, -he does more, for he snarls at Eschine, as if it were -her fault, poor thing!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She knows I wanted a boy!" he said this morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men are such selfish simpletons!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To see how coolly Eschine takes it is the strangest -thing of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid he would be disappointed," she -said calmly. "You see, men don't think much of -girls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are all donkeys," said I, "and Amaury -deserves to be king of the donkeys."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine seemed to think that very funny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Elaine, I cannot let thee say that of my -lord, and sit silent. And I think Messire Homfroy -de Tours quite as well qualified for the position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said I, "but Lady Isabel keeps her curb -much tighter than thou. I really feel almost sorry -for him sometimes, when she treats him like a baby -before all the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She may do that once too often," said Eschine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amaury means to call the baby Héloïse—for a -reason which would never have occurred to any -one but himself—because we have not had that -name in the family before. And Eschine smilingly -accepts it, as I believe she would Nebuchadnezzar -if he ordered her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To-day the little King was crowned in the Church -of the Holy Sepulchre, at noon; and in the evening -the Damoiselle Héloïse de Lusignan was baptized -into the Fold of Christ. The King was very good: -I think he inherits much of his mother's sweet -disposition. I cannot say as much for my small niece, -for she cried with all her heart when the holy -Patriarch took her in his arms; and he said it -showed that Satan must have taken strong possession -of her, and was very hard to dislodge. But no -sooner had the holy cross been signed on her, and -the holy Patriarch gave her back into the arms of -her nurse, than, by the power of our Lord, she was -quite another creature, and did not utter a single -cry. So wonderful and effectual a thing is the grace -of holy baptism!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much effect it took on thee, then," growled -Amaury, to whom I said this; "for thou didst wait -until the water touched thy face, and then didst set -up such screams as never were heard from mortal -babe before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What dost thou know about it?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Don't I?" answered he provokingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have been amused to hear the different ideas of -various people, when they first see the baby. The -Lady Queen stroked its little face, and said -pitifully—"Ah, poor little child, thou art come into -a disagreeable world!" Lady Judith took it in -her arms, and after rocking it a little, she -said—"What possibilities lie hidden here!" Lady Sybil -said—"Little darling! what a treasure thou art!" Lady -Isabel's comment (for which I shall never -forgive her) was—"What an ugly little spectacle! -Are young babies no prettier?" Damoiselle -Melisende danced it up and down, and sang it a -lively nursery song. Guy (like a man) said, with an -amused look, "Well! that is a funny little article. -Héloïse?—that means 'hidden wisdom,' does it -not? Very much hidden just now, I should -think." Amaury (that stupid piece of goods!)—"Wretched -little creature! Do keep it from crying!" And -lastly, old Marguerite came to see her nursling's -nursling's nursling. I wondered what she would -say. She took it in her arms, and looked at it for -some time without speaking. And then she said -softly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little child! He that was once a little Child, -bless thee! And may He give thee what He sees -best. That will most likely be something different -from what we see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Marguerite!" said I. "That may be an early -death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would be the best of all, my Damoiselle.[#] Ah! the -eyes of a noble maiden of seventeen years -see not so far as the eyes of a villein woman of -seventy. There are good things in this world—I -do not deny it. But the best thing is surely to be -safe above this world,—safe with the good Lord."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] It would have been well for Héloïse, who bears a spotted -reputation in history.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I do not want to lose my baby, Margot," said -Eschine, with a rather sad smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah no, Dame, </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> do not," replied Marguerite, -answering the smile with a brighter one. "But if -the good Lord should call her, it is best to let her -rise and go to Him."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Again we hear something more of those strange -rumours, as though the people were not content -under Guy's government. But what does it signify? -They are only villeins. Yet villeins can insult -nobles, no doubt. Sister Eudoxia (who was here -again yesterday) says they actually talk of a -petition to the King, to entreat him to displace Guy, -and set some one else in his stead. The thought -of their presuming to have an idea on the question! -As if </span><em class="italics">they</em><span> could understand anything about -government! Discontented under Guy! my Guy! They -are nothing better than rebels. They ought to be -put down, and kept down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lady Queen has received a letter from her -kindred at Byzantium, from which she hears that -the young Byzantine Cæsar, who is but a child, -has been wedded to a daughter of the Lord King -of France. Dame Agnes is her name, and she is -but eight years old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if it is very, very wicked to hate people? -Old Marguerite will have it that it is just as bad -as murder, and that the holy Evangel says so. I -am sure she must have listened wrong. For I do -hate Count Raymond of Tripoli. And I can't help -it. I must and will hate him. He has won Guy's -ear completely, and Guy sees through his eyes. I -cannot bear him, the fawning, handsome scoundrel—I -am sure he is one! They say, too, that he is -not over good to his wife, for I am sorry to say he -has a wife; I pity her, poor creature!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith asked me, when I repeated this, who -"they" were.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know, holy Mother," said I; "every -body, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would not put too much faith in 'them,' -Helena," she said. "'They' often say a great deal -that is not true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But one must attend to it, holy Mother!" I answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, because it would never do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would never do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To despise the opinion of society."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she gently persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Really, I found it rather difficult to say why.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Methinks, Helena, I have seen thee despise the -opinion of society, when it contradicted thy will. -Is it not more reasonable to despise it, when it -contradicts God's will?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, I pray you, tell me—is that the -world?" said I. "Because my nurse, old -Marguerite, says, that Monseigneur Saint John bade us -beware of the world, and the flesh, as well as the -Devil: and I am not quite sure what it means, -except that the world is other people, and the flesh -is me. But how can I be inimical to my own salvation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child," said Lady Judith gently, "when some -duty is brought to thy remembrance, is there nothing -within thee which feels as if it rose up, and -said, 'Oh, but I do not want to do that!'—never, -Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes! very often," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is the flesh," said she. "And 'they that -are of Christ the flesh have crucified, with its -passions and its lusts.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear!" I exclaimed, almost involuntarily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very unpleasant, is it not?" said Lady Judith, -smiling. "Ah, dear child, the flesh takes long in -dying. Crucifixion is a very slow process; and -a very painful process. They that are not willing -to 'endure hardness' had better not enlist in the -army of Jesus Christ."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is what I always thought," said I; -"religious persons cannot be very happy. Of course, -it would not be right for them; they wait till the -next world. And yet—old Marguerite always seems -happy. I do not quite understand it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Child!" Lady Judith dropped her broidering, -and the deep, sweet grey eyes looked earnestly into -mine. "What dost thou know of happiness? -Helena, following Christ is not a hardship; it is a -luxury. The happiness—or rather the mirth—of -this world is often incompatible with it; but it is -because the one is so far above the other that it -extinguishes it, as the light of the sun extinguishes -the lamp. Yet who would prefer the lamp before -the sunlight? Tell me, Helena, hast thou any wish -to go to Heaven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, holy Mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what dost thou expect to find there? I -should be glad to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could hardly tell where to begin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I said, after a moment's thought, "I -expect to fly, and to enjoy myself intensely; and never -to have another pain, nor shed a tear; and to see -all whom I love, and be always with them, and love -them and be loved by them for ever and ever. And -there will be all manner of delights and pleasures. -I cannot think of anything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that is thy Heaven?" said Lady Judith, -with a smile in which I thought the chief -ingredient was tender compassion, though I could not -see why. "Ah, child, it would be no Heaven at all -to me. Verily, 'as a man thinketh in his heart, so -is he.' Pleasure, and ease, and earthly love—these -are thy treasures, Helena. 'For where thy treasure -is, there shall thine heart be.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what is the matter with my Heaven?" said -I, feeling a little aggrieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, my child, thou hast left out the central -figure. What were a coronation if there were no -king? or a wedding where there were no bride? -Why, what was left would be equivalent to nothing. -Ask thine old nurse, and see if thy Heaven would -satisfy her. Ah, 'whom have we in Heaven but -</span><em class="italics">Thee</em><span>? and there is none upon earth that we desire -in comparison of Thee!' Old Marguerite understands -that. Dost thou, my maiden?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shook my head. I felt too mortified to speak. -To have a poor, ignorant villein woman held -up to me, as knowing more than I knew, and -being happier than I, really was humiliating. Yet -I could not resent it from one so high as Lady -Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith would have said more, I fancy, but -Melisende came in, and she quietly dropped the -matter, as she generally does if any third person -enters. But the next morning, as Marguerite was -dressing my hair, I asked her what her notion of -Heaven was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Inside with the blessed Lord, and the Devil and -all the sins and evil things left outside," she said. -"Ah, it will be rest to be rid of evil; but it will be -glory to be with the Lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the pleasures, and the flying, and all the -delightful things, Margot!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, that will be very nice," she admitted. -"And to meet those whom we have lost—that will -be the very next best thing to seeing the good Lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast thou lost many whom thou hast loved, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no—very few, compared with some. My -mother, and my husband, and my two children:—that -is all. I never knew my father, and I was an -only child. But it may be, the fewer one has to -love, the more one loves them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An only child!" said I. "But Perette calls thee aunt?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, she is my husband's niece,—the same thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think Marguerite seems to agree with Lady -Judith, though of course she does not express -herself so well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I cannot help wondering how they arrange -in Heaven. I suppose there will be thrones nearest -the good Lord for the kings and the princes who -will be there: and below that, velvet settles for the -nobles; and beneath again, the crowd of common -people. I should think that would be the arrangement. -Because, of course, no one could expect -them to mingle all together. That would be really -shocking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I cannot altogether make it out. If Messeigneurs -the holy Apostles were originally fishermen, -and worked for their living—it is very queer. I do -not understand it. But I suppose the holy angels -will take care to put it right, and have a proper -barrier between the Apostles and the nobles, and the -poor villeins, who are admitted of special grace, -through their own good deeds, and the -super-abundant merits of the holy saints.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the afternoon, when Guy was in audience of -the Lord King and the Lady Queen, and Lady -Isabel and Melisende were riding forth, with -Messire Homfroy and Amaury as their cavaliers, -I found Lady Judith and Lady Sybil busy spinning, -and I brought my broidery and sat down with them. -We did not talk much for a while,—only a few words -now and then: when all at once Lady Judith said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, wilt thou try this needle for thy work?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took the needle, and threaded it, and set to work -again: but I found to my surprise that I could not -get on at all. The needle would hardly go through -the silk, and it left an ugly hole when it did. Lady -Judith went on with her spinning for a few minutes, -but at length she looked up and said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Helena, how dost thou like that needle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all, holy Mother, if it please you," said I, -"for I cannot get on with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She selected another, and gave it me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, this is beautiful for broidery!" I said; "so -fine and sharp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the answer to a question thou wert asking -me yesterday," said Lady Judith, "and I gave thee -no reply. Canst thou guess what the question was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not, and said so. I did not remember -asking anything that had to do with needles, and I -never thought of any hidden meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy question was, What is the world?—and, -what harm does the world do to us? That needle -that I first gave thee has its point blunted. And -that is what the world does to a child of God. It -blunts his point."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little Helena," said Lady Judith, "before a -point can be blunted, there must be one to blunt. -Thou couldst not sew with a wooden post. So, before -the world can injure thy spiritual life, there must -be spiritual life to injure. There is no poison that -will harm a dead man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, holy Mother, are there two worlds?" said -I. "For religious persons give up the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, thine heart is a citadel which the foe -can never enter, unless there be a traitor within the -walls to open the postern gate. But there is such a -traitor, Helena; and he is always on the watch. -Be thou ever on the watch too. Yet another matter -stands first:—Who reigns in thy citadel? Hast -thou ever given thine heart to God, maiden?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can I give my heart, holy Mother? It seems -to me that love is rather like a plant that grows, -than like a treasure that is given."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art right: but the planting must be -sometime. Hast thou ever asked God to take thine -heart? For as a holy man of old hath said,—'If -Thou leave me to myself, I shall not give it Thee.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shook my head. It all sounded strange to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the usurper is in the citadel, dear child, he -will hold the gates against the rightful King: and, -Helena, there are no traitors in His camp. Thou -art not a sword, nor a shield, which can do nothing -of itself; but a human creature with a living will, -which can choose either to open the gates to the -King, or to shut them against His trumpeter when -He sends thee summons to surrender. Nay, thou -not only canst choose; thou must: at this moment, -at every moment, thou art choosing. What message -hast thou sent back to thy rightful Lord, both by -right and purchase? Is it 'Come Thou, and reign -over me;' or is it, 'Go back to Thy place, for I will -have none of Thee'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I would willingly not have answered: but I felt it -would be to fail in respect to Lady Judith's age and -position. I stammered out something about hoping -that I should make my salvation some time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, didst thou ever do any thing at any -time but </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>?" said Lady Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose that is true; for it is always now, when -we actually come to do it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, holy Mother, there is so much to give up if -one becomes religious!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is there to give up, that thou couldst take -with thee into Heaven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there will be things in Heaven to compensate," -said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is there nothing in Christ to compensate?" -she replied, with a momentary flash in the grey eyes. -"What is Heaven but God? 'The City had no need -of the sun, for the glory of God did lighten her:' -'and temple I saw none in her, for the Lord God the -Almighty is Temple to her, and the Lamb.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Sybil seemed interested; but I must -confess that I thought the conversation had assumed a -very disagreeable tone; and I wondered how it was -that both Lady Judith and my old Marguerite spoke -to me as if they thought I did not serve God. It is -very strange, when I hear the holy mass sung every -morning, and I have only just offered another -neuvaine at the Holy Sepulchre. However, Easter -will soon be here, and I mean to be very attentive -to my devotions throughout the Holy Week, and -see if that will satisfy Lady Judith. I don't want her -to think ill of me. I like her too well for that, -though I do wish she would not talk as if she -fancied I did not serve God. I am sure I am quite -as good as most people, and that is saying a great -deal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, it can never be wrong to hate people. It -can't be, and it shan't! And I just wish I could -roast that Count of Tripoli before the fire in the -Palace kitchen till he was done to a cinder. I am -white-hot angry; and like Jonah the Prophet, I do -well to be angry. The mean, fawning, sneaking, -interloping rascal! I knew what he meant by his -professions of love and friendship! Guy's eyes were -shut, but not mine. The wicked, cruel, abominable -scoundrel!—to climb up with Guy's help to within -an inch of the top where he sat, and then to leap the -inch and thrust him out of his seat! I cannot find -words ugly enough for him. I hate, hate, hate him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To have supplanted my Guy! After worming -himself into the confidence of the Lord King, -through Guy's friendship—ay, there is the sting!—to -have carried to the King all the complaints that -he heard against Guy, until he, poor helpless -Seigneur! (I don't feel nearly so vexed with him) really -was induced to believe Guy harsh and incapable, -and to take out of his hands the government of the -kingdom. And then he put in that serpent, that -false Judas, that courtly hypocrite—Oh dear! I -cannot find words to describe such wickedness—and -he is Regent of the Holy Land, and Guy must kneel -to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could cut him in slices, and enjoy doing it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am angry with Melisende, who can find nothing -to say but—"Ah, the fortune of Courts—one down -to-day, another up to-morrow." And I am almost -angry with Marguerite, who says softly—"Hush, -then, my Damoiselle! Is it not the good God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, it is not. It is the Devil who sends sorrow -upon us, and makes us hate people, and makes -people be hateful. I am sure the good God never -made Count Raymond do such wicked things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of casting Adam and Eva out of Paradise,—Oh -why, why did the good God not cast out the Devil?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is my Damoiselle so much wiser than the -Lord?" quietly asks Marguerite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot understand it. The old cry comes up to -me again,—Oh, if I could know! Why cannot I -understand?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Lady Judith lays her soft hand on my -head, and says words which I know come from the -holy Evangel,—"'What I do, thou knowest not -now.'" Ay, I know not I must not know. I -can only stretch forth appealing hands into the -darkness, and feel nothing. Not like her and -Marguerite. They too stretch forth helpless hands into -the darkness, but they find God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be a very different thing. Why cannot I -do the same? Is He not willing that I should find -Him too?—or am I not worthy?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose it must be my fault. It seems as if -things were always one's own fault. But I do not -think they are any better on that account; especially -when you cannot make out where your fault lies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy behaves like a saint. He does not see any -fault in Count Raymond: I believe he won't. Lady -Sybil, poor darling! looks very grieved; but not -one word of complaint can I get her to utter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to Amaury, when I have quite finished slicing -up the Count, if he does not mind, I shall begin -with him. What does he say but—"Well, a great -deal of it is Guy's own fault. Why wasn't he more -careful? Surely, if he has any sense, he might -expect to be envied and supplanted, when he had -climbed to such a height."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he has any sense!" Pretty well for Messire Amaury!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="elaine-finds-more-than-she-expected"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">ELAINE FINDS MORE THAN SHE EXPECTED</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And when I know not what Thou dost,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>I'll wait the light above."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—DODDRIDGE.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Both Guy and Lady Sybil are in a state of the -highest ecstasy, and say that they are abundantly -recompensed for all their past disappointments. -And this is because they are disappointed just like -Amaury, but they bear it in as different a style as -possible. I think, if I were they, I should consider -I had more right to be troubled of the two, for little -Héloïse is a strong child enough, and is growing -almost pretty: while dear Lady Sybil's baby girl is -a little delicate thing, that the wind might blow -away. Of course I shall love her far better, just -because she is Guy's and Sybil's; and she crept -into the warmest corner of my heart when she -showed me her eyes—not Lady Sybil's gentle grey, -but those lovely flashing dark eyes of Guy's; the -most beautiful eyes, I think, that were ever seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite, is not she charming?" I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, the little children always are," said the old -woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>(I don't agree with her—little children can be -great teases.) But Marguerite had more to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle sees they are yet innocent of -actual sin; therefore they are among the best things -in God's world. I may be wrong, but I think the -good God must have been the loveliest babe ever -seen. How I should have liked to be there!—if -the holy Mother would have allowed me to hold -Him in my arms!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I suppose only the holiest saints would be -allowed to touch Him," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure, if my Damoiselle will pardon -me. She was no saint, surely, that crept into the -Pharisee's house to break the casting-bottle[#] on -His feet; yet the hardest word she had from Him -was 'Go in peace.' Ah, I thank the good God -that His bidding is not, 'Come unto Me, all ye that -are holy.' There are few of us would come, if it -were! But 'Come unto Me, all ye that are weary'—that -takes us all in. For we are all weary some -time. The lot of a woman is a weary lot, at the -best."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Used to sprinkle perfumes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, it may be, among the villeins," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle, I never saw more bitter tears -than those of the old Lady de Chatelherault—mother -of the Lady de Lusignan—when her fair-haired -boy was brought in to her in the bower, with -the green weeds in his long bright hair, and the -gold broidery of his velvet tunic tarnished by the -thick stagnant water. Early that morning he had -been dancing by her, with the love-light in his -beautiful blue eyes; and now, when the dusk fell, -they laid him down at her feet, drowned and dead, -with the light gone out of the blue eyes for ever. -Ah, I have seen no little sorrow amongst men and -women in my seventy years!—but I never saw a -woman look, more than she did, as if she had lost -the light of life. The villeins have a hard lot, as -the good God knows; but all the sorrow of life is not -for the villeins—no, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How oddly she puts things! I should never have -thought of supposing that the villeins had any -sorrow. A certain dull kind of coarse grief, or tired -feeling, perhaps, they may have at times, like -animals: but sorrow surely is a higher and finer thing, -and is reserved for the nobles. As to old Marguerite -herself, I never do quite think of her as a villein. -She has dwelt with nobles all her life, so to speak, -and is not of exactly the same common sort of stuff -that they are.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Yesterday afternoon Lady Sybil and I were alone -in the bower, and she had the baby in her arms. -The little creature is to be made a Christian on -Sunday. I asked her what name it was to have. -I expected her to say either Marie, which is the -Lady Queen's name, or Eustacie, the name of Guy's -mother. But she said neither. She answered, -"Agnes." And she spoke in that hushed, reverent -voice, in which one instinctively utters the names -of the beloved dead. I could not think whose it -could be. The name has never been in our House, -to my knowledge; and I was not aware of it in -Lady Sybil's line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou not know whose name it is, Helena?" -asked Lady Sybil. I fancy she answered my look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear lord has been very good to me," she -said. "He made not the least objection. It was -my mother's name, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said I, enlightened. "Lady Sybil, do tell -me, can you remember the Lady Queen your mother? -How old were you when she died?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer me for an instant. When I -looked up, I saw tears dropping slowly on the -infant's robes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When she—died!" There was a moment's -pause. "Ay, there are more graves than men dig -in the churchyard! When she—</span><em class="italics">died</em><span>,—Helena, I -was six years old."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you can remember her?" I said eagerly. -"Oh, I wish I could remember mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, memory may be intense bliss," she -answered; "or it may be terrible torture. I can -remember a fair face bent down over mine, soft, -brooding arms folded round me, loving kisses from -gentle lips. And then——O Helena, did my lord -tell thee she was dead? It was kind of him; for -he knows."[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] I trust it will not be imagined from this -that I think lightly of -"white lies." Romanists, as a rule, -are very lenient towards them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Lady Sybil was sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she is not dead?" I said, in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know!" she replied. "No one knows. -She is dead to us. Oh, why, why does holy Church -permit such terrible things?—What am I saying? -May the good Lord pardon me if I speak against -Him!—But I cannot understand why it must be. -They had been wedded nearly ten years, Helena,—I -mean my parents,—when it was discovered that -they were within the prohibited degrees. Why -cannot dispensations be given when such things occur? -They knew nothing of it. Why must they be parted, -and she be driven into loneliness and obscurity, and -I—— Well, it was done. A decree of holy Church -parted them, and she went back to her people. We -have never heard another word about her. But -those who saw her depart from Jerusalem said she -seemed like one whose very heart was broken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And she never came back?" I said pityingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it much wonder?" answered Lady Sybil, -in a low voice, rocking the child gently in her arms. -"It would have been much, I think, for the crowned -and anointed Queen of Jerusalem to steal into her -capital as Damoiselle de Courtenay. But it would -have been far more for the wife and mother to -come suing to her supplanter for a sight of her own -children. No, I cannot wonder that she never, never -came back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was silent for a little while, then I said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was the Lord King as grieved as she? I -cannot understand, if so, why they should not have -obtained a dispensation, and have been married over -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Sybil shook her head, and I saw another -tear drop on the baby's robe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Helena," she said, hardly above a whisper: -"I do not think he was. He had the opportunity of -allying himself with the Cæsars. And there are -men to whom a woman is a woman, and one woman -is just as good as another, or very nearly so. Do -men selling a horse stop to consider whether it will be -as happy with the new master as the old? They do -not care. And, very often, they cannot understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, Amaury is one of that sort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think—if she be alive—that she will -never come?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope she might. But I think she will not. -Ah, how I have hoped it! Helena, hast thou -wondered how it is that nothing short of absolute -impossibility will suffer me to depute to another the -daily distribution of the dole at the postern gate to -those poor women that come for alms? Canst thou -not guess that amongst all the faces I look but for -one—for the one that might creep in there unrecognised -to look on me, and that must never, never go -away with a soreness at her heart, saying, 'She was -not there!' Every loaf that I give to a stranger, I -say, 'Pray for the soul of Agnes of Anjou!' And -then, if some day she should creep in among the -rest, and I should not know her—ah! but I think I -should, if it were only by the mother-hunger in the -eyes—but if she should, and hear that, and yet not -speak, she will say in her heart, 'Sybil loves me -yet.' And if she could only creep one step further,—'</span><em class="italics">God</em><span> -loves me yet!' For He does, Helena. Maybe He -has comforted her long ago: but if she should not -have found it out, and be still stretching forth numb -hands in the darkness—and if I could say it to her! -Now thou knowest why I call the babe by her name. -I know not where she is, nor indeed if she is on -earth. But He knows. And He may let her hear -it. If she come to know that I have called my child -by her name, she may not feel quite so lost and -lonely. I have no other way to say to her,—'I have -not forgotten thee; nor has God. I love thee; I -would fain help thee. He loves thee and is ready to -save thee.' Who can tell?—she </span><em class="italics">may</em><span> hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, this is a bad world!" said I. "Why -are people so hard on each other? We are all -fellow-sinners, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Helena!" said Lady Sybil, with a sorrowful -smile. "Hast thou not found, dear, that the greater -sinner a man is himself, very generally, the harder -he will be on other sinners—especially when their -sins are of a different type from his own. The -holier a man is, the more he hates sin, and yet the -more tenderly will he deal with the sinner. For as -sin means going away from God, so holiness must -mean coming near God. And God is more merciful -than men to all who come to Him for mercy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith came in while the last words were -being spoken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never can quite tell," said I, "what sin is. -Why should some things be sin, and other things -not be sin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Helena," said Lady Judith, turning round -with a smile. "Why should so many things be -wrong, which I like, and so many things be right, -which I do not like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, holy Mother, it is something like that," -said I, laughing. "Will you please to tell me why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, my child, thou hast inherited a sinful -nature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not like sin—as sin," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then temptation has no power over thee. Is it -so? Art thou never 'drawn away of thine own lust, -and enticed'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I am not perfect," said I. "I suppose -nobody expects to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet without absolute perfection, Helena, thou -canst never enter Heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O holy Mother!" cried I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where art thou about to get it?" said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I do not know!" I replied blankly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou shouldst know, my child," she responded -gently. "Think about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot guess what she means. I am sure I may -think about that for a year, and be no nearer when -I have done.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have had a great pleasure to-day, in the shape -of a letter from Monseigneur our father, addressed -to Guy, but meant for us all three. He wrote about -six months after we set out; and I should hope -he has before now received my letter, which I sent -off on the first opportunity after our arrival in the -Holy City. Every body seems to be well, and Alix -has a baby boy, whom she means to call after -Monseigneur—Geoffrey. There is no other special news. -Level, he says, misses us sorely, and lies at my -door with his nose between his paws, as if he were -considering what it could all mean. I wonder -whether he thinks he comes to any satisfactory -solution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord King, I hear, has been more indisposed -for some days past. The Lady Queen is very -attentive to him. Lady Isabel and her lord have -gone through another tremendous quarrel,—about -what I do not know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Early yesterday morning our sister Eschine's -second baby was announced, and in the afternoon -the holy Patriarch baptized it by Guy's name. -Amaury was in ecstasies with his boy; but alas! in -the evening the poor little thing fell into -convulsions, and barely lived to see the dawn of another -day. Amaury passed from the climax of triumph -to the depths of despair. He growled and snarled -at every body, and snapped at Eschine in particular, -as though he thought she had let her child die on -purpose to vex him. That she could be in as much -distress as himself, did not seem to occur to him. -If anything could have provoked me more than -Amaury's unreasonableness, it would have been the -calm patience with which Eschine took it. There -he stalked about, grumbling and growling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you all let the child die?" he wanted -to know—as if we could have helped it. "There -is not one of you has any sense!"—as if he had! -"Alix's boy manages to live. She knows how to -treat him. Women are all idiots!" (Alix, -apparently, not being a woman.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Eschine lay still, a few tears now and then -making their way down her white cheeks, and -meekly begging her lord and master's pardon for -what she had not done. When he was gone, she -said—I think to anticipate what she saw on the tip -of my tongue—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou knowest, Elaine dear, he is not angry with -me. Men do set such store by a son. It is only -natural he should be very much distressed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She will persist in making excuses for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Distressed?—well!" said I. "But he does not -need to be so silly and angry. Natural!—well, -yes,—I think it is natural to Amaury to be an idiot. -I always did think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Lynette! don't, dear!" pleaded Eschine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am beginning to think I have been rather unjust -to Eschine when I said there was nothing in her; -but it has taken a long while to come out. And it -seems to come rather in the form of doing and -bearing, than of thinking and saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But that Amaury is a most profound donkey no -mortal man can doubt,—or at any rate, no mortal -woman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I was awfully startled this morning when -Marguerite undrew my curtains, and told me that our -Lord King Beaudouin had been commanded to God. -It seems now that for some time past he has been -more ill than any one knew, except the Lady -Queen his stepmother. What that wicked Count -of Tripoli may have known, of course, I cannot say. -But I am sure he has had a hand in the late -King's will. The crown is left to the little King, -Beaudouin V., and our sweet Sybil is disinherited. -What that really means, I suppose, is that the Count -is jealous of Guy's influence over his Lady, and -imagines that he can sway the child better than -the mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are to be various changes in consequence -of the Lord King's death. The Lady Queen returns -to her own family at Byzantium. I do hope Lady -Judith will not go with her; but I am very much -afraid she may. Guy talks about retiring to his -city of Ascalon, but though I am sure Lady Sybil -will submit to his will, I can see she does not want -to leave her boy, though I do not believe she -distrusts that wicked Tripoli as I do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Marguerite if she did not feel very angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said quietly. "Is my Damoiselle very -angry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I am," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle know what are the good -Lord's purposes for Monseigneur Count Guy? It -is more than old Marguerite does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not: but I see what has happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And not what will happen? Ah, that is not -seeing much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what can happen, to put things right again, -Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Do I know, I? No better than Monseigneur -Saint Jacob, when his son, Monseigneur Saint -Joseph, sent for his little brother, and refused to -send the meal until he came. That is so beautiful -a history!—and so many times repeated in this -world. The poor old father!—he thought all these -things were against him. He did not know what -the good God was making ready for him. He did -not know! And the good God will never be -hurried. It is we that are in a hurry, poor children -of time,—we want every thing to happen to-day. -But He, who has eternity to work in, can afford to -let things take their time. My Damoiselle does not -know what old Helweh said to me yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Who is Helweh?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is an Arab woman who serves in the kitchen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A Paynim? O Marguerite! What can a Paynim -say worth hearing? Or is she a Christian?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If to be baptized is to be a Christian, as people -always say, then Helweh is a Christian. But if to -be a Christian is really to know and follow the -Lord Christ—and it seems to me as if the Evangel -always meant that—then I do not know. I am -afraid Helweh does not understand much about that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if she has been christened, she must be a -Christian," said I. "Well, what did she say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She said—'All things come to him who knows -how to wait.' It is a Saracen proverb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I do not believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, let my Damoiselle pardon me, but it is true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said I, half laughing, "then I suppose -I do not know how to wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think my Damoiselle does," answered -Marguerite quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou teach me, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! It takes the good God to teach that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should not think it wanted much teaching."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle bear with her servant. The -good God has been teaching it to me for seventy -years, and I dare not make so bold as to say I have -learned it yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Margot, thou art as quiet, and calm, and -patient as a stone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! not </span><em class="italics">here</em><span>," she said, laying her hand upon -her bosom. "Perhaps here,—and here,"—touching -her eyes and lips. "But down there,—no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But for what, or for whom, art thou waiting, -Margot?" I asked, rather amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!—it ought to be only whom. But it is too -often </span><em class="italics">what</em><span>. We are like the little children, waiting -for the father to come home, but thinking more of -the toys and bonbons he may bring than of himself. -And then there is another thing: before we can -learn to wait, we must learn to trust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To trust what, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe we all trust in something, if my -Damoiselle pleases. A great many trust in -themselves; and a great many more trust in -circumstances,—fate, or chance, or luck,—as they call it. -Some few trust in other human creatures; and their -waking is often the saddest of all. But it seems as -if the one thing we found it hardest to do was to -trust the good God. He has to drive us away, often, -from every other trust, before we will learn to trust -Him. Oh, how we must grieve His heart, when He -has done so much for us, and yet we </span><em class="italics">will not</em><span> trust Him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder what she means. I feel as if I should -like to know, and could not tell how to begin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lady Queen is gone back to her people. -And I am so glad—Lady Judith is not gone with -her. I was sadly afraid she would do. But -Melisende is gone, and Messire Renaud de -Montluc, for whom the Lady Queen trusts to obtain -some high position at the Court of the Byzantine -Cæsar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am not at all sorry that Messire Renaud is gone. -He made me feel uncomfortable whenever I looked -at him. I cannot well express my feeling in words; -but he gave me a sensation as if nothing stood on -any thing, and every thing was misty and uncertain. -I fancy some people like that sort of feeling. I -detest it. I like figures (though Amaury says it is a -very unladylike taste) because they are so definite -and certain. Two and two make four; and they -will make four, do what you please with them. No -twisting and turning will persuade them to be either -three or five. Now I like that—far better than -some arts, more interesting in themselves, such as -music, painting, or embroidery, of which people say, -"Yes, it is very fair,—very good,—but of course it -might be better." I like a thing that could not be -better. Guy says that is very short-sighted, and -argues a want of ambition in me. I do not quite -see that. If a thing be the best it can possibly be, -why should I want it to be better?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but one wants an aim," says Guy; "one -must have a mark to shoot at. If I were besieging -a castle, and knew beforehand that I could not -possibly take it, it would deprive me of all energy and -object. There is nothing so devoid of interest as -doing something which leads to nothing, and is -worth nothing when done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," I say then, "I think if sieges and wars -were done away with, it would be no bad thing. -Just think what misery they cause."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But such an outcry comes upon me then! -Amaury informs me that he is incomparably astonished -at me. Is not war the grandest of all employments? -What on earth could the nobles do, if there -were no wars? Would I have them till the earth -like peasants, or read and write like monks, or sew -and dress wounds like women?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Guy says, good-naturedly,—"Oh, one of -Elaine's curious notions. She never thinks like -other people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But think," I say, "of the suffering which comes -from war—the bereft widows and fatherless children, -and human pain and sorrow. Does a woman weeping -over her husband's corpse think war grand, do -you suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stuff!" says Amaury. "Can't she get another?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>(Would he say, if Eschine were to die,—"Never -mind, I can get another"? Well, I should not -much wonder if he would!)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once, after a rather keen contest of this sort, I -asked old Marguerite if she liked war. I saw her -eyes kindle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle," she said, "my husband followed his -Seigneur to the war, and left me ill at home in my -cot. He had no power to choose, as my Damoiselle -must know. The night fell, and the Seigneur came -home with banners flying, and along the village -street there were bonfires and rejoicings for a great -victory. But my husband did not come. I rose -from my sick-bed, and wrapped myself in a sheepskin, -and went out to the fatal field. Like a candle -in the sunlight, the pain of the heart put out the pain -of the body. What I saw that night my Damoiselle -will not ask. It were not meet to rehearse in the -ears of a young noble lady. I do not know how I -bore it, only that I did bear—going from one to -another in the moonlight, and turning my lantern on -the dead still faces, ever looking for that face which -I feared to find. And at last I found him, my Piers, -the one love of my young life,—where the fight had -been the most terrible, and the dead lay thickest. -I knew that he had acquitted himself right well, -for his face was to the foe, and the broken shaft of his -Seigneur's pennon was still grasped tightly in his -hand. Damoiselle, there was no funeral pageant, no -table tomb, no herald's cry for him. Strangers' -hands buried him where he lay, as they might have -buried the Seigneur's horse, if need were. And there -were no white weeds and seclusion for me, his young -widow, who knelt by my baby's cradle, too miserable -for tears. But may be, in those halls where all souls -are alike before the King of Kings, the Voice from -the Throne said to him, 'Well done!' And the -Voice did verily say to me, 'Fear not! Come unto -Me, and I will give thee rest.'—Ah, my Damoiselle -knows now what her old nurse thinks of war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, why must there be such things?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How else could a knight win his spurs?" indignantly -demands Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But surely, the winning of Amaury's spurs is not -the only thing of any consequence in the world. -Does the good God Himself take no account of -widows' tears and orphans' wails, if only the knights -win their spurs? Could not some other way be -contrived for the spurs, which would leave people alive -when it was finished?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Elaine, don't be such a simpleton!" says -Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So at last, as nobody else (except Marguerite, who -is nobody) seems to understand me, I ask Lady -Judith what she thinks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child," she says, "'He maketh wars to cease -unto the ends of the earth; He breaketh the bow, -and snappeth the spear in sunder, and burneth the -chariot in the fire.' 'The Father of the age to -come, the Prince of Peace!' It is one of His -fairest titles. But not till He comes, Helena. Till -then, earth will be red with the blood of her sons, -and moistened with the tears of her daughters. Let -us pray for His coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But holy Mother, that is ages off!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" she made answer. "Has the Lord told -thee so much, Helena? Ah! it may be—I know -not, but I see nothing else to keep Him—it may be, -that if all the earth would come to Him to-day, He -would come to us to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, I do not know what you mean by -'coming' to Him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Helena," she said gently, "thou wilt not -know, till thou art ready to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not understand that," said I. "How -am I to get ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and -drink.' 'If thou knewest the gift of God, thou -wouldst have asked of Him, and He would have -given to thee water of life.' Art thou not -athirst? and dost thou not know the gift of God, dear -maiden? Then ask Him to bestow on thee the -thirst, and the knowledge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I really do not know whether it was right or -wrong, but that night, after I had finished my -Credo, and Paters, and the holy Angelical Salutation, -I ventured to say, in my own words,—"Fair -Father, Jesu Christ, give me what Lady Judith and -Marguerite talk about." I hope it was not very -wicked. I did so tremble! And I do not properly -know what this thing is, only that it seems to make -them happy; and why should I not be happy too? -I suppose the good God will know all about it. -And as He appears to be so condescending as to -listen to Marguerite, who is but a villein, surely He -will hear me, who am noble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is so odd that Amaury, who is such a simpleton -himself, should be perpetually calling me a simpleton. -I do think, the more foolish people are, the -more fond they are of exhorting others not to -be silly. It is very funny. But this world is a queer -place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, indeed, Lynette," says Guy, with mock -gravity, when I make the remark to him. "The -queerest place I have been in these thirty years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Guy is scarcely twenty-seven, it may be -supposed I cannot help laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there is another queer thing. It does really -seem as if villeins—at least some villeins—had -genuine feelings, just like us nobles. I have always -thought that it was because Marguerite had -associated so much with nobles, that she seemed a little -different—just as you might impart the rose-scent -to a handkerchief, if you shut it in a drawer with -rose-leaves. But I know she did not become my -mother's nurse until after her husband was dead: -so she must have had feelings before that, while -she was no better off than any other villein. It is -very incomprehensible. And I suppose, too, when -one comes to think about it, we are all children -of Adam and Eva. How did the difference come, -to begin with?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is very difficult to tell how things began. It -is a great deal easier to see how they end. Who -would suppose, if men had never found out, that -the great river Danube, which rolls into the Black -Sea, almost like a sea itself in volume, came from -the meltings of the ice and snow upon the hills of -Switzerland?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" says Marguerite, when I repeat my -thoughts to her, "the great God is so rich that He -can bring the large things out of the small. We -others, we can only bring the small out of the large."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds like spoiling things," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are very apt to spoil what they touch," she -answered. "The good Lord never touches anything -that He does not leave more beautiful. Has He -not blessed childhood and manhood, by becoming -Child and Man? Is not the earth fairer since He -dwelt on it? and the little children dearer, since -He took them in His arms and blessed them? Ah, -He might have cared for me, and felt with me, just -as much, if He had never been a Man: but it would -not have been the same thing to me. And He knew -it. When we love one very much, Damoiselle, we -love what he has touched: and if he touch us, -ourselves, it sends a delicious thrill through us. The -good Lord knew that when He took on Him our -nature, with all its sufferings and infirmities,—when -He touched us every where—in sorrow, and weariness, -and poverty, and hunger, and pain, and death. -We can suffer nothing which He has not suffered -first,—on which He has not laid His hand, and -blessed it for His chosen. Thanks be to His Name! -It is like honey sweetening everything. And the -things that are bitter and acid want the most -sweetening. So the good Lord chose poverty and -pain. Ease and riches are sweet of themselves. I -have heard Father Eudes read of one or two feasts -where He was: He blessed joy as well as sorrow,—perhaps -lest we should fancy that there was something -holy in pain and poverty in themselves, and -something wicked in being comfortable and happy. -Some people do think so, after all. But I have -heard Father Eudes read a great deal more of -funerals than feasts, where the blessed Lord was. -He seemed to go where people wanted comforting, -much oftener than where they were comfortable. He -knew that many more would sorrow than rejoice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What strange eyes Marguerite has! She can -look at nothing, but she sees the good God. And -the strangest thing is, that it seems to make her -happy. It always makes me miserable. To think -of God, when I am bright and joyous, is like -dropping a black curtain over the brightness. Why -cannot I be like Marguerite? I ought to be a great -deal happier than she. There is something wrong, -somewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then of course there must be something holy in -poverty—voluntary poverty, that is—or why do -monks and nuns take the vow of poverty? I -suppose there is nothing holy in simply being poor, -like a villein. And if our Lord really were poor, -when He was on earth, that must have been -voluntary poverty. I said as much to Margot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle," said she, "every man who follows -our Lord must carry his cross. His own cross,—not -somebody else's. And that means, I think, the -cross which the good God lays on His shoulders. -The blessed Christ Himself did not cut His own -cross. But we others, we are very fond of cutting -our crosses for ourselves, instead of leaving the good -God to lay them on us. And we always cut them -of the wrong wood. We like them very light and -pretty, with plenty of carving and gilding. But -when the good Lord makes the crosses, He puts no -carving on them; and He often hews out very -rough and heavy ones. At least, He does so for -the strong. He makes them light, sometimes, for -the weak; but there is no gilding—only the pure -gold of His own smile, and that is not in the cross -itself, but in the sunlight which He sends upon it. -But my Damoiselle will find, when men sort out -the crosses, the strong walk away with the light -ones, and the rough and heavy fall to the weak. -The good Lord knows better than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we don't all carry crosses, Margot," said I; -"only religious persons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite shook her head decidedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle, all that learn of the good Lord must -bear the cross. He said so. 'If any man serve -Me, let him follow Me'—and again, 'If any man -will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take -up his cross, and follow Me.' Father Eudes read -them both. My Damoiselle sees—'</span><em class="italics">any</em><span> man.' That -must mean all men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I cannot understand it I only feel more -puzzled than ever. I am sure it would not make -me happier to carry a heavy cross. Yet Lady -Judith and Marguerite are happy; I can see they -are. Religion and good people seem to be full of -contradictions. How is one to understand them?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="preparing-for-the-struggle"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">PREPARING FOR THE STRUGGLE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"He that hath a thousand friends hath not a friend to spare,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And he that hath one enemy shall find him every where."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have thought, and thought, about Lady Judith's -question concerning perfection, and, as I expected, -I cannot see my way through it at all. And what -is more, I do not see how to reconcile it with what -she said herself of Sister Eudoxia. So this morning -I took the liberty of asking her what she meant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith smiled, and replied, "Wert thou -puzzled, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, holy Mother," said I, "very much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad of it," she answered. "I wanted to -puzzle thee, and make thee think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been thinking a great deal," I said, "but -I cannot think my way out of the labyrinth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must take counsel of Holy Writ to find -our way out," answered Lady Judith; and she laid -her hand on her Greek Bible, which is a very -handsome book, bound in carved wood, and locked with -a golden clasp. She unlocked it with the little key -which hangs from her girdle, and said, "Now listen, -Helena. In the days when our Lord dwelt on -middle earth, there were certain men amongst the -Jews, called Pharisees, who were deemed exceedingly -holy persons. So exact were they in the -fulfilment of all duties, that they did not reckon -their tithes paid, unless they taxed the very -pot-herbs in their gardens. Yet our Lord said to His -disciples,—'If your righteousness surpass not that -of the Pharisees, ye shall not enter into the kingdom -of Heaven.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Likely enough," said I. "Surely any christened -man could easily be better than heathen Jews."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But He said more, Helena. 'Be ye then perfect, -even as your Father, He in the heavens, is -perfect.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfect as the good God is perfect!" I exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is our standard," she responded. "We are -not to rest short of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we cannot! You yourself said it, holy -Mother, when we were talking of Sister Eudoxia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did, my child. Let us take two more -passages from Holy Writ, and see if they cast any -light upon it. 'The end of the law is Christ, unto -righteousness, to every believer.' 'And ye are in -Him complete.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand them, holy Mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard thee speak, Helena, of thy favourite -legend of the two good knights of Greece. What -was it that Sir Pythias agreed to do for Sir Damon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To suffer death in his stead, if he did not return -home at the appointed time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose that Sir Pythias had suffered death -before Sir Damon's return, and that when Sir -Damon came back, the Lord King had put him to -death also: what wouldst thou call that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that would never have been just!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why? Sir Damon had been sentenced to die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but when another had died for him—Oh, -it would be cruelly unfair!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In other words, Sir Damon would be reckoned -to have died, so far as the law was concerned, in the -person of his friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this friend, remember, had voluntarily given -his life. Now, this is the point to which I want to -bring thee. The death of Sir Pythias would have -been reckoned to Sir Damon; and this last would -have been accounted to have paid the full penalty -to which he was sentenced, and to be thenceforward -a free and blameless man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," said I. "There could have been no -other result."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Helena dear, this is what Christ has done -for all believers. His death is reckoned to them, -and they are thenceforward free and blameless—perfect -as He is perfect, 'complete in Him.' Not -in themselves, mind: never! In themselves they -are sinners to the last hour of life. But in Him, -on account of His atoning death and holy -obedience, God's holy law reckons them perfect as -Himself. So that, in one sense, they are perfect for -ever: in another sense, they are utterly imperfect -so long as they live. 'For by one offering He hath -perfected in perpetuity the hallowed ones.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, holy Mother," I asked, "what do you -mean by 'in Him'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child," she answered, "I doubt if any but -God knows all that is meant by that deep word. -And what man knows cannot be told to another,—it -can only be felt. But it means light, and life, -and joy, Helena: the very light that God is, the -life of all the ages, the joy with which no stranger -intermeddleth. Only taste it, and see. No draught -of sin can be truly sweet to thee again, after one -drop of that wine of Heaven."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am quite delighted to find that Messire Tristan -de Montluc, who has exasperated me for nearly -two years past by playing the broken-hearted lover, -has got his heart mended again. I was beginning -to entertain a desperate wish that he would take -the cowl, for it made me feel a perfect wretch -whenever I looked at him: and yet what could I have -said to Guy but what I did? I feel indescribably -relieved to hear that he is going after his brother -to Byzantium, and intensely delighted to find that -he is privately engaged to Melisende de Courtenay. -I believe she will make him a good wife (which I -never could have done): and it is such a comfort -to know that he has given over caring about me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It does seem not unlikely that we may have war. -There are flying rumours of Saladin's drawing -nearer. May the good God avert it! I believe -Amaury would tell me that I was a simpleton, if -he heard me say so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The holy Patriarch Heraclius, and the Lord -Roger, Master of the Temple, have set forth on a -pilgrimage to the shrines of the West. They -intend to visit Compostella and Canterbury, amongst -others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Count Raymond has been behaving rather better -lately—that is, we have not seen quite so much -of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A letter from Alix came to hand last week; but -there is nothing of interest in it, except that every -one is well. She says her child begins to walk, and -can already prattle fluently: which called forth a -growl from Amaury, who wants to know why every -body's children thrive but his. It is not true, for -little Héloïse is really an engaging child, and has -excellent health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!—but then," says Guy, aside to me, with -arched eyebrows, "she is only a girl, poor little -good-for-nothing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I know Guy does not think so, for he is devoted -to his little Agnes; and Héloïse is certainly the -prettier child. But neither of them is equal to the -little King, who is a most beautiful boy, and has the -quaintest sayings ever heard from a child.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There, now! Did any body ever see any thing -like these men?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Messire Tristan set forth yesterday morning; and -what should he say to Guy (who told me, with his -eyes full of fun) but—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle Elaine will find out that it does not -do to trifle with a man's heart. She will doubtless -be angry at my defection; but I have borne long -enough with her caprice, and have now transferred -my affections to one who can be truer!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was ever mortal creature so misrepresented? -Why, the man must have thought I did not mean -what I said! My caprice, indeed! Trifle with a -man's heart! And as if affection could be -transferred at will from one person to another!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy seemed excessively amused with my exclamations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a conceited set of people you men must -be!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we are rather a bad set," answered Guy, -laughing. "O little Elaine, thou art so funny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray, what is there funny about me?" said I. -"And please to tell me, Guy, why men always seem -to fancy that women do not know their own minds?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, they don't," said Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only the silly ones, who have no minds to know," -I replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so," answered he. "But those, thou seest, -are the generality of women. Rubies are scarce; -pebbles are common."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only among women?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly not," responded Guy, looking very much -amused. "Poor De Montluc appears to be a ruby -in his own eyes, and I presume he is only a pebble -in thine. Let us hope that Damoiselle Melisende -will consider him a gem of priceless value."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I am sure I have no objection to that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But another idea occurs to me, which is by no -means so pleasant. Since other people are always -misunderstanding me, can it be possible that I am -constantly misunderstanding other people? I do -think I have misunderstood Eschine, and I am sorry -for it. I like her a great deal better now than I ever -expected to do, and I almost admire that quiet -endurance of hers—partly because I feel Amaury so -trying, and partly, I suspect, because I have so little -of the quality myself. But is it—can it be—possible -that I am misunderstanding Count Raymond?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not think so. Why should I think of a -beautiful serpent whenever I look at him? Why -should I feel a sensation, of which I cannot get rid, -as if that dark handsome face of his covered -something repugnant and perilous? It is not reason that -tells me this: it is something more like instinct. Is -it a true warning to beware of the man, or only a -foolish, baseless fancy, of which I ought to be -ashamed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And—I cannot tell why—it has lately assumed a -more definite and dreadful form. A terror besets me -that he has some design on Lady Sybil. He knows -that she is the rightful heir of the crown: and -that—I do believe, through his machinations—she has been -set aside for her own son. If his wife were to die—the -holy saints defend it!—I believe him capable of -poisoning Guy, in order to marry Sybil, and to make -himself King of Jerusalem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Am I very wicked, that such ideas come into my -head? Yet I do not know how to keep them out. -I do not invite them, yet they come. And in the -Count's manner to Lady Sybil there is a sort of -admiring, flattering deference, which I do not like to -see,—something quite different from his manner -towards her sister. I do not think she is conscious of -it, and I fancy Guy sees nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh dear, dear! There is something very wrong -in this world altogether. And I cannot see how it -is to be set right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Lady Judith this evening if she believed -in presentiments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered, "Yes, when they come from God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!—but how is one to know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask Him to remove the feeling, if it be not true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I will try the plan. But if it should not answer?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The heats of summer are so great, and the Holy -City is considered so very unhealthy, that the Regent -proposes to remove the Lord King to the city of -Acre, until the hot weather is over. Guy and Lady -Sybil are going to stay at Ascalon, a city which is -Guy's own, and close to the coast, though not -actually a sea-port like Acre. I cannot help being glad -to hear that there will be something like a week's -journey between Guy and Count Raymond. I may -be unjust, but—I do not know. I have offered -seven Paters every evening, that the good God might -take the thought out of my heart if it be wicked: -but it seems to me that it only grows stronger. I -told Lady Judith that her plan did not answer; that -is, that the presentiment did not go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is this thought which troubles thee, little -one?" said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother," said I, "do you ever utterly -mistrust and feel afraid of some particular person, -without precisely having a reason for doing so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith laid down her work, and looked -earnestly at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I generally have a reason, Helena. But I can -quite imagine—Who is it, my child? Do not fear -my repeating what thou mayest tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the Lord Regent," said I. "I feel afraid of -him, as I might of a tamed tiger, lest the subdued -nature should break out. I do not believe in his -professions of friendship for Guy. And I do not at -all like his manner to Lady Sybil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's eyes were fixed on me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not know, Helena, how sharp thine eyes -were. Thou wert a child when thou camest here; -but I see thou art one no longer. So thou hast seen -that? I thought I was the only one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It struck me with a sensation as of sickening fear, -to find that my suspicions were shared, and by Lady -Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is to be done?" I said in a whisper. -"Shall I speak to Guy?—or Lady Sybil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's uplifted hand said unmistakably, "No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch," she said. "Watch and pray, and wait. -Oh, no speaking!—at least, not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But till when?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say, till you all return here—unless -something happen in the interim. But if thou dost -speak, little one—do not be surprised if nobody -believe thee. Very impulsive men, like thy brother, -rarely indulge suspicion or mistrust: and Sybil is -most unsuspicious. They are likely enough to -think thee fanciful and unjust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be too bad!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be very probable," she responded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother," said I, "what do you think he -aims at doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wanted to know, yet scarcely dared to ask, if -the same dread had occurred to her as to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," she said unhesitatingly, "he aims at -making himself King, by marriage, either with Sybil -or with Isabel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he would have to murder his own wife and -the lady's husband!" cried I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No need, in the first case. The Lady Countess -suffers under some internal and incurable disorder, -which must be fatal sooner or later; it is only a -question of time. Her physicians think she may -live about two years, but not longer. And so long -as she lives, thy brother's life is safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if she were to die—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it might be well to warn him. But we -know not, Helena, what may happen ere then. The -Lord reigneth, my child. It is best to put what we -love into His hands, and leave it there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how do I know what He would do with it?" -said I, fearfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows. And that is enough for one who -knows Him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not enough for me," said I sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because thou dost not know Him. Helena, art -thou as much afraid of the good God as of the Lord -Regent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the same way, of course, holy Mother," I -replied; "because I think the Lord Regent a wicked man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but to the same extent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. I think so," said I, in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of Christ that died, and that intercedeth for us? -Afraid of Him, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O holy Mother, I don't know!" I said, bursting -into tears. "I am afraid it is so. And I cannot -help it. I cannot tell how to alter it. I want to be -more like you and old Marguerite; but I don't know -how to begin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou not ask the Lord to show thee how to begin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done: but He has not done it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith laid her hand on my bowed head, as -if to bless me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Helena," she said, "do not get the idea -into thine head that thou wilt have to persuade God -to save thee. He wishes it a great deal more than -thou. But He sometimes keeps his penitents waiting -in the dark basilica outside, to teach them some -lesson which they could not learn if they were -admitted at once into the lighted church. Trust -Him to let thee in as soon as the right time comes. -Only be sure not to get weary of knocking, and go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what does He want to teach me, holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know, my child. He knows. He will -see to it that thou art taught the right lesson, if only -thou wilt have the patience to wait and learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does God teach every body patience?" said I, sighing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed He does: and perhaps there is scarcely -a lesson which we are more slow to learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be slow enough to learn that lesson, I am -sure!" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Inattentive children are generally those that -complain most of the hardness of their tasks," said -she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were both silent for a while, when Lady -Judith said quietly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, what is Christ our Lord to thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sure that I understand you, holy -Mother," said I. "Christ our Lord is God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good; but what is He </span><em class="italics">to thee</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt puzzled. I did not know that He was any -thing more to me than to every body else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou not understand? Then tell me, what -is Monseigneur the Count of Ascalon to thee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guy?" asked I in a little surprise. "He is my -own dear brother—the dearest being to me in all the -world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then that is something different from what he is -to others?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course!" I said rather indignantly. "Guy -could never be to strangers what he is to me! -Why, holy Mother, with all deference, you yourself -know that. He is not that to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast spoken the very truth," said she. -"But, Helena, that which he is to thee, and not to -me,—that dearest in all the world, ay, in all the -universe,—my child, Christ is that to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at her, and I saw the soft, radiant light -in the grey eyes: and I could not understand it. -Again that strange, mortified feeling took possession -of me. Lady Judith knew something I did not; she -had something I had not; and it was something -which made her happier than any thing had yet -made me. There was a gulf between us; and I was -on the rocky, barren side of it, and she on the one -waving with corn and verdant with pasture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not at all a pleasant feeling. And I could -see no bridge across the gulf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a religious person, holy Mother," said I. -"I suppose that makes the difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I did not believe that, though I said so. Old -Marguerite was no nun; and she was on the flowery -side of that great gulf, as well as Lady Judith. -And if Lady Sybil were there also, she was no nun. -That was not the difference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, maiden," was Lady Judith's quiet answer. -"Nor dost thou think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hung my head, and felt more mortified than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou want to know it, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, so much!" I said, bursting into -tears. "You and Marguerite seem to me in a safe -walled garden, guarded with men and towers; and I -am outside in the open champaign, where the wolves -are and the robbers, and I do not know how to get -in to you. I have been round and round the walls, -and I can see no gate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear child;" said Lady Judith, "Jesus Christ is -the gate of the Garden of God. And He is not a -God afar off, but close by. Hast thou asked Him, -and doth it seem as though He would not hear? -Before thou say so much, make very sure that -nothing is stopping the way on thy side. There -is nothing but love, and wisdom, and faithfulness, -on His."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can stop the way?" I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some form of self-love," she replied. "It has -as many heads as the hydra. Pride, indolence, -covetousness, passion—but above all, unbelief: -some sort of indulged sin. Thou must empty thine -heart, Helena, if Christ is to come in: or else He -will have to empty it for thee. And I advise thee -not to wait for that, for the process is very painful. -Yet I sometimes fear it will have to be the case -with thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said I, "there is nobody in there but -Guy and Lady Sybil, and a few more a good deal -nearer the gate. Does our Lord want me to empty -my heart of them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought that, of course, being religious, she -would say yes; and then I should respond that I -could not do it. But she said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, the one whom our Lord wants deposed -from the throne of thy heart is Hélène de Lusignan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thyself," said Lady Judith, in the same quiet way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made an excuse to fetch some gold thread, for -I did not like that one bit. And when I came back, -things were even better than I hoped, for Lady -Isabel was in the room; and though Lady Judith -will talk of religious matters freely enough when -Lady Sybil is present, yet she never does so before -her sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith is entirely mistaken. I am quite -sure of that. I don't love me better than any one -else! I should think myself perfectly despicable. -Amaury does, I believe; but I don't. No, indeed! -She is quite mistaken. I scarcely think I shall be -quite so glad as I expected that Lady Judith is -going to stay in the Holy City. I do like her, but -I don't like her to say things of that kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marguerite," I said, an hour or two later, "dost -thou think I love myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Damoiselle does not think herself a fool," -quietly answered the old woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, of course not," said I; "I know I have -brains. How can I help it? But dost thou think -I love myself,—better than I love other people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We all love either ourselves or the good God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we can love both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marguerite shook her head. "Ha!—no. That -would be serving two masters. And the good God -Himself says no one can do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not like this much better. So, after I -finished my beads, I kissed the crucifix, and I said,—"Sir -God, show me whether I love myself." Because,—though -I do not like it,—yet, perhaps, if I -do, it is best to know it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We reached Ascalon a week ago, making three -short days' journey of it, so as not to over-fatigue -the little ones. Those of us who have come are -Guy and Lady Sybil, myself, Amaury and Eschine, -and the little girls, Agnes and Héloïse. I brought -Marguerite and Bertrade only to wait on me. Lady -Isabel prefers to stay at Hebron, which is only one -day's journey from the Holy City. She and Messire -Homfroy quarrelled violently about it, for he wished -to go to Acre, and wanted her to accompany him; -but in the end, as usual, she had her own way, and -he will go to Acre, and she to Hebron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night before we set forth, as I was passing -Lady Judith's door, her low voice said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, my child, wilt thou come in here? I -want a word with thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I went into her cell, which is perfectly plain, -having no hangings of any sort, either to the -walls or the bed, only a bénitier[#] of red pottery, -and a bare wooden cross, affixed to the wall. -She invited me to sit on her bed, and then she said—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Holy water vessel.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Helena, unless thou seest some very strong -reason, do not speak to the Count touching the -Count of Tripoli until we meet again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I thought I should not," said I. "But, -holy Mother, will you tell me why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We may be mistaken," she answered. "And, -if not, I am very doubtful whether it would not do -more harm than good. After all, dear maiden, the -shortest cut is round by Heaven. Whenever I feel -doubtful how far it is wise to speak, I like to lay -the matter before the Lord, and ask Him to speak -for me, if He sees good. He will make no mistake, -as I might: and He can tell secrets without doing -harm, as probably I should. It is the safest way, -Helena, and the surest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be afraid!" said I. "But of course, -holy Mother, for you"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, answering my half-expressed -thought. "It is a hard matter to ask a favour of -a stranger, especially if he be a king. But where he -is thy father——Dost thou understand me, maiden?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, only too well. Well enough to make me -feel sick at heart, as if the gulf between grew wider -than ever. Should I never find the bridge across?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We lead such a quiet, peaceful life here! Some -time ago, I should have called it dull; but I am -tired of pageants, and skirmishes, and quarrels, -and so it is rather a relief—for a little while. -Lady Sybil, I can see, enjoys it: she likes quiet. -Amaury fumes and frets. I believe Eschine likes -it, but won't say so, because she knows Amaury -does not. I never saw the equal of Eschine for -calm contentedness. "All right"—"never mind -it"—"it does not signify"—are the style of her stock -phrases when any thing goes wrong. And "Won't -it be all the same a hundred years hence?" That -is a favourite reflection with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear, Eschine!" I could not help saying -one day, "I do hate that pet phrase of thine. A -hundred years hence! That will be the year of -our Lord 1285. Why, thou and I will be nowhere -then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I suppose we shall be somewhere," was -Eschine's grave answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well, don't moralise!" said I. "But thou -knowest, if we were always to look at things in -that style, nothing would ever signify any thing. It -makes me feel as queer as Messire Renaud's notions—as -if all the world, and I in it, had gone into a -jelly, and nothing was any thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine laughed. But Eschine's laughter is always -quiet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think thou dost not quite understand me, -Elaine," said she. "I do not use such phrases of -things that do matter, but of those that do not. I -should not say such words respecting real troubles, -however small. But are there not a great many -events in life, of which you can make troubles or -not, as you choose? An ill-dressed dish,—a -disappointment about the colour of a tunic,—a -misunderstanding about the pattern of a trimming,—a cut -in one's finger,—and such as these,—is it not very -foolish to make one's self miserable about them? -What can be more silly than to spend half an hour -in fretting over an inconvenience which did not last -a quarter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Eschine, it sounds very grand!" said I. -"Why dost thou not teach Amaury to look at things -in that charming way? He frets over mistakes and -inconveniences far more than Guy and I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine's smile had more patience than -amusement in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the same reason, Elaine, that I do not teach -yonder crane to sing like a nightingale."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can guess that parable. It would be mere waste -of time and labour.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Guy did not forget my birthday yesterday; he -gave me a beautiful coral necklace, which one knows -is good against poison. (I will take care to wear it -whenever Count Raymond is present.) Lady Sybil -gave me a lovely ring, set with an opal; and if I -were at Acre, and had a bay-leaf to wrap round it, I -would go into the Count's chamber invisible, and -listen to him. Eschine's gift was a silver pomander, -with a chain to hang it by. Amaury (just like -him!) forgot all about it till this morning, and then -gave me a very pretty gold filagree case, containing -the holy Evangel of Saint Luke, to hang round my -neck for an amulet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Am I really nineteen years of age? I begin to -feel so old!—and yet I am the youngest of us.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I do think that nothing really nice ever lasts in -this world. The Baron de Montluc arrived here last -night from Byzantium with all sorts of bad news. -In the first place, Saladin, with his Paynim army, -has re-entered the Holy Land, and is marching, as -men fear, upon Neapolis. If he do this, he will cut -off Acre from the Holy City, and the young Lord -King cannot reach his capital. The Baron sent a -trusty messenger back to Acre, to Count Raymond, -urging him to hasten to the Holy City with the -King, and lose not an hour in doing it. The coast -road is still clear; or he could come by sea to Jaffa. -Messire de Montluc sent his own signet as a token -to Count Raymond—which ring the Count knows -well. Guy has ordered us all to pack up, and return -without loss of time to the Holy City, where he will -take the command till Count Raymond arrives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Elaine!—how wouldst thou like a siege?" -triumphantly asks Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>May all the holy saints avert such a calamity!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there is, if possible, even worse behind: -inasmuch as a foe without the gates is less formidable -than a traitor within them. The Patriarch (I will -not call him holy this time) and the Lord Roger -had returned as far as Byzantium a few days before -Messire de Montluc left that city, and it comes out -now, what all their fine talk of pilgrimage meant. -They have been at the Court of England on purpose -to offer the crown of Jerusalem to King Henry the -father, seeing (say they) the distracted state of the -kingdom, the peril of Paynim war, and the fact that -King Henry is the nearest heir of King Foulques of -Anjou. Well, upon my word! As if the crown of -Jerusalem were theirs to offer!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seems to me, too—but every body, even Guy, -says that is only one of my queer, unaccountable -notions—that, since King Foulques of Anjou had no -right to the crown except as the husband of Queen -Melisende, so long as her heirs remain in existence, -they should be preferred to his heirs by another -wife. But Amaury laughs at me for saying this. -He says, of course, when Count Foulques married -Queen Melisende, and became King, all her right -passed to him, and she was thenceforth simply his -consort, his children having as much right as hers. -It does not seem just and fair to me; but every one -only laughs, and says I have such absurd fancies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what would be the good of marrying an -heiress at all," says Amaury, "if you had to give up -her property when she died before you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still I do not see that it is just. And I wonder -if, sometimes, the queer ideas of one century do -not become the common ideas of the next. But -Amaury seems to think that notion exquisitely -ridiculous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense, Elaine!" says he. "It was a simple -matter of family arrangement. Don't go and fancy -thyself the wisest woman in the world! Thou hast -the silliest ideas I ever heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I don't, Amaury," said I, "any more than -I fancy thee the wisest man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy laughed, and told Amaury he had a Roland -for his Oliver.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-calm-before-the-storm"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"It was but unity of place</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Which made me dream I ranked with him."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—TENNYSON.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Here we are, safe in the Holy City, after a hurried -and most uncomfortable journey. All the quiet is -assuredly gone now. For the Holy City is full of -tumult—cries, and marchings, and musters, and -clashing of arms—from morning till night. Lady -Judith, looking as calm as ever, received us with a -blessing, and a soft, glad light in her eyes, which -told that she was pleased to have us back. The -Patriarch and the Master of the Temple have not -yet arrived. Guy thinks they may tarry at Acre -with Count Raymond, and come on in his train.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lord de Clifford has come from England, by -way of Jaffa, with the answer of King Henry the -father. It seems that the Patriarch actually took -with him the keys of the Holy City and the blessed -Sepulchre. I am astonished that Count Raymond -should have entrusted them to him. More than this, -they travelled by way of Rome, and through their -wicked misrepresentations obtained letters from the -Holy Father, urging King Henry to take on himself -this charge. King Henry was holding Court at -Reading when they came to him, and the Patriarch -says he was moved to tears at their account of the -miserable state of the Holy Land. (Well, I am not -going to deny the misery; but I do say it is -Count Raymond's fault, and that if matters had -been left in Guy's hands, they would never have -come to this pass.) King Henry, however, would -not give his answer at once; but bade them wait till -he had convoked his great council, which sat at -Clerkenwell on the eighteenth of March in last year. -The decision of the Parliament was that in the -interests of England the offer ought to be refused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said Guy, "as a mere question of political -wisdom, that is doubtless right; for, apart -from the pleasure of God, it would be the ruin of -England to have the Holy Land clinging round her -neck like a mill-stone. Yet remember, Lord Robert -the Courthose never prospered after he had refused -this crown of the world. He impiously blew out the -taper which had been lighted by miracle; and think -what his end was!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But dost thou think, my Lord," asked Lady -Sybil, looking up, "that he meant it impiously? I -have always thought his words so beautiful—that -he was not worthy to wear a crown of gold in the -place where our Lord had worn for us the crown of -thorns."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very beautiful, Lady," said Guy a little drily, -"if he had not heard just before the conference -of the death of his brother, King William the Red."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well!—when King Henry gave his answer, what -did the Patriarch, but ask that one of his sons might -be substituted,—and Guy thinks he specially -indicated the Count of Poitou.[#] Guy says there are -great possibilities in our young Count; but Amaury -sneers at the idea. However, the King and the -Parliament alike declined to accept in the name of -any of the Princes, seeing none of themselves were -present: and the Patriarch had to content himself -with a promise of aid alone. King Henry took him -in his train to Normandy, and after celebrating the -holy Easter at Rouen, they had an interview with -the French King at Vaudreuil. Both the Kings -promised help, swearing on the souls of each other;[#] -and many nobles, both French and English, took -the holy cross. It is hoped that the King of France -and the Count of Poitou may lead an army hither in -a few months.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Richard Cœur-de-Lion, whose reputation was yet to be made.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">[#] The usual oath of monarchs in solemn form.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"If we can manage to conclude a truce meanwhile, -and they do not come here to find us all -slaughtered or prisoners to the Paynim," says Guy. -"Great bodies move slowly; and kings and armies -are of that description."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Saladin has taken Neapolis! Our scouts bring -us word that he is ravaging and burning all the land -as he marches, and he has turned towards the Holy -City. Almost any morning, we may be awoke from -sleep with his dreadful magic engine sounding in our -ears. Holy Mary and all the saints, pray to the -good God for His poor servants!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And not a word comes from the Regent. Four -several messengers Guy has sent, by as many -different routes, in the hope that at least one of them -may reach Acre, earnestly urging him to send -instructions. We do not even know the condition of -matters at Acre. The King and the Regent may -themselves be prisoners. Oh, what is to be done?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy says that whatever may become of him, the -kingdom must not be lost: and if ten days more -pass without news of the Regent, he will parley with -Saladin, and if possible conclude a truce on his own -responsibility. I feel so afraid for Guy! I believe if -Count Raymond could find a handle, he would -destroy him without mercy. Guy himself seems to -perceive that the responsibility he is ready to assume -involves serious peril.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless, my Lady's inheritance must not -be lost," he says.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Lady Judith this morning if she were not -dreadfully frightened of Saladin. They say he eats -Christian children, and sometimes maidens, when -the children run short.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I felt no alarm, I should scarcely be a woman, -Helena," said she. "But I took my fear to the Lord, -as King David did. 'What time I am afraid,' he -says, 'I will trust in Thee.' And I had my answer -last night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said I. "What was it, if it please you, -holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her head with a light in the grey eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I am, I am thy Comforter. Know whom thou -art, afraid of a dying man, and of a son of men who -wither like grass: and thou forgettest God thy -Maker, the Maker of the heaven and -Foundation-Layer of the earth, and fearest ever, every day, the -face of the fury of thine oppressor.... And now, -where is the fury of thine oppressor?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did the good God speak to you in vision, holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Helena. He spake to me as He does to -thee—in His Word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought it would have been a great deal more -satisfactory if she had been told in vision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how do you know, holy Mother," I ventured -to say, "that words written in holy Scripture, ever so -long ago, have something to do with you now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God's Word is living, my child," she said; "it is -not, like all other books, a dead book. His Word -who is alive for evermore, endureth for ever. -Moreover, there is a special promise that the Holy Spirit -shall bring God's words to the remembrance of His -servants, as they need. And when they come from -Him, they come living and with power."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you think, holy Mother, that the Paynim -will be driven back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not say that, my child. But I think that -the God who turned back Sennacherib is alive yet: -and the Angel who smote the camp of the Assyrians -can do it again if his Lord command him. And if -not—no real mischief, Helena,—no real harm—can -happen to him or her who abideth under the shadow -of God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we might be killed, holy Mother!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We might," she said, so quietly that I looked at -her in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother!" I exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou dost not understand our Lord's words, -Helena!—'And they shall kill some of you, ... and -a hair from the head of you shall not be lost.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I do not," said I bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I cannot make thee do so," she added -gently. "God must do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But why does He not do it? Have I not asked -Him, over and over again, to make me understand? -I suppose something is in the way, and something -which is my fault. But how am I to get rid of it -when I do not even know what it is?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The ten days are over, and no word comes from -the Regent. Guy has assumed, as Vice-Regent, the -command of the Holy City. Of course he is the -person to do it, as Lady Sybil's husband. Our -scouts report that Saladin is marching through the -pass of Gerizim. Guy has sent out a trumpeter with -a suitable armed escort, to sound a parley, and -invite the Paynim to meet with him and arrange for a -truce at Lebonah. Until the trumpeter returns, we -do not know whether this effort will succeed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Sybil, I can see, is excessively anxious, and -very uneasy lest, if Guy go to parley with Saladin, -the wicked Paynim should use some treachery towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is God's will!" she said; but I saw tears in -her sweet eyes. "The battle, and the toil, and the -triumph for the men: the waiting, and weeping, and -praying for the women. Perhaps, in their way, the -humble bedeswomen do God's will as much as the -warrior knights."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The trumpeter returned last night, with a message -from Saladin almost worthy of a Christian knight. -It seems very strange that Paynims should be -capable of courtesy.[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A most expressive word in the Middle Ages, -not restricted, as now, -civility, but including honourable sentiments -and generous conduct.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Saladin is willing to conclude a truce, and will -meet Guy at Lebonah to do so; but it is to be for -six months only, and Guy says the terms are -somewhat hard. However, it is the best thing he can do: -and as the Regent maintains his obstinate silence, -something must be done. So far as our envoys -could learn, the Paynim army has not been near -Acre, and only crossed the Jordan some thirty miles -lower down. It appears clear, therefore, that the -Regent might have answered if he would.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Guy and Amaury set out yesterday morning for -Lebonah to meet Saladin. It is two or three days' -journey from the Holy City, and allowing three -days more for conference, it must be ten days at -least ere they can return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wander about the house, and can settle to -nothing. Lady Sybil sits at work, but I believe -she weeps more than she works. Eschine's -embroidery grows quietly. I have discovered that she -carries her heart out of sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were talking this morning—I hardly know -how the subject came up—about selfishness. Lady -Isabel said, with a toss of her head, that she was -sure no reasonable being could call her selfish. -(Now I could not agree with her, for I have always -thought her very much so.) Lady Judith quietly -asked her in what she thought selfishness consisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In being stingy and miserly, of course," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, but stingy of what?" responded Lady -Judith. "I think people make a great mistake -when they restrict selfishness merely to being -miserly with money. I should say that the man -is unselfish who will give willingly that which he -counts precious. But that means very different -things to different people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder what it means to us five," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith looked round with a smile. "I -almost think I could tell you," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do!" we all said but Lady Isabel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, to me," answered Lady Judith, "it means, -submitting,—because some one wishes it who has -a right to my submission, or else as a matter of -Christian love—to do any thing in a way which I -think inferior, absurd, or not calculated to effect -the end proposed. In other words, my ruling sin -is self-satisfaction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We all exclaimed against this conclusion: but -she maintained that it was so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," she continued, "to Sybil, it means depriving -herself of her lord's society, either for his -advantage or for that of some one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Sybil smiled and blushed. "Then my -ruling sin——?" she said interrogatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I did not undertake to draw that inference -in any case but my own," said Lady Judith with an -answering smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We all—except Lady Isabel—begged that she -would do it for us. She seemed, I thought, to assent -rather reluctantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not like it," said she. "And if you -drew the inference for yourselves, you would be -more likely to attend to the lesson conveyed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but we might do it wrong," I said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith laughed. "Am I, then, so infallible -that I cannot do it wrong?" said she. "Well, -Sybil, my dear, if thou wouldst know, I think thy -tendency—I do not say thy passion, but thy -tendency—is to idolatry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Lady Sybil, looking quite distressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But now, misunderstand me not," pursued Lady -Judith. "Love is not necessarily idolatry. When -we love the creature </span><em class="italics">more</em><span> than the Creator—when, -for instance, thou shalt care more to please thy lord -than to please the Lord—then only is it idolatry. -Therefore, I use the word tendency; I trust it is not -more with thee.—Well, then, with Isabel"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Isabel gave a toss of her head,—a gesture -to which she is very much addicted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With Isabel," continued Lady Judith, "unselfishness -would take the form of resigning her own -ease or pleasure to suit the convenience of another, -Her temptation, therefore, is to indolence and -self-pleasing. With Helena"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I pricked up my ears. What was I going to hear?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With Helena," said she, smiling on me, "it -would be, I think, to fulfil some duty, though those -whom she loved might misunderstand her and think -her silly for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what is my besetting sin, holy Mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pride of intellect, I think," she answered; "very -nearly the same as my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, you have left out Dame Eschine!" -said Lady Isabel rather sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I?" said Lady Judith. "Well, my -children, you must ask the Lord wherein Eschine's -selfishness lies, for I cannot tell. I dare not deny -its existence; I believe all sinners have it in some -form. Only, in this case, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> cannot detect it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine looked up with an expression of utter -amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother!" she exclaimed. "It seemed to -me, as you went on, that I had every one of those -you mentioned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's smile was very expressive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear child," she said, "these are not my -words,—'Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the -kingdom of the heavens.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Does she think Eschine the best of us all? Is -she? Dear me! I never should have thought it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" said Lady Isabel, with a sort of snort, -and another toss, "I am quite sure that I have not -one of those faults you mentioned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my child!" responded Lady Judith. "Take -heed of the Pharisee spirit—Eschine, what wouldst -thou say was thy besetting sin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I really cannot tell, I have so many!" answered -Eschine modestly. "But I sometimes think that -it may be—perhaps—a want of meekness and -patience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stared at her in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thank the saints, I am in no want of -patience!" said Lady Isabel. "And if any one -knew all I have to try it"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned and looked at her, if possible, in -astonishment still greater.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Really, how very, very little, people do know -themselves! If there be a patient creature in this -world, it is Eschine: and if there be an impatient -one, it is Lady Isabel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder whether I know myself? I do not think -I should have set myself down as proud of my -intellect. But we Lusignans always have had -brains—except Amaury; he has stepped out of the ranks. -And I don't like people to disagree with me, and -contradict me, nor to behave as if they thought I -had no sense. That is true enough. I suppose I -must be proud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet, it cannot be wrong to know that one has -brains. What is pride? Where does the knowledge -end, and the sin begin? Oh dear! how is one ever -to know?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If two and two would only make four in every -thing! Or is it that one makes mistakes one's self -in the adding-up?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Lady Judith asked me this morning if I was -vexed with her yesterday, for what she said of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no!" I answered at once. "But I did not -know that I was proud of my intellect. I think I -knew that I was proud of my rank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art right there, my child," she said. "Yet -I fear the pride of intellect is more likely to harm -thee, just because thou art less conscious of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother," said I, "do you think my sister -Eschine the best of us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We human creatures, Helena, are poor judges -of each other. But if thou wouldst know—so far as -I am able to judge—I think the two holiest persons -in all this Palace are Eschine and thine old Margarita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better than Lady Sybil!" I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not undervalue Sybil. She is good and true; -and I believe she does earnestly desire to serve -God. But it seems to me that the most Christ-like -spirit I know is not Sybil, but Eschine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must think about it, and study Eschine. I -certainly made a sad mistake when I thought there was -nothing in her. But the holiest person in the house! -That seems very strange to me. I believe, now, -that what I took for absence of feeling is a mixture -of great humility and profound self-control. But -the queerest thing is, that I think she really loves -Amaury. And how any creature can love Amaury -is a puzzle to me. For no being with an atom of -brains can look up to him: and how can you love -one whom you cannot respect? Besides which, he -evidently despises Eschine—I believe he does all -women—and he scolds and snubs her from morning -to night for everything she does or does not do. -Such treatment as that would wear my love in holes—If -it were possible for me ever to feel any for such -an animal as Amaury. If I were Eschine, I should -be anxious to get as far away from him as I could, -and should be delighted when he relieved me of his -company. Yet I do think Eschine really misses -him, and will be honestly glad when he comes back, -It is very unaccountable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our anxieties are all turned to rejoicing at once. -Guy and Amaury returned last night, having -concluded a six months' truce with Saladin: and -Eschine had the pleasure—I am sure she felt it a -very great one—when Amaury entered her chamber, -of placing in his arms the boy for whom he had so -fervently longed, who was born three days before -they came back. Little Hugues—Amaury says that -must be his name—seems as fine a child as Héloïse, -and as likely to live. Amaury was about as pleased -as it is in his nature to be; but he always seems to -have his eyes fixed on the wormwood of life rather -than the honey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast shown some sense at last!" he said; -and Eschine received this very doubtful commendation -as if it had been the most delightful compliment. -Then Amaury turned round, and snapped -at me, because I could not help laughing at his -absurdity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I asked Marguerite this evening what she thought -was her chief fault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!—the good God knows," she said. "It is -very difficult to tell which of one's faults is the -worst."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what dost thou think?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she answered, "I think that my chief -fault is—with all deference—the same as that of my -Damoiselle: and that is pride. Only that we are -proud of different things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And of what art thou proud, Margot?" asked I -laughingly, but rather struck to find that she had hit -on the same failing (in me) as Lady Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! My Damoiselle may well ask. And I -cannot tell her. What is or has an old villein -woman, ignorant and foolish, to provoke pride? -I only know it is there. It does not fasten on one -thing more than another, but there it is. And pride -is a very subtle sin, if it please my Damoiselle. If I -had nothing in the world to be proud of but that I -was the ugliest woman in it, I believe I could be -proud of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I laughed. "Well, and wherein lies my pride, -Margot?" said I, wishful to see whether she -altogether agreed with Lady Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can I see into the inmost heart of my Damoiselle? -It is like a shut-up coffer, this human heart. -I can only look on the outside, I. But on the -outside, I see two things. My Damoiselle is noble, and -she is clever. And she knows both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which is the worse, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Both are bad enough, to make pride. But -this I think: that even a king can never fancy -himself so noble as the good God; yet a good many of -us think ourselves quite as wise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot!—who could think that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does my Damoiselle herself never think that she -could arrange matters better than the good God is -ordering them? What is that, but to say in our -hearts, 'I am the wiser'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is very queer, how Lady Judith and Marguerite -always do think alike.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margot, who wouldst thou say was the holiest -woman in this house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The answer was unhesitating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know; I can only guess. But if my -Damoiselle wishes me to guess—the noble Lady -Judith, and Dame Eschine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How very odd!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I asked thee once before, Margot, thou -didst not mention Eschine at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let my Damoiselle pardon me. I did not -know enough of her then. And she is not one to -know in a minute. Some are like an open book, -quickly read: and others are like a book in a -strange tongue, of which one knows but little, and -they have to be spelt out; and some, again, are like -a locked book, which you cannot read at all without -the key. Dame Eschine, if my Damoiselle pleases, -is the book in the strange tongue; but the book is -very good, and quite worth the trouble to learn it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where didst thou find such a comparison, -Margot? Thou canst not read."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? Ha!—no. But I can see others do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what kind of book am I, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!—my Damoiselle is wide, wide open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the Lady Sybil?" asked I, feeling much amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Usually, open; but she can turn the key if she will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was rather surprised. "And Count Guy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite as wide open as my Damoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then where dost thou find thy locked book, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was still more astonished at the answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If my Damoiselle pleases,—the Lady Isabel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Margot! I think she is quite easy to read."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am mistaken," said Marguerite with quiet -persistence, "if my Damoiselle has yet read one page -of that volume."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I should have called the Regent a locked -book," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly, if my Damoiselle pleases. There is a -loose leaf which peeps out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that romance is not a pleasant one," said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pleasant? Ha!—no. But it is long, and one -cannot see the end of the story before one comes -to it."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At last, a letter has come from the Regent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is quite different to what I expected. He -approves of all that Guy has done, and more,—he -actually thanks him for acting so promptly. (Are -we misjudging the man?) The King is in good -health, and the Regent thinks he will very shortly -do well to return to the Holy City, as soon as the -autumn rains are well over. The Lady Countess, he -says, is suffering greatly, and he fears the damp -weather increases her malady. He speaks quite -feelingly about it, as though he really loved her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Early this morning was born dear Lady Sybil's -second baby—still, like Agnes, a little frail thing; -and still a daughter. But Guy seems just as pleased -with his child as if it were a healthy boy. He is so -different from Amaury!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both Guy and Lady Sybil wish the infant to -bear my name. So this evening the Patriarch is to -christen her Helena,—thus placing her under the -safe protection of the blessed Saint Helena, mother -of the Lord Constantine the Emperor, and also of -the holy Queen of Adiabene, who bestowed such -toil and money on the holy shrines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As if to show that joys, as well as misfortunes, do -not come single, this afternoon arrived a courier with -letters from Lusignan,—one from Monseigneur to -Guy, another from Raoul for Amaury, and one -from Alix for me. All are well, thank the saints!—and -Alix has now three children, of whom two are -boys. Raoul is about to make a grand match, with -one of the richest heiresses in Normandy,—the Lady -Alix, Countess of Eu. Little Valence, Guillot's -elder child, has been betrothed to the young -Seigneur de Parthenay. I am rather surprised that -Guillot did not look higher, especially after Guy's -marriage and Raoul's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy asked me to-day when I meant to be married.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, please, Guy, don't talk about it!" said I. -"I would so much rather not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou mean to be a nun, then?" asked he. -I think he hardly expected it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said I, "if I must, I must. But I want to -know why I could not go on living quietly without -either?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, one of the original notions of the Damoiselle -de Lusignan," said he. "Because, my eccentric -Elaine, nobody ever does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why does nobody?" said I. "And why -should not I begin it? Every thing must begin -some time, and with somebody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Guy seemed so much amused that I did not -pursue the topic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please thyself," said he, when he had finished -laughing. "But why dost thou prefer single life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For various reasons," said I. "For one, I like to -have my own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, women are queer folks!" said Guy. -"Oh my most rational sister, wilt thou not have to -obey thine abbess? And how much better will that -be than obeying thine husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be better in two respects," I answered. -"In the first place, an abbess is a woman, and would -therefore be more reasonable than a man; and in"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear! I did not understand that!" said -Guy. "I am rather ignorant and stupid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art," said I. "And in the second, I should -try, as soon as possible, to be an abbess myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My best wishes attend thy speedy promotion, -most holy Mother!" said Guy, bowing low, but -laughing. "I perceive I was very stupid. But thou -seest, I really did not know that women were such -extremely reasonable beings. I fancied that, just -now and then, they were slightly unreasonable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Guy, give over!" said I. "But can I not -wait a while? Must I decide at once?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not, if that be thy wish," said Guy. -"But thou art past the usual age for profession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I shall be all the more likely to receive -promotion quickly," I replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fairest of nuns, here is my sword!" said Guy, -kneeling and offering me the hilt. "I surrender -myself, a vanquished prisoner, to thy superior -wisdom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the matter passed off in a good laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now that the truce is concluded, all is peaceful -and happy. It is so nice, after the tumult, and -suspense, and anxiety, to have nothing to think of -but what robe one shall wear to this feast, and how -one shall arrange one's jewels for that dance. I -wish it would last for ever!—if only one did not get -tired even of pleasant things, when they have gone -on for a while. If one could get hold of some -pleasure of which one never got tired!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I want to introduce our national dance of Poitou, -the minuet. I have taught it to Lady Isabel, and -two or three of the damsels in waiting: and Perette -and Bertrade will help. Lady Isabel admires it -very much; she says it is a grand, stately dance, -and fit for a princess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seems very odd to me, that the ladies of this -country look upon it as beneath them to superintend -the cooking, and leave it all to their servants. How -strange it would be if we did that in Poitou! They -order what is to be done, but they never put their -own hands to the work. I know what Alix would -look like, if I told her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first banquet was to have been on Monday, -but it is an unlucky day, as the moon will be in -opposition to Mars; so it had to be deferred. We -heard yesterday that the Countess of Edessa -actually gave a banquet last week on a vigil, and -what should she do but invite just enough to make -thirteen! I suppose she never thought about either. -She is the most thoughtless woman I ever saw. -Messire de Montluc was one of the guests, and when -he perceived the calamity, he feigned to bleed at the -nose, and asked leave to retire. I suppose he did -not wish to run the risk of dying within a year and -a day. How can people be so careless? Why, it -is almost as bad as murder.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="will-she-give-him-up"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">WILL SHE GIVE HIM UP?</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Elmina</em><span>.—We can bear all things!</span></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Gonsalez</em><span>.—Can ye bear disgrace?</span></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Ximena</em><span>.—We were not born for this.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—FELICIA HEMANS.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I suppose it is only about thirty hours, yet it looks -as if it might be as many weeks, since I sat in the -bower with Lady Judith, broidering a mantle of -cramoisie for Lady Sybil. We were talking of -different things, carrying on no special train of -conversation. Lady Sybil had been with us; but, a -few minutes before, Guy had called her into the hall, -to assist in receiving a messenger just arrived with -letters from the Regent. Something which Lady -Judith said amused me, and I was making a playful -reply, when all at once there broke on us, from the -hall, such a bitter, wailing cry, as instantly told us -that something terrible must have happened. The -mantle was dropped upon the rushes, and Lady -Judith and I were both in the hall in an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The messenger, a young knight, stood at the -further side of the daïs, where were Guy and Lady -Sybil. She had apparently fainted, or was very -near it, and he was holding her in his arms, and -endeavouring to whisper comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what is the matter?" broke from me, as my -eyes sought first Guy and then the messenger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy did not answer. I am not sure that he heard -me. It was the young knight who replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle, if it please your Nobility, our young -Lord Beaudouin the King has been commanded to -the Lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I never wished I was not noble until that minute. -Had I been a villein, he would have told me -without considering the pleasure of my Nobility, and -I should have been out of suspense one second -sooner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's one thought seemed to be for the -poor mother, who was utterly overcome by the -sudden news of her first-born's death. She actually -opened the casement with her own hands, though -there were plenty of damsels and squires in the -hall, whom she might have called to do it. One -she sent for water, and sprinkled a few drops on -Lady Sybil's face, entreating her to drink some wine -which a squire brought in haste. She appeared to -swallow with difficulty, but it seemed to revive her, -and her voice came back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my boy, my boy!" she cried piteously. -"And I was not there! It was not in my arms -he died. My first-born, my darling! I was not -there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ay, that seemed the climax of her misery—she -was not there! I was very, very sorry, both for -her and for the child. But another thought soon -darted into my brain, and it was too hard for me -to solve. Who was the King of Jerusalem now? -When I thought it meet, I whispered the question -to Guy. He made me no answer in words, but his -quick downward glance at the golden head still -bowed upon his arm told me what he thought. -And all at once the full significance of that death -flashed upon me. Lady Sybil was the Queen of -the World, and might have to do battle for her -glorious heritage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no doubt concerning the right. Only -two remained of the House of Anjou: and there -could be no question as to whether the elder or -younger sister should succeed. Lady Sybil's right -had been originally set aside: and now it had come -back to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In an instant I saw, as by a flash of lightning, -that the idea had occurred to others; for the squire -had offered the wine upon the knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Regent! Would he acquiesce meekly in -a change which would drive him back to his original -insignificance, and restore Guy to his place of -supreme honour? Lady Sybil is no child, but a -woman of full age. There might (in a man's eyes) -be an excuse in putting her aside for her son, but -there could be none for her sister or her daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not for some hours that I saw the Regent's -letter; not till Lady Sybil's bitter wailing had died -down to peace, and we were able to turn our eyes -from the past to the future. Then Guy showed it -me. I was astonished at the quiet matter-of-fact -way in which Count Raymond recognised Lady -Sybil's right, and deferred to Guy as the person to -decide upon every thing. I asked Lady Judith, this -morning, what she thought it meant. Was this -man better than we had supposed? Had we been -unjust to him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell yet, Helena," she said; "but I -think we shall know now very soon. It either -bodes great good to Sybil,—or else most serious -mischief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says no word about his Lady Countess," I -suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Lady Judith. "I should have liked -it better if he had done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what can we do?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait and pray," responded she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait!" Oh dear me!—it is always waiting. I -detest it. Why can't things happen in a lump and -get done with themselves?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Count Raymond—for I must give over calling -him the Regent,—(and dear me! I must learn to -call Lady Sybil the Queen as soon as she is -crowned,—however shall I do it?)—Count Raymond -says, in the end of his letter, that he will reach the -Holy City, if it please the saints, about ten days -hence, with the coffin of the young Lord King, that -he may be laid with his fathers in the Church of the -Holy Sepulchre. So, I suppose, for these ten days we -shall know nothing. I would scratch them out of the -calendar, if I had pumice-stone of the right quality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet—it comes over me, though I do hate -to think it!—suppose these ten days should be the -last days of peace which we are to know!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, how </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> you wait to know -things?" I asked Lady Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How canst thou?" said she with a little laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I must!" said I. "But as to doing it -patiently!"——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is easier to wait patiently than impatiently, -my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O holy Mother!" cried I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," she gently persisted. "But that patience, -Helena, is only to be had from God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But can you help longing to know?" said I.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rebelliously and feverishly thirsting to know, I -can. But it is only in God's strength that I can do -it. Certainly I cannot help feeling that I shall be -relieved when His time is come. I should be more -or less than woman, if I could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how," said I, "do you keep yourself patient?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">He</em><span> keeps me patient, Helena. I cannot keep -myself. He knows: He is at the helm: He will -guide me to the haven where I would be. Ah, my -child, thou hast yet to learn what that meaneth,—'When -He giveth quietness, who shall then condemn?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Indeed I have. And I do not know how to begin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We have been very busy, after all, during the -terrible interval, and it hardly seems ten days since -the news came. All the mourning robes were to -be made of sackcloth—bah! how rough and coarse -it is!—one need be a villein to stand it!—and the -hoods of cloth of Cyprus. I never remember being -in mourning before Amaury's poor little baby was -born and died in one day, and I did hope then -that I should never need it again. It is so abominable -to wear such stuff—and how it smells!—and to -have to lay aside one's gloves, just like a bourgeoise! -Count Raymond is expected to-night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I did not properly guess what a dreadful scene -it would be, when the coffin was borne into the -hall by four knights, and laid down on the daïs, -and the lid opened, and the embalmed body of the -fair child brought to view, clad in the cowl of the -holy brethren of Saint Benedict, which was put on -him just before he died. The holy Patriarch—I -suppose he is holy, being a patriarch—held the -holy censer, which he swung to and fro by the head -of the coffin; and a royal chaplain at his side bore -the bénitier, from which each of us, coming forward, -took the asperge, and sprinkled the still face with -holy water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Lady Sybil's turn last, of course. But -she, the poor mother, broke down utterly, and -dropped the asperge, and if Guy had not sprung -forward and caught her, I think she would have -fainted and fallen on the coffin of her child. -Oh, it was terrible!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the evening, there was a family council, -at which Count Raymond suggested—and Guy -said it was an excellent idea—that Lady Sybil -should convene a council of all the nobles, when -her title should be solemnly recognised, and no -room be left for any dissension about it in future. -The council, therefore, will meet on Midsummer -Day next, and at the same time it will be decided -what to do after the truce with Saladin has expired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I tapped at Lady Judith's door as I went up to bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, holy Mother," said I, when I was inside, -and the door shut, "what think you now of the -Count of Tripoli?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What thinkest thou, Helena?" answered she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly, I hardly know what to think," I said. -"He speaks fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," she said; "he speaks fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I thought I detected the slightest possible -emphasis on the verb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you mean something, holy Mother," said -I bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, when the Lord Count was proposing the -convention of the council, and all that was to follow, -and Count Guy assented, and said he thought it a -good idea,—didst thou happen to look at Count -Raymond's face?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, holy Mother, I did not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. And at the instant when Count Guy -assented to his proposal, I caught one triumphant -flash in his eyes. From that hour I was certain he -meant mischief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart fell,—fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What sort of mischief?" I asked fearfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord knoweth," quietly said she; "and the -Lord reigneth, Helena. 'Wonderful are the ragings -of the sea: wonderful in the heights is the Lord.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that seems to comfort her. I wish it would -comfort me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Council is holding its sitting: and so serious -are its deliberations considered, that only one -woman beside Lady Sybil herself is permitted to -attend it. Of course it was not meet she should be -without any lady or damsel. But she chose Lady -Judith, with a pretty little apology to me, lest I -should fancy myself slighted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lady Judith is old and very wise," she said. "I -should like her to hear the deliberations of the -nobles, that I may have, if need be, the benefit of -her counsel afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I suppose it is the swearing of allegiance that -takes such a long time. They have been four hours -already.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sir God, have mercy upon me! I never dreamed -of the anguish that was in store for me. I do not -know how to bear it. O fair Father, Jesu Christ, by -the memory of Thine own cross and passion, help -me, if it be only to live through it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wondered why, when the Council broke up, -Lady Sybil shut herself up and refused to admit any -one, and Guy was nowhere to be found. I felt a -vague sort of uneasiness, but no more, till a soft -hand was laid upon my shoulder, and I looked up in -Lady Judith's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, in an instant, the vague uneasiness -changed to acute terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her look was one of such deep, overwhelming -compassion, that I knew at once she had that to tell -me which she justly feared might break my heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—?" I gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here with me," she said; and she took me -into her own cell, and barred the door. "Helena, -dear child, there is something to tell thee which thou -wilt find very bitter, and thy brother and Sybil -think best that I should tell it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, if you please, holy Mother. Any thing -but suspense!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Council of nobles," she said, "are agreed to -admit Sybil's right, and to pay their homage to her -as Queen, if she on her part will accept one -condition dictated by them. But if she refuse the -condition, they refuse the allegiance; and will raise -against her the banner of Isabel, who was called -into the Council, and declared herself ready to -accept it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And—the condition?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That she shall divorce Count Guy, and wed with -one of themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed to me as though my head went round, -but my heart stood still. And then a cry broke -from me, which was a mixture of fear, and -indignation, and disdain, and cruel, cruel anguish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sybil to divorce Guy! Our sweet-eyed, silver-voiced -Sybil, whom we so loved, to divorce my Guy, -my king of men! To be willing to do it!—to -purchase her fair, proud inheritance at the price of -the heart which loved her, and which she loved! -My heart and brain alike cried out, Impossible!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was I dreaming? This thing could not be,—should -not be! Holy Saints, let me wake and know it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not possible!" I shrieked. "She will -not—she cannot! Did she not say so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her first words," said Lady Judith, "were utterly -and indignantly to refuse compliance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!—and then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then several of the nobles pressed it upon her, -endeavouring to show her the advantages to be -derived from the divorce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Advantages!" I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the country, dear," said Lady Judith gently. -"But for four hours she held out. No word was -to be wrung from her but 'I could not dream of -such a thing!' 'Then, Lady,' said the Lord Count -of Edessa, 'you can no longer be our Queen.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did that sway her?" I cried indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing seemed to sway her, till Count Guy -rose himself, and, though with faltering lips, -earnestly entreated her assent. Then she gave way so -far as to promise to consider the question."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was like Guy. If he thought it for her good, -I am sure he would urge it upon her, though it -broke his own heart. But for her to give way -</span><em class="italics">then</em><span>——!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, tell me she will not do it!" I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has locked herself up, to think and pray," -said Lady Judith. "But it is well to know the worst -at once,—I think she will, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, you must have gone mad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not mean to be rude. I was only in too -great agony to see any thing but itself. And Lady -Judith seemed to understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who proposed it?" I demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah! I knew what the answer would be. "Count -Raymond of Tripoli."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he cannot be the one she weds!" said I, -grinding my teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can, Helena. The Countess has been dead -these four months. He says he wrote to tell us, and -his letter must have miscarried."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is Satan to have it all his own way?" I cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, assuredly, dear child. Christ is stronger -than he."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Mother, can you see one speck of light in -this thick and horrible darkness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never see but one light in any darkness," she -said. "'God is light, and darkness in Him there is -none at all.' Dear Helena, wilt thou not put thine -hand in His, and let Him lead thee to the light?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could the good God not have prevented all -this?" I wailed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps not, for thy sake," she said softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, she will not, she will not!" I moaned. -"Holy Mother, tell me she never will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, dear. On the contrary, I think she will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never could have believed it of Lady Sybil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith made no reply; but I thought the -expression of pain deepened in her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Helena," was her gentle answer, "sometimes -we misunderstand our friends. And very -often we misunderstand our Father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to comfort me: but I was past comfort. -I was past food, sleep,—every thing. I went -to bed,—it was a miserable relief to get away -from the daylight; but I could not sleep, and -no tears would come. Only one exceeding bitter -cry,—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Help me, Jesu Christ!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Would He help me? What had I ever been to -Him, or done for Him, that He should? He had -shed His life-blood on the holy rood for me; and I -had barely ever so much as thanked Him for it. I -had never cared about Him. Where was the good -of asking Him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I must cry to Him, for who else was there? -Of course there were Mary Mother and the holy -saints: but—Oh, I hope it was not wicked!—it -seemed as if in my agony I pushed them all aside, -and went straight up to Him to whom all prayer -must come at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Help me, Jesu Christ!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where was Guy?—feeling, in his darkened chamber, -as if his heart were breaking?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where was Sybil?—awake, perhaps, with a lighted -lamp, wrestling between the one love of her heart -and the pride of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And where was God? Did He hear me? Would -He hear? And the cry came again, wrung from my -very life as if I must have help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Help me, Jesu Christ! I have no help. I can do -nothing. I can even think of nothing. I can bear -no more. Help me, not because I deserve help, but -because I want Thee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the darkness went on, and the quiet beats of -the water-clock, and the low, musical cry of the -watchmen outside; and the clang of arms as they -changed guard: but no holy angel came down from -Heaven to tell me that my prayer was heard, and -that it should be to me even as I would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was there no help?—was there no hope?—was -there no God in Heaven?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, it cannot, cannot be that she will decide -against him! Yet Lady Judith thinks she will. I -cannot imagine why. Our own sweet Sybil, to whom -he has seemed like the very life of her life! No, it -can never be true! She will never, never give him up.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="waiting-for-the-inevitable"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">WAITING FOR THE INEVITABLE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh, hard to watch the shore-lights,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And yet no signal make!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Hardest, to him the back on Love,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>For Love's own blessed sake!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>For me the darkness riseth,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But not for me the light;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I breast the waters' heaving foam</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>For love of Love, to-night."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She has given him up,—my Guy, my hero, my king -of men!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, I could never have believed it! One short -month ago, if all the prophets and wise women and -holy monks in Palestine had come in a body and -told me this thing, I should have laughed them to -scorn,—I should have thought the dead would rise -first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah! this is not our Sybil who has played this -part. The Sybil whom I loved, next to Guy himself, -has vanished into nothingness, and in her stead has -come a creature that wears her face, and speaks with -her voice,—cold, calculating, false!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was again Lady Judith who told me. I thought -I was prepared for this. But I found that I was not. -By the crushing pain which struck me, I knew that -I had not really believed it would be thus,—that I -had clung, like a drowning man, to the rope which -failed me in this extremity—that I had honestly -thought that the God to whom I had cried all night -long would have come and saved me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That Sybil should fail was bitterness enough. -But what was I to do when Christ failed me? Either -He could not hear at all, or He would not hear me. -And I did not see that it was of much consequence -which it was, since, so far as I was concerned, both -came to the same thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The comfort Lady Judith tried to offer me sounded -like cruel mockery. Even the soft pressure of her -hand upon my head rasped my heart like a file.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor, dear child!" she said. "It is so hard to -walk in the dark. If the Lord have marked thee -for His own—as by the strivings of His Spirit with -thee, I trust He has—how sorry He must be for -thee, just now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sorry! Then why did He do it? When I am -sorry for one I love, I do not give him bitter pain. -I felt as if I should sink and die, if I did not -get relief by pouring out my heart. I broke from -Lady Judith,—she tried in vain to stop me—and I -dashed into Lady Sybil's chamber. Queen or -villein, it was all one to me then. I was far past -any considerations of that sort. If she had ordered -me to be instantly beheaded, I should not have -thought it signified a straw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I found her seated on the settle in the window. -Oh, how white and worn and weary she looked! -Dark rings were round her eyes, worn by pain and -weeping and watching through that dreadful night. -But I heeded not the signs of her woe. She -deserved them. Guy's wrong burned in my heart, -and consumed every thing but itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose hastily when she saw me, and a faint -flush came to her white cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah,—Helena!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke in a hesitating tone, as if she scarcely -knew what to say. She might well tremble before -Guy's sister!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a strange thing it is, that when our hearts -are specially wrung with distress, our eyes seem -opened to notice all sorts of insignificant minutiæ -which we should never see at another time, or should -never remember if we did see them. I perceived -that one of the buttons of Lady Sybil's robe had -caught her chatelaine, and that a bow of ribbon on -her super-tunic was coming loose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May it please your Grace," I said—and I heard -a hard metallic ring in my own voice,—"have I -heard the truth just now from Lady Judith?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What hast thou heard, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not spare her for the crushing clasp of her -hands, for the slight quiver of the under lip. Let -her suffer! Had she not wronged my Guy?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard that your Grace means to give -way before the vulgar clamour of your inferiors, -and to repudiate your wedded lord at their dictation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, I would not spare her so much as one -adjective. She pressed her lips close, and a sort of -shudder went over her from head to foot. But she -said, in a calm, even voice, like a child repeating -some formal lesson—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast heard the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If she would have warmed into anger, and have -resented my words, I think I might have kept more -within bounds. But she was as cold as ice, and it -infuriated me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you call yourself a Christian and a -Catholic?" cried I, raising my voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord knoweth!" was her cool answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lord look upon it, and avenge us!" I cried. -"Do you know how I loved you? Next to my -love for Guy himself,—better than I loved any -other, save you two, in earth or Heaven! You!—was -it you I loved? My sister Sybil loved Guy, -and would have died rather than sacrifice him to a -mob of parvenu nobles. She is gone, and you are -come in her stead, the saints know how! You are -not the Sybil whom I loved, but a stranger,—a -cold, calculating, politic, false-hearted woman. -Heartless, ungenerous, faithless, false! I sweep you -out of my heart this day, as if you had never -entered it. You are false to Guy, and false to -God. I will never, never, never forgive you! From -this hour you are no more to me than the meanest -Paynim idolatress whom I would think scorn to -touch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not know whence my words came, but they -poured out of me like the rain in a tempest. I -noted, without one spark of relenting, the shudder -which shook her again from head to foot when I -named Guy,—the trembling of lips and eyes,—the -pitiful, appealing look. No, I would not spare -one atom of misery to the woman who had broken -my Guy's heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps I was half mad. I do not know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I stopped, at last, she only said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must look so to thee. But trust me, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust you, Lady Sybil!—how to trust you?" I -cried. "Have I not trusted you these four years, -before I knew you for what you are? And you -say, 'Trust me!'—Hear her, holy Saints! Ay, -when I have done trusting the scorpions of this -land and the wolves of my own,—trust me, I will -trust you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, and came to me, holding out both -hands, with a look of piteous appeal in those fair -grey eyes that I used to love so much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she said,—"I know. Thou must think -so. Yet,—trust me, Helena!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I broke from her, and fled. I felt as if I could -not bear to touch her,—to look at her another -moment. To my own chamber I ran, and casting -myself on the bed, I buried my face in the pillow, -and lay there motionless. I did not weep; my -eyes were dry and hard as stones. I did not pray; -there was no good in it. Without God, without -hope, without any thing but crushing agony and a -sense of cruel wrong,—I think in that hour I was -as near Hell as I could be, and live.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was thus that Marguerite found me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I heard her enter the room. I heard the -half-exclamation, instantly checked, which came to her -lips. I heard her move quietly about the chamber, -arranging various little things, and at last come -and stand beside my bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned just enough to let her see my face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Satan tempting my Damoiselle very hard -just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What made her ask that question?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Margot," I said, sitting up, and pushing the -hair off my forehead. "God is very, very cruel -to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, let my Damoiselle hush there!" cried the -old woman, in a tone of positive pain. "No, no, -never! She does not mean to cut her old nurse -to the heart, who loves her so dearly. But she will -do it, if she says such things of the gracious Lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Margot, listen to me. I thought -something was going to happen which would wring my -heart to its very core. All night long I lay awake, -praying and crying to God to stay it. And He -has not heard me. He has let it happen—knowing -what it would be to me. And dost thou not call -that cruel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I guessed right. Satan is tempting my -Damoiselle, very, very hard. I thought so from -her face.—Damoiselle, the good Lord cannot be -cruel: it is not in His nature. No, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou know what has happened, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? Ha!—no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Lady Sybil, incited by her nobles, has -consented to divorce Count Guy, and wed with -another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I saw astonishment, grief, indignation, chase one -another over old Marguerite's face, followed by a -look of extreme perplexity. For a few moments -she stood thus, and did not speak. Then she put -her hands together, like a child at prayer, and lifted -her eyes upward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir God," she said, "I cannot understand it. I -do not at all see why this is. Good Lord, it -puzzles poor old Marguerite very much. But Thou -knowest. Thou knowest all things. And Thou -canst not be hard, nor cruel, whatever things may -look like. Thou art love. Have patience with us, -Sir God, when we are puzzled, and when it looks -to us as if things were going all wrong. And teach -the child, for she does not know. My poor lamb -is quite lost in the wilderness, and the great wolf -is very near her. Gentle Jesu Christ, leave the -ninety and nine safe locked in the good fold, and -come and look for this little lamb. If Thou dost -not come, the great wolf will get her. And she is -Thy little lamb. It is very cold in the wilderness, -and very dark. Oh, do make haste!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou seemest to think that God Almighty is -sure to hear thee, Margot," said I wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I could not help feeling touched by that -simple prayer for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me?" she said. "Ah no, my Damoiselle, -I cannot expect God Almighty to hear me. But -He will hear the blessed Christ. He always hears -Him. And He will ask for me what I really need, -which is far better than hearing me. Because, my -Damoiselle sees, I make so many blunders; but He -makes none."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What blunders didst thou make just now, Margot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Do I know, I? When He translated it into -the holy language of Heaven, the blessed Christ -would put them all right. Maybe, where I said, -'Be quick,' He would say, 'Be slow.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure that would be a blunder!" said I bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! Does it not seem so, to my Damoiselle -and her servant? But the good God knows. If -my Damoiselle would only trust Him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Trust'!" cried I, thinking of Sybil. "Ah, -Margot, I have had enough of trusting. I feel as if I -could never trust man again—nor woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only one Man," said Marguerite softly. "And -He died for us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After saying that, she went away and left me. -I lay still, her last words making a kind of refrain -in my head, mingling with the one thought that -seemed to fill every corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He died for us!" Surely, then, He cannot hate -us. He is not trying to give us as much suffering -as we can bear?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rose at last, and went to seek Guy. But I had -to search the house almost through for him. I -found him at length, in the base court, gazing -through one of the narrow windows through which -the archers shoot. The moment I saw his face, I -perceived that though we might be one in sorrow -we were emphatically two in our respective ways of -bearing it. The quiet, patient grief in that -faraway look which I saw in his eyes, was dictated -by a very different spirit from that which actuated -me. And he found it, too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word would he hear against Sybil. He -nearly maddened me by calmly assuming that her -sufferings were beyond ours, and entreating me not -to let any words of mine add to her burden. It -was so like Guy—always himself last! And when -I said passionately that God was cruel, cruel!—he -hushed me with the only flash of the old impetuosity -that I saw in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Elaine, no! Let me never hear that again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was silent, but the raging of the sea went on -within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," said Guy quietly, "that it is either in -a great sorrow or a serious illness that a man really -sees himself as he is, if it please God to give him -leave. I have thought, until to-day, in a vague -way, that I loved God. I begin to wonder this -morning whether I ever did at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His words struck cold on me. Guy no true -Christian!—my brave, generous, noble, unselfish Guy! -Then what was I likely to be?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guy," I said,—"</span><em class="italics">will</em><span> she?" I could bear the -torture no longer. And I knew he would need no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so, Elaine," was his quiet answer. "I -hope so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'</span><em class="italics">Hope</em><span> so'!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is her only chance for the kingdom. The -nobles are quite right, dear. I am a foreigner; I -am an adventurer; I am not a scion of any royal -house. It would very much consolidate her position -to get rid of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And canst thou speak so calmly? I want to -curse them all round, if I cannot consume them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am past that, Elaine," said Guy in a low voice, -not quite so firmly as before. "Once, I did—— May -the good Lord pardon me! His thunders are -not for mortal hands. And I am thankful that it -is so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose nobody is wicked, except me," I said -bitterly. "Every body else seems to be so terribly -resigned, and so shockingly good, and so every thing -else that he ought to be: and—I will go, if thou -hast no objection, Guy. I shall be saying -something naughty, if I don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy put his arm round me, and kissed my forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My poor little Lynette!" he said. "We can -go home to Poitou, dear, and be once more all in all -to each other, as we used to be long ago. -Monseigneur will be glad to see us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I could not stand that. Partly Guy's dreadful -calm, and partly that allusion to the long ago -when we were so much to each other, broke me -down, and laying my head down upon Guy's arm, I -burst into a passionate flood of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, what good they did me! I could scarcely -have believed how much quieted and lightened I -should feel for them. Though there was no real -change, yet the most distressing part of the weight -seemed gone. I actually caught myself fancying -what Monseigneur would say to us when we came home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy said he would go with me to my chamber. -I was glad that we met no one below. But as we -entered the corridor at the head of the stairs, little -Agnes came running to us, holding up for -admiration a string of small blue beads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, Baba!—See, Tan'!—Good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These are her names for Guy and me. Every -thing satisfactory is "good" with Agnes—it is her -expressive word, which includes beautiful, amiable, -precious, and all other varieties. I felt as if my -heart were too sore to notice her, and I saw a spasm -of pain cross Guy's face. But he lifted the child in -his arms, kissed her, and admired her treasure to her -baby heart's content. If I were but half as selfless -as he!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who gave thee this, little one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amma. Good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the child's name for her mother. Ah, little -Agnes, I cannot agree with thee! "Amma" and -"good" must no longer go into one sentence. How -could she play, to-day, with Guy's children?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet I suppose children must be fed, and cared for, -and trained, and amused,—even though their elders' -hearts are breaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, if I might lie down somewhere, and sleep, -and awake eighteen years ago, when I was a little -sorrowless child like Agnes!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The coronation is fixed for Holy Cross Day. -And Lady Sybil has undertaken, as soon as she is -crowned, to select her future husband. One -condition she has insisted on herself. Every noble, on -the coronation day, is to take a solemn oath that he -will be satisfied with and abide by her decision, and -will serve the King of her choice for ever. This -seems to me a very wise and politic move, as it will -prevent any future disputes. Every body appears to -have no doubt on whom her choice will fall. All -expect the Count of Tripoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy has requested permission to retire to Ascalon; -and she has accorded it, but with the express -stipulation that he is to be in his place, with the rest -of her peers, at the coronation. It does seem to me -a piece of needless cruelty. Surely she might have -spared him this!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I also have asked permission to retire from Court. -Of course I go with Guy. Whoever forsakes him, -the little sister shall be true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For about the first time in my life, I am -thoroughly pleased with Amaury. He is nearly as -angry as I am—which is saying a great deal. And -he is the only person in whose presence I dare -relieve my feelings by saying what I think of Sybil, -for Guy will not hear a word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eschine has the most extraordinary idea. She -thinks that Sybil's heart is true, and that only her -head is wrong. It is all nonsense! Heart and head -go together.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The worst item of the agony is over—the divorce.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ceremony was short enough. A speech—from -Count Raymond—stating to the public the necessities -of the case; a declaration from both parties that they -acted of their own free will; a solemn sentence from -the holy Patriarch:—and all was over, and Guy and -Sybil were both free to wed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did think Sybil would have fainted before she -could get through the few words she had to speak. -But Guy was as calm and quiet as if he were making -some knightly speech. I cannot understand him. -It seems so unnatural for Guy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I expressed some surprise afterwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Lynette! how could I make it harder for her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was his answer. It was all for her. He -seems to think himself not worth considering.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We leave for Ascalon very early to-morrow; and -as this was my last night, I went to Lady Judith's -cell to say farewell to her. On my way I met -Count Raymond, returning from an audience of -Lady Sybil, with triumph flashing in his eyes as he -met mine. He evidently agrees with the multitude -that he has a good chance of the crown. My heart -swelled against him, but I managed to return his -bow with courtesy, and passing on, tapped at Lady -Judith's door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, dear child!—Come in," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am come to bid you good-bye, holy Mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith silently motioned me to a seat on her -bed, and sat down beside me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it quite as dark, my child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, quite!" I said, sighing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child! I would give much to be able to -comfort thee. But, please God, thou wilt be -comforted one day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The day seems a long way off, holy Mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seemed a long way off, dear, to the holy -Jacob, the very day before the waggons arrived to -carry him down to his son Joseph. Yet it was very -near, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I listened with respect, of course: but I could not -see what that had to do with me. The waggons -were not coming for me—that one thing was certain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou be here for the coronation, my child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be where Guy is," I said shortly. "But—O -holy Mother, she might have spared him that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith's look was very pitiful. Yet she -said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps not, my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, of course she might, if she would. What -was to hinder her? But I did not say so, for it -would have been discourteous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even between me and my dear old Lady Judith -there seemed a miserable constraint. Was it any -marvel? I rose to go. Almost noiselessly the door -opened, and before I could exclaim or escape, Sybil -stood before me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And wert thou going without any -farewell—me,—little sister, Helena?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stood up, frozen into stone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask your Grace's pardon. We are not sisters </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned aside, and covered her face with her -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Lynette! thou makest it so hard, so hard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So hard?" said I coldly. "I hope I do. If your -heart had not been harder than the nether millstone, -Lady Sybil, you would never, never have required -our presence at your coronation. God give you what -you deserve!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a terrible prayer, in general," she said, -turning and meeting my eyes. "And yet, Lynette, -in this one thing, I dare to echo it. Ay, God -render unto me what I deserve!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How could she? Oh, how could she?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith kissed me, and I went away. I -believe Sybil would have kissed me too, but I would -not have it from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was easy, after that, to say farewell to the -rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I were going too!" growled Amaury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then why does he not? He might if he chose. -Just like Amaury!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Farewell, dear," said Eschine. "I shall miss -thee, Elaine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>—And nobody else. Yes, I know that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So we go forth. Driven out of our Paradise, like -Adam and Eva. But the flaming sword is held by -no angel of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I always thought it such a dreadful thing, that our -first parents should be driven out of Paradise. Why -could not God have let them stay? It was not as if -He had wanted it for the angels. If He had meant -to use it for any thing, it would be on the earth now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot understand! Oh, why, why, </span><em class="italics">why</em><span> are all -these terrible things?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot understand either," says old Marguerite. -"But I can trust the good God, and I can wait till -He tells me. I am happier than my Damoiselle,—always -wanting to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, I see that I marvel if there is any maiden -upon earth much more miserable than I am. Last -night, only, I caught myself wishing—honestly -wishing—that I could change with Marguerite, old and -poor as she is. It must be such a comfort to think -of God as she does. It seems to answer for every -thing.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sultry quiet here is something almost unendurable -to me. There is nothing in the world to see -or hear but the water-carriers crying "The gift of -God!" and strings of camels passing through the -gateway, and women washing or grinding corn in the -courts. And there is nothing to do but wait and -bear, and prepare, after a rather sluggish fashion, for -our return home when the coronation is over. Here, -again, old Marguerite is better off than I am, for she -has constantly things which she must do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not think it likely that Amaury will come -with us. Things never take hold of him long. If -he be furiously exasperated on Monday, he is -calmly disgusted on Tuesday, supremely content -on Wednesday, and by Thursday has forgotten that -he was ever otherwise. And he seems disposed to -make his home here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To me, it looks as though my life divided itself -naturally into two portions, and the four years I -have passed here were the larger half of it. I seem -to have been a woman only since I came here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three months to wait!—and all the time we are -waiting for a dreadful ordeal, which we know must -come. Why does Lady Sybil give us this suffering? -And far more, why, why does the good God give it -to us?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If I could only understand, I could bear it better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" says Marguerite, with a rather pitying -smile. "If my Damoiselle could but know every -thing, she would be content not to know more!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well! I suppose I am unreasonable. Yet it will -be such a relief when the worst is over. But how -can I wish the worst to come?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sybil-s-choice"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">SYBIL'S CHOICE</em><span class="bold medium">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Gifts!' cried the friend. He took: and, holding it</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>High towards the heavens, as though to meet his star,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Exclaimed,—'This, too, I owe to thee, Giafàr!'"</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>LEIGH HUNT.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It came at last—neither sooner for my dreading it, -nor later for my wishing it—Holy Cross Day, the -coronation morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guy and I reached the Holy City the night -before, and took up our quarters with the holy -Patriarch and his Lady Irene. We were just -opposite the Palace. We could see lights flashing -through the loop-holes, and now and then a shadow -pass behind them. It was hard to know that that -house held all that we loved, and we were the only -ones that dared not enter it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Patriarch was most disagreeably loquacious. -He told us every thing. He might have been -cooking the banquet and broidering the robes, for -all the minute details he seemed to know. The -Queen, he told us, was to be arrayed in golden -baudekyn, and the Lady Isabel in rose and silver. -Both the Princesses would be present, attired in -gold and blue. Poor little Agnes and Helena! -How little they would understand of their mother's -actions!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As little, perhaps, as any of us could understand -of God's dealings in this matter!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The officers of state were to surround the throne, -which was to be placed on the highest step of the -choir; the nobles of the Council were to stand, in -order according to the date of their creation, round -the nave below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Irene was as silent as her lord was talkative. -But at night, when she brought me up to the -chamber she had prepared for me, she told me the -one thing I did care to know. A place had been -specially reserved for me, in the nave, immediately -behind Guy; and the Lady Irene's own place was -next to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am obliged to the Master of the Ceremonies," -said I: for that was just where I wished to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," quietly said Lady Irene, as she took up -her lamp; "the Damoiselle is obliged to the Lady -Sybil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had Sybil thought of my fancy? What a -strange compound she was!—attending to one's -insignificant likings, yet crushing one's very heart -to dust!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not sleep till very late, and I was aroused -in the early morning by a flourish of trumpets, -announcing that the grand day had dawned. I -dressed myself, putting off my mourning for a suit -of leaf-green baudekyn, for I knew that Guy would -not be pleased if I wore any thing sombre, though it -would have suited my feelings well enough. A -golden under-tunic and kerchief, with my best -coronet, were the remainder of my attire. I found -Guy himself flashing in golden armour,[#] and wearing -his beautiful embroidered surcoat, which Sybil -herself wrought for him, with the arms of Lusignan.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This phrase was used of steel armour ornamented -with gold.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>How could she bear to see that existing token of -her own dead love? The surcoat had worn better -than the heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We took our appointed places—Lady Irene, Guy, -and I,—and watched the nobles arrive,—now an odd -one, now half-a-dozen together. The Patriarch of -course left us, as he was to officiate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He told us last night that eighty out of every -hundred felt no doubt at all that the Count of -Tripoli would be the future King. (That Patriarch -is the queerest mortal. It never seemed to enter his -head that such information would not be highly -entertaining to Guy and me.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now was the time to discern our enemies from -our friends. Those who did notice us risked Court -favour. But Messire de Montluc came all the way -from the choir to salute us; and I felt a throb of -gratitude to him in my heart. The Count of Edessa -was not able to see us, and Count Raymond—O -serpent, demon that he is!—looked straight at us, as -if he had never met us before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an additional pang, that the order of -precedence placed Count Raymond the very next -to Guy. I sincerely wished him at the other end of -the nave, though it would have placed him close to -the throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now the important persons began to arrive. -Lady Judith, in the quiet brown habit of her Order, -stopped and scanned the groups all round, till her -eyes reached us, and then she gave us a full smile, -so rich in love and peace, that my heart throbbed -with sympathy, and yet ached with envy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came a lovely vision of rich rose and gleaming -silver, which did </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> look for us, and I felt that -was Lady Isabel. And then two sweet little fairy -forms in blue and gold, and I saw Guy crush his -under-lip as his eyes fell upon his children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Last came the Queen that was to be—a glorious -ray of gold, four pages bearing her train, and her -long fair hair, no less golden than her robes, -streaming down them to her feet. She took her seat by -Lady Isabel, on the velvet settle near the throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the Patriarch came forward into the midst -of the church, to a faldstool set there: and -announced in loud tones, that all the nobles of the -Council of Sybil, shortly to be crowned Queen of -Jerusalem, should come forward in rotation to the -faldstool, and swear between his hands[#] to bear true -and faithful allegiance, as to his King, to that one of -them all whom it should please her to choose for -her lord.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Homage was always performed in this manner, -the joined hands -of the inferior, or oath-taker, -being held between the hands of the -superior lord, or person who administered the oath.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One by one, they came forward: but I saw only -two. Count Raymond knelt down with an air of -triumphant command, as though he felt himself -King already: Guy with an aspect of the most -perfect quietness, as if he were thinking how he -could spare Sybil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When all the nobles were sworn, the Patriarch -went back to the choir, and Sybil, rising, came and -stood just before the throne. The coronation -ceremony followed, but I was not sufficiently at ease to -enter into it. There were prayers in sonorous Greek, -and incense, and the holy mass, and I cannot -properly tell what else. The last item was the actual -setting of the crown—the crown of all the world—on -the head of Sybil of Anjou.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then came a gentle rush of intense expectation, -as Sybil lifted the crown royal from her head, -and prepared to descend the steps of the throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her choice was to be made now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>Down the damask carpeting of the nave she -came, very, very slowly: carrying the crown in -both hands, the holy Patriarch following and -swinging the holy censer behind her. Her eyes -were cast down. It was evident that she knew -perfectly well where he stood who was to wear -that crown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, slowly, all along the nave. Past one -eligible noble after another, face after face gathering -blankness as she went. At last she turned, ever -so little, to the right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could bear no more. I covered my face with -my mantle. Let who would gaze on me—let who -would sneer! She was coming—no doubt any -longer now—straight towards Count Raymond of Tripoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And never—with the faint flush in her cheeks, -and the sweet, downcast eyes—had I seen her look -so beautiful. And all at once, athwart my anger, -my indignation, my sense of bitter wrong, came -one fervent gush of that old, deep love, which had -been mine for Sybil: and I felt as though I could -have laid down my life that hour to save, not Guy, -but her, from the dreadful consequences of her own -folly,—from that man who had crushed Guy's heart -as he might have crushed a moth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came a dead hush, in which a butterfly's -wing might almost have been heard to beat. Then, -a low murmur, half assent, half dissent. Then, -suddenly bursting forth, a cheer that went pealing -to the roof, and died away in reverberations along -the triforium. The choice was made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then—I had not dared to look up—I heard -Sybil's voice. She was close, close beside me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Guy de Lusignan," she said, "I choose thee -as my lord, and as Lord of the land of Jerusalem; -for—" and a slight quiver came into the triumphant, -ringing voice—"whom God hath joined together, let -not man put asunder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then I looked up, and saw on my Guy's head -the crown of the world, and in Sybil's dear eyes the -tender, passionate love-light which she had locked -out of them for months for love's own sake, and I -knew her at last for the queen of women that -she is.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then——I heard somebody speak my name, -and felt Lady Irene's arms close round me, and -darkness came upon me, and I knew no more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When I came to myself, I was lying in my own -old chamber in the Palace, and beside me were old -Marguerite fanning me with a handkerchief, and -Lady Judith bending over me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, darling,—all is well!" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is all well?" I said, sadly, when I could speak. -"It is well with Guy, and therefore all else matters -little. But I wonder if I shall ever be forgiven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By whom?" asked Lady Judith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God and Sybil," I answered in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask them both," she said softly. "Sybil is -coming to thee, as soon as ever the banquet is over. -And there is no need to wait to ask God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you guess, holy Mother, how it would end?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Helena," she answered with a smile. "I knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All along?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, from the first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I lay still and thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou marvel why I did not tell thee, dear, -and perhaps think it cruel? Ask Sybil why she -made me her sole confidante. I think thou wilt be -satisfied when thou hast heard her reason. But -though I did not guess Sybil's purpose,—" and she -turned with a smile to Marguerite,—"here, I fancy, -is one who did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, very soon," said Margot quietly: "but not -quite at first, Lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou wicked old Marguerite!" cried I. "And -never to tell me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose I had been mistaken," she replied. -"Would my Damoiselle have thanked me for telling -her then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt quite sufficiently restored to go down to -the bower, though not able to bear the banquet. -So Lady Judith and I went down. She told me -all that had taken place after I fainted: how Messire -de Montluc and Lady Irene had taken care of me; -that the Patriarch had immediately bestowed the -nuptial benediction upon Sybil and Guy, and had -then anointed the King—(the King!)—that the -Knights Templars had escorted the King and -Queen to the banquet; and that after the banquet, -homage was to be done by all the nobles. Guy and -Sybil, therefore, were likely to be detained late.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly something climbed up on the settle, -and I felt myself seized round the neck, and -tumultuously caressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tantine! Tantine!—Come—good! Baba and -Tantine—</span><em class="italics">both</em><span> come. Good!—Oh, good!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course I knew who that was, and alternated -between returning the warm kisses, and entreating -Agnes not to murder me by suffocation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came a much calmer kiss on my brow, and -I looked up at Eschine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then strolled in Messire Amaury, with his -hands in the pockets of his haut-de chausses, talking -to Messire de Montluc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the strangest thing, you know"—that -sagacious youth was observing—"the strangest thing—O -Elaine, is that thee!—the strangest thing is that -a mere simple, ignorant woman could have formed -and carried out such a project. Surely some man -must have given her the idea! I can hardly—Oh, -</span><em class="italics">pure foy</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last exclamation was due to a smart and -sudden application of my right hand to the left ear -of my respected brother. Messire de Montluc was -convulsed with laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well done, Damoiselle Elaine! You regard the -honour of your sex."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The next time thou speakest contemptuously of -women," said I, "look first whether any overhear -thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust me, I will make sure of my sister Elaine," -said Amaury, still rubbing his ear. "On my word, -Lynette, thou art a spitfire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One after another kept coming, and all expressing -pleasure in seeing me. I could not help wondering -whether all of them would have been quite so -pleased to see Elaine de Lusignan, if she had not -been the King's sister. Lady Judith and Eschine -would, I believed. Nor do I think it would have -made the least difference to Agnes. Considerations -of that kind do not begin to affect us till we are -over three years old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But time wore on, and Sybil was not released -from her regal duties; and the strain which both -body and mind had had to sustain told upon me, -and I began to feel very tired. Lady Judith -noticed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Helena," she said, "do put that white face -to bed. Sybil will come to thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no right to ask it of her," I said huskily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost thou think she will wait till thou hast?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was beginning to remonstrate that it would not -be respectful, when Lady Judith put her arm round -me, and said laughingly—"Sir Amaury, help me to -carry this wilful child to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Mother, I dare not for all the gold in -Palestine," said my slanderous brother. "My ear -has not done stinging yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I wilful?" said I. "Well, then I will do -as I am told.—As to thee, Amaury, thou hast just -thy desert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I am a very ill-deserving man," responded he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith and Eschine both came with me to -my chamber, and the latter helped me to undress. -I had but just doffed my super-tunic, however, when -a slight sound made me turn round towards the -door, and I saw Sybil,—Sybil, still in her -coronation robes, coming towards me with both hands -held out, as she had done that last sad time we -met. I threw myself on the ground before her, and -tried to kiss the hem of her golden robe. But she -would not let me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, my darling, no!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she stooped and drew me into her arms, -and kissed me as if we had never disagreed,—as -if I had never uttered one of those bitter -words which it now made my cheeks burn even to -remember.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could only sob out,—"Forgive me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear little sister, forgive thee for loving Guy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" I said, "but for not loving—for -misunderstanding, and slandering, and tormenting -thee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, dearest Helena!" she said, at once -tenderly and playfully,—"Thou didst not slander me. -It was that other Sybil with whom thou wert so -angry,—the Sybil who was not true to her lord, -and was about to forsake him. And I am sure she -deserved every word. But that was not I, Helena."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how my words must have tortured thee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in one light, dear. It was a rich ray of -hope and comfort, to know, through all my pain, -how true the dear little sister was to Guy,—what -a comfort she was likely to be to him,—that -whoever forsook him, his Lynette would never do it. -Now finish thine undressing. There is one other -thing I want to say to thee, but let me see thee -lying at rest first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down on the settle, just as she was, while -Bertrade finished undressing me. Then they all -said "Good night," and left me alone with Sybil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helena, darling!" she said, as she sat beside -me, my hand clasped in hers,—"this one thing I -wish thee to know. I could not spare thee this -pain. If the faintest idea of my project had ever -occurred to Count Raymond,—though it had been -but the shadow of a shade,—it would have been -fatal. Had he guessed it, I could never have -carried it out.[#] And he has eyes like a lynx, and -ears like a hare. And, little sister,—thy face talks! -Thou couldst not, try as thou wouldst, have kept -that knowledge out of thine eyes. And the Count -would have read it there, with as little trouble as -thou wouldst see a picture. The only chance, -therefore, to preserve my crown for my lord, and him -for me, was to leave him and thee in ignorance. -Trust me, it cost me more than it did you!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The extraordinary item of this series of incidents -(which are historical) is, -that Count Raymond did not guess it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Ah! had she not said that once before,—"Trust -me!" And I had not trusted her. Yet how well -she deserved it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I hardly know what I sobbed out. I only know -that I was fully and undeservedly forgiven, that I -was loved through all my mistrust and unworthiness -and cruel anger,—and that Sybil knew how I -loved her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she left me to rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But as I lay there in the darkness, a thought -came to me, which seemed to light up the dark -wilderness of my life,—as though a lamp had been -suddenly flashed into a hidden chamber.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What if it be just so with God?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And it seemed to me as if He stood there, at -the summit of that ladder which Monseigneur Saint -Jacob was permitted to behold: and He looked -down on me, with a look tenderer and sweeter even -than Sybil's; and He held forth His hands to me, -as she had done, but in these there were the prints -of the cruel nails,—and He said—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Elaine, I could not spare thee this pain. If I -had done, in the end it would have been worse for -thee. Look upon My hands and My feet, and see -if I spared Myself, and, remembering that this was -for thy sake, say whether, if it had been possible, I -would not have spared thee!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot tell whether I was dreaming or awake. -But I crept to the foot of the ladder, and I said to -Him who stood above it—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair Father, Jesu Christ, I put myself in Thy -mercy.[#] I see now that I was foolish and ignorant. -It was not that Thou wert cruel. It was not that -Thou didst not care. Thou dost care. At every -pang that rent my heart, Thine heart was touched -too. Forgive me, for Sybil has done, and I have -sinned more against Thee than against her. Teach -me in future to give up my will, and to wish only to -do Thine."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A rebel, who returned to his allegiance unconditionally, -was said to "put himself in the King's mercy."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am afraid it was a very poor prayer. There was -no Angelus nor Confiteor—not even an Ave in it. -Yet was it all a dream, that a voice said to me, -"Thy sins are forgiven thee: go in peace"? And I -sank into dreamless sleep the next instant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is all settled now. Next week, I shall be -professed of Lady Judith's Order,—an Order which will -just suit my wants, since the nuns have no abbess -over them, are bound only by terminable vows, and -(with assent of the community) may dwell where -they think fit, even in their own homes if need be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Judith thinks that she can easily obtain -leave for me to dwell with Monseigneur, as she will -kindly represent it to the Order that he is now an -old man, and has no wife nor unmarried daughter to -care for him but me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think he is my first duty now. And I know he -will be so glad, so glad!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It will be hard to part with Guy and Sybil. But -I think that is where the Lord is leading me,—home -to Lusignan; and I do wish to follow His leading, -not my own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Marguerite startled me very much last night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damoiselle," she said, "the cross is shining out -at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where, Margot?" said I, rather puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where I have so longed to see it," she said, "on -my darling's brow. Ah, the good God has not -brought her through the fire for nothing! Where -there used to be pride and mirth in her eyes, there is -peace. He will let His old servant depart now, for -it was all she had to live for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I can never, never do without her! Oh, I do -hope the good God will not take dear old -Marguerite. Why, I am only just beginning to -understand and value her. But I think I am learning, -very slowly,—Oh, I am so slow and stupid!—that -real happiness lies not in having my way, but in -being satisfied with His,—not in trying to make -myself happy, but in trying to please Him. I am -constantly fancying that I have so learned this lesson -that I shall never forget it again. And then, within -an hour, I find myself acting as though I had never -heard of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I see, too, what I never understood before.—that -it is only by taking our Lord's yoke upon us, -and becoming meek and lowly in heart, that we can -find rest to our souls. Eschine's deep humility is the -source of her calm endurance. Pride is not peace; -it is its antidote. In Christ we have peace,—first -through the purchase of His blood, and secondly, in -growing like Him, which is, to grow in love and -lowliness, and to lose ourselves in Him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I think I never before saw the loveliness of -humility. And I am sure I never saw the fair beauty of -Eschine's character and life. Oh, how far she rises -above me! And to think that I once looked down -upon her—dismissed her with a careless word of -scorn, as having "nothing in her"—when the truth -was that I was too low down to see her in reality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, how much the good God has had, and will -have, to forgive and bear with me!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am now only just beginning to understand Him. -But that is a lesson which I may go on learning and -enjoying for ever. And how happy it will be, if we -all gather together in His halls above,—Guy, and -Sybil, and me, and old Marguerite, and Lady Judith, -and Monseigneur, and Eschine, and the little -children, and all,—never again to hear Paynim cry nor -woman's wail,—safe for ever, in the banquet-hall of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At home again at last!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How strangely glad they all seem to see me! I -do not think I ever knew how they all loved me. I -have lived for myself, and a little for Guy. Now, -with His grace, I fain would live for God, and in Him -for every one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We sat round the centre fire last night in the old -hall,—I close to Monseigneur, with his hand upon -my shoulder, now and then removed to stroke my -hair—and we had all so much to say that it made us -very silent. It was Alix who spoke first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Elaine," she said, "I want to give a name to my -baby girl that shall mean 'truth' or 'fidelity.' And -I do not like any of the French names that have -those meanings; they are not pretty. Tell me the -words for them in the tongue of the Holy Land."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not answer that the Court language of -Jerusalem was the Langue d'Oc, and that Alix would -be no better off for knowing. A rush of feeling came -over me, and I let it dictate my reply. And that -was only—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">"Sybil."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="historical-appendix"><span class="bold large">HISTORICAL APPENDIX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">I. GUY DE LUSIGNAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The history of Guy and Sybil, after the story leaves them, -is a sad one. Raymond Count of Tripoli, who had fancied -himself sure of the crown matrimonial, never forgave either. -He immediately entered into a secret alliance with Saladin, -by which he promised to betray Guy into his hands in the -next battle. On the fourth of July, 1187, Tripoli, who was -standard-bearer, so behaved himself in battle that the King -was taken prisoner. Sybil, in conjunction with the Patriarch -Heraclius, held Jerusalem until the second of October, -when she gave up the city to Saladin on terms including -liberty of ransom to all who could afford it. The Queen -now retired to Ascalon, within whose fortified walls she and -her little daughters remained until 1189, when Guy's ransom -was effected on the hard terms that Sybil should capitulate -at Ascalon, that Guy should abdicate, and that he should -go beyond sea. Guy, who had been kept in chains a whole -year at Damascus, consulted the clergy as to the necessity -of keeping faith with Saladin. They were all of the -Roman, but unscriptural opinion, that no faith need be -kept with a Paynim. Instead of abdicating and going -abroad, Guy, with Sybil and the children, marched to Acre, -which he invested, with a hundred thousand men who had -flocked to his standard. The Queen and Princesses were -lodged at Turon, looking towards the sea. In 1190 King -Philippe of France arrived before Acre, and on June 10, -1191, King Richard Cœur-de-Lion; and at last, on July 12, -Saladin gave up the city to the allied forces. But the -pestilence had been very rife during the siege. Baldwin -Archbishop of Canterbury, and numbers of French and -English nobles, died in the camp: and among others -the hero-Queen, Sybil of Anjou, and her two fragile children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Raymond of Tripoli was dead also. He died in his -sleep, unabsolved; and evidence of his having formally -apostatized to Mahometanism was found after his death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After thus taking "last leave of all he loved," Guy—brave, -rash, impetuous Guy—appears to have become -almost reckless. Of course, by right, Sybil was succeeded -by her sister Isabel; but Guy still clung to his title of -King, and the privileges appurtenant to it, and disputed -with Conrado of Monferrato, the husband of Isabel, the -right to the customs of the port of Acre. Conrado was -an extremely quarrelsome man, and Guy's opposition -seems to have been personally directed to him; for on -his death (which of course Guy and Cœur-de-Lion were -accused of forwarding) Guy readily acknowledged Isabel -and her third husband, on condition of receiving the -island of Cyprus as compensation for all his claims. -King Richard had sold Cyprus to the Templars, but he -coolly took it from them, and gave it to Guy, who, being -apparently more honest of the two, paid a hundred -thousand crowns to the Templars as compensation. This is -the last that we hear of Guy de Lusignan, except the -mere date of his death, which occurred, according to -different authorities, from one to four years after the -cession of Cyprus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Few historical characters have had less justice done -them by modern writers, than Guy de Lusignan and -Sybil his wife. In the first place, Guy is accused of -having, in 1167-8, assassinated Patrick Earl of Salisbury, -in returning from a pilgrimage to Saint Iago de -Compostella. King Henry II., we are told, was greatly -enraged, and banished Guy from Poitou, whereupon he -assumed the cross, and set out for the Holy Land. Now -the truth is that in 1167-8, it is scarcely possible that -Guy could be above ten years old. Either it was another -Guy de Lusignan, or the outrage was committed by -persons of whom the child Guy was the nominal head. -But all the circumstances tend to show that Guy's arrival -in the Holy Land was little, if at all, before 1180, and -that at that time he was a very young man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We next find Guy accused of such boundless ambition, -that he not only induced King Baldwin IV. to put all the -affairs of the kingdom into his hands, but even to -promise him the succession after his death. But when -Baldwin had bestowed upon Guy his sister and heir -presumptive, Sybil, how could he either promise him the -succession or lawfully deprive him of it? The reversion -of the crown was hers. Baldwin did her a cruel injustice, -and committed an illegal act, when he passed her over, -and abdicated in favour of her infant son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, on the death of Baldwin V., we are actually told -that Sybil, urged by her ambitious husband, </span><em class="italics">usurped</em><span> the -crown. Usurped it from whom? Surely not from her -own daughters!—surely not from her younger sister! -Matthew of Westminster distinctly remarks that "there -was none to succeed but his mother Sybilla." Sybil merely -took back her own property, of which she had been -unjustly deprived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again, with respect to her action at her coronation, -poor Sybil comes in again for her share of blame. She -had no business, we are assured, to choose Guy, who had -already proved himself an unsatisfactory governor; and in -the interest of the kingdom, she ought to have married -some one else. In other words, she ought to have -committed sin in the interest of her subjects!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lastly, a wholesale charge of poisoning is brought -against both Guy and Sybil. Probabilities are thrown -overboard. They are accused of poisoning young Baldwin -V.; and Guy is charged with the murder of his wife and -children, though their death entirely destroyed his claim -to the royal title. The truth is, that in the twelfth -century, any death not easily to be accounted for was always -set down to poison: and the nearest relatives, totally -irrespective of character, were always suspected of having -administered it. Men of Guy's disposition,—impulsive, -rash, and generous even to a fault, loving and -self-sacrificing,—are not usually in the habit of murdering those -they love best: and considered merely from a political -point of view, the simultaneous deaths of Sybil and her -children were the worst calamities which could have fallen -upon Guy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II. THE ROYAL FAMILY OF JERUSALEM.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Melisende, Queen of Jerusalem, eldest of the four -daughters of Baldwin II., and Morsise of Armenia, -</span><em class="italics">succeeded</em><span> her father in 1131, and </span><em class="italics">died in</em><span> 1141 or -1144. She </span><em class="italics">married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Foulques V., Count of Anjou; </span><em class="italics">married</em><span> 1128; -</span><em class="italics">died</em><span> at Acre, by accident, November, 1142. -[He had previously been married to -Ermengarde of Maine, by whom he had four -children,—Geoffrey Plantagenet; Hélie Count -of Maine; Sybil, Countess of Flanders; and -Alice, Crown Princess of England.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Queen Melisende</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. Baldwin III, </span><em class="italics">born</em><span> 1129, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> Feb., 1162, without -issue. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Theodora Comnena, daughter of Isaac I., Emperor -of the East</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. Amaury I., </span><em class="italics">born</em><span> 1132-6; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> July 11, 1173. -</span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(A) Agnes de Courtenay, daughter of Josceline, -Count of Edessa: </span><em class="italics">divorced</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(B) MARIA COMNENA, daughter or niece of Manuel -I., Emperor of the East: living 1190. [Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Amaury I. By Agnes</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. BALDWIN IV., the Leper; </span><em class="italics">born</em><span> 1158; </span><em class="italics">abdicated</em><span> 1183; -</span><em class="italics">d.</em><span> March 16, 1185. Never married.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. SYBIL I., </span><em class="italics">crowned</em><span> Sept., 1186; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> at Acre, during -the siege, 1190. [Character historical] </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><span>Guglielmo, Marquis of Monferrato: </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1180.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>(B) GUY DE LUSIGNAN: </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> 1183; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> -September (Fabyan) 1193 (ib.) 1194 (Moreri, -Woodward and Coates Chron. Cycl.) 1195 -(Roger de Hoveden) 1196 (Anderson). -[Character historical]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">By Maria</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>3. ISABEL I. [Character historical] </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(A) HOMFROY DE TOURS: </span><em class="italics">mar. circ.</em><span> 1183; </span><em class="italics">divorced</em><span> -1190; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1199. [The legality of the -divorce was very doubtful, and caused many -subsequent counter-claims to the throne.]</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(B) Conrado, Marquis of Monferrato, Count of -Tyre: </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> 1190; </span><em class="italics">assassinated</em><span> at Tyre, Apr. 27, 1192.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(C) Henri, Count of Champagne: </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> 1193, -</span><em class="italics">died</em><span> at Acre, by accident, 1196-7.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(D) AMAURY DE LUSIGNAN, brother of Guy: </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> -1197, </span><em class="italics">d.</em><span> 1205. [Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Sybil I. By Guglielmo</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. BALDWIN V., </span><em class="italics">born</em><span> 1180, </span><em class="italics">crowned</em><span> Nov. 20, 1183; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> -at Acre, 1186. [Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">By Guy</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>2, 3. DAUGHTERS, died with mother, during siege of -Acre, 1190. [Some writers ascribe four daughters to -Sybil.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Isabel I. By Conrado</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. Marie, or Violante, I. Married—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Jean de Brienne, third son of Erard II. Count of -Brienne, and Agnes de Montbeliard; Emperor of -the East, 1233; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> Mar. 21, 1237.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">By Henri</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>2. Alix I., </span><em class="italics">died cir.</em><span> 1246. Married—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(A) HUGUES DE LUSIGNAN, son of Amaury de -Lusignan and Eschine d'Ibellin: </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1219.</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="2"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><span>Bohemond IV., Prince of Antioch: </span><em class="italics">divorced</em><span>.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="3"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><span>Raoul, Count of Soissons: </span><em class="italics">died circ.</em><span> 1246.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>3. Philippa, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> 1214, Erard de Brienne, Lord of -Rameru; living 1247.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">By Amaury</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>4. Sybil, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> Leon I., King of Armenia.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>5. Robert, Abbot of St. Michael</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>6. Amaury, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> young.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Marie I</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Violante, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> at Brindisi, 1223-5, Friedrich II., -Emperor of Germany: </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1228-9.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>From this marriage the Emperors of Germany and -Austria derive the empty title of Kings of Jerusalem. -They have no right to it, since the posterity of Violante -became extinct in the second generation. The Kings of -Italy, on the contrary, have a right to the title, being -descendants of Anna of Cyprus, the heir general of Alix I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">III. HOUSE OF LUSIGNAN.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It will be perceived from the following table, that in the -story, the three Williams, sons of Count Geoffrey, have -been made into one; and that the sisters, Alix and Elaine, -are fictitious characters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The House of Lusignan begins about A.D. 900, with -Hugues I., surnamed </span><em class="italics">Le Veneur</em><span>. Eighth in descent from -him we find—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Hugues VIII., died 1164. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Bourgogne, daughter of Geoffroy de Rançon.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. Hugues IX, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1206. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Mahaud, daughter of Wulgrain III., Count of Angoulême.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. GEOFFROY, COUNT DE LA MARCHE, living 1210. -[Character imaginary.] </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><span>Eustacie de Chabot.</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>(B) Clémence, daughter of Hugues Viscount de -Châtelhérault. [Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Hugues IX. and Mahaud</em><span>:—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Hugues X., le Brun: </span><em class="italics">killed</em><span> at Massoura, 1249. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Isabelle, Countess of Angoulême, and widow of -John King of England; </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> 1217-21; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1246.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>[From this marriage sprang the House of -Valence, Earls of Pembroke, famous in -English history.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Count Geoffroy and Eustacie</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. GUILLAUME, surnamed </span><em class="italics">à la grande dent</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> issueless -before 1250. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>UMBERGE, daughter of the Viscount de Limoges. -[Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. GUILLAUME, Lord of Mairevant. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>[Unknown.]</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>3. GUILLAUME de Valence, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1170.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>4. GUY, Count of Jaffa and Ascalon: </span><em class="italics">crowned</em><span> King of -Jerusalem, Sept. 1186; </span><em class="italics">died Sept.</em><span>, 1193-6. [See -the previous article.]</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>5. AMAURY, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1205. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>(A) ESCHINE, daughter of Beaudouin d'Ibellin, Lord -of Rames; </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1193. [Character imaginary.]</span></p> -<ol class="upperalpha simple" start="2"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><span>ISABEL I., Queen of Jerusalem. [See last article.]</span></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>6. RAOUL d'Issoudun, </span><em class="italics">d.</em><span> 1218-9. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>, before Aug. 31, 1199.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Alice, Countess of Eu: living Sept. 19, 1119.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Guillaume Lord of Mairevant</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. VALENCE, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> Hugues, Lord of Parthenay.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. Elise, or Aline, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> Bartholomé, Lord de La Haye.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics">Issue of Amaury and Eschine</em><span>:—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>1. GUY, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> young.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>2. Jean, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> young.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>3. HUGUES, </span><em class="italics">died</em><span> 1219. </span><em class="italics">Married</em><span>—</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>Alix I., Queen of Jerusalem. [See last article]</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>4. Bourgogne, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> Gaultier de Montbelliard.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>5. HÉLOÏSE, </span><em class="italics">mar.</em><span> (1) Eudes de Dampierre; (2) Rupin, -Prince of Antioch.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>[For issue of Amaury and Queen Isabel, see last article.]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">TITLES.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Society was divided in the twelfth century into four -ranks only,—nobles, clergy, bourgeoisie, and villeins. -Two of these,—nobles and villeins—were kept as distinct -as caste ever kept classes in India, though of course with -some differences of detail. All titled persons, knights, -and landed proprietors, belonged to the nobility. The -clergy were recruited from nobility and bourgeoisie—rarely -from the villein class. The bourgeoisie were free -men, without land, and usually with some trade or -profession; and were despised by the nobles, as men who -had lifted themselves above their station, and presumed -to vie with their betters. The villeins were always serfs, -saleable with the land on which they lived, bound to the -service of its owner, disposable at his pleasure, and esteemed -by him very little superior to cattle. Education was -restricted to clergy and noble women, with a few exceptions -among the male nobility; but as a rule, a lay gentleman -who could read a book, or write anything beyond -his signature, was rarely to be seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No kind of title was bestowed in addressing any but -nobles and clergy. The bourgeois was merely Richard -Haberdasher, John the Clerk, or William by the -Brook—(whence come Clark and Brook as surnames)—the -villein was barely Hodge or Robin, without any further -designation unless necessary, when the master's name was -added. Such a term as Ralph Walter-Servant (namely, -Ralph, servant of Walter) is not uncommon on mediæval -rolls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clergy, as is still the case in Romish countries, -were addressed as Father; and those who had not -graduated at the Universities were termed Sir, with the -surname—"Sir Green," or "Sir Dickson." It is doubtful, -however, whether this last item stretches so far back as the -twelfth century. "Dan," the epithet of Chaucer, certainly -does not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The names bestowed on the nobles consisted of three -for the men, and two for the women. (French, it must -be remembered, was the language of England as well as -of France at this time. Only villeins spoke English.) The -lowest epithet was "Sieur" (gentleman), which was -applied to untitled landed proprietors. The next, "Sire" -or "Messire" (Sir) was the title of the knights; and the -King was addressed as Sire only because he was the -chief knight in the realm. The highest, "Seigneur" -(Lord) was applied to royalty, peers, and all nobles in -authority, especially those possessing territorial power. -The ladies, married and single, were addressed as "Dame" -and "Damoiselle." The English version of the last title, -damsel, was used of the young nobility of both sexes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among themselves, nobles addressed their relatives by -the title of relationship, with the epithet "bel" -prefixed—which, when English began to be spoken by the higher -classes, was translated "fair." "Fair Father," "Fair -Brother," sound very odd to modern ears: but for -centuries they were the usual appellations in a noble family, -both in England and in France. They were not, however, -used between husband and wife, who always ceremoniously -termed each other Monseigneur and Madame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was only natural—and is what we ourselves do to -this day—that our ancestors should address God in prayer -by those terms which in their eyes were the highest titles -of honour. In this light, though "Majesty" is peculiar -to Spain, yet "Seigneur," "Messire," and "Bel Père," -obtained currency in most civilised countries. The first -we have retained: and though we have degraded "Lord" -into the title of our lesser nobility, we still use it as the -special epithet of Deity. It is only custom which has -made the other names sound strange to our ears. We -no longer prefix "fair" to "Father" when we address -the human relative; and it has also become unusual to -transfer it to the divine Father. "Sir God" would shock -us. But in our ancestors' eyes it was the most reverent -and honourable of all titles, which was the reason why -they chose it. Even so late as the fifteenth century, the -Maid of Orleans never spoke of God by any other term -than "Messire."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Stories of English Life.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BY EMILY S. HOLT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>A.D. 597 - -I. Imogen: -A TALE OF THE EARLY BRITISH CHURCH. - - -A.D. 1066 - -II. Behind the Veil: -A STORY OF THE NORMAN CONQUEST. - - -A.D. 1159 - -III. One Snowy Night; -OR, LONG AGO AT OXFORD. - - -A.D. 1189 - -IV. Lady Sybil's Choice: -A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. - - -A.D. 1214 - -V. Earl Hubert's Daughter; -OR, THE POLISHING OF THE PEARL. - - -A.D. 1325 - -VI. In all Time of our Tribulation: -THE STORY OF PIERS GAVESTONE. - - -A.D. 1350 - -VII. The White Lady of Hazelwood: -THE WARRIOR COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. - - -A.D. 1352 - -VIII. Countess Maud; -OR, THE CHANGES OF THE WORLD. - - -A.D. 1360 - -IX. In Convent Walls: -THE STORY OF THE DESPENSERS. - - -A.D. 1377 - -X. John De Wycliffe, -AND WHAT HE DID FOR ENGLAND. - - -A.D. 1384 - -XI. The Lord Mayor: -A TALK OF LONDON IN 1384. - - -A.D. 1390 - -XII. Under One Sceptre: -THE STORY OF THE LORD OF THE MARCHES - - -A.D. 1400 - -XIII. The White Rose of Langley; -OR, THE STORY OF CONSTANCE LE DESPENSER. - - -A.D. 1400 - -XIV. Mistress Margery: -A TALE OF THE LOLLARDS. - - -A.D. 1400 - -XV. Margery's Son; -OR, UNTIL HE FIND IT. - - -A.D. 1470 - -XVI. Red and White; -OR, THE WARS OF THE ROSES. - - -A.D. 1480 - -XVII. The Tangled Web: -A TALE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. - - -A.D. 1515 - -XVIII. The Harvest of Yesterday: -A TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. - - -A.D. 1530 - -XIX. Lettice Eden; -OR, THE LAMPS OF EARTH AND THE LIGHTS OF HEAVEN. - - -A.D. 1535 - -XX. Isoult Barry of Wynscote: -A TALE OF TUDOR TIMES. - - -A.D. 1544 - -XXI. Through the Storm; -OR, THE LORD'S PRISONERS. - - -A.D. 1555 - -XXII. Robin Tremayne: -A TALE OF THE MARIAN PERSECUTION. - - -A.D. 1556 - -XXIII. All's Well; -OR, ALICE'S VICTORY. - - -A.D. 1556 - -XXIV. The King's Daughters. -HOW TWO GIRLS KEPT THE FAITH. - - -A.D. 1569 - -XXV. Sister Rose; -OR, THE EVE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. - - -A.D. 1579 - -XXVI. Joyce Morrell's Harvest: -A STORY OF THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH. - - -A.D. 1588 - -XXVII. Clare Avery: -A STORY OF THE SPANISH ARMADA. - - -A.D. 1605 - -XXVIII. It Might Have Been: -THE STORY OF GUNPOWDER PLOT. - - -A.D. 1635 - -XXIX. Minster Lovel: -A STORY OF THE DAYS OF LAUD. - - -A.D. 1662 - -XXX. Wearyholme; -A STORY OF THE RESTORATION. - - -A.D. 1712 - -XXXI. The Maiden's Lodge; -OR, THE DAYS OF QUEEN ANNE. - - -A.D. 1745 - -XXXII. Out in the Forty-five; -OR, DUNCAN KEITH'S VOW. - - -A.D. 1750 - -XXXIII. Ashcliffe Hall: -A TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY. - - -XXXIV. A.D. 1556 - - For the Master's Sake; - OR, THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY. - - - A.D. 1345 - - The Well in the Desert. - AN OLD LEGEND. - - -XXXV. A.D. 1559 - - All for the Best; - OR, BERNARD GILPIN'S MOTTO. - - - A.D. 1560 - - At the Grene Griffin: - A TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. - - -XXXVI. A.D. 1270 - - Our Little Lady; - OR, SIX HUNDRED YEARS AGO - - A.D. 1652 - - Gold that Glitters; - OR, THE MISTAKES OF JENNY LAVENDER. - - -XXXVII. A.D. 1290 - - A Forgotten Hero: - THE STORY OF ROGER DE MORTIMER. - - A.D. 1266 - - Princess Adelaide: - A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF KENILWORTH. - - -XXXVIII. 1ST CENTURY. - - The Slave Girl of Pompeii. - - - 2ND CENTURY. - - The Way of the Cross. - TALES OF THE EARLY CHURCH - - -A.D. 870 to 1580 - -XXXIX. Lights in the Darkness: -BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. - - -A.D. 1873 - -XL. Verena. -SAFE PATHS AND SLIPPERY BYE-WAYS. -A Story of To-day.</span> -</pre> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>LONDON: JOHN F. 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